abraxaslogs | [ dec / open ] what even is the point of december without christmas presents?

[ His gaze follows the two creatures. He's not surprised to see it animate in her hands. There's something to be said about how much everything in Julie's domain is: all of her trinkets and bits and pieces that shimmer and shine. It should be overwhelming, but somehow it isn't. They are things to look at, things that catch his attention away from all the other shit that's been at the forefront, that will not leave him alone, and truthfully that's what he needs right now.

When she returns with a globe, he peers at it with her, at the multiple pieces of land. It's an interesting concept. Lands colliding. He thinks of Ciri crossing worlds, of portals that were once open. He imagines it must've occurred alongside the Conjunction, or maybe at the same time, if so. Ofir and others like it, he can see what she means, that they could've once been attached to the same piece of land. If an ancient sea can dry up to give way to more land, then why not the other way around? ]

We haven't got billions of years recorded like you. The Conjunction was less than two thousand years past. Your creatures, your kind, they grew and changed with time, but ours...are just there. All at once. It's believed after the Conjunction, the once open paths to other realms were destroyed. [ Until Ciri. Elder Blood. Until the Singularity, apparently. He doesn't know the connection. Or what it means that the Red Riders—who are meant to be myth—have been unable to trace her here, likely masked by the Singularity's interference.

He turns the globe gently. As he does, the continents shift, replaced with the ones from his sphere. It becomes clear, maybe, why he's always referred to his home as the Continent as though it consists of nothing else. It's a significantly larger landmass than any of the others, taking up most of the northeastern section. His rendition is not as accurate as hers; he's far more used to studying flat maps and little is known of other lands, but an approximation is attempted. A smaller continent to the west. Then far south, across a vast sea. ]

You may be right. Perhaps the only difference is the rate and manner in which these things progress. [ To do with the proximity, maybe. It's only a theory. He's hardly an expert in these matters, despite all he's read. Wherever Julie is from, even a commoner of a small farm seems considerably well-schooled—but then, in his world, the average villager can barely ink their own name. Still. It's an intriguing consideration, even if ultimately he thinks none of this matters when the entire world is ablaze over that damn rock. ] It could explain why humans and monsters never existed at the same time in yours.

[ She watches the globe change, reflect a different world altogether, and she can't help but turn it slightly, expecting to see more, more land on the other sides. But there's almost nothing, and she's never before seen something like that, as if the Pacific Ocean overtook everything outside of itself, leaving only sparse islands and chunks of Asia. ]

You said Kaer Morhen was above a sea that dried up. It happened that fast? In less than two thousand years? [ It seems impossible, for such a major change to not take millions of years, at least without human intervention. Her fingertips drift gently over the span of The Continent, nameless on the globe. Her version of it was intricately labeled, with not just the names of continents, but of countries, capitals. It's off-putting, to see any kind of map so lacking in minutiae. ]

Well, you're here. So maybe the paths ain't destroyed, never were. Maybe it's just that no one was usin' 'em until now.

[ There's something there, she thinks, in the idea of the Singularity being what causes change in other worlds, through its apparent link to them. At the very least, it reinforces her fear of a war over it, because if the Singularity is directing evolution and conjunctions and whatever else, then what does it mean for everything if it's harmed or destroyed? These idiots squabbling over it like they should have the right to determine the very fabric of the universe. Her head throbs when she considers it; she's not good at thinking about all of this big picture insanity. It makes her feel small, and she can't stand it.

She leaves the globe shaped to his world, puts it on the shelf next to the dinosaur and dragon. Her chuckle is dry. ]

I wish they did. When monsters are big fairytale critters out to getcha, then they're a lot easier to avoid than the monsters we got. Ours just look like other people.

[ He shakes his head. No. Not that. ] The world existed, for however long. That sea may have dried before humans ever arrived. But the Conjunction caused every race and creature to fall into it as their own worlds were destroyed. The elves claim they were always here.

[ His tone suggests he isn't certain that's altogether true. They are not the only ones who make that claim. Not that it matters; it doesn't change what the humans did to them. Or to anyone else. And what long history exists before then, it isn't near as finely detailed as hers. A few ancient fossils found, like the ones the keep sits atop, and not much more.

But it's true he's here. It's also true Ciri can do what they've all believed impossible. Traverse doors thought closed. In Geralt's mind, going back may not even be an option. What would they be going back to? What paths have been irrevocably shaped anew because he did not meet Ciri in those woods and instead found her here? There's a reason his focus has simply been on keeping her safe, shielding her from what may come. The rest—he can't know what it possibly holds.

Though lately, his focus has been on fuck all. And the reason for that makes him huff at her remark, a noise as dry as hers. ]

Yeah. We have those, too. [ He seats himself on what's closest, a chair, the bed, a stool. ] The beasts just make it easier for them to tell themselves they aren't so monstrous.

Well, they gotta have somethin' that helps 'em sleep at night. Ours usually use religion. Religion and more money than a small country.

[ Or they did, anyway. One of the shiniest silver linings of Captain Trips was that it couldn't be influenced with money or power. You were either one of the immune or you weren't, and no amount of wealth could change that. The great equalizer at last.

She watches him sit on the sofa, an enormous thing in emerald green velvet, designed to be so overly plush that it sinks under any weight. He still seems so tired. It's not that she expected him to exactly bounce back from actual torture, but she thought that getting back out of Thorne would give him more relief.

The tiny dragon huffs another minuscule plume of flame at her, and she taps it on the nose with one finger before she crosses to where he is. She wants to ask if he's really okay, but she knows he's not and she knows he'll say he is anyway, so she doesn't bother. Instead, she lets the cushion sink further under her knee on one side of him as she leans down, wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him. ]

[ It's actually so unexpectedly plush he nearly falls into it. He lets his weight settle onto the cushions instead. He isn't tense exactly, just. There is effort, in not allowing his thoughts to consume him. He's spent most of his days pushing them aside, avoiding closing his eyes, trying to clear his head and failing. It's beginning to wear on him—but he's alive, mostly intact, and the world will always move on without care for who it leaves behind. He's learned to keep up, no matter how exhausting.

Besides, if nothing else he's found...more he can trust. After all this. More people looking out for him than he'd thought he had. (Friends.) It means something.

And it means something he can come here for a little refuge. His hand rests on Julie's hip and he tilts up to return the kiss. It's simple to sink into it, let it fill his head for a bit to drown out the noise, and he tugs her closer to him: wanting, seeking the warmth of her body. ]

[ One of the few things Julie is naturally good at is reading people. She mostly uses the skill to manipulate people by playing on what they want or need, but occasionally she decides to actually try and help. He's so tired, and since she knows that between Nott and Cadens, he's been forced to rest as much as possible, that means whatever's making him tired is in his head.

She sympathizes. There's a reason she parties until she passes out, drinks every night. When it's quiet and dark, she relives endless death, all the sights and smells and sounds of it. It's not something she was ever prepared for, if it's even possible to be trained to endure that magnitude of human suffering, loss. She knows what it's like to want nothing more than to think of anything but what loops in the mind when it's left to its own devices.

And she doesn't mind being a distraction. It's what she excels at. Sparkle, shine, look over here. Easy.

Climbing the rest of the way into his lap, she lets him pull her until she's flat against him. She doesn't hold any weight off him, though she is unusually mindful of where on his back she puts her hands -- since she doesn't trust him to have used the Horizon's magic to make himself not have a huge, healing wound there, she doesn't want to cause any pain by grazing it. Instead, she digs her fingers into his shoulder, holds his face with her other hand as she leans into him. ]

[ It helps, really, to need not explain. He's only told Jaskier and Ciri exactly what happened—Jaskier because it'd just...come out, and Ciri because he never wants to hide the truth from the girl. But even then, other than Kylo, Julie is the only person who found him at his worst. He knows she must've put enough of a picture together, even though she's not asked him much.

So there's no need to say why he's here, no need to say what he's looking for. A distraction but also just company. She's easy to be around; he likes listening to her go on about her world and the things in it, her home, her old and new life—all of which he understands about half of at best but which doesn't matter because that's not the point.

He is still healing, out there and in here alike, but he takes her weight on his lap easily—either because he's recovered enough or because some part of him simply doesn't wish for interface right now, though she'll find the stitched up gash down his back plain as day. Her dress is far less complicated to work with than her costume from the first time. He pushes up the already shortened hem of it, fingers curled around her bare thigh as they kiss. ]

[ She's got an outline of an idea. It's not solid and it's not filled in, but it's there. Geralt, of course, never saw his own back rent open the way she did, and while she doesn't know what they were after from him, she knows they wanted it bad. Really bad. She can only imagine what they did to try and get it.

And it was a show. His heart still seems to be in his chest, rather than in someone's mouth, so it's not the worst torture she's ever seen, but it was a show. It was a Flagg-level display of power for sure, to someone on the court who must be playing a dangerous game. This is on par with sending a cursed man into a city to send a message, with leaving an elevator coated in blood in front of a thousand people, with holding a kangaroo court that culminates in murder televised to a whole city. She hopes that the point got across to the recipient. Got across to them like a steamroller.

Her dress, which is essentially just two sheets of very fine gold mesh stitched together, makes a dull metallic noise as it hits his medallion when she shifts. After a moment, she leans back briefly to unwrap the chain around her neck, bearing a large pendant of her Arcana, and lets it drop down to the couch, still attached to her actual dress, before she comes back and presses her mouth to his jaw, murmuring lightly. ]

Don't you dare bleed on me, Geralt.

[ The clink and jingle of metal and jewellery are familiar sounds by now. He makes a soft noise that passes for a laugh, his head tipped to the side for her lips. ]

I wouldn't dream of it. [ He's not here to kill the mood. Far from it. Though speaking of jingles—her accessory makes another tinkling sound as his fingers bury in her hair, reminding him it's there. He raises an eyebrow, but does not tug it off. Instead, he gently teases the little bells where his hand cups her face. They chime with a fitting sort of cheer. ] And I've been resting.

[ He actually has, as irritating as it's been, and not only because a handful of folk have threatened him. He knows better than to take himself out for an extra week or two by running about too soon. His hand trails down to her shoulder, sliding the strap of her dress off of it. His nails scratch along her skin, most of them grown back from where they'd torn. ]

[ She chuckles against his cheek before kissing his mouth again briefly. There's a more substantial jingle as she moves, slipping her arms free from her dress, which immediately falls into a sparkly pool around her hips. ]

Oh-ho, good boy. If I'd heard otherwise, I was just gonna save us all the hassle, cross the border and murder you myself. But it's a lot easier this way.

[ With a satisfied sigh, she works his shirt untucked and then slides her fingers up his torso, hands flat on his chest. ] I've been tryin' to learn magic. Nadine wants out sooner than later, but where we are is the best place for this kinda magic, I guess.

Mm. You and everyone else.

[ He takes her in as her dress falls free, hands roaming idly over what he's come to learn well. Once his shirt comes loose, he pulls it over his head, dropping it off the side of the plush seat. Like he's assured her, most of him has healed, leaving behind fading marks and a small handful of stitches that have yet to come free. On his front, anyway.

His gaze turns interested. Nadine had mentioned that. Magic, before leaving for the Cities. It isn't a bad idea. ]

She said the magic was unusual in Nott. [ It's the only thing of note he recalls Nadine mentioning. That it was different than the magic learned within the castle. She'd sounded intrigued at the time, though she'd not been able to explain exactly what she meant by that. ]

Edited (i definitely did not accidentally post this before i finished writing it) 2021-12-20 01:35 (UTC)

[ She isn't one to fixate on the scars, make him recount every story and monster, but she does run her fingers over the fresh ones. It's remarkable how fast they healed over, even knowing that he's literally mutated to allow it. It's still incredible to her, as someone who comes from a world where it's not possible.

Eyes rolling thoughtfully, she lazily rocks in his lap as she tries to come up with the best way to explain it. ]

Mm-hm. Well, I don't think it's that unusual, it makes sense to me, but it's not like all the [ She quickly makes a bunch of hand movements, mimicking the things she's seen Nadine do. ] and chantin' and stuff. It's called Wild magic. There's not a lot of memorizin' things or studyin'. Mostly, it's about sorta grabbin' the magic in the air and channelin' it through your emotions and thoughts. I guess that's the best way to describe it. The people in the other cities don't like it much because it's not the most stable kind of magic, it's not as predictable or whatever, and I guess it's easier to teach lots of people how to do stuff that can be taught out of a book.

[ It also appears to require a certain sensitivity to the atmospheric magic that not everyone seems to have. Nadine has made it clear that she doesn't feel it like Julie does, that trying to access that power is not as instinctive as it feels for Julie. The downside, of course, being that it requires a maturity and stability that Julie does not always possess.

The first thing she accidentally did was make fire billow out of the fireplace. So, overall, great omen. ]

[ His hips rise a little to meet her as he bends forward to kiss the dip in her collarbone while she talks. He cups the curve of her breast in his hand. Wild magic sounds like a fitting term. It's something to think about more carefully, when he's less occupied, though he mulls over it nonetheless.

He wonders if it possibly might help Ciri. Her magic is not exactly stable, either, though he can't tell what's truly interference from the Singularity and what is simply Ciri's fear that she isn't capable of controlling herself. Perhaps both is the real answer. ]

It suits you. [ Learning it, he means, the way that she describes. He's curious, but the comment is vaguely distracted, his hand gliding up her leg, underneath where her dress has pooled around them. ]

You callin' me unstable? [ She says it with a low laugh, hand on the back of his neck and threading through his hair, her nails dragging against his scalp.

Looking down, she can see just how raw his back wound still looks, though of course it is considerably more healed than would ever be expected of anyone else. The fact that he's carrying it around even when he doesn't have to does get a mildly disapproving noise from her; it's just not enough to make her actually protest until he expresses pain.

One arm still draped around his shoulder, she shifts her weight to be able to get rid of her dress, which ends up wherever it was his shirt went. Craning her neck down, she kisses him again with a purr. ]

[ His lips curl a hint. ] Full of surprises.

[ Well. Mm. In some ways. In others, he's beginning to learn just who she is. Like that disproving sound she makes, which he definitely sees coming when she peers down at him. He lets himself ignore the vague burning on his back that's pretty much not gone away since in favour of pushing her dress off the couch.

He wraps an arm around her, tilting into the kiss, teeth tugging gently on her lower lip. His nails trail down the bumps and dips of her spine. Her skin is warm, smooth. It's strange, to know that she's met her death, remembers it, and yet bears no mark from it that he's ever seen or felt.

Maybe that's just how it is. Maybe the only marks that matter are the ones that can't be traced, anyway. ]

[ In fairness, her death didn't exactly leave a mark, considering that she was more-or-less exploded, so there wasn't much left to mark. But none of the people that Julie knows are dead have marks from their death, either, and most of them left corpses. Someone more concerned about the timeline aspects of it all would probably have a lot to say about it, but unsurprisingly, people who have died are not keen to think about the subject.

It could just be that death is a scar carried on the soul (or whatever constitutes it), rather than the skin.

Moaning against his mouth, her back arches first toward him, then slightly away as she reaches down to unbutton his trousers, which is, shockingly, much easier when she isn't high as the goddamn moon. She's not exactly willing to move enough to allow for much more than that at the moment, though, and the space between them is gone as quickly as it appeared. Her fingers dig into his shoulders.

She's going to teach him what a zipper is, once they're done. ]

[ His palm splays against her back as she arches. He gives room only when she reaches down for his trousers. His buttons slip free one by one. The second she presses into him again, he's quick to capture her lips once more. His eyes flutter shut for a moment.

He shifts with more care than usual, and distinctly avoids leaning his back to the cushions—but there's no pause, at least, as he tugs her closer. A quiet hunger curls inside him.

Then his arm is under her, moving to either push her against the couch or down on it—he isn't picky about which. ]

[ He leans her back on the couch and she wraps her legs around him as they move, keeping him close. Warmth builds under her skin, around her nerves and in her limbs, and her heart rate is picking up at a steady pace.

Without really thinking about it, she grinds up against him and whines, one hand curling back into his hair. Between the give of the cushions and his weight over her, she feels like she's sinking in the best possible way. Her voice is silky, breathy, when she breaks away just for air, for a second. ] Geralt...

[ The moment she leans back, he curves over her, knees planted on either side. If anything is meant to hurt, he's not thinking about it right now. Her heart flutters, thrums in his ears. A short pause so he can kick off his boots and tug his trousers free, shoving everything off the couch—and then his lips are back on hers, on her skin.

It is, fortunately, a damn big couch. He fits easily on it as he presses down to meet the rise of her hips. Heat and friction draw a sharp exhale out of him; the tail end of his name is swallowed up when he kisses her, thumb tracing the line of her jaw.

There is pleasure and there is forgetting, and he lets both pull him under. She's warm, the cushions plush, the room a dizzying floral pink, and it's all such a distant cry from the cold dark floors that have refused to leave him. It drags more than a deep want through him as he leans into her hands. ]

[ One thing that can be said about this strange, artfully cluttered living space Julie has made for herself is that every single piece of furniture contained within it is incredibly large and comfortable. She has spent far too much of her life being uncomfortable, and she does not intend to continue that in a place where she can have anything she can think of. Anything her ass sits on in this domain will be plush.

His mouth catches a gasp in addition to his name, and her neck arches as her eyes squeeze shut. Her free hand presses against his chest, where she can't even feel his heartbeat over her own pulse throbbing in her veins, until all she can do is clutch his bicep. She crosses her ankles together and digs her heel into the small of his back, rolls against him with a cry.

Behind her eyelids, everything goes away for the first time in ages -- the ghosts and the magic and his back torn open, weeping blood into her sheets. There's only him filling up every one of her senses. ]

[ His teeth catch her lip, fingers buried in her hair. His heart beats slow, as always, if she were to finally feel it, but it's quicker than its usual. Fast, for what he is. Now that they're here, tangled up with each other, her nails digging into his arm, hungry, he wastes little time in giving her what she's seeking—lets himself sink inside with a heavy breath.

As her heel digs against him, he reaches down to hitch her leg over his hip. A jolt sparks up his spine, draws a sharp sound from him. He pins her down with his other hand, with just enough of his weight on her like a promise, or maybe a question for how much more she wants so he can grant it.

For the moment, what happened, the marks he carries from it—none of that's on his mind, and his back arches easily. There are benefits to finding each other in the Horizon instead of the world outside. That, and it can be as quiet as they want, as private as they want, with whatever the fuck they want in it. He's often wary of falling too deep into a plane shaped entirely by a whim, but now and again—perhaps it isn't altogether beyond him to indulge. And Julie has always been especially good at bringing out indulgences. ]

[ There is, after far too long, a beat under her hand. Another pause and then a second beat. It's bizarre and so uniquely him, and before she lets her mind blank completely, it is one thing she makes a mental note to actually inquire about.

She pants and presses her nose to his jaw, swallowing hard before she's able to catch enough breath to speak. Wrapping her hand around his wrist where he holds her down, she opens her eyes again. When she looks up at him, it's with dark, heavy-lidded eyes, and her voice is rough. ]

I ain't made of glass, baby.

Hm. [ No. He imagines she is not.

And that's more than plenty by way of permission for him. His hand pulls free of her grasp, slides down her arm, curls around her wrist in turn—and then he's pinning that down, just over her head. He tightens his grip until he can feel her pulse racing beneath his palm, the heated skin alongside his own.

A need rises as he kisses her, burning hot. She always tastes at once the same and a little different each time—what liquor of choice she's had earlier. He rocks against her, in her; now that he's come to know her, he finds that rhythm with her easily. ]

[ ~~Well, ladies who are made of glass are usually quite transparent about it. I'm sorry for this pun.~~

She meets his lips with teeth and ferocity, thighs tightening around his sides as she matches his pace. Scorching desire ripples through her limbs, her stomach, her hips, burns from the inside. Her free hand drags across his back, shoulder to shoulder, nails dug in. A very dim awareness of everything outside of herself keeps her hand high, though, high enough up that she should be clear of the wound.

When she finally breaks away to catch a breath, moaning, she breathes heavily and puts her forehead to his temple, cooing his name against his skin. ]

[ ~~worth it~~

Her nails send a light shiver through him and his shoulders roll under her grasp. He's not thinking about the gash that splits down his back or that it should more than burn right now. He doesn't want to. There's just the bite of her grip, like pinpricks.

Their foreheads touch and his eyes open again. They gleam where they catch the light, underneath heavy lids—an almost animal shine before they vanish as he presses his lips to the other side of her throat. He gives her his teeth, scraping, and he wants. Fuck. More. More of the same in return, more of the sharpness of her nails digging into his skin and skirting the lash marks there, of the way her thighs squeeze around him where his ribs should be bruising (are bruising, out there.)

The word slips out between a jagged breath: low, rumbling from inside his chest. ] Harder.

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nsfw on down

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