#'i told you julian for the last time i just want to be a warrior like jace!!! i'm not in love with him!!!'

[obsessioncollector]

hi!! I wanted to thank you for all the notes on my little book blog, your vibes are excellent and I'm honored that you're following me <3 would you like to tell me about some of your favorite books, or recent reads that you really enjoyed?

hi! this is so sweet omg, also i just saw your post about the sparrow--i've been meaning to read it and now i really have to!!

I recently did a post with my faves from this year so far (here), so I won't repeat the books I mentioned there but I have lots of favorites so I'm happy to have the chance to mention more! I added a little about each book for context but my blurbs do not give them justice at all, I just didn't want to throw a bunch of titles with no explanation at you :) Under the cut bc it's a long list w/ the blurbs.

EDIT WAIT IM SO DUMB I FORGOT TO SAY THAT MY GOATS ARE NABOKOV, DOSTOEVSKY, [TONI] MORRISON. I didn't want to mention all the books I loved by them bc that would take forever but yeah they are the best <3

FICTION:

The Woman Warrior by Maxine Hong Kingston: Just re-read this one after several years and it’s even better than I remembered. Comprised of several shorter stories based on stories the Kingston’s mother told her about her relatives in China growing up, with Kingston imagining her own version of these family legends. The final story captures the fear and anxiety and shame of childhood so well &lt;3

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson: An old favorite. Centered on 18-year-old Mary Katherine Blackwood, who lives with her older sister Constance and sickly uncle Julian after the mysterious deaths of the rest of her family. Oddly tender considering that premise :)

Season of Migration to the North by Tayeb Salih: Read this one in a single day—among its many wonderful qualities, it’s a page-turner! Reminds me of psychological thriller movies. It’s narrated by a Sudanese man who has recently returned to his hometown after spending time in Europe. Back home, he meets a mysterious stranger who’s also been to Europe and becomes obsessed with him.

The Lover by Marguerite Duras: Based on Duras’s relationship with an adult Chinese man when she was a teenager growing up in colonial Vietnam, but despite the title, it’s clearly focused on the teen girl character. Reflective and haunting.

The Moor's Last Sigh by Salman Rushdie: Better than Midnight’s Children imo. Rushdie’s books are always tough to summarize I think, the plots are often convoluted and yet they’re also more than the sum of their parts. This one is about the son of a wealthy Indian family divided by a conflict between the businessman father and pioneering artist mother.

The Setting Sun by Osamu Dazai: Dazai is one of those male artists who captures young women surprisingly well. This short novel is centered on a woman from a fading aristocratic Japanese family. So emotional and quietly eloquent.

The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood: Absolute classic of the stories-about-stories subgenre. The protagonist’s sister was a writer who died young with a devoted feminist following, and the protagonist resents others’ attempts to capture her sister’s legacy. Coming-of-age as she recounts growing up with her sister, but also intersperses the sister’s work.

Trieste by Daša Drndić: Centered on an elderly Italian Jewish woman haunted by her family’s complicity in the fascist order around them. Drndić’s body of work often focuses on characters obsessed with historical atrocities and is consistently fascinating, but this is my favorite of hers.

The Complete Stories by Clarice Lispector: For the longest time I felt like everyone was telling me to read Clarice Lispector and I did and yet her novels did not click for me! These stories finally made me a Lispector stan—gotta reread her novels now :) Hard to sum up since it’s a long collection, but completely worth it.

Cursed Bunny by Bora Chung: I’m biased bc I saw Bora Chung speak and she seems like such a sweet and modest and offbeat-in-a-good-way person—would be a good tumblr mutual :) But I loved this collection even before then, it’s surreal and haunting and most of the stories don’t sound like they’d work on paper but they absolutely do.

NONFICTION (I am actually a fraud when it comes to nonfiction bc I’m a novel girl at heart but some books I love…):

Twelve Who Ruled by R.R. Palmer: I just started re-reading this after a couple of years, it’s so fascinating! It’s history centered on the twelve members of the Committee of Public Safety during the French Revolution. Super interesting period in history IMO and the book is also a great study of personalities, it makes me want to write my own (fictional) characters lol.

Literature and Evil by Georges Bataille: A collection of essays on the works of a variety of writers—Blake, Kafka, Proust, etc., all the good guys.

A Little Devil in America by Hanif Abdurraqib: THE music book. It’s a collection of essays around the theme of Black music in the US. Abdurraqib’s writing is so eloquent and touching, and whether I knew the musicians’ work well or not, I loved all the essays. He does a great job of interspersing the musicians’ stories and their significance with his own perspective and experiences.

Black Reconstruction in America by W.E.B. Du Bois: Extremely important from a historical perspective--Du Bois eviscerated the dominant racist + neo-Confederate school of historiography regarding Reconstruction in the U.S. Also just incredibly well-written--since it's a technical work, it can be tedious with the statistics etc at points, but Du Bois's prose is so stunning. The chapter “Transubstantiation of a Poor White,” focused on Andrew Johnson, is absolutely brutal (complimentary.)

Fear and Trembling by Søren Kierkegaard: Kierkegaard is so fascinating, this is a daunting read (at least to me) but totally worth it. You do not have to be Christian to be a Kierkegaard enjoyer :) It’s focused on the Biblical story of Abraham almost sacrificing his son Isaac, but also tackles much more.

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Hart and Hunter - Chapter 5 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Julian Hart

"I really am fine."

Frowning, he lifts his shirt over his head without answering, exposing a broad expanse of muscled shoulders and ridged abs and a memory surfaces as arousal and annoyance mingle in my mind.

"Hey, remember when we'd just met and I read the body by the river?"

He tosses his shirt aside.

"Of course."

"Remember how you thought I was having a seizure or something and then I almost puked on your shoes and then I fell asleep in your car and you forgot me for five hours? I was fine then, too."

He fixes me with an amber stare.

"I didn't forget you," his voice is deep and a little rough and I hear a trace of Wolf in it, as if he'd already begun his Shift.

"What was that?"

My smile fades as he steps towards me, pinning me in place with the force of his full attention.

He stops when we're so close I feel the heat coming off him and rests his hand on the center of my chest.

"Before I brought you to that scene, you told me something, Julian. You told me you couldn't drive after a reading like that and if I wanted you to read the victim, you'd be my responsibility afterward. Wolves take responsibility very seriously. I didn't forget you. I was worried."

My eyes go wide and my face flushes with warmth.

All this time, I'd thought he was such a jerk that day, when really...

"Even then?" I whisper and he nods.

"Yes. I was worried, and already a little bit in love with you, even then."

"Shit."

I blink, wipe my eyes, and laugh to break the tension.

"I knew I was a lucky guy but..."

"You're not the lucky guy, Julian, I am," he says, smiling at last as he lifts his hand from my chest and cups the sides of my face.

"I count my blessings every day... the first is always that I met you and the second that I have you as my own."

I stare at him, a little breathless with the unexpected depth of honesty and laugh again just to lighten the mood.

"Wow. If we weren't already mated, I'd expect a ring or something."

He lifts a brow.

"That could be arranged."

"Alright, smooth talker."

I laugh, resting my hands on his chest in turn.

"You win. For now."

"Just for now, huh?"

"Enjoy it while you can."

He slips his hand around the back of my neck and kisses me with a deep and possessive heat that leaves me a little breathless and weak.

"I plan to," he says and then he's gone, leaving me wanting more.

He got his way this time but that's okay.

I'm not so stubborn that I can't give in now and then.

Besides, I have my own angle on the case.

I haven't thought about my Dad in months, which isn't saying much.

Before last year, I hardly thought about him at all.

I was a little kid when he died but I barely remembered him and growing up without a Dad hadn't bothered me all that much.

I'd believed what my Mom believed... what she still believed, that he'd suffered from a mental illness and that he'd wanted nothing to do with me or my Mom.

In fact, he'd sent us away to keep us safe when Henry Foley, the same man who would one day hunt me, had come after him.

Unlike me, though... he hadn't had werewolves and Shifters and Fae warriors to fight at his side and he'd been driven to an impossible choice.

Rather than let a twisted monster take his heart and consume his power, he'd taken his own life and taken his secrets with him to the grave.

All his secrets save one, that is.

He'd left me a book, written in Fae runes, which I'd only received the year before.

It had unlocked my Fae abilities and helped save my life when Henry came after me, hoping to take from me what my dad had denied him.

I'd 'read' the book with my ability but I still couldn't read its rune-covered pages.

Dane's younger brother, Noah, could though.

He'd translated enough of it to tell me it was my father's mother's journal, and that she had been a Leannan Sídhe... a Fae bound to grant her lover his greatest desire or else to die.

He'd offered to translate the rest of it but after what happened last year, I'd been eager to get back to 'normal' and I'd put it aside.

Maybe it was time to revisit it because I'm pretty sure the symbols in Wong and Lagrange's shops are Fae letters of some kind.

I dig it out of the closet and sit on the bed, brushing my fingertips across the worn cover.

It's small, pocket-diary sized, bound in leather and slim.

Opening it, I run my fingers down the ink-covered pages, studying the runic lettering.

It makes no sense to my eyes, so I shut them and open my mind.

It's dark but a full moon rides high overhead, washing the world in its silver glare.

A rushing sound fills my ears... water falling in great volumes from a height... and a fine mist hangs in veils.

It fills my lungs with its damp sting and settles as a dusting of ice on my skin.

I hug myself and shiver as my breath frosts the air.

I look down and see that I'm still in my nightclothes and that my feet are bare.

Ahead of me, the pebbled surface of a rough cement walkway extends in a curving arc, like the top of a great wall.

On my right, an expanse of moonlit water stretches away towards thickly forested shores.

On my left is... nothing.

A dizzying drop falls away several hundred feet towards the boiling rapids below.

I know where I am.

I'm standing atop the dam at the bottom of the Spring Lakes reservoir, where my Dad died.

I startle at a touch and turn.

The same figure from the dream I'd had in Dane's car stands at my side, tall, pale and beautiful, with a slight smile and a soft light in his amethyst eyes.

'Julian,' he speaks without moving his lips, and I hear his voice like a whisper in my mind.

"Dad..." I shake my head, a loss for words.

Stepping a little closer to me, he raises his hand and touches the side of my face.

I feel the warmth of his skin and wonder again at how real everything seems.

"Why are we here?" I ask and he smiles.

'To learn.'

He turns his back on the lake and looks out over the long valley below.

I turn with him and shiver at the vast expanse of open air before us, the river far below, and the lights of the town in the distance.

After taking in the view and the gut-clenching drop at my feet, I look back at my Dad.

"Learn what?"

He rests his hand on my shoulder.

I stumble forward into thin air and for a heartbeat, I hang there, my mind blank with shock.

Then, with a shrill scream of terror, I fall.

[innocentbi-stander]

I had a wild dream last night and an urge to write this out

Okay but... a pseudo Witcher Anastasia au that’s actually completely different?

The Romanovs were a prominent family on the Continent, royalty known for their wealth and good natural towards in-humans

They served all people well and were beloved by many

It was even rumored that they had fae blood running through their veins, and held royal position in fae courts as well

Members of the Romanov family possessed a powerful magic, usually based in nature

It was this powerful magic, their possibly inhuman status, and sympathy and kindness towards other inhuman people that caused some people to fear them

In the wake of the Great Cleansing the Romanovs realized they’d have to go into hiding

However they were ambushed while traveling to a safe house and the entire family was brutally slaughtered. All of their bodies were found, except for one of their youngest sons, 3 year old Julian Romanov

The slaughter of the Romanovs became a great source of tragedy even though their deaths were said to have been for “the good of the Continent”

Unbeknownst to the rest of humanity, a band of elves had discovered the carnage of the Romanovs long before anyone else, and more importantly, had found the young Julian Romanov hidden between the roots of the elm tree where his mother had shoved him moments before her death

The world was left to believe that all of the Romanovs, Julian included, were dead

Little did they know that the young prince was in fact alive and well in a secret settlement of elves and other inhumans who had felt the kindness of the Romanovs and would protect their own

Little Julian gained the nickname Jaskier and was raised fiercely in the name of his people

He was taught to fight in all matters of weaponry, the ways of the court and nobles, how to speak with a silver tongue and smile sharper than his throwing knives

Jaskier was taught how to be a warrior, but also how to be gentle, how to play a number of musical instruments, to weave flower crowns, and cook with little

Jaskier learned the ways of his powerful magic and how to control it, though it was something he often struggled with

He was raised knowing his name and his status, and members of the settlement who had known his family were all too willing to share tales of those fallen

Jaskier had lost a family, but managed to gain another

Eventually he was grown (as much as he would, the Romanovs had proved an ability to be rather immortal, or at the very least long lived) and Jaskier decided to set out into the world and explore it on his own, knowing the important of keeping his identity hidden

And so he left to Oxenfurt and became a traveling bard

Everything went to shit when Jaskier met Geralt in that tavern in Posada

He followed him around for twenty years like a loyal puppy, completely and utterly in love and knowing nothing would ever come of it

Geralt was unlike anyone Jaskier had ever met before, and the adventure that surrounded his life called to the bard like nothing else

Twenty years with Geralt and the witcher still thought him human, mortal and powerless and Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to admit to his lies (well not lies per say, but he was definitely guilty of allowing assumptions)

Jaskier loved the witcher like he had never loved anyone else, even when he abandoned him in favor of the purple eyed witch, he knew he could never tell him about his true status without scaring him off forever. Geralt hated nobles and all matter of royalty, human or not

And then the mountain happened

Jaskier decided to give Geralt his blessing, and so he left

The bard wandered the Continent on his own, dancing around the threats of oncoming war and trying his best to ignore the rumors whispering around him

About the White Wolf. The White Wolf, and the princess of Cintra, and a witch that traveled with them

He didn’t belong to any of that anymore

So Jaskier kept his head down, kept his throwing knives close, and made his way back north, towards the settlement where he grew up

The settlement had a magic barrier to conceal it from the view of unsuspecting humans, the only people that could raise it were those who possessed a powerful magic

He trudged to the entrance, exhausted and travel weary , lifting the spell with a tired wave of his hand

The familiar hustle and bustle of the settlement met his ears with a sigh of relief and he walked through the opening feeling at home for the first time since the mountain

Only to stop short

Because who was directly in front of him, in his fucking home mind you, but Geralt of Rivia himself, staring at him with a look of awfully concealed shock across his face

At his sides were Yennefer and Ciri, both of them looking at Jaskier with similar expressions

Well fuck him

Jaskier opened his mouth, preparing to give the most awkward hello ever seen on the Continent when Oscar, an older elf who had been one of his teachers growing up rushed over to sweep him up in a crushing hug

“Ah Jaskier, you’ve returned at last!” the man smiled without abandon, completely ignorant to the tension between the group. “I see you’ve encountered some of our guests, Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer of Vengerburg, and young Cirilla. We’ve offered them sanctuary from Nilfgaard for however long they need”

Jaskier loved the kindness of his settlement family, but fuck if it didn’t terribly inconvienence him at the worst of times

Oscar turned back towards Geralt and the others, “This is who I’ve been speaking about, may I introduce to you High Prince Julian Romanov, last of the Romanov family and descendent of the Winter Court.”

Geralt’s mouth opened and closed, if he was shocked before he was dumbfounded now “What?”

Jaskier coughed awkwardly, patting his mentor on the shoulder “We’ve actually met before Oscar. Though…. they didn’t exactly know that last part.”

“My apologies, Your Highness!” Oscar looked beside himself “I didn’t mean to overstep-”

“No it’s fine,” Jaskier interrupted, “I suppose it would have come out eventually anyways”

Oscar parted ways a few moments later, leaving only silence between them all

Yennefer was the one to break it. “Julian Romanov, alive after all this time. A great mystery solved.”

Jaskier scoffed. “I guess you could say that”

Geralt seemed to have finally found his words, “You never told me you were a Romanov”

Jaskier looked him straight in the eye. “You never asked. And besides the fact, I didn’t think Geralt of Rivia, Mr. ‘nobility is just a bunch of pompous idiots’ would be interested in me interrupting with ‘Hi, lost prince of a famously slaughtered family here. Also I’m not completely human and have magic!’. Didn’t think that would go over very well”.

Geralt took a moment to process Jaskier’s tirade. “I didn’t know you weren’t human”.

“It seems there’s a lot you don’t know about me. Good thing you’re stuck here for a while so you’ll have plenty of time to figure it out. If you’ll excuse me?”

Jaskier shouldered his way past the witcher because he was fucking tired and in desperate need of a hot meal and a bath. He could feel Geralt’s gaze on his back the entire way back to his tent. Figures he’d finally give him his undivided attention after he told Jaskier he wanted nothing to do with him.

Things weren’t perfect. There was still a mountain between them, words to be said, apologies to be made, explanations to be given, and feelings to unravel. But right now, as Jaskier slumped onto the soft furs of his bed and prepared to pass out for an undetermined amount of hours, he felt something that seemed like a lot like hope. And for now, that was enough.

Wow this turned out to be a lot longer than I intended. Thinking of maybe extending this into a fic, let me know what you think!

[dontmindmyshadowhunting]

The new Shadowhunter Academy (Fan Fic)

Chapter 4 (A very warm welcome) is out! Click here to read the fic from Chap 1.

It's part of my To never being parted series on AO3.

****

It has been three weeks since Kit and Ty reunited and confessed their feelings to each other. It also has been three weeks since Kit last saw his boyfriend. Yes, Ty is his boyfriend now, after all. And he misses him. Very much.

As Jace asks him a favour, i.e. replacing him as guest lecturer at the new Shadowhunter Academy in New York, Kit may just have the opportunity to see Ty again.

I am not posting the entire Chap 4 here on Tumblr as it has explicit content.

****

Sneak peek:

This is how I die, Kit thought as he tried to weave his way through the relentless waves of students touching and talking to him, as if he weren’t a mere stranger. He couldn’t even make out what they were trying to tell him, his ears ringing with the endless buzz of overlapping voices. So, he simply forced a smile and nodded noncommittally.

He knew there were a lot of rumours around the lost Herondale, and he had anticipated a few questions from curious students. Never in a million years had he expected to receive such a warm welcome. He vaguely remembered Simon warning him about the fact that the new generations of Shadowhunters, having mingled for a few years with mundanes from the “real world”, were very different from the previous ones. They had discovered social networks, influencers, and the building of a star-system… Only, they had substituted movie stars and famous singers with war heroes. Lily Chen had flourished in the Notorious Nephilim business. Drunk with the success of her Hot Shadowhunters Calendar, she had started producing posters and goodies that sold very well (that’s how Mina had gotten her baby-sized wooden replica of Cortana). Jace, Isabelle, Simon and Emma were mostly cool with it, but Clary, Alec and Julian, who were shyer, avoided the Academy and crowds in general. But why Kit? He wasn’t a war hero. He was barely an ordinary Shadowhunter. What had he ever done to deserve fame?

Kit halted in his escape, as a Nephilim boy suddenly jumped in his path, his expression eager as he thrust his arm forward. He would have been good looking if not for his fake tan, and the weird colour of his hair that he had attempted to dye blond. It didn’t suit him. At all. It took Kit a minute to realize what he was showing him. The tattoo of a huge heron took most of his bicep. Shit. That was awkward.

“Er- that’s a pretty bird,” Kit mumbled, his sarcastic tone somehow lost in translation.

“Can I take a selfie with you?” A blond girl asked him. She didn’t really wait for his answer though, and the flash of her iPhone blinded Kit for a second.

“Do you know that Brother Zachariah – well, Jem Carstairs now – gave my parents and grandparents their first Rune?” said a tall dark-skinned Shadowhunter boy wearing a huge black hoodie embroidered with the logo of the Shadowhunter Academy.

“Ah. Good for them,” Kit replied, failing to know what else to say. What the hell did they want from him?

“He must be such a great father.” The boy pursued.

“The best,” Kit replied, a little relieved he knew at least how to answer that one.

“Jace told us everything about you!” said a short dark-haired boy with a lot of acne, as he pushed his thick eyeglasses up his small nose. He wasn’t bearing Runes, so probably a mundane. Kit wondered if Simon was the one who had recruited him. He tended to go for the unexpected kind, and they usually turned out to be some of the best recruits. “You are like... the little brother he never knew he had. And living proof that someone who used to live as a mundane can become a great warrior in a short time with enough motivation, discipline and training. Any tips?”

He was spared from answering as a tall redheaded Nephilim girl popped out of nowhere to push the mundane aside and lay a hand casually on Kit’s shoulder. She whispered something in his ear. He caught only two words, but they were enough for him to get the gist. “Private” and “party”. She then slipped a folded paper in the pocket of his jeans, with the dexterity of a pickpocket - Kit would know - before she disappeared in the crowd.

“Yes, he speaks so highly of you,” said a brunette wearing braces as she stepped in front of him. “He told us we would get to see you at the Academy some day! We hadn’t expected it to be so soon!”

JACE, Kit thought. I am going to KILL him. I am going to chop him into small pieces, grind him into Herondale flour and bake Herondale cookies out of him.

****

Click here for full Chapter 4 (Warning - explicit content).

[mordoriscalling]

The Shrike and the Lark (pt. 4)

Jaskier and Renfri are disaster twins ruling Creyden. When the Warlord of the North knocks at their door, Queen Renfri and King Julian are at an advantage - they know him. As in, they know him. (Inspired by the Warlord AU and “the heart is a winged beast”).

(Pt. 1) (Pt. 2) (Pt. 3)

Creyden, 1237

“My Queen is a match for your Lord,” King Julian remarks.

A match they are indeed. Queen Renfri’s skill with the blade is legendary, and the Warlord wields his weapon with the same level of mastery. The two are sparring in the courtyard, with a continuously growing audience. Witchers, the Royal Guard, courtiers and servants passing by; everyone stares at them in awe, for such lethal grace is staggering to witness.

The Queen and the Warlord are locked in a breathtaking, violent dance. One may almost see the sparks fly as they spin, duck, and par each other’s blows. When their swords cross, their faces mere inches apart, they freeze. The warrior and the wariorress stare at one another, panting heavily. The tension between them is palatable, but then Queen Renfri moves, and they are dancing again.

“That’s only because Geralt is on the defensive,” Eskel replies.

The sound of the King’s surprised laughter carries far. Some of the onlookers in the courtyard look up but, as they behold King Julian the Eskel standing together on the wall overseeing the ward, their attention returns to the ongoing duel. The King and the White Wolf’s right hand sharing each other’s company is an expected sight at this point.

The Warlord and his entourage arrived a week ago. Half of the witchers who came then have now left for good, for their presence is not necessary. In truth, only the Wolf and his two advisors have been constantly working for the past five days, endeavouring to negotiate the new treaty as quickly as possible. In the meantime, those witchers who remain in Creyden have taken to sparring in the courtyard, sometimes fighting with some of the more daring knights of the Royal Guard. Today is the first day that their Lord has joined them, soon followed by Queen Renfri.

“Why do you put so much faith in your Lord?” King Julian asks.

“Geralt is the strongest and fastest among us,” Eskel answers with a shrug. “If he were on the offensive, it would take him less than five moves to disarm your Queen.”

At least a part of Eskel’s claims is true – Queen Renfri has been the aggressor from the start of the duel. She attacks the White Wolf mercilessly, with viciousness she is infamous for. In a moment like this, the notoriety of the Shrike shows its foundations.

Yet, on the very same basis, the efficacy of Creyden’s army was built; after ascending the throne, Queen Renfri saw to the training of her knights and soilers by herself. Her experience in pardonless fighting proved invaluable; thanks to it, she led her warriors – just as she had led her bandits before – to victory.

“Beat him, my Queen!” King Julian calls loudly so that his sister can hear him. “I know you can, you’ve practised for this!” he cheers her on, “Day and night, you did! You’ve dreamed of defeating–”

“My King... please!” Queen Renfri exclaims between blows, “Will you... stop... that?!”

“Never!” her brother proclaims, drawing some laughs from the crowd below.

The King’s support seems to bear fruit then – Queen Renfri’s strikes become even faster and more violent. The White Wolf can no longer last under the assault and yields. As he does so, loud applause for the Queen rings out in the ward.

“He let her win not to cause offence,” Eskel says.

King Julian chuckles, shaking his head. “You know your Lord well, don’t you?”

“He’s like a brother to me,” the witcher replies, “We’ve shared a strong bond since we were boys.”

King Julian only hums in response. Eskel considers him for a moment, then speaks again, “And yet, when Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen for the winter after three years of not doing so, he refused to speak of the bard who had kept him away, even to me. He ignored all my questions. He couldn’t hide his hurt from me, though.”

King Julian does not answer at once. Instead, he observes as Kan, the Captain of the Royal Guard, and Lambert, a witcher with fiery hair and even fiercer temperament, begin to spar. Yet, Eskel’s gaze on him is a heavy, insistent weight, and he surrenders eventually.

“I am guilty of hurting him,” he admits ruefully. “Geralt only knew me to be Jaskier the bard. A troubadour who loved him... but who wasn’t honest with him. When he discovered who I really was, he didn’t hear it from me.”

Eskel scowls but calmly inquires, “Why didn’t you tell him?”

“My own safety,” the King replies. “I feared for my life. I couldn’t tell him of how Stregobor imprisoned me in one of the towers of this very castle. Of how after I finally escaped, I ran and ran, and ran. I lived in fear of being pursued, stole and forged identities to survive.”

“He would’ve kept your secret at all costs,” the Wolf witcher counters.  

“I know,” Julian agrees easily. “But the scars which Stregobor inflicted upon me were too fresh. I couldn’t bear to talk about it back then.”

The conversation lulls for a while after that. The two watch Kan and Lambert spar until it is Eskel who speaks.

“I’m glad to see that you’ve healed enough,” he says, bereft of any anger or judgement.

The King’s gaze snaps to his witcher companion, the look in his eyes as warm as a summer sky. “You’re too kind,” he says.

Julian then reaches out and tucks a strand of Eskel’s blonde hair behind his ear. His hand lingers there, by Eskel’s cheek. The witcher stills, clearly taken aback by the touch.

“Your Majesty?” he murmurs uncertainly.

The King hesitates. Gingerly, he starts rubbing his thumb against the witcher’s skin. The caress is met with no resistance and he confesses, “I find myself wishing to be near you every minute of the day. To wake up and fall asleep beside you.”

Eskel sighs and moves away. “King Julian –” he begins, his tone suddenly formal.

“Jaskier.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m Jaskier to my friends.”

The witcher nods. “Jaskier, then. You honour me with your attention, but I must ask you not to pursue any further intimacy with me.”

“Must?” Jaskier echoes. “Why do you “must”?”

“I... don’t want to make these negotiations any more difficult.”

“So loyal,” Jaskier says, regarding the witcher with admiration, “So dedicated, to staying in the shadows. Why won’t you let some light shine on you?”

Eskel smiles wryly. Then, he turns his head, displaying the side of his face that is terribly marred. “Some scars of mine will never heal,” he admits.  

Jaskier’s features twist into an expression both pained and compassionate. “I could provide you with some relief, at least for a short while,” he offers, “I could take your worries away, ease the tension in your shoulders.”

The witcher seems immune to the ardent willingness. “No, thank you,” he declines. “I suspect you want me so because you see him in me. We bear a lot of resemblance to each other, I’ve been told.”

Jaskier is not deterred by the bitterness, nor the self-depreciation, in Eskel’s tone. With an earnest, wide-eyed gaze, he steps in closer towards the witcher.

“I see wonder in you,” he says quietly. “All the things you’ve told me about, about how much you do to serve your lord... You achieve whatever is asked of you because you care about your kin so deeply. What is your limit? Or can you make anything happen for the ones you love? What a wonder you are.”

Eskel looks upon Jaskier as if he was seeing him for the first time. “You are sincere,” he says.

Witchers, with their enhanced senses, are able to notice when someone is being disingenuine. The human body does not function normally when a lie leaves one’s mouth, and witchers have learnt to discern even the barest hints of untruth. Yet, it does not seem to be the case now.

“That I am,” Jaskier affirms, bold certainty in the whole of his posture. Then, he moves even closer to Eskel, looking deep into his amber eyes. “I cannot stop thinking about the wonder of you.”

“Gods be damned,” Eskel breathes out. “How am I to resist your song, Lark? How am I to deny you when you call to me so sweetly?”

Jaskier tilts his head up invitingly. “I call to you because I can hear you howling, Wolf,” he whispers, his voice low and husky.  

Eskel cradles Jaskier’s face in his large, rough hands. The delicate features of Jaskier’s face seem overpowered by the lines of Eskel’s strong palms.

“You maddening creature,” the witcher murmurs.

They breathe the same air now and their eyes are half-shut, heavy-lidded with desire. They are drawn to one another, inch by inch. Their lips are about to meet in a kiss, but then loud cheers erupt below, extinguishing the heat between them. Eskel and Jaskier jerk away from each other and look down, searching for the source of the interruption.

Lambert has just won against Kan.

Eskel clears his throat. “Let me consider it,” he tells Jaskier, “I shall give you an answer later today.”

At dinner, Eskel and King Julian are seen to retire for the evening together.

Read the rest on AO3

[writingsfromstarfleet]

Weakness - Julian Bashir X Reader

A/N: Hello, this is a request for a very lovely Anon, so I hope you enjoy it whoever you are! And you lot too!

TW: slight mention of blood and some injuries to the reader.

'Be strong.' 'Be brave.' 'Don't show your weakness.'

Words that were drummed into your head from your childhood, you were raised with a family that believed that weaknesses were something you should eliminate, something nobody should know. As you grew up, you knew this was an old ideology, past its times, though it's hard to shake something taught to you all your life. You had decided to join Starfleet, and though you were excited for the fresh start, those words of your family echoed in your head constantly.

Since you'd arrived on Deep Space Nine, you'd found a friend in the doctor, Julian Bashir. Quite literally, the day you arrived, he found you sat by yourself in Quark's Bar and was quick to introduce himself. Very quick. A barely able to sit down kind of quick.

"Hello!" He had a very upbeat and cheery voice, he seemed very energetic. "You're new here, aren't you? The commander told us we had a new arrival, thought I'd say hello."

"Hello..."  you trailed off, he hadn't given you a name in his excitement to talk to you. He laughed awkwardly and you flashed him a smile.

"Julian, sorry. Julian Bashir, I'm the medical officer here, as you might be able to tell" he gestured down to his blue uniform, you nodded in acknowledgement, a smile cast his way.

"Well, hello, Julian, it's nice to meet you, you're the first person I've spoken to today, I've not been here long."

"I hope I've made a good impression then" he smiled. You found yourself sat there for hours, chatting and getting to know one another. You'd found Julian to be pleasant, and very relaxed to be around; he had a lot to talk about, and you had the time to listen. A bond of sorts had been formed, and neither of you knew this meeting would turn into something bigger.

Seven months on, and both you and Julian had become far closer than either had expected, and closer than most people on the station. Not that either complained; Julian thought the world of you, and you felt the exact same. Every day, you'd meet up to spend a couple hours of your free time together, either going on walks, using Quark's holosuite, or even just chatting over a cup of raktajino. Anywhere was comfortable; as long as you were together, it didn't matter.

Though you were no stranger to away missions, Julian (if he wasn't going along) always gave you a briefing, always overly concerned that you wouldn't come back in one piece. Some may have found it to be annoying, but you thought it was sweet of him. You weren't used to the care you received from him, though it wasn't unwelcome, of course. But, your family had brought you up believing that love and care was in itself a weakness, and having it cast your way wasn't something you had ever had present. It was appreciated nonetheless.

"Julian, I'll be fine, it's just a small visit to this planet, nothing to worry about" you said, not unkindly, more in an attempt to calm him down somewhat.

"Nothing is ever 'nothing to worry about', you could injure yourself in an empty room, Y/N" he retorted, cocking one eyebrow up at you matter-of-factly. You couldn't help but laugh at the doctor, he was absolutely right. You were careful, at least you thought that, though your record in sick bay may prove otherwise. There was a small chance you held the record for being in the book more times than anyone else.

Landing down on the planet, you were accompanied by Major Kira, Lieutenant Dax and Constable Odo. A strong group for what was supposedly an uninhabited planet, but you wouldn't complain. You liked Kira and Jadzia a lot, you'd become good friends with them. Odo wasn't sociable much, though from the few conversations you had shared, he seemed very nice too. You began to scout for what you had come down here for when things took a turn.

A group of rogue Jem'Hadar began attacking your group, and you all did your best to fight them off, despite being caught off guard and being outnumbered. Faring well against them between the four of you, you had managed to fight them off. Turning to face Kira, you were about to speak when one remaining Jem'Hadar soldier fired a pistol your way, hitting you straight in the shoulder, just below your collarbone. Crying out in pain, you fell to the floor, Jadzia catching you as Odo made quick work of the solider.

Beaming back after a panicked Kira contacted the bridge, you clutched your arm and walked out of the transporter room almost as soon as you had arrived. The last thing you wanted was Julian, and you knew he was the medic that would arrive. It was his job, after all.

Julian arrived fast at the transporter room, and was met with three rough looking officers. He swore there should be four and immediately panicked.

"Julian," Jadzia started, seeing the look of dread on his face. "Y/N ran off the moment we beamed back. We don't know where, though."

"But why would.." he started, but was cut off by Major Kira.

"Y/N's hurt badly, we're all fine, just go."

Julian had never shot off so fast before, desperate for answers to more than one thing. His head was spinning as he ran through the halls towards your quarters, hoping you'd made pace for there. Upon arrival, he rang the bell for your quarters, and as he suspected, you didn't answer.

"Y/N, I know you're in there" he started, trying to maintain his professional calm voice, despite the worry for his best friend. "Please let me come in, you need medical attention."

To no avail, the door remained shut. Julian had just about enough of standing around while you were injured, and used his medical override on your door. It opened too slowly for his liking, and that's when he was met with you.

You were sat down against the wall, knees up by your chin, and your head resting on them. You had heard the door open, but didn't want to look up; you knew you would have t face the pity stare, and it was something you couldn't handle at that moment in time.

Julian approached you cautiously, though deep down he knew there was no reason to fear you. You wouldn't ever dream of harming him, though sometimes he did hesitate, and this was one such situation.

"Why did you run, Y/N?" Julian's voice was calm, collected and soft. No hint of anger, or pity, just curiosity and care. Staying entirely put, you found the voice to answer.

"Please leave." It was quiet, very quiet, and had there not been silence in the room, he would have missed it entirely. Kneeling down, he placed a hand on your knee, and one ran through your hair. Silently, this told you he wasn't going anywhere.

"Y/N.." he started. "Please, look at me, I'd really like to know what's wrong." His voice now was worried, less than the calm it was when he entered. You felt guilty; he cared so much and you were purposely making him panic. Slowly, with very little energy, you lifted your head and caught his eyes. Julian's eyes widened slightly, seeing just what the Jem'Hadar had done to you.

Your face was an off colour, slightly more so on the injured side, and you looked almost sickly. Blood from your shoulder has seeped right through your uniform and down your side, as well as smeared over most of the right side of your body. Whether you had damaged any of your ribs or bones remained to be seen. Julian thought it was a miracle you were even conscious. Never had he seen you look so defeated, and it broke his heart.

Beginning to get to the work at hand as you sat there, a silence surrounding you that was not uncomfortable, Julian tended to your injuries with the same gentle touch he always did. Not once had you ever felt unsafe with him, he handled everything you threw at him with love. Finally, once he was finished, and you were bandaged up, you spoke.

"Thank you, I'm sorry, I-" Julian cut you off with two raised hands in a stop motion. He sat next to you, placed an arm around your undamaged shoulder, and ran his hand through your hair.

"It's alright, I just want to know why you ran." Sitting up slightly, you explained.

"I didn't want you to see me injured, I was hoping that one of the other medical staff would have turned up. You haven't ever seen me like this, and I guess I was just scared you'd think different of me, like you'd think I was weak. I was taught as a child to never show your weakness, not even to those you're closest to, and I guess that's why I ran.." You couldn't even face him, knowing your words probably sounded silly. Your thoughts were confirmed as you felt him chuckle.

"My sweet, Y/N, you don't believe I would ever think such a thing, do you?" he began, suddenly getting a tad mores serious. "You are a warrior, you're strong and wonderful, and you're my best friend. Never would I ever think of you as anything less than that. Sustaining an injury isn't a weakness, it just means you did your job and that's something to be proud of."

Having gained the courage to look at him properly after his words had sunken in, you graced him with a smile, which was happily returned.

"There we go, my little fighter. Don't lose that smile."

"Thank you, I don't know what I'd do without you sometimes." You spoke more confidently than the last time, laughing along with him finally having come to your senses. Curling into his side, you two sat for a while, just enjoying each others company.

He may be annoying at times, and he may be a bit aloof, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't grateful for the man who'd thrown himself into your life. He was your best friend, and for that, you'd always be grateful.

[ahh-fxck]

Chapter 11 of Warrior’s Blues: What Would I Do Without You?

Folks, I am so excited. I finally get to present to you the next chapter of Warrior’s Blues! This chapter (and the following two) have been a labor of love. @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog​, editor and co-creator of this fic, thank you for all your hard work and insight!! Ok folks, here it is:

Chapter 11: What Would I Do Without You?

Yennefer's visit throws Jaskier for a hard loop. His best friend helps him sort it out. Best Friend Rating of the Geralt Incident? 10/10 top notch Jaskier fuckery. She loves her disaster queer.

CW for drinking, smoking, implied death of an original character, grieving

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged (or untagged!) for future updates of this story!

@astouract​ @smolpoe​ @yes-im-the-violin-girl​ @ladyknight-keladry​

  On the day of Yennefer’s visit, Jaskier arrives at work on a bicycle. He’s late and on a bicycle for the same reason, which is to say, he is drunk and cannot drive his car. He is drunk because he’d been so full of mixed emotions after Yennefer left that he’d sat down to eat the rest of the fruit and whipped cream. Somewhere in there, it had seemed like a brilliant idea to pour half a bottle of bourbon after it. 

It was not. Luckily for him, the person working the bar tonight is Julia.

She is a stocky woman in her mid-forties. She has tawny skin and skeptical hazel eyes, and there’s a kind twist to her lips that she often hides. She has a tuft of cropped blue hair and wears a denim vest with a white t-shirt. Even though she is exasperated when he staggers through the door, she feeds him a sandwich and coffee while she fills him in on the meeting he missed. From there, she lets the crew in for the night. 

Jaskier feels like the whole world is an itchy sweater, even after the sandwich and coffee. It’s like his brain is on fire, and he can’t quite settle into the usual friendly chatter that his job requires. He passes an irritable and lonely night out by the door. By the time it’s time to clock out most of the staff is eager to clear out from underfoot; Jaskier is a great boss, but when his nearly infinite good humor runs out he can be a real asshole.

The only one who doesn’t give a fuck is Julia. She knew from the second she saw him wheeling in the door that it was going to be a late night, so she lets the rest of the staff out before pouring herself a big glass of gin. Then she settles her elbows against the bar, watching Jaskier mop the dancefloor. He is flailing wildly with the mop, clearing the floor with brutal inefficiency. Internally she begins to count down the time until he knocks the bucket over. Sure enough, a moment later he does just that. She nods in satisfaction, pleased that her timing is still on point.

Jaskier throws his head back and lets out a shout of pure frustration as his poorly-contained feelings boil over at last. Julia smirks and grabs a bunch of towels, then ambles over to him and starts tossing them on the floor to soak up the mess. 

As she does so she says nothing, but the look she gives him makes him feel transparent. Jaskier avoids her eyes as he tosses some towels down onto the puddle. 

Julia gives a little harrumph, unimpressed, bending to help him clear the towels away. They right the bucket and clean the floor in silence. When they’re done, she turns to him and gives him a long look. 

“So… What’s eating you?”

Jaskier grumbles and straightens. “Nothing.” He hauls the bucket away, fills it with water, and returns. Without making eye contact he begins to mop again.

Julia hums, crossing her arms. “Yeah, and nothing made you stink like bourbon, too. Cough it up.” She leans against a nearby wall, giving him a skeptical look. He looks at her from under the fringe of hair that has fallen over his face. Something about the wide-eyed, guilty glances that he keeps shooting her makes him look sixteen again. She smirks. “I think you wanna tell me but you’re embarrassed, so how about I start making guesses?”

Going pale, Jaskier groans. “Why are you so hell-bent on pushing my buttons?” The last thing he wants is Julia making guesses about what is bothering him. She has a terrible habit of being accurate and she has a memory like an elephant.

“Because you’re not a dumbass kid anymore and you haven’t shown up drunk in years. You missed an important meeting! What the fuck, Jaskier? Don’t make me call you Julian, I swear to fucking god I’ll break out your birth name.”

“Julia…!” Jaskier protested. “I d-”

“Julian Alfred P-”

“Fine! Stop! Oh my god, you are merciless!” Jaskier cries, but secretly he’s glad that she cares enough to needle him. He stops and holds the mop for a moment, blowing his hair out of his eyes as he gathers his thoughts. Then he starts pushing it across the floor again. “I’m sure you heard about the man who rescued Pride this year.”

“Heh, I feel like I’ve met him. Yarpen won’t shut up. Heard from him recently?” She narrows her eyes at him, sure that she’s about to hear some sort of horny idiot story. 

Jaskier blushes hotly, confirming Julia’s suspicions. “Well, funny thing about that.”

“What did you do now?” Julia asks, smirking. She retreats to the bar and picks up her tumbler of gin, then lights a cigarette. 

“We-e-elll…” Jaskier prevaricates.

Julia gives him a long look, and he folds. 

“Um, so I might have brought him back to my house after Pride.”

Julia barks a short laugh. “Color me not surprised. What’s the problem? Is he why you were wearing that birdy when you came in?”. 

Jaskier’s flush deepens. “I meant to take that off before his wife showed up. After that my day got all sort of… muddled.”

“You mean you got chewed out and then got drunk, right?”

“No! You know what, Julia? She yelled at me when I met her in the hospital, but when she came to my house she was…” He pauses, seeing the bewildered look on Julia’s face. “All right, let me back up and explain. He broke his hand, and I had to take him to the hospital. Two weeks later we go for his followup appointment and his wife is there waiting for him. Tracked him down all the way from fucking England! Got the third degree from her there, but the wildest part is, she showed up at my house the next day to talk. About me dating him.”

Julia laughs again, harder and longer. “What the fuck, Jaskier?”

Despite himself, Jaskier breaks into a rueful grin.“Right? Seriously though Julia. If I talk to you about this it stays strictly between you and me, got it? All of it. He’s in the closet and no one else here needs to know any of this.”

“You got it. No gossip. Your secrets are my secrets.” Julia smiles crookedly, sipping at the last of her gin. She’s been keeping Jaskier’s shit to herself since he was a teen. At first, it was out of a desire to not get involved, but by now she genuinely likes the dingbat. He’s dumb but sweet, and he’s been good to her. “So what’s the deal, kiddo?”

“So what it all boiled down to is that she’s not mad at me for sleeping with him… she’s mad I slept with him so fast. Turns out she’s okay with me seeing him again.”

Julia puts her glass down on the bartop, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Okay, that is a new one on me, I gotta admit. What’s the story there? She into watching or something?”

A surprised laugh escapes Jaskier. “No, thank fucking god, I don’t think I’d survive. This woman… oh Julia, you should have seen her. She’s like, five foot four inches of lightning in a bottle. A total force of nature. I think she could snap me like a twig.” A wry twinkle comes into his eye as Julia’s eyebrow goes up.

Smirking, Julia taps some ash off of her cigarette. “Sounds like a hell of a woman.”

Jaskier snorts, cutting her an amused look. “She is, but I don’t think you’d get very far with her. She’s asexual.”

“Oh? The plot thickens.” Julia grins wolfishly, leaning her chin on her hand. Jaskier had a way of getting up to his neck in crazy situations, and it had become something of a spectator sport for her over the years. 

Flushing with embarrassment, a crooked grin flickers across Jaskier’s face. “Yeah, well.” He turns his glass in a full circle. “So it turns out, they uh… have a kid together. And I want you to understand how terrifying this woman was because there was no way in hell I was going to ask for more details. But. What she told me was this. They got married because of their daughter, but Geralt… her husband, the man I was sleeping with… He’s gay.”

“Oh man, you really have a way of finding them, don't you?" This is top-notch Jaskier fuckery, it really is. She’s glad she’d stayed to get the story out of him, even though she knew it meant that she’d be dragged into his shit sooner rather than later. 

“I really do,” Jaskier agrees with a little groan. 

“What’s her name?” 

“Yennefer.”

“Hm. Nice names. Yennefer and Geralt. So she got mad at you for sleeping with Geralt so fast, and then what?” 

“And then, Julia! She told me that she’d always hoped that he’d find someone special. She looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘maybe someone like you’ and I just lost my mind. Just- Pow!” He makes an exploding gesture out from his head with his hands, then shakes his head and returns to mopping. 

“Wow. That was not the reaction I was expecting.”

“Yeah. Yeah! No kidding! Apparently, he’s always been free to choose his lovers. He’s never wanted to bring one home before, though.”

Julia lets out a low whistle, her eyebrows going up. “So he likes you, likes you. And his wife is… okay with this?”

“I don’t think she likes me very much, Julia, but she gave me the phone number to their hotel room. Says I should have a real talk with him before I think about dating him.” He stalks past her into the kitchen to dump out the dirty mop water.

“Just like that?” Julia laughs, leaning in the doorway.

“Threatened to bury my dead body if I didn’t treat him right, in those exact words,” Jaskier says over his shoulder.

Julia leans against the doorframe, shaking with mirth. “Oh my fucking god, Jaskier.”

“I know!” Jaskier cries, flinging his hands up. “This is absurd, Julia! And you know what’s even more ridiculous? I really think I could fall for him, I really do. He’s just so…” He sighs, tossing the mop and bucket in their corner and washing his hands.

“Yeah, Yarpen wouldn’t shut up about him. Six feet plus, white hair, amber eyes, stacked? Sounds very striking.” Julia drawls, eyebrows arching. 

“No, Julia- Well, I mean, yes, but…” He walks back out to the bar, flopping onto one of the tall stools.

“But what?” She smirks, returning to the bar and tapping out her ash.

“Well, I was gonna say beautiful, but I didn’t mean it like that.” Jaskier puffs, drumming his hands on the bar top, trying to find a way to put it. “Like… ohh, I sound like a fool, but he feels like a warm hearth. I just wanna curl up next to him with a book and a cup of tea and fall asleep because I feel so good around him. Safe. And don’t you go telling me he’s a stranger-” Jaskier breaks off as Julia rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to speak. “I know that! I know, and that’s what makes it so weird, Julia. But like, good weird.”

Julia hums thoughtfully, tipping her head to the side. Jaskier has been getting more self-aware as he ages, and for once, she’s inclined to believe that he remembers this guy’s a stranger. “Have you called your therapist yet?”

“For once in my life, yes. I called her before I came in. Hopefully, she’ll have gotten back to me by the time I get home.”

“Good for you. So this is why you came in here drunk off your ass this morning? This whole mess?” She pours him a shot glass of rum and passes it to him.

He takes it with a nod of thanks. “Yeah… I guess I got a little freaked out after his wife grilled me this morning, didn’t cope with it well.” Taking a sip, he frowns. “Julia, I’m in over my head. I don’t really know what to do here. He’s never had a boyfriend before.” 

Letting out a low whistle between her teeth, Julia stubs out her cigarette. “Ain’t he about my age?” 

“Yeah… He’s… I guess he spent his whole adult life in the military and never let himself have one. That’s what his wife said.” Jaskier worries at his lip, blue eyes wide as he shoots a glance at Julia. His glass scrapes on the bar top. 

Annoyed by the sound, Julia tosses him a coaster. Then she hums thoughtfully, swirling the dregs of gin in her glass. “That’s a long time to be lonely.”

Puffing out a long, slow breath, Jaskier nods. He draws the coaster over and sticks it under his drink with a guilty look. “Yeah.” Slumping to the bar top, he puts his chin on his hands. “She said… if I cheated on him it would crush him. She said… ‘Please don’t make things worse by being irresponsible with his very fragile heart.’” Putting his face into his arms, Jaskier gives a little groan. 

Julia sucks in a breath, watching Jaskier crumple in front of her. He’d at least grasped the concept of fidelity by now, but until recently his romances had never been particularly stable. Her heart goes out to him. She finds herself walking around to the other side of the bar to stand awkwardly by his side, her stocky frame only coming up to his shoulder where he sits on the stool. She awkwardly pats said shoulder, then gives it a squeeze. “That’s gotta feel pretty big to you. How are you doin’ with it?”

“I’m feeling massively intimidated, Julia. He’s gorgeous and I really want to date him, but I’m really afraid I’m going to be bad for him. I don’t exactly have the most amazing track record.”

Julia hums, sucking her teeth thoughtfully. She rubs a gentle circle between Jaskier’s shoulderblades, an unusually affectionate gesture for her. “Kiddo, you know I wouldn’t say this normally, but you’ve put a damn ton of work into your personal relationships. I trust the man you’ve grown into, and I think you should try trusting yourself for once. See how it works out for you. It’s been a long time since you let anyone in.”

Jaskier sighs, leaning into the touch. “I know. I worked so hard, and Rue didn’t even get to see much of my life after the dust settled. I hope she’s proud of me.”

A smile lights Julia’s face, but as she speaks a note of grief creeps into her voice. Her partner Rue had passed two years ago, but the pain was still fresh and hot. Rue had been more than a friend to Jaskier, she’d been his absolute favorite person. He missed her almost as dearly as Julia herself did. 

“She’d be proud of you all ‘round, kiddo. You’ve really shaped up. Hell, you stepped up when I needed you.” She gives Jaskier a little shake. “You might be a dumbass, but it matters that you try to get things right. It matters more that you do your best now to fix it when you don’t. That’s all anyone can do.” Julia’s hand moves back to his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “You’re a good man, and I think she’d tell you that, too.”

Jaskier nods, swallowing hard. As Julia’s hand closes on him he realizes all of a sudden how much he misses Rue. His heart contracts with terrible grief. “Oh!” He gasps, surprised by the abruptness of the pain. Reaching back to squeeze Julia’s hand, he can feel his throat tightening. “I feel really lost right now. She’d know what to do.”

A crack appears in Julia’s heart. She nods and steps closer to Jaskier, reaching around his hip and pulling him close. Jaskier leans into her and she grips him tightly with her strong arm. Her cheek presses against him and she squeezes her eyes shut, nodding. “Me too. I miss her like hell.” As she grips Jaskier, silent tears dampen his cheeks. Before long, Julia’s eyes begin to well over too.

Rue had been the center of both of their lives. Julia had been in love with her since they met one hot summer on Coney Island as teenagers. They had kissed in the rain under one of the piers, and that had been it for her. By the time they’d moved in together as adults, Julia would have gone down on one knee and married her in a heartbeat. 

Every summer they took a long vacation on Fire Island, where Julia would pick up part time work as a bartender. They’d met Jaskier one summer there when he was just sixteen years old. He’d been a disaster of a baby queer, but gregarious little Rue had seen something of herself in him. She had taken him under her wing, and he had thrived.

When Rue was diagnosed with ovarian cancer four years ago, it had been at a quiet time in Julia’s life. Jaskier had gotten a therapist a year before and was finally out of her hair. The bar was thriving. Rue and Julia had settled into their home just the way they’d liked it, tea settees and all. Julia remembers looking at this yellow, gold, and cream-colored doily on their tea table after they got home from Rue’s diagnosis. The little sunburst pattern had seared into her mind as she sat in shock. 

The following two years had been hell on a plate. The bar came closer to folding than it ever had as both Julia and Jaskier bent themselves completely out of shape trying to get Rue the care she needed. In the end, that had meant hospice and a funeral. Jaskier had ended up having to plan it for her, and he’d stepped up to the role with a seriousness that she hadn’t thought him physically capable of. It changed something about his personality. Julia watched him go almost overnight from a happy-go-lucky kid to a closed-off and responsible adult. The only exception had happened shortly after Rue’s death. 

When the fuss from the funeral had died down, Jaskier had disappeared for the better part of two weeks. Scheduled everyone in, made sure payroll was cued to go properly, and just… vanished. He’d come back with a bloody lip and fear in his eyes, and Julia had been too heartsick to ask questions. That night they’d grieved Rue together, sitting next to one another and crying their eyes out. Jaskier had fallen asleep on their dinky little couch, and she’d tucked one of Rue’s crocheted blankets over him before she went to bed. 

Since then Jaskier had been eerily quiet. At least, until Pride. After that his mood had been so pleasant that it was making Julia downright nervous. She’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now, at last, it had. 

Jaskier takes a few napkins out from under the bar top, passing them to Julia. They wipe their faces in sticky silence, and afterward, Julia pulls out a smoke and hands him one too. The click of her lighter is loud in the silent bar, echoing off the far walls. 

“Can you imagine what she’d say about this mess?” he asks, a soft huff of laughter escaping him as he shakes his head. His wide blue eyes turn up to take in the fairy lights over the bar, the smoke twisting among them.

“Oh! I can just imagine.” Julia chuckles damply, shaking her head. “She always said you found love in the strangest places.” 

Jaskier smiles crookedly. “She’s not wrong.” Smoke drifts from the cigarette between his long fingers, swirling eddies forming as it rises. 

Julia nods, then blows a slow, lazy smoke ring. “She’d say… don’t listen to your heart anymore. Don’t listen to your head. You’ve heard enough from them for now. Go find someplace quiet, where the silence can slip in through the cracks of you and fill you up. Sometimes the answer slips in alongside the silence." 

The damp groan of chagrin that escapes Jaskier makes Julia smile. "That's right,” he replies, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And I would say, I hate silence, it makes me nervous."

Julia nods, amused. "And she would say-" Jaskier's voice joined Julia's and they finished together, "There's your problem right there." 

With a damp chuckle, Jaskier shakes his hair out of his eyes and blinks away the last of his tears. “Oh lord, Julia. I’m glad you’re still here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Suffer.” Julia jokes, knocking back her gin. “Suffer and die, probably.”

“Crash and burn, at the very least.” Jaskier snorts. He knocks back his glass of rum, then rises at last from the bar. He stubs out his cigarette as he rises. Then, with a soft clinking, he gathers all the glasses and takes them back to the sink to wash. A hush falls over the room, broken only by the splash of water against the metal sink.

Julia turns to watch him, leaning her elbows against the counter. Her head tips to the side as she watches Jaskier dry the dishes, then start scrubbing at the already-clean sink. He takes sanitizer and sprays it on a towel, then starts trying to evict the microscopic grit left around the base of the faucet. After a while, she stirs. “You think this guy might be it?” she asks, her eyes soft as she tips her head to look at her friend.

Jaskier looks down at the wet towel dripping in his hands. “I don’t know. I just… he’s different. I feel really different around him. I think I want to try, but I’m trying to just...” He grimaces, tossing the towel into the bin with a little too much force. “Take a minute to look before I leap.”  

Julia breaks into a wry smile, hazel eyes sparkling with gentle humor. “Good for you. Does that mean I’m gonna be staying late a few more nights?” 

“Could you? I could use the company.” Jaskier looks at her out of the corner of his eye, moving on to wipe the counter. 

Julia scoffs, but there’s a playful note in her voice. “Fine, but you gotta cough up those kreteks you've been teasing me with. You owe me.”

“Oh! I actually have those back at my house, thank you for reminding me!" Jaskier exclaims, smacking his forehead. "I can't believe I forgot. I’ll bring them in tomorrow, I got you a whole case. They came in from Indonesia last week and I just spaced out about them what with everything else going on.”

Eyes lighting up, Julia socks Jaskier affectionately on the shoulder. “Hey! My man! That’s what I’m talking about.” 

Jaskier laughs, rubbing his shoulder. “Anytime. It's the least I can do.”

Julia takes one last drag off of her cigarette, then turns to stub it out. “Listen. You want a ride home? It’s late.”

Jaskier wavers, then turns to look at the storeroom where his bike is. It’s a long ride home in the cold and dark, and he’s heartsick as all hell. It’s hard to turn her down. “Got room in your trunk for my bike?”

“Yep. No sweat. I’ll pull the car around front while you shut down.” Julia pats her pockets, making sure that her wallet, keys, and cigarettes are all in place. 

By the time she’s parked in front, Jaskier is locking the door of the bar. They wordlessly wrestle the bike into the back of the car together, working with the ease of practice. In the car, Julia flips on the stereo and pops in a Patti Smith cassette. Patti’s smoky, dry voice floats through the car, twining through the bouncing and jangling guitar riffs of the opening song of the album. Oh, she looks so fine… I’m gonna uh-uh, make her mine… 

They drive home in comfortable silence. Julia pulls up behind Jaskier’s car and parks. She eyes the white truck in the driveway silently, finishing her smoke as she considers it. Jaskier sits beside her, making no move to get out of the car. Finally, she stubs out her smoke and says, “Is that his?”

Jaskier nods. “Engine keeps overheating. He knows what’s wrong with it but I don’t have the tools for him to fix it, so it’s gonna stay there until I can get them for him. Honestly I don’t have the faintest idea what he wants, it all goes in my ear and then out the other. If he’d just let me take him to the store it would be fine but no-”

Putting her hand on the door, Julia eyes Jaskier kindly. “Kiddo, I don’t need every single detail. It’s his truck, I get it. Let’s go in.”

Jaskier puffs as he’s thrown off track. Then he smiles crookedly, face catching in a bar of orange light from the streetlamp outside. “Sorry. You go on in, I’ve got to bring the bike around back.”

Flourishing her keys, Julia nods. She ambles around the front of Jaskier’s house and unlocks his door, letting herself into the dark entryway. Flicking on the lights, she looks around. The place is uncannily clean and stinks of floor wax and furniture oil. Jaskier’s home usually looks a bit rumpled, like a bed that’s been slept in and then had the covers thrown back into place without being smoothed or tucked. Not dirty, precisely, but not clean. Lived in. This, though… she gives a low whistle under her teeth. Her friend had been understating the distress he’d been experiencing. His home didn’t get this tidy unless something really got under his skin.

She kicks her boots off and heads to the kitchen to get a pot of coffee going, then snags a pudding out of the fridge. As she’s digging around for a spoon, she hears the jingle of keys announcing Jaskier’s arrival through the back door. 

He notes the pudding cup in her hand and the very corner of his mouth turns up, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he slips past her to drop his bag in his bedroom. When he returns to the kitchen he smiles at her, leaning against the fridge.

“Better?” she asks, tearing open the plastic lid.

“Better,” Jaskier agrees, eyes dancing with a teasing light. “Still like the taste of stolen pudding?”

“Tastes better if you swipe it,” Julia grins unrepentantly. She settles on the stool with her pudding. “Gonna cough up those kreteks?”

Jaskier grins. “You’ve got it. Just a minute, darling. I have to figure out where I put them.” He turns on his foot and bounds off to the other end of his house, rummaging around until he remembers where he stuck the package. It turns out it’s still next to the front door in plain view, hidden on a shelf by the other oddities it’s been stuck on top of. Jaskier’s house is unusually clean, but it isn’t that clean. Making a triumphant noise, he grabs it and heads back towards Julia. 

Pleased, Julia opens the case up in a few quick movements and takes out a carton. She flicks it open, smelling it with great satisfaction. The rich smell of clove and tobacco wafts up to her, and she sighs in contentment. “Ah, that’s the good shit. Thanks, man.”

“You’ve got it. I’ll order more tomorrow, you deserve them. Takes them a while to import but we should be seeing them in the next month or so.” 

Julia laughs. “Man, I’m earning them signing up to listen to your shit like this. Go check your message machine, I ain’t subbing in for your therapist.”

Jaskier huffs a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Fine, fine, I’ve got it.” He pours himself a cup of coffee, then ambles over to the message machine and picks up the receiver. He punches in a code and waits, then jots something down on a pad of paper next to it with a brief smile flashing across his face. He turns back to Julia, wiggling the notepad at her. “Got an appointment tomorrow before I go to work. She shoehorned me into her lunch hour.”

“Huh,” Julia grunts, amused. “Better bring that poor woman lunch, she’s a saint for taking you back like that on short notice.”

Jaskier looks chagrined. He settles himself back on a stool with his back to the refrigerator. “Yeah, you're not wrong. Best kind of saint. I thought I’d bring her Thai from that place up on Market street. You know the one with the little golden treasure bag dumpling things?”

“Man, she gets treasure bags? Do I get some?” Julia teases.

“If you come hold my hand tomorrow, you get anything you want.”

“Mm, no dice. I’m doing enough hand-holding as it is. Speaking of which, you could still bring it to me at the bar...” she grins over her mug, eyes sparkling playfully.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and sighs. “Extortionist.” 

“You love me,” she snorts.

“I do,” he breaks out into a smile, leaning against the island top with his elbows. “Thanks for running me home.”

Julia shifts in her seat and sighs, leaning forward onto her elbows and giving Jaskier a frank look. “I got you, it’s no problem. It’s not every day you get blown out of the water by something like this. You gonna be ok?”

Jaskier considers his mug with a thoughtful moue, then nods. “I think I am, Julia. I’m sorry about this morning, it won’t happen again.”

Smirking, Julia shrugs. “Just do better.”

Fluffing the hair on the back of his neck, Jaskier nods. “You got it.” He takes a thoughtful sip of his coffee, then asks, “How are you doing?” His voice is gentle as he asks the question, sensitive to the ongoing nature of her pain.

Julia shifts uneasily, squinting at her mug. “I dunno. I’m making it. Don’t wanna look for a new place yet, but I know it’s gonna be time soon.” She casts a short, hard-to-read look at Jaskier. She appreciates him asking, but she’s also not sure how much she wants to talk.

“When’s the lease up?” Jaskier asks, his eyes soft. 

“Uhm…” Julia cleared her throat. “June.”

“Julia!" Jaskier gasps, exasperated. "That was over a month ago! You didn’t just sign a new one, did you? Why didn’t you talk to me first?” 

“I didn’t wanna talk about it,” Julia growls, scowling.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t get all growly with me. You’re miserable there! Rue is all over that place, darling! I can barely turn around twice in there without bumping into something that breaks my heart, I don't know how you go and live there every day."

Julia presses her lips together, tapping her carton of kreteks between her fingers. She shrugs. "I can't imagine being anywhere else. All I have left is there."

Heart breaking a little, Jaskier sighs. He regards Julia kindly. "You can't hold on like that forever." 

Scowling, Julia shrugs. That might be true, but she didn’t have to like it.

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Jaskier looks her over for a moment. He hesitates, then says, "Why don't you just start looking? There's no harm in at least checking the paper…" he nudges her gently. "Worst that can happen is you don't fall in love with the first place you see. No harm, right?"

Julia shuffles uncomfortably, taking a big gulp of her coffee. She frowns at her cup, then looks out of the corner of her eye at Jaskier. “I can’t afford to break the lease.”

“Nonsense, you’ve got plenty of savings to cover shit like that,” Jaskier replies, still exasperated. “Besides, even if you didn’t, I’d cover you. You know that!”

“I know…” Julia grumbles, “But-”

“So what you mean is, you’re still stuck and you’re not ready to go yet.”

Julia scowls. She wants desperately to argue with him, to lash out and protect herself, but the impulse passes before the words can even form. She shrugs. “Maybe so.” 

Jaskier sighs. “Julia darling, I’m convinced there’s a place in the world for you. Somewhere that will feel good and be just for you. Who knows, maybe you’ll even meet someone soon? Stranger things have happened.”

“Stranger things can eat my ass,” Julia snaps.

Unimpressed, Jaskier shrugs. “Okay.” He pops open his pudding cup and spoons up a mouthful, sucking it off of his spoon thoughtfully. “Mm. Should you ever decide to come out of that suck-ass hedge-maze of grumpiness you’ve built for yourself I’ll be here. I love you, despite all your best efforts to turn into an unmanageable troll.” 

“Oh what, and you’re Prince Charming?” Julia scoffs. “Puh-lease, you little drama queen.” They both eye each other for a moment, wavering, then break out in quiet laughter. Jaskier reaches over and pats her hand, and Julia smiles crookedly. She drains the last of her mug, then sets it down with a final-sounding ‘thunk.’ “All right, mijo. I won’t keep you talking all night. Thanks for the kreteks, I hope you work everything out. Call me if you need me.”

“I will. Same goes for you, darling. My phone is always on for you, and my door is always open. I don’t care what time it is, if you need me you come. Ok?”

Julia eyes him uncertainly, then nods. She had taken him up on the offer before, showing up at odd hours eaten alive by grief and unable to be alone with it anymore. “Ok. See you tomorrow.” She punches his shoulder affectionately, then heads for the door.

“Good night, Julia. Safe drive, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

~*~

Jaskier puts himself back together during the intervening days. He attends therapy, brings Julia her takeout, and things return to normal at the bar. Sunday morning he rides his bike, but this time he’s sober, more himself. At the end of the night, he pulls Julia to the side as she sighs in exasperation. 

Jaskier gives her a sheepish smile, leaning back against one of the counters. “Sorry, I’m not going to keep you long tonight.”

“Yeah? Good, my fish are starting to worry I’m seeing someone new,” Julia cracks. “What’s up?” Her eyes travel to the closet where the bike is and back to him. “Car ok?”

“What?” He looks over his shoulder in the direction she’s indicating. “Oh! No, it’s fine. I just wanted to take a long ride tonight after work, maybe catch the sunrise out south of my house.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s Geralt. I finally decided to call him. I think I’ve got my head on straight and I still wanna do it.”

Julia sucks her teeth thoughtfully. It’s sweet to see him excited, but she worries about his heart, too. He doesn’t always guard it as carefully as he should. “You sure? From what you’re telling me, it doesn’t sound like you’re lookin’ at a walk in the park. He’s married, he’s got a family halfway across the world, he’s in the closet…”

Jaskier sighs. “I know, Julia. I was there, I remember.” 

Julia arches her eyebrow at him but doesn’t comment. 

Jaskier chews his lip. “I know it’s probably stupid, and I know we could break each other’s hearts, but…” he ruffles his hand through his hair. “I don’t meet men like that every day. Besides. I will definitely regret it if I don’t at least see him one more time.” 

Julia rolls her eyes, but a fond smile creeps across her tawny face. “I’ll give you wanting to see him again one more time, you two really should talk. Just try not to be a dumbass, ok? Go slow. You’ve gotta take care of yourself, you’re not twenty anymore.”

The look on Jaskier’s face softens thoughtfully, and he nods. “I know. I’ll try to be good.”

“Good. Where are you planning on taking him? This doesn’t sound like public conversation material.”

“Well… that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. I was thinking maybe the best place would be the bar.”

“What, don’t want to use your house?” Julia asks dryly. 

“Nnnoo, uh…” Jaskier rubs the back of his neck, turning red. 

“I get it.” Julia cuts him off with a quick gesture, smirking.  “You wanna keep it on the up and up. Don’t you have somewhere else you could meet him though?”

“Mmm… I mean, there are some parks I could take him to, but that feels weird for a private conversation, you know?” Julia nods. Jaskier continues, “He’s staying with his wife at the hotel, and I feel like it would be rude to ask him to kick her out so we can talk. Most of my friends have these teeny apartments so I can’t exactly borrow space from them. The bar seemed like the best place.”

Julia hums, then nods. “I get it. Not like I have a porch I could offer you or anything.”

“Yeah. So…?”

Shrugging, Julia stuffs her keys into her pocket. “Go for it. Just don’t fuck all over the furniture or I’m gonna fire you,” she cracks.

Jaskier laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She might not be able to actually fire him, all joking aside, but Julia has a way of finding truly horrifying tasks to saddle him with. He isn’t about to try her and they both know it.  He pushes off of the counter, then digs a faxed receipt out of his back pocket and unfolds it. “Kreteks are on the way, by the bye. Here’s the tracking number.” 

Julia lights up, making grabby hands as Jaskier hands the receipt over. She scans it, then gives a satisfied smile and folds it up to stick in her wallet. “Great. All right, I’m gonna head outta here. Let me know how it goes, ok?”

“As if I’d leave you out of the loop,” Jaskier hums fondly. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Am I gonna lose a hand if I try to hug you?”

“Yep,” Julia says with a chuckle. She reaches over and slaps Jaskier’s shoulder companionably on her way out the door. “Good night, mijo.” 

“Good night, Julia. Drive safe.” Jaskier says to her retreating back, smiling. He turns away as the kitchen door swings shut and makes one last circuit of the bar. When he gets outside he closes up; there is a satisfying click as the tumblers lock into place. It has been a good night, and tomorrow is full of possibilities.

[julemmaes]

Thanks to all my babes who tagged me @bookstantrash @simpingfornestaarcheron @thewayshedreamed @the-regal-warrior. Starting a new threat cause I hate scrolling down those things sorry. The idea was @uchihasass;)

1. How many do you have on Ao3? 36, counted them myself

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 294,104. Kinda shook at that number considered I haven't posted all of my fics there and the several ones I still have on my drafts tbf

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? Three. A Court of Thorns and Roses and Throne of Glass by Sarah J Maas and The Shadowhunters Chronicles by Cassandra Clare

4. What are your top 5 five by kudos?

1. Love Her Like She Should Be Loved (185)

2. Multifandom October Fest (137)

3. Never Leave You (118)

4. Pinky Promise (100)

5.  Honey (86)

5. Do you respond to comments, why or why not? I try to always respond, even if it's just to say thank you, the only time I don't reply it's when it's just emojis but only cause I don't know what to reply with. Still, I appreciate them so freaking much:))

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? I shit you not I'd skipped this question and had to go back to this and maybe it's my brain trying to save me from the Brazilian's rage, yes, Babi, I'm talking to you I think it's either Not Enough or We Have To

7. Do you write crossovers? Yeah, I do have some tog/acotar pairs scattered around in my fics

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic? Not on the fic specifically, it was more of a personal attack - assumptions the reader had made on my person that they really wanted to tell me:D

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind? I do write smut and for now I only ever wrote sex between two people in love? I legit don't know what else I should say about the kind of smut I write

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not the fic itself, but it happened that someone I'd brainstormed with stole the idea and wrote it themselves

11. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not that I know of

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Nope, but I have two big "co-works" on the way and I can't wait to actually start writing the stories with my besties

13. What is your all time favorite ship? It depends. My otp will always be Julian and Emma from TDA, but Nessian have their own special place in my heart and Rowaelin own me so, yeah

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? Definitely the last part of the noodles series, shit I have for Jesse and Lucie, a few Nessian thingies, several Nessian thingies actually. And I'm surely forgetting something but you don't need to know that

15. What are your writing strengths? I guess I'm good at writing angst, or so I've been told. I can easily write what my characters are going through on an emotional level

16. What are your writing weaknesses? The language? My first language isn't English and I struggle a lot with synonyms and figures of speech and that kind of stuff

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I like that. I love that, actually. I love it especially when the protagonist doesn't know the language and can't understand and no one translates for them in the story?? I don't know why

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for? One Direction Shadowhunters

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve ever written?

I'm my number one fan and this is hard as fuck so I'll give you a top 5 cause I can't decide. I love them all the same

5. Third and Fourth Wheeling but also Drivers License deserves to be in this list

4. Love Her Like She Should Be Loved

3. Pinky Promise

2. The Seven Of Us

1. Honey

Tagging: literally anyone who sees this and that write fics cause I'm pretty sure all of my mutuals already did it and I don't know who to tag;))

[imagine-nation20]

Freedom

Summary: You and Jaskier have been meeting wherever you both go, only to spend fleeting moments together before parting again, leaving you colder than ever. Just when you think you might lose hope forever, you see him again.

Requested By: @ultracolorfulnerdcollection

Request: Hi there, Could you write Jaskier x Fem reader when he falls in love, but true love like he never has before and the keep finding each other having to let go of eachother. And the last time they find each other they do something crazy because they would not be able to bear departing from each other anymore. (All the fluff in the world, enough space to add smut if you wished to). I hope it inspires you Thank youuu

A/N: I actually loved this request, because ever since watching the show, I’ve sort of seen the whole ‘connected by destiny’ thing as an almost soulmate(platonic or otherwise) concept, and Soulmate AUs are my favorite, so… I was really excited about this.

~~~

The first time you met Jaskier, you were both teenagers. Your family was nobility, but you often traveled from your homes to kingdoms, helping with wars, uprisings, and other fighting matters. Your family was famous for their fighters, even going as far as to train any woman as well. That included yourself.

The party your father had been hired to protect as well as attend was boring. Most of the nobles talked about politics or arranged marriages, some even mentioning their latest affairs. It was a miracle no one had started a fight yet. You cringed at the thought of having to stop a fight between drunk nobles and royalty.

A boy, no older than you with shiny brown hair and bright blue eyes sat next to you at a table, holding out his hand. You eyed it wearily, not sure what he was up to, though you had some idea.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, but you may call me Jaskier” He introduced himself, bowing as well as he could while seated. You took his hand, deciding to humor him, and with a gentle smile, you returned the favor. He kissed the back of your hand, eyes alight with mischief.

“What brings you to my corner of the room, Julian?” You said, purposefully ignoring his offer to call him by a nickname. He rose a brow, smile widening at your sly look.

“Only your beauty, My Lady, and the hope of sharing a dance with you,”

And so you did. You and the boy danced for most of the night, only stopping to escape the party and find your way to a balcony, laughter escaping into the night air.

“And tell me, oh wise Julian, when you achieve your dream of becoming a bard, what will you write songs about? Heroic tales? Daring quests?” You teased, leaning back against the railing. 

“Love Ballads,” Julian muttered, staring at you. The implications of his words made your cheeks heat up, and a shy smile to grace your features.

“Do you tell that to all the people you meet?” You asked, tilting your head. Julian chuckled, looking down to the ground before meeting your eyes once more.

“No, just you,” He whispers, taking a step closer. You follow, staring into his eyes. Your father’s voice calls your name, and you pull away, barely pecking Julian on the cheek before bidding him a good night and rushing to your father.

The next time you meet Jaskier, you are older, and traveling with a small group of you father’s men to protect a village from some monster. It is then that you also meet Geralt of Rivia, the famous witcher, and butcher of blaviken. It is also then that you hear Jaskier sing for the first time. His voice is soft, words like a delicate breeze brushing over the tavern.

“I am weak, my love,” He sighs out. “And I am wanting.”

He was right. Love Ballads were most definitely his strongest talent. As the song comes to an end, Jaskier looks up, eyes meeting yours still stood in the entrance, and his face visible brightens, smile blinding. With a quick apology and a rushed goodnight, he leaves to tavern goers hanging, rushing to you and ignoring your men, who all reach for their swords. With a wave of your hand, they calm, and you are quickly pulled into a hug.

Jaskier practically crushes you within his grasp, and you’re surprised at how strong he is.

“It had been too long, Julian.” You murmur, pulling away from his arms. He smiles at you, hands resting on your biceps.

“So it has, and much has happened since we last spoke. I’m sure you’ve heard the song.” He moved to offer you his arm, leading you into the tavern and towards a table in the back. You wave your men off, following Jaskier, completely entrance by his words.

“I have, indeed,” You looked to the table, seeing a white haired man sitting there, scowl on his face. “This must be the famous Geralt of Rivia.”

It was a wonder you hadn’t met him yet, as you two most definitely ran in the same circles. You had even arrived in the town of Blaviken after the famous slaughter in the market, hearing the stories of the Butcher. 

“Hmm.” Was the only acknowledgement Geralt gave you looking at Jaskier and your intertwined arms. “I am not in the mood, Jaskier.”

“You’re never in the mood for anything, Geralt,” Jaskier muttered, waving his hand towards me. “This is Lady (Y/N) (L/N).”

Geralt seemed to recognize the name, but still didn’t say much on the subject. A ‘hmm’, was his only response. Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“You could show a bit more tact, Geralt,” Jaskier complained. 

“Really, it’s fine, Julian,” Geralt seemed surprised at the name, quirking a brow at you. “I’m sure Geralt is tired from traveling a slaying monsters. As am I. I was planning on heading straight to a room,”

Jaskier perked up at this, nudging you slightly with a sly look. “May I join you, Lady (Y/N)?”

You laughed, shaking your head and releasing Jaskier. “Not so fast, Julian,” He sighed at the sound of his name, “I know your tricks, as good as they may be… though, you might catch me early in the morning before we leave for Cintra.”

Jaskier didn’t end up catching you, having overslept. He only heard the receding hoofbeats of your men as he roused from sleep, disappointed, but not very surprised. Geralt had him walking all day yesterday, and the exhaustion had started to show.

The third time you meet Jaskier, your father is talking with a nobleman about the possibility of your engagement to his son.

You hadn’t been happy during the entirety of the gathering, baffled at your father’s sudden interest with you marrying.

“You're older now, and people are starting to question your lack of a husband. They see you galavanting around with hordes of soldiers, and they talk,” Your father gripped your shoulders, pulling you to him in a hug. “I don’t want this just as much as you, but I won’t have people calling you dirty names. If you can find someone suitable who you want to marry instead, you can, but if not, I will accept the nobleman’s offer.”

There was no other option, and you knew it. Your father had your best interests at heart, and you were sure this boy would be a fine husband, but he wasn’t him. Your sweet bard, who would strum his lute and spin words of gold, just in the hope of seeing you smile at him. Your bard, who you had never spent more than a few moments with, but who had captured your soul completely. 

It was destiny, your friend, Yennefer had whispered to you one night. The witch was so sure of that fact. Told you she had met Jaskier one time, saved his life, and that in his hazy sickness, he had only mumbled your name. You weren’t sure if she was being truthful or just trying to gain your favor with sweet words at the time, too used to the silver tongues of politicians and noblemen.

Still, sitting in the corner of the ballroom seems familiar, and the face that approaches you as well.

“My Lady,” Jaskier bows, holding out his hand.

“Julian.” Is your only response, but the way it is sighed out in response adds such a complexity, that Jaskier isn’t sure what you mean by it. All he knows is that he wants to hear you say it forever.

You spend that night like your first, and never leave his side, talking with Yennefer and Geralt as well, whenever they aren’t staring at each other. He tells you about their travels, and even sings you the famous song about his first adventure with Geralt. 

You don’t mention your father’s plans of engagement. You knew if you did, Jaskier would offer you his hand instead, but you would never be able to take it, to take his life from him. Jaskier wasn’t the type of person who could settle down and run a household, which was obvious by his occupation alone. Speaking with him, and hearing how he interacted with people, let alone seeing it, was enough to erase any doubt that Jaskier was a free spirit. Being responsible for his misery wasn’t something you could handle burdening you. So you chose a different, more manageable burden. You chose a life of misery for yourself, in the hopes that you would spare Jaskier his own. Because if keeping this from him kept him free, you would never tell a soul.

You don’t see Jaskier for quite a few months after that, which is a short time period if you consider the years between your last few meetings. Your father wasn’t blind, and he could see the pain in your eyes as you spoke to your fiance and future father-in-law. He knew of Jaskier, he knew of your feelings, and that's why he had given you a choice. He had hoped you would try for your own happiness. It was in vain though, because he had raised you properly. Selfishness was not in your vocabulary, and he knew that is what you viewed asking Jaskier to stay was. Selfishness. How though, could it be selfish if he also knew Jaskier wanted the same thing you did?

Maybe that was why he sent out his fastest rider. Why the note clutched in the warrior’s hand was so hastily written.

When the knight finally managed to find the bard, who was tiredly strumming a new song in his and Geralt’s room, he drummed on the door hard enough to shock the bard onto the floor, and have Geralt reaching for his sword. The insignia on the night’s uniform had Jaskier quickly scrambling up, taking the letter address to him. It wasn’t your handwriting, as he would know that anywhere, but it was similar.

Geralt left Jaskier to sit on the bed, waiting for the bard to tell him they had a monster to fight, or that they had to go to another event. The words that slipped from Jaskier’s mouth, however, were not anywhere close to what the witcher was expecting.

“She’s getting married,” Three simple words that escape Jaskier in a small breath. Geralt’s head whips up, legs swinging over the bed to sit on the edge.

“What?” Its gruff, not gentle as Jaskier hoped the moment to be. He felt as if he might shatter if Geralt asked him anything more.

“She’s going to be married in a month,” He turned to his friend, and Geralt was sure it was the first time he had seen Jaskier so heartbroken. Tears were pooling in the bard’s eyes.

Geralt hummed, standing. He gathered their stuff, pushing the bard out the door. “Like hell she is.”

The next time you see Jaskier, you’re dressed in white, and frowning. It wasn’t that your dress wasn’t beautiful, it was rather perfect if you were honest, but the fact that it was being wasted on a day where you weren’t going to be happy, that was what bothered you.

“How are you doing?” Yennefer asked from her place reclining on your bed. She ate a few fruits out of a bowl, the black shine of her midnight dress was littered with glitter that you could have sworn were actual stars. You had given Yennefer the choice over what she wore today, as she was your only bridesmaid, and you knew she wouldn’t have liked what you picked. She looked beautiful as always though, and at least that made you a bit happier.

“I don’t know,” You said simply, running a hand over the bodice of your dress.

“Don’t bullshit me, be honest,” Yennefer said, not giving you the room to dance around the subject like usual.

“I’m completely miserable and I am afraid I will be for the rest of my life,” You said, turning to her. The main that had been working on your hair stumbled, and you brushed her off when she tried to go back. “My hair is fine, now go help set up something else.”

You knew you were being harsh, but you weren’t in the mood to care. The maid scurried off, and Yennefer quirked a brow at you.

“That was definitely not in character for you,” She said, leaning back on the bed once more and smirking at you. “I think I like angry and horny (Y/N).”

“I’m not horny.”

“But you don’t deny being angry?” She asked. You didn’t respond.

The door to the room opened, and one of the maids rushed in, eyes wide and hair frazzled. “There are two men who just arrived at the house, and one of them is asking for you, My Lady.”

You rolled your eyes. Probably another noble here to give you a wedding gift. “Send them up if you must. I can’t deal with another problem today and I fear if I leave this room, I will be riddled with them.”

The maid nodded, bowing and rushing back out. It wasn’t long before the door was swinging open and you were hissing curses. “Who could have so little decency as to-”

Your words were cut off as you spun around and made eye contact with the intruder. The blue eyes you had only ever seen so briefly, but which you knew so well. He was panting, hair wild and clothes unkempt. His usual jacket was long gone, leaving only pants and a shirt with his sleeves rolled up. It was a far cry from how put-together he usually appeared before you.

He looked you over, eyes filled with so much hurt, and anguish. It was a look you had become familiar with over the past few months, seeing it so often on yourself in the mirror.

“Julian…” You murmured, already feeling the tears well in your eyes. You were hoping never to have to see him again, but destiny apparently had other plans for you. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, voice cracking halfway through. That look on his face was what you had been trying to avoid by not telling him. Yennefer leaves the room quickly, grabbing a patiently waiting Geralt as she closes the door behind them.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Jaskier.” You think that the nickname will be enough to tell him you’re serious about this, but it only hurts your more to see the wince he gives at the cold tone.

“Hurt me? You didn’t hurt me,” He took a step closer. “You cut into my back and tore my heart out.”

Its whispered between light sobs, but he still hears it. “I’m sorry.”

“Why not come to me. If this is about politics, I would have married you within the hour,” He knows he sounds like a man desperate for water after being left in the desert for weeks, but he doesn’t have it in him to care at the moment.

“That’s exactly why, Jaskier,” You hissed out, turning to him and letting the hot tears track down you face without a care. You would force yourself to feel the pain, because it let you know you were doing the right thing. “You would’ve given up everything for me at that moment, but you bore easily, and soon you will become bored with me. What then? When you realize you can’t go out on adventures with Geralt, because you have a house and an army to run? When you realize you can’t travel and write songs about heroes because I keep you tied to this godforsaken house?”

“Love ballads,” Is all he says, like he’s reminding you of a chore you have to do that day.

“What?”

“I told you when we met, my songs would be love ballads,” He stepped closer to you, hands coming up to wipe the tears from your face. “I would give up every adventure, every chance to write another song of heroics, if it meant I could spend even a year with you, writing love ballads.”

“But you will be-” You tried, only to be cut off by the feeling of him pressed against you, lips soft and gentle, but so desperate in their need of you. It was only a momentary kiss, but the way he lingered afterwards, the way his lips brushed lightly against yours, and the way his breaths came out in pants like he had just run a mile to get here, was enough to make it feel like an eternity. You weren’t complaining, but the nagging feeling that you were being selfish remained, and you pushed him away. The hurt look on his face was almost enough for you to say ‘screw it’ and kiss him again.

“I will not be the cause of your grief, Julian,” You regretted the name as soon as you said it. You knew it gave him hope, hearing the endearing way you spoke it into existence.

“Yet you stand here, being the greatest cause of my grief,” He followed you as you stepped away, white dress swishing as you moved. “If you are so scared of me losing my freedom, then run away with me.”

It was an absurd request, which you were keen to point out. “My father-”

“Was the one who brought me here.”

That wasn’t what you were expecting, and quite frankly, you were shocked. Your father had been so adamant in your marriage. Why would he bring back the one thing, the one person, who would jeopardize everything?

“Why?”

“Because he knew I would do anything to stop this wedding,” Jaskier scrambled for his lute, smiling slightly. “I will sing every love song I know.”

“Julian,” You tried to stop him, but only half-heartedly.

“I will get up in front of everyone waiting outside and scream it out.”

“Julian…”

“I’ll get Yennefer to spell it out in the sky with the clouds.”

“Julian!” You tried to shush him, as he was getting louder and louder. He dropped his lute back to his side, reaching for you and pulling you close, lips to your ear.

“I will whisper it to you every morning, as I wake up beside you as gaze upon your beautiful face.”

“Julian…” You mumbled, pulling him in for another kiss. 

You were sure that no matter how hard you tried, he would not give up, as he had never been the sort. You could argue with him all day, cite sources and state facts, but if there was one thing Jaskier was, it was romantic, and he would die before he told you not to be selfish this one time.

Destiny seemed keen on you and Jaskier being together, or they wouldn’t have pushed you together like they did. And really, who were you to argue with destiny?

---

Yennefer stepped up in front of the crowd, smiling to Geralt. The nobleman and his son demanded to know what was going on, but the witch ignored them. She turned to the gathered friends and family, a polite, and somewhat smug, look on her face.

“There will be no wedding today, as I am afraid the bride has run off with her secret love.” Her tone held no remorse. The nobleman protested angrily, spouting off how this was outrageous and an insult to his family. He demanded Geralt, the mighty witcher, track them down.

“I can’t.” Was all Geralt said.

“And why not?”

“I only hunt monsters.”

[sithhoplite]

Mother Daughter Chat

Mortis watched Indran and Lak walk out to the garden together. Lak had been subdued during dinner, engaging in conversation when she had too but no more. It was clear to all she had something on her mind but it seemed she did not wish to share that with him but his wife instead. He was glad she at least was opening up to her mother and not keeping it bottled up inside as she normally would do. 

Hands in her pockets Lak kicked at the ground not sure what to say, a thousand thoughts running through her head about how to start the conversation. Indran waited for her to start the talk on her own terms knowing pushing might end it right then and there. 

Sitting down Lak took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes out of frustration at herself. Deciding to break the silence Indran sat down next to her running her fingers through her daughter's hair.

“You have let it grow back out, I like it. It shows off the scars but I am getting used to those.”

Smiling at her, “I’ve been too lazy to get it cut and now as winter approaches it seems smarter to let it grow, though not much more than it is now. What dad said last night struck a nerve, I know he didn’t mean too but it did and a raw one it seems….ever since I was freed I showed an aptitude for melee combat and the military. It’s all I have known and what I have geared my life for. The thought of not being able to do that, it’s horrifying to me.”

“I can tell and I will never discount your deeds on the battlefield. What you have done, what you have seen your father and I can never understand. You must know that you are more than just a warrior despite what Julian stupidly told you.”

“It’s easy to say but harder to believe. He took me out of the Academy, he made me Sith.” Lak began to fight back tears that wanted to spill over but for the moment didn’t. “Other Darths came looking for apprentices but as soon as they found out about my shall we say mixed heritage they were no longer interested, I wasn’t pure enough. Gravus was the one who took a chance on me, looked past my blood so of course I took everything he said as truth. I was 18, a kid, barely free for 10 years.” silent tears now coming down her cheek, “Do you think I want to say what he taught me was wrong even though I know now it was.”

Lak rarely brought up her time in the Academy but Indran knew it was hard, harder than most. To hear the anguish in her voice  told her it was harder than she had realized.

“No, I know you don’t.  He was wrong about this Lak, you are not only worth the military victories you bring to the Empire, your time recovering has shown that. The ideas you have brought to Strategy, your experiences have all helped. Is his teachings why you appear to be so reckless in combat, not caring if you die?”

“Yes.”

“I thought as much. Lak look at me.” Looking up at her mother the pain in her eyes was clear and unguarded, “ While your victories are part of who you are they are not all you are. You are an inquisitive, loyal, smart, stubborn, loving and sarcastic young lady. It was an easy decision to  adopt you when your father brought it up. Despite the rough times I don’t see you as a soldier for the Empire, I see you as my daughter who has many paths she could take in life.”

Lak closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around her mother. Indran held her tight and kissed the top of her head. Mortis eyed them from afar wondering what they were talking about that brought up such strong emotions that he could feel them.

Pulling away slowly Lak began to pace as she tried to put words together again.

“It’s not just rethinking who I thought I was supposed to be that is weighing on my mind mom, I’ve...met someone. He has captured my attention like no other man has. I’m not a stranger to men, not that many but not innocent either, but this, this is different. When  we have lunch or just talk I can’t stop smiling or wanting to hear his voice. I hate having to leave when he has to go back to work.”

Trying to hide a smile at this revelation, “I see, how long have you two been having lunch?”

Looking down at the ground, a rare shy streak coming from Lak, “ About 3 months, we’ve been on a couple dates. I’m surprised Dad hasn’t said anything to you, or me actually.”

“If he hasn’t it means he has checked into this young man who has captured our daughters eye and found nothing worrying. Many I enquire into his name, just his first so you don’t give too much away.”

Chuckling, “His name is Andriy, he works in Logistics. When I see him, talk to him and yes kiss him, I see a future I’ve never seen with any other man I have been with. I’m not sure what is going on with me but it's different.”

“Do you want my honest opinion sweetie?”

“Sure.”

“It sounds like you are in love with him.”

“The thought had crossed my mind that I might be as well. I loathe the thought of being away from him for an unknown period of time, like the 18 months I was gone last time.”

“I wish I could give you advice about love but I can’t. I didn’t expect to fall for your father but I did. Enjoy it, treasure it and if it’s  meant to be then it will because what I see right now is a very smitten Lak who is happy with her beau and that makes me happy.”

“Thanks mom, I appreciate it. I will spare you further intimate details.”

“I appreciate that because I doubt you want to hear about your father and I.”

“Force no. I know you guys still have an active love life but I don’t need to hear about it.”

“Thanks for listening mom, I guess I just needed to talk and hear that what Gravus told me was stupid. I’m trying to not shut you guys out like I used too.”

“Your welcome honey and I appreciate it. Your father and I can’t help if we don’t know what’s wrong. Shall we go back inside and get desert? Your father is lurking outside the garden.”

“Of course he is, I would have been disappointed if he hadn’t been.”

Walking back into the house Lak and Indran just smile at Mortis while heading to the table for dessert.

“Joining us dear?”

Lak laughed at the look on her father’s face and the far too innocent look on her moms.

[cautelous]

He has a long way to go. Not to the highest summit, of course, but… Targon stands impossibly tall against the backdrop of the Great Barrier. Mountains that are taller than the Ironspikes are cowed before the peak. The ascent.

But he only has to go to the Solari. Still a climb, still a journey - but not the journey. He finds beauty in nature and thrill from danger, yes, but the peak holds little promise for him. What would he find up there, if frostbite and oxygen deprivation didn’t kill him first?

Nothing but snow and ice and a sense of hollow victory, he imagines. The heavens only open for those pure of character, if the myths are to be believed, and he isn’t delusional enough to think that he qualifies. Noble goals and a noble heart, but justice outside of Piltover is still so set on judging actions and actions alone. The gods are no exception.

                                                        —

The Rakkor are far from unused to foreigners. They speak a common tongue with him, and while their grandmothers and grandfathers may have driven him from the land in an instant… Things have changed over the decades. Even in the past decade - he’s been here before, after all, and so much is different since then. He doesn’t have to hide, have to scamper up the mountain in the dark. The Rakkor’s opinions have shifted: so what does it matter if outsiders try to climb to the peak? If they are worthy, the spirit of Targon will embrace them and guide them higher. If they aren’t, their bodies are a sacrifice to feed the mountain.

He spends two days there, going over the contents of his pack again and again. It’s heavy - overloaded, truthfully, for a man of his weight - but he’ll manage. (Or he won’t, and his body will end up as one of many lost beneath the snow or down a crevasse.) There’s others on their journeys, others that he can climb with until their paths diverge. (That’s something new, too.) Cover, if she comes looking. (Won’t she?)

Thrillseekers and adventurers and dreamers. He sees how they shoulder their packs lightly, how they laugh and joke and cheer. (He joins in too, of course, and celebrates on the night before his and some of their departures.) Confident in the mountain guiding them up. No ice axes, no crampons, just their hands and determination. Won’t that be enough, if they place their faith in the divine?

Maybe it will be. Or maybe he’ll see their colorful coats blowing in the wind, higher up on the mountain, as he descends.

                                                        —

The first few days of climbing are more than manageable. The spring thaw had happened a month before, and so they make camp in grass that’s unburdened by snow. The others are less unprepared than he’d originally thought: they have food and shelter, at the least, and the other climber from Piltover has her own backpacking stove for warm meals. They boil water over it each night, taking turns donating packages of tea for the others. The Demacians - brothers, he finds out - look on with a mix of suspicion and interest the first night, but take the offered drinks on the rest. The Noxian has no hesitancy. The Freljordian keeps to herself, eating pemmican and jerky from the lightest pack of the group. Determination has set in as they climb, the stuff of jokes now reality.

The other Piltovian - Beth, he’d learned at the base of the mountain, and he’d given his name as Vincent - is a quiet and kind soul, but still spirited, once the ascent begins. His own mood has turned introspective as well, whether from the journey ahead or the mountain itself.

They sit at the edge of camp, one night, and stare out into the brilliant sky.

“Vincent,” she starts, looking over to him. “Why are you climbing?”

He sighs and watches his breath crystalize in the night, letting the lie come easily. “I’ve always wanted to. Do you remember when the first one of us made it up? The news didn’t stop interviewing him for a month, and… he’d said he’d seen ‘such beautiful things’.”

He remembers the articles and the newscasts. Something that had been talked about over distant dinners - his brother had called the man an idiot, for risking his life for a pointless title, and his mother and father had agreed.

“I wasn’t around yet,” Beth says with a laugh. “But I read about him when I was a girl, so I guess we’ve got the same reasoning.”

Her words hit him in the chest. “You’re- ah, you’re younger than I, then.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m twenty-four.”

“You- you,” he stumbles over his thoughts, turning to her with concern in his eyes. “Beth, you shouldn’t be up here. Not now.”

“If not now, when?”

Gods. He’s a hypocrite, really, worrying over her choices when he’d been robbing nations at her age. But imprisonment isn’t a cold and lonely death on a mountain. It doesn’t matter what he says, though - he knows that look on her face.

“If not now, when…” he echoes and stares up at the sky. Then he gets to his feet. “I’m turning in for the night. We’ve ground to cover tomorrow.”

“Rest your old man bones, Vincent.”

                                                        —

They reach the highest Rakkor settlement after a few more days, and the mood brightens once again. They’re nearing the point of no return, yes, but in the here and now there’s life and living. The Rakkor play host, children darting about and laughing as adults watch with relic-weapons at their hips.

He knows of the Rite of Kor. He knows that each of these men and women have slewn another - another child - for the sake of battle-hardening and survival. (He’s been here once before. He’s held a weapon and known that his are the only bloodless hands to have touched it. It sits in his private gallery with all the rest.) But they offer their hospitality for seekers of Targon’s truths. What a change, what a thaw.

Or perhaps it’s just a matter of sacrifice. He feels the mountain wind run him through as Beth laughs and talks with a girl, the other Piltovian crouching low and listening attentively.

                                                        —

The Solari make their home higher still, secluded from the main path up Targon’s flank. His divergence will be noticed, of course - he can’t run off in the middle of the night. But he has his explanations.

The Demacians, Frederick and Jonathan, have warmed up to everyone - even Felix, the Noxian. They share tales of valor over the stove at night, the three admitting that they had no idea that those from the opposite nation could be so… human. Even Erna has thawed, offering sips from her leather flask to the party and singing into the night.

They’ve all discussed their reasons for climbing. Beauty, achievement, pride, wonder, longing. He keeps his story the same. Inspiration from another, a desire for beauty. It’s true, if one looks at it in the right sort of way.

He asks the group one day, once their mutual camp has been set up, if they wouldn’t mind sitting for a few sketches. Beth claps her hands in excitement - Vincent, you’re an artist? Why didn’t you say anything? - as he pulls a sketchbook and pencils from the bottom of his pack.

It had been extra weight. It had been worth it. So he sets about committing their features to paper, one-by-one, and leaves out his reasoning. It’s something more permanent than memory. Something to prove that they existed.

Beth pulls him to the edge of camp, later that night, and they stare up at the nearly full moon. He worries for her. How could he not? She’s too young for this. Too soft for this. Everyone but them is a warrior, and he’s had his complicated life to prepare him for this. She’s a dreamer, hardly out of her studies - hardly into the real world at all.

“So why are you really climbing?” she asks, gloved hands cupped around an insulated mug. Steam rises in the cold.

“I’ve told you a few times, haven’t I?”

“And you’ve been lying,” she says with a shrug. “At least, I think you have. Not telling the whole truth, at least?”

He freezes. It’s the first time someone’s caught him in a lie in… years. And it has to be someone like her, doesn’t it? The last person he’d suspect. In any other situation, he’d deny it, play it off, laugh. But Beth deserves honesty, he imagines. She’s gone past her point of no return.

“Guilty as charged,” he murmurs. “I’ll tell you.”

“Well, go on then!”

“The Solari,” he starts. “That’s my end-goal. I need to… speak to them.”

She breathes out a ‘huh’. “Didn’t take you for the religious type, Vincent.”

She deserves honesty. Maybe not the whole truth - he can’t surrender himself to the will of another, not now, not here, not with the wrong person - but enough of it. It’s the least he can do. He looks to her and pushes the thought of purple-black frostbite from his mind.

“It’s Julian, actually,” he says with a laugh. It doesn’t sound forced.

He expects her to draw back - to accuse, or at the very least frown - but all she does is chuckle. “I thought you didn’t look like much of a Vincent.”

“I suppose I don’t.”

Chuckles give way to quiet concern. She stares out into the void for some time, silent. “Hey… You don’t have to tell me, but - whatever you’re looking for with them?”

“Yes?”

“I hope you find it, Julian.”

                                                        —

He breaks from the group the following day, pointing out his new route on his map. Everyone takes it well enough, although even Erna seems concerned at his departure. But he wishes them well (and gods, he means it) and soon enough it’s just him and the snow and the ice.

The Solari had been hard to plan for. Records on what relics they have are vague, at best, half-finished anthropologic surveys in the basements of universities and the words of the Radiant Dawn his only clue. But he has his target: another manuscript. He hopes it’ll be small enough to tuck into a pocket of his pack. Preservation is essential, after all, and the thought of accidentally destroying something so priceless is anathema to him.

As for his plan? Simple in planning, complex in execution. The full moon is in a few days. The Solari will stand watch at the edges of their territory, or so he’s been told. Rituals and customs and patterns. Their archives will be left unguarded.

Of course, if he’s caught… he’ll be executed. But that’s the nature of his work. Perhaps he and the others aren’t so different, after all.

                                                        —

The heist goes fine. The hardest part had been the trip to and from his camp, hidden far enough away from the Solari village that they wouldn’t spot it. No light but the moon’s. No sound but the crunching snow and ice. (And the matter of hiding his path, of course.) But he has his prize, written in a language that he can’t read, and he feels…

He feels lighter, truthfully. He knows what the pages say, or at least the gist. The structure would make it obvious, if he hadn’t already known from his research.

Poetry. Devotion to the sun as the giver of all life, as the celestial being whose love warms the world. The Solari depict her as a woman, he’s read, hair a mane of fire and skin the color of a burning sunset.

He’d left a card in a new color. (They’re going home. Together?) But that will have to wait. For now, the sun needs to rise. He needs to descend. He needs to survive. He forces himself to sleep, book tucked safely away in his pack, and ignores how the shadows seem to dance and twist in his dreams.

                                                        —

The descent is harder than he expects. He finds himself expecting to hear others’ voices, to hear Felix speaking of the life he left behind, to hear Erna humming, to hear the hushed conversations of Fredrick and Jonathan. He expects to hear Beth’s laughter as his foot punches through fresh snow, expects an arm to shoot out to balance him.

He expects company, and its absence chills him far more than the wind. Gods. How had he ever thought poorly of them? They’re all the same, them and him, all dreamers holding onto faith and luck. They just placed - place, he amends with a jolt - their faith differently than he. All the same, but they believe in a goal and he believes in a woman. No one’s more justified than the other.

He looks up into the cold, clear night each time he makes camp. He’s never been a religious man, but he bows his head to the stars regardless.

Let them summit. Bring them home. Please.

He says another for her.

Let her live. She’s too young. Have mercy, please...

He says another for her.

Let her be happy. Let this work. Let her see how much she’s needed, still. Let her choose for her sake.

He thinks, briefly, about saying one for himself. But he’s pushed his luck enough with three. He doubts the gods - or whatever is out there in the inky blackness - would have much tolerance for a man such as he, anyways.

He only hopes that they tolerate prayers for others’ sakes.

                                                        —

It hardly feels real when he steps - nearly tumbles, really - back into the village at Targon’s base. He knows how he looks after pushing himself for days, after not stopping at the Rakkor settlement. He needed to beat the Solari down the mountain, after all, and they had the advantage of it being their home. But he’d done it. The Rakkor give him a wide berth - do they think that he’d summited? Do they think that he’s been changed?

He has been, but not by the peak. His pack feels heavier than when he started. It’s not due to the manuscript. But he makes his exit, begins the long journey home, and tells himself that he isn’t leaving anyone behind.

                                                        —

He reads the paper religiously in Piltover, buying morning and afternoon and evening copies. Her name was is Elizabeth Hargreave. She’ll be trumpeted and heralded, he knows, once she makes it back. But a week passes. Two. Three. There’s nothing.

Maybe, he bargains, she’s come back quietly.

So he goes to find her. Because she has to have made it. The world’s a cruel, cruel thing, but it can’t be that senseless. She’d had faith. They’d all had faith.

He finds grieving parents.

He doesn’t speak to them.

He carefully tears one of her portraits from his sketchbook, folds it into a crisp little rectangle, and mails it to their address.

No return address. No added words. What could he say?

He finds himself drinking more wine than usual.

                                                        —

He finds himself staring at the two manuscripts, a half-empty glass in his hands, and wonders if he’s made a horrible mistake.

It all depends on what she thinks, he imagines, and he downs the rest.

[dhwty-writes]

Chapter 11 - A Broken Bard

In the comments there were a lot of requests to finally let them talk. They talk. Also, there’s a bath scene. Yay?

The bath scene was inspired by @spielzeugkaiser‘s art here, who kindly gave me their permission to use it. It ends very differently, though. Going forward there will be more scenes like this, that you might recognise but as we’re telling two different stories, they won’t overlap completely.

I hope this is what you guys had in mind for them talking :)

Thanks as always to @persony-pepper for betaing this fic.

Summary: There is something deeply wrong about Lettenhove Hall that Geralt notices very belatedly: the complete lack of music. He confronts Jaskier about it.

Read on AO3

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There was something deeply unsettling about Lettenhove Hall and Geralt couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. It was odd, if he was honest. He normally spent his winters in the crumbling ruin of Kaer Morhen. Lettenhove Hall was a golden palace in comparison. It wasn’t as big, of course, but instead it was what Jaskier surely would describe as ‘cozy’. It was warm and dry, filled with the hustle and bustle that came with a well-kept household.

Still, there was something off. Distressingly so. It wasn’t just that the staff shot him knowing glances whenever he and Jaskier were in the same room. It wasn’t just that Jaskier had grown cold again after that morning of almost-normalcy, or even that the Viscount was planning something.

Geralt knew that he was. His not-friend might have many virtues, but subtlety was not one of them. Or patience. Every day the Viscount rode out into the forest for some reason or another. And he was always whispering to Ciri, both of them bouncing on the balls of their feet as they were conspiring. As if he wouldn’t notice. Still, he let them. They were allowed to have fun.

But that wasn’t what unnerved him. Geralt was certain that it was something else entirely, something important that was missing. Something important that he was missing. If only he could remember what it was.

Realisation dawned on him one morning, about one week after his return from the hunt. Ciri was already up, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet when he told her that they could start training in earnest again. She yelped gleefully and hugged him tightly before rushing down the stairs of the tower.

A small smirk spread on his face when he heard her quietly singing the chorus of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher — he had taught her when she had begged him to. It wasn’t the same as learning it from Jaskier himself, of course. Geralt’s voice was rough and untrained and he had needed a few tries before he didn’t stumble over the words anymore. But it warmed his heart, really, to hear her do something as mundane as singing a plain tune. It was one of the simple joys of life that she’d been deprived of for the last months.

They reached the end of the stairs and Ciri reached the end of her song. “Give a hug to your witcher,” she sang loudly and launched herself at him. Geralt chuckled softly and let her cling to him while he shouldered open the door. “O valley of plenty! O valley of plent- oh.”

Everyone in the courtyard stopped dead in their tracks and stared at them in bewilderment. A pitchfork clattered to the floor, a stableboy nearly let go of not-Roach’s reins and Marta dropped the pile of clean laundry she was carrying.

“Geralt,” Ciri asked, the vinegar scent of her fear spiking, “what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed quietly and lowered her to the ground. He looked around for an answer, but whoever met his gaze quickly hurried away. Even Wiktor silently shook his head and went back inside.

In the end, it was only Marta who was left, still fussing over the laundry. He strode over to her and crouched down to help. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly. He was relieved that she didn’t flinch from his touch. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It- it’s alright,” she stammered. “It was nice to hear music again. Even if it was so short.”

Geralt frowned. “There is no music in Lettenhove?” he asked stupidly. That didn’t make any sense. It was Jaskier’s castle, of course there would be music of all kinds- Only that there wasn’t. “Shit.” It hit him like a club over his head. “There is no music in Lettenhove.” No music. None at all. Jaskier didn’t sing, didn’t play the lute, didn’t even hum. The closest thing to music he’d witnessed so far were the nervous rhythms tapped out whenever Jaskier’s mind started racing — he could tell when that was happening by now. But no music. Not even work songs from the washerwomen and cooks.

“Are you alright?” Marta asked worriedly.

“Wh-why not?” was all Geralt managed to stammer.

The servant glanced around as if she was waiting for something horrible to happen. Then she leaned in closely: “His lordship has forbidden it,” she whispered. “He’s terribly… passionate whenever he hears someone singin’.”

He nodded. Jaskier was passionate about a lot of things. Somehow, he doubted that it was a good thing in this case. “We won’t do it again,” he promised. Just for good measure he added once more: “I’m sorry.”

He got up and walked back over to Ciri who stared at him with bulging eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m an idiot,” he growled.

“Why now?” He shot her a mean glance that had battle-hardened warriors pee their pants before. His child surprise just cackled gleefully.

Luckily, he was spared the embarrassment of an answer as the doors to the East Wing burst open. His hopeful mood sank when a sharp voice cut through the air: “Witcher!”

He turned slowly. “My lord.”

“Jaskier!” Ciri shouted and ran over to him. “Have you come to watch us again?”

The Viscount smiled sadly. “Not quite. I heard you s-” He hesitated and the despicable scent of onions flared up. “I heard you.”

“Did you like it?” she asked eagerly. “I changed the lyrics, did you hear?”

“I did,” he answered and his voice trembled. Geralt felt a pang of guilt. “Who taught you that tune?”

“I did,” Geralt answered before Ciri could. The surprise surprise flashed over his face, mingled with amusement, sadness and hurt. “Is that the only reason why you’ve come? My lord?”

“Not at all,” the Viscount straightened his back. Geralt watched with astonishment as the stony mask of his Lord’s Face settled over his features again. He’d never get used to that. “I have come to whisk my dear cousin away. Should she be interested in receiving a very demonstrative lesson on a border dispute.”

Geralt frowned. “Do you think that’s safe?"

Jaskier snorted and waved his hand. "Of course, it’s safe!”

“I’ve heard that one before.” He crossed his arms defiantly. He trusted Jaskier with his life. The Viscount wasn’t stupid — he was about as far from stupid as they got — but in sixteen long years the bard had never displayed so much as an ounce of self-preservation. Geralt had the scars to prove it. “I remember hearing that before we got arrested in Oxenfurt, spring 1251, because four months earlier you had thought it a great idea to publish a smear poem about the Headmaster of the Academy under your name. Or that time we were visiting an old friend of yours and we were thrown out because you had slept with his mother, his father’s mistress, and his twin brothers. Or your innumerable shortcuts that inevitably ended us up fighting some kind of monster, or guards, or both at once. You’ll forgive me if I do not trust your judgement completely.”

“Now, that was three examples, Geralt-”

The witcher growled menacingly. ‘Fucking bardlet.’

“Right!” He sighed exaggeratedly. “How many guards do I have to bring along for you to allow her to go?”

“None,” Geralt answered simply. “Only me.”

“No,” he said decidedly. “I want to talk the man’s ear off, witcher, not start a war. If I show up with you at my back, I could skip the parlay altogether and just throw my gauntlet at his feet.”

He frowned deeply. “My answer’s still no.”

“Your answer?” Jaskier laughed hoarsely. “What gave you the impression that I was asking your permission?”

Ciri cleared her throat awkwardly, completely forgotten by the two men. “I, uh- I’d rather not go if Geralt thinks it’s unwise.”

He had a hard time to keep the triumphant grin off his face and judging by the strain in Jaskier’s voice he was struggling just as much to keep his emotions in check: “Fine.” He turned to Geralt. “Will I be able to convince you if I outline the whole dispute to you?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. Come then.” To Ciri he said: “Why don’t you go look what Janka and Józia are up to, hm?” The girl nodded eagerly and left skipping over to the North Wing, where the Pankratz sisters were to be found at most times.

He himself followed Jaskier up to his study once again. As soon as the door shut behind them the Viscount walked over to where a map was smoothed out on a side table. “So, this is what we’re dealing with…,” he began talking immediately.

The Viscount de Lettenhove talked about the tensions between his viscounty and the neighbouring barony of Dergetten that were on the rise again since his father’s death. He also continued to include the various disputes over the last five generations — the previous Baron of Dergetten had apparently relieved Jaskier’s grandfather Julian of his left hand while his great-great-grandfather, the first Viscount Pankratz, had killed the heir of his neighbour in his time.

“Though, I have to admit I am incredibly thankful to good old grandpapa Albert for that violent streak of his. That is what convinced the Count of Hangfelt to entrust us with this lovely castle for safekeeping. Be glad that his descendents haven’t regretted their decision yet.”

All in all, Jaskier insisted, it was just a conversation. He would bring guards because the Baron would, too, but he claimed that they were friends.

“That’s just the kind of thing province nobles do for fun,” he closed his lecture with a roll of his eyes. “Not that I approve, of course. But I promise you it will be a most educational experience for dear Cousin Fiona. I learned to talk myself out of, what is it father used to call it? Ah, yes, ‘aggressive negotiations’. I learned to talk myself out of 'aggressive negotiations’ first, before I learned to talk myself out of almost-castrations.”

Geralt frowned. “Ciri won’t have to do either.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up. “Sure,” he drawled, “and how exactly did you arrive at the conclusion that your child surprise would lead a chaste life?”

“Hmm.”

He grinned triumphantly. “So, witcher. Are you satisfied?”

“Hmm,” he said again, glancing around. His gaze settled on the sword at Jaskier’s hip. “If anything happens, you will use that to protect Ciri with your life,” he growled. “Don’t care if you can wield it or not, but you will. Do you understand, bard?”

“Viscount, but yes,” his voice was solemn all of the sudden, “I understand. I mean, she would probably do a better job of protecting me by now but it won’t come to that. Never. I swear.”

Geralt took a deep breath. He didn’t like letting Ciri go with Jaskier. It wasn’t like when he left, that was him out there in the danger. Now however… He wouldn’t even be able to do anything if something happened. That was nothing short of torture. Still… “Alright,” he conceded. “How long until you’re back?”

“The border’s not far from here. Used to be, but, well, that’s another story. Two hours of riding, three maybe, then we’ll spend the same time insulting each other very politely — I’m sure we’ll lose at least half an hour because Ciri wants to join in, she likes that. And then we’ll ride back. We’ll have to see, maybe she’d like to see one of my other villages, then we’ll take longer. We’re also going to stop and eat at one point. So, sundown. At the very latest.”

“Alright,” he said again. “Fine. Have… have fun, my lord.”

“I guess we will.”

He shrugged and turned back to the door. After a moment of silence Jaskier added: “Geralt, wait-” They both hesitated. In the end, it was Jaskier who spoke first: “We have to stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Fighting over Ciri. Especially when she can see us.”

He frowned in confusion. In Kaer Morhen the other witchers had never had any qualms about fighting before the apprentices’ eyes. Even in the literal sense. “Hmm.”

“It’s just-” Jaskier sighed. “It’s not good. Trust me on this one, Geralt, please. I know that we… We’re not alright right now. And we probably won’t be for a long time. But that’s our problem. It shouldn’t affect Ciri. Alright?”

“Alright,” he answered quietly, his heart beating so fast it could almost pass as human. “But will we be?”

“Will we be what, witcher?”

“Alright.”

He sighed heavily. “I don’t know,” he answered with a quivering voice. “Not if we don’t work for it. Not if we don’t-” He bit down on his lip. “All in due time,” was what he said. What Geralt would have given to know what Jaskier was not saying.

“Hmm. Sundown you said?”

“I did.”

“I’ll wait for you. Good luck, my lord.” He left before Jaskier had a chance to answer.

He didn’t even wait for Ciri and Jaskier to leave before throwing himself into work. He changed into his stable clothes and headed downstairs but even before he could enter the stables, Wiktor stepped out, Pegasus’ reins in hand.

“Here,” the stablemaster said, “take him for a good long ride. Takes your mind off other things.”

“Hmm.” Geralt didn’t protest for fear of his voice abandoning him. He just swung into the saddle and was gone when Ciri and Jaskier came to fetch Dancer and Dreamer.

Wiktor was right. He didn’t have much of a choice besides concentrating on the young horse below him, still wild and eager to run free without a rider. And yet, he found his mind wandering. To Ciri, of course, and Jaskier off to their parlay.

But also back to just Jaskier, who didn’t sing anymore. He cursed himself silently and loudly for not noticing before. That was the kind of thing one spotted immediately when reuniting with a friend after a long time of separation. But they weren’t friends anymore. And Geralt reckoned he hadn’t been a good friend before.

He didn’t return until after lunch, both him and Pegasus drenched in sweat despite the freezing temperatures. He gave the yearling’s reins over to a stable hand, and went on to grab Jaskier’s old wooden sword.

He was about to head out the gates again when he heard rapid steps on the stairs. “Oi!” Marin shouted. “Oi, Geralt, wait!”

The witcher grunted annoyed but waited nonetheless. “What?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“What for?”

“To spar,” the Captain of the Guard raised his own wooden sword, “or to blow some steam off. Both, if you like to.” He smiled kindly. “You look like you could need it.”

“Hmm.” He wasn’t really in the mood for company. But he didn’t want to argue either. He didn’t want to talk at all, if he was honest.

“Come on,” Marin bumped shoulders with him. “I promise you I’ll put up more of a fight than a tree.”

“Fine,” he caved. Side by side they headed out into the woods. Marin was chatting amicably and Geralt answered with the occasional grunt. It was… easy. Almost too easy. When the sparring started, the teasing started, too. That felt even easier. To respond to the barbed comments with jabs of his own. He could almost pretend- He knew he shouldn’t, but he could.

It also felt good to train in earnest, not just thrash a lifeless tree. Marin didn’t compare to sparring with Lambert or Eskel, of course, but it was better than nothing.

It was the late afternoon when they trudged back up the hill to the castle, and Marin finally managed to get a laugh out of Geralt. Later he couldn’t remember what it had been about, but for a short moment he wasn’t worried. He was almost happy, in fact.

“Ah,” Marin sighed contentedly, “and here I thought you didn’t feel emotion after all.”

“Hmm.”

“So, it’s untrue? That rumour, I mean.”

“It is.” His skin crawled uncomfortably but luckily he was spared another question when a guard called down from the walls: “Oi, witcher! Where’ve you been? His lordship and his cousin got back an hour ago.”

His heart sped up and he cocked his head. “And?”

“Both hale and hearty. His lordship’s in his study, I believe; and Lady Fiona ran to Lady Józefa’s drawing room. She’s very excited ‘bout something.”

Geralt nodded and tried not to seem too thrilled, forcing himself to slow his step. “Thanks.”

Marin’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder. “Go on,” he said and gently pried the wooden sword out of Geralt’s grasp. “We’ll talk another time.”

He looked at him surprised for a moment. Only when the Captain of the Guard nodded once more in encouragement he pounced. He didn’t even try to hide his hurry as he sprinted over to the North Wing and up the stairs.

“Where is she?” he asked as he burst into the drawing room only to find it empty except for Józefa.

“Good evening to you, too, Geralt,” she said very calmly, not even looking up from where she was weaving an enormous tapestry. “Where is who, if I might ask?”

“C- Your cousin. Fiona.”

She turned around to him. “You can call her Cirilla to my face. I know.”

Geralt frowned. “Fuck,” he cursed and turned on his heel. 'Tonight, it’ll be bard’s head on a platter.’

“Ah, ah, ah. Before you go and gut my brother, he had nothing to do with it. She told me all by herself.”

“Fuck,” he said again. ‘She should know better than be that stupid.’

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. Anyways,” she sighed and turned back to her work, “your child surprise — Geralt, could you at least face my direction while I am talking to you? That would be very appreciated, thank you very much.” He ground his teeth and turned back towards her. “Well, where was I? Ah yes, Cirilla. She was here. Wanted to come and look at the tapestry and tell me about her day. She was very enthusiastic. Apparently, she rendered the Baron of Dergetten speechless and dear Julek nearly fell off his horse because he was laughing too hard. Also, she’s very cross at his lordship for sending her away for half an hour while staying back to discuss something in private. You missed her by… hm, ten minutes maybe, I’d wager. She was rather tired.”

“Hmm.” That was a lot of information. He was still eyeing the tapestry while trying to decide what to do now when Józefa spoke again: “Come and look if you like,” she said with an inviting smile.

“I’d rather not, my lady,” he grumbled. He should go and look after Ciri.

That made her laugh. “Don’t be shy. And don’t pretend you don’t want to look.”

His eyes flitted to the door. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt, he guessed. And Ciri had talked a lot about the tapestry since he got back. It would be nice to know what she was talking about for once. “Fine,” Geralt relented and stepped closer.

He had seen his fair share of finished tapestries but never observed the process. For rugs, yes, but not this kind of art. He had imagined it to work much like the common rug and while the loom looked much the same, Geralt gaped. “There’s a painting,” he noted. “And a mirror.”

“Why, of course,” Józefa seemed genuinely confused. “How else would you make a tapestry?”

He shrugged and looked at the painting instead. All five Pankratz siblings were depicted, the four sisters standing around Jaskier in his high seat. As far as he could tell, it was very accurate, especially given that it couldn’t be a portrait. 'She really knows her siblings’ faces well.’ He didn’t pay too much attention to the three siblings he already knew, but stepped closer to observe the other two.

He didn’t even know their names, he realised with shock, but he would’ve guessed that they were Jaskier’s sisters regardless. Just like Janina, too, they could have been twins. Quadruplets. Whatever. The same soft brown hair, the same round face, the same piercing blue eyes. Of course, there were differences, too, subtle enough, but still there. Jaskier would point them out in a heartbeat, wrapped in pretty words. All Geralt noticed was that they were beautiful like their brother.

“Oh,” Józefa said, “you have never seen the process!”

He frowned, the increasing accuracy with which the Pankratz siblings saw through him made his skin crawl. “Those are buttercups,” he said instead and pointed at the painting. The five people were all holding bouquets in many different colours, Jaskier’s the same as his namesake.

“Ah, yes.” Józefa smiled fondly. “Mother gave him that silly name. Jaskier, I mean. I thought I should honour that. Beautiful and poisonous.”

“And the other ones?” The Józefa in the portrait was holding primroses, and Janina daisies. The other two held red clover and lilies of the valley respectively.

“From our mother, too. Stokrotka and Koniczyna for Janina and Jolanta, the most common of flowers. Konwalia for Justyna, poisonous as well. And primroses for me, the one that was spoiled the most.”

“Hm,” Geralt made. “The sense of humour runs in the family.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t.” She made a disgusted face. “You see, dear Janka-” The doors burst open. “Ah, speak of the devil…”

“Don’t we have endured enough in the past month, Józia?” Janina Pankratz flared. “Is a witcher in our home not enough punishment for whatever crimes we might have committed? This is getting ridiculous!”

Józefa sighed while Geralt did his best not to growl. “What did he do now?”

“He’s locked himself into his rooms, like the spoiled brat he is. He’s sulking, for whatever reason, but I tell you it’s his fault! I offered to go to the parlay, I know Daniel well enough, but did he listen? No! Wanted to do it all by himself like a big boy and what did it get him? He ruined it, somehow, I’m sure of it. Worse than this damned cousin he brought here; she’s listening at least when an adult is speaking. I remember why I was glad to have him off at Oxenfurt or Melitele knows where. Oh, what I would give for the possibility of him ending up dead in a ditch at every moon’s turn! I tell you, Józia, I’d put him over my knee, if I could!”

Geralt couldn’t keep quiet anymore: “You shall not,” he growled. “You won’t harm one hair on his head.”

Janina whirled around, noticing him behind the painting for the first time. “You!” she pointed at him.

“Me,” he confirmed.

“You stay out of this,” she bristled. “Besides, it’s beyond time that you learn your place in this house, you-”

“Janina,” Józefa said quietly. To his surprise the eldest Pankratz sister shut up.

“Fine,” she sneered. “I’ll come back when our drawing room is clean again.” With that she was gone, slamming the door loud enough to make Geralt’s ears ring.

Once he had recovered, he asked: “Why does your sister hate witchers so much?”

“Janina?” Józefa sat down behind the loom again. “Has nobody told you? Our mother died twenty-four years ago. She was killed by a monster; I don’t even remember what kind.”

That was a common enough story. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Julian and Janina are the only two with real memories of her anyways. I was two years old when she died and I can’t even remember her face. Though, well the witcher thing… Father hired one to get her back. Don’t ask which school or anything, all tales about The Incident have been banned from Lettenhove years ago. Not even Julek dares break the silence. Not even now, after-” She sighed and took a moment, blinking at the ceiling. There were tears in her eyes, though she did not smell of onion grief.

“You don’t have to,” he offered nonetheless.

“No, I want to,” she insisted. “You deserve to know. He couldn’t bring her back, of course, she had already been dead. The witcher only returned with her corpse. Janina has hated your kind ever since.” She sighed. “Julek on the other hand… why, you became his heroes.” She smiled at him. “I’m glad that he became such good friends with you. And that he got to travel the Continent with you, it has always been his dream. I believe you have made him the happiest man alive.”

Geralt swallowed hard. “I… did nothing to warrant your praise, my lady. I made him very sad, actually.”

“Is that why I barely recognise him anymore?”

“Hmm. I fear so.”

“Then fix it, witcher. We have all heard his songs and in those you are a hero. And Julian might be a lot of things — a debaucher, a nitwit, and a self-important swaggerer who impossibly inflates all of his tales. But he is no liar. Not when it’s truly important.”

He had the feeling he was missing something. “So?”

She clicked her tongue in disapproval. “So, live up to your reputation and save him. He is withering like this."

Geralt ground his teeth. "I’m trying,” he grunted. “I just don’t know how.”

“You’re a smart man. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” She picked up the thread again. “You could start by trying to coax him out of his rooms.”

“Your sister said he’s locked himself in.”

She looked at him as if he was exceptionally stupid. “Well, then get creative! I’d be very surprised — and disappointed — if those doors don’t open for you. And now off you go, I want to hear the gossip.”

Geralt wasn’t really sure what made his legs move. First out of the Drawing Room, then down the stairs and up again, until he stood before Jaskier’s room. 'I wanted to look after Ciri,’ he reminded himself, but this was oddly more important. He also suspected that he’d never find the courage again if he bolted now.

And so, Geralt of Rivia meekly knocked on the Viscount de Lettenhove’s rooms. “My lord?” he asked.

No answer. He shouldn’t be surprised. He almost turned around again to go check on Ciri first, but then Jaskier’s faint voice beckoned him inside an empty bedroom.

“Uh-” Geralt said, confused.

“Over here,” he answered and Geralt quickly strode over to another door he hadn’t noticed during his previous visit. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the bathtub Jaskier was soaking in.

“My lord?” he asked hesitantly.

“Come in,” the Viscount commanded.

“Maybe I shouldn’t-”

“Just close the door, Geralt,” he sighed tiredly and raised a golden goblet to his lips. The smell of alcohol permeating from it was entirely too strong for it to just be wine.

“Alright,” he answered quietly and did as he was told. Jaskier drank again and he could feel worry creeping up his spine. “Are you drunk?”

“Not enough,” the Viscount answered and took another deep gulp.

Unsure what else to do, Geralt sat down on the side of the tub and asked: “Your parlay didn’t go well, then? Your, uh- your sister said that Ciri said it did.”

“Which one?”

“Take a guess.”

“Janka still won’t talk to you, huh? I’ll see to that.” He swirled the liquor around in his cup. Before Geralt couldn’t take the silence anymore, Jaskier thankfully continued: “It was… alright, all things considered. Hoped it would be better. Feared it could go worse.” He looked straight at Geralt. “There’s no going back now, witcher. The stage is set. Now we just have to play our parts.”

“I don’t quite understand.”

Jaskier sighed and dropped back against the tub. It did nothing to quell Geralt’s worry, but at least it served to empty out most of the goblet. “All you need to know is that it went well enough. Though I suspect-” He halted.

“What do you suspect?”

“No, let’s not talk of that. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“You know that I’m here if you want to talk.”

He snorted a laugh. “Those words don’t suit you, witcher. Whenever I hear them from your mouth, I can’t shake the feeling that you’re mocking me.”

'I’m not,’ he wanted to say. But his words failed him as so often.

Jaskier sighed and pushed himself upright again. “Now, what did you come for?” He glanced into his cup and frowned when he found it empty. Carelessly he tossed it away.

Geralt averted his gaze. “I’m not sure if now’s the time…”

“My witcher,” he said coldly.

“My lord?”

“Talk,” the Viscount ordered without turning to face him.

And so, he did: “You did not ask me for details about my hunt.”

“I did not,” he confirmed.

“You’re-” He wet his lip with his tongue. He knew that no matter how he posed that next question, there would be trouble. “You’re not writing a song.”

Jaskier’s jaw clenched immediately. “I am not. I was under the impression you didn’t like them.”

“And I was under the impression you wrote them regardless,” he shot back without thinking.

The Viscount’s expression grew cold. “So what? Is your ego so inflated you think you’re owed songs now?”

“I do not, my lord. I was also under the impression you wrote them because it is your passion,” he said calmly. “I did not mean to offend you.”

There was no answer at that.

“You’re not singing, either,” Geralt continued cautiously. “Your hands are soft and your lute is nowhere to be found. You tell Ciri stories but never sing for her.”

“Get to the point, witcher,” Jaskier ground out.

Geralt steeled himself and asked with as much courage as he could muster: “Why is there no music in Lettenhove Hall, my lord?”

Jaskier whipped around to him, water sloshing over the rim of the tub and drenching Geralt’s breeches. He wanted to stand his ground but there were tears in Jaskier’s eyes, the scent of anger and sadness wafting off him. He stood and swayed, coughing at the foul odour. “Because I despise it, witcher. I hate every tune I ever wrote, every line I ever composed. I cannot stand it anymore. Just thinking of it makes me sick!”

Geralt retreated farther as a thick cloud of onion grief hit him. “Is it my fault?” he asked agonised and immediately cursed himself for it.

The tears flowed freely now, Jaskier choking on his sobs instead of answering. 'Foolish witcher,’ he chided himself, 'of course it’s your fault.’

He regained his balance and avoided Jaskier’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “I am so sorry. If I could-”

“No.” Jaskier sniffled. “Not for that.”

'For what then?’ he wanted to ask but didn’t. 'Coward.’ Three times he reached out only for his hand to fall back to his side again. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I think you’ve done quite enough.” Geralt didn’t even dare to breathe. Spicy pepper flared up. “Go away, witcher.” When he hesitated for just one moment, Jaskier shouted: “Now!”

Geralt was too craven to do anything but obey.

A/N: And now you can come yell at me in the notes.

[dreams-of-the-arcana]

❄️📦🦂💉 for Andi and Cleo. :)

Thank you for the asks! I apologize for the delay but these took some thought!

Warning: Includes possible triggers. Mentions of childhood trauma. Mentions of betrayal, death, and nightmares.

❄️ - what does your character think of as their biggest flaw/insecurity?

Andi: Her health! Andi fights with herself constantly over how she thinks of her conditions. Some times she’s okay and accepting that her body has been stressed. Other times she wants to hide away and thinks of herself badly (weak, lazy, fragile). So Andi thinks her health is her biggest flaw when really it’s her negative self view.

Cleo: Cleo’s been accused of being naive and trusting too easily. Deep down she believes that and thinks she should be harder but she won’t sacrifice who she is. She isn’t a warrior and she worries constantly about wondering if Muriel and Vesuvia need one instead of her.

📦 - what’s something they’ve never told anyone about because it was too painful to bring up?

Andi: Andi never talked about her family after she ran away. The last memory of her Father whipping her in town square in front of everyone before ordering her to stand there all night was very traumatic. She stood in the cold for hours, dreading sunrise when she’d be given over to her new “husband”. Once she made the decision to run, she swore to never look back. Not even Violet or Asra ever got a bit of information about where she came from, her family, or her childhood. Though she does still have nightmares even without the memories.

Cleo: When Cleo was resurrected by Justice she had no memories at all but in time she found out from Lucio that he had killed her. They’d been lovers for over ten years and he’d sacrificed her to the Devil in order to prove himself. Cleo never tells anyone and Lucio wishes he could forget it as well so they have an agreement to keep it between them. To especially never tell Magni, their son.

🦂 - any phobias and/or major fears? what caused them?

Andi: Snakes and needles/Doctors, no reason it’s just an irrational fear of hers. Fire, putting an empath on an island with dying plague victims who feared the crematorium was the worst thing that could have happened to her.

Cleo: Being unable to move/being held down/trapped in the dark, Lucio killed Cleo by throwing her into the Devil’s realm as a sacrifice so she was trapped in an endless fall through the dark where the Devil tried to tempt her into making a deal. Even without remembering it, she reacts badly to those situations.

💉 - how did they react to learning about the circumstances of their death? do they hold anything against asra/julian/lucio over it?

Andi: Andi knew that she had to go to the Lazaret but oh was it a challenge. On top of the emotions imprinted into the land, Asra’s terror and sorrow almost took her over completely. When he told her it was as if everything stopped. Shock, fear, and pain filled her. Seeing all of Asra’s little scars on his hands suddenly had a new meaning. Andi fell down and just held Asra as tightly as she could to ground herself. They both needed it. When she’d gotten over the initial panic, she realized that so much made sense now. Her worry was for Asra and what kind of price he’d paid to bring her back and all the pain helping her become a person again must have been. Andi blames Lucio for the plague and for a good portion of Asra’s pain as well.

Cleo: (This is actually a fic I’m working on now so I won’t give away too much) Horror. Cleo’s entire perception of herself flipped in the course of a few weeks. Not only had she loved Lucio but he had killed her and given her to the Devil.

[sol-futura-est]

Sol was always smug when he talked, but when you found him, he was looking off into the distance wild eyed. As if you were right next to a tiger still in the grass looking down on prey mere yards away. As if he was seeing things he couldn’t move out of his visage.

    “What happens next? After I’m in Suceava.”

    “Not for me to say. More than you at play, my friend. More situations than you will know. Just be well behaved, and do what you think is right, just as you’ve done.”

    This man, this being, was rigid. Rules were rules, and they did not bend for him or I. At least now, there didn’t seem to be much to say, but he sat smiling, as if seeing me was a delight, a reality he was happy in.

    “There’s not much to tell me then, now that the ball’s rolling.”

    “Not much, no. Besides reminding you that you’re not just an anomaly. People don’t remain mystical for long. Before man found the narwhal, the unicorn was an anomaly. Albeit one that didn’t exist.”

    Sol always made good points, but there was no sense in talking. I simply nodded, before walking away. Laughter rang out as I passed, and when I turned, his glinting, shining eyes stared me down.

    “This won’t be our last meeting, Octa. Trust me.”

    Feet didn’t stop for him. Nor for his amusement. As soon as I lent my hand on the door, it ceased, and the guards greeted me all the same. Each stretch of hallway was as pristine as it was the first time I came in. As I entered the apartment, Mortimer was still there, sat on a stool where he was standing just a few hours ago, thinking. 

    “So what happened?”

    “Send a letter to Pescariu. I’ll be there for the winter.”

    “Just like that?”

    “I don’t think there’s a single choice here that will lead to anything bigger than any other. At least here, I’ll end up learning to ride a horse, and I can spend some time in a new place, learning something valuable.”

    “It’s not a bad idea, kid, but I’ll talk to him about it first thing tomorrow. Are you gonna head off to bed?”

    “Not for a few more hours.”

    “Marcus told me to give this to you.”

    When Mortimer reached across the kitchen island, he gripped an old notebook, a date written on the front in old marker, laminated over by hand with clear packing tape.

    September 2199 to January 2204

    “Is this Marcus’ Journal?”

    “He said it was from his time in Damascus as a military attache to local militia, he actually was with Julian when this happened. The consul.”

    “He mentioned some earlier.”

    Morty winced, clear with disgust.

    “He doesn’t skimp on details when you ask him in person, but he doesn’t in there either.”

    Nodding softly, I turned to Mortimer, smiling, patting his shoulder before going off to my room. At first I set it on my desk, and didn’t read it. Part of me was scared to read an account of the great peace, only to see it be painted in a brutal light. Part of me knew, at least when I read a history book, that there were details missing. This was much different; this was Marcus’ life.

   

   

"March 9th, 2202

    I have no words beyond rigid facts. Neither does Julian, who even for a skilled member of the espionage corps. I never figured the world would wind up this backward, this amoral, again. I thought we left this behind. I thought it wasn’t possible with our republic holding the reigns of hegemon.

    This warlord, who my interpreter will not utter the Arabic name for, calls himself the Sandstone Demon. Harun will not elaborate much, but the context of the word demon here isn’t exactly a djinn, but something different. Phonetics aside, we call him the Nomad. Not a bedouin, or a pilgrim, or even a caravaner, but a nomad. Without context, simply a wanderer. He bore us gifts of gold inlaid human skulls, that we identified were like Ethiopian, from some thirty or forty years off. Our scouts previously reported every major town in Ethiopia and Somalia to be deserted, desecrated by corpses. Much like the rest of Africa, those who lived after the civil wars retreated to the jungles or the oases. 

    He brought us slaves. Amputees who were supposedly ritually chopped up, and consumed. Those who were quadruple amputees were strapped onto the sides of camels like trophies, some were apparently great warriors who the Nomad defeated or defiled. 

    Our sentries at first repelled skirmishers, but later were offered slaves.

    Whatever is to the south, if anything, has to contend with this man who has made a cult of himself, no doubt from the cesspit of morality that the past was. Formless people striving only toward what is stable, even if barbaric. Malaise was what one of my team leaders said was his first feeling. 

    When I told Julian we can’t risk contact, and that we should shoot on sight any who come within five hundred yards, he shook his head, saying that the senate won’t report this. They’ll just declare the zone uncontested sand, worthless. Our outposts will always remain, but there would be no way the new guys would try to let the image be squandered.

    It came down to optics? What if there’s a would be explorer wanting to see the sand buried city of Mecca, and is instead eaten alive? What then? This is the fact of point, that these creatures lie to the south and they are to be blacklisted? 

    I even saw the Nomad face to face. He was deformed by something, as if his eyelids were melted into some kind of artistic menagerie of lines and swirls. At first he simply sat on his camel, under mounds of white cloth, accented in gold and turquoise, but he told me about how in the deserts both here and in the Horn, the ruins sometimes are filled with places rotten to all life.    

    Could be chemical weapons that went sour, probably not nuclear. Or maybe he simply tried using mustard gas on some unsuspecting village people and was on the other side of the breeze. If it was my discretion, I would’ve killed him, but it’s not under my jurisdiction to do that. Even if I can’t get that girl out of my head, the one who cradled herself on the side of a camel, carved from hip down.

    Each eye was pallid, sunken behind the ridges of the bone. More than mere starvation, it was like her body was decaying whilst alive. As if her soul was bleeding, and each drop of life came down into the veins and sundered everything her creator had deigned hers.

    If I find an excuse, I’m taking it. What good is this senate if justice is unanswered? Perhaps it’s my own discretion that must be requited tenfold. Maybe good men must break the rules."

   

    Rarely did I let myself be unnerved, disgusted, like I did imagining Marcus in this situation. Marcus had been in his forties here, but before the special treatments that I’m told made him so fierce, full of zeal and eager to see enemies. Was it the treatments? How would enhanced adrenaline, lengthened bones, hyperstrength, and extreme intelligence and reactivity do that? If anything, they would make you arrogant, feeling like a superhuman. What if this was why? Seeing the aftermath of things that were once human, scarred from things normalcy would never allow. Almost viscerally I can see the Nomad in front of my face, the reek of sweat and blood mixed into the sight of a clay figurine disfigured, laid out into the sun where the cracks could fill with grime. Draped in rippling linen, like a bust covered for fear of retribution in the disgust, the shock, of seeing it. Brown eyes eternally made rouge, a single struck hawk perched against the cliff, blush and blank stone marbling behind him. Each breath from under the veil filling you with flustered disgust, knowing behind it was once the same life within you. That your blood could be an object of greed to him. That he would reduce you down to that, despite looking in the mirror and seeing himself. Does he look at himself, imaging his own sweetness, or does he realize, for a moment, that he desecrates one of nature’s greatest works, perhaps for some her magnum opus? That, if we believe there to be a soul within one’s chest, that by defiling their body, he defiles his own soul?

    Shaking my head with vigor, I sat still for a moment, realizing the same shock came over me that Marcus may have been under for weeks, months. What did it all mean to him?

    As I held the journal between my fingers, I looked at my right hand. One of the pages was singled out, like someone had turned to it over and over. I turned to it slowly, flattening out the page and breathing slowly.

   

    "November 24th, 2203. 

    Julian hasn’t been able to talk to me for hours. I don’t care. No reason to now. I asked nine men from my personal section to join me, the ones I already knew had proven their loyalty to me in combat. Career men who had quashed bigger bugs for less.

    We tracked across the desert through the long night until we found his camp. As grand as the display was, it wasn’t defensible. Not for camel riders who, frankly, couldn’t see in the dark. Even if they could see us, it was fighting a bear with fists. Our plasma against their rifles older than any ruin you could find. Decorated pieces of fashion more than weapons. 

    As we parsed through the wreckage, the fires were a welcome break from the frigid, flowing sand. When we found him, naked, covered in boils scarred over, his face spouting blood from the burning hole in his stomach, he just looked at me. When you take him off the horse, he doesn’t stand half as tall. A glorified cripple who would’ve died to another tribe in ten years time. 

    But seeing his lifeless corpse after I stood on his neck, it was worth it. The only question was the amputees. After we piled the bodies up, some asked for us to take them back with us. The question was where. So of course, we promised we would return, with trucks, and bring them back. 

    Julian stonewalled the order for my drivers, and drug me into a room once I got back. We hadn’t spoken once, but he arrived just in time to belay the order. When I told him to not speak over a tribune of the republic, he told me to hush, that he could have me subject to a war council and imprisoned for what I did. For killing cultist cannibal raiders. But for what he said next it was hot air.

    The senate still wants no word of this, so we agreed to keep the raid under wraps. When We got the camp to see about the amputees, some had died from suicide. Only a few remained, mostly those who could not, but they asked us to kill them anyway. Julian nor I wanted to, but we did. This was pure injustice. Unadulterated madness. 

    We’re both leaving the desert come January. Not to attest anything before the senate, but instead because our time here is up. The sector is stable enough for the consul.

    This world will not break me yet. But I don’t intend to deny myself justice."

    I wasn’t surprised at the cut short ending or the details within, but I realized in the final words that this wasn’t knowledge to most anyone else. I had to question if Marcus intended this journal for me, or another. Was this world he saw, the world that was beyond the borders of the known and civilized places, where human culture was warped against the circus mirror, then painted against the canvas with the blood of an innocent man? Or was it Marcus just getting unlucky? Seeing the worst there was to see.

    Part of me didn’t want to believe I had even half the details. Or even if Marcus had changed or not. All I knew was this man was beginning to make some sense, here and there

[cinemavariety]

The Director’s Series: Nicolas Winding Refn

The director series will consist of me concentrating on the filmography of all my favorite directors. I will rank each of their films according to my personal taste. I hope this project will provide everyone with quality recommendations and insight into films that they might not have known about. Today’s director in spotlight is Nicolas Winding Refn

#9 - Fear X (2003) Runtime: 1 hr 31 min Aspect Ratio: 2.35 : 1         Film Format: 35mm

When his wife is killed in a seemingly random incident Harry, prompted by mysterious visions, journeys to discover the true circumstances surrounding her murder.

Verdict: Refn’s most forgotten about film, even I have a hard time remembering that this film is part of his oeuvre. Nevertheless, Fear X is a quiet and lingering exercise in style. It’s a surrealist film noir with heavy influences from David Lynch. It’s also the first time where Refn began experimenting with color and started to move away from shaky cam.

#8 - The Pusher Trilogy (1996/2004/2005) Runtime: 1 hr 45 min / 1 hr 40 min / 1 hr 30 min Aspect Ratio: 1.66 : 1 / 1.85 : 1 /  1.85 : 1                 Film Format: 16mm / 35mm / 35mm

A drug pusher grows increasingly desperate after a botched deal leaves him with a large debt to a ruthless drug lord.

Verdict: I made the decision to categorize all three Pusher films as one entry for this post (otherwise it would just be too many). Nicolas Winding Refn started off his career with the strong crime tale of Pusher, and made the last two films to complete the trilogy after his English language debut Fear X ended up bombing. While I love the first and third entry more than I do the second, all three Pusher films are captivating and anxiety-ridden crime docudramas. It’s a great way to see how far Refn has evolved by starting with these films first.

#7 - Bleeder (1999) Runtime: 1 hr 38 min Aspect Ratio: 2.35 : 1 Film Format: 35mm

Two stories for the price of one: Lenny works in a video shop and tries to get acquainted with the waitress Lea. Leo can't cope with the pressure of becoming a father, leading to trouble with his pregnant wife and especially her brother.

Verdict: While Bleeder might be Refn’s lowest budget film to date, and not all the violence comes off as extremely convincing, I enjoyed it more than all three Pusher films because of the emotional stakes within the story. Multiple characters lives intertwine and interconnect in oftentimes disastrous circumstances. I also loved how Mads Mikkelsen’s character is a huge film aficionado, all of the scenes he is featured in bring a much needed reprieve from the turmoil and abuse.

#6 - Too Old to Die Young (2019) Runtime: 15 hr Aspect Ratio: 1.85 : 1                     Film Format: Arri Alexa Digital

The numb existences of Martin Jones, a police officer with secrets to hide, and Jesus, a traumatized avenging son, collide in a ghostly Los Angeles where several ruthless criminal gangs fight for their turf and dictate who lives and who dies. Verdict: Too Old To Die Young finds the celebrated auteur, Nicolas Winding Refn, sharing his view of humanity and society at its most despicable. All of his usual motifs and creative decisions are employed in full force with Too Old To Die Young, sometimes to an almost unbearable degree unless you are a truth Refn aficionado. His long takes, infinitesimal silences between lines, neon lighting, synth score and characters belonging to a criminal underworld are all utilized to great affect within the series. And while I believe that Refn’s sensibilities are best conveyed through a film medium, the limited series allows Refn to explore what he wants to convey like an artist adding layer upon layer of colors onto a blank palette.

#5 - Bronson (2008) Runtime: 1 hr 32 min Aspect Ratio: 1.85 : 1 Film Format: 35mm

A young man who was sentenced to 7 years in prison for robbing a post office ends up spending 30 years in solitary confinement. During this time, his own personality is supplanted by his alter ego, Charles Bronson. Verdict: Bronson is quite possibly Tom Hardy’s most impressive performance, and that’s saying a lot. It exudes such a hypnotic quality that every time I watch it, it’s as if I am seeing the film for my very first time. It tells the true story of one of Britain’s most infamous criminals.Refn’s visual flair and unique filming style make it unlike any other prison film I’ve ever witnessed. This is the beginnings of Refn’s disinterest in traditional narrative structure.

#4 - Only God Forgives (2013) Runtime: 1 hr 30 min Aspect Ratio: 1.85 : 1 Film Format: Red Epic Digital

Julian, who runs a Thai boxing club as a front organization for his family’s drug smuggling operation, is forced by his mother Crystal to find and kill the individual responsible for his brother’s recent death. 

Verdict: This is easily Refn’s most frustrating film. Whenever I watch it, I’m unsure whether I adore it or dislike it. But the fact that it’s the Refn film I have probably revisited the most is extremely telling of the ambience that Refn creates. Only God Forgives is arguably the most beautifully shot film from Nicolas. The neon drenched streets of Bangkok are presented to look like a netherworld. It’s a revenge fantasy thriller mixed with Oedipal undertones. Also, Gosling looks like a treat in every frame.

#3 - Valhalla Rising (2009) Runtime: 1 hr 33 min Aspect Ratio: 2.35 : 1 Film Format: Red One Digital

1000 AD, for years, One Eye, a mute warrior of supernatural strength, has been held prisoner by the Norse chieftain Barde. Aided by Are, a boy slave, One Eye slays his captor and together he and Are escape, beginning a journey into the heart of darkness. On their flight, One Eye and Are board a Viking vessel, but the ship is soon engulfed by an endless fog that clears only as the crew sights an unknown land. As the new world reveals its secrets and the Vikings confront their terrible and bloody fate, One Eye discovers his true self. 

Verdict: Valhalla Rising is Refn’s dirtiest and bloodiest work, and it certainly finds the director at his most surreal and existential. If anyone wants to know a film that epitomized what it means to be considered art house - this is it. It’s a film about a slave finding emancipation from his tyrannous slave owners, and finds himself on a doomed voyage to the New World with a group of fanatical Christian vikings. The story is told in separate chapters, with each section the audience finds itself traveling down a rabbit hole that resembles something of an acid try gone awry.

#2 - The Neon Demon (2016) Runtime: 1 hr 57 min Aspect Ratio: 2.35 : 1 Film Format: Arri Alexa XT Plus Digital

When aspiring model Jesse moves to Los Angeles, her youth and vitality are devoured by a group of beauty-obsessed women who will take any means necessary to get what she has.

Verdict: The Neon Demon has grown to become my second favorite movie from Nicolas. The film succeeds in shedding light on the hedonistic lifestyle of deranged young women in a tongue-in-cheek, almost satirical fashion. It’s one of the best looking Refn films to date, with even banal or commonplace locations drenched in neon hues. Composer Cliff Martinez outdoes himself with the synth-heavy score which guides the audience along a fairytale of horrors. In Refn’s surreal vision of Los Angeles there is no such thing as going too far to reach fame, even if it means bloodshed. As one character says in the film: “Beauty isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.” It would be nice to write off this statement as pure subjectivity, but what else has the media taught us but this ideal?

#1 - Drive (2011) Runtime: 1 hr 40 min Aspect Ratio: 2.35 : 1 Film Format: Arri Alexa & Cooke S4 Digital

A Hollywood stunt performer who moonlights as a wheelman for criminals discovers that a contract has been put on him after a heist gone wrong. 

Verdict: Seeing Drive in theatres back in 2011, without even having seen a film from Refn and not knowing much of the plot in general, is hands down one of the most memorable and inspiring theatrical experiences I ever had. Drive, among many other films that came out around that time, acted as a catalyst for me to branch out and discover more independent and arthouse filmmakers. I believe that it is undoubtedly Refn’s best film, and I might dare say that might be credited to the fact that is one of the only Refn films in which he didn’t write. These characters, while quiet and mysterious, have more depth to them than any of his others. The quiet romance between Drive and Irene provide more emotional stakes than any of his other works as well. All the elements of Drive complement each other and build off of each other. As cheesy as it may sound, if any film could be considered cool - it’s this. It’s already gained a cult status and it will most definitely go down in history as one of the most beautiful crime noirs ever made.

[ahh-fxck]

Warrior’s Blues Ch 11: What Would I Do Without You?

WOW! It is finally here, the much-awaited chapter 11 of Warrior’s Blues! As @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog​ (most excellent editor and co-creator of this fic) can tell you, getting this chapter into shape was uphill both ways in the snow. I am super pleased with how it shaped up though, and I think you guys will like it, too!

Jaskier shows up to work after Yennefer’s visit drunk, and his best friend is there to help him sort himself out. CW for smoking, drinking, implied death of an OC, grieving

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged (or untagged) for future updates!!

@astouract​ @ladyknight-keladry​ @yes-im-the-violin-girl​ @smolpoe​

Rating: M

On the day of Yennefer’s visit, Jaskier arrives at work on a bicycle. He’s late and on a bicycle for the same reason, which is to say, he is drunk and cannot drive his car. He is drunk because he’d been so full of mixed emotions after Yennefer left that he’d sat down to eat the rest of the fruit and whipped cream. Somewhere in there, it had seemed like a brilliant idea to pour half a bottle of bourbon after it. 

It was not. Luckily for him, the person working the bar tonight is Julia.

She is a stocky woman in her mid-forties. She has tawny skin and skeptical hazel eyes, and there’s a kind twist to her lips that she often hides. She has a tuft of cropped blue hair and wears a denim vest with a white t-shirt. Even though she is exasperated when he staggers through the door, she feeds him a sandwich and coffee while she fills him in on the meeting he missed. From there, she lets the crew in for the night. 

Jaskier feels like the whole world is an itchy sweater, even after the sandwich and coffee. It’s like his brain is on fire, and he can’t quite settle into the usual friendly chatter that his job requires. He passes an irritable and lonely night out by the door. By the time it’s time to clock out most of the staff is eager to clear out from underfoot; Jaskier is a great boss, but when his nearly infinite good humor runs out he can be a real asshole.

The only one who doesn’t give a fuck is Julia. She knew from the second she saw him wheeling in the door that it was going to be a late night, so she lets the rest of the staff out before pouring herself a big glass of gin. Then she settles her elbows against the bar, watching Jaskier mop the dancefloor. He is flailing wildly with the mop, clearing the floor with brutal inefficiency. Internally she begins to count down the time until he knocks the bucket over. Sure enough, a moment later he does just that. She nods in satisfaction, pleased that her timing is still on point.

Jaskier throws his head back and lets out a shout of pure frustration as his poorly-contained feelings boil over at last. Julia smirks and grabs a bunch of towels, then ambles over to him and starts tossing them on the floor to soak up the mess. 

As she does so she says nothing, but the look she gives him makes him feel transparent. Jaskier avoids her eyes as he tosses some towels down onto the puddle. 

Julia gives a little harrumph, unimpressed, bending to help him clear the towels away. They right the bucket and clean the floor in silence. When they’re done, she turns to him and gives him a long look. 

“So… What’s eating you?”

Jaskier grumbles and straightens. “Nothing.” He hauls the bucket away, fills it with water, and returns. Without making eye contact he begins to mop again.

Julia hums, crossing her arms. “Yeah, and nothing made you stink like bourbon, too. Cough it up.” She leans against a nearby wall, giving him a skeptical look. He looks at her from under the fringe of hair that has fallen over his face. Something about the wide-eyed, guilty glances that he keeps shooting her makes him look sixteen again. She smirks. “I think you wanna tell me but you’re embarrassed, so how about I start making guesses?”

Going pale, Jaskier groans. “Why are you so hell-bent on pushing my buttons?” The last thing he wants is Julia making guesses about what is bothering him. She has a terrible habit of being accurate and she has a memory like an elephant.

“Because you’re not a dumbass kid anymore and you haven’t shown up drunk in years. You missed an important meeting! What the fuck, Jaskier? Don’t make me call you Julian, I swear to fucking god I’ll break out your birth name.”

“Julia…!” Jaskier protested. “I d-”

“Julian Alfred P-”

“Fine! Stop! Oh my god, you are merciless!” Jaskier cries, but secretly he’s glad that she cares enough to needle him. He stops and holds the mop for a moment, blowing his hair out of his eyes as he gathers his thoughts. Then he starts pushing it across the floor again. “I’m sure you heard about the man who rescued Pride this year.”

“Heh, I feel like I’ve met him. Yarpen won’t shut up. Heard from him recently?” She narrows her eyes at him, sure that she’s about to hear some sort of horny idiot story. 

Jaskier blushes hotly, confirming Julia’s suspicions. “Well, funny thing about that.”

“What did you do now?” Julia asks, smirking. She retreats to the bar and picks up her tumbler of gin, then lights a cigarette. 

“We-e-elll…” Jaskier prevaricates.

Julia gives him a long look, and he folds. 

“Um, so I might have brought him back to my house after Pride.”

Julia barks a short laugh. “Color me not surprised. What’s the problem? Is he why you were wearing that birdy when you came in?”. 

Jaskier’s flush deepens. “I meant to take that off before his wife showed up. After that my day got all sort of… muddled.”

“You mean you got chewed out and then got drunk, right?”

“No! You know what, Julia? She yelled at me when I met her in the hospital, but when she came to my house she was…” He pauses, seeing the bewildered look on Julia’s face. “All right, let me back up and explain. He broke his hand, and I had to take him to the hospital. Two weeks later we go for his followup appointment and his wife is there waiting for him. Tracked him down all the way from fucking England! Got the third degree from her there, but the wildest part is, she showed up at my house the next day to talk. About me dating him.”

Julia laughs again, harder and longer. “What the fuck, Jaskier?”

Despite himself, Jaskier breaks into a rueful grin.“Right? Seriously though Julia. If I talk to you about this it stays strictly between you and me, got it? All of it. He’s in the closet and no one else here needs to know any of this.”

“You got it. No gossip. Your secrets are my secrets.” Julia smiles crookedly, sipping at the last of her gin. She’s been keeping Jaskier’s shit to herself since he was a teen. At first, it was out of a desire to not get involved, but by now she genuinely likes the dingbat. He’s dumb but sweet, and he’s been good to her. “So what’s the deal, kiddo?”

“So what it all boiled down to is that she’s not mad at me for sleeping with him… she’s mad I slept with him so fast. Turns out she’s okay with me seeing him again.”

Julia puts her glass down on the bartop, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Okay, that is a new one on me, I gotta admit. What’s the story there? She into watching or something?”

A surprised laugh escapes Jaskier. “No, thank fucking god, I don’t think I’d survive. This woman… oh Julia, you should have seen her. She’s like, five foot four inches of lightning in a bottle. A total force of nature. I think she could snap me like a twig.” A wry twinkle comes into his eye as Julia’s eyebrow goes up.

Smirking, Julia taps some ash off of her cigarette. “Sounds like a hell of a woman.”

Jaskier snorts, cutting her an amused look. “She is, but I don’t think you’d get very far with her. She’s asexual.”

“Oh? The plot thickens.” Julia grins wolfishly, leaning her chin on her hand. Jaskier had a way of getting up to his neck in crazy situations, and it had become something of a spectator sport for her over the years. 

Flushing with embarrassment, a crooked grin flickers across Jaskier’s face. “Yeah, well.” He turns his glass in a full circle. “So it turns out, they uh… have a kid together. And I want you to understand how terrifying this woman was because there was no way in hell I was going to ask for more details. But. What she told me was this. They got married because of their daughter, but Geralt… her husband, the man I was sleeping with… He’s gay.”

“Oh man, you really have a way of finding them, don't you?" This is top-notch Jaskier fuckery, it really is. She’s glad she’d stayed to get the story out of him, even though she knew it meant that she’d be dragged into his shit sooner rather than later. 

“I really do,” Jaskier agrees with a little groan. 

“What’s her name?” 

“Yennefer.”

“Hm. Nice names. Yennefer and Geralt. So she got mad at you for sleeping with Geralt so fast, and then what?” 

“And then, Julia! She told me that she’d always hoped that he’d find someone special. She looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘maybe someone like you’ and I just lost my mind. Just- Pow!” He makes an exploding gesture out from his head with his hands, then shakes his head and returns to mopping. 

“Wow. That was not the reaction I was expecting.”

“Yeah. Yeah! No kidding! Apparently, he’s always been free to choose his lovers. He’s never wanted to bring one home before, though.”

Julia lets out a low whistle, her eyebrows going up. “So he likes you, likes you. And his wife is… okay with this?”

“I don’t think she likes me very much, Julia, but she gave me the phone number to their hotel room. Says I should have a real talk with him before I think about dating him.” He stalks past her into the kitchen to dump out the dirty mop water.

“Just like that?” Julia laughs, leaning in the doorway.

“Threatened to bury my dead body if I didn’t treat him right, in those exact words,” Jaskier says over his shoulder.

Julia leans against the doorframe, shaking with mirth. “Oh my fucking god, Jaskier.”

“I know!” Jaskier cries, flinging his hands up. “This is absurd, Julia! And you know what’s even more ridiculous? I really think I could fall for him, I really do. He’s just so…” He sighs, tossing the mop and bucket in their corner and washing his hands.

“Yeah, Yarpen wouldn’t shut up about him. Six feet plus, white hair, amber eyes, stacked? Sounds very striking.” Julia drawls, eyebrows arching. 

“No, Julia- Well, I mean, yes, but…” He walks back out to the bar, flopping onto one of the tall stools.

“But what?” She smirks, returning to the bar and tapping out her ash.

“Well, I was gonna say beautiful, but I didn’t mean it like that.” Jaskier puffs, drumming his hands on the bar top, trying to find a way to put it. “Like… ohh, I sound like a fool, but he feels like a warm hearth. I just wanna curl up next to him with a book and a cup of tea and fall asleep because I feel so good around him. Safe. And don’t you go telling me he’s a stranger-” Jaskier breaks off as Julia rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to speak. “I know that! I know, and that’s what makes it so weird, Julia. But like, good weird.”

Julia hums thoughtfully, tipping her head to the side. Jaskier has been getting more self-aware as he ages, and for once, she’s inclined to believe that he remembers this guy’s a stranger. “Have you called your therapist yet?”

“For once in my life, yes. I called her before I came in. Hopefully, she’ll have gotten back to me by the time I get home.”

“Good for you. So this is why you came in here drunk off your ass this morning? This whole mess?” She pours him a shot glass of rum and passes it to him.

He takes it with a nod of thanks. “Yeah… I guess I got a little freaked out after his wife grilled me this morning, didn’t cope with it well.” Taking a sip, he frowns. “Julia, I’m in over my head. I don’t really know what to do here. He’s never had a boyfriend before.” 

Letting out a low whistle between her teeth, Julia stubs out her cigarette. “Ain’t he about my age?” 

“Yeah… He’s… I guess he spent his whole adult life in the military and never let himself have one. That’s what his wife said.” Jaskier worries at his lip, blue eyes wide as he shoots a glance at Julia. His glass scrapes on the bar top. 

Annoyed by the sound, Julia tosses him a coaster. Then she hums thoughtfully, swirling the dregs of gin in her glass. “That’s a long time to be lonely.”

Puffing out a long, slow breath, Jaskier nods. He draws the coaster over and sticks it under his drink with a guilty look. “Yeah.” Slumping to the bar top, he puts his chin on his hands. “She said… if I cheated on him it would crush him. She said… ‘Please don’t make things worse by being irresponsible with his very fragile heart.’” Putting his face into his arms, Jaskier gives a little groan. 

Julia sucks in a breath, watching Jaskier crumple in front of her. He’d at least grasped the concept of fidelity by now, but until recently his romances had never been particularly stable. Her heart goes out to him. She finds herself walking around to the other side of the bar to stand awkwardly by his side, her stocky frame only coming up to his shoulder where he sits on the stool. She awkwardly pats said shoulder, then gives it a squeeze. “That’s gotta feel pretty big to you. How are you doin’ with it?”

“I’m feeling massively intimidated, Julia. He’s gorgeous and I really want to date him, but I’m really afraid I’m going to be bad for him. I don’t exactly have the most amazing track record.”

Julia hums, sucking her teeth thoughtfully. She rubs a gentle circle between Jaskier’s shoulderblades, an unusually affectionate gesture for her. “Kiddo, you know I wouldn’t say this normally, but you’ve put a damn ton of work into your personal relationships. I trust the man you’ve grown into, and I think you should try trusting yourself for once. See how it works out for you. It’s been a long time since you let anyone in.”

Jaskier sighs, leaning into the touch. “I know. I worked so hard, and Rue didn’t even get to see much of my life after the dust settled. I hope she’s proud of me.”

A smile lights Julia’s face, but as she speaks a note of grief creeps into her voice. Her partner Rue had passed two years ago, but the pain was still fresh and hot. Rue had been more than a friend to Jaskier, she’d been his absolute favorite person. He missed her almost as dearly as Julia herself did. 

“She’d be proud of you all ‘round, kiddo. You’ve really shaped up. Hell, you stepped up when I needed you.” She gives Jaskier a little shake. “You might be a dumbass, but it matters that you try to get things right. It matters more that you do your best now to fix it when you don’t. That’s all anyone can do.” Julia’s hand moves back to his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “You’re a good man, and I think she’d tell you that, too.”

Jaskier nods, swallowing hard. As Julia’s hand closes on him he realizes all of a sudden how much he misses Rue. His heart contracts with terrible grief. “Oh!” He gasps, surprised by the abruptness of the pain. Reaching back to squeeze Julia’s hand, he can feel his throat tightening. “I feel really lost right now. She’d know what to do.”

A crack appears in Julia’s heart. She nods and steps closer to Jaskier, reaching around his hip and pulling him close. Jaskier leans into her and she grips him tightly with her strong arm. Her cheek presses against him and she squeezes her eyes shut, nodding. “Me too. I miss her like hell.” As she grips Jaskier, silent tears dampen his cheeks. Before long, Julia’s eyes begin to well over too.

Rue had been the center of both of their lives. Julia had been in love with her since they met one hot summer on Coney Island as teenagers. They had kissed in the rain under one of the piers, and that had been it for her. By the time they’d moved in together as adults, Julia would have gone down on one knee and married her in a heartbeat. 

Every summer they took a long vacation on Fire Island, where Julia would pick up part time work as a bartender. They’d met Jaskier one summer there when he was just sixteen years old. He’d been a disaster of a baby queer, but gregarious little Rue had seen something of herself in him. She had taken him under her wing, and he had thrived.

When Rue was diagnosed with ovarian cancer four years ago, it had been at a quiet time in Julia’s life. Jaskier had gotten a therapist a year before and was finally out of her hair. The bar was thriving. Rue and Julia had settled into their home just the way they’d liked it, tea settees and all. Julia remembers looking at this yellow, gold, and cream-colored doily on their tea table after they got home from Rue’s diagnosis. The little sunburst pattern had seared into her mind as she sat in shock. 

The following two years had been hell on a plate. The bar came closer to folding than it ever had as both Julia and Jaskier bent themselves completely out of shape trying to get Rue the care she needed. In the end, that had meant hospice and a funeral. Jaskier had ended up having to plan it for her, and he’d stepped up to the role with a seriousness that she hadn’t thought him physically capable of. It changed something about his personality. Julia watched him go almost overnight from a happy-go-lucky kid to a closed-off and responsible adult. The only exception had happened shortly after Rue’s death. 

When the fuss from the funeral had died down, Jaskier had disappeared for the better part of two weeks. Scheduled everyone in, made sure payroll was cued to go properly, and just… vanished. He’d come back with a bloody lip and fear in his eyes, and Julia had been too heartsick to ask questions. That night they’d grieved Rue together, sitting next to one another and crying their eyes out. Jaskier had fallen asleep on their dinky little couch, and she’d tucked one of Rue’s crocheted blankets over him before she went to bed. 

Since then Jaskier had been eerily quiet. At least, until Pride. After that his mood had been so pleasant that it was making Julia downright nervous. She’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now, at last, it had. 

Jaskier takes a few napkins out from under the bar top, passing them to Julia. They wipe their faces in sticky silence, and afterward, Julia pulls out a smoke and hands him one too. The click of her lighter is loud in the silent bar, echoing off the far walls. 

“Can you imagine what she’d say about this mess?” he asks, a soft huff of laughter escaping him as he shakes his head. His wide blue eyes turn up to take in the fairy lights over the bar, the smoke twisting among them.

“Oh! I can just imagine.” Julia chuckles damply, shaking her head. “She always said you found love in the strangest places.” 

Jaskier smiles crookedly. “She’s not wrong.” Smoke drifts from the cigarette between his long fingers, swirling eddies forming as it rises. 

Julia nods, then blows a slow, lazy smoke ring. “She’d say… don’t listen to your heart anymore. Don’t listen to your head. You’ve heard enough from them for now. Go find someplace quiet, where the silence can slip in through the cracks of you and fill you up. Sometimes the answer slips in alongside the silence." 

The damp groan of chagrin that escapes Jaskier makes Julia smile. "That's right,” he replies, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And I would say, I hate silence, it makes me nervous."

Julia nods, amused. "And she would say-" Jaskier's voice joined Julia's and they finished together, "There's your problem right there." 

With a damp chuckle, Jaskier shakes his hair out of his eyes and blinks away the last of his tears. “Oh lord, Julia. I’m glad you’re still here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Suffer.” Julia jokes, knocking back her gin. “Suffer and die, probably.”

“Crash and burn, at the very least.” Jaskier snorts. He knocks back his glass of rum, then rises at last from the bar. He stubs out his cigarette as he rises. Then, with a soft clinking, he gathers all the glasses and takes them back to the sink to wash. A hush falls over the room, broken only by the splash of water against the metal sink.

Julia turns to watch him, leaning her elbows against the counter. Her head tips to the side as she watches Jaskier dry the dishes, then start scrubbing at the already-clean sink. He takes sanitizer and sprays it on a towel, then starts trying to evict the microscopic grit left around the base of the faucet. After a while, she stirs. “You think this guy might be it?” she asks, her eyes soft as she tips her head to look at her friend.

Jaskier looks down at the wet towel dripping in his hands. “I don’t know. I just… he’s different. I feel really different around him. I think I want to try, but I’m trying to just...” He grimaces, tossing the towel into the bin with a little too much force. “Take a minute to look before I leap.”  

Julia breaks into a wry smile, hazel eyes sparkling with gentle humor. “Good for you. Does that mean I’m gonna be staying late a few more nights?” 

“Could you? I could use the company.” Jaskier looks at her out of the corner of his eye, moving on to wipe the counter. 

Julia scoffs, but there’s a playful note in her voice. “Fine, but you gotta cough up those kreteks you've been teasing me with. You owe me.”

“Oh! I actually have those back at my house, thank you for reminding me!" Jaskier exclaims, smacking his forehead. "I can't believe I forgot. I’ll bring them in tomorrow, I got you a whole case. They came in from Indonesia last week and I just spaced out about them what with everything else going on.”

Eyes lighting up, Julia socks Jaskier affectionately on the shoulder. “Hey! My man! That’s what I’m talking about.” 

Jaskier laughs, rubbing his shoulder. “Anytime. It's the least I can do.”

Julia takes one last drag off of her cigarette, then turns to stub it out. “Listen. You want a ride home? It’s late.”

Jaskier wavers, then turns to look at the storeroom where his bike is. It’s a long ride home in the cold and dark, and he’s heartsick as all hell. It’s hard to turn her down. “Got room in your trunk for my bike?”

“Yep. No sweat. I’ll pull the car around front while you shut down.” Julia pats her pockets, making sure that her wallet, keys, and cigarettes are all in place. 

By the time she’s parked in front, Jaskier is locking the door of the bar. They wordlessly wrestle the bike into the back of the car together, working with the ease of practice. In the car, Julia flips on the stereo and pops in a Patti Smith cassette. Patti’s smoky, dry voice floats through the car, twining through the bouncing and jangling guitar riffs of the opening song of the album. Oh, she looks so fine… I’m gonna uh-uh, make her mine… 

They drive home in comfortable silence. Julia pulls up behind Jaskier’s car and parks. She eyes the white truck in the driveway silently, finishing her smoke as she considers it. Jaskier sits beside her, making no move to get out of the car. Finally, she stubs out her smoke and says, “Is that his?”

Jaskier nods. “Engine keeps overheating. He knows what’s wrong with it but I don’t have the tools for him to fix it, so it’s gonna stay there until I can get them for him. Honestly I don’t have the faintest idea what he wants, it all goes in my ear and then out the other. If he’d just let me take him to the store it would be fine but no-”

Putting her hand on the door, Julia eyes Jaskier kindly. “Kiddo, I don’t need every single detail. It’s his truck, I get it. Let’s go in.”

Jaskier puffs as he’s thrown off track. Then he smiles crookedly, face catching in a bar of orange light from the streetlamp outside. “Sorry. You go on in, I’ve got to bring the bike around back.”

Flourishing her keys, Julia nods. She ambles around the front of Jaskier’s house and unlocks his door, letting herself into the dark entryway. Flicking on the lights, she looks around. The place is uncannily clean and stinks of floor wax and furniture oil. Jaskier’s home usually looks a bit rumpled, like a bed that’s been slept in and then had the covers thrown back into place without being smoothed or tucked. Not dirty, precisely, but not clean. Lived in. This, though… she gives a low whistle under her teeth. Her friend had been understating the distress he’d been experiencing. His home didn’t get this tidy unless something really got under his skin.

She kicks her boots off and heads to the kitchen to get a pot of coffee going, then snags a pudding out of the fridge. As she’s digging around for a spoon, she hears the jingle of keys announcing Jaskier’s arrival through the back door. 

He notes the pudding cup in her hand and the very corner of his mouth turns up, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he slips past her to drop his bag in his bedroom. When he returns to the kitchen he smiles at her, leaning against the fridge.

“Better?” she asks, tearing open the plastic lid.

“Better,” Jaskier agrees, eyes dancing with a teasing light. “Still like the taste of stolen pudding?”

“Tastes better if you swipe it,” Julia grins unrepentantly. She settles on the stool with her pudding. “Gonna cough up those kreteks?”

Jaskier grins. “You’ve got it. Just a minute, darling. I have to figure out where I put them.” He turns on his foot and bounds off to the other end of his house, rummaging around until he remembers where he stuck the package. It turns out it’s still next to the front door in plain view, hidden on a shelf by the other oddities it’s been stuck on top of. Jaskier’s house is unusually clean, but it isn’t that clean. Making a triumphant noise, he grabs it and heads back towards Julia. 

Pleased, Julia opens the case up in a few quick movements and takes out a carton. She flicks it open, smelling it with great satisfaction. The rich smell of clove and tobacco wafts up to her, and she sighs in contentment. “Ah, that’s the good shit. Thanks, man.”

“You’ve got it. I’ll order more tomorrow, you deserve them. Takes them a while to import but we should be seeing them in the next month or so.” 

Julia laughs. “Man, I’m earning them signing up to listen to your shit like this. Go check your message machine, I ain’t subbing in for your therapist.”

Jaskier huffs a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Fine, fine, I’ve got it.” He pours himself a cup of coffee, then ambles over to the message machine and picks up the receiver. He punches in a code and waits, then jots something down on a pad of paper next to it with a brief smile flashing across his face. He turns back to Julia, wiggling the notepad at her. “Got an appointment tomorrow before I go to work. She shoehorned me into her lunch hour.”

“Huh,” Julia grunts, amused. “Better bring that poor woman lunch, she’s a saint for taking you back like that on short notice.”

Jaskier looks chagrined. He settles himself back on a stool with his back to the refrigerator. “Yeah, you're not wrong. Best kind of saint. I thought I’d bring her Thai from that place up on Market street. You know the one with the little golden treasure bag dumpling things?”

“Man, she gets treasure bags? Do I get some?” Julia teases.

“If you come hold my hand tomorrow, you get anything you want.”

“Mm, no dice. I’m doing enough hand-holding as it is. Speaking of which, you could still bring it to me at the bar...” she grins over her mug, eyes sparkling playfully.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and sighs. “Extortionist.” 

“You love me,” she snorts.

“I do,” he breaks out into a smile, leaning against the island top with his elbows. “Thanks for running me home.”

Julia shifts in her seat and sighs, leaning forward onto her elbows and giving Jaskier a frank look. “I got you, it’s no problem. It’s not every day you get blown out of the water by something like this. You gonna be ok?”

Jaskier considers his mug with a thoughtful moue, then nods. “I think I am, Julia. I’m sorry about this morning, it won’t happen again.”

Smirking, Julia shrugs. “Just do better.”

Fluffing the hair on the back of his neck, Jaskier nods. “You got it.” He takes a thoughtful sip of his coffee, then asks, “How are you doing?” His voice is gentle as he asks the question, sensitive to the ongoing nature of her pain.

Julia shifts uneasily, squinting at her mug. “I dunno. I’m making it. Don’t wanna look for a new place yet, but I know it’s gonna be time soon.” She casts a short, hard-to-read look at Jaskier. She appreciates him asking, but she’s also not sure how much she wants to talk.

“When’s the lease up?” Jaskier asks, his eyes soft. 

“Uhm…” Julia cleared her throat. “June.”

“Julia!" Jaskier gasps, exasperated. "That was over a month ago! You didn’t just sign a new one, did you? Why didn’t you talk to me first?” 

“I didn’t wanna talk about it,” Julia growls, scowling.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t get all growly with me. You’re miserable there! Rue is all over that place, darling! I can barely turn around twice in there without bumping into something that breaks my heart, I don't know how you go and live there every day."

Julia presses her lips together, tapping her carton of kreteks between her fingers. She shrugs. "I can't imagine being anywhere else. All I have left is there."

Heart breaking a little, Jaskier sighs. He regards Julia kindly. "You can't hold on like that forever." 

Scowling, Julia shrugs. That might be true, but she didn’t have to like it.

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Jaskier looks her over for a moment. He hesitates, then says, "Why don't you just start looking? There's no harm in at least checking the paper…" he nudges her gently. "Worst that can happen is you don't fall in love with the first place you see. No harm, right?"

Julia shuffles uncomfortably, taking a big gulp of her coffee. She frowns at her cup, then looks out of the corner of her eye at Jaskier. “I can’t afford to break the lease.”

“Nonsense, you’ve got plenty of savings to cover shit like that,” Jaskier replies, still exasperated. “Besides, even if you didn’t, I’d cover you. You know that!”

“I know…” Julia grumbles, “But-”

“So what you mean is, you’re still stuck and you’re not ready to go yet.”

Julia scowls. She wants desperately to argue with him, to lash out and protect herself, but the impulse passes before the words can even form. She shrugs. “Maybe so.” 

Jaskier sighs. “Julia darling, I’m convinced there’s a place in the world for you. Somewhere that will feel good and be just for you. Who knows, maybe you’ll even meet someone soon? Stranger things have happened.”

“Stranger things can eat my ass,” Julia snaps.

Unimpressed, Jaskier shrugs. “Okay.” He pops open his pudding cup and spoons up a mouthful, sucking it off of his spoon thoughtfully. “Mm. Should you ever decide to come out of that suck-ass hedge-maze of grumpiness you’ve built for yourself I’ll be here. I love you, despite all your best efforts to turn into an unmanageable troll.” 

“Oh what, and you’re Prince Charming?” Julia scoffs. “Puh-lease, you little drama queen.” They both eye each other for a moment, wavering, then break out in quiet laughter. Jaskier reaches over and pats her hand, and Julia smiles crookedly. She drains the last of her mug, then sets it down with a final-sounding ‘thunk.’ “All right, mijo. I won’t keep you talking all night. Thanks for the kreteks, I hope you work everything out. Call me if you need me.”

“I will. Same goes for you, darling. My phone is always on for you, and my door is always open. I don’t care what time it is, if you need me you come. Ok?”

Julia eyes him uncertainly, then nods. She had taken him up on the offer before, showing up at odd hours eaten alive by grief and unable to be alone with it anymore. “Ok. See you tomorrow.” She punches his shoulder affectionately, then heads for the door.

“Good night, Julia. Safe drive, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

~*~

Jaskier puts himself back together during the intervening days. He attends therapy, brings Julia her takeout, and things return to normal at the bar. Sunday morning he rides his bike, but this time he’s sober, more himself. At the end of the night, he pulls Julia to the side as she sighs in exasperation. 

Jaskier gives her a sheepish smile, leaning back against one of the counters. “Sorry, I’m not going to keep you long tonight.”

“Yeah? Good, my fish are starting to worry I’m seeing someone new,” Julia cracks. “What’s up?” Her eyes travel to the closet where the bike is and back to him. “Car ok?”

“What?” He looks over his shoulder in the direction she’s indicating. “Oh! No, it’s fine. I just wanted to take a long ride tonight after work, maybe catch the sunrise out south of my house.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s Geralt. I finally decided to call him. I think I’ve got my head on straight and I still wanna do it.”

Julia sucks her teeth thoughtfully. It’s sweet to see him excited, but she worries about his heart, too. He doesn’t always guard it as carefully as he should. “You sure? From what you’re telling me, it doesn’t sound like you’re lookin’ at a walk in the park. He’s married, he’s got a family halfway across the world, he’s in the closet…”

Jaskier sighs. “I know, Julia. I was there, I remember.” 

Julia arches her eyebrow at him but doesn’t comment. 

Jaskier chews his lip. “I know it’s probably stupid, and I know we could break each other’s hearts, but…” he ruffles his hand through his hair. “I don’t meet men like that every day. Besides. I will definitely regret it if I don’t at least see him one more time.” 

Julia rolls her eyes, but a fond smile creeps across her tawny face. “I’ll give you wanting to see him again one more time, you two really should talk. Just try not to be a dumbass, ok? Go slow. You’ve gotta take care of yourself, you’re not twenty anymore.”

The look on Jaskier’s face softens thoughtfully, and he nods. “I know. I’ll try to be good.”

“Good. Where are you planning on taking him? This doesn’t sound like public conversation material.”

“Well… that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. I was thinking maybe the best place would be the bar.”

“What, don’t want to use your house?” Julia asks dryly. 

“Nnnoo, uh…” Jaskier rubs the back of his neck, turning red. 

“I get it.” Julia cuts him off with a quick gesture, smirking.  “You wanna keep it on the up and up. Don’t you have somewhere else you could meet him though?”

“Mmm… I mean, there are some parks I could take him to, but that feels weird for a private conversation, you know?” Julia nods. Jaskier continues, “He’s staying with his wife at the hotel, and I feel like it would be rude to ask him to kick her out so we can talk. Most of my friends have these teeny apartments so I can’t exactly borrow space from them. The bar seemed like the best place.”

Julia hums, then nods. “I get it. Not like I have a porch I could offer you or anything.”

“Yeah. So…?”

Shrugging, Julia stuffs her keys into her pocket. “Go for it. Just don’t fuck all over the furniture or I’m gonna fire you,” she cracks.

Jaskier laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She might not be able to actually fire him, all joking aside, but Julia has a way of finding truly horrifying tasks to saddle him with. He isn’t about to try her and they both know it.  He pushes off of the counter, then digs a faxed receipt out of his back pocket and unfolds it. “Kreteks are on the way, by the bye. Here’s the tracking number.” 

Julia lights up, making grabby hands as Jaskier hands the receipt over. She scans it, then gives a satisfied smile and folds it up to stick in her wallet. “Great. All right, I’m gonna head outta here. Let me know how it goes, ok?”

“As if I’d leave you out of the loop,” Jaskier hums fondly. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Am I gonna lose a hand if I try to hug you?”

“Yep,” Julia says with a chuckle. She reaches over and slaps Jaskier’s shoulder companionably on her way out the door. “Good night, mijo.” 

“Good night, Julia. Drive safe.” Jaskier says to her retreating back, smiling. He turns away as the kitchen door swings shut and makes one last circuit of the bar. When he gets outside he closes up; there is a satisfying click as the tumblers lock into place. It has been a good night, and tomorrow is full of possibilities.