#he just thought they were funny copper swords | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

valdomarx · 3 years

Text

“Geralt. My dearest friend. My closest companion. Light of my life, fire of my-”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Jaskier?”

“Seeing as how I’ve made you famous, and I flatter myself that this has eased you path somewhat, why, this very inn not only took us in but even offered us a discounted rate-”

“What do you want, Jaskier?” Testier this time.

“Ahh. Well. Let me put it plainly: I’m in need of a favour.”

Geralt raises one eyebrow, in an expression he knows speaks volumes.

“I need you to come with me to Lettenhove this winter and pose as my fiancé.”

Geralt nearly drops the sword he’s sharpening. A million thoughts whip through his mind, but one is most pressing: “Why, for Melitele’s sake?”

Jaskier waves a hand in a vague and non-descriptive gesture. “It’s a court thing, you know how families are, and my mother has made it abundantly clear that it’s time for me to settle down and this year I’m to return affianced or else she’ll select someone for me. And I can’t get hitched to some local lady, Geralt, I simply can’t, it’ll ruin my bardic appeal, not to mention my employment prospects, and of course I won’t be able to travel with you, and it’s-”

Geralt holds up a hand to ward off the wall of words. The idea of no longer travelling with Jaskier is unconscionable, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. And they spend so much time together they’re practically married anyway. How hard could it be to pretend for a few days?

“Fine,” he says gruffly.

“Oh, Geralt, you are wonderful.” Jaskier beams and throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt growls, but secretly, it’s actually rather nice.

“Mother, this is Geralt, my fiancé.”

Cold, clear eyes look him up and down, assessing him, and pinch into an expression suggesting he has been found wanting. Geralt decides against opening his mouth and further cementing that opinion.

“A witcher.” Her voice has the familiar twang of Jaskier’s, but with the flat, expressionless cadence he associates with the higher echelons of the aristocracy.

“A witcher!” Jaskier confirms in a cheery tone. “Isn’t that exciting?”

She sniffs in a manner which makes it clear that exciting would not be her first choice of word. “I see. He will be joining us for this year’s Yuletide?”

“He will.”

Her face draws back into the impassive mask of the well-bred. “Very well. You will stay in the east wing.”

“Thank you, mother.” Jaskier executes a stiff bow which Geralt copies and they beat a hasty retreat.

“That went rather well!”

Geralt blinks. “Jaskier, I’m fairly sure your mother means to have me killed in my sleep.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s always like that. She’s actually softened up a lot since dear old dad died, gods rest the grumpy bastard.”

Geralt struggles to imagine how such staid, cold people could possibly have produced a son as bright and warm as Jaskier. They might as well be a different species.

Jaskier pushes open a door to a grand suite, all plush velvets and gold ornamentation, a thick woven rug underfoot. It’s the most opulent room Geralt has ever seen, but Jaskier pays it no mind and throws his bag casually on the bed.

“We’ll have to stay here together,” he says apologetically, not looking Geralt in the eye. “But the bed is plenty big, or I can sleep on the sofa if you’d rather -”

Geralt is still taking it all in: The space, the furnishings, the frankly enormous bed which looks divinely comfortable. And there, through the next room, that looks like-

“Is that a copper bathtub?” he asks, eyes wide. Such luxuries were a rarity indeed.

Jaskier grinned. “It is. Let me get some food sent up and I’ll wash your hair?”

Geralt grumbles, just for the effect, and decides that putting up with tedious aristocracy might have its benefits after all.

Yule festivities in Lettenhove are, mercifully, a mere matter of days. First there is the fitting for formal attire, which Geralt scowls through but Jaskier promises will be made up for with plenty of good food and wine. Then there are several deeply tedious aristocratic parties, which Jaskier sails through and Geralt spends mostly hiding in dark corners, as is his wont.

Occasionally, Jaskier will grab him by the hand and introduce him as, “Geralt, my husband-to-be,” and something funny will flip over in his stomach which will require several drinks to settle. When he returns to his dark corner he’ll find his heart pumping a little faster as his eyes track Jaskier flitting around the room. It’s probably just indigestion from all the rich food.

Then there is the formal family Yuletide dinner, a spectacularly awkward and singly unpleasant evening spent around a long, cold table with Jaskier’s mother and various cousins, who regard Geralt with expressions ranging from bland disinterest to active hostility. The food is heavy beyond measure and the conversation cruel and bland by turns.

They cover the need for raising taxes, the many failings of the servant class, and the petty squabbles over jewels and titles that seems to be the bread and butter of these people. With each hateful line, Geralt feels his blood rising. If it weren’t for Jaskier making pleading eyes at him, he’d take great pleasure in explaining some hard truths to them.

When a cousin begins expounding on useless lazy peasants in the estate, complaining that they can’t work because of plague, but we all know they’re simply idle, Geralt grits his teeth so hard that he swears the sound must be audible.

Beneath the table, Jaskier takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Staring down at their joined hands, Geralt detaches from these awful people and their awful conversation and focuses on the simple warmth of Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his own.

They make their escape from dinner as soon as can be considered polite, and Geralt takes a second to lean against the door to their room, breathing deeply.

“You did well not to throttle anyone,” Jaskier says with a reassuring smile. “If we’d had to listen to cousin Edrick for a minute longer, I might have launched over the table with a carving knife myself.”

Geralt reaches for him without thinking, and once again Jaskier’s hand slips into his own. It’s grounding, to feel something genuine in this place surrounded by artifice.

“Come on,” Jaskier says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Geralt doesn’t even ask where they’re going before nodding.

They sneak away from the estate out of the servants’ door and follow a winding path toward a cluster of lights in the valley below. The path into Lettenhove town is quiet and calm, and as they walk the snow begins to fall in soft flurries, covering the ground in a peaceful white blanket.

The town looks picture perfect when they arrive, a charming jumble of thatched cottages and a small, cosy inn from which bright light spills out into the snowy night. When they enter the barmaid runs over to hug Jaskier and the proprietor slaps him on the back, and Jaskier has a kind word and a waved greeting for every person in there.

Geralt feels something unwind in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was tight and twisted until now. Seeing Jaskier in his element, among people who love him for who he is, instead of among that cold, hateful family, he feels right in a way he hasn’t for days.

Jaskier is already buying drinks and passing them around, and he excitedly waves Geralt over. “Bree, Geoffrey,” he addresses the couple behind the bar, “This is Geralt.” A shy smile sneaks over his face. “My fiancé.” The couple gasp in delight and congratulate Jaskier, then they’re embracing Geralt like old friends and pushing a drink into his hands.

“Come on, Geralt, join us!” Bree smiles warmly. “It’ll be the ten o’clock bells soon, and we must have Jaskier lead us in a song.”

The evening is a whirl of music and dance and loud, terrible singing, which the entire town seems to join in. For once there is no corner for Geralt to hide in, so he stays by Jaskier’s side, basking in the reflected glow of these people’s clear adoration of his bard.

When the midnight bell chimes and Geoffrey turns them all out for the night, the revelers wend their way home still singing and drinking. As the place empties out, Jaskier slides over to Bree to press a kiss to her cheek and a bulging purse into her hand. She tries to wave him off but Jaskier tucks the money behind the counter all the same, and Geralt watches, a deep wave of fondness sweeping through him.

The snow is still falling when they step out into the now-quiet street, soft, fat flakes drifting lazily from the sky and sticking in Jaskier’s hair. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair falls in an messy sweep over his eyes; without thinking Geralt reaches out to brush it away behind his ear. Jaskier’s blush deepens as he does so, but he shivers in the cold.

“Here.” Geralt unclasps the thick cloak from around his neck and sweeps it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier’s mouth forms a little o of surprise and he looks up at Geralt, something tender in his eyes.

Geralt’s gaze is caught by the snow flakes settling on Jaskier’s lashes; he’s so focused that he almost jumps when Jaskier reaches out to take his hand. The sky seems to glow with a soft orange light as the clouds reflect the last few fires in the town below; everything is warm with Jaskier’s hand in his despite the chill in the air.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says softly. “For being here with me.” And leaning in, his breath caressing over Geralt’s face, he touches his lips to Geralt’s cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

Suddenly it occurs to Geralt that this will be it, tomorrow they’ll head back on the path like none of this ever happened, no more holding hands or being close, no more being introduced as Jaskier’s betrothed. And despite the hellish parts of this experience he really doesn’t want it to end. He likes being Jaskier’s person, and he likes Jaskier being his.

They are still standing close together, mere inches between them, and it’s no effort at all to lean in, slowly, cautiously, to find Jaskier’s lips with his own, to place a tentative kiss there. And then Jaskier’s hands are fisting in his shirt and tugging him closer still, and his arms go around his waist and Jaskier is kissing him back like he’s been waiting for it, their mouths slotting together like they were made to fit each other, and everything is blazingly bright like the white of the snow.

When they pull apart they stay with foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, and Geralt can see a smile cracking wide over Jaskier’s face.

“I like being engaged to you,” Geralt says quietly, unable to keep it in.

Jaskier’s smile widens even further. “I like being engaged to you too,” he says. He kisses him again. “Fiancé.” Another kiss. “Husband to be.” And another. “Partner.” One more. “Beloved.”

“I like the sound of those.” He suspects he may be wearing the same dopey grin as Jaskier is.

“Then let’s make it official.” Jaskier bites his lip. “Marry me?”

Jaskier is a picture of perfection, eyes gleaming and cheeks ruddy, snowflakes in his hair. Geralt’s heart has always been right here.

“I’d be honoured.” He considers for a second. “But not in Lettenhove.”

Jaskier’s laugh sparkles with joy. “Anywhere but here.”

#PLEASE ENJOY THIS HOLIDAY ROMCOM NONSENSE #i am feeling festive and also sappy #geraskier #the witcher #my writing

2K notes · View notes

haveyouseenthisskeleton · 2 years

Text

The boys are playing Minecraft together

Classic Papyrus proposed a nice afternoon playing Minecraft with everyone. What could possibly go wrong.

Undertale Sans - He's not really good at this game, but damn he is lucky. He like mined two blocks and find an entire mine made of diamonds. Since they were so many, Sans assumed it was just some not so useful rocks and throw them in the lava later, right in front of Nox, screaming like someone was killing him. Now he's just confused. What do you mean they are other ores? Do you mean the green stones? He has plenty too, he thought they were weird looking salads. Nox takes out his sword and attacks him.

Undertale Papyrus - With Blue, he's taking care of building complex traps with redstone all around the base. This way, no creeper will spawn into the house. Except, after some time, there are so much puzzles and traps everywhere that it is impossible to walk to the base. That doesn't help that Papyrus made all of his puzzles random because it's more fun this way.

Underswap Sans - After the others asked (yellet at) Papyrus and him to stop create new puzzles, Blue decided to follow Nox on exploration. That pissed off the skeleton, because he kept picking flowers and not useful stuff. That's when Blue got the best idea. Since Nox is so scared of ghosts, he's going to give him a good lesson. He disconnects and go search how to transform himself into Herobrine.

Underswap Papyrus - He is on his own, he thinks it's more fun. He's exploring caves to find some diamonds, but somehow, he can't find any. Then Sans joined him, since Nox rejected him, and then suddenly, they both found a entire cave made of diamonds blocks. Honey and Sans decide to create their own business. If the others wants diamonds, it's five enderpearls. They have infinite stocks since Sans just has to mine two blocks in one direction to find more.

Underfell Sans - He's part of the building team, with the Dancetale and the Outertale brothers. They're trying to create the best house possible. Red is taking care of the bedrooms. He's surprisingly good at that. He thought he wouldn't have the patience, but it's pretty fun when you're building with talented people.

Underfell Papyrus - He's the new security chief after Papyrus and Blue transformed the surrounding into a trap disaster. With Papyrus and Delta, he's chasing all the monsters getting too close from the base. But not skeletons. He thinks it's offensive they are naked and it's making him uncomfortable so he is avoiding them at all costs. Creepers though? These are some challenge.

Horrortale Sans - So, at first, he was following the others, then he got distracted by a pretty bee, and now he is all alone in the middle of nowhere, trying to find a way. At least, he found some weird ancient temple and a funny looking portal. He managed to hunt some Enderman down and then open a portal. He didn't mean to jump in, but a silverfish pushed him in. And that's how Oak finds himself all alone in the End, facing the Enderdragon without any weapon. Welp.

Horrortale Papyrus - He noticed after one hour that his brother disappeared. As the good brother he is, Willow went to search for him, without knowing he was heading in the opposite direction. When he tried to go back, he got lost, and now he is wandering into the Mountains with goats, trying to get integrated because they seem better companions than his actual companions.

Horrorfell Sans - Have you tried playing Minecraft with one hand? Copper is struggling so hard. He's tired of fighting, he just wants something simple and peaceful to do. So, with the horrorswap and the farmtale brothers, he created a huge farm. He's in charge of the building, and he is having fun making little houses for all the animals the others are bringing in.

Horrorfell Papyrus - Chief wanted to have fun alone, so he went to explore the map. After two hours, he spots Willow on a Mountain, all alone, jumping with goats. They decided to create a little zoo with Mountain goats, axolotls, pandas and polar bears. It's pretty chill and they are getting even closer than they are usually. After that afternoon, they will definitely do it again.

Horrorswap Sans - He's working on the farm too! He's in charge of capturing their first animals in the wild to fill the enclosures. Nugget finds two cows, some sheeps, rabbits, chicken... And then he discovered you can befriend the wolves. That's how the other saw him come back after one hour wondering where he went with 50 dogs, so proud of himself. The farm is full of dogs now, you can walk two foot before bumping into one.

Horrorswap Papyrus - Pumpkin is so happy he doesn't need to talk to get understand for once. He's working on the farm too. He's taking care of the animals with Ben, and it's getting a bit out of hand. They are both happy to see babies animals, but they don't want to kill any, so pretty quickly all the enclosures are overpopulated and there are so much chicken and dogs that the game is laging. Eventually, they are heartbroken when Sam send them in the wild to pick berries and then, when they came back, half of the animals are steaks. He leaves the farm with Ben to create a new farm elsewhere. That's what you get.

Swapfell Sans - He's circled by idiots. Blue can't organize his inventory and Sans just doesn't understand what diamonds are worthing. He's on his own, mining in a cave to make profit. That's when he appeared first. Herobrine. With his white creepy eyes, right behind some diamonds. Nox jumps so hard behind his computer and ran away from the cave. Herobrine is following him everywhere, and he is sending him messages too, and throws lava at him. Nox is panicked. When he finds the base by miracle, all the others can hear is "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH" in a high pitched voice. But Nox is alone. Blue stopped chasing him so everyone think he is crazy. It's working. When Nox tries to explain he meets Herobrine, everyone is laughing at him. Nox disconnects, he's too scared. Then Blue send him a anonymous email telling "i'm still here - H." Nox goes into his own cave and locks himself into his bunker. He's never playing that game again. Goodbye world.

Swapfell Papyrus - Rus built a boat and now he is voguing on the seas. He found a weird temple under the water, but regret it when a huge white fantom fish attacked him. He found a little spot under the bottom of the sea and he is now digging in a random direction to flee, but the fantom fish keeps put slow spells on him and he can't dig normally. It's going to take some time.

Outertale Sans - He's part of the building team! He's working on the garden, trying to harmonize the colours and making a nice little playground. He even built Shrek's toilets at the end of it with a dirty pond where dolphins are dying swimming. He thinks it's cool.

Outertale Papyrus - He's in charge of the storage, in the cave. He's making sure everything is where it's supposed to be in the chests, and he tries to make everything as clear as possible so no one will fucked it up. The second Rambo came in, he throw all his dirt into the stone chest and now Sun is cringing so hard. When he's coming back, Sun trapped the ground and Rambo fell into lava with all the diamonds Nox stole Sans and asked him to put in a chest. Woops.

Dancetale Sans - Rambo is on the building team too! He's taking care of the facade of the building, but because of his perfectionism, he can't get exactly what he wants and it's frustrating him a lot. He keeps changing materials and he is doing a mess about it, and it's starting to piss off his coworkers. But thank god, Nox allowed him to have a break to put diamonds in the chests, only to die because of Sun, and then he got absolutely destroyed by Nox and banned of the house. Rambo is angry, and so he goes to see the Mafiafell boys, who are messing with everyone. He wants them to pay. H A R D.

Dancetale Papyrus - He's working on the living-room inside the house, but he found out you can make a dancefloor thanks to redstone and he is stuck on that for three hours. Contrary to the other Papyrus, Salsa is struggling so hard with redstone and can't find how to make it work. The floor keeps acting like a trampoline and everyone stepping on this is jumping uncontrolably until they glitch, fall of the world and die. That's problematic.

Dancefell Sans - He's exploring with his brother, since Tango is recording his adventure. They are both commenting about mineshafts when suddenly, Herobrine runs right in front of them. Now, Rumba is brave, but he's not brave enough for this shit. Tango wants to have a better view, so Rumba pushes him and run in the opposite direction. He hates that game, it's way too creepy.

Dancefell Papyrus - He wants to catch Herobrine. All his followers are holding their breathe as he is chasing the creepy pasta's character. Then Herobrine stops, and starts building something in the distance. Tango hides, and comments on how Herobrine is trying to pass a message, obviously, and that's a rare thing caught on camera. But then Herobrine built a dick and all his reputation is ruined. Tango is screaming, outraged. On the other side of his computer, Blue is having the best time of his life. It was the best idea he ever had.

Farmtale Sans - He's in charge of the farm with the Horrorswap brothers, and he's taking care of the fields. Now, Sam maybe was a little bit carry away. Since he wanted his fields to be productive he made them huge. Like, very, very huge. At least, the animals never feel a lack of food, there's so much there is not enough chests to stock everything. With his fields and Ben and Pumpkin massive farm animals reproduction, Sam can't play the game anymore. He's walking a block after a block, every two minutes. So he took a radical decision. Once his brother and Pumpkin left, he killed half of the animals, and so that his computer can breathe again. Now, Ben and Pumpkin are a bit angry and they left, leaving him alone with Nugget. Oh well. But then they started a concurrent farm??? Now, Sam is nice and all, but this, it's just betrayal. He's going to ruin their crops with fire.

Farmtale Papyrus - After the horrible mass genocide his brother did on his cows, Ben and Pumpkin made their own farm, and they even found horses! But then, they spotted Sam entering their fields and trying to burn everything. This is war. Pumpkin and Ben make their 200 dogs attack Sam. He can fight one or two, but he is soon completely lost in a field of dogs and die. Ben is giving all of his dog a chicken. Since they're dead now, at least they can be useful. Sam learned his lesson at least.

Mafiatale Sans - All he wants is chaos. At first, he wanted to explode Papyrus' traps with TNT, but then Papyrus shoo him away, too wary for his own good. So with his brother, Demon worked on another plan. They plant trees all around the base, to make a huge forest. And then, at the moment the others are the least expecting it, they set everything on fire. The fire spread in only a few minutes, consumming all the forest and a bit of the farms, forcing Sam, Ben, Pumpkin and Nugget to work together again to save their houses. Truly machiavelic.

Mafiatale Papyrus - Once everything is set on fire, Creeper stabs his brother in the back. Demon looks at him, shocked, confused and disgusted. How could he? The truth is that during the time they plant trees, Demon didn't stop stupid puns between his name and every fucking creepers they crossed road with. And that was too much. He ended the plan, because he has honour, but he can't get farther away.

Mafiafell Sans - He's bored, and won't stop messing with everyone, until Rambo came to him because he got evicted from the house project and he is salty. Fang is too bored to pass this opportunity. They attack some pillagers, then lead them to the house. Now the house is underattack and the pillagers are destroying everything, while the building team is screaming over the loss of their hard work. Then Fang let go a maniacal laughter. Rambo tried to mimicate him but choke.

Mafiafell Papyrus - He doesn't get it. He's sitting in his living room, with a book name "My craft" and he is waiting for the others, but no one is coming. He was pretty sure that's what they were supposed to do? Wasn't it an activity about crafting or something? Are they all dead? Should he do something about it? Torpedo is starting to worry a little bit.

Ink - He didn't know what to do until he spotted Error, fishing. Now, this looks like a great opportunity. Ink sneaks behind him, then hits him in the back. Error falls into the water, then Ink just R U N. Error is not far behind him, a enchanted diamond sword in hand. Error won't stop chasing him until he kill him, and then he will find his spawnpoint and spawnkill him again and again and again. Ink can't stop laughing hysterically behind his computer. He desserve it, he can't really lie.

Error - He was for once enjoying the game, since it's all peaceful and all. He hunted some animals, then he built himself a nice little woodtree house, and then he decided to try fishing. That's when that little shit found him and decided to ruin his day. Error is so mad he won't rest until Ink has to ragequit because Error won't stop killing him right where he spawns with his lvl 30 enchanted diamond sword. For once, he has power, and he won't stop abusing of it. D I E.

Disbelief Papyrus - He's helping where he can. He did some build at first, but then Edge needed people to kill monsters, so he went to help. He tried to get a bit closer from him, but that didn't really work since Edge is in full royal guard captain mode and considers him like fresh meat to sacrifice to the enemy. So Delta left him to explore. Eventually, he found Willow and Chief's little zoo, and they happily offer him a tour. At least, they are nice with him, and he shyly comes out of his shell and talks to them to make friends. It's super effective. Willow cries when he learned his story, horrified, and literally adopt him as a second brother in the next two minutes. Once the afternoon is over, Willow rushes to meet him in real life and they talked all the evening after that.

Dustale Sans - Dune noticed how Oak got lost, and he followed him. At first, he wanted to kill him, because, you know, he was ALONE and SCARED. But then Oak finds some weird temple and Dune got curious, even more when Oak disappear into a weird portal. So... Dune jumped behind him. He got attacked by the enderdragon and ran for ten minutes before falling in a hole in the ground... Where Oak is hiding too. They are both looking at each other, a bit confused and without any idea of how to escape this hell. None of them is talking. This is so awkward.

23 notes · View notes

ghost-at-the-masquerade · 3 years

Text

The Little Things

Rating: PG, for talk of preparing an animal carcass

Count: 1856

Summary: Link has dinner with a stranger out on the road

A/N: Yes, I’m going to make Link use they/them pronouns, no I don’t take criticism on this, don’t @ me

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

The smell of blood still wafted toward the camp, from where they had let the deer drain. They started at the collarbone, slicing all the way down to the groin, then up the inside of each of the legs. Someone could always use more leather, so they wanted to keep the hide well intact.

Sitting across from Link on a tree downed long ago, Stemm - a traveling chef, by his own description - started to peel carrots and potatoes. The skins he let fall among the grass, the clean vegetables he dropped into a large stockpot to wait. It was much too soon, but he needed something to do.

When Link went to wipe the sweat from their forehead with the back of their arm, they left a little smear of blood that caught a lock of hair and matted it to their eyebrow. The sight of it had Stemm’s face twisting into the most polite agony he could manage.

The time came to split open its belly and he excused himself to stoke and adjust the fires - meat and organs did better in different temperatures at different times, he said.

Link twisted around to grab another, larger pot to drop the more palatable organs in, and the rest were given back to the earth, that Farore may put them to better use.

Their boots were soiled as they worked to separate the carcass into manageable cuts, the better part of an hour drifting by them as they were engrossed in the work. Every now and again their gaze flicked over to Stemm, tutting around the camp proper. Always seeming to produce more cookware and utensils and little bottles of spices from his pack. He had a rather fine set of glass bottles he kept water in, too - as well as some spirit that stank all to hell. Highly impractical for travel compared to a waterskin, but lovely nonetheless. A pair of the ones filled with water were sitting in a half-rotted bucket with a pilfered ice rod.

They piled the meat onto a spare sheet of leather they had so they could haul it all the few feet to the fire, hefting it over the log with a grunt.

Stemm spared them a smile for all of their work. “Thank you, yes, it’ll be fine there.”

He took the opportunity to go on while they paused to take a breath, “It makes me feel like such a fraud, not doing all my own prep, but butchering is just… such ugly work.”

Link couldn’t help but cock the bloody eyebrow at him. The lock of hair came loose with the movement.

“Don’t look at me like that - it’s not that I had some… pampered upbringing, my parents did their own hunting when I was young. We just moved to a bigger town before it was my time to learn. And if someone has already prepared the meat for you, well…”

They wondered, at times, if people in their previous life had spilled their guts to them like this. Their silence left a lot of room for it.

“I suppose I was so excited to travel and to do it all myself that I didn’t think about what ‘doing it all myself’ would entail.”

Link’s expression softened some. They could sympathize with being in over one’s head.

“… What are you waiting around for? I can handle this part, you wash up.” He shooed them with one hand, pulling the meat toward himself with the other.

They huffed through their nose at his tone, but they didn’t need to be told twice.

Twilight’s somber blanket settled over the grass, made the soft sands twinkle as Link stepped into the shallow waters. Going in almost up to their knees, they found a rock to settle on, dipping their arms into the cool river flow and scrubbing the deer’s blood free from their arms and boots. Blood dried on skin is rather like the first layer of paint on raw wood, thin and clinging seamlessly.

Pulling back, droplets on their skin became flecks of gold in the dying light. They reached into a pouch at their hip for a bar of soap and comb. The bar was only about the length of their palm and a third of the width, off-white in color - not unlike honey diluted in milk. They rubbed a conservative lather into their palm; it would be some time before they returned to Hateno for more, but they wanted the copper smell off their hands. They only just remembered the smear on their face before rinsing off.

The comb was simple, a chunk of birch wood carved and left unfinished, but with much thicker teeth than their last one. Hair tie held between their lips, they dipped the comb into the river, closed their eyes and began to run it through their hair. Their ears twitched with every rustle of the trees behind them.

Clean and calmed, they took a deep breath and rose to return to camp.

Stemm greeted them heartily, in much higher spirits now that he was in his element. He already had several pounds of meat salted and packed into leather satchels, while another had been cubed for their supper.

Link took their seat at an angle to him, not quite next to him. Stemm was proving to be quite the multi-tasker around the cook pot, moving seamlessly between preserving the meat and prodding the chunk of fat he had rendering out in the bottom of the pot. It had been strung up by a chain, held aloft by three metal rods - an incredibly handy contraption, Link would have to see about finding one.

At each step, Stemm explained how staggering each ingredient’s addition would change their texture and flavor. Link sipped their chilled water and decided to keep their disagreements about what the texture should be to themself; they could deal with mushy onions in their stew for one night.

With everything coming together, he whipped out a smaller wooden spoon, took a taste and pursed his lips, looking up to the sky. “I wish I had a little sweetness to take that edge off, but I’ve just run out…”

Link’s ear twitched with a thought, and they dipped their fingers into another one of their hip pouches. From it they drew a flower, not unlike the Silent Princess, but half the size and without its luminescent qualities. They held it up as a suggestion, “Maybe this?”

“That?” Stemm leaned close to scrutinize the flower, “No, I’m afraid those are quite bitter.”

They shook their head and insisted, “Cousin of the star flower. Breeding out the glow takes out the bitterness.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Usually, yes, but they’ve been moving back that way for a while. Have you been under a rock?”

Rather than argue the point further, they popped the flower in their mouth - only to immediately stick out their tongue and let the mushed petals fall off.

Stemm laughed victoriously. “I told you!”

With their eyes unfocused on the grass, something deep within them wavered, but only momentarily. It was too silly a thing to unsettle them. Even if it was one of the few things they thought they remembered.

“The one thing I was prepared for was finding tasty plants!” He glanced again toward the dying light while digging something out of his bag.

“Don’t know how much you can do by firelight, but here-” He held out a small, leather-bound notebook, “You can copy this.”

It was soft in their hands, telling of its relative youth. The cover crackled quietly as they opened it. The pages detailed a number of edible wild plants native to central Hyrule and Necluda, including flavor profiles and notable lookalikes.

Link set it on their knee so they could sign, “Thank you, but, I don’t have anything to copy to.”

For a moment he seemed surprised. Then he shrugged, a relaxed smile crossing his face. “Keep that one, then. I can make another.”

Their mouth worked and they struggled to make the sign feel sincere enough, “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. It won’t do me much good when I head out to Akkala, anyway.”

With that reassurance they relaxed some, settling in to skim the notes while he finished.

The sun ducked away behind the far trees and its last light vanished, turning the camp into a bright bubble in a dark ocean.

Turned out Stemm was right about it needing a bit of sweet, but it was far from inedible. Link was more than glad to take a second helping. Simple, but warm and filling. He was definitely still wrong about onions, but the potato was good.

Stemm had no stories to tell and his sign wasn’t strong enough to keep up with Link’s, so the night air was left to the crickets, crackling of fire and the tittering of breeze through the grass and leaves. In time, they agreed to part in sleep.

Link settled down into the embrace of a nearby elm. Stemm stayed closer to the fire, with his sizable pack to prop him up. Firelight faded, gave way to the silver grace of the moon, orange glowing embers not unlike the shrines waiting for them in the distance.

——

Link woke at first light. Hummed deep in their throat and stretched, scratched their shoulder against the bark before even bothering to open their eyes. They could already feel the knot that had formed in their hair.

Sitting up, they saw Stemm still asleep, his mouth dangerously open to the sky. They shook their head, starting to fix their hair when they noticed a small line of leaves laid parallel on their thigh - korok mischief. A little smile tugged at the corner of their mouth. They carefully stacked the leaves and tucked them away in a pocket.

It was time to go - their deal was done and a number of important tasks awaited them. Link stood and took a final stretch. But still, they looked over to their companion. He had done them an extra kindness.

Stemm’s rig was still set up - perhaps they could make use of it. Link knelt with a bit of bounce, considering the remnants of the fire.

They reached into the depths of a pouch and grasped the handle of a short sword - though not short enough to keep them from having to bend over at a funny angle to get it out, falling onto their hip. Exposed to the open air, the blade flared to life with eerily silent fire. A bit of tinder, another log and the tip of the blade was all that was needed. A little extra kindness, then they would go.

Three eggs scrambled into fine curds, peppered with fresh herbs and salt flakes, gently folded over on itself with a wooden spoon. A hopefully respectable omelet they set nearby under a korok leaf.

Link put their hands on their hips and regarded a man they would likely not see again, one more time. The Dueling Peaks loomed. The sun crept higher. And strangers parted.

#The Legend of Zelda #Breath of the Wild #BotW #BotW fic

30 notes · View notes

mooshs-crack-headcanons · 3 years

Note

Hi Moosh! Congrats on 666!! Can I maybe ask for Yamato, GN reader and training together? Reader isn't that strong but does their best for Yamato, who in all his enthusiasm accidentally hurts them? Nothing too serious though and they laugh it off. just some casual fluff and banter~ Thank you so much!

Did this become a comforting Yamato fic? Yes, yes it did.

(Wano spoilers beneath cut!)

So first of all I like to think with Kaido's genetics in him, Yamato has tons ridiculous amounts build up strength, strength that he sometimes has trouble with controlling sometimes when he gets into his usual moodlets of being too excited he accidentally hurts things and people he necessary doesn't want to which in the end leaves him feeling a little bit guilty about it especially when it comes to accidents with his s/o.

If there's one thing Yamato loves most, it's training. Since he has spent most of his life held up ok Onigashima, with no kids his age to play with or really anything else to do beside go off and reread through Kozuki Oden's old journal it was kind of his only real activity to do. Though of course not that he doesn't mind, he does want to get as strong as Oden after all so when you come to him to ask him to train you, he's completely overjoyed!

Most times Yamato doesn't know his own strength, to him the lightest of touches to someone of average height (and a little bigger) can come down full force and knock them into the nearest wall, or hell there was that one time he sent Sasaki all the way across the island and they had to get a rescue boat to go get him near the mainland of Wano and his father didn't stop yelling at him for weeks because of it (not because of Sasaki's injuries but because as when he was flying where he landed just so happened to be the Yonko's next shipment of Sake...which made him go into dragon god pissy mode on the coast of the mainland)

So Yamato has to keep his strength in check in at all times but with you around he has to make extra triple hard not to use more force that the absolutely bare necessity when it comes to handling you, which over time the son of the Yonko has become quite positive that he does a good job in doing, and that's why he thinks himself capable to train with you.

Since it's just training and you're just not all that experience with close corters, he doesn't use his trusty kanabo just setting it aside to the nearest pillar, still in grabbing distance just in case the two of you get interrupted by his father's 'company' and instead the two of you just use wooden practice swords. The swords are very clunky in Yamato's hands, too small for him if he really wanted he could easily break the thing into splinters with nothing but a simple flex of his fist if he really wanted to, but he doesn't want that he's training you after all. So he has to hold the wooden blade with the lightest but steadiest of grips so it doesn't fling out of his hand with the first clash.

Once he goes into battle stance he watches as you look him up and down and try to mimic his stance but you're doing it more lopsided and too crouched down, he can't help but to squeal with laughter at how ridiculous you look, making you frown and demanding to know what's so funny (which only makes him laugh more) After a quick apology and quick kiss to the cheek saying;

"I can't help it when you look that adorable!"

This earning a harsh heat to build up on your face.

Yamato helps fix your stance to be just like how he was standing previously, giving up spine chilling instructions as he bends down to meet the height of your ear.

When your boyfriend steps back in front of you with a wide smile on his face with a -

"You catch all that, (Name)?" You can't help the uncontrollable thumping of your heart as you instantly nod your head along.

"Uh huh."

"Great! Let's do this!"

You were not ready to do this - all the information he said had just zonked right into one ear and out of the other, with him being so close like that it was almost hard to breathe with his large hands moving your limbs around like a mannequin doll and his sweet voice tingling in your ear you couldn't help but feel all given information immediately just melt away.

Wing it! Just wing it (Name)!

As the large man quickly got back into his battle stance, you felt your joints begin to freeze up absolutely determined to keep yourself in the pose he put you in.

"Three," He counts.

It can't be that hard right? Just copy how you've seen the other's fight- it's fine.

"Two,"

It's basically just a giant glorified stick anyway, if you get hit it's not like you're going to die or anything relax.

"One,"

And besides it's Yamato, he-

"Go!"

Before the word is even registered to you the Yonko's son dashes at your sword in hand and already down low in preparation to just swing. Your mind rushes for some sort of reaction you rotate your wooden blade to block but when your lover clashes into you with a quick rough and hard strike that cuts the wood in your hands in half, the mer force itself sending a mighty shock and sending you rocketing onto the ground, your body sliding across the wooden flooring.

Yamato's whole world slows in that moment, seeing your body just ragdoll on the floor like that makes him immediately drop his weapon and he springs over to you, gently cradling your head and his copper eyes darting around for any faintest hint of blood.

"(Name)?! (Name)!! I'm sorry! I'm sorry I shouldn't - shouldn't -"

He knew better. He thought he was being gentle enough but he knew better! This was a terrible idea he shouldn't have went through with it he should have agreed he knew the risks and look the immediate first thing that happens he hurts-

Your sudden laughter cuts his thoughts short, he looks down at you to see you shifting around to feel at your head.

"I know I said that I can take you hits but do you have to treat me like a damn baseball, Yama?"

He immediately pulls you into a hug before flinching and pulling back lightly to see if you're absolutely okay before going in to hug you more gently.

"I'm sorry," his voice is muffled by your hair. "-I got too excited to finally train with you because I've never really gotten to train with anyone other than my father and-and I thought about Oden and what I strong warrior he was and how pretty, fun, and exciting you are and how- and I just-"

"Hey, hey, hey, Yamato it's fine. I'm fine." Your hands come up to cup his cheeks, making his verge of tear blurred eyes look at you.

"I'm fine. I promise it's just a bump. Besides I've been through worse than falling on the floor, this is nothing but barely a bruise." You begin to get yourself up with your lover's help to your feet, his hands never leaving your back. You smirk to yourself as you point to the remains of your training sword.

"Although I wouldn't say the same about that though."

When you turn around you see Yamato's frown deepens and his gaze meeting sadly at the floor, once again you have to tell him that's it's okay and this took most of the hit away, which get him to cheer up a little bit but not long enough to plop himself cross legged on the floor and entangle his fingers through his long white hair, you slowly come back down to sit next to him.

"I really thought I'd had control of my strength around you - I thought that everything was under control and I wouldn't be able to hurt you that I could hold your hand without fear of crushing it or cuddling and hugging you without fear of squashing you to death but I don't - this proves that I-" Your hand clasps with his.

"You're fine, I'm fine. We're both fine. Look, you're not hurting me now are you?" You hold up your entwined hands, which after a long pause Yamato gives the gentlest of squeezes.

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts, you do have this under control. And if we can't directly train sword to sword together that's fine! Yes sword skills are useful especially in the New World but, Yamato, that's not the main reason I wanted to train with you - I love you and I just want to spend time with you, doing the things you enjoy doing!"

Copper eyes widened in shock as he meets your gentle gaze, he looks down for a second as if pondering something before looking back up at you with the smallest gape of his mouth, speechless, as the one not twine with yours hesitantly reach up to cup the side of your cheek but with a flinch he immediately attempts to pull his hand back, only for you to catch it and place his warmth to the side of your face, his thumb slowly grazing your bottom lip. Ever so slowly his lips flush against yours, quite awkward with the movement but one your hands leave to wrap around his neck you pull him closer he starts quickly catching up with what to do with his tongue.

When you pull back is all the sadness is lost, with instead those wide pupil blown eyes and white that slowly cascades to a deep neon that frames his face and falls over his shoulder, his lips now plump and kissed does his expression show nothing but pure loving infatuation.

Which with one look, it all becomes clear how bad this man has it for you. His head tilts as he eyes dart your face, as if he were taking your image if were for the very last time. Finally a small smile appears over his lips as he bumps his forehead to yours.

"I love you too, (Name)." He closes his eyes before breathing through his nose. "Though I am a little sad that I can't train with you, I was looking so forward to it all this week but - I guess that excitement was the exact problem." You peck a quick kiss to his lips before letting your fingers play with his hair.

"We'll work on it, alright? You've already come to practice with being as gentle as you are right now I'm sure we can also practice that in a train sense. I promise you're not going to hurt me." At first there's a look of subtle doubt in his eyes when he looks into yours but he pushes it back with a nod.

"How about this? For now let's just focus on positioning - like this!"

You stand back to your feet, grabbing Yamato's forgotten wooden sword off from the floor, trying your best to mimic his stance from previous, the Yonko's son watches how you stand before bursting into laughter. Your eyebrow twitches before yet again demanding to know what's so damn funny. Your lover stands to his full height towering over you to gently move your limbs around to where you're in proper placement.

"Oh nothing, just that you look like my father when's he's doing his drunk impression of Charlotte Linlin begging for her 'child support.'"

Okay that got a giggle out of you.

For the rest of the day the two of you practiced your stances together, once you were comfortable with that you took the next step to attacking stances and even though with him being so close and talking into your ear and moving your limbs around like a doll you forced yourself not to get lost in the inner screaming of your heart telling you just to continue kissing the man until the world's end you listened to his teaching words.

From how he currently spoke, his tone sounded nothing like how it did previously if you just so happened to walk in now you wouldn't even ever be able to tell he was on the verge of tears a mer hour before. He just looks...so happy. With that handsome smile on that handsome face, you look back at him as he happily blabbers on about some techniques that Oden described in his journal, do you can't help but to smile with glee like an idiot around him. He's just so excited and happy and it's so contagious and it's a feeling that you never want to go away.

And you're sure of one look of how bad it all looks for you of how bad you have it for the man, something you also to never go away.

If you like what you read please consider reblogging! It means the world for writers and artists!

#one piece #one piece spoilers #one piece x reader #one piece wano #op yamato #yamato x reader #mine

84 notes · View notes

depressedacadamia · 3 years

Text

Sore Losers

A/N: This was meant to be a simple one shot but I couldn’t help myself and now it’s a twoshot because I’m extra af. I hope you enjoy it and please comment!

Summary: Percy and Annabeth are both the most competitve people to ever exist by far. So when they both lead teams in a match of Capture the Flag Paintball edition, a very fun game ends up becoming a battle. Annabeth and Percy also happen to be the biggest pair of sore losers out there.

Word count: 3.8K

Tagging: @showtunesandsolangelo

Chapter I

Let it be known that Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase were both the biggest pair of sore losers on this side of the Atlantic. You’d think that a large group of teenagers at a paintballing park would cause a lot of trouble. Yes, yes they would indeed. But not nearly as much trouble a group of traumatised teenage demigods could cause.

They had 1 rule- don't use any powers.

However, the demigods were never really much good at following rules.

Percy promised Annabeth that his team would win and Annabeth, unable to help herself, boasted back how amazing her team were going to be. It was quite obvious how their fatal flaws- hubris and loyalty- were going to be their downfall in a game of paintball.

“Oi! You two stop flirting and get on the damned bus, would you!” Piper shouted from the window seat with Hazel to her. The yellow bus was warm due to the sunny weather outside and it smelt like teenagers.

“We aren’t flirting!” Annbeth protested violently as she threw her sports bag over her shoulder while climbing the steps. Percy, being the gentleman he was, took the bag off her shoulder and carried it for her- not that it was truly hard.

“Even I can tell that you’re flirting,” Leo called out from the back where his fingers idly fiddled with some copper wire, a battery and a nail- it seemed like he was making an electromagnet.

“Can you blame me if Percy thinks his team is going to win Pipes?” Annabeth turned around in her seat.

“That’s because we are going to win,” Will commented with a hint of sarcasm from the side of the bus where Percy’s team sat. Nico, who sat next to Reyna and was on Annabeth’s team, was more invested in fidgeting with his rings until Will spoke up.

“Says you, traitor,” He snorted.

“Death boy, it’s a game. You chose Annabeth's team- it would be unfair if we were on the same team. Besides, If anything, I should be upset. You chose Annabeth's team after I chose Percy’s!”

Nico refused to answer, his arm clinging to Reyna who barely took notice and smirked at the boy’s ego’s.

“How sad must it be that you genuinely believe that you will win?” Reyna was about to sheath her spear when Hazel put her hand on hers.

“Reyna! We aren’t allowed to bring weapons. We need to prove we can beat them without weapons!” Hazel argued.

“Having second thoughts over there?” Frank called out from beside Jason. Hazel stuck her tongue out at him- he pulled a funny face in return. While these two were considered the most mature, when they were talking to each other, they were no better than 5 year olds.

The venue was huge. It was like an abandoned forest with upside down vehicles, camo everywhere and at least 3 places to get perfectly shot in the head- not that it was allowed. There was a specific reason behind the demigods choosing to go paintballing- they were never trained to use guns. It was something that none of them were familiar in, thus they were all at a completely fair level. Had they been sword fighting, they would have all destroyed each other. They had to pull on protection suits- which were also camouflage.

“Okay, this is to capture the flag but in paintball. You’re all familiar with capturing the flag- the only difference here is instead of our regular weapons, today we have these peculiar things…” Calypso trailed off slightly.

“Guns,” Hazel and Nico finished off together. The entire squad gave an alarmed look at them saying Why in the name of Hades do you know that? In sync, they both replied.

“World War 1,” Hazel sighed.

“Hitler,” Nico grunted, kicking at the floor. A couple of scattered snorts came from the group who could not picture them in the 1900s.

“Enough enemy mingling! Comrades, let us unite to beat the Owls!” Percy commanded his group comedically. Nico raised his eyebrow at the communist joke while everyone laughed slightly.

“I see you’ve learnt something in History- let’s find out if your seaweed brain can figure out how to surrender shall we?” Annabeth challenged as she took steps towards Percy, her hands resting on her hips confidently- Her hubris was showing. She half expected Percy to slip his hand around her waist or try and show off like she did but instead, he turned to his team and began frantically whispering.

The game was so on.

“Okay, this is it. We go in, storm the boys and capture their flag,” Annabeth decided.

“And don't forget to shoot as many of them as you can!” Piper added and the group happily agreed.

“Okay Comrades, Mission ‘infiltrate’ the owls is about to end- when we meet at what I like to call No man's land, we shall take their flag while they attempt to take ours. Will, guard our flag- the rest of you, position ourselves in the formation we discussed earlier. Jason and Leo, you’re my backup soldiers if I’m down,” Percy announced. The boys nodded and prepared for the plan.

Annabeth was crouching, gun in hand with Hazel behind her. Annabeth's blonde hair made her stand out a bit whereas Hazel had a greater advantage- from a vantage point, one wouldn’t even be able to see her. As Annabeth approached through the clearing she froze. Up ahead was a dangerous place. No bushes, no trees, no cars- she’d be totally exposed to whatever Percy was plotting. She did not doubt that he had some person watching this area, ready to release fire on any enemies. Annabeth was going to wait, she crouched by the bush before the clearing and kept her gun pointed and her eyes on the lookout.

She was about to move when paint balls began exploding all around her. The sound ricocheted in her ears and the droplets of paint remained floating about in the air. The boys had planned an ambush! Annabeth knew she had 2 options- retreat and play defensive or attack and play offensive.

“Hazel, you’re in charge. Nico, you’re coming with me. Make sure Reyna is still guarding the flag!” She whisper- shouted as she began running across No Mans Land with Nico trailing close behind her. He may or may not have been using his powers to bring shards of earth encased in shadows to protect himself and Annabeth from the shower of paintballs heading towards them. Nobody really needed to know- besides, he was forbidden from using death powers, not earthly ones.

“Nico, I hear something,” Annabeth warned. The sound of crackling and rushing water surrounded them.

“It’s coming from the creak…,” Nico mumbled.

They both made eye contact, agreeing on a time to run. 3 ,2 ,1- Now! They began sprinting, dodging the rocks and the flames which were scattered across the field. The other team were really going all out and being ruthless. Leo had set half of their frontier on fire that was only being controlled by the fact that Percy had a lot of water coming in from the creak preventing the fire from spreading too far. Flashes of light came striking down on the trees, causing crackles in the trees. There were echoes of thunder rumbling throughout their section and the smell of carbon monoxide slowly rising into the air.

The tree that had been struck by lightning was causing an awful mount of crackling, a bit too much for comfort. It wasn’t until the distinct sound of a tree snapping did Annabeth and Nico realise that the tree in front of them was falling.

Directly. Onto. them.

Back at Annabeth's side of the frontier, Hazel had decided to play dirty and get powers involved. It was only fair, was it not? Piper, Reyna and Calypso were all very happy to oblige to this. They had restructured their battle plan with Piper guarding the flag and using her charmspeak if necessary. Hazel, Calypso and Reyna were at the front, using their powers to their advantage. Reyna had not decided to use her empowerment- it wasn’t necessary and it was never comforting knowing she had made her friends feel brave; she felt like she was manipulating them whenever she did use it.

“So Hazel, what were you saying about not using weapons?” Reyna raised an eyebrow as she impressively pulled out her spear of imperial gold, glimmering in the sunlight. Hazel who sheathed her Spatha simply shrugged.

“Calypso are you ready?” Hazel asked, slightly concerned- she didn't want to overwork her so quickly after she had only just started to get her magic back.

“You think I’m going to let Leo win?” She scoffed slightly as she raised her hands slightly, the magical aura around them visible.

“We have a battle to win,” Reyna announced.

Nico grabbed onto Annabeth and closed his eyes. She felt herself slip into the darkness with Nico- the moment was awful. Dark, cold and creepy whisperings surrounded her. She did not want to know how Nico was able to do that. As he pulled them out the shadows, Nico dropped to his knees, trying to catch his breath. His eyes looked significantly tired post- shadow travelling.

“Don’t tell Will, he’ll go crazy if he found out that I shadow travelled,” he said weakly, his hand clutching his ribs. Annabeth slowly helped him up to his feet, only one gun still with the both of them- Nico had dropped his when he had to shadow travel them.

“Nico, I’ve got another plan if you’re up for it,” Annabeth offered. She leaned over and whispered her strategy. The corners of Nico’s lips twisted upwards into a cruel smile- cold and menacing. Was this plan extremely dangerous if one part went wrong? Probably. But Nico decided he liked the idea of winning too much to really care.

He dug his feet into the ground again, pushing every ounce of energy into controlling the shadows. He needed to keep this accurate- too much and Hazel’s side of the field goes dark, too little and Percy’s team will be able to see what's coming.

Slowly, shadows covered every inch of Percy’s field. Nico and Annabeth were grasping onto each other, Nico was holding onto her for strength while Annabeth was staying with the only person who could control what was happening. The only light that was visible were the fires ignited by Leo but by now, they were weak. All they had to do was wait for a figure to light up their hands- all the members would flock to the light, except whoever was protecting the flag.

“What just happened?” Percy yelled as he followed the stream of water that led to the fires.

“Someone’s using their powers… probably Nico, I can hear whisperings and these shadows are really cold!” Leo responded, lifting his hands up to signal his location to his teammates- though that may have not been a good idea. A giant flash of light came striking down to the ground again and the loud rumble of thunder came soon after, only adding to the creepiness of the game.

“It’s definitely Nico using powers which means he’s somehow gotten through our borders,” Jason gritted out. They all looked at each other agreeing to search for the son of Hades.

“Nico, you can summon the skeletons now, right?” Annabeth asked as she supported Nico on her shoulder. Feebly, Nico nodded while trying to summon some of his own strength. His skin which had almost returned to it’s olive hue was now close to a deathly pale. Annabeth could feel his cold fingers and slightly shivered- it was like holding a corpse. The ground started cracking, the earth splitting open as a skeletal arm reached out, climbing into the real world. Within a minute, Nico had summoned enough skeletons for the plan to work.

Annabeth knew what had to happen next- she would either run after the flag or go drive the remainder of Percy’s team far back enough so that her team could attack them from behind. She cherished the idea of getting the flag, a truly victorious moment, but she knew that if she went after the flag, she’d be sending Nico who seemed as fragile as glass right now to go fight 4 of the most powerful demigods. She decided to take her chances- hopefully whoever was guarding the flag wasn’t too hard for Nico.

“Nico, here take the gun and go after the flag. I will push back the other team.”

“I don’t need that- you’re going to be 4 against one, take it.” He batted his hand, refusing to allow Annabeth to hand over her gun to him.

“Nic-”

“-If you want to actually win this, you need your gun. You don’t stand a chance fighting 4 of them alone. Take the gun,” He managed to snap. Annabeth actually smiled at this. If Nico could give her snappy comebacks, then he still had a bit of strength in him. She kept her gun as she ran into the shadows, the skeleton army close behind.

“Does the other side look kinda funny?” Hazel asked, tilting her head to the side with her spatha in hand.

“It’s...it’s dark. I can't see anything there,” Calypso responded, slightly shocked.

What in the name of the gods was going on over there?

It seemed that the answer hit Reyna and Hazel at the same time- Nico! Not that they were about to admit it, but they were a tad concerned- you know, if you saw pure shadows just floating about, you would also be slightly concerned.

“We should move ourselves further up the frontier into No Mans Land. Annabeth must have planned something with Nico.” Calypso announced. They all agreed and moved further downwards, cautious for any ambushes.

“Oh Annabeth, aren’t you meant to be the smart one? You know, daughter of Athena?” Percy mockingly asked as she approached them, the shadows encasing most of her but not enough to go unnoticed. The skeletons however, were hiding perfectly in the dark.

“And where is the little shit?” Jason looked around Annabeth, trying to see if Nico had hid himself among the shadows- something that wouldn’t be too hard for him.

“Technically this is cheating,” Leo pointed out. Annabeth snapped her head towards him, still wondering where the skeletons were.

“We weren’t the ones who started it- if I remember correctly, you literally almost crushed us under a tree.”

“That was an accident,” Jason sheepishly rubbed his head.

“Don't think you can walk in here without being defeated, Wise girl.”

“If all 4 of you are going to fight me, I think all guns should be prohibited- does that sound fair Jackson?”

“3. All 3 of us. Frank has been… patrolling.” Leo rubbed his hands mysteriously. Annabeth wanted to gasp, they had been cheating from the beginning, using Frank as surveillance on them.

“Well since you were cheating from the very beginning, you definitely cannot use your guns,” Annabeth protested, enforcing her plan. The boy shrugged and threw their guns to the floor- Annabeth did the same but the gun was still close enough for… a change of heart. Fire raged from Leo’s hands, Percy had Riptide in hand and Jason had his Gladius, the charge of lighting running through it. Annabeth had to try to not visibly gulp- Where on earth were the skeletons? Here getting toasted was not part of the plan. She could only start to take them one when the distraction was set.

Nico forcibly pushed his foot one in front of another, searching for the flag. The entire half of the arena was covered like a blanket. The only light source being Leo’s fire and the occasional fires that Nico let loose through the ground to help him see. Up head, Nico could see another light source- did he just walk himself into a circle? He couldn’t see Leo or any fires. In fact all he really saw was light.

Light?

He trudged forwards, keeping to the shadows. As he got closer, he realised the light source was Will- his skin was the lightsource, literally. It was like he was watching a firefly for the first time- Will was glowing! No, focus Nico. The game, the flag. Capture it and reign victorious with Annabeth.

“Frank, dude, get off my shoulder,” Jason said. As the hand remained on his shoulder, Jason grew slightly agitated and turned around before jumping back and letting out a scream of surprise. Catching the attention of Percy and Leo, the skeletons began to close in on them. Now was Annabeth's chance. While the skeletons pushed them back, hopefully Hazel would have the team ready for an ambush on all sides.

“You’re very shiny today,” Nico commented.

“Well if you didn’t plunge us into semi- eternal darkness, I wouldn’t be a night light,” Will retorted crossing his arms.

“I’ve always wanted my own personal nightlight. Also now, I have an actual justification to call you sunshine- you’re literally glowing.”

“Quit laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you… I’m just stealing,” Nico shrugged as he made a dash for the flag. Will scrambled for his gun but it was too late, Nico had pulled the flag into the shadows- the paintballs from Will’s gun had only hit the tree that Nico had once stood in front of. As Nico emerged from his travelling, the shadows that once covered the entire field started fading.

With their guns strapped to their backs, Hazel and the team made their way across No Mans Land- trying to avoid the shower of paintballs from the other side.

“You made a machine gun out of this?” Hazel asked in dismay as she dodged the fireball coming from Leo.

“I am Admiral Leo, of course I made a machine gun, Hazel.”

“Hazel, on your left!”

Hazel swiftly ducked a paintball coming her left which proceeded to hit Leo square in the chest. He groaned as he felt the bruise start to form across his chest. Saddened by getting hit, he fell to the ground dramatically.

“Oh I’m wounded! Tell Calypso I might not make it!”

“Tell her yourself,” a voice snorted. Jason and Reyna were both fighting- Jason’s gladius would come down harshly onto Reyna’s spear, who continuously tried to disarm him. When Jason came down again with his sword, Reyna twisted her spear towards the hilt and pushed the butt of her spear upwards successfully disarming the sword with a clatter from his hands. She placed her foot on the sword and kicked it backwards, away from Jason before she dropped her spear.

“Hand to hand?” Jason asked. Reyna did not reply and instead charged towards him.

Calypso was trying to not get set on fire- while Leo had been shot, he was not about to let her win so easily. Her magic could only do so much and it annoyed her that Leo was setting everything on fire.

“Calypso, don’t you have telekinesis?” Annabeth shouted nodding towards Leo as she dodged another slash from Percy. Calypso got the memo and closed her eyes, harvesting as much power as she could. Being an ex-titaness came with it’s privileges from time to time. She opened her eyes and flung her hands towards Leo. Easily, she threw him into the creek where he landed with an ‘oomph’ and a very loud curse word that will not be repeated.

Piper hated being the guard. Everyone was probably having a blast and here she was, away from the action. There was a buzzing noise that was annoying her and she really did not want to deal with it. She had one of her daggers clutched in her hand while the gun was slung over her shoulder. She had gotten so bored that she had resorted to talking to the crow opposite her who had just sat there. It would tilt its head every once in a while when she said anything that could be deemed controversial.

Suddenly, the crow flew towards her, as to rest on her shoulder but instead, went towards the flag. Nothing wrong there, just a crow going towards a flag. Afterall it wasn’t as if it was trying to pull it out of the ground. Just as Piper turned around to see what the crow was really doing, she caught Frank with his hand wrapped around the flag, smiling and saluting towards her as he turned around and ran, flag in hand. Piper swore she had run as fast she ever had in her entire life, trying to get her charmspeak to work. The panting did not help her.

Annabeth slashed her knife in Percy’s direction, missing him by a millimeter as he stepped back to avoid it. Riptide came back at her, instead of it going for a blow to the chest as she expected, Percy aimed for her feet. As he wanted, she tripped and fell but her knife was still in hand. Just as she was about to use it, Riptide was held under her chin- she could feel the cool metal of it as Percy smirked and lightly teased her neck with it.

“You know Miss Brainiac, you really have yourself in a bad position, giving up would be easy, wouldn't it?”

“Jackson, you are enjoying this too much. I think you’ve forgotten the point.” Annabeth grabbed Riptide and twisted it before roling backwards slightly and throwing herself forwards. The sword clattered to the ground making Percy pout slightly but he wasn’t disheartened. Annabeth backslashed towards Percy who grabbed her arm, rendering the weapon in hand useless.

Annabeth had one last plan.

She leaned forwards and pressed her lips against Percy. It was quick and daring and Percy certainly did not expect it. Their lips met gently- it was comforting, warm and soft. Their lips brushed and when she pulled away lightly, he could taste her chapstick.

“Ouch!” Percy yelped as he jumped away from Annabeth and let go of her wrist. She held the knife under his chin and winked at Nico who held the gun with the flag under his arm. There was a giant yellow splatter on his back.

“That's not fair!” Percy sputtered. “ You seduced me!”

“All's fair in love and war.” Annabeth winked.

“I’ve got it! I’ve got the flag!” Frank gasped slightly- mainly due to being out of breath. He looked at Jason who was on the ground, Leo who was soaking, Percy who had a massive paintball splatter on his back and then at Nico who was holding the flag.

“We planned this. To make you win. We were taking it easy on you guys,” Frank decided. All the boys nodded in agreement only making Annabeth's teams chuckle.

36 notes · View notes

dhwty-writes · 3 years

Note

Dialogue prompt: “you feel so deeply for everyone, let someone feel deeply for you.”

Thank you, lovely person, for this wonderful prompt! I’m sorry this took a while, it got very long. I also just realised as I was uploading this, that the prompt isn’t exactly what you asked for. I hope you like it regardless!

Warnings: None, except for utter dumbassery on these two idiots’ parts

Read on AO3

The room at their inn was infuriatingly quiet, the silence only broken by the scratch of Jaskier's quill. It drove Geralt mad. It drove him mad and yet he could do nothing but stare at the ceiling above the bed.

Not because of the obvious reasons. Not because it was annoying or too loud or anything.

No, it drove him mad, because he lacked the words to fill the silence. Two dozen times Geralt opened his mouth to say something, two dozen times he closed it again.

Then he sat up with a start. "What would you like to do this evening?" he blurted out.

The maddening scratching stopped for a moment, accompanied by a weary sigh. "Gee, Geralt, what kind of question is that?"

"Hmm." Yeah, what kind of question was that? A stupid one, that's what.

"I don't know, sleep?” The scratching started again. “I'm tired." Jaskier yawned to prove his point.

Geralt ground his teeth and turned onto his other side. He had just wanted to do something nice for his bard. But now the opportunity had passed, now he had to work up the courage again. He fell asleep, still ruminating how utterly stupid he had been.

The thing was, doing something nice for another person wasn't necessarily Geralt's forte. Melitele's tits, even being nice was not his forte! He was a witcher and witchers killed monsters. Niceties and manners had a very low priority in Kaer Morhen’s curriculum.

The other thing was, Jaskier deserved someone being nice to him. He couldn't quite say what it was, but the bard had grown on him over the years. First a slight annoyance and liability, then a reliable travel companion until he felt comfortable calling him his friend. Best friend, even. Which, given that he was his only friend, wasn’t very hard. And now—

Something had changed, something Geralt did not quite dare to name. All he knew was that whenever he looked at his bard, his cheeks and chest grew warm and his stomach and heart did funny things they weren't supposed to.

And that he wanted to do something nice for the bard.

A few weeks after the Question Incident, Geralt had finally worked up the courage to try once more. Given his previous experience, he had decided not to ask the bard again. That way at least, he didn’t run risk to ruin it with his incompetence with words again.

He did, however, hold the belief that words were the key to this tricky situation. Jaskier was a bard, a poet, a minstrel. He liked words. So, Geralt decided to by him a pretty book full of pretty words.

They had managed to arrive in town during market day, which was quite fortunate indeed. Books were pricey, and usually unattainable in the smaller towns. But here he was quick to succeed.

The book was almost comically tiny and abhorrently expensive, but the vendor assured him that it was all the rage in Cidaris at the moment. Even better than that, it was not written by hand, but rather by a very new invention called a ‘printing press’. Needless to say, Geralt was fascinated and excited to have found such a perfect gift for his bard. He slapped down a pouch of coins onto the counter and quickly returned to their inn.

The book was strategically placed onto the rickety desk in the corner and he forced himself to busy himself with his swords as he waited for his friend to return.

It did not take long until Jaskier burst into the room with the usual flurry of words and quickly discarded clothes. Normally, Geralt paid him no mind, but on that day, he was watching him like a hawk. That was how he was fortunate enough to witness the exact moment the bard spotted the book.

Jaskier froze mid-sentence and pointed at it: “What’s this?”

“’S for you,” Geralt mumbled. “I found it.”

He drew closer to the desk and flipped the cover open with two fingers, as far away from the folio as possible. And hissed. Jaskier actually hissed. “What is this?” he demanded again. “And what is it doing here, in our room?”

“A book,” he replied confused. “Poems, they said. ‘S good, they said.”

“Poems!” he exclaimed. “Those aren’t poems, Geralt, those are the uninspired rhymes by a talentless wastrel, who stole my verses! I hope you didn’t spend any money on it, I wouldn’t give a copper for any composition by Valdo Marx.”

Geralt looked at the sword in his lap. ‘Fuck.’

“I’m going to burn it,” Jaskier declared and Geralt leapt to his feet, shouting: “No!”

The rest of their stay in town was spent wrestling the book from his bard, so he couldn’t chuck it into the fireplace before Geralt had a chance to pawn it off again. Somehow, he felt even stupider than the last time.

~*~

Words were off the table, then, so he opted for a more direct-action approach. One of the many things he had learned about the bard in all those years, was that he enjoyed food. Good food, specifically.

They made camp, Geralt decided that Jaskier deserved a nice meal. He went off to hunt and forage, leaving the bard in charge of setting up the camp and caring for Roach. After his initial mistrust of his companion’s animal handling skills, Jaskier had quickly proven himself quite capable. At least more capable than looking for food in the wild.

When he returned an hour and a half later, he was quite proud with himself. He had managed to catch a fat rabbit and found a whole array of mushrooms and berries that would surely please the bard. They were brightly coloured, just as he was.

Smiling broadly and not-humming under his breath—they had talked about that, witchers didn't hum, definitely not—he set about preparing the meal while Jaskier went off to do the laundry in a nearby stream. Fair's fair, after all.

The sun had set and the stew was almost done, when he returned. "That smells—” He wrinkled his nose.

'Oh no,' Geralt thought, icy dread rushing through his veins. That wasn't good. One wasn't supposed to wrinkle their nose when smelling food. Besides, there was nothing to wrinkle one's nose about. The stew smelled delicious.

However, he appeared to have done a grievous mistake, for the displeased expression on Jaskier’s face did not fade. "Geralt," he said warily, "what are you doing?"

"Cooking," he replied, pointing at the pot simmering over the fire. This time, at least, it was Jaskier asking the stupid questions. "Mushrooms and rabbit."

"Mushrooms," Jaskier repeated and pointed at a few leftovers. "Those mushrooms?"

"Hmm." He did not like where this was going.

"Oh, Geralt," Jaskier's face fell, an absolutely revolting expression of compassion and bemusement. "Those are poisonous!"

Geralt stared at him. Stared back at the stew. Back at him. The stew. "Fuck."

~*~

Alright, so what Geralt needed was a fool-proof plan. A witcher-proof plan, rather. I plan he could absolutely not muck up, no matter how hard he tried. It took him a month and a half to come up with one.

Then, he decided it was best to put such delicate matters into someone else’s hands. Hooves, rather.

“Geralt,” Jaskier complained loudly as the heat bore down on them relentlessly. “Please, have some mercy on me. I can’t. I just can’t anymore.” This had been going on for hours. “How long’s it been, Geralt? How long’s it been since we had a rest? Since the sweat dripping from my brow wasn’t watering dried weeds on the road side? Since I had but a sip of water?”

He cast his eyes upwards. “About four hours since you took a morning bath in that stream,” he replied matter-of-factly. “And you’d have something to drink, had you not insisted on upending your water over your head.”

“You’re a cruel man, witcher,” the bard whined. Geralt could hear the pout in his voice. “The reason for my demise, even. My blisters have got blisters, I think my feet are about to fall off. And whose fault will it be? Yours, my friend yours alone—”

Geralt jerked on Roach’s reins; he had heard quite enough of those baseless accusations. The bard, however, didn’t even seem to notice. Instead, he just kept on babbling and walking—limping, really. He couldn’t help but smile. “Jaskier,” he said far too fondly as he hopped off the saddle.

He spun around, a confused look on his face. “What?”

“Come here.” He gestured at Roach. “Maybe this’ll give your feet some rest.” In the privacy of his mind, he added: ‘And my ears, as well.’

Eagerly, Jaskier hurried over to him. “Are you being serious?”

He rolled his eyes and laced his fingers together, offering to give him a boost. When Jaskier still didn’t move, he growled: “Come on, before I change my mind.”

“Alright, alright,” the bard mumbled. Shortly after, he was safely in the saddle, grinning from ear to ear, as he patted Roach’s neck. “Gotta admit it,” he said smugly, while Geralt adjusted the stirrups, “I kind of missed this. Thank you, Geralt.”

He mumbled something unintelligible and waved him to be on his way, as he got all of his friend’s useless weight situated on his back. It did not take much urging for the bard to ride ahead and leave Geralt trailing behind.

In all fairness, what happened next was only loosely his fault. Maybe he should have paid better attention to the road. Maybe he should have walked beside Roach, ready to grab her reins if anything went wrong. Maybe.

But he was, after all, only a man. Only a man who was not only confronted with the fact that his bard had a rather lovely bottom, but also that said lovely bottom was right in his line of sight, if he walked behind Roach just so. Information he’d certainly file away again for later, if his bard was dilly-dallying again.

Still, maybe he shouldn’t have let himself be distracted quite as much by the sight. And he probably should have seen the bandits waiting at the side of the road well in advance. He definitely should have realised sooner what exactly was happening and come to Jaskier’s rescue.

Alas, none of that had been the case.

A piercing scream had ripped him out of his silent contemplation and next thing he knew, Roach was gone, Jaskier was lying on the ground and he had four, admittedly not very skilled, crooks to contend with.

Once that was done, he crouched down next to his friend, fretting nervously. “Are you alright?” he asked anxiously, skimming his hands all over Jaskier’s body to check for injuries. “Did you break something? Any blood, any pain? How’s your head feeling?”

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” he insisted, batting the hands away. “Melitele’s tits, Geralt, please tell me I’m not that insufferable.”

He sat back on his haunches, unable to do anything but stare. This was nothing like he had planned.

Jaskier sighed heavily and waved his hand. “Just… go check on your horse.”

Bereft of any other options, that was exactly what he did.

~*~

Autumn was almost upon them and Geralt was running out of options. After the Question Incident, the Book Catastrophe, the Mushrooms and the Wannabe Robbers, a number of other disastrous mishaps had followed, the most prominent among those being the Tavern Brawl, the Brothel Failure, and the Library Ban.

What he had learned during all those horrifying events, was that the only way he could ever even hope to do something nice for his bard was with a town, meticulous planning, and the radical elimination of any and all possible liabilities.

The first two, he had excelled at, this time. There was a town, there was an inn, there was a room they rented for five days. The first three of them, Geralt had spent conspiring with the innkeeper and her wife, who found them and his efforts ‘absolutely adorable’ and who were more than willing to aid him in his ‘display of his undying love’. Both of those were rather weird notions, but Geralt was so close, so close, he had no time to bother with semantics.

It was the fourth day and everything was going perfect. The tub was prepared, the tavern was quiet, the bath salts and scented oils and soaps his bard loved so much bought. And the bard did not suspect a thing.

All that was left to do know was fetch Jaskier and finally, finally do something nice for him.

That last thing was easier than he had anticipated; they practically ran into each other on the way out of the tavern. “Jaskier!” Geralt said.

“Geralt!” Jaskier said.

“I’ve got something for you,” they both said.

Geralt blinked.

Jaskier blinked.

“You go first,” Geralt growled.

“Great!” The bard was bouncing on the balls of his feet. That was never a good sign. He didn’t know, however, how much of a not-good sign it was until Jaskier produced a sheet of paper from his sleeve. “Look! It’s a contract!”

‘Fuck,’ Geralt thought. ‘I should’ve gone first.’ “Shit,” he said. “I can’t take it.”

“What?!” he balked. “What are you talking about, you have to take it! That’s a hundred crowns, Geralt, that’ll last us weeks! I know you’ve been going all stir-crazy these past few days; you’re even more quiet and taciturn than usual.”

That wasn’t exactly untrue. Four days of conspiring had taken their toll. “What’s it about?”

“Oh, just a couple of drowners.”

Geralt growled and snatched the page out of his hand. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he promised and stormed off.

He wasn’t back in an hour. It wasn’t a couple of drowners, either.

Instead, he returned two hours past sundown, drenched in mud, every bone in his body hurting like fuck, the heads of a couple of drowners and a fucking water hag. He hated water hags. Not because they were specifically difficult to kill, but because they just kept lobbing mud at him and that was all he needed for a day to qualify as truly revolting.

He stomped to the house of the alderman, collected the payment and then dragged himself up to their inn room, where he was greeted by a far too cheery bard. “You’re back!” he exclaimed and almost lunged to embrace him, when he spotted the mud and guts all over him. “Eww,” he sneered. “You, my dear witcher, need a bath.”

On any other day, Geralt would have readily agreed. Maybe even on this day. But then, Jaskier declares: “Luckily, our gracious hosts have been so kind to already provide us with one.” He stepped out of the way and, to Geralt’s horror, presented a wooden bathtub with candles and rose petals and a nice embroidered linen sheet to avoid any annoying splinters. “Come here, friend, and take a bath.”

“No, you take a bath,” he blurted before he had even time to think about the words coming out of his mouth.

“Excuse me?” Jaskier wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I’m not the one smelling like he just got dunked into the swamp and then took a nap in the pigpen. You take a bath, Geralt, or you sleep with Roach tonight!”

Accepting his fat, his shoulders fell. “Fuck.”

~*~

It was almost winter, almost time to separate for months, and Geralt almost admitted defeat. Almost. But, of course, he didn’t even manage that.

Honestly, after nigh nine months of trial and error (mostly error) it shouldn’t come as a surprise to him, that even this final opportunity was a complete and utter failure in regards to his plans. How it still did was beyond him.

The door to their inn room shut behind them with a bang, Jaskier leaning against it to block any means of escape. "Geralt of Rivia," he declared boldly, probably as menacing as he could, "what are you playing at?"

"Hm?" he tried innocently.

"Oh, no,” he laughed throatily and raised an accusatory finger, drawing closer with each word. “Oh no, my friend, don't you 'hm' me. You,” the finger poked into his chest, “are acting weird."

"Hmm."

He huffed. "At least we can agree about that. So. What are you playing at? Because I tell you, this has been going on for months and I can't decide whether you are trying to mock me, insult me, or kill me!"

"None of that," Geralt was quick to assure.

"Well, then, what is it?"

His eyes darted back and forth, desperately searching for a way out of this. But Jaskier was directly in front of him, trapping him against the bed, and still blocking the way to the door. There was nowhere to run, so he decided to go for the truth: "I'm trying to do something nice for you!"

The bard gawked at him. Then, he blurted: "What on earth are you talking about?!"

He didn’t say a thing.

“Geralt!” Jaskier took another step forward and as Geralt’s calves hit the mattress, his knees buckled and he sat down involuntarily.

"I—” He threw up his hands in defeat. How on earth was he supposed to explain all of those confusing things going on inside of him. Before he could come up with a satisfying answer, his mouth started talking on his own: “You care so deeply for everyone, let someone care deeply for you."

Silence fell over the room, as Jaskier kept staring and Geralt kept avoiding his gaze. Then, the bard suddenly crouched down, with the exact same expression he had after The Mushrooms. “Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier said in that soft tone he just couldn't quite understand. 'Fond,' his mind supplied, 'adoring.'

"Please," he begged, hiding his face against the reassuring shoulder of his friend, "this has been hell. I tried everything I could think of, and it all failed. Just tell me. Tell me how I can do something nice for you. I'd do anything, anything at all."

"Anything, you say?" He laughed, a playful undertone sneaking into his voice. "Well then, heroic witcher, I would like a kiss,” he said, accompanied by a wink.

Geralt wasn't thinking. If he had been, he'd probably stopped himself. But since any cerebral activity had ceased to exist, he just leaned forward and pressed his lips to the bard's mouth in a chaste kiss.

It was over almost before it had begun, the bard spluttering with surprise: "I- You- I was joking!"

Oh. Fuck. Well, that certainly was a way to end a year of embarrassments. "I'm sorry," he blurted and backed away, frantically scooting back on the bed, only to be stopped by Jaskier's hands.

“I—umm—shit!” Jaskier cursed; now it was him who was avoiding Geralt’s gaze.

He snorted. No hunched shoulders or ducked head could hide the crimson cheeks of his bard. “You’re blushing.”

“Well, you’re an idiot!” he countered. And, well, Jaskier certainly was not prone to be a liar. “I didn't think you’d actually do it, you daft witcher,” he hissed, before his face grew soft and he smiled again, invitingly. “But I also didn't say you should stop.”

It was a terrible line. It was a terrible line and they both knew it. Evidently, they both didn’t care. As soon as the words had left Jaskier’s mouth, they surged forward. It was surreal, really, to finally be granted permission. To finally be able to taste Jaskier’s lips, to pull him in, close, closer, until he was straddling his thighs. To finally be able to dispose of his doublet, push his hands under his shirt and up his back and—

Breathlessly, Geralt pulled away. “I love you,” he blurted.

Jaskier sighed quietly and smiled. “I know,” he whispered and pecked him on his cheek. “You show it in a thousand little ways, every day.” He pecked him on the other cheek.

“I know,” Geralt replied and kissed him on the mouth. “You tell anyone who would listen.”

He chuckled and kissed him again. “I never dared to dream you’d love me like this,” he murmured against his lips.

“But I do.”

“You know,” Jaskier said, playing with the clasps of his armour, “that was awfully nice of you. But if you’d life to do another nice thing for me, to make up for lost time, so to speak, I’ve got a couple of ideas in my mind.”

Geralt groaned and pull away, flopping backwards onto the bed. “No,” he said stubbornly, shoving at the bard who tried to kiss him again. “Nope, not in a thousand years. That was it, you ruined it. Enough nice things for you.”

“Oh, come on,” Jaskier whined. “It wasn’t that terrible. Cheesy, yes, I’ll accept even tacky, but certainly not tasteless enough to warrant such a cruel punishment.”

He raised an incredulous eyebrow at him.

Jaskier crossed his arms and pouted. “Alright, maybe it was,” he conceded.

Geralt huffed his agreement, stretching out his hands for his bard’s hips, already tired of this game.

“Regardless,” a smug grin spread on his face as he shimmied closer, “you love me too much to deny me for long.”

“Yeah.” Geralt smirked as well and put his arms around Jaskier’s neck to pull him in for another kiss. “Yeah, I do.”

#prompt fill #kimception98 #look i've got an ask #geraskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my writing #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier

39 notes · View notes

butterflies-dragons · 4 years

Note

Hey! I want to ask your opinion on Jon ygritte relationship and it's contrast with jonsa. I've seen jongritte wrt to jonerys but I want to know your opinions on jongritte wrt to jonsa as a foil n parallel.

Hello Anon,

Let’s talk about Ygritte then...

Ygritte:

Ygritte was a mixture of the Stark Sisters.

According to Jon: “she can kiss a man (Sansa’s romantic nature) or slit his throat (Arya’s killer abilities)”

“And maybe her eyes [...] but they were a pretty blue-grey color”. Blue (Sansa) & Grey (Arya).

Ygritte has skinny legs, was short for her age, and never brushed her hair, similar to Arya. But Ygritte was a redhead, described like ‘kissed by fire’, similar to the Tully auburn of Sansa’s hair that is also described by Arya like ‘fire’: “Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair.”

According to Jon, Ygritte is fierce, stubborn, and wild, similar to Arya with her touch of the wolf blood. But Ygritte also can sing like Sansa.

Ygritte is a spearwife, a fierce killer, a warrior woman, which reminds us of Arya’s Needle, her training to be a faceless man, and the list of people she wants to kill. But Ygritte also likes songs and stories and cries with sad and beautiful songs, like Sansa.

Who else was a mixture of the Stark Sisters? Lyanna Stark, Jon’s mother. But this is another subject.

Jon was not instantly attracted to Ygritte, but with time he started to have feeling for her, feelings that are linked with Ygritte’s similarities with Sansa:

The wildlings seemed to think Ygritte a great beauty because of her hair; red hair was rare among the free folk, and those who had it were said to be kissed by fire, which was supposed to be lucky. Lucky it might be, and red it certainly was, but Ygritte's hair was such a tangle that Jon was tempted to ask her if she only brushed it at the changing of the seasons.

At a lord's court the girl would never have been considered anything but common, he knew. She had a round peasant face, a pug nose, and slightly crooked teeth, and her eyes were too far apart. Jon had noticed all that the first time he'd seen her, when his dirk had been at her throat. Lately, though, he was noticing some other things. When she grinned, the crooked teeth didn't seem to matter. And maybe her eyes were too far apart, but they were a pretty blue-grey color, and lively as any eyes he knew. Sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him. And sometimes by the cookfire when she sat hugging her knees with the flames waking echoes in her red hair, and looked at him, just smiling . . . well, that stirred some things as well.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

Ygritte’s singing and the shades of her red hair near the flames. Jon is such a romantic.

Ygritte’s hair “by the cookfire [...] with the flames waking echoes in her red hair”, reminds me of this passage about Sansa’s hair:

“She had auburn hair, […] the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper.”

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

And guess what turns Jon off about Ygritte? That she is a cold blood killer:

"I see no free folk. I see a crow and a crow wife."

"I'm no crow wife!" Ygritte snatched her knife from its sheath. Three quick strides, and she yanked the old man's head back by the hair and opened his throat from ear to ear. Even in death, the man did not cry out. "You know nothing, Jon Snow!" she shouted at him, and flung the bloody blade at his feet.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

"Who is Ygritte?" Donal Noye asked pointedly.

"A woman of the free folk." How could he explain Ygritte to them? [. . .] she's young, only a girl, in truth, wild, but she . . ." She killed an old man for building a fire.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

Ygritte was much in his thoughts as well. He remembered the smell of her hair, the warmth of her body . . . and the look on her face as she slit the old man's throat.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

Very telling....

I usually call Ygritte, “Jon’s Joffrey”. Both Jon and Sansa accommodated Ygritte and Joffrey in their minds as a coping mechanism, because they both knew that their love interests liked killing too much, something that turn them off:

“Who is Ygritte?” Donal Noye asked pointedly.

“A woman of the free folk.” How could he explain Ygritte to them? She’s warm and smart and funny and she can kiss a man or slit his throat. “She’s with Styr, but she’s not … she’s young, only a girl, in truth, wild, but she …” She killed an old man for building a fire. His tongue felt thick and clumsy. The milk of the poppy was clouding his wits. “I broke my vows with her. I never meant to, but …” It was wrong. Wrong to love her, wrong to leave her … “I wasn’t strong enough. The Halfhand commanded me, ride with them, watch, I must not balk, I …” His head felt as if it were packed with wet wool.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

Look how Jon is having a discussion with himself in his mind: Jon 1: Ygritte was warm, smart, funny, young, only a girl.... Jon 2: But she was a cold blood killer, man! She shot several arrows at us, she tried to kill us! And remember when she blackmailed us to have sex with her? WTF dude?

This is exactly what Sansa was doing here:

“I had a dream that Joffrey would be the one to take the white hart,” she said. It had been more of a wish, actually, but it sounded better to call it a dream. Everyone knew that dreams were prophetic. White harts were supposed to be very rare and magical, and in her heart she knew her gallant prince was worthier than his drunken father.

“A dream? Truly? Did Prince Joffrey just go up to it and touch it with his bare hand and do it no harm?”

“No,” Sansa said. “He shot it with a golden arrow and brought it back for me.” In the songs, the knights never killed magical beasts, they just went up to them and touched them and did them no harm, but she knew Joffrey liked hunting, especially the killing part. Only animals, though. Sansa was certain her prince had no part in murdering Jory and those other poor men; that had been his wicked uncle, the Kingslayer. She knew her father was still angry about that, but it wasn’t fair to blame Joff. That would be like blaming her for something that Arya had done.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

After a time living in Kings Landing and knowing her betrothed a bit better, Sansa knew that Joffrey was not true knight material; deep down she knew about his killing/harming tendencies, yet she tried to accommodate Joff as someone that, at least, would never harm/kill innocent people.

As I said before, Jon started having feelings for Ygritte, but she couldn’t wait to have him. She blackmailed him to have sex, and Jon being the horny teenager that he was, at the prospect to be killed by the wildling versus having sex with a girl that he started to like, he chose the sex, of course. Such a strong basis for romance...

Women & Jon Snow:

How many times have we all heard that Jon loves warrior women and dislikes or even hates ladies? This is not true tho...

These wrong assumptions are based in Jon’s interactions with the following women:

Ygritte, a spearwife, a warrior woman, his first and only lover.

Arya, his favorite and beloved sister, Jon himself gave her a sword, Needle. Needle was named because of Sansa tho... Ygritte reminded Jon of Arya.

Val, “the wildling princess”. Jon considers Val very physically attractive, he decided that she was a “warrior princess”. But sorry, let me tell you that GRRM himself has said that Val is not a warrior woman.

Lady Alys Karstark, because she reminds Jon of Arya and she flirted with him. She remembered them dancing in the past and invited him to dance again during her wedding. Dancing is something very ladylike tho, just saying...

Arya

Back in 2016, a person asked GRRM about the possibility of a romance between Jon and Arya, pointing out the similarities between Ygritte and Arya, this is what he said:

“My con friend asked about the Jon/Arya relationship again and brought her (impressive) Game book that had all of her references marked out with little flags. She brought up the Ygritte connections to Arya that Jon saw in her. George did not directly answer yes or no if there would be anything romantic between the two.”

“George did say, despite what readers see as clues to a romantic relationship between Jon/Arya in the books themselves, he did not confirm this so easily but inferred that what Jon saw in Ygritte was a comfort level of femininity. <<< She and I obviously discussed these comments after the meeting and this was the general feeling.”

“My con friend was referring to George explaining Jon’s perception: GRRM replied, “You know, I don’t think it’s a reference for that [for romance]. It’s a reference to a certain physical type, and a certain indication of what Jon finds admirable. It’s like someone who reminds you of, you know… Other people might be put off by this, you know, hair that looks like small rodents have been living in there. It doesn’t put him off because he is used to that.”

[Source 1] [Source 2] [Source 3]

So, as you can see, these links between Jon’s favorite sister and Jon’s first lover, according to the author himself, mean:

“Comfort level of femininity”,

“Jon is used to messy hair”

“Not reference for romance”.

Not reference for romance indeed...

Here you can read more about my opinion regarding the possibility of a romantic relationship between Jon and Arya: [x] [x] [x]

Val

Repeat after me: Val is not a warrior woman. Again: Val is not a warrior woman. One more time: Val is not a warrior woman. If you don’t believe me, then read this:

However, in my own defense, I should note that Dalla was not a “warrior woman” per se. She was from a warrior culture, yes; one that gave women the right, but not the obligation, to be fighters. Ygritte was a warrior woman, as was (most conspicuously) the fearsome Harma Dogshead. Dalla and Val were not.

[Source]

But you may say, ¿What about the “the warrior princess and the willowy creature that only brushes her hair” quote?

Well, as GRRM has stated many times, all his POVS are “Unreliable Narrators”. Being from a “warrior culture” doesn’t make you automatically a “warrior woman”. But here is Jon Snow “deciding” that Val was a “warrior princess”. Once again, the contrast, the dichotomy in one single person: ¿A warrior like Arya, a princess like Sansa? Not that Arya has ever fought in a war, but you get my point. And Sansa was created following the princess archetype.

I will show you one of my favorite Jon’s passages that will serve us to read “the warrior princess and the willowy creature that only brushes her hair” line with a better and more revealing light:

I call this passage the “Jon -It’s nothing special- Snow”. Or as we say in Spanish when we can’t get what we really want: “Al cabo que ni quería”, that can be translated as “I didn't even want it anyway”. Let’s see:

"Oh, I learn things everywhere I go." The little man gestured up at the Wall with a gnarled black walking stick. "As I was saying … why is it that when one man builds a wall, the next man immediately needs to know what's on the other side?" He cocked his head and looked at Jon with his curious mismatched eyes. "You do want to know what's on the other side, don't you?"

"It's nothing special," Jon said. He wanted to ride with Benjen Stark on his rangings, deep into the mysteries of the haunted forest, wanted to fight Mance Rayder's wildlings and ward the realm against the Others, but it was better not to speak of the things you wanted. "The rangers say it's just woods and mountains and frozen lakes, with lots of snow and ice."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

I mean... COME ON! This is one of the most telling passages to know, to really know Jon’s true nature, and it’s very, very similar to the quote about “the warrior princess and the willowy creature that only brushes her hair”:

They are all convinced she is a princess. Val looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

“Some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.” Nah, it’s nothing special, I didn’t even want it anyway, not for me, no.

Do I have to say more???

Actually, yes, I have.

Jon Snow does really want a lady. Jon Snow does really want to be a knight and rescue a maiden. Jon Snow does really want a lady to love and be loved back by her. Here some evidence:

Jon Snow wished that his mother were a highborn lady: “Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.”

Jon Snow wanted to be a hero like the Prince Aemon Dragonknight. The same Prince Aemon that jousted in a tourney, won it, and crowned his sister and lady love “Queen of Love and Beauty”, something that is straight out from the courtly love book: “The Dragonknight once won a tourney as the Knight of Tears, so he could name his sister the queen of love and beauty in place of the king's mistress”.

Jon Snow tried to comfort Gilly with courtesy: "Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower." "That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her”.

Jon Snow put Ghost between Ygritte and him and remembers that knights put their swords between their ladies and themselves, something that is straight out from the courtly love book: “After that he had taken to using Ghost to keep her away. Old Nan used to tell stories about knights and their ladies who would sleep in a single bed with a blade between them for honor's sake, but he thought this must be the first time where a direwolf took the place of the sword”.

Jon Snow imagined romancing Ygritte as if she were a lady: “If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us”.

Jon Snow wished for a domestic life in Winterfell, with his wife and children: I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. [...] I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. [...] Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb. He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily”.

Jon is a romantic that called his mare “sweet lady”.

Jon Snow closer friends in the Night’s Watch are Samwell Tarly and satin, they are literally male!Sansas.

Jon remembers fondly Sansa’s more feminine and ladylike traits: her romantic nature, her courtesies, her singing.

It’s also worth to mention that, despite Val’s beauty and physical attractiveness, Jon Snow, once again, appreciates her being maternal and singing to Gilly’s son, but was turned off by Val saying she would kill Princess Shireen:

"I have heard you singing to him."

"I was singing to myself. Am I to blame if he listens?" A faint smile brushed her lips. "It makes him laugh. Oh, very well. He is a sweet little monster."

"Monster?"

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VIII

Once outside and well away from the queen's men, Val gave vent to her wroth. "You lied about her beard. That one has more hair on her chin than I have between my legs. And the daughter … her face …"

"Greyscale."

"The grey death is what we call it."

"It is not always mortal in children."

"North of the Wall it is. Hemlock is a sure cure, but a pillow or a blade will work as well. If I had given birth to that poor child, I would have given her the gift of mercy long ago."

This was a Val that Jon had never seen before. "Princess Shireen is the queen's only child."

"I pity both of them. The child is not clean."

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

Wait a minute! Val was “singing to herself” like Jon’s memory of Sansa “singing to herself” while brushing out Lady’s coat???

Where did Jon get this idea of “some willowy creature that only brushes her hair” from??? It could be from his half sister Sansa, a literal princess, now trapped in a tower, that always brushed her hair and even brushed out her direwolf’s fur???

“She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone” —Sansa

“Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until it shone.” —Eddard

I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. —Catelyn

He thought [...] Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. —Jon

And I also suspect that when Jon said this about Val:

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him.

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

He was remembering another pretty girl, princess like, next to a direwolf, looking as though they belong together.

A young beautiful girl, that everyone considers a princess, next to a direwolf???

Val is a beautiful young woman, Sansa is a beautiful young maiden.

Val has long blonde hair the color of dark honey which she wears in a braid. Val actually take care of her hair, enough to braid it, like Sansa that always brushes it. And if you google “dark honey” hair color you will find a variety of reddish brown (auburn) and reddish blonde hair colors.

Val has high sharp cheekbones, like Sansa.

Val’s eyes are pale grey or blue. Again the grey/blue eyes pattern...

Val is slender with a full bosom, like Sansa.

So?

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him. [...] It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself.

Think about it!

Alys

You may have heard about how Alys Karstark reminds Jon of Arya. She was the girl of Melissandre’s vision, right? No? Melissandre was wrong? Really?Anyway, this is another subject, for another time. The thing is that Jon was really hoping that the “Grey Girl” was Arya. He was desperate to have Arya safe and away from the Boltons. And once again, look at Alys Karstark’s description:

Alys is a tall, like Sansa, but skinny, like Arya.

Alys has brown hair, like Arya, but wears it into a braid, so she cares about her hair, like Sansa.

Alys has a long face, but blue-grey eyes. Blue like Sansa, and Grey like Arya. This pattern again? George, I need some explanations. What are you doing?

And also all these connections with Sansa:

Alys is a lady, a maiden, and she asked Jon his protection: “You are my only hope, Lord Snow. In your father's name, I beg you. Protect me”. She sounds like a willowy creature in need to be rescue by some knight, right?

Alys remembered dancing with a sullen Jon Snow when she visited Winterfell in the past. Alys invited Jon Snow to dance again during her wedding.

Alys’ wedding happened in a very similar way to Sansa’s dream wedding: ”It was not supposed to be this way. She had dreamed of her wedding a thousand times, and always she had pictured how her betrothed would stand behind her tall and strong, sweep the cloak of his protection over her shoulders, and tenderly kiss her cheek as he leaned forward to fasten the clasp”. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa III & “The Magnar all but ripped the maiden’s cloak from Alys’s shoulders, but when he fastened her bride’s cloak about her he was almost tender. As he leaned down to kiss her cheek, their breath mingled”. —A Dance with Dragons - Jon X.

A northern maid and a wildling warrior, bound together by the Lord of Light. A northern maid like Sansa: “The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter”. A wildling warrior like Jon: “I see what you are, Snow. Half a wolf and half a wildling.”

There is much more to say about Women & Jon Snow, but I will stop here. There are more topics to explore for this answer.

This is too long already, so I need to make a cut.

Parallels & Contrasts:

As I said this post is already too long, so I will summarize with the help of my friends. Let’s see:

Some great findings by my friend @shieldofrohan in this post: JON X SANSA BOOK HINTS- IN ORDER:

Sansa is the blue flower that bloomed from the North

Ygritte tells about the song of Bael the Bard and the Winterfell’s Rose in ACOK; Jon VI

In the story the blue roses of Winterfell just bloom and they represent a love between King Beyond the Wall and Winterfell’s maiden heir

Next chapter is Sansa (ACOK; Sansa IV) and she flowers for the first time, next chapter is Jon again. (Jon-Sansa-Jon)

Bael the Bard and Winterfell’s Blue Rose

He meets with Ygritte

So after the introduction of his future love interest comes a Sansa chapter.

She tells him the story of a song about the love between King Beyond the Wall and Winterfell’s maiden lady heir.

Jon-Ygritte meeting // Sandor-Sansa last scene

Jon meets with Ygritte in ACOK; Jon VI

Sansa sees Sandor for the last time in ACOK; Sansa VII

Jon has grey eyes // Sandor has grey eyes

Ygritte has red hair // Sansa has red hair

Jon // Sandor puts a knife to her throat

Ygritte tells him a song // Sansa sings for him

Jon-Ygritte last scene // Sandor-Sansa last scene

Sansa-Sandor last scene ACOK; Sansa VII // Jon-Ygritte last scene ASOS; Jon VII

Ygritte cups Jon’s cheek // Sansa cups Sandor’s cheek

Ygritte // Sandor says her/his catchphrase:

You know nothing, Jon Snow // Littlebird one last time and dies // leaves.

The men didn’t touch redhead girls but girls say they did

Jon didn’t touch Ygritte but Ygritte lies that he did and Sansa believes that Sandor kissed her in ACOK; Sansa VII. But he didn’t

Sansa remembers UNKISS after a Jon chapter.

Jon-Ygritte // Tyrion-Sansa

Jon beds Ygritte and it kind of means they are married in Wildlings’ sense. Because they believe in stealing + bedding = marriage philosphy.

Meanwhile Sansa really marries Tyrion.

Two hearts that beat as one. Mance Rayder’s mocking words rang bitter in his head. [ASOS; Jon III] The septon raised his crystal high, so the rainbow light fell down upon them. “Here in the sight of gods and men,” he said, “I do solemnly proclaim Tyrion of House Lannister and Sansa of House Stark to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them.” [ASOS; Sansa III]

Jon has sex with Ygritte because he needs to prove that he is loyal. But he feels guilty because he takes pleasure. So he stole her and bed her. They are basically married. He didn’t want to but he was forced to.

Sansa had to do it because she is surrounded by the enemy. And Tyrion believes he has to consummate the marriage because his father commanded him. He desires Sansa even though she is a child and he feels a slight shame because of it. But unlike Jon, Tyrion doesn’t bed Sansa.

Bed your sister

Ygritte asks some interesting questions… while someone was about to bed Jon’s sister. She punched him. “That’s vile. Would you bed your sister?” [ASOS; Jon III]

I didn’t steal you… I’m no thief

Ygritte says that Jon stole her like Bael the Bar and talks about the star called Thief. But Jon says he didn’t steal her.

In TWOW; Alayne I, Ser Roland also calls Sansa a thief for stealing his heart. But she says she is no thief.

Ygritte is a girl with Tully look with her red hair and blue-grey eyes whereas Ser Roland has Stark look with his brown hair and long face. Sansa even says he is horse faced, and Arya is called Horsaface too and she looks like Jon.

Ygritte // Sansa

Ygritte is a northern girl with Tully hair and she says she is a “half fish”

Sansa is a half Tully aka fish, redhead and northern… Ygritte punched his arm. “You know nothing, Jon Snow. I’m half a fish, I’ll have you know.” [ASOS; Jon V]

More from this post by my friend on reddit: Jon and Sansa's parallel journey/imagery/settings in Jon and Sansa CHAPTERS PLACED NEXT TO EACH OTHER

ACOK Chapters 51, 52 and 53 - Steal the girl Chapter 51 - Jon, Chapter 52 - Sansa and Chapter 53 - Jon

Jon meets Ygritte who bares her throat for him and Jon puts his Longsword at it, intending to kill her but frees her:

She pushed her hair aside to bare her neck, and knelt before him. “Strike hard and true, crow, or I’ll come back and haunt you.”

“Now,” he said, “before my wits return. Go.”

She went.

The Hound puts his longsword against Sansa's neck but also frees her:

He laid the edge of his longsword against her neck, just under her ear. Sansa could feel the sharpness of the steel.

Now fly away, little bird, I’m sick of you peeping at me.”

Wordless, she fled

Before this, Ygritte tells Jon the tale of Bael the bard and how he stole the "Fairest flower in Winterfell"

‘All I ask is a flower,’ Bael answered, ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o’ Winterfell.’”

Next, we have Sansa recieve her first moonblood described as having "Flowered"

You’ve had your first flowering, no more.

Chapter ends with Cersei asking Sansa if she wants to be loved and have it followed by a Jon chapter.

Do you want to be loved, Sansa?”

“Everyone wants to be loved.”

“I see flowering hasn’t made you any brighter,” said Cersei. "Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same.”

Next chapter : Jon

ASOS Chapter 15, 16

These two chapters are a bit icky and deals with sexual maturity. Feels like a parallel journey.

The Jon chapter consists of Tormund talking about his sex life, Jon claiming he's too young for sex and Ygritte basically throwing herself at him.

The Sansa chapter consists of men staring at Sansa's body sexually, maids remarking about her matured bosom, Margaery playing kissing games with her cousins etc.

First love’s Resemblance:

And Sansa fell wildly in love with Ser Waymar, and Jon fell in love with a wildling girl kissed by fire:

Indeed, Sansa’s first crush was a brother of the Night’s Watch:

“Bronze Yohn knows me,” she reminded him. “He was a guest at Winterfell when his son rode north to take the black.” She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl. “And that was not the only time. Lord Royce saw … he saw Sansa Stark again at King’s Landing, during the Hand’s tourney.”

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

And Waymar Royce looked like a Stark. Waymar Royce was Jon’s lookalike. More about it here.

And Jon’s first love was Ygritte, a redhead, with blue-grey eyes, and to make the Tully look even more evident, Ygritte called herself half a fish:

“Ygritte punched his arm. "You know nothing, Jon Snow. I'm half a fish, I'll have you know.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Sansa’s first crush having the Stark Look and Jon’s first lover having the Tully look, reminds me of Catelyn being first betrothed with Brandon Stark but marrying Eddard Stark instead. Brandon, died like Waymar. Ned said Jon’s is a younger version of himself. Ned never imagined marrying Catelyn, he had a young infatuation with Ashara Dayne, but he never acted on his feelings for her, and she died. Ned also killed Ashara’s brother Arthur.

Sansa fell wildly in love with Waymar, but she won’t marry him, he died. She will probably fall in love with Jon in a more mature and calmly way. Jon Snow, after a non-con beginning, ended loving Ygritte, not a lady, that offered him a “comfort level of femininity”, but he won’t marry her, she died. Jon will probably fell in love with Sansa, freely and willingly.

I think there is more to say and I could expand what was already said, but I think I covered the basics.

And to finish this post I will leave you with this picture. A friend helped me to colored the rose blue, the original was yellow. I call this picture: “Sansa with messy hair”. And I think this picture is the perfect way to end this long answer.

Good night.

#Sansa Stark #Jon Snow #Sansa x Jon #Jon x Sansa #jonsa #Ygritte #jon and ygritte #jon and arya #jon and val #jon and alys

163 notes · View notes

10moonymhrivertam · 3 years

Text

Hello! A post by @west-moor got me thinking, and it resulted in this! This is a little left to the point of the post, but it just grabbed hold of my brain for a solid three days. It’s currently full of author’s notes, but I feel the Need to Share. (Please let me know if you’d like to see any of the struck-through bits revisited!)

Warnings: Renfri’s backstory mentioned throughout (rape tw); Jack Harkness-style immortality (death tw, not permanent)

Concept: With a little bit of timeline nudging, Jaskier could be Renfri’s son

“Dandelion, come here before I go.” Renfri held out her arms, and Julian dashed forward, snuggling into her. She squeezed him. “I want you to make me a promise, okay?” Her voice was soft but raw. Julian frowned - this must be serious.

“What kind?” He asked, refusing to let go of her. She rested her chin on the top of his head. ((she’s grateful she doesn’t have to look him in the eye))

Renfri sighed, tracing patterns on his back. “The [hard/important/??] kind. What I’m about to do...it might get me in trouble. I -“ Renfri hugged him tighter. “I might not be able to get back home.”

“What?” Julian’s voice went up, and Renfri shushed him gently, kissing the top of his head.

“I want to. I’m going to try to. But this is dangerous, Dandelion. Even so, I have to take this chance. I’m so sorry.” Renfri took a breath. “But I need you to promise me, Julian, that if I don’t come home...you won’t do anything about it.” She squeezed him, so he didn’t shout like he wanted to. “No matter what you hear. No matter what Stregobor might do. That bastard cannot have you, do you understand?” Julian squirmed, and Renfri loosened up her hug with an apology, finally pulling back to look at him. “I don’t trust him not to use any excuse he can to hurt you, too. So we’re not going to give him an inch. Not a thing he can twist about you the way he did me. Alright?” She cupped his face, looking into his eyes. “So that’s the promise. No revenge. I don’t care what else you do, love - swordplay or poetry, or -“ She grasped for a third option, shook her head when she couldn’t seem to find one. “Anything but revenge. Promise?”

“Promise, Mummy.” Julian saw her eyes go misty. ST ? It was probably because he’d called her Mummy instead of Renfri. That’s what everyone else called her, and she was fine with him doing it, too. [Also draws less attention than Mummy] But sometimes, when he was scared or when something was important, Mummy meant so much more ? ST

*****

Fuck, but it had been hard without Renfri. It seemed like it would be fine, at first. Renfri had left him with her friend Gina; Gina lived in Oxenfurt; and he kept living with Gina; so it was easy to badger the Academy into accepting him when his interests turned to poetry. (He ignored the pang he felt at the memory of his last promise to his mother.)

Since then...well, he was just glad Gina was an innkeeper and had seen every trick in the book for getting food, some less underhanded than others. He stuffed the bread into his pants - he wasn’t likely to be able to eat here in peace, not with everyone...

Jaskier’s eyes caught on the corner and narrowed. Not everyone. He’d thrown neither bread nor coin. Strange - even people nominally without opinions usually got caught up in the energy of a room. He hopped to his feet, grabbed an ale, and crossed the room. He’d expected it to be a little harder to wheedle a review from the stranger, considering he claimed he was there to drink alone, but he came right out with his opinion once Jaskier sat down across from him. Now Jaskier got a good look at the whole of him, though, besides that stand-out hair. His eyes were golden.

“White hair....big, old loner. Two very -“ Jaskier’s words caught in his throat. The hilt that peeked just barely out of the [bag (technical term?)]. He couldn’t look away from it. “Very,” he managed to find his voice before it could be suspicious. “Scary-looking swords. I know who you are.”

Geralt stood. [second instinct>] STDismay filled Jaskier. That was his mother’s brooch. Seeing it made his heart ache, and he wanted a piece of her - any piece of her - back. He tried to stop him by drawing attention, but it only landed Geralt a job. Well. A job would keep him in Posada long enough to talk, wouldn’t it? So he followed, letting his mouth run wherever it would. He surprised himself a little with the optimism in “death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak”.ST

[first instinct>] Jaskier nearly saw red. The Witcher didn’t get to just walk away with his murdered mother’s brooch. Drawing attention to Geralt didn’t work quite as well as he’d hoped, instead landing him a job. Jaskier hurried after him, not wanting to give him any chance of escape. He let his mouth run as it would, taking a kernel of malicious glee in pointing out the onion scent. Geralt either had a very good poker face or quite thick skin, or both. He surprised himself with the optimistic tone in “death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak”. After all, Geralt had already brought him two of those things directly.

“Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the - the Butcher of Blaviken.” He relished the taste of the title in his mouth. The way it hung in the air was viscerally satisfying. He shouldn’t have gotten caught up in it. It made the fist seem like it came out of nowhere.

He couldn’t catch his breath back. He’d had the wind knocked out of him once before, falling out of a tree. It had seemed like it had taken hours for Renfri to come to him and hold his hand. It was probably barely minutes, if that. The panic stretched time. Long enough for him to remember his promise to Renfri and break his own heart. He’d nearly broken his promise. Over a piece of jewelry - a sentimental improvised weapon, but far from as useful as the daggers he hid on his person.

When he could breathe again, he straightened to find Geralt hadn’t moved far. He seemed to be checking the horse’s reigns, but coincidentally finished just as Jaskier straightened up. Well. That was almost cute. Jaskier dug claws right into a tender title, and Geralt waited to make sure he hadn’t done permanent damage. He suppressed a smile.

“You really do pack a wallop!” He crowed. He regretted it a little, his stomach still aching. “What’s this going to take, two minutes?”

Geralt ignored him, mounting Roach. Jaskier hurried to keep up, still talking.

*****

As he talked, Jaskier realized his mother would’ve disapproved. Home wrecking wasn’t puppy-murder, but it was still something Stregobor might use should he ever find out Julian de Lettenhove was connected to the Black Sun. But there was nothing to be done about it, now. It didn’t technically break his promise, and it did too many wondrous things for his mental health to simply go without.

Jaskier was tired of this semantic argument, and they’d only had it twice before. The first time Jaskier had called Geralt a friend, and the first time he’d called him his best friend. He was all too happy to turn the conversation back to the night’s contract, and years of living at an inn had him snatching away Geralt’s ale with barely a thought. There was work to be done, and drink made everyone slow, even Witchers.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jaskier dismissed, setting the ale gently on the dresser. “You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time.” You got involved in Stegobor’s petty squabble. You killed my mother. But that would bring the mood down and might give Geralt the wrong idea. Real friendship had taken two years for Jaskier to admit to himself, and sometimes hurt still festered, but hate? It had all but vanished at Dol Blathana, listening to Geralt bargain for his life. Listening to him reason with the elves, Jaskier suspected he got a peek into his mother’s last few days. He had to stop thinking about it. He pulled a joke out of his ass and let the conversation carry itself.

He had proven, via scorned lovers past, that he had a resistance to magic. It didn’t skirt away from him, not completely. But it was often less severe. However, a shockwave was a shockwave was a shockwave.

***

A djinn was not a shockwave. And he thanked his mother, and Melitele - even Lillit for that. Because he could feel the djinn on the edge of his senses. Drowned, trapped, shaken, fought over: tired and hellishly angry. He should’ve dropped dead, his throat burst open. But no. There was the taste of copper in his mouth and he could hardly force air in and out, but he was alive. Barely. Because the djinn had underestimated the force it would need. As his head began to spin and he clutched desperately at Geralt, his mind took a few funny turns. Renfri would be disappointed in the wish about Valdo. Not against the letter of the promise, but the spirit - Stregobor could definitely use murder-by-djinn against him. Would Renfri think it was funny if he died in Geralt’s arms, when she had met her end at his hands? And make no mistake, he was dying despite the djinn’s miscalculation: that was Roach’s back. Even after a decade, he still didn’t get to ride Roach unless he broke a leg miles outside town.

[Yenn POV of Jaskier definitely dying and coming back to life; deciding to make it her little secret???]

It was a spring snow, and Jaskier wasn’t dressed for it. He was pleasantly surprised when the puppy eyes he gave Geralt got a non-frowning eye roll. That was about as good as an exasperated laugh from Gina. Shortly afterward, Geralt had found a safe-ish cave, and Jaskier helped him to set up the campfire. Usually Geralt didn’t resort to an Igni to start a fire unless they were both running low on coin for supplies - better to have all his energy at his disposal if something came across them in the night. But the kindling was damp, and Jaskier was shivering. After the fire, Geralt rummaged around on Roach for a moment before producing a blanket to drape around Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier smiled at him.

For a while, there was only the sound of the whetstone as Jaskier warmed up. Once he felt a little better, though, out came Filavandrel’s lute. It had become something of a game over the years, to try to make Geralt’s sword-sharpening his metronome. He plucked mindlessly in time to the sound, his eyes only half-focused. Renfri’s brooch caught the light as Geralt worked. Jaskier didn’t even realize what he was playing until Geralt stopped, looking downright alarmed. Well, for him.

“Are you hurt?” Geralt demanded. Jaskier frowned at him. The change in his face meant he felt the tear tracks. Then, he realized what he’d been playing. He clamped his fingers down on the fret board, strangling the notes.

“Fuck. No.” Jaskier wiped roughly at his face. “I...didn’t think I still knew that.” He focused on his instrument.

“Do you...not want to talk about it?” He supposed it made sense for Geralt to be unsettled - he did usually tell Geralt about all his woes. He’d just kept him away from the serious ones, the old ones, so far.

Jaskier swallowed. He unfolded his hand and slowly began to play again. “Little Viscount Dandelion,” he sang. “It’s time to rest your head. Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to eat your bread.” He hummed a little. “Little lord, oh little lord.” More humming. “Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to comb your hair. Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to cut through air.” It was five lines, at best. How was he crying again? Why couldn’t he go on? Renfri had stretched it out as he grew up. The first couplet had been easy. But as she’d wanted him to do more than go to sleep or to eat his dinner without a fuss, rhymes had gotten harder. He’d helped her rhyme them, and she would sing it while he laid down to sleep, or while she combed his hair. Sometimes she would teach him to fight to it. “‘S just a silly kids’ song.” Jaskier said thickly.

“Nothing silly about something that makes you think.” Geralt looked down at his sword, his thumb skimming across the edge of Renfri’s brooch. Jaskier couldn’t stop staring at it now. Geralt must have caught his line of sight. “Even you’ll think less of me if I tell you where this came from.”

“No, I won’t.” He didn’t mean for his voice to be so low, so mournful. And the sincerity had to be confusing.

“I killed the woman it belonged to.”

“In Blaviken?” He was relieved it sounded like a guess. Geralt grunted in grave affirmation.

“It’s from Creyden, I gathered,” Geralt continued.

“Princess Renfri’s.” Please, just let his voice not sound funny to Geralt.

“Not a Princess after what Stregobor[‘s meddling got her stepmother (to do)]did to her.”

“I imagine not,” Jaskier murmured. His hands clenched around his lute. Sometimes he wished his mother hadn’t told him about the man who sired him. But she had never, not even once, held it against him.

“You should sleep, Jaskier. It’s not going to clear up before tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he agreed in a whisper. He rolled out his bedroll and curled up as close to the fire as he dared. If he hummed Renfri’s song and cried himself to sleep, only Geralt and Roach could say so.

***

[mountain? Or just...skip the mountain, cuz it’s overdone and I don’t imagine much changes]

***

ST Jaskier stopped suddenly. Ciri noticed first and tugged Geralt to a stop. Jaskier turned on his heel and retraced several of his steps, stopping in front of a pair of [idle gossipers(?)].

“I’m sorry, couldn’t help but overhear.” He flashed them a quick grin so patently false that be even saw Geralt wince out of the corner of his eyes. “You said Gina of Oxenfurt’s in town?”

“Apparently she knew Jaskier before Toss A Coin. She keeps tryin-a find him, she said.”

“Right, right. Who did you say she’s with?”

“Ffffffrida,” the other one said slowly, far too drunk for so early in the afternoon. “Of Let-something.”

“Lettenhove?”

“Hey, yeah!” They frowned then. “Did you need to talk to them?”

“Would help, yeah.”

“Right. They’re at the market,” the first one declared. The other frowned.

“No. The [otjer place]”

Jaskier’s heart roared in his ears as they fought, and he charged out to go looking himself. Gina wouldn’t let just anyone use Lettenhove - she knew what it had meant to Renfri, the pretend city she’d given him because she could. Jaskier snarled as a hand landed on his shoulder, and he prepared for a fight.

“Which one were you checking?”

“[place]

[Renfri back, bitches. I might prefer this pre-mountain tho idk. Best for Julian’s blood pressure if he finds her first instead s of Geralt finding her.] ST

*****

“Julian.” Jaskier froze. Then he nearly cursed himself out - there would be no denying after-the-fact that the name had anything to do with him. He stood there and clung to the strap of his lute, trying not to lose himself in swirling negativity. He turned, surprisingly controlled. He frowned at seeing it was Borsch.

“I prefer Jaskier.” Well, at least his voice stayed even. He tried to settle himself, putting his arms at his sides.

“Come with me, my boy. Didn’t you tell our companion you’d be getting the rest of the story?” His tone was complicated. He’d obviously noticed Jaskier had no intention of doing anything but going straight down the mountain, but there was a painful gentleness to his request. Jaskier followed just to shed the itch of vulnerability. He could hardly believe what he saw there [in the cave]. At least until he turned to speak to Borsch and fell flat on his arse with an undignified Yelp. Alright, then. Gold dragons. Rarest. That’s how he’d smiled like he knew better than a Witcher.

ST“I sought out the Witcher for a number of reasons. The first being that I have, on occasion, insights into the course of destiny. The second being the way your songs painted him. Destiny showed me a number of paths. And I may have guessed at the wrong one, given the knowledge of what occurred in Blaviken. But I heard your songs, and destiny told me of you. I am relieved I let faith dictate my choice.”

[dialogue I don’t wanna deal with hammering out at work]

[Borsch revealing the Jack Harkness thing “there are some creatures on this Earth who are not slated to meet their makers even should they fall to tooth, claw, or blade.” Etc; mentioning Deidre as an “aunt”, maybe suggesting Eskel assumes she’s dead as well and maybe he should fix that; intro of idea that Renfri would call other girls of the black sun his aunts]ST

STBorch didn’t speak, letting Jaskier stare, his mouth flapping soundlessly.

“You hired Geralt,” he eventually managed.

“Yes.”

“For - protection?” He guessed, face screwing up in a sort of frustrated confusion. ST

“Fuck!” It felt good to swear. It made the loss, the anger, the confusion, and the heartbreak feel less intense.

“The baby does have some understanding of the world, if you don’t mind.” Borch’s voice was terribly mild. Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut - he never was good at keeping it that way for long, though, not that Renfri or her men had ever minded. Gods, that was so long ago, now.

“No one’s called me Julian in thirty years.”

ST“Will you keep your promise to your mother, even now?” Borch asked, softer than Jaskier would’ve believed possible. Jaskier sighed, curling in on himself and covering his face.

“He would deserve it if I broke it.” His voice was dark and angry. A moment later, he curled deeper in on himself. “No, he doesn’t. That bastard.”ST

“With all that’s happened today, I think it is safest if you know something in advance, Viscount Pankratz.” Jaskier looked up furtively, trying to make sure no one heard. When nothing stirred, he fixed his gaze on Borch.

“There are some individuals in this world who are destined not to meet their makers until a god is satisfied with their work here. Wounds that should end them will not stick; substances that shouldn’t be inside them will be expelled one way or another; some days they will wake up and find that wrinkles they had the day before have retreated.” Borch looked at him. Jaskier frowned, a crease forming in his brow. “Many of Lilit’s chosen fall into that category.” The words settled slowly into his mind, his frown deepening.

“Not all of them?”

“Not all. But - some. Including your mother.” Jaskier’s breath hitched. Borch fell silent. It felt like Jaskier’s mind was racing, but he couldn’t have articulated one single thought on his mind. He scrambled to his feet.

“I have to -“ Where before he’d felt lost, his tether of twenty years cut, now he had new purpose. “Thank you. Sorry.”

“You’re very welcome. Take care, Jaskier.”

Jaskier babbled another goodbye as he raced to start back down the mountain.

***

[thing from receipt in work jacket pocket about Valdo discovering Gina isn’t Jaskier’s mother.]

“It’s what bards did at the Academy, make fun of each other,” Marx claimed. “It’s all in good fun, picking at your opponent’s mother. Nobody means what they say.” Geralt stated dubiously at Valdo Marx. Were students really that stupid? “We were at the inn - fairly traditional setting. Everyone knew it was where Jaskier was from, too. The regulars all knew him; Gina roped him into chores on the weekend. I was up first. I’d cultivated my set carefully. Nothing that might actually hurt Gina’s feelings.”

“But you were wrong,” Geralt rumbled. Otherwise, there’d be no story to tell - he’d learned that much from Jaskier.

“Found out when he put a dagger to my throat, and I was the one Gina kicked out over it. Gave me a lifetime ban, but... did me the courtesy of explaining, a few years back. It hadn’t been all that long, in the grand scheme. His mother had gone traveling and never made it back. It was a mistake,” Valdo insisted. “One anyone could make. Glad, in hindsight, that it was me, even if he still holds it against me.”

****

[Deidre and Jaskier meeting]

***

Vesemir was tucked into a shadow on the battlements. He was glad he’d been in the courtyard; inside, the stone might’ve blocked their voices. But he’d been hearing them for a while now, giggly and serious in turns.

“Whose idea was this? All this trouble and they’re not even likely to be home.” The man’s voice had turned from giggles to complaints the closer they drew.

“Mm. Yes. Terrible idea.” The woman sounded terribly amused.

“Fuck you.” His voice was light.

“Language!”

“Oh, fuck off!” He laughed.

“I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. It’s my right as an ‘aunt’.” Laughter, a pause. “How often were you mistaken for siblings?”

“Usually as soon as I opened my mouth and called her by her name instead of, y’know, Mum.”

“Figures.”

“Oh!” The man said after a beat of silence. “Oh, towers! Oh, thank fuck, this mountain is too damn tall.”

[more break in]

They were rather a motley pair as they stood before Vesemir. [Deidre] and the brightly-dressed man who was probably a bard, to be carrying his lute this far.

“Well, you see - sir,” the bard amended. Then he stopped. Frowned. “Where do I even start?”

“Your mother?”

“Bad decision.” He shook his head at her. “Too much, too fast.” He paused again. “Well.... A dragon told me to find my Mum because she didn’t stay dead. But it’s been thirty years and I didn’t know where to look. Ran into Deidre first. Mum always talked about other Black Sun princesses as sisters. I was interested. She heard me out. Have to say, the ‘Witcher’s child surprise’ thing gave me a headache. But when she told me it was a Wolf, well - I knew generally where Kaer Morhen is, and we thought it would be funny if we. Um. Dropped in. Especially since it’s Summer so the consequences are minimal.”

This bard knew too damn much. “Are you Jaskier, then?”

“Ah. I hoped it wasn’t quite so obvious.” Suddenly, tentative hope bloomed behind his eyes. “You’ve heard of me?”

[All Geralt talks about. Other princesses? ~~ Ah yes well no easy way to say this mine is one too. It’s Renfri. No, Geralt doesn’t know. About any of this. And please don’t tell him! well, you’re actually supposed to tell them all Deidre and her nephew came by, to make Eskel sweat, but - hand wring - don’t connect Jaskier and Julian in their heads, if you can avoid it?]

*****

Jaskier had a hand pressed to Roach’s neck as they walked. It was both easier and harder going this way than breaking in. He liked the directness of it, but he hated the cold. Ciri shifted on Roach and leaned down a little to fuss with the cloak Geralt had made him wear.

[Vesemir has found Renfri; reunions, identity confessions, etc...]

***

[hm. To mention all the ammo Stregobor could potentially have against him and then not having a Stregobor plot is about as distracting as an unused rifle on the wall.]

#fanfic #writing #the witcher #the witcher netflix #i have no book knowledge only fic osmosis #messy #but please take pity on me and read it anyway #i'd appreciate it #jaskier #renfri

21 notes · View notes

lesetoilesfous · 4 years

Note

fenders + "i'm okay. it's all fine." & "it's not okay! you're not fine!" from the angst prompt list 💖

Ooooh delicious delicious angst, anon you know what I like and I appreciate that. Thank you so much!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Anders/Fenris

Characters: Anders, Fenris

Tags: established relationship, elf racism, bigoted violence, everything is fine it’s just shitty people being shitty, Anders doesn’t understand why Fenris doesn’t care about this, Fenris’ bar for acceptable treatment is ‘is it slavery’, both of them need to adjust their boundaries, it’s cool they’re working on it

Rating: Mature

“You could have died.” Anders says, fingers glittering with blue light as he prods gingerly at the back of Fenris’ head. Fenris clenches his teeth with the familiarity of habit as the gesture sends a nauseating ache through his skull, and Anders purses his lips. A moment later, cool magic rushes into the wound like spring water, radiating painlessness where it touches Fenris’ skin. Fenris leans back into Anders’ hand, and for a moment Anders’ fingers curl around the back of his head, before he moves to examine Fenris’ shoulder. In the long grass of the field beside them, crickets chirp into the early evening. “I’m serious, Fenris. They could have killed you.”

Fenris sighs, sitting forward to let Anders prod at him, forearms falling loosely between his knees, feet bare and scratched on the track before him. “I had no idea you thought so little of me as a warrior.” Anders’ hand braces on his chest and Fenris stiffens, wincing as Anders relocates his joint. Another pulse of healing magic ripples through his body, taking the pain away almost as soon as it had begun. Fenris tilts his head back to look up at Anders as the other man steps around him to kneel on the dirt track at his side, long fingers deftly poking at his ribs. Fenris feels something shift, and presses his teeth together for a moment before adding, teasingly, “Perhaps we should hire a chaperone.”

Anders scowls, palm pressing against Fenris’ side, tickling with magic that envelopes his skin in eerie blue light. On the other side of the road, a pair of crows leap up out of the wheat field and into the lilac sky in a shout of feathers and a hoarse whisper of dry leaves. “This isn’t funny, Fenris.” There’s a tightness at the corner of Anders’ eyes, and a faint crease on his already faintly wrinkled brow, lines pulling down around the corners of his mouth as he glares at Fenris’ side whilst he coaxes his ribs back together.

Carefully, Fenris sits forward, curling his body to avoid jostling Anders’ hand or his broken ribs. He lifts his hand off the dusty track and presses it, gently, firmly over Anders’ - the one not currently occupied with magic. “I’m alright, mage.” The word curls on his tongue as sweetly as any endearment, and Anders’ lips twitch in an answering smile, though the frown doesn’t leave his expression. Fenris curls his fingers around Anders’, interlacing them. “It’s fine.”

Finally, Anders finishes with his healing, slumping a little as he does so and ignoring Fenris’ concern as he sits back and pushes his hand up through his hair. Blue sparks of magic fall jumping across his head. Fenris breathes, and feels the sudden absence of the bruising ache that had been squeezing his lungs. He presses Anders’ hand, opening his mouth to thank him. Anders gets there first, a light wind pulling his hair across his stubbled jaw and cheek.

“It’s not alright. It’s not fine. Fenris, if I hadn’t - if they had -” Fenris squeezes Anders’ hand firmly, pulling back from the stuttering spiral of his thoughts before he can drag them both down into it. Further up the road, twelve human bodies lie cooling on the road behind the inn in which they’d been staying, bleeding into the dirt. Above them the first stars of the evening glimmer in the purple sky.

“But it didn’t.” Fenris says, firmly, pulling Anders’ hand into his lap and shuffling closer. “And thus we live to see another day.” He tilts his head, thumbs running over Anders’ knuckles. “This is...not like you, mage. Did they do something to you? Say something?”

Anders’ frown returns with a vengeance, pulling his face into a mess of wrinkles as deep and crooked as crumpled paper. “It’s not about me.” He pulls his hand back, sharply, and Fenris lets it go and tries to ignore the sudden ache in his chest at the absence of it. When Anders leans forward, his expression is fierce. “Doesn’t this bother you? They would have killed you! They were going to beat you to death. For what? Because you’re an elf?”

Anders’ voice is loud in the quiet of the night, and in the stables behind the inn one of the horses huffs, the sound carrying over the empty road. Fenris frowns, checking their surroundings with the quick practice of habit for any eavesdroppers before he replies. Over their heads, the sky has begun to darken, and further up the road the inn spills yellow light onto the fields.

Fenris shrugs, trying to pull the mage back onto more familiar territory as he smiles. “I believe they said something about my strange tattoos.”

Anders doesn’t smile back. “This isn’t funny, Fenris.”

Further down the road, the trees whisper over the swaying fields. Fenris frowns, and tries to ignore the warm pressure of his own growing frustration, getting easily to his feet and dismissing the burning squeeze of the lyrium in his calves and thighs as he does so. “What do you want me to say, Anders? They were ignorant fools, nothing more.”

Fenris bends to help Anders to his feet as he shits onto his stiff knee with a grimace. The mage weighs more now - with muscle and Fenris’ insistent reminder that he observe anything approaching a regular meal schedule. But Fenris still lifts him with ease. Anders’ hand moves to squeeze his arm in silent thanks before he continues, stooping to pick up his staff from the gravel-strewn dirt. Together, they begin to walk in the direction of the inn.

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

Fenris shrugs, picking up his sword from further up the road and swinging it back over his back. “The madness of fools? No.” He pauses, turning to where Anders is standing and staring at him, tall and stark against the ocean of wheat at his back that rolls towards the horizon. The wind pulls against the fields, tugging Anders’ hair about his face and bringing with it the sweet smell of the swaying crops. Fenris steps back towards his lover, away from the bodies in the dirt. “Does it bother you?”

Anders frowns, shaking his head, “No. I mean, yes. I don’t know. I just -” Anders stops, and Fenris can barely make out the subtle movement of him working his jaw as they begin to walk again.

Fenris counts the steps whilst he waits for Anders to continue - one, three, five - when he hits seven he prompts, gently, “You just?” Lightly, Fenris bumps his shoulder against Anders’ arm as they walk, and Anders looks down at him with half a smile before it falls away.

Anders’ staff thocks lightly against the hard-packed earth as they walk, and he frowns at it as they get closer to the inn, the sound of music bleeding slow and muffled through the thick stone walls. When Anders speaks, he does so so quietly that Fenris has to strain to hear him. “I just hate that people see you like that. That they treat you that way. And I don’t understand why it doesn’t seem to bother you.”

Fenris shrugs. “They’re not slavers.” Anders opens his mouth, but Fenris catches him before he can speak, holding up one hand. The lyrium in his skin glows a dull blue-white in the dark. “Let me finish?” Anders’ mouth clicks shut, and he nods, pursing his lips. Fenris reaches down to take his hand and squeeze it, once. Distantly, over the fields on the other side of the inn, a fat full moon rises silver in the hazy blue sky.

Fenris stares at it for a moment whilst he tries to collect his thoughts. “I have never known a world in which I was a free or equal citizen. For the majority of the life I remember, freedom was...an abstraction. Equality was not even an impossible dream. It simply did not exist. I had very low expectations when I fled Tevinter. I hoped that I would escape a life of chains and I did, largely. I hoped that I would find a world free of magic and its influence.” Fenris’ hand tightens around Anders’ long, slightly crooked fingers. “I found different corruption.”

Fenris pauses, feeling the light summer breeze slip under his hair and skate across the nape of his neck. “I didn’t...My expectation was nothing. Less than. I remember...” He stops, “I remember, when I first came into Nevarra. There was a woman - human - Anthea, I think her name was. She saw me on the road, and brought me home, gave me a blanket and fresh clothes, cider and rabbit pie. I thought.” Fenris stops, mind filling with the vivid, twisted memory of what he had expected from her, in repayment for such improbable kindness. Anders watches him quietly, eyes almost black and unreadable in the growing dark. Fenris shakes his head, as if that will dislodge the memory from his mind like an unwanted cobweb.

“I don’t know what I thought. But she wanted nothing. She would take no payment or labour. She gave me 20 copper pieces, and directions to the nearest town.” Twenty feet away, the door to the inn swings open, spilling noise and light into the night like a thunderbolt. Both of them fall silent, watching a pair of drunkards stumble laughing onto the track, arms slung over one another’s shoulders as they trip back towards their home. Fenris feels his mouth curl into a smile. He turns back to Anders. “You have to understand. My expectation of people, of humans, is ... less than nothing. Men like them -” Fenris tilts his chin in the direction of the distinctly scorched corpses “- they’re exactly what I expect. They make me angry, but they don’t surprise me.”

Fenris steps forward then, off the track and onto the grassy dip of the bank on which Anders is standing, between the road and the field. He lifts the backs of his knuckles to the side of Anders’ face, uncurling his fingers against his temple. “But sometimes, improbably, a human surprises me.” Fenris lifts his other hand to cup Anders’ cheek, gently. It’s cool in the night air. “I would rather spend my energy on joy, than fury at an injury I had expected anyway. I have grief enough with humanity to fill a lifetime. I should like to rebalance it with care.”

Far off, in the trees above the fields, the soft hoot of an owl falls like cotton into the night. Anders sighs, and turns to press a kiss to the heel of Fenris’ palm. “Have I mentioned recently that I’m in love with you?”

Fenris laughs, softly, and squeezes Anders’ cheek. “You could stand to do it again.” He grins, “I nearly died, you know.”

Anders rolls his eyes, even as his hands fall to Fenris’ armour and he pulls him closer. “Shut up, Fenris.”

Fenris grins against his lips, and turns his head to brush a kiss against the corner of his mouth, getting on tiptoes to murmur in his ear. “Never.”

Above their heads, a thousand stars fill the glittering sky.

#dadwc #fenders #fenris #anders #da2 #anon #my fic

50 notes · View notes

soyeahitsmiddleearth · 4 years

Text

Multi-Dimensional pt. 1

The Company x Reader

I would love more parts of this tbh. But I would also love a scenario just like this but involving The Company??? Maybe? If you feel up to it. __In reference to the fellowship one I recently posted.

Living on a farm kinda far from other people was a very conscious decision.

It’s not like you just up and left and decided to do it on a whim or anything, this was calculated carefully and planned accordingly.

There are two very important reasons why you chose to live a bit further from the neighborhoods, semi-rural if you will, and these two reasons include; A. your desire to have as many animals as you want, and B. not wanting to deal with BS constantly in a crowded neighborhood or apartment complex.

It’s not that you dislike people or anything like that (though you do like animals more), but being surrounded by them 24/7 isn’t something you much like.

Now one may wonder; how do you manage to afford an updated country house with multiple animals as well as yummy home-cooked meals and other leisure’s?

Well, the answer to that is quite simple.

Not all of the animals are actually yours.

You’re an animal sitter/trainer. And not just any animal sitter, but one with a degree and huge amounts of land and access to numerous pet care supplies. You have a friend, a very good friend, who owns a share of a large scale farm and pet care grocery chain, so you literally get everything for either half the price or literally free. And your rates as a pet sitter with a degree and previous experience are freaking massive.

Like, up to $25/hour maximum, massive. For multiple days, and sometimes a week.

Saying you’re loaded is an overstatement, but very well off suffices.

Anyways, you live pretty simply. You take care of your animals, go out around the city and have someone watch the house, eat some good dinner, and just… relax.

It’s never lonely when you’ve got so many excellent animals to keep you company, or at least, not really. Sometimes you do wish you had someone else to share your life with, someone to talk about things with (who will actually respond) and to hold you and tell you everything’s okay when things are going bad…

Damn you want a boyfriend, one that’s the complete opposite of your last one.

“Maybe he was the best I could do…” You grumble, then slap the sides of your face, “No… no, don’t think that. If I’m meant to be in a relationship, my future love will simply teleport into my living room *I stole this from a funny tweet* . Otherwise, I will remain single. Like my dogs, kinda…” You grumbled to yourself last night before you went to bed.

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that, because when you wake up that next morning in your pile of fur (2 dogs and 3 cats) and head downstairs to begin your morning feeding ritual, you’re met with the sight of 14 dudes sprawled about in your immaculate living room, getting mud on your carpet and… are those weapons?

Be careful what you wish for, I guess.

If this was meant to be a robbery attempt, then they butchered it horribly.

You turn and go into your kitchen and put multiple kettles on the stove, intending to just make… all of the tea in your cupboard.

When your two puppies came trotting down the stairs after you, you walk about out of the kitchen and watch them, and the moment they catch wind of the pile of men in your house they are on alert. You attempt to stop them from running over, but they are already sniffing around them and pawing at their faces curiously before you can so much as call their names.

“Good God, why can’t I just have a normal day?” You mumble to yourself, inching over slowly when your fluffy brown and white floofer Yeti, literally, sits on a very small blond man. And then you realize, they’re all kinda small. Or short, thicc👌if you may, since they are more buff and not fat (not all of them at least).

Your other dog, Copper, continues to sniff around (ever the paranoid pup, good boy) but eventually goes back to you instead of trying to suffocate that blond dude.

When you’re sure they’re still out-cold, you return to the kitchen and scrounge up 14 mugs and glass cups and get the tea steeping, sighing as you search your cupboard for something to put out. Damn it if they were planning on robbing you at… ax-point, then you’re going to be so freaking hospitable and generous that they’ll regret even thinking of it (realistically you’re not worried because Yeti and Copper can definitely eat them whole).

Eventually, you find some platters leftover from a party you were invited to a few days ago (you got to keep the leftovers), so you bring them out to the coffee table near where they’re hanging out and just set it out, then return to the kitchen in shifts and bring the mugs out two or three at a time (three if you’re feeling especially daring). Pretty soon everything is out, so you then decide to take the weapons you have immediate access to and hide them.

Of course, your definition of ‘hiding them’ is putting them all on your love seat and covering it with a blanket.

You assume they probably have more hidden in various places on their bodies and under their clothes, but you’re not gonna even consider taking those.

Once you’re 100% done with your anti-robbery check-list, you lay down on your couch with your feet facing them and begin to read the book you left on your coffee table the night before.

Right when you begin to wonder if any of them are even alive, some begin to groan and move around sluggishly.

You hear a couple worried 'Bilbo?’s’ and someone say either 'kill’ or 'Kili’, so you get up and retreat to your kitchen in case they get violent.

Someone screams muffled-ly and you assume the blond guy has awakened.

As soon as the guy screams most of them jump to their feet and begin to look around wildly, and you duck beneath the counter and peek out from the side nervously.

“Where is my ax!?” Someone yells with an accent.

“What in Mahal is sitting on Bilbo?!” Another yells.

“Master Baggins!"

"Is that food?"

Everything goes quiet when someone yells about the food, and then there’s some shuffling and rustling of plastic and Yeti comes trotting into the kitchen. A triumphant smirk settles on your face, and you slowly stand and see that they’re all standing and looking down at the coffee table.

"Is this for us?” The small blond man who Yeti seemed to like, asks.

You decide now is the time for your dramatic entrance. “Yes, it’s for you.”

At the sound of your voice, they all whirl around and look at you with wide eyes, pushing the same small blond behind them as they reach for the hidden weapons you knew they had.

You don’t say anything.

“You didn’t even search us properly!” One of the taller brown-haired ones exclaims, oh he’s kinda cute, with a smug smirk on his face.

Okay, wow that’s insulting. He’s definitely insinuating that you’re dumb, definitely. “Excuse me, I know very well that you had stuff in your clothes, but I didn’t much like the idea of invading your personal space."

Now you get confused looks and no response.

"Besides, I took all your big weapons and I know that they must’ve meant something to you. I’ll hold them hostage if you try to rob me."

More confused looks, then a raven-haired guy, the one who pushed the blond behind them, speaks up, "Where are our weapons?"

You resist the urge to look over at the horribly hidden pile of swords, daggers, single bow, and axes under the blanket on your love seat and state, "I’ve hidden them somewhere you’ll never find them!” You yell, “You can tear this house apart brick by brick and you’ll still never find them! I’ve put them somewhere so-”

“It’s under that blanket, isn’t it?” A blond guy with a braided mustache asks.

You take a pause and look over to exactly where he’s talking about.

It’s completely silent for about 30 seconds until you realize you should probably deny it.

“…No."

Yeah, there’s literally the hilt of a blade and the bow sticking out from under it.

Some of them seem more amused than alert now, and you realize you’ve succeeded in making them see you as not a threat.

You clear your throat awkwardly, and look away from the blanket, "L-Lets not read too much into that. What’s really important here is that you are literally the worst robbers I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.” You glare at the lot of them before a big smile suddenly spreads across your face, “Oh! I got you snacks by the way, and my name is Y/N.”

A couple of them exchange weird looks, probably because you’re totally psyching them out, and you can tell they’re beginning to question your sanity. And that’s where they go wrong, because once they know your name and grow attached, then there’s no way they’ll be able to hurt or rob you.

The raven-haired dude, he seems to be the leader of this operation, steps forward, “We are no robbers.” Is all he says as if that clears everything up.

“Um, then why are you in the middle of my house? Seems pretty robber-y from where I’m standing."

He purses his lips and looks at you intensely as if he’s trying to stare you into submission, but you will not be intimidated.

"No excuse, then?” You ask.

He sighs quietly when he realizes, ultimately, that you’ve got a point. “Truthfully, I have no memory of how we got to be here.” The half-man pauses to collect his thoughts, then continues, “I don’t know where we are, nor do any of us. This place is foreign and everything is odd… and new."

You tap your foot a couple of times and cross your arms over your chest, not really believing it but also not-not believing it since they are rather peculiar.

"If you’re not robbers then tell me something only a not robber would say!” Getting them to underestimate you is key.

You get more weird looks and some of them actually laugh, bingo, before the same guy speaks again, “We… we’re not going to rob you?"

For a few moments, you pretend to deliberate over what he said, then nod, "Well damn, why didn’t you say so before?” Some tense shoulders relax, then you continue, “Anywaaayyys, I made tea and that blond fellow in the back looks kinda skinny so help yourselves to the platters I’ve set out. Oh, yes, also I hope none of you are afraid of dogs, cats, snakes, turtles, or small rodents because they’re literally everywhere."

"Are you not being too hasty in accepting us into your home?” The black-haired dude asks slowly, looking around at the rest of the people around him.

Yes, he has a point you know, but there’s something that tugs at your heartstrings when you look at this disheveled group of short men. Their eyes are sunken and tired with bags big enough to cost you extra on a flight, they are dirty and some of them a bit bloody, they look so hungry, and there’s just a horrible exhausted and negative haze settled over the lot of them. They just look so damn pathetic and sad, and god that small blond and the brown-haired pretty guy look like sad little puppies-

It then occurs to you that they are, essentially, strays, and that thought softens your hard outer-shell.

You have to help them.

You let a smaller smile upturn the corners of your lips as you say a bit quieter and more serious, “Maybe I am. I don’t know who you are or if you’re telling me the truth, but even I can see that something isn’t right here. You all look tired and hungry, a-and if I turn you away knowing something’s wrong, what kind of person does that make me?”

You’ve done it plenty of times with dogs and feral cats before, and they can be just as dangerous.

It seems that they’re all listening to what you have to say, so you go on, “I have the means to help and Yeti has taken to your blond man-child,” you gesture to your fluffy boy who is pawing at said guy in search of head pats, “And… something in my heart is telling me that I shouldn’t send you away.” You tap your fingers against your elbow a couple times, then say softly, “Please don’t make me regret it…"

There are a few moments of silence before the person you were talking to responds again, "We will try to cause no trouble for you."

You nod your head and turn to go back into the kitchen, whistling for Yeti and Copper to come follow you. "I’m going to be out for 10 minutes, don’t cause trouble.” Leaving them by themselves is the ultimate test of how trustworthy they are, and you’ll only be just outside feeding the animals so you can hear everything.

“We won’t."

You’ll have to see.

320 notes · View notes

gay-otlc · 3 years

Text

Monsters- Chapter ב

Previous chapter

Summary (changed from last time btw): Eyphah has monsters in hir head. How much do the monsters have to control hir life before ze becomes the monster?

Content warnings: OCD/intrusive thoughts/trich, religion, cursing, low self esteem, violence, lmk if I need to add anything.

Playlist (if anyone’s curious)

Word count: 1762

“Monster,” ze whispered to hirself again, as ze walked through hir door. Ze swallowed and put on a fake smile. “Shoshanah! I’m home!”

No response.

Heart thundering, Eyphah rushed across the hallway and up the stairs, footsteps echoing loudly. “Shoshanah!” ze yelled again, ripping the door open. The lights were off, bed empty, sheets slightly ruffled. Hir eyes flicked around wildly until they fell upon a sheet of paper resting on the nightstand.

Eyphah exhaled, grabbing it.

Eyphah-

I know you get worried when I’m not here, so sorry to worry you, but I had to fill in for Yakov at the hospital. I won’t be home until late, so you can have dinner without me. I’m alright and I love you!

Love,

Shoshanah.

“Fucking idiot,” Eyphah muttered, setting the note down and rubbing hir temples. Why did ze have to freak out every time Shoshanah didn’t answer immediately? Why did the monsters in hir head have to fill it with images of Shoshanah lying in her bed, unable to move, dying before hir eyes- or already dead.

And ze was still fucking anxious. “She’s okay,” ze muttered again, shaking hir head. Hir eyebrows itched. A lot, like the fear of stabbing someone with hir sword and finding Shoshanah dead had all physically manifested in hir left eyebrow, needing to be extracted from hir body.

Ze pulled.

And pulled again.

And then wrapped hir hands behind hir back and sat on them, determined not to pull again.

And pulled again.

“I fucking hate you!” ze yelled at hirself. Frustrated, ze stood up and grabbed hir notebook, opening it to the most recent page.

Reasons I don’t want to die:

I want to learn the new sword move.

I love Shoshanah

Shoshanah loves me

Maybe I’ll find a new ahav

No babka when you’re dead

NO RUGELACH WHEN YOU’RE DEAD!

The thought makes me feel sick

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die

Eyphah remembered writing that. Ze’d been baking; latkes, was it? It was Tammuz; last month, and one of the summer ones, but ze hadn’t wanted to let the wrong season stop hir from enjoying latkes. The rest of the memory was a bit blurry. Ze opened up hir drawer to get a spatula and flatten the latkes, but hir gaze fell upon a knife.

Ze imagined grabbing the knife instead of the spoon.

Ze imagined quickly thrusting the knife into hir chest.

Ze imagined bleeding out on the floor, Shoshanah coming to discover hir body and screaming.

Eyphah hadn’t opened that drawer since, nor had ze baked.

It was sad. Ze used to love baking.

Baking and sword fighting; those were hir favorite things to do for fun, but the monsters in hir head made hir terrified of that. What would happen next? Would ze have to avoid Shoshanah, someone she liked to do for fun as well?

Do you even love Shoshanah? Or are you just her ahav out of pity?

“SHUT UP!” ze screamed, and wrote down ten reasons ze loved Shoshanah.

The way she bites her lip and looks down when she finds a joke funny but doesn’t want to admit it’s funny.

Her kisses. She tastes like strawberries.

The way her eyes light up when someone calls her a girl.

The little twirl she does when she wears a dress.

Her singing voice for Havdalah prayers.

Her determination to help others.

When she talks about picking her name and has this sweet little smile on her face.

The way she flaps her hands when she’s happy.

How her hand fits in mine perfectly.

Her laugh, like sunlight.

When Eyphah was thoroughly convinced ze actually loved hir ahav, and wasn’t just faking it and toying with her feelings out of some sick sadism, ze threw the notebook down and paced across the room, trying to release the nervous energy bubbling up inside hir.

Normally, when ze had this buzz of energy, ze tried to get it out by practicing with hir sword. But that wouldn’t work now, would it?

Convenient.

Until hir stomach rumbled, ze had no idea ze was hungry, but ze gratefully accepted the distraction of going to get food. Ze was good at baking, but terrible at cooking, and ze hated using the stove anyway- too big a risk ze’d set something on fire. Bagels, maybe? Shoshanah bought bagels yesterday, and they should have at least a few left. No cream cheese, though; ze’d have to use a knife for that.

Eyphah focused on the motion of hir legs, lifting one up and swinging in front of the other, over and over again, until ze reached the kitchen, because otherwise ze’d get too lost in hir own head to move.

Even without cream cheese, the bagels tasted pretty good, and ze ate them quickly. After reciting the birkat hamazon, the sound of hir voice stopped echoing through the house, and it fell silent. Ze was just alone in here, and it was dark out, and there was nothing stopping the monster in hir from taking over.

Maybe ze should go out into town? Ze hated being around people, always had, and ze was probably a danger to them, but maybe it would be better than being alone in this empty house. Eyphah shifted hir weight on the chair as ze thought, and even the creaking seemed to whisper monster at hir.

It was official, ze had gone insane, and Eyphah needed to get out of this fucking house.

After pausing just long enough to leave a note for Shoshanah- Shoshana didn’t worry like ze did, she probably wouldn’t need it, but maybe it would be nice- ze changed into a cleaner shirt, short sleeved and white like before, but not covered in imaginary blood stains. Then, ze left the house and decided to walk to the jewelry store, hoping to get hirself a new magen david necklace.

It was raining lightly outside, the sky clouded over with grey so ze couldn’t see any stars. Disappointing. Other than that, Eyphah didn’t mind the rain much; sure, hir hair was getting wet, and hir scalp where ze had a bald spot, but it felt kind of nice. Calm. Ze could almost imagine that the rain was washing away all the evil that lived inside hir.

Almost.

Slowly, ze breathed and focused on the noise of hir shoes clicking against the pavement, of the rain gently pattering on the windows of the stores surrounding hir. It had been such a long time since ze just focused on what was going on in the world around hir. Most of the time, ze was too caught up in hir own head, obsessed with the past or dreading with the future. Eyphah let hir eyes linger behind hir a little too long, or narrowed hir vision on the world ze was hurtling into, and and never took the time to look around.

It wasn’t so bad.

Ze ran a finger through hir damp hair, making it look a little more presentable, before walking into the jewelry store. Was it even open this late? Maybe ze should have checked that first. But the lights were on, and loud voices flooded the building, and there were people in there. It felt much warmer than hir empty house.

“Eyphah! Shalom!” someone called, and ze started a little, not having expected to be welcomed. It was easy to forget people liked hir, when ze struggled with liking hirself so much.

Ze waved, responding with “Hey, how’s it going?” Hopefully, if ze initiated a conversation, whoever called hir name would come closer to hir and ze would figure out who it was. Their voice wasn’t instantly recognizable.

They did, in fact, come closer; Chaim, Eyphah remembered. They had been extremely close as children; he had done an aliyah at hir B’nai Mitzvah a few years ago, and while they hadn’t spent as much time together recently, they were still good friends. Eyphah smiled a bit.

“Pretty good,” Chaim said, grinning. He was usually grinning, his slightly crooked teeth showing and dark eyes lighting up. His hair had gotten longer since the last time ze saw him, dark and curling around his warm, copper colored face. “I’m getting a boat soon, finally. I’ve been saving up for years.”

“That’s great! I’m really happy for you!”

“Yeah, I leave in a few weeks, but I’ll be sure to write. How about you, anything interesting going on?”

Eyphah tugged at hir hair, a few strands coming loose. Chaim must have noticed the bald spots, wider and more obvious than the last time they’d spoken a few months ago, but he was nice enough not to comment on it. Nothing very noteworthy had gone on in hir life recently, especially not something ze’d want to share with people.

“I’ve been working on sword fighting more often,” ze said finally, omitting how terrified ze was of hurting anyone. “Gotten pretty good at it.”

“Nice! Please don’t stab me though.”

That’s what I’m worried about. “Haha, I won’t,” Eyphah said weakly, clawing at the skin where hir neck sloped into hir shoulder and tearing it off.

Chaim took a step forward in line as whoever was at the front left. Eyphah followed. “A lot of people here, huh? I thought there’d be hardly anyone.”

“Tu B’av is coming up soon, I guess. A lot of people buying their ahavs jewelry.” Eyphah usually made Shoshanah a cake for Tu B’av; ze supposed ze’d have to come up with something else this year. Hopefully ze didn’t disappoint her.

“Right. Forgot about that.”

Eyphah nodded, shoving thoughts of disappointing Shoshanah out of hir head. “Are you here buying anything for your ahav?” ze asked, the corners of hir mouth turning up.

Chaim snorted. Eyphah had thought he would find that funny, considering he had never and would never love people like ahavs, the mere thought that he would was ridiculous. “I was hoping to get earrings, actually,” he said once he stopped laughing. “Lost my old ones.”

“Disaster,” ze teased.

“You’re one to talk, Mx. I got my hair cut because I burnt it cooking.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You love me, bitch.”

“I do.” Eyphah smiled again- a real genuine smile!- and leaned against Chaim’s wide frame. He made hir feel like a person. That was nice. Ze had forgotten what it was like to feel like a person, not a monster.

#shai's writing #shai types things #monsters #everyone is jewish wip #gonna rebagel with taglist #i love chaim btw #and he's aromantic #if that wasn't obvious

3 notes · View notes

dindooku · 3 years

Text

rating: E (swearing and violent themes)

word count: 6,572

tw - not explicitly said but can be interpreted as at suicide

And you thought that suddenly waking up on a planet in another Galaxy, only to be accompanied by a space wizard…a Jedi…was the greatest thing ever. Oh no… you were wrong. Granted, that was all great and everything, but it was no match for the fact that you were granted a lie in — a grand one at that.

You can’t remember the last time you let your body wake you up, not an incessant alarm clock or the hailing of bullets. It was weird, but definitely not un-welcomed.

You rolled over to face away from the wall, yawning and grumbling as the hands of sleep slowly lifted their trance. Slowly blinking open your eyes, you suddenly jolt up, remembering where you are, then crying out a curse at the now, new forming lump on the top of your head from the ceiling you’ve just head-butted. “Fuck—,” you mumble as you slowly roll out of bed, lightly rubbing your hand at the sore spot on the back of your head. You take a glance at your watch, 11:13 AM. Jesus, I really must've been tired. Placing your feet on the floor, you flex your toes and submit to the urge to stretch, grumbling again as the aches and pains of years of warfare click and pinch your body. You decide to wrap yourself up in the blanket Obi-Wan had given you as you trudge out into the front room.

But, it was empty, no sign of life. Surely Obi-Wan would’ve told you if he was going out, or leaving you? Either way, you make your way over to the fridge, hoping to find some scraps to munch on.

A sandwich catches your attention, and you quickly wolf it down without question. If it was Obi-Wan’s, you’d just make him another. He’d understand.

Peering around the room again, you test your voice, “Obi-Wan?” Nothing, “Obi-Wan, are you here?” Again, silence. Assuming he’s gone out, you decide it's probably best you get some fresh air, you’ve never been one for sitting around and doing nothing, so you quickly get dressed into a fresh set of clothes and head out into the temple.

Although you’d never been to a Monk temple or anything grandiose like that, you could only assume that this is what it would be like. The halls were quiet, but the occasional patter of footsteps or rage of children laughing broke the silence and tickled that sense of security that so deeply hides away in your chest. You aren’t used to being so…relaxed. For years your body has been on high alert, always assessing, reassessing, waiting for someone to attack you, to hurt you — yet here... you don’t even have to give defending yourself a passing thought. It’s just, completely and utterly calm, serene, balanced.

Before you know it, you’ve paced the halls for the last half hour and now you are stood outside some set of what appears to be... Dojos?

Glancing around again to make sure no one is watching, you gently place a hand on one of the doors, slowly edging it open. You chance a peek inside, but to your satisfaction, it is empty. You quietly step in, making sure not to make any noise as you close the door behind you. Stepping into the room, it is clear that it is some sort of training area, and upon further inspection your suspicions are correct. Around the edge of the room lay different pieces of equipment, which look like obstacles of sorts. You glance back around the Dojo, basking in the natural light that is pouring in through the high windows. The simple, creamy white walls are sturdy, but don’t feel overbearing, or claustrophobic — like before, it's just peaceful in here.

Letting your gaze roll over the room, you come across a cupboard in one corner. Making your way over, you make note of the soft floor beneath you, the cushiony fabric lightly hugging the soles of your feet, dreamlike. Reaching into the cupboard, you’re quickly met with the familiar array of weapons, although these are…different. Surrounding one edge, an array of combat and throwing knives sit comfortably among one another, along the other sits small staffs and odd-shaped objects you’ve never seen before. But in the middle sits a familiar sight, an odd, metal cylinder. Picking it up, you eye it for a second. It's constructed of metal and is about a hands length or two long. Along the bottom sits black, corrugated slats, and as you look up, a stainless steel-like tube makes up the main body to the top where it thins dramatically into a golden copper colour but is then fanned out into a large flat disk. In the centre of the cylinder, sits a red button. And, if you have ever learnt anything from horror or sci-fi movies, is that you should definitely not press the red button.

So what do you do?

You press the red button.

Instantly the room is filled with a violent blue and the electric hum of raw, static energy. The moment chills you to the bone, and the shock of such a marvellous, beautiful object stuns you. You absolutely, 100% could not have guessed that was what the red button would do. And, as if the inner child was pulling puppet strings within your mind, you slowly back up and wave the funny looking laser sword in front of you. The majestic hum of the blade tickles your eardrums, and you can’t help the intoxicating smile that is now riddling your face, scrunching at your forehand and around your eyes, the emotion of happiness and utter awe broadcasted by your innate reaction to such a feat of beauty.

You are transfixed.

But, you should know better, because as you turn around Obi-Wan is staring right at you — and he too is struggling to fight the fantastic grin gracing his face.

“So I see you’ve found my lightsaber,” he mutters.

“This..this is yours?” You whisper, still not taking your eyes off of the mesmerising blue blade.

“Yes, all Jedi have them, they’re called lightsabers. Unfortunately, I must ask for it back,”

“Yes, yes of course, sorry…I—I shouldn’t have touched it, I just, it—” you stutter out, trying to find a reason as to why you touched his stuff other than it looked cool.

“It’s quite alright, Darling, no need to panic,” he chuckles, reaching around you to switch it off so he could place it on his belt, “but I do believe we have some training to do, so…” he trails off, walking over to the cupboard to place the lightsaber back onto its stand, as well as removing his cloak, placing it neatly on the floor. He walks back over to you and places a hand on your shoulder. “Are you ok, my dear?” He asks, genuine concern now threatening to take over his grin.

“Yes…yes, I—I’ve just never seen anything like it. Its—,”

“Beautiful. I know,” he mumbles, giving your shoulder another tight squeeze to reiterate his point, “But, right now, I need to see you fight,” he says, quickly stepping back and getting into a ready position.

“…Fight, you want to, to fight me?” You ask, not quite sure whether he is joking or not.

“Yes, Dear. Loth-Cat got your tongue?” He chides, a smidge of sarcasm lacing his words.

Oh, ok, he wants to play.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” grinning back, you take a step back and calm yourself, standing broad and powerful.

“Hurt me? You could never, darling I’m a Jedi—”, But before he could finish his sentence, you’ve landed a nice, heavy thud of a kick to his chest, which sends his falling onto his back. That's odd, he thinks, I should be able to feel when she’s about to do something, I…what? Obi-Wan is visibly confused, and so you stop and crouch to the ground instantly, patting down his chest to make sure you weren’t too heavy-footed to start off with.

“I—I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” you say, panicking a little as you pat him down, checking for injuries or any broken bones.

“No—no, it’s me, I--I got distracted,” he mutters, still slightly put out at his inability to use the Force to predict your actions.

“No, I shouldn’t have—” but before you could finish, he’s gripped you by the ankles and is rolling you onto your back. Instantly you roll onto your front and scramble forwards, turning around as you both ready yourself into your respective fighting stances. Again, Obi-Wan lunged at you, but this time you dropped down, kicking your right leg out to trip him from behind. As he fell he grabbed your collar, bringing you down on top of him so that now you were straddling his hips. But, niceties aside, you were in full combat mindset and you were out to win — your body had trained for this for years, and every move was now muscle memory, you were practically a war machine now, designed and manipulated to kill.

So, you braced to the side, jumping back up again to the other side of the room. Obi-Wan followed suit, except — wait. His belt was gone, where…you had it. You had your right hand wrapped a couple of times in a loop, and your left was tightly gripping it as if it were a whip. And that's exactly what you intended to use it for.

Flicking your right wrist, you shot the harsh leather belt out, cracking it just a few centimetres away from the skin on Obi-Wan’s forehead, only then pulling it back, snapping it taut. The toothy grin that pinched at Obi-Wan's eyes didn't put you off like it should've, and instead had the complete and opposite effect, shooting a wildfire of intense heat surging to your core. You were enjoying this way too much, and by the looks of it... so was Obi-Wan, though he'd never admit it. So, you'd use this to your advantage, cracking the belt a couple more times, letting the buckle ting and snap at the pull of your wrist. It kept him at bay for a few moments, but only briefly. Eventually, he lunged forwards, aiming to land a punch as he bound towards you, but you twisted to the side, wrapping his wrist in his own belt. He twisted around, not hesitating to throw a punch to your right cheek. You should’ve expected that, you did just threaten to whip the man, but nonetheless, the thrill of a hard punch to your jaw woke you up. No stupid mistakes. The anger at your mistake was now bubbling, so you quickly wrapped the retreating hand he’d used to punch you into the belt, binding his wrists to yours. He let out a sarcastic chuckle as the realisation hit him — but so did you, both of you reaping the benefits of your...interaction. The smirk on your face grows a little wider now, the true fun only just beginning.

You shifted your weight harshly to the left, throwing him in a 180 to disorient and gain momentum. You then dropped to your knees, only to then twist and bring your entwined wrists above your head and then yanking hard, down over your right shoulder, bringing him onto his back; his head now facing you as his body was strewn away from your thighs. You quickly unwind his wrists, forcing the belt down over his neck to strangle.“Tiger got your tongue, Master?” The satisfaction in your voice over the play on words was clear. Oh, you loved proving people wrong, especially when they pretty much do it for you.

He gently patted your wrist to tap out, and you released him from the hold. Choking a little, he sits up and crosses his legs as he turns to face you, encouraging you to follow suit and do the same. You now both sat cross-legged opposite each-other, knees just lightly touching.

“Where did you learn to do that?” He asked, rubbing slightly at his neck, still grinning despite the discomfort.

“I—I had to learn it myself. In the army, you see, I was the only women in my training battalion, so I was always pitted to fight and train against men, who, if you take a look at me, were typically a lot larger and stronger than me — physically. So, to give myself a fighting chance, I had to play their weaknesses to my advantage,” you said, smiling a little towards the end.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan encourages.

“Well, typically the men would think that they’re going to win, simply because I’m a woman and they’re bigger or stronger than me, but I’m a lover of physics, so I used that to my advantage. They weren’t especially quick or agile, and often they relied on their brute strength to win fights — that's only so good if you can actually land a punch,” you say, harbouring an infectious smug grin as Obi-Wan realised what you were saying.

“Smart girl,” he says, returning your smirk with an equally fictitious grin of his own. And at the use of his words, you blush a little, ducking your head in an effort to hide your quite clear arousal at the specific concoction of praise.

“Yes, well, I figured if I could avoid their punches and use their own weight against them, the odds were in my favour, you could say I would have the high ground... So, like when I took your belt, I used your momentum against you, which A, — means you end up on the floor or out of place, and B, — I use minimal energy to do so, harbouring your efforts to suit mine. It’s all just simple mechanics, really,” you joke, but pleased with your explanation.

“Good…again,” Obi-Wan says. And with that, you both spend the afternoon training, learning from one another, morphing and smelting your own techniques with his, and vice versa, to a point where you were working in complete unison.

_____

“Master Kenobi, you’re needed immediately in the Council Room, it is urgent—,” comes a voice, a smaller younger creature of sorts as they burst into the training room, catching you both off guard. They’re panting as if they’ve just finished running a marathon.

“Yes, yes, of course, I’ll be there right away. Thank you,” he commands, instantly retrieving his cloak and lightsaber from the cupboard. You follow his movements with your eyes, waiting for his instructions. He walks to the door and is halfway out when he stops, turning towards you.

“Well, come on! We can’t leave them waiting!” He says, waving his arm in a beckoning way to hurry you up.

_____

“Skywalker, you are to accompany Master Kenobi and Amy to the Mid-Rim planet to resolve the escalating tensions,” says Mace Windu.

“Go, you will,” Yoda confirms.

“Yes Masters, although, are we sure it is safe for Amy to be travelling with us?” Anakin asks.

“Trained, is she not, Master Kenobi?” Yoda asks, turning his head towards Obi-Wan.

“Yes, she is. It was evident from our training today that her skill set is…unique, and I feel as though the 501st and 212th will greatly benefit from her direction and expertise,” Obi-Wan assures.

“What do you mean unique, Master?” Anakin mutters, not bothering to hide the smirk on his face. And if looks could kill, Anakin would be facing an early grave as the sharpened daggers of Obi-Wan’s glare was enough to puncture even the most protected of souls.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan starts, cursing the younger man with just the use of his name, “Amy is very skilled in combat, and I feel as though she has more to offer us than what we can offer her,” Obi-Wan punctuates.

“Yes, I am quite keen to see this style of fighting myself, Obi-Wan,” Mace says, rubbing his chin in thought, “Maybe even an incorporation of Vaapad could be organised,” He adds.

“I can ask, although I am sure there will be no objection, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan returns, nodding slightly at the offer. He knows Vaapad would be incredibly beneficial to not only your own fighting style but also that of Windu.

“Midichlorian count, know she does?” Yoda asks, changing the subject to something of more gravity.

“No, I—I have not broached that subject yet. Her energy in the force is something I have never experienced, Masters, as I am sure you can sense it too. I feel as though if we inform her of her abilities, we may not be able to offer the right support or, the fact of the matter being, we do not know what powers she does have,” Obi-Wan says gravely.

No one truly understands what is causing your disturbance in the Force to be so…unruly. They understand that the force is not necessarily embraced on Earth and that the human race is not Force-sensitive. But that does not explain your unique signature. It is not like the usual signature a Force-sensitive may harbour, which is outgoing and pure. Their signature reflects their emotion, their current state of mind. For Obi-Wan, it curls slowly in a smooth, milky cloud of crystalline and sea foamy blues, caressing his form with every breath. However, yours is almost…reversed. Like the light isn’t radiating out from you, but into you — as if you’re sucking in and absorbing the energy as you move. You’re not a vessel to the force, as one would normally expect, instead, you are a drain. And even though the Jedi are encouraged not to feel fear, it is unspoken among the Council members that their unease is not uncalled for. You are dangerous, unhinged, and they haven’t the faintest idea what to do about it.

“Talk to her, you must, important her understanding, it is — only problems it will cause, secrecy will. Trust you Obi-wan, she must,” Yoda says, and the council room is silent. Everyone is contemplating the potentialities of this arrangement, but if anyone were to calm and train the unpredictable nature that is Amy, then it is Obi-Wan; the great negotiator of the Republic.

“Yes, Master Yoda, I will see to it that we have this discussion. To add…what are we to do of her training? Must we teach her the way of the Jedi? She will have to face trials, and as we all know, she is not attuned to the Jedi way,” Obi-Wan asks.

“Hmm…” Yoda ponders, his ears dropping and his attention shifting elsewhere, deep in contemplation, “Meditate I will, future uncertain, it is,” He says. And with that, he bashes his stick to the ground and the meeting is adjourned.

_____

You’re waiting anxiously outside of the council chambers. You couldn’t necessarily hear what was going on inside, but the general energy was…stifling. It was tense, and more than one person was obviously displeased with the current situation. But, as the doors to the chamber swung open, it was quite apparent who was causing the tension.

Anakin and Obi-Wan storm off down one of the corridors, and though you know it is rude to spy in on conversations, you only wanted to see if there was any way you’d be able to help. That and the fact that you just couldn’t help yourself, the SAS recon training made your skin itch with the need to gather intel, so, you silently watched from afar, keeping enough distance to make sure they couldn’t see you, but just close enough so you could listen in.

“What kind of nonsense is this, she is not trained in the form of Jedi, she will get killed out there, Obi-Wan!” Anakin boomed, his frustration clear.

“She is more than capable of handling herself, Anakin, trust me when I say that she will not be easily intimidated,” Obi-Wan instructed, placing a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, bringing them to a halt just next to a pillar.

“Yes, Obi-Wan, I understand, but she has no idea what she is getting herself into, she’s from another Galaxy for Maker’s sake! Think master, if she is to come with us, she must know,” Anakin demands. Know what?

“Anakin, I know. I do not feel comfortable bringing her along with us on this mission either, but her skill set is unmatched - she has experience beyond her years and her expertise could be game-changing!” Obi-Wan pleads, shaking the hand that is gripping Anakin’s shoulder.

“Game-changing yes, but she isn’t a Jedi, Master—how can we trust her?” Anakin whispers, he knows he is asking dangerous questions, but he cannot rid the fact at hand, you’re dangerous, and he doesn’t want to trigger a chain of unfortunate events which, he feels, the two of them will not be able to control.

“Anakin, please, she must come with us. This is a test of sorts, we must see what she is capable of so that we can react accordingly. Keeping her locked up in the temple will not solve the problem, only make it worse. We must realise her potential before it becomes unhinged,” Obi-Wan mutters. Unhinged…potential? What are they on about?

“Master, with all due respect, I do not feel comfortable fighting alongside a ticking time bomb,” Anakin snarls, his brows furrowing at the idea.

“Anakin, I do not appreciate your tone. She is not as dangerous as you are making her out to be, your ill-received emotions will only make things worse. You must have faith in me, young one. We must trust in the Force, she was brought to use for a reason,” Obi-wan insists, lining his voice with a bit more force this time, making sure his point comes across.

“I suppose you’re right Master…but that doesn’t mean I am comfortable with this, she still has—negative potential,” Anakin whispers, removing Obi-Wan’s hand from his shoulder and turning to step away, “I just hope you’re prepared to do what is necessary if she were to Fall, Obi-Wan,” Anakin mutters before completely turning away and leaving Obi-Wan alone in the hallway. His shoulders slump, and you notice that this is the stance of a beaten, conflicted man.

Without wanting to startle him, you slowly make yourself known to the outside world as you cautiously step into the hallway, bringing Obi-Wan’s attention to you.

You can practically feel the tension rolling off of him, and if the look on his face didn’t say anything, you knew that Obi-Wan Kenobi was in need of a hug. You slowly strode up to him, maintaining the soft, but stern eye contact to make sure that he stood in place and just as you were within reaching distance, you grabbed him, pulling him into your arms and wrapping him tightly in your presence. You tucked your head into his chest and listened to the slowly decreasing beat of his heart. He tripped back a little, and a small gasp left his lips, but just as quick as he had moved back, he moved twice as quick into your embrace, tucking his head down and into your shoulder.

Obi-Wan knew this was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t be seeking console in others, and that as a Jedi he should release these feelings of anger and frustration to the Force, not rely on the comfort of others. But it just felt so good to be in your arms, and for you to be in his. He’d not felt the warmth of a hug in too long, and since Satine, he never trusted himself to ever let go if he found himself in one again — and he supposes now that he should have listened to himself because, as time slowly moves on, his resolve on letting go of you is quickly wearing thin. He chastises himself for being so open and flirtatious, for insinuating plainly devilish intentions, intentions he is not sure he will ever be able to allow to come to fruition, intentions he wants but knows he cannot get.

“Obi, talk to me,” and that just about cuts it. The sweet, muffled voice grabs him by the heart and corners him — the empty, hollow shell of his capacity to care and love others is now being forced open and the sand timer has started ticking. He knows now it’s not a matter of if, but a matter of when. And that realisation alone terrifies him. He can’t lose another, he can’t go through that pain again. Too many times has the sand vial been broken, and too many times has it been hurriedly repaired and glued together, only for the missing pieces to allow sand to trickle out and collect in pools, sinking into hollow feelings of despair and loneliness. But now, you’re here, and the tighter you squeeze, the less sand falls from his grip. And so, he understands, it’s you that is keeping him together, it’s you that is allowing his version of time to return to normal, to reverse the entropy of darkness threatening to consume his soul.

“I—I feel so conflicted Amy,” Obi-Wan mutters.

“I, I think you know what you need to do, and I think you know that you need to be a bit lighter on yourself, to trust your instincts a bit more,” you say, trying to reassure him that his feelings are not invalid, “Sometimes, Obi, following the rules isn’t always the right thing to do. We learnt this the hard way on Earth, we all flocked like sheep to cater the needs of those who demanded it, instead of looking at the bigger picture and fixing the problem at hand. You are a wise man Obi-Wan, and I have complete faith in whatever decisions you make, you must let go Obi-Wan, let go of the feelings that plague you so new ones can heal you,” And you punctuate your meaning by squeezing just that little bit tighter.

Obi-Wan sighs, you were right. He had to let go of those past feelings and focus on the bigger picture. Grieving is a natural part of life, but the whole purpose of grieving is to feel and let go. Holding onto the past will only suppress the future, and he knows what he must do, he knows what is right, he just hopes that he has the strength to do it.

You tug on Obi-Wan a little tighter again, before letting go. You move your head from his chest, but bring your gaze back up to him, holding onto both of his biceps, you sigh, “I’ve never been one for politics Obi-Wan, but I have spent my fair share working under those that rule. You have a choice in this, I did not have that luxury. Do what feels right, do what brings you comfort, do not sacrifice your own needs for the needs of others who would not return the favour to you. Sometimes... you have to be selfish.” You finish.

Obi-Wan lifts his head and just stares at you. Everything you said was exactly what he needed to hear, exactly what he’d been telling himself but refusing to believe. But, because the words came from you, unprompted and honest, he must do his duty and believe them. Yes, he must do what feels right. But what he feels right now is definitely not what he should be thinking, as his attention finds itself upon your lips.

He’s drawn like a ship in a Tracta beam, he can’t look away. He wants so badly to kiss you, to take that pretty mouth of yours for himself. He wants so badly to show you how he feels, to show his hidden, deep desires to seek pleasure in you.

And you gaze up at him, following his attention and realising that he too is thinking what you’re thinking. Your heart is practically soaring right now. Never have you fallen so hard for someone, ever. You are just under some sort of spell, both of you frozen in time and not wanting to crank the lever to start it back up again; like entropy has met its equilibrium.

That's when you find yourself leaning up, pushing slowly on your tiptoes to meet the invitation of his lips. Except you can't, because Obi-Wan has stepped back, and has decided that now of all times is to fiddle with his belt and reach into his pocket and turn on his communicator.

Hurt doesn’t even begin to cover it.

You get the hint. He doesn’t want anything to do with you. He just wants to wind you up, make you believe he wants you, and then leave you hanging, each and every time. Well, you’re not falling for it again. You know your way back to your quarters, and you know its best if you just leave without saying anything, making your way back to the privacy of your bedroom to seethe there.

But you don’t. You’re pissed.

“Fuck you.”

Obi-Wan freezes mid-conversation with Cody, who was just prepping the ship for departure tomorrow morning. His gaze cuts to you, eyes now alight with something you’ve never seen before, a darkened, slow-burning fire that all but fuels your own anger.

“Pardon?” Obi-Wan replies, sternly, almost inaudible. But you hear him all right.

“I said, Fuck. You.” And you punctuate each and every syllable.

“Excuse me, Cody” Obi-Wan says, and closes the top on the holo-projection, although his stare has not left yours throughout this whole interaction. Your heart is thumping now, to the point you fear it may actually pop out of your chest and run down the hallways due to the stress. But you're not backing down. You’ve been in some of the most dangerous, stressful situations one can imagine, and you didn’t back down then, so there's no way in hell backing down now. But, before you have time to counter, Obi-Wan has grabbed you by the arm and is hauling you down the corridors of the Jedi temple. You protest but punching and pushing at his grip — but its unrelenting, and the two of you just scramble against each other until you are yet again at the door to his quarters. The door slides open and he yanks you in, and just as the door closes you let all of your unbridled rage rear its ugly head. You twist out of his grip and kick him into the wall, bridging a few feet gap between the both of you. He recovers and goes to grab you again but you stop him dead in his tracks.

A feeling you’ve never felt before, something foreign, but…intelligent, alive, and very, very powerful. It's coursing through your veins now and it’s almost blinding you, and the familiar buzz of static clouds your mind and brings dark spots to your vision, but you hold out, you’re not done yet. You throw a hand out in front of you, splaying your fingers and forcing your palm in his direction, channelling all your anger and hurt in his direction, pushing him back up against the wall. Obi-Wan gasps as he is shunted back, the air in his lungs knocked out from the sheer blunt shock of your reaction.

Next, you grip your hand into a tight fist, and slowly begin dragging it towards you. Obi-Wan begins to choke, not from strangulation, but instead from the agonising pain of the force within him being torn and ripped from his control. You hold him there, in this complete state of distress, teetering on the edge of both yours, and his own self-control.

“Don’t ever touch me like that again, do I make myself clear?” You growl, your voice wavering and flickering a harrowing tale of hurt and anger.

“Y—yes…” Obi-Wan breaths out, struggling against the lingering pressure on his chest.

“If you don’t like me, Obi-Wan, stop leading me on. It is cruel.” Snarling this time, your emotions twist into excruciating hurt, the power you harbour intensifying and magnifying the bleeding ache of rejection.

“It's not that I do—don’t like you…I—Jedi are not…attachment is forbidden” he chokes, and just like a switch, the rage dims and Obi-Wan drops to the floor, gasping for air. He clutches his chest, but the pain is not the lack of oxygen, but more so the sudden influx of the Force surging back into his body. Like pins and needles in a leg, or a cramp, the feeling that returns is not unwelcome, but it is painful to say the least, even if it be temporary.

And that's when you realise what exactly you’ve just done. The guilt is unparalleled. It doesn’t matter if it is forbidden or not, it's the fact that he said no, he pulled away, and that your initial reaction was to act like a spoilt child and throw a tantrum, a dangerous, uncontrollable tantrum. The rage from before has slowed its pace, and now the heavy, leaded guilt sinks you to the ground. You have never reacted like this before. You’ve always had a close relationship with anger, but you’ve never let it rule you; normally you would embrace it and use it to your advantage, only to let the emotion slip away when the time had passed. But for some inexplicable reason, the moment he rejected you, you saw red.

“I—I’m, sorry, Obi-Wan, I’m so—sorry, I don’t know what that is, I’m so so sorry, please—,” You mutter out, still stuck in place. You gaze down at your hands and flex your fingers. Never have you done anything like that. But that isn’t your main concern right now, Obi-Wan is. You did this, this was your fault, now fix it. “Please, let me help you, I—I didn’t—,”

“Darling, it's ok, just, please…manage your emotions. I feel I am partly to blame for this too, I—I must explain myself,” Obi-Wan assures as he pushes himself up off the ground, brushing down his garments as a nervous response to the tricky situation he now finds himself in. He looks up at you and immediately his heart sinks. Your eyes are red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears, and you’re visibly trembling. He knows he owes you an explanation for his behaviour at the very least, “Why don’t we go and sit down on the sofa and talk this out, hmm?” He says, bringing an arm out as he cautiously steps forward, ushering you over to the sofa. You both sit, except you take extra care to sit on the opposite side of the sofa, leaving as much space as you can between each-other. You don’t want to hurt him again, and now you don’t even trust yourself to keep a tap on your own emotions.

You tuck your hands underneath your ribs and wrap around yourself, curling in. You feel so small now, so weak and miserable, it’s embarrassing. This whole situation is a complete and utter fucking mess, you’re a mess, your life is a mess. But you’re broken out of your self wallowing by a gentle hand, a lifeline, courteous of the ever-generous Obi-Wan. He pulls the closest arm out from its grip around you and pulls, slowly encouraging you over towards him until eventually your head is resting on his lap and you’re laying out along the sofa. One of his hands sits along the upper part of your waist, where his thumb leaves small, comforting circles on your trembling ribs, whilst the other slowly soothes your hair in gentle, passive strokes.

Eventually, you’re calm enough to reason, and Obi-Wan breaks the silence.

“It is forbidden for Jedi to have attachment… attachment leads to feelings of anger and jealousy, and therefore to the Dark Side," Obi-Wan starts, but you cut him off.

"You don't have to explain yourself, it's ok, no means no and I'm sorry I read things wrong, and I apologise for my language, it was most rude of me to address you like that, especially whilst you were mid-conversation," you sniffle, trying your best to hide the cracks of nervousness in your words.

"Amy, it's...it's complicated. I accept your apology, although I am sure Commander Cody found it quite amusing--," but before he can comfort you, your heart drops. Oh shit.

"C--commander?" you mutter, hoping that you just heard Obi-Wan wrong and you didn't just swear in front of a senior ranking official.

"Yes, Commander," Obi-Wan reiterates.

Oh, Jesus Christ. You've really blown the boat out on this one, what a fucking idiot.

"I am so sorry, Obi-Wan, I--," you stop, not wanting to dig yourself into a hole you can't get out of. Maybe you should take Frankie's advice and just keep your mouth shut, "so much for a great first impression," you mutter out loud. You've completely blown it. The room falls silent now, and you slowly allow yourself to revel in the calming touch of Obi-Wan. You get it, he's just being nice, being the gentleman he has been born and raised to be -- but deep down you don't want things to be that simple; you want him to want you, you want these small actions and personal moments to have an ulterior motive; to be for you because he feels for you, not because it's the right thing to do, but because you want to feel worth something, to feel like a possession and not an object. You've been nothing but a number, a tool in the rigorous machine that is violent politics for over a decade now. You forbid yourself from luxuries like a social life or sentimental connections, but you're not home anymore, you're in a completely different Galaxy. But life is never fair you reason; because even though you're ready to start letting someone in, they are not even remotely interested in returning the gesture. It hurts, but when has life ever been anything but painful for you? Looking back on it, what has your life been? You spent all those years 'doing good' and serving others, only to never have others do good for you; what's the point in living life if it isn't even yours to enjoy?

Life is just a vicious cycle of hurt and regret, and now more than ever you wish you pulled your own trigger all that time ago.

Obi-Wan has been quiet for some time now, and, now you focus again on your physical body, you notice his hands have stilled, resting peacefully on your head and shoulder. You chance a look up to make sure he's ok, and you're glad you did because Obi-Wan's head was leaned over onto the side of the arm of the sofa, completely passed out from sleep. You couldn't help but smile at his peaceful form; a couple of unruly tendrils of golden strawberry blonde hair tickling his forehead, and the painful lines of stress melted away, giving in to the smooth, tranquil blanket of serenity. He truly was a masterpiece, and he didn't even know it. You knew this man didn't reciprocate his feelings to you, through either his own decision or that of the Jedi rulings, but it didn't mean you had to be cruel, so, you just relaxed, fully indulging in the company of one another in the seclusion of his apartment, away from prying eyes and judgement.

You could go through the hurt if it meant you could have more moments like this -- this was worth it. He was worth it.

#star wars #obiwan kenobi fanfic #obi wan fic #obi wan needs a hug #obiwan kenobi #obiwan fanfic #obi wan x oc #obiwan #obi wan fluff #obi wan fanfiction #ewanfuckinmcgregor #ewanmcgregor #ewan mcgregor

8 notes · View notes