#but still it seems to be a strong agreement that you should be allowed to write whatever you want

[ace-the-fox]

TW for mentions of incest, CSA, underage sexual content, general proshipper stuff

Guys... is it just me or is r/AO3 just full of proshippers? I had to leave after getting recommended posts about how it's actually TOTALLY okay to write explicit incest/CSA and anyone who says it's weird is WRONG. And then I got downvoted to hell for saying "yeah, there's a bit of nuance, but in general writing porn of minors is weird."

I just wanted to be in a group of other cool, silly writers, what happened??? Has anyone else noticed this? 😭

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Loving Arms (2)

Summary: The children of Viserys I from his wife Alicent Hightower had always been lacking in affection from their parents. They simply didn't realize how much until their widowed aunt was brought into their lives. (AU where Alicent has an older sister and her kids get the love that they deserve, takes place some time after the Driftmark event)

Part II: Family Dinner

A/N: No pairings as of right now as I want to focus on the familial and platonic relationships with Greens when they're still quite young. (credit for the divider goes to @kawaii-lau)

The royal family were not ones to eat a meal together often; typically dinner consisted of Alicent, Helaena, and Aemond. Or Otto and Alicent, even simply Aemond and Helaena. But rare was the occurrence that Aegon would sit at the table to dine with his family and that all members, apart from his Majesty the King Viserys, would choose to eat with one another.

Of course, the elder Hightower daughter was unaware that it was solely due to her arrival that all were seated at the table.

The meal itself was sumptuous; fresh venison on a bed of roasted vegetables, bread straight from the oven, a hearty stew, and a variety of sweet cakes and treats. All things that (Y/N) did not hesitate to eat from her plate, famished from her weary travels.

It was quiet, save for the occasional scrape of knives and the clink of forks or spoons.

"Well," Alicent smiled. "Isn't it lovely that we can all come together and eat as a family after so many years apart. If only Gwayne was here as well, then it would be similar to our youth, don't you think (Y/N)?"

Her older sister offered a tense smile, "I suppose it is a bit like our childhood. I am surprised you still remember any of it since you were quite young at our last family gathering."

"It comes and goes, because as you say, I was quite young when... when our mother passed," Alicent smiled at her children and all three straightened. "But I am reminded of it when I spend time with my sons and daughter."

"Then I am sure she barely remembers then," Aegon muttered and earning himself a kick to leg from Aemond.

"Behave!" the younger scolded.

Otto cleared his throat and the boys sat up in their chairs once more.

"Let us move past all this," the Hand said. "No need to trouble ourselves with the nonsense of remembering bygones and look to the future. Keeping our family strong and well established.

"Hear, hear!" Alicent agreed while lifting her chalice in agreement.

His oldest daughter couldn't help but laugh at her father's words and shook her head.

"Did you find any humor in my words, daughter?" he asked.

The tone in which he spoke, seemed to trigger something in Alicent as she shrunk back in her seat and looked to the meal in front of her. Her older sister, on the other hand stared straight ahead to their father.

"I find it amusing that you say that, Father" (Y/N) said while cutting into her venison. "You didn't seem to find the notion of family all that important when you left behind two orphaned children in Oldtown for your elder brother to deal with."

A sweeping silence fell over the table.

"Or am I wrong?" she asked. "Mother had recently passed when you left Gwayne and I behind at Oldtown, taking only our dear Alicent with you. She was your favorite after all."

"Do not start with me, (Y/N)!" Otto scolded. "You know your brother was being raised to someday lead Oldtown in my stead."

"What about your recently disfigured daughter? Why was she left behind?" she asked. "Or were you too ashamed that my face would make you a laughingstock. When as your oldest daughter, I should have also been allowed to accompany you to find an advantageous marriage as well."

"Do not speak nonsense, (Y/N)." Her father grumbled, "It was to your benefit that you stayed behind, otherwise you would have never been able to marry your husband. I have always looked to ensure our family would be well off."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, a soft frown marring her features. Her father's response seemed to aggravate her more than she let on, as she stood up from her seat, scraping it heavily against the floor.

"I think I will retire to my chambers for the evening," she turned to smile softly at her nephews and niece. "I will see all of you early tomorrow morning, I have a few things that I brought you three from Dorne."

She turned stiffly to her younger sister and father, "Good night!"

The clicking of her heels against the floor echoed as she left the room, and the Targaryen siblings looked to one another before turning their gaze to their mother and grandsire.

"May we be excused, Mother?" Aemond asked politely.

Alicent looked to be apprehensive, but her father wanted to have a word with her and waved the trio off. Muttering to himself in annoyance over his eldest daughter's words and behavior that evening.

Aegon was quick to pull his younger brother and sister from their seats, hoping that he could avoid either of the adults minds from allowing them to step away. Knowing that they would attempt to stop the siblings if they knew that they would chase after their aunt.

"Come on, come on!" Aegon urged with a giggle, hurrying to catch up with (Y/N).

Something soft bubbled beneath Aegon's chest and he could not remember a time he had felt this way since his childhood had been marred by maltreatment, neglect, and unkind words. But seeing his own aunt stand up for herself, not letting his grandsire excuse himself for his callous actions of the past, it lit a small feeling of hope that perhaps someone could understand.

And he didn't want to let that feeling go.

Aemond was struggling through his own internal torment and insecurity. He did not want to get his hopes up that his aunt would understand his feelings about feeling othered and scorned for his appearance that was he felt was no fault of his own, but he knew that he truly wanted to know.

No, he needed to know if there was someone else like him.

Helaena, perhaps did not feel as conflicting emotions as that of her older and younger brothers, but she also felt that things would soon change with the presence of their outspoken aunt. Words had often failed her, those closest to her rarely were able to understand the young princess even when she was direct with her words. But now... now here was this woman, that was clear and did not mince her words and let her thoughts be known.

She wanted to learn from this woman that was not afraid to be herself.

And there, standing alongside her sworn guard was (Y/N) as she intended to ready herself in her chambers.

But almost collectively the three shouted, "Muña!"

She turned to them and as soon as her soft eyes fell on their figures.

She smiled.

And it was then, the three were absolutely certain that they needed her to be a permanent fixture in their lives.

A/N: And that concludes part 2! 🥳 Please let me know what you all think, I am honestly super pumped to continue this series.

PS. If your name doesn't show up highlighted, I am not able to tag you properly for some reason.

Tag List:

@minaxcarter, @hotleaf-juice, @pikomin, @deltamoon666, @cococrazy18, @firefairy, @dracaryxzs, @snowbunny58, @lacherrysouldy, @only4thefics, @queen-luna-007, @ambrivertenergy, @kayllineb12, @minejungwoo, @delaynew, @agustdeeyaa, @hueanhdang

[spicyrose]

JEALOUSY — aegon ii.

summary: reader is betrothed to jace, but has been having a secret affair with aegon. aegon gets jealous while watching jace and reader at a feast. 2k+ words.

cw: fem!reader, no use of y/n, cheating (sorry jace), possessive!aegon but also needy!aegon, aegon has issues, piv, unprotected sex, aegon on top but he needs that validation, one mention of breeding kink, references to alcohol, first time writing smut one-shot — minors dni.

“Stop it.”

You look up to find Aegon beside you. 

“Stop talking to him,” he glares.

You glance back at the table. The greens and blacks had gathered at King Viserys’ command, but there was no true merriment, all forced smiles and dinner knives gripped a little too tightly. That Aegon had been seated across from you did nothing to ease the tense environment. Aegon, who every time you dared look to him, looked ready to come to blows with your betrothed or to fuck you on that table then and there —maybe both. So you had avoided your lover’s gaze the entire night and kept your attention on Jace, something that seemed to only infuriate Aegon further. 

At least Aegon had restrained himself until you had stepped away from the feast to serve yourself wine from a side table. You hadn’t even noticed him follow after you, though honestly you should have expected it. Now that you looked at him properly for the first time, he looked absolutely sick with rage and desire, and more than a little intoxicated.

“Stop letting him touch you,” he breathes, leaning down to you.

“Touch me? —Seven, he held my hand,” you answer.

“I don’t want him touching you.”

“And am I to think you’ve been faithful? That you haven’t slept with any other girls since you first came to my bed? Why shouldn’t I—”

He grabs your wrist.

“Don’t. Don’t put that thought in my head, of you and the Strong boy. Don’t, or I’ll kill him. You may be betrothed to him, but you’re mine.”

You shiver as he said that. Aegon grins.

“Knew you’d like that.”

You blush and look away, back to the table, to see if anyone had noticed the pair of you.

“Don’t look at him. Look at me,” Aegon whispers.

“Let go of me. Are you trying to ruin me?” you try to stay angry with him, to be sensible, to remember that all it would take is the wrong person seeing, and scandal would break out.

“I could ruin you right now.”

His hand runs up your arm. You pull away.

“Control yourself, Aegon.”

“I am,” he hisses. “This is me controlling myself. Have you thought about how this is torturing me?”

Two serving girls are looking at you. One whispers something to the other.

“Now isn’t the time to discuss this. Come to my chambers tonight, after the feast. And keep off of the wine —I won’t let you in if you’re drunk.”

Aegon looks sullen, but he knows agreement is his only hope of getting you alone that night. He makes a show of setting aside his goblet.

“As my lady commands.”

***

Inviting Aegon to visit your bedroom for a ‘discussion’ went exactly as you both had known it would: with his hands on your hips the moment the door was open to him, Aegon kicking the door shut behind him, and pushing you up against it once shut, his mouth on yours.

You allow yourself to enjoy it, for a moment, before pulling back.

“You shouldn’t have acted like that in public. Someone will suspect us.”

Your hands ran up and down his neck.

“Are we still pretending I’m here to talk?” he asks, eyes dark but clear. He’d done as you asked and refrained from drinking any further. For all the greens had done to try to curb his indulging his cups, who knew the solution was actually quite simple: deny Aegon sex and he would sober.

“You are here to talk.”

“You often invite men to ‘talk’ in your room at this hour of the night? In just your nightgown?” 

There was an edge to his voice. Jealousy, yes, but something more. Insecurity. 

And you were clad in only your thin nightgown. You knew how this would end, with you both naked in your bed, so you had decided to make things a little easier once you reached that step. But you weren’t prepared for that yet. You still clung to some morsel of rationality, though having Aegon pressed against you, hot and angry and needy, was a terrible distraction.

“What do you think will happen if someone finds out about us? That Prince Aegon has stolen and defiled Prince Jacaerys’ bride?”

“Maybe if Jace knew where to put it…”

“This isn’t a jest, Aegon.”

“He won’t know. Doubt he knows where children come from.”

“Aegon.”

“Thinks he’ll kiss you on your wedding day, and that’ll get you pregnant—.”

“You aren’t funny—”

“He won’t know it was me that got you pregnant.”

Your breath hitches. Aegon, sensing weakness, grins.

“You like that? Like the idea of me finding you on your wedding night?” He leans in and trails kisses up your neck. “Poor thing, you’ll be so bored. He’ll have thought the ceremony was the end of it. He’ll fall asleep, leaving you wanting and needing…needing for me…”

His fingers curl to grip your hips.

“Say it,” his voice is commanding, but he nuzzles into your neck with an unspoken desperation. “Say you need me.”

“I need you,” you breathe. 

He pushes flush against you. You can feel how hard he is. But he doesn’t grind into you, doesn’t kiss you, just clings to you. As if he wishes to never let go, to crawl into your skin. As if he needs you and is frightened of being pushed away.

You lift up his chin to force him to look at you. There’s vulnerability in lilac eyes.

“I need you, Aegon. Need you to make me feel good like no one else can. Make me feel good like Jace can’t.” 

Aegon’s eyes go wide and his lips part slightly.

“Jace has never touched me. Not like you have. Not like this.”

“He hasn’t had you the way I have?” he asks, almost whimpering.

“Never. He’s kissed me, a little, but not like you have.”

Jace didn’t wish to do anything that might risk your reputation before you were wed. He didn’t wish to dishonour you. 

“How noble of him. How…innocent.” Aegon says. “Is that what you want? Innocent?”

“No,” you confess. 

Jace is a good man. He doesn’t deserve an unfaithful betrothed. But this marriage was not of your making, and though you view Jace with friendship, he isn’t what you want. You want wine-stained lips and lilac eyes and high laughter and grasping hands and bodies tangling together beneath the sheets. You want Aegon.

Aegon comes alive again. He pulls you forward by the hips and flush against him as he grinds his hard-on into your soft nightgown. He groans as you moan from the sensation.

“Good. Because I’m not innocent, nor are my intentions with you.”

He claims your mouth again, harder and rougher, and uses your gasp of surprise and pleasure as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

His hands are on your nightgown’s laces. Your fingers grip the hemline of his shirt, but before you can remove it, Aegon loses patience with untying your dress and instead opts to pull it over your head. 

“Gods, look at you”, he says, his eyes roaming over every inch of your naked flesh like it’s the most wondrous sight he’s ever seen. 

You shiver.

“Cold?” he asks.

You nod.

“Let’s warm you up, then.”

He leads you over to the bed and pushes you down onto the sheets, his body covering yours’ in an instant. You tug his shirt up and over his head, accidentally pulling his hair as you do.

“Ouch. Someone’s impatient.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Is that so?” One hand braces himself up by your head, the other runs up, up, up your leg. “And what’ll I find here?”

He cups between your legs. You gasp and buck your hips up against him.

“So wet. All this for me?”

“Yes! Yes!” you moan.

His fingers work to massage your cunt. It makes him grin to watch you squirm in pleasure and need.

“You’re mine,” his voice is deep and hoarse. “Tell me you’re mine, and I’ll give you what you need.”

You meet his eyes. Your arms wrap around his back.. You open your legs wider and hook one around his hips. You watch as his eyes blow wide with lust, but he restrains himself until you say what he is desperate to hear.

“I’m your’s.”

Aegon pushes his trousers down just far enough to free his cock. It hits against the soft flesh of your thighs and though you can’t see it, you can feel it is hot and leaking already. 

“Need it. ‘M ready for it. I —Aegon!” you moan as he pushes in. He obliges your need (and his own) by pressing on until he’s fully inside.

Normally he would hide his face in your neck as soon as he began to thrust, but this time, he keeps eye contact. 

Your eyes roll back in your head from pleasure as he hits that sweet spot inside you again and again.

“Uh uh. Need to see you,” he growls. 

You open your eyes. That seems to spur him on as he begins to thrust harder and faster. 

“Need to feel you cum around my cock,”

Your nails grip into his back. The hand that had been at your hip to anchor you to him, drops down to rub at your clit just right.

“Does that feel good?”

“Fuck!” is all you can manage, panting and sweating.

“Be good and cum for me.” 

You cum, hard, biting into his shoulder to keep from screaming so loud the entire Red Keep hears. You buck your hips up and cling to him as you ride out your high.

 When you start to wind down, it takes you a few seconds to realize Aegon is still thrusting into you with the same speed. It wasn’t unusual for him to fuck you through both of you cumming, but usually once he had finished he needed to pull out and rest, either in preparation for the next round or to fall asleep in your bed ( usually you were the one who had to wake him to remind him he needed to make his way back to his own room before dawn ). But he was still going as hard and fast as before. More than that, his face was screwed up, and he was whimpering.

He hadn’t cum yet.

He never lasted once he felt you start to squeeze around him.

Had you done something wrong? Had he not liked it?

“Please,” he begged. “Please say it.”

You knew what he needed. Your hands left his back to cup his face.

“I’m your’s, Aegon.”

He came hard. Harder than he ever had before with you. You could feel the warmth filling you up between your legs. He shuddered and collapsed on top of you, breathing heavy.

Your arms wrapped around his back again, gentle this time. He hid his face against your neck like he was ashamed.

“Shhh. Shhh, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” you whispered. You pressed kisses to the side of his face. “You did so good. You did so good for me.”

Aegon kept his face hidden against the curve of your neck, but you could feel his body relax. He pulled out slowly and as he did, you could feel his cum spilling out of you.

“Oh,” his muffled voice had a tone of surprise to it that would almost make you laugh if he wasn’t being so sincere. “Sorry. Towel—”

Aegon tried to disentangle himself from you, but you pulled him back.

“We’ll clean up in a minute.”

He relaxed into your arms again. 

Aegon still hadn’t looked at you since cumming.

Slowly, his face lifted up to look at you.

“I haven’t,” he breathed in a soft, sleepy voice.

“What?” 

“You asked if I’d fucked any other girls. Not since you.”

Oh. You felt a fluttering in your heart.

“Half the brothels in the Street of Silk must have gone out of business, because of you.”

“Shut up, Aegon.”

[harunayuuka2060]

Solomon: *chuckles* It's been a while since we had a meeting like this.

Barbatos: Everyone, the purpose of this meeting is to discuss whether we, the legal husbands and lovers, should allow Malleus Draconia to marry MC.

Satan: Why there's a need for discussion? We're not allowing it.

Belphie: Same.

Lucifer: I share the sentiment with my brothers. We're not allowing an additional to this relationship.

Levi: Lol. Unanimous decision.

Mammon: Uh, can I give my opinion about this?

Diavolo: Sure, Mammon. Let's hear what you have to say.

Mammon: First things first, I'm not siding with the dragon boy. But aren't we being too hard on him?

Mammon: Wasn't Malleus one of the students here who didn't give MC a hard time? Well, except, when he overblotted, of course.

Asmo: So~ Are you saying that we give MC to him~?

Mammon: No! That's not where I'm going at! And all of you should be honest!

Mammon: Why aren't you complaining when the others visit them? Huh?

Beel: Because the others won't live for long.

Mammon: Exactly! You know MC isn't the type to have flings!

MC: ...

MC: Mams... You have become so mature. *sniffles* I'm so proud.

Mammon: *blushes* Well, of course. I'm the best, right?

His brothers: *cringes*

Barbatos: Simeon? Is there something you would like to say?

Simeon: Ah, yes. *smiles* I have no issue if MC marry Malleus.

Belphie: Bullshit.

Satan: I can see you lying through your teeth, Simeon.

Simeon: *chuckles* I'm not.

Lucifer: You and Solomon seem to have come up with something.

Solomon: Would you like to hear our opinion?

Solomon: I'm sure all of you will definitely like it.

MC: I could feel a storm coming.

Solomon: If the legal husbands are against the marriage between the two, why not let MC give Malleus an heir?

The brothers: ...

Diavolo and Barbatos: ...

MC: I knew it.

Barbatos: Solomon...

Solomon: Haha! What?

MC: *is relieved none of the dorm leaders came to visit today*

Luke: MC, I don't mind having a younger sibling.

MC: ...

MC: Really?

Mammon: Yo, Chihuahua! What are you saying?!

MC: Mal, one question.

Malleus: What is it, child of man? *still feels embarrassed after learning that his grandmother asked their hand for marriage for him*

MC: You see... I can't marry you.

Malleus: *sad expression*

MC: But we have arrived to an agreement that, *clears throat*, I can at least try to give you a child.

Malleus: ...

Malleus: Pardon?

MC: Which comes to my question...

MC: Is it possible to wish from the stars?

Malleus: ...

Malleus: *his mood brightens* Yes.

Azul: This idea is absurd.

Riddle: Wishing for a baby from the stars?

Kalim: Hey! If it works, it works!

Leona: What if it doesn't work, huh? So the lizard will get depressed again?

Idia: Their plan isn't completely impossible.

Idia: Malleus is a nocturnal fae dragon.

Idia: MC is a master of seven demons that represent sins, and they're a strong mage themselves.

Vil: Well, it seems all we could do now is to witness how it will unfold.

MC and Malleus: *standing in the middle of a huge magic circle created by Solomon*

MC: You ready, Mal?

Malleus: *nods* *smiles* Yes, child of man.

MC and Malleus: *hold each other's hands*

MC: *starts chanting*

*The magic circle starts glowing.*

Silver: What is MC doing?

Lilia: *chuckles* They are trying to negotiate with the stars.

Malleus: *feels MC's hands getting warmer*

MC: *has stopped chanting*

MC: *making a troubled, awkward expression after a few minutes*

Malleus: Child of man?

MC: ...

*MC actually conversing with the unknown*

...: Two children.

MC: One.

...: You bypassed, so we're giving you two children for the inconvenience.

MC: Come on! Malleus is a first-time dad!

...: Two. Take it or leave it.

MC: *opens their eyes* *looking at Malleus*

Malleus: Child of man?

MC: Mal... I'm sorry...

Malleus: ...

Malleus: *smiles* It's alright. At least we trie—

MC: They gave us two.

Malleus: *dumbfounded* Huh?

*In Briar Valley*

Baul: Are these...

Maleficia: Yes. My grandchildren. *smiling*

Maleficia: Hurry, Baul. Send a letter to my grandson and MC, informing them that their children have safely arrived here in Briar Valley.

Baul: Y-Yes, Your Majesty!

Lilia: *celebrating* Grandbabies! TWO GRANDBABIES!

Sebek: Waka-sama's children... *starts crying*

Silver: Those are two beautiful eggs.

Malleus: *smiles* Thank you, Silver.

Luke: Whaa... They're really eggs!

Beel: Can I eat them?

Malleus: *glares at him*

Sebek: How dare you! *him and Silver immediately on guard*

MC: Beel, no.

Lilia: By the way, MC? How are your husbands feeling? *smirking*

MC: Haha... They're not fascinated...

MC: But they'll settle down. Don't worry.

[flammeinfernale]

𝕾𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖆 𝕸𝖚𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖊: 𝔖𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔊𝔬𝔡𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔡 

When it comes to death, there are many variations of gods that come to our mind from different cultures, since this process is an inevitable and crucial part of all our lives notwithstanding our ethnicity, race, social status, religious beliefs, etc.  

Most of us heard about one such deity: Santa Muerte, who is commonly known as a folk saint and is closely associated with Mexican el Día de Muertos or Day of the Dead. Usually she is depicted as a skeleton with traditional feminine features, long hair, flower wreath and in a bright dress. 

Despite her status among Spanish Catholics, the catholic church doesn’t accept her as an official saint since some other figures play this role in catholicism, as well as Santa Muerte’s eerie connections with witchcraft and narco cartels don’t quite fit Christian morals. 

But what do we know about the origin of the Mother of Death? 

Origin

Although Santa Muerte is an unofficial catholic saint, her roots are more complex than they seem and aren’t limited by her status among Spanish Catholics. 

There are a few main theories of where Santa Muerte comes from:

Aztec death deity Mictecacihuatl

Figure of Grim Reaper during Black Death

African death goddesses

And more others.

But there is no general agreement on which one is true. It can be confusing, but at the same time, it allows us to analyze and define the truth for ourselves.

Still there is one most popular theory which is related to Aztec beliefs.

Aztec death goddess

As we know, Santa Muerte has the most popularity in Mexico. From the history overview, the Valley of Mexico was earlier the Aztec home before the conquest of this land by the Spanish in the early 16th century.

Before Mexican el Día de Muertos, the Aztecs had their own celebration connected to several death gods: Mictecacihuatl and Mictlantecuhtli. Few principal gods were represented as female (Mictecacihuatl) and male (Mictlantecuhtli) embodiments of death and rulers of Mictlan (underworld).

!For the remark: they are not the only ones, there was goddess Tonantzin as well, but she is related to the other catholic figure. 

One of the theories is that Mictecacihuatl and Santa Muerte are the same deity because the Spanish had to accept some Aztec customs due to their cooperation. Also, Mictecacihuatl was a dominant death deity in the Aztec pantheon, so it was important to save her figure even under a different name.

Many faces of Mother of Death

Apart from Santa Muerte’s grim image and direct relation to death, she is patient with the newbies and her devotees and has a pleasant presence and nurturing nature. 

Like all deities, Lady of Death is versatile and can be both gentle and destructive. Don’t be surprised to learn that she has a strong connection with drug traffickers and many of them honour this goddess so she gives them protection and prosperity. 

Another feature is that Mother of Death accepts all people since death doesn’t care about your social status, sexual orientation, colour of skin, gender, and any other things. She is a protector of those who are rejected by society and helps them to stay safe and find their way in life. 

But you need to keep in mind that she should be respected as any other deity and she won’t forgive your ignorance or rudeness towards her. 

How to start working with Santa Muerte

As many of us know, it is important to understand which aspects have certain deities when we start working with them. It helps us to figure out for what purposes we can contact them. 

Santa Muerte is an universal goddess who has keys to the many doors on our paths. It is no wonder, because death is ever-present and has power over all. 

When you decide that you would like to ask Santa Muerte for something, you should define your request and reach out to one of her seven colours or aspects. 

!However, if you aren’t sure which colour is right, it is fine to reach out to Santa Muerte without referring to a certain aspect of her. 

The Seven Colors of Santa Muerte 

I will give a short guide of her seven colours, so it will be easier to define which aspect is most suitable for your problem or situation. 

Niña Blanca, White Santa Muerte

Protection, cleansing, renewal, starting new projects, healing, opening new paths, punishing enemies.

Niña Violeta, Purple Santa Muerte

Magic, secret knowledge, wisdom, spiritual growth, clairvoyance, divination.

Niña Azul, Blue Santa Muerte

Partnerships, social life, human interactions (she can both harmonize and destroy relationships).

Niña Dorada, Golden Santa Muerte

Money, wealth, prosperity, fate, luck (as well as lack of money, poverty and bad luck for enemies).

Niña Roja, Red or Pink Santa Muerte

Romantic relationships, love, lust, attracting a partner (it is possible to punish unfaithful partners with Red Santa Muerte’s help).

Niña Verde, Green Santa Muerte

Winning legal cases, justice, defining truth, protection from criminals, imprisoning someone, making someone commit illegal acts, endanger someone to be robbed or assaulted. 

Niña Negra, Black Santa Muerte

Neutralizing curses, malevolent spirits, ending bad luck or all kinds of problems, protection, spiritual transformations, harming enemies.

Associations

Planetary aspects: 

Moon and Saturn (but it can vary depending on the aspect)

Plants:

Rose, rosemary, syrian rye, tobacco, marigolds, aloe

Animals: 

Owl, raven, butterfly, snake, worm

Incense: 

Rose, vanilla, sage, copal, myrrh, rosemary, aloe, palo santo

Symbols:

Scythe, skull, flower wreath, golden jewelry, scale, cloak

Tarot:

Death, Queen of Swords, Judgement, the Empress, the High Priestess, the Hierophant (but it depends on your perception as well)

Offerings

Tequila, red wine, chocolate (or any other sweets), red apples, pomegranates, fruits (especially exotic ones such as pineapples, mangoes, dragon fruits), coffee and cacao, salt, bread, flowers (mostly red or white roses), red meat, chicken hearts, candles (the colour depends on the aspect or you can choose the black one as universal), incenses. 

𖤐

Let me know if you would like new posts about Santa Muerte. Mother and I will be happy to tell you a lot more.

[letstrythisout4]

Godfather

Severus felt sick as he walked up the long walkway to Malfoy Manor. The last time he was there he had been led by Lucius to his personal study, and was greeted by the sight of a very pregnant Narcissia Malfoy. Apparently his friends had been practicing their glamor charms for the past several months and it had been time to come clean. Several tears and glasses of brandy later, Severus left the manor in agreement to help his friends navigate the dangerous task of surviving the war while one was bearing a child.

Now only a couple months later, Severus was back. He had been busy playing double- (triple?) agent and had no time for non-war related matters, making visits to the manor non-existent. But when he had arrived back to his small hidden home to find Narcissa’s screech owl waiting at the window, all exhaustion left him. He tore the envelope open to find two simple words. 

He’s here.

Had it been anyone else the note would have been vague but there were only two “He’s” whose names weren’t suitable for written word. One had yet to be told the name of and the other would have killed them before the letter announcing his presence was even finished.

And so Severus found himself being guided, this time by a frail looking elf, to one of the many bedrooms in Malfoy Manor. He lifted his hand to knock, only for the door to swing open and a strong hand to drag him inside, slamming the door behind him. 

Lucius let him go almost immediately rushing back to his wife's side. On the (rather small, Severus noted) bed, in a long white Victorian nightgown, holding a bundle of cloth was Narcissa; who didn’t look nearly exhausted enough given that the mid-elf was still wiping their hands clean. His friend looked at him, smiling softly. Severus was overwhelmed with anguish, the image before him a stark reminder of how terrible their world was becoming.

Two years ago while at a function he had overheard Narcissa remark that her and Lucius were too young for children, that she wanted to continue her education then have children. The statement was met with many variations of “All young women say the same but….” Severus remembers scoffing under his breath at the idea of Narcissa ever changing her mind. From the moment he met her, even as a first year, he knew that when Narcissa Black wanted something, she would have it. 

Severus knew as he locked eyes with Narcissa that she was thinking the same. That this was not what she had planned years ago. This did not align with her “Graduate, Marry, Transfiguration Apprenticeship, Children, then Settle” plan. 

But neither did war.

Somewhere between Lucius being branded and Death Eaters being tortured and murdered for disobedience, the plan changed.

Severus should have had this realization months ago when they first told him. But no. Only now as he took stiff steps toward the couple did it become real. He stood beside the bed, lips pressed thin, as he tried to be present. To say something. To acknowledge in some way shape or form that he understood how much trust they put in him, for him to be the only one here. 

It was only when Lucius huffed a laugh that Severus seemed to breathe again. “Dobby, bring Severus an armchair.” 

An armchair appeared behind him and Severus allowed Lucius to push him into the seat. “Would you like to hold him?” Narcissa asked quietly. 

Severus knew, logically, that this wasn’t a test. That the question was nothing more than an honest question. That saying “No” would bring no consequence, hell, saying “No” was probably exactly what they were expecting. 

But that doesn’t mean that the offer wasn’t an olive branch being extended out to him. 

Though that should make him turn away, one of the last olive branches he was extended by the pair was an offer to attend a “rally”; that stupid rally is what got him into this Death Eater mess in the first place.

Though the branch after that came in the form of a very very discrete apology for…well everything. 

“Yes, yes I would.”

Lucius and Narcissa had near identical looks of shock across their faces at his answer. Narcissia’s fell faster though, replacing it was a much brighter smile than the one before it. She lifted her arms towards him slightly and he reached for the child holding it- him very carefully. 

Wrapped up in the cloth was a slightly pink baby, though Severus could tell that he would be just as pale as his parents. Big gray eyes stared back at him, the same color as his fathers though with none of the narrow calculated consideration, rather wide with wonder and slight confusion.

Well I suppose you just got here, you’re allowed to be a little confused.

“No crying, good sign I hope.” he remarked quietly, taking in the head of near platinum blonde hair the baby already had. “Lots of hair already, huh?” he asked no one in particular.

Narcissa laughed, “Well I don’t know how much you know about wizarding genetics but strong distinguishing traits always appear in long wizarding families, even though they may seem "unnatural" .” Severus thought back to all the purebloods he knew. Weasley’s and their ridiculously red hair. Zabini's emerald eyes and dark complexion. Malfoy’s and their platinum blond and gray eyes. Greengrass, sandy blonde with blue eyes. Black’s with thick curly hair, that he knew Narcissa fight and charm to appear straight. Though Narcissa didn’t say it with the intention of being pureblood rhetoric, Severus could already hear how a fool could add it to the reasons as to why purebloods must stay “pure”. He bite his lip to prevent a tremor.

Stay present Severus, he scolded himself.

“As for “No crying ", babies are excellent judges of character.” Lucius added smirking in a way that made Severus’s eye twitch. Nothing good came from Malfoy looking as confident as he did.

Severus’s nerves only increased as Lucius motioned for Severus to hand him the baby. Lucius must have known that it would be incredibly unlikely that they’d be able to convince him to hold the baby again. What could he possibly want to say that would cause Narcissa to let him cut the moment short? Severus had known Lucius and Narcissa for nine years. He had been friends with them for eight. And while they were not perfect people, they have only ever acted with his best intentions at heart. 

He felt such strange pity whenever he reminded himself of that fact. The two had truly believed that the best course of action was to join Voldemort’s side. Though Lucius had drunkenly confessed months ago in his study that even he couldn’t have imagined it would be like this. Lucius was a blood purist -without a doubt- but he was also young. The three had known war was on the horizon and, in a disturbing way, looked forward to the downfall of Muggle-loving society. Looked forward to extermination. But it's different when you have someone begging and pleading at your feet for you to not kill them.

Stay present.

Once the baby was back in the arms of his father, Narcissa decided to speak. “We have settled on a name. Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

An involuntary laugh escaped him, “Very unique middle name, where’d you get it?”

“It's the name of a very wise man we hope for him to take after.” Lucius replied, his smirk fighting to become a smile.

“I don’t know, I know a man with that name and he is a right and true prat.” 

Lucius' mouth opened, ready to defend his honor, but was swiftly shut up by his wife, “Enough. I will only be looking after one child, not three, so please act your age.”

Severus had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from pointing out how he very much was acting his age, what twenty year old wouldn’t mock their friend given the chance. The opportunity was right there.

The couple shared a glance, “We would like you to be Draco’s godfather.” Narcissa said with thinly veiled sadness.

…

“Come again?”

“Severus, nearly daily I am being sent off to complete missions. Missions that may one day leave me permanently injured or killed.” Lucius replied looking down at his son who smiled, ignorant to the conversation around him. “In the case that I am hurt or, Merlin forbid, Narcissa is hurt, we'd like for you to be the one to step in. We want you to be Draco’s godfather.”

“Godfather?” Severus laughed with no humor “Lucius I can barely take care of myself, much less a child.” 

“Gods willing you won’t have to.” Narcissa replied  “But beyond taking care of him if we are unable, you will also just be there for him. Let’s say that in the future the war is over, we are all alive and well, you will be like an uncle to him, nothing more nothing less. We aren’t asking you to adopt him, we aren’t planning on getting ourselves killed. We just want him to have…we want him to have someone outside of us. Because right now, we are all he has.” 

Severus dragged his hand down his face and stood to pace. It was true. Lucius and Narcissa both had lost their siblings to circumstances that will likely never change, leaving them with only distant relatives. Cousins, aunts and uncles that they don’t truly know nor trust.

“And…” she trailed off, side eyeing her husband with worry “And we need someone who will put him above everything.”

His breath caught in his throat. He looked at Narcissa, one of the only people he knew actually cared for him, actually viewed him as a friend and not a pawn. He looked for recognition, for a sign, that she knew something. But her eyes gave nothing away.

Sensing the growing tension Lucius stepped in, “Recently it seems as though our fellow Slytherins have thrown to the side their self-preservation for more…materialistic pursuits. We need someone who, if necessary, will put him before our…ideologies.”

They didn’t know he was a spy, they knew that the war wasn’t secured yet. 

“You believe I am the best option?”

“Yes, it seems that you are incapable of dying and are incredibly morally flexible.” Lucius said it as if it were a joke but the trio knew he was being honest.

The room went quiet, the only noise being the occasional gurgle from the child of discussion. Being a godparent wasn’t just a title in the magical world. It was a moral, legal and magical responsibility. There were rituals and ceremonies that would make him able to reach out with his magic and sense the child. He would have something akin to intuition, allowing him to just know how the baby was. 

Severus sat back down and held his hands out towards Lucius, waiting until the man handed back the child. “Draco Malfoy.” he tested the name. The boy looked at him as if he knew, as if despite being just born it understood that Severus was contemplating whether or not the pair of them were to be bonded magically for life. 

Severus stood up and paced the room again, now ever so slightly bouncing so as to not anger the child though the boy looked perfectly content, looking down occasionally to look at the child, really look at him.

He doesn’t know how long he paced, he vaguely heard Lucius and Narcissa start and stop multiple conversations before he turned back to the couple.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

[xxlady-lunaxx]

on the rare occasion when sanemi’s mental health plummeted and he couldn’t take it, his feet guided him, the ache and the need for numbness coaxing the money over, lifting his hand as he took the sake. he drank and he drank until he was completely unconscious. he awoke with alcohol still strong in his system and, without much thought, he found himself on the way to gyomei’s estate. he often associated the man with something of comfort, although he couldn’t figure out why at the moment. neither could he figure out when he’d arrived, instead staring blankly at the door to gyomei’s house before realizing he had to knock. gyomei opened the door for him and allowed him entry, sensing far more than the sake and gruff greeting sanemi managed. they sat quietly inside after gyomei gave him a cup of water. then, abruptly, sanemi spoke. he was uncharacteristically vulnerable under the anesthesia of alcohol.

“you asked why i don’t talk to genya,” he stated, his eyes unfocused as he stared down at his cup. he took a sip. “didn’t answer, did i?”

gyomei hummed vaguely, not wanting to accidentally set sanemi off. he wasn’t sure how this man was like, once his guard was lowered. “i do not believe you did,” he agreed, though that certain conversation had happened weeks ago. genya was here, actually. he’d been training in the back when sanemi had arrived. undoubtedly, genya must be wondering what was taking so long.

sanemi nodded, downing the rest of his water. he put the cup down. then picked it up, fidgeting with it. his movement was loud in the silence of the room. “considering the circumstances,” he began, “is there really anything else i could do?”

“what do you mean?” gyomei asked, frowning. he heard a door opening, somewhere in the house. genya was getting restless, it seemed. or he was taking a break.

“my only objective for anything is…” sanemi paused, considering this. he started again, discarding his previous words. “most demon slayers objectives are to make sure other people can live normally. even if we can’t. right?”

gyomei made a noise of agreement. sanemi nodded.

“i’m no exception,” he remarked. “but, also, i am. it’s not like i don’t care about other people, but- i don’t ever think about them. when i need to be motivated to stay alive. you know? i do have other people i care about, like iguro or whatever. but he’s not why i’m doing this. i’m not why i’m doing this. nobody’s why i’m doing this.”

there was a lengthy pause. “then who is?” gyomei inquired. he shouldn’t be taking advantage of sanemi’s talkativeness, but he wasn’t the one who needed to hear it. he knew where this was going. genya did not.

sanemi sighed. he tossed his cup in the air, catching it in one hand. “genya. he’s not strong enough for the corps. he’ll survive a couple weeks, but he’s due to die eventually. or get too injured to keep going. i don’t get him. he’s got no reason to keep going, yet he clings onto the pathetic hope that he can do it. he should’ve opted to find some woman to marry. let him have children and make a family and forget all of this happened. if he wants to survive, that’s his best bet,” he said. he seemed to have thought it over many times before. enough so he knew it all, even under the muddled mindset he was sporting. “genya deserves better than to fight mutilated beasts every day. but i can’t kill them all for him. so he just has to leave.”

gyomei let this sink in for a long moment. “i believe,” he began, slowly, “that he wants to by your side.”

“wants?” sanemi scoffed. “he doesn’t know what he wants right now. but i know what he needs. he needs to stop chasing after me. i’m a lost cause. he’s not, yet. so he should take advantage of it before it’s too late. he’s an idiot.”

“i understand where you’re coming from,” gyomei reasoned. “but… you have to consider how he feels about it. does he want a life without his brother? is it really best for him?”

sanemi’s posture sunk, ever so slightly. he was trying to curl into himself. “not like i love the prospect, either,” he mumbled. “it’s just best for him. don’t want nothing more than that.”

gyomei let out a breath. “if you tried talking to him about it-“

before he could finish, sanemi cut in. “don’t be stupid, himejima, he hates me. he wouldn’t listen.”

gyomei was completely taken aback. “what? of course not. quite far from the truth, shinazugawa.” he was confused. “from where did you gain that aspect?”

“where? he hardly listens; won’t leave the corps when i tell him,” sanemi said, full of irritation suddenly.

“because he wants to stay by your side.”

“i don’t want it. i told you. it’s better if he’s not.”

“then explain it,” gyomei insisted. “he believes you’re the one who hates him.”

sanemi snorted, as if that was the most ridiculous thing ever. “that’d be like hating a newborn puppy because it can’t provide for itself. i don’t hate genya. but he has every reason to hate me.”

[virginsexgod69]

Hi!! I love ur work for Daryl. I was wondering if you could write a daryl dixon oneshot where maybe him and the reader find an abandoned tattoo parlor while out on a supply run and reader gives him a tattoo and eventually that leads to smut! 🩷

❝ Inked ❞

pairing Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

cw established relationship, smut, unprotected p in v, pet names, pussy eating, needles (for tattoos), idk how to do tattoos so i apologize in advance for any inaccuracies

note omg i had a jolly good time writing this! tysm for the request =] i did lowkey tweak it slightly, but nothing major, i pinky promise

2.1k words

“I don’t think there’s anything else we can get outta this place,” you commented as you placed the only can- a can of cranberry sauce from who knows how long ago- into your backpack. You looked around, only seeing more bare shelves and Daryl. You smiled, a natural reaction you had whenever you saw him. He wrapped his strong arm around your shoulder, pulling you close before placing a kiss to your hairline. 

“We should take a look a’ these other stores ‘fore we start headin’ back,” he suggested as he guided you out the store, arm still wrapped snugly around you. You nodded your head in silent agreement, following beside him. It was hard to tell what most of the other buildings were since they were all dirty with broken or boarded up windows, but one in particular caught your eye. 

“Hey, look! A tattoo shop,” you pointed at the building, “Let’s go check it out!” You hurried toward it, semi-dragging Daryl with you. 

“The hell we gonna find at a tattoo shop?” He asked, seeming genuinely confused at why the hell you’d wanna go. 

“Hopefully more than some nasty ass canned cranberry sauce.” He couldn’t disagree with you there, so he fell in line with your fast paced steps toward the shop. 

 You both entered the shop with knives drawn in case any walkers decided to stumble out of the shadows. Nothing came when the two of you made noise in an attempt to draw them out, so you sheathed your knife and went all the way inside, Daryl in tow. The shop was small, which allowed the sunlight shining through the window to fill it. The walls were covered in framed pictures of tattoo designs, although they were covered in dust. The shop itself was in fairly good shape, considering. You and Daryl split off in different directions in search of anything that could be brought back to the prison. You couldn’t find anything that wasn’t tattoo related, which wasn’t surprising since this was a tattoo shop. What you did find, though, was a lot more exciting. Everything that you would need to do a tattoo was all there, right in front of you. 

“Find anything?” Daryl asked once he found you again. 

“Yes and no?” 

“Wha’s that s’pose to mean?” He asked. 

“There’s still everything here to do tattoos with, isn’t that cool?” 

“We gon’ get matchin' tattoos or somethin’? He teased. 

"Not a bad idea, Dixon," you mused. You patted the seat and he sat down after setting aside his crossbow and got comfortable. You thought about what to put on him. You had so many ideas that you may as well have had none. 

"Wha's goin' on in there?" he asked. It was something that he'd say whenever he noticed you deep in thought. 

"I don't even know what to put on ya," you admitted as you traced lazy lines on his bare arm with your finger, "or where to put it."  Your face brightened when an idea finally passed through your head. You grabbed his arm and turned his hand to face upward before wiping a spot on his wrist clean with the alcohol wipe you got lucky enough to find. You unpackaged a needle before dipping it into the ink cap. Since there wasn't any power, you'd have to do a stick and poke. You were vaguely familiar with them from a time of experimentation during your teen years. With your non-dominant hand, you stretched his skin before getting to work on your design. You could feel Daryl trying to take a peek at what you were doing, but you purposely blocked his view with your head each time. You worked slowly and carefully, doing your best to make something cute despite not even being an amateur. 

“Okay, you can look now,” you muttered timidly as you handed him back his arm. You weren’t sure if he’d like it or not and were starting to regret not finding a pen and making a sketch to run by him for approval first. But, it was too late now and all you could do was hope for the best. He brought his wrist closer to his face to get a better look. It was simple, a small love heart with his first initial plus yours. It looked like something a girl would doodle in her notebook while daydreaming about her crush. 

“S’cute,” he said as he admired the tattoo with a small, but genuine, smile on his face. His bright blue eyes looked up at you, filled with all the love and adoration in the world. “I love it.” You couldn’t help but smile at him. “You wanna gimme a matching one?” You joked, referencing his earlier comment. He glanced out the window, the sun was setting and it was likely you and him would have to spend the night here if he and you stayed for one more tattoo. Some privacy with you, alone, away from everyone at the prison sounded like heaven, and matching tattoos were a bonus. 

“Sure.” He got out of the seat and you got in. 

“You wan’ it in the same place?” 

You thought about it for a second. “I want it somewhere special, in a place for only you to see.” The rosy tint that blossomed on his cheeks wasn’t missed by you. You found it endearing how he sometimes grew flustered at your flirtation, despite it being nothing new. 

“Yeah? Where’s that?” He asked. 

“I dunno, Daryl. You pick,” you insisted with a smug look upon your face. He made quick work of unbuttoning your jeans and you lifted your hips to assist him in pulling them down all the way to your ankles. He stepped away and grabbed a new needle and ink. With another alcohol wipe, he cleaned a spot on your inner thigh before comfortably situating himself on his knees between your legs. You felt the small, frequent pokes of the needle as he got to work on the tattoo. Seeing him on his knees between your thighs made your stomach flutter. You knew that was his favorite place to be and having the tattoo there seemed like he was marking it as his own. As he was working, his hand accidentally brushed against your clit, eliciting a whine from you. He paused his work and glanced up at you, struggling to hide the smirk that tugged at his lips. You avoided his eye and he got back to work, but his hand bumped your clit more often. Each time left you desperate for more. You so badly wanted to close your legs and rub your thighs together or reach down and get yourself off, but you had to stay still. His hand brushed against you once more, causing you to squirm a little. 

“Keep still.” 

You glared down at him. “I’m trying to, but you keep-” He did it again and this time you were one hundred percent sure it was on purpose. Grumbling under your breath, you leaned back against the seat and did your best to keep still as he finished up. Once he was done, he wiped off the excess ink. 

“We should probably secure the place since we’re gonna be spendin’ the night here,” he suggested. 

“But Daryl,” you whined, “you can’t just leave me like this. You knew what you were doing earlier!” 

"Wha? Givin' you a tattoo?" You huffed and rolled your eyes and reached down to pull your pants back up, but he stopped you. 

"I'm jus' playin' darlin'. Sit back." He gently pushed you back into the chair before getting back on his knees. Slowly, he pulled your panties down to your ankles with your formerly discarded pants and yanked them both off over your shoes. He firmly gripped your hips and pulled you to the edge of the seat and placed your legs over his shoulders. Feeling his hot tongue lick up and down your soaked slit had you gripping the arm rests for support. With his thumb, he rubbed slow, teasing circles on your hard clit. His tongue was a welcome intrusion in your soaked entrance. You gasped and moaned out his name and your hands flew to his hair, your fingers getting tangled in his soft locks. This motivated him to rub faster circles on your clit, earning more gasps and moans from you. His tongue thrusted in and out of your dripping cunt as he tasted all of your juices, refusing to let any go to waste. You tugged his hair as your thighs involuntarily clamped around his head and he moaned unexpectedly, the vibrations from it bringing you closer to the edge. Your walls clenched around the pink muscle as he focused it on that one spot that always did things to you. 

"Daryl, please! I'm so close," you whined, desperate for him to bring you to your orgasm. If he weren't trapped between your plush thighs, he would've talked you through it, but instead he moved his lips to your clit and started sucking on it while prodding the bud with his tongue. You squeezed your eyes shut as the white hot waves of pleasure overtook your body. Daryl worked faster once he felt you tense up and your thighs convulsing around his head. Your fingers tightened in his hair as your toes curled. You could the vibration of his pleasured grunts against your soft flesh. 

"I'm gonna-" your back arched and head fell back as he pushed you over the edge, immersing you in a world of pleasure. He continued to lap at your pussy as you rode out your orgasm. Once you came down from that high, you relaxed and slumped against the chair. Daryl reluctantly freed himself from between your thighs since he needed to catch his breath again. His dick was straining against his pants with how hard he was just from hearing your sounds of pleasure and tasting your pretty pussy. And now, just seeing your fucked out face made him want to cum in his pants. 

 In one quick swipe, he cleared a nearby table of all its supplies. He picked you up from the chair with ease, tossing you over his shoulder before gently laying you onto the table. He made quick work of freeing his erection from his pants and stroked it a few times, causing precum to bubble up on the angry red tip. He lined it up with your slit, rubbing it up and down your slick folds teasingly. 

"So wet fer me, baby," he groaned as he lined himself up with your needy hole. You wrapped your legs around his hips, desperate for him to fill you up. Your body welcomed him as he slid in easily. 

"Yer takin' me so good, sunshine." He leaned down and connected his lips with yours. You moaned as you tasted yourself on his tongue. His tongue danced with yours as you kissed each other passionately. Large, rough hands palmed at your clothed tits as he started thrusting into you. Frustrated with your shirt, he hurriedly pulled it over your head before attaching his lips to your neck, roughly sucking and biting your skin. His tongue slid over your carotid artery, feeling how fast your heart was beating. You clumsily tugged at his shirt and vest, a silent plea for him to take them off, which he did. When he was with you, his insecurities were non existent. You tightly gripped his shoulders, nails digging hollow indents into his skin as he increased the pace of his thrusts. 

"Feel so good," you slurred. He kissed open mouthed kisses down your body, occasionally leaving marks in his wake. You squirmed and moaned beneath him, your second orgasm approaching fast. He was close too, you could feel it in the way  his cock twitched inside you and his pace became slower snd less rhythmic. 

"I'm boutta cum, baby," he groaned. You wanted to tell him you were, too, but your mind was a jumbled mess that was drunk off his cock. When your second orgasm came, your walls tightly hugged his shaft, squeezing him closer to his own climax. He quickly pulled out and stroked himself the rest of the way. His mouth fell open and eyes rolled back as he shot white hot ropes of cum all over your naked body. 

 He collapsed into a nearby chair, panting for air. You slid off the table and joined him in the chair by sitting on his lap. Both your bodies were coated in the thin sheen of sweat as you held each other close as exhaustion took over your bodies. 

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[uniquexusposts]

Her || Charles Leclerc

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fan fiction, fluff  Story type: novel  Part: 3/? Word count: 1510 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 1. A New Role, A Nervous Start

Matilde entered the meeting room with an apologetic look on her face. She was holding her laptop and notebook under her arm, having a cup of tea in her other hand. "I'm sorry, I walked to the wrong truck," she said and sat down.

"No worries."

As the team principal settled behind her laptop, the other people in her team got ready for the pre-race debrief. They all were eager to discuss the strategy for the upcoming race, the first race, but also talk about track limits, and other information. Yesterday, after qualifying, they talked about the outcomes and the possible strategy for today. Today, it was time to finalise it.

It was the first time Matilde was about to witness the pre-race briefing at her new team. She had been at the briefing yesterday and the day before, but this was different. She still had to figure out how the briefings at Ferrari worked. Matilde was nervous; what could she expect later today? She decided to let the team lead the briefing, since it was them who had to lead their drivers through the race.

"Just like last year, we are considering a two-stop strategy with a soft-hard-hard combination for plan A," Carlos Galbally, Head of Tyre Science, announced after discussing other key points.

Everyone nodded in agreement; they agreed on this yesterday, and it seemed like the right tyre strategy. However, Matilde looked doubtful, keeping her opinion to herself. She listened to the other plans, but none of them felt right to her.

"Do we have other options we are looking at?" Matilde then asked out of curiosity.

The room fell into a brief silence as everyone pondered the options. Matilde could sense the tension, it was like she had said something out of place or that was too personal.

"Just asking," she added, attempting to ease the atmosphere with a soft smile.

"At the moment, not really. Why?" Xavi, the engineer of Charles Leclerc, asked.

"The data shows that the C3 has shown a strong pace," Matilde said. "I suggest we do soft-soft-hard. Gain a safe advantage, perhaps even perform an under or overcut and gain a few spots."

Ravin Jain, Strategy Director, looked at the only woman in the room. "Sounds reasonable," he admitted, but before he could continue, he got interrupted.

"The softs may have shown a strong pace, but they won't last long in these higher temperatures," Charles said, leaning forward. He was confident in understanding how the car felt with different tyres.

Matilde nodded, acknowledging his point. "They won't last long indeed, but they are great to push and gain some positions," she responded. "We expect everyone to start on softs, except Magnussen, and we have seen everyone fly away. If you get the softs in the second stint and push even more, the second stop may be free. And it brings you to the front of the field."

"The hards allow us to postpone the pit stops."

"But you have to stop eventually whether you have softs or hards under your car," Matilde brought in.

Charles sighed and looked at his laptop screen, visibly frustrated by the discussion. "The softs won't last long. It's great to start with them, but the hards give us more time," he said. You should know that, he thought. Charles looked up, gazing into her eyes.

Eyes shot from Charles to Matilde. She felt a hint of dislike in his gaze. "I suggest to pit around lap 15 for softs and then pit around lap 35 for hards to finish it. You both have shown that you can extend your stints on softs to twenty-five laps. I believe we can build a gap early on and keep it growing after the first pit stop."

It became silent. Both the Strategy Director and Head of Tyre Science were considering both approaches, weighing the risks and benefits of each strategy.

Charles didn't hesitate to reply to the suggestion. "I will stick to plan A. I know this track better than anyone, and I'll make the call if I sense an opportunity."

Matilde wished she could protest his decision, but she knew she couldn't change his mind because the entire team stood behind the plans. Carlos agreed with Charles, admitting he preferred the first strategy better.

"Then we will go for those plans. Thank you for your input," Matilde then said. "But if we see an opportunity to make a change, we will go for it. Whether you sit in the car or not, we will go for the opportunity," she said, determined to start with a podium this season.

With the strategy decided, the briefing continued, discussing various other aspects of the race. Matilde made sure to hear everyone's input and ensured that they felt valued and motivated.

The briefing ended, and all the staff left, heading to their respective duties. Matilde made some quick notes for herself and looked in front of her, taking a moment to gather her thoughts and emotions. It felt so unnatural to her to lead a team instead of being part of the plan. She had to think of so many other things now. It felt unnatural, but also cool.

Matilde got up and left the room, ready to attend media meetings. All eyes were on her, her first race as principal. During the interviews, she was asked about her thoughts on the race and the results she expected. Everyone remembered the disappointing results of last year like it was yesterday. Matilde refused to promise anything, but she would try and do her best to get the best possible results. She told the media that she was excited to see the race and that she was looking forward to seeing what her team could do with her as principal for a week.

After some time, every car lined up on the grid. Matilde finished up the last interview and made her way to the grid. At first, she walked to one of the red cars in the third position.  Charles was standing with his engineers, going over some last-minute details. As she approached them, she wondered what she had to do here. What was Christian always doing on the grid? When she was a strategist, she sat behind in the garage, observing the footage. Now she was facing cameras and a lot of people. Matilde put on a professional smile.

"Good luck, Charles," Matilde said and smiled warmly.

She guessed she could wish her drivers all the best.

"Thank you," Charles replied, his eyes avoiding hers.

Mathile looked at the engineers and gave them a nod before walking over to the other side of the track: P4 and one of the other red cars. "Good luck, Carlos," she said.

Carlos looked gratefully at her. "Thanks, Matilde," he said.

When she wanted to walk back towards the garages, she got stopped by Martin Brundle. A polite smile came on her face.

"How are you holding up, Matilde?"

"I'm pretty nervous," she replied. "It is the first time in over a year since I am back on the grid, and of course, the new role at Ferrari."

"How do you think it will go?"

"Realistically, it won't be a winning race. Of course, we all have hope, but Red Bull is just immensely strong. We have a new team, we have to see if it all works out and how we react to it. But I think we will get a decent race, we are well prepared, and we have the pace," she replied.

Brundle smiled and nodded. "How does it feel to see your old mates work in a different team?"

"Weird," was her first response. "I must admit, I walked to the wrong garage this morning when I was in my own mind," she laughed. "And seeing them work, I almost want to go over and stir into the conversation. But those are habits that need to wear out. I am excited to start this new chapter and fight against them."

He nodded again. "Thank you. And good luck."

"Thank you," Matilde replied and briefly looked at her assistant next to her. Galileo looked satisfied.

As the drivers got ready to step into their cars, Matilde walked back towards the Ferrari garage. She still observed the mechanics performing their final checks on the screens in the garage. It was a tough first week. She got along with Carlos pretty well, but she knew she had to earn Charles' respect, and it wouldn't be an easy task. The team reacted well to her, but it had only been a week. The media and some fans weren't sure about this decision. Matilde had encountered similar challenges before in a male-dominated sport, but this felt different.

Matilde sat down at the pit wall, taking the middle seat. This was new to her, but a dream came true. The formation lap came to an end, and the cars lined up. She took a deep breath and felt her heart race in her chest as the lights popped up one by one. The lights went out, and the race began.

Next chapter

[doe-writes-stuff]

You'd left. Off to take care of a personal matter in the west. Alone. With no way of knowing how long you'd be gone, or even if you'd come back at all, you'd parted on...strained terms. Despite the odds against ever seeing you again, Daryl made sure to keep a light on for you.

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Slight angst, reader is described to have a female relative (relation not specified). Strong language, 18+ explicit sexual content, mixture of rough sex and slow body worship. Set during first half of season 9, but doesn't follow strict canon timeline or events.

"I should come with you."

"Daryl...you can't." You'd said, regret and guilt dripping from each word forced out of your mouth but doing your best to remain firm. They stung, but you didn't take them back. Didn't try to sugarcoat it. This wasn't easy on you, and no matter how much he understood why, it still hurt to hear. Watching you with your bag already packed hurt worse. "Rick needs you, Judith and Carol, and everyone else. It should just be me."

His head had shaken slowly. "They'll manage just fine without me for awhile."

"This could all be some pointless goose chase, and I...I feel bad enough even deciding to go, like I'm abandoning all of you, but..." He can see it, the way your eyes shine with unshed tears and the determination behind them to not let them fall. You hated crying. He knew that. "I need to do this. I need to know. She might still be out there."

"Don't mean you gotta do it alone, Y/N."

"I can't ask that of you."

"Don't have to."

"Daryl-"

"I mean it." He pushes, tone a bit more pressing than before. He shifts closer, drawing your eyes towards his own. He reaches down and takes your hands in his own, thumb idly brushing along your knuckles in comfort. "Goin' out there by yourself ain't safe. Ain't smart, neither. Need someone to have your back. Can't do things alone no more, you know that."

You're silent, worrying your lip beneath your teeth. He can't quite read the expression in your face, in your eyes. Your thoughts are too muddled, swirling with indecision and a plethora of emotions all vying for dominance. Terse seconds pass, silence between you, but eventually you've seem to come to a decision. His heart settles a little, satisfied that he'd made his case. Your head ducks down momentarily, which he takes as acceptance.

Daryl nods. "I'll tell Rick in the mornin' that we're leaving, maybe see if I can pack some extra provisions from the pantry. Doubt it'll take much convincin'. I brought back half that shit anyway."

The only response he gets is a small, slow nod. But it's agreement enough for him, and he pulls you into his arms. It's instinct now to relax under his protective embrace, allowing your fears and your guilts to fall away, if only for a moment. They'd come back in full when you next awoke.

"Come sleep." He mutters against your hair, feeling the way his lips press a kiss onto the crown of your head. Your eyes close. "We'll figure it out in the morning."

Your fingers clench against the back of his shirt, head buried into his chest. He's warm, the beat of his heart a comforting sound. One you know you'll be without for a long while. You make sure to breathe in his scent, filling your senses and making your decision all the harder to enforce.

And so you don't resist when he guides you back to bed, and you savor the way his hands feel on your skin. Devotion and love spill from his lips and yours. And when you lay beside him, listening to his even breathing as he falls asleep amongst the tousled covers, you try burning this memory into your head forever.

'Don't come looking for me.' 'I hope you can understand. I hope you can forgive me.' 'If it'd been Merle, wouldn't you feel the same?' 'I'm sorry. I will always love you, no matter what, no matter how long. Even if...I don't make it.'

Daryl stares down at the messily-scrawled note folded on his nightstand. He'd read at least 3 times by now, but had barely paid attention to the past few, the words blurring together. Noting the dried tear-stains on the edges, he feels a hollowness creep into his chest. It's as you say in your letter. Had it been Merle, all those years ago back at the prison, he'd have done the same.

He understands. He wished he didn't.

It would make it all easier to hate you. But he can't bring himself to.

The beginning days are the hardest. Your absence is a blatant, empty spot in his daily routine. He'd turn to say something to you, only for you to not be there. He'd stop by the house after hunts and scavenge missions to see you, only to remember the lights would be off and you'd not be home.

Each instance of forgetting, just for a split second, that you'd left sticks another proverbial knife in his chest and twists. They bring back the moment of discovering you'd left him behind all over again. It stung. It twisted the hilt a little bit more, digs the blade in a little deeper. It fucking sucked, each and every time.

Daryl had an excellent poker face, but even the others were beginning to notice how much it was affecting him. It was a lesson in patience, the amount of times he'd been asked if he was alright in those first few weeks after you'd left. Most of them he'd been able to field off with a gruff 'Just fine.' Others saw past the facade.

Rick had a good sense of things, and he knew Daryl well enough by now that his words often didn't tell the whole story when it came to those pesky internal 'feelings.' He'd asked him along on more scavenge runs, just to get him out of Alexandria. But of course, not one to pry too much into Daryl's business, he didn't ask the questions the hunter knew was hanging off the tip of his tongue.

Carol was one of them too, unsurprisingly. Half the time he thought she could read his mind. She made trips to Alexandria more often, popping over with pretty weak reasons for visiting from the Kingdom. She hovered, appearing at the most unpredictable of times. It didn't take a genius to know why. When Daryl least expected her, she'd be there with an offer to go hunt together. To go take care of Judith so Michonne and Rick could get out for awhile and spend some time beyond the walls.

It helped. He appreciated that Rick and Carol never pried. Rather, they were just...there. A companion to fill the long silences he found himself left with during the day. A distraction when he needed it most, since even solo outings past the walls were often filled with thoughts of you. Having someone else there eased the hurt, and muffled the many negative thoughts that clouded his mind in his moments of solitude.

Weeks stretched, and you were still gone. No means of communication meant Daryl was left to wonder about what you were doing, where you were, and if you were still even alive at all. It didn't get easier with time, the ache in his chest, the missing piece in his life. It just became familiar, and so he worked around it. Sidestepping it each and every morning until it was a constant numbness he had trained himself to ignore.

It was frightening, how easy it seemed to be. How easily he could seem to live without you around. Once upon a time, that didn't sound so feasible.

He felt guilty. He felt bitter.

He hoped you were doing ok.

Daryl didn't talk about you anymore. Not to others. And nowadays, Judith only occasionally brought up your name, asking where Aunt Y/N was, and when you'd be home. He was usually able to dodge an answer by offering to play a game.

There'd come a day when he couldn't get away with doing that, but...well, the time for that hadn't yet passed.

At some point, he'd quit counting the days. That didn't mean Daryl stopped missing you--he certainly still did. But the endless pull towards someone out there past the gates, miles and miles away, wasn't quite so strong. Whether it was a sign of him moving on, or just growing to accept the fact that you'd left...he still couldn't tell.

He didn't want to look into it all that much anyway.

Daryl hadn't heard anyone approaching as he stood smoking on the porch of his home. The wind was strong, and the neighbor's makeshift wind chimes had covered the sound.

"Borrow a smoke?"

His head whips back to see Rosita sauntering her way up to his home, arms crossed and hair tied back in a pony tail. He straightens, reaching up to the inside pocket of his vest to grab the pack of cigarettes as she stops a few feet away. Shaking one out, he hands it to her. After a flick of his lighter, the end begins to smoke and she takes a long drag.

"Thanks."

Daryl only hums in reply, standing there on this windy night, looking out towards the gated and walled entrance of Alexandria.

For several minutes, neither of them speak, enjoying their cigarette in companionable silence. Daryl wondered why Rosita was out so late, but figured maybe she just couldn't sleep.

Eventually, the minutes and lack of conversation gets to her, and she gives a quiet laugh, gesturing towards the door to Daryl's home. "You know you leave that lamp on every night in this front room?"

Daryl glances back, but only shakes his head. "I know."

"Drives Mrs. Beckett crazy." Rosita continues, flicking the ashes off of her cigarette, head nodding towards the house across from his. "Likes to bitch about how you're wasting electricity, or how she can't sleep because she knows it's on. It's like she can't talk about anything else."

"The grid can handle one fuckin' lamp." He mutters without further explanation, giving a shrug.

"I've told her that. So's Eugene, for what good that did." Rosita says with an amused smile, side-eyeing the hunter as she sucked down the last of her cigarette. She tosses it to the ground and digs it into the wood of the porch with her shoe. "Won't stop her from complaining about it, though."

He doesn't bother responding to that. Frankly, he didn't give a shit what Mrs. Beckett thought or wanted. He barely knew the old woman anyway.

"Why do you leave it on, anyway?"

This time, he doesn't say anything, just continues looking out towards the wall. He knows she's smart, that his silence speaks louder than any explanation would. Rosita figures it out quickly, and hums her understanding after a moment.

Another long pause settles, before she shifts in place and watches Daryl's closely when she speaks next. "I got talking with Eugene the other day."

Daryl had a feeling where this conversation was going--a place he didn't really want it to go--but obliged her clear bait anyway. "And?"

"Figured it was about 40 days to Cheyenne, on foot one way." She said carefully, not wanting to push too far, but hoping he still recognized she was worried about him. "35 if she pushed, and much less than that if she rigged a car."

Daryl knew what she was getting at, but still played dumb anyway. "So?"

Rosita saw right through him, but pointed out what they both knew despite that. "Daryl...it's been 6 months."

He straightened, agitation making him fidget, his jaw set tightly. "Don't mean a damn thing."

"Look, I'm all for holding out hope, but...at some point it's time to let go. How likely is it that she's still-"

"Think I'll turn in. Wind's gonna bring a storm tonight." He interrupted suddenly, not daring to look her in the face as he said his goodbye. "Best get headin' home."

He heard her sigh, and that tension in the air made it seem like she was about to say more. But in the end, she took the hint and descended the steps of his porch, footsteps heard walking down the sidewalk towards her own house.

For 8 months and 13 days, you'd been gone. And yet still, as you walked up that road towards the imposing walls of Alexandria, you felt like it was only yesterday that you'd snuck out the gates before the sun had come up.

The pack was heavy on your shoulders; not from supplies, but the weariness of a long journey. Of burdens and the weight of your decisions and actions. They settled, making your bones ache. But you felt lighter and lighter the closer you got to home.

Home. How you'd missed it so much.

And you'd missed him, too. Daryl had never left your mind. Not once.

Maybe the seasons had changed, but you recognized each abandoned car leading up to the Alexandria Safe Zone, even the particularly gnarled trees off to the side of the road. Little waypoints and landmarks that you'd memorized and passed by hundreds of times before. Now, each one seemed to propel your feet that little bit further, encouraging you to keep going.

Almost there.

And when those gates finally did come into view at the end of the road, you nearly cried. That feeling of relief as it washed over you was...immeasurable. Palpable and freeing. You couldn't begin to describe just how much it affected you.

There were, of course, look-outs at the gate for signs of approaching danger. And while you would've appreciated having been recognized after so many months away, you supposed that would have been too much to ask for.

"That's far enough!" The person on watch called, pointing a gun in your direction. From this distance, you couldn't tell who it might have been. "State your name and business!"

"My name's Y/N." You say, holding your hands out to make it clear you weren't holding onto a weapon. Your knife is clearly visible in its small sheath at your hip, but you weren't actively reaching for it. "I've been gone for a long time, but this is my home."

"Right." The person says with doubt clear in their tone. "As if I'd just believe you."

"I want to talk to Rick Grimes, then." You say calmly, smiling when the barrel of their gun lowered just a fraction. You felt a little silly having to name-drop some of the most influential members of the community, but whatever made them believe you, you supposed. "Or Daryl Dixon, or Michonne-"

"Alright, alright, hang on a second." They cried from the tower, lowering the gun and holding up a walkie talkie to their mouth. They spoke too low to hear, but you gathered they were calling into one of the three people you'd just mentioned.

You don't have to wait long, before a commotion on the other side of the gate alerts you to someone's approach. They call for the gate to open. Your heart soars, waiting to see a familiar face.

The metal gate slides open, and a man steps out cautiously. He's a bit rounder in the belly than you remembered--the benefits of safety in the end of days--and the full beard is new. But there's no mistaking the way he walks, and the way his eyes take you in when he steps past the gate's threshold.

A smile's broken out over your face as the two of you walk closer, until finally you embrace Rick with a tight hug, laughing at the reunion. If there was still any doubt that you were indeed a citizen of Alexandria, it was now dashed.

"About time you came home." He says in a rasp, patting his hand against your back in a comforting gesture. "It's been too long."

"I know. I'm sorry." You admit, guilt and regret coloring your voice. "I shouldn't have left."

You pull away, but Rick gets a good look at you and pats your shoulder with his hand. "You felt you had to. It's family. I understand."

You nod, on the verge of tears, but somehow managing to keep composed. "You're family too. Lost sight of that for a little while, I guess."

Rick waves you inside, giving a wave to the look-out at the on watch as a sign that everything was fine. You enter the walls for the first time in 8 months, admiring everything new and all that had stayed the same.

"How's Judith?" You ask.

"Growin' bigger every day. Can hardly believe she's already three." Rick smiles fondly, shaking his head. Then, he turns to look at you. "She asks for you, sometimes. Wonders where you've been."

The thought of seeing the youngest Grimes was appealing, though you were still weary from your travels. You probably didn't have the necessary energy to meet with her just yet.

"I'll see her once I've settled in." You promise, and Rick nods.

"It can wait 'til tomorrow. I'll let the others know you're back in the meantime."

Rick spends the next few minutes filling you in on all that you'd missed while on your trip. You're thankful to hear that most of it was minor little things. At least you hadn't missed another damn war, or anyone you loved dying. That would have been a lot to bear.

As you get closer to Daryl's home, Rick seems to remember something, and hesitates.

"Forgot to mention...Daryl's out on a hunt." He admits, no doubt crushing your hopes of reuniting with your partner that day. "Not sure when he'll be back, honestly, but I reckon he wouldn't mind if you were to stay in his home now that you're back. As I recall, you practically lived there anyway before you left."

Your laugh away the slight embarrassment at his observation, and the amusement is quite evident in his face. "Yeah, I guess that's true..."

"He'll be happy to see you." Rick states simply, stopping just outside Daryl's home as you approach.

"I hope so." You say, sudden doubt creeping in. You grimace a little, stopping at the stoop of the porch. "We didn't exactly...part on great terms. At least...I think so."

Rick reaches out and pats your shoulder again. "I won't lie, he took it hard. But I'm sure he'll make his peace with it, now that you're back. Love has a way of helping you sort things out."

And with that, he gives your shoulder a squeeze, before leaving you at the door to Daryl's home.

Something compels you to just take it all in. It was just like you remembered it being. A lamp stood lit behind the curtains in the front window. Strange...why leave the lights on when he wasn't home?

Stepping inside is a surreal mix of second nature and unknown territory. Daryl hadn't really changed anything in the interior; the couch and side tables and other trinkets around his home were exactly where you'd remembered them to be. But the atmosphere felt so...different. A little hollow.

Were you even still welcome here? You hoped so...

You deposit your pack next to the side table in the hallway, your usual spot for stuff after a run. Old habits, you thought to yourself. You'd put it back where it really went later on, but for now it would do. Your shoes went along with it, bare feet feeling blissfully unburdened without them on. Socked feet pad slowly throughout his home.

It's all just as you remembered, and your clothes are even still in the drawers in the bedroom. You figure that's a good sign, and change into something much more comfortable after a long-desired shower. The water is blissful on your skin, washing away the dirt of your traveling.

As you dry yourself and dress, you can't help but bury your nose in one of Daryl's shirts, reveling in the scent of safety and comfort. And while you may be missing the man himself, for now this would tide you over enough until his return.

With no pressing matters, and no clue as to what to even do now that you'd come home, you decide that a nap was much-needed. It may only be the afternoon, but the miles behind you were starting to make themselves known, lulling your eyelids heavier with fatigue.

You crash on the couch in a heap, falling asleep easier than you had in months.

Daryl didn't understand the knowing smile that Rick had given him upon returning to Alexandria late that night. Not to mention it was strange that Rick chose such a late hour to take watch. Not thinking much of it, he entered the gates and drove towards his home.

The rumble of his bike faded as he shut the engine off, popping the kickstand and standing from the bike. After a long two days of hunting with nothing to show for it, he was happy at the prospect of a nice, long sleep.

The house was dark, save for the light still on in the window, but he paid it no mind, closing the door and shrugging off his pack. He passed by the hallway side-table, setting it beside the other that was sitting by-

His steps halted, eyes swinging down to rivet themselves on something that was so incredibly familiar and yet so out of place. At first, it hadn't even registered that something was amiss. The sight of a pack here was so ingrained, that nothing had jumped out at him. But now...

He hadn't left that there. He didn't even own a backpack like that. But he recognized it all the same. And beside it...

Shoes.

A noise further into the house caught his attention. The spill of lights from the kitchen told him someone was there. He'd been certain to turn off all the lights before he'd left for his hunt.

And while a tiny sliver of his brain thought to suspect something malicious was going on--visitors didn't typically stop by at 2 in the morning--the hope that soared in his chest overpowered it.

It felt like the air was yanked from out of his lungs as he stopped just outside the kitchen entryway. There you stood, swaying back and forth to whatever music you were listening to in your headphones, the makings of a sandwich out before you. You faced away from him, unaware of his presence.

Daryl let out a stuttered breath as he ran a hand down his face, a swirl of different emotions welling in his chest. He was...pissed, actually. You'd left him behind all those months ago, lied to him to do it. All of the old anger bubbled and surfaced at the sight of you. He was hurt, wondering how you could have gone through with going off on your own, leaving your fellow survivors in your rearview.

At some point, he'd thought long and hard about exactly what he was going to say to you, should he get the chance. He'd known precisely all the bitter and spited words he'd want to throw into your face, telling you exactly what you'd put him through all this time.

He couldn't recall a damn single word of it now.

And despite how the wound had been ripped open seeing you in the flesh after all this time, despite the anger that raged and threatened to speak the venom that had once consumed him...he was too relieved to see you alive, safe, and in one piece to bother channeling that anger.

At the end of the day, you'd still come back. You'd come home. To him.

Instead, just below the relief of your return, rising steadily and with such intensity he hadn't anticipated, was a desire he hadn't felt for so long. How many nights had he lay awake, recalling memories of the softness of your body, the touch of your fingers on his skin? And now that he had you here...

His feet carry him forward before he can really think about what he was doing.

It's the movement in your peripheral vision that makes you look sharply up at him, startled but the sudden presence of someone else. You hadn't anticipated being interrupted during your midnight snack.

But he's here. He's there, getting closer by the second. You yank your headphones out, holding out a hand. You probably should have rehearsed what you'd say to him beforehand, to try easing the hurt and betrayal he must feel.

"Daryl, I'm sorry...I-"

You can't manage anything after that, given his lips smash to yours in a bruising and long-overdue kiss. Shock sets in for a single second, a mumbled grunt swallowed by his mouth, but then leaning into his embrace as his arms wrap around you, pulling you in, was instinctive. You fall into that familiar, safe feeling, wondering if perhaps this was always how your eventual reunion would have turned out. Daryl was always a man of action rather than words, anyway. The time for apologies could come later.

You can hardly breathe, locked in his arms, at his mercy. He kisses you like he never thought he'd ever get to again. And maybe for the longest time, that's exactly what he'd thought. A pang of guilt stabs you through the heart, realizing the sort of pain you'd caused him by leaving, but Daryl doesn't give you the chance to dwell on it, teeth slowly dragging back along your bottom lip and pulling a whine from your throat.

And, god, how desperate you sounded...it made him groan. That sound haunted him for weeks on end. How could you so easily rile him up like this? You leave for months, and all it takes is a pretty little noise to get his blood boiling with need. Fuck if he wasn't just as desperate for you, too...

He couldn't stop himself. Like a recovering addict caving, going back to his fix, his hands touch you any place he can reach, rough palms smoothing over your curves. The clothes in the way is annoying, confining. Part of him wants to yank and tear them away from you, but another side wants to try calming himself down, taking this first time together again slow. It had been so long, he didn't want to fuck up the first chance he could.

Your mind is a hazy fog of sudden lust, so much so you barely register the way he's reached down to lift you by your thighs and wrap you around his waist. His strength has you dizzy, drunk off of his scent and his warmth and the way his fingers dug into the skin on the back of your thighs. It made you tighten your legs around his waist, the sensation of him walking you somewhere else secondary to the way you did what little you could to grind yourself against the crotch of his jeans.

You wouldn't have been able to answer if later asked how you managed to get to the bedroom so quickly. One second you'd been in the kitchen, and the next you were being slammed onto the comforter by your back, Daryl's large and corded frame practically smothering you in the best way.

Your head tilting back with a pleased sigh, Daryl takes the opportunity to latch onto the exposed skin of your neck, intent to leave a mark. The thought of something permanent on you, from him--a sign of some sort that he couldn't put into words at the moment--felt important. And by the way you were moaning as he gave the flesh a rough suck, you seemed to agree.

One hand trails under and up his shirt, taking advantage of the closeness to explore the body you'd gone so long without once more. The familiar texture of scars in all the places you remembered. Muscles like gentle ridges under your fingers. They trail along his nipples, stroking in appreciation and pulling a surprised grunt from him, before frustration kicks in and you hastily tug the shirt up so he could take it off.

It's discarded somewhere behind you, and thus begins the frantic undressing of each other, heavy, panting breaths making it clear just how much neither of you were able to slow down now that you'd started. There'd never been a greater need to eliminate all barriers between you than now. As soon as his jeans and underwear are low enough to expose his hard length, your hand takes hold of it, giving him several loving pumps.

His curse is stuttered, wavering. Barely more than a huff of air released as the tension between you grows steadily. Daryl wastes no time in reaching for your wet cunt, two fingers plunging in without preamble. Your back arches up, wanting more. A keening noise escapes you, and hearing it just spurs him to start a fast and demanding pace as he fucks you with them.

The wet sounds they produce are obscene, but your head is nearly bursting with how damn good it all feels. You're a moaning mess, trying desperately to keep up with your own ministration of his cock, wrists working back and forth a little faster. His hips thrust into your hand instinctively, seeking more friction, a faster pace, something more. And while you know Daryl typically tries to keep quiet in the midst of sex, he just can't help the groans this time around.

Maneuvering your leg around his waist, you draw his hips closer to where you need him, lifting your own to brush your wetness against his hardened shaft, tantalizing and teasing. The time for foreplay was over, at least in your mind. Heart pounding a painful beat in your chest, you can't imagine waiting any further to feel him fill you entirely.

Daryl's fingers retreat from your wetness, and although their absence makes you groan, the press of his tip is more than enough to sate your once more.

Strangely, he doesn't immediately thrust in, rather pulling his head back enough to just...look at you. You look back, silent. One hand, still wet from your own arousal, trails delicately over your nakedness, over the curve of your hips and the sides of your breasts, as if reassuring himself that you were real. Or perhaps taking the opportunity to relish in having you underneath him once more. The jarring contrast to the frantic pace you'd both just been exhibiting has you blinking, struck silent.

But the moment is over almost as soon as it began, cut short by the jerking of Daryl's hips, sheathing himself fully to the hilt in one smooth motion. A mixture between a gasp and a whimper is jolted from your throat, the pleasure catching you entirely off guard. You barely have time to wrap both legs around his waist before he's setting a steady pace, his own ragged breath exhaled onto your shoulder.

He fucked you rough, sparing no time in reminding you of just how much pleasure you'd missed out on all these months. The familiar yet forgotten sensation of his cock stroking your inner walls had you crying out, overwhelmed, wanting more. Your nails dig into his skin, scratching and clawing when the pain only spurns him on faster.

You're mesmerized by the flexing of the muscles in his arms, hands planted on either side of your head on the comforter, fisting the fabric between his fingers as he pistons his cock deep inside of you. And when your eyes follow the arms up and peer into his face, his expression is a mixture of frustration and adoration the likes of which you had fantasized about during your many lonely nights.

Anger flowed like water behind his eyes, recognizable even now, but it never lasted long. Always overshadowed by such relief, such love, that you began to wonder if you'd ever seen it at all. Talking would come later. Right now, you both just needed him to fuck you until you couldn't stand up.

You weren't destined to last long. The time away meant that your orgasm built up much quicker than you would have hoped or expected. It just felt too good, having him atop you, inside of you, surrounding you this way. All you could see and breathe was Daryl, and that alone had your legs tensing around his hips in unspoken warning of your impending orgasm. With a responding groan, he understands, putting further effort into the snap of his hips, plunging even deeper than before.

When you cum, it's like white-hot frost crackling over your senses. Inch by inch, you feel yourself shudder, letting the peak of your pleasure overtake you until you're seeing black dots at the edge of your vision. Your limbs lock around Daryl like a vice, making it more difficult for him to move as you ride along the bliss. He grunts, unable to do much more than rut against you, chasing his own release in any way he can.

As the most of the orgasm passes, Daryl shifts and uses his hands to pry your legs apart, keeping them wide as he frantically thrusts, ragged breathing giving away just how close he was. You're a twitching heap beneath him, letting him seek that edge with your body, accepting the overstimulation in stride. When it nearly proves too much to bear anymore, he's stuttering a moan and slowing his hips down remarkably, chest heaving when he finally meets you over that crest.

Lazy thrusts work the both of you through your climaxes, and the rough and unrelenting pace that had been there just moments before slowed to a much more relaxed one. As Daryl caught his breath, he lowered his mouth to your skin, shaking hands caressing the sweaty skin he could reach, peppering kisses on your stomach and sternum.

You lack the breath to speak, and simply let all of your inner feelings shine through the gentle gaze you give him, tentatively reaching a hand up to glide your fingers through his hair. He always used to love when you did that, and it seemed that was still the case. His eyes closed in content at your touch, and he lowers his head to rest upon your chest.

Eventually, after dozens of minutes simply laying there, basking in the aftermath of your reunion, you summon the forethought to recognize you should probably clean up after your passionate fuck. The heat was slowly dying away, the house's draft that never seemed to go away chilling the sweat upon your skin. However, when you try to move, Daryl makes an effort to put a stop to it, leaning more heavily into you.

"Not yet" He mumbles gravely, not opening his eyes. You huff a breath, the corner of your mouth lifting in amusement.

"Daryl, we're all sticky and sweaty."

"Just...stay here." He says, eyes finally cracking open to peer into your own. And try as you might, you're at the mercy of the heartbreakingly pained gaze he directs at you. The vulnerability. The hurt. Months of uncertainty and guilt and anger stirred up into that one look, pleading for you to understand that he just needs you here. Right here, and nowhere else.

The amusement shifts into something gentler, and you give an affirmative nod, trailing one finger down his cheek. "Ok."

[whump-bunny]

Can't think

(tw: lab whump, nonconsensual drugging, restraints, nonconsensual medical procedures, fourteen year old whumpee, mentions of torture.)

-

He can't think.

He can't think and he doesn't know why.

They came in at dawn, when he and his roommates were fast asleep. (Well, Oliver probably wasn't.) The room was pitch black, save for the soft glow of Asa's skin.

They didn't give him time to wake up before plunging a needle into his neck. And then, when he did awaken only seconds later, it was already too late. Asa could only blink at them sluggishly as they picked him up and deposited him in a wheelchair.

And now he's moving, far too fast and far too slow all at once. The walls blur into the floor. The world spins. Nausea licks at his throat, and yet he can’t muster up the energy to say anything in complaint.

His head lolls down to his chest.

He can’t think. God, why can’t he think?

Vaguely, he knows that he’s headed to the lab. He knows that they’re going to hurt him. He should be afraid. But he’s lost in a place where the fear can’t find him. And all that’s left is an overbearing sense of calm, an inability to do anything but sink into his mind and allow his body to be carried away. It’s peaceful, in the same way that a room full of corpses is quiet.

They arrive quicker than Asa expected they would. (Even though the ride over seemed to have lasted an eternity.) The hum of the fluorescent lights and the murmurs of scientists blur in the background of his mind, and he finds himself drifting off to sleep. At least, until a familiar voice cuts through the quiet like a knife.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen, I know it’s early, but the quicker we do this, the quicker we can be done with it. Are ya with me?” Hamlin chirps, somehow as energetic as ever despite being up before sunrise. The rest of the scientists offer a chorus of unenthused agreement. It seems that Asa isn’t the only one who’d rather be in bed.

The doctor chats with a couple assistants, making her rounds about the lab, before finally turning her attention to Asa, as he knew she would.

“Good morning, Asa! Sorry about waking you so early, but I promise you’ll get to go back to sleep soon.” She gingerly brushes Asa’s bangs from his face, and while Asa would normally bristle at the touch, now he can’t bring himself to even care. He eyes Hamlin intently, as if staring at her might give him the strength to be angry. It doesn’t. 

Hamlin says something else that Asa doesn't quite catch, and then he's being lifted. The sudden motion makes him want to vomit, but it only lasts a few seconds before he's lying on the lab table. He doesn't fight as they strap him down, not that he could stop them even if he weren't drugged out of his mind. All he can manage is a frustrated growl, one that gets Hamlin's attention. 

"I know, the side effects of that sedative are pretty strong, but it's the only one that works well enough against your Light. We don't want you waking up during surgery, do we?" She explains, methodically sliding into latex gloves and goggles as she does so. 

So it's surgery, then.

Amidst the murky haze of drugs, Asa feels a spike of fear at that. He swallows thickly, searching for his voice.

“H… H’mlin?" He mumbles, trying to ignore how big his tongue feels in his mouth. Hamlin's eyebrows raise.

"Oh, you can still speak? Huh, that's not particularly good. Might have to adjust the dosage…"

Asa speaks up again before she can finish the thought, "What are you g'na do t'me?"

It's a normal question, one that he asks every time he gets dragged to the lab. Usually Hamlin will grace him with a detailed explanation of exactly how she plans to study him for the next few hours. Be it a simple blood test or an appendectomy, she always tells him with a smile. But today, she just shakes her head.

"It's probably better if you don't know. We don't want you to freak out, do we?" She replies, punctuating her sentence with another ruffle to Asa’s hair.

Asa’s stomach falls, "Oh."

"Oh? That's it?” Hamlin laughs, “Damn, you're much nicer to work with like this. I wish I could keep you sedated all the time."

If he were more aware, Asa probably would have flinched at the implications of that. But exhaustion smothers his brain, derailing his train of thought 

"I…" Asa mumbles, eyes drooping. "M'tired…"

Hamlin smirks, "I'm sure you are. Feel free to go to sleep, sweetheart. I'll get the actual anesthesia started in the meantime." She runs her hand along the side of his face, caressing his cheek like a mother would. As if she didn't cut him open without anesthesia a hundred times before now.

"O...okay…" Asa says, inadvertently leaning into her touch. He doesn't even notice as an iv is inserted into his arm.

"Say, Asa, do you have a favorite food? Something you want me to bring you while you're in recovery?" She asks. Her hand never leaving his cheek.

Asa thinks for a moment, landing on the first food that comes to mind. "...doughnuts."

"Doughnuts?" Hamlin laughs, "Well, it's not exactly healthy, but I suppose you can have a doughnut, for being such a good boy."

Beside her, an assistant scoffs.

"Of course he's being good, he's drugged out of his mind." He says, rubbing the healing wound on his arm from when Asa bit him a couple days ago.

Hamlin glares, finally removing her hand from Asa’s face. "Hm yeah, good point, Ted. Counterpoint: who asked you?"

The two bicker amongst themselves, while the rest of the assistants continue to prep Asa for surgery. All the while Asa's eyes scan the trays of scalpels and tweezers, gleaming in the too-bright artificial light of the lab. Fear is radiating and muted, muffled but there all the same. 

"H-H'mlin…" 

The scientist turns to face him, "Hm- yes, Asa?"

"I… m'scared…" He whispers, consciousness fleeting. "Pl'se don't… 'lease don't 'urt me…"

His voice breaks, tears threatening to fall. Hamlin clicks her tongue, wiping his eyes.

"Aww, don't worry, sweetheart. I promise you won't feel a thing. And you'll get to have a nice relaxing vacation while you recover. Sound good?"

"N-no…"

Hamlin smirks. "Too bad."

It's then that the drugs in his iv finally take hold. The world fades to darkness, and all the while Hamlin stares at him, smiling wide.

[theunbearableweightofpedropascal]

I Know What You Did Last Summer

Blaise Zabini x Reader

A/N: I wish there were more Blaise GIFs 😣

Warnings: Angsty, mentions of brutal death, blood purist ideals mentioned.

Word Count: 2.1k

“We should talk.” You didn’t need to turn around to know who was behind your chair. 

“About?” The last thing you wanted to do was converse with Blaise so you play dumb.

“Bab-” Blaise’s sickeningly sweet words trigger the deep-seated anger in you.

“Don’t call me that.” After everything that happened you wanted nothing to do with him and you thought you made that clear. 

His hand ghosts over your shoulder and you almost find yourself leaning into him for comfort like you once did. Instead you remain still, the pen you were once using to write is hovering over the paper. You slightly turn your head to look at him only to find the space behind you empty. 

After that slight hiccup, you continue with your studying ignoring the slight pain in your chest. As much as you try you can’t regain the focus you had before, his presence always seemed to do that to you. Soon enough you begin packing up your things to head to your dorm and attempt a good night’s rest. 

On your way past the kitchens a strong hand clasps around your arms and hauls you into their chest. Before you could scream for help their other hand closes over your mouth.

“It’s me,” The voice causes an instant roll in your eyes, “I’m sorry but we need to talk.” Theo releases his hand from your mouth once the tension leaves your body. 

“First Blaise and now you, what is it?” At this point, you can hardly keep your annoyance at bay because all you want to do is forget.

“You know it’s not his fault what happened. If you want to blame anyone blame me and Malfoy for doing nothing but please don’t ice Blaise out.” Theodore pleads with you for the sake of his best friend.

“We all played a part in what happened and none of us stopped it.” This was the first time that you’ve opened up since that night.

“We didn’t have a choice, we’ve never had a choice in all this.” When you look up at Theo’s eyes you see how heartbroken he is too.

“That doesn’t stop the nightmares or the guilt of being just like them.” Your eyes begin to sting and you wonder if one day you’ll be able to forgive yourself. 

Before your first tear can drop Theodore brings you into his embrace. For the first time, you allow yourself to break down and acknowledge the pain you’ve kept to yourself. All of the painful remnants of that night come flooding back and all you can do is cling to his now wet shirt.

“I know.”

……..

July 26th, 1997

When you and your family first arrived at the Malfoy Manor all seemed to be business as usual. Theodore, Blaise, Draco, and you hung around the edges with an unspoken agreement that you each sought comfort in each other. None of you were completely indoctrinated like your parents but you would never voice that in fear that it would possibly lead back to them somehow. 

Over the years you had grown closer to Blaise, he was the first person to show you what unconditional love is. He never judged you even when he found your secret stash of muggle trinkets. In fact, he helped you grow it by gifting things he would find in the villages around his mother’s villa. Though there was never a formal conversation about it, the two of you became more than friends. 

Secret glances during group hangouts turned into stolen kisses in the astronomy tower. Not to mention your parents were more than thrilled at the possibility of a son-in-law as accomplished as Blaise. 

Today, tensions were high as Harry was slowly discovering just how powerful he could be. Though it would never be said out loud The Dark Lord found himself a worthy adversary. Low murmurs filled the dining area as more and more Death Eaters pooled in to speak about the solution. A silence permeated the room like a wave and you tried to see what had everyone stunned. 

The Dark Lord himself walked in with Fenrir Greyback and Professor Burbage. Blaise put himself in front of you attempting to shield you from the sight but it was too late. One of her shoes was missing, due to Fenrir roughly dragging her by her arm and it was quite obvious from her face she didn’t go willingly. You never took outward interest in her class knowing it would get back to your parents but you were familiar with her. She told you all about the trinkets you would collect and how muggles used them. You were dumb enough to believe she resigned, you should’ve known better.

She was the one who helped shift your perspective of them. 

Her main philosophy was that muggles and wizards weren’t much different at all. You grip Blaise’s arm and peek your head out only to find them suspending her mid-air. Tears naturally fall from your eyes at the sight of one of the few people who brought light into your life being strung up for slaughter. Death Eaters swarm to the dining table to begin the meeting and you feel frozen in your spot.

“We can’t let them do this.” Even you know you’re speaking nonsense but you can’t bring yourself to accept what’s happening.

Blaise turns around and quickly wipes your tears, “Listen there’s nothing we can do without getting ourselves killed.” His words send a panic through your body. “Now isn’t the time to play hero.” Despite his biting words you reach for your wand but his hand is quick to stop you. 

“Blaise please,” You try and plead with him but he ignores your protests. 

His arm snakes its way around your waist before he begins forcefully guiding you to the table. You steal a glance at Draco and Theodore only to find their horrified eyes on the ground. As you each take your seat with The Dark Lord at the head, Professor Burbage twitches. You know deep down there’s nothing you can do to save her, no one can.

Last to arrive is Professor Snape and he is welcomed with open arms. When he sees his colleague hanging in the air he can’t even suppress his surprise. The armrests you were gripping would break if they were made from anything other than wood. Blaise slides his hand over yours and slowly rubs his thumb around your knuckles. 

The meeting dragged on as Lord Voldemort took the time to show everyone why he was so feared. But the worst part was Mrs. Burbage’s begging for Snape to help her. The sheer desperation in her voice would haunt your dreams. Mrs. B saw you at that table but you kept your eyes downcast, and holding back the tears rimming your eyes was becoming harder.

A wave of nausea spreads through your body at her dead body slapping against the table only for Nagini to swallow her whole. Never in your life had you been so disgusted by those around you and yourself. A bunch of cowards gathered around proclaiming their supremacy. Even if it meant your life you should’ve stepped in, at least you would have stood for something. At least she would have known you cared. 

They laughed as she begged for her life like it was the funniest joke in the world.

That night when it was time to leave you spared no glance at Blaise or the others as you hurried over to your parents. You ignored his attempts at communication even going as far as to send back the muggle trinkets destroyed. Theodore and Draco try their hand but they receive the same cold shoulder from you. Even your regular friend group hasn’t heard from you. 

At night you lost more and more sleep, unable to handle the face that would inevitably parade through your mind. With school coming up you had to remedy your sleeping habits, especially the nasty bags that have aged your face significantly. And though you’d been able to force yourself into a slumber with magic the real problem still lurked. Every time you close your eyes you see her dangling in front of you as she tries to reach out for help. You failed her. 

………..

After completely wetting the front of Theo’s shirt you pull back to calm your breathing. His watery eyes stared back at you, understanding your inner turmoil like always. 

“He did what he did to protect you.” His low voice lulls your uneven breathing.

“I just can’t stop seeing her in my head. The way they laughed.” Shaking your head you try and will the memory away.

Theodore says nothing but he reaches out to hug you this time using his hand to cradle the back of your head.

“He’s in the astronomy tower.” Were his last words before leaving you in the doorway to think. 

On the way back to your dorm you think of how unfairly you treated Blaise, intrinsically you know everything he does is for you. To protect you. 

…….

His back is facing you while he stares off into the foggy forest. That talk, if you could really call it that, with Theodore was cathartic. You’d kept everything bottled up because of the guilt you felt and Blaise was at the receiving end of it. Clearly, he hadn’t heard you come up and you used the extra time to formulate how you could express you’re sorry. 

“Are you just gonna stare at my gorgeous figure all night?” He never misses a beat you should’ve known better. 

“How did you know?” Involuntarily your voice slightly cracked while addressing him. His head slightly turns but he doesn’t move from his spot.

“I can smell that muggle perfume you love to wear dar-” He cuts himself off by clearing his throat. Your words from earlier struck a chord and regret pools in your chest.

“I’m sorry Z I didn’t mean what I said earlier I just,” The lump forming in your throat makes you stop to calm yourself down. “That night haunts me every time I close my eyes I can still picture everything perfectly. She didn’t deserve that.” After your apology, your eyes are glued to the wooded floor unable to look Blaise in the eye.

The feeling of his arms encasing you almost fools you that everything will be alright. He rests his head above yours while he rubs circles on your back. The accelerated beat of his heart thumped against your ear while your head rested on his chest. 

“No matter what happens we’re trying to survive too.” His words allow you to relax in his arms once again. Your eyes close while you take in the way he smells and how it never changes. He preferred notes of cinnamon in all his body care and you never complained. 

“I’m not sure how many people would share that sentiment.” Besides the only person you ever felt you wanted in your corner was Blaise. 

“That’s because they’ll never understand what it’s like for us. I don’t see them opening their homes to us for safety, they just write us off like everyone else.” He wasn’t wrong, the self-proclaimed good guys often forget Hogwarts was the first exposure to culture outside of blood purism. 

Years of indoctrination don’t erase itself that quickly. There was plenty of trial and error throughout the years. But even if you didn’t agree none of the Order offered protection against the repercussions of your families. And there would be repercussions.

“I missed you.” After those words you pull back to look him in the eyes, your favorite feature of his. Maybe because he always had the ability to convey so much about how he feels without saying a word. You always did love the strong silent types. 

“I’ll always love you even when you hate me.” Blaise’s hands slide down from your back to rest on your hips. 

Your heart begins thundering at his devoted words and you find yourself reaching up to kiss him. He quickly meets you halfway, cherishing the closeness that’s been missing all these months. As his lips mold against yours you snake an arm to the back of his neck to bring him close. Neither of you thinking or particularly caring about being caught up here past curfew. 

When Blaise brings a hand to cradle your right cheek you pull back from the kiss, though he blindly follows after you. A smile forms for the first time in months when you gaze into his hazy eyes.

“I love you Blaise Zabini.” The words tumble out in a whisper shared between you two. 

[imhereformysciencefriends]

Blow this popcicle stand

My gift for @missycolorful for the @technoblade-gift-exchange

Read on AO3 here!

I had a total blast writing this! I hope you enjoy as well. I admit I kinda smushed together a couple of your prompts, but I am very happy with the result. Enjoy! <3

**

Phil was, historically, better at the talking-to-people thing. Not necessarily the being-reasonable thing, Techno did often have to sit in on all of Phil’s meetings in order to prevent unnecessary bloodshed due to, quote, “it’d be funny, mate,” unquote. But talking to people, talking was something Phil could and did do. Techno? Not so much. He didn’t, he didn’t really care for it, you know. Wasn’t really his forte.

But Phil was busy in a month-long series of meetings negotiating a new peace agreement with a nation that wanted regular access to the moon portal (financially a very good move for the Empire, logistically a nightmare). And while Techno would really prefer to be in those, both to have a comprehensive set of expectations for what would be happening in the future and to keep an eye on his partner, it wasn’t the only nation that wanted the Empire’s attention.

And Techno was, if not suited, at the very least capable of trade negotiations with one of their friendlier allies.

Even if he hated the idea.

His thick, heavy, fur-necked cape moved with his arms as he pulled his long hair back into a ponytail, the sound of his hooves ringing out against the arctic stone rather slowly as he approached the meeting room. Almost like he was dragging his feet. But jokes on you, Chat, Techno didn’t have feet to drag! So clearly he was getting there at a very reasonable pace. And wasn’t stalling. No chance of that, not with him, haha, nope!

Despite it being his literal actual destination, Techno found himself surprised when he was suddenly in front of the meeting room door. Who authorized this? Ninja doors, sittin’ around jumpscaring good hardworking emperors. Probably Phil, the weeb. Actually, Techno should try to remember this bit for later, he was sure Phil would love the notion of a ninja door. Get a good laugh outta that one.

Focus. He did still have to, you know, open the door. Have the pre-scheduled and entirely-foreseen meeting that would take place behind it.

Was that the alarm bell he heard? Off in the distance? Wayyyyy far away in the distance? No? Just him then? Alright.

No, Chat, he wasn’t stalling. He was just securing the perimeter with his superior hearing before engaging with outside forces. Yes he had superior hearing, look at the pink shell of his ears, sticking out of his face like that. What, no, he was not a bishounen, Chat, under no circumstances was anyone allowed to call him that. Honestly, the ideas that Chat got in their heads, smh.

Okay! Okay! He wasn’t stalling! He was opening the door now!

Inside the meeting room was the Essempi convoy, its three main representatives seated on the couch that faced the massive armchair Techno took. Next to his was a significantly smaller armchair, specifically designed to accommodate a man’s wings.

Not for nothing, Techno wished Phil was here.

“Welcome to the Empire,” he started, because that sounded most appropriate. Already, the back of his neck felt hot and damp with sweat. That’s why he put his hair up, he supposed.

“Thank you for having us,” replied the woman in the middle, leaning forward across the low table to extend her hand. Shoot, handshakes, should he have done that before he sat down? Did Phil normally do that? Techno was suddenly blanking on any social interaction he’d ever had prior to this one in his life.

Her hand was firm, warm, and had shallow calluses. The strong grip of a woman who worked and wasn’t intimidated by Techno in the slightest. Would it be easier for him if she was intimidated? More importantly, had Techno met her before? Her voice seemed… familiar. Ish. Familiarish.

Niki! That’s Nihachu Her name is Nikki, you’ve met her before Niki! Nikki? I never know which it is

“Uh, Niki, is it?”

She laughed, and it wasn’t a mean sound. Techno felt his face heating up anyway. “You remembered!” The look on her face wasn’t pity, nor offense, but she gave off the impression of being very knowing of what was going on in Techno’s brain, “My hair was brown last time we met, with the blonde in the front.”

Oh! Okay, yes, Techno could place her now. She’d been invited to the same weird political shindig festival party thing that Phil had dragged him to.

“Nice to see you again,” he said, a little more sincerely. And a touch relieved.

“You as well,” she said warmly, then gestured to the woman to her right. Er, well, to her left, Techno’s right—didn’t matter. “This is Captain Puffy, she’s a state-sponsored merchant we’ve been working closely with. She’s interested to see if she’d be a good match for this route, depending on what we work out.”

“Yo!”

Captain Puffy was an extremely short woman (maybe even shorter than Phil), though far from petite. Her big curling hair and big curling ram horns and big sunglasses and big captain’s coat all spoke to a relatively large personality, and the big smile she flashed him did not actually help settle Techno’s nerves. Maybe he should’ve had some tea or something before all this. She was also slouching, leaned against the arm of the couch with all the debonair swagger of a woman entirely at ease around important people. As an emperor of one of the world’s fastest growing empires, Techno could probably stand to take a page from her book.

Whose idea had it been to put him in charge, again? Oh right, his.

Gesturing to her other side, Niki continued, “And this is Ranboo. He’s something between a pupil and a little brother, to me; he’s mostly just here for this to be a learning experience.”

As short as the captain was, Ranboo was tall. Wraith-thin with too-big eyes and an air about him that seemed even more nervous than Techno felt. Techno at least had his flat affect and “monotone” voice (he still didn’t get that, but enough people had told him that he had a monotone by now that he just accepted it) to act as buffer. This kid (and Techno got a very strong impression that he was young, despite not knowing much about Ender ages (well, maybe he knew more than most, given the Empire’s plot-relevant access to the moon)) wasn’t so much as wearing his heart on his sleeve as he was stringing it up on a chandelier.

“Nice to meet you both,” Techno said, the captain giving him a lazy salute and Ranboo nodding so stiffly it looked like his neck might snap.

“Shall we get straight to it, then?” Niki asked, and Techno nodded, so incredibly thankful that someone else was comfortable taking charge of a conversation.

And then they sank blissfully into the thing that was Techno’s strong suit: his stuff. Techno had a good head for what items were worth, and while he wasn’t the most organized person (he had goons for that) he absolutely knew how much he had of what, and what the Empire could afford to spare in trading efforts, provided they received what they were promised in return. Now, storms could sink even the most experienced ships, and fleets could get blown off course, so he had to factor in wiggle room and contingency plans as well.

Another strong suit. Techno was a beast at contingency plans. Nobody could plan a contingency plan like Techno planned his plans.

The deeper they got into the numbers game and talk of resources, the more Techno chilled out. This wasn’t socializing, not really. He was mostly just indulging in his inventory vices while other people were in the room.

Something Essempi had in plenty that the Empire desperately needed was food. More specifically: vegetation. They had their arctic, thick-furred cows, their fluffy chickens, their heavy-hided boars, their densely-wooled sheep, and their round the clock fisheries. Nothing would breed too close to the moon portal, but here at the castle their herds and flocks were thriving just fine. But plants? That took underground greenhouses with low ceilings and constant torchlight to do anything. And a growing empire was a hungry thing: greenhouses alone weren’t going to be sustainable. Not long term.

Techno had his reservations about putting too much faith in their allies. A resource as important as food needed more than one source.

But. Techno’s reservations wouldn’t spontaneously feed everybody, and Essempi had been friendly and amicable all through negotiations. All things considered, they were probably the closest and most trustworthy ally the Empire had.

And their representatives didn’t make Techno want to melt into a puddle or stab anybody! So. Points all around in their favor. Niki did most of the talking, her voice soft and cheery, clearly the most familiar with Essempi resources and used to political negotiations. The captain would chime in mostly around the actual act of trade itself, naval logs and star charts and detailed maps crowding her end of the low table. Ranboo, as Niki mentioned, didn’t say… anything at all, the whole meeting. He just sat, straight-spined enough to put the strictest governess to shame and making eye contact with nobody, scratching notes into a book he’d brought.

Essempi was offering them good deals. More than fair, if Techno was being entirely honest. And he knew he didn’t have any personal charm to thank for that. He filed that away for future reference. Either Essempi was even more well off than rumors suspected, or there would come a day when they asked the Empire to pay back their generosity (likely with swords and soldiers, if the history books held any credence).

But that was fine. In the now, they were offering lucrative details for necessary resources. (In the future, Phil would need enrichment anyway (Techno, too, he did love a good fight)). Techno would still probably want to set up a couple additional trade agreements with other nations, just in case, just to cover all his bases. And the greenhouses obviously weren’t going anywhere, Techno would not be sacrificing even an ounce of pre-established self-sufficiency.

But even Techno, of all people, had to admit that he was feeling pretty optimistic by the time they all stood and shook hands in parting. He remembered to shake Puffy’s and Ranboo’s this time, Puffy’s hand tiny and grip strong, Ranboo’s slender fingers still faintly trembling with nerves but his smile seeming at the very least half-genuine.

Woof. Ough. His back. The time! The sun set early here, but he was still surprised to see that it had sunk below the horizon while he was squirreled away looking at documents and maps and an antique abacus. His staff seemed to agree, yawning and musing over dinner plans as the two groups dispersed, the Essempi convoy headed towards the guest quarters and Techno and his officials wandering further inwards of the castle.

“Well done in there, Your Majesty!” praised one of Techno’s staff while he wasn’t looking, and he was too embarrassed to admit that he hadn’t quite managed to catch who was talking, so he just raised a hand and gave a vague “Ayup” before leaving quickly. Much quicker than he had arrived, as it happened. So interesting, that things worked out like that.

“Busy day?” Phil asked as the door to the royal quarters clicked shut. Techno sighed heavily and let his head thunk back against the heavy wood. Phil, the intolerable jerk, giggled at him.

“Why weren’t you the one handling that again?”

“Because the little stunt we pulled was just a biiiiiit too successful,” Phil reminded with another chuckle, and Techno groaned as he shoved off the door.

It had been a gambit, but as a fledgling nation the Antarctic Empire had needed to gain the attention of the rest of the world, and gain their attention they had. An extremely brief, brutal, there-then-gone conquest that had left the vast majority of the world temporarily under the Empire’s claim. It served two purposes, each a message:

Do not, under any circumstances, make enemies of the Empire.

Probably a good idea to play nice and make friends, though.

Most of the world had taken the first message very much to heart, and the testing nudges they’d been making abruptly vanished. Some nations, like Essempi, had quickly jumped to playing nice, eager to make powerful allies (and perhaps just as eager to make sure they didn’t have a powerful enemy).

A couple nations had taken message number one as a challenge, and readied warships with bloodied thirst.

Not that the Empire couldn’t handle a bit of… rough play, but it did mean that after squashing attempts at overthrowing or subjugating them, Phil got saddled with miles of paperwork establishing the enemy’s surrender and the Empire’s new normal.

“I thought you were meeting with the guys who wanted moon access today?” Techno asked as he approached. Phil’d had dinner brought to their rooms, as they did most nights when they weren’t expected to make an appearance, and Techno let into the meat and eggs with gusto.

“That’s tomorrow. Tonight was more surrender talk.”

“So that’s why you double booked us. You wanted ‘em alone in a room with you.”

Phil giggled, waggling his fingers so as to make a show of his talons.

Techno gave a very half-hearted kick to his shin. Quarter-hearted. Maybe even sixth-hearted. Phil cackled at him.

“Can’t let you outta my sight for ten minutes,” Techno groused around a mouthful of chicken. Phil popped a handful of red berries into his mouth (some of the only vegetation that could be grown outside of the greenhouses), and he looked altogether too smug.

“How’re things with Essempi going? Off to a running start?”

“Actually? Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“I like the representative they sent over, Niki, she’s got a good head on her shoulders, and so far they’ve been fair, if not generous.” Techno gave his partner a meaningful glance. “We should probably expect a request for military aid, sometime in the future.”

Phil shrugged, entirely unfazed. “We’ve always known that’s a possibility. And we’re not exactly hurting for it.”

“Figured as much.” Techno lifted his plate to slide the eggs into his open mouth, the fork method far too slow. “Honestly don’t think this deal is gonna take too long to finalize. Week, probably?”

“For you? That’s a goddamn miracle, mate.”

Techno snorted. “I know, right? She’s got a pupil along with her, skinny guy named Ranboo. Showin’ him the ropes.”

Phil spluttered a laugh. “And she chose you for a practice round!?”

“I know right? Like, c’mon, cut the guy some slack. He looked ready to shake out of his skin. Don’t just throw him off the deep end chanting ‘blood for the blood god’ like there’s gotta be less intimidatin’ guys than me out there.”

Phil giggled and Techno continued, “Brought a ship captain too, Puffy, shorter than you and louder. She’s been a good help settin’ realistic expectations, but I dunno how involved she’s gonna be in the rest of our meetings.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a pretty good handle on it, mate. Good for you, good for you.”

Techno snorted. “Never thought we’d see the day.”

“Aww, I knew you could do it.” Techno cast him yet another look. He giggled. “Eventually.”

Techno guffawed and set his plate down, dropping his head back. By the Blood God, he felt tired.

“Well,” Phil continued, stretching his arms above his head and his wings out to each side, “nobody got attacked and no emergencies happened, so I’ll call this day a win.”

“Ah, but I did get attacked,” Techno said with a raised finger, remembering his joke from earlier.

“Oh?” Phil asked, with all the sharp-eyed curiosity of a man who knew a punchline was coming, but was trying to tell where from.

Techno heaved his head back up. “In the halls of our own very castle. I was caught off-guard—very brutally, I should add—by a ninja door.”

Phil broke immediately into cackles.

“Snuck up on me while I was just innocently walkin’ down the hall, Phil. Never would’ve expected it. One of our own doors. The betrayal was immense.”

“whAT?” Phil giggle-shouted, his feathers poofing and his shoulders shaking.

“I was just mindin’ my own business when bam! Suddenly the door was right there. Scared the life out of me. Don’t worry, Phil, I showed it who was boss. I twisted that handle like I was born for it.”

Phil was now laughing so hard tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

Techno grinned, warmth glowing in the center of his chest. Truthfully, it probably wasn’t that funny of a joke, but the combination of fatigue, the subject being unexpected, and Phil being an easy audience made it sound like ninja doors were the funniest thing in the whole world.

The night was still young, but Techno was utterly drained from the day of talking (and tomorrow would be much the same) so he called it an early night. Phil, equally tired from twisting arms into surrender (and maybe getting to play a little mean with his talons, who knew. Not Techno! Techno hadn’t been there to reel him in!) was more than happy to agree.

This far south, sleeping in your own bed was about as smart as wandering the town naked. Too much warmth leached out that way. It was only sensible that family members shared a bed together, with drapes around the edges to keep the air captive.

Techno had no family to speak of, except the one, so the two emperors dressed for the night and crawled in together, Phil’s top wing spread out over them like an added blanket and his icy little feet pressed up against Techno’s leg.

“Why are you always an ice cube?” Techno groused, gathering his friend in his arms.

“Shhhh, you’re just a friggin’ blast furnace, mate. Go to sleep.”

Techno huffed, breath stirring Phi’s hair and making him chuckle, then nuzzled down into the blankets and his companion, wishing he could hibernate the day off. Blood God himself, he was tired.

But wake the next morning he did, and the next, and the next after that. Essempi eventually embarked for their home, along with the first shipment of goods from the Empire. More countries entered peace treaties with them, or at the very least non-aggression pacts, particularly as more nations fell to the Antarctic Empire’s might. Trade was good, their people sleeping with full bellies and a more or less nutritionally balanced diet. The Empire produced plenty of coal, in its cavernous depths, and many nations of warmer climates had want for the ice they so easily chiseled up from around them.

Things were good.

Techno was getting… better, about the whole talking to people thing. After the first few days, Ranboo had started speaking, and Techno had found a kindred spirit in him. The two now exchanged regular correspondence. Mostly about books, but sometimes they’d share personal stories or gossip (apparently Captain Puffy was working very closely with a certain someone, indeed). Meetings were no longer torments summoned directly from hell (not that Techno liked them, but Techno was pretty sure he was never actually going to like meetings (honestly, he was pretty sure nobody did)). He and Phil were getting a pretty good handle on this whole, “being emperors” thing.

That said, politically motivated social functions were still the worst. But Essempi was, to date, still their closest and friendliest ally, and Techno knew enough about court niceties by now to know that regardless of how much he might’ve wanted to, he and Phil could not turn down their invitation to a ball.

“What even is the point of balls,” Techno groused as he examined the flimsy nothings the tailor had made for him to wear there. Too thin of a material, not nearly enough fur around his neck, he’d freeze to death in this in an instant. He… did like the gold bits, though. He’d conceded on that. And the jewelry. Those parts were nice. The rest of it was like walking around in wet paper, though.

“Maintaining positive social ties with political figures we’ve already established with and makin’ new friends with new people at a designated function for doing so—”

“I was bein’ sarcastic, Phil,” Techno cut off the overly-formal lecture, making Phil cackle. “It’s called a rhetorical question, Phil, ever heard of it?”

“Can’t say I have, mate,” Phil lied with a giggle.

“A rhetorical question is a—” Techno started, overly-formal lecture of his own primed and at the ready, and Phil swatted him with a big black wing, setting them both to laughing.

The boat ride to Essempi went about as well as anticipated. Phil flitted about, happily assisting with the crow’s nest and upper rigging, and Techno spent about half of it bent over the railing, the other half desperately attempting to coax water and ginger teas into his stomach that he didn’t immediately upend.

“We should build a land bridge,” Techno groused when his friend came over to both hydrate and mock him.

Phil, predictably, laughed, “Mate, I don’t know if even we mine up enough stone for that,” he said as he passed a water flask over. Techno swished it around his mouth and spit, trying to rid himself of the now everpresent taste of bile, then sipped slowly and delicately, his stomach groaning pathetically and churning at even that.

“Then we’re building flying machines and we’re taking those. Planes, blimps, hot air balloons, I don’t care, this is the last trip I sail anywhere.”

“Blimp’s not a bad idea,” Phil mused as Techno shut his eyes, bracing himself against the railing with renewed force and willing the nausea to pass him over without taking his water with it. “It’d be more regal and dignified than staggerin’ off a boat dehydrated and starved and swaying.”

“Gonna punch you for that.”

“Are you now?” he asked with a giggle.

“Ayup. Just give me three to five business days to get off this railing and then it’s over for you. It’s so over for you.”

More laughter. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Well, I’m off to go perch in the crow’s nest again, have fun pukin’ your guts out.”

“Death. Death and violence.”

His friend’s retreating laughter left him and he stewed in abject misery for the rest of the trip. By the time they hit land and Techno was able to collapse into a bed that wasn’t swaying every which way, he was even looking forward to the party, since it meant not being on the boat.

The flimsy cheesecloth the tailor had prepared for him made more sense in this warmer climate, and now that he wasn’t being a stubborn child about it he had to admit: he cleaned up good. Deep red and gold and black, Phil his match but green, they were striking, appearing wealthy and deadly and even, somehow, regal.

Despite, y’know, it being the two of them.

The party goers were respectful, nobody jumping at the chance to speak with the Antarctic emperors but no one intentionally snubbing them either, and Techno mostly just had to loom behind Phil with a ridiculously shatterable little wine flute pinched delicately between his fingers and listen. Answer the occasional polite question that was directed his way, make sure Phil didn’t get too excited at any perceived slight, it was almost even normal.

He was at the food table, piling high a plate he intended to share with his co-emperor, when he heard a familiar, boisterous voice.

“Emperor Technoblade!”

“Captain,” he greeted, turning to her. She extended her drinking glass, and he gently clinked his against it. “They’re lettin’ riffraff like you in here?”

Puffy barked a sharp laugh, loud and unabashed. “I’m a plus one.”

“Oh?” Techno raised an eyebrow. “You and Niki official, then?”

Puffy squinted. “And how exactly do you know about that?”

Techno smirked behind the rim of his glass. “I have informants everywhere.”

Puffy laughed, once again boisterous and booming, and landed a playful punch just barely above Techno’s elbow. Haha why are you so short.jpeg. Oh c’mon Chat that joke is not old that’s still peak comedy right there.

“Man, I can’t believe everyone’s so intimidated by you.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you saw me in a fight,” Techno countered, amused.

“And you wouldn’t say that if you saw me in one, blood boy!”

Techno arched an eyebrow. “Blood boy,” that was a new one. In their trade with Essempi, Techno and Phil had gotten to know the sea captain a little better each time she was in their port, and she’d taken to treating them with the same friendly irreverence she spoke to everyone with.

Techno set his plate down on the edge of the table, largely crowded out by the serving dishes but finding just enough space for it to not go falling over. Intentionally, he loomed over her, his impressive height casting her fully in shadow, and let himself grin.

“Careful, Captain. It’s not smart to threaten me with a good time.”

As tolerable as the party was thus far, Techno would be lying if he said he wouldn’t ditch in half a heartbeat to go screw around. And after the miserable journey here, a good friendly sparring match with a spunky lady sounded like even more fun than usual.

Puffy rocked up on her hooves, and even on the tips while Techno was stooping down she couldn’t really get “in” his face but he understood the gesture. His grin widened. It matched her own.

“What’s the matter, big boy, don’t think you could take me?”

“Miss Puffy, um, you promised Miss Niki you wouldn’t cause a scene,” came a timid voice from nearby, and both Techno and Captain Puffy perked.

“Ranboo,” Techno greeted, scooping up his plate of food and crossing the distance to his young friend.

“Hello, Emperor Technoblade, it’s nice to see you, please don’t encourage her.”

“Good to see you too,” Techno said warmly, meaning it. Through their letters, Techno had come to regard the young Enderian as a good friend.

Puffy gasped as she trotted over, and shoved right up into Ranboo’s space. “Are you the nark?”

“Um,” Ranboo said, backing slowly away only to be further crowded by a sheep woman half his height, clearly confused, “no?”

“Yeah, Captain, what’s with this baseless accusation you’re makin’ against my good pal Ranboo?”

“I can’t believe this. Betrayed by my own girlfriend’s tagalong.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about??”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Techno said, slinging an arm over Ranboo’s shoulders and nearly bowling the guy over with its weight. Techno had seen bamboo shoots with more structural integrity, smh.

“E-either way, please do not help Miss Puffy make a scene. Miss Niki specifically instructed her not to do that.”

“Guess we’ll just have to go somewhere there’s nobody else around,” Puffy said, still full of good cheer.

“True. Can’t make a scene if there’s no one to see it.”

“Oh, no. I. I’m going to go get Miss Niki.” Techno barked a laugh but released Ranboo to go do so, and Puffy waggled her fingers at his retreating backside.

“Kayyyy. We won’t be here when you get back!”

Techno glanced down at the plate in his hand. Hm. Well, he couldn’t just return it all to the serving dishes, he’d already touched it. Puffy nudged him with her elbow, and when he glanced her way he found her pulling at her wide neckline and winking at him. With her other hand, she lifted the neck of a bottle of what surely must be rum, and he caught on immediately. Using one of the overly-fancy napkins, he bundled his snacks and passed them to her, watching her disappear them into her clothes. That was so smart, he’d have to talk to his tailor about providing him that kind of opportunity in future outfits.

His loyalty to his co-emperor did him in, though. Puffy was already heading out one of the patio doors, sneaking off into a well-maintained garden, but Techno detoured to grab Phil, knowing if there was going to be any fighting, for fun or for murder, he’d be heartbroken if Techno left him out.

“Emperor Technoblade,” greeted Niki from behind him while he was trying to wait out the conversation Phil was currently engaged in. She sounded icier than when she’d been in his antarctic home, negotiating trade.

Busted.

“Hello, Niki,” he returned. Definitely not sounding guilty. Nothing going on over here officer, no suspicious activity whatsoever.

“It seems my partner for the evening has vacated the premises. Would you care to dance with me in her place?”

“Uhhhhh.” Techno wasn’t the best at court niceties, but he knew a request from a “request.” He took her outstretched hand.

“What uh—why the sudden interest?” Oh that sounded so suspicious he could stab himself.

“Can a lowly civic servant not ask an emperor for a dance?”

“Uhhhh no, no that’s fine. That’s uh, that’s fine, just, haven’t uh—how you been, Niki, haven’t seen you in a while!” he not-so-subtly changed the subject.

“I have been alright. Times have been better for us than in a long time, and I have been kept busy making sure it all stays in running order.”

“Not too busy, I hope?”

Niki laughed, but it wasn’t the most mirthful sound he’d ever heard.

In some of Ranboo’s letters, he’d voiced concern for his mentor/sister figure, writing of nightmares and insomnia that was only partially due to her high workload.

“Cause stressin’ yourself out can take a toll on the body, you know,” Techno pushed, not sure if it was his place to or not, but eh. He liked Niki. She was a good sensible woman who (normally) didn’t make him feel like dying or killing out of sheer mortification. And during negotiations, she’d been friendly. “It’s important to take breaks and have fun, every now and then.”

She pursed her lips in a frown, and it looked so much like she was pouting that he chuckled. “C’mon, take a load off.” He grinned at her, playful and a little teasing. “There’s a very pretty girl outside who I know would just love to have you come goof off with us.”

“Well now that’s not out of the ordinary. That very pretty girl is always trying to get me to goof off.”

“Maybe you should listen to her more often.”

Niki sighed and let Techno spin her, the dress she’d chosen for the party flaring nicely. “Maybe I should.”

“Yeahhhhhhhh that’s the spirit! Come join us! We’ll make, like, a bookclub or something.”

Niki let out a “pfft,” and then giggled quietly. “I should put that in my credentials somewhere. ‘In a bookclub with an emperor.’”

“Two emperors if I can get him away from those—what are they, petty nobles?”

“Ambassadors from Kpop.”

“Cringe. We gotta get outta here, Niki, I can feel my viewership dropping by the moment.”

“I don’t know what that means—Technoblade!”

In a grand sweeping movement that was definitely not typical but could still technically be considered dancing, Techno rushed the two of them towards the patio, catching Phil’s eye just briefly enough to give a jerk of his chin, watching his friend’s eyes light up with curiosity and mirth.

Okay, good, Phil was coming.

“Really,” Niki scolded, but she wasn’t resisting him at all as he dragged her along, out into the privacy of the manicured foliage and beyond.

“Ehhh, relaaax. Nobody saw us leave. Probably.”

“I am quite sure a great many people saw us leave.”

“Eh. Phil and I already talked to everybody important that would get, like, big mad if we didn’t. We can ditch.”

“I am part of the hosting party.”

“Aaaaaaaaand now you’re not. So it’s fine, it’s fiiiine.”

Niki giggled, and it sounded just a little more genuine. Good. He was getting a good grade in cheering Niki up, something reasonable to want and possible to achieve.

“Heyyyyyy, look what the pig dragged in!” Puffy cheered, bottle open in one hand and waving excitedly with the other.

“You are incorrigible. I cannot believe you dragged an emperor in on your shenanigans.”

“This is actually pretty consistent with my character honey, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Techno barked a laugh and snagged the bottle from her, taking a big gulp before extending it towards Niki.

“I am surrounded by ruffians,” she said, but he noted she took the bottle and a big drink of her own.

“Ehhh, I wouldn’t really call two people ‘surrounded,’ maybe sandwiched?” A familiar sound of wings had Techno’s elbow angling up on instinct, and soon he had a shoulder full of best friend. “Okay, Phil’s here, now you’re surrounded.”

“Who’re we surrounding?”

“We’re forcing Niki to take a load off and have a nice evening.”

“Pog.”

“Cheers to that, Emperor number two!”

Phil spluttered around laughter as he hopped from his perch. “I’m just the number two now, am I?” He took the bottle from Niki, who went and leaned on her laughing girlfriend and pressed a kiss atop one of her horns.

The sound of footsteps and not-so-subtle huffing and puffing had them all turning to look. It was far too loud to be any kind of assassin, so nobody was on guard, and Phil took another swig of rum as Ranboo rounded a hedge.

Realizing his late entry made all eyes fall on him, Ranboo flushed. Huh. He turned kinda greenish on one side and a more typical red on the other. Pogchamp, Techno supposed.

“Uh,” he said, still catching his breath a bit. “Um. Miss Niki, you, uh, left the party.”

“Sorry Ranboo,” she said, looking honestly chagrined. “I did not mean to leave you there on your own.”

Ah. Left alone by the extrovert that adopted you at a party that wasn’t your idea to attend in the first place. A fate worse than death, which Techno would not wish on his worst enemy, much less friend.

“Um. Why is, everyone here, and not, inside?” he asked, tail twitching and lashing with his agitation.

“We’re ditching,” Techno said, slinging an arm around the little beanpole once again. “You are too.”

“I’m—what?” Ranboo spluttered as Techno dragged him forward, starting the group into a slow amble further from the noises of the party, Niki looking at him with apology and Puffy cheering around a laugh.

“Yeah, mate, you’re a delinquent now!” Phil said brightly, pushing Ranboo from behind while Techno pulled. “Gotta play hookie with us.”

“I, um, I uh, well,” he stammered, twisting his fingers, looking about between them and finding absolutely no help.

“You’re bein’ peer pressured. We’re peer pressurin’ you. Just come goof off with us, Ranboo, join the dark side, we have cookies.”

“We do, actually,” Puffy said, taking the rum back and finishing off the bottle. “I’ve got enough snacks hidden in my various pockets to feed an army.”

“Absolute pogchamp.”

“Oh I knew you were up to something!”

“Always,” Puffy said with a wink, rising up onto her hooftips to kiss Niki’s cheek.

“I, uh…” Ranboo sighed. It was a great heaving thing, making him sound more and more like a dejected cat.

“Yeahhhh! One Ranboo, officially roped into our nonsense. Gang’s all here now, gang’s all here.”

“So what’re we doing?” Phil asked cheerfully, crossing his wrists behind his head in a strikingly anime fashion.

“Well, the captain and I were gonna fight—” Phil’s eyes lit up in an excited glint, drawn to the allure of playful violence, “—but since we’ve got Niki and Ranboo now I say we just goof around on the beach.”

“That… does actually sound kind of nice,” Niki admitted, and Ranboo’s whole body perked hopefully. Techno gave one noodle arm a nudge with an elbow and sent him a quick wink. They’d get that girl to take a load off and enjoy herself, even if it took all four of them to do it.

A rustling, too large to be a rabbit, came from a bush ahead of them, just on that seam of land where dirt shifted into sand. Not a moment later, out spilled a man, a man wearing a bright blue onesie.

“Connor?!?” asked all five of them, equally shocked.

“Hey heyyyyyyy, guyyyyys,” Connor said, one leg still trapped inside the bush, splayed out on his back and craning his neck back to look at them, lifting a hand in a peace sign. “How’s it going?”

“Connor, what are you doing here?” Niki asked, concerned.

“Wait, how do you know Connor?” Phil asked.

“How do you know Connor?” Ranboo countered, Niki helping pry the man loose from the bush’s terrible clutches and more or less right himself on his feet.

“Oh, I get around a lot,” Connor said blithely, “At this point I know most people.”

For a moment, they stood in a loose circle, staring silently at one another.

A bottle uncorked and attention turned to Puffy. “I mean, I also know Connor,” she said, taking a swig of something new. “Wanna come screw around on the beach with us? I brought snacks.”

“Oh fuck yeah.”

And screw around they did. Mostly just walking and talking under starlight, the ocean breeze cool but only as much to be pleasant. They found a nice flat rock to take a sit on and Puffy shared the many treats she’d secreted, everyone chowing down and laughing around jokes and conversation. Phil and Puffy got into a wrestling match in the sand at one point, Connor braided uneven sections of Puffy’s hair while Niki pleated nice, neat rows, Techno and Ranboo discussed the recent installment of a book series they’d both been following and that Ranboo had shipped a copy of, knowing Techno would want one and wouldn’t want to wait long enough to place the order all the way from Antarctica.

Phil perched on Techno’s shoulders for no reason other than to feel tall, Connor relayed a tale so wild no one was sure if Connor could actually have survived that sort of thing, or if he was just making up shit as he went along, and Niki was laughing with her whole chest, flush to her cheeks and a weight lifted from her.

It was a good evening. A good night, as the moon rose higher and the distant, far-off sounds of partying wound lower. Their group was winding down as well, conversation fading into companionable silence.

Niki’s weight slumped against Techno’s side, and he glanced down to find the woman asleep.

“Gotter,” he teased softly, nudging Ranboo on his other side.

“Oh, good,” he said fondly, peering around Techno and ending up leaning on him too, as a result. Phil chuckled from above, still perched on Techno’s shoulders. Connor munched away at the remaining snacks, seated on the sand in front of the flat stone, and Puffy leaned contentedly back on her hands on Niki’s other side, staring up at the starlight.

Techno still might not be the best at talking to people, but even he had to admit: if it meant getting him here, on a night that he would’ve otherwise slogged through in a stuffy party full of people he didn’t know, he was pretty glad he’d done so.

Ayup. Not a bad place for him to be.

[hannibalzero]

Do you know who I am?

Charthur 🦬🦌🦬🦌 dabble!

With Dyani! Beware of cute and just Arthur.

Coming back from fur trapping, Charles Smith had hardly been gone a week but he was already so damn homesick. Turns out when you have a home to miss, it happens so easily. Charles hardly got on the trial before wanting to turn back and run straight into that little ranch house up on the hill with that large flower garden.

Charles missed Arthur, missed Dyani, his bed with that heavy quilt and a warm bath.

Taima being a spoiled and beloved horse now, saw her barn and broke out into a canter. She was sick of being on the road, she wanted to be home.

“Easy girl!” Charles soothed but couldn’t help but to smile. Excited himself to be home with his family. Taima stopped to allow Charles to open the stable door, Charles hurriedly got off before pushing the door open.

He stopped for a moment and counted. There were eight horses, when Charles left there was only three. Peaches, Gin and Brandy. Taima was with Charles of corse. Five random horses where looking at Charles curiously.

Arthur’s horses were still here.

But Charles still worried.

Removing the saddle and blanket, Charles took care of Taima and stabled her, he also cleaned his equipment and hung his fur haul to process later. Worry churned his stomach, did something happen while he was gone?

Charles took a deep, slow breath and settled himself as he approached the ranch house. He carefully pushed open the back door, the sound of Dyani crying made his heart hurt.

“Oh I know, it’s awful ain’t it.” Arthur soothed the crying baby in his hold. The sound of water filled poor Charles in on what was happening. In a washing basin on the kitchen table, Arthur was bathing Dyani much to her dismay. “Gettin’ wash up, I gotcha I ain’t gonna let ya go. Such a pretty girl.”

Beside the table was the actual tub, seems like Arthur was about to have a bath himself. The water was heating over the fire.

Charles relaxed a lot. “Hey.” He called out to his family, entering the room now as he closed the door behind him with a click.

“Hey you!” Arthur called out not hiding the smile on his face. Moving Dyani onto the towel on his shoulder and wrapping her up. “Wasn’t expectin ya till tomorrow!” He stood up and walked over. “God I missed ya.”

“Got done early, headed home as soon as I could.” Charles rubbed noses with Arthur before kissing him. Then moved down a bit to kiss Dyani. “Saw all those horses in the barn. You been busy?”

Arthur moved the baby to Charles shoulder towel and all. “Not by choice, but my hand was forced. Descent horses should fetch a good price after a little training.” Arthur went to pour the warm water into the waiting bath.

“Whatcha mean?” Charles asked his worry coming back to full force.

“Ohhhhhhh, small gang of outlaws broke into our house in the middle of the night. Thinking they could strong arm me for some money and well…pleasurable company.” Arthur said with a hum. “They hit the ground after sayin what they wanted and I got to work.”

“You took out a gang of outlaws?” Charles asked in shock holding Dyani closer now.

“While nursing.” Arthur sounded proud of himself. “I ain’t puttin up with nobody’s foolishness.” He looked back at Charles. “….we’re alright, I took care of everything.”

Charles was stunned for a moment. “You know something Arthur? I sometimes forget who you are and what you’re capable of. You are so sweet and caring, now that where out of the life it’s easy to forget.”

Arthur snickered cheeks turning red. “Imma Arthur goddamned Morgan Smith. I have a bounty of five thousand dollars and pretty red letters underneath saying don’t approach.” He bragged. “Husband of Charles Smith which they can’t find or charge. mama of the prettiest baby in four territories!” He leaned over and kissed Charles.

“Imma complicate feller you know?”

Charles smiled into the kiss. Nodding in agreement. “Yeah yeah you’re complicated. I’m glad you and Dyani are safe when I’m gone.”

“Miss ya awfully fierce when ya are gone. Makes me grumpy.”

“Those poor souls.”

“Ya got that right.”

[velvetcloxds]

dilf!remus lupin reaction to chubby!reader getting a wrist tattoo which is kinda related to him?

TO THE MOON AND TO SATURN | R.L.

word count: 0.8k

warnings: age gap, chubby reader not specified, cheeseee

Remus had a hard day, those weren’t as rare as they used to be, exam season coming into full swing leaving the poor professor drained, in desperate need of sleep as he sat back on his sofa sipping at the last sip of his red wine staring tiredly at the tests scattered over the coffee table. You, however, were in a much different mood, excitedly pulling your sleeve over your wrist. You’d never been one to do something spontaneous, happy with following a set plan for every aspect of your life until you’d met Remus, the most unexpected thing you’d ever allowed yourself to indulge in was losing him. You’d heard the stories of him, the rumours of a wild teen taking Hogwarts by storm and managing to surprise everyone with his genius in the process, and though you’d never known that version of him, happily loving the more mature and wise version you’d gotten the honour of falling in love despite your best intentions not to, you’d have a soft spot for your Moony and you always wanted to show him that.

You weren’t surprised to hear the soft jazz that filled the little muggle apartment the two of you shared, the music had quickly become your own reminder of home when he had to stay at Hogwarts during the full terms. You were even less surprised to find him in the living room, barely made it out of his suit, tie hanging undone around his neck as he offered you the purest smile despite sleep tugging it down.

“Darling,” Remus breathed with the gentlest tone, enough to pull you right to him and you gave in quickly, kicking off your shoes in the process of walking to him, sighing in pure delight as you fell into his lap. Your hand moved to their own accord as you began brushing his hair out of his face, smiling fondly at the sight of him, so perfect despite the state of him and somehow all yours.

“You should be in bed,” you reprimanded, and he hummed, half in agreement, half in regret that he couldn’t go to bed yet even if he wanted to. It was silly, really, the way you’d dance this little dance every night, yet every time you looked at him and held him like this it felt new, a little blessing you received anew each day. “But I’m glad you aren’t,” you didn’t think he’d perk up so quickly at that, daring hands moving lower down your back as you shifted. “I did something.”

“I’m going to need more than that, trouble,” you smiled, biting back a giggle at his curious gaze trying desperately to see if he missed a new haircut or new clothes, you were always very excited to show him either of those, but you seemed too familiar by the looks of it. You allowed the giggle to escape, excitedly presenting him your wrist, the tattoo was fresh, painful still and you were sure in an hour you’d absolutely hate yourself for the spontaneity, but Remus was smiling through furrowed brows, he was excited because you were excited but the more that he looked at it the less he knew what to do with his face.

“It’s Saturn,” you explained, not explaining much in the process but still it was a start, his fingers were gentle as they took hold of you, thumb hovering over the design tracing it in the air and even though he didn’t touch you it still earned a shiver through your body. “I love you to the moon and to Saturn,” seemed simple enough but his thumb paused over the little paw prints that spread through the fine linework, he knew it was for him, he didn’t have to think too hard to note that, but he couldn’t believe it. “My moony,” you whispered, and he couldn’t kiss you fast enough, smiling against your lips when you whispered your little question, asking him if he liked it, the silliest question in the world.

“My star,” he teased, and his grip was strong as it cupped your warm cheeks, your smile was poisonous, killing him slowly as he tried to capture it into his memory. “It’s beautiful, you’re beautiful,” he was careless in stealing another kiss, not surprised when you leaned into it, into him, gentle hands traveling up his crinkled button-down shirt.

“I got it for you,” you mumbled and looked down to the little gesture, happy now with the looks of it, happy that he likes it.

“Yeah?” his tone was low, playful really despite how much he appreciated every bit of your sweet honour to him, you were shy, the biggest thing someone has ever done for him and you’re shy and he wanted to see how far he could push it. “Now why would you do that?”

“So that I can always have you with me.”

“Always, huh,” he flipped you over, smiling as your eyes daringly took in every bit of him. “I love you,” and he did, more than simple words could tell you but you knew, you felt it. “To Saturn,” he added and gently brought your hand up to look at the declaration of love painted into your skin for all eternity.

“To Saturn,” you breathed and he placed a featherlike kiss on the transparent band-aid covering the art of your love.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Jesus | A Hidden Hand | Platonic

Rejected by the people of Hebron, the followers of Jesus are surprised that there is one true heart left in the village.

Requested by Ley

Jesus’ words ring true and clear, but they fall on deaf ears. The Disciples can tell that the townspeople of Hebron as well as their religious leaders are growing increasingly upset with the Preacher’s presence, and John the Beloved briefly recalls the time where the Messiah had told of the possibility of persecution due to their ministry. He turns to Philip, voice turned to a whisper as to not disturb the others.

“You’ve seen a horde of angry people like this before, back when you and Andrew went to the Decapolis, right?” Philip doesn’t look away from Jesus, but answers John’s question anyway. 

“This is an unwilling crowd, certainly. But that was different from this. There is tension in the air, but it doesn’t teeter on murderous yet. Still, I think we should remain cautious.” 

John momentarily makes eye-contact with Simon the son of Jonah, waving him over. The man in question pats his brother’s shoulder, who follows suit. “We should look for an escape route should things turn sour. There is a possibility that things could go wrong, like they did in the Decapolis. We should be prepared. Why don’t you guys check the eastern perimeter of the city, whilst Philip and I see if we can find something south—” 

A small noise behind them, like a handful of pebbles tossed against a wall. The men turn to see what is going on, momentarily allowing their attention to leave Jesus. There is a small alleyway leading to seemingly nowhere. “Rats?” Andrew wonders out loud. Simon hums and steps forward, deciding to take a look to see where it brings him. A narrow passageway to another part of the village, some sort of small yard surrounded by houses but with an arch leading to near the outer walls of the town. 

“I think this could be our way out,” he explains upon returning to the others, nodding towards Jesus. “How is He doing?” 

“He is still going strong, as always,” Philip mutters, “But, you know how things are. Look at the Rabbis. Even Shmuel doesn’t have such a scary look on his face.” 

“It’s probably the eyebrows.” Andrew comments. “And he’s missing a tooth, too.” He visibly shudders upon the sight.

A few Roman soldiers push past them, forcing the Disciples apart as they barge to the front of the crowd. “Okay,” one of them barks, “Show is over, this is getting a little too nice and cosy here. Go home, people.” 

“Let’s hear what He has to say!” one of the Rabbi’s replies, “We could bring Him in front of the Sanhedrin if He keeps going like that!” 

“You’ve heard me,” the soldier said, “Go back to your synagogue.” There is malice in his voice. Zee decides this is a good moment to usher Jesus away form the centre of attention and let the other two parties focus on one another instead. Big James shadows Him to cover His back, looking over his shoulder every so often to see if they are being pursued. 

The passageway discovered mere minutes ago proves utterly useful as the Messiah and His students are quick to leave the heat of the moment, the agitated voices of both the Roman and the Rabbi bickering in the background to be heard even past the courtyard. “That was intense,” Matthew finds, causing Mary to nod in agreement as she takes a deep breath. “We don’t seem very welcome here.” 

Jesus lets out a sigh, casting a sad glance over His shoulder, back to where the voices of the crowd are growing more restless by the second, a sound carried through the thick air and bouncing off the stone walls. “Should we head to the next town?” Nathanael suggests, “Like You said, Rabbi, that we need to shake the dust off our feet when people do not want to hear our message—” 

“You have listened well, Nathanael, but that does not apply to the current situation.” Jesus gently explains. “We will try again tomorrow. Come, let us head back to our camp just outside the city to give people some time to calm down. After all, sometimes all you need to change your perspective is a good night of sleep, no?” 

None of the Disciples can argue with that. Under little attention, they retreat to their makeshift campsite where Little James and Thaddeus have remained to keep a watchful eye over their belongings. “How were things?” Thaddeus asks as he sees his friends approach. The sour looks on their faces speak volumes. 

In heavy silence, everyone goes about their evening, eating something light or heading for bed. Some sit at the fire without saying a word, staring at the flames. That their presence is unwanted isn’t something new, but at some moments, it hits harder than usual. Simon can see that it touches Jesus, too, as he observes his Rabbi staring at the fire with an untouched cup of water resting on His knee. 

“What do you think will happen tomorrow?” John asks for Simon’s predictions. The man in question shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest, sighing. 

“Honestly? I’d be surprised if we’re even allowed into the city to begin with.” 

“Don’t you think you’re over-exaggerating?” the younger son of Zebedee wonders, “It’s not like they kicked us out.” 

“I just hope we’ll be going to the next town soon,” Simon mutters, “It just… Seems like wasted time and energy.” 

On that note, he announces to head to bed. The son of Thunder momentarily looks at Jesus before approaching Him slowly. “Rabbi?” he attempts to not startle Him, and He looks up with a thoughtful smile. 

“Yes, John?” 

“Why are we staying for another day?” 

“Because I have unfinished business here. There is someone we have yet to meet.” 

“Who?” 

He smiles. “You will see. Now go to sleep, John. It’s late. I will turn in soon, too.” 

“Alright. Good night, Rabbi.” 

“Shalom shalom, John.” 

With that, the Messiah is left alone to His thoughts, knowing what tomorrow will bring. 

—

The day after, Hebron isn’t all that much more welcoming than the day before, and it turns out that the possible overnight change of perspective had not taken place in spite of the Messiah giving people time to change their minds. A Roman guard glares at the group when they head into the town, hissing under his breath: “Don’t cause any trouble.” 

The Pharisees walk around them with their noses turned up and their faces turned away in disgust. Jesus ignores it as He walks towards the centre of the city where He had been preaching yesterday. The determination in the face of their obvious aversion prompts the rabbis of Hebron to pivot and head after the group regardless. Had it not been for their intentions of catching Jesus in His own words, Simon would have felt proud at their secret interest in the Messiah. 

This day, the crowd gathers faster than last time. It isn’t that much of a surprise, for things had left on a tense note yesterday, and it was highly likely that people showed up to see if things would escalate. Big James and Zee flank Jesus once again, slipping easily into their roles as protectors. Not that Jesus is in need of protection, but it prevents people from getting ideas.

Upon placing their bags and other belongings against a wall, the followers spread out through the masses to keep an eye on things, each in their own way. This morning, Jesus had told them to break up camp and bring everything with them into the city, so they are carrying more luggage than usual. Mary sighs as she places her backpack onto the ground and turns to Tamar.

“What do you think might happen today?” she wonders out loud, causing Tamar to shrug. 

“I don’t know, but I trust that He has good reason to remain here for another day.” Ramah lets out a noise of acknowledgement before joining Thomas on his walk to the other side of the square.

As the morning carries on slowly, the Disciples are starting to question if the inhabitants of Hebron are even genuinely waiting for their Messiah. After all, they seem adamant on trying to debunk everything Jesus directs their way, even though they can barely defend their own points. 

“This is useless,” Nathanael whispers in Philip’s direction, “Why are we wasting our time with these people? There isn’t even one of our own people remotely receptive of what is being said. Not one!” 

Philip crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes as he observes the day unfold in quiet trust. “Maybe there is one,” he then responds in understanding, causing Nathanael to rub his chin in thought. 

If there is indeed a person who is listening intently to whatever Jesus is saying and believing the words He preaches, they are managing to stay hidden quite well. 

The sun creeps lower and inches towards the horizon as Jesus tiredly concludes His preaching. Gladly accepting a sip of water from Big James, Jesus uncorks it and gulps it down, throat dry from speaking all day. “Rabbi,” John begins, “Could you maybe tell us why we spent all day here? The people only tried to talk down on your message. It was the only reason they were even interested to be here in the first place.”

Jesus hums, staring a bit absentmindedly at the ground. The crowd is dispersing as the followers of Jesus gather around Him. Zee ushers away potential debaters who are trying to get in another useless word. “The Teacher needs rest. Come back another time.” 

 “With some crowds, what you see is what you get,” Jesus admits, “But sometimes, there is more to it than meets the eye. Why don’t you go and get all of our things? I am in need of some privacy, if you don’t mind.” Standing on His feet all day with not even the shortest of breaks has left Jesus in dire need of a brief moment alone. The followers let Him go without protest as Jesus heads to a more quiet area of town, likely to see if there are any public lavatories located there. A few of the followers sigh as they notice how tired He looks.

Turning to their things, Big James frowns. “Did someone get a new bag?” he asks, a strange question according to some, until they have all headed for their bags and other belongings. 

Squarely placed on the pile of items, a deep red bag stands out like a sore thumb against the others — made from rich material, embellished with embroideries and intricate details. It must cost more than a month’s average income, they realise, and Tamar momentarily fiddles with one of the tassels to weigh its worth. 

“These are incredibly difficult to make. They cost a fortune too. This weaving technique is only mastered in the far East and thus most likely imported from there.” 

Judas steps closer. “Do you reckon we could sell it?” 

“Let’s see what’s inside first,” Andrew suggests, opening up the strap. 

His brother peeks over his shoulder. “A journal,” he comments, grabbing it before Andrew can get hold of it. “Maybe we could find a name.” 

“(Y/n) Urvinia.” Andrew immediately finds on the inside of the cover.

“Sounds Roman.” Matthew comments, “Could a random noble have left it here?” 

“It seems a bit too obvious, no?” Simon mutters, “Besides, there is no reason for someone to put their bag on top of ours, let alone such an expensive one.” 

“What else is in there?” Judas asks, “Maybe there is jewellery. Romans these days spare no expenses to flaunt the wealth they’ve gained over our backs—” 

A sharp gasp reaches the ears of the group and as one being, they turn to the source of the noise. A young woman stands with a basket full of figs in her arms, frozen to the ground with widened eyes, as if she is a child caught in the act doing something she was not supposed to do. Her (e/c) eyes are immediately on the bag in Andrew’s hands, swallowing hard.

“Is this yours?” the younger son of Jonah asks, nearly causing you to drop your basket. You take a few steps in their direction and quickly put down the basket on top of their belongings before holding out your hands towards the curly-haired man. 

“Could I— Could I please have that back?” 

Simon flips through the pages of the journal he’s holding. “First tell me which name is written in here so I can verify that it is yours.” 

You grit your teeth and lower your gaze. “(Y/n) Urvinia. Please, sir, can I—” 

“—Wait a second,” Simon mutters as he reads what has been noted down on the pages, “This is about Jesus’ teachings, is it not? Look, I believe this is the way they write His Name.” Matthew brushes over to his side to take a look at the text. Simon points at the words he is referring to.

“I know the way Romans write the name of Jesus due to my affiliation with them,” the former tax collector mutters, “So I know that you’ve taken notes on His sermons. But… I have never seen you around.” 

Letting out a sound of slight embarrassment. “Look, just… Just take the figs, and I’ll be on my way. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.” 

“Why have we never seen you?” Mary asks. “You seem to be very familiar with Jesus’ teachings, judging by the amount of notes you’ve taken…”

Flushed, you barely dare to look at the dozen-and-some people watching you curiously. “Do you think I can just stand in the front of the crowd?” you ask, “Trust me, I wish I could. I’d love to see Him from up close for once, instead of having to hide in the shadows to listen to His—” 

“I see we have a visitor.” 

You sharply turn at the sudden voice you have learnt to recognise by now, causing your heart to skip several beats. Coming eye-to-eye with Jesus at last, you bow your head slightly. “Teacher.” you whisper. “I… I didn’t mean to impose on Your privacy. I am just here to fetch my bag, please forgive me for the intrusion—” 

“—There is no need for apologies. I am glad we ran into you. Matter of fact, I was hoping to meet with you today. I wanted to thank you personally for guiding My students to find the escape route when things turned a bit sour the other day.” 

The Disciples look at one another in slight puzzlement, but Andrew suddenly seems to remember something. “The sound in the alleyway,” he whispers, causing Simon to look up in recognition. “You led us there, even though we couldn’t see you.” 

You nod meekly and cast a glance over your shoulder before looking back at Jesus. “I… I noticed how restless the crowd was getting. You needed a way out of there in case things would go wrong… I just… Wanted to help.” 

“And you did,” Andrew whispers. “Why? You’re a Roman. You’ve got your own gods, no?” 

“The Roman gods mean nothing to me,” you determinedly and fiercely counter, your earlier flush of embarrassment now faded from your features. “It has nothing for me but fear and oppression. Jesus— Your teachings…” As you turn to the Rabbi in question, He is standing way closer all of a sudden, and you take a shaky breath before finding the right words to say, “Your teachings have touched my heart and changed me entirely.” 

Jesus smiles kindly, taking a moment to digest your words. 

“A city full of our own people, eager to reject Me. Jews and Pharisees who claim they are holy enough to know it all. And there is one young Roman woman, risking her life and status by helping out Me and My followers, showing us a way to safety, buying figs for us… Simply because she believes.” 

Sudden tears sting behind your eyes as you close them, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

“My daughter,” Jesus murmurs, gently cradling your face, “I know you are giving up a lot for Me. But I know you trust Me enough to be aware that I have more for you than any false deity or Earthly culture.” 

Letting your eyes flutter back open, you look up at the Jewish Preacher. “I know.” 

“You will be giving up your life of comfort and luxury. But you can bring none of that with you when you come to pass.” 

“I know— I do not care about the wealth, Master. I know it is built on suffering and agony. I want nothing to do with it, I want— I want to follow You.” 

Jesus smiles. “Are you certain about that, My daughter?” He knows your heart and sees that it is pure, as are your intentions, but He needs the others to hear it out loud from your own mouth. 

“Yes,” you breathe, “I will do anything… To go to the ends of the Earth.” 

“Then follow Me.” 

“I will.” 

A breath of relief goes through the group of followers, as well as an excited muttering that there is a new addition to their group and a Roman one at that. Mary gently places a hand on your shoulder. 

“We will take care of you, (Y/n),” she says, “We will show you the ropes. Us women need to stick together, yes?” 

You smile a bit sheepishly, surprised at the strong, respectable position of women in your newfound family. “I never really had a true friend in my life who didn’t care about my father’s status,” you admit, “So please, I would appreciate that.” 

The group eagerly gathers around you, introducing themselves and welcoming you as one of their own. 

Gathering their supplies, they soon head for the next village, with you happily joining them, forgetting about saying goodbye to your old life. Not that it truly mattered in the first place, for now, you are finding yourself having everything you ever wanted and needed.