#thank you for sending this ask!! I hope this doesn't dissuade you from sending more ;u;

[ask-cyantist]

ᵉʳᵐ. ʰᵉˡˡᵒ﹗ ˢ'ⁿⁱᶜᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ⁱᵐᵖᵒˢᵗᵉʳ ʰᵉʳᵉ. ʰᵒʷ ᵈᵒ ⁱ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵃˢ ˡᵉˢˢ ᵒᶠᶠᵖᵘᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ﹖ ⁱ'ᵐ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵗ ᵒᶠᶠ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ᶜʳᵉʷ ᵃⁿ' ⁱ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ˢᶜᵃʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉᵐ.

"Well... first of all. You reveal yourself to your crew, right away. Tell them who else is an impostor, so they can defend themselves from the ones that can't be reasoned with, maybe catch the killers who want to devour them. It worked for me, after all. If you became an impostor the same way I did, maybe your friends and family will understand when you explain yourself. Give you another chance."

[Cyan's grip on the MIRApad screen tightens so much that a crack fissures from one claw.]

"And if you want to survive, start with this-"

"STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME AND MY CREW."

"YOU THINK I'D FALL FOR THAT? ANOTHER IMPOSTOR, THAT'S 'GOOD'? THAT'S NOT GOING TO KILL THE FIRST CHANCE THEY GET? I'M NOT AN IDIOT. I KNOW I WAS LUCKY TO KEEP MY MENTAL FACULTIES. IF I SMELL YOU ANYWHERE CLOSE TO THE TOP FLOOR, I'LL EAT YOU WH O L E."

[Cyan abruptly ends the call, breathing heavily to get her heartrate down. She keeps walking down the corridor, hoping the crew didn't see that...]

[daimyosprincess]

oh my gooood tell me about cross my heart (def not bc I'm a med student nyehehehe) (ok it may be bc of it but shh)

Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it.

Bestieeee thank you for ask!!

Below is the scene that came to me that started the whole idea for this fic (sorry, it doesn't have any medic-y stuff but it's in rest of the story I promise). I have this multi-part fic about 70% finished before edits so hopefully y'all will get it sometime later this fall. (and yes there is PLENTY of spice 🌶️)

Snippet below the cut

As always, my work is intended for 18+ audiences even if there are no explicit sexual content.

18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“I would sleep with your brothers… if you weren’t an option.” You had convinced the sniper to come out and enjoy the planet’s temperate night air and conversation, but now it’s silent, the only sound of the fire crackling between the two of you.

Folding his arms across his chest, Crosshair grumbles, “Don’t say things you don’t mean, it looks terrible on you.” The usual tit for tat the two of played had taken a rather sudden turn and he didn’t like it one bit. Especially not when it concerned you fucking one of his vode.  

“Who said I don’t mean it?” you shoot back, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively at the sniper seated across from you.

“Lying looks even worse,” he retorts, “I know my brothers are the more attractive options, Hunter with his handsome looks or Wrecker with his muscles and good nature. Even Tech and Echo are the caring kind of boys you girls go after.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” 

Rolling your eyes, you lean on one arm to look at him. “It’s not like you haven’t had your fair share of women, Cross.”

Looking away, his tongue moves his toothpick to the opposite corner of his mouth. “That’s different. The bunk bunnies who didn’t get to my brothers first got stuck with me.”

“Quite the pity party you’re having over there for someone with a beautiful woman all to himself,” you snort and his eyes dart back to yours.

“You’re either pitifully desperate or a rather unconvincing whore.” With that, Crosshair flicks his toothpick into the fire and leans back into the night's shadow, sure that he’s landed a blow that will put you off him. No use in entertaining your little game any further, especially not with the way the moonlight is hitting your eyes and the fire is making your skin glow ever so beautifully.

The smirk you give him over the fire tells him that you’ve seen right through him, however, and he hates it. Hates that you refuse to be pushed away and hates that you’re even giving him any semblance of hope. Oh, how he wishes he could hate you too.

Leaning forward with your elbows on your knees, you call out to him. “Oh come on Crosshair, don’t be such a grump. Let a girl give you a compliment.” You flutter your lashes at him as a flirtatious grin plays across your lips.

Those lips… "I’d rather get a blowjob, at least then I’d get something real out of it," he replies flatly in another attempt at dissuading you. 

The way you toss your head back and laugh nearly makes him snap. “Well if you won’t listen, then I won’t tell you what I think about you… handsome.” With a wink at slender man, you pick yourself up and slide your coat up your shoulders as you move around the fire to head back to the ship. As you pass him, you let your fingertips brush his shoulder. “Night, Crosshair.”

He tries, he really tries. He tries to let you slip away back to the ship, leaving him alone and his pride intact. He tries, but he fails. 

Without glancing up, his hand shoots up to grab your wrist, keeping you at his side. “Wait.” He feels you still at his side, silent and expectant. “What were you going to say… about me?” he grits out, his jaw clenching as if to prevent the words from leaving this throat.

If he had had the balls to look up and meet your eyes, he would have seen their tender sheen and the soft smile curling your lips. But he doesn’t, so he only hears your answer.

“Mmm, well I was going to say that you’re tall, dark, and handsome.”

Scoffing, he throws your hand away from his shoulder in disgust. He knew it, he kriffing knew you were just leading him on, riling him up for a joke. “Fuck off.” Why couldn’t he just shut you out like everybody else? 

You reach back down and place your hand firmly on his shoulder. “Oh, come on, Cross, lighten up, I’m joking.” 

Attempting to shrug your hand off, he answers with only stone-cold silence. When you tighten your grip, he shoots a venomous glance up at you. Before he can speak, however, you continue, “What I actually was going to say is that… well…” Your eyes search the stars for your next words as your teeth take your bottom lip. 

The sudden shift to uncertainty in your tone gives him the opportunity to cut you off—he's not making the same mistake twice. “Don’t bother wasting your breath coming up with a lie. Save it for someone stupid enough to believe you.” 

“Oh, for Maker’s sake, Cross!” you exclaim, giving him an exasperated shove. “What I was going to say is that I really do think you’re handsome, you’re tall and strong and smart… and the way your eyes see everything… and your voice, that kriffing voice alone.”    

His eyes burn into you, searing your flesh like they could brand you, searching for the smallest hint of insincerity. He desperately wants to believe you, believe that you would ever desire him the way he desires you. Or even, if he were truly honest with himself, believe that you could see him as someone worthy of your affection as well as your body. He wants to believe it all, but he can’t. He won’t. He’s not worth it anyways. 

Crosshair stares down at his boots and pushes your hand off his shoulder. “Goodnight.”

Though his ears are not as good as Hunter’s, he hears the small disappointed sigh you let out. Good, misery loves company. You and his happiness stood just within reach, which meant it would all be taken from him the second he acknowledges it.

“I wish you would believe me,” you sigh.

He gives a noncommittal huff, leaning away from you and towards the fire, denying you the very voice you craved. Just because you can see right through him doesn’t mean you get to hear him too.

Just when he’s sure you’re going to give up and walk back to the ship, you turn and come to kneel before him, the fire burning a halo around your folded form. Placing a tentative hand on his knee, you peer up at him with those soft eyes. “Look at me.”

He closes his eyes, opening them to meet yours. Hurt and hope swirl around his darkened irises.

Placing your free hand on his other knee to balance yourself, you offer up a small smile. “How’s this for something real?” You lean in and place a chaste kiss on his frowning lips. 

Electricity shoots down his spine, crackling through his bones and boiling his blood. The feeling of your lips lingers on his own even after you pull back. Before you can move too far away, he reaches up to grab the nape of your neck, his long fingers splaying over the back of your skull and holding you close. If anything was ever real, he prays to the Maker, let this be because the final thread holding him back snapped when your lips hit his. 

“Say it. Look me in the eye and say that you mean it,” his demanding tone pleads, his fingers digging into your skin.

“I mean it,” you promise, tender earnestness coating your words as you center yourself in his fire-lit eyes. 

Like a dark, heavy cloud bursting open, he falls into you, his lips crashing into yours. You let the storm of him roll over you for a moment before you murmur against his lips, “I swear I mean it, cross my heart and hope to die.”

Taglist 💖 @agirlnamejacq @acatalystrising @baufraus @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @andrakass2 @samspenandsword @liadamerondjarin @sleepingsun501 @rescuethewretched @rexxdjarin @ladytano420

some others who have interacted or might be interested (lemme know if you don't wanted to be tagged in the future) 💕 @writingwintermoon @ghostvizsla @erinthevampire @rain-on-kamino @crosshairs-wife @cross-my-heartt

Divider by @saradika

[aralezinspace]

hi, i was hoping to request a morpheus x reader from you! i had an idea of reader being a former resident of the dreaming who left during morpheus' imprisonment and eventually forgot their original identity throughout that whole century? morphie in the mean time had come to realize how much he cherished reader and once he breaks free, has reuniting w them at the top of his list. of course angst happens since he doesn't know that they forgot everything, but id love for it to end happy

Remember Me

A/N: I'm soft for the reader character in this one, like I may work on developing the concept for a longer fic. Thank you for sending this, I enjoyed writing it! Hope you enjoy reading it! (I'm working on making a master list and cross-posting all these request fics to AO3)

~~Requests for Morpheus and the Doctor (9-13) are open!!~~

Memories are funny, fickle things. So much of our perception of life is based in memory, recollections that may or may not be accurate. And unless one is Time, one cannot go back to be sure, to see that day again.

Your memory was fuzzy in some places, some details were missing. The empty spaces niggled at the back of your mind, the itch to find the missing pieces ever present. While comfortable and happy in your current residence, you had no idea how you got there, nor could you remember your parents or any of your childhood.

You thought some memories may resurface in your dreams, but no dreams came, just quiet blackness. The more you dwelled on the empty spaces of your life, the more frustrated you became.

You went about your life as best you could, trying not to dwell on the past; it was lost, and in the past. Fretting over it wouldn’t solve anything. It was time to focus on the future.

~~

A century away from anyone’s job would leave quite a bit of work piled up, their space a decrepit mess. Such sentiment held true for Morpheus, but with much higher stakes: a realm in shambles had more of a ripple effect than a messy office.

Once his tools had been found and the realm was in the process of recovering and rebuilding, he turned his focus to bringing back the missing dreams and nightmares. He sat on the stairs leading up to the throne with a heavy sigh. He closed his eyes for a moment to center himself before calling for Lucienne.

His unshakeable librarian showed herself into the throne room, a large, leather-bound book in her arms- the latest census of the Dreaming. “Where do we stand, Lucienne?” he asked softly. Lucienne thought he sounded tired- and he was- but she knew he wouldn’t rest until the Dreaming had been restored to its former glory.

“More dreams and nightmares return every day. However, there are four dreams whose continued absence I find concerning.” Morpheus nodded for her to go on. The librarian sighed and consulted her book. “Gault, the Corinthian, Fiddler’s Green, and Echo have yet to return from the waking world.”

Dream’s eyebrows flew into his hair, each name she spoke more surprising than the last. Especially Echo- he had been particularly fond of them since their creation. Several of his dreams and nightmares had the power to choose a specific memory, or several, to occupy a person’s sleeping hours, rather than prompting unique dreams. Echo was by far the strongest of these. The fact that they had not only left during his imprisonment, but had yet to return, spawned a nervous ache in his chest.

“That is concerning,” he finally murmured, rubbing his chin in thought. “Echo most of all. Their absence cannot continue if the Dreaming is to be stable again.” He hoisted himself to his feet, his long coat gathering itself around him. “It seems I must return to the waking world yet again.” Lucienne looked decidedly nervous. “I will bring them back,” he assured her firmly.

Lucienne nodded; she knew there was nothing she could do or say to dissuade him. “Good luck, my lord.”

~~

Once Morpheus was back in the waking world, he immediately sought a relatively quiet spot to concentrate on picking out your essence from amongst the millions of humans. It was faint; diluted by distance and the amount of time you had spent in the waking world, but he could sense it. You were very dear to Dream; he could sense you anywhere if you were in the same realm, and your absence had left an aching gap in the Dreaming.

A gust of sand brought him closer, your aura was stronger. He could tell your dream abilities had diminished, hidden deeper and deeper inside you as the years went on. The realization gave him pause: if your powers had faded, had you as well? Were you still Echo of the Dreaming? He found himself almost nervous at the prospect of facing you. The nerves were quickly replaced with anger, both at you for leaving, and once again at Burgess for tearing him away from his realm- and you- for a century.

The park he found himself in was pleasantly bustling: families played together, dogs barked, ducks demanded food. His eyes scanned the vista for you, not entirely sure what he was looking for. When you lived in the Dreaming, your eyes had been pure quicksilver, smoke swirling under your skin, just barely visible. Would you appear the same as you did then?

He followed the pull of your aura like a homing beacon, until his eyes found you, and he froze. You looked exactly as he remembered, as if he had just seen you yesterday. The only difference was your eyes: your skin somehow still had a misty, vaporous quality, but your eyes had changed to a light blue, the first hint of blue sky after the sunrise.

You could feel his stare piercing your spine. You’d know it anywhere. A cold lump of dread settled into your stomach; why was he here? You knew him, in your bones you knew him, but couldn’t remember. What could he possibly want with you?

You kept absolutely still as he approached, resisting the urge to fall to your knees at his feet. Lord Morpheus, that was his name.

“It’s time for you to return home,” he declared without preamble once in front of you, hands clasped behind his back. His posture was regal, commanding. Your eyes lowered to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, “But I have no idea what you mean.”

It wasn’t often the Dream Lord was caught off guard, but your response took him by surprise. You not knowing who you were was not something he had anticipated. He swallowed hard. “Tell me what you do remember.”

You hesitated, but slowly, the words came out. “I- I remember you, kind of. Feels like I’ve always known you, but don’t remember meeting you. I vaguely remember a stone palace behind massive gates, but couldn’t tell you where I saw it.”

Morpheus nodded; you were describing the Dreaming, the memories were there, just forgotten, like an old book covered with dust and cobwebs. “I see,” he rasped, holding out a hand. “Come with me, and I will restore the memories you have lost.”

You hesitated again. Was it really the best idea to go who knows where with a dark, handsome man you just met but feel like you’ve known for decades? You looked up from the ground. His face was stern, but soft around the edges. Even still, you could tell his words weren’t a request.

Your hand trembled and shook, but none the less you placed it in his open palm. He gave a small nod before a vortex of sand engulfed you both. Moments later, it disappeared, and you were no longer in the park: instead of families and pets and ducks, your field of vision was filled by two massive marble gates, carved with images of mythical creatures and reaching to the heavens.

“The Gates…” you breathed in overwhelming wonder. “I’ve been here before, but…” you turned to Morpheus, who had been watching you closely. “How?”

“Because this is your home,” he replied, voice firm with conviction. “You know who I am: Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, king of the Dreaming and Nightmare realms. And you, are a dream.” Your brow scrunched in confusion, but Dream went on before you could stammer out any questions:

“I created you. You are called Echo, a dream of memory. You are one of my oldest, most powerful, most… treasured, creations. You let humans relive memories in their dreams, let them see old events in new light. Much of the history of my realm resides within your memory. The Dreaming and waking world both need you to resume your duties. Will you?”

You dropped to your knees and sat, eyes glassy with disbelief. There was a cacophony of thoughts raging in your head as you forced yourself to breathe. The most insistent: he was right.

Your hands began to tingle lightly, and your eyes darted to them: your skin had turned MISTY, still firm, still the same color, but with tendrils of smoke swirling gently just beneath the surface.

“I left,” you gasped, memories of the last century slowly reawakening. “You disappeared, and I just, stayed in the waking… and I forgot.” The irony was not lost on you: a dream of memory, forgetting who they were.

The weight of the realization almost made you crumble. You had abandoned your creator and sovereign, abandoned your duty, your home. He had every right to unmake you then and there. “Lord Morpheus, I’m so sorry,” you choked softly, tears burning the back of your eyes. “Wh- what would you do with me?”

For the second time that day, Dream offered you his hand. “I would have you resume your duties in the Dreaming. The realm needs you back… I need you back.”

Now that was unexpected for the both of you, Dream stating that he needed someone. But, after a few tense, heart-clenching seconds, you took his hand and pulled yourself to your feet. Strength returned to your limbs and power filled your entire being at his touch- more than you thought your body could hope to contain.

A tiny but proud smile touched his face. “Your dreaming abilities that faded have been restored. Echo, Y/N…” Your hand was still loosely caged in his, and he gave it a gentle squeeze before placing a firm kiss on your knuckles. “Your dreamers are waiting.”  

[vivifriend]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the lovely @wildhexe and @rainpebble3. Thank you. ^_^

Tagging @raine-kai. No pressure, only if you feel like sharing. And anyone else who might see this and want to participate. :)

I just posted my most recent chapter of Learning Curve so have a snippet from a side story (Meanwhile fic) set during the same timeline. Erandur goes back to Dawnstar to check in on the people and during a conversation with several of the inhabitants finds things are not as well as he hoped.

===============================================

"A time or two I have considered getting leave to build a small chapel of Mara here. It is too much to expect the people of The Pale to travel to Riften or Solitude."

"Most of us wouldn't mind," Seren said thoughtfully. "Better you than that cultist of Mehrunes Dagon."

A shiver ran down his spine and he tilted his head slightly. "There is a cultist of Dagon in town?"

"Silus Vesuius," Rustleif supplied.

"I'm not surprised he avoided you," Brina added. "He's trying to build a museum to the Mythic Dawn."

"That is an unfortunate endeavor," he said softly.

"Yes but Skald refuses to do anything about it because he doesn't see how it applies to the war effort."

Reaching up, he grasped his amulet, thinking a silent prayer. Lady Mara, is this your purpose in sending me here? Must I once again utilize my skills with violence to protect the innocent? His amulet warmed under his fingers and he sighed, closing his eyes. I understand. "Is there anything I should know before I approach him?" he asked, projecting an aura of calm.

"He's trying to fix a strange dagger," Rustleif said. "He came by our forge with shards of a blade and a scabbard asking pointed questions about how best to repair it. There was something wrong with the metal. It felt wrong."

"There was something unnatural at work," Seren agreed. 

"Has anyone spoken with him?" he asked, his mace feeling heavier with every word shared. 

"Madena. She's tried to dissuade him a time or two but he just yells at her."

He frowned, digesting that information. "Where would I find Madena?"

"The White Hall," Horik offered. "But Skald would never allow you in. He's taken an even firmer stance against Dunmer in the past few months. Swore he'd drive them all into the sea the last time he crossed paths with Ravam Verethi."

One of the miners listening in snorted. "And Ravam told him that he was more than willing to jump in the ocean as long as Skald did too. Predictably, Skald blustered and ran off."

The others snickered, Brina politely trying to hide hers and Erandur kept his gaze stoic. What was Skald thinking, threatening a sailor with being tossed into the ocean? If anyone in this place knows how to survive in frigid water it's them. "Is there anyone who could perhaps get Marena a message for me? It may be prudent to speak with her before I speak with Silus."

"I can do that," Rustleif offered, looking at his wife. "I'll meet you at the inn Seren."

She smiled and nodded, stepping to the side when he pulled his arm away.

"Thank you," Erandur said quietly. "I appreciate it."

[juniperleafdelivery]

I truly don't think you deserved the aggression you received in regards to the Stanley contest, and I do apologize on behalf of all that. It was just supposed to be for the sake of fun and stay as a silly game after all, and it was clear you were also just trying to have some lighthearted fun.

However, I did just want to swing by and shed a bit of light on the other side of the competition and the lashback that stemmed from it, not to excuse any insults thrown around or actions taken, but to convey that this didn't really come from a place of pettiness or any particular desire to make you feel bad, at least as far as I can tell. To paint the scene, your admittedly simplistic cat Stanley design was put up against an alternative, interpretation of the same canon source; a fat, transfemme character of color, which obviously deviates from the canon quite a bit, and was recently put under fire for such on the op's blog outside of the contest. All that, and it seemed for a minute that said rendition was losing to your cat Stanley, which struck more than a few chords. Hopefully you can see what I'm getting at, not to throw around accusations, but those being traits that often get needlessly discriminated against, especially in regards to redesigns of canon characters, it appeared as though others were willing to vote for any other design that wasn't those things, even if they visibly varied in dedication.

Of course, that's not your fault. This isn't in any way said to fault you and I truly do hate that you had to face that negative outcry directly as though it was, or even be ridiculed for what's a very innocent design and concept made for the sake of fun. This message was just to reach out and speak on behalf of the other side's dilemma so it didn't seem so black and white and red all over. Hopefully I've been able to convey that and you understand a little bit. Regardless, I sincerely hope this whole mess doesn't dissuade you any and you can still go and have your fun past this. You seem like a very nice person and it's clear that your design comes from a place of love just the same, so I hope that much you can still enjoy.

May your week improve past all this!

* Hey, anon, first of all, thank you so much for taking the time to send this ask. I admit that I didn't stop to consider the other side of the competition, and it's really wonderful of you to come in and try to explain what may have happened.

* After some thought, I do realize that those people's comments weren't meant as a personal insult to me. They wanted the other design to win, and I understand that sentiment. And while I was a little offended by the criticism my Stanley received, I don't deny that he's very simple. I mean, I designed him that way for a reason — simple designs are easier for me to draw, and just what I like.

* But I had no idea that the other design was attacked for deviating from canon. Having to deal with that kind of stuff is terrible, and I'm really sorry that it happened to them. I see why the possibility of my cat beating their design purely because of prejudice stirred up some emotions.

* I'm not sure how much of this makes sense. If you understand none of it, then that's alright. Just please know this: I bear no ill will towards those who think my design is low effort. While I personally don't think that, I can see why others may say that.

* Again, thank you anon for this ask. I still love my little cat Stanley, and The Stanley Parable. And I hope everyone reading this has an awesome week :)

[lucysarah-c]

Oh darling don't worry about rambling. I think readers enjoy knowing more about a writer.

The whole procedure sounds exhausting. Wishing you the best of luck in that. And I hope everything goes smoothly for you.

However, I am curious as to why you decided to do a PhD. degree? I am assuming you really like research, I am curious to know why people apply for it. I have been taught that isn't really necessary to pursue, I am not trying to dissuade you, I just want to know your point of view, and I find that interesting.

I haven't had the chance to visit Germany. It is a great country to settle in, If that what you are planning for. I heard a nightmare about their paperwork. God be with you. Will you be taking classes in german or will it be in English? Do you need an English test certification for it?

Also, it is so lovely of you to think of your mom. She is lucky to have a daughter like you.

I hope that you mind me sending you an abnormal amount of questions 😄

when you answer, your Tumblr asks or writes your posts. Do you do it from a pc or from your phone? I found out that I can't send long paragraphs from my pc unless I do it on my phone. I was wondering if it is the same case for you.

I’m not sure what my readers enjoy to be honest hahaha But if you're my reader and want to know more about my personal life haha I don't mind it.

Thank you! I hope everything turns out smoothly too.

About the PhD, I think it really depends not only on the field you're in but also your prospects. For example, I studied Biotechnology and molecular biology, but in my last years of the degree I dedicated myself to nanobiotechnology for oncological treatments. When I joined the nanotechnology team, nano was something that nobody really cared about and therefore it was a really small side of biotechnology compared to other well known parts of it. Once the pandemic hit, the health science field began to have a boom and Nanotechnology was a field that was only being explored for arms industry and cosmetics. Now nanotechnology is being explored in the health industry a lot and, since I'm kinda part of the "teams who were pioneers on it" I've the chances to work and study a field that doesn't have that much "competition" yet but also its "highly demanded". Plus, someone has to do them, you know haha Someone has to investigate the improvements of new treatments. The PhD is the only option for me if I want to keep going with my studies. Like, yeah I could work in the industry without a master or phd and make way more money than the scholarship I'll get. Sorry, long story short, I want to investigate the probabilities of curing Cancer with nanotechnology. This is way too new so they need people to research about it for it to one day be a treatment available for people.

I have also heard that Germans aren't good with paperwork lmao. It seems to be a thing. I visited Germany when I traveled a few years ago. It's a really calm and lovely place. The master is in English and yes I need an English certificate that I already own. Your girl is a C2 or proficient in English like Excuse me lmao jk I don't feel like I'm proficiency at all but the IELTS exam says otherwise lol.

I'm learning German! I'm actually in the middle of my A2 to B1 classes so, careful I know how to say my name lmao. I feel it's a really "boxy" language but a friend of mine, who speaks German said "but Lucy, you speak Spanish as your first language, it's like you speak in cursive. Obviously it feels less "literature '' '' that actually boosted my self esteem lol I've never thought Spanish as a "lovely" language but I guess it is!

I don't mind the questions if you don't mind that I take a while to reply haha

Eh... I've no idea, because I've not send asks is a long while hahah I basically log in to Tumblr to post and I leave because I've like -10 time in my life at the moment. But I mostly post from my computer because the phone app doesn't let me select more than one paragraph at a time and editing is a mess.

But, for example, the tumblr computer web doesn't alert me when I've overpass the 30 tags limit and the phone does. It's weird, tumblr is a mess.

Have a lovely day!

[cheese-induced-madness]

HI I'M THE PERSON THAT REQUESTED MOTHER!READER AND HOLY FUCK EVERYTHING ABOUT IT HAS ME SCREAMING THANK YOU SO MUCH <33

I don't even know where to begin, but I just wanted to let you know that I adored it so much and that you are an amazingly skilled writer! The entire exchange between Becky and her mother felt so natural that I could actually see something like that happening in the show, had they done more with Lexicon and just Becky's family/backstory in general. Also I loved each and every one of the bonus headcanons!! They're all great, but I especially found the one where Tobey wants to impress her so that there's one less thing standing between him and his crush to be especially adorable and in character. Though, I think the one about all the villains dreading Becky's mom's visits is probably my favorite bc…yeah, they absolutely would lmfao.

Also!! I want to apologize for the awkward wording in the first paragraph of my ask! I totally goofed up when I sent it bc I made the assumption that you were planning on sticking to Dr Two Brains x Reader stuff and that any headcanons would be related to that, so that's what I meant when I referred to myself as a simp. I desperately hope I didn't give the impression that I was calling myself a simp for Wordgirl or anything like that and I am so, so sorry if I did 💀 Though, I'm so glad I made that error in assumption bc I literally got the best fic and headcanons I could have ever asked for out of it, so thank you! 💚

If it's okay to do it here, would it be alright if I request a Dr. Two Brains x Wordgirl's Bio Mom!Reader? Ngl, with your skills, I'm very curious to see what you could do for something like that 👀 (No pressure or anything, of course <3)

Thank you again!

AAAAAAAA THANK YOU FOR ALL THE COMPLIMENTS, I'M GLAD YOU LIKED IT BC I REALLY PUT A LOT INTO THAT ONE <3

And I can absolutely do dtb x reader for this scenario! now i'm glad i left his role in all this so open ended in part 1. I'll just go with headcanons for now but if there's any ideas you particularly like in here, feel free to request a full fic!

for those that haven't read it, here's part 1.

-Doctor Two Brains is not typically a patient man, but when his status as the top villain is on the line, he considers it of utmost importance to play his cards very carefully. It's easy enough to lie in wait and shoplift cheese subtly until the time is right to strike. With a new hero in town, he considers it best to watch a few lesser villains attempt to battle you and learn from their mistakes when you are inevitably victorious.

-Once he feels he has the perfect plan, then he makes his move and carries out a proper heist. Theatrical, flashy, one that sends a message. One that will properly signal that he is the fiercest and craftiest villain you'll face in this city.

-But of course, just like all his plans, this one falls through when you turn out to be stronger and smarter than he bargained for. And it really doesn't help that you're a lot prettier up close, I mean, really, it's just distracting.

-Of course, this doesn't dissuade him from trying again, and again, and again, and of course you and Wordgirl take him down every time. And each time he fails, he can't help but admire your strength a little more than before.

-It's strange to him. He's been attracted to power before, sure, but he's usually only interested in other villains. Normally he finds heroes with their self righteousness and annoying, pesky little moral code to be nothing more than a bother, but something about the way you so fiercely fight for the side of good has him blushing. He can't help but scold himself for it, it's SUCH a cliché, he's supposed to be better than that.

-The mouse brain doesn't like this one bit. It was bad enough his human host still thinks of Wordgirl almost like a daughter, but now he's catching feelings for her actual parent? Ugh. Squeaky thinks this is all a waste of time and totally counterproductive to GETTING MORE CHEESE, DAMMIT! Unfortunately for Squeaky, Steven has somewhat of a spiteful streak and will stick it to the mouse whenever he can, so his little crush on you holds pretty strong.

-Eventually he sorts his own feelings out and gets daring enough to test the waters. He starts flirting with you in the middle of a fight, much to poor Wordgirl's absolute horror. She's even more horrified when you seem to reciprocate. Gross, her mom-slash-partner in crime and her arch rival who's kind of her quasi second dad are being all lovey dovey. Huggy's kind of just off the the side watching this unfold like a bad romcom and he's absolutely invested.

-Dtb is not entirely sure he thought this through when you haul him off to jail and leave him with a kiss on the cheek. Talk about confusing. It's great that you seem to feel the same and it's kinda hilarious watching Wordgirl lose it, but... What does one even do beyond just idle flirting in this situation? It's not real easy to advance things into a proper relationship outside work when his day job is fighting you.

-He wants to catch you alone for a moment and work something out, properly separate work from his love life. He has his henchmen hold up a cheese shop on one side of town and starts turning buildings to cheese as far away as he can so you and Wordgirl have to split up. Lucky for him, You decide to take him on yourself, and he has his chance to ask you to dinner before you take him to jail again.

-You fall into a sort of rhythm. Outside of committing crimes that you have to stop, he's pretty pleasant company; very affectionate, very sweet, he always seems happy to have you around. He tries pretty hard to be romantic when you're off work to make it clear there's no hard feelings no matter what happens during the hero-villain back and forth.

-The henchmen are always pretty excited when you're over because that usually means the boss will be in a good mood and be a lot nicer to them.

-Every once in awhile he'll invite you and Wordgirl over to his lair for a movie night with the henchman so maybe this whole thing will be a little less awkward for her. She's always pretty tense at first, suspecting this will be a trap, but after a couple nights that go incident free, she starts to trust that he won't pull anything. It's oddly domestic, and it reminds her of when he was just Dr. Boxleitner and they were still friends. You can't help but be happy that she gets to have a sense of normalcy every now and then as Wordgirl and not just as Becky.

[starlessea]

Here Comes the Sun: XX. More Than A Feeling (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 6480

Chapter Warnings: Language, Violence, Injury.

Your head pounded like an alarm clock you couldn't shut off. The explosions hadn't done any favours for your tinnitus, either. The high-pitched ringing noise was constant, and only intensified the more you tried not to focus on it. Even now that everything had settled down, it still seemed like you could hear walls crashing around you, or feel the vibrations as the stone crumbled and settled at your feet.

Except, it wasn't brick walls that were sending shock waves over the ground; it was Daryl's footsteps as he paced. You could feel them through your own boots, and sent him a look to try and coax him to sit down. 

"It's a sprained ankle, Daryl. I didn't lose my leg." You said gently, before someone cleared their throat.

You looked down at Hershel, who was in the process of wrapping the bandages, and winced as he raised an eyebrow at you.

"Sorry." You muttered, awkwardly.

Everything had gone mostly to plan. The governor and his men had been driven away, and the others had returned from Woodberry with even more survivors. You hadn't gotten the chance to see them yet, but the ruckus drifted up the stairs and you could feel the marching of the stampede as though they had been part of the army themselves.

The prison remained standing, albeit missing a watchtower and seeming a bit dilapidated in a few places - but your home was once again yours. You'd sacrificed so much for it. Lori, T-Dogg, Axel, Oscar, and Merle had all lost their lives just so that you could sit here now, complaining of flesh-wounds and mild injuries like they were the most perilous problems you could face.

Daryl didn't seem to agree, however, and narrowed his eyes at you - or more specifically, at the bandage wrapped around your head. You'd taken a bit of a fall, but it wasn't like you'd cracked it open. Though, that didn't stop the man from treating you like Humpty Dumpty - trying to fix all of your pieces despite them not actually being broken.

"I don' care!" Daryl yelled, and you felt Hershel flinch as he made another pass with the bandages.

The man slung his crossbow onto the mattress, and you felt the bed dip beside you from the weight of it. His face was all scrunched up into a scowl, and you wanted nothing more than to hold it in your hands and bring his cheek to yours.

"What the hell d'ya try an' pull tha' for?" He asked, but this time his voice had lost its fight. "You could've gotten yerself killed." Daryl said quietly, like it almost killed him to say, too.

The older man stayed silent as he continued to do his job, and you felt guilty for having let him get caught up in this. 

"But I didn't." You reminded Daryl, before shooting a light-hearted smile his way. "Certain victory, remember?"

Your eyes glanced down to his hand, and at the shoddily drawn rune you'd given him with a sharpie earlier in the day. He didn't say anything back, but his pacing had stopped - and he looked straight at you as you spoke.

"And although the governor got away, don't you think he'll be easier to find with a bullet in his shoulder?"

If you had anything to show for your injuries, at least it was that. You offered a teasing smirk to the man - one that probably made him wonder if you had a concussion.

"I think I know a pretty good tracker, too." You joked, nodding in his direction.

Daryl didn't smile back. You watched as the man took a seat next to you on the mattress, and noticed the way his eyes rested on Hershel as he tended to your injuries better than he could have. 

"Ya should've followed the plan." He mumbled, so quietly that you barely caught it.

You let out a sigh, unable to hide your guilt. Daryl had an expression you'd only seen him wear once before, and you didn't like it in the slightest.

"I had a clear shot." You reasoned timidly, like you were trying to convince yourself of your words.

You had done; it was true. Except, you should have taken a moment to consider your actions. You thought that you were in fact the hypocrite - since when the time came, you'd been the one to shoot first, and ask questions later.

"If my aim was a little better we wouldn't even be having this conversation." You told him, and offered a sheepish smile alongside it. "I'm sorry I missed."

Hershel tightened the knot as he finished wrapping your foot. You lifted your leg and outstretched it to examine his work. Tentatively, you wiggled your toes, and thanked the man when you felt no pain in doing so. Daryl sent a nod in his direction too, before turning back.

"I don' give a damn if ya missed." He told you, barely above a whisper.

Hershel ushered himself out of the room as quietly as he could manage, trying not to intrude any longer. As soon as he'd left, Daryl let his head drop onto your shoulder, and you could feel his warm breath over the crook of your neck.

"I only care tha' yer alive." He admitted, mumbling against the skin there. "I can't lose you, too."

You leant back against the man. He seemed so downtrodden, but for the first time since the farm, you felt safe. You remembered that first night after you'd cleared the prison, sitting out in that field around the campfire. You'd asked him then if he thought this could be your home. Now, you decided, it was.

"Have more faith in me, Dixon." You told him, and stroked his hair - letting your nails run along his scalp gently. "I think I must be pretty hard to kill."

Despite the head injury, the events of that morning were as clear as day to you - as clear as the cloudless sky had been when you all took your positions. The strategy had been to ambush them when they came, and you had been the one to dissuade Rick from utilising the watchtowers.

"They'll be their first target." You'd said, and luckily he had listened.

You and Daryl had been checking the guns, before deciding to take one last walk around the perimeter. You'd scouted their vehicles en route to the prison, so you knew it was only a matter of time before all hell would break loose. The day was otherwise serene, and you hoped that once all of this was over you'd get the chance to revel in the sunshine and celebrate your certain victory.

You smiled over at the man, remembering what you'd wanted to tell him. The two of you were checking for breaches in the fences, making sure that the governor's men couldn't infiltrate from anywhere you wouldn't expect. You watched as Daryl pulled on the lattice wire to make sure it was secure, and you slipped your hand into his other, free one. 

He gave you a subtle glance, but didn't make any sarcastic remarks in return. The two of you walked hand-in-hand alongside the fences, as though you were going on a mundane, morning stroll in the sun. It was silent, and you both seemed to just bask in the peace whilst it still lasted. Though, once you had gone full-circle, and had ended up back where you'd started, you stopped in place.

You fished around in your pocket and pulled out the sharpie you'd scavenged from Glenn earlier in the day. Daryl looked at it suspiciously, but let you do as you pleased - just like always. Carol had noted how much of a soft spot the man had for you, and you couldn't even deny it at this point. The two of you had woken up entangled in each other this morning, and it had taken you the better part of half an hour to coax him to let you get up. You could tell he was scared of what the day would bring. Despite claiming to be a man 'not scared of nothing,' you knew that Daryl Dixon was afraid of one thing above all else - and that was losing you. 

"Give me your hand." You instructed, and pulled the cap off the top of the pen with your teeth.

The man eyed the permanent marker, before looking down at your interlocked hands.

"Yer holdin' it." He grumbled, and you rolled his eyes at his dry humour.

"The other one." You clarified, pointing in the direction. "It needs to be on the same side."

You took his hand in yours before he had time to question you further, and pressed the sharpie to it. You drew the simple pattern, watching as the ink bled out slightly over the cracks in his skin.

It was the same rune of Týr that you had tattooed on your hip - the one Daryl claimed 'looked like an arrow.' He stared at it once you'd finished, stretching out his fingers before balling his hand into a fist. Maybe it was a little childish to want to wish him luck in this way, and you thought that Daryl was a man quite capable of victory by himself, but you'd wanted to do it nonetheless.

"Look, we match." You exclaimed with a smile, but the words felt familiar on your tongue.

Daryl must have thought so, too, as you saw some kind of recognition flash behind his eyes. Then, you remembered it. The memory washed over you like a wave coming onto shore. It had been back on the farm, where you lay next to each other on that springy, double bed. He'd had an arrow wound in his side, and your bullet hole matched it nicely. You'd pointed it out to him with a grin, too doped up on medication for your own good. It felt so long ago - back when you'd been more young and naive to the world, and he'd been more angry at it.

"I guess some things never change." You admitted, and you could tell that he understood.

You felt him squeeze your hand, and looked back down at the semi-tattoo you'd drawn haphazardly. 

"An' other things do." He replied.

When the first explosion rang out, your mind immediately thought back to that moment. The front left watchtower had been decimated, just as you had predicted, and the tanks began to roll in through the field. Whilst some of the group were hidden away in the prison interior, waiting to ambush those who came in, you stayed outside with Maggie and Glenn - ready to catch any stragglers who made it back out.

Daryl hadn't wanted you to be in the thick of it, and you could tell why. From the looks of it, the governor's army was partially made of toy soldiers. From your position, you could make out young boys and girls barely through their teenage years, and adults who looked like they had never held a weapon before. You would have found it hard to kill them - even if you needed to.

From your hiding place, however, you couldn't see the governor. The group was too dense, and he was probably lurking somewhere in the middle - just like the coward he was. You stared down the scope of your rifle, trying to get a better view. All around you, you could hear the sounds of crumbling stone, and the flicker of flames as they burned the tower to the ground. There had only been a couple of warning rounds shot at the building, but they'd done more damage than you were comfortable with. You just hoped that Daryl and the others were alright inside. 

The whole thing seemed to last a couple of minutes at most. As quickly as the group had entered the cellblock, they were forced back out in a shroud of smoke and gunfire. Maggie and Glenn had their guns aimed, but it looked to be a clean retreat. The govenor's makeshift suicide army had all turned back, and were fleeing into the forest - so you didn't shoot at them.

That had been the plan anyway, until you caught sight of a familiar eyepatch and the man who wore it. You jumped up from behind the bushes like someone had set them alight, and ran over to the wall for cover. Maggie and Glenn shouted at you, but you continued until you reached it. It was part of the fence you'd reinforced with steel, and you ducked behind it to peer through the gunhole. 

The man was returning back to the tank, mowing down anyone who got in his way. You stared through your rifle scope, finger hovering the trigger. You would have pulled it, but a civilian got in your line of sight at the last second. 

"Shit." You whispered, below your breath, and slung the rifle back over your shoulder.

You hopped the fence and started running, making your way to the blazing watchtower that was set alight like a torch. The base was still steady, and it provided good cover whilst allowing you to move in closer. The calm summer's day had been transformed into a warzone in a matter of minutes. Shouts and gunfire rang out around you as you dashed to the burning building. When you reached it, you quickly ducked down and pressed your back to the stone as you set up your rifle. 

It hasn't been part of the plan; you knew that. Though, you didn't just want to let the man walk free, either. If you weren't the one to do it, it would be someone else - perhaps Rick, or Michonne, or even Daryl. You wanted to pull your weight, especially if it meant that their shoulders wouldn't have to bear the burden of it.

The tower creaked and groaned above your head, and your eyes quickly glanced upwards to catch sight of the flames that licked the sky - creating an amber haze that resembled sunset. You ignored the sound, and locked onto the governor once again. This time, he was clambering into the vehicle, and you knew that it would be your last chance. Your line of sight was clear, and so you let your finger squeeze the trigger - and felt the jolt of the gun as it hit back against your shoulder.

The bullet connected, and you watched the man stagger backwards. He turned to face your direction, and your gazes caught for a split second - like you could see it all unfold in slow motion. Then, you heard a crash, and time resumed as normal.

Glass shattered above your head and fell onto you like jagged raindrops, and the stone debrid came following like lightning after it. The tower shifted, and you watched it crumble for a brief moment before the adrenaline kicked in. You abandoned your rifle and jumped up, starting to run in the opposite direction. Rubble came pouring down and bounced over the concrete at your feet. You felt small pieces nick your legs, but continued to sprint as you heard Maggie and Glenn call your name in the distance. You couldn't outrun the collapse, but you'd managed to dive behind one of the fences just in time to shield yourself.

You'd squeezed your eyes closed as the tower fell, and huddled your knees to your chest to protect yourself. The stone structure made the most almighty crash as it caved to the ground, and suddenly the courtyard was completely shrouded in dust. It wasn't until the smoke cloud had settled and you recognised figures emerging from the fog that you realised you'd made it. 

Your head stung, and you pressed your fingers to your temple only to notice that something had drawn blood there. You must've been struck by some stray piece of rubble, you thought. You were a bit dazed, but you could make out voices clearly as they shouted your name. You recognised one in particular, and your heart sped up in response.

"C'mon, Teach!" Daryl yelled, but you couldn't pin-point where from. 

You tried to call back, but your throat was dry and your voice barely made its way out of your lips.

"Can ya hear me?" He shouted again. "Call out to me if ya can hear me!"

Clearing your throat, you tried again.

"Daryl!" You screamed, and this time it resonated. "I'm here!" 

You noticed a shift in the fog, and figures got clearer as they made their way through it.

"I'm over here!" You yelled again, your voice breaking over the words.

The man came running over to you as soon as he could tell where you were. You'd been hidden behind the sheet of metal, sat amongst a pile of debrid, but he still found you. You could feel the fresh blood trickling down your forehead, but you wiped it away with the back of your hand and sent him a watery smile of pure relief. Daryl took in the sight, and the way your foot seemed to be turned in an awkward angle beneath you - and his eyes widened.

"What did you do?" He asked, rushing over to your side in an instant.

You looked back at him with an equally dumbfounded expression.

"I shot him." You admitted. "I shot the governor." 

After Hershel had left your cell, you and Daryl stayed sitting on the mattress together for a little while. You let him rest his head over your shoulder, which soon turned into lying on your chest as you both slumped back into the pillows. It was a little different from what you were used to, but you held his head and stroked his hair gently. You thought that he needed the comfort, and you were fine with being able to return it for once.

Maggie and Glenn had informed you that they'd seen everything go down - and that you'd actually hit the governor in the shoulder, rather than his chest. It was a bitter disappointment, but they'd reassured you that you'd still done a good job - after they'd given you a scolding, that is. You weren't entirely sure what had possessed you to do it - to abandon the plan. Maybe it was the images of a beaten Glenn and an inconsolable Maggie that you weren't able to rid yourself of, or perhaps it was the nightmares you had of cowering beneath Axel's body. More likely, it was the recent death of Merle, and what it had done to Daryl as a result. Whatever it was, you didn't regret it. The governor had deserved everything that was coming for him, and you'd just happened to be the one to pass the sentence.

Daryl's eyelids seemed heavy, and his breathing had evened out. You knew that if you didn't rouse him now, he'd probably fall asleep within a matter of minutes. It was selfish, but you didn't want that. You wanted to celebrate your victory - no matter how certain it had been.

"I'm sorry, Daryl." You whispered, and gently moved his hair back from his face.

The man inhaled sharply, and you watched his eyes flicker as they adjusted to the light. You let out a soft chuckle, which you were sure he could feel resonate through your chest.

"Can you help me down the stairs?" You asked sweetly, hoping to coax him awake. "I want to meet everyone."

He'd already carried you out of the rubble once today, but you hoped he'd be generous enough to lend you an arm as you hobbled down the metal steps. Daryl sat up and stretched his neck side to side before glancing over at you, his eyes immediately resting over your bandaged forehead to check it was still alright. You offered a smile to reassure him, and eventually the man nodded in return.

"It's gonna get a lot nosier 'round 'ere." He grumbled, but it didn't sound like he really minded.

Daryl had your arm slung over his shoulder as you both attempted the stairs. His other hand was on your waist for support, and he waited patiently as you took each step - going along with your pace. You'd heard the commotion from your cell, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer amount of people that had been brought back from Woodberry. 

As your foot hit the final step you were greeted by an unexpected round of applause, interspersed with the occasional cheers. You almost stumbled back in shock, but Daryl caught your arm before you could trip.

"There she is!" Glenn yelled over the crowd. "Our suicidal sniper."

You shot Daryl a side-eye glance, but the man just shrugged in response. Your gaze ran over the unfamiliar faces as they smiled, or looked at you curiously, and you suddenly felt inadequate in comparison. You stood leaning against Daryl in your dusty clothes and bandages, and sheepishly lowered your head as they stared. Eventually, Daryl shooed them all away, warning them to 'get out of your face.' 

It made you laugh, and you aimed some teasing remarks in his direction - pestering him if he'd like to become your bodyguard. The chatter buzzed around you like nothing you'd ever heard before. Even in the old world, the atmosphere couldn't compare. You didn't know how long it had been since you'd even laid eyes on so many people at once. You knew that you'd have to clear out some other cell blocks just to make room for them all. This was the start of something; you just knew it.

Someone called your name from amongst the fray, but Daryl didn't stop ushering you over to a nearby seat. You whipped your head around in confusion, but continued to shuffle along until you had the opportunity to sit down. He leant against the table next to you, resembling a diligent guard dog. Daryl was the most loyal man you'd ever met, and everyday he reminded you not to settle for anything less. You wondered how anyone could ever come close to him - past or present. Your ex had been a mere speck of poorly-chosen dust in comparison to Daryl Dixon. 

The man seemed to be able to read your thoughts, as he glanced in your direction with perfect timing - causing you to look away. You heard your name through the thick of the crowd again, and this time tried harder to locate the source. Only a few seconds later, someone emerged from the centre of the room, pushing past everyone so that she could get to you. 

The woman had neat brown hair to her shoulders, and was wearing a sundress that looked like it had been recently pressed. All of the former Woodberry inhabitants looked clean, but she definitely stood out due to how beautiful she was. Her eyes were a warm coffee colour, and her smile was bright as she looked over at you.

You choked on your words, immediately standing up only to stumble into Daryl's shoulder. He quickly got a hand under your arm to steady you, but had a disapproving expression on his face as he did so.

"Vanessa?" You spluttered out, and she gave you an excited nod in return.

Daryl barely had time to step aside before the woman bounded up to you and flung her arms around your neck. She squeezed you so tightly that you forgot how to breathe, but you hugged her back with the same force - clasping your arms around her back.

You were utterly speechless. The last time you'd seen the woman, the two of you were witnessing the complete horror of your camp being destroyed. You'd looked for her in the days following, but she'd seemed to simply disappear into the night. You hadn't even thought she'd made it out alive. She'd been your colleague before all this, and then your campmate. But, most importantly, she'd been your friend.

You stared at her as she pulled away, and she giggled at your dumbfounded expression. Her smile was as pretty as you remembered, and you suddenly felt pale in comparison to her rosy cheeks and honey complexion. She was as quick-witted as ever, and wasted no time in regaining her composure to tease you like you'd never even spent any time apart.

Daryl watched in silence, not wanting to interrupt, but you could tell that he was starting to put the pieces together.

"You were the one who shot him?" She asked, as though in utter shock.

She had her hands on either of your shoulders, and looked you up and down before settling over your one foot that you kept hovering above ground.

"Yeah." You replied sheepishly, and glanced off to the side.

The woman slapped your arm in disbelief, and Daryl shot her a warning look that made you snort. She looked over at the man, too, and raised an eyebrow.

"What on earth happened to you?" She questioned, meeting your eyes this time.

You stared at the floral pattern of her sundress, secretly wishing you had something equally as pretty, and shrugged.

"Well, I hit my forehead and sprained my ankle-" you started, but the woman cut you off.

"I don't mean that." She remarked, with a disapproving tone.

She sounded the same as she did on those days you'd spend your lunch breaks together, or go and get coffee at the local shop - trading gossip and work secrets. She grinned at you mischievously, and it didn't go unnoticed by Daryl.

"Where is the timid girl who sang 'Yellow Submarine' to us from her tent every night?"

The man beside you was the one to laugh this time, and you jabbed him with your elbow in response. 

"I really do miss that tent." You mumbled under your breath, and thought you could hear Daryl weakly protest below his.

Vanessa eyed the two of you, and her mouth upturned into a grin you recognised all too well. It was the one she wore when whispering to you about cute baristas, or when sliding her number across the bar. 

"And who's this?" She said, in a tone that was equally as familiar.

She turned to face Daryl, and gave him a quick once-over like she was checking for any visible flaws. You couldn't contain your laugh; she always did lack subtlety.

"This is Daryl." You told her, and slipped your hand into his. "My-" you paused, furrowing your eyebrows as you did, "boyfriend?"

It came out like a question, and Daryl snorted uncharacteristically from beside you.

"'M too old for tha' word." He grumbled, but it was still light-hearted.

You took the opportunity to have some fun, and pressed your chest against his arm as you got closer to his ear.

"What do you want me to say, then?" You asked teasingly. "My partner? Sweetheart?" 

The man seemed completely taken aback to hear you call him anything besides 'Dixon.' 

"My other half? The old ball 'n chain-" you continued, but were abruptly interrupted as he shrugged you off in embarrassment.

"D'you wan' another head injury?" He asked - a little too quickly and a lot too loudly.

Vanessa laughed her usual dainty laugh, and you'd almost forgotten that she was even there. Daryl's cheeks were dusted a light pink, and you knew he would remind you of this later when you were alone.

"You two are good together." The woman spoke, causing you to look over in her direction. "I'm glad you found someone in all of this." 

You gave her a shy smile, before looking down at your feet. You'd never been good with compliments, but she always seemed to have an abundance of them to give.

"After everything you've been through," she went on, this time glancing over at Daryl with a look that could only be described as approval. "You really deserve someone who can make you happy."

Happy. That is what this feeling was. You'd almost forgotten what the word meant, but you were suddenly reminded. Daryl had made you feel a lot of things since you'd met him - first a lot of nerves and sometimes even frustration, but eventually it became comfort and security. However, you realised that all along there were moments of happiness. Even back at the farm, the man never did fail to make you laugh - intentionally or unintentionally. Whether it was his dry sense of humour, or the wise-cracks he'd make in those days where he seemed younger, and more willing to fight the world. 

You looked over at the man like you'd only just come to the most obvious of realisations. Daryl Dixon made you happy - like nothing else had before.

As the night started to settle down, the atmosphere fizzled away along with it. Everyone had taken to their temporary sleeping arrangements, and you could tell that Daryl was holding back his yawns as he helped you clamber over the people left chatting on the floor. The day felt like it had gone on for a week, and you couldn't wait to just sink into bed and let your bandaged head meet the pillows.

Across the block, you spotted Rick talking to some of the new residents, and urged Daryl to return to the cell ahead of you. The man glanced down at your foot and then back up to your eyes, as though needing to state the obvious. You shook your head, telling him that you'd get Rick to help you up the stairs once you were done. You just wanted to talk to the officer briefly, and didn't want to keep Daryl up any longer than he needed to be.

He didn't seem entirely convinced, but he left you propped up against the wall where you instructed him to. His stubbornness had definitely rubbed off on you, you'd realised, and he could hardly attempt to fight against it.

"Deputy Grimes!" You called, once Daryl was out of ear-shot. "Get over here for a second."

The man looked up from his conversation, and you watched him excuse himself before making his way over. He looked equally as exhausted as the rest of you, and stepped heavily over the stone floor. Still, he gave you a small smile as he approached, and squeezed your shoulder.

"You did good today." He drawled, praising you for the second time tonight.

You rolled your eyes and slapped his chest with the back of your hand. 

"Don't let Daryl hear you say that." You warned, with a teasing look. "I could have died, remember?"

You'd said the words in Daryl's Southern accent, impersonating the man the best you could. Rick laughed in response, and you quickly glanced over your shoulder just to double-check that the archer wasn't still looming there.

"Never knew him to be so uptight." The officer replied, and you shrugged.

"He just needs a good night’s sleep." You explained, glancing over at the staircase leading to the second floor. "I think we all do."

Rick especially seemed like he was dead on his feet, but he held it together well. You couldn't imagine the pressure he felt having to keep everyone safe during times like these. You wanted to ease that burden a little, or even just throw some distractions in the mix to make him forget about it.

"Anyway, I heard that Glenn found a camera at Woodberry." You started, watching as he raised an eyebrow at you.

A few hours ago you'd hijacked it, and briefly kidnapped the Grimes children for that photoshoot you'd been threatening. The polaroid had turned out even better than you'd hoped - and you had almost been tempted to keep it for yourself.

You pulled the picture from your pocket, careful not to bend it, and passed it to the man. His eyes squinted as he looked at it, flat atop his palm. Both Carl and Judy were sporting their sheriff's hats, and the older Grimes had his sister perched on his lap.

"Thank you for everything you've done for us, Rick." You told him, and watched as he brought the picture closer to his face. "I'll never forget how you were always there for me."

It was rare that you ever saw the man speechless, but in that moment you were sure you saw a glimpse of the same Rick Grimes you'd first encountered back at the farm - that officer friendly who would give anything for his family.

He shook his head wordlessly, before tucking the picture into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"You don't give yourself enough credit." He said quietly, before slinging one of your arms around his neck. "And I don't think you ever will."

You returned to your cell soon after that, bidding the officer goodnight at the door. He gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before reminding you to change your bandages in the morning. You laughed in response, wondering why all the men around you treated you like glass.

The room was quiet as you ducked under the sheet hanging at the doorway, and you shuffled inside. Daryl had lit the small lamp on the table, and it cast a warm, golden glow over him where he lay. He had his eyes closed, but you noticed he had your headphones on - connected to the walkman that was left at the edge of the mattress.

You could hear the faint din of the music as some sound escaped, and slowly made your way over to the bed - not wanting to startle the man. He was still fully dressed, and had his arms tucked under his head as he lay on his back. You didn't think he was asleep; rather, he seemed to be waiting for you.

You knelt down onto the mattress, feeling it dip beneath your weight as you crawled up beside him. He didn't react, so you pulled one side of the headphones from his ear, and brought your lips close to it.

"Boo." You whispered, and blew hot air there to make him shiver.

This time he cracked an eye open, and pulled you down beside him gently. He continued to be mindful of your head, and plumped a pillow up for you to lay on. He then removed the headphones, and twisted the ends of them so that the speaker parts were facing outwards. 

You chuckled at the action, suddenly thinking back on your childhood where you'd share a pair with your friends. Daryl placed them in the space between the two of you, so that you could both listen to the songs together. You heard something by The Beatles play muffled, and closed your eyes to take in the melody.

The two of you talked briefly, and sleepily, for a bit. Daryl grumbled about you using him as a makeshift crutch for the majority of the night, and you just hummed in response. You caught him glancing over at you every now and then, but he made no attempt to pull you closer like he usually would have. You knew it was because of your head; he didn't even have to tell you.

"Hershel said it might leave a small scar." You told him, like it was a secret you felt needed to be disclosed.

You didn't really mind all that much, but you knew Daryl had a tendency to look at you guilt-stricken whenever he saw you injured. You just wanted to warn him - just in case.

"Like Harry Potter or some shit?" The man mumbled, and you rolled your eyes.

"Maybe." You replied.

The chatter downstairs had settled, and all that remained was the tinny sound of the music that quietly played near your ear. You swallowed thickly, staring up at the ceiling to see the uneven cracks that marred it.

"Will you still love me if I have a gawdy scar over my forehead?" You asked teasingly - but a part of you felt nervous to hear the response.

Then, your eyes widened as you realised your choice of words. You sat up, immediately feeling the blood rush to your head as you did so.

"Wait-" you stuttered, noticing the man's expression. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

He cut you off before you could finish.

"I will."

You blinked, but he pulled you back down to him - this time letting you lay your head gently over his chest.

"Know I ain't said it before, but-" he paused, "I love ya." 

His heartbeat pounded quickly against your cheek, as though proving his words.

"I love ya so goddamn much, so don't ever pull that shit on me again."

You felt tears start to well up in your eyes, and hoped he couldn't feel them dampen his shirt.

"I love ya - you crazy woman who shot the governor an' took a bullet for me."

You swallowed thickly, trying to hide the wateriness of your voice as you responded.

"I love you too, Dixon." You admitted, wondering why you hadn't done so before.

You'd loved the man almost as long as you could remember; but it was one thing to love, and another thing to be loved in return.

"I won't let anything on this earth take me away from you." You mumbled against him. "You don't have to worry about that."

Daryl breathed in deeply, and you moved along with the rise and fall of his chest. This is what happiness felt like, you decided. Happiness wasn't as perfect as you had once thought it to be - back in the old world. It wasn't that amazing job, or the hard-earned paycheck, nor was it the men who called you pretty whilst giving you an ugly stare. Happiness for you was now walking around the perimeter of a dingy prison, hand-in-hand, as you stared up at the morning sun preparing for a fight. Happiness was those nights you'd stay awake, listening to the laughs down the hall of Maggie and Glenn as they whispered about their future together, and noticing that Daryl was eavesdropping, too. Most importantly, happiness was the man who you woke up next to, and the sound of his voice as he told you 'good morning.'

You looked down at his hand, resting on his chest, and saw the ink there that had smudged throughout the day. The walkman finished its tune, and there was a brief, few-second silence before it skipped to the next one. A familiar melody rang out, and Daryl placed a careful kiss over your hair.

"I like this song." He whispered against you, and you nodded in return.

"Yeah, me too."

A/N It took 20 chapters, 120k words, but they finally exchanged their ‘I love you’s.’ I think it was obvious that they already loved each other before this, but hearing them say it out loud just- 

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I hope that you are doing well! I love the your writing! If you are open to a Tarlos fic request: TK to Carlos after the doctor has told him Carlos might not make it through the next 48hrs "I cannot imagine life without you, please don't let me live my greatest fear. I won't survive."

Carlos has been working a case and it happens that he becomes a target. He starts getting messages at work, at home and becomes paranoid but doesn't tell TK, but TK can see that Carlos is on edge. Carlos picks a fight with TK so that he goes to stay with Owen for a while. Carlos does this to protect him, let him at least stay away so that if anything happens, TK is safe. Then one night, Carlos is alone at home and someone breaks in, torture ensues and he is barely clinging to life. He calls 911, Grace answers and he can barely get the words out "it's Carlos, send help". 📍

holly's august extravaganza day 10: i can't imagine my life without you

thank you!

ao3 | 1.9k | descriptions of torture, major character injury, angst, hopeful ending, open ending

TK knows he’s annoying people. The atmosphere in the ambulance is thick with tension whenever they’re out on a call, and it’s not much better back at the firehouse. He tries to keep his distance, occupying himself in the gym or aggressively doing chores, but he can’t avoid everyone forever and his bad mood is starting to spill over.

Like when he and Nancy fell back into their old pattern of snipping at each other, or when he nearly bit Paul’s head off when he asked what was wrong. It was less the question itself—though TK certainly doesn’t want to get into why he’s so out of it—and more the way Paul phrased it. Nobody likes to be asked ‘trouble in paradise?’, particularly when the answer is yes.

He just doesn’t understand. It had come completely out of left field—one minute everything was fine, the next Carlos had turned to him with guarded eyes and a clenched jaw, and said six words that sent TK’s whole world crashing down.

“I think we need a break.”

Carlos hadn’t explained why; when TK had tried to push, he’d turned it into a fight, until TK had no choice but to leave. He’s been staying with his dad for a week now and he desperately misses his boyfriend, torn between wanting to go over and check on him and wanting to give him space.

He’d settled on a text, a simple you okay?, which still felt woefully inadequate. Carlos had been on edge for weeks before the blow up and TK hadn’t been able to get a word out of him about why.

The text is still unanswered, though it’s been marked as Read.

TK huffs and hauls himself up into the ambulance to check stock. He knows Nancy has already done it and she’s going to be pissed if she catches him, but he needs to keep his mind occupied somehow, lest he start to spin out. But the peace he finds is short-lived, as not ten minutes after he starts, TK looks up from his clipboard to see Judd approaching, hands held out in a pacifying gesture.

It has the opposite effect, TK’s nerves becoming that bit more frayed at the spooked animal treatment he’s getting, but his pointed glare does nothing to deter Judd. Nor does turning his back and returning to work, as he finds out when Judd’s heavy footsteps stop behind the rig and don’t move away.

“TK,” Judd says, his voice suspiciously rough.

TK doesn’t bother turning around, hoping it will get the message across. “Fuck off, Judd,” he says, which would normally be a guarantee of riling him up enough to get him to either leave TK alone or engage in a more physical manner.

At this point, TK doesn’t really care which reaction he gets.

Unfortunately, he’s not in luck today. Which, honestly, tracks.

“I got a phone call,” Judd continues, undeterred, “from Grace. Now, I figure you’ll be getting a similar one soon enough, but we thought it might be better if you heard it from us first.”

TK sighs and hangs his head, reluctantly turning around. “What?” he snaps out. When Judd doesn’t react, not even with a raised eyebrow, a quiet dread begins to pool in his gut, a little voice in the back of his head telling him he already knows ‘what’.

He tries to push it down, but there are very few reasons why Grace would call Judd and ask to talk to him. TK takes the proffered phone in a shaking hand, his heart starting to pound as he lifts it to his ear.

“Grace?”

“Hey, TK.” Grace’s voice is gentle, as it always is, but there’s a soothing note to it now, and more of the pieces start to slot together in TK’s head. “Listen, honey, I’m at work and I just got a call come through. I’m… I’m so sorry, TK. It was Carlos.”

TK’s breath catches, tears pricking the back of his eyes. “What do you mean?” he demands, voice shaky. “What do you mean ‘you’re sorry’?”

“He was… I don’t know. He was barely able to talk, but it sounded real bad. EMS 122 were in the area at the time so I sent them out; they should have arrived at the hospital by now.”

And TK… TK doesn’t know what to say to that. He slumps back on the bench in the rig, breathing turning shallow as he imagines what could have happened to Carlos. The last time they’d seen each other—the last time they’d spoken—it had ended with them throwing insults across the kitchen island and with TK packing a bag and slamming the door behind him.

The thought that it might be the last memory they have together kills him inside.

He needs answers. Before he can face this new reality, he needs to know what happened, which means there’s only one thing he can do right now.

“Grace?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I want to hear it.”

*

Judd has followed him up to the mercifully empty bunkroom, refusing to leave after both his and Grace’s attempts to dissuade him had failed. TK ignores him for the most part, but he does give in to his request to put the phone on speaker. Much as he wants to deal with this on his own, it is a kind of comfort to have Judd’s steady presence next to him.

“Are you sure about this, TK?” Grace asks for the millionth time. TK appreciates her concern, but he needs this. He needs to hear it for himself.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright then.”

He hears a few clicks and then the recording starts, Grace’s voice coming over the speaker.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

No response.

“Hello?”

The silence continues, broken only by static, and then what TK recognises as heavy, gasping breaths.

“Hello, is anyone there?”

A few more seconds pass, and then, “Grace.”

TK has to suppress a sob at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice—though, if he didn’t know for sure it was Carlos, he wouldn’t have recognised it. His words come out ragged and hoarse, riding on breaths that seem to be getting slower and more laboured by the second. TK clutches the phone tighter in his hand, biting down hard on his lip.

“It’s… It’s Carlos. I… Send help. Please.”

“Carlos, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

But Grace goes unanswered, and TK suddenly notices that he can no longer hear the sound of Carlos breathing. His own breaths hitch, his lungs refusing to expand properly, and his vision blurs with tears as he curls in on himself, hands braced on the edge of the bed and gripping tightly onto the covers.

He doesn’t notice Judd taking the phone back, nor is he aware of him moving to sit next to him until he’s being pulled into a strong embrace, TK’s head cradled against Judd’s chest. Judd whispers things TK doesn’t hear as his hands gently rub his back, the touch grounding him as he loses himself to tears and the overwhelming pain in his heart.

Five minutes later, TK’s phone rings.

Fifteen minutes after that, they arrive at the hospital.

*

“Please,” TK whispers, clutching onto the hand in both of his. “Please don’t make me do this. I don’t… I don’t want to live a life without you in it. I can’t, you understand me? I can’t. If you leave, I won’t survive it, so you just hang on for me, alright? Forget what the doctor thinks, you keep fighting, and come back to me. Please, Carlos. Please.”

TK looks up, hoping to see Carlos’s beautiful brown eyes staring right back at him, but of course they’re not. He might never see them again, which is something TK is still trying to wrap his head around. That’s not the only thing either; Carlos has so many injuries that he’s struggling to remember them all—the only thing he does remember with horrific clarity is the doctor’s words when he’d asked to speak to TK privately.

“We’ve done what we can, but I’m afraid Officer Reyes’s wounds are grave and there is a significant possibility that he may not make it beyond the next 48 hours. If he does, then we will re-evaluate, but currently his chances of recovery are slim. I’m truly sorry.”

TK wipes away a stray tear and presses a kiss to Carlos’s bruised knuckles. His other hand is completely shattered, and TK can barely stand to look at his face; it’s been beaten to a pulp, there’s a patch over one eye, and whoever attacked him even went so far as to rip out some of his teeth.

It’s grim, and that’s to say nothing of the rest of his body. Torture is the only word to describe what happened to Carlos—brutal, savage, and without mercy, somebody tortured him in their home.

And he was alone.

*

“Son, you didn't know.”

“That’s no excuse. I left him.”

“Carlos pushed you away. He was trying to protect you.”

“And where was I when he needed protection?”

“TK—”

“Don’t, Dad.”

*

“TK, I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Please, Mitchell. I need to know. Carlos knew something was going to happen but he chose to drive me away instead of letting me in. I just… I just want answers.”

“...I’ll see what I can do.”

*

Carlos makes it through the 48 hours, but not without incident. Somewhere around hour 32, the machines had started going haywire, summoning an army of doctors who shoved TK out of the room, leaving him to stare in through the blinds as they worked to save Carlos’s life.

They’d done it, but it had taken TK hours to come down from the resulting panic attack.

*

“Oh my god.”

Mitchell is standing at his shoulder, watching him warily as he flips through the file she brought him from the station. She keeps looking around anxiously, as if her sergeant is going to appear and arrest her for misconduct at any moment, but TK only has eyes for the images and words in front of him.

“Did you know about this?” he asks, gesturing to the myriad of threatening messages they’d apparently found in Carlos’s desk.

She shakes her head. “We noticed he’d been acting weird, but we figured something was going on between you two. He never said a word to anyone that I know of.” She pauses and sighs shakily, placing a comforting hand on TK’s shoulder. “We, um. We found some at your house, too. In Carlos’s nightstand.”

TK stares, first at Mitchell, then at the file, then at Carlos, still just as silent and motionless as he’s been since the day all this happened. “Why?” he breathes, and he doesn’t know which one of them he’s addressing the question to.

*

The doctors are amazed when they get to a week and Carlos’s heart is still beating. He still has a ventilator breathing for him and there’s still been no sign of him waking up, but he’s not giving up.

TK wants to say that he never doubted him, but he can’t ignore his paramedic training. He’d heard how badly Carlos was injured; he’d seen the crime scene photos and all the blood coating their bedroom.

(He’d needed several minutes in the bathroom to recover from that sight)

Much as he didn’t want to admit it, all the signs pointed to Carlos not making it.

But he’s still here. Still fighting. And TK can’t help but let that little bit of hope into his heart.

[bumbershots]

A CERTAIN ROMANCE

CHAPTER FIVE: A SPECIAL DAY

Author’s note: Hello! We have finally reached the awaited date between Harry and Alma. I was really excited for this chapter, hopefully you will enjoy it as much as I did, forgive me in advance for any mistakes, my beta reader (my boyfriend) was unavailable, so this is a good time to say that if anyone out there has the time and willingness to beta read any future chapters send me an ask or message to let me know. Enjoy! (:

Story masterlist ** Word count: 2.6K **

Harry wakes up feeling excited, nervous and hungry. He takes care of the latter, decides to make some blueberry pancakes, turns out he can't eat more than two and a cup of coffee. Not that the pancakes weren't great, in fact they were fantastic, he even decides to brag about them on an Instagram story that is published for his close friends only. Nick quickly replies to it with a laughing emoji.

You should take a Tupperware full of them to your date ;)

The reason behind his excitement and nerves make his heart race, he decides to type in a polite 'fuck off' to his mate before heading to the shower. Under the warm spray of water he tries to sort out his thoughts. Harry doesn’t want to think about his upcoming trip to California. 

It was necessary for the album or so he thought last week, after going through a box with the very few memories he kept from his ex. He wasn’t in a right state of mind then, he feels pathetic. The only reason why he wanted to spend time in Los Angeles was because everything there —from the pavement to the sky— was tainted by her. 

Why would he want to go back to that place where the constant reminder of his pain was literally living in the same neighbourhood? Because it would provide him the cathartic release he was looking for. That’s the line he used after Sarah and Mitch tried to dissuade him from flying across the Atlantic and Harry was so proud of himself when it worked. 

That very same day, he got the first text from Alma, it was the address like she promised. ‘In case one of your talents isn’t stumbling upon my work place ;)’ the second text read and Harry had to endure Sarah’s questionnaire about the girl that made him blush with a mere wink emoji. Not that he minded talking about her, he could go on all day.

He usually preferred a shower before breakfast, usually even work out before then but well, hunger clouded his judgement earlier today. Even with that taken care of that dread still niggled him away. Just slightly. So, he decided to pick up his guitar for a moment and strummed. There was no real intention to play seriously, or to write anything down on the journal by his desk. It was more of something he enjoys too much not to do it, a way to keep his hands and mind busy, faffing around with chords. With a bit of luck he might come up with a song, a tune which just worked, that just... clicked.

Contrary to what people might believe, genius didn't strike him here and then. Not like when he'd come up with Sign of the times or Two ghosts. But finding a neat little pattern of chords a good thirty minutes later makes him smile, it's something he can work with. It needs a little polishing from Mitch and company, sure, but it has a good rhythm. He scribbled down some notes on his journal and sent the audio to his fellow musician.

Maybe he will find the words in one of the old notebooks that are somewhere in the other room, perhaps on the ones that are still on his unpacked suitcase from Japan. Silently he also hoped to find the lyrics around London. He had lived in the capital for a few years now, but he had been different then. Now he likes to think that he's a man, no longer the teenager from the boy band or the shiny new solo artist. He has new perspectives, sights, smells in this new home of his. New ideas.

Harry gazes out his bedroom window; the view is not great –mostly of the other houses in the complex. His mind focused on the cloudy sky, confused because he swore it was sunny just a few minutes ago, can bet on his life that he woke up to dazzling sunshine rays of a warm yellow colour peeking through that same window. He puts his guitar away on the bed with care and makes a beeline to his wardrobe. He needs to figure out what to wear, pronto.

Skipping her afternoon kip was not something Alma did, it was a rare occurrence which meant one thing: something special was happening.

Walking down Oxford Street, trying to decide where to get some lunch without a care in the world, that was until the calmness faded, when her schedule for the day hit her.

She had a date with Harry. A date, with Harry Styles. It was weird to go by his full name in her head, she couldn't bring herself to call or think about him as The Harry Styles.

Maybe she'd settle to call him Harry the tube guy.

The clock on her phone showed that it was no longer single figure hours, she needed to get some food now or starve until her shift was over, and then he would have to watch her feast at whatever place he chose. Alma groaned, thought how ridiculous it was to worry about him watching her eat. Harry was a grown man; of course he knows that women eat too, right?

Walking into the nearest Sainsbury's she decided to take a deep breath. He's just some guy, she concluded after paying for her chicken baguette. Nothing to stress about.

Harry showered again, while belting out some classic pop tunes. Namely Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears, something that in the past he'd swear blind you'd misheard and it was actually The Rolling Stones or Pink Floyd. But he'd come to terms that he liked what he liked.

Towel clad in the bedroom, trying to shirk off hypothermia, he was quick to put on some pants and jeans, before throwing on some simple white tee proclaiming some fading band name. He uses a dry clean towel from the closet and attempts to dry his hair, as he styles his flopped mop the thought of a haircut crosses his mind. It was getting a bit long.

One last look at the clock and he is ready to leave. "You'll be fine. Trust me." He quietly speaks to himself before closing the last few buttons of his green parka and fixing the newsboy cap on his head.

When he walks out of Colindale tube station, a little earlier than half past five, he sees the bakery from her instructions just below the large modern building Alma was kind enough to describe. She was right; the bakery is right across the street, he waits for the green man to light up to cross, shoving his hands in his pockets. The huge front windows of the establishment allow Harry to see her behind the till, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. She looks better than she did three weeks ago. He hesitates about going in for a few minutes, but feels it ought to be better than to lurk on the street.

Alma can feel his presence the moment he sets foot into the shop, her eyes are drawn to him and a content close lipped smile is the best greeting he could ask from her. The only customer in the place can feel the shift in the atmosphere when they lock eyes. So, picking up her bag full of baked goods, she steps out and leaves them alone.

"Sorry if I'm too early." He begins while she takes off her apron and hangs it in the back wall.

"You're right on time," Alma says after checking her watch, "I'm off Carlos, see you tomorrow!" She hollers to the employee that is taking a non-allowed nap in the back. Harry holds the door open for her and follows out of the warm store. "Shall we take the tube?" At his affirmative response, she then takes out her Oyster card and leads the way.

The café was not somewhere Alma expected Harry to go, the little shop with soothing music and simple stools full of the scent of organic coffee brewing is dazzling and unique. A bit like him, she thinks. She liked it. It reminded her of the places she used to frequent when she had recently moved into the city.

Harry orders a black coffee at the counter before asking Alma what she'd like.

"A cappuccino, and remember I'm paying for our food," she hands him a tenner that he reluctantly takes from her.

"Absolutely," he iterates the order to the woman behind the counter and adds two salted caramel cupcakes handing over the cash. "If you get a seat, I'll bring it over."

Alma thanks him before scampering across the room to sit at the back two seat table tucked in the corner. It was right beside the large back window, dimly lit. Before she sat, she removed her signature burgundy coat and Harry couldn't help his eyes being drawn to certain aspects of his companion. Nice arse, he remarked with a raise of his brows before the woman behind the counter tells him for the third time that his order is ready, a look of disdain as she probably caught his gaze. Giving her a sheepish smile to appease her, he manages to balance the two plates and mugs in his hands and walk over to the table.

"They asked if you wanted whipped cream or foam and I settled for foam, hope that's not a problem." He plonks himself on the seat across from her, removing his parka in a clumsy manner before hanging it in the back of the chair.

"No problem, I actually despise–

"Whipped cream, yeah, I kind of remembered what you told me about that birthday party of yours," the green eyed lad finishes for her and scratches the back of his neck. "You know with that dare..."

Her eyes flickered down to the cupcakes laid out before them and she started picking the caramel out of one, hoping to hide the nerves his words caused.

"Right enough, yeah... I can't believe you remembered that or that I told you about it." She chuckled nervously at the anecdote she chose to share with him, it was a bit inappropriate due to the amount of vomit around it, literally. But he shrugged with a charming smile. No big deal. "Nice place," she noted.

"I know it's a bit of a strange choice. It doesn't strike me as, you know, the kind of place you put so much effort into for a first date..." Harry stops talking and now his eyes meet the cupcake in front of him. "Bollocks I must have sounded so daft, I'm sorry." Lucky for him, she doesn't laugh, instead she reaches out to stroke his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

"Nothing to be sorry about, I can be quite daft so..."

"I doubt that Miss suave." He gets a laugh out of her then, one that is almost a snort and earns a few glances from other customers.

"I’m far from it! Honestly, I once accidentally stepped on dog shit and didn't notice until my date couldn't bear the stink anymore and checked my shoe, in a very fancy restaurant. Terrible story. Trust me, I can be daft." Alma held up her hands and the musician giggled at her.

"Promise you won't laugh?" he raised an eyebrow at her, pleading. She promised. "Well, I kind of always wanted to have a first date here. It's always one of the first places I visit when I'm back in London, the food is amazing, and service is excellent. Came here completely hung-over after my twenty-first birthday party. I guess it has a lot of good memories." Pinked cheeks gave away Harry's embarrassment, he wanted to relax and for her to be more comfortable around him.

With a sincere smile Alma placed her hand over his resting on the table. "I think that is very sweet." This reply was not what he had expected; she leant in and beckoned him closer. "For your information Harry, this is exactly a great place for a first date." Up close he swore the darkness of her eyes were about to swallow him whole and spit him out to an alternate universe. He swallowed hard and took a sip of his coffee to distract himself a bit. Perhaps caffeine was not a good choice on a day where his heart was speeding so frequently.

"Did you have a good day today at work?" he asks with a familiarity that Alma can get used to.

"Yeah, had a bit of free time to plan my next video blog. It's been ages since I uploaded one." She bashfully admits. "This cupcake was delicious, a great flavour choice." And just like that they fall into easy conversation until their cups are drained. The place is almost empty around quarter to eight and they both know it's almost closing time –the death glances from the employees behind the counter gave it away. They put on their garments again before leaving.

Harry makes his way to the door expecting Alma to follow. Instead she first gathered up their mugs and plates, to place them neatly on the counter and thanked the three workers behind it with a genuine smile. Harry looked surprised; she didn't quite have to do that. She noticed.

"Just being polite," she stated the obvious, before walking under his arm that held open the door. He chose not to comment and fought back a smile.

They stood outside, not really sure of what to do next. Usually he would suggest going back to his place. It was near, but he watched her yawn discreetly and he suddenly remembered that she had a real job, well actually jobs in plural. He broke the silence.

"It was nice to see you again Alma." He meant it and she smiled as she toyed with the buttons of her coat. British summer weather was hardly cold, but today it seemed to be punishingly windy. Harry near gave a shiver, but instead took a deep breath before speaking again. It was now or never. "It'd be quite great, if I could... I'd like to see you again. Please." He shifted on one foot, nearly drowned in the silence that followed.

"I'd quite love to see you again," Harry gave a slight gulp, very slight and got out strength from the words she spoke to take a big risk, the first of today.

He stepped closer and cradled her face in his hands before leaning down and kissing her cheek. It wasn't the full on kiss he wanted to give her. But it is something he'd been dying to do since he first saw her today, something he hoped would make clear how attracted he was to her. Harry smelled like coffee and caramel. God this man's lips are prettier up close, she thought right before he straightened up.

She stayed close to him before speaking again. A low murmur so that the passing London traffic wouldn't steal her words from him.

"This was an amazing date."

Alma walked with him the long distance of one mile to the tube station, their hands brushing against each other. He was desperate to just hold hers, kiss her soft knuckles and ask about the lightning-shaped scar on her little finger. But decided against it, he knew that West Hampstead was not a common area for paparazzi, but he didn't want to risk her. Especially after the splendid afternoon they just shared.

They said their farewells.

"I'll call you," he said again. She warned that he better, before entering the station, he took great delight in watching her walk away from him, his gaze falling once more to her bum now covered by the coat. Harry spun on his heel and walked the short distance to his home.

Surely London could help him find the lyrics for that tune, this city definitely had something.

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TAG LIST: @laurxn-robinson​ @mellamolayla​ 

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Okay so I’ve been obsessed with the song “lost in the fire” by the weekend and was wonder if you could make a rick story with it lmfao i have no idea how to ask 💀

First of all, I love getting requests and i am honored you would think of me!

That being said... I don't write smut and I feel I couldn't accurately write for this song without it. However, I spoke with @loverhymeswith and she would be more than happy to complete your request if you send her an ask. She writes Rick amazingly and I know she will be able to come up with something great for you.

Thank you again for the ask and I'm sorry I couldn't do it. But I hope this doesn't dissuade you from sending me another ask in the future!

[aceprosecuties]

jealous Nahyuta! maybe their at an important event and Simon doesn't want to damage Nahyuta's reputation or something, so he just stands off to the side while Nahyuta is busy. someone then starts flirting with Simon, and he wants to move away and go to his boyfriends side but he doesn't want to screw something up and so he's just awkwardly standing there trying to get this person to leave. Nahyuta eventually notices and just walks over to them and is like; 'what are you doing with my man??'

AHHH I LOVE THIS. 

Also my original thought was some public event in Khura’in but like...everyone there would know that Simon is Nahyuta’s personal guest and no one would dare flirt with him because Simon has a very iconic look and therefore everyone would be sure to not cause too much trouble around him. 

So, let’s say they are invited to some dinner party while in the states which involve some ambassadors and other heads of state and their staff.  It is meant to be an informal way to foster further cooperation among leaders.  At this point, Nahyuta’s relationship with Simon is known in Khura’in, but since they aren’t married or engaged, it isn’t a known fact worldwide.  Originally, Nahyuta was invited just with a “plus one” if desired.  His sister and mother were also invited but they elected to stay back to take care of home while he was away. 

Simon didn’t want to go.  Really, he didn’t; he wasn’t a “political” type of person, and he knew that he would cause a few fights if provoked.  But Nahyuta asked and asked and asked and Simon caved.  He even dressed up in a tux (as the event was black tie) for it.  

He stuck with Nahyuta for as long as he could, downing champagne and wine whenever a waiter or waitress walked by.  Simon was hoping the alcohol would loosen him up a bit, but it wasn’t really working.  And then, Nahyuta was pulled away for some official business; Simon awkwardly stands in the middle of the room before skulking off to a corner, hoping to stay unnoticed until Nahyuta returned. 

He did not remain unnoticed. 

First, a group of girls - around Athena’s age, so they must have been some important interns or something - walked over to him and began obviously flirting with him.  Usually he was able to avoid this sort of thing with his scary appearance, but...with the tux and brushed hair and cleaned face, he didn’t have his usual frightening aura.  

They asked him how tall he was and he flatly replied “6 foot 2″ and they all giggled as if they were just privy to some important secret.  Normally, he would insult them enough to get them to leave, but Simon held his tongue.  Even interns could have a certain amount of clout, and he didn’t want to damage Nahyuta’s reputation at all.  

“Ladies, I’m...flattered, but I must say that I am...unavailable.” 

They all pouted - what, were they planning on sharing him? - but then one of the bolder women leaned in, showing off her ample cleavage in a way that he imagined was meant to be sexy.  If you liked that sort of thing.  “Where is she?  I’m sure I can convince her to share you for just one night~” 

“How old are you?”  Simon skipped past the gender mistake for the time being, raising an eyebrow as she not-so-subtly insisted on a threesome. 

“I’ll be twenty next month.” 

“And I’m twenty-nine,” he bluntly said, hoping that the obvious age difference would spur her away.   He wasn’t interested in teenagers.  

“Older usually means more experience, doesn’t it,” she purred.  He resisted making a face, hoping to remain polite despite how badly he wanted to get rid of her.  Need to stay polite for Nahyuta.  “And yeah, I might be young but I’m very good~  I know what to do to make you feel great.” 

She must be buzzed, at least, for her to come onto him this strongly and continue to ignore the fact that he was trying to politely tell her no.  

“I’m gay,” he finally offered, hoping that would be enough to dissuade her.  

“So you think.  But one night with me will change your mind.  I guarantee it.”  

Simon’s fists clenched together, and even his eye twitched, though she seemed to not take notice.  Even while ignoring just how offensive that was (which was...pretty much impossible), Simon was just uncomfortable.  

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” 

Both Simon and the girl (along with her friends, who had sort of faded in the background at this point) turned to see Nahyuta, walking up to them with a smile on his face.  While it appeared polite to most people, Simon knew Nahyuta well enough by now to read his eyes rather than his mouth, and...well, he was not happy. 

“Can I help you?”  The girl must not have known who Nahyuta was, because her tone was somewhat snappy - perhaps in her mind, she was getting somewhere.  Though Simon had no idea why she would ever think that. 

“Yes, I believe so.”  Nahyuta walked over to Simon and stood in between him and the young woman, leaning over her in an obvious intimidation tactic.  “From where I was standing, you’re not desired here.  Isn’t it considered rude to continue advancing on someone who clearly is not interested?” 

“What’s it to you?” 

“I don’t appreciate people making advances on my consort, especially when he clearly has been trying to shoo you away.”  Nahyuta’s use of the word consort rather than boyfriend was meant to send a signal - that he was one of the heads of state here, and he was important.  “And for the record, I do not enjoy sharing.”  Still, he was smiling, but his voice held an unspoken threat and venom that indicated how unhappy he was with her actions.   

The girl turned white after realizing she had insulted a government leader, and scurried away with her friends quickly.  

“...I don’t need you to come to my rescue.  I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Simon said, when Nahyuta turned his attention towards him again.  Simon was frustrated, because...well, in that instant he needed Nahyuta to rescue him, actually.  Despite his frown, Nahyuta looked pleased, and leaned in a little bit.  

“Would you feel better if I said I came here more to stake my claim, rather than to rescue you?”

“Nor am I an object, Nahyuta.” 

“Of course of course, but...I still didn’t like seeing her come onto you so strongly.  And...I know you’re trying to behave for my sake.  ...Thank you.”  

Simon blushed, and turned his face away, so he wouldn’t have to look at that damned beautiful and genuine smile of Nahyuta’s.  “You’ll owe me later.” 

Nahyuta leaned in and planted a soft kiss on the corner of Simon’s mouth.  “Oh, I’m sure of it.”