#and i’m so heartbroken for the people whose lives have been just tainted by this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

druid-for-hire · 5 years

Photo

SO, this is PART 2 of that AU i have going where Orpheus gets locked up in the deepest & most remote part of Hadestown! i’ve decided to flesh out some more about orpheus and eurydice’s experiences before eurydice locates and rescues him ;)

(part i) (part ii) (you are here) (part iii) (part iv) (pt. v) (epilogue) (askblog)

hadestown (the place not the musical) fucking sucks and because this place is even worse i don’t feel bad about kicking orpheus around

the pit has a real name now! thank you @fauxtoshop for suggesting The Great Beyond, and i’ll be abbreviating it to the Beyond. can’t believe i didn’t think of this but ur wonderful

and the AU itself has a name! thank u @signorbenedick for inspiring “unswayed au”

and thank you to @unholy-boi for providing me a clear vision of orpheus’ failure in what should have been epic iii

AIGHT? AIGHT. LETS GO

we put so much trust and faith in orpheus’ abilities that we forget what unbelievable stakes he was up against when he sang to the king of the underworld. there was no room for even a feather-light mistake in music’s unforgiving mathematical certainty.

and god how lucky he was to step exactly where he had to in the normal canon timeline

unholy-boi wrote me a beautiful passage of orpheus’ banishment:

For a moment, as Hades delivers the sentence, his voice shakes. If Orpheus were not so in-tune to voices and tones, he wouldn’t have noticed. He barely catches it, even then. The boy’s head sticks to the ground, and his heart feels like it might drop through the center of his chest. One off note, one faltered line, one stumble, is all it takes. A song that just barely fails, and a rumor that teases the God’s ears and taints the mortal’s reputation.

Despite Hades’ momentary tremble, he proceeds. He makes good on his hateful promise, the one soaked in rage, and the shackles materialize around Orpheus’ wrists. Hadestown is silent. All eyes are on the event. Hades can’t meet any of them, especially not Persephone’s. He keeps his stare on Orpheus. Orpheus, who has the audacity to lift his head up, and give a shaking “Wait”, as though to start one more song, before those shackles pull him through the ground. Hades turns his eyes away.

Hades turns, and he walks away, and he locks the doors behind him. And Hadestown falls back into its wretched rhythm.

they’ve given me permission to make a minor tweak for this au:

the chains don’t just materialize. orpheus’ voice fails, and hades’ eyes narrow, and the workers’ hearts break, and they step forward to shackle him wrist to wrist to be dragged into the depths of the earth.

they have to.

everyone give unholy-boi a hand! this is honestly a pretty beautiful passage

thank you to @strawberrieskies for helping me out w this bit:

orpheus’ imprisonment/banishment/whatever is a devastating blow to not only the people of hadestown but also persephone and hades’ relationship

persephone, enraged and heartbroken and This Close to completely walking out on her husband, does her absolute damndest to help the unfortunate lovers

even she doesn’t know where orpheus has gone. but: she catches shreds of his voice from the walls echoing his songs in the most distant parts of central hadestown

she catches these dying dregs, sends them on a spring wind to eurydice’s ears

eurydice is fueled by the two hopes of the surface world and orpheus’ song. persephone makes sure she does not forget to look for him.

she hears him calling where orpheus failed to hear her

persephone’s meanwhile rampage—created and spurred on by orpheus’ imprisonment—has its own effect on hadestown. the speakeasy keeps its attendance, but she rages through the factories and causes upheavals with the foremen, and her determined absence from hades’ side gives him grief. hades takes this out on his workers.

how that manifests, i’m not entirely sure; i’m inclined to think he pushes the workers harder, which in turn enrages persephone even more, and it’s kind of a cycle

initially, when she’s asking around and searching through places where normally nobody goes, eurydice gets a lot of suspicion and weird looks, refusals for aid

but she still finds kind souls. ones who can’t give her directions or info but offer a place to stay because the way back to where she bunks is so far. an extra coin. spare food.

as eurydice keeps searching, word of her spreads

more folks are willing to take care of her

more doors open to her

more hands are willing to help

more ears are willing to listen

more eyes are willing to look

more heads are willing to question

and eurydice is sowing persephone’s seed for riot

there’s reason why Orpheus can’t sing his way out, and that reason is the forewoman/guard of the Beyond

the guard and forewoman is a vicious lady, whose loyal hounds always follow at her feet, armed with a pistol to scare em straight, brass knuckles on one hand and two decorative claws on the other.

she's oldest living thing in the underground. she’s older than even hades or persephone. she used to be a prison warden before she was the forewoman of the pit, but lbr the job description’s hardly changed

and she's deaf. the reactions of her dogs make up for detecting sounds, which certainly means she knows when orpheus is trying to run for it. and him trying to charm the dogs will definitely get her attention.

and orpheus can sing nothing to sway her

her name is kampê, who was, in the myths, the guard of the imprisoned Cyclopes and Hekatonkheires in Tartarus (deep abyss and prison for the wicked) in the beginning of the world, long before the gods were born

yeah all of u calling this place tartarus... u feel me

Orpheus definitely makes repeat attempts at escape, which definitely means she kicks his ass more than once

the Beyond has a clinic, actually, but it’s small and only enough to keep the workers going when they get injured. it treats the basic things and can only do so much

orpheus ends up there multiple times for relatively minor things and one time after a particularly nasty slash on his arm from kampê

(that’s the injury eurydice spots)

and part of the reason the Beyond is so outdated is just... it’s so fucking far away for one, two, hardly anybody actually knows where it is and it’s practically on its own, cut off from the rest of hadestown aside from the occasional ferry of materials/supplies, and the “road” to and fro is hardly a road at all

the newest thing is a set of power lines that are dangerously decrepit, despite the workers’ best efforts of keeping them in top notch order

the workers do occasionally alternate jobs

orpheus has been on the power lines before and hooooly shit it is... dangerous and frightening

he had the lovely privilege of being traumatized when he saw someone get shocked and fall from the lines

it was a loud pop, a taser’s sizzle times thousandfold, an explosion of light and acrid flesh-smoke

and they fell

the other few workers just... turned their heads away, maybe one or two took them out to the clinic to see if they can do anything. otherwise the others on the lines just kept going like nothing happened.

so orpheus too.

(if you want to keep your head)

oh and speaking of: the other workers, obviously there to overhear every time orpheus scampers off to sing for help, are there to bear witness as his voice slowly fails him. it’s a little soul-crushing and a reminder that this place sucks the life out of anything that dares to try to grow past the cracks of the concrete, to speak in metaphors

orpheus probably sings his own reprise of Flowers, having forgotten Eurydice as much as she once forgot him

with the nature of his heart and soul, it’s taking a long and longer time to break his spirit and his back, but he still erodes, and that’s enough. his eyes start to fade. he forgets his name. his melodies slip from his lips

(but sometimes, sometimes, a measure of a forgotten song will appear again, and if he follows it, his muscle memory knows how to pick it up from there)

there’s a point where he’s practically forgotten everything besides the love motif (the la la la la la la la) so that’s all he’s singing when he’s singing for help

and suddenly eurydice hears a wrong note, sung like a question

and suddenly he’s forgetting that too

tune in next time for part three!

(part i) (part ii) (you are here) (part iii) (part iv) (pt. v) (epilogue) (askblog)

#unswayed au #hadestown #hadestown au #hadestown fanart #i'm not as satisfied w this one's thumbnail pic #but hey here it is #druid speaks #whew this one got a little out of hand #FUCK queues and posting when people will see it we die like IMPULSIVE CHILDREN #i'll never draw her as anything more than a silhouette but #i really need to draw kampe as more than a Vague Lady With Teeth #edit: i see someone wondering abt my name in the tags so #call me ren

677 notes · View notes

giapism · 4 years

Text

On the death of small things.

Remember the first time your pet died?

Mine was a hamster. His name was Ramen, a grey fluffball no larger than a tangerine whose hobbies included running on his wheel at midnight and nibbling on my shirt. I’d gotten him as a birthday gift from a friend, and as soon as I took him home in his teensy kingdom of a cage, my siblings were in love. Ramen became the first thing they checked up on returning from school and the last before they went to bed. I remember their squeals as I plopped the mouse into their palms, their giggles at the ball of fur wriggling about inside their cupped hands.

That fateful day came barely two weeks after he joined our family.

“Vicky, the hamster’s not moving!” Daisy hollered from the living room.

“Just leave him be! He’s probably sleeping!” I hollered back.

“I don’t think he’s sleeping! You should come take a look!”

I was sure she was over-reacting. Even by the time I went outside, opened his cage and softly touched him, I still didn’t believe her.

“He’s still warm, Daisy. Maybe just really tired.”

But then I prodded him again. No movement. That’s strange… normally he’d wriggle. Slightly alarmed, I scooped him up onto my palm. Again, no movement.

The next minute was probably the scariest experience in my life. Okay, no it was the second scariest, after thinking my parents were going to get divorced in 2nd grade (they did not). When I first picked up Ramen, he was still soft, squidgy and warm. But with every passing moment, the warmth faded from his body and he stiffened up, until the animal in my hand was no longer “just normal Ramen” but a stone cold, rock hard block. What the f*ck. Barely 30 seconds ago, he seemed so real—I could literally imagine him scrambling around the room—yet now he felt no different from a stuffed animal. Yet even stuffed animals were soft and designed to have a life-like quality about them; Ramen was as stiff and lifeless as a hairy lump of coal, almost as though he’d never been alive at all and my memories of him were just imagination.

I don’t know if you’ve ever held onto someone or something as its last bits of life were fading away, but honest to God is it terrifying. Heart-about-to-jump-out-of-chest terrifying. In that moment, when you them transform from what you know them to be into something completely different—a bad different—your mind starts replaying random highlights of your memories of them at 10.X speed, but there’s also a voice screaming “That’s not them you’re looking at! It’s not them!” inside your head. Whatever you’re looking at suddenly becomes so ghastly and stale you don’t want to believe that it’s them, that you loved so dearly. You don’t want your wonderful memories of them to be tainted and topped with this horrendous image of a lifeless, wax-like imposter. You want to cry. Maybe you do. You find it hard to breathe, but you kind of have to anyway. The rational part of you knows it’s really still them, and so you’re heartbroken and about to crumble, but the other parts are in denial, and it feels like your brain is exploding. You’re scared, but feel bad because you know you shouldn’t be scared. The rational part of you screams to size up, to be present. There’s also a smaller, but much louder part, screaming that it doesn’t understand, it doesn’t like what’s happening and it wants to disappear.

You agree. You want to disappear and wish you’d never seen this happen.

But you did see it happen. Eventually you get over your fear, complete your responsibilities and move to the next stage: grieving. You deny, you cry, you scream. Finally you accept.

Ramen got a proper burial under a big tree in my front yard, and I still mention him in my prayers. He rests there, maybe watching over the people passing by, or maybe just lying still. Who knows. I was mortified for two weeks, but after that life went on.

Life always goes on, after the death of a pet, a loved one, a natural disaster, or economic downturn. Maybe it could not go on if a meteor crashed and wiped us out like dinosaurs. Or maybe COVID-19 will wipe us out like dinosaurs. I know life will go on, but I’m still terrified of seeing it fade away from people, or things. I will never forget what it felt like to hold Ramen, but it makes me wonder how it will feel when it isn’t just a hamster that dies, but a real person. Not just any old person, but someone close to me—a friend, or a family member. What would it be like to watch the life drain away from them? Is “drain away” really the right verb? If it drains, then where does it go after that? Is it transferred to others, or lost forever?

I realise that I may have been taking life, and the warmth it brings with it, for granted all this time. We’re so used to people and animals being present with us, that we can hardly imagine what it’s like to lose them. Watching death happen, I also realise how incredibly fragile all us living organisms are, how we can transform into nothingness and neverness, and how all proof of us existing can disappear in the blink of an eye! Perhaps that’s why it’s so important that we write and draw and tell stories: to remember and celebrate the lives of organisms, no matter how small, that walked the earth. I decided to write this in memory of Ramen, for this will be the only documentation and proof of his existence as my old phone which held his photos (there were not many) has died and his belongings cleared.

May he rest in peace and may the positive energy he brought in his life be passed onto others, never lost.

#eng #journal #hamster #pet #death #life

7 notes · View notes

vintageseawitch · 4 years

Text

I'd like to thank JJ Abrams

For destroying the happiness Star Wars used to give me. A part of me died when TROS ended and the one truly spectacular character never got a chance to heal from his history of abuse, neglect, loneliness, and despair. He got chance to feel true happiness for a mere handful of seconds... and then you FUCKING KILLED HIM.

Rey calling herself a Skywalker? That makes no fucking sense. Her going back to Tatooine to bury "I don't like sand" Anakin's and Leia "she actually never fucking lived there let alone knew of its existence" Organa's lightsabers in the sand and then looking out towards the double suns a la Luke? That is complete and utter nonsense, pandering to fanboys who will never believe Luke is anything less than perfect.

Rey being Palpatine's granddaughter? God-fucking-damnit, JJ, I was ALL about the narrative that you don't NEED to have someone's blood in your veins in order to have potential! ANYONE can be powerful. ANYONE can be the hero, no matter your background. That was the vibe I got from the first two movies in this fucking trilogy that I like the clown I am have been defending for fucking years, and you fucking destroyed this!!!! Not to mention, it completely annihilates Anakin's story - what's the fucking point of it now when the "actual Chosen One" wasn't actually the fucking Chosen One??? How the FUCK did Palpatine come back??? Fuck, I'm all about enjoying the campy silliness and occasional continuity error in any Star Wars film, but this is fucking too far. Any sacrifices made on Anakin's behalf and eventually Luke's as he was trying to save Darth Vader was for FUCKING. NOTHING.

STILL NO MENTION OF THE PREQUEL TRILOGY, almost like... further pandering to fanboys who glorify and worship the Original Trilogy and regard it in a way like it's a Mary Sue (but they would NEVER say that about those films. It's not a Mary Sue while it totally is but don't SAY IT). NOTHING is wrong whatsoever in those films. They're above reproach, they do EVERYTHING right, the beginning, middle, and end are perfect, there's no errors at all - I mean, or else their perfect eyes would have caught this. As far as they're concerned, the Original Trilogy is the only one that exists that is allowed to exist. Any future installments are just pale carbon copies and only deserve hatred and scorn. Any future installments have no possibility of being perfect, because the Original Trilogy is the only one that will ever BE perfect. THAT'S how fucking ridiculous these "true fans" sound, and these are the ones whose vitriol is the loudest, AND YOU FUCKING GAVE IN TO THEM. They don't like the new characters, so now you managed to fit them nicely into cliché boxes - like Poe and Finn creating a new Han - made them into glorified cameos despite the importance they played in at least one previous film - like Rose Tico - and completely disregarded how their characters behaved because HOW DARE THEY BE LESS THAN PERFECT - like Luke Skywalker. They don't like the sequel trilogy at all, SO YOU FUCKING DESTROYED YOUR OWN FUCKING NARRATIVE FOR NOSTALGIC "REASONS".

Why do people dislike Kylo Ren/Ben Solo so much? The only "reasons" I can come up with are: he killed Han Solo, and he's far too emotional for a man, let alone one who's "supposed to be" the new villain. Han and Leia STILL did nothing wrong I guess. His turnout is only his fault. They don't dare believe their precious parts of the original trio of BFF's have taken part in yet another tragedy in the Skywalker family: that Han and Leia didn't understand and in the end outright feared him, and so they didn't try to help. Ben has only ever felt alone. He was soft and quiet and intelligent and he had a storm brewing within him that wasn't his fault... bUT HE KILLED HAN ANYWAYS SO HIS TRAGIC PAST IS IRRELEVANT. These fanboys didn't care about his struggles, and they don't bother to see that yes, he is not a Darth Vader 2.0 no matter how much Ben wanted to be and how Disney has tried to sell him, because he NEVER will be a new Vader. Ben was only trying to gain approval from someone he thought cares for him, or at the least the one who made a show that he did, which was his abuser Snoke. But fanboys don't want to see this, or don't view it as a serious enough reason why Kylo is the way he is. AND YOU FUCKING PANDERED TO THEM AGAIN.

As far as I'm concerned, the poisonous opinions these "true fans" have expressed are just even more hatred added to a real world that is already full of it. Hate wins too often. Hate is the powerful force here. Hate and evil get away with shit, and those who are good and kind and fighting for those who are good and kind are only getting shit on. I reach out to fiction to escape this real world hate, and you only let hate win there, as well. Star Wars is forever tainted by your hate-winning film. I will never forgive you, or Disney Lucas Films, ever again. Odds are, I dare not approach future film installments, because I will only grow attached to probably main characters that fanboys will once again hate because it's not the Original Trilogy, and in which you will probably kill off because fuck hope, redemption, and happily ever after. I can't even begin to try going to fanfiction to fix this hole. Star Wars has taken over a huge chunk of my heart and soul and has helped me escape from the horrors and sadness of real life, and you RUINED THIS FOR ME. My heart is irreparably broken and will never be the same. I'll heal eventually, but the scar will be ugly and ridged.

Fuck you, JJ Abrams. Fuck you, Disney/LucasFilms. Fuck you, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker. As far as I'm concerned, Star Wars has been corrupted by this ending.

Disclaimer: the cast and crew of TROS are NOT included in this rant. They worked hard with the materials and time that were given to them. Adam Driver is incredible and I'm so happy we had him for these films, especially at the end before his tragic and completely unnecessary death. Fuck, they were SUPPOSED to be a dyad!! They're Force-Soulmates!! Damnit, fuck you, JJ.

I knew I wasn't going to be the same person after this film. I just didn't realize it was a more heartbroken, cynical version of me. I don't feel any hope after the shitty ending. My heart will be screaming for a loooooong time.

#anti the rise of skywalker #i hate the rise of skywalker #sw spoilers #adam driver #kylo x rey #kylo ren x rey #i will never forgive them #i will never forgive jj #fuck you disney lucasfilms #fuck you jj #incoherent story telling at its finest #heaetbroken and pissed off #ben solo was saved but at what fucking cost #devastated screaming

2 notes · View notes

theresnosafeharbor4myships · 7 years

Text

It’s been a long time since I wrote and posted a Caryl fic....so here we are:

Reunited (also on 9L)

Carol woke in fits and starts. She’d never been a good sleeper, always resting with one eye open, long before everyone else learned to do the same. Naps threw off her circadian rhythm and time and space in the world, but their rest kept her alive and functioning, especially now sans her go-to of medium roast coffee.

She’d just never napped with someone before. At least never with a man. And now, after weeks—months?—of trying to maintain an emotional numbness, the warmth and security of his arms around her had her tingling as that numbness gave way to life.

Opening that door to see him—broad-shouldered, eyes haunted, torture etched on the face that graced her dreams—had sent her reeling, spinning out of control. The poison of emotions she thought she’d sufficiently buried came welling up with his presence, and hugging him had nearly broken her.

And put a stent from the abyss of her soul straight to her heart. It pounded furiously, even as tears fell forlornly down her cheeks as she invited him inside.

He’d haltingly dropped his meager belongings just inside the door and stood there awkwardly, and she watched fear, rejection, hurt, and relief wage war on his face. She’d offered him food then—she had plenty, and though she’d made her desire to be left alone infinitely clear, someone from the Kingdom brought her more every other day—which he’d declined, and her heart broke a little more at the reservation in his tone. She deserved it, she knew; knew, too, that his aching and anguished “Why’d you go?” would join the haunts of her nightmares until she drew her last breath.

She grabbed her first aid supplies from the pack she kept at-the-ready and indicated the couch. He acquiesced without hesitation, and for a moment she forgot about the cavern of space between them. It felt like the myriad of other times she’d cleaned his cuts and deep scratches and finger slices and the occasional gravel-cut from skidding off his bike.

God, she’d missed him.

She felt the breath inside her freeze, and she had to force her lungs to expel it and draw air again as she acknowledged the thought.

All this time refusing herself the luxury of dwelling on those she’d left behind—on him, more than all the others—hadn’t prepared her for the sweet torment of facing him.

She hadn’t met his eyes as she’d bandaged the wound at his shoulder, even as his gaze rested intensely on her face as she worked. The questions bubbled inside her like a witch’s brew—how’d he get shot, if everyone else was okay, who was taking care of Judith, had Tara ever made it back, was Carl healing okay?—but she let the poison sit inside, too afraid to ask him to make sense of the mess and punishing herself in the unknown. As was his way, he didn’t force conversation, content to wait her out, even as his breath hitched when she touched his skin.

Her fingers deftly worked, and she noted the new bruises and scrapes on his already-scarred body. She longed to help him heal, to brush the hurt and ease the pain away. To be with him.

But no—

She stood abruptly, finished with her ministrations, and walked across the room to the table, putting some distance between them. As if there weren’t enough already, she thought caustically.

The silence engulfed them, and she waited—for what, she didn’t know. Him to yell at her? Despise her, blame her, hate her, hit her, rail at her for all her sins?

She set the unused bandages on the table and turned back to him.

“I—”

He caught himself, but she felt strangely sure he’d nearly admitted he’d missed her. It set her on edge.

She couldn’t care. She couldn’t.

But she did. Oh so much.

“I’m tired,” he finally said.

So many things she longed to say to him, but nothing came out past the bottlenecked emotions closing her throat. He didn’t only mean sleep, but she pretended for the moment that he did.

She tilted her head toward the bedroom and walked toward it, anticipating he’d follow. Pulling back the sheet and comforter, she stepped away to make room for him.

“A bed…” he chuffed. “It’s been so long—” He broke off abruptly, not ready to talk about all the things that’d happened to him, been done to him in such a short amount of time.

He plopped down on the side of the bed and toed off his boots, his eyes darting from the floor to the nightstand to the picture on the wall just inside the door—anywhere but her. The relief at knowing she’d survived, the shards of glass piercing his battered heart, the knowledge she’d ditched them—him—and the memory of the look on her face when she’d opened the door—the shocked, relieved, heartbroken, loving look she’d given him…following all that’d happened the past few days, his emotions lay flayed and raw just under the surface, and he needed time to come to terms with her presence. One look and he knew he’d want to spill everything out, and he just wasn’t ready.

Carol moved just beyond the threshold of the room, heart aching at all he didn’t say, all she knew lay unaired between them. The blame belonged to her, for, over yet another gravesite, she’d watched him break, feared who he’d become, what he’d felt led to do because of the vile world they navigated. She didn’t want it to happen, but more than that she couldn’t watch it happen, not to him.

Careworn and weary at the unusual dis-ease between them, she let out a quiet sigh. “Rest awhile. I’ll just be in the living room.”

She turned to go, but his hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks. How did he move so quickly, so quietly? And how could his touch be so soothing and yet burn at the same time?

She wanted—needed—space between them, but he stepped up close, close enough for her to feel his exhaling breaths feathering her hair.

“Stay.”

The whisper barely reached her ears, and she wasn’t sure he’d actually said the word. But, oh, if he did…

She closed her eyes against the welling tears. Forget the trauma of her past life, when lying next to a man meant she calculated every breath. Forget the years of verbal insults and flying fists and doubting herself and her ability to wife and mother. Forget the hollowness she’d walked around with for months on end now. Erase the list of people she’d killed and the taint she carried with her and how she’d ditched him without a goodbye. That this man—who’d risked his life for her daughter, whose scars and angry façade helped hide the hurt inside, who’d saved her life on more than one occasion, who’d shared his pain with her like no other, who now forgave her with one simple word—that this man allowed her back into his heart made hers thump wildly in her chest with an ache like never before.

She hunched forward, the sweet pain both an old friend and an unwelcome guest, letting her know she was still alive.

“Carol,” he murmured, gripping her arms to steady her.

“I—” The words froze in her throat, but she leaned back toward him as he pulled her against his chest.

His breath whispered against her throat, just below her ear, and she felt him cocoon around her.

“Stay,” he murmured.

It was both a command and a question, and like the question he’d uttered on the porch, it broke her heart into a million pieces.

“We can both rest,” he entreated softly, shuffling them back toward the bed.

Though the desire to keep everyone at bay had her mind screaming for retreat, the visceral side of her followed him willingly, longing for human connection, for his presence, his touch.

She didn’t look at him as they sat on the edge of the bed, the war raging within her to walk away, to stay, to leave him be, to hold him close. She felt him move across the bed behind her, hear him shuffling the bedclothes around as he settled on the opposite side of the bed.

Silence reigned, the tension between them palpable, he waiting for her to accept his offer, she fighting to desire to give in to what they both knew had been inevitable for so long now.

“Daryl…” She steeled herself before continuing, ready to walk away from him. Again. Only this time she couldn’t sneak away. He’d watch her leave, and she didn’t know if she could put him through that.

He nearly reached out to touch her hand, sure she’d relent if he did. But he refrained; he’d let her decide on her own.

Carol’s head pounded, mimicking her heart. If she stayed now, if she let him back in, she knew walking away again would be impossible. The thought frightened her like few things had. But if she left, after he’d found her, after she knew what leaving him had felt like…could she do it again?

Life had always been fragile, but never more so than now with a vicious maniac in charge and faux-saviors doing his bidding and the dead feasting on the living. She may never have the opportunity again to lie next to the man she loved in the silence of a small house that nearly felt like a home she would’ve had in another lifetime with the man waiting patiently behind her.

She silenced the voice screaming at her to leave the room and tentatively moved further onto the bed, laying down in front of Daryl.

The tension between them eased as he moved closer to her. He pulled the sheet over them and, with a hesitant hand and a thundering heart, placed his hand on her hip.

The weight of his hand felt warm and welcoming, and she allowed herself to ease into the pillow and mattress while her mind raced for something to say.

“Rest,” he entreated softly from just behind her. “We can talk later.”

She nodded in acquiescence. Feeling his nervousness and ignoring the warning bells in her head, she placed her hand over his and drew his arm around her, snuggling further into the bed and his arms.

It took several minutes for her to relax, and as the tension left her body she felt him follow suit and heard his breathing deepen. Emotionally exhausted from the war within her, she closed her eyes and sighed, trying desperately to hold on to the content feeling he’d roused in her. “I missed you,” she murmured, unable to hold the sentiment inside any longer.

He hummed a response, already drifting off to sleep.

#caryl #caryl fanfic #daryl x carol #carol x daryl #caryl fanfiction #my writing #personal

63 notes · View notes

imyourliquor-youremypoison · 7 years

Text

Off Limits (Skam - Chris x OC) Part 3

Pairing: Chris x OC

Synopsis: Mara Magnusson has always had everything she ever wanted in life, except for one thing. The boyish charm of her brother’s childhood friend had wrecked her poor heart and ruined her for any other guy – you can trust her, she has tried. She could see the way he looked at her, though she knew there were rules about not hitting on your best friend’s little sister. Luckily for her, there were no restrictions when it was the other way around.

Word count: 1.2k

MASTERLIST

Part 2 <<< >>> Part 4

People could say whatever they wanted about Chris, but he knew how to be a gentleman when he wanted or needed to. When he was courting someone, or when he was in presence of someone he appreciated and respected, he behaved properly. He had always treated Mara right, because she deserved it and also because William wouldn't permit Chris to treat Mara any less than like a princess.

But as of lately he was a little uneasy about the girl, she was up to something and his guts told him that he wouldn't like it. Since her stunt this morning in the hallway, Chris knew that the boys she was flirting with weren't an end, but means to an end. But Mara was a mystery to everyone even herself, she had a twisted mind and she was smart and cunning, she could be scheming for world domination for all he knew. Although he was quite certain world domination did not involve laughing at a guy's every joke so loudly everyone in her vicinity could hear how fake her laugh was. She wanted someone to hear her, or see her. She had a secret agenda and Chris tortured his mind with far-fetched theories about it.

It was why he didn't get out of his car and come to her door. He parked in front of her and William's building and waited there. He came right on time although he knew she was always ten minutes late. Not because she could never get ready on time, but just because she enjoyed letting him stew for a bit, most likely looking through the window and smirking to herself. That was who she was.

Chris was startled when he heard a knock on the car's window. Mara's face was on the other side, her breath steaming up the window.

“Hey!” She said, her voice barely audible.

Chris unlocked the door and gave a quick glance to the clock. It was 9:02pm, was her clock running ahead? She opened the door and sat down next to him, rubbing her hands together to warm them up. Her smile lit up the interior of the car in an eery way, or maybe it was just Christoffer who missed being at the other end of it.

“I haven't made you wait too long, haven't I?” She asked. “What's with that face you're making Chris, do I have something on my chin?”

Mara's hand covered her mouth, like she feared her lipstick smudged over her chin. Chris hadn't realized he was staring at her lips, but he shook his head and started the engine.

“You're perfect Mara,” Chris reassured her, wishing he could have said it in another way. But there really wasn't any other word to qualify her right now. “I just arrived, don't worry.”

“Ooh, you're awfully serious,” she noticed. “What happened?”

One thing that only Mara could accomplish was to simultaneously make fun of someone and show concern. She might tease the hell out of her friends, but she cared deeply about them and she was a good listener.

“What makes you think something happened? Maybe I'm just grumpy for no reason,” he shot back, feeling like punching himself for being such a grump with her. “Sorry,” he apologized. “It's complicated.”

“Is it a girl?” She asked. It was terribly cliché to associate 'complicated' with 'girls', but she was a girl herself and she shouldered her complexity.

“Yes,” Chris answered, gritting his teeth. He didn't mind sharing what was on his mind with her, except when she was the thing on his mind.

“Can I help?” Mara asked, turning down the volume of the music.

It took Chris a fair amount of time to ponder on the question, and it was only when the car came to a stop at a red light that Chris turned toward her and answered.

“You could. But I'm not asking you to, I'll figure it out myself. If I don't then-” he shrugged. “-it'll be my loss.”

“Or hers,” she pointed out, raising one of her neatly done eyebrows. She knew the devil was in the details, she lives by that rule.

“Can't we talk about something else? It's getting depressing,” Chris said, not answering to Mara's comment.

He wasn't sure if it would be her loss though, the girl truly had everything going for her, and Chris would consider himself lucky if she graced him with her attention. He wasn't talking about the friendly attention he already had from her. He wanted to be more.

“We can talk about anything you want Chris,” she simply replied. “I've never seen you so stern before a party, is it because William ditched you for Noora?”

Chris let a laugh that was tainted with bitterness.

“Heartbroken, yeah,” he replied. “I don't know what to do to get his attention anymore. What do you think, should I write him a poem? Serenade him?”

“Oh I bet he'd like that!” Mara laughed when she finally spotted a genuine smile on Chris' face. “You should definitely give it a try. At the break of dawn, right under his window.”

Both of them knew how much William hated getting up before ten.

“Are you trying to get me killed?” Chris asked in bewilderment. “I'm too handsome to die,” he objected.

“I can't disagree with that,” Mara said. “I'm sure you'll find a way to win him back. True love fins a way,” she assured him.

“Okay, can we just stop the romantic metaphors here? It's confusing the heck out of me,” Chris said in a more joyful tone then before. “What about your love affairs? Business seems to be going well these days.”

“Is that supposed to be insulting or did I miss something?” Mara's brows knitted together in confusion. “Why do you ask anyway, do you wanna be one?” She then asked just to tease him.

It worked. Chris was thoroughly dazzled and confused upon hearing her words.

“You see right through me,” he shot her back with a smirk. “Your friends are terrible flirts by the way, if I hear one more sexist joke I have to laugh at, I'll kill a man.”

“Nobody forces you to laugh at them. It'd be much more entertaining to watch you kick some ass than to see you coo with another Penetrator.”

“Been watching me, eh?” She bit her lip. “I'm not doing it out of pleasure, let me tell you...”

“Then why?” Chris had to ask since she didn't say anything more than that.

“I'm trying to elicit a reaction..”

She shrugged dismissively in a way that suggested that she didn't want to linger on the subject. Chris didn't care, he needed to know.

“Whose reaction?”

Mara kept silent a couple minutes and when they arrived, Chris thought he was not getting an answer after all. The music was already loud enough here, luckily for them the house was fairly isolated therefore the party shouldn't get busted by the cops.

A thousand different answers had crossed Mara's mind within the two minutes that passed between the moment Chris asked and the moment they reached the house. She couldn't decide. Mara always knew what she wanted to say, being hesitant was not one of her personality traits. But it did take her a certain amount of time to decide what to say to this. A split second decision cut the deal for her. She opened the door and before getting out and getting drunk, she said the words that would once again wreck Chris' world and put it upside down.

“Yours.”

A/N: The more reviews I get, the quicker you get next part!

232 notes · View notes