#battle to the death but with magic this time

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - NINE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of leukemia; death; pregnancy; abortion.

💌MASTERLIST

Rafe had been through a ton of traumatic bullshit by the age of fourteen. 

His mom had been battling leukemia since he was ten, it started off as an infection—but it turned into one of those long, drawn-out wars that tricks you into thinking there’s hope when there isn’t.

It would go away for a bit, just enough to make everyone think the fight was over, and then it’d come slamming back worse every time.

When he was fourteen, it finally took her for good, when he’d been silly enough to believe she might pull through. 

To be fair, he was only a little kid waiting on a miracle, praying she’d wake up one day magically cured.

Now, when he looked back on it, he hated himself for being so naive. The signs had been there all along, the nurses whispering in the hallways, Ward turning into this void of a human, who looked at him like he didn’t know how to fix it anymore. The talks his mom would have with him about how “no matter what happens, you’ll be okay.”

That phrase haunted him for years.

Her death didn’t wreck him; it tore him apart and left him in tiny pieces that didn’t fit together the same way. He wasn’t the same kid afterward, not even close.

He got angrier, distant. 

He didn’t recognize who he’d been before it all—some kid who really believed in happy endings.

He didn’t believe in much after she died, people let you down, life ripped everything good out of your hands. Why bother holding on to anything at all?

It wasn’t just the grief; it was the guilt.

He’d get mad at her, sometimes, for being sick. He’d slam his door and cry into his pillow because he just wanted a normal life, a mom who wasn’t always tired or in pain or hooked up to some machine.

He hated himself for that. 

The day of her funeral, he remembered everything, even though he wished he didn’t. The church smelled like old wood and lilies, that smell that never left you once it sank in.

People kept coming up to him, patting his shoulder, saying things like, “She’s in a better place now,” or “Stay strong, buddy.” 

He wanted to yell at them, shake them, make them shut up. She wasn’t in a better place. A better place would’ve been here, alive, laughing at his dumb jokes, or rolling her eyes at him for leaving his shoes in the hallway. It wouldn’t be six feet under, locked in a box, shoved into a hole in the ground like she never existed.

He didn’t cry, not when they opened the casket for everyone to say their final goodbyes, not when his dad stood up and choked through some half-assed speech that was mostly apologies and memories, not when they lowered her into the ground, the ropes creaking as her casket disappeared into the earth. 

He just stood there, hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead, as if he wasn’t even present. Inside, though?

His his chest was on fire. 

He refused to let even a single tear fall, it felt pointless, it wasn’t going to bring her back. It wasn’t going to fix anything. And deep down, he thought he didn’t deserve to cry, if he’d been stronger if he’d prayed harder, or been a better son, she’d still be alive.

The sound he remembered the most was the thud of dirt hitting the coffin after the service. It was final, loud, the earth itself mocking him. People around him sniffled, hugged each other, wiped at their eyes, but Rafe just stood there, staring down into the hole, fists buried in his pockets until his nails dug into his palms. 

He kept thinking about how wrong this all was, this wasn’t where she was supposed to end up, and none of this was fair.

She should’ve been there.

She should’ve been standing next to him, arm around his shoulder, telling him to stop slouching, whispering something to make him laugh in the middle of all this sadness. Instead, she was in there, soon the dirt would cover it up, and that’d be it. 

Gone. Just like that.

After the service, Rafe didn’t try to stick around for the house gathering, he wasn’t going to survive that. All those people crowding the living room, balancing paper plates of casserole, acting like they gave a fuck about his mom. It was fake, all of it. 

They’d forget about her in a week.

He slipped out when no one was paying attention, cutting through the side yard and heading to the only place that felt halfway normal—the old skate park behind the rec center. It was run-down as fuck, but he and his friends used to hang out there all the time, sitting on the busted ramps, talking trash, or just doing nothing.

When he got there, it was empty, which was exactly what he wanted. He climbed up on the old half-pipe, sitting cross-legged with his elbows on his knees, staring at the cracked pavement below. 

He couldn’t stop replaying the day in his head, the casket, the dirt, the stupid better place comments. His chest felt like it was breaking in a million tiny pieces, but he still couldn’t cry, his body just wouldn’t let him. 

Instead, he just sat there, wishing the world would leave him alone for five minutes.

That’s when he heard footsteps behind him.

He thought about running—didn’t need anyone seeing him like this, especially not now. But then you spoke.

“Figured I’d find you here.”

He didn’t look at you right away, just exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah? Well, congrats. You win the prize.” 

He wasn’t in the mood to be nice, even to you.

But you didn’t flinch, you never did. That’s one of the things he liked about you—you didn’t get scared off when he got like this. You just climbed up next to him and sat down. 

You didn’t try to say all that comforting bullshit people had been feeding him all day, and he was grateful for that.

“You okay?” you asked eventually.

He snorted. “Do I look okay?”

"Sorry, stupid question."

He sighed, hating that he was being asshole to his best friend, "It's fine."

When he finally glanced at you, you were watching him, trying to figure out what to say. It made him nervous, the way you looked at him. You always did that—you cared about what was going on in his head, you saw more than what he let people see.

“I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I know what you’re feeling,” you said finally. “But you don’t have to do this alone, Rafe. You know that, right?”

If only you knew what you would be going through just three short years later.

He wanted to snap at you, tell you to leave, he was fine, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just stared down at the pavement again, “Feels like I do.”

You didn’t say anything, just moved closer, close enough that your arm brushed against his. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him feel…something, less alone.

Rafe didn’t know how long you both sat there, could’ve been ten minutes, could’ve been an hour. Time didn’t feel real anymore, you didn’t push him to talk, which he appreciated more than he’d ever admit, you didn’t throw out any of those awkward “it’ll get better” lines. You just sat with him. 

“You can talk to me, you know.” 

He shook his head without looking at you. “There’s nothing to say.” His voice was rough, flat. “She’s gone. That’s it.”

“You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t suck."

He clenched his jaw, staring at the pavement like if he looked at you, everything would break.

“What’s the point?” he muttered. “Crying’s not gonna change anything. It’s not gonna—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to force it back.

“Rafe.” You sighed, and this time “You don’t have to hold it together for anyone, okay? It’s me.”

That broke him, actually broke him. His chest felt tight, suddenly he couldn’t keep it in.

His breath hitched, his shoulders shook, and before he knew it, tears were sliding down his face. He tried to stop it, to hide it, scrubbing his hands over his face, but it was no use.

“Shit,” he choked out, his voice cracking once more.

“Hey, hey,” you said quickly, and before he could pull away or do something stupid like tell you to leave, you scooted over.

He froze for a second, unsure what to do, but then he remembered the funeral, the whispers, the dirt hitting the casket, all the things he couldn’t stop thinking about—he just let it all out.

The first sob ripped out of him so suddenly it startled him, he hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands gripping his hair, as if he could physically stop himself from breaking. But it didn’t work.

Another sob followed, and then another, and soon they were pouring out of him—loud, messy, completely out of his control. He couldn’t stop it, and he hated it.

He leaned into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, and just cried. When he felt your arms instantly wrap around him, pulling him into a hug as if you’d been waiting for his permission, he shattered completely.

“She’s—” His voice caught in his throat, and he had to stop, gasping for air as the tears kept coming. “She’s gone. She’s gone, and I—” He broke off.

It was ugly and loud and nothing like how he’d pictured himself breaking down, but he didn’t care. You didn’t tell him it’d be okay or try to make him stop, just held him, your arms tight around him. 

“I miss her,” he whispered, his voice so small it barely sounded like him. “I miss her so much, and I—I don’t know what to do.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried like this, and part of him hated how exposed it made him feel. He hated crying in front of people—anyone. But right now, with you, he didn’t feel embarrassed. 

“I know,” you nodded, your hand moving in small circles on his back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I—” he choked out, his voice breaking. “I can’t—this isn’t—it’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” you didn’t want to scare away the fragile pieces of him that were finally surfacing. “It’s not fair. None of it is.”

He couldn’t stop shaking or gasping for breaths that hitched in his chest. The more he tried to push it all backdown, the harder it fought to claw its way out. For years, he’d kept it buried—buried so deep he thought he’d never have to deal with it.

“I hate it,” he managed, the words tumbling out in a jagged mess. “I hate that she’s gone. I hate that I didn’t—” He stopped, gripping his hair harder. “I didn’t do enough. I should’ve been better, done something—anything.”

“Stop. You can’t do that to yourself.”

He shook his head violently, “But I did. I gave up on her. I stopped believing she’d get better, I—I got mad at her for being sick. What kind of son does that? I didn’t even say goodbye the way I should’ve. I just—I left the hospital because I couldn’t take it anymore, and then she—” His voice cracked again, and his hands dropped from his hair to his lap, clenched into fists “She’s gone, and I left. I wasn’t there when she—” His breath hitched, and he buried his face in his hands.

“You’re a kid. It’s not your fault, okay? None of this is.”

“But it feels like it is,” he shot back, “I should’ve done something, anything. I just feel so—” He stopped, letting out a shaky exhale. “Empty. Like nothing I do matters anymore.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The way you said it, so certain—He didn’t know why, but it cut through the noise in his head just enough to let him breathe again.

“I don’t know how to keep going,” he admitted, “I don’t know how t-to live without her.”

Growing up, Rafe had always been a momma’s boy. 

She was his safe place—the one person who didn’t make him feel like he had to be someone else. With her, he didn’t have to try so damn hard to be tough, or perfect, or whatever the hell his dad wanted him to be. 

Ward wasn’t the kind of dad who let his kids cry on his shoulder or told them he loved them every day. No, Ward was the kind of dad who believed in rules.

Men didn’t cry. Men didn’t show weakness. Men didn’t mess up—or, if they did, they sure as hell didn’t admit it.

He expected Rafe to follow those rules like they were gospel.

The worst part? His rules about what it meant to be a man stuck with Rafe, even when he didn’t want them to. When his mom got sick, he found himself choking back tears in the hospital bathroom, staring at his reflection and hearing Ward’s voice in his head: “Crying doesn’t solve anything. You’ve gotta be strong, for her, for your sisters.”

He had this idea in his head of what Rafe was supposed to be—strong, dependable, successful. He didn’t yell or lose his temper like some dads back then, he just made him feel like shit in this fucked up way.

Rafe tried, shit, he’d tried, but it felt impossible.

Every time he looked at his mom, pale and tired but still managing to smile at him like he was her whole world, he felt like he was dying too, then he’d feel guilty—for being so weak, for wanting to break down when she was the one fighting for her life.

It didn’t help that Ward had always had a soft spot for Sarah. Everyone could see it, even Rafe. She was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, the one Ward went out of his way to protect. 

If Rafe screwed up, it was a lecture or a punishment, but if Sarah did? Ward would just shake his head and say, “She’s still young. She’ll learn.”

It used to piss him off more than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t that he hated her—she was his sister, and he loved her. But how could he not resent her? He felt invisible when she got all the attention and the understanding, while he was expected to man up and deal with it.

After her funeral, things changed.

Rafe became quicker to snap, to walk away from anything that felt too hard. He was only himself around you, behind closed doors, never for preying eyes. Sarah grew colder, retreating into her own world where everything was controlled and distant.

Every time they spoke, it ended in shouting matches, slamming doors, or long stretches of silence that neither of them attempted to solve.

Except when you were there.

Ward got even colder, the grief had frozen whatever part of him used to care. He threw himself into work, making sure Sarah was okay, and barely even looked at his son. When he did, it was usually to tell him to pull it together, or to stop being so “moody.”

Rafe started to wonder if he even cared that he was falling apart, if he ever noticed the nights Rafe stayed out too late or came home smelling like booze. If he saw the way he avoided talking to him, how he flinched whenever Ward brought up his mom. But if his dad noticed, he never said anything. 

He thought it was just Rafe being Rafe—angry, unpredictable, a disappointment.

Fast forward to the present, and he hadn’t felt this helpless since that day at the funeral, not even when Ward’s died four months ago. 

You weren’t in his life anymore—hadn’t been for a while and you were possibly pregnant. 

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but it made sense, everything lined up with that possibility. He thought back to everything you’d been through together, the times you’d been there for him when no one else was, how you’d seen the pieces of him no one else cared to.

Now, you were having his kid—and he was hearing about it from Topper?

Rafe spent the first hour after Topper dropped the news pacing his bedroom like a caged animal, his heart wouldn’t stop racing and he felt like a ticking time bomb. 

The Rafe—the one who flew off the handle, yelled, broke things, and pushed people away—was begging to get out. But Topper’s voice kept replaying in his head, he had to act right, be calm, for your sake. To prove himself.

The problem was, that staying calm wasn’t his strong suit. 

He’d spent years burying every emotion he couldn’t control under layers of anger, and now he was supposed to sit with the hurricane in his chest and figure out how to make things right. 

For the first time in a long time, he realized he didn’t even know where to start.

That night, he locked himself in his room, ignoring his phone, his friends, everyone. None of it mattered anymore, the only thing he could think about was you—and the baby. 

He spent hours pacing, running his hands through his hair, trying to think of what the fuck he was going to say.

What was he gonna say after everything he’d put you through? After the fight, the distance, the way he’d shut you out when you’d been nothing but good to him until that point?

He sat down on the edge of his bed, head still in his hands, and let himself feel everything he’d been avoiding. The fear, the regret, the anger at himself. He thought about you—how you used to look at him like he wasn’t just a mess of a person, you’d stuck by him even when he’d given you every reason to leave.

You weren’t here anymore.

He’d pushed you so far away you hadn’t even told him about the situation yourself. Why would you anyway? He ghosted you and the next time you saw him he was with someone else. He could still see the look on your face when you saw him that night—arms slung casually around Sofia, while you sat in your car, eyes wild, you hadn’t tried to step outside, hadn’t yelled or made a scene, you simply drove off. 

It wasn’t until an hour later and terrible text message to you, that drunk and pissed at himself, he realized just how badly he’d screwed up. But by then, the damage was done, and he’d been too much of a coward to fix it. What followed was a sea of bad decisions and nights he couldn’t remember, trying to drown out the ache of losing you. 

He’d been drinking for Ward’s death until that point, now he did it for you.

Everything was catching up to him—the way he let his dad’s voice in his head drown out his own, making him let you slip through his fingers.

He didn’t deserve you—he knew that.

By sunrise, Rafe was still wide awake, sitting on the floor of his room surrounded by half-crumpled pieces of paper. He’d been trying to write down what he wanted to say to you, but everything sounded wrong. He’d never been good with words, not the kind that mattered.

He wasn’t a dad, wasn’t even close to being the kind of guy who could be a dad. 

What the fuck did he know about raising a kid? Changing diapers? Teaching someone right from wrong? Being patient? But the thought of you—of you carrying his kid—hit him differently.

At first, it had been pure panic. You hated him, what if you didn’t want him involved? What if he was just like Ward—cold, distant, always expecting too much? What if he screwed the kid up the same way he felt like he’d been screwed up? 

He pictured it without meaning to: you holding a tiny bundle in your arms, your face soft in a way he hadn’t seen in so long. A kid with your smile, your laugh—but his eyes. Or his messy hair. It scared the shit out of him.

What if she doesn’t even want to keep it?

Rafe hadn’t let himself go there at first, it was a lot to wrap his head around, the idea that there might not even be a child to fight for. 

The thought of you going through this, struggling to make a choice that he couldn’t help with, made him feel useless. 

Frustrated, he grabbed his keys and headed out, needing to clear his head. The island was silent this early, the kind of calm that used to make him feel trapped, but now, though, it was a relief. He drove aimlessly for a while, the salty air whipping through the open windows, until he found himself parked at the beach.

He didn’t know why he’d come here—well, you’d always bring him here when he spiraled. He sat there, watching the waves crash against the shore, feeling a weird sort of clarity that he hadn’t felt in months. 

Perhaps it was the silence, or the way the ocean didn’t care about all the fucking mess in his head, but something about it made him stop spiraling for a second.

He started to think about what Topper had said—not just about staying calm, but about proving to you that he still cared. That wasn’t something he could do with words alone, not after everything. He’d have to show you, he’d have to be the version of himself you used to believe in, the one who wasn’t ruled by his worst impulses.

Rafe knew the first step before he could even think about talking to you: he had to end things with Sofia. They weren’t official, but they might as well have been. 

People talked, made assumptions, and sure, he’d let them. It was easier that way—less explaining, less having to deal with the uncomfortable truth that he’d only been with her to fill the empty space you left behind. It was cruel, but at the time, he hadn’t cared. 

Sofia wasn’t you, but she was there, and more importantly, she didn’t expect anything from him. Keeping things going with her wasn’t just a bad idea; it was disrespectful. To you, to her, to himself. He couldn’t pretend he cared about her like that—not when his heart had never really left your orbit.

When he showed up at her place that morning before work, she didn’t seem surprised—not even a little. She’d seen the writing on the wall for weeks now, but tonight, seeing him standing there, just confirmed what she already knew.

She watched him like she was waiting for him to get to the point, but not impatiently—just resigned, she already knew what he was about to say.

“Can I come in?” 

She let him in without a word, she wasn’t mad, not really. If anything, she felt sad—mostly for him, a little for herself. How the fuck was he supposed to explain this without sounding like the worst person alive?

“You okay?” she asked quietly, she wasn’t being polite—she was trying to read him, figure out where this was going.

Rafe didn’t sit, didn’t take off his jacket. He stayed standing, hands shoved deep in his pockets, trying to find the words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you about something. 

She raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “Be honest.”

“This...this isn’t fair to you,” he started, his words tumbling out fast, “I should’ve been real with you from the start, but I wasn't," He swallowed hard, “You deserve better than me using you to forget someone else.”

Sofia didn’t say anything at first, just crossed her arms loosely, not making it easy for him, but she wasn’t making it harder, either.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you into this,” he continued, forcing himself to look at her. “It feels wrong and it’s not because of you. You’re great. You’ve been...you’ve been more patient with me than I deserve.”

Her lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that wasn’t quite happy but wasn’t cruel either. “But you’re still in love with her.”

He didn’t know why it shocked him—Sofia had always been perceptive—but hearing her say it out loud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.

“I—” He hesitated, but there was no point in denying it. “Yeah.”

“I knew,” She nodded like she’d been waiting for that confirmation. “I figured. I told myself it didn’t matter because—because I thought maybe you’d move on. Maybe I could help you move on. But you didn’t, and I—” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head as her arms tightened around herself.

Rafe’s brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged, the movement almost casual. 

“Because I really like you,” she admitted, “I knew. The party? When you got blackout drunk after seeing her leave? Or the country club, when you nearly started a fight defending her? I know you drove her to the hospital too. I kept hoping—God, I kept hoping you’d see me, that you’d let me be enough.”

He’d known she cared—he wasn’t blind—but hearing her saying like that made him realize just how he fucked up. She wasn’t wrong. He had been trying to numb himself, to drown out the reality of losing you, and she had been the collateral damage.

He looked away, guilt twisting in his chest. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“No,” she agreed, her tone firm but not unkind. “It wasn’t, but I don’t think you meant to hurt me either, you were trying to hurt yourself. It's still stupid of me to try, knowing you need to figure your shit out, but you don’t have to end things. I know what I signed up for, Rafe. I’m not asking you to choose me over her—I’m just asking you to try."

There was no anger in her voice, no bitterness—just exhaustion. It made him feel like a piece of shit because she deserved to feel angry, to lash out at him. But instead, she was still trying to give him a way out, a way to make this easier on himself.

“I’ll take whatever part of you I can get.”

It wasn’t desperate or pleading—it was resigned. She already knew the answer, but she couldn’t help saying it out loud.

Rafe shook his head, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “You deserve someone who can give you everything. That’s not me.”

“Why not?” she pressed, her tone insistent.

“Because all of me already belongs to her,” Rafe admitted, his voice breaking at the end. “It always has, it always will.”

Sofia blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise, but she didn’t look hurt—just...sad. She nodded slowly, her shoulders dropping in defeat.

“I hope she knows what she has, and I pray you show her," She stood up and motioning toward the door. “We both deserve better than a guy who drinks himself to death after seeing her at a party. So do you.”

Rafe didn’t move right away, unsure if he should say something more, apologize again, explain himself better. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

“Don’t thank me,” she replied, “Just do better.”

“I shouldn’t have let it go on this long,” he confessed, “I just—I didn’t know how to stop.”

Her expression softened just enough to show the tiniest sliver of empathy. “For what is worth, I think she still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now.” She paused, her hand resting on the doorknob, but she didn’t turn around, “Next time, please don’t do this to someone else, and don’t do it to her again, either.”

She still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now. He wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. The faint possibility, that you might still love him, it meant he had a chance but it also meant he could screw them up even worse.

He stood slowly, “Thank you,” he repeated,“For...everything.”

She didn’t look at him, but she nodded, opening the door and holding it for him. “Take care of yourself,” she said, and it wasn’t cold or angry—just sad.

By the time he got back to his car, he knew she wasn’t wrong, about any of it. 

She hadn’t screamed or cried or made him feel like the asshole he knew he was, that made it worse. If his mom was here, she would’ve smacked him across he head for hurting two amazing women at the same time. 

He hadn’t been ready to deal with his feelings for you—not when he started whatever the fuck it was with Sofia, not when he ran into you at that party, not when he defended you at the country club.

He’d been running, hiding, trying to bury everything under distractions that only made him feel emptier.

He leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes, and for a moment, it was like he was fourteen again, sitting on the edge of his mom’s hospital bed while his mom teased him.

“Come on, sweetheart” she’d said, her voice playful, even through the weariness. “You’ve been talking about her birthday for weeks. I think you like her more than you’re letting on.”

Rafe’s head shot up, and his ears burned red. “Mooomm,” he groaned, dragging out the word, “it’s not like that, she’s my best friend.”

“She’s your pretty best friend,” she’d corrected, smiling at him in that knowing way only she could. “You’re gonna pick out something nice for her, right?”

“I already did,” he mumbled, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket and holding it out like it was some great secret. Inside was a delicate bracelet he’d saved up for, something special, something he thought you’d like.

His mom’s smile had softened, the teasing fading into something more tender. 

“She’s lucky to have you,” she’d said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Even if you are a little knucklehead sometimes.”

He’d ducked away, embarrassed but secretly pleased, tucking the box back into his pocket.

“M’m not a knucklehead,” he complained, but she just laughed, and it was one of the last times he remembered hearing her laugh like that—free, unburdened, just his mom.

“She’s a good one. You’ve got good taste.” Her smile softened, and the teasing faded into something gentler. “I hope I’m still around when you get married. I’d love to see you happy like that.”

The words were a punch he hadn’t expected. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What could he even say to that? He wanted to argue, to tell her she would be, but the look in her eyes stopped him.

She knew. She always knew.

He just nodded, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. “Me too.”

She squeezed his hand. “Promise me something?”

“Anything,” he said without thinking because he meant it.

“When you find that person—really find them—don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

He nodded again.

Years later, standing in a stupid fucking car alone, those words haunted him. He’d found that person, he’d had her and he’d let her go.

“God,” he muttered, the self-loathing reaching a new high, “I’m so sorry, mom.”

As terrifying as it was to think about being a dad, to think about raising a kid when he was still trying to figure out his own life… the idea of losing this chance—of losing you, or the baby, or both, for good —scared him even more.

For the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron felt something close to hope, but it was tainted in so much fear and uncertainty, that he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

The rest of the day, he forced himself to slow down. 

He went back home, cleaned up the disaster of a room he’d been holed up in, and tried to think like a normal guy instead of a walking disaster. He even let Topper come over, though his patience for his relentless commentary wore thin fast.

“You’ve got one shot at this, dude,” Topper said, perched on Rafe’s desk like he owned the place. “If you go in there guns blazing, she’s just gonna think you’re the same old Rafe. And honestly? You can’t blame her.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue, Topper was right, as annoying as it was to admit.

He spent the evening coming up with a plan—just enough to make sure he didn’t go in blind. He practiced what he’d say in his head, pacing the kitchen while the sun sank below the horizon. Every time he started to panic, he forced himself to breathe, to remember why he was doing this.

By the time 24 hours had passed, he didn’t feel ready, but he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. The thought of you sitting somewhere, thinking he really didn’t care or that he wouldn’t step up?

That was worse than any fear he had about facing you. So he grabbed his keys, and headed out, this time, he wasn’t running away.

Rafe stood by your door, he’d gotten in the property using the gate’s code, one he’d hoped you had changed to keep him out, but you hadn’t.

He’d never been good at patience, never needed to be—not when he could push his way into anything. But this was different, you were different, always had been.

The wood under his hand was cool, in a way that pissed him off because it reminded him that there was a barrier between you and him, again, always.

He wanted to scream, kick the fucking thing down like the old Rafe would’ve, or instead use the keys you’d given him years ago. Instead, he stood there, swallowing his pride because you were worth it, even if it was tearing himself in half.

His knuckles dragged down the frame, fist clenching as if the pressure would ground him, keep him from losing his shit. He wasn’t here to fight, wasn’t here to make your life harder, no matter how much you thought he was. 

The door rattled slightly when he pressed his forehead against it, eyes squeezing shut. “Five minutes. Please.”

Nothing.

His jaw worked, teeth grinding against the words he wanted to say but couldn’t, not if he wanted you to open the door. He couldn’t do this anymore—the back-and-forth, the lies. He wasn’t sure what broke first—your resolve or the knot in his throat. 

When you didn’t answer again, he sank to sit on the porch, back against the door like he could still feel you on the other side. You were there—close enough to touch if there wasn’t this fucking door between you.

That was his fault.

He used to be the guy you’d let in without thinking twice, shit, there was a time when he didn’t need to knock.

He was in, part of your life, part of you.

Now, you were holed up, scared of him. Yeah, that ate him alive. He’d earned that fear—every cold shoulder, the slammed door, he deserved it.

He should’ve been different, been better, been someone you didn’t have to lock out. You were scared, and it killed him because it wasn’t just fear, it was him. He was the reason you didn’t feel safe enough to let the secret out, the reason your voice cracked when you told him to leave.

He had put that look in your eyes, the one he couldn’t unsee, no matter how hard he tried.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He could almost hear you breathing, shakily, like you were preparing yourself to outlast him.

He wanted to push. Fuck, he wanted to shove the door open, make you look at him, make you tell him everything—but that was the old Rafe, he took what he wanted, and bulldozed through whatever stood in his way.

Where had that ever gotten him? Nowhere but here: on the wrong side of a door, the wrong side of you.

He exhaled, long and slow, hand falling limp to his side.

What the hell was he doing? Forcing his way in, forcing answers—that wasn’t going to fix this. It never did. You’d push harder, build the walls higher, and he couldn’t stomach the idea of you hating him more than you already did.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “I get it.”

He didn’t know if you could still hear him, perhaps you were blocking him out completely. Maybe you were curled up with your hands over your ears. He hoped you weren’t crying, though the thought twisted and turned something deep in him.

“I’m not gonna push you,” he said, hating how defeated he sounded. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He ran a hand down his face, swallowing hard, trying to keep it together.

“I just... I just want you to be okay.” He hesitated, then pressed his palm flat against the door, wishing he could reach you somehow, without scaring you, “Baby or not.”

He waited, hoping for something—a sound, a movement, anything, but the silence was absolute.

His heart clenched as he pushed off the door and took a step back, his shoes scraping against the porch. He didn’t want to leave, he never wanted to leave, but this wasn’t about what he wanted. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, almost to himself, "I'm so sorry. I’m sorry it took me this long, okay?”

He stopped halfway, looking back, hoping—praying—for some sign. A light flicking on, the sound of the door creaking open, your voice calling his name, anything.

But the house stayed still, it had already moved on from him. 

He didn’t remember deciding to drive to Poguelandia; he felt it in his gut, in the pit of his chest, this pounding certainty that Sarah knew something he didn’t. You wouldn’t tell him—but Sarah? You’d chosen her to drive you home from the hospital just a few days ago.

She was the only person that could lie to his face properly, he couldn’t fucking figure her out, she was always deflecting shit wherever they talked.

By the time he pulled up to the pogues’ little hideaway, the sky had darkened, the place lit only by the glow of string lights and the hum of voices inside. He sat in the truck for a second, staring at the house, willing himself to calm down.

Barging in—loud, pissed, impulsive—wasn’t going to get him what he needed. But fuck, it was hard not to.

He climbed out, slamming the door behind him with just enough force to feel better for half a second. The screen door creaked as he stepped up to the porch, and he could already hear them inside—Sarah’s laugh, JJ cracking some dumbass joke, the rest of them chiming in like they didn’t have a care in the world.

He hated this, hated how they all looked at him, as if he was some ticking time bomb ready to explode. They weren’t wrong.

Rafe knocked, hard and sharp, the laughter inside cut off instantly. Footsteps approached the door, hesitant. A second later, it swung open, and there she was, his sister, looking at him like he was the last person she wanted to see.

“Rafe,” she said, one hand still gripping the door. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We need to talk.”

Her brows pulled together, suspicion creeping into her expression. “Now? Seriously?”

“Yeah, now,” he snapped, stepping closer, his voice low enough to keep from drawing the others’ attention. “Don’t make me say it in front of them.”

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder toward the voices in the living room. “Rafe, I don’t think—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off, his tone sharper than he meant. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to soften, to keep it together. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

She glanced back again, then sighed, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind her. He was already pacing, hands twitching at his sides, hardly able to contain the energy inside him. 

The way she looked at him—wary, guarded—only made it worse.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asked, crossing her arms, like she was already bracing for a fight.

“My problem?” he barked out a laugh, sharp. “You really wanna play dumb right now? You’ve been keeping something from me, Sarah. I know you have.”

Her brows knit together, feigning confusion, “Dude. What’s this about? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” he hissed, stepping closer, “Don’t lie to me. I already know, okay? I know about the baby.”

She didn’t say a word, didn’t confirm a thing, just stared at him like he was some wild animal.

“Where did you get the idea that she’s pregnant?”

His mouth opened, then closed. It felt wrong to snitch on Topper when he’d been one making him pry a little more.

“Well?” she pressed, “Answer me. How did you come up with that?”

Saying it out loud felt like admitting he’d been just as reckless and intrusive as everyone expected him to be. His hand ran over his face, trying to stall.

“I didn’t just make it up.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, her patience waning. “No shit. So where, Rafe?”

He glanced away, then back, his voice defensive. “Topper said something, okay? He heard—he thought—” Rafe stopped, knowing how weak it sounded.

 “Topper? You’re taking life advice from Topper now?”

“He didn’t mean anything by it!” Rafe was quick to defend him, “He just... he mentioned some things, and it got me thinking. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Sarah repeated, “You barged over there because Topper mentioned ‘some things’ ? Jesus Christ.”

His hands flew up in frustration. “What was I supposed to do? Pretend I didn’t hear it? Ignore it and hope it went away? I needed to know!”

“No, you didn’t,” Sarah shot back. “You wanted to know. There’s a difference, and it’s the difference that keeps getting you into this shit.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe pointed a finger in his direction, “Like I’m crazy or something. I’m not stupid.”

"You’re just not worth the energy right now."

Instead of crying like he wanted to, he let out a dry laugh, pacing back and forth in front of her.

"Right. Sure. I can see it all over you, just say it."

She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You don’t know what you’re talking about. Neither does Topper.”

“Stop lying!” His voice rose, loud enough to echo into the dark yard. “Just stop. You know something.”

Sarah’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, Rafe thought he’d finally cracked her. Except instead of giving him what he wanted, she just let out a slow breath, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that made him feel like a child fighting for his favorite toy.

“You want to know the truth?” 

“Yes,” he bit out, his chest heaving.

She stepped forward so they were only inches apart. “The truth is, you don’t deserve to know. Not yet.”

Everyone kept telling him the same thing, couldn’t they see he was already trying?

He staggered back a step. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means, that whatever you’re looking for, whatever answers you think you deserve, they’re not yours to take. Not until you can handle them without breaking everything you touch."

He flinched, her words striking something inside him, “You don’t get to decide that for me,” he said, almost desperate.

“I’m not deciding anything,” she replied, her eyes never leaving his. “You’ve spent these last few months making everything about you. Your pain, your anger, your needs.”

He glanced away, “So, what? You don’t trust me?”

Her silence was louder than anything she could have said.

“You don’t,” he murmured, the realization bitter in his mouth.

"I don’t," she agreed, “You’re still not the person she needs you to be, and until you can prove you can do that—without me, without anyone holding your hand—you’re better off not knowing.”

“I’m trying. I swear to fucking God, I’m trying. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“She’s scared you’re going to hurt her again—whether you mean to or not. You’re dating someone else, for god’s sake.”

“I ended it. This morning.”

Sarah’s eyebrows lifted slightly, “Doesn’t change the past, Rafe. And it sure as hell doesn’t make everything better overnight.”

Rafe flinched, the words sinking into him like stones. "Why the fuck do you think I’m here? I don’t want to hurt her—I can’t do anything if she won’t even talk to me."

Topper still had that number. 

You hadn’t hidden it well enough, he hadn’t done anything with it, but it was tempting. All he had to do was call, just to confirm, he told himself. Not to pry, simply to know for sure.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. This isn’t something you can force your way into. She would never forgive you, please be smart.”

His first instinct was to lash out, fire back some venom-laced retort that would sting as much as her tone. He nodded, swallowing hard.

“Okay,” He dragged a hand through his head, “I know that, I know. But I can’t just sit here, doing nothing. I need to... I need to show her I can do better. That I am better.”

“You need to crawl through hell to understand a fraction of what she’s going through; you need to stop thinking about what you want and start thinking about her.”

His hands fell to his sides, limp, the fight suck out of him. She was right—he hated that she was. This wasn’t about him anymore; it never had been.

 “What can I do?”

Her expression softened, not with forgiveness but something sadder—she wanted to believe he could. “You start by fixing yourself, then you wait. Until she’s ready, if she’s ready. You’ve got to mean that, Rafe, you screw this up again..."

"I won’t," he said firmly, cutting her off. "I can’t."

“Okay.”

“What if she’s not ready?”

He had no right to demand more.

“You keep going, keep trying. Not for her, not for anyone else—just for you.”

By the time he got back in his truck, the hurt in his body hadn’t lifted. His mom’s words echoed in his mind one more, “When you find that person, don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

Maybe that started with learning to be the person who deserved to hold on.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[theroundbartable]

Time travel au:

After Arthur dies at Camlann, he wakes up the day of the 20th anniversary of the purge.

Conflicted about his father's rule, scared of this death-not death scenario, he finds himself reaching out to Merlin, who, for the first time of many, saves his life.

Alive and full of energy, Arthur wants to be kind and gentle with Merlin, but the 10 years of lying lay ahead only in Merlin's eyes, not his own. The betrayal cut deep, would still have if it hadn't been about magic.

Just as back then, they slowly become friends. Arthur is different, kinder, albeit more reserved around Merlin. He trusts him but is always suspicious of his lying nature. But Arthur is also more positive about magic. More doubtful about the law. More open about it too.

And it is here, right before the battle of Ealdor, less than half a year after Merlin came to Camelot, that he tells Arthur.

Merlin: I know you're a good man and I know you wish to help, but I need you to turn around and go home.

Arthur: don't be stupid, Merlin, I won't let you fight this war all on your own. You can barely hold a sword!

Merlin: I can and I will. With magic.

The confession comes out of nowhere, the honestly stuns Arthur into silence.

Merlin: I'm sorry I kept this from you. But you know your father. What he would do. You have a good heart, but you don't have to worry about me or my village. I want to show you how magic can do good. Just - I don't want to drag you into this

Arthur: Did you just tell me about your magic?!

Merlin: I know I can trust you.

Arthur: after 6 months?

Merlin: you deserve the truth.

'Did I not deserve it then?''

It occurrs to Arthur slowly, very slowly, as he force accompanies Merlin to Ealdor and sees Merlin fight, how he defeats bandits and Griffins, helps bastets and druids, that he was wrong.

Merlin HAD trusted him. With every doubt and every conflict and every wonder, Merlin had come to him.

Arthur simply hadn't let him. Merlin had trusted him. It had been Arthur, who'd pushed him away.

And one night, as Merlin had fallen asleep in a chair beside Arthur, a magical glowing orb hovering over the new magic laws, he finally understands:

'I'm the one who didn't trust you.'

[dinarosie]

Re-Reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire: Snape’s Moment of Unyielding Bravery

The scene I want to highlight in The Goblet of Fire is one that carries so much weight, and each time I re-read it, the gravity of the moment only increases. Imagine the setting: the hospital wing. It’s packed with people—Cornelius Fudge, Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, Bill and Molly Weasley, Hermione, Ron, and Harry. All eyes are on Snape as he steps forward, pulls up his sleeve, and reveals the Dark Mark burned into his skin.

“There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff’s too.

Let that sink in. Snape isn’t just showing a Mark; he’s exposing the deepest, darkest secret of his life. He’s standing in front of his students, his colleagues, and—let’s not forget—Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, and he’s admitting something most people would bury forever.

What makes this even more remarkable is that the choice to do this wasn’t something Dumbledore told him to make. This isn’t part of some grand plan discussed beforehand. Snape makes this decision on his own, in the moment, fully aware of how it will tarnish him in the eyes of others. Why?

Because Snape understands the stakes. Fudge’s denial of Voldemort’s return endangers the entire wizarding world. By exposing the Dark Mark on his arm, Snape hopes to convince Fudge to take Voldemort’s return seriously. His goal is clear: to push the Ministry into taking precautionary measures and preparing the wizarding community for the battle ahead.

And then there’s this haunting line:

“…We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord’s vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold.”

What Snape doesn’t say, but what we understand, is that he knows he’s facing the exact same fate. When Snape goes back to Voldemort, he knows he’ll be met with pain, torture, and humiliation and even death. Where Karkaroff sees only a way out, Snape sees his duty—a stark contrast that underscores Snape’s resolve.

Here’s what makes this even more powerful: Snape is so determined to convince Fudge that he uses the suffering he knows awaits him as evidence. He stands there, knowing that returning to Voldemort will mean enduring unbearable torture, and he uses that as proof of Voldemort’s return. Snape essentially says, “I know what’s coming for me, and I’m still standing here to tell you the truth.”

Then we reach the next turning point in this scene:

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready . . . if you are prepared . . .”

Look at Dumbledore’s approach here. He’s cautious, almost hesitant. This is a sharp contrast to Half-Blood Prince, where Dumbledore gives Snape direct orders about killing him. Here, Dumbledore knows exactly what he’s asking of Snape: to return to Voldemort, to put himself in unimaginable danger.

And Snape’s response?

“I am.”

That’s it. Two words. No hesitation, no complaint. J.K. Rowling describes him as pale, his cold, dark eyes glittering strangely. Dumbledore, too, is described as watching Snape leave with a trace of apprehension on his face. Both of them know that Snape might not come back. Both of them know he’s walking into the lion’s den. And yet, Snape doesn’t waver.

This moment is a masterclass in bravery, but it also completely dismantles the argument that Snape’s good deeds are purely motivated by guilt over Lily or his promise to Dumbledore.

This scene also shows us that the promise Snape made to Dumbledore after Lily’s death wasn’t just about protecting Harry. It was about choosing a side. Snape made the decision to fight against Voldemort, no matter the cost. From that moment on, he dedicated himself to sabotaging the Dark Lord’s plans, enduring unspeakable pain and danger in the process.

And let’s not overlook this: Snape doesn’t just fight when Harry is in danger. He fights Voldemort at every opportunity because he knows it’s the right thing to do. He does it not because of guilt or obligation, but because his own moral compass demands it.

This scene in The Goblet of Fire encapsulates everything that makes Snape such a complex, fascinating character. It’s raw, vulnerable, and incredibly brave. Snape isn’t perfect—far from it—but this moment proves that he is so much more than the sum of his flaws. He’s a man who chooses to stand and fight, even when it means sacrificing everything.

[dionysianivy]

𝐘𝐮𝐥𝐞

The winter solstice 🎄

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What is Yule?

Yule, rooted in ancient Pagan traditions, is a time of profound spiritual significance and celebration. Observed during the winter solstice, Yule marks the shortest day and longest night of the year, when the sun reaches its southernmost point in the sky within the Wheel of the Year. Historically, it is a period rich in feasting, merriment, and magical practices, rooted in ancient pagan traditions. Celebrated from December 21 to January 1 in the Northern Hemisphere and from June 21 to July 1 in the Southern Hemisphere Yule spans 12 days, beginning on the Winter Solstice, and is celebrated with rituals, offerings, and festivities that honor the rebirth of the sun, the changing seasons, and connections to deities or spirits.

The origins of Yule trace back to Nordic Pagan festivals, which began with the winter solstice. The name "Yule" itself carries symbolic meaning. It may derive from juleiss, a Gothic term for a festive month, or from the Anglo-Saxon word for "wheel," a nod to the ever-turning Wheel of the Year. These celebrations emphasized the rebirth of light and the power of community during the dark winter months. Fires were lit to drive away the bitter chill of winter and to welcome the sun’s warmth and light back into the world. These fires symbolized resilience and hope, inspiring those who gathered to reflect on renewal and the enduring cycles of nature. Also known as the Winter solstice, Yuletide is deeply connected to the Celtic tradition of honoring the Sun King’s rebirth. This sacred event symbolizes the return of light and the promise of renewal, hope, and transformation.

Yule remains a powerful time to reflect on the year’s end, set intentions for renewal, and honor the balance of light and dark. In essence, Yule is a celebration of life’s cycles and the eternal return of the sun. Whether through ancient rituals or modern adaptations, its themes of renewal, community, and connection continue to inspire those who honor its magic. From lighting fires to welcoming the Sun King’s rebirth, Yule reminds us of the return of lighter, longer and brighter days.

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Holly King & Oak King

During Yule, the mythical battle between the Holly King and the Oak King unfolds, symbolizing the eternal cycle of the seasons. The Holly King, ruler of the waning year, governs the darker half of the year from Midsummer to Yule, embodying the quiet, reflective energy of winter. In contrast, the Oak King, representing the waxing year, reigns from Yule to Midsummer, bringing the promise of light, growth, and abundance.

At the winter solstice, the Oak King triumphs over the Holly King, marking the turning point from the longest night to the gradual return of light and longer days. This victory signifies the triumph of renewal over stagnation, life over dormancy, and hope over the darkness of winter. It celebrates the rebirth of the sun and the promise of brighter days to come.

The myth of the Holly King and Oak King beautifully captures the cyclical rhythm of nature, reflecting the eternal dance between light and dark, life and death, and the perpetual cycle of rebirth. During Yule, this timeless story is often incorporated into rituals and ceremonies to honor the changing seasons and embrace the natural flow of life. It serves as a powerful reminder of the balance inherent in the universe and the inevitability of new beginnings.

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The Yule Log

The Yule log, a cherished tradition rooted in ancient customs across various cultures, is a powerful symbol of light, warmth, and the cycle of life. Central to Yule celebrations, the log represents the return of the sun, the triumph of light over darkness, and the renewal of life as the longest night gives way to lengthening days.

Traditionally, families would select a large log, often from trees considered sacred, such as oak, ash, or birch, and ceremoniously bring it into their homes to burn during the Yule festivities. Oak symbolized strength and endurance, ash was associated with protection and prosperity, and birch represented new beginnings. Before lighting the log, it was often adorned with seasonal greenery like holly, ivy, or mistletoe, as well as dusted with wine, cider, or oil as offerings to the spirits of the hearth and the divine.

The burning of the Yule log was not just a practical act of creating warmth; it held deep spiritual significance. The fire symbolized the returning sun's strength and the victory of light over the darkness of winter. The ashes from the burned log were often kept, believed to hold protective and healing properties. Some would scatter the ashes over their fields or gardens to bless the land for the coming year, while others used the ashes in rituals for protection or luck.

The log was typically burned for several days, often for the twelve nights of Yule, signifying the transition from the old year to the new. Families would preserve a portion of the unburned log to kindle the following year’s Yule log, ensuring continuity and the protection of the household. During the burning, people gathered around the hearth to share stories, sing songs, and enjoy feasts, celebrating the end of one cycle and the beginning of another.

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The Yule Tree

The Yule tree was an important symbol in Pagan traditions, representing the Tree of Life or the World Tree. It was a way for early Pagans to honor the cycles of nature and the interconnectedness of all life. The tree was decorated with gifts and offerings to the gods, as people hoped to receive blessings for the coming year.In ancient times, the Yule tree was adorned with natural decorations like pinecones, berries, and fruit, which symbolized abundance and fertility. People also hung symbols that were sacred to the gods and goddesses, making the tree a living altar of sorts.

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Magic Correspondences:

Planets: Jupiter, Saturn

Season: Winter

Element: Earth

Time of Day: Dawn

Tarot: The World, Three of Cups, The Star, The Wheel of Fortune

Colors: Red, White, Green, Gold, Black, Silver

Herbs: Sage, Holly, Bayberry, Fir, Ivy, Mistletoe, Cinnamon, Frankincense, Myrrh, Cedar, Pine, Cedarwood, Juniper, Oregano

Fruits: Orange, Grapefruit, Pomegranate, Clementine, Cranberry, Mandarin, Nuts, Lemon

Vegetables: Potato, Broccoli, Cauliflower, Turnips, Cabbage, Onion

Runes: Dagaz, Sowilo, Jera, Isa

Crystals: Black Tourmaline, Turquoise, Garnet, Clear Quartz, Ruby, Bloodstone, Moss Agate, Blue Zircon, Serpentine, Cat's eye

Trees: Cedar, Oak, Pine, Fir, Chestnut

Goddesses: Amaterasu, Athena, Hecate, Demeter, Cailleach Bheur, Frigga, Freyja, Brigid, Isis, Perchta / Berchta

Gods: Baldur, Dionysus, Cernunnos, Odin, Holly King, Oak King, Horus, Saturn, Osiris, Cronos

Dragon: Naelyon

Flowers: Holly, Poinsettia, Narcissus, Christmas Cactus, Daffodil

Animals: Goat, Squirrel, Stag, Deer, Robin, Wren, Snowy Owl, Bear, Wolf

Mythical Beings: La Befana, Yule Goat, Yule Cat, Gnomes, Yule Boar, Krampus, Gryla, The Disir, Elves

Magical Powers: Snow Magic, new beginnings, love, gratitude, friendship, fulfillment, darkness & light, transformation, house blessings, peace, healing, new cycle.

Activities To Do:

🎄 Make a Yule altar

🔔 Decorate a Yule tree with your favorite decorations (dried oranges, holly, garlands, bows, pinecones, and more)

🎄 Start planning for the coming year

🔔 Bake a Yule Log (Bûche de Noël)

🎄 Decorate your Yule Log with ribbons, pine branches, candles, berries, and cloves

🔔 Collect pinecones and arrange them around your home

🎄 Burn small pieces of pine in a cauldron for good luck in the new year

🔔 Drink hot mulled wine

🎄 Craft a wreath

🔔 Create a special Yule Log where you can write your wishes and let it burn in the fireplace

🎄 Hang mistletoe in your home

🔔 Listen to Yule music or Christmas carols

🎄 Sing or dance to your favorite festive music

🔔 Make a Yule magic jar

🎄 Bake spiced cookies

🔔 Connect and spend time with your deities

🎄 Cook as many seasonal recipes as you can

🔔 Perform fire, new beginnings, or prosperity spells

🎄 Exchange gifts with your loved ones

🔔 Write your wishes on bay leaves and burn them to release their energy

🎄 Read about Yuletide traditions and history

🔔 Watch Yule/Christmas themed movies

🎄 Wear seasonal colors

🔔 Spend time with your loved ones, eat together, and play games

🎄 Hang dried oranges around your home for a sweet & festive scent

🔔 Spend time in nature

🎄 Light candles around your house to honor the return of the light, leaving them on until sunrise (keep them in safe spots, especially near where you sleep)

🔔 Enjoy the longest night of the year by staying cozy and doing activities you love

🎄 Meditate in nature

🔔 Host a Yule feast!

🎄 Honor your ancestors during the Yule days

🔔 Drink hot chocolate as you watch your Yule log burn, sending your wishes into the Universe and visualizing them coming true ♡

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Food and Drinks:

Yule Log cake, bread pudding, roasted nuts, gingerbread, potato latkes, Yule ham, roast goose, spiced cakes, cinnamon-flavored cakes, ginger tea, hot apple cider, wassail, seasoned soups, spiced buttermilk bread, nuts, apples, honey, oranges, dried fruits, turkey, roasted meats, mincemeat, eggnog, chocolate, roasted chicken, roasted capon, roasted partridge, roasted suckling pig, venison offal, rabbit stew, fruit mince pies, sugar cookies, grog, spiced cider, mulled wine, plum pudding, marmalade cakes, chocolate biscuits, fruit pies, tarts with nuts, hot cocoa (These are just suggestions for traditional Yule foods, but feel free to eat or drink anything you like! :D)

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useful sources: Wicca: A Modern Guide To Witchcraft & Magick; Encyclopedia of Witchcraft: The Complete A-Z for the Entire Magical World by Judika Illes; Wicca in the kitchen by Scott Cunningham

gifs credit: Pinterest

TipJar🎅🎄

[ivystoryweaver]

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

This has been in my drafts for a year, enjoy that

Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Summary: You expected your best friend to be as optimistic about Life Day as he is about everything else. But he's different this year. (This is set after the events of The Last Jedi if you're interested in the timeline)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Content: Poe is a sad/tipsy/handsy puppy, angst, inebriation, drinking, kissing, misunderstandings, discussions of death, probably inaccurate Life Day nonsense, friends to lovers, pining, this boy's trauma deserves some attention ok

Poe wasn't at breakfast.

He missed your morning run together.

Life Day spirit was in the air and General Organa had released as much personnel as could be managed, particularly those who celebrated.

Maybe Poe headed back to Yavin 4 without mentioning anything?

Your best friend usually told you everything, so if he left without saying goodbye...

"Have you seen Poe?" You asked a few dozen people throughout the day, even going so far as to find General Organa, pleading with her to tell you if he was off on a solo mission, or a secret one.

She assured you she had ordered no such mission.

So where was he?

Deciding to head back to your room to change for the festivities, you tried to shake off the anxiety prickling your skin. After a quick trip to the fresher, you put on your best outfit - which was basically the only thing you owned that wasn't Resistance-issued attire.

Upon checking Poe's room one final time, you reluctantly made your way to the mess hall, which, for the people remaining at the Resistance base, would serve as a dance floor.

Colorful strings of lights illuminated the dimly lit room, mismatchedbulbs from droids and ships and even various lanterns. Trinkets special to Resistance members were strung up here and there - good luck charms and souvenirs from missions - anything that would reflect and sparkle and shine.

As if holiday magic itself was guiding you, the sparkle of a familiar gold necklace glinted, catching your eye. All the sudden, there he was, sitting in a corner, surrounded by people, slurring his way through a story of battle glory.

Shit, he was already tipsy? Not good.

His dark brown eyes brightened as they landed on you.

"There you are," he laughed out, reaching out for you, suddenly ignoring the others vying for his attention. "I was just talking about you, come here."

Despite the fact that he was nestled in a corner booth, he insisted you shimmy your way to sit down beside him.

"Poe, it's okay, there's no room. I can just - "

"Nooo, 'sokay," he waved his hand dismissively before reaching up to pull on your sleeve. "Sit with me, right here. Been waiting for you."

Poe was so damn stubborn when he'd been drinking...which is how you ended up smooshed up against his side, halfway on his lap.

"You smell so good," he murmured, burying his nose behind your ear as his arm slid around your waist.

Nudging him with your shoulder, you couldn't help but smile. "How much have you had to drink? It's early."

The corner of his mouth curled knowingly as he touched his forehead to yours. "Started early. You weren't here to stop me."

Your face heated up at how flirty he seemed this evening. "What are you talking about? I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Not everywhere or you would have found me here," he shrugged, pushing his half empty drink toward you. "Gotta catch up."

"Uh, no thank you," you giggled, trying to find a comfortable sitting position that didn't land you all the way in Poe's lap. On second thought, maybe if you finished Poe's drink, you could keep an eye on what else he chose to imbibe for the rest of the evening.

"Actually, give me that." You downed it in a couple gulps, to Poe's great amusement and a whoop from your table mates.

"Okay, okay, you have to play the game too," a fellow pilot informed you, nodding to a cheap looking bottle of something or other in the middle of the table. "Truth or dare?"

You glared over at Poe. "Truth or dare? How old are we?"

"Four-hundred thirty-seven," an alien pilot opposite you teased. "Haven't played Truth or Dare since I was around two-hundred."

"Exactly," you decided to let a couple of centuries make your point.

"Come onnn, play with us," Poe breathed on your ear, goosing your ribs, which sent your backside jerking against his thigh as you shrieked in surprise. You nearly lost your balance, but Poe wrapped his arms around your torso to steady you.

"Truth or dare?" You were asked again.

With a groan, you decided on truth.

"You've hooked up with Commander Dameron," she declared. Everyone at the table leaned in, ready for your answer. You should have known.

"No, I haven't. That's the truth."

"Commander?" She challenged, fact-checking your statement with Poe.

"Don't ask me, it's not my turn," he mysteriously shrugged, which elicited some 'oooh's' and made you groan.

The game continued until it was Poe's turn. He choose truth and was posed the same question as you. His answer confirmed yours - no hookups between you. That fact didn’t stop his thumb from languidly tracing circles on your stomach as he held onto you.

On your next turn, you tried to avoid another probing question by choosing dare.

"Kiss Commander Dameron," the older alien pilot challenged. You felt a chuckle rumble in his chest.

"Fine," you shrugged, turning your head to peck him on the cheek. A chorus of 'boo's' went up, but you silenced them, letting them know they didn't specify where or how you had to kiss Poe.

So, naturally, when it was Poe's turn, he chose dare, and was dared to kiss you. On the mouth.

"Okay, time for bed," you decided, attempting to climb out of your crowded seat and off Poe's thigh, which you were certain had fallen asleep by now underneath your weight.

"Aw, don't go," Poe complained, keeping a loose hold on your wrist, but not holding you back, in case you really wanted to leave. "It won't be Life Day without you. Promise I won't kiss you."

Your eyes met his and you swore you saw a flicker of sadness dance across them. "Okay, I'll stay, but no more Truth or Dare." Hitching your thumb at your table mates you whispered, "They're ganging up on us."

"Then let's go dance," Poe proposed, releasing your wrist and clambering out of the booth and onto the dance floor. Just to make you laugh, he did a silly twirl and struck a pose before offering his hand. “Shall we?”

"Wow, you are so drunk," you cackled taking his hand and following him willingly.

You made it to the middle of the makeshift dance floor, and he pulled your hand to his chest, slipping his other arm around your waist as you began to sway to the music.

Smiling at him sweetly, you released his hand, pushing your fingers up over the exposed skin of his chest, revealed by one too many buttons unfastened. Not that you were complaining. Up your fingers traced, toying with the chain nestled there, over the smooth column of his neck. His throat bobbed under your touch.

Looping your arms around his neck, you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, swaying back and forth with a silly, dramatic flare, which earned a chuckle from Poe. His hands found your hips and squeezed, dragging you closer until your chest pressed against his and his forehead dropped to yours.

"What is going on with you?" You murmured, heart fluttering in your chest as you attempted to keep your wits about you.

"Nothing, just...really glad you're here. Missed you today," he whispered, alcohol tinged breath ghosting your lips.

"Could've fooled me. I couldn't find you anywhere, Poe. I thought you went back home for Life Day without even telling me."

"Without you? No," he shook his head as if trying to clear the cobwebs. "Not without you. Without telling you, I mean."

“But I couldn’t find you,” you insisted, resisting the urge to toy with the curls at the base of his neck. It felt good to be close to him - to have his attention. But he wasn't in his right mind and you couldn't take advantage of your friendship. "I thought maybe you were avoiding me. I was worried."

His gaze dropped, jaw clenching as your swaying eased to a stop. "I'm sorry."

In a group, drinking and telling stories, he could keep up a festive facade but you saw right through him.

"Hey," you softly redirected his gaze back to yours. "It's Life Day. You love Life Day. Right? The tree and the lights?"

"Yeah," he whispered, eyes flickering down to your lips. "I just...I'm not feeling so festive this year."

Stepping back, you ran your palms down his arms and took his hands. "Wanna get out of here? Let's get some air. We can look at the tree."

He nodded, following your lead out into the night, gripping your hand as if you might evaporate right before his eyes if he let go.

You walked quietly for several moments, cheeks burning as a few passersby noticed you holding hands with the Commander, prompting you to finally release your hold. Without the tether, Poe’s walking slowed, turning into a listless stumble, which was how you realized he might not be in any shape to take a stroll through the woods.

Perhaps he was better off tucked into a booth, surrounded by people. The fact that you misread the situation and his needs brought a wave of trepidation and regret. You stopped walking and turned to him, pressing your palms against his chest.

It took his mind a second to catch up, so you guided him around the side of the closest building - closed for the holiday. Steadying him up against the wall, with hands on his chest once more, you apologized. “I should take you back to your room.”

Gripping your elbows, he stared at you so intently it made your knees go weak. As your body swayed into his, he wrapped his arms around you, gathering you close. Mistaking it for a hug, albeit an intimate one, you turned your head to lay it on his chest, but his mouth met yours, capturing your lips in kiss.

All the air rushed out of you as he tasted you, spreading his hand over the curve of your back and pressing and pulling you into him harder. The heat of his tongue and the solid warmth of his body consumed you utterly and you found yourself kissing him back with fervor.

The sound of voices and a clattering bottle nearby jolted you out of...whatever this was, sending you stumbling back, dazed. You felt as drunk as Poe apparently was, but from him alone rather than the half drink you’d downed.

Poe, mistaking your withdrawal as rejection, reached for your arms, murmuring, "No, no, I'm sorry, don't go."

Noticing his obvious distress, you allowed his touch, gripping his biceps through his leather jacket. "It's okay. I'm here," you breathlessly gasped, mind reeling and heart pounding. "Let me take you back."

"I don't want you to go," he whimpered, grip on your forearms tightening. "Don't be mad. I don't want...I can't - "

"Hey," you soothed, touching his cheek to direct his bleary gaze to yours. "I won't leave you. Not ever."

This seemed to appease him and he followed your lead back to his room. Your instincts seemed to somehow be way off with him tonight, and you regretted tearing him away from the fun he seemed to be enjoying before you interrupted.

Maybe it was you. Perhaps that's why he'd avoided you all day. Hot tears burned your eyes as you guided him to lie down on his bed. As he pleaded with you not to go, again, you hushed him, swearing you wouldn't.

You worked his boots off his feet before helping him sit up to remove his jacket. Climbing into bed, you wrapped your arms around him, guiding him to lie down on your lap. His distress calmed almost instantly as he murmured, "thank you" a few times, burying his nose in your tummy.

"Love you so much," he whispered so faintly, you convinced yourself he must have said something else.

Raking your fingers through his slightly damp curls, you shushed him a few times, realizing you'd never seen him like this. Tipsy? Yes. Drunk? Maybe once or twice. Handsy? Always. But broken? Not like this.

He fell asleep in minutes and only then, did you let tears escape your eyes. Before long, you felt your eyes grow heavy, so you worked your way down onto the bed, hoping not to wake Poe.

Somehow, exhaustion mingled with the pounding in your heart - from worry, from sharing Poe's bed, from the flavor of alcohol on your lips from his kiss. And from the words he uttered - things he probably wouldn't even remember.

Sleep finally came, granting you both reprieve.

The next morning, you awoke while there was barely light in the sky. Since Poe was still asleep, you decided to freshen up a bit and get him some toast and something hot to drink. You crept out of his room and back again as quietly as you could manage.

Upon your return, you were surprised to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows digging into his knees and head in his hands. Dark curls tumbled over his fingers, obscuring his handsome face from you. His shoulders slumped defeatedly.

"Hey there," you softly greeted, presenting the tray of bland food and hot tea to him like an offering. "How are you feeling?"

"Like an asshole," he lamented, voice muffled by his hands.

"Well, I'm used to that," you attempted lightly. "But you had a lot to drink last night. What was that about?"

Raking his fingers down his face, he managed to face you then, eyes bloodshot and lips parched. It was kind of endearing to see him not looking completely perfect for once.

"First of all, tell me how pissed you are. I can take it." He visibly withdrew, waiting for your verdict on how he behaved last night.

"I'm not pissed," you assured him, "just really worried. Why don't you eat something and then we can talk?"

After Poe choked down some toast, you decided to swing by your room and change while he visited the fresher. You promised to return, and when you did, he was waiting for you with open arms.

Folding you close, he breathed on your ear how sorry he was, over and over, while you pressed your nose to the clean scent of his damp neck, exposed by the clean, thin shirt he wore.

Easing back, you reached to toy with the wet curls flipping out behind his ear. "What are you sorry for?"

"Where do I begin?" He scoffed, his gaze dropping. "I ruined your Life Day. I ignored you all day. Kissed you."

"So...you're sorry for kissing me," you clarified, your stomach dropping.

"Yes. No." He shook his head, confused. "I didn't want to be alone." He winced, regretting the words as they left his mouth.

Your jaw clenched as you struggled to maintain your composure. "So you're sorry for kissing me? Or you're sorry that you kissed me while you were drunk, just so you wouldn't be alone?"

Pacing away, one hand landed on his hip while the other tore through his hair. "That's not what I meant. I...I was trying to forget everything and just drink and have fun, but not with you."

Shit. Wrong wording. Again.

"So, that's why you avoided me all day." It wasn't a question. The realization of it stole your breath from your lungs and you sank down on the bed as tears burned your eyes.

"No, baby. No." Poe was quick to kneel down before you, reaching desperately for your hands. "This is...shit, this is coming out all wrong." Seeing tears pool in your beautiful, shining eyes seared his insides with guilt and shame - his companions ever since the events leading up to the Battle of Crait.

"Tell me what's going on," you whispered. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," he insisted, bringing your fingers to his lips and kissing them urgently.

"Too many people have died," he finally confessed, his head bowed and his voice a broken whisper. "It was supposed to be Life Day, but there's only death. We lost over half the fleet."

"I know."

"So many families couldn't celebrate Life Day. Too many." His eyes met yours, wet with fresh tears. "And how many of them are dead because of me?"

"Poe, we all know what we're signing up for when we join. We're all ready to give our lives, you know that. You can't possibly take the blame for what the First Order has done to us."

"There's blame enough for me to share, believe me," he insisted. "And I just couldn't hang anything on the tree yesterday and celebrate life. Not with over half of us gone."

Eyeing him sympathetically, you squeezed his hands. "Life Day isn't only about being alive. Death is a part of life. Life Day is also about remembering the dead. And part of living is grieving the dead, and sometimes feeling a little guilty that you're still here."

“But I don’t, though,” he admitted. “I’m glad I’m here, and more than that, I’m glad you’re here. You, most of all. You're the one person I don't wanna...that I can't..."

"Come here," you coaxed. Poe joined you on the bed but never let go of your hands. "You're my one person too, you know. The person I look for after every mission. The one person I need to be okay.

"It scared me so much yesterday when I couldn't find you," you went on.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. "Please don't hate me for yesterday. It's been a long time since I had that much to drink. I know it's no excuse for what I did."

"So you don't remember, then...what you said?" You should have known Poe would only kiss you and utter heartfelt confessions when he was wasted.

Releasing your hand, he titled your chin up to meet his gaze. "I know what I said. I do love you. Always have." A nervous, breathless laugh escaped his perfect lips. "But I understand, you know, if you don't - "

You silenced him, pressing your mouth to his for a tender kiss. "Believe me. I do."

The sadness lingering behind his eyes started to seep away, replaced by a flicker of hope. "Is there any way we could re-do yesterday?" He proposed, tracing the shape of your jaw. "I only have one meeting today."

"That sounds perfect," you agreed, leaning into his touch.

Hand in hand, you visited the Life Day tree, said the prayers, remembered those lost. Then you had something to drink with friends - just one though, before dancing and laughing all evening.

When he kissed you this time, he meant to do it, and everyone saw it. And when you walked back to his room, he asked you to stay. And you did. Every night.

1000 Follower/Holiday Celebration Masterlist

Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[arduousflame]

Perrepatae’s Vintage

Viago bit off the cork of the vial with practiced movements. The acrid smell hit hard as he poured the liquid over the gash on Rook’s arm, the wound bubbling instantly with a whitish foam as it reacted to the poison’s residue. Illario. Will. Pay. Rook flinched, her breaths shallow and erratic, her body twisting where she lay in Teia’s lap.

Pain. NO AIR. Help. Rook!

Lucanis could only watch, helpless, as Viago yanked open a second vial. "Dammit, Gwynn, drink!" he cursed, tipping it to his Crow’s lips. Rook choked, spilling the precious antidote between coughs, fighting those who were trying to save her. Teia tried to steady her, holding her head as Viago tried to pour the antidote down her throat.

-------

It had been a dirty fight. Illario’s treacherous coup to seize the First Talon’s seat erupted into chaos—a fierce clash of Crows against Venatori. It wasn’t unexpected. They had come prepared, armored and ready, after Viago and Teia’s missive. Yet, Lucanis had held onto a shred of hope—that the past year of betrayal hadn’t been Illario’s doing. A shred that was torn to oblivion once they had found Caterina alive and as well as can be as a hostage in her own home.

Rook had been quick on her feet, as always. Her magic humming beside Lucanis as she darted in and out of the fray. She kept the Venatori occupied, leaving him to cut them down one by one. But somehow, Illario had slipped through the chaos, exploiting her unguarded left side while Lucanis was locked in battle with a Venatori magister. She was no trained fighter. A Crow in name only, some would whisper. Yet she had proven she could hold her own in the past few months, with Lucanis at her back.

It had been no more than a shallow nick. But with Illario’s blade poisoned, it didn’t need to be more. Viago’s concoctions were nothing short of deadly—undetectable until the damage took hold. Even for one who spend considerable time in House de Riva where paranoia and poison reigned. No healer’s magic could counteract it without antidote, once it spread through the blood, attacking the heart and lungs.

Viago had named this particular poison Perrepatae’s Vintage, its lethal effects compounding the longer it lingered in the victim’s system. Years ago, he had called it his masterpiece—a special commission from the First Talon herself for her mage-killer grandson. Lucanis knew its power too well. Even he hesitated to use it. Death by this poison was no simple mercy but a brutal struggle to breathe and live. A death even Venatori did not all deserve. Something even Viago would reluctantly admit.

Lucanis had always ensured his own vials were accounted for, keeping them close on his person. None had gone missing. Which meant Illario must have gotten his dose from Viago’s backup stash. Whether through thief or traitor, Viago would have to uncover that answer later. The Fifth Talon would not show mercy on the Crow who had betrayed House and Talon.

Rook hadn’t realized she was poisoned. She wouldn’t have connected the subtle tremble in her hands or her magic depleting faster than normal. Fatigue from battle, she’d have told herself. The shortness of breath and heart pounding in her chest? Adrenaline, nothing more.

She wasn’t a fighter by nature. Drawn into the Crows to settle a debt at an age most already went out on their first contracts. Her skills lay in subterfuge, intrigue and forgery, not with blade or staff. But the months spent in skirmishes against the Evanuris had hardened her into a viable spellblade.

The battle ended with Illario on his knees, defeated. As he was dragged away, Lucanis was declared First Talon. There should have been relief, even triumph, as the inner circle retreated deeper into the villa to celebrate.

But then Rook collapsed, her legs giving out as she gasped for air her lungs could no longer hold.

Teia reached her first, her frantic hands trying to steady her. Viago arrived moments later, biting back a sharp reprimand for her carelessness—until his sharp eyes caught the oil-like sheen glistening on the gash in her arm. That unmistakable sign.

Lucanis met his gaze, their silent understanding instant and grim.

Mierda, Rook.

-------

Spite bristled at the edges of Lucanis’ mind, seething. He fought to stay in control, to suppress the urge to turn and crush Illario’s throat. A hesitant touch on his arm steadied him. Bellara stood beside him, worry in her eyes. "Is she going to be okay?"

Viago’s reply was clipped. "Not yet."

Teia’s hands trembled as she stroked Rook’s hair, whispering soft reassurances in Antivan. Bellara’s confusion mirrored Spites’ rising frustration. "Why isn’t the antidote working? Were we too late?" Rook. In PAIN. Stop. Pain. HELP ROOK!

Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply, forcing calm into his voice. "Because sometimes the cure is worse than the poison."

Bellara tensed, her grip on his arm tightening. He didn’t know if she sought to steady him or herself.

Rook's writhing gradually slowed, her coughing and gasping subsiding. At last, she seemed to relax. Bellara let out a sigh of relief beside Lucanis, but he remained tense, unwilling to let his guard down just yet. “Oh thank..” Bellara breathed. Just then Rook’s breathing stilled altogether.

With this, the waiting game started.

Teia ran her fingers through Rook’s hair over and over. "Come on, come on now, Gwynn." The worry in Viago’s voice cut through the silence, his quiet plea making Lucanis’ heart falter his chest. “Not like this, you idiot. Not now. Breathe., damn you..”

Seconds dragged by, each one marked by the frantic rhythm of his own heartbeat, while hers remained unyielding, unmoving. It was taking too long.

"Viago..." Lucanis started, stepping forward and shrugging off Bellara’s hold on his arm. But the Fifth Talon was already moving. After a brief nod, Viago sprang into action. With a firm but gentle motion, he eased Rook out of Teia’s lap, laying her fully flat on the ground beside him.

Viago moved closer, placing one palm firmly on her chest, the other interlocking on top. His lips moved in a muttered count as he began the compressions, his movements precise and unwavering. Teia scrambled back to make room. Bellara now reached to find her and clung to the Crow with tears in her eyes.

Lucanis knelt down, taking the spot across from Viago. He forced himself to focus, to suppress the rising dread threatening to overtake him. All the while Spite remained silent. A silence that only deepened his unease. He tilted Rook’s head back with practiced care.

As Viago paused, Lucanis leaned in, sealing his lips over Rook’s to breathe life back into her. Please, come back. A first breath, her chest rose faintly. A second, but the stillness persisted.

“Damn it.” Viago resumed the compressions, his jaw clenched tight, the force of his efforts enough to bruise her ribs. This made both men flinch, but Viago did not hold back. A third breath. A fourth. Still, nothing. Panic flickered in Viago’s eyes, mirrored in Lucanis’ own.

They were losing her.

Viago paused again, his shoulders heaving with exertion. Lucanis didn’t hesitate, bending down once more to breathe for her. Just as despair began to claw at him, a faint shiver rippled through Rook’s body.

Then, a cough. A desperate, gasping breath.

“Maker.” Relief crashed over them like a wave. Viago sagged back, as he sat beside Teia, who dropped down with him. Lucanis barely registered the tears in her eyes as he pulled Rook close, murmuring softly.

"It’s okay, Rook. You’re okay now. I’ve got you."

[rose24207]

Hii! Could I request a George or Fred Weasley (you can choose) x fem reader where she goes to the mission to take Harry to the burrow and she gets caught into a big fight during the seven Potters battle and she is the last one to arrive so he is very worried because he thinks she may be badly hurt or even dead and when she finally arrives he doesn't want to leave her side?

I‘m okay

Summary: During the chaotic Battle of the Seven Potters, Fred is consumed with worry when his girlfriend is the last to arrive at the Burrow, battered but alive, prompting him to stay by her side all night, vowing never to let her face such danger alone again.

Genre: angst, fluff

TW: mentions of war, fighting, blood, injuries

A/N: love it! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The night was heavy with the weight of what lay ahead as you gathered in the dimly lit yard of Privet Drive. The street was unnervingly quiet, a stark contrast to the storm of danger waiting just beyond.

Harry looked uncomfortable as everyone circled him, the seven decoys preparing for their transformation. You tried to steady your breathing, clutching your broom a little tighter than usual.

Fred appeared at your side, his warm presence a small comfort in the chilly night. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low.

You glanced up at him and nodded, though the slight tremor in your hand betrayed you. “Just nerves,” you admitted. “Doesn’t help that Mad-Eye keeps glaring at everyone like we’re already dead.”

Fred grinned, his expression easing some of your tension. “That’s just his face. He’d probably glare at his own reflection if he saw it in the mirror.”

You snorted, covering your mouth to stifle the laugh. Mad-Eye’s gruff voice interrupted, drawing everyone’s attention.

“All right, listen up!” Moody barked, his magical eye swiveling to take in the group. “Flask’s going around. Drink it down, and for Merlin’s sake, don’t make a bloody fuss. Potter needs every minute we can buy him.”

The Polyjuice Potion was passed along, and Fred grabbed the flask when it reached him. He turned to you, smirking. “Ladies first?”

You rolled your eyes, taking the potion from him. “You’re lucky I love you, Weasley,” you teased, before swallowing the foul liquid in one go.

The transformation was quick but disorienting, and you blinked down at yourself, now staring at Harry’s hands. “This is weird,” you muttered.

Fred, now also a copy of Harry, wagged his eyebrows at you. “Weird, but dashing,” he said, striking a ridiculous pose.

George, another Harry, chimed in, “If we survive this, we should all go to Diagon Alley like this. Really mess with people’s heads.”

“Focus!” Moody barked, glaring at the twins. “You’re not Harry until you get him safely to the Burrow.”

Fred shot you a wink as you grabbed your broom, standing in formation. Just before you mounted, he leaned in close, his voice soft and serious. “Hey. Don’t do anything stupid, yeah? Stick with Kingsley, and don’t try to be a hero.”

“Fred,” you said, turning to meet his eyes. “I’ll be fine. I promise. You should worry about yourself for once.”

He hesitated, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than usual. Then he nodded, forcing a grin. “I always worry about myself. I’m fantastic.”

You shook your head, smiling despite the tension in the air.

“All right, move out!” Moody shouted, and suddenly, there was no more time for jokes. You mounted your broom and took off, stealing one last glance at Fred as he sped into the night.

The chaos hit like a thunderclap the moment you left the safety of the wards. The air around you exploded with curses and shouts, Death Eaters closing in on all sides.

You stuck close to Kingsley as planned, the two of you weaving through the sky in tight formation.

“Go high, stay fast!” Kingsley commanded, his deep voice cutting through the chaos.

You followed his lead, dodging a streak of green light that whizzed past your shoulder. The Death Eaters were relentless, their masked faces flashing in the darkness as they gave chase.

Your wand flicked upward, firing a defensive spell that sent one of them spiraling off course.

“Stay with me!” Kingsley shouted again, but the noise and chaos made it hard to hear. You lost sight of him for a moment, turning sharply to evade another curse.

Back at the Burrow, Fred was pacing the kitchen like a caged animal. Each new arrival brought a wave of relief followed quickly by fresh worry. Harry and Hagrid had made it back first, then Hermione with Fleur not far behind. Ron and Tonks stumbled in a few minutes later, both looking worse for wear but alive.

But you were still missing.

“She should be here by now,” Fred muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

“She’s probably just taking the long way around,” George said, his voice calm but strained. He was nursing a wound on the side of his head, but even that didn’t seem to distract him from Fred’s obvious distress.

Fred shot him a glare. “The long way around? It’s not a sightseeing trip, George!”

“You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing,” George quipped, though his usual humor lacked its usual sharpness.

Fred ignored him, his eyes darting to the door every few seconds. His stomach twisted painfully every time he thought about you—about the countless ways things could go wrong.

You were spiraling out of control. A curse had struck the tail of your broom, and it was all you could do to keep it from completely breaking apart. Blood trickled from a shallow cut on your arm, and your breath came in ragged gasps.

The Death Eaters were relentless, their laughter echoing in the dark as they closed in. But you weren’t giving up. Not now, not when the Burrow was so close.

With one last burst of speed, you dove toward the treeline, using the cover to shake them off. Your broom groaned in protest, but it held together long enough for you to make it to the edge of the Burrow’s wards.

The familiar shape of the house came into view, and you nearly cried in relief.

Fred was at the door when he saw you stumble into the yard, battered and bloodied but alive.

“Y/N!” he shouted, sprinting toward you.

You barely had time to react before he wrapped his arms around you, holding you so tightly it hurt. You felt him shaking, his breath warm against your hair as he whispered, “I thought—I thought I lost you.”

“I’m okay,” you murmured, though your voice wavered. “I’m okay.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cupping your face as his eyes searched yours. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, alright? I can’t—” His voice broke, and he shook his head.

“I won’t,” you promised, your own tears spilling over.

“Good,” he said, his tone attempting to be firm but faltering with emotion. “Because if you die on me, I swear I’ll kill you.”

You laughed, a watery sound that eased some of the tension between you.

From the doorway, George called out, “Oi, Fred! Let her breathe, would you?”

Fred ignored him, his focus solely on you. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s get you inside.”

And for the rest of the night, he didn’t let go of you.

Thank you for reading!

[drarryspecificrecs]

2024.11 ~ Top 10 longest fics posted on AO3

1. Split Soul by write_me227 [M, 267k]

Harry Potter always thought that life following the war would be worth living. However, six months after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry finds himself overwhelmed with violent grief and an unwanted PTSD diagnosis. [...] In a freak accident, Harry finds himself on Earth's Echo, a seemingly perfect reality that has never been touched by Voldemort. The only problem: Draco Malfoy is unapologetically in love with him. It's a problem that Harry is willing to overlook if it means he never has to go back to the miserable life he was living — until he realizes that there's much more to this so-called perfect reality than it seems, and it sends Harry deeper into the universe than he ever wanted to be.

2. Silver Runes and a Waterlogged Grave I by @whitesturgeon [M, 118k]

What if instead of coming back after Voldemort killed him in the forest, Harry decided to give himself to Death? What if Death had plans for him?

3. For the Time Being by soweer [E, 95k]

Draco and Harry's kids, James and Iris, along with Hugo, wanted a do-over of the day. Truly. That was all it was. So when they found a Time Turner, they had their chance to do that. What they didn't expect was accidentally landing in the middle of The Great Hall, staring at their young dad. Oh, and their parents hate each other.

4. The Noctis Codex by jjntashi [M, 84k]

The one thing Draco and Harry despise most? Each other. But the next thing? Discovering they’re not just dreaming about each other but are trapped together in the same dreams every time they fall asleep—reliving their most painful, private memories side by side. Forced to uncover the cause of this twisted magic, they’re drawn into a dangerous, ancient curse with ties to the deepest parts of the wizarding world. Now, as they race to break the bond between them, they find that the closer they get to the truth, the harder it is to pull away… and breaking free may mean facing something far darker—and far more intimate—than either of them ever imagined.

5. Friendly Competition by @jaysehasnograce [M, 74k]

Harry is going to be the new Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. He needed a change from the way his life had been going. Unfortunately, he finds out Draco Malfoy is also going to be starting as a Hogwarts professor. Their rivalry is, of course, not budging. But since they're teachers now, they're not allowed to fight (well, they tried, but going against Minerva McGonagall's wishes is never advised). They both become fixated on proving they're the best teacher [...]

6. In Between by velkalopsia [G, 72k]

Weeks after Draco publishes his memoir, a tell-all on his turbulent life, he vanishes. The wizarding world is sent into a frenzy, even more so when none other than Harry Potter is put in charge of the case. In which Harry travels through Draco’s memories in an attempt to save him and ends up falling in love with him in the process.

7. A Little's Enough by jessupinthis [E, 69k] *typo

Suffering from PTSD and survivor's guilt, a post-war Harry joins a trauma support group in the hopes of finding someone who can relate to what he saw Voldemort do. Unexpectedly, he runs into a war-torn Malfoy there and together they begin to process the horrors of war and being the ones left behind.

8. Bound By Ghosts by Malachiiemryss [E, 63k] *typo

[...] As fate draws them together, Harry and Draco discover unexpected solace in one another, their guarded defenses cracking as they navigate trust, forgiveness, and the possibility of something deeper. But in a world that hasn’t fully healed, they must decide if they’re willing to face the specters of their past or remain bound by the ghosts that haunt them both.

9. The Ashes of Phaeton by NNebula [E, 49k]

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter had vanished, leaving a trail of mystery and unanswered questions in his wake. Draco Malfoy, now under the Ministry of Magic's watchful eye due to his past as a Death Eater, leads a mundane life filled with paperwork and menial tasks—until he is unexpectedly summoned to investigate a series of robberies targeting former Death Eaters. The moment Draco lays eyes on a blurred photograph of a suspect, he is gripped by a familiar dread. The man in the image bears an uncanny resemblance to Potter, igniting long-buried emotions and unresolved tension. [...]

10. Blind by jschulte [T, 49k]

After Draco Malfoy is stripped of his wealth and the right to use magic, he is hit with a curse that he couldn't block or undo. St. Mungo's refuses to help a former Death Eater. He is blind, alone and penniless. But he survives, begging on the streets of Diagon Alley. He has his routine, but the new constable stops by on his six-month patrol beat. One Harry Potter, who doesn't recognize his former nemesis, but takes an active interest in making sure he is taken care of. What will happen when Harry finds out who the local beggar is and will he be able to help him?

※ HONOURABLE MENTIONS :

11. Secret of Malfoy by chrysaetius [T, 49k]

Draco has secrets. Harry is determined to uncover what he's hiding. Just like old days...

12. The Felix Potion Chronicles by Miss_Healthy_OneShot [?, 47k, 3 works]

Having already traveled back in time once to free Draco from a 10-year sentence in Azkaban, Harry is now thrust even further back, landing in his sixth year at Hogwarts. With the stakes higher than ever, can he persuade Draco to turn away from the Dark Lord’s grip before it’s too late? The clock is ticking, and every choice could change their fate forever.

—

※ Word count: 1k ~ 15k

※ Word count: 15k ~ 40k

After Bite by @sadlonelyyogurt [E, 17k]

Bad Men, Good Deeds by @parmejeannecheese [T, 30k]

Cursed Paths by @hazza902 [T, 34k]

The Day The Stars Went Out by BelleMort [E, 22k]

Fight Fire with Fiendfyre by @xx-thedarklord-xx [M, 21k]

His Favourite Horcrux by @duchessdulce [T, 38k]

it’s our thing by plumforests [G, 24k]

Mental Illness Series by Drarry_240 [M, 60k, 5 works]

A Month in the 9th Arrondissment by @professordrarry [T, 19k]

—

Ongoing Fest/Exchange

※ Fics would be listed elsewhere.

2024 H/D Muggle Fair | @hd-fan-fair

HD Tarot Fest | @hd-tarot

HP Fuck You Fest

Frottage Cottage Impromptu Smutsgiving 2024

Wizarding World Reverse Trope Fest | @wwreversetropefest2024

[shattered-eluvian]

Veilguard endgame spoiler warning!

It has been a hot minute since I tried to write anything but... I have made an attempt.

Rook vanishing into fade jail seemed like a rife moment for some ship angst, and I wished to manifest it, so uuuh... sorry old man for the panic attack? 🙈

Kinda wanna do a part 2 to this for during the apparent weeks Rook was missing but I'll have to see how the brain cogs decide to turn...

"The Fade's still ripping open!"

"The dagger! Rook, you must break its contact with Ghilan'nain!"

Raw magic was tearing through the area, a whirling tempest of energy cascading from where the lyrium dagger was still lodged in Ghilan'nain's chest. The decisive blow secured by Lucanis should have been cause for a simple victory, but when has any of their journey thus far been simple?

Rook braced himself against the force of the maelstrom, pushing unsteadily towards the blinding disturbance ahead of him. To his eyes, it was like witnessing a blaze burning in a doorway, the Fade itself starting to seep into the waking world with all the gentle grace of a waterfall pouring through a keyhole.

"Rook! Quickly!"

With one last desperate push Rook lunged for the dagger, swiftly plucking it from the fallen God's corpse. The result was almost immediate, the once violent storm soon quelling into a no less unsettling, tapering breeze. Then silence.

Lucanis groaned as he picked himself up from where he had been unceremoniously flung during the fight, "Mierda. Is everyone okay?"

"I– I think so? Did we do it..?" Harding stumbled, kicking aside some debris, "Oh, but Davrin... he..."

"A Warden's life is ever marred by the spectre of death," Emmrich sighed, "but his sacrifice was not in vain, and we must do all we can to honour it going forward. We must stop Elgar'nan."

"You don't have to tell me twice!" Harding huffed, dusting herself off, "But hey, where... Where's Rook?"

Emmrich's eyes widened as he turned to fervently scan the scene. Blight and dust from the battle still hung in the air in a cloying, heavy fog obscuring much beyond their immediate surroundings. He moved in closer to the remains of Ghilan'nain, hoping to find any trace, any evidence that Rook was still alive.

"Can you see anything?"

"I… No. There's no sign of Rook." Emmrich frowned, pacing the area close to where Ghilan'nain fell, "but the Veil here," he gestured, magic trailing from his fingertips as he did, "there's something amiss. Not merely thin, but–"

"That doesn't exactly sound like good news." Lucanis grumbled.

"Maybe Ghilan'nain's death did something to it?" chimed Harding, "That was a lot of powerful magic... and with the dagger?"

There was a sudden clatter of running footsteps rounding the corner as Taash and Bellara rushed in to rejoin the rest of the group. The pair coming into view looking just as exhausted and fraught as they all felt.

"Oh thank the Creators. You're all okay! You are all okay, right?" Bellara chirped as she rushed over to everyone, "I was so worried!"

Before anyone could answer, the ground shook as a deafening rumble filled the air. "We have to go." Taash said, "Saw Elgar'nan as he was leaving this place. Looked pissed." They paused, looking up, the already red sky taking on a dangerous shimmer, "Whatever he's doing, it's not good."

"We can't just leave!" Emmrich asserted, standing steadfast by the area he was examining, "Rook is missing. We can't just... just leave him here!"

Lucanis motioned to beckon him as the others were starting to make their way back to the boat, "We don't have time Emmrich, we can't help Rook, or stop Elgar'nan if we all die here." he sighed, "Look, I get it. Neve– but this? This helps no-one."

Emmrich's shoulders fell in defeat as he tried to regain his usual composure. Pull yourself together, Volkarin. "I– yes. Of course." He took one last look at the place Rook should be before joining Lucanis on their joint descent back down the island.

The pair soon caught up to the others, all scrambling as best they could over debris and death on the way to their escape. As they all filed onto the boat and began to leave the shoreline, the sky cracked and rumbled with Elgar'nan's magic once more, a shimmering wave of heat growing in intensity, and blasting forth in an oppressive display of destruction.

When the group had gotten to a safer distance from the shoreline, it was all they could do to simply sit in horrified silence, adrift, as they watched the island be razed entirely. God or not, there was no denying Elgar'nan's power.

----

The journey to the nearest Eluvian was an exhausted, and silent one. And the Lighthouse would feel far from the safe haven and home it once was. Those who had survived the day's hardships were heavy with fear and grief. They had lost so much and still had so much to do.

How were they to stop Elgar'nan in this state?

As everyone arrived through the Lighthouse’s Eluvian, Emmrich briskly made his way out of the room and through the central library. Whatever he felt was left of his stoic façade was crumbling far faster than he would have liked, as a familiar, and ever dreaded numbness started to crawl through him, his chest tightening with a rising, all consuming panic.

He was no stranger to such attacks, his fear of death was at times all consuming with little provocation, but there was no comfort in this familiarity. Nothing made it any easier.

He thought he heard someone say something to him as he rushed past, was it Bellara? Harding?

Sympathies, perhaps. Some assurances that they'll find Rook. That they'll think of something.

Any words little more than hollow platitudes in the face of the yawning abyss threatening to swallow him where he stood.

He doggedly made his way to the meditation room. Rook's room. He'd never had much cause to visit before now. Rook had often been spending whatever free time he had of late in Emmrich's quarters rather than here. But he needed somewhere quiet.

Somewhere away from the indignity that looks of pity from his friends would give him, let alone giving Johanna the satisfaction of seeing him in such a state.

As soon as he crossed the threshold of the room, all air seemed to leave him at once as he collapsed gracelessly against the door, closing it shut.

 "Rook..." he rasped, crumpling to the ground at the foot of the door, his breathing only growing more erratic as the day's events replayed in his mind, the painful reality of everything truly sinking in.

The destruction, the uncertainty, the death.

His chest only tightened further as the argument he and Rook had the night before clawed its way to the forefront. A small breathless sob wracked through him.

He never did get to apologise.

[jadedbirch]

Girls don't want boys; girls want to battle ancient gods to the death!

My friends, the time has finally come for me to review the entire Burning Kingdom's trilogy by Tasha Suri. I've mentioned it before in my rec list of queer historical novels, but that was before I completed The Lotus Empire, the last book in the series. And now I can say with conviction: Tasha Suri is the only writer out there who truly understands love and romance and WHAT SAPPHICS WANT. 🙌🏻

To back up, the Burning Kingdom's story takes place in the imaginary kingdom of Parijatvipa (a reimagining of South East Asia/India with a lot of magical realism flowing through its veins). One of our heroines, Malini, is a princess who has been told all her life by the clergy and her younger brother the Emperor that her destiny is sacrificial immolation. Our second heroine, Priya, is a priestess in the ancient and mystical temple of the Hirana, where for centuries Temple Elders and Temple Children have worshipped the Yaksa (ancient nature divinity spirits that were supposedly destroyed at the end of the Age of Flowers). Their love story begins when Malini is sent by her brother to repent at the Hirana for her unwillingness to be burned alive and Priya is assigned to be her servant/guard.

The trilogy follows the two women as they clash against each other like waves, or like two powerful tornadoes that destroy everything in their path. Their love might be easier if one of them was softer, but what makes Priya and Malini such a power couple, is that they're both incredible badasses with spines of steel and nerves of fire. The stakes cannot be higher and only keep rising. It starts out as one Princess vs The Patriarchy, and ends with Gods vs Nature, Humans vs. Gods, and Sapphic Love Conquering All. I feel it is very important to let everyone know that the trilogy has a very satisfying ending, despite the many devastating and heart-breaking twists and turns along the way.

While this trilogy is incredibly Girl Power and is full of countless badass lady characters, I must say that one of the reasons I enjoy Tara Suri as a writer is because she also understands how to write good male characters from the female gaze perspective. Sure, some of the men in this book are horrid villains, but then she gives us truly complex and good boys like Rao (I would die for Rao), Aditiya, Jeevan, Ganam, and Rukh along the way.

This series is really riveting and never stops delivering. We get really wonderful gay/lesbian solidarity. We get so much great ladies supporting ladies content (Bechdel test? LOL Tasha Suri straight blows right past it into a different dimension of female solidarity.) We get hot girl on girl under the waterfall action. We get gorgeous rumination on the nature of faith and sacrifice. But most importantly, we get two very deeply flawed women who love each other so powerfully and so beautifully that their love literally reshapes the world.

I am begging everyone to drop whatever they're doing and read this series. It's really up there for me as some of the Best Gay Shit Ever.

[bad-traffic-smp-ideas]

Cast Life; it’s just Grian stealing the premise of Witchcraft SMP

Scott & Cleo: 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♀️

[kingandqueenofgoodtime]

Do you think about this scene at least once a day like me or are you normal?

(this scene needs to be posted as a video too because gifs can't do Margo's anguish justice)

[gayestcowboy]

oh my god cazador’s legendary action is NASTY i’m never actually attempting true honor mode because i could not possibly survive this in one try

[loregoddess]

Unicorn Overlord continues to be the wildest srpg I've yet played, I just recruited a character's sibling, I know these siblings start off wanting to kill each other, but the new recruit sibling's class specifically states she works VERY WELL with her brother's class, and I'm already planning a unit to force them together so I can unlock those rapport convos as quickly as I can

[mars-ipan]

had an absurd amt of fun doodling cal last night so take the other dnd character i've been playing this semester (her campaign just ended </3). her name is pellet (full title sir pellet the rambunctious) she is a spores druid and she is Stinky (i love her dearly)

[bucketofbugz]

I love getting to explore character dynamics in different aus because normally in my rottmnt aus it'll be Leo that has an unrealistic worldview and Raph who actually understands how things Are but in M&M it's the opposite.

Like. Leo, who grew up in complete fear of being a mutant while in the hidden city, and the second someone with power found out about him he got thrown into the dang battle nexus. Rose, who has grown up incredibly sheltered in witch town with a yokai disguise to keep people from finding out she's a mutant and insists being a mutant in the hidden city isn't that hard and that there's no way Leo would have gotten into that situation if he hadn't volunteered in some way.

And you know what happens the second people find out about Rose being a mutant? SHE GETS THROWN INTO THE BATTLE NEXUS!! WITH LEO AGAIN!!!

And Leo just has a moment of "lol you think being a mutant down here is easy and fine and not a problem? You having a silly time right now? You having fun? lol?"

and it's just really funny to me for no reason