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what-the--curtains · 3 years

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There Are No Wolves in the Desert

Part 2 - The Tell Tale Knife

(Oberyn Martell x f!reader)

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Summary: After the death of his paramour Oberyn seeks out a local mercenary known as the Shadow Hunter, but who he finds is more valuable than he could have imagined.

Authors notes: Thank you for all the comments, likes and reblogs! I’ve loved Robb and Oberyn since I read the books like 10 years ago now (yes my parent gave me that book when I was like 13 😂) I’m so happy to finally write down whats been in my head for years! Thank you for letting me share it with you💕💕 as per usual let me know if youd like a tag (or untag)!

Tw: Alcohol, violence, threats of sexual assault, swearing, nudity (implied), mentions of sex.

Word count: 4.5 k

Tagged: @evyiione @ayamenimthiriel @xsadderdazeforeverx @agingerindenial (if i missed anyone please let me know im the worst for tagging!!)

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3 years later

The days passed slowly while you remained tucked away, out of sight from those seeking to do you harm. A generous payment kept you safe in the attic of a local blacksmith, the promise of more ensuring you wouldn't be sold out. Once the imminent threat of assasination was over you focused on staying alive, finding the dragon queen becoming a distant memory, one that would have to wait until a more opportune moment presented itself. You used the last of your funds to purchase a horse and sought out work where you could. For a while you served as a healer to those returning from the fighting pits and other skirmishes occurring between nearby cities, until a Lannister soldier showed up searching for you. After that you moved further out of town finding work at a tavern miles from the city walls catering to a variety of characters travelling from near and far.

The owners were good folk, a retired sculptor, her wife and two young children. You’d stopped in for a drink with plans on heading further south, but an incident changed your course. A man came in threatening the owners demanding a payout when you’d stepped in, the man thought it would be easy, and it was at least for you. You helped them bury the body and they’d asked you to stay and so you did; tending to bar, training the horses and offering protection when needed. In return they offered you a bed, hot meals and a small salary despite your insistence that room and board was more than enough. It was a quiet life, a simple life, but one you enjoyed greatly. The noise of war and murder a ditant cry. Only in your sleep were you reminded of the cruelty of the world. The restful days quickly turned to weeks and it wasn't long until a year had passed, as had the memories of who you were.

The rumour of your murder had spread slowly from king landing, uttered from between the poisonous lips of Cersei Lannister, a lie you prayed one day would come back to haunt her. The day the news reached the ears of your employers you knew it was time to leave, and you rode back through the golden gates of the city. You’d resold the horse to a palace guard whose wife worked with the royal stables, training them, breeding them, caring for them, a good place for a faithful friend to live out its days. Noticing the weapons on your back the guard offered you a fee to find and kill a man who had snuck into the palace and murdered three of his wife's favourite horses after their daughter had refused his hand in marriage. He was dead within the hour, and from there the word of your skill in both tracking and murder got around amougst the nobility, and you fell haphhazourdly into mercenary work. If there was one skill you could rely on, it was your ability to unabashedly kill and you quickly became one of Dornes finest assassins. You fell into the work, the ease at which you became accustomed to it frightened you at first, but you had been hardened by loss, and it wasn't as if you hadn’t killed before.

Any semblance of emotional morality long forgotten, unable, or not wanting to have it all come seeping back, fearful of what may surface as a result. Most of your money went to keeping you fed, well rested and off any enemy radars. After the first month, money became more lucrative and you had splashed out on new armoury and weapons, nothing flashy like some of the more ornate dornish assassins who made a show of their profession. They were harmless, though admittedly annoying and from what you heard, not nearly as impressive as they boasted. Your armour was simple, lightweight leather over loose, breathable cloth, and a dark cloak, Its hood heavy and kept drawn well up over your eyes obscuring your face from prying eyes at all times. A shadow on the wall. Your weapons were similar to your clothes, your short swords and longbow were well crafted and durable, no decoration but for a few carved vines wrapped around their ends. Your only remaining identifiers were your eyes, and the dagger belonging to your late husband which stayed with you at all times, always within reach. Any remaining money was hidden away about the city, a retirement fund if you will, assuming you lived that long.

There were bonuses beside finances in your line of work, your ability to disappear into a crowd kept you in touch with the rumour mill. Words and secrets would fall from drunken mouths carelessly. Most of it stank worse than the horse's field after rain, but there were some that rang true, and a few that even brought a rare smile to your face. A young woman had spoken loudly about Tywin Lannister's death and how he’d supposedly died on the privy, causing you to snort into your soup, a fitting end for a coward of a man.

A month later you heard that the prince of Dorne had gone to King's Landing to fight for Tyrion, where he supposedly defeated a man standing well over 12 feet tall. A tall tale of a tall man you think, knowing how royal always sought to increase the truth of their abilities. You had also heard the unfortunate news of Ellaria Sands poisoning , the venom not reaching her veins until the ship had sailed out, no remedy to be found on the vaste seascape. It was a shame, she and the Sand Snakes were skilled adversaries here and they had since scattered in search of answers and allies around the seven kingdoms, to help avenge their mother. The prince apparently had to be restrained to stop him from turning the ship around, that was a story you found more believable. From what you’d heard the prince may have many lovers but he would go to war for any of them. You’d never seen his face, except for on the back of coins or from a distance. If you had you may have noticed him enter into the tavern where you sat awaiting your payment from your most recent client.

Your eyes stay on the table, your hood pulled up well over your forehead giving you a frightening silhouette beneath the candlelight that was beginning to glow more prominently as the sun set. The young man who commissioned you entered, he stank of wine and privilege, but he was rich and the payment promised was well worth putting up with his unsavoury personality. His true odor protrudes through the thin veil of perfume attempting to mask his stench, alerting you to his presence well before he’d sat down. Your time alone had heightened your tracking skills, a side effect of living under the constant threat of being hunted. The wiry man sits down next to you, his thin fingers snapping under your eyes in an attempt to get your attention, you inhale deeply, drawing yourself back to your displeasing reality and forced social interactions.

“Where's the money?” you ask, knife whittling a notch out of the table's leg with Robbs dagger.

“Where the head?” he retorts, and you pull out a small sack, shoving it into his hand watching as he pulls at the drawstring, opening the velvet bag. He raises his eyebrows and pulls out the index finger you'd removed from the corpse.

“Head was…. indisposed. I hope this satisfies,” you murmur, this job had been messier than you intended. You typically weren't so reckless especially with a noble.

“ Very much so, ” he says taking it and turning it in his hands

“The money then,” you restate, tone flat.

“Well there's one more... proposition I had.” He states, hand resting down on your thigh.

“I'll take the money for this job then you can hand me the next target,” you respond, sighing heavily, used to people getting handsy with you.

“You can make extra on this job if you play your cards right,” he whispers, hand running up your thigh. The other reaches up to pull back on your hood within seconds your dagger had impaled his hand, pining it to the table. His wail of anguish causes the heads in the tavern to turn briefly towards the scene before returning to their lively chatter.

“You stupid bitch,” he spits making a grab for the knife but you reach forward pushing it further into the table leaning in towards him.

“The money, or I cut off your head and mount it on the wall of this tavern,” you say, louder than intended.

Oberyn watches from the bar in amusement , the last time he’d seen fire like that had come from Ellaria. He needed someone to help get his revenge, someone willing to murder a man in front of witnesses, his birds had been right, this mercenary was the one for the job.

You rip the knife from the man's hand as he throws you the coinpurse you were owed you reach for it as he stands.

“Bitch,” he spits, liquid hitting the side of your face as he pulls down your hood “you better watch you back mercenary, I'll be taking you from behind in no time.” He snarls, as you hurry to pull your cover back up.

“Clever,” you retort, wiping your face, shaking out the purse and counting your pay out. Empty threats. Or threats you didn’t care about, you could kill scum like that in your sleep, and you had. You mutter another curse under your breath at being exposed, the latest delay in dye shipments had allowed the roots of your white hair to protrude through, lucky everyone inside was too drunk to notice. The money from the job was enough to keep a roof over your head for the foreseeable future, maybe even enough for a bath, it was getting to be that time. You go to stand, you had an ‘appointment’ in town, one with a handsome payout. Before you can stand you see a pair of hands adorned in jewellery slip into your view a scent of sweet fruit and honey indicating a cleanliness and a high status, a very high status, your appointment could wait.

Obery was observant, his eyes had been glued to you even while conversing with the beautiful patrons of the bar, not wanting to lose you in the crowd. “The shadow tracker”. That’s what you had been dubbed by those residing in the city according to his sources, clients of yours pleased with your services, services he was in need of. It seems you may bear more than one secret identity, it may have been for the briefest second, but the colour of your hair stood out against the dark fabric you wore. It intrigued him, white hair was uncommon in those of your age, very rare. In fact he only knew of one person still alive with such a trait. The other, one whom he’d sent a wedding gift to years prior, was long dead, or so the Lannister would have him believe, and when has he ever trusted the word of child murderers. He may have come here in seek of a mercenary, but what he found may prove to be even more valuable to his cause.

“Payments 50 for a nobody, rate goes up with each class, royals are above my paygrade, and nobles will cost you at least 6 of those fancy rings on your fingers,” you list, taking note of the martell sigil embellished on one of the larger rings.

“How much would it be to convince a wolf to take down a Lion,” he queries, hunching his head down to try and catch a glimpse of the eyes under the hood. Your heart drops.

“Above the pay grade, couple down at the docks have a death wish, you might try your luck there,” you explain, deepening your voice slightly in an attempt to disguise yourself.

“And what would be your wish, if you could have it?” he queries, leaning back kicking his feet up onto the stool beside you. As he does the yellow of his robes come into your peripheral the suns intricately stitched on, shining against the murk of the tavern's tile floor.

“To be left alone,” you chide, this was someone well acquainted with the royals here, you didn't deal with royalty, more trouble than they're worth.

“What's that old saying? The lone wolf dies, or am I mistaken? ” he returns, chuckling slightly.

“I don’t know who you think I am but I assure you…” you say, eyes finally raising, only then realizing the prince of Dorne sat before you, at least based on his impression on one of the coins in your hand.

“Lady Stark, I was hoping we’d meet face to face,” he remarks, the long forgotten address catching you off guard causing your eyes to shoot back down.

“Lady Stark died, the Lannisters ground up her body and fed it to the king's direwolf before killing it, haven’t you heard?” you say sarcastically, pulling your knife out of the table, unsure if he’d recognized it.

“Propaganda, set to diminish the power of the north,” he says, watching the blade intently as it's pulled from the table.

“I do not know if Lady Stark is alive, but for a price I could find out, granted you tell me what you need her for,” you mutter.

“I did not come here in search of Lady Stark. I came seeking a mercenary, the so-called “shadow tracker” however, this is a most welcome surprise, as for why I need you, or her, the answer is revenge plain and simple.”

“Is that what they call me?” you remark “ So you seek out a mercenary only to find something better, something you can trade?” you pose shaking your head.

“No, I needed an assassin, but found something better. Something more lethal.” He pauses.

“Which is?” you prompt, hoping to end this conversation sooner rather than later.

“One they think is dead. Besides I figured Lady Stark would want the opportunity to take down the Lannisters.”

“I assume she would, though she may think the offer stands too good to be true,” you state, gathering up your payment and making your exit he follows suit, stopping briefly to gently nudge his hand under the chin of an attractive man standing near the door, no doubt planning on returning later.

“The desert is no place for a wolf,” he calls after you, a significant distance between the two of you now.

“I shall let you know if I see such a sight, my prince,” you shout, dramatically curtsying before turning on your heel and walking off. He smiles before re-entering the tavern.

A week later

You stroll through the dark alleys of the city, a few years ago you wouldn’t have dared ventured out so late. The woods were known to you, their dangers and sights predictable, but the city was uncharted territory. While a bear could be trusted to do as bears do, the movements of man were less predictable. Your work kept you attune to the veins of the city and the people that coursed through them. You knew where to go and where to avoid depending on the day. You knew the sounds, able to pick out when something was amiss and tonight something was. The usual scurry of the rats below or the call of the parrots from above were absent, someone had been through here and not long ago. Your hand dips into the folds of your cape and you throw your dagger catching a man in the neck. You lean over and remove it from his jugular, the blood flowing out from the wound. Before you can turn him over, something hits you knocking you forward onto your stomach. You’re lifted from the ground by the nape of your neck. Your hoods pulled down and your head pulled up to see the foul smelling client and two other assassins standing before you.

“Dirron, Brant, always a pleasure” you snarl

“No hard feelings Shadow, you’re taking out all the business” Brant responds.

“How much is he paying you? Not enough I bet he didn't pay me enough. I'll double it if you let me walk.” you plead, but they shake their heads.

“I paid you more than your worth,” he spits, gesturing to the man behind you and he lifts you up slamming you into a nearby wall pressing your face against the rough brick. You can taste the blood beginning to gather in your mouth. He releases you, handing you over to the unpleasant smelling man who brings the dagger you’d dropped into your view, pressing the steel against your cheek as he begins to speak.

“This dagger belonged to Robb Stark.”

“Did it? I stole it from a client months ago,” you say, elbowing him in the stomach causing him to drop the blade. You catch it, and drive it deep into his knee. He falls, and you unsheathe his sword and throw it catching Dirron in the chest. The large brute gets to you before your next move knocking you in the stomach and pinning you back up against the wall.

“Told you I'd have you from behind,” the client says, limping over to you and spitting on the side of your face. As the moisture hits your flesh a spear pierces through his chest , pinning him to a nearby crate as the remaining two men scatter. You push yourself up spinning to see the prince standing in the alley picking up your dagger.

“Of all the souvenirs to keep, this…” he starts, examining the blade before continuing “ is the most telling. Even with your distinct traits, the Young Wolf's knife is well known, especially by those who saw it made. Dornish steel,” he explains tossing it in the air catching it by the blade and handing it back to you by its handle.

“As I just finished explaining to your dear friend there, I stole that,” you lie, taking it from him.

“No you didn’t,” he says, eyes bright even in the dark, a familiar smirk on his lips, clearly bemused by your attempts at lying.

“Yes I did,” you retort, refusing to let up on your façade.

“Shall we debate it over a drink?” he asks, retrieving his spear from the client's body which falls to the ground with an unpleasant thunk.

“A prince slumming it with the poor?” you ask watching as he uses the dead man's silks to wipe his weapon before turning back to you.

“My enjoyment of life precludes class,” he says offering you his arm

“As you speak from your riches,” you point out, watching him run his tongue along his upper lip.

“We are not as antiquated in our ideologies here, class here is less pronounced” he assures you.

“Is it?” you argue, pushing down on his extended arm and he shrugs his shoulder in defeat, pride faltering only for a fragment of a second at the notion of being rejected. The streets are busy tonight, the warm weather bringing the people out en masse to enjoy the city's nightlife. He brings his hand up to usher you into a nearby tavern by the small of your back, but thinks twice and drops it, not wanting to lose it. As you enter he raises his hand and winks at the barkeep before following you towards the back near the window sill.

“What will it cost you?” you inquire as he sits down, watching over his shoulder as the person behind the bar pours out a decanter of wine.

“What?” he asks, the downturn of his mouth and creased forehead painting a picture of confusion.

“To let me leave here, to keep this a secret, the two men who escaped know who I am now. My time here is up.” you confess as the decanter is placed on the table the bartenders hands trailing across his shoulders causing him to smile fondly up at them.

“I do not wish you to be found. It would ruin the plans I have,” he says, slowly turning his attention back to you, offering you wine. You stare at the decanter, then to him before shaking your head causing him to chuckle

“What? Have I said something amusing? “ you question, almost annoyed.

“Untrusting,” he remarks, taking a sip of the liquid before offering it to you once again. You reach over the table grabbing the cup from his hand.

“I am untrusting because in my experience people cannot be trusted,” you explain taking a sip.

“You husband certainly lied about marrying the Frey girl,” he remarks, leaning back into his seat, arms spreading out across the chairs back.

“I’ve never been married,” you state, wanting nothing more than to punch the smug look off his face.”

“You're good,” he says, eyes giving you the once over.

“At what?”

“Lying, well perhaps not good per say but committed, i'll give you that, you fight in a similar manner.” he presses, hoping to get a rise out of you.

“So, you think I can’t fight,” you say, shaking your head with a laugh

“Your words,” he states.

“I did not come here to be insulted by the likes of you, prince or not,” you scold, sitting up.

“I didn't mean to offend,” he remarks, eyes watching your movements, evidently he’d touched a nerve.

“Didn’t you?” you query, tilting your head.

“No, truly it was not my intention, I merely believe upon improvement,” he explains.

“Hard to improve without practice, hard to practice on your own,” you state, moving to leave, the prince drawing too much attention than you wanted on you. You down the rest of your wine and utter a ‘thank you for the drink’ before bidding him a farewell and exiting the bar. You don't make it far, seemingly unable to shake him.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“That’s privileged information,” you say, turning to face him walking backwards along the cobbled streets. His eyes fall to you before looking up to the heavens, the stars were bright tonight illuminating his features. The rumours of him held true in one area undoubtedly, he was handsome.

“Come back to the palace with me.” He says, eyes still gazing up at the sky.

“I have no intention of divulging in your pleasure my prince, my heart belongs to another, I swore I wouldn’t stray from him even in death,” you reply, turning back to walk forward spitting blood out onto the street, sure one of your teeth must have been knocked out in the earlier fight.

“While I disagree with more than one of those statements I did not mean to imply, though I would be remiss to say it wouldn’t be of great honour. I heard the Young Wolf betrayed an entire kingdom for you.” he says eyes once again on you, trying to catch a glimpse of your features obscured by the hood.

“Are you suggesting I got my husband killed?” you muse, hearing him tut in disagreement

“You’re dirty, you’re tired, you’re injured and at risk of murder, the palace offers you a safe place to recuperate.”

“And what do you expect in return?” you ask.

“I simply wish to offer you a proposition once you are rested, if you decline, you are free to leave. I will ensure you are transported to a safe location where no one knows you.”

Perhaps it was the itching of your skin, or the way the dye was clinging your out of control hair or maybe it was being allowed to be who you once were, but you agree.

“This is Shana she will help you, unless you prefer a male companion, though I would gladly offer my services” he says, gesturing to an older woman of great beauty.

“I can bath myself, thank you though,” you say, turning and nodding to the woman who bows her head and exits the bathhouse.

“Whatever you wish, I'll have her bring you clothes while we clean yours... if we can clean yours” he muses, the remark cracking a smile in your icy demeanour. He leaves and you undress placing your clothes outside the door as requested. Your bare feet feel refreshed against the cool orange tiles of the bath house, the area evidently meant for the use of many people. Multicoloured tulip petals float atop the water filling your nostril with an aroma unlike one you’d ever known. The steam from the water rises in the cool air of the night and you dip your toe in water proceeding to the steps.

You stride into the water allowing your lower half to adjust to the heat before fully sinking in to cover your shoulder. Immediately the dye in your hair begins to leak into the water blending together with the built up mud and blood that has been stuck to you since your last clean. You scrub your skin until the scars scattered across your body are once again visible in the moonlight. Your hand pauses over the wound above your shoulder, memories of Robb flooding back in, as you assume your true identity for the first time in years.

You dunk your head under the water, scrubbing to remove grime from your face and to work out the last of the dye until it's all gone, your hair returned to its original state. You stay in the water for a while enjoying the heat, but sitting in your own filth is no longer a luxury and you stand up and dry yourself off. Pulling on a robe hung up for you as if they knew you’d be there that night. The cool air hits you as you exit, a welcome relief compared to the heavy heat carried around while wearing your armour. One of the palace guards leads you to your bed chamber, the bed is large and the room even larger. Tiles from floor to ceiling apart from the windows which opened up to the balcony allowing the breeze in at night. You step out onto it, hand trailing through the flowers growing along the bannisters. You thank the guard and he closes the large wooden doors leaving you to change into an orange gown true to the style in Dorne. The thin material leaves little to the imagination, but it would prove good for sleeping though not much else. You turn your head to the room's table where clothes better suited for your line of work sit. Your weapons had been cleaned and lined up across the corner of the room, your dagger shined and stabbed into the wood, holding a note in place.

“Dramatic,” you chuckle, pulling out the knife retrieving the note and opening it ‘winter is coming’ you recognize the handwriting immediately, it had been years but you'd never forgotten the letter you'd received the day at the docks. Perhaps the prince could be trusted after all. You hesitate before folding the note up and placing it back down on the table, walking over to the large bed and falling asleep with the knife tucked securely under your pillow, just in case.

#oberyn martell x you #prince oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #prince oberyn #oberyn x you #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x y/n #game of thrones fanfiction #There Are No Wolves in the Desert #part 2 #pedro pascal characters

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bellshells · 4 years

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Splitting Hairs ch.5

Bore da pawb! This is chapter five lads! Summary: Sev isn’t feeling great and overhears a heated conversation. Also, smut. Warnings: Swearing, smut, general angst.

Severus Snape x OC

Word Count: 3008

Previous Chapter: Next Chapter: Start from the beginning

He was in bed. But it wasn’t his bed. The feel of the cotton sheets was unfamiliar on his skin, but the slight floral scent was one he had smelled before, but not in a long time. He opened his eyes slowly, adjusting to the dim light with ease; he was used to the dark. He wasn’t in his room, but he had been here before. The dark wooden panelling of the walls engraved with pomegranates and elm trees were a welcome sight. It must be near day break, he thought. He could hear someone breathing softly beside him and instinctively he extended his arms, reaching for the sleeping body next to his. His hands met locks of thick red, he twisted the tendrils around his fingers and examined the change in colour as the emerging sunlight danced through the window. The person attached to the hair stirred and turned to him with a smile. “Good morning.” “Morning,” he replied, he wrapped them in his arms and pulled them tight to his chest. The person welcomed his embrace and clung tightly to his shoulders. “Did you sleep well?” “Like the dead.” He was amused by that and pressed a long kiss to their forehead. He looked down to where their face was now pressed against his shoulder, green eyes burning into his. “Lily?” He asked. He waited a moment before she hummed in acknowledgement. “This is a dream, isn’t it?”

Lily lifted her head and shifted to support her weight onto her elbows, a small sad smile settled onto her lips. “Yes, my love, I’m afraid it is.” She said softly. Severus closed his eyes again, afraid then when he opened them again, he would be awake, and Lily would be gone. “Can’t you stay? I really miss you.” It was barely a whisper, Severus was afraid if he were to speak any louder, his voice would break. Lily laughed gently and deftly moved stray wisps of hair from Severus’ eyes. “No Sevvy, I can’t. You know that.” She said and Severus grunted. “You need to wake up now.” Severus groaned and grasped at Lily, he pulled her even closer and rolled over until he was on top of her. She smiled up at him as she placed both hands either side of his face. “You need to look past the disapprobation,” She said decidedly and with an authority Severus hadn’t seen in years. “Look past and be happy.” “Am I to know what the means?” Severus mumbled, he brought his lips down to meet hers but before he could, Lily placed a finger on his lips and gave him a fierce look. “Look past.”

Severus woke with a start. He gasped for breath, the stale air of his room almost suffocating. He rubbed his eyes again and again, though they still stung with tiredness. Although he had slept a long while, he did not feel rested in the slightest. In truth, he felt rotten. Severus unwillingly pushed the covers from him and placed his bare feet onto the cold floor with a sigh. Was it really only Tuesday? At least he had two hours of free time this morning before his lessons commenced after lunch. Still, with the mock O.W.L tests fast approaching before Christmas, he knew he should be in his office to prepare. He was slow to dress, he was sluggish and in dire need of some motivation. Severus had a strange feeling deep in his stomach, it wasn’t the guilt he had become accustomed to, its pulsating pain was reminiscent of the grief he had carried with him since the end of the war. Severus longed to be asleep again. That dream had been so real it was almost tangible. ‘Look past the disapprobation’, Lily had said. Whatever that meant. It was so like her, even in dream form she couldn’t help but speak in riddles. She had always made him work for everything, and even in death it seemed she had not quelled that inane skill.

He made his way to his classroom with no real sense of urgency. He hadn’t seen anybody on the way, which was a blessing. It was also unlikely that anybody would knock on his door, his students were ever inclined to not seek out the potions master if they really didn’t have to. Severus tried to busy himself with preparing revision guides, it was one thing that he prided himself on. For those that were willing, he would produce every material necessary to ensure his students were prepared for any potion’s exam. But, if they didn’t care, neither did he. He soon tired of it though, there was nothing interesting enough to distract him from his foul mood. Severus mulled over the idea of going into the Great Hall for his lunch. He quickly decided against it and instead decided to find Minerva and have a quiet bite in her office. He needed to tell someone about his dream, and he knew Minerva would listen intently and reassure him that it was just his subconscious; that he had nothing to worry about. Yes, logical brained Minerva was his best bet.

Severus flew through the corridors in a flurry of black robes. He ignored every person he passed, whether they were staff or not. He had neither the time nor the patience to engage in conversation. He rounded a corner that took him passed Valentine’s classroom and slowed as he heard raised voices inside. “That’s just the thing though,” he heard the unmistakable timbre of Valentine’s slight welsh twang from the other side of the door. “You’re not in my position, so I would like it if you didn’t profess to be.” She sounded furious, he could hear footsteps coming towards him and he shrunk back, fearful that the door would fly open and he would be caught eavesdropping. “Elizabeth, I didn’t mean any offence.” Was that…the headmaster? Severus gasped as he heard Albus attempt to placate Valentine from the inside of the classroom. He pressed his ear against the wood, desperate to hear the pair. “It certainly doesn’t feel like that though. I’m doing my best Albus, surely you know that?” “I don’t doubt it my dear, I’m merely suggesting that you could perhaps…do more?” Albus’ voice was soft, almost patronising. “More?!” Valentine thundered, Severus heart beat quickly in his chest, what on earth were they talking about? “If you feel like you could do a better job than me, then by all means be my guest.” The door that Severus was unceremoniously leaning against was opened in a flash. Severus froze, his eyes wide with shock as Valentine and Albus stared back at him with an equal shock of their own. “Severus.” Albus said with a sly smile. He swept past Severus as he left Valentine’s classroom, he stopped to shoot a concerned look over at Valentine and Severus watched as she averted her gaze. Severus waited until Albus was out of earshot before he turned to Valentine and took a step toward her. “Valentine-” he started. She cut him off as she grabbed his wrist and pulled him forcibly into her classroom. “What are you doing now?” She asked breathlessly, “Never mind, I don’t care.”

She brought her hands to either side of his face and crushed her lips to his in a bruising kiss. Severus was so shocked he couldn’t speak, but he found himself kissing her back. He grasped onto her hips as he walked her backwards toward the line of desks in the middle of the room. They kissed quickly, hungrily as they came to a stop. With a flick of his hand the door slammed shut. He found it impossible to think about anything else other than the sensation of her lips on his as she invaded his mouth with her tongue. After the two kisses that Severus and Valentine shared, Severus felt no desire to pull away; and it appeared he was functioning on sheer adrenaline, his reflexes were automatic. He lifted her with ease and sat her down roughly atop a desk, her legs wrapped around his waist instantly. He could feel the warmth between her thighs on his groin, as he felt himself grow hard. Severus grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her neck to the side, exposing her neck. He kissed her roughly, nipping the sensitive skin with his teeth. Valentine moaned throatily in his ear and found his mouth with her own. Her fingers flew to the buttons of her blouse and started to unfasten them with shaking hands. Severus watched with dark eyes as with every button that came undone, more and more of Valentine’s flesh became visible.

Every fibre of his being screamed at him to stop. This was wrong. They were in a classroom. Anyone could walk in a see them. Did he want this? Why did he feel guilty? As quickly as these thoughts appeared in his mind, they were extinguished as Valentine started to attack the buttons on Severus’ coat. Feeling most unlike himself, he helped her unbutton the remaining ones as she slid the offending item over his shoulders until it hit the floor with a dull thud, his crisp white shirt remaining. She moved her hands up his torso and elicited a shiver from Severus, she attempted to remove his cravat; but Severus caught her wrists and thrust them down to her sides. Valentine moaned again as Severus gripped her hard and pulled him even closer with her legs.

On the inside, Severus was panicking. He had never been this close to a woman before, he had never touched the soft contour of a breast and yet, as he unclasped Valentine’s bra with little difficulty, he allowed himself a moment to be proud. He relished in the sight of her bare before him, he was so painfully hard, and Valentine rubbed herself against his trousers. Severus brought his hands up to her breasts and took a hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing it. Valentine hissed in response and kissed him deeply, her teeth biting down onto Severus’ bottom lip, prompting a moan from him. “Let me touch you.” She whispered. He took a moment to deliberate before nodding in consent. Her hands drifted over his thighs, lightly brushing over Severus’ strained trousers. She unfastened the three buttons that constricted his throbbing cock. More fucking buttons, he cursed. At last he was freed, and Valentine pushed his trousers and underwear down his thighs and took hold of his member in one hand, whilst the other snaked its way around his neck and brought him in for another kiss. Severus’ head rolled back and his eyes fluttered closed as Valentine pumped her hand up and down his shaft. He had never felt anything quite like it before. Although he had recently become acquainted with his own hands, he couldn’t suppress the string of curses that fell from his lips as Valentine pleasured him. Her pace was relentless, she moved her hand deftly up and down his cock and Severus felt the familiar tightening in his balls signalling his approaching orgasm. He rutted into her hand, which tightened around the tip of his cock. The feeling was incredible, he panted hard into Valentine’s ear as he held a fistful of her hair. His legs became weak as with the last few pumps from her, he came. He spilled his seed into her hand with a staccato moan as he thrusted his hips forward pathetically once more.

Severus’ head lolled into Valentine’s shoulder as he recovered. Valentine muttered a spell under hear breath, he assumed to clean her hands as he wrapped his arms around her torso. He pulled away after a moment and looked into her eyes ravenously, he could see she was breathless, her cheeks tinged with pink as, without breaking eye contact, he kissed her breasts. He trailed his lips down her stomach and dropped to his knees. He could hear Valentine’s breath catch with anticipation as he slowly dragged his hands up her thighs, using his fingernails to lightly scratch her. Valentine sat back a little, resting her weight on her elbows and forearms. Severus could hear his pulse in his veins, he was so nervous as her snatched at her knickers and pulled them down in one swift motion. He felt slightly sick with worry, it was almost like his mind had finally caught up with his body and was completely assessing the situation. Merlin, he thought. He had just been masturbated by the one person he was trying (and failing) to keep at a distance. And now, she was before him, legs spread and waiting.

If nothing else, Severus wanted to be a gentleman. He continued with his poorly thought out plan and kissed up the inside of her thigh until finally his lips met her cunt. She was dripping for him, and the sight of her alone was enough to make him hard again. Her flesh raised as he peppered small kisses to her clit, and she whispered his name. Satisfied with the response to his actions, he licked it. He moved his tongue in slow, torturous circles as her hands found his hair, sticking his head in place. He suddenly became exceptionally aware that he didn’t have a clue what he was doing. He didn’t know what she liked, but he was desperate to make her come. He tried to think back to anything, any muggle film or book he had seen or read that detailed any information about sex acts. Of course, he knew the logistics, but the practise was something else entirely. He licked along her folds and slowly penetrated her with his tongue, flattening it whilst inside her and she shuddered beneath him. Her grip on his hair tightened as he swirled his tongue around, shaking his head back and forth- his nose rubbing on her most sensitive part. Valentine writhed beneath him, she began to buck her hips to increase the friction and he thought she might pull the hair from his scalp. He ignored the pain and continued, worshipping her, his hands tight around her thighs as he fucked her with his tongue. “Severus,” she breathed, “I’m going to- fuck-” with one more swish of his tongue, she unravelled. Valentine bit down onto her hand to suppress the long moan that escaped her. She shook around him as her juices flowed freely, and Severus lapped at her like he would never get his fill.

A few moments passed before either of them moved. Eventually, he stood and fastened his trousers. He retrieved her kickers from the floor and passed them to her sheepishly, not quite able to meet her gaze. Valentine smiled in thanks; she was spent. Her chest heaved as she lowered herself down from the desk. She stood and pulled her skirt down, covering her modesty. Severus looked away as she requested, he bent down and picked up his heavy frock coat and folded it over his arm. When he was confident that she was decent her turned to face her. Surprisingly, his mind was empty. Gone was his usual consuming guilt, instead he felt strangely peaceful. He would never show it, but he felt like his skin was on fire. There was a small part of his psyche that was still sixteen and Severus hoped that that dysfunctional teenager was proud of him. “Well,” Valentine smiled and cleared her throat. “I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely starving. Fancy some lunch?” She made her way to her classroom door and opened it wide, the footfall was heavy outside her classroom and students peered in as the passed, what a strange sight it must have been to see Professors Snape and Valentine together looking rather dishevelled. Severus nodded with a smile and thrust his arms through his frock coat and started on the buttons. “Those fucking buttons have got to go.” Valentine laughed and Severus smirked in agreement.

They walked side by side to the Great Hall and chatted about nothing of pertinence. Severus wanted to ask her if she was well, he was concerned about the cross words she had shared with Albus; but he couldn’t deny that for the first time since he had met her, he didn’t feel guilty. The last thing he wanted to do was to potentially make things tense between them, especially when he felt the lightest he had been in a long time. His hands still shook with the adrenaline as he picked up his goblet of pumpkin juice. Valentine, who had chosen to sit at the other end of the table nestled between Filius and Hagrid smiled at him, and he smiled back. Uninhibited.

He was about to leave the table when he felt a gentle squeeze of his shoulder. His head whipped around to see Minerva, a letter pressed to her chest and a grave look on her face. Severus stood instantly, awash with concern for his friend. “Minerva,” He breathed, he took her arm and escorted her out of the Great Hall through a side door hidden behind a pillar. “Minerva, what’s going on?” The deputy headmistress’ face was deathly pale as she thrust the open letter into his hands. He didn’t look at it, instead deciding to repeat himself. “Minerva, what’s the matter?” “We need to talk about Professor Valentine.” Minerva whispered, her voice shaking slightly. Severus’ face betrayed his confusion. “What do you mean? I don’t understand-” “This letter. It was delivered to me by mistake, I didn’t realise it was addressed to her until after I had opened it and by which time…well, you catch my drift.” Minerva spoke quickly, she wrung her hands and began to pace. Severus looked down at the letter and turned it over to see the return address. “Azkaban?” He hissed, as if it knew, his Dark Mark began to tingle. “What is this?” “I don’t know,” Minerva shot back desperately. “It’s from her father.”

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xxbyimm · 4 years

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A tale as old as time - Bard the bowman x OC - Chapter 2

Check out my Masterlist! Or new to this journey? Here’s chapter 1.

A tale as old as Time - Bard x OC - Chapter 2: A boat full of gravy

Summary: Brea encounters more gravy than she bargained for...

Warnings: ALFRID EW!

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When Jenessa prodded her big sister’s waist for the third time to help regain attentiveness to the conversations around the dinner table, Brea knew she was doing it again. After everything that had happened, she had sworn never to become a victim of excessive daydreams and complete lack of focus again. But here she was… Going down the drain already.

Unfortunately, Brea knew exactly what was going to happen. Soon her usual calmness and practical view of life would be thrown out of the window and she would start dedicating her time by trying to catch a glimpse of the object of her affections. She could only hope that this time her feelings were not reciprocated. Because if this was going to be anything like last time, she had a problem.

And problems like that, as the case of Ruthron had taught her, should be avoided like the plague…

It all started last spring, just over a year ago. On a particularly dreary morning, Mîrhel had dragged her eldest daughter to a gathering in the city hall. Brea didn’t care for politics, nor did the latest fashions of court interest her in the slightest, but her mother had been quite adamant. So Mîrhel’s eldest did what any obedient daughter would do.

As the noble ladies chatted away about unimportant matters, Brea’s mind had travelled to the interesting material she had read in her father’s study earlier this morning. The consequences would be dire if father ever found out she had been reading in the surgical handbook he had bought for his ever growing collection, but that didn’t frighten her. After all, she had just turned twenty-four.

According to Mîrhel, Brea was already past the proper age of procuring a suitable match, but Brea did not wish to marry- at least not yet. She was eager to learn more about the real world she lived in, not the ever boring topics the noble, married women confined themselves to. The purpose of life should be to enlighten oneself, not waste time talking about… embroideries.

So while her mind was considering the texts she had read, her gaze had travelled through the room and stopped at a handsome palace guard in the nearest corner. He possessed the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen and she could not help but stare at him for a few seconds, maybe even wondering who he was.

That answer came sooner than she would have guessed, in the form of mister handsome guard’s future wife. Apparently, the most ignorant girl in the room also turned out to be his betrothed. She could not stop bragging about her impending union with her Ruthron, the son of the head of the Citadel. Brea thought the girl was a brat and decided if that was the guard’s type -no matter how handsome his looks-, she should stay far away from him.

Ruthron later had told Brea he never cared for his future wife and he always desperately was seeking for ways to avoid her. They had been betrothed by a special agreement, made by their parents when they were mere infants. Ruthron had lost count how many times he had argued with his dad about this ridiculous contract, but no matter how much he tried, his father could not be swayed. Ruthron would have to marry Margery.

But love knows no bounderies. And when Ruthron first laid his eyes on Brenion’s eldest daughter on that rainy morning, he knew.

Convincing Brea to give him a chance hadn’t been easy, but before they both knew it they were falling hard. In hindsight, Brea believed that falling in love with Ruthron was as easy as falling asleep, how could someone not? He was an handsome guy, proud of his heritage and loyal to the ones he loved. He could be mischievous at times and made her laugh even when she was in a foul mood. They shared interests like medicine (a profession Ruthron’s father hadn’t allowed his son to pursue) and could talk for hours. But more importantly- he didn’t see her as the daughter of a wealthy merchant, but just as Brea. When she was with him, she felt alive. When he held her, the world shrunk unto the two of them. She was sure she’d never experience a love like this again, which was why she was to prepared to gamble with her life, her reputation, to risk it all for a chance to be together.

But in the end, not even her purest intentions were able to save her lover from his ultimate fate...

‘Brea!’ Mîrhel insisted with a hiss, alarming her eldest daughter. ‘The master asked you a question!’ ‘Oh!’ She murmured, quickly raising her gaze and meeting the master’s unpleasant stare. Ruthron’s handsome face disappeared and Brea was back at the stuffy dining room in the town’s hall again. ‘Forgive me, uncle. I was appreciating the rich flavours of the meal you so kindly provided tonight…’ She smiled innocently. ‘I simply lost track of all else…’

There was a short silence, in which the whole room seemed to hold their breath while waiting for the master’s reaction. Brea smiled even brighter and relief washed over her body when her uncle started to laugh. ‘You’re forgiven, my child.’ He boomed. ‘I’m glad you and I have the same, refined taste, my dear.’

Ugh. Hardly. Brea eyed the fat, greasy red-haired man as he happily devoured another piece of meat before looking down at her own plate. She then shot a glance at her mother (‘Please, don’t make me eat this!’) and finally settled for the inevitable. Just a few more bites…

The remnants of the meat pie on her plate didn’t smell anything like the apple pie she had enjoyed yesterday. It had been the best pastry she had tasted in all her life and since she originated from the big city of Minas Tirith, that truly said something. The Bardlings had been too kind, allowing her and Jen to stay for over an hour. The family had kept a lively discussion going about various topics and as Sigrid and Jen tried to outsmart each other, Brea more than once caught the bargeman’s gaze. There had been this soft, sweet expression in his eyes that caused more reaction inside her than she’d like to admit…

Brea suppressed a shiver as she picked up a piece of meat with her fork. She didn’t know what part of a poor animal this was, but since her uncle had a rather unsavoury preference for bollocks, she really did not like to find out anyway. Careful to spill none of it on her favourite light blue dress, she opened her mouth and caught the food between her teeth. When she saw her father looking rather sternly at her, she started chewing. There was far too much gravy in this pie. Who even came up with this horrid thing?

‘Would you like some gravy with that, miss?’ Alfrid lisped in her ear. Brea couldn’t help herself and jerked to the side, almost ending up on Jen’s lap. The master’s deputy was hovering over her, holding a stained gravy boat in his right hand. She smiled faintly, but then shook her head before swallowing the big lump of meat. Of course. Alfrid. Who else in this wretched town?

‘You’re too kind, but I’m all set.’ She ensured him. ‘Thank you.’ Alfrid bowed deeply, not aware that he was making her uncomfortable. He smelled of sweat, fish and gravy. Brea held her breath and fixated her eyes on her plate. She had managed her way through most of the disgusting filling and now was left with the crust, which was both doughy and tough. A quick estimate told her she had to suffer three more bites, that is if their host hadn’t prepared something for dessert.

If she had been paying attention to Alfrid instead of the sad content on her plate, she would have noticed that his eyes were on the soft swelling of her breasts beneath the low neckline of her dress, not on what was in his hands. His grip on the sauceboat loosened.

As it tilted, all the gravy fell in one big lump over the edge, splashing on its poor victim below.

‘Oh!’ Brea cried out, absolutely horrified by the thick fluid running over her shoulder. It dribbled over her dress before most of it disappeared beneath her bodice. ‘Oh, miss- miss Brea!’ Alfrid stammered. ‘My sincerest apologies. Let me help you-’

Before Brea knew it, total chaos developed around her. Alfrid tried to get the gravy boat out of harm’s way, but managed to swing the last of its contents on the floor and then quickly exited the room while shouting for the town’s hall poor servant. Jen and her mom simultaneously rushed from their seats to help out their kin, as Brea was already dabbing the most tainted places with her napkin.

In her haste to aid her daughter, Mîrhel did not notice the puddle of gravy on the floor and stepped on it. Though the fluid could not possibly be as slippery as Alfrid, it did manage to take its victim down. With a loud cry, Mîrhel slipped and fell backwards, her head barely missing the edge of the table. Brenion cursed and shot up to help his wife. He moved more careful, but still had to steady himself against the dining table in order not to trip. Brea got up too, suddenly forgetting about the state she was in, and crouched down to check on her mother.

‘Mother! Are you alright?’ Mîrhel smiled sourly, leaning on her husband while he helped her up into her chair. ‘Yes, Brea. I am. Just a fright, that’s all.’

From the head of the table, the master of Laketown had been watching the whole scene enveloping before his eyes, yet he still hadn’t said or done anything to comfort his guests. As Brenion was fussing over Mîrhel, Brea looked up at the man and a gulf of hatred resonated through her. He was a spiteful, vile man and she couldn’t believe that her father had let himself persuaded by this despicable person to move to Laketown…

‘What a waste of all that gravy!’ the master suddenly boomed. Brenion and his family stared at him. Next to her older sister, Jen shuffled with her napkin in an attempt to hide her silly grin. Brea heaved a sigh and shot her little sister a glance. Leave it up to Jen to find humour in a rather peculiar situation…

‘Agreed, brother.’ Brenion finally said, though hesitantly. ‘It is. But who would have thought that a gravy boat could lead to such an amusing order of events!’

Both men started to laugh and then resumed their conversation. Brea caught her mother’s gaze, the latter barely capable of hiding her emotions of pure shock. They listened in silence as the clattering noises in the hallway grew louder.

Alfrid returned, with the town’s hall female servant in tow. Her arms were filled with rags and somehow she also managed to carry a bucket filled with water. ‘Clean this up.’ Alfrid said nastily to the servant while roughly shoving her out of his way. The woman staggered, fighting hard to keep her balance. Brea opened her mouth to say something about his absolute rudeness, but below the table her mom kicked her daughter’s shins.

‘We will sort this out in a second, miss Brea.’ Alfrid chatted on, grabbing a rag and drenching it with water. He then moved towards her. ‘I have just the-’ ‘That will not be necessary!’ Brea hissed furiously, while grabbing his wrist and keeping his filthy fingers and wet cloth away from her. ‘But there’s still-’ the master’s deputy began. ‘I can see that, I have eyes.’ Brea cut him off rather haughtily. ‘I fear this dress needs to be washed entirely to get all the stains out.’

The next morning, Brea left with Jen to walk across town. Though Mîrhel still wasn’t too happy with her daughters strolling through Laketown without a proper chaperone (especially after coming home way past teatime only two days ago), the events of last night had exhausted all of them. When Brenion resumed the evening like nothing had happened, Mîrhel had stepped up and asked her brother-in-law if she and her daughters could be excused for the rest of the night. Begrudgingly, the master of Laketown had allowed them to go.

Alfrid had been watching them leave and Brea had felt nasty glare burning in her back until she had reached the safety of their home.

But all was over now and the sisters were safely wandering over the docks. Brea watched a few boatmen heaving cargo from their ships and enjoyed the soft breeze on her face, as Jen was having an animated conversation with one of the boatmen’s wives.

‘How was it?’ A soft voice suddenly behind Brea inquired. ‘Please tell me it was as bad as it sounded.’ Brea giggled and swirled around. Her grey eyes met with Bard’s hazelnut ones. ‘It’s good to see you alive and well.’ Bard said. ‘When I spoke Hilda-Bianca, she made it sound like you were devoured by the man himself.’ ‘Oh, there was gravy everywhere.’ Brea informed him, not surprised by now the whole town knew of last night’s events. ‘After rushing home, I took two baths and another one this morning, but it’s still there. As is the smell of Alfrid. My sincerest apologies.’ He sniffed before sending her a reassuring smile. ‘No, I think you’re fine.’ Brea pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. ‘That’s because you’re not close enough to me.’ The bargeman furrowed his brows together and took a step closer, until the distance between them was hardly ten centimetres. It was impossible not to notice the rancid flavour she bore with her, so she was surprised he still was by her side. His scent was far more pleasant anyway… it was light and heavy at the same time, somehow reminding her of a long, lovely walk in the woods. Brea’s heart jumped and she licked her lips. ‘Still nothing.’ Bard spoke softly. ‘I’d say you rather smell of flowers than a boatful of gravy.’ ‘You are lying, master Bard!’ He smiled faintly before leaning in. His whisper tickled her ear. ‘No, I am not.’

Her heart was racing inside her chest now. Brea watched his gorgeous features and briefly wondered why she hadn’t seen his wife yet. And how had he not been claimed by another lady if the children’s mother wasn’t around anymore…

Bard’s reassuring smile suddenly turned into a scowl and he reached for her neck. ‘What’s that?’ he murmured. ‘Is that…?’ ‘What?’ she gulped, panic assembling in her throat.

Oh goodness! Did she forget to scrub someplace? Or worse: did he somehow hear her shameful thoughts?

The bargeman smirked, his fingers ghosting over the skin behind her ear. Brea suppressed a shiver. ‘Just kidding, miss…’ he said with a small smile. They were still standing inappropriately close to each other, but neither showed the inclination to move away. Brea’s skin was still burning on the places where he had touched her and she found it particularly difficult to breathe. ‘So.’ She murmured softly. ‘You’re relishing in my misfortune. How ungentlemanlike.’ He chuckled lowly. ‘Well, maybe Alfrid was right about me and my family…’ ‘Really?’ Brea inquired. ‘At least you haven’t poured gravy down my neck, master Bard.’ ‘Not yet, miss Brea. Not yet.’ He mused with a sly smile, earning a giggle from her.

Somewhere in the distance, Brea heard Jenessa laughing. Rather annoyed by the disturbance, she glanced over at her sister. Jen now was charming one of the younger lads working at the docks. Brea heaved a weary sigh before turning to Bard.

‘I’m sorry. I have to go save my sister, before she ruins her reputation.’ ‘By merely conversing with that poor lad?’ Bard frowned. ‘I know him, he’s from a decent family.’ Brea groaned. ‘Oh, that’s not the problem. You don’t know Jen.’ ‘She seems like a passionate, kind young woman.’ He said. ‘Someone who knows what she wants.’ ‘That’s true.’ Brea replied. ‘But she’s a dreamer too. And that often leads her to forgetting there’s such a thing as etiquette and a fragile woman’s reputation. She just follows her instincts and let those guide her.’ ‘So she lives her life without regret.’ Bard concluded. ‘Has she learned that from you?’ Brea shook her head. ‘I tried that once. It did not work out.’

‘Ah! There you are!’ A nasty voice called out over the docks. ‘Miss Brea!’ They turned around and much to her shock, Alfrid was making his way towards them. Bard smiled politely, but his eyes flashed with a much darker emotion. Brea grabbed a hold of the bargeman’s sleeve, making him turn to her in surprise. ‘Do not leave me alone with that horrible man.’ She begged. ‘I’m fairly sure he’ll want to make amends with me and I’m not inclined to accept anything he has to offer.’ ‘You could just tell him that, miss.’ Bard declared. ‘The trick is not to be subtle.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t, the master of this town is-’

‘Well well…’ Alfrid said maliciously while forcing himself into their conversation. ‘Who do we have here? If it isn’t Bard, our bargeman. Don’t you have work to do?’ ‘Always a delight to see you, Alfrid.’ Bard replied coldly. ‘I could ask the same of you.’ ‘I’m tending to the master’s business, which is none of yours anyway.’ The master’s deputy retorted. ‘I came her in search of miss Brea. I need to speak to her.’ ‘What for? I believe already told you that I don’t need another apology.’ Brea said. ‘It’s alright, it was an accident and I’m over it.’ Alfrid inclined his head. ‘You’re too kind, miss. But I came here to inform you I’ve ordered the tailor to make you a new dress. It’s the least I can do after ruining your last one.’

For a moment, Brea stared at him. But Alfrid merely peered back at her. He did not start to cackle, nor did he explain to her it was a joke. He just seemed deadly serious. She shuffled on her feet. Though she did not want to accept this outrageous apology, she knew she had no choice. ‘No, you’re the one who is too kind.’ She conceded. ’I’m glad to accept your offer.’ Alfrid grinned and bowed shortly before turning his attention to Bard again. ‘Get to work, bargeman.’ He sneered. ‘Don’t you have mouths to feed?’ Bard narrowed his eyes. His jaw was clenched and Brea watched him as his gaze bore through the master’s deputy. There was a short silence, before Alfrid gave in and stalked off. ‘Be sure to give the tailor your measurements, miss Brea.’ He shouted at her before disappearing in the busy streets again.

Brea turned to the bargeman, who still looked like he was ready to punch a certain someone in the face. ‘Hey.’ She said softly and without thinking her fingers reached out to his arm once more. ‘He’s not worth it.’ Bard relaxed under her touch and smiled gently. ‘Well, at least he won’t order a dress for me. Didn’t you just say you weren’t inclined to accept anything?’ ‘I wasn’t.’ She muttered. His body warmth under her fingers made her aware of the little pulses that had started vibrate through her hands. It was a pleasant feeling, though it completely distracted her from their conversation. ‘Then why did you?’ She peered at him through her lashes. ‘Did what?’ ‘Accept that dress.’ He mused. ‘Oh. Yes.’ She blurted out, quickly moving her hand away. ‘My father. He will have my head if I’m rude to anyone influential, even someone despicable as Alfrid.’ ’And that’s exactly why your father shouldn’t care about him.’ ‘Maybe.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Well miss, I fear I have to leave you here. As much as I dislike that horrible creature, he’s right. I do have work to do.’ She nodded shortly and took a step back. ‘Of course.’ ‘In the meantime…’ he advised. ‘Do mind any gravy boats coming your way, will you?’ Brea grinned and waved. ‘I promise, good sir.’

She watched him boarding his boat which was docked nearby. He was moving with grace and certainty, clearly knowing his way around the boat and the waters. Once all was set, he reached for the push pole that was secured at the back end of the boat. Before he set off to the lake, the bargeman turned to look at the docks once more and caught her gaze. Brea bit her lip and couldn’t help but to smile foolishly.

‘Did you know his wife died?’ Jen suddenly hummed in Brea’s ear. ‘He was so heartbroken that he never remarried.’ ‘Jenessa!’ Brea cried out indignantly, ignoring the pleasant jolt in her abdomen. ‘Why would you say such an awful thing?!’ Jen shrugged. ‘I just wanted to give you some good news after the disaster yesterday.’ ‘How is someone’s wife dying good news?!’ Brea said. ‘Who even told you that?’ Her little sister pursed her lips together. ‘Sigrid did. I asked her about her mother and she explained that their ma died eleven years ago, shortly after giving birth to Tilda.’ Brea watched Bard and his boat disappear on the lake. ‘That must have been absolutely devastating for them.’ She whispered. ‘Not to mention the burden Tilda will carry with her for the rest of her life…’ ‘Luckily she still has her da, and her big brother and sister.’ Jen commented. ‘They are all very close.’ ‘I’ve noticed.’ Brea agreed. ‘They are a beautiful family.’ Jen glanced at her sister knowingly. ‘You fancy him, don’t you?’ ‘What?’ Brea shrieked, her cheeks already burning up. ‘Why would you think that?’ ‘The way you look at him.’ Her sister explained. ‘I’ve seen that same gaze with-’ ‘Do not say his name.’ Brea hissed. ‘I warn you.’ ‘Okay!’ Jen quickly gave in, holding up her hands in surrender. ‘I’m sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.’ Brea heaved a sigh. ‘I know, Jenny. But believe me, I do not fancy Bard. Sure, I like him, but I also adore his family. I think they’re good people who deserve a lot more respect from the master.’ Jen pulled her sister into an hug. ‘It’s the fact that they’re good people, that gets them into trouble. Sigrid is worried that her dad - I mean master Bard -’ ‘You seem to share a lot of thoughts with your new friend.’ Brea teased. ‘What’s up with that?’ Jen giggled happily. ‘Yes, she has an amazing vibe to her, just like her dad. When I met her at the market, I instantly knew I would like her very much…’

The next few weeks, Brea and Jen received more freedom. After everything that had happened in Minas Tirith (and not even taking their recent tea party in account), they both did not understand what had made their mother loosen the reigns, but they knew it was better not to ask. So instead, they enjoyed their renewed privileges.

Jen was often out and about in the town, spending time with Sigrid and Tilda. Brea enjoyed to take a daily walk in the early hours, because it meant Alfrid wasn’t there to harass her.

It also meant she would often run into Bard. Though Brea would rather die than to admit it, these daily short talks were the reason she was venturing outside anyway. He appeared in her dreams every night and if she could increase the chance of bumping into him, she’d gladly take it.

To ease her conscience (and an attempt to slam down any suspicion), Brea didn’t mind to run errands for her mother. That even sometimes meant to collect Jen from Bard’s home, which was a delight.

Brea knew she had to set her priorities straight, but she couldn’t see anything wrong with their friendship. Sure, maybe her motivations were slightly discreditable, but Bard was the representation of a perfectly honourable guy. He always was polite to her, and his kindness knew no boundaries. She also learned his mind was bright and as quick as a whip. In fact, when Bard wasn’t keeping his family safe and well-fed, he liked to pursue other interests like reading and archery.

There had been a few moments in which she had wondered if he was actually flirting with her, but each time it took her a few seconds to gather the courage to ask him what he meant and by then he already had changed the subject.

On this particular late afternoon, Brea had just collected her new dress from the tailor (that is, the dress Alfrid had picked out for her) and was making her way towards her home when she bumped into Hilda-Bianca. Ever since the dark haired woman, who was always wearing this strange ornate hat, had prevented Brea from paying too much at the market, Brea had developed a tight bond with her.

‘Hello Brea!’ Hilda-Bianca said with a gentle smile. ‘It’s strange to see you here, after what happened to your sister just an hour ago. Is she well?’ Brea felt the blood draining from her face and she almost dropped her package on the wooden docks. ‘I’ve been out all afternoon. What happened to Jen?’ ‘She tripped and fell in the water.’ Hilda-Bianca explained. ‘It happens to the best of us.’ ‘My sister can’t swim.’ Brea fretted. ‘Is she alright?’ ‘Yes, we noticed. Which is odd don’t you think?’ her friend said. ‘But not to worry, Bard just arrived in time. He dove in straight away and carried her to your home.’ Brea shook her head. ‘We grew up in Minas Tirith, so we never had the need to. I learned it only last year, from…’

She swallowed her last words. It had been Ruthron who taught her how to swim, during their secret getaways to Osgiliath…

‘No matter. Thank you, Hilda. I must go now!’ She stuck the package under her arm, gathered the seams of her dress in her hands and broke into a run.

When she finally reached her home, she was out of breath. She rushed through the backdoor, before slamming it in its frame. She threw the package containing her new dress on the kitchen counter and was ready to run upstairs when-

In her haste, she hadn’t noticed that Bard was sitting near the hearth. He was holding a cup containing a warm beverage and seemed to be wearing some of her father’s clothing. ‘Oh!’ she gasped, her cheeks flushing. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, master Bard.’ The bargeman raised from his chair and smiled gently. ‘It’s fine, miss.’ ‘I just heard… How’s Jen? And how are you?’ Brea worried. ‘And what happened?’ Bard put his cup away and moved through the kitchen towards her. ‘Jen is fine. She’s upstairs in bed and your parents are with her.’ He assured her. ‘She told me she wasn’t watching where her feet were going and before she knew it, she was in the water.’ ‘She can’t swim.’ Brea mumbled. ‘We never learned, it seemed insignificant to do so… Until now.’ ‘Luckily I was just done for the day, which meant I was near.’ Bard continued. ‘She wasn’t in the water for long.’

Brea looked up at his handsome face and her heart fluttered. The feelings she had repressed for the past few weeks, started to pulsate in her veins, making her breaths unsteady and her mind dizzy. Upon leaving Minas Tirith, she had sworn never to love again, but this… Bard was…

Her eyes brimmed with emotion and Brea realized restraining herself was pointless. With a soft cry, she jumped into his arms. Bard gasped in surprise, but caught her anyway. With his arms wrapped safely around her and her face buried in his neck, Brea felt a sense of safety she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

‘Oh, you incredible man…’ she whispered shakily. ‘Thank you.’ ‘Really, it’s nothing.’ He breathed. ‘I only did what anyone would have…’ ‘Shut up.’ Brea said and she could almost feel his smile.

They stood there in silence. Brea listened to his heart beating in his chest and revered in his warmth. His scent enveloped her being. ‘Brea.’ He spoke and she shifted. He was watching her with a soft look in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat. ‘We should not be standing like this.’ He tried, but at the same time he did not make an attempt to move away. ‘No.’ Brea agreed, doing the same. He and his gorgeous hazelnut eyes were mesmerizing, she could not tear herself away.

‘Your eyes are more blue than anything today.’ Bard murmured. ‘But I could swear yesterday they were more of a green shade.’ ‘It’s because- I mean… the colour of my dress.’ Brea explained, but her voice was no more than a whisper. His fingers ghosted over her jawline, his calloused hands leaving a burning trail on her skin. He sent her a rather rueful smile, the one Brea had gotten quite familiar with over the past few weeks. Whenever he came closer or when they had a good time, he always looked like he was sorry for it. Almost as if he felt somehow guilty…

‘What’s wrong?’ she whispered. ‘I can’t-’ he momentarily closed his eyes and stopped. ‘I won’t.’ ‘Won’t what?’ Bard clenched his jaw before answering. ‘You are so young, Brea.’ He then said. ‘And I’m an old man. This is foolery.’ ‘Foolery, huh?!’ she purred, sounding far more brave than she felt. Her tongue darted over her lips before she reduced even the small distance that still was between them.

A loud thud from upstairs shook them up and broke their embrace. Bard almost leaped backwards and then paced towards the door. ‘Tell your father I had to leave and that I’m sorry.’ He spoke, without really looking at her face. ‘I have work to do.’ ‘But-’ Brea objected, but before she could even voice her thoughts, he was gone…

Thank you so much for reading this chapter! Feedback is always welcome. Did you like my work? Spread the love and reblog! :) And here’s my Masterlist.

#the hobbit #bard the bowman #bard the dragonslayer #bard the bowman x oc #bard the dragonslayer x oc #bard x oc #bard the bargeman #bard the bargeman x oc #bard x reader #bard x brea #a tale as old as time #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #bard the bowman fanfiction #xxbyimm writes

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atc74 · 4 years

Text

The Girl Is Mine

Square(s) Filled: Fight/Argument for @spnbromentbingo, We’ve Got Work To Do for @spntfwbingo, Good Things Come To Those Who Wait for @as-the-saying-goes-bingo

Warnings: Brothers being brothers and fighting over a girl. Language, implied future sexy times, implied poly relationship, jealousy

Summary: Y/N has been seeing both Winchester brothers and the arrangement seems to be working for all three, until it isn’t.

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader, implied Dean x Reader x Sam (no Wincest)

Word Count: 1593

Written for: @spnbromentbingo, @spntfwbingo, @as-the-saying-goes-bingo and for my own Angelina’s Duets Reboot Challenge for the song “The Girl Is Mine” from Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson. This is also a special request from @foxyjwls007 for being my 4,000 follower! I hope you like it!

Thank you to my beta @amanda-teaches.

A/N: I had this funny, crackish idea when I put together the awesome playlist for my 4k challenge, because it’s a great song (I’m nostalgic). But then when @foxyjwls007 told me her request, I was hooked!

Looking for a next level fan experience? Buy Sam or Dean’s scent here from @scentsfromthebunker!

“Every night she walks right in my dreams, since I met her from the start. I'm so proud I am the only one who is special in her heart,” Dean sighed contentedly. “The girl is mine. The doggone girl is mine.”

“I don't understand the way you think, saying that she's yours not mine. Sending roses and your silly dreams, really just a waste of time,” Sam argued. “Because she’s mine. The doggone girl is mine.”

Truth be told, through all the years, through all the women, the brothers had never been in this situation before. It was new and uncharted territory for both of them.

“I know she’s mine,” Dean pointed out.

“Don’t waste your time,” Sam scoffed.

“What are you guys talking about it?” Y/N bounced into the room, snacking on an apple. “New case a waste of time, you said?” She slid into the seat to Sam’s right, across from Dean.

“I love you more than he,” Sam blurted out.

“But I love you endlessly,” Dean professed.

“What?” Y/N looked from one to the other.

“But we both cannot have her, so it’s one or the other,” Dean argued. “And one day you’ll discover that she’s my girl forever and ever.”

Sam laughed. “I don't build your hopes to be let down, ‘cause I really feel it's time.”

“I know she'll tell you I'm the one for her, 'cause she said I blow her mind.” Dean smirked proudly, like a peacock flaunting his tail feathers. “The girl is mine. Don’t waste your time.”

“She’s mine,” Sam snapped.

“She’s mine,” Dean retorted.

“No no no, she’s mine,” Sam stood, getting in Dean’s face, but Dean stood his ground.

“The girl is mine,” Dean repeated.

Something inside Sam snapped and he grabbed Dean with both arms, throwing him to the floor. They weren’t even fighting, not really. It was more a tangle of limbs and missed opportunities than anything.

Y/N sat watching the exchange, an amused smirk on her face. Sure, she had been seeing both brothers for the last few months. They both knew about the other, and she made sure they got equal attention. The last they needed in their relationship was to be keeping secrets from each other, so she was upfront with her arrangement from the beginning. She felt deeply for both Sam and Dean and if the King of Hell himself showed and told her to choose, she knew she wouldn’t be able to pick one over the other. Still, the scene unfolding in front of her was entertaining. She set her apple down and wiped her fingers on her jeans.

“Enough!” she yelled over the grunting and cursing.

They froze, their eyes snapping up to hers. With sheepish looks, they released each other, climbing back into their respective chairs.

“Dean, we’re not going to fight about this,” Sam postulated, pulling himself together.

“Sammy, you know I’m a lover, not a fighter,” Dean smiled.

“I've heard it all before, Dean. She told me that I'm her forever lover, you know, don't you remember?”

“Well, after loving me, she said she couldn't love another,” Dean grinned ear to ear.

“Is that what she said?” Sam questioned.

“Yes, she said it, you keep dreaming,” Dean laughed.

“I don't believe it,” Sam shook his head, looking down at Y/N.

“The girl is mine,” Dean sang.

“Do I get a say in this?” Y/N finally spoke up.

“No!” They shouted simultaneously. The look on her face made them backpedal pretty quickly.

“I mean, yes. You do, but it’s me, right?” Sam smiled.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Your opinion is the only one that matters here, so just go ahead and tell Sam you’re my girl,” Dean winked at her from across the table.

“No!” Y/N held up her hands. “You’re both acting like children right now. When you figure your shit out, I’ll be in my room.”

“Look what you did!” Sam shouted at his brother, both of them watching Y/N as she retreated to the peace and quiet of her room.

“Oh no, dude, you don’t get to pin this on me. You started it!” Dean bellowed, pissed that they let it go that far.

“Whatever, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean snapped back, taking his seat at the table. He avoided Sam’s bitch face while he righted his laptop and journal after their scuffle. He finally let out a loud sigh.“We need to fix this, Sammy.”

“Yeah, I know. Any ideas?” Sam resumed his position at the head of the table.

“Well, an apology, her favorite wine and a home cooked meal would be a good start,” Dean remarked.

“I’ll run to town, you start dinner?” Sam suggested and Dean nodded in agreement.

Dean quickly gathered the ingredients for one of her favorite meals and had everything prepped by the time Sam returned. He placed the wine in the icebox to chill then followed Dean’s instructions, helping him with dinner. They came up with an apology and a plan to get back in her good graces within the hour, just as the timer dinged.

Sam had prepared a salad and set the table with the finest institutional ceramic plates in the Men of Letters Bunker. They both walked down the hall to Y/N’s room, Sam knocking softly.

“Come in,” her voice carried through the steel vents at the base of the door and Sam pushed it open.

“We thought you might be hungry. I made your favorite and we have something we’d like to say,” Dean explained.

“Alright,” Y/N nodded, getting up from her desk where she had been updating her journal from the last hunt. She followed Sam and Dean down the hall to the library. She stopped short when she saw one of the tables covered with a linen tablecloth. There were two tapered candles in crystal candle holders. A bottle of her favorite wine sat uncorked in an ice bucket. She wasn’t much for emotion, and neither were the brothers, so the lump in her throat at the gesture caught her by surprise. She cleared her throat and moved to her regular chair.

Sam and Dean both pulled out her chair, one on either side and, once she was seated, they took their own places at the table.

“I didn’t even know the Bunker had nice things like this; an ice bucket, candle holders. Nice touch,” she commented, looking over the table. The aroma of dinner made its way to tickle her senses, and her mouth started watering. She lifted the cover from her plate. Jalapeno bacon macaroni and cheese with the crunchy panko topping Dean knew she loved. “Dean, this looks and smells amazing.”

“I made it with the crunchy top, just like you like it.” He smiled at her from across the table, his eyes shining golden in the candlelight. “Doesn’t taste the same without it.”

“Doesn’t taste the same without it,” she spoke at the same time, all three of them falling into easy laughter.

“Shall we eat?” Sam lifted his own cover.

The minutes that passed were filled with the sounds of mutual gratification as they enjoyed the meal Dean had prepared. Soon enough, the plates were picked clean and bellies were full.

Y/N picked up her wine glass, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “So, was this dinner your peace offering?” She eyed them both, sipping from her glass.

“For a start. Y/N, sweetheart, I’m sorry. My behavior tonight was childish, purposely picking a fight with Sam. It was a dick move, and you both deserve better than that,” Dean offered his apology first.

“Thank you, Dean,” Y/N smiled, reaching across the table to hold his hand.

“I’m sorry, too, Y/N. I knew Dean was being a dick on purpose, and I fell right into his trap. This isn’t who I am, who we are. And, I think you know that. You wouldn’t choose to be with us if it was. We’re better men because of you,” Sam reached his own hand over, grabbing hers.

“Thank you, Sam. I appreciate and accept both of your apologies,” she acknowledged. “However, if this is going to work, we need to talk to each other. No more fighting.”

“What do you mean ‘this’?” Dean air quoted.

“I chose you both for different reasons. You’re both good men and excellent lovers, but together, you’re perfect for me. I can’t get what I need from just one of you, and I have decided I want both of you,” she shrugged, draining the last of her wine.

“Really?” Sam questioned, his brows furrowed at the possible implications.

“Yes, really. I’ve got everything I need right here. There will need to be ground rules that we have to stick to, like we've been doing, but no whiny baby bullshit like you two pulled tonight. Got it?” Y/N looked pointedly at each of them.

“Got it,” they replied together.

“Good. Now, let’s get this cleaned up. We’ve got work to do,” she smiled.

“Like sexy work?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows.

“Good things come to those who wait, Dean. Like tearing down the wall in two of the spare rooms to make one large space for when I want all of us to be together. Cool?” Y/N started clearing the dishes, waiting for one of them to protest.

“Cool,” they replied in unison.

There wasn’t that one perfect person out there for everyone. For some, it was two perfect people that made you whole. That made your family.

Did you like it? The best thing you can do for a writer is to reblog their story and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busyfangirl @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke @gh0stgurl @alleiradayne @idreamofplaid @seenashwrite @crashdevlin @thoughtslikeaminefield @emoryhemsworth

The Dean’s List/Jensen’s Jamboree: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants @adoptdontshoppets @mtngirlforever @supernatural-jackles

The Sam Sin-dicate / Jared’s Menagerie: @mtngirlforever @supernatural-jackles

#asthesayinggoesbingo #spntfwbingo #spnbromentbingo #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean x reader #sam x reader #sam x reader x dean #polyamory #winchester sandwich

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thepetulantpen · 4 years

Text

Ink And Petals

(Flower Shop/Tattoo Parlor AU! I already posted this to my ao3, but I decided to put it up here, too. Enjoy!)

“You’ve never once thought it was odd that you’re next door to a tattoo parlor?”

It’s the third time Geralt’s heard that question- and it’s not the last time he’ll ignore it entirely. He hasn’t figured out Yennefer’s ulterior motive in getting him to check out the tattoo shop, but he’s probably better off not finding out.

“No. You want your usual?”

Yennefer huffs and leans on the counter. “Do I have to buy something every time I desire your company?”

“If it’s during business hours, yes.” Geralt turns, producing a bouquet of lilacs, violets and a number of other purple flowers. “Do you want it or not?”

“You already had it ready for me? So sweet.”

Geralt hums and opens the register expectantly. “And it would be a shame for you not to pay me, after all my thoughtfulness.”

She slides the money toward him with unnecessary seriousness- and an equally unnecessary tip. He’s past the point of complaining; honestly, he puts up with enough from her that he deserves it.

“I suppose it’s only right to pay top dollar for such a masterpiece.”

“I’m not sure whether the other customers should thank you for taking away such an atrocity, or curse you for buying out every purple flower I have.”

Yennefer’s grin turns wicked, a glint of a knife before a strike. “What other customers?”

The flower shop isn’t as empty as it used to be, but Yennefer insists he’s driving people away with his scowl- which is counterintuitive, as pointing it out only makes him scowl more. It’s fine- he makes enough to get by, and he doesn’t need anything else. If anything, the lack of customers- people he has to talk to- is a blessing.

“Relax,” Yennefer smiles and pats his cheek, “I’m just teasing. But really, with all this extra time you should... explore.”

“Explore?”

“The tattoo shop next door! Just think, it must be filled with interesting people, people for you to make friends with.” Yennefer takes her flowers and holds up a hand before Geralt can respond. “Don’t give me any nonsense about not needing friends. You’re lonely, Geralt.”

“I’m not—"

“Flowers don’t count as company. Just think about it, ok?”

And she’s gone, taking the scent of lilac with her.

Geralt goes back to watering, and tries to forget about the tattoo shop.

...

Of the few customers he gets, Geralt doesn’t see much variety. The vast majority are rushed, forgetful boyfriends. Or repentant boyfriends. A handful of girlfriends, a few older people shopping for an occasion. And Yennefer, of course.

The man who walks in on Thursday morning does not fit in any of those categories.

Tousled brown hair, striking blue eyes- all irrelevant details, outshined by the tattoos across nearly every available surface. Full sleeves, designs stretching over the bit of exposed chest. Winding up his neck, and the sides of his face. A flower curls on his right temple, and a series of music notes over his left cheek.

Somehow even more attention-grabbing is his smile, bright and wide and seemingly producing its own light. He strides up to the counter when he sees Geralt, sticking out a hand that Geralt hesitantly takes.

“I’m Jaskier!” He shakes Geralt’s hand, with more fervor than appropriate. “I run the shop next door.”

Geralt must make a face, because Jaskier is suddenly leaning even closer, excited. “Have you heard of me? I released an album last-“

“No. It’s just an odd name-“ Geralt cuts himself off and rephrases, “I mean, Buttercup is an interesting choice.”

Jaskier grins, a little surprised. “Not many people catch that! But then, it’s your profession, I should expect you to be an expert on those sorts of things.”

Geralt is an expert- but it’s not something he lets on easily. Mostly, he doesn’t talk enough to get on the topic of specific flower trivia and etymology, but the rest of the time, he tries not to come on too strong. Surprisingly, florist is not always synonymous with flower nerd (as Yennefer has taken to calling him).

He just shrugs, which Jaskier accepts with not even a pause for breath.

“Anyway, as I was saying, I work next door, as a tattoo artist,” he gestures to his tattoos- that is, to his whole body, “Shocking, I know. But I also release my own music- which, ok, also isn’t very surprising.”

“Did Yennefer put you up to this?”

“Who? No.” Jaskier doesn’t look overly concerned by the interruption. “I’ve just- it’s been suggested that I need to spruce up our lobby. More decoration, something pleasant like flowers. Which is where you come in, I hope.”

That answers a couple of questions, and raises several more. Whether Yennefer is trying to set him up, or make him socialize, or is just doing this because she thinks it’ll be funny is a mystery to him- but it doesn’t matter, in the end. This is a perfect out; just a customer, just an order.

Jaskier is waiting patiently, fiddling with business cards while Geralt stares at him. When Geralt shifts, he looks up expectantly, face lighting up at the attention.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Something bright! I like yellow.” The flower on his face crinkles slightly with his smile lines. “It has to smell good, and be generally inoffensive to clients. I, uh, don’t know a lot about flowers.”

“Most people don’t.”

Yennefer would tell him off for saying things like that- she claims it drives away customers- but Jaskier grins even wider, if that’s possible.

“Oh, good. You can help me, then? I’m thinking two bouquets for the front desk, and we’ll see how that goes.”

Jaskier insists on waiting while Geralt does his arrangements, exploring the store and all the flowers thoroughly. Geralt can hear him reading out names to himself and repeating them- memorizing them. To what end, he doesn’t know. Artist types are always doing weird things- Geralt tries not to read into it, to save himself a headache.

It ends up being a pretty simple arrangement- Geralt figures Jaskier wouldn’t know the difference, even if he did put more effort into it- so he’s done by the time Jaskier finishes his slow lap of the store. Jaskier grabs the flowers and inhales deeply, taking in the mild scent.

“Oh, these are lovely. Truly beautiful work, thank you.”

If it were anyone else, Geralt would say they were overexaggerating to irritate him, but he gets the impression that Jaskier has a flair for the dramatic. He does and says everything with a theatrical air, constantly performing. If the tattoos hadn’t given it away, Geralt could’ve guessed he was a musician- the type that needs a stage to feel seen.

He tips well, at least. Almost too generously, but he smiles, genuine, so Geralt lets it go.

“I’ll be returning for all my future flower needs.” Jaskier winks, which pulls at the music notes. “Of which I’m sure I’ll find many.”

Geralt doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean. It doesn’t sound sarcastic- maybe it’s just a Jaskier thing, spouting nonsense when nothing needs to be said at all.

He realizes, with horrifying certainty, that he may discover many Jaskier things if he really intends to visit often. For his flower needs.

Why are all (all two) of his regular customers so fucking weird?

Geralt hums, for lack of anything else to say, and Jaskier smiles, like he’d said something inspiring.

He’s left to sit at the counter for the rest of the day, half-expecting Jaskier to wander back in, looking for more conversation.

...

Jaskier only makes it a week before he finds an excuse to visit Geralt again. His curiosity has been a driving force in his life so far, and Geralt is a very intriguing man.

And attractive- unfairly attractive, some might say.

When he arrives, Geralt is lurking in the rows of flowers, misting them with a little spray bottle. It’s hilarious to see a man as big and intimidating as Geralt watering flowers, but it’s... sweet, too. He clearly cares- an artist in his own right.

“Geralt, my new friend,” Jaskier greets, and ignores Geralt’s unhidden skepticism. They’ll get there. “I need flowers.”

“I have flowers,” he deadpans, in a way that should not be funny, but definitely is.

“Excellent.” Jaskier steps up to him and points to the nearest flower. A pretty purple thing- lupine? He thinks he read its tag last time. “Tell me about this one.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow- unstoppable force- at Jaskier’s smile- immovable object. “Why?”

“I’m just curious.”

Geralt sighs, put upon, and looks very much like he’d prefer curiosity be eradicated altogether, but taps the nameplate. “Lupine. The wolf flower, named after the belief that it would destroy the soil. It’s part of the pea family.”

He delivers it as dryly as possible but Jaskier sees through him- if he knows that many facts, just off the top of his head, he must enjoy them. Jaskier points to another flower- another purple one, the whole store is color-coded.

“What about that one?”

“You can read, can’t you?” Geralt crosses his arms. “Why the sudden interest? You taking up gardening?”

“Maybe.” He grins- aiming for charming, rather than overly flirtatious, and lets his voice do the rest of the work. “Maybe I just like to hear you talk shop.”

Geralt makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a hum- there is a difference, Jaskier is starting to learn- but starts anyway, giving Jaskier short, informative descriptions of every flower he points out. He also gives him gardening tips- which Jaskier does not need, as his apartment is too small for even houseplants- and delves briefly into the basics of flower language, though, as he informed Jaskier with barely disguised disdain, “They all mean the same thing: they’re nice to look at it. Nobody cares if they represent unconditional love, or just regular love.”

It’s fascinating, to say the least. At face value, Geralt presents everything with the same plain facts you could read off a google search, but his little amused smile when Jaskier asks a dumb follow up question or the subtle, blink-and-you-miss-them deadpan jokes make a world of difference.

They end up pacing the store for an hour, Jaskier providing color commentary as Geralt silently goes about the maintenance of flowers. It’s only broken up by an alarm going off on Jaskier’s phone, reminding him that he has an appointment soon, and that he did actually want to get flowers.

“I look forward to a pop quiz about etymology next time I’m around, but I need to get going. Think you could get me some flowers?”

Geralt blinks, like he’d forgotten that was the original purpose of this visit. Jaskier has that effect on people- one of his many talents is derailing trains of thought.

“What’re you looking for?”

Shit. Jaskier spent the entire night googling flowers and reading Wikipedia pages, planning out an impressive bouquet that would show off all his newfound knowledge, but between the amount of flowers he’s seen today and the fact that he didn’t write anything down, he can’t remember a single part. Geralt is staring at him expectantly, so he smiles, like this was all part of the plan.

“Something with my namesake, I think, but with different colors this time. Bright, um...”

“Is this for an occasion? A special someone?” From anyone else, that might’ve been a come-on, but Geralt asks it so evenly, just gathering information.

“Nope,” Jaskier answers, too quickly. Too eagerly, but subtlety isn’t his style. “Just like to treat myself to flowers, that’s all.”

His phone goes off again. Technically, he has plenty of time, since it’s just next door, and he’s his own boss, but-

Geralt nods and turns back to his flowers. “You can go. I’ll deliver it to your store tomorrow morning.”

“You sure?”

This might not be a good idea- on one hand, he wants Geralt to visit him, but on the other, it’ll only prolong the inevitable slow death of this not-thing they have. Geralt, as far as he can tell, is immune to flirting, but Jaskier will be damned if he doesn’t give it a shot.

He’s in luck- Geralt nods, absently, and Jaskier is free to go about the rest of his day thinking about him. Not obsessing.

Definitely not.

It’s not his fault that he falls fast. He always has, always will. It’s not his fault that Geralt is handsome and sweet and surprisingly funny.

Usually, it wouldn’t be a problem. Usually, it’d just be a one-night stand, maybe a few dates. Usually, Jaskier doesn’t fall for someone because their eyes sparkle when they recite facts about flowers.

Usually, they don’t own businesses right next to each other, making the potential fallout very awkward. He’s not willing to dissolve his store and burgeoning local music career because of some poorly planned affair with a weirdly muscular florist.

He knows the drill, knows that he’ll get over it eventually. Maybe he’ll get lucky and fall for someone else, someone without strings attached. Maybe he’ll hire a gardener to take care of the succulents he’s going to buy- following Geralt’s advice- and hope they’re charming.

He resolves to move on, and the resolution lasts approximately a day. Right up until he spends the night tossing and turning with a song stuck in his head, begging to be brought to life. He gives up a few hours before his alarm goes off, snatching his journal from his night stand and jotting down what looks like a fully formed song. It’s bad, it’s cheesy, it’s obvious. The imagery- a wolf and flowers- barely makes sense.

Worst of all, he thinks he can work with it, as a rough draft.

...

Geralt is not sure why he’s standing in the waiting room of a tattoo parlor. That is, he knows why- he’s going to deliver Jaskier’s flowers- but he’s not sure why he suggested this, instead of just forcing Jaskier to wait.

Well, he technically knows that, too. Jaskier is loud and pushy and a little annoying but genuinely interested. Maybe it’s a low bar, but Geralt has met very few people who cared to hear about his interests- not even Yennefer can stand to talk about flowers, or bother to ask Geralt about them, not that they did all that much chatting when they were an item.

Jaskier talks a lot and can spin a conversation out of very little. It’s a relief to be able to talk as little as he prefers and still carry on a conversation.

From someone like Jaskier, Geralt expects to stop talking and look up to find him staring blankly, waiting to say his own piece. But Jaskier hangs onto every word Geralt says, asking follow ups where he can and carrying off into related tangents where he can’t.

He’d like to hang out with him again, if he’s honest. Some would say that’s enough.

Others- Geralt would need a practical excuse like, for example, a paid delivery of flowers.

“Sorry! We’re a bit short staffed today- hope you weren’t waiting long.” A blonde woman slides into the seat behind the front desk and smiles up at him, and at the flowers. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Jaskier.” He lifts the flowers, hoping she gets the idea.

Her smile widens- certainly getting an idea, but likely not the one Geralt wanted her to. Before Geralt can correct her, she points. “He’s in room two, right over there.”

He can feel her watching him as he turns, sees her leaning over her desk out of the corner of his eye. The first time he goes anywhere but his store in months and he’s already generating gossip- Yennefer is going to have a field day when one of her spies sends this down the grapevine.

Jaskier is in room two, but doesn’t immediately notice Geralt enter. He’s got headphones on, music playing loud enough for Geralt to make out the tune, and he’s working on a notepad and a tablet- at the same time. He must be ambidextrous- a pencil in one hand and a stylus in the other- and his head jerks back and forth between sketching out a design in a drawing program and writing out lines of text on a lined page, already filled with other text and scratched out notes.

Geralt can’t read the writing, between the messy handwriting and his distance, but the drawing is easy to make out. It’s the profile of a white wolf surrounded by purple flowers, rendered in stunning illustrative detail.

Lupine- wolf flower. So he was listening.

It’s a hell of a coincidence- maybe that’s why Jaskier was interested, as part of a project he was stuck on. Still, he could’ve googled it, or stopped after one flower- Geralt shakes his head, trying to stop theorizing, since it’ll get him nowhere.

He clears his throat, a little too loudly, and Jaskier jolts, fumbling his tablet and barely catching it. Geralt reaches out to help, but gets there too late, leaving him uncomfortably close with no reason to be. Just to do something, he puts the flowers on Jaskier’s table, pretending that was his original intention. If he accidentally brushes Jaskier as he reaches over, no one is the wiser.

“Ah, they look wonderful. Thank you, really.” Jaskier puts down his work and takes the flowers, pulling them close enough to smell. “I feel like I should give you a delivery fee, or something.”

“I’m literally next door.”

“I know! But I could be keeping you away from other paying customers.”

Jaskier’s eyes are wide, earnest, and Geralt gives him the benefit of the doubt that he truly doesn’t realize he’s become Geralt’s second-best customer.

“It’s fine. It was,” he hesitates and glances around the room, settling on, “nice. To see your store.”

Nice is a word to describe it. This room serves as Jaskier’s portfolio- the walls are covered in prints of his designs, all in the same vibrant, illustrative style of the wolf. They’re beautiful, a clear extension of Jaskier’s personality.

Jaskier grins, then his smile softens, with his voice, “That’s kind of you to say, Geralt. If not very creative.”

Geralt shrugs, as if to say I’m not a very creative guy. He thinks Jaskier gets the message- he always seems to. It’s time for him to leave, and let Jaskier get back to work, but he looks around for an excuse to stay longer. He lands on the tablet, sitting beside the flowers.

“Who’s that for?” It’s an offhanded question- he doesn’t care, but it’s conversation, and he’s trying.

Jaskier freezes, both hands stilling. “It’s, uh- just practice.”

It doesn’t look like practice. It’s massive, intricate and the photoshop file has twenty different layers, at a glance. Then again, Geralt knows fuck all about art. It could be normal, for all he knows.

“It looks good. You nailed the flowers.”

He doesn’t know [j1] why he said that. It’s the truth- Jaskier is, without question, a good artist- but Geralt doesn’t go around complimenting people he hardly knows. Or people he does know, for that matter.

Then, Jaskier smiles- bold and brilliant, like he did at the shop, while Geralt explained dozens of flowers for him. Ah. That’s why.

“You mean it?”

“I have no reason to lie. You clearly paid attention, yesterday.”

Jaskier beams and Geralt has to look away- it’s like the sun, gods. There’s a brief pause and Jaskier stands, prompting Geralt to look back at him.

“You know,” Jaskier starts, cautious, “this place is great, but I could do with a change of pace. Flowers have been popular lately- maybe I could visit your store once in a while, for unique reference?”

It’s a bad idea, an invitation for someone to invade his space, someone loud and annoying and-

Nice. It should be enough- people tell him it’s enough, to just be around people you like, and who like you.

Maybe he’ll try to take their advice, for once.

He nods and lets Jaskier convince him to hang around a while longer, pouring through his sketches and asking for unneeded advice- he brings up anything that has even a hint of flower, for Geralt’s reference.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Jaskier was looking for an excuse to make him stay.

...

It’s reached the point that Jaskier has become a permanent fixture in Geralt’s store. At odd times, between his appointments and concerts, Jaskier perches himself on a stool and doodles flowers, talking aloud to himself or Geralt or the flowers. Geralt half-listens for the occasional question, or joke, to react to, but mostly, it fades into pleasant background noise.

He’s also started bringing his guitar to test out songs, on the quieter days. Geralt almost draws the line there, but it’s not as obnoxious as he predicts and Jaskier keeps it low, muttering the lyrics and only testing out a few chords at a time.

The first few times turn out to be a test run- following those, without incident or complaint from Geralt, Jaskier brings his guitar every day. He composes as often as he draws, always creating, always inspired. The name plates of flowers get decorated with their own mini-portraits and Jaskier sits outside on Valentine’s Day, playing a jingle he wrote that makes Geralt want to deafen himself- but he can’t deny it brings business.

He still buys flowers semi-regularly, asking for increasingly ridiculous arrangements, just to see if Geralt can do it. Geralt delivers them while Jaskier is working, definitely giving the receptionist the wrong impression. He realizes he’s not worried about correcting her.

Yennefer tells him he should just start bringing Jaskier flowers- as a gift, a casual romantic gesture. It feels at once way too easy, and way too daunting. Maybe he just doesn’t understand how this works (Yennefer assures him that is absolutely the reason).

Nonetheless, he can’t bring himself to upset their peaceful coexistence, so he lets Jaskier keep coming over, and keeps delivering flowers. He tells himself he doesn’t need more, not if he’d have to risk what he already has.

Another step, a new thing, is complicated. Not as easy as Yennefer, or… anyone else says it is.

Jaskier rarely comes to the counter, since there aren’t as many flowers there, but he does today, hopping up to sit beside the register, where Geralt is organizing papers. “Hey, can I ask your opinion on something?”

“If you must.”

“Do you think it’s classless to buy something from someone, and then gift it to them? Even if it’s at a later date?”

Geralt raises an eyebrow and looks up at Jaskier- but Jaskier is looking away, towards the windows. “You’d just be gifting them money.”

“Do you think that’s classless?” Jaskier’s eyes cut back to Geralt, raising his own eyebrows.

“No.” Geralt pauses- that’s probably the wrong answer, but he’s the dug this hole, so, “Everybody likes money.”

“Fantastic, in that case,” Jaskier slaps down some twenties on the counter, “I’d like a bouquet of your favorite flowers.”

It takes a second to process that. Then another second to come up with a response- and a bad one, at that.

“Why?”

Jaskier scoffs and laughs. “Have you looked in the mirror? You’re handsome, funny, and passionate about what you do. I’d love to spend more time with you, without pretense.”

It’s that easy, he supposes.

Well, almost that easy. There’s still-

“What time?”

...

It gets even easier, miraculously. One movie night leads to another, one dinner becomes a weekly event, one late night turns into waking up in each other’s arms.

It all culminates into Geralt going to one of Jaskier’s concerts. Jaskier insists that he doesn’t have to - he knows Geralt doesn’t like crowds, doesn’t like loud music, doesn’t like people- but Geralt’s put it off so long that he feels like has to now, so he’s here.

He’ll admit that it’s not his scene, but he likes to see Jaskier in his element.

Jaskier shines on stage, lit up with more energy than usual- which is already a lot. He borrows from his audience, letting his chorus be lifted up by their voices. A lot of the words, and the overall message, are lost on Geralt, without knowing the lyrics beforehand, but Jaskier has a way of making anything sound emotional, meaningful. Geralt understands now why Jaskier insists on tea when he gets back from concerts; Geralt doesn’t know how Jaskier isn’t completely hoarse, after all this.

He can’t wait to get home and make dinner, maybe watch a movie. It hits him that he’s been thinking that a lot lately. Waiting to make dinner with Jaskier, laughing through pasta tutorials and ending up ordering instead, waiting for Jaskier to pick a movie, arguing over his terrible taste, waiting to go home, wherever Jaskier is.

When did it become home?

It’s a strange thought, the answer lying somewhere in the nebulous period between tolerating Jaskier and wanting Jaskier. It wasn’t hard with Yen- he knew what he liked about her, and what she liked about him- but with Jaskier, it’s harder to pin down the odd sense of loss he feels every time Jaskier leaves for the day and the warm feeling he gets every time Jaskier promises to come back.

All he knows is that he’s happy when Jaskier is around, and the other complicated stuff matters less and less every day. Jaskier makes it look effortless, so he tries to copy him, concentrating on the moment and not worrying about what’s to come. For now, he focuses on Jaskier’s last song, Jaskier’s sequined jacket shining in the spotlights, and Jaskier’s smile, aimed directly at Geralt.

Once he’s done, Jaskier mingles with the audience for a while- the venue is small, but packed, and he has to push through what’s quickly amounting to a mob to get to Geralt. Geralt is only saved from overcrowding by standing in the very back and putting on a scowl that he’s been told is “completely terrifying” and “inappropriate for society”. Jaskier doesn’t seem to mind it.

Geralt lets Jaskier pull him outside to stand in the parking lot, the space in the back that Geralt likes, for its privacy and the reduced risk to his car. Roach has been a fixture of Geralt’s life for a long time- he refuses to replace it, preferring to go to lengths to get it fixed. Jaskier thinks it’s adorable, a rare occurrence of sentimentality in Geralt’s life- which, Geralt insists, is untrue; it’s simply easier, more practical, to make this car work than it would be to adjust to a new one.

Jaskier hops up on its hood- reminding Geralt why he usually makes Jaskier find his own ride. He grins at Geralt, confident, like he knows Geralt won’t make him get down, or complain about boot marks, because he’s too fond of him.

He’s not wrong.

“Well?” Jaskier starts, leaning forward on his hands, elbows propped on his knees. From where Geralt’s standing, he can see new tattoos peeking over the edge of Jaskier’s collar, a bouquet of flowers blooming at the base of his skull. “How was it?”

The show, Geralt translates for himself. Jaskier is, frustratingly, a fan of non-sequiturs- which is only ever a problem on the rare occasions he actually expects a response.

“Loud.”

Jaskier stretches to kick Geralt in the shin, in retribution. He can’t quite reach, and pouts at Geralt, like he expects him to shuffle forward to be kicked. “Come on, you must have some review.”

“Of course.” Geralt rolls his eyes and pushes Jaskier to make room to sit next to him. There’s not enough space, and he ends up awkwardly half-sitting on the hood, but it gets him closer to Jaskier, which is his only real goal. “I’ll just use my extensive knowledge of music to write you an analysis.”

“That’s the spirit. I want to hear your favorite, and a breakdown on its core theme, melody, and rhyme scheme.”

Geralt pauses, trying to think of a legitimate answer. Jaskier is just teasing- he knows Geralt is hopeless with these things- but Geralt did try to listen, so he might as well give him something.

“I liked the one about the white wolf. Reminded me of your drawing.”

Jaskier blinks, surprised, and flushes. “Why that one, in particular?”

Geralt shrugs- he didn’t anticipate having to back up his response. Honestly, it was the first song he could remember, in the haze of loud music and half-heard lyrics. The tune, as he recalls, was tolerable; he figured if Jaskier took him seriously, it wouldn’t be too irritating to hear again and again. He hopes there wasn’t a weird, deeper meaning that he missed entirely.

Maybe he should listen next time Jaskier tries to teach him about music. He’s aware, on some level, that his inability to keep up with even a basic chorus is on par with Jaskier’s inability to keep even the hardiest plants alive.

“I just liked the tune.” He redirects, hoping to distract, if not recover, “You never did tell me who that drawing was for.”

Jaskier breaks into a grin, for no reason Geralt can discern. He puts an arm around Geralt’s waist and pulls himself in closer- nearly making them both lose their balance in the process. They’re in a dark, dingy parking lot, on their way to a small apartment and a mediocre dinner, but Geralt can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

“Maybe one day I’ll clue you in. On a completely unrelated note, are you interested in getting a tattoo?”

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #flower shop/tattoo parlor au #pure fluff #i cant believe i havent done one of these yet #jaskier with tattoos is the hill ill die on

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years

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What was the brand of your first ever cell phone? Cingular Wireless.

What are your 3 favorite internet sites? Tumblr, YouTube, and Twitter.

Do you have a favorite pair of blue jeans? Describe them. I like all my jeans, they’re all dark wash skinny jeans.

What profession do you respect? Anyone who works with the disadvantaged and is paid pennies for it – social workers, homeless/domestic violence shelter employees, animal rescuers, etc. High-stress jobs with no financial reward, basically. <<< Yes!

Have you ever been the recipient of a practical joke? No.

Have you ever ate something you’ve dropped on the floor, if so what? Nooo. That 5 second rule is a lie.

Would you consider being an Uber driver if you needed to make extra money? I don’t have a car, nor can I drive, which are both kinda necessary. IF I could, I still wouldn’t. I’d be scared to have strangers in my car.

How do you know when you’re in love, what’s the main sign? I actually want to be around the person for long periods of time. <<< Ha, yeah that’s definitely a sign for me as well.

Have you ever gotten anything autographed, if so by who & what was it? Jim Carrey, Jamie Lee Curtis, and Drake Bell.

Do you prefer Walmart or Target? Target.

What do you long for? My vacation next year.

If you could be a personal assistant to anyone, who would it be? No thanks.

What is the most important thing you can do to improve yourself? Take better care of myself. What makes it hard for you to keep your focus? My mind will just start to wander after awhile and if I focus on trying to stay focused, I become too focused on being focused. Did you follow any of that? lol.

Do you think society has become too PC (politically correct)? I think in some cases people are too quick to attack others. Some people truly may just be ignorant about a topic or accidentally misspoke about something, but people are so quick to attack and make them out to be the worst person in the world. Try educating others instead. Some people act like they know everything and never say the wrong thing ever.

What tragic love story do you relate to? None.

Has your intuition or “gut” served you well? In some cases.

What’s the longest you’ve ever waited in line for something and what was it? Midnight premieres. My friends and I would get there an hour or two early and you just hang around until they start letting people in. It was fun, though. We’d bring blankets and a bunch of snacks.

Who is your favorite model? I don’t have one.

What have you done that is out of character for you? I used to be the friend everyone could come and talk to. I was dependable. A few years ago I pushed everyone away and became distant and withdrawn. I’m not that dependable person anymore.

Would you rather get a gift card or a gift that someone bought for you? I appreciate either one.

Who is the most visionary person in your life & how do they inspire you? Uhhh.

How do you handle a betrayal? I’d be hurt, but I’d also likely blame myself.

What do you feel strong enough to protest about? I’ve never protested before.

What’s the biggest blooper you’ve never lived down? My life.

If you owned a restaurant what kind of food do you want to serve? To play along with your hypothetical game I’d have a cafe.

What will we find if we look in the bottom of your closet today? Medical supplies and shoes.

What kind of car did you learn how to drive on? I still haven’t learned how to drive.

What is the best thing you have done just because you were told you can’t? I don’t know.

Have you ever had to go to court or testify and if so what for? No.

Do you believe in karma? No.

Are you more worried about doing the things right, or doing the right thing? I can worry about both. They are not mutually exclusive. <<< Yeah. They’re not even the same thing. Doing things right can be like following instructions and such, while doing the right thing is like what you think is morally right.

Do you believe in the term “Mother knows best? My mom often does. If I would have just listened to her advice some things would certainly be a lot different. Even now. I’m so damn stubborn.

Who is your favorite movie action hero? Iron Man, Spiderman, Ant-Man, Star Lord, and Thor.

What is one thing you can get in your hometown you can’t get elsewhere? Hm. Nothing is coming to mind, honestly.

How important are looks in someone you’re in a relationship with? I just answered this in another survey. They’re not the most important thing, it’s gotta be deeper than just looks, but I can’t say they don’t matter at all.

What freedom do you feel is not really free anymore? Uhhh.

What are you most thankful for? My family.

Do you have any favorite talk shows or talk radio programs without music? Well, as far as talk shows go I like to watch Daily Pop and Dr. Phil. Sometimes The Talk as well.

What was the last book you read? Because of Bethlehem by Max Lucado.

What’s your favorite online store? The places I shop online the most are: Hot Topic, BoxLunch, Kohl’s, Amazon, and Etsy.

What band would you love to tour with or be a roadie for? I don’t wanna do that. I couldn’t handle it.

If you were to throw a message in a bottle into the ocean, it would say? “Hi.” lol.

Do you have common sense or do you think people are lacking in it? It doesn’t seem to be very common sometimes. You either got it or you don’t, and it does seem to be lacking.

What’s your favorite non-alcoholic drink? Coffee.

How do you feel about thrift shops or flea markets? Not my thing.

What do you like to put gravy on? Mashed potatoes, stuffing, turkey, and ham. I love country gravy on my eggs.

Have you ever gone canoeing/kayaking? Nope.

What one thing in particular makes you feel good about yourself? Nothing.

What is priceless to you? Time with my family.

What do you wait for discount sales to buy? I always look for a good sale and use coupon codes whenever I can.

What is one thing you know about your family history you’re proud of? I honestly don’t know a whole lot. I’d really like to do that ancestry test.

What 3 songs will always be found at the top of your playlist? It changes.

What is the craziest thing you’ve ever done for someone? Hmm.

Do you keep a budget? I try.

If you could cast a spell on someone what spell would you cast and on who? Nah.

What makes you feel rested and refreshed? Spending time at the beach is the only thing that can make me feel that way.

What is the funniest joke you have ever heard about? I don’t know what I’d say the funniest joke I ever heard was. Who depends on you the most? No one.

Could you ever be someone’s bodyguard? Ha, no. I’m very thin, weak, and in a wheelchair. No offense to anyone else who may also be any of those things, but I know I couldn’t protect anyone. I’m also a scardy cat, easily intimidated, and non-confrontational, so... I’d really be of no use at all.

Has one of your biggest fears come true? Yes. And some will eventually... they’re inevitable. :(

Is there anything about the opposite sex you just don’t understand? There’s a lot I don’t understand about people in general.

Did you create a checklist for your ideal spouse? If so, what were two things you wanted? I only list things like that when asked in a survey. It comes up a lot.

Have you ever ridden on a subway or train an what did you like about it? Nope.

What song on your playlist gets played the most? My Spotify wrap up thingy listed all that, but I don’t feel like checking it again right now.

Do you prefer sporty or academic members of the opposite sex? Academic.

Do you have to experience something to fully understand it? No. I have a strong instinct for empathy. <<<

Has anyone in your family ever served in the military? Yes.

Finish the next line in your style: Roses are red, violets are blue… I’m tired, how are you?

What embarrasses you instantly? When I start mixing my words around when I speak. <<< Saaaame. I trip over my words, too.

Do you think you could be a firefighter, why/why not? Nope. Well, there’s the wheelchair for one.

Do you often read your horoscope? I never do.

What current event are you tired of hearing about? Trump.

Are you a daredevil? Ha, nope.

What common pitfalls do you find yourself dealing with in your work life? I don’t have a job.

Describe your “poker face”. >> My resting face is a poker face. People tend to read all kinds of things into it (usually negative things), because I guess they can’t stand a simple blank slate. <–Me. We’re so misunderstood. Haha. <<< Me, too.

What do you think should be censored? I don’t see the issue with curse words being censored. I just never understood why you can say some, but not others.

Are you related to anyone famous or historical, if so who? Possibly.

Would you ever donate a kidney to anyone, and who? I don’t know.

How do you encourage yourself when you go through hard times? My relationship with God.

Have you ever fired a gun? Yes. I went to a shooting range once with friends.

Do you think people, including yourself live up to their full potential? I’m not doing anything with my life. :/ I don’t feel like I have much potential, either.

How are you different from most people? I’m different from people I know in a lot of ways. Like, people I know are functioning adults and I’m not.

What is the main quality you think makes a great parent? Understanding is definitely one. There’s a lot of things, though.

What creature do you admire for its ability to adapt? Dogs.

Have you ever stayed up for an entire 24 hours, why? Yeah. I’ve stayed up for over 30 hours. I honestly don’t know I ever did that. I could never now.

Who is a female role model in your life? My mom.

What childhood dreams have you neglected? The ones where I was doing something with my life.

How often do you reevaluate your life? I don’t. I am aware of what my life looks like at any given time. I don’t need to sit down and think deeply about it to realize I need to change something I’m doing; I am well aware of my faults and negative habits. <<< Just gonna keep all your answers.

What’s your favorite place just to hang out? My bed.

What gives you a zest for life? This makes me think of this thing I saw on Twitter that said something like, “I thought it would be easy peasy lemon squeezy, not stressed, depressed, lemon zest”, ha.

What do you have trouble seeing clearly in your mind? My mind is a jumbled mess.

What three things do you think of most of each day? God, my health, and my life.

Would you travel to space if possible? Nopeeee. Just the idea of space is terrifying to me.

Name a famous person you wouldn’t mind for a business partner. I don’t want a business partner. I’m not doing anything in business.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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grimmarray · 5 years

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Soulmate Sanctuary <3

Hello again, and let me present to you the second slap-dash instalment in my series of soulmate AU’s!

Soulmate AU: shared pain Pairing: EraserMight Words: 2400

You’d always figured your soulmate was also a hero, it was the only profession that boasted near constant injury. Your soulmate was the reckless type, something you hated, but it wasn’t like you could tell them not to, since you didn’t know them.

“Are you sure they’re already a pro?” Hizashi had asked one day in a study period.

You nodded, “It’s the only way I’d feel the kind of injuries that I do,” you winced at a sudden bloom of pain against your chest.

“They fighting somewhere?” Hizashi picked up the sublte shift in your normally serious demeanor even as you tried to hide it.

“Yeah,” you cursed to yourself as impacts began making themselves known. Who ever they were fighting was fast, agile and way more experienced.

“I’ll cover for ya?” Hizashi tapped the edge of his desk, towards the door.

“No,” you shook your head. He seemed to settle with that but as usual, his attention to the next class was tenfold and his notes suddenly became organized. You hated being coddled, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as failing, and your grades were a big reason you were put in the hero course in the first place, so there was no way you could let them slip.

You lived your life feeling your soulmates pain, which for most people was an inconvenience, but ultimately livable. Being a hero, you knew the ins and outs, you’d felt the pain that came with it even before you experienced it for yourself. Part of that made you dip into the stealth side of hero work, it was less likely to result in a fight, even though you knew in the back of your mind that injuries tended to be worse if you did get caught. Another part of the reason was avoidance, soulmates complicated things, especially in hero work. Heroes went to great lengths to protect their soulmates, and you’d already noticed how difficult that ended up being especially with other heroes. No thanks, so you stuck to the shadows, worked mostly at night and avoided team ups whenever possible. As usual, Hizashi continued to cover for you and him being in the public eye incidentally made you more inconspicuous, a mere after thought even in the other man’s presence. Of course he and Nemuri decided that despite your odd hours, take out nights still happened at your apartment.

It was one of those such nights that they came upon you screaming in agony. You barely remember them being there, but they apparently spent most of the night and much of the next couple of days with you as you experienced a pain that probably should have killed you, or rather, killed your soulmate. You didn’t move much for a whole week and even after that, you caught Hizashi and Nemuri whispering way too often about your sudden shift. You hated it, the pain was constant, dulled only as your soulmate slept, which luckily for you was during reasonable hours, the hours you spent awake and working. They had to have retired, you reasoned, there was no way they could keep doing hero work.

And yet they pushed themselves, pushed their body, and you in turn suffered for it.

“Shooootaaa,” Hizashi waved a hand in front of your face, snapping you back to reality, “I know you don’t really want to be a teacher, but it is a good way to take things easy,”

“If you think presiding over a group of teenagers will be easy, then I won’t burst your bubble,” you sighed, “I have much more reasonable expectations,” these heroes in training would be nothing if not driven, a characteristic that was expected from the prestige of UA highschool. You had no illusions that teaching would be an easy job, but in your current state, it was a hard compromise.

Physically you were in peak condition, but mental exhaustion and lack of sleep had begun to take its toll. There was nothing more dangerous in stealth then distraction, so you left that side of your career as a side gig, as Hizashi eloquently put it when he proposed the idea. It was a sound idea, so there was little you could do but go along with it.

“All Might is going to be a teacher here?” you asked Nedzu, “What kind of publicity stunt is this?” “Anything but,” the principal smiled easily, “As an alum, it would be an honor to have him on staff, but it will also be a great resource for our students,” “Don’t give me that, would I be asking if it wasn’t a legitimate concern?” “You wouldn’t be, but would I really be putting our students into such a spotlight without a good reason?” His logic was sound, as always. You sighed and excused yourself, things were bad enough having to deal with hero hopefuls who were too big for their own heads, but having to deal with the number one hero on top of that. You did not have the energy. Whatever the reason Nedzu had, this was only a recipe for trouble.

Speaking of trouble, “Shotaaaaa~!” Hizashi bounded from the end of the hall, “Look what I got for you!” “I don’t need them,” you pushed the bottle of pain dampeners away. Regular pain killers did nothing for soulmate pain, but there were other drugs meant to dull the connection. The dulling was worse then the pain in your opinion, it made you feel lifeless and loopy. “They will be in your desk if you do,” he clicked his tongue, clearly not convinced, but he knew pushing would get him nowhere. That was the nice thing about Hizashi, despite not having a soulmate, he cared so deeply for his friends, and often that meant taking care of you when you just couldn’t. It wasn’t just you either, Nemuri had her fair share of neglected needs, most of them tactile in nature. She was incredibly physical and not many people were comfortable enough to meet her expectations, except Hizashi. You never saw them together where they weren’t hanging off one another in some way. You mostly avoided their platonic cuddles and abstained completely when they went farther, but every once and a while you would let them pile on top of you as long as they let you out when you’d had enough or hurt too much. Sometimes though, you found the pressure on your body eased the pain somewhat.

Maybe it was further exhaustion, but the pain only increased after All Might started teaching and the new batch of first years started. Your new homeroom class was enough to make you want to curl up under the podium and sleep but as tempting as that sounded, they required a close eye, especially from you. Figures the teacher with an erasure quirk would end up with such problem children.

But something about them spoke of potential, even the one who couldn’t even control his quirk had this fire to him that made you hesitate to expel them all. So you kept the lot of them, gruffly teaching them the basics of what being a hero meant.

The USJ was supposed to be a routine day. First, All Might had to back out for some reason that Nedzu wouldn’t explain, secondly, today seemed to be a bad day for your soulmate leaving you quietly suffering as Thirteen took the lead, and finally, there were the villains.

It took only ten minutes for things to go absolutely to shit. Not only were there a lot of them, but the apparent leader of the group also brought one that was beyond anything you’d ever fought. It took you down in no time, smashing you into the pavement enough to shatter you, but as your body cried out in pain, your mind sharpened, used to the deluge of horrible sensations, enabling you to target their warp-gate user and prevent them from leaving, earning precious seconds for the pros to arrive, and seconds of distraction to keep your students safe. The last thing you remember is All Might arriving, seemingly faltering before flexing his right arm and jumping in.

“We have you on dampeners and painkillers, luckily your friend clued us into your connection so you could rest more easily,” the doctor explained through the haze of the drugs and the residual pain you couldn’t place. “Hizashi?” you slurred in question. “I guess friend was a bit of a stretch, sorry,” came a slightly familiar voice that didn’t at all match the thin form that came into your field of view alongside the doctor who shrugged and left you with this man, “I suppose I really should explain,” “Who are you?” you asked flatly. “I’m Toshinori Yagi,” the man introduced himself, then hesitated before continuing, “You could also call me All Might,” Fantastic, fever dreams, you thought, why the hell does he keep rubbing his arm. Putting voicing to the latter thought seemed to surprise the other man. “I’m not exactly used to feeling pain that isn’t my own,” “You what?” you sputter, wondering if this isn’t just some drug-induced dream. “Your arm, it was shattered, I nearly thought I’d run into some other villain before I saw you in that state,” He shuddered, “I was almost too late,” “Ah,” you took in what he said piece by piece, looking between your arm and his before you snapped back into the reality of his introduction, “All Might?!” “Yes, as hard as that is to believe looking like this, and as much as I’d love to prove it, I couldn’t muster the energy if I tried,” he chuckled tiredly. “Sit down and stop hovering,” you snap, though even seated he still towered over the bed, much like All Might did over the desks at the school. “Why aren’t you retired?” was the next question that let itself out, though you couldn’t be 100 percent sure from where. “The Symbol of Peace isn’t really something you can retire from,” he sighed heavily, “I apologize for the trouble,” “You what now?” “I apologize-“ “I heard that, but why are you apologizing to me?” This set the other man blinking in confusion, “I mean, all the trouble I’ve surely caused you, I never even realized it was that bad until Present Mic explained,” Suddenly it dawned on you, and the pieces fell together all at once, “How dare you risk yourself like that you reckless asshole!?” The reprimand seemed to have the opposite effect, easing the expression on his face, “Sorry, again. I’m a hero, that’s my job. Admittedly I can’t actually do it for very long these days, but I manage,” “I cannot believe you,” you growl before your energy gave out and you sank back into the bed, “If you’re really sorry about the trouble you’ve caused, you’ll get me out of here,” All Might seemed to consider the request, “You know what, sure, I hate being here too, and I think I’d rather talk somewhere more private,”

You considered offering your apartment, but you knew your two dear friends were likely to barge in once they heard you were sprung, and that wasn’t exactly privacy despite the trust you had in them.

All Might beat you to the punch either way by proposing his own house, “It’s just a small flat, but it’s better than nothing,” “It’s fine,” you nodded, “I don’t really mind,” It couldn’t be smaller than your apartment, and as long as it was ground level you hoped you could just walk. It took a while, and the doctors wouldn’t let you go until you could prove you could stand by yourself, but eventually you managed to escape with All Might, no, Toshinori.

“I don’t have a car, I hope you’re okay with a cab,” he said sheepishly as he waved at one of the ones waiting for patrons.

You groaned, but the painkillers were still affecting you, so you followed and collapsed in the back seat. The driver gave you one look and Toshinori another, but he took the address and drove you both to a rather inconspicuous suburb where he stopped at a place that blended pretty well at first glance.

The second you got inside you clued into its misleading construction, “Small my ass,” you muttered as you scoped out a couch and collapsed onto it, groaning as your arm hit one of the rests. “Careful,” Toshinori huffed, grabbing some pillows out and a blanket, busying himself to make you comfortable and surprisingly after he was done manhandling you, it was rather comfortable. “Thanks,” you muttered, closing your eyes, “So what exactly do we need to talk about, I know it’s probably the drugs but I’ve forgotten where we… oh right,” you stammer as your mind begins supplying you with the pieces you’d clumsily fit together before. “Yeah, that,” he sat beside you looking at his hands, “I didn’t really want to just blurt it out, but I think it’s safe to say that we are soulmates,” Hearing him say it aloud sent a shiver down your spine and you realized that your mind had come to the same conclusion before. He was probably waiting for the inevitable question, “Show me,” you demanded instead. He shot you a searching look before letting out a deep sigh, “It’s not pretty and you are one of five people who know me in this shape, I would rather it not be spread around, understand,” “I do, now show me,” you insisted, more concerned with identifying the source of your pain for all these years. He turned towards you slightly and unbuttoned his shirt before lifting it out of the way of the biggest knot of scarring you had ever seen. It was like a punch in the gut, here you had been annoyed about the pain itself, but looking at the patchwork sitting on the surface of this man’s stomach, just under his ribs, you regretted it all. There was no way the pain was the worst of it. You found yourself reaching out with your good hand, but at the last second you sent him a questioning glance, asking permission. When he nodded, you let your hand rest right on the apex of it before trailing your hands down over one of the trailing lines that probably came from what must have been several surgeries. “How are you even alive?” you asked bluntly. A laugh escaped his lips, “I had to be, there is one more thing you should know,”

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#Soulmate sanctuary #erasermight #aizawa x toshinori #aizawa shouta #bnha #bnha fandom #bnha aizawa #bnha all might #all might #toshinori yagi #shared pain #soulmate au #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha

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almaasi · 7 years

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you have witch powers? i've always been fascinated with "paranormal" stuff, including magic, so i was wondering if u could tell me stuff about it. is magic real? what kind of stuff did ur grandma do? are ghosts and spirits real too? what kinds of spells can witches cast? is it like supernatural? sorry if i'm asking a lot of questions i'm just so fascinated and curious. i didn't even know witches were like, legit until i read ur tags, i just thought that people back then said that so they had 1/2

2/2 a reason to burn a woman they didn’t like. ok now i’m rambling but in short, what can u tell me about witch stuff? i’m just asking cause i’m really curious :)

(about my tags on this)

#whenever phil gets out the tarot cards and pulls something scarily accurate i’m just like…. yes…. good…show us your witch powers…… #(my own experience with tarot? so reassuring. and calming. it’s like asking for a friend’s advice but that friend is your own brain.) #also my great grandmother was a witch by profession and i definitely got some of her magic #i have not yet learned to recognise a feeling when i feel it.. but when stuff happens later i’m like OH THAT WAS MY MYSTERIOUS FEELING #one of our sheep died a week or so ago.. and for two days straight i was outside in the middle of the night staring at the moon #and wondering why i felt death in the air #and the rain made me cry and it felt like release but i didn’t know why #and i immediately started worrying about our sheep but didn’t follow up to see if they were okay #then two days later my mother comes in and tells me one of our sheep died and two days ago had given my mother “the death look” #if you’ve never seen someone or something die… there’s this look they have that’s like a disgraced peacefulness and self-awareness #but basically i knew the sheep was gonna die without any reason for me to think that #and i need to learn to follow up on my instincts because they’re ever-present and i never know when it’s a psychic thing or random anxiety #disclaimer: IS IT ALL BULLSHIT who knows? but science doesn’t know a whole lot about a lot of things and this stuff is natural to me #so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

okay!! i was expecting someone to ask, so here goes. (in case anyone’s wondering, this is a personal post, and no, i’m not making this stuff up.) (feel free to reblog if you want. but it’s so goddamn long aaah)

first off, an opinion: whether or not you believe magic is real in this world is entirely related to whether or not it is real. at least in my books. magic/paramormal stuff can always be observed, but if you don’t believe it’s anything beyond coincidence or skilled trickery, it’s not gonna impact you.

i do believe in ghosts (or djinns, or something else human-like), but in my experience they don’t really do anything except exist in some other realm and occasionally become visible when i’m at my most lucid, at that point between waking and sleeping. most people (myself included) would say it’s just a hallucination. but like…. who’s to say it isn’t real, just in a way we as humans don’t yet understand? y’know?

the most interesting ghost sighting i’ve experienced was when i was fully awake, not hallucinating. i was in a car with my sister, my sister’s friend, and her mother - and we drove over a bridge, and i saw a fritzing semi-translucent black figure walking along the peak. i looked back and it was gone. it wasn’t scary, it was just really cool. i saw that with my own two eyes, i have zero doubt i saw it, and for that moment, it was there.

other times i’ve seen things pass through walls, or felt presences in the room that vanish when i look. i get deja vu maybe once a week. the ability comes and goes in phases, switched on and off whenever i tell someone about it. it’s like that part of my brain gets really shy and goes into hiding when it’s mentioned.

sometimes it can be pretty powerful. there’ve been moments when a deja vu begins, i remember it from a dream, fast-forward through the memory to remember what happens, and i get ahead of present time, so i predict what’s in front of me by about one to three seconds. usually it’s snippets of conversation, or my hands moving to complete an action, or words i’m typing. (let me tell you, it’s so freaking bizarre when you’re consciously typing, thinking about what you’re typing, and simultaneously remembering typing it before, and knowing what you’re about to type despite not yet knowing. and then seeing it happen. i think a lot of people reading this would be like “what?” but i know there’s someone out there who knows exactly what i mean)

for a long time in my teenage years i told people i’d see coloured figures, like auras without physical people, just hanging around out there in the world, but due to health issues a lot of my teenage memories are gone, and the only memory i have of that stuff is the recollection of me telling people about it, and remembering it while telling people. it’s really weird. i sometimes think maybe i made that up?? but i don’t understand why i’d do that when i do actually see other things sometimes.

once, my family visited this old historic building, and i remember seeing a woman in a maid’s outfit duck through a doorway. but she wasn’t actually there. so. idk.

my great-grandmother (or great-great grandmother?) on my mother’s side used to sell love spells to the people in her Indian village. my mother told me about it when i was little. my [great] great grandmother would write a spell on parchment, and the client had to go home and burn it in their fire. and she would curse people, in exchange for payment. that’s all i know about that. but my grandmother (also on my mother’s side) used to have some kind of power, i never got to ask about it while she was still alive. (she was an awesome woman. one of the first women in her country and generation to go to university.)

personally, having been raised as a muslim, i always felt really disconnected from the culture and practices of the religion, even though i believe in the supernatural aspects of it right down to my core. that’s despite my ultimate acknowledgement of facts being deeply rooted in hard science. recently (like, in the past few months) i’ve started to rediscover my faith - directly following on from a quiet interest in the pinterest & instagram aesthetics of paganism and new age magic, which as a concept i was never really sure about. i just really liked how it looked. basically, it clicked in my brain that islamic prayers could, in essence, just be spells. you gotta take everything with a grain of salt. they might not work. but that’s the beauty of it.

a few weeks ago i stumbled across a prayer on tumblr, and read its intended purpose: “Allah will grant whoever recites this seven times in the morning or evening whatever he desires from this world or the next”.

and… i started to think, maybe the purpose is not to actually do that. nothing ought to be a get-out-of-jail-free/do-this-and-your-life-is-made type thing. maybe the purpose is to make you believe nothing can go wrong. and that every bad thing that happens–? it happens so that you can learn from it. and eventually, after many things change, you realise what you desire was not the thing you thought you desired. (idk how to explain that. an example from my life: i really wanted to be a veterinarian growing up. then i got sick, dropped out of school. and now i’m a writer. i want to be a writer more than i ever wanted to be a vet. i had to get sick and my life had to fall apart before i could discover that. writing was never something i’d have considered before.)

my point is, if you believe everything that happens to you will ultimately be a good thing, bad things don’t hurt so much.

and if you take something as a sign, it’s a sign. it’s just your own brain taking hints from the world around you and using them to conjure up a decision. if you wanna believe it’s magic, it is.

personally i like protection prayers/spells and just…generally positive ones. i say prayers for sick friends, people who i see on my tumblr dash who are having a bad time, and if i see or hear about disasters or worldwide events. i’m not expecting it to have a visible impact, but like.. what’s the harm? at the very least it makes me feel like i did something if i don’t have money to give, or i can’t be there with a friend, or the world is falling apart and i’m helpless. praying or saying a spell is just hoping, really, really hard. if some greater being is out there, listening? cool. (but what if god doesn’t wanna do anything? maybe it’s like my cupcake theory. god puts the ingredients in a baking tray, shoves it in the oven, forgets about it. the universe rises as a cupcake. god made it. but the universe is doing its own damn thing.)

regarding tarot cards: again, it’s self-reflection. you can believe answers come from outside influences, but it’s easily just as much about interpreting generic advice and making it mean something to you. but personally i’ve drawn random cards, and known that no other card in the deck would’ve been as relevant at that moment. i’ve used tarot cards to determine the endings for my stories, and coincidentally pulled cards that directly represent my title characters.

one time i was thinking about my fic “The Moonlighter and the Magician” and the card i pulled first was The Magician. and i was like gee thanks tarot cards that’s helpful. (but actually? it meant those cards were on the same wavelength as me. think about it. 78 cards, there’s a one in 78 chance i pull that one on my first try.)

apart from my wonky first-ever tarot readings with the Rider-Waite travel-size tarot deck (which belonged to my mother), i’ve never pulled anything that didn’t eventually make sense. i use The Wild Unknown cards now, i relate to them so much more. plus they’re mine, not borrowed or abandoned for years, which probably helps. (buying those cards was the most money i ever spent on anything. i don’t regret it.)

is any of this like the show ‘supernatural’? not really. the closest i can say my experiences have come to the show would be the episode “faith”. just, the whole episode. it doesn’t matter if it’s the real deal, so long as it works. and boy, does it work for me. and a lot of other people.

like i said, all the spirit-like entities i’ve encountered have been perfectly benign. no monsters, except things i’m pretty sure are nightmares.

but on that note, i take a lot of things to help me sleep. if i didn’t, i’d be waking up screaming night and day (i hit whistle register while screaming, once). i see faces in the dark and creatures in my bedroom, even when my eyes are closed and i’m awake. i sleep with a light on, and i prefer to sleep in the day. i cannot even deal with the presences in my room.

for that matter, my room is definitely the most presence-heavy room in the house. now, although it’s obviously just in a drafty area, i feel the cold spots. all. the. time. i’m feeling one right now as i type this. the door and window are both closed. the heater is always on. the draft comes from the same corner of the ceiling my cat stares at when she’s “staring into space”. there’s definitely something there, but it legit doesn’t bother me. it watches me get dressed sometimes, but it’s not weird about it. like i said, benign.

i feel energy everywhere i go. i can’t stay in my family’s open plan living room comfortably for more than a few minutes, because that room is filled with people and pets coming and going all freaking day, and even when it’s empty, it’s so LOUD. there’s vibrations and voices coming out of the walls, because the house absorbs it all. as a generally tired person, that room exhausts me. i can only stay there if i have social energy. (yes, even an empty room.)

i am so, so sensitive to people’s moods and the energy they let out (to the point where i burst out screaming if i see a negative microexpression during a personal conversation). i find phone calls very difficult, not just because of social anxiety, but because i can’t sense energy as easily as i want to, and is natural for me. skype calls aren’t the same as being there in person. a lot of this could also be autism-related, but nearly everything about me is autism-related, because i’m autistic. go figure.

one time, the day i had my first period, i passed out in a maths exam. all the other times in my life, i’ve seen black or maybe red when i passed out, but this time it was a striking cobalt blue. and i heard SO MANY VOICES, i thought the whole classroom was full of people shouting. my P.E. teacher was observing that exam, she carried me out of the room and lay me on the floor outside. i told her about the voices, she looked at me in confusion and said “there were no voices?? the whole room was silent for the exam.” obviously that was a weird day, but given the amount of times i’ve lost conciousness in my life, before and after that day, i know the warm muggy feeling of slipping away, and i guarantee that one was just a little bit not-normal.

my cat Wilson follows me everywhere. if you’ve ever seen a picture of a witch and her familiar, that’s me and Wilson. she leaves the house if i leave, and she’ll walk down the road beside me to make sure i stay safe. she only lets me leave completely if i go in a car, but even then, she tries to come too. i know what she says when she talks. she speaks in words for me. it translates naturally in my head without a thinking process.

there was this one time when i was about 15 my parents took me to an after-hours medical centre because apparently i was ~speaking in tongues~ or whatever. i don’t remember it, i remember ‘waking up’ with a doctor’s flashlight in my eyes, crying, then holding my sister’s hand as we looked at the fish in the fishtank afterwards. i can’t say how legit that is because i just.. don’t remember it.

one time as a kid, i am absolutely sure i was possessed for about 30 seconds. i was walking down the street on a balmy English afternoon, pine needles scattered underfoot, with my elderly grandmother (paternal), my grandfather, and my sister. i must’ve been 6 or 7? and a streak of evil just bolted through me. and i stuck out my foot and my grandmother fell flat on her face. my grandfather tried to help her up, a car driving by pulled up and asked if they needed help, grandfather said no, and got her back to her feet. i can’t remember if i felt remorse. i think i just knew instinctively that it wasn’t me who did it. but like.. i wasn’t just A Nice Kid, okay, i was The Nicest Kid. i just don’t do things like that. ever. especially not to a kind and generous grandmother who i love so very dearly. i never had before, and i never have since. that’s the single most evil thing i’ve ever done in my life and it came out of nowhere. being more aware now, i think it was a djinn (aka a demon in christian beliefs, i think). they’re known for being mischievous. (my grandmother was fine, by the way. this is the first time i’ve told anyone about this.) now i think about it, i remember cobalt blue behind my eyes then, too.

whoops, this is a really long post now. but uh… basically, i’ve just always been open to feeling these things, and believing in what i sense for myself, without subscribing to whether or not the science has been done yet. in fact, i think i’m open to it because i experienced the same stuff when i was young. the energy i feel is very much real to me, completely tangible. i’ve never been able to see auras, but i feel them on some people. i think just being open to feeling something makes it more likely to come to you. i try not to ignore my instincts (because they’re always right. always.) but i find it’s super hard to distinguish between anxiety (which i feel often) and magical ability (which is far less commonly felt). also sometimes the instinct is so faint it doesn’t even become a passing thought, just a blur of something i half-considered. but in hindsight i realise what it ought to have been, had i paid proper attention.

i can comfortably manage to go outside in bare feet, shut my eyes and let the moonlight do its thing. it has an immensely powerful energy, i always feel cleaner inside when i go back in. (my cat Wilson sometimes asks me to go outside with her when there’s a full moon. almost every night, especially on warm nights, but even freezing ones, we can just stand out there for an hour together. watching the moon set is transcendent. far more so than a sunset.)

right now, due to years of bad health, i have to force some natural abilities away (like the nightmares) because they’re too much for me to handle. i think as i recover, over time it’ll be easier for me to accept that stuff back into my life.

oh, one more thing, regarding my health - i have celiac disease, which has kept me essentially bedridden for the last 7+ years - WHICH BY THE WAY, my family spent literally 9 years trying to diagnose. my doctor kept doing an anaemia test, telling me there was nothing wrong with me and sending me back to school. i saw various specialists, herbalists, a naturopath, physiotherapists, cardiologists, had an MRI scan, saw family counsellors, school counsellors, a hypnotist, etc etc - basically consulted every medical professional under the sun when a simple blood test would’ve done it. stupid misogynistic doctor who thinks all teenage girls fake it to get out of school.

but one thing we did do was visit a psychic, who told me i had something called a candida. my dad, a sceptic and nonbeliever, googled it and said it was “some kind of magical thing in the gut”, and was therefore bullshit, so we continued the search for a diagnosis. years later - years - after a change of doctor (who i chose because i got a good vibe from her picture) we find out it’s celiac disease, a disease of the gut. of the hundreds of people we saw, the only ones to even pinpoint the right body part were the psychics. i googled candida just now and guess what? literally celiac disease. this woman diagnosed me with celiac disease by kneeling at my feet, holding my hand, and shutting her eyes for 30 seconds.

for the record, slightly off topic, i know very few men in real life, and this is what the men in my life have been. my doctor, dismissing me as a liar because i was a teenage girl. and my father, dismissing my declining health as “not trying hard enough”, even now, more than a year after i was diagnosed by a doctor. i think this is why i take refuge with male fictional characters. they’re better. i want them to be soft and understanding like the men i’ve never known.

anyway, this is the part of my life’s story i never really pieced together until right now. it’s a lot, more than i expected. i happily call myself a witch. most of my magic goes into my stories, and i think a lot of people who read them feel it, even if they translate it as passion or love or good vibes or something. the amazing comments i get would speak to that. i love the energy i get from comments, because it does come through in typed words, even if it’s much fainter than seeing people face-to-face. some comments just hit me with waves of goodness, even if the words themselves aren’t so powerful. so i really appreciate that stuff. it’s good stuff.

yep. that’s all. i hope this satisfies your curiosity, anon!!!

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scarecrowandmrking · 6 years

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Supernatural: Raise Hell

It is said that when Lucifer created the demonic order he much considered himself a God. And as such he did take ideas from his father's creation. Such as the heavenly scribe, Metatron who sat at God's side and who always reminded Lucifer of a love starved puppy that needed a good kicking. Lucifer decided that as the new God he would have his own puppy. One that would sit beside his throne and record all the souls of the dead and the words of the seers as his father's scribe did. As well as hold the truly heinous souls of hell or those who truly displeased him. So Lucifer stole The All book, a heavenly tome his father had created for just such a purpose, and perverted it with his own tainted grace, making it something uniquely his own. Lucifer took the book down to earth and into the garden of Eden. Where he came upon Amon, the overlooked and forgotten brother of the first man and first woman. And he promised him great fame and fortune if he would just write his name within the book. And he promised him the love of the woman promised to his brother Cain, a virtuous and woman named Sitri, who he wanted for himself. And so Amon became the second demon after Lillith and one of the most powerful of Lucifer's legion. But Amon became enraged when he realized Lucifer had tricked him into a life of servitude and horrors within the deepest regions of hell. He attempted to leave the fallen angel and to take Sitri with him. But his brother's intended, to escape a fate far worse than death, took her own life to escape from him. When Lucifer had returned to hell after becoming God in heaven, he expected to find his most loyal subject waiting there to return to his side. As much as he could feel for anyone he felt for Anon. For they were both the forgotten sons cast out by spiteful, childish fathers. And he also wanted the book that Amon held. There were things inside of it he needed the demon to translate. Prophecies concerning the return of Michael from the other world and how to rescue his son. The archangel was shocked and enraged to find the cell in which he had placed Anon years ago was now empty. He cursed wildly, kicking the wall with his boot. "It seems your little bird has flown the coop," Lucifer whirled around to find the demon Asmodeus standing just a few feet away. A group of his henchmen surrounded him. His yellow eyes burned like fire, a smile upon his scarred up face. He was wearing the white suit Lucifer remembered from when he and Castiel had last encountered the Prince of Hell. Lucifer's eyes suddenly flashed red. “I wouldn't do that if I were you," Asmodeus said, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. His eyes burned a brighter shade of gold. "I did manage to get one page of the All Book from Amon. Though, believe me he put up quite a fight. Always a feisty one, your little lap dog." "Come on, Asmodeus, I would have let you on my lap, maybe if you asked me nicely. It's still not too late." Lucifer smirked, but his eyes never left the crumpled piece of paper in the demon's hand. The page contained God's power and a portion of his grace. Another reason he wanted to take the book back from his favorite demon. "You think you've got this all figured out, don't you? You think you can really outsmart me? Me?" "Pretty damn." Lucifer walked forward till he was nose to nose with his former creation. The other demons darted forward but Asmodeus gestured for them to stand back. Lucifer's hellish red staring deep into the king of hell's bright gold. "But you didn't factor on one thing, Azzy. I'm the one in control. Only me." "As I seem to recall you said the same thing last time Amon got loose." "This isn't like last time. You see, this time I have something he wants." ********************************************************************************** If hell was a cage full of horror and endless torment, heaven was its more beautiful twin. A place where one lived alone but in a place of endless wonder and abundance. It fulfilled ones greatest fantasies where hell fulfilled ones greatest fears. Sitri had wanted nothing more in life than to be a devoted wife and mother. So that is the life heaven made for her. Sometimes her husband was Cain. And sometimes, though she found it hard to accept this had been her desire, her husband was Amon. But recently heaven had given her another husband. He was a beautiful creature, tall and blond where the two brothers had been shorter and darker. Sometimes he was good to Sitri, showering her with affection and praise. And sometimes he was harsh and cruel, ravishing and hurting her in ways that both thrilled and frightened her. Indeed, sometimes it felt like her heaven had become a hell and it was the devil himself laying in her bed. "You like it here, don't you?" Her new husband asked her one night as they lay in each others arms in bed. He had been quiet of late, sad in a way that disturbed her. Sometimes she missed Amon with his jokes and easygoing ways. And Cains fierce protectiveness and gentle teasing. "Yes," she tells him, running her hand along his cheek. She had discovered he loved to be stroked and touched, though sometimes it became more than he could handle and he would leave. This always saddened Sitri, since she wanted to make him feel as loved as he made her feel. To share herself with him wholly and completely. "You love me?" "Yes," Sitri says, kissing him gently on the lips. Sitri was not surprised when he deepened the kiss and moved to get on top of her. He always wanted her to profess her love for him before he would take her. It thrilled to hear her say it this time, too. He snapped his fingers and they were naked against each other. His body pressing into hers and making Sitri moan beneath him. He stared deeply into her eyes as he set about making her cum beneath him. He had learned a lot about what pleased her in all the time they had been together. And he used ever bit of it to leave her a sweaty, quivering mass upon the bed. "You know who I am, don't you?" He kissed her forehead before pressing his face against hers. Sitri nodded. Her husband picked up his pace inside of her, her admission arousing him greatly. "Say it, Sitri. Say my name." His eyes glowed a bright red over her. Sitri closed her eyes, fighting to ignore the truth she had known in her heart all the times she had gone to bed with him. Had laid with him and eagerly taken his seed inside of her. He licked her neck and let his hand wandered down to stroke her as he thrusted deep within her. "Lucifer," Sitri screamed as she reached a fevered peak, seeing stars as she threw her head back and clawed his broad shoulders. Lucifer collapsed on top of her, emptying himself inside of her in several long, cool spurts. He placed his head on her chest, seeming to enjoy when she ran her hands through his hair. "I need you to do something for me. Something vary important," Lucifer said. "For us." "Anything for you," Anon tells him. In her heart, she hates herself and what she has become. Cain had been a righteous man, and so had Anon before his fall. But this creature who laid on top of her as a husband would was nothing but darkness itself. Was this her one true desire? Or was this not heaven at all but some dark and twisted hell that had toyed with her before showing its true face? "I need you to find Anon and bring him to me." Sitri balked at this. "You know what he is. You're the one who made him. How could one such as I be any match for the likes of him?" "I can't risk making another scribe." Lucifer reaches up and cups her chin in his hands. "I'll make you as I made Lillith." Terror flooded through Sitri in waves, threatening to consume her. "How will you do this thing?" "Painfully and slowly," Lucifer tells her, his eyes going red again. *********************************************************************************** Austin, Texas "I told you to turn that shit down, woman. I'm trying to run a fucking business here you bloody half wit!" The owner of the Blue Light Inn, Lester Talbot, ran from behind the counter to run into the room adjacent to the lobby where his wife liked to sit and watch TV. He had told her multiple times she was to go upstairs to do her couch potato routine. He actually had a job to do that didn't involve who fucked who on the telly. That's what he told her anyway. Every chance he got. "I have it turned down" Sue protested, hands already up to defend herself from the blow she knew must be coming. Lester grabbed his wife by the head and slammed it down upon the coffee table next to the armchair she was sitting in. He was rewarded by a satisfying thunk and a high pitched squeal. Pulling back, he drug his wife to her feet and pushed her towards the door. He was going to take her upstairs for a right ass kicking, but the sound of the bell ringing in the lobby distracted him. "Not a bloody word, cow," Lester hissed at his wife before going out to greet his new customer. The stranger wore a wide rimmed hat and a dusty leather jacket. Dark shades hid his eyes from view. Lester felt a shiver go down his spine, imagining that he could feel the strangers eyes seeing into his soul or something. And it seemed to him that the room was several degrees colder than it had been before. "I'd like you to give me a room, please," the man says in a deep, soothing voice. Lester burst out laughing at this. He'd had some crazies blow threw every now and then, sure, but none had had the cashews to ask for a free room. "Now look here, you loon, I'm not running no charity. What, you think I'm just gonna give you something for nothing?" "Yes, as a matter of fact I do." The man reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out an old leather bound book that looked to Lester as if it would at any moment fall apart. It was cracked and torn in places, the edges dog eared. The pages long since yellowed with age. He opened the book and laid it on the counter before Lester. A pen appeared beside it. "Sign here, please." "Get out of here!" The stranger took off his shades and Lester fell back upon the counter, eyes going wide. The man's eyes were a bright and unholy blue. Not just the iris but the whole eye. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. Lester let out a high pitched scream. "Sign." Against his will, Lester found himself moving forward. He saw and felt himself pick up and write his name in the old book. And he was acutely aware of the agony that followed. Felt the wetness of the black slime that poured out from his burning eyes. But he was not aware of the moment when his soul became a part of the book. Only that his existence went from one of sight, touch and smell to one of nothingness and despair. "Pleasure doing business with you," the blue eyed man replied, picking up the book and returning to his pocket before heading for the door. His gaze swept the parking lot as he put back on his shades. He took out the book, tossing it casually onto the hot asphalt. Where a large cloud of black smoke promptly engulfed the tome, covering it in ash and soot and old magic. When the smoke and ash had blown away a Harley Davidson stood where the book had been. Amon had manipulated the book so that the damned souls of his favorite hostages and stories of hell were painted on the sides of the Harley. Always gave him a chuckle when people complimented his ride, unaware that the people they were looking at were very much real. And the terror etched on their screaming faces was no fantasy.

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