#people rush around bringing me smelling salts and talking about my humours but i just am insane about their relationship

[thiefbird]

sometimes i think too hard about stephen and diana and i have to lie down. like a delicate-constitutioned consumptive gentleman

[dapandapod]

Sing with me

This one is for @jaskierswolf, my last entry for mermay! 

Please enjoy some Jaskier x Mer!Valdo with some fairytale feels to it. Thank you a billion to @kuripon for being my beta! (go give her fics a read too, they are amazing)

Here on Ao3.  Please enjoy.

Lettenhove is beautiful in spring. Buds breaking into leaves, flowers forcing their way out of the frozen ground, the sky clear and blue. Jaskier loves it, and he wishes he could be out and enjoy it. But here he sits, listening to his tutor going on about the great wars of the continent. He used to be interested, but his new tutor is a right bore. He is never allowed to ask questions, or move about. And Jaskier is nine, he wants to move a lot.

What makes it better though, is the view. The room the tutor claimed for their studies has a view of the bay below. It lies undisturbed, the harbor being built in safer water with far less protruding rocks. If Jaskier focuses really hard, he can hear singing from down there.

 He shuts his eyes real hard, ignoring the howling wind, ignoring his whining tutor, and focuses on the splash of waves and rich voices harmonizing along the cliffs, bouncing off the stone. It earns him a slap on the wrists most times he is caught, but it is worth it. Sometimes he sneaks into the classroom after bedtime. He sits down in the alcove in front of the window and opens it. Propped up on his elbows, he looks down below, the height making the underside of his feet tickle, and the wind is blowing gently in his bangs. More than once he falls asleep there, lulled by the singing below and the splashing of waves.

 One day he will go down there and meet them. The sirens.

~

 Jaskier gets a new tutor. She is younger, brighter than the last one, and she smells like the sea. Her eyes are the deep grey of angry skies and her smile as soft as seaweed. He likes her a lot. She teaches him to sing, and the lilt of her voice reminds him of those below, those hiding in the crashing waves. She teaches him the ways with a lyre, and she lets him ask every question that pops into his mind.

 But something goes wrong. He isn’t sure what happens, but one day after their studies, she kisses his forehead and bids him goodbye. “It was nice knowing you, little Julian,” she whispers, like it is a secret. “Come visit us some time.”

 The day after, a stern, thick man takes her place. The man frowns when he sees the lyre, decorated with seashells, but lets him keep it and doesn’t tell his father.

 And when night falls, Jaskier creeps back into the classroom. Elbows propped against the window, he sings. He knows their songs now, their words, and he knows she is down there.

  ~

  Jaskier is thirteen when he braves it for the first time. The climb down there is steep, loose rocks and wet grass under his feet keeping his heart in his throat.

But he wants to meet them before he leaves. He has been accepted to Oxenfurt for his studies, and he is leaving before his fourteenth birthday. He stumbles and falls on his butt, sliding down a few paces before he finds his feet again, scraping his knee. It stings, and the leg of his trousers is ripped, but he keeps going.

 It's not until he stands, watching the water churn among the rocks, that Jaskier allows himself to breathe. Small droplets of salt water hit his cheek, his nose, and he blinks. They watch him, as he watches them. Jaskier can see them in the middle of the bay, settled on the rocks sticking out of the water. None look like the other. One's skin is rich gold, another a deep brown. Another is pale white, shimmering like a pearl. Their hair is sticking to their bodies, long and dark. Only two of them seem to favour a shorter hairstyle. Not all of them even have fish tails.

 Jaskier takes a tentative step closer to the water, knowing full well he will die if he falls in. Maybe he will die anyway. All of the stories he has been told about sirens end with humans dying.

But they came to him. She kissed his forehead and sang him good night.

He won’t believe it.

  One siren dives beneath the surface, her tail green and red. He waits for her to approach, and when she is close enough, he recognizes her. Her eyes are still the color of angry skies and her smile is still as soft as seaweed. She greets him with warmth, and bids him sit.

 They sing together, and it takes all of his concentration to remember the words. It’s been years, after all, but he falls back into it easily enough. The others join them after a while, their curiosity peaked by a boy by the sea, learning their language. Those with legs come sit with him, and he blushes at their nakedness when their bodies are revealed.

 That summer, for every night he is able, he sneaks down to the bay. He learns their names and their singsong way of talking. When he tells her about the lyre, how he has it hidden from his father, she is delighted. She teaches him more about music than any tutor he has ever had ever, and her way of telling stories is like poetry.

 When fall comes and Jaskier is put in a carriage to Oxenfurt, he doesn’t cry. He has needled from his mother and older sister that they have the song there too. It may be in a different form, but he has sworn to her to bring it home to them.

  ~

  Jaskier is seventeen when he meets Valdo Marx.

 That boy is like no other in Oxenfurt. He is wild, rude, funny and absolutely beautiful. He sprays himself with thick and expensive perfume, but Jaskier smells it on him anyway.

The sea.

Valdo's hair is thick and dark, just like theirs. Jaskier watches him in the lazy hours in the morning when they sit in the library. If a ray of sun hits him just right, there is a vague shimmer to his skin.

 Jaskier knows.

And he is besotted.

 But approaching Valdo Marx is harder than anything he has ever done. Their ways of singing are much alike, and Valdo takes great offence at that. Where Jaskier tries a tentative smile, Valdo sneers. Scoffs, mocks and pushes him away.

Jaskier doesn’t understand it, but he accepts it. If their rivalry is all he can get, he will take it. So it's song duels, poetry battles, drinking games, anything to get his attention. Valdo keeps the act up, but sometimes when they part, Jaskier thinks he can see the hint of a smile.

  The water near Oxenfurt is so very unlike the water at home. It is calmer, for one, and the water is so very clear.. Jaskier likes to go down there in the early mornings. He avoids the harbor as it is a busy and dangerous place at times, and these nights he wants peace.

 He longs for them. His friends. People call him songbird, but no, that’s not it. Jaskier follows the beach and when the weather allows he takes his shoes off. At home it was dangerous to step into the water, but here the waves lap at his feet, hiding them under a thin layer of sand. It is harder to find a good place to sit, so he is far from town when he reaches his chosen spot. He leans back against a tree, watching the sun slowly rise above the water. Gulls cry over him and dive into the water for breakfast.

 Jaskier likes to sing here.

Not as he does in school, nowhere near that. Here he sings in their language, far from prying ears. No one sings with him, but that is alright. It’s been years since he went back there. He probably won’t ever go back there again.

His father is not a kind man.

Jaskier sings his sorrows away. It feels like he is calling to them, a lonely cry over the waves, asking for someone, anyone to join him. It would be nice if Valdo sang with him. Maybe, if he is patient, he will win him over.

  Things change when Jaskier gets in a fight. He didn’t mean to, he is shit at fighting and the sight of blood makes his head spin, but here they are. And he is losing too.

 A fist slams into his ribs, making him bend awkwardly around the pain. Jaskier grunts, but straightens up, or at least he tries to. His feet are kicked from under him, and next thing he knows, feet are raining down on him.

 They kick his hip, his already aching ribs, his shoulder, his fingers.

 Jaskier doesn’t see Valdo in the tavern. Doesn’t notice those ocean eyes on him, his silence and his observance.

 Only when the blows stop, and Valdo is taking a swing at the offender does he notice. Turns out Valdo is bad at fighting too, and they run from the pub together, bruised and swearing. They stop in an alley, hidden far enough away from the street, catching their breath. Only when they are sure they are not being pursued does the laughing start. More like giggling, actually. Neither is completely sober, adrenaline rushing through their veins, and the sheer absurdity of it all has them hiccuping and wheezing, leaning against the wall for support.

 “Why the fuck would you pick a fight with that guy?!” Valdo wheezes, wiping tears from his cheeks. “He was huge!”

 "He was being an asshole!” Jaskier defends himself, but he agrees. Maybe not his brightest idea. They sink down against the wall, catching their breath. The ground is a little muddy, but his trousers are already dirty, so it doesn’t matter.

When they sit side by side, Jaskier watches Valdo’s profile in the semi-darkness. He doesn’t usually get to see him up close, and with the light spilling from a window somewhere above them. Valdo is beautiful. And in this low light, Jaskier can see the hint of scales again. He knows Valdo is probably wearing a glamour, so he isn’t supposed to be able to see it. Valdo looks back at him, eyes still glittering with humour.

“What?” He asks.

“Thank you. For helping me.”

Valdo looks at him searchingly for a long moment. Then he nods, as if he has made up his mind.

“You are welcome.”

  They sit in silence for another few moments, letting the buzz of Oxenfurt nightlife surround them. Jaskier is looking up over the rooftops, trying to see the stars, when Valdo speaks again.

“You know what I am, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“You sing like we do.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

Now it is Jaskier who turns his head and finds Valdo watching him. He blinks fast a few times, trying to chase away the flutters that rise in him.

“One of my tutors came from the sea. My father didn’t like her, so she didn't stay, but we found each other again. She taught me songs and words and stories.”

 Jaskier can’t tear his eyes away, watching Valdo watching him.

It is a strange sensation, having Valdo’s attention like this.

 “Is this why you keep going to the water to sing?” Valdo asks, surprising him. It must show on his face, because he smiles gently at him, and Jaskier feels like he could melt.

“I hear you sometimes. When I’m out swimming.”

 Jaskier has to swallow hard before he can reply. He would love to see Valdo in the water. He remembers how graceful they are back home, how they moved in the water, strong muscles playing under the skin.

 “It is,” Jaskier confirms when he has himself under control. “I miss them.”

“I don’t know where my family is,” Valdo says after a while. “I left to come here. But I will find them again. Some day.”

 Jaskier stares at his boots for a moment. He wants to ask, he wants to ask so badly. He is a little afraid to do it, seeing that they just got on speaking terms.

 “Would you uh…”

Valdo is still watching him as if he is trying to figure him out.

“Would you sing with me some time?”

 There. He said it.

Valdo opens his mouth. Closes it. Tilts his head.

 “Do you know what it means to sing together?”

Jaskier shakes his head. He doesn’t. But it always meant a lot to him, and Valdo holds a special place in his heart. He wonders how their voices would sound together.

“It means belonging. Is this what you are asking of me? To belong?”

Oh.

Oh, that puts warmth in Jaskiers heart. To have found belonging with his people in the waves, to be accepted, chosen and loved.

And it flusters him greatly that he is now asking the same of Valdo.

Because he is, he realizes. He would like that very much.

 “If you’d like. Some day. I’m not asking for it now. I just… I would love to see you in the water sometime.”

Valdo doesn’t reply. He stands up, dusts off his trousers.

“We’ll see. Maybe.”

Then he stretches out a hand to help Jaskier up.

Valdo's hand in his is soft, warm, firm. When they are both on their feet, Valdo doesn’t let go of his hand immediately.

 “I think I can see what they saw in you,” Valdo says slowly. Jaskier doesn’t really understand what he means, but he loves it all the same. They make their way slowly across town, following the ebb and flow of its inhabitants. Valdo is still holding his hand.

    It takes months, years for Jaskier to see Valdo swim. His tail shares the color of seaweed, scales sparkling in the evening sun when he breaches the surface. Jaskier watches from the bay, far away from prying eyes. Valdo is every bit as magnificent as he thought he would be. Their journey here was long. A tentative friendship growing and growing. They still have their rivalry, are still at each other's throats most of the time.

But tonight, when Valdo offers to bring him to the sea, Jaskier know that too is about to change. Jaskier is wading out into the water, and Valdo swims to meet him. When the water comes to his chest, Valdo wraps his arms around him. It is cold, but Valdo pulls him in close and pushes their foreheads together.

“Will you sing with me?” Valdo asks, stealing Jaskier's breath away.

“Yes.”

[aelric]

Angst prompt: Aaron tries to point out that Robert could probably do with some counselling, too, because he's clearly got issues he's never dealt with (not in the right, healthy ways, anyway), and Robert doesn't take it well until Aaron eventually wears him down into admitting it to himself.

This Is Healing

read on ao3 // send me a prompt

The leaflet has been propped up on the kitchen table all day. Between the salt and pepper shaker a woman sits with her head in her hands, the words Feeling down? floating over her head. Robert can ignore it. He can take out the rubbish and do the washing up from dinner and start on making tea without even sparing it a glance. It’s none of his business anyway. Love is a dance for two but there are some things that you have to do alone. You can help pick up the pieces but you can’t be the one to put someone else back together.

The little hand of the clock is scraping seven by the time Aaron gets back from the scrapyard. He comes into the kitchen in a winter coat and socked feet. The rug in hallway cost one more zero than any rug should cost and it’s not made from the kind of material that can be shoved in the washing machine when it gets a bit mucky. Robert bought a shoe rack as a reminder not to tread mud into the house. Aaron doesn’t leave his shoes on it. He doesn’t want to entirely admit defeat on this, but at least he’s stopped bringing an entire ecosystem into their house every evening.

Robert smiles at the sight of his husband. He doesn’t mind working from home, but it never really feels like home until Aaron is there with him. Without a word, Aaron makes his way over to Robert, slipping his hands around his waist and peering over his shoulder into the saucepan that his husband is stirring at regular intervals. A red liquid simmers away, sending up a cloud of curling steam that settles on Robert’s face in a thin layer of moisture.

‘What’s that meant to be?’ Aaron asks.

‘Pasta sauce,’ Robert replies, leaning his head to one side so his cheek rests against Aaron’s hair. It’s damp from the drizzle that has been falling on and off all day. ‘We’re having meatballs for tea.’

‘I don’t get why you don’t just use the ready-made stuff. This just looks like a massive faff.’

Robert straightens his neck and shakes his head. ‘Do you have any idea how much sugar there is in that stuff? I’m trying to be a responsible guardian here.’

‘Where is Liv anyway?’

‘In her room. Barely said two words to me since her tutor left. He had a word with me today, actually. Apparently she’s not pulling her weight in English. Hasn’t read a single book he’s set all term.’

Aaron shrugs. ‘Who needs books anyway?’

Robert rolls his eyes at his husband’s attempt at humour. ‘Liv, if she’s going to pass her GCSEs. Could you talk to her? Hell will freeze over before she takes advice from me.’

‘Will do.’

Robert nods. ‘How was your day anyway?’

‘Good, thanks. How was yours? Work okay?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You phoned BT about the slow Wi-Fi?’

‘They’re sending a guy around on Monday.’

‘You looked at the leaflet I left you?’

Robert stops stirring. He taps off the excess sauce on the side of saucepan and sets it down on the side. He lets the sound of the extractor fan fill the silence.

‘Robert?’

‘No,’ Robert snaps, his voice harder than he intended. ‘I haven’t. I thought it was yours.’

Aaron’s arms slip away from Robert’s waist.

‘I picked it up for you at my counselor’s office this morning. I thought you might get a chance to look through it.’

Robert rests a hand on the edge of the counter, his fingers only centimetres away from the hotplate. He takes a few breaths, trying to steady himself. This is a conversation he never wants to have. He has every intention to wait things out, like letting a plaster peel at the edges and fall away rather than tearing it off. He’s okay. Most of the time. Sometimes. He’s okay.

‘Why?’

Aaron grips Robert’s upper arm gently and turns him around, taking a step backwards away from the hob. His face his flushed pink after coming in from the cold and his eyes are watery from the bitter wind. His hands are warm though. As always. Robert can feel the heat through his shirt sleeve.

‘I was talking to my counselor about you.’

‘You shouldn’t do that.’

Aaron frowns. ‘Why not?’

‘Because these sessions are meant to be about you. I don’t want you dragging my issues in there with you and calling them your own.’

‘Just listen. My counsellor had me make a list today. She had me write down everything in my life that could possibly be a source of anxiety.’

Robert’s heart is a lead weight in his stomach. ‘So, me?’

Aaron closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. His forehead creases, the ghosts of lines in his skin becoming solid. ‘You’re not listening, Robert. It’s not you. Like you. It’s everything you’ve been through and everything you’re still going through and the fact you never talk to me about it. That’s what I put on the list.’

Robert wipes his hands on his jeans, moving around Aaron and standing with his back to him, staring out the window above the sink. Heavy clouds hang across the countryside, making the sky a starless void. He crosses his arms, trying not to give away how his head is spinning or how badly he wants to run.

‘Robert-’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You’re not fine.’

‘How am I not fine?’ Robert barks, whipping around. He can only imagine how he must look, because Aaron actually takes a step back. ‘You’re the expert, Aaron. Tell me exactly how I’m not fine.’

Aaron’s mouth twitches. Robert regrets yelling but he can’t bring himself to apologise. Something once dormant in his chest has been stirred, and now it’s tearing him apart from this inside out. He can’t talk about this.

‘I don’t know how you can’t see it,’ Aaron says, his voice remarkably steady. ‘You’re so blind.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m not you.’

Aaron’s face darkens. Robert’s words hang between them like a bad smell.

‘Oh. Okay, I get it. You’re not a nutcase like me. Sorry. What was I thinking?’ He turns on his heel, getting ready to storm from the room, but is stopped dead when Robert grabs his arm.

‘I didn’t mean that,’ he says, his words tripping over one another in their rush to make things right. ‘I’m so sorry, Aaron. That’s not what I meant at all.’

‘Well what did you mean?’

‘I don’t have a reason.’ Robert swallows thickly. ‘You’ve been through so much. That’s why you got sick. But me. What reason would I have? Everything that happens to me I bring on myself. The idea of me going to a therapist just seems offensive to everyone who actually deserves help.’

Robert looks down at his feet. He’s wearing the slippers that Aaron hates because he claims they look like something from Wallace and Gromit. The grouting between the floor tiles blurs. He blinks quickly.

‘Are you joking?’ Aaron asks. He sounds angry; his voice low and dangerous. ‘Are you actually joking?’

‘No. What do you mean?’

‘I’m not going to list everything that you’ve gone through, Robert. Hell, I probably don’t even know everything you’ve been through in your life because you’re so damn cagey about it. But believe me, you’ve been hurt enough times. And even if you hadn’t been, you don’t need a reason to get ill. People get ill all the time. Would you be making such a giant fuss about this if you had the flu or something?’

‘This isn’t the flu.’

‘I know it’s not the bloody flu.’

‘I’m fine.’

Aaron curls his fingers beneath Robert’s chin, lifting his head so he’s looking into his eyes. The familiar sight slows Robert in his tailspin, but he’s still falling.

‘You’re not. There are days when you’re not here. There are days when you can barely get out of bed and days when you can’t stay still. There are days you don’t eat or sleep and that scares me.’

‘Aaron.’

‘No. My counselor told me I need to be more open and this is me being open. There are days when I feel like I don’t know you. I know you’re there, that you’re just hidden beneath whatever it is that’s hurting you. But I worry that one day it’s going to take you away from me. I’m scared it’ll bury you and that I won’t be able to dig you out again.’

He places a hand either side of Robert’s face, his hands trembling. Robert feels himself cracking. He tries to breathe, but it feels like his lungs are quaking, threatening to fall in on themselves.

‘I’m scared,’ he whispers. ‘What if they tell me something I don’t want to hear? What if I’m actually really ill?’

‘It’ll still be better than going through this alone,’ Aaron says, brushing a thumb across Robert’s cheek. ‘Please don’t keep going through this alone.’

Robert feels his face crumple. He squeezes his eyes shut, and nods. Aaron presses his forehead to Robert’s and for a moment, they breathe.

Despite everything, they’re still breathing.