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what-the--curtains · 4 years ago

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There Are No Wolves In the Desert

( Oberyn Martell x f!reader, Robb Stark x f!reader)

Part 1 - The Wolf and The Outsider

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Summary: The series of events that have lead to you being in Dorne and why you can never return home.

Authors notes: Oberyn is not in this chapter but he will be in all subsequent chapters! This part is mainly context corner to build up the character! The reader is a distant relative of the Targaryens but I only mention hair colour and eye colour everything else will remain non- descript! Let me know if you want to be tagged (or untagged) in this story 😊😊

Tw: Swearing, violence, mentions of and allusion to sex (none depicted), war, murder the usual GOT stuff, major character death (I wonder who it could be👀👀)

Word count: 5.7k

Tagged: @evyiione

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Kings landing

Cersei tilts her head, eyes thinning as she gazes out over kings landing, the moon illuminating the gold plated roofs of the upper class, the stench of the poor unable to reach her here. Jamie sits on the bed she had shared with her late husband, slowly re-donning the white armour of the king's guard. He turns watching as the summer breeze blows the ends of her golden hair. His shin guard is clipped into place just as three short knocks sound out against the wooden door, filling the quiet air of the night. Sighing loudly Jamie stands up to answer the door, a smile forming on Cersei’s lips as she trunks to greet the visitor.

“Littlefinger, to what do we owe the displeasure,” Jamie asks, sarcasm dripping off every word.

“Funny… I thought knights usually waited outside the bedchamber of those they swore a sacred oath to protect,” he queries smiling, the candlelight illuminating his prominent front teeth.

“Is it done,” Cersei asks through her teeth, tiring of the man’s desperate attempts to hold some semblance of power.

“Yes. Not a soul left alive that isn’t loyal to house Baratheon... or is Lannister perhaps more apt. The north is ours for the taking now the young wolf has fallen, and Sansa is under control here.”

“What of his wife?” she asks, walking towards a nearby table, decanting wine into a goblet turning with eyebrows raised. Littlefinger was not the only one in Kings landing with ears everywhere. She had heard a rumour, one she wished to squash as soon as she can.

“His widow, you mean,” Jamie states from the door frame, dissatisfied at being left out of the conversation.

“Gone, left in the wee hours of the morning from what I heard,” Cersei says, eyes staring into Littlefinger’s, locked in a strategic game of mental chess.

“So she’s alive, ” Jamie adds, despite his previous statement being ignored.

“Not for long,” Littlefinger states , brushing him off.

“Who saw her leave?” Cersei demands, a hint of concern slipping through as she swirls her wine around in the glass.

“No one left alive,” Littlefinger reassures

“So she's...” Cersei begins,

“She’s set to land in Dorne two days from now, she will be dealt with when she arrives. She is…inconsequential.” Littlefinger finishes.

“And so ends the reign of the wolves,” Jamie remarks, as Cersei raises her glass toasting the gods.

Dorne (2 days later)

You watch the docks appear along the horizon as the ship begins to reduce its speed. The sea spray from the trip spattered across your skin was yet to dry, cooling you off, as the southern sun bares down onto you. You lick your lips, the salty taste leaves you parched in a heat the likes of which you’d never known. You’d never been to Dorne, though you’d heard stories of it’s fair weather, people and architecture, and you were eager to see if they held true. You’d heard the wine here was the sweetest the world had to offer, you planned on returning home with some, even if Dorne was merely a stopover. It was not a honeymoon you were here for, no you were here to complete a task of utmost importance. You came in search of the so-called dragon queen at the behest of your husband. He wanted to see if the rumours were true and if they were he hoped to make an ally of her. He had sent you in hopes that your shared lineage, though distant, would work in his favour. The Targaryens held family in high regard, especially with so few of them remaining. You smile as the shore comes into view, the birds above singing to your arrival. The golden hues of the late afternoon sun paint the tents of the markets in the docks. A sense of bliss rolls over you as the crew ties the ship to the dock. It would be one of the last moments of peace you would know for some time. Your feet make contact with the ground, legs wobbling slightly at being back on solid ground. You stumble slightly and a man with a blue beard catches your elbow.

“Winter is coming,” he whispers and you look up as he discreetly passes you a note. You open it. The letter is long and the script rushed, but seven words stand out ‘the King in the North has fallen’ the sheet slips from your fingers and you drop to your knees. “Quick, we haven’t much time,” he says dragging you up, as the first arrow pierces the sky, hitting the captain of your ship in the neck.

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Winterfell, 7 years prior (age 17)

You had always stood out in the north, a caveat of the family you were born into, all of you were outsiders here. Your grandfather was a Targaryen, second cousin to the mad king and when war broke out he led a small rebellion that tried to push back the Baratheon troops storming the capitol, but to no avail. Your father and his brothers were there that day, fighting alongside him, but they were outnumbered, and no amount of skill would keep the combined Starks and the Baratheon forces at bay. After the capitol was taken, your grandfather was hanged and your grandmother took your father and his brother and feld while Robert butchered any descendents of the Targaryen line that would weaken his claim to the throne. Your father had split from his family opting to head north, while they trekked south. He never saw them again. Upon his arrival in Winterfell he built a small homestead outside the city walls and sought work, thankfully the distinctive hair and eye colour had skipped him and he could blend in with the northerners. He found work as a stone mason, crafting formidable architecture admired and paid for by the nobility. The payments allowed him to move up the social ladder and while he remained in the forest he had gained the respect of the elite and was accepted as one of them. His hands soon grew tired of creating. They craved the weight of a sword and so he gave up masonry and offered his services to Ned Stark. Your father became a confidant to the King in the North as he moved up through the ranks. He ended up training many of the soldiers, and for a while, even Ned’s own sons. His proximity to the crown brought him into the path of your mother.

A ball was held in celebration of their eldest child's first name day and your mother was in attendance representing the Tyrells. He spotted her across the room, and to this day he swears the sun shone down on her despite being inside a hall. He approached her that night and they married during the long summer, your brother Illirion was born a year later, then a year after that it was your turn. Their final child, your youngest brother Rhaevar was born two years after you, thus completing your family unit. While the honeyed eyes and dark toned hair of the Tyrells presented well with your brothers, the Targaryen traits that had initially skipped your father came through in your genetic composition. Your hair was as white as the snow that came to the north during the winter, and your eyes a lilac similar to the foxgloves that grew in the spring. You attended a local school until you reached the age where girls were no longer allowed to study. Whilst there you heard whispers from the other children. Every now and then a comment of “murderer” or “traitor” would be shot your way, much to your confusion. It wouldn’t be until years later than your parents would tell you why such comments were made. After school ended officially you continued your education at home and studied the methods of healing that your mother had been trained in while in Highgarden.

Your father insisted all his children learn how to defend themselves, the north was a dangerous place after all, and the threat of war loomed large. The stability between kingdoms was teetering, it had been peaceful for too long, a storm was coming. You’d proven to be of high talent, had it not been for your eldest brother's size you would have been the strongest fighter in the family. Illirion married at 18 to a noble girl of high status, and it wasn't long after that you lost many of your friends to marriage. Some of the pairing were good, some bad and some even for love. Despite being propositioned a few times, you had no interest in being a bride.Your parents did not mind now that your brother had secured a wife and would be able to care for you once they passed. Your father also had it on good authority that you all were to be cared for so long as a Stark sat at Winterfell.

You were acquainted with the family since childhood, though outside of parties you rarely saw them. During the gatherings you and Sansa often gossiped together and Arya would sneak you into the courtyard and beg you to train her. The time spent with them was greatly cherished. Their brothers were often gone during such events, off showcasing their prowess to girls of higher status than you, women who would one day be their wives. Little did you know, Jon and Robb had been told to stay away from you so as not to ruin your reputation. That rule had been followed until one day when a particularly cruel comment from a noble girl sent Arya running directly into your path.

You were out tracking a wolf that had killed one of your family's horses. It wasn’t revenge you sought, but its attack on your homestead meant it was getting closer to town, and growing far too bold for your liking. You’d stopped your trek once you realized it was headed back towards the wall. Approaching your house you see Arya sitting on a log outside your house near the fire pit. Her feet swinging, intermittently kicking at the dirt below.

“Arya?” you question placing your gear down on the ground as she turns to face you, her nose running, eye slightly red.

“Is Rhaevar around? I wish to play” she demands, her childlike nature apparent now more than ever.

“I’m afraid he’s gone off in search of the children of the forest, but perhaps we can find something to do together?” you offer sitting beside her, she was upset, evidently so.

“I have no want to stitch,” she huffs, causing you to laugh at her attempt to insult you.

“Good neither do I. I’m no good at it anyways,” you admit and she looks up at you “Well what do you wish, Arya? Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

“I wish to know how to shoot my arrow so it hits the target every time. I don’t care what Robb says, Jon thinks I can do it so I want to try.”

“Well, I can help with that, come I’ll show you a trick. You’ll hit it every time. Prove your eldest brother wrong,” your comment earns a rare grin from the youngest Stark daughter. After a few goes she gets the hang of it, hitting your practice targets one after the other.

“By the gods,” you chuckle, you’d never seen such natural talents before. Caught up in your admiration of her gift you fail to catch her turning to aim at a farther target still. The arrow soars through the air as two horses approach your homestead, the arrow only just missing them.

“Arya!” you shout, grabbing her arm “You must be careful!” you exasperate as she looks up to you her mouth ajar. The sound of the horses fast approaching.

“Get behind me,” you murmur, pushing in front of her and aiming the bow true.

“It’s Robb!” she shouts, pushing against you attempting to make a run for it. Despite her efforts to throw you off balance you manage to grab her arm, dropping your weapons in the process.

“Why are you running?” you ask, not releasing your grip on her scrawny arm.

“Because I don’t fit in!” she finally admits.

“Well a secret Arya, no one fits in, we're all different, it's what keeps life interesting and what will keep you alive in your years to come,” you say watching as she stops struggling a softness suddenly coming over her features.

“She said I had a face like a dog,” she whispers, chewing on her lip, eyes down. The cruelty of children was always surprising to you.

“Well I’d find it hard to find someone who does not see the tenderness of a pup, or the strength and beauty of a dire wolf. Either way, You have talents, beyond what beauty can measure, ones that will never abandon you,” you reassure. She sniffs and looks up at you offering a rare smile. You see her shift back into her tough persona, the scowl returning to her face as she runs towards the horses belonging to her brother and who you assumed must be his ward Theon. You watch the eldest Stark, now two years your senior drop down allowing Theon to help Arya, as he strides towards you.

“We’d be lucky to have you in our ranks, if you can teach her to nearly take my head off from a mile away,” he laughs, easing your nervousness slightly, his northern accent heavier than you had remembered.

“I did remind your sister to be more careful lest she be tried for treason, or worse yet, get me tried for treason. As for my services, they are always at the will of the Starks, if you wish me to join the army who am I to refuse,” you say, tilting your head and offering him a smile.

“Women are not allowed in our ranks, lest of all those who look like you,” he charms, an unexpected compliment from a man you rarely got the opportunity to speak with.

“Not yet, but rules are meant to be broken after all my Lord.” You retort, eyes meeting his steel grey gaze causing an unexpected chill to run down your spine.

“Are they?” he laughs, the warmth of it causing a sudden heat to rise within you, counteracting his gaze.

“You should remind your mother of that when you return Arya to her,” you offer, as he hands you the arrow that almost took off his head.

“Thank you for returning my sister, wolves have been prowling about, heaven forbid they got to her before us,” he says, concern etched in his face.

“The wolves have moved north, I do not believe they will return this way, and Arya is stronger than you give her credit for,” you assure, his brows raising at your competence.

“I know, and I think she does too, I fear she’ll outlive us all,” he offers, rubbing the back of his neck, the two of you standing there for a moment, the smirk that usually danced replaced by a nervous grin. His head dips down before turning back to the horse, but he stops one last time swivelling round to face you.

“My lady,” he calls after you.

“Yes my lord,” you say, turning back to face him.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” he offers sincerely.

“As do I,” you say curtseying in such a way to make him smile before you both head back towards your respective homes.

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2 years later (age 19)

“What is it?” you ask your father as you lay down your quiver and the pair of small pheasants you’d brought home for dinner. He takes a long drag of his pipe, gaze glued to the treeline. “Father tell me?” you stress, knowing he only ever smoked when bad news had arrived.

“Illirion, he’s...” He stammers and drops his head letting out a strangled sob. You shake your head at the suggestion. Your brother had gone down to kings landing a week ago to serve as a bodyguard to Ned Stark who had been summoned at the behest of King Robert Baratheon. Arya and Sansa had gone with them, leaving Catelyn and the boys in Winterfell, Robb currently ruling in his place.

“Ned Stark would never allow…” you begin, sure your father had once again fallen trap to the rumour mill.

“He’s dead, they’re all dead, all of them...” he whispers, dropping his head to his hands.

“What happened tell me everything,” you stress, pushing your own sentiments aside for the moment.

“Beheaded, Ned for treason, for the murder of Robert Baratheon, his greatest friend, unlikely story. They killed your brother as Ned’s head fell. Arya, is missing, presumed dead, Sansa is a prisoner, to be wedded to that horrible snot nosed inbred Joffrey.” He continues in fragmented sentences.

“Mother?” you question.

“She’s in bed still, hasn’t left, I dare not tell her the worst of it,” he admits tear streaked eyes meeting yours.

“What the worst of it?” you ask, unable to think what could possibly be worse. “Lean on me father, there is no else left for you to confide in, lend me some of the burden,” you stress rubbing his arm in encouragement.

“War is upon us and each family must provide a soldier. Since my knee… I am no longer able to fight, the Starks know this. So your youngest brother…” he starts, but a sob catches in his throat stopping him.

“He can’t go, he’s too…” you begin, swallowing as you try to think of the right word.

“Soft” your father offers.

“No, he’s just not skilled enough, at least not in the ways of the sword. Skilled as he is as a mason he wouldn’t last a minute on the battlefield,” you pause, only one path was clear to you “Let me go in his place,” You say, before you have time to process what you had just offered to do.

“No,” your father says without hesitation.

“Let me go and you may end this life with two of three children. If he goes, I will be the only one left and I could not bear it,” you say pushing back tears at the thought of losing another brother.

“Your mother...” he begins

“Knows I was the best fighter. I had the best teacher in all the seven kingdoms after all,” you say nudging him with your elbow. He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, before pulling you into a tight embrace.

“When do I leave?” you ask.

“Tonight. It’s a good thing your brother isn’t tall, his armour will fit you, take this helmet. Do not remove it, keep your hood up, any trouble and cut off their cocks, or else I will.”

“I'll see you again, I swear it,” you state, with every intent of keeping your promise.

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The battle rages forward, men fall around you, but you refuse to meet a similar fate today. Your sword penetrates through the opening of a Lannister’s armour turning quickly to slice the backs of the knees of another soldier, both falling in tandem. You hear a horse whinny on your left and you turn to see Robb Stark fall from his horse becoming trapped beneath the dying creature. You weave throughout the battle towards him. Your blade intercepts the longsword of an enemy soldier just as it’s about to penetrate Robbs armour. You drop your shield to Robb and you push up against the attacker. Releasing your force he falls forward and Robb pushes the shield up hitting the man’s face swinging his head back. Grabbing the man by his hair you slit his throat. You drop your sword and pull Robb out from beneath the horse. He grabs your shoulders giving you nod before returning to the forefront of the battle. As the horn of retreat sounds you celebrate the victory with those around you, surviving the first of many attacks.

You're walking back to the tents when you hear a familiar voice call out to you.

“You, wait,” Robb demands, chuckling with those around him. You continue on your path hoping he was talking to someone else. “It is not wise to disobey your king.” He sounds out again, forcing you to turn towards him.

“Come now friend, we mean no harm. I wish to look upon the face of the man who saved me and invite him to ride alongside me.” he states.

“Perhaps he is too ugly to show his face, my lord,” one of his lieutenants states causing a laugh to erupt from the surrounding crowd of men except for Robb. Though a slight smile pulls at the corner of his mouth breaking the cold façade he’d donned since his father’s death. A moment passes then another until the silence is so prolonged you have no other option but to obey. Slowly you lift your helmet up your eyes meeting his for the first time in a year.

“A prize for the army, my lord?” one of the men questions, hungrily eyeing you up as he fervently steps towards you. Robb's arm stops him in his tracks and you draw your blade.

“Touch me and risk losing more than just your hand, I have fought alongside you. I am your equal. You will treat me as such,” you demand, your voice unwavering despite the uneasiness in your stomach.

“You have a cunt, you are not our equal, though perhaps in bed…” another from the crowd offers.

“Stop! Leave us” Robb orders, and the men retreat back towards the camp ground the sound of laughter and whistles picking up once out of range.

“I did tell you rules were meant to be broken,” you say, watching as he tries to suppress a smile.

“Well they certainly have been now” he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Are you going to hang me, my lord? Or is it my King now?” you question, a bolder move than you should have felt comfortable making.

“To you it's Robb and no I am not going to hang you, but you are going to come with me,” he says offering you his arm which you brush by looking back at him to follow.

“How have you come to be here? Does your father know?” Catelyn stresses,eyes growing wide as she scans over you assessing the damage.

“My lady, yes, he does. You see when the war was announced and after my brother’s death, we knew someone from our family would have to fight. My father’s leg as you know isn’t... as it used to be, and my younger brother while talented in many ways, cannot hold a blade to save his life. My mother’s grief was already far too much for her to lose another child.” You say, eyes risking tears as she meets her gaze.

“So they sent you?” she explains to herself.

“Yes my lady I was the best fighter in the family, or the most skilled at least.”

“Well, we will not make your brother come to fight, but you cannot stay in the army,” she explains softly, hand running up and down your arms in reassurance.

“She saved my life today,” Robb interjects and Cat looks at you as you look at him.

“Then I am indebted to you.” She expresses.

“As am I,” Robb states the two of you not having dropped eye contact, much to the notice of Cat.

“Lady Catelyn, I am a capable fighter, but if you will not allow me to so, at least allow me to tend to the wounded or to serve you in some other manner. I am here after all, put me to use.” you say and she lets out a sigh.

“Well, if you believe yourself able to defend yourself, and if what my son says is true then I would be remiss to send you home, though you will not sleep out with the rest of the army, you will stay with me.” she says.

“And during the battle you will remain close to me,” Robb stresses “not for your protection, but for mine”

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1 year later (Age 20)

Robb watches as you kill another soldier, the sight never failing to impress him. You had remained close over the past year, both in and out of the battlefield. He kept you close at all costs, your company bringing him some semblance of joy, even in his darkest moments. Rumours swirled amongst the men and the other kingdoms, though nothing between the two of you had come to fruition. Due to the colour of your hair, the enemy soldiers had dubbed you the white wolf, in an attempt to link the Starks with the treacherous Targaryens. While the insinuations at your extracurricular activities with Robb pushed the narrative that he was impure, that northerners were savages, who did not abide by the values of the seven kingdoms.

As you wipe the blood from your eyes, an arrow catches you in the shoulder, the force knowing you back into a tree. Robb is at your side in record time, his hand stopping yours from pulling the weapon out.

“Medic!” he shouts, eyes not leaving yours.

“Go! you need to lead your people, I will be fine,” you emphasize and he shakes his head “Robb, it is a shoulder, nothing of importance lives there.”

“No but it is attached to something of the utmost importance.”

“Go you have a war to win,” you state as the medic helps you to your feet and brings you back across the line.

You sit in Robbs tent, despite your insistence at being treated in the same manner as the other soldiers, he had demanded you be brought there instead. A skilled nurse had removed the arrow from your shoulder just as you heard the rambunctious cheers of the men outside, victory had been secured. Unsurprising considering Robbs keen strategic mind, he was smarter than you'd have accredited him for in your youth. He enters the tent blood spatter still on his face, seeing you alive and fine he takes the moment to remove his armour. He pulls his undershirt off and walks to the water basin wiping himself clean of the sweat and grim coating his skin. Your eyes watch his bare skin intently, studying every scar, every freckle. He grabs a fresh cloth dunking it the basin and wringing it out before heading over to you. He kneels before you, staring up at you eyes telling you to drop the blood soaked rag currently held to your wound, and you oblige.

“I must confess I long hoped to share an intimate moment with you, though these circumstances are not as I imagined,” he says, gently dabbing at your wound, you smile at his concentration.

“And under what circumstances would you have hoped to be intimate with me, my king? At one of your fancy parties, in the secrecy of a barn, somewhere no one would know you had been with a Targaryen girl.” You ask trying to keep your eyes forwards and not at his muscular physique.

“Every man in Winterfell had dreamed of sharing a moment like that with you, though none have found any luck,” he says, standing up and walking back over to the basin.

“I have no need for a husband nor do I have the want to be wife,” you say, watching the muscles of his arm flex as he wrigns out the rag.

“and what about a queen?” he queries, as his hand braces against your thigh, continuing to clean your wound, his eyes still focused on the gash.

“Do you ask all your foot soldiers such bold questions,” you quip, laughing at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

“Only the ones naked in my chambers,” he retorts, eyes darting up a grin plastered to his face.

“A bare shoulder is hardly naked in your chambers,” you state, and he raises his eyebrows mischievously.

“My fondness for you was never allowed,” he admits, dabbing the cloth into a salve and applying it to the wound.

“Oh wasn’t it,” you ask as he looks up to you

“No, my mother feared one of us would ruin you,”

“A Targaryen In the north, perhaps it was fear of you boys being ruined.” you laugh, but when you look at him the tone has shifted.

‘When that arrow hit you, my feelings were confirmed, I no longer wish to be more than a few feet from you at any given moment. I wish to marry you. If you'll allow me”

“Don’t be stupid my king, you’re to be married to a princess from what I understand.”

“I'll be married to whom I please” he assures.

“Robb is that wise?” you question, unfamiliar with the high stakes games played with marriage.

“The Frey’s will recover besides, we’ve crossed their bridge already, and I have no love for anyone but you.”

“Love? We barely know each other,” you say.

“Only our whole lives,” he reminds you.

“I fear you’ll wake up tomorrow and regret your words, so I will not answer you tonight.”

“Then I will return to these chambers tomorrow morning and restate my intentions to make you my wife.”

“What will they say if you allow me to take your bed for the night?” you ponder aloud.

“I guess we shall see” he states, slinging his bloodied shirt over his shoulder.

“Goodnight my King” you offer, watching in amusement as he attempts to find the tents exit without turning around.

“It’s Robb. For you, it's always just Robb”

True to his word he returned the next day and asked again, and this time you accepted. You married a few days later under an old willow tree, with Catelyn and a few others standing witness. The morning after your wedding you awake in his chambers, the sun yet to rise. Robb snores faintly beneath you, the warmth of the fire sending a chill up your skin that had become exposed in the night. You scan over his features, a peacefulness you hadn’t before on his face. You reach over brushing the white patch of hair amongst the mass of soft brown curls on his head. As you do his eyes open looking over to you propping himself up on his elbow and learning over to kiss your forehead.

“What is it my love?” you ask, kissing his cheek, then his lips .

“I need you to do something,” he says, serious as always.

“What we just did wasn't enough, my king? How else may I please you tonight,” you offer hands dancing across his chest, he grins shaking his head slightly.

“You have pleased me in every way imaginable for the past year, and even more tonight. This favour isn't a pleasure of the flesh however, I need you to complete a task. You’re the only one I can trust,” he states.

“You shift up to face him, the furs falling off you slightly, “find the Targaryen girl. I wish to make an ally of her, to destroy the Lannister once and for all. You are likely the only family she has left, she may listen to you.”

“I'll do what I can, and I'll do it fast, I do not wish to be parted from you for long.” you admit as his hand traces over your back.

“Take this with you, that way i'll be protecting you even while we are apart,” he leans over grabbing his dagger, the one made for him by his father, offering it to you.

“Robb I…” you begin.

“Will return it to me a fortnight from now when you come back. I suggest we make the most of tonight, so you have another reason to return to me,” he states

“I'll always return to you, even in death,” you reassure and he wraps the blanket back over you pulling you tightly to his chest. And so as Robb took his seat in the halls of Walder Frey to watch his supposed bride marry another man, you were catching a boat destined for Dorne.

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Present day (Age 21)

“Come with me now Lady Stark, your life depends on it,” the stranger says, pulling you to your feet and shuffling you into a nearby tavern ushering you quickly up the stairs. You see a pile of clothes laid out on the bed and immediately strip, all notions of decency erased in favour of time.

“You must disappear, make them think you are dead,” he says, averting his eyes as you change into clothes typical of local mercenaries.

“Who killed him, what happened?” you ask, needing some kind of answers.

“There is no time, and it's safer if you do not know.” He says eyes darting from you to the door.

“I have a right to..”

“The Freys betrayed you, everyone at the wedding is dead, you have no claim to Winterfell. The Lannisters have taken the North”

“Everyone at the wedding..” you echo, sitting on the bed

“Stay here..” the blue bearded stranger says, returning a few moments later with a cloak, sword and black dye in hand, placing them down and grabbing for the clothes and the dagger on the floor, Robbs dagger.

“That stays” you stress grabbingthe dagger from his reach.

“It’s too…” he starts

“It stays, it's all I have left of him,” you whisper harsher than intended, fighting back tears. He nods and you take it from him. You grab the dye from his hand and rub it through your hair, staining it a deep ember.

“Keep your eyes down, they're the only thing we can’t disguise,” he states

“Who are you, why are you helping me?” you question memorizing the man's face.

“You share a common enemy with powerful people. You have allies here. Goodbye Lady Stark I hope we meet again,” he says, and with a swift turn he exits the tavern leaving you alone with your thoughts. You wait a moment before donning the cloak and pulling up your hood. You walk out the tavern, putting as much distance between you and the docks as possible. Keeping your eyes down as men scoured the streets for the person you once were

#oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #prince oberyn x reader #robb stark x reader #oberyn x you #oberyn martell #game of thrones fanfiction #oberyn martell x you

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bwemph · 4 years ago

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The Measure of Things | Chapter 1 | The Arrival

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: For living in hiding, you can’t complain about your life on Rabadus, a nowhere planet on the Outer Rim. You’ve got a roof over your head, a decent job, and the man you love all in one place. But one day the Mandalorian, an old flame, shows up out of the blue, leaving you questioning if this is really the life for you.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Light swearing, toxic relationship, nonconsensual touch, making out on the job

You checked your watch, anxiety piling up in your chest as you scrambled through the shipyard. There was no way you were going to make it to work on time this morning. You jogged a little, stumbling on a scattered pile of miscellaneous ship parts on the outskirts of the shipyard.

You cursed under your breath as you fumbled through your pockets in search of your ID.

Already flustered from the shootout downtown, being late to work was only one more thing weighing on your shoulders.

Two Nedhads, a race of orange humanoids who were quite crabby in looks and in personality, got into a scuffle and decided to see who was better with a blaster, ultimately resulting in a duel between the crustacean-like creatures. Somehow, seven others got caught up in the chaos and raised all hell in the town square.

To avoid getting yourself shot, you took a detour to the quieter edge of town and found yourself now fifteen minutes late for work.

You stifled a yawn as you pressed the buzzer at the door of the hangar. You got no response your first two or three tries, but finally, on the fourth, a befuddled droid poked a long eyestalk out of a hole next to the door.

Damn, I need to fix that thing again, you thought.

You showed the droid your ID, and there was a few seconds’ hesitation before the door unlocked.

The sleepless night previous was like a ball and chain on your ankle, making you drag your feet and rub your eyes. Any minute now, you would get your second wind.

That’s what you hoped anyway.

You strode across the empty ship bay with a sigh and went to the small control room, which was dark.

Flipping on the light switch, you settled at the panel and opened your communication channels. It was just static right now. No voices called across the channels for your attention, so you slouched in your chair and kicked your feet up onto the panel for a few moments of peace.

Next to you, a small metal ball with a shabby two-shade paint job whirred to life. It split in half, the two hemispheres separating, but remaining connected by the mechanics inside. It focused its single eye and spun a few more times, chirping excitedly when it saw you sitting at the control panel. If it had a mouth, it would have grinned.

“Hey, buddy!” You crouched on the floor to greet the hovering red droid. You gave it a pat.

You considered HE-27 to be your favorite coworker. It was always excited to see you, and it was far more efficient with its small, precise claws than any human’s hands when it came to repairing machinery, making it a valuable tool and amiable companion.

It buzzed off to attend to some task, and you settled again at the panel, watching the radar for any incoming ships.

You found yourself relieved that your boss, Carduel Stantin, wasn’t on site yet, and likely hadn’t noticed your tardy arrival. The wrinkled, red-faced man was anything but forgiving when it came to punctuality. He didn’t shy away from long-winded lectures, if they could even be called lectures. Sometimes his words were unintelligible when he got onto his half-shouted monologues, telling off whichever unlucky employee was getting the brunt of his unrelenting anger issues.

Again, you looked to the radar. Still no sign of a ship in need of landing.

Unusual, but not concerning.

Your job was to monitor the radar for incoming ships and perform maintenance on them as needed, which was almost any time a ship needed to land in your bay. Oftentimes ships would be damaged upon reentry into your planet Rabadus’s atmosphere, given the constant and unpredictable meteor field that loomed above the clouds. If the sky was clear, the screen of space rocks could clearly be seen from the ground.

The Field made for consistent work on the cargo ships, though. If you weren't in the rotation to be watching comms, you would have plenty of bent panels and damaged engines to fix in other ship bays. You much preferred working on the ships over waiting for one to show up, but you would always tell yourself good things come to those who wait.

“Knock knock,” a familiar velvety voice said, snapping you from your thoughts.

You looked up to see the one and only Max Melau leaning in the doorway with his signature lopsided smile and mussed golden hair.

You stood. “Hey.”

“Hey, cutie.” He crossed the small control room and snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you close to brush his lips against yours.

You squirmed away after a short moment, laughing a little. “C’mon, you know what I said before. Not on the job, please.” You pecked a kiss to his cheek and turned back to the panel. You checked the readings on the radar.

“I know, I know. I just can’t help myself sometimes.” He followed you over to the panel. “Not when you’ve got this cute little ass right here.” He gave your backside a quick squeeze.

“Max, please.” Another small laugh squeezed from your throat as you settled on the torn up seat. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You don’t expect me to just keep my hands off you all day, do you?” He followed your line of sight to the blank radar. “Can’t a guy just appreciate his girl every once in a while?”

“You can appreciate me on your own time.”

He recoiled at that, then he grew very silent.

You didn’t worry about it at first, but he continued hovering around you, but avoided eye contact. He knew you hated that.

You turned to him, softening a little bit. You stood and cupped his cheek. “Hey.” You kissed his nose. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a crazy morning.”

He didn’t answer.

“Can I make it up to you?” you pressed, eyebrows knitting together with concern. You felt that same nervousness from earlier creeping back up into your chest, then your throat, and abruptly falling deep into the pit of your stomach.

He lifted your chin with a finger. “I think so,” he said finally, his voice low and husky as he eyed you intensely.

You cast another glance at the radar, but Max turned your head so he filled your field of vision. Your eyes fell shut as he pressed his lips to yours and ran his hands down your body, resting them at the small of your back.

He pulled you close, holding you close to his chest.

Before you knew it, you were sitting on the control panel with your legs wrapped around his waist.

His hands roamed your body, groping at your chest and hindquarters. You reasoned with yourself to let him get it out of his system so you could both focus on your work.

Steadily, his kisses grew hungrier and sloppier and rougher. You could hardly keep up with him as he clawed at your waist and forced his tongue between your lips.

“Wait.” You pulled away to catch your breath.

“What?” Max said.

You delicately brushed a few hairs away from his eyes. “I would just hate for Stantin to see us like this,” you said, breathing a laugh.

“Ah, let him. What’s he gonna do?”

You couldn’t answer before your mouth was smothered with his lips again. He moved on to your neck, planting several kisses, and sucking long enough that you wondered if he might be leaving behind a trail of bruises.

Knowing Max, he probably was.

You tilted your head back, letting yourself succumb to the sensation of his lips on your neck.

A soft beeping caught your attention. “Wait,” you said again as you pushed him back.

You hopped down from the dashboard and looked at the radar. A ship appeared from the corner of the screen, approaching rapidly.

“All this waiting!” he quipped. “I’m an impatient man, y/n.”

“Rabadus base, do you read me?” a voice spoke urgently over the comms.

You were quick to answer, “Rabadus Base. We hear you loud and clear.”

“I’m going to need to make an emergency landing. Ah!” The transmission cut off partway through the pilot swearing in some tongue that was foreign to you.

“We can take you here in bay two as soon as you’re ready.”

“Copy that.”

Before the pilot’s voice cut out, you heard much rattling and ruckus from the other side of the comms, making you wonder just how much of an emergency this was.

Something in the pilot’s voice was familiar, but you couldn’t entirely make it out between the rattling on his end, the static over the radio, and whatever was muffling his voice.

You looked to Max before a sputtering engine buzzed into the bay.

Through the window, you saw a large silver ship, once glorious and shiny, was now sparking from its rudders as it landed in the hangar and powered off.

You recognized this ship, too. Not that that meant anything; gunships like that were mass produced back in the day.

Still, you couldn’t help but wonder.

Pushing the thought aside, you stepped out into the bay with max trailing you as the hatch began to lower. Out stepped a Mandalorian.

You weren't sure if it was his walk, or simply just the air he brought with him, but it would be one hell of a coincidence if that weren’t the Mandalorian that you knew.

Something over the hatch spat sparks, which bounced harmlessly off his silver helmet.

“Mando!” you greeted, beaming.

He paused and took in the sight of you and Max before him. “Y/n?”

“You two know each other?” Max interjected.

You laughed, reaching out to firmly shake the Mandalorian’s hand. “We’ve crossed paths a few times,” you said, sharing a knowing glance with him.

“What are you doing here?” Mando asked, looking between you and Max.

You shrugged. “Fate, I guess.”

“It would seem so,” the Mandalorian replied.

“It’s good to see you again, Mando.”

“Likewise.” He offered a nod and a soft laugh that just barely crackled through his vocoder.

You tugged on Max’s hand, bringing him forward a step or two. “This is my coworker Max.”

Max held his silence, seemingly mimicking your old friend’s stillness. He nodded once to the Mandalorian and kept a stone cold eye on him.

“Coworker, huh?” Mando said.

You couldn’t tell for certain if he was looking, but you remembered the darkening blotches on your neck and suddenly became very conscious of them. You pulled your open vest around yourself in hopes that the collar might cover the hickeys up.

“Well, something like that.” You cleared your throat and excused yourself to inspect the ship. “Let’s have a look at what’s going on here.”

You should have known it was Mando’s ride from the get go. The familiar stripes painted on the side would have been the first clue. They were far more chipped than the last time you had seen them. There was a small dent by the right engine that he never seemed to fix, regardless of how often you pointed it out.

The ship had certainly seen better days, and needed a lot of work from what you could tell by just looking, but you still felt the same sentimental attachment to it from the day you and Mando crossed paths for the first time.

Upon closer inspection, it was evident he had been in some kind of shootout.

“The fuel tank is leaking,” the Mandalorian said as you made note of the smaller things that needed fixing. “One of the engines blew out, too.”

You looked at him, your reflection peering back at you from his visor. “Wow, I’m surprised you even landed. Anything else?”

“I’m not sure.”

You pulled a tool from your belt and scanned the ship for any obscure heat signatures. Judging by the readings, you would have a few things to fix on the underside, too. “Well, I’ll get to work on it and let you know.” You hooked the tool back on your belt and gave a small smile to your old friend.

“Thank you.”

You couldn’t help but notice Max still hovering nearby. “Love, if Stantin catches you in here making eyes at me again we’ll both be in trouble.” You laughed softly, reaching out and caressing his cheek.

Max nodded and spoke as though he were holding his breath. “You’re right. I’ll see you later, y/n.”

“Love you,” you called after him.

No reply.

****

“Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into plenty of trouble without me,” you said as you changed out a few screws and other miscellaneous parts that you could manage without doing too much digging through the yard for replacement parts. You glanced from behind an open panel. “You’re shinier than last we met. Been successful lately?”

Mando replied, “I earned a handful of Beskar on a job.” He also worked on mending some wiring while he spoke.

You considered prodding him for more information, but you knew he was never one to discuss his work in depth.

“This is a lot of damage,” you said, gesturing to the Crest, “but it’s not like it’s anything someone on Nevarro couldn’t fix, right? What brings you here?”

He sighed. “Work,” was all he said. Something about it seemed a little strained. “What about you? How did you end up on this side of the galaxy? Last I heard you were on Alderaan doing business with some of the higher ups.”

“Well, the higher ups didn’t exactly appreciate my affiliation with the Guild,” you explained.

“But you left the Guild.”

You shrugged, moving on to see if you could close up whatever piping was emitting a sour smell. Now you were a little closer to him. “Didn’t make a difference to them. I was still a liability,” you closed the panel, leaning against the ship and facing him, “so I ran. Took one of their fastest ships and came out here. I knew they wouldn’t follow me this far out to a speck of dirt in the Outer Rim.”

The Mandalorian nodded once and took a moment to consider that, turning his attention back to the wiring that sparked a bit as he fiddled with it. “And where does Max fit into all this?”

You couldn’t quite read the tone of his voice. Had it really been so long that you couldn’t read his subtle signals anymore? Or was he just trying to fluster you? You pushed the thought aside and squirmed a little, letting out a long sigh as you busied yourself tinkering with a few loose screws. “We met here on the job. He’s really sweet once he warms up to you.”

“Something tells me he might not do that for me.”

“Just give him some time. I’m sure he’ll loosen up.”

You glanced at the sun starting to sink below the horizon, swallowing hard. “My shift’s about to end. I wouldn’t recommend sleeping in there tonight with the fuel leak.” You gestured vaguely. “Fumes, you know.”

He looked up at the ship and then back to you. “That’s alright. I’ll find an inn in town. Any recommendations?”

You inhaled slowly, fidgeting with your fingers a little. “Well,” you shrugged one shoulder, “I have an open couch you could stay on if you would like. Much cheaper and fewer bugs than any of the inns in town.”

“Cheaper? What’ll it cost me?” Mando asked. You sensed a playful edge to his tone.

A coy smile worked its way onto your features. “A drink?”

“Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

Your grin grew. “Great. I just have to run in and shut off a few things, and then we can head to my place so you can get settled in.”

Mando closed his panel. “I’ve got to get something from the Crest before we go.”

“Take your time. I’ll need a minute anyway.” You half jogged back to the control room to turn off the lights and comms and bid HE-27 goodnight.

The droid was waiting on your seat at the panel, keeping watch on the radar for you.

You affectionately touched its little red dome. “I’m headed home, H. See you tomorrow.”

It beeped a response, spinning its bottom hemisphere as a farewell.

You heard footsteps approaching and then the door open. You looked up and met Max’s stony eyes.

“Coworker?” he said, again lingering in the door. “What kind of bullshit is that?”

You closed your eyes to gather yourself before turning to face him. “I was just being professional, Max. Please don’t read too much into it.”

Max sighed, waving away the matter. “Still talking to that tin can?” he goaded, nodding to the droid. “Speaking of tin cans, where’s the Mandalorian?”

HE-27 hummed quietly, unsure if it should be hurt by Max’s words.

“Don’t listen to him, H. Max is just kidding.” you ran your fingers over the droid’s chipping paint again and looked back to Max. “He’s in the Crest.”

Max crossed the room and his hands went around your waist again, pulling your body close to him and swaying slowly. “Well, what do you say you and me split and get something for dinner? Maybe a drink too, then we can go back to my place for a little while?”

“Actually...” Your heart jumped to your throat momentarily. You hadn’t considered what he would think of you going out with Mando, much less what Max would think of him crashing at your place indefinitely. “I told Mando he could stay on my couch until the ship is fixed, so I need to get home to get him settled.”

“You told him what?”

“Max, if he spends too long on that ship the fumes will kill him.”

“Then make him stay in town! It’s not like he won’t be able to find anywhere to stay.”

“What’s your problem?” You pushed Max’s hands off your waist and took a step back. “He’s my friend. My home is always open to my friends, and you know that.”

“But--” he searched for an answer, “but he’s a Mandalorian, and you know they’re dangerous.”

“Babe, he’s a friend from the Guild. We’re all dangerous.”

Max’s lips pressed together so they made a straight line. You could see his jaw clenching.

You ran a hand up and down his muscular arm. “Please, trust me.”

When he didn’t answer, you followed Max’s gaze out the window to the Mandalorian exiting the ship followed by a small silver pram. Something was sleeping in it, wrapped up in a handful of brown pieces of cloth.

You furrowed your brow at the sight, but turned your attention back to the matter at hand.

“Fine,” was all Max said before turning and striding from the room. The door slammed behind him, leaving you alone with your eyes downcast.

Despite the unsavory interaction, you gathered yourself, drying a few rogue tears before you went back out to the hangar to investigate what the Mandalorian could possibly be doing with a pram.

*****

A/N: I’m excited for how this is coming together! This is the first fic in a while that I’ve been legitimately excited to write. I’ll take any feedback you have! Love you guys <3

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #reader insert

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lauwrite1225 · 4 years ago

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Body and Soul || Finan x OC || Part 1/3

Summary : Finan is finally free from years of slavery. But his body and soul are broken. However he found in Saegyth, a way to recovery. To be a man, again.

A/N : So, this is a really short fic which I had the idea of during my exams. There will only be three parts alterning between Finan and Saegyth point of view. I hope you’ll like it !

Masterlist

Part 2. Part 3.

Warnings: None

A raspy laugh escaped Finan's dry lips. It hurt his throat, but he couldn’t care less. He couldn’t tell if it was happiness he was feeling, he hadn’t felt it in years, but he was sure it was close too. His heart was so light and yet it was beating so hard in his chest. It was like the life that was leaving Sverri’s body was now running through his veins.

That was it. He felt alive. Alive and free. The words echoed in his head.

I am alive and I am free. Alive and free.

And suddenly, as he realised the meaning of it, his body felt heavy. He fell on his knees, his legs to weak to keep him standing. He continued to laugh as he laid on the ground, his fingers brushing the grass. He stared at the sky and grabbed the wooden cross hang around his neck. He pressed it against his lips, thanking God for finally having mercy on him.

“Are you alright?”

He let go off the cross and turned his head to the person who just spoke. For a moment, he was amazed by the woman who just crouched next to him. She had golden hair, waving in the wind like wheat in summer. For a moment, he hoped he had the strength to let his fingers ran through her strands. Her eyes were fascinating as well. They were made of a deep blue, but not like the sea he had been surrounding by for three winters. They were calm and reassuring.

Her hand found his shoulder, catching his attention. He blinked several times before finally answering.

“I think so. I’ve just seen an angel.” He said, a smile, at least he hoped it looked like one, forming on his face.

She chuckled and for a moment he sweared it was the most beautiful sound he heard in ages. She removed her hand and grabbed a flask hanged at her belt. Finan pushed himself up with his elbow as she handed him the bottle. He drank all of it, his hand shaking. The water ran down his throat, appeasing the ache of it.

“Thank ya.” He smiled, giving her back the flask.

“What’s your name?” She asked, hanging the flask back on her belt.

He studied her a little more before answering. She was dressed as a warrior, a chest plate covering her upper body. He remembered seeing her fighting with the people who came for Uhtred. She wasn’t as skilled as the other warriors, but she fought with fierce.

“Finan.” He watched her repeat his name silently. “Yours?”

“Saegyth”

…

A whole day passed since they rescued Uhtred from the slave ship. Saegyth spend most of her day to help the last slaves still here. But there was one who didn’t leave. Finan stayed last night near the fire with them.

Unlike most of the slaves she saw that day, the Irishman was more talkative. He spoke a little of what happened on the ship, what cost Halig’s life. Sometimes, his eyes were lost in the fire and darkened. The man saw much. Probably too much for one life. But almost all the time, his face would break in a smile. The smile of a broken man.

Finan was asleep in the grass when Saegyth decided she should see how he was. She put down her bucket of fresh water and the clean clothes Hild brought back from a village near, and kneeled next his body.

"Finan ?" She called him her hand on his shoulder.

He slowly opened his eyes, a little confused. His fingers came to her wrist, barely touching it like to be sure she was real. As his fingertips grazed her soft skin, he smiled. She gave it back to him, studying his face a moment.

His skin was crackled and tanned because of the time he spent on the ship. His lips were in bad condition too, his flesh raw in some part. His face was half covered by his beard and his dark hair was leaving the ponytail he had managed to make. The state of the man was making her heart squeeze. She didn't know much of him, but whatever he had done, it could never be worth for such punishment.

Her hand left his shoulder and she tilted her head. "You slept almost the whole day. I wanted to know how you were."

"I’m fine." He answered, his eyelids half closed.

"I brought you some clothes and water to wash you." She explained, her hands posed on the edge of the bucket.

Finan frowned and sat up. He looked to the bucket, and seemed to hesitate. Slowly, he leaned above the water, his eyes widening as he stared at his reflection. One of his finger came touching the features of his face on the edge of the water, blurring his own reflection. Saegyth noticed the tears sparking in the corner of his eyes.

"I hadn't seen my face in three winters." He declared, his gaze still fixed with his own. After a moment, he looked back to her. "I was still a boy the last time. I didn't had that beard." He chuckled even though Saegyth clearly heard the sob behind.

She knew so little of the man and yet she couldn't help but feel so much for him. She felt this desire to help him deep in her heart. This will to learn who he was. And she knew he was much more than just a slave.

Her hand found his face, her thumb rubbing his cheek to wipe the tears.

"Let me help you to bring a little of that boy." She softly said.

She searched his eyes in order to have some kind of answer. But he simply nodded and her hand dropped back to her side. She took a pair of scissors and started to roughly cut his beard. Finan's fascination about his own face started again. As she worked, Saegyth stared at him, wondering how he looked before.

When she finished, Finan finally looked at her, his fingers lightly brushing what remained of his beard.

"Thank ya." He said.

"It's normal." She smiled at him.

He frowned a little as he thought. "You are not a Dane."

"No, I am not." She laughed, sinking a fabric in the water.

"And you’re not an abbess." He added, amusement in his voice.

"Neither. I am a Lady." She declared as she met his deep brown eyes.

"I've never seen a Lady fought before." There was some admiration in his tone that she appreciated.

"There's a first time for everything." She removed the fabric from the bucket and spinner it. "Can you remove your shirt?"

He did, grabbing the edge of what remained of the shirt and removing it. Saegyth almost gasped when he revealed his body. He was thin despite his muscles, his ribs clear under his skin. His body was a parchment on which paint cans had been accidentally spilled. There was bruised of varied colours, from purple to yellow. Scars were forming straight lines, especially in his back. And she wondered if there was still part of his skin that hadn't been damaged.

"Where did ya learn to fight ?" He asked her, trying to take away her attention from his body.

She swallowed and put the wet fabric on his arm. "Uhtred taught me when we were hiding from Danes in marshes." This was years ago, but yet it felt like yesterday. "I always wish to learn, but being of noble blood made it difficult. So, when my husband died in battle, I asked Uhtred to teach me."

Since the first time she met the Half - Dane in Winchester, she felt some sort of fascination for him. Maybe it was youth, but she didn't regret pushing her curiosity. She discovered a man of honour and with a kindness unexpected for a Dane, after all she had heard of them. When King Alfred freed Ragnar, Uhtred's brother, she didn't hesitate to follow him to save him.

"I am sorry for your husband." He said, as he shivered when the fabric was now running in his back.

"Don't be. He wasn't a man I choose and I was young when I was married to him." She explained, looking side as she winced.

She never loved him, neither respected him. He was a turd, to her, to other peoples and learning his death felt like a relief. She felt free and she didn't wait to experience that freedom.

As she cleaned the most recent wounds, red and still swollen, she noticed the way his jaw clenched. How once more, his eyes were lost. And so, she spoke again, trying to distract him.

"Uhtred is a good man, King Alfred recovered Wessex thanks to him." She told him about the many plans Uhtred came up with. But also his stupid actions that cost him the gratitude of Alfred. "Uhtred is a good strategist in battle, but he still has progress to make in politics." She chuckled, putting down the now dirty fabric.

He smiled a little, maybe he heard a different version of those stories from Uhtred. "But he is a good man." He repeated her words.

"He is." She untied his hair, dark dirty strands falling on his bare shoulders.

Finan plunged his hands in the bucket and leaned his head. He splashed water all over his face and hair, running his fingers through it. His tongue licked droplets on his lips.

"Not salt water." He smiled, like he just discovered the existence of it.

His joy for a such a subtle thing made her heart squeeze again. Her life hadn't always been made of happiness, but never simple things made her eyes spark like Finan's ones. He took water in his hands and poured it on his hair once more. Saegyth untied a ribbon around her wrist. She let her fingers gather his strands before attaching them.

“What will you do, now?” She asked him, handing him a clean shirt.

He grabbed it and brushed the cloth with his thumb a moment. “I thought… That maybe I should stay with Uhtred.”

“You don’t want to go back to… To your home?” She frowned a little.

His gaze darkened and he took a deep breath, his shoulders rising before falling as he loudly exhaled. She bit her lips, regretting her question. She wanted to excuse herself, but he answered before.

“No… There’s nothing for me there.” She nodded silently. “I'm free because of Uhtred. He gave me hope and strength to pass another winter.” He looked up to her, meeting her pupils. “I owe him tha’.”

She couldn’t help but smile. The man lived hell for years and yet, he was ready to fight and serve a man, even if it could cost him his life. The strength he said Uhtred gave him, she was sure it had always been there in him. She put her hand on his and squeezed it lightly.

“He’ll be glad and grateful.”

As she removed her hand to leave, he grabbed it. She raised an eyebrow, surprised by his action.

“Thank ya.” Finan said.

“It’s normal.” She repeated.

He shook his head. “No, it’s not. No one has ever been that kind with me. Even… Before.”

“It’s nothing Finan, really.” She rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb.

“Not for me.”

She held her breath a moment. There was so much sincerity in his words. None of the other slaves dared to speak to her. Finan was broken, and yet the man didn’t disappear.

“There’s a first time for everything.” She simply said and he let go of her hand.

Tag: @n0rthumbria @geekandbooknerd @sihtric @othermoony @seaberrycloudberry @amyyreblogss @for-bebbanburg @beowulfsdottir @bird-on-a-wire20 @minimartian

#finan #finan the agile #finanxoc #the last kingdom #tlk #fanfiction

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star-birthmark · 5 years ago

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Just Ask Him (A BruAbba Fic)

Merry Christmas everyone! Though I don’t personally celebrate it, I wish everyone the best on such a beloved holiday!

Here is my piece for @jjba-secret-santa. Of course, I just had to get my idol @headoverjojo to write for, but Tricia, I hope you like what I wrote, especially since I never do ship fics lmao.

But without further ado: Just Ask him: A BruAbba Fic (3.1k words)

Snow began in the early evening to cascade over the city of Naples. The roads were being paved, shops were closing for the night, and the humble citizens were retiring to their families and friends. The city was calming down, lulled to sleep by the falling snowflakes and the smell of hot coffee and freshly baked cookies. Libeccio was no different, Narancia was becoming drowsy after coming back home from a mission, Fugo was finally able to set his book down out of fatigue, Mista was trying to get comfortable in his chair, the three of them watching Leone pace back and forth in front of the table, the four of them all waiting for Bruno to get back from a meeting with Don Giovanna. The air in the room was heavy, each mafioso nervous at the outcome of Abbacchio’s leap of faith.

“It’s not a big deal man. Just tell him, don’t freeze up like that time. It’ll all go well.”

Abbacchio growled. “Easy for you to say, you don’t even have a boyfriend to propose to.”

Mista pouted at the insult but Fugo was still able to smile at his friend’s expense.

“I think it’s beautiful Abbacchio. I bet Bruno will ask you himself one day, but it’s inspiring to see you take life by the horns and work to propose to him yourself. You know, if I think about it, it’s almost sort of like something you’d seen in one of those romantic novels.”

Narancia looked over at Fugo, nodding vigorously at the comparison. “Hah! You’re so right! A fallen, broken person finds their hope in their own little beacon of light, and together they ride off into the sunset-”

“Fugo, Narancia. Can you both please shut the fuck up, you’re making me nervous. I’m gonna do it, it’s not a big dea-”

Abbacchio was soon cut off by the door opening, the four of them turning to see Bruno briskly walk in, his movements fast and stressed. Abbacchio opened his mouth to speak but Bruno walked right past him, sitting at the table and slamming down a large stack of papers. Abbacchio nervously combed his hair with his fingers and straightened out his clothes, ready to finally speak his truth to the love of this life. Bruno, the ever-busy capo, however, remained oblivious as always.

“Hi everyone sorry I’m late. I’ve got a whole new stack of projects for us to do, but if we put our heads together, we can definitely get them done by Christmas. There are some casino troubles near the west side of the city. Fugo that’ll probably go to you.”

Fugo tried to interrupt, to no avail.

“Buccellati, Abbacchio wants to tell-”

“A few corrupt figures, Mista that’s yours. Be careful though, I heard some reports from civilians and they all have the people on their side.”

Mista tried to interrupt as well, seeing his senior mafioso fidget in his stance, panicking that they couldn’t grab the capo’s attention.

“Wait but Buccellati, Abba-”

“Oh don’t worry Mista everything will be fine. I’ll take over a lot of the conciliation and follow-ups on last month’s work. Some investigative work. That can be for Narancia, and hey wait where’s Abbacchio?”

When the three men at the table pointed behind their capo, the leader turned around to see his boyfriend standing over the table, a nervous smile on his face. The silver-haired man, expecting his love’s usual warm smile in return, was instead meant with the blank, busied face of a capo, oblivious to his boyfriend’s feelings.

“Oh, there you are Abbacchio. Can you join Narancia on some of the investigative stuff? You know, for obvious reasons.”

“Yeah sure but there’s somethi-”

“Hey listen I’m so sorry everyone, it’s been a very long day and tomorrow is going to be even longer I bet. I’m really tired is it alright if I head to bed now?”

“I mean sure but-”

“Thanks, Mista. Alright, have a goodnight everyone. Abbacchio, I’ll meet you upstairs.”

Bruno placed a firm hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder before heading up the stairs to the apartment above the restaurant to rest. Abbacchio was left speechless, his eyes twitching in frustration. The radio that had been playing just finished its rotation of Christmas songs and Narancia had come up with an idea, beginning to snicker. Mista looked over at him, confused.

“Hey, Mista I got a good Christmas song to sing, ‘Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Jack frost nipping at your nose. Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow. And Abbacchio will find it hard to sleep tonight.’”

The two men broke out into loud laughter, the older goofball practically tearing up as he stood up. “Why the hell were you so nervous Abba?!”

He turned to Abbacchio, who was giving the two idiots a deadly glare.

“Can it morons. I’m just worried that he’ll say no. You don’t gotta go making fun of me.”

He rolled his eyes, heading up the stairs to head to his bedroom with Bruno.

Even before he became the Don’s second in command, since joining Passione, Bruno Buccellati had always been able to afford incredibly nice, incredibly expensive things. The small private bedroom in the group’s hideout in Naples was no exception. The moment Abbacchio opened the door to their bedroom, he felt his breath hitch in his throat as it always did. The crisp black and white palette of the room was so incredibly Bruno, yet the touches of gold and purple were so incredibly him. The warm, dim light worked to set the mood between the two partners, even if one of them was still hard at work instead of heading off to sleep.

Leone worked to quiet his fast-beating heart, rushing over to the dresser to prepare for bed, looking at himself in the large porcelain mirror over the sink.

“How is everything in Rome? How is Don Giovanna doing?”

“Everything is fine. Giorno is fine. There’s a Christmas ball in a few nights. And, you can call him Giorno you know?”

Abbachio rolled his eyes at the other’s short, blunt, busy, answers. While he was washing the makeup off his face, Bruno finally took himself away from his work long enough to notice his boyfriend in front of him. When Leone looked up from the sink, Bruno quickly looked back down, an unspoken awkwardness between the two of them. Abbacchio sighed and soon tugged his long jacket over his head, causing the capo’s eyes to glance up to see his lover’s slim yet strong chest and the little tuffs of silver hair that frame his face coming into view as he took pulled the collar over his head. Bruno smiled before returning to the papers on his desk with a renewed sense of purpose.

Leone looked down at the ring box that he had hidden away in his drawer and closed the door to it. ‘Not tonight’ he thought, watching Bruno pull his hair out (literally and figuratively) at the work he was doing. Walking towards the light of his life, Abba soon turned to lay in their bed, wishing to give Bruno some space. The tired, nervous grump eyed his dark-haired leader with a quizzical eye. Why the hell does he work so hard? Though he admired the other’s work ethic, the man couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his boyfriend’s refusal to just go to bed.

“Come to bed Bruno… You of all people should know of the importance of sleep.”

Bruno looked over at his boyfriend with a confused look on his face, before putting the papers aside and rubbing his tired eyes.

“Why should I know the importance of sleep?”

Deciding his sleepy love needed some physical assurance, Abbacchio smirked before getting up from the bed and walking behind his capo’s desk chair to encase him in his strong arms. Running his black painted nails over the leader’s chest, Leone made a point to trace his fingers along the lines of his lover’s lacey chest tattoo, not even needing to see it to get the lines right. It was a little tick that the taller man had that calmed both of them down. The fact that the ex-cop had his love’s body so perfectly memorized was a fact that they both relished in. Abbacchio looked down at his capo, an ache placing down on his heart.

Damn, he loved this man so damn much.

Raking his fingers through the other’s jet black hair and meticulously undid the other’s hairpins, as well as the braids atop his head, knowing all the actions that made the fierce stand user melt in his chair. Bruno sighed at the calculated touches and soon bit his lip, starting to breathe heavily.

“Well? Why should I know the importance of sleep?” He muttered nervously.

Abbacchio smiled. “Because I never let you get any.”

Now, it was Bruno’s turn to roll his eyes, reaching around to playfully hit the other man’s arm before getting up from his desk.

“Alright alright, I’ll come to bed. But we both know I’m the one that doesn’t let you sleep. You’re always begging for me so…” Leone pouted his bare lips.

“Hey, we switch off…” Bruno smiled playfully, removing his suit top before tackling Leone onto the bed.

“Then let’s see which one… happens… tonight.”

Leone giggled as he watched his boyfriend’s attempt to dirty talk, only for it to be unfairly disrupted by his adorable yawning. He sighed and held his shorter companion in his arms as the two of them laid in bed together.

“Alright… goodnight Bruno…” The capo blinked his eyes opened and rubbed Abbacchio’s arm.

“I swear, I’ll take you out tomorrow night on a date to the Christmas fair. I’m just tired.”

Upon hearing his golden opportunity to propose that next day, Leone chuckled and kissed Bruno atop his head, telling his busy lover that he couldn’t wait.

Slipping the wedding band into the pocket of his overcoat, Abbacchio was just about ready to leave his room, staring at himself in the mirror and nodding. He was ready. He was gonna do it. He was finally going to man up. For Bruno’s sake.

“Abba! Are you coming?! We need to get presents for everyone!”

“Coming Buccellati!”

Rushing down the stairs to join him, the two men soon leave the hideout into the snow-covered streets of Italy. It was Christmas Eve, the city abuzz with activity and the holiday spirit. Bruno, the ever-recognizable figure of the town, received his usual greetings.

“Merry Christmas Signore Buccellati!”

“Have a splendid holiday Buccellati!”

“Buccellati! How about you join us for a drink? We’d be honored to spend a bit of the holiday with you!”

Bruno courteously waved back to them all, until he was stopped in his tracks as his partner’s hand grasped his, their fingers snaking together. Bruno looked up to see Leone’s cheeks redden in jealousy. Abbacchio frowned. Sure, Bruno had an image he needed to upkeep, but it hurt that none of the people were acknowledging him. They knew his name as well.

Bruno giggled a bit. “Jealous, Abba?”

Leone grumbled until his gaze was directed towards the other’s ocean blue eyes. Bruno held his boyfriend’s face in his hands, stroking the other man’s sharp-angled cheekbones and jaw as if to soften them just as he softened the mafioso’s hard, tough interior.

“You know I love you, Leone… So much.”

Just then, the snow began to come down harder than before, covering the two lovers in a white, wintery veil under the haze of the night. Bruno leaned up and brought his lips to Abbacchio’s, helplessly grabbing the other’s coat to remain at the taller man’s height. His lipstick painted lips smiling longingly, Moody Blues’ user wrapped his arms around Bruno, lifting him slightly off the ground. Bruno screamed from the change in altitude, causing them both to laugh, then give each other another short peck on the lips.

Leone stared down at the love of his life. Bruno Buccellati… with his dark hair and hat covered in the white snow. With his red scarf wrapped tightly around his head to keep his sensitive ear warm, but still left a window open for his adorable freckles. With his bright eyes and even brighter smile. With his caring view of others, his willingness to protect, to be the light for others in the darkness.

Leone gulped, he didn’t deserve him.

Bruno shifted on his feet nervously as the young couple held one another under the heavy snowfall. The silence was bothering him.

“Is everything alright Abbacchio?” Finally waking up from his thoughts, the taller man quickly nodded and decided it was time.

“Everything is amazing Buccellati. I want life to be like this fore… ver.”

With a metaphorical punch to the gut, Bruno’s cell phone rang in his coat pocket, instantly grabbing the capo’s attention. Abbacchio closed his eyes, the interruption cutting deep as Bruno was pulled away from the moment again. Watching his boyfriend turn from a loving man to a calculating capo, Abbacchio soon became walking away and heading into one of the shops, wanting to clear his head. Bruno watched him leave, frowning deeply as he listened to his associate speak over the phone, his hand reaching into his pocket and taking a golden ring out, inspecting the initials of BB and LA engraved into the material. Bruno sighed, upset he had missed his chance.

- - - - - - - -

The music gracefully flowed over the entire banquet hall, the food was being served, and secret negotiations were being made. There they were, all of Passione’s elite at Don Giovanna’s party, enjoying the immense wealth that the underground had bestowed upon them. Giorno sat in the front of the room, heavily guarded by his teammates and friends. The room, one that the Don had dubbed his second choice, glimmered with a golden sheen in the moonlight that evening. Flowers that Giorno had created himself adorned each table, as well as the perimeter of the dance floor, where the capos and other leaders were seen dancing with their partners. Everyone looked stunning. A song soon ended, with Bruno finishing his third courtesy dance with someone other than his own partner. A partner who was far too anxious to even consider dancing with his boyfriend. Mista watched his friend nervously fidget with his suit, rolling his eyes. The gunslinger watched Bruno walk over to Giorno, the capo nervously looking around the room for this love as he struck up a conversation with the head of Passione. The young blond and the gunslinger shared a glance before nodding, each turning to their respective lovesick friend.

“Ask him already. He will say yes.”

Mista asked Leone. Giorno asked Bruno. Both men pacing nervously back and forth, fiddling with their ring, not seeing the other at the other end of the dance hall.

“Do you know that?” The two men asked.

“Yes. Just trust me on this.”

“What if he says no? I don’t deserve Bruno, Mista .”

“What is he says no? I don’t deserve Abba, Giorno.”

Both friends sighed. “Don’t you love him?”

“...Of course I do.”

“What do you love about him?”

Giorno asked, causing Bruno to smile. Abbacchio smiled at Mista’s question.

“I love how he’s not afraid to be himself.”

“I love his patience, how he’s so willing to help me through all my dark times.”

“I love his stubbornness. I love how he never backs down from a fight.”

“I love his loud laugh when something is really funny.”

“I love how amazing he looks in makeup.”

“I love how peaceful he looked waking up in the morning.”

“I love when he cooks for the two of us. He’s not very good but he tries… For me.”

“I love when he asked me to be his boyfriend on the shores of Capri.”

“I love him. If it were up to me, I’d marry him right now.”

“I love him so much Mista, so much. I need to go ask him.”

Mista and Giorno both smiled, slapping their friend on the back before pushing the two men to the dance floor, only for the young couple to bump into each other. Both Leone and Bruno stared at each other with a small nervous laugh. Abbacchio gulped before taking Bruno’s hand in his.

“Can we talk? Out on the balcony?”

Bruno nodded quickly, pulling Leone along to the balcony of the large estate. The party far away, yet the music still pouring in, Leone moved to speak.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Bruno’s eyes widened, the gears starting to turn in his head. “U-um… I have something as well.”

“Oh wait so you go first.”

“No no Abba. I insist.”

“No, really it’s… it’s stupid.”

Bruno reached up and cupped his lover’s cheek, smiling sweetly.

“Amore, with you, nothing could ever be stupid. I love you.”

Oh god, he was in love. Throwing caution to the wind, Leone swiftly grabbed the ring box from his pocket and knelt down, the bright moon shining over the city reflecting off the golden ring that he was presenting for his boyfriend.

“Bruno Buccellati… you’ve made me the man I am today. I’ve grown so much as a person ever since meeting you, and I can only pray that you’ve grown since meeting me. Bruno… Caro… Will you marry me?”

A rush of tears flooded the young capo’s eyes as he vigorously nodded, his words failing him in the time of intense emotion. A giant smile formed over Leone’s face and all worries he had were washed away with the falling snow. Quickly slipping the band on his love’s finger, Abbacchio embraced his better half, his lips crashing down on Buccellati’s. The snow fell and nestled into their expensive clothes and into their styles hair, but neither man could bring himself to leave the other’s lips. When they finally broke for air, Bruno eyed the other’s bright red cheeks through the wispy hair of his bangs. Taking the moment of distraction, Bruno brought the ring out from his own pocket and slipped it on Leone’s finger. Abbacchio looked down at the luxurious ring on his unworthy finger, and his heart fluttered in his chest.

“Is this what you were going to tell me?” Bruno nodded, his eyes squeezing shut with joy as his whole body was consumed with happiness.

“You just got to it before I could. I want to spend the rest of my life with you Leone.”

The two fiances embrace under the heavy snowfall, both relishing in the other’s warmth. When they finally arrived back to their table for the meal, the couple found an envelope with a note written out to them. Immediately recognizing their teammates’ handwritings, both men remained embarrassed as they read the word:

“We knew you could do it.

To happiness and many years together.

Merry Christmas you two.”

- The Don and Friends

#jjba #headoverjojo #secret santa #jojo writing #jjba hc #jojo vento aureo #vento aureo #golden wind #Bruno's gang #bruno buccellati #leone abbacchio #bruno x abbacchio #bruabba #everyone lives au #not reader fic #jjba-secret-santa-2019

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catbowserauthor · 5 years ago

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If By My Life or Death I Can Protect You, I Will: Hobbit AU Fanfiction: 1

So, my start of a AU Hobbit story has become a full story that is likely going to branch multiple chapters. I tried resisting it but I just couldn’t. Bilbo’s connection to the dwarves is some of my favorite fluff and found family so I must embrace it:

Arriving in Valinor at the end of Return of the King, Bilbo was supposed to find peace. His aching heart and body were supposed to heal. But the wounds and losses of the past will not stay buried and those lost on the Quest to Erebor haunt his thoughts. So, he makes it his mission to fix it, even if he has to appeal to Eru Himself.

Even if it costs him his own Paradise.

*****

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" Bilbo turned to his nephew and he lay a hand in his curled hair. The boy leaned into it, as he had done when it was just a small lad. There was a deep desire, longing in need in it now that made Bilbo's heart ache. If he had known that little golden ring would have caused so much heartache for everyone he loved… "Aye, it is, my dear boy. Valinor, the undying lands." "You used to tell me stories about them." Frodo remarked, one hand still over the old Morgol wound on his shoulder. It had begun to ease on the journey over the sea though a faint throb still remained. "I used to spend hours drawing and painting what it might look like but none of them came close to this. I don't think even if I had seen it, in some far off dream, would I have been able to replicate it." "Such is the wonder of Aman." The soft, almost angelic voice behind them gave way to a fading white light that was the Lady of Light, Galadriel. Her smile, as always, was welcoming and warm. She looked upon the two Hobbits down with grace and thanks even as her fingers brushed first Bilbo then Frodo's brow as she gazed out upon the land where she had first drawn breath. "As Middle Earth was meant to be once, before it was marred by Morgoth." She knelt and lay her hand over Frodo's, gently easing it from his shoulder. "I promise you, Ring Bearer, you will find comfort here. Aman is a land free of the poison of Morgoth; his grip over you will break on these shores." Frodo smiled but Bilbo saw the raw pain in those eyes. The pain that comes with leaving those you find so dear behind you. He had seen the tears and pain when Frodo watched the docks of the Grey Havens until they faded away, though he knew it was for the best that he left. Bilbo knew that pain all too well. It was not one healed, even by the lands of the Spirits and Gods. Loss of those dear to you was a wound to the spirit that no amount of time or magic could undo. It had been so long but the pain he felt in his heart when he thought of Thorin or Fili or Kili was as fresh as the day it had happened. He had learned to let the pain ride over him and pass but it only shortened in length, not intensity. Not things to haunt his nephew with. He had enough to try and recover from. The burden he had been settled with was unfair in the deepest measure. It was a cruel irony not lost on Bilbo. His first adventure that had given him the dwarven companions that were the nearest thing to family he had ever had was the same adventure that had snatched them from him, in one way or another. Then, when he had left this time, he had damned his nephew to a fate worse than death. The slow deterioration of the ring. If he had known… "Uncle?" Shaking himself from the somber thought, he set his nephew with what he hoped was an encouraging smile and was ever so grateful when the old wizard—one of his remaining oldest friends—appeared at the doorway. He gave a nod of encouragement and "Nothing to bother your head about, my boy" with a gentle nudge towards the stairs. Frodo met Gandalf at the door and followed him up to the deck. The ship had ceased its movement and soon, they would set foot on the land that they only knew in legends. To the Lady Galadriel, he waited and then, once alone, she spoke. "You wish something of me, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire?" It was more a statement than a question but he appreciated her consideration in awaiting his reply. "Aye, I do." He bowed lightly to her. "I would ask something of you milady." "Ask, dear Hobbit. I cannot guarantee anything but I shall listen and do what I can. You began the downfall of Sauron. A small ripple in an ocean of possibilities." Riddles. It must have had something to do with Aman. Seemed everyone from here spoke in riddles. He took a breath and locked eyes with her, "I would meet with Manwë if I could." She laughed, a lovely sound and not one done out of distain but rather out of genuine contentment. "Oh, Bilbo Baggins. Mithrandir is right to view all Hobbits but you especially with such high regard. You have not yet taken step on Aman and yet you request his counsel?" Again, there was a hint of lack of surprise despite her laughter depicting otherwise. "I do, Milady. As soon as I may. If he insists on refusing then do be so kind as to inform him that Bilbo Baggins will plant himself firmly as near to him as possible and will carry on a conversation as if he were by my side. And I will do so until he would acknowledge me." Galadriel smiled, again, that gentle, caring smile. "Not many would risk the wrath of Manwë, Bilbo Baggins." "It would be far more unpleasant to risk the wrath of Bilbo Baggins. I can name many a folk that can attest to that. Mortal though I am, it, in many ways, makes me far more adept at being unpleasant if it suits my fancy." "I have seen it for myself and it boils in your kin just as strong and nay, I do not believe the wrath of Bilbo Baggins would be welcomed by any, even a mighty Valar." The elven Queen offered her hand. "Come. I will appeal to Manwë on your behalf." "Many thanks, gentle Galadriel."

***

"Bilbo Baggins, I swear of all the Hobbits of the world, you are undoubtedly, the most obstinate." "I will not argue with you, dear Gandalf." Bilbo remarked as they took step by step together down the shore. "All the same, Lady Galadriel insists that I have been granted my audience." He folded his arms firmly, as if planting his commitment. "Out of pure curiosity, I am sure and no small amount of mercy." Gandalf shook his head. "My dear Hobbit, take care. Manwë, though having a deep heart of caring, is not openly hospitable. He was not thrilled at the prospect of non-elven kind on these shores but he has relented. You, while an honored guest, are a guest all the same!" "I shall not forget it, Gandalf. I am well aware of what a poor guest makes one feel." Bilbo assured him even as he stopped to gather his breath. "Nor am I ungrateful for what I have been given. But I must make my request of him alone. I hope you would grant Frodo some of your time. I shall return if I am able." The older wizard scowled and blew a puff of smoke on his pipe. "You are not aware of how truthful that statement may be, my dear Bilbo. Mind your tongue." "I will mind it as much as I do with others who are worthy of it." Gandalf shook his head but he lay one hand on the Hobbit's shoulder. "I do not know what you have to ask of him but do with grace." He frowned deeply. "And if I cannot persuade you against this foolishness…" "You cannot." "I thought as much. Peregrin Took was mere preparation to deal with you again, I see." "I shall be mindful of my manners, as a proper Baggins should but I shall be heard." "Yes yes but that Tookish blood runs fierce in you as well." But Gandalf left it at that and withdrew, leaving Bilbo at the base of Mount Taniquetil. His mutterings to himself was heard for quite some distance before it faded. That left the Baggins of Bag End in front of the mighty mountain of the world. It stretched above him far beyond what he could imagine seeing and he stood, still and silent for quite some time. Snowy fluffs could be seen faintly in the disrtance but it was hard to tell if it was from sleet or the clouds themselves engulfing the mountain tip. The very faint screeching of eagles or something similar to them in any event gave an eerie sense of a journey for a very different mountain, so many years ago and Bilbo found himself drifting in the memory far longer than was advisable. Finally, a figure approached him. He did not see where he had come from but he did not waste time pondering it. Rather, he stayed where he was, standing up straight and the man-like figure drew closer. Clothed in flowing robes of blue and purple, hair that spiraled long and soft as the clouds above, and eyes that pierced everywhere at once, the distance between them closed until it was simply Hobbit and Valar. One a mere ant in size and power to another. Bilbo's firm posture did not falter. "So, this is the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins that has the strength of heart and will to ask for me, is it?" Bilbo looked upward at him (and thought it quite rude that he had to arch his neck to do so when the Valar could certainly have adjusted his height to be more pleasant). "Aye, it is. Am I to take it that you are Valar Manwë, Lord of the Breath of Arda?" "So I am. What would you have of me, youngling?" The voice roared and whispered all at once, of all the winds of the world. Bilbo, despite his advanced age, chuckled, "I suppose to you, all things are young. I come to you with an unusual request though I suspect me coming at all is unusual enough." "So it is." There was no anger in that statement but no compassion either. It was a statement, nothing more and nothing less. The King of the Valar had no time for pleasantries, it appeared. "I am grateful for the gift that has been offered me. Aman is beautiful, beyond all account of measure and my spirit feels weary no longer among these shores." He paused and laid a hand over his chest. "But my heart is still heavy. I may have served my purpose in this war but there was more I could have done." "You and your halfling kin did more than even the Valar thought you capable of." Now, there was a hint of pleasantry and heart to the voice, though it did not lessen in intensity. "Your kind are favored of Yavanna and her pride in you has not been misplaced." "Perhaps but I am unsatisfied. I come to you with a request, Lord Manwë. A chance to correct those mistakes. I would ask that, in exchange for my remaining time, however short it may be, among these Blessed Lands, I be allowed to return to the time of the Quest for Erebor and set right my wrongs." There. He had said it. The sky itself seemed to rumble. "You jest, Hobbit." "On the contrary, Lord Manwë," Bilbo bowed again. "I am quite serious. Though it may be beyond your power, it is not beyond Ilúvatar's." "It is not customary for Ilúvatar to be granting desires of mortals when life does not go as they would wish–" "Not accustomed but He HAS allowed it." Bilbo set his fists upon his hips and settled his form to be as tall as he could manage. "As I recall, He allowed the adoption of the dwarves and has shown mercy to those whom carry true humility and sincerity within their hearts. He allowed the return of Lúthien as a mortal woman. I do not pretend to be as worthy as those but I am requesting that it be presented unto Him, all the same." Bilbo folded his arms, "If He does not permit it, I shall accept as such but I cannot rest until it is at least presented. If I am to be given any gift for my service to Middle Earth, I would wish it to be thus." "What drives such a desire," This question came from above. Not from Manwë. No, this was feminine and the stars above seemed to shimmer in a smile. It lasted but a hair of a moment before it was as if the darkness of the night sky had taken physical form before him in the tallest woman he had ever seen. With eyes made of pure starlight and blackness that wrapped around that was as much cloak and clothing as hair, her voice and the manner in which she spoke meant it could be none other than the Queen of the Valar. "Lady Varda, I presume. Or do you prefer Elebereth as the elves know you?" Bilbo gave her a bow of deep respect, as he had given her husband. "Either, young Hobbit. The name is of little significance." She spoke again, "My husband is not always best with words. Hence, I will speak in his stead. What drives such a desire, I ask you again." "The same desire of Ilúvatar, for his world, his children." Bilbo answered. "Love. I ask the chance to stop needless death, ease the pain of parting and to save those dwarves that are family to me. I once crossed Middle Earth for them. I shall cross Aman for them as well, for the chance to right a most egregious wrong." He took a deep breath. "I do not presume to be worthy of this chance. But I am asking for Ilúvatar's mercy in hearing me, all the same." The King and Queen of the Valar exchanged glances. Varda, in the flowing manner that was accustomed to her, wrapped her arms around her husband and spoke. "The Hobbit has a heart of valor, far more than many we see, Husband. And he speaks no untruth." "Nay." Manwë allowed. "He speaks nothing but facts. His heart is stout." Varda nodded and lay a hand on her husband's cheek. "We have appealed to Eru for less and we shall appeal to him for more. Bilbo has fought a long life, and yet, here among the Blessed Land, he seeks only to do more. The least we can offer is that his request be heard. Eru, in His wisdom, will make His decision. Only He knows how the music shall play." The King of the Valar was silent for a few moments more. He looked upon his wife, into her eyes of starlight and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away except for those two. Unspoken conversation, a thousand words in a gaze, passed. Manwë turned to Bilbo after what seemed an eternity. "Return to your rooms. I will speak to Eru on your behalf, Bilbo of the Shire."

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talesofmetalandmagic · 6 years ago

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For the BadThingsHappenBingo: “Kidnapping”, with Lorian, Elder Prince, and Dark Sun Gwyndolin

Proposed by: @reaper-apologist-andromeda Set in: requester’s verse. Characters: Lorian, Older Prince; Dark Sun Gwyndolin Ship: Lorilin TW: Mention of parental abuse Notes: Gwyndolin uses he/him pronouns

Synopsis: once lived a Saint named Aldrich, famed for his thirst for human flesh. He’s now long gone, burnt at the First Flame, but his followers live on, and to this day they still hunt innocent victims to offer to their lord the moment he eventually returns. No one is safe from them: not even the Elder Prince of the kingdom of Lothric.

It’s the first arrow that alerts him of the incoming danger. Lorian pulls the bridle to his chest and raises his open palm to impose silence. Once it’s done, he lowers the hand to his side, to the spot where his sword awaits to be drawn. -You know what to do.- he says. He doesn’t sound like a general, he realizes with a sudden gulp. His tone was too shaky, his eyes too low, and even his hand wasn’t straight enough. He can see the disappointed glare in Father’s eyes in every wrinkle of every tree. Piercing through him as if another arrow had been shot right into his skin. When the second arrow does strike, Lorian’s horse whines in pain despite not being the one hit. The man at his left sinks on the floor like a mannequin, a groan escaping his lips. -Reveal yourself!- Lorian calls. He raises his sword in the air, like the great warrior kings that populate the frescoes in the main halls. He has always felt so tiny, whenever he passed them by. He can only imagine what Lothric would feel in his stead. -Your highness!-. Lorian turns around, his ponytail whipping his face. -Look o— A third arrow strikes, and it hits him right in the chest. Next thing he sees is the pale grey sky, and the branches of the trees like cracks on the cement.

His knees are in his belly, feeling tight and as heavy as a boulder. His ponytail has come undone, and strands of stray hair fill his mouth and get stuck to his teeth. His hands are untied – strange enough, but not the proper moment to ponder. Lorian combs his hair with his fingers, panting through the cold. He’s thirsty, too thirsty to even form words. His mouth is dry, as if a layer of sand had remained stuck to his palate and tongue. Even opening his mouth, everything being so godsdamn dry, feels like pain on his dry lips. His cage is as tight as a column, and so rusted the mere touch leaves a thick stain of red on Lorian’s finger. And so are all the others, dozens upon dozens, filling every corner of the cave. A black-haired woman, clad in a ragged dress, lays curled up at his left, dozed off in a deep sleep that the prince can’t help but envy. A young ginger man is lost in sobbing at his right. -Hey.- the prince whispers. -Hush. Don’t cry. We’ll be fine.- But the young one doesn’t seem to acknowledge he even exists, and his sobbing echoes through the cavern – tens, dozens, hundreds of people are crying at the same time, and their voices seem to blend into a senseless cacophony of despair. The knife he’d carry at his belt is no longer: neither is his belt at all, for that matter, and the strings of his boots, his medallion with the symbol of the Way of Blue engraved into it, his hairband, have all been taken away. His medallion is precious, but not the rest: they didn’t do it for the money. They want me alive, he presumes. And a more welcoming thought picks up at the bottom of his mind. They haven’t recognized me. Somehow it feels comforting. And at the though of Father foolishly revealing himself, screaming “I’m the king” in his captors’ faces, he can’t resist but snicker. He will be fine. He won’t make that mistake. What will he do, however, is simply beyond him. Staying calm is the first logical step – think of Lothric, think of home, think of the people around him that need a stable and firm prince to hold onto. His chest itches where the arrow had struck him, but no blood seeps out. They must have really skilled clerics.

For a while, Lorian’s thoughts drift away into an Abyss of no light. He doesn’t recognize any of the faces of his guards among the prisoners that share his limited space. The ginger man at his side, however, has ceased his crying and allowed him to hold his hand. -Thank you, Your Majesty.- he says. -Maybe they will be looking for you. It’s said that His Majesty is highly protective of his offspring.- Offspring: the proper word to refer to both him and his little brother. He must be missing him indeed, from the now lonely bedchambers he’s been confined to all his life. Lorian gives a distracted nod, hoping a white lie wouldn’t tarnish his perfect, princely soul. Or bring some sort of comfort to the terrified youth. -The Aldrich Faithfuls are strong and fearsome, but highly disorganized.- Lorian whispers. -If there was a leader, I’d start with them.- Their leader is a long-dead Saint – if such a name even befits the monstrous creature – that found the utmost pleasure in eating human flesh. His followers share a shred of the same tradition, and limit their consumption to “human dregs”. Whatever those things even are: maybe they’re even closer cannibals than Aldrich, and the joke makes the young man chuckle. -Listen.- Lorian suddenly says, and his cage rings as one of the Followers runs by its side and slams his shoulder against it. They converge towards the door, armed with longswords and axes and big hammers, golden Cleric Bells dangling on their belts. -They busted us!- a voice screams, but the blood-curdling scream that follows can only mean death. And a blinding white light – like the moon, Lorian thinks, and not even he knows how and why he came to that idea – fills the room, coming from the now open gates of the cavern. Their swords glisten as if they were made of silver. Their armors are garbed in white, looking as soft as clouds. And in the very middle of them there’s a child, no, a Godling, raising a small bow into the air, and a rain of arrows shines against the roof of the cave like a sky full of stars. -You’re free.- a stern female voice calls. An armored figure, clad in copper from their head to their toes, opens the door to his cage. -All of you. Run outside, do not look back. You’ll be reunited to your own soon enough.- Lorian takes a deep breath. -I’m Prince Lorian of Lothric.- he calls, but they do not seem to have heard. He suddenly feels tense, as if he expected a very familiar wooden blow to his palms. But I’m not there, and he’s not with me. The young figure, clad in a white tunic with silver accents, pulls at their bow again. A golden crown, in the shape of a blooming sun, covers their face up to the eyes. A golden crown he knows. -The Darkmoon!-. It’s the voice of the ginger man, wet in tears of joy. -He has come for us! Praise the Darkmoon and his Blades!- -Lady Sirris.- Gwyndolin’s smooth voice is like a song. -Lady Itoro. Left and right, surround them.- The woman in copper raises her arm to indicate she has understood. Another woman, clad in the traditional fashion of the Sunless Realms, draws an Estoc of her own towards a A black-haired woman lays on the ground, passed out and bleeding, a Greatsword still in the motionless hand. Lorian leaps to it and grabs it, welding it as if it was his own. Luckily, that one is still in the castle where it should be. Father would be rabid if he lost it, and he’d not even have another one forged. A lesson must be learned, boy, a voice repeats from the bottom of his mind. Lorian lashes at another sinner, plunging his sword right into his leg. And a second and third, always at the legs, before they even notice him. That’s panic for you, he thinks, and knocks another one down. The rain of arrows glows above him, and shines like ice or hail against a full moon.

Sweat drips down his face as he pants against the wall of the cavern, sticking to his long unkept hair. Yet again, a source of disdain – too good he’s not here and he will never know. Even so, Lorian has to remind himself of that, as a shadow looms over him and offers him a pale, open hand. He takes it without a second thought. As he has learned. -I thank you for your bravery, Prince Lorian.- The Darkmoon’s voice is high in pitch and gentle in tone, the opposite of what Lorian had been used to for a length he can hardly recall. He gives a timid shrug, shaking the rubble off his clothes. It feels as if he had been battling all his life. His muscles are sore, his heart seems to tremble within his ribcage, and his mouth is as dry as sandpaper. With what little voice he has, Lorian pants out a “thank you”; but not even he can hear it. Let alone the Divine himself.

-You were quick.- he adds. Then another, confused pause. -To intervene, I mean.- -And so were you.- Now that he’s standing, Gwyndolin looks smaller and much less imposing than before. Friendly, Lorian may add; and just as beautiful as the Moon that grants him his powers. -’Tis but the duty of the Darkmoon Blades. All of you are free, now.- The sun is setting in the farthest corner of the sky, and the clouds around it are lilac and smooth. Mother would love to paint them, if she still did. Maybe, Lorian tell himself as a means of consolation, just looking at them would be enough to make her content. The freed people are huddled in the nearby square, in groups of three to five, and the soft pitter-patter of their low chattering is a pleasant enough song to Lorian’s ears. -The Crown of Lothric will reward you greatly.- he says to the Godling by his side. Only one moment later does he realize – and he holds in place, covering his mouth as if he was ashamed. Because he is. He averts his eyes from Gwyndolin’s questioning expression, heart pounding again as if he was back into the cage. -I apologize, My Liege.-. He stares at his own feet, blinking frantically. -I didn’t mean to disrespect you. I meant no offense, I swear. Treating you like a mere mercenary…- Lorian can feel a stare at the bottom of his spine. Maybe it’s the crowd indeed, trying to figure out what the role of the bloody prince will be in that whole ordeal. Maybe it’s his father all the way from Lothric. He’s not present, nor will he be – Lorian knows, for he has lived by his side for more than twenty years – but he can still look at him from the castle, frowning and disappointed, black crevices in the depth of his pale white forehead as he sneers to his stupid, soft son. But there’s none in Gwyndolin’s smooth face – he can tell so, even with the sun-shaped crown that keeps his forehead covered. And there’s no wrinkles in his mouth either, as he offers him a pleasant expression. As sweet as ambrosia, which the Gods are said to eat. -No offense taken, Your Majesty.- Lorian almost jumps as the high-pitched, smooth voice reaches his ears again. As he expected no such thing. He had already prepared himself for that same, disappointed paternal growl. My father has such a growling voice because underneath his silk and furs, there’s but a beast, he would think whenever he was particularly angry at him. More and more frequently as the years passed, and the Flame flickered more, and Mother’s eyes were more and more forsaken. A skinny beast, with no claws and no fangs, but with a venomous tongue with a sharp aim, more similar to that of a snake than the dragons he so longingly coveted. But as he stares again at Gwyndolin’s tunic, and the slender reptilian forms that stick out from underneath, he starts to regret that analogy as well. For the snakes he sees are tender, and look at him with eyes no less sweet than a pup or a kitten. Lost in thought, he’s woken up again by the same, sweet tones. -Feel no remorse for your offer. I have no issues with your protocols and ways of doing. Nor do I expect to sindacate about the grateful will of parents whose child was taken from them.- There’s nothing to worry about in that regard. Lorian keeps the thought to himself, and whispers another, fainter “thank you”. Gwyndolin places his hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze. -Now rest, Your Majesty. Soon all of you will be given a proper shelter, and reunited with your families.- -Have you heard the Darkmoon?- Lady Itoro repeats from a nearby post. -Everybody, keep calm. You’ll be fed and accommodated as soon as possible.- -Allow me to help you, My Liege. As the Crown Prince…- Lorian hesitates, grabbing the edge of his coat with sweaty hands. But Gwyndolin’s face, despite his covered eyes, means no harm. -Yes, Your Grace?- Lorian takes a deep breath, averting his gaze from the crowd. -…’tis my duty to help these poor people.- Gwyndolin opens a childlike hand and places it on his shoulder, pale and soft as silk right out of the cocoon. -Your presence is welcome, Prince Lorian. The blankets are over there. Soon, the soup will be ready, and we’ll need all hands possible to feed them quickly.- Lorian nods, and the eyes piercing his back seem to fade away.

The soup is like a rainbow: thick red and yellow bell peppers, orange carrots, pale onions, bright green leaves of mint, and a pinch of violet to make it look prettier. Lorian mixes it up without a word, feeling the gentle smell in his nostrils. For an adventure, this one was short enough. And it ended well. Gwyndolin sits cross-legged on a rock, no higher than the commoners that surround him. He smiles at all of them as if he has known them all his life. Lorian pours another bowl and leans it towards the Godling’s face. -Here, My Liege.- -No need for that.- Gwyndolin gives a gentle, sweet chuckle. -You can call me Gwyndolin. But I thank you for the offer, Lorian. I could have used some more.- Lorian sits down, by his side, like two children exchanging smalltalk. He has the same pale skin Lothric and Father have – but he shares Lothric’s cold voice as well, and a gentility only worthy of a prince. -You have fed countless.-. Gwyndolin stares in front of himself, contemplative. -I can feel nothing but respect for a prince so hard-working.- Lorian can feel himself blush. He says nothing, but a part of him feels as if Gwyndolin already knows. They’re an intelligent one, and as ancestral as the world itself. What is a prince, next to a God? -Those people owe you greatly.- -And you.- Gwyndolin says. -You fought valiantly. And tonight, you too will return home.- Lorian nods, not willing to add any further words. -I will cherish the memory of this day.- he says. The Darkmoon looks at him oddly, and there’s no surprise: he has been kidnapped, he remembers, and there should be no fondness in the trauma of the countless around. Yet, he feels no remorse at being selfish for once. And Gwyndolin looks as gorgeous as he’s ever been, smiling by his side, as gentle as the moon. Could a prince aspire to a God? -Yet,- he ends up muttering, -I do not feel safe.- Gwyndolin nods, taking his hands into his own. -I understand. Breathe, Lorian. ’Tis all over.- Lorian nods again. Because it is, for once in his life.

#dark souls #dark souls 3 #dark sun gwyndolin #lorian elder prince #lorilin #badthingshappenbingo #kidnapping #ily fren #hope u like it

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sarcasmo-mexicano · 6 years ago

Text

Flowers for Xur

Xaaldreen took another look at the Antique coin they were holding. It wasn’t bigger than the palm of their hand, it had a beautifully design, the shimmer of the gold starting to fade away; They could see their own, small, reflection on the greenish stone the coin had in its center. The hunter had a small pouch, almost filled with these, and they refused to spend them. From time to time they would pick any coin, and trace the overcomplicated but yet simple design with their finger.

Their fireteam however, did not share the same enjoyment from examine the coins as them. Every other day, they will count the coins each of them had and proceeded to go pay a visit to the Agent of the Nine. The first times, they would invite them over, claiming that the seller had some exotic weaponary or even armor they would like. But Xaaldren always refused. After that, they stopped. The hunter was glad their teammates could find something they like with the seller, but they didn’t need such things. They were ok with their set of armor, with their old cloak. Their weapons had never fail them. They found more joy when the sun reflected its light into the strange coin. It make them smile.

As it was expect that day, their team went off without them to see the one who they called Xur. Xaaldren wait for them back at the plaza in the Tower, leaning into the rail watching other guardians ships coming back home.

“Why don’t you spend your coins Xaal?” Nephrite, their Ghost, suddenly asked, making herself comfortable in the inside of their hood. “Don’t you want a new cloak? Maybe a new gun! I know you deserve it more than any of these guardians”

Xaaldren remained in silence for a few seconds. “I like the coins better” They simply reply. “They are pretty”

Nephrite sigh. Her guardian was indeed a weird one. Not as weird as that ONE guardian that just straight went to fight the Hive the first days they were rezzed, and then slayed Crota, and then Oryx, and then...Nevermind. Xaaldren was- different from the other guardians, but she love them regardless. They were HER guardian after all. “Seems like your buddies are going to be busy”

Xaaldren nodded. “Lunch?”

“Steamed buns?” Her guardian’s eyes light up, nodding more enthusiastically, making Nephrite laugh. “Ok let’s go!”

On their way out, the Hunter noticed the pillars at the base of the stairs. There was small patches of soil, as if someone wanted to put some kind of plant but, ultimately, forgot about it. They seem so gray and bare.

“Xaaldren? Something wrong?”

The Hunter shook their head.

. . .

At the market, while eating one bun while holding the bag with the other, Xaaldren took a small stroll. Many guardians were standing on the food stalls, eating and talking to each other. Some of them seem tired, with blackish eye bags under his equally tired eyes, other had smiles on their faces, laughing as hard as they could. It was all a mix of sounds and smells. The Hunter, certainly, liked this better than the quiet Tower. They were having a second bite when a small stall took their attention. They step closer, the seller, an old man give him a welcoming smile. On his table, were many trinkets, probably from the golden age. But that wasn’t what make them approach.

It was the small potted flower. It was a long green cord, covered with small purple flowers, from its base to the very tip. They could see how other sprout were making its way from the dirt.

“Lavander” the seller said, making Xaaldren look away from the plant. “From outside the city, far away from here. It took me a few tries to bloom this beauty, but it was worth it. Don’t you think?” Xaaldren nodded. “Not many guardians stop by. Do you like it hunter?”

“Yes, I do” Xaaldren replied.

The old man gave them a smile. “Tell you what hunter, I have a few other seeds along this pretty girl ones, and a book about gardening. I can sell them to you”

The hunter did never took their glimmer faster than in that moment.

. . .

He read and re-read the book, day after day. It was not until they could probably recite the entire thing that they decided to plant their first seed. The small envelope read “fern”. They knew what a fern was, they had seen it on patrols, growing as if their world wasn’t plagued with enemies. Every day after that, the Hunter would check into the pot they planted the seed. They would check the temperature, the dirt, water it, and change the pot into a place with more sun or more shadow. After a few days, tiny green leaves appear. Xaaldren was happy.

After the fern grew a bit more, Xaaldren decided it was better for it to be on a bigger pot. And they knew a perfect place.

Guardians and Vanguard alike, watched in silence as the awoken hunter dug a hole into the pillars planters, placing a green fern on it, covering up again and then leave. Nobody question them, non-tried to stop them. And didn’t question as every other month, they would come back, this time with a different plant or flower, and put those in a different pillar, until just one was left empty.

. . .

Xaaldren had bought a special pot for the lavender. It a simple, clay pot that someone in the past had painted purple and gold waves into it, make it prettier yet still simple. They anxiously placed the seeds on the dirt, then they waited.

And just as the other times, Xaaldren placed the full grown lavender into the last empty pillar. The purple flowers drop into the stone, making itself home. It wasn’t until they fireteam came back from their shopping day that the hunter noticed the strange symbol on the same pillar. They could only read “IX”

. . .

Lavender is easy to take care. But Xaaldren liked to make sure all their plants were ok, early in the morning they would step in the plaza, gardening tools in a bag to check every single one of them. Usually the plaza at those hours were almost empty, with only a few guardians and of course the vanguard, around. However, when Xaaldren came for the daily check, a person was standing in front of the lavender pillar. Just…Observing. It was like this strange person –dressed head to toes in black, carrying a big backpack on their back- could feel their presence as they turn around to see them. Xaaldren step back. This person face, well this person lacked a face. It was all dark in the place where eyes, nose, mouth should be. If the hunter look at them still, they could see movement, as if there was something there, like tentacles. They could only see their eyes, yellow and shiny like a cats.

“Don’t fear Guardian” They said. “Im only, admiring this before my duty”

“Your duty?” Xaaldren ask, walking closer to this individual, putting their gardening back in the floor near the pillar.

“Im Xur, agent of the Nine” He introduced himself. “I sell guardians like you, very value engrams.” Xur explained as he watched the hunter take out what it looked like a strange thermometer. “I had seen many guardians, but I don’t recall seeing you”

Xaaldren placed the thermometer into the soil, then faced Xur, they were almost the same height. “Im Xaaldren Xuruhn” they said sticking their hand toward the Agent. “It’s a pleasure to meet you”

Xur stared at the hunters hand then the guardian themselves. Nobody had ever introduced to him in such polite manner. Unsure he squeezed the hunter’s hand. After the introductions he, then again, looked back at the flowers. “Such a pretty flower” he said carefully touching one of the sprouts. “The color of the Nine too”

“You put that strange symbol in the pillar?” Xaaldren asked as they water the other plants, the lavender was just fine.

“That I do” Xur reply “For guardians to known when Im here” The Agent stared at the other plants. They were healthy, colorful. “I assume you take care of them” The hunter nodded. “A noble job you are doing”

Xaaldren put away their tools, hanging the bag around their shoulder. “You like them?”

Xur wasn’t sure. After all his will didn’t belong to him no more but at the Nine. Could he say he liked the flowers? Or it was the Nine who did? Strange thing to have in mind. Like something so vain yet so beautiful. The Nine wouldn’t appreciate this. “I do”

. . .

When the lavender fade away, Xaaldren would stop by the old man’s stall, to buy more. Sometimes more lavender, others bright orange poppies or pure white chrysanthemum. When the seller didn’t have any more seeds, Xaaldren would pick some wild ones when they were out in a patrol. The Towers planters were never empty. Some other guardians even started to take care of them when the hunter couldn’t.

Everything stayed the same, except for one thing.

Guardians didn’t noticed at first, and if they do, they never really pointed at it. It was mention in passing conversations or lunch breaks. But that was it.

The days when Xur was in the Tower, the pillar he would mark down, will always have lavender. There could be another flower in the same planter, but the purple flowers didn’t missed a day. Some guardians swear that the Agent of the Nine would be there, beside the flowers before going to his usual spot in the Tower. He didn’t have a face, but they swear on their graves he seem to be enjoying himself.

#destiny #destiny 2 #destiny oc #guardian oc #destiny fic #fan fic #xur #xaaldren xurunh #xur agent of the nine #casmo writes #fluff

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icharchivist · 7 years ago

Note

LAVEN PLS

SEND ME A SHIP OR CHARACTER AND I’LL TELL YOU WHAT SONG(S) I ASSOCIATE WITH THEM!

m an the Laven stuff, it’s been a while!!!

I’ll do my best!

Edit: 1/04/2019: Revamped it with new songs too o/

under cut soo i can add some later:

Nearly Witches (Ever Since we Met) - Panic! At the Disco

How does a heart love, if no one has noticed its presence And where does it go? Trembling hands play my heart like a drum, But the beat’s gotten lost in the showYou have set your heart on haunting me Forever from the start, It’s never silent

Crooked Kind - Radical Face

So, collect your scars and wear ‘em well,Your blood’s a good an ink as any.Go scratch your name into the cloudsAnd pull ‘em all… down.The thunder plays it’s drumThe air is heavy with the smell of stormsAnd I sit beside my brother and I feel him shakeAs he laughs himself right back to sleepAnd I’m laughin’ with him, but I smell their bloodMy finger’s trace their faces in the woodI hear their voices somewhere in my bonesI feel them sing along when I’m aloneWhen I’m not too frightened that is when I know

Beautiful Words - The Afters

Have we been running round in circles, Missing all that we could beYou say it’s not too lateWe are words, on pages that we’ve left unturnedAn ending no one’s ever heardWe are a story slowly unfolding, Beautiful words(…) And you could melt away this winterNow we’re starting over, We will see it’s not too lateThat last when everything else has passedEven when the stars are goneI know every single beautiful word that we were will live on

Wicked Game - Chris Isaak

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do.I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you.And I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you.No, I don’t want to fall in love(this girl is only gonna break your heart) with youWhat a wicked game you play to make me feel this way. What a wicked thing to do to make me dream of you (…)No, I wanna fall in love with you

Wash it all Away - Hypnogaja

I’m trying to find my way, But every direction looks the sameUnmasking all my fears, Have I been lost for all these years?And I say baby pleaseCan you come down and take away all of the painCan you come down to ease me and wash it all away(…) Dreams die and fade awayBut time will bring another day(…) I hear you call my nameBut will you hear me when I say?

Golden Days - Panic! At the Disco

Oh don’t you wonder when the light begins to fade?And the clock just makes the colors turn to greyForever younger growing older just the sameAll the memories that we make will never changeWe’ll stay drunk, we’ll stay tan, let the love remainAnd I swear that I’ll always paint you Golden days!Time can never break your heartBut It’ll take the pain awayRight now our future’s certainI won’t let it fade away

Samson - Regina Spektor

Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truthI have to go, I have to goYour hair was long when we first metSamson went back to bedNot much hair left on his headHe ate a slice of wonder bread, and went right back to bedAnd history books forgot about us and the Bible didn’t mention usAnd the Bible didn’t mention us, not even onceYou are my sweetest downfallI loved you first, I loved you firstBeneath the stars came fallin’ on our headsBut they’re just old light, they’re just old lightYour hair was long when we first met

Venus - Sleeping At Last

At first I thought you were a constellation.I made a map of your stars, then I had a revelation:You’re as beautiful as endless,You’re the universe I’m helpless in.An astronomer at my bestWhen I throw away the measurements.Like a telescope, I will pull you so close, 'til no space lies in between.And suddenly I see you.I was a billion little pieces, 'til you pulled me into focus.Astronomy in reverse, It was me who was discovered.

Neptune - Sleeping at Last

I’m only honest when it rainsIf I time it right, the thunder breaksWhen I open my mouth, I wanna tell you but I don’t know howI’m only honest when it rainsAn open book, with a torn out page and my inks run outI wanna love you but I don’t know how

I Found - Amber Run

And I’ll use you as focal pointSo I don’t lose sight of what I wantAnd I’ve moved further than I thought I couldBut I miss you more than I thought I wouldOh I’ll use you as a warning signThat if you talk enough sense, then you’ll lose your mindAnd I found love where it wasn’t supposed to beRight in front of me, talk some sense to me

Slow and Steady - Sleeping At Last

we’ve learned to brace for the worstand to read the last pages first, surrender feels safe.but we can’t dream when we’re wide awake or fall in love with a heart too strong to break.(…) faith is expensive to taste, and time is borrowed loose change that’s already been spent. maybe the soul is the tone of voice that unearthed the words that we needed…

Help - Hurts

‘Cause I know what I’ve been missingAnd I know that I should tryBut there’s hope in this admissionAnd there’s freedom in your eyes(..) But when I hear you call my nameI whisper the word that I never thought I’d ever say(..)I can feel the darkness comingAnd I’m afraid of myselfCall my name and I’ll come running‘Cause I just need some help

Junior - Stateless

You say that these are nothing more than wordsBut they’re all words from old songs (..)All this talk of war is it everydayHatred resides in a fitful mind and I don’t want to live that wayYou leave between the stepping stones of life, Be careful not to slip nowYou’re too young to dieYour blood is full of energy, There’s fire in your eyesBut these people aren’t your enemy. The truth gets disguised All this talk of war is it everydayNow it’s raging inside, and the bullets are flyingCan’t find a good enough reason why(…)Don’t make your mind a prison cell

Like the Dawn - The Oh Hello’s

And like the dawn you broke the dark and my whole earth shook(…)You were the brightest shade of sun I had ever seenYour skin was gilded with the gold of the richest kingsAnd like the dawn you woke the world inside of meYou were the brightest shade of sun when I saw youAt last, and you will surely be the death of meBut how could I have known?

All I Need - Within Temptation

I’m here on the edge again, I wish I could let it goI know that I’m only one step away from turning it aroundCan you still see the heart of me?All my agony fades away when you hold me in your embraceDon’t tear me down for all I need, Make my heart a better placeGive me something I can believeDon’t tear it down, what’s left of me, Make my heart a better placeI tried many times but nothing was realMake it fade away, don’t break me downI want to believe that this is for realSave me from my fear, Don’t tear me down

Faster - Within Temptation

I can’t see, cause it’s burning deep inside. Like gasoline, a fire running wild.No more fear, cause I’m getting closer now. So unreal, but I like it anyhow. (..) And I go faster and faster and faster and faster for love.And I can’t live in a fairytale of lies.I can feel that you’ve mesmerized my heart.I feel so free. I’m alive, I’m breaking out.I won’t give in, cause I’m proud of all my scars.And I can see I’ve been wasting too much time.

Utopia - Within Temptation

The burning desire to live and roam freeIt shines in the dark and it grows within meYou’re holding my hand but you don’t understandSo where I am going you won’t be in the endI’m dreamin’ in colours, of getting the chanceDreamin’ of trying the perfect romanceThe search of the door to open your mindIn search of the cure of mankind(…) Why does it have to kill the ideal of who we are?Why does it rain, rain, rain down on Utopia?How will the lights die down, telling us who we are?I’m searching for answers not given for freeThey’re hurting inside is there life within meYou’re holding my hand but you don’t understandSo you’re taking the road all alone in the end

Salvation - Skillet

All alone, lost in this abyss, crawling in the darkNothing to wet my longing lips, And I wonder where you areAre you far? will you come to my rescue?Am I left to die? but I can’t give up on you I feel you keeping me alive, You are my salvationTouch you, taste you, feel you here,I feel you keeping me alive You are my salvation, Hold me, heal me, keep me nearMy heart will burn for you, It’s all I can doBeen out from under who I am, and who I want to beHeld you tightly in my hands, Why are we unraveling?Was it me? will you come to my rescue?Or did I push to far when I turned my back on you?

Fire And Fury - Skillet

If I freeze you are the flame, You melt my heart, I washed in your rain, I know You’ll always have the best of me Destiny’s got a hold on me, Guess I never knew love like love knows me‘Cause I need to feel you here with meI will burn, I will burn for you, with fire and furyMy heart hurts, my heart hurts for youYour love burns within me, With fire and fury Let it all fall down to dust, Can’t break the two of usWe are the safe in the strength of love, You can stop the aching, 'Cause you’re the one I need

Hold me tight or don’t - Fall Out Boy

I never really feel a thing, I’m just kinda too frozeYou were the only one that even kinda came closeI just pinch myself, No longer comatose, I woke up, no luck(…) This isn’t how our story ends, So hold me tight, or don’tI got too high again, realized I can’t not be with youOr be just your friend, I love you to deathBut I just can’t, I just can’t pretend We were lovers firstConfidants but never friends, Were we ever friends?

I Walk The Line - Halsey

I keep a close watch on this heart of mineI keep my eyes wide open all the timeI keep the ends out for the tie that bindsBecause you’re mine, I walk the lineI find it very, very easy to be trueI find myself alone when each day is throughYes, I’ll admit that I’m a fool for youBecause you’re mine, I walk the lineYou’ve got a way to keep me on your sideYou give me cause for love that I can’t hideFor you I know I’d even try to turn the tide

My Indigo - My Indigo

Ink burns on the page, blue to blackBut words are fireproof, can’t take backWhile the memory’s aliveWhen there’s pennies on our eyes, we’ll never restCan we take a second now, To rain down the heavy storm that’s in our chestYou don’t have to love me, There’s one thing you should knowMy love will not unravel, It’s unconditionalEven when the heart won’t let me show, you don’t have to say to let me know

Say (All I Need) - OneRepublic

Do you know where your heart is? Do you think you can find it?Did you trade it for something, somewhere, better just to have it?Do you know where your love is? Do you think that you lost it?You felt it so strong but nothings Turned out how you want itWell bless my soul, You’re a lonely soulCause you wont let go, Of anything you holdWell all I need is the air I breathe, And a place to rest my headDo you know what your fate is? And are you trying to shake it?You’re doing your best and your best lookYou’re praying that you’ll make it

Ghost Town - Radical Face

I seen more places than I can nameAnd over time they all start to look the sameBut it ain’t that truth we chase, No, it’s the promise of a better placeBut all this time, I been chasin’ down a lie, and I know it for what it isBut it beats the alternatives, So I’ll take the lieI still miss you, There’s no goin’ home with a name like mineI still dream of you, But everyone knowsIf you can, let it go

That was harder than expected @.@ but I hope you like it ❤

Take care!

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