Jaskier, faced with delicate sensibilities, uses all those fancy salts that make Geralt dizzy with smells... And here was Jaskier thinking he was being so galant.
Jaskier, walking in the room wearing a loose shirt rolled up to his elbows and cropped trousers: Hi Geralt!
Geralt, lightheaded, dizzy, about to pass out: Jaskier... I fear a most terrible affliction has come upon me... this may be my end...
Jaskier: Don’t be afraid, my dearest! I will fetch the smelling salts!
Geralt, retiring to his fainting couch: Remember me when I am gone.
Jaskier: *shoves strong smelling salts under Geralt’s nose*
Hi hello! So happy to be able to offer you something 😊
Redfish, Blame it on the love of Rock-'n'-roll
*RUBS HANDS* THANK YOU VERY VERY MUCH *cracks knuckles*
[leave me bon jovi inspired prompts!]
blame it on the love of rock n’ roll (jonc/brynden, past one sided jonc/rhaegar, jaime, oberyn, jon s.;, pg13)
“He can’t have - he can’t just have done that,” Jaime Lannister says for the umpteenth time in the last thirty minutes, and - in any other case, Jon would have told him yes, I know, I’m entirely fucking aware, I have the offspring to show for it currently sleeping in my spare room right behind us, but all things considered... he can’t blame him. He really can’t.
“Well,” Oberyn says, shrugging, sitting across Jon’s sofa in a way that honestly should be reserved for R-rated movies, but he’ll leave it at that, it’s too hot and he’s too tired to tell him to do any different, “he has, and while I suppose that for him this entire exercise was a past time, but I think it doesn’t solve our main problem here, which is that next week we should audition for a record deal, and we can’t exactly do it without the lead singer, so how does anyone here suggest to proceed? Because as resourceful as I usually am, I have zilch here, and we’re never going to find anyone who’s going to learn all the songs in a week.”
Jon wants to scream.
Fact is: when he and Rhaegar and Oberyn stared playing together in Oberyn’s father’s basement in high school, it was for shits and giggles and because they wanted to play Nirvana covers and impress girls, or better, Rhaegar wanted to impress girls, he wanted to impress Rhaegar (and maybe guys, but mainly Rhaegar) and Oberyn wanted to impress everyone regardless of gender, but then... they had fun, and it stuck, and they started actually writing their own songs, and then Rhaegar said that he was tired of playing guitar if he had to concentrate on singing and while they were in uni they searched for a guitarist, and -
Well, Jaime Lannister had showed up, and he had been a tad younger than them and obviously had a lot of family trauma to share looking at his lyrics, but he was fucking good, and so they took him, and -
And after some five years of grueling sets in pubs they did manage to land a meeting with this guy Mance Ryder from an indie label who apparently liked them very much, and it would be a damned record deal, and that’s when Rhaegar decides that he’s going to... elope with his girlfriend and leave their six-month old with Jon himself and they’re going to find themselves in India or whatever and that’s not going into the fact that the six-month old was born after a bad split from Oberyn’s sister and it’s a miracle Oberyn hadn’t murdered him in the spirit of friendship and being in the goddamned same band.
Fucking hell.
And now both Lannister and Oberyn are looking at him because they’re apparently in the only band in existence where the decision-maker is the fucking bassist, that’d be him.
Fucking hell.
“Okay,” he says, “well. No, we can’t find another singer, not at short notice. Especially since they didn’t say what songs they want to hear so what if they just ask out of the blue, but.” He closes his eyes, tries to think about it. There has to be a way to get out of this mess, and certainly he isn’t good enough of a singer to take Rhaegar’s place -
Wait a fucking second.
“Okay,” he says, “Jaime.”
“... Yes?”
“From this moment on you’re on vocals.”
“What the hell? Jon, I’m -”
“You wrote more than half of the lyrics, you know them and you can sing worth a damn, which is way more than me and him can say for ourselves, and while finding a new singer is impossible, a new guitarist - well, someone good can learn most of the songs and improvise in case. Sure as fuck it’s less of a long shot.”
“But -”
“But nothing, Jaime. I know you liked it better if someone else sang about how shitty your sister is, but if we want this deal it’s either you or no one else. And now - now let’s just get online and send the word out. It’s Wednesday, we have to audition Friday next week, we can fucking hope it’s long enough for someone to show up.”
Two hours later, he’s sent Oberyn and Jaime off with a bunch of flyers and he has put online ads too - he also knows that it’s highly fucking unlikely that a skilled guitarist enough to improvise like that will walk into his house in the fucking middle of July being a good fit. Sure, there’s the possible record deal thing up that might sweeten the pot, but.
But he’s nowhere near sure that it’d be enough.
Still.
They’ll see. And Oberyn and Jaime better be there every single afternoon until Friday next week.
--
The next Wednesday, the heat is unbearable, his namesake is crying desperately because it’s too hot, Jaime and Oberyn are failing to calm him and Jon has just sent away the umpteenth college kid who tried to audition and was a shit fit and just cared for the record deal.
“We’re fucked, aren’t we,” Oberyn says, matter of fact, as Jaime finally manages to get the younger Jon to calm down.
Considering that Rhaegar hasn’t answered a single message -
Fuck, Jon had been trying to get over him for ages.
He’s sure this might be what actually makes sure he does.
“Probably,” Jon says, “unless some miracle happens right the fuck now, but -”
His phone starts ringing.
It’s an unknown number.
Jon takes it.
“Yes?” He asks, tentatively.
“Jon Connington?” A deep male voice asks, slightly gruff, but Jon can’t help thinking it’s nice. It has a lovely warm baritone to it, for sure.
“That’d be me.”
“My name is Brynden Tully. I’m calling for the Kingsguard audition.”
Jon doesn’t want to say that this guy sounds competent, but.
But.
“If you haven’t filled that position already, of course.”
“Oh, no. Not at all. You’re welcome to come even now - the place isn’t ideal, but... we don’t have the studio, this week.”
“Not a problem at all. Should I come to the address that was on the ad?”
“Yes,” Jon says, “it’s - it’s my house. We’ll meet you outside, I have all the gear in the garage.”
“Very well. I could be there in half an hour - or two, if I have to go back home and get my own guitar -”
“No,” Jon says, “it’s all right, I have more than one that you can use. Thank you, I -”
“You haven’t tried me yet,” the man replies, and he sounds like he’s smiling, and the call closes.
“Well,” he says, “let’s get to the garage and let’s hope this one guy is the miracle.”
“Did it sound like he could be?” Oberyn asks while Jaime says he’ll go get something to put the poor kid in while he has to listen to them, at least Rhaegar left him with the fucking supplies to care for him.
“He sounded more competent than any of the other guys who showed up.” The whole fifteen of them, but never mind that.
Jon walks down to the garage, already sweating the moment he sets foot out of the house. Fucking hell. This is the hottest summer he can remember in years, he just hopes he doesn’t end up fainting while they rehearse. Now that wouldn’t convince anyone to join his band, right?
--
They manage to get settled fairly soon - sure, Oberyn hasn’t played with that drum kit in years and Jaime is grumbling that not playing will be fucking weird, and the younger Jon at least doesn’t seem too bothered by their tuning, and then -
“I imagine these are the Kingsguard’s quarters?”
Jon raises his head from his bass, staring at the man who just came inside the garage, and -
Well, fuck.
Having been into Rhaegar for all of his life, he has always found people older than him hot on a general notion, but he never looked into it. But this guy - fuck. He has to have at least fifteen years on him, never mind Lannister, that would make it at least twenty, but he’s hot, with auburn hair with just the slightest hint of silver here and there, a short beard and bright blue eyes on a face with tanned skin and a few lines here and there. He’s also wearing jeans, dark boots and a fucking black leather jacket in the middle of this heat, and how does anyone do that without fainting, but - but honestly, Jon kind of never was so instantly attracted to anyone in his entire life bar Rhaegar, and - yeah.
Let’s not just discuss that now.
“Yes,” he says. “Brynden Tully, right?”
“In the flesh. I see that you are... somehow in trouble?”
“What gave that out?” Jaime smirks. “The garage, the fact that we had a week to audition before a record deal or that we’re looking after a kid that doesn’t belong to either of us?”
“All of that, honestly,” Brynden replies, “but the kid would be the most glaring one. The rest... happens. Also, the ad said you looked for a guitarist and if someone knows anything about the scene, I’d have thought golden boy here had quit.”
Jon decides that it’s the case to be upfront.
“Yeah, well.” He sighs. “The kid belongs to our former singer. Who has eloped with his girlfriend in the middle of the night last week because of family disagreements and shit and he left us like this. Fact is, auditioning a singer is a whole goddamned mess, and golden boy there writes most of the lyrics anyway and can carry a tune, so I have not democratically decided to put him on that and audition for the guitarist instead.”
“Thanks for recognizing it was not democratic,” Jaime mutters.
“Well, I’d have voted with him,” Oberyn replies, rolling a drumstick in his hand.
“So,” Jon sighs, “we actually need the guitarist instead. I understand that learning an entire repertoire in a day if you’re a fit might be a problem, but -”
“I think that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Wait, how?”
The man smiles ever so slightly. “First thing, I didn’t read that ad from the internet. I learned about this because my niece is engaged to your singer’s girlfriend’s brother and she called me up telling me about it.”
“Wait, you’re - oh, shit, Catelyn Tully, I didn’t even -”
“So,” Brynden smirks wider, “my niece, who’s known me for years, knows that the only reason I never was in a band that actually got a record deal was that I got kicked out of the house back in the day because the relatives didn’t like my sentimental preferences.” A wink. Oh. “And thing is, I’m good. Improvising type good. But at that point I couldn’t survive on it and so I found a more boring job, but I never stopped playing and I go to gigs and I know the circuit and I actually did listen to most of your songs, that demo you were selling last year was really good. So... I actually do know most of them. And I made enough money now to afford actually playing full time.”
“Then,” Jon says, not believing his luck, “I think we should just try you already. Just pick any guitar from the stands. We can do one of our usual covers to start with and then a few of ours.”
“Sounds good. I’ll go serve myself, then.”
He goes to where Jon keeps the guitar stands, chooses a red Stratocaster and goes to join them while Jaime seems to try and find a decent position, for someone that outwardly charming you’d think he would want to be a lead singer, and yet.
Never mind.
Please let him be the right one, Jon thinks, and if maybe he wasn’t just thinking about it in band terms, well, no one has to know.
--
“You’re hired,” he says to Brynden five songs later. “And you,” he tells Jaime, “you can sing, just - please try to not be awkward as hell tomorrow. You can do it, I swear.”
“That’s what you say,” Jaime scoffs, “but yeah. What - you’re good. Enough that I almost don’t hate the idea of not playing those solos anymore.”
“I say that if Rhaegar ever wants to come back we tell him to fuck off,” Oberyn proclaims. “And I’d say welcome to the club. If we fail the audition please don’t leave.”
Brynden laughs, putting the guitar away. “Oh, I had missed doing this regularly. Don’t think I won’t.”
“Well,” Jaime says, “it’s late and I need to - psych myself up. I’ll - I’ll go get a drink. And be in touch.”
He stalks out of the garage, looking like he’ll faint.
“I’ll go after him,” Oberyn says. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him to relax one way or the other.”
“You know he’s straight!” Jon calls after him, but they both already disappeared beyond his driveway.
Whatever. Maybe Oberyn is gonna find him a decent lay. Anything as long as he projects some confidence the day after tomorrow.
“You know,” Brynden says, “I was going to ask if you wanted to come out for a drink to celebrate, but I understand that if you have to mind the kid -”
Jon stops dead in his tracks, turning to look up at Brynden, who - who is half-grinning at him in the way people do when asking to buy someone a drink because they’re interested and fuck Jon really wants to kiss him, and he has a feeling he’s going to hang around in the band a lot, and -
“Tell you what,” he says, “I do, but I also have alcohol upstairs. Fancy it if I make you that drink?”
“Oh,” Brynden says, “excellent compromise, I say. Lead on.”
He smiles.
Jon smiles back.
Ten years later
“You’re not saying that the first time you two smooched I was watching,” Jon Stark groans from his seat in Jaime’s cramped living room where they’re celebrating having come back from their last UK tour during which Brynden not-so-incidentally asked Jon if he would want to make things official in the backstage after the last show, a question to Jon enthusiastically answered yes just before frenching him in front of each single roadie still moving around the place.
“No,” Brynden says, “you were actually dead to the world after having cried your eyes out for one hour, and we didn’t do anything else, but you were in the same room.”
“Gross,” the kid snorts, and Jon is just thankful that he eventually ended up with Ned and Cat because he certainly wasn’t going to raise a kid properly and that he’s not visibly traumatized by how shitty his biological parents have been to him. Never mind that Rhaegar never apologized for bailing but eventually said well you sound a lot better like this, and - Jon will always love him in a way, but he was truly over him romantically at that point.
“I’d say,” Jon says, “that you should be honored that you were not-watching-but-there the day I smooched the love of my life, but what have you.”
“Oh,” Jaime snorts, “you are writing the love ballads now.”
“Forget it,” Jon replies, “wouldn’t Brienne be sad about it?”
“Please,” the girl in question says from the kitchen where she forbade any of them to enter while she got dinner ready, all of you except Oberyn can’t cook for shit, I’m not risking it, “I think you all can stand some variety from me. And congratulations.”
"Gross,” the other Jon replies, and - he lets that go, he’s ten, everything in that sense is probably gross to him, and then rough, calloused fingers hold his and -
“The love of my life now? Maybe you should write me a ballad.”
“Hm,” Jon replies, “maybe I will, but just if you do the same. Maybe Lannister deserves a break from songwriting.”
“Think I can handle it,” Brynden says, and so what if he can hear Jaime in the background telling them that if they don’t go down at it too hard they can use their bed while they kiss?
Who cares.
Maybe they’ll even take him up on the offer. What he knows is that he can’t wait to make things official and to write that damned ballad.
Oh, yes, he thinks, life is good, and then he kisses Brynden harder and tunes out anything else going on in the room.
Geralt secretly gets Jaskier all kinds of gifts. Then he masterfully "drops" them along the way, so that Jaskier can find them and coo over them.
Jaskier of course knows and teases Geralt about it so subtly that Geralt is sure Jaskier will never guess.
Awwww secret gifts!! Yasss. :D
Geralt leaving pretty rings and expensive oils that he knows Jaskier will like tucked into bookshelves when they going looting around in caves or old huts. Jaskier always finds them with glee but he knows Geralt’s buying them. I mean, how many derelict huts or monsters nests have chamomile oil hidden away. It’s never a scent that Jaskier doesn’t like and the jewellery always happens to be something Jaskier has eyed up in the last market place.
When they get together Geralt gives Jaskier the gifts directly. Jaskier pretends to act shocked. Geralt must have spent a lot of time hunting nekkers and looting caves to get all these new gifts for him.
I first read Good Omens in 2003. I was struggling with my mental health, a lot. The details are not important, but it was Bad. When my friend lent me her copy of Good Omens, it was life changing. Not just changing, but saving. I was having so many negative thoughts and mental confusion that I didn’t know who I was, and wasn’t sure I wanted to be.
Enter Crowley. Scared, strong, confidant, Anthony J. Crowley. If anyone had reason to give up, and walk away from existence it was him. He had a miserable existence. He was kicked out of Heaven and lost the love of G-d for reasons he could not understand, if any had even existed at all. He had a dead-end job where he was disrespected and ignored. When on the rare occasions he was acknowledged by his boss, it was for things that not only he didn’t do, but found utterly abhorant and disgusting. His best friend seemed to not understand him and downplay his struggles, yet at the same time seemed to love him and want only good for him. The world was constantly throwing negativity his way, and being that he was nearly 6,000 years old, that’s a lot of negativity to handle.
And yet, despite all this negativity, and stress, and pain, he saw beauty in the world. He found something small to grab onto. Not only did he find things to love(plants, music, wine, food, animals) he chose to fight an unwinable battle to try and save it. He literally did the impossible to try and save the existence he knew, because there were those few things that made existence worth while.
So I figured that if this being who has more right than anyone to be a cantakorous bastard and check out of existence can decide to fight against the world just so he can exist, then maybe I could too. Not that it was easy. But having him and Aziraphale around to help remind me that there were things worth fighting for defiantly made it possible for me. More often than not, it was hot cocoa and books that I latched onto, probably influenced by everyone’s favorite angel.
And then ther was Adam, from whom I learned to accept my mental health issues, and the hand in life I’d been dealt, but make them my own. That’s another post, for a different day.
@ulspi I’m going to hand you my tire iron, because right now, you need it more than me. Use it, not for what it was created for, but for what Crowley showed us it could be.
I want to recommend “Persuasion AU” by UlsPi. It’s one of her latest and just as incredibly well-written as all their other stuff.
Of course!
Persuasion AU by UlsPi
Ineffable husbands in the world of Jane Austen Persuasion (modern setting though).
Ten years ago when you told me not to accept him, I thought it would be easy to forget Anthony Crowley, and ten years later I can tell you that I haven't forgotten him, I haven't stopped yearning for him, but I hoped I'd never meet him again. As it happens, I have to meet him, his highly successful firm, have to be polite and indifferent.
Hi! Love your Delicate Sensibilities Geralt. I thought it would be perfect for Jaskier to tease Geralt with "underneath our clothes we're all naked, Geralt".
Geralt: you can’t just SAY THINGS LIKE THAT JASKIER
Jaskier: I mean... it’s true though
Geralt: that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to say it!!!
