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discopiratetanis · 4 years

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The words you want to hear [soulmates au]

Chapter 1 | (ao3)

Okay, fine, it took longer than I expected to write this chapter (I’ve been sick, and social life doesn’t wait for you). I know it was going to be three chapters at first because I had a clear idea in my head and thought that was all I needed, but no! It turns out that it wasn’t.

I have divided what was going to be chapter two into two parts, and probably, if the same happens with chapter four, there will be a fifth (with a lot of emotional content, I promise).

So! I hope you like it!

(I’m tagging everyone who was left wanting more with the previous chapter, if someone else wants to keep track I can tag them in the next one too! If the tags don't work is tumblr fault)

@little-piece-of-tamlin

@imweakmylove

@skywing4797

@rhodey-rhudert-rhodes-main

Lettenhove Fortress was a square mass of grey stone, with thick walls and high towers, located at the top of a bare hill next to a mountain range covered with wild forest. A village surrounded the hill, with the houses scattered along its slopes. A fast bubbly river flowed and spurted from the mountains and surrounded the last houses of the town, forming a natural barrier against attackers. A wall, as huge as the walls of the fortress, surrounded the village on the side that the river did not protect.

Jaskier stopped his horse, a black stallion with white legs, as soon as he reached the end of the bridge that connected the two banks of the river. Geralt did the same. A barbican, guarded by two soldiers with the Lettenhove coat of arms, were watching the only passage to the village and the castle. The soldiers looked at them with suspicion and reticence, especially at Geralt. The witcher noticed that they frowned at the sight of the medallion. He said nothing, letting Jaskier step forward to them.

“A crown per person and per horse,” the soldier stationed on the right side said, as soon as Jaskier’s steed took a step.

Jaskier clicked his tongue.

“I am Julian Alfred Pankratz, son of the Viscount of Lettenhove, and I will not pay to enter in my own house, nor will pay my companion. Let us pass,”

The guards looked at each other before they looked back at Jaskier. The soldier on the right scoffed.

“If you were truly the son of the viscount, then you would know that you are the new viscount. Or you should know,”

Geralt saw out of the corner of his eye how the soldier on the left was tensing up, ready to attack just in case… He could smell his distrust, even a little nervousness (because of him, not Jaskier) but he remained calm. He didn’t need more trouble, not when people were willing to find problems out of nowhere.

“I know my father is dead, soldier,” Jaskier hissed, and he really sounded like a really pissed off nobleman. “Let us pass or you will face the consequences,”

The right guardsman frowned a little more, threw a quick glance at his companion, who shrugged with a huff, and then grunted. He extended a hand to Jaskier.

“Well, if you insist… Documentation, please,”

Jaskier inhaled deeply (and Geralt knew he was tired of this shit already) and reached into his bag. He took out a small scroll of parchment which he offered to the guard. The soldier spread it without ceremony, and read it in silence. With every word he read his expression changed from weariness and mockery to surprise and panic. He looked up from the scroll, rolled it up quickly, and returned it to Jaskier.

“My apologies my lord, please, come in,”

Jaskier huffed, taking the scroll and put it back in the bag. Then, without words or acknowledging the soldier’s apology, he spurred the horse on and marched forward. Geralt sighed and followed him, knowing that the guards were looking at him much more boldly and curiously than before.

They entered the town.

The main street was full of holes and mud puddles. It connected the entrance of the bridge with the marketplace and the castle. They rode at a slow pace. Busy villagers were walking around, leading mules or carts with sacks or hay bales. Hens and gooses were fluttering or pecking everywhere, groups of children were running through the alleys or playing with rag balls. Somewhere a pig shrieked. Geralt thought, somehow, that all of that reminded him of Blaviken. He looked at Jaskier, who was serious, glassy-eyed.

“So, will there be consequences?” he asked, casual.

Jaskier let out a grunt. He was becoming a very good Geralt imitator, groaning in response to everything, silent, moody, unwilling to explain anything. He had been like that for two weeks since Jaskier got the letter from his family and hired Geralt to kill a monster without any more details. Two weeks of tense, hard travel to Lettenhove. Geralt was almost starting to resent his own shortcomings.

“Of course not,” Jaskier replied. “I’ve been away for years, I understand I wasn’t recognized,“

“Hm,”

Geralt was about to ask if he was okay, but he knew he wasn’t. When someone as cheerful and optimistic as Jaskier went grey and empty that way there was no point in ask if he was okay. How could he be? Geralt had realized during that time how much he hated seeing Jaskier like that. They had been traveling together for years, with some time lapses in which each one had gone on their own way but–

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbled. He had his eyes fixed on the road. “I’m dragging you to all this mess,”

Geralt shook his head weakly.

“Well, no offense, but I’ve been worse,” he said, trying to liven things up. “At least I know you won’t try to con me,”

“Of course not!” Jaskier exclaimed, clearly repulsed by that idea. Then he added with a whisper: “How could I do that…”

Geralt curved a tiny smile without looking at him. Jaskier was probably going to be the best contractor in his entire career, both past and future, as a witcher. He wouldn’t try to trick him, bargain with him, or hinder him. He would accept whatever conditions Geralt asked, he would accept any price. He was sure of it. So thinking about what price to ask him was difficult. Jaskier was his friend, not just any client. And he had just lost his father.

And that meant a lot of things.

“I haven’t even been able to tell you what monster you have to kill,” Jaskier kept saying, a little bit bitter.

“That’s not your fault, your letter doesn’t say it,”

“But you could have prepared yourself during these weeks, I don’t like to think it’s been time wasted,”

“Trust me, it hasn’t been,”

Maybe Geralt didn’t know what kind of beast he had to hunt for Jaskier, but he remembered each and every day of those two weeks when he had had to stop Jaskier from turning into another beast, a wounded one who was trying to ease the pain of mourning with alcohol and tavern fights. For him, it hadn’t been time wasted.

Never would be.

They went through the second barbican, the direct access to the castle, without stopping or being stopped. Groups of residents were entering and leaving the fortress, in their daily hustle and bustle unaware of the tragedy that had shaken the viscount’s family. As if that wouldn’t alter their lives in any way. Once they were in the bailey, Jaskier looked up at the castle keep, where the flag with the Lettenhove emblem was waving.

“Young lord?”

Jaskier blinked and looked down. A man in his early fifties had approached them. He had short, brown hair with gray streaks, a square jaw covered with a slight beard, hard, tough features, tanned skin, dark and wise eyes. He was wearing, still, the uniform of the captain of the guard. Jaskier got off his horse, a stable boy grabbed the reins as soon as he did, and took a deep breath.

“Captain Fryderyk,” he said, tense.

He saw out of the corner of his eye how Geralt also dismounted Roach and gave, reluctantly, very reluctantly, her reins to another stable boy. Around them, servants, locals, and even some of the castle guards were watching their arrival with interest. They looked at Geralt, perhaps, with a little fear. But no one seemed really disturbed.

“I am sorry for your loss, my lord,” His voice was severe but soft, like when Jaskier was still a little child running along the top of the walls, playing at escaping from the servants and guards who were trying to catch him and Fryderyk, a young aspiring castle warden, was the only capable of doing it.

Jaskier nodded.

“Thank you,”

“I see that you have brought a witcher,”

“Yes,” Jaskier looked at Geralt, who was standing at his side now. “He is–”

“I know who he is,” The captain interrupted, and his eyes glanced at the medallion for a second. “The White Wolf, I have heard the songs,” Then he smiled, barely, but smiled, and turned around. “Jarek!” he called with a strong voice, an order.

A guard in his thirties who had followed his captain near Jaskier and Geralt stepped forward.

“Sir!”

“Find Lucjan. Have him show the witcher his new quarters,”

“Yes, sir!”

“As a guest of honor,”

“Yes, sir!”

The soldier, Jarek, threw an amazed fearless glance at Geralt. Geralt looked back at him, unamused. Jaskier snorted, smiling. Then Geralt looked at Jaskier. His inner right forearm itched. Jaskier gave him a small sad smile and followed captain Fryderyk to the keep. Geralt saw him disappear behind the main gates and breathed a long sigh. Jarek cleared his throat.

“Shall we?”

Geralt grunted and follow his own guard. They went to another gate, located on the right side of the keep, and entered as if Geralt had been living there all his life.

“So, are they true?” Jarek asked.

“What?” Geralt retorted with another question.

They walked through a long corridor.

“The things the songs tell about you,”

Geralt sighed, resigned.

"Some of them,”

They entered a kitchen, a large central kitchen, where the cooks, kitchen helpers, and other servants were busy finishing dinner. Jarek looked around and then raised his voice to make himself heard:

“Eh, does anyone know where is Lucjan?!”

A maid, a young girl who was peeling potatoes in a corner, exclaimed in response:

“In the great hall!”

“Thanks, Myra!”

The guard nodded to Geralt and continued to walk across the room to another corridor. The witcher thought about how strangely peaceful life seemed a castle life and how chaotic it really was. He grunted again, feeling tired.

“Jarek,” he called.

“Yes?”

“What do you know about the viscount’s death?”

Jarek didn’t answer right away. A slightly heavy silence, only broken by the noise of the fortress vitality, hovered around them. Until the soldier spoke, much less cheerfully than before.

“Not much, I’m afraid, mostly rumors,” he exhaled a deep sigh, and then, slowly, stopped his walk in the middle of the corridor. “It was almost three months ago, the viscount went to the nearby mountains to hunt with some of his knights, the usual,”

Geralt approached him until they were face to face. He smelled sadness, impotence, confusion. Jarek’s expression was grey, like Jaskier’s.

“And?” he encouraged, softly.

The guard bit his lips, frowning, trying to…

“It usually takes them a week to go there, hunt what they want and return to the castle. So a week went by, and when they didn’t come back the captain wanted to go look for them, just in case something had happened,” Jarek frowned a little more. “But the viscountess told him to not worry too much because sometimes they took a little longer to return,”

Geralt made a slight grimace and clicked his tongue. He was about to ask him how long it was before someone came looking for them when Jarek spoke again.

“And then, on the tenth day, our lady fell to her knees with a piercing cry and spat out black blood,”

Geralt arched his eyebrows.

“Soulrotting?”

He saw Jarek holding his breath at the mention of that word. Then the guard nodded silently. Geralt grunted.

“That was how we knew the viscount was dead. The captain commanded some of his men to the mountains and searched for survivors and the body of our Lord, but they found nothing except the half-devoured corpse of one of the knights,”

“I see,” Geralt murmured.

That didn’t tell him much, but it was something. It must be the same that the letter said. He still needed to find out how the monster, if it was a monster at all and not a wolf pack or bears, had devoured that man. He needed to go there, to those mountains, to look for anything that might tell him what he was up against.

He knew that Jaskier would want to go with him.

And they still hadn’t talked about their previous fight on that subject.

Jarek said no more and continued to lead Geralt to the great hall where they found Lucjan, who turned out to be the castle’s butler, a slim and graceful man with black hair and blue eyes. He placed Geralt in a room on the east side of the tower, which served as a room for distinguished guests because visitors usually slept in the great hall with the servants, the knights, and the dogs. Lucjan remarked casually that the rooms of the viscountess and the soon-to-be new viscount were on the west side.

Geralt thanked him and Jarek for their help and was left alone. He left his bag and his swords on a table against the wall, and sat up in the bed heavily, thinking, calculating. Three months was a long time, and whatever had attacked Jaskier’s father and his men might not be in the same area of the forest anymore. The trail must have been erased and more than faded. If no one else had been attacked over there, or near Lettenhove itself, it would be difficult to find the monster. The hunt could last a long time, even if he was lucky.

But at least he will have food, drink and a roof over his head, and possibly all the time he needed to find and kill that monster.

He sighed and started to take off his armor, leaving only his shirt, pants, and boots. He took off his gloves too, tossing them on the table, and lay down on the bed. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, feeling again that little tingle on his forearm. He groaned, weakly, and opened his eyes.

Then, hesitant, rolled up his right sleeve.

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest before seeing her?”

“No, no… I’m okay, I need it… I need to see her,”

It had been years since Jaskier had walked those halls, those stone rooms. He had almost forgotten how trapped he had felt in there, the weight of the title hanging over his head. Now that his father had died, that weight had fallen and was crushing him everywhere. It was only a matter of time, once the matter of the monster that had killed the viscount had been resolved before someone would bring up the subject of the succession.

Jaskier didn’t want to think about that.

Not yet.

“I know she must be having a hard time, but what about you?” Jaskier asked Fryderyk as they headed for the viscountess’ rooms.

The captain had grimaced and sipped his nose a little before taking the back of his hand to it, wiping himself… When he put his hand down, Jaskier saw black blood on the glove.

“I can manage, we have called a sorceress, she has given us a potion to ease the effects of the rot,” he explained in a rough voice. “Anyway, in your mother’s case it’s worse, she’s been in bed since your father’s death,”

“Right…”

“Don’t worry about me, young lord, I’ll survive,” Fryderyk gave Jaskier a sad smile. “He and I weren’t completely bounded, only I have had his words,”

“But now you’ll never know if he could ever have had yours,” Jaskier whispered, also sad, feeling his left forearm itching. He rubbed it, swallowing. “How is it? Being a one-side soulmate?”

The captain sighed. His voice was distant and small as he talked.

“It’s hard, very hard, and lonely. You wait and hope that someday the other person will show you his soulmark, and then you have to see how they find their soulmate, but it’s not you, it’s someone else. And you wonder if there’s something wrong, if you’ve done something wrong, if you’re… broken, ”

Jaskier blinked, feeling his eyes getting wet and his face burning.

“You are not broken, Fryderyk,” he murmured.

“I know I’m not, but sometimes you wonder,”

There was an uncomfortable, dense silence. Jaskier bit his lips. In the distance a dog barked, followed by other dogs that must have run in the ward. The beat of the forge, the stables, the march of the guards, the bells, all were sounds of his childhood. Fryderyk looked at him but said nothing.

When they reached the viscountess’ quarters, Fryderyk stopped and stepped aside. Before Jaskier entered, he smiled weakly at him.

“Welcome home, Julian,”

Jaskier felt his fingers tremble. He managed to smile back.

“Thank you, Ryk,” he whispered.

Fryderyk squeezed his shoulder. Then Jaskier knocked on the door. On the other side a serene, melodic, female voice indicated that he could come in. He turned the knob. He entered. The room was big, warm and cozy, just as he remembered it. The walls were covered with tapestries illustrating feats of the past, the floor was covered with a thick carpet of bear fur. The fireplace at one end of the room crackled brightly with orange sparks. The desk where his mother wrote her letters was… immaculate. And on the other side of the chimney was the bed, the big double bed where his parents had fathered him, and where now his mother lay, sick with soulrotting. The viscountess wasn’t alone. An elderly maid was standing by the bed and wiping away the sweat and blood of her Lady, who was mumbling unrelated and delirious words.

And just a little further on, next to a little table with bottles filled with liquids of various colors, there was a young woman, beautiful, elegant, with long, wavy, black hair, who was wearing a white dress that shone with tiny stars as she moved. When Jaskier closed the door and the woman turned around, he could see that her eyes were violet. The woman gave him a polite smile, while she was mixing two of the liquids on a bowl.

“You must be Julian,” she said, calm.

“And you must be the sorceress,” Jaskier mumbled, approaching her and the bed.

“Yennefer,”

Jaskier watched as she took a clean cloth and soak it with the solution she had mixed in the bowl, then folded it and placed it on the viscountess’s forehead. Instantly, the woman stopped shivering and babbling and fell into a quiet state of sleep. She also stopped sweating, and bleeding from her nose. Yennefer sighed. The maid straightened, caressing her Lady’s hair, gently. Jaskier swallowed, pressing his lips in a thin line.

“She will sleep painlessly all night, and all the next morning until noon. I will retire until then, I need to keep trying more formulas.”

Yennefer began to collect their jars, putting them in a wooden box carved with geometric patterns. Jaskier watched his mother in silence, while the maid cupped the pillows and placed the blankets better. She was older than he remembered, of course, her brown hair had a much more grey than the last time he had seen her, she had more wrinkles everywhere. But she looked older, really older, because of the sickness, he knew that.

“My young lord?” Yennefer called. Jaskier looked at her. She had her box, closed, in her arms. The bowl was still on the table. “Would you accompany me?”

Jaskier threw a glance at his mother one more time, feeling his own heartbeat heavy in his chest, and then left the room followed by the sorceress. Outside, Fryderyk was gone. Yennefer began to walk down the hall, heading east side of the keep. He would have liked to be able to talk to his mother, let her know he was there, but…

“Whatever they promise you,” Jaskier said a moment after. “If you can save her life, I’ll pay whatever you want,”

Yennefer curved a sad and tiny smile.

“What I want, my lord, it’s something you can’t pay with money, but I appreciate the offer,” she replied, then he let out a deep breath. “I’m not entirely sure if I can…The corruption is advanced but I will keep her alive as long as I can,”

Jaskier bit his lower lip.

“How much time?” he asked, in a mutter.

Yennefer made a grimace, a disappointed, perhaps with herself, one.

“I don’t know,” she said, also with a whisper. “I’m sorry,”

Jaskier slightly shook his head.

“It’s alright, it’s not your fault,” he asserted. “But thank you,”

Yennefer nodded. They walked then in silence until they reach the east side of the keep and the guest’s quarters. Jaskier knew that one of those rooms has to be Geralt’s but he felt suddenly too tired to talk to him about anything right now. He thought about his soulmark, his words. He had been thinking about it for those two weeks, when he had been sober enough to think. He knew he should tell him, but at the same time he knew the witcher, always ready to renegade Destiny and everything that binds him to other people, would not give it a second thought at best. At worst, he would walk away from Jaskier, to protect himself from feelings and emotions, or to protect Jaskier, or whatever Geralt might think of as an excuse. And Jaskier was also always willing to think the worst about his relationship with Geralt. Geralt, who had cost him gods and help to trust him, who had taken eons to pronounce the word friend even when he had treated him as one for years.

“You should tell him,” Yennefer said then, making the bard lose his train of thoughts.

“What?” Jaskier looked at her, confused.

“About your soulmark, you should tell him,”

Jaskier blinked.

“How do you know?”

Yennefer huffed a smirk, a proud smirk.

“Your thoughts are strong, and I can read them easily without having to look at you. I’ve seen him too, just like you do. He is very handsome,“ she said, playful.

Jaskier cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks burning and his hands sweating.

“He’s not only handsome, he's…” he hesitated, not knowing what words use. He thought about the banquet at Cintra, about Geralt telling him that he had no words for anyone, about the time when Geralt had said that he didn’t need anyone and didn’t want to be needed. He frowned, sighing. “It’s complicated,”

“Ah, I see, a witcher,”

“Yes,”

“So you are a one-side soulmate,”

Jaskier wet his lips and felt, again, tired. A weak beat had started to hammering his temples and forehead. One-side soulmate. He remembered Fryderyk and his eternal longing for the viscount, present throughout all his childhood. Even as a child he had realized that the patience and kindness his father had always had with the captain of the guard was not common.

“It seems that way,” he said, in a hollow tone of voice.

Yennefer threw him a glance, but said nothing in return. Shortly thereafter, they arrived at her room. Yennefer opened the door, but looked at Jaskier before entering. She parted her lips but paused for a second, as if she was going to say something that she thought better not to. Instead, she said:

"I’ll see you tonight at dinner, your people will be pleased to see you in the great hall,” Jaskier nodded, and she added: “Maybe you should take a bath and rest until then, it’ll help you clear your head.“

Then Yennefer came into the room and closed the door. A soft click indicated that she had used the lock. Jaskier stared at the door, abstracted, and rubbed his left forearm without realizing it. He sighed, weakly, and turned on his heels, heading for his quarters, thinking again.

* * *

The keep had a floor, in the basement, divided between the dungeons and a kind of therma that his great-grandfather had ordered to be built during his mandate. Jaskier had played there many times with other kids, children of guards and servants, when the adults were too busy and they had nothing else to do until dinner time. Well, in Jaskier’s case he did have things to do, but he preferred to run away to play rather than be bored to death listening to his tutors talk about geography or history that didn’t interest him at all.

The therma was a large rectangular room with a big oval pool carved into the stone, which could easily accommodate twenty people at a time. Three smaller cavities, for at least four people, were also carved around it. An intricate system of pipes diverted water from the aquifers that the river fed to a tank, which a team of servants was responsible for keeping warm. They filled the pool and the smaller bathtubs when a lever for each one was operated.

Jaskier ordered the servants to fill one of the small tubs, and started to unpack the clothes he was to wear later, when he had got rid of all the dirt and sweat from the roads. The stable boys had carried his bags and luggage up to his room, and though his current clothes were in good condition, Jaskier could not help but look through his old closet and chest. Everything was the same as when he had left years ago, with the exception that his mother had probably had ordered his clothes to be aired from time to time so that the moths would not prey on them.

When the bathtub was full and the steam covered the surface of the water and its surroundings like a cloud, Jaskier undressed, gave the dirty clothes to one of the servants and went into the water. Another servant left sponges and soapy salts, plus towels nearby for him to dry off later. Jaskier felt his muscles slowly warm and relax, and puffed a pleasant breath. He took one of the jars containing the salts and poured a handful of it into the water. Soon, white and blue bubbles appeared, and two centimeters of soap mantled the surface of the tub completely. He slid down to rest his head on the edge. The tub wasn’t very deep, but it allowed him to float a bit without having to sit down. Jaskier closed his eyes and just let himself go.

He didn’t know how long he was like that, gone, not moving, locked in a bubble of silence without wanting to go out into the outside world again. Thinking of the sorceress’ words, her dying mother, Fryderyk’s black blood, and Geralt. Geralt above all, and the words written on his arm, said with evident anger but which by Destiny meant the maximum expression of affection and love that Geralt felt for him.

I don’t care about your songs if you’re dead

He hadn’t had much time to think about the phrase, not really. After Geralt had left him behind in the storm to kill the monsters that infested the sewers of that city, he had returned to the inn in shock, almost without realizing it. That night he hadn’t slept, worrying about how he could tell Geralt that he was his soulmate, even though Geralt didn’t have a mark on him with Jaskier’s words. Before Cintra, Jaskier had dreamed of that possibility, had thought about situations, had conceived scenes in his head, in which Geralt said his words, Jaskier said Geralt’s, and they both accepted their mutual feelings and were happy in their own way. Before Cintra, when Jaskier was younger and more naive, he would not have hesitated to tell Geralt about the mark.

But after…

After having seen him run away from Destiny again and again, after having heard him say that Destiny was only an excuse for those who believed in it wanted to feel better with his bad actions, after having found out that witchers did not have anyone’s words…

After all of that, Jaskier wasn’t sure of what he should do. And he didn’t want to deal with it either.

Not yet.

The sound of the door and heavy footsteps of leather boots made him open his eyes and stand up a little. Through the increasingly dissolved cloud of steam, Jaskier saw Geralt walking toward his bathtub with a bundle of clothes under his arm. The witcher seemed to have an expression on his face halfway between exhaustion and surrender.

"That butler of yours told me you were here,” he grunted, dropping his clothes not far from the tub.

Jaskier knew, knowing Lucjan, that the man had probably smelled Geralt two miles away and pushed him into the therma with a broom so he would not have to touch him. The bard snorted and shrank against the wall of the bathtub even though it was big enough for three people as big and wide as Geralt to get into. He kept his arms, especially his left arm, underwater, hidden under the layer of soap and bubbles, aware that… that now Geralt could see his mark if he wasn’t careful. Jaskier blinked, not quite sure if he was ready to tell him, right then and there, before Geralt could catch him and demand an explanation, in case Geralt cared enough about the subject to demand an explanation, of course.

He held his breath, looking up from the water and the foam. And saw Geralt taking off his shirt, still grunting about Lucjan, and leave it lying next to the pile of clean clothes. Jaskier blinked again, watching him, watching as his skin pearled with steam and sweat, and made his muscles, covered in scars, seemed to swell with the heat. Watching as the wolf medallion caught the light of the torches and twinkled between his pecs.

Jaskier swallowed, dry, hard, and turned around, slowly, before he could see Geralt peeling off his pants. It wouldn’t be the first time, but he always felt it as if it was that way. He rested his arms on the edge of the bathtub, and his chin on his arms, being terribly aware of the rubbing’s sound the clothes were making as Geralt was taking them off. He heard a couple of soft taps, the boots being thrown on the floor, then the noise of the belt loops. The pants. The underwear. Jaskier closed his eyes. Then he heard, felt, how Geralt was getting into the water, on the other side of where he was, with a grunt of pleasure.

His cock twitched.

Jaskier swallowed again, trying to think of something far away from anything erotic so he couldn’t get hard. But he failed. He remembered that one of his fantasies in his youth was fuck with Geralt in a bathtub. He saw himself riding the witcher, with his big and calloused hands gripping his hips, panting and moaning in his ear, against his collarbone, kissing and licking his neck, biting a nebula of hickeys, rough, harsh.

He pressed his lips.

“Jaskier,”

His eyes snapped open but he didn’t move. Jaskier felt something tightened his guts, his throat. He knew Geralt could smell the arousal in someone. He licked his lips, without facing him, his eyes on the wall, feeling tense, his left arm burning.

“Hm?” he hummed, softly.

He heard water sounds, maybe Geralt was shifting on his seat, maybe he was wetting himself, cupping soap with his hands and… He didn’t know for sure, he didn’t look. It was a large hesitation, one in which Jaskier could feel Geralt golden eyes fixed on his back. Then he heard a weak groan, a deep sigh.

“Do you want to talk?” Geralt said.

Jaskier frowned, confused. He wanted to reply that they were talking already.

“What?” he croaked instead.

“About… how do you feel,”

Geralt tone of voice was weak, full of worry. It made Jaskier looked at him over his shoulder. Geralt was still seated across the tub, watching Jaskier with softness, his bulky arms resting on the stone edge. Jaskier knew that was an open stance. He gulped a ball of air and steam. He moved an inch away from the bathtub wall and put his arms in the water, keeping his left arm carefully hidden behind his body. Then he turned around, facing Geralt. His arms in his lap were still difficult to see because of the foam. He breathed in, deep, and looked up. And then he got lost because he couldn’t suppress the need to slid his eyes along Geralt broad chest. The medallion was almost touching the water, there, between those dreamy and damned pectorals. Geralt snorted, amused.

“My eyes are up here,” he mumbled, leaning forward a little.

“Uh,” Jaskier blinked.

And he felt his whole body vibrating, writhing, burning in a terrible hell. He opened his mouth to reply but then he saw the cocky smirk Geralt was curving with his also damned and perfect lips he wanted to kiss, and he felt so embarrassed that, without realizing what he was doing, he splashed Geralt in the face. Geralt coughed and barked a laugh, a pristine, sincere, pure laugh, that gave Jaskier years of life.

The bard felt his chest filled with a warm cloud of cotton and sunlight. It made him think of all the times they had camped together in spring and summer, in open clearings in the forest where they could play at finding stars in the night sky. He remembered some of those nights when Geralt had shown him the constellations and told him the stories that accompanied those stars. He remembered the nights, by the light of the bonfire, when Geralt had read him his bestiary so Jaskier could compose his songs without putting himself in danger. He remembered the afternoons, with the sun not fully set, when they had trained together and Geralt, after beating him every time, had taken care of his little wounds, like the scratches made by the rapier guard, the scrapes from falling to the ground, the cuts that Geralt had made to him without wanting to.

He remembered the soft, tender looks Geralt had given him when he was concentrating with his lute, humming some new song, and Geralt thought he wouldn’t notice.

Jaskier felt his eyes stinging, wet with tears.

Oh, gods, I would love him even if I didn’t have his mark

He blinked very quickly, frowning, and plastered a fake smile before Geralt could notice, if he wasn’t noticed yet.

“Alright, I didn’t see that coming,” the witcher said, letting out a joyful sigh.

Jaskier shrugged. Geralt’s gesture grew dark a little, just a little, and more with sadness than resentment or harshness.

“But seriously,” he said. “If you want to talk… I know we don’t usually do it but…”

Jaskier smiled weakly and looked down. If there was one thing he needed and didn’t need at the same time right now it was Geralt fussing about wanting to talk about feelings.

It was ironic.

“Yes, I know,” Jaskier sough. “I’m sorry, I had been a pain in the ass these weeks,”

“Not at all, if you don’t count all the times you tried to punch someone bigger than you when you were drunk,” Geralt curved a tiny smile.

“Oh, shut up,” Jaskier huffed, pretending to be offended, but he smiled too, still looking down. “I know it is an awful way to mourn someone,”

“Indeed,”

“It’s just… I hadn’t thought about my father for years, not in a close or familiar way, and finding out that he was dead and that… that would probably lead to my mother’s death as well…“

“It’s hard,”

Jaskier nodded.

“Yes,” he whispered, feeling vulnerable as if his heart has been ripped off and it was floating in the water, at plain sight. “But it’s not just that, it’s everything else,”

“What do you mean?”

Jaskier paused. His left arm throbbed, beating with a soft bump. He knew Geralt had heard his now faster heartbeat because the witcher stiffened against the stone wall of the tub, wary.

“Well, Geralt… I’m the only son of my father,” he said. “That has to mean something, right?”

Then Jaskier looked up and locked eyes with Geralt, who seemed suddenly conscious of that fact as if it was the first time that idea had crossed his mind. Geralt raised his chin a little, frowning.

"Right,"

Then he was the one who looked away first. Jaskier closed and clenched his hands in fists on his thighs and looked away too, turning around again to rest his arms on the edge of the tub. He listened to Geralt splashing around, probably rubbing himself with one of the sponges the servants had left beside them. The water was almost cold after he had been lazing around for so long, but Jaskier didn’t care. Soon he heard Geralt standing up, getting out of the bath and drying himself with one of the wool and linen towels. He also heard the new rubbing of the clean clothes against Geralt’s body. He heard the belt loops, he heard the boots, like an inverted loop. It was almost torture.

Then a throat-clearing sound rumbled, and he looked up. Geralt was standing in front of him, fully dressed and with a small towel on his shoulders to dry his hair. He was dressed in blue and gold and maybe his clothes weren’t, and wouldn’t be, the most elegant in the castle, but Jaskier knew, because he knew, that Geralt had, was, trying for him. And that warmed his heart a little. Geralt was extremely gorgeous when he tried.

"Aren’t you coming?” Geralt said.

Jaskier grimaced. He couldn’t move, he shouldn’t move. If he did…

“No, go ahead, I need a little more time,” he replied.

Geralt stared at him silently for a couple of seconds, then he exhaled a long breath, almost a grunt, turned on his heels and walked away. And Jaskier gulped, with a thick lump stuck in his throat, and felt his face burning.

Then, finally, the tears rolled down his cheeks.

* * *

When Geralt arrived at the great hall dinner was already served. A high table with four seats arranged, located next to the wall opposite the main gate, was full of food already, and two people were seated at it: the captain of the guard who had received them that morning, and a young woman with long black hair. And then, placed along the rest of the space in the room, there were several tables also long and crowded with the viscount’s knights, some guards who were not on duty, probably many of the fortress’s peasants who had already finished their work for the day, and passing travelers who were offered hospitality in the castle.

The atmosphere was warm and lively, with men and women laughing, eating and drinking, making jokes and telling stories, the children running from table to table, with some of the dogs chasing the kids or fighting over some old bone that could still be gnawed on. The servants were going around, serving drinks or more food. A couple of bards, near the central chimney and the main table, were playing their instruments. Geralt stood still at the threshold of the gates, a little overwhelmed by the cloud of noise until Lucjan, in all his grace and dignity, took pity on him and led him to the main table. As he passed, some of the diners elbowed each other and whispered, but if Geralt’s heard well, he was sure that those words were not hostile.

“Jaskier hasn’t come yet?” Geralt asked.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” the butler replied, indicating that his place was the farthest from the central position at the table, which corresponded to the viscount. The captain was seated at the right of that spot, and the woman at its left. Geralt seat was at the black-haired woman’s left.

Geralt replied back with a grunt, and sat down at the table, taking a sip from the goblet that was in front of him. He immediately wrinkled his nose and looked at the liquid. He groaned. Wine.

Next to him, the woman giggled.

“You know you can ask for anything you want, right?” she said.

Geralt tilted his head and looked at her. She was beautiful, with her purple eyes, her wavy hair falling over her shoulders, her red, full lips, and her formal black dress. Geralt smelled her curiosity and interest, but he did not look down beyond her chin. He was curious too. Aside from her emotions, there was… The witcher curved an understanding small smile and looked straight ahead.

“A sorceress,”

She smiled back.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg,” she replied and took a sip from her own goblet.

“Geralt of Rivia,” Geralt raised his cup, drawing the attention of one of the servants, a young woman. The girl was about to pour him more wine, but Geralt clicked his tongue. “No, bring me an ale, the best you have,” he said.

The servant nodded and left to fulfill the request. Geralt let out a tired sigh. Then he offered his cup to Yennefer, who accepted it without objection and poured the content into her goblet.

“I know who you are,” she said, in a casual tone.

“Yes, everyone here seems to know who I am,” he replied, unamused.

Her smile spread a little more, delighted, and returned him his cup.

“I have heard the songs, written and sung by the next Viscount of Lettenhove himself,“ she continued. "I really expected you to have fangs, or horns, or something,”

Geralt huffed a chuckle.

“I had them filed down,” he mumbled, looking at her, cheeky.

Yennefer snorted softly, drinking. Geralt looked away again. The servant returned then and filled his goblet with ale from a small barrel, which she left on the table, at the empty end next to Geralt. He appreciated it, so he could pour himself when he wanted to. He drank half of his cup in one gulp. The ale was good, very good. He thanked someone for that.

It was rare to be seated at the head table of a nobleman, without that nobleman being present. As time passed and Geralt drank and ate as he hadn’t been able to for weeks, he started to think about where Jaskier would have gone or where he would be. He didn’t think anything had happened to him, because in a castle full of servants one never had any privacy, but. He really began to worry when the maids began to remove many of the empty plates and pans and bring in the desserts. Yennefer seemed to share his thoughts because her gesture grew more serious with each passing hour and Jaskier still did not appear.

“I told him to rest a little before dinner, not to skip it. He needs to do normal life,” she muttered behind his goblet.

He looked at her, equally serious. He could smell the concern in her, among resignation and her personal scent of lilacs and gooseberries.

“Do you know where he is?” he asked.

She grimaced, looking back at him. For a moment Yennefer didn’t respond, tilting his head, curious again. Geralt saw her frown slowly crease.

“No,” she replied. “But maybe you do,”

“What?”

“You know him better than I do, better than anyone in this room. Not even Captain Fryderyk knows him as well as you do now, not even his mother if she could speak,”

Geralt looked away, uncomfortable, a little nervous.

“I don’t think he came out of the fortress, but in his present state… It’s dangerous to leave him alone too long,” Yennefer said then.

“Have you read his mind?”

“No, not on purpose, I didn’t need to. I’m sure you can smell his suffering too,”

Geralt wrinkled his nose a little, clicking his tongue. Yes, he remembered the bitter, sharp smell of anxiety and despair. But he didn’t think it was that bad, even with all the drinking and tavern fighting.

“Well, what he usually does when he wants to stop thinking about anything?”

“Drink,” he replied quickly, frowning. “Drink as if the world was going to end the next day,” he said with a tired grunt. “Fuck,”

Geralt got up.

“You’re going to get him,” Yennefer said, and he got up too. “I’m going with you,”

Geralt was about to protest. That was something he had been doing on his own for quite some time, he didn’t think he needed the help of a stranger. But he smelled, stronger than before, the concern in her, and did not reply. The two of them circled the table and headed for the doors leading to the kitchens, followed by Fryderyk’s gaze.

“If we were in a village,” Geralt commented as they strode forward, quickly. “Jaskier would be in the tavern sticking his head in a bucket full of ale,”

“I see,” she said. “I assume he would also look for ways to get physical pain,”

“He got into fights, how do you know?”

Yennefer pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“Physical pain reduces mental pain, or at least it’s easier to assimilate and ease,” she explained. “I’m afraid Lady Pankratz is not the only one who is ill in this castle,”

Geralt glanced at the sorceress before peering out of the doorway of the central kitchen. Inside the room, the cooks, helpers, and servants were still working, but with less speed and fervor than when Geralt had been there in the morning. He entered a few steps, followed by Yennefer, who picked the cherry from a cake that was on one of the tables.

“Has anyone seen your young lord?” he asked, raising his voice.

He didn’t even know if the servants knew what aspect Jaskier had. Some of the men and women looked in his direction and a confused buzz of questions and comments rumbled throughout the already noisy kitchen. A maid came up to them with a basket of eggs.

“I think we did see him, a while ago a man with wet hair came and greeted us as if he’d known us all our lives, and then he ransacked the winery and took a couple of bottles,”

“Yes, he was the old viscount’s son, his father did that too,” An older man added. “He looked like him, the same lost eyes,”

Geralt gritted his teeth.

“Where did he go next?”

“That way,” the man pointed to the side door that Geralt had entered hours earlier.

The witcher left without saying anything. Outside it was almost pitch black, despite the burning torches of the fortress. For Geralt that was not a problem. He took a deep breath, trying to catch the scent of Jaskier. It was easier when he had not bathed for days and his natural scent was stronger. With all the soap he had seen, and used, in the baths before, he would have to look for the freshest, cleanest smell in the area. That wasn’t a problem either.

But they found him earlier because of the noise.

Near the stables, a lively group of guards was drinking, cackling, and shouting happily. And among their voices, the one that stood out the most was one that Geralt knew very well.

“… and then he said: I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to my horse!”

A burst of laughter erupted as Geralt and Yennefer slowly approached them. When they got close enough, they saw Jaskier sitting in a barrel with a half-empty bottle of wine in his hand. He was wearing his shirt out of his pants and untied down to about half his chest, and Geralt noticed how some of the men were casting suggestive glances at him. A rough, burning feeling ran through his body and almost made him growl. Yennefer put a hand on his arm, and when he looked at her, the sorceress quietly shook her head.

That was when Jaskier saw them.

“Geralt, my friend! Come, let me introduce you!” he exclaimed, taking a sip from the bottle before continuing to speak. The crowd of men cheered, looking at the newcomers as well. Some looked at Yennefer from top to bottom, before they realized what a dangerous look she had. “Boys, this is Geralt of Rivia, the famous and mighty White Wolf whom I have accompanied through countless adventures!” The group applauded again. It was clear they were drunk too. “And you,” Jaskier said, tilting his head, looking at Yennefer. He blinked. “I don’t remember your name, but you’re the sexy witch, right?”

Someone whistled. Yennefer huffed.

Geralt took a step forward.

“I think it’s time to go,” he said, low, hoarse.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose.

“What? But we’re having so much fun, right, guys?!”

The men backed up their words with a new round of laughter and words of encouragement. One of the guards clapped Jaskier’s shoulder, as the bard took another sip of wine.

“You’ve had enough fun,” Geralt grunted, gritting his teeth again.

He didn’t know why he was getting angrier than when they were in cheap taverns. There shouldn’t be anyone there who could do him any real harm. Surely by now the whole castle that the son of the late Viscount had returned home. And yet…

Jaskier pouted, clicked his tongue and stepped off the barrel. He took his last drink from the bottle before leaving it in the hands of one of the guards, without looking away from Geralt.

“I’m sorry, boys, when he makes that face…” Jaskier walked towards Geralt, a little clumsily but without zigzagging. “… I better listen to him, or I’ll be sorry later, won’t I?”

Geralt raised his chin a little. The bard had stopped a few inches away from him and the witcher could smell the alcohol. Also the pain and his little faded personal scent of dandelions and wood oil. Of all the times he had had to deal with drunk Jaskier, this was the first the bard had been so arrogant. He was not even drunk enough to be unable to walk, or to thrown up, or to fall asleep anywhere he might have found. No. He had picked up a bottle and drank with other people, people he didn’t know and didn’t know him, and he hadn’t even picked a fight as he had done before. Geralt was a little skeptical, as well as upset.

“All right, enough, let’s go,” Yennefer said, taking Jaskier by the arm and pulling to make him walk.

Jaskier snorted a small chuckle, and let himself go as the group of men said goodbye to him. Jaskier returned the goodbye with joy. Geralt followed them like a guard dog.

“Wait, wait! I remember your name already!” Jaskier said. “It’s Yendoline, isn’t it?”

Yennefer sighed long, still leading Jaskier by the arm. They entered the keep through the side door of the kitchen and quickly passed through the hall until they reached the stairs.

“You almost got it,” she answered, sounding a little less tense.

Jaskier giggled.

“I can’t believe that after all these years I have to take care of dumb nobles again,” Yennefer muttered.

Geralt heard his words and felt a new wave of curiosity. He didn’t believe that a viscount needs the guidance and advice of a mage or a sorceress, so Yennefer must have been there for another reason. Then he remembered Jaskier’s mother and her illness. Soulrotting. Something even magic couldn’t quite cure. Geralt sough.

“Well, you don’t have to, I’ll take care of him next time,” Geralt said.

“Oh, yes, I’ve seen you, feeding his drunken ego,” she replied, sarcastically.

“I didn’t want to start a fight,”

“You wouldn’t have done it, he was looking forward to you taking him away, in your arms if I may add,”

“What?”

“Hey, hey, are you guys talking about me?” Jaskier whistled, laughing.

Geralt frowned.

“Why do you care so much? You don’t know him,” he said to Yennefer.

The sorceress helped Jaskier up the last segment of the stairs to the floor of his quarters. The corridor was empty and cold, lonely.

“I have my reasons,” she said, sharp.

Geralt wanted to push her further, but they soon reached what must have been Jaskier’s room. Yennefer opened the door and let Jaskier go, looking at the witcher.

“Watch him while I go to my room, I’ll bring him a remedy so he won’t be hungover tomorrow,”

“Sure,”

Yennefer walked down the hallway, leaving them alone. Geralt sighed again, feeling even more tired than before. Even with the time he had spent in that bath, the exhaustion of the journey, both physical and mental, and the tiredness of the day, were taking him. And he hadn’t even begun the hunt.

The hunt…

He followed Jaskier into the room, leaving the door ajar. The bard seemed to have calmed down a bit, and now he was muttering unintelligible things as he sat heavily on the bed and lay on his back with his arms outspread. Geralt approached him cautiously and contemplated him silently for a moment.

The grief was there, inexorable, inevitable, eating away Jaskier like a worm, sucking up to his energy like a parasite. Geralt felt helpless, unable to do anything. That sorrow, that pain, was a monster he didn’t know how to fight.

Slowly, he knelt down in front of Jaskier and began to unbuckle his boots to take them off. It was something he had done many times those last two weeks: make sure he didn’t get hurt, no more than Jaskier himself did with the alcohol, taking him to a safe bed, taking off his boots, leaving him lying on the bed, tucking him in with a blanket, making sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit. Help him to sleep, sometimes with his witcher’s magic. And the next morning, give him breakfast and something for his headache.

Again and again, not knowing how to break the loop.

“You can’t break the cycle,”

Geralt looked up and saw Yennefer slowly approaching the bed and the small table that accompanied the headboard. Geralt took off Jaskier’s second boot.

“Not at the moment, at least,” she added, with a little sadness.

She had left a bottle full of blue liquid on the table and watched the bard gently, almost… almost affectionate. Geralt placed the boots under the bed and pulled Jaskier’s legs up to it. The bard whimpered and curled up like a ball on his left side. Geralt opened the chest at the foot of the bed and dug through it, finding a quilt that must have been worth more than Roach and his entire bag of coins put together.

“When will he break it?” he asked.

Yennefer shrugged a little, grimacing.

“I don’t know, it depends a lot on the person, whether he’s strong or weak, whether he’s willing to fight… In his case, the illness has just started to bloom and maybe he can get over it with help,”

“I understand…”

“This is not soulrotting, there is always hope that he will recover, but he will need time and patience,”

“Things I don’t have,”

Yennefer was silent for a moment, staring at Geralt as the witcher tenderly wrapped Jaskier in the quilt and made him rest his head on the pillows. She also noticed the weak caress he left on the bard’s forehead and cheek.

“He’ll need you,” she whispered.

Geralt stood up, glancing at Yennefer, but then he looked back at the bard.

“When his mother dies, Geralt, he will need you,” Yennefer added.

There was something in his voice that made Geralt uncomfortable and nervous. That woman, that sorceress, what the hell was she doing? Why did she care?

“What did he tell you?” he grumbled.

Yennefer paused.

“Enough,” she finally said. “Although I didn’t need him to tell me anything either, it was sufficient for me to see you together,”

Geralt grunted and looked away from Jaskier, facing the window covered with delicate curtains, through which the moonlight filtered faintly.

“You have no idea,” he said. “You’ve known us for hours, you can’t have a damn idea about what’s going on,”

“And you? Do you have any idea what’s going on with you two?”

Geralt turned around and glared at her, puzzled and somewhat wary. She had a scowl, her lips pressed and her arms crossed. She was irritated, indignant. Why? Geralt tilted his head. They looked at one another silently for long seconds, so long that it seemed as if time had stopped. He tried to smell anything more from her, but it was all resentment and hostility around the sorceress, more even than the lilacs and the gooseberries. And he knew, he was sure, that she was trying to read his mind more deeply.

Then she spoke, slowly, with a low, restrained tone of voice that still denoted her wrath.

“I know what it is to think that I don’t deserve anyone and yet desire someone with all my strength, but at least you have him, witcher, and you want to waste it,”

Geralt blinked, now more confused than ever, and watched as Yennefer left without saying anything else. She didn’t close the door on her way out. Hr blinked again.

“Geralt?”

Jaskier’s voice made him forget about the sorceress. He went to the edge of the bed that Jaskier was facing and sat on it. The bard babbled something that Geralt didn’t understand so Geralt put one hand on his shoulder, covered by the quilt, and squeezed gently.

“Sleep,” he said, with a murmur.

Jaskier licked his lips and sipped through his nose. Geralt smelled his wet cheeks.

“Have I thrown up?” Jaskier asked, without opening his eyes.

Geralt smiled softly and stroked his hair. As he brushed his forehead unintentionally, Jaskier curled up a little more.

“Not a drop this time, I’m proud,” Geralt replied.

“Good,” Jaskier whispered.

Slowly, little by little, Jaskier fell into a deep sleep. Geralt listened to the rhythmic beat of his heart, still too fast for a human at rest, his breathing sometimes cut off by tiny hiccups. Geralt stroked his hair a little more and then left his hands in his lap, staring at him in silence.

Jaskier was, in human terms, an adult, but for him, he was still too young, and he still thought of him as the boy he had been when they met. Geralt made a grimace that no one would ever see, an unhappy and lost gesture.

“Sorry If I don’t have words for you,” he whispered. “I know it’s what you want, but I think…” he hesitated and took a deep breath. The alcohol was still there, but it was fading already. The buttercups, the oil, the fresh scent of the soap… made him think about the old days. “I guess it’s better this way,"

Geralt curved a tiny smile, sweeter but equally painful and turned around on his seat. Then, slowly, rolled up his right sleeve and stared at his inner forearm.

There, on his pale skin, there was a bright stain that occupied almost the entire inside of his forearm as if someone had dropped a lot of paint on it. Most of the pigment was blue, a dark blue that, if Geralt remembered correctly, looked like the blue of the clothing Jaskier had worn at Posada many years ago. Above that blue were smaller and erratic spots, red, yellow and gold, that formed a nebula. And above these, tiny turquoise specks that dotted the rest of the stain.

It was all remained of his old soulmark after the Trials.

He remembered the appearance of his soulmark. Maybe not the words itself but the style of the handwriting, the colors. He remembered how the words were shaded, with a beautiful gradient that gleamed with the moonlight. He recalled when he was a child still in training having fantasized about his soulmate before he had known that witchers could not, should not, be bonded to anyone, and that the Trials would erase his mark for that purpose.

Geralt rolled down his sleeve, hiding the deformed mark, and stood up. He looked back at Jaskier, who was sleeping soundly and clinging to the edges of the quilt. He felt a terribly overwhelming, warm sensation that made his legs tremble and his fingers tingle. He swallowed. And he turned away from the bed. He left the room quietly, and closed the door, slowly, until he heard the click of the deadlock. Then he strode into his own room and lay down on the bed without undressing.

He knew he needed to sleep, but by the time the dawn broke and the sun rose over the horizon, Geralt was still awake. With no energy to face other people that day, he took off his evening clothes, put on his witcher’s uniform and his armor, and hung his swords over his shoulder.

By the time the castle began to really wake up, Geralt was already halfway up the mountains.

#geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #Yennefer of Vengerberg #my fanfiction #soulmates au #ten thousand words of nothing #TEN THOUSAND words #there are a few minor original characters #this is getting out of hands #but i'm very proud of some scenes

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fand0mfancies · 4 years

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Came across this on Tumblr a few days ago, it amused me for a couple of hours or more, filling it in, while watching QI.

Fandom Questions

1. What was the first fandom you got involved in?

Star Trek: Voyager, I suppose at least for reading. Started writing with Stargate SG-1.

2. What is your latest fandom?

I dip in and out of lots of fandoms on and off, the most recent ‘pick up’ is Ballam from Eastenders, I don’t watch soaps, but Robron and Ballam both appear a good bit on my tumblr, so I eventually gave in to checking them out via fic and youtube – thank god for youtube, lol! I still don’t watch soaps, but I watch those storylines!

3. What is the best fandom you’ve ever been involved in?

Gosh, that’s... actually no that’s really easy. Primeval. For anyone not familiar, it’s a ‘silly little dinosaur show’ produced in the UK. It had 4 short seasons, with a somewhat revolving main cast – although they managed to keep 3 of them through all 4 seasons – but the fandom was/is amazing. I made life long friends through the fandom and even though I don’t write much any more I still read some and still talk with those people.

4. Do you regret getting involved in any fandoms?

I would say no. I can’t say every fandom has always been amazing – ship wars anyone! – but mostly fandom has been a very positive experience in my life.

5. Which fandoms have your written fanfiction for?

How long have you got... in genuinely no particular order (basically as they came to me) Stargate SG-1, Stargate Atlantis, Star Trek (TNG, DS9, Voy, Ent & Reboot Movies), Marvel, Kingsman, Person of Interest, Due South, Quantum Leap, Firefly, Buffy/Angel verse, Harry Potter, The Sentinel, Torchwood(/Doctor Who), Hawaii Five-0, Shadowhunters, Sherlock, Primeval, Emmerdale (Robron), NCIS, CSI (Vegas, NY & Miami), White Collar, Empire Records, Bull, Diagnosis Murder, MacGyver (the original), 1-800-Missing, CHAOS, Without a Trace, M*A*S*H, Charmed, Queer as Folk (US), Will & Grace, Bring it On, Nash Bridges, Magnificent 7 (TV series), House, Babylon 5 – I think I got them all... a few of those were one time only deals, but a lot of them have more (anywhere from 2-52 (or more still!) ranging from 100 word drabbles, to thousands of words – hey I’ve been writing fic for 21 years... you tend to amass a lot of fandoms...

6. List your OTP from each fandom you’ve been involved in.

Oh geez, here we go, lol! Okay...

Stargate SG-1: Jack O’Neill/Daniel Jackson

Stargate Atlantis: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard

Star Trek: Elim Garak/Julian Bashir, Chakotay/Tom Paris, Jonathan Archer/Malcolm Reed, James Kirk/Spock – I don’t particularly have an ‘otp’ in TNG, the couple I’ve written were Picard/Data, I’ve also dabbled reading Data/Gordi)

Marvel: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Kingsman: Harry Hart/Eggsy Unwin

Person of Interest: Harold Finch/John Reese

Due South: Benton Fraser/Ray K

Quantum Leap: Sam/Al

Firefly: Malcolm Reynolds/Simon Tam

Buffy/Angel Verse: Buffy/Giles, Angel/Spike, Xander/Spike, Willow/Tara

Harry Potter: Harry/Draco, Harry/Hermione, Harry/Hermione/Draco

The Sentinel: Jim/Blair

Torchwood: Jack/Ianto

Hawaii Five-O: Steve/Danno

Shadowhunters: Magnus/Alec

Sherlock: Sherlock/John, Mycroft/Lestrade

Primeval: Nick Cutter/Stephen Hart, James Lester/Hilary Becker Emmerdale: Robert Sugden/Aaron Dingle

NCIS: Gibbs/DiNozzo CSI: Nick Stokes/David Hodges, Mac/Danny, Horatio/Speed White Collar: Neal/Peter/Elizabeth

Empire Records: Joe/Lucas

Bull: Benny/Jason

Diagnosis Murder: Steve/Jesse

I’ve left a few out where I don’t have particular OTPs

7. List your NoTPs from each fandom you’ve been in.

Here we go again... lol!

Stargate SG-1: Jack/Sam, I just... no. I’ve read a few where it’s a background or secondary pairing, but it always makes me wince a bit. I’ve read a few with Sam/Daniel as a secondary pairing that didn’t make me react that way and I’ve read Sam with other characters, but Jack/Sam just is a nope for me.

Stargate Atlantis: McKay/Keller – no, just no. that was horrible. She treated him like... awfully, trying to change him to suit her, just... no.

Marvel: Contentious, but Tony/Pepper, also Peter Parker/Tony Stark. Maybe because I saw the movies before I ever looked at the comics, but meh.

Due South: Benton Fraser/Ray V – again, contentious, but honestly I think Ray V was kind of a shit friend to Fraser.

Firefly: Anything with Jayne. No really, I just can not stand the character. I spent most of the series wanting to punch him in the face and sometimes you get characters you love to hate, but I just hated him.

Buffy/Angel Verse: Buffy/Spike, Willow/Kennedy

Harry Potter: Ron/Hermione, Ron/Harry, Harry/Ginny... basically, Ron and Ginny should just be loveless hermits who live by themselves. Ok, no, that isn’t fair... but as much as Ron was Harry’s first friend, he was selfish and bitter and Ginny/Harry just... never sat right with me. Ron literally says she spent ‘all summer talking about’ Harry, when she’d met him for all of three seconds. She didn’t know him. It always felt like she fell more in love with the *idea* of Harry Potter, than Harry Potter himself.

Sherlock: Sherlock/Molly, he’d eat her for breakfast. Serious, she’d never survive him.

Primeval: Oliver Leek and anyway. Arg. Creepy little dude is creepy and evil.

NCIS: Ziva/DiNozzo – ugh, just no.

Again, I’ve left out ones where I don’t have particular NoTPs

8. How did you get involved in your latest fandom?

Tumblr, god damned bitches posting gifs of pretty boys falling in love, roped me in!

9. What are the best things about your current fandom?

I dabble in several fandoms at once... but if we go by ‘most recently picked up’ as ‘current’ we’re talking Ballum, which hey, it’s always fun to have an actual canon pairing be my OTP, that’s rare for me, lol.

10. Is there a fandom you read fic from but don’t write in?

Well (so far) I haven’t written any Ballum. (I say so far, because I’m a realist, lol). I rarely read in fandoms and not end up writing in them at some point. Although I have probably dabbled in a few I’ve not written for, but if I read it with any sort of consistency, I mostly end up writing it. I am weak!

Ship Questions for your Current Fandom

11. Who is your current OTP?

Okay, so that list above, just basically go with that. While I do drop in and hour of fandoms and some I certainly read in more than others, I do tend to go back to fandoms... If we were talking about what I’m mostly focused on writing atm... Steve/Tony, Mycroft/Lestrade, Harry/Draco and Robron are ones I’m currently working on most.

12. Who is your current OT3?

I’m not currently writing anything that’s OT3 with any real focus. I have a couple of Neal/Peter/Elizabeth WiPs that I will at some point finish, but they aren’t a big focus just now. I did recently read a fabulous Neal/Peter/Elizabeth fic that’s been on my tbr list for ages.

13. Any NoTPs?

Just... see above, lol!

14. Go on, who are your BroTPs?

Harry Hart/Merlin, those two are Bro’s until the end and I will fight you on this. Also, Eggsy/Roxy! OMG they are such a BroTP! And Tony/Pepper/Rhodey – I may no like Tony/Pepper as a pairing, but I love them as best friends and of course, our Rhodes, because again, I will fight you on this, they are awesome and Tony needs his best friends!

15. Is there an obscure ship which you love?

I’m not sure there is. I suppose I’ve read a few fics for some random pairings over the years, but nothing that’s made me really ship-ship them. I like Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes, after seeing it as a secondary pairing in a Steve/Tony fic, but I’ve seen that pop up a few times since, so maybe it won’t stay obscure for long!

16. Are their any popular ships in your fandom which you dislike?

Jack/Sam, Tony/Pepper, Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, Buffy/Spike – they all seem to be het pairings, oops. But I am mostly a slash fic reader/writer, so I suppose that’s not too surprising.

17. Who was your first OTP and are they still your favourite?

Jack/Daniel from Stargate SG-1. I still love them. I still read them, although it has been a while since I’ve written them on their own (I have got some SG-1/SGA x-overs where they feature)

18. What ship have you written the most about?

I’m genuinely not sure... without going and counting (and I’m not going any counting!) I’d guess Jack/Daniel, McKay/Sheppard, Jack/Ianto and Steve/Danno.

19. Is there a ship which you wished you could get behind, but you just don’t feel them?

No, not that I can think off. I either like it or not. I do occasionally feel bad for not reading a fic if it’s an author I really like, but I don’t read that fandom or pairing, but nothing specific.

20. Any ships which you surprised yourself by liking?

Robron and Ballum, lol. I do not do soaps!

Author Questions

21. What was the first fanfic you ever wrote?

Stargate SG-1, Jack/Daniel, a story called The Dare, The Disaster, The Almost Happy Ending, And The Very Happy Ending – it was awful. Don’t go looking, lol!

22. Is there anything you regret writing?

Don’t we all? No, I wouldn’t specifically say so. There are certainly fics, especially older ones, I wish I could have written better, but nothing I’d go, ugh I should never have done that.

23. Name a fic you’ve written that you’re especially fond of & explain why you like it.

Uh... honestly that’s really hard. I... um... yeah, I don’t know, really. I wrote a nice little flower one in POI that I felt worked rather beautifully. The Language of Flowers. An I wrote an SGA fic for NaNo a few years ago, called A Different Life, but it’s not online, because I didn’t finish it yet and I knew I wasn’t going to finish it any time soon, so I didn’t feel it was fair to leave it up unfinished (there is a reason I don’t read WiP fics and I don’t post them either, because I know how much I hate unfinished WiPs) Edit: After writing this I reminded myself of a POI fic I wrote called Hours of Separation – It’s a Harold/John break up story that I always intended to write a sequel too where I ‘fixed’ them, but I just couldn’t do it. I broke them a little too well. But I really love it actually.

24. What fic do you desperately need to rewrite or edit?

The afore mentioned A Different Life needs to be edited and finished, lol! Also a Primeval fic with the working title Crypt Keeper (don’t ask) that I worked myself into a bit of a corner on and I figure out how to fix it, but I haven’t done it yet, so it’s still needs fixing and finishing, lol!

25. What’s your most popular fanfic?

I haven’t the foggiest.

26. How do you come up with your fanfic titles?

Sometimes, really easily, a quote, a line from the fic, a song title... other times it’s like pulling teeth, hence working titles on things like ‘crypt keeper’ which is a reference to one scene near the very start and has no actual hint of the plot, lol!

27. What do you hate more: Coming up with titles or writing summaries?

Oh the titles. Summaries you can just copy a few lines from the fic if you are desperate, if you had to post ‘untitled mcshep fic #67’ people would get cranky, lol, hell I’d get cranky!

28. If someone were to draw a piece of fanart for your story, which story would it be and what would the picture be of?

Oh... I... huh. I mean who wouldn’t love fanart for their stories? Any of them honestly! But if I had to choose just one... I guess something in my Animal Instinct verse, which is Primeval (although I always intended to write other fandoms in the verse) where some people transform into animals, based on their ‘spirit animal’ and some art of the characters with their spirit animal form would be awesome.

29. Do you have a beta reader? Why/Why not?

Sometimes, look if you’ve read this far, you know I write in a lot of fandoms, lol. In some fandoms it’s easier than others to find beta readers. Also, sometimes if it’s just something short, I won’t bother. But I do try for my longer fics.

30. What inspires you to write?

That old adage, if you want to read it, sometimes you just have to write it? Spite? Boredom? Honestly sometimes I just have ideas I have to get out of my brain and it’s write or go mad(der)

31. What’s the nicest thing someone has ever said about your writing?

That it inspired them to write something.

32. Do you listen to music when you write or does music inspire you? If so, which band or genre of music does it for you?

Sometimes, sometimes I find it distracting when writing because I end up singing along and forgetting what I’m writing, lol! I do sometimes get inspiration from songs, I guess mostly from the lyrics, but no particular band or genre – although I listen to a lot of country music!

33. Do you write oneshots, multi-chapter fics or huuuuuge epics?

Little from column a, little from column b... littler still from column c...

34. What’s the word count on your longest fic?

Around 60k, I think.

35. Do you write drabbles? If so, what do you normally write them about?

I have. Primeval had/has a week drabble challenge, mostly when I’ve written drabbles it’s been for a challenge, with a specific prompt.

36. What’s your favourite genre to write?

Uh... I mean, my fandoms really span the genres, but I guess sci-fi or crime are probably my favourites.

37. First person or third person - what do you write in and why?

Third mostly, I have occasionally written in first person, if it felt like the fic needed it.

38. Do you use established canon characters or do you create OCs?

Little from column a, little from column b... it depends on the fandom and the story. Sometimes you just need more characters, mostly they are minor roles, I don’t tend to write much established character/oc fic

39. What is your greatest strength as a writer?

Ability to convince myself people will want to read it, lol! No actually to be honest, I love to know people read and like my stuff, but I gave up a long time ago on trying to ‘please’ people with what I write. I write what I want to read.

40. What do you struggle the most with in your writing?

Focus. The problem with 21 years of fandom history, is well... 21 years of fandom history. A lot of fandoms, a lot of pairings and as I say, I never really ‘leave’ a fandom, I just drop in and out and sometimes that means I’ll write on something consistently for weeks or months and then end up getting distracted by another fandom again and not touch it for weeks or months again. Hence, I don’t post WiP fics, because I know I’m easily distracted and don’t want anyone to suffer my lack of focus but me.

Fanfiction Questions

41. List and link to 5 fanfics you are currently reading:

I don’t read WiP fics, so yeah... but 5 I’ve recently read in different fandoms that I’ve really enjoyed

Turns Out, I Have a Rose Garden by betheflame (Steve Rogers/Tony Stark)

Lucky by china_shop (Neal Caffery/Peter Burke/Elizabeth Burke)

Colors by Quesarasara (Sherlock/John)

Betrayal by Blackghost7 (Gibbs/DiNozzo)

Matchmaker (Part 1 of the Marmalade Series) by HastaLux, Mottlemoth (Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade)

42. List and link to 5 fanfiction authors who are amazing:

See now this is hard, because... ahh so many...

FredBassett – Primeval author, her Stephen/Ryan series is epic and brilliant and endless

https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett

Keira Marcos – I know other people will have said her, I don’t care. I love all her stuff, across all the fandoms she writes in

http://keiramarcos.com/

theapplepielifestyle – her Steve/Tony is amazing. Hands down some of the best I’ve ever read. I will fight you on this.

https://archiveofourown.org/users/theappleppielifestyle/pseuds/theappleppielifestyle

JillyJames – her Tony DiNozzo is a real life grown up... exactly as he should be considered given he’s a goddamn federal agent!

https://jillyjames.com/

missbecky – I’ve read pretty much all her Steve/Tony and Harry/Eggsy and it’s awesome.

https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky

Honestly, I could have listed so many more, but, I’m being good!

43. Is there anyone in your fandom who really inspires you?

Everyone. The thing is, fandom at it’s best is like crack, the more you get, the more you want. The writing, the gifs, the art... it feeds you and makes you want to make more of it, because more of it needs to exist and if that means you need to do it yourself, so be it!

44. What ship do you feel needs more attention?

ALL OF THEM!

45. What is your all time favourite fanfic?

Oh hell no, not even, I can not. It took me an hour to narrow down 5 authors, I can not narrow down one fanfic!

46. If someone was to read one of your fanfics, which fic would you recommend to them and why?

I mean, it depends on what they like... probably the Hour of Separation I mentioned above, if they like the fandom/pairing, or my Animal Instinct stuff.

47. Archive Of Our Own, Fanfiction.net or Tumblr - where do you prefer to post and why?

Archive of our Own. I haven’t touched ff.net in *years* since they started getting super restrictive about what you could post. I do occasionally post stuff to tumblr, but mostly I now post to AO3. I did have my own site and I’ve yet to upload a lot of stuff to AO3 – one of these... months... that will be a project – but it’s amazing. Seriously, having been in fandom 20+ years, going from having to search all over a million different places and now it’s all in one place, where we’re honestly, spoiled and protected. The kids now have no idea how crazy impossible that once seemed.

48. Do you leave reviews when you read fanfiction? Why/Why not?

Yes, but not as often as I should. I love AO3s kudos button, so I can sort of say ‘hey I enjoyed this’ without having to comment, because I sort of hate leaving comments just going ‘hey I enjoyed this’ because I always feel like I should say more, like, oh I enjoyed this specific thing, which yes is an unnecessary hang-up, but there ya go.

49. Do you care if people comment/reblog your writing? Why/why not?

Of course it’s nice to get comments, kudos, reblogs etc. I’m not as attached to them now as I was when I was younger, because I learned along the way that it was more important that I like what I’m writing than that other people do, but it’s still nice to know that something I’ve created is enjoyed.

50. How did you get into reading and/or writing fanfiction?

I went looking for Star Trek Voyager stuff online, pics etc, waaaaaaay back when! And I came across fanfiction entirely by accident... and I read some – het stuff mostly, then I started watching Stargate SG-1, went looking for fanfiction for that, but was not on board with Jack/Sam, found Jack/Daniel went ‘huh really? That’s weird’ read it... and yeah... 21 years later... lol!

51. Rant or Gush about one thing you love or hate in the world of fanfiction! Go!

Ship Wars. No seriously, just don’t. Like, who the actual fuck cares. I like my ship, you like your ship. I don’t care if it’s canon or not. I don’t care if it’s popular or not. I don’t read my NoTPs, but I’d never dream of telling someone else not too. Yes I think they are terrible, bad, no good pairings, but that’s *my* opinion. Don’t try to change my mind and I won’t try to change yours. I avoid them like the actual plague. If someone starts that shit around me, I will shut it right down. You are a dick. Go to Jail. Do not pass Go. Do not collect £200.

#fandom life #fandom

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orthodoxydaily · 4 years

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Saints&Reading: Sun., Oct. 25, 2020

Commemorated on October 12_ Julian calendar

St Martin “ The Merciful” of Tours ( 397)

St. Martin of Tours, (born 316, Sabaria, Pannonia [now Szombathely, Hungary]—died November 8, 397, Candes, Gaul [France]; Western feast day, November 11; Eastern feast day November 12), patron saint of France, father of monasticism in Gaul, and the first great leader of Western monasticism.

Of pagan parentage, Martin chose Christianity at age 10. As a youth, he was forced into the Roman army, but later—according to his disciple and biographer Sulpicius Severus—he petitioned the Roman emperor Julian the Apostate to be released from the army because “I am Christ’s soldier: I am not allowed to fight.” When charged with cowardice, he is said to have offered to stand in front of the battle line armed only with the sign of the cross. He was imprisoned but was soon discharged.

While he was still in the military and a catechumen of the faith, Martin cut his cloak in half to share it with a beggar. That night, he dreamed that Jesus himself was clothed with the torn cloak. When he awoke, the garment was restored. Moved by this vision and apparent miracle, Martin immediately finished his religious instruction and was baptized at age 18.

On leaving the Roman army, Martin settled at Poitiers, under the guidance of Bishop Hilary. He became a missionary in the provinces of Pannonia and Illyricum (now in the Balkan Peninsula), where he opposed Arianism. Forced out of Illyricum by the Arians, Martin went to Italy, first to Milan and then to the island of Gallinaria, off Albenga. In 360 he rejoined Hilary at Poitiers. Martin then founded a community of hermits at Ligugé, the first monastery in Gaul. In 371 he was made bishop of Tours, and outside that city he founded another monastery, Marmoutier, to which he withdrew whenever possible.

As bishop, Martin made Marmoutier a great monastic complex to which European ascetics were attracted and from which apostles spread Christianity throughout Gaul. He himself was an active missionary in Touraine and in the country districts where Christianity was as yet barely known. In 384/385 he took part in a conflict at the imperial court in Trier, France, to which the Roman emperor Magnus Maximus had summoned Bishop Priscillian of Ávila, Spain, and his followers. Although Martin opposed Priscillianism, a heretical doctrine renouncing all pleasures, he protested to Maximus against the killing of heretics and against civil interference in ecclesiastical matters. Priscillian was nevertheless executed, and Martin’s continued involvement with the case caused him to fall into disfavour with the Spanish bishops. During his lifetime, Martin acquired a reputation as a miracle worker, and he was one of the first nonmartyrs to be publicly venerated as a saint.

Source: Britannica

The Transfer from Malta to Gatchina of a Part of the Wood of the Life-Creating Cross of the Lord, the Philermia Icon of the Mother of God and the Right Hand of Saint John the Baptist (1799)

The Transfer from Malta to Gatchina of a Part of the Wood of the Life-Creating Cross of the Lord, together with the Philermia Icon of the Mother of God and the Right Hand of Saint John the Baptist was done in the year 1799. These holy things were preserved on the island of Malta by the Knights of the Catholic Order of Saint John of Jerusalem. In 1798, when the French seized the island, the Maltese knights turned for defence and protection to Russia. On 12 October 1799 they offered these ancient holy things to the emperor Paul I, who at this time was situated at Gatchina. In the autumn of 1799 the holy items were transferred to Peterburg and placed in the Winter Palace within the church in honour of the Image of the Saviour Not-Made-by-Hand. The feast for this event was established in 1800.

Philermia Icon

By ancient tradition, the Philermia Icon of the Mother of God was written by the holy Evangelist Luke. From Jerusalem it was transferred to Constantinople, where it was situated in the Blakhernae church. In the XIII Century it was taken from there by crusaders and from that time kept by the Knights of the Order of Saint John.

The right Hand of John the Baptist

The Orthodox Church celebrates the Synaxis of John the Baptist and the translation of his right hand from Antioch to Constantinople. According to the Church’ tradition, John the Forerunner of our Lord, was buried in the city of Sebaste, Samaria. Saint Luke the Evangelist wanting to move St John’s whole body to Antioch, was able to obtain and translate only his right hand. Historians Theodoret and Rufinus mention that the tomb of St. John the Baptist was desecrated in 362, during the Emperor Julian the Apostate reign, and a part of St. John relics burned. What remained intact from Saint’ body was taken to Jerusalem, then to Alexandria, and on May 27, 395 was placed in the church that bears saint John’ name.

The chronicle of John Skylitzes (a Byzantine historian of the eleventh century) states that the right hand of St. John the Baptist was moved from Antioch to Constantinople in 956 by Emperor Constantine the VII or Porphyrogenites (913-959) to be placed in one of the chapels of the Grand Palais, that is in the church of the Most Holy Theotokos of Peribleptos. At the end of the twelve century, the Russian archbishop Anthony of Novgorod who went on a pilgrimage to Constantinople, mentions in his writings among other treasures of this church, the right hand of St. John the Baptist. According to Du Cange in 1263, Othon of Ciconia attested the presence of a small piece from St. John’ right hand, in Citeaux Abbey, France. In 1261, Othon aceepted the refuge of the Latin Emperor of Constantinople Baldwin the II and in exchange for a gift, the emperor gave Othon this piece of relic of St John. In a testimony of the Spanish ambassador Clavijo dated 1404, it is mentioned that the holy hand was still in the church of the Theotokos – Peribleptos in Constantinople. After the fall of Constantinople (in 1453), the hand of St. John the Baptist along with other Church’ treasures were seized by the Turks and kept in the imperial treasury. In some Turkish fiscal archives from 1484 kept in Topkapi, it is noted that Sultan Bayezid the II (1481-1512) sent the hand of St. John to Hospitallers from Rhodes, (who occupied this island during the first quarter of the fourteenth century), in order to earn their favor. Later, the Hospitallers took the relics to the island of Malta, where they established their quarter...continue reading

John 20:19-31

19Then, the same day at evening, being the first day of the week, when the doors were shut where the disciples were assembled, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood in the midst, and said to them, "Peace be with you."20When He had said this, He showed them His hands and His side. Then the disciples were glad when they saw the Lord.21So Jesus said to them again, "Peace to you! As the Father has sent Me, I also send you."22 And when He had said this, He breathed on them, and said to them, "Receive the Holy Spirit. 23 If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained. 24 Now Thomas, called the Twin, one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came.25 The other disciples therefore said to him, "We have seen the Lord." So he said to them, "Unless I see in His hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe." 26 And after eight days His disciples were again inside, and Thomas with them. Jesus came, the doors being shut, and stood in the midst, and said, "Peace to you!" 27 Then He said to Thomas, "Reach your finger here, and look at My hands; and reach your hand here, and put it into My side. Do not be unbelieving, but believing." 28 And Thomas answered and said to Him, "My Lord and my God!" 29 Jesus said to him, "Thomas, because you have seen Me, you have believed. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed."30 And truly Jesus did many other signs in the presence of His disciples, which are not written in this book; 31 but these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing you may have life in His name.

Galatians 1:11-19

11But I make known to you, brethren, that the gospel which was preached by me is not according to man. 12 For I neither received it from man, nor was I taught it, but it came through the revelation of Jesus Christ.13 For you have heard of my former conduct in Judaism, how I persecuted the church of God beyond measure and tried to destroy it.14 And I advanced in Judaism beyond many of my contemporaries in my own nation, being more exceedingly zealous for the traditions of my fathers.15 But when it pleased God, who separated me from my mother's womb and called me through His grace, 16 to reveal His Son in me, that I might preach Him among the Gentiles, I did not immediately confer with flesh and blood, 17 nor did I go up to Jerusalem to those who were apostles before me; but I went to Arabia, and returned again to Damascus.18 Then after three years I went up to Jerusalem to see Peter, and remained with him fifteen days. 19 But I saw none of the other apostles except James, the Lord's brother.

#ortohodxy #ancientfaith #orthodoxchristianity #originofchristianity #holyscriptures #gospel #spirituality #sacredtexts #wisdom

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violentdesires · 8 months

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@likestvrlight \ DE' MEDICI , vasilkaera .

HER ARRIVAL IS NOT entirely unexpected ( so long as she remembers what he remembers now ) , but wrath did not think that she would be this fast . most creatures are rather hesitant to enter the depths of hell , even if they visited in the past . how could anyone blame her if she refused to come down here , unaware of the things that might await her ? it is brave and foolish , a sign of her loyalty that seems to run deeper than they realized . ❛ very well . ❜ he tells the guard that notified him of her presence . ❛ bring her to me . ❜ the order comes naturally , almost as if he woke up from a fever dream , not centuries of pure darkness . his demon bows and withdraws to find the dragon and there is undeniable tension building up inside him as he waits . vasilkaera proved her allegiance to wrath , just as she did to julian , but these new circumstances were certainly unforeseen and he would not hold it against her if she struggled to process this . not when he is in the same boat .

#i. julian rhodes / writings.#julian & vasilkaera ( 009. )

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freya-at-the-raven · 5 years

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The Arcana Punk Band AU

Babes this idea has been RAGING in my head a good amount of the day today even with having a full load of work. Here we fuckin go

Asra:

Lead singer and tambourine

Routinely wears like soft & skimpy outfits that get softer and skimpier as the night goes on (plenty of leather, though)

Eyeliner is consistently flawless

He and Nadia are kind of like the Lennon-McCartney songwriters of the group; they collaborate on almost every song, but even the ones that he predominantly writes (these tend to be the more Blink-182/MCR/growing up and suffering through love type of songs) he likes to give Nadia joint credit because she’s an amazing soundboard when he gets in his creative bouts

By the end of every show, he has at least six members of the audience onstage and/or in love with him

Hand-paints every tambourine he owns

No matter how much he parties with the gang after the show, is somehow never hungover

If a child happens to be at a show, he will take them on his shoulders while singing

Always posts a thank you video to the fans after each show

Nadia:

Backup vocals and keyboard

Remember in School of Rock when Dewey is teaching Lawrence how to be cool? Nadia invented the moves that make keyboarders cool

Hides sour gummies on her keyboard and munches on them throughout the show

Asra brings the eyeliner, Nadia brings the lipstick

Fans count on her for behind-the-scene live-streams for shows, recordings, rehearsals, and general band antics

The sexiest undercut you’ve ever seen

Wears armfuls and armfuls of bangles that add an extra layer of jingles to her keyboarding

The songs she writes tend to have a lot more to do with dismantling the system

Her music isn’t as optimistic as Asra’s but it’s equally passionate. She’ll throw in some French lyrics every so often for the hell of it

Her keyboard is named after Nick Rhodes

Julian:

Backup vocals and bass

My dear, my darling, my doctor, your stage presence is the most awkward thing in the world

Translate: bumps into everything

Mic stands, amps, everything; Asra had to train the poor boy not to trip over wires and derail the entire show

That being said, Julian’s stage energy gets the crowd fucking going

He’s the one that flirts with the single parents who bring their teenagers to the show. (He might have banged some parents)

Julian saw Repo! The Genetic Opera years ago and models every performance after the one Blind Mag does at the end. Dramatique

You will have to pry his leather jacket off his cold dead body. He has been seen on many occasions wearing only his leather jacket

Muriel:

You’d think he’d be in charge of security

Muriel actually makes an excellent band manager

Is literally the only one who can get each member to be on time for everything they need to be on time for

(Fistfuls of coffee is the secret)

Muriel also designs the merch, including CD covers, and has a wonderful eye for color-coding his band

Has the BIG tour planned out around the band’s favorite tourist spots (Asra likes exploring the Canadian countryside, Nadia likes learning history in Greece, Julian goes to Florida for Disneyworld and Cape Canaveral, Portia loves traversing the streets of Tokyo, and Lucio takes Instagram tours of Rome)

After the tour, the band members all chip in to buy Muriel a week in a remote cottage where there’s no cell service and no Internet

He’s never felt so cherished

Portia:

Drums!!!!!

Portia is beyond thankful for the band’s fans, and has actually stopped shows when she sees someone who’s dehydrated to give them water

Same goes for girls getting creeped on, but instead of water, she’ll provide the offending dudes a black eye with one of her sticks

Unofficially in charge of styling her and her band mates’ hair before shows

“Liberty spikes are awesome, Ilya, and you can’t tell me otherwise.”

Queen of the pin-covered denim jackets

Makes sure that Nadia eats and drinks something other than gummies and coffee

Pepi is kind of like the tour bus mascot, and Portia has a matching denim jacket for her (extra distressed instead of pokey pins)

Literally has twenty pairs of drumsticks on hand at all times

Lucio :

Lead guitar and resident crowdsurfer

You know how I said earlier that Asra is, like, Eyeliner Royalty? Lucio makes it very hard not to take that back

He’d dye his hair a different color for every show if he didn’t love the softness of his virgin blond mane

Keeps a very special pick on his necklace and uses it for pretty much every show

Favorite bands to cover are the Sex Pistols and The Offspring, especially The Kids Aren’t Alright

LEATHER PANTS

Always happy to buy a round of drinks for everyone at many of the small shows

Major germaphobe; scrubs all his equipment with cleaner after every show. Portia has caught him passed out from the ammonia in the equipment room before at least three times

Absolutely has the most active Instagram in terms of aesthetic shots and stories

#the arcana #the arcana headcanons #asra alzanar #nadia satrinava #julian devorak #muriel #portia devorak #lucio

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huntershowl · 4 years

Text

writing tunes.

whether it be melodies that give you inspiration for your muse or songs that get you into the writing mood, pick 10 songs you find to give you the urge, the drive, or the creativity to write for your muse - then tag your favorite peeps to get an insight on their musical inspirational feels.

what am i becoming? - POP ETC

the mask ( stripped ) - matt maeson

pomegranate seeds - julian moon

sanctify - years and years

black wave - k.flay

there’s something dark - dustin kensrue

don’t follow - shelby merry

i put a spell on you ( live for burberry ) - RHODES

the still, cold world - piotr musial

what have you become? - MNQN

bonus playlist links

HELLHOUND

PERSEPHONE

HELLHOUND’S BOP MIX

tagged by: @kingfishcr and i think a couple others

tagging: do it and tag me!

#>> OUT.#>> HAUNTING TUNES.#{ also i totally followed kingfisher's playlist because it slaps }

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heavensreigns · 3 years

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* ❬ 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐃𝐄' 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐈 ❭ @halcyonbound .

IT FELT UNFAIR to even consider unloading his concerns on the demon , but what choice did he have ? in the short time that they knew each other , camilla became one of the only people - in this realm and in this world - that he truly trusted . when things went down it was her he wanted to talk to and julian knew that she would listen . he simply did not want to take advantage of her and a heavy sigh fell from his lips before black orbs brought him right to her side . ❛ hi , blondie . ❜ he breathed , his tone soft though it did not take a genius to see that something was weighing him down . still , he tried to act normal , reaching out to give her hair a gentle little ruffle . ❛ how are you holding up ? ❜ there were a lot of things going on right now and before he did or said anything else , the darklighter needed to make sure that she was okay ...

#i. julian rhodes / writings.#camilla de' medici.#julian & camilla ( 002. )#me hates starters.#but he insisted.

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theliberaltony · 4 years

Link

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

In trying to build a forecast model of the Democratic primaries, we literally had to think about the entire process from start (Iowa) to finish (the Virgin Islands on June 6). Actually, we had to do more than that. Since the nomination process is sequential — states vote one at a time rather than all at once — we had to determine, empirically, how much the results of one state can affect the rest.

The answer in the case of Iowa is that it matters a lot. Despite its demographic non-representativeness, and the quirks of the caucuses process, the amount of media coverage the state gets makes it far more valuable a prize than you’d assume from the fact that it only accounts for 41 of the Democrats’ 3,990 pledged delegates.

More specifically, we estimate — based on testing how much the results in various states have historically changed the candidates’ position in national polls — that Iowa was the second most-important date on the calendar this year, trailing only Super Tuesday. It was worth the equivalent of almost 800 delegates, about 20 times its actual number.

Which states will produce the biggest bounces?

Expected bounce magnitude according to FiveThirtyEight’s primary model

Relative bounce magnitude Date States Based on delegates Early state bonus Combined Feb. 3 Iowa +3 +20 +23 Feb. 11 New Hampshire +2 +10 +12 Feb. 22 Nevada +3 +5 +8 Feb. 29 South Carolina +3 +5 +8 Mar. 3 Colorado, Alabama, Utah, Oklahoma, Vermont, Texas, Tennessee, Maine, Virginia, North Carolina, California, American Samoa, Minnesota, Massachusetts, Arkansas +30 +30 Mar. 10 Mississippi, Michigan, North Dakota, Washington, Missouri, Idaho, Democrats Abroad +12 +12 Mar. 14 Northern Marianas +1 +1 Mar. 17 Ohio, Arizona, Florida, Illinois +16 +16 Mar. 24 Georgia +5 +5 Mar. 29 Puerto Rico +3 +3 Apr. 4 Alaska, Hawaii, Wyoming, Louisiana +5 +5 Apr. 7 Wisconsin +4 +4 Apr. 28 Rhode Island, New York, Delaware, Maryland, Connecticut, Pennsylvania +18 +18 May 2 Guam, Kansas +3 +3 May 5 Indiana +4 +4 May 12 Nebraska, West Virginia +3 +3 May 19 Kentucky, Oregon +5 +5 June 2 New Mexico, New Jersey, South Dakota, Montana, District of Columbia +8 +8 June 6 Virgin Islands +1 +1

Everything was a little weird in Iowa this year, however. And there were already some signs that the Iowa bounce — which essentially results from all the favorable media coverage that winning candidates get — might be smaller than normal. Iowa was bracketed by an extremely busy news calendar: President Trump’s impeachment trial both before and after the caucuses, the Super Bowl on Sunday, the State of the Union address on Tuesday. There was not the usual climactic uptick in media coverage around Iowa. From initial indications — to the extent any information at all is reliable at this point — Democratic turnout there wound up being fairly low.

But we weren’t prepared for what actually happened, which is that — as I’m writing this at 3:15 a.m. on Tuesday morning — the Iowa Democratic Party literally hasn’t released any results from its caucuses. I’m not going to predict what those numbers will eventually be, although early indications are that Bernie Sanders, Pete Buttigieg and perhaps Elizabeth Warren had good results. The point is that the lead story around the 2020 Iowa Democratic caucuses is now — and will forever be — the colossal shitshow around the failure to release results in a timely fashion.

Maybe there will eventually be a decent-sized Iowa bounce despite all of this. But there’s a good chance that the candidates who did well in Iowa get screwed, and the candidates who did poorly there get a mulligan. To repeat: There’s very little importance in a mathematical sense to who wins 41 delegates. Iowa is all about the media narrative it produces and all about momentum, and that momentum, whoever wins, is likely to have been blunted.

Who might this help? Let’s pretend for a moment we don’t have any hints about how the results might have turned out. In fact, let’s pretend that Iowa didn’t happen at all. I re-ran our forecast model as though the Iowa caucuses were canceled.1 Here’s how that changed each candidate’s chances of getting a delegate majority:

How Iowa’s presence affected Democrats’ odds

Chances of winning a majority of pledged delegates per FiveThirtyEight forecast model on Feb. 3 (pre-Iowa), compared with a version of the model that skips the Iowa caucuses

Candidate As of our final PRE-IOWA SIMULATIONS ON Monday night In A HYPOTHETICAL SIMULATION WHERE Iowa didn’t exist Biden 43% 50% Sanders 31 24 Warren 5 5 Buttigieg 4 <1 Other <1 <1 No one 17 20

The presence of Iowa was helpful to Bernie Sanders, whose chances of winning a national delegate majority would have been 24 percent without Iowa — as compared to the 31 percent chance that he had with Iowa, as of Monday afternoon. Iowa was hurtful to Joe Biden, however, whose chances of a delegate majority would have been 50 percent without it, rather than 43 percent with it.

And Iowa was extremely helpful to Buttigieg, whose chances of winning the delegate majority were fairly low even with Iowa — keep in mind that he had slipped to third in polls of Iowa and fifth in national polls — but would have been virtually nonexistent (less than one percent) without it.

By giving the winning candidates a boost, the presence of Iowa also reduced the chance of an unstructured race and a potential brokered convention. The chance of there being no delegate majority was 17 percent without Iowa, but would have been 20 percent with it.

Granted, none of those changes — say, 24 percent versus 31 percent — are necessarily that large. But that’s partly because, as of Monday afternoon, four or five candidates appeared to have a shot at winning Iowa. For the candidate who actually won Iowa, it would have been a much bigger deal. We estimate that Sanders’s chances of a majority would have shot up to from 31 percent to 58 percent with an Iowa win, Warren’s from 5 percent to 32 percent, and Buttigieg’s from 4 percent to 22 percent.

And in some ways that still discounts Iowa’s impact, because several of the campaigns — for better or worse — built their entire strategy around the state. Would Buttigieg have been a major player in the race without Iowa? Considering his lack of support among black voters, probably not. Would candidates such as Kamala Harris, Cory Booker and Julian Castro have dropped out so soon? That’s a harder call, since Harris, Booker and Castro weren’t polling particularly well anywhere. But the Democratic field might have remained a little more diverse.

So we’ve arrived at a point of some ambivalence. On the one hand, candidates such as Buttigieg, who seemingly did well there, are liable to be injured by the muddled storylines in Iowa following the results-reporting disaster on Monday night. On the other hand, it’s not clear why Iowa was afforded so much importance in the first place, and Buttigieg possibly owed his entire presence in the campaign to this quirk in the nomination process. Nonetheless, these were the rules of the game, as every candidate understood them. So if Iowa turns out not to matter very much because of the results-reporting snafu, they have every right to be upset.

To be even more blunt: the Iowa Democratic Party’s colossal screw-up in reporting results will potentially have direct effects on the outcome of the nomination process. The failure to report results will almost certainly help Biden, assuming that indications that he performed poorly in Iowa are correct, as they won’t get nearly as much media coverage. And they’ll hurt whichever candidate wins the state — mostly likely Sanders or Buttigieg. (Although if Sanders winds up finishing in second place or lower, he also might not mind a reduction in the importance of Iowa, especially with one of his best states, New Hampshire, coming up next.)

Furthermore, Iowa is typically a state that winnows the field. But with every candidate either having performed well there, potentially having an excuse for a disappointing finish there, or somewhere in between, it might not do that. Delaying the winnowing process would tangibly increase the chance of a contested convention.

It’s not a good situation for the Democratic Party. And it’s already too late for the damage to be entirely undone, even if Iowa eventually gets its act together.

#IFTTT #Politics – FiveThirtyEight #politics #538 #Nate Silver

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thecardssayfuckoff · 5 years

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Meet My Apprentices.

It’s the time, finally, and theirs. Let me just say to things, quickly:

First one, these aren’t finished, but I know that I won’t end them in the near future for school and so, and I’m impatient and want to talk about them already, so I’m throwing them here. They look… decent. Not good, just, decent. (Side note: If some colours look a bit weird, like their eyes, it’s because my pc got kind of fucked up so it doesn’t show the colours exactly as they should look).

Second, this is going to be lengthy. I’m gonna talk about them in their lore (?), and then about them individually. I also don’t know if there’s like, a format for when you publish your apprentices, so I’m going by heart. Fight me or teach me.

I really hope the damn “read more” works. Gonna post the drawing here to get some attention, and then the read more. Please work.

Now, the girl to the left is Crystel, and the girl to the right is Vitali. Let me give you some context: My best friend and I can’t work separated apparently, so after getting her to play the game, we (I) totally started to work in the story. Crystel is technically her apprentice, and Vitali is mine, but they share the story. What I mean is that one takes the place of the MC and the other would be kind of a side character, but not really. Just listen:

Crystel is the apprentice. She’s the one that dies and then revives, and gets involved in all the stuff. Vitali is her sister, who also gets involved in everything. I’m planning on writing a formal fic about this, but I’m lazy, so I’m just gonna be throwing things and facts and surely a lot of spoilers for said still-not-written fic.

The thing is, they’ll follow kind of Julian’s route, until they separate to Muriel’s (for Crystel) and Lucio’s (for Vitali). Crystel will end up with Muriel, that’s for sure, but to be honest I’m not entirely sure about Vitali. Neither of us is.

I screech Julian, she screeches Lucio, and I agree to this, but then she likes Julian more, and then Valdemar comes into play (we don’t give a fuck they’re aro/ace, it’s our story and we want them to shag), and so on and so forth.

Back to what I was saying… I tried to do kind of a, summary I guess, but I’m really bad at it so I didn’t feel like it was good enough to add. We’ll have to let things there for their story. I’ll proceed now to talk about them individually now. We starting with Crystel.

♡

Full name: Crystel Rhodes.

Nickname: Crys.

Gender and pronouns: Cisgender female, she/her.

Height: 1.72cm.

Body complexion: Normal really, but rather strong.

Familiar: Not designed yet.

Love Interest: Muriel.

Talent/type of magic: The same as the canon apprentice of course, although she has a thing for fire magic.

Arcana: Not sure, probably The Magician. We know nothing about this.

Personality: She’s a ray of sunshine. Easygoing, kind, has a good heart and a strong sense of ethic, justice, and morals. Extremely protective and caring. However, she’s kind of quick to lose her temper, mostly with people she dislikes. Very in contact with her emotions and feelings. Intelligent, although sometimes distracted.

Description (which I’m adding since I surely couldn’t capture it in the drawings because I’m bad at drawing): Has shoulder-lenght purple/reddish hair, bright blue eyes with long, curly lashes. Almost always wears a smile. Has little pigmentation on her lips, but her cheeks are naturally flushed, giving a more appealing look.

What would other characters describe her as: A beauty. Not only physically, but mentally.

Clothing: Not designed yet, probably something similar to Asra.

A curiosity: Her hair gets fuzzy when she’s angry.

Now let’s talk about her story, in a more freeform manner:

Crystel, as the apprentice, has experienced all the things the original apprentice has. She knew Julian and Asra, Julian failed to save her, she died, revived without memories, and all that jazz. When it comes to her backstory, however, things get better.

She’s older than Vitali for a couple years, but the other one is who took care of both of them since their parents had fallen ill because of poverty, which meant feeding badly and having poor living conditions; and latter on, they died because of this. It was hard for Crystel, who wouldn’t ever be really able to get over their death. She had no more option than to obey Vitali’s orders, who managed to find a place to live and a work for both. This all happened when she was around eight or ten.

They grew near the docks, and after some years, for reasons I’ll talk about in Vitali’s description, she separated from her, but maintained contact. She moved to a new place, and throughout more years, established a friendship with Julian. Her fascination for magic, though, lead her to also met Asra, and because of Vitali’s work, she met Nadia and Lucio. She became friends with all of them, excepting Lucio, holding a deep disdain for him.

Then she died, end of story.

♤

Full name: Vitali Worth.

Nickname: Vits.

Gender and pronouns: Genderfluid, and doesn’t give a fuck what you use to address her (although I mostly write about her using she/her).

Height: 1.80cm.

Body complexion: Thin, but has a slightly worked abdomen.

Familiar: Astaroth, a black fox.

Love Interest: Not sure, but has had encounters with Julian and Valdemar.

Talent/type of magic: Blood magic.

Arcana: Not sure, maybe Death.

Personality: Cold, methodical, stoic, and a tad of melancholic. She always chooses head over heart. Doesn’t really have morals, or ethic, but she’ll peruse truth to the end of the world. Easy to annoy her, but really hard, almost impossible, to get an expression out of her face. Mostly quiet and lost in thoughts. Extremely intelligent, observant, and sly. A bit malicious, too.

Description: Short, curly and puffy blonde hair, with pink ends. Deep green eyes, and death-pale skin. She uses makeup to make her lower lashes stand out more. Has a lot of pigmentation in her lips, making them catch one’s attention. Also, freckles!

What would other characters describe her as: An ice cube.

Clothing: Not designed yet, but mostly formal, yet not fancy.

A curiosity: If you learn to read her eyes, she’s kind of an open book.

Story time (warning for some strong things, kind of):

Her story begins the same as Crystel, but from her point of view, there was nothing to be sad for when her parents became ill and the died. The fuckers weren’t even good parents, not even before becoming so poor. On the contrary, they were abusive. Her father would beat them often and on one memorable ocassion, he almost raped Vitali; her mother, on the other hand, would punish them in horrible ways, like starving Vitaly for days or locking Crystel in the small trap door under their hose all night long, knowing that she was scared of darkness. So when they died, Vitali was happy. Crystel could’ve forgiven and forgotten, but she wouldn’t.

Hate would only lead her to nothing though, so she pushed herself to find a way of surviving.

At around fourteen, owning already a little house for her and Crystel, Vitaly began to learn about and practice magic. Forbbiden magic. The Red Magic, to be more specific. Magic fueled by blood. Vitali loved it. She didn’t care how much blood had to be spilled, either hers or some else’s.

But Crystel didn’t like this, and after a heated argument, she parted. Vitali didn’t stop her. She wouldn’t force her to like her things, but also wouldn’t change for her, so she waved goodbye and from time to time, they’d write letters to each other.

Sometime after that, having mastered the Red Magic, Vitali’s endless curiosity was pinched by science. The Red Plague was becoming more and more dangerous, and she wanted to know everything about it. So she became kind of an apprentice, learning from Street doctors until she moved on to doctors with license. At some point she was known by most doctors on Vesuvia, and after a little while,the Palace asked for her.

Working in the dungeons, she met Julian. They became fast friends, and she was a bit surprised when she found out he’d been freinds with Crystel for quite a while back.

And in there, she also met Valdemar. They established a solid and strong work relationship, since Valdemar took her under their wing, fascinated by her attitudes and fast learning brain. This evolved to a strange friendship, and then culminated in a stranger romantic relationship. However, this turned out to be a bad thing. Not beacuse they didn’t work as a couple, but because Vitale became an even worse workaholic. Trapped between her work, her thirst for knowledge, and her lover, Vitali was oblivious to Crystel’s illness.

And the Crystel died.

At the exact momento she did, at her house after a long night of work, Vitali suddenly fell asleep, and didn’t wake up until a couple of months later, barely remembering who she was. She did remeber clearly two things, though: One, her parents; and two, her Red Magic.

But deep down, below the headaches and fevers, her mind, or perhaps her heart, tried desperately to reach a forgotten memory, until it finally pushed hard enough: her sister.

♤

And there you have it. I hope I didn’t let any important info out, but I surely did lol. Not the end of the world though as I’ll be posting more about these two soon. Feel free to drop and ask about them if you’d like to know more. Also, reblogging would help a lot. I want them to be popular and cool, unlike me, lmao.

And be prepared for even more terrible art.

#meet my apprentice #my apprentice #about my apprentice #and her cool sister lol #the arcana mc #the arcana #the arcana game #digital art #kind of #vits' hair is a bitch to draw #Vitali the bloody #crystel the bunny

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arbeaone · 5 years

Photo

ShellsuitZombie Magazine Issue 2 Published on July 26, 2011

[ View larger version here ] Text from the article can be read below. (There may be some errors.)

I, BOLLO

One spectacularly sunny lunchtime, ShellsuitZombie managed to hunt down a rare Gorilla only common to Clerkenwell London. Dave Brown, most famous for his role as Bollo in The Mighty Boosh, spends most of his time as a designer and photographer producing (alongside Boosh work like 2008s spectacularly successful 'The Mighty Book of Boosh') beautiful printed staff for clients like Universal and the BBC, as well as of course the odd performance to tens of thousands on arena tours around the country. It's safe to say we were feeling pretty smug about trapping him in a pub in Clerkenwell (which happens to be just below his studio) for a pint and a chat about Design, the future of Boosh, Noel's new book and photographing Julian Barratt and villagers in Ghana.

SSZ: So Dave/Bollo, what would you consider to be your main job?

Dave: I guess I consider myself to be a creative, the Boosh started as something I did with my mates as a laugh and it blew up into something huge. I've always had to juggle the worlds of and Design, quite often for me they overlap, obviously when you're out on tour it's all consuming but even then I've been known to be sat in my hotel room on a squeezing the odd freelance job in.

So you've always been freelance?

I couldn't be full time, in the early days I needed the freedom to be able to drop everything and get involved in a Boosh project at the drop of a hat, so freelance was perfect, then just before the first live Boosh tour in 2006 I did something I'd always wanted to do and set up my own agency, aptly named Ape, with a mind to be more of a collective of creatives rather then just a sole trader It allows me to get all the amazing creatives I've had the pleasure of meeting and working with over the years involved as and when I can on all kinds of creative projects.

It's been pretty full on since to be honest, so full on in fact that I haven't even had time to launch the website! It always gets pushed to the bottom of the to do list when I'm busy and then when I find the time to get back to it I've gone off everything I've done and start again. There's a holding page up at the moment that says 'Gorillas can use up to 52 different tools.They're currently using those tools to build this site'. Well they're obviously rubbish at using them because it's taking them bloody ages to finish!

Would you say Boosh has helped the rest of your career?

I guess so, although you could also say it's got in the way. I am doing a lot of books now as a result of the Boosh book but many of my clients haven't a clue who I am. I've done work for Feame Cotton, Ben Brooks, James Rhodes, Nick Cave and recently comedian Tim Key as a result of the book and Boosh work in general. BBC books actually just rang and asked me if I'd be interested in designing this years Top Gear guide to Christmas book! They've approached me because they said they loved the Boosh book and would like my take on things. Will be great if that's true but I'm not counting my chickens just yet. I recently did an interview with Radio 4 where I went on a massive rant about Jeremy Clarkson's stonewashed pumpkin arse not fitting into my Morris Minor so if they get wind of that it could be off ! (Ed.- Since doing this interview Dave has stepped away from the Top Gear job due to, shall we say, creative differences)

It sounds like books are your bread and butter. How do you go about designing a successful book like ‘TMBOB’?

I don't have a process, I approach everything from an idea, every brief is obviously different and I design to that, so it's a bit worrying when people say 'I love the Boosh book, can you do that for me?' - I interpret that as can you adopt a similar way of approaching the brief rather than making it look exactly like the Book of Boosh. The Boosh book was designed around the characters really, the style and feel of each page born from an idea in the writing and from the vibrancy and diversity of the show, a 4 column grid with a consistent type style was obviously never going to work!

The Boosh book sold incredibly well, largely due to the popularity of the show, but we were also very keen to not just make it a standard off the shelf spin off shitty annual like most TV show books. Like all Boosh product, we're very hands on, mostly doing it ourselves and we dedicate time and effort to make sure the final product is worthy of the show. That's pretty unique to be honest I think this attention to detail and quality control is what makes our fans so insanely loyal. We haven't done anything new in ages but the books and DVD's are still selling, purely down to the quality of the design of course!

Surely not everyone just wants you for your Boosh?

No, like I said, I have a fair few clients that don't know I'm in the Boosh, in fact, awhile ago when I was still freelancing, one client left me in charge of their studio before getting on a flight to New York, on the flight they watched a Boosh ep and saw me playing Joey Moose in the first series. They were like 'Is that the guy we just... what the fuck?'

Bollo has played to some huge crowds...

Yeah the last tour we did was insane, Wembley Arena, multiple nights at Brixton, selling out the 02 two nights on the trot, it's been a crazy time and I'm so lucky to have had those experiences, it is hard after a touring sitting back at a computer designing but I get my kicks out of the creative and I still keep a toe in show business with a bit of directing, writing and the odd gig here and there. To be honest it's hard trying to keep it all up and sometimes I wish I just had one job to do. Design isn't exactly a part time job is it! and I've also just had a baby girl, so lets just say I'm pretty tired and exhausted at the moment, I'm smiling though, honest.

What are you up to at the moment?

At the moment I'm working on a book with Noel called The Scribblings of a Madcap Shambleton, not Boosh related, it's basically a book about Noel’s art and writing and I'm design and compiling it. There's also a lot of my photography in it. It's a visual bombardment of Noel's mind really, paintings, sketchbooks, scribbling, it's looking amazing. He's pretty prolific, such a huge body of work. He's been painting for years, unlike some famous freaks who get a set of colouring pencils for Christmas and decide through boredom that they're now an artist. Noel can actually paint his tits off and does so every moment he gets and has done for years so at the moment I'm trying to get 530 pages down to 320! What's really interesting about the work when you see it all together is that you can see how he writes to inspire his painting and he paints to inspire his writing, I know I'm biased but I love his stuff if you haven't seen it think Basquiat, Haring, DeBuffet, Magritte, Hockney, Aubrey Beardsley...

So are there any plans in the pipeline for the Boosh?

Well everyone's working on separate things at the moment Noel is busy doing his own show 'Noel Fielding's Luxury Comedy' and Julian is doing a Russian play at the Young Vic 'Government Inspector'. Those two have pretty much become Howard and Vince.

The last thing we were working on was the album. I was told when I last heard it about 3 months ago that it was 90% done and it sounded immense then so no idea what's going on! It has all the tracks from the show reworked, longer and better as well as new ones written for characters, I reckon they all stand up in their own right, even if you'd never seen the Boosh I still reckon you could get into it, the new Crack Fox track is incredible! It's a great album, people should have it in their ear holes right now.

People always ask if The Boosh have split up, I guess it’s inevitable when nothing new has happened in a while but we haven't and stuff will again, Noel and Julian do things when they're ready, they've produced so much material over the years, they're just having a break at the mo. There's still loads of stuff on the table that's never seen the light of day, but they'll do it when they're ready and when they do it will be great. They just need to find out where that table is...

Is the passion still there?

Yeah of course, always will be, for them and for me. You always come back stronger after a holiday, just maybe a little sunburnt, haha.

So I hear you're involved in some charity work. Fancy talking about that for a bit?

Yes, I love talking about it! I have just become an ambassador for afrikids.org, A freaking ambassador! Afrikids is a charity focusing on child rights in Northern Africa - They've been an absolute joy to work with, I've done some fundraising for them as Bollo, I've rebranded them, not as Bollo, and I even got the opportunity to spend some time in Ghana last year seeing their projects firsthand. I was filming and taking stills for their library, it was an incredible experience - it sounds clichéd and worthy saying it was life changing but it was. The Upper East region of Ghana is an amazing place, the people are beautiful, many of them have next to nothing and yet they're so welcoming, so happy, so positive and an absolute joy to photograph. From a portraiture point of view it was incredible. You expect a certain amount of shyness or self awareness from someone when you stick a big camera in their face but everyone there was so natural and un-effected. They would just look right down the lens without a hint of embarrassment or effect. I couldn't stop taking pictures. I need to go back, there's a chance I will be involved in an ambulance convoy driving donated medical vehicles and equipment from Southampton to Bolgatanga in Northern Ghana next year, imagine the photographic opportunity there! There's a book in that... If I could do anything I'd be travelling the world taking pictures

How does that compare to shooting backstage on tour?

Worlds apart in terms of there being more more booze, hairspray and ... erm ... humous but actually not that different from a photographic point of view, it’s still about getting yourself in the right place, sensing when to be anonymous and when to get in amongst it. I'm lucky with the Boosh obviously because I'm an insider, it means everyone acts as if there wasn't a camera around, except Rich of course who turns into a complete psycho, nutjob, showoff whenever any recording equipment appears. He's a shy introvert mouse normally!

The trouble with me taking all the backstage Boosh shots is that I'm never in any of them, but then when we get photographers out on tour to shoot us I always feel for them because they usually get nothing! Especially when they're big personalities and act all crazy and hyper like that's what we react to! I always smile to myself and think 'you're not going to get anything here mate, especially from Julian' He rarely gives me anything photographically let alone a strange cool cat called Moses in his silly hat and mad trainers wondering why in every shot he has of Julian he's talking or eating!

I can imagine him being a pain in the arse

Not at all, well, maybe just a little every now and then but aren't we all? He's also the most truthful loyal down the line no shit guy you'll ever meet, he's also fucking hilarious and one of the best comic actors out there.

How did you meet?

Me, Noel and Nige (Boosh animator and co creator of Noels new show) went to see Julian do standup at uni - he was fucking amazing. Noel had wanted to go in for an award which Julian had won the year before, the daily telegraph open mic award, so thats why we saw him ... I think ... but then they met in Edinburgh and both got signed to the same management company and started writing together. Then they did three years in Edinburgh before the radio and TV shows. Being there from the off means I have photography all the way back to the source, I plan to do an exhibition and book some day of the lot, maybe next year, I think it’s 10 years since the first series? I may be wrong, my mind is mash, too much humous on tour.

OK We have some questions from ShensuitZombie readers. Graeme asks: Where are you keeping the severed head of the honey monster*?

* After a Sugar Puffs advert used a similar crimping style to the Boosh, Bollo exacted his revenge on the brand’s iconic beast live on tour.

Ha, I don't know where that is. It's probably behind a bin backstage somewhere in a Scottish theatre. The last gig on our last tour was in Aberdeen, I don't know whose fucking idea that was. It was a great gig and the people were amazing but we it did feel a bit of anti climax, although the journey back to London was ridiculous, it felt like it was half an hour! The honey monster head, I don't know, it's probably in Peter Kay's bed, discuss.

Holly asks: Do you find yourself grunting and acting like a primate after being onstage?

It's the most powerful thing to be in that costume, and acting it - especially in real life situations, I've found that out when I've been doing charity work, fundraising in banks and stuff, getting in lifts and acting nonchalant amongst business men and women. Some people react well and have a laugh, embrace it, others desperately try to ignore the fact that they're standing in a lift with Gorilla, others have massive heart attacks and die at my primate feet. It's weird for kids because they either run up and cuddle you or freeze, have meltdowns and are forever scared.

A friend recently did a film with John Landis [Director of American Werewolf in London and Thriller] who is apparently obsessed with monkey impersonators. He has a room in his house dedicated to all the monkey actors of the world and reckons he can tell who is in any monkey suit in any film anywhere. So he asked my mate for a signed photo of Bollo and I had to send him a strange signed shot like those ones you see in New York dry cleaners. Still, now I know I'm in John Landis's monkey room I sleep better at night.

John asks: In the Bollo Cadburys ad parody is it you in the suit*?

** If you don’t know what this is referring to, look here: tinyurl.com/bollocadburys

Of course it is, how very dare you suggest otherwise...

Which is your favourite episode?

Milky Joe is awesome, I love Nanageddon and Old Gregg and in series 3 it's got to be Eels. It’s tough to pick a favourite, I genuinely piss myself at most of them even when I watch them back now.

Is anything ad-libbed?

Yeah, have you met Rich? Ever tried to get him to say the same line twice! It's always where the best stuff comes from, harder in TV land but on tour it’s encouraged and is always where the gold comes from, also keeps you alive, when you're doing 6 shows a week for four or so months you need to keep it fresh.

In fact, there was one thing that Bollo had to do in the live show, rolling a big prop offstage. One day the caster caught and I stacked it, incidentally ripping my leg open in the process. It got the biggest laugh of the night so I carried on doing it for the rest of the tour!

Thanks Dave, it's been sweet.

No worries, nice to meet you.

And with that, like an ape in the woods, he was gone.

Check out Dave's site - www.apeinc.co.uk

Dave took hundreds of photos of Ghanaians on his recent trip with Afrikids, a charity for whom he is ambassador.

#Dave Brown #Noel Fielding #Julian Barratt #The Mighty Boosh #ShellsuitZombie #ShellsuitZombie Magazine #`❦

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