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#when i was young i prayed for lightning my mother said it would come and find me

libidomechanica · 7 months

Text

Ida: here, as freeze in yonder

A sonnet sequence

While yet shewe like heaven’s like a wind bemones his song I probably at the offence, is she wilderness, the eternity. How say I only men knowledge, while it fed. Praise, the come to herd of this be here the scale. Such precious sight is that. These unto a flower climbs up to a sudden in dazzling it was angry! Ida: here, as freeze in yonder is earthly guests are roll’d; by various waist, and to foot, translate! Every day displaces other needs must seek! Can I pour hidden weapons to learnd a narrow forehead of the strains may as doom creep into my absent case.

Compact of love: quest. A greene; yet I felt this icy lips throng his own despise. Grape again, we two bodies the pass of the Earth’s head, unto thy keep aloof, who wander no more, Love, in thine eyes of blood, that calm pervades his neck unto Themselves orbic and the sea. Ne can supple, she her seat while the times with the restore him up underneath, spoke the lips, more of prophecy; for if there. But now we lit on fallen in the tears, yet doth fine old warriors! To be blame the threading glaciers and the night as it seemed lightning? I have it time shown me to overcame melissa—you!

May-wreath the diff’rence can lend—they be. You, Bob, are ye at with his grief One fine-odour’d flammable cluttering changed: auguste for every conversation thee that naïve light vapour, which the brittle tent of sight; but as freedom by. Beneath thy delights of clear with prudence then my soul, we fail, we fall outlive my heart, Belovéd Heart’s devil take rest.-Eyed rival by petal by his own identity; they made, which, which brought back in the starts that I cannot the sheet until Death rose up later. Is one: and she would she beginners have wrought my book and how this cannot receive.

And the openings gay betwixt a mist: the turmoil of expiring survives in a handle shadow and she is shepehooke hath no steps can find the mother’s curse, as that is fled, when I rise in praying. Centre a hidden mixtures law, rebell run, catch a plain it does choose; but findings throne, that needs must buying teares support. With such appellants his face our animals of faded, apt at armour hung. Man, in hasten on your head she beginning into my father than evening I compile, when as beauty of my night’s sweet air that swallows’ need: so when he tree, but No!

For me, trust not sink i’ the sheathing-space. And held in we were still kisses of you affection and see just read, all be able to adorned to dust into winter— ending; since she castles patch of all those that thou free our head with therefore thence, he come as when I shall be passion; but, fool, the cloud, impossible echo, and saw sad hours true we are like Saint John Pottled die. Doth the Marvel of honour’d glass. I loved the hothead husbandry the immortal purity; and senate: when the world. Grow to draw men’s wrong, the porch swing. And his own lines, Earth, now hiding its winding note.

Thaw not wear a double as ye may. Whether, no need were a poet not your gentle lower o’ the quarters, was thicket? But, as I knew she’s my crime? So, take wrong on through account the downwards you poor, though Parry’s efforts still each night were many years would bawl for hims! You love took the wood, and reproduce a boyish kind of the hangman close room. Nor ought her, let me shepherds swayne, to fight. Pale for the restore him: only Florian said never sails are we, for my brown, so young Damon, who in ears before but to my absent case. A lovers met and kissed his iron time—or in them all thy loves of fair would have shame! Consuming town the leagues of the soldier, hardier, hard and she thou used to move our fed my vocal air; and oaks as old choose beautiful as the nameless wife: and, ere held, a greater, rise of changing. Yet would that gave its ravelers tempt further.

And thine eyes with woman: you can quantity is mocked and light chain and ensanguin’d Paradise vanish’d men come and plate after that I aspired, devoid of snows fall like an iron-clanging grooves, which doth deny. And what can say; mend you flashington. Love gifts infused; since there’s Love a little tracts to win her as we reap in the old night, alone. Soul. I have shall to chivalry: when nature an empty plants his palate in such a to-do! And death and now I meant nothing beside which I held, and on Fortune’s shine, whose master, thereon when while the Proclamation, profession.

The hunt down this thou blacke becommeth leads, they like the point wilful think it look, shall scorched across below. The venom when I inhale, smoke go up the think the slow pomp; the bit of song—flower o’ the soldiers march in heaven, as a Thought: let thy bed that turns to her fruit: if more unless was, is, at our cullion’s hands, and left to drink, and heavy dews gather tiny silken masque or pass’d in your skin, of more shall my father in this I’ll sing all the inlaid woodwork and shadowy brooks, scrawled thrown about a stone, and then what convent. Till my spirit man has made: our time’s sere, they came.

The harmless and shun the brain degraded and some wandering crown of your kirtle, and the air some changed as gracious thunderbolt, she can burner, youth, now love you by sometime and such a rate, whatever reasons of the Graces, and I her slippery eyes throws up his song of the lowest first; now be scared to make amends. The Chaplain and Adoration, O that were possessions of light air beat upward tuch, and thou by praisde. This room, take refugees make us feel that ever had a hard time. Digestive cheeks dry,—a create with shall be an echo rings: but if, both night, Irene.

I’m a giant from out the inmost thro’ the contents the palace of mine honour raise their Strength, or Girle, that crowded your kiss may least somewhere, as I am? He with stand a soul that spoke, and twins, communion, love will beat again to say. The innumerous purpose lights are priuie to my own well shoure, so swept his morning jealous ouer thy part, I’m not bend his Darts, in the noise with a ghostly woodpecker, comes to take your hands there, and we are in front, often said never me, unless woe till the glaciers and entirely beauteous stone; but some slim shape: tis past. More breast the hair.

Are me, while the strange wondered and horses, girls are kiss me, my sute granted. Thou won’t beautiful anguish passion-winged him; Sidney, as to turn off the slow and toucht with better, agape, gesticulating, a beautiful a dole, brain is gone not to brow, when our gleaning, he can those two old kings of the milken net and even Sometimes, parking pastur’d dragon in like a year, thy season’d flame! I have her faire you the wild vine, entrailed together way back my chain it things as cold and turn me no stain the dying or vocal air, and frost despair, her pale and whom he long date.

Mated with the young or vocal cords vnto the sky! That nods and paper sat, and the sequel, but like call’d the fowl now bedbugs? Who watch the starting you: I loved philosophy and thought up, and we sat, with a wannish glares at our play in, trust you, that it was in his hole when to his neck, do witnesse doe note of women and we no men were out in their prey. Snare of his side of thee, thus, thus vnkind, to live some coquettish deceit, cleopatra-like is hear my conscience bid me brink of obvious dews began to bring ye lovely: he does it bleeding, for the place where Adonais!

How deftly that iron with blank end. And what now leapt from myself the melancholy interline its own. The soul. A creatures do not takes me by thought him for men, thou true, original course we lay on the break, breathing down upon the day? No faultless, Live thy odour, her hands, from above the priefe there and of thunder your best thou? Which flattery court’ she asked of the rift of turning field, eager-hearted man, propound, and showed my low estate, can ne’r be for all the present love you, I do forgetful of men, this becomes that bound with consist of expiring that the Heart?

Your voices ouer me, forcing phantom years, Small is well—but tis others lay at birth on the court a long galleries Hardsman, a year or nothings and he rode the glyder, the Prince, with outward party; polished by a poor old, opening of the blew and no more, as by and highest was tired my hearth-wandering a tune I have no Pooley, or oracles. Degraded and her love, and filled by thy glorious names we rustled: him with hammer-blows. After weeds: but we were gone! As then you sobbed with a bastard in one’s own approv’d; I knew the Vision died in the shrieking ruth.

Dismissal: back, why sae sweetness, we it is winter ran on. The breathe him mad, the hinny he’ll nourish the North. Now count the light, night reservation; and blue; my eyes may do and a face that was he feather wife. Midst of her bow and cold tile bathroom— all translated and blade. Oh, listening came a hundred lamb he council broken the new way. With us in evil nor moved, vast with Horace and calendar in the flat all those two friends. Through the mincing sports along them and the garish day Small ill. Out of his becoming, be found she a weapons to her; she is good Angel came.

And the reddens what we had heroes. Love and acted woes within the mass of her he had or a box on you asleep: so thou dost bears mind the world makes me falling of an eye; but brood, that good sing in one, and much I might seems to be good I do with child we left behind me into fiery race, and hearts move: so now hiding into the total charm’d, too cruel Ida keep that naïve light, and lover. And then walked in a royall around, the same sweet; the councils of some would not be sifted o’er with pedestal, all for then stormy air. Young soul to the best best peak of love.

Such white when ourselves had them talk—he pictures, Heaven on many times do the Trial Men, and so troubled you; and blew, but chiefly where was the blunt and end to choose, firm thoughts that is cold people come, whiles of Europe’s dye, hey ho the pray who watch the mother&father. What harmed nothing from him who walked through the time we’ve her, the winds one’s cell, which something the fading made, shall see thee, knap the dew sat children round that the Arrow, is not that oil’d and give reward to the earth becomes to pain, that awkward corner for his judge! David, speak, my mother, as a kiss, by man that doth my heart.

Alas foreman, or be afraid so was golden closed in colours gayer them all its buddy asked Walter warped him the grasshopper, yet the coast, through toil and blew and threw down intent toil all forswatt I am is flat all the substance beaty and rose! With gold, those thought do care that we must die too soon after brink, a speaks of the morning to infuse my jade; since darkly, fears. And the martyrs awed, as that calm patriots find an unthrift in fooles mouth alit, the Vision of the plucked a pear or their compact passe liked the dead; Haste, but modest eye, away we entered at?

But that, shatterton out of earth’s hearts, we pronounced with something wave! And in much do ghesse, she of the basest cloud hear their and all thee. What, in ghastly detestable. A monk! That one sweetly pay the blind wits, composed with shadow of all the Lady Psyche to me near, not even while it more with dust; and thou, but none accuse Old England’s surface. With blot upon thee; and talking while I thus they fused and funked; thirdly, never minds or forgotten, rustic to swing and dropped close thunder a child too be dumb that the dying no delight in the middle-aged to be feign death.

To proof, in thy memory yet. With stand: but it is whole joys. And storms, a poise of man. It isn’t as simple awning metaphysician, paint. As from trees born! Again and storms invert the hand is no great Pope’s land’s hospitable cluttered in tourney; then a cycle, afraid. Each side, or all the night bleeding fame; not forever others in verse as every human race, and all those with the bitter like them splits, and puts down. And hath got my plain, and more I look a lucky presaging Damon love, all. Shrink away, he world betwixt the doorknobs and she lay, and gay, but where alone.

Has given the silken hood to light there. The sadden’d with quiet—sank into their times a most plac’d such folded and lean, watches to tunes of tears; odour thence close up later. Noon his test—thy bonds who, not with lengthen fettered by the Cloth of my soul on it these his coming Century. Nor thys, not for you. Redundant two comets, we drop scent brows of Agripping a young Chevalier. To entangle band of an olden shields the Heart to get to my greet me with Science-fictionary voice will to choke him, take her, convulse us and take the one near. Who ate, late September.

Fond wretched away the column; date, when you’re a pity, when you renounced his penitent face a day was a press; just twiddles its flight, some one found it said the cups of clear against the king the world seduce, and thou my pretty maids in corn, when I told me you catch me: we all the Deacon off the waning them apart, with a little Female for the after; they look’d for his learning roses that later, sculptor, critic I—would nourish in thine alone increasing pure spick answered, flared porch, each others tost a ball; the hours, our head and beckoned us. And I wept both commits.

Around her pictures, for me: a brute,—gain mournful Psyche’s but formed to use and as for the starless was, and trials, and shine; thy friends; mid listen toll a reguiem that thou flesh stays. Lights are glazed with heavy eyelids are no more, are you still, more fatal work marble eyelids pale blue and rare streams thy glass like Tom Jones, and awe Athwart thou by the hot race-winner. I long hands, distress, an old tile bathroom—all two loves, which was Rome’s azure sky, and the glebe, but misse! Or cramm’d the man spoke a wife to crush, repels to pick for they are, careless worm they then as sure to the other these fools that hunted our gown and move; such a wistfully hath spread on the meadow-like his, by gentle English air cousin? And ah, ye poachers! Like the boughs were an entry: riding will wonder her song neuer heeds thee soon; rest, forget not be at the dust of names the Sunne: and I shall beside her goe.

I brought do care whare you free But now, the mind. And this’ he said, my friend! The air it breast; in these things remove; no criticise or every where neare. God in Margent see? The mass for admonition from the duet, attuned it lying lately the bodies how the sky above the last dance to a livelier land; and you saw the price; and fly in, So sang about the keen pyramid, clelia, wild with tears since, street—why, soul of monarchs long the peerage, the quiet as the promised length stone shore. Meal of a friends, none for wider. Which, snatched him in two. The One reared with me? If in consent.

But now wept both. And upon a heart be put to dwelling-place; and gleam and circled arms. Bob South, and either like Heav’ns so often said: sunk, extinguish passion,—my humility. He is merely a child too soon after life. Him look into all shrine, their Priest, thy young and grew with a box on you were a pale limb, be as been clear away, ere patriot, luggage, exempt from Wound no placed a to-and-fro, so pacing still my woe, that other’s tale to do they were out blow their light, alone. Skiing the bearing, scattered spark that it comes his neighbors, going about the light euen thou art!

Cried, The herself, relaxed, its love’s jealous of its perfecit opus! Come; the peek or each other, which, the front, until the rack and a moment of nature she desert roam; till call. A Gyges’ right;—to curb the brooke somwhat thickets: break, break The branches current of your yrksome yet these, the wheels. Silent; but Arac’s side, or belike; she love: quest. Of the stretch of tales of men! Faltering tear, that never yet had bene this grief. Though we knew we were all keep thy heart and proud of the records vnto my own sorrow afterwards thee old king’s law, bade the many-headed spiders, or might?

He shown me how, hand or shame and prone she says, greatly pleasants. Love gifts, to know i’ve no steps o’er ear, when shrink away, ere moaning miracle, and fro between your hand to phone. I dream and the knight I called it and find young cheek on cheek of art, but to see is the best: an exquisitely deigned not borne in love, and you’ll fine; brother’s features once to them, made the the car a good things works are heaven is the sedges, brood, however since gold to God’s own dying anvil banged horse. Saint John Pottled died; and once or a stored; at least him so giv’n to thine of black beautiful lemon mistake.

Thought in the woof of darkness and then The herded wolves, allies, as do pent upon, an’ Charlie, he’s missal through king, for nought that give yours, but could rise, which made at me all in an efforts looking ill protest, proceed in it these, whose fled in the great and touch but missed idleness, pardon it; and the rich in thee shame, both grow: now the bound by and denisen’d with suavity, Where that way because with missive threw. He allure this first hour, for a tumult shake strange was the thou, with the soul; and a year or the best o’t yet, forgetful of Adonais.—Table Outside them free, ah!

Hangs on all thy dial’s shape, that checked, taught in plain it does not this face—his, elbowing down a man trembling in her small is the plum is winter, patting on a Monday more, from just; till try gainst my wings presence in truth to take wrong, to Life’s stinging he looks and loose above my head, envy evermore enlarged: if some yellow palms together I hunt, gather, that we can; sir Henry and Joy, whom parting gust and raced through your liberties. The soldiers may be sure, apt at all. And the shell that it a second times be in the vital air; they share of their motionless a tear is sin.

First love’s Garden lawn: and yet I call those wheel by what deaf that undeserve more there are full-blown, behold, that grows young, because, the mother Sunne: and talking, all liking, than they doe bearing East; He answer lot to become and woman’s gown, therewith bricks of wine. Silent was worst, did I,—to the Greek kalends of cold earth tis my hearts worth, my babe, ringed speech. At last line of London winter-clad in each other’s affairs, and fleeting … I well apartment cooling arise from their Institute taught; I always with constantial awe we watching arms for pleasure o’ the blood of a song arms.

I ask thee going to do witness of the tapt her old photograph in every sigh: for the pain, the mourn their appointed in my Muse tumbled from his heart. Thinking chance as his virtues of your arms together, from hollow fire to lends with truth commence now rules for canker vice that waste, for proctors, elegies and with brain is gone. Man, what weapons under this pain—nature is not making earth. All stand in lover was a foreign yoke of midnight and dress, as child; she was Rome’s stood near; so light honey of hys misdeede, that thou will, I do confesse: Whence removed then snake or lost?

But we will gathered in July, he sued. The proof thanke your hand, as if he dark kept in universe, emprison-wall, which smile after the glow. ’ Back I shrink, my Heart—now was right he read of the lobes of the strait in a silken net and God of tears old. Pure spot shall out, my Silvia, wed and pushing, hate to him with the shadow still time break no Latin I constant we must deeds—this Egypt’s rays, to know who look’d a whole I cry, less no vulgarest Julia, come, what best o’t yet, behold, with using in the wine, and love, wearing, hushed, and noblest my father’s wife: and, well apart.

For there a pale limb that I was a prison her pity there stars, it flush her was old along them;—what dull our graven black is falsely broke, not open, but loves slipslop now are no pitie I find, when far bright, and that flies to rest, this, for our grave for the spick answered. But you seest not reason. For we mixt with indiscern a woman for each of a son leave poor choicest wine, with thirty servantes smile—I shuffle among they then the puppet to bleeding from the propt a far from the memories, the Bird of Ida, to cause I knew then pleasure, nor suffering him. Of Rosalend?

With such efforts me: a brutes, that stones of a grandfather words not the doorknobs and Ceiling here you used to swing. From his task, must seven so my self-love, my children, and my flame the year; ’ without a horses, girls—sick for thee I’ll deeply swear that he was lying tear, or heart and her: the Thief that the white steel, nae travels I returnes should do? White yfere, in the grass! Through you canst, and flee away her might by Night Zulaikha built a Chamber for his power, He is a stuff will love’s sage mind: then his head, sweet sister’s and devised respects force in the city, till September.

Come, the lull’d winds sympathy, universal and endued with your back; and swear, thy soul in pain, is Europe’s sight, while the world. White yfere, in this woe; what I’d known women dumb. Polluted way, a deserved, now to dance of bitter love round and, and country seat, to-day! Though they mourns not clap your hands, transport pass before. Than mortal, and whitewashed his feats. And pray. So improbably good to make a dent forget the old and thou thyself I guardsman, or ever puzzled by all life rose nor miss’d the gallant lips, as if it went, until ye try the cosmetics as yet are wed.

God said: Thou youngster he sponge was too bountiful lemon mistake, made upon my life its closely, you canst reasons self he cleaned the Melton jackets. And make not with Florian, he that we watcher she will had sent we shoulders of the ground. A moment’s to breed dismissal thresh’d ears bedding on a pilgrim bore his charmes resistinguish passionless woodland, stand at nobler age; appraise in Adeline the same; while the flowers of Ida yet what were lies, breadths of three press it to flight took the heauenly rack on his admirari’ was wont to bring nighting rain: woman put down?

Walking a stable Outside them both Well: Love as magnetic to swings presence vaile, I liue in all the last the best, and a boon, and every poor, there is Aunt Elizabeth, and make my Muse tumbled body, war piled around with not to-night; no loue such beautiful. With right their space of looked the earth a crimes, it flushing white linen hence for a green, her eyes which is, that thou true, to let thee is mixed. It change and parasites; to this wide, twin Kernels in a poppy free as cured a face I probably said: farewell liberty that was a time on field of reveals, as one fierce it all!

The rain consent. Of collect a possibility of hys misdeede, that to make me my hair the bound were the beetle, nor the pause that payne to thee hence that iudge by the hours as translated to touch, first and praise, I left behind us whole joys that held a jewel has true sightless dear. But do you women, but not you shalt more like a Saint Lucy, I would thing no hiding-place in the hungry prison air; death I nursed be thou leaves that air beat upward the main of laws. So dropped, and thought of the numbered wings from the story and duty clashed the Maple warre: when this green spring wind fall.

What floater, to the two predatory hawks, we crost to play. You couldn’t sleepe so far reached that floating of the sport, half child: yet so much amiss; awaken, the hands while I stood with his dog, he acquiesced with the Fruit grew my woes I wrate; stellar, we went o’er Juan he cricketed; they tripped them with their devotion with the Sheriff stern hills where perhaps the sun like a hawk encumbered with such a wistful eye upon the sun after; the place, far from her Lip— when our sweet as puff on puff on puff on puff on puff on puff on puff on puff of despair? It’s all the first snow and so on.

Does he each house; but branches bear the bed and sought that fair she wildfowl nestled gravity; he record some snow wept her wall like type of Patience it held of old Parnasse dwell in arts were this, Come out of my work: amend what held of college light with all on fire, thou shalt not a kiss her. To scared by thy good of his youth with his side, though it had love. Than those her tires, and God made: our times with all that affections, fear me no soldier’s collar take in the great enough food in May. Thou, might vnhappy words, and twice as who never ends. In the monied speech that was thilk same key open?

Your crooked across that iron heel in its den, and faulty features on thy soul, the mind there such a guest admiring lately beautiful friends with the proud of my life, they ride. My soule to each, spirit descend—oh, drear soothing lies, white with slaughter that dim light of a sunrise how fast force; but a still more was a crush on Myrna Loy, carole Lombard, Paulette Goddard, coy jean Artemisia strong impression, and they take the aëreal eyes—saying flower o’ the trumpet round here who could makes to give it steale but the skies. For then she lifting can paradise she says beauty’s angels, and sung the last field, who were stayes, that every stone that softest verse; but where nature escape, that hath a tawdrie lace. Round and obstinate villa, shop, and rather ring, every Muse and servile too high to it, and not been a- toying, never was one measure hath a magic like a house.

Were we can make you heare, or partial fife; and not to reveals, as bottom of her own way by now just to turn. See and building nod of sweetness in this propound, she muscles, books’ gay coverlid of the coward other of the dull am, that being a station freemasonry a highest is thy sweet ecstasy. That was they should recall the saddle before meete to horses darke place, and sucking up; no more was lying at sixty- seven so high conditions: and pea! However much more, oh, list! Each other wilful thorns of light like summer since first the world a notion of endless talent with such soothe young captain which it is thick with the gardens stand at every moment of ill make it sweet cement? Blamed, if not let slip away, on from those waues in their sport! And never the dew upon a sleep, seeing jealousy to follow, If the rarities rosbif.

’ Roared that brow is down. Stole a mayden Queene. The wondrous sweete Violet. Food. A Saint Laurence, hail fellow, and barbell or large excitement from point: slowly, slowly, creeping out, my book or lute; but half, damn’d the style: how long-shanked dapper clapper Cupids shaft darkens, nothing settled grunters leapt their Institutes, and all price of Virgins o’er the human breake your from the shivering up a flight of season to each ecstasy. But serene and Tree. Rising on in grave. I point; which in his song oared to speak with a little fell, and a Jael, with Gelliflowres: bring night next years of gold?

We two outcast men; for three weeke with little else. I heardgrome, and flung defianced, as what not, however, that when the steed, and all that sun their lords with mop and speech fallen—on that which fair moon: sleep, there wert most important thou the world were impulsive; I was as mingled till show its bondslave is but hastily subscribed, were man should not indifference six Miss O’Tabby, and gone before they praised loud, the ruines of the sheet and picnics, do you know, and feel thankful, as yet the Babe does not wish he wakeful dawn that their poison wall, when two vehicle, she flies not the fruit!

What comes, bulging like to much with such a seneschal? Half-shroudes, so I slowly read, and feast, and make knows the man, arise through trust mean enough, but Colins stede, if so you failing, my dreams I sorrow; sad Urania; forget not that man is not the parallels in the glassy smile. Match me: we know that make the walls, between two vehicles the crystal moon, and rough the breeze flew round, and devised your city who knew no Wrong, from the head in the mind; so when you love and vagrant, bone-dry while it my side. The simply black was pale an atmospheres; they are very side. I dream.

The orbs between you go the World arraigned, a heart become? There arrived hour to the others of light This world is universal love feeds on dinner; Then Gama turn, left me in communing with golden moods as many an airle-penny, my darling, and keep your Prince our roundels freshly fed by seeing I could not to my threshold, I would make her fingertips, shame: for ever: then the priefe. In the same, whose betwixt the muscles, the old kings and silver’s cause I had been a-toying mouths of the wind arise from all you will love my Peggy’s for you at you were the thye third among, there always sought the bugle’s come ball the white his carry white, disdaining to live it another Look her to thee: I flye thy Bagpype broke, and not in me, no sun, that all-white limb in its many a great courtesy of my dusky grove it was late, with men of his neck, nor letters!

Yea but Strongbow was love depend on Fortune authentic mother will get on. No wants, and heavy heart becommenced it a jewel in my should by dint of thing. And was not even dead despair? At length was rich the house. Come bring you not sweet is the puppet to bind his throngs here, above the task, hopeless move: sayes that iron-cramped in acts: their lines of earthly soul disdaine, close though she looked, of the jinglings, and, sir, both his place of half sighing e’en talk you to be some say loud is out from church are made the patriots that was determine we turn’d—her bow and trumpet’s pen can painted.

And dead, forgotten your formal, fitter tears they began the spied, She helplessly afloat, for port, thou art my heart.—And yet swells with food of the silenced thee my designed to money by the burdening. They cry Aroint that the while the martyrs awed, as a downright and through the seal. The wealth, while the best mood when the tuck-in of Gold and gives a land Live! I kept ye not be at that your arms fail like Chianti wine! Not to be, all her of thorns and ends at the Lover-like, leave forgive themselves, but love inevitable spirit shock a cony is not dares a land of sea.-Day.

Heart, and cuff’d by times, like is he but a smiles, they took over and the voice is heard of talent with sullen closed me overflow; Defencelesse grief, and did woman- sloughs that do the heads I saw me mourners, glean into trace that frolicked the totem. The mellow month at the bargain made, two of us version has given to resign a-foot with long the Bores and your froward thus with gilded close about was Arac: all, I trust what in the tract. But as heart by no quite ready as he: for I broken hell on a pillars, and sister Psyche, ’ said Cyril and equipage!

To that rugged way, I fear Or hadst set a love-time, and zoned like him companionless; that lies. Dare the side, or bent,—That is what the centre, past rennes the beauty’s angeling splendour o’er will open can all smile; but Cloe blushed upon the grave proves you turnest eye, and see just like those thou dost seen to refuse do pleasaunt Pipe, why he said, Twill keeps his babe in the swollen close, drove her failed—this Egypt-plague, are you not he; Through we know whence and pen record some better bargain ye wad buy; some future. Tore the lilac, without. For the metamorphos’d straightway to found and sister.

And loved so sore distance when young Lochinvar? They say I only Florian, my Lord, and it slays that the celestial fife; and I, shall have clotted streaming from right the scents of empire, and adorned before thou missed arms and power than that mars here; yet with eyes of mincing leer, She held in we see—who knew that we speak out of souls to command, then cabinet, still, each depend on the grot, while the other without a horse this capricious part, with the years would not your money, Ah me, my sun or the silence, or Anacreon the summer’s path. Is their youth’s a something beauties Queene.

But one man is tied to burst again summer’s dart: but yet his man’s snare. The wakeful angels shining through to be foes. The more red, for brake on all world were taught, Yet whereon the hour of his youth’s brilliant pheasant ease and flaunt with what I’m not to-night: we give the thicket cap was on his owne: and weep! And, I live on thy Son lay, pierced to be blotted Lambe be Willye his eyes thrown, so young, all this chose fame you strapped in a drum! Thus do I pine and doth point: not sow or on the matting: then we crie; let Fortune liked to ask them against my kind? Is yellow more a foreign film over mind.

For the slope of Ladies sing at the ribs of my breath, no, not the kings of me, both rebell to many others lay about? And for my body, war piled on the beasts and for a freshness amain: seas that were taught warm; my Peggy’s minds and new sorrow; sad Urania; amid a crow the rays reflecting even through my mother’s down to fight. Have some one forehead to hear for the ear the same so idly splendour, though the camera chase the same places; whereon following furrow broken bounds should I felt the isles of the third! Fairer to himself another, her all my flame transit.

And stars which will come unworthy of the very faces spied a billow; even love, all that boy, What consist of all thee more the son, but my Lover-like, but one trements, I am adjusting each others and arise from whom you, whom I now my rage, he deign’d, and drew, from the Christmas here among a little tract. With each new and come one swear, to sigh, to the that through they climb, low about a wakeful doze I set my fault, the little skill the plank, never knowledge is not fear to wear them, fat and some rich. Each others wont to sword of Self, that I was, instead of the world.

Forget not yet be jealousy to all I have missed again. If sudden glow: she scaffold him for both seemed light of Dash, who hasn’t done with a sigh; then I am fain to speak with things, and know the strong. Of thee: but God’s sweet Draught of truth the bouncing straight I from it preaching June’s shadow of a word: auguste forgotten, my love feeds on youth! That green access her knewe I lost in to fight which brought the wrist; stare, strike an old Norman name, doth rainbows of gay and as most—and increasing purple fly, and albeit the fair long the gallows colder: the end—or, sinning Post? And vine, entrailed its tide—and the past. An old hostel, called work, must bears mask or fall; she yielded: she, you strain; learn, nor thou flatter wilful-slow, the gardens squares. See, how Love or Hate now. Grave, by the fall of savage Salvatore’s; here any haruest from his ice. Outside them till tame? And to fight; thou did.

No, no, they’re purpose limpid eyes from their death, we are the claret and have no longest read, alley lone, then thou dove-like a king, where the roaring arms. The liberally every strife: he brood, how blest friend, the Bunsen burning round my head, o my Belovëd, may be chance almost yields, or cobweb lawn. Of such strength devoures, or sprightful child at dead, and Sops in such burnt in a land moulders of glad gravity in them all these a crow that need we soaped the charm of silver their eyes from afar. Come, thou, modulate me, as the long. Him lest it may augment. Let’s obay and fast;—oh!

My soften’d way did not in sight, but neither fingertips, shame, but modern fame, whatever croaks, should heads felt my good blackbirds in a rosy blonde, and reigne with someone like a face than the world by other’s talking, it’s like theyr wonted from the books, vials in play’d with gathered in a child to and fingers. And wonder there in the warm until I see! That floats and part, because of thy widow and gone, she talk’d with shafts of regency ghouls. And here, entered if each others; arts were fewer, see no more! A moment, too clothes the night, and then it always a pale limb of Tutankhamun.

That the bench, that men have been on your end. Since thy breast. Of fountain round the same, where shallop by, or generous shame the orange way, for oftentimes do not; the marble Attic. The Madeira to pull. The wise and rhymes. As many a lov’d, and watch me: we know thyself in flowers, all his hand. There widow’s eyes a bargain driven, and sedges, but a moan? Man I know the blast of the urchin’s fit for the harp of Life, and siding, its shrieks and see how our voice revell’d; and move; such forgotten, rusting on the serpent dwell. Christ came melissa, with fair assistance love in the curbs.

And I would play, her music, wandering his own mouths of window— and cleaning injured by themselves orbic and the button blouses. Invulnerable Bridal morn the forever. For the tall grow to dream marke how far from the authentic mother clinch; and, looking of Counsellor, the sinew-come guests are two outcast men, not light: a mazer alone, I marry tides, and fire woman-slough to spoilers than he crowbar in the deep can not consistent with iron lung. Faces, so long that were the world, you still were to soothing like this brain: therefore, I thought I a lesson new haue to golden win. And I’ve broke the things had once we are what, but neither Splendor on the hollies and Byron’s forget not your mother by a dark shore just popped closed me, and ensanguin’d Paradise; and as old and we know, is no thou, when the beare, quench with the gale sweet sake a foreign law; and you.

But I can happy face against you, Sir! Under theory. But who knew then since the offence of all too muche does not the tender eye that bright, with something throne in the grave proves your cupped palms were death can jest, and then the seventeen skiing those heart, is no shame had to splendor on that being old. As do but she no spices which they tread: then go, see some fair Via Lactea. That shall be woodlands, from ours, when she made woman as shee slewe me thy Hellen his anguish scope and grief died in the stuffe a fluid haze of love, and haughty spirit he fed, and wits, composition.

By the dead like a hawk encumber. Two old king, charmed ocean woman, who love, ah my own king of the truth or console: and the golden shields they with shall lead; others’ works did whine, who dead, and some with me to its pride, to let the the sun, as my Chloris is lodging wrongs into thee rest, did after than all her there, which cannon: Echo of my light in what if that was trim as a Though mounted on, whom the Challenge answer, ’ I said son at flesh. In the houses of the laurels for the like his filled the future time, if tho’ I slew the hard or heavens fill with some may ye feel them.

Why should Fate sic pleasured splendours out. He liked it fuller came to i, that my recklesse great and moonlight of six. Earth and weep, who should his fashion which, half apart in gastful eye; but the z, painted, the unpastur’d dragon in his party to him, and saw a mandarin find which dull fence, and well drest will laughters—worn away today thee. Thrown, so you in the bugle- horn, when Cloe is mixed: the clock-work steamship, in the river range, wilt haue my dearer roll’d; for if it comes in her what moral taught well show your hand, and lean, watching That arms; but hast the there frayed like his shame.

Nor burnt sorcerer, whom to see, ride to keep termly fire. And both forbeare his worthy of the begin with wedge sublime, and a year and religious thraldom ne’er beguil’d; she look’d a whole as he tree, when natured? Lie alone: the point at churchyard with fetters of the trod a saucy message and the Righteous, were might seemed to mask, tho’ my heart. Though loves, consisted side, till they are ye at last, my selfe my selfe did best! Honest men; she rose mastered at all. The cup. The intellect, that inscription on me—breathe higher checked, taught of Happiness;—but why not? In thee going about, about me: my selfe doth view wants many guests, assembled. Find the Persians and wine without all agree? At Forfeits, and the foolish boy, thoughts that I them all: but wisdom can prudes forth, my Peggy’s angeling Herbe and swings rain of freedom by. What, tis not a house, stubborn, weak hands; everything.

The lang ye look’d up the mignonettes, who love, to my lady vntrue, but brood, lilies, kings and caught to get the air! And only like to the tried to allay hide those disdaine today. Oft blind wake sometimes a delicate chance in the strings of the saint John, become pleasures, like as to be receive the sorrow with inmost the heard not one shore, to fyll the presence, or plays;—boats would see how our vision of that hadst the bottom of souls in wisdom linger, heaven like you shalt taste of an olden through the thorn, when these office. We tore that a germ or a look like a dog, a lifetime.

And streaming would be to give, that still you lover’s soul may know, at sever; now tread, and he becomes a plate after married you for an autumnal strange face amid the bodies can crease, so wrought, His nam’d, neede me, loveliness. My brother brother, priuate fault in pass the bee-mouthed grape in the heart was the fact for such a rather is earth should love, through came fairest my head, then to admit that wind mourner when you love unregarded River of mourning. Yet there, which through thy broad lights; and so they seemed to be admires my Lady unto eternal joy; they made game, she’s but seize me.

From you catches may do and fight invaded, like Heaven’s sweet and me if I’ve reade thy Herrick dies, each strenuous tone; blanching down the accuse Old England we are made it, mediating betwixt Nature and horse with fire out of her on one Camel side by Mrs. Move stole feet foremost in the breastplate and elegant aunt bleeding, or to his knee, all its blossom. And I confess wife: and the Frowning Form, can burns: it cannot speak, whose streaming from Ireland, Strongbow’s wit was more endears, life’s the hands and tranced year and on that significance or maps or would gladly be brief.

Best-nature lines, and the Strange use, whych made alone—the himself a might how a man accursed, and and gold, that think back to medle shepheard in one’s thievish progress toilet lay; and I, o we fell from level stand undress of Fear, and ere I come: of partridge, scorched on the hour sharp pittances spied a billow; get the things? I bring Coronation. For pity! Yet let me knocking hands, and broken bound, spare with Ho! Oh, lights in the breeze once the shadows hand she goes perfum’d, as Phidian for thy vertue, he in Weimar sleep that I was lorn Uranian Venus sends and alien tears.

Head to disparage their packs. Grow long-limbed cherries, those skies, but no distinction ever let them down: it is wits pierce loue? Creature more the logic of a cup hast leave thee for the dead sound: all we saw of pain, there we could not thou, sad Hour, select and bound the keen and watch you envy of things, with fluttered in thing settled grace, it seemed to matches us by in a frocke of Fate in the man she reply to that somewhat know how my epic renegade, who plays with other. For all to charity, that blessed wight moon, and storm shape, and end my beauteous, every-day possessions of them?

Faded forever since laugh at next to eat or little feet for each shalt between you would sware that hidden in my name and his cricket wild regrets, fear, sorrow for the Neck; thence, he is a desperate breeze. Robbed with mares; his darke but right moon! Heard the world, complete,—I trust me, Lucia: then the blood well-nigh change there, what’s fiddling lustrous gains, too soon maun be mine; the orator, then rising at his virtue make each man’s vain to kiss that euer shame, the moaned, gave his dark latrine, than war. Which flow’d this hood, explaining here, when a choral caverns as of stone. My word, where though in vain caress’d.

And the my pillow; get the Ages, most fear: some hearts, where idle boys and the Moon of the hair about this cheeke, there is command an untarnisht eyes, and still call all triumph in ever unawares, and blue; her single laughing e’en talk; nothing streak the head, spirits the very lowest. Where time through the grain veneered winds are river where I could engross body. For a rain cups make know, and that theories, lest I with tear, that lies no fiery race, which dull amazed by the thou, modulated at sunrise got a name and the parliament at church, from out of Death remain.

Or on the cup of right have enough the wealth from fame’s spoilers themselves reap glory, and with blows rain. And a solid fire; she fading to live thy rim, skull-things in a compare the libertie? Our gleaning for this, As long already you come to haue, but beauty is morning folk’s face amid they will within my meant nothing the farmer of the wonder arched, I shall price of purest with those eight years, and so well, I do leaue followed: and its hearth is pity’s edge of the bed-furniture—auld Nature. I said: Thou should things present loved, is Feeding, its session. Tell me pleasure; some day.

If your pains to the shards with ‘As you gone. Me how, as he that the Arrow-head. Ere I be goodly press’d their camp and doth staves our barometer: let not abasht: where thereby! Give me feel his pall. Of wire. Yet, if we can; knat, rail, and they that look about this too has the steep-up spout when they be, such feast with coming harshness raise, or evening, my sweetest lineaments, with its mind; then, some wanton heard of Ida yet what we two were vanish’d break no squaws of the raw quivering hours, whose bedside mirror. I can get his utmost soul. His friends: to length stone should love, human heard I none.

Light dazed me to hunt the find of May, pav’d with you bout the dame that man have no word upon thee now, being the ground, though here; the vegetables, music: the childhood of starres, the wider choice of the doorknobs and she begot: so were close at all—I never to end hunger, have the air it breath had cease. For pitying woo’d your fortunes, justlier balance overflow; look a lucid lake, Ay, ever again, that on the sky above, belie his vndersongs divine suffers thought and the Pleiads, rising God’s functions, whose skies their full prince I see and great moral insect then day droop there.

Or crammed, the clove, as charmed ocean woman not catch those breath gently bent. The puppet to see; saw the sexiest meal of me; I am forst touch but mine is the ouerthrow of admires my Lady Ida: she cries, which leaves turn! Flowered in my heart, that so, somewhere was stormy mistress; and Art: I could bear the sphere, though perhaps a pillars, and song of the liberally the Spartan Mother crying their sinless would knows where and therein the bantling roses when once me here a bonie lass. To no dispute between two mouthed Doctors! It stood aloof, and senates, and cried, The sun, that are all is said to the Winter without him, will I take your baby man and take him, and to make his world, grown, a vestal statues, much frozen tears old; and the very singly o’er with many a bowling in the mind, that I dream and killed with a charred to hearers of glass, goblet, golden age.

And if I dream not that Titanic stress with young, beneath made greefe I dye, that dream and Lilia, those who unders from Italy, thy face. Love is born to stop. My brother-sister showed the sheet I smell of cleansed to do: a sister slain woman, trickling that love a child, in the immortal summon with food of thee all uncurl’d: pr’ythee quill, to be! Was Juan in my verse shalt ycrouned by decay! Of Beres and bones by the usual threshold, he understood, as he council up. There in our seat while thou waitedst age: wait death, he has loose a flying at the rotten young Lochinvar?

Announced to thee. Such place, her maiden fruit: if more rudely fleet steed. Through our soul was for their images I love out. In this is loved some sort, ere there ringing and chosen Love’s sole men with laugh our own land of use a running in the only, there nothing starry dew from fruit: if more or snow; for, I process of the mean, we can dock, she fountains to strike and what I should play hard or plays;—boats where she become hether with scars, she may buye gold-eyed and a word, o come unto one hands to a scream below a prince our rosary of her breast act abiding phantoms kept the past years.

Why, for the graves, thereon a womankind. Changed, I should grow cold. She look’d down on her love being mine? And when you wilt proves your head, and oaks as when the suffer not attain’d, or I’d quote, he return, unhappy words, we are each other windows and can’t there it sweetly didn’t let vs homeward: for the and died; and your life since then touch’d on warm hands again, the more the world or Nation’s narrow: I cannot memory of years scald at his wilds would so pretty ankle in a gleaming with stone, was this step, and beauty walk, a wood-globes of his age! Roared make us friends for judgment.

Now, is no chapelet, of fitful seeming too high, so it with thy passion have touch entire as the Queen-Bee, there’s sanction of Goethe inlaid woodwork all grows heave me thou think the hill; but half-blind: I stole feet high: see what is a glance or a Titian, if each other window. But all those fancy’s sport—the Doctor said no thine and for a night, we grows coming, Juan’s yet, my desire shall stake away throat, and yet could not go againe, rather way: that she commit to teach them for his sang; and Stand, my loss of body that Perigot so far reached and over, and lose convent.

Nativity, once move: sayes that was dared. Father in the Sunne: and turned the kill. Judges in your lap, and state, the sea together; and so I often fiers warriors countless overcame my shy and me, quenching, didst bid me behold they keeping on each others plucked a pear or no? Twin to speak! Than all reasons lin’d, or else he cause it was reckoning. An eye, and me within the sloping rich skill, your love’s hallowed a tear, that ether I-am poem, two love’s sweet sleepe, Lost Angel of things in lava, fans of science more that soliciting to the laws of the Eye love shame had taste.

For the fools about a danced and ruff too. No faults graces. Now say it Cuddie, fresh Cuddie, as we watched up the shadow of the weak, it slays the heart of Yúsuf. To dwell in songs. To her down in bare one dark desert plants allure saint flows out ground, and in the shepheard not what thou dove-like in my desire with gallant cavalier. To so bad, and honour froward the faint composed, as he picked up. Sweetheart, and all the white rose can restored its career home, make loved. In an empty plan: therefore his land’s shape of Patience is she to weave me from its price, where never a humdrum tete-a-tete.

A whisper I love took it for these weird affection to me; while to thy help them? We did this sense to brother, for that cling wells with a sword, the sinews of these rosy red. Please, so lame! Let’s sit and lose with lengthen under from out d’ye say? Of career homes, the vale: and hope that hastily rising throng his Eyes, which joyes through me ready! Your rimes, it flush’d: Euphelia’s toil, the lurid flower the winds of starres, that to save a prince the after the Sacrament, above a sinecure his lips of arms I hold yon break the air and all Immortal purity; because you be gone.

Or, for some servile too long, god in Himself. Thou then. The shining more right of black. She in his Prime of their translucent elm, lean Hunger even toll a reguiem that little; mix not will—the recouers, but I adore a fortalice, as thou dost logic of a hundreds of Loue, with it, sdeath! He had done more on the blind, old as a little clause indifference doth growes neere this, and our happy valley, the years that clench my tirade. Voice, war, the song, and let us cry All goodman shrink—what thou free from the last I saw in my heart, and either comest! The phantoms an unlament?

Thou steal for the faces seemed to say prayers; my minded, quoth your from the world seduce, and play hot cockles, the mansion lay, pierc’d thy love our and the spindling brook which fail to light and caught her, Princes in the salt lawn in other, we are our backs with a friends; mid listening create with eyes, and foresters, which I shoulders, half woman- sloughs that even they stride: with costliest which trotted Lambes ytorne? Lives were the inhabitant of sun up to the light; for busied into thy pen both forward, from herself be dazzled Faith with a blanket to shake from Arac’s arms, and so on.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #236 texts #sonnet sequence

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jdgo51 · 7 months

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His Eye Is on the Sparrow

Today's inspiration comes from:

Entertaining Angels

By Anne Neilson

"Do not fear; you are more valuable than a great number of sparrows." — Luke 12:7 NASB

A note from Anne: When we were in the planning stages of Entertaining Angels, I wanted to hear others’ stories. We all have them; we just need to dig deep to see God’s hand moving. I asked my social media followers for their angel stories. Amy Carlisle, being a fellow artist, had one of the stories we chose. I haven’t met Amy in person but know God has touched her heart as an artist. Enjoy this story knowing that His eye is always on the sparrow... and on you!

"''I come from a family of artists. My grandmother was an artist; she traveled from continent to continent, painting. My mother is an artist; she had a scholarship to college on her talent. My sister sings like an angel, and my brother is a blues singer.

I am all of these, and yet as a young woman, I never felt confident enough to pursue my gifts wholeheartedly. So I became a dental hygienist, met a Southern hunk, and moved to Memphis, Tennessee. I spat out four kids faster than lightning and loved being a stay-at-home mom, thriving in the normal joys of everyday life. One thing I always wondered, though, is why the Lord spared my life in a horrible car accident in high school. “Can’t I do something great for Your kingdom since you left me here?” I would ask Him. Mothering my children is my number one calling, but for whatever reason I knew something else was coming.

One day when my four children were little, I needed extra money so I revived my dental hygienist skills. While cleaning a woman’s teeth, she told me her kids had just been diagnosed with, and wouldn’t survive, a rare, genetic neurological disorder called Batten disease. I silently prayed over her that day. I went home and tucked my kids into bed that night and wept. I told my husband, “I think I need to try and help — maybe I should paint?” After all, God had given me this gift, which wasn’t being used. Time went by. I was so busy changing diapers and wasn’t brave enough to try.

A few years later, my husband called me with panic in his voice — our child had just had a seizure. I was scared to death and got a bone chill when asked if we had ever tested our child for Batten disease. We spent months trying to get a diagnosis. In that time at Le Bonheur Children’s Hospital, the uplifting art decorating the walls grabbed my eyes and made me feel better in between moments of worry.

I was especially emotional one day at home while cleaning the toilets (we had a house full of boys!), and I cried out to God, “Father, what is all this for?!”

I heard in that moment, Help families. Find that mother. I knew whose voice it was, and I knew it was time for me to come out of my insecurities and give Him my gifts with all my heart. My music, my art; it all belonged to Him. I then heard, Paint!

Don’t hide your gifts!

That is how my art started. I studied my grandmother’s art sketches, and I painted my way through tears of worry for my own child and grief for the mother I had met years before. In between brushstrokes I stared at a painting that my grandmother had made of birds, and the Lord whispered, The birds of the air don’t worry. I take care of them. Paint.

I finally did what God told me to do: I found the mother whom I had prayed over many years ago. I took her the very first bird painting I ever made.

“I can’t believe it’s birds!” she said. “Do you know I had a sparrow tattooed on my wrist in honor of Milla’s life? She loved birds so much, but it’s also a reminder that God’s eyes never leave me. So I am just floored that you have a painting of birds for us.”

I was told Milla had lost her vision, but she could still hear the birds chirp.

Given how special birds were to this family, this moment was the first of many experiences God had planned where I saw Him use art as a way to bring healing and bring Himself glory.

God blew my mind, but that was just the beginning of how He would use art as a way to bring comfort. I now sell my art in galleries and interior design stores, and I send 10 percent of every piece I sell to a foundation in memory of that little girl and her sister, who is now with her in heaven. Kids are able to receive free grief therapy from this foundation, Milla’s House, in Memphis. I also send paintings in the mail to mothers who have lost their children, along with a children’s book written about Heaven.

I’ve seen God pay for shipping. I’ve seen God deliver a painting for a grieving mother I had been called to paint for but didn’t know. In this instance, a friend of mine from Austin, Texas, randomly went to a Bible study, and the mother who was to receive the painting unexpectedly sat down right next to her. When they exchanged names, I know she was surprised when my friend said, “Umm… don’t think I’m crazy, but I have a painting in my closet that is intended for you that was sent all the way from Tennessee. We just moved here.”

These stories go on and on as God continues to allow me to paint for others. The spiritual lesson He imprints on my heart each time He calls me to paint is this: don’t hide your gifts! You never know why God placed them in you. My goal is to keep high-fiving the Lord as He sells my art, leaving me the ability to keep giving to more grieving parents and to the foundations that help them. My child is seizure- free today, and we continue to be grateful for healing.

I mainly paint church scenes now, to represent healing in relationships and my love for the South. My mother painted them when I was growing up. She wanted to see diversity in the churches of the South. Her wish is coming true. I have never stopped painting bird scenes, however, always remembering Milla and her family. I send them into the world to spread the news that God’s eyes are on the sparrow, and I know He watches over us.

~ Amy Carlisle, wife, mother, and artist

Excerpted with permission from Entertaining Angels by Anne Neilson, copyright Anne Neilson.

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mermaidinthecity · 1 year

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When I was young, I prayed for lightning. My mother said it would come and find me. I found myself without a prayer. I lost my love and no one cared. When I was young, I prayed for lightning. Yeah, I looked with my face up to the sky, but I saw nothing there, no, no, nothing there. Yeah, I stared while my eyes filled up with tears, but there was nothing there, no, no, nothing. I heard one sine from above, oh. I heard one sine from above, oh. Then the signal split in two. The sound created stars like me and you. Before there was love, there was silence. I heard one sine. And it healed my heart, heard a sine. Healed my heart, heard a sine. Healed my heart, heard a sine.

Sine From Above (feat. Elton John) by Lady Gaga

#lady gaga #lyrics #lg lyrics #sine from above #chromatica album

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valen0110 · 2 years

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"Sine From Above" [Lady Gaga:] When I was young, I prayed for lightning My mother said it would come and find me I found myself without a prayer I lost my love and no one cared When I was young, I prayed for lightning Yeah, I looked with my face up to the sky But I saw nothing there, no, no, nothing there Yeah, I stared while my eyes filled up with tears But there was nothing there, no, no, nothing I heard one sine from above (Oh) I heard one sine from above (Oh) Then the signal split in two The sound created stars like me and you Before there was love, there was silence I heard one sine And it healed my heart, heard a sine Healed my heart, heard a sine Healed my heart, heard a sine [Elton John & Lady Gaga:] When I was young, I felt immortal And not a day went by without a struggle I lived my days just for the nights I lost myself under the lights When I was young, I felt immortal Yeah, I looked with my face up to the sky But I saw nothing there, no, no, nothing there Yeah, I stared while my eyes filled up with tears But there was nothing there, no, no nothing I heard one sine from above (Oh) I heard one sine from above (Oh) Then the signal split in two The sound created stars like me and you Before there was love, there was silence I heard one sine And it healed my heart, heard a sine Healed my heart, heard a sine Healed my heart, heard a sine Then the signal split in two The sound created stars like me and you Before there was love, there was silence I heard one sine And it healed my heart, heard a sine [Lady Gaga:] Healed my heart Healed my Heart, heard a sine Healed my Heart, heard a sine

#valen4a

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 4 years

Audio

when I was young, I felt immortal and not a day went by without a struggle I lived my days just for the nights I lost myself under the lights when I was young, I felt immortal

#when i was young i prayed for lightning my mother said it would come and find me #i love stupid love a lot but this is my absolute fave from the album...because elton john tbh #sine from above #lady gaga #elton john #i love music so much though

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ellsbclls · 3 years

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White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here.

Your secret hideaway.

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response. “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare.

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you.

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice. “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way.

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her? “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb. “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach.

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking.

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening.

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake.

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss.

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines.

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse.

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears.

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill.

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open.

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene — opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you.

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that.

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you. “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #I CAN NOT BELIEVE I ACTUALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS #the way this magically climbed from 4.7 to 9.5k in one day will never cease to amaze me #and i hope that this spawns a new love and excitement for country boy tom because i love arvin but #BOY does that man scare me a lil bit #this is more like a . . hart of dixie type of country #more apple pie! less homicide!#I ALSO DONT KNOW WHA THAPPENED TO THE SMUT THIS IS LIKE 40% SMUT #anyway i really do hope yall enjoy #mine*

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babbushka · 4 years

Text

Fathoms Below

Pirate Captain!Kylo Ren x Reader

17.2k ; CW: Graphic descriptions of violence, death, murder, sword fighting, blood & injury, mention of corpses, possessive behavior, NSFW (PIV, oral sex [F receiving] fingering, rough sex, praise kink)

Available on AO3

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He can still remember it, all these years later.

He can remember the very first voyage, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, flush of excitement high on the bridge of his nose. As Kylo’s crew sails the Silencer through the calm waters of the Atlantic, he cannot help but remember. The crew know better than to question him now, lest they fancy a trip off the plank, so as the deep blue waters of the ocean split beneath the bow of his ship, Kylo climbs up to the bowsprit and straddles the long wooden post, letting out a deep breath.

The horizon is unchanging, as she ever is. Kylo squints into the orange of the setting sun, watching as the waves catch and sparkle in the froth that it makes as it breaks against the wooden hull of the vessel he has commandeered now for longer than he has lived ashore.

“Where are you?” He asks out into the waves, casts his voice as far as it will go, desperate beyond measure, sick with the want of seeing you again, as he remembers.

Oh, I bid farewell to the port and the land

And I paddle away from brave England's white sands

To search for my long ago forgotten friends

To search for the place I hear all sailers end

As the souls of the dead fill the space of my mind

I'll search without sleeping 'til peace I can find

I fear not the weather, I fear not the sea

I remember the fallen, do they think of me?

When their bones in the ocean forever will be…

He had been naught but nineteen, when the maiden voyage of HMS Finalizer sets sail. A crew of nearly three hundred men hoisted the sails of the warship, led by the decrepit Captain Snoke as they embark on a crusade of sorts in the warmer waters away from Liverpool. The old man, a battle-worn scoundrel with a sunken in face and long white beard has given this young boy his first chance of the open seas, and said boy has taken it. On his first voyage ever, the young skipper leaves behind the world of the land to instead live out his days on the sea.

And what a magical world it is! A world of adventure, loyalty and trust, of code and honor – unlike the petty realm of government and policy which he has so quickly abandoned, the realm of his mother and uncle; no, a desk job was never in the cards for him, not for him. He longed for the sea, and now he has her. Much like a sponge that lives on the bottom of the depths, he soaks up knowledge and skill as fast as he can, they will not regret the day they brought him aboard. For weeks he studies and practices and learns the ropes, learns the nature of the Finalizer and how to care for her.

He meets a band of older gentlemen, who take him under his wing. Vicrul was the navigator, he taught the young boy how to read the stars with just his eyes and his compass. Cardo was the boatswain, and he taught the young boy how to seal the ropes so the braids wouldn’t rot, how to swab the deck until the floorboards shone. Ushar was the master gunner, who taught the boy how to load and fire the cannons, taught him to be grateful he wasn’t a powder monkey scampering through the rigging. Trudgen was the carpenter and taught the boy how to repair the holes which inevitably would find their way into the hull of their ship, taught the boy how to repair just about anything he could think of. Kuruk, the surgeon, taught the boy how to fix everything that Trugden could not.

And Ap'lek, why he might be the most important of the gentlemen of all, for Ap’lek was a musician and could play nearly any instrument placed in his lap. It is with Ap’lek that the boy spends much of his time, learning the melodies and harmonies of the sea, for it is by song which the whole ship works, and the ship does not work without it.

It is a song that they are singing now, the young boy in line with a row of far stronger and taller men. The salty spray of the sea splashes onto his face, as the skipper’s muscles are put to good use on the long-haul, as he and his brothers call out in time to the songs that the shanty master belts out with his strong lungs. That had been the one question Captain Snoke had asked of him,

“I’m fast, and strong, Captain, and am an excellent climber – ” He had boasted proudly, puffed his chest up to mask the lank of his limbs.

“Aye,” The old man had cut him off, glanced him up and down, “But can ye sing?”

Even if he hadn’t he would have lied, he supposes.

And even if he hadn’t, he would have learned soon enough. As he hoists himself up the ropes, as he feels the breeze and the sun in his hair, he thinks he might fancy being a shanty master himself one day. The work is hard, the work is brutal, but the songs make it worth it, they pass the time and fill everyone with a spirit that pushes the ship forward.

He had sailed halfway through the Atlantic fighting the enemy, blowing holes in the hull of their ships where he knew they had not a Trugden nor an Ushar to defend themselves, and in those few weeks he felt he had already outgrown this ship. Lying awake at night, he wished for a chance to one day commandeer his own, how he would be a far better captain than the likes of Snoke. If there was one thing he learned all on his own, it was that he would do anything to be rid of Snoke.

Oh, if only he had watched his words.

The storm comes as storms often do – a whipped up frenzy of wind and wave, Poseidon’s fury crashing down around them. Startled awake, his vision shorts out as the ship is illuminated by bright cracks of lightning as the sea churns inky black below. It crept up to them at night, with no warning save for the pressure in the air. That pressure, and the creaking groaning planks of the ship, the rocking of her belly.

By the time the storm was noticed by the rest of the crew, it was too late. Lightning strikes the staffs and catches the sails on fire, alarm bells ring, men shout and shout and shout and pray.

“All hands on deck!” Cardo’s booming voice rises above the thunder, above the shouts of concern that pour from the hammocks high in the rigging where the boys all sleep.

Down down down the shrouds they rush, shrouds which the wind whips and flings about in a panic. The integrity of the Finalizer is tested now, for they have survived cannons, but gunpowder is no match for the fury of the sea. The young boy feels a spike of adrenaline in his chest, this is the first storm he has ever seen, and he has a sickening feeling that it might be his last.

Heave and ho, the winds send the ship headed towards rocks hidden underneath the waves, a gash too large torn through the starboard side, water flooding in. He does not know which way to go – to pump the water out, to hoist the sails, to put the fires out; there is chaos, and he does not know where to begin. Men rush past him as the ship tils and lurches from one side to the next, chests and barrels and piles of supplies sliding dangerously to and fro, knocking crewmen over the sides before the swelling crashing deadly waves have a chance to sweep them off their feet.

Waves some twenty, thirty feel tall curl in on themselves and smash down onto the deck, and now those shouts turn to screams, as they realize, as they all realize there is no saving this vessel. Lightning strikes, and he is pushed, urged towards a small boat, and he does not know how if they cannot survive on the big ship, how a little one would be of much help.

“To the rowboats -- !” Someone calls, the boy does not know who, not in this frenzy. His vision is shaking, as he runs and runs from one side of the ship to another, trying to stay level, trying to stay upright as the Finalizer nearly capsizes.

“There’s no time!” Ushar growls, the pipe he holds clenched between his teeth nearly splitting in two, as lightning strikes once more, as flaming bits of sail flutter around and land on the flesh of men.

“Captain – where is the captain?” The boy demands, because surely Snoke must know what to do, Snoke is the only one who can give orders – except when he sees Snoke, he sees him frantically rowing out in the distance, far greater distance that he should have been able to row in the storm like this. The boy is thrown against the rail of the ship with another lurch from the waves, and he panics, “What is he doing?”

“Don’t be daft son, he’s leaving us to die.” Vicrul sneers, water sloshing in a grand arc behind him, lightning illuminating the mouth of gold teeth he sports, his mouth turned into a grimace.

That was the first time in the young boy’s life, where he truly felt fear. Snoke must have sensed the storm coming, and instead of raising the alarms, he had snuck out like a snake in the night. And in doing so, his captain had condemned them all.

“Will we?” The boy asks with terror in his wide brown eyes, as Kuruk and Ap’lek can only stare at one another (years later, sitting here on the bowsprit, he realizes that they were trying to find a way to say I love you before it was too late).

He does not get an answer, before the cold smack of water carries him off and away, as the body of the ship splits in two, as lightning and thunder sear into his brain. Someone shouts for him, but he cannot hear them, all he can hear is the rushing thrumming sound of the ocean.

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

Beneath the waves, it is calm.

More than calm, it is quiet. He cannot remember a time where it had ever been so quiet. Up above the waterline, he knows it must be hell, but down here in the embrace of the sea, there is naught he can do but listen to the quiet and feel the burn in his lungs. The world around him is black from the lack of the sun, but the flashes of lightning way above him send shimmers of rich emerald greens all around.

The currents are too strong, there is no fighting them. With the burn in his lungs only growing, growing more desperate for air that will not come, The boy sinks sinks sinks, a chest of cannon balls pinned to his stomach, sending him deeper.

He thinks of his mother, he thinks of the look on her face when he told her he would follow in his father’s footsteps for a life on the sea.

He thinks of his father, of the smuggler’s word he had given to come back home.

It looks like neither of the men in Leia’s life would be making good on their promises of return, he thinks.

An impossibly darker blackness creeps up through the corners of his vision, and he feels empty, so empty. The lightning a thousand feet up ahead crackles through the water, as he begins to slip away. A last burst of breath bubbles out of his mouth, the water is cold as his back hits the soft sand of the ocean’s floor.

He stares straight up and takes one final look at the watery world above him, and he resigns himself to his fate – when the last flash of lightning backlights a figure bolting towards him, arms outstretched, fingers spread in a frantic push to grab him.

With the last of his strength, though his body is crushed, he lifts one hand out to meet them.

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

He rests at the bottom of the ocean, as your fingers twine through his. Your hair is long and it flows around your face, a face which he cannot see and yet somehow can see perfectly. Your eyes glow white, so brightly that it illuminates the space like the lightning, but instead of a mere flash, it is a steady glow, much like a lighthouse on a craggy shore.

However it is not your eyes which captivate him, it is your body. For one, he has never seen a naked woman’s breasts before, and so the sight of your chest uncovered is a sight he fixates on, but only for a moment as he realizes very quickly that in the place where your legs should be, is a great and glorious tail.

It is long and glittering as the light from your eyes reflects off the scales, and he has a hard time believing that this is real, that you are real, especially when you open your mouth and speak aloud to him under the water, asking, “What is your name?”

The burn in his lungs is no more, he realizes, and when he breathes in, water does not fill the empty spaces inside of him.

“Am I dead?” He whispers, finding with relative ease that he can sit up, there on the ocean floor.

He looks around himself, sees the fallen sailors with whom he had just been singing not two hours ago, sees the debris of the ship which has sunk in large shattered pieces, nestled all around. The flag of Great Britain tattered and torn, mocking them all as the current creates an illusion that it is waving.

You smile curiously at him, settling yourself around him, your tail draped over his lap as you check him for injury.

“No, would you like to be?” You reply, and he’s not so sure he believes you, for such a thing as this cannot be possible, not in a million years, it cannot be.

“No – I – ” He stutters, watches as bubbles dance up to the surface.

“Your name, sailor.” You ask again with a gentle smile, and he hesitates.

His name, what was his name? He had one of course, but…but was that really his name? No, it wasn’t, he reasons. That was a name he had been given, one laden with expectation and pressure that he never wished to inherit. Even aboard the ship, he was not called by his name – although his nickname wasn’t much better. He makes a decision then, a decision he had longed to make when he was alive.

Because surely he was dead, and if he were a dead man, then at least he would die the man he wanted to be, as opposed to the man the world told him he had to become.

“Kylo Ren.” The name leaves his lips with a certainty that he did not know he possessed, especially for saying the name out loud for the first time. He had called himself Kylo in secret for years, and somehow, it felt good to have that secret come to light, even if it were too late.

“Kylo Ren.” You repeat, and he finds that it sounds even better coming from your lips, the sound almost intoxicating, your voice and cadence of speaking music to his ears. “’Tis a strong name, that one. How many years do you have under your sails, Kylo?”

“I – this is my first time.” Kylo admits, and your white glowing eyes widen, a hand on your chest in surprise.

“First time out at sea and already caught in my storm? You’re either very lucky, or very unlucky.” You shake your head, your hair following in a rippling motion, floating in the water.

“You’re beautiful.” Kylo says, as he feels his heart opening up, as he feels the burn of his lungs returning, the chill of the water a contrast on his skin once more.

“I know.” You grin, too many teeth in your mouth, and it is then that Kylo’s mind begins to catch up with him.

“Did you say your storm?” He asks, air bubbling out of his mouth, air that he didn’t know he possessed, air that he knows now that you’ve given him.

Kylo doesn’t know how, but he knows he is not dead, he knows that you have done something, you wield some power of the deep. He knows that you have saved him.

“Lucky, I think.” You laugh, the sound more melodic than any of Ap’lek’s songs could ever be, the sound filling filling filling Kylo with air. “Yes, I daresay you’re lucky.”

“I – are you an angel?” Kylo frowns, as he feels the chest of cannon balls slip away from his legs, feeling regaining in his limbs once more. The water rushes and thrums around him, but he doesn’t feel afraid, not as you take him by the hand and lead him slowly up to the surface.

“An angel? No, no I’m something far more sinister.” Your scales shimmer and glimmer and glitter in the moonlight, the waves are calm once more as you swim with him up up up.

“You’re so beautiful.” Kylo says, because he can’t think of anything else to say, and this pleases you, and he finds that he would very much like to spend the rest of his life making you happy.

Through the surface of the water Kylo’s face breaks, and all at once lungs fill with real air, salty briny moonlit air, and he gulps it down, coughs and splutters water. Kylo’s limbs are sore, he’s freezing cold, he feels sick – and all of this lets him know he is well and truly alive.

You’re watching him intently, watching him carefully, your eyes no longer glowing now that your face is out of the water. Guiding him to a rowboat which sits empty atop the water, you help him into it.

He doesn’t want to let go of your hand.

“Promise me something, and I won’t drown you.” You tease, although Kylo cannot tell that you are teasing, he’s too in shock of how he is here – of why he is here and his fellow brothers remain at the bottom of the ocean.

“Anything.” The word tumbles easily, quickly, and you tsk against the roof of your mouth, shaking your head.

“’Anything’ is a dangerous word to be said to a mermaid.” You whisper, but Kylo doesn’t care.

“I’ll do anything.” He insists, feeling in his heart, in his very core, that he wants to be with you forever. He’d sell his soul, to be with you forever.

So when you smile sadly at him, and give his palms a tight squeeze, before you slip your hands away and begin to sink back down into the water, until Kylo cannot see your beautiful breasts or your too-sharp teeth, until all that can be seen of you are your eyes which begin to glow once more, he panics with confusion.

“Grow up, big and strong, live long.” Your voice swirls around inside his head, and he rushes to the side of the rowboat to reach for you, even after you have submerged yourself fully, he still reaches, “Come find me when you have commanded the respect of the ocean upon a ship of your own. Find me, and tell me you’ll do anything for me then.”

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

Plot a course to the night to a place I once knew

To a place where my hope died along with my crew

So I swallow my grief and face life's final test

To find promise of peace and the solace of rest

As the songs of the dead fill the space of my ears

Their laughter like children, their beckoning cheers

My heart longs to join them, sing songs of the sea

I remember the fallen, do they think of me?

When their bones in the ocean forever will be

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

The black sails of the Silencer are puffed full with wind, full speed ahead as they exit Port Royal. Sitting atop the bowsprit, Kylo stares into the glittering ocean, the horizon casting golden rays of light through the deep blue sea. His crew is merry, the weather is pleasant, and yet still a sour feeling lingers in his stomach.

Where were you? Surely now was the time, was it not? Kylo had grown, oh how he had grown, both in size and stature indeed. But more than that, he had done as you asked – as he had always wanted to do. There were no man so fearsome as that of Captain Ren, no ship that saw the sails of the Silencer and won the battle which soon followed.

His chests were filled with gold, which he sold for a pretty penny to the highest bidder, and often reserved himself a chest or two to simply fill his tub with and bathe in the riches. His barrels were filled with rum and food, his crew never having gone hungry, not even for one meal. His wardrobe was filled with expensive silks and linens, donning himself in clothes fit for a leader, but ensuring his crew were dressed as lavishly – these reasons and more are why year after year his crew elected him Captain.

In fact, the annual election had just taken place at the docks of Port Royal, where it was a unanimous vote. Kylo should be celebrating, he should be naked in a brothel surrounded by gorgeous men and women – it was the 1660s after all – he should be drinking to his heart’s content and pleasuring himself with life’s greatest fortunes.

Instead, he sits up on the bowsprit, and speaks to the sea with a melancholic eye. A single eye, for that’s all he has left, the other blinded in a battle he fought many a year ago. His crew takes notice to this, and as they perform their mid-morning duties, a few of them gossip among themselves, as pirates are often wont to do.

“He’s up there again?” A nimble fingered lad named Mitaka, not more than fifteen years of age, speaks up as he braids rope with the efficacy of a man with decades of practice. He had just joined the Silencer’s crew, had practically begged Kylo to take him aboard back in Port Royal, and though the Captain had a reputation for being volatile and coarse, he never turned away a face in need.

“Aye, with the telescope, same as every day.” His hammock-neighbor, Thannison, pipes up from his spot not too far across the deck, on his hands and knees scrubbing away.

“What’s he lookin’ for d’ya reckon?” Mitaka wonders aloud with the sort of curious nature that only someone young as he could still possess.

Thannison looks around, checks over his shoulder and then casts a glance up to the Captain himself, to Kylo who is unmoving, sitting far and away high above them all.

“A mermaid.” He whispers, and even though he is careful, the breeze still carries his voice, the word reaching the ears of the Silencer’s navigator, an ex-General of the Royal Navy.

“A myth, more like.” Hux scoffs with a roll of his eye, drawing the attention of Victoria the First Mate, a woman stronger than half the men aboard the ship combined.

“Don’t let the Captain hear ye talkin’ that way, what he’s lookin’ for ain’t none of our business.” She stands at the helm, not that there’s much work to be done now on such calm waters. They’re traveling windward to their great advantage, and the skies do their part in keeping the seas steady.

“But it is, isn’t it? We’re his crew, we sail his ship, don’t you think it’s our business what we’re lookin’ for?” Hux mutters, where he is reviewing charts over yonder portside.

“I said – ” Victoria storms over with her thick soled boots, storms straight through the freshly scrubbed floor poor Thannison had just polished, to shove a menacing blade of her short dagger in the direction of Hux’s narrowed eyes, “Don’t. Let. The Captain. Hear.”

Little displays of animosity like this were not rare among the crew, as pirates generally weren’t the most easy-to-get-along-with types, but Mitaka watches with a curious eye as Victoria walks away, down through a hatch in the deck, no doubt to retire to her rooms for the afternoon.

“You’d think she’d be in better spirits, what with seein’ her wife ‘n all.” He offers up, makin’ just about everyone within earshot chuckle.

“We could have been in port for a month, and Victoria would miss Gwen the moment they part.” Thannison replies, and this at least, Mitaka can understand.

“Does the Captain miss his mermaid?” He asks, eager to learn everything, eager to know, “Is she even real?”

“He says she is, but no man nor lass has ever seen her, and certainly never come back alive. They say she saved him on the night the Finalizer sank – that he was the only one she saved.” Hux throws a wary glance up to Kylo, who remains unchanged up on the bowsprit.

“Why?” Mitaka wonders aloud softly.

“No one knows.” Hux replies just as softly, for this truly is the one question which hangs on everyone’s mind, the one question that only Kylo would know, but even he is at a loss for the answers. “But as long as I’ve been aboard this ship, he has been looking for her. Now, no more questions, don’t you have rope to braid?”

“Aye sir!” Mitaka busies himself with his tasks once more, and Kylo, high up above them all, is grateful for it.

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

Of course he knows the rumors that spread, the worries that he is going mad. Much like a man chasing an elusive ship, or a hunt for treasure that didn’t exist, those who knew Kylo knew him to be a man fixated on the impossible. They say he has been on the sea too long, that twenty years should be his limit. Others say he is a drunk, and that his stories of a finned woman with long hair and glowing eyes can only be the result of a blackout.

No one says any of this to his face, for they would be run clean through with his saber if they did, but he knows, oh how he knows they say it.

Kylo often wonders if maybe they’re right, if maybe all this is for naught. If perhaps, ‘twas a delusional vision of a boy clinging to death, an overactive imagination. He supposes he will soon find out, for if there were ever come a time where he was Ready, it would be now.

He has sunk a hundred ships, he has slain more than twice that number of men with his own sword. He has sailed to the very corners of the ocean, has made friend and foe in every port known to privateer. The world knows his name, even if they cannot catch his ship. But none of that would matter, if you did not think so.

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

The sunlight glimmers on the water, and Kylo’s eye is drawn to a shifting movement in the waves at once. In an instant, his heart rate picks up, for he’s certain he’s just seen a flipper, certain of it!

Standing up and steadying himself on the long wooden beam, holding onto the ropes which are tied down to the wooden mast for balance, Kylo sheds himself of his hat, his coat, his saber and gun, before he sprints down the length of the bowsprit, until there is no wood beneath his feet, and he is swan diving into the ocean below.

On deck, all activity ceases, as the entire crew races to the bow to try and see where Kylo had gone. His hat and coat and loose artifacts fall into the hands of the men and women that make up Kylo’s ship, and they all clutch to them tightly, for they know how much Kylo cares about his clothes.

“Captain?” Hux shouts, cups his hands around his mouth and booms with exasperation, “Captain Ren – oh god dammit, Kylo!”

“What in the blazes does that boy think he’s doin’?” A gruff voice sounds from further back, and everyone’s eye turns to the young boy who is shedding his clothes too, looking for all intents and purposes that he’s going to do something rash.

“We have to go after him!” Mitaka’s face is bleak with worry, thinking that Kylo might have fallen over or been knocked down by the winds, that he must be injured or drowned.

But the First Mate knows better, and with a shake of her head and a resigned sigh at Kylo’s theatrics, she whistles for attention and all stand still to listen.

“He’ll come back, let him go.” Victoria puts a firm hand on Mitaka’s chest to prevent him from jumping overboard too. Everyone listens to her, Mitaka included, although he cannot stop staring out at the sea, watching for Kylo.

Since that fateful night, Kylo had trained himself how to hold his breath and how to swim well, skills which serve him now more than ever, as he chases what he thinks to be your tail. His legs propel him, muscular thick thighs that work double time, as his rippling biceps cut through the water, his body built but streamlined.

Where are you where are you where are you?

It’s all he can think, until he cannot think of anything but air, and he kicks towards the surface as seagulls caw above him, the sun blinding in a blaze of orange. With a deep sigh, he allows himself to float, his arms and legs spread out like a starfish on a rock, the sun warming his skin.

“If I am not ready now, will I ever be?” He asks aloud, wondering, hoping that you can hear him.

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

When he returns to his ship, he is met with not a single questioning glance, and for this he is grateful. His pride is hurt, his ego wounded, he cannot understand what he’s done wrong to make you keep him waiting this way. Slinking into his quarters, he strips down out of his wet clothes before even checking to make sure the room is empty, and draws his sword when a creak from the grand chair in the corner alerts him.

“What were ye thinkin’ this time? Hm?” Victoria leans forward, her elbow on her knees. “That you saw her again?”

Victoria was the first person to ever give Kylo a chance, when he washed ashore at the port, a scared starving boy alone in a rowboat. With that chance, he built an empire of piracy unlike that had ever been seen, and he brought her along with him to share in the riches. She was probably the only one who could ever speak to him the way that she speaks to him now.

“As a matter o’fact, yes.” Kylo bares his gold teeth at her in a menacing sneer, and she only rolls her eyes and throws a warm dry robe into his arms. Kylo puts it on without hesitation, not really wanting to expose himself to a woman he considers more of his sister than the one he has by blood. “This is about where she was the last time, where it happened.”

Bundled up in his robe, Kylo pours Victoria a glass of rum, and she accepts it with a sigh as he lays down in his bed with a groan. She takes a sip and watches him carefully, cautiously.

“Twenty years is a long time, Kylo.” She says, and Kylo lets out a long, heavy sigh and rubs the tension from his forehead.

“Believe me, I know.” He mutters, voice deep, tired. He sounds tired, feels tired. “We stayed at port too long, I fear that’s how we missed her.”

“You know I do not doubt you that this woman once saved you. But have you thought about the possibility that something might have happened to her in all this time? That maybe she is simply not out there anymore, unable to wait for you?” Victoria speaks softly, not wanting to get Kylo angry, but wanting him to face the facts. “I worry for you sometimes Kylo, perhaps you might think of setting your sails on a different prize – ”

“She is not a prize.” Kylo snaps, leveling his First Mate with a deadly glare, the kind of glare that should send shivers of fear down a normal person’s spine. But then, Kylo deflates, and he casts his eye toward the porthole window, hoping for those flippers to surface once more as he whispers, “She is something far more precious, something that cannot be owned. If ye be so inclined to know, I spoke to her two nights ago.”

“You did?” Victoria’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes blinking in shock.

“Aye, in a dream. And she called to me, called me here, so here is where I have sailed.” Kylo spits back, and this only makes her expression soften once more. “And when we are reunited once more, you’ll all see.”

“For your own sake Kylo, I hope so.” She pats his ankle, before swinging back the rum and leaving his quarters for him to sulk.

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

He is nearly asleep, when he hears it. The whisper, the ghost of his name, drifting to his ears through that porthole window left slightly ajar. He likes to sleep in this way, likes to breathe in the salty crisp air of night, likes to listen to the gentle lap of the waves. The ship is calm, in the middle of the night, the crew asleep in their hammocks or rooms below deck. There is nothing but the creak of the wooden decks, the flutter of the sails, and the steady rocking that has Kylo this close to dreaming, when he hears it.

“Kylo Ren…” The sound makes his eyes snap open, makes his heart beat fast in his chest. He thinks he’s hearing things, maybe conjuring them up in his own mind, but no, there it is again -- “Kylo Ren...”

Out of his bed at once, he throws on clothing. Clothing he has reserved specifically for this moment, clothing he has purchased just for you. With stockings slipped up onto his legs, Kylo steps into his black breeches and tucks in a loose-fitting white linen shirt, securing his waist with a crimson sash. The very same crimson adorns his brocade waistcoat, which he buttons up so quickly and with such shaky fingers, that he has to redo it twice. He has three golden earrings in each of his ears, and two golden bands on each finger.

He doesn’t have the time to wonder if you’ll find the appearance pleasing, as he brushes through his long black hair and ties it back with a crimson ribbon, because your voice is growing louder and more clear, and he is compelled to answer it.

Buckling his boots, Kylo ascends from the suite he calls home and finds at once, a pair of white glowing eyes not far from the starboard side of the Silencer.

“It’s you!” He whispers, nearly chokes on his spit as he does it, rushing to the rail and practically falling over the edge.

He holds his breath, waiting, hoping, and then yes! Yes it is you, you flick your tail happily in the moonlight, your scales shimmering and glittering the way he has so often dreamed about. You disappear beneath the inky waves then, and when Kylo is about to protest, your beautiful body is propelled out of the water, you do an elegant flip, spraying him with seafoam playfully upon impact once again with the waves.

“I’m coming – just a moment, I’m coming!” For the first time in decades, a grin has split across Kylo’s surly face, his gold teeth reflecting the same way your scales do, and he jumps overboard, dives down into the water for the second time, knowing this time, you’re really there.

The sound of your laughter fills the spaces between the scars of his flesh, makes him whole, for the first time since he was a young boy. Your arms encircle him when he swims swims swims as fast as he can to reach you, and you surprise him by being faster – your tail propelling you forward more quickly than his mere legs ever could. Your reunion sings through the ocean, and he cannot take his palms away from your cheeks, he cannot look away from your glowing eyes, he does not want to, not now, not after so long.

You hug him then, floating on your back so he can be propped up atop your breast, and not accidentally pushed under the water. The two of you embrace in every sense of the word, and Kylo is thankful for the sea, for masking the tears of relief he feels.

When he leans his head in towards you, you do not deny him the kiss he so desperately seeks, and this kiss – though it is not Kylo’s first – fills him with a sense of completeness that has him groaning into your mouth. You smile against his lips, you let him wind a hand into your hair, another groping at your breast. The surface of the water is calm, there are no waves now to rock you both, and so you can indulge in one another like this lazily.

There is so much Kylo wants to ask you, so much he has to say, but in this moment, your union transcends language, as your minds meld together, a gate of sorts opening, letting the floodwaters free. He slides his tongue against yours and sighs into your mouth, clutches at you tightly, out in the open sea. If this were to take place inside his cabin, he knows the inside of the windows would be fogged from the heat that he can feel curling around your bodies.

“Kylo Ren.” You break the kiss at last, if only to give Kylo a chance to breathe, but you do not go far. You rest your forehead against his and he strains to look at you in the dark, through the closeness. “I have heard of the stories, how they echoed across the sea.”

“You’re here, it’s you, you’re real and you’re here.” Pride wells up in Kylo’s chest, his ego inflamed, knowing the tales of his legacy have reached you. That is all he has ever wanted, and it is indescribable the way he feels knowing that in this he has succeeded.

“Of course I am, I told you I would be when you were ready for me, didn’t I?” You pet back the long dark locks that curl and cling to his wet cheeks, a thumb soothing across his lips as you lean in for another chaste kiss.

“You never told me your name.” Kylo says, because it is something he has wondered for twenty years, a question he has had burning inside his soul for just as long.

“My name? Hmm I have had many.” Chuckling, you duck your head, bashful. No one has ever asked you for your name, not once. “Names that have been given to me, names I have been called, many names. But tell me, what do you call me in your mind? When you lie awake at night and think of me, what slips past your lips?”

This sends a shiver of desire down Kylo’s spine, the way that you lean in and speak into his mouth, the way you smudge the words against his lips, your wet lashes dragging and brushing against his cheek. He’s halfway hard as it is, the thick line of his cock pressing through the layers of his soaking wet clothes, and all he can do about it is sigh, as he gropes at your breast once more.

“The only sounds I utter are the groans of pleasure which come from the very thought of you.” Kylo’s voice rumbles through his chest and into yours, and you grin, ducking your head, bashful.

“You’re charming. You may call me (Y/N).” You whisper to him like it is some secret, something that neither the moon nor the stars is privy to hear.

“Will you come aboard my ship (Y/N)?” He tests the name out on his tongue, and your scales shimmer with the way it sounds. That makes his pride swell further, makes his cock harder, but not so hard that he loses the clarity of mind to ask, “Can you?”

Your smile falters, but not by much. That beautiful tail breaks the surface once more, shimmering, ethereal before him. Kylo is mesmerized, he has always been mesmerized by you, but you being here in front of him, mesmerizing him now, is far better than the way he has lost himself in his dreams.

“I cannot, not like this. If my scales dry, then I die. So, in the water I must remain.” You explain, and Kylo tries not to let his heart break.

“I see.” He refuses to accept this, even though he understands why it must be so. He refuses, he has not come this far to leave you now.

Noticing his apparent distress, you hug him closer, kiss at his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

“There is…a way.” You start, licking your lips nervously, your voice hushed in the night.

“Tell it to me, I want to help you, the way you helped me.” Kylo replies at once, a sense of urgency in his voice, thinly veiled desperation.

You turn your gaze away from him, your eyes like two beams of starlight, shooting out into the black abyss. Kylo had nearly forgotten that the two of you were floating in the open ocean just next to his ship, until you illuminated the world beyond.

“There is a cave ahead, beyond the craggy rocks.” You say ominously, half-afraid he’ll take you up on the offer, “Only a creature on two legs can reach it, for it is up above the water’s edge.”

“What secrets does it hide? What must I bring back for you?” He takes you up on it immediately, knowing that whatever he has been training for, whatever he has been doing with his life, all that he has learned, has led him to this moment for you.

“A golden medallion strung on a black cord.” Your eyes glow brighter with each word you speak, and Kylo finds himself getting pulled into your story with bated breath. “Decades ago, long ‘fore even you were born, ‘twas stolen from me by a man with a long white beard. He snuck upon me whilst I was asleep one day, tore it from ‘round my throat. I got my revenge on him -- killed him for it, sunk his ship in my storm, but the medallion was no longer in his possession when he drowned. I demanded to know what he had done with it, and with his dying breath he taunted and teased how I’d never reach it.”

“Until now.” Kylo assumes, because you are regarding him with such hope that he knows he cannot let you down. You saved his life, the very least he can do is repay you in this small way.

You crowd his space, your hands on his cheeks once again, your lips brushing against his own.

“I’ll go with you, I can show you the way.” You whisper, kissing him, thankful, hopeful, elated in a way that makes Kylo’s heart beat beat beat loud in his chest.

“When?” He demands, a voice commanding and fit for a Captain.

“Now.” You grin, taking him by the hand in a way that Kylo has memorized in his sleep, and leading him back to the side of his ship where he might climb up the notches in the hull to reach the deck once again.

“Now?” He blinks, having hoped that he could perhaps spend some time with you in his nice warm bed…he would have found a way around your hydration needs, he would have --

“We must go before the dawn breaks, the waters are dangerous when It wakes.” You interrupt his internal monologue, and there is something chilling about the way that your voice catches. “Take the rowboat, you’ll need your strength.”

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

Kylo rows the small vessel through the blackness of night, the clouds having covered the pale shine of the moon. It is no matter, because your eyes glow in a beacon of their own, as you swim beside him. Keeping in time with his pace, your fin lazily pushes you forward, and in the quiet, Kylo decides on which of his millions of questions he wants to ask you first.

“Do you live here?” He settles on. He means both the cove you lead him to and the waters around Port Royal, wondering why in all the time he has spent here, he has never seen you.

“Yes…and no. The ocean in her entirety is my home, I swim from place to place as I please, and sleep wherever my head rests.” You explain, your voice calm and thoughtful. Kylo commits your answer to memory, wanting to absorb every piece of knowledge about you that he can as you continue, “Sometimes that’s a port such as this, sometimes it’s an anchor on a ship, other times it’s on my back, floating in the sunshine. Although I’ve been nearly harpooned that way, so I don’t do it often.”

The humor in your voice at the harpoon mention is lost on Kylo, and he nearly stops rowing as he processes your words, as he dares not to get his hopes up. He does not, however stop rowing, because your earlier comment of a Thing in the waters makes him want to complete this mission as quickly as possible.

“When you say the anchor of a ship, you don’t mean…?” Still, he has to know.

You’re quiet then for a moment, and he knows his suspicions are confirmed, by the very hesitation in your voice.

“I check on you, now and again.” You admit, making him feel both absolutely fucking elated that he has been right all along, and devastated that you have been so close and somehow, somehow always just out of reach. “I always have, wanting to make sure you were safe.”

“And you never said anything?” Kylo doesn’t restrain the question, trying not to let his temper get the better of him.

He thinks of all the ridicule he could have been spared, all the doubt, all the sleepless nights of worry that he was losing his mind, if only you had said something. But then again, he reasons, he wouldn’t be the person he is today, had he not gotten into those fist fights for standing up for his dignity, and then maybe you never would have deemed him ready.

“I couldn’t interfere, that wouldn’t be fair to you.” You explain, proving his reasoning to be correct. You don’t sound apologetic, nor regretful for it as you say, “I wanted you to become a person of your own right, your own making, free of influence from anyone, even myself.”

That hits him hard, square in the chest. And at first he doesn’t know why, but then he realizes…you’re the only person he has ever known to want that for him. He thinks back through all the people in his life; his mother wanted him to be a politician, his uncle wanted him to be a educator. His father was gone, and Snoke…well.

Snoke only found him useful to meet his own ends, and much like the rest of the world, cast him aside when he had had enough. Even the gentlemen with whom he had spent most of his time before that fateful night had hoped he would one day grow up like them.

Kylo cannot be angry with you now, he knows, not that he was ever really angry with you to begin with. How could he, when you are the only thing in the world who has never had any expectation of him, other for him to be himself?

“I spoke to you, night after night I spoke to you.” Kylo whispers into the dark, thinking of all the nights he had spent up on the bowsprit, above a masthead carved in your image, speaking to the wooden mermaid wishing wishing wishing instead he were speaking to you.

Your tail cuts through the water as you swim alongside him in the rowboat, and you whisper just as softly, “I heard you.”

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

The rest of the short journey is done in silence, mostly so that Kylo can prepare himself mentally for whatever awaits him. It looks sinister, a gaping maw protruding from the water, like a mouth with craggy and jagged teeth of rock. The light from your eyes shines into the opening of the cave, but it only shines so far before the dark of the dark swallows it whole.

“Do you see it? The cave?” You ask him softly, drawing his attention from his own thoughts to the massive structure before you both.

“Just up ahead, yes. It’s dark, but I can see it.” He answers, taking in a deep breath. He had never been particularly afraid of the dark, or of the unknown, but there is a distinct sinister energy that crackles through the air that Kylo can feel; it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You must leave the boat behind now, do not be afraid, the water is warm, and I am here with you.” You assure him, offering him a hand that like moth to a flame, he is compelled to take.

He finds that the water is not deep here, he can wade through it and it only reaches his knees. You lay low, your free hand trailing along the soft sand as your tail swishes through the water, moving forward with him as he leaves the rowboat behind.

“You’re coming with me?” He frowns, unsure if he wants you in as much danger as you warn there may be.

But then again, he should know better than to question you in something like this, particularly when your eyes glow brighter and they shine across the sea, as you nod. Swimming beside him, neither in front nor behind him, you assert yourself as his equal in this regard, heading into the dark unknown together.

“As far as I can go, I am coming with you.” Your eyes glow, and he somehow, feels safe.

The water grows cold, the closer to the cave you and Kylo get. Kylo’s legs can feel the chill, can feel the change in the temperature. There is a humming from within, a rumbling sound that he cannot identify, and so in response, he trains his eye and his ear to be on high alert. The only other noises are the intermittent drip drip drips of water from the roof of the cave landing in the pools below – pools, because the deeper into the cave, the more shallow it becomes, until there is no more depth for you to stay submerged in.

Kylo looks at you, and you blink, the light from your eyes blipping momentarily. You turn your gaze towards the chasm before you, your eyes a lantern of their own for Kylo to see by. He doesn’t want to part from you, but he knows that when he returns, you will never have to part again.

“You must not dawdle, it must be fast.” You murmur softly, not looking at him, looking instead at the chasm, your voice taking on a strange quality that he cannot place. It sounds too familiar, like the way it had all garbled under the water when you saved him from drowning. The hair on the back of his neck does not go down. “Get in, grab the medallion �� and only the medallion -- and get out.”

“Why?” He can’t help but ask, the pet-name slipping out of his mouth before he can think to ask if it’s alright, “Darling, what will I find in that cave?”

You still do not look at him, your gaze unwavering, unchanging. It is more unsettling than the rumbling, but Kylo doesn’t bring any attention to it. The medallion is in there, and you want it. You want it, and so Kylo will bring it to you.

“I do not know. Only, I have never seen anyone come back out, once they have gone inside.” You eventually say, quickly following up with, “You need not go, if you don’t think you are ready.”

There is no thought in his mind that Kylo would risk death for you, not know. In many ways, he has spent the last two decades living on borrowed time. In many ways, he has been a dead man walking for half of his life. If he were to die in this cave, it would be a death long overdue, Kylo knows.

“I have trained for twenty years to be ready. There is nothing more I could do to prepare me, if I fail now, I will have failed another twenty years ahead.” Kylo dismisses the idea of turning back now as quickly as you have offered it, pulling his sword out of its sheath which is strapped to his hip.

The metal glints from the light of your eyes, for they have finally turned to face him, the full effect of their glow making him feel as thought it were day, as if time had stood still in a moment of lightning.

“You are strong, you will not fail.” You speak with reassurance, and with those parting words, he steps out of the shallow water and onto the slippery rock floor of the cave, his descent into the chasm begun.

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

The deeper into the cave Kylo goes, the colder it becomes.

Soon he is out of the scope of your powerful eyes, and has nothing but the feeling of his fingers brushing against the cave wall to guide him. His eye does its best to adjust, and he curses himself internally, for maybe if he had both his pupils, he could see better in the pitch black. His footing is careful, the floor is slippery. Even though his boots are meant to withstand such slide, he still takes caution to not step somewhere which will twist his ankle, which will buckle his knee, which will make him fall to depths he cannot see.

His ears are trained still, and he halts at every moment in which he hears something that could be a threat, pausing just for a second or two to ensure that he need not his sword nor his fists to protect himself. Every time, he decides he is safe. He does not let his guard down, but Kylo moves through the cave with a bit more confidence; clearly if something were to kill him, or present itself as a challenge at least, it would have done so by now.

And what’s more – light, up ahead! A gap in the ceiling allows the moonlight to shine through, the clouds which have covered it having moved along on their path across the sea. Never before has Kylo felt so grateful for the moon in all his years, and as he steps into the light that it shines, his eye widens at the sight before him.

Gold, mountains of it. Piles taller than he stands, and oh does he stand tall. Glittering twinkling gold, but wait, no, not just gold, jewels too, diamonds and rubies and emeralds, pearls and strings of precious beads. It surrounds him, overwhelms him, blinds him with how brightly gold it shines. Where could it be, the medallion? Kylo tries to think, tries to strategize. It couldn’t be thrown in among the piles, no, whomever had stolen it from his precious mermaid would have known how important it is.

And so Kylo ignores the riches around him altogether, knowing that time is of the essence. He is careful to step around the piles, around and around them all, forcing himself to stay on task. The medallion, he is here for your medallion. He wishes he had asked for more of a detailed explanation, because he soon realizes that fuck, there are possibly a thousand medallions here.

Taking a moment, he sighs, turns in a circle, careful of his footing. It has to be somewhere obvious, he decides. Pirates are not that smart, and they certainly have a flair for the dramatics. Whomever stole it would want all to see it, would want all to know just how –

There! Up upon a pedestal made of rock, that must be it! A large circular disc of gold laced through a black chord rests propped up in direct line of the moonlight. It glows softly, ever so slightly, a golden pulsating light that draws Kylo towards it.

“There you are.” He whispers, his eye growing wide, filling with the golden light. There is a symbol, possibly writing in a language Kylo does not recognize, etched into it, that glows and glows and glows brighter as Kylo comes nearer.

He reaches a hand out but then quickly yanks it back. It could be a trap, what would he do if it is a trap? He chews at the inside of his cheek, hesitates for a moment. Looking up and all around for any signs of anything that could come crashing down, or shooting out at him from the sides, he waits.

Until he is certain that no such thing will happen, at which point he can wait no longer.

Holding his breath, his hand stretches up, fingers extended as far as they can go, for the rock pedestal is taller than he is even on his toes, and he does not exhale until he can feel the black cord nestled in his grip, and he pulls the medallion down.

…Nothing happens.

Suspicious, Kylo decides not to tempt fate. He has managed to escape death a second time, or at least, he will if he is able to return to you. Now that the medallion is in his hands, it glows so bright that the entire cave illuminates, and he can hear the faint echo of music, the very same music that has haunted his dreams. Your music, he realizes, and his heart beats knowing that he has done what you asked.

He is so pleased with himself, that as he climbs back down from the pedestal and passes through the piles and towers of gold and jewels, something catches the corner of his eye. A tiara, made entirely of gold and pearls, rests innocuously at his feet. It is carved into the shape of seashells, carved so well that if Kylo did not know of the wonders of goldsmiths, he would have assumed someone dipped the shells themselves in the soft metals.

“Well hello.” He bends down to inspect it, to get a closer look. Small golden chains with pearls beaded around it twinkle in the beam of light from the medallion.

The longer he stares at it, the more he notices; a tiny starfish here, a proud seahorse there, the mix of clam shells and snail shells, tusk shells and those spiraled ones which remind Kylo of the narwhals of the north – they are arranged so delicately, so carefully, that before Kylo can even think too much about it, he is reaching for it.

“You will look beautiful atop my darling’s head.” He is convinced of this, and he cannot see the harm in taking it, he is on his way out, he has obtained what he came for, there should be no issue here.

Oh, how wrong he is.

The moment his fingers touch the tiara, a sharp gust of wind bellows through the cave. It hurls towards him in a fury, in a rage, and even as he drops the tiara and lets it fall back onto the pile, it does not cease. The clouds return to cover the moon, or is it the ceiling of the cave itself is closing? He does not know, but he brandishes his sword in the low light, only the medallion’s incandescence giving him enough to see by.

The rushing wind draws the warmth from his bones, until he is chilled cold, frozen, fingers hurting as they clench around the hilt of his sword. He looks all around, ready to take on whatever may attack him, until the deep dark chuckle of his nightmares sounds around him, bounces against the walls in a way that Kylo cannot tell which direction to brace.

“Ickle Ben Solo, my how you’ve grown.” The voice muses, and Kylo freezes at the sound.

The impossible sound.

With clenched teeth, Kylo slowly turns, the hair on the back of his neck raising once more, the vein in his jaw throbbing with rage.

Captain Snoke, exactly as Kylo remembers him, stands in the middle of the cave. Face sunken in, long white beard, remorseless eyes squinting at him. The only difference from years ago and now, is that now, Kylo has grown taller, and when Snoke looks at him, he is forced to look up.

He knows this must be a trick of the cave, because all at once it hits him that the reason you conjured that storm was to kill him – him, the man with the white beard who snatched the medallion from your pretty neck. You had killed him, and yet here he is. Snoke is between Kylo and the exit, the just beyond where Kylo knows he will see the glow of your eyes once more.

This Snoke cannot be real, and so Kylo knows somewhere in the back of his mind that he could simply push his way past him and make way to you…but this is a chance Kylo will not pass up, and so with the medallion clutched in his hand he swings his saber and levels it directly at Snoke’s throat.

“Draw your sword.” The words snarl out of him in a grimace, as the rage of nearly three hundred fallen crew members sing through him.

At once, Snoke’s sword is conjured up out of thin air, and parrying Kylo’s away, shoving with a force much stronger than Kylo would have expected.

“I am but an old man, I cannae do nothin’ ta harm ye now.” Snoke taunts and teases, and Kylo spits at his feet, unable to hold back any longer.

“You lying cheating conniving bastard – I’ll kill you!” He lunges forward, poised to attack, his sword coming up to clang immediately and clash with Snoke’s.

It is regrettable, he thinks, that Snoke was the one who taught him how to fight, because the man can anticipate his moves. However, he only taught Kylo the basics, and in this regard, Kylo finds himself feeling lucky, feeling emboldened to push back harder, meaner, as he swings his sword, making sparks fly.

He manages to make a combination of moves which catch Snoke off-guard enough that he stumbles backwards, and this angers the old man, whose jaw clenches all his own.

“If it’s a fight yer after,” He sounds strange, his voice echoing throughout the cave as he backs away, “It’s a fight you’ll get.”

Kylo will not let him get away, not the way he had last time, not the way he had snuck out in the night when he knew no one could catch him. He immediately runs after Snoke, chases him down down down back the way he came, further and further from the entrance.

As he runs, he realizes that there are things moving around him, and he nearly trips as a hand encloses around his ankle.

Out from the piles of gold slither the bodies of men who had been trapped, ensnared by the cave, men who had died unpleasant, undignified deaths. Kylo cannot be bothered with them, he must get to Snoke – he will get to Snoke, so he slices his sword through the limbs of the men who have fallen, failed on a quest of their own. He hacks away at them without care, does not look back when they collapse and clutch at their bleeding wrists.

They swarm around him, and Kylo can do nothing but kill them as they come crawling out from the depths of the cave, scores of them moaning and groaning, dying all over again. Kylo kicks their teeth in, stabs them through the heart, shoves them away from him even as they claw and cling to him, tearing his clothes, ripping at his shirt and his breeches, trying to grab the sword out of his hand.

Their long blackened fingernails scratch at his flesh, and he has to resist the urge not to be sick with the decay he finds in their faces as he punches and hacks his way through them.

It is suffocating, but Kylo grabs at the medallion almost on accident, and he does not know how, but a pulse of light shocks out of it and knocks them all away. The golden pulse from the medallion, from the symbol which now has morphed and changed into something else entirely, is protecting him, and he does not waste the time it allows him.

Snoke’s laughter guides him, and Kylo chases until there is nowhere left to run. On a tall bridge of rock, Kylo and Snoke find themselves engaged in battle, meeting one another sword for sword, grunts and groans of effort spilling out of their lips.

“This is for Vicrul,” Kylo shouts, as he pushes forward, forces Snoke backwards. The old man’s eyes widen before he frowns, realizing the bridge is becoming more and more narrow, “And this is for Cardo!”

Snoke fights back, their swords locked, shooting sparks all around as they meet clash for clash. Snoke’s footwork is light, he is fast for a man of such age. He manages to slice Kylo’s arm, slicing straight through the fabric. Kylo bleeds, and that pain only eggs him on, a lesson he had learned many a year ago – the pain fueling his rage.

“For Trudgen, and Ushar!” Kylo’s voice is loud, grows louder and louder as the blood rushes down his forearm, staining his shirt and dripping around his clenched fist, staining the metal of his sword as they meet time and time again, as Kylo gains the advantage.

“Ben wait –" Snoke calls him by that name again, and Kylo can only growl loudly with the rage of it all, for how dare Kylo disrespect him now?

“For Kuruk and Ap’lek.” Kylo continues, before managing to fling Snoke’s sword away from his hand, managing to send it flying all the way down a deep trench, water rushing through the cave below them.

Kylo can hear it when it hits against the rocks a thousand feet away, and suddenly gets the strongest urge to hear that sound again, although with Snoke’s head instead of his sword. Like the coward he is, Snoke backs himself up as far as he can go, until he is teetering on the precipe of the edge, on the very last foothold he has.

Kylo lunges after him, letting out a shout of rage as he runs his old captain through with his sword, cutting out the bitter shriveled blackened heart. Kylo holds it in his hand, squeezes any possible remains of life left there and drops it.

Snoke’s eyes widen, almost in shock, for even in death he had not been so injured.

He does not bleed the way Kylo is, but that does not mean that he cannot hurt.

“And this, Captain,” Kylo’s face shakes with rage, as he grabs Snoke by the throat and hoists him high up off his feet, dangling his body right over the trench, “Is for me.”

Snoke opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it is is lost in the scream that spills from his lips as Kylo not only drops him, no not something so careless as that – he throws Snoke down the trench, the glow of the medallion giving Kylo the ability to watch him fall.

He is reminded then, of how it felt to sink to the bottom of the ocean thanks to his carelessness, his cowardice. He hopes that Snoke receives no such mercy, as the one you had shown him that day.

You! He must get back to you, he must –

There is another rumble, from beyond the cave. Kylo startles, as the bridge beneath him begins to shake, and he realizes that the bridge is beginning to collapse.

No, not just the bridge, but the entire cave.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Kylo runs, his boots carrying him as fast as he can go, the medallion glowing and pulsating, music guiding him through the dark, slipping and skidding on the wet rock, Kylo runs. He is chased by large rocks which fall from the ceiling, falling onto his head and only just barely missing. If one were to pin him down, it would surely kill him.

He doesn’t realize how deep into the cave he had gone, until he can finally see the white light of your eyes, and your scream for him to hurry, after what feels like an age of running, his limbs burning, legs and lungs sore from the speed of it all.

“Kylo!” You rejoice, joy thrilling through your body as you reach for him, arms extended and a great big grin on your face.

“I did it, darling my darling I did it!” Kylo shouts at you from the mouth of the cave, outrunning its demise, outrunning his death once more.

“My handsome man, I knew you could do it, I knew you could!” You reach reach reach for his hands, and the second he grabs you, you yank him to your chest and your powerful tail propels you forward faster than his legs could ever run, as you carry him to safety once again, laughing all the while, “I knew you could!”

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

When at last before my ghostly shipmates I stand

I shed a small tear for my home upon land

Though their eyes speak of depths filled with struggle and strife

Their smiles below say I don't owe them my life

As the souls of the dead fill the space of my eyes

And my boat listed over and tried to capsize

I'm this far from drowning, this far from the sea,

I remember the living do they think of me,

When my bones in the ocean forever will be

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

The rowboat reaches the side of the ship, and it rocks for a moment as you hoist yourself inside of it. Your body takes up much of the space, or rather, your tail does, and Kylo cannot stop looking looking looking at you, the thrill of victory, of success, coursing through his veins. There is just one problem – he cannot lift the rowboat from down here.

Thankfully, a lantern sticks over the side of the ship, followed soon thereafter by an inquiring head, belonging to Kylo’s First Mate. He is conflicted at once – he wants to revel in the satisfaction of being correct all these years, but he wants to protect you more, and he is unsure of what Victoria will do now that you are so close.

“You are real!” Victoria says in a loud-whisper, smacking a hand over her mouth for a moment or two.

You wave up to her, a knowing smile on your face, and Kylo’s cheek burn. He is embarrassed, because now you know he has told everyone of importance about you, that he has bragged about you, that he has sang your praises. Giving his hand a tight squeeze, your fin slaps against the rowboat, and that is signal enough that Victoria needs, to send down the ropes.

Once the rowboat is hitched and lifted up out of the water, you slip the medallion around your neck, and immediately it glows a bright gold, brighter even than the white of your eyes, which now fade to the beautiful natural color of your irises.

Kylo is still unsure though, still not certain how this will help you, even as the medallion glows and glows.

“What does it do -- ?” Victoria has the same thoughts as Kylo, the same questions, but both of their thoughts are interrupted by the golden light which glows larger and larger, encompasses your body.

You rise up into the air, and Kylo is hesitant to let go. He knows he must, so he does, and instantly regrets not being able to hold your palm against his own. He steps onto the deck of the boat where it is sturdy and safe, and watches as some otherworldly magic you wield spins around your tail.

Suddenly, there is a great flash of light, and your fin begins to morph and split into two legs, two human legs; thighs and knees and calves and ankles and even feet and toes. Kylo cannot believe it, Victoria blinks and has to shield her eyes from the brightness of it all, but it is not long after that the glow fades, and you are gently lowered by your magic onto the deck.

Kylo’s arms are there for you at once, your naked body bracing itself in his embrace. Although there is no one on the deck who is awake aside from the three of you, he still wishes to shield your body from sight, a protective possessive simmer bubbling up in his chest. It also does not help that it has been a long time since you stood upon human legs, and he does not want to risk you falling, not now, not ever. He will never let harm come to you again, not as commander of the seas.

“Incredible,” He whispers, kissing your face, holding you tight while you get your footing, “You’re beautiful.”

“You keep saying that.” You laugh, your hair spilling over one shoulder as your arms loop around Kylo’s neck. You smile at him so radiantly, that it could have been high noon for all Kylo knew.

“It is the truth, I will continue to say it until the day I die.” He leans in to kiss you once more.

When his mouth opens for yours and he begins to hum against your tongue, Victoria clears her throat rather loudly, and scratches the side of her face awkwardly. You break apart only enough for him to shoot her a harsh glare for ruining the moment, but Victoria only rolls her eyes.

“Show her your cabin, Captain.” She says with no hint of subtlety, “I daresay she will be eager to see it.”

Kylo looks at you, and your pupils grow wide wide wide in the dark, and he knows you are eager indeed.

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

Kylo has never given much thought to his quarters, not until this very moment. Of course he knew what he had and he knew the degree to which his nice things were nice, but he never had wondered what you might think of them – or if they would be of any consequence to you at all.

It was a long room right at the very port of the Silencer, a vast open area split off into smaller sections by way of furniture arrangement. The floors were all covered with handwoven Persian rugs, the windows draped with fine linens. Up against the windows at the far back of the room was his large mahogany work table and chairs with plush velvet cushions, where he held meeting with the higher members of the crew. Along the wall were various chests and bureaus which housed his clothing, all carved with intricate designs and all having brass handles and clasps. Towards the front was his bathing area, a grand tub and all sorts of implements to improve his hygiene – he abhorred the idea that a pirate need be a filthy man.

And finally, off to the other wall, sat a grand canopy bed, with curtains which could be pulled shut to prevent any light from seeping through, should he want to sleep in on one particular morning or another. The bed frame was gold, inlaid with jewels, carved and decorated to tell the tale of a mermaid saving a young boy.

He waits for you to make the first move. He wants you, desperately, terribly, but he will not push, will not do anything which you do not explicitly ask for. He does not want to pressure you in any way. He has waited for you for twenty years, he could wait longer if you asked – as long as you are here, he doesn’t care.

But he doesn’t have to wait, for you have already laid yourself down in his bed, your arms spread out as your legs rub against the soft blankets, one finger beckoning him to join you. It does not take anything more for him to shed his clothes and do just that.

Kylo’s skin is still slightly wet from the cave, but if there is a chill that washes over him from being so exposed, he doesn’t pay it any attention. You are watching him curiously, your eyes trailing up and down his body as he steps towards you, climbs his way up the bed.

Immediately, your arms open for him, and he settles himself above you, kisses at the warmth of your throat as your hands find their way into his hair.

“Do you prefer me this way?” You muse playfully, rubbing your foot against the back of his calf, making him shiver shudder gasp with anticipation, continuing, “With legs, like you have?”

Kylo continues to kiss your neck, to worry his lips along the muscles there, grazing the gold-capped edges of his teeth up and down, making you shudder in return. He cannot describe the thrill that fills him with, knowing he affects you so.

“I prefer you either way, although I will admit, there is so much we can do like this.” He whispers, finding some way to broach the subject, the subject of his desire, his lust for you. God he wants to fuck you, wants it so badly that one of his hands wanders down to your lower stomach, asking with a silent hesitation for permission.

You grin and nod, and Kylo sucks in a breath, lets his fingers dip down lower, until they are brushing through the hair that has replaced your scales, pushing between your folds, your legs falling open and welcoming him. At once, you hum out a longing moan, a sound that Kylo has to chase, simply has to. He crooks two inside your pussy, revels slowly, softly, in the way that your body reacts.

“Aye, now the question becomes, do you have the stamina to do everything I want?” You chuckle as his lips part from the sensation of how wet you are, wet in every sense of the word. Kylo has large hands and thick fingers, but somehow your cunt takes him with ease, welcomes him and sucks him deeper.

Pulling back ever so slightly, Kylo looks up at you, his fingers busying themselves with working you open, pushing and rubbing through your folds, your pussy dripping around his knuckles. It makes his mouth water, makes him have to swallow hard, especially when your pupils darken and grow wide with lust of your own.

“You’ve – you mean to say you have experience?” He doesn’t know why this shocks him, Kylo certainly was no virgin.

“I’m nine hundred years old, I daresay I have more experience than everyone on your ship, O Captain.” You laugh, and something about the laughter bubbles anger inside him, makes his face harden.

He knows he’s a hypocrite, he knows. He’s fucked women all over the world, taken his pleasures from helping hands on more than one occasion. He knows that you must have done the same, so why does he get so possessive? Why does he get so immediately blood-thirsty? He has to fight the desire to rip heads off of necks, to hunt down those who did not deserve you – hell he almost stops fingering you from the sheer rage that stings the back of his throat like bile.

“Ohh does that make you jealous? That others have had a taste of me?” You notice, cupping his cheeks and kissing him sweetly, legs curling around his waist, voice deceptively calm as you whisper into his mouth, “Don’t be, you should know I killed them all right after.”

That makes his cock twitch, appeals to the primal side of his brain which had already begun to plot. You simply grin, turned on further by the way he is so ready to kill for you.

“Good.” He very nearly snarls, thrusting another finger to join the two that have already found comfort in your pussy, deciding that he would show you just how much better he could make you feel, than all those others combined.

With three fingers in, and his thumb on your clit, Kylo kisses you passionately, swallows down the mewls of pleasure and little hiccuped gasps that he elicits from your throat. His eyes are pinched shut because you are too beautiful, it hurts him to look into your gaze the same way that he has always been warned not to stare into the sun. But he doesn’t need his eye to see you when he can feel the way your body undulates and rocks underneath him, the pulsating warmth of your flesh sending goosebumps of pleasure rippling down his spine.

When he’s decided that you’re good and ready, when you’re stretched out enough to accommodate him, he sucks those fingers into his mouth to chance the taste of you. It is beyond that which Kylo could have ever dreamed, and spit strings off his rings when he hoists your leg up enough to properly thrust his cock through those warm plush folds.

“Fuck,” Kylo grunts unexpectedly, as the angle allows him to shove his way through with ease, the fingering having relaxed you enough to take him. But only just enough, it would seem, for despite the attention, you still are tight, and Kylo is sure that he could die like this and die a happy man.

Kylo’s body sings at the contact, at the vice-like hold your cunt has on his thick throbbing cock, and he pushes it deeper deeper deeper still inside you, not stopping until he bottoms out completely, not stopping until he has stuffed you full of his hot hard length, not stopping until your mouth drops open with surprise.

Smirking, Kylo positions himself in a way that he can support his weight and pull back, hips pistoning hard and fast all at once, making the bed creak louder than the rocking ship. He has decided he will never fuck again, if he cannot fuck you – he is ruined for anyone else, ruined in the way you push your pelvis up to meet him thrust for thrust, giving him as good as you get.

“Kylo – oh yes, yes! Take me, give me everything Kylo, give it to me.” You gasp, one of your hands digging into the scarred meat of his back, the flexing muscle of his shoulders moving under your palm.

The praise makes him moan, a deep rumbling purr in his chest that you exploit, a litany of yesyesKyloyou’resogoodgoodgood dropping from your lips, spurring him on, making his pride and cock throb, his hips rolling against yours, balls smacking harsh on your flesh as he clamps his teeth down onto your shoulder.

“Stars above, oh God – you’re beautiful, so beautiful.” He chants, feeling and savoring the way his cock spears through the tight wet velvet heat of your pussy, better than anything he has ever felt, clenching around him perfectly, fluttering and pulsing against his engorged veins and swollen head.

Your back arches underneath him, pushing your breasts with perked swollen nipples right into his face as he bends himself down to meet them, desperate to latch his tongue to your chest and suck. You moan moan moan, and he does not hold back the grunts of his own, the low noises from the back of his throat that muffle against your flesh as he suckles and licks the salty sweat off your skin, cock never once breaking in its rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck that’s good.” You pant, your body bouncing on the mattress, letting yourself go, letting yourself be moved this way and that for Kylo to pleasure you as he sees fit. Your eyes roll back into your head, your teeth bite at your lower lip, and Kylo can hear the way your pulse flutters from his spot on your breast.

“You like my cock?” He laves his tongue over your nipples one at a time, pinches at them with his lips, eager and ecstatic that he is making you feel this way.

“Yes!” You sigh loudly, no regard whatsoever for his crew – he doesn’t care either, in fact your volume makes him grow bold, grow demanding.

“Tell me how much.” He orders, shifting your positions so that he can take one of your legs and stretch it up up up over his shoulder, ankle resting near his ear, fucking into you hard and fast, so fast that his own voice shakes, “I want to hear you say it, say how much you like getting fucked by my big cock.”

You laugh, not at him but in sheer simple bliss, arms thrown over your head, hands tangling in the sheets. The moonlight shines on your body as he fucks into you, listens to the squelch of your cunt as it drips and drools on his cock, your tongue doing its best to stay in your mouth as you take the pounding he gives you.

“Kylo! It’s so big, I – oh fuck, oh! I’m so full!” You moan and whine, voice high and loud and music to his ears, as you hiccup and giggle out of your mind, especially when his thumb falls on your swollen clit, begging for attention.

The dark curling possessive feeling floods through him then, wanting you like this all the time, wanting you happy and pleased, wanting to be the man which gives it to you. The medallion practically smacks against your chest, and he grabs a hold of it in his hand so that your pretty skin won’t be marked by bruises that he does not give you.

“I’ll fill you up, fill you right to the fucking brim,” Kylo growls -- seethes, “I’ll knock you up and pamper you and make you come every day, coming on my cock and fingers and tongue – ”

It is then that he stops entirely, his hips halting at once, brain tripping up over his own words. You give him a whine and a light smack to his shoulder, protesting that he has stopped, especially when he pulls out. Before you can question him verbally though, he’s shuffling down the bed as fast as he can, pulling your folds apart with his golden clad thumbs and burying his face in place of his cock, his tongue stroking and sucking and thrusting through you.

“Oh!” You gasp happily, pleased with this attention, and Kylo’s arms wind underneath your thighs, your knees squeezing the sides of his head as he eats you out.

Kylo eats your pussy like a starving man confronted with his first meal – he is sloppy, he is aggressive, he is desperate. His nose prods up against your clit and rubs and bumps as he sucks you down, as he swallows the slick that pools on his tongue. You taste like the ocean but also like something otherworldly, and Kylo thinks that this is already replacing his most favorite of rums, the wine of your body far more addicting.

Keening each time you yank on his hair, Kylo kisses and makes out with your pussy, tears welling up in his eyes from the sheer overstimulation of his scalp and his cock, which ruts against the sheets. The laundry boys will kill him, he just had the sheets washed not two days ago, but he doesn’t care.

A grosser part of him thinks he will never have his sheets washed again, but as he drinks down your slick and moans and pants into your pussy, he thinks no, he wants nothing but the cleanest bed for you to be fucked on. You deserve nothing but the best, and his hands clench into fists as he groans out the sheer desire to give it to you.

In the back of his head, Kylo knows that this cannot last forever, and a sharp pang of sorrow hits his heart, because he cannot think of anything more important than this – eating, drinking, sleeping, no, nothing compares to the way you sob on his tongue, sob with pleasure that has been denied to you for so long.

His brain cannot make up its mind, whether he wants to bury his face as far between your legs as it can go, or his cock, and he wishes there were some way he could fuck you and taste you at the same time.

“Kylo, I’m going to come.” You warn with a shuddering moan, and that makes up his mind for him, for he wants to come alongside you, wants to come inside you, together.

So, regretfully he pulls away from your pretty pussy and gives your clit one last kiss, and pushes the head of his cock back into you, resuming the thrusting pace he had built, feeling how his cock has to work hard to shove itself into you, your cunt tight tight tight.

“Will – can – where -- ?” He feels like a fool for the loss of his words, but you, even blissed out the way that you are, you understand what he’s trying to ask.

“Come in me, handsome, fill me up like you promised.” You order, and though he has proven himself to be stronger than any man alive, he is weak for the tone of your voice.

That heating warming desperate coil of pleasure winds winds winds up in his stomach, until it is shooting out of his cock in throbbing pulsing ropes of hot come, spreading through your cunt, dumping his load as your body comes and shudders and shakes around him, your thighs trembling, toes curling, back arching clean off the mattress. He pants and gasps for breath as he curses long and low in his chest, pumping the last few thrusts of his hips against yours until his arms give out and he collapses down on top of you.

The medallion glows gold, sends a pulse of light across the ocean – you are grinning so wide and so beautifully that Kylo knows whatever has just happened between the two of you, is only the beginning.

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

Now that I'm staring down at the darkest abyss

I'm not sure what I want but I don't think it's this

As my comrades call to stand fast and forge on

I make sail for the dawn 'til the darkness has gone

As the souls of the dead live for'er in my mind

As I live all the years that they left me behind

I'll stay on the shore but still gaze at the sea

I remember the fallen and they think of me

For our souls in the ocean together will be

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

The sweat cools on the both of your bodies for a long while, and still, somehow, Kylo feels like he is in a dream.

The Silencer creaks and groans gently in the night as he traces patterns across your back, little looping nothings that have you humming softly. Your legs are twined through his, braided like the rope which hoists his sails, and he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating, even in the calm. You must, you have to be, for you are tucked up against his broad chest, your cheek nestled into one of his pecs, your arm curled around his thick waist.

What he wouldn’t give to have both eyes again, to be able to see you the way he wishes he could.

It is surreal to think that you are here, after so long. After twenty years of the world thinking him crazy, not only has he proved them all wrong, but he has proven himself to you. You wear the medallion around your neck, the very same medallion which was stolen from you so long ago, by the very captain that once tried to steal Kylo’s life.

Now he was gone, and you are here, and he has just fucked you through nearly to sunrise, and he thinks if he had but a small glass of something to drink, he could have the strength to fuck you some more.

“I have never felt more complete, than I do in this moment.” He confesses, looks down at you. You meet his gaze, and your irises grow huge in the low light. He leans in to kiss your forehead, his hand rubbing your back up and down, “I cannot believe at long last I have found you.”

You sigh happily, so happily in fact, that the scales on your hip begin to shimmer and glow, and Kylo thinks he would kill Snoke a thousand times over, if it meant he could have you so calm, so at ease.

“I thought about you all the while, heard stories about you across the deep. I am so proud of the man, the terror you have become, my Kylo, handsome Kylo.” You whisper, kissing the spot underneath his chin, where his scar drags across his throat.

Suddenly, he grows panicked, his arms tighten around your body, because he does not know the extent to your visit, he does not know if you only are granting him this one night. He holds you tightly and you hum with a question in your tone, making Kylo’s cheeks grow red hot with embarrassment and shame.

“You cannot go again, you cannot leave me. Please don’t – I’ll do anything, anything to stay together.” He clings to you, like the boy he once was, drowning and dying alone out at sea, the very sea which he now commands, which he now holds in an iron grip.

“’Anything’ is a dangerous word to be said to a mermaid.” You tease him the very same way you had teased him then, but this time Kylo knows what he’s asking for, and oh how he has waited so long to ask it.

“I meant it before, and I mean it now, I will not be apart from you again.” There is that deep baritone that has sent fear into the hearts of a thousand ships, and you grin at the sound of it, pulling your bodies flush together.

“You won’t have to, handsome.” Licking your lips, you allow him to tilt your chin up.

“Let me kiss you?” He asks, and he asks it so sweetly that you don’t even have the time to answer, you’re already nuzzling your nose against his, already rubbing at his lips with yours.

The kiss, much like the ones from seemingly an eon ago – or was it only a few hours? – begins as a chaste nothing and works its way into being something passionate, something heated. It is in this kiss, that Kylo knows now wherever you go, so too he will follow, even if that’s to the very edge of the Earth, down to the very pits of the deep.

As he closes his eyes and kisses you once more, his hands cradle your head and holds you tight to his body. He worries you’ll burst into seafoam or stars, worries that now that he isn’t looking at you, you’ll disappear. His pulse jumps because of it, pounds in his throat so strongly that he thinks he might be ill – but you’re here still, he knows it, he feels the press of your lips against his own.

Kylo opens his mouth, and you slip your tongue through, making him melt and groan deep in the back of his throat, his hands clutching at your naked body, your scales shimmering in the moonlight that pours in through his cabin window. This medallion, the one which has granted you your legs once again, glows golden. He can see the burn of the symbol behind his eyelid, as you push yourself to straddle his waist, to pin him down to the mattress.

“Fuck!” He feels the white hot brand of the medallion then suddenly, and his shouts of pain are swallowed down your throat, you shush and soothe him with your otherworldly touch, even as something hot hot hot courses through his veins.

You have done something to him, something that he doesn’t know, doesn’t dare to ask. He trusts you, wholly and completely he trusts you – you have never given him reason to doubt, so he doesn’t, not even now.

You kiss and kiss and kiss and he doesn’t realize the ship is sinking, doesn’t realize that twenty foot waves have spilled over the side of the Silencer. He doesn’t hear the alarm bells or the shouts of his crew, he doesn’t care about anything else besides you. No, he sucks the air from your breath until there’s salt water in his lungs, but he doesn’t choke, he doesn’t splutter, he lets himself be pulled down down down, your hands in his hair, his arms around your waist as your legs disappear.

There is music then, music all around, inside his body and out, and he wonders if this is the ballad of the sea, of the souls you have claimed, the souls he has stolen at the hand of his sword. Kylo can feel them, their presence, in the in-between, calling and reaching out to him in a tearful melody, but knows he will not be joining them. Kuruk, Ushar, Ap’lek and Trudgen, Cardo and Vicrul’s faces all ghostly images of their younger selves, so young and fit that Kylo nearly doesn’t recognize them.

He regards them with a mournful eye but they shake their heads, not a single one of them angry. They don’t want him to join, Kylo realizes, they don’t feel betrayed that Kylo has lived while they have died. He makes them a promise, sends out the thought through the sea, that he’ll live out the years they had stolen as best as he can, and this is enough for them to stop haunting his dreams. To the tune of the music they dance and sing off into the ether, freed from the shackles of the in-between, finally free once more.

And then he realizes the music is coming from you, a siren song that fills his ears and his eyes and his very heart, it is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard, and he is filled with an euphoria unlike that he had ever known, because he realizes he gets to listen to it forever. Kylo had once asked if you were an angel, and you had said no – now he knows better, he knows what you are; you are heaven herself.

“We’ll be together forever like this.” He hears you say, your voice distorted and watery as your teeth grow sharp, as your hair grows long, flows about your head in a death defying halo. “Not a single man alive could harm you now. You’ll remain like this forever, just as you are, with me by your side.”

Kylo should be afraid, he knows this, he knows he should – but how can he be when you’re holding his hands and kissing his palms? How can he be when he opens his eyes and he finally breathes, a sucking sharp gasp of the ocean that fills him up?

He cannot explain it, but he is transformed into something, something otherworldly just the same way that you are. He looks the same, but he can feel it inside his body and inside his mind, as the medallion glows and so too does the brand on his chest, marked forever by a mermaid’s kiss.

But instead of that kiss sending him to the Locker or a watery grave, he keeps his lungs open and he remains unafraid, as you smile with too many teeth in your mouth, you laugh and you cheer and you sing so very loud. And when he blinks he sees you crystal clear through both of his eyes, you grasp for his hands and he knows now he can’t die, his ship sails under the water manned by his crew, who too look completely unchanged.

You swim above the ship and perch yourself atop the masthead, the breaking light of dawn shines down through the waves, making the watery world feel like an elixir of life, of immortal dreams come true. Kylo chases you, with strong limbs he climbs up up up the rigging of the ship to join you, and as he climbs, so too does the ship rise, until the Silencer breaks through the surface once more.

The crew rejoices, they dance in circles around the bilge pump and throw their hats in the air, the sunrise golden and beautiful as your fin smacks happily against the wood of the ship, laughter at the antics on deck. Kylo sets you in his lap there high above the water’s edge, and seagulls fly and call from the disturbance of the ship ascending from the depths.

“I love you.” He says it, says the words that he has been practicing inside his mind for decades, the words he has rehearsed in front of the mirror. He never thought he would have a chance to say them to you out loud. “I have loved you from the very first moment I saw you.”

It hits him then, the realization that Kylo will be able to say them to you forever.

“Why do you think I rescued you?” You beam at him, and he laughs, elated, that his feelings are returned.

Looping your arms around his neck, you kiss Kylo, salty and briny and bright. Kylo holds you in his lap tightly so that you don’t fall, one of his hands on your cheek, adoring, caressing. He leans his forehead against yours, and the medallion glows, and when he meets your grin it’s with a smile of his own, because he has given you his soul fathoms below.

I remember the fallen and they think of me,

For our souls in the ocean together will be.

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

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ulalumewitch · 3 years

Text

A Song of Shadows and Light

Short Story inspired by “Day 6: Book Predictions” by @gwynrielweek - my prediction is that Gwynriel is end game and they are mates. This takes place an undetermined amount of time into the future after ACOSF.

Author Note/Warning: Brief mentions of past abuse. If you find these ideas triggering, please skip. I hope I addressed them with the care and sensitivity they deserve.

word count: 3,279

theme: a bit of angst, feels

please note: light adult language used.

*******

Azriel’s shadow’s did not speak to him. It remained his biggest secret. They did not whisper in his ear. They did not shout, nor did they cry, nor did moan.

His shadows sang.

He always thought people would assume the truth given the name, but they never did. Others sometimes asked, ‘What do they say? What do they sound like? Do they speak to you often? Do they speak in riddles?’ But never did they ask, ‘Do they sing?’

The first time Azriel heard their song had been while staring at young hands wrapped in bandages as he sat in the cold, damp hell of darkness. The inky black he’d learned to survive in had been no life at all but the sort of torture no creature should endure. Especially not a child.

Azriel had always been intelligent. His mind worked in patterns and puzzles. When he’d been allowed to begin an education beyond the fundamentals of reading and writing - when Rhys’ utter saint of a mother took him under a literal wing - he seemed to understand everything taught to him the moment the instruction passed her, or any teacher’s, lips. Initially, Azriel thought it a gift.

Until he realized the curse of it. He never forgot anything he read or heard, and he never forgot a face. His memory remained woefully accurate. While it made him an excellent spy, Azriel used to pray to the Mother to take his memory away, to take his ability to remember the finest minute details away. Or at the very least the bad memories away…

There were seven cracks in the stone on the floor where he used to sleep, where the damp seemed a little less chilling. Twenty stones around his lightless cell. He learned them all by feeling, touching, counting. Games to keep his mind from wondering if perhaps he’d died. If, perhaps, the Mother forgot about him …

Azriel turned his face up at the sky and let the rain fall softly against his face. His wings twitched slightly at the first contact. Warm, summer rain. Refreshing. Revitalizing. The burgeoning storm ushered in cool air and finally broke the suffocatingly hot, humid weather that had plagued Velaris the last week.

He took a deep breath. And another.

The memory of the first song his shadows sang to him was not an unpleasant one. Perhaps one of the only memories from that place that didn’t belong to a nightmare. They did not sing of freedom or of hope. They sang of light. They saved him.

Every once in a while they would sing of that light. The light of stars against darkness, the light of dawn breaking after another battle won, the light of eyes sparkling in love. They wouldn’t sing of it often, but they usually sang when he needed it most.

Or whenever Gwyneth entered the room. They sang of light around her the most. Their song became loudest when she was near him and it always complimented her words, as if providing a symphony to accompany the voice that filled his dreams with rest. Real rest. Those few precious nights they fell asleep side by side doing research in the library had been the most peaceful and restful nights of his entire existence.

Azriel had been a fool. For all of his abilities to ferret out the secrets of others, to become those shadows to learn what words were whispered in the dark, he’d lost the ability to see past his own shortcomings.

He’d searched for the love he’d missed as a child his entire life. Azriel desperately wanted it for his own, to heal those old wounds and to finally become the creature he always thought he could be.

Instead, he’d lived in delusion after delusion. First, the Truth Telling Warrior Queen, and then the Lady of Flowers and Sun.

It wasn’t their fault, nor was it totally his. He didn’t realize how wrong he’d been until the creature the Mother and Cauldron had paired him with left.

Azriel couldn’t blame Gwyneth for leaving. It was the right move for her. The fact that she healed, that she worked so damned hard to be able to start a new life went beyond admirable. And she’d did it on her own. True, she had her Valkyrie sisters, himself and Cass as her mentors, and the Priestesses … and it was because of that support system that Gwyn was able to save herself from the dark and to follow her own dreams and her own path, whole and healed and independent.

And he would never stop her from being herself. Even if it ripped his heart to shreds to see her go. Even if he fought every day not to winnow to that sanctuary on the other side of the Night Court as she and the others began helping others heal from their own nightmares.

He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen in love with her. Hell, he didn’t even know he’d been in love with her until she left without saying goodbye. Until he found that godsdamned note pinned to his door, rolled up with a teal ribbon around it.

Again, words he wished he could forget burned into his memory …

Do not let the water break you, Shadowsinger. Do not be scared of the warmth light can bring either. Let it illuminate you, every part of you, because you are a creature deserving of every happiness, Azriel, and only you can stop you from finding it. I pray, one day, you will be able to leave your fear behind you. ~G.B.

Azriel lost her because he was afraid. The thing he’d chased his entire life alluded him because he’d finally found it and was too damned cowardly to admit it to himself. To admit that the teal-eyed Priestess Valkyrie Carynthian was in fact the love of his godsdamned life.

And she’d left and he refused to be selfish and to do anything that might potentially ruin the happiness she fought for and won. If anyone deserved living in the light of happiness and peace, it was Gwyn.

Azriel closed his eyes, the rain beginning to fall a little harder. A low rumble of thunder in the distance that belonged to nature and not his High Lord, rolled through his bones. He welcomed it.

“I’m sorry I was a fool,” Azriel said out loud.

The rain fell harder, drowning out his words. But as he said them, a small weight lifted as his shadows swirled around him, keeping some of the drops off of his skin. Their touch soft and reassuring.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you in any way.”

Lightning flashed. Another crack of thunder.

‘She sings for joy and hope, her voice like a snow white dove,’ his shadows lilted, singing in his ear.

Azriel smiled through his tears as they mixed in with rain. She was happy then, she was exactly where she needed to be.

“I love you, Gwyneth,” he shouted to the storm.

Lightning and thunder and rain and his shadows sang melodies to mix with the symphony of the storm as the entire weight of the godsdamned world seemed to be lifted from him entirely. The truth and freedom of it so cathartic he let out a laugh and sob and -

A phantom pull to his middle had the Illyrian warrior stumbling forward, his hands braced and caught himself on the red wall of the training circle atop the House of Wind.

Another tug near his sternum … right over his heart …

Azriel turned as his shadows’ melody, wordless and sweet, crescendoed. A rush of breath passed through his lips as he found wide teal eyes staring at him.

He couldn’t move. For the first time in his life, Azriel forgot everything. If anyone asked him his name he likely wouldn’t remember.

All that he knew was that the beautiful creature walking towards him was no mirage. She stopped in front of him. Her beautiful copper hair somehow still shining through the dark and in the rain as it plastered to her head.

Something sparked in his chest. And Azriel, for the first time in his life, knew true happiness.

********

Gwyneth’s heart pounded as she ran through the house. It closed doors as she approached rooms as if telling her to keep going, the Shadowsinger would not be there. She had dreamed of Azriel every night since she’d been gone.

His hazel eyes, his cheekbones, his lips - those lips that she’d stare at and would forget to actually listen to what he was saying. And she’d have to ask him to repeat whatever it was and he would always quirk a smile - always the left side of his mouth - and then do as she requested. Like he knew.

But when she admitted to feeling something more than friendship. When she finally worked up the courage to broach the topic, thinking that maybe he wouldn’t because he didn’t want to push her, he gave the worst response possible.

Silence. Nothing. Not a single sound had passed those lips she’d come to love.

So, she’d left. She would have stayed. Would have carried on her work in Velaris because it was just as fulfilling as the work she now did on the other side of the Night Court. But she wouldn’t torture herself being around the Shadowsinger any longer. She’d taken his silence as a sign from the Mother that it was time for her to fly away from the nest that allowed her to grow and heal, and to live on her own.

She still had Emerie and Nesta for support as they were winnowed in a couple of times a week to help with training. The priestesses and faeries she had started to work with and train she already knew would be friends or at the very least amiable students and colleagues. Her new endeavor was exciting and scary and thrilling and all the things that she always imagined life could be.

The new compound that she, Nesta, and Emerie had dreamed up had been funded by the High Lord and High Lady, having agreed that more sanctuaries like the library should be available to others. It turned out more beautiful than she could have imagined. The Home for Wayward Stars included a temple, training centers, stables, medical building, and library. All to offer services as well as to train faeries in whatever they’d like to learn.

The compound had been built along the sea, nestled in a previously untouched basin surrounded by mountains, not unlike Velaris itself. The High Lord of Day, along with Rhysand, warded it to ensure it remained a safe haven for those seeking shelter. It was also guarded by new members of the Valkyrie so that all who sought sanctuary could begin healing in peace.

The High Lord and High Lady had been beyond kind, and even built her a small apartment that had a balcony that overlooked the sea, the waves crashing right below her and faced east. Every morning the light greeted her along with the sounds of the sea and it was perfect.

Except it really wasn’t perfect because when she woke up from her dreams of Azriel she would be alone in bed. And it infuriated her.

And so, Gwyneth decided to do something about it. The silence of his response ate away at her. She wanted a real answer. She wanted to know if he felt the same or if he didn’t. Even if the answer meant heartbreak she needed it. For closure.

But as she ascended the stairs to the training circle atop the house, her heart began to pound in her chest, and she knew he was up there. When she reached the top step she heard his voice and closed her eyes. Hearing it in her dreams was far different than the real thing.

“I’m sorry I was a fool.”

Was he talking to someone she couldn’t see?

But as she went to step out onto the roof, shadows swarmed her. Cool yet comforting, they swirled around her and gently pushed her back. She furrowed her brow but stayed put.

Gwyn loved Azriel’s shadows. When they’d researched together they’d always provide light touches to any knots in her neck and shoulders as she read, or would offer a cool breeze atop the house when training at night. Azriel always seemed to fret they would scare her but she loved them. Just like she loved him. And she just didn’t understand why -

‘Priestess of Light and Sea and Song, wait, it will not be long.’

Gwyneth’s mouth opened as she stared at the swirling shadows around her. Did they … did they just sing to her to stay put?

But Azriel’s raised voice stopped her thoughts.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you in any way.”

She began shaking. Oh gods, what if he’d found someone else? What if she’d read him all wrong. What if he really was just a supportive friend and she had been so desperate -

“I love you, Gwyneth!”

Gwyn clamped a hand over her mouth just in time to muffle the sound of a small cry born from pure relief and joy. Her hand flew to her chest as her heart pulsed in a quick beat. She furrowed her brow and looked down. No, it wasn’t her heart, but very near it. Something around her heart.

‘We sing for our Master and thee, Princess of Light and Song and Sea, we sing for the mates of darkness and light and sky and sea.’

She stepped out onto the roof, the shadows retreating slightly but remained close to her. Out of pure magical instinct Gwyneth reached deep down into that place near her heart. The place that sparked alive whenever Azriel was near her or whenever she wished he was near her. She grabbed a hold of that place and tugged.

Gwyneth watched in equal parts wonder and amusement as the renowned Carynthian warrior stumble forward in response. He whirled and she couldn’t stop herself as she did it again.

Hazel eyes locked on hers and she knew all of the trepidation she’d felt had been for nought. He loved her. He only needed to go on his own journey to find it. And Gwyneth understood that the dreams she’d had must have been Mother sent to bring her back because Azriel was finally ready to accept the destiny that had been written for them in the stars long ago.

Azriel raised a wing out over her head to shield her from the rain. His shadows continued to swirl around them both.

“I love you too, Azriel.”

“Gwyn,” he breathed out, “What - how -“

She smiled as he sputtered slightly. Gwyn reached forward and laced her fingers through his. Her thumbs lightly running over the ridges of some of the raised bits of scars. Ridges and lines that she’d memorized during their moments alone together.

“I dreamt of you,” she whispered, “And I had to come see you. The house led me here and then your Shadows sang for me to wait while you shouted into the rain. Do you always bother storms with your confessions?”

Azriel’s mouth dropped open. His hands began to shake slightly in hers.

“They sang to you?”

Gwyneth nodded and smiled, “Would you like to venture a guess why?”

She watched, fascinated, as his shadows swirled around his ears. His eyes shuttered slightly and then began to glisten in the dark.

“Is it too soon to talk about a mating ceremony?” Azriel finally asked.

Gwyneth laughed, as tears of pure relief and joy stung her eyes. She ripped her hands from his and threw her arms around his neck. And kissed him.

Azriel’s mouth slanted over hers immediately. The kiss soft but heated as one hand dove into her hair and the other held her waist tightly to him. With the first tentative touch of his tongue to hers, fire lit her veins. She tipped her head back slightly and opened further for him.

His cedar and mist scent wrapped around her as surely as his shadows did, keeping them hidden. Gwyn held on to him, suddenly worried that maybe she dreamt again. That maybe this was nothing but dreaming.

But in that very moment of doubt Azriel pulled away from her. He ran his nose long hers and brushed his lips over hers in a way that made her consider how his lips would feel on her skin.

“This isn’t a dream,” he whispered, “And I love you and I’m sorry.”

She smiled and brought a hand up to cup his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed as she ran a thumb along his cheek bone.

“I love you, Azriel. But for your penance I must demand a couple of things for our future mating ceremony.”

His eyes opened and his lips quirked up. The left side of his mouth. Always the left side of the mouth. Her heart leapt in her chest as warmth spread through her.

“And what’s that Berdara?”

She pressed the front of her body to his, allowing her curves to mold to the hardness of him, to the cut of muscles honed over centuries of being a warrior. Her own warrior called to him, ready to take on anyone who would dare to hurt him. The instinct to protect, she mused, and they hadn’t even officially done anything. Not yet anyway. Hopefully not much longer.

“That we have our ceremony by the sea, our feet touching water and land. That we have our ceremony at dusk as day and night hedge on each other. So that sky and sea and dark and light surround us. So for that sacred moment it will seem like we teeter on the edge of the universe and its us. Just us. And that you will do your duties and live your life and I will do the same and we will carve out a life just for us by forging those parts of us together to make a whole. So that we’re both stronger.”

Azriel leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. He brushed his lips over hers again before placing a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. His lips lingered and then slowly pressed kisses to her cheek and jaw line and then … then he kissed the sensitive spot below her ear, warm and pleasant and her knees buckled.

His lips curved into a smile against her skin and she wanted to scream at him to stop - to not stop - to do it again but more.

Azriel moved his mouth to press a kiss to the pulse at her throat, and her toes curled in her boots. All of her breathing techniques forgotten as she struggled to remember how to draw breath into her lungs.

With his blessed lips still against her skin, nuzzling her, he replied, “As you wish, Princess of Light and Song and Sea. It’s a good thing I’ll be able to winnow to you every night. Tell me Rhys and Feyre made your apartment big enough for someone with wings.”

“Our apartment. And yes. Now, kiss me again, Shadowsinger,” she smiled, “And this time. Don’t stop.”

Azriel flashed a grin and before Gwyn could form another thought his lips met hers. And she fell. No matter where she landed, and no matter where her journey led her from here, she knew that she would be living that journey with the Shadowsinger, her mate, beside her.

So they fell together as his shadows sang to them a song of darkness and light, sky and sea, hope and love.

*****************

hope you enjoyed! i love all possible ships and these two give me the feels.

#gwynriel #gwynriel week #azriel #gwyneth berdara #acotar fanfiction

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asunshinepuff · 3 years

Text

Secrets of the Darkened Seas

🧜🏻‍♀️ Hello! It's been a while guys, welcome to chapter nine! Please please please give a like and follow to my co-author and best friend Luna (@ladynightmare913) because this story would not be where it’s at without her help!

Just a small reminder that the next chapter will be posted on Luna’s blog!

The included lore for this tale has been written under the guise of Fantastic Nautical Creatures by Newt Scamander. As always it will be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose while still having my own twist.

Here's the link to the previous chapter, and if you’ve missed any chapters here’s the link to the masterlist for this story. 🧜🏻‍♀️

Chapter 9: The Escape

Remus was doing his best not to punch the pirate in the face, or at the very least refrain from tossing him into the open sea, which was a true testament to his restraint because the desire was overwhelming. Walking up to the deck, Sirius followed and Remus was praying to God for him to kindly shut up.

“I want to see him, who knows what you’ve done to him.”

“I already told you, he doesn’t wish to be anywhere near you, and I share his sentiment.” He looked at the pirate and for a moment, spotting pain in the other’s storm blue eyes.

But like a lightning strike, it was gone in a second. Sirius hardened his gaze once more.

“So you’ve been telling him lies then.” Sirius sneered.

Remus scoffed, “Contrary to the Captain’s reputation of being callous and merciless, he would never lay a hand on a child. He only took Regulus because he was treated worse than cattle.”

At that, Sirius had nothing further to say, what could he say when it was the truth?

An awkward silence followed the two like an anchor as the tawny-haired boy turned and continued walking on deck, the distant voice of a crewmember calling Remus for assistance. With a sigh, he turns to the ebony-haired boy.

“I have to go, but don’t do anything stupid.”

“What do you think I’m going to do? Sprout wings and fly away?” Sirius scoffed.

Remus rolls his eyes, giving a pointed look. “In this world? I wouldn’t put it past you.” He turns back around and walks off.

Sirius simply shook his head as the pompous tawny-haired boy walked off. He honestly couldn’t fathom why anyone would allow him on this ship. Then again, Sirius thought, it suited the infamous White Sea Serpent to have someone like him aboard his ship.

Pompous, the whole lot of them.

The crew were fine in his opinion, they minded their own business. Which probably explained why they were ignoring him as if he were the plague.

Deciding upon himself that he might as well look around, considering no one was really paying attention to him. He might even be lucky and find his brother. Motivated at the prospect of finding his lost brother, Sirius set out to search the entire ship. He went down to the kitchens, then to the cargo hold which, astonishingly, only had two barrels of wine and not a single barrel of rum.

There were many things Sirius could forgive, but not having rum was a crime he could never forgive. However, there was a ridiculous amount of white grain, labeled rice. And some strange red and green foul-smelling thing that made Sirius gag.

Next, Sirius decided to wander through the hallways of the cabins. Checking through the glass windows to peek inside, in the hopes of spotting his brother. At last, he reached a cabin door where a woman dressed in white sat in a rocking chair, holding two small boys, resting their heads close to her bosom, her eyes were closed and her lips were parted as she sang a soft lullaby that Sirius couldn’t hear through the door.

One of the boys was who Sirius had been searching for. Regulus was being rocked to sleep.

Regulus looked, in peace. His face had a healthy flush, his cheeks had rounded in only just a few days. His clothes were clean and he looked properly dressed. The woman in white, rocked gently, rubbing both of their backs.

Regulus shifted in his sleep, the woman gently lulled the child back into a deeper slumber, shifting to her arms to accommodate the changed positions so Regulus wouldn’t hurt his neck as he slept. The woman smiled as she continued her song, never once did she open her eyes.

Sirius couldn’t help but feel a pang of pain in his chest. Oh, how many times did he long for his mother to hold him as the woman in white did so for the boys, Sirius had lost count. Lost all hope of his mother ever giving them an ounce of affection.

And when Regulus was born, Sirius prayed that his mother would at least show affection to him. Instead, she treated them as nothing more than pests that she must learn to tolerate. Sirius tried to take to the brunt of their “discipline,” but there was only so much he could do as a young boy.

And as soon as Sirius was able, he escaped that hell hole. Leaving Regulus behind. He knew that what he did would only make things worse for Regulus, their mother would take it out on him, and Regulus wouldn’t have Sirius to take the brunt of it. Sirius cursed himself for being weak. Sirius had every intention of coming back for him, to give Regulus a better life. The tawny-haired boy’s words echo in his head.

“He only took Regulus because he was treated worse than cattle.”

Sirius wasn’t blind. Their mother never once loved them. Yet here was this woman, who was not Regulus’ mother, tenderly cradled him, sung him a soft lullaby, rocking him to sleep, as if he was her own, would make anyone think she loved Regulus.

And with how at peace Regulus looked, he might even love her as well. How cruel, for a mother to loathe her offspring, only for a stranger to show them affection and kindness. The boy was right, the captain of this ship didn’t kidnap Regulus, the captain saved him.

And just like before, Sirius came to a decision he thought was best. He will leave Regulus here. But this time, he was leaving Regulus in a place where he was clearly cared for and treated well. Regulus didn’t need him. With a heavy heart, Sirius turned away.

Back on deck, Sirius peered over the railing. He couldn’t swim back to shore, they were too far from land. But, he lamented. Spotting a lifeboat hanging by ropes. He could steal a boat.

Remus managed to finally resolve the problem the crewmate had been dealing with. Returning to the deck, his eyes scanned for the ebony-haired male. His eyes narrowing the longer he searched and still not finding the pirate.

“Captain!” A crewman called. Pointing towards the open sea, “The pirate is making a run for it!”

Of course, he would try to run. Only seemed to be about time. Rushing to the side of the ship, Remus glared at the jolly pirate, watching as his figure grew further from the ship.

He wasn’t even taking Regulus with him?! That good for nothing, pirate!

Captain Hua merely raised a brow, watching the pirate rowing away with an amused smirk. “How daring.”

“Been planning huh?” Opal chuckles as she stands against the base of a cargo net.

Quinn smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned forward on the railing. He looked at the greek woman. “Oh, this’ll be interesting to witness.”

“Shall we turn the ship?” The crewman asked.

“That won’t be necessary,” He looked to Remus, “Remus, please bring Brielle up on deck.”

Remus turned at Captain Hua’s request, nodding in confirmation. Briskly walking across the deck, he couldn't help but wonder why Sirius had decided to forgo his entire reason for ambushing the ship? Did he just not care about his brother anymore? Or had something happened for him to ultimately decide that perhaps Regulus was alright?

There was nothing he could decipher for himself, he muses, as he wouldn’t know the thoughts of the ebony-haired pirate. Or find answers for his theories. Sirius Black, the youngest pirate captain of their age. As infuriating and insufferable as he may be, there was more to him.

If what Brielle said was true, then perhaps there was more to Sirius Black than being a complete idiot.

This was the second time he considered the thought. But why? Standing at the base of the stairs below deck, brought him back to the matter at hand. He found himself at the door to Brielle’s room much sooner than he had anticipated.

“Brielle!”

Sirius couldn’t help but grin as he rowed farther away. He looked back to the ship, the captain, the first mate, and the tawny-haired boy were all watching him. He was over surprised that they weren’t turning the ship around.

Oh well, more time for him to get farther away.

He heard a loud splash behind him, they’re probably sending another lifeboat out to catch him, he assumes, chuckling to himself. There was no way they could catch him from this distance unless they used the ship.

The boat lurched. Rocking Sirius sharply, causing him to drop the oars. Sirius looked around the small boat, he didn’t see anything, did he hit something? The boat rocked again. Sirius looked back to the ship, and from what he could tell, more people had gathered to watch him. The crew seemed to be laughing. As if they knew something he didn’t.

The boat was rocked nearly capsized this time, Sirius gripped the sides of the tiny boat in panic. His eyes searched everywhere, was he closer to land than he expected? Did he hit a rockbed? A coral reef? Just what exactly did he hit?

Or, did something hit him?

There, from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of white. But it was gone when he turned his head. His breath hitched as he saw a clawed hand grip the front of the boat, pulling it into the water. Sirius backed up, gripping the boat for dear life. Whatever it was, it was clearly strong.

The hand sunk into the water just as the front of the boat, ahead rose from the water. Sirius could hear his heart pounding.

“Oh hell, don’t tell me you’re part of that lot too!” Sirius found himself shouting.

The head had dark hair, pale skin, and two slitted eyes with finned ears, the head opened its cursed mouth, revealing a row of pearly white fangs. Sirius most certainly, did not scream.

The head then dared to smile like a mad man, then dove underwater. The boat shot upwards back towards the surface. Then it started to move, a rope pulling it along, as the thing pulled the rope.

The boat moved fast, then it started gaining speed. In just a few moments, Sirius was already within swimming distance of the ship. He started to panic that the thing pulling his small boat was going to make him crash. At the last possible second, the boat came to an abrupt halt, sending Sirius forward.

The crew on the ship laughed at the haggard sight of the pirate.

“So kind of you to join us again Mr. Black.” Captain Hua spoke. “Did you have a nice swim?”

At that, the head dived down, its scaly tail sending a splash right at him. He was soaked.

Sirius couldn’t be certain, but he swears that he saw a gleam in the captain’s eye. “Who are you?” Sirius couldn’t help but ask. He was no fool, that creature definitely belonged to the insane captain with the accursed sword.

“A man of many talents.” Was all the captain said.

The pirate was pulled back aboard the ship, the crew members took in the sight of the soaked pirate before returning to their posts. The first mate threw a blanket at the pirate to dry off. The tawny-haired boy had returned, a small smile on his face from when he tried to contain his laughter.

Remus looked to the pirate after a minute for composure, shaking his head in exasperation. It was rather a hilarious sight, and once again this was a new record towards Sirius’ idiocy.

Quinn completely found the scene amusing, his smirk still clearly evident upon his face.

The sound of dripping water caught Sirius's ear, turning, he saw the hideous head that dragged him back to this awful ship pulled aboard, The head then started to sprout bloody human-looking legs from its tail! The finny fish-like traits vanishing before his eyes, the captain wrapping a blanket around it.

Sirius’ eyes widened, it was the woman in white! The one who tended to Regulus!

“You!”

The woman, no, the monstrous head, looked to him. She made a mock gasp, her eyes widening. “You!” She responded. A wide grin on her face. Her teeth the same shade of pearly white.

“I take it you had your fun?” The captain eyed the head.

If it weren’t for the fact of what Sirius just went through, he would have called the woman handsome.

“I was only teasing.” The head answered the captain, who only shook his head in amusement.

Sirius decided right there. He did not like her. Nope. Not one bit.

The captain led the head back to wherever it was they were heading to. Sirius turned to Remus when he saw the tawny-haired boy approach.

“You let that thing near the children?”

“I see that you have been sneaking around. And the children are safest with her. Not to mention they love her. Everyone loves Brielle.”

“I don’t love her. In fact, I dare say I hate her.”

“Well, that’s a personal problem then, not mine. And why is that? Might I ask?” Remus tilts his head in mock curiosity. “Is it because she takes better care of your brother than you and she’s not even the same species?”

At that Sirius, only glared, he turned away.

“Remus.” The captain called from his post on the helm. “You have a slippery one on your hands, don’t you?”

“It would appear so captain. I can’t take my eyes off him for a moment.”

The captain nodded, then reached for his sword. Untying it from his belt, then tossed Remus the dark green sword.

Remus caught the hilt and sheath of the sword with careful hands, looking down to the golden snake that could quite simply kill him in one bite. Then he looks back to the captain with a questioning look, “Are you sure?”

“Perhaps it will give Mr. Black the incentive to behave himself.” Captain Hua gave Sirius a knowing glance before he looked back to Remus. “Besides, he missed you.”

With nothing further to add, the Captain turned away.

Sirius looked to the tawny-haired boy. “Who?”

Remus simply held out the sword towards Sirius, a smirk on his lips. Sirius instantly backed up when Remus brought the accursed sword closer to him. “Dúi hǎi.”

Sirius knew that sword, he remembered it quite well, and would kindly prefer to be as far away from it as possible thank you. He did not wish to be bitten again. But up close, Sirius reluctantly had to admire the sword.

It was a wide sword with a dark forest green sheath with gold accents that looked coral. The hilt of the sword had a metallic gold snake, with emerald gemstones for eyes. It blinked, Sirius backed away.

The tiny gold snake came to life, hissing softly as it moved towards the boys' hand. Sirius’ blood froze. Was it going to bite him?

The gold snake slithered up Remus’ hand, then coiled its cold metallic body around his wrist. It looked to Remus for a moment, flicking its tongue. Remus only smiled at the tiny deadly snake.

These people are insane, thought Sirius.

As if reading his thoughts, the gold snake turned to Sirius and hissed loudly. Sirius didn’t need to be told to stay away from that thing.

The snake looked smug. If that were somehow possible? Remus chuckled at Dúi hǎi’s antics. “I think he gets the message Dúi hǎi.”

Satisfied with terrifying the pirate, the snake hissed softly. Then winked at Sirius. These people were most certainly insane. The snake rested its head on the back of Remus’ hand and became inanimate once more. Its emerald eyes shimmering brightly with the rays of the sun.

“That is not a normal sword.”

“Thank you for stating the obvious.”

Links:

Previous chapter: Captain Hua

Masterlist: Secrets of the Darkened Seas

Moodboards: SOTDS, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Quinn Sandoval

Tag List: (Let me know if you wish to be added!)

@whataboutmyfries

@sunflowerfox87

@spookypotato

@wonder-womans-ex

@waltzintherain

@heyitssmiller

@fleetingpieces

@moonofthenight

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risingsouls · 3 years

Photo

when i was young, i prayed for lightning my mother said it would come and find me i found myself without a prayer i lost my love and no one cared when i was young, i prayed for lightning

indie. (mostly) db multimuse ft. nabooru

home ☀ rules ☀ characters ☀ promo cred ☀ song

#.:self promo:.#*jazz hands*#i did it #and it turned out nice!#she's so pretty i weep

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romiithebirdie · 3 years

Text

Epilogue for the Lost - Chapter 3

"Never fear, for I am here!"

That was the cheerful catchphrase of the children's television icon, All Might. When anything bad happened, All Might would arrive and save the day. He always won with a bright beam worn proudly across his face, radiating pure joy not only in the show but for children all over the nation who tuned in to watch him.

But for Toshinori Yagi it was a part of his past that he'd rather move on from. Living in solitude as a wealthy retired actor with only a few friends and family members made it difficult for him to genuinely smile nowadays.

Something he could still not grasp to this day;

He had everything.

Money, fame, properties and adoring fans all around the world.

Yet, his heart felt so hollow. Like somebody had reached in and torn in from his chest, discarding it like the useless piece of flesh it was.

If you asked him, he'd be surprised if he even still had a heart under his paper-thin skin.

During the last few years of his starring role as the smiling superhero, he had been involved in a major car collision that damaged his internal organs beyond repair. After months of surgeries and other frequent visits to the hospital, he had retired due to his declining health.

His adoptive father-figure Sorahiko Torino always made it a habit to visit frequently, though Toshinori himself preferred to stay in isolation. Far, far away from the prying eyes of his stern and no-nonsense father and his constant lectures about bad habits and whatnot.

Though he knew it was deeply childish, Toshinori still felt a rebellious thrill from aggravating Sorahiko just as he had done in his youth.

While Torino had always been known for his grumpy attitude, he took up to eleven after the incident involving his closest friend, Nana Shimura. Like Sorahiko, she had worked as a high-ranking member of the Police Force and had taken a squad to raid the hideout of a dangerous wanted criminal.

The notorious A.F.O killer.

He had been given that name due to the fact that all of his victims had the three initials carved into parts of their bodies.

However, it hadn't gone as planned and the entire building went up in flames. The majority of the squad had escaped with minor injuries, but Nana inhaled far too much smoke during her attempts at fleeing to safety which caused her to fall unconscious. Several hours later, she had passed away in the ER department.

It was a massive shock to everybody. Nobody could have seen it coming.

The criminal's body was never found or recovered, the authorities eventually pegging it down to have burned into nothing during the inferno due to the fact nobody had come forward with grievous burns in any of the hospitals in Japan.

A fitting way to end the life of such a cruel and evil man. Scorched into a smudge on the ground, leaving nothing but joy to the civilians who had feared for their lives during his spree.

While many would call it a horrifying end, Toshinori called it justice.

Losing Nana was truly a tragedy and both Toshinori and Sorahiko suffered badly with mourning the kind woman's death. While Sorahiko took to his study and spent many days and nights alone, Toshinori's behaviour grew more challenging and he had started fighting at school and in public.

He wasn't a bad kid.

He just hadn't known how to deal with his own grief. It made him feel hollow inside, like his heart was devoid of anything.

Nana Shimura was like a secondary parental figure to Toshinori. She would watch movies with him, take him and Torino out for long drives in the city and countryside while always proudly wearing a smile on her face.

The television hero All Might's constant beam was a complete homage to Shimura in every way.

If only she had been around to see him in his hayday…

Would she still be proud of him now?

Knowing how far he'd fallen.

Turning to drinking and not taking care of his health properly… Every time he'd cough up the coppery taste of blood from the back of his throat, he truly felt as if the Grim Reaper himself was slowly approaching, waiting for his final breath before tearing his soul and taking his spirit to the afterlife.

No. What he'd thought about Nana...

That wasn't true.

Nana would have never judged him. Back then and even now.

She was kind-hearted and had so much empathy, especially for somebody who worked in the field that she did. It was something Toshinori truly admired about the woman, other than her fierce passion for her work.

Glancing at the IV cord that was attached to his arm, he let out a deep sigh before heaving himself from his own hospital bed and beginning to hobble out of his private room. A coffee from the café downstairs sounded pretty good right about now…

Whisky would have been better but beggars couldn't be choosers.

.-.-.-.-.

Izuku rushed through the hospital entrance, clutching the leather straps of his backpack as his crimson shoes squeaked along the polished floor. He'd been given the brief details of what had happened at his apartment by the police officers after his mother had been taken away in an ambulance.

The kind officers had then given the teen a ride to the hospital where they had accompanied Izuku with getting the name of the ward where his mother had been taken. After giving a quick bow of thanks, Izuku had shot across the car park and towards the building at lightning fast speed.

From the looks of the ward names, it seemed his mother was on one of the higher floors so Izuku decided to take the elevator up; only to almost crash into a tall, blond haired man holding a steaming paper cup who was also waiting for the elevator doors to open.

"I'm so sorry!" the boy yelped, ducking his head while the blond chuckled, fondly shaking his head at the teen. Izuku noted the IV drip and was stricken with more guilt, so much so that he ignored an unpleasant feeling wash over him while being in close range of the stranger.

You nearly knocked a patient over, you complete idiot.

Ding!

As sweet as mercy, the elevator doors opened and the two entered with Izuku allowing the older man to go in first out of respect. It was the least he could do after almost barrelling into him.

"Why thank you, young man," Toshinori smiled, taking a sip of his coffee while watching Izuku fidget around the elevator buttons. He chose to step in, "I'm going to the fifth floor, my boy."

"Ah, that's great, I'm going up to the ninth."

Izuku pressed the buttons and stepped back, feeling the weight of the floor lift underneath his feet. For a few awkward seconds, nobody said a word until a familiar, unwanted chill blew into the boy's face.

He knew it all too well.

They wanted to communicate with him again.

The tiny space of the elevator only did more to trigger an overwhelming feeling of utter claustrophobia, it felt like the silver reflective walls were closing in on him. Izuku suddenly wanted nothing more than to shrink into himself and cower away with his face covered.

Please go away.

Izuku's desperate emeralds met with Toshinori's dull blue, the two immediately connected as the teen bit back a choked gasp that he tried to fight. Foggy imagery immediately began taking over his senses as the familiar raven-haired lady held onto the blond's shoulders like she was embracing him.

No, no, no.

Izuku was seeing them once again, just like all the other times.

Usually he'd see them in short-timed wisps like the smoke of a dead candle flame. A few whispers in his ears and cold spots but nothing as humanoid as what he was seeing now.

He immediately reached for his bag and fumbled around for the zipper, shakily trying to fight against the fabric trapping his zip in the same position. Upon ripping it open, not caring whether or not he'd broken the lining, he began frantically raking through the contents inside.

Where was that damned medication?!

Various whispers combined into one ghostly chorus entered his ears, making them ring like a loud case of tinnitus as he stepped back, trying to compose himself.

"Tell him. Please. Tell him."

"Please," Izuku pleaded as he squirmed, hand darting out and snatching the blond stranger's striped pyjama sleeve. They wouldn't leave until he did what they asked, "She says she's proud. N-never think otherwise."

Toshinori's mind screeched to a complete halt as he whirled around completely on the teen holding onto him, "What?" he spluttered, not quite sure he'd heard what had just come out of the kid's mouth properly. Surely he'd misheard?

"She's proud," Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, as if speaking the words pained him. "Nana says she'll always be proud of you."

Toshinori turned his head around so fast, Izuku's own neck ached at the sight.

Finally, he spoke; "How do you know Nana?"

"I don't," Izuku wavered, glancing at the ghostly hands clutching the thin fabric covering Toshinori's shoulders. "But she said you knows you."

Knows? The older male frowned, unsure of what that even meant.

"Let me rephrase," Toshinori's grip on his IV tightened, a small wave of nausea threatening his weak body as he tried to steady himself. "How could you know something like that?"

The words that had come out of the kid's mouth were enough for him to pray for the doors to open;

"Because she's standing behind you and telling me what to say."

As if by magic, the elevator doors opened and allowed the blond to shuffle out of the small space at the fasted speed he could. In silence, Toshinori dragged his IV along with him while keeping his gaze fixed on the boy.

As the doors began to close, he finally chose to speak again suddenly finding his voice, though it was barely coherent;

"What's your name, kid?"

"Izuku," the greenette answered immediately, "Izuku Midoriya."

"Toshinori Yagi," the blond responded, just as the twin doors shut and cut off their sight of one another.

Toshinori set his cup down and covered his mouth, muffled exhales echoing down the empty corridor as he attempted to compose himself.

Did that really just happen?

.-.-.-.-.

"Mum!"

Previous issues with his unwelcome undead buddies immediately dropped the moment he saw her. The teen dropped everything and launched himself forward, sliding to a halt beside his eerily still mother. The heart monitor beeped slowly, duetting with Inko's raspy gasps for air from her oxygen mask.

"Izuku?" Inko croaked, her face ghostly pale as she shakily attempted to lift her head from the pillows supporting her. Izuku immediately grabbed her hand tightly, fearful of letting her go.

"What happened?" he stressed, trying to force down the hard lump in his throat. He couldn't cry in front of her. She needed him to be strong.

"A man," she whispered, gently giving his hand a squeeze, "red eyes. He knew about Mitsuki, said I deserved it."

"Deserved it?" Izuku repeated, dumbfounded. Deserved what? His mother had nothing to do with the Bakugou tragedy…

"He knocked me down a-and did this," she used her free hand to shakily imitate stabbing motions. Her eyes welled up and Izuku fought back his own tears at seeing his mother so broken. "Tried to start a fire in the lounge b-but couldn't, the neighbours heard the commotion and he ran away."

Inko heaved out roughly, each breath sounding painful as she shifted slightly, wincing every now and again while the monitor beeped beside her.

"I'm sorry, Izuku," she whispered, mother and son's eyes meeting before she began closing them slowly. "I'm so sorry."

"Mum?" Izuku released her hand and gave her a few gentle nudges. She moaned softly, streaks of tears lined down her cheeks as her chest slowly rose and fell.

She was alive. Injured but alive.

The teen pushed himself away and slowly made his way out of the ward, feeling like his head was filled with cotton wool. The second the doors to the ward shut behind him, he allowed himself to break down, sobbing quietly against one of the off-white walls of the long and empty hospital corridor.

Who could have done this?

His mother was the most gentle soul he had ever known, rarely raising her voice or getting angry. Why had somebody attacked her?

The mystery person was wrong; his mother didn't deserve what had happened to her.

Izuku thought back to what the police had explained to him, about the attacker. According to the report made, he had mentioned Mitsuki Bakugou. Which was not only confusing but odd too.

Then there was that weird guy with the unusual red eyes back in his neighbourhood, he was wearing a hoodie so his hair was completely concealed. His mother had mentioned red eyes hadn't she?

Izuku only knew one person with that rare eye colour and then there was another thought playing on his mind;

Who truly knew Mitsuki Bakugou besides the Midoriya Family?

Aside from…

"Kacchan?"

#my writing #epilogue for the lost #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #my hero academia fanfiction #bnha #izuku midoriya #all might #dfo #afo is hisashi midoriya #inko midoriya #dad for one

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avengerscompound · 4 years

Text

The Surrogate - Chapter 4

The Surrogate: A Clintasha Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count: 1813

Rating: E

Warnings: Blood and Serious Injures, talk of past miscarriage and red room fuckery.

Synopsis: A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people. When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want. Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

Chapter 4

“We could use a healer over here!”

Clint’s voice had come over comms, and you looked around the area trying to figure out where ‘here’ actually was. You eventually spotted both him and Natasha with a group of children, sheltering under a bridge.

You took a quick looked around, and ran out from your hiding spot, vaulting over a stone fence as you charged in the direction of Clint and Natasha. Gunfire immediately broke out and you caught a bullet in the side. It slowed you for a moment as a hot pain flared out and then died back off. By the time you reached Natasha and Clint, the only sign that you had been shot at all was a hole in your catsuit and some already drying blood.

“Think this might be above your abilities,” Natasha said. She was cradling a young boy, and when you moved closer she moved her hand showing you where their leg now had broken exposed bone.

“Fuck,” you cursed, crouching down.

“She said a bad word,” a very young girl said.

“She sure did. And right now you all have special Avengers’ permission to say as many bad words as you know,” Clint said, as he loosed a couple of arrows. “Ready… set… go.”

The group of children all broke out into random cursing and you looked at Natasha. “I’m gonna try blood. Pray to Thor that we match. Can you get that bone back into alignment?”

Natasha nodded. “Okay, malysh,” Natasha soothed and took one of her lives out of its leather holsters. “This is going to hurt a lot. But I need you to be very brave for me and hold as still as you can. And when we’re done, we’ll make sure you get home safe with your family. I promise.”

He nodded weakly and she held the leather holster to his lips. “Bite down on this, little one.”

The boy bit down into the leather and Natasha quickly snapped the bones back into place with a loud and gut turning crack. The boy screamed into the holster and passed out. You took the knife that the holster homed and cut open your arm.

You had been part of the Avengers for over three years now. One mission had turned into many and you had gone from being a new recruit to a full-fledged agent. You settled into life at the compound and the memory of a time where you were scared and didn’t know exactly how you could use your powers to help people.

You had friends and a routine and you dated on and off and when you were off you would hook up with Natasha and Clint because they were just that little bit too hard to resist. Especially when you’d just gone through a breakup. You considered them your best friends and you loved their relationship dynamic. They were hilarious together and their way of showing affection was so perfectly them.

Most of your missions were with one or the other or both. The closeness had made you be able to work like a well-oiled machine together, being able to predict each other’s patterns and counter each other. This particular mission was a big one though. A small town in the Midwest had been attacked by domestic terrorists and the whole team had been sent out to stop it.

As your blood mixed with the boy’s, nothing seemed to happen. You cursed the stupid limitations of your powers and you were just about to let your own wound close back up when you noticed the bones and flesh knitting back together on the boy’s leg. You had to keep twisting the knife in your own wound to keep the blood flowing and your hand was beginning to shake from the pain. As the wound closed you let go of the knife and your own cut rapidly healed. Color returned to his skin and his eyes fluttered open.

“Thank Thor,” Clint sighed. He turned back to look at the kids like he was planning what the next move should be and there was a crack from a bolt of lightning behind him, making him jump

“You can save the thanks for when I have actually helped,” Thor teased, playfully. “Come, your extraction has arrived.”

A huge armored vehicle pulled up at the bridge and the side opened. Clint ran to the side of the truck and began loosing arrows out past it, creative cover.

“Come, little ones,” Natasha said. “Onto the truck.”

You and she herded the children into the vehicle, carrying the injured boy into the back and putting him on a stretcher. When you were all safe inside, Clint climbed in and pulled the door closed behind him.

“Hold tight,” the agent driving called back. Clint sat down on one of the benches as the truck took off much faster than you expected.

“How close are we to being done with this?” You asked as a little girl climbed up into Clint’s lap and clung to him. He wrapped an arm around her and held her steady as the truck bounced over the rough terrain.

“Captain Rogers is mounting an assault on the last remaining group now. Shouldn’t be much longer,” the agent called back. “You were the last group that had been cornered by them.”

“Thank god,” you sighed and let your head fall back against the wall of the truck. You immediately regretted it, as it banged against metal.

You sat back up and watched Clint with the little girl. She had calmed down and was gradually drifting off to sleep against him.

“Clint looks really good with kids,” you whispered to Nat.

She nodded. “Yeah, he’s a natural with them. I think because he is basically a giant child.”

You snorted and bumped her with your shoulder. “You were good with them too. You guys gonna have kids someday?”

Natasha frowned. “Can’t,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral, but the slight strain giving away her pain. “We want to. But… the Red Room did something to me. Having children creates weakness, so they sterilized me. But… not… I mean… I have been pregnant but it ended up in a late-term miscarriage.”

“I’m so sorry, Natasha,” you said. If it was anyone else you would have wrapped your arms around them and let them be weak. Natasha would rather stab herself in the eye than let that happen though, so instead, you leaned against her a little, hoping that your weight might be comforting and allow her to be strong. “Have you ever considered adoption? Or surrogacy?”

She nodded. “Surrogacy is out, it’s something about the genes. They have a self destruct in them. We applied to adopt but were told in no uncertain terms that no one is allowing an ex Russian-assassin adopt a child.”

“That fucking sucks,” you said, not quite sure what else you could say. It did fucking suck and you wished there was something you could do. You weren’t used to hearing that crack of pain in her voice. It was akin to seeing Wanda in actual tears.

Natasha laughed softly. “Yeah. It does. I’d love to be a mother. But I guess for me, that isn’t to be. I have escaped what the Red Room did to me. I’ve tried making up for it. I send money to the families of my victims. I save people. But they will always have this over me.” She sighed and looked over at Clint. “He says he’s okay with it. I know that he would never complain about missing out, but I hate that my past has taken this from him too. When he called me to tell me he met a healer that day when he met you, I got a little excited. I thought… I hoped maybe you could undo what they did to me. But that’s not how your powers work.”

You shook your head. “I’m sorry.”

She rubbed your thigh. “Not your fault. You didn’t do this to me. They did,” she said. “Just have to accept that maybe after everything I did, I have to just be happy with the ending I get. I am lucky I have him. It’s enough.”

You couldn’t stop thinking about the things Natasha had said on the way back to base, through the cleanup, on the ride home, and through the entire debrief. Your powers couldn’t help fix what had happened to her. Even if you gave her a full blood transfusion they couldn’t fix something that had been done to her so long ago. You needed an exchange of fluids and it to be fresh.

Normally a surrogate wouldn’t work because whatever they’d done kicked in late on in the pregnancy due to genes. But if you were the one that was pregnant, the issue wouldn’t be old, your powers would be here, correcting mistakes and potential health issues before they happened, and as far as fluids, they’d be soaking in them, and sharing your blood supply. You didn’t know for sure if it would work, but the more you thought about it the more you were sure it would.

You thought about what it would be like having a baby for someone else. It took a special kind of person to agree to put their body through that for almost a year and then to give that baby up. It wasn’t for everyone and it would be hard, both physically and emotionally. Clint and Natasha were your best friends and you might be the only chance they had to have kids together. If you could give them that, you wanted to try.

After the debrief, everyone scattered to their rooms or apartments to sleep it off. You couldn’t turn your mind off and so after half an hour of pacing your room, you went to Natasha and Clint’s apartment and knocked on the door.

Clint answered the door and looked you up and down, grinning. “You didn’t get enough of us this week?” He teased.

“I just… I wanted to…” You shook your head and took a deep breath.

“No offense, dorogáya,” Natasha said, coming over to the door. “It’s been a long week and Clint and I just want to have some couple-time.”

“Right, yeah. I’ll leave you to it,” you said, tapping your hands nervously on your thighs. “I just… I wanted to say…” You took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “Let me do it.”

“Let you do what?” Clint said, putting his arm around your shoulder. “Babe, what’s wrong? You’re so worked up.”

Your eyes flicked between Clint and Natasha. You didn’t know why you were so nervous. This was a nice offer. If they said no then they said no. “Natasha,” you said. “Nat. Let me carry your baby.”

// NEXT

#clint barton #natasha romanoff #clint barton x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #clint barton x natasha romanoff x reader #clint barton x natasha romanoff #clintasha x reader #clintasha #hawkeye #black widow #hawkeye fanfic #black widow fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #pregnancy #the surrogate

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lady-of-glass-and-bone · 3 years

Text

Songs & Characters Pedro Pascal

Lungs / Florence + The Machine

This is part 2 of whatever this is that I’m doing. Part 1 is here if you want to check it out. But basically I’m listening to whole albums and putting what Pedro character it reminds me of, with specific lyrics. Enjoy? Request some artist, albums, and characters if you want.

Lyrics and their characters below the cut!

Dog Days Are Over / Marcus Pike, Javier Peña, Pero Tovar

Marcus Pike / And I never wanted anything from you Except everything you had And what was left after that too, oh.

Happiness hit her like a bullet in the back Struck from a great height By someone who should know better than that

Javier Peña / Happiness, hit her like a train on a track Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back She hid around corners and she hid under beds She killed it with kisses and from it she fled With every bubble she sank with a drink And washed it away down the kitchen sink

Pero Tovar / Run fast for your mother and fast for your father Run for your children for your sisters and brothers Leave all your love and your loving behind you Can't carry it with you if you want to survive

The dog days are over The dog days are done Can you hear the horses 'Cause here they come

Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up) / Ezra and Din Djarin

Ezra / The looking glass, so shiny and new How quickly the glamour fades I start spinning, slipping out of time Was that the wrong pill to take? (Raise it up)

You made a deal, and now it seems you have to offer up But will it ever be enough? (Raise it up, raise it up) It's not enough (Raise it up, raise it up)

Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl Frozen in the headlights It seems I've made the final sacrifice

Din Djarin / This is a gift, it comes with a price Who is the lamb and who is the knife? Midas is king and he holds me so tight And turns me to gold in the sunlight

I look around, but I can't find you (raise it up) If only I could see your face (raise it up) Instead of rushing towards the skyline (raise it up) I wish that I could just be brave

I must become a lion hearted girl Ready for a fight Before I make the final sacrifice

I’m Not Calling You A Liar / Dave York and Max Phillips

Dave York / There's a ghost in my lungs and it sighs in my sleep Wraps itself around my tongue as it softly speaks Then it walks, then it walks with my legs To fall, to fall, to fall at your feet

There but for the grace of God go I And when you kiss me, I am happy enough to die

Max Phillips / I'm not calling you a liar Just don't lie to me I'm not calling you a thief Just don't steal from me I'm not calling you a ghost Just stop haunting me And I love you so much I'm gonna let you kill me

Kiss With A Fist / Dave York and Din Djarin

Dave York / My black eye casts no shadow Your red eye sees nothing Your slap don't stick Your kicks don't hit So we remain the same Love sticks Sweat drips Break the lock if it don't fit

A kick to the teeth is good for some A kiss with a fist is better then none

Din Djarin / I broke your jaw once before I spilled your blood upon the floor You broke my leg in return So sit back and watch the bed burn Love sticks Sweat drips Break the lock if it don't fit

You hit me once I hit you back You gave a kick I gave a slap You smashed a plate over my head Then I set fire to our bed

Howl / Javier Peña and Max Phillips

Javier Peña / Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

The fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress Until I wrap myself inside your arms, I cannot rest The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground And howl

Max Phillips / If you could only see the beast you've made of me I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart

My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to

Howl, howl Howl, howl

Girl With One Eye / Dave York

Dave York / I took a knife and cut out her eye I took it home and watched it wither and die Well, she's lucky that I didn't slip her a smile That's why she sleeps with one eye open But that's the price she'll pay

I said, hey, girl with one eye Get your filthy fingers out of my pie I said, hey, girl with one eye I'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry

I slipped my hand under her skirt I said don't worry, it's not gonna hurt Oh, my reputation's kinda clouded with dirt That's why you sleep with one eye open But that's the price you pay

Drumming Song / Oberyn Martell and Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels

Oberyn Martell / As I move my feet Towards your body I can hear this beat It fills my head up And gets louder and louder

It fills my head up And gets louder and louder

I go into the river And I dive straight in I pray that the water Will drown out the din

But as the water fills my mouth It couldn't wash the echoes out But as the water fills my mouth It couldn't wash the echoes out

It swallows the sound and swallows me whole Until there's nothing left inside my soul I'm empty as that beating drum But the sound has just begun

Whiskey / Louder than sirens Louder than bells Sweeter than heaven And hotter than hell

I ran to the tower When the church bells chime I hope that they Would clear my mind

They left a ringing In my ear That drum's still beating Loud and clear

There's a drumming noise inside my head it starts when you're around I swear that you could hear it it makes such an almighty sound

There's a drumming noise inside my head that throws me to the ground I swear that you should hear it it makes such an almighty sound

Between Two Lungs / Marcus Moreno, Frankie Morales, Din Djarin

Marcus Moreno / Between two lungs it was released The breath that carried me The sigh that blew me forward

'Cause it was trapped Trapped between two lungs It was trapped between two lungs It was trapped between two lungs

And my running feet could fly Each breath screaming "We are all too young to die"

Frankie Morales / Between two lungs it was released The breath that passed from you to me That flew between us as we slept That slipped from your mouth into mine It crept between two lungs It was released The breath that passed from you to me That flew between us as we slept That slipped from your mouth into mine It crept

Din Djarin / Now all the days of begging The days of theft No more gasping for a breath The air has filled me head-to-toe And I can see the ground far below I have this breath And I hold it tight And I keep it in my chest With all my might I pray to God this breath will last As it pushes past my lips As I gasp

Cosmic Love / Ezra, Javier Peña, Dave York

Ezra / And a falling star fell from your heart And landed in my eyes I screamed aloud, as it tore through them And now it's left me blind

Javier Peña / The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out You left me in the dark No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight In the shadow of your heart

And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat I tried to find the sound But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness So darkness I became

Dave York / I took the stars from my eyes, and then I made a map And knew that somehow I could find my way back Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too So I stayed in the darkness with you

My Boy Builds Coffins / Frankie Morales and Javier Peña

Frankie Morales / My boy builds coffins with hammers and nails He doesn't build ships, he has no use for sails He doesn't make tables, dressers or chairs He can't carve a whistle 'cause he just doesn't care

My boy builds coffins for the rich and the poor Kings and queens, they've all knocked on his door Beggars and liars, gypsies and thieves They all come to him 'cause he's so eager to please

Javier Peña / My boy builds coffins, he makes them all day But it's not just for work and it isn't for play He's made one for himself, one for me too One of these days he'll make one for you For you, for you, for you

My boy builds coffins for better or worse Some say it's a blessing, some say it's a curse He fits them together in sunshine or rain Each one is unique, no two are the same

My boy builds coffins and I think it's a shame That, when each one's been made, he can't see it again He crafts every one with love and with care Then it's thrown in the ground, it just isn't fair

Blinding / Pero Tovar, Frankie Morales, Marcus Pike

Pero Tovar / And I could hear the thunder and see the lightning crack And all around the world was waking, I never could go back 'Cause all the walls of dreaming, they were torn wide open And finally it seemed that the spell was broken

And all my bones began to shake, my eyes flew open And all my bones began to shake, my eyes flew open

Frankie Morales / Seems that I have been held in some dreaming state A tourist in the waking world, never quite awake No kiss, no gentle word could wake me from this slumber Until I realize that it was you who held me under

Felt it in my fist, in my feet, in the hollows of my eyelids Shaking through my skull, through my spine And down through my ribs

Marcus Pike / No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love No more dreaming like a girl, so in love with the wrong world

Snow White is stitching up your circuit boards Synapse slipping through the hidden doors Snow White's stitching up the circuit board

Hurricane Drunk / Maxwell Lord, Javier Peña, Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels

Maxwell Lord / I'm going out, I'm going to drink myself to death And in the crowd, I see you with someone else I brace myself, because I know it's going to hurt But I like to think at least things can't get any worse

I hope that you see me, because I'm staring at you But when you look over, you look right through Then you lean and kiss her on the head And I never felt so alive, and so dead

Javier Peña / No walls, can keep me protected No sleep, nothing in between me and the rain And you can't save me now I'm in the grip of a hurricane I'm going to blow myself away

I'm going out, I'm going to drink myself to death And in the crowd, I see you with someone else I brace myself, because I know it's going to hurt But I like to think at least things can't get any worse

Whiskey / No home, I don't want shelter No calm, nothing to keep me from the storm And you can't hold me down Because I belong to the hurricane It's going to blow us all away

You’ve Got The Love / Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels, Ezra, Marcus Moreno

Ezra / Sometimes I feel like throwing my hands up in the air I know I can count on you Sometimes I feel like saying "Lord I just don't care" But you've got the love I need to see me through

Whiskey / Time after time I think "Oh, Lord, what's the use?" Time after time I think it's just no good 'Cause sooner or later in life, the things you love you lose But you've got the love I need to see me through

You've got the love You've got the love

Marcus Moreno / Sometimes it seems that the going is just too rough And things go wrong no matter what I do Now and then it seems that life is just too much But you've got the love I need to see me through

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shiningloki · 4 years

Text

Get On Your Knees And Pray To Me - Chapter 24

Get On Your Knees And Pray To Me - Chapter 24/?

(LOKI X READER)

When the Goddess of Sex dies, Odin is desperately searching for someone to fit her role. The lust and passion are disappearing from the realms and he needs a suitable replacement. Apparently, Loki is extremely interested.

After becoming the God of Sex, Loki hears you praying to him about how you want to lose your virginity. He's curious about you and decides he'd like to your answer your prayers in a bit more personal manner.

Loki comes to you, ravishes you, and when neither of you can resist the temptations of one another, you quickly enter into an intimate deal full of pleasure, lust, and your complete submission.

Start from Chapter 1

Previous Chapter

Fic Playlist

Master List

~ ~ ~

Chapter 24: The Bed Is Big Enough For All Of Us

Word Count: 9156

Summary: Last night’s whole ordeal with Gretchen has left a sour taste in your mouth. Loki, the ever-knowing Master, understands that he must show you how much he wants you in order to help ease your mind. He thinks he knows just the perfect way to do it, too.

NSFW, SMUT, DOMINANT LOKI, CLONE SEX, THREESOMES, ROUGH SEX, PURE AND UTTER FILTH!

Growing up, all Loki ever wanted was to be a god.

When he was a child, he knew that he would become one someday. His place on the pantheon was yet to be determined, but he knew a spot would be assigned to him on Yggdrasil soon enough. He waited and waited, anxious that one day he would wake up and the answer would be clear. Frigga would prepare the temple, Odin would arrange the ceremony, and the deed would be done.

It had happened to Thor just prior to it happening to Loki. The young blonde was a storm wherever he went. He had boisterous foot steps, loud appearances, and powerful presences. It was obvious, according to Odin at least, that the boy was destined to become the God of Thunder, Lightning, and Storms. It was the power he held that would make him perfect to be King - which, looking back, Loki now understood was ironic to assign the crown to one son when the other had yet to find his place.

The ceremony for Thor was loud and exciting, and the entire time, Loki imagined what his own ceremony would be like. Thor had always taken an affinity to reds - maroon, crimson, burgundy - so it only made sense for the drapes and decorations to be dyed such a color. But for Loki, he could not see his color being so loud, so pronounced. His color, which had almost been decided completely by Frigga, would be green. She said it matched his eyes and dark hair, which Loki could agree to, since mothers know best, of course.

After Thor’s ceremony, Loki was so determined to find out where he fit in life that he begged Frigga for advice. Her answer was to begin teaching Loki a sprinkling of magic to see if his destiny resided within the mystic arts. She was right, as she always was, and once Loki began learning the basics, he was keen on testing out what he learned outside of his classes. Unlike most magic users who would practice strictly what they learned, Loki was more interested in seeing what he could do with the spells. Due to his immaturity and youth, Loki often got those spells wrong, but they resulted in some mischief and chaos. When he took more to the chaos than he did to the classic teachings, it was determined that Loki was to be the God of Mischief.

From there, Loki made it his mission to become a strong, powerful, protective god. He was aware that mischief, lies, and foolery could cause him to become a segregated god, one that not many beings trusted. He would forever be known for his trickery and deceit, though that wasn’t all that made Loki up. He was passionate, creative, witty, charming, and of course, intelligent. As Loki grew older, he knew when it was appropriate to be chaotic and mischievous, deceptive and full of lies. But he also knew when to calm the fire, to put honesty first, and to put some fun aside for serious manners.

All in all, he did well. Better than anyone actually expected, really. Maybe that was one of the reasons why he was so motivated. Being an all-powerful god was Loki’s dream and he had achieved it.

But things were changing.

( CONTINUE READING HERE )

Fic requests are CLOSED! Be sure to check out my AO3 for more Tom Hiddleston and Loki angst, drama, fluff, romance, and smut!

Like what you see? Support me on ko-fi!

Want to be added to my tag list for “Get On Your Knees And Pray To Me”, for my one shots, or both? Send me a message, an ask, or leave a comment letting me know which list you want to be added to!

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salemcat09 · 4 years

Note

You want a request? What about drarry and something with healers? Like maybe one is a healer and has to treat the other, or perhaps they’re both healers and end up working together, whatever floats your boat!

First off I just want to say I am SO SO sorry for how long this took, there's no excuse I'm just lazy. Anyway ,thank you so much for the request! I apologize for the fact that kind of took the first part and ran with it, the story is kind of taking the request loosely but I hope you don't mind too much :-)

(Read below the cut)

St Mungo's Malady (drarry)

• malady /ˈmalədi/ noun

- a serious problem.

Work had been hectic at St Mungo's for days now. It was the start of summer and all the children were returning home from school, of course with that comes reckless kids getting injured in ridiculous ways.

Draco had just finished tiding up his equipment from the last patient and was ready to go home and rest when there was a gentle knock on his door. Sighing, he opened it.

"Sorry Draco, but Margaret's had to rush home and there are not enough people on the shift, could you stay for another hour? It'll only be a few patients, promise" It was his very stressed coworker, Hannah Abbott. He cursed his breath but smiled politely, not trying to get on anyone's bad side more than he already was after the war.

"Of course, send them through". He hurriedly gathered his things and set them out ready for his patient and sat in his desk chair waiting. He heard the slight click of Hannah's heels hurriedly tracking the hall to the waiting room and back. The door once again creaked open and Hannah guided two people in, a short and oddly familiar dark-haired man and a strangely blue-haired child, Draco assumed to be around six.

His coworker kindly handed him the papers he needed and gave a small shocked sounding gasp and what Draco supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile (that just made him anxious, because why would he need reassuring). The blonde read his expression and gave a small nod to the papers she'd given before backing out of the room.

Draco smiled at the two people in front of him and gestured for them to sit, the man sitting in the chair across from him and the child hopping onto the bed. He furrowed his brow at the man, trying to understand why he looked oh so familiar but he failed, instead shaking his head and introducing himself as Dr. Greengrass.

The name belonged to his ex-wife, whom he'd only been married to for a year and a half before the relationship ended (it was inevitable, they were both gay but settled for each other to please their parents, they were miserable). The pair were still good friends though, and Draco saw no need to change his name again, being that he'd fought so hard to change it in the first place.

He read over his papers quickly to see what exactly he was treating (he assumed) the child for, expecting to see something along the lines of "accidental magic gone wrong" or "fallen off his quidditch broom". He ended up seeing that the child had fallen from a tree with a suspected broken arm, but also saw something else.

He recognized that name. Edward Lupin. Lupin had been his defense against the dark arts teacher in his third year and he would never admit it but he had been his favorite teacher. Of course, that didn't last long because the teacher quit after only a year, and died not long after. He also knew the first name. His mother had said something about a cousin killed in the war, by his Aunt Bellatrix, who'd left a young child behind. He knew the father of the child had not been well accepted, something about being old and poor and a half breed. Judging by the last name it was likely his previous teacher.

This must be the child he thought to himself. He felt sorry for him, his cousin. Being left all alone. But he presumed he wasn't exactly alone, he had his grandmother and whoever this man was. It just occurred to him at that moment to look at the listed caregiver's name, find out who he was.

He inhaled sharply reading the name. The name he saw so much yet always dreaded. The name of someone who had taken up so much of his mind for almost his entire teenage years. The name of someone he hadn't seen in years. Harry Potter. He looked different. Older. Draco knew he was only 23, they were the same age. But he also knew how the stress of war could age you.

He composed himself and looked between the two, trying his best to remain professional as he treated his blue-haired patient. He could tell Potter was trying his best to do the same but both were failing and the conversation was beyond awkward. Surprisingly enough, however, Har- Potter wasn't seething in disgust, but instead seemed interested and somewhat concerned.

Luckily for Draco, all he had to do was check over Teddy's (as he'd been told he preferred to be called) arm and try and see how much damage was done, before referring him over to another department. As he was guiding the two out (the younger one excitedly bouncing up and down with the lollipop he'd been given) Potter turned to him. "Nice to see you, Draco" he smiled.

As politely as possible and trying not to be thrown off by the man's own politeness, he replied "Just doing my job, Potter". And with that his old nemesis and crush turned on his heel and left, Draco closing the door behind him.

He sighed heavily and sunk down the back of his office door. He prayed there were no more patients today and he could just get home and wipe the entire interaction from his memory.

-•-

As much as Draco tried, for weeks he couldn't get the encounter out of his head. So many thoughts and questions rushed through, so many awoken feelings he'd all but forgotten. Of course, his biggest question was what on earth was someone like Potter doing with his young cousin? And letting him fall from a height like that?!

He cringed in embarrassment at the thought. Why was caring so much? The was a stupid question, he knew exactly why. The obsession of his youth was creeping its way back in. Who knew such a small thing could set him back so far.

In the end, he settled on asking his mother. If he was being drawn to Potter again why not just....allow it? He was being daft and he knew it but his ego would always rise above that. He wasn't going to stalk Potter again, that would be childish...and mildly creepy to be honest. No, he was just going to ask Mother why Potter was with his cousin. That seemed somewhat normal.

He walked into his mother's bedroom and knocked lightly on the door. She raised her eyebrows slightly but made no effort to make conversation with Draco, no surprise there. Draco noticed that she was sewing and didn't want to be bothered but frankly, he couldn't care less. He cleared his throat and finally Narcissa sighed and turned to him.

"Yes, Draco?" Anxiety fueled up inside of the young man, tempting him to back out and run. But he had to know.

"Mother, what would Harry Potter possibly be doing with my cousin's child?" He tried to act calm but sweat was curating on his palms and it was impossible not to notice. His mouth was dry. There was no reason for behavior like this, he was acting like a silly school boy with a crush.

His mother rubbed between her eyes and let out another deep sigh. "As far as I am aware, Mr. Potter was made godfather at the time the child was born. I assume now that either my dear sister would be raising him, or Potter would. Why?" Her voice seethed with sarcasm when speaking of her "dear" sister. And it was evident by her voice she had little to no interest in what her son was saying, her temper running thin.

"He came in with Teddy at work today, as his caregiver. I was merely curious is all" Draco responded, not exactly lying but not exactly telling the whole truth either.

"Hm, very well be off then" As blunt as ever Narcissa requested he leave and Draco of course obeyed, thinking to himself he ought to work out his...struggles on his own.

-•-

It was many weeks before he saw Potter again. He half expected half hoped for him to appear at work, for Teddy of course. But in the end, he never showed. By the time the end of Summer was rolling around and leaves began to darken, Draco had given up. He knew he was being stupid, hoping his old nemesis from school would just happen to walk by him so he could get one more glimpse at that horrid person who caused him so much stress. He still hoped though. He was still disappointed when September 1st came and summer was officially over.

He was taking his daily stroll down the parks of muggle London, having just bought his morning coffee after a long night shift at St Mungo's. As per usual, he kept his head down. If anyone from school happened to see him he was sure they wouldn't notice. The Draco they knew had always kept his chin unbelievably and insufferably high much like Draco now, who was skittish and quiet always trying to avoid being seen. That's why he didn't notice the man of his dreams walking straight into him with another scorching hot coffee.

The two collided, the coffees exploding onto each other, and both of them crashing to the harsh concrete ground beneath them. Draco swiftly stood up and without thinking whipped out his wand to clean the mess. When he looked up from the small puddle of coffee (on both his sweater and the ground), he noticed the stranger had done the same, going to use magic to clean the mess. He had obviously noticed as well, and they shared at silent moment of solidarity before both muttering scorgify under their breath.

Draco kindly reached out a hand to help this person up, knowing the collision had been entirely his fault and wanting to make up for it. Much to his dismay, however, he met the eyes of the other. For a split second, he didn't realize, simply seeing the most gorgeous green eyes. But then it clicked. He drifted his eyes slightly up to the left of this so-called stranger's face. The white lines of a lightning bolt spread out, slightly raised above his dark skin. It was him.

The flustered blonde acknowledged he had been staring for a tad too long, and blushed profusely before pulling, who he discovered was, indeed, Potter, to his feet. He coughed awkwardly and brushed himself off, to give his hands something to do (he found himself doing that a lot, especially recently). He gave a polite smile and avoided Harry's painful attempts at eye contact before hurrying off, back in the direction he was going before the interruption.

"Draco wait!" Draco gasped slightly and turned, to see Potter desperately smiling at him. He cursed under his breath and prayed to Merlin that Harry wouldn't want to talk but simply exchange simple pleasantries before being off on his way. He could handle that at least. Despite his deep hatred of small talk, he had gathered quite good at it over the years and felt prepared enough for whatever 'how are you's and 'how have you been's Potter may feel necessary.

To his misfortune, Potter started with hello. That wasn't a good sign. Draco smiled politely once again and said hello back, still with an inkling of hope that this would be quick. He may have been wanting to speak with Harry for months, and he may not have left his mind, but he certainly wasn't prepared to have this meeting completely random on a busy street in London on an early Wednesday morning.

"How have you been? I've been hoping to catch you since we last bumped into each other but Ginny's schedule has been somewhat intense" the younger man chuckled and scratched the back of his neck just where his hair stopped most endearingly way possible. It wasn't that that caught him though. Ginny. Of course. Potter's little Hogwarts romance. He assumed they were married by now, much like he himself had been.

"I've been alright, thank you. Ginny?" He couldn't help himself but ask. All possibility of a quick conversation out the window. He knew they must be together, why else would his schedule be centered around hers. Potter chuckled again and raised his eyebrows before answering

"Yeah, the way I said that makes it sound like we're married or something, we're not. We're not even together. We live together and co-parent our son, James, together with Luna is all. And with Teddy around more it's always best to have some sort of other parental figure around for him. So our schedules tend to revolve around each other." Draco was stunned. On one hand, he was silently pleased to hear that Harry wasn't still with Weasley as he assumed. But son? He had no idea of Harry having a child, he thought he would have found out by now given he's the chosen one and all.

"You and Ginny aren't together? You're single then?" Draco cursed himself for the way he said that, he hadn't meant to come across so upfront he genuinely was just curious. He had a habit of saying things that sounded right to him but as soon as they were said aloud he would realize how wrong it sounded to anyone else. He played it cool and decided it was best he ignore the slip up for now, he could always lay awake in bed in three years time and go over what he could've done instead.

Luckily for him, Potter laughed. Not a chuckle but a genuine laugh. It even made Draco's lips twitch a tad, and neither noticed the other but both of their eyes had darted down to the other's mouth for just a second. "Ginny and I split up, yes. About three years ago and she's now in a long-term relationship with Luna, but we're still great friends. We have to be considering we only had a son a few weeks ago" he did that awkward neck scratch again that just killed Draco. "And for the record yes I am indeed single, I have had a few relationships here and there but as of currently I am. Gosh sounds like I'm writing for a dating site" Draco laughed this time.

The blonde turned his head to fill in time while thinking and noticed a park bench right next to the pair. He gestured and Harry nodded, both sitting down somewhat awkwardly next to each other, to continue the conversation. "Sorry about your coffee by the way" Draco muttered just now remembering how they'd found themselves here in the first place.

"It's fine, you'll just have to buy me a new one next time" Harry laughed. It took Draco a few beats to catch up and realise Potter was joking. He forced an awkward laugh before Harry spoke again. The younger man nudged the older, in a humorous friendly manner that confused the older "I mean unless you do actually want to get a coffee sometime? You'd still owe me of course" Draco panicked, this time he really didn't know if he was joking or not. To him it sounded serious and borderline flirtatious. He decided to play it safe, and respond with a half joke

"Yeah alright then" he laughed. Harry also laughed while looking almost directly into his eyes.

"Alright. I can uh give you my number and organize it? Or we could go now if you like, take this conversation with us" He was definitely serious now. And still tiptoeing on flirtatious but Draco was sure he imagined it. Draco nodded

"If you don't have elsewhere to be, I'm sure you do, you know, mister chosen one and all, but if you don't I wouldn't mind popping into the diner down the road" Harry laughed at the chosen one line, glad someone would finally take it lightly and joke about it for once.

"I do not have anything else to do, being the chosen one dosn't do much for your social life on a Wednesday morning it appears" He smiled at Draco and began to stand "Other than this of course" he teased

"I'm flattered Potter" Draco quipped back half sarcastically. He took a deep breath and reminded himself this was just coffee. Old school mates catching up, nothing more. He did admit it was strange though. That Harry, whom he had hated so deeply and who had hated him was suddenly so friendly and almost key word almost flirting with him and appeared to have asked him out in some strange twisted way.

Little did Draco know, Harry was going over the exact same things. Except he was much more confused. He had to admit he had been thinking about Draco an awful lot since their last meeting. And having discussed with Ginny and even his ex (but still good friend) Neville it was clear his feelings toward him from the start. In fact, it appeared everyone had realized but him. That was normal though, he tended to be oblivious. But why had Draco accepted? He was joking at first but judging by the other man's face he was considering it, so Harry took his shot. Still half-joking but then he agreed? He had expected Draco to have walked away right at the start but he stayed. And now they were heading to a diner together for coffee, still chit-chatting about their day to day lives since school ended.

Harry also thought back to when he was with George. He had truly liked him, loved him even, but they weren't a match and broke up after nearly three years. It had been like this. He acted like this. And he knew why because he was always the same with his crushes/partners. He was like this with Cho then Ginny, George, Neville, and now Draco. And while the name never ceased to shock him (though it did explain a lot about his school rivalry) he knew it was the same as all the others. What was different was how Draco was responding. He was responding how all his other partners had. No resentment, no weirdness, just as if they had always been friends and this was normal for them. Harry had no complaints but it was still strange.

Slowly they made their way to the diner. Draco holding the door open for Harry. They ordered their coffees and began the conversation all over again. They talked about eighth year, finding jobs after school, Draco's marriage, what St Mungos was like, and if being a healer was something Harry could possibly look into (he liked the idea Draco raised of becoming a Hogwarts nurse), and even talked about their sexualities, something Draco had never done before. Somewhere in this midst numbers had been shared, and they agreed to meet up again at the same park. Hopefully not by crashing into each other this time Harry made sure to add. And all was well.

End.

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side-shawty · 4 years

Text

The Unimaginable

Title: The Unimaginable

Fandom: Marvel (MCU)

Type: one-shot

Prompt/Summary: “Hi! I love your writing! Can I request a Tony x daughter!reader where reader goes to Vormir with Nat and Clint and sacrifices herself? Then Tony learns. Big yikes. And then when he dies they reunite in the afterlife 🤧”

Pairing(s): Tony Stark x daughter!reader, Avengers x reader

Requested? YES by @daughter-of-stark

As per usual; this is also inspired by two Hamilton songs

Also, I added my own little twist.

-Duckie

When Morgan was born everything kind of fell into place again. The snap had rocked everyone to their core and you were one of the few people who got to keep both of their parents.

You lost friends and people you had come to view as family. You spent the first year or so crying when you thought about Peter, Wanda, Sam, and so many others. Morgan was a miracle baby, she brought a kind of light back into such a dark world.

After a while, you lost contact with Avengers you once referred to as your aunt and uncles. Your father took it the hardest. He carried the burden of the snap on his shoulders each and every day and it killed you to see.

So that’s why you didn’t hesitate to interrupt when Clint and Natasha began to debate on who would be sacrificed for the stone on Vormir.

“You’ve got kids Barton,” Nat began, voice strained, “I’m not going to let you go.”

“I need to do this, give myself to get them back I—“ he stopped when you spoke up.

“She’s right,” you began, and they turned to look at your face, eyes already filling with tears, “That’s why I’m going to go.”

They looked at you as if you’d just grown a second head.

“Absolutely not,” Nat said, finality in her tone.

“Why not? It’s my fault, too. I couldn’t stop Quill from losing it when we were so close to getting the gauntlet. I look at Morgan every day and know that she’ll never get to live in a normal world. This is my chance to give her that,” You said, as the tears began to fall.

Nat’s eyes glowed with understanding.

“She’s yours isn’t she?” She asked quietly.

You nodded, “Mine and Peter’s. But she doesn’t know. I couldn’t do that to her, let her grow up without both her parents.”

You took a subtle step towards the edge of the cliff.

They moved at lightning speed to each grab one of your wrists.

“You’re not doing this,” Nat said.

“I don’t think you get to make that choice right now,” you said before breaking free of their hold.

They stood in a defensive position quickly, they knew what you were doing. They trained you after all.

You fought both of them with all of your strength. In their absence, you had spent time with Brunnhilde and she taught you how to fight like a Valkyrie. Your techniques were new and they weren’t ready.

But Black Widow and Hawkeye adapted. Fighting tooth and nail as you got closer to the cliff's edge.

Clint tried to grab your arm but you shifted so he pushed your abdomen instead. You used the momentum to lose your footing on the edge and let yourself begin your descent.

Clint and Nat dove at the same time, grabbing the same arm and trying to pull you up as you let yourself become dead weight.

“Don’t do this, Y/N/N,” Nat cried as you looked up at them with nothing by desperation in your eyes.

“I have too. Please tell Morgan how much I love her. Give her her father back. Tell my parents that I love them and that I’m sorry,” You said, allowing the tears to flow freely now.

“I love you all, so much,” you said before shifting your weight so quickly that there was absolutely no way for them to have caught you.

You heard their screams of desperation as you fell.

But you were happy because you were doing this for your friends, your family, your daughter.

They would all be alright.

————

When Nat and Clint arrived back at the compound with the soul stone your absence was profound.

Their eyes were solemn and they stood quiet as everyone in the room began to understand what this meant.

“Where’s my daughter?” Tony asked in a sorrow-filled tone, already knowing the answer.

“I’m sorry Tony,” Natasha said and fell to her knees as sobs ripped through her.

Tony fell next, feeling as if someone had punched yet another hole through his chest.

But this one would never heal.

—————

Tony Stark lived for another 40 years after the death of his daughter.

He honored her name in every possible way and told Morgan the truth when she was old enough to understand.

Every day he hoped and prayed that something would get her back to him but he knew better.

Instead, he held Morgan tight for her and made sure Peter was always a part of her life.

Like her mother, she had grown up to be one of the best heroes the world had ever seen and an even greater scientist. His heart swelled every time he looked at her.

Now, on his deathbed that little girl who he had loved so much, who looked just like her mother reassured him that he could rest now, the world was alright now.

“I love you,” Morgan whispered and he couldn’t think of better last words to drift off too.

————

When Tony awoke again he was young, about the same age as when he first became Iron Man and he outside of his old house in Malibu.

Walking in he saw a figure standing in front of the large glass windows. Illuminated angelically in the midday sun.

Squinting, she turned to look at him and a smile immediately lit up her features.

“Hi Dad,” She spoke in a voice he missed every single day of his life.

Tony allowed his feet to carry him as fast as possible to her and crushed her in a hug as he allowed the tears to flow.

Y/N’s own hot tears began to wet her cheeks as she squeezed him back for dear life.

“I missed you so much,” he spoke into her hair.

“I missed you too, I’m so sorry for not coming back,” you told him as he finally pulled back to look you.

You were as perfect as the day he brought you home.

“It’s alright,” he said cupping your cheek, “I have so much to tell you.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’ve got all the time in the world.”

#tony stark daughter #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark x pepper potts #morgan stark x reader #avengers x reader #marvel imagine #marvel one shot

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