#every time i remember she’s not here i hear this roaring in my ears and i just break down and cry

[fingertipsmp3]

I’m not even gonna lie, my grief over Mabel is making me insane

[mandarinmoons]

this has been making the rounds so i have to ask... could you do a quick blurb of reader with spencer during this interaction and they had been bickering before in the car (im sniffing enemies to lovers). once that guy says that she just BURSTS out laughing and can't stop even after spencer tells her to stop, but at this point tears are coming down her face. spencer wants to be mad (bc hello! enemies) but honestly he's just so down bad, he loves that this makes her smile/laugh. (woah that was cheesy, gonna go take a lactaid). thank youuuuu 💕😘

https://www.tumblr.com/tomcriuse/756127032794136576

I love your mind for this x

“You’re like a pipe cleaner with eyes. I could snap you like a twig.”

Spencer felt his eardrum possibly bursting due to the laugh that roared from your mouth. His eyebrows knitted in confusion as you hunched down, practically hugging your knees to your chest as you tried to calm down your breathing.

“It’s not that funny,” Spencer wanted to sound coarse, but he had a hard time hiding the slight chuckle that came from his mouth. He wanted to be annoyed, but a not so small part of his heart swelled with joy whenever he saw you laugh and to know that he was the one bringing out those happy tears, he was an overjoyed man indeed.

The man that had been questioned shut his door in confusion and Spencer grabbed your arms lightly to try and help you stand up. A second later you brushed his hands off and Spencer sighed on the inside as you two went back to the way things were before you started questioning the local.

Clearing your throat, you strode off to the car leaving Spencer looking at you as you walked off. His feelings were mixed up, just 10 minutes ago you two had been bickering over if Spencer had taken the right turn down the road or if he’d managed to make you both get lost (again) and now here he was, admiring the confident strut in your walk and remembering the little hairs that frame your face that you always pushed behind your ear that he found oh so adorable.

“Are you coming or not?”

Spencer snapped out of his thoughts when he heard you call out for him. What was a beautiful smile adoring your face had now turned into a tight lipped, and dare he say, annoyed stare. How your emotions managed to change so quickly was beyond him, but he nodded and jogged his way to you to keep up.

What felt like an eternity of silence, Spencer’s ears perked up when he heard a light chuckle coming out of your mouth.

“The rest of the team is so going to hear about this.”

“Y/N, c’mon now, it’s not that funny.”

“Is it not, pipe cleaner?”

Spencer felt his blood boiling, but he instantly cooled down when he saw your smile return and more giggles come out of your mouth. Suddenly all the anger he had felt the entire day had disappeared and it was all thanks to the sound of your laughter and the sweet smell of your perfume, which the scent of seemed to have an even tighter hold on him with every inch he got closer to you.

Whether he liked it or not (but internally he loved it) your perfume had lightly gotten on his hands as he tried to help you up and as he laid in bed late at night, even with washing his hands as thoroughly as he always does, the scent still lingered on his skin and he fell asleep with you in his thoughts and (finally) in his dreams.

Taglist: @radioactiveinvisible @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @reidstheyfriend @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @kimm4710 @niktwazny303 @reidsdaisies @mindfullycriminal @cumulo-stratus @gayfor-rosadiaz @gubsbuubs @multifandomsimp69 @chyozai @deppfanatic @potatovoyager @indyvelazquez @nini123 @justlivinginadaydream @kers505 @dan-the-womans-blog

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[d-z20]

Heavy Hits, Soft Touches

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You meet your rival, Rio Vidal, in the MMA championship ring, both of you determined to prove you're the best. Years of tension and unspoken chemistry finally come to a head in a brutal fight that leaves you both bloodied and bruised. But when the crowd fades and you're left alone in the locker room, you discover that maybe you've been fighting something else all along - OR - You and Rio have it out in the octagon but are flirting the whole time (MMA AU)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of violence/fighting, hurt (physical), angst, comfort, implied smut

Words: 2.9k

A/N: This fic is based on this request. No smut, but I am more than happy to create a fic that details just how you spent the night wrapped up in each other if literally even one person asks... update someone asked so the smut can be found here

Have a gander over to AO3 | Master List

The locker room is quiet now, the echoes of the cheering crowd fading into the background. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, seeing blood smeared across your cheek, the bruise blossoming under your eye. You press a towel to your split lip, but the sting doesn't bother you as much as it should. Not when your thoughts are still wrapped up in her. In Rio Vidal

Your rival. Your equal. The woman who's been your greatest challenge and your biggest distraction for years now. From the moment you stepped into the MMA circuit, she was there, always one step ahead, always pushing you harder than anyone else. You've faced each other in the octagon before, trading victories in matches that never failed to make headlines. The press loved to play up your rivalry, spinning stories about how much you hated each other. But the truth? You didn't hate her. You respected her. Maybe a little too much, because with that respect came an attraction you couldn't shake, an unspoken chemistry that lingered every time you met her gaze.

The problem was, Rio knew it too. She knew exactly what kind of effect she had on you, and she wasn't above using it to her advantage.

You had just faced her in a non-title match to drum up excitement for the championship in a few weeks. It might not have been the final tonight, but with the way you both fought, it could as well have been. You could still remember the way she'd looked at you right before the third and final round, her gaze burning into yours, a smirk pulling at her lips as if she knew she had you right where she wanted.

The crowd's cheers had faded into a dull roar in your ears; all you could hear was your own breathing, the pounding of your heart, and her voice cutting through it all.

"Don't look so tense, sweetheart," she drawled, her smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. "You're not scared of me, are you?"

You glared at her, wiping the sweat from your brow. "In your dreams, Vidal."

She chuckled, low and dark. "Oh, you're always in my dreams."

Before you could respond, she lunged forward, throwing a punch that you barely dodged. The crowd erupted as you countered with a hook to her ribs, but she didn't even flinch. Instead, she grinned, her eyes lighting up with something almost feal. She liked this—you could tell. She liked the challenge, liked the way you pushed back against her.

You exchanged blows, neither of you holding back. Her fists hit like a freight train, and she was relentless, forcing you back against the cage. She pinned you there, her forearm pressed into your throat just hard enough to make it difficult to breathe. Her face was inches from yours, her smirk maddeningly cocky.

"You're not tapping out on me, are you?" She taunted, her breath hot against your ear. "I thought you were tougher than this."

You gritted your teeth, shoving back against her with all your strength. "I'm not tapping out," you snapped, your voice a harsh rasp. "Not to you."

"Good," she purred, leaning in closer. "I'd be disappointed if you did."

You twisted out of her grip, slamming your elbow into her side. She grunted, stumbling back, but she was smiling. It was almost like she was enjoying the pain, like every hit was a game to her. You went at each other harder, trading punches and kicks that left you both bruised and bloodied. You managed to land a brutal uppercut that caused her head to snap back, and for a second, you thought you had her.

But then she was on you again, sweeping your legs out from under you. You had hit the mat hard, the air knocked out of your lungs, and before you could recover, she straddled you, pinning your wrists above your head.

"Gotcha," she breathed, her grin wide and predatory. She was bleeding from a cut above her eyebrow, her lip split, but she had never looked more alive. "Still think you can beat me, sweetheart?"

You struggled under her, but she had you locked down. You could feel the strength in her grip, the way her body pressed against yours, and it had sent a shiver down your spine. You hated how much you had liked that—how much you had liked her like that.

In the end, she won. Barely. A split decision that had the crowd on their feet, the commentators buzzing about how you'd almost had her. Almost. She'd helped you up in a rare moment of sportsmanship, her hand lingering in yours longer than it needed to. "Better luck next time," she'd said, her voice low, challenging you.

You'd stared at her, every muscle in your body screaming in protest, but you'd nodded. Because you knew. The championship title was coming.

-

Tonight was finally the night. The championship fight—the one that would decide it all. The culmination of everything you've worked for, everything you've fought for. Five gruelling rounds, each more brutal than the last. You'd both won this title before, but you'd never faced each other in the finals. It was the match everyone had been waiting for, the one that felt like it was written in the stars. And you were going to fight like it too, like there was nothing outside that cage but the two of you.

The announcer's voice booms through the arena, introducing you both as the crowd roars. You barely hear it; your focus is entirely on her. She looks as fierce as ever, her dark hair tied back, a cocky grin plastered on her face as she rolls her shoulders, shaking out her arms. She knows the cameras are on her, knows the crowd is eating it up, and she loves it.

"You ready for this sweetheart?" She taunts, her voice carrying over the noise. "Wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself in front of everyone."

You smirk, stepping forward into the centre of the octagon. "I'm not the one who should be worried."

The referee goes over the rules, but you're not listening. You're too busy staring her down, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as you wait for the bell. It's the longest few seconds of your life, but then it sounds, and you're off.

The first round is brutal. You both go straight for it, no holding back. You know each other's styles too well; there's no feeling-out process here. She throws a quick jab, and you slip to the side, countering with a hook that catches her on the cheek. Her head snaps back, but she barely flinches, her grin widening like she's enjoying it.

"Nice hit," she breathes, ducking under your next punch and driving her knee into your ribs. It knocks the wind out of you, but you don't back down.

You grapple with her, twisting her into the cage. "Save your flirting for later," you grit out.

Her eyes flash, and she shoves you off with surprising strength, spinning you around and slamming you into the mat. She's on top of you in an instant, her hand gripping the back of your neck as she leans down, her breath hot against your ear.

"Why wait?" She purrs.

The bell rings, saving you from whatever comeback you were going to throw at her. The ref separates you, and you both stand, chests heaving, staring each other down with a wild intensity.

The second round starts off even more aggressive than the first, both of you refusing to back down. Your body is already aching, each movement a reminder of the last time you had fought, but you pushed through the pain. You can't afford to show weakness—not to her.

She lands a sharp jab, then a right hook that rattles your skull, forcing you to stumble back. Before you can react, she's on you, driving you into the cage with her full weight. The cold metal digs into your back as her forearm presses into your throat, pinning you just like before. Her face inches from yours, her smirk even cockier now, her eyes dark with something that isn't just competition.

"Déjà vu, sweetheart," she taunts, her voice a low purr. "You looked so pretty the first time I did this. I just couldn't resist doing it again."

Your breath catches, a mix of frustration and something you don't want to admit, burning through you. You shove back against her, trying to twist free, but she's got you trapped, her body flush against yours, holding you there effortlessly.

"Fuck you," you rasp, glaring up at her.

Her grin widens as she leans in closer, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Is that a promise?" She whispers.

For a second, you falter, caught off guard by the heat of her words and the way her breath skates over your skin. But then the bell rings, signalling the end of the round, and she pulls back, stepping away with a wink.

The third round is a blur of punches, kicks, and blood. You're both landing hits that would drop anyone else, but not you two. You're too stubborn, too caught up in this unspoken battle between you that goes beyond the championship.

In the fourth round, she gets you in a chokehold. It's tight, and you can feel the pressure building in your head, the edges of your vision starting to darken. The crowd is on their feet, roaring for a finish. You could tap. It would be the smart move. But you don't. You twist, clawing at her arms, and somehow manage to slip out, rolling away just as the bell rings.

You barely make it to your feet, and she's right there, hands on her hips, shaking her head with a grin. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?"

You spit blood onto the mat, grinning back. "Never."

The final round starts, and you both go all in. It's a flurry of strikes, both of you too exhausted for any fancy moves. She lands a solid punch to your jaw, and you stumble back, but as she moves in for the kill, you manage to sweep her legs out from under her. You drop on top of her, pinning her down, your forearm pressed to her collarbone.

For a second, you think you have her. But then she bucks her hips, flipping you onto your back, her body pressing against yours as she traps your arms beneath her knees. The referee moves in close, checking your position, and you realise you can't get out. Not this time.

The ref's voice is distant, calling the end of the fight. Rio just managing to secure victory once again. She pulls back just enough to let you breathe, but she doesn't get off you right away. Instead, she leans down, tilting her head, face inches from yours.

"Looks like I win again," her voice a mocking whisper. "You gonna cry about it?"

You laugh, breathless and bitter. "Fuck you, Rio."

Her grin widens as she leans in even further, her lips brushing your ear. "Maybe later, sweetheart."

She finally lets you up; the crowd's roar fills your ears as she raises her arms in victory. You stand there, chest heaving, staring at her as she soaks in the applause. She glances back at you, a flash of something softer in her eyes before she winks and turns away.

-

You don't see her again until you're both in the locker room, alone for the first time. You're sitting on the bench, wiping blood from your knuckles, when she saunters in. She looks as bad as you do—bruised, beaten, but somehow still infuriatingly cocky.

"Aww, do you need a hand?" She asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm, but there's a glint in her eyes that wasn't there before.

You roll your eyes, but you don't protest when she kneels in front of you, taking your hand in hers and dabbing a wet cloth against your busted knuckles. Her touch is surprisingly gentle, and you look down at her, catching the way her gaze softens as she cleans your wounds.

"You fought well," she admits quietly, not meeting your eyes.

"So did you," you reply, your voice just as soft.

Her hands linger on yours for a moment longer, her fingers tracing over your bruised knuckles like she's memorising the shape of them. It feels so different from the fight—so tender that it sends a shiver down your spine. You can feel the warmth of her hands seeping into your skin, and it's almost comforting. Almost enough to make you forget how brutal you were to each other earlier.

She shifts her focus, moving the cloth to the cut on your brow. You flinch when she presses against it, but she hushes you softly, like she's soothing a frightened animal. "I've got you, sweetheart."

Your breath catches at the endearment. It's the first time she called you that in this way, it feels different—like she's letting down her guard, if only for a second.

She looks up then, and for a moment, the mask slips. There's no smirk, no teasing grin—just Rio, looking at you for the first time. It's raw, and it makes your chest ache in a way the fight never did.

You swallow hard, taking the cloth from her hands. "Your turn," you say softly, gesturing for her to sit. She hesitates, like she's not used to letting someone else take care of her, but she sits down anyway, her expression guarded.

You crouch in front of her, your hands trembling slightly as you clean the cut on her brow. Her eyes flutter shut, and for once, she doesn't have a smart remark or a cocky grin. She's just quiet, letting you work in silence. you can see how exhausted she is now, how the adrenaline is starting to fade and the pain is setting in. You touch her bruised cheek gently, and she winces.

"Sorry," you murmur.

She opens her eyes, meeting your gaze. "Don't be," she says, her voice rough but sincere. "I've had worse."

You roll your eyes but can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips. "Of course you have."

She chuckles, the sound low and husky. "You're good at this," she comments, watching you dab at her split lip with a tenderness she doesn't seem to expect.

"I've had a lot of practice," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. But it's hard when she's looking at you like that—like she's trying to figure you out, like she's seeing something in you she hasn't before.

You brush her hair back, revealing a small cut near her temple. Your thumb lingers against her skin, and she leans into the touch, just for a second. It's such a small, vulnerable gesture that it almost breaks your heart.

"Rio," you whisper, her name falling from your lips like a confession. You lean in closer, pressing a kiss to her temple, and she closes her eyes, exhaling a shaky breath.

Her hand comes up to rest against your chest, not pushing you away, just holding you there, feeling the beat of your heart under her palm. "You don't have to do this," she mutters, but there's no conviction to her words.

You shake your head, cupping her face in your hands. "Yes, I do."

Her gaze drops to your lips, and you realise just how close you've become, your knees almost touching, her breath warm against your face. You're not sure who moves first, but then her lips are on yours—gentle at first, as if testing the waters, but it quickly turns desperate, hungry. It's like everything you've ever felt for her—all the frustration, the anger, the unspoken longing—boils over in an instant.

She pulls back, her forehead pressed against yours. "Come on," she mutters. "Let's get out of here; my place isn't far."

You nod. standing up on shaky legs. You grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as she does the same. Without another word, the two of you leave the locker room together. The ride to her place is quiet, the air thick with anticipation. Every bump in the road sends a jolt of pain through your bruised body, but you barely notice. You're too focused on the way her hand rests on your thigh, a silent promise of what's to come.

When you get to her apartment, she unlocks the door and leads you inside. You both drop your bags by the entrance, and she turns to you, eyes searching your face as if looking for any sign of hesitation. but there's none. You reach for her, pulling her close, and she kisses you again—deeper this time, like she's been starving for it.

You spend the night together, wrapped up in each other, bruises and all. It's not gentle or slow; it's rough and passionate—the kind of release you've both needed for so long. And when it's over, you lie tangled together in her bed, your head on her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart.

In the quiet, she runs her fingers through your hair, her touch surprisingly soft. "I guess that settles it," she chuckles.

You tilt your head up to look at her, confused. "Settles what?"

She smirks, brushing a thumb over your swollen lip. "Who really won tonight."

-

Read exactly how you spent the night with Rio here (NSFW)

[creative-heart]

"Where the world made sense" Kuku x (fem!) reader

A/N: Hi lovelies!! Ok, so here goes another one, I think THE man Esteban Kukuriczka is the loveliest man ever! and I wanted to get in there with some angsty fluff for any and all who love this adorable dork. I really hope you enjoy it, it kinda came about with Shakira’s song “Antologia” for my spanish speaking girlies.

TW: Angst, fluff, may be a little mention to smut,just some kissing, social drinking and smoking, nothing too bad.

Word Count: 1.9k

Where Kuku and Y/N finally stop being stubborn and get back where they belong, to eachother

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Three years had gone by since Kuku left the apartment Y/N and him shared, three whole years, and the brunette still walked around in that old Rolling Stones t-shirt he had left behind when he packed his bags, she had never had the heart to reach out and give it back. Three years had gone by and it was the first time she was facing the chance of seeing him again, since the break up, Y/N had been adamant not to cross paths with him, even if it meant, making special plans for her cousin Matias’ birthday. This year though, it was different, he had begged her to come to his party, and she hadn’t had the heart to refuse him he was after all, the favorite of the bunch.

As Y/N got ready padding barefoot around the apartment trying to find the leather miniskirt she wanted to wear she kept circling back to the overbearing thought of Kuku being there, he would probably be, he was Mati’s best friend after all, she didn’t know if it was that chance of seeing him or what, but she kept changing outfits trying to look perfect as she took a glance at the time on the clock on her night stand- she was late, of course- “fuck fuck fuck” she muttered under her breath while she jumped around on one foot trying to put on her higheels and run out the door.

On her drive over, Y/N couldn’t stop replaying their whole relationship in her head, from that first awkward yet adorable hello at the wrap party for the movie, to the lazy fluttery kisses the brown haired sweetheart used to pepper her face with every morning, she remembered the first piece of furniture they bought for the apartment, and the first present she ever gifted him. It all felt so fresh, it all still stung too bad, maybe it wouldn’t have if something bad would have happened for them to break it off back then, maybe it would be easier if she could hate him, but of course she couldn’t, how could you hate the sweetest person alive?- what happened was that you weren’t important enough, he was never home, he always had better plans, remember?- she forced herself to be mad, she had felt so alone back then, and whenever she talked to him about it, kuku dismissed it as being nonsense. She sighed as she parked in front of her cousin’s place, she could hear the music roaring all the way from down on the street. She took a few minutes to compose herself, she knew she was going to cry if she went up immediately, so she got out of her red mini, rested against the closed door and light up a cigarette.

~~~~~

She fixed her staple bright red lipstick while she rode the elevator up to the loud apartment and took a deep breath before knocking on the door, she had her arms opened, half expecting the birthday boy  to come greet her and as soon as the door started to open she exclaimed “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE SECOND BEST RECALT ON THIS EARTH!” and flung herself onto what she believed to be Matias’ arms only to be met by the perfume she knew oh so well, she wanted to stay in Esteban’s embrace forever, but she pulled away immediately brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and looking down so he couldn’t see her blushing.

“Oh shoot, Sorry Ku- Esteban” she corrected herself “I expected Mati to open the door, I didn’t mean to hu-” her sentence was cut short when he rested his warm soft hand on her forearm to calm her down and let her in.

“Nothing to apologize for babe” he said, the pet name coming as second nature to him when it came to Y/N he moved to the side so she could come in and took the chance to look her up and down -damn she looks absolutely breathtaking, she always had, how I ever got so lucky is the world’s greatest mystery- he wanted to kick himself for letting her go, for not fighting harder, he was still after all these years, undeniably, utterly and completely in love with the dark haired girl. Once she had made her way into the apartment, like she owned the place, commanding the scene as she did anywhere she went, he closed the door and went straight to the kitchen where his friend was.

Matias looked up at him from the snacks he was serving “what’s the matter with you, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost” he chuckled- I MIGHT AS WELL HAVE-  Esteban screamed internally and leaned over.

“you hadn’t told me Y/N would be here tonight, why didn’t you tell me?” The younger looked at his friend and laughed so loudly the whole building might have heard.

“Of course she was gonna be here, she’s my cousin, plus you guys broke up what…three years ago?” he quirked an eyebrow up at kuku “about time you saw each other again” he smirked and walked out giving him a wink. Matias very well knew they were both still stupidly in love with each other, and that the only reason they hadn’t gotten back together was because they were both too damn head strong to admit that they had made a mistake and that they missed eachother.

Esteban stood at the kitchen’s doorway, and there was Y/N as beautiful as ever talking to Malena and Pipe, wine glass in hand looking as beautiful as ever- no, she looks better than ever- and he could watch her all his damn life, seeing how her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, that laugh that filled up any room, that came straight from her heart, head tilted back, free hand clutching over her stomach. And her hair, her long brown hair, perfectly done up with those waves that she would spend hours getting to be how she wanted them to, how he hated it when she sat on the floor, curling iron in hand, brow furrowed in concentration, he knew they would be late to wherever they had to go when he saw that, and yet, he would never change that sight. He quickly looked away when he felt her gaze fall on him, but he could see the soft sad smile painted on her lips, and he hated to be the reason for it to be there.

~~~~~

As the night went on Y/N still hadn’t mastered the courage to go up to kuku and talk to him again, she knew she couldn’t, she would cry, or throw herself in his arms, or both, and she wouldn’t let that happen, so instead, she grabbed her third…no, fourth glass of wine and stepped out to the balcony to have a smoke, she needed the fresh air, she could feel the booze getting to her head. she light it up and rested against the rail, closing her eyes and letting her head fall backwards a little bit, enjoying the chill air, she didn’t even realize when the balcony door opened and out came that head full of gorgeous brown hair.

“I see you still haven’t broken the habit” Kuku said softly a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips as he saw the girl jump a little bit “oh sorry, didn’t mean to startle you”.

Y/N opened her eyes, and looked at Esteban, god he was still every bit as handsome as she remembered him to be and smiled softly “Not an easy one to break” she cleared her throat -especially when you’re drunk, sad and want to have your lips on his not on the cigarette- she thought to herself.

“It’s nice seeing you again Y/N/N” he started off quietly, hands fidgeting on the balcony rail as he stood beside her facing the street “I must say I was surprised to see you here, thought you would keep avoiding me” she looked at him again and had to fight the urge to brush that stubborn strand of hair off his face, it would always get in his eyes.

“I thought about it for a bit, but I had promised Mati, and I couldn’t break that” she stated before she could filter out the truth she kept looking at him she could look at him all her life “you look good, how have you been?” Y/N said quietly and bit her  lip seeing him shrug.

“busy…okay I guess” he turned to look at her, eyes immediately drawn to her red lips, god what those did to his heart “Mati told me you finally got the job, you’re now officially a model, congrats, I knew you would get it”- so he asked about me- Y/N thought as she nodded and just leaned in pressing a soft kiss to his lips, probably wine induced, and he returned it softly at first, and a bit needier as it went on, he had missed that, but he pulled away, she was clearly drunk “no, babygirl, I think it’s time for you to go home, you’ve had a bit to drink, come on” he said taking the glass of wine.

“Don’t call me that” she whined, not because she didn’t like it, but because it made her want him to keep saying it. He chuckled and threw his hands up in defeat.

“Come on, I’ll take you home” he said, and with that they left Matia’s apartment.

~~~~~

When they got to Y/N’s apartment, Esteban helped her out of her car and walked her up the stairs to the apartment they used to share and bit his lip while getting the door opened, once they were inside, he turned around “okay, this is where I say good-” he was cut off by her lips crashing onto his once more, still soft, but with a longing that hadn’t been there before, his hands instinctively went to her waist and he pulled her closer not wanting to break the kiss he took her back to the couch, he still knew the place like the back of his hand. When Y/N went to take her top off he stopped her hands, it took all he had in him to do so, but he did, and she sighed and sat up. 

“You don’t want me” she frowned looking down feeling stupid “I should have known” and he sat down laughing which pulled a furious look from those gorgeous green eyes.

“Oh no, believe me, I do, I have dreamt of this moment for three years, I want you more than I ever have, but you’re drunk, and if I’m gonna have sex with you again, I want you to be in all your senses, plus we have lots to talk about still” he stroked her cheek lovingly, he had missed this, and she nodded softly leaning into his touch.

“stay the night?” she looked into his eyes playing with his free hand and he nodded.

She smiled softly and walked him to the bedroom they once shared, taking her clothes off and throwing on his shirt. He smiled seeing that and got in bed with her, pulling her into his arms, determined to not let her go ever again, she fitted in there like it was meant to be, his chest had ached for her head to lay on it once more, and here they were, once again where the world made sense, once again where nothing else mattered.

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A/N: OFC he wouldn’t want to go all the way if Y/N was drunk, that’s how much of a gentleman he is. Hope you enjoyed it!  Also, let me know ig you want me to tag you in my next ones.

@madame-fear

[dearharriet]

About Time | Chapter 2

james potter x reader time travel au | 2.5K words | contents

page 2 | back next

04:00 — 4 FEBRUARY

Rounding the corner down the back stairs, James came to the kitchen. It was all a deep, thick violet, blending with the world outside. That was a color that the sun wouldn’t touch for another four hours, if that.

He crept into the room, bare toes on cold terracotta tile, and got the electric kettle going. A tiny red dot rose against the dark expanse of cook-ware as the old thing jumped to life. James leaned back, slumping against the counter and retrieving his phone.

The kitchen gained new illumination as he pried it apart, jostling the center button to wake it. He’d done this song and dance every hour of every day since new years—even the ones he did twice—so it was second nature to press the handful of buttons that led to your contact.

The text exchange stared up at him the same way it always did, and he felt his frustration with himself bubble like the kicking kettle.

1 January

Me 14:14

| hello, this is james! (from new years) :)

Y/N! 15:17

| hi! :)

Me 15:20

| hiya. i was wondering if you wanted to get coffee sometime? this weekend, maybe?

Y/N! 15:35

| oh, that sounds so lovely, believe me!! but I actually live in london :/ i was only visiting for the holiday.

Of course she lives in London, he thought, she works with Marlene.

James never responded.

The thing about James was, he could go back and retry anything he failed at—which left a lot of room to do just that, and he was accidentally making the most of it.

The other thing about James was, he rarely knew when to quit. A month of no contact couldn’t be good, but a part of him wanted to see if he could make it work the first time. Every retry felt like a crawl through hell, having to do everything all over again, having to remember the way things were—the way things could’ve been forever.

No, he wanted to believe he could make something good without turning back. He’d done alright so far. It was just proving to be very hard because of you.

When the kettle was something around halfway done, James swung the phone closed, plunged back into darkness. He went to the press and took down a big mug with an odd decal over the front of it, and then looked to fish a tea bag out of the next cabinet. His hand felt around blindly, and he stubbornly persisted instead of seeking help from the house lights.

“What the bloody hell is goin’ on in here?”

In quick succession, James swung around and the overhead lights flashed on, and then his head whacked the cabinet door.

“Oh—fuck,” he swore, hand shooting up to cradle the throbbing area. The kettle was nearing the end of its duty, roaring as loud as the blood in James’ ears. Somehow too, the lights carried a sound of their own, one that you’d only ever hear when everything else is blissfully silent.

Something began thumping, and James peeked out of a watery eye to watch a middle aged man hobble over to the fridge. He was wearing a matching pajama set, blue and white striped and too soft looking for his very immediate brashness.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man ignored James’ very feeble inquiry and opened the freezer, coming up with a cold compress. When he turned James’ way, the boy had to school his initial reaction.

Layered over the strange man’s face were deep-cut scars, spider-webbing across his features indiscriminately. His right eye was a shocking blue, and the corresponding eyelid was healed wide open, giving it quite a mad look. James wondered how he slept.

With the same thump thump thump-ing from before, the man approached James, and James looked down to discover a rickety prosthetic leg on one side of his gait. Then, his eyes were back on the scars, his jaw held firmly between thick calloused fingers.

“That’s the last time you’ll ogle at my leg, boy,” the man said firmly, a measured type of coarseness entering his voice. “You’ve seen it now, no need to worry about it any longer. Understand?”

James blinked, still groggy and disoriented, sleep waiting at the edges of his eyes to be wiped away.

“Can I know who you are? Or, why you’re in my house, perhaps?”

A grating laugh escaped the man’s twisted lips, chased by a wide, toothy smile that didn’t match it. Then he forced the compress in his free hand over James’ tender forehead, and a maniacal gleam in his big eye finally caught the light.

“Oh, ow!”

“The name is Moody,” James’ torturer finally revealed, disregarding the pained whines the boy was making. “Alastor Moody. That’s M-O-O—”

“Oh my god, please shut up,” James groaned rudely, feeling a headache come on. Alastor seemed to take kindly by it anyways, or as kindly as he seemed capable of. He snatched one of James’ hands to replace his over the compress and stomped away. James wondered how he’d missed the sound before, when Moody was elsewhere in the house.

Stealing the big mug off the counter and a second one out of the press, Moody set about concocting some tea for the both of them.

“Why are you here,” James pushed again, falling from the wrap-around counter to the butcher’s block island and folding over it.

Moody, pouring a steaming cupful of tea, glanced over his shoulder with a grunt.

“Thought I’m s’posed to shut up,” he replied, a small jest barely recognizable in the grit of it. James almost laughed, thinking it was something one of his friends might say.

“Touché,” he allowed, too tired to justify his earlier words.

Moody slid the piping mug under his nose, holding onto the handle to say, “I’m yer father’s student. Or, I used to be, at least.”

James took the tea gratefully, dropping a big sugar cube into it as his body fell into a tall bar stool. He glanced at the scarred man, who was settling in beside him and sighing at the pressure coming off his legs.

“You’re a businessman?”

The sharp gritty chortle returned, far too loud for the early hour.

“Fuck no, I’m not,” Alastor laughed, “I’m a sad playwrite in London. I took his class on a requirement.”

At that, James perked up.

“In London, really?”

Moody slurped his tea noisily, grunted, and then grabbed two sugars and stirred them into his cup with one meaty finger. After confirming the taste again, he replied, “Yes, really. And don’t believe what those townie twits say about it. London is a miserable barrel of oil I’d like to set on fire.”

James would’ve liked to agree with that, actually, except that he was the victim of a one track mind, and his mind had eyes on you.

Coincidentally, you were in London.

“So why not move away?” James hunkered further over the counter, shrugging in question. “What’s there for you?”

Alastor sighed long-sufferingly, the way someone sighs when they’ve fallen into a pit that they dug.

“A goddamn pipe dream, that’s what.”

“Seems the right place for that,” James said agreeably, pushing up his glasses to appear smarter, somehow.

Moody shifted to look at him.

“What about you, eh?” Alastor sat forward, peering at James oblong with his gaping eye. “I suppose you’ll sit around this cushy place until your old man keels over, won’t ya? Marry some other high-society lass, play out the whole family runaround…maybe pop down to the city for a few years, but not for any big plan, really. Certainly not because you need to.”

He shook his head then, grumbling and taking to his tea. James jutted his head back, slightly affronted, but mostly confused by the jarring flip in Alastor’s mood.

“I’m sure I could, if I had nothing else in mind,” James agreed, his mind focused hard on the one future he was sure of. “Thing is though, I’ve got a pipe dream of my own, sir. A girl I met.”

Exhaling through flared hairy nostrils, Moody glanced at James again, dubious.

“A girl, you say?” James nods. “Yes, well, I suppose that’s what takes all the good ones. Some girl they met once.”

“Thrice,” James corrected. Alastor shuffled his thinning hair about on his head, grunting in question. “I met her three times.”

Moody just tipped back the rest of his tea and wiped the straggling drops from his chin.

Twisting his lips, James persisted.

“This girl y’see, she lives in the city. And I’ve asked to take her out, quite obtusely, without knowing, and now I think I’ll just have to move to her because—”

A big fat hand came down on the counter, rattling James out of his rant.

“Get t’yer point boy.”

Swallowing, James finally asked, “Can I live with you?”

Alastor gave him a long look and then stood, dumping his mug into the big basin by the window. On his slow march out, he turned, casting a sneer over his shoulder that prefaced his following answer.

“Unless that girl is willing to give you a million chances, you’ve already lost her. That’s just the way women are.”

+

04:00 — 17 MARCH

It took four trills for you to realize the song in your dream was a ringtone, and that it was a real pressing matter in the waking world.

One hazy glance at the clock on your night stand told you it was far too early for a phone call, and a quick check on your throat came up dry and unpleasant, not ideal for talking.

You sat up, blinking blearily at the name scrolling across the notification window on your phone, and convinced yourself you were still fast asleep.

‘James :)’ shimmered loud and proud in the pixelated slot of space, perplexing your delirious brain beyond measure. You played with the possibility of going back to sleep, but your curiosity got the better of you.

Opening your phone, you pressed the green answer button and held it to your ear.

“Hello,” you croaked out, more of a question than a greeting.

The other side of the line seemed to lag for a second, like maybe there was no one there, and then James spoke.

“Hel—hi.”

Even though he was only on the phone, hearing his voice made you sit up a little straighter, tamping your bedhead down with a flat palm.

“James?”

He sucked in a breath, and the way it cracked through the line made it sound like a cigarette pull.

“Yeah, um. Yeah. I’m sorry, I really didn’t expect you to answer. You sound so tired, I feel awful.”

“No, don’t be, it’s—” You caught yourself before you could placate him, because no amount of insisting it wasn’t early would change the hands on the clock, “—it’s fine, honestly. My boss is Irish, so I’ve got the day off.”

There was a pause and some shuffling, and then James said, “oh hell, it’s the seventeenth, yeah. I forgot.”

“What?” you exclaimed. “How could you? Everything’s been green for weeks now.”

James laughed, the sound muffled like it was coming from another room.

“I know, I’m sure, I’ve just been too busy to notice. I’m uh, I’m actually moving tomorrow. Or today, I guess.”

“Oh yeah?” You bit your lip, smiling a touch and daring to ponder, “Where?”

Another long pause.

“The city,” James replied, and you thought you could hear him smiling, too. “London.”

Picking at your comforter, you felt your lips ebb and flow, uncertain whether to be happy or sad. You really liked James, perhaps even as more than a friend that you’d kissed once on New Years. He was sweet, and attentive, and he seemed to really like you; Texted you right away, unlike most guys you’d been with.

And here he was calling you, striking up a conversation in the early hours of the morning.

“That’s great,” you said, dredging up all of the joy in your chest to saturate your words with. “Where in?”

He seemed hesitant, thinking about it for a second. “Islington, I think? I’ve only ever been up two or three times, so I’m not really sure.”

You nodded, charmed to silence just by the way he spoke, by the number of things you’d rather have asked him—about his life, about that handful of trips to the big city. You were so involved in the thought that you forgot he couldn’t see you.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes! Yes, sorry, I was nodding.” You laughed a little to lighten the tension. “Um, Islington is great.”

“Really?” James asked. “You’ve been?”

“Well, no.” You laughed some more, and James joined you. “But I live in Shoreditch, actually, so we’ll be really close.”

You hoped that didn’t come off too flirty, and then you hoped that it did, which made you feel terribly guilty. If being on the phone with James was dangerous, you certainly couldn’t be around him in person again.

Eyes closing, you cleared your throat.

“Um, James?”

The boy on the other line hummed in response, and then said, “What?”

“Is there a reason you called?”

It felt rude to ask, but you thought the early hour might cover for you. If you wanted to crawl back under your covers and sleep Saint Patty’s Day away, could he really blame you?

“Oh!” said James, and again your heart thumped hard and cruel in your throat, damming any words inside. “Yes, I’m sorry. I meant to ask you if you were free at all next week? For that coffee I mentioned after New Years.”

Fuzz overtakes the line for the next few seconds as your head falls into your lap. In part, you blame yourself, for being so naive as to think he’d call for anything else. The other part falls on you for different reasons, namely, being on the phone at all with someone you had undeniable feelings for.

For not turning him away in the first place, even though you knew his feelings were just as secure.

“Um,” you started, fighting the frog in your throat, “I’m really sorry James, but I’m actually seeing someone right now. I don’t think…”

You stopped there, because anything that came after would veer immediately into a confession that would hurt you both, and then some.

James was eerily quiet, so much so that you checked your phone to ensure he hadn’t hung up. Then, finally, he breathed out an, “Oh.”

It felt more like a punch to the gut.

For some reason, your face burned with acute embarrassment. Something about admitting to James that you were with someone else felt shameful, like some odd betrayal. Thankfully, he didn’t encourage the feeling.

“Well I hope he’s an alright guy,” James said fairly, and you told him he was. After yet another bout of silence, James just said, “good.”

And then the line clicked.

thank you for reading! xx | masterlist

page 2 | back next

[softspeirs]

A/N: I am an emotional wreck after that last episode. No spoilers here, just looking for a place to put my feelings. Let's check in on our pals John and Ellie.

five. out of order.

Her first few letters are short, silly, rambling. He devours every word.

His heart is still pounding and he knows he's had a silly smile on his face for the last hour or so as he sits up with the light on. The nurse on duty has told him to go to bed a few different times, but he can't help it.

It's like a book you can't put down, the way she's written to him. He still can't believe it.

The next letter unfolds on crisp, sharp white paper, her words in loopy script that slants slightly - she’s left handed, he’s learned.

Dear Major Egan,

If we would have had more time, I would have asked how you prefer to be addressed. I hear your friends call you Bucky, but it feels too… familiar, somehow.

I hope you’re safe.

The last time we spoke, there was something in your eyes that I recognized from the last time my brother was on leave, and that’s why I felt I had to turn you away. I hope you don’t think less of me - turning away a perfectly good patron isn’t normally standard practice, you see.

I thought about it for a long time after you left. By now you’re probably getting ready to fly, and I hope you aren’t too reckless. I don’t know if you see it, but so many people care about you and want you to come back. You might break Mrs. Henderson’s heart if you don’t swipe flowers from her garden ever again.

I hope you’re well. I’ll write to you again soon.

Yours,

Eleanor Peters

He can feel the indent in the page where she signed her name. He imagines her sitting under dim lamp light, writing to someone who only spoke to her on occasion and usually when he was rip roaring drunk.

For a moment, he feels unbearably ashamed. But he remembers when he had come to apologize to her and when she had given him something to think about for those years locked behind the wire - the way she wrote to him the entire time he was gone.

She wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t think he was worth it… right?

He finally falls asleep and when he wakes, Buck is there. He’s reading, and Bucky wonders if he slept at all the night before.

It was hard for him too, to get used to being able to sleep through the night without the fear of being awoken or the instinct to keep one eye open.

“Sleep well?” Buck asks, not looking up until he dog ears the corner of his page.

“Fine. You?”

Buck shakes his head. “Not really.” He meets his friend’s gaze. “Hard to get used to the quiet.”

Bucky nods. “Flying again today?”

“Later.” Buck confirms.

“I think— I think I need to go speak to Ellie. As soon as I get cleared to be up and about.”

Buck’s eyebrows rise. “Yeah?” A smile is growing on his face.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

Buck laughs. “I didn’t say anything.”

“It was your face that said it.”

“I think she could be real good for you, John.” Buck says, still snickering a little. “She seemed nice.”

“Don’t know what I’ve got to offer anyone, much less someone like her.” Bucky mutters.

“Hey. You remember what I told you?” Buck leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re worth knowing. She wanted to know you back then, if those letters are anything to go off of.”

"Yeah." Bucky looks at the small table at his bedside, to where the stack of envelopes sits. He thinks of the last one in the stack. The one that's already wrinkled from him reading it over and over.

Bucky,

I've decided I've been writing to you long enough to call you by your moniker, though if I'm wrong feel free to address anything you write back to me as Miss Eleanor - it's what everyone else calls me, and you want to know a secret? I hate my first name.

It sounds too matronly, but no one calls me Ellie, not really. Only a few of my closest friends.

I've been writing to you now for over a year. I haven't posted a single envelope. By now, I know that you're alive at least. That was a relief. But I still don't know where to send letters, and if I did, I don't know how you'd take them. This friendship seems awfully one-sided at the moment, though of course that's my fault.

I wish I would have had the guts to post some of these letters, but especially this one, for a few reasons.

Major Crosby stopped by today and I tried to be coy when I asked of any word of you, but I think he's picking up on the hints. Oh, I hope he doesn't give you too much grief about it when you get back (because you will get back) - so I figure the cat's out of the bag now, so to speak.

I keep hearing rumblings about camps all over Europe. Horrible, evil things, and my heart just aches thinking of you in a place like that. You don't deserve any of this, and even if it sounds ridiculous - I barely know you - I just feel it deep down. That you're a good person.

The last reason I wish I had enough courage to send this is to say thank you. Because as much as I started writing these letters for you, they've become something that's truly helped me, too. I enjoy writing little mundane things about my day and it makes me feel as if I'm not so alone here either. Things are quiet in the village as always, and I don't have many friends. It's just me, my younger brother Henry, and my Dad. No word on when my brother Daniel might be home yet, and it’s too quiet in our house.

I've been rambling too long. Like I said, maybe someday you'll read this, and maybe someday I'll have the guts to just tell it right to your handsome face in person: I think I'm smitten with you, Major John Egan, and I should have told you that before you left.

I hope you think of me sometimes. It's a little selfish, but I'll say it anyway.

I hope you're safe.

Yours (and I mean that),

Ellie

When he first read that, he felt so clearly that he could see inside her brain. He felt her nerves to be writing it, the way she felt a little silly at writing to someone who she barely knew, but especially knowing she was never going to send it.

But he also feels his heart tighten every time he reads the last paragraph, because he knows exactly how she feels. While he wishes she would have found a way to get these letters mailed, he also loves the way he's gotten to know her like this.

Through her own written word, he feels like he's lived the last two years right here with her, going through her day and getting to know who she is.

They're doing this all out of order. He knows it's ridiculous.

But he can't help but feel a little head over heels with her, too.

He thinks it's too soon to tell her that, no matter what she's said in her letter. But he feels it, nonetheless. Stranger things have happened.

Buck is still watching him, a small smile on his face. "You want me to call down to the pub and see if she'll come by and sit with you for awhile?"

Bucky tenses, but decides he's done feeling embarrassed about the whole thing. "You'd save me going AWOL and getting my head ripped off by Nurse Wells," he says casually.

"You got it. I'll see what I can do." His friend says, rising to his feet.

"Be careful." Bucky says, out of habit. These missions, they're milk runs, but he still tenses watching Buck walk away from him. He wonders if that feeling is ever going to go away.

Buck waves over his shoulder, and then he's gone.

.

An hour later, he hears the click of her shoes before he sees her. He imagines he can smell the sweet floral of her perfume too.

"Heard you missed me." She says, sitting down with a parcel in her lap, no fanfare.

He grins. "Maybe. Whatcha got there?"

"Thought you could do with a home cooked -- well, pub cooked - meal." She blushes a little, but then straightens like she's come to a decision. "Besides, if you're not well enough to take me out to dinner yet, then I'll bring dinner to you."

He's well and truly gone.

She eyes the stack of letters on his table. "You've read them all?"

His eyes are dark with emotion when he meets her gaze. "A few times."

"And?" She sounds nervous. "Do you think l'm completely mental?"

He laughs. "Ellie, I know we're doing this a little out of order." He reaches for her hand. "But I know everything I need to know about you. And I'm sure about this." He arches an eyebrow, "That is, if you're still smitten."

She blushes in full then, trying to pull her hand away from his. He doesn't let her; tugs her closer, and kisses her temple when he can reach her. He sees her shoulders relax.

"This is crazy." She says, breathless.

"Maybe." He shrugs. "But look-- I thought I wasn't ever going to get back here. And I don't know what's going to happen next. But after the last two years... I'd like to figure it out. With you. If you'll have me."

Her eyes well up with tears, and he frowns, thinking he's gone too far, but then she's leaning forward, pressing her lips against his lightly, and everything goes click inside his heart.

He's right where he's meant to be.

[comfort-questing]

24. collapsed building

"hold my hand."

...how was that supposed to work? they couldn't see anything, couldn't hear properly past the roaring in their ears. but they'd heard her voice, somewhere in the chaos.

they tried to move, but every part of their body was so heavy. their mouth tasted of blood and... dust. why was there... dust?

something had happened. something was wrong. they couldn't remember what yet, and it frightened them, dimly.

"help's on the way."

that was her hand on theirs, and the sensation was blessedly clear amidst the numbness. there was light somewhere, but their face was pressed against something - damp, and warm. oh - that was their arm, their other hand, the one she wasn't holding...

blood. they were bleeding, and the weight was across their back and legs, and the grit in their mouth and beneath their body was crumbled stone.

oh.

memory began to stir again: the morning light through the windows, the waiting lines of people outside the city archives, the man in mage's robes who hadn't met their eyes as he entered.

and suddenly the strange noises made more sense around them, resolving into the grating of stone, the creak of wood and the cries of distant voices. sleepy panic stirred in them, speeding their breathing, awakening pain between their ribs.

they couldn't move. they were trapped. they were -

"shh, don't try to move. I'm here, they're working on getting us out."

they managed to turn their head a fraction, just enough to see her, around the splintered wood of what might have been a desk. her hair had come down and there was blood matting through it on one side, her clerk's uniform askew and dusty.

"I can't - it hurts - " they gasped.

"shh," she said again, and this time they could see her mouth move, and her eyes wide in a wan face. "it's going to be all right. just wait, don't try to move, please."

they didn't think they could move if they tried. one foot seemed to respond, vaguely, but that was the most they could manage, and the weight and the pain took their breath away.

nearby, someone was shouting.

the only real thing for now was her hand in theirs, and for the moment they closed their eyes again, and waited.

[howyouloveyourdragon]

yandere rhaenyra x aegon (platonic) headcanons. rhaenyra sees aegon decides to love him and gives him the attention he craves and he trusts her above alicent and otto so he possibly when they are trying to crown him, he goes to her like always when afraid. I feel she could have forced alicent to let her participate in her siblings lives if she had desired it.

pairing: Platonic Rhaenyra Targaryen x Aegon Targaryen alternate universe: Yandere Rhaenyra type: headcanons warnings: yandere tendencies dividers by: firefly-graphics bullet points: 48 A/N: thank you for your request and i hope you enjoyed, lovie ♡ regarding my break: i want to preface this post by saying that this post does not mean that i am not back yet and i still have not checked any notifications from this account but i worked myself up to posting this today and i know that these are not up to the level i usually get them to as they are shorter than i would have preferred and less detailed but i hope you can still enjoy these headcanons ♡ to make up for any disappointment i might consider redrafting these or making a part 2, whichever you decide, and tagging you in them once i have returned properly to tumblr and posting

i'm going to merge this with similarities from my last request because i don't want to repeat myself too much but the requests are also very similar, a link to anyone who hasn't read it is here

so this will start from when rhaenyra hears otto; "What would your mother say?" The older man hisses, grasping the pale boy's shoulder "If she heard that you were whoring and poisoning yourself with ale at a time like this?" the ferocity is strong and harrowing through Aegon's bones, jolting him "I-I-I cannot–it's not my fault!" Her brother's words stumble and splutter, an ache resides in her she tries to remember every argument she has ever had with her own sons, were they ever this afraid? she cannot recall it, she hopes she will never have to a lump forms in her throat as familiar words belt in her ears "This is not what your mother needs right now, you are a disappointment to the throne and a disappointment to me." Aegon holds back his flinch but she does not at the abrasive words "I do everything you ask of me," His voice sounds so quiet, so fragile

Rhaenyra remembers all the times she squeezed Alicent's hands and felt the nibbles at her nails, the stark red indents

She remembers her friend, she remembers her vows of protection

She remembers teaching Aegon how to pronounce her name

Ahe remembers teaching him to pronounce his own

"And yet you are still not enough." The grown man sneers with a pelt of venom. "It would be better had we sent you to Oldtown rather than Daeron. At least he had better wit even as a mere child."

and that is when the first instinct kicks in

the first time she orders control of Otto Hightower

The first time she cares to comfort her half-brother

Her face pinches as she steps out, a hard sneer on her face.

It isn't immediately that she decides to chew the old fool out but when he sighs and hardens his stance, she doesn't hold back

"Are you not ashamed of yourself?" She roars

Both man and boy flinch upon hearing her

Aegon's eyes have never gone so wide before

"Threatening a young boy–no, a prince of all boys." Otto stiffens but tries to hold back his anger in front of the named heir though he is sure that detail will change soon enough "Your highness, I am threatening no one, I assure you. I am simply chastising my grandson." "And how would his parents think of this?" Rhaenyra asks, raising her brows. "The King and Queen?"

she cannot help but delight in how a glimmer of concern and contentment flicker across his eyes. She hums and all but snaps her fingers.

"Perhaps I should be spending more time with my brother then, if he needs chastising such as you say." She tilts her head as his eyes widen. "Come Aegon, let us speak." He trails after her like an unsure puppy

which is when the obsession begins

she has someone fighting for validation of her, the very person who threatens her reign is the same who desperately wants her to see him

she knows her father plays favourites and she particularly knows where he falls in that order, Viserys has always favoured herself and Helaena but if she can twist that lens even slightly, she knows that Aegon will be more than agree to an allyship

It has been so long since he had her attention, he had even tried befriending her children to secure it

i think Rhaenyra would be a defensive and targeting yandere when it comes to Aegon

for example, she may begin isolating Aegon from The Greens she believes to threaten her

At the top of that list is Otto

Otto has been controlling Alicent since she was child, whether it was how she can braid her hair or to whom she will marry

Rhaenyra does not want Aegon under that control nor the environment but there is little she can do to isolate him if she is in Dragonstone and Alicent is insistent that Aegon stay in the Red Keep

...Unless she can trade out guards loyal to her and guards loyal to Alicent without her noticing

Which is precisely what she does and it takes a long time but slowly, with her husband's help, she is able to transfer half of her guards but years pass before this is achieved

Messages are sent between Rhaenyra and Aegon without interference but soon Alicent becomes suspicious of the hours Aegon pours into learning High Valyrian so that only Rhaenyra can read his letters fluently

She has never seen him so dedicated nor dependent on anything else but finds no matter how she tries, she cannot get word of her responses because she too has begun writing to him in High Valyrian

She has paid for him to be gifted his own private tutor and he is ecstatic, becoming spoiled by his sister for every response he gives her

When he recieves word that she is visiting, he drops everything and greets her with the excitement of a namesday

He stands by her and Alicent is surprised to find that Rhaenyra accepts the way he clings to her

It worries her but she believes all will be well once she leaves

And after Viserys has passed?

She is shocked that he doesn't try and flee

That he doesn't even hide

He just walks through the castle as if nothing is the matter

It is safe to say that both she and Otto are on edge but begrudgingly place faith in him

And when he swipes his father's crown into his hands with the ease of a mischievous cat? She expects him to throw it...

Until they reach the platform and a familiar silver haired princess is walking into the ceremony with her head held high. Gasps whip across the crowd but none move to stop her and especially not when their supposed soon to be King kneels at her feet

Otto commands the guards to cease her steps and those of the army behind her but they do nothing, in fact they seize him before any arguments to her role as Queen can take place

Aegon holds the golden crown high but before anyone can take it, Rhaenyra stands before him, Daemon at her side who takes it into his lean palms to place it upon her, recalling vows of safety and faith in her reign. Aegon kneels proudly before her as the words are spoken but when Alicent is about to seethe, she swallows

It is too late for long-standing plots and panic embeds in her gut

It is clear that to every suggestion, to every blatant demand, Aegon has told Rhaenyra tenfold

He has done more than deny his right, he has blatantly abdicated it before the court and spectators

But she needn't worry, Rhaenyra is very fond of him indeed

Perhaps he would even make a good Master of Coin, he understand not only the money of the castle but the prices in which take course in Fleabottom, he has been there enough to understand their suffering

So Alicent's fearful gaze roams Rhaenyra and her people as the woman is crowned

The same question bounces around in her head over and over again...What happens now? as Rhaenyra caresses Aegon's proud face gently and calls for him to stand beside her

[fe-fictions]

Could I please request a Seteth fic where he has to choose between saving Flayn or saving Byleth?

(This one was so much fun to re-write!! I miss the dragon family so much ;;; A ;;; I really need to write for them more often!)

In the heat of battle, it was imperative to make difficult decisions in a split second. There is little time for hesitation. So when you are in love with someone who must fight alongside you, the threat of having to choose between them is a threat that is real and always looming in every battle.

Seteth was faced with an equally impossible task; to make that decision should something happen to his lover, Byleth, or his daughter, Flayn.

He had prayed every night on that campaign that such a decision would never have to be made.

But eventually, unfortunately, it did. And it was as though he were watching a nightmare unfold in slow motion.

His wyvern jolted suddenly, trained to listen for the sound of Flayn’s voice. He scanned the field for her, spotting the swathe of green curls flung about wildly as she struggled to fight. A small battalion had snaked their way into the backline, and were going after the suppors.

He all but yanked the beast around, driving himself toward while shouting commands to others that the healers were under attack.

He was about halfway there, when his eyes caught something in the corner of his peripheral.

The glint of a blade he was far too familiar with, and found himself following the blurry action. Your sword had nearly been struck from your hand- you were fighting a losing battle against one of the generals present in the fight. Seteth’s body seized, eyes wide when he realized the dire situation you were in.

There was blood all over you- and he knew that it wasn’t all the enemy’s. He could see the exhaustion in your desperate movements, how you were running on pure adrenaline alone. 

You all were; but this…this was getting exceedingly serious.

His wyvern keaned beneath him, reminding him that Flayn still needed help. 

That he was still the closest to reach their little troupe of healers. But that you were also in front of his eyes, fighting for your life. Support for the Archbishop was not nearly as close as it should have been. 

They were being pushed back by the general’s pawns.

His blood turned to ice in his veins. The world went silent around hi, only the thundering of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

His eyes flicked from his place between his lover and his daughter. The Archbishop, and his child.

“Seteth, we need to discuss this sooner or later.”

“I know you speak the truth, but surely we can table it for another day-”

“No. We have to make this decision clear, here and now. I love ou, and I love Flayn. But if a situation should arise between the two of you, I know what decision you would have me make.”

Seteth’s eyes narrowed, pulling his wyvern’s reins and driving the beast into down the frantic path to rescue.

“I would never ask you to choose between the two of us.” He could hear the words over and over in his mind. He could remember the vivid displeasure in your expression.

“But should such a situation arise, you would have me choose Flayn over you, wouldn’t you?”

His knuckles went white, roaring towards the enemy.

“And Seteth…should you ever find yourself in a similar situation…I want you to choose her first, too.”

His axe ripped through the armored plates of the invaders, forcing them out of the backline. He could see bright green eyes, wide with confusion and relief.

“Byleth, you cannot ask me to make such a choice- if you were to be harmed, or worse, because I wasn’t there to- I-I could not live with myself.”

“If I’m honest with myself, dear…I couldn’t, either. But I am not your wife. And I am not your family…Flayn is. You’ve sacrificed so much to protect her and support her.” I would never dare ask you to prioritize my life over hers.”

“Byleth-”

“There will always be another Archbishop, Seteth.”

He remembered the sad smile clearly, as he reached down, grabbing his daughter up from the ground and protecting her from another blade.

He couldn’t look back when he heard the shrieks of panic, the cries that the Archbishop had been struck down. You were hurt.

“But there will never be another Flayn. And I know that if you were in my place…you would gladly have e choose to save her over you in an instant.”

Seteth’s rigid frame kept Flayn in place as she struggled against him.

“No- no, Father, we can’t-!! Go back!! Byleth’s hurt!! We have to go back!!”

You were right. There would always be another Archbishop.

“Please, she needs us!! We have to help her!! Please, Father!!”

But there was only one Byleth.

And he had just condemned you to death.

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

When the battle finally ended, the campsite was grim. No one was feeling any sort of joy, despite the enemy having been routed.

Their fearless leader, the undefeated warrior, had been bested.

And the Archbishop was in critical condition. Seteth was inconsolable. No words of reassurance, no sympathies were to be spared for him. He turned them all away.

If they had time to worry about the Minister, then they had time to worry about the Archbishop, about the Church, about anything else more deserving of their time than he.

The man who let you all but fall to your death.

The only person who was welcomed into into his audience with a worthwhile conversation was Flayn.

The young woman who stormed into his office, furious with her father.

“How could you?”

He did not look up from his hands, folded tightly atop his desk.

“How could you let Byleth be hurt like that?? How could you prioritize me over the woman who is working to unite the entire continent?!”

Seteth’s grimace deepened. He could not provide her with a worthy answer.

“I…I saw where you were. I saw you freeze- I wanted you to come to me, I knew you were going to save me! But when I saw Byleth-- I realized why you’d hesitated at all. You were trying to help both of us, and then you chose me!!”

“Flayn-”

“But you chose me over Byleth!! A-and we both know that she’s not just the Archbishop to you. We both know very well that she’s you’re in love with her! And you still chose me over her?!”

“It is not so simple.” He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He did not realize how much his fingers were trembling, before. “I had to make this decision, because it was mutually agreed upon by both of us.”

“What?” She stared at him in utter disbelief. He nodded, carding a hand through his hair.

“We decided, a long time ago, that if there should ever be a scenario in which your life hung in the balance or one of ours did…we would both prioritize your safety.”

Her mouth fell open, but no words could escape. She stared at him, speechless, struggling to understand what he just said.

“Why…no, no…why?”

“Because you are my daughter.” He looked at her, finally, and what little resolve he could manage to find had met her gaze with a mountain of grief behind it. “And I swore to protect you, above all others. Byleth would do the very same for you, because she knows that my priority has been, and always ill be, the safety of my child.”

“But- but I’m not a child anymore. I’m an adult! I’m a fully capable being that doesn’t need you or Byleth to protect me!! Gods- gods, you had the Archbishop prioritize my life over hers?! I can’t believe that!”

“It’s true. And if I were the one in danger, Byleth would have made the same choice.”

“But- but that’s not- I know how much you care about her. I know that you love her, and that you want to be with her!! For once, can’t you prioritize your own feelings? Can’t you prioritize Byleth??”

“I…do Not know that I am worthy enough to make such a decision. But it matters not- I am a father, first and foremost. I will always put you first. I can only ask that you understand.”

Flayn exhaled sharply, her hands balled into fists. “I understand. But that doesn’t mean it’s right!! You have to prioritize yourself sometime. You have to prioritize Byleth. Especially if you love her. And if she comes out of this alive…you’d better tell her that.”

The word “if” echoed in his ears, reminding him just how serious this situation was. The pale color of your skin, the shallow breaths….the glimpse of your broken form he had seen was not just a hypothetical.

Seteth could actually lose you. That was what terrified him. He did not regret his decision. He could never regret protecting his daughter. But at the cost of not protecting you….it tore his heart into pieces.

A full day would pass before any word of your condition arrived. You had made it through the night, mercifully, and you were no longer in danger of death . They had patched you up successfully, and wrapped the wounds in such a way that they would not be reopened provided you remained in bed long enough to let them heal properly.

It would be six hours after that relieving update was provided that he was informed that you were awake.

Not only that, but you were asking for him, specifically.

He had never moved so quickly in his life. His legs carried him faster than his thoughts could form, all but sprinting to reach your side and ensure that he was with you after far too long apart.

It would give him the opportunity to apologize. To beg your forgiveness, to hope that you understood why he made the decisions that he did.

Eventually, he hoped you would find it in your heart to forgive his transgression against you. But if you did not…he could not find it in his heart to disagree. It would make sense, after all.

The prime minister was at the doors in no time, knocking tentatively on the old wood and hoping the healers would let you in.

Mercedes was the one who opened it to him, her expression cool but her smile at least marginally positive.

“She asked for you as soon as she woke up, Prime Minister.” She said softly, “If you’re of a mind, she would like to see you for at least a little while.”

“O-of course. I would not dare keep her waiting another moment. May I…may I see her alone?”

Mercedes glanced back, considering the state of her patient. “Very well. I can give you a little while, but she’ll need close monitoring over the next few days.”

“I understand. Thank you.” He stepped into the medical bay, taking a deep, shaking breath. It did little to steady his nerves, nor to keep the guilt from bubbling over.

But when he saw you lying there, staring out the windows and bound heavily with bandages…he was not certain if there was anything he could say.

You turned your head when the door was closed, finding Mercedes was gone and the dragon man stood in her place.

He didn’t know what to expect; he deserved to be shouted at, to be reprimanded for abandoning you, to see angry tears fall and a declaration that he had broken your heart, that you never wanted to see him again.

Instead, you smiled.

“Set…Seteth.” You raised your hand, either to beckon for him or to ask him to hold it. Either way, he was striding to the bed and kneeling down at your side within a single breath.

“Byleth-” He could barely choke your name out before the sorrow threatened to spill over.

He took your hand in both of his, squeezing your fragile fingers tightly. He stared at you, the worry and guilt written all over his face. It was impossible to miss, especially as the woman he loved.

“I’ll be okay.” You whispered, your gaze far too warm and loving given the state you were in. 

Seteth swallowed thickly, his eyes running over your frame again and again. 

“Are you in pain? Are you uncomfortable in any way?” He asked worriedly, searching for something to fix.

You shook your head, wiggling your fingers that he grasped so tight. “No…I’m not in any pain. Mercy…treated the most pressing wounds very well. And…and she gave me some healing tonic that’s quite strong….I feel more numb than anything else.”

“I-is it supposed to be numbing??” He asked, the alarm breaking through the guilt, “I’ll go and fetch her right away, I’m sure sh’es just outside the-”

“It’s supposed to.” You assured him, “It’s that or…the pain and discomfort you asked about.”

“Oh…I see. Very well.” He cleared his throat, steeling himself with a deep breath. “Then…aside from your physical state…how are you feeling?”

“You mean, how mad am I at you?” You corrected him jovially, though he did not seem to appreciate your humor.

“You have every right to be furious at me, Byleth. I let you be harmed. I did not protect you.” He sighed, looking down. It was far too difficult to meet your eyes. “You should be shouting at me, and I imagine you would be if you weren’t in such a sorry state. A position that I condemned you to, that day…I…I know my words hold little meaning in this situation, but I must apologize to you, profusely. I am so, so sorry that you were hurt.”

“Ou shouldn’t be apologizing.” You shook your head, trying to free your hand from his. When he realized you were trying to slip away, he quickly removed his hands, clasping them tightly in his lap. Of course you wouldn’t want to touch him.

At least, that’s what he thought. But then warm fingers brushed his cheek, cupping his face with a tenderness he could never deserve.

“You did the right thing.”

“I-”

“You swore to protect your daughter. We both agreed…to put Flayn first. How could I ever be upset with you for protecting your family?”

“I-I do not regret my decision to protect Flayn. I could never regret that. But I cannot help but feel that I have betrayed the woman I love, as well. That I abandoned you in that moment.”

“You didn’t abandon me.” You shook your head again, smiling softly, “You were keeping your daughter safe. And I will never hold that against you. I know you would not if I did the same.”

“I wouldn’t, no. But I’m also not the Archbishop of Fodlan. Your position holds great influence, and to see you wounded when I could have prevented it…the blow that the whole army took when you fell was severe.”

“It wasn’t their decision to make. We  made it. It was ours, and ours alone. It may be callous to say this as the Archbishop, but…frankly, I don’t care what they think when it comes to those I love.”

“I cannot believe you still have the strength to say such things,” He laughed, though it was clipped and bitter, “I am not deserving of your love. You should want nothing to do with me after I risked your life.” It would be safer for you to cast me out.”

“But I won’t, because I love you. I will always love you. You and Flayn are like family to me. I’d do anything for both either of you. Even if it means sacrificing my life to protect you.”

Seteth did not register the tears down his cheek until you wiped at them, still cradling his face with your frail little hand.

He bowed his head, covering your hand with his.

"I do not deserve you. Nothing I have done in my life could ever make me worthy of you.” His voice trembled,  turning his face to kiss your palm. “You are not like family to us, Byleth- you are our family. You are  our world…And it is desperately important to me that you know that.”

“I do.” You whispered, all but beaming even in spite of your exhaustion. “I know, and I feel the very same way. So don’t ask forgiveness, Seteth- there’s nothing to forgive.”

He did not wholly agree with you on that point, though. He was quite certain that you were more than deserving of affection and attention from your family, and he didn’t consider himself worthy enough to be that to you, yet.

So instead he decided to shift his plans up, from waiting until the war was over, waiting until the continent was secure and rebuilt, to make you a fully fledged member of his family.

Instead he took Flayn’s advice; as soon as you were healed and back on your feet, he whisked you up to the north tower, and proposed to you on the spot.

A proposal you readily accepted (and naturally earned the cheers of your soon-to-be stepdaughter, who had snuck after her father when she saw the ring in his hand earlier that evening).

While it was an absolutely joyous moment, you did have to agree to Flayn’s demand that from now on, you and your husband must put yourselves first; protect one another above anyone else. 

Otherwise, how else would she get a little sibling?

[littlegodzilla]

New chapter!

Here I come with another part from that story.

Thanks for your comments and reblogs, I'm glad you all liked it!

Hope you will like this one too.

Enjoy!!

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

Our Story.

Daryl Dixon x Wife/ Daryl Dixon x Reader.

Part 4.

Masterlist.

Warnings: TWD gore. Swearing. Violence.

Words: 3400

Summary: The world goes to shit, now is time to fight for their lifes, Daryl remembers his past life but he has to move on.

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

Part 4. The new dead World.

"Daryl, I'm sorry about your brother." T-Dog's voice reaches his ears.

"When we get there, Merle better be alive and in one piece, for your sake." He assures her with a grunt, sitting on the cargo in the van.

His mind is still racing back and forth, furrowing through the mist enveloping him, trying to come back to reality. It had been a long time since his head had gone back to those days, a long time since he had remembered her face, her voice. But something triggered his memories, and there she was again.

Her.

Bringing back the best and worst memories of his life, he feels rage invade him for a second. He's sure it's because of Merle, the abandonment of those people to his fate, that new guy, Rick Grimes, believing himself capable of making the decision to leave him there, to handcuff him like an animal. Every time he thinks about it, anger becomes more present in his body. Between his fingers he plays with his crossbow and looks sideways once more at the men accompanying him.

The world had gone to shit, months before this happened. No one knows what it was exactly, on the news and the radio they talked about a virus that made people aggressive, but then the dead started walking the streets, the chaos and panic drove people crazy, forcing them to leave their homes, to look for a shelter where they would be safe. However, it was all a trap, the people who came to the big cities were bombed to eliminate as many infected as possible, no one intended to save them, only to make a massive cleanup.

Daryl and Merle were returning from several weeks of hunting when they heard the news on the radio in the rickety van. They didn't think too much about it, made their way to the cabin, grabbed everything they could load into the vehicle, Merle even insisted on taking his motorcycle.

"If we have to go looting it will be easier to make our way with the bike, little brother, then we'll fill up the van." He explained and Daryl agreed to his plan.

Since then it had just been Merle and him against the world and the dead, taking what they could, fighting for their lives, running from other people. Until they found the camp in that abandoned quarry. There were men, women, children, all living together, sharing tasks, keeping watch to keep the place guarded, safe. It seemed like a good option. Merle hinted at stealing what they could and leaving again, Daryl didn't completely agree, but he didn't do anything to dissuade him either.

And now there he was, in the middle of the streets of Atlanta, infested by those undead, looking for a handful of guns and his brother.

And he can't stop thinking about her.

"She went to Atlanta, after the wedding." Your mother's voice comes back to his mind forcing him to stop his steps.

Atlanta.

His eyes scan the place without being fully aware, with his crossbow pointed towards the ground, sharpening his hearing, in case any sound, other than silence and grunts, came towards him. He frowns, as he's not sure what exactly he's looking for.

"Daryl." Rick calls out to him. "Something wrong?"

"No, just my brother handcuffed on a rooftop." He roars back to reality.

"What are we looking for first?"

"Merle! That's out of the question!" he barks again.

His teammates don't seem to agree completely, but according to the Asian guy, Glenn, Merle is closer, so Merle will be the first target.

Daryl stays silent most of the time, his gaze directed everywhere, his ears fully alert. Getting to the building isn't too much trouble, Glenn remembers the way perfectly, there are no glitches in his plan or his guidance through the alleys until they reach their destination. Unfortunately, when they reach the rooftop Merle is gone, but that's not the worst of it, the son of a bitch has cut off his hand to escape. Daryl once again feels that emptiness he felt years ago, with his loss. His eyes burn, but he has long since stopped allowing himself to cry.

"No!" he simply cries out in despair. "No! No!" he exclaims again helplessly, moving from side to side in despair.

His being is torn apart once again, as it was years ago. He is alone. The last thing he had left of his life, the only thing that, ironically, kept him stable, is now gone. His anger overtakes him, he is unable to think rationally as he raises his crossbow and takes aim at T-Dog. The man doesn't move, as if he knows he deserves it, he's not going to fight, however, Rick is quick too and points his revolver at him so that, not even by chance, he can't think of shooting his companion.

He shakes his head trying to return to sanity. He lowers the gun, reaches for something to wrap his brother's hand with and stuffs it into Glenn's backpack.

"That fucker's still alive." He mumbles. "He cut his hand and made a tourniquet with his belt so he wouldn't bleed out."

"With any luck, he won't be far behind." Dares Rick to add, he just nods.

"You guys better hope so." He assures them and they walk back into the building, tracking the trail of blood Merle has left in his escape.

But things, since that world went to shit, are no longer easy even for the simplest of tasks. Merle has managed to escape through a window, God knows where he could be now, Daryl is willing to keep going until he finds him, but Rick stops him again. He's starting to get tired of him, that he blocks him every time he tries to say or do something, he's not going to let a guy you know nothing about order him around like he's a little kid.

"Look, man..."

"No, listen to me, we're not going to leave Merle to his fate, but we can't go around without weapons to defend ourselves, we need that bag first, come up with a plan and then go after your brother, is that clear?"

For a second Daryl wants to hit him, make him see how "clear" he has been, but he restrains himself, he has to be logical, he is at a disadvantage, in a city full of those beings, his crossbow is powerful, but he has the problem of having to reload it every time and that takes away a few seconds he could be a victim. He chews his lip and nods, letting Rick continue to lead the mission as Glenn hatches a plan to go after the weapons. Daryl is surprised that a simple pizza delivery boy could plan something so elaborate and specific, but he feels he can trust him, he seems to know very well what he's talking about.

They walk down the alley together while Rick and T-Dog wait. Again things don't go the way anyone expected. Daryl starts to feel desperate and frustrated, that kid who knocked him out, those guys who took Glenn, are playing on his nerves. Again Rick has to restrain his impulses not to kill that kid.

"Merle? What's the name Merle? I wouldn't call my dog that."

Okay, fine, he's going to kill him.

He lunges at him unceremoniously, but Rick restrains him, forcing him back, warning him once again to keep his cool or next time he'll be the one to knock him out. Daryl doubts he will, but backs away trying to keep his cool.

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

"So...this place...you guys just take care of the old people?" Glenn asks looking around uncomprehendingly.

"We didn't intend to take on anyone, but your friend put an arrow in my partner, you understand that, right? Those guns... we need them to take care of these people." Speaks the leader of the group.

"I understand that, but we need them too, we have people out there, you guys have walls." Says Glenn sighing.

"You have people looking for you, they are good friends." They hear a female voice.

"We learn how to survive."

"I think we could share weapons." She says again taking a long look from the leader. "They are more exposed than we are..."

"I'll think about it..." He promises and walks away when his companions call out to him.

"How long have you been with them?" Glenn asks, you give him a sidelong glance and shrug.

"Almost since it all started, I worked here; many left because they wanted to be with their families, Guillermo didn't want to leave, he couldn't abandon the elderly, so I stayed too." You shrug. "We have resisted as best we know how, but resources are starting to get scarce and more and more people are coming looking for what little we have..."

"We'll go away again, we'll leave you in peace, we just need weapons so we can keep defending ourselves, like you." Glenn assures and you smile.

"I'm sure Guillermo will do the right thing, trust him."

After making sure Glenn is okay, you leave him alone to continue with your work, those people need you, Guillermo has to deal with those people on his own, but you have to make sure those people are still calm. You get lost inside the building to go to the infirmary where you have the store of medicines and technical devices to help some of the elderly. Some of them are too old, their dementia and weak bodies don't allow them to get out of bed most of the time, so you prepare their medications and make your rounds, room by room, as you always do. 

Some routine never hurts.

You hear bustle in the main room as you are returning from your rounds, you put on your alert because someone needs your assistance. You leave the tray in place, close the infirmary and run into the ward to find out what's going on. Glenn is with one of the elderly, he is suffering from an asthma attack, he needs one of his inhalers. You have some reserve still in the infirmary, you can go get him, however, you get stuck for a moment when you see Guillermo appear with two other men you don't know.

Or so you think.

Your heart freezes. It can't be... Daryl? No, it can't be him, Atlanta is too far from home, he hasn't missed anything there, surely the Daryl you know, will be more comfortable in his cabin, maybe even... you shake your head, you don't want to think about the possibility that he was dead. No. You quickly put that possibility out of your mind and run back to the infirmary in search of the inhaler.

"I need an Inhaler for Mr...." You hear Jorge at the door.

"I know, here." You give it to him and he speeds away.

You stand there, leaning against the table, still with your heart pounding. What if it's Daryl? What if he's there? Why? What's he doing with those men? How does he know Glenn? Your mind is full of questions you'd really love to find answers to, but what if you go out there and it's not him? What if it is and he doesn't want anything to do with you? You take a deep breath trying to calm yourself, close your eyes as your hand squeezes the small form of the pendant around your neck against your palm, feeling your heart rate serenade a little.

"Hey..." You startle when you hear Glenn beside you. "We're... we're leaving."

"Already?" You ask with your voice shaking, but you nod. "Did you come to some agreement?"

"We've left you some weapons, yes, you need to protect these people, just as we need to protect ours so..." He shrugs and smiles.

"I'm glad, Glenn... you guys have a lot of luck."

"You too."

You bid each other a fond farewell, you don't know each other too well, but it's nice to know that there are still people out there who are decent, who you can trust and lean on in difficult times. You accompany Glenn to the main room, looking out of the corner of your eye, but Daryl, or who you think Daryl was, is not there, there is only the sheriff talking to Guillermo, both of them with their respective gun bags. You feel some relief because now you will be able to defend yourselves better against the dead. You dare to approach the window to look out onto the street. He is there, talking to another man, again your breath hitches because it is indeed him, there in his dirty old clothes, holding his crossbow tightly as if it were another extension of his own arm. You shake your head and turn away from the window feeling your hands won't stop shaking.

"Are you okay?" asks Miguel approaching you.

"Y-yeah, I was just... watching the new arrivals." You comment and see the teenager snort.

"Rick's legit, nice guy, but that redneck with them..." He mumbles and you look sideways at him. "They were looking for a guy, you know, what was his name... Mirlo... Merlín..."

"M-Merle?" you try to guess.

"Merle! Yeah, if he's as much of an idiot as he is, I hope they don't find him." He protests. You're tempted to correct him, but you bite your tongue in time.

They are looking for Merle, he is also there in Atlanta, again there are many questions in your mind, you remember that Glenn has told you that they are on the outskirts of the city in a camp, a group of people, even with children. You feel relief and can't help but smile, Daryl will take care of them, with his hunting and survival skills, they can be there for a long time. You are glad you saw him, even if it was from a distance, you are glad he is alive and helping those people.

You sigh and go on with your work.

**

"Here, it would be nice if you had one too." Guillermo says handing you a gun.

"What? I don't..." You swallow, nervous, taking the gun in fear.

"We'll teach you how to shoot, don't worry, but we all have to learn how to defend ourselves."

"Okay... Guillermo, thanks for helping them." You tell him when you see he's about to leave.

"They didn't look like bad guys, did they? Even though they did hit Jorge in the ass with an arrow." You try not to laugh at that, but nod. "Are you okay? You seem a little distracted."

"What? No, I'm fine, it's nothing."

"Did you like the Asian guy, did you want to go with them?"

"Of course not!" You exclaim feeling your cheeks burn violently. "I don't even know him, how could I go with him?"

"I don't know, Miguel said he saw you looking out the window when they left."

"I was just curious, nothing more... I'm going with Jorge so he can teach me how to use this." You change the subject so he doesn't keep asking questions and leave before he opens his mouth again.

"Did Guillermo give you a gun too?" That's the first thing Jorge says to you when you greet him.

"He wants us all to learn how to defend ourselves so...here I am."

"You're much more useful with the meds, you shouldn't be carrying a gun."

"I think he's right, if there really are people out there who might come around and not be nice we should be able to defend ourselves against them, there are a lot of people here who can't even move. Come on, I don't think it's that complicated."

Actually it wasn't, you just had to have some patience and aim, also ammunition was limited so you couldn't afford to waste it just like that.

"Hey, honey, you once said you were taught to shoot a crossbow, right?" you roll your eyes, you hate it when Guillermo calls you that, but you try not to make a big deal out of it because the rest of the question gets your attention more.

He has a bow with him, a competition bow, with several arrows to reload it, black in color, pretty nice, you have to admit. Daryl never taught you to shoot his crossbow, he only taught your sister, as if it was an intimate and romantic gesture between them, but you had always been good at watching and maybe, secretly, you learned to shoot with a bow, although your father wasn't very happy to pay you for those lessons.

"It doesn't have many arrows but we can make a foray down to the sporting goods store, maybe there's some left, but for now he'll be able to help you practice."

"Thank you Guillermo." You smile warmly.

You have always known that your partner's feelings are something more than friendship, but you have always been clear with him, you would never take advantage of it for your own benefit, ever since Michael died because of those things, your libido towards men seems to have disappeared, you could appreciate that they could be attractive and charming, but your body didn't react to them, they were simply your family, nothing more. You take the bow to examine it more closely, you test it in your hands, pull the string to make sure it is not damaged and check the arrows, they also seem intact.

In the small shooting range that Jorge prepares to teach you how to use your weapons, you prepare a target to be able to recover your technique, which you don't need too much time.

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

The camp has become a real mess, Merle took the van, which has forced them to run back in the middle of the night with their guns on their backs. Shouts and gunfire alerted them halfway up the hill picking up the pace.

Ed is dead, Daryl doesn't care too much, that man deserved to die sooner or later, he was a scumbag who beat his wife and God knows what was going through his mind when he touched his daughter, several more died, Daryl doesn't even know what their names are, Jim has been bitten and is ready to split his head open with a pickaxe, but again Rick stops him by putting a gun to his head.

To be honest, what hurts him the most is seeing Amy, lying on the ground, her neck torn, Andrea wracked with pain, unable to end it, unable to say goodbye to her.

For a second, his mind played a trick on him, the two sisters replaced by you and your sister, both of you lying on the ground, becoming those things. He grunts looking away, shaking his head.

"We have to end this." He says to Rick. 

"Andrea won't let us get close." Carol insists.

"I'm not talking about getting close, fuck I could hit her from here without aiming. If she turns into that thing..."He can't finish the sentence, a gunshot is heard behind them that makes him cringe.

Everyone sees that Andrea has given Amy an end, finally, the crying consumes her, but she is aware that it's for the best, that turning into one of those things would no longer make her, her sister. Without a word from anyone, leaving Jim to rest in the trailer, Rick is ready to return to the city to the CDC in search of a cure. He's not even sure if that can exist, but for some reason he wants to believe the man's promises.

The place is not a panacea, but it allows them to eat, to relax, to enjoy their surroundings like no one else has for months. People get excited at the idea of a hot shower, even Daryl likes the idea, but food is a priority and Daryl feels his stomach clench as he sees the kids smile with breadth and excitement, their stomachs finally full as they deserve, he always made it a point to bring food to camp, that no one would suffer, but sometimes it was harder than others.

He feels his body relax and can't help but smile with amusement when Carl winces as he tastes the wine. His heart leaps inside his chest like it hasn't for a long time.

"Booya!" he howls plethorically and smiles when everyone shouts with him.

Of course at no time did he ever think that this place would become a trap, almost a tomb. 

****

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To be Continued...

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Hope you liked it!!

See you in the next chapters!

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Taglist: @green-eyedladywrites @minervadashwood @livingdeadblondequeen @bringinsexybackk69 @graniairish

[starlessskies94]

Consequence (Joel Miller x OC)

Summary: What if Joel survived his injuries from the Abby and Fireflies attack but ends up with really bad amnesia. He can’t remember his wife, Ellie, or the Outbreak; only before. How will his family bring back the man they once knew?

Pairing: JoelMiller x OC

Note: I apologize it's been a while since my last chapter, but we're back at it now. Hope you enjoy this latest chapter. I was a little unsure of it. Also, I have two chapters in mind that are next to come but I wanna let you guys decide which you want first…do we want to check in with Ellie and Dina first or our boy Joel?? Let me know!

Chapter Twenty-One

Ada’s heart drummed in her chest as she watched the girls run for it. She prays they make it somewhere safe before she's pulled back to reality by Tommy's booming voice.

“There’s too many of em’! He yells over the chaos; they keep coming in force, screeching and screaming at them as they charge. Hands twisted into claws, lash out at them. They’ve run out of ammo, and they’re left with only the melee of blunt objects found in a scramble to survive. Tommy swings the plank of wood in his hands, stomping savagely at the skulls of those that fall upon impact. All the while Ada flails with a blunt axe; long beyond repair. She doubts it’s strong enough to cut through wood let alone bone, but she fights back regardless as it’s all she has left.

The horde grows both in size and aggression; until eventually there’s just too many of them to put down. Ada is tired and her arms burn from overexertion; she flinches as a hand grabs her upper arm and pulls her harshly to the side. It takes a moment to register that it’s Tommy.

“You go! I’ll hold 'em off as long as I can to buy you some time!” He pants; his exhaustion beginning to take over. But Ada is quick to snatch her arm away from his grasp. “Not a chance in hell I’m leaving you here alone!” She doesn’t miss the flash of panic in his eyes as he lashes out against a clicker stumbling towards them. The sound is overwhelming, the squeals and heartwrenching shrieks, enough to make the ears bleed as the horde never ceases. They’re running out of time and energy. They need to move soon and as their eyes meet, they know there’s only one option they have left if there's any chance of them surviving.

Run…

Without a second of hesitation, they bolt, holding onto one another’s hand like it's a lifeline as they take off. The horde is quick to follow, the runners picking up their pace and charging up behind them. The clickers follow suit as they are spurred on by the sound of stomping footsteps. The two run as far as they can. Their legs burn and the adrenaline floods their blood, every muscle cries for them to stop but they resist, pushing through the pain. Blood runs cold when the ground shakes and they hear an all too familiar roar echo no more than a few metres behind them. A bloater. A cloud of spores is hurled towards them; landing far too close for comfort. It hits a few runners in its path but the monster pays no mind to injuring his own. His only goal is to destroy those who disturbed his slumber. It chargers as the sidewalk crumbles underfoot; arms reaching out to claim his prey but Tommy is quick to pull Ada towards him as the bloater falters past, missing his target. They make their way around the exterior of the QZ walls; Ada’s eyes catching sight of a guard tower high up by the top of the wall. With a tip of her head, Tommy’s with her in a second as they veer their course towards their safe haven. They find a second wind to push through, urging their tired feet to pick up their pace. Finally reaching the ladder leading to the walkway; the younger Miller gives his sister-in-law a boost up onto the broken ladder before she reaches down to help him up beside her. Tommy wastes no time in kicking away what remains of the ladder then turns to join Ada. They both make their way across the walkway and into what remains of the guard tower.

It's cramped, no bigger than a small shack. Pieced together from an old shipping container turner on its side. The tin roof is rusted and dented, and bullet holes pierce the thin walls. No doubt a result of the uprising overpowering the Fedra guards once posted here. Long ago looted and abandoned. Any electricity that once powered the lights and radio had clearly burned out over at least a decade ago. The two peer out of the small window below at the horde gathered underneath them. Evidently confused as to how their prey managed to escape them. But neither care. They are safe and that’s all that matters. They both take a seat on the floor; taking the time to rest and reaccess their situation.

“That was too fucking close.” Tommy rasped, running callous hands across his tired face. “Whattda we do now?” The air was thick and heavy as she asked the question. The echos of infected still present not far below them. The older man huffs out a heavy sigh before answering. “Not much we can do until this horde decides to move on, best guest would be to wait it out and move after sundown when it’s quiet. We can make our way into the QZ then and try to find the girls.” He suggested. Ada didn’t like the idea of waiting that long to find Ellie and Dina but knew logically that Tommy was right as she nodded solemnly in agreement. She leads her head back against the wall and takes a moment to breathe, her exhaustion hitting her in force like a train crashing upon full impact. Her eyes feel heavy but her attention is pulled back towards her brother-in-law. She notices he’s fidgeting with his empty gun. Keeping his hands busy by pulling apart the pistol and putting it back together; she knows there's no purpose behind the action as they’re both well aware they’ve no bullets left to load. He’s got something playing on his mind, but from their many arguments and spats; she’s a little reluctant to ask. She notices after a moment or two that his clothes are stained with blood. Some his own, though most of it belonged to infected he’d put down. His forehead is bleeding from a deep gash; that has begun seeping into his brow.

She slips off her backpack and takes out her first aid kit, sheepishly leaning towards him with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a clean rag to clean it. He looks at her puzzled until she gestures towards his head. “You got a cut across your forehead.” She explains to his silent question.

He nods in gratitude then focuses on dabbing some of the liquid onto the rag before pressing it to his forehead; wincing slightly as the solution stings against his wound. “Thanks.” He utters before the heavy silence settles back between them. She watches silently; he finishes cleaning his wound, placing the soiled rag down by his feet. Neither speak or move. Both are tired and she can feel her mind racing with thoughts, worries for Ellie and Dina. Fear and dread if the infected take too long to leave them be. After an hour had passed Ada and Tommy still hadn’t spoken.

The younger Miller was getting antsy as he leaned over the window ledge to check if the coast was clear yet. Only to then slump back down in a frustrated huff which clearly tells her it wasn’t. He leans his head back against the wall; more sighs leave him as his patience wears thin. She lets the tiredness overtake her as she closes her eyes and starts to doze only to start awake when Tommy’s voice finally breaks the quiet.

“Look Ada I’m sorry. I know these past few weeks I ain’t exactly been easy to be around.” He says without looking at her. Eyes still aimed towards the ceiling. She snorts a bitter laugh at his words.

“That’s one way of putting it I suppose.” she bites back.

“Yeah okay, I was an ass.” he admits reluctantly. She scoffs with a smirk, leaning back with crossed arms.

“And argumentative, petty, annoying, not to mention childish…” she’s risen to her feet, pacing as she continued to her list. Tommy’s not far behind, jumping to his and stomping into the middle of the small room, intentionally blocking her path which only irks her further. “Alright, you’ve made your point. I know there’s no excuse but I’m worried about finding Joel-”

“And I’m not?!” She growls in return.

“No that’s not what I mean. The truth… is all of this is my fault, Joel’s injury, the attack. It's my fault.”

That stops her dead. Her words stuck in her throat as her eyes widened at him. Brows creased in confusion.

“What? How do you figure that??” Tommy doesn’t answer straight away. He turns away from her. Almost afraid to say the words out loud. She notices his shoulders tense; a hand running through his hair and a heavy sigh deflating his whole frame that seems to sag in sadness.

“I changed the patrol. Joel wasn’t even supposed to be heading out until later that day but I pushed and made him go. He even mentioned that you weren’t happy about it. I should’ve told him right then and there to turn his ass around to go home.”

She sniffs and sighs as a heaviness is released from her chest. She looks him in the eye as she contemplates her words. Knowing that she needs Tommy to hear her when she speaks.

“Tommy…” She utters to grab his attention, he’s staring at his feet as his guilt evidently weighs him down. “That’s ridiculous. You didn’t know what was going to happen. You know as much as I do that you’re never safe out here. No one can ever guarantee that they’ll make it home. That's just the world we live in. That's the reality of it.”

He shakes his head in defiance. “But I was too trusting Ada. Sure we were overrun with a horde and there was a storm coming in but following that woman…going in blind like that; it was stupid and reckless. Joel and I should have known better. We do know better. He knew better and I told him to relax and stop worrying so much. We’ve helped people like that in the past and it was never a problem.” His lips snarl and his nostrils flare as his voice drops. Anger simmering as he thinks back. “But those fuckers…” he hisses, his voice laced with hatred. “I could feel it in the air the second we walked in the damn place and I hesitated and it nearly got my brother killed. I should’ve listened to him. I should've listened to my big brother and I didn’t. If we can’t find him or we do and he’s dead or…worst…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for it.”

He pulls away when she tries to comfort him, snatching his arm away before she can reassure him. Tommy sniffs harshly as he clears his throat, his arm reaching up to wipe at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. It’s only then that Ada realised; this was the first time she’d ever seen Tommy cry in all the years she’d known him. She’d always known he was slightly softer than Joel or perhaps Joel had just been better at hiding it than Tommy. During those years living in Jackson; it’d given the two time to mend their broken relationship. In the end, it’d made them closer than ever; even more so than they’d been as kids. They each had their brother's back and she knew both men valued family above all else. She nudges him gently to get his attention.

He wipes his eyes; leaving them red and bloodshot. Ada’s heart aches for him.

“Tommy listen to me; no one is to blame okay? I don’t care how we got here, the only thing that matters is finding and bringing him home.”

“But he left because of the shit I said. Maria was right, I shouldn’t have told him like that.”

Ada shrugs and smiles in spite of herself, giving him a reaffirmed pat on the arm.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I mean all this, everything that's happened…” she gestured wildly as Tommy smirked sadly at her chaos.

“It’s all just a big fucking mess.” She finally decides as Tommy barks a laugh at her words. “Well, you ain’t wrong.” She smiles widely at him, nodding finally satisfied.

“But it’s all gonna be fine. I have to keep telling myself that because I won’t accept anything else. So you can wallow or you can join me in my hard-headed denial.”

Tommy stands with hands rested on his hips as he pretends to think it over. Damn this woman and her stubbornness. Even now he can still see why she and Joel ended up together. And if there were anyone more determined to get their man back; he was sure in hell they’d never known Ada Miller. He smiles with regained determination in his eyes “Alright sis, I’m with ya. Grab your shit and let's find the girls.”

[revlyncox]

The Shepherd's Prayer 2023

Embracing the diversity of belief and the diversity of spiritual practice among Unitarian Universalists, we can still say that there is value in a deliberate and spiritually connective practice that reinforces positive intention. May we pray with courage. May we pray with love for the incarnate. May we pray with sincerity.

Today we’re talking about simplicity in spiritual practice, and how that simplicity can give us room for surprises, reversals, or respite. This time of year can be a wild ride, whether you are buffeted by the surprise deadlines and commitments that pop up between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day, or by the whims of the market, or by official actions that target vulnerable people, or the stress of being human, or just by being present to the transformational power of the season. One of the ways to cope with all of that uncertainty is through spiritual practice, including but not limited to prayer. In some ways, spiritual practice puts us in a vulnerable position, one where we might need to acknowledge that we don’t control the universe, or one where we admit that we need help, or one where we dare to hope. That takes courage. When I was a teenager, there was an elder in my community who modeled this courage.

Fear Not

I settled into the folding chair, straining my eyes under the fluorescent lights in the church social hall. The accordion walls and room dividers crossed paths to form four classrooms. My brothers were doing arts and crafts in the religious education building. I had “graduated” from the children’s program, so I “got” to choose an adult class for the new Learning Community Hour. I looked around at the adults, all at least twice my fifteen years.

A woman I will call Florence led the class. She had been a fixture in the congregation for as long as I could remember. She invited us to open by repeating the Lord’s Prayer together. I sat right next to her, so I heard her clearly as she started to pray.

I never realized until that moment that Florence used INFLECTION as she prayed. I had learned this prayer by rote. I had always heard the line break in the middle: “Thy will be done/ On earth as it is in heaven,” but she went right on through, “Thy will be done on earth.”

Florence said the prayer like she meant it, not like she was reading words off a page. She sounded like she really thought the name was hallowed.

I cocked my head to look at Florence. I had always thought she was a calm, respectable person. I had never known her to erupt into fits of religious fervor. Could it be that this pillar of my mainline, liberal, Protestant church was a fanatic?  My ears roared with fear of this small woman with a big prayer.

Luckily, I did not react out of my fear in that moment, but sat through my discomfort. And, in later years, I lived and learned about neighbors with all kinds of religious and spiritual traditions. I learned to appreciate it when someone shared a moment of prayer that gave comfort. I eventually tried it for myself. I learned to love the physicality of speaking words of prayer or meditation, and letting that sensation awaken my heart and soul. 

It seems like every once in awhile those of us who find value in organized religion find it necessary to remember the value of disorganized religious experience. We gather in religious communities in order to be held accountable, lest our spiritual practices become stale and meaningless. In this morning’s story, the scholar is reminded by the shepherd that the prayer of the heart is the true prayer. It brings comfort and hope to all who hear it. The prayer completed without care is a word without wings.

At this point, I want to stop and do some translating. This is a pluralistic community. We have a lot of ways of expressing our Unitarian Universalism. Some practices are contemplative, like chanting or meditation. Service is very important in our tradition, and I know many here concentrate on service as their prayer. As I think about the UU’s I know, I can count the practitioners of at least a dozen embodied traditions: Tai Chi, Yoga, Aikido, sacred dancing, labyrinth walking, and others. Some of us pray to god or goddesses or a divine force, others don’t find ideas like god or divinity useful. For today, let’s try defining prayer as a deliberate practice that reconnects us with the source of blessing as we understand it and that reinforces positive intention. Whether it’s community service or Yoga or talking to god or chanting or any other practice, prayer is a deliberate and spiritually connective practice that reinforces positive intention.

Another way I’d like to make room in this discussion is by saying that, in prayer, it is often a good idea to let go of outcomes. In prayer or meditation or other kinds of spiritual practice, we can express a hope, but even the most faithful do not get exactly what they pray for every time. It’s a spiritual practice, not a vending machine. Prayer, for me, is a way of opening up awareness, holding people and the planet in love, and reconnecting with the understanding that I am held by the Source of Love. Whether or not you believe that God or the Universe makes changes in response to requests made in prayer, spiritual practice changes us, and changing us can help us get ready to change the world in positive ways. Prayer helps me to notice and act on opportunities to be better, to do better, and to organize with other people doing the work of justice and compassion.

Connection with transcendent mystery and wonder comes to us in many ways. Sometimes we cultivate it by a regular spiritual practice. Sometimes that connection comes to us spontaneously, such as in nature or while listening to sacred music. The prayer of the heart seeks out and draws from the source of blessing as we understand it to be.

Love the Incarnate

Did you hear a change recently in the ambient music all around you? Advent doesn’t officially start until next week, but the last gates of restraint on winter holiday music opened up on Friday. We’re going to hear about Christmas whether we like it or not. So you might have been reminded recently of another story of shepherds who were out in the fields, “keeping watch over their flock by night.” 

In both the nativity story and with the folk from this morning’s wisdom tale, shepherds represent simplicity. They are people we can identify with: they have jobs, they don’t necessarily understand what’s going on most of the time, they feel vulnerable to the elements.

In the nativity story, the shepherds find transcendent wonder. They are both inspired and terrified by the angels. A sense of awe and wonder can spur us to action. In the cast of the shepherds, their course of action leads to a human baby in a trough usually used for animal feed. And this is the pinnacle of their religious experience.

This is what I mean by surprises and reversals. To be connected with a spiritual life is to be open to the possibility that we might be wrong, that we might have something left to learn, that the foundations of what we have assumed about the way the world works might be turned upside down. Those who are learned may be ignorant in some important ways. Those who are powerful may yet yield to a reconciliation with the people. The last shall be first. The physical world is not lower or less holy than the unseen world. 

The incarnate world, the embodied world of babies and domestic animals and shepherds and fields, is divine. The shepherd in the folk story notices the divinity of wool, a grassy field, a clear stream, and the starry night. Direct experience with the physical world inspires the shepherds in both stories. When I remember to connect with the physical world, I am inspired to give thanks for that sense of wonder.

The prayer of the heart is a grounded prayer. It fosters a love affair with the physical world, a sense of transcendence rooted in immanence. The prayer of the heart teaches us to love the incarnate.    

Pray like you Mean It

Flour and salt and water squish through our fingers, being transformed from pantry items into a craft project. My partner is telling me about the Sunday School curriculum she’s writing on prayer.

“There’s this idea in Judaism about kevah and kavanah. Kevah means the set text of a prayer, the words as they are written in the prayer book. But the words of the prayer, the mechanics, are only half of it. There’s also kavanah, the intention. You mean to do the practice, and you’re actively engaged in it. I’m going to have one bowl with crusty, dry salt dough. That dough has a lot of kevah. The salt and the flour represent structure. Another bowl with goopy, slimy salt dough has a lot of kavanah. The water represents a spiritual intention, lots of overflowing love. If you mix the two together, you get dough that’s not too dry and not too goopy.”

I had heard before of kevah and kavanah, and it hadn’t occurred to me that it was a useful concept for most people, including third-graders. But why not?  The balance between structure and spirit is a dynamic that affects a lot of us.

Spiritual teachers like my family and other loved ones remind me to notice where I am on that balance. I look back on times in my life when I didn’t want to conform to a method or open myself up to a faith community, I just wanted to have my groovy personal experience with whatever spiritual experiment that was bringing me comfort or fun. I could have used more kevah in those moments to help me stay grounded in responsibility. I can look back at service projects, martial arts classes, and rituals when I just wanted to get the technique right or rush through the motions, not allowing the experience to settle into my heart and soul. I could have used more kavanah in those moments.

Some days I need one more than another. In meditation, in gardening, in expressions of gratitude around the dinner table, sometimes my spiritual practices are more focused on structure and sometimes my practices are more infused with intention. There are days when my heart is too heavy to be fully present. On those days, I hang on to the structure. Keeping up my practice on uninspired days opens the way for those other times, when the intention of the prayer affects my outlook on life and allows me to appreciate the interdependent web.

If I have too many days in a row of all kevah and not enough kavanah, I start to get cranky. I forget about cooperating with the natural flow of things. My back droops with the weight of resentment. My body tenses as I cling to ideas and goals that have outlived their usefulness. My throat closes up, guarding against the eruption of laughter.

When that happens, I might reconnect with kavanah again by remembering Florence and her heartfelt prayer. I learned from her that praying from the heart shines like a multitude of angels. And just when I’m sore afraid, I remember: Have courage. Love the incarnate. Pray like you mean it.

I spoke earlier about all of the ways Unitarian Universalists pray. If you walk a labyrinth, walk like you mean it. Be mindful of your intention to walk in the ways of the UU tradition. If you chant, remember that your voice is joined with others in this congregation. If service is your prayer, remember that service is your prayer, and that you have a faith community that backs you up. Whatever your practice, pray like you mean it. Let your prayer be simple and true. Let the words and actions bring comfort and hope to all who witness them. So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

[manawari]

There was a new student in school.

A month after Sung Jin-woo resumed his studies in school, he discovered there was a transfer. He speculated that she or he must be in the same class as him, considering how loud his classmates had been chattering about the new addition. But as someone who was never captivated by such a topic, he delved into the textbooks on his desk and flipped to another page, resting his cheek on his gloved hand.

In a vague whisper, he could hear Igris reminding him of the upcoming mathematics quiz and advising him to check his notes. The monarch sighed and flickered his hand to silence the knight. At this point, he realized his mother's pestering was easier and better than Igris' constant reminding him of his studies as if his life depended on it.

Now, it was Beru whose voice was meddling in his ears. Tank even roared.

Good Lord. Jin-woo groaned.

His teacher's voice finally graced his mind. He lowered his book, only to pause midair when his eyes caught something at the front.

"Everyone, I'd like to introduce our transferee," the old lady gestured her hand to the younger one next to her. She flashed a smile at the student. "State your name, my dear."

The girl nodded and faced the class. Her hands were tucked behind her as she bowed. "I am Cha Hae-in. Please to meet you all."

A smile gently formed on his face.

[ Ack~~ my Liege! It's her! ]

[ It's Lady Hae-in! ]

[ She still looks as graceful as before. ]

[ About time your paths have crossed, my sovereign! ]

Jin-woo ignored his shadows as he watched her walk past the students to settle on the empty desk next to the window. Only a row ahead of him. It was no surprise that there had been many eyes diverted to her. He could tell her posture relaxed when she finally sat down — gaining a handful of attention had never been her cup of tea since the very beginning.

Though a small part of him wished she could've glanced at his direction.

Sure, he had plans to meet her in a natural way in the future. . . But he did not expect that day would come quick. He didn't even know what should he say to her first.

Hi! Remember me? We were both hunters before and you told me how nice my smell was. — no, of course he would not say those words. Unless she had those memories back.

I run in the field too, so wanna race with me? — too casual for his taste.

Hae-in seemed to be growing popular among their peers in an instant. Not just how well she answered every question those teachers had given her, but also how kind she acted toward the other students, always having that smile on her face in spite of the jitters under the mask

And here was Jin-woo, only watching from his seat.

His shadows had been growing quite frustrated at how he still had not approached her. Let alone having their eyes meet.

But the second before they did, he always lifted his textbook to his face.

He was such an idiot. . . It wasn't like she had changed because of the timeline. That pure, heart of gold huntress was right there. Living with no bargain to fight for her life. The Cup Of Reincarnation had given him another chance to form a bond with her in a way he was sure nothing would tear him away from his loved ones this time.

His promise.

His promise to see her again. . .

She may not remember that moment, but it won't stop him from wanting to fulfill it as it was also a promise to himself back when he was out battling the monarchs.

There was still time. As long as he won't slip that opportunity away.

"Woah! That's a whole new record!" Gushik exclaimed, staring at the stopwatch in his hand.

Jin-woo chuckled. Next to him, Younggil was panting like a dog, only a matter of time before his knees couldn't take it anymore.

"Don't be so surprised anymore, Gushik. Be surprised if the little man surpassed our golden boy." Choi Taewoong snickered.

"Pfft~ yeah, it'll be the end of the world of that— OH GOD! IT'S CHA HAE-IN!" Gushik gasped. One of his teammates smacked his shoulder to keep his voice down.

"Where?!" Younggil suddenly rose up.

Taewoong followed his gaze across the field, spotting the blonde strolling the area alone. He grinned. "You bastards are lucky for having her in the same class. I hear many guys are trying to get her autograph, is that correct?"

"Yeah! Sadly, she always refuses in kind," sighed Younggil. "The longest communication I had with her was when she picked up my notebook and told me how good my doodles are."

And oh, besides those things, Hae-in had captured many attention among the guys in the class as well. It took every ounce of willpower for Jin-woo to not step in and make an inappropriate first impression. Luckily, Hae-in managed to deal with them fine — and by 'fine', he meant the times she got the boys running away or apologizing for disturbing her.

There was no denying he felt satisfaction in his veins.

It was never easy to grab her full attention after all.

"Earth to Sung Jin-woo!"

He snapped out and found his acquaintances staring at him. "Yeah?"

"I was asking if you had gotten to talk to Cha Hae-in." Gushik said, deadpanned.

"Uh. . . " Jin-woo scratched his cheek. "No?"

"Wow."

Taewoong laughed. "Oh, I bet ya he will. Had this guy stole enough attention from the ladies? Ms. Cha shall fall under his spell in no time!"

Little did they know, it was him who had been under her spell long, long ago.

Jin-woo grabbed his bag from the bench and slung it over his shoulder. He decided to leave his teammates to their own devices. He had endured the next couple of minutes listening to their chatters, ranging from the upcoming preliminaries to estimating the chances of him being noticed by the famous athlete herself. It was quite a balderdash, but that was just who they were.

*Thud*

A book had dropped on the ground. Jin-woo adjusted his pace to pick it up and called for its owner. No reply. So, he took a couple of steps to tap her shoulder.

Then, a simple whirl of her head was enough for the world to drop into silence. This was the first time to meet her up close ever since she had introduced herself in front.

"I— thank you." She plucked her earphone out of her left ear, taking the book from his hand. "You're Sung Jin-woo, right? One of the well-known runners in this school."

[ My Liege. Your heartbeat is increasing immensely. ]

"Shut up." Jin-woo gritted his teeth at Beru's message.

"Pardon?" Hae-in blinked her eyes at him.

"Huh? Ah, it's nothing!" Jin-woo said. He cleared his throat. "Y— yes, I am Sung Jin-woo."

She smiled. "Please to finally meet you, Jin-woo."

Finally? So that meant she had been meaning to approach him the same way he had toward her?

"I. . . I could say the same thing." His lips curled into a gentle smile. "You've won a lot of competitions, correct? You did very amazing."

"That's— that's very sweet of you." Hae-in flushed.

Now's your chance. . . Jin-woo inhaled and continued. "What do you say if we should run together sometimes? That is, if you're free, of course."

"Sure thing!" Hae-in pulled herself back and cleared her throat. "I. . I would love to. When shall we begin?"

"Saturday. How does that sound?"

She chuckled. "I'll see you then."

"Looking forward to it." Jin-woo smiled. Wider than before.

[illustrious-rocket]

Find the Word Tag

I got tagged by @blind-the-winds for this game.

My words are egg, excited, end, everyone, and ebb.

Egg

Archer had trained them to be agile in combat, yet for all their work, Nekou’s abilities had grown to such a degree that they had little chance of catching up to her. She ducked and swayed out of their dual trajectories, causing them both to crash into the table and chair behind her. Houndoom soon recovered from the impact and lunged at her anew, only for her to meet him with a spinning kick directly to the abdomen. The great strength in her leg spiked Houndoom across the lounge and into Toxtricity, flooring them both. Nekou then turned her attention to Granbull, who by that point had risen from the wreckage of the booth he landed in. He took advantage of his proximity to sink his teeth into her arm, biting clean through her sleeve, but when she grinned instead of reacting with any sort of pain, he grunted in shock. What was he to do if even biting down on her body was for naught? He had no chance to consider his next move before she seized him by the throat and literally tore him from her arm, his fangs rending her flesh as they were yanked free. Those wounds healed as quickly as they came, however, and Granbull was left to helplessly flail as she lifted him into the air. Her eyes flashed even brighter, striking the Fairy-type Pokémon with one last spike of fear before she slammed him into the floor. Archer could almost literally feel his facade of bravado cracking like an egg as he watched Nekou effortlessly cast his Pokémon aside. The misgivings he’d managed to suppress to that point erupted into the open, contorting his face into a blank look of terror. Terror that only deepened when she turned to him, licked some of the blood from her arm and smirked in relish of his fear, as if the injury Granbull inflicted was nothing but a paper cut to her. “P-Perrserker, do something!” he stammered, remembering he still had one Pokémon immediately available. Backing away from Nekou as she slowly swaggered toward him, Archer started to say, “Thunderbo-” However, that order died before Archer could fully voice it, his pause brought on by a bump against his leg. Perrserker, having seen how easily Nekou overwhelmed Houndoom, Granbull and Toxtricity, opted to cower behind him instead of throwing herself into such a hopeless fight.

Excited

“There you go, Flaaffy! Thunderbolt!” With a snarl fueled half by cocky confidence and half by her compulsion toward fighting, Flaaffy jumped up and released an electric blast that rivaled Gyarados’s in intensity. The charge tore up and down through Gyarados’s serpentine body, making her thrash and roar in a fruitless attempt to shake it off. “There, that’s a clean hit!” Anabel exclaimed. Next to her, Amanda covered her own ears to protect them from Gyarados’s pained shriek. “If Olivia can keep that up, she might be able to get through this without too much trouble.” Thinking back to her review with Olivia from that morning, Nekou gently teased, “So you’re the one getting excited this time, huh? We shouldn’t get too far ahead of ourselves here, but she is doing a pretty good job.” “Tch…” Clair scowled, recognizing she’d put too much faith in Incinerate by itself. That was yet another of Lance’s lessons that she’d learned the hard way, never to put all of one’s expectations into a single move. And since she had to learn that lesson, Clair decided that Olivia had to as well. “Cut it down with Power Whip!”

End

One person he definitely wasn't managing to help calm down was Mitsumi. “I don’t have to hear that from you ,” she grumbled at him. “Every few years a guy thinks the world needs saving, puts together a team and makes it everyone else’s problem. This isn’t any different, and I’m sick of it.” “I think this time may actually be different,” Silva quietly commented. “Even though we know what Dark Matter is supposedly able to do, we don’t really understand its true nature, you know? It isn’t like anything in the International Police case files, except maybe the Ultra Beasts, and even then… none of the ones we know of sound anything like Dark Matter.” "How can you say that when Cyrus literally tried to erase and rebuild the entire universe?" The dispute had stirred up Mitsumi's memories anew, especially of her time in Team Galactic's clutches. Of being held in the underground laboratories beneath their headquarters. Of being brought to Charon, and having him tamper with her mind, all so she could be Team Galactic's ultimate warrior. It all tied together so well that it disturbed her. "Just… just like what Cyrus wanted to use the other Project Cortex members and I for, Polaris wants to end this world by using Azrael to destroy it. And like how Team Galactic had Dialga and Palkia, Polaris has… whatever the Forbidden Beast is."

Everyone

“I know, that thing they put on you hurts, doesn’t it?” Mitsumi wasn’t intimidated and continued to approach it. “If you want to take it off, calm down and come with me. I’ll help you get better so you won’t need that thing anymore.” The Pokémon snarled and tried to lunge at Mitsumi, but she still refused to flinch or show fear in any way. That was one lesson Cyrus taught her that remained useful, to project an image of strength to those she wished to send a message to. If Type: Full could understand that she was not going to submit to it out of fear, she believed it could understand her good intentions for it. Once she got within arm’s reach, she gingerly placed her hand on the limiter helmet. “There, there, you don’t have to keep suffering,” she said to the stunned creature. “Listen to me. I’ll take care of you. You can be another of my friends instead of a weapon.” Moving her hand downward, she scratched the fur under Type: Full’s chin and continued, “That’s right, you can relax. Come with me and you can learn to control the power they gave you.” Much to the shock of everyone in the lab save for Looker and Silva, Mitsumi’s words of empathy actually managed to get through to the Pokémon. It stopped thrashing, allowing the scientists to let go of the chains attached to its helmet, and lay down at Mitsumi’s feet. “Unbelievable!” Faba choked out. “To see such obedience, and for a child no less! Our hypothesis was that only the most powerful trainers here at Aether Paradise, the president, Professor Mohn, and of course myself, could control it!” “It’s not control,” Mitsumi answered as she continued to pet the Pokémon, “it just senses that it can trust me. I showed that I wouldn’t fear it.” Glaring at Faba, she added, “And I might be more than a few years younger than you, but if you want me to prove my strength to you, I will do it. Here at Aether Paradise. Today.”

Ebb

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. A perfect, cleansing balance that flushed out old misgivings from the body and replaced them with newfound optimism. For Anabel, her morning meditation on Olivine City's beach was a welcome relief. She'd taken up the practice around a year earlier on a recommendation from Amanda, but only tried it in fits and starts until more recently, when she began focusing more on committing to a routine. The multitude of events over the past several days weighed heavily on her, so the comforts of her meditation proved to be a welcome opportunity to clear her mind. "Nice and quiet," Anabel thought as she sat on the sand with her legs crossed and her eyes closed. Indeed, the beach was nearly deserted that morning, aside from a small group of fishermen and two trainers having a battle between their Marowak and Heracross in the distance. It was a solitude she well appreciated as she meditated, her deep breaths ebbing and flowing like the waves lapping at the shore. A cool, gentle sea breeze washed over her, rustling her hair ever so slightly.

[arielgobuss]

Here is the preview of the NEWEST chapter of Desiderium Intimum - "You have no idea" - the very first new-translated chapter ^_^

Hope you'll enjoy!

Ariel & Gobuss

"What are you doing in my room, Severus?”

Snape frowned. Piercing Harry with a stare that could cut glass, he hissed:

"In your ro...?” Snape stopped, gritted his teeth, and without thinking for a long time, he grabbed Harry by the shirt, pulled him up, pushed him against the wall and slammed the door.

When Harry finally managed to hold onto the wall, having the impression that the floor was shaking and trying to knock him off his feet at all costs, he remembered something very important.

"Waith a minh-ute... h-howh ih it poh-ssible thhat... thhat you h-can...shee me?" He reached for his hood and found that it was in place. "I h-guess myh Invisibility Cloak h-has expired," he muttered to himself.

He heard Snape's robes flapping when the man turned away from the sealed door and looked at Harry with a basilisk gaze.

"Potter! You're completely drunk!”

"That's not true," Harry protested resentfully, shaking his head to get rid of the spots dancing before his eyes. "I just drank a few... Butterbeers." He shut his eyes, because he felt as if he was on a carousel. "You should really... do... You should do somesi--somehi--mething with the floor, Severus. It’s shak-king terribly. And wav-hing. I don't think we are... on... on a ship?”

Harry had been on a ship once. He remembered how the Dursleys took him on a trip and how Dudley vomited all the time, and Uncle Vernon made a scene and demanded the immediate return to port. It was fun.

But the memories were broken by the furious face of the Potions Master's face that sailed into his view. Snape pressed him against the wall with such force, as if he wanted to sear him into it.

"Potter, explain to me what possessed you to stumble here in the middle of the night, completely exposed, to knock on my door, making enough noise to awaken the entire castle, and then settled down at my door, confusing it with your own bedroom? EVERYONE COULD HAVE SEEN YOU!” Snape roared it so loudly that Harry began to hear ringing in his ears.

"Not so loud…" he muttered. "My head...”

Now, the room began to spin even more. Why was Snape making so much noise?

Harry inhaled violently when he felt cold fingers tightening on his throat as if to strangle him, and he heard the furiously hissed words:

"Answer me!”

"I was going to my dormitory," Harry muttered. "I don't know why it suddenly turned into your office. It's a bit...strange, don't you think?”

"Wait a minute..."Snape's eyes narrowed even more. "You were going to your dormitory? Am I to understand that that pink-haired ignorant, who was supposed to watch you, allowed you to get drunk and then brought you to the castle in THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?” Snape's voice rose with every word, at by the end of it, it got so loud that it was making a hole in Harry's brain. "And instead of leading you to your room, she left you alone you and allowed you to wander through the corridors in this state?!”

"Don't shout so loudly, Severus..." Harry replied weakly, putting down his hands with which he'd tried to cover his ears. Snape let go of his neck, and suddenly finding himself with no support, Harry almost fell to the floor. With difficulty he managed to hold onto the wall and recover the balance.

Snape began to measure his office with long, enraged steps, as if trying to shake off his fury at least a little bit.

"How could the Headmaster allow this? How could he entrust the care of the students to the irresponsible, thoughtless idiot! I will report her! She won’t get away with it! She endangered you deliberately! As a teacher, she should have...”

"I missed you," Harry interrupted him. Snape paused and looked at him as if he had grown a second head. Harry leaned against the wall and stared at the floor. "Throughout the evening I thought... about you. But you were gone. Everyone was there. And they were emb… emrac... embracing. And did other things. And you were not there, so I... I missed you. I just wanted to get back to you. It was stupid that I went there in the first place. I could have... been with you. Do other things. Be together.” For a moment there was silence, and the remnants of Harry’s mind began to wonder what that meant. The major part of his mind was completely drunk, though, too focused on the uncontrolled airing of his feelings that kept spilling over his lips. "Next time I'll take you with me. Yes. I'll do it. And everything will be fine. And I will not feel so alone.”

"It didn't look as if you were feeling that much lonely, Potter." Cold, distant words interrupted his discourse, and forced him to break away from his train of thought for a moment and focus on Snape, who was studying him from under his half-shut eyelids.

Oh yes, Ginny... he remembered. He also remembered that he had been making excuses for this particular occasion, but now they all seemed kind of stupid. Anyway, they slipped his mind. He tried to focus and remember what he could about the incident with Ginny. And tell everything he knows. The whole truth. The truth is probably the best excuse.

"But... That was only one dance. She forced me. She brought her boyfriend and some foolish girl who kept staring at me.” It wasn't a good answer, judging by the sudden outburst of rage in the black eyes, but Harry was too drunk to notice. "Well, and she wanted — this idiot, Anastassy or whatever... She wanted me to dance with her. So I went to Ginny and asked her to get her away from me. But Ginny told me to dance with her and began to teach me how. But I didn't want to! Except that I was doing so well, and I imagined... I imagined that it was you and not her. I mean that you were her.” Judging by the sudden drop in temperature in the room and the goose-bumps on his skin, he jus made everything worse. "I mean..." He shut his eyes, trying to piece together the swirling madly thoughts, but he wasn't able to do so. "I saw you and thought I was dancing with you. I saw you, when I closed my eyes. I wanted you to be there. And then I opened my eyes and you really were there. I was afraid of what you’d think. I tripped. And she fell on me. But I pushed her away! Did you see that I pushed her away?" He looked up with hope at Snape, who was watching him attentively. At the time Harry was mumbling his explanations, Snape went to him and now stood before him, studying his widened, alcohol-misty green eyes, as if subjecting him to analysis.

For a moment there was silence. All the senses of Harry screamed that he refrain from moving and speaking.

"Good," Snape said at the end of it, and Harry felt his whole body loosen with relief, though he slowly forgot what had made him tense in the first place. "But limit your contacts with Miss Weasley to a minimum. I don't know whether you are able to comprehend anything I say to you when you’re in this state, but certainly you remember my warning? If I catch you one more time with her alone, I will not listen to any explanations. I will not listen to anything.”

Harry nodded and put his head on Severus’ chest, because it occurred to him that his head was spinning. Somehow, for a moment, he forgot about it when looking at these two black tunnels.

"Well... that's good that it's good. It's... I'm tired...” he broke away from Severus. "I'm going to take a shower," he announced after a moment and walked unevenly towards what looked like a door. He moved along the shaky ground of the floor in an extremely technically simple way - he stared at the target he wanted to reach and looked at it until it began to get closer to him. Target, not Harry.

But this time it resulted only in him tripping over a foot of the desk chair, which he hadn’t seen, and he crashed down onto the floor.

He groaned, feeling that something crunched in his nose, which hit a hard surface. He felt a piercing pain that seemed to radiate up into his brain.

He raised himself on his elbows and discovered that he could see nothing. Pieces of broken glass and the frames of his glasses lay on the floor. He heard footsteps and soon he felt a strong pull on the shirt that lifted him and placed him on his feet.

"Potter, for the sake of-- How did you managed to get here at all?" Snape said harshly, touching Harry’s nose with his wand. "It’ll hurt. Episkey.”

Harry yelled and grabbed his nose, feeling another twinge of pain and blood flowing onto the lips.

"Ouch! It hurt!”

Snape rolled his eyes before he bent down for Harry’s glasses and casted another spell:

"Oculus Reparo.”

Carefully, he put them on Harry’s nose. Harry blinked and smiled gratefully. He didn't know why, but the gesture seemed so... sweet to him. Severus grimaced and pulled away.

"Come on, you stupid child." He caught his arm. "You can't go back to your tower in this state." After these words he pulled Harry into his chambers, and pushed him into a chair before walking over to one of the shelves.

"It stopped rocking that badly," Harry said, rubbing his face and smearing blood on it even more. “But everything is still spinning.”

Snape snorted, but didn't comment on that. After some time, he approached him, holding in his hand a glass of turbid, light cyan liquid.

"Drink it," he commanded, giving it to him.

"What is it?" Harry frowned.

"Something that’ll make you feel better.”

"But I feel good "Harry grinned. "Only the walls and furniture doesn't let me walk straight.”

"Don't argue with me, just drink it.”

"I don't want to." Harry put the glass on the table. "The last time you gave a drink to me, I felt worse, not better. I remember. A lot worse.”

Severus frowned and stabbed him with his razor-sharp look.

"Potter, don't make me use force.”

Harry caught hold of the handrail to get up, then swayed slightly as he looked defiantly at Snape.

"Don't you want to use... me, Severus?”

The man snorted and looked away.

"Yes, the blood smeared on your face and this stupid smile look very attractive.”

Harry grinned.

"Really?

Snape took out his wand and cast a spell on Harry's face, cleaning it.

"Stop teasing me and drink this potion at last.”

"And you just talk about the potion..." Harry sighed in exasperation, shifted closer and wrapped his arms around Snape's waist. "Why don't you want to use... me?”

"You're drunk," the man muttered, looking down at him with half-closed eyes.

"Last time this did not... stop you," Harry replied, grinning. "I liked it. We can do it again.”

"Potter, being used by somoene implies that it should be done against their will. You can't ask for it.”

Harry frowned.

"Oh, so do I have to pretend that I don't want it? Right. No problem. I will scream and beg you to stop.”

Severus bit his lip. It looked as if he stopped himself from smiling at the last moment after he heard Harry’s sincere, full of eagerness voice with which Harry tore through solidly constructed wall of righteous indignation. He sighed and grabbed Harry by the shoulders, trying to pull him away.

"Potter, I really have no time for this.”

"Do you know..." Harry tightened his arms around Snape with greater force, fearing that he might be pushed away, but not intending to give up without a fight. He looked up at him and saw that Snape was looking more and more annoyed with him. He licked his lips. "Everyone kept asking me… who I'd come with. And why I'd come alone. But they have no idea that I got you. And you got me. They don't know anything. And I was there all alone... all alone. And I thought about you. All the time. And... I wanted to... I wanted to..." He couldn't help it. The whole evening was like a nightmare. Everyone else was doing all these things and he could only dream of it. And now, when he was so close... So close...

He stood on his toes and clung to the cool body. He brushed the dark hair with his hand and he attacked Snape’s ear lobe with his mouth. He pressed close to him and began to greedily lick and bite at it. Severus stiffened for a moment and pulled away, surprised at the sudden sensation.

But Harry has decided not to give him even a moment to reflect and possibly respond. He slipped the other hand between their bodies and tightened it on the man's crotch, rubbing and kneading it.

"I want you… so much,” he whispered hoarsely, alternately kissing and licking the ear and the space behind it. Snape showed no desire to push him away, or murder him, and a distant part of Harry's mind took it as a permission. Besides, he felt now as if he was on a very fast carousel, which he couldn't stop. Or not wanted it. Blood pulsating in his ears, combined with the heat that flew to his lower abdomen and fueled it, didn't allow him to stop or think. All he felt was desire. "I want to... I want to..." he whispered between the fast, greedy kisses, placing them on Severus’ cold, long neck. He felt through the material of trousers that the man got hard. "I want you to... moan my...name..." He squeezed harder, pressing his lips into Snape’s collarbone and sucking.

But the only word that escaped from Severus’ mouth was an irritated:

"Potter!”

Harry winced.

"That's not my name..." He muttered. And then he felt fingers tighten around his wrists. His hands were roughly pulled away. Snape pulled himself away from him and held him at arm's length.

"Listen to me..." He said, sighing in exasperation.

Harry groaned with a sense of loss, and the heat was replaced with a sudden sting of cold, which made him tremble.

Snape doesn't want him. Nobody wants him. Then he'll leave... He'll go somewhere where no one will find him.

He tore his hands and not waiting for any reaction of the man, he moved in the direction in which he had hoped that there was an exit. But his short trip was immediately thwarted.

“Where are you going?” Snape grabbed him by the hood and pulled him back. Harry staggered and took a few steps back. The man grabbed him by the shoulders, set him in front of him and leaned slightly, looking at him with an extremely serious look. “Don't act like a child, Potter. First of all, you're drunk, and second of all, it's the middle of the night. Now it's not the time for that. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded gloomily, staring at the endless row of buttons on the front of the black robe. They blurred before his eyes. Why were there so many of them? And why were they spinning like that? Faster and faster and faster and...

He felt sick. He covered his mouth with his hand and leaned against Severus, feeling his legs giving out.

This time he was not pushed away. All he heard was a heavy sigh that touched his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying for the spinning to stop, and pressed his cheek harder against the rough robe.

The terrible feeling, as if someone was stirring a ladle in his stomach, slowly subsided. His rapid breathing calmed down. He moved his hand away from his mouth and wrapped his arms around Snape. He couldn't help himself. He loved it. He loved cuddling up to Severus and feeling his strong scent penetrate his mind. He loved listening to his heartbeat. He loved feeling so…safe. He also loved that Severus was taller than him. Much taller and much stronger. And Harry only reached his chin and he felt so... so... fragile. He loved being in his power, being dependent on him, feeling that Severus was there for him and took care of him. And that he no longer has to struggle alone with everything that was falling on his head. That he doesn't have to carry it anymore, because he has someone stronger and more powerful than himself who will help him and take away the burden that he had to struggle with all his life. Alone.

[horsegamesins-old]

unnamed oc story part 2 previous

Even though the rains from last night had left the undergrowth damp, it had not washed away the traveler's hoofprints. The path away from Firgrove only got more wooded and twisted the further we got away, but the tracks remained clear. I could hear Quicksilver sniff the air every now and then just to make sure, as we trotted along with haste. The woods around us slowly got more sparse the higher up we got. I could sense we were getting closer.

"Whoa!" Suddenly I was jolted forward when Quicksilver slipped over some rocks. He got up right away but barely avoided a bigger tumble. "You ok there?" I asked him. He took a couple steps back. "Yeah, just remembering why I don't like this place", he said, visibly nervous. For the first time in a while I took a proper look around. We were just about a horse's length away from the cliff, and far below us the rapids of the river roared their haunting song. Over in the distance, the volcano of Ashland loomed ominously. This place always made me feel uneasy, no matter how beautiful it was. "Look!" Quicksilver called out. I turned my head and saw a lone saddlebag by the bushline. I steered Quicksilver further from the edge and got off. "Wait here", I whispered. I got closer and picked it up. The side had a huge gash and there was barely anything left inside, it had probably been ripped off violently.

A howling in the distance broke the silence, and I felt shivers in my spine. Quicksilver hopped over to me. "You ready and fight some wolves or are we going to skidaddle?" he said, shaking. "What if they're there," I asked rhetorically. In the corner of my eye I could see Quicksilver stomping the ground. "Calm down you drama queen", I yipped at him in frustration, "You have a thousand pounds' worth of muscle and spite in you, it's the wolves that should be afraid!" I turned to face him and he put in his best effort to look as defeated as possible. "… I'm sorry", I sighed. I put my hand over his cheeck and pressed my forehead onto his. "I just, I don't want any more people to die out here." Quicksilver took a deep breath, then stepped away. "We better go then, I suppose", he said, worried.

The ground up here was barely safe for cantering, let alone a gallop, but we were booking it past the shrubs. He knew it as well as I did, if it really was wolves every minute was precious. There was faint growling in the distance, and I thought I could hear a distressed horse whinnying from the same direction. Quicksilver hopped over a bushes in one foul swoop, and I saw them. A mealy bay mare surrounded by three wolves, and behind her an injured girl. She was backed against some rocks with her horse trying her best to keep the wolves at bay. There was no time to think. I braced myself as Quicksilver charged the wolves, all of his prior hesitation was gone. The wolves skittered out of the way, growling and barking at us. One of them tried to nip at Quicksilver's front legs only to immediately regret it as it almost got it's skull kicked in. Realizing they were now against more than they bargained for, they backed off, and fled downhill into the woods.

After catching my breath again, we walked over to the stranger, who was clutching her right arm. Her horse had returned to her side. I tucked my ears away before approaching her "Are you hurt?" I asked the girl. She looked at me silently, shivering and tears in her eyes. The poor thing was covered in mud and blood. She slowly nodded and pulled up her sleeve, uncovering a gnarly bite wound. It hurt to even look at it. I rushed to grab a first aid kit from my saddlebag, and did my best to flush the wounds, then put a temporary bandage to keep it from bleeding. "What's your name?" I asked her. She seemed to have recovered from the shock enough to speak. "T-tonie", she answered with a a shaky voice, "my name is Tonie Axemoor, and this is Jello", she pat her horse, who had come to nuzzle her. "Thank you." "Don't thank me yet, we need to get you back to Firgrove", I said firmly.

I was glad she was conscious. Jello didn't look as scratched up as she was, but I doubted her arm was good enough to ride. "Can you walk?" I asked, more concerned. Tonie took a moment to gather herself, and while she managed to get up while leaning on the boulder, I could see her wince from the pain in her arm. I was surprised to see she was less than a couple inches shorter than me. "Will she follow us if you ride with me?" I asked Tonie and pointed at Jello, who was cautiously sniffing out Quicksilver. "She should, she doesn't wanna go anywhere without me", Tonie replied with a surprisingly chipper tone. "Okay, good", I sighed in relief, and hopped onto Quicksilver's back. "Come on now", I said and offered my hand. She grabbed it, and climbed on behind me. Jello was already a couple steps ahead of us, looking behind impatiently. "Hold on tight, we'll be in town before you know it", I tried to reassure Tonie, while she wrapped her arms around my waist for extra security. A little snort, and Quicksilver took off once again.