#sand and fire: the impossible dream

[loves0phelia]

Hi! I don’t know if you’ve watched part 2 of outer banks yet, and if you didn’t this request is a spoiler!!

Can you do JJ Maybank’s sister seeing him die and Rafe is just watching her break down and he’s comforting her while she cries in his arms? I’m sobbing over JJ right now 😭

Thank you!

Gone

Summery: outer banks season 4 episode 10/the anon

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: SPOILERS, death, grammar mistakes.

A/N: i also sobbed, i cant believe it and thank you for requesting love youuu.

The sandstorm hit suddenly. The air was thick, nearly solid with dust. You stumbled forward as the wind blew strongly, You screamed, begging JJ to come down before something terrible would happen but even if you pulled the scarf tighter across your nose and mouth every breath felt like swallowing shards of glass making it hard to speak. 

Everything was clouded and your goggles were smeared with sand dust. It was impossible to see your brother who was up high on that statue trying to find the blue crown you, the pogues and Rafe have been risking your lives for.

“Come down JJ!” You screamed as loud as you could, hoping he could hear you over the screaming wind. 

A surge of panic rose in you, he wasn't listening, only going higher and higher to reach the top.

“Hurry please!” You screamed again as the sandstorm was getting worse and worse. Squinting your eyes you could see JJ finally descending the statue after a while, carefully holding on to the rock.

“JJ, holy shit are you okay?” You rushed forward to him as he stumbled around frantically.

“I'm good! I'm better actually, I'm great. Look!” he yelled over the storm and held up the blue crown, it felt like a dream having it in front of you.

“No way, you found it” You both looked down at the dusty historical crown in silence for a second, sinking in it the victory that was so rare when it came to you and your twin.

“We got it!” He cheered, pumping his fist, jumping into place from all the adrenaline. The victory cheers didn't last long though, the next thing you knew shots were fired at you from the group who wanted to steal what was rightfully yours.

“Run, run, run” JJ shouted behind you as you ran through the sand blindly and desperate to find shelter.

The sandstorm roared with life around you, Yours and JJ's footsteps vanished almost as quickly as you made them, erased by the wind.

You coughed, your lungs stinging as you struggled to run down the stairs you had found leading inside the monument. 

But suddenly, a shadow appeared out of the storm. A strong hand gripped your forearms and in a sudden movement, your back was pressed on your “father's” chest, an arm around your neck holding on tightly, cutting your airflow and a sharp blade pressed into the side of your face.

“JJ!” you called out, trying to get out of his grasp.

“Let her go!” JJ shouted, his voice trembling with anger. He lunged towards you trying to rip you away from him but he only pressed the blade harder making you cry out. But Groff only shook his head.

You cried, struggling, and your heart pounding as Groff’s grip tightened. You fought against him, but his hold was unbreakable.

“You’re just like your mother,” Groff hissed, his gaze cold and unmoved. “Always standing in my way. Well, this time, you’re not going to stop me. Give me what I want”

“Let her go” He begged.

“If you had listened, we wouldn't be here JJ, you could have had everything. WE could have had the life we deserved as a family. All three of us. But now you get nothing. Nothing at all” Chandler pants like a maniac.

“I already have everything,” JJ says, shaking his head in disbelief. “I have everything I ever wanted. You want the crown? Sure, take it. I don't want it. Just let my sister go.”

“Give it to me, hold it out” He reached toward JJ for the precious object, his grip on you not loosening.

In a swift moment, an exchange was made. Groff grasped the crown, and JJ pulled you out of his arms.

“I got you” JJ breathed out with relief, like a weight was removed from his shoulders. He hugged you protectively. Holding your head against his shoulder like a shield. But then again, the victory was cut short.

“JJ, y/n” you were interrupted by the voice of your father, his call made both of you separate and turn to face him, JJ’s body still shielding you from further harm.

“It's a shame…you and I” You furrowed your brows and a gasp came out of your mouth when the sound of flesh being pierced rang out. 

“You should have given me the rope” Time was moving at a slow pace as the scene unfolded. Groff twisted the knife in JJ's stomach before pulling it out rapidly and running out into the desert.

"JJ!" You screamed, your voice raw with terror. You saw JJ stumble back, his hands flying to his side. Dark red blood was spreading through his shirt and across his fingers, and the sight of it hit you like a punch to the gut.

The world narrowed to the scene in front of you as you watched JJ fall, his face contorted in pain. 

“No, no, no” you cried, desperation thick in your voice.

You rushed to JJ’s side, catching him just as he stumbled. He looked up at you, his face pale and stained with tears.

“It's okay JJ, it's okay” You pressed into his wound, shaking terribly, sobbing when he let out a pained groan.

“No, please” you murmured, pressing your hand over the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding. “You’re going to be okay. Just stay with me, okay? Stay with me.”

“Hey, hey,” He whispered, his voice breaking. “Take care of the others for me, okay?”

“No! No” Your breaths shakes, your chest tight with sadness.

“I love you, y/n. You're the best sister anyone could ever have.” His gaze was beginning to drift, his eyes unfocused, and the strength in his grip was fading. Panic clawed at you.

“I love you, please don't go” you begged, but it was pointless he was already gone.

“No! No, no. Please! JJ, please” you shaked his shoulder weakly.

“John B!” You screamed, your chest burning from the lack of oxygen your lungs were getting.

“Pope! Rafe!” Your hands gripped your brother refusing to let go.

“Please JJ!” Your heart shattered completely, a part of you gone forever. Your brother, your twin, your best friend, the other half of your soul, gone. 

“Please” You pressed your forehead against him, your tears falling over the blood-soaked shirt.

The pogues came running towards you, sinking to their knees, calling out to him, crying, sobbing, mourning.

Everything in you gave out as you held onto him, you couldn't even fight when hands grabbed onto your shoulder to bring you away from your brother's corpse.

Your body fell limp into Rafe's lap. His hands held your body up as if he was your lifeline. 

“It's gonna be okay” He whispered against your forehead but you barely registered any of it, only sobbing, and screaming in pain against him. 

The Pogues stood in a tight circle, all eyes fixed on JJ as if somehow their stares alone could bring him back. But no one spoke, and in the heavy silence, the truth crashed over them, settling deep in their bones. JJ was gone.

Kiara’s shoulders shook, a small, trembling motion that quickly overtook her entire body. She fell to her knees, hands pressed to her mouth as she fought to hold back the sobs. 

Pope was beside her, his eyes frantically looking over the scene, he didn't want to believe any of it, as if it was a cruel joke.

John B stood, rigid.  His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white, and his jaw was set, teeth gritted as he tried to hold it all in, to keep the pain from breaking him apart. 

Rafe's arms wrapped around you gently, his hand resting on the back of your head as he let you fall into his chest. You buried your face in his shoulder, the grief and sorrow pouring out in waves as he held you.

He didn’t speak of the rivalry, the old wounds and the bitterness between your families; none of that mattered now. At this moment, all he saw was your pain, and he was there, his own heart breaking a little as he watched you crumble.

When the sobs finally subsided, leaving you weak and exhausted, Rafe pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his eyes filled with something you’d never seen in him before—softness, understanding. 

“It's okay,” he murmured, his voice a promise, his hand gentle as he brushed a stray tear from your cheek. “I’ve got you.”

You sat on the sand as a fire crackled in front of you, you had just buried him, the silence was thick nobody wanted to believe the truth. 

Your head pounded, even when you were softly laying on Rafe's legs using them as pillows. His calloused fingers gently rubbed your hair and you tried to concentrate on the movement in an attempt to forget about the previous moment but you failed.

“Groff said he was going to Lisbon” Rafe whispered above you, making your eyes open and looking up at him. His eyes met yours and he continued.

“If he was my friend or my brother… I would go after the guy that just killed him” The mention made your heart burn but he had a point.

“He's not wrong” Kie whispered, agreeing with your inner thoughts. You snuggled against Rafe's legs one last time before sitting up and leaning your head on his shoulder. 

“JJ would already be on his way to kill him if it was one of us,” you said and everyone's eyes snapped towards you, those were the first words you had spoken since it happened. 

“He'd get even,” John B added.

“Let's get revenge,” you said, your voice more confident than it was before, you felt a hand grasp onto yours and slowly you turned your head to face Rafe. He nodded and tightened his grip in a comforting way, never letting go.

Send request please xx

[flwrkid14]

Love, in All its Impossible Forms

Tim Drake loves with everything he has. He always has. And maybe that’s his fatal flaw—he doesn’t know how to hold back. He throws himself into it the way he throws himself into everything else: completely, recklessly, without a second thought for his own safety.

But love, for Tim, is never simple. It comes in forms that twist and tangle, leaving scars even as it gives him something to hold onto. And if you ask him, he could probably tell you exactly what kinds of love he’s experienced.

There’s love that is doomed.

Steph was chaos, energy, and unrelenting determination wrapped in a bright smile. She was Tim’s equal and his opposite all at once, and when he loved her, he did so fiercely, wholeheartedly. She didn’t just step into his world—she tore through it, unapologetic and unstoppable, showing Tim a version of himself that didn’t have to be so calculated, so controlled.

But their lives were chaos, a whirlwind of masks and missions, and when the dust settled, there was never enough left of them to make it last. Tim loves her in a way that feels like holding sand; no matter how tightly he grips, she keeps slipping through his fingers. And maybe that’s why he held on so hard—because he knew she’d never stay. Steph was never meant to be tamed, and Tim loved her too much to try.

Even when it ends, there’s no anger, no resentment. They don’t blame each other for the way things fall apart. They don’t have to. They always knew, deep down, that no matter how much they wanted to hold on, it was never meant to last. It wasn’t about a lack of love—it was about the world they lived in, the lives they led, and the way they could never quite fit together the way they needed to.

Steph was the love that burned brightly but couldn’t last, no matter how much either of them wanted it to. She was the fire he couldn’t hold onto, the storm he couldn’t contain, and the one who left her mark on him in ways he’d never forget. They were love, doomed from the start.

Then there's love that dooms them.

Kon wasn't just Tim's best friend—he was everything. A partner in every sense of the word. Loving Kon felt like second nature, so easy and so effortless that Tim didn't realize how deeply it ran until it was too late. Until Kon was gone.

When Kon died, it destroyed Tim. Grief didn't come in waves-it came in obsessions.

Tim couldn't let go, so he didn't. He turned to stolen data and secret labs, creating clone after clone in a desperate attempt to fill the void Kon left behind

It wasn't about moving on. It wasn't about closure. It was about holding on to the only person who ever made Tim feel like he could breathe, even when it was killing him to do so.

When Kon returned, whole and alive, it should have been everything Tim had dreamed of. But the shadows of what Tim had done lingered between them. The lengths he went to, the obsession that fueled him—it left cracks in the foundation of what they once were. Kon loved Tim, he always would, but part of him wondered if he'd ever been loved for who he was, or for what Tim couldn't let himself lose.

And Tim, for all his brilliance, couldn't figure out how to bridge the gap he'd created. He oved Kon with everything he had, but love born out of desperation carried its own weight, and he wasn't sure how to lay it down.

So they stayed in the gray space between what they were and what they could have been, bound by love so fierce it hurt, but too fractured to fully mend. They were doomed by their love.

Finally, there’s love that dooms anybody else.

Danny is chaos, but not the kind that breaks Tim—it’s the kind that grounds him. Danny exists between worlds, between life and death, and yet he’s more alive than anyone Tim has ever met. He doesn’t fit neatly into any box, doesn’t follow any rules, and yet there’s something about him that feels inevitable, like gravity or the pull of the tide.

Danny doesn’t ask for Tim’s sacrifices. He doesn’t need to be saved, doesn’t want Tim to burn himself out in the name of love. Instead, Danny challenges Tim to slow down, to stop trying so hard to hold the world together and just be. With Danny, Tim learns how to live in the moment, how to breathe without feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

It isn’t an easy love, but it isn’t supposed to be. It’s a love that demands courage, the kind that doesn’t come from donning a cape or taking a hit for someone else. It’s the courage to be vulnerable, to stop hiding behind plans and strategies, and let someone see every cracked, raw piece of himself. Danny is relentless in breaking down Tim’s walls, not to fix him but to show him that he’s worthy of being whole.

Together, they are something untouchable. Their love is an anchor and a storm, a lighthouse and the waves crashing against the shore. It’s a love so big, so consuming, that it leaves no room for anything else.

And that’s where the doom lies.

They are the kind of love that consumes the world around them, leaving it scorched and battered in their wake. Not because they want to hurt anyone, but because their connection is so fierce, so all-encompassing, that nothing else can survive in its shadow. They are the eye of the hurricane, calm and steady, while everything outside is chaos.

It’s the kind of love that makes people ache to touch it, to understand it, even as it destroys them. The kind of love that people will write stories about and linger in though, long after the last page has turned. Love, that will echo through time in whispers and legends. But no one will ever truly understand it, because no one else could ever bear the weight of it.

Danny is the love that makes Tim believe he might deserve to be happy after all. Together, they are the love that dooms anybody else—unapologetic, overwhelming, and utterly unforgettable.

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"The way to heal a heart." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

(Not my gif!)

When his heart can’t stand the pain of a loss, you discover why Daryl ignored you all those days. But there, you tell your husband the way his heart can heal.

A/N: Based on the conversation between Maggie and Daryl after Glenn's death. (Spoiler alert: also Daryl briefly threatening a poor guy for touching you, because I don't like things to get too serious TT–TT) Hope you like it. Thank you!

The small and cozy cabin loses the amber glow that the fire of the small chimney caused when Daryl throws the sand on the hot embers, extinguishing all the flames. Lying on the small bed, you watch silently as the place loses its color, but the heat is still impregnated in the air and on the walls, and you feel it as a little shelter for your husband and for you, far from the walkers and the world in general.

When Daryl reaches the bed, he kicks off his boots, taking off his vest next, his shirt and his pants, leaving them on the floor to get in the bed too, where the heat of his body wraps you as he puts his left arm around you, resting on his right side to stroke your belly under the covers.

Living there was good, but that wasn’t the reality and you two had to take a step to it, so tomorrow you two would go to the Hilltop.

“I wish I had said good–bye.” You say. King Ezekiel didn’t offer his help to fight against Negan, but you would always thank him for his help towards Daryl. “I think we should leave the Kingdom in the right way.”

Although Daryl didn’t like that the king hadn’t helped you all, he recognized Ezekiel’s gesture towards him.

“We can come back someday. Kids were crazy ‘bout ya.”

Even if you trained them to protect themselves during your stay, they kept the innocence within, intact and bright, despite how cold and grey the new world had become. But the future was uncertain for them and for you two, and you worry about what would happen next.

“Do you think we’ll be okay after all this?”

Daryl was never a person who thought of the future either, the difficulties of his life took him to live one day at a time, without great plans or big expectations. But he found you there, as a light of hope, and then he found himself wanting more. He didn’t dream of impossible things, but simply asking to have one more day with you.

“As long as we’re together everythin’ will be fine.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I want to.” He says, looking softly at you. His doubts and his negatives had consumed his life in the old world, but he had to find himself falling too deep to then realized that he wanted to live in this new one. “Close yer eyes, peach. We’ll leave early tomorrow.”

The hours pass when you fell asleep and it feels like being on a cloud, far from the fear of dying or losing your people. There is no heavy guilt on your shoulders, no recollections of who you are and who you had to become to survive, no walkers, no blood, without a world painted red. But suddenly, your heart starts feeling heavy, and your body sinks into a complete darkness, fear and weeping. Your closed eyelids move, trying to wake you up from that high fever, until finally, you do. You sit on the bed, taking a big breath of air, back in reality where the cabin is no longer warm, but then you realize the nightmare isn’t yours. It is not in your head, but in Daryl’s.

“Daryl, hey, wake up…” You shake his shoulder. Lying still on right left side, his body moves against the bed, his hair covering his face as he complained. “Daryl!”

The last push finally awakes him, and for a moment, Daryl finds himself looking to the void, in a place far away from there as he sits down too and breathes through his parted lips, his gaze lost and his chest rising and falling sharply.

“Hey, it’s okay, it was just a nightmare—”

“No… it was somethin’ else.”

“What?”

But Daryl remains silent for a while, never saying what it really was. The cool night air helps him to calm down, and Daryl finally comes to be himself after he was lost in his own memories.

“Ya should… lie down again.”

He looks at your side of the bed with his head down as he did when he was ashamed, and without saying anything else, he lay back down with his back to you. In that moment, you realize Daryl is suddenly far gone again, but you don’t want to force anything with him, so you just lay sideways too, your gaze fixed on the scars on his back.

It takes you some time to fall asleep, but the hours pass in a few seconds when you do, and then, it is day again: the birds are singing a sweet song, and it is time to leave. The muscles of your body are tense, and you find yourself staring at the wooden ceiling after you rub your burning eyes with your fists.

“Time to go, peach…” Daryl is standing next to the table, already dressed as he packs his backpack and yours. “Get yer pretty ass outta bed and get dressed.”

He seems to be in a good mood that morning, so you decide not to press him to speak and wait for him to do it first.

There are no walkers around the forest near the Hilltop, and the group of future archers had improved greatly in the previous days since you and Daryl got there. But when the afternoon falls slowly, there are only two people with you, a young man and a young woman, twins. They are the best in the group; they are the strongest too, especially since they are not afraid to fight for their freedom.

“Have you been married for a long time, (Y/N)?”

Sean is a good man, young, brave, handsome, determined, but blushes when Mary, standing in front of you two, chuckles to herself before shooting her arrow that hit the target perfectly. She and her brother live in a trailer and they gave Daryl and you a place in their home.

“Sometimes it feels like centuries.” You chuckle at him, and then, you look back at Mary. “That was amazing, Mary, well done. You are getting better every day.”

She smiles at you.

“Are you flirting with (Y/N), Sean?” Maggie’s voice behind you makes everyone turn around. The knife–throwing lesson group is already moving away in the distance to get back home, and only Maggie and Sasha are left. “That’s a very bad idea.”

“If Daryl finds out I don’t want to think what he would do.” Sasha chuckles, making fun of him. “He doesn't like people getting too close to his wife. He just wants (Y/N) all by himself.”

Suddenly, Sean looks frightened, because he had met a very silent Daryl. That scared the strangers.

“Thank you, Sasha.” You say, but she just laughs as you look at Sean with a soft gaze. “They're kidding, Sean, please, don't listen to them.”

Maggie chuckles.

“Okay, it’s time to go, guys. Get your things and go home.”

Everyone on the Hilltop respected Maggie, so the twins take their things and walk in the same direction as the other group after saying goodbye. You walk towards the tree and pick up the arrows. They are firm against the trunk, and you think how easy it would be to embed it in the body of the enemy. But that is a dark thought, so you push it away and go back with the girls to walk through the woods.

“Is Daryl okay, (Y/N)?”

Your gaze moves from the front and you look to your left without stopping. Maggie waits, her eyes looking at you with concern. You know where her question is going, because since you and Daryl came to that place, he couldn’t look at Maggie in the eyes.

“Yeah. He is.”

Your short answer makes her nod, thoughtful, but she is not satisfied with it. Maggie loved Daryl, she worried about him, and you knew nothing had changed for her.

“He seems distant these days.”

You knew perfectly well that Daryl was being distant with everybody. He disappeared all day in the forest and barely spoke at night, and the only one who seemed to be able to approach him was Jesus. It hurt you to think that Daryl didn’t lean on you as your husband, but he was like that and you knew it when you married him, and now, you can’t complain.

The amber light from the lamp on the picnic table glows in the dark and cold night as you and Jesus play cards. You are sitting down on the wooden chair while resting your elbows on the table, having a good time with him, but you didn’t tell him that you only stayed up so late because Daryl hadn’t yet returned.

Time passed and you worried more.

“And… straight flush!” Jesus throws his cards on the table feeling like a winner. All his cards are hearts: 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. “Beat that, (Y/N).”

You chuckle.

“It is impressive, Jesus, but you don’t win with that…” You push your cards on the table, too, five cards of spades from 10 to ace, without feeling like a winner though. “I think this is a Royal flush. And it means I win.”

Jesus leans his elbows on the table as his expression falls.

“If this was not ordinary poker I would have lost all my clothes by now.”

You laugh, and for a moment, that seems like a very distant memory. Jesus begins to laugh with you, but his smile dies as the gates open and he looks back. You both look in the same direction and see Daryl coming in with his crossbow around his body and a canvas bag that seems to be heavy, so surely he had hunted some animals.

Jesus turns again and picks up all the cards as Daryl walks towards you two. The distance is long so Jesus speaks freely, but softly.

“He’s just having a bad time, (Y/N), but don’t worry about him.”

It was impossible not to worry about him.

“I know his personality is… special, but it’s a bit hurtful that he still can not talk to me.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t want to do it, it’s just that Daryl doesn’t want to worry you. He doesn’t know how to do it, too.” He sighs. “Should we play again?”

You are still not sleepy and being awake turning on the bed is not a tempting idea, so you nod while finally, Daryl reaches you two.

“Shouldn’t ya be sleepin’?” He asks, his voice low and hoarse.

He cares about you, he always did.

“We’re playing cards.”

“I’m playing; (Y/N) is kicking my ass.” Jesus chuckles, handing out the cards. “Do you want to play, Daryl?”

“Nah. I’ll go to sleep.”

Daryl just passes you by and walks away. You feel that your body falls when you exhale, but you take the cards to forget the matter, at least for a while.

After about 25 minutes, you call it a night when your eyelids start to feel heavy, so you say goodnight to Jesus and walk back to the trailer. You didn’t sleep much anymore, but sometimes, under the apparent protection of the gates surrounding you, you could lay down for a while, to stop thinking.

Inside and on the other side of the trailer, Sean and Mary are sleeping too, so you quietly take off your boots before lying down on the bed. From his side, Daryl sleeps with his back to you. However, lying on your left side and as you drift off into a light sleep, you feel Daryl rolling over in bed, blindly searching for the warmth of your body, pressing himself against you, because that reminded him that he is still alive.

In the Hilltop orchard, you are glad to see the vegetables growing perfectly. The days were good in that place because the people accepted you two so fast. Mutual help was what increased the trust between the community and the new guests, and until then, everything went well.

Squatting, your hands become dirty as you remove some soil.

“Normal people would wear gloves, (Y/N).” Sean chuckles, appearing in front of you as you stand up.

“Are you calling me weird?” You tease him and run the back of your hand down your face to scratch your cheek. “I thought you were practicing with the bow.”

“I was going to go now, but I thought you were going with us.” He smiles a little bit, kind of shy.

You smile a little bit too.

“Not today, Sean. My arm hurts.”

The bowstring used to scrape your skin every time you released the rope, and the friction was starting to burn, but the truth is that you are tired mentally after last night.

“(Y/N)…” Sean chuckles, again. “You have some dirt on your cheek.”

Your first reaction is to clean it, but getting even more soil on your face. Sean tries not to laugh, and you wipe your hands on your jean before trying again.

“I think I should have worn gloves. Guess you were right after all.” You chuckle. “But don't tell Sean, I don't want him to think he's always right.”

He smiles.

“Here… let me do it for you.” Sean hides his hand on his long sleeve to help, and he wipes your face gently. “We don’t want you to go around here with your pretty face dirty.”

But there, just as in the romantic books you used to read before the world went to hell; Daryl has to arrive at the wrong time to misunderstand the situation completely, and in that moment, he takes Sean’s arm and pushes it away from you.

“Keep yer hands off ma wife or I’ll break ‘em, kid. I ain’t gonna say it twice.”

You feel terrible, because Sean is still young and easy to scare.

“Daryl…” You call him in such a firm voice that he turns to look at you. The fire inside is suddenly burning, but Sean is not the one to blame for anything as you look back at him. “Sean, leave us alone, please.”

He looks at Daryl and then at you, wondering if you would be okay. But, even scared of Daryl's horrible silence the past days, Sean remains in his place.

“(Y/N), are you sure?” He whispers, and his small words are enough to make Daryl narrow his eyes, giving Sean a look full of anger.

“Are ya fuckin’ thinkin' I’m gonna hurt ma wife, kid?” But before Daryl can take a step towards him, you block his way with your body, causing your husband to stop dead in his tracks, however, you can’t stop him from keep talking. “Ya better walk away ‘fore I start beatin’ yer ass.”

You are mad as hell.

“Daryl, shut it!” You say firmly again, without raising your voice because that wasn’t in your nature, sadly, and you look at Sean. “Sean, leave. In any case, I would hurt him first so don’t worry. Go, please.”

Unsure, Sean walks away, but it's your confident words that keep Daryl looking at you. However, before you could say anything to him, you hear the man on the gates screaming that the saviors are coming.

“(Y/N)! Daryl!” Enid shouts running toward you from the gates, and you two run towards her and meet halfway. “You two must hide. The saviors should not know that you two are here.”

“Wait, no…” You say quickly. “We must find Maggie first. She’s in the woods with the others.”

“Jesus went to warn her. She will be alright. Come on!” Enid runs toward the building behind and you two run after her.

The sound of the cars become clearer and the gates open just as you all surround the building. Enid stops at the wooden doors that would lead you two to a cellar in a small basement, but it doesn’t feel right, not while the others are exposed with the saviors there.

However, Daryl opens the door and waits for you to enter.

“I will come for you when they are gone.” Enid says behind you.

Against everything, you walk down the stone steps and open the wooden door to enter the cellar while the place sinks in the darkness the moment Enid closes the doors above. The vegetable baskets are stack on shelves, and you push one to the side, which had enough space for you to hide in case someone come down. But, when you turn, you see Daryl staring through a hole in the door with his knife in his hand.

“Daryl, this is not the right time…” You whisper. Your mouth is dry and you feel your heart as tight as your stomach. “Please, don’t do it, not now.”

The plea in your voice surprise him, so he turns around and you both hide. The shadows of the basement serve as protection as he pushes the shelf back into the right place. It is not long before the outside doors open again, and the light enters through the cracks in the wood. You hold your breath when one of the saviors comes in, watching everything around him and then taking a basket. The place is full with food and the savior begins to collect the vegetables, piling them near the door.

And again and again, he turns his back on you, unprotected. Daryl lifts the knife in his hand, squeezing it hard, so close to kill the savior. But, even if you know he could handle one of them, they are too many outsides for you to make it alive, so you raise one hand and close it around his wrist, soft but firm, and at then, he finally looks at you after days. His blue eyes hold your gaze, and you slowly shake your head to stop him.

Fortunately, the savior takes his things and leave. Your heart feels less heavy and you breathe again as Daryl and you step out of that little hiding place. Doubts return to you, and you wonder how much harm those people could do, and how much harm you could do, and you ask for the time when you only had to worry about the walkers.

“I could have killed him.” Daryl grunts with his back in front of you.

The hatred to them for having kept him in that cell was never going to disappear.

“I know well you could. But you didn’t think about the consequences.”

Through his shirt, you see his back tenses.

“I never do it, do I? That’s why people die… ‘cause of me.”

The guilt you hear in his voice takes your breath away. Daryl really believed that, and his voice was so sincere and broken that it breaks your heart. The guilt is on his shoulders, you can see it more clearly know, so heavy that he can hardly bear it.

“Daryl…” You say, preparing to say your best friend’s name. “Glenn’s death was not your fault.”

Daryl turns, head down and part of his hair covering his face. His strength is destroyed, and he sobs before he speaks.

“It was… I have nightmares 'bout it. If I had not been so stupid—”

“Daryl, no…” You try again, taking a deep breath first. It is hard for you to hear his words, because they are not true. “Things happen, people die and we can’t help it, but we can honor their lives, fight for the things they believed in. They are not here but we are, and now I understand that we owe them this because they deserve it. Glenn was brave, kind, strong, and had a beautiful heart that no one else. He stayed true to himself, he didn’t lose part of him in this world, and he loved you so much because you and he were exactly the same.” Silent tears are about to fall from your eyes, but you stop them for a moment. “Talk to Maggie, okay? Listen to her and believe when she tells you that she loves you so much because she wouldn’t lie to you. The way she sees you has not changed at all, but you have to forgive yourself even if you are not guilty of anything. Be stronger and fight for Glenn, make him feel proud. It’s the only way you can live in peace.”

He takes a moment, but finally, Daryl nods: he wipes his face and tries to hold your gaze.

“M’ sorry for leavin’ ya alone these days. M’ so sorry, peach.” He says softly, and you walk to him to put your arms around his shoulders. He clings to you like his life depends of it, arms around your waist, holding your body against him. His beard tickles your bare neck and he takes a deep breath before looking back at you, but without letting you go from his side. “And I would never hurt ya, never, y’know it, right?”

You let out a sigh, knowing that from there, things will get better.

“I know, love, but you still have to apologize to Sean.” You smile a little bit just to lighten the mood, pushing away a few strands of his hair out of his face to look into his eyes, but at the same time letting him know that you are serious. “If not, I'm going to have to hurt you, like, seriously.”

Daryl smiles softly, and he nods, hugging you again.

At that very moment, he’s letting out all the pain that was hurting him all that time, but that is the first step to healing. And you know everything will improve over time. Hearts healed at their own pace but they did eventually. And right there, your hearts are regenerating, closing their wounds and beating harder than before.

[d0llcuries]

Hi dear! SOOOOO I would like you to write a one shot reader × neteyam! It would be like: neteyam is almost dying at sea with his siblings and everyone "accepted" that he would die and all tears BBBBBUUUut a childhood friend of his was fighting with they and she was like "NUH UH" she saves him somehow and bla bla bla Then when they came back with neteyam half alive, ronal took care of him and everything, right? Then when he REALLY WOKE UP the reader came and slapped him in the face while fighting and then hugged and kissed him. That's what I would like :)

MWAH a kiss from brazil

WHEN YOU WAKE

pairing(s): neteyam x fem!na'vi reader

summary: when neteyam is gravely wounded in battle, everyone braces for the worst—except his childhood love, who refuses to let him go. determined to save him, she risks everything, but when he finally wakes, her greeting is… less than gentle. love, stubbornness, and a well-deserved (?) slap.

author's note: oh my gosh,, this is so freaking epic MY SECOND REQUEST!!1!1! i love request sm oh my god they r so amazing to write i love requests please FLOOD MY ASK BOX. pls don't abhor yn for the last scene and remember that she is literally just a girl 🤓☝️(a very valid argument actually). also strap in bcuz this is a long one.

the sea was chaos around them. only moments ago, the water had raged with the violence of battle, the clash of metal and bone, but now, an eerie silence had fallen over the scene. the fighting had ceased, and in its wake, the sky people’s ships smoldered on the horizon, their fires licking at the darkening sky. the metkayina, exhausted and bloodied, had pulled back, retreating to the safety of awa'atlu to regroup, to count their wounded. but on this desolate rock, the only thing that mattered to yn was neteyam, lying still on the jagged surface, his blue skin pale, his breaths shallow.

the rhythmic ebb and flow of the ocean had turned into a dreadful, mocking soundtrack to the sight before her, as if the waves themselves were whispering the inevitable truth no one wanted to face. blood, dark and stark against his skin, seeped from the gaping wound in his chest, mixing with the salty spray of the sea. his life was spilling out onto the rock beneath him, too fast, too much.

"he is dying," neytiri’s voice trembled like a fragile thread about to snap, her face streaked with tears and grief. the mighty warrior, always so fierce and unbreakable, looked shattered as she knelt beside her eldest son, her hands shaking as they hovered above his body, unsure whether to hold him or let him go. lo'ak sat beside her, wide-eyed and motionless, as though he couldn’t believe the sight before him was real, his face etched with disbelief and horror. tsireya clutched his hand, her knuckles white, her gaze darting between lo'ak and neteyam, tears threatening to spill from her wide eyes. kiri knelt by neteyam’s side, her fingers digging into the wound, trying desperately to stem the bleeding, but it was useless. it was slipping through her fingers like sand, and with it, so was neteyam's life.

"no." yn’s voice was the only thing that cut through the quiet devastation, her words harsh and desperate, her hands trembling as she reached out, pressing them against his cooling skin. she could feel it beneath her fingertips—the rapid, weakening pulse of his heart, the uneven rise and fall of his chest. it was all too real. the warmth of his blood, sticky and thick on her palms, seeped into her bones, chilling her to the core. the weight of it settled in her chest, a cold, suffocating pressure that made it hard to breathe. "he will not die."

she couldn’t let him die. the thought was unbearable, impossible to accept. she was just his childhood friend, yes—someone who had grown up alongside him, shared her secrets, her dreams, her laughter with him. someone who had chased him through the forests of the omaticaya as children, who had learned to fight with him, laugh with him, loved him. she had watched him become the warrior he was now, had loved him long before either of them had ever spoken the words aloud. they were still young, yes, but they had a future together, one that the sea itself was pulling it from her grasp. she couldn’t let it end like this. she wouldn’t.

"yn," kiri’s voice cracked, raw with the weight of her own helplessness, the defeat hanging heavy in the air. "there is nothing we can do. he—"

"do not say it!" yn’s voice lashed out like a whip, cutting through the silence, cutting through kiri’s words. she couldn’t hear it. she couldn’t let those words hang in the air like a death sentence. she couldn’t bear to hear anyone say that neteyam was gone. "there is something we can do."

her mind raced, desperate for a solution, for anything that would keep him tethered to this world. she was young, too young for something like this. the rational part of her knew that. she wasn’t a healer. she didn’t have the knowledge or the skills of a tsahik, but ronal did. ronal, the fierce tsahik of the metkayina clan, who could heal wounds with a touch, who could pull someone back from the brink of death with her chants and her herbs. yn had seen her work miracles. she had seen ronal heal wounds that should have killed, infections that should have spread. if anyone could save neteyam, it was her. but ronal was back at the clan, and neteyam was here, bleeding out on this cold, jagged rock. it would mean leaving him, and the thought of that almost brought her to her knees. how could she leave him like this, so vulnerable, so close to death? how could she turn her back on him when he needed her the most?

but if she stayed, he would die. that much she knew. if she left, there was a chance, slim though it might be. a chance was better than nothing.

"i have to go," yn said, her voice trembling but resolute, her gaze fixed on neteyam’s still face. he looked so peaceful, as if he were merely sleeping, but the blood that stained his chest, that pooled beneath him, told a different story. she turned to neytiri, her voice firm, even as her heart raced. "i have to find ronal. she can save him."

"you cannot leave him," neytiri’s voice was barely a whisper, broken by sobs, her hands clutching neteyam’s limp one as if she could anchor him to life by sheer will. her face, usually so strong and fierce, was twisted in grief, her eyes wild with the horror of watching her son slip away before her eyes. "he is dying, yn, my son is dying—"

"no!" the word exploded from yn’s throat, raw and full of fury, as if her refusal alone could change the course of fate. she couldn’t bear the sight of neytiri, of jake, of all of them huddled around neteyam, as if they had already given up. she couldn’t let them accept this as the end. "he is not dying. i will not let him die. i cannot let him die."

jake’s presence beside her felt like a heavy weight, grounding her in the reality of the moment. his hand came to rest on her shoulder, firm but not unkind, and she met his eyes, saw the shared pain, the shared hope. "you’re right," he said, his voice steady in the midst of the storm. "go. go, find ronal. we’ll stay with him."

yn gave a short nod, the knot of fear tightening in her chest, but she couldn’t afford to let it consume her. her body moved on instinct, driven by the knowledge that she was running out of time. neteyam was running out of time.

without a second glance, she turned and sprinted toward her ikran. every step felt like a battle against the panic that threatened to drown her, but she couldn’t let it. not now. the familiar weight of her ikran beneath her as she mounted it and made the bond gave her a brief moment of comfort, a second to catch her breath before she shot into the sky.

the world below her blurred as the wind whipped her hair back, stinging her cheeks, but all she could think about was neteyam lying on that rock, the life bleeding out of him. every beat of her heart was a painful reminder of how little time she had. the sea stretched out endlessly before her, a vast expanse of blue that felt more like an enemy than a lifeline. the waves that once brought her peace now felt ominous, mocking, as if they knew the battle she fought was a losing one.

she pushed her ikran harder, faster, her fingers tightening around its rein as the village of awa'atlu came into view, a shimmering oasis of safety amidst the chaos of war. her eyes scanned the shore frantically, searching for ronal among the gathering metkayina. they were preparing, regrouping, but she didn’t care. all that mattered was neteyam. she spotted ronal, her regal form unmistakable, standing at the water’s edge, directing her people with the calm authority of a leader who had seen her share of battle.

yn barely had time to think before she was landing, stumbling off her ikran in her haste, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she ran toward ronal. "ronal," she gasped, her voice thick with desperation. "neteyam... he has been shot. he is dying. please, you have to help him. please."

ronal’s sharp gaze met hers, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence between them. yn’s heart pounded in her chest, each second feeling like an eternity. she knew what she was asking was impossible—too far, too little time. but she didn’t care. ronal’s eyes narrowed, assessing yn’s desperation with a cool detachment that made yn want to scream, to shake her, to make her understand how important this was. but before yn could say anything more, ronal gave a small nod and gestured for her to follow. ronal swiftly gathered a small pouch of healing herbs, woven bandages, and a vial of bioluminescent sap from her hut—essential tools she would need to tend the boy's wounds.

"bring me to him," ronal said, her voice calm and steady, as if the world was not unraveling around them, as if there was still time, as if hope still lingered on the horizon.

yn wasted no time. without another word, she whistled for her ikran, grabbing ronal’s wrist and pulling her towards the beast. the tsahik of the metkayina was not one to be rushed, but yn didn’t care. they didn’t have the luxury of patience. they mounted, and with a swift call, her ikran leapt into the sky once more, cutting through the air in the direction of neteyam’s lifeless form.

each beat of her ikran’s wings felt like a ticking clock. the journey back to the rock felt like an eternity, the cold wind biting at her face, but yn kept her eyes fixed on the horizon, on the place where she had left neteyam. the sun had sunk lower now, the soft oranges and pinks of eclipse blending into the deep purples of night, and with it, the world around them seemed to grow darker, more foreboding. yn’s heart clenched painfully in her chest. the longer she was away, the more the fear gnawed at her, growing into something monstrous, something unbearable. was he still breathing? was his heart still beating?

when the rock finally came into view, yn’s breath caught in her throat. she could see the figures of neytiri, lo'ak, kiri, and tsireya huddled around neteyam’s body. the sight of his still form sent a sharp pain through her chest, as if a knife had been driven straight into her heart. the sight of his blood, black in the fading light, made her stomach turn.

they landed, and yn barely waited for her ikran to touch the ground before she was rushing forward, practically dragging ronal behind her. "here," she gasped, falling to her knees beside neteyam, her eyes darting to his chest, willing it to rise, to move. "please, he is still alive."

ronal dismounted with a grace that felt out of place in the urgency of the moment. she knelt beside neteyam, her sharp eyes already assessing the wound. her expression was unreadable, calm even in the face of death. she moved with a precision and certainty that yn envied, her hands immediately going to work, pressing down on the wound to stop the bleeding, muttering words, the chants of a healer.

yn knelt beside her, her hands hovering over neteyam, unsure of what to do, afraid to touch him in case it would break whatever fragile connection was keeping him tethered to this world. "will he—?" her voice broke, and she couldn’t finish the question, couldn’t say the words aloud.

ronal didn’t answer. she didn’t need to. her silence said enough. this was a battle with time. a battle they might lose.

ronal worked swiftly, her hands moving with the expertise of someone who had saved lives, who had been through wars and healed the gravest of wounds. but this was no ordinary injury. it was the work of the sky people, of their weapons, of their violence. the bullet had torn through neteyam’s chest, severing veins, shredding muscle. it was a wound not easily healed, not by herbs, not by chants.

minutes passed in agonizing silence, broken only by the soft mutters of ronal’s voice, the rustle of neytiri’s sobs in between pleadings to eywa followed by kiri's own prayer. yn’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as she watched ronal work. her fingers curled into the rock beneath her, nails digging into the stone. it was all too much, too slow, too uncertain.

but ronal didn’t falter. she continued her chants, her hands glowing with the light of eywa’s blessing, her energy focused entirely on neteyam, on keeping him here. yn watched, her breath held, as ronal placed her hands over his heart, her eyes closing, her chants growing louder, more urgent. the tension in the air was palpable, thick and heavy with the weight of hope and despair.

then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, neteyam stirred.

it was a faint movement, just a twitch of his fingers, but it was enough to send a wave of relief crashing through yn’s body. she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she stared down at him, hardly daring to believe it. his chest rose, ever so slightly, with a shallow breath. his heart, weak and faltering, continued to beat beneath ronal’s hands.

"he is not out of danger," ronal warned, her voice sharp, though her hands never stopped working. "he is still very weak. he will need time, rest. he will need the ocean’s healing."

ronal looked up, her eyes suddenly meeting jake's. "take him back to the clan."

he didn’t need to be told twice. with lo'ak and spider's help, they lifted neteyam’s still form onto his skimwing, his body limp and unresponsive, but alive. it was enough.

the next few days passed in a haze of worry and exhaustion, a blur of sleepless nights and constant vigilance. neteyam lay still, his body fighting to heal itself, his breaths shallow but steady. the air inside the marui was thick with tension—every creak of the woven shelter or shift of the tides outside felt amplified in the quiet. the others drifted in and out, checking on him, offering small comforts where they could, but it was yn who remained by his side. her body was aching with fatigue, her fingers numb from holding his hand for so long. but she stayed, watching over him, waiting, willing him to wake.

each time she closed her eyes for even a brief moment, images of him dying on that rock flashed in her mind, his blood staining the sea. the silence of the nights was the hardest; in the stillness, doubt would creep in, whispering terrible what-ifs into her ear. would he ever wake? had they been too late?

but she wouldn’t leave him. she had promised to bring him back, to see him open his eyes once more, and she would stay by his side until that moment came.

and then, one morning, it did.

the first light of dawn slipped through the cracks in the marui, casting a soft glow over his resting form. neteyam’s chest rose and fell gently, his face still pale but peaceful. yn sat beside him, her hand resting on his chest, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of his heart. it had become a comfort, that subtle rise and fall, reminding her that he was still with them.

as the light crept further into the space, she felt a faint movement beneath her palm. her eyes snapped to his face just as his eyelids fluttered. a second later, neteyam’s eyes opened—dazed, unfocused, but alive.

yn froze. her heart leaped into her throat, her hand trembling against his chest as she stared at him, wide-eyed. for a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. it was as if time itself had stopped. her lips parted, but no words came. he was awake—after days of uncertainty and fear, here he was, his golden eyes blinking up at her in confusion.

but instead of joy, relief, or anything resembling tenderness, the only thing she felt was a sudden rush of anger—pure, hot anger that burned through the fear and worry she had carried for days.

before she could even think, her hand shot out, and with a swift motion, she slapped him across the face.

the sharp sound of the slap echoed in the marui, and neteyam winced, his face turning in shock. “what—”

“you absolute skxawng!” her voice trembled with fury as she glared at him, tears welling in her eyes. “you—you almost died, neteyam! you reckless, stubborn fool!” her hands balled into fists, her shoulders shaking with a mix of frustration and relief. “do you have any idea what you put me through?!”

neteyam blinked, still disoriented, his hand slowly reaching up to touch his stinging cheek. “i—what happened?” he rasped, his voice weak and hoarse from days of silence.

yn’s breath hitched as she looked at him, the weight of everything crashing over her all at once. her anger faltered, giving way to the overwhelming relief that he was here, that he was alive. her tears spilled over, and before she knew it, she was pulling him into a tight embrace, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “do not ever do that to me again,” she whispered fiercely, her voice cracking, “do not ever leave me.”

neteyam, though still groggy, managed to wrap his arms around her, holding her close, his heart heavy with guilt. “i am sorry,” he murmured, his voice soft as he pressed his forehead to hers, “i am so sorry, yn.”

for a long moment, they stayed like that—wrapped in each other’s arms, the soft sounds of the morning and the distant calls of the ocean filling the space around them. yn’s heart still raced, but now it was steadier, beating in time with his, as though they were finally in sync again. his presence, his warmth, was all she had wanted for days, and now that she had it, she wasn’t sure she could ever let him go.

when she finally pulled back, her fingers brushing against his face, she looked into his eyes, the anger and fear slowly fading, replaced by something softer, something raw. “do you not know how much i need you?” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

neteyam’s gaze softened, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that clung to her cheeks. “i know,” he whispered back, his voice filled with quiet regret. “i will never leave you again.”

and for the first time in days, yn let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. it wasn’t a promise she could ever fully believe, not in the world they lived in, but in that moment, with him alive and safe in her arms, she would take it.

maybe iʼm overthinking things but i feel like i can smell the angry comments about yn's behaviour so before you magically morph into an unemployed twitter user consider the following argument:

yn’s behavior, while intense, isn't selfish—it’s the result of overwhelming stress and the emotional turmoil that comes with nearly losing someone she loves. at such a young age, she's thrust into an impossible situation, forced to watch the person she cares for most teeter between life and death. her emotions aren’t coming from a place of malice or impatience but from the raw fear of almost losing neteyam forever. she’s exhausted, scared, and under the immense pressure of her own feelings, so her reaction—slapping him awake before embracing him—is a release of all that pent-up anxiety.

plus as the author, i feel an obligation to honor the request for this fic. “your wish is my command” ahh.

consider this second argument:

i'm in your house (˶◜ᵕ◝˶)

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Yellow Sand, Desolate Dusk

((Black Cloud, Red Fire))

During your college years, one of your many dreams was to go in the desert during the cactus blooming season. Now the only thing you wanted to do was slap your past self in your head for that stupid idea.

The scarf around your head that one of the Carovana people had gifted you protected you from the scorching sun, but the heat was almost unbearable. You cleaned your forehead, panting from the strain that your legs were making by walking on the sand.

Yuán Fèn, your monkey companion and friend, who was still trying to accustom himself to his new name, raised his dǒu lì, trying to Look forward to the dunes and Wind swirling around the two of you.

A week before your departure, the curious bird that you had retrieved from Black Wind Mountain started to sing a strange tune, forcing everyone that could hear to pay attention to him, especially you and your friend.

The old monkey proclaimed that another relic had been calling upon its sister, and now it was time to prepare for your new objective: the second relic. In front of the same map where you located the first one, your senses made you point in the middle of nowhere... well, not exactly. It seemed to be in a desert... which it was in the middle of nowhere.

"Maybe it's an oasis? I mean, why should it be in the dirt and the sand?"

Ah, you wondered if, at that time, Yuán Fèn was trying to ease your nervousness, because now you just wanted to smack his head. Yeah, a really nice Oasis...

He kept on looking up, noticing another small dot in the sky stop moving and a golden halo.

"Hey, easy with the immobilize back there..."

"I'm getting the hang of it..." You said, your fingers still pointing up.

"I'm not doubting it, but..." He takes a sip of water. "Someone might see it... and rise an alarm..."

"Uuh..." You looked around, dunes from where eyes could reach "someone...where?"

"And..." He continued, extending you the gourd, "I need you in shape. You have to direct me to the relic, remember?"

You took a small sip of water while holding with your other hand your own willow staff. When you returned from Black Wind Mountain, you insisted on receiving training in fighting and magic since you wanted to be more helpful in the mission, but you were still stuck on the basics in martial arts and the immobilize spell. You sighed. Why was it so hard?

Yuán Fèn noticed your demeanor; he did understand your frustration, but for this, like these, you needed patience! And, even if they were small steps, you were pretty talented! Okay, a real fight was far from training with him, but you two had time for that. In the meantime, he swore to be your protector, so he wanted to get through with that.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" You asked when you had reached the summit of the dune.

"Of course we are! We're just right where you pointed, remember?"

"Yeah, but... what if it's not the right place?"

"Impossible! You found the first one, remember?"

"...Well... yeah, we were lucky... But what if we're not this time? I mean... how can the relics be here in the middle of nowhere?"

"Because," he said with a smirking tone, "there's something in the nowhere!"

You wanted to raise a question, but as soon as you looked in front of you, in the distance, you found your answer in that strange phrase. The desert was slowly changing its nature, leaving the sand and giving space to rocks and mountains. They weren't high or full of life like the previous one, but they were impressive nevertheless, and, by your surprise, they seemed to give home to something! In the distance, even if still small, it was visible. One of those Giants gates that could have been found in some cities, showing that maybe someone lived there!

You both sprinted towards those gates; the hope of finding some solace in the shadow of the mountain and maybe some fresh waters was enough to give you some strength to move on the sands. Unfortunately, that hope was now faltering when you started to notice the state of the wooden gate.

The sun had now completely eroded every kind of color that the wooden structure once had, replaced now by the nude timber color. the sand, moved by the wind, had smothered the decorations that once had adorned the structure, or there was something now It was just made for you both to guess. The few tiles that still were attached to the roof were now broken or completely useless in their first meaning, their fate now in the hand of the scorching sun.

You weren't an expert, but by the looks of it, that gate had been there for years, and no one had taken care of it. 

"It doesn't look like a good sign..."

Yuán Fèn looked up, searching for the name of wherever you had ended up. 

Usually these gates are made to let travelers know where they are, but unfortunately the name of this place was almost completely erased from it. The only thing he was able to get from it was the word "ridge"...whatever that meant...

"Ummm... Ridge... maybe Yellow... I'm not sure; it's hard to read in that state..."

"Oh! Yellow Wind Ridge!" You exclaimed, looking at a curious monkey. "The last village you visited, they told me that once there was a place with this name!"

"Oh!" He seemed surprised. The name... It rang a few bells in his mind...but it wasn't like he could know everything.

"All right... so... up ahead?" He said moving his staff in front of you. With an uncertain road in front of you, you both start to take the path in the mountain, in the shadow of the rocks, unknowing of what you would find there.

///

Even if it was completely different from Black Wind Mountain, even this desolate place holds a certain kind of beauty in it. 

The rock structures stood like the walls of a castle, reaching till your eyes could reach. The color of the rocks changed here and there; sometimes it was a yellow ochre, a remnant of the name of the place, sometimes it was a vibrant orange when the light touched it, and just near to the base you were walking, a deep red like blood.

You once saw something similar in a few photos, but it was a completely different story in person.

"A river must have passed here millennia ago..."

"A River?" Yuán Fèn looked at you curiously.

"I learned that these kinds of rock structures are what is left of the bed of a river!"

"Oh! And... where did the water go?"

"Ummm... evaporated? I'm not sure; I'm not that smart."

He laughed a little. It was nice to enjoy some peace; he didn't know how long it would last, so it was better to savor it.

Despite his carefree behavior, more than once he had stopped in his tracks, almost making you bump into him, looking around and smelling the area. The path had now transformed into a gorge, the sun still hiding behind the walls of the mountain around you. He looked around, his ears piercing, his senses searching for something.

"You okay?" You said in a whisper, wondering why he had stopped all of a sudden.

"...Yeah... I thought I heard... something..."

"Yaoguais?"

"Can't tell... this place reeks of it, but I heard something... I don't know, let's be vigilant now."

And with that he reached for your hand, holding it right, and his staff was now in a fighting position. The peace was over; time to get back to work.

It was amazing how he could perceive the smallest changes in his surroundings.  Maybe it was an hermitage of his species or just a product of his training, but he was able to catch even the smallest change in sounds or smell.

Another show of this ability of his own cane was when, suddenly, his hand was now firmly against your chest. He had stopped in his own tracks, making you do the same, and, with a swift movement, his staff was now in front of you in a defensive mode. 

"Someone's coming." These were the only words he said, now completely concentrated in front of him. Now, in the complete silence, you finally could hear something coming from the always ahead of you, a sound that looked off. It seemed like someone was dragging something, the clattering of metals, and some pants of fatigue?

He, on the other hand, was prepared for the attack of his new foe...until it came into view. A huge backpack, full of objects, some for traveling and some that were part of a household, pots and pans that clattered together while moving around, tied by a rope around the pile that had been carried, and a figure that, covered in rags, moved steadily and slowly on his feet.

A traveler?  It seemed that they were mostly moving away by the amount of stuff.

You sighed in relief since you couldn't spot any kind of weapon on him, and the grip on your own staff loosened. Yuán Fèn, on the other hand, decided to keep his guard up on this new figure appearing. He had learned that everyone could be an enemy, especially in a place like this one.

Once you both were spotted by them, the creature seemed to become quite tense, maybe for the same reason why you two decided to stay on guard and started to slow down on his tracks.

Yuán Fèn never let his guard down, fearing maybe another trick like the one that the bear had done to you the last time, while you were quite curious about this newcomer. Despite it all, it seemed quite harmless, and with all that staff on his back, you wondered what kind of danger it could have brought.

A few minutes passed, and the mysterious figure, who you realized was an old one since the ragged way that he was breathing, and the two of you shared nothing more than a few attentive looks until he surpassed you and then started to get on in his road, realizing that in the end you were just harmless like himself.

"...Do you think he's moving out?"

"I don't know," Yuán Fèn sighed, finally putting his staff back. "At least we still can take it easy."

"We should ask him some questions. It's better to be prepared!"

"I don't think he wants to be disturbed. We can get on and WAIT WAIT WAIT COME BACK, Y/N!"

He was interrupted by your soft trot, following the old man, still covered in all the rags. You were so focused on following him that you barely noticed an old tail like a rat one.

"Hello? Mr.!" He seemed surprised, shocked even, turning around, meeting your more calm demeanor. "I'm sorry to bother you, but my friend and I have been on the road for quite some time. I wondered if we're in Yellow Wind Ridge."

He coughed a little, surprised by the fact that someone still knew the name of that place and that they were mad enough to wish to reach it.

"Ah... And what are you and your friend searching for there? If it's a death by the hands of desolation, you did find it..."

"We're searching for... a certain object." Yuán Fèn stepped in, more to make sure that no harm came to you when you were so casually starting a conversation with that old one.

"Ah!" He laughed, almost like he had heard a joke: "Searching for treasures?! My father once told me the Legend of the Golden Buddhas; they're long gone till the arrival of that master..."

By saying that there was a hint of sarcasm, that raised more of your curiosity. "Master?" Yuán Fèn repeated.

"Uh... yes, a royal sage... an old rat that had mastered the Wind..."

That was the last piece that Yuán Fèn needed to understand. Who were you going to fight this time? The old one coughed hard, holding his chest with his ragged and bandaged hand. Maybe he was sick? He shouldn't move in that condition.

You quickly grabbed your gourd and gently offered him part of your healing wine. He moved his hand, gesturing to you to keep it to yourself.

"No need... old Lil me can handle..."

"There's no village for miles; just a sip will help you regain some strength."

He seemed surprised by this act of kindness. And, for respect, he accepted one small sip, trying not to ruin the wine and your gourd. He sighed deeply, savoring the sweet savor and feeling the sensation of the healing power of the liquid.

"...thank you, young one..."

You smiled; at least he would be able to make it till the next village.

Yes, giving to him a few of your medicines wasn't exactly the brightest idea; you weren't sure what was going to happen after that, but seeing him like that, forced to leave his home, it felt bad, at least for you. A small help wouldn't hurt you, you thought while taking away your gourd.

Yuán Fèn, despite his silent opposition to your gesture, those were your medicine after all, could not find that gesture anything but admirable. You could just walk away, believing that that man had everything under control; instead, there you were, giving him some of your rationed medicines. He shouldn't be surprised; you were a kind soul, after all. He saw you many times show some empathy or kindness around you, and, by so far, he found it admirable from his own point of view.

"Be safe there, you two," said the old man, slowly walking away on the path, "and watch yourself from danger! This place reeks of them! To think that people used to revere that old one...ah...such a shame, such a shame..." He laughed and coughed, slowly vanishing in the shadows of the mountain."

The two of you, after readjusting your stuff, had started to walk back again, taking the road where the old one was coming from, presumably the right path as much as you both could see. When finally the passage between the mountains started to widen up, the sun reconquered your way, illuminating the place that, it seems, the relics were hidden by someone...

The sun makes the view hard, and the dust in the wind colored the sky, which seemed to not have seen rain for months, a grayish blue. You noticed the peaks of the mountain, but sometimes they reminded you more like old palaces that the wind had completely changed shape by the time and sand. If once there was life, it was gone, leaving only the carcasses of old trees, left in that barren land without a chance of survival. The only vegetal life that could grow there was a thick and long grass that grew in small bushes, and if it hadn't been for the protection of your trousers, they would have surely cut your skin at the passage. The area was surrounded by rocks and sand, making it quite a task to move around, and, even if climbing, another small mountain waited to the other side.

What kind of kingdom could even start there in that place, you wondered...

While walking, you make sure to stay closer to your friend. There were so many cliffs and palaces; it was to see if someone was up there! Making you a good target for attacks.

"You know," Yuán Fèn spoke, breaking the silence. "That old one gave us a good lead about who could have taken the relic. Yellow Wind Sage make any sense to you?"

You made a long um sound from your mouth, a good answer to imply that you had zero idea of who this sage was. He chuckled; of course you didn't know.

"What I know about is that was a foe that had tried to eat the Tang Monk back in the journey, "Yuán Fèn started, "and he was quite strong too!"

"Strong? Stronger than Sun Wukong?"

"Well, he had a weapon....the Samadhi wind to help him out."

"Sama...what?"

"What did you learn in your world?!"

"They didn't even teach us how to do taxes; give me a break!" And, after a long ugh sound from him, he decided to let it go. You knew so many staff, but how could the theory of relativity really help you out in a fight?!

"Samadhi is like being unified with a certain element or a god even. It's like the object itself is free from the rule of the world! For example, the Samadhi fire is a TRUE fire! And simple water cannot extinguish its flame!"

"OOOh....wait!" You stopped in your tracks. "Let me recap here: we're going straight to a certain Sage—"

"That is a rat."

"Not needed, but thank you. That can control a very formidable wind that could kill us... Is that what you're saying?"

"...Kinda?" Your hand met your face; you were less shocked than last time, but knowing that maybe this one was a more dangerous foe than the bear didn't help you calm down.

"Do you... at least have a plan?"

"Well," he got closer, using his staff to give you a few small nudges. "I suppose that the Bián huá could make the same trick like last time!"

You looked at him suspiciously, trying to figure out what he was talking about... then you remembered the old mantle made of pure red silk that, if not for its presence, you would have been roasted like a meatloaf.

"But... last time it was just luck... how do you know that I can do it again?"

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

Ah yes...he believed in you. Well, last time you were able to find the relic, and you were able to survive...maybe you were somehow kind of a little special? But you didn't want to hold your hopes high, especially knowing the so many dangers that you both had to take last time.

"All right, all right... I'll try to believe in my doodle-do magic staff... So, I'll say let's keep going.

"Now you're talking my language!" And, with a sprint, he marched on, giving you a grin like he was challenging you to follow him. And you did.

///

Time lapsed, and despite how much the two of you were able to get inside this new territory, the more you noticed that even Yaoguais seemed to be absent from this place. Besides the old man, you met a body on your road, and that was unnerving.

The fact of not knowing what was waiting, the fact that maybe you weren't that alone like you wanted to believe, had put both of you in a position that forced you to look at every sound like a danger. Because, even if you weren't approached by anyone, the sensation that you were observed was drilling in your head.

Yuán Fèn kept on keeping you close to him, fearing that something could have happened at every second, but the sand and the dirt avoided his nose to perceive the smells and the sound of the wind that roared, covering the sounds. It wasn't a good position; he knew that, but he couldn't risk leaving the road to face an opponent that he couldn't even see or leave you alone like that. So the only option was to just go forward, hoping to meet a better condition.

The area opened up again, and, alongside the same vegetation and the rocks, a body of water stretched around, giving life to some plants that were lucky enough to be nearer and some structures that reminded you of the ones you found at the last temple. The difference was that the ones you found now were far bigger and made of solid stone, and, other than for the time passed under the unforgiving sun, it seemed like they were deliberately destroyed. You wondered what kind of past this kingdom had and what kind of karma it had faced for its act against the Buddha. Well, you weren't in the position to judge; what really caught your attention was the water, colored in a reddish tone.

"We should take some," you proposed, taking yours gourd from your sack.

"It doesn't seem edible..." Yuán Fèn retorted, more inclined to keep it up instead of stopping there.

"We don't know if we'll find any more! And we can still boil it and drink it later!"

It wasn't like your idea wasn't good; in this kind of territory, every drop counts, but he didn't like the idea of staying too much in one place, especially since he couldn't read his surroundings at all.

You started to collect the water from the pond, carefully taking only the one on the surface, avoiding moving it too much. He stayed behind you, looking around, and he started to listen.

It seemed so calm; the wind was blowing over your heads, and the walls made of rock avoided It took an hour to enter through the passage. It was a big area; the sound wasn't covered that much...

He started to concentrate...the wind, the sand that slided around, the water...a piece of wood that got removed from some leather... A string that is getting stretched...

You had just finished collecting the water when his hand grabbed your shoulder, grasping it and pulling.

"We must move, NOW."

"Wha-Why?!"

"We need to take cover; we're—!!!"

Before he could even take another step, an arrow, coming from nowhere, pierced his chest in one strike. 

Your eyes widened; suddenly the atmosphere changed, and the pond was surrounded by sounds of voices and arrows that were shot.

"TAKE THE MONKEY DOWN!"

"Leave the girl!"

The sound of squeaking and piercing voices came from the rocks; arrows jeep on Flying towards the two of you. 

The pain from the arrow was enough to make To stumble on his feet, but Yuán Fèn only needed now to push you away, allowing you to stay out from the line of fire. 

You tried to reach him, but every time another Arrow stopped you and forced you back down while he was still holding his staff up to try to protect himself and you, but the shooters were too many, and the more he defended himself, the more Arrows kept on piercing.

"NO, NO, NO!" You raised your digger, aiming towards the direction of the Arrows, starting to use the immobilize spell. Golden auras came from a few of them, but without a good view of your assailants, you could only stop just a few of them. 

"Y/n! Find co-" another Arrow, his mouth started to leak blood and his breath got rugged. He tried again to hold his staff up, but now he only had enough strength to use it to stand up. It was so painful. The attack stopped; the sound of small feet moving around reached the area.

You weren't so careful like him; your only care was to use this moment of calm to avoid falling on the dirty ground and trying to cure him from those many wounds! You started to panic; he had more than ten arrows piercing his body!

"EASY! EASY EASY, I'll fix you! Okay?!"

"Y...y/n...y/n, they're... they're co—" he coughed again while you put him down to rest on a rock. "You need to...leave!"

"I'm not leaving you here, okay?!"

You didn't want to listen to him, as much as you didn't want to listen to your surroundings. What you wanted was only to cure him and help you to take care of those two rats that you had completely forgotten in the panic of the moment.

Holding your gourd, you were ready to use its contents to cure him when a long but slim hand grabbed you by your scarf and pulled you so hard that you were practically dragged away.

Over your head, a pair of big black eyes looked at you with a malicious intent, and a broken and grim smile showed a series of long and sharp rodent teeth.

"Ah ah! Good meat!"

"Something to please our prince brother!"

Oh no! Not again! Fastly, you grasped a full hand of dust and threw it in the face of the one that was holding you, taking this advantage to slip away from the scarf and reach your staff.

DAMN! Yuán Fèn told you several times! Never leave behind your weapon! And you were too drained out to use again the immobilize spell!

 You tried to jump in it, but before you could even reach it, the tail of one of the two rats grabbed your ankle, making you face the ground, sand and dirt in your mouth.

"PUAH! Ugh! I hate when they do this!"

"You should have put on your helmet, Brother!"

You shook your head, taking away some of the sand on you, when the same hands from before held you by your arms, raising you from the ground.

"She's a feisty one. I hope the prince will like her as a snack..."

"You're crazy?! Who cares! As long as she's fresh, he'll like the meal!"

You kept on squirming, kicking your two new captors, but you could only reach their armored torso.

"LET me go! Stop!"

Yuán Fèn tried again to move, but the pain from the arrows in his chest created a shock that made him growl. The Teo rat noticed his new attempt, alongside the big pool of blood that now made the ground turn a deep red.

"What about the monkey?"

"The king will not mind some...dried meat!"

The two laughed, starting to head away from the spot, while you craned your neck so much that it hurt, looking in fear towards your beloved monkey.

"YUÁN FÈN! NO! NO, PLEASE STOP! LET ME GO! YUÁN FÈN!"

Yuán Fèn tried again, and again he fell down in pain, panting and feeling his life force slowly drying away.

"Y...y/n...."

He felt his eyelids getting heavier and heavier. Your scream started to get more distant and muffled.

"I...need to..."

He loses his senses.

///

The song of a sanxian played somewhere.

He slowly started to open his heavy eyes from the forced slumber. His finger could still feel the sensation of the blood on the ground, now reduced in some kind of mud by the dirt and the sun. He tried to stir his body, but the arrows in his chest must have messed up his muscles.

The music kept on playing, strong; he felt the sound of someone stepping down their foot to keep the beat. Was he dreaming? Why would someone play in such a place? He tried to call for help, but his mouth was dry.

"Yellow Wind Ridge, 

A mighty ole' range,

Once buzzin'

With Joy and Glee."

He could only move his head, resting his cheek on the rovent rock, and he saw the source of the sound.

A headless body was joyfully playing a sanxian, tapping his foot on the rock.

Now he saw everything... well, he could tell a nice story to the Enma...

"But the pesky rats took hold,

A sudden unfold,

Turned it all barren and bleak."

Uuuhhg, not a bard! If he really needed to die here, at least he preferred it in a less extravagant way!

He was still curious about the fact he didn't have a mouth to express the words, though...

"The King GOT Denide,

Rules thrown aside,

Evil connived,

Running wild and free."

He was telling about the story of this place. Well, as much as he knew, the only information that he had was about when the Yellow Rat tried to capture the Tang Monk. The old man was right; things were bad there even before...

"Wukong went to the

Bodhisattva to plead,

Granting the Land

A Moment o' Peace."

That was during the journey, well, nothing that he didn't know...

"Yet before long,

Another disaster struck.

The cursed returned 

On a killin' spree."

Alright, now things started to get different. What kind of beast started rampaging after the events of the story? 

"The hero, he lies there dead,

With the truth hidden

From Ye and me..."

...Truth? Hero?...did he mean...what truth?! Oh, come on! He couldn't die there without knowing! He tried to stir again, fighting against his approaching demise, but his body felt like stone there.

The headless figure, that with that rosary at his neck, reminded him more of a monk now, jumped down from the rock, holding the instrument in his arms, approaching the soon-to-be-dead monkey.

"I reckon I got an idea why ye have come here, me friend."

The monkey coughed a little, finding just enough saliva to moisten a few words.

"A-ah...?... Go....good for.... you t...then..."

"Eh," he seemed amused by the small response of Yuán Fèn, " 'n' ye seems lik' in a ill shape."

If you were there at that moment, he was sure that you would use some sarcastic words against him after having a small stroke for the view of the inside of his neck.

A few strong were pinched, and the sound of the sanxian was heard again. Yuán Fèn noticed only now some strange glows around every time the monk pinched the strings. A few hours started to disappear like dust in the wind.

"Haste makes waste." The monk proclaimed, "I'll lend ye a hand."

And, with one swing of the strings, the sanxian created one beam of golden light that struck the monkey straight in his chest. Atsushi, at the beginning, felt the pain of the muscle contorting, the. The relief of the arrows that started to disappear from his chest, alongside his wounds, and, in the end, he felt his strength come back all of a sudden.

He touched himself, inspecting his body, and found it incredible that a few moments before he was at the brink of death, and now he felt like he could just battle.  That monk... wasn't just a strange creature.

The monk laughed, noticing the surprise of the monkey, while he started to stand up from the ground. The blood had disappeared, only some more golden glow floating around. 

"Watch your step, eh?" He kept laughing, gesturing around, "Get more shots, and you'll be high and dry!"

But, despite his strangely jovial behavior, the monkey couldn't not feel a sense of havereness around that monk. He started circulating him, watching that curious creature that kept on playing the chords of the instrument, mimicking the monkey move.

"Who are you? Why did you save me?"

He couldn't ready anything about that musician without a face. It was hard, but his fingers seemed to think about the notes to take, like words.

" a' o' this maiter? ah thought ye hud something mair important tae tak' care about!" More notes were played, "like a quine in need o' 'n' hulp? she surely wull catch th' yak o' someone oot there!"

"Y/n!"

The questions and the wondering about this person were immediately cast aside; he had more important matters to attend to now!

He recalled his own staff, and, laying on the ground, he noticed your own weapon, left there when the rats had taked you away. He reached for it and secured it on his shoulder.

From afar, he could hear the sounds of more rats, maybe enjoying the idea of a feast with his own flesh and yours for the future. 

"Hold on tight, Y/n... I'm coming for you!"

And, with a sprint, he took the main road, approaching the next battle.

///

Rats weren't the only enemy that he had to face. After the defeat of the young frogs that tried to attack him from the water surface he was passing by, he must have admitted that this challenge was more complicated than the last one.

Atsushi Black Wind Mountain, the Yaoguais worked under a system, a rule of one big leader, and acted in such a way. Here they were erratic and chaotic, following different rules made by different people. Kind of odd, especially knowing that the Yellow Wind Sage was around... if he was around.

Built in the walls of the rock or destroyed around the area, what was left of old Buddhist temples remains, showing the story of attempts to eradicate that belief from that place. But, by the looks of it, it seemed to have backfired...

He kept on running around the rocks and the sands, trying to catch your scent in the air. He must have been down for some time; he couldn't get your trace even with proper concentration. How was he supposed to find you?!

After another climb, another scene appeared in front of him: behind some mountains and dunes, like a column that was erected in the distance, a tornado made of sand stood tall in the distance. It was pretty impressive and scary too; it looked capable of destroying everything in its path... but then he noticed one interesting detail: it wasn't moving at all.

"...could it be...uh..."

He needed to look it up on it, but that wasn't his priority right now.

A pair of stairs, built inside the stone, led him to an area where, instead of rock formations or old statues, houses made of bricks and stone were built, alongside old walls and structures made for the living and more. Despite the fact that there were many, none of them seemed to have been used in years, and he saw no mortal around that could live there! The only ones that seemed to have found a home in that place were the rats, the same ones that were not far from his position right now.

When he heard some more steps coming closer, he had enough time to hide in one of those houses, allowing the two rats that were currently on patrol to come closer. They were casually talking to each other, not on guard like the ones that he had already fought.

"And he kept on bragging about how good they were to have brought that human there to the prince!"

"You know him; what's bad in hoping for a bite?"

"Like he'll even left some spare for us! We'll only get the monkey that was with her..."

A human? They must have been talking about you, and by the looks of it, things were looking pretty bad now, especially since they seemed interested in making you the lunch for... a prince? Their prince?

"You know what's funny? When I passed near his abode, I hadn't heard him eating at all! And you know how he is with food! I even heard someone talking!"

"Maybe he's playing with her? Who knows? He's clearly not the brightest in the bunch.

The two keep on laughing and talking, unaware of the door that was slowly opening behind them. They made a huge mistake by revealing that you were in fact still alive...he held at least. The first one didn't even notice the head of the staff crashing into his head, while the other hand only had the chance to acknowledge the enemy attack.

"WHAT THE—UGH!"

Another blow made him fall on his back, and, before he could even react, Yuán Fèn's staff was ALREADY pointing to his muzzle.

"Scream and I'll split your head open! Where's the human girl?!"

"Wh-what human g—" he stopped when the staff started to brush his teeth.

"The human girl that you were talking about before! The one with the monkey, speak up now!"

There was a moment of silence from the rat, unsure if speaking would have been better than receiving that staff on his head. When he realized that Yuán Fèn wasn't joking about opening his head, he gulped.

"They have her to the prince ...in his abode, in a cave!"

"Where?!"

"North! Just before the cliff, you can't miss it!"

"...good..."

A smack on the rat face was enough to make him lose consciousness. You were alive ; that was all that mattered, and, with that thought in mind, he started to lead North.

///

After the defeat of the next enemy, the monkey started to understand how they were supposed to work around there. While on their last journey, they seemed to go from the less strong to the strongest of their ranks, maybe with the sole purpose of protecting the relics; here they seemed more chaotic or, at least, concentrating in certain areas of Yellow Ridge. He didn't think that he would have found so few Yaoguais protecting their prince, and that maybe was a sign of the strength of that One.

By following the directions of the rat, he found himself following the Wall of another one of those mountains, the Shadows covering his path, allowing him a relief from the sun. The lack of other enemies around was also a lucky opportunity for taking a breath from the ones he had ALREADY fought.

It wasn't that far till he found, as he told him, the entrance of a cave. It was big enough to let him pass or make a living if something big.

What really gave him a cold feel on his shoulder was the amount of bones and objects that unlucky passengers had left behind. Maybe the leftovers of the meal of this prince. What kind of prince a bunch of rats could have?! By the look of the mess, it seemed like he had quite the appetite.

He looked around, searching for the fresh meats for his recent meals, and, with a sigh of relief, he had found nothing that could lead to you. Despite the look, the light of the place was enough to allow him to see around freely without the need of fire or by lighting one of the braziers around the place. And, to his surprise, there were a few objects around that made the place almost bearable… or a mock of a human habitation of some sort. Old vases, broken panels, what it seemed to be a tree sradicated from its roots and posed near the wall like imitating an indoor plant…

What kind of creature could try to do such a thing?

Still wondering, he stopped his exploration when he heard some roaring sound coming not so far from him and…

"No! You must stay! Other kill and eat; I protect and care! You too, nice! You stay!"

It was the voice of a male, hoarse, and it wasn't friendly at all!

He followed it, and, after moving away an old curtain that had seen better days, in front of him there was… well, he surely wasn't just a rat; he was a BIG rat! His armor reflected a few sparkles when the light shone upon it; he moved like he was trying to hold in place something. Resting near the wall, a giant Chui stayed, ready to be held by its owner.

His tail moved like a storm, still trying to fight whatever was in his hands and

"Put me down! I don't want to stay here with you! LET ME GO!"

Yuán Fèn's eyes widened, realizing that what the prince tried so badly to hold on tight to was in fact you. Without another thought, he unleashed his staff and, emitting only a huge STOMP, he bashed his weapon on the head of the rat. Instead of falling dead on the ground, he started to move like a drunk man, obviously kerfuffled by the monkey attack but not dead like he hoped.

That giant started to fall, losing the grip on you, and, by taking that to his advantage, Yuán Fèn was able to catch you in his arms before you could meet the hard ground. Your eyes were shut close, scared for the fall, and he couldn't hold a small giggle for that display.

"You look like you were in need of assistance, my Bián huá!" He said.showing off a little for the rescue.

You opened your eyes; a gleam of happiness reappeared.

"...Monkey!"

Your arms met his neck in a hug, relieved that in fact both of you weren't dead at all. He sighed, holding you closer. trying to calm you down from the huge scare you must have felt back there. Then, you suddenly make some space between the two of you, a mortified look on your face.

"AH! I'm sorry! Your wounds!"

"I'm fine! See? Not a scratch!"

He showed you his chest, untouched and without trace of any wounds or arrows.

"But I saw it... Did the healing wine help you?"

"Not exactly. I've found a helping hand that...

Will let you lose your head!"

"...it's strangely specific."

He just laughed it off; he was sure that, sooner than later, you would understand his words, and, maybe, he couldn't wait to see your face once you noticed the headless monk. But he regained his seriousness once he heard some moan of pain from the rat Yaogaui in front of him. He let you down, then took back his staff; he couldn't let that thing walk around again, not after the danger he had put you through.

"Wait!" Your hands resting on his arm, he looked at you surprised. "Let's just leave him. You gave him a concussion already. I don't think he'll be a problem soon."

Well, that was new… You seemed even sorry for what had happened to that rat. Now, come to think of it, you were practically unharmed. Not only that, but by looking around, he noticed a tea set, now almost completely destroyed on the ground, what it seemed to be tea and a bunch of staff not so far from you. Dared he say, that prince never had any intention of eating you!

"All right, I don't know what happened here, but you look like you had a blast. Let's move now; more rats will come after the commotion!"

You nodded, but you still looked back at the prince with a sorry expression that made your friend more curious than before.

"I'm sorry. It's an urgent matter. I promise to apologize better when we take the relic. Thank you!"

And so you and the Destined One left hand in hand the cave, even if your friend now was quite interested in knowing what had just happened between you and that thing in that cave. Once out, you needed to cover your face from the sun, trying to readjust to its rays even in the dim light of the rocks.

"Hey." His voice made you look at him, noticing something long and dark pointing at you. Your staff…he had kept it all this time...

You smiled, taking from his hand your weapon, promising yourself to be more careful. Your hands shook at the view of your friend dying on the ground… Then, his hand reached yours, making one of the two leaving the staff and giving it a light squeeze.

"Come on... I know the way." He said with confidence.

And so, you followed him.

((GEEEEEEEZE, ugh...sucha ride...it's more a prologue than a part buuut there it is!))

what had happene din that cave between you and the prince?

@phoenixeclipse-lmkau @miifu666 @sleepingdramaqueen @whitefox2k18 @ladydoe8 @jeminiikrystal @theactualgir @birdioarts

@jssy96 @silenthopper @nezukos-number1fan

[new-november-moons]

I think a lot about how Luke was really Anakin's son when he was younger. Isolated on Tatooine, offbeat and unhappy, isolated. He had that wild spirit craving to run until he couldn't run anymore, staring into the suns and letting them burn his eyes because he was so lacking a thrill. He was building his life on sands he could only wish were shifting, trapped with people he loved but bitterly resented. And then how he matured into Padme when he was able to step into himself. Calm and kind and experiencing the world with vision realistic, but also eternally optimistic. He was finally at peace, with the ghost of Padme holding onto his shoulder, as he reconciled with his father, as he shook hands with a galaxy that had dealt him an extraordinarily terrible life.

THEN when I think about how Leia was pressured to be Padme's daughter as a child, already at odds with her planet as an adopted princess. She was out of place on a planet she loved, a beautiful malapropism. The pressure hung on the edge of every compliment she was fed. She was expected to behave like perfect royalty, with all the elegance of her forgotten mother, when in reality, Anakin's desperate fire was eating her from the inside. Even if she exceeded at her role as princess and politician, it always felt like gritting her teeth every hour of every day. And then she joined the Rebellion, after all of her gut-wrenching losses, and unleashed the part of her that was always her father. The part that never forgave him but always saw his shadow in the mirror, the part that echoed his devilish grin and his impossible dreams.

The twins may have never known their mother, and one of them never shook her hatred for their father, but they paralleled them in every way. Padme and Anakin's tragedy was the question, Luke and Leia were the answer.

[starlightiing]

what if we were best friends growing up, inseparable little monsters on the track that shuffled over to each other's homes for a hot warm meal after a long day of racing hard in the unforgiving snow?

what if we both had impossible dreams of making it into F1, but we never gave up through thick and thin to get there, together?

what if 'through thick and thin' became our reality, and the air really did thicken between us, and we pushed each other away so desperately and so viciously, that we just came flinging back into each other's orbit despite our best efforts to keep apart?

what if we both made it in to f1, two silly kids that grew up 20 minutes apart with a shared dream, only to harden our hearts and try to pretend those parts of our lives never existed?

what if we ended up, by the imperceptible winds of fate, as teammates in the same sport we grew up chasing together - despite all of the clamor and vitriol we were slung for daring to dream bigger and brighter?

what if we thought this could change us and it didn't. what if we fell farther apart, our relationship crumbling to dust right before our eyes without the hope of ever even catching a wisp of sand between our trembling fingers to hold us together?

what if we, again manipulated by those imperceptible winds of fate, end up stumbling into a podium together during our quickly waning time as teammates?

what if we, two little kids from France with a dream, ended up here together despite how thick the air between us has gotten to breathe, despite the fire and the flames, the good and the bad, the better and the worse?

what if we held each other close and tight, enough to feel the tremble of each other's bodies as excitement courses through our veins, during this impossibly magical moment we get to share with each other, together yet again?

what if we could breathe thin air together again, even for just a little while, and keep that door wedged open just enough that we could peek in from time to time without it feeling like our hearts were in vice grips?

what if this could fix us?

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 2)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

​GIF: Originally posted by @harleytudinous

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dream manipulation. Masturbation. Voyeurism. Plot related cigarette use. Dubious consent.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: So I know I initially billed this as a two shot but the story has run away with me in the most lovely way. Part 3 will be coming soon. Thank you for all your kind responses to part 1, it honestly means so much to me. Hope you enjoy this one too. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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

The veil of sleep comes down upon your weary body with a feather-light touch, trying to coax your mind back into the world of dreams.

Dreamscapes have been a whole new experience for you in the past month of your life. Before, you would wake with no recollection of what had played out. Not even the slightest inkling. Now, you remember everything.

They are staggering; bursting with details and ideas beyond your most outlandish daytime imaginings. The emotions that are conjured by them, both when asleep and also awake are just as bold.

And even though it's been 23 nights since it started you are still finding them predominantly jarring and disorientating. You are baffled by how other people cope with the sheer vividness. The unpredictability. Maybe they have become desensitised. You can only hope that the same will happen for you in time.

One thing you tell yourself with each sunrise:

Thank goodness they weren't nightmares.

At least, you don't think they are. There's no resemblance between yours and what you have heard others describe over the years, nor to those outlined in a dream decoding book you had checked out of the library last week. There's no obvious threat or fear. No re-living of traumatic events. Just weird subtext.

The first dream found you standing barefoot on a beach. A mirage distorted the particulars of the scene making it impossible to see further than half a meter in front of you. The temperature of the sand under your soles was verging on painful and as such, it forced you to walk into the unknown before you.

A groaning wind started to brew and lifted the sand into sparkling flurries. You shielded your eyes from the abrasive particles.

The sun was at its apex when you heard the ear splitting bangs. Unmistakably gun shots; you didn't last much longer in the dream and woke with a start.

For the next week, your dreams had been like a series of video clips edited into a supercut.

Raven wings. Black cats. Hellfire. Ruby red glow. Sprawling library shelves. Landscapes hewn by earthquake fissures. Hotel corridors. A handsome, blond haired man wearing sunglasses, holding a blood covered knife.

If you didn't know any better, you would begin to suspect that your new box of tea bags had been laced with a psychedelic. Alas, no. Your hypothesis was unequivocally disproved when you friends had been completely unaffected after stopping by for a Sunday afternoon catch up.

This quick fire of snapshots eventually stopped, transforming into lucid long form dreams. You often think back to the first one where it happened.

Standing in the the empty room, and the appearance of the figure dressed in black. The colour that had flashed in their midnight eyes had the quality of liquid silver. Sometimes you wonder if you see the same image in other dreams, standing in amongst a crowd.

From that point on, regardless of what dream you are in, you cannot shake the intuitive prickle down your spine that tells you someone is watching you.

You reason that it is nothing to be concerned about. Humans dream, and you cannot deny that some of them - swimming in a sea of clouds, re-visiting childhood haunts, trying out superpowers - have been quite fun.

You roll over on to your left side and close your eyes.

You dream.

The room you see is expansive in breadth and depth. Impressive windows bring brilliant light into the space which bounces off the ivory stone of the floors and walls. There are statues positioned at equidistant intervals, implying that the chamber is a gallery of sorts.

One effigy, fashioned from bronze, and rich in colour draws your attention. The lines and curves of its form intrigue you, despite not knowing the creature it was portraying.

You are about to move on when the feeling of being watched sparks through your skeleton.

Everything changes.

Clarity gives way to haze. Sun is swapped for moon.

You see a man across the room. He stands with a perfect posture. Graceful, powerful. His elbows are bent, fingers interlaced, palms facing upwards. Sheer black fabric floats around his frame. It moves languidly, giving glimpses of his bare body beneath.

The man's face is imperceptible. The distance between you too great but somehow you know you are the focus of his attention.

His robes fall to the floor with a gossamer sigh. The pale, unmarked skin of his slight form glows beautifully in the moonlight. You look down in embarrassment as arousal flushes through you, and you see that you are suddenly as naked as he is.

You gasp, and snap your gaze back up.

The sight you see is rather unexpected. The man is intimately touching himself.

You feel compelled to mirror him. You immediately reach between your legs. The man groans as you make contact.

All it takes is a little bit of attention on your clit before you are ready to slide two fingers into your core. The noise you make at the feeling of the stretch is salacious. The man echoes you with a sound that is just as dirty.

It spurs you on and you burrow deeper.

You curl your fingers until your legs are weak and quivering. You long to sink to your knees so you can finish in a more comfortable position yet you can't. An invisible force is preventing you.

It keeps you on display.

Just like the statues to your left.

You wonder if it is for the man's benefit.

You try to focus on him but it is impossible to do so through the trembling glaze over your eyes. All you are able to sense from him now is the sound of the rhythmic pump of his palm around his cock and his panting breaths.

Desperate whines escape your lips. You are teetering on the edge of an orgasm but you can't seem to lose your balance and fall into the abyss. The unsteadiness in your legs is too much of a distraction. You rub at your clit again in the hope that it will bring the satisfaction you need.

It does nothing.

You are so frustrated by your body's disobedience that it is almost painful.

"Please. Please. Please," you mutter under your breath.

A voice suddenly speaks next to you ear. A velvet voice with the timbre of a thunder rumble. It pours like a soothing syrup into your brain and commands you to do exactly as it bids.

"Let go."

You climax intensely, crying out in relief, squirting all over your fingers and onto your hand as you legs finally give way.

The fall jolts you back into consciousness and you wake with a barely contained scream of pleasure in your throat and adrenaline lighting up your nervous system.

Daylight is peeking through a little gap in the curtains. You take a deep, grounding breath.

That was obscene.

The context, the actions, the sounds. That sultry voice at the end. From the throbbing in your vulva and the twitching of your legs it seems like you didn't just finish in the dream.

There is really no point in looking it up in the dream decoding book.

You were clearly horny on a subconscious level. Or craving attention, hence the exhibitionist behaviour. The latter is not usually in your nature to seek out but if it is the reason, you might not have to wait long before the desire is fulfilled. There is a work event happening this evening that may require you to accept an award and address the crowd.

You love this time of year where community projects get recognition; a nomination alone is a sure-fire way of garnering publicity which in turn helps the charity's outreach.

But first, a normal day at the office. You throw back the covers and go straight to the bathroom to rinse off the evidence of your wet dream.

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

Your right hand connects with the metal push plate of the function space's front door. The heels of your boots click and clack as you cross the threshold, moving from floor board to paving slab.

It's fortuitous that you brought a long, thick coat with you this evening for the wind is wintery and unforgiving. You stay close to the wall of the building to try and shelter from it as much as possible.

The pavements are slick with recent precipitation, streetlamps bouncing off of the water with caustic white light.

Then you see him; a figure cut from shadow.

He's breathing in such a laboured way that you wonder if he is sick.

Your phone is still inside the venue, currently being guarded by a colleague along with your bag but it wouldn't take long to retrieve it and call for medical assistance.

"You okay?" Concern colours the simple question.

His reply comes quickly and assertively, "I am well, thank you."

You nod, not entirely convinced for the stranger's response was as stiff as his posture, and reach inside the pocket of your coat for the box of cigarettes and lighter stashed within.

You settle one of the sticks between your lips and use your thumb to bring forth a flame. The crackle of smouldering paper and tobacco perforates the damp air and you take a needy drag. The nicotine taints and tantalises in equal measure, filling you with guilt and relief. You've been trying to give up but the little voice inside your head had won this evening. You close your eyes and focus on the pleasure it brings before flicking some ash into the tray mounted to the wall.

Your attention now back on your surroundings, the stranger steps into the scope of the streetlight. The angles of his cheekbones, jaw and nose are accentuated to an incredible extent in the gleam. His dark hair is being buffeted about the wind, locks of it very close to falling in the blue eyes that are unwaveringly trained on you. He begins to talk again, showcasing his deep baritone.

"I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest with you just now. It is not how I envisaged our first interaction transpiring. I hope that you can forgive me for my deception."

You laugh nervously and take another quick drag. "It makes no difference if you're honest with me or not. I don't know you."

"You are correct. You don't know me. Not yet -"

"Oh," you cut in quickly. "I'm not looking for a hook up."

While you cannot deny that he is arrestingly beautiful, you are technically working and have never been one for one-night stands.

"You mistake my meaning. I have been searching for you for so long. I oftentimes doubted your existence however I was wrong and I find myself humbled to be in your presence at last."

The grandiose declaration is one of the stranger things you have heard in your life and you used to deal with drunken patrons when you worked at a university bar. Maybe he was intoxicated; it would explain a lot.

"Look, this might work on other people but I just came out here to have a cigarette -"

It is his turn to interrupt you now. "You will have no need of those going forward. Your addiction to them will be replaced by me."

"Excuse me?"

You are trying to sound incredulous, however, inside you are rather frightened by the turn the conversation has taken. His gaze is not helping either.

The crystalline eyes are embodying every part of the descriptor; a hard, chill inducing blue. Ash drops from the smouldering cigarette as a tremble of fear rattles through you. The man sees this and the ice suddenly melts to a warmer hue.

His tone turns soft and gentle. "We are supposed to be together. Our union is fated."

He's staring at you expectantly even after your two attempts at rejection. You swiftly stub out the part-finished cigarette and take ownership in ending the interaction.

"I've had enough of this. I'm going back inside now. If you try and follow me, I will speak to the venue's management. If you are still here when I leave later, I will call the police."

You turn towards the door.

He calls your name. Your full name. Middle name too.

Despite your brain chanting at you to go inside, you can't stop yourself from looking back at him. "H-how do you know my full name?"

The profound rumble of his voice resonates deep in your ears. "I know everything about you, Y/N."

He's right in front of you now. His posture is bordering between desperate and predatory. Like he can't quite decide if he is seeking comfort from you, or if he wants to consume you.

You are fumbling behind you to find the door handle. "Please get away from me," you say hoarsely.

He reaches for your hand.

You jump back and struggle to get out of his grip but his strength is inhumanly strong. His skin of his palm is glacial against yours and yet somehow, the touch makes heat snake up your arm and settle in your chest.

You become aware of an internal feeling that you've always had, like that of chapped lips. Low level but something that constantly nags. Something that existed every minute of your life until the moment he touched you.

You grip his hand and look up at his face in astonishment.

"Good. That's it. Look into my eyes. See what you know is there."

You do as he says, totally stunned by the depths that seem to reside within them. It's as if there are universes suspended inside. Maybe there are. Perhaps you could float among the celestial bodies if you asked him to show you how.

You feel so alive and overstimulated that you welcome the delirious thoughts taking over your mind.

You welcome him.

It's like there is a cord connected between your heart and his that is shortening in length. The intensity scares you.

"Give into the pull," he urges darkly, sensing your anxiety.

You obey, feet moving of their own accord and then you are standing before him, just centimetres apart.

He smiles triumphantly and presses you flush against his body.

His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. More heat sears through you from the additional skin-on-skin contact.

Your peripheral vision closes tighter and tighter with every passing moment. The outside world is gone.

He leans in further and you wonder hazily if he is going to kiss you or break your neck. Both options are equally viable given the behaviour he has exhibited. You keep staring at him regardless.

His irises flash silver as he intones his next sentence. "Y/N, I claim you as my soulmate."

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

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt

"Am I your dream girl? You think of me in bed. But you could never hold me. You like me better in your head."

[antianakin]

I'm starting to see some very funny (and by funny I mean infuriating) takes on what Andor was actually ABOUT and the way it utilized its more adult narrative within the context of Star Wars. Andor as a show followed Lucas's themes BRILLIANTLY even while choosing to look at them a little differently.

One of the primary themes in Star Wars is that there really isn't much of a "middle ground" in life. You are either choosing to be selfless and compassionate, or you aren't. Trying to stay in the middle or run from making this choice inevitably ends up badly for the people who try. And one of the other primary themes of Star Wars is that being selfless and compassionate often requires LETTING GO, most often letting go of the people you love and accepting that change happens in life.

I've seen people argue that Andor is able to be a morally grey story because its characters aren't Jedi or Sith who tend to be more bound by these cosmic themes or good vs evil, but I'd argue that Andor actually represents that theme JUST FINE.

Despite many of its characters living in a "morally ambiguous" area, we still have to see them make the choice to be selfless and compassionate or selfish and greedy. One of the primary themes for the characters is how well they can LET GO or not. Cassian is constantly having to figure out how to let go of his plans for his future, let go of his mother, let go of his dreams of a normal life. Cassian is ruled by fear for much of the first season and it's only once he is pushed into a situation where there's no longer any way to run, he starts finally fighting back and refusing to bow to the oppressive force that wants nothing more than to see him discarded like so much refuse. The people of Ferrix have to let go of their desire to stick their heads in the sand and simply hope the Empire won't notice them.

And on the other end of the spectrum you have Syril Karn and Dedra Meero absolutely fixated on their respective goals to the point that they're willing to kill and betray innocent people to reach them. They've convinced themselves their goals are selfless, but their motivations are in fact actually SELFISH, they serve nobody but their own ambitions. And both of them end up paying for it.

So Andor ABSOLUTELY gets the central theme of Star Wars, it isn't actually trying to change that. What it DOES do is take that theme and just digs slightly deeper, looking at this theme from a slightly different angel even when it ultimately comes to the same conclusion. Andor asks if selflessness and compassion always looks like "I'm Luke Skywalker, I'm here to rescue you!" Or if maybe sometimes making the selfless choice means burning yourself to light a fire to lead someone else to safety. Are all people who make the selfless and compassionate choice considered heroes, or are some of them having to make those choices down in the dirt and destined to be forgotten by history? Andor asks how many variations of selflessness might exist and then explores them in its wide, colorful ensemble.

Andor also is looking at what selflessness might look like in characters who are forced into making a choice between standing back when they see evil happening and dirtying their hands just to make the smallest difference because forces of evil outside of their control are making the purer options impossible.

And that is the EXACT SAME THEME explored with the Prequels Jedi. The Jedi who want so badly to be selfless and compassionate, whose philosophies and ideologies lead them to use violence only as a last resort and love everyone and everything in the galaxy equally. The Jedi who are thrust into a war where there's no way to win because the Sith are running both sides of it and the Jedi can't just NOT FIGHT because that will get innocent people killed and will help no one but themselves, but they have to compromise their morals as a result. The Jedi who see a politician slowly amassing unreasonable amounts of power he's unwilling to let go of and a Senate too controlled by fear and greed to see the danger, so their only option is to commit treason to try to remove the corruption personally.

The Jedi LOOK the hero part a lot more than the characters in Andor do. They're strong, confident, powerful, and wield swords of light. They fight out in the open rather than from the shadows. Cassian, Luthen, Saw, Mon Mothma, Vel, and Cinta all manipulate things and threaten people and lie and cheat their way towards victory. Both Mon Mothma and Luthen fully admit to choosing to act like their enemy in order to defeat them. And it's not that the Jedi's way of fighting is any worse than the way the people of Andor have learned to fight. The people of Andor would LOVE to be able to fight like the Jedi used to do. But they can't. Palpatine has created a world in which being heroes that way is NO LONGER POSSIBLE. He started with the Jedi, by forcing the Jedi into a situation where fighting the way they once did was the wrong choice to make. There were no longer any right choices, just better choices. The only choice.

The Jedi stood as a bulwark between the darkness and the people of the galaxy. For years they chose to dirty their hands in order to fight the battles no one else WANTED to fight because it was the ONLY CHOICE TO MAKE. So what happens when the Jedi are gone?

The rest of the galaxy is now faced with the same choice. Do you stand by and let darkness grow? Or do you dirty your hands a little because it's the only choice you CAN make?

The people in Andor are picking up the torch that fell out of the Jedi's hands when they were murdered and persecuted by the Sith. Only the people who are left don't have magic powers or swords of light, so they use the resources they have at their disposal, which mostly amounts to manipulation and trickery and striking from shadows. The fight looks a little different now, but it's still the same fight the Jedi were fighting for years.

So Andor is taking those bigger cosmic themes from the Jedi/Sith conflicts that permeate the rest of the Skywalker saga and asks what those themes might look like when applied to the little people. What kind of choices might THEY make, what kind of things might they have to let go of in order to make those selfless choices? What kind of consequences might happen when they DON'T make the selfless choice? It's the exact same theme Lucas has ALWAYS had in his stories, just viewed from a different angle or through a different lens.

But the stories we've been getting recently that are trying to argue that being selfish is actually totally fine so long as you're doing it For Love, that the Jedi were in fact the source of everything that went wrong in the galaxy, that the Jedi were DESTINED to be destroyed, those all go completely against Lucas's themes. They're the direct OPPOSITE of his intended message. It is in fact entirely possible to write a more adult story with grittier content that STILL SENDS THE SAME FUCKING MESSAGE AND FOLLOWS THE SAME THEMES and doesn't try to get edgy in its interpretation of the source material.

[eunsuri]

Eternity

Pairing: Solas x Lavellan

Summary: In the final battle with the false gods, Solas must make an impossible choice.

Word Count: 2,443

Warnings: ANGST. Followed by some real sweetness to heal our Solavellan pain.

A/N: Hey everyone! It's been a hot minute since I've posted or even done any writing, but all the Veilguard hype and replaying the Dragon Age games has inspired my poor Solavellan heart. Hope you enjoy it and let me know your thoughts! Also posted on AO3!

“Solas!”

It had all happened so quickly.

The world seemed like a fractured dream—shadows and light bleeding together, the edges of reality blurring into something unrecognisable. Hues of blue, purple, and red painted the sky. The sounds of battle—screams, the clash of steel, the roar of ancient magic and blighted gods—melted into a single, indistinct hum, as if the world itself had begun to unravel.

Solas’ Dread Wolf form was quickly fading, returning to his battered Elven body. Pain throbbed in his every limb, a dull, relentless ache that clouded his thoughts and blurred his senses. 

He tried to focus, to grasp onto something solid, but the ground beneath his feet slipped like sand, shifting and unstable. It was Lavellan’s voice, raw with emotion, that anchored him, drawing him back from the brink of unconsciousness. His racing heart thudded in his ears, eyes searching for the source of Lavellan’s cry, as fear gripped his very being at the thought of her laying broken and defenceless in the chaos. 

Thunder continued to roll while lightning cracked through angry clouds over the twisted form of the ancient elven goddess, Ghilan'nain. The Mother of the Halla, and huntress of the People, was now a twisted abomination of decay and rage. Her shriek tore through the Veilguard ranks, a cry born of millennia of rage and betrayal, a keening wail that echoed with the fury of a goddess locked away for centuries. 

Then, through a fog of pain and confusion, Solas saw Ghilan'nain’s blazing red eyes seeking out the Dread Wolf, her corrupted form rising above the fray and ready to strike. Before he could even register the danger, before he could summon the strength to call out to Lavellan, a flash of blue crystals sped into his vision. 

It was Lavellan. The lyrium dagger clutched in her hand, armour shattered and boots worn out, the scent of muddied blood from her injured leg mingling with the air, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Yet, despite the pain and exhaustion etched into her every movement, her eyes burned with an unyielding fire, a fierce resolve to protect the one she loved.

Without a second thought, she leapt forward, her body moving of its own accord, driven by a love that eclipsed all fear. The impact was immediate, the force of the blow reverberating through her as she intercepted the strike meant for Solas, driving the lyrium dagger through Ghilan'nain’s heart. Pain lanced through Lavellan, white-hot and unforgiving, unlike anything she had ever felt before.

“No!” Anguish tore through Solas, his cry shattered the battlefield, raw and filled with terror at the sight of her figure flying across the battlefield.

He didn’t know how he had managed to gather the strength to stand once more, but in an instant, he was at her side. The battle faded into a ghostly echo as his world narrowed to the broken form in his arms. The ground beneath them was cold and unyielding, but it was the chill in her fading pulse that froze his racing heart. Her breath, once steady and strong, came now in ragged, shallow gasps, a desperate struggle against the darkness closing in.

“Vhenan…” Her voice came as a laboured, broken whisper. 

The scent of iron and death hung heavy in the air, the distant screams of the battle barely registering in Solas' mind as he frantically hovered his hands over her wounds, his bloodied fingers trembling with the urgency of his magic. But the damage was too great, the energy she had taken was meant to kill, to obliterate. Hot crimson blood seeped through the cracks in her armour, staining the cold stone beneath her. The warmth of it clung to Solas' skin, a stark contrast to the creeping numbness that threatened to consume him whole.

He found himself unable to muster a single word in response to her, the weight of his despair crushing him. He could feel the ancient magic flowing within his veins, yet every spell he cast faltered against the reality of her mortality. Each pulse of energy he sent into her only slipped through his grasp, her life ebbing away like water through his fingers, her fading breath a cruel reminder of his powerlessness.

For the first time in millenia, Solas felt truly, utterly powerless. The gravity of his failure thrust down on him, sharper than any blade, heavier than the mountains he had once shaped. He had experienced many failures, disrupted rituals, and power drunk magisters. Yet the pride and determination that would fuel him through these failures could not fill the gaping void that failing his love would leave inside him.

Since the Veil’s creation and his awakening from Uthenera, Solas had borne witness to countless lives slipping away, each loss a distant echo in the vast expanse of time. He had watched countless lives flicker and fade, each loss stoking the embers of his desperation to restore his People’s immortality. But this—this was different. 

He had convinced himself that the price he would pay was justified, a necessary sacrifice for the future he sought to reclaim. This world and its people, fleeting and fragile, would have to perish in order to restore his own, to undo the grievous mistake he had made. He had always known that losing this world would mean losing her, that her mortality was inescapable—especially with the Anchor’s relentless power surging through her veins, marking her as temporary. He had hoped that by severing their bond and leaving the Inquisition, he could sever his attachment to her as well. Yet, even as he watched over her each night in the Fade, anticipating the loss of his love, nothing could have truly prepared him for the agony of this moment.

The pain that seared through him now was unlike any he had ever known, sharp and relentless, cutting deeper than all the centuries of loss combined. He had thought himself prepared, had steeled his heart against the inevitability of her mortality, but as he looked at Lavellan, broken and bleeding before him, he realised with a shattering clarity that he could not—would not—live in a world without her. The thought of truly losing her was a wound that would never heal, a chasm of despair that would swallow him whole for eternity.

Memories, vivid and bittersweet, flooded Solas’ mind. He remembered the first time he had seen her, the feeling of her marked hand clutched in his as he guided her to close the gaping rift. He recalled the stolen moments of quiet between battles, where they had shared dreams of a life beyond the chaos once the battle with Corypheus would end, her laughter a balm to his soul. The nights she would seek him out in dreams, or sneak into his tent, where she would lay against his chest while he read books or told stories of his dreams in the Fade. The feeling of her bare skin beneath his fingertips, the softness of her lips against his, lingering like the delicate petals of a blooming flower. Their magic intertwining, flowing through them like a gentle current, binding them together in a harmony that felt as eternal as the stars.

Moments in which the crushing realisation dawned on him—that she could sway his mind to find another way, that the world he sought to restore could be returned without the destruction he once deemed necessary, that everything and everyone he had fought so hard alongside could be real, not just a dream of the past.

But now, those memories twisted like a knife in his heart, the sweetness of each moment laced with the bitter sting of loss. Without her, those moments would remain nothing but a memory that would haunt him for eternity.

“Please,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure to whom he was begging, his voice a plea to the empty skies. 

The thought of truly losing her now was unbearable, a pain he could scarcely endure. For him, she had endured unimaginable suffering—the searing torment of the mark that claimed her arm, the heartbreak when he severed their bond, and the endless nights spent in relentless pursuit of him, only to stand between him and the final, fatal blow. He could not let her die, not after all she had sacrificed for him.

Solas wracked his brain for solutions, continuing to frantically attempt to heal her and keep her conscious. His vision was blurred with the rivers of tears streaming down his skin, the fierce hand of desperation gripping itself around his throat. She was fading, her weakened life force flickering like a waning candle, its flame struggling to cling to the charred wick, desperately resisting the darkness closing in.

Then, in the depths of his despair, a single option took root—a desperate, impossible choice. There was one thing he could do, one last act that could save her. But it would cost him everything. His heart thudded against his chest heavily with the weight of the decision, the ancient power within him pulsing like a living thing, reminding him of all that he was about to lose. Immortality. His essence. The very fabric of his being.

But what was immortality without her? What was all of his power worth if it could not protect the one person who had come to mean more to him than anything in this world or the next?

His resolve solidified, born of a love so deep it defied all reason. He could not imagine a world without her—without her laughter, her touch, the warmth of her presence beside him. His pride and desire to mend his past errors would not stand in his way again. And so, with a heart full of love and a mind clear of doubt, he cast his pride into the depths of the abyss, where it would be lost to the shadows of his past, and embraced the decision he would have to make.

Solas placed his hand, now strong and steady, over her heart. His eyes glowed with an ethereal blue light that seemed to pierce the very fabric of reality, a stormy flash of magic emitting from his palms. 

He could feel it—the life force that had sustained him for centuries, ancient and vast, now flowing out of his being and into her. It was like tearing a piece of his soul away, a pain so profound it threatened to break him, but he did not falter. He would give her everything if it meant she would live. 

As the celestial light enveloped her, knitting her wounds and restoring her strength, Solas felt his own power wane. His once-immortal form grew weaker, the essence that had defined  him slipping away. But with it, the burden of centuries lifted, replaced by a calm acceptance. He had chosen this—chosen her—and in that choice, he found peace.

Lavellan gasped as warmth surged through her, revitalising her strength, but with it came the unsettling realisation of what he was doing. “Solas, stop,” she protested, her voice growing stronger even as his weakened. She attempted to push him away, her hand trembling against his chest, but he drew her closer, gently lowering his forehead to hers, the gesture silencing her pleas.

“I will not lose you, Vhenan,” he breathed, his voice heavy with resolve as his ancient power flowed into her, binding them both to a mortal life.

Though Solas would remain formidable, he willingly embraced the fragility of mortality, finding solace in the certainty that they would face the years together, no matter how fleeting they may seem. 

The engulfing light dimmed, leaving them in a hushed silence. With a newfound strength, Lavellan lifted herself upright, pausing to drink in the sight of the Dread Wolf, now a mortal man. His eyes, no longer glowing with ancient power, were filled with a quiet love and deep relief, the tension that had once gripped him now replaced by a serene acceptance of his mortality. She could see the peace in his expression, the contentment that came with knowing he had chosen this—chosen her—and this world. 

A wave of relief washed over her being, drawing her worries back into its current, and allowing the peace she had sought for a decade to finally grace her. Though it pained her to see him sacrifice such an intrinsic part of who he was, she felt a deep sense of gratitude knowing she had changed his heart away from the destruction of this world.

Solas reached forward, delicately brushing his fingers over her mended cheek. Her eyes glistened with life and unshed tears welled along her eyelashes, captivating him as they always had. She released a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding in, and lunged herself into his embrace. 

Her arm twined around his neck, clutching the fabric on his back as a quiet sob shuddered through her lungs. “Ma serannas, Ma’lath. Thank you. Thank you,” she whispered between breaths, tears trickling down his throat and soaking through his clothing.

He held her tightly against him, as though she might vanish if he loosened his grasp. The warmth of her presence, so long absent, was a salve to his aching soul. For a decade, he had watched her from afar, his dreams haunted by the memory of her touch. Now, finally enfolded in her embrace, he marvelled at the tangible reality of what he had yearned for so deeply. Each trembling breath she took, each tear that fell, was a testament to the long-suffered separation and the profound relief of being truly reunited.

“I’ve lived through many lifetimes, yet without you, it is all empty, lost,” Solas confessed, his voice a low murmur against her hair. “Now, I see a new path forward.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her hand gently tracing up to his face. Her voice was soft, yet firm with conviction, as though speaking the very truth of her soul. “And we will face it together,” she vowed, wiping her thumb across his cheek as her teary eyes searched his. “Var lath vir suledin.” The words trembled on her lips—ancient, yet timeless.

“Yes, Vhenan.” This time, he believed her. “Our love will endure. Always.”

Though the blighted false gods had been freed from their eternal prison, and the battle was now won, the task of rebuilding the world lay ahead. Together, they would forge a new path to save their people—one devoid of further death and destruction.

For now, they were alive, together, but irrevocably changed—two souls who had sacrificed everything for each other. 

Their love had endured, and would continue to endure for centuries to come.

[lonewolfwriting89]

MORE - [SR]

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"To bare flesh is to invite a knife"

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of a dead body. Hints of torture and violence. Blood. Depictions of war. Trauma. Explicit Language. NSFW. Smut. Soft smut.

A/N: A somewhat softer Simon, written with female!reader insert. Pre-established relationship between Simon x Reader. Thanks to @offendedfishnoises​ for all your help, thanks to @more-cardigan-than-woman​ too xoxo 

————

I wanna see the rest of the world the same way that you do, I wanna be the home that you leave and you return to, I wanna stay here in your arms as long as I can do.

All anyone wants is just, More time, more life, more healing, More love, more us, more feeling, Oh, I just need, I'm just needing, More you, more nights for dreaming, These days go by so fast and I, Oh, I just need, I'm just needing more.

There's not enough time in one life, For you and I, there's not enough time.

————

It was 2am, Simon saw the clock tick over just a few seconds ago. Sleep didn’t come all that easily anymore, even when he was curled up against your soft, warm body. He tugged you into his chest on instinct, feeling his heart flutter when you subconsciously leaned further back, resting the base of your skull against his collarbone. You murmured in your sleep, your lips parted just slightly. Simon had to refrain himself from kissing them, giving into your passion.

The cold autumn air had crept in through the glass of your apartment windows, chilling the bedroom off. It was fresh. Simon liked the contrast of it against your heat.

You hummed again in your sleep, hand meeting his around your waist. He gave a secret smile, the brush of your fingertips setting his nerves on fire. Unable to resist any longer, Simon ghosted feather light kisses along your shoulder, working across your flesh and stopped just below your ear.

You were his. You’d told him so. Repeated the words back to him as he buried himself inside you to the hilt. Nails digging crescent shapes into his shoulder blades as the pleasure exploded behind your eyes.

It was these moments Simon cherished the most. The peace. Tranquillity floating like a lily on the water's surface. He ran his free hand along the length of your bare body, burning the feeling into his memory. He’d take this with him on his next deployment. Picture it when he was lonely and needed you the most.

You shivered and snuggled in impossibly closer. A puff of air left your lips, a beautiful sigh. Simon snorted to himself, everything you did was mesmerising. Even the most mundane of things like brushing your teeth on your tiptoes, his black T-shirt barely covering your ass. He smirked, cock twitching slightly at the thought.

His fingers splayed across your stomach, pressing your skin to his. He sighed and leant his head forward, sinking it into you. He felt you absorb him, and he allowed it. Becoming drunk on the feeling.

It was this. This is what he needed. The last mission was tough, bruises still lingering on his knuckles. Cut still healing on his upper lip. His emotions had crept up on him, drowning him in the field momentarily. For the first time in a long time, he was scared.

————

Flashback 

————

Turning the corner, Simon whipped his gun clearing the room. Empty. It was dark, filthy sheets covering the tiny windows. The broken glass allowed the heat of the desert to seep in. Simon pressed his thumb into the side of his radio on his chest, his assault rifle loose in his fingers but still dangerous , “It’s a negative Captain, the rooms have been evacuated, I think there’s a body on the table under some tarp”.

The air was thick with sand and dust, clogging his nostrils. There was a distinct smell of decay in the room, tinged with bitter metallic blood. The crackle of his radio shattered the eerie silence, Price’s voice filtering through, “Understood Ghost, check the room for any intel”.

Dropping his gun down, Simon scouted the edges of the room first, his gloved hands rummaging through the wires and screws on the tables. It was the remnants of a bomb. He pocketed some of the paperwork hidden underneath, it looked like some kind of instruction manual, one of the mechies could look over it at the base camp.

Turning, he looked towards the metal table in the middle of the room, a dank piece of tarpaulin strewn untidily over what was clearly a body underneath. Poor fucker, thought Simon. He huffed and stepped closer. What a shitty way out, laying dead in a derelict warehouse.

He gripped the edge and tore it back, feeling the ground fall out beneath him when he saw what was under it. His stomach plummeted, heart racing rapidly in his chest. He felt it tighten, his head going foggy.

A mangled female body, drenched in blood laid there. Lifeless. Her skin was pale and blotchy, covered in bruises and welts. But what caught Simon was her hair. Your hair. Matted, stained with blood and vomit. It streaked across your swollen face, lips bust open. 

You. His world. Lying dead, cut open. Simon gripped the edge of the table and tried to focus but struggled. Eyesight spotting in the corners. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not in his world. No.

“Any luck Ghost?”.

Simon’s head was pounding, a high pitched ringing sounding through his ears like a bomb had exploded. Price sounded like he was in the distance, faint and wavering. His vision throbbed and he gripped the edge of the table, oxygen catching in his lungs with sand. He felt heavy. Sick. When did it become so hard to breathe?

“Ghost?!”, Price shouted again, “Do you copy??”.

He needed to ground himself. The panic clawed its way up this throat and constricted painfully. Simon pressed his head to the wall and counted. 

10, 9, 8…

He could hear the wind whipping through the building outside, carrying the arid temperature with it. It was hot. Too hot. Sweat dripped down his forehead, tracing down his spine under his tactical vest. He missed the British weather. Unpredictable. 

7, 6, 5…

The roar of an engine, one of the trucks surging into life. The acrid scent of burning rubber and motor oil floated on the air. It was thick like syrup. Black. Simon would bet Price had sent in back up as he hadn’t responded. He needed to get himself together. Fuck. He couldn’t be caught like this. Brick by brick, he needed to place that wall back. He wasn’t Simon. No. Right now he was Ghost. Ghost.

4, 3, 2..

It can’t have been you. No. Never. He’d never let anything like that happen to you. You were thousands of miles away, wrapped up in sheets of soft linen, probably drinking too much coffee whilst reading a book. He tried to imagine the smell of the fancy coffee you loved, your perfume that always lingered on his skin for hours. This wasn’t you. It was a cruel trick of his imagination. You were safe. He’d left you safe, back home. You were ok. 

1…

He heard the sound of footsteps racing up the stairs, the sound of Soap’s Scottish twang echoing off the crumbling brick walls. Simon ripped himself off the wall and raised his rifle just as Soap barged into the room. Johnny could see straight away the room was clear except for Ghost who looked oddly dishevelled, stood right in the middle. 

“Everything alright L.T?”.

“Fine”, he grunted and strode across the room, he tipped his head to the side, “Deceased female, covered her back up, it wasn’t—”.

“Understood L.T”.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Ghost appreciated when Soap stepped in.

———

Stepping out into the black of the night, Simon flipped the mobile in his hands. He’d picked it up in a market on the outsides of the town, almost certain it’d never trace back to you.

Resting his back against the wall, he propped his combat boot against the brick before looking up at the sky. He could see every star. There was hardly any light pollution out here. You’d have loved the sight. You liked gazing at the night sky, especially if he was holding you.

He ran his tongue across  his lips before dialling your number. The sound of the rings lulling him into a false sense of security. He still found it strange that the heat of the desert so quickly turned to ice when the sun sank. He shuddered.

——

Your ringtone bounced off the bedroom walls startling you from your sleep. Poking your head from under the blankets you saw the room was still dark, illuminated by the light of your phone ringing. You squinted your eyes, looking at the clock at the other side of the bed. 3am.

Who would be calling you at 3am? You yawned, stretching your back and arching up before grabbing your phone from the nightstand. 

Unknown caller.

3am.

You slid the bar across on your phone to answer it, answering it your voice came out horse, “H-hello?”, you coughed, clearing your throat, “Hello?”.

Simon closed his eyes the moment he heard your voice trickle through the phone. He soaked it in, allowing it to wash over his senses. You sounded exhausted. Probably because it was 3am. Fuck. He shouldn’t have called so late. He took a deep, steady breath.

You yawned again, sitting up in bed. You wiped at your eyes, a strange feeling flooding your stomach, “Hello? Is someone there?”, you held your breath nervously, “I can hear breathing…”.

Swallowing thickly, Simon tried to contain his emotions. What could he say? What would you say? He’d never called you when he was away before. The weight of the day sat heavy on his shoulders, forcing him to slump back into the brickwork. He let out another sigh, it sounded weak.

“Si? Is..is that you? Are you ok?”, you bit your lip, waiting to hear him. God you hoped it was him. Wishing he was ok.

“Love…”, his rough voice cracked.

You let go of the breath you didn’t even know you were holding, relief washing over you like a flood, “Simon…”.

It was comforting to know it was him but terrifying at the same time. You knew Simon never called whilst he was away. He’d always said it was too dangerous. He didn’t want anyone finding out about you. Something had to be wrong, seriously wrong for him to be calling you. Anxiety sank into your bones, chilling them.

“Simon…”.

He loved hearing you say his name. You were perfect. He wished he could stay with you. A prayer. One that never seemed to be answered. More time. That’s what he wanted. More time with you. His centre.

“I—I’m sorry, it’s got to be late there love”, he shivered as the cold nip of desert air whipped under his balaclava, “I shouldn’t have called”.

“What happened”.

Simon cursed. You knew him too well. He shouldn’t have been that surprised really. You’d always been able to see into him. It’s why he loved you. Not that he’d told you that. The words always fizzled out before they left his tongue.

“It's nothing. I just—I needed to hear your voice”.

You tugged the comforter up your body and inhaled, it still smelled vaguely of Simon. You refused to change it, not wanting to let him go fully, you needed him with you.

“What do you need me to say?”, you could have said, ‘what do you want me to say’ but you didn’t, want is so different to need. And Simon needed you. He couldn’t voice it properly, always struggling to say what he truly wanted. But it didn't matter, you always knew anyway.

Simon let out a light, surprisingly delicate chuckle, “I could listen to you say anything”.

You flushed a little at the flirt and curled into his side of the bed, “Are you sure you’re ok?”.

“I am now”, he rolled his skull balaclava up just under his nose, placing a cigarette between his chapped lips. He lit it before taking a long slow drag. The nicotine hit perfectly.

“I thought you’d quit, hm?”, you hummed, a tease coating your words.

“Damn, I thought you wouldn’t hear me”, he snorted out a laugh, the sound somewhat hollow, “Old habits an’all that - I’ll start again tomorrow, promise love. M’sorry”.

You rested your head on his pillow, smiling to yourself, remembering not that long ago when he was laid there, threading his fingers through your hair, “S’ok Si…I understand”.

“You should go to sleep, love, it’s late there”, Simon took another drag, blowing the smoke into the blanket of the night. He didn’t want you to go at all. He’d stay awake till sunrise with you. But, duty calls.

‘I wish you were here’, you wanted to say, the words almost escaping your lips, but instead you murmured, “I’ll be dreaming of you”.

His lips curled around the cigarette end, “And I you”.

The line disconnected and Simon stared at the dark screen of the phone. He missed you instantly, desperate to call you back. There was so much more to say. Why didn’t he say it? It would have been perfect. You’d have wanted to hear it.

Instead he muttered his confession to the desert, ‘I love you’ faded into the air, before he dropped the phone to the floor, smashing it with the heel of his boot. He couldn’t have anyone finding out about you. Getting to you. The broken shards of the phone scattered, some becoming buried by the shifting sands. Turning, he headed back towards the barracks, preparing for another day.

————

End Flashback

————

Safe. That was how it felt when you woke in Simon’s embrace. Your limbs entangled with his. You felt his muscles tense as he stretched, his arm wrapping back around you tightly. The heat radiated off his skin, warming yours. It was a feeling you loved, your bare skin pressed to his. The soft sheets draped over your entwined bodies.

You looked up at him, his eyes closed somewhat peacefully, his fingers mindlessly twirling your hair around them. Leaning up, you frowned noticing the yellow bruise above his lip, the cut on his lip just about healed. Gently, you kissed the wound, feeling heat bloom in the pit of your stomach when Simon smiled.

“Simon…”, you started, fingers stroking over the dip in his chest, “Each time you come back with another scar, I’m just going to have to kiss it better”.

His eyebrows lifted, a smirk evident on his face, “Y’know that’s only going to encourage me right?”.

Laughing, you smiled and felt the blush spreading across your cheeks, “I probably should have thought that through that before I said it”.

“No no, you’ve said it now, love”, his large hand dragged down your back making you shiver, “I expect to come home to you nursing me better —every time”.

Fluttering your eyelashes on purpose, you looked up at him with doe eyes, “In one of those little nurse outfits?”.

You saw his eyes flicker dark momentarily and he growled, “Don’t be a tease”.

“Who said I was kidding?”.

Simon tried to roll you both over but you pressed your hand to his chest, stopping him. 

“Something wrong, love?”.

You shook your head and stroked the cut with tenderness, “How did you get it?”.

It wasn’t unusual for Simon to come home with cuts and bruises. New scars and broken bones. But something told you this was different.

“Get what?”, Simon pretended to look confused, dipping his head down to kiss you. Ready to distract.

“Simon…”.

He sighed softly, knowing he wasn’t going to get out of it. He’d never been able to say no to you.

“Well, long story short, I got into a scuffle with one of the new lads…fucking cheeky cunt”, he muttered the last part under his breath.

“What—”, worry flickered over your face, eyes going wide. It wasn’t like Simon to get into fights with his colleagues, he was always so professional. Brothers in arms, he’d once said. Your mind was whirling until you heard his voice cut your thoughts short.

“It doesn’t matter now, it’s fine”.

“But—”.

“I promise love”, he kissed you so gently you would have sworn you imagined it, “Please—please don’t worry”, another kiss was planted on your forehead, making you sigh happily.

“I’ll be more careful”, he murmured the last part so softly, you didn’t catch it, “For you”.

——

The heavy patter of rain against your window pane was somewhat of a safety net for Simon, the miserable weather common here in his northern hometown of Manchester. The bedroom window was cracked open slightly, allowing the smell of the rain to float in softly. He sighed quietly, his fingers drifting down your bare side. For the first time in months, Simon felt at peace. Having you finally curled up in his arms made him just that little bit softer. Smoothing down his sharpened edges. He bent his head and brushed his lips to your scalp, a light hum leaving his throat.

“Si”.

He repeated the motion, tugging you further into him. He didn’t answer, there wasn’t any need. His actions spoke for him. Said the words he hadn’t yet said, though they weighed heavy on his tongue. Like molten lead.

Fuck. He’d do anything for you — anything. He’d burn the world if you asked him, no questions asked. Simon wondered briefly if you knew the levels he’d go to, just to see you smile. That’s why he did this, his work. He did it for you. To keep you safe. That’s all he wanted.

It hurt every time he left, his boots becoming heavier each time. His arms would wrap around you longer, hold you that little bit tighter. You never complained, not once. Seeing him off each deployment with a lingering kiss and a promise.

He felt your silken lips kiss a sensitive spot on his neck and he shuddered. The embers lighting deep in his stomach, a husky groan rumbled in his chest. You smiled against his skin, nuzzling gently.

Simon’s job was dangerous. You knew that. You’d seen enough evidence when he’d make it back home. Scars, broken bones, bruises and cuts. He’d never given you details, not wanting to burden you with that. Having you there was enough.

At the start, Simon had wondered if keeping you had given him a weakness. A tactical error. You’d carved into his heart and given him an emotion. Something he wasn’t even sure he was capable of anymore. He’d spent years within the army, specialist training to cut off that side of him, to become a ghost. Nothing. Isolated. But he was wrong. God he was so wrong. And he’d never been so happy to be wrong. You were his strength. A reason. Something to fight for. Something to live for. Something to come home for. 

————

Flashback

————

Hidden in a burnt out building, Ghost paced next to Price, waiting to hear from Soap. He’d picked out a sniper point a few streets down to try and locate their target. He’d gone alone against Simon’s wishes. Demanding to go with him, Price had vetoed the idea, telling Ghost to stand down, Soap could handle it.

Price turned to Simon and gave him a harsh glare, the continuous steps grating on his nerves. He grunted in response before grabbing the radio, unable to wait any longer.

“Soap? You there yet? What can you see? Can you see him?”.

There was a brief crackle before Soap’s distinctive voice sounded through, “Negative LT…3 on the ground floor, 2 on the first floor but—”, the radio splintered before carrying the sound again, “—But I-I’ve lost eyes on the Jack of Hearts, sorry…he ain’t here”.

Simon huffed in annoyance before radioing through, “All right…copy Soap”, he twisted looking at Price, “I think we should wait Sir, it’s a risk…no point clearing the building and spooking the target”.

Price almost felt the cigar drop out of his mouth, unsure if it was Simon Riley that had uttered those words. He was normally itching to clear out a terrorist hot spot.

“Repeat that”.

“I said we should stick it out Sir, no point wasting ammo and effort if he’s not there. It’s just 5 bodies we gotta clear out. Unnecessary risk”.

Simon could feel Price’s eyes burning through his mask, scorching his skin. He was thankful for the mask, hiding everything he’d thought to bury away, the sweat beaded at his brow. Even he had to admit this wasn’t like him. But, you. You. He couldn’t risk it. Not anymore. He had to get back to you. You needed him. And he needed you. 

Price nodded and ran a hand over his chin, “I—”.

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as one of the rookies in the corner piped up, scoffing with distaste, “Come on now Cap’n, are you serious?”, he snorted, “Why aren’t we going in? It’s 5 less scumbags on the planet. It’s not that risky…”, the rookie eyeballed Simon, seemingly unphased by his shorter height, “I didn’t realise The Ghost was such a pussy”, he laughed and patted Simon on the front of his tactical vest, “You lost your balls or something after you found that dead bitch the other day?”.

“What was that?”.

Rage. A blistering furnace burned bright inside him, his heart hammering against his chest violently. His vision turned red and before he could stop his body, Simon launched himself towards the arrogant rookie.

——

The pristine white sink turned a deep shade of red as Simon shoved his hands under the steady stream of water. The lukewarm liquid soaking his gloves. He cursed, as it making the cuts sting. He grimaced, looking up into the mirror, he could see a stain of blood leaking through the dark material of his balaclava. It was probably a mix of his with the fucking rookie’s. Scowling, he knew he’d have to explain to you why he had a bust lip when he got back.

His eyes darted to the corner of the room reflected in the mirror when he heard the door hinge squeak. Soap appeared slowly, a smug smirk hung on his lips. Simon already knew he’d have a headache before he left.

“What”, he spat, his northern accent carving the word harshly.

Soap had the audacity to laugh, folding his arms over his chest, his grin growing wider, “Did breaking his nose make you feel better?”.

Simon grunted, refusing to give an answer. It made him feel better for a few seconds, hearing the satisfying crunch of bone as his fist connected with it. But then you invaded his thoughts and he stopped. Guilt. You wouldn’t want him to do that.

“Y’know Riley”, Soap caught the wild glance from Simon and he coughed, correcting himself, “Sorry, L.T”, he smiled smugly, “Whoever the lass is…she must be something real special t’ya”.

The silence was thick. Palpable. Simon didn’t want to give anything away but it was obvious as his shoulders tensed.

Johnny flexed subconsciously, tapping his fingers against his forearm. He wondered briefly if he’d overstepped, concerned that Simon might try to strangle him. But the silence and rigid stance told him all he needed to know. He was right. Relaxing a little, he attempted to lighten the mood, “You’ll have to introduce me”.

“Fuck off MacTavish”.

Soap couldn’t see it but there was a hint of a smile curling Simon’s lips.

————

End flashback

————

Delicate. Like lace. Simon closed his eyes and basked in the feeling of your fingertips lazily grazing over the tattoo covering his left arm. You traced the skulls, letting your nails skim over the outlines. They were a part of him, as much as you were. His skin shivered when you stroked a sensitive spot near his shoulder. There was an ugly welt residing there. An old gunshot wound from Siberia.

“‘Bout 6 or 7 years ago”, his voice, thick and heavy like whisky, ran smooth down your spine, “Got pinned by a sniper—bastard—a lucky bastard mind you”.

He was so nonchalant about these things. Like it didn’t matter. Just another day to add amongst all the others. But to you, every scar and mark made your stomach knot. The thought of him hurting shattered you.

His thick fingers kneaded the base of your neck as you rested on his chest, ironing out the kinks hidden there. You let out an appreciative hum.

“Si…”.

“I know, just lemme yeah?”.

Simon knew you’d wanted to shower him with affection but he couldn’t resist putting his hands on you. How could he not? Without warning, he rolled you under him, resting his weight on his tattooed forearm besides your head. Your legs splayed open without thought, allowing him to slot between them.

You were so soft, so beautiful, so perfect. Splayed underneath him, like an angel of innocence. Wild hair framing your head like a halo against his pillow. But he, he was rough. His edges were sharp and nasty, cutting deep to the bone. He was nothing like you. He’d been tainted by the ugliness in the world, torn down and broken up. And you were like the first blossom of spring.

Your hand reached up to cup his face, pulling him from his thoughts. You must have sensed he was dwelling somewhere he shouldn’t.

“Simon”.

He bent down and captured your lips in a demanding kiss. It was harder than he intended but full of emotion. His tongue ran along the seam of your lips, begging for entrance. Granting it, you sighed happily into his mouth, your hands snaking around his neck, pulling him down so he was pressed against you.

Simon let his tongue run along yours, tasting you. A light hint of peppermint. He groaned into the kiss, letting his hand smooth down to the apex of your thighs.

You gasped when his calloused fingers found your clit, stroking over it with just enough pressure to have your thighs quiver around him. Fuck. He loved watching you fall apart. He needed you so badly. He wanted to drown in you.

Tearing himself from your lips, he planted hot, wet, opened mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbone, humming words of affection into your skin as his fingers continued their lazy pace.

“Si…fuck..oh”, you whimpered and your hips bucked on their own accord.

“Need you—”

“Me too love, fuck—”.

He’d never known anything like it. He was desperate for you, throbbing against the flesh of your thigh.

Sliding into you with a practised ease, Simon swore under his breath, you mewled, body arching to his. Your soaked core stretching deliciously around him.

The feeling never faded, only intensifying every time. Your legs wrapped around his, tangling together as he drove into you over and over. 

Linking his fingers with yours, he pushed your hand above your head, holding it firmly as he thrust deeper. Your breath caught, heart racing wildly in your chest, hammering next to his.

“You feel so good—”.

“Si…I-I—”.

“Let go love”, he whispered, leaning down to press a heated kiss to the dip of your throat, “I—fuck, I’m right there with you”, his words stumbled together, pleasure pulsing through his veins.

The high hit you hard, climax tearing through you like a white hot flash. It buzzed along your skin as you sobbed his name. Simon followed, feeling his body become lighter, his mind hazy with nothing but bliss.

Soaking in the afterglow, Simon pressed his forehead between the valley of your breasts, sighing contently. He didn’t want to press for too long, aware of his heavy bulk crushing your tiny frame.

Rolling to the side, Simon laid out on his back, dragging your body onto his chest, blunt fingernails scraping down your back, resting on the dip of your ass. His eyes were closed but he knew you were staring at him, he could feel the burn of your gaze.

“I’ve missed you”.

The confession felt better in the open. You wanted him to know you thought about him, always. Never questioning where your loyalty lay. It would always be him.

You saw Simon’s lip quirk up at the corner, the scar there only adding perfect detail to his handsome face.

“Oh yeah?”, the playful mock hung heavy on his northern accent.

You ignored the teasing tone, knowing it was a deflective measure. Simon struggled to accept he deserved love, affection - let alone someone actually missing him.

“Mhmm”, you hummed and leaned down, kissing his lips softly, “I always do”.

He swore his heart skipped a beat. He wondered if you noticed, pressed up against his bare chest. Keeping his eyes closed, he nodded into the pillow.

“I missed you too”.

Your lips curved up and Simon could feel your smile burn through his eyelids. He didn’t even have to look to know the words had lit you up.

——

He was going to miss this. Everything. The softness of your skin. How your body laid next to his during the night, instinctively curling into him, his large arm laying heavy around your waist. The vanilla scent of your shampoo which always lingered on his hoodie. He’d never complain, he carried it with him for as long as he could, drifting back to you whenever he could. Simon tilted his head, glancing down at your beautiful face. He looked at you reverently, words escaping before he could force them back down, “Make me stay, love”.

He desperately wished he didn’t have to go back, wanting to stay here with you, wrapped up in thick cosy blankets and silken pillows, watching the world pass by.

Leaning up to him, you ran your soft fingertips over his lips, “I wish I could”, you sighed gently, “But I know you’re needed, it’s your job..I can wait, I’m not going anywhere”.

Tilting his face into your palms, Simon swallowed thickly, wishing to sink into your heavenly touches, “Love—I—”.

“Stop”, you pressed your forehead to his, noses brushing together delicately, “I know, Si—please don’t apologise, you don’t need to”.

“I do…I should be here with you”.

“Please stop”, you kissed him tenderly, lips melded to his, “I meant what I said, it’s ok—I understand, I always have”.

He let out a deep sigh, “You’re too good for me”.

“Complete bullshit”.

Simon laughed, the sound deep and husky. It wasn’t often he heard you swear. He was becoming a bad influence, his northern ways imprinting upon you. Your eyes sparkled when you giggled with him, the sound caressing his ears. He stared at you, just absorbing. Wishing to take the mental image with him on his next deployment.  

He bent forward, nudging his nose along yours, “I love—”.

Before he could finish the sentence, you’d pressed your lips to his hurriedly drinking up the confession you’d so desperately wanted to hear. You’d take those words and carry them with you, always.

————

[the-writerwoman]

Wow, look at me, not having 4am brain rot 😂 this has been a brain worm since I first posted about Tides of the heart though and someone mentioned about Siren Wade and Logan. And I’ve been thinking about it and as I was cooking dinner earlier I was thinking about it and I went to go talk to my partner about it and I saw he was watching Pirates of the Caribbean, the one with the mermaids. I know they’re not exactly the same thing but it was close enough for me to be like “Yup, this is a sign.” So here we go. Also I’m making up some of my own lore mixed with stuff I’ve read on them 😂

This is after Wade saves Logan from the water after he went overboard during a storm. Might tweak it if I write a full fic.

———————

The storm had passed, leaving the beach quiet under the pale glow of the moon. Waves gently lapped at the shore, the sound a soothing contrast to the chaos that had nearly swallowed Logan earlier. He sat on the damp sand, his muscles aching and his mind spinning as he stared at the figure before him.

Half-submerged in the shallows was a man, or something like one. His upper body could almost pass for human if not for the faint shimmer of his skin in the moonlight and the too-sharp angles of his grin. Below the waist, however, a long, glistening tail shimmered red and black, curling lazily in the water as if mocking the impossible.

“You’ve been watching us,” Logan said slowly, his voice hoarse from seawater and disbelief. It wasn’t a question. It was a fact he was still struggling to process.

“For days,” the man replied casually, his melodic voice carrying over the quiet waves. “Your boat’s noisy, your crew’s noisier than a pod of dolphins chasing fish.”

Logan frowned, his muscles tensing as unease prickled up his spine. “Why did you save me?”

Wade’s grin widened, revealing sharp teeth that glinted in the moonlight. “You’re… different. Interesting.”

Logan shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to feel flattered or unnerved. “Different how?”

Wade’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he tilted his head. “Oh, lots of ways. But let’s start with your name. What do they call you, sailor?”

Logan hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to stay silent. But something about Wade’s piercing gaze, and the fact that he still wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not, pushed him to answer. “Logan.”

“Logan,” Wade repeated, as if tasting the name on his tongue. “Strong. Simple. Suits you.”

Logan glanced at him warily. “And you? What do I call you?”

Wade smirked, leaning forward slightly. “You could try pronouncing it, but… well, you’d have to cut out your tongue first.”

Logan stiffened, instinctively shifting back on the sand. Wade held his gaze for a long, tense moment before his grin broke into a laugh, bright and carefree.

“Relax,” Wade said, waving a webbed hand dismissively. “I’m joking. You can call me Wade.”

Logan grunted, still not entirely reassured. “Real funny.”

“I thought so,” Wade said, flashing another grin before leaning forward on his arms, his tail stirring the water behind him.

Logan was trying to process what was going on right now when his mind froze. His stomach dropped as he remembered his father’s lighter. His most prized possession. His hand shot into his pocket, fumbling until he felt the familiar shape. Pulling it out, he turned it over in his hands, relief flooding him when he saw it was intact.

“What is that?” Wade asked, inching closer, his curiosity palpable.

“It’s a lighter,” Logan said, flicking it open. A tiny flame flared to life, its warm glow dancing in the cool night air.

Wade’s eyes widened, his expression transforming into pure wonder. “What’s it for?”

“Fire,” Logan said, holding it up but keeping it at a distance. “You use it to start fires.”

“Fire? Like those orange and yellow ships when lightening hits them?” Wade asked, his voice soft with awe. He inched closer, his gaze fixed on the flickering flame. “It’s… beautiful.”

“Don’t touch it,” Logan warned. “It burns.”

But before Logan could stop him, Wade reached out, his finger brushing the flame. A sharp hiss escaped him, and he yanked his hand back, plunging it into the water with a splash. “Ow! What the hell?”

Logan barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he clicked the lighter shut. “I told you. Fire burns.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Wade shot back, glaring at the lighter like it had personally wronged him. “I live underwater. We don’t exactly have a lot of that down there .”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”

Wade huffed, inspecting his finger with an exaggerated pout. “You’re lucky you’re pretty. Otherwise, I would’ve left you to the sharks.”

Logan stilled, his amusement fading as Wade’s words hung in the air. Logan couldn’t tell if he was joking again but the siren’s the predatory glint in his eyes as he watched Logan squirm didn’t help.

Logan cleared his throat, ready to say something, when a distant shout broke the silence. His head snapped toward the sound, and he spotted the dim glow of lanterns further up the beach. His crew.

“Logan! You out there?” one voice called.

Logan turned back toward Wade, but his breath caught in his throat. All he saw was the shimmering tail dipping back into the waves, vanishing beneath the surface. The water stilled as if he’d never been there at all.

“Logan!” Another shout grew louder as the crew came running down the beach. Within moments, two of them were at his side, helping him to his feet.

“Are you alright?” Scott asked, his lantern swinging wildly as he scanned Logan for injuries. “What happened? We thought you were lost.”

Logan hesitated, his gaze flicking back to the now-empty water. “I… I must’ve swam to shore. Can’t remember much. Maybe I hit my head.”

“You’re lucky you made it, some of the lads weren’t so lucky,” Scott said gravely, slinging Logan’s arm over his shoulder. “Come on, we’re going to find shelter.”

Logan let himself be guided away, his body still aching and his mind reeling. As they trudged up the beach, he glanced over his shoulder one last time, his eyes scanning the dark waves. For a moment, he thought he saw something, a head poking out of the water, watching them.

The figure disappeared before Logan could be sure.

——————

I hope you liked it! I’m thinking of doing a new fic now, to add on to all my WIP’s since I’ve finished This life chose us, and Tides of the heart is almost finished. I’ve got 3 ideas brewing from bits and pieces I’ve put up on tumblr from my 4am brain rot (feel free to read them on my blog to help pick which one you like the idea of.

[kitsuvio]

· ୨୧ · · Yan!hybrid octopus

W/c : 720

A/N ┊ HI! It's my first thingy here auahauah I hope you like my fic. By the way the octopus is a human on top and octopus at the bottom (；´_ゝ`) don't think I made him all octopus. By the wayyy this is heavily based off of the little mermaid ！！(゜ロ゜ノ)ノ NYAHAHAHA also kisses from kitsuvio

PAIRING ┊ Yan!hybrid octopus x you (afab)

TW ┊ Kidnapping, mentions of kids, yandere content!

You were just a little mermaid who was fascinated by the land above. You saw countless ships pass by, and you'd see sailors, buccaneers, and pirates all having fun and drinking their rum. You pondered on how the land above would feel…

While you were in your little reverie about how the land would be; Then you saw a dark and smoky cloud above the water, feeling curious you swam up to the surface to see a burning ship despite the flames, the frigid air from the night made you shiver. The crackling fire raged throughout the ship as it spread quickly. You saw a man struggling to get off the boat as it soon got engulfed in flames… Throughout the wrecked ship and smoke, you managed to save the man who fell from the ship. You brought him up to the surface, far away from the rubble.

Once you had successfully dragged him onto the shore, his body was lying down on the sand. A small flutter invaded your heart and you soon came to grow fond of the man; before you didn't know the consequences you'd face for this silly crush, you had a miniature understanding of the land above and how love worked. When he started to wake up, you dived back into the water, not wanting to be seen by him yet.

Many moons had passed then; your heart still aches for the man. Yearning to be with him on the shore and profess your love. So you desperately tried seeking help, someone who could bring your wildest dream come true you came across a well-known wizard of the sea. With desperation, you visited the mysterious cave where this supposed wizard resided. With hesitation, you swam through the cave; as the light became evanescence to you, it got even more eerie.

This octopus wizard coupled himself up inside his art gallery and painted mosaics and murals whenever he had free time. But he was most known for his potionology and spells…

“H-hello? Is anyone here?”

Your voice echoed throughout the cave; this might've just been a scam, or perhaps whoever was living here didn't want your presence. Then, a large tentacle poked out from a small room in the cave. Suddenly, the cave illuminated. It no longer felt so eerie but majestic in a way.

Unlike the other merfolk, he was a monstrous octopus. Cursed with having eight tentacles instead of a beautiful tail. But when he saw you just swim in here and not even freak out about his tentacles, it made him feel butterflies in his stomach.

“mmh… w-whaddya want?” Internally, he was quite shy but tried to be professional since you were still a customer.

He was heartbroken and devastated once he figured out you were trying to get on land so you could have your happily ever after with a man. He gave you what you sought, a pair of nice legs. In exchange, you had to give up your voice. It was a hefty price to pay, but he wanted to make this challenge impossible… So he added something else, you must marry the man before sundown then you'd be rewarded with legs forever and retrieve your voice.

He wasn't going to let you succeed, no way! The little octopus brewed up a plan and watched you from afar as you tried mingling with the prince. He tried not to look as much because it made him act out. That scum didn't deserve you… oh how desperate he was to have your scales; if he couldn't have them, perhaps his future children would. They'd be a sort of hybrid of a mermaid and octopus.

As expected, you were going to fail. He tried to deceive your crush into liking someone else. A lighthouse girl, the man was completely convinced that she saved him that day, which left you as a heartbroken mermaid.

The sly octopus observed as you were left in defeat, watching your lover marry another maiden; it had already been a week, and the sun had set. Without a voice to call for help the, the octopus saw an opportunity and took you back into the ocean with his slimy tentacle while making sure to let you breathe. He was already planning his honeymoon with you, maybe beside the beach with a few mer-kids running around or two.

@kitsuvio

[daryltwdixon]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 32

You

The sunlight feels incredible against your skin as you step out into the west yard of the prison, warmth seeping into your bones after however long you’d been in there, hours of cold, feverish shivering. It’s like a jolt of life, a reminder of what it means to be alive. You close your eyes for a moment, lifting your face to the sky as a smile sweeps across your lips. For the first time in a long while, you let yourself breathe deeply, filling your lungs with the crisp, fresh air. Relief floods through you, an overwhelming sense of gratitude that you made it—through sickness, through the night, through everything that tried to break you. You’re still here.

Your mind wanders back to the run at the vet college, the chaotic blur of it still fresh and tangled in your thoughts. It feels like a strange fever dream, muddled by exhaustion and adrenaline. You remember pushing through doorways, your legs growing weaker, breath coming harder. You remember the taste of bile in your mouth, the burning heat spreading through your veins as the sickness started to really set in. But you kept going—kept moving, kept fighting. And now, standing in the courtyard with the sun on your skin, you can finally appreciate what it means to have survived. For a moment, you let yourself feel lucky.

Your hands drift back to your hair, fingers combing through the ragged, torn ends from when you had to rip it free from the walker’s grips. The small act of pulling it together feels oddly grounding, despite only doing it to contain the frazzled ends. You start braiding it, the familiar motions calming your still-racing heart, anchoring you in this fleeting sense of peace. The tension in your body begins to ease, replaced by a fragile hope, like maybe, just maybe, things might start to get better.

But then, as you secure the end of your braid, you look up—and the world shifts in an instant. One of the watchtowers… it’s on fire. Across the yard, a caravan of vehicles pulls into view, flanking a massive military tank that stands like a hulking symbol of menace. People lean out of the trucks, rifles and shotguns drawn, their movements swift and practiced. The air grows colder, the sunlight losing its warmth as dread grips your chest.

Your heart plummets, the hope you felt seconds ago slipping away like sand through your fingers. All that luck you’d just been clinging to, that sense of survival against impossible odds—it vanishes in a single, breath-stealing moment. You’re frozen, the side yard suddenly feeling too wide, too exposed, as you stare at the newcomers. Your instincts kick in, adrenaline surging through your veins, but this time it’s not the aftermath of a fever—it’s pure, unfiltered fear.

“Rick!” A voice booms across the yard, familiar and terrible, ripping through you like a blade. “Come down here.”

The sound alone is enough to knock the air from your lungs, a visceral jolt that makes your chest tighten and your knees weaken. You peer through the fence, squinting to get a clearer view. And then you see him—a man perched atop the tank, tall, his eye covered by a patch.

Fuck. The Governor.

Your mind races, thoughts scattering like shards of glass. How is he here? How did he manage to find his way back even after his trail had gone cold? You can almost feel the ground shift beneath your feet, the dread settling deep in your bones.

Rick’s voice cuts through the shock. “It’s not up to me! There’s a council now, they run this place!” he shouts, desperation raw in his tone.

The Governor stands tall and unyielding, his voice cold and deliberate. “Hershel on the council?”

Your heart drops again as a woman drags two figures from one of the vehicles, hands bound behind their backs. You see the white hair first—Hershel—and then Michonne, her face set in defiance even as she’s forced to her knees beside him. Panic surges, a violent wave crashing over you.

“I don’t make decisions anymore!” Rick screams, his voice cracking with the weight of it all.

The Governor doesn’t flinch. “You’re makin’ the decisions today, Rick,” he calls down, his voice taunting, measured. “Come down here… let’s have that talk.”

You scan the yard wildly, eyes darting between the armed men surrounding the tank. There must be at least thirty of them—guns drawn, fingers twitching, ready to kill. Your thoughts scream a million different things at once, clashing and colliding in your head. What’s the plan? What the hell can we even do? The sheer magnitude of it is suffocating.

Where is Daryl? The thought cuts through the chaos, sharper than the rest. Is he inside, safe? Did he see this coming, or is he waiting at the fence, ready to fight? Your heart pounds harder at the idea of him rushing out, caught in the Governor’s crosshairs. He can’t be out there—he just can’t.

You hear the clink of the gate ringing through the yard, and you watch in horror as Rick comes into view, making his way toward the fence, his steps heavy, determined. A part of you wants to scream at him to stop, to turn back, but the words lodge in your throat, trapped by the overwhelming terror. The Governor stands motionless atop the tank, his gaze fixed on Rick like a predator about to pounce.

It can’t end like this. Not now.

Your mind rages, desperately trying to find a sliver of hope, a way out of this nightmare. But all you can do is watch, helpless, as the standoff begins. The bus, the supplies, the faint hope of escape—it all hangs in the balance. But right now, it feels so far away, just a fleeting idea in the face of thirty guns and a man hell-bent on revenge.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

Daryl

Daryl quietly backs away, keeping low as he pulls the carts full of weapons closer to the gate. Bob stands watch through the chain link, keeping under the radar as much as possible while the Governor and Rick continue their tense conversation at the bottom of the yard. Daryl’s ears strain to catch their words, but the distance and the low murmur make it impossible. Rick has moved closer to the inner fence, his gestures sharp, desperate, and Daryl feels the weight of it all pressing on his chest.

He grabs a rifle from the cart and hands it to Bob. “You good?” he grunts.

Bob nods, his jaw set, and Daryl takes it as an answer enough. He shifts toward Maggie, who’s just a few feet away, trying to keep his movements casual as he bumps her from behind and presses a gun into her hand. Maggie’s fingers close around it without hesitation, a silent understanding passing between them. As Daryl glances between her and Beth, he suddenly freezes.

Y/N.

The thought of her hits him like a punch to the gut, his breath hitching for a second. Panic starts to creep up his spine, a cold rush that makes his hands tremble for the briefest moment. He’s trained himself to stay calm, to keep moving, but the uncertainty of her whereabouts gnaws at him, relentless. Is she inside, resting? Did she even hear the commotion? Hell, maybe she’s still on that damn cot, too weak to move. Or maybe she’s somewhere out here, already moving to get things ready for the run, already planning the escape he’s trying so hard to secure.

His mind reels, the scenarios flashing one after another—Y/N stumbling out of the cell block, coughing, weaponless; Y/N moving between the shadows, a gun in her hand, eyes sharp, preparing to meet him at the bus. He swallows hard, trying to force himself to breathe evenly, to keep his focus. He knows she’s smart, knows she’s a fighter, knows she can handle herself. But the doubt still lingers, clawing at him.

Trust her, he tells himself, jaw tightening. She knows what she’s doin’. She’s gonna be okay.

But the words feel fragile, like they’re more for his own sake than anything else. He tries to shake it off, to focus on the task in front of him, but the worry still presses down like a weight he can’t quite shrug off. He adjusts the rifle slung over his shoulder, his gaze flicking back to the Governor’s men—each one a potential threat, each one another reason for her to be hidden, safe, and ready to run.

He grits his teeth, trying to bury the fear. She’s strong. She’s smart. She’ll make it through this. He'd find her soon. But deep down, there’s a primal fear he can’t fully suppress, a sense of urgency to find her, to know she’s safe, to know that she’s still here.

Daryl forces himself to move again, eyes scanning the courtyard, body tense but steady. It’s all he can do for now—keep handing out weapons, keep preparing for the worst, and keep hoping she’s doing the same, wherever she is.

[reallygroovyninja]

Ok, this was supposed to be a Thanksgiving story, and it's one week after the Halloween story.

The room was bathed in a golden glow, soft and intimate, as if the world had melted away, leaving only the two of them. Clarke stood before Lexa, her eyes smoldering, a knowing smile playing on her lips. The air felt heavy, thick with anticipation. 

Lexa's breathing quickened as Clarke closed the distance between them, her hands sliding up Lexa's sides, slow and deliberate. The warmth of her touch sent shivers racing across Lexa's skin, and she felt herself lean into it, her own hands instinctively gripping Clarke’s hips. 

“Clarke,” Lexa breathed, her voice trembling, barely audible. 

“Shh,” Clarke murmured, tilting Lexa's chin up so their eyes met. “Let me take care of you.” 

Before Lexa could respond, Clarke's lips were on hers, fierce and consuming. The kiss was a mix of hunger and tenderness, and Lexa felt like she might dissolve under its intensity. Clarke's hands were everywhere—cupping Lexa's face, sliding down her back, pulling her impossibly closer. Lexa’s fingers tightened around Clarke’s waist, her nails digging in as heat pooled low in her stomach. 

Clarke pulled away just enough to catch her breath, her lips brushing against Lexa's ear. “You feel so good,” she whispered, her voice thick with desire. 

Lexa whimpered softly as Clarke’s lips trailed down her neck, her teeth grazing the delicate skin before sucking gently, drawing a gasp from Lexa’s parted lips. Clarke’s hands wandered lower, finding their way beneath Lexa's shirt, her touch leaving trails of fire across bare skin. 

Lexa’s head fell back, her body arching into Clarke’s as waves of pleasure built with every kiss, every touch. She could feel Clarke’s breath, warm and teasing, as her lips moved lower, her name falling from Lexa's lips like a prayer. 

“Clarke…” 

Lexa’s body tensed, the tension within her coiling tighter and tighter until— 

Her eyes flew open. 

The golden glow was gone, replaced by the muted light of her desk lamp. Her chest heaved as she stared up at the familiar ceiling of her dorm room, the dream slipping away like sand through her fingers. The sheets were tangled around her body, and her skin still felt flushed, burning with the ghost of Clarke’s touch. 

Lexa sat up abruptly, pressing a trembling hand to her face. Her lips were still parted, and her body hummed with need, the dream lingering in vivid, traitorous detail. 

“Gods,” she muttered, her voice hoarse as she dropped back against the pillows. The ache in her chest—and lower—refused to dissipate. She let out a shaky breath, staring at the ceiling, her mind starting to replay the dream. 

A loud groan cut through the silence, followed by the rustling of blankets across the room. Lexa froze, realizing too late that she wasn’t alone. 

“Woods,” Ontari’s voice drawled, thick with sleep and exasperation. “For the love of gods, either go fuck Clarke or figure out how to keep it in your head. I swear, one more night of this, and I’m moving to another room.” 

Lexa whipped her head towards Ontari, her face a mask of mortified horror. “What are you talking about?” she hissed, clutching her sheets like they could shield her from the sheer humiliation. 

Ontari rolled over in her bed, her messy dark hair falling into her face as she gave Lexa a pointed glare. “What do you think I’m talking about? You’ve been moaning and gasping in your sleep again. And this time…” She smirked lazily. “You said Clarke’s name. Twice. Pretty sure you were getting close to the finale, too.” 

Lexa groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Oh my gods, Ontari. I didn’t—” 

“Oh, you did,” Ontari interrupted, sitting up now and tossing her blankets aside. “And you know what? I wouldn’t care if I were getting laid. But I’m not. So, hearing you get all hot and bothered over someone who isn’t even here? It’s like pouring salt in the wound.” 

Lexa peeked through her fingers, glaring at Ontari. “I’m not trying to—” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ontari waved her off with a dismissive hand. “Dreams aren’t controllable, blah, blah. I don’t care. What I do care about is that you and Clarke clearly need to fuck again, and it’s ruining my sleep. So, for both our sakes, do something about it.” 

Lexa opened her mouth to argue but quickly snapped it shut. What could she even say? Ontari wasn’t wrong. Clarke had been taking up far too much space in her mind lately—and apparently her dreams too. 

Seeing Lexa’s silence, Ontari flopped back onto her bed with a satisfied sigh. “Good talk, Woods. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to try to sleep and dream about a hot alpha who actually may want to fuck me. Not that you’d know anything about helping a friend out to hook up with Roan.” Her voice was tinged with mock annoyance as she pulled the blanket over her head. 

Lexa groaned and lay back down, staring at the ceiling. This wasn’t just humiliating—it was a wake-up call. If Ontari was losing sleep over her stupid dreams, then maybe it really was time to do something about this. 

Tomorrow, she thought, clenching her jaw with determination. Tomorrow, I’ll talk to Clarke. 

But for now, all she could do was pull the blanket over her face and pray Ontari wouldn’t bring this up again in the morning. 

[theseshipsshallsail]

Summary:

The minutes soon blur in such blissful suspension, and as the unshuttered windows turn an inky black, Oliver immerses himself in the whens, wheres and inestimable hows of their blossoming reality. What he and Elio share defies definition, yet the idea of losing it is truly abhorrent. He needs this. Needs them. Everything they’re capable of being together. The promise and potential contained therein. There’s no turning back even if he wanted to, and drawing a hand up Elio’s flank he rests his chin upon his sweat-damp crown. Wonders when the hummingbird-flutter at his core became love, before deciding maybe it always has been, and he was just too afraid to acknowledge it.

The Difference Between Possible And Impossible (Lies Mainly In Determination)

He’d been dreaming, Oliver realises, as a drunken holler from the Piazza Navona interrupts the doze he had zero warning of slipping into. His mind’s eye transporting him to the villa’s orle of paradise. Elio swimming lazy laps in a set of borrowed bathers. The next day’s pages for Signora Milani all but forgotten as he apricated from head to toe; donning his tinted Persols in deference to the azure sky above. 

In all honesty, the scene mirrors memory more so than imagination, and the sluggish warmth it leaves in Oliver’s veins feels pleasantly reminiscent of the vintage scotch he’d savoured his final night in B. At Annella’s insistence, dinner was a family affair in light of his imminent departure, but with the feast devoured and dishes cleared, the professor ushered him to the study for a well-earned digestif. The pair of them discussing his varied plans for Rome, even as a sombre rendition of Debussy’s Clair de Lune drifted from the living room opposite; tearing at Oliver’s heartstrings with every mournful chord.

“Ice, born of fire, that in turn holds fire,” his mentor mused at length, swirling the mahogany liquid in his lead-crystal tumbler. “È notevole… is it not? How under the right circumstances, something so obstinate as sand itself can be transformed entirely. Reborn, one might say, to the inverse of its maker.”

In terms of subtlety it left a lot to be desired, and Oliver’d masked his quiet desperation behind a measured sip, unable to quash the hard knot of regret that threatened to choke him. Regret, that fails to exist in the liminal twilight of their Corso del Rinascimento hotel room. Banished, as it was, the second they’d watched the plastic wall clock outstrip the hour of his flight’s departure. 

He’s been damn-near euphoric ever since. 

Giddy as a ninth-grader playing truant. 

For the first time in years, he’s chosen the road less travelled, but with Elio in his corner - and sheer determination to guide him - Oliver’s certain that together they’ll move mountains if necessary, to forge a path that’s theirs and theirs alone. 

Again, a commotion starts up in the streets outside. Several joyful voices raised in concert. Oliver doesn’t recognise the song - though it’s somewhat harmonious compared to his own rendition of Fenesta Ca Lucive with the German tourist - and a helpless smile graces his lips when Elio grumbles in response; letting loose a snuffling snore alongside his collarbone.

The gossamer gleam from the balcony gilds his features in a diffuse palette: covetous swaths of rosé and gold that chase the encroaching shadows from his sleeping form. It’s grounding, Oliver finds. The steady exhalations that tickle his Adam’s apple. The rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders; perfectly in sync with his newly unshackled lungs. They’re two halves of a whole - cut from the same cloth - and rubbing the grit from his scratchy eyelids he moulds a palm to Elio’s slender waist, sighing in contentment when the other man burrows closer, one leg inveigling itself between the snug harbour of his thighs.

The minutes soon blur in such blissful suspension, and as the unshuttered windows turn an inky black, Oliver immerses himself in the whens, wheres and inestimable hows of their blossoming reality. What he and Elio share defies definition, yet the idea of losing it is truly abhorrent. He needs this. Needs them. Everything they’re capable of being together. The promise and potential contained therein. There’s no turning back even if he wanted to, and drawing a hand up Elio’s flank he rests his chin upon his sweat-damp crown. 

Wonders when the hummingbird-flutter at his core became love, before deciding maybe it always has been, and he was just too afraid to acknowledge it.  

In due course, blunt-nailed fingertips splay across his sternum; crafting a subconscious chord above his too-full ribs. Elio’s lashes are a charcoal smudge against his cheek, and the rumbling purr that escapes his throat invokes a mental slideshow of their wanton activities earlier. Unsurprisingly, the earthy scent of passion hangs thick in the muggy air; overpowering the honeysuckle sweetness adorning the trellis outside. The salty ghosts of tears, also, shed by two star-crossed lovers who’d feared being reduced to a cautionary tale: a Grecian tragedy for the modern age.

Schmaltzy, perhaps, but their truth is inescapable, and at the first sign of Elio stirring beside him, Oliver can’t help but press a lingering kiss to the riotous curls at his temple.

No more speeches, he thinks, as Elio arches like a pampered tomcat.

“I swear I’ll make you happy,” he whispers instead, and the thousand-watt grin that follows settles deep and thrilling and forever in his soul.