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#I’m still grieving their absence after all
essskel · 8 months
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Angoulême as Geralt’s false Ciri is a concept that always obliterates me. She’s introduced as Ciri, deconstructed as a hopefully avoidable future state of the real Ciri’s, and then blends back into Ciri when harmed in front of Geralt. She can only be Ciri when she’s bleeding, which luckily she does a lot. Angoulême is the photo of Ciri on the dashboard of the Hanza’s van that they all stare at as a reminder of what they’re truly after. Angoulême reminds Geralt of what it’s like to be a father, but makes him ever farther from it because she is still False and the absence in him has a shape now. To parent her would be wrong because that’s not his daughter that’s just a girl. He parents her anyway. Angoulême is the doll given to a grieving mother who needs something baby-shaped to hold. And it is comforting. You start to love the doll as a doll too. The doll has her own clothes now, she answers when you speak to her.
On the other hand: Ciri is both a princess and a street rat, but she’s most importantly neither of those things. Those two false but very real roles that she runs from and into are so overwhelming to her narrative that they exist as people in the story: The False Cirilla in Emhyr’s court, and Angoulême in Geralt’s Hanza. False Cirilla and Angoulême, but especially Angoulême are characters of their own who I hate that I sound like I’m downplaying or tossing aside as nothing but imagery to further Ciri’s story, but also you can’t talk about either of them without talking about how they overlap and grow off of Ciri like a cell in mitosis.
Angoulême is here because Geralt loves Ciri, False Cirilla is here because Emhyr has a daughter-shaped cage that collapses unless it’s filled. The two fathers confront the reality of their daughter while staring at a girl who they have no relation to, but it’s alright, they realize what they need to realize anyway. There was no medicine in that pill, it was just sugar, you got over the pain on your own, good job.
And then we reach the bloody ending and it hits us that Angoulême is so much more that Ciri, and that we love Angoulême too. That we and Geralt and the story were cruel to try and twist her into this shape, she’s such a great kid, she deserves her own story she’s going to be such a woman. Fuck this post Angoulême isn’t Ciri Angoulême is Angoulême and these comparisons are getting so old and played out. Then she dies in Ciri’s arms.
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theforgottenmcrmy · 1 year
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Storms (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)
᯽ Part 1 of this story, “Safety”, can be read HERE.᯽
᯽ Part 2 of this story, “Captivated”, can be read HERE.᯽
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Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader
Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, violence, references to a sick parent, death of minor characters.
Word Count: 7,800 ish.
Summary: A royal wedding should be a joyous occasion for the realm- but there’s something ominous in the air. Dark clouds linger over the royal family, and the rest of Westeros. Even you may not be able to make it through what lies ahead unscathed... Fortunately, you’ve found someone who you know you can count on to always be by your side.
A/N: Y’all... I’m still shooketh over here.🥲🖤 I really appreciate all the support so very much. I’ll keep writing for this as long as I have ideas and as long as there’s a want for it. If anyone is interested, I highly recommend listening to The Green Dress score while reading the second half- it’s what I did while writing it. The score is just *chef’s kiss* and sets the tone for the whole feast so well. I hope you all enjoy, and please feel free to let me know what you think!
PS, before you come after me because of the little time jump, I politely ask that you keep reading... I didn’t skip over *the scene*, I promise!😂
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The winds of change had come to blow through Westeros.
Princess Rhaenyra’s tour of the Seven Kingdoms in search of a future King Consort had abruptly come to an end. Though the death of one of the suitors during Lord Boremond’s host at Storm’s End would have put a tainted mark on the remainder of her tours to come, the Princess had declared the tour over herself shortly thereafter… Despite the two months of traveling that remained.
Prince Daemon had finally returned from his war in the Stepstones, and presented King Viserys with the crown he had been bestowed upon him following his victory. The two Targaryen brothers reunited in a touching scene witnessed by most of the Court. He was welcomed at Court once more… until one day, he wasn’t.
Following an incident that you did not know the entire truth of, though you wouldn’t have spoken of it if you did know, the King had exiled him again. You could tell Princess Rhaenyra grieved the absence of her uncle once more, but then Ser Criston Cole had been suddenly much more attentive to her…
King Viserys had dismissed Lord Otto Hightower from his duties as Hand of the King, an event that had not only generated a large amount of whispers among the Reach, but among the other kingdoms as well. The King had appointed Lord Lyonel Strong in his stead.
Following Princess Rhaenyra’s denouncement of the tour, King Viserys had arranged the marriage for her with Ser Laenor Velaryon. Like a few others at Court, you had heard rumors of her cousin’s… preferences, and were worried, though it was not your place to offer up your opinion on. Eventually, she noticed your reservations, and had subtly, but full-heartedly, assured you that she and Ser Laenor had reached an arrangement. Besides, King Viserys’ mind was made up, and Princess Rhaenyra did not try to change it. Despite your initial hesitation, you shared the opinion of King Viserys- the match was a good one. Uniting the two branches of the Targaryen House and healing old wounds could only bode well for the dynasty.
From then on, you threw yourself into your work even more, supporting Princess Rhaenyra in any way you could with the royal wedding preparations. It kept you very busy, but you were grateful for something else to focus on.
After many weeks of planning and preparation, the week of the royal wedding celebration had finally arrived.
You and Princess Rhaenyra stood on a balcony amongst the far end of the palace gardens, looking over Blackwater Bay in the distance. Though Ser Criston Cole may have accompanied you previously, he had not chosen to this time. He’d been standoffish lately, and regarded Princess Rhaenyra with much more formality than you were used to seeing him display. Something had happened between them, you deduced… but, much like the circumstances that led to the sudden exile of Prince Daemon, you knew better than to ask unless the Princess spoke of it first.
Both of you watched in comfortable silence as ships, almost all of them bearing the Velaryon coat of arms, sailed toward King’s Landing. The vessels spanned as far back and across the water as your eyes could see. The fleet appeared to be moving slowly- but you knew that to be a fallacy. In what would be no time at all, the Princess’ betrothed, his family, most of their household, and various bannermen and members of the guard would make land.
An odd whistling noise ran out from the sky. You tilted your head upwards, as did Princess Rhaenyra, and three large, majestic beasts broke through the clouds up above. The three dragons and their riders flew downwards, their wings skimming the water between ships before flying up ahead.
Princess Rhaenyra pointed to one, then another, and finally, the third. “There’s Seasmoke… Meleys… and of course, Vhagar.”
More whistling could be heard as the dragons flew over the castle, rustling the trees and shrubbery around you with the wind. They descended from the sky before finally disappearing from view- presumably landing in the periphery of the Dragon Pit.
Dragons were fascinating creatures, but they were still terrifying. Unlike many others throughout the Seven Kingdoms, you were glad not to have been born a Targaryen… No one had ever heard of someone being burned or eaten alive by roses.
You would have been content to stay there and watch the incoming ships sail into the bay with the Princess until the sun set, but you knew you both had duties to attend to elsewhere. You looked over at her with an apologetic look.
“We should return to your chambers soon, Your Grace. The earlier you are dressed and ready, the better.”
It went without saying that Princess Rhaenyra being late to the welcome feast would simply be unacceptable.
“We will, shortly,” she promised distractedly, her focus having returned to the bay.
You felt sympathy for her. You had a feeling that, would it have been possible, Princess Rhaenyra would have had heirs for her line whilst forgoing marriage altogether. Alas, not even the Targaryens were that magical, and a King Consort would be needed for some things.
“Princess Rhaenyra… Lady Y/N.”
The pair of you turned around to face the third party who had joined you.
“Ser Harwin!” Princess Rhaenyra gleamed, before looking at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “To what do we owe the pleasure, My Lord?”
Ser Harwin smiled patiently. “A messenger informed me that you had requested my presence, Your Grace.”
“Did I?” Princess Rhaenyra feigned, looking at you with mock confusion. “Well, I simply cannot recall why I may have done that… My sincerest apologies, Ser Harwin.”
“No apologies needed, Your Grace,” Ser Harwin assured her cordially.
His eyes drifted calmly over to you. In a flash, you caught a wink he sent in your direction, causing your eyes to fall to the dirt path beneath you.
“Well,” Princess Rhaenyra said then, taking a few steps away from the balcony and back into gardens. “You are absolutely correct, Lady Y/N- I should return to my chambers and get ready for the feast at once.”
“Would you like me to go with you, Your Princess?” you asked her, though you already knew her answer.
Princess Rhaenyra came to a stop beside Ser Harwin and vaguely waved you off over her shoulder. “No, no, no. Take your time. The girls will assist me until you arrive.”
Ser Harwin looked amused.
“As you wish, Your Grace,” you called to her, smirking.
“Princess,” Ser Harwin nodded her respectfully as she proceeded to walk away and head back towards the Red Keep.
Such had been a little “game” of hers as of late. The Princess seemed to take far too much amusement out of summoning the knight nicknamed Breakbones, finding a convenient reason to excuse herself, and leaving the two of you alone. Though her game had the potential to create quite the scandal for the pair of you, should you be spotted together in a compromising scene without any escort, you knew without a doubt that Princess Rhaenyra meant no harm. In fact, you were rather grateful for her meddling ways.
Once the Princess was out of earshot, Ser Harwin took a step forward, closing the distance between you. He nodded to you in greeting, but when he spoke this time, his tone was far more tender than it had been just a few moments before.
“My Love.”
You tilted your head upwards to look at him better. The mere sight of him caused you to smile so widely that it felt as though your face might go numb from the joy you were trying to contain. “Dearest.”
Of all the changes that had been occurring in Westeros, none had bore more of an impact on or immersed as much as your newfound courtship with Ser Harwin Strong.
“You look breathtaking today, as usual.”
Your cheeks burned. “Thank you, My Lord.”
You still weren’t used to Ser Harwin’s praises, but part of you hoped you never would be. The fluttering you felt in your stomach upon hearing the sweet words reminded you just how much you cared for the man in front of you.
You attempted to joke, “If you think of me as beautiful now, you should see me in the gown I am to wear to the feast.”
Ser Harwin happily took the bait. “I assure you, I have been counting down the hours until my eyes are blessed with the sight.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling any wider. You took a moment to glance around you, ensuring that the two of you were alone. Once you were confident that you would not be heard, or overseen, you took another step closer towards the man that held your heart, extending your hands outwards to him as you did so.
Ser Harwin took his hands in your own hands with practiced ease. His hands were calloused from years of training and fighting, but you wouldn’t have changed that. The feel of your intertwined hands was grounding… and you needed to be grounded whenever you spoke with him lately, as his words tended to leave you bogged in an enamored daze.
His eyes, which looked upon you with nothing but the utmost care, tended to cloud your mind terribly, too.
“You look particularly happy today,” you noted, an unspoken question lingering in your tone.
“Seeing My Lady does tend to uplift my spirits,” Ser Harwin admitted playfully, his thumbs running lightly over the back of your hands.
You gave him an equally playful stern look. “My Lord,” you chided, laughing once. “You are a charmer, I will grant you that… But you know that is not what I meant.”
Ser Harwin gently raised one of your hands to his lips, placing a gentle kiss upon it. The action would normally have caused you to nearly swoon, but you pushed onwards, desperate for an answer to your question.
“Harwin,” you plead, lowering your voice as you addressed him informally, in the hope that it might cause him to focus. It worked- something shifted within his eyes, and suddenly, he looked more alert, more attentive.
“Please tell me,” you asked of him, “Has there been any news?”
The news which you sought was that of your impending betrothal.
Much had happened in both of your personal lives since Derron Tyrell’s visit to King’s Landing some time ago. Ser Harwin Strong’s letter that he’d written to your father had compelled your brother to travel to discuss the matter with him, and his father, Lord Lyonel, in person. Upon his arrival, your brother’s first inquiry in the matter was as to whether a betrothal to Ser Harwin was something you truly desired.
The Strongs were a noble family, and Harrenhal was the largest castle in all of Westeros, despite the ghastly tales. It was also worth mentioning that Harwin was now son to the newly appointed Hand of the King. But you were the only daughter of Lord Larris Tyrell, Defender of the Marshes, Lord Paramount of the Reach, Warden of the South… and all those other titles. You were from the Great House of the Reach, and Ser Harwin, while the oldest son and heir, was of a smaller noble house from the Riverlands. Not to mention that the Hand of the King was not a position that guaranteed any permanency.
Your father and brother had long since decided that they would choose a suitor for you, but they had also made no promises about denying you a suitor who they deemed as unworthy. They both wanted reassurance that this marriage would bring you true happiness, and not one arranged merely because Ser Harwin Strong had been the first to make an offer. After all, there were more advantageous matches for you that could be made… and there had been a mention of a certain Lannister or two.
You attempted to tell your brother about how your attachment to Ser Harwin, and his to you, had developed. You hoped it might explain why Ser Harwin had been compelled to write such a letter.
“Am I to understand this is a love match, then?” your brother had asked then, hopefully.
It most certainly was.
You could still recall the scene in your mind…
Your heart pounded in your chest. You had sent word through a personal messenger, one whom the Princess used frequently for her own devices when subtlety and discretion was of the utmost importance.
Ser Harwin must have gotten your message, as he was already waiting for you out in the castle gardens, in the exact secluded spot where you had requested to meet with him.
“Lady Y/N… I heard the Red Keep welcomed a visitor from the Reach today,” he jested, visibly nervous once more, just as he had been when you had spoken with him last. “Perhaps they are an acquaintance of yours?”
You wordlessly withdrew the letter, which you had clutched tightly in your fist, and presented it to him. “This letter… This letter that you wrote to my father. What does this mean?”
“Have you read it?” he asked, eyeing the parchment with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.
“Please,” you begged. “I have spent the better part of my memory believing that you were taken with and about to be betrothed to another. My heart simply cannot take any more jests or delays at its expense… Speak plainly, My Lord. What does this letter mean?”
Upon the seriousness of your tone, which was a far cry from your usual playful banter and jovial attitudes the two of you had exchanged, Ser Harwin fell quiet, and his nerves immediately dissipated. You heard his jaw close, and for a moment, as he looked down at you with gravity in his eyes and upon his face, you feared he might not speak at all.
When he did, he spoke in a very calm voice.
“I can make my intentions very plain to you, My Lady,” he vowed. “If you will grant me permission to do so.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you were slightly off put by his choice of phrasing. “Of course, but-”
Ser Harwin silenced you by leaning down and capturing your lips with his own.
You froze, unsure of how to react to the foreign gesture. Before your brain or heart could fight for control of your next move, Ser Harwin withdrew from you, leaving you stunned, and, to your mild embarrassment, gawking up at him.
“You have captivated me, and stolen my heart right out from my chest. I know I have wronged you by not admitting this truth to you first, as I had intended. As punishment, know that my heart is yours to do with as you see fit… Though I would dare to beg you for mercy, Y/N. If you feel the same for me as I do for you, I ask that you grant me an honor which I most likely do not deserve, but will strive everyday for the rest of my life to be worthy of… I ask that you pledge yourself to me, and become my wife.”
How could the truth have been right in front of your eyes for so long, and yet you had mistaken it for something else entirely?! It was a folly you would not soon let yourself live down, that much was for certain.
“And, should you not feel the same,” Ser Harwin continued, noting your silence, “and I have now wronged you in more ways than one, you need only say so. I shall leave you at once, and without a word. We shall never speak of this aga-”
With a newfound sense of courage you did not know you possessed, you stood up on your toes, and kissed the man you loved right back.
It was Ser Harwin’s turn to be silenced.
There was no telling how long the pair of you stayed out that night, tucked away from the rest of the Red Keep and all of King’s Landing, just enjoying being in the presence of each other. But there was one more moment you recall definitively.
“I love you.”
“And I love you.”
“Also, my answer is yes.”
“I… hoped as much, My Lady.”
 …
You almost let out a wistful sigh. The memory of that night was still clearly visible in your mind’s eye, just as clear as Harwin was now, standing before you.
Had you both been commoners, you would have already been wed. Ser Harwin had admitted as much, and you agreed. But as both of your families were of the nobility, the two of you were forced to wait as your fathers negotiated the finer details of the exchange instead.
After your brother had learned the truth of your feelings, and after having a private conversation with Ser Harwin shortly after, Derron met with Lord Lyonel to begin the discussions. But, as your father was to be made privy to every detail, the negotiations had not been complete by the time your brother was due to return to Highgarden.
Lord Lyonel Strong had presented your brother with the details of his most recent offer, and shortly after, you returned to Highgarden with your brother to see your father. You were glad to visit him, and to learn that his health had improved from what you had last heard and feared. Your father was happy to see you too- not only as a faithful and dutiful servant to Princess Rhaenyra, but also as a woman who was soon to be wed to her love, an honorable knight who was more than capable of providing for and protecting her.
Your father reviewed the offer made by Lord Lyonel, and wrote his own counteroffer. You presented it to Lord Lyonel upon your return to King’s Landing, and the waiting began. Since then, for a long few weeks, ravens flew from King’s Landing to Highgarden and back, many, many times, as the negotiations continued.
The issue of your dowry proved to be a significant hurdle. At first, Your father couldn’t help but be a little suspicious of the Strongs’ motives with the proposed alliance. Throughout all the Seven Kingdoms, the Tyrells were second in wealth only to the Lannisters. You knew that acquiring wealth was the last thing on Ser Harwin’s mind when confessed his feelings to you, and he’d said as much several times since. But eventually, a dowry amount was settled upon that was found to be acceptable for both families. There was an additional stipulation- all of the funds were to go towards repairs to Harrenhal and its surrounding grounds. The hope was that doing so would make the castle safer for you and your husband… and eventually, your children.
Since then, the negotiation points had been of little concern to either of you: where the wedding would take place, who would pay for what parts of the celebration, where you would spend parts of the year, and what surname your children would have. It was all trifling. Both you and Ser Harwin just wanted the negotiations to conclude, and the sooner, the better.
“Unfortunately, I have no news for you today, My Lady,” he informed you, his thumbs still tracing lightly over the backs of your hands. His gaze lifted from your intertwined hands, and he looked deeply into your eyes. “But my father assures me that they are close to reaching a final agreement.”
You didn’t have the heart to point out to him that he had already been telling you that for quite some time. “Let us hope.”
Ser Harwin looked about your surroundings briefly, confirming that you were still alone. In consolation to your disappointment, he leant downwards, and placed a soft kiss upon your forehead.
Despite your frustrations, and his own, it could always be said that Harwin never hesitated to do whatever he could to reassure you that the match between you was one worth waiting for.
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“You look beautiful, Your Grace.”
Princess Rhaenyra turned her head over her shoulder and smiled at you as you entered her chambers. Two ladies- who happened to be none other than Ser Harwin’s younger sisters- attended to her. One smoothed out the skirts of her dress while the other was putting some adornments in her silver hair.
After their father had been appointed Hand of the King, the two girls had only recently been chosen by the Princess to serve as her junior ladies in waiting. They were a few years younger than you and the Princess, but old enough to have some scrutiny and tact about them, and they were eager to please. Both were already dressed and prepared for the welcome feast.
You looked over the Princess’ appearance with mock scrutiny, but ultimately smiled. “The two of you did such an excellent job… I fear I shall no longer be of service soon.”
Princess Rhaenyra rolled her eyes playfully. “Come now, Lady Y/N- how ever would I get on without you?” One of the girls presented her with a hand mirror. The Princess looked over her appearance for a moment before giving a small nod. “This will do. Thank you very much, My Ladies.”
The girls smiled, giddy with her praise.
“You two should head on over to the throne room,” Princess Rhaenyra dismissed them. “I’ll have Lady Y/N attend to whatever is left.”
The girls nodded in understanding, curtsied, and promptly left the Princess’ chambers.
Princess Rhaenyra picked up the small mirror again, and apprised her appearance once more. You caught a glimpse of her face in the reflection from your place a few feet away, and it was with a twinge of sadness that you realized how downtrodden she looked.
“Are you well, Your Grace?” you asked her quietly, subtly offering her an opportunity to speak about whatever was on her mind.
Unfortunately, the Princess did not wish to speak of whatever was troubling her. She put the mirror down and turned to face you. “Yes, all is well,” she answered, though her tone still left you questioning the sincerity of her words. She smiled at you teasingly, and inquired, “Is everything alright with you, Lady Y/N?”
You pursed your lips, fighting off a smile.
“Has there been any news?” the Princess asked, eargerly and expectantly.
Though you still were in her service, Princess Rhaenyra had become a true friend and confidant of yours. She was knowledgeable of the negotiations stalling your marriage to Ser Harwin, and was sympathetic for you.
“Not yet,” you answered, unable to disguise the disappointment in your voice.
“I am sorry to hear that… But the night is still young,” Princess Rhaenyra noted optimistically. “I bet that by the end of the week, another betrothal announcement shall be made.”
You certainly hoped so, but didn’t want to get your hopes up.
“You should get ready for the feast,” she said then, giving you something else to focus on. “The seamstress put the finishing touches I asked for upon your dress, and left it over there.”
You walked over to the bed, where Princess Rhaenyra had gestured to. Your eyes immediately spotted the gown in question. The Princess had requested that all her ladies wore similar gowns, all of the same color, for the welcome feast. Your gown was a little bit more… revealing, than what the Strong ladies had been given, but it was more suitable for each of your ages that way.
“The color matches the jewels in your hair,” you observed with a smile.
Princess Rhaenyra returned the smile, pleased that you found the gown as gorgeous as she did.
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The welcome feast had begun.
The esteemed guests from all across Westeros who had traveled to King’s Landing for the festivities were announced one by one, before paying their respects to the King and Princess.
The Queen had yet to arrive.
You were the only representative of House Tyrell to attend, and conveyed your apologies to King Viserys on your family’s behalf. Your father had taken ill once more- another factor that had played a role in the pace at which the marriage negotiations were taking place- and your brother Derron had no choice but to stay in Highgarden to help him manage affairs.
Since you were alone, you had no one immediately obvious with which to sit for the meal. Your betrothal to Ser Harwin was not yet official, so you had been assigned a seat beside the Hightowers and other noble families of other houses from the Reach. You knew most of them well enough to be able to carry out polite conversation, to accept well wishes for your father, and to inquire as to the state of their own houses and health.
But you couldn’t help it as your eyes drifted forlornly down towards the opposite end of the table, where Ser Harwin was seated with the majority of his family. You caught his eye every now and then, and when you did, the two of you played an unspoken game to see which would be the first to break and look away.
House Velaryon was the last to enter the throne room, and the attention of everyone else in the room was commanded by the sight. As House Velaryon strode over to the high table, which was positioned just in front of the Iron Throne, thunderous applause rang out. Though Lord Coryls had been no stranger to the Court during King Viserys’ reign, his wife, the Princess Rhaenys, and their children were not so often seen. Everyone was eager to lay eyes upon the future King Consort, Ser Laenor, and his sister, Lady Laena.
The princess rose from her seat to greet her betrothed, and shortly thereafter, the Velaryons and the rest of their household were seated. Everyone else in the room followed suit, save the King, who looked over the crowd. You looked over towards King Viserys and waited for his speech to begin.
But suddenly, the King’s cheerful face fell, and muffled whisperings around you filled your ears. You followed the King’s appalled look over to the entryway, where none other than Prince Daemon was making his way into the throne room. Ser Harrold did not bother to announce him- he was probably as shocked as most everyone else in the room.
The whispers did not cease as Daemon approached the high table calmly, acting as though he had not been exiled by the King, again, not too long ago.
You looked over at Rhaenyra and tried to gauge her reaction to the uninvited guest. If she had known about her uncle’s impending return for the wedding, she had not told you of it- though you honestly could not say whether she would have. The pair of you had a special bond, but the bond between her and Prince Daemon would always be stronger.
Thankfully, the Princess looked just as surprised to see her uncle as everyone else, though she was much better at concealing her facial reaction than the King. Once Daemon was before the high table, you thought King Viserys might call for his head right then and there. But instead, after a moment of thought, he beckoned for a chair to be brought out for him. Prince Daemon was seated beside the Hand, Lord Lyonel, and the room began to settle from the interruption.
King Viserys smiled once more, though it was more strained than genuine, and began his welcoming speech. Unfortunately, he was not able to get very far into it, before it was disrupted once more.
All eyes in the room once again turned towards the entryway. Unlike with the previous tardy guest, no whispers erupted this time. Instead, the room was overcome with a bone-chilling silence.
Queen Alicent had finally arrived. But what was more shocking than her blatant disrespect of King Viserys was the outfit she had chosen instead.
She wore a bright, emerald green gown.
Those seated rose respectfully as she made her way over to the high table. Despite those who you were seated with- other members of House Hightower being seated just a few seats down from you- your eyes involuntarily narrowed as the Queen passed you. Just what point was she trying to get across with her choice of garment?
You’d never seen the sight with your own eyes before, only having read about it in books and having heard it in tales from your father. But you knew, very well, what color the beacon in Oldtown glowed when the Hightowers called their banners to war.
Green.
Once the Queen was seated, the King was finally able to finish his speech, and dinner was served. You still snuck glances at Ser Harwin as often as you dared, though the looks you gave him now were probably laced with little else but concern.
Once the meal was over, you were grateful for the dancing to begin, for it gave you a perfect excuse to stand and socialize with other guests whom you were not immediately seated by. Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor were the first to take the floor, as was the tradition, but once the dance was complete, the other guests slowly but surely joined in the fun.
You rose from your seat and walked over towards the end of the table, joining the group of nobles who had gathered there to observe those already on the dancefloor.
“Lady Y/N.”
You turned, and were pleasantly surprised to find Lord Lyonel Strong standing beside you.
“My Lord,” you greeted him with a smile.
“Are you enjoying the feast so far, My Lady?” he inquired then.
The question was innocent enough, but difficult to answer truthfully. Your eyes darted over to Queen Alicent, and then Prince Daemon, who were both still seated. Well aware of the fact that you could be overheard, you simply answered, “This feast will be remembered for quite some time to come, I am sure.”
“I do not disagree,” Lord Lyonel said knowingly, having noted whom you had glanced at. Lord Lyonel, on the surface, gave the air of an uncomplicated man. But you were beginning to suspect that there was more to him than one might assume. A lord from a small noble house in the Riverlands didn’t become appointed Hand of the King by mere chance.
“Lady Y/N,” he said then, in a much quieter tone that grabbed your attention immediately, as was its purpose. “I do want to thank you for your patience as this business with Highgarden is negotiated.”
Lord Lyonel’s statement was decently vague, but you knew immediately what he was referring to. “Thank you, My Lord. I understand that such matters are necessary, though I would deny that it has not begun to feel tedious at times.”
Lord Lyonel gave you a sympathetic smile. “Perhaps you are right. Even so, I will be glad once everything has been settled. I must admit, I was, and still am, pleased by the proposition. I think all parties involved stand to benefit greatly… specifically, my son. I am grateful that House Tyrell has considered him to be a worthy business partner.”
He approved of the match; that the subtext of his cordial words. But even more so, Lord Lyonel was pleased that the match contributed greatly to the happiness of his son.
“There is more to Ser Harwin than his nickname,” you said decisively. “I believe Lord Tyrell and my brother simply needed some guidance in order to see that.”
Lord Lyonel nodded courteously.
As if he had known he was the topic of your very conversation, Ser Harwin made his way through the onlookers. He came to a stop before the two of you, and nodded to Lord Lyonel in greeting. “Father.”
Then he turned to you. He looked remarkable, dressed in finer clothes than what he typically donned, and a significant section of his hair had been pulled up and tied back, revealing the handsome features of his face. You were so lost in the sight of him, you almost didn’t register that he had spoken to you.
“Lady Y/N,” he greeted, giving you a charming smile. Said smile was offered to many, but it never was accompanied with the twinkle in his eyes that shone now. That had become exclusively reserved for you, a thought that both made you feel humble and filled you with pride. “I think it to be an insult that you have not been asked to dance thus far. Could you find it in your heart to grant me the honor?”
You looked towards his outstretched hand, and attempted to minimize the love-sick expression you undoubtedly wore. “It would be my pleasure, Ser Harwin.”
With one last glance at Lord Lyonel, you took Ser Harwin’s hand and allowed him to escort you to the dance floor.
You seldom had the opportunity to spend such time with Ser Harwin in public, and you reveled in every minute of it. The incredible ease you felt with him, whether it was while dancing, talking, or simply being in the presence of each other, was one that had yet to be matched.
As the pair of you went on about the dance, turning and spinning and stepping about as the song dictated, you conversed quietly.
“You truly are a vision tonight,” Ser Harwin complemented, causing your cheeks to burn both with mild embarrassment and in pain from your amused smile. “Better than I even dared to dream of.”
“Thank you, My Lord. … But now, I wonder- do you dream of me often, Ser Harwin?” you jested, taking his hand and twirling once.
Once you had turned around, you nearly came face to face with his broad chest; the two of you were suddenly much closer than before.
“Since you asked,” Ser Harwin said, leaning down so as to speak directly into your ear, “There are few nights that you do not haunt my dreams, My Lady.”
Before anyone could notice the inappropriate distance between yourselves, you each took a step back, and continued the dance smoothly.
You were taken aback, but pleasantly so. “Haunt?” you echoed. “Am I a ghost, plaguing you with nightmares?”
“I assure you,” he said, suavely stepping beside and turning to you in time with the music, “Not all ghosts are bad. Nor could any sight of you gracing my mind whilst I am asleep ever be considered a nightmare.”
Before you could think of something charming or witty to respond with, you noticed someone making their way onto the dance floor. It was with dread that they were headed directly towards you.
“I fear our time together is about to be cut short,” Ser Harwin announced, also making note of it.
You forced a smile as you greeted the interrupter of your lovely moment. “Lord Loreon.”
Loreon Lannister merely nodded cooly to Ser Harwin in his own way of greeting. The gesture made you want to give him a verbal lashing for his impoliteness, but since you were surrounded by others, and it was not yet socially acceptable for you and Ser Harwin to show any sort of attachment to the other, you were limited.
Ser Harwin knew just as much, too. He politely refused to acknowledge the disrespect, and greeted the other man anyways. “My Lord.”
“Might I cut in?”
Ser Harwin had no choice but to allow Lord Loreon to do so, and he knew that. The little weasel.
“I hope you enjoy the rest of the feast, Lady Y/N,” Ser Harwin said to you.
“And I you, My Lord.”
You watched with mild sadness as your love wandered off the dance floor before disappearing amongst the crowd of nobles watching on the outskirts.
A new song began, and you forced your feet to move, engaging in a dance once more.
Lord Loeron, though a few years your junior, had grown into a man since you had last seen him. However, he was still a young one at that, and you had your suspicions that the passing years made him no more wise. The boy- young man- had always lacked some tact. You’d hoped his father, Lord Jason Lannister, had instilled some sense in him, as Loreon was his only son and heir. But from what Princess Rhaenyra had shared with you regarding Lord Lannister’s own behavior and choice comments as of late, you severely doubted it.
“You’ve grown since I last saw you, My Lord.”
“Perhaps,” Lord Loreon granted. “Though I am afraid that I am nowhere near the size of Breakbones.”
You frowned in displeasure at his insinuating comment.
Your courtship with Ser Harwin while your fathers worked out the details of your marriage was not exactly a secret. But, other than Lord Jason on the occasion, Lannisters had been sparse at Court as of late… You concluded that the walls must have had ears. You only hoped that they did not have eyes as well.
“I am surprised by your choice of gown, Lady Y/N- I thought you might wear green, as it is a color of your House.”
And also the color with which Queen Alicent had chosen to draw a metaphorical line in the struggle for power.
You answered, “Princess Rhaenyra deemed it fit that all her ladies should wear gowns of Targaryen red tonight.”
“A wise decision by the Princess,” Lord Loreon declared. “I’m sure you look just as lovely in gold, as it is the other of your House’s colors... Though, perhaps a gown of red and gold would suit you best?”
You paused briefly, before forcing yourself to continue the steps. You feigned, “I’m afraid I do not understand what you mean, My Lord.”
“No, I suppose you do not. Perhaps my father shall arrange to meet with yours, and they can sort it out for the two of us. We would not dare spend any longer than necessary on negotiations. We know how much a marriage to the daughter of Lord Tyrell is worth, just as I am sure you know how valuable the marriage to the son of Lord Lannister is.”
You let out a small sigh, your patience for pleasantries completely diminished by his goading words. “If that is your way of proposing marriage, My Lord, it seems there is still vast room for improvement to be had in ways of your eloquence and common sense.”
Lord Loreon narrowed his eyes at you, but did not cease his dancing. In a threateningly low tone, he demanded, “You dare insult me?”
As suspected, time had not made him more wise. Lord Loreon’s pride was wounded just as easily as it always had been.
“It is I that has been insulted, My Lord. Asking for my hand so crudely, and during the wedding feast for the future Queen, no less?” you countered swiftly. “I think my father would be most displeased with House Lannister if he heard of this, not to mention the King.”
Lord Loreon finally stopped partaking in the dance. He looked very cross. He opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off by several loud, piercing screams.
Immediately, the dance floor descended into a state of chaos. Initially, you were shoved backwards, as some sort of altercation took place in the middle of the dance floor. You could not see the individuals throwing fists, but you heard the sickening thuds of their punches landing mercilessly upon the other, despite the commotion of the crowd.
You looked back over towards Lord Loreon, only to discover that he had taken the moment of distraction to abandon you. However, you had expected no less of him.
Suddenly, the tune of the crowd changed. Encouraging shouts as the brawlers went after one another turned into horrified screaming. Guards flooded the room and attempted to make their way towards the middle of the crowd.
As the crowd shifted with the movement, you were unceremoniously shoved backwards and down onto the ground. The legs of others nearby as they shuffled backwards and out of the way were encroaching upon you rapidly.
Despite your position, you heard Princess Rhaenyra cry out, “Laenor!”
A horrible thought struck you. The Princess had been on the dance floor as well- you had seen her not but a few moments before. Was she still entangled somewhere in all of this mess? You had to help her.
You tucked your chin, and used the chair you had fallen up against as leverage to hoist yourself up and off the ground. Your eyes searched the crowd, and you felt dismayed when the Princess was not immediately in sight. “Princess?!”
Before you could decide on your next move of action, someone promptly picked you up, and threw you over their shoulder.
In the midst of everything going on, you were unable to get a good look at your sudden captor. You shouted protests and fought back, kicking and punching the man who had decided to take advantage of the situation as he proceeded to push his way through the crowd and away from the dance floor.
“Y/N,” a very familiar voice huffed, before gently placing you back on your own two feet.
It was Ser Harwin.
He hadn’t been your captor, no- but rather, your savior.
You watched in a stunned silence as Ser Harwin quickly looked you over with concern, putting his hands on your shoulders to get your attention. “Are you alright?” he demanded, gently but urgently. “Are you hurt?”
“No, no,” you replied quickly. “I’m fine.”
He’d placed you near the high table, where his father, and the rest of the royal family, even Queen Alicent, looked onwards towards the fight that the guards were still attempting to break up.
“Where’s Rhaenyra?” you heard the King ask, his increasing worry audibly evident.
“The Princess!” you said, suddenly recalling what you had set out to do before Ser Harwin had whisked you away- find Princess Rhaenyra, and make sure she was alright. You looked up at him pleadingly, before gesturing over from whence you both had just come. The Princess was still nowhere to be seen. “I heard her, right over there!”
Ser Harwin looked from where you had gestured and up towards his father. Lord Lyonel, also looking concerned, nodded over to the chaos as a silent go-ahead.
Ser Harwin fought his way back into and through the crowd, and you watched with bated breath as he did so. As much as you were concerned for the Princess’ safety as the seconds passed, so were you worried for him, as he quite literally punched and pushed his way through the half rioting and half panicking crowd.
Some ways away, he bent down and disappeared beneath your line of sight. Just as quickly, he stood once more, with Princess Rhaenyra over the top of his shoulder, as he had done to you. He couldn’t make his way back through the crowd quick enough.
Ser Harwin deposited Princess Rhaenyra down on the ground beside you, and you fussed over her immediately.
“Your Grace!” you exclaimed worriedly. “Are you hurt?”
Thankfully, Princess Rhaenyra looked more upset than physically injured. “I’m fine, I’m fine… What in Seven Hells is going on?!”
“Rhaenyra!” Her father beckoned her over to him, and she did not hesitate to heed him. With one last glance at you, she thanked Ser Harwin before joining the King.
The shouting silenced abruptly, drawing your attention back to the fight.
The crowd parted down the middle, revealing a gruesome scene. Ser Criston Cole was laying fatal blows upon another man, who laid practically motionless beneath him. You could not recognize the man from here, but you recognized the colors he wore as someone who was likely to have attended the feast with House Velaryon. The crowd stepped back further still, forced to do so by the guards who had finally managed to intervene. Then, the room went still.
Ser Criston, bloodied, and with a look upon his face that had been numbed with pure rage, halted his blows.
The man beneath him was dead.
Like wildfire, the crowd dispersed, fleeing the throne room. Nothing good would come of this- at the very least, the feast would not be able to continue. A member of the Kingsguard had just punched a man to death!
“Go, you two,” you heard the light but commanding voice of Lord Lyonel from behind you. To Harwin, he added, “See to it that Larys and your sisters make haste as well.”
You looked over at Rhaenyra, who was watching the results of the madness unfold with a sombered look on her face. But you had no time to decide whether or not to try and console her, for Ser Harwin had already begun to guide you out of the throne room. As instructed, he corralled his brother and sisters and made certain that they headed towards the exit too.
“Don’t,” he told you quietly as you passed the dead man’s body, evidently having read your mind. “I wouldn’t look.”
You were thankful that Ser Harwin had strategically placed himself between you and the body as you walked by, for it had been your gut reaction to do just that. You gripped his arm as he escorted you that much tighter, thankful to have been spared from seeing such a ghastly sight.
As you passed under the threshold, the anguished sobs of Ser Laenor echoed off the walls behind you.
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That evening, in a private ceremony witnessed by only the families of those involved, Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen and Ser Laenor of House Velaryon were wed. The remaining festivities that had been planned for the rest of the week were canceled. King Viserys decided that, given the events of the welcome feast, the sooner the two were wed, the better.
Despite the sense of gloominess that hung over the Red Keeps in the days to follow, personal good news had presented itself to you the very next morning. A raven had arrived, from Highgarden, no less. Negotiations were complete.
Your betrothal to Ser Harwin Strong was, finally, to be official.
At the end of the week, Princess Rhaenyra and her new husband Prince Consort left King’s Landing for a small post-wedding sailing trip.
Your betrothal was officially announced the following day. You were ecstatic- for now, you no longer had to hide or deny your attachment to the strongest knight in all the Seven Kingdoms. Instead, you could celebrate it. And you would, too- with any luck, the two of you would be wed in less than a few fortnights, a few moons at the most.
The day after the announcement brought another raven from Highgarden. But this time, the news was not the cause of any celebration.
Your father, Lord Tyrell, had succumbed to sickness. 
Perhaps the Maesters had been wrong in their diagnosis of the ailment and ineffective with their treatment… Perhaps your father knew what was inevitable, but had held on just long enough to see to it that you would be looked after once he was gone.
The winds of change had come to blow through Westeros. With the winds, came storms.
But with Harwin by your side, you knew that you would be able to weather them all.
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᯽ Part 4 of this story, From This Day, Part 1/2, can be read HERE. ᯽
A/N: Thank you so much for reading!🖤 I have (at least) one more part tentatively planned for this, but after started writing this, I came up with another idea... So, how do we feel about seeing the wedding?👀 Cuz I was gonna do another little time jump to the next part, but now I’m not so sure... Let me know what you think!
ALSO... does anyone else wanna talk about last night’s episode?! Because I have so many thoughts... ugh. It was so great. I cannot.
***The masterlist for this story can be found HERE.***
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992 notes · View notes
great-and-small · 11 months
Note
hey i know this is really heavy but... My pet of 13 years was put to sleep yesterday morning and I was wondering if you have any tips on handling the loss and absence of him. My whole family is struggling really hard and I would appreciate it.
Anon I have been thinking about how to answer this and what words of comfort I can offer you in this time of grief. I have held the hand of so many people through the death of their pet and still I oftentimes find myself at a loss for words. It’s something I think about a lot, so I’m sorry that this is quite long-winded.
I was driving my grandmother to a doctors appointment a few weeks ago and she was telling me about her first dog, a Boston terrier named Guppy that she’d had since she was 8 years old. She told me that during her first year in college she received an unexpected phone call from home out of the blue. In those times, phone calls were expensive and you really only got an unscheduled call when a relative or loved one had passed away. She told me that as she was walking to the room to take the call she had prayed to God that the news on the other end of the line would be the death of her own grandmother, rather than the now geriatric Guppy who had been sick for some time. It was a call about Guppy of course, and my grandma told me she’s been guilty her whole life for wishing that a family member had died instead. She told me that she was intentionally sharing this story with me because she didn’t want me to ever feel guilty if I grieve the loss of my dog more than I do her death someday. She told me that the love of a pet is something different, and losing it hurts in a different way.
This was a morbid story with a morbid sentiment (though entirely in character for my grandma) but it got me thinking about the nature of our grief for pets. They are such constants in our lives that in many ways losing them can be harder to bear than the loss of someone who matters to you in a completely different way. My grandma didn’t love her dog more than she loved her relative, it’s just a different type of grief.
Do not let anyone (including yourself) minimize your loss, because your pet was here, they were important, and your love for them mattered immensely.
So now let me say this; I am so happy that your pet was able to spend 13 years with a family that loved and treasured them. I hope for every single one of my patients to have that safety and warmth and affection, your pet was lucky to be so dearly loved. That said, here are some little things that I will recommend to people who ask me for help in dealing with the loss of their companion.
Take things one day at a time. This sounds like a cliche and maybe it is one but I found it helped me. Try not to think about the future without your pet, but focus on getting through the day, especially in the short term after the loss. Take care of yourself and your physical needs as much as you can.
Actively grieve your pet. By this I mean, dealing with grief is hard work that cannot be ignored or put aside. Rather than shying away from memories of your pet, take the time to purposefully think about them and the life they shared with you. It hurts and it sucks so much, but there is no shortcut through it.
Memorialize your pet. This can be anything, but try to find a way to honor your pet’s memory. Make a painting, or volunteer at an animal shelter for a day, donate old blankets to a vets office in your pets name, make a rock garden, buy a fruit tree and plant it somewhere, put together a photo collage of your pet. Doing little things like this helped me more than anything else when I was grieving my dog.
Talk about them. It seems so dumb but I swear it helps. Talk about what they were like when they were little, what funny things they did to make you laugh, what it meant to have them by your side through all those years. It doesn’t have to be a therapist, but find someone kind who can listen to the stories about your pet that made them who they were.
And most of all please know that someday (maybe not soon, but someday) it will hurt less. In the meantime please be kind to yourself as much as you can.
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lixzey · 4 months
Text
safe and sound
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ONE. TWO. THREE
I'm sorry I left, but it was for the best, though it never felt right, my little Versailles.
The morning after Sirius left, when your mother and father found out, they disowned your eldest brother immediately—your mother blasted him off of the Black family tapestry. Your mother quickly locked herself in her room afterwards and didn’t step out of the room for a week. You wondered why, but brushed it off to the side. Mother never loved Sirius, Mother never loved any of us. She was just ashamed to have lost her son to blood traitors, half-bloods, and muggle-borns.
Though your mother left Sirius’ room untouched, maybe she wasn’t bothered to clean out her blood traitor of a son’s room. 
The news spread like wildfire over the remaining days of the holiday. Your Slytherin friends sent you letters asking if it was true that the Black heir was disowned. You ignored every letter as much as you could, but you can’t deny the truth for long, especially when you’re back at Hogwarts.
“You are not to be in contact with him, do you understand me?” Your mother’s voice echoed in your ears, her eyes emotionless. Keep his name out of your mouth, you don’t deserve to mourn. You thought, as you nodded along with Regulus, you had no choice but to do so.
You were actually dreading going back to Hogwarts after the holidays. The letters Sirius promised, it never came. So you just assumed that he didn’t want anything to do with you or Regulus anymore, completely shutting both of you out of his life. Like your mother, you confined yourself to your room. You just laid in bed, clutching one of Sirius’ old shirts close to your chest. Regulus often stayed with you, giving you the comfort you needed, but still, it wasn’t the same as it used to be.
Meanwhile, Regulus’ heart broke at the sight of his sister grieving and crying almost every night. It was torture to hear her muffled sobs through the walls, but he couldn’t do a thing to make it all better. He was missing Sirius too, which made it harder for him to be there for Y/n. As much as he wanted to be strong for her, he was struggling to deal with Sirius’ absence as well.
He lost a brother too. 
But Regulus kept his promise: he would protect Y/n, no matter the cost. His little sister comes first, above all. 
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January 2nd, 1977
You watched as the view of King’s Cross faded into view, the cold weather sending goosebumps running down your arms, but you ignored it as best as you could.
“Come on, starlight, I need to get to the Prefects’ carriage,” Regulus sighed, nudging you slightly. 
“You go ahead, Reggie.” You smiled softly. “I’m going to go and look for Pandora and Dorcas, don’t worry about me.” 
Regulus raised a brow at you. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
You rolled your eyes at his protectiveness. “Yes, I’ll be alright.”
Regulus hesitated for a moment before he sighed and nodded. “Alright, fine. Just be careful, okay? You know what people are saying about Sirius; it might be best to keep a low profile for now.” 
You nodded, knowing he had a point. The rumours had already spread, and you didn’t want to deal with all the questions and looks from your classmates. But you also wanted to find out why Sirius never sent any letters in the days that followed his departure. 
As Regulus made his way to the Prefects’ carriage, you took a deep breath and decided to go and find James Potter. You knew it was risky, but you needed to find out why. As you made your way through the crowded train, you tried to keep your head down and avoid drawing too much attention to yourself.
Suddenly, while keeping your head down, you collided with someone. When you looked up, you saw James smiling at you, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you from falling. But you’ve already fallen for him, a long time ago.
“You should be looking at where you’re going, Y/n,” James smirked, the distance between the two a few inches away making your heart flutter in your chest.
“You can let me go now, James.” You chuckled nervously, trying to fight the heat that was rising to your cheeks.
James helped you stand on your feet before taking his arm off of your waist. “So, how are you? Are you okay?”
“You know well for a fact that I am not okay, James.” You crossed your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes. “Where’s my brother?” 
James’ smile faltered, knowing exactly which brother you were asking for. “He’s with Remus,”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Take me to my brother, James.” 
James awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “He really doesn’t want to talk to you or Regulus.”
You felt disappointed. You and Regulus were supposed to be the closest people to him. But as much as you wanted to confront James about it, he seemed genuinely concerned for Sirius. 
“I'm sorry, Y/n. I wish I could do more to help.”
You sighed, shaking your head. “It's okay, James. I just want him to know that he's not alone, that Reg and I are here for him too.” You smiled sadly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I just really miss him.”
James nodded, his eyes sincere. “I'll tell him, I promise. And Y/n, if you ever need anything, just let me know.”
You smiled gratefully, still feeling conflicted about the whole situation. As James bid you farewell and continued on his way, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in your chest. Why wasn't Sirius reaching out?
But deep down, you knew that you'd never stop caring about your brother, even if he had chosen to leave. You were mad at him, yes, but that didn't mean you'd just forget him—like the rest of your family did—he was still your Siri, the best friend you and Regulus always had. And as the train rumbled on towards Hogwarts, you made a silent vow to yourself that you would let Sirius know that he was still loved. Because family was everything, and regardless of what had happened, you were determined to bring your family back together.
“For how long are you going to avoid your brother and sister, Padfoot?” James asked, opening the chocolate frog box in his hand. 
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Sirius sighed, his eyes glued to the views outside. “I don’t know.”
“You know, Y/n really misses you,” James pointed out, stuffing the box in his pocket.
Sirius looked at James, his brows knitted in confusion. “How do you know that?” 
James gulped, avoiding Sirius’ gaze. “I kind of bumped into her a few minutes ago when I went to find the trolley witch.” 
“What did you do, Prongs?” Remus asked from beside Sirius. 
“Uh, so...InearlytoppledheroverandIheldherwaistsoshedidn’tfall.”
Remus raised a brow. “What?” 
James cleared his throat. “I nearly toppled her over, and I held her waist so she wouldn’t fall.”
“What the hell, Prongs!? You put your filthy hooves on my little sister!” Sirius exclaimed, his eyes widening in annoyance.
James held up his hands in defense. “I didn’t mean to! It was an accident, I swear!” 
Remus snorted. “Hooves? Really?”
Sirius huffed and crossed his arms, a scowl etched onto his lips. “I'm serious—don't you dare use my own pun at me, James! Keep your filthy hands to yourself when it comes to my sister!”
James nodded sheepishly, raising his hands up in defense. “Alright, alright!”
“I should talk to her, shouldn’t I?” Sirius mumbled, his eyes softening and the scowl replaced by a sad frown.
“Yeah, Padfoot, you should. She loves you, and she just wants to know you’re okay,” James said, placing a hand on Sirius’ shoulder.  
Sirius nodded, making up his mind. “Yeah, I’ll do it. I need to let her know that I’m alright.” 
“You have a few more hours to think about what you’re going to tell Y/n and Regulus,” Remus said, a smile on his lips. “They’ll understand; don't worry.”
Sirius sighed, knowing all too well that it wasn’t going to be easy to reach out to his siblings. “I hope they will.”
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The Great Hall was bustling with the loud chatter of the students catching up about the holidays. Y/n Black slumped over the Slytherin table, completely forgetting the etiquette lessons she had been forced to learn from her mother for the past years of her life. The youngest Black daughter was in no mood to talk about her holidays, given what happened on Christmas night. 
“Y/n, come on, just eat something,” Pandora Rosier, your best friend, urged you to eat.
“I don’t want to,” you grumbled, your lips curling into a frown. 
Your friends had been pleading with you for the past fifteen minutes to eat, but you weren’t really in the mood for anything apart from walking back to your dorm room and just going ahead and sleeping the rest of the night away. 
“Starlight, please,” Regulus pleaded, his eyes filled with concern. You sighed, rolling your eyes, before grabbing a pumpkin pasty from the plate in front of you and taking a bite. “Happy?” 
Regulus groaned, fighting the urge to smile at his sister. “Just eat the damn pasty.” 
"So, Y/n, have you finished all of your homework?” Dorcas Meadowes, another one of your best friends, asked. 
“Of course I did,” you said matter-of-factly. “Mother would kill me if I didn’t.”
Dorcas snorted. “Your mother is quite charming, isn’t she?” 
“She isn’t charming, Dorcas,” Pandora chimed in, her brows knitted in confusion. “Mrs. Black is a terrible woman.” 
“It’s sarcasm, Pands." Dorcas rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice. 
“Oi, that’s still our mother,” Regulus said, glaring at the two girls. 
“Oh please, Reggie, you and I both know that Mother is a high class bitch.” You chuckled, playfully tossing crumbs of the pasty at Regulus. 
Regulus playfully scowled, feigning offense. “Oi, quit throwing crumbs at me!”
“I think your family is probably one of the most dysfunctional families I’ve ever seen.” Dorcas quipped, amusement evident in her eyes. 
You laughed, shaking your head. “You have no idea.”
Suddenly, the loud chatter died down to hush whispers. You turned around and saw Sirius walking in with his friends trailing behind him, his head held high as his eyes searched the Great Hall until they landed on you. 
Sirius gave you a small smile before making his way towards the Slytherin table. “Can we talk?” 
Regulus scowled, his fists clenching involuntarily. “No, go away-”
“Shut up, Regulus!” you hissed, kicking him from under the table. You turned to face your eldest brother. “How nice of you to finally reach out, Sirius,” you said, your voice laced with anger you couldn't stop from spilling out.
Sirius flinched at the harshness of your voice; he had never seen his sister look so angry. “Can we please just talk?” Sirius pleaded, his eyes filled with guilt. “Please, starlight, give me a chance.” 
Starlight. You sighed, the nickname tugging on your heartstrings. “Alright, let’s talk then.” You stood up and walked past Sirius, Regulus following closely behind.
Sirius led you and Regulus into an empty classroom, where the three of you settled in. Silence hung in the air, and tension was building between the three of you. “I’m sorry,” Sirius began, his voice filled with regret. “I shouldn’t have left like that; I was just so overwhelmed, and I didn’t know what else to do.”
Regulus crossed his arms over his chest, his lips pressed into a tight line. “You left because you were weak.” 
Sirius sighed at Regulus’ words, but he nodded, acknowledging the truth. “I know, Reggie, and I’m so sorry.”
You sighed, feeling hurt. “You hurt both of us, Sirius. You didn’t even let us know if you were alright—I was worried sick about you!” 
“I know, starlight, and I regret it every day since I left. It was never my intention to hurt either of you.” Sirius admitted, his eyes filled with remorse. 
“So, are you coming back home?” You asked, a hopeful look in your eyes. 
Sirius’ eyes darkened for a split second. “No, I’m not going back to that hell hole.’’
“Then what’s the point of apologising, Sirius?” Regulus spat. “You can't just leave us and expect us to be okay with it!”
“But-” Sirius started, but Regulus scoffed loudly, cutting him off. “You are a coward, Sirius. You turn your back on your family and then expect us to just forgive you?”
Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I know I can’t expect forgiveness; I don’t deserve it. But I want you to know that I am always going to be your brother, no matter what.”
Regulus scoffed, standing up from his chair. “I don’t need you as my brother.”
You sighed, feeling conflicted between your brothers. You wanted so badly to forgive Sirius, but a part of you was agreeing with Regulus. He can't just leave and expect us to be okay with it. “So what? You’re just going to live with the Potters and forget about us?” 
“Yes, but-” 
“No, stop before you make yourself sound shallower than you already are.” you interrupted, shaking your head. “I just don’t understand, Sirius. The three of us, we’ve been through so much together, and then just like that, you left us. You left me.” 
“Starlight, please….” Sirius begged, stepping closer to you. But you stepped away, unable to look him in the eye.
“You made your bed, Sirius.” You choked out a sob. “Lie in it.”
Sirius hung his head in shame as he watched you leave the classroom. Regulus gave him a final glare before following after you. Sirius sat alone in the empty classroom, feeling the weight of his decisions. 
He lost his brother, he lost his sister, he lost his family.
@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @tchalamss @ashlynnmalfoy @crazycat-ladys-blog @michakune @mxltifxnd0m @spencerr3idd @dangelnleif @sthkate @ferrjulie @imnotoverlyobsessive @mel-vaz @elsagreeer @lovely-maryj @meowmeowmau @bobthe-turmpetman29 @saintcosette @ashisabitgay @ladyladybuggg @nyrasunderwrld @lilmaymayy @remussbitch @jadahxx @starrystormwritings @ell0ra-br3kk3r @dreary-salem @drewsandsebastianswife @greenapplegrass @lilianelena39 @danni-phant0m @haybellewrites @cloudlst @si4a @ev3ningrain @ttulipwritezz @bullets-from-another-dimension @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @reg-arcturus-black @abruuinlove @marina468 @3stelar @timhalamet @st4rf00k3r @idli-dosa @jimins15thhair @blacksgarden
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starshipsofstarlord · 10 months
Text
Coping Mechanisms
Summary - Y/N Hale goes to see her husband every night, even amidst the murders and hunters that have found themselves to be a reoccurring threat in town. The last thing that she was expecting however was for her Peter to wake up
Peter Hale x reader
Warnings - mentions of murder and death, talk of the fire, angst and fluff, ‘comatosed’ peter, burn marks, werewolf reader, 3rd person writing, i think that’s it
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After work, speaking to him was easy, even if he didn’t reply back. She knew that deep down he was listening, he had always been such a good listener. The smallest things had intrigued him back in the day, especially the woman sat before him.
A smile was paved onto Y/N’s lips as she reached a hand up to lightly trail down the side of Peter’s scarred face. The fire had really done a number on him, but it was a blessing that he had escaped with his life.
“You’re still as beautiful as the day that we met, you’re looking like the bad boy that wants me to miss lessons to make out in the locker room all over again.” If Peter could speak, or had the ability to respond in the slightest, it was obvious to his wife that he’d offer her a cocky comment and a smirk.
She missed that, more than anything; their mutual interaction. It gave her a reason to live, it had made her smile, but all Y/N could do was curse the word;d for tormenting her husband in such a cruel and evil way; he didn’t deserve it.
“I love you, more than anything, but you already know that.” As she spoke, Peter’s eyes remained distant, glossy from the mental barrier that separated the two of them. “I have to get home, I can’t wait until the day I can take you from this place and bring you back. It’s a nice apartment downtown, nothing too big, yet its still a little like that for just me. I’ll be back tomorrow night, I’m pretty sure that Derek is going to visit you in a couple of hours, so you have that to look forward to.”
Inside, Y/N’s heart was breaking, if Peter were conscious, he would sense the ambient ache in her chest. Without him, she wasn’t complete, everyday a little piece of her was chipping and breaking away.
Reaching down, the woman planted a stern, heartfelt kiss of her puckered lips upon Peter’s forehead. He, as expected, made no response, he was still stoic in his chair. The muse came to the door, tilting her head at Y/N, thinking of how oblivious she was. Her mood sometimes resembled that of a widow, but she was lacking vast amounts of information.
Peter Hale was no longer compromised with his coma, and he had gained much more than physical stability. His brain worked smoothly once again, like a mastermind, and he had a plan. A brilliant plan.
“Thank you for everything.” Y/N spoke to the nurse, a feeble, pained yet satisfied smile upon her lips. “I’ll be back tomorrow, I guess I’ll see you then.”
The nurse politely nodded, expecting as much from the werewolf’s wife. Her absence would however give them the time to continue their spree of chaos and death, fulfilling every aspect that vengeance had to give. If the she wolf was aware of al the slaughtering and biting, she’d be relived of Peter’s recomposed state, although she would predictably be disgusted by his vengeful vendetta.
But the important factor was that she was completely oblivious to the to be revealed secret. Y/N was clueless, and it was due to her not searching for any contradicting evidence. However the private she wolf stopped in her tracks whenever she saw Derek, her nephew in law, and a teenage boy whom she had no recognition of.
“Y/N.” Derek greeted her, bowing his head at his old pack member, being polite as one could be in the face of someone that had yet to grieve. “I was hoping to have seen you, I need to know if you have any information on this alpha that is gang around Beacon Hills killing humans.” She was the best lead the young Hale had, however she defiantly crossed her arms over her chest and glinted her beta brazen eyes at the fresh wolf and his mentor.
Scott unsurely stepped aback, cautious to be in the sights of another werewolf, especially one that was a stranger to him. “I presumed you would’ve heard with your enhanced hearing that it was a mountain lion.” Y/N smirked, unsettling both the young and learning men. “However its targets are quite peculiar… all had involvement in the fire. And so they deserve death in every way, you’ve seen Peter!”
“Thank you for your time Y/N, I know things haven’t been easy for you.” Damn right, she thought at her nephew’s words. It was disgustingly difficult coping with the comatose shell of her mate, and with an excusing smile she abandoned the building in hopes of going to her lonely home and resting up so that she could return fully awake the next day.
However as the autumn air hit her exposed skin she paused. There was something in the nearby shadows watching her with crimson eyes that radiantly beamed towards the unsettled female. A stern growl tumbled out from Y/N’s throat until a familiar spectre entranced out from the darkness and revealed himself in Hale fashion.
“Hello darling.” Peter greeted her for the first time in many years, a cunning smile distorting his face that had been void of expression for so long. “Have you missed me?” She had, insanely so, but this meant… had he killed Laura? She wasn’t certain how to react and thus she bolted in the opposing direction from the one that she had missed for so long, afraid of the red pigment that had tainted his eyes. She had to get to Derek and warn him, but she watched as Peter evolved into a monster, and then it hit her. There was no escape and there had never been one.
He’d had her wrapped around his crisp finger for so long and as his face extended into a devise that no longer resembled a human, she succumbed to her fears and submitted to the alpha that had been tricking her from the start of time.
She understood his motives concerning his bringing of bodies, and soon he would make her like his decisions. With Y/N he would be stronger, they would be unstoppable, and that came first to his care for his mate, because with this malicious strength he could protect her; he was unable to save anyone in the fire that had set him on this path of turmoil and revenge, and he would ensure that he was never that weak again.
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raayllum · 1 year
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Was thinking about the Gifts scene because it was one of my favourites and has made me cry every time, thus far, and something that stuck out to me the first time has now collected more thoughts, in terms of parallels and parental relationships. 
Ezran and Rayla both sacrifice something in remembrance to their fathers. For Ezran, it’s the symbol of him finding a way to both honour his father’s memory and take a better path than he did. The way they worked his short story and musings over his father’s sword directly into the show was delightful and heartfelt. Ezran acknowledges that the crown isn’t made of precious metals or bearing special jewels, but it carries an emotional weight and shows his humility and his own strength as a king. It says just as much about Ezran as it does about Harrow, if not arguably more.  
Then you have Rayla stepping up first (was anyone else relieved she wasn’t offering herself up to be eaten?) and arguably with the biggest sacrifice. As she says, these blades are all she has to remember Ethari and Runaan, two of her parents, by. Unlike Ezran, who shares in his grief with Callum and the rest of the council about Harrow, there is no one left who remembers Ethari and Runaan the way she does and did. There are no more family heirlooms waiting for her. She can’t even truly go back to where they raised her.
Ezran gives up something he had crafted in Harrow’s memory, and Rayla gives up the one and final gift her fathers gave to her, her most constant companions in the two years she was gone, and her last line of defense.
Then you have Callum, who offers up Ibis’ staff. Now, Callum’s statement here is still meaningful. The staff here has been incredibly helpful, he’s presumably seen Ibis more than a few times over the past few years with Ezran and Zym assumedly visiting regularly, Ibis taught him the spell he uses the most this season and the one that let him save Rayla. But it’s hardly a parent-child bond or even a mentor-mentee bond. 
So what does Callum have from a parent? Well... the Key of Aaravos, really. He has his sketchbook, which is full of spells Rex Igneous would never be interested in (it’s not even his primal) and he has this magical, mystical key that unlocks something of great power. And I want to write a bigger post about how I think it relates to his identity and sense of self worth as a mage as well, but I do think given we see Callum lighting a candle for Harrow and that it’s attached to Harrow’s letter as it is, as well as some things Callum’s VA, Jack De Sena has said, in addition to this panel from TTM:
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J: [Regarding trauma and growing up]  I think that’s part of, just to speak to like, right, season four stuff, that’s part of the I think some of the anger he holds about Rayla leaving is that like, “we went through all this really intense stuff together and that—like, I’m cut off from that, in some ways.” T: Yeah. J: This—this person who you shared that with is gone, and—
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Through The Moon makes it clear that Callum hasn’t moved on from grieving Harrow, if indeed you can ever quite let a grief like that go in the first place. We know from 4x03 that Ezran likewise still feels hurt, pain, and anger regarding the death of their parents, but he also had Callum to mourn with, other people to remember with, and Zym most of all as a silver lining. 
We know from 4x01 he’s been quietly but actively grieving Rayla for a while now, too, and then she shows up. It’s clear that Callum has emotionally closed himself off in her absence and in her return (seriously, did anyone ever have to prompt him into talking in s1-s3?) which makes sense, since over the course of their journey she became his main confidant and peer. But, as Jack de Sena noted, he was cut off from that. His grieving stagnated in more ways than one because he couldn’t precisely move on, even before she left, never mind after.
Now he’s a loose end, frayed and jagged, still grieving in multiple ways. And with the coins now in Rayla’s possession, S5 may force him to confront just how not okay with Harrow’s death he still is in some ways, now that freeing his father’s killer is something he’ll both want and loathe to help with, in addition to being further entrenched in Aaravos’ schemes. 
What will Callum hold onto, and what will he let go of?
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thesith · 1 month
Text
— Marching Far Away
tech x reader, implied echo x reader (she/her pronouns)
this is a one shot (1.1k)
warnings: heavy angst, hurt/comfort, death, involves the stages of grief. slight canon divergence. S2 E16 SPOILERS
notes: this fic is in tech’s POV, so be aware of that as you’re reading!
mando’a translations: cyar’ika: darling, sweetheart; yaim’ol: return, homecoming; usen’ye: go away (very rude); ni su’cuyi, gar kry’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum: i’m still alive, but you are dead. i remember you, so you are eternal (daily remembrance for those who have passed.)
the title is in reference to a mando’a saying, ny kyr’aduc, shi taab’echaaj’la, meaning “not gone, merely marching far away” in tribute to a dead comrade.
summary: tech watches you from afar after plan 99
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“There is no time, Wrecker. Plan 99.” I reached for my blaster - a weapon I’ve become most familiar with over my time as a soldier. Though I’m proficient in many weapons, my favorite is my mind - the most dangerous weapon of them all.
Wrecker groaned at my conclusion - presumably out of frustration. “Don’t you do it, Tech.”
I sighed, knowing this was the only way to ensure their survival. The odds of us all making it out in time is 24 percent - the odds of them making it out if Plan 99 is executed jumps to a staggering 76. I know what must be done, but do they?
“When have we ever followed orders.” I stated, precisely aiming my shot to sever the hinge prohibiting their escape. I watch Wrecker, Omega, and her eyes widen at my rash decision, though one that was most honorable in my culture.
The fall isn’t as… painful, as I’d anticipated. No statistic could lead me to the conclusion of how painful it’d be to fall from 200 feet up, let alone watch my comrades' reactions. The impact comes shortly after, leaving me in a less-than optimal state.
Crying; originating from sadness. A sound I’ve gotten used to over my solitary time. From my batchmates, my younger sister, and her. God, her, what I wouldn’t give to be back in my cyar’ika’s arms safely, not having to watch her suffering from afar.
The days after my passing were evidently rough for my crew, though it should not have been - I am a soldier, meant to be expendable. Though, if the roles were reversed and it’d been any one of them, my reaction would be one and the same.
In my previous research, I discovered that the first stage of grief is denial. After much observation, I see this to be correct. Between Hunter’s “I’m waiting for Tech’s yaim’ol,” and her constant whispers of this situation not being reality, this stage is confirmed. It is… painful, for me to watch as they put themselves through this unnecessary self-inflicted torture, but they must to find themselves to be happy again. This, I suppose, I am content with, as I long for them to be satisfactory and functional without me.
I’ve found that she spends much of her time alone, which is not the most optimal way to grieve. I believe she misses me, just as I miss her - an astute observation from the past two months of watching.
When Crosshair returned to my absence, I believe it affected him as well. Though he’s in the anger stage of grief. Whenever she attempts to check up on him, despite her own longing to be alone, he sends her away with “usen’ye!”. Though I wish for him not to speak to her in that tone, I comprehend that it is just part of who he is - the prodigal brother; my twin.
She’s opening up more to my brothers, which I find to be an incredible step forward. Echo has been a support system for her in my absence, which I appreciate greatly. Though I do sense some awkwardness, it’s to be expected. She does seem a bit perturbed with my decision, which I hope will curb soon. I do not wish her to see me in a negative light.
Echo has taught her the Mando’a phrase of remembrance, which she speaks daily, multiple times a day. The “ni su’cuyi, gar kry’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum Tech,” falling from her lips in almost perfected Mando’a gives me pride - she is so intelligent, even in the darkest of times. I hope I will have eternal life, if only just in her memories.
She speaks to Echo about what she could’ve done differently to prevent the loss of myself - the answer being nothing. She’s punishing herself for my decision, one that had the best overall outcome for the group - though I’m realizing how this affected them as a whole and as individuals.
“What if I was the one to restore power instead? What if I took the risk of pulling him up? What if…”
Cyar’ika, nothing could’ve changed this outcome. Our deaths are all inevitable, some more imminent than others. All we can do, as living beings, is accept that.
I have never been more enraged than I was at the sight of Hemlock giving her my goggles. All of the progress she’s made seemed to melt away just at the sight of the broken lenses - it all faltered, just as she did in Echo’s arms. Though this is an unfortunate circumstance, I am glad she’s finding much needed solace in him - she understands that she is not alone.
She rests for most of the day, forgets to eat, isolates herself. All of the progress made has refreshed to what she was before, just from one object. Though Echo tries his best, there isn’t much he can do to motivate her - he can just watch as she withers away, just like I can. In the stage of depression, we are all rendered hopeless.
At night, I find her and Omega to be in an embrace - platonic cuddling for comfort, a healthy way of recovering. Her connection with my siblings has only grown stronger, despite the setbacks along the way. Her, Echo, Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair, and Omega were learning to live without me, and it is not upsetting. I would find comfort in knowing they can go on with their lives and find happiness.
She seems to be prospering, which gives me a sense of pride. I am proud that she has overcome my loss, and continues to thrive with the help of her support system. Things seem to be looking up for my cyar’ika, which I have never been more grateful for.
Her strained relationship with Hunter has been all but mended, little to no animosity remaining between the two. With Echo’s assistance, she is beginning to complete the puzzle of her life once more, without my pieces in it. Though the puzzle may never be completed for her again, she is learning to live without them.
All I wish is for her to be happy, which comes about with the acceptance stage of grief. She is beginning to greet this new reality with a small smile, rather than tears more aggressive than the storms on Kamino.
Three years later, I am still observing her and my siblings, but I thought that was obvious. I acknowledge that I have and will always be a large part of their lives, but it is simply thrilling seeing their adventures and new lives - not as clones, but as free people.
She has come so far since that day, and viewing her with Echo gives me faith that even in the most difficult times, one can come through.
“Ni su’cuyi, gar kry’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum Tech,” is still heard daily, and that is more than enough for me.
fin.
thank you for reading! check out my masterlist!
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that1emowitch · 4 days
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At the end of the world / Or the last thing I see / You are never coming home, never coming home
Prompt from @tuna-f-b: Do you still do request? If yes and angst is o.k: what would happend i all the bats died? Like how would the hero community react. The supers alone. Clark having to deal with losing his best friend(?) and the kids he basically co parented- as well as seeing his sons lose their best friends(?) Specially as ships that would be awesome angst
A/N: I'm not crying you're crying (Also, for those who don't know, Izzy is Duke's canon gf and one of the Robins from We Are Robin)
Words: 2504
TW: Mentions of blood, Major character death, Coping with loss, Self-blame, Mentions of relapse (drugs)
“If you’re watching this, I am either deceased or indefinitely unable to continue my duties as Batman. But the world still needs Batman. Gotham still needs Batman. My son Damian Wayne, if he is an adult, shall inherit my mantle— if not, Dick Grayson will take over until he is. In the event that he, too, is unavailable for any reason, the mantle goes to Tim Drake, after him, to Cassandra Cain, then Duke Thomas, then Stephanie Brown, then Jason Todd, should he accept it.”
In the video recording, Batman pauses, taking a deep breath.
“In the unfortunate event that the entire family is… deceased… I have a list of contingency plans on both the Bat-Computer and the Justice League’s primary databases. Oracle will help you access it, but in her… absence… the password is “a6ghr83kc02m”.”
Then video-Bruce takes off the cowl, his pale blue eyes looking straight into the camera.
“I know I was never the best with feelings. But I would like my children, my allies, and friends to know that I’m proud of you. And to my fellow Justice Leaguers… Diana and Clark, I am truly grateful for your companionship. I would never have made it this far without you. Barry, Arthur, Dinah, J’onn, you’ve all been good friends. Oliver, Hal… you’re not so bad either.”
Bruce turns around, and looks over his shoulder, the shadows of the Batcave making the scene even more dramatic.
“I wish you good luck.”
Then the clip ends.
A shuddering breath leaves Clark.
It’s real.
He’s really… They’re all…
He can’t do this anymore. He turns around and walks out the door, leaving the other core Justice Leaguers staring sombrely at the now-blank screen.
He doesn’t know when he started flying, when he started trying to escape. The walls of the Watchtower seem to be suffocating him, but he has enough sense not to just leave the airlock yet.
Instead he finds a corner by a window, far, far away from the others, where he can see a majestic view of Earth, the moon, and the Sun in perfect sync with each other.
He falls to his knees.
His breathing’s uneven, a tear rolls down his cheeks.
Then he feels a hand on his shoulder— soft, trembling, yet steady.
“Kal,” Diana whispers, sitting on the floor next to him. She doesn’t continue— she isn’t sure what to say.
“They’re all going to die, you know? We’re going to bury all of them. Everyone on Earth, everyone we know.” Clark’s voice trembles, in a way Superman’s never does. “It scares me so much.”
“Kal,” Diana says again, pulling Clark into a hug. “It’s okay. We’ve lost… We’ve lost so many of our friends. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to grieve.”
“How are you— how are you so—” Clark can’t form his words properly. He turns to Diana, to see her face tight with grief, eyes misty with unshed tears.
Her voice breaks slightly as she speaks. “I don’t want to believe they’re gone. But… we have to carry on. We’re the Justice League. Our people need us, Kal.”
“So we just go on and on? Forever?” Another tear runs down his cheek. “Ollie, Hal, Dinah, Lois, Jon, they’re all going to… they’re all going to die one day and we just have to… to go on?”
“I’m sorry, but it is the truth,” Diana whispers, her eyes stinging with hot tears. “We must find peace in the fact, right now, that Batman— Bruce, the Robins, they— they were so brave. Brave till the end. And they fell as warriors, defending our world. I’m sure they’ll all reach Elysium.”
“And Dickie, Damian, Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke—” Clark’s voice is hoarse. “They were so young, just kids… I… I know Dick, Jay, Tim, Cass… they were adults, but… they’re gone, they’re gone…”
“They were heroes, like you and me. Don’t forget that.”
“I… I know, I just—” Another shuddering breath escapes Clark. “I just— I…”
“It’s okay,” Her voice is forcefully steady, but with an undertone of heartbreak. “It’s okay…”
Dinah looks around the room, her heart heavy.
Clark has left, Diana’s gone after him— both of them need their space, she knows. They were close to Bruce and the other Bats in a way no one else in this room was.
Was.
The word still weighs down on her.
Hal speaks up finally, breaking the deafening silence. “I always thought he hated me.”
No one replies for a long moment.
“I miss the kids,” Barry says finally, his voice quiet. “They were just… Robin was only 14. The others, even Nightwing, they had… they had their whole lives ahead of them.”
More silence.
“Jason, when he was Robin— do y'all remember? Kid was always my favorite,” Ollie says finally. “Was always so sassy. Roy loves him.”
Loves. Dinah winces, but doesn’t correct him. It’s easier to believe they’re just gone for a little while.
“Bruce was a good man,” Arthur adds. “They all were.”
“Tim was, I believe, the smartest,” J’onn says, somber. “It was his plan that allowed us to save Earth.”
“Damian!” Dinah says suddenly, jumping from her seat. “His… his mother. She shouldn’t have to find out from someone else.”
Everyone freezes, faces tight.
Dinah sighs, looking down. “I’ll do it.”
Then she leaves the room, dragging what feels like a heavy weight tied to her soul. She has to do this.
Roy’s sitting in a corner of his apartment, hugging his knees. All he can think of is Jason.
He’s never coming back.
He can still feel the lingering ‘goodbye’ kiss Jason gave him not two days ago, he can still hear him say, “I’ll be back before you know it, babe.”
He never came back.
He’s dead. Dead— dead dead dead DEAD DEAD—
“Small Red not okay?” A booming voice snaps Roy out of his thoughts. He looks up to see Bizarro’s pale blue skin and cold eyes looming over him. He’s crying. “Red him coming back.”
It takes Roy a second to register that Bizarro speaks backwards. It takes everything in him to not punch him for saying that, for giving him false hope.
He feels something he hasn’t felt in years— feels that whisper in his mind— one hit and it’ll all feel better. Just one hit.
NO! He screams mentally. He feels like bashing his head open.
Instead he lifts his dead eyes to survey the rest of the room— Kori’s on the couch, staring into space. Artemis has a crying Lian in her arms, she’s showing her something— old photos of Jason. Talking, whispering in a broken voice.
No, no he should be the one comforting Lian—
What’s he gonna say?
That— That Jason— That her Papa’s gone forever? That he’s never— he’s never coming back?
No— Jay— Jay deserved so much better, he— he already died once before, he’s been through so much, things were supposed to be better now— not— no, he’s— 
Roy feels Bizarro sit beside him, gently patting his arm.
He snaps out of his thoughts again, turning to Jason’s former teammate, his eyes red-rimmed. His voice raw, he whispers, “Jay’s gone…”
Wally’s standing in the Hall of Heroes, staring up at the holographic projection of Dick— he looks so majestic, so mighty, staring ahead with nothing but hope and courage in his eyes.
Nothing like the cold, dead body that Wally held in his arms just two days ago.
He’s surrounded by his teammates, his friends— Kaldur, M’gann, Artemis, Zatanna, L’gann, Garth— yet he feels so alone.
He sees it again— Dick bleeding out it his arms, his wounds so fatal he died before help arrived. Wally’s the fastest man alive, damn it, yet he couldn’t even save his best friend— his boyfriend. He feels the moment when Dick’s breathing stopped, when his body went limp, when his grip on Wally’s hand loosened.
Everyone’s quiet. M’gann’s stress baking again, L’gann by her side. Artemis and Zatanna are sitting together, Garth’s lingering in a corner, and Kaldur’s standing right beside Wally— close enough for comfort but not so close he’s lurking. He’s shaking.
He can still hear it, hear Dick forcing out his last words, telling Wally it’s okay, that he loves him, that it’ll be fine.
It’s not fine. Not without you.
He wants to scream.
He wants to cry, yell, hit something, do anything.
But he can’t move.
So he just stands there, almost as still as the holographic projection of Dick before him.
Kon is left reeling.
Tim… Tim is…
Tim’s dead.
Tim’s really gone.
He thinks, for just a second, that this is how Tim and Cassie must have felt when he and Bart “died”.
Bart is sitting beside him on the couch, leaning on his side, Cassie’s got her head on his lap. Neither of them speak— Bart’s not even fidgeting— they’re all just trying to be there for each other.
The other Titans are up and about, but staying close for comfort. Jaime and Gar are making food for everyone in the kitchen, Raven and Vic have come back to the tower to make sure the others are okay, and he’s sure Karen’s around too, somewhere.
Yet he feels so empty.
Feels nothing at all.
How can he, when his best friend is dead?
Jon hasn’t spoken in a bit. Not when his Mom brought him his favorite soup, not when Grandma and Grandpa showed up to ‘help’ him and Dad through this, not when Krypto plopped down beside him to comfort him.
He hugs the dog close.
Krypto’s technically Kon’s, but Jon’s sure Kon wouldn’t mind if he stole Krypto for a day.
Another sob escapes him, and he buries his head in Krypto’s back. The dog whines, licking Jon’s hand.
He can’t believe Damian’s gone. 
Really gone.
And he didn’t know just how much he would miss his friend.
Dinah finds Talia Al Ghul on a building in Metropolis, overlooking the city. Her face is tight with sorrow, but she keeps herself in check, her back straight, head held high.
She already knows, Dinah deduces.
“I… I’m sorry,” Dinah starts, unsure of what to say. She knows, from her experience as a psychologist, that ‘sorry’ is the last thing a grieving person wants to hear, but she doesn’t have anything else to say.
Talia doesn’t reply for a long time. Then she says, her voice numb, “I should have known, when bringing Damian into this life, that I would also be bringing him amidst the dangers that come with.”
Dinah’s brows furrow. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything at all.”
“I should have trained him better, I should have kept him close, I should—” Talia takes a shuddering breath. “I should have never brought him into this life.”
Dinah can’t argue with that— she knows how Damian had come to be, and it… wasn’t the best birth ever.
“Now leave, hero,” Talia says, her voice numb and cold. “Go back to protecting the world. Leave me be.”
Dinah wants to say something better, comfort the woman, but she can’t. So she just turns back, and leaves.
By the time Harper Row makes her way to the Clock Tower, there’s already quite a crowd there— Kate, Renee Montoya, Harley, Ivy, Silena, and Helena Bertinili— they’re crowding around Babs, comforting her. Luke Fox and Isabella Ortiz are at the computer, looking through something.
Harper tries to open her mouth to speak, but she can’t get the words out.
She makes her way over to Luke and Izzy, shoulders hunched.
Just three days ago she’d been hanging out with Duke and Izzy and Cass and Steph— they’d all been so carefree, so happy…
And now…
Once she gets close enough she realizes Izzy’s crying, and immediately wraps her arms around the shorter girl. Harper’s trying to hold back tears of her own, too. She feels Luke putting a hesitant hand on her shoulder, squeezing tight.
No one speaks for a long time, they just stand together, seeking comfort in each other.
Then Babs rolls her wheelchair to the center of the room, wiping at her bloodshot eyes. But when she speaks, she sounds surprisingly steady. She’s compartmentalizing, Harper realizes. Putting away Barbara and bringing Oracle back.
“Gotham needs her heroes, now more than ever,” Oracle says, head held high. “We must honor our friends by doing the one thing they’d have wanted— to keep fighting. Keep Gotham safe.”
She sighs, her face tight to fight away tears. “Luke. Batman’s contingency plan, in the Robins’ absence, was to pass you the mantle of Batman. Do you accept?”
Luke’s eyes grow wide slightly, but he straightens himself, looking away. “I… I accept. Dad isn’t going to be happy, but… Gotham needs Batman.”
“Thank you.” Oracle nods at him. “As per Bruce’s will, all Wayne assets, the Manor, and the Batcave are split between Kate, me, Alfred, and Lucius. I… Lucius and I are still figuring out who’s going to take over Wayne Enterprises, but on the vigilante side, I’ve got a plan.”
She turns to Ivy, Harley, Kate, Silena and Helena. “The Birds of Prey are needed here, now more than ever. Dinah— Black canary has offered to help us with Gotham, too.” 
Harley nods, sniffling. Beside her, Ivy speaks up, “The… Most Rogues aren’t happy about this. They’re not rampaging— Bane has fashioned his own version of the Batsuit, he’s going around ‘saving’ people, screaming that Batman never dies. The Joker’s searching for Lazarus Pits and Bruce’s body. Jervis Tetch and Nygma held a get-together yesterday, in the memory of the Bats. I… I think they might help us.”
Harper’s gotta admit, she’s quite surprised about this. Even Babs freezes, taking in this information.
“Gotham needs Robin as much as she needs Batman,” Izzy speaks up from beside her, her voice small but firm. “The Robins can come back, this time you can give us formal training so we can actually help.”
Oracle turns to Luke. “Taking on Robins is your decision, Batman.”
Luke winces at that title— it doesn’t feel like an honor to him, it just feels like an incessant reminder that he’s the last one left. Because his friends are dead. But he nods, anyway, not trusting himself to speak right now.
Then Oracle addresses Harper. “I… would you like to be Batgirl?”
Harper’s heart stops. Memories flash into her head— seeing Steph in the Batgirl costume, seeing Cass in the Batgirl suit, both of whom are now gone.
“N— No,” Harper stutters out, eyes tearful. “I can’t— I’m sorry, Babs. I appreciate the offer, but… Cass was Batgirl. I can’t take her place.”
“I understand.” Babs just nods, lips pursed, misty-eyed. “We will all need to work hand-in-hand until everything settles, we will need to be vigilant. Carry on Batman’s legacy, for as long as we may need to.”
No one speaks again.
They all just let it sink in, hearts heavy.
They’re going to have to do this alone now.
45 notes · View notes
redahlia-writes · 1 year
Text
lover, you should’ve come over. | din djarin
Abstract: The Mandalorian had come to you.
The child was gone, he’d found the covert, the Armorer had told him he was an apostate, he had left - and he’d come to you. When Karga had found the house for you, he’d known it should’ve been spacious enough for the both of you - how, you’d never asked, but you’d been grateful the moment Din had showed up at your door and you hadn’t been cramped in a tiny bed as it used to be on the few times you’d followed him for a job. It was meant to be a shared home, even though you knew he’d go away, eventually. Din Djarin was a wanderer, and he was grieving the loss of his child, so he sought familiarity.
Words: 3.7K
Content: f!reader; unedited, s3 spoilers (sort of), angst, hurt/comfort (a lot of hurt i’m sorry), hints at suggestive content but nothing explicit, language, din is an idiot
A/N: spoilers for the s3 pilot - while it doesn't follow the same storyline i took some plot points and readapted them, the timeline is a mix between this episode and tbobf. title and some of the inspiration come from lover, you should’ve come over by jeff buckley, this is a mess and i'm severely sleep deprived but i missed writing for din and i can't stop thinking about this song, so there you have it
also on AO3 - masterlist
reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too
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“Do you like it here?”
Din’s voice was always different in the mornings and in the middle of the night - with a softer edge, slightly raspier, the sleep he had denied himself for years clinging to his throat. When darkness allowed, there was not even the modulor in the way, just his whispers against your skin. You liked it better that way, though you’d never told him directly.
“The house?” you frowned lightly, still with a mouthful of your breakfast. The Mandalorian handed you the cup of caf to wash it down - it felt so ordinarily familiar, your heart almost stuttered at the gesture.
The whole situation was, truly: breakfast in bed, him sitting with his legs crossed over the covers, wearing loose trousers and a tight shirt, and his helmet as his only cover. All these months and still it didn’t feel real at times - it didn’t feel as if it could be your life, not after everything.
“Nevarro,” he murmured, taking the cup of caf from your hands.
“Karga is doing a good job,” you shrugged, leaning back against the pillows. “It’s nice - the calm, some peace, an actual bed,” with a tilt of your head, you moved the empty plate on the nightstand, freeing the space next to you where he’d usually rest. “Don’t you?”
Din shifted closer, moving to your side and resting his hand on the pillows, keeping himself half-upright. You could almost imagine his expression, brows knit tightly in a deep frown as he lingered in his thought - when he uncovered his face for you, you’d smooth out those lines you could only feel under your fingertips rather than see. It was easy to guess what he thought about, the absence of the child incredibly loud in both your lives - but of course it had taken a bigger toll on him.
It was the reason why he’d come back to you in the first place. Not that you minded.
“Yes, yes,” he moved a little closer, his hand resting on your hip, arm half draped across your lower stomach. Sometimes he’d sleep like that, also, wrapped around you and head slotted beneath your chin, the curve of your shoulder. “I’m just thinking about what the Armorer said,” his fingers curled slightly, tangling in the hem of your shirt.
“About Mandalore?” he nodded as you frowned again. It was still difficult to wrap your head around it - that he was technically an apostate, that removing his helmet for Grogu had made him unworthy to his Creed. But he was still there, in bed, with you, and his helmet was on, cold as it brushed your uncovered arm. Still so devout.
“I think I can go there. I think I can be redeemed,” his voice was still low, the night still with him. You shifted a little, trying to at least meet his visor.
“Isn’t the planet -” you hesitated a moment, “even if it’s not cursed, isn’t the atmosphere toxic?”
“So they say, but,” he shifted, moving towards the nightstand on his side of the bed, the whole thing rattling when he opened its tiny drawer and produced a crystal-like object, pale green fused to a piece of metal. “Peli’s Jawas got this.”
“I don’t think either of them would be too thrilled of being called Peli’s Jawas,” you took it from him, the way he handled it carefully bleeding into you. You held it on your palm, tracing with the tip of one finger the inscription in the middle of it. “What’s this?”
“That’s Mando’a,” he gestured towards the text, drawing closer to you again. “This is from Mandalore. Someone took it from the planet’s surface.”
There was an edge of excitement in his voice, and something akin to hope. He’d speak to you in Mando’a every now and then - terms of endearment, mostly, or small sentences whispered in the crook of your neck that he’d never translate. The object in your hands seemed to mean more to him than he wanted to let on - it made his ungloved hands shake ever so slightly, the modulor carry the hitch in his breathing.
“So maybe I can go. If someone could take this, maybe I could find a way to the living waters, and I wouldn’t -” he cut himself off, taking back the crystal from your hands to hold it up over his face. “I want to ask Karga about the IG unit - I think I can restore it, bring it as help. And you could come, too,” the last part was whispered, and you knew by the tilt of his helmet he wasn’t looking at you as he said it.
“Wait, what?” you sat up, torso twisting to look at him. “Come with me,” he said, slowly. “If it’s not safe, I’ll bring you back, but - come with me.”
“To do what?” there was a distant ringing in your ears, head spinning ever so slightly - he wanted to go, he wanted to leave the place you had started to call home. Clearly, he did not feel the same. “Why do you need to go there?”
“If I bathe in the living waters then -” “You told me that already, Din,” it came out sharper than you’d meant to, but the ringing was getting louder and suddenly the covers were too heavy over your body. You kicked them off and straightened your back, trying to slow your breathing.
The Mandalorian had come to you.
The child was gone, he’d found the covert, the Armorer had told him he was an apostate, he had left - and he’d come to you. When Karga had found the house for you, he’d known it should’ve been spacious enough for the both of you - how, you’d never asked, but you’d been grateful the moment Din had showed up at your door and you hadn’t been cramped in a tiny bed as it used to be on the few times you’d followed him for a job. It was meant to be a shared home, even though you knew he’d go away, eventually. Din Djarin was a wanderer, and he was grieving the loss of his child, so he sought familiarity.
Days and nights he stayed, his presence becoming familiar, comforting - dangerous territory, you knew, but still basked in it. Days and nights he wrapped his arms around you and sought his own comfort in your mere presence, with kisses in the dark, tangled limbs and his body over yours like a shield. Days and nights, a hand on your back.
“Cyar’ika,” that same hand brushed your spine and it felt like fire burning your skin away - you flinched away, pain spreading all over your limbs as you got up in a hurry, away from him.
You’d known. Of course you’d known he wouldn’t stay forever. And it still hurt.
“Don’t,” a soft warning, because suddenly even speaking was a pain, and though you couldn’t see his eyes - you never had - you still couldn’t face him.
“Come with me,” he repeated, each word like a dagger in your back. “I have to go, I have to try, and - please, cyar’ika, come with me.”
“I have a life here, Din,” we do. “I have a job, I have a house,” we have a house, a place just for ourselves. “I come with you and - what?” “And we’re together,” he said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the whole Galaxy. Another dagger: in, out, the burning of the wound.
“Are we?” he tilted his head a little, shifting closer to the edge of the bed. “Because from what I understand - from what you’ve told me - your redemption means this,” you gestured between the two of you, the so-large-space that began to feel like a gaping void, “can’t go on.”
“That’s not true,” he shook his head, now sitting in front of you. He seemed to know that if he stood, if he got too close, you’d jump out of your skin. Of course he knew. “We’ve been together before, we can still -”
“Like before? When you didn’t even take off your gloves?” you scoffed, arms wrapping around your middle - Din’s hands flexed in his lap. “When I was bruised because your armor kept pushing into me in whatever small space we found ourselves in?” you could feel him looking at you, his head tilted to the side still. “I didn’t care then, I didn’t expect - I don’t expect more than what you’re willing to give me, Din. I never have. I know you have things that are way more important in your life than I am, it’s not - I get it. I’m not the kid, I’m not part of your Creed, I get it,” perhaps you were shaking, or your voice was, you weren’t sure. “I just thought you coming to me meant more than what it does. That’s on me.”
“Don’t say that,” this time he stood, and there was a frown in his words as he stepped towards you. You took a step back instead.
“Why not?” arms tightening around yourself, you tipped your trembling chin up. “You believe you need some fucking magical bath to keep being who you’ve always been,” it was unfair to use his beliefs against him, a part of you already understood that. But the anger-formed words came out nevertheless.
“You don’t understand,” he spoke calmly, none of your irritation bleeding into him.
“Clearly I fucking don’t. And you know what?” one step backwards, the ache spreading in each of your limbs. It hurt to even be standing. “I don’t even want to, since you’re leaving me for it.”
“Stop that, I’m not leaving you,” one step forward, his hand outstretched to reach for you. For a moment, you thought of giving in - it was so easy to give into him. “I asked you to come with me - but I still have duties. And I still have the Darksaber. I have to try.”
“Right, the Darksaber,” you scoffed, pulling away just as he was about to take your hand. Had you been able to see his face, you would’ve noticed the hurt crossing his eyes. “The duties you didn’t want - the life you didn’t want,” hands trembling dropped against your side, you stared up at him. “But I want this life, Din. I want this house, this land, this peace that still doesn’t feel real. All of this - it’s yours, too, and you can’t see that.”
“You don’t understand -” he repeated, voice lower, the first flicker of uncertainty in his moduled tone.
“Fine. If you want to go, go,” you snapped - for a brief moment it had seemed the anger that had kept you alive for years could be put away, rendered useless by a life you’d only ever dreamt of. You weren’t sure when he’d become part of that dream, nor why - you wished it never had. “I’m staying.”
“Cyar’ika,” a whisper of that word he’d kissed on your skin more times than you could count, that always made you smile - it felt sour now. Wrong. 
“I need some air.”
It was vile - walking away in the middle of an argument. Had you ever done that before?
Perhaps you’d never had to protect any shred of peace before - none that you could remember. The tugging in your chest was new, foreign, aching. Not even Din saying your name eased it - if anything, it made it worse. You hoped the morning air would help, could soothe you.
And perhaps there was a part of you that hoped once you came back, he’d still be there, waiting. That he’d be sitting on the bed again or in the living room you’d spend evenings in, at times falling asleep on the couch just to move back to bed. That he’d say he was sorry for wanting to leave, for asking you to leave. That he’d still be there.
How foolish.
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You didn’t sleep as well as you used to anymore. After many years, you shouldn’t have gotten used to a peaceful night so fast, but the few months the Mandalorian had spent in your bed had spoiled you.
Once he was gone, sleep had eluded you, too. It had been almost a year.
Perhaps you simply didn’t feel as safe without him there - perhaps that was why you slept with your blaster on the nightstand again, and when the floor creaked you reached for it quickly, sitting up with eyes suddenly wide open.
“Cyar’ika,” it was the last thing he’d told you - how fitting it’d be that same word bringing him back to you. Your hand trembled slightly on the blaster, his shape cast in weak moonlight that reflected across his armor.
“What are you doing here?” you exhaled, and he stepped forward, his hands slightly lifted.
“Are you going to shoot me?” there was the edge of a smile in his words - slowly, you lowered the blaster and, after lingering another moment you placed it back onto the nightstand. He stepped closer. “Grogu missed you.”
Your gaze flickers to his sides, where the kid or his pram would be, a moment of joy running through your veins at the prospect of seeing him again. But he was gone, wasn’t he? He was with his people - that’s what Din had told you.
“He’s with Karga now, sleeping,” the Mandalorian said, taking another step forward into the room. His mere presence seems to be wrapping around you, lullying you back into that sense of safety you’ve found in the circle of his arms so many nights. Once again, dangerous territory. “He came back to me while I was on Tatooine. We went around for a while.”
“And now you’re here,” you hummed, crossing your legs underneath the covers and folding your hands in your lap. Din moved closer to the bed, his steps echoing in the empty, quiet house. It had been so quiet since he’d gone. “What are you doing here, Din?”
“You haven’t locked the door,” he shrugged, tugging lightly at his gloves. “And I’ve missed you, cyar’ika,” he admitted, low-voiced.
“I did lock my door,” you pointed out, tilting your head back to look at him. “You still got the key,” it wasn’t a question, and his head dropped ever so slightly in a half-nod.
“I do,” he cleared his throat, knees bumping into the mattress. “I took it as a reflex when I left.”
“It’s fine,” you shrugged - it seemed so odd to be having such a normal conversation with him. As if he hadn’t left an empty space in your entire life, as if he was not the reason you had troubles sleeping now. There were still times you wondered whether or not you’d simply fooled yourself the entire time, made yourself believe there was a chance to turn whatever it was you had into something. Had he ever given you any reason as to believe that? Or had he simply just been there?
He moved slowly - sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping underneath his weight and making you tilt in his direction. You didn’t fight it - it still was so easy to be lured in by him, to lean into him. Was that the reason you just couldn’t sleep? The absence of his body? Of its comfort? Each of his inhale, exhale, long and heavy as he drew closer.
When he reached up to remove his helmet, you closed your eyes - it was instinctual. You’d seen his face - a glimpse of it, really, just once; he’d kissed you countless times, beard and hair scratching your skin over and over until pain turned into bliss. It didn’t matter. You closed your eyes for him.
“I’ve missed you,” had you already started to forget the sound of his voice? The last you’d heard of it was through the modulor, and that had been etched in your brain. Cyar’ika. Come with me. You don’t understand. Please. “It’s pointless without you,” his confession came in a whisper as he bowed his head, warm breath hitting your uncovered shoulder.
A shuddering breath left you, lashes trembling against your cheeks as one of his hands came up behind your back, careful fingers moving up your spine how he’s done countless times in the middle of the night. His curls tickled your jaw as he leaned closer, still slow, and when you didn’t move he placed a gentle kiss upon your shoulder.
His lips were warm, slightly chapped. You could’ve folded into him there and then.
“Din -”
“You were right, I had a life already here, and I couldn’t see it,” a mumble against your skin - he hadn’t shaved in a while, beard scratching you as he spoke. “I’ve been a fool. I was so desperate to find my way back to the Creed I didn’t see what was right in front of me.”
“I take it there was no bath in the living waters.”
“Didn’t even try,” his arm wrapped around your middle, and when you didn’t resist his touch he pulled you into him. The beskar was cold against the sliver of your skin it touched, and yet oddly familiar. “I don’t care about who I am if you’re not with me. I don’t care if I’m an apostate, I care even less if I’m Mand’alor.”
“You didn’t go?” the frown in your words made him tilt his head up, nosing at your jaw. You felt his fingers pushing into your side, warm hand pressing with insistence against your waist as if he could melt his very being into yours. He shook his head.
“You have no reason to forgive me for what I did - for what I asked of you,” his free hand rose to cup your cheek, bringing you closer still, pressing a kiss to your cheek - you’d learned early on how desperate Din Djarin was for touches. Kisses and caresses and bodies interlocked. He’d always craved it all like a man starved. “But I missed you, so much. And I need you. If you’ll have me back.”
“I’m so fucking pissed at you, Djarin,” you muttered, hands seeking him, clinging to him. You hung onto the pieces of his armor, the metal biting into your fingers, your palm, shifting on the bed until your legs were over his, bringing the sheets with you. He chuckled, a broken sound that matched the sound of your voice.
“I know, cyar’ad,” the hand on your side moved up, squeezing your arm a moment before reaching for the nape of your neck. He guided your head back, cupped your cheeks into his rough palms so tenderly it made your heart jump - it always surprised you, the gentleness this man was capable of, the care he’d show through his touches. “I know. I’m sorry.”
For a year, that was all you’d wanted to hear. I’m sorry. Such a simple sentence that broke something you, and you lunged forward, gripping each edge you could find to pull yourself closer and closer, clinging to him with the sudden fear it was all just a dream, that it’d vanish in an instant, that you’d lose him all over again.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, hands running across your cheeks where tears were tumbling down, out of your control. Sorry, sorry, sorry. “Look at me.”
You weren’t sure whether you did it because he sounded sure, or because you were afraid he hadn’t realized what he’d asked of you. When your eyes fluttered open, his face was blurry, and the darkness did not help. He was just a shape, something you’d conjured up in your mind time and time again when you tried to think of him, a memory from the tip of your fingers from the times you’d felt his face.
But he smiled, soft and somewhat unsure, shy. He smiled still brushing your cheeks, the light that reflected across the pieces of armor you weren’t covering casting a faint glow across his skin. He was familiar and unfamiliar to you equally - someone you might’ve known in another life, someone you could’ve seen across the street that had caught your eye.
There was nothing extraordinary in him - he was human, same as you, with brown hair and brown eyes and a dark beard, some white patches here and there, a flush across his cheeks. He looked normal, and like the most beautiful thing you’d seen until then. Over and over you ran your hands across his face, through his hair, as if making sure he was real, he was there, he was still smiling at you.
When he leaned in for a tentative kiss on your parted lips, you couldn’t bring yourself to close your eyes, as if trying to still look at him even as close as he was - it was a gentle kiss, barely there, and you barely registered as the image of him still clung to your eyelids.
He’d shown you his face, asked you to look at him.
He’d come back.
He’d told you he was sorry.
When you kissed him back, arms wrapping around his shoulders, he stumbled backwards a little, one of his hands leaving you to keep both of you upright. The tension left his body when you brushed your hand through his hair, and for a moment it hadn’t been a year since you’d last seen each other. It hadn’t been a year since he’d last been in the same bed as you.
For a moment, you’d both just woken up and sought each other in the dark. For a moment, you’d fallen into each other after a day out and laughed until your ribs hurt and until sleep had claimed you both, tangled in each other. For a moment, the armor slipping off of his body with the air of your hands was something that had happened day after day through the past year. For a moment he’d never left, and you’d never missed him.
And then you pulled back, so abruptly he lost his balance and had to lean against the headboard, looking up at you with his lips parted and bruised and an hiccup in his breath, brows immediately knitting into a frown.
“Why is the kid back?” you asked, breath short, and as soon as the words registered he almost laughed, worry melting away underneath your touch. He pulled you back in, both arms around your waist until you were pressed up against him and his head was slotted into the curve of your neck, peppering gentle kisses down your shoulder. “Din.”
“It’s a long story,” he mumbled, hands running underneath your shirt and pulling it up, up, up, your body leaning into his touch by instinct alone. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”
339 notes · View notes
shumidehiro · 2 years
Text
Interrupted
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✂ Pairing: Yandere! Childe x Female! Reader
✂ Word Count: 0,8k+
✂ Warnings: Lime
[Edited]
Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission. Please reblog so other people can see my stories!
***
I miss him so I’m gonna write him for now. Dw Pantalone is still living rent free in my mind and has now replaced Zhongli.
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“Rosalyne is dead.”
You merely hummed, stroking his orange hair that sprawled on your lap. Childe appeared frustrated, not because he grieved – let alone sympathized with – Rosalyne’s death, but because his workload had increased exponentially. And with Scaramouche’s disappearance, Childe had even lesser time to spend with you.
Did you pity him?
Of course not.
You weren’t a demon, but you weren’t an angel, either. If you couldn’t get justice for his actions, then the least you could do was to relish in his sufferings. Obviously, as a good little wife you were, you’d long learned to mask any expression that didn’t suit him. You smiled, laughed, and moaned when he wanted you to, but only your contentment at his absence that truly came from the heart.
Besides, it helped to push aside his little agenda of creating a family with you.
“Did you miss me?”
“Your letters soothed some of my loneliness.”
Childe peeked through the arm that covered his eyes, and you knew him well enough that this blank gaze meant that he was unamused.
“You lied.”
“Does it make any difference? It’s not as if the guards would allow me to dismiss your letters.”
“You’re not scheming to escape from me, are you?”
“Even if I am, it’s not as if I can get very far, can’t I?”
He huffed a laugh and sat up to face you.
“You’re right. I’m so glad you’ve learned your place.” Childe tilted your head and leaned forward, the lust softening yet darkening his stare. “Keep this up, and I shall reward you.”
For a split second, you wondered if you’d underestimated his memory. You knew Childe wanted to have a family with you, and he knew you knew, but you thought he’d forgotten about it due to his work. Still, you forced yourself to take a deep breath and closed your eyes.
Never sought his affection, unless demanded. And never rejected his affection, unless necessary.
And if tonight was the fateful night, then you could console yourself with the fact that he’d rarely be around to accompany you through the pregnancy.
His kiss was feather light at first, before his pent-up urge dominated any gentleness. You gripped his shoulders to anchor yourself to reality as he pushed you down to the bed, his knee rubbing your clothed sex. You moaned into his mouth and clawed his shirt before you could lose yourself in the pleasure. Even if you obeyed his orders, you wanted to be conscious when you did that.
Nothing was more humiliating than doing something without your knowledge, after all.
Gloved hands stroked and groped your curves, and it wasn’t long before Childe fumbled with your shirt. The temperature increased in each button he opened until he lifted himself above you, admiring the sight below him. You, with your chest heaving and clad in only a cotton bra. You didn’t expect him to come home, and you certainly didn’t expect to please him tonight.
But it didn’t matter. You still looked ravishing, nonetheless, and it’d been a long time since he felt the softness of your skin. Or any softness other than his coat, really.
“I missed you too, you know? I always thought of you even during my missions, and no amount of letter is enough to ‘soothe my loneliness’. You’re just cruel.”
You knew that. It wasn’t as if he was being subtle in some of his letters – if he even tried in the first place – and you always made sure to prepare yourself mentally and physically before you read them. You didn’t want to imagine him masturbating every time he wrote them, either, so you responded just enough to satisfy his feelings and not his lust.
“No matter.” he grinned, eyes glinting in the dimness of the room. And had you weren’t so accustomed to his ever-changing moods, you would’ve cowered in fear. You had, once, and it only fed to the predator inside him. “I make sure to indulge myself tonight.”
Childe lunged to attack your puffy lips again when a knock suddenly halted his movement.
“Lord Tartaglia? Pardon me for interrupting, but Lord Capitano asked you to attend to Lady Signora’s funeral.”
You subtly exhaled in relief, while Childe clucked exasperatedly. He removed himself from your body and ruffled his own hair.
“Help me pick an outfit, will you?”
You quickly fixed your appearance and grabbed his Harbinger coat from the closet. It was too white, too pure, and you thought about how unbefitting it was to be worn by someone who was so bloody. So red. So black. Regardless, you were eager for him to leave the house as soon as possible and assisted him in dressing himself.
But not without you avenging your petty anger by wrapping the red scarf until it nearly covered his mouth.
Childe squinted in irritation at your passive-aggressive action before he sighed, deciding to be the bigger person just for once.
“Be a good girl and wait for me, will you?” he asked, or rather, demanded as he lowered the scarf slightly while still maintaining your creation.
You closed your eyes and simpered.
“Of course.”
And as you escorted him to the front door, you wondered when you’d get the news of his death too.
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twistedcharismaaa · 21 days
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Lost & Found Pt. 10.1
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Summary: You’re living a suffocating life and you finally find breath in Masego.
Author's Note: Hi guyssssss! I hope you’re doing well! I love and miss you guys!!! I’m back with an update! An actual update for this story (can you believe it? Lol) ! It’s been a thousand years it feels! I highly suggest going back and reading the previous chapter for a refresher! I hope you all enjoy reading! Please leave a comment for ya girl! You know I live for the commentary! Love you guys!!!!!
(Flashback)
Slowly, Tiffany shifted from her relaxed state and sat forward. She uncrossed her legs and placed her notebook on the mahogany-colored coffee table in front of her.
“So, you broke up with Desmonde?” she questioned.
“It was mutual I guess,” you shrugged. “Not much was said,” you continued.
“Can you tell me a little about Desmonde?” she quizzed as she interlocked her fingers.
“I met him shortly after my mom died. He was the local mechanic in the neighborhood. Before I knew it, I just fell into his arms I guess,” you answered reluctantly.
“And with all the time you spent together, how did he make you feel?” she asked.
“He made me feel..” you paused. “He was like…” The word lingered on your tongue as your eyes danced across the room as if you were visibly looking for the right words to say.
“Take your time,” Tiffany insisted.
“He was like the breath in my lungs?” you responded as if you were unsure.
“Ah, he was your love,” Tiffany replied smiling.
“That’s the thing. I don’t know if I ever truly loved him,” you admitted.
“Can you explain further?” she quizzed.
“I think I just depended on him. He made me feel less alone in the world,” you explained.
“And in his absence, you feel like you can’t breathe? As if you don’t have anyone to depend on? Am I close?” she guessed.
You nodded quietly in agreement.
“I would consider Desmonde more of a distraction for you,” she answered.
“A distraction from what?” you questioned feeling somewhat confused.
“Your grief,” she breathed. “You lost your mother and you lost your baby. You distracted yourself with him. He was nothing more than a tangible coping mechanism.” she added. “And now that he’s gone, you can grieve so that you can heal,” she continued.
Immediately, you closed your eyes to shield the oncoming tears that were determined to be set free. Nervously, you bounced your leg repeatedly as you crumbled the hem of your shirt sleeve in the palm of your hand.
“Feel it and let it pass. Breathe Charisma,” Tiffany whispered. —--
(Present)
You answered the phone and readied yourself to hear all of the bullshit that was going to spew out of Desmonde’s mouth. Dramatically, you rolled your eyes and pressed the phone to your ear. With an exasperated sigh, you answered with such disinterest. The sound of desperation that coated Desmonde’s voice caught you by surprise, but what shocked you most, is the news he delivered. The moment the news traveled from his mouth and into your ear caused an instantaneous reaction. Your eyes widened with disbelief as your free hand found residence over your quivering lips. Quickly, you closed your eyes in hopes that your incoming tears wouldn’t shed. You didn’t realize you were frozen until a drunken stranger bumped into you snapping you back into reality. Your eyes were forced open and naturally, apologies were exchanged between you and the partygoer.
“Charisma are you still there?” Desmonde questioned.
You completely forgot that your phone was still resting against your ear. You never did verbally respond to the news.
“I’m here,” you breathed.
“I-I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but believe me when I say that I do care about you. I always have and probably always will,” he admitted.
“Desmonde -” you paused. Before you could respond you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder.
Slowly, you turned around and were greeted by one of Micah’s security guards, Big Mike.
“Hey, I don’t mean to interrupt but Sego just finished his meet and greet session. He’s looking for you. I can escort you to him if you’re ready?” he quizzed.
“Okay. Can you give me a minute?” you responded politely.
“Absolutely,” Big Mike answered as he nodded.
Soon after Big Mike walked away and allowed you to finish your conversation. He made sure not to stray too far away, he could sense something was wrong.
“Desmonde, you still there?” you quizzed.
“I’m here,” he replied softly.
“Desmonde, I think it’s better if I figure this out by myself,” you responded, calmly.
“Charisma but I think - “ Desmonde tried to interject.
“I think it's better if I figure this out by myself,” you repeated, but this time more sternly. Thank you for telling me.” You added before abruptly hanging up.
Gradually you approached Big Mike.
“Actually, can you take me back to the hotel? I’m feeling a bit tired,” you confessed.
He nodded in agreement. “I’ll let the boss man know,” Big Mike stated.
Easily, Big Mike escorted you to the car safely. He watched you climb inside.
“You good? Comfortable?” He quizzed, with a warm smile.
“Yes,” you answered with a slight smile.
“Cool, cool. I’m going to make a quick call and then we’ll pull off,” he promised.
“Sounds good,” you replied.
“Aight,” Big Mike responded before closing the car door. —-----
Big Mike dialed Micah up to give him an update on the unexpected change of plans.
“Ayeeeee Big Mike!” Micah answered cheerfully. “Y’all on the way?” He asked.
“Not exactly. We’re heading back to the hotel. She said she doesn’t feel too well,” Big Mike explained.
“Is she sick? You think she caught something? You know what, I’ll meet y’all there,” Micah stated.
“Yes sir. Sounds like a plan,” Big Mike answered.
The call came to a mutual end and Big Mike hopped in the driver’s seat and pulled off. You rested your head against the window as you simultaneously looked out of it. You tried your best to quiet your mind.
“Feel it and let it pass….” you silently thought to yourself. —-
Part 9
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@soloperator @19jammmy @soulfuljas @sheabuttahwrites @thadelightfulone
@isisafrofairy @blackburnbook @neeville @nelleana
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@nzia-writes @justanothernerdgirl @pinkthongs @mindnmybidnesss @charismablu @fendionmyfeet @iamrheaspeaks @shewrites02 @iammyownlover
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thorin-apologist · 10 months
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the big debut
sooo ive been writing this bagginshield fic on and off for the past 2.5 years, it isnt quite finished but im going to start editing and posting chapters very soon (expect month long hiatuses because im terrible) but i just wanna get it out there!!! so heres the prologue, which will be posted to ao3 along with chapter 1 whenever i finish editing it. if so much as one person likes this shit im gonna be spurred on to work faster. ANYWAYS heres the prologue under the cut!! (approx 2.7k words, no TW just slight angst)
Prologue
“You’d think I asked my cousins to die and leave behind a parentless child,” Bilbo said bitterly to Balin. He was getting quite sick of Thorin Oakenshield hastily leaving any room Bilbo walked into. In this instance, it was one of Erebor’s libraries.
“He doesn’t resent your decision to leave us,” said Balin as he led Bilbo to the section of books written in Westron. “In fact, I think he’s more ashamed of how upset he is – he thinks it is you, and only you, who should be allowed to grieve at this time.”
“Sounds ridiculous enough, so you’re probably right.” Thorin’s strange, stubborn ways never failed to exasperate Bilbo, even after one and a half years of knowing him. “So, is he just going to hide from me until I’m gone?”
“I’ll talk some sense into him, laddie.”
Bilbo perused the shelves with Balin at his side, flicking through books and handing Balin the ones that caught his eye. Although he had to force himself to skip over the thick, heavy, leatherbound volumes, he was determined to take as much of the Lonely Mountain he could carry back to the Shire with him, regarding all his chosen books and keepsakes as his real fourteenth share.
On the 22nd of September, just days ago, Gandalf had stopped by the Lonely Mountain to wish Bilbo a happy birthday - though of course, this was not his sole motive for coming. He joined the dwarven birthday celebrations, eating and drinking and singing with them all through the night, waiting until Bilbo’s merry mood began to dissipate with exhaustion before taking him aside and extinguishing any residual cheer left in him.
“I am sorry that I must dampen your spirits on a day of celebration, but there will be no right moment fit for this news and it’s best that I get it over with sooner rather than later.” Gandalf paused, waiting for the sleepy smile to slide off Bilbo’s face. “Upon my last visit to the Shire, I learned the news that your cousin Drogo and his wife Primula had drowned in a boating accident not long before my arrival. This was mere months after their son Frodo was born. He was taken in by the Brandybucks and will live at Brandy Hall indefinitely.” Gandalf fell silent again, but not for nearly as long as Bilbo needed to process the blow from this information. Gandalf’s next words echoed from far away: “Today is his first birthday - he shares the day with you. He would have a better life at Bag End…”
Bilbo had viewed the Shire as something he would ultimately return to when it pulled hard enough at his heart, but until that moment came, it wouldn’t hurt to stay in Erebor a little longer. However, a month had turned into two months, and two into three, and three into ten, and still he had not felt compelled to leave. It was only at this horrible news that he realised that life went on without him there - hadn’t stopped in his absence, waiting patiently for him to return at his leisure. In the end, it was the grief of losing two dear relatives, the thought of the orphaned boy, and the guilt of completely missing something so important that prompted his journey back to the Shire.
*
Balin must’ve done as he’d promised and given Thorin a talking to, because he finally came out of hiding and approached Bilbo just before his official send-off the next day. It was dawn, so the Lonely Mountain’s vast foyer was empty apart from him and Thorin. They faced each other in dim light by the towering entrance gates, Bilbo with an armful of books that Thorin narrowed his eyes at.
“Haven’t you outgrown burglary, Master Baggins?”
Bilbo smiled at Thorin’s folded arms, knowing he was not in any real trouble. “Maybe not. Why, going to banish me for it?”
Thorin laughed softly and dropped the stern façade. “Take whatever you desire. Erebor is forever indebted to you.”
Bilbo’s bare feet shuffled sheepishly on the smooth stone floor. He always felt awkward whenever anyone acknowledged his part in reclaiming Erebor. His actions had led to victory, but also to devastation for so many people, and the latter was what he remembered whenever it was brought up. He tried to push it from his mind, not wanting to dwell on it during his last moments inside this place. “Don’t tempt me, I might take something expensive.”
Thorin asked questions about Bilbo’s route home, whether Gandalf would accompany him for the whole journey, and if he had enough food and supplies to last them both. None of these things warranted a private conversation before the rest of the company came down, but Bilbo was glad for it to be this way.
Despite his close friendship with Thorin, they had rarely been alone together over these past ten months. Thorin was either out on regular visits to Dale and Lake Town, overseeing Erebor’s reconstruction, or being forced to sit down and look over what Bilbo liked to call ‘kingly paperwork’, which mainly consisted of reviewing outdated laws and renewing old trade agreements. Thorin worked hard, but for all his work, Bilbo knew that his gold-sick mistakes still plagued him. In any case, it was in Thorin’s nature to be among his people, joining in the grunt work instead of lounging on a throne and ordering others around. Bilbo enjoyed helping with the paperwork when he could, usually accompanied by Balin and sometimes Dain Ironfoot – Thorin’s most trusted royal advisors. On many occasions, Bilbo was invited to dine in the King’s private hall, meant only for royalty and any desired guests. This party usually consisted of Thorin, Fili and Kili, their mother Dis, and often Dwalin, Balin, and Dain. Bilbo would’ve liked to have seen Thorin outside of these settings, but this was virtually impossible. Now that he was leaving however, he knew he would cherish all the time he got to spend with Thorin’s family and the rest of the company.
The small talk drew to a natural close and a short silence fell. Thorin broke it.
“Do you have any intention of returning?” Thorin said it casually enough but refused to meet Bilbo’s eye. A book began to slip from under Bilbo’s arm. He caught it and wedged it back into place. Thorin added, “It will be a sore loss for Erebor’s counsel.”
“Balin will keep you right,” said Bilbo, stalling as he thought of how best to respond to the original question. “I would hate to never return. I hate that I’m leaving now.”
Thorin brightened. “So, you will come back? When you are able, I mean.”
Now it was Bilbo’s turn to avoid Thorin’s eye. “It’s not that simple. It was irresponsible of me to stay so long. Really it was irresponsible to come in the first place.” Thorin nodded, his eyebrows sinking back down. “Not that I regret it,” said Bilbo quickly, “No, not at all. But I have family; obligations…” Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek. “And I have already let them down by not being there. The funeral would’ve been months ago. And the boy, he needs—”
“Yes, of course. I know,” said Thorin gently, quelling Bilbo’s anxious rambling. “I know you must go back to your family. It was selfish of me to hope for anything else.”
On the contrary, it warmed Bilbo to know that Thorin Oakenshield wanted him to stay. A bolder Bilbo might’ve made it known to Thorin that he felt equally selfish, and that if Thorin elaborated on what he hoped, it might just persuade him to abandon his plans. But this conversation was already looking to become uncomfortable. Bilbo needed easy, clean goodbyes today.
Luckily, it was at that moment that the chattering of Fili and Kili began to echo into the foyer. They soon emerged from a connected hallway, accompanied by Dis, whom Bilbo had come to like very much. She had silver-streaked dark hair and a strong nose, like her brother Thorin, but she shared the same kind brown eyes as Kili. However, her beard was by far the most impressive of all her family; tamed, glossy, and styled in intricate braids.
“Knew he’d be the first one down. Thorin! Changed his mind yet?” Fili called as they all approached. Thorin rolled his eyes.
As soon as they came to the place Bilbo stood, Fili and Kili pulled him into a group hug, making him drop most of his books. Bilbo decided drop the rest so that he could reach up and put an arm around each of their shoulders.
These two had come especially close to death during last year’s war, as had Thorin. In the recovery tents as the battle died away, Bilbo sat at their bedsides with Dis, who had been a part of the army from the Iron Hills but had not managed to get to her family during the fight. During this time, she had opened up to Bilbo, telling him stories about Fili and Kili as children, and some surprising tales about Thorin in his youth. Bilbo learned about Frerin, her and Thorin’s brother who had been killed in battle before he could come of age, and of Dis’ late husband, who had died alongside him. It was then that Bilbo realised that her sons and Thorin were the only family she had left, and how close she had come to losing everything.
“Tauriel sends her love,” said Kili as he and Fili broke away, “she and Legolas are working on repealing the Elvenkingdom’s law against marriage between dwarves and elves. You might run into them in Mirkwood, actually – if they don’t end up banished again.”
“If I come past the Elvenking’s Halls, I’m marching inside and giving Thranduil a piece of my mind on the matter,” said Bilbo.
Dis stepped forward, smiling at him. “You are sweet, Bilbo,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It has been a joy to have you here. Our family will never forget what you have done for us.” Fili and Kili nodded in agreement.
“It has been an honour to be allowed to stay here for so long,” said Bilbo graciously, choosing again to ignore the uncomfortable latter statement.
“Don’t be silly, I am reluctantly allowing you to leave us,” she said. Bilbo smiled.
Dwalin and Balin came down next. Bilbo pretended not to notice Balin’s overly wet eyes, not wanting to copy them. Next came Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur. It had been Bofur whom Bilbo had ended up spending the most time around during his stay, as he was simply wonderful to be around; always finding ways to make Bilbo laugh after such a dark time. He gripped Bofur especially hard when they hugged, receiving hearty pats on the back in return.
Oin and Gloin soon joined the throng, and finally Ori, Dori, and Nori. Now that everyone was there, there was no point in delaying the inevitable. Dwalin and Dori headed over to either side of the gates and hauled the chains that opened them. The gates slowly parted outwards, revealing the bare grounds stretched out before the Mountain. The only things that had been added since the battle were some hastily built pens and huts dotted here and there. Mist obscured the horizon and muted the low-hanging sun’s rays.
Just outside the gates, Gandalf was standing by a cart attached to two horses and laden with all of Bilbo’s things. Bilbo and the company walked forwards into the chilly autumn morning. He reached the cart and loaded the last of his books. Gandalf looked down his long, crooked nose at him with sympathy in his eyes. Without saying anything, Gandalf gently patted Bilbo on the shoulder and boarded the cart. Bilbo turned around to face the fourteen dwarves, who were already huddling around him. They all took it in turns to embrace him (with some coming back for seconds), wishing him good luck and a safe journey.
When it was Thorin’s turn, he murmured in Bilbo’s ear as he held him, “Please write.” Bilbo nodded into the thick furs of Thorin’s cloak. They came apart for a moment. Then, to Bilbo’s shock, Thorin brushed his forehead against Bilbo’s. It was brief, but unmistakeable.
He heard a murmur from the group and hid his face as he climbed into the cart. Bilbo had been around dwarves long enough to know the gravity of that gesture. Bilbo valiantly tried to maintain his composure as he faced his dwarves for the last time.
“I will visit, if I can,” said Bilbo to the group, though he was looking at Thorin. Maybe it wasn’t as impossible as he had been telling himself; he might be able to find a babysitter once Frodo was old enough. Another impulse of irresponsibility might attack him again, and he could find himself running out the door without a handkerchief or a second thought. He would have to try a bit harder to fight these impulses now that he would have a child to look after. But if the last year and a half had taught Bilbo anything, it was that he could never be certain of what he might do next.
“You’d better,” Dwalin growled, and many of the others agreed in mutters.
“And likewise,” said Bilbo, his voice dangerously close to breaking, “you are all welcome at Bag End. Anytime.” As soon as you can, as often as you like, as many of you as Bag End can fit.
Gandalf took the reins and started the horses, guiding the cart away from the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo tried to keep his gaze on the dwarves, trying to burn their faces into his memory as they shrank away from him, but found that his eyes began to well. So, he twisted back around in his seat and faced the road ahead.
*
As soon as all the formalities regarding Frodo's adoption were dealt with, he had written a letter to Thorin, recounting his journey home, and greatly emphasising that he would love for them to meet again soon. The local postman would've surely fainted if Bilbo handed him a letter addressed to Erebor, so Bilbo entrusted his letter to Gandalf, who claimed he would be flitting to and from the East and West on ‘business,’ and would make sure it was delivered in good time.
Months later, Gandalf returned with Thorin's strangely formal response; that he would like nothing more, but he had to prioritise his duties as king and the ongoing restoration of Erebor. Bilbo understood of course - he had his own duties, what with being something of a parent, to be getting on with. Instead, he kept Thorin up to date with lengthy letters containing details of his contrastingly quiet life in the Shire, and many questions about the wellbeing of the other dwarves and what life as King under the Mountain was like. Sometimes he asked for advice on bringing up his nephew, as he knew Thorin had experience with Fili and Kili.
Bilbo wished for the same level of enthusiasm and detail in Thorin's replies but did not get it. In fact, each letter Bilbo received became shorter and more impassive than the last. Each time, Thorin found excuses to turn down Bilbo's (now somewhat persistent) attempts to reunite, whether it be in Erebor or Hobbiton. Bilbo couldn't fathom why this was. Thorin had earnestly requested that Bilbo write to him. Surely, he was not so busy that he couldn't write more than a few sentences. And if he was, why couldn't he get one of the others to write for him? After four years of this, Bilbo grew tired of how one-sided their friendship had become, and let frustration get the better of him. Halfway through a letter wishing Thorin a happy 200th birthday, he switched his tone and stated that Thorin need not reply if he no longer had the time of day for him.
Six more years passed, and he had not received another letter.
*****
aaaand because theres absolutely no way you could guess whats actually gonna happen in this fic just from the prologue, here’s a cheeky synopsis!
After years of lost contact, Thorin turns up on Bilbo’s doorstep with an awkward greeting and a dire warning. Upon learning about Gandalf’s uncharacteristically sinister plans regarding the ring, the hobbit and the dwarf king decide to take matters into their own hands. But are their hands the safest ones to carry the ring? (Spoiler: absolutely not).
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eyecandyeoz · 7 months
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Chapter 9 - Riptide
Pairing:  Tech x Belter!OC x Crosshair Warnings apply to current and or future chapters as well: angst, fluff, language, adult situations, death mention, slow burn romance, astrophobia & nyctophobia, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, canon-typical violence, medical complications, space terminology. Summary: After something unexpected, Emalia decides to shed light on her true nature and the role she played in her former family. Crosshair makes a confession.
Paradigm Shift Masterlist - just under 1.5k words
Main Masterlist - Read on Wattpad & Ao3
It takes a second for both of them to register what is happening. Emalia feels herself melt into the amorous contact she’s been so desperately starved of, likewise reflected by Crosshair’s indulgent gesture before she hastily retracts her hands, breaking the kiss when aggrieved with the instability of their state of affairs.
They withdraw from one another at opposite sides of the bed, speechless and awestricken. Crosshair savors the sweet taste of her lips on his tongue while Emalia strokes her fingertips against her mouth, not willing to feel his absence just yet.
“I was expecting you to slap me for that.” Crosshair adjusts himself where he sits, refining his posture while still expecting some form of objection.
“Then why did you do it?” Emalia happened to welcome the exchange to Crosshair’s surprise before they both snapped out of the throes of romantic affliction and separated themselves from each other.
“I was willing to take my chances.” He says, folding his arms and shrugging. “Besides, I know how badly we needed it.”
“Crosshair, I don’t want to wallow in pity anymore. I’ve taken it from everyone else, including myself but I don't want to take it from you too.” Emalia is thankful that his unfiltered and brash nature allows him to leap over lines the others wouldn’t dare think about crossing in her period of mourning. If he starts backpedaling now, she’ll surely miss his version of authenticity.
“Emalia, that-” He interrupts himself by clearing his throat, gathering his thoughts. “That wasn’t pity. That was my attempt at solace. For both of us.”
Emalia doesn’t respond, accepting the words as they are. Her heart races, reignited with the spark of unfettered romance and the release of inhibitions. She wants him to do it again, surrendering to a gossamer deja-vu when the lenses of remembrance are lifted by the realization that she’s been here before but not in the way that she thinks. The dancing cosmos around them, the singular focal point of light akin to the sun, him being so close… “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“What was me?” Crosshair scrunches his nose in Emalia’s direction.
“It was you who saved me. Now, I’m certain of it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Crosshair scoffs. “We all saved you.”
“No, I mean that it was you who gave me your air.” Emalia’s memory of that fateful day is blurry and fractured from being thrusted into the cusp of death. Pushing those memories deep down was the only way she could save herself, far too doused in negative light to see that anything good could have possibly come from those events. It’s taken her a long time to even regain the desire to put the pieces together again, even longer to reach clarity. “You pulled me from the weckage.”
“I had to…” Crosshair’s jaw trembles, trying and failing to conceal his irate expression. “Tech had his reasons to not want to risk the safety of the group again, especially for a person we didn’t even know. But if they chose to come back for me; someone who definitely doesn’t deserve it, I couldn’t live with myself if I let them leave you.”
Crosshair looks at Emalia like he wants so badly to tell her something and it’s impossible not to read it. The appearance of this blissful sunrise on her psyche is killed by the inevitable evening of reality just as the sky grieves when the stars die at the first strokes of dawn. They linger in silence and Emalia watches Crosshair struggle to keep his confessions contained.
“I gave you more than my air that day, Emalia.”
“Don’t.”
“I gave you everything.”
“Please, don’t say it.”
“Why is it so difficult for you to accept the truth? That I could possibly lov-”
“Stop!” Emalia closes her eyes, covering her ears regarding the word as a curse. “You can’t possibly know the significance of that word for me.”
“Try me.” Crosshair challenges and Emalia loses focus, fumbling with her thoughts not knowing where to even begin.
“The other people aboard the Excalibur, you know them as my family, because they are.” Emalia slowly lines out the basics in a way she’s sure he would understand them, never having to explain something that’s so natural in her life to someone who needs the enlightenment. “But I know them as my… lovers.”
Emalia finally lets the word fall from her lips, wishing she could chase it back in again. Crosshair’s eyes widen in initial shock, then narrow in contemplation. “All of them?”
Emalia nods, rolling up her sleeve to show the dark banded tattoo on her left wrist. “We each have one.”
The gears start to turn and Crosshair is somewhat getting the picture. “There had to have been five additional organic signatures on your ship. So you’re saying…?”
Emalia doesn’t let him finish, nodding repetitively in confirmation. “Three husbands.” She raises her tattooed arm and holds it beside her face. “Three wives.”
Crosshair ponders the reason for Emalia’s resistance to move on and entertain the thought of harboring feelings for him or Tech or anyone else for that matter. The somber disquiet in her eyes, silent voice and heavy heart reveals all the truth he needs and it pulls Crosshair in with impervious force, aching for Emalia to let him in. He leans closer to her side of the bed, heaving a grumbled but amused sigh before reaching for the back of her neck. “You don’t want to be forced to choose.” 
Emalia tenses up at first, in fear of what she would do if he were to kiss her again, but he moves swiftly in a different direction, opting to seal his devotions with a light brush of his mouth against her forehead instead.  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to make you.” He says, breath falling about her hair.
“You’ll resent me for it.” Emalia shakes her head with Crosshair’s hand still caressing the back of her neck. “You’ll resent me for having the will to find that same solace you gave me just now in the both of you.”
“I’m used to being seen as a monster, but there is resilience in a vulnerability like yours that I am always learning from. I heard someone say once that true solace is finding none, because it’s everywhere when you’re constantly searching.” Crosshair disputes as he pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, finally yielding to the softer side of himself that Emalia knew was there all along, albeit a more fiery path to the same gratifying result. She doesn’t say anything, letting the unaddressed amity between the two of them speak for itself. “It took me until now to finally understand what that meant. So hear me when I say that the way I feel about you is my problem, not yours.”
“I don’t want there to be any problem.” Emalia tries to pull away, frustrated by the thought of having to chaotically juggle her own internal inventory as well as the inventory of others. “Not with you, not with Tech, not with anyone.”
“Here’s what I’ll do.” Crosshair lets go of her, acknowledging the message he sends with every gesture while wary of overwhelming her with this revelation. Emalia brushes her own knuckles along her cheek, then finds the lock of hair Crosshair fixed. She traces the same path he took along her skin, securing the section of hair repetitively in place so as to hold onto the sensation of Crosshair’s touch for as long as she could. As much as she wrestles with the unwillingness to accept the care they think she deserves, she certainly does love to relish in the language of their souls in any translation. “I won’t tell you now, but I will say it when you need it most, unless Tech isn’t too reserved to say it first.”
“How will I know when that will be?” Emalia watches Crosshair get up from where he was sitting on the bed. He walks back into the shadows and she can only make out the outline of his slender shape. His eyes glint with the refraction of the projector, still holding onto their honest devotion.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
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nerdzzone · 1 year
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A Hopeful Mishap
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Summary: An unexpected surprise has Madeline and Chris cautiously excited for the next big challenge in their relationship.
Part of the Back To You series
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June 2020
Madeline’s head was spinning.
She felt weak, she felt dizzy and she felt a little bit nauseous, but after the diagnosis she’d just been given, it was impossible for her to know whether the way she was feeling was a result of hearing the news or if it was a symptom of her condition.
She was pregnant.
It wasn’t news that she’d been expecting to hear when she went into the doctor’s office that day, but as the shock began to settle she had to admit that it shouldn’t have been entirely unexpected. After all, she’d made the appointment because her period was late, but that had been a common occurrence over the last year and she’d been so sure that - as with all the other times - pregnancy wasn’t the reason. Ever since the dramatic weight loss she’d struggled with throughout her grieving process, she hadn’t had a regular cycle. She’d lost her period completely for almost six months and then when it returned, it was consistently unreliable and worse than it had ever been before. 
In an attempt to give her natural hormones a chance to figure themselves out, she’d stopped taking her birth control pills earlier in the year and despite that choice making no noticeable difference, they’d been relying on the pull out method ever since. She thought they’d been careful and she’d tried her best to track her ovulation, but - as her doctor had just pointed out - it would have been very difficult for her to track it correctly if her cycles weren’t regular.
And now, they were going to have a baby.
She knew that Chris would be happy. He’d been open about his desire to be a dad since they first started dating and he’d been quite worried about her since she’d shared her concerns. He hadn’t brought it up with her, but in the days leading up to her appointment, she’d caught him researching various ailments that could be causing her problems so she knew he’d be relieved that it was nothing more serious.
Then again, having a baby was pretty serious too and Madeline wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it.
For so long, the thought of having a baby terrified her and she’d spent many years associating starting a family with giving up her dreams, her career, and her independence. Before she left him, the guilt of knowing that it was something Chris was eager for and something she wasn’t ready to give him had turned it into a subject that filled her with dread. But their situation had changed. She wasn’t so focused on her career anymore and giving up some of her independence to raise a child was something that had been starting to feel more like it would be a privilege than the punishment she used to think it would be.
There were still a few things that concerned her, but there was an undeniable flicker of excitement bubbling inside her - especially when she thought about breaking the news to Chris. He’d wanted to go with her to the appointment, but there were still restrictions in place that limited the number of people allowed in the doctor’s office to only those who the appointments were for so Madeline had convinced him not to come. She found herself feeling quite grateful for his absence as it allowed her to use her drive home to gather her thoughts and get over the shock, but by the time she’d pulled back into their driveway, she was no wiser about how to tell him. Visions of viral pregnancy reveals danced through her mind, but she knew Chris would have questions as soon as she walked in the door and that she would be entirely incapable of keeping the news to herself long enough to come up with any wild way to announce it so as she headed up the steps of their porch, she decided that being direct was her best course of action.
“Chris!” She called out as she closed their front door closed behind her. “I’m home!”
The sound of Chris and Dodger’s footsteps bounding down the hallway immediately filled her ears and Chris’ anxious curiosity was written all over his face as he skidded to a stop in the entryway.
“How did it go? What did the doctor say?”
Madeline smiled at his eager concern as she scratched Dodger’s ears and tried to figure out what to say.
“Well, she wasn’t super worried at first because, like I said, being underweight and all the stress of the last couple of years can have a huge effect on your menstrual cycle,” Madeline started her explanation. “But it turns out there’s a really simple reason for the current problems that I’m having.”
She’d tried to keep it vague - to leave some mystery until she confirmed anything - but the hopeful glint that appeared in Chris’ eye as he watched her carefully told Madeline that he already had some suspicions about what she was about to say and she had to bite her lip to stop her smile from getting even wider as he questioned her.
“Oh, really? What would that be?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Madeline barely had time to register the look of complete joy on Chris’ face before he’d crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. A laugh fell from her lips as she was pressed tightly into his chest and buried his face in her hair as if he just couldn’t get her close enough.
“Really?” He asked, the emotion in his voice stirring up emotions in her as well. “You’re serious?”
“I am,” she assured him, feeling his grip tighten even more and embracing the comfort of his warmth for a moment before she leaned back to look up at him. “I have an appointment next week for a few tests to give us a little more information, but the doctor said there was no doubt.”
“I knew it,” Chris grinned. “I knew it as soon as you told me your period was late.”
“It seems obvious now. It must have happened on your birthday,” Madeline mused, knowing it was the only recent time they’d slipped up. She’d done the math after it happened and been very confident that she couldn’t get pregnant at that time, but obviously she’d been wrong. “We have pretty bad timing though…”
“Why?” Chris smirked. “I think it’s pretty good timing, everything is cancelled and neither of us have anywhere to be.”
“That’s my point,” Madeline argued. “The world’s in such a mess, there might not even be a world left by the time this baby’s born.”
“If there’s no world left then having a baby will be the least of our problems.”
It was a fair counter to her somewhat dramatic claim and Madeline couldn’t help but smile despite the very valid concerns that were running through her mind.
They had been luckier than most throughout the pandemic. Once it was clear that everything was shutting down, they’d settled in at home in Massachusetts with Scott and spent the first few months of strict lockdowns just hanging out and enjoying each other’s company. Life had been so busy in various ways for all of them in the last few years so being forced to drop everything and spend a few months of quality time together was somewhat of a blessing in disguise despite the uncertainty brought on by the ‘unprecedented’ shutdown of the world. Of course, like everyone else, they had days where the close proximity had them all at each other’s throats and days when they grew anxious to get back to normal, more productive life, but they’d tried to make the best of it and Chris and Madeline had really appreciated how the lack of distractions gave them the time to reconnect and rebuild a solid foundation for their relationship.
However, their comfortable situation didn’t shelter them entirely from the mess the virus was causing. A quick scroll through any social media showed the widespread suffering that was happening all over the world and while the case numbers did seem to be declining at least temporarily, there was still no long-term solution and the virus was still running quite rampant with no guarantees that things would be any more under control in the next nine months.
“Okay, that’s true,” Madeline admitted. “But you know what I mean, things are so bleak at the moment. What kind of world are we bringing a child into?”
“One where they’ll be surrounded by so much love from everyone we know that they won’t even notice any of the bad things.”
Once again, that was a statement that Madeline couldn’t argue with and just the thought of how excited all their friends and family would be had the sting of tears pricking in her eyes.
“This baby is going to have more love than they know what to do with,” she agreed, but there was another little doubt nagging at the back of her mind that she couldn’t help but voice. “But, do you think it’s happening a little soon?”
She hoped that Chris wouldn’t take her concern as any kind of sign that she had doubts about their relationship, but they’d only just settled back into life together when the pandemic had forced them into a living situation that wasn’t really comparable to their normal everyday routine so she felt it was a fair question. She knew in her heart that she would always love Chris and that he felt the same - that had become clear after they both spent their three and a half year separation moping and pining away for each other - but she’d learned the hard way the first time around that love wasn’t always enough. Chris had a busy life with a job that demanded a lot from him while she was currently in the process of a career change as she’d just barely pulled herself out of the pit of her grief. Children were a complicated addition to even the most stable relationships and she had to admit that it made her a little bit nervous.
“Probably a little sooner than I would have suggested if it was planned,” Chris admitted, but after a moment of thought, he shrugged. “But, if I’m bein’ honest, it doesn’t really matter to me. I’m all in, Madeline. I want to be with you for the rest of my life and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen so whether we have a baby now or in ten years, my feelings aren’t going to change.”
He spoke with such casual conviction that Madeline couldn’t help but believe him and she felt her heart swell in her chest as the tears that she’d been fighting back began to blur her vision until they spilled over and slipped down her cheeks. 
“That’s sweet, Chris,” she choked out. “And I hope you know that I feel the same way.”
Chris’ face immediately shifted into a look of skepticism, but he managed to push it away almost as fast as it appeared.
“Yeah?” He questioned, gently wiping away her tears with his thumb. “Are you sure? Because I’ve been bracing myself to talk you out of a panic attack since you got home and told me the news.”
That admission and the gentle smirk on his face left Madeline unsure about whether she should feel offended that he had so little faith in her ability to hold it together or touched that he’d been fretting about what her reaction would be, but in the end a smile slid onto her face as she let his comment slide and nodded her head.
“I’m very sure,” she assured him. “I learned the hard way that walking away from you was the worst decision I could have made and I’m never going to do it again. I know starting a family was something that I used to be really scared of and I know that I let it drive us apart, but I think I’m ready for it now and I hope it’ll bring us even closer together.”
“How could it not?” His question came out as hardly more than a murmur and Madeline noticed his eyes had grown glassy too as his hands slipped down to rest on her stomach. “They’re half you and half me, they’re gonna be the coolest kid in town.”
Despite the tenderness of the moment, that claim pulled a snort of laughter from Madeline as she raised her eyebrow suspiciously.
“Hmm, I’m not sure about that. They’ll definitely be determined and probably a little controlling, but I’m not sure that ‘cool’ is a word anyone used to describe either of us until we were at least twenty.”
“Maybe it was twenty for you,” Chris chuckled. “But I think I was probably at least twenty-five before I was even close to being cool and those teenage years were rough.”
“They were rough for you, weren’t they?” Madeline teased. “With those bad haircuts, braces and all that musical theatre…”
“Yeah, it’s no wonder you didn’t wanna date me until I was thirty.”
“Oh, please,” Madeline scoffed. “That was all your fault. I would have absolutely dated you in high school even with your tragic style choices.”
“I still find that hard to believe,” Chris smiled. “But at least I’ve learned from my mistakes and I can pass that knowledge onto our little baby when the time comes.”
Madeline knew that no self-respecting teenager would take style tips from their dad even if he was still a big Hollywood celebrity at that time, but the phrase ‘our little baby’ had her so distracted that she didn’t even bother to argue. 
She was going to have a family again. They were going to have a baby. He was going to be a dad and she was going to be a mom - they were going to be parents. 
She knew that she always had the support of Chris’ family, but there was a certain kind of unfillable hole in her heart that she’d had since she’d lost her parents and while she knew that having a baby wouldn’t magically take away the pain of that loss, she felt like being a mother and having a family of her own might just put a little piece of her broken heart back in place.
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One Month Later
Walking through the cemetery, Chris found himself feeling strangely nervous. He’d always found it a little eerie, but for once it wasn’t the setting that was unsettling him - it was what he was there to do. By the time he got to the right location and saw the familiar headstones, his stomach was in knots but he pushed through as he laid the flowers he’d brought between the two graves and cleared his throat as he stepped back.
“So,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t really know how to do this, but it feels like an important thing to do so I’m gonna try my best and I’m sure you’ll at least get a kick out of my awkwardness. Greg, I know you always loved any opportunity to laugh at me so it’ll be up to you to keep him focused for me, Mrs. D.”
Despite how incredibly uncomfortable he felt, a smile slid onto his face as images of the many times Madeline’s mom had been forced to rein in her husband flashed into his mind, but even that hint of amusement couldn’t squash his nerves. 
He’d been to visit the graves of Madeline’s parents several times since they died, but talking to them was never something he’d felt was necessary. He’d tried it once the first time he’d visited - he’d attempted an apology and tried to offer an explanation for why he hadn’t been brave enough to face Madeline at their funeral - but it was awkward and strange and he felt like they were just as likely to already know how he was feeling as they were to be able to hear him talking to their graves.
However, it had become an important thing to Madeline and something she made an effort to do on a regular basis. He did go with her from time to time, but he’d always left the talking up to her and now he was forced to muddle through it on his own.
“I know Maddie already stopped by the other day and told you our big news,” he continued. “I’m pretty excited about it, I’ve wanted it for a long time, but I just wanted you both to know that I’m gonna take care of her. I know I did some things that you guys weren’t happy about and even if I never admitted it while you were alive, I do regret how I handled our break up and I should have listened to your advice more carefully than I did.”
He paused, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten again as he took a deep breath.
“We’re back on track now though and we’re better than ever,” he assured them. “And that kinda brings me to why I’m here. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
He let the announcement hang in the warm summer air of the quiet cemetery for a moment as if he was giving them time to react before he continued.
“I’m gonna wait a few weeks so she doesn’t think I’m just doing it because of the baby, but I know we’ve all talked about this before so I hope I still have your approval. I guess it’d be nice if you could give me some kinda sign that I do, but I’m not even sure that you’re listening to this so, if I’m bein’ honest, I’m gonna do it anyway.”
He shrugged and bit back a smirk, but felt a pang of sadness that he would never get the chance to actually hear their thoughts on his rekindled relationship with their daughter. He was fairly confident that they would have been just as happy as his family had been, but Greg had never been afraid of telling Chris what he thought and he knew there were times after their breakup that he’d been very disappointed in him.
All he could hope was that wherever her parents were watching them from now, they knew how devoted he was to Madeline and how determined he was to do whatever it took to spend the rest of his life with her. He stayed a few minutes longer to do his best to convey that message before eventually making his way back to the car and heading to where he’d told Madeline he was actually going - the grocery store to buy her some ice cream.
It wasn’t until later that evening that his one-sided conversation with her parents returned to his mind.
Madeline was stretched out on the couch with her head in his lap, snoring gently as the first trimester exhaustion seemed to be catching up with her and he mindlessly stroked her hair as he watched the baseball game that was on the TV. It was the Boston Red Sox versus the New York Mets and while Chris had started off only half-paying attention, there was something about the game that quickly sucked him in. It almost felt like he was having deja-vu, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. The game had started off appallingly for the Red Sox - they were down by six in the third inning and barely seemed like they had the energy to play - but in the fourth inning they miraculously turned it around. Suddenly they were racking up the runs while the Mets couldn’t get a hit to save their lives.
It wasn’t until the final score of 13-6 flashed up on the screen at the end of the game that Chris realized why it had all felt so familiar to him.
Five years earlier, in the summer of 2015, he’d taken Madeline’s dad to a baseball game. It was something they’d done several times in his life, but that specific day he’d suggested it with the intention of letting him know that he planned to propose and asking for his approval. He knew Madeline would have rolled her eyes and informed him that the only person whose approval he needed was hers - which, funnily enough, he clearly didn’t have at that time - but he was a fan of tradition and it had felt like the right thing to do.
Her dad had been thrilled by the news and knowing that he had his enthusiastic support had only made Chris even more confident in the decision.
But what reminded him of that moment was the way the game he’d just watched had unfolded. The one that he’d attended that day with Madeline’s dad had been exactly the same. The Red Sox were playing the Mets and were losing until the fourth inning when the momentum completely switched and they won with a final score of 13-6.
It wasn’t anything groundbreaking - teams that got off to a rough start often turned it around and won the game - and Chris was aware that visiting Madeline’s parent’s graves had left him feeling quite sentimental, but he couldn’t help but think that perhaps that was the sign that he’d asked for. It could have just been one giant coincidence and nothing worth noting, but as he looked down at Madeline sleeping peacefully in his lap he chose to believe that it was more - that it was her father letting him know that he still supported Chris’ decision to propose as wholeheartedly as he had when Chris had first told him his plan - and the reassurance and confidence that thought gave him was almost enough to have him waking Madeline up right then and there just to ask her as soon as he possibly could.
-
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Forbidden love 8🟢
Leshy was on his way to return to his palace after a sermon. While he was walking, Kallamar stopped him halfway to his palace. He looked concerned.
“Can we talk for a bit, little brother?”
“Oh, sure. What is it big brother?”
He asked, Kallamar pulls him to the side.
“Listen, I understand that it’s been a long time since you’ve been back, but you have been acting strange…are you sure everything is alright?”
He asked. Leshy tries to avoid the conversation altogether.
“I’m fine, I just need some rest-“
“I understand but It’s been a whole month at this point! Your people are looking to you for guidance and enlightenment and your head is in the clouds…way more than usual! You nearly set yourself on fire with the sermon candle! What is going on?”
“Nothing! Everything is fine, I’m just recovering from my injury. Please I-“
Leshy tries to leave, but then runs into his older sibling, Shamura.
“Ah, Sha-Sha! I mean-“
Shamura was surprised. They can’t remember the last time one of the bishops called them that. Kallamar didn’t want to get in trouble. He was told not to speak sternly with Leshy until he was himself again. Shamura takes Leshy under his wing.
“It’s fine, I needed to speak to you anyway. You can go, Kallamar. I’ll speak to you later. ”
They said. Kallamar leaves. Now Leshy was with someone who he definitely didn’t want to upset. There was no real way for him to weasel his way out of this one. They walk along the path to Leshy’s palace. While they walk, Shamura speaks.
“So, lately you have been not yourself…do you want to talk about it? Your siblings are growing worried about you…and we need to talk about you entering my private study 2 days ago…”
Leshy sighed.
“I know…I’m sorry…I just…I wanted to see something…Mom…I just wanted to see her again…I barely knew who she was and-“
Shamura takes his hand. They squeezed it lovingly. They understand. He was the youngest to deal with all of this happening. He spent the least amount of time with Gaia, and they’re sure that the absence of Bishop Gaia has been a lot for him, including the sealing of his older sibling. It’s a lot for a child growing up. And now he’s an adult, he’s still dealing with it.
“Leshy, you were young when we sealed Gaia away…I can understand why you would seek out information about her. Is what I said not enough for you? Maybe you need a portrait to help you grieve?”
“N-No! That’s not it, I…”
Leshy didn’t know how to talk to them about this. If he mentions Noelle, she’ll get killed, but mentioning Gaia would get him in trouble with his siblings.
“You don’t have to explain yourself. I know that’s why you snuck in there. However, I’ve been hearing from the grapevine that your having…girl problems…”
Leshy’s normal green face turned bright red. Girl problems? Him? Had to be Heket, she’s the only one who would go back on her word if it was important. Unlike Kallamar…
“Sibling-“
“Now now, there is no shame in having girl problems! It explains a lot of your actions from the past few days. Why don’t you tell me about them? It will make you feel a lot better”
Leshy knew this gig. They wanted him to speak on this because it was hindering his work, however, Shamura has been known to help out. Maybe they could help if he watched what he said.
“Shamura…let’s say…hypothetically speaking, there is a girl I like”
“Oh?”
“And let’s say that she is now a refugee in our cult. But…she might be a person of interest…atleast her kind is…I want to protect her from all harm but I don’t know how. But…I like her a lot. Like a lot! She healed me from an awful attack from a beast. If it wasn��t for her, I would’ve died if it wasn’t for Noe-“
“Noe? Okay, we got some letters! Her name begins with Noe…Noeri? Noette? Noemi?”
They tried to figure out the name and watched as Leshy desperately tries to figure out an excuse. The last thing he needs is for them to find out where she is.
“I’m just messing with you, little brother. However, your hypothetical has a few problems. If we are talking about hypotheticals, let’s say this girl’s name is…Noemi…and let’s say she is a…Lamb”
Leshy’s body goes cold.
“If those were true, and let’s say you were hiding her in another cult, I’m sorry to say this little brother, but your gonna have to bring her to us to be executed”
Leshy was silent. Thankful that his Bandage covered his eyes so he couldn’t see his expression, but he was terrified.
“W-why?”
Shamura looked back at him. What does he mean why?
“My brother, have you forgot who gave you that injury in your eye?”
“It wasn’t the lambs or the other followers of him. They were innocent in all of this. Even if this is true …why?”
Shamura sighs.
“You have a soft heart, little brother, and I admire that. I understand why you are upset, so let me try to explain again why we can’t have them live.
Narinder has been trying to get someone to GET us. I don’t know why he insists on using lambs and sheep, but back then he had a plethora of them. I don’t know if he was using them from another cult or not, but that’s not important.
If he gets a hold of one of them, and a good one to be exact, there will be bloodshed. Our people’s blood and OUR blood to be exact. And if he is successful, the Clan that me and your Mother worked together to create will fall…and who knows what else Narinder will want…”
There was an uneasy silence between them. Then Shamura spoke morbidly.
“You’re not harboring a Lamb are you? Is your lady friend a lamb?”
Leshy was taken aback by their question.
“W-what part of hypothetical did you not understand, you know what? I’m leaving! I’m not telling you anymore of my lady friend!”
“Leshy-“
And he rushed off quickly, back to his palace. Shamura watched as he dashed off back to his palace. Silently, they worried.
“Did Leshy really bring a lamb behind our palace walls?”
They didn’t want to put a target on Leshy’s back, but he kept a mental note of what’s happening with him. They needed to speak to his siblings…
“I trust him…”
Shamura said, however, their trust has been waning after Narinder, but he refused to turn on his siblings. He promised Their wife that they wouldn’t turn on their siblings. They are like her children… unfortunately he already had to deal with one of them. They couldn’t fathom sealing another one.
Leshy returns back to the palace a lot later than he wanted. He skipped dinner and went straight to bed. The first thing he did was barricade his bedroom door and go and see Noelle.
“Noelle?”
He found Noelle. She was still trying to figure out everything she needed with the books they stole from Gaia’s study and fell asleep on the table. He pets her soft head not realizing that she was purring in her sleep.
“I wish I could protect you better.”
He said. Not realizing Gaia could hear him. She’s noticing their little budding romance.
“You’re not the only one.”
Gaia said. Then she thought of something
“…wait…MY CROWN! Why didn’t I think of this?!?”
“What are you thinking, Mom?”
“I cannot come through, my body cannot, BUT MY CROWN MIGHT!”
TBC
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fa-by · 11 months
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Did you miss me?
Hey my babies 👋🏼🤗. How are you? Wow, has it really been that long? It's been 1 year and 2 months apparently and it doesn't seem so 😅. I feel like a part of me should apologize for the absence, so I'm sorry 🙏🏼 but, to be completely honest, the other part of me doesn't want to justify because this is just an app we use to distract ourselves from the reality of daily life 🤭🤣. So, for those who have been wondering, my recap is that I'm 31 now, I've been unhealthy/sick for several things, last year I grieved for my baby girl dog who passed away after 12 years (and who took a piece of my soul with her), I changed my job and I’m being mobbed by my boss every day 😅. The several most important good news? I adopted a beautiful puppy girl in September of this year 😍🤩 and my girlfriend whom you also know well came to me here in Italy twice; once for three months last year, and once for our 2-year anniversary this year by staying for almost a month ❤🥰😍🤩. Oh and, of course, I've started writing again as of today. This obviously has to be put among the good news 🤣. I won't hide from you that I've missed writing, so here I am, although I can't promise that I'll be very active in answering the asks as before due to my various commitments, but I'll try to be here more often 😉.
P.S. I'll only post the 6 most recent asks I've received because I didn't want to create a way too long post, but thanks to everyone for the recent and past messages (even last year's ones) ❤🙏🏼.
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You broke my heart with that emoji 🥺. I'm here, dear @sweet-dreamcs​ ❤.
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I'm here, my dear Anon 😄. I'm all ears 👂🏼 and I've missed all of you too.
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Hello to you too, dear Anon 👋🏼😄, I answered about my health in the recap at the beginning of the post, thanks for your concern 🤗. I'm fine now, how are you? I hope well 😊.
I do still ship Camren, how could I not? 🤣 I'll ship them forever 😜. And yeah, I saw Laur's new “relationship”, if you want to call it that. I, on the other hand, like to call it for what it is: PR. And that I think explains my thoughts about it 😉.
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🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 well thank you, my dear Anon😄. I like being right 😉. No, I'm just kidding no, I'm not 🤣. Joking aside now, I've already told you guys in the past that everything I post comes from the research I do and that therefore I post only the truth with proofs.
Anyway, yeah I'm not interested in the version with Señorito 😑, I'm just waiting for Mila's undistorted one now. Oh and, my dear? I'm ready for the thousand questions 🤣.
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I'm here, dear Anon 😄. As you said yourself, they're both PRs, so don't worry. And I mean it for real. I don't know how I could reassure you guys any better than that since you already know how it works. It's not the first time we've endured it and it certainly won't be the last. Be strong as always, my dear 💪🏼. Don't talk about them around on social media because that's what they want, and hang on. That's my advice, my dear.
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Hey to you, dear Anon 👋🏼😄, and I'm okay now. Thanks for asking and I hope you're okay too 😊. Well, how can I answer your question correctly? 🤔🤔
The answer is in your question itself, my dear 🤣. What happened at Coachella and that we saw all over the internet is shit 💩. Yet another display of poor acting. It's as simple as this 🤣. No but, for real. They're simply testing the waters and creating havoc, aka publicity, before Mila's debut with the new label. That's it 🤷🏻‍♀️. Nothing new. Ignore them as I do.
‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍
I thank everyone for your concern for me and for continuing to write to me and wanting me back 🥰. I also thank you for the asks and I hope I've been helpful this time too 🙃. I'm always available for those who have questions, so feel free to ask 😄. Aaaand let's bring back my tradition, shall we? 👅.
Remember to be nice. Always. Both with others and with yourselves. Be a good example. Be patient. Be safe and take care of yourselves. Don't let our ship sink. Keep shipping them, but please respectfully 🙏🏼. Sending you virtual love and hugs 🤗🤗🤗. I love you, babies. Always with love, F❤️.
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