I, Icarus, and He, The Sun

Not my gif,

unsure about continuin, posting mainly for a little bit of feedback <33

Bleeding out in that forest, Jaskier realized a number of things. One, that now his father really would need to find a new successor, tragic. Two, he could see the night sky from where he had collapsed, luckily, the stars were always his friends, he was glad to die in sight of them. And Three, there were very loud footsteps heading his way, and to be honest, all he could hope for is that his soul would be long gone before they found his body.

He let out a shuddering breath as he listened to his favorite poetry. The poetry of the earth. Whispers emanated from the leaves around him, the wind the giving force allowing them to speak. Singing danced from the stream to his right, the water running over the rocks producing the perfect harmony. The melody of the symphony came from his own shuddering lungs as he studied the stars for what may well be his last minutes.

His mind inevitably wandered as his eyes grew tired and legs fell week. Jaskier first thought of his tavern, and who it would now go to, even he didn’t know the answer to that one, but he sincerely hoped it was Ciri, he had grown very close to the girl in such a short amount of time. He then thought of Yennifer. Oh Yennifer, and all her breathtaking appearance and personality, the one he constantly tried to outdo, outprove, and outperform. She was glorious, Jaskier wished he had been nicer, she would be good for him. Ah, yes, him. Facing the thought that always lingered in the background, even if he was unaware. Him, the one person that he sought out when he was in low spirits, and stuck by through the winter nights, if only for a glimpse of returned affection shown through his golden eyes. The eyes that inspired some of his most popular sonnets.

And just as suddenly as before, Jaskier realized just why Icarus didn’t hesitate to fly into the sun even if it would burn him alive. For Jaskier was Icarus, and he, The Sun.

To Live and Lose | Levi Ackerman

When you first ascended the stairs to come above ground, did you choke on how much air there was up here?" Your empty voice rang out around you, tears glistening on your cheeks. You stood at the very edge of the cliff that plunged straight down into a river that you could hear but not see. Toes over the edge, a few inches further and you would fall to your death.

"Yes, and I felt that way again my first time out of the walls." The man that stood somewhere behind you responded, a worried tone laced in the words he spoke. "And the first time i saw the pure sunlight my vision was filled with nothing but burning light for hours."

An empty cackle escaped from your cracked lips, "The only thing I choked on outside of those walls was the stench of death, and it seems to have followed us right back in here."

x

The night before the first encounter...

It was disgusting, it was abhorrent. No sane person would voluntarily live in such a place, but fate was a cruel and fickle thing, damning  you to be born into the underground city. It was volatile, it was grimy, but it was all you knew for the 17 years you had been alive, for better or worse. You had a plan though, a plan that your mother came up with when you were nothing but a child: as soon as you turned 18, you would apply for citizenship above ground. The MPs that now frequented your services would serve as your required recommendations. You knew that it was a long shot, the MPs weren't likely to give recommendations due to the possibility of loosing their favorite girl. The brothel owner, Mr.Densy, would also be hesitant to let you get away that easily, he had ways of making people stay. It wasn't likely to happen, but you would never give up the small sliver of hope that had taken root in your chest at the thought of getting out.

You started to slip on the clothes you wore for work at the brothel. They were supplied by Mr.Densy and were skimpy, bright, and hugged your body in a way that was sinful and perfect for the brothel that you had been roped into working at when you were about 13. You slipped on the dull coat to offset the attention the bright clothes would bring. Attention in these parts got people killed. You drew you cloak closer around yourself as you shivered. Your mom had a saying when she would leave for the night to work, her melodic voice speaking the words every night was still engrained into your head, "Leave your mind at home to survive the night". You never understood what it meant until you got into the work yourself.

The brothel wasn't too far from where you lived, but the path there was full of twists and turns in order to avoid the places populated with thieves in the nights and early mornings. Your feet, however, knew exactly where to go and at which times to turn due to 4 years of using this path to the brothel every night and to home every morning. You stepped out of your house, securing the door before letting your feet carry you the way they knew you needed to go. As you rounded the last corner, the dingy building coming into view. A sigh of relief left your lips to have made it without incident. It wasn't rare to be caught up in a con to either steal from you, prey on you, or take advantage of you. And unfortunately, you were more than powerless to fight back, knowing how girls who tried to wound up. Those girls' bodies were usually found a few days later, evidence of being raped repeatedly and beat to a bloody mess evident on each of them. Violent flashes would always run through your mind thinking about the day your mother was found. No justice would come for those girls in a place like this.

In public, you had been 'promised' a job at the brothel every since your mother turned up dead when you were a mere 11 years old, In reality Mr.Densy had fed you stories about how your mom owed him a lot of money, and you, being raised the kind and generous person your mother wanted you to be, immediately felt guilty, so you begrudgingly accepted to work to pay off your mother's 'debt'. Which seemed to double the longer you worked there. Mr.Densy took a 40% interest rate on whatever you made in order to pay the debts. Alas, fate had been playing cruel games on you once again, and you ended up quite beautiful to even above ground standards according to your clients. Your outward appearance was just as beautiful as your soul, and it attracted the few Noble and Military men that would find their way down to the brothel for companionship. Mr.Densy had told you many times that you were his prize girl, the attention you received always managing to fill your coin purse and his. He favored you so much that he wouldn't let the men who lived in the underground become one of your clients, as to not 'taint' you with underground stench. Your body was now strictly reserved for the Military and Noble men that descended from the cities above your head.

The other women of the brothel would always look upon you with pity in their eyes, wishing a different fate for a person like you. They had constantly told you that you had to do whatever it took to get out of this place you called home. Telling you that it would never be good enough for you. Your mother's best friend of sorts always told you that a place as revolting and monstrous the underground would eventually reject someone as gorgeous and kindhearted such as yourself. When you were a mere 13 years of age and a fresh face in the brothel, they would look out for you. After you had your first rough coustomer, your mother's best friend was there to make sure you didn't scrub your skin off during your bath the next morning. They were sisters to you. Once you got older, however, they distanced themselves from you. Your mother's best friend who was once so close to you, became nothing more than a simple nod on the paths of the underground. You understood why they did that. Groups of women received unwanted attention here, it was easier to walk and live alone, hugging the shadows. Staying close was a death sentence that none of you wanted carried out.

You arrived to the brothel thanks to your body's muscle memory. You gingerly reached your hand out of the inner folds of your coat and opened the door that lead into the back room. The smell of cheap perfume and booze permeated the air, the stench so clear that it almost made you gag. A voice rang out in the mostly empty room you had entered, "Ah! There's my favorite girl!" Mr.Densy always waited in the back room for you to arrive when it was your turn for a shift. If you were late at all, he would be the first to respond. From the outside, it could be as endearing, but you knew better, you were nothing but money to him, and he never wanted to loose out on something so valuable. "Hello Mr.Densy." your voice was soft, almost unheard as you let your coat fall into your hands delicately in order to hang it onto a small rusted nail in the wall. The hot air of the brothel clung to the skin you exposed. "Your client is already in your reserved room." He responded, his heavy steps almost like thunder as he walked toward you. "It's the new kings man, so be careful and leave a good impression. And if he wants to get rough with you, don't refuse, just tell him your price goes up with every bruise." You almost shivered at the greed laced in the words that we're just spoken, nodding as to convey your understanding of the terms. "Is he married?" You asked, finally turning towards Mr.Densy. He ignored your question and instead his eyes traveled slowly down your form, his gaze inspecting your body, makeup, and clothes for any faults before shooing you through the door on the other side of the room. You stumbled over your feet before he pushed you gently out of the room and shut the door behind you, effectively forcing you to continue to your new client. It would, after all, be a death sentence to walk out the front door to return to your house.

You made your way up the two flights of stairs, careful not to disturb the other girls at work. Your steps were swift but lagging, dreading to have to attend to another new and powerful client. You dreaded having to hear the pillow talk about how he will get you out of this disgusting place, and dreaded even more the moment you would play right along with it. These men liked to feel like a knight in shining armor and always were able to play out their fantasy by making you their 'Damsel in Distress' that they had to save from a wretched life. You ascended the last step and walked to one of the only two rooms on this level. Pausing a second before you opened the door, putting on a façade of an innocent and unassuming young girl. You sent a quick prayer to whatever god or goddess that was up there to hear it, and slowly opened the door.