#they were singing your songs as a death chant and you stayed silent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

catzula · 3 years

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tell me where you are, honey

So, I should tell you that that this is not my fiction, its heavily based on real life. If you want to check it out, the mentioned band is a Turkish band called 'Duman'.

Genre and warnings: hey guys? This is pure angst. Just angst. Heavy heavy angst. First of all, major character death (not Suna), tw: mentions of suicide, tw: mentions of death, tw: mentions of depression and anxiety, mentions of alcohol, if there's anything else please tell me!

Suna closes his eyes as he sings the words, trying to forget the uneasy feeling stirring in his chest.

He feels the sweat drip from the sides of his face, making him glisten under the blueish lights of the bar.

A chilly wind makes his overheated body shiver. Your face comes before his eyes, and Suna can't help the bitter smile finding its way on his lips. He stopped taking song requests a long time ago, so instead, he leans to the mic and asks how's the night going with a broken but charming smile that makes the crowd excited.

It has been a while. Suna shouldn't feel a lump in his throat, a stinging in his eyes. But he does. He can't help it when a fan calls out to him, asking for the song.

Reminding the rest of his fans of the song, they start chanting the name of it like it's a prayer, holding a rhythm and hoping for him to sing it.

The song he hasn't sang in a long, long time.

The choking feeling is instant, the heaviness pressuring his chest, making it impossible for him to breathe in the foggy room. Atsumu interjects, telling the fans to cut it out, that they are well aware Suna won't, can't sing it.

Osamu sends a glimpse at the lead singer's direction, not surprised to see his fox-like, almost lifeless-looking eyes already damp. Suna runs a hand through his hair frustratedly, Osamu can't tell what he's thinking, but it appears hard on him.

Atsumu cocks his head when Suna backs away from the mic. "It's okay," he grits his teeth, he looks like he's in pain. "I think- I think I can sing it this once."

The truth is, Suna missed you this song. Suna missed the song he knew that you loved so much. So he sends a smile to the crowd, picking the mic and biting his lip. It was a song he promised he would never sing again, never again after that last time.

But here he is, hoping you could hear it.

"Darling, you are my honey," Suna sings, and it comes out as choked and strained, but the fans are just surprised he actually did sing it.

It's the first familiar chords that cause him to choke on his breath. Suna's already crying, and if the fans looked closely, they could see the others are, too.

Suna's mind wanders off to the last time he sang the song, the last time he spoke those words.

It's the first big concert his band was going to do. Suna had been trying to make it happen for months now, and if it went well, it would be a big turn point in their careers.

"Can't you- can't you come a little earlier today?"

"Rin, where are you?" He heard you say from the other side of the line, making him sigh in annoyance. "I've been texting you all day!" Suna pinched the bridge of his nose. He was already aware you were texting him every five fucking minutes, and that was the very reason he hadn't opened one of them. "I'll be home in a few hours." He grumbled, almost inaudible, but you managed to hear him.

He didn't think much about the few seconds of silence that followed his answer.

Your voice was a mere whisper, and you sounded so sad, almost desperate, and Suna closed his eyes. "We have a fucking concert today. We're doing the last cheks." He sighed when you stay silent. "I'll try to come a little earlier."

"Okay, I love you, Rin." He heard you smile, and it made the weight on his chest feel a little lighter. "Love ya too, honey."

Honey.

It wasn't a word anyone would expect Suna to speak, but it was what he always called you. He always said it with so much emotion, so much thought and love, and it never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

"You taste like honey." He once told you when you asked him, leaning in with a smile and stealing a kiss.

It was your favorite song.

"My soul is already addicted to your taste," Suna sighs the words. The fans are surprisingly silent, watching their favorite singer shake with wtiholded sobs at the lyrics and the love he lost. It's obvious he's out of it, lost in the memories, holding the mic so tight that his knuckles turn white.

Your love story was one of the most famous ones at the time, more than Suna himself, and was known by almost everyone.

But lately, you had started to feel like it was dying.

It wasn't, of course. Suna loved you more than he did anything else, and you loved him more than life itself. It wasn't anything in particular that made you feel that way, too. Many little things combined, the depression you were falling into, the stress he was under, the more than often fights happening lately.

Your relationship wasn't the best lately, that, you admitted. Suna was rarely at home. You only saw him a few minutes each day, and that if you were lucky. Even when he was at home, all you ever did was to fight. Not even about anything worth fighting, but they always caused broken hearts on both sides.

Despite all the stress building over him, Suna was trying to make it better, too. Making compromises of himself, agreeing with you in fights despite your nonsense arguments, not saying anything about you blowing up on the smallest things.

"Where are you...love..." He cries. He should've thought more, cared more. Suna was guilty of not thinking why you were acting like this instead of how to stop it. He was busy with the upcoming concerts, their band was about to turn the corner, but that couldn't be an excuse.

Suna had gone home after his band practice that day. The apartment was dark, so silent, it scared him until he opened the lights and found you lying on the couch.

You weren't sleeping, he thought it was because you wanted to see him, but it was because of the anxious thoughts roaming in your mind. Suna should've seen the trembling of your hands, how cold you felt, how limp and numb you seemed.

"You stink." Those were the first words you told him, your face souring when you took note of the alcohol and cigarettes clinging on him like a second skin. "Did you drink?" You sounded suspicious.

"No, I already told you we were practicing."

"Then why do you smell like this?" Suna gritted his teeth when yiur voice raised, resembling a shout.

"Because we work at a fucking bar? You know all this, why the fuck are you acting like this?" Suna sneered, it was only for a second he had lost control, but it was enough for your face to contort with hurt.

You felt guilty when he sighed, seemingly admitting defeat. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? But I'm already stressed enough for the concert, and I can't deal with this shit right now." You watched your boyfriend run his fingers through his hair, his words hurting you more than they should. You were acting nonsensible, you knew, but you couldn't stop.

"This shit? You mean me?" Your voice was now a little higher, making him flinch. "Y/N, for fucks sake! You know I didn't mean that!"

"Tell me where are you, honey," There were things you were dealing with, shit he didn't know, you hadn't told. He couldn't have known, he couldn't have known, but he should've. If he had, Suna would never have told you all those that day. He wouldn't have made you cry, sob in the room, dark and by yourself.

He would've stayed with you, told you he was there, that he loved you, everything would be fine. Honey, he would call you. But he hadn't. Instead, he chose to act selfishly.

"Stop being so fucking pushy." He had told you when you asked where they practiced, who else was there but the Miya's, who was that girl you saw in a picture with him, which was taken months ago, why were they standing so close? It was an argument you had gone over five times already, he had told you it was Atsumu's friend and nothing else, but you kept bringing it up.

"Just give me some space, goddammit! You're suffocating me!" Suna shouted. It was rare to see Suna raise his voice, and it made you freeze in your place. You looked in his slitted eyes, only seeing hate, disgust swimming in those greens.

You didn't say it, but Suna noticed something was wrong, and you were crying too hard, so hard he feared you were going to pass out. "Hey, hey- I'm sorry." He muttered, acting quickly to wrap his arms around your shaking body like he was the only thing holding you together.

You were wrong, and all Suna was feeling was distress, and he could never look at you with anything but love, but your anxiety told you otherwise.

Do you hate me? The question is on the tip of your tongue. It feels like everyone, everything hates you lately, hell, you yourself do, too. You only need an answer, yes or no, since you can't tell by the foggy depression blurring your thoughts.

Do you? Do you hate me? Please don't hate me, I'm sorry, please don't look at me like that.

(he was)

It felt like hours as you cried between his arms, and Suna pressed an occasional kiss to your hair. Neither of you talked, the heaviness of the fight still lingering in the air, and Suna decided to talk about it after the concert. So you just stood there between each other's arms. Maybe you would've told him you felt broken, and you couldn't take it anymore, you didn't-

It was on the tip of your tongue as he pulled back from you, pressing one last kiss on your hair. "I have to go, honey." He told you, checking the time on his phone. "I'm going to be late for the concert."

Suna didn't notice how you flinched when he pulled back, how tears gathered in your eyes, how you couldn't look him in the eyes. "Okay." He heard you whisper. Watching you smile at him, he smiled back when you leaned in to press a kiss on his lips.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pressed your body closer to him, surprising and making him chuckle. It was a kiss that screamed goodbye, but he was too nervous to notice.

"A good luck kiss, I presume?" He laughed when you pulled back. "I'll see you there, yeah? Let's talk about this after."

"You are with me from now on, honey," Suna should've noticed your lack of response. If he had, maybe he wouldn't be sobbing on the stage now. He feels Atsumu pat his back, Suna's holding on his mic like it's the one thing holding him alive, sobs breaking his words, making him shake.

His fans watch him as he wipes the tears off his face with the back of his hand, the rings adorning his fingers sparkling under the dim light.

"Tell me where you are, honey,

All the members are crying, not just him. They all loved you, and you were a part of their lives, such a lively, kind person. At the very least, you had managed to tie Suna down.

Its impossible not to cry as people who had heard his cries echoing out of your apartment that night.

You are with me from now on, honey,"

Something was different with Suna's performance that day, and all the others had noticed it. The tired-looking and feeling boy was pumped up that day. He sounded energetic, and Suna gave the best performance he ever had before.

It was all for you, Suna thought. He was singing just for you that day, something he hadn't done in a while. Picking all the songs he ever wrote for you, the ones you liked, just for you, hoping you would feel a little less angry when the concert ended.

He was smiling the whole time he was singing, but his smile was dropping each time he gazed at the crowd and couldn't find your face, smiling back at him. Were you sitting in the back? Were you that angry with him?

The night proceeded, and the whole band knew it was a success.

A few songs time left, Suna was frowning since he still couldn't have spotted you. There was no way you hadn't come, but you might have been hiding still.

Deciding to pull out the big guns, Suna gave the sign to Osamu. They could tell what he had in mind, and Suna smiled with the first hearing of chords. He sang it, sang with a bitter smile, looking at the crowd to finally spot you.

"You are my soul from now on,

You are my only part that remains alive,"

The concert came to a halt. You weren't in the crowd, and Suna was already in the middle of the song. "Suna- Suna, stop!" Osamu and Atsumu stopped playing, Suna sang the last word alone.

"What the-" He was about to shout at them for making him stop so abruptly, but the terrified look on Osamu's face made him stop. All the blood had left both their faces, and both the twins were shaking, but why were they crying?

It was hard to tell him what happened, and it might've been a mistake, too.

Wrong time.

You can't tell a man the love of his life died, she took her own life, right in the middle of the song dedicated just to her.

What happened after that was a blur.

Atsumu and Osamu tried to stop Suna from rushing back to the apartment, but he was quick. Suna had no idea how he drove back home, but he was standing in front of the door of your apartment, knocking on the door like a madman, praying you would open it for him. he would see your smiling face, greeting him, or maybe angry with him, crying, screaming- whatever. All he wanted to do was to- to-

He was punching, kicking the door, shouting and crying, crying and crying, and as more seconds that pass, Suna thought he could go crazy.

It's a miracle when the door opened, and for a split second, Suna thought it was a lie, a cruel joke, a misunderstanding. You were here, you opened the door for him-

It wasn't you.

You weren't the one who opened the door, but your sister. Her face was damp with tears, and Suna's eyes locked on the figure that stood behind her.

It was the hardest thing to try and make Suna let go of you, try and calm him, stop him from pulling you back to between his arms, and never let go.

Osamu arrived right after him.

He arrived at a scene he would never be able to forget.

His best friend was on the floor, your body limp between his arms. Osamu couldn't hold back his cries when he heard Suna's loud cries, begging and begging for you to wake up, holding your hand, trying to warm you, he was shouting, the pain so raw in his voice, people around him feel tears pricking in their eyes.

"Please, honey, please-" He sobbed brokenly, his body was shaking like a leaf.

He sat there, sobbing in his hands, his agonizing screams audible even from the outside, sending chills down everyone nearby. They think they never in their lives heard pure pain like this in someone's voice.

Osamu and Atsumu were crying with Suna as he finally let you go. He couldn't watch as they took you away, out of the room.

But they don't hear him crying out your name, instead, it's a sweet pet name they hear. It makes the twins shake with more cries.

honey honey honey

He figured too late, how you were battling with severe depression, how your personal life was a mess, how you needed him to be there for you. He was too late.

Suna hadn't left the apartment for 15 days straight after that day. He didn't want to speak or see anyone, barely ate and drank.

He refused to see his family, the twins visiting him.

No one knew what happened in those 15 days, but when he came back out, they could tell by a look he had changed. Not only physically (even though he looked like he was starving and sick), but also mentally.

It was his fault. If he had been more attentive, more at home to see you, ask you if anything was wrong, "honey, are you okay?" maybe it would've been fine. It was his fault.

Even after he left the apartment, even after he started smiling, it was evident Suna was never the same. How could he be? He had lost a part of him, no, he had lost all of him. And all that left was the shell that merely resembled him.

Suna had tried to sing it more than he could count, but the moment he heard the first chord, he broke down crying. This was the one day he succeeded, and even though it was barely audible, it sounded like agonizing cries instead, he was singing it.

For you.

Can you hear me, honey?

honey, honey, honey.

#haikyuu x reader #suna x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyu x reader #suna rintaro imagine #suna x y/n #suna x you #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro scenarios #suna rintaro x y/n #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #tw: depression #tw: death #tw: suidice

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midearthwritings · 3 years

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Wings wouldn't help you

Lindir brings you back to life.

Words Count : 1,321

Pairing : Lindir & Reader

Warning : Depression

Author's Note : Request sent by @jojo-javabean24 .

If anyone reading this is suffering from Depression, or think they might be Depressed, please reach out for help. You are not alone and it does get better.

Beneath your cheek, the pillow is hot, and wet. It is uncomfortable but you cannot bring yourself to move. The tears won't stop falling, they burn and bruise your skin mercilessly. The room is dark, blurry. Your eyes are wide open but you cannot see, the emptiness of your soul infecting your body, taking your senses away. It has been days since you had last left the comfort of your bed, and it would probably take even longer for you to leave it again. The smell coming from you is unpleasant, and you know a bath would be more than welcome. But you cannot bring yourself to care. The smallest movement hurts in a way you didn't think was possible. Would you even be able to reach the door?

The night is quiet, beautiful. Through the window, the Moon stares at you. She mocks your sick figure. While you feel empty, incomplete, she's whole and wonderful, steals everybody's attention. She even has yours, as you stare back. How you envy her, broken hearted and dying slowly in your bedsheets.

"I wish I knew how to ease your pain." You had forgotten his presence, and his voice startles you. His hand, gentle and barely touching you, caresses your arm reassuringly.

You want to answer, to let him know you are still here and that you too, would love to know. The words get stuck in your throat and you choke on them. If you try harder, you know you are going to throw up.

He does not force them out. He just stays there, by your side. It is nice, in a way, to know you are not so alone. If only it could be enough to end the tears.

When the weight of his palm disappears, you feel cold. A brutal winter wind, destroying everything and leaving nothing.

Soft notes rise, chasing the cold away. The chants of a harp. It is low, a whisper, as if he was playing from afar. But you know he's close. In the dark, you imagine his slender fingers tickling the cords, bending them to his will, making them sing for you.

The melody is new, something you have never heard before. The pounding headache is not enough to stop the pictures to form themselves in your mind. There are no words, maybe not even a title to the piece, but it is about hope, about love.

The words pour out of his mouth like the clear water in Rivendell's baths. They fall into your ears, a foreign song of which you do not understand all the lyrics. You can only catch a few words, here and there. He talks of flowers, and birds, of the sun and other stars illuminating the sky. Breathing quietly, not to disrupt his reading, you trace invisible patterns on the silky sheets. You draw the curves of each syllable, paint the rhymes as they leave his lips. The symphony of his verse warms your heart. Somewhat, it soothes the pain.

Lindir too, is beautiful. The brown cascade flowing down his shoulders, adorned with a delicate tiara makes him look divine. He reminds you of the trees basking in the pale moonlight. Perhaps one day you will have him sit for you, get his portrait done.

Slowly, his voice dies down, and with it, the beautiful words. Already, you miss them and wish for more.

"Was it to your liking?" The uncertainty of the his question makes you smile. His eyes reflects the turmoil inside him. Never had you wished for him to suffer from the sadness devouring your soul. Guiltily, you take his hand in yours. The smooth skin reminds you of an infant's.

"It would be, if only I knew the meaning of it." A light shade of red colors the tip of his ears, and your smile only grows bigger.

Many moons had passed since the first time you spoke to one another, and you still find it easy to embarass him. You know the path is still long before he feels entirely at ease with each word you say, before his shell breaks completely. Even if it never does, the love you have for Lindir will not fade.

With a soft caress of your thumb on his hand, you silently apologise for your mockery.

"Lindir, Mellon Nín, read to me again." Shutting your eyes, you listen as the soft-spoken elf lulls you into unconsciousness.

Written, the words look as beautiful as they sound. For the hundredth time, you read them, your eyes lingering on each curve of Lindir's handwriting. Although reading it yourself is not the same as when he did it for you, you never get tired of it. You know the poem by heart now, and the translation he provided is not needed anymore for you to understand.

Wildflowers and discarded feathers fill your mind. You can imagine the sun peeking through the clouds so clearly, it feels as if you were currently watching it. As a soft sigh escape your lips, the windows calls for you. The green leaves waving, pleading for you to come outside. This bed held you captive for so long. You laid there, drowning in your own sorrow, waiting for death to take you away. Now you miss the gentle wind, the birds chirping happily amongst the trees.

Quietly, the door opens and closes. He does not knock anymore. He stopped when he realized you never answered. You don't mind.

"Mae govannen, Lindir." You greet him, folding the parchment in your hands. Soon, the strong scent of sugar assaults your nostrils, sweet and enticing, making your stomach groan. "What is it that I smell?"

The bed shifts as he sits down next to you. On a silver tray lies a dozen of delicious looking pastries. It is only as you look at them, mouth watering, that you realize you are hungry.

"I baked them myself." To say you feel privileged in this instant would be an understatement. You will forever be grateful for the way he is taking care of you. Even when mortality finally parts your ways, your gratitude will remain.

Shyly, you take the smallest looking one. As you bring it closer to your face, the smell fills your nose. It is sweet, intoxicating. You take a bite and let a pleasantly surprised noise. It looked good, but once on your tongue, it is exquisite. It tastes of fresh fruits, a little bit of honey and perhaps, of mint. The ingredients balance each other perfectly. When you swallow, there is no bitter aftertaste, and you pop the rest into your mouth.

As you eat, his eyes never leave you. The worries slowly faded, replaced with hope. For a second, you look at him as if he was a mirror. Days had passed, and with it, the heartache and crippling emptiness. In your heart is now a new feeling of joy, peace.

"I did not know you could bake so well." You point out. You lick your fingertips, cleaning the sticky remainders of sugar.

"Neither did I." He replied with a smile, visibly satisfied with your words. Or maybe is he simply relieved to see you so eager to eat?

And you, too, are relieved. The harp is still standing proudly in a corner of your room, the one on which he played the softest songs as you cried. In your lap, the folded poem still lies, waiting for you to read it once more, for it was written for you. And the many little desserts he spent so much time baking, never before had you tasted something that good. Without Lindir, without his love and his care, this flicker of hope would have died down long ago. Now, the flame burns, big and strong in your heart, promise of better days to come.

Perhaps it is time to welcome the Sun back into your life.

#the hobbit #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit reader insert #lindir #lindir x reader #lindir x you #lindir x y/n #lindir imagine

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savagesbonergarage · 3 years

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Nightsister OC pics and backstory ❤️

So I kinda got my Nightsister oc worked out today!

Meet Eilantha!

No makeup and with makeup since I like both. :) I know her outfit is Rey’s, but it turned out to be the one I liked best after going through all of them. This was so much fun to do! I’m on mobile rn so I don’t have a link, but search ‘rinmaru star wars avatar creator’ and it should be the first result.

The nightbrother is also an oc called Sever. He’s more bulky in my head and his tattoos are different and more brown than black, but whatevs. Also he looks more like a teenager here, which is NOT the vibe, lads. Mans is in his late 20's-early 30's. 👍

I know I’m sorta biased and all since she’s mine, but I’m in love with her? I’m not a huge fan of the Nightsisters and their misandry and general terrible-ness, but this girl is the exception. 💕 Learn more about her under the cut if you’d like. :)

She was born in 46BBY, making her around 27 in the final year of the clone wars. From the time she was a youngling it was clear that she had a natural affinity for magicks and spellcasting, which allowed her to participate in more advanced rituals and rites from an early age. This inevitably caused some contention among the sisters in her age group that felt this privilege was wasted on her, and therefore she had few friends during her time within the coven. She didn’t really mind, as she preferred to spend her days on her own anyway, learning as much as she could about whatever she fancied (usually spells that piqued her interest whose texts she discreetly snuck from within the cavern).

When she wasn’t studying, she loved music - writing, playing, and singing. It wasn’t anything like the typical malicious sounds of tribal chanting and drums you’d hear from within the grotto; not that she didn’t appreciate that also as she practiced it well, but her heart leaned toward a softer, more soothing genre of arias and melodies, bordering on lullabies based on her wanderlust, and, though she’d never admit it, her loneliness.

As she reached adulthood, she underwent the trials for her dark baptism as all Sisters did, which consisted of returning from a challenging hunt to add a token from her kill to the Water Of Life, and receiving her ichor tattoos that signified her coming-of-age before being ritualistically bathed in the ominous liquid which sanctioned her as an active member of the Nightsisters.

After this, I have two different routes (or however many, depending on who I’m shipping her with at the moment 😅 bc I ship her with everyone, no lie) that I like to take with her story. The first is expanded upon in the fic by @fallenrepublick here (still my favorite thing!) where she starts sneaking away into the nightbrother village and befriends Savage and Feral before they go through Asajj’s selection trails. This is the nicer, less-traumatic arc.

This next one gets really, really dark. I'm not going to post it all here bc honestly this post doesn't need all that angst, so I'll save that for later. Essentially, I like to think that Eilantha did at one time have a nightbrother of her own (Sever) that she actually loved, rather than treated as a slave. As you can imagine it doesn't end well, but we're not gonna get into that. We'll talk about how they meet. :)

Instead of sneaking away to the village, Eilantha is pressured into conducting her own selection trails by Mother Talzin. She doesn’t inherently have any reason to object, after all, she was taught that this is was simply the way of things. Part of her even looked forward to obtaining a manservant, whose loyalty would belong to her and her alone.

Perhaps he’d be a useful asset when it came to sneaking spelltomes to and from the vaults, and maybe he’d even be the only one staying by her side while she practiced her songs. What if he’d even appreciate them? Not that he’d have much of a choice, but the thought was comforting nonetheless.

From the moment she stepped foot in the village, all she could focus on was the feeling of the uneasy and fearful gazes of the men who undoubtedly knew more of what was to come than she did. She chose her roster at random, unsure of what she should have really been looking for or what she actually wanted from a servant. Even before the fighting, she knew deep down that she didn’t want to inflict any unnecessary harm on them…but why? From what she’d overheard at home, the violence was half the fun.

It wasn’t.

She evaded and blocked every blow with ease, yet avoided retaliating and taking the offensive in any manner that would prove fatal, causing the battle to go on far longer than anticipated to the point where Brother Viscus insisted that she take the next opening for the kill. With reluctance, the blade of her weapon collided with the ribs of the next brother to reveal himself a target. She watched in horror as the light faded from his hateful, reflective eyes, and she was nearly sick. She didn’t want to do it, but it had been done, and it couldn’t be undone. His body thudded against the ground and she screamed.

“Enough!”

The battlefield went silent, and as she came to her senses she attempted to save face.

“I’ll have none of them!”

Before Brother Viscus could interject with any alternative propositions, she was gone. She ran, fleeing as far away across the rocky terrain as she could. She didn’t cry; at least not until she was certain she was alone. She felt so pathetic - Nightbrothers were meant to be disposable, yet she couldn’t handle killing one. Her shame shifted into heartbreak, and she crouched low and wept for the death of the brother she’d just caused, as well as for all those who came before him. All the needless, thankless, mindless deaths of these men whose lives may not have mattered to the Sisters, but they mattered to someone.

As night fell, she trudged along the jagged landscape and thought of what explaination she’d give to Mother Talzin upon returning home. She had run in the opposite direction of where her speeder was stationed at the base of the village, so she had plenty of time to consider on the long journey back. She casually hummed a tune to herself in some meager attempt to self-soothe, which served to distract the shadow that had been trailing her for some time. The sound of a twig snapping in the rocks behind her alerted her to the presence and she confronted him.

"Are you lost?" she asked in a derogatory tone after he revealed himself.

"I'm not."

Of course not, this was his home, after all. She couldn't say the same for herself, however, she pressed him further.

"Then why are you following me? I never asked for an escort."

The amber-skinned nightbrother looked as though he were choosing his words carefully, though if his aim was self-preservation he'd done a terrible job of it.

"I saw you crying."

Eilantha was hit with a pang of embarrassment, though she feigned otherwise as her eyes met the ground.

"Well, you can forget what you saw. Now leave me alone."

She turned away, but the brother remained there in quiet contemplation before he spoke again.

"I've never seen a Sister cry. I've never seen a Sister feel."

Something about those words struck her directly in her heart. The confirmation that she was inherently considered to be a heartless monster in the view of these villagers hurt a little more than anticipated, though she had no right to refute it. No amount of apologies would ever remedy the divide that separated the Nightsisters from the Nightbrothers, regardless of how she felt. She clenched her fist as she turned to face him again.

“I said, leave me alone. Don’t make me-”

She actually choked on her words, unable to say the rest.

Don’t make me put you in your place.

Despite her partial warning, the nightbrother stepped closer. He grabbed the edge of his already tattered tunic and tore a piece of it off, inspecting it for cleanliness before holding it out to her. Eilantha froze, uncertain of what to make of this interaction.

“You aren’t done,” he explained.

She hadn’t realized that her hot tears continued pouring down her cheeks during her retort. She accepted the cloth with some reluctance, her dainty fingers lightly brushing against his as she took it and dabbed it against her wet face. He promptly turned and started walking away, as instructed. This strange...kindness, or rather, strange act of servitude via obligation perturbed the young witch, whose thoughts were now fixated solely on the zabrak male.

“Wait, Brother,” she implored.

He paused, resuming his attention to her after hearing the endearing use of “brother” from a Sister’s lips for the first time. She continued, an unusual softness in her tone.

“What is your name?”

“It’s Sever,” he revealed, “May I ask yours, Sister?”

She repeated his name in her mind, determined never to lose it.

“Eilantha.”

He did the same, only out loud. Gods, it was an enticing sound.

"Will you be returning?"

This was a question she wasn't prepared to receive, and one that she herself didn't fully know the answer to. Her reply was engineered from a concerned sigh.

"I'm not sure. It might be problematic returning to the coven empty-handed. I may come back, I may not. I don't know what the future holds."

Sever pursed his lips slightly.

"If you do find yourself here again, will you..."

He coughed into his fist and centered himself before continuing.

"Will you consider me?"

Her eyes shot up to meet his hopeful gaze, a golden yellow in the night. She had a hunch as to what he was alluding to, but a little clarification was needed.

"Consider you...?"

He swallowed, his countenance displaying concern that perhaps he was stepping too far out-of-bounds this time, but he wanted to know all the same.

"As your mate."

Eilantha clutched the piece of fabric in her hand. This man was offering himself to her. The images of all the nightbrothers staring her down when she first arrived with fear in their faces raced through her mind, revealing the dread the men felt when they were met with her kind, and yet this one was volunteering. She wasn't sure if she should be flattered or angry, as any other Sister likely would be at a savage that dared to seek special permissions. Of course, she wasn't like that.

Imagining him as her mate, however, was certainly...something. She thought of how she would discover just how much of him was tattooed and he would learn the same of her. She could claim him right then and there if she wanted, and he would be obliged to obey. It would solve her worries about returning home if she decided on a servant after all, although, her soul was unsteady. Though she was entitled to any male she desired, she couldn't allow herself to do it. Even though this man was offering, it would weigh on her conscience knowing that even a part of him would only be with her out of fear and obligation, rather than his own free will. This nightbrother wasn't free. None of them were.

"I'll consider it," she replied genuinely.

This news seemed to please him to some extent, a tiny smirk curling at the corner of his lip.

"I'll look forward to the possibility of serving you, Sister Eilantha."

She watched as he turned a final time and disappeared further into the darkness, leaving her alone with her busied mind.

The course was set for the Nightsister temple once she finally got to her speeder, servant-less. She looked over her shoulder to see multiple pairs of glowing golden eyes quizzically prying at her in the darkness, and she smiled before taking off.

It was a long journey home, and the entire trip her mind was occupied with thoughts of the intriguing zabrak male who saw her for what she truly was. She pulled out the tattered cloth from her pocket and pressed it against her chest as the wind rushed all around her before bringing it to her lips and kissing it.

It became her greatest treasure.

That is, until she finally had the real deal in her arms months later when the separation became too much to bear, and they arranged to meet in secret during their first rendezvous of many.

Sever, my treasure.

#Nightsister #nightbrother #star wars ocs #Eilantha x Sever #savage opress #feral opress #dathomir #maul #darth maul #mother talzin #tcw #brother viscus #oc x canon

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lu-undy · 3 years

Text

Un-alone, Chapter 3

Here it is!

Was it only the water of the shower?

Non, his tears were mixing with it. His tears, and his blood.

Lucien had only slept for a few hours. When he had come back from the gym, he cried himself to sleep, only to wake up on the carpeted floor of his hotel room, his head and hands on the coffee table, next to the letter.

But now, he was taking a shower.

He couldn't go to the funeral covered in bruises and dried blood. Non. He even thought that he couldn't go to the funeral at all. But he had to. This was his wife that they were putting underground, and he hadn't seen her in years.

Lucien rocked back and forth under the shower head. His eyes were closed and his arms wrapped around himself. He kept bumping his forehead against the tiled wall, a low drumming that gave him the illusion that time was stopping around him, that he could take that time, without it passing, without losing it. His tears did not stop.

He had talked to Marie, sometimes, on the telephone. Whenever his work took him to the United States, he would always stop at a public telephone booth and call the number he knew by heart.

Like a teenager on the phone with their secret lover, he would speak low to her, for no one else to hear, even though the booth was closed and no one paid attention to him. He would lazily play with the phone cord around his gloved finger as he murmured words of love and longing to her.

He would ask how Jérémy was and on the few occasions that it was Jérémy himself who picked the phone, Lucien would freeze, and it would take him a few seconds to clear his throat, collect himself and ask to speak to his mother.

He had heard his son grow over the phone mostly. His voice went from a little boy's to a man's. The first time that Jérémy picked up the phone with a deeper voice, Lucien's eyebrows had jumped.

"Who is this?" He had asked.

"It's Jay." The voice with the Boston accent answered.

Lucien's jaw had dropped.

"Jérémy?" His lips mumbled.

"Yeah, funky accent you got there. Who's this?"

The Frenchman gulped down hard and a trembling hand went to his brow.

"May I speak with your mother, please?"

"Sure… Ma'! Phone's for ya!"

"Hello?" The feminine voice was a delight to the spy's ears.

"Marie?"

"Oh, hey… Jay? Why don't you go out with your friends?"

Lucien waited for a few seconds.

"Yeah, Lulu? Hon'? How are you?"

"Jérémy…" He answered. "His voice…"

"Yeah, he's growin' up. He reminds me of you, in his own little way… Lulu? love, are you here?”

The spy had to look up to swallow back the tears that came to his eyes. His son was becoming a man…!

Last time he held him, the little boy could hardly walk.

And Lucien remembered how he used to feed him, put him to sleep, play with the little blond baby. Ah, putting him to sleep was what Lucien would remember all his life and beyond. There was something of a deeper connection when the lights were out and baby Jérémy looking up at his then much younger father, with his hair still all black. The father would sing to his son and if at first Jérémy would play and laugh with him, soon, the deep and soothing sound of Lucien’s singing would put him to sleep.

“I heard you sing to him.”

“Oui.” Lucien would slip in the bed with the woman who stole him off of the million arms of other, non important women.

“What song is that?”

“A lullaby.”

“Sing it to me.”

“It is not in English, Marie.”

“I know, heard you purr like you do when you sing in French.” She laid her head on his chest and he switched the night lamp off. “So go ahead.”

Lucien looked down at her and smiled.

“Ne m’oublie pas,

[Don’t forget me.]

Je vais devoir m’en aller.

[I have to go.]

Ne m’oublie pas

[Don’t forget me.]

Tu ne dois pas pleurer.

[You must not cry.]

Même quand je suis très loin de toi,

[Even when I am very far from you,]

Tu restes dans mon coeur

[You remain in my heart.]

Je chante en secret chaque soir

[I sing in secret every night]

Pour que tu n’aies plus peur.

[So that you don’t feel scared]

Ne m’oublie pas,

[Don’t forget me,]

C’est à regret que je pars.

[It is with regret that I leave.]

Ne m’oublie pas,

[Don’t forget me,]

Quand je chante, tu es dans mes bras.”

[When I sing, you are in my arms.]

He sang it again, translating himself and Marie looked up at him with a distraught smile on her lips.

“We will miss you, hon’.”

“Me too.” He squeezed her tighter and adjusted the blanket on her back to better cover her.

“But we won’t ever forget you.”

Their eyes met and soon, their lips.

Meanwhile, the old Lucien sighed under the continuous flow of the shower, the white noise of it covered his sniffles. He mechanically stopped the water and stepped out.

He readied himself. Black suit and tie, black hat too and assorted, varnished shoes.

He raised his eyes to the mirror and hated the sight. He had nothing against the suit, it did its job, making his cinder hair appear even lighter, the bags under his eyes and his slender cheeks a show of death itself. Non, what he hated was the insult of a man that stared back at him.

Lucien put his gloves on his still bruised knuckles, to hide the misery he now had to, and made his way out without anything in his stomach.

The taxi ride was as silent as it had been since he had learnt the news and jumped into the first plane for Boston. He had left Paris hurriedly, taking only what the letter from the American secret services had told him to.

The flower is withering. Black suit.

Of course, Lucien had trusted Fred with keeping an eye on Marie and Jérémy. But that telegram had killed him. He had wanted to see her before it was too late but Marie's lungs gave up before the Frenchman set a foot in America.

"Here we are, Sir. And I'm sorry for your loss."

The driver's voice cut Lucien's train of thought. He paid what he owed, maybe more, God only knew, and he left. He passed the black wrought iron gates of the cemetery and walked resolutely to the group of people that he did not recognise.

He kept his distance from them all but couldn't help hearing their low chatter.

"Where's her husband?”

“Who?”

“Jay’s dad. Isn't he gonna come? Even for that?"

"I don't know… Jay said his father's dead."

Lucien lowered his hatted head and frowned, exhaling from his nostrils angrily.

"Mary told me it wasn't actually true."

"She lied to him?"

"No, he made this up because he got fed up with people askin' him about his dad."

Lucien looked away but soon, silence fell. The coffin was brought forth and the priest started speaking.

He spoke at length about the courage of this single mother who raised and provided for those children, how she did a formidable job at it despite an absent and cowardly father.

If only they knew…

But where she was going, Mary would still see her boys, her little men. She would still be there for them.

Such nonsense, Lucien was thinking.

Mary was gone. She was dead. She wasn't there anymore with anyone. She wasn't there for Jérémy, she wasn't there for him, she was there for no one!

Lucien thought he'd better get used to the hard truth rather than sugarcoat it with nonsense like that.

Oh.

They started lowering the coffin.

Lucien heard the sniffles, the cries, the muffled tears in Marie's family. He wanted for the whole show to be done with to stay with her, alone.

It lasted quite a while. As he eavesdropped on the conversations, he learnt that some people were family, some were friends, others, neighbours.

They all put flowers down, candles, words on a letter that would crumple under the rain. But they eventually left.

The Frenchman took a few steps forward, coming out of his hiding, and crouched down.

"Marie…"

Words failed him.

"Ma petite fleur."

[My little flower.]

He sniffled.

"I beg you to forgive me." He paused. "I wasn't at your side when you most needed it. I failed you."

Lucien wiped a tear with the back of his gloved hand.

"I failed you as a husband, and I failed myself as a man. I took vows that I did not uphold."

No, Lulu, hon'... We agreed on this. I knew you had to be far for work and you only wanted to protect us. It's ok, it's alright-

"Non." Lucien answered the voice that he could only hear in his head. "Non, it is not alright. I swore, Marie. I swore that I would take care of you from the moment I said 'I do' in front of that priest and until death do us apart. I…"

Had he been alone in his lonely room, he would have gone through yet another fit of sobs, of pulling his hair off his own head, of rocking back and forth like a madman. But he was out in the open and most importantly, he was right in front of the tombstone that shall haunt him from now on.

"Hey! Who the hell're you?! Get the hell out of my Ma's grave!"

Cold sweat. Lucien tapped a button on his watch and his silhouette vanished in a thin cloud of smoke.

"Hey! What the-?!"

The young man stopped, a few feet away from his mother's grave. Unbeknownst to him, his father was standing right in front of him, a hand on his own mouth and tears streaming down his face.

More than twenty years. More than twenty years had passed and he was now seeing his son.

Mon Dieu, he had his mother's kind eyes even though they were red with tears and slightly swollen, he had her gentle gaze, Lucien could see it. The blond boy had grown up and his hair had darkened to be dirty blond now.

He had short hair and seemed uncomfortable in his black suit. Ah, he surely wasn't used to wearing one.

"Jay, you comin'?"

"Yeah, Auntie…"

“Hurry up or I’ll send your brothers!”

Unbeknownst to him, Jérémy was squinting and staring through his very invisible father. He left soon after but Lucien remained, petrified.

That was… Jérémy?

The baby he had held in his arms all those years ago was now a man nearly as tall as him.

He stared at him as he made his way out, following the crowd, his family that surely somehow was Lucien's too. But he had never met them, never talked to them. He knew the names or the existence of a few of them, when Marie would tell him about them.

But both had wanted to keep their private lives very much private. Marie knew her family would never approve of her marrying a stranger. Lucien was the only man to ever treat her as a woman, he knew that, she had told him that. He made her feel taken care of in his hands, even if he was absent most of the time. It was the respect he treated her with that made her cling to him at all costs, he knew it.

When he told her about his job and what he had to do sometimes, she had nodded.

“Do you understand, Marie? I… I cannot be the family man that I should be. My job requires me to… to do unthinkable things that no one else can and… Sometimes, if you knew what I do, you would… You would doubt my feelings for you.”

“No.”

“Pardon?” He had asked in his mother tongue.

“No, Lulu. I know that you love me sincerely. And I love you the same way. I don’t care what your job is. I… I know you love it too and…”

“Marie, I am sorry.”

“No, let me finish.”

He was holding her in his arms, in their bed that morning.

“I had Fred talk to me.”

“Merde…” Lucien mumbled to himself.

[Shit.]

“He explained to me that you were a… a war hero…?”

He sighed, frowned and looked away.

“Is that true?” She insisted and he shook his head.

“Non. I just did what had to be done and what no one else could. It could have been anyone else. I just happened to be there at those times and places where my skills came in handy, nothing more.”

“Pff…” He looked at her and she was smiling. “Fred also said you’d say that. You’re a war hero and certainly, you’re my hero.” She leaned her head on his chest again and left a prude kiss.

“I know this is selfish of me but…”

“But what?” She raised her head to him and he held her hand in his.

“But I wish I could keep you forever, just for myself.” He closed his eyes but soon, he felt her shift on the bed. She lay down and pulled him to lay his head on her chest.

“You say it as if it’s impossible.” She answered.

“I told you. I am away most of the time and this mission is coming to an end soon. I will have to leave.”

“What if we get married?”

Lucien’s eyes couldn’t have snapped wider.

But today, he could hardly keep them open.

“Petite fleur…” He addressed the tombstone, as if Marie could still hear him. “Je suis désolé, mon amour.”

[Little flower… I am sorry, my love.]

Later that day, when he was alone in his room, drinking again, Lucien heard a knock on his door.

“Go to hell.”

“L, it’s me.”

Lucien sighed. He recognised that voice. He stood up from the carpet and opened the door.

“L? Hi…”

Lucien returned to sit on the sofa, the bottle of whiskey hadn’t left his hand.

“What do you want?”

“Just to offer my condolences.” Fred closed the door and came to sit next to his French friend, who took a gulp of the bottle straight. He was still wearing his black attire, although the collar of the shirt was open and the buttons were undone. Seeing his old time colleague so disheveled made Fred frown. "I've never seen you like this before, pal… I thought you were the kind of sailor to have one woman in every harbour…"

Lucien raised dangerously piercing eyes to him. He did not like Fred's comment.

"Sorry. Didn't mean it to sound bad or anythin'. Is there anythin’ I can do?”

“Help me quit.”

“Yeah, you should quit your drinkin’, pal.”

“I did not mean it for the drinking.”

Fred’s eyebrows jumped.

“You wanna quit your job?”

Lucien nodded.

“It killed one too many.” He took a generous gulp of the whiskey that now dripped at the corner of his lips. He wiped the mess with the back of his forearm.

“L, you know you can’t just quit. Besides, I was comin’ to talk to you about it.”

Finally, Lucien raised his eyes to his colleague.

“We got some work to do. Well, you have.” The American got a cigarette pack out of his jacket and offered one to Lucien who winced and shook his head. Instead, the Frenchman went to grab his own cigarette case and let Fred light one for him. “Ah, yeah, you like yours French, eh…”

They puffed on their cigarettes and Fred looked around them.

“Mind if I get myself a glass?”

Lucien motioned him to go ahead. The American went to the mini bar.

“They knew up there that you’d like to retire after this. And if you don't mind me sayin', you and I aren't gettin' any younger. So they’ve sent me to suggest somethin’.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow and watched his friend grab a glass and pour some wine. He squinted to see the label and rolled his eyes, force of habit. As much as Lucien appreciated Fred, his taste in wine left a great deal to be desired…

“They say that you should get someone to work with you.”

“Non.”

“Hold on, let me finish…” The American spy joined his French colleague on the sofa again. “They say you should train a young one to replace you.”

Lucien’s eyebrows twitched.

“Not that they’d manage to fit those big shoes of yours but, y’know, someone to replace you while you go and retire. What would you do? Go back to France, I guess?"

The Frenchman sucked on his cigarette harder as he frowned.

"Non."

"I knew you wouldn't like it so I told them. They're ok to give you an alternative."

Lucien shook the cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table and Fred noticed the bruises on his hands.

"You could drop field work completely and train the young ones."

"Pff…" Lucien exhaled the smoke from his cigarette in a long gust. "And where is the choice? Either train one or train them all? Is that the choice that the country that I have lost everything for is giving me now, hm?"

Fred could see his friend's fingers shake. He was mad and barely holding himself back. His chest betrayed his fast and short breathing.

"Seems so. If that's any consolation, I'm trainin' one of them kids too. He isn't bright, hasn't learnt the job like you and I, but he works hard." Fred tapped his cigarette in the ashtray and lay back on the sofa. "They're givin' you a few days to think."

"I should go and kill them." The Frenchman said calmly. "One by one. Start with their loved ones and as they wonder what kind of curse had fallen on them, I would deal with them all."

"You can't get to your Minister of Defense…!" Fred scoffed but the gaze that Lucien gave him made him stop his chuckle sharp. "L…?"

"I could."

"But you won't… Right?"

The Frenchman stood up and went to the door that he opened and held wide.

"Good night to you, Fred."

"L…?"

"I said, good night."

Fred sighed. He walked to the door but didn’t leave yet. He turned to his French colleague and looked him in the eye.

“Don’t do anythin’ you’ll regret, eh?”

Lucien exhaled a bitter sigh of smoke.

“See ya.” Fred left and the Frenchman shut the door.

He came back to his solitude.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #unalone

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inkdemonapologist · 4 years

Note

In the audio logs, it felt weird to me that Sammy is creative and diverse in just about everything, except for the few phrases (most notably "sheep" related ones) that he wildly overuses. Did that feel weird to you? Am I reading too much into this? Is this a sign of the abuse and cultic mentality (mantras in lieu of thoughts) or just Sammy being better at music than insults?

Ohhhhhh "mantras in lieu of thoughts" is a REALLY neat take, I could definitely see that for like, "he will set us free" and similar. BUT GOLLY the weird sheep obsession has been a THORN IN MY SIDE in trying to make sense of this man and the canon sure hasn't made any effort to illuminate where this came from so here's...... a possibility Ive been thinking about lately!

- we know from the employee's handbook that he used "sheep" as an insult when he was human

- but in prophet mode it doesn't seem to be an insult? It's not a compliment, it's sort of condescending, but he uses it in a pseudo-soothing way. Less "you idiot" vibes more "now settle down little one this is for the best"

- him calling Henry a sheep makes sense to me actually. He doesn't have a name for this guy, so he just immediately assigns a fitting noun for someone he sees as lost and also about to be sacrificed and uses that (This is maybe just a thing he does; see also: Art Department).

- his use of the sleepy sheep poem in Chapter 5 is interesting since he says it sort of sarcastically, like, he's intentionally making an ironic callback to his freakin catchphrase. ITS WEIRD b/c it like feels like Sammy's making a Bendy reference.

So, okay, the sleepy sheep poem is probably not for Sammy himself, it’s usually used for other people, something between soothing and warning as he does his Prophet Duties. Maybe everyone else already picked up on this (or maybe im comin out of left field here), but I had a WHOLE REVELATION about the one right after his Ch 2 monologue -- he does his "time for sleep" thing and then immediately starts screaming into the PA system about summoning Bendy, which seemed like a hilarious juxtaposition until I suddenly remembered that ink creatures can die when the Ink Demon spawns near them. For Sammy to warn them, essentially, to hide & go dormant or risk death before he calls on the ink demon....... makes a lot of sense???? HES ACTUALLY KINDA LOOKING OUT FOR HIS FLOCK????

He's also muttering this as he walks the halls, and I've pondered for a while the idea that he might use his position as Ink Demon's Prophet to maintain some safety and authority in this place -- if he claims to have the Ink Demon's favour, after all, then he is best respected and feared. I'm delighted that BatDS implies Sammy was actually quite vulnerable in the Studio and literally none of the powerful ink creatures respect him, because I see a lot of his trappings -- the little sheep chant, the mask -- as perhaps being things meant to set him apart from the Lost Ones and make him important and unsettling, someone the lost ones and searchers will respect and not attack and maybe even defend (especially when you consider how freaked out he seems to be when you knock his mask off). You hear his sing-song chant and you see Bendy's visage and you know that's the prophet, acting in service to the demon, and you don't get in his way; you keep your distance.

Worth noting that when Henry doesn't respond the way Sammy would expect his flock to -- instead running after him and calling out to him -- Sammy immediately flees, hiding out of reach and staying silent, no longer calling attention to his presence until he feels he has the upper hand again.

With the way he's seized on this specific rhyme and even makes a sarcastic reference to it, my current best guess/headcanon is that this was either lyrics somewhere in Sheep Songs, or is a bastardisation of a song or line from Sheep Songs, so the reason why it feels like Sammy's making a reference is that he literally is, taking a line from the cartoon he worships and turning it into a ritual that basically signifies "back off and let me do my thing and you may be spared."

Hard to say whether he picked this because he already used "sheep" in his former life as a condescending shorthand for the sort of people most likely to end up as Lost Ones and it just got out of hand, or if he picked up the whole sleepy sheep poem from the cartoon and then started referring to his followers as sheep because of it. I have a Convoluted Personal Headcanon that the song's lyrics were originally meant to tease Sammy Lawrence, if Jack thought this guy unironically calling him a sheep was awfully funny, and saw an opportunity to poke a little fun at his friend in the lyrics of a cartoon that was about both sheep and music, and so Sammy's attached to the song for reasons he no longer remembers... but there's not any actual evidence of that I just think it's a fun thought.

#sammy lawrence #we all write on the walls #i know you have questions you always do #dear anon who sends me a bunch of asks at once u are a bLESSING pls do not apologise #i take a billion years to answer asks but I APPRECIATE THEM V MUCH #the canon crew

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peterquillss · 3 years

Text

The Misadventures of Star-Lord & the Earth Girl #17

Summary: When Malia Reyes wakes in the dead of night, she finds an alien ship crashed atop her apartment building! And the “alien,’ abroad is no other then Star-Lord, retired Guardian fallen back on his more criminal lifestyle. Now with fate having thrown a man from the stars and a girl from earth together, they’ll have to survive whatever the black void of space and the marvel universe has to throw at them.

Rated: PG-13

Pairings: Peter Quill x OC

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Maybe she should've stayed on the Cruise Ship after all. Without Peter. And his damn endless supply of seventies hits. But, it was too late for that now — days having passed from the week-long event and the Milano being far off from its territory. She just had to deal with him and his rather musical mood today; regardless of their previous , "we have no money," conversation earlier on. What on earth possessed her to stay after that clear sign was beyond her. She loved him too much. Narrowing her brown eyes in his direction with resentment as the song Magic by Pilot played, Malia folded her arms over her chest and groaned loud enough to catch Peter's attention — which he ignored giving her, too immersed in his personal song and dance. Why did she fall in love with this man again?

Peter moved in sync with the music, even while limited by the confines of his seat. Malia's displeasure with his music choices wasn't something he turned out, just something that he'd grown accustomed to. She never really got too upset about it, just a weary look and a comment about his 'hippie music' here and there. Maybe it was because she knew what the music meant to him. Maybe, but Peter had other suspicions. Once in a while he'd catch her getting into a song, swaying and mouthing the words presumably so he wouldn't hear her. She'd immediately stop if she so much as suspected he was looking. He kinda wished she would just cut loose.

He'd seen her worry and get lost in thought so much in the past that seeing her just be happy in the moment and let the music be all that was on her mind made him happy for her. Not to mention it was one of those things she did that made him think he couldn't love her any more then he already did.

The song faded out, leaving Peter with a combination of satisfaction and excitement for the next track. He glanced at Malia who rolled her eyes and looked out the window at the stars. Peter chuckled, glancing at the controls. "Hey, don't worry about the money thing. We're making a stop that'll have some chances for cash. I got this." She gave him a smirk that faded after a few moments before giving a small nod.

The next track started to play and a smile crossed Peter's face. 'Stumblin' by Suzi Quatro', a favorite of his and a song he knew for a fact Malia enjoyed. He looked at Malia, putting on a look of shock. "Oh shit, Mal! It's a duet. Come on, don't leave me hanging."

"Someone has to worry," Malia huffed in response as the familiar song she would never admit she loved to him started to fill her ears. She knew that he knew some of his tracks had pierced through her modern heart, but — she pretended more often than not, like they didn't; for fun. And for the adorable face he made whenever she did. It had grown into a habit of hers. Pursing her lips into a forced line amidst the head bopping beat, she turned her face away from him before he could catch her change in expression and chewed the inside of her cheek. Maybe she did want to sing along, just a little, since it was her favorite song.

"Wherever you go, whatever you do...," As Peter directed the lyrics he sang, rather loudly, in her direction with a smile that reflected off the windshield mirror for her to see, Malia felt the corners of her mouth lift into a genuine grin of her own as he continued to belt out the rest of his part and playfully reach out for her. "You know these reckless thoughts of mine are following you."

She softly slapped his hand away, in between a giggle and allowed herself to move to the rhythm of the beat. "I've fallen for you, whatever you do," She harmonized in her part. "Cause, baby, you've shown me so many things that I never knew!"

Malia swayed to the music, extended out her hand to Peter and continued to carol her parts of the duet in glee, putting her worries behind her for the remainder of the song. She felt pleased seeing him like this with her, happy, when before it was a rare occurence to come by, knowing the undisclosed pain she knew he held. Of course, he shared sweet moments she forever would remember, the smiles and laughs he allowed himself to have. But, they were different. This was different. So, she'd cherish the moment and make it last longer.

"Our love is alive, and so we begin!" In unison, she sang along with Peter the chorus, dancing in the co-pilot seat beside him and looked in his direction to catch his loving gaze. She admired the heavenly feeling he gave her as she continued to harmonize the track, squeezing his hand. "Foolishly laying our hearts on the table, stumblin in." Malia smiled, never taking her attention from him and swayed blissfully. If singing to his music made him this happy, she'd sing with him all the time. To have her heart swell, explode in millions of butterflies that tickled her inside. What could she say? She loved him.

Peter let Malia's hand go and shook his head as the closing notes of the song began to play. It was still so weird to think that this woman who had grown to be so important to him had just wandered into his ship at random one night. He looked at her, catching the beaming smile she was giving as she watched him, unable to help smiling back. "What?"

Malia shook her head, the smile never leaving her face. "Nothing." The song ended and a few seconds later the opening notes to Queen's rendition of ' The Great Pretender' began to play. "So, where are we stopping this time?"

Peter adjusted the controls before returning his full attention to Malia. "Sakarr. Never been there myself, but it's supposed to be filled with all kinds of chances to make a little deniro."

Malia nodded, even though she had that adorable clueless look on her face. "How long?"

Peter shrugged. "Not long with these private trading routes at our disposal."

Malia shifted in her seat, pulling one of her knees up to her chest. "They are helpful. This 'Sakarr', what's it supposed to be like?"

Peter made a slight adjustment in the ship's course before answering. "Kinda tough from what I've heard, but don't worry. You've got superpowers after all."

"Yeah, I'll go in there blazing while you hide behind me and scream like a girl." Malia lifted her hands in an exaggerated gesture and laughed as the hysterical image of Peter freaking out while she kicked some random alien's butt filled her mind. It made her a bit excited over the possibility of her using her, 'gifts,' to fight and discover more about them. He being so accepting of her weird, glowy hands, had given her the confidence boost she needed over them. Her powers were no longer a pending secret she shared; it’s burden having become weightless.

Drifting her attention toward the colorful constellation in front of her, she remained silent for a few minutes, listening to Freddie Mercury’s ballad before speaking again. “If only there was a death star that needed blowing up,” She flatly chimed, remembering the fondness Peter had for the sci-fi classic. Unlike Captain America, she was certain he caught her not-so vague reference to a galaxy far, far away. After all, she was the Leia to his Han Solo. Their paired figurines on the dash of the Milano proved half of that claim, along with everything else.

“I forgot I glued those there,” Malia pointed to the small statuettes with a blissful expression painted over her face and smiled as she tried to reach out for them briefly and then relax herself back into her seat when the awkward attempt failed. Instead, she flicked her fingers, like a witch would amidst chanting a spell, and created a circular veil over the stilled dolls. “I will be Space’s Mightiest…,” She paused to think of a catchy enough alias to go with the known saying and bit her bottom lip. “Hero?” She said in the form of a question, glancing over at Peter for any suggestions.

She stared at him as another track began to play, then followed his gaze toward the shields she had placed over their figurines. “I can make them go away,” Waving her hand effortlessly in a dismissive motion, the blueish bubbles vanishing from the plastic toys. Maybe, she should’ve warned him a bit first? Malia stifled in a laugh at his lack of response, bewildered into rare silence again and leaned toward his chair. “Peter, sweetie?” She placed a hand on his arm, feeling light butterflies tickle her stomach over her first usage of a pet name and smiled playfully as she made her index and middle fingers into legs to walk along his arm. “I know where your candy is,” She whispered with an added gasp, hoping that would snap him out of his dazed state.

Peter quickly snapped his gaze from the figurines to Malia, noting the mischievous grin on her face. "Hold the phone. You mean I didn't lose it?" Malia let her hand brush his arm as she returned to her seat. "Mal? You better tell me where my candy is." Peter furrowed his brow as Malia mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key. "Oh, that's how it's gonna be then?" Malia shrugged her shoulders, a pleased smile on her face. Peter nodded, a smile of his own creeping across his face. "One of these days, when you're looking out at space, don't be surprised if you see a certain bunch of wizard related movies floating by."

That got her. Malia sat up straight, her eyes widening a bit. "You wouldn't."

Peter gave a small shrug. "A man does crazy things when he doesn't get candy, Mal. I may not be able to stop myself."

Malia sat back in her seat with a huff. "Your precious candy is under the cushion of the bench."

Peter smirked. "Alright. Crisis averted."

Malia glanced at him and smiled. "You're booze on the other hand..."

Peter threw up his brow. "Oh, that's even worse. Not sure what'll happen if I get sober all at once."

Malia slapped both of her hands over the sides of her face in a dramatized expression of shock and turned her attention toward Peter. "I don't know. Maybe, you'll clean your room?" She suggested with widened brown eyes for emphasis. Over their six month course on the Milano she'd cleaned his room about twice, opting the third time to leave his pigpen alone for him to roll over in. It wasn’t dirty in terms of trash laying around, but rather an accumulation of scattered clothes, unmentionables, and candy wrappers. She was lucky he at least showered.

“By the way, I found something the other day.” While she was on the subject of cleaning, she remembered the disc she found in one of the guest bedrooms. “I know I shouldn’t really go into those rooms…,” She admitted as she unbuckled the safety-straps from her torso and carefully walked toward the back of the flight deck. “But, I was looking for some tape and found it in one of the bins, tucked away.” Malia rummaged through the knapsack she usually left hanging near the ship’s blasters and retrieved the circular-like chip Tochi told her was actually a video.

Unhooking one of the pads from the armrest of an empty chair, she inserted the micro disk into its side and made her way back to her seat, trying to contain her excitement over the footage she had already seen of him and his team the night before. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him over it. Like where had they all gone? It was clear as day to her they were no longer together or in contact, but why? She paused in her train of thought, hoping what she was about to show him didn’t count as crossing the line with her overzealous curiosity.

“It’s some old footage,” Malia looked up at Peter once the video loaded on the pocket sized computer in her hand and smiled sheepishly as his blue eyes wandered onto the pad itself. She studied his muddled expression, her hand blocking him from seeing the screen and gave him an affectionate gaze, before hitting the play button. “It’s you and the Guardians…,” She mumbled, the sounds of the captured battle he at the time led, shouting out orders being displayed. He was nothing like the man she knew. “Look at you!” She beamed, smiling from ear to ear.

She averted her eyes from his face to look down at the moving images on the pad she held up for him, pointed at his figure on the screen and took in the footage with him. Besides the clip of The Guardians of the Galaxy, there were more mashed up tidbits recorded that she loved. “The cameraman is awful at his job,” Giggling over the shaky shots and the very angry Raccoon who scolded someone named, “Groot,” Malia returned her attention back to Peter. Her gleeful smile slowly wavered from her lips when she caught sight of his somber expression. “Peter?”

Peter had heard Malia say something, but it hadn't registered. Nothing she'd said after the footage started had his full attention on that. Everything else around him felt like it'd been drained of its warmth and color as the old footage pulled him deeper in. Thoughts and feelings he'd tried for so long to keep buried bubbled to the surface. There was a reason he'd cleared the ship of almost every trace of his old teammates, and this was it. Because thinking of them meant thinking of when they left, and thinking of that meant thinking of why.

He was far into thinking that as the footage switched to a more candid moment of the team together. Peter felt sick as he recognized the location and knew it was just hours before his greatest failure. Just hours before and he'd had everything. His team, his family. He'd finally grown into more of the leader he tried so hard to be. He'd been happy. A few hours later he'd destroyed it all. Everything he'd done and gone through that day was still so fresh in his mind that sometimes it still felt like he was living it. He was living it now as the feeling of utter devastation he'd felt ever since came to the forefront.

He furrowed his brow, anger mixing in with the sadness, all of it directed at himself. He and his team continued to laugh as they made their way around the streets, oblivious to the coming event that would tear them apart. Peter was stuck in that event as he sat frozen in place, all of it written on his face plain as day as he stared at the screen.The fear, confusion, sadness, hatred, hopelessness, all of it felt like it was pushing to burst out of him. He tried to at least hold it together on the outside, having never much cared for feeling vulnerable. It was a battle he was quickly losing.

The camera turned and Peter saw himself at the front of the group, closely followed by a kid who'd taken a liking to him and the others. Her face and voice was forever scorched into Peter's mind as they both embodied everything that's happened that day. She was the last thing he could handle seeing. Peter broke his eyes away from the screen and set them forward on the stars. "Turn it off.

“Okay.” Malia lowered the pad from his line of view and turned off the electronic device without saying another word. She deeply regretted her decision over the footage and remained silent, knowing their lighthearted mood had drastically shifted into something she wanted to avoid. Something she expected yet, wished would’ve gone a different way. The subject over his team was indeed the puzzle piece she connected to the undisclosed pain she knew he felt. It was apparent by the waves of emotions she witnessed his face have in the span of the video.

Biting her lower lip, she squeezed the sides of the tablet gently, at a loss as the crippling silence started to take hold over her. ‘Should she excuse herself and leave?’ She thought to herself, unsure of the proper action to take. She wanted him to face whatever it was he desperately was trying to run away from. “Peter?” Malia turned her attention toward him, having kept her eyes trained on the dashboard for the long minutes that passed, and exhaled a deep breath in response to his stillness. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself…,” She flatly stated. “I won’t let you.”

She carefully moved the pad off her lap to twist her body into a more comfortable position and leaned as much as her seat restraints could allow her over to him, reaching out for his arm. “I know I’ve told you plenty of times you don’t have to tell me anything, but,” She paused to flick on the autopilot option of the Milano and continued in a stern tone. “It’s okay to talk about things and let them out.” That’s all she wanted, hating seeing him like this. She unbuckled her seatbelt with a desolate smile and stood beside his chair, hoping some of her words broke through. “And please don’t tell me you're okay cause I know you're not.”

Peter took a deep breath, letting her words sink in while the contents of the footage still swirled in his mind. He wasn't surprised that Mal had taken note of all of this. She was perceptive, it was one of the things he admired in her. A part of him really did want to tell her, let it out, but a bigger part was scared of how she'd take it. His hand wandered over his pocket, the picture he'd kept with him since that day coming to mind. Telling her would mean facing all that again. "Nothing gets by you, huh?"

He let the statement lighten the mood for the brief moment it did before the heaviness returned. He wasn't sure he could talk about it, but he owed Mal something more than silence. Peter took another deep breath, trying to keep the emotions out of his voice. "My team." The words hung in the air for a few moments before he continued. "We broke up about a year before I met you." His mind again wandered to the 'why', but he tried to ignore it. "It was bad, really bad." He slid a hand into his pocket, touching the picture housed there. It hurt him just knowing it was there despite his avoidance to look at it, but he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. Maybe he should just tell her. It couldn't feel worse than this, right? He gingerly grasped the polaroid, keeping his eyes trained on the stars ahead. "It was my fault, all of it."

Malia let out a heavy sigh as his unexpected words sunk into her head and laid there. Particularly, the — 'all my fault,' part of his somber statement. She was unsure of how to take it. She could never imagine Peter doing anything spiteful on purpose to anyone or his team. He didn't have it in him. "I'm sure you tried your best." Gingerly touching the back of his metal chair, she leaned herself a little closer to him and hovered over his form with a soft expression. "Even if it was all your fault," She added cautiously. "Some bad things happen so we can learn from them sometimes." Malia ran her hand over his hair, before sitting herself on his lap. He had told her what he was willing to disclose, which was a lot to her, even if it was another puzzle piece to fit in.

"And, you can't learn from Peter if you're still stuck in that place." Lifting her brown eyes up to him, she gave him a heartfelt smile and grabbed the sides of his face playfully. "I told you I was going to need a reward for putting up with you," She chuckled, trying to lighten the heavy mood she felt was enough for the start of their day. There wasn't anything, but one part she hadn't already assumed over the absence of his team. The rest, the full story without any carefully placed words she would have to chisel slowly away for and wait or hope all the words she said helped him find his way. Pecking him on the lips, she wrapped one of his arms around her waist and laid her head on his shoulder. "Let's stay like this for a while, okay?" She mumbled, wanting to give him comfort.

Peter let go of the photograph in his pocket, taking the arm and wrapping it around Malia. He held her as tightly as he could without causing her discomfort. A deep sigh escaped him as the weight of the topic began to dissipate. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan."

He'd let the topic go as best he could for now, but it was never fully gone. There was more that he felt needed said, but he wasn't sure he was ready. He knew Mal would try and understand and help, but he wasn't sure if it was something that could be helped. If she were to know and look at him differently for it, he knew it'd kill him. But, she deserved to know, and so he'd try and tell her. He didn't know when, but he'd try. He'd just have to deal with whatever came of it.

There was one thing she'd said that he disagreed with though. He had learned from the whole mess. He'd learned that he had never been the hero he thought he was, and that he likely never would be at all.

The cargo bay door lowered and Peter was immediately hit with the stench of garbage. They'd touched down in a landing bay on the outskirts of a city once they reached Sakarr Beings dressed like vagabonds hustled about, none really noting Peter and Mal's arrival. Malia joined him at his side, having changed into the usual garb of her space suit and his jacket. She'd claimed his only spare jacket as hers after his had been shredded during a tangle with that symbiote. This left Peter with just his trench coat for trips away from the Milano.

Malia wrinkled her nose as she took in the trashy landscape. "It's no Contraxia."

Peter drew his attention up from her outfit when she spoke. "No it is not."

Malia glanced at him, no doubt noticing the very conscious effort he was making to not constantly gawk at her in her outfit. "Every time I wear it, huh?"

Peter smiled, looking back out at the planet. "I'm not apologizing." He wasn't completely sure where to start, having only heard scattered facts about the planet. There was an arena, he knew that . Maybe they could get some units and bet on some matches. Their best bet would probably be to hit a bar and ask around. Someplace not too good looking, so that it would have more locals than travellers. Peter instinctively held out his arm for Malia to take, it having become a habit. "Let's go."

“Yeah.” Malia shifted her attention from the junkyard scenery around her and looped her small arms around Peter’s forearm for their stroll along the cluttered outskirts of Sakaar. For a planet built on assorted scraps of metal, 'it sure was colorful,’ she noted as she continued to take in the new environment and keep an eye out for possible job opportunities. With their need for money, or units as space currency was called, any doable task was up for grabs in her mind. If only she knew how to read the alien calligraphy written on some signs to help narrow them down.

Peter could with the implanted translators in his neck, but she avoided asking him once a daunting thought hit her. What if they weren’t ‘help wanted,’ signs after all? Drifting her brown eyes along the plethora of merchants up ahead, Malia unhooked one of her arms to point at one masked seller and their stand. “Are those cookies?” She wondered out loud, pulling Peter toward the vendor without hesitation. There weren’t many space cuisines she enjoyed eating, let alone snacks like he had, so part of her wanted to find something she liked.

“Can we taste them? Like, have a sample.” She looked over the selection of baked goods that were wrapped in vibrant plastic bags and sheepishly smiled up at the merchant, unable to see their facial expression hidden behind the steampunk visor they wore. “Um…,” She pulled Peter softly by the sleeve of his coat, feeling a bit self conscious and took a step back away from the stand — deciding on which bag of mixed pastries she would take. In the case the merchant said no to her sampling, she’d go on a wim and pick one that looked good enough.

“That one kinda looks like it’s fudge, right?” Pointing cautiously at one of the rosy colored bags near the far end of the table, Malia lifted her gaze up to Peter who seemed to be pondering a choice of his own and snorted. “Oh no!” She playfully wagged a finger in front of his face. “You're not getting any cookies. These are for me. Not you.” She chuckled. As if his candy diet wasn’t bad enough, he now wanted to add more sweets to its mix. “Do you want your baby muscles to turn into chubby ones?” She asked with an amused grin. “We’re going to have to get you an ab-roller then.”

Peter scoffed at the comment, taking a step back from Mal. "I'll have you know that the side of me that isn't you makes sure that this," He gestured towards his torso in a sweeping motion. "isn't going anywhere." Peter gave a flirtatious smile, throwing up his brow. "Lucky you."

Malia shook her head, her eyes wandering around the market. "Oh, I'm a lucky girl. Picking up candy wrappers all over the place."

Peter reached into his pocket, feeling around for some units. They were low, but food Mal liked was a rarity. Besides, they were going to make some more soon, hopefully. He pointed out a bag of pastries and handed over the units. "Nobody asked you to clean up."

Mal watched the bag as Peter took it. "Somebody has to, Star-Lard."

Peter paused, his mouth dropping open slightly at the jab. "You know what? These were for you, and now they're not. Think about that next time you wanna be hurtful."

Malia watched as the bag disappeared into his satchel. "Oh, come on. Don't be a baby."

Peter shook his head, looking at Mal. "Nope. Not gonna..." He caught her eyes as she innocently looked at him, and immediately averted the gaze by looking just above them. "Not happening."

"Please?” Malia drew herself closer to Peter and pushed her lips forward into a persuasive pout as she placed both her hands over his chest and batted her eyelashes at him. "I'll give you one of my cookies and a kiss?" She offered, inching her face closer to his to tease the intimate action he loved to engage in with her. It was his sort of kryptonite, or maybe she was? His sort of ultimate weakness. She smiled at the comic book thought and continued her childish pleas for her kidnapped goods. “You know you want to give me my cookies back so, give em.”

Peter kept his eyes straight ahead, debating his commitment to withholding the cookies. "What kind of kiss are we talking about?"

Malia shrugged. "Why? Do you have a preference?"

Peter threw up his brow, thinking back over the few times they'd shared a kiss in the past... two days? They'd only been together two days? Still felt so weird, but completely normal too. He paused on a thought, giving Malia a small smile. "One like that time on Kalara's rig. When we were in the hall."

Malia laughed, dropping her head a bit, but keeping her eyes on his. "You liked that one, huh?"

Peter gave an enthusiastic nod. "I did."

Malia straightened up, holding out her hand to Peter. "Alright. It's a deal."

Peter nodded, shaking the outstretched hand and holding out the bag in the other. "Alright."

Malia took the bag, giving Peter a wink before walking off. "You should've specified 'when'."

Peter watched her move ahead of him, a bit dumbstruck by the con she'd just pulled. After a few seconds a chuckle escaped him. " My God, I love you."

He started after her, remembering she didn't know anymore where they were going then he did. His eyes scanned the outside of the market, looking for a bar or something like it. He finally caught sight of a dingy looking entrance way with no windows. The sign above was mostly destroyed from what looked like an explosion, judging by the scorch marks. Really the only indication that the place was a bar came from the vagabond passed out on the ground in front of it surrounded by bottles. He tapped Mal on the shoulder and gestured towards the place. "Come on. We'll see about finding a lead there."

Malia nodded her head in response and followed Peter into the unkempt tavern, opening her vibrant bag of cookies in anticipation. "Do you want one?" She asked in a hushed tone as the disreputable environment of the bar settled itself around them and caused her to rethink her premature offer. "Nevermind...," She placed the plastic bag inside his satchel, not wanting to draw any attention and pulled on the flaps of her oversized jacket. ‘What kind of lead were they looking for exactly?’ She wondered. The place seemed to be crawling with so many questionable options already. None which she was too enthusiastic to comb over.

“Why can't we get jobs like normal people?” Malia drifted her brown eyes over the bustling crowd of colorful Sakaarans, going about their business, drinking and briefly touched Peter’s arm once one of the patrons suspiciously eyed them from across the room. That was enough motivation for her to move herself along and avoid ever going in that particular direction. She didn’t want to be mysteriously taken and auctioned off somewhere. Space was a dangerous place ,she learned, the public establishments only adding to it’s laundry list of things to be mindful of. They were like minefields to her, filled with countless booby-traps.

Looking over at Peter, who had shuffled his way toward the bar counter, Malia squeezed herself beside him and the very large individual sitting beside him. “You better be asking the bartender for a lead and not a drink,” She folded her arms as best she could over her chest and glared in his direction. “I don’t care what you say about your genes keeping this,” She moved one of her hands in a circular motion over his figure. “—together. Alcohol makes your human side get fat.” She expressed, not really knowing if her statement held any merit at all. Peter was indeed half-human, right? So, that meant something, she assumed.

“We’re going to get you that ab-roller and , oh, start doing yoga! It’ll be fun.” Malia lifted both of her hands excitedly at the idea of helping him get back into shape, or rather toned up a bit and started to list off the various activities he’d have to do and foods he’d have to cut, like the alcohol and his candy, forgetting about their task at hand. “Oh my god, we’ll even wear matching workout clothes. I’m sure we can find those somewhere. Aren’t you excited?” She gave him a gentle push, accidentally bumping into the customer behind her and quickly apologized, before bringing a smile to her face. “I’ll be like Jane Fonda.”

Peter had had a comeback in mind, but Malia's last statement had sent his mind wandering to Jane Fonda's wardrobe in Barbarella. This inevitably led to him imagining Malia in a spacey bikini of her own, an image he knew wasn't going away anytime soon. Malia shoved his arm, snapping him back to the situation at hand. "Hey? I said, ``What kind of lead?"

Peter shrugged as he turned around to face the room. "You know, odd jobs. Anything that would net us some cash. We just have to ask around." He scanned the room, not knowing where to start. "Just gotta ask around."

Malia grabbed his hand and pointed across the room. "What about them?"

Peter let his eyes roam over the group Malia had pointed out, shaking his head. "Not quite shady enough. We need at least kinda shady, but not completely shady."

Malia gave him a light pat on the arm. "So, you? "

Peter considered the words for a moment before nodding. "Pretty much." His eyes continued to wander around the room, stopping when he thought he saw a familiar face. He focused on the dark corner of the bar, hoping he'd been mistaken. The woman moved slightly, enough for the light to hit her blue face and reflect off the cybernetic eye. Peter tightened his grip on Malia's hand, immediately turning towards the door. "Time to go."

"But, what about the leads?" Malia looked over her shoulder in the direction Peter had stared off to and caught sight of the scowling woman she assumed caused his sudden panic and change in tune. “Who…,” She blinked at the cybernetic individual, receiving a glared response in return as she did and turned her head away, the crowded streets of Sakaar coming back into view. "Frenemy?" She asked once the tavern was far from their line of sight, surprisingly not considering the blue colored woman an ex of his. She just didn’t look like one.

Her cybernetic death glare made her believe she was a friend or frenemy like she mentioned. There was a look of familiarity there, not filled with too much animosity she might add. “You know, a person who's sorta a friend, but also kinda an enemy too?” She felt inclined to explain, digging into the back of Peter Satchel for her cookies while they followed a sea of residents down the street. “She looked like an assassin.” Malia took a small pause after her statement to bite into the cookie she held in her hand and smiled, savoring it’s taste.

“It is chocolate!” She beamed. “Or something like it?” She added, pleased to have found a snack she could finally ask for at the market. She ran her finger across the plastic’s label, curious of its name and hummed at the alien writing, slightly annoyed she was met with the usual language barrier. “I feel like a handicap person,” She groaned, before handing the bag over to Peter. She didn’t want creepy implanted translators. “Read this, please.” She asked, catching sight of a growing line not too far from them. ‘That seemed shady enough,’ she thought to herself.

Peter glanced at the bag for a moment and sighed. "You know the translator only works with talking, right?"

Malia furrowed her brow as he handed the cookies back to her. "What?"

Peter nodded, eyeing the gathering crowd. "Yeah. I use my helmet for reading alien stuff, but the translator makes me able to understand and communicate in any language."

Malia continued to stare at him, wearing the adorably perplexed look she often had when encountering new things. "How?"

Peter shrugged, having long since accepted it as normal. "Not sure. Brainwaves and such. I might not even know English anymore, but with the implant it's what you hear from me."

Malia glanced down, absorbing all the new information. "Space is weird."

Peter chuckled. "Yeah, it can be. Maybe you should get one? An implant, I mean. Just in case you run across an alien who doesn't if I'm not around."

Malia shook her head, covering her neck with her hand. "No way."

Peter looked over his shoulder, just to be sure Nebula hadn't followed him. 'Frenemy ' was what Mal had described her as, and Peter kind of agreed. Nebula always seemed to dislike him, but not outright hate him. There'd been a time or two where they'd even had a friendly enough conversation. Like that time he'd tried to get her and Gamora to make up. Peter sighed as he thought of his old teammate and looked back at Malia. "Looked like an assassin, huh?"

Malia shrugged. "She did."

Peter started towards the gathering crowd, deciding to see what all the fuss was about. Maybe there'd be a lead in there somewhere. He glanced back at Malia, feeling like he'd dropped the Nebula thing a bit too abruptly. "She's not a very good assassin if you picked her out that quickly."

Malia gave a small laugh. "All those mystery shows came in handy."

Peter held out his arm for her to take as they entered the crowd. "Seriously though. That's exactly what she is and she's grumpy, so I don't recommend saying 'hi'."

"Well, if she pops up and tries to kill you, I'll be sure to remember that." Malia let out a slight laugh with her response and wrapped her arms around his forearm again, drifting her attention toward the bustling crowd up ahead. "You know what this kinda reminds me of?" She asked as she took in the various Sakaarians in line ahead of them and smiled at the recent memory that filled her head. "When we waited for the lift in the garden," She clarified, looking up at him with a brief sentimental look of nostalgia. It was strange, how two whole days felt ancient.

Not too long ago, they were aboard a cruise ship, before then trying to figure out what their feelings meant for them going forward. And now? They just were, everything prior to that seeming like a year had gone and went, when merely days had passed. She squeezed Peter’s arm softly as she drew her thoughts back to the present and held up a finger when she recalled their deal. “I almost forgot,” She admitted, unhooking one of her arms from his to retrieve a cookie from her coat pocket. “Since you’ll be going on a diet, here you go.”

Handing him one of her baked goods, Malia playfully stuck out her tongue as he took a bite of his cookie, grumbling something incoherent she couldn’t quite make out between chews. She figured it was about her diet comment and wrinkled her nose with a funny expression, then moved along the line, before turning to Peter confused. “Why are we in line? And for what exactly? What if this is leading us to be sold for parts?” She started to think of a dozen possibilities for the growing line they were in and tried to peer over the sea of heads with the help of her own feet.

She stood on her toes, using Peter for balance and craned her neck out in hopes of spotting any clues as to what the line was actually for. “There's a ticket booth…,” She announced, seeing the customers near an entrance of sorts, stop at the worn out structure near it. A crooked sign hung up above it with a drawing of an object she couldn’t put into detail. From their distance it looked like a misshapen vehicle. “I think this line is for a race?” Moaning a bit over her sprained toes, Malia snaked her arms around Peter’s neck and giggled as she let her feet lay normally on the ground again.

‘She should make him carry her,’ She thought to herself, leaning her head on his shoulders and maneuvering her hands back around his forearm. She closed her brown eyes for a minute or two amidst the alien chatter about her and spoke once the line started to move forward again. “Before, when we were in Karla's closet, why did you ask when we were going to kiss again?” She wondered. “You do know, and I know you know, that you can just kiss me whenever, right?” She added, curious to know his answer. Sometimes she felt a little self conscious putting the moves on the Legendary Star Lord.

Peter had to think to recall his flirtatious question from that night, and then think even harder to give a suitable answer to Malia's question. That whole night was really just a jumbled mess of happy memories in his head, so focusing on one thing he barely remembered saying was a task, let alone why he'd said it. He couldn't help but chuckle at the expectant look Mal was giving him over her out of the blue inquiry. "Geez, Mal. Way to put me on the spot." Peter cocked his head, piecing his reply together. "I guess I was just still adjusting to the fact that we were a thing. I'd wanted that for so long that when it happened I could barely wrap my head around it."

Peter moved forward as the line progressed, making sure Mal stayed with him so as not to lose her in the crowd. "There was so much I felt like I needed to and wanted to say to make up for all that time I hadn't said anything. But, I couldn't get any of those thoughts straight, so I just asked you that." Peter caught her eyes and gave her a small smile. "Still feels like there's a lot I should tell you." He racked his brain, trying to grab one of those restless thoughts he'd mentioned. Of course, the first to come up was embarrassing, but he figured he'd share it anyway. "Way back when I was taking you back to earth and thought you were staying there, I used to get drunk and listen to crappy love songs while thinking about you. This one time I actually made-'' Peter cut himself off, remembering the long lost and forgotten mixtape he'd made her during one such drunken stupor. He shook his head, deciding to save that embarrassing story for another time. "Nevermind."

Malia lifted her head up to Peter and raised the corners of her mouth into a smile with a look of realization settling across her face. She remembered the said tape, tucked away in her underwear drawer. 'So, that's what it was,' She quietly confirmed to herself as the line advanced forward, causing her to take a momentary pause. He was thinking of her even way back then? Like she was. Holding her gaze forward while she savored the heartwarming thought, she continued to grin, feeling the light flutter of her stomach. "You, Peter Quill," She gushed amidst the unexpected chatter of the crowd, "are a certified dork."

Turning her attention once more toward him with an expression of glee, Malia tapped the side of his face with her lips and stared at him. She found it strange how much she wanted to say, 'I love you,' with each passing conversation and cover his face with kisses whenever she could. To make up for lost time, for the many occasions she in the past wanted to show him her genuine affection. "My Space man, or better yet, my Star-Lord?" She suggested, taking in his adorable expression of bewilderment with the smile that never left her. She liked the sound of that. Her Star-Lord. As she opened her mouth to speak, an abrupt bang shifted her attention over to the line.

"I said, fifty units, each." Marked with an irritated scowl plastered across his tainted yellow skin, sat the ticket master in his booth, awaiting his pay. He lowered the metal pipe he held from the barred window and leaned forward in his chair. "Or are you two just here to give us a show?" He grudgingly asked, maneuvering his red eyes over them to his customers behind, who seemed just as agitated when Malia glanced in their direction. ‘Since when had they gotten to the front of the line?’ She wondered in a daze as she sheepishly bowed her head toward the crowd and approached the window alongside Peter. “Sorry,” She mumbled.

“Fifty units, each, people,” The ticketer repeated, ignoring her apology. He pointed a finger at the both of them, pretending to be a clock and locked eyes with Peter as he dug around his pocket for the payment and practically slammed the coins against the booth’s small window desk once found. “Thank you! NEXT.” Dispensing two casino styled tokens from a hatch that opened beneath the barred glass, Malia quickly scooped up the metal and shuffled herself forward. “What a douche,” She blurted out, moving the ripped curtains out of the way as she walked down the entrance. And she thought New York was riddled with mannerless pricks. She hadn’t met not one nice alien yet.

Peter nodded in agreement with Malia's assessment of the alien running the ticket booth. His mind soon wandered to the miniscule amount of units he had left. What was on him was all they had. He glanced at the chip in his hand, turning it over. A race, huh? Maybe he could place a bet or two. He looked up as the crowd dispersed to makeshift stands built from what looked to be scrap metal. Ahead of them some floating wrecks of vehicles hovered above the cracked stone of the ground. "I think we found that shadiness we needed. "

Malia nodded as she leaned closer to him to allow a large alien to lumber past. "This looks like Mad Max... or that Death Race movie. You know, with..." Her voice trailed off as she continued to take in their decrepit surroundings. "You know, I kinda forget just how not normal my life is most of the time. But then at times like these it really just hits me," She looked up at Peter, an amused smile across her face. "I'm not in Kansas anymore."

Peter threw up his brow, actually recognizing one of her references for a change. "No, you're a far cry from your kind of normal. You miss it?"

Malia wrinkled her nose. "Not for a second." She once again turned her attention to the area around them. " So, what's the plan? "

Peter furrowed his brow as he scanned the crowd. "Look for leads on work, place a careful bet or two. We only need enough units to restock on food for now... unless we see something fun to buy, obviously. " He glanced at Malia, a thought crossing his mind. All the times he'd called her his partner without ever really showing her he believed in her. That'd been a shift between them he was still adjusting to, having been more or less her protector for so long. She'd asked him a few times to trust her more to help, and this seemed like a good time to show her he did. Peter reached into his pocket, pulling out half of their remaining units and holding them out to Malia. "Here. We'll find something quicker if we split up. You have a communicator, right?"

“Yes,” Malia dug inside her pocket to retrieve the earpiece Peter mentioned and gingerly placed it behind her ear with a firm nod as the crescent shaped metal beeped in confirmation. She trickled half of the units he held out for her in its place and patted the leather area to hear the coins. “Um,” She paused to look up at him in thought over what to say and pointed to her communicator when only the obvious was left. “If anything goes wrong, let me know.” She advised, remembering the time when she saved him from the Nova Cell.

“Or don’t,” She added with a playful chuckle, “So, I have enough time to run away.”

She leaned herself into him for a bit, placing her hands above his chest and kissed his cheek for personal good luck. Giving him a soft push forward afterward, Malia turned on her heels and randomly picked a direction while she stood next him. “I’m going to go that way,” She pointed to the left section of the stadium-esque arena and started to tread in the decided direction with exaggerated confidence. Midway, she glanced over her shoulder and winked at Peter, before blending in with the passing crowd, a smile forming on her lips.

‘Place a bet, make a killing, not literally — and earn some money.’ That was their goal, one she hoped was smoothly accomplished. But, judging by the brow-raising citizens of Saakar around the race track, that could prove to be a bit difficult. So, she had to…? Test the murky alien waters. Drifting her brown eyes over the various groups of sellers, gamblers and vagabonds that roamed the metal assorted stadium, Malia pulled her hair into a high ponytail, catching the unexpected attention of a man wearing a bandana.

He stared at her from the herd of individuals he was part of, a white furred woman and cybernetic looking man, with a suggestive smirk placed across his moustached lips. It alone sent a shiver down her spine as the strip of hair above his mouth reminded her of Peter’s short-lived stache-lord persona. 'What was with this Tom Selleck facial hair infatuation?’ She wondered, not fully understanding the craze. She furrowed her brows once she noticed the stranger’s continued gaze and cautiously slipped her hands inside her pockets.

As he approached her, going in the opposite direction, she gripped the handle of her engraved barbecue fork, grateful she brought it along. She never did leave the Milano without it, the gift sort of becoming an odd weapon of choice of hers. She knew a two pointed piece of cutlery couldn’t lethally harm anyone, but it'd injure them at least. Shifting herself closer to one side as his figure drew closer to pass, Malia looked directly into his eyes and pursed her lips into a tight line. She furrowed her brows downward then narrowed her own eyes.

There was just something about this guy she didn’t quite like. His whole aura gave off too many shady vibes. And not the kind her and Peter were looking for. More of the ones you stay away from. Once he came to pass, his smirk changed to a small smile at the suspicious expression she held for him to catch, turning his head forward with an amused laugh. ‘What's so funny?’ She threw him a daggered glare as he slowly blended himself within a mixed crowd, making her come to a stop. He was heading in Peter’s direction.

Touching the back of her ear to activate her communicator, Malia continued her stalled walk and puffed up her cheeks for a minute, before releasing the air in them. Whoever that stranger was irked her. It was like he knew what she was up to by the way he looked at her. “Peter?” She called out, careful not to draw too much attention to herself. “There’s a real shady guy heading your way. Has a bandana on.” She expressed, hoping he heard her amidst the roaring noise of the ongoing race and attendees around her. She at least had to warn him. Especially with the gut wrenching feeling she felt.

Peter put a finger in one ear and cupped a hand over the other. "I didn't quite catch that, babe. What did you say?" He shot an annoyed look at the noisy crowd and even noisier race before making his way to an isolated corner. "Hey, can you hear me?" Peter tapped his communicator a few times for good measure, somewhat regretting his choice to show Mal his confidence in her. His eyes scanned the crowd in the direction she'd walked off in, trying to at least catch a glimpse of her. Hopefully the communicators were in working order and it was just the noise. Maybe she'd gotten distracted? That wasn't unusual for her. Peter tried to think of something that would get her attention if that was the case. "Hey, Mal. You remember that time when you were in that vent and I touched your butt by accident? Not an accident. "

There was a few seconds of silence before Mal's voice answered. "What? I could barely hear you."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief before letting out a chuckle. "Nothing important. I'll tell you later."

Malia grunted on the other end before letting out a soft curse. "Okay, but did you catch what I said about the shady looking guy headed your way? Something didn't feel right about him, Peter."

Peter glanced around momentarily, not really sure what he was looking for. "Gonna need some more details then 'shady looking', babe. Everyone here fits that bill."

"Do my eyes deceive me, or is that the legendary Star-Lord?"

Peter paused as the unfamiliar voice behind him practically sang the question. He turned around to look at the man before him. The man's shoulder length black hair was tied up in a ratty looking blue bandana. He wore a red jumpsuit with various pouches and other such items strapped about here and there. On one hip he had a blaster, and in the other was, bafflingly, a cutlass. "Mal, I'll talk to you in a minute." Peter lowered his finger from his ear, keeping his eyes on the man's own and not his enviable mustache. "Depends on who's asking."

The man raised his brow, a smirk crossing his face. "I'm Corsair."

Peter threw up his brow as he recognized the name. "Corsair? The pirate?"

Corsair nodded, obviously pleased with the recognition. "The very same. What brings an outlaw such as yourself to Sakarr, Star-Lord?"

Peter didn't want to give this guy much information. He was, after all, a pirate. Peter knew better than to trust anyone that shared a line of work similar to his own. Corsair studied Peter with a close eye that made Peter uncomfortable. It felt like he was being sized up. Peter gave a nonchalant shrug. "Just a quick stop. No real reason."

Corsair nodded, looking around at the crowd. "Well, you picked a pretty dangerous place to stop considering your wanted status." The privateer locked eyes with Peter on that last word, narrowing him just a bit. "Somebody might just wanna grab that reward."

Peter's hand instinctively moved to hover above his blaster. While he was willing to do it, he didn't want to kill this guy and throw the place into chaos with Malia still in the crowd somewhere. She could handle herself, but finding her and getting away may prove difficult after. "Listen, Cap'n, I'd rather not do this."

Corsair held his arms open. "Go ahead. It'll make things more fun. But, don't forget that unlike you..." Some motion behind Peter drew his attention for just a moment. It was only long enough to note the two armed individuals that stood behind Peter on either side of him. Peter returned his attention to Corsair, his heart rate quickening in the familiar way it did before a fight. "I still have a team."

#peter quill #peter quill fanfiction #starlord #gotg #star-lord #guardians of the galaxy #marvel #misadventures #the misadventures of starlord and the earth girl

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nomattertheoceans · 4 years

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The Siren attack - original extract

Author’s note: So....... this is my first time actually sharing a piece of my original writing with someone other than a very few number of people (they know who they are and I love you). I’m sort of stressed out, but excited too? Anyway! This piece is part of a fantasy WIP I started for Camp NaNo in April, it’s an adventure story where pirates reluctantly ally with a siren to hunt a treasure. Oh and also if you saw me talk about my poly OT3, they’re from this story ^^

I would love to know what you think!! Keep in mind that this is a first draft, and it’s also part of a much bigger story (of which I have about one third written). I’m really happy with how this scene turned out though, so I’m happy to be sharing it! Feedback would be great :)

The scene is under the read more!!

They advanced smoothly for the whole day, and where sailing at night across Windward Passage when it happened.They’d reduced their speed to navigate more easily through the pass, and Charles had taken this opportunity to check on the sails along the main mast. He was sitting across the yardarm, fixing a sloppy knot on the main sail, tightening it just enough for it to hold until the next morning. He couldn’t very well fix the entire sail right now, with no candle with him. He was good enough with the sails that he could fix knots in almost complete darkness, but he didn’t want to risk damaging anything if he missed. So he finished his task, and was slowly moving backwards towards the mast to go back down when he heard it.

It was a woman’s voice, singing. For a split second, he thought it might have been Beth, but then his mind conjured up an image of her, drunk and singing in a tavern, very badly. This voice was nothing like that. He let himself listen to the deep inflexions, the sound resonating as if it came from the bottom of the waters, a never ending chant full of sorrow and melancholy.

And as he listened, he realized that it wasn’t just one voice. The song seemed to come from everywhere around them, floating against the small waves until it reached the ship and vibrated against the wood, all the way into his skin, into his heart.

As if in a daze, he looked out at the sea, trying to catch a glimpse of where the voices were coming from. But the night was too dark to see anything. He had to get down and look for the source or --

“Sirens!” A voice shouted from the main deck. The captain. “Sirens ahead! Everybody, in the sails! Now!”

The ethereal chorus of voices was suddenly drowned in the smashing noises of the crew, yelling and climbing on to the masts. And with that, he seemed to come back to reality. An attack of sirens. He’d never lived through one, but he’d heard enough stories. They always attacked in group, never alone. The wave of music always came first, drawing the sailors near the edges of their ship, and only then did they strike. It wasn’t known if it was some sort of magic, but the legends said that a siren had such stunning features that they would enchant you the second your eyes met theirs, compelling you to jump in the waters in the desire to join them in their underwater lairs, only to die drowning the second you opened your mouth to kiss them.

The only way to try and avoid death was to stay away from the railings. Climbing up the sails, making enough noise to cover their voices, and hope they’d go away without taking anybody. He was grateful he’d already been in the sails this particular night.

All of his crewmen were climbing, and he was looking for Beth, when he caught a glimmer coming from the water. Before being able to stop himself, he looked, and his eyes fell on the creature approaching the ship, her form barely visible in the lantern light coming from it. He couldn’t see her features, only the movements of a long tail behind her, languidly getting her closer and closer to her prey. A feeling of pure anguish invaded him, and he looked to the other side of the ship, only to see two other forms slithering in the water.

And Beth was still nowhere to be found.

That’s when he saw them. As the alluring chant gained more momentum, four figures came out of the sleeping quarters. One of them had a silk headscarf on her hair, one he knew too well, having bought it for her a few years back. And just as the other sailors, she was slowly walking towards the edge of the ship, apparently unaware of the danger ahead.

“Beth!” he yelled, and heard that his crew mates were shouting for her and the others sailors. “Beth! Look away!”

But she didn’t seem to hear him. Nor did the other men down on the deck. He started to move towards the mast again, but as he reached it, Jones grabbed his arm.

“There’s nothing we can do, Charles. I’m sorry.”

Charles yanked back his arm and looked the captain straight in the eyes.

“I’m not letting her die.”

And without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the nearest rope and jumped.

***

She had never heard anything so beautiful. The voices from the sea were like beacons calling her home. Maybe that home had always been here, hidden in the depths of the waters. Maybe that was the reason why she’d always wanted to sail. She could go there right now, and finally feel complete.

Beth took one last step, reached the railing of the ship, and looked down at the sea. A woman was here, waiting for her. And she was the most exquisite woman she’d ever seen. Her long dark hair floated around her in the water, and they looked to be a dark shade of blue in the starlight. Her naked skin almost seemed to twinkle, and her eyes… Beth could have spent the rest of eternity staring into those eyes, and never have enough of it.

The woman had stopped singing, although the voices still filled the air around them, and she was smiling at her. An open smile, inviting. Beth wanted to touch it, to feel the smoothness of that skin under her fingers and caress those lips with hers.

She started to climb onto the railing, her heart aching more and more for every second she wasn’t near that face, that smile.

But then the smile shattered, and a loud, monstrous shriek came out of those tantalizing lips. Beth registered the blood coming out of the creature’s shoulder as well as the large arm that had encircled her waist and was pulling her back. She struggled against the grip, her mind still set on jumping overboard and joining the sea, but a second arm joined the first, pulling her towards the inside of the ship and crashing down on the deck. And slowly, as the image of those dark blue eyes faded away, she heard other shrieks from the water, shouts from the deck, and a familiar voice against her ear.

“Calm down, you’re okay. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

Charles.

Her breathing still ragged from the struggle, she glanced behind her and saw him, holding her tightly in his arms, leaning against a canon. His eyes were closed, as if he’d kept his eyes shut for most of what had just happened. Looking at his face helped her get rid of the lingering images in her mind, and listening to the sound of his breathing made her forget the chant. Slowly, she relaxed and let herself rest against his chest. She lifted an arm and slipped a hand in his hair, saying in a breath:

“It’s okay, you can open your eyes, now.”

They stayed like that for an eternity, huddled together despite the chaos around them. The rest of the crew had apparently come back down to save other sailors that had been as foolish as her, and they were shouting and firing at the sea. She could feel Charles’ heartbeat coming back to its normal pace as she started to understand what had happened. Sirens. She could still feel the pull of the song in her guts, an unstoppable power driving her to sink into the waters, as if nothing else in the world made sense. And yet, she was alive, and not drowning blissfully in the arms of a sea monster.

“How did you manage it?”

She didn’t have to elaborate, he understood what she meant. How had he managed to save her? How had he resisted the sirens’ powers? She didn’t need to ask why he’d risk his life for her. She would have done the same for him, and they both knew it.

“When I came down, most of the crew followed me, so the noise we made helped with the singing. And then I closed my eyes, I shot at her, and I grabbed you. I don’t know if I killed her but -”

“I don’t think so. I saw blood on her shoulder when you fired. I think she was just injured.”

“Well anyway, that seemed to throw her off her game enough to pull you away.”

She remained silent, processing everything she’d just heard. One more second, and she would have been in the water, out of reach, and neither Charles nor anybody else would have been able to save her. She turned into his arms and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

He looked at her and smiled. “Of course.”

And the look in his eyes was so intense that she felt heat rise to her cheeks. Immediately, she laughed it off and added in a light tone:

“I can’t believe you got a chance to shoot a siren and managed to not kill her.”

“Oh I’m sorry, was my rescue not good enough for you?”

“I’m just saying, had I been the one rescuing you? I’d have killed her.”

“Think whatever you want, you ungrateful imbecile.”

She let herself answer him, and as they fell into a familiar rhythm of banter, she closed her eyes and thanked the heavens for having this boy in her life.

#mine #my original #pirate story #am I stressing out at the idea of publishing it? HELL YES #but also if I never share anything you guys will never know what I write hahahaha #writblr #original writing #pinned post #writeblr

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therainbowwillow · 3 years

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Previous part: https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/640627005428318208/therainbowwillow

Part 9!

Premise/last time on this Hadestown AU: Challenged by the Fates, Hermes scrambles onto the train out of Hadestown just in time. Eurydice and Apollo treat Orpheus’s wounds. Hyacinthus takes a nap. Persephone considers filing for divorce. Achilles and Patroclus silently brood over the fact that they’re sharing a train car with Apollo, who indirectly (okay, not that indirectly) murdered them during the Trojan war. Dionysus encourages his mother to please divorce his homicidal father already. Thanatos and Hypnos flee Hadestown on foot. Hades hides to avoid the riots (that he totally caused by trying to kill Orpheus, this is his fault.)

(can you tell writing a synopsis is sometimes my favorite part of this process? I’m a first time fanfic writer, okay? Let me have this!)

—————————————

Hades slides the last lock into place and begins to barricade his bedroom doors. Being walled up in his living quarters, he thinks, does not look good for his image. Then again... what image does he have left to preserve?

He tries not to remember the pain and terror in Orpheus’s eyes. He was helpless. He hadn’t struggled, only given a desperate plea for his life.

Hades knew Orpheus had escaped. He’d watched Hermes from his tower, as he’d wrapped the wounded poet in his coat and carried the boy away from his confinement.

Hades had been given a choice when the boy arrived: appease the workers by letting Orpheus flee or kill the boy and appear strong. He’d taken the middle route. His shades had no respect for him any longer. Now, they pounded at his bedroom door, chanting Orpheus’s name.

Thanatos had been right, of course. He was weak. Foolish. Everything was far out of Hades’s reach now. Persephone would find her mother. As much alcohol as it might take, she was strong; she’d fight the bindings of the food of the dead. She would not return to him now. Orpheus would survive. Counterintuitively, Hades finds himself hoping the boy had made it out safely. Half of him prays that Orpheus will recover and sing the world back into tune. He’ll never get to see it, Hades realizes. Orpheus’s springtime will be lost on the underworld. Nothing will change. Hadestown will never again see flowers bloom. Eventually, the boy’s song will be forgotten by the dead as the Lethe again took its hold. Orpheus and Eurydice’s persistence may well earn them a seat among the gods. They’d never again return to his halls. All Hades has is his kingdom. And he must keep his grip. He will keep his grip. He always has.

The ground trembles. Another mine collapsed or production line blown sky high, he knows. Hades shuffles through his wife’s dresser, preparing to add it to the barricade. He finds a bottle of wine in the bottom drawer with a note attatched. ‘For when I see you again, Seph!’ it reads, ‘Much love, Dionysus.’ Hades slams the bottleneck against the dresser. It shatters to bits. He pours the wine into his mouth and swallows. It reminds him of the few sweet springtimes he’d spent up above. He finishes the bottle.

—————————————

“Strong enough?” Hermes asks, handing Apollo a bottle of morphine.

“Should be. I’ll give him a dose. It’ll knock him out long enough for me to stabilize his condition. Eurydice, distract him for a second.”

“Hey, Orpheus,” she says. “When we get married-”

“We’re getting married?”

She smiles. “Oh, yes. Anyway, when we get married, you get to help me make the bouquet. And, I was thinking, we could write a nice little poem on the wedding invitations.”

“What would it say?” He asks.

“That’s your job!” She laughs.

“What would you write?”

“I dunno! ‘Roses are red, our love is true, we’re getting married to prove it to you!’”

He grins. “That’s terrible.”

“I told you! I’m not a poet.”

“Okay, so I’ll write the invitations,” he says.

“Let’s hold the ceremony outside. Maybe during cherry blossom?”

“Heads up, Eurydice, he’ll be out of it soon,” Apollo warns her.

Eurydice nods and continues, “Who should we invite?”

“Hermes and Persephone.”

“How about me?” Apollo asks.

“Oh yeah. And Hyacinthus too. Everyone we know can come! We’ll have wine for Seph and I’ll drink grape juice!”

Eurydice laughs. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

“A lot,” he says. “A lot a lot.”

“More.”

“All the way to the stars?” He guesses.

“Past the stars and all the way back,” Eurydice corrects him.

His breathing steadies a little. “Can I sleep now?” He asks.

“Yes,” Apollo responds.

“When you wake up,” Eurydice says, “I’ll be right here. We’ll get married during cherry blossom once you’re feeling better and then you’ll teach me how to play the lyre.”

“Tch. Will you actually listen this time?” His words are slurred slightly by the medicine.

“I promise I will.”

“And you won’t try to throw my lyre into the fireplace?”

“I didn’t- okay. No, I won’t.”

“Good. Eurydice, I love you.”

“I love you too. Now get some sleep.”

He closes his eyes and his breathing steadies. Eurydice sinks back in her chair. “He’ll be alright?” she asks.

“Should be.” Apollo winces. “Give me a dose of that morphine or get this arrow out of my ankle, would you?”

“I’ll get Patroclus,” Hermes replies.

He returns a moment later with Achilles and Patroclus in tow. “Well,” Achilles remarks, “looks like karma caught up to you.”

Apollo rolls his eyes. “I saved the kid, now do me a favor and shut it.”

“Fine. Lay down.”

“What, on the floor? I don’t get a bed?”

“Yes, on the floor,” Patroclus snaps. “I’m not dragging you around.”

“Okay, okay.” Apollo puts his hands up in defeat and lowers himself to the ground.

“Listen, your lover boy’s asleep. So how do you want to do this?”

“Quietly,” Apollo says through gritted teeth.

“Alright.” Patroclus stuffs a scrap of cloth into Apollo’s mouth. “Bite this.”

He does. Patroclus snaps the arrow shaft. Apollo clenches his fists.

“Sorry,” Patroclus mutters, unapologetically.

“Mmmph.” Apollo attempts to reply through the cloth.

He yanks the arrow out. Apollo gives a muffled cry of pain. “Alright, there you go. A bandage and you should be fine.”

He spits out the rag. “You’re not even going to bandage it yourself?”

“No. Apollo, you guided a spear through my stomach and an arrow through Achilles’s foot. You let us bleed to death surrounded by the bodies of our fallen friends. Deal with it yourself or find a doctor whose life you didn’t end.”

Apollo stares up at the ceiling. “Take care of Hyacinthus, would you?”

“That I will,” Patroclus replies, honestly. “He’s doing well. He’ll want to see you when the pain meds wear off. So here.” He tosses Apollo a roll of bandages. “I’ll get you when he wakes.”

Hermes kneels at Apollo’s side. “You want a hand?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, breathless. “That’d be nice.”

“Thank you. For helping with Orpheus. I know you would’ve liked to see Hyacinthus,” Hermes says.

Apollo half-smiles. “Orpheus is my son too. He’s a good kid, Hermes. You raised him well.”

“He admired you, Apollo. He cherished your visits.”

“I should’ve come more often,” he mutters.

“You were grieving,” Hermes reminds him. “Orpheus knows how it is. He never blamed you.”

“I’ll come by more often once this is all over. I’d like to promise him that.”

“He’d appreciate it, Apollo,” Hermes tells him.

——————————————

“Persephone?” The door opens. She turns in her seat.

“Dionysus. Come sit.” He takes a seat beside her. “What now?” she asks softly.

“You stay with me, Persephone. Demeter and I will take care of you.”

She shakes her head. “I’m bound to that place.”

“You know Demeter would find a way around it. She’d bribe Zeus. Whatever it takes, mama.”

“Remind me this, son. What did I see in that man?” She asks in a low tone.

“He was kind. Reliable. He always treated me well as a boy. Gave me a normal life. As normal as the underworld gets, that is,” Dionysus reminisces.

“What changed? What broke inside of him for him to put a knife through Orpheus? Send shades to hunt us? I cannot say that he is not the man I know, though. I’ve seen this for years.”

“I...” he pauses. “I don’t know.”

“I feared for you, Dionysus. I sent you away to keep you out of his grasp. I stayed longer winters to distract him. It wears on me, even now.”

“Mother, I can handle myself.”

“Not against Hades. I will not have you put yourself on the line for me, son,” she tells him, sharply.

“I don’t want you going back there, Persephone!” he pleads.

She shakes her head. “Hades will contact his brother. Zeus has no pity for a woman’s whining. Hades will keep his kingdom, and he will keep his wife.”

“Mother-”

She cuts him off. “Be realistic. We must work out a reasonable agreement. We need to protect Orpheus, first and foremost. If he is not protected by my contract, then I will not take it. I will plead for shorter months stuck down there, but I would hope for very little. You will swear to me that you will follow the rules laid out for us, regardless of how harsh they may be.”

“I will not,” he says.

“This isn’t up for debate. Hades owns me. He owns everything that touches his foresaken realm. I am his queen; I am his prisoner.”

“I’m not letting him have you!”

“I’m not giving you a choice, Dionysus. I bound myself to him. I cannot change the past. All we can do is try, my son.”

#hadestown au #hadestown fanfic #hadestown #therainbowwrites

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thewitcheress2389 · 4 years

Text

Marked For Death

Jaskier x Reader

Summary: Geralt, Y/N, and Jaskier are staying in a small village where Geralt accepts a contract for a leshen. Lots of angst.

It was a small, isolated village that you, Jaskier, and the witcher Geralt were visiting. Most of the people living there were predominantly hunters, gatherers, or other types of woodsmen. They didn't seemed bothered by the witcher's arrival, however.

You on the other hand, felt a chill run down your spine and you suddenly felt uneasy. A hand gently grasped yours, and you turned to see Jaskier smiling at you. He squeezed your hand in reassurance as you both trudged along behind Geralt. That small action caused the hidden feelings in your heart to soar.

After tying Roach to a post, you all entered the tavern. Which in all honesty was probably were the most people were and that's saying something. No one smiled. Of course, nothing about Geralt's appearance would make them want to smile.

After settling in the back corner of the room, Jaskier spoke up, "Lively little place, isn't it?"

The sarcasm dripped off of his tongue. The bard stood out quite a lot in this atmosphere and you could tell he was itching to pull out his lute to try and brighten the place up.

"Hmm." Was all Geralt said. You on the other hand, felt like you were in a bubble. All the sounds blurred together and you were staring dead at the wall. It wasn't until Jaskier nudged you, that you broke out of your trance.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" He said with concern in his blue eyes. You blinked several times before looking at the man you had come to love. Geralt just narrowed his eyes in a suspicious manner. You nodded with a slight smile. Jaskier, however, kept staring at you and it made your cheeks burn a bright red. He smirked and was about to say something until a frantic man made this tavern a bit more lievely.

"It's back!" He shouted. "It's back I tell you!"

All the townsfolk in the tavern sighed unanimously. It seems to you that this man is not well liked by the village.

"We've told you before old man," a hunter of the village stepped forward. "The leshen is a product of your grief and sick mind."

The older, frantic man's eyes widened and he slowly stepped forward. "Does a 'sick mind' kill your wife?"

"It might." Jaskier muttered and you nudged him to keep quiet. However, the bard was heard and the old man's eyes flickered towards you. Then a look of relief came about his face.

"You there! Witcher!"

All eyes were now on Geralt. He looked bothered at the sudden attention he was getting, but still his golden eyes flickered towards the old man.

"You have my word that a leshen prowls this forest, slay it." The old man humbly asked the mighty witcher. Geralt sighed through his nose. Jaskier's eyes brightened at the prospect of a new ballad, and you just felt uneasy again.

"It's not worth it witcher," the hunter from before said. "Found one leshen before sure, but we slayed it. This man is clearly still grieving and seeing things."

The old man glared at the hunter. Then he looked at Geralt with pleading eyes. You eyed your brooding companion. It was hard to read what he was thinking. Finally, he said, "Show me where you saw the leshen."

Everyone in the room sighed. Geralt stood up, grabbed his swords, gave you and Jaskier a look that said "stay", and followed the old man out of the tavern. Soon things returned to normal. People chanting amongst themselves, and Jaskier was pressing on new song ideas about the "The witcher who slew the forest spirit." The bard soon got permission to play in the tavern, and people actually enjoyed the entertainment that they clearly have never gotten before. You were smiling and blushing whenever Jaksier winked at you. Especially when he started singing about a maiden with h/c hair.

It felt like hours have passed and still no sign of Geralt. The witcher must've found something. Soon people were dispersing and Jaskier took his seat beside, chatting about anything. However, you soon realized that his words were becoming blurred. All you could remember was Jaskier's worried voice as your world went dark.

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

You woke up later in a room you've never seen before. Sitting up slowly, you noticed that it looked small and rustic looking. Once your senses accumulated, you could tell that this house smelled of the woods. Voices. You could hear voices as well. They were getting louder until the door opened.

"Y/N!" Jaskier exclaimed as he went over and hugged you. You breathed in his calming scent and silently wished that this moment could last forever. However, he pulled away when two other figures entered the building.

It was Geralt and the old man from earlier. Geralt looked peeved and the old man looked concerned. You, on the other hand, were just confused.

"Geralt came back just as you fainted." Jaskier explained. "The old man was willing to help you."

You smiled. "Thank you. I'm feeling a lot better."

"So," you directed the question on Geralt. "Did you find a leshen?"

The witcher crossed his arms and nodded. "Found it deep in the forest. Like the old man told me, this leshen was the same one that the hunters killed before."

Your eyes widened as Geralt continued. "I managed to bring it down, but then it's eye sockets began to glow and it let out a monstrous roar. I had no choice, but to flee like a coward."

You could tell that Geralt was pissed off at his pathetic display, but what else could he have done?

"How is this possible?" Jaskier asked from his place beside you. "How can the leshen just not die? I mean, is it immortal?"

The witcher shook his head. Then the old man spoke up. "I've heard that leshen's mark certain people and, in a sense, continue to live so long as they do."

Geralt nodded at that comment, however, his eyes still seemed far away and his body was still tense.

"Well," Jaskier stated with a small smile. "Then all you have to do is find the one the leshen marked, kill him, and then kill the leshen. Simple."

You gave him a look. "Jaskier, it's not simple."

The bard shrugged at your comment, and you shook yiur head in disbelief. Geralt's eyes have been boring into you as soon as he stepped foot into the house. It was starting to creep you out.

"What?" You looked back into Geralt's eyes. "Is there something on my face?"

You were smiling slightly, but the witcher was not.

"It's you." He suddenly said. All eyes were suddenly on you. You narrowed your eyes in confusion, and were about to ask Geralt what he meant, but he explained himself.

"You're the one the leshen has marked." His voice was deeper than usual, like he was suppressing some sort of emotion. You, on the other hand, felt your mouth go dry and your head started to spin.

You felt like fainting again. Would Geralt really kill you?

"In the tavern," Jaskier started with a much more morose sounding voice than before. "That's why you fainted."

You glanced at the bard, still in shock about this whole ordeal. The old man at this point had left, apparently he couldn't handle this either. The witcher with his arms still crossed, explained.

"When I downed the leshen, it absorbed some of your essence to fuel its own power."

You finally understood the emotion in Geralt's voice. It was despair. It was the first time you've ever heard it from the witcher. He was torn.

"Well," Jaskier started. "You can't kill Y/N."

It wasn't the first time Jaskier stood up to Geralt, but it was the first time that you saw Jaskier with such a serious look. You looked at him with loving eyes, but then you turned to look at the witcher.

"Geralt," you started. "I unders-"

"No!" Jaskier cut you off. "I won't let you die just for the sake of this tiny town."

The bard didn't care who heard him, he was now clutching your hand in his and giving you one of his most thoughtful looks. A mix of emotions that you couldn't decipher swam in his ocean eyes. You wanted to lean in, kiss him, but Geralt's voice cut off your thoughts.

"The only thing that dies will be the leshen." He uncrossed his arms and started towards the door.

"But is that even possible?!" You yelled after him. There was no response except for the door slamming shut. You and Jaskier were left alone. A nervous atmosphere enveloped the both of you.

"This is not how I wanted this day to turn out." Jaskier stated while folding his hands into his lap. You glanced at him while crossing your legs underneath yourself.

"What do you mean?" You asked the bard. After a couple seconds, he let out a nervous chuckle and looked at you with so much love.

"Was I not being obvious enough?" He said with a smile. You felt your heart flutter, hoping he wasn't seeing you as just another filler. You smiled at him, a real smile for the first time that day. He smiled back. You felt it was the right time, and you knew he did too.

Suddenly, an emptiness went through you. Your senses were blurred again, and you grabbed Jaskier's shoulders in support for your rapidly blackening vision. Jaskier grabbed your shoulders in hope that if you fainted again, he could catch you. After a few moments of coming in and out of consciousness, your ragged breathing evened out. You now realized your head was resting on Jaskier's chest. His arms were wrapped around you in silent support.

"Geralt can't beat the leshen..." You whispered into the bard's chest. "Not while I still live."

A hand ran up and down your back in a comforting way.

"Geralt will come back and then we can leave." Jaskier whispered back, his head resting on top of yours.

No, you thought. I need to do something.

A morbid thought ran through your head, and you removed yourself through Jaskier's grasp. More people would die if you didn't do something. What's one life compared to dozens of others?

You made up your mind.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed at Jaskier, who still kept a firm hold on you. You could see it in his eyes, he knew you were planning something. Something bad.

"Jaskier..." you choked out, a sad smile staining your face. Then you kissed him. It was short, sweet, but too quick. He didn't even have time to kiss back. Then you pulled yourself out of his now weak grasp. He didn't even have time to react as you grabbed a nearby knife and ran out the door shouting, "I love you!"

If he said something, you didn't hear it as you bolted through the forest. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you jumped over roots and ducked under branches. Finally you could hear the sounds of Geralt fighting what you could only guess is the leshen. You broke through the underbrush to see the most horrifying creature in your entire life.

It stood nearly 8 feet tall. Its body was made up of mostly wood and moss. Human skulls hung off of its side and back. Sap pooled out of some openings in its body and its claw like hands tensed. The most terrifying part would be its head. Its head was the skull of a deer, and it was looking straight at you.

Geralt had landed on his back from the leshen's blow, but he recovered quickly and noticed you.

"Y/N?!" He growled. "What are you doing here?!"

You ignored him and slowly began to walk towards the beast. It stood stone still as you stared deep into its black skull sockets. Geralt, with silver sword in hand, was just watching and breathing heavily from his brutal attack from the leshen.

"You won't kill me." You said to the leshen. It continued to stare blankly at you. With shaky hands, you lifted the blade you've been concealing, to your throat.

"But I can." You stated bravely. Geralt's eyes flickered between you and the leshen.

Just do it.

The leshen roared in distress as it raised its arm towards you, but you acted quicker and sliced your throat. Blood gushed from the gash like a rapid river, spilling out over the grass as your body collapsed to the ground. You were dead before you even hit the ground, the knife limply falling from your grasp.

The leshen collapsed to its knees, groaning in agony. Geralt didn't even register what happened. He just quickly thrusted his silver sword through the place where its heart would be. The leshen let out a ghostly howl of pain and as soon as the sword was ripped out from its chest, the leshen collapsed.

The leshen lay dead.

Geralt then lumbered over to the body of his dead companion. Your body was now pale as all the blood had drained from your throat. Your e/c eyes were closed and you looked more at peace than ever. The witcher shook his head in disbelief.

"We could've found another way..." Was all he mumbled as he stood there, sword in hand. His witcher senses picked out the sounds of something else in the forest. Heavy breathing and a fast pulse. Geralt couldn't even bring himself to lift his sword.

Suddenly Jaskier broke into the clearing looking like a wild animal. Eyes wide, hair wild, and breathing labored. He wildly looked around until his eyes met Geralt's. The witcher didn't even know what to say to the bard as his eyes slowly lowered down to your body.

Jaskier walked towards you with the most emotionless face Geralt has ever seen on him. He knelt beside your corpse before slowly cradling you in his arms. He didn't care about the blood, he didn't care if Geralt judged him. He just wanted to hold you once more. To feel your touch. Even if it was cold and lost.

Geralt sheathed his silver sword, but didn't approach his mourning companion. He could hear the ragged sobs just fine.

Geralt's head whipped to the left when he heard the approach of another person. It was the old man.

He stared at your body for a while before looking apologetically at the witcher.

"I know it was quite a price to pay, witcher." He said while gesturing towards the bloody scene. "I'm sorry."

Geralt put his hands on his hips and gave the old man a hard stare with his cat-like eyes.

"Don't tell me that," Geralt then gestured towards Jaskier with his head. "Tell him that."

The following days were hard. Geralt and Jaskker continued to travel together, but it wasn't the same. Jaskier hardly spoke. It was always silence. Your lovely voice wasn't around anymore. Both men felt like they had a void in them.

One day, Jaskier told the witcher that he was leaving. He said he needed some time alone, time to think. Geralt responded with a simple hum, wishing he was better with words.

The song about "The witcher who slew the forest spirit" never came about.

Instead there was a ballad about "A h/c haired maiden who made the ultimate sacrifice."

#jaskier imagine #jaskier and geralt #jaskier x reader #jaskier #geralt of rivia #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher #leshen

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uwunnie · 5 years

Text

Updates as of November 2, 2019 - 10:52 AM (US Mountain Time):

The silent protest in SK is currently occurring as I write this.

A whale was bought/adopted for Minhyuk’s birthday. The whale’s name is Monbebe.

The fundraiser for the Times Square ad has reached over $22k USD. The goal was $10k USD.

Tags are still trending.

Elhae has reached out to Changkyun and We Bare Bears creator, Daniel Chong, tweeted his support of Wonho.

Staff is still showing their support for MX and Wonho.

300 fans were allowed into the Inkigayo recording which is unusual considering the 200 capacity norm.

Monbebes attending the recording will be using the OT7 chant during the performance.

All sorts of fundraisers are being held including: Raising money for SK ads, a Filipino MOA Globe ad, German ads, YouTube ads, etc.

I believe it’s Paris Monbebes who are looking for musically talented MBB’s to compose and sing a song.

At the silent protest, more notes are being collected from Monbebes.

Tower Records, an international music franchise store, has showed their support through signs at their Japanese location.

Fan artists are being asked to come together to draw the group as OT7 and post their creations to show their love and support for MX.

Video messages are also encouraged.

Fan letters, handwritten and/or electronically published, are encouraged.

Writing of the current hashtags on a piece of paper or post-it note are encouraged. Sidenote: If you’d like to participate but don’t have a Twitter, my submissions and inbox are open, so please feel free to send me any type of project you’d like to be posted and I’ll do so with crediting you.

If you participate in any handwriting events, please DO NOT USE RED INK AND STRAY AWAY FROM RED STATIONERY/PAPER. Koreans consider it taboo since red ink was used to write deceased people’s names on family registers in the past. If this is done to a living person, it’s viewed as a wish for their death, so please avoid using red ink (and paper).

——————————————————————————

SPECULATIONS from November 2’s Music Bank performance are as follows:

MX left a spot open on stage to signify Wonho’s presence (where he would stand) during their Follow and Find You performances.

Jooheon’s slip up on the lyrics could be to protest what’s occurring.

MX nearly cried during their Find You performance.

It’s possible that in future performances, Kihyun’s glare will break the 4th wall and shoot fire straight through screens - and honestly, mbb are okay with that.

——————————————————————————

Another speculation is that Starship is staying quiet for legal reasons in defense for Wonho until they’re able to speak out.

New tags are being utilized and the current ones are:

#StarshipFightForWonho

#돌아보면_항상_여기_있을게

#ShineForMonstaX

#사랑한다_몬스타엑스

International Monbebes would like to hold their own physical silent protests. Details are being worked out.

This isn’t an update, but DO NOT INTERACT WITH HAN SEO HEE OR JUNG DA EUN ON ANY PLATFORM. Doing so will only make the situation worse for MX and those two are not worth the time. Instead, channel your emotions towards the trends and online protests.

I’ll make a new post when new info is revealed. In the meantime, please part-take in the protests and events as well as wish Minhyuk a happy birthday, please.

Also, if you see this, you’re obligated to take at least a 5 minute break and drink some water too. ❤️

(For past updates, feel free to check the ‘updates’ tag on my blog)

#monsta x #wonho #shownu #jooheon #joohoney #im #changkyun #hyungwon #kihyun #minhyuk #updates

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toosicktoocare · 4 years

Text

prompt: IM SO EXCITED WHEN I SAW YOU WERE WRITING FOR THE WITCHER IM FUCKING PUMPED. Would you do one where Geralt’s fighting monsters and being a general badass but working himself to exhaustion and jaskier makes him stop and take care of himself

I really really like this prompt, @this-is-whump-dammit !!

It’s been four days since Jaskier’s frightening mishap with a lone werewolf.

While accompanying Geralt through the woods, he stumbled upon a single werewolf, a rarity as they often run in packs. He had just enough time to whisper Geralt’s name, voice trembling as hard as his knees, before the werewolf lunged at him, knocking him to his back with a loud thud that’s masked by a booming growl. The werewolf’s teeth were mere inches from his face, and Jaskier took a second to consider how great of a song this would be if he lived before Geralt swung his sword, knocking the werewolf’s head to the ground in a single, shaking swing.

He was fine, only shaken to the core, but Geralt insisted they stop at the nearest town so he can rest by wordlessly packing up their small camp set up and grumbling “let’s go,” leaving zero room for argument.

Four days, and Jaskier’s fine. While he’s not complaining at sleeping in a real, warm bed inside... with Geralt because double-bed rooms can get pricey, he knows Geralt is anxious to get back on the road, never wanting to stay in a single town for too long because of the shouts and looks that come each time he steps out in public. At least, that’s what Jaskier’s perceived as the primary reason for Geralt’s wandering lifestyle.

When Jaskier wakes on the fifth day, Geralt’s, once again, already gone. Though, upon closer look, Geralt’s side of the bed looks untouched, the sheets only lightly rumpled thanks to Jaskier’s almost constant moving in his sleep after an incredibly unpleasant dream about werewolves. He smooths a palm across the empty side of the bed, frowning at the cool, soft touch. Come to think of it, he can’t remember Geralt ever coming to bed.

Jaskier remembers having a little too much to drink at the local tavern. He remembers slurring songs out on his lute, and he can faintly remember being tossed over Geralt’s shoulder and hauled back to the inn. After that, everything’s a faint blur of vomiting, being far too hot, giggling, and then blacking out.

He runs a hand through his hair, attempting to make some sense of the many strands sticking out at all ends. He spares a glance to his crumpled clothes on the floor, and he groans, swinging his legs over the bed and getting to his feet. A dull throb clings to his temples, and he feels a little sluggish, but otherwise, he’s ready to take on the day, which apparently, he thinks as he drags slow eyes around the room, is tracking down this dumb Witcher.

He dresses and makes his way to the tavern, groaning at the shouting and singing that assaults his ears the second he steps into the building.

“Oh, the Witcher is buff! The Witcher is strong! The Witcher travels far! I follow along! He fights all the monsters, clean and quick! I can’t help but watch for I want his sweet--”

“--I did not sing such an inappropriate song!” Jaskier shouts, though the flush creeping hot at his cheeks says otherwise. He shakes his head with a low huff, ignoring the shouts and catcalls as he makes his way to the bartender.

“Rough night?” he asks Jaskier, raising his brows.

“My night was perfectly fine, thank you,” Jaskier ignores the low comment “I bet it was” in favor of scanning the tavern for familiar long, white hair. He comes up empty, shoulders slumping as he turns back to the bartender.

“Have you seen Geralt?”

“A saint he is,” a woman sitting at the bar says, and Jaskier pulls his attention toward her, cocking his head slightly to the side.

“He stopped by very early this morning and asked if anyone needed help with anything. We’ve had these pesky giant centipedes causing a ruckus on our farm. He came back an hour later with the head of one, but he wouldn’t accept our payment.”

Jaskier stares at the small satchel of coins lying untouched on the table, brows furrowed. “He didn’t take the money...?”

“He didn’t take mine either,” a young farmer boy interrupts, and soon, others in the tavern are crowding around and joining in, telling their own accounts of Geralt providing his services for free.

Jaskier listens, frown growing deeper, more prominent, with each story, and after a good ten minutes of storytelling, he interrupts the crew.

“Hold on, how many requests has he taken?”

“Hard to say,” the bartender admits, wiping down a mug. “He came back a few hours after dropping your sorry, drunken ass off at the inn and started demanding requests.”

“You mean to tell me,” Jaskier draws out, heart beating a little too fast against his ribs, “that Geralt has been taking requests all night?”

“Sounds like it,” the bartender answers as others chant their praises for the Witcher.

“Well,” Jaskier starts as he slides off the bar stool. “I guess I should go and find him--”

“--go east toward the edge of the woods,” a woman supplies. “There’s an old cemetery. I heard a man tell him some fleders were spotted in that area.”

Jaskier’s heart stutters at the mention of such a dangerous threat, and he offers a thankful nod toward the woman before hurrying out of the tavern. To his surprise, Roach is still tied to a post near the inn, and he approaches the horse with defensive, raised hands.

“Easy, Roach. I’m a friend.” He’s pleased to see that Roach is tolerating him today, and after a few minutes and a lot of falling, he’s finally able to climb onto the back of the horse. “Well, then, let’s head east.” He waits for Roach to move, but the horse, as stubborn as his owner, remains glued to his spot until he presses his heels lightly into his side.

Roach starts at a light trot east toward the edge of the woods, and Jaskier takes this brief moment of solitude to address the urgent sense of panic gripping at his heart. This, he thinks, is unlike Geralt. Taking this many jobs for no pay? It doesn’t settle right in his chest. He can’t shake this feeling that something’s wrong, something’s off, and he just hopes that Geralt’s still breathing when he finds him.

It takes an hour to get to the cemetery, but his relief at seeing Geralt alive is short-lived when the Witcher turns toward the sound of the horse approaching. Jaskier sees the dark, cold eyes looking back at him, eyes pulsing and plagued by a strong liquid. There’s a small, empty bottle on the ground beside a dead fleder, and Jaskier frowns sharply at it as he swings his legs over Roach’s back and slides off the horse. He hits the ground, staggers, and falls backward, but he’s quick to get back on his feet.

“Geralt,” he calls out carefully. “What are you doing?” He starts to step forward, but then a fleder flies at him, and he’s sure he sees his life flash before his eyes before Geralt’s large body crashes into him, sending the two falling to the ground.

“Go,” Geralt growls to him, face just inches from Jaskier’s, before he jumps to his feet, sword raised and ready as the fleder flies back toward them.

Jaskier slowly gets to his feet, watching with wide eyes as Geralt takes a long, shaking swing in perfect time with the fleder’s movements. Geralt’s blade makes contact, and the Witcher puts force behind his sword until the fleder is falling to the ground.

The only sound to follow is Geralt’s harsh, ragged breathing, and he jabs his sword into the ground to brace himself against it when he stumbles slightly. Jaskier watches, lips curled into a deep frown, brows furrowed, and he approaches Geralt slowly.

“Geralt,” he repeats. “What’s going on?” He can see the Witcher’s shoulders tense at the question, but Geralt doesn’t turn to look at him. Jaskier takes a few more steps toward him, stepping over a fleder body with a grimace pulling at his face.

“Why have you taken so many requests without accepting pay?” The closer Jaskier gets to Geralt, the easier it is to see the general, curved slump of Geralt’s posture and the tremble of Geralt’s hand that’s gripping the hilt of his sword as if that’s the only thing keeping him upright. Jaskier starts shifting around until he’s facing Geralt just as the potion wears off, dark eyes fading to tired, amber ones.

“All night, I might add,” Jaskier presses, and Geralt slowly lifts his gaze to meet Jaskier’s eyes. Jaskier sucks in a sharp hiss of a breath at the clear exhaustion pulling at Geralt’s features, but he opts to remain silent and wait until Geralt’s ready to speak.

After a few, silent minutes that drag on and on, Geralt finally sighs, deep, long, drawn out. “I’m doing my job.”

“You are seeking out work as if you are hungry for a death wish,” Jaskier clarifies, voice sharp yet concerned.

“It’s dangerous out here--”

“--well of course it is,” Jaskier interrupts. “That doesn’t mean you have to go running toward every beast that crosses your path for hours on end with no sleep. You are exhausted, Geralt.” He stresses each word, dragging out the syllables, and Geralt’s face falls. Conflict colors his eyes, a look Jaskier’s only seen once or twice.

“I’m,” Geralt pauses, eyes falling closed in a slow blink. “I’m doing it for you.”

“You’re... what?” Jaskier’s heart skips a beat. He locks eyes with Geralt, and the concern bleeding through his body is mixing with muted confusion, and something else he can’t quite put a finger on.

“Last night. Your sleep was fitful--”

“--I was drunk--”

“--you were afraid,” Geralt’s voice is sharp in a way that Jaskier can’t find a word to interject.

“You shouted about werewolves,” Geralt presses with a sigh.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier tries to assure, but Geralt shakes his head.

“Physically, yes, but...” Geralt’s grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. “It’s dangerous for you.” He makes to rip it from the ground, but Jaskier closes the short distance between the two and drops his hand atop Geralt’s.

“Just as it is for you,” Jaskier whispers. His heart is threatening to leap from his throat. It’s working in overtime, and he knows his face is blushing like mad, yet he keeps his voice soft, cool, but demanding. “But you won’t do us any good if you collapse.” He holds Geralt’s gaze, the two sharing a silent conversation that Geralt breaks with a low groan.

“I am tired.”

“See?” Jaskier says, a small smile flicking across his lips. “Now, how about we head back to the inn so you can get some much needed rest? I’m sure Roach can carry us both, right?”

Geralt only grunts, and the two struggle onto Roach’s back. Roach grunts a little, but Geralt’s hand smoothing over his neck eases him, and with Geralt behind Jaskier, he reaches around for the reins, trusting Roach to lead them back safely without much guidance.

The ride back is silent. Jaskier wants to fill the silence so that there’s no risk of Geralt catching onto his rapid heart, but Geralt’s chin is is resting atop his shoulder, and the Witcher’s eyes are shut. Jaskier’s afraid to move, to jostle Geralt, so he remains stiff as a board until one of Geralt’s hands drops the reins and slides to Jaskier’s thigh.

“Relax. It feels as if I’m resting on a rock.”

“Sorry,” Jaskier squeaks out, but he obliges, huffing out a shaking sigh and willing his muscles to loosen. It works, he supposes, because Geralt lets out a low, pleased hum that squeezes hard at Jaskier’s heart.

By the time they’re back at the inn and Geralt’s bathed and in bed, Jaskier feels as if he might faint from a rapid heart. He grabs his lute and starts toward the door, freezing at the low growl that comes from the bed.

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?” Jaskier turns around.

“Lie with me.”

“I don’t want to disrupt your sleep--”

“--you won’t,” Geralt responds sleepily. “I need to make sure you are...”

“Safe,” Jaskier whispers, finishing Geralt’s sentence as the Witcher struggles to keep his eyes open. He moves toward the bed, climbing atop above the covers until his back is pressed against the wooden headboard.

“Will you sleep?”

Jaskier breathes out a shaky laugh. “I’m far too strung to fall asleep, I’m afraid. Plus, I’ve had a full night’s sleep unlike you.”

Geralt hums, rolling over until his hand is resting atop Jaskier’s thigh. “Good. I cannot protect you from your dreams.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier starts, but Geralt interrupts with a gruff voice.

“Sing something.”

“My lute’s over--”

“--no chords. Just your voice.”

“I thought you hated my singing.” He meets Geralt’s half-lidded eyes, and Geralt narrows his slightly.

“Sing.”

“Fine,” Jaskier huffs. He tilts his head back until he’s staring at the ceiling and clears his throat.

“One’s heart’s too loud, screaming for something more. Screaming for nothing more than to scream for what he shouldn’t adore.”

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indestinatus · 4 years

Text

Something blue (part 2/?)

read it in AO3 if you prefer

*this is a tiva fic. Please read chapter 1 first.

"Goooood morning!" Ellie exclaimed excitedly as she entered the bullpen, putting her backpack on the ground.

McGee was in his desk, concentrated on something on his computer, eyes unblinking, completely ignoring the world around him.

"Hey, McGee, goooood morning!"

There was no reaction, but Ellie noticed that some beads of sweat now covered his forehead.

"Goooood- hey what's wrong with him?" asked Nick, arriving at the bullpen, casting a puzzled look to Bishop who was still next to her desk studying the other agent.

"Don't know yet, he was already like that when I got here."

Nick and Ellie hovered around McGee, cornering him until they're standing on each side of his computer, but just as they tried to look at his screen, he was faster and closed it.

"Hey, guys, good morning."

"Okaaaaay. Weird," stated Ellie.

"Are you hacking this time of the morning, bro?" asked Torres, eyes squinting in distrust, "you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm just-"

"Petty officer Grove isn't," declared Gibbs loudly, entering the bullpen as usual, in a rush, "grab your gear, we're going sailing."

"Sailing?" asked Torres, eyes wide "as in bluewater, sunset, a drink in my hand-sailing?"

"I think he means we're going to a ship," Ellie patted his shoulder in consideration, "maybe later, Gatsby."

"The man makes sailing boats all the time..."

McGee's eyes turned unfocused again and he stood silently, eyebrows furrowed in clear concern as he grabbed his backpack mechanically.

"Hey, man, you alright?" asked Nick again, eyeing McGee curiously.

"Yeah, yeah, I am. I just... Yes. I am," said Tim, walking towards the elevator without looking back.

Nick and Ellie exchanged a meaningful look as they entered the elevator, a clear connection between the two, who now shared the same thought.

McGee wasn't, in fact, alright.

°°°

"Oh, man, this isn't EVEN close to what I imagined it would be," said Nick loudly, trying to beat the sound of the waves and the wild sirens of the ship, "and I'm starting to feel a little bit sick."

"You might try to get used to it, we are in the middle of nowhere," Ellie smiled at him from where she stood on the main deck, the wind aggressively tousling her hair, "besides, something tells me we're going to stay here for a while."

"Why don't we do something different for once? Like, have a case that leads to Hawaii or some deserted beach?"

"Quit dreaming, Torres," said Gibbs as the team entered the accommodations, leaving the sirens and wind behind, "Palmer should be here already, find him."

Nick nodded looking a bit pale, and he left to search for the medical examiner.

Ellie eyed McGee with distrust, he hadn't spoken a word during the whole trip to the naval base. His forehead was furrowed and his eyes were darting everywhere, as if his thoughts were more important than the actual reality.

"Body is down in the control room," Nick popped his head by the door, sweat coating his skin, "oof, remind me to never again set foot on a ship."

"Will do," answered Ellie, patting his shoulder as they descended the stairs to the control room.

Palmer was squatting next to the petty officer's body, who was laying on the ground almost as if he was only sleeping, arms placed on top of his abdomen, hands together.

"He was shot once in the head, entry and exit wounds present, probably 0.38 caliber bullet. He was young, around 25, but it was a quick death, at least," Jimmy sighed, "as my grandmother used to say, never forget to seas the day."

Palmer barked a laugh but as soon as he looked up to the team and saw that no one was laughing with him, his face became serious again as he muttered his apologies under his breath.

McGee arrived at the scene with a camera around his neck, the back of his hand wiping his forehead, clearly uncomfortable.

"MCGEE!," exclaimed Jimmy, standing up in a second, "I need to talk to you."

"Not now, Jimmy, we'll talk later."

"But we have to-"

"Yeah, I know. I'm doing it. Just... Just let me think for a second."

Ellie's eyebrows shot up and she glanced at Nick with wide eyes, who sent her a knowing look in return. As McGee started to take the photographs of the scene, bending down to the ground, deep in his thoughts, Bishop and Torres got closer to Palmer.

"Hey, man," said Torres quietly, grabbing Jimmy's arm and pulling him to a corner, "is everything alright? He has a crazy look in his eyes."

Ellie got closer, crossing her arms, "do you know something that you're not telling us, Jimmy?"

Jimmy huffed an uncomfortable laugh, "Uh... I don't know if I can tell you, guys, it's just-"

"Let him be," a grave voice startled them from behind, "this time it's actually important."

Gibbs angled his chin to Nick, "Torres, with me, ask about witnesses. Bishop," he pointed to a video camera on a corner of the ceiling, "get that."

Nick's eyes shot to Ellie, the white of them visible as he motioned between them with his index finger, "only WE don't know what's going on, blondie."

"Hmmm," muttered Bishop, putting her hands on her hips as Gibbs and Torres left the scene to ask about the dead petty officer to the others on board.

She looked around, eyeing Palmer and McGee with suspicion, trying to discover any clue of what was going on, but they were both engrossed in their jobs.

"I will find out," she stated to whoever was listening, leaving the scene confidently, her boots stomping on the stairs.

She didn't notice that Jimmy's lips opened in a small grin.

°°°

"Dancing queen... Young and sweet..."

Jack Sloane was singing in the bathroom stall softly, whistling along with the melody of the song.

She opened up the door and almost fell to the ground.

"Oh, my God, Ellie," she declared, raising a hand to press at her chest in surprise, "you scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here like that?"

Ellie was leaning her back at the bathroom counter, arms crossed and face grave, "what do you know?"

"What do I know about what...?"

Bishop gave two knocks on the door rhythmically and Nick appeared, locking the bathroom door behind him.

"Does she know something?"

"Nick, this is the women's bathroom."

"Yeah, I know."

"And what are you doing here, then?"

"We're interrogating you."

"Interrogating me?" Jack huffed a laugh, "what did I do?"

"What you didn't do, to be exact," said Bishop with distrust, "do you know something about what's going on with Jimmy and McGee?"

"With... Jimmy and McGee? And why-"

"Don't try to cover them up, it's been days since they have these lunatic eyes and secretive conversations," complimented Torres.

"But why-"

"Does it have something to do with you-know-who?" asked Ellie, getting closer to Sloane with her arms crossed, followed by Nick doing the same on her other side.

"You-know-who as in...?"

"T and Z, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, the hawk and the eagle, the shotgun and the dagger, ya know."

"Codenames? In the women's bathroom, seriously?"

Ellie looked at Torres and nodded in agreement.

"Yep," said both at the same time.

"It's been a few weeks since she left and we didn't get any news from anyone. Then McGee appears one morning looking like he's just been shot and Palmer is the same, not being able to form complete sentences. So... It's about someone they both knew."

"Them," stated Bishop, nodding to what Nick was saying, "and Gibbs knows as well. So... You know."

"Hey, guys, hold on," asks Jack, hands opened in front of her as an attempt of defending herself, "why do you think I know only because Gibbs knows?"

"Well, because-"

"That's not the point," interrupted Ellie, clearly impatient, "the point is: what is it?"

"Well, you should ask them," said Jack, eyes narrowing, "so excuse me, because I have no idea what you're talking about."

She washed her hands and fled the bathroom, leaving Nick and Ellie frustrated and confused.

"Do you think she's telling the truth?"

"I don't know, she’s hiding something."

°°°

Once they arrived at the bullpen, McGee was furiously writing on something. He then threw away the paper with a concerned face and started over again. The floor near his desk was already mostly covered in paper balls.

"Okay, MCGEE," called Ellie loudly, putting both her hands on his desk with loud 'thump', "What. Is. Going. On?"

Tim looked at her with wide eyes, as if it was the first time he noticed he was actually in the bullpen and not in his room in front of his typewriter. He looked at Torres, behind her, arms crossed and face puzzled. He looked at Gibbs leaving the scene with a smirk, coffee in hand.

"Okay, okay," he said, standing up, his hands opened in front of him in defense, "I wasn't supposed to tell you yet, but I think they've already sent them."

Ellie cast a questioning look to Torres, who appeared just as confused as she was, "sent what?"

"What's this?"

Kasie raised a light grey envelope in the air, eyes darting from McGee to Torres to Bishop. Ellie looked at Nick and raced to get it from Kasie's hand, but he was faster than her and grabbed it first.

"Okay," Nick said panting, "what's this?" he repeated, turning the envelope in his hands.

Ellie looked across his shoulder, Nick’s arms blocking her way to the envelope, "open. It. Nick." she asked.

It was wrapped in a bronze ribbon, with an olive branch placed behind a golden wax seal. It read "T and Z" in beautiful, cursive golden writing. It was lovely.

"No no no no, let me open it," said Ellie once she saw what it was, "or you'll damage it."

"I think you both got one," said Kasie, raising another envelope from Ellie's desk.

She raced to it, grabbing the envelope with a force but then carefully unwrapping the ribbon, opening it gently.

"Save the date," she breathed out.

Ellie held Kasie's hands and started jumping up and down in some sort of dance, a big smile on her lips "they're getting married! We'll have a wedding! They're getting married!" she started to chant.

We do. (yes, finally, we know) You’re important to us, so save the date! - Tony and Ziva

McGee couldn't help but smile at the scene. His two best friends were finally getting together and starting a new life next to each other, and their daughter. For him, it was almost surreal. After years of bickering, boyfriends deaths, undercover operations, all finally ended well. His heart warmed with the thought.

"Yes, we have a wedding," he said to the group, "and I'll have to write the best man's speech, just as Palmer will have to make a toast as... Let's just say the man of honor. That's why we were so jittery the past few days. I have to get this right, they're both very important to me."

"Oh, McGee," said Ellie, patting his hand in reassurance, "you'll prepare a brilliant speech, I'm certain of it."

"Besides, we're all be there by your side to laugh at all your jokes," said Kasie with a smile.

"You're going too, Kasie?" asked Ellie.

"Oh, yeah, I think even George the janitor is going. I just didn't get the invite yet."

Just as she said that, Gibbs appeared in a rush, coffee on one hand and a light gray envelope wrapped in a ribbon on the other, which he softly gave to Kasie without saying a word.

"Guys," said Nick alarmingly, eyes wide while reading the invitation, "GUYS. GUYS. GUYS. OH MAN, THIS IS GOING TO BE SWEEEEEET."

"What? What did we miss? What's going on?" asked Ellie.

Gibbs was smirking in his desk, but silent. McGee had an amused look in his eyes but also didn't answer. Bishop ran to Nick and tried to seize what was in his hands to have a look but he was faster.

"This wedding isn't in DC," said Nick as he started to do a sequence of reggaeton moves, "MY MAN IS GOING ON VACATION!"

Everyone started to cheer and laugh loudly, as a family does.

In the back of the paper, a little message was placed at its center, a branch of olive leaves on each side of the elegant handwriting.

Grab your gear, We are waiting for you in Greece. - lots of love, T and Z.

P.S.: If any of you start to sing Mamma Mia like I'm listening to FOR DAYS from my two ladies, I WILL go mad. P.S.S.: But if you have the urge to, do it. This will be a great party. - T.

#ncis #tiva #ncis fanfiction #tiva fanfiction #ellick #my fics #something blue fic #pick your favorite abba song #let's have a wedding #straight out of canon realm #into the land of aesthetic dreams #i'm SO excited #please share with me your thoughts!!#lots of love -sofia #the tags aren't working and now i'm sad

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poems-and-pillows-and-puppies · 4 years

Text

Song of the Sea: Chapter 3

Ahaha! I finally finished this! The link to the actual story is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967113/chapters/55182634

Also, I have a choice between writing in a steamy chapter that can’t be shown on tumblr, or continue with the plotline here. If you want, please comment or message me with your vote! Thanks!

Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Butterfly Knife

The moonlight shone upon him, highlighting his cheekbones, his rough jaw, his haggard, sea-worn face. Silent, he sat, listening to the rush of the seawaves and the silent hum of the wind in his ears. The breeze played with his hair, just like Ethari did. ‘Ethari.’ He ducked his head, mind abuzz with unasked questions, unanswerable questions. Frowning, he reminded himself of the predicament he had gotten himself in.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’

He growled, a deep rumbling noise that would have scared any pirate into submission. Any pirate, except for one. ‘One that will never forgive me.’ He wiped away the spray that had accumulated on his brow, ignoring the fact that some of the brackish water that he wiped away definitely didn’t come from the sea. He brewed over his foolish decision, guilt spreading through every inch of his body. The red-hot itch of shame set his nerves on fire, and he let out a choked sob. His hair fell over his face, covering his facial expressions from any passersby. He would have been grateful. He should have. But, at that moment, he mourned, not for the death of a child, or the death of a lover, but both. His love had been taken, his daughter captured, and he had done nothing. He was supposed to be there, an unshakeable pillar for his family. But, when the fateful moment came, when his character, his morals, was put under pressure, he had cracked. His decisions, his actions, his words-

The tingling moved to pool in his eyes, and he let out another sob. A different sort of dampness moistened his face, and he made no move to wipe it away.

“It..it was… my fault, wasn’t it?” he croaked. “I could’ve been there, guarding them, but I didn’t. I wasn’t there when they needed me most. What kind of father..am I?”

The tears fell faster, and he could not stop them. He felt a soft touch on his shoulder, a whisper of air in his ear. “Everything...will be alright.”

He looked behind him, confused, but saw nothing but the endless stretch of the moonlit beach and the gently lapping shore-bound waves. ‘Who.. what was that?’

The voice whispered, “That is none of your concern. What is of concern, however, is in the way in which you hold your loved ones. They are not dead, only sleeping, and you must find them. Moping will not get you anywhere.”

Runaan whipped his head around wildly, his cascading braids following his movements. “Where are you, then?”

No more words followed, only the rush of the waves crashing upon the seashore. Shaking his head, he muttered to himself, “I must be seeing things. Runaan, get a hold of yourself!” He got up from his spot on the sand and began to brush off the excess particles in the same mindless pattern as he had done so many times and in so many different places. Shaking himself and stretching out his cramped-up muscles, he began formulating his next plan. ‘That- that voice was right. I can’t just sit here and mope. I made this mess, now it’s time for me to clean it.’ He took off in a dead sprint towards his ship. ‘I must. It is my duty.’ The voice’s owner smiled. ‘Everything is falling into place.’

‘Now Runaan, my ever so faithful pawn…. Where will you move next?’

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

Ethari couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t smile, couldn’t scream, couldn’t- His body was moving on its own, spiraling and twisting through the murky water. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t care. He wanted out. To be alone. He had left his home, his love, his everything. He didn’t know how to make it better. Runaan’s words continued its little chant in his head, coalescing into a blackness that filled his head with not totally unwelcome whispers. ‘Your fault,’ it hissed. ‘Your fault.’ The blackness used to be only a little pinpoint of darkness, floating around in his headspace like a tiny scrap of metal adrift in water. As days passed, as time marched on, it grew and grew into an indiscriminate mass, a mess that devoured every other thought in his head. The merman shivered and weeped, even as he pushed himself to go faster, even as his muscles began to spasm. ‘It’s all my fault.’ His muscles gave out, and he sank to the seafloor, spent. ‘My fault…’

‘My fault.’

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

Ethari awoke to the feeling of gravel scraping on his scales. With a wince, he pushed himself upright, only to wince more at the feeling of his cramped muscles stretching and his joints popping underneath. ‘What.. what happened?’ He shook his head vigorously and rolled his neck, making satisfied noises from where he swam in place. Taking a quick look around, he noticed that the murky water from earlier was now a pretty turquoise shade, and he giggled as a small fish swam by his face. Sobering slightly, he turned toward the seashore and stared silently at the bottom part of the ship he had shared so many memories with. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Alright. Time to face the music.” He opened his eyes, determination blazing deep within their depths. “It’s time for me to fix things.” With a powerful beat of his tail, he powered toward his destination.

It wasn’t long until he reached his goal. Sucking in a large gillful of water, he slowed to a stop at the hull of his and his husband’s ship. Rubbing his hands along the smooth wood, he swam along the edge of the hull, keeping an ear out for any witnesses. He admired the dents and splintering underside of the boat, sighing in relief when there was no sign of any ship activity since he last observed the hull. ‘Good. That means he didn’t try to look for the captors. If he did, he might’ve-’ The vibration of boots shifting the soft sand of the beach, then the knock of wood as they hit home on the pier, startled him out of his reverie. He shrank back from the hull a bit, frightened, as the footsteps slowed, then vibrated the hull, as if the hull itself was singing from the person’s very presence. His very presence… “Runaan,” he whispered. His heart sang at the thought of seeing him again, but his mind had other plans. ‘No, we can’t meet him right away. What if.. he’s still mad? He’d de-scale us!’

‘But we need to make things right again! If we don’t meet him, we’ll...’

‘No! We need to stay undercover for now!’

‘He’s freaking out! We need..’

‘We.. not..’

‘Must.. see him..’

His mind pulsed and buzzed angrily in his skull. He groaned and shook his head vigorously as the debate between heart and mind continued debating.

‘We don’t have a choice! We need to see him NOW!’

‘No, no we don’t! We have to wait-’

The hull shook again. Ethari recoiled physically this time, propelling himself back in a desperate bid to avoid any unwanted gazes. ‘Did someone-’

A very familiar and very husky voice called out above the water, setting Ethari’s fins aquiver.

“Ethari?”

‘Oh no.’

His scales itched with panic. ‘Oh no. Oh, I can’t let him see me! No, no, no! Not like this! I’ve got to-”

“Ethari!” His voice, raspy from disuse or some other form of vocal trauma, filled the air and the sea below with its vibrations. The merman in question began to tremble, but out of fear or out of excitement, he couldn’t tell. ‘This is it. It’s now or never. I’ve got to talk to him.’ Summoning his courage from every tip of his fins, he swam closer to the source of the sound. He stuck his head out of the water with a quiet splash, only to find himself face to face with one very confused and tired-looking Runaan.

“Ahh!/Mother of Lunaris!” They both yelped and startled, Runaan stumbling back from his place on the edge of the boarding staircase, and Ethari knocking into the hull in shock. They stared at each other, wide-eyed. Ethari drank in every feature of his lover, full of bittersweet joy. Runaan’s face, usually stoic and meticulously clean, was streaked with tears of suffering and etched with suffering. His eyes, always so clear and sharp, were foggy and clouded with too much to drink. His hair, which he often braided with meticulous care or bundled into a neat bun, was tangled and snarled. Reluctantly, he swam away from the starved staring of his pirate, searching for the ladder frantically. Grabbing onto the ladder, he pulled himself up rung by rung, shivering at the feeling of air on his exposed skin. Reaching the top of the ladder, he flopped to the floor, spent. His tail wriggled, struggling to find purchase or any possible way of pulling himself upright from his face-down position of the floor. His pirate’s arms wrapped around his torso, and in a smooth motion, he found himself snugly bound by his lover’s arms. “Ethari.” The way Runaan said his name made his body tingle with exhilaration. “Runaan.” he breathed, wrapping his arms around his neck. His hair, tangled as it was, still felt like the finest silk as he weaved his fingers in it. Ethari reached his head up for a chaste kiss. Runaan had other plans. Runaan’s lips, chapped and rough, pressed against his forcefully. His tongue probed his lips, making the merman squeak. Ethari quickly pulled back. “R-runaan?”

Runaan stared back, longing and-something else lingering in his eyes. “I really missed you, ‘Thari. And tonight, I’m going to remind you that you’re mine.” He kissed Ethari on the cheek playfully, earning a nervous giggle for his efforts. “You’re all mine.” His eyes darkened with want. Ethari shivered.

‘Oh boy, tonight’s going to be a long night.’

#fanfic continuation!#thanks to fizzylemones #I was able to finish this story #yay motivation!#pirate!au #by thenerdyalchemist

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can-i-just-say-this · 5 years

Text

To Say I Love You

Draco Malfoy's 25 lives inspired by '25 Lives' by Tongari

part 2

11. Yet, always, you forgive me.

Draco doesn't know what to say, so he just kneels there, silently begging Harry for forgiveness he doesn't deserve.

"I understand, Draco, it's alright."

Draco doesn't want Harry to understand, because Draco himself doesn't. His mother is dying, and she wants to hold a Malfoy heir before she passes away, and in this cruel world Draco currently living neither of them could carry a child, and Draco curses.

"Fuck, Harry. I don't want to lose you."

"I will still be your friend, always."

Draco doesn't remember the last life he resented being Harry's friend as much.

12. As if you understand what’s going on

"No no no stay with me, Harry."

Draco keeps the pressure on Harry's stab wound. It was supposed to be a good day. Him, Harry, the groceries, and the competition to make the best cuisine for both chefs.

"The ambulance is coming. Please, Harry, stay with me."

Harry was saying something, but Draco didn't catch his words as he keeps chanting 'stay stay stay' like futile prayers. He positioned his right ear on Harry's lips.

"I love you. I'll be waiting."

Draco moved away, replies forming in his brain, but Harry already closes his eyes.

"I love you, too. I'll be waiting, always."

13. And you’re making up for all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn’t exist,

Draco wants to scratch his nose, but Harry's demand to stay still prevent him to do so. Still, Draco can't block the sneeze a few seconds later.

"Stay still!"

"I was sneezing, scarhead! Besides, you make enough paintings already!"

They were glaring at each other, but Harry softens his gaze first, he always does.

"It's not enough. The paintings, the photos, the songs, it's never enough to show how much I love you."

"What a sap"

Millions lives are not enough to love you, either.

14. And the ones where we just, barely, never meet.

"The Lighting Bolts, really?"

Millicent snatches her album from Draco's hand, profanities on her mouth.

"Just listen, Malfoy. The vocalist will blow your mind."

Draco is sceptical, rightfully so. He doesn't understand why he is crying after listening to the vocalist, HJ, afterwards. All he knows is he is willing to kill someone just for their concert ticket. Even after a few decades, He never gets the tickets, and The Lightning Bolts is disbanding, and he'll still deny if Millie tells anyone he is one of their loyal fan. Still, Draco pats himself on the back as he is able to recognize a talent when he sees one.

15. I hate those. I prefer the ones in which you kill me.

Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater, and Harry Potter is The Savior of The Wizarding World. Draco wants to kill his father for choosing the wrong side, but he pledges loyalty in exchange of his mother's safety instead. This leads to him at the mercy of Harry Potter's wand in one of the ancient girl toilet of all places.

"You. You killed Ron."

Draco didn't, but he doesn't deny it. Draco just stares at Harry Potter's startling green eyes, waiting for his next words.

"I will kill you when we meet at the battlefield, Malfoy."

Draco shouldn't be happy at the threat, but it feels like a promise, and Draco welcomes it as mercy in this particular life.

16. But when all’s said and done, I’d rather surrender to you in other ways.

It's the first time Mother slaps Draco. He's so taken aback that he can't do anything except staring at her reddened face. Her voice trembles when she speaks.

"I will not conduct this behavior, Draco Lucius Malfoy. You are to marry Astoria and take the throne as you're supposed to do. No more of this Harry Potter nonse."

Draco never gets such reaction from Mother before, not in this life, and not in others.

"But mother, I love-"

That earns him a second slap, and for the first time, Draco walks away from his mother, his throne, his kingdom, to Harry Potter's little cottage on the hill.

17. Even though each time, I know I’ll see you again, I always wonder

Draco applies for the agency as soon as he sees Harry's name there. He doesn't even care about his singing skill, he just wants to be with Harry. Three years after their hellish trainee days, they debuted as a boyband with 6 other members. Their 'Coming Home' song becomes a billboard hit two years later, and he's content with all the Drarry secret affair their fans worship.

"So, Draco, the other members told me you never say I love you to Harry, even though you always express this explicitly to the other members. What do you want to say about this? I'm sure the fans are waiting for some explanation."

Draco gives a fake shy smile to the interviewer, hums a little, and then turns to Harry.

"Maybe if he says it first. Say, Harry, do you love me?"

Draco could praise Harry for his comically widened eyes. He holds his microphone like a lifeline and acts all flustered.

"Um, sure? I mean, we became trainees almost at the same time and you were my first friend here and you cared about my wellbeing and always making sure I eat healthy foods and I'm rambling, I'm sorry."

Really, Draco ships Drarry more than all of their fans combined.

"That's wonderful. But you still haven't said the L word yet, Harry. We are waiting."

"Um...maybe next time. I'm too embarrassed with myself right now."

Draco did his military service after that. He never once wondered about the next time Harry had promised, so he almost fainted when he heard Harry's new song on the radio. The title was 'To My Home'.

18. Is this the last time?

"You are supposed to have his back!" Draco shouts at Weasley, who just shed tears in response. They were standing in front of the operation room, and Draco already feels the familiar agonizing pain of losing Harry Potter in his gut. It doesn't make it easier.

"Draco, he said-he asked me to tell you-that he loved you, in case he didn't make it."

Draco punches Harry's best friend just because he could. He yanks his ruined police uniform, slams him on the wall, and pins his body there. Not even Granger's choked sobs could control his temper. His fisted hand hurts, his bloodshot eyes hurt, everything hurts whenever he's about to lose Harry, but this time he feels the most regretful.

"Did you know I never say it back to him? Not even once."

"I know. But he also knows that you do. Draco, Harry always knows you love him."

Draco falls on his knees, Ron's strong arms on his shoulders. Will there be another chance just to say he loves him?

19. Is that really you?

Draco meets Prongslet on twitter. Well, 'meet' is a bit of a stretch, but they both agree everything starts there. They exchange numbers, and Draco is amazed that the first call they share is not awkward at all. Of course, it's a bit strange to be called Black when you have skin as fair as Draco, but everything else is just perfect. That's why Draco gathers all of the courage his best friends lend him and asks Prongslet to meet on their seventy fifth call. Prongslet groans, and then he says in a hurry.

"Listen, I want to meet you but I have a date with Ginny this weekend, can we get a rain check? I really really want to meet, honest."

Draco never asks Prongslet again.

20. And what if you're already perfectly happy without me?

"Draco, you don't have to come." Pansy's eyes are dangerously teary for her make up, and Draco wants to cry with her. Instead, he fixes his hair and replies softly.

"I should, Pans. He's my best friend."

"No, he's an asshole."

Draco peeks at her reflection in the mirror, sure enough, there are mascaras running down her pretty face. Draco is always so lucky to meet Pansy. She always cries for him when he is not strong enough to show his emotions. They end up coming to the wedding, and it is as perfect as how Blaise had described his decoration plans a few months ago, when Draco didn't know Harry Potter was taken.

#draco malfoy x harry potter #drarry fic #draco malfoy #draco x harry #drarry #harry potter #reincarnation #25 lives #past lives

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brbaabs · 5 years

Text

The Dornish Bird - Chapter 3

Hey there! Guess who’s back? Our dearest (Y/n)! Today’s chapter is a little longer than the others, I hope you don’t mind. This is an angsty one too, I watched 02X01 again to get in the vibe. Bran is one of my favorite characters, I was shocked when Jaime pushed him from that tower. I tried to put strong feelings in this chapter, let me know if it was too much.

.Today’s song is also something to increase the angst levels, this one is a really special song to this story too. I hope you guys like it, here you go!

Word count: 2.759.

(Y/n) was done with the royal family.

She hated to admit it, and would never dare to say it out loud, but that was the truth.

She was done of Joffrey’s sharp words and Cersei’s stares. She was done with Robert’s manners - or the lack of them. She wanted to play darts with Jon or run around the woods with Arya, Brandon, and Rickon. The girl yearned for the royal's departure, but it wouldn't happen as soon as she desired.

“Please Jon, let’s run away now! The king is hunting with your father, that’s the best opportunity we’ll ever have!”.

The boy hit a dummy with his sword.

"You know it wouldn't work." He said.

(Y/n) frowned, unconvinced. She was sitting on a fence, watching Jon's sloppy blows.

"It is better than waiting any longer."

He swept his weapon again.

"You should read something, it would make the time pass faster."

(Y/n) deepened her frown.

"And since when do you like to recommend me to read anything?" She asked.

Jon snorted, hitting the dummy again.

"I don't know, (Y/n). Just go look for something else to do." He replied.

The girl examined his figure cautiously. Jon looked stressed, almost in a defensive stance. He never behaved that way in her presence, only when Catelyn was nearby. When they were alone like that, Jon would relax.

"You're avoiding me." She concluded. "Why?"

Jon tensed more with her statement. (Y/n) was far more observant than he anticipated.

"I am not." He said.

She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You are." The girl insisted. "Did something happened?"

Jon dismissed her question with a nod. He avoided glancing at her, hoping that she would drop the subject. To his misfortune, his gesture only made (Y/n) more suspicious.

"You dare to lie at my face like this? Please, we know each other better than that. Tell me what is the problem." She stated firmly.

Jon's chest ached, but he didn't say anything. He hated to ignore (Y/n) like that. She was his only friend, aside from Theon. She was the only girl in Winterfell who didn't look at him with disdain. She enjoyed his company, laughed at his jokes and tended to his wounds when he had one. (Y/n) was important to him, he cherished her happiness. Her voice eased his stress and her gentle touch suited his tension. She was like a curative balm made just for him. He hated to treat her that way.

"Right, you won. I won't bother you anymore." She said, annoyed.

Jumping down from the fence, walking away from Jon as soon as she could. The boy watched her leave, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. He hated that situation, loathed his actions. She didn't deserve being treated like that, especially from a person like him. He was the worst, he knew it.

'I'll warn you once, stay away from (Y/n)', he remembered lady Catelyn's words when she confronted him in the last night. 'You're not worthy of her affections.'

Sadly, he agreed. Even though (Y/n) made him feel normal, he was still what everyone liked to remind him.

He was just a bastard.

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

Bran fell from a tower.

Since her father’s death on the road, (Y/n) hadn't cried a single time. Not in the presence of others, at least.

Yet now, the girl wept silently beside Arya. Every soul in Winterfell was shocked by Bran's fall. He was a great climber, his quick feet never missed a single step. There was just no way he could've lost his balance. The girl could not accept that cruel reality.

(Y/n) couldn't believe her eyes were seeing the young boy like that. Unconscious, lying completely still in his bed. His chest barely moving from his silent breath. His brown eyes shut. His skin pale as snow.

"Just how could this happen to him?" The girl said, her voice shaking. "Have the Gods no mercy? He is just a boy!".

Arya sighed, worried. It was the middle of the night, the two girls should be long asleep. But the Stark girl heard (Y/n)'s footsteps through her chambers' door. She was having trouble to fall asleep, then she decided to follow the older girl. Arya was not surprised when (Y/n) entered Bran's chambers, she knew her friend wasn't taking the news well. The two of them spent an hour like that, watching Bran's sleep. Arya's heart ached with the sight. She couldn't believe her little brother could never wake up again.

"I can't believe it neither." She mumbled.

(Y/n) sobbed. Her hand caressed Bran's cheek lightly, she was afraid of hurting him even more.

"He's only sleeping, isn't he?".

Her voice was weak. Arya stared at her friend, frowning. She had never seen (Y/n) so sad. The girl's eyes were puffed and her face was red. She seemed frail, like a tiny flower shaken by the wind.

"He is." Arya said, trying to sound convincing.

(Y/n) gulped hard, taking a deep breath to calm down. Her gaze never leaving Bran's face.

"You should go to sleep, dear." She spoke to Arya.

The young girl bit her lip, uncertain. She didn't want to leave (Y/n) alone in that condition.

"What about you?"

(Y/n) smiled a little, turning her gaze to Arya's figure.

The youngest Stark girl was strong, (Y/n) knew that fact. And yet, her expressive dark eyes showed her concern. She was far too young to deal with that pain. Even holding so much strength in her soul, she was still a child.

"I'll be going soon, don't worry." (Y/n) answered. "I'll just sing him a lullaby, he needs a good rest to get better."

Arya hesitated for a while but decided to give her friend a moment alone. Her head was hurting, she needed to sleep too.

"Don't stay for too long." She said.

(Y/n) smiled softly, nodding one time. Once Arya left, (Y/n)’s smile disappeared. She felt like her heart was being crushed by an invisible hand made of iron. She felt helpless. There was nothing she could do to change what happened. There was no way she could help Bran. All the girl wanted was to wake him, but she knew it was impossible. In her thoughts, she could see the small boy lost in a dark forest. She could feel his fear. In her soul, she could hear him begging for help.

The only thing she could do to ease her spirit was the very thing she did to overcome her father's loss.

She sang.

The same song she sang to her father as his life slowly faded.

Now she chanted as a tribute to Bran's life. She wished her call was able to reach his soul somehow. Perhaps her voice could lead him back to life.

When the song ended, (Y/n) closed her eyes. The girl had faith in the Old Gods because of her father, but her mother taught her about The Seven as well. At that moment though, she prayed without addressing her pleas to a specific god.

Suddenly, the girl felt a hand softly touching her shoulder. Her body tensed in shock, she raised her head. Who she saw though wasn't anyone she'd presume.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, surprised.

Robb's blue eyes stared at her face intensely as he approached Bran's bed.

"Sleep evaded me like a disease." He said. "You?"

(Y/n) dried her tears with he robe's sleeve. She lowered her face, trying to hide her sad feature from Robb's clever eyes.

"The same." The girl answered. "Why come here, though?"

Robb pondered for a while, (Y/n) waited for his reply.

"I wanted to see if he was fine." He said. "What is your excuse?"

She snorted, biting her lower lip before avoiding his question.

"I just presumed he might want a lullaby."

Robb sighed. He could sense a lie in her answer, but decided to let it go for the time being.

With slow movements, the boy took a seat beside (Y/n). The girl shivered a little with the proximity between them but did nothing to move away from his body. She was cold and his form offered some heat. She craved for a font of warmth without even knowing it.

"Do you think he can hear us?" She mumbled.

Robb sensed the worry in her voice, his chest hurt. Even without properly saying it, (Y/n) showed her pain through her words.

"I hope he can't." Robb said softly. "We're surely sounding like idiots with these odd sleepy voices."

A muffled laugh left (Y/n)'s mouth.

"That sounds like something Theon would say, I guess you are spending too much time in his company."

Robb's lips flashed a light grin.

"I guess you can say that." He said.

His works made (Y/n) smile, Robb sighed in relief.

The pair held their silence for a moment. (Y/n) could feel her composed mood returning to her as Robb kept her company. He was usually training, hunting or helping his father his Warden's duties. When the girl met Robb, he was sixteen. They didn't grow up together, but their relationship was so intense and strong that it made them feel like they had known each other for years. She felt calm around him, and she made her personal goal to make him laugh. Robb adored her as well. When they had time to spend together, it would always be full of jokes and joyful smiles. Seeing the two kids getting along so well, Eddard even considered marrying them in the future. The only person who knew about the Warden's plans was Catelyn, and it gave her another reason to love (Y/n) as her daughter. If everything occurred well, she would become part of the Stark family soon.

"I know that now is not a perfect time to talk about it, but I feel like I need to ask." Rob started. "What happened between you and Jon?"

The girl visibly tensed with his question. Robb mentally cursed himself for his stupidity.

He knew that (Y/n) and Jon shared a strong friendship. The Young Wolf suspected about Jon's affections towards the girl, but he never questioned his half brother about it. He enjoyed teasing him about girls, sure. But somehow, the boy avoided the idea of his brother and their Dornish Bird being romantically involved.

"I wish I had an answer for you." She said. "Jon's behaving strangely, I think he is upset with something."

Her answer made Robb think deeply for a moment. If (Y/n) did not know what was making Jon act that way, perhaps the reason had something to do with Ned's new position as The Hand of King Robert. That was the only thing that happened recently, and considering Jon’s odd behavior, perhaps he was aware of something. Somehow, (Y/n) would get involved.

(Y/n) concluded almost the same thing as Robb did. She could not comprehend precisely what was happening at the time, but she had a feeling in her heart that Jon was hiding something from her.

"He must be just stressed about the Royals' presence." Robb said.

His words weren't sure as he liked them to be, but that phrase was all he could manage to say. (Y/n) smiled a little.

"I bet he is." She said. "Aren't we all? I swear I'll die if I have to sing one more song about King's Landing."

Robb chuckled. He gazed at (Y/n), studying her face from up close.

He had always considered her as a beautiful girl, but something was calling his attention about her looks lately. As they grew older, Robb couldn't help but analyze her body as a man would do to an attractive woman. Her form was very appealing in his eyes. The way she moved, her skin's smell, her gentle voice. It all attracted him. He had experience with women before, but no other girl looked like (Y/n). 'Are all Dornish women like her?' He used to think.

"Robb? Are you listening?"

Her sweet voice woke him from his wandering state. The boy blinked once, trying to remember what she had said. He couldn't, though. All his mind could focus on was her graceful expression as she looked at him with her (Y/c) eyes.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" He asked.

The girl giggled softly. Strangely, the sound of her laughter sent shivers down Robb's skin.

"It seems my Lord is too sleepy to hear me." She said with a mischievous smile on her lips.

Robb rolled his eyes.

"You know you don't have to call me that way when we're alone." He said.

(Y/n) winked at him.

"And you know I'd never stop teasing you." The girl spoke.

Without preparing the boy of her following actions, (Y/n) threw her arms around Robb's neck in a sudden embrace. His eyes widened as his brain sent an automatic response to his muscles. His arms wrapped around her thin waist, bringing her body closer to his. As a consequence of the proximity between them, Robb could feel her frantic heartbeat. Even feeling confident about her actions, (Y/n) couldn't help but feel nervous.

Hugging Brandon and Rickon was one thing. Being held in Robb's arms was something completely different.

"What is that for?" Robb said.

His voice was calm and low. His tone alone was sufficient to run a deep shiver down (Y/n)'s body, while his warm breath fanned the hair of her neck. She bit her lip, feeling something strange twisting inside her.

That was the first time she hugged Robb. Her body had never been so close to a masculine form. No man had ever embraced her so tightly against his chest. It felt like his body could fit in hers perfectly.

"I'm not sure." She breathed. "But it feels right, doesn't it?"

He couldn't agree more. His body was already responding to her womanly body.

"It does."

(Y/n)'s heart fastened its pace. She bit down her lower lip, closing her eyes to process the mix of sensations that were taking over her soul. Robb inhaled deeply, his right hand began to caress the girl's back. She hummed light in appreciation of his touch.

"Can we stay like this forever?" She mouthed her wish without realizing how it would sound.

Robb grinned at the thought of holding (Y/n) in his arms for the rest of his life. That idea was appealing.

"I guess we'll have to find out." He said.

(Y/n) smiled, blushing lightly and taking a deep breath.

At that moment, Robb's arms were the best place she could yearn to be.

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

Catelyn walked silently towards the wooden door of her son's chambers. The Lady of Winterfell tossed and turned in her bed to the point of disturbing her husband's sleep. Her mind was full of worries about her son's life. The uncertain future was shattering her mind harshly, and she could not stop praying.

Her mother heart wanted to watch Bran sleep to make sure he was still breathing. She feared to wake up the next morning and find the boy lying cold in his bed, dead because of his mother's absence. What if he needed her during the night? Catelyn would never let that happen.

Her bony fingers grabbed the door's handle, and she pushed the door slowly to avoid making any sound. She peeked through the opening before entering, expecting to find Bran's form still unmoving.

What she found, however, was not what the Stark Lady anticipated.

Catelyn saw Robb's back and sleeved arms wrapped around his neck. She couldn't see the person's face, but she recognized the (H/c) hair. It was (Y/n), her dear protegé, snuggling her face in Robb's neck. Bran's sleeping figure was forgotten by the couple, that was so immersed in their embrace to notice Catelyn's presence. Their gip seemed tight and strong as if none of them wanted to let go of the other.

That sight brought a grin to Cately's lips. Immediately, she stepped back into the hallway, closing the door without calling attention. She retreated to her chambers, holding her right hand tightly upon her heart. The satisfaction she felt was overwhelming, she couldn't stop smiling as a young girl.

That was exactly what she planned.

She was victorious.

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

That’s it for today, thanks for reading! Reblog to help me, leave a comment if you liked this chapter. Thank you so much for reading <3

Tag list: @aspiring-fangirls-world, @evilunicorns4minions, @ aristocracy-y, @ black-widow-fangirl, @thedeacywaltz

I hope I’m not forgetting anyone. If you wish to be tagged as well, please tell me. Thank you all!

~ See ya!

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