#Back to West - geraskier au
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I posted 2,530 times in 2022
That's 1,360 more posts than 2021!
51 posts created (2%)
2,479 posts reblogged (98%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
firefly464
@lynxalon
winged-kara
@rozugold
loudly--unladylike
I tagged 933 of my posts in 2022
#lego monkie kid - 201 posts
#lmk macaque - 179 posts
#lmk sun wukong - 161 posts
#shadowpeach - 126 posts
#the witcher - 38 posts
#pokemon - 35 posts
#jaskier - 25 posts
#lmk mk - 23 posts
#geraskier - 18 posts
#pokemon legends arceus - 17 posts
Longest Tag: 136 characters
#but being more out there i would want a moderately sized library in my house that holds more books than i would ever read in my lifetime
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Does anyone know what separates demons and gods? Like what's the difference between Wukong, known god (right? Yeah), and Macaque, known demon?
17 notes - Posted August 19, 2022
#4
Shadowpeaches animatic/animation with Little Lion Man. Wukong centered.
Before Journey To The West they were together. Eventually Wukong went to take on heaven because he could, leaving Macaque with barely a word. When Wukong got back he was gone and the next time they saw each other they were on bad terms and fighting.
36 notes - Posted July 16, 2022
#3
Wukong knows Macaque can hear him pretty much wherever the other is because of his hearing. He'll put on 10 hours of Nyan Cat to annoy him. It's very effective.
39 notes - Posted August 26, 2022
#2
I appreciate that everyone in their Sun Wukong and Macaque have kids AUs call the kids cubs instead of infants like baby monkeys are actually called.
Like, yes, that sounds better. Great job everyone. Pat yourselves on the back.
57 notes - Posted August 2, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Sending my love to Ariel and violently kicking Ned to the curb
197 notes - Posted September 27, 2022
#tumblr2022#year in review#I'm not gonna @ three of the people i reblogged most from because i had already done that on my mcyt centered blog#wouldn't want to @ them again a second time ya know?#4 of my top posts are lego monkie kid...
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So⊠where are we going next?
#geraskier#geralt#jaskier#modern au#the witcher fanart#back to west - geraskier au#australia#road trip#my art
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State of the Fic
July was another one of those months where it doesnât seem like I wrote a whole lot and in some ways, I kind of didnât. I definitely didnât write very many oneshots this month and since I had family in town during the first week and a half of July, I ended up not doing much writing then. But Iâm working on a lot of behind the scenes sort of fics with some longer pieces thatâll hopefully be coming out over the next few months so keep an eye out!
WIPs
Kissed by a Muse (Winteriron): Chapter 17 posted this month! Alternates posting weeks with MRMRN on Mondays
Mr. Right and Mr. Right Now (Stevetony): Chapter 1 posted this month! Alternates posting weeks with KBAM on Mondays
What is Grief... (Stevetony): Chaptersr 1-3 posted this month! Updates every Saturday
Promises Made Not Meant to be Broken (Stevetony): Posts on Ko-fi every Sunday, on track to be completed in August (hopefully)
Recently Posted
Renegade Runaway (Stuckony): Posted on July 1
Tony once had aspirations of being one of the best gunslingers in the west. He had the best aim this side of the Mississippi and he was quick. Heâd been planning on making a name for himself, same as his father had.
Buckyâs bullet through his left thigh had put an end to that dream real quick.
It's Gotten Too Darn Hot (Stevetony): Posted on July 4
Steve is well-aware of what Tony is up to. Of course he knows, how could he not? He and Tony have been married for ten years and Tony has been doing this since they started dating all the way back in grad school. Besides, it isnât like Tony is subtle. Tony has 206 bones in his body and all of them are flamboyant.
Wanna Hold On and Feel I Belong (Stevetony): Posted on July 12
Sometimes, Steve still feels like his post-serum body isn't his own. Fortunately, Tony is always there to reassure him he loves him no matter what.
Coming Up
1. The Stevetony/Winterwidow Holiday AU: Bucky and Natâs storyline is about halfway done and this fic is set to be done with the first draft in mid-September probably
2. Part 2 of Simply the Best: covering season 4 of Schittâs Creek
3. A Geraskier Persephone/Hades AU with a fun twist that Iâm very excited about
4. The porn studio AU
5. Bingo fics!
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smells like you love me
geraskier | explicit | 3.4k | abo au, alpha!geralt, omega!jaskier
today jaskier still smells of oranges and honey, but thereâs something else underneath it that geralt canât quite place. Itâs not bad, per se, but it leaves him feeling on-edge, a tightness in his skin and tension in his muscles thatâs different from the usual, and he just knows something is going to go wrong.
it always does, with jaskier.
( read on ao3 )
When Geralt opens his eyes that morning, he knows, instinctively, that the day is going to go to shit.
He can smell Jaskier from across the campsite, scent sweet but not saccharine like most omegas Geralt has metâtheyâre too sugary, too flowery, like candy with too much flavoring or perfume applied too heavily.
(His alpha senses donât like it as it is, but his witcher senses on top of it makes his nose scrunch until he's scowling and then it all sours into fear and itâs not any better, but at least fear doesnât make it feel like his teeth are rotting from it.)
Jaskier, thoughâhis scent is softer, orange blossoms and honey, with a hint of something crisp, like the air when rain is on the horizon. Itâs clean and fresh, and it doesnât make Geralt gag or the alpha in him recoil in disgust when he gets a whiff of it on the wind. He also doesnât smell of fear, the sour, acidic notes never present in his scent when heâs around Geralt, and that is something Geralt will never admit he treasures.
Today Jaskier still smells of oranges and honey, but thereâs something else underneath it that Geralt canât quite place. Itâs not bad, per se, but it leaves him feeling on-edge, a tightness in his skin and tension in his muscles thatâs different from the usual, and he just knows something is going to go wrong.
It always does, with Jaskier.
(Geralt tries not to think about what it says about him that he lets it happen anyway.)
Theyâre heading north up the continent, if only because theyâve already been to the south and the west and the east, and making a circuit is as good a plan as any. They havenât seen each other in a few months, and Jaskier whines about not having any new material in that brief interim, and he tags along because heâs a fool who lacks a sense of self-preservation and finds a witcher to be good company.
Geralt...doesnât hate it.
Their coin is low, as well as their food supplies, but thereâs a town a few daysâ trek away, and thatâs their next immediate destination. He hasnât been up this way in a while, long enough that another monster or beast might have moved in to terrorize people, so Geralt figures they might be in need of him (whether they want to admit it or not). Jaskier claims he hasnât been through this part either, and that heâll get to spread his songs to yet another town full of ears ripe for listening.
It starts as a nice enough dayâbut so do all the others before they go to shit. Today is no exception.
They have a quick, sparse breakfast before setting off. Geralt walks beside Roach, her reigns in hand, and Jaskier trails behind him, singing snippets of lyrics that come to mind, but never a full song. Heâll play a chord only to scrunch his nose up at it and play another, and Geralt finds amusement in occasionally glancing at him to see it. The orange blossom and honey scent follows them, surrounds their little bubble of space when they stop to have lunch, and it puts Geralt at peace, relaxes his shoulders.
They stumble across the cockatrice toward dinnertime.
Well. Jaskier stumbles into it and Geralt rolls his eyes as he pulls him back and puts his swords between the beast and the idiot. Itâs not a big one, and it already looks wounded and weak, dripping blood as it screams at Geralt and lunges for him, and it goes down easy enough, but then the mother comes screeching out of the trees and suddenly the day goes from not too bad to utter shit.
âFuck,â Geralt says with feeling, and braces himself for a fight.
The stench of beast blood fills the air as he throws himself into taking off the thingâs head, and it gets in a couple of good swipes but nothing his natural witcher healing ability and the last of his salves wonât fix right up. The acrid smell of fearâ along with something cloying, something thick and heavyâmixes with the orange blossom and honey and permeates around him, and he grits his teeth and keeps himself between the cockatrice and Jaskier as much as possible.
In a show of rarely-demonstrated intelligence, Jaskier scrambles off and finds a tree to climb up into to stay out of the way. Geralt has one sense out for him but keeps most of his focus on the cockatrice until he takes its head off too and its body slumps to the ground, dead.
Adrenaline pumps through him and Geralt glares at the dead creature for a long moment, letting it pass. When his head is clearer, he sheathes his swords and goes to pluck what feathers he can from the cockatrices. He considers digging into them for their livers and tosses the idea aside because he really, really doesnât want the smell of cockatrice guts all over his clothes for three more days.
Speaking of smellsâ
Jaskier has climbed out of the tree, eyes wide and hands fluttering about while he chatters nonsensically about the attack. His scent has lost the fear, but it still has that cloying and heady undertone beneath the orange blossom and the honey thatâs dug itself under Geraltâs skin and refuses to let go.
âGods, Geralt, that was magnificent!â His pulse races in his veins, heartbeat quick but calming already. âTerrifying, as well, but magnificent! It nearly ate me! I could be nothing but the digested shit of a cockatrice by now if not for you! Really, what would I do without you?â
âYou said it yourself,â Geralt mutters as he wipes his hands on his pants, tying the feathers heâd gathered together and heading for Roach. âYouâd be cockatrice shit by now.â
Jaskier gives him a look as he follows Geralt back to where theyâd left Roach but doesnât dispute it. His heartbeat sticks at something just above sedate, his face and neck flushed, and his scent is strong, pheromones spilling off his skin in waves. Geralt inhales deeply on reflex, eyes closing, filling his lungs with the familiar, calming smell, and catches the undertone again. It smells likeâit smells like lust, like need, thick like molasses and just as sticky sweet.
His own skin goes hot, the alpha in him keening, and his eyes snap open. Jaskier is muttering again, looking anywhere but at Geralt, pulling at his tunic and breathing heavier than is really necessary, and it hits himâ
âJaskier.â
Jaskier cuts off mid-sentence and looks at Geralt, eyes wide and bright and so, so very goddamn blue behind the haze beginning to settle over them.
âYouâre in heat,â Geralt says, and itâs not a question.
Jaskier huffs and rolls his eyes, pulls at his tunic again. âThank you, I would never have guessed it,â he snaps. The flush deepens, and Geralt catches the lemon-sour scent of embarrassment. âIâm trying not to think about it, because that just makes it worse, but fine! Letâs point it out, shall we?â
Geraltâs brow furrows, his chest expanding as he inhales again, tasting honey and orange and molasses. Blood flows right to his cock and his pants are way too tight now, his skin tingling and the urge to touch almost too much to ignore. Bad idea . He grits his teeth against it all, swallowing thickly. âWhy would you come with me if you knew you were going into heat?â he spits out, and heâs not angry, just exasperated, but it comes out more biting than he intends.
âIt wasnât supposed to hit for another week!â Jaskier exclaims. Heâs breathing even more heavily, panting almost, pheromones so strong now Geralt is having difficulty concentrating on his wordsâtoo focused on the light sheen of sweat making his skin glow in the evening light, the way he bites his lip, the tent in his own pants. âWe were going to get to the next town, and I was going to bid you goodbye and weâd be on our merry ways, and Iâd deal with it like I always do, and we wouldnât be having this conversation!â
He takes a deep breath, and Geralt doesnât miss the soft whine that breaks out of his throatâhe can smell Geralt and the answering pheromones of an alpha responding to him, but he holds himself still (barely, by the way he leans towards Geralt).
âOutside stressors, however,â he continues, looking petulantly at the remains of the cockatrice some yards away now, âcan sometimes cause a heat to happen early.â
Geralt blinks, takes that in, and gives him his most deadpan, unimpressed look despite the way his alpha is begging to go to him and press his nose into the scent gland on Jaskierâs neck. âYou scared yourself into heat, is what youâre telling me.â
âI scared myself into my heat!â Jaskier laments, throwing up his hands in defeat. The movement wafts his scent toward Geralt, and he canât stop the growl that escapes him, low and predatory. His skin is tight over his bones, and his alpha wantsâit demands this omega beneath him, writhing and keening and stuffed full of his cock and his seed.
Mine.
Geralt wishes that thought surprised him more, but of late heâs looked at Jaskierâhis blue eyes and his soft skin, his scent that entices him instead of repelling him, his unwavering loyalty and brave spiritâand wanted it to be true.
He takes a heavy step forward, towards Jaskier, and forces himself to a halt when Jaskier sucks in a sharp breath, head tilting back in invitation. Geralt forces himself to think with his head instead of his dick.
âHow long do your heats usually last?â he asks, voice rough, almost a bark. It does nothing but make Jaskier shiver, and Geralt knows itâs not in fear (there is definitely no fear here now).
Jaskier takes a moment to think through the haze no doubt clouding his mind. âUm, four days, I guess? Longer, if Iâm just coming off suppressants, but I havenât been on those in years. Shorter with a partner.â
âHow much shorter?â
âAbout two days?â he says, like he isnât sure. âDay and a half at the shortest.â
Geralt tries to think, lust clouding his own mind (because dammit if he isnât, hasnât been, and wonât always be attracted to this idiot of an omega). Theyâre about three days out from the next town, but traveling in the middle of a heat is probably the most unpleasant thing an omega can doâimpossible, really, because theyâre nearly incapacitated with the desire to fuck.
But having a heat in the middle of goddamn nowhere with monsters roaming around and drawn to the smell of heat pheromones isnât a whole lot better.
Unlessâ
He doesnât even think as he slides his swords off his back and lets them fall to the ground at his feet. His alpha pants in anticipation, impatient. Jaskier watches him with lidded eyes as he stalks forward, coming right up to him and crowding in close. Those blue eyes flutter shut for a moment, and he leans into Geralt as he dips his head down and presses his nose to that scent gland.
âWh-what are you doing,â he gasps when Geralt places his hands on his hips, tugs him closer. Geralt noses against the gland, inhaling the scent from the source, and feels his chest rumble with a growl. He lets his nose trail lightly up the side of Jaskierâs face as he brings his head up, meeting his eyes.
âWeâre too far out to travel with you like this,â he answers, âand your pheromones will start attracting who knows what kind of beasts the longer into heat you go.â
Jaskier mewls when Geralt dips back down and licks his neck, tasting that sweet and enticing scent for himself. âBut,â he continues, voice rough with growing passion and want, need rising inside him, âtheyâll keep their distance if they smell me on you, smell you claimed. ᅵᅵ
âGods, yes, â Jaskier moans, and he tilts his head back to let Geralt at him, going boneless and weak-kneed in his arms. His own arms come up around Geraltâs shoulders, fingers sliding down his collar to dig into the skin of his neck. Geralt reaches down, grips his ass, and feels slick soaking through his pants.
They go to the ground, Geralt above Jaskier and between his legs where he rolls his hips and grinds their cocks together. Jaskier moans again and returns the motion, spreading his legs wider and urging Geralt closer by pulling on his shoulders. Geralt keeps his nose buried in his neck, teeth lightly scraping over his skin, nipping at the bolt of his jaw and his collarbones, drawing blood to the surface and leaving pinpricks of bruises.
âMine,â he growls, and Jaskier nods frantically, clawing at him in increasing desperation. It pumps through his veins, the urge to mate fuck claim mate mate mate. They struggle to get their clothes out of the way, coats and tunics discarded, belts undone and pants kicked off.
âYours,â Jaskier breathes, throwing his head back. Geralt canât resist the urge anymoreâhe bites down, sucking the skin into his mouth and worrying it between his teeth, careful not to break it. Jaskier keens, long and high-pitched.
The sun is low on the horizon, golden rays shining off the sweat on their skin as they move together, finding their rhythm. Jaskier is dripping slick, thighs covered in it, soaking the ground beneath him and Geralt as he presses his cock, hard and thick, knot already beginning to form at the base, against him.
Jaskier chokes on another mewl, thrusting up, legs around Geraltâs hips to urge him closer. â Please, please, please, â he begs, rolling his hips, his own leaking cock pressing against Geraltâs stomach, smearing precome. It makes Geraltâs cock slip against him, the tip barely breaching him before slipping away again. Geralt bites him again, snarling, and Jaskier just moans again and pulls at his shoulders. âOh, fuck, please, Geralt, just fuck me!â
âYou smell so good,â Geralt says, rough and deep. He presses hard kisses into Jaskierâs skin, tasting himâorange blossoms and honey and rainstorm and molassesâtrailing from his collarbones up his jaw to his mouth. âNever scared, just clean. Should be scared, but youâre not. Oranges and honey. Rain. Like it.â
Jaskier pulls backâand oh, no, his alpha doesnât like thatâjust enough to meet Geraltâs burning gaze, his own blue eyes shining with haze. His mouth hangs open, panting, and Geraltâs eyes are drawn to it. He watches as a tongue wets those lips, watches them move as Jaskier whispers, hotly, enticingly, demanding, âFuck me, alpha.â
Take whatâs yours, he doesnât say, but Geralt hears it. He crashes his mouth onto Jaskierâs, claiming those lips, that tongue, and fucks into him in one motion with a roll of his hips, his cock sliding into that wet heat, knot catching at the end. He swallows the keening noise Jaskier makes and keeps kissing him as he sets a hard, fast pace, skin slapping loudly in the waning evening, stars beginning to come out above them.
Itâs hot and rough and near goddamn perfect. Jaskier takes him like he was made for Geralt, like his body was crafted just to let him in and keep him there. He kisses back desperately, biting at Geraltâs mouth, licking against him to taste deeper. Geralt lets him, wants him deeper, inside him so far heâll never leave again and Geralt can protect him always.
Itâs over almost too soon, because this is just the first round of many theyâre going to have tonight.
Geralt fucks hard and deep, drawing out the most incredible sounds from Jaskierâs mouth and swallowing them right into his chest. Theyâre soaked in sweat and slick, bruises dotting Jaskierâs collarbones and neck and scratch marks sting down Geraltâs back where Jaskierâs nails had dug into him. With one particular thrust, Jaskier finally comes, shaking as he spills between them, and the smell of him and the sounds he makesâbegging, please please please fill me up alpha I want it I need itâhas him pressing in as deep as he can go and finding his own release, knot growing and locking them together, a deep, satisfied groan leaving his throat.
He slumps down minutes later, still pumping seed into Jaskier, but no longer in possession of enough strength to hold himself up. His knees are scraped from the ground, and he thinks Jaskierâs back probably feels the same, but the contented humming heâs doing as he runs fingers through Geraltâs hair says he doesnât mind.
âThat,â Jaskier says, voice breathy, âwas fantastic.â
Geralt just gives a soft hm, letting his body relax. The night air is cool, and he feels Jaskierâs skin starting to pebble as the gentle breeze catches his sweat. Theyâll need to start a fire and set up camp properly just as soon as theyâre not tied together anymore.
Jaskierâs scent has now lost that thick hint of molasses, though Geralt knows itâll be back soon. Itâs clean again, just orange blossoms and honey and rain, and he buries his nose in Jaskierâs neck again, inhaling it deeply. It makes Jaskier let out a soft sound, but he just holds Geralt tighter, and they fall into silence.
Sometime later, as Geraltâs knot finally goes down, Jaskier breaks the quiet. âI could never be scared of you. You know that.â
Geralt turns his head to peer at him, still too sated to work up much skepticism. âHm.â
Jaskier brushes hair from Geraltâs face, fingers lingering on his cheek. âAll those witcher senses, and you donât know why?â
Geralt does know. Itâs rare in this worldânothing that has a particular scent, just a...a hint of something, something natural and inherent. Itâs clean and simple and pure, uncomplicated. Different for every person who feels it.
Love on Jaskier smells like orange blossoms and honey and rainstorms.
Geralt shifts, cock slipping out of Jaskier, making him suck in a breath. He pushes himself up, worn and tired, muscles aching but in a good way. Jaskier sits up after him, making a face when come and slick rush out of him onto the ground. He wipes at the mess on his chest.
âGods, look at me! I'm filthy! Disgusting! I hate this.â
He continues muttering to himself as Geralt finds them a placeâaway from that particular spotâto set up camp. He feels Jaskierâs eyes on him as he goes to Roach and starts pulling out their supplies, trailing over his naked body shamelessly. It makes the alpha in him preen and his cock twitch again.
He gives Jaskier a look, eyebrow raised and mouth curled in a smirk. âLike what you see?â
âAlways,â Jaskier replies, meeting his eyes. He returns the smirk with one of his own. âBut thatâs not news to you, surely.â
Itâs not, but itâs nice to hear, anyway.
By the time the fire is going, Jaskierâs scent has molasses mixed in it again, and Geralt lies back and lets him sit in his lap, doing what he pleases to get himself off. They collapse together afterwards, Jaskier sprawled on top of Geralt, trailing nimble fingers, bardâs fingers, over his chest, tracing scars and other inane patterns.
âYou have ruined me for all others,â Jaskier says conversationally, dramatic as always. Geralt just grunts in response. âYou have! There is no other on this planetânor any others, Iâd imagineâthat pleasures me as you do! Is it a witcher talent or is it just you?â
Geralt reaches a hand up to Jaskierâs face, tilting his chin with a finger so that heâs looking in his eyes, and kisses him deep and lingering just to shut him up. Jaskier hums in content and lets himself be kissed.
Geralt figures itâs a decent end to a day that he knew was going to go to shit.
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Ok but why do we not have a Geraskier Cowboy/Rodeo AU?
Geralt would make an amazing cowboy â he loves his horse more than most human beings, he drifts through towns looking just to make a little money, get a little drunk, and handle that there varmint problem, and while he's not well-spoken or social, the opposite really, he's still got a heart of gold.
And Jaskier, obviously, can be a traveling musician in any genre, but the idea of him heading West to avoid a cruddy rich family Back East feels particularly apt.
Blease guys, I need this.
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In a Earth where magic exists, an immortal lineage of noble wardens is responsible for protecting magical creatures from humans.
Jaskier, the young grandson of Queen Calanthe, Poland's ancestral guardian, arrives at the small town of Blaviken, a refuge for magical beings who do not wish to have contact with humans, to complete his training as a warden.
There, in that haven of peace and safety, he'll meet strange but good people who will help him to learn and understand the true importance of his heritage and what really means to be a warden.
magical town!Geraskier AU. Sets in a not historically accurate Poland during the eighties, specifically 1984. So there will be a little bit of socialism (but decent socialism) here and a few references to WWII in a good way.
This is solely for my pure personal pleasure, so it will have an erratic update dates, sorry. But I hope you like it! Likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciate and encourage me to continue, thank you! â€
Rating: M (for the moment)
Words: 6888
Chapter: 1/of many
Characters who show up in this chapter: Jaskier (of course, is his POV), the pack of wolves, Filavandrel as a humbled lumberjack, Yennefer, Renfri and Regis. Honorable mentions to Queen Calanthe, the Seven Dwarfs, a sleepy greyhound and a happy old woman on her rocking chair.
N/A: There will be Valdo Marx X Jaskier during the course of the story, but obviously Geraskier is the endgame pair!
You can also read the chapter on AO3!
If you want to support me I have a ko-fi!
It was raining when Jaskier got off the bus, a silent drizzle, a faint curtain of mist that you couldn't see if you didn't pay attention. But the air was wet.Â
Very wet.
Surprise, Jaskier, water wets! the boy thought, moving away from the road so that the bus would not soak him when it marched over the puddles in the ditch. He stepped on the mud beyond the asphalt. The bus stop was a simple wooden post, marked with a blue metal rectangle on which the number fifty-eight had been painted white. The road had two narrow lanes, one southbound, the other northbound. And everything else around was wilderness. Green, silent, lonely, deep woods. Jaskier grunted, hung better his duffel bag over his shoulder, and pulled a small piece of paper and a compass out of the front pocket of it.
"Alright," he said aloud, before reading what it had written on the paper, already getting wet because of the rain.
From the sixth stop of bus number fifty-eight, walk west until you find a big gray oak tree. Once you have arrived, pass underneath and continue straight ahead, Blaviken will appear before you.
If you encounter the wolves don't be afraid, they'll smell your magic and probably leave you alone.
The directions were simple but not much revealing. He knew it was for safety but. Jaskier clicked his tongue, crumpled the note into a ball, put it back in the pocket and opened the compass. Tiny dips blurred the glass, but the needle pointing north indicated the direction the bus had gone, so he looked on both sides of the road, crossed to the other side, and walked straight ahead, into the trees. Soon his silhouette was lost in the mist as if he had never been there.Â
The leaves crunched under his feet with an eerie noise at every step he took. The rain seemed to drown out the sounds of the woods, but Jaskier could still hear the peep of the boldest and bravest birds not scared by a little water. The wind was weak but sharp against the boyâs wet skin, who tried in vain to dry his cheeks and forehead every few moments with his also wet sleeve. It had been stupid not to grab an umbrella, despite his grandma's advice before he had parted his way, but it had been hellishly sunny in Warsaw for being September so he had felt rebellious and had dressed up with cotton trousers and a linen shirt with a lightweight wool jacket. Now he was starting to think that he was an idiot. The weather could be part of Blaviken's protection, yes. No traveler would want to get lost in those woodlands, in the middle of nowhere near mountains full of wolves and bears. But he also could be just a silly boy who had not taken an umbrella because he thought it would be sunny all over the country at the same time. At least he had his mountain boots.
It didn't take long for Jaskier to reach the tree that said the note, a huge gray oak in the middle of the forest. The boy stopped in front of it, noticing immediately that the rain was no longer drenching him. He checked the compass one last time before closing it and putting it in the bag. Then he took a deep breath. Yes, the tree was enormous. His trunk was so broad that Jaskier would need the help of ten more people to encircle it with his arms completely. It was covered with moss and tiny mushrooms everywhere and its branches stretched in all directions high in the sky, coating all the smaller trees within meters with their leafage. And then there was the hollow, the passage. It looked like an enchanted path, like those described in fairy tales.Â
Jaskier stepped into the entrance and looked up, tightening the strap of his bag. The way under the oak was not very long so he could see the other side of the tunnel perfectly. He walked slowly through that natural corridor of wet bark and lichen, fascinated, still looking up and around, amazed with all the magical static in the atmosphere. When he reached the end of the tunnel and came out into the open air again, the sun was shining and a cool, pleasant breeze shook his hair, playfully, and dried his clothes. A huge knee-high grassy clearing, sprinkled with yellow and white flowers, opened up before him. He reached the clearing with renewed energy, making his way through the grass and flowers under the sun, suddenly feeling that he was breathing much better, that his lungs were filling up with clear, clean air. There the birds sang louder, stronger, more beautifully.
Jaskier smiled.
He was in the middle of the meadow when he heard the rustling of a branch, the brushing of bushes and leaves on his back. Jaskier turned around, feeling his heart racing.Â
His throat went dry.Â
There, by the entrance to the oak tree, stood an enormous grey wolf. The animal was easily two heads taller than Jaskier himself, who was about five feet and nine inches tall. Its fur was streaked with darker flecks, and their dark green eyes glared the boy with interest. Jaskier didn't make any move and repressed a whimper, as if he feared the animal would jump on him with the slightest hint of activity. Then a new crackle made him look, this time to his left, and see another wolf, only one head taller than Jaskier. This one had murky brown fur and its right ear torn and ripped, probably by another wolf or a bear. It was wagging its tail quickly, staring at the boy. Jaskier blinked, feeling an awful and cold sense running up his back. A third wolf equally tall as the second one, with light hazel fur, appeared near the dark brown one. Both had intense green eyes.
Then, Jaskier remembered the note.Â
And it hit him.
It was weird. Even having been born and raised in the court of one of the great queens of the wardens, among magic and elements of all kinds, even though he had to know that these wolves were not merely wolves, Jaskier felt that he was an intruder.Â
The third wolf growled, low.Â
Jaskier swallowed.
âUh, okay, alright,â he said, not sure if for himself or for the wolfs. âUh, I⊠!â he tightened the strap of his backpack again as if that could calm him. âMy name isâ" he hesitated only for a second. "Jaskier! I came to Blaviken to train as a warden, Queen Calanthe told me to come here!â he paused again, looking at all the wolfs successively as he stood still, anxious, knowing that probably the animals were smelling his nervousness. He licked his lips, feeling his throat cracked and tight and, of course, still dry. âIâm⊠Iâm sorry if I have bothered you stepping into your territory?!
The animals did not react to his words, except for the arrival of a fourth wolf, which emerged slowly among the bushes and foliage next to the big one and the oak tree. Its fur was white as freshly fallen snow, the cleanest, purest, most beautiful white that Jaskier had ever seen. It was slightly bigger than the smaller wolves, but not as large as the one in front of the tunnel. Its eyes were golden and gleamed bright and luminous, like the sun, like an endless field of mature wheat. Jaskier held his breath, looking directly at the white wolf, feeling dazzled and astounded.
It was as if time had stopped.
But then the grey wolf let out a hoarse bark, making Jaskier feel a chill, and the other three left immediately, disappearing just as they had appeared: from nowhere and in silence.Â
Jaskier exhaled all the air he was holding back, without taking his eyes off the animal. The wolf wagged his tail once, turned around and went into the trees next to the oak. The sound of paws scratching the ground, rustling leaves and twigs echoed for two seconds in the sudden silence of the clearing. Then that silence was broken by the joyful chirping of the birds and the breath of the wind.
Jaskier blinked, confused, still a little scared. He turned around as well, facing west, and ran. He did not look back even once.
* * * *
Blaviken was a little town located next to a lake nestled in a small valley between two arms of the mountain range. Jaskier discovered that because he not only had to go through the forest that hid it from the west, but he also had to go up the slope of the mountain to the entrance of the valley, where the river that drained the lake emerged from the ground a ran down the woods and the steep hills. By the time the boy reached the entrance of the canyon, the sun had already passed its zenith and was approaching the first hour of the afternoon. He stopped to rest near the road, a path full of grass that must have been carved by the wild animals.
Or the wolves.
Jaskier took a canteen out of his bag and took a sip of water. From there he could see the lake, so long that he almost couldn't discern its birth at the west; the mountains still with snow on their peaks, and the town itself. Jaskier had seen Blaviken's engravings and photographs. It was a picturesque, bucolic village, which did not seem to have changed much in centuries. It had the look of a medieval town, with a main street that was connecting the goat path and the entrance of the valley with the first houses, and was leading through the village to a central square where there was a fountain with a statue. Its houses, made of wood and stone, had two floors with smoking chimneys, orchards surrounded by small wooden fences, small sheds, barns... The more distant shacks were surrounded by larger fields of crops and fruit trees. A few horses and cows were grazing in the pastures that surrounded the village.Â
Jaskier took another sip of water and inhaled deeply. The air smelled and felt pure, fresh and lighter, healthier, than in Warsaw. In the distance, he could hear the squealing of the pigs and the rumor and echo of Blaviken's life. It seemed very peaceful... Jaskier bit his lips, put the canteen in the bag and stood up to continue the march. He knew that even though the village seemed to be close because of the slopes, the nooks and crannies, in reality it could be at least another hour's walk downhill.
He wasn't wrong, it took him an hour and a half to get to Blaviken.Â
There weren't many people at the entrance to the town. The first houses looked more like huts and storage sheds than real houses. A man with long blond hair tied in a ponytail and dressed with thick work pants and flannel shirt, was cutting wood near the main street road, next to one of the shacks. A pile of perfectly cut logs was piled against the wall of the shed, along with other smaller pieces made into more manageable firewood. A few hens with their chicks were pecking at the ground, paying no attention to any passers-by. A black dog, a greyhound, with a collar made of a leather band was lying, merrily asleep, not far from the log cabin. Jaskier took a deep breath and approached the man, being careful enough not to do it from behind.
"Excuse me?" he said.
The man, who had just finished splintering the log he was busy with, stopped, stood up with his axe in his hand and looked at the boy. Then Jaskier saw his pointy ears and noticed his strangely beautiful features, halfway between roughness and delicacy, and his so intense raven eyes. Jaskier blinked. The man, the elf, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, narrowing his eyes a little.
"You're the kid, aren't you?"
His voice was melodious, like thick honey sliding down a wooden spoon. Jaskier cleared his throat.
"Uh... yes, I suppose?" he frowned, confused. "Could you tell me where Renfri lives?Â
 The elf nodded and turned a bit towards the main street.
"Go straight on to the square, the house with the red roof is hers, you can't miss it," he said.
Jaskier peeked out a little. The road, even though it was the main artery of the village, was not very wide. From there you could see the fountain with the statue, but not much more.Â
"Thank you, uh..."
The elf smiled warmly.
"Filavandrel,"
Jaskier looked and smiled back at him.
"Jaskier,"
Filavandrel nodded again. He was watching Jaskier a bit curious, inquisitive. Jaskier parted his lips, feeling as the elf knew something he didn't quite understand. He was about to ask if there was something wrong when Filavandrel turned around to clean the supporting trunk of the pieces he had cut off and put a new log on top. He picked up the axe and cut it cleanly in half. Jaskier made a tired sound and headed for the square.
"Thank you again,"
Behind his back, Filavandrel continued with his task and responded:
"See you around!"
Jaskier advanced step by step down the street, trying not to look around too much as if it were the first time he had set foot there. It didn't matter anyway because every person who crossed his path gave him an odd look, except for a few groups of random kids who were more interested in his current games than in a stranger. The village was tiny, Jaskier knew that one glance was enough for everyone to know that he was the new face.
The new toyÂ
The toy
Jaskier flinched and made a grimace at the thought.
The square was wide and long as four houses together, surely buildings for more important things than storing wood or food. The central fountain was an oval structure, made of very old stone eaten away by the years. Several springs of water flowed from the pipes rooted in the pedestal of the sculpture that adorned the fountain. Jaskier stopped for a moment to admire it. It was made of bronze, already rusty with green, and depicted eight figures, five women and three men. Seven of the statues were smaller than the eighth, located in the center of the pedestal, and they held up both rifles and swords with a defensive, dignified, and heroic attitude. They wore clothes that were at least forty years old. Jaskier held his breath for a second. The eighth figure was a young woman whose impressively realistic expression denoted loneliness and sadness. She also wore old-fashioned clothing from decades ago, on which she had a hooded cloak clasped with a fancy brooch. She carried a spear and a gun in a defeated stance. Jaskier looked down and saw a plaque, made of degraded bronze too, which read:
In memory of the brave men and women
who protected Blaviken from the nazis
The boy blinked. And then his eyes started to sting. He contemplated the memorial for a long time, in silence, unaware of the people, both those who were passing by and those who were quietly at the doors of their houses chatting with their neighbors or simply resting, that were staring at him more and more curiously.Â
"Hello,"
A soft, gentle voice drove Jaskier from his thoughts. As he looked at, Jaskier saw a deformed hunchback girl with black, wavy hair, pale skin, and absurdly beautiful lilac-colored eyes. She was wearing a brown woolen dress and a blue apron with a pocket from which hung a bouquet of flowers and several colored rags, and carrying a large earthenware jar in her arms which she started to fill it under one of the pipes.
"Oh, uh, hello," Jaskier replied. Then the girl looked away from him to see how much she was filling the container. Jaskier contemplated her with genuine interest as if her task was the most interesting thing in the world. "So it's potable, the water, right?" he said a little awkward.
She giggled, still not looking at him, attentive to her chore.
"Yes, it's from the mountain, "
"Ah,"
"The pedestal also has a purifier,"
"Oh," Jaskier glance at the pipes. "Oh, yeah, right,"
The boy was silent then, not exactly uncomfortable, and certainly not quite sure if the girl wanted something from him or she just had greeted him because in little towns everyone greeted everyone whether they knew them or not. Jaskier wondered what kind of creature she was. It was, and it would be, very rude to ask that to someone you had just met, and Jaskier didn't have enough experience or expertise to guess the nature of a creature by sight alone yet. His grandmother could do that even with her eyes closed, only by analyzing the magical pulse and the auras around someone.
"So... can I ask your name?" Jaskier said, watching the water pouring into the jar, again as if it was terribly interesting.Â
He knew he only had to walk away with a 'see you later' to go and find Renfri, but he was going to live there all year round, so it was all right to have a little chat with the rest of the locals if he has the chance. And she had been kind enough to address him without pointing out that he was new around even if it was something so obvious.
"Yes, of course," she looked up, with those stunningly beautiful purple eyes that were smiling even if she wasn't. A warm feeling ran down his back and he felt much better, less nervous and more relaxed. "Iâm Yennefer, but you can call me Yen if you want, is what my friends call me,â
âOh,â Jaskier raised his eyebrows. âThatâs⊠Are you sure? You have just met me, I'm not exactly your friend,â
"Right, but you're going to be our warden, so..."
"Well, technically I'm an apprenticeâwait, how do you know?" Jasper arched his eyebrows.
"Oh, I just know," she smiled and raised the jar to the thick edge of the fountain. Then she embraced it and lifted it with some effort.
"H-Hey, do you want me to help you?" Jaskier took two steps towards her, almost extending his hands to help her hold her load.
Yennefer shook his head without being bothered by the weight at all.
"Don't worry, I can handle it myself,â she said, cheerfully and definitely not annoyed, and starting to walk away. "See you later, Jaskier"
Jaskier blinked without answering and watcher her until she disappeared around the corner from the southbound street.Â
What the hell has just happened?
When he looked to one of the nearby houses, he saw an old woman sitting in a rocking chair, who chose that exact moment to wave jovially at him. Jaskier blinked again and waved back, perplex. Then he shook his head and headed for the red-roofed building.Â
It was like every other house in the village, made of stone and wood with two floors. Its windows were half-open, with curtains of floral motifs full of patches. Jaskier looked up in case he saw anything through the windows, but the curtains were flapping with the breeze and blocking the view, so he went to the door and raised his hand to knock. He stopped at the sight of the heavy, corroded iron knocker shaped like a sun half-hidden by a moon. He touched it, lost, feeling that the shape was familiar somehow. But he didn't think much more about it and knocked three times with blows that sounded hard and cavernous.
He waited.
And waited.
And when it was clear that nobody was home, Jaskier pouted for himself and turned around.
"If you are looking for Renfri she is in the tavern right now!" The old woman on the rocking chair exclaimed without stopping its swing.
Jaskier looked at her, feeling dumb.
"Oh, oh, thanks!" he said and asked immediately after. "Errrr, sorry⊠where's the tavern?"
He saw the smile spreading on her wrinkly lips.
"Across the square, that building with the little cute drawing of a tankard hanging over the door!" she replied.
Jaskier nodded, trying then to appear confident, and bowed too much pompous and grandiloquent.
"Thanks, nice old lady!" he said.
"You're welcome, young man!"
Jaskier snorted, hung better his bag, and walked towards the aforementioned edifice. It was another house almost indistinguishable from the others except for that sign hanging over the door like in the soap opera stories about Robin Hood. He could hear voices coming from inside. Jaskier took a deep breath and walked in as if he were putting his hand into the mouth of a bear.Â
The interior of the bar was exactly like the taverns that could be seen in the few films that the polish government agreed to show in cinemas: a long wooden counter that looked old and worn but was actually very well cared for, long tables for several people, round tables for smaller groups, barrels and bottles behind the counter. The tiny modern touches that broke the illusion consisted of an old TV placed on a shelf full of glass bottles next to the most visible wall of the establishment, the beer dispensers, the radio on the shelves behind the counter, and some photographs, both in black and white and in color, of the town and the surrounding area. On the TV there was what appeared to be a match with the polish national football team, and it seemed to have the few customers engrossed with it. Jaskier took a quick glance at the screen and slowly approached the counter. Behind it was an older-looking man with short gray hair, very pale skin and dark eyes. His features were sharp, hard, as if he were rock polished by time. He was dressed soberly but elegantly, with clothes that did not quite fit in a place like that. When the man looked at him, serious and severe, Jaskier felt a huge, dense weight on his shoulders, as if someone suddenly sat on him and would not let him breathe. But that feeling immediately faded as the barman, who was drying a line of glasses, raised his eyebrows weakly and blinked.Â
Jaskier swallowed, thinking that those eyes looked terribly deep and old. And that they knew everything.
"You are the boy," the man said.Â
The clients hissed in frustration and disgust, still oblivious to Jaskier's arrival.
"Uhm...yes?" Jaskier said, feeling he was repeating himself. "I was looking for Renfri, someone told me she was here," he said, glancing around.
He didn't need to be told who Renfri was. Jaskier immediately located the woman, sitting at one of the small round tables farthest from the door and the television cabinet. She was half lying on the table, with a metal cup in her outstretched hand and her face resting on the other arm, as if she were...
"Is she... drunk?" Jaskier asked.
The man sighed, resigned.
"Luckily not, no, not yet," he replied.
"Not yet," Jaskier repeated.
The barman made a sad grimace but didnât add anything more about it. Instead, he said:
"Sit with her, you must be tired from the journey,"
Jaskier let out a deep exhausted, and only a little dramatic, sigh.
"A little, yes, this place hasn't exactly been easy to find,"
The man smiled.
"Do you want something to drink?" he asked.
Jaskier put one arm on the counter, glancing at the barrels behind it, searching.
"Do you have Tyskie?" he inquired.Â
Then he noticed the smell. He knew it was coming from the owner of the bar. It was a heavy, not entirely unpleasant smell, a mixture of thick, wet earth and lavender, a curiously unique perfume for a man. Jaskier swallowed. The bartender grimaced and picked up a clean tankard from under the counter. He went to the dispensers and placed it at a certain angle under one of them.
"I assume you're legal, right?" he said.
"Well, technically I'm forty-eight, if that doesn't make me legal..." Jaskier shrugged, trying to inhale not too hard.
The man pulled the lever on the dispenser, shaking his head with a snort.
"In human terms, yes, but if we calculate your real age you would be about... what, eighteen, nineteen years old? You almost didn't pass,"
"What can I say?"
The man poured the beer, a fresh pint with a crown of white foam. Jaskier grabbed the tankard with both hands and started to head for Renfri's table, from where she hadn't moved an inch. A wave of whispers and hisses indicated that a play in the match had not gone well.
"Thank you, sir,"
"No, no formalities. You're going to be spending a lot of time here, you call me Regis, "
Well, that's...
"Sure, thanks, Regis,"
Jaskier sat quietly at Renfri's table, leaving his tankard in the gap that she did not occupy with her body and arm. As soon as he touched the table surface, Renfri raised her head like a cat caught by surprise. Jaskier stared at her, taking a sip of his beer as she narrowed her eyes, slowly, and wrinkled her nose, finally rising to rest her back on the chair. She looked exactly the same as in the fountain sculpture, with slightly longer hair, a more wavy mane. But his eyes were just as sad.
Terribly sad.
The two watched each other silently for minutes, Jaskier sipping from his tankard, and Renfri holding her metal cup, making no attempt to drink from it, if there was any drink left. From the corner of his eye, Jaskier saw Regis and various of the clients who had been watching the game up until then, were very attentive to them. Jaskier licked his lips and clicked his tongue, not taking his eyes off the woman who had to train him in the ancient arts of the wardens from that day forward. He thought his grandmother had a slightly strange sense of humor, sending him to a little town like that, and to a warden with alcohol problems.
He couldnât blame her, though, if he had the statue in mind.
But still...
âSoâŠâ he said, realizing that she wasn't going to be the one to break the ice first. He also noticed that she was looking at him in a very cautious way, scrutinizing him as if she was taking note of each and every one of his features, the color of his eyes, the shape of his face, the arch of his nose, the curve of his lips, or was estimating the number of moles he could have, or looking for the exact words to describe the color of his hair. âIâm hereâŠâ
Jaskier counted five seconds. When he was about to open his mouth again, the woman spoke and her voice sounded also tired and exhausted, though definitely sober thanks to God.
âYeah, you are here,â she scoffed, blinked slowly and made a weak grimace. Then she drank from her cup and whipped the remained drops off her lips with the back of her hand âLet's make this easy, okay?â
âOkay?â Jaskier raised his eyebrows.
âThere's not much to do in this place really, but since the queen is so interested in you finishing your training here, I'll do my best to fulfill her wish,"
Jaskier noticed the clear, perfect tone of sarcasm in her voice as if she was deeply annoyed that Calanthe had sent him there and didn't like the idea at all. He felt a bitter, awful sensation in the pit of his stomach and swallowed hard. It hurt him as if he had a stone stuck in his throat.
âOkay,â he said, lower.
She huffed.
"Today it's late and I've finished all the tasks, but tomorrow morning I'll start teaching you. I usually get up at sunrise, so I expect you to do the same,"
âOkay,â
Then she smiled leaned a little over the table, resting her arms on it.
"So... everythingâs okay?"
Jaskier blinked, baffled.
"Uh⊠yes?"
"Has anyone said anything to you?"
"Uh... No?"
Renfri glanced at the rest of the bar. Jaskier followed her gaze. The clients turned around on their seats immediately, except for Regis, who slowly looked down with a sigh. More and more Jaskier had the feeling that something was going on or people knew something he didn't understand. And it was starting to get a little bit annoying for him.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
Renfri looked at him with a flat and apparently disinterested expression.
"Nothing," she replied. "As I was saying, rules. Luckily for both of us, I have two bathrooms at home, yours is upstairs. Take a bath before you go to sleep, you won't have time in the morning. We have access to hot water but don't waste it or I'll kill you, do you understand?"
"Yes,"
"Good," Renfri took another sip from her cup, pensive. Jaskier did the same, staring at her intently. "We'll have breakfast here at the bar, then we'll start with the routine duties. At noon weâll eat here again and continue until we finish whatever needs to be done. There are days when you finish early, but others..." she grimaced.
"Yeah, sure, I understand,"
"Don't worry, kid, you'll do fine. As I said, there's not much to do really, it's a small town,"
Jaskier nodded and took the last drink, then reached into the pockets of the bag, looking for the purse. Renfri snorted.
"Don't bother, we barely use money here," she said.
"Butâ"
"You'll pay him with your wardenship, it works that way,"
Jaskier arched an eyebrow.
"Let me guess, everyone lets you pay by doing your job,"
For the first time since he had sat at Renfri's table, Jaskier saw the outline of a faint, small smile on her lips.
"You'll understand," she mumbled. Then she handed him her cup and waved him up. "Go on, be a good boy and get me more drink, and ask Regis to make us dinner,"
Jaskier pursed his lips, took his tankard and Renfriâs cup and went to the counter, where Regis was still drying glasses as if seconds before he hadn't been watching them.
"She wantsâ" Jaskier started to say.
"I know, I heard her, don't worry," Regis put down the rag and the glass in his hands, took Jaskier's cup and tankard and brought new ones. When Jaskier looked at him he saw his old, tired eyes and felt a wave, like a vibration in the air, of concern that sent a chill down his back. Regis sighed again. "You'll have to be patient with her, it's the first timeâ" The man hesitated for a second, as if he was looking for the right words. "It's the first time she has an apprentice,"
Jaskier blinked, suppressing the urge to look at her. A little further down the line, at the end of the counter, the spectators at the game were cheering their team on to score. Jaskier clicked his tongue.
"I see..." he whispered.
Was that it? Am I the first student she has?
"Do you like leek soup?" Regis asked then, leaving the new drinks in front of the boy.
Jaskier blinked, and thought about how little he had eaten soup in his life just because his grandmother didn't let the cooks prepare lower class meals in the palace.
"Sure," he said, nodding enthusiastically.
He took the cup and the tankard and brought them to Renfri's table, which was waiting impatiently for his return. The woman took her drink with energy and gave a sip. Jaskier sighed.
They drank in relative silence, Renfri more and more concentrated in her cup and Jaskier feeling more and more tired, both from the trip and from the alcohol. By the time Regis brought each of them a bowl of soup, both were lost in their own thoughts. The man gave them a silent glance before giving them the spoons and returning to the counter. The bar had been left empty, with the game about to end and the few remaining customers marching home for dinner.Â
Jaskier tasted a spoonful of soup after blowing on it a little and found a myriad of flavors so strong and delicious that he thought it was probably the best soup in the world. Not only did he notice the leek, but there was also potato, carrot, onion, he even rosemary and pepper, all perfectly mixed together. The soup wasn't quite broth, it was thick enough to melt in your mouth. After a whole trip based on cold meat sandwiches, that first hot meal in Blaviken would be forever his favorite.
Jaskier might have cried for joy if he hadn't had Renfri watching him over her own bowl with a strange expression. Jaskier swallowed the soup and looked at her.
"What?" he inquired.
Renfri instantly looked down, at his own food. She did not answer. The boy pressed his lips and stirred the soup with the spoon, watching the potato and leek lumps go around. He ate one, thinking. As he swallowed, he looked up again.
"Renfri?" he said.
"Hm?" She made no attempt to pay more attention to him.
"Can I ask you something?"
She shrugged.
"What's up?"
Jaskier licked his lips, feeling the taste of the soup. He took a deep breath.
"On my way here, after crossing the tree passage... I came across four giant wolves. They were... Are they from here, from Blaviken?"
Renfri took a quick and⊠a curious look at him.
"Yes, of course they're from here. You noticed they weren't normal, right?"
"Well, yes," Jaskier stirred in his seat. "So they're werewolves?"
She nodded.
"Vesemir and his pups, they help me to patrol Blaviken's territory. It's pretty huge and it would take me weeks by myself. If you saw them at the tree entrance they'll be back in two or three days,"
"Ah,"
"I'll introduce you to them when they get back, although... they probably know you better than you know them by now,"
"Oh, yeah? How?" He sounded more interested than concerned.
"The smell. There's no one in all of Blaviken with a better sense of smell. Vesemir could track you back to Warsaw if he wanted to. And in the rain. If you've seen them, they'll have smelled you enough to know your trouser size,â
Jaskier whimpered and took another spoonful. So he had made a bit of a fool of himself in that clearing. Renfri snorted.
"Don't worry, they're wolves, the most harmless and friendly creatures in town,"
"Really?"
"Really,"
"Regis doesn't look dangerous," Jaskier said, pointing his head at the bartender.
Renfri snorted again and leaned over the table a little and lower her voice.
"Regis could break you in half, though before that he'd sink his fangs into your neck and drink all your blood in one gulp,"
Jaskier opened his eyes wide and arched his eyebrows, suddenly feeling his throat dry. Of course, the smell of earth...
"I wouldn't do that, don't be absurd," Regis said from the counter. Jaskier looked at him. Although the man had the same calm expression as before, the boy noticed the irritation in his tone of voice. "Don't put such old-fashioned ideas into the kid, please,"
"But is it true?" Jaskier held his breath, turning in his seat to look at the man.
Then Renfri burst into a clean, heartfelt laugh that somehow that made Jaskier's heart skip a beat.Â
"What?" Regis asked.
"Could you break a person in half? Or drink their blood in one gulp?"
Regis looked at him in complete and utter disbelief, and resignation. Renfri's laughter slowly faded. He gave Renfri an annoying look for instigating such questions and then grunted.Â
"I could. Split someone in half I mean. Drink five liters of blood in one sitting? No, ancestors no. And I wouldn't sink my teeth into your neck either, there's too much muscle to go through. If I wanted to drink someone else's blood, I would first ask them nicely and then, if they said yes, I would drink from their wrist, or forearm,"
"What a gentleman," Renfri mocked, eating his soup.
"Oh, shut up, Renfri,"
She laughed again, much shorter and lower than before. Jaskier felt excited.
A pack of werewolves
A vampire
An elf
And whatever Yennefer was.
He had known from the beginning that this town was a refuge for magical creatures, but he had imagined goblins, elves, yes, okay, maybe some trolls, but werewolves, vampires? All he knew about them was from reading books that not even his tutors wanted him to read.
"Hey, don't look so excited and finish eating that, you'll want to go to bed early tonight," Renfri said, pointing him with her spoon.
Jaskier bit his lips, thinking fast and concentrated on eating what was left of the soup and drinking the beer. Renfri grunted approvingly and ended up with his own dinner.
By the time they left the tavern, it was already dark and there was no one left on the street. The sound of the animals in the village had turned into a silence broken only by the singing of the crickets and the sound of the families finishing their own dinners. There was little light, no lamppost. When Jaskier looked up, he could see the dark blue and purple sky dotted with millions of twinkling stars. He did not need to make an effort to discern the trail of the Milky Way over the lake.
He had never seen it before.
It was beautiful.
"Hey,"
Renfri got his attention. Jaskier swallowed, stopped gawking at the sky, and walked faster to follow in his master's footsteps. Once in the square and in front of the red-roofed house, Renfri took a rather large and quirky key out of his pocket. He opened the door with it.
Inside, the house looked like a ghost hostel.Â
Jaskier didn't have time to explore much, Renfri made him climb the stairs, made of crisp, dry wood, up to the second floor. There, in addition to the aforementioned second bathroom, there was a corridor with seven little rooms where, with luck, a bed would fit. In some of them there were small closets. Jaskier chose one of the rooms with a wardrobe, which had one of the windows with flower curtains overlooking the square.
"Remember, at dawn," Renfri said, before he went down the stairs back to the bottom floor.
Inside his new tiny room, Jaskier heard the sound of a door closing. When he was sure Renfri would not return, he sighed deeply, left his bag on the bed, a mattress with no sheets or blankets ready, and closed the window. He also drew the curtains. The window faced north, so it wouldn't get much light during the day, but.
He didn't think he'd be spending much time in that room anyway.
He took the bag off the bed and opened the closet. He found several bed sets, so he picked the first one in the pile and he laid out the sheets, the pillow, and the quilt. Then he opened his bag and took out what little clothing he had brought with him. Only clothes, no personal belongings that were not strictly necessary. He found his toothbrush and toothpaste at the bottom of the bag, along with the hairbrush. Jaskier brushed his teeth while filling the bathtub. He was grateful to find soap in the bathroom cabinet. He also took note of the first aid supplies he had. He assumed Renfri didn't spend much time in the house either, judging by how poorly conditioned it was. It didn't matter. Jaskier took a towel and his pajamas into the bathroom.Â
It took him a lot less time than it used to at home to take a bath, and not because he was sleepy.
When he came out of the bathroom, with his pajamas on and the towel over his shoulders, he walked down the hall and past the empty rooms quickly to his own. He closed the door and breathed a long sigh. Even if he did not smell closed or old, or a house that had not been used in a long time, Jaskier sensed an energetic tension in there.Â
He couldn't explain what it was.
Bit it was⊠nasty.
He turned off the light and got into bed looking at the door. There was silence, a tight silence. Jaskier gripped the sheets with his fingers. With all his senses alert, he only heard that silence. Not the crickets outside, not Renfri at the bottom floor. He held his breath.
But he was tired, so he soon closed his eyes, and his mind wandered into forests full of crisp leaves, vampires serving beer, and golden-eyed white wolves. It was fast.
That night Jaskier did not dream, exhausted, and slept soundly.
So soundly that he did not notice that, after midnight, the door of his room opened slowly with a faint squeak and stayed open all night.
#geraskier#the witcher#the witcher au#wardens of magic#geralt of rivia#jaskier#my fanfiction#geralt x jaskier#geralt x dandelion#dandelion#gerlion
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a scrapped excerpt from the upcoming third chapter of my East of the Sun, West of the Moon Geraskier AU - the second chapter just went up today, will reblog with the link
[B]ut he didnât leave the piano either, letting his fingers dance gently over the keys instead, humming softly to the new tune he played. Eventually he found a rhythm to it, found the series of chords that felt right, and he began to put lyrics to the notes, murmuring them quietly to himself, a song about snow and the roots and seeds that lay below the frozen earth, waiting to bloom in the sun they could only hope would come.
When he felt the song was done, he did stand, turning to find a pencil and some paper and stumbling back to see the wolf standing in the doorway, staring as if he could see right through him. âIs there something I can do for you, or are you just going to stand there ominously?â
Wanted to listen. The wolf had the grace to look marginally chagrined, at least, which only served to embolden Jaskier.
âRight, well, showâs over and I need to write that down before I forget it, so if youâll excuse me.â He opened the door wider, pushing brazenly past the wolf, figuring if it hadnât killed him yet it was unlikely to do so now, and going back to his room. He fished through his pack for his journal and a pencil, opening to the first blank page and pausing, pencil poised above the page in his shaking hand. The facing page held a sketch Natalia had done when he had first visited her after Cecyliaâs birth, of him holding his infant niece like she was the most precious thing in the entire world. A sob choked its way from his throat, tears blurring the sketch from his vision even as he traced his fingertips over the pen strokes. The full weight of all he had lost hit him like a physical blow to the chest, squeezing his heart behind his ribcage, and he crumpled to the floor, wracked with sobs.
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Since Iâm actually starting to enjoy writing again I thought Iâd treat myself to something I always love: some AUs! :D
Back in August 2019 I wrote 31 unique pairing/AU combos for DBH, and Iâve decided to do that again for the Witcher! I made a list of 30 AUs and 30 pairings and mashed them together for maximum challenge fun. I wonât be publishing every day cause thatâs just not reasonable for me rn, but Iâll just keep chipping away at it till theyâre all gone c:
Without further ado, here is the list Iâll be working with:
Modern Witchers AU: Geralt/Renfri
Role reversal AU: Ciri/Cerys
Wild west AU: Lambden
Tolkien AU: Geraskier
Robot AU: Yennskier
Steampunk AU: Yenralt
Angel and Demon AU: Geskel
Cryptid/ghost hunter AU: Lamskel
Youtuber AU: Geralt & Ciri
Bodyguard AU: Geralt/Borch
Succubus AU: Lambert/Eskel/Cahir/Aiden
College AU: Eist/Calanthe
Coffeeshop AU: Platonic wolfpack
Popstar AU: Geralt/Regis
Merpeople AU: Fringilla/Renfri
Farmerâs Market AU: Jaskier/Vesemir
Home renovator AU: Yennefer/Istredd
Pirate AU: Jaskier/Filavandrel
Detective AU: Keira Metz/Lambert
Reincarnation AU: Yennefer/Tissaia
Elder gods AU: Vesemir/Luka
Gothic prairie horror AU: Geralt/Triss
Fandom AU: Fringilla & Cahir
Onlyfans AU: Geraskefer
Shapeshifter AU: Jaskier & Yennefer
Petshop AU: Trisskel
Spy AU: Jaskier/Chireaden
Equestrian AU: Vesemir/Filavandrel
Long distance AU: Trissefer
Biker AU: Yengilla
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BACK TO WEST Â - Geraskier modern AU
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ã«åºãç©èªã§ãã â»å·Šå³è¡šèšã¯ãã²ã©/ã€ã¹ããã®ã²ã©/ã€ã¹/ã²ã©(ãªã)ã§ããïŒãã®ç©èªäžã§ã¯ã²ã©/ã€ã¹ã®éšåã®ã¿ã«ãªããŸããããããããŠãããŸããïŒ
Chapter 1ãé»è²ã®ãŽãåéè»
Chapter 2ãæ
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Chapter 4ããã³ã°ãªãŒããŒã
#geraskier#modern au#Back to West - geraskier au#australia#road trip#this fic is written in only Japanese sorry#wish i could translate my fanfic into English
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BACK TO WEST Â 4 Â - Geraskier modern AU
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BACK TO WESTÂ Â 3Â Â - Geraskier modern AU
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