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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

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I find myself travelling back to you // Simon Basset

Request: Could you possibly write a Simon Basset fic where maybe the reader is like a childhood friend and he bumps into them and they talk and catch up with maybe some romance or something - anon

A/N: My first Simon fic! I am a little uncertain of this as I am not sure whether I have Simon’s character down yet. I hope you all like! Thank you for requesting, I hope I have done it justice.

Pairing: Simon Basset x Fem!Reader

Warnings: childhood friends, pining, mutual pining, fluff, some angst, she/her pronouns, female reader.

Word count: 3.8k

There was not a cloud in the sky as you made your way through Mayfair after having turned down a carriage. Instead, you chose to walk away the morning, happy to feel the warmth of the sun through the layers of your dress.

The streets had started out as quiet; a few souls here and there, but they soon grew busier and busier as routines were started. Dodging bodies here and there, you found it hard to be annoyed at the crowds – the weather too perfect for your mood to be sullied.

A flash of deep red amongst the crowd has your eyes and body on alert; the sound of a deep voice has your ears pricking. “Simon?” You call out, eyebrows furrowing as you spy a familiar head of hair making their way through the crowds.

“(Y/N)?” The man in question answers, eyes wide as he takes in your form.

“It’s been so long,” You whisper, staring into his brown eyes. “I suppose I should call you ‘Your Grace’ now. I was sorry to hear of the passing of your father,” You comment softly, not overly sorry for the death of the man who had mistreated his son so poorly but offering your condolences as a form of social etiquette.

Nodding his head, Simon smiles at you. “Thank you,” He gestures to the elderly lady on his arm, “I am sure you remember Lady Danbury.”

You smile widely at the elderly lady as she grins back at you. “Of course I do,” You laugh, “We meet at least once a week to have tea.”

If possible, Simon’s eyes grow wider to the point where Lady Danbury snorts. “Really now, Simon. Did you expect us ladies to go our separate ways when you left the country?”

“Of course not,” Simon drawls, amused by the elder. “I just didn’t realise you had a close relationship.”

“Well we do. That reminds me,” Lady Danbury pipes up, “I will not be able to make our tea appointment this week, dear (Y/N). My grandson, Gareth, is visiting.”

“Of course, Lady Danbury. We can always rearrange to the following week.”

“Nonsense,” She declares, slamming her cane onto the ground, “Simon will meet with you.”

Casting your gaze to the tall gentleman, it is not hard to miss to the surprise in his eyes. Shaking your head, you state, “I am sure the Duke has more pressing issues than tea with an old friend.”

Lady Danbury opens her mouth to protest your point but is beaten by the Duke. “I have nothing so pressing that cannot be rearranged. I shall meet you tomorrow, I assume Lady Danbury knows the spot.”

With a nod of your head, Simon smiles. He reaches out, grabbing your gloved hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “Until tomorrow then,” He promises, stepping away from you with Lady Danbury in tow.

“Until tomorrow,” You whisper, watching the strong figure of your childhood friend walk away from you.

Glancing up at the still cloudless sky, you wonder how it is possible that the world keeps spinning when your own has changed so much. Simon left the country years ago, and even then, contact with the man was few and far between. He had left for school and seemingly left you behind. The very fact that he was happy to have tea with you sent shockwaves through your body; not a word for so many years and then this out of the blue.

Now glaring at the sky, you wonder whether there wasn’t a larger game afoot. One that had you reuniting with the childhood love that had left you a bereft teenager; it had you hoping you would not be left a heartbroken adult.

------

The pleasant weather was to continue, you thought to yourself as you sat down in the drawing room. Despite the calmness of the room; the sweet sound birdsong outside of your window, your stomach would not calm. Instead, it was threatening to make a mockery of your breakfast. A missive had arrived late yesterday evening from Lady Danbury explaining that Simon would indeed be calling on you for the promised tea.

Smoothing out your pale blue skirts, you wish desperately that you had brought something to keep you occupied as you wait for his imminent arrival. You curse the fact that you left your latest cross-stitch upstairs in your room, having worked on it late into the night. You could have used it to the pass the time to keep your mind busy.

“The Duke of Hastings,” The butler announces, startling you slightly, stepping aside for Simon to stride into the room.

Simon smiles widely as he spots you standing by the table; he rushes over to you, reaching for your hand, placing a lingering kiss to the back of it before straightening. “(Y/N),” He greets, breathless as if he had rushed all the way over here.

“Simon,” You answer, smiling just as widely.

Following his lead, you take a seat at the table, waiting for the tea service to be brought up.

“How is Lady Danbury?” You question, trying to fill the time for the service to arrive.

Simon laughs. “It seems she is on the warpath. Her grandson, Gareth, arrived this morning still out of sorts from the previous night.”

“No!” You gasp, “He’s barely of age!”

“That is what dear Lady Danbury was reminding poor Gareth as she swung her cane at him. I thought I better leave before her attention and her cane turned to me.”

“A good decision to have made.”

“Definitely,” Simon agrees, “As I was leaving, Gareth was promising his grandmother not to touch another drop of alcohol again though I doubt that promise will stick.”

“Poor Gareth,” You lament, thinking of the times you had been on receiving end of a lecture from Lady Danbury. “She does love him so though.”

“She does,” Simon states, “I remember his birth. It feels so long ago.”

You hum in agreement; wondering how quick time had flown by. Gareth was to be part of the next generation of society; he was to bring it into its future, especially if his grandmother had anything to say about it.

“How long have you been home?” You ask, pouring the both of you some tea now that it had arrived.

“I travelled to Clyvedon to settle things there before journeying down to London. I’ve been back in England just short of a month.”

“Oh,” You murmur, trying your best not to feel hurt that he hadn’t actively sought you out. After all, it had been years since you had last spoken. No correspondence had been exchanged throughout the duration of his travels; Lady Danbury had been the one to update you on where Simon was in the world. He hadn’t written you a single letter despite the long friendship that you still held dear. Instead, it had been an utter coincidence, a meeting in the streets that had proved to you he was still alive and breathing.

“I wanted to come see you,” Simon states, feeling bad about the broken sound that had left your mouth just now. He wasn’t one to talk so openly about his feelings, but he found himself needing to explain to you that he hadn’t stopped thinking of you since he stepped foot on English soil.

“Did you?” You question, sounding very much as if you did not believe a word leaving his mouth. By the unimpressed expression on your face, Simon knew you did not believe him.

“I did, but I got so busy. There were estates to manage, ledgers to balance and announcements to be made. By the time I landed in London, I was so thoroughly exhausted that I simply wandered to Lady Danbury’s home and fell asleep on her chaise-lounge. She wasn’t impressed.”

You snort before realising the impropriety, “I can imagine.”

Simon laughs entertained by the thought of Lady Danbury’s face when she found him snoring away on her chair. “As punishment, she made me accompany her on a walk… where we ran into you.”

“What a punishment,” You drawl.

Simon rolls his eyes at your tone. “I like to think of it as a happy coincidence.”

“Then I shall look at it in the same manner.”

There was something different about the man sitting across from you. Was it how he held his spoon? How he stirred his tea? Had the years abroad moulded him into a new person, one you could barely recognise?

Simon held himself entirely different to how he would when he was younger. His posture, perfect. His stance, brimming with confidence. It takes you aback somewhat as you take in the changes the years away at school and abroad have placed on his body.

Would your friendship still stand after so long apart? Is Simon simply placating Lady Danbury by having him meet you for tea? He talks such pretty words; can form sentences that leaves your mind in a spin, but this is the same man that had left the country without so much as a goodbye in your direction.

Reaching for your tea, you distract yourself from such intrusive thoughts. The tea clears your mind; letting you form a blank slate in your mind. “Enough talk of the past, no matter how recent,” You declare, “You left so long ago and came back a new person. It seems I need to get to know the new one.”

Simon smiles at you from his place across the table. “The same could be said for you too.”

You smile though it doesn’t reach your eyes. You don’t mention how you had spent the last few years turning down every marriage proposal offered to you due to your heart belonging to another even in its broken state. “Time is a marvellous thing,” You offer instead, grabbing a small cake from the stand.

“Indeed,” Simon murmurs, eyes following the cake from the plate to your mouth. Despite the time that had passed, his feelings had not changed. They had grown stronger instead. By now, Simon truly understood the meaning of absence making the heart grow fonder. All through his travels, he had cursed himself for not asking you to join him. Through every country, principality and dominion, Simon wondered how it would be for you to be there with him, experiencing the wonders of it all.

“Where was your favourite place to travel?” You ask, leaning forward slightly, “I’ve never travelled further than France.”

Simon nods, remembering your trip abroad with the same pang of sadness he felt back then. He knew logically that you were sat across from him, yet the longing in his body did nothing to help repress the urge to reach out for your hand across the table – to touch you so he would know that you were there, and this wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

“I think my favourite place to visit was Greece. I stayed on the mainland for a while before eventually making my way around the islands. Each island had its own charms, but there was one that had me questioning whether I could live there for the rest of my life. It was so calm, so quiet. Not even the thoughts in my head could distract me from its serenity.”

“Do you miss it?”

“The island?”

“The travelling.”

Simon sighs, staring out of the window as he thinks of over his answer. Eventually, he says, “I miss the sights and the people. I miss the smells and the food. However, I do not miss the time zones. There were moments where I didn’t know what time it was, let alone what day it was.”

“It sounds as if you had a magical time,” You sigh, trying your best not to think of Simon in the desperate heat of the Mediterranean.

“It had its moments,” Simon admits, thinking of the hours he had spent in markets, trying local delicacies and drinking traditionally made coffee. He had adored every second of his travels; he hadn’t minded the odd illness that came along with a new environment when there was so much to learn and so much to experience.

“Will you be travelling again soon?”

“It depends,” Simon answers.

“On?”

“On whether I find anything to keep me here.”

Silence falls over you both as you take in his words, trying to find the meaning of them. Taking a sip of your tea, you wonder whether your friendship with the Duke would be enough to keep him grounded at home for longer than a few weeks at a time. Your heart skips a beat at thought that you might not be enough; your feelings for the Duke had never surprised you. They had not surprised Lady Danbury when you showed up on her doorstep in floods of tears after Simon had left for the continent; she had simply welcomed you into her home with words of comfort and reassurances.

“Will you be attending Lady Danbury’s ball later this week?” You ask, needing to take your mind off that terrible evening.

Simon chuckles, placing his teacup on its saucer. “I shall be in attendance. I find it hard to turn down Lady Danbury. Will you be there?”

You nod, thinking of the dress you had made special. “I will. I’m quite excited if I’m to be honest.”

“Why is that?”

You shrug, “The theme, the music, the company. Lady Danbury never fails with her balls.”

“She does not,” Simon agrees, remembering the grandiosity of such events before he left to travel.

“So I shall see you there?” You ask, your voice hopeful as if daring to wonder whether Simon would attend before no doubt leaving the country once more.

“You shall. Would you save me a dance perhaps?” Simon asks, his usual mischief alight in his eyes.

You smile widely, “Always.”

--------

The rest of the week is spent in anticipation; desperate for the hours to quicken so you could walk through the home of Lady Danbury to find Simon already waiting for you. A hopeless dream, but a dream, nonetheless.

The Duke of Hastings remains on your mind for the rest of the week. One chance meeting and one organised tea and it seems that the man had made his home in your mind and brought to life the feelings you were certain were dormant.

With those feelings in mind, you prepare for Lady Danbury’s ball knowing full well you were about to spend the evening in the presence of Simon, but also watching the mothers of London’s available fawn over him as if he was a prize to be won. It was enough to make your blood boil.

Ridding yourself of such anger, you enter the home of Lady Danbury.

Lady Danbury never spared any expense when it came her to time to host the event of the season. She knew that it would be reported on, that it would be spoken about. She also knew that there was a chance that many matches could be made that night; so no expense could be spared in the battle for love matches among the ton.

The sight of the ballroom takes your breath away as you enter. Lady Danbury had chosen the theme of the moon, stars and sun – asking her guests to dress in colours relating to either. Your navy blue skirts swish together the further you walk into the room, distracted by the moon and star decorations hanging from the high vaulted ceilings.

You’re so enraptured by the scenery that you do not hear the footsteps approaching or the whispers of the women beside you. It isn’t until you hear him call your name that you turn your gaze from the silver decorations.

“Simon,” You greet with a smile, “How have you been?”

“Very well,” He replies, “And yourself?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

“You look wonderful,” Simon compliments; eyes raking up and down your body.

Your skin heats at his rapt attention; flashes of heat soaring through you as your mind begins to think of all sorts of scenarios where you could keep his eyes on you for much longer. “Thank you,” You answer, voice breathy, “You look very handsome too.”

“Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?” Simon asks, voice quiet in the loud room.

Nodding your head, you take his outstretched hand and allow him to lead you onto the dancefloor where many other couples are gathering.

Simon’s hand is soft on the small of your back; soft but insistent as it brings you closer to his own body. Wrapped up entirely in him, you find it hard to concentrate on the steps of the dance, easily being led around the dancefloor by the man who had captured your heart before you had even known the meaning of the word.

A large smile spreads over his face as he spins you out and brings you back. A surprised laugh leaves your lips as Simon spins you once more; the delight settling deep within your bones, melding to become a memory that would always be with you. Simon’s own laughter soons join yours and before long, neither of you are paying much attention and custom – the both of you having far too much fun in each other’s arms to be aware of the looks and glances being sent your way.

As the music fades into silence, Simon’s grip on you loosens reluctantly. He doesn’t want to let go of you; doesn’t know when the next time he can hold you this close will be. If he could, he would steal you away right now, but etiquette and his title demands he be a gentleman.

With a strained smile, Simon bows at you once before turning away without a word. So deep in his thoughts, he doesn’t see you escape to the gardens before it is too late.

------

The gardens at Lady Danbury’s home had always been spectacular, but in the night, they were even more magnificent. Despite the shadows of night, you were not scared as you walked down the paths, fingers absently brushing over the flowers of delicately blooming flora.

Rather, your mind was occupied by the one man who had returned into your life after such a sizeable absence. Simon had danced with you tonight, and every aspect felt so perfect. The way his hand covered yours; the way his palm felt pressed against the small of your back. Bringing your hand to your mouth, you hide the smile on your face as you think of the way he had laughed with you as he spun you across the floor. He had looked so young; so carefree, as if he hadn’t the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I wondered where you had wandered off to,” A voice sounds from behind you, startling you.

“Simon!” You gasp, clutching your chest, “You scared me!”

He chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender as he steps closer to you. “That was not my intention,” He promises, his smile wide.

“What was your intention then?” You ask, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

“I wanted to ask you a question should you allow it.”

“We are alone,” You remind him, “We should move inside.”

“Please,” Simon pleads, “It won’t take long.”

You pause your steps. The cool night air settles around you as you wait for Simon to ask his question.

“Why did you never marry?” Simon demands; his eyes blazing with the need to know. “I know you had proposals; Lady Danbury even told me so.”

“There was never anyone good enough,” You confess, fisting your hands in the skirts of your dress to keep yourself from reaching out for him. “I tried. I really tried, but I always found myself thinking of you or wondering about you. Even though you never wrote, I still fell in love with you.”

Simon inhales sharply; not expecting your confession. You hadn’t expected to be so honest, but your heart was in control of your mouth; your mind taking a backseat on this one. Your heart had yearned after this man since you had learned the very definition of the word ‘love’.

“Why did you never write?” You ask, finally verbalising the question that had plagued your mind since the moment he had left.

He remains silent, so you repeat your question with a firmer voice. “Why did you never write, Simon?”

“If I had written to you, I would have come home.”

“Would that have been so bad?”

“I needed to get away, I had to leave. To do that, I had to cut strings with you, or I never would have become the man I am today. I never would have become worthy of you.”

“It is for me to decide whether you are worthy of me, Simon Basset. I have found you worthy of my love since you were ten years old and getting caught hiding a fish in the footmen’s bed if you must know.”

“For that long?” He asks; his voice a mere hoarse gasp as he battles with this new information.

“For that long,” You affirm.

“I always found myself travelling back to you,” Simon admits, “I would be in the furthest corner of the world and my mind would question why you were never by my side. On my last trip, I found myself packing my belongings with you on my mind before I had even made the decision to return home. My father was part of it, I’ll admit. But you… you were the whole reason why I returned to London.”

“What does this mean?” You ask, confused and emotional over the night’s confessions.

“It means I no longer want to travel the world if you are not by my side. It means I want to court you and follow the traditions of society. I have two loves in my life: travel and you.”

“You love me?”

He nods, “I have since I was a teenager.”

“I love you too,” You respond honestly, seeing no reason to lie in a moment like this.

“So,” Simon sighs as your words settle over him like a balm over an open wound, “Shall we do this properly? Courting and the like.”

“I think I would. I think we could start right now,” You whisper, stepping closer to the man who you felt certain was the love of your life.

“Right now?”

You nod you head, smiling widely as you reach for the lapels of his jacket. “I think we could start this very moment with a kiss. What do you think?”

Simon glances from side to side, checking for witnesses, “Only if you promise not to kiss another.”

“I don’t think that would be an issue,” You admit happily, “Kiss me, Simon.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

*******

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley

#simon basset x reader #simon basset #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #simon x reader #bridgerton imagines #simon basset fanfiction #simon basset imagines #duke hastings x reader

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railroad-migraine · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 611 times in 2022

That's 455 more posts than 2021!

360 posts created (59%)

251 posts reblogged (41%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@railroad-migraine

@randoimago

@saphirered

@a-menagerie

I tagged 608 of my posts in 2022

#mod poet - 272 posts

#reblog - 162 posts

#anon - 115 posts

#anons - 114 posts

#critical role x reader - 94 posts

#asks - 87 posts

#ask - 87 posts

#critical role - 86 posts

#self reblog - 80 posts

#critical role imagine - 75 posts

Longest Tag: 123 characters

#i get to see from afar you guys starting to like my stuff and i get so excited bc i know you're a real person and not a bot

My Top Posts in 2022:

hi! can you write something where geralt and cottagecore! princess reader start falling for each other? tysm!

I love when opposite aesthetics collide and fall in love. This is so cute, hold on. Geralt deserves a soft life after all he's been through, poor guy

~ Poet

In love with a Cottagecore!Princess

Geralt

Falling for you wasn't part of his plan.

Partly because he was simply hired to escort you from your winter home, through the monster infested woods, and make sure you settled in nicely at your summer home.

Very quickly he came to the conclusion that you were unlike any other princess he'd dealt with in the part, and trust me, he's come across a few.

You weren't beaten down by the tragedies and heartache this world inhabited. You relished in what was good, and only passed it on to all who you met. You were so open with him, hanging on to every (rare) word he spoke, a keen interest and intelligence in your gaze. You weren't afraid of his reputation - you were fascinated by it.

And whenever Roach was given a break from either of you riding her, you'd link arms with Geralt as he lead you along long forgotten tracks, your flowing and floral sleeves soft and delicate compared to the hardy leather and heavy chain he was so used to wearing.

You emerged from the woods about a two weeks into the journey, and you both were lucky enough to not come across any sort of beasts during your time there. Once the trees parted and the frosted forest floor became green grass, Geralt felt as though he'd walked straight through a portal and into another realm completely.

While your winter home had been blanketed with snow and unforgiving layers of ice...

The land surrounding your summer abode was teeming with life. Fields upon fields of rich soil allowed fruit trees and flowers to flourish, and the sun on the back of his neck prickled his skin with warmth.

And in the golden glow of the late afternoon, you grinned up at him and pulled him along the path, and you were simply ethereal.

You insisted he stay a little while longer, and he couldn't help but begin to enjoy the domestic and refreshing way of life you lived at your estate. Every night, he lay in bed, with clean clothes and crisp sheets covering him, and he fell asleep to the beautiful view outside his open window. A hill with an ancient tree in the distance caught his attention, and in his bleary-eyed state the witcher mused the idea of you perched on one of the branches, hair and dress tussled in the light summer breeze.

As if he was a seer, that's exactly how he found you a few days later. You kicked your legs as he approached the mound, a flower crown sitting lopsided on your head. He couldn't resist the grin that tugged at his lips at your carefree and glowing nature.

You spent the whole day at that tree, eventually coming down to join him on the blanket you'd brought, sampling crusty bread and sipping berry wine as the day faded. In the midst of his storytelling, you traced the rim of your goblet with a finger, a soft yet pensive look on your face.

Eventually his words failed him, and you watched each other with careful intrigue before you proposed that he stay at least another week. Geralt frowned and considered the idea. Nowhere else would he experience such fine weather at this time of year, such humble but delicious food, and the land itself seemed to discourage monsters from invading. It was a lovely hideaway and retreat from the outer world.

But when he agreed and you rested your head on his shoulder, huffing out a content sigh, he continued to say that the view by his side was far fairer than any he'd come across in his travels.

You leaned back to glance up at the witcher, only to have golden eyes already meeting yours. In them, you saw promise, yearning, hope. He wants to stay for you.

And like his eyes and yours, your lips met soon after 💗

330 notes - Posted March 6, 2022

Nicknames for You

-> Bell's Hells x GN!Reader

Notes: This wasn't requested. I'm between assignments and requested stuff. I was sad and had the sudden motivation to write ✨ something✨

I loved writing this. I'll be referring to it and other pieces related to it in the future. Enjoy x

My faves marry me challenge 💍

~ Poet

Ashton 💙

"Babe"

I've said this before and I'll say it again: Short. Sweet. To the point. Casual. Gender neutral. Yes plz. (x)

Calls you this more than your actual name, and they are more than happy to have you call them it too. Ashton literally has to bite back a huge grin when you refer to him as it before he practically crashes into skids over to you.

Slings a strong arm over your shoulders and tugs you into their side, playfully headbutting your temple, and you just know he's smiling next to you. Coos the nickname, whines it, says it when he's mad and when he laughs. No thoughts, head empty, only babe.

"Angel"

It's sappy, true, but sometimes they wonder if you were made special for him by some sort of patron god looking out for him. You came into their life when they needed someone like you most.

"Good looking"

It sounds ever so slightly classier than calling you "sexy" or "hot" on a daily basis in public.

Regularly calls you this in the morning, waking up next to you, followed by a lazy smooch to your cheek. Their voice is gravelly and full of sleep, eyes half lidded and vision bleary - but he still knows you're a sight to behold.

Chetney 💙

"Pumpkin"

Heard a couple call each other this before he even met you, and he kept it stashed away in his noggin for ages until he accidentally blurted it out when referring to you. Wouldn't mind the nickname being reciprocated.

"Buttercup"

Early on in your relationship, he snatched acquired a small bunch of the yellow flowers from someone's garden and gave them to you with a shyness you wouldn't normally associate with Chetney.

And their golden colour reflected on your chin in the late afternoon light as you lifted them to your face and everything just slotted so naturally into place from there.

It's soft, it's delicate, it's something that reminds him of the memory when he realised how whipped for you he actually was.

"Hot stuff"

C'mon. I mean, c'mon. This screams old man Chetney wrapping an arm around your leg or holding your hand, showing you off at a fancy event you guys are infiltrating and chatting with some snooty nobles.

Dorian 💙

"Dearest"

Kisses your knuckles like the gent he is, but the knowing wink he gives you and cheeky smirk you feel against your skin lets you know how much fun life his been since you entered his world.

"Love"

This is where Brontë and Dorian overlap and merge together. He fondly remembers his parents calling each other, his brother, and himself this when he was younger, and it's just so... Sweet.

See the full post

332 notes - Posted February 26, 2022

Gifting Them Flowers

-> The Witcher (Netflix) x GN!Reader Headcanons

Note: Belated Happy Valentine's Day, my loves 💕 Something small I whipped up for you to enjoy

~ Poet

❤️

Geralt

Hesitantly takes the bunch of wildflowers from you, holding them gently in his hands in fear of crushing them.

Looks at you, a pinch between his brows from where he's furrowed them. He asks you why are you giving him something, and stiffens when you say "Just because~" He's not used to being gifted something without the other person having an ulterior motive, and even then the object given to him is something useful, tying him to an errand or quest.

It's... nice, the flowers so delicate and soft and his in his grasp. He looks pensive, and you reach out and ask him if there's something wrong, but he shakes his head and the corners of his lips quirking up as he regards you. "You didn't have to, but you did it anyway, and I'm very grateful that you thought of me." He seals his sincerity with a kiss.

❤️

Jaskier

His mouth parts in a soft 'o' shape and lifts the small bouquet closer to his nose to breathe in the subtle floral scent. His eyes close for just a moment before opening, brighter than ever, full of unfiltered joy.

Warmth flushes across his face and he grins giddily, thanking you with a flourish of pretty words and kisses to your cheek. You squirm in his grasp but the eager affections of the bard cause laughter to spill from your mouth, and this only encourages him further.

Happily plucks one of the flowers from the bunch and tucks it behind your ear. "If a flower grew for every moment you cross my mind, I'd have fields upon fields of flora, and rule as king of that land with you by my side."

❤️

Yennefer

The bunch of flowers you held out to her were far too nicely wrapped in paper to be simple spell components, so she prepares polite "thank you"s and "you shouldn't have"s in her head, not quite sure how to respond.

But when her fingers brush against yours, electricity flutters across her skin, and it awakens something within her, something that she had pushed aside for far too long. She huffs a laugh as a smile dances across her lips, and for the first time in what seems like forever, all is well.

She feels no dull ache within her, no yearning for a legacy or something greater. Instead, fondness floods Yen's senses, and she presses a kiss to your cheek in thanks, resting her forehead to your temple. "You silly, sweet, delightful thing, you."

❤️

Cahir

He's quiet. He doesn't scowl, and no snarky quips are made. His jaw, often clenched from gritted teeth or frustration, finally relaxes. His eyes soften and he stares at the small bunch of daffodils gripped in his hands.

He's about to say he has nothing to give in return, but the look you give him halts him from forming words. You expect nothing from him, only a reaction. He swallows, nods, and thanks you earnestly, thumbing a velvet soft, golden petal and allowing the swell of emotion to spread through his chest. Suddenly, all of his duties are stripped back, and it's only you and Cahir in this moment.

Takes your hand and presses his lips to your knuckles in thanks, and promises to return your kindness later. Be it dinner or dancing, jewellery or gemstones, as long as you know how touched he was by the sentiment he's happy. "Whatever it is you desire, say the word and it is yours, darling."

357 notes - Posted February 15, 2022

I challenge you to write a fic in ten sentences!! 😊

It's been a hot minute since I wrote for the Witcher, so here you go darling x

~ Poet

Pillow Talk

-> Geralt x GN!Witcher!Reader

"What am I going to do?" he asks, golden eyes heavy with sleep and threatening to close as the seconds drift by. The hand - your hand - in his hair certainly isn't helping, carding out tangles and picking out leaves after a long day's travel.

"You're going to guide her," you murmur, and he can hear the smile in your voice, "train her, scold her if need be... And love her just as a father should."

His grip tightens in the bedsheets when you accidentally catch your fingers in a knot, but he doesn't so much as wince. Instead, his mind wanders to what's to be in the months and years ahead of them.

The princess with ashen hair sleeps soundly in the next room - though it wouldn't surprise either of you if she was pouring over some ancient tome she found in the library instead.

"A father, you say..." Geralt sighs, partially exasperated with the notion, and partially content with it as you begin to lay down next to him in the bed, "A weighty title indeed."

"Perhaps," you whisper as you reach out, cupping his face and prompting him to finally close his eyes, "but it's a title not often given to people like us - the Law of Surprise truly has a sense of humour. And if you'll have me, I'll be at your side every step of the way."

The corners of his lips quirk upwards, assuring you that he heard your words and is grateful for them.

360 notes - Posted June 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Me, on my phone and waiting for my lecture to start:

382 notes - Posted February 15, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #teatime with poet

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justmeandmysickies · 4 years ago

Note

From the dialogue prompt list: Sickie 11.) “I just–mmph–threw up–” aaand Caretaker 1.) “Poor thing, you’re belly’s really upset, huh?” for Key and Jaylen 🖤

Here you go, Flick! Thank you for basically keeping this blog alive haha

Quiet is never a good sign

characters: Key and Jaylen

warnings: emeto

Key was being quiet. Too quiet and Jaylen didn't like it one bit.

Yes, his boyfriend wasn't exactly known for being a chatty person but today was different.

Having their annual Harry-Potter-Marathon they were currently halfway through 'the order of the phoenix' and Jaylen couldn't remember the last time his boyfriend had actually said something.

And Jay was trying hard. More than once he'd attempted to involve his boyfriend in a conversation. He'd basically been talking through the entire movie. And by now Key should have either beaten his ass for talking through the movies or at least given him some kind of verbal answer.

But not today. And Jaylen could tell something was wrong with his boyfriend, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what and it bothered him to no end.

"Sirius is actually kinda hot, don't you think?" Jaylen asked, hoping he'd get an answer out of Key if he talked about his favorite character - but again he got nothing more than an approving hum.

Now Jaylen was seriously starting to get worried. And that meant something because Jaylen Louis Calligan did not worry. At least that's what he liked to think, Key would of course never tell him that Jay was actually one of the biggest overthinkers he had ever met.

Forgetting all about the movie, Jaylen was now basically staring at his boyfriend, trying to figure out what was wrong. He was pale but then again - Key was naturally pale and in the light of the tv screen it was hard to tell how bad it really was.

While Jaylen was lost in his thoughts Key was fighting a losing battle against the nausea that had been plaguing him all day.

Jaylen was still staring at his boyfriend when the latter suddenly burped. Although a rather small burp it was thick and wet and hearing it immediately sent a shiver down Jaylen’s spine. Key on the other hand shot up from where he was sitting, a hand clamped tightly over his mouth. The comforter he'd been wrapped in fell messily to the floor as the blonde sprinted to the bathroom.

Jay was left staring after his boyfriend, mouth hanging slightly agape in shock at the sudden turn of events.

A painful sounding retch came from the bathroom and with that Jaylen got up, quickly making his way to his ill boyfriend before he could think about it too much.

At the door however, he stopped to take a deep breath, bracing himself for what he was about to see. As he opened the door, he quickly realized though, that 'seeing it' was not the biggest of his worries. It was the smell that got to him first. The sour stench of vomit hit Jaylen like a wall of bricks, and he had to turn away, gagging into his hand.

Every fiber in his being wanted to walk out of the door but another retch and the sound of liquid hitting liquid sounded from behind him, making his stomach clench in sympathy for his poor boyfriend and he just couldn't leave.

And then - the toilet flushed.

‘Thank god, Jaylen thought, he is done.’ He turned around, meeting Keys eyes, who was still sat in front of the toilet. Jay walked over to him, suppressing the urge to gag again - for his boyfriend’s sake.

"I just-mmph-threw up-" Key said warningly, knowing about his boyfriend’s slight emetophobia. Unfortunately, he was cut off by another productive heave that once again brought with it a wave of semi-digested food, which noisily splattered into the toilet bowl.

Jaylen had to look away but still put a comforting hand on his boyfriend’s upper back, slowly rubbing circles over his shoulder blades.

"Yeah babes, I figured as much." He chuckled, slightly amused by Key's obvious statement.

When the sound of vomit hitting the toilet water finally stopped, Jaylen turned back around, facing his boyfriend.

Key was panting now, his entire face and back were slick with sweat and excess saliva was hanging from his bottom lip. He looked outright pitiful.

"Poor thing, your belly's really upset huh?" Jaylen murmured, still carefully rubbing up and down his boyfriend’s back.

Key spat into the toilet. "Stop talking to me like that, it sounds like you are talking to a child."

"Alright, I'm sorry." Jaylen laughed, now grabbing a piece of toilet paper and cleaning his grumpy boyfriend’s face.

When he tossed the soiled paper into the toilet, he leaned over to flush - unfortunately, he made the mistake of actually looking at what was inside the toilet bowl. Once again, the brunette singer gagged into his hand.

Key quickly looked up at his boyfriend - the gag had sounded alarmingly wet. Jaylen was swallowing convulsively, and Key moved away from the toilet, so his boyfriend had enough space and proper access - just in case. Jaylen however shook his head and slowly lifted his hand from his mouth.

"I'm good." He exhaled shakily. "Sorry about that."

Now it was Keys turn to shake his head. "It is fine, I know you get squeamish around vomit. I am seriously surprised you are actually in here with me." Key chuckled lightly, getting up to brush his teeth.

Jaylen smiled at that. "So am I. Guess I really do love you. But on a different note - how are you feeling?“

"Honestly? Like crap. I am pretty sure I caught the bug that has been going around at school. My stomach is killing me." Key sighed, placing a careful hand over his middle before putting the toothbrush into his mouth. He gagged almost immediately at the feeling and opted for some mouthwash instead.

Jaylen was carefully watching his boyfriend, looking for a sign the latter was going to throw up again. "Mh, sounds like it. How about we get you to bed? I'll grab a bucket and some medicine and then we can cuddle."

Key had to laugh at the last statement. "You really want to stay with me? While I am like this?"

"Yeah, I'll be okay, if you don’t expect me to look at you while you spew."

Key smiled. "Okay, deal. But I want to finish the movie, so let us cuddle on the couch, okay?“ Jaylen nodded. He took his boyfriend’s hand and lead him back to their living room.

While Key got settled in, Jay went to grab some sick-day supplies, including a bucket, Pepto-Bismol and a glass of water.

Five minutes later, the couple was cuddled up on the sofa, Key nestled comfortably into boyfriend’s arms, head resting on Jaylen’s chest.

Of course, Key did not finish the movie. Instead, he fell asleep less than fifteen minutes after they’d returned to the sofa.

But it was probably for the best that way, Jaylen thought, as he gently massaged the blonde’s scalp, since the next round was bound to come.

#em writes #request #key #jaylen #my ocs #emeto

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hualianff · 4 years ago

Text

More Than This VI 《V》

It’s no surprise XL gains his own taste of fame after walking the red carpet with one of the most sought-after actors in the country. He doesn’t mind it, going as far as to create a few social media accounts to interact with fans and scroll through their photos and edits of him. He has a few fan sites too, but only for fancy events where he chooses to be recognized in public.

XL and HC agreed before sharing their relationship with the public that they would maintain a strong sense of privacy when it came to their personal lives. They only share what they want to. The paparazzi who manage to take photos without permission are immediately disciplined so it doesn’t happen again.

(“I can’t believe you did it.”

“Hmm, Gege said he was okay with it.”

“I know! But I didn’t expect you to actually....” XL stares at a recent selfie of them HC had posted on his Twitter, taken the night HC won his award. “We look like we just had sex.”

“Nobody’s gonna know.”

XL raises an unimpressed eyebrow at his boyfriend. HC insists again.

“Nobody’s gonna know-”

“They’re gonna know,” XL says with a sigh, pointing to the hickey marks clearly visible on the photo. HC rolls over closer to XL in their bed, scrutinizing the image on XL’s phone.

“Oh, I didn’t see those when I posted the photo.”

“San Laaang!” XL cries, pushing at the taller man’s shoulder before burying his face into his pillow. HC makes XL breakfast in bed as an apology and promises to not drunk-post anything again.)

Eight months after officially dating–which is over two years since they met–HC asks XL to move in with him. XL doesn’t even need to think about his answer, a simple “Yes! Yes please!” escaping his lips. Both HC and XL’s faces light up with overjoyed smiles.

They seem to have had the same idea about where to live, purchasing a home they’ve been eyeing for months! The best aspects include a massive yard (front, side, and back) for XL to tend to, a hot tub, and a spacious living and dining room area to entertain guests. It’s not the grandest or most impressive residence by size or feature. In fact, the first months have them living in a half-finished, rusty house with the prettiest garden you’ve ever seen.

It gradually gets better. HC and XL knew they would have to do a lot of work to improve the shape of their home. Over the next year, they repair and remodel the house themselves, simultaneously adding value to the property and curating the style to fit their dream home. XL makes sure to post progress photos on his social media. His most recent selfie of HC and himself in hardware glasses got over 500k likes! He pinned HC’s comment that said, “Gege is my own very handyman!”

(HC, in a sleeveless tee, shorts that show off his ass, hair pulled back into a high bun: “Gege, you’re the boss now. Tell me what to do.”

XL, struggling not to gawk at HC’s side boobs: “O-okay, first, can you smash those cabinets-”

Cue them making out against the counter when it’s the only part of the kitchen that is fully done.)

***

Having a partner who considers the outdoors as a second home is a special experience. XL often takes HC on dates to national parks and plant nurseries. They go on weekend camping trips where XL teaches HC how to properly filter water, summit long stretches of terrain, and stay warm during cold nights with below-freezing temperatures.

(HC, trying to fit into XL’s sleeping bag: “Hi, gege-”

XL: “San Lang, you have your own sleeping bag that you can actually fit in.”

HC: ‘But I’m cold. Gege helps keep me warm.”

XL: “Fine. But let’s use yours because it’s bigger.”

HC, kissing XL’s forehead: “Thank you, my love.”)

On their hikes, XL points to different plants, explaining their origins and why he finds each one particularly beautiful. At first, HC picks up random flowers on the way home and then he asks XL about what flower fate gave him that day to gift his beloved. (“San Lang, that’s not allowed!”) HC eventually stores all the random facts in his mind, always eager to listen to XL talking about his passion. He also learns to keep his hands from digging up “poor, helpless plants from their home soil.”

However, this unfortunately doesn't prevent HC from accidentally squishing some plants in their yard that he thought were just weeds.

(HC, thinking he’s a good partner: “Get out, stupid weeds. CHOP CHOP!”

XL: “SAN LANG STOP, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

HC: “Gege always works so hard. I just wanted to help you in the yard today because you deserve it.” 🥺

XL: *sigh* “I appreciate the gesture, San Lang. But those particular grasses took months to grow, and you just killed them-“)

***

Countless media outlets try to stir up trouble like they typically do with celebrities. Especially when HC has roles that involve romance, articles claiming HC and XL are on the brink of breaking up receive lots of attention. However, what gains more attention are the videos the couple posts on Youtube or Instagram live of their reactions to their “scandals.”

(XL, reading a headline: “Actor bachelor Hua Cheng and co-star Yushi Huang seem to be cozying up after a late-night shoot.’”

HC: “I’m not a bachelor, the fuck?”

XL, smiling: “You could be. Me as well. We can be bachelors together.”

HC, chuckling: “All right. If gege is, then so am I.”

The comments: “That doesn’t make any sense!?”

HC, reading another headline: “HC’s lover found with a mysterious third party??”

XL, exclaiming: “Oh, that’s Shi Qingxuan! You know, the designer for all our red carpet outfits!” 🥰🥰

HC: *nodding along*

XL, cheekily: “-and my secret second-lover”

HC: *blanches* “What.”

XL: “Kidding!!!! San Lang is the only one for me, hehe.” *kisses HC’s cheek* “Okay, next one!”)

Everyone watching the videos is 50% confused and 50% entertained as HC and XL make light of any drama the media portrays them in. Viewers accept that of course, the rumors aren’t true; HC and XL are still very much in love.

They’re in love with each other and will continue falling for many years to come.

***

HC doesn’t like watching himself on screen. However, he does enjoy previewing his own movies for the first time with his boyfriend.

While XL watches the new movie, HC observes XL’s reactions. It helps that XL is a conversational movie watcher too. XL’s narrations consist of horny comments during the sexual scenes (“Ooh, that’s hot. Nice tongue.” “Thank you?”), side remarks about the plot and characters (“San Lang, your character is very rude.” “...”), and dramatic reactions to the huge reveal scenes where HC becomes a human punch bag. (“Oh my goooosh, San Lang!! It was him all along- AHH!!”)

As a perfectionist, something you have to be in HC’s field of work, HC is incredibly self-critical of his performance. Which is another reason why it’s nice to have XL watch alongside with, who never has a shortage of praises for his boyfriend.

(HC: “Fuck, why did they leave this shot in the final? I’m supposed to be mourning for my dead lover but instead, I look like I’m crying out of daddy issues. Why did no one tell me!? It looks so bad-” *pointing to himself on the screen* “-stop looking so constipated-!”

XL, squeezing HC’s nape and massaging his shoulders: “San Lang, no one thinks that except for you. You did everything perfectly. Please acknowledge your hard work and just enjoy the movie.”

HC: *sigh* “You’re right. Okay. Thanks, gege.”

A beat of silence. HC cuddles closer to XL.

HC: “Love you.”

XL: “Love you too.”)

***

XL now knows HC’s movies well enough to quote HC’s lines in his movies to make him laugh. HC happily indulges him, questioning after breaking character, “Gege, are you sure I’m the actor out of the two of us?”

One time, HC and XL are in their kitchen re-enacting a scene with HC as the investigator going to a bartender for more information on his suspect. HC has XL caged against the counter, asking in a teasing manner, “How can I repay you for your help tonight?”

XL lowers his eyelids, looking up through his lashes, flawlessly depicting his character. “Any restrictions on your offer?”

“No, darling. Name a price, a brand, a desire. Right now, anything is on the table,” HC says huskily. XL slyly bites his lip.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

XL brings a hand up to cup HC’s jaw, then smooths it down his neck, traveling down his bare chest. XL tilts his head to expose his neck, wanting to build up his boyfriend’s anticipation. But before he can say his next line, HC effortlessly throws XL over his shoulder like a bag of rice.

“San Lang, wait, this is not how it went in the movie!” XL shouts, a little dizzy from the sudden lift turning him upside down. HC takes long strides to their bedroom, plopping XL on their mattress and blanketing him with his larger frame.

HC only utters a husky “we’re improvising” before diving down to devour XL’s lips. XL’s arms hook around HC’s neck, holding him impossibly close.

***

After a filming shoot where HC’s character gets beaten up–HC performing his own stunts–he heads home beyond exhausted. He just wants to take a relaxing shower and cuddle his boyfriend in their warm bed.

HC arrives at their house a little past midnight. He opens the door and finds XL’s back facing him, quietly humming a song as he takes care of the vase in the living room. The sight makes HC smile.

However, as XL turns around, the vase slips from his hands and explodes into pieces on the ground.

“San Lang! What happened to you!?” XL cries out, the panic in his voice only comparable to the day he had confessed. HC stands in the doorway confused. Was something wrong with his appearance?

XL is on him in an instant, his pupils shaking as he frantically asks, “Does it hurt a lot? What happened!?”

HC blinks, expression blank as he still doesn't understand what has freaked XL out. But as the shorter man gently caresses HC’s face, it suddenly hits him.

The make up!

HC urgently starts rubbing the fake bruises off his face. “Gege, I’m okay! It’s just make up, none of this is real. See?” He holds his hands out for XL to see as the pigment stains HC’s palms. “I’m so sorry! San Lang is dumb, he didn’t mean to make you worry,” HC murmurs as he takes XL between his arms. He really loves this man too much.

XL’s teary eyes shine glimmer as HC embraces him. “Y-you’re sure you’re okay?”

HC nods, leaning into the slender hand that cups his cheek.

“Thank goodness,” XL breaths out as he buries his face into HC’s neck. His next words are slightly muffled. “It looks…so realistic.”

“Yeah, the make up artists are all quite talented, aren’t they?”

XL clings tighter to HC.

“Very much so. Let’s shower so we can properly wash it off.”

“All right,” HC says. “Wait, we?”

XL tugs HC toward the master bathroom.

“Hush, let’s go.”

***

They lay in bed together after four long months of separation. Both of them had been in different parts of the country; HC filmed a drama series while XL traveled for several high-profile projects. Their respective busy work schedules limited communication to brief video chats and text messages, which never seemed enough.

Now, with his head resting on HC’s chest, their legs overlapping comfortably, XL finally feels like he’s where he belongs.

“Why did you choose me?”

Tactical fingers massage XL’s scalp, lulling him into a serene state of bliss. XL nuzzles further into his boyfriend-sized pillow.

“It’s not like I can choose who I fall in love with, Gege,” HC states with a light chuckle. “But if you want an answer, it’s because you are everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner.”

XL looks up at his boyfriend, mouth forming a shape of an O.

“That simple? Even when we made a deal to have no strings attached?” XL asks. HC groans at the reminder of their initial agreement.

“Yes, which was a dumb decision on my part.”

“I agreed to it too. We were both dumb.”

They are silent for a moment. It’s not the first time they’ve talked about or referenced their insecurities when it came to confessing their feelings. XL’s luck when it came to dating someone who could love him for every part of him was practically nonexistent. HC’s constant grappling for his self-identity and worth rendered most of his relationships superficial. And temporary.

Always temporary.

“I can’t believe you thought I didn’t like your plants though. They’re so pretty. And fascinating.” HC says, breaking the silence.

“They take up half our living room space.”

“So? You work with plants all day. They’re bound to be a part of your personal life as well.”

XL’s heart bursts with a sudden fondness. It’s a wonderful thing to be appreciated for the little things.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says happily. HC hums in response, sending vibrations to where XL’s cheek lays on his chest. “I can’t believe I didn’t know you were a famous actor for the first three months we…”

“Met up for sex?” HC finishes with an impish grin.

“Yes,” XL laughs.

“It was nice not to be recognized for once. With you, I could just be myself,” HC says with ease he never thought he would be able to do. He’s struggled with letting himself be vulnerable his whole life. It turns out, HC just had to find the right person. And thank god he did. XL is more than HC’s outlet from his career. He’s become HC’s closest friend who knows him the best; he is HC’s number one supporter in any endeavor he pursues; he makes HC feel important. XL sees and loves HC for who he is. No amount of fame or wealth could come close to comparison.

“Gege?”

“Hmm?”

“Does it ever bother you that my life is always everyone else’s business?” HC softly asks.

“Well, the fame can be a bit…uncomfortable,” XL admits. “But you’re an amazing actor. And a remarkable person. I can’t blame your fans for loving you so much, you know? I also got to ride in a limo-“

“Which you rode very well-”

XL flicks his boyfriend’s forehead.

“You’re so predictable.”

“You would’ve said the same thing given the chance. Don’t lie, gege.”

They go back and forth a little longer, never once creating unnecessary distance between each other as they roll around until they’re on their sides. Facing each other in their bed that’s been vacant for months, HC and XL are inseparable.

“As I was saying, fame is something that comes with your job–your passion. You can’t control it, nor does it solely characterize who you are. Besides, I get to be a part of your life! That’s all that really matters,” XL continues. He shifts forward so their bodies are closely pressed together. XL plants a kiss on HC’s chin, then whispers a confession that tilts HC’s entire world on its axis.

“I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone like you.”

HC’s world spins and spins until all that he sees is his beloved, gleaming brighter than all the galaxies without the power to disrupt their orbit. He wraps his arms around XL and kisses the top of his head.

“Me too, Gege.”

Bonus:

HC watches wearily as XL salivates at a showering scene where HC’s bare ass flashes in the frame. XL turns to HC with a serious look in his eyes.

“San Lang! Hiking has done your ass wonders.”

XL sneaks a grope to a meaty cheek. HC chokes.

***

“You can’t be late to your own premiere!” XL cries incredulously.

“Try me,” HC purrs into XL’s ear, delicately kissing the lobe.

XL gasps as teasing hands roam around his torso, one of them slipping down to cup his behind. He vaguely thinks about how SQX is expecting them in the next hour to help with their red carpet outfits. But when hungry lips attach to the sensitive column of his neck, XL is a goner.

“Gege doesn’t have to do any work. Just lay back and look pretty.”

(Brainchild with @no-one-says-hi!)

#tgcf #heavenly official's blessing #hualian #hualian au #cerdrabbles #fluff #Actor HC #Landscaper XL #fine.

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fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! Hope you're doing great! I love your blog ❤️

I was wondering how romanced and non-romanced companions would react to Sole being ass grabbed without their consent by a random dude. Thank you!

Romanced (❤️) and Non-Romanced (✨)

Cait:

❤️-

“Oi- look here for a sec..”

Unlike how some may assumed she would act, she would first sneak up on the asshole- waiting until he turned and gave her a nasty sneer before swiftly swinging her fist and making contact with a *crack* to the son of a bitch’s stupid nose. However once Cait got ahold to something, she doesn’t really let go. One punch wouldn’t be enough- this asshole just assaulted you- right in front of her face! Before she knew it, she had reduced the sick fuck into a groaning, swollen pile of bruises and blood. She just couldn’t stop.

✨-

“Hey dickface! I fuckin’ saw that!”

Flashes of the sleazy raiders she knew too well would be the first thing that came to mind- sending cool shivers of terror all throughout her body.

That’s when the adrenaline kicked in.

She’d still beat their ass, whether you like it or not.

Curie:

❤️-

“Excusez-moi, i don’t believe that is proper behavior- oh never mind, I doubt you even comprehend what proper means...”

She wouldn’t outright hurt someone- but damn, she sure wanted to then. Instead of doing it though, she just got all up in the man’s face, sticking her finger in his chest and telling him off. Much alike Tinkerbelle if you squint.

✨-

Kind of the same thing here tbh. I just don’t foresee Curie being the type to be excessively violent.

Danse:

❤️-

“What twisted thought made you think you had the right to do that? No- actually there isn’t anything you could say that would justify violating someone..”

Yes, Danse is composed- but no, he would not just sit idly by and watch someone do such a thing to his love. His automatic reflex is to go into protective mode, which involved him promptly shoving the man away from you- letting the perpetrator fall to the ground- only to pick him back up by the collar of his shirt and practically seethe and he confronted him. Had he not been in the right state and fear causing a too big of a scene- he just might’ve roughed the man up worse.

✨-

“That was an extremely poor decision, civilian.”

Similar to a romanced Danse, he would still be hella

Protective over you. Instead of letting his heart speak too much though- he’d simply grab the little shit and pull him aside, giving him a harsh glare and the promise of being crushed by a power armour boot.

Deacon:

❤️-

“Like how that feels, dickbag? Didn’t think so..”

Instead of causing a huge scene by slitting his throat, Deacon smoothly pressed into the man from behind- his hands leaving an imprinted bruise from how harshly he grabbed the man. It caused said man to yell and turn- but he didn’t do anything- he understood. As a matter of fact, he would shamefully apologize to you, silently pleading for you to tell your lover to stop violating him as well.

✨-

“See? Now we’re all uncomfortable..”

Unlike his demonstration shown above, Deacon would go for the more mild “return ass grab”. A quid pro quo, an uno reverse card if you will. Who even knows how to respond to that? No one. It just leaves the whole lot of you with a mural feeling of discomfort and awkwardness where usually rage and violation would’ve taken place.

Gage:

❤️-

“Shit, betcha wished you would’ve done something else- huh? Just think about it this way, now you can go into early retirement with your little situation..”

Gage is ruthless.

As soon as the man laid a hand on you- as soon as he saw the look of fear and embarrassment that graced your face..he grabbed the poor sack of shit’s hand and cut it off- leaving him to bleed and cry out. Most likely to die..after all, no one would dare help the man that just tried to cop a feel on the boss.

✨-

“Wrong move, shit stain. *chuckle*, Get ‘em boss.”

He’ll intervene if you do nothing- but honestly Gage just wants to see how you punish the man. Best you set a good example.

Hancock:

❤️-

“You know, it takes a special person to do that...*chuckle*.”

You remember what he did to that man that tried to distort you? That was before he fell in love with you- so what I want you to do is take that event and triple the brutality. It’s exactly that.

✨-

“....damn, think I’ve got a little something on my shirt.”

Again- he stabbed a bitch just for fucking with y-

Macready:

❤️-

“Are you serious? I’ll give you the count to ten, best start running- I’m pretty good at long range target practice.”

It would take every fiber of his being not to beat the man’s face in with the butt of his rifle...so making his life easier and not risking sitting in jail, Mac just threatens the man and proceeds to load his gun.

✨-

“Haha, Youre so funny- bet you get all the ladies by showing them how small your cock is without them even having to see it.”

Have you ever notice how mean Macready can be? Well, now you can hear it for yourself. The man such words were directed too would likely try to beat Mac up for saying it- which by doing so Mac would have no problem whopping him. Remember, he’s scrappy.

Maxson:

❤️&✨-

“I assume you enjoy having hands, correct? If so, I advise you to get as far away as humanely possible this instant.”

Had he been any other person, Maxson would’ve surely knocked teeth out- but seeing as he was so painfully aware of the reputation he must uphold, he restrained himself. If the man was someone in the brotherhood though, he would show no mercy- being court martialed for sexually assaulting a higher ranking officer would be the least of the perpetrators worried.

Nick:

❤️-

“How dare you..?”

Nick is thankfully a very well thought out and morally unquestionable individual. Thus being said, he will do everything within his power to make the man who touched his lover in such a horrid way pay. He may not kill them..but who ever said that death or being beaten is the worst thing to happen to a person? Regardless, remember ghat Nick has connections with the fallout version of the mafia.

✨-

“Dontcha got a better place for that hand?”

Even though he might’ve seemed a little too calm, Nick would be sure to shoo off the perpetrator and have him dealt with later.

Preston:

❤️&✨-

“Look you piece of trash- I don’t know what ever made you think you can just do whatever you want, but there are consequences for being so stupid.”

Despite his peaceful and gentle way of being- Preston would have absolutely no problem throwing hands with someone who threatened the General of the Minutemen.

X6-88:

❤️-

“.....”

Have I mentioned that X6 is borderline obsessive? Have I also mentioned that he can be entirely ruthless? Hope so- because someone sexually assaulting you is a sure fire way for a bullet to find its way into their head with absolutely no hesitation. He wouldn’t even flinch as the blood sprays and soils his clothes- only seeming phased and slightly annoyed whenever he had to take his shades off and clean the gore.

I don’t advise that you reprimand him for such eggless behavior either.

✨-

“Why did you do that?”

Although he was calm, his words soft like rain- the actions that followed shortly thereafter were anything but relaxed. As soon as the man turned to mouth off and say it was “just a joke”, X6 grabbed his hand and squeezed- watching as the appendage turned red and the poor assailant turned victim tried to desperately get away. Poor thing- he wasn’t going to go until he provided an answer that X6 accepted.

Trick is- nothing would satisfy the brutal, still man.

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starlessskies94 · 4 years ago

Text

Consequence (Joel Miller x OC)

Summary: What if Joel survived his injuries from the Abby and Fireflies attack but ends up with really bad amnesia. He can’t remember his wife, Ellie, or the Outbreak; only before. How will his family bring back the man they once knew?Pairing: Joel Miller x OC Note: An update? Could It be? After all this time?...Yes. It is I! I come with a thousand apologies for taking so long to update. I didn't plan for it be so long but with Covid and going back to work during Covid and family stuff, I just haven't had the time but I'm back my lovelies and I really hope this chapter doesn't disappoint :)

Chapter Seven

Tommy woke up late for the first time in weeks; he didn’t often sleep in but given his late night chasing lost cattle through the town after they’d somehow managed to escape the paddocks; he figured he more than deserved it. Maria had woken him when she made to leave and insisted he stay put while she made a start on the morning checks. She kissed him goodbye and they promised to meet later for lunch together.

The morning air was crisp and fresh as he stepped down onto the path, his jacket zipped tight to fight off the dwindling cold. The snow had long since melted and there were clear telltale signs of Spring fast approaching in Jackson.

And while the cold wasn’t as biting as it had been, there was still the odd chill that needed to be shielded from with a layer or two.

It wouldn’t be long before they were preparing for a new harvest to grow throughout the year. The sacks of seeds and planting equipment appearing all over town as families began to prep the soil and start their planting as the wildflowers poked their heads through the ground to bask in the warming sunlight.

Tommy made his way through the streets heading straight for his brother’s house. It was still hard to believe that it had been a whole two months since Joel’s attack.

Two whole months since his sister in law had lost her husband; his niece, her father. And unfortunately for all of them; it didn’t seem like Joel was making any progress to getting his memories back. He tried to help of course but his brother, being the stubborn grump that he was, had only pushed his younger brother away, insisting he was capable of handling the trauma alone.

He hated seeing his brother struggling, especially when it seemed that some details were coming through. It was little things but it was better than nothing. The only problem was, it was things Joel seemed to dismiss without a second thought.

Tommy honestly believed if Joel focused on them, they’d help process bigger things. Though it certainly hadn’t helped matters that the older Miller had stopped going to his weekly check ups to help his mind improve. The head of the infirmary had voiced her concerns to Tommy a few days earlier. His constant dismissal and disregard for their importance to his slow recovery; not just frustrating the Doctor but also Tommy himself.

He just hoped he could talk some sense into his big brother.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He knocked but no answer greeted him as he stepped inside the house. It was quiet but clean. Each room meticulously organised and tidied to within an itch of its life. He figured this was what Joel must have been filling his days with over the past few weeks. The sound of muffled hammering caught his attention, leading him up the stairs to Joel’s workshop room. The door slightly ajar. Tommy had barely entered the room before Joel acknowledged him.

“What do you want, Tommy?” Joel grunted without even bothering to turn around. Tommy just shrugged silently, his hands awkwardly stuffing into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Well good morning to you too, just stopped by to see how you’re doing.”

“As good as I can be I guess.” He muttered as he continued to work, never taking his eyes off the wood in his hands. It felt nice seeing his brother once again taking an interest in an old hobby that he had enjoyed before his injury. It felt like maybe they were finally heading in the right direction. But Tommy had to hold off, he didn’t want to push anymore than was necessary. He knew Joel well enough to know that if you pushed too far; Joel would only push back twice as hard. “Right, sorry... whatcha making?” Joel hobbled back a little from the table, giving Tommy a better view of the work in question. The long neck and the four legs beginning to take shape made his heart skip. The older man had always had a talent; that was for certain. The horses he made were always magnificent. The wolves and the deer along with any other animal the people of Jackson had asked for; were always made with utmost care. And it seemed this work of art was no different.

“I think I meant for it to be a giraffe before... everything. Figured I might as well finish it. Hell if I know who it was supposed to be for.”

“Ellie.” Tommy whispered.

“What?”

Tommy took a second for his brain to catch up with his words as he quickly cleared his throat and tried not to fidget too much. “It’s just...uh.. that it’s her birthday in a couple of months and she always liked giraffes, maybe it was meant for her?” He offered nervously. Joel just hummed casually. With a quick dismissive shake of his head and a sigh; he moved the half carved giraffe onto a nearby shelf along with his other unfinished projects. Turning to face his brother, his arm reaching out to grab his cane to steady his balance.

“Yeah, maybe...maybe Ada asked me to make it for her to give to Ellie as a gift.” He wondered out loud, stopping Tommy in his tracks.

“You talked to her?” He asked almost a little too quickly. Causing Joel to frown slightly in response at his brother’s unexplained eagerness.

“Who Ada? Briefly, why? Am I supposed to know her or something?”

“You guys were...friends I guess…” Tommy replied weakly. He knew he had to be cautious here, baby steps. They were moving into uncharted territory when it came to Ada and Ellie. Joel had only just started to accept the life they had lived in Boston as smugglers and that was before he had even had the courage to bring up the Fireflies. He needed to steer clear of things deeper than that for now and ease into the conversation he wanted to have. But his patience was starting to run thin. “Look, the reason I came by is because I was talking to Elizabeth and she said you’ve stopped going to your check ups.”

“Oh not this again Tommy!” Joel snapped, his brother rolling his eyes in frustration as Joel hobbled away from his work space and further towards the door. But Tommy was quick to stop him, stepping in the threshold and blocking Joel’s exit.

“Look I know I don’t understand what you’re going through but-”

“You’re damn right you don’t!” He yelled. "You have no idea what it’s like Tommy; to lose years of your life in an instant. Forget everything you’ve done and the people you used to care about. I don’t see how bitching about how shitty this is to the damn Doctor is going to help!”

“But you’re starting to remember things Joel! That’s a big fucking deal!”

“How?! All I’m remembering is crap no one cares about! How are horse’s names gonna help me? Or how I take my coffee in the morning? I couldn’t even remember holding my little girl in my arms after she was shot! Oh but thank the lord I could remember what colour shirt I was wearing when it happened!!”

With every word Joel got closer, his nostrils flaring in anger as blood continued to boil. But Tommy never backed down, squaring up to his big brother wasn’t unusual and certainly wasn’t the first time they’d been at odds on how to handle something. Joel’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched.

“It’s been two months Tommy...two months of this and it ain’t getting better any time soon. This ain’t your problem so just back off!” He hissed between gritted teeth.

“You can’t just push me away Joel, I want to help. I’m trying but you’re just being so damn stubborn.”

“Then leave, I didn’t ask you to babysit me. And I sure as hell don’t need you sticking around outta guilt.” The words stopped Tommy dead.

“What?”

“I might not remember what happened but I know enough from what you told me about Boston...You survived because of me. All those years I took care of us. Just like when we were kids. So what? You feel like you owe me? You gotta take your turn to take care of me now? You can keep it baby brother because I don’t want it. And I didn’t ask for it.” The words spit venom with every ounce of bitterness Joel had in him. And Tommy felt his lip snarl in response. The ungrateful bastard; he thought coldly, after everything he’d done to keep his brother alive on the way back to Jackson after the Fireflies had almost beaten him to death and this was what he had to say in response.

“How do I know the people who did this weren’t after you. I mean they did a pretty good number on you too right? Big brother to the rescue to save your sorry ass; yet again! You think I want to live like this?! Huh?! Trapped in a life of a man I don’t even know. A house full of memories I can’t even goddamn remember!”

That was it, Tommy was done. Joel was frustrated and angry, he knew that. He understood that. Of course he did. But to blame him for this?! How the hell was that fair? His hands shook in pure anger, chest heaving as he held back his punches as much as he could. He stumbled away from the door. His trembling hand reaching up and running through his beard in a poor attempt to calm himself.

“You know what screw you! Screw you Joel! You wanna give up, you wanna feel sorry for yourself? Fine! I’m done. You give up on your family-”

“Family?! What damn family? There’s no one left Tommy! Sarah is gone!”

“She ain’t the only one you got!” Tommy cut off without thinking. Joel’s face dropping at his brother's outburst. The younger man’s eyes widened in shock as he realised what he’d said. But it was too late to take it back now. And Tommy knew that. They both did. Perhaps now was the time to tell the truth.

“You want to know who your family is Joel? Take a look in your damn attic.”

Tommy uttered the words into the thick silence left between the two men. Before turning on his heel to leave, never giving Joel a chance to answer. Leaving the man to stew in his confession. He just hoped that somehow...Ada could forgive him for this.

#joel miller #last of us joel #the last of us part 2 #The last of us part ii #ellie williams #joel and ellie #joel x oc #joel x reader #fanfiction #StarlessSkies writes

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snickiebear · 4 years ago

Note

If this inspires anything in you, and if you have the time to write it, I hope we can see how you respond to the following prompt:

Kakashi is the god Sakura has to eat and kill.

Lordt help us!

HAHAHAHA MITTENS!! this is literally one of the best prompts ever. thank you SO MUCH!!

i literally had to sit down and outline this so make sure i gave it justice LMAO also, did a little research on japanese kami! which is so interesting btw :))

side note! this is also on ao3 bc i really, really loved it

xiv.

It begins with a girl (doesn’t it always?). A girl made woman who is nothing but smiles and laughter, unfiltered sunshine and the smell of flowers on the warm breeze.

She is good, she is brave, she is kind.

And she grows, that girl made woman, she grows and her eyes open to the world around her. To the hatred of the mortal, to the disease of the gods.

She holds her mother close as she dies in her arms, her father off to war.

They never find his body.

She is the only survivor of her village, war and wreckage in her wake.

This woman made once of sweet sighs and feather light touches learns to survive, learns to harden herself against the world, to bare her teeth and not her throat, to love the scars and hard muscle of her once too soft body.

She meets a woman with too ancient eyes for a face so young and the woman smiles at her, it is a horrible, wretched look. It is a beautiful, timeless look. “Oh, you.” She murmurs, voice old and young, standing slowly. “You’ll do just fine.”

And the girl made woman bares her teeth in a smile, a warning, tilting her head to the side, “Oh? And what shall I do just fine?”

The woman assesses her, amber eyes shining with something cruel, “You will be my avenger, girl.”

And the girl made woman, well, she rather likes the sound of that.

xxiii.

She sees him for the first time at the market, it’s a cloudy day, the streets full of people and the carts slowly selling out of the limited goods available.

The very land has been dying for years now. The mortals do not know it, but Sakura does. Less and less crops, dying plants, brain soil.

The thought itself brings a slight smile of fondness to her face.

But Sakura sees him for the first time at the market, and she knows who he is, what he is. She was under Tsunade’s tutelage for years. Sakura knows a god, a kami, when she sees one, feels one.

So, she walks, shoulders back, spine straight, loose and fluidly until her boot purposely catches on a crack in the cobblestoned road and she’s airborne with a sharp gasp—

Until two strong hands wrap around her forearms, steadying her gently. Sakura looks up, face flushed and eyes wide as she makes eye contact with the Shinigami, who looks at her in concern.

The god takes the form of a tall, broadly shouldered man with a mess of gray hair. Onyx eyes stare at her and they are so black she can see her reflection. Sakura fights the full body shudder that threatens to overtake her.

She has stared into the eyes of a dying god before. Staring into a living one’s should be no different.

“Are you okay?” He asks and his voice rumbles through her, her heart pounding without her consent.

“Yes,” She breathes and offers a shy but sweet smile, slowly taking a step back. He lets his hands drop, fingers grazing her bare skin. She ignores the goosebumps that erupt in his wake. “Thank you very much…”

“Hatake Kakashi,” The liar says, eyes crinkling from over his mask. “And you are?”

“Haruno Sakura,” She replies easily, tucking her hair behind her ear. The Shinigami holds out her basket of goods and she takes it, brushing her fingers against his deliberately, calculatingly.

The wretched kami gives her another eye crinkle, taking a step back himself, “Aa, a pleasure then, Haruno-san.”

Forcing a blush, Sakura waves off the honorific, “Please, just Sakura.”

“Then I am simply Kakashi,” And with a duck of his head, the fraud turns and ambles away.

Sakura turns also, disappearing into the crowd of much too skinny humans, too poor, too stupid. She allows herself to grin, wide and unfiltered, and with teeth. And that scaled, clawed, fanged thing inside her peeks its eye open and purrs.

xvi.

Tsunade— or at least that is what she wants Sakura to call her — takes a long swig from her jug and cackles to herself. “I was right when I picked you, you know.”

Sakura glances up from her scroll of poisons, “You still have yet to tell me why it took only one look to think I can do whatever avenging you want done.”

Swirling the liquid in the jug once more, Tsunade chuckles, “Call it intuition, yeah?”

She huffs, snapping the scroll shut and stealing the jug from her master, taking a long drink herself. It is horribly bitter and disgustingly tart, and Tsunade laughs herself hoarse at the look on Sakura’s face.

“You’re going to do great, mighty, quiet things.” Tsunade says after a long silence. Sakura looks at her curiously. “You will bring war upon earth, disrupt the very heavens. Sweet child, you only know a taste of the power you could hold.”

And Sakura, well, she’s been alone since she was eight years old and surrounded by disease ridden corpses, she’s stolen and cheated and bartered her way through survival. She knows her way around a knife, a piece of glass, a sharp rock.

She has spilt blood just to eat for the night.

“You’ll teach me,” It is not a question.

That cruel, beautiful smile unfurls on her master’s face, “Of course, Avenger. Tell me what you want to know.”

“Everything.” Sakura breathes, demands, pleads.

A soft, aching laugh. “Very well, come here and listen closely.”

And Sakura is a clever girl made woman, she listens to everything Tsunade says, and everything she does not.

So, when Tsunade leaves her alone for the night, Sakura stares at the ceiling of the cheap Inn they are staying in and allows herself to smirk.

xxiii.

She sees him every time she goes to the market after that. He crinkles his eyes at her with a, “Good morning, Sakura-san.”

And in response Sakura blushes and murmurs a sweet, “Hello Kakashi-san.”

It goes like this for weeks until he changes their routine, leaning against one of the carts, tossing an apple into the air. There is only one farmer who can now produce apples, and even then the fruit is weak, no longer crispy and juicy.

The very land, the very life of this village is being drained away. Just as the other villages Sakura has traveled through. There will always be consequences to her actions, she supposes.

Kakashi tosses her the apple and Sakura makes sure to fumble with it before clutching it close to her chest, a teasing smile on her lips, “Kakashi-san, this is new.”

“Mah,” He hums, shrugging, “Just didn’t want you to miss out on your usual, is all.”

Sakura smiles, tucking the apple into her basket, the usual contents dwindled down to a simple jar of jam, a measly loaf of bread, and now the apple. She would need to make this quick and move towns soon.

“Say, would you like to come to lunch with me?” It’s a shot in the dark but she’s hoping that Tsunade was right when she said Sakura was infuriatingly charming. “I understand if you would not like—"

Kakashi cuts her off with a wave of his hand and a friendly look in his eye. Sakura wonders, idly, what he would taste like freshly baked and seasoned. “I am not one to turn down free food, of course.”

She laughs, a light and tittering thing and bares her throat the slightest bit before looping arms with him, “I shall lead the way then.”

Luckily, she has some dried meat and left over vegetables to make something decent and she smiles as him as she sits.

“You’re a healer.” Is what he says, eyeing the herbs and the bandages she had left out.

Sakura shrugs, “I try to lessen pain,” It is one of the many things Tsunade had left her.

He looks at her as if she is something new and so very interesting and she knows what he sees. A thing of life, a thing of preservation, has invited a creature of death, a creature of destruction into its domain, and allows that dark creature to live there.

It is what she wants him to see. Sakura smiles with teeth and she knows he does not see the wolf that sits in front of him.

xvi.

“Dodge!” Tsunade barks harshly and Sakura just barely avoids a direct hit, her skin still burning from the way the air sizzles from her master’s blow.

Sakura twists and flips backwards to gain some space between them, thighs quaking and sweat pouring as she pants, chest heaving. “I fucking am!” She bites back.

“Do it faster.” And then Tsunade is in her space, uppercutting and a blow to her stomach, sending Sakura flying into the corpse of trees behind them.

But Sakura is used being beaten down and she snarls loudly, landing on all fours, fingers digging deep into the ground before she lunges upwards, narrowing avoiding Tsunade’s next hit before spinning horizontally and lashing out with her foot.

And for the first time, Sakura lands a hit on Tsunade; sending her stumbling back, golden blood bleeding down her face.

She lands, gasping for breath, knees collapsing out from under her as she stares wide eyed as her master wipes blood and sweat from her face with the back of her hand. Her amber eyes sharpen to knife points as she grins, feral and oh so wild, “Very good, Sakura. Now we’re making progress.”

Despite her exhaustion, Sakura smirks, tasting blood and salt and victory. “Think you can handle more, old lady?”

“Don’t push your luck, brat.” Tsunade smirks, stalking towards Sakura to pull her up, “Now let me see that jaw of yours. And the stomach, the hell did I tell you about the sto-“

“I know,” She snaps, rolling her eyes as her body throbs something fierce. She allows herself the weakness of leaning into Tsunade’s as they trudge back to their small cottage. “I’ll do better.”

“Good.” They leave it at that. Then, “That was a good hit, my pupil.”

And Sakura, well, she’s feeling indulgent, so she smiles, a slight twitch of the lips as she murmurs, “Thank you, shishou.”

xxiv.

She finds him at the usual spot, draped over a branch like a limp curtain, book in hand. Sakura is still not quite over the fact that the death god reads awfully written porn, but at this point in her life, nothing can truly shock her.

Sakura is well past expectations.

Hiking up her pants, she climbs up the tree and to the branch he’s lounging on, straddling it so her back is to the trunk. Kakashi makes a curious noise when she pulls out her book from the waistline of her pants, “I never took you as an Icha Icha reader, Sakura-chan.”

Peering over the top of her book, Sakura quirks a brow, “If you can read porn, so can I.” A pause as she turns the page, “Plus you’re reading Paradise, I’m reading Violence. Two very different pieces of literature.”

What she will not tell him is that Tsunade taught her how to read with these books, she’s memorized every page, paragraph, and line written.

“You wound me so,” He sighs, going back to his book.

Comfortable silence descends upon them and the only sounds are of nature and the rustle of paper. Time passes and she cannot help the slight twitch of her lips whenever Kakashi giggles at a certain part. It is nice, this quiet.

But she knows it will not last. She will not allow it.

And like an omen, low rumbling of thunder rolls through their quiet, small droplets landing on her hand before the rain steadily picks up. Sakura snaps the book shut and shimmies down the tree, Kakashi landing soundly next to her.

“My place?” She asks, though she knows the answer.

Kakashi intertwines their hands, gently and slowly, his hand encompassing her own as he looks at her, dark eyes reflecting the sky as lightning strikes. Something hot pools deep in her belly when she makes eye contact with him.

And she knows. She knows that she has him.

They stand in her small cottage, dripping and studying each other before they move as one, ripping at each other’s clothes, all lips, teeth, and tongue.

She claws at his back when he thrusts into her, rough and unyielding. The rain pounds outside as her back arches and he groans deep and rasping.

He falls asleep, his face pressed into the crook of her neck and Sakura allows herself to smirk, the taste of glory on her tongue once more.

xiv.

Sakura glowers and bares her teeth at the woman, “You still haven’t fuckin’ told me what we’re supposed to be doing.”

Truly, the only reason why Sakura is even here is because of the free food and shelter. She is well aware that nothing is free in this world, Sakura has learned that the hard way.

The woman tilts her head, studying keenly and Sakura rears her head in a snarl. But the woman’s lips pick up at the corner, “What’s your name girl?”

“Sakura.” She bites out, fingers curling into fists. Glancing around the tavern, she notes the exits, the windows, the people who could be an issue. Then again, she’s sitting across the biggest threat in the room. “And yours?”

The woman hums, “Call me Tsunade.”

“And what am I supposed to be doing here?” She grounds out. Sakura nearly bites the woman when two strong hands clamp down on her shoulders, the woman’s face inches from her own.

“You are the catalyst, girl. The commination that will teach the world the very meaning of power.” Sakura’s eyes sharpen at the last word and Tsunade nods. “You like that, hm? I will teach you then, Sakura. And you will enact my vengeance on the heavens itself.”

Sakura stares, tension slowly melting from her body as she stares at this woman, at this savior. And she thinks, she remembers how cold her mother’s body was, the look of grief her father wore when he left.

She remembers tripping over the bodies of friends, of neighbors, half coherent and sickly.

Looking at Tsunade, Sakura licks her lips, “And what will you teach me?”

“How to turn that rage into a dagger and slit gods’ throats with it.” The woman purrs and Sakura smiles.

xxiv.

She wakes to a freezing cold chest to her back and puffs of air on her neck, just as she has since that night.

It is exactly as Tsunade said it would be; fishing. Lure, hook, and reel.

Sakura lets herself smile with teeth, a smug and sharp thing before she slowly extracts herself from the tangle of limbs they had become. The Shinigami slumbers in her bed, wrapped in her blankets.

Leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, she looks at the god who she has fallen in love with. He loves her with just as much ferocity, she knows. And despite it all, she finds herself not quite hesitating when she goes to dig through her cabinets, finding the small nine pedaled flower. It once had ten and after this morning it will only have eight.

It is as if sinking into a familiar skin as she picks one of the petals, tucking the flower back where it was. Humming under her breath, Sakura grounds the petal in a small bowl before brewing some tea, sprinkling the powder into it.

The Shinigami’s arms snake around her waist, kissing her temple as he rumbles, “Good morning.”

Sakura turns her head to smile at him, offering the tea.

The scaled, clawed, fanged thing within her has its ugly maw open, head throw back as it cackles and howls.

xviii.

“Listen brat,” Tsunade says, snapping open a scroll.

“I’ve already read that,” Sakura interjects, her brows raising. “You know that.”

Tsunade slaps the back of her head, “When I say listen, I mean it.” She shoves the scroll into Sakura’s lap before striding towards a chest that had not been there before. “Come here.”

Slowly, Sakura makes her way towards the opened chest and peeks inside. She drops the scroll, “Is-is that-”

“Weapons to kill the divine,” Tsunade finishes for her, nodding. “Find one you like.”

Sakura swallows harshly as she kneels down and digs through the weapons, careful of every sharp point, as she palms a knife, a curved dagger with a golden blade. “This one.” She whispers, looking up to her master.

Tsunade nods in approval. “There are few ways to kill a kami.” She holds out one finger, “One, with an ichor dipped weapon.” A second finger. “Two, a very particular poison.”

Picking up the scroll, Sakura glances down the list before landing on one flower, “Kami koroshi.”

“That’s right.” Tsunade nods, “And do you know what to do with it?”

Sakura stands, flipping the dagger in her hand. It feels like coming home, having a blade at her side, bathing in the intimately dangerous knowledge of how to bring about the destruction of the heavens.

“Crush it for indigestion.”

xxiii.

Her stomach aches with laughter, clutching at her sides as she cramps and chokes on her tears. “An-and then wha-what happened?” She manages to get out as Kakashi laughs himself, leaning against the wall, a jug of liquor in hand.

He passes it to her and Sakura takes a long drink, reminiscing of a time similar to this.

“Then I told him, fuck off you little shit—" Kakashi wheezes and Sakura shouts with laughter, curling over as she gasps for breath. “And go blow som-someone else!”

They both dissolve into giggles and howls, Kakashi joining her on the floor. Sakura’s panting by the time she catches her breath, wiping tears from her face, and when she looks over Kakashi is not much better.

Brushing hair from his face, she points skyward, the stars winking down at him. “Hey Kakashi,” She asks, drunk off her ass and still giggly. “Where do you think we go when we die?”

Silence meets her question, and she sluggishly looks to the side to find him watching her, eyes soft and so full of— of—

“You’ll go somewhere safe,” He says softly. “Somewhere beautiful.”

“Yeah?” She mumbles, eyes dropping closed.

“I’ll make sure of it.” Is the last thing she hears before the dark overtakes her.

xix.

Tsunade sits across from her, laughing as she takes another long drink from her jug and sets it down heavily.

Sakura simply watches, leaning back in her chair, eyes cold and head tilted as her master coughs once, twice, three times.

Her arms begin to lose its color, being paler and paler and Tsunade watches with detached interest before laughing. She looks to Sakura, “Took you long enough, you fuckin’ brat.”

Snorting, Sakura stands, dagger in hand as Tsunade’s body begins to writhe, her breathes coming quick and uneven.

She yanks her master’s hair back, exposing her throat and slitting it in a single slide, so deep that she knicks bone, golden blood spraying.

The body drops forward, ichor pooling on the table and dripping onto the floor. Sakura sighs, rubbing the back of her neck as she kneels down to look into Tsunade’s lifeless eyes, “I will take it from here, Shishou.”

The promise rings out into the silence and Sakura revels in it.

xxiv.

Kakashi takes a sip of the tea as they both sit down, Sakura across from him. She takes a bite from the rest of their bread, watching him keenly.

He jerks suddenly, choking and hacking as he looks to her in horror and alarm. “You—"

“Me.” She confirms easily, getting up, dagger in hand.

The Shinigami roars and pushes the table away from himself and into the wall, Sakura ducks, the wood barely grazing her head before she lunges.

His already pale skin grays some more as he attempts to fight her off. She laughs at him, holding him down with one hand, knees on either side of his hips. And in the morning light, her dagger glints like a heaven sent prayer.

She plunges the blade into his head and drags it down his breast, carving him open as the kami screams and screams and screams.

Sakura feels his life bleed out from him under her hand. It is quiet once more.

And the girl made woman smiles, all bloodied teeth and gold stained hands. "And here we are." she whispers, caressing the corpse's cheek, reveling in her quiet victory. "Divinity dies at my wretched hands once again."

xvii.

“Shishou,” She begins, treading carefully. Her teacher looks at her in question, quirking up a brow. “Why were you outcasted from the other Kami?”

Tsunade— or more commonly known as Inari, Goddess of Everything Important, of the very Life— laughs and it is a hollow sound. “Oh, darling girl,” She says, a bland smile on her face. “Even gods hunger for power."

xiv.

Sakura sits, a feast laid out in front of her, a goblet of wine in her hand as she smiles, eyes flashing with something predatory.

Picking up her fork, Sakura spears into the first bit of meat, taking a bite and moaning at the way it melts in her mouth, the way the spices and flavors all blend.

She sips at her wine, running her tongue over her teeth before she laughs, throwing her head back and cackles at it all, with it all. Oh, she is a god killer, she is god taught and god fucked and she will be the one to rule them all.

Sakura sits, a feast laid in front of her, and eats the Shinigami’s flesh, one bite at a time until she can feel the power in her roar.

xix.

The corpse still sits at the table as Sakura rummages through the shit Tsunade had left behind, finding a thick envelope sealed in wax. Prying it open, Sakura laughs.

If you’ve found this, it means you’ve finally grown a pair and done what you were supposed to do. Well done, my pupil. You know your mission. I have trained you well. Do not disappoint me.

And behind the scrawled letter is a recipe.

She looks to the corpse and back down to the paper before she stands, going to gather the ingredients needed.

Sakura stands, flipping through the rest of the contents of the envelope until she pauses at another paper; a list of names and common dwellings.

The Shinigami’s is underlined three times in red.

xxv.

It ends with a girl (doesn't it always?), a girl made of nothing but destruction and anger, all slit throats and bleeding teeth.

She is horrid, she is wretched, she is powerful.

And she has grown, that girl made woman, she has grown and her eyes are wide open and she is intimately aware of the hated and evil of the world, of the weaknesses of the divine.

She finds them laying under a tree, peacefully existing and smiling at each other. The blonde one laughs, clutching his stomach while the raven simply watches on in adoration.

Sakura takes out the list, and under the Shinigami’s name crosses off two more, Raijin and Fujin.

Smiling, she makes her way towards them making sure to look a little lost and a bit scared.

And that thing inside her, the scaled, clawed, fanged thing, it smiles wide and hungry.

#silly things from silly friends #kakasaku #that one ninja anime #200 follower event :)#a shared pen

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witcherythings21 · 4 years ago

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Here’s @the-book-reaper secret santa gift!

You asked for hurt/comfort + some fluff with a side of immortal Jaskier and some extra mutual pining so I tried to cram it all in here! Hope you like it!

-----

Jaskier sighed loudly in the open clearing and thumped his head against the tree behind him. He was so utterly bored. Roach shuffled next to him, seemingly agreeing with his sentiments. Of course, his wonderful witcher was off somewhere in the woods catching the creature of the week. Jaskier honestly didn’t remember what the creature was called, just “it’s too dangerous for a bard. Stay here. Watch Roach, blah blah blah”.

He could be out there with his friend seeing the monster with his own eyes, but no here Jaskier was being a good little bard and staying put. He was a glorified horse-sitter. He side-eyed Roach. Though Geralt claimed Roach was the one doing the babysitting most of the time. Jerk. He closed his eyes and leaned back, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face.

This forest almost reminded him of the one he lived in as a boy, the one he ran away from years ago. He tensed thinking about it but forced his body to relax as he exhaled a breath. It wasn’t the same forest he was sure of it, and it had been years since then. There was no danger here.

“Hello, Buttercup.”

The chilling voice made Jaskier’s head snap up, seeing three figures now in the clearing with him. His blood ran cold with the nickname.

“We’ve been looking for you.” The man, or more accurately a man-like creature, who spoke, smirked down at the bard. The three men were obviously not human, with sharp teeth and pointed ears paired with their fancy dress made Jaskier jump to a terrifying conclusion. If you focused on the air behind them, you could see a faint outline of their wings. They were fae. Not just any fae, but Fae who knew him and who he was.

Jaskier had a secret, he wasn’t quite as human as he appeared. He could thank the golden ring on his index finger for that, with strong yet undetectable cloaking magic that had hidden his true nature for years. The truth was Jaskier was fae and not any Fae. He was Fae royalty, distinguished by his bright blue eyes and gold markings.

He had abandoned that life, fled the fae realm years ago and no one had known about his past. So why were these fae soldiers staring at him and addressing him by his fae name?

He swallowed nervously, hoping it was all a coincidence, and the men had no clue who they were speaking to. He smiled at them and spoke in a confident voice, “hello my fellow travelers, what brings you to this neck of the woods?” He laughed.

The three faes did not, they sneered at the bard as he clambered to his feet. The middle man spoke again, “We’ve been sent here to fetch you of course buttercup. By decree of your intended.” The man stalked forward hand full of a distinct blue powder.

Well, cock. ----- When Geralt returned to the camp he was greeted by his horse and a missing bard. In Jaskier’s place was a note stuck to the tree crudely by Jaskier’s ornate dagger. Geralt was on high alert suddenly. His mind jumped to the worst conclusion, flashing with an image of Jaskier bloody and beaten somewhere in the woods. Even possibly dead. He inhaled deeply, scenting for blood. Instead, he smelt something sharp, flowery, and otherworldly. Fae.

What the fuck did the Fae want with Jaskier?

He stalked forward and grabbed the note. It was written in a messy scrawl, unfamiliar compared to Jaskier’s neat and legible script. It read:

To The Butcher, I cannot bear your company any longer. I tried to make you human but I simply cannot. You will always be a monster and no words I can write will change that. I can no longer pretend to be your friend, I cringe at the very sight of you. Death would be better than continuing on as your traveling companion.I was a fool thinking you could ever love me. I never wish to see you again.

Jaskier

Geralt's heart clenched at the cruel words but his eyebrows rose at the bit mentioning love. It wasn’t Jaskier’s writing, but perhaps…

Geralt shook his head, his bard had obviously been kidnapped and the fae who took him had tried to make it seem like he had simply left with this piss poor intimation of a goodbye letter. It wasn’t time to get distracted by words like love.

He crumpled the paper in his hand and turned to the woods he had just come from. He needed to find his bard before anything happened to him. Who knows what the Fae wanted with Jaskier, but they were not known to be kind creatures. Okay, the first matter of business would be to find a fairy circle out there so he could enter the fae realm, get his bard, and get out. Hopefully.

He groaned as he trudged back into the woods, why is Jaskier always getting into trouble? ---- Jaskier groaned as he opened his eyes, the world was spinning around him and caused him to reach up to rub his temples. His hands came up together and he stared down at them. Why were his hands bound? Scratch that… Why was he moving?? He woke up fast sitting up and looking around. He was in a wooden cage that was hovering on the forest floors. In front of him were the three guards for earlier. They were pulling his makeshift jail by some vines.

“Uh, I don’t suppose we can talk about this?” He said hands scrambling on the bars.

“Safe your breath. We’re almost there”

“Yes um, almost where?”Jaskier’s eyes took in his surroundings which were lush and beautiful. He was in the fae realm already. His eyes went wide as he realized the implications.

“To your finance of course. You have delayed your wedding for long enough. You will be married by the time the sun sets today.”

Jaskier gulped. His fiance… was not a kind man. That is why he ran in the first place, this cursed arranged marriage. The night before his wedding, he had fled with nothing but his lute and the clothes on his back. He ran into the human realm where the fae would not look for him, and soon after he ran into Geralt. That was after of course he bargained some of his blood for the spell on his ring, which was missing now. His glamour was gone, his nails were sharp and he could feel the weight of his wings behind him.

If Geralt could see him now. Oh, SHIT Geralt! The witcher could help! Or well he could free Jaskier, and if he decided to kill him after all for his heritage it would still be better than marrying. He dug his nails into his palms, causing himself to bleed. He felt the blood drip down and saw it hit the soil. There. If Geralt figured it out and came into the fae realm, he would smell that. And he could follow the trail of blood and free Jaskier. Hopefully. Honestly, it was a long shot, how would he even know he was taken.

Still, he’d seen Geralt solve a mystery on less. ---

Geralt knelt down next to the circle of mushrooms he had stumbled across, in the center was the gold ring Jaskier always wore. This was definitely a fae circle, probably the same one they had taken Jaskier through. He riffled through his bag for the ingredients to open the portal, it was a simple spell one Geralt had performed countless times for contracts on the path.

He held his breath as he stepped into the fairy circle and the world around him blurred until it righted itself into the bright realm of the fae. He inhaled the crisp air and immediately smelt blood. No, not just blood, Jaskier’s blood. His heart raced at the implications of that.

It wasn’t a lot of blood, which eased his worry a small bit. He bent down and examined the splattering of blood on the green path. It was almost like a trail. Did Jaskier intentionally hurt himself to give Geralt some tracks to follow? Geralt’s chest burned with pride at his bard’s cleverness.

He stood up. Jaskier was depending on Geralt to rescue him, and he could not let him down. The idea of the bard being alone and hurt waiting for the witcher caused him to pick up the pace. Jaskier would not spill any more blood today. --- The Jaskier’s cage had stopped outside a large clearing of tall pine trees. He gulped and pulled his tied hands closer into himself, making himself seem smaller.

A tall man walked slowly from the tree line and Jaskiers heart hammered in his chest. He was floating above the ground, his dark green wings fluttering behind him, the man had shorn black hair and his face was handsome, yet there was a darkness in his eyes that made the bard shudder. That was his fiance, Pinus. He was known for his cruelty amongst fae, and had tormented Jaskier in the few days he knew him.

His first wife had been found with her wings plucked floating dead in the north river. His second wife had been found hanging from the trees and the third and fourth were similarly beheaded for high crimes against the man himself. He was one of the seven princes of this realm, and no one had the power to stop him. His family was no exception and had offered up Jaskier’s hand with no second thoughts. He wasn’t the firstborn and was therefore expendable.

He took great pleasure in pinning Jaskier to the wall by his wings and saying cruel things. He knew that he would not last long as his bride, like the others before him. He dreaded his wedding night and his future with such a monster, so Jaskier ran. He figured that Pinus would eventually give up the chase and find another bride.

“Hello, little buttercup. How I’ve missed you.”

Pinus smiled and grabbed Jaskier’s face through the gaps in the wood. His claws dug into his skin and Jaskier felt blood well underneath. He didn’t flinch or cry out, not wanting to give Pinus the satisfaction. Pinus smile widened,

“You're just as beautiful as I remember.” He pulled away and gestured to the guards. “Get my bride ready. The wedding will begin soon.”

The guards nodded and the cell’s door opened. They grabbed Jaskier by his tied hands and pulled him free. He glared and Pinus as he was dragged to his knees on the grass. He spat at Pinus’ face. “I will never marry you. You’ll have to kill me.”

Pinus snarled and his hand snapped out lightning fast to slap Jaskier hard. He pulled the bard by his doublet so they were nose to nose. Jaskier’s head spun from the harsh blow.

“You won’t have a choice” Pinus was smiling again, this time like he had a secret. He dropped Jaskier back to the floor, he landed slumped over on his bound hands which twinged in protest. Pinus waved his hand and pulled a collar out of thin air. It was a delicate gold, that matched Jaskier’s markings that twirled delicately across his cheeks and arms. His eyes went wide at the sight of the collar.

“See this buttercup? It’s been spelled just for you. It will make you… more obedient. Like the perfect little wife.”

Pinus turned towards Jaskier with the collar in hand, he looked to the guards. “Hold him still.”

The two faes grabbed his shoulder and Jaskier struggled in their grip but didn’t achieve his freedom. Pinus laughed at his feeble struggle and stepped close again. With a click, the collar slipped in place. Within seconds Jaskier felt its effect. His world became hazy and white on the edges.

“Now will you be a good boy?” A voice said. Jaskier felt himself nod and smile. His wrists were untied and they dropped to hang loosely at his side.

A hand touched his cheek and he nuzzled into the touch. He heard laughter but it didn’t affect him. His eyes were glassy and his body was limp. There was no fight left in this fae. Pinus smirked at Jaskier’s clouded gaze. He snapped at the guards, “Get him dressed. I want him at the altar by sunset.” The men pulled Jaskier to his feet and dragged him to the tent. The bard was limp in their grip, his feet uncooperative to holding his feet.

Jaskier felt himself be lifted, where was he going...what was happening to him...

---- Geralt was still tracking the blood, when he came upon a clearing of pine trees, the trees seemed almost sinister in the orange glow of the sunset. He could smell Jaskier now, could almost make out his heartbeat. There seemed to be a gathering of fae within the pines, that must be where they took his bard. What were they doing to him? Geralt felt a growl escape his lips, his overprotectiveness of the fragile bard escaping.

He crouched down and stayed within the shadows to see this group of people. He could make out a large audience and a stage. No, not a stage...It was an altar. Was this a wedding? Did they spirit his bard away for something as simple as entertainment?

No that didn’t make sense. Why leave the note? The ring? Why would Jaskier leave a trail of his blood if it was just another gig?

His eyes slowly slid to the center where he saw a beautiful fae standing at the altar next to a dark-haired man. He was obviously male, with his broad shoulders that were dappled in gold freckles. That must be the bride, his wings were small yet multicolored like glass in the light. His dress was a beautiful white and it's sparkles seemed to glow. The train was long and at the end faded to light green. The veil covered the man’s face, but something was weird. They seemed to be swaying on their feet.

The figure was familiar, and as the other tall man at the altar slid the veil away Geralt understood why. It was Jaskier.

Geralt’s brain short-circuited. Jaskier was human. He knew that for sure. Yet here was Jaskier standing in front of him with beautiful wings. He shook his head, it didn’t matter what Jaskier was right now. It mattered that Jaskier had been stolen from him and he wanted his bard back. He drew his silver sword and stepped in from the tree line. That would work well rough on the fae. They were not an easy opponent, but any trained witcher could easily dispatch a group this size. The only problem was keeping Jaskier safe while he did so. He stood at the end of the aisle with his sword drawn.

“I believe you have something that belongs to me.” His voice bombed over the ceremony and everyone’s head turned towards him. The tall man at the altar hissed and bared his sharp teeth. Jaskier smiled dazed and said a relieved, “Geralt.”

“Buttercup is mine you mutant.”

“Buttercup?” Geralt’s brow raised in question.

The man grabbed at Jaskier, holding his arm too tightly. Jaskier didn’t even flinch. Now from his closer point of view Geralt could see the bard’s eyes were hazy and there was a collar around his neck that screamed of magic. His medallion hummed.

“I’m his finance, Pinus. He was promised to me years ago and now I will have him”

At Geralt’s confused expression Pinus laughed. “He never spoke of me? Of course, he didn’t.” He sneered at Geralt. “Did you think he was your friend, you monster? No. You were only protection for him. And you failed. He’s mine now.”

Geralt pushed aside Pinus’ words. “Fight me for him.”

Pinus sputtered incredulously, “What?”

Geralt's eyes lit up dangerously, “You heard me. I formally challenge you for Jaskier’s hand. If you lose,” He turned to the crowd of the fae, “I will take Jaskier back with me.”

The crowd gasped, Geralt knew the fae custom well. They could not turn down a challenge, or they would lose their position in society. And they could not break their word when entering a deal like this one. He smirked at Pinus, “Well? Unless you're too much a coward.”

Pinus seemed to snap back to reality with that insult and snarled at Geralt. He tossed Jaskier aside to his guards and pulled out his sword. “You will regret this witcher.”

He stepped forward past the aisle to meet Geralt in the open clearing. Their audience created a circle around him. Pinus smiled across from Geralt, “Maybe when I kill you I’ll take off his little collar and let him see your lifeless corpse. Let him know what his rebellion has caused.”

With that taunt, it confirmed that Jaskier was under a spell from the metal collar. Geralt snarled and swung his sword.

It was over quickly, as powerful as Pinus was amongst the fae, there was little he could do against an angry witcher. Geralt cut him down with a quick blow to his abdomen than once he had collapsed he brought his sword down on his neck. Geralt stood up and sheathed his sword. He turned to the crowd and addressed them, “I will take my prize now and leave.” Jaskier was shoved unceremoniously forward while the crowd backed up, fear written on all their faces. Jaskier stumbled into his arms, giggling. He smiled and his words were slurred, “I knew you would come.”

Geralt pulled Jaskier close and unclasped the collar from around his neck. This action caused Jaskier to crumple like a puppet with his strings cut. The release of the magic had made the fae pass out.

Geralt grunted and pulled Jaskier into his arms. They needed to get out of the fae realm before the others decided they wanted to fight too. He scooped Jaskier into his arms and held the fae tight. Jaskier was limp in his arms and his head lolled into Geralt’s shoulder.

He inhaled deeply, Jaskiers scent comforting him and the feeling of him whole and unharmed in his arms relaxed the worry that he been growing all-day --- By the time they had arrived back to where this story began, the sun had fallen. He placed Jaskier gently on the ground, propping him against the tree. At the movement, Jaskier began to stir. He cracked open his eyes and his bright blue orbs met Geralt’s yellow ones. Both eyes glowed in the dark of the campsite. Jaskier shivered in the cold and looked down on his thin outfit. He cursed at the sight of the white dress and long claws still exposed. Geralt turned and set to making a fire. It was a tense few minutes before the flames caught.

Then both men spoke at the same time,

“I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

There was another moment of silence. Jaskier shivered again, feeling chilled despite the fire. Geralt silently dropped his cloak on Jaskier’s shoulders who quickly wrapped the fabric around himself tightly with a quiet thanks.

Jaskier let out a loud exhale, “At first...It was because you were a witcher. You must understand...We were raised to fear your kind. Then after I got to know you, and I knew you would not harm me simply for my nature, It had been too long. And I was afraid you would be mad at me. For lying.”

There was a beat, “ and it was nice. To be human Bard Jaskier. I don’t know if you’ve guessed but I do not have kind memories of the fae realm. It was nice to forget that.”

Geralt sat down next to Jaskier, close enough he could feel the witcher’s body heat.

“I wasn’t talking about that. I don’t care that you are Fae.”

“Oh, you..meant him.” Jaskier pulled into himself, his fingers tightening on the cloak around him.

Geralt's warm hands settled over Jaskier’s clenched fists and gently pulled until he relaxed. He held the bard hands within his large ones. “I just..” His voice was quiet, “I want to protect you Jaskier...If I’d known I could have…”

Jaskier shook his head, “It’s not your fault, dear heart. And besides, you still saved me. Or did I dream the brutal decapitation of my fiance?”

Geralt winced, “You saw that?”

Jaskier nodded, “It was hazy...Like I wasn’t really me. But I remember what was happening. Thank you...for you know saving me like a damsel in distress.”

“But really… It doesn’t bother you that I’m not human?”

Geralt looked away for a minute before turning back, “I’m relieved” He said quietly.

Jaskier eyebrows drew together, “why?”

Geralt hmmed before moving so he was now holding Jaskier close and Jaskier let out a happy sigh and snuggled close.

“If you were human, I wasn’t going to say anything. Because one day...you would die and I would lose you. And if I told you and only could have you for a few years- I wouldn’t survive.”

“Tell me what?”

Geralt’s grip on Jaskier tightened, “I...I love you Jaskier.”

Jaskier gasped and turned to face the witcher, finding nothing but affection on his face. His mouth was open in surprise and he flushed. “I-I love you too! I just- I can’t believe you- Me? Really?” Geralt smiled slightly and Jaskier felt his insides melt. He was so beautiful. “Really.” He leaned forward and finally their lips met.

Jaskier couldn’t imagine a better end to the day, sitting on Geralt’s lap, his fingers tangled in his white hair, Geralt’s warm hand on his lower back while the fingers of his other hand gently touched Jaskiers wings while their lips melded together. He was warm and happy, and finally himself.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #immortal jaskier #the-book-reaper #i hope you enjoy #happy holidays!

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flutteringphalanges · 4 years ago

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Summary: “Am I in Hell?” Agatha’s voice was hoarse, a hint of fear in her tone. “That depends on your definition,” Dracula answered. “Perhaps.” His fingers felt cool against her burning skin, the fever raging through her body. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she mumbled. The count chuckled, gazing into her eyes. “On the contrary,” he smirked. “I’m going to save you.”

((In which Dracula cares for a gravely ill Agatha))

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula

Rating: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Well it’s been several months! Hope you guys haven’t forgotten about this little fic! I won’t keep you waiting too long! I highly suggest you read the second author’s note which can be located at the end of the chapter on either FFN or AO3 if you have any questions! With that said, feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! Huge thanks to @mitsukatsu for always letting me bounce ideas off of her! Thanks, girl! Hope ya’ll enjoy! -Jen

Chapter Thirteen

Though the sky was shrouded in near darkness, the full moon peaked through just enough to illuminate the scattered clouds that blanketed the night. It was eerie to say the least and even Agatha, despite what she now was, stuck close to Dracula as they made their way down an off-beaten path towards the small village. If her still heart could, it would be beating with such ferocity that her very chest would've felt the crushing blow of each throb.

"You're awfully quiet." Her mate commented, offering his hand as they stepped over a log. "You have nothing to fear. It is quite a simple process and I assure you that I would not allow any harm to come to you."

"That's not what I'm afraid of you." Agatha said quietly. "I am not worried about my sake."

"Then what?" The Count inquired, stopping them both in their tracks. "This isn't about your moral standards is it, Agatha? We've discussed this on numerous occasions. I only wish what is best for you. I think in time you will see that. How much, I cannot promise, but it will get easier." He smiled gently and tilted her chin to press his lips to hers. "Come," he urged. "Let us not wait. Time seemingly moves much faster than one would presume."

Part of her wanted to say something. Outright deny any participation in this immoral act. But perhaps it was her selfish love for him that even made her consider the possibility. Why was romance so damn desirable? Holding her in a vice grip where eternity with her former enemy was a far more pleasant option than being without? Was this love sickness? Could he feel the same way? That only made it worse. The former nun sighed, trying to clear her head of such thoughts. So much had happened in these past few months. Her skull hurt and she wasn't quite sure if it was due to her fall or just the strain of it all.

"Ah! We're here!" The excitement in Dracula's voice pulled the former nun from her thoughts. She looked to the vampire, his teeth glinting in what little moonlight shone from the clouds. "It's right outside the city of Brașov, secluded enough that we shouldn't be bothered." He reached down and gave her hand a squeeze. "Fear not," he murmured. "I will be right by your side guiding you the entire time." Though his words offered little relief.

The village was nothing special, far from appeasing to the eye. It was small, perhaps used at most for those passing through or people making just enough to get by. Agatha absentmindedly dug her nails into the palm of her hand, feeling their newly found strength press indents into the skin. Dracula was speaking to her, but his words sounded so distant as she took in her surroundings. As a greater part of her wanted to turn back and return to the castle, an unexpected sight captured her immediate attention.

"No, please! I'm begging you! Leave me be!"

From the entrance of an alleyway, a woman stumbled backwards, her hands outstretched as if in some poor attempt to protect herself. Agatha stepped forward instinctively, but found her mate's arm outstretched in front preventing her from going forward.

"Wait." He said quietly. "Allow this to play out."

Agatha threw him a look of horror about to protest when a stranger strode out from the shadows something glinting in his hand. Without warning, the figure slashed the object at the woman's neck causing a gurgling choke of surprise to escape past her lips. Something sweet filled the air. The scent was more alluring than any blossom the former nun could remember smelling. Blood. Fresh blood. Human blood.

Whizzing, the lady collapsed on the ground, too weak to ward off the man as he began to dig through what little satchel she carried. Finally snapping from her trance, Agatha looked in horror at the sight before her. At the intense feelings that bombarded her mind after witnessing what she had just seen. How both her former and immortal sides were battling against her sanity.

Agatha's eyes remained locked on the man's as he stood unmoved just meters from her. With her new found abilities, even in the nearly moonless night, she could make out the thick, crimson liquid as he dripped down the shimmering blade. It was almost teasing. Watching it fall to the ground below where it became soiled by dirt.

"What are you waiting for?" A voice coaxed softly from behind, its excitement barely masked. "Go, I'll follow."

Yet Agatha's attention was not drawn to Dracula. Instead, her gaze briefly flickered to the figure lying nearly lifeless off to the robber's side. The woman's hands wearily grasped at the deep slash drawn across her throat as her life blood gushed between her fingers. An easier prey, she knew, but not one of good consciousness. If the former nun was to kill, then there had to be a reason.

"Two for the price of one." She heard Dracula say from behind. "The girl is merely a mercy kill."

They had different ideas about compassion, and the younger vampire's attention redirected once more to the man. The soon to be murderer. If it could, her blood would be boiling. A strange emotion began to fill her. Almost primal in nature. Her smooth teeth began to shift as she took a step forward towards the thief.

"Stay-stay back!" The man warned, swinging his knife shakily between Dracula's and Agatha's direction. "I'm warning you!"

But Agatha's ears no longer heard the desperate, empty threats. Nor did she feel the anticipation of her mate by her side. Instead, she lunged forward and knocked the man to the floor. Predator finally becoming prey.

Fangs cut through soft flesh like a spoon through room temperature butter. Instantly a flood of hot, sweet liquid coated her tongue and flowed down her throat in deep, hungry gulps. Agatha wasn't sure what she had been expecting. As a child, she'd once fallen and bitten straight through her bottom lip. Through the pain, the blood had tasted salty. Unpleasant. But now, here where she feasted, it was like honey straight from the comb. This wasn't the putrid taste from animal gore. No. No, this was far, far delectable.

"Agatha."

A hand clamped down on her shoulder but Agatha ignored it, choosing instead to keep suckling away at whatever remained of her victim. The grip, though gentle, tightened slightly causing an unanticipated low grumble to escape from deep within the former nun's throat. Finally, she sat up, blood dripping unceremoniously down her chin. She blinked, slightly confused for a moment as she began to take in her surroundings once more. Dracula smiled fondly at her, an almost proud sort of expression. Agatha blinked again and, looking from the dead man to her lover, quickly wiped away at her chin in slight embarrassment.

"I must admit I am quite impressed." The Count mused, admiring her handy work. "You took to it much better than I had anticipated." He ran a hand through her hair, his dark eyes flickering away from the body. "Now might I interest you in some dessert?"

The blood that bubbled around the entry wound on the woman's neck was already blackening with clots when Agatha arose to her feet. With great care, the younger vampire made her way over, careful not to step on the crumpled body. The lady gazed up at her with grey, uncertain eyes, each breath more raspier than the prior. Perhaps she didn't see the act Agatha had just committed, or was too out of it to even fully absorb what had occurred.

"Scared…" It was about all Agatha could clearly make out. "Please…"

Ignoring what Dracula could possibly be thinking, his Bride gingerly sat on the ground and cradled the woman like one does a babe. Her skin was grey, cold as what little blood left stuck to Agatha like a paste. A waste, she knew, but her own needs were none of her current concerns. She held the woman close, as best as one could for both being around the same height.

"There is nothing to fear." The former nun said softly, her eyes locked onto the woman's. "Soon there will be no pain. No horror. Be at peace with your Savior. Go now with God."

Her pulse stopped and Agatha watched the woman's chest rise and fall one more time before all with still. Gently, she closed both eyelids, covering the irises that reflected the moonlight like glass. She turned her head to see Dracula watching her, his expression hard to read. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she lowered the woman back down onto the ground and rose to her feet.

"She didn't deserve to die like that." Agatha finally said, not turning to meet the vampire's gaze. "No matter what you say, I made the right call."

The Count exhaled. "I take it you know your way enough to start walking back towards the direction of the castle?" Agatha merely nodded and Dracula cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose then I'll clean up for tonight. We can make that a lesson for another day." He smiled, trying to lighten the tension. "You did well, Agatha. Give yourself some credit. We'll have to celebrate amongst ourselves."

Dracula kissed her cheek and Agatha forced a small smile. She tried not to look at the two bodies as her mate gave her hand a small squeeze. Though she physically hadn't felt this great in a long while, the repercussions of what she had done had struck her hard.

Honestly, she quite yearned for the vampire's company as she followed the trail that led back to their home. Right now, the idea of being alone wasn't all that pleasant. Then again, crushing the chest of a human to prevent it from turning was far less appealing. So she went by memory, trying to push past what she had done until the castle was in sight.

"Foolish, foolish…" She thought to herself, the brush and stone crunching under her feet. "Just let it slip away. If there is some higher power that thinks I have done some good enough to deserve the least bit of mercy, allow me to forget for a few precious moments."

A humorless chuckle escaped from between her lips. At least Dracula hadn't called her out on her biblical speech. That had taken her by some surprise. But as a nun, the dying always seemed calmed by the idea that God awaited for them with open arms and complete, forgiving nature. She hadn't quite understood that. Then again, she hadn't quite understood much of that the more she considered it.

A pair of arms wound themselves around her waist just as Agatha reached the top of a hill. Dracula pressed his face into the crook of her neck and inhaled. She could smell the heavy scent of blood on him, though it was far from pleasant. Corpse blood never did have the same effect she was beginning to pick up.

"You walk too terribly slow." He murmured against her skin. "If I were a fox and you were a rabbit, you'd be dead."

"Always lovely with your analogies." Agatha snorted, rolling her eyes. "And we both know I'm too wise to be a rabbit." She paused, hesitation in her voice. "Is it done?"

"As I've said before," Dracula turned the former nun so that she now faced him. "You are my true bride. I have no intention to turn others." Her eyes narrowed, pressing him for a better form of confirmation. "Yes. You have nothing to worry about." The Count exclaimed, admiring her in the moonlight. "Have I told you how ravishing you look tonight?"

Forget. Forget. Agatha gazed up into his dark eyes, taking in the lust and excitement that they held. She could taste the thief lingering on her tongue. Feel the dried blood from the innocent woman against her skin and on her clothes. Forget. Forget. She wanted to block it out. And here stood Dracula. Completely unaware, far too focused on what he thought was right. Was okay. In that moment, she needed him to help her forget. Wanted him to make her forget.

"Then show me." She whispered, his eyebrow quirked in surprise as she moved his arms to the straps of her dress. "You tell me I'm exquisite, but words have no meaning over actions." Agatha locked eyes with him. "Take me here. Right now."

Dracula's lips curled into a smile. "I did not realize how much tonight meant to you."

A blur of emotions. A tidal wave of feelings. Agatha bit her lower lip, glancing once at the night sky before back at her lover. They still had time. A few hours before dawn. They'd make it back. She just needed to be distracted. If just for a little while. Forget.

Agatha forced her second smile of the night. "Then let me show you."

#Dracula #Dracula 2020 #Dragatha #Agatha Van Helsing #BBC Dracula #Dracula x Agatha #Bad Moon Rising

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doeantler · 4 years ago

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Heya I noticed a lot of tags like carrion mother and wolf mother (and same with hyena woman from ages ago but not here) and some of the tags resonate with my Artemis (especially wolf mother), would you be willing to talk about these spirits in more detail? have a good day :)

sure. the Hyena Mother i met before any other, back within the past year that i considered myself kemetic. She arrived in a time of great self doubt, and while She’s rarely a presence i feel nearby as of recent, i think of Her fondly still. She arrived in all the showings of the cave hyenas of the pleistocene - distant and fickle, tucked in dark stone corners with watching eyes, laughing in amusement as much as fear (or, perhaps, spite). though She changed to my path at the time, molding Herself to an inherently “kemetic” manifestation in which She took the name Hetjetset for Herself, i believe the first of what i saw of Her was Her truth, the latter simply a loving excuse to tail me as Her namesake might. She is barbaric, She is gnoll-minded, raised spear and tanned hide and beaten shield and bared teeth, but Hers is a wardance of triumph and unapologetic existence. laughter in the face of death and turmoil, that in doing so they would be intimidated, banished from sight. the overcoming of the corrupt through debauchery and revelry, not as a safety precaution, but as a first chance against what would dare tread on the domain of survival. when the message is not received, when the Hyena Mother’s protective cackles go unheeded, that is when She bites down, and She does not let go. She is bloody and beautiful, much like the Wolf Woman. She is a drunken dance around the raging pyre of all that would harm the cyclic fate and prosperity of life. to live is to bleed, but never should She see you bleed for the wrong reasons. in lieu of bleeding, however, is Wolf Woman. i’m still unsure of how self-actualized She may be, and for a time i wondered if She may have been an automated aspect of myself, but i’ve since stopped putting pressure on the analytics, as i’ve been encouraged to do with what i experience in my spirituality now as a whole. She is feral womanhood and menstrual rage, and turns weeping to howling euphoria. She chases the moon and i do so with Her. Her existence brushes frequently, pun intended or not, against my experiences with what i can easily describe as lycanthropic shifts in mentality, but that’s a larger subject to touch on and i can succinctly summarize it as a simple overarching belief in a personal interconnectedness with animality (i’ve considered ceasing referring to it as anything akin to therianthropy or similar - it’s not specified so much as it is just integral to my spiritual being). when i become the wolf, She is there to run with me, to wail and scream my woes to the open sky or the wet soil, taking up the pain and anger in Her clawed hands and showing me how to devour it, how to land the killing bite. She is bloody and beautiful, much like Hyena Mother. Carrion Mother, though the title may be redundant, is a presence i’ve only come into contact with in spotty, fleeting moments perhaps once or twice in the past, and it has only been within the fast few days as of the time writing this that i’ve actually met Her face-on. as far as i’ve been able to infer in cooperation with a friend, She may likely be an entity that they experienced for themselves for a time, but Her message has far altered between their experience and mine from the start. She is the vultures that perch on electrical towers with wings spread, waiting for their prize on the roadside - not from greed, but necessity. She embodies every scavenger and low-headed, keen creature we typically deem unsettling or unclean, but vultures are Her favored children, the ones who can see the world for what it is, distant and high above. Hers is the soft death, the lovely decay, and i have no doubt She’s here to pay visit to my recent self-reflections concerning my view of death and my inherent, and regretted, fear of it. Her children are not agents of entropy as much as they are harbingers of the cycle’s end. my description of Her energy in discussion may do Her the most justice, and i suppose i can close it there just as well.

“[...] seeing the good and the ugly in it and being able to approach both sides not with escapism, but an embrace, not so much inviting it as simply appreciating it for what it is, and in return, how that reflects in life. cyclical woo like that i suppose. not sure if it ties into all this fungal-spirit confusion i have going on as well but something is definitely banking on both that and my previous fascinations with figures like Nekhbet. taking those notions of the scavenger and survival and reflecting it. sacred domains found in the power poles upon which droves of vultures gather to sun, and the love between life and death, despite how much the land of the living may try to deny its own consort. [...] i’d say it’s like being the poor thing lying on the road and welcoming the vulture overhead as a savior, not an enemy. the peace of mind in the full belly of a chick as your final legacy. promises to always be a part of the greater picture, and not being afraid of that. “ They are all, to me, forces of Nature. Old Things forgotten. perhaps not gods, but certainly within that power. and i love them dearly for it. i hope this is helpful to you, and i thank you for the opportunity to speak of Them.

#ask #tiny-duck #hyena woman #wolf woman #carrion mother

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soviet-protivogaz · 4 years ago

Text

Devil’s Dance Floor; Sean MacGuire

[re-written]

Sean deserves a little bit more love. Here’s a sweet tale of Sean falling in love with a right Irish gal before he fell in with Dutch and his boys.

The song featured is “Devil’s Dance Floor” by Flogging Molly. I, in no way, claim it to be my own.

Pairing: Sean MacGuire X OC

It was a warm, August night in 1897 when Sean MacGuire met Sorcha O'Donoghue, starting a new chapter in his life. Growing up on the streets of Donegal with his dear ol' Da, his short time on this earth had been anything but simple. At a young age, thanks to his father's escapades in Ireland, he had immigrated to the carnivorous pit that is Hell's Kitchen, located in a poor area of Manhattan. And soon, that pit devoured his father, leaving Sean with nothing. Much of his life in the United States had been met with hardships, from petty crimes to facing the prejudice the masses held toward the Irish people– And that's why Sean spent much of his free time at Keegan's Ale House. Surrounded by like-minded individuals, a night at the pub was the best way to clear one's mind at the end of the work week. Without obligations the next morning, Friday nights often wound up rowdy. And tonight would be no different.

“'Nother pint a' the brown stuff!”

Slamming his empty mug on the counter, Sean beckoned the bartender for another drink. When a fresh glass slid down the bar and into his empty hand, the young man slammed back his beer. Devouring half of his drink with haste, he let out an audible gasp of approval. Keegan's was as lively as ever, and Sean certainly felt at home. The establishment was small, harboring some twenty seats at most, and yet people littered the building from wall to wall. A large smile had been planted on his face since he had ventured through the threshold just a half-hour prior.

“Aye, MacGuire,” a man called out, slamming his shoulder into Sean. The harsh movement came just as he was to take another gulp of his beer, most of it spilling down his chin rather than making it in his mouth. “Hidin' o'er here at the bar, aye?”

“Few more pints, and you'll be beggin' me to stop gabbin'!” Sean chortled, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “You that lonely, Pat? Should'a just told me!”

Stark laughter bellowed from the both of them, clearly intoxicated. Bumping shoulders usually turned to shoving, and shoving turned to headlocks; every time Sean was with Pat MacLoughlin, there were fights. And every time, it turned to drinks, laughter, and singing. While living in a shantytown in New York was far from what Sean had dreamed of in his younger years, it was proving to be everything he had wanted. Sure, he hadn't the money for a big fancy house and high-dollar liquor, and some nights he might've went without dinner, but he was having the time of his life. What's the point in all that money if you don't have some fun? Sean would never be a business man, and he knew that. He'd rather pickpocket, drink, and pass out in the streets without a care in the world.

In a haze, Pat had dragged Sean away from the bar, but not before ordering another pint for each of them. A large group had formed in the center of the ale house, as men and women stomped their feet and danced. The man at the piano had beads of sweat collecting on his brow as he continued to slam the ivory keys before him. Another man had stepped up on a table, flute in hand as he abused the mouthpiece of his instrument. A jaunty Irish tune had filled the bar, and it seemed as though everyone had joined in the merrymaking.

And in that moment, Sean noticed a young woman. Her dark blonde locks were tightly pulled to the top of her head in a knot, a few stray strands falling into her face. For a very brief moment, her blue eyes locked with his, causing him to freeze in his tracks. She was beautiful, that was certain. And that bright, pearly smile of hers that painted her cheeks shone brighter than the lights hanging above. Her hands had balled against her skirt as she kicked her feet in beat to the tune.

Cupping his hands around his lips, Sean shouted, over the sound of the music, “Dance, lass, dance!”

Her lips curled even more, and the girl spun in a circle. With quick movements, she kicked her feet, never once missing the beat or stumbling. She was young, really young. As Sean continued to watch her, he could only wonder what she was doing in a place like this. Not that the pub was frequented by hooligans, but more often than not, it was filled with what many would consider lowlifes.

As time continued to pass, the ale house simply grew louder and louder. Like a celebration of life, the patrons continued to sing and dance together. Sean felt that it was his time to shine. He had spent many long nights squawking out of tune and stumbling around, and that night was no different. After slamming back more than a handful of beers, he made his way over to the dance floor. With his right foot, Sean began to stomp to a particular beat. He clapped his hands together, urging others to join in. Just as the volume began to rise and a small circle had formed around him, he stole a glance of the blonde. With that same grin etched into her face, she slapped her palms together for the song. Soon, came the flute, with a particularly Irish energy. The clicking of spoons fell to the same pace as the stomps. The sweet ring of a fiddle soon joined in the song.

Jumping into the middle of the floor, Sean began to sing, his eyes locked on the current target of his affection, “Her breath began to speak as she stood right-a-in front of me. The color of her eyes were the color of insanity. Crushed beneath her wave, like a ship, I could not reach her shore.”

Their eyes locked, and Sean leaped over to her. Being a bit bold, thanks to consuming a bit of liquid courage, he held a hand out to her, beckoning her to dance. Her gaze was lively, inviting, as she allowed herself to slip into his hold.

“We're all just dancers on the devil's dance floor!”

The force of his grip caused the woman to stumble a bit in surprise, her face cracked under the pressure of the atmosphere. The beat of the melody quickened, and Sean held both of her palms tightly in his. Laughter spilled from her lips, a sound sweeter than anything that ever touched his ears. As though she had been dancing her entire life, she proved to be an excellent partner. Moving to the beat, her feet were quick, but steady. Another musician joined in, giving the song a bit of an Irish twinge with his guitar.

“Well, swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o. Swing a little more, a little more next to me!” Sean roughly pulled the girl to his side, one hand holding hers, and the other tight around her waist. He pressed his cheek to hers affectionately. “Swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o. Swing a little more on the devil's dance floor!”

Slowing for the storytelling of the song, the music continued it's previous tempo. The man with the flute whistled, swaying back and forth as he lost himself in the moment. Patrons resumed their stomps and claps, egging Sean and his new-found friend for more. They cleared space for their swinging. Giving her a bit of distance, Sean stepped away from the girl, looking her right in the eyes. He was no longer performing for the pub, he was performing for her, with her.

“Pressed against her face, I could feel her insecurity. Her mother'd been a drunk, an' 'er father was obscurity. But nothin' ever came from a life that was a simple one, so pull yerself together girl and have a l'il fun!”

The music picked up pace for a second, before falling to the steady beat again. Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was the fact that Sean had, in fact, spotted an angel on this Earth. A spark of confidence consumed him. And he was determined to soil whatever innocence this girl had to offer. He was transfixed, in a manner he could not control. Everything from that pearly smile, her pale skin and freckles; if she wasn't perfect, she was damn near there.

“Well, she took me by the hand, an' I could see she was a fiery one. Her legs ran all the way up to heaven an' past Avalon,” Sean stepped forward, closing the remaining distance between them. He held out his hand just as he had before. “Tell me somethin' girl, what it is you have in store, she said, 'come with me now'–”

When he fell silent, and the music continued, the young woman quickly realized he was beckoning her to sing, and she quickly blurted out, “Come with me now on the devil's dance floor!”

Pulling her to him once again, Sean continued to sing and sway. Looking into her eyes, he couldn't ignore the fact that she was having the time of her life, just as he was. The long, grueling days of working were easy to take joy out of one's being. Times like these, where the Irish could be who they were, dance how they want, sing out of tune with that odd twang, those were the times he lived for. He hadn't felt like this in a long, long time.

“Well, swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o. Swing a little more, a little more next to me!” Twirling his partner about, Sean realized she was singing the chorus with him. She didn't seem to mind when his hand would fall a bit further below her waist or when he would affectionately press his face against hers. Less than a minute ago, neither of them knew the other existed. Even now, he didn't know her name. And yet, he felt as though he had grown up with her, that she'd been with him all his life.

The singing ceased, as the makeshift band played a bit slower. Sean watched as the young lady pulled herself away and started to click her shoes against the old, beaten floorboards. With her fists clenched against her skirt, the garment flowed from her legs. Her feet moved at an almost inhuman pace, her heels solid enough for her brief tap-dancing. Patrons behind her cheered, pushing her more and more, and she obliged. Whether it was the influence of the booze or the music, for a moment, Sean MacGuire thought he had fallen in love. Sweat had collected on her brow and neck, her breathing shaky. But the look on her face; he was certain he had died and went to heaven.

He sang softly at first, before hardening his voice as he continued, “Well, swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o. Swing a little more, a little more next to me. Swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o. Swing a little more on the devil's dance floor!”

As the beat quickened, the two of them danced across from one another, letting the flow of the rhythm take over. They fluttered around the floor, separate but together in tune. The man with the fiddle was ferociously assaulting the strings of his instrument. As the pace fell again, Sean pulled away again to sing. Moving his hands in front of him as though he was spinning a tall tale, he stamped his foot in session with the flute, encouraging the ale house to get louder and louder. The stomping grew rougher and rough, and it felt as though the entire building was shaking. At this rate, the neighboring borough could hear them. It seemed as though the bar became more and more crowded, as people slipped in off the street to join the show.

“The apple now is sweet, oh, much sweeter than it ought to be. 'Nother l'il bite, I don't think here is much hope for me. The sweat beneath her brow travels all the way an' headin' south,” Sean belted, nearly out of breath and completely out of tune. He rushed to his partner's side, sliding a tight arm around her waist and pulling her to him. When she latched to his arms for support, the man could feel his smile swelling. “This bleedin' heart's cryin', 'cause there's no way out!”

“Well, swing a l'il more, l'il more o'er the merry-o. Swing a little more, a little more next to me!”

People were slapping table tops, and hollering at the pair dancing in the center of the pub. Lively was an understatement. Sean had never felt a rush like this, despite his drunken squawking being a frequent event at this very ale house.

“Swing a l'il more on the devil's dance floor! Swing a l'il more on the devil's dance floor! Swing a l'il more on the devil's dance floor!”

Drawing to the end of the song, the flute went in for a wild finish, the guitar getting even faster. Sean didn't stop. His fingers were tightly intertwined with his partner's as the two of them continued to swing and prance around the floor. The creaking of the wood was easily overpowered by the music and the laughter. Without a clear transition, the music faded, and the crowd around them started cheering and clapping. Before long, another song started to break the air, accompanied by a old man's crooning. Just as quickly as it had started, all attention faded from the two of them. Sean's heart was racing, his breathing erratic. He turned to give the young lady a wide grin, but was stopped upon feeling her lips press against his cheek hard.

“Aye, there, lass, you got a good pair'a'legs on ya,” he laughed. Heat had collected in the skin of his face, as it always did when he was drinking. For a moment, he was a little embarrassed, realizing he was a sweaty, red, drunken mess.

“You got a good pair'a'pipes on you. MacGuire, right?” she asked, giving him a glance before stepping toward the bar.

Rushing behind her, Sean followed her like a puppy. Smitten, he didn't want to lose sight of her in the crowded bar, for fear that he'd never see her again. “That's me– Sean MacGuire, dockworker by day, singer by night!”

The low-hanging lights over the bar lit up the features of her face, giving Sean a better look at her. Under the dim glow as they danced, he had thought she was some heavenly creature– or in the very least a siren. She had certainly hypnotized him in a way he had never experienced before. She had fair skin, so white it looked as though it had never seen the sunlight. Light freckles peppered her cheekbones, a few trailing down her neck and past the collar of her blouse. Influenced by the booze and Sean's perverse thoughts, he could only imagine where else he would find those freckles.

Snapping from the gutter of his mind, he watched as she waved the bartender over. Filling two mugs to the brim, the glass clashed against the counter before he took his coin and left. The bar was busy, and he hadn't time to waste. The woman rested her elbows on the surface and slid one mug to her new friend. “I'd say your performance has earned ye a drink.”

“After me heart, aren't ye? Ain't I supposed to buy you the drinks?” Sean chuckled again, finding his lips loose, with chuckles falling free. Just standing in her presence, she had an attitude about her that captivated him. “You stop by fer my performances often, or this yer first time?”

“I've seen ye before,” she admitted, ignoring her mug to turn and look at him. “Seems like ye had better time with a partner, yeah?”

“Always a gas to dance with a fine l'il beor,” he responded, deciding to lay it on thick. She'd lingered this long, he could only assume there was something about him that kept her attention. “S' a lass like you doin' in a place like this, anyway?”

“Drinkin' a few pints is all. Didn't anticipate the dancin'. I'll admit; I'm a bit scuttered.”

“I'm far passed scuttered,” Sean let out that signature, drunken chortle of his, surprised to see it didn't scare her off. She leaned on her left elbow, barely pushing against his arm for stability. “Aye, lass, what's yer name?”

“Sarah Donoghue,” she answered. Suddenly, she shifted her tone to a harsh, almost comical, heavier accent. “Ol' Sorcha O'Donoghue! When the drop's inside, the sense's outside!”

“Sorcha O'Donoghue?” Sean gasped, dropping an arm around her shoulder. This time, he donned his own stereotypical drawl. “Aye, better to spend money like there's no tomorrow than spend tonight like there's no money!”

It was simple back then, in the summer of 1897. Drinkin', dancin', foolin'– and he had somehow managed to capture the heart of a young Irish girl that didn't know no better. Little Sarah had been seventeen, a few months shy of eighteen, when he'd met her. She had a rough life coming, just as he had. Without a mother to guide her, and an old drunk of a father, it was clear she was looking for some adventure, some kind of an escape. And that escape was Sean MacGuire. Late nights spent picking pockets, causing trouble in the alleys, and getting' right fluthered– what more was there to life?

#sean macguire #sean macguire x reader #sean macguire x oc #he deserved to be happy #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #rdr2

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twilights-800-cats · 4 years ago

Text

<< Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || From the Beginning || Patreon >>

Chapter 2

For the first time in a long time, Stoneheart walked in silence.

His ears twitched. He was used to the sound of Nightpaw and Crowpaw’s latest argument, or Mistyfoot and Stormfur chatting in hushed tones, or Shadepaw talking with Feathertail about an herb she saw and what it might do. The empty air seemed to amplify everything around him, from birdsong in the trees to the roar of a Twoleg monster as it woke somewhere in the distance.

Stoneheart couldn��t help but chide himself for leaving the others so suddenly. It’s not like I don’t love them! He thought, leaping over a stray branch that had fallen long ago. I’m just no good at good-byes.

He paused, lifting his head. There was a Twoleg nest here, he knew – an old one with a pair of elderly Twolegs. They didn’t bother cats much, but they certainly didn’t like it when ShadowClan patrols snooped for mice in their old barn. He could see the structure not far away, and the thin, spindly fence that surrounded the Twolegs’ territory.

Best avoid it, he told himself. After trekking through a winding Twolegplace for days and coming back to seeing what they’d done to the land he called home, he was quite sick of Twolegs. I miss Purdy, though, he reflected as he trod on towards the woods ahead. He seemed to know so much about why Twolegs are the way they are...

Sunhigh was gone by the time that Stoneheart reached the trees, and, as he passed a familiar rotten log, he scented ShadowClan. He paused to let the smell wash over him. It's so different now. Sharper. His journey with cats from all four Clans had muddled his senses, mixing their scents together into something new, something that was surprisingly comforting.

He tried to identify the patrol that had passed this way. Breathing in deep, he was happy that he recognized both their scents: Skipnose, that kittypet-turned-warrior, and Oakfur, he thought, lifting his chin. Smokepaw might have been with them, but he didn’t place a marker. They must have passed by before dawn.

Satisfied, Stoneheart went on, quickly identifying the trail his Clanmates had used through the vibrant marsh grass and putting himself on it, wary of his Clanmates lurking about. No cat was better than ShadowClan at blending into their surroundings, and Stoneheart would certainly be embarrassed if he were ambushed.

Traveling further into the woods, Stoneheart could feel leaf-fall's chill in the air. The trees here, more oak and birch than pine, were shedding their golden leaves onto the marsh around them. Stoneheart’s paws tugged him off the beaten path and further into the grove.

His pelt prickled in this familiar location, and he let his paws guide him to a small clearing between the trees. A fallen log and an old, gnarled boulder were surrounded by bright, five-petaled orange flowers – what ShadowClan medicine cats for ages called the blazing star.

Carefully, Stoneheart picked his way around the herb. Many ShadowClan cats believed that stepping on one meant disaster, as the herb had saved all four Clans seasons beyond counting ago. It was a point of pride that they only grew here, on ShadowClan land.

Stoneheart hopped on top of the boulder, relishing what little warmth it had managed to soak up from the sun. He breathed in the scents of the grove, his body relaxing. Though he had left ThunderClan for ShadowClan, this place reminded him of where he’d been born, with the thick cover of leaves and the smells of bracken and fern.

This is where I asked Rowanclaw to be my mate, he reflected, scanning the grove. Where he told me he wanted kits... and where Mistyfoot asked me to leave ShadowClan to go on the journey.

He sighed. And it’s going to be destroyed.

Stoneheart felt claws pierce his heart at the thought. So much that was so important to him would never be, could never be, again. Would this be the last time he laid eyes on this grove? Did the lake have anything like this?

His stomach rumbled, interrupting his thoughts. He hadn’t eaten since the leftovers the journeying cats had polished off at dawn. Stoneheart recalled the way Webfoot and Weaselpaw looked, and worried – did ShadowClan look the same?

I can barely hear Twoleg monsters, but there are some on our territory, he thought, listening. It seemed like the noises were on the far end of ShadowClan land, towards the woods by the Twolegplace they called the Black Fens. Maybe we’re better off than the others.

He heard the brambles rustle behind him. Stoneheart turned and spotted a dove picking its way along the ground, oblivious to his existence, as most doves were. Stomach growling again, Stoneheart dropped into a crouch.

The kill came easily – doves were simple-minded prey. But as he lifted his head from his fresh-kill, there was a screech of defiance and a blur of fur. Stoneheart was knocked off of his paws before he could react.

“Thief!” cried his attacker. “That’s ShadowClan prey!”

Stoneheart felt claws pricking his pelt. “I am ShadowClan!” he complained, twisting beneath his foe. His hind paws found their belly and, with a push, shoved them off of him. Stoneheart could hear them scrambling to their paws, but he was faster.

“Redpaw, it’s me!” he called to the ginger she-cat.

The apprentice paused, her posture an awkward mix of anger and shock. Slowly, though, her spine relaxed. “Stoneheart?” she murmured, whiskers twitching. “Is that... really you?”

“Yes!” Stoneheart breathed, his heart lifting. She’s not so skinny as the WindClan cats, he thought, looking her over. But she is still thin. He looked into the sparse undergrowth that surrounded them. “Where’s Pansytail?”

“Right here.” Redpaw’s mentor appeared, as if Stoneheart had called her. Pansytail’s dappled pelt blended in almost perfectly with the leaves on the ground. Her green eyes regarded Stoneheart with a caution that mirrored Webfoot’s. “Hello, Stoneheart.”

Another shape padded out from the shadows. “What’s going on?” asked a young dark brown tabby tom, his eyes darting from side to side. “Is it Twolegs? Another Clan?”

“Talonpaw?” Stoneheart tipped his head. “Is that you?”

“It’s Talonstripe now,” he said, lifting his head. He didn’t seem fussed that Stoneheart had reappeared right in front of him. “Russetstar made me a warrior a quarter-moon ago!”

“Congratulations!” Stoneheart felt light as he looked over his Clanmates. Clearly, he was receiving a better welcome than poor Crowpaw had!

“Where have you been?” Redpaw asked. She stepped forward and took a cautious sniff. “You smell funny.”

Talonstripe flicked his tail. “And you look fat,” he grunted, tipping his head towards Stoneheart’s side.

Stoneheart rolled his eyes. “I haven’t been to any Twolegs, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He turned to Pansytail, who he assumed was the leader of their patrol. “I need to speak to Russetstar.”

Pansytail was not regarding him with the same curiosity as the younger cats. There was something in her eyes, but whenever Stoneheart tried to meet her gaze, she looked away. Finally, she turned about and, with a flick of her dappled tail, she ordered, “Come.”

Redpaw and Talonstripe took a position alongside him as Pansytail led the way back along the trail. Stoneheart felt a prickle of discomfort run down his spine as he picked up his dove. Was he being escorted home as a Clanmate? Or as a possible enemy?

———————————————————

The trek through the pine woods was quiet, and Stoneheart was thankful for the dove in his mouth – it kept Redpaw or Talonstripe from asking questions he couldn’t easily answer with a nod. To his delight, most of the marshes were unchanged by the Twoleg invasion, though he couldn’t help but notice that Pansytail was taking a longer route to get back to camp.

We should be cutting through the Black Fens, he thought, glancing to his right. But we’re heading up towards Carrionplace instead. The path that they were walking on wasn’t as well-worn as most other hunting trails, meaning that it was just beginning to see constant use. Straining his ears, he could hear the rumble of Twoleg monsters coming from the direction he figured that they should be going. Have they begun destroying that part of our territory?

The dove in his mouth weighed heavy as he plodded on. Though it stopped him from answering questions, it kept him from asking them, too.

Stoneheart pushed his worries out of his mind for just a moment, letting himself enjoy the feel of being home again – the way the ground squished beneath his paws, the rustle of the pines and the crackle of their needles... even the little stinky mushrooms that bloomed over the rotted old fallen trees. He had missed it all so much!

Pansytail pulled them off of their current path as soon as Carrionplace came into view. The stench of crow-food and Twoleg rubbish wasn’t overpowering yet, but Stoneheart still wrinkled his nose regardless. That’s one part of our territory I won’t miss! He thought. Carrionplace, and the nasty rats within, had always been nothing but trouble for ShadowClan – a source of food that all too often came with a deadly price.

The patrol was following a familiar trail again, this one picking its way between boggy ponds and thick bunches of sedge and swamp grass. The smells of chervil, sweet pye, and mint were strong here, and he scented Littlecloud beneath it all – this was his favorite spot for gathering herbs.

Ahead, a sedge bush rustled violently. Pansytail lifted her tail and the patrol halted behind her. Stoneheart looked over the shorter warrior, wondering what could be up ahead – another patrol, possibly? His heart ached as the anticipation of seeing his Clanmates again was stronger than he realized.

It was a rabbit, however, that shot out of the bush. It lolloped across the bog, its white tail up. If it saw the cats, it gave no indication... and if the patrol was going to go after it, Pansytail gave no signal.

Why not? Stoneheart was confused. The rabbit was plump, and easy prey in the sticky, wet soil, yet none of the cats surrounding him seemed at all interested in going after it despite the faint outline of their ribs poking through their pelts.

As soon as the rabbit was gone, Pansytail picked up the pace again. Stoneheart adjusted his grip on his dove, still confused.

“The Twolegs have poisoned the rabbits,” Talonstripe explained, glancing Stoneheart’s way. “They make cats sick to eat, and most who’ve eaten one have died.”

A weight dropped in Stoneheart’s belly, sudden and hard. No wonder the WindClan cats were so skinny! He thought, the fur along his spine prickling with horror. His mind immediately turned to Crowpaw, and how the brash apprentice might take the news. How are they surviving at all right now?

“We haven't lost anyone,” Pansytail assured, glancing back, “but the other Clans have. Thankfully they were able to warn us before we got to eating any rabbits on the fresh-kill pile.”

Stoneheart breathed a sigh of relief, but it didn’t quell the discomfort he felt at the thought of Twolegs poisoning the very prey that the Clan cats lived off of. First rabbits, what next? The dove in his mouth suddenly didn’t seem so appetizing anymore.

Soon enough, Stoneheart realized that they were closing in on the ShadowClan camp. He took in the familiar pines standing tall over an outer wall of bushes prickly enough to keep away any predator that got too curious. Stoneheart could hear the babble of the stream that ran through camp, a part of the river that tapered off into the marshes like a cat’s tail.

His heart soared. It was still there – still whole and undamaged, nestled deep in the heart of the marshland. The smell of ShadowClan surrounded him, pulling his paws onward.

I’m home.

He had to stop himself before he got too carried away. Like in the star flower grove, he had to remember that the Twoleg monsters would come chugging for this place – sooner rather than later. This place that he called home would be gone.

“Nervous?” Redpaw wondered.

Stoneheart swallowed. He couldn’t bring himself to answer, and not just because of the dove in his jaws. Redpaw looked confused that a ShadowClan cat would be so worried about returning home. She didn’t know – she didn’t understand.

He pushed past the apprentice, catching up to Pansytail as she ducked beneath the sedge-and-fern tunnel that led into the camp.

I’m home, he thought as he stepped into the clearing, but this place won’t be home for long.

#tb au #tb dawn

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missjosie27 · 5 years ago

Text

Year 3 Part 10- Defending

Hello, everyone.

Welcome back to another chapter. As we last left off, Barnaby officially joined David's side and we get to see some of the ramifications of that today. Wonder what poor Merula thinks of that XD

Elora Dunn I made a Hufflepuff in this version as opposed to Gryffindor. Seemed redundant with a character like Ben already in that house.

Also in this chapter I will feature a small cameo from Chester Davies. My character is a Gryffindor so of course we don't see him that much but I head cannoned him to show up at some point so I hope I did him justice. It is a small bit of filler in here today but as with everything in my story, it's all about the small details and development. Two more to go for Year 3! Enjoy!

If it were any other Slytherin, the new addition to the cursebreaking squad might have been quite awkward. With Barnaby the fit was so seamless, it was though he’d already known everyone for years. Despite his reputation as being one of the toughest kids in school with a penchant for dueling, winning him over revealed a key aspect of his character: that in reality he was just a big softie.

Barnaby loved to duel and learn new spells, his physical strength was immense (as evidenced by being able to lift Rowan off the ground using one hand with ease) and he was already quite tall for his age. But he also carried many other previously unknown attributes, the first of which was that he had a way with animals. He took particular interests in bowtruckles and nifflers, being the only person who knew how to tame them. Professor Kettleburn was so impressed, he made him a full time protege in handling more dangerous creatures such as hippogriffs and even the invisible thestrals.

He also loved to eat and would consume so much food in one sitting that one of the prefects at the Hufflepuff table actually had to ask him to save some for the first years. But above all else, Barnaby Lee at his core was a kind person and despite not being academically inclined, had a simple way of expressing things that put a problem into perspective. Perhaps most telling was that he never truly desired to hurt anyone and would defend those he cared about with vigor.

He explained all of this to Penny in Herbology, who giggled at some of the stories.

“Honestly, I’m actually really glad you introduced him to us the other night, even if he consumed half the food on the table,” she laughed. “I know most people think he’s slow, but he’s so sweet. Chiara went redder than a strawberry when he complimented her necklace.”

The aforementioned girl proceeded to flush the same color.

“I did not!” she protested.

David rolled his eyes as he tended to his dried nettles.

“That’s just because you girls think he’s handsome.”

Penny gave him a playful swat on the head.

“It is not...okay maybe a little.”

David clutched his hands together in a girly, romantic gesture and began speaking in a mock feminine tone.

“Oh Barnaby Lee, he’s ever so dreamy with his green eyes and enormous jaw!”

That earned him a triple swat, this time from Penny, Tonks, and Chiara.

“Focus on your dried nettles, dears!” Professor Sprout called out spotting the mischief from her place at the center of the table.

“Sorry, Professor!” David called out and he added some water to his pot.

“He’s handsome don’t get me wrong, but he’s not my type,” Tonks commented.

“What is your type?”

The pink haired witch shrugged.

“Don’t know really. Haven’t thought about it much.”

“I know Penny and Chiara have been thinking about Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop,” David joked as he falsely gagged, while ducking another swipe from a giggling Penny. “Anyway, the point is, Barnaby is a good bloke. And he’s dead useful to have around.”

“I’m surprised you of all people have accepted someone from Slytherin so readily,” Rowan teased him, coming up behind him to borrow some soil.

“Hey I’m a pretty easy going bloke, I can admit when I’m wrong.”

“Except when it comes to Slytherin apparently,” Tonks teased, which earned her a splat of dung on her robes.

Despite the jokes, the more David was able to get to know Barnaby the more he could feel his animosity slip away. In fact, he almost didn’t mind when the Slytherins became the favorites to win the Quidditch Cup after trouncing Hufflepuff 400-70, the key word being ‘almost’. But there was a practical side to it as well. Upon learning her former minion switched sides, Merula was beside herself with rage and began embarking on a campaign to make both of their lives as difficult as possible. Her taunting became subdued but she constantly attempted to blow up his cauldron in potions, put a flobberworm down the back of his pants, and tried hexing him on more than one occasion in the corridors. It was a mark of frustration; she was no closer to finding the vault but the constant attempts at sabotage began to wear thin.

“You need to learn how to properly defend yourself,” Barnaby told him one day after potions class, a session in which Merula caused the fire underneath his cauldron to flare, which singed off his eyebrows.

“I already know how to defend myself, I’ve beaten Merula in every proper duel we’ve had,” he argued keeping his head down, trying not to let passerbys witness his eyebrow less state.

“Most duels aren’t ‘proper’, Dave. Especially not if Merula is the one starting them. It’s better to be prepared for all kinds of ways people will try to attack you.”

“How come she leaves you alone?” he bemoaned.

“Oh, she doesn’t,” Barnaby admitted. “First she yelled at me and told me I was a traitor so I don’t sit with her anymore. Then she somehow snuck into my dorm and put bulbadox powder into my sheets. I was itching for days after that...”

“-that’s good to know-”

“But you still have a lot to learn. Especially defense.”

“Bill Weasley taught me a few things,” David offered.

“Did he?” Barnaby asked with wonder. “I’ve always heard the Weasley family loved the color orange. Don’t know much about their dueling, though.”

“Er right...well Bill’s definitely talented there’s no doubt about that. Perhaps we could work together on improving.”

Barnaby puffed up his chest with pride.

“If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s how to fight and teach others how to do it. Also I’ve always wanted to duel a fifth year!”

“We’ll get a spar going soon, mate,” David promised. “In the meantime, I need Madam Pomfrey to regrow my bloody eyebrows.”

It turned out to be solid advice. Though his offensive prowess was high, especially for his age, it turned out the third year Gryffindor did not know much about spells that would protect him from harm as well as cause it. This became apparent when both Bill and Barnaby bested him by simply using shield charms to block whatever he cast. In an effort to improve and become more versatile, he began learning defensive strategies and the application of the shield charm itself. The burly Slytherin also warned him that Merula and Ismelda were constantly studying in the library and by the fireside in an effort to gain an edge when the inevitable rematch occurred.

With Merula Snyde, it’s more like a never ending rematch

However, what he didn’t know was all of this was about to come in handy in a most unexpected way.

----------------------------------------------------

It all happened quite suddenly and quite by accident.

On an average Saturday morning in early April, David was walking back from his brother’s room after another planning session with Tulip when he noticed Argus Filch prowling along the usual route past the Transfiguration classroom. Though he technically wasn’t doing anything wrong, he still didn't want the caretaker to cast a suspicious eye towards him anywhere near the secret location. So he took a detour through the gardens instead.

Inside the viaduct architecture, he was idly wondering to himself how close Rowan was to breaking the final bit of code inside his brother’s notebook (as well as how pretty Penny looked in her new jumper dress and spring boots) when he noticed something peculiar and also a bit disturbing. Over by the large tree where some the older students liked to hang out, he noticed five of them were standing over a smaller, terrified looking girl who was practically trembling with fear.

Part of himself told him that it wasn’t his business and it was best not to get involved. But the sense of justice, always strong in his persona, prevailed and he made an abrupt perpendicular cut across the grass and towards the commotion. As he drew closer he could hear the dialogue, which only served to feed his temper.

“...didn’t mean to. Please, I don’t want to fight.”

“Shoulda thought of that before you nosed into an area that you don’t belong in,” one of the lead bullies said harshly.

“B-but it’s not your area,” the little girl argued. “It’s for everyone who goes to Hogwarts!”

By now, David had a better look. The girl in question was a first year Hufflepuff who definitely fit the part of someone traditionally ‘uncool’. Thick glasses, short, copper colored brown hair, an oversized sweater to couple with several books clutched in her small hands. There were five who were currently bullying the poor first year, three boys and two girls, at least half of which were from Slytherin and the other two appeared to be Ravenclaw. The leader was a sixth year he recognized as Hadrian Flint, a member of a prominent family of the same name, a brown haired, freckle faced boy with poor teeth and an upward nose that reeked of arrogance. Also present was Ismelda Murk for some reason, who looked as though she happened upon the scene and was along for whatever kicks she could find.

“Just beat it, kid,” one of the Ravenclaws said. “This is our spot. Don’t make us do this the hard way.”

“And besides, Hogwarts doesn’t belong to people like you,” Flint told her nastily while his Slytherin companion nodded in agreement.

“And who would that be exactly?”

His unannounced presence caused Hadrian to spin around and face his challenger. His face immediately became a pronounced sneer.

“Get lost, Gryffindor. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Don’t be shy, Flint. Let the whole world know what you were about to say. I’m sure it will be most enlightening.”

Flint took a step forward but was soon informed by his companion who exactly this Gryffindor was with a whisper to the ear.

“Ahh...the cursebreaker. Well how bout I cut you a deal since I’m feeling right generous today. You go back to your curses and I’ll go back to this curse. Sound fair?”

“She didn’t have any idea this spot is where the older students hang out. Let her go.”

Though Hadrian was taller, David was not about to back down. He knew the reason he was picking on this poor girl and despite being outnumbered was not about to let her become the victim of a borderline torture session like Diana Blishwick the previous year.

“Mudbloods like her don’t deserve anything except learning their place,” Ismelda spoke now, a vicious gleam forming in her cold, gray eyes.

“Shut your hole, Izzy. I’m not even sure what you’re doing here but I do know that Merula’s boots need polishing. Give them some extra shine, will ya?”

Ismelda pulled out her wand in retaliation for the remark but Flint told her off in equally harsh fashion.

“Stow it you greasy giraffe neck. Honestly you could be Snape’s daughter with that hair.”

David might have laughed had the older Slytherin not been as equally reprehensible. The Ravenclaw girl and boy (which were evidently a couple) didn’t seem as perturbed anymore, but the rest of the group was hellbent on doing something awful to the muggle born Hufflepuff.

“Last chance. Leave or you suffer just as she does,” Flint told him menacingly. Again, David did not back down, instead he crossed over and put the much smaller girl behind him.

“Don’t make any sudden movements,” he told her. “And stay behind me. What’s your name?”

“Elora...Elora Dunn,” came the frightened reply.

“Well, Elora...brace yourself.”

He turned his attention back to Flint, Ismelda, and the other three students that were there. The Ravenclaws did nothing but the other two Slytherins withdrew their wands and Ismelda’s evil smirk grew wider.

“Have it your way then,” the tall Slytherin shrugged. “Immobilus! ”

“Protego! ”

It was his first attempt at using the spell in an actual battle and the results were quite effective. An invisible, reflective shield formed in front of himself and Elora Dunn, causing the spell to ricochet and deflect right back at its owner, freezing his body in place. Within seconds, Hadrian Flint toppled over in a heap on the grass.

It was a victory but a short lived one as the other two Slytherins readied their wands while David still guarded the first year girl. Given his narrow position and the fact that he was protecting someone else he doubted he could fend off two more opponents at the same time. Thankfully, it was not required as suddenly a prefect arrived at the scene, recognizing him to be Chester Davies, who was also head boy.

“Enough! You will stop this now!”

The Ravenclaw couple hadn’t drawn their wands in the first place, but Ismelda did not comply, sending a common cold hex towards David which missed, though the other Slytherin did heed the order.

“I said that’s enough! Five points from Slytherin!” Chester shouted, pointing directly at the third year Slytherin, who reluctantly relented, her pale expression now extremely sour.

“What in Merlin’s name is happening here?” he continued to inquire. “Dueling is forbidden.”

His gaze settled on David and he knew the time to explain was now. He had never interacted with Chester before though there was a chance he knew of his cursebreaking exploits. Either way it was best to act quickly.

“I didn’t start whatever you witnessed,” he told him. “Flint and his goons were attempting to harm Elora here.”

The first year Hufflepuff peeked out from behind his back at long last.

“It’s true. He defended me when I thought I was about to be hexed. They called me a uh…”

The poor thing, David thought sadly. She clearly had not heard that word used against her yet. Anger flared within him knowing it wouldn’t be the last.

He mouthed the word ‘mudblood’ to the Head Boy, who’s face reeled in horror. Chester Davies, known for his mellow, taciturn demeanor then unleashed quiet fury, first on the Ravenclaw couple.

“But we didn’t do anything!” the fifth year boy protested.

“You still threatened her,” Chester said coldly. “And by standing by and allowing the other three to do harm you have disgraced yourself.”

“The little brat wouldn’t leave!” the girl shouted back.

But that only served to further their scolding

“You claim to be part of our house and yet have the wit and foresight of a damp rag. I will be reporting this to Professor Flitwick and I will recommend detention for a week. Five points from Ravenclaw.”

Chester then took the time to reluctantly unfreeze Hadrian Flint, who immediately leapt to his feet and tried to spin a tale.

“You all saw it! He attacked me!”

“Stuff it, Flint,” the Ravenclaw immediately shut down. “I saw you cast the first spell and I know the word this one used to describe Miss Dunn,” she said, indicating Ismelda, who looked as though she wanted nothing more than to kill everyone present. “Rest assured, McGonagall will be informed as will Professor Snape.”

Furious and belligerent, Flint spat on the ground, uttering, “Blood traitor.”

David thought Chester might blow a gasket (he knew he would have) but instead he coolly regarded him as though he were simply another stone inside the Hogwarts walls.

“Better a blood traitor than what you are, Flint. Now get out of here.”

The tall, lanky Slytherin heeded her this time and shuffled away with his companion. Ismelda had seemingly skulked off as well.

“I’ll handle these two,” Chester told him, as he too ordered his housemates away. “You see to it that the first year gets back to the Hufflepuff common room. You did a good thing today.”

Admiration increased for the Head Boy as David nodded and looked over to Elora, giving a kind look.

“Come on, let’s go.”

As they walked back towards kitchens, he noticed Elora fidgeting as though she wanted to say something. Eventually, she mustered up the courage.

“Um...what’s your name?”

“David,” he replied simply.

“Thank you, David for saving me back there. I wish I was brave like you.”

He stopped just before they reached the barrels leading to the Hufflepuff common room and knelt down to make proper eye level contact with her.

“Elora, you’re already brave. At no point in time did you move when those gits asked you too. There wasn’t a braver person today in all of Hogwarts.”

She beamed so much David thought she might shed tears over the books she was carrying. Then, her face became puzzled.

“What was that name that girl called me?” came the innocent but horrifying question.

David sighed, he’d hoped it wouldn’t come to him having to explain something like that. But he wasn’t going to pull punches either. Someone like Elora needed to know the intentions of people such as Flint, Ismelda, and others.

“You come from a family with no magical background. Therefore some that do think you aren’t as good as they are,” he said sadly.

“But why?”

Therein lay the crux of the issue: why . Truth was, he could give many reasons why but none of them could adequately explain prejudice. It was something you lived through, but nothing about it was logical.

“It’s complicated,” came his reply. “Just know this: you are just as worthy to study magic as anyone else here. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise….also learning a few jinxes wouldn’t hurt either.”

“Can you teach me?”

Though he was a bit surprised, the innocent eyed look of this first year softened the dubiousness of his answer.

“Sure thing. We can find the time.”

Elora nodded and suddenly gave him a big hug, unexpectedly throwing off his balance.

“Ack! He...thanks kid.”

The first year tapped second barrel from the bottom in a distinct rhythm and skipped her way inside, but David didn’t immediately leave leave the area. He paused, willing himself not to drive himself into a fury over what just occurred.

Not all Slytherins are bad

David thought of Barnaby and how he was able to persuade him to change sides and the difference it made in his character. Or the eccentric Liz Tuttle helping him with potions ingredients. Then he thought of people like Ammon Lucian, Hadrian Flint, Ayla Yaxley, and Ismelda Murk and the pit of black vengeance returned, bubbling like tar ready to consume all who became entrapped in it.

As if to punctuate the conflict, Merula Snyde popped into his mind as did Liz Tuttle’s words regarding her

“Merula’s not all bad…well she’s mostly bad. But I know for a fact she’s had a hard life and she’s not always what she seems.”

He shook his head. What did she mean by that? He knew Merula’s parents were locked up in Azkaban but by all accounts she lived like a queen in Hertfordshire in the Snyde Manor. At no point in time had she ever apologized or bothered to show there was anything lurking beneath except vicious arrogance and deceit.

So why was there pain in her lavender eyes every time he beat her in a duel? Why was she so obsessed? What was it about him and his brother that Merula couldn’t let go?

David pushed those thoughts aside for now, having little time or patience to figure out the psychological ramifications of the house of snakes. There was homework to finish and another vault to find and break its curse.

If it took a few Slytherins, whether enemies or friends, to get there he would do so.

-----------------------------------------

David never expected much to come of his deeds the previous Saturday. As far as he was concerned, the act of aiding Elora suited him just fine. They’d even scheduled a time to meet where he could show her a few spells. Come Monday, however, that changed.

While at breakfast with Ben, Charlie, and Jae (the latter of whom was chugging multiple goblets of milk on a bet) he was called to the head table by Professor McGonagall.

“David Grant!” she called out. “Please step forward.”

By this time, he temporarily forgot about what had happened and assumed whatever his head of house wanted was nothing good. Usually when they talked outside of class it was due to some trouble he’d been up to or the cursed vaults...oftentimes both.

“Yes, Professor?” he asked as he reached her place at the faculty chair.

“It has come to my attention that you were involved in an altercation last weekend involving a first year student and five others.”

David felt his heart quicken. Was she really about to punish him for doing the right thing?

“Yes...I was.”

But he need not have worried, for in the next moment she gave him a rare smile.

“Do not worry yourself, Mr. Grant. I know you were attempting to protect Miss Dunn from those who sought to make her feel unwelcome and unwanted.”

Her nostrils flared showing a subtle moment of anger before it vanished and she continued.

“Your actions are to be commended. Twenty points to Gryffindor for your courage and defense of those younger than yourself.”

Fear instantly turned to immense happiness as he reciprocated the smile.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“You are welcome. And do tell Mr. Kim that he will likely vomit if he continues in his high consumption of milk. I do not want a mess in the Great Hall nor in my classroom when it occurs today.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I expect nothing less from one of my best Transfiguration students.”

He was sent on his way feeling considerably proud of himself for getting the normally strict and reserved Professor McGonagall to show not only a positive emotion but pride in him. And there was more yet to come. Before he could retake his seat, another familiar face confronted him, this time in the person of Angelica Cole.

“I heard what happened as well, David.”

“In case you were wondering, I earned twenty house points out of it so by your standards I should be showered with roses, am I right?”

Angelica rolled her eyes but her mouth twisted upwards in a smile all the same.

“Incorrigible as ever. But I want to echo McGonagall’s sentiments. Chester told me everything and what you did is precisely what our house is supposed to entail: courage, protecting those who cannot protect themselves.”

She paused before continuing.

“When we first met I thought you were going to be another troublemaker. But I was wrong. And I want to apologize.”

David was surprised, not necessarily by the apology (he and Angelica had gotten on fine this year) but the sentiment she was showing. There was a heavy amount of emotion in her eyes and an acute sense of something bigger at stake.

“Angelica, are you alright?”

“Do you know why I’m saying these things?” she asked him point blank.

“Because I’m just so naturally charming?”

“Because I’m leaving,” Angelica corrected, ignoring his joke. “I have less than two months left at Hogwarts before I graduate. And whether you realize it or not, you’re rising in seniority. David, I want you to take my place after I’m gone.”

He blinked a couple of times, hardly daring to believe his ears.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I know it isn’t coming for at least two more years. But before I leave Hogwarts I’m going to recommend to Professor McGonagall that you be made prefect when your time comes. Through everything there is a quality you have that stands out: leadership.”

David couldn’t help but remain shocked at the ringing endorsement but there it was. He had gone from pain in the arse to leadership material in the span of two years. Nevertheless, he thanked his prefect sincerely.

“Angelica...this means a great deal. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Thank yourself,” she said smiling. “I told you at the beginning of the year that you were worth more than wisecracks and being Jacob Grant’s younger brother. You’ve earned that distinction and much more.”

The conversation ended as the seventh year was forced to quell a potential food fight at the end of the Gryffindor table and David rejoined his group but with positive thoughts to enjoy for once.

“What happened with McGonagall and Angelica?” Charlie asked. “You certainly seem pleased.”

“I dunno mate, they’ve appeared to take a liking to me all of a sudden.”

“Everyone likes you, Dave,” Ben reminded him.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Ben. But even my popularity has limitations. In particular with a brown haired, deriding, boot wearing, Slytherin girl.”

“Wouldn’t worry about her so much,” Jae replied, by now having stopped chugging milk though he still sported a white mustache as a result. “She ain’t exactly popular among her own house anymore. Most people find her insulting and cruel.”

“She can sit on a pin for all I care,” David shrugged. “Maybe I’m just becoming a little more mature.”

“That’s hilarious,” Charlie laughed.

“So is your bloody snoring even though it keeps me up at night.”

They continued to banter like this for the rest of breakfast when Rowan happened on the scene and right away everyone could tell he had stumbled upon something quite important just by the look in his eye.

“Rowan, you’re just in time to see whether or not Jae can light a fire from his wand with a fart."

But the joke either didn’t register or it paled in comparison to the news

“I need to speak to you,” he said directly to David. “Alone.”

Shrugging but also silently recognizing that something big was going on he played it off as though it were nothing to avoid arousing suspicion.

“Alright then. Lead the way.”

As careful and inconspicuously as they could, Rowan and David exited the Great Hall and into a private column within the corridor. Upon making sure no one was watching, the former of the two boys pulled out a familiar, leatherback, brown notebook.

“I did it,” he whispered. “I finally managed to match the half page to another message in the book and decipher it.”

This was indeed wonderful news and David could hardly wait to hear it. Excitement pulsed through his veins, barely being able to contain it.

“Rowan that’s amazing! Go on! What does it day?”

Proudly and pompously flipping to the correct page, Rowan read the information aloud but also in a hushed tone so no one would hear them.

“‘The entrance is the Restricted Section of the library. That is the source of the fear and the vault itself.’ ”

David ran a hand through his hair, ecstatic but also mentally kicking himself. Of all the places they looked, the one place they forgot was the restricted section?

“I know that look,” Rowan told him seriously. “Don’t beat yourself up. None of us here had any idea where the entrance was, even with your brother’s notes. But it doesn’t matter now.”

Drive and passion drove David to new levels of happiness and determination. They had managed to navigate through all manner of blockages, dead ends, and run arounds only to finally come through in the end. They knew where the vault was and now it was time.

“Time to break into this latest cursed vault,” he spoke aloud.

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tayyibesteatutorials · 5 years ago

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Of Herbs, Crowns and Soot

Decided to share this here ‘cuz my ccount got deleted lol thank you brain. Enjoy, friends. :D

During the 19th century London, Harry Potter falls down the chimney of one Severus Snape, bringing him with him dire inconviniences.

A Severitus and Snape study story, one without magic.

Chapter One - Down the Chimney Hole

Harry Potter was highly unusual in many ways. For one, he didn’t have to live in an orphanage, despite his parents being dead. For another, he really wanted to go to school, but he had to focus on earning his keep with the Dursleys: Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and his cousin Dudley. And he also happened to be a chimney sweep’s apprentice.

It was nearly dawn and Harry and his fellow climbing boys -and girl- were sleeping black. The cloth and sacks Master Edwin used to capture fallen soot draped over them, bodies shaking nonetheless from the cold seeping through the dirty cellar floor.

Harry untangled himself from the heap of bodies first. Treading with care as not to wake anyone up, feet unsteady. He shivered. Wrapping his jacket around him for warmth, eyeing his friends with their rising and falling bodies with a glint in his eyes. Tempting. So very tempting. But Master Edwin would come soon. Shrill voice jolting them awake and among the hustle, Harry would miss the opportunity to wash up, be late and suffer Edwin’s wrath.

What would Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia say when Master Edwin complained to them? Hurtling Harry back home and declaring him useless? Uncle Vernon wouldn’t take his small physique as an excuse and no doubt throw him out. Screaming that no sissy boy deserved to be housed under his roof.

He shuddered again, not cold, and when he was ready enough the lofty steps of Edwin’s boots echoed behind the door. A momentary fumbling of keys and the wood hurled open, smashing against the wall with enough force to wake the others.

And if that wasn’t enough to stir the heaviest of sleepers (namely Oliver), the ragged shouting certainly was.

“Wake up, ‘ye useless clotpoles!” Erwin boomed, snatching the blanket from over the boys. Draping the fabric and sacks over his soot-stained jacket while the five others withdrew with sharp flinches. Sleep induced and tripping over their feet in the result, they scurried off to the morning routine none were too pleased to share.

For once, Harry -almost thirteen and not showing it- watched. Sight a blur of shapes and shadow. Running wild like the thoughts in his mind. Another day. Another sun. And Harry Potter has woken once more to the void in his chest eating away the heart he prided himself to have. Oldest he might be, to these children… a brother that they didn’t have and the hope they would better be without… but the light from life was starting to dim for him after all. Oliver… Little Joe and the only girl, Marie-Lue... All lined beside him, ash and dark and clothes that were never meant to be theirs.

Another clench of his heart and Harry faced forward.

Edwin, scowling in the face Edwin, took them in with a grunt. Eyes narrowed. Searching for a toe out of line, as the thought bolted in their minds , “That all of you?” he asked, adjusting his cap.

Harry nodded, curtly, and only because the rest did not. Clenching his jaw hard enough to rattle his teeth, Harry allowed the man his petty fun of spitting at their feet. The hands clasped behind his back jarring his skin, drawing angry gashes over the ones already lining them.

"A'ight. Off with you all, then," Edwin said, banging his cane against the metal rails. Making small Marie, only six, flinch and duck her head. Launching for Harry's hand when Edwin marched up the steps, head ducking to get past the door when his hat almost fell off.

Despite himself, despite what he told everyone in the business, Harry squeezed back. Hard flesh against Marie's soft, innocent skin snagged by two weeks of labour. Tears already forming, trails against red skin. The disappointment Harry had to learn to leave behind as not to stagger. As to win. As to earn his keep.

As to earn the love that he now doubted he deserved to have.

London, on this summer morning, wore fresh fog. Cold fumes, dirty and from the mines and factories. The ones the adults assumed as progress and what the children assumed as early death. Harry squeezed again, against better logic. Meeting Oliver's eye -the second oldest- and shaking his head. Oliver raised a brow and turned back around. And left. Left him all alone. Fending for the girl, whimpering and weak when he wasn't anything more.

When the cart, a feverish clutter of dark shapes appeared, Harry tugged, pulling the girl closer. Eyes lifting from under the cap to eye Edwin, now smoking Edwin, and leant down to her ear.

"Marie," he whispered, sharp as winter snow, "You have to stop crying."

Marie sniffled, shaking her head. She lifted an arm, wiped her eyes. Fast and fuming, though not scared, "I want to go home. To mummy and daddy."

Mummy and daddy. The words winked from the corners of nightmarish nights. Glinting in the stars that sang of them, rose for others. Harry risked another look. This time Oliver nodded in his stead and Harry sighed. When he stopped walking, Mary slammed against his back.

Her fingers lifted. Cradling the bridge of her nose, now tutted red and glanced up. Slow and trembling. The wind sweeping loose strands of black, once blond and no more the silk it used to be. Harry’s hair wasn’t much the same. Reddish-black now soothed dark and rough under the cap.

Harry lifted a single finger to his lips, light brown and not from the soot, "We have to stop crying. Alright, Marie? Your-" he bit on his lips, blinking hard, "Your Mummy and Daddy aren't here... yet. So you must- you have to... you should be strong, yeah? You're a strong girl. Mummy and Daddy want little girls to be strong because everyone loves strong little girls," he whispered, standing up and tugging on her hand, walking faster to keep up.

Marie-Lue sniffed. Wiping the soiled tears from her eyes -brown, doe eyes- and looked up when they stood in line to get on the carriage, "Will Mummy and Daddy love me when I'm strong?"

Harry stared. Stared until Edwin was behind him. A hand smacking down on his neck, ripping off his cap and barking at his face. Smoke and spit coiled around Harry's nose. Taking most of the willpower Harry had to not scrunch.

He bent down for his cap. Thanking Marie-Lue by lifting her into the carriage for finding it, he jumped on. He took the seat at the very end for his tardiness and Marie-Lue cuddled to his side, rubbing her head against his chest. The others watched. Harry watched them back. Little Joe and Oliver... David and Rory and Harry number two (or as they called him Mums, since he never talked), all small and searching. All learnt of affection here, or the lack thereof. Not to look for it. Not to search for it. Keep the yearning inside you, where it won't come to harm you.

And still, yearn you would.

The carriage jolted. The children jolted with it. The driver's whips sliced the air, earning a shrill whine from the 'beast' that didn't look like it could pull anything but its own weight.

"Harry," Marie whispered, only six and so small, "Will they come back for me if I'm strong?"

A family walked in his mind. Happy and laughing. A woman wearing dark blue robes and a man wearing a suit, smart and something Harry saw behind the glass one freezing Christmas two years back. Getting a shaky look before the tailor chased him out, screaming about how Harry would scare off customers. He only found him because Harry had left his soot in the snow. Betraying him in the ally where he lied, frozen and beaten with blood in his teeth.

Bad Christmas. But he'd seen his parents there and begged to join them. In his mind, his mother black-haired and kind-eyed. His father red-haired and green-eyed and only because he once saw a heard of red-heads and their own father in town. Poor, not well off but happy all the same. Happy. And Harry would doubt Aunt Petunia in these instances. How poverty, while making those five children happy, made Harry Potter's parents leave him on his Aunt's doorstep one summer night.

One summer night almost twelve years ago, and even now Aunt Petunia refused to say anymore.

And Harry wouldn't either.

He cleared his throat. The girl, only a girl, looked up and returned Harry's smile, though it didn't resemble the grimace on Harry's face, "We'll pray for it."

"Every night?"

"Every night."

"Will you teach me?"

Harry paused and looked up. Oliver regarded him with narrow eyes and crossed brows. The look Harry had become better at ignoring over the years.

And ignore he did.

"I will. I promise. We'll pray... we'll pray for a family."

Marie nodded. Harder than necessary and held up a curled pinky finger, "And for food. Yummy food, like in the big town."

Harry opened his mouth. David, eight years old, talked instead, "And clothes."

Rory, ten and a half, "And a warm house!"

Mums, who communicated with hands alone, clasped his hands and faked sleep, winking at them when the rest fell into soft laughter.

Well, most of them anyway. Little Joe joined in, despite not having said anything but Oliver stood stern. Cocking his head when Edwin -bastard Edwin- twisted his neck with nasty threats of no dinner. Took Harry and Marie-Lue with a look that promised far more and turned back to the front with a grunt.

Harry heard the curse. But smiled at Marie. Only Marie. Taking her finger with his own and shook, a deal well made. An oath well earned, "I promise, Marie."

And Marie grinned with hope Harry had lost. She hugged with strong arms. Warm and still alive, and her breath fell soft and steady while Harry watched her closed eyes. Tufting a strand away from her face, Harry leaned back on the wood. Pulling his jacket tighter around himself, against the summer wind that sang of winter. Of sleep. Of today.

The today masked by tall, grey buildings that swam in hasty shapes. Tall and beautiful and alive. Parents and children and families that were warm and not some wind to jolt them out of a dream that wasn't real. Just them, and warm fires and someone's presence to look forward to. Despite the cold. Despite the fog. And no matter what London or England could be, a family it would stay.

He frowned.

And then Harry prayed.

London, for all it's worth, was less grime and more stares. And climbing down from the carriage in an unfamiliar neighbourhood was always foreign and strange. Edwin called them all identical. So did Harry, with the shapes and colours so familiar in his eyes that he needed someone to tell him which house was which when Edwin wasn't looking.

Taking one large sheet over his shoulder, Edwin turned to the street. Cupping a hand over his mouth and shouting with a voice no longer raspy, "Soot- Oh, Sweep!" over and over until there were at least two people peekeing through their blinds, their curtains closing just as quick when they caught sight of them.

Edwin clearly didn't mind being at the receiving end of the glares from the residence. Or he was good at hiding it. Or that these particular glares weren't as bad, seeing as most the buildings here belonged to tradesmen and shopkeepers, judging by the signs that lined over the brick architecture.

"A'ight," Edwin turned to the line of children. Dropping a pale sheet over each of their arms, he swept a look over each of them as he passed, the only black eye on his face seizing up Harry when he stopped in front of him, "You come with me."

And with a sharp jab to his chest, Harry followed. Not sparing a glance behind him, Harry squared shoulders. Throwing the worn sheet over his shoulder and stuttering to the sidewalk.

Harry's feet shuffled on the cobblestone. Cold, due to the holes in the soles and the socks that thinned to strings. Edwin didn't look behind him. Grumbling now and again to a passerby, complaining about their dress or shoes or the riches they most likely possessed and Harry was once again reminded of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. They too took great pleasure in gossip and complaint, sneering at anyone who looked to be better off them in any detail. Gloating over the souls that were unfortunate enough to have the little they didn't. Though, Harry couldn't call their assets little. With their servant and three large bedrooms and the kitchen that never seemed to lack food, they certainly weren't poor. And taking in Harry at a young age and keeping him in the cupboard under the stairs and rarely feeding him could hardly diminish their wealth. Especially when Dudley's birthday gifts showed a visible accumulation over the years.

Harry, called back from his daydream by bumping against Edwin's back, looked up. Ducking his head at Edwin's scowl, he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. Nodding when Edwin barked at him to wait outside. His ears pricking at the sound of the bell, though his eyes did not falter from the cracked stone on the ground. Interesting stone it was. Grey, dark and not ugly like Edwin. Harry leaned against the glass, crunching the pebbles with his toes.

His breath swirled in a white mist over his mouth and nose. Unsteady. Breaking. And his fascination lasted the three minutes Edwin spent inside before he was dragged in. Arm burning even after Edwin let go.

The shop, in question, was warm. Not the uncomfortable warm that lasted two rare days of summer. Or the chimneys he climbed with their suffocating heat. No, this warmth was tender. This warmth smelled sharp of herbs and teas and flowers he didn't know. Of medicines terrible and strange that reminded him of... well, he wasn't sure.

But it smelled of home.

Either way, Harry made sure to keep his head down. Made sure that his eyes, green and not to everyone's liking hid behind his cap. Stay out of sight. If you can't, stay silent. Be the next best thing and keep still. Mummys and Daddys only like quiet, obedient kids, don't you know Potter? Not some scrawny dark-skinned boy with knobbly knees. Harry nodded, reluctant. But the voice in his head disappeared all the same. Leaving behind a chuckle and a slap on his neck.

Harry sputtered. And then met the eyes of the client.

Black, piercing, angry. Dressed all in black and a not someone Harry would like to meet on a midnight traverse. And though Harry's eyes dropped the black shirt, the man's did not. Continuing to listen to Edwin with his eyes not lingering.

"We settled on the price, then?"

"I suppose it's an adequate amount, in return for your, ah deliverance," the man said, smooth but snide, and Harry's head lifted in surprise. Breath jerking because the man was still looking and it wasn't what Harry would consider in his favour.

A moment of silence. Then, "This way, please. I had the chimney in the shop swept not a while ago. The same cannot be said for the one in my personal quarters and laboratory," and he led them around the brown oak counter to a door behind a shelf of jars and glass bottles. Opening the door that led a flight of stairs, shadow drawn and narrowed between two black walls.

Edwin cleared his throat, making the man turn around. His shoulder-length black hair falling curtain around his face,

"Eh, Mr Snape-"

"Professor Snape,"

Edwin clenched his fist, "Of course. Professor Snape. Do you want another worker for the second chimney, or would this lad be of use?"

For Professor Snape, the question must not have been an easy one. His brows knitted closer and the lean form hunched forward, long arms crossing over his chest.

And then the Professor did something that made Harry stagger down a step.

He kneeled to his height. Taking the arm that wasn't holding the brush and sheet. And with a touch that should not have been gentle, squeezed.

It was in no way familial. Nor parental and no matter how much the scent of the shop swirled the man, Harry told himself it wasn’t home.

He wasn’t home. But now, with his dark eyes soot-black and searching, Harry’s breath did hitch and his heart fell into an unsteady run. Fast, uneven and to his dismay, something the professor noticed. How he knew, Harry couldn’t say. But after that bony finger slithered to his wrist and pressed down, the professor knew.

The arched brow complemented his features. With those sharp and high cheekbones, and the lingering suspicion that the professor wasn’t just a professor bothered Harry. Not much, but enough to take another step back before he was cornered by Edwin. Snatching his wrist back, Harry rubbed the skin and faced away.

Professor Snape, quick to let go and quicker in gaining back his decorum, stood up. He clasped his hands behind him, and with a look positively bored, faced Edwin, “He will suffice, assuming that your...climbing boys clean more than a chimney per day.”

“Oh, yes. Mark me words, five and six if their luck. The economy as it is… Need some income, you know, not that you yourself-”

Professor Snape held out a hand. And Harry allowed himself to grin under his cap at the way Edwin’s face morphed into surprise and then rage.

“Yes yes. Very drastic. God bless the Queen. Now,” he then turned, resuming the rest of the climb, “If you’d follow me?”

They complied. But the sneer that pulled on Edwin’s lips couldn’t mean he was pleased. Harry could almost read the man’s mind, after spending four years with the man. Something between a scoff and a chuckle sounding from his lips when Edwin’s voice echoed in his mind. Complaining in a rigid voice, stomping over and over his mechanical brush while cursing at every professor that came to be.

He hid it, of course. Behind a cough and a grin bit back, just in time for Professor Snape to open the door (oak and dark) on the landing, giving way a large living area.

And it was nothing like Harry imagined.

A dark shadow followed Professor Snape. In the corner, in his heart. A shadow that sneered and scowled and growled like a beast and Harry assumed... well, it wasn't right to make assumptions. No. But with the warm chocolate walls, wooden tiles beneath multiple dark green carpets and furniture that was welcoming more than menacing, Harry could admit that his taste wasn't half bad. Sure, the space was small. With a chimney in the corner below layers of shelves and a long couch and single armchair, there wasn't much area left to the circular dining table and two chairs, as well as the kitchen area lining the opposite wall. All warm and colours of dull brown and green. Not wild, not snark but some comfort to his eyes nonetheless.

"You have a nice house," Harry said, soft, certain. Then immediately clamped a hand over his mouth when the man's head whirled around. Making dear Harry pinch the inside of his palm and avert his eyes.

A slap on the back of the head was Edwin's -cruel and disgusting Edwin's- response. Along with a hiss in the ear to behave while he apologised to the Professor, hands clasped together in apology, back bent.

Disgusting. And people thought the kid's kissed up to others.

Professor Snape waved a dismissed hand, one hand still behind his back, "I do not mind. Now, I'm a rather busy man. Hence I ask you to be quick about it, Mr Edwin."

"Yes yes. Of course," Edwin said, honeyed. Grabbing Harry around the cuff the next second and dragging him across the parlour to the well-furnished chimney. He kneeled down to his knees, bones groaning in protest. Grabbing hold of the metal long holder and removing it from the hearth. Then, he lifted up a hand and Harry passed him the white cloth. All the while the Professor sat in his armchair.

And watched.

Harry wasn't about to return the gesture. So while Professor Snape watched Edwin lay the cloth over the hearth, Harry watched the ornaments that lined over the mantelpiece. A few viles, dried flowers, a portrait of a young Professor Snape and a woman, and an antique table clock.

Edwin's voice rose him, and Harry was once more pushed forward. Stumbling and finding his support on the brick fireplace.

Professor Snape watched.

Professor Snape didn't say a word.

"Eh," Edwin cleared his throat, "Will you be here, Professor Snape?"

"Why yes. I find it impractical to leave children unsupervised, considerably so when dealing with... hazardous tasks."

"I's keeping 'em supervised, Professor."

Professor Snape's arched brow was nothing short of humiliating. Seizing Edwin in a mock question and doubt, "Whatever for?"

"...You're keeping him under lock and-"

Professor Snape held out a hand and Harry indulged himself in another grin at the pale-faced Edwin. Almost liking the man who was now crossing his slender legs, pants pulling high enough to share a glimpse of his black socks, "I shall endeavour to be abundantly clear. I am keeping the boy under supervision so I keep up my honour as a responsible man with proper moral. You, Mr Edwin, have a charge of children needing to be taken care of, to my precise knowledge, and no time to waste. The boy will do fine, and my chimney is in no rush."

"We always keep on the lookout, Professor Snape. We-"

"Are not in a shop your opinions are favoured, as I have made clear to every single sweeper to cross into my quarters. The boy alone, please. You may collect him in, hmm, on your way back from a neighbourhood that hasn't been cleaned just yesterday by another hoard of children."

These things happen, Harry told himself. Running a hand down the shelf, brows disappearing in his blob of hair when his finger came back dust-free. Some others were quicker. Sweeping the neighbourhood clean and making them search for another. Making the children grin while Edwin got scolded by the tenants of the houses. But never was it as fun as this.

"Whatever... whatever shall the boy do, when done with 'em both?"

Professor Snape rolled his eyes, "Ensnare me, Mr Edwin. Actually, no. Rather not. But I imagine that in an apothecary, there is enough work to humour a senile child. I am a busy man and having some additional aid would be much appreciated. Of course," he added, looking right into Edwin's eyes, a smirk twisting his lips, "You'll receive the payment necessary."

In a twist of fate called 'money', Edwin's crooked back straightened and Harry didn't even have the time to be offended at the word 'senile' before a nasty crack came from his spine, making Harry wince and Professor Snape's mouth twitch. Black eyes glaring at Edwin's hand, which was shaking the Professor's vigorously.

“That’s a deal if I’ve ever seen one,” Edwin said with a toothless grin and only Harry noticed the Professor wiping his hand on a handkerchief after he stood up and led them both to the door. But Edwin turned around just before disappearing. Back arched and on his toes to peek above the Professor's shoulder, a finger jabbing the air rather sharply.

“An’ don’ forget to buff it, boy!”

A muscle twitched near Harry’s eye. And when the door closed, masking the last of their ceasing steps, Harry rolled his eyes. Most adults in his life treated him in the same sense as the Dursleys and Edwin. Stupid, ignorant, arrogant, nuisance, burden… And a couple more which were less mundane. But stating the obvious to his face always got Harry’s blood pumping the worst of ways and anger was never slow to follow.

So when a cough from behind him interrupted him from striping from his pants, anger and surprise found themselves equally alive.

Professor Snape, already by the door, had his arms crossed. Scowl still in his face, though less at ease snapped, “What are you doing?” eyeing Harry's hands.

Harry frowned, “Buffing it, sir?”

“What?”

“It’s to go in nude, Professor,” Harry explained, patiently, like he supposed the Professor did at school. But when the scowl deepened, he grinned. Likely not, “It’s easier to clean that way. Less likely to get stuck.”

Professor Snape hummed while Harry got rid of the remainder of his clothes. Now a nasty pile beside the heath, Harry greeted the man with a mock salute before entering the hearth, heart already thumping wild. This was fine. He’d done this before. For years, since the day Uncle Vernon finally kicked him out of the house and Annabeth helped him pack his bag, tears in both their eyes, he’d done this before. No need to throw a tantrum now at the sight of the dark, narrow chute that could mean a possible death with a single wrong movement.

No need at all.

So Harry breathed. Readied himself by pulling up by the walls and climbed. Using his arms and legs, he hoisted himself up. His brush ridding the flue line of the black soot. Keeping his head down as to breath as little as the poisonous material into his lunges, body moving much like a caterpillar up the line.

Little help that did, Harry sneered. Over the years he’d spent, climbing chimney after chimney, always panic and little fun, the soot would get to him sooner or later. Suffocating him in an alleyway where nobody cared.

Little left to take his mind off things, Marie-Lue smiled at him in the darkness and their clasped fingers were close behind.

And then, Harry prayed.

Prayed for love. Prayed for a family.

Prayed for a mother and a father and wouldn’t a brother just be perfect? A little family away from the world, away from the soot that would care not because they had to because Harry was Harry and that was all he had to be.

Under the cap, no one heard him cry.

That was a harsh reality to live and when his head shot through the chute, another day alive, the wind bit at his cheeks and burned his lungs clean.

A harsh reality. An unfair life but Harry was always complaining, wasn’t he? And adults complained about their complaining and loved to remind them life wasn’t a silver platter and he would have to live his way through it.

There’s always a fine line between living and surviving.

Adults told him to live. Live in the only way he could: Survive.

Harry wanted to live, as the sun dawned upon the roofs. Silver and pale but nothing short of a sight when the bricks and steel glinted in the light of a new day. Harry wanted to live as he slipped back down, having enough of the London city tops starting to bustle with life.

Wanted to live when he was falling fast. Faster than he should have. Wanted to live when he regained his hold to cushion his fall, still fast but not fast enough to die.

Even when the Professor's face, wild with concern, danced in his view before finally, he closed his eyes.

Black as soot.

Peaceful as the night.

#severitus #severus snape #harry potter #fanfic #prosnape #snapedom #of herbs crowns and soot #my writing

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