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anonymousewrites · 2 months ago

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Pearl of the Sea Chapter Twenty-Three

Found Family! PoTC Cast x Teen! Reader

Platonic! Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, Jack Sparrow, Tia Dalma x Reader

Chapter Twenty-Three: Calling the Brethren Court

Summary: (Y/N), Jack, Barbossa, and the pirates arrive for the Brethren Court. Meanwhile, multiple enemies begin to circle.

(Y/N) watched the vibrant coast of Shipwreck Island grow closer as they sailed towards it. The green trees of the island hung over the cliffs, and the blue waters felt alive.

“Look alive and keep a weather eye,” said Gibbs. “Not for naught it’s called Shipwreck Island. Where lies Shipwreck Cove and the town of Shipwreck.”

“Not very creative people, the founders of the town,” observed (Y/N).

Jack grinned. “You heard them, step lively.” He watched the crew prepare for heading towards the cove itself. “For all that pirates are clever clogs, we are unimaginative when it comes to naming things,” said Jack to (Y/N), completely agreeing with them.

“Aye,” said (Y/N).

“I once sailed with a geezer who lost both his arms and part of his eye,” said Jack.

“What’d you call him?” asked (Y/N).

“Larry,” said Jack.

“He went through all that and didn’t even get a fun nickname, what a disappointment,” said (Y/N), turning to watch the crew prepare to make port. They frowned when they saw Barbossa call Pintel and Ragetti to his side.

“Take this fishwife to the brig,” said Barbossa, looking at Tia Dalma.

(Y/N) moved towards her as she was guided towards the stairs. “What are you doing? She’s our friend.”

“She is a witch who wants her own goals to be met,” said Barbossa.

“I am so much more,” said Tia Dalma, narrowing her eyes. (Y/N) felt the sea pull around them, and their skin itched. She looked at (Y/N). “But I am your friend. Remember that, dear child of the sea.” She disappeared belowdecks.

Barbossa didn’t like that. Tia Dalma was dangerous enough trapped in this form. Once she was released…her fury would be unleashed on them. And yet she seemed fond of (Y/N). So what was her plan with them?

“I believe you are familiar with a person called Calypso,” said Beckett, pouring another glass of tea for himself and Will while Jones stiffened.

“Not a person,” said Jones, fearful for the first time in his existence. “A heathen god. Who delights in cursing men with their wildest dreams and then revealing them to be hollow and naught by ash. The world is well ride of her.”

“Not quite so well, actually,” said Will. He had heard from Jack all he needed to. “The Brethren Court intends to release her.”

“No! They cannot!” said Jones. “The First Court promised to imprison her forever! That was our agreement.”

“Your agreement?” remarked Beckett.

Jones was caught and had to answer. “I…showed them how to bind her. She could not be trusted. I-She gave me no choice. We must act before they release her.”

“You loved her.” Will saw the truth plainly. “She’s the one. And then you betrayed her.”

“She pretended to love me,” seethed Jones. “She betrayed me.”

Will rose and faced Jones. “And after which betrayal did you cut out your heart, I wonder.”

Jones shoved the teacup out of Will’s hand, and it smashed on the ground. “Do not test me,” he said slowly.

“I hadn’t finished that,” said Will. “You will free my father.” He faced Beckett. “And you will guarantee Elizabeth and (Y/N)’s safety. Along with my own.”

“Your terms are steep, Mr. Turner. The nereid…I had my own plans for them,” said Beckett. However, if he wanted Will to give him the information he desired, then he’d…pretend to go along with his terms. It wasn’t as if he needed to go along with a bargain with a pirate in the end, anyways. “We will expect fair value in return.”

“There is only one price I will expect: Calypso murdered,” said Jones.

“Calypso’s aboard the Black Pearl,” said Will. “Jack has sailed the Black Pearl to Shipwreck Cove.”

“And with you no longer aboard her, how do you propose to lead us there?” said Beckett.

Will held up the compass he’d gotten from the Pearl. “What is it you want most?”

Tia Dalma sat in her cell and listened to the waves around her. She could hear the vibrations of the pirates of Shipwreck town cheering running through her, and she knew the Court would begin any moment now. Her freedom as Calypso would be on the line. But until then, she would sit with the waves and her candles and pray to the pantheon gods she was once a part of.

A soft music box chimed, and the sound echoed through the brig. Tia Dalma’s eyes opened, and she stood. From the shadows, Davy Jones approached. He held his music box locket and gazed into her eyes.

“My sweet,” said Tia Dalma. “You come for me.”

“You were expecting me,” said Jones.

“It has been torture,” said Tia Dalma. “Trapped in this single form. Cut off from the sea. From all that I love. From the sirens, the mermaids, the nereids, my dear family. From you.”

“Ten years I devoted to the duty you charged to me,” said Jones. “Ten years I looked after those who died at sea. And, finally, when we could be together again, you weren’t there.” He snapped the locket closed, and the music cut out. “Why weren’t you there?”

Tia Dalma smiled sadly. “It’s my nature. Would you love me if I was anything but what I am?”

Jones turned away as if struck. “I do not love you.”

“Many things you were, Davy Jones,” said Tia Dalma. “But never cruel. You have corrupted your purpose and so yourself. And you did hide away what should always have been mine.” She reached through the bars and touched his chest, right above the empty space where his heart should have been.

Jones gasped. Upon her touch, all his monstrous, cephalopod-like characteristics faded to reveal a simple, human man. Tia Dalma smiled and reached up to touch his face. Jones reached through the bars and touched her face gently as if afraid she’d disappeared upon his touch.

“Calypso,” he breathed reverently, lovingly.

“I will be free,” said Tia Dalma softly. “And when I am, I would give you my heart. And we would be together always.” She drew her hand back. “If only you had a heart to give.” Without her touch, Jones’s monstrous features returned.

He reached through the bars with a claw-like hand and grabbed her neck.

“Why did you come?” said Tia Dalma, refusing to cower.

Jones stared at his claw and withdrew it. He melted through the bars of the cell and advanced on Tia Dalma. She took several steps back.

“And what fate have you planned for your captors?” Jones didn’t answer her question and gave her one of his own.

“The Brethren Court?” said Tia Dalma savagely. “All of them, the last thing they will learn in this life is how cruel I can be.” She paused. “And I will release the nereid. They are trapped by magic meant to have them assimilate with humans. I will give their sea spirit the freedom it deserves.”

“Beckett will kill them,” said Jones.

“You mean he will order you to kill them,” said Tia Dalma. She sneered. “Because they will not be tamed.” She stared at Jones. “Know one thing—they are blessed by the sea. They are born from it just as I am.” She raised her chin. “Just as I deserve my power returned, they will have all of theirs.”

(Y/N) was amazed by the countless amounts of pirates gathered at Shipwreck Cove, a group that hadn’t gathered for years, but they were not amazed or surprised at the chaos of it all. The town towered above them with rickety buildings built haphazardly on top of one another. Still, (Y/N) could feel the waters thrumming with energy and the freedom in the air.

“There has not been a gathering like this in our lifetime,” said Barbossa, looking at the town as they approached.

“And I owe them all money,” said Jack, wincing.

Oh boy.

Barbossa groaned and ignored Jack for the rest of the trip to the “courtroom.” At it, as many pirates as possible had crowded into the small room while the nine pirate lords took their places around the table. Sao Feng was still missing, but Barbossa didn’t have a care for it and banged a makeshift gavel made of a cannonball. The murmurs of the crowd died down, and everyone faced him.

“As he who issued summons, I convene this, the Fourth Brethren Court,” said Barbossa. Everyone sat in their places. “To confirm your lordship and right to be heard, present now your pieces of eight, my fellow cap’ns.”

Ragetti walked around with a bowl and collected the “pieces of eight.” In reality, they were just small trinkets, almost junk—a pipe, a playing card, a broken bottle top, tongs, spectacles, and a cup made up seven of the pieces.

“Those are the pieces of eight?” said (Y/N), not judging but curious.

“Aye,” said Gibbs. “The original plan was to use nine pieces of eight to bind Calypso. But when the First Court met, they were to a one skint broke.”

“Calypso is the goddess of the sea, right?” said (Y/N)

Gibbs nodded. “Aye. And she was bound to a human form so that the seas could be tamed and sailed.”

(Y/N) frowned. They believed the ocean should be free, so even if it was a dangerous goddess they were discussing, they weren’t sure about keeping her trapped. It felt wrong to deny a force of nature freedom.

“Master Ragetti, if you will,” said Barbossa once Ragetti got to him.

“I kept it safe, just like you said when you gave it to me,” said Ragetti.

“Aye, you have. But now I need it back,” said Barbossa. He knocked Ragetti on the back of the head and caught his wooden eye as it popped out. He put it in the bowl, another piece of eight.

“Sparrow,” called one of the lords.

Jack touched a bead and coin tied into his hair before walking forward. “Might I point out that we are still short one pirate lord, and I’m content as a cucumber to wait until Sao Feng joins us.”

Why does he want to wait? Don’t be playing any more tricks, Jack, thought (Y/N). They never ended well for anyone.

“Sao Feng’s dead.”

All heads turned to a pirate walking into the room. Elizabeth, dressed in Singaporean clothes and a pirate’s hat, stood before a group of pirates that seemed to be following her lead.

“He fell to the Flying Dutchman,” said Elizabeth.

“Lizzie!” said (Y/N) in relief. Despite how angry they’d been at Elizabeth, they were relieved she was alive. Now, how to tell her Will was stuck in the brig of the Pearl and they hadn’t visited him at all was another matter…Not for now, though.

“The plagued ship!” said a pirate lord, the woman from China. Murmurs went up in fear of the Dutchman.

Elizabeth stabbed her sword into the globe to mark herself as present. She sent a quick smile to (Y/N) to assure them that, despite her acting serious to get the pirates to listen her, she was glad to see them.

“He made you captain?” exclaimed Jack. “They’re giving the bloody title away now.”

“Que lo manden al diablo!” cursed a pirate lord.

“Listen. Listen to me,” said Elizabeth. “Our location has been betrayed.”

(Y/N)’s eyes went to Jack, and he avoided their gaze. He had sworn not to lie to them, and he hadn’t, and he fully intended betray Beckett and protect them and piracy, but things, as in the past, had gone a bit pear-shaped so far.

Plus, it had really been Will to betray everyone. Hopefully he hadn’t signed away (Y/N)’s fate in any bargain he made (not that Jack even considered the possibility. If one pirate present was safe, it was (Y/N). They had too many powerful people trying to help them. Jack had a soft spot for them, Elizabeth was now a lord and was their family, Will had helped raise them, Barbossa even seemed amused by the teenager and was fond of them, and even Tia Dalma liked them).

“Jones is under the command of Lord Beckett. They’re on their way here,” said Elizabeth.

“Who is this betrayer?!” said the African pirate lord.

“Not likely anyone among us,” said Barbossa, keeping everyone from turning their weapons on one another.

“Where’s Will?” asked Elizabeth.

“Not among us,” said Jack. “And he does know how to escape cells.”

(Y/N) groaned. Will and Jack were terrible at making deals and double-crossing people since it always backfired. If they survived Beckett, (Y/N) was kicking both their asses and going to be a way better negotiator at sea.

“It matters now how they found us,” said Barbossa. “The question now is, what will they do now that they have?”

“We fight,” said Elizabeth.

(Y/N) nodded in fervent agreement. They weren’t going to cower. If they were going down, it would be showing Beckett that the seas weren’t to be controlled.

The other pirates scoffed and laughed at her suggestion. (Y/N)’s skin itched at their derision, and they took a deep breath as they felt a pull from the water outside. They were, apparently, full of magic, and they would prefer to not accidentally flood the town.

“Shipwreck Cove is a fortress,” said the Chinese representative. “A well-supplied fortress. There is no need to fight if they cannot get to us.”

“There be a third course,” said Barbossa. All heads turned to him. “In another age, at this very spot, the First Brethren Court captured the sea goddess and bound her in her bones.” The pirates nodded. “That was a mistake. Oh, we tamed the seas for ourselves, aye. But opened the door to Beckett and his ilk.” (Y/N) nodded approvingly. “Better were the days when mastery of the seas came not from bargains struck with eldritch creatures but from the sweat of a person’s brow and the strength of their back alone. You all know this to be true.” A murmur of assent rippled through the lords. “Gentlemen. Ladies. Honored guests. We must free Calypso.”

Shock silenced the entire court. Then, chaos broke out. People were shouting in English, Mandarin, Spanish, various African dialects, and every other present nationality’s language. All were outraged, shocked, and fearful of the suggestion to free Calypso.

So we have Calypso with us? Who— (Y/N) paused. Ah. Tia Dalma.

It made sense. She told (Y/N) she was a part of the sea in a similar way to them. She was the goddess of the sea, like they were a spirit of it. (Y/N) suddenly felt very nervous at how candid they always were around Tia Dalma—should they call her Calypso while in human form or not?—despite her truly a goddess. Hopefully, (Y/N) hadn’t made a fool of themself and gotten on a goddess’s bad side.

“Shoot him!” said the Spanish lord.

“Cut out his tongue!” demanded the African lord.

“Shoot him, cut out his tongue, then shoot his tongue. And trim that beard,” said Jack.

“Sao Feng would have agreed with Barbossa!” said one of the Singaporean pirates.

“Calypso was our enemy then, she will be our enemy now!” said the African lord.

“It’s unlikely her mood’s improved,” said the French lord.

“I would still agree with Sao Feng. We release Calypso.” The Spanish lord pulled out his pistol as he spoke.

“You threaten me?” said the French lord, walking towards the Spanish lord.

“I silence you,” spat the Spanish lord.

He raised his pistol, and the French lord punched him in the face. The pistol went off into the air as he fell back. Everyone shouted, and the fight began properly. The French and Spanish launched at each other, and it wasn’t long before everyone else joined in the fray.

(Y/N) crossed their arms and tapped their foot. They knew they shouldn’t join the fight, and it was only because they were so annoyed they hadn’t yet. They wanted everyone to settle down and handle the issue instead of squabbling. As much as (Y/N) itched to let out their energy, they wanted to use it against Beckett.

“This is madness,” said Elizabeth.

“This is politics,” said Jack, shrugging.

“Meanwhile, our enemies are bearing down upon us,” said Elizabeth.

“If they not be here already,” said Barbossa grimly.

(Y/N) sighed. “We need to focus.”

“How do you get this lot to focus?” grumbled Elizabeth.

(Y/N) grabbed their pistol and stepped onto the table.

“Uh, laddie?” said Jack.

Bang!

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satansapostle6 · 4 months ago

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Lovers and Liars | Draco Malfoy

Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott, both determined and resourceful from reputable houses, find themselves at odds in the name of love.

Warning: Mature themes/language. Violence. Sexual content.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Delicate

Lorelei Morrigan had no idea what she was to do about Draco’s rather unpleasant disposition. Although his moodiness wasn’t necessarily appreciated, Lorelei definitely empathized with his reasons. So, most days, Lorelei stood by him faithfully as he instead upon making his problems everyone else’s as well. Today, aside from the usual potential doom, one of Draco’s main grievances was the fact that the new old Potions Master, Professor Slughorn, favored Harry over him.

Lorelei truthfully had no idea why Draco even valued the old man’s opinion, but something told her he didn’t actually. He just wanted to be liked more than Harry, by at least one person who seemed to somewhat matter. He also wanted to feel valued, and in control, something which Lorelei understood all too well. She did her best not to take Draco’s occasional lack of appreciation for her feelings toward him personally.

After all, his father was in prison, his entire family was in jeopardy, and Lord Voldemort was forcing him to kill his own Headmaster, which he also had to quit playing Quidditch for. He had his own issues to worry about. Lorelei was doing the best she could to help him with the plan to kill Albus Dumbledore, and keep Draco Malfoy pacified in the meantime. Unfortunately, Horace Slughorn did not share the same goal.

Today, Draco found himself in a particularly foul mood when he began to take notice of the fact that Professor Slughorn seemed to take an interest in Draco’s own girlfriend before him. This did not bode well for his fragile ego.

“Let’s see… Miss Morrigan!”

Lorelei looked up from her potion that she was brewing, as Draco also looked up curiously beside her.

“Fifteen points to Slytherin if you can correctly guess each of these mystery brews by smell alone!” Professor Slughorn declared cheerfully as he displayed three black vials hanging from the rack at his desk.

Lorelei glanced at Draco before slowly approaching the front of the classroom, as the rest of the class watched her with envy, Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger in particular. Unbothered with their opinions, Lorelei picked the first of the glass vials, carefully uncorking it as she sniffed its contents. She smelled oddly specific notes of Draco’s cologne, roses, and apple pie.

“That’s Amortentia,” Lorelei said with ease.

“Very good!” the professor encouraged her.

She picked the second potion up off the rack, uncorking and sniffing. The smell was sharp and distinct.

“That’s bloodroot poison, that is,” she told him.

“Correct again!” Professor Slughorn commended her excitedly. “One more…”

Pansy Parkinson’s eye roll was noticeable even from across the room. Lorelei ignored everyone, taking the last potion and examining it. She took a moment to think, somewhat surprised by the oddly familiar sweet smell.

“…Pumpkin juice, sir,” she finally.

Professor Slughorn laughed cheerfully as he applauded her. “Well done! Fifteen points to Slytherin!”

“Attention whore,” Pansy scoffed.

“Regular whore,” Blaise chimed in with a smirk.

Pansy gasped in disbelief, clutching her non- existent pearls.

“Show-off,” Hermione muttered under her breath.

Lorelei stood at the front of the room, smiling emptily as the class finished lightly applauding her out of politeness. Slughorn, it seemed, was determined to keep her.

“Very good with potions you are, Miss Morrigan,” he remarked.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I remember your mother was quite gifted with potions as well,” he continued on, “One of my favorites, she was. Always came to class with the same peacock quill… She was glamorous even then,” he laughed humorously.

“I’m sure she was,” Lorelei said.

She could feel Draco watching, waiting for her to return to him. She also found herself waiting.

“Say, Lorelei… Did your mother ever mention the old ‘Slug Club’?” the professor asked curiously.

She had to think for a moment.

“I think she mentioned it. She used to attend your dinners, right?” Lorelei asked him.

“Yes, precisely,” Slughorn nodded, “You know… Just a secret between us, I’m considering starting them up again. For old times’ sake, you know?”

“That… sounds like a wonderful idea,” she lied.

“Say… would you be interested in joining? I could use a witty personality like yours,” Slughorn teased.

Lorelei thought for a moment, looking around the room. She stopped when she realized the one person she knew Slughorn was bound to invite: Harry. One of the two people she knew were onto her and Draco. Lorelei was no more keen on the idea of going alone all year to private dinner parties being held by Horace Slughorn, but of course, sacrifices had to be made. She put on the most phony, toothy smile she could.

“I’d love to, sir,” she responded. “You’re welcome to send an owl, if anything.”

“Oh, superb! I’d love the chance to pick your brain, you know,” Slughorn thought. “You really are one of the most promising students of your year, from what I’ve seen so far. Forgive me for asking, but have you any idea what you’d like to do after Hogwarts?” he inquired with curiosity.

“It’s no problem at all,” Lorelei smiled. “I’m hoping to become a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts.”

“A Curse-Breaker!” he exclaimed. “My, oh, my, someone’s got their father’s ambition! Have you made any inquiries?”

“Lucius Malfoy wrote a letter for me, not too far back.”

“Ah, yes,” Slughorn thought, “Before that unfortunate business at the Ministry…”

Lorelei just nodded, saying nothing.

“You know, Lorelei, I can think of at least three former students of mine I still keep in touch with who have got some job or other at Gringotts. Some of which are on the executive level, you see… I could have another letter written for you, if you like. To refresh their memories, and whatnot.”

“That would be very generous of you, Professor,” Lorelei replied.

“Of course. Anything to help my students succeed,” Professor Slughorn nodded. “I do believe you’ve got the potential for quite the career someday.”

“That’s the goal,” she offered.

“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t but… might I ask if the rumors are true?”

“Which rumors?” Lorelei asked quietly.

Professor Slughorn couldn’t contain his secretive grin. “Are you really descended from the Ravenclaws?”

Lorelei just smiled. “We are, yes.”

“How scandalous!” Slughorn whispered. “I knew the rumors about Helena Ravenclaw’s illegitimate child had to be true!”

Slughorn was insatiable when it came to elitist gossip. He’d hardly had enough when Lorelei returned to her workstation. Draco seemed more than enthusiastic about his own work when she returned. She sensed his annoyance right away.

“Is something wrong?” she raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Draco lied pointedly.

Lorelei frowned as she watched him obviously struggling to skin his fish.

“Do you want some help with that?” she asked coldly.

Draco was beyond irritable.

“No, I’ve got plenty of potential of my own, thanks.”

Lorelei dropped her own paring knife as she turned to look at Draco, who was still fixed on the ingredients he was separating.

“Draco.”

“Lorelei,” he looked up, still refusing to admit his pettiness.

“You know I want nothing to do with that man’s circus of freaks,” she whispered, “But I think Harry’s trying to infiltrate, and we need to know what he knows.”

Draco stared at her with condescension, not accepting her reasoning, for some odd reason.

“Right,” he said sarcastically, “You need what Potter knows.”

Lorelei frowned as she studied him, refusing to believe the fight he was choosing to pick.

“Seriously? That’s what you think is happening here?”

Everyone began to grab their things and file out of the classroom the moment class ended. Draco left automatically, and Lorelei followed him out in the hall, realizing this was how she’d be spending her afternoon. The two of them ducked into a more secluded corner in the corridor, accepting that they were now in a full blown fight.

“I don't know what’s happening here,” Draco Malfoy argued, looking at her angrily. “All I know is, you seem to have no problem letting everyone see how much potential Slughorn thinks you have, while you’re trying to go to dinner parties with him and Potter!” he exclaimed, seeming thoroughly disgusted by the idea.

Lorelei was furious.

“What the fuck, Draco, do you really think that’s what I’m doing?! Do you really think that’s what I want?!”

He seemed completely fed up. “I don’t know what you want anymore!”

Lorelei let out a dismissive scoff as she heard how baseless his grievance against her was. The two of them looked at each other with animalistic rage in their eyes, until they both turned to find someone watching them from afar. Harry Potter’s eyes widened as he saw the two of them glance in his direction, racing off to join his friends. Lorelei turned back to Draco, urgency in her eyes as she realized, at the very least, he had discovered reasonable cause for suspicion.

But Draco didn’t seem quite as focused as she was.

“After all we’ve been through, do you seriously think Potter could come between us?” she asked him.

Draco glanced down at his feet for a moment.

“I don't know. You never take my side,” he hissed.

She was absolutely dumbfounded by this idea, unable to comprehend at all.

“What are you talking about?!” she whispered. “I have always been on your side!”

“Then why didn’t you kill Potter before he landed my father in Azkaban?!” Draco questioned, pain in his pale blue eyes. “Why did you let Theodore Nott walk away unscathed, after everything he did to us, to you!”

Lorelei stopped for a moment, not having known at all that that was how Draco had felt.

“Oh, Draco,” she breathed, tears in her eyes as she knew there was no easy answer.

Draco just stood there, months of pain and suffering in his eyes as he swallowed his guilt for all the grief he’d caused her.

“All the worst moments of my life, you did nothing!”

“Draco, that’s not fair—”

“You’re supposed to be on my side! My side!” he exclaimed in defeat. “You say you’d do anything for me, but given the opportunity, you did nothing! You let me sit in classes with the bloke who sent my father to Azkaban, and the bloke who wants to steal you from me! And you’re the one person in the world I can trust with everything. You’re the one person I can talk to. You’re all I have left!”

“Okay, and what do you think you are to me?!” Lorelei shouted at him.

Draco said nothing as she began to fall apart.

“I had to kill two people, two living, breathing people, with families who loved them, and my parents did nothing!” Lorelei wailed.

She felt herself bursting into tears, and it felt as if her entire soul was pouring out of her body.

“The Dark Lord forced me to join him, before you ever joined, and they just stood by and watched! I watched the one man who ever cared for me die, and my parents were gone without even a letter!” Lorelei sobbed. “I truly have no one except for you!”

In all his guilt and regret, Draco froze as he looked up behind Lorelei. She whipped around quickly, going pale as she saw Professor Slughorn standing awkwardly behind her, trying to slip by unnoticed. Evidently, he did not make it out of the dungeons.

“Sorry,” the professor said softly, “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

The two of them watched him quickly scurrying away, unsure of what to make of the encounter. Draco turned to look at Lorelei once Slughorn was out of earshot.

“We need to do something about that,” he said automatically.

Lorelei shook her head. “No.”

“‘No’?” Draco Malfoy demanded, terrified.

“I’m tired of helping you when all you do is take me for granted,” Lorelei let out a humorous laugh, wiping away her tears, “Figure this one out yourself.”

She turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the dungeons as she retreated to the dorms. Lorelei silently slipped into the Slytherin common room, hoping to go unnoticed as she headed for her room. But unfortunately, Lorelei Morrigan never went unnoticed. Daphne and Pansy were both sitting by the fire, and looked up to see Lorelei immediately.

“Lorelei,” Pansy sneered, far too smug for this time of day. “What are you doing back in the dorms?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I happen to be Head Girl!” Pansy argued boastfully.

“Would you like a cookie?” Lorelei demanded.

“What’s wrong with you?” Pansy Parkinson asked her. “You and Draco have a fight?”

Lorelei was livid, especially considering that Pansy asked the same question every single time Lorelei looked even remotely unhappy, and just happened to hit a nerve this time.

“You might as well just accept that Draco was never going to end up with a ginger,” Pansy told her arrogantly.

“You might as well just accept that he’ll never end up with a talentless rat,” Lorelei supplied, before storming off to her room.

Daphne just gave Pansy an indifferent look, unsure of what she’d expected.

*****

Lorelei spent the rest of her day hidden away in her dorm room, not in the mood to go to any of her classes. She ended up sitting in bed and redoing her makeup, trying her best to forget the outside world. Eventually, toward the end of the school day, she heard a soft knock on her door.

“Ugh,” Lorelei scoffed, “Go away!”

Whoever was at the door completely disregarded her irritability, opening the door and letting themselves in.

“Hey,” Blaise Zabini said pointedly, closing the door behind him.

Lorelei sighed as she set her mirror back down on her bedside table, putting away her lip gloss.

“I take it you’ve been informed?” she assumed.

“I know everything, Lorelei,” Blaise promised as he sat down.

“Then you know that I’m not in the mood.”

“Please, I have standards,” he said sarcastically.

Lorelei smiled involuntarily.

“Draco didn’t send me,” Blaise assured her.

“Then what are you doing here?” she asked.

“I thought I’d check on you,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re one of my few friends, you know.”

“Am I?” she wondered.

Blaise smiled. “Truthfully, I was just subjected to Pansy’s face in the hall, and I thought I owed some inspiration to the one person in the world with the power to humble her. Enemy of my least favorite slag, or whatever.”

Lorelei raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you have a favorite slag?”

Blaise shrugged coyly, grinning. “I have a few.”

“Thank you,” Lorelei said finally.

“For what, exactly?” he inquired.

“For not prying, or trying to sway me, one way or the other,” she said softly, genuinely surprised.

Blaise just shrugged indifferently. “You know how you feel. You don’t need me telling you.”

Lorelei just smiled. “Going anywhere?”

He shook his head. “No. I have nowhere to be.”

“Good,” she smiled, allowing him some room as they sat and talked.

Eventually, the door opened, and Draco entered the room. He saw Blaise, greeting him silently as Blaise just nodded back.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Blaise told Lorelei, as he left the room.

Lorelei got up, crossing her arms as she waited for Draco to say his piece.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said finally, “For a lot of things.”

“Like what?” Lorelei asked quietly.

“I… Lashed out at you, for no reason. I blamed you for all of my problems, when all you ever did was try to help,” Draco provided, admitting his fault. “I said a lot of unfair things to you, and I’m very, very sorry. I feel awful for what I said to you.”

Lorelei looked up at him still with that raw, teary look in her eyes as he gently cupped her face in his hands, like a crystal ball he was afraid of shattering. She looked into his eyes, and saw the same sadness in hers.

“I shouldn’t have hurt you, Lorelei,” he whispered, a guilty expression on his face as he fought tears. “I shouldn’t have hurt you…”

“It’s okay,” she promised him, unable to struggle against his fearful, shaky hands, “It’s okay…”

Draco broke out into tears as he rested his head on her shoulder, hands carefully running through her long auburn locks for comfort.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, distraught.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re here now.”

“I don’t like who I’m becoming,” Draco whispered through sobs, still feeling the burn on his left forearm.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #hpdm #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy angst #hp #hp fanfic #tom felton #theodore nott #theo nott #slytherin #slytherin boys

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raccoonfallsharder · 2 months ago

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xeno .⋆☁︎:･꧂ preview

[anticipated 10/3] ✩

NEW gift art (i'm CRYING). adorable pearl x rocket selfie from @starriidreams and a sexy, steamy waterlily pearl x rocket painting from @hibatasblog. ♡♡♡ seriously, so so beautiful.

the high evolutionary’s flawless pearl chats with the daughter of thanos.

“Do you like coffee?” pearl asks instead, changing the subject. She purses one corner of her mouth. “Rocket’s looks awful—” “I am Groot,” Groot protests with a gasp. “—and I never learned how to make it from beans, but I could bring you some, if you like. We have juice and—” She hesitates. Would Rocket be okay with her offering it? “And morningtea, if you like.” Her mouth twists to one side. “I can see if the medbay has moonmint in stock—“ The Luphomoid flinches — then face shutters, stoic once more. Even so, her dark eyes stay sealed on pearl as she eats.

“There are other drinks, as well,” Drax speaks up from behind her. “Asgardian and Sovereign liquors and wines in the officers’ commons, and barrels of ale in one of the cargo holds with other food stores.” He pauses, and even though pearl isn’t looking at him, she can hear the hiccup of his sudden backtracking. “Not that you deserve any of it, Daughter of Thanos.” The Luphomoid finally breaks from her temporary stoicism, rolling her eyes. “Water is fine,” she rasps, and tilts her head. “Didn’t you plan to kill me, anyway?” she demands of Drax. Pearl twists to slant her own eyes sideways up at him. “I still do,” Drax says fervently — then shrugs. “I will use this time on the Dreadnought to convince Rocket and the Terran princess that I deserve the right to claim your life in retribution for the murders of my wife and my daughter. Ronan should suffer as I have done.” The Luphomoid stares at him, then barks a strange, hoarse sound. “Your plan for revenge on Ronan is to kill me?” Drax inclines his chin. “A family-member for a family-member.” The Luphomoid’s sneer is ugly. “Ronan doesn’t see me as family, you idiot. Ronan doesn’t see anyone as family.” Pearl can see Drax’s stumble, the sudden confusion in his dark eyes. “When you battle with someone at your side, you’re family.” The cyborg scoffs and turns back to her food, and Drax’s brow clears. “I suppose… Ronan is only a puppet after all. The true person I must avenge Ovette and Kamariah against is Thanos.” His eyes narrow. “And you are a Daughter of Thanos.” The Luphomoid rolls her eyes again. “A least-favorite daughter for an only-daughter?” she rasps. Cynicism crackles on the gravelled edge of her voice. “Seems like a bad trade.” Again, Drax falters, and the cyborg takes the last bite of the yaro-root filling, mopping up what remains of Kylosian-spiced gravy. Then she shoves the flex-bowl back across the floor toward pearl and leans upward, peering at the Kylosian. “Get me out of these chains and off this ship,” she hisses through her teeth, “and I’ll take you to Thanos’ most-favorite daughter.”

from chapter twenty-three. xeno. ✩ ‬ cicatrix masterlist.⋆☁︎:･꧂

a story about scars. two survivors learn about themselves, each other, hope, and the universe. a freakish little monster visits the high evolutionary’s bride on her wedding night. an adventure of intergalactic proportions ensues. aka raccoons make plans; the universe laughs.

WARNINGS for this chapter: pearl’s still dealing with the triggering environment of the dreadnought. mentions of torture.

fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬

banners & rose dividers by @/saradika-graphics pearl dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

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thedo0zyslider · 1 year ago

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Explosions Across Lifetimes - Chapter Twenty Five: Heated Arguments, Receding Cold - 4k words

The next monthly meeting occurs, with far too much drama than anyone was anticipating, and with a lot of words that should've gone unsaid.

A03 Link

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The feeling in the air during the next month's meeting is…unusual to say the least. Mainly because there are now two empty chairs, aside from Pix’s permanently empty and foreboding one at one end of the long white table. Gem and Scott have not shown up by the time it starts, which is strange, because they’re both very punctual when it comes to this sort of thing. The last time neither had shown was when they’d be taken prisoner all those months ago..

Sausage is exchanging glances with Fwhip, ones that aren’t good and leave the Count averting his eyes in what seems to be shame. Pearl herself was giving tense glances between the both of them, indicating that the farmer was more in the loop than the rest of them. And those two things are probably why the air feels so cold when he walks into the meeting room that month.

Yet Jimmy has to wonder if it’s partly because of himself.

He had been more than a little stressed over the past two months. The loss of his Codfather’s head was still affecting him deeply, and it got worse with every failed attempt to gain it back. He’d have to have tried at least ten different methods by now, all of them that either helped his empire of the cod themselves in some way. None of them worked at all in the end, not even for one bloody second.

Sometimes it is easy to forget he’s lost a part of himself, and that he doesn’t even have a good idea of how to get it back. But most of the time, like now, with curious glances being thrown at the top of his head, Jimmy is painfully aware. He is always aware of the feeling that something’s missing, that he’s lost something big. That a part of his identity is gone and has been stripped form him without any good, solid, or seemingly fair fucking reason. Of what the codboy head , as the thing he now wears is called, sits in place of. The stares of his citizens remind him every day he wakes, anytime he tries to do anything around the empire, and it’s doing nothing but hardening his revolve to get back what was rightfully his. What had always been rightfully his, seemingly from birth.

And maybe, in his seemingly endless attempts to get the Codfather’s head back, he has neglected everything else. Jimmy normally visits his friends regularly, or shoots them a message or two every once and a while. He hasn’t seen Lizzie in person in a month, maybe a month and a half. The cod wasn’t even aware Scott had lost the crown, or that Joel had obtained it somehow. He’d seen Fwhip a little more, but it had still been a few weeks.

And in those few weeks, something big had seemed to have happened. But in the bad way, unfortunately.

Because Gem had messaged him now even one week ago, asking about where Fwhip was. And when Jimmy had said he wasn’t sure, she’d told him to wait, and that this was something better discussed in person, At the next meeting perhaps.

Now Gem isn’t here, and Fwhip looks like he’d committed a cardinal sin, and Sausage is glaring daggers at him. So yeah, the cod maybe now knows what the wizards previous messages might’ve been about.

Katherine clears her throat a little awkwardly, and officially starts this meeting. “So….what seems to be going on?” Her gaze flicks to the three remaining members of the Wither Rose Alliance, and the room goes silent again.

“Okay!” Katherine says with a clap of her hands, a sigh clearly being held back. “Can anyone tell me why Scott isn’t here?” Her gaze flicks expectantly between Jimmy and Sausage, and the cod wishes he had an answer to her question. Though he doesn't know if that would make him feel better or worse than he does right now,

The Mythlander is the one to answer, his blue gaze flicking between Katherine and the table. “His ice powers were getting…a little out of control. He asked Gem to help him, and accidentally ended up hitting her with an ice beam…”

There were a few stifled gasps around the table, a few hands covering mouths. Sausage continued on regardless.

“She’s alive! Don’t worry! Her wizards are working on a way to reverse it!” The brunette reassures, waving his hands a little wildly. That’s good to hear, really it is, but their friend's explanation had ultimately given the nine of them more questions than answers.

The next to speak was Lizzie, who had started to ring her hands together in anxiety, the emotion clearly coming through in her voice as well. “But what about Scott…?”

“He kinda, ah, exiled himself over it…” Sausage mumbled, running a hand through his hair in lingering stress.

“That’s horrible!” Katherine exclaimed, her brows now furrowed, right as the rest of them erupted with their own exclamations of surprise and upsetness. Expect for Jimmy, who was quietly in shock over all this more than anything.

“How long has he been gone for?” Pearl, the next person to inquire, did so more calmly, as she presumably had been getting some scarce updates as everything went down over the course of the past week.

“Maybe five days now? A week?” Sausage shrugged, the action seeming a little helpless. “We’ve been searching but haven’t found anything yet.”

Joel clears his throat, throwing another pointed glance at the Count sitting across from him. “Okay, that doesn’t explain why you're glaring at Fwhip.”

In an instant, everyone’s gazes are on the Count, sinking into him. The half dragon shifts and squirms under the weight of it all, and seems to slump down further in his chair. When Fwhip speaks his voice seems reluctant, almost shy, like he knows what reaction is about to come. “I was…a little angry when I would that out, and-”

“ Angry!? You blew up Scott’s house!” Sausage interrupts, and the stunned silence is loud. Jimmy goes to say something, but his voice is caught in his throat as he stares at his boyfriend in complete and utter disbelief. It’s a lot of disbelief, and also growing anger bubbling right under his skin, properly distracting him from his stupid Codfather’s head for the first time in months.

Shrub is the next to speak, her voice displaying all of their shock perfectly. “You what!?” She doesn’t yell it out, but it’s close enough, and Fwhip seems to shrink further under the gnome's unusually hardened and disappointed gaze. Beside her, Joey is wide eyed, and staring at the Count like he has two heads, because even the lost emperor isn’t as foolish or impulsive enough to do such a thing to another empire.

“What the fuck, man!’ Joel calls out, and beside him Lizzie narrows her eyes and nearly growls at their old enemy. Who might become an actual enemy once again, depending on how all thai goes. Though that would be bad, for a lot of reasons, so hopefully none of this ends up going that way.

When Jimmy finally speaks, the cod is basically yelling, almost hissing his words out. His normally cheery and happy voice is now loud and booming, echoing throughout the room and probably down a few of the surrounding hallways as well. “Why the hell would you do that, Fwhip!? What in the world were you thinking!? Why would you blow up Scott’s house!?”

The anger feels like it’s bubbling out of him all at once, probably not helped by his pre-built stress. It’s bubbling out so much, he won’t even let Fwhip get a word in edgewise when he does try to tell his part of the story.

"Orchid, please-"

"Don't orchid me!" Jimmy snaps. Fwhip flinches back in his chair at that, and the air around the rest of the meeting becomes quite uncomfortable.

There’s a few minutes of terse silence, and the room is quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Jimmy glares at him heatedly, and the Count can feel a few of his others doing the same, though lacking the same amount of spark that his boyfriend carried.

After a minute Fwhip gets out a few, shaky words, trying not to let his voice tremble. He gets the sense that he and Jimmy need to have a private conversation elsewhere, and then return to the meeting a little while afterwards. Less all their friends want to watch them have a couples fight, which he highly doubts they do. It also gives everyone a chance to cool down, and not yell at Fwhip before he can say the apology he desperately wants to get out.

“How about we take this…to another room, okay?” The Count suggests slowly, a little hesitantly, even, already beginning to rise from his chair. He’s doing so hastily, looking ready to sprint out of the room before the cod even agrees with him.

Jimmy narrows his eyes at his partner, accompanied by the sound of his tail swishing rather angrily. “Fine.” He huffed sharply, and moved to follow the half dragon out of the main meeting room.

They walk to a room together, one not quite as far down the hall as it maybe should be, and as soon as the door closes Jimmy is laying into him properly. And it’s nothing he doesn’t deserve, really.

“Why the hell would you do that, Fwhip!?” His boyfriend shouts, frills puffed out in what is absolutely anger. Understandable anger, because he had just blown up his best friend shouse a few days ago.

“I was upset-” The Count is frustratingly cut off for the third time that day, and tries his best to not let that irritate him, to not get upset and make this argument worse. Though that’s pretty hard to do, in his own defense. (Which is probably a bad defense actually, all things considered.)

“Upset enough to blow up a house!?” Jimmy’s voice rises to a level where someone can absolutely hear what he’s on about, and Fwhip doesn’t even think the cod cares about if they’re heard or not. The Count isn’t even sure if he himself cares about that, though that fact is one of the farest things from his mind at the moment.

He manages to get his own defense out, stumbling through the words as he does, shame and the smallest amount of self hatred lining his words. “I shouldn’t have done it, I know! I’m sorry, really I am.”

“You can’t just….just do that when you get mad, okay? That’s-” The blonde in front of him starts to scold him, like a child, like Gem does sometimes, and it pushes Fwhip a little closer to the edge.

“I know, I know! I’m working on it!” The Count snaps, a growl being held in the back of his throat and his own tail now beginning to lash wildly behind him. Fwhip knows he’s impulsive, and sometimes lets his emotions get the better, and that he likes exploding things to a dangerous degree. He knows that! And he;s doing a lot better than he used to, considering the last big explosion was that goddamned ravine between Mythland and the Codlands years ago!

“I’m sorry, okay, I didn’t mean to cause Scott to go missing or anything. I don’t even know what I wanted…okay?” His voice lowers, and comes out in a sigh. The room is silent for a few seconds, as his partner considers his words. But apparently this is not the end of whatever the cod across from him has to say, and by the next time the blonde speaks his tone is more worried than anything.

Jimmy starts again, and it feels like some of the anger has left him. Only some of it, though. "Do you know how worried I was when Gem messaged me-"

"You? Worried? That's rich!" Fwhip cuts in, frustration leaking out of him like water leaks out of a broken pipe. Frustration that’s been building up for weeks upon weeks, like a clog in his system. "You've been worrying me for the past few months!"

“With what?” Jimmy snaps, crossing his arms over his chest.

“With never wanting to see me, because you're apparently so busy all the time!” Fwhip retorts, trying to keep his voice as low as he can manage. He doesn’t know if anyone can hear them, and doesn’t want anyone to if they can. This had turned into an argument that wasn’t for anyone’s ears but theirs. “I barely come over because you say somethings happening, and I don’t want to intrude! And you said I was the one always working!”

Irritated clicks came from the back of the Codfather’s throat as he responded. “I’ve just been dealing with a lot, okay!? I’m getting it sorted!”

“You could’ve let me help, if it’s taking this long! I’m your partner , you're supposed to let me help when something’s wrong!”

“I-..” The blonde fumbles on his words for a minute, then pulls out possibly the most generic and also irritating response to ever use in an argument ever. “I didn’t need help, okay, I have it under control!”

“I really don’t think you do-” Fwhip starts, and is promptly cut off in the heat of it all.

“And why’s that!?” Jimmy asks, voice rising once again, clear frustration in it.

“Because you're always running out of the meetings nowadays. You act weird during them, and as soon as they're over you're out the door and no one sees you for weeks!” Fwhip would know that Jimmy’s been dealing with whatever it is alone, because he’s asked everyone the cod is close to the same damn question. If they’d seen him recently, and the answer was always no . Everytime his partner had gone a week or so without talking to him, he’d ask that question. He’d asked Lizzie, Joel, Katherine, Scott — everyone , and the response was always the same. That Jimmy was being weird and not checking in as often as he used too,

“That’s why I’ve been worried, okay? Because you’ve been acting so off and not telling anyone anything!” Fwhip’s sounding a little worried, now, maybe a little desperate, but he can’t help it. Weeks worth of anxiety is crashing over him all at once, and he’s not holding it back anymore.

Jimmy gives what sounds like the last, frustrating retort he’s willing to give. The same thing he’d been saying the whole goddamned time. "You didn't need to worry that much! It's fine , I can handle it! "

" Bullshit! " Fwhip yells out loudly, not caring of who hears him anymore. "I was worrying because I-I'm your boyfriend! I care about you, a lot, okay?" The words I love you get caught in his throat for what feels like the millionth fucking time. Goddammit, why? Why can't he just say it? Why is it so hard to tell Jimmy those three simple words-

"Well maybe you should stop caring so much! If it's what made you blow Scott's house in the first place!"

Fwhip goes silent at that, the words striking him harder than they probably should. But maybe it’s also a fair reaction, because his boyfriend did just tell him to stop fucking caring so much. Whatever report he had dries up in his throat, and he just stares at the cod across from him, an hurt expression of some kind absolutely spreading across his features.

Jimmy's eyes widen slowly, as he realizes what he'd just said. And once he does he's already scrambling to take it back. "Oh Fuck. I'm-I'm sorry, Fwhip. I shouldn't have-" There is clear regret in his tone, and it’s panicked as well. He takes a step forward, reaching out to grab Fwhip’s arm, but the other shifts backwards, limbs being drawn closer to the rest of his body.

The Count takes a slightly shaky breath, and moves to head out of the room. "No, its-its….I'm done, I'm going home. We can talk later…." As far as he's concerned, this argument is over, this meeting is over. They're done talking. He needs to go home. His heart is hurting far too much for this now.

"Fwhip, wait-" Jimmy's near desperate plea is met with nothing but the sound of a dragon's tail limply being dragged across a quartz floor, and the dejected sounding click of a door shutting quietly behind it.

The Count takes a few deep, ragged breaths to keep himself calm. At least until he’s outside and flying home. At least until them. He listens to the sound of his boots clinking against Katherine’s nice, beautiful quartz floor, and is glad he’s not spilling his tears on it or anything. He also hears no footsteps following him, and part of him is glad, because that part of him knows he needs the space. The other part of him wishes Jimmy would run up to him right now and they could make up and kiss like none of this ever happens. The third part of him knows that's impossible.

He takes another breath when he finally re-enters the meeting room, as he needs to go through it to leave the castle. And also apologize to the rest of them as well, for the whole Scot thing of course. But when he opens the door the atmosphere has turned from upset to awkward, and all of his fellow rulers are gazing at him.

Shit . Fwhip thinks, catching the looks the others are giving him. That’s not good.

“You all heard that, didn’t you?” He asks, squirming under the weight seven gazes; some of them incredibly awkward, and some look like they’re sorry for him. Like he needs that.

“Yeah…” Lizzie mumbled awkwardly, her gaze flicking to her seablings chair. Fwhip thinks of Jimmy, remembers the words they’d just exchanged, and flinches at everything going on in his head at the moment.

“ Shit. ” He hisses, pinning the bridge of his nose. His tail lays dejectedly on the ground still, and his wings seem to fold in impossibly tighter to him with every passing second.

Joey lets out an uncomfortable cough from the back of his throat. “We were trying not to, you guys were just…a little loud. And not very far away…” It’s the most awkward Fwhip’s ever heard the Lost Emperor, which feels like a feat in and of itself, considering how that man has no shame whatsoever. Not that there’s any reason to celebrate it, that is.

“....Sorry?” Shrub offers, and Katherine lets out a somewhat comforting murmur of her own.

“Probably should’ve told Jimmy all that in private first anyways…” Sausage muttered, giving Fwhip the best apologetic look he could muster in the moment. An apologetic look he didn’t really deserve, in his own humble opinion. The Count just sighs in response.

“Look, I’m sorry about the blowing up Scott’s house thing, really.” He starts, and he’s repeated the sentiment so many times today it’s already starting to feel empty. Even though it’s not, even if he means it with his entire soul. He locks eyes with Sausage as he speaks, and hopes his brother can see that. He hopes the man knows him as well as he thinks he does.“I’m gonna make it up to him when he gets back….”

“We kinda overhead all that. We get that you’re sorry okay?” Pearl reassured him, her voice a thousand times softer than any of the concern held in her gaze.

Joel spoke next, his words unusually slow paced and worried. “You okay there, mate?” “It’s just…” The Count trailed off, taking a deep breath, his words unsteady as he spoke. His gaze was now firmly fixed on the ground, tears already threatening to break through the surface. Goddamit, why couldn't he save the waterworks for when he was in private?

“..Fwhip..?” Someone said his name, he didn’t know who, all he knew was that they said it gently. Gently enough to finally, somehow, after everything, be his breaking point for that day. He should’ve broken a lot earlier, honestly, he doesn't know how it took until now, really.

“It’s fine, I just….” Fwhip sighs. “I’m going home, okay?” He says, and keeps making his way to the door. He’s going to his physical home, at least, because his real one is back there, behind that door. Yet for once it doesn’t feel like he can run there, because that’s what he’s running from. Not forever, just for a bit. But until then he is at his physical home, waiting for his real one to mend itself once more.

However long that would take.

_______________________________________

Jimmy walks back to the rest of the group, probably a good ten minutes later, after he’s done swearing and hurling all kinds of insults towards himself. And also trying not to cry a little. Because what the fuck was wrong with him? How the hell could he have hurt Fwhip like that, how could he have said that?

There is lingering anger and stress still in him, but mostly it has become overtaken by regret. Regret and grief that both flood over him and cloud his sense and makes him hate himself for even saying such a cruel thing, even if it was in the heat of the moment or not. Even if they were both emotional and not thinking straight. He shouldn’t have said it, he shouldn’t have. God why did he say that, why, why, why, why, why?

Jimmy walks slowly down the same hallway Fwhip had not even an hour before, and does basically the same thing his partner had done. Listen to the sound of his own footsteps, try not to have a breakdown, and wish that his rose petal was here. (He shouldn’t be calling him rose petal still, like he has a right too, after telling Fwhip to not call him orchid then telling him to stop caring. It’s another thing from today he should never have done.)

When he finally returns to the meeting room the others have started to leave, yet Jimmy pays them no attention. He gives a handful of quick goodbyes to Lizzie, Joel, and a few others that manage to get his attention, and then he’s out the door, feeling like the worst person in the world in those moments. The blonde just goes straight to his shack when he does land back at home, hiding away in the tiny little house for the next few hours.

He says he’ll leave and go and speak to Fwhip when doing so doesn’t feel so painfully, when the guilt lifts. When thinking about it doesn’t his anxiety of haywire and send him pacing with possible scenarios of how all of this could go wrong. His mind never thinks of a scenario where this could go right, only wrong, which probably makes everything he’s feeling one hundred times worse when he does so.

It never quite gets there in the end. Jimmy decides to get it over with and shoot Fwhip a message over their communicators three days after the meeting. Or maybe it was four, or five. He’d lost count at this point.

The cod lays there, his Codfather head still missing, late at night, and waits for a message from his boyfriend. Just so they can try and begin to fix this. So they can try and fix what they have, to fix them .

Part of him worries it won’t work. The rest of him hopes it does. The rest of him hopes it does with a desperation he’s never quite felt before. He thinks it’s what being in love does to someone. In some sick, twisted kinda way that is.

He thinks it's what loving someone so much it hurts feels like. (he loves Fwhip so much he’ll endure this, even if it isn’t worth anything in the end. He’ll endure it. It’ll be worth it.Jimmy sure of that.)

#ron.fic #jimmy solidarity #empires smp #explosions acorss lifetimes #empiresblr #fwhimmy #empireshipping #the codfather #count fwhip #empires jimmy #empires fwhip

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bluejaysandblackbats · 7 months ago

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An Oyster's Pearl

Fandom: DC Comics

Summary: Shortly after moving in with Joseph Wilson, Grant Wilson makes friends with a fellow pledge for a fraternity. During this time, Grant grapples with realizations about his childhood trauma, his sexuality, and his relationships with his father and siblings.

Chapters: 3/?

Characters: Grant Wilson, Joseph Wilson, Rose Wilson, Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson, William Randolph Wintergreen, Original Character(s)

Relationships: Grant Wilson/Original Character, DickJoey

Additional Tags: University AU, No Capes AU, Angst, Deaf Joseph Wilson, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Grant Wilson has a Sexuality Crisis, Frat Boy Grant Wilson

Chapter Three: Hatching Day

Joey stayed in the apartment most of the day, except for lunch when he went out with his boyfriend. It gave me time to make dinner. Swedish meatballs on egg noodles with roasted potatoes and carrots. That was his favorite meal. Swedish meatballs were the only thing I ever cooked for him that came out right. I made it all the time when we were kids. The doorbell rang, pulling me out of my nostalgic moment, and I ran to the door, hoping it wasn't Joey getting home early from his date.

To my shock, it was Rose. She showed up with decorations practically spilling out of a shopping bag. I didn't expect her to be on time, let alone early. "Dinner smells great," Rose complimented, "Mind if I—?"

"Go ahead. I'm just finishing up in the kitchen. Did you get the candles?" I asked.

"Did I get the candles?" Rose mocked me. "Yes, I got the candles. Jesus, do you think I'm an idiot or something?"

I chuckled. That was one thing we all had in common. We're all insufferable assholes when we get together. Rose definitely had me beat, though. She put up the decorations and joined me in the kitchen to sneak a meatball or two while my back was turned. I expected it, though, so I cooked enough for her to snag a few before Joey came home. "Promise me you're not gonna try to fight Joey's boyfriend and ruin his entire birthday dinner," Rose commanded.

"Now, why would I do that?" I asked.

"Just promise me, okay?" Rose replied.

"You've got my word. Besides, I can't let all this food go to waste," I half-joked. Rose grinned.

"He's got like twenty gifts on the table," Rose exaggerated, "How much you wanna bet he's gonna cry?"

"I bet you twenty he cries before the cake even comes out," I snickered.

She smirked and nodded confidently. "Oh, you're on," Rose chuckled.

It wasn't long after that that Joey came in holding hands with the guy I fought outside of a bar two years ago. Still, I promised Rose I wouldn't ruin dinner, so I shook his hand and invited him to stay for dinner. There was a time and a place for settling scores, but Joey's birthday dinner was neither the time nor the place. Ha. Maybe living with Joey was rubbing off on me.

I made everyone's plates, and we sat down at the table. Joey loved dinner as he always did. "What'd you guys do today?" Rose asked.

"We had lunch at the park, and then went to the movies... That was terrible, actually," Joey explained. He hated going to the movies. Even before everything happened, he hated the movie theater. "The drinks were good, though."

"What movie?" I asked. I figured there wasn't much harm in indulging my brother on his birthday.

"Is that a hint of interest I detect?" Joey asked sarcastically. I chuckled and nodded. "It was a terrible action movie... I think it was a remake of something from the 80s."

"Sounds like my kind of movie," I replied. My phone buzzed.

"You know the rules," Joey reminded me. There was a rule about text messages at the dinner table. We kept it when we moved in together. If one of us got a text message during dinner, they had to read it.

I sighed and unlocked my phone. "Hope your brother has a happy birthday... Looking forward to seeing you at formal rush," I read out loud.

"The rush party guy?" Joey asked.

"Chill, it's not like that... You know it's not like that," I replied. Joey cocked his head, and I shook my head. "It's not."

"Am I missing something, or is that guy flirting with Grant?" Rose asked.

"Come on," I replied, "He's not flirting with me. I'd know if he was flirting with me. Wouldn't I?"

"I think so," Dick replied. I was shocked to see him take my side. "You're pledging?"

"I wasn't planning on it, but Tau Psi seemed like a cool frat," I replied, "So, yeah. I think so." Joey lit up. He'd been trying to get me more involved in school stuff outside of football.

Rose snuck a few potatoes off his plate while he was distracted. I didn't say anything about it because I thought it was funny. "You'll get in," Joey reassured me. I smiled and finished eating. I took my plate to the sink and washed it before getting the cake from the fridge and lighting the candles. I took one hand and flickered the lights while I held the cake with the other. Joey teared up, and Rose took my twenty out of her purse.

I let him blow out the candles and cut the cake, and Dick had a slice before leaving early. He kissed Joey on the cheek, leaving the three of us Wilsons to enjoy the rest of Joey's birthday alone. Joey opened his gifts and put them away while Rose and I cleaned up, and the three of us lay on the couch, eating cake and drinking beers. Well, not Rose. She was seventeen-ish at the time, and it seemed weird to let our teenage sister drink alcohol. We knew she smoked cigarettes and had a drink from time to time, but that wasn't any of our business. With us, she had juice and ginger ale.

"Have you guys ever noticed we don't speak to each other?" Rose questioned.

"I asked you if you wanted some orange juice to go with your ginger ale before the movie started," I replied. Joey laughed. Having a sister was weird, and she always found ways to remind us.

Her phone rang, and our smiles faded. "Don't do that," Rose whispered.

"Do what? Have an adverse reaction to a call from the enemy?" I asked before getting up to look for something harder to drink.

"Well, I've gotta take this. I live with Dad, remember?" Rose replied. I threw my hand up in the air.

"Fine with me," I replied. Joey sank down into the couch, nursing his beer. "Do you want a Tom Collins?"

"What?" Joey asked, finally looking up from his beer.

"Tom Collins. Do you want one?" I repeated. Joey nodded and finished his beer.

Rose answered the phone. "Hi, Daddy," Rose whispered as she turned her back to us. "Yeah, Joey's here... Yeah, I'll tell him... I'll tell Grant too..." She glanced over at me, and I could see she wanted reassurance that I wasn't mad at her, but I couldn't give it. I love my sister. Don't get me wrong.

I couldn't wrap my head around her loving Slade so much. I turned my back to her while I made drinks and brought them back to the table. Joey downed his drink quickly, and I finished mine right after. "Love you too, Daddy. I'll be home in an hour," Rose whispered before hanging up.

"Did he know whose birthday it was?" Joey asked.

"Screw him, Joey. If he did know, would it change anything?" I asked. I blamed Slade for what happened to Joey. He took so much from Joey and never thought to apologize for it. I hated him for that more than anything he'd ever done while I was there. Joey had a good heart, though. As mad as he was at Slade, he looked for any sign of change in Slade so he could forgive him. Rose plopped down on the couch between us, and we didn't say anything else. I playfully pushed her head to show her I wasn't mad. "Want another Caprisun for the road?" I teased.

"Screw you and your old man drinks," Rose laughed.

Joey loosened up a little and went to the kitchen to get the gin. He drank until it was time for Rose to go home. Rose leaned over the back of the couch to give us both a kiss on the cheek. I wiped my face, and Joey messed up her hair. "Drive safe, Rose," Joey smiled softly. I could tell he was drunker than he let on. He'd emptied most of the bottle and didn't stand up to walk Rose out like he usually did.

I didn't say anything about it in front of Rose, though. I walked her to the door and watched until she got to the end of the hall, just like Joey would've. Once she was out of my sight, I shut the door and looked Joey over. "You good?" I asked. I knew the answer to the question before I even asked. Joey nodded. He lied to me. "Stand up, then."

"You were so drunk you nearly jumped off a bookcase last night," Joey replied.

"Yeah, because I'm an idiot, Joey. You didn't start drinking like that until after Rose talked to Slade," I replied. Joey shrugged. "That's all you got for me?" Joey nodded.

"You don't like to talk about him. This is me not talking," Joey explained as he reached for the bottle.

"Well, I'd rather you just make me uncomfortable than do this," I stated. I knew things were tense when it came to Slade, but I didn't think it bothered him that much.

"Don't you want to be a family again?" Joey asked with tears in his eyes.

"You're my family... And I'm getting there with Rose. Isn't it enough that I care about the ones that matter the most?" I replied.

"I'm mad at him too, Grant, but I still want him to be part of our life. It doesn't feel fair—."

"He took our childhood from us, Joe. He took our peace, our happiness—. Hell, Joey, he took your hearing, for Christ's sake!" I yelled at him. Joey wiped away his tears.

"Grant, please—."

I waved my hand at him. "And look at what he did to Rose. Her mom is dead because of him—."

"All of that happened because of his job, Grant. We can't put everything on him. It wouldn't be fair," Joey justified. I wasn't ready to hear him out.

"I'm not telling you that you can't forgive him. I want you to do what's best for you. I'm just asking that you respect the fact that I hate him," I replied. Before Joey could say anything else, I took the bottle and went to my room.

#fic #an oyster's pearl fic #Grant Wilson #Joseph Wilson #Rose Wilson #Dick Grayson #Slade Wilson #William Randolph Wintergreen #Original Character(s)#Grant Wilson/Original Character #DickJoey #University AU #No Capes AU #Angst #Deaf Joseph Wilson #Fluff and Angst #Romance #Grant Wilson has a Sexuality Crisis #Frat Boy Grant Wilson

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hellsitesonlybookclub · 2 years ago

Text

20k Leagues under the sea, Jules Verne

part 2 chapter 2-3

CHAPTER III A PEARL OF TEN MILLIONS

The next morning at four o’clock I was awakened by the steward whom Captain Nemo had placed at my service. I rose hurriedly, dressed, and went into the saloon.

Captain Nemo was awaiting me.

“M. Aronnax,” said he, “are you ready to start?”

“I am ready.”

“Then please to follow me.”

“And my companions, Captain?”

“They have been told and are waiting.”

“Are we not to put on our diver’s dresses?” asked I.

“Not yet. I have not allowed the Nautilus to come too near this coast, and we are some distance from the Manaar Bank; but the boat is ready, and will take us to the exact point of disembarking, which will save us a long way. It carries our diving apparatus, which we will put on when we begin our submarine journey.”

Captain Nemo conducted me to the central staircase, which led on the platform. Ned and Conseil were already there, delighted at the idea of the “pleasure party” which was preparing. Five sailors from the Nautilus, with their oars, waited in the boat, which had been made fast against the side.

The night was still dark. Layers of clouds covered the sky, allowing but few stars to be seen. I looked on the side where the land lay, and saw nothing but a dark line enclosing three parts of the horizon, from south-west to north west. The Nautilus, having returned during the night up the western coast of Ceylon, was now west of the bay, or rather gulf, formed by the mainland and the Island of Manaar. There, under the dark waters, stretched the pintadine bank, an inexhaustible field of pearls, the length of which is more than twenty miles.

Captain Nemo, Ned Land, Conseil, and I took our places in the stern of the boat. The master went to the tiller; his four companions leaned on their oars, the painter was cast off, and we sheered off.

The boat went towards the south; the oarsmen did not hurry. I noticed that their strokes, strong in the water, only followed each other every ten seconds, according to the method generally adopted in the navy. Whilst the craft was running by its own velocity, the liquid drops struck the dark depths of the waves crisply like spats of melted lead. A little billow, spreading wide, gave a slight roll to the boat, and some samphire reeds flapped before it.

We were silent. What was Captain Nemo thinking of? Perhaps of the land he was approaching, and which he found too near to him, contrary to the Canadian’s opinion, who thought it too far off. As to Conseil, he was merely there from curiosity.

About half-past five the first tints on the horizon showed the upper line of coast more distinctly. Flat enough in the east, it rose a little to the south. Five miles still lay between us, and it was indistinct owing to the mist on the water. At six o’clock it became suddenly daylight, with that rapidity peculiar to tropical regions, which know neither dawn nor twilight. The solar rays pierced the curtain of clouds, piled up on the eastern horizon, and the radiant orb rose rapidly. I saw land distinctly, with a few trees scattered here and there. The boat neared Manaar Island, which was rounded to the south. Captain Nemo rose from his seat and watched the sea.

At a sign from him the anchor was dropped, but the chain scarcely ran, for it was little more than a yard deep, and this spot was one of the highest points of the bank of pintadines.

“Here we are, M. Aronnax,” said Captain Nemo. “You see that enclosed bay? Here, in a month will be assembled the numerous fishing boats of the exporters, and these are the waters their divers will ransack so boldly. Happily, this bay is well situated for that kind of fishing. It is sheltered from the strongest winds; the sea is never very rough here, which makes it favourable for the diver’s work. We will now put on our dresses, and begin our walk.”

I did not answer, and, while watching the suspected waves, began with the help of the sailors to put on my heavy sea-dress. Captain Nemo and my companions were also dressing. None of the Nautilus men were to accompany us on this new excursion.

Soon we were enveloped to the throat in india-rubber clothing; the air apparatus fixed to our backs by braces. As to the Ruhmkorff apparatus, there was no necessity for it. Before putting my head into the copper cap, I had asked the question of the Captain.

“They would be useless,” he replied. “We are going to no great depth, and the solar rays will be enough to light our walk. Besides, it would not be prudent to carry the electric light in these waters; its brilliancy might attract some of the dangerous inhabitants of the coast most inopportunely.”

As Captain Nemo pronounced these words, I turned to Conseil and Ned Land. But my two friends had already encased their heads in the metal cap, and they could neither hear nor answer.

One last question remained to ask of Captain Nemo.

“And our arms?” asked I; “our guns?”

“Guns! What for? Do not mountaineers attack the bear with a dagger in their hand, and is not steel surer than lead? Here is a strong blade; put it in your belt, and we start.”

I looked at my companions; they were armed like us, and, more than that, Ned Land was brandishing an enormous harpoon, which he had placed in the boat before leaving the Nautilus.

Then, following the Captain’s example, I allowed myself to be dressed in the heavy copper helmet, and our reservoirs of air were at once in activity. An instant after we were landed, one after the other, in about two yards of water upon an even sand. Captain Nemo made a sign with his hand, and we followed him by a gentle declivity till we disappeared under the waves.

Over our feet, like coveys of snipe in a bog, rose shoals of fish, of the genus monoptera, which have no other fins but their tail. I recognized the Javanese, a real serpent two and a half feet long, of a livid colour underneath, and which might easily be mistaken for a conger eel if it were not for the golden stripes on its side. In the genus stromateus, whose bodies are very flat and oval, I saw some of the most brilliant colours, carrying their dorsal fin like a scythe; an excellent eating fish, which, dried and pickled, is known by the name of Karawade; then some tranquebars, belonging to the genus apsiphoroides, whose body is covered with a shell cuirass of eight longitudinal plates.

The heightening sun lit the mass of waters more and more. The soil changed by degrees. To the fine sand succeeded a perfect causeway of boulders, covered with a carpet of molluscs and zoophytes. Amongst the specimens of these branches I noticed some placenae, with thin unequal shells, a kind of ostracion peculiar to the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean; some orange lucinae with rounded shells; rockfish three feet and a half long, which raised themselves under the waves like hands ready to seize one. There were also some panopyres, slightly luminous; and lastly, some oculines, like magnificent fans, forming one of the richest vegetations of these seas.

In the midst of these living plants, and under the arbours of the hydrophytes, were layers of clumsy articulates, particularly some raninae, whose carapace formed a slightly rounded triangle; and some horrible looking parthenopes.

At about seven o’clock we found ourselves at last surveying the oyster-banks on which the pearl-oysters are reproduced by millions.

Captain Nemo pointed with his hand to the enormous heap of oysters; and I could well understand that this mine was inexhaustible, for Nature’s creative power is far beyond man’s instinct of destruction. Ned Land, faithful to his instinct, hastened to fill a net which he carried by his side with some of the finest specimens. But we could not stop. We must follow the Captain, who seemed to guide him self by paths known only to himself. The ground was sensibly rising, and sometimes, on holding up my arm, it was above the surface of the sea. Then the level of the bank would sink capriciously. Often we rounded high rocks scarped into pyramids. In their dark fractures huge crustacea, perched upon their high claws like some war-machine, watched us with fixed eyes, and under our feet crawled various kinds of annelides.

At this moment there opened before us a large grotto dug in a picturesque heap of rocks and carpeted with all the thick warp of the submarine flora. At first it seemed very dark to me. The solar rays seemed to be extinguished by successive gradations, until its vague transparency became nothing more than drowned light. Captain Nemo entered; we followed. My eyes soon accustomed themselves to this relative state of darkness. I could distinguish the arches springing capriciously from natural pillars, standing broad upon their granite base, like the heavy columns of Tuscan architecture. Why had our incomprehensible guide led us to the bottom of this submarine crypt? I was soon to know. After descending a rather sharp declivity, our feet trod the bottom of a kind of circular pit. There Captain Nemo stopped, and with his hand indicated an object I had not yet perceived. It was an oyster of extraordinary dimensions, a gigantic tridacne, a goblet which could have contained a whole lake of holy-water, a basin the breadth of which was more than two yards and a half, and consequently larger than that ornamenting the saloon of the Nautilus. I approached this extraordinary mollusc. It adhered by its filaments to a table of granite, and there, isolated, it developed itself in the calm waters of the grotto. I estimated the weight of this tridacne at 600 lbs. Such an oyster would contain 30 lbs. of meat; and one must have the stomach of a Gargantua to demolish some dozens of them.

Captain Nemo was evidently acquainted with the existence of this bivalve, and seemed to have a particular motive in verifying the actual state of this tridacne. The shells were a little open; the Captain came near and put his dagger between to prevent them from closing; then with his hand he raised the membrane with its fringed edges, which formed a cloak for the creature. There, between the folded plaits, I saw a loose pearl, whose size equalled that of a coco-nut. Its globular shape, perfect clearness, and admirable lustre made it altogether a jewel of inestimable value. Carried away by my curiosity, I stretched out my hand to seize it, weigh it, and touch it; but the Captain stopped me, made a sign of refusal, and quickly withdrew his dagger, and the two shells closed suddenly. I then understood Captain Nemo’s intention. In leaving this pearl hidden in the mantle of the tridacne he was allowing it to grow slowly. Each year the secretions of the mollusc would add new concentric circles. I estimated its value at £500,000 at least.

After ten minutes Captain Nemo stopped suddenly. I thought he had halted previously to returning. No; by a gesture he bade us crouch beside him in a deep fracture of the rock, his hand pointed to one part of the liquid mass, which I watched attentively.

About five yards from me a shadow appeared, and sank to the ground. The disquieting idea of sharks shot through my mind, but I was mistaken; and once again it was not a monster of the ocean that we had anything to do with.

It was a man, a living man, an Indian, a fisherman, a poor devil who, I suppose, had come to glean before the harvest. I could see the bottom of his canoe anchored some feet above his head. He dived and went up successively. A stone held between his feet, cut in the shape of a sugar loaf, whilst a rope fastened him to his boat, helped him to descend more rapidly. This was all his apparatus. Reaching the bottom, about five yards deep, he went on his knees and filled his bag with oysters picked up at random. Then he went up, emptied it, pulled up his stone, and began the operation once more, which lasted thirty seconds.

The diver did not see us. The shadow of the rock hid us from sight. And how should this poor Indian ever dream that men, beings like himself, should be there under the water watching his movements and losing no detail of the fishing? Several times he went up in this way, and dived again. He did not carry away more than ten at each plunge, for he was obliged to pull them from the bank to which they adhered by means of their strong byssus. And how many of those oysters for which he risked his life had no pearl in them! I watched him closely; his manœuvres were regular; and for the space of half an hour no danger appeared to threaten him.

I was beginning to accustom myself to the sight of this interesting fishing, when suddenly, as the Indian was on the ground, I saw him make a gesture of terror, rise, and make a spring to return to the surface of the sea.

I understood his dread. A gigantic shadow appeared just above the unfortunate diver. It was a shark of enormous size advancing diagonally, his eyes on fire, and his jaws open. I was mute with horror and unable to move.

The voracious creature shot towards the Indian, who threw himself on one side to avoid the shark’s fins; but not its tail, for it struck his chest and stretched him on the ground.

This scene lasted but a few seconds: the shark returned, and, turning on his back, prepared himself for cutting the Indian in two, when I saw Captain Nemo rise suddenly, and then, dagger in hand, walk straight to the monster, ready to fight face to face with him. The very moment the shark was going to snap the unhappy fisherman in two, he perceived his new adversary, and, turning over, made straight towards him.

I can still see Captain Nemo’s position. Holding himself well together, he waited for the shark with admirable coolness; and, when it rushed at him, threw himself on one side with wonderful quickness, avoiding the shock, and burying his dagger deep into its side. But it was not all over. A terrible combat ensued.

A terrible combat began

The shark had seemed to roar, if I might say so. The blood rushed in torrents from its wound. The sea was dyed red, and through the opaque liquid I could distinguish nothing more. Nothing more until the moment when, like lightning, I saw the undaunted Captain hanging on to one of the creature’s fins, struggling, as it were, hand to hand with the monster, and dealing successive blows at his enemy, yet still unable to give a decisive one.

The shark’s struggles agitated the water with such fury that the rocking threatened to upset me.

I wanted to go to the Captain’s assistance, but, nailed to the spot with horror, I could not stir.

I saw the haggard eye; I saw the different phases of the fight. The Captain fell to the earth, upset by the enormous mass which leant upon him. The shark’s jaws opened wide, like a pair of factory shears, and it would have been all over with the Captain; but, quick as thought, harpoon in hand, Ned Land rushed towards the shark and struck it with its sharp point.

The waves were impregnated with a mass of blood. They rocked under the shark’s movements, which beat them with indescribable fury. Ned Land had not missed his aim. It was the monster’s death-rattle. Struck to the heart, it struggled in dreadful convulsions, the shock of which overthrew Conseil.

But Ned Land had disentangled the Captain, who, getting up without any wound, went straight to the Indian, quickly cut the cord which held him to his stone, took him in his arms, and, with a sharp blow of his heel, mounted to the surface.

We all three followed in a few seconds, saved by a miracle, and reached the fisherman’s boat.

Captain Nemo’s first care was to recall the unfortunate man to life again. I did not think he could succeed. I hoped so, for the poor creature’s immersion was not long; but the blow from the shark’s tail might have been his death-blow.

Happily, with the Captain’s and Conseil’s sharp friction, I saw consciousness return by degrees. He opened his eyes. What was his surprise, his terror even, at seeing four great copper heads leaning over him! And, above all, what must he have thought when Captain Nemo, drawing from the pocket of his dress a bag of pearls, placed it in his hand! This munificent charity from the man of the waters to the poor Cingalese was accepted with a trembling hand. His wondering eyes showed that he knew not to what super-human beings he owed both fortune and life.

At a sign from the Captain we regained the bank, and, following the road already traversed, came in about half an hour to the anchor which held the canoe of the Nautilus to the earth.

Once on board, we each, with the help of the sailors, got rid of the heavy copper helmet.

Captain Nemo’s first word was to the Canadian.

“Thank you, Master Land,” said he.

“It was in revenge, Captain,” replied Ned Land. “I owed you that.”

A ghastly smile passed across the Captain’s lips, and that was all.

“To the Nautilus,” said he.

The boat flew over the waves. Some minutes after we met the shark’s dead body floating. By the black marking of the extremity of its fins, I recognised the terrible melanopteron of the Indian Seas, of the species of shark so properly called. It was more than twenty-five feet long; its enormous mouth occupied one-third of its body. It was an adult, as was known by its six rows of teeth placed in an isosceles triangle in the upper jaw.

Whilst I was contemplating this inert mass, a dozen of these voracious beasts appeared round the boat; and, without noticing us, threw themselves upon the dead body and fought with one another for the pieces.

At half-past eight we were again on board the Nautilus. There I reflected on the incidents which had taken place in our excursion to the Manaar Bank.

Two conclusions I must inevitably draw from it—one bearing upon the unparalleled courage of Captain Nemo, the other upon his devotion to a human being, a representative of that race from which he fled beneath the sea. Whatever he might say, this strange man had not yet succeeded in entirely crushing his heart.

When I made this observation to him, he answered in a slightly moved tone:

“That Indian, sir, is an inhabitant of an oppressed country; and I am still, and shall be, to my last breath, one of them!”

#hellsitesonlybookclub #jules verne #bookblr #books

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theladyofdeath · 2 years ago

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The Viscount Who Loved Me {Nine}

TVWLM Masterlist

An A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfiction, inspired by the first 2 seasons of Bridgerton.

Written alongside @snelbz

Ships: Nesta x Cassian x Elain (I said what I said) Feyre x Rhysand Elain x Azriel x Gwyn

*CHAPTER WARNING: nsfw, 18+

Summary:

As the season begins, a new Diamond is named. She catches the eye of a prince whose feelings remain unrequited. However, the man who catches the eye of the Diamond remains off the market, refusing to get married as a jab to his late father. Meanwhile, the Diamond of the Season’s sisters have found themselves in a bit of a quandary. The elder is pushing the younger to get married to help her move on from the horrid disaster that happened last season, but in the process, the elder catches the eye of the younger’s match, even though she is considered to be an old maid and far past her time to be wed at the age of six and twenty. As they say, all is fair in love and war.

A/N: And so the romance begins...last scene nsfw. As always, we'd love to know what you think. Thanks for reading!

Tag list is at the end. If you’d like to be added, please comment below or submit an ask. :)

Dear Readers,

I hear that three very prominent sisters will be arriving in the city proper today from a long weekend away with a certain group of gentlemen. If the countryside properly worked its charm, I wonder if we will see a ring?

If not, might we all wonder why? The most eligible bachelor of the season may not be eligible for long.

What shall I wear to the wedding?

Yours Truly,

The Suriel

<.>

The carriage ride back to the city was quiet, but Elain was looking out at the passing landscape, a grin on her lips.

Feyre was quiet, having nothing to say since they said their goodbyes to the gentlemen. Nesta, however, had a whirlwind of thoughts jumbled in her mind. Her conversation the night before in the garden with Azriel had been nice, but it had only heightened her emotions.

Cassian may have been a good male, but she still did not approve, did not give her blessing.

“Did you enjoy your weekend?” Nesta asked. Although she spoke to both of her sisters, it was Elain that spoke up.

“It was the loveliest, was it not?” She beamed, finally meeting the eyes of her sister. “I have never felt so welcome. Lord Cassian is such a kind soul, don’t you think?”

Nesta gave her sister a tight-lipped smile. “He was the most welcoming.”

Elain turned her gaze to Feyre. “The Viscount was watching you during breakfast. Did you notice?”

Feyre gave her sister a smile that was equally tense as Nesta’s. “I did.”

Nesta had also noticed, but as her youngest sister wasn’t returning his looks, she felt she had nothing to worry about.

Taking Feyre’s clipped answer as a sign she did not wish to discuss anything further, Elain turned back to Nesta. “I had many meaningful conversations with the Baron. Did you know he enjoys going to fights and other sporting events?”

Nesta cringed, because of course Cassian would enjoy the brutality of the fighting pits. “Good, Lainy,” she said, though it didn’t hold the fondness it usually did when she used her sister’s childhood nickname. Elain was fidgeting with the necklace of pearl she wore, and Nesta couldn’t ignore it. “What is it?”

Her expression turned soft and hopeful. “I think he may propose at the next ball. I’d bet he comes by the house at some point this week to speak with you.”

Her grin was so pretty that Nesta wished she didn’t have to speak the words that came next.

“He has not yet earned my blessing, Elain,” she said, carefully. “If he comes to ask for your hand, I will not yet say yes.”

Elains smile faltered before disappearing entirely. “Pardon?”

It was the first time Nesta had ever heard anything that closely resembled cruelty in Elain’s tone. “He has not earned my blessing,” Nesta repeated.

Feyre’s eyes had slowly drifted back out the window.

“He has earned mine,” Elain said, brows furrowed, voice cool. “Is that not enough?”

“No,” Nesta spat. “I am your chaperone. I have the final say. He needs my blessing and no one else’s.”

Elains lips formed a thin line. “Your job, per father’s instructions, is to bring me and Feyre out into society until a man proposes. When he asks for your permission, you will grant it.”

Nesta’s brow slowly rose. “He has already asked, and I have told him no.”

Feyre’s eyes wandered back into the carriage, darting between Nesta and Elain.

“You would deny me this happiness?” Elain asked, voice darker than she’d ever heard it.

It seemed Nesta was having none of it. “You yourself told me you wish to marry for love. You do not love him, nor does he love you. Am I denying you happiness if I want you to find that man you love?”

“It is not my duty to find a man I love,” Elain replied, snapping at her. “Just like it is not your duty to pretend you are Mother.”

The carriage was silent, save for the rattling of the wheels as they rode along the cobblestone streets of Velaris. She hadn’t even realized they were back in the city proper.

Nesta was quiet for a long moment, letting Elain’s words settle in the cab. “Father has tasked me with ensuring both of you end up with your matches for the season, however long that may take. Lord Nazari may continue to court you for the rest of the season, but as of now, I do not approve of who he is as your husband.”

Elain scoffed and crossed her arms as she broke Nesta’s gaze and looked at the townhouses as they passed.

Nesta would not feel guilty.

She was doing what was right, whether Elain believed it to be true or not. She was not pretending to be their mother, but she was caring for Elain, just as she always had.

The rest of the ride was silent, and as they stopped in front of their manor, Nesta said, “You may not agree with me but I am doing this for you. You should marry a man that you desire to be with because you are in love. If you fall in love with Lord Cassian, and he with you, I will happily give my blessing. Until then, all I will say is to keep your eyes open to the other valuable gentlemen. If you two will be forced to marry, you will marry men who cherish you. There will be no more discussion about it.”

Elain’s lips pursed and the second the carriage came to a stop, she was out and walking inside.

Nesta and Feyre sat in silence for a moment before Feyre said, quietly, “She’ll come around.”

She left, leaving Nesta alone, and Nesta began thinking that may have been the nicest thing Feyre had ever said to her.

If nothing else, at least she had that.

<.>

Azriel was admiring his sketch of Lady Elain in Cassian’s sitting room, the three of them deciding to stay one more day at the country home, when Cassian and Rhysand came in carrying a full glass decanter of whiskey.

He blinked, slowly setting down his charcoal and closed his sketchbook. “Shall I even ask?”

“We never properly celebrated your acceptance to art school,” Rhysand grinned, plopping down on the couch and unbuttoning his vest before rolling up his sleeves. “Considering you begin this week, we thought it was the perfect time to celebrate.”

“And by celebrate you mean get drunk?” Azriel asked, amused.

“Well…yes.” Cassian said, slinging his arm around Azriel’s shoulder. “It is what we do best after all.”

Azriel chuckled as he pulled a rag from his bag and rubbed off the charcoal staining his fingers. “I can’t argue with you, so I guess let’s have at it.”

“Attaboy.” Cassian ruffled his hair and reached out to take the full glass Rhysand had poured for their brother. He handed it to Azriel, who sniffed lightly.

Those hazel eyes looked between his brothers. “Did you open the good stuff?” He took a sip, eyes falling closed. He hummed quietly. “You opened the good stuff.”

“Like I said, this is a celebration, Az,” Rhysand said, pouring equally full glasses for himself and Cassian. “You, unlike the two of us, are actually attempting to do something with your life. The Academy is the start of that.”

Cassian made an offended noise, but drank regardless.

Az chuckled, taking another, much larger drink. “I can’t believe it. I’ve dreamed of attending for so long.”

“Well those dreams are becoming a blissful reality, my friend,” Cassian said, setting his glass down and reaching for Azriel’s sketchbook. “I don’t recognize this book, so it must be new. What have you been working on while we’ve been here?”

Azriel quickly snatched the sketchbook off the table. “It’s…nothing of importance.”

Rhysand and Cassian slowly looked at one another before looking back at Azriel with predatory grins.

It was the acceptance letter all over again.

Cassian lunged for the book while Rhysand tackled Azriel onto the couch. If anyone were to see them now, they would be concerned for the most handsome bachelors of the ton.

Very unlordlike, indeed.

When the book was successfully in Cassian’s hands, Azriel groaned. It was of no use. Cassian was too stubborn to stop until he had exactly what he wanted, this included.

Azriel drained his glass and went to refill as Cassian opened the book. He and Rhysand looked through the pages.

“These are phenomenal,” Rhysand muttered, watching as Cassian turned the page, once more. “Truly, Az.”

“Thanks,” he said, counting down the seconds until Cassian saw.

And when he did, his hand froze. “Az?”

Azriel just blinked.

“This is Miss Elain, is it not?” Cassian went on, head tilted to the side. “Might I ask why you have a portrait of Miss Elain?”

“She… I… We…” His stammering was not making him look innocent, so he cleared his throat and reached for the decanter. Refilling his glass, Azriel explained, “I was sketching after breakfast yesterday and Miss Elain happened upon the sitting room and sat in with me for a few minutes. We ended up talking about the Academy and she asked I would draw her.” He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth and took a drink. “I don’t have much practice drawing other people, which is something I’ll be doing a lot of at the Academy, so I figured it could be good exercise.”

Cassian’s eyes left his brother and fell back on the portrait.

Azriel held his breath while he waited for him to say something, anything.

He really shouldn’t have entertained her by sketching her, or even spending so much time alone. Out here in the country, no one would know, but if anyone found out, it could ruin Elain’s reputation.

That was never his intent.

But then Cassian’s mouth quirked up. “You did manage to capture her stunning beauty, brother. I may have to steal this when you’re not looking.”

Azriel laughed, nerves still settled in his stomach as he nodded. “Then I suppose I’ll have to keep an eye on it.”

Rhysand chirped in when asking, “Do you need practice drawing others in the nude? I volunteer to sit for you.”

Azriel snorted as he drank, but it was Cassian that grinned. “What a sight that would be.” He took a drink before adding, “Miss Feyre would certainly agree.”

Rhysand lifted a nonchalant brow. “What makes you say that?”

“Even I saw the way you two looked at one another over breakfast this morning before their departure,” Azriel said, Cassian closing his sketchbook at last and setting it on the coffee table.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rhysand muttered, although his eyes lit with amusement. He knew very well of the glances he snuck at Feyre over breakfast and the annoyed looks she shot back at him across the table.

“Lies,” Cassian crooned, kicking his feet up on the table. If Miryam entered, he would surely be scolded. “For a man that does not want to wed, you seem to be quite smitten with the youngest Archeron sister.”

“Smitten,” Rhysand scoffed. “I don’t have the capacity to feel that.”

“And what do you have the capacity to feel?” Cassian shot back, glass dangling between his fingers.

“For you, general annoyance,” Rhysand replied, smiling at him. “Feyre Archeron is a beautiful young lady, yes, but I am not courting her and I am certainly not smitten with her. I am just…showing her that she does not have to settle for Tamlin.”

“Settle?” Azriel asked, eyes wide. “Settle for a prince? Have you well and truly lost your mind?”

Rhysand heaved a sigh and took a deep drink from his glass. “Have the two of you truly not noticed how miserable she is whenever she’s forced to be in his presence?”

Cassian looked completely oblivious, but seeing as his attention had been constantly wrapped up in the two eldest Archeron sisters, Rhys wasn’t surprised. Azriel, however, grimaced. “I wouldn’t say she’s miserable, but for someone who is likely going to be a future princess, she sure doesn’t look as excited as some of the other young ladies he’s danced with.”

“Exactly. He makes her miserable,” Rhysand stated, satisfied. “Therefore, she should not marry him.”

“So she should marry who?” Cassian asked. “Not you, certainly, so if you are persuading her against the prince, who shall she marry?”

Rhysand’s eyes flickered as he took another drink. “I suppose that is up to her.”

Azriel shook his head while Cassian laughed. “And you expect us to believe you have no feelings whatsoever toward her?”

Rhysand downed his drink, slowly, hoping to move to another conversation as Cassian simply repeated, “Lies.”

<.>

Feyre laid in bed, wide awake.

It had to be nearing midnight and, after the weekend they’d had, she was exhausted. Yet, sleep would not come.

It reminded her of the night in the country, when she wandered to the library in hopes of finding something to help. Instead, she found Rhysand and a horribly inappropriate situation.

One that still burned in the back of her mind.

If she closed her eyes, she could still smell the scent of mint and whiskey of his breath, she could almost imagine what his lips would feel like against hers.

She had let someone kiss her before, had kissed Isaac Hale between the stacks of her family library when she was fifteen. Isaac had kissed like a boy though. He’d awkwardly slid his tongue around her mouth and bitten her lip so hard, he’d drawn blood. As his family was staying with hers for the fall, she had to quickly come up with an excuse for her busted lip, and no one but the two of them had ever known.

Looking at Rhysand though, how his eyes took in every inch of her, she knew he would kiss like a man. He would grab and touch and…and possess and make her feel alive.

Feyre hadn’t even realized she was breathing as heavily as she was until her eyes opened and she found herself staring at the painted ceiling of her canopy. All she could see were those dark eyes, so dark the violet iris was almost nonexistent, as he leaned down towards her.

And then she’d stopped him and ran back to her rooms. But…what if she hadn’t? What if she’d let him kiss her?

She imagined the kiss would start off slow, nothing but their lips touching. The softest of brushes as his lips caressed hers, but then one of his hands would caress her face, while the other wrapped around her waist. She’d feel all of him in a way she never had before, thanks to the thin nightgown she’d been wearing.

The same one she was currently wearing.

He wouldn’t stop there. Feyre assumed that Rhysand, a man so full of passion, would give it all or nothing at all.

Those hands, so perfectly positioned, would soon roam her body. He would feel all he could, with that thin fabric being their only barrier. His hands would wander every inch she allowed him, and his tongue would find hers. She would taste him, savor him, take her time as she kissed him back.

Now, tangled in her bedsheets, Feyre’s hand swept down her abdomen and beneath her nightgown. At first, she hadn’t even realized she was doing it, but by the time her finger found that sensitive nub and circled it, slowly, she knew full well what she was doing.

And was not ashamed by the face, the lips, that filled her mind, controlled her senses.

He was aggravating, conceited, a pompous rake, and yet it was he that Feyre could not stop thinking of. The way he looked at her, with those dark, violet eyes.

All the ways he could touch her, could taste her… It had her body writhing beneath the touch of her hand.

She knew more of what happened between a man and woman than most women her age did. Those novels Nesta loved so much were good for something, at least, and Feyre thought of how it would feel to have Rhysand’s hands on her instead of her own. She wondered whether he’d prefer to torture her with slow circles around her clit or if he’d… if he’d fuck her with his fingers.

Feyre blushed thinking of the word, despite what she was doing, but it led her mind farther.

She gasped softly, slipping a finger into her center, pumping a few times before adding another. Gripping her breast with her free hand, Feyre’s back arched off the bed.

Squeezing her eyes shut, it only took a moment before Feyre was quietly gasping, her release shimmering right in front of her, if only she could reach it.

She circled her clit, so close, right on the edge of all-consuming pleasure she had always dreamed of—

And then it was gone, and Feyre’s eyes fluttered open, breathing heavily, the orgasm she’d been so close to slipped away. Her hand was still between her legs.

She tried to get that sensation back but it wouldn’t come. As the night went on, she was left dreamless, wide awake, a pair of violet eyes haunting her thoughts.

Mocking her.

__________________________________________________________

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