(no subject)
Me and my darling snape_fan_no_1 are playing a little game in an attempt to revitalise our muses.
10 random songs from my playlist. 10 one-shots.
Sounds easy-peasy, right? Of course, it's not been a complete success yet, but you never know, I may actually finish something I've started for once.
Currently there are three ready for publication (and by ready for publication I mean, all were written within the space of 2-3 hours, have barely been looked over and are un-beta'd.) Three very different pieces of music and three different fandoms. I've posted links to youtube with each so you can listen to the track which inspired them.
Song 1: Please Let Me Get What I Want - The Smiths
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Remus/Sirius (who else?!)
Rating: PG-13 to be on the safe side.
i. Please Let Me Get What I Want - The Smiths
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=QOgamEHbt3o
Haven’t had a dream in a long time;
See, the life I’ve had can make a good man bad.
So for once in my life let me get what I want,
Lord knows, it would be the first time. Lord knows, it would be the first time.
He’d given up a belief in ‘just deserts’.
From what would appear to be an auspicious beginning, a life that could pay for every need and luxury, he’d found that he could not stomach being a part of it, knowing what it truly was. Knowing that his father’s money also contributed to creeps like Malfoy passing easily through life, to have all the time in the world to work for his Dark Lord.
He’d been disinherited, fallen out with almost anyone he shared blood and memories of the first 11 years of his life with and ended up on the impoverished, struggling side in a war he had no choice but to fight. Not that he would’ve chosen inaction.
He stood up briefly from where he crouched, a bright sparking beam of cherry red crackling through the night from his wand, striking one of the masked men who released a shriek; he didn’t wait around to see if there would be retaliation.
Somehow, he felt maybe he had deserved that his life had reached this point. Maybe, those times he’d bullied the house-elves at home or left Regulus locked in a trunk for an hour or told Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow had all been to blame for where he was now. Covered in mud, hiding in a rudimentary trench that had been excavated in seconds as vicious spell after vicious spell pummelled the ground, spraying him further. His robes were threadbare and had holes and burn marks in and his hair had had to be almost shaved off entirely only the day before after a head wound had gotten infected. Maybe he deserved this. Despite fighting the good fight, maybe he deserved the numbing grief of lost friends, the icy cold of a rainy March night, the bone-rattling explosions.
Then again, one only had to look at Remus to know that even the attentively good could have a life full of undeserved pain.
McGonagall appeared suddenly, glasses splattered with mud and a smear of blood from her hand that she’d tightly tied her scarf around, voice shrill above the din, “All the families have been evacuated. The Potters have been moved to Hogwarts for the time being.”
“Lily...” He said hurriedly, “The baby...”
McGonagall patted his shoulder, “Poppy’s looking her over; doesn’t think any significant harm was done. Now, we need to get out.”
Sirius nodded, rising one more to let loose a vivid blue hex that clung to its target as he ducked again, narrowly missing a curse himself, “We can’t risk apparation with this many spells flying about.”
McGonagall nodded, pulling an old tin whistle from her pocket that rattled with other ‘junk’, “There’s one for all of us. I’ll set them off in two minutes.”
He clasped the whistle tightly as his ex-professor crawled past him towards Frank and Gideon as he once again risked having his head blown off to give the Death Eaters something to think about. This time the sharp fierce heat of a dark spell ripped past his cheek at impossible speeds, missing him somehow but still scorching the skin.
Then the whistle in his hand matched the sting of the burn on his cheek for a moment before he found himself stumbling out into the Great Hall. Immediately his eyes fell on the wizard sat amongst the huddles of terrified muggles, soon to have their memories of this night erased, perched on the edge of the Ravenclaw table, gnawing his thumbnail. He jumped up instantly as the Order members who’d been in the trench appeared; his head was bandaged and he had a wild look of relief on his face as he spotted Sirius and began weaving through the crowd of frightened and outraged muggles, some shouting for explanations. Everyone began hurriedly moving towards Madame Pomfrey as she entered, Dumbledore at her side; Sirius hurriedly moved towards Remus.
Remus reached him and a tentative hand immediately rose to Sirius’ cheek, “Merlin, while most of us walk very close to the line of danger, Padfoot, you pretty much do cartwheels across it.”
Which of course meant ‘I thought you wouldn’t come back because your head had been blown off.’
Sirius gritted his jaw, “Well the next time you run towards Death Eaters in an attempt to save a little old lady, I won’t set up a fucking trench and ruin my third set of robes this month.”
Which of course meant ‘I would every time.’
The werewolf just smiled a little wryly and nodded towards a way out. They walked into the comparative calm and silence of the corridors, ghosts heard nattering to each other and the paintings in the distance somewhere. Sirius’ eyes gave Remus a very hurried once over, which showed only a bloodied head for his heroics before asking worriedly, “Lily?”
“The fall did no harm.” Remus rattled off quickly, “The baby’s fine, she’s just a bit shaken.”
Sirius sighed softly and scratched at his too bare scalp feeling the wet and drying mud collecting under his fingernails. He motioned towards a favourite spot, a stone arch window that looked out towards the Lake and the mountains beyond. Remus sat down and looked up at the stars, which Sirius had forgotten about amidst the raining dirt and clouds of spell-smoke.
He let his head thunk back against the stone and murmured, “Do you ache for a normal day, Moony? Just one day where you can see what kind of life you would’ve had without fear and... and mud.”
Remus chuckled softly, a comforting sound Sirius had always associated with ‘home’ although he’d never really had one of his own. The werewolf rubbed at his bumped, bleeding and bandaged forehead and looked at him with old eyes, “Yes. But then I think of James and Lily, the baby...” He looked away, “I’d rather all that child’s days were normal if it means I have to be tired, cold, dirty and afraid for a while.”
Sirius just shook his head at Remus’ characteristic selflessness.
They sat in silence before Sirius breathed, “I just wish I had some unfounded reassurance that everything will turn out all right in the end. That I knew that the story would end with ‘Happily Ever After’ even if everything seems fucked up beyond repair.”
He didn’t dare look at Remus, knowing he would surely be laughed at for such undeserved self-pity. Then a mouth met with the corner of his jaw. It was a soft mouth that seemed determined to press just there despite the mud and the whole never-spoken-about awkwardness and the reality of living a nightmare. Sirius shivered at the tender touch and Remus’ face pressed into his neck, fingers curling around the other side, holding Sirius firmly in place. A gentle gust of breath tickled the clammy skin beneath his Adam’s apple and he willingly gave himself over to the much wished for, but never expected touch.
And he found he could no longer truly believe there was no hope left.
~~~ * ~~~
Song 2: 'E Lucevan Le Stelle' from Tosca - Luciano Pavarotti
Fandom: Havemercy
Pairing: It's a weird one and a surprise, unless you're desperate to know ------> Compagnon/Ivory
Rating: probably R for the usual Havemercy cussing and talk of severe character-killing injuries.
E Lucevan Le Stelle from ‘Tosca’ by Puccini - Luciano Pavarotti
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=boBaYL8ZnrM
A rather poetic translation of the last verse:
Svani per sempre il sogno mio d'amore.. Gone forever is my dream of love.
L'ora e' fuggita... Time has fled, and I die in despair!
E muoio disperato! I die in despair,
E non ho amato mai tanto la vita! But never have I loved life so much!
This was shit.
No, this was more than shit. This was painful, burning, tearing, dark and cold shit.
And the worst part was it was inescapable shit; ‘No fucking team of comrades left to get you out of this fucking mess’ shit. ‘You’re going to die in this room’ shit.
I don’t know if it was a sign of optimism or brain damage that I could still laugh at the fucking stupidest times. If you could call wheezing in amusement and then almost vomiting out your own lungs “laughter”.
My back was broken. That or I had incurable pre-pins-and-needles from the waist down. Either way, I wasn’t going to be moving any-fucking-where. So why those blue bastards needed to string me up like a broken puppet I had no idea. They’d already fucking won, hadn’t they? Maybe not the war and maybe not against me and Spiridon, but the others...
No way man or metal should’ve survived what I did.
After seeing what was left of Ace and Thoushalt and Jeannot and Al Atan, I knew it was only fair that I give up fighting for every damn difficult breath, that it should’ve ended in an ironic blaze of glory, not hanging limply by my arms in one of their cells, not even given a mercy killing.
I wasn’t even sure why I was fighting, knowing everything was lost. It wasn’t as if I’d crashed and burned - (and bastion, how I’d burned; Al Atan had done her job well) - and snuffed it instantly, at least passed out. No, I’d been aware, blisteringly aware of our girls, my friends, dropping like dead ducks from the sky.
There had been a keening scream in the thick of it, the kind that I’d once heard in the country when my father and uncle had set a trap to keep the wolves away from the flocks - and succeeded. A flicker of silver had appeared in the corner of my eye, distinct somehow from all the rest of the glinting dragons wheeling overhead, and I supposed it could’ve been any of them, but I’d known in my heart who it had been...
I shuddered and spat out the lingering blood in my mouth. My nose was smashed beyond repair and liked to remind me of it by bleeding all over the fucking place. The dark stone below me was darkening further, but so were the corners of the room, so maybe it wasn’t from blood like I imagined.
I tried to use my shoulder to lift at least part of my torso, to regain some semblance of dignity, but it was so hard and my head was so heavy.
The blood on the floor glistened...
My eyes shifted sideways through long, matted strands of my dark hair, noticing for the first time one luxury I would never have dreamed to have been afforded...
A small slit-like window showed the moon fall behind a thick cloud of smoke and ash once more.
A tear ran down to the corner of my jaw, briefly flicking my ear lobe as it dribbled to the floor and if I wasn’t such a fucking pillow-biter, I’d have growled at myself and called myself one...
“Fuhchhkinga sheendeya.”
I would’ve laughed at that as well but speaking had filled my mouth with blood and saliva and the fact I was dribbling down my own chin was so humiliating I couldn’t even find how drunk I sounded amusing.
I was shivering with furious despair, wishing to some blood-lusting god that I’d killed enough of those motherfuckers to make this indignity worth my time. To make all of this necessary loss seem any less excruciating.
We’d all accepted that we might die to bring Lapis to its knees, me included; I just don’t think I’d accepted hearing that scream and seeing that flicker and knowing, knowing, he was dead.
My already dead body was crucifying me as I hung there, straining against gravity to get my head to rise and fall back. It did, forehead resting limply against one stretched bicep as I looked out of the window at the small pin pricks of light, nearly choked and extinguished by the reek of the decaying city, but not quite.
The stars. The stars were beautiful.
My grandmother used to tell me tales of people made from stars, Th’Étoiles, all bright pale light trapped in limbs. People of grace and magic.
It’s amazing how much truthful shit a person can overlook in fairy stories.
He’d have to have been one. One look at his hands and a few notes from the rickety old piano and you could see it in him. Sometimes I’d watch him when no one was watching me. My heart would pound waiting for the second when my gaze lasted too long and he’d look or Rook would and the second that happened I’d always break into those fucking nervous giggles I couldn’t stop, feeling like the biggest Cindy coward to walk the planet.
I didn’t really know if the staring made me more of a Cindy or a coward.
Truth was, all the whores had tasted of cheap smokes and too much perfume clinging to their skin even before he arrived at the Airmen; afterwards there were no whores.
How could there be?
There was sharp pain down one side of my body, my lung no doubt close to collapse as my most weakened shoulder strained to pop out of place, but somehow didn’t. My eyes never left the stars and the orange tinted haze to the blackness above.
Something tickled at my memory then, something that the burning and the pain and the grief had pushed back. Adamo had set off The Alarm - not the ‘those-on-duty-get-your-arses-out-of-bed-and-burn-some-fucking-Ke-Han-towers-to-the-ground’ alarm, but The Alarm - and we all knew that that searing sound could only mean suicide. I’d slipped down into Spiridon’s spot and she still had that whoreson twitch in her left wing that nearly poked my eye out again. Men were running all about in an attempt to get our girls set and my eyes, inevitably, had drawn over to where Cassiopeia - a true match for an Étoile - appeared to be growling, although it wasn’t a sign of anticipation and rather a sign that her insides were snagging up.
His eyes had been on me already.
I’d wanted to say ‘Good Luck’ rather than some bravado -filled, histrionic ‘Goodbye’ like Raphael was self-orchestrating a few metres from me. But of course neither of us had even been much disposed to words.
He’d rolled his eyes; I’d sniggered.
And, bastion, I know it is not enough to weigh a life by, this half-memory that for all I know I might be imagining to remove some of the sting from this unexpected end. But I’ll be fucked if I look at it and mourn all the missed opportunities or allow myself to think that if I’d even said anything, there’d have been no silent agreement on his face.
Delirious, I was; regretful, no.
The door had opened to my cell, but I didn’t notice, transfixed by those little tiny stars, perfect even behind all the shit clogging up the air. I think I knew that even before these men entering my cell reached me, I would be gone. Each footstep seemed to slow my blood. So I just laughed in my damaged way again, all gurgling and gasping, and my suffocating lungs hated me for it, but I could not hold back the laughter then.
He’d rolled his eyes; I’d sniggered.
And, fuck me, but that was enough.
~~~ * ~~~
.
Song 3: Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You - Muse
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Pairing: Aragorn/ Legolas (in the most spoofed and exaggerated way ever)
Rating: It's tame, even if my mocking of the fanfic I love to hate is perhaps less so.
WARNING: This is not meant seriously in anyway. The reason this song inspired it is my chortling at the MILLIONS of Legolas/Anyone fics out there which are the result of some pretty vapid, rabid Orlando Bloom fans or people who have no idea about the Lord of the Rings. By no means am I implying that all Legolas fic is bad (or that they all make him out to be incredibly effeminate and/or sex crazy). Equally, the other stereotypes are all worrying things I have actually read in fics where some of the characters (and usually the entire plot of LOTR) are shoved aside for the Destined Love and ignored or warped in a way that would have Tolkein rolling in his grave. Poor man! Anyway, you have been warned.
Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You - Muse
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=9DRVuwdRMEc
You're just too good to be true, Can't keep my eyes off you.
You feel like heaven to touch. I wanna hold you so much.
At long last love has arrived and I thank God I'm alive.
You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off of you.
Pardon the way that I stare. There's nothing else to compare.
The sight of you makes me weak. There are no words left to speak,
But if you feel like I feel, Please let me know that it's real.
You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off of you.
I love you, baby, And if it's quite alright,
I need you, baby, To warm a lonely night.
I love you, baby. Trust in me when I say:
Oh, pretty baby, Don't bring me down, I pray.
Oh pretty baby, now that I found you, stay
And let me love you, baby. Let me love you.
Aragorn couldn’t sleep.
The Fellowship had only left Rivendell a few days before and already he was more consumed than ever with desire for one of his few companions on this quest. He was embarrassed by the depth of his feelings that he mournfully expected would never be returned.
He tried to put his sorrow from his already troubled mind when dawn bloomed faint pink across the sky, reminding the handsome man of the blush on a certain enchanting Elven prince’s cheeks.
He growled to himself in frustration; how could he ever deserve him?! He was courageous, yes, and he had been told by his companions for years that he could be considered handsome, he had been well educated by Elrond, could speak Elvish amongst other languages, was an accomplished warrior and leader during battle, had the choice to rule over all men in Gondor, but how could he be worthy of Legolas?!
As he thought this he saw the astoundingly stunning elf appear, dressed in a dark green tunic, the colour of lush garden grass, with a leather belt completed with an ornate silver leaf buckle. He was singing softly like the birds in the trees waking from their sleep; even the trees seemed to slightly lean towards the beauty, yearning as the ranger did, to be closer to him. Aragorn’s heart stopped beating briefly at the sight of him, the most beautiful creature he’d even seen, despite having been surrounded and raised by elves from an early age.
Legolas saw him staring and felt a great shyness overwhelm him as he came across the man who’d been plaguing his mind with doubts and desires for days. The delicately pointed tips of the elf’s ears flushed the same endearing colour that Aragorn had remembered so fondly as the Prince giggled shyly. The first time he had seen the heir of Isildur, Legolas had found himself falling desperately in love with the ruggedly handsome man, grief filling him at the knowledge that the one he had fallen for was promised to Arwen until he felt it might kill him as such pain had killed many of his people. But now Aragorn was here before him and his heart quivered within his slender torso.
Drawn unerringly to the glorious sound of the Prince’s laughter like tinkling bells, Aragorn’s whisper was quick and desperate as he spoke, filled with some bravely concealed agony, “Oh Legolas, I can bear it no longer!” His daring rising to unprecedented levels at the vision before him, Aragorn approached, grey eyes stormy as he gasped out, “The very sight of you is ripping my heart from my chest! Legolas, I have loved you ardently from the moment I saw you and I am in anguish because you are not mine!” He dropped to his knees, taking the pale dainty hand in his own and kissing it adoringly, groaning with misery and desire, “Take away the air I breathe, water, food; I will be well as long as you say that you love me too! Please, please tell me that you feel the connection as I do, such deep, unswerving love as can only have been written in the stars!”
The ranger clasped the elf’s hands tightly, eyes sorrowful and damp as they stared up at the sky blue eyes of his love. Silvery tears flowed freely from Legolas’ eyes, as he swayed weakly and fell into the strong man’s touch, sobbing, “Oh Aragorn, you cannot know how I have longed for you to say what has been twisting sharply in my bosom! I love you so passionately I cannot live without you! For you, my love, I will forsake my immortal life so that we will never be apart!”
“Oh Legolas,” Aragorn breathed wonderingly and he grinned with fierce joy. Legolas’ breath smelt of sweet fruit and Aragorn couldn’t resist pressing his mouth chastely to those perfect lips and tasting the honeyed sweetness of his tongue. One rough hand rose to smooth along the Prince’s long golden mane, small blue flowers that matched his alluring eyes carefully woven into the braids there.
“Oh Aragorn,” Legolas gasped at the tender touch, a wave of glorious desire he’d never felt before overcoming him as the ranger’s rough cheeks grazed his own and left a pleasurable burn. He surrendered his mouth to the man’s as sweet desperation swept them away with consuming fiery passion. Aragorn longed to touch the hairless skin beneath the elf prince’s garb that must be as soft and pale as petals beneath his hands.
Blue flame filled the elf’s eyes as his fingers tangled in Aragorn’s hair, the two men hurryingly rising and leaving the rest of the sleeping fellowship to find a more secluded spot to make passionate love.
On first appearances, the lovers could not have known that one of their companions was not sleeping as the man had seemed. Filled with rage and jealously, Boromir rose from his bed, an ugly look on his unshaven face as he drew out his sword. His lust for the elf had left him frustrated and determined to get Legolas alone so that he could act of his vicious need, but now Aragorn had stolen the desirable Elven prince from him.
Storming from the clearing where the rest of the Fellowship continued to sleep on oblivious, he went in search of his rightful prize; the death of Aragorn at the point of his blade and the possession of the exquisite elf!
~~~ * ~~~
After they had made love, the lovers bathed in a nearby stream, Aragorn admiring the sight of his blue-eyed soul mate, long silken hair shining in the moonlight like a waterfall of sunlight. They had passed the day in each other’s loving arms, both overcome with an overwhelming desire that they could not conquer. Sadly they knew that soon they would have to return to their companions so the quest could continue.
They lounged on the soft grass by the banks, naked, gentle caresses of love warming them. Finally, they pulled on their clothes over their dried bodies and headed back to camp, surreptitiously holding hands.
As they entered the clearing, the hobbits were squabbling over supper, whilst Gandalf watched on, smiling in silent approval to himself as he noticed the new lovers. He had successfully kept the Fellowship from straying too far from their camp to afford the Prince of Mirkwood and Heir of Isildur some privacy. All the hobbits soon noticed their presence as well, Frodo, Sam and Merry smiling and nodding to one another knowing that their efforts to bring the destined couple together had succeeded; Pippin looked on bemused, as Frodo fondly patted his shoulder and told the Brandybuck he’d understand when he was older.
Gimli gruffly muttered something, but everyone secretly knew he was as delighted as the rest of the Fellowship were that two amongst them could find such happiness. They all laughed merrily as Merry continued to look around bemused as to why Strider and the elf were holding hands and feeding each other stew.
Gandalf rolled his eyes, “Fool of a Took!”
Legolas was vaguely aware of the laughter and merriment surrounding him, but his startlingly blue eyes were for his beloved. Aragorn looked more handsome than ever in the firelight, grey eyes dark with desire just at the sight of the elf. Even after an entire day spent languishing naked in a secret lush glade, Aragorn could barely hold back the fiery heat of desire in his heart when their fingers met.
“Where is Boromir?” Frodo pointed out suddenly, in between bouts of happy laughter, his luminous long-lashed blue eyes searching around the merry gathering only now realising he had not seen the dour man all day.
Suddenly there was a wild scream of fury and the brutish man came trampling though the undergrowth, long greasy hair tangled and making him look as frightening and feral as a warg. His sword descended upon Aragorn, but Legolas, with his superior elven speeds, threw his lithe body before the blade, the wicked metal cutting across him.
Aragorn saw blood and with unimaginable rage and fear that his love had been murdered, he drew his own sword. Boromir’s dark eyes widened with fear as Aragorn stalked forwards, meeting the Gondorian’s heavy blade ferociously before lunging and stabbing the untrustworthy man through the heart.
Choking, he collapsed to lie on the blood-stained ground. Eyes wide, he breathed Aragorn’s name. Aragorn knelt beside the man, seeing the horrified expression in his eyes, “Forgive me...” Aragorn gently laid a hand against the Gondorian’s chest as his dark eyes glazed over and his breathing stopped. In death, Boromir seemed pale and noble; the fellowship inconsolably mourned his passing, remembering the man before he had been swayed by such bitterness.
Suddenly seeing the bloodied end of Boromir’s sword, terror stole through Aragorn’s veins and he dived to his lover’s side, relieved to see that the blood he’d seen had come from a small scratch on Legolas’ bicep. Gandalf had been healing him and was frowning as his hands swept over the beautiful prince’s slender limbs, “There is something strange here. I thought for a moment... No, surely not. It is only legend.”
“What, Gandalf?” Frodo asked curiously, blinking wide blue eyes beneath his confused frown.
Sam eagerly looked up from his stew, swallowing hurriedly, “Is it Elven magic, Mr Gandalf, sir?”
Gandalf’s hand rested on Legolas’ slightly swollen stomach as both the lovers stared at the wizard worriedly, wondering what could possibly be wrong. Gandalf smiled mysteriously, “It seems we shall have a fellowship of nine once more in a month...”
Aragorn and Legolas looked at one another in shock and joy when they realised their awe-inspiring love for one another would be bringing a new life into this world. The man pressed a fervent kiss to the elf’s soft, sweet lips, palm pressed to the small bumb of their unborn child, growing rapidly within his mate.
Frodo, Sam and Merry all gasped with excitement as Gimli gruffly muttered something, although everyone knew that really he was just as excited as everyone else. Sam started cooking a celebratory supper for them all with a special iced Congratulations cake and Gimli went to find more wood for the fire, eyes strangely bright and watery with poorly concealed joy.
Pippin looked between all his friends in confusion, “Who’s going to be joining the fellowship?”
Legolas and Aragorn and Gandalf and Frodo all shared despairing looks and, laughing gaily, said in unison, “Oh Merry!”
TO BE CONTINUED IN ‘THE POWER OF INSURMOUNTABLE LOVE’ and ‘THE REIGN OF ELLARATHRANDUIGORN’
~~~ * ~~~
A/N: Thank you for reading one or all of these! Please please leave feedback; I'd be ecstatic if you did.