#who raised me and sheltered me and will love me no matter what

[spacedustmantis]

sigh. yet another incredibly improtant self discovery that i won't be able to tell my parents about....

[violetsandshrikes]

I met a girl when I was fresh out of high school in undergrad who frankly, annoyed me quite a bit, but I also had an inkling to continue to be compassionate to her given a few things about her life/background/family

I ran into her two years ago. Last week, her daughter turned 1. This girl, let’s called her “P”, is a really good example of why I never feel comfortable mocking trad wives

Her perfect trad husband, who was a shining young figure in the local religious community, volunteered in all sorts of groups, well loved in his workplace and everything else, beat her up at 1 month post-partum. I reached out to her after seeing her desperately asking for a stroller on a page, confused and slightly concerned knowing both of them came from wealthy backgrounds.

The reality for lots of tradwives living “perfect lives” is this: P was immediately ostracised. All the wealth of her husband and her family meant absolutely nothing if she wasn’t in favour and doing what she was told. Her child and her well-being didn’t matter. P, at 25 years old, was basically deemed an oopsie, and left on her own to figure out how to pay for herself, a baby, find housing, and every other task you can think of.

Having known many of these women (and supported many of these women), another factor most people don’t consider is this: they are intentionally raised to be helpless. When I immediately offered my support to P, she really needed it. This young woman needed to be guided through how to apply for government assistance, how to weigh up rentals and apply for them, how to apply for jobs, how to sign up for childcare. How to sign up for your own power and internet, and how to connect them.

It wasn’t that she was “stupid”, or incapable, or spoiled. While it looks like they’re being sheltered, in reality, these women are practically being held hostage. Sure, they might be allowed to learn things that are expected of them (see: basic cooking, baking, cleaning, child rearing, women’s bible studies, hosting, and so forth) but they are heavily controlled from family life into marriage life, and they are never given the opportunity or the reality of what many of us would consider basic adult tasks.

She’s doing okay now. Her daughter turned 1, is happy and healthy. They live frugally, but they have a roof over their heads and the essentials. I often babysit for her so she can attend counselling, or go to a woman’s support group. She is painfully aware that she has so much to learn about how to live as an adult.

I don’t envy tradwives, but I don’t find any joy in mocking them either. Even when they live the most picturesque lives, they’re also practically living a real life Jenga game. If (and often, when) it comes tumbling down, they’re screwed too, and they often have 0 skills to help themselves or find community (that again, isn’t carefully curated).

[omerhelles]

Hi,🚨

I'm Omar Walid Hills, 21 years old, originally from Gaza, Palestine, and now living in Cairo, Egypt. My heart is with my family—my brothers, their wives, and children—who are still in Gaza, enduring unimaginable hardship due to the ongoing war.

Since October 7, my life has been turned upside down. Many dear loved ones have lost their lives, becoming martyrs, and our family home, along with my brother's apartment, was destroyed. In an instant, our memories of love, warmth, and joy were reduced to rubble. My family, including my brother’s small children, are now homeless, living in tents and shelters as they face constant insecurity and displacement.

Today, I’m reaching out to ask for your help. Through the link below, we are raising funds to provide immediate relief for my family. These funds will go directly to my brother, Mohammed Walid Hills, who lives in Gaza and is currently displaced in Deir al-Balah. His bank account at Palestine Bank will receive the donations, which will be used to support them through this crisis and, when possible, to rebuild what we've lost.

Your compassion and support mean the world to us. Every contribution, no matter how small, helps protect my family from further suffering and offers a glimmer of hope during these dark times.

Thank you for your kindness. May God bless you all. ❤️

[hydrobunny]

meet me in the pouring rain

tags: comfort, established relationship, aftermath of fights, happy ending!!!!!

obviously, you two had your fights. it would be stupid to think you didn't: stupid to assume the two of you were constantly perfect.

you curl up by the door of your bedroom, trying to stop yourself from crying.

you hated this. you hated how you had expected anything different. of course sae itoshi would choose football over you. it was what he had been doing for his entire life.

but why had you thought today would be something different? just because it was your birthday?

you had asked him if you two were doing anything so excitedly, so stupidly. he had looked at you with the blankest expression you had seen.

and of course when you tried to press the matter, he had snapped at you that he was busy- to not bother him before practice.

and the words had spewed out of your mouth, telling him to get on with it and get out of the house.

sae hadn't argued further, merely blinking at you in vague confusion before slamming the door behind him.

he hadn't returned for lunch. and with the sheer amount of rain outside, you knew he couldn't be practicing still. (well, you mused, there was a slight chance.)

but that meant he had to be taking shelter somewhere away from your home, somewhere with other people.

lightning crackled outside. the rain was really coming on in droves now. you curl further into a ball and listen to your own heartbeat, steady and calming.

the notification sound of your phone was a scare, and you flinch, hard. you look around for the source of the noise. the dings continue on and on.

when you finally find your phone, you're stunned to see the contact sae <33

the messages are a clear change from his usual short ones, practically an entire chain of frantic words. it's a drastic change compared to the dead silence he's been giving you today.

y/n

fuck i'm sorry

i didn't mean what i did in the morning

i forgot the date i'm so sorry

y/n?

i'm outside. you don't have to come if you don't want to. i'll stay.

you stare at that last message. sae was-

you run to her window, heart rate rising. you can barely see past the sheer amount of rain slamming down.

but sae was there. you can make out his vague form, the rain unforgivably landing on top of his head.

you almost fall down the stairs with how fast you run down. you skid to a stop in front of the door.

your hand turns on the knob.

“sae,” you breathe out.

sae looks at you with a bouquet of soaked roses and a small box, looking more like a drowned rat than the boyfriend you knew.

“you're going to get sick,” you sputter. “what were you-”

“i love you,” sae interrupts, eyes glowing with an intensity unfamiliar to you.

you've only seen that look on the field, when he's truly concentrating.

"i'm so fucking sorry," he continues. "i need you to know that you are my first priority. i know i don't act like it- but you're the best thing that's happened to me."

your mouth hangs open, your voice weak. "come inside."

he does. you gently take the roses from him and place them on the table. he pockets the box, and you don't question him.

sae waits patiently for you to speak.

"i'm sorry too," you finally say. "i shouldn't have-"

he grabs onto your hands, squeezing reassuringly. "don't apologize. im the one who forgot. it's not-it'll never be your fault."

you swallow. "i love you. but you should really go change-"

"before that," sae digs back into his pocket and pulls out the neatly wrapped box. "here."

the wrapping paper gives easily underneath your nails. you eye the box warily. it's clearly jewelry, so you crack the thing open-

"jesus christ-" you fumble the box.

sae catches it easily, raising one eyebrow.

"you got a ring?"

"it's not what you think it is." he hums, gently taking the ring out of the box. it's a pretty little thing, all delicate and fragile looking. "my proposal wouldn't be this tacky."

you stare at him. "so the ring is..."

"a promise," he answers as he slides it carefully onto your finger. "for a better one eventually."

the blood rushes to your face immediately. sae doesn't seem phased at all, even if he's just confessed that he's going to marry you.

"i-"

sae sneezes. once, and then twice.

you grab his arm. "okay. you are getting into some warm clothes."

he frowns, but follows you up the stairs anyway.

when the two of you reach the bedroom, you stop him by the door.

"you know, i only wanted two words."

his head tilts almost imperceptibly, confusion leaking-

sae smiles. "happy birthday."

[cece693]

Well Mannered Son (Norman Bates x M! Reader)

In my attempt to write beyond my go-to slashers, I thought Norman Bates would be a good change of pace. I love his character and (in my opinion) he's a good blend of nice guy and murderer.

Summary: The rain didn't stop, causing you to pull over and seek shelter at Bates Motel. The attendant was cute but raised a hell of a lot of red flags. But who said you were the most sane to begin with?

tags: reader isn't the most sane, ignores red flags, thinks Norman is cute, in a creepy sort of way, mother approves, good thing you're a man

The rain pounded against the windshield, so heavy that the wipers couldn’t keep up. You were driving aimlessly, like you often did when your mind got too noisy. Thoughts swirled in your head, dark and restless, pushing you further down the winding, empty roads. But tonight, the storm made things dangerous—even for you. Home was still an hour away, and with the weather getting worse, you knew you couldn’t make it.

That’s when you saw it—the flickering neon sign of Bates Motel. Its glow barely pierced the darkness, but it was enough. You didn’t hesitate to pull over, the car skidding slightly as you came to a stop in the small gravel lot. The place looked like it had seen better days—run down, forgotten—but that didn’t matter. It was shelter, and it was exactly what you needed right now.

Drawing your jacket over your head, you stepped out of the car and made a run for the office. The rain hit you hard, soaking through your jacket in seconds, but you ignored it. The small office was dimly lit, musty, and eerily quiet. You kicked the door shut behind you, pulling off your drenched jacket and shaking it out as you looked around.

“Hello?” you called out, glancing toward the empty reception desk. There wasn’t even a bell to signal your arrival. For a moment, you considered just going back to your car and sleeping there for the night. It wouldn’t be the first time. But before you could turn to leave, a man appeared from the back office, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Hi, sorry about the wait. The rain didn’t let me hear a thing.” he explained quickly, a nervous smile playing on his lips as he walked toward the desk.

You stood still, your gaze fixed on him. He wasn’t conventionally attractive, not in a striking way, but there was something about him. He was awkward, almost too eager, but that awkwardness had its own charm. His hair was a little messy, like he’d spent too much time fussing with it, and his clothes were plain, almost old-fashioned. But it was his eyes that held your attention. They were bright, but shadowed by something deeper, something that told you this man had secrets.

“It’s no problem,” you finally said, offering a faint smile in return. “I was just hoping to get a room for the night. The storm’s too much to drive through.”

He nodded quickly, his hands fumbling to open the guest book. "Yes, but my mother and I like this weather. Peaceful. I’m Norman, by the way.” he added after a pause, giving you a look that seemed to weigh you against something in his mind.

“Nice to meet you, Norman.” you replied, signing your name in the book. "I'm M/N." You feigned to not notice the way Norman stared as your hand moved across the page, almost as if committing every stroke to memory.

“Room one’s available. It’s just next to the office.”

“Thanks.” you said, taking the key from his hand. Before you could leave, Norman hesitated, his eyes flickering briefly to the doorway behind him. “You know, if you’re hungry or anything, we’ve got dinner at the house. It’s just up the hill. My mother’s there.”

Mother. The word sent a curious ripple through you. You didn’t think much about your own mother, but there was something about how Norman said it that made you pause. It wasn’t the word itself, but the way he spoke of her, as if she was more than just his mother. She was everything to him.

Most people would find that unsettling. But not you. You found it adorable, actually. Endearing. That level of devotion, the way he seemed so close to her, like she was his best friend. How sweet was that?

“She’s your best friend, huh?” you asked with genuine interest.

Norman blinked, caught off guard by your lack of discomfort. “Yes… yes, she is. We do everything together. She’s really quite special.” His smile grew, this time more genuine, a little less awkward.

“Sounds nice,” you said simply. “Not many people understand family like that.”

Norman’s eyes widened just slightly. He was used to people reacting differently to him, but you weren’t like them. You didn’t pull away; you didn’t give him that look. Instead, you stepped closer, and for the first time in a long while, someone wasn’t treating him like a freak.

“Would you like to meet her?” he asked suddenly, almost eagerly.

Most people would’ve run right there, maybe politely declined or pretended to be tired. But you? You nodded without a second thought. "Sure. I’d love to. Just let me dry off a bit and leave my jacket in the room."

Norman’s eyes lit up with a mixture of surprise and excitement. "Oh! Yes, of course. Take your time. I’ll, um, let Mother know you’ll be joining us."

You gave him a small nod and headed out of the office, back into the rain for the brief jog to your room. The motel seemed even quieter now, the pounding of the rain on the roof the only sound cutting through the night. Inside your room, you hung up your soaking jacket and ran a towel through your hair, looking at yourself in the mirror.

There was a strange feeling in your chest—something like anticipation, maybe curiosity. You weren’t exactly sure what drew you to Norman. Most people would’ve found his oddness unsettling, but you found it comforting.

Maybe because you weren’t so innocent yourself.

The thought crossed your mind as you stared into your own reflection, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. You had your own darkness, your own secrets, skeletons in your closet that would send most people running. You liked the way Norman wasn’t trying to hide his oddness. Maybe that said more about you than him.

You headed back out into the storm, making your way up the hill to the old house. The path was slick with mud, and the house itself stood like a shadow looming over the motel. It felt timeless, stuck in a place that was half-memory, half-reality. But instead of dread, you felt an odd sense of calm.

Norman was waiting for you at the front door, his shy smile greeting you as he stepped aside to let you in. The house smelled faintly of old wood and something cooking—homey, in a way you hadn’t expected. You stepped inside, shaking off the rain from your hair.

“You’re just in time,” Norman said, leading you through the narrow hallway into the dining room. “I…um, I hope you don’t mind a simple meal. Mother likes to keep things traditional.”

“I don’t mind at all.” you said easily, glancing around. The dining room was dimly lit, the table set for two rather than three. Norman noticed your gaze. “Mother wasn't feeling well enough to come down tonight. But she’s watching from upstairs. She can see everything.”

For a moment, his words hung in the air. Most people might have felt a chill run down their spine, but you just smiled. “That’s okay. I hope she recovers quickly." Sitting at the table, you couldn't help but add “And I hope she enjoys the company. I wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”

Norman’s face brightened at that, his smile almost childlike in its innocence. “You're not. Mother already thinks you're very polite."

Dinner was served, simple but comforting—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. You ate quietly at first, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it felt like Norman was waiting for something, watching you closely for any sign of discomfort. You could feel his eyes on you, and you couldn’t help but test the boundaries a little.

"You’re a good cook," you said, breaking the quiet. “You must’ve learned that from your mother.”

Norman blushed, his gaze quickly flickering down to his plate. “Y-Yes. She taught me everything. She’s very particular about how things are done.”

“I can tell.” You leaned forward slightly, your voice soft but teasing. “It’s good to know you listen to her so well.”

The compliment seemed to catch him off guard. Norman’s face turned an even deeper shade of pink, and his hand fumbled with his fork. “Oh, I—I try. She always says that a man should be respectful, especially around good people like you.”

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a tug of amusement at his awkwardness. He was trying so hard to keep it together, but your presence was clearly making him flustered. You couldn’t resist pushing just a little more. “Well, I think you’re doing just fine.” your voice lowered slightly, “In fact, I think your mother would be proud of having raised such a well-mannered son."

As the night wore on, the conversation flowed easier. Norman grew more comfortable, though he still stammered and blushed when you pushed him with subtle flirtations. You found it charming, the way he tried so hard to maintain control, only to crumble with the slightest pressure.

Eventually, it was time to leave. You stood at the front door, Norman’s eyes lingering on you as he awkwardly fidgeted with his hands.

“I, um…I hope you sleep well tonight.” he said, voice soft.

You couldn’t resist one last push. Leaning in slightly, you smiled. “I’m sure I will, especially knowing you’re close by.”

Norman blinked, his face turning scarlet again, and for a moment, he looked like he might melt into the floor. Before he could stammer out a response, you took a step closer, leaning in and gently pressing a kiss to his lips. It was brief, just a soft brush, but enough to feel the warmth of his skin and the way his breath hitched in his throat.

When you pulled back, Norman looked utterly stunned, his eyes wide and his face a deep crimson. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. “Goodnight, Norman.” you whispered, giving him one last smile before walking down the hill.

As you walked back to your room, you couldn’t help but grin at yourself. You knew you’d see him again tomorrow. And the next day, and the next day, and the next day...

[girlgenius1111]

adjustments + acceptance

Sol gets a new friend. Mapi... adjusts. pretty much entirely fluff. brief descriptions of a panic attack.

------

“Amor, are you sure about this?” Mapi asked, for probably the 10th time that morning. Ingrid just chuckled, looking sympathetically across the kitchen table at her girlfriend who had her black cat cradled close to her chest.

“María, you agreed already.” Ingrid implored, taking a sip of coffee to hide her smile at the older woman’s pouting.  

Mapi let out a heavy sigh, pressing a gentle kiss onto the cat’s forehead. “I don’t want a dog.” 

“I know, but Sol does. She wants one so badly she asked me if she could get one. You know what that means as well as I do, María.” 

Mapi threw her head back and groaned. “You’re very lucky I love your sister.” 

“I am very lucky.” Ingrid said, sending her girlfriend a soft, loving smile that the other woman instantly returned. Though after a second, she shook her head like she was pulling herself from a trance. 

“You Engens. You make a face and I give you whatever you want.” She said grumpily. “It is not fair.”

“Maybe you should grow a spine then, María,” Ingrid laughed. 

“You wouldn’t like it if I did,” Mapi teased, though she flushed red when Ingrid raised one eyebrow at her. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” She said matter of factly, and she was completely correct. Mapi wouldn’t dare. “Alright, I’ll go get her. Remember, María, this is a surprise. Don’t be weird, and don’t tell her where we’re going.”

“I know how to act normal, and I know how to keep a surprise a secret.” Mapi scowled. 

“You tried to throw me a surprise party last year and you were so weird, I thought you were breaking up with me.” Ingrid replied over her shoulder, leaving Mapi to sit and think with that one. 

The Spaniard couldn’t deny that Ingrid had a point. Mapi took a deep breath, putting on a smile that she hoped was normal, that certainly wasn’t, and waited for you to descend the stairs, soaking up her last few minutes with Bagheera as an only child.

------

Ingrid wouldn’t lie and claim she didn’t want a dog either. She absolutely did, and when you very timidly asked if it would ever be a possibility for you to get one, Ingrid had seized her chance. If Mapi had a soft spot for her, it was nothing compared to how she was with you. Ingrid wasn’t quite sure that her girlfriend had ever said no to you. 

You were confused as to where you were going, until Mapi pulled into a parking spot in front of a shelter, and you got out of the car faster than either of them thought was possible. Your excitement and hope was infectious as you waited impatiently for your sister and her girlfriend to get out of the car, too. 

“Are you guys being for real? You’re getting a dog?” You asked, practically bouncing up and down with excitement. Mapi shook her head with a wry grin. 

“No, you’re getting a dog. I will play no part in the ruin of Bagheera’s life.” 

Ingrid rolled her eyes at her girlfriend, pulling open the door to the building and gesturing you inside. 

As Ingrid followed you into the shelter, watching the growing grin on your face, she couldn’t hide her own smile. At your excitement, obviously, but also that she was finally getting her way. As she normally did.

Her and Mapi had done some recon, and had a couple dogs in mind that the shelter said were friendly and easy going. They greeted the shelter workers, who had been expecting them, and began to lead you back to one of the first dogs they had chosen. 

You didn’t even make it to the first option they’d selected. Instead, you stopped in your tracks at the third cage. Inside was a black and white border collie, a dog that initially Ingrid had considered. Though border collies were a lot of work, they were energetic and active. This one was a bit smaller than a normal one was, so Ingrid wasn’t worried about the size. As she had talked with the workers, though, she learned that he wasn’t very friendly, and he hadn’t shown any interest in anyone that had attempted to get to know him. 

He’d been found abandoned on the side of the road, just outside the city. There were no signs of abuse, but he was, at their estimate, between 3 and 5 years old, so it hadn’t been an unwanted puppy. He had a collar on, which said his name, but the address and phone number had been scratched off. This, along with the place he was left suggested that he had been… just that. Left. This traumatizing event had clearly left a mark on the little guy, and he was now exceptionally distrustful of every human that interacted with him. 

Over the course of the preliminary visit Ingrid had made to the shelter, she hadn’t seen him move from his spot wedged in the back of the cage, his deep brown eyes sullenly and apprehensively watching anyone who walked by. 

So, Ingrid had ruled that dog out, knowing you would want a dog that would be up for doing activities with you. 

Now, though, he was looking at you intently, his ears perked up on his head. 

“Hi, buddy,” you whispered, crouching down in front of the cage. He didn’t retreat further into himself, like he had done when Ingrid had watched the workers interact with him. He didn’t get up either, but he did scoot himself just a bit closer to you. Ingrid and Mapi stopped, exchanging looks, before they turned to the worker. 

“That’s Scout. He is very shy, and isn’t very receptive to anyone.” She explained, looking at you with pity, knowing the look on your face was one that meant you were already attached to him. 

“Can I meet him?” You asked, not looking away from the dog. 

Mapi opened her mouth to get you to move on but Ingrid nudged her, shaking her head. There was something about the way the dog was looking at you. Almost hopefully. 

“Of course, but he probably won’t let you near him. He’s like that with everyone, so don’t be offended.” The worker explained. 

You moved out of her way as she opened the door, before you carefully stepped in, taking a seat just inside the door against the wall. You regarded Scout carefully, watching as he sniffed the air in between the two of you with interest. 

“Hi Scout.” You said, holding your hand out for him to sniff. 

Mapi and the worker expected the dog to recoil, curl back up into a little ball in the corner of the room as far away from you as he could get. Ingrid wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t what occurred. 

Slowly, Scout got to his feet, stretching carefully before he padded softly forward, still very tentative, and sniffed your hand. 

All three of the adults outside the cage watched, astounded, as Scout gave your hand a lick. They all jumped, startled, when he bounded forward and launched himself at you. All three women flinched, expecting the worst from him. Instead of a surprise attack, though, he planted his paws firmly on your legs, and began eagerly licking at your face. His tail began to wag, and he looked like a completely different dog as you began to run your fingers through his fur. 

You were laughing, trying to get him to leave your face alone, and the sound seemed to only make him happier, only make him more eager. 

“Scout, no,” you laughed, pushing his head away gently. 

The other workers had come over to watch, and they were in complete awe when Scout stopped licking your face, and plopped down on the ground next to you, resting his head in your lap. Scout was famous at the shelter for not listening. He knew his name, clearly, but the dog didn’t follow any instructions. Ever. They thought he hadn’t been trained, but it appeared he just had been waiting for the right person to tell him what to do. 

You continued to pet his head, smiling down at him as he let out a very contented sigh, looking up at you with those big brown eyes. Everyone in the building knew very well that there was nothing to be done, now. Scout had chosen you. And you’d chosen him. 

When you looked up at Ingrid and Mapi, the biggest smile on your face that they’d seen in a long time, neither of them could have even thought about saying no. 

You left the shelter that day with a very sweet new friend. He was perfect for you, truly. His breed was known to be energetic which was good for all the activities you liked to do. He was loyal, smart, and almost painfully adorable. You loved him instantly. And as Ingrid watched you both through the rearview mirror on the way home, she knew you’d made the right choice. There was something in his eyes that made our sister sure that he’d take care of you. Call her crazy, but dogs were weird like that, and she couldn’t help but think that this little guy had ended up in a shelter so he could someday be yours. 

-------

Scout was attached at the hip to you, having decided that you were safe, and though he slowly got used to Ingrid and Mapi, you were his person. 

And while Mapi understood that you loved him and he loved you, she wasn’t sure she could quite get over the change he brought to the house. He was slightly clumsy, always bumping into things and tripping her. He slept with his mouth open, and made little sounds as he snoozed, which bothered Mapi to no end. It grossed her out that he slept on your bed, and that he always tried to lick her legs when she came back from a run. 

Mapi wasn’t a dog person. She tolerated Scout, but she didn’t think she’d ever enjoy him, or be thankful for him. 

-------

Her biggest fear going into the whole dog thing, though, was that Bagheera would be upset. What actually happened was almost… worse, in Mapi’s opinion. 

The damn cat refused to hate the dog. No hisses. No well placed smacks to the nose with her paw. The first few days, Bagheera ignored him completely, though he was very intrigued by her. He wanted to be best friends, and she would have preferred to pretend he didn’t exist. 

After they spent more time together, though, it appeared that Bagheera warmed up to the clumsy dog, much to Mapi’s disdain. 

You and Ingrid caught her giving Bagheera a stern talking to one morning, after finding her curled up on the couch next to Scout. 

“You are not supposed to like dogs, Bagheera. It is against the rules. And you’re leaving me all alone here. I cannot be the only one that hates the stupid dog. He’s too big and too furry and too messy.” She ranted, scooping some food into Bagheera’s bowl. You and Ingrid tried to withhold your laughter from where you were standing in the hall just outside the kitchen, but were unsuccessful. 

A small giggle escaped you, and it was such an absurd sound that you and Ingrid burst even further into laughter, stumbling into the kitchen and right into the path of one very embarrassed, and very annoyed, Spaniard. She glared at you both, only sending you both into another fit of laughter, until you drew the attention of Scout, who clambered into the kitchen, wagging his tail like he always did when you laughed. 

“Oh perfect, now he’s going to make fun of me too.” Mapi scowled, crossing her arms over her chest in a very pouty manner. 

“We’re not making fun of you, María, I promise,” Ingrid began, avoiding eye contact with you so as not to laugh again. 

“You’re not?” Mapi asked, the crease in her forehead relaxing just slightly. 

And at the same time as Ingrid went to respond, Scout decided to use his voice as well. 

“No!” Ingrid said. 

“RUFF” Scout barked, his tail now wagging furiously as you collapsed to the floor, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. 

Ingrid tried to keep it together, really, but the prolonged eye contact with her furious partner proved to be too much, and she covered her face with her hand, body shaking silently. 

“I hate you all.” Mapi said grumpily, picking up Bagheera, who gave a disgruntled meow, and jumped right out of her arms. The cat walked slowly over to her new friend, standing right next to him, as if to make a point. “Traitor.” Mapi called, before storming out of the room. 

She shook her head at the loud laughter now erupting from the kitchen, and the occasional barks that joined it. She did wonder, though. Bagheera was a good judge of character. If she liked… him. He couldn’t be that bad, could he? 

-------

Ingrid was annoyed that Frido wanted to have a sleepover with you and not her. Mapi was annoyed because Ingrid was annoyed, and Scout was furious that you’d left him behind. He laid by the door for a solid hour, seemingly flabbergasted that you’d left with an overnight bag… and without him. Didn’t you know that he was supposed to be the light of your life? 

Eventually, though, he got tired of the doormat, and sulked into the family room where Ingrid and Mapi were watching a movie. He walked past Mapi, barely giving her a second look, before he jumped up on the couch without being invited, settling his head on Ingrid’s leg and sighing dramatically. Ingrid didn’t even flinch, just began to slowly stroke through the soft fur on the top of his head. 

“Ahem.” Mapi said, clearing her throat rather obviously. 

“Yes?” Ingrid asked, giving her girlfriend an amused look. 

“Dog. Dog on the couch.” Mapi said, looking exasperatedly at her girlfriend.“Without being invited. Ingrid, we have rules, the dog is not supposed to come on the couch unless he’s invited and I did not invite him.” Mapi whined, growing more annoyed when Ingrid just smirked at her. 

“He’s always invited when I’m up here, right Scout?” Ingrid cooed, smiling down at the dog when he began to wag his tail. 

Mapi rolled her eyes, but dropped the issue. She did scoot over, though, right up next to Ingrid, resting her head on the Norwegian’s shoulder, in an almost territorial fashion. Ingrid noticed, and smirked, but chose not to say anything. 

That one instance aside, there weren’t really any issues until it was time for bed, and Ingrid and Mapi were already under the covers, finishing the last steps of their nighttime routine. They had left your bedroom door open, expecting that Scout would sleep in there, as he normally did. 

He walked right in through their bedroom door, though, over to Ingrid’s side of the bed. He looked at her, then, his big brown eyes looking hopefully up at her. 

“No. Ingrid, no.” Mapi said, seeing very clearly what Scout wanted. 

“Mapi, he’s just a baby,” Ingrid said, unable to say no to the very adorable face staring at her. 

“He’s not a baby! He’s at least 3! That is 21 in dog years. A 21 year old does not need to sleep in our- INGRID NO.” 

Ingrid had very slyly patted the bed, inviting Scout up, though she made sure he laid at the very edge of the bed. 

“Make him get off.” Mapi whined, glaring at her girlfriend. 

“Oh, he’s fine, María, he’ll stay right there, won’t you, buddy?” Once Ingrid used the baby voice on him, Mapi knew there was no changing her mind. She sighed deeply, laying down and begrudgingly opening her arms for Ingrid to snuggle into, ignoring the grin on her partner’s face. 

“Goodnight, María, I love you,” Ingrid whispered into Mapi’s neck. 

“Love you too.” Mapi replied grumpily, causing a small laugh to fall from her girlfriend's lips. 

Scout remained at the edge of the bed for maybe 10 minutes before he moved a little closer to the women. 

10 minutes later, a little bit closer. 

When Ingrid and Mapi drifted off, he’d migrated up the bed, until his head was resting on one of Ingrid’s legs, and he had a paw on one of Mapi’s. 

And when Ingrid woke up the next morning? It was to discover a wide awake Mapi staring at her, and a very sleepy Scout still passed out. 

“Did you sleep well?” Ingrid tried, fighting back a smile. 

“Don’t even try. We are burning these sheets.” Mapi said, shifting just slightly in an attempt to dislodge the dog that was tucked perfectly under the covers up against her, his head resting on her pillow. It looked like they were cuddling, and Ingrid wished more than anything in the world that you were here to see it. “He is never allowed up here again.” 

“He’s sweet, María, really,” 

“Never. Again.” Mapi said, her eyebrows furrowed adorably. 

Ingrid knew that probably wouldn’t last, if the way Mapi was subconsciously petting the dog’s head was any indication, so she let it go for now, knowing it would just be a matter of time before Scout had Mapi wrapped around his finger. 

-------

And really, if there was a way to Mapi’s heart, it was through the two Norwegians in her life, that she loved very deeply. She tolerated Scout because he took care of her sol, and she’d come to love him, too, for the same reason. 

--------

You’d been doing so much better the past month or so. Knowing that you were here to stay had done wonders for your mental health, the threat of going back to Norway no longer hanging over your head. That didn’t mean that everything was perfect, though. 

You still had doubts, still sent yourself spiraling sometimes when you thought too much. Particularly about your mom. 

It was her birthday. Ingrid had assured you that you didn’t need to say anything to her, not if you didn’t want to. That had felt okay for most of the day. It was when you were left to your own devices, though, that you began to overthink, and began to doubt. 

She’d missed your birthday and she hadn’t cared. You pictured her face, though, everytime you closed your eyes. Not her face, but her face. Nice Mom’s face. The mom that loved you, the mom that cut the crusts off your sandwiches, and held your hand when you crossed the street. Maybe this mom had never really existed, maybe she had just been… doing the bare minimum. Still, though, you’d spent many years thinking that she’d loved you. And you spent many more years wondering how you could get Nice Mom back. 

It was Nice Mom you thought about that evening, while Ingrid and Mapi were off at a match. You’d stayed back, having an endless amount of homework to complete. This proved to be a mistake, and you knew that the minute you began to breathe a little too hard. The minute the thoughts started returning, the ones that told you that if your mother didn’t love you, no one would. The ones that told you that you were unwanted. Unlovable. Too much trouble. Not worth it. Bad. Bad bad bad. 

You didn’t notice that you were crying until Scout was licking the tears off your face, and you didn't notice you were shaking until you began to pet him and your hands trembled against his fur. 

It still felt unnatural to ask for help, to not just deal with it yourself. But in the time that you’d been accepting comfort and love from Ingrid and Mapi, it seemed that you no longer could deal with it yourself. You needed them, all of a sudden, which was a thought terrifying in and of itself. Still, you pressed the call button before you could think too hard, hoping more than anything that the match was over, and that your sister would answer.

“Hi Solstråle! We’re on our way home. What’s up?” 

“How far are you?” You mumbled, shutting your eyes tightly and gripping onto the duvet cover under you. 

“About 10. Is everything okay?” Ingrid asked, a touch of concern entering her voice. It was dumb, but she’d scored a goal today, which wasn’t a regular event, and the fact that you hadn’t commented on it when you were the first to celebrate her goals was slightly worrying. 

“No. I- I can’t-. No, please hurry.” You told her, biting your lip as it trembled, wishing you could just be strong enough for yourself for once. 

“Oh, honey.” Ingrid said sympathetically. 

“We’ll be there as soon as we can, mi sol, I promise.” Mapi said, hitting the accelerator until she was definitely speeding. “How bad is this one?” 

“Bad. Can’t breathe.” You whimpered, digging your nails into your leg in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. 

“We’re right here, solstråle, you’re okay, I promise.” Ingrid said, desperate to help in any way she could. 

Now, all that could be heard over the speaker was your rapid breathing, and both girls knew you were past the point of being able to respond. They took turns talking to you, with no confidence that it would help. When you got like this, you needed physical contact to bring you out of it, a fact they were well aware of. 

What they didn’t know, though, was that Scout had taken matters into his own…paws, apparently unimpressed with your grounding technique. Or, maybe he could just sense your distress, and did the only thing his rather small brain could think of. First, he put his head on your leg, a regular position for him to lay, and you barely noticed it. Then, though, he put a paw up as well. It wasn’t until he had both paws resting on your leg, licking your skin every so often, that you opened your eyes and looked down at him. He looked completely relaxed, and in a truly miserable shot in the dark, you began to run your fingers through his fur. 

It was soothing, the soft fur and the steady beat of his heart under you. Amazingly, you could feel yourself trying to slow down your breathing, feeling yourself calming down just slightly. Enough that you could try the techniques you’d learned in therapy, and enough that you registered when the front door opened downstairs. 

Help had arrived, but you weren’t quite sure you needed it anymore. 

Ingrid and Mapi rushed up the stairs, expecting you to be in a state they’d only seen a couple times, but hated nonetheless. Instead, they were greeted with the sight of you on your bed, Scout sprawled across your lap, though he was much too big for it, a much calmer look on your face than made sense. 

You gave them a weak smile, looking down at Scout, who, in turn, looked at them. He was just a dog, but his eyes were expressive, and Ingrid could swear he was judging them for leaving you home alone on such a day. Ingrid knew, almost instantly, how you’d managed to calm down without them.  

Mapi evidently came to the same conclusion, because when her and Ingrid took their spots on either side of you, pressing kisses onto your forehead, and wrapping you up in a tight hug, Mapi focused first on Scout. 

“Buen chico, Scout” she murmured, smoothing the fur on the top of his head. You and Ingrid exchanged smiles, while Mapi focused on the soft fur under her hand, and the protective way in which Scout laid across your legs. She decided, then, that maybe he wasn’t so bad. She could do more than tolerate him, if he was this effective. And tomorrow, she decided, you were going to the pet store and picking out a new toy for him. And maybe a couple treats. 

Anything for her sol, and apparently, anything for your Scout. 

------

:)

[sareenawails]

ROBIN HOOD HOBIE

YIPPEE OCTOBIE WEEK 3!!

I wanted to make something that looked more realistic and colorful

I'm really proud of myself for this one!

Here's his full outfit

I think I did an ok job at making it feel medieval but I didn't want to lose Hobie's punkness

References

octobie event by @the-kr8tor

banners by @mushroom-graphics-allotment

Robin Hood au

-I voted for medieval theme just cuz I wanted the excuse to draw this lol

-Anyways here’s very bad and lazy plot summary of this hobie au

-English is not my first language so if this is bad please bear with me I'm not a writer for a reason.

-Like the original folklore tale, this is set in medieval England

-Hobie is an outlaw, who with a group of other outlaws called the Merry Band ( originally called merry men but I don't like that soo), steals from the wealthy and gives back to the poor

-He goes by the name Robin Hood to hide his identity( so he’s less easy to track idk)

-Anyways, in this universe Y/N (or an OC whatever you prefer) is part of the royal family or a wealthy noble family.

-They are very sheltered due to the death of loved one (probably their mom or sister)- left their father very emotionally scarred, so he’s very overprotective of them

-for whatever reason, y/n and hobie run in into each other and hobie steals an expensive piece of jewelry from them(necklace, bracelet, brooch, whatever doesn’t really matter)

-This piece of jewelry however holds a lot of emotional value to them because it was given to them by their aforementioned deceased loved one.

-They manage to run into hobie again ( probably because they were trying to track him down and he catches on to what they were doing and decided to confront them) and tries to get their heirloom back

-He tells Y/N that he’ll give them their heirloom back if and only if they become a sort of spy for him. Someone who spends time around nobles and wealthy merchants and can give him insider information ( Who has the most money, whos an easy target, where and when would he be able to find them, etc useful info)

-Y/N is obviously very put off by this offer, after all their whole life they’ve been raised to be a respectable figure in their kingdom. Working with one of the kingdom’s most wanted criminals would be a dangerous, bizzare thing to do; It could get them in serious trouble with the law, bring shame to their family’s name, get them disowned all together.

-The risk is big but their desire to get their heirloom back is even bigger, so reluctantly they agree.

-From them their odd relationship begins. It’s a very enemies to friends to lovers kind of thing (I'm basic I know)

- Y/N sees hobie as a dirty criminal who wants to take advantage of them and would throw them under the bus if the need arises

-Hobie sees them as nothing more than another pompous noble who doesn’t care about anyone but themselves.

-It’s a very “strictly business” relationship due to their refusal to get along with each other.

-The longer they spend working together the more they get to know more about the other's side of the story.

-Hobie learns about how sheltered Y/N is, how they have a double life as commoner and royal, and how much they yearn for a more independent life. He learns that y/n is not as selfish and heartless as he thought they were, they’re just naive about a lot of things.

-Y/N learns about what hobie’s life was like growing up as one of the many unfortunate people in the kingdom. Having to scrounge and steal in order to survive, having to go on days on an empty stomach in order to save what little he had. They learn why he chose to do the things he does and that he and his crew are purposefully painted in bad light as criminals for doing what the rich aren’t willing to do.

-As they get closer they start looking out for each other more

-Y/N helps him cover up his tracks, using their high status to get him out of sticky situations. Sometimes they even help him patch up his wounds.

-In turn, hobie gives them a taste of that freedom they’ve always wanted. Going out and showing them parts of the kingdom they never seen before

Anyways that's all I really have I thought of this at like 2 am so it's not really that good.

If any actual writers feel inspired by this and want to write a better, more well thought out version then be my guest ( plz tag me i'd love to read it!)

HAPPY OCTOBIE EVERYONE!!

[lexreadsdiversely]

Screw Goodreads: Poetry Recommendations

Since goodreads doesn't think poetry matters, here's a random rec list for anyone who wants to read more poetry. You may find many of these titles on Libby and the Queer Liberation Library @queerliblib

Poetry collections I can personally recommend:

bone - Yrsa Daley-Ward

Wound from the Mouth of a Wound - torrin a. greathouse

When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities - Chen Chen

Troubling the Line: Trans and Genderqueer Poetry and Poetics - Edited by T.C. Tolbert and Trace Peterson

Postcolonial Love Poem - Natalie Diaz

Thrown in the Throat - Benjamin Garcia

The Hurting Kind - Ada Limón

Night Sky with Exit Wounds - Ocean Vuong

And here are some of the many poetry collections on my tbr (libby, my beloved, please... I'm not above begging) but I figured I'd add them for folks to do their own exploring.

Eating the Archive - Yousif M. Qazmiyeh

If My Body Could Speak - Blythe Baird

Helium - Rudy Francisco

There Should Be Flowers - Joshua Jennifer Espinoza

Corazón - Yesika Salgado

The Orange and Other Poems - Wendy Cope

The Collected Poems of Audre Lorde - Audre Lorde

I am Schizophrenic: Poetry from a Beautiful Brain - Kerenza Ryan

Blood Orange - Yaffa As

MARIPOSAS: A Modern Anthology of Queer Latino Poetry - Edited by Emanuel Xavier

Why Dust Shall Never Settle Upon This Soul - Ryka Aoki

Under Her Skin: A Women in Horror Poetry Showcase, Vol 1 - Edited by Lindy Ryan and Toni Miller

Life on Mars - Tracy K. Smith

The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On - Franny Choi

Call Us What We Carry - Amanda Gorman

We Will Be Shelter: Poems for Survival - Edited by Andrea Gibson

Crush - Richard Siken

Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head - Warsan Shire

The Tradition - Jericho Brown

The End of the Alphabet - Claudia Rankine

Beautiful Zero: Poems - Jennifer Willoughby

Calling a Wolf a Wolf - Kaveh Akbar

Individual poems:

Check out my poetry blog @thispoemisaboutyou

Poem-a-Day (also a podcast)

Appreciating Poetry:

If Poetry Confuses You, Watch This - Introduction to Poetry Appreciation

Disclaimer: I do not personally know if any of these authors are scumbags. I'll be doing research on each one soon (but a lot that goes on happens on twitter, and I don't touch twitter so I might miss shit). I encourage you to do your own research as well, and feel free to message me if you know something I don't.

**And as always, make sure you read the blurbs and check content warnings if you need to. Storygraph is great for content warnings if the author doesn't have them on their website**

okay stopping cuz this post is getting too long, but I'll make a part two at some point

[fastlikealambo]

The third wife of rhaenyra targaryen.|| rhaenyra targaryen x black!fem reader

In the five years since Queen Rhaenyra The Conqueror, Bringer of New Valyria, triumphed over the usurper without losing a single dragon, the realm is at peace. Having no need of husbands and taking two other wives, Queen Alicent and Queen Mysaria, the dragon queen is in need of a third and final wife to rule the seven kingdoms at her side.

You were just a girl from nowhere, watching the sky fill with dragons at peace, destined to be a scullery maid in a vicious household and the future wife of a ratcatcher until fate and blood decide your future for you. 

History will remember Rhaenyra Targaryen as the great unifier, the second coming of Visenya Targaryen who brought another golden age of dragons out of war. But they will sing songs of you, the smallfolk who ascended to fire and blood as the queen’s favorite, the one they tried to kill so many times, the third wife of rhaenyra targaryen.

Some notes: Aegon, Aemond, and Daemon are dead but their dragons were saved, and Otto Hightower and Criston Cole spontaneously combusted, I don’t know what to tell yall. Luke lived, Jace lived, Helaena lived, Jaehaerys lived, Baela and Rhaena are happy goddammit.  During the short war, Rhaenyra married Mysaria and one year after the dance of dragons ended, she also married Alicent.

Some other notes: This is dark and I drew some inspiration from Cinderella and Hurrem Sultan (the fictional representation of her from the show's magnificent century but nobody I know watches that show). Rhaenyra is in her thirties and reader is in her twenties. 

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

This chapter contains smut, MINORS DNI

Chapter Four: Hunger.

 Your mother held you so tight you felt like you were going to break in two.

       “I thought they were taking me to your body, not the keep itself. You left on foot this morning and before nightfall here comes a carriage picking me up, a carriage! What have you been up to, my girl? I’ll have the truth out of you and nothing else, queen or not.”

Confessing to murder is best done sitting between your mother’s legs as she oils your scalp and pulls your braids back into a bun. She doesn’t even falter once you get to the murder, just kisses the top of your head.

   “I’ve known you before you knew you which means I know you don’t go around hurting anyone. If it wasn’t you it would have been someone else, that fancy lady has half of the flea bottom girls working for her until she avoids them or worse when she can’t pay them, you’re just the first to do something about it.”

  “Why are you so calm?” You asked. Your mother sighed and took a seat on the floor next to you, an arm around your shoulder.

  “The idea of me going without had you stand before the dragon queen and win a place at her side. In a matter of hours, you’ve taken your life back from that monster and now you’re to be the wife of Queen Rhaenyra. The Gods have had a hand in these proceedings my love, but you have shaped them.”

   “What happens now?”

   “Now, we live. Not survive, live.”

In the chambers of The Small Council, the dragon queen’s grip tightened on Dark Sister, her patience tested by the two remaining men at her table. 

       “The Great Houses expected you to take one of their daughters, Your Grace.  They will not take lightly to being slighted and raising up a common girl.”

      “And what, exactly, is wrong about being common?” Mysaria asked with a rueful smile in Rhaenyra’s direction.  Rhaenyra reached under the table and rubbed Mysaria’s thigh, giving the men fifteen seconds too many.

       “The smallfolk are still recovering from the war. We are at peace but they are still in need of the crown’s help. We shall give it by feeding them, giving them shelter, and by raising up one of their own. Should the other houses take issue, they need only be reminded of the knee they bent and whom they serve. In fact, as your last acts on my council, you will go to them and refresh their memory on why they do not rest on a bed of ashes.” Rhaenyra said.

   “Your Grace if I may-

   “ You may not, Ser Alfred and as your last act, you will join him. You are both dismissed.”

The chambers emptied after that and Rhaenyra took Mysaria onto her lap, kissing the back of her neck, kneading her breast with one hand and the other..busy.

     “Shall I report on what I have found on your bride or would you like to continue, Your Grace?” Mysaria asked.

Rhaenyra removed the ringed fingers from within her mistress of whispers, sucking on them one by one.

    “And what has my star found?”

Mysaria shifted on Rhaenyra’s lap, wrapping her legs around the dragon queen.

  “She worked at a cabbage stall as a child till she learned to sew. Got kicked out her first household at seven for sneaking and listening to the daughter’s lessons so she could learn to read and write so her overtired mother wouldn’t have to worry about teaching her. She’s taken any work she can find since then to keep her mother safe and fed. Her last employer, a destitute Lannister lady was found dead but none of it leads to her.”

     “And what do you think of her?” Rhaenyra asked, kissing up and down Mysaria’s neck.

  “I think she is untested and tenderhearted but will do anything to keep her mother alive. She can be molded, motivated, and a far better seat on the council than Ser Alfred. Most importantly, she has known hunger. That sort of pain never leaves your eyes, and she’ll do anything to never know it again.”

 “And do you think she can be trusted?”

  “Do you trust her?” Mysaria posed the question right back at her wife, leaning back to look Rhaenyra in the eye.

  “I believe that I can and would rather see her at our side than someone whose house would use them to try and usurp me. She will be raised up and those that disagree will be met with fire and blood.”

Mysaria kissed her queen softly and slowly, sucking on her top lip.

  “Then we shall crown her for all to see.”

Dinner would be served soon yet Rhaenyra found herself outside your door, about to knock when she heard you swearing on the old gods and the new.  Swinging open the door, Rhaenyra found you contorting yourself in an attempt to do the laces on the back of the extravagant gown you had been gifted.

 The blood red sparkled against your dark skin and Rhaenyra could not look away.

“Oh no, am I late, Your Grace? I’m so sorry-“

“You will be a queen in two days time, apologies at every turn will be beneath you. Come, let me help you.” Rhaenyra said, holding out her hand towards you. You took it, standing in front of the mirror as she adjusted your smallclothes better to fit beneath the ornate gown.

 “May I ask you a question, Rhaenyra?”

 “You can ask me anything you like.”

“Why do they call you The Bringer of New Valyria?”

Rhaenyra did not falter from her work doing up the tiny laces of the gown, tightening them slowly.

  “Since I sat the throne I’ve started to rebuild King’s Landing to better fit its people using the gold seized during the blockade to restore the keep and homes in King’s Landing. Those who do not particularly like what I’m doing have called King’s Landing ‘New Valyria’ as if to doom it before it begins in full to scorn me, but I welcome it.” Rhaenyra explained, deft fingers moving along your back.

Once finished, you turned around to face her with a smile.

“How do I look?” You asked and couldn’t stop yourself from giving a small spin that brought a laugh to her lips.

 “Every inch a queen.” Rhaenyra said and you watched as the smile shifted from content to ravenous.

The dragon queen was beneath the gown she had taken the time to put on in seconds, tongue to your clit, lapping you up like fresh milk.

 “My queen, we’ll be late for dinner.” You managed to choke out but Rhaenyra simply kissed you.

“I’m the protector of the realm, we shall dine when I wish to dine, sweet one.” 

 You let yourself go, kissing the queen back roughly, ripping at her bodice and the laces of her own gown, gracing her skin with kisses from nose to navel. She leveraged her weight against you and you both fell onto your new bed.

  To make love to Rhaenyra Targaryen was a holy act, therefore you would sit upon her face and pray. The dragonrider welcomed your weight without complaint, mouth to your pussy with honor and such precision you held onto the headboard like reins.

With her hands on your thighs, you came quick and hard, letting the queen up for air, crawling down her body till your head was between her legs, alternating between tongue and fingers, pumping in and out till Rhaenyra’s back arched.

You never did make it to dinner.

Nor did you break your fast the following morning with the queen in your bed again, again, and again.

But bliss ended quickly for on the following day, the day you were to wed Rhaenyra, it began to rain. 

Hope you liked this chapter! Please comment or reblog so I know if I should continue :)

@asvterias

@nxcxllxsevens

@newcaptainofsquad9

@awolfcsworld

@wannabwanted

@evattude

[theemporium]

🧸with Carlos please where his daughter brings home a cat (we all know how he feels about cats), but he becomes the definition of “dad who doesn’t want a cat but loves the cat more than anyone in the house”

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“ARABELLA!”

A soft giggle could be heard before the sound of footsteps pattering towards the living room could be heard. It took less than thirty seconds before his daughter showed up in front of him, the look of pure innocence on her face as she looked up at him.

“Yes, Daddy?”

Carlos shot his daughter a look before pointing at the ball of orange fur sitting on the couch—on his spot on the couch. “What is that?”

“It’s a cat, Daddy,” Arabella said with a small giggle, like she couldn’t believe her father was actually asking. “The one that goes meow.”

“Yes, I—” He took a deep breath, shaking his head. “What is it doing in the house?”

“He was alone,” Arabella said, her lips turning downwards into a pout and he could already feel his walls crumbling at the sight. “Mummy helped me give him a bath! He’s clean, I promise.”

“Did she now?” Carlos grumbled as he placed his hands on his hips, glaring at the small orange cat like that alone would make him disappear. “He can’t stay. We have to find him a new home.”

Arabella pouted. “But—”

“No buts,” Carlos shook his head. “We will find him a loving home, mi princesa, but he cannot stay with us.”

And Carlos had planned to stay adamant on the matter. He wasn’t a cat man. He didn’t like them. He didn’t see the appeal in them. They weren’t as friendly or social or loving as dogs. They were far from a man’s best friend, more like a man’s slightly temperamental roommate. He was not a cat man and he refused to house that cat in his house longer than he needed to.

However, finding the cat a loving home without putting it in a shelter seemed more difficult than he assumed. Days would pass, and the orange cat—now named Chilli, ironically enough—was overstaying his visit. He learnt to co-exist with the creature, but he refused to interact with it unless it was needed.

Or at least, that was what he told you.

He had complained about Chilli every night before bed. He would talk about all the annoying things he had done. He told you about all the ways the cat inconvenienced him. But if anything, it seemed like he was trying to convince himself that he hated the cat with the amount of pictures on his phone. 

And then you had returned home after picking up Arabella from school to see the sight in front of you.

“Mama,” the young girl tugged on your sleeve and excitedly pointed at the couch. “Look at Daddy and Chilli!” 

You snorted, already reaching for your phone. “I can see them, honey.”

“Ay,” Carlos grumbled, one hand raised to cover his face whilst the other rested on the back of Chilli. “What’s all the noise?” 

“Are we ruining your cat nap?” You teased, watching as the boy’s eyes snapped open to stare at the sleeping cat on his chest before they shut again.

“This means nothing,” he told you.

“Uh huh.”

“I mean it,” Carlos continued. 

“Right.”

“It just happened,” he assured you.

“If you say so. But there is another family looking—”

“No.”

You raised your brows. “No?”

“Chilli is a Sainz now. Even if he is annoying,” Carlos muttered before biting back a yawn. “Now let us sleep in peace, please.”

.

[zarnzarn]

About the Reverse Odyssey AU (love it btw), do you think any of the Ithacans start praying to Hephastus? Just in case they can't get Odysseus back to human form, at least they can ask the God of inventing how to build a new palace that's half underwater.

oh god I have to continue that.... i have 3000 wips that ive gotten inspo for all at once are descending on me guys plus I am actively getting a master's degree bear w me for a few days

also OMG fuck yes!!! Ithaka is much more involved in this than in canon since a. they r not down 600 people who are immensely loyal to odysseus b. their king made a direct sacrifice FOR THEM literally no one else would have done this no other king would ever let himself be cursed to save his kingdom c. it's been 10 years and they all find it unjust because they'd all seen him weep as he left and know he and Penelope missed each other like crazy.

(plus he was very young when he took the throne! imagine a 13 year old telling u what to do and then being right. the people of Ithaka must have been very fond of him and most would have seen him as son-adjacent)

so one person has this idea one day, and they take it to the architects, who take it to the blacksmiths, who take it to the ruler of Ithaka. She pursues her lips as she looks at it, teeth grinding at the assumption that they would succeed but not overcome the curse, but allows them to do it.

So they start.

It is harder than their initial ideas demanded. First there is the matter of structures that do not stay down long enough to stick together, then there is the matter of how to secure them. Their dreams of beautiful underwater sculptures fall through as they struggle to conjure up even a basic shelter, even in the summer calm of the waters.

So, desperate and frustrated, they pray to Hephastus.

Ithaka is famous for its dedication to the goddess Athena, most of its temples under the king's ten-year rule being lovingly dedicated to the wisdom goddess. A separate group of smaller temples honors the other gods in the main town; but the main palace and most houses are painted blue and owl feathers and trinkets and sculptures are sold in the main market- the most beautiful of artistry is reserved for Pallas Athene alone.

But the blacksmiths and architects work together to build a small shrine worthy of the inventor god; with hidden catches and rotating idols and the best of their tools and ideas burnt at the fire kept burning at the base of it.

And after a few weeks- Hephaestus blesses them.

(He cannot make up for what he tried to do to Athena in his drunkenness and on Posiedon's inescapable goading. He was young and stupid and hurt and proud and drugged- he thinks she knows this, and has long since let it pass enough to stand beside him without a second thought; but will never be able to get over his shame- so the least he can do is this.)

But Ithaka's artists wake up with the same idea in mind and rush to the shrine in the early hours of the morning to give their thanks. Then they start building- floating large stones down at the far end to mark the range, until they have raised the wall enough to drain out the waters for them to work inside. They work fast, laying down the walls within days, until it joins to where the courtyard of the main palace creeps down the side of the cliff. From the palace itself, a tunnel is dug in the main room, wrapping around the mountain through the softer rock deposits, then travelling down to the sea.

They have the blueprints Odysseus himself had commissioned for his palace, and try to add in the carvings and structures accordingly. They dare not risk more than the smallest of owls carved into the stone entrance, wary of Posiedon's wrath at his rival. They work hard, encouraged by the people, helped by the Trojan heroes themselves- and strangely, their hands never feel tired and the ideas never stop coming.

The first test comes at the start of the monsoons.

The storms roll in angry and strong, battering against the island of Ithaka as furiously as always. When it is done, the architects are dismayed to find their hard-made palace flooded and destroyed, stone displaced or missing, with one collapse of the outside barrier causing three more within.

Dejected, they burn their tools at the temple forge once more, and then go to bed.

That next morning, the youngest of them wakes up with the thought- what if we used metal to hold them together?

The royal family gives them funding once more, and they commission for marble pillars to be sent from the mainland in exchange for their raw materials; these they sink to the bottom and drain the water once more. These pillars are erected and melted into the shifting sand with hot liquid metal, until they fuse into the rock. The roofed ceiling is replaced with live kelp and seaweed, attached to the top of the pillars and bound together. The walls are rebuilt quicker- with more labour coming in when they look closer to success than before, men with guilty eyes and stubborn determination ready to do the back-breaking, risky work.

The whole island holds its breath this time, as the monsoon rolls in and the ships return. The storms roll in and-

The wall has fallen completely, leaving the surroundings unsuitable for them to put it back up, letting the water back in.

But the building stands.

The celebration lasts all day and night, with all the workers being given a place of honor at the palace table itself for dinner. Even the royal family themselves are happy, for all the disappointment of another year of failure, and are grateful in a way that satisfies them more than the money ever could.

Yet there is still the second test- the tunnel to connect to the palace.

The main digging is complete; but as they reach the end they realize they do not know how they will open it to the sea without losing men to the outburst of the sea pouring back in. The Queen twists her lips when they go to her with the problem, thinking.

"This is such a bad idea," One of the men whispers.

"Shh," Eurylochus says, striking another spear into the final barrier. Two men come forward with hammers and push it in further, and they wait until the call comes in from the surface far above from the diver outside that the spear has gone through. "Don't tempt fate."

"You are such a nice, sane man, Eurylochus," One of the men moans despairingly, and he smiles, small. "Why are our royals all mad?"

He laughs, remembering a similar conversation from many years ago. He slips the rope around the loop at the end of the spear, and feels the nostalgia twist into sorrow once more, missing his captain, his general, his brother, his king, his friend. If only he had never kept that cursed bag. If only he had the courage to step forward first, not frozen in fear and shouldered the cost instead like a soldier should for their king, for Odysseus. Had not made mistake after mistake further, ordering Odysseus out of their reach in his panic to get him to the water, not being prepared with a net to catch him both times they'd seen him after.

He kept one on his belt now, at all times.

But until the skies and seas cleared, there was nothing to do except make sure Ody had a home to return to; that he could reach.

"Let's go," Eurylochus exhales, and they all grab the ropes attached to the dozens of spears and make their way back up the winding tunnel as slowly as they can, careful not to step on even one rope or pull too hard, and risk spelling doom for them all. Hearts pounding as they walk in the eerily silent tunnel, the dark taunting them, urging them to run. But they hold their nerve and come out at the pool created inside the main court.

Eurylochus climbs out last from the pool, and smiles up at Ctimene. She looks beautiful in the Ithakan jewels once more, holding herself with more grace and confidence than much richer princesses ever had, anklets tinkling.

She nods and then turns to the rest. "PULL!"

As one, the ropes spring up tight, straining until the spears come loose and men go falling to the floor with shouts. For a second nothing happens.

Then they hear the roaring.

He knows it's water, Eurylochus knows it has to be water- but it still sounds like a hoard of monsters, the shouting of a battlefield, the cyclops when he stole the lives of their friends in his fury. He can't help grabbing his wife and pulling her back, shouting for a retreat as the water rushes through the tunnel and bursts out in a terrible din into the pool, filling it to the top and then overspilling off the sides immediately.

For a heart-stopping moment, Eurylochus watches the water catch onto the feet of the people around, rising and rising, and he remembers Poseidon's cruel smile as he crippled and cursed Eurylochus' brother and thinks it's going to drown us all-

And then the tide recedes, and the water crawls back with it.

The plan worked. The palace of Ithaka now creeps down into the sea, enticing their wayward king to find his way back home, swim back to them and be happy, even if they never solved his curse.

All they have to do now is wait.

[loveinhawkins]

The first notes of Eddie’s guitar solo tear through The Upside Down; Steve watches in horrified fascination as the bats follow the noise, as they form a thick, black cloud, like a plague of locusts.

And it hits him then that he simply cannot set one foot inside the Creel House.

“Nance,” he says. His voice cracks.

She turns to look at him, and suddenly she isn’t a vengeful warrior with a sawn-off shotgun: she’s just a girl who lost her best friend, who has spent years haunted by ‘what if…?’

“Trust your gut,” she says firmly, and that’s all he needs.

He spends a fleeting second squeezing Robin’s hand, just to steady him, and then he’s running back to the trailer.

The one thing that reassures him is that Eddie and Dustin are perfectly on time, the song cutting off just as they planned. Now run, you two, Steve thinks, as his chest burns with the effort, get inside and be safe, be safe, be safe.

But then he reaches the trailer, and he knows that something’s wrong.

Because the bats are clustered in one spot on the roof, scrabbling over the top of one another, and it makes him think of flies descending on roadkill.

He gets past all the wire and defences, and none of them take any notice. He pushes the front door open with the force of his shoulder, slams it shut again, makes sure it sticks.

And then he hears screaming.

He whips around to find Eddie driving his spear through a bat with a guttural cry. He’s on the floor, his upper body shielding something.

And then Steve sees Dustin. Dustin on the ground. Dustin bleeding.

No.

He sprints across and covers Dustin, too, slotting next to Eddie to form a complete shelter.

“Steve,” Eddie whispers, and his face is ashen. “Fuck, it’s the vents, they’re in the fucking vents. I tried to—D-Dustin—I wasn’t quick enough, Christ, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

And he keeps repeating that, as if feverish, striking out again with the spear as another bat swoops for them. His aim is true, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s too late.

Steve looks down at the wound on Dustin’s thigh, at the blood spilling out relentlessly. And as Eddie cups Dustin cheek, pleads, “Stay awake, H-Henderson, you hear me? Dustin? Dustin, please,” Steve spots the bite on Eddie’s wrist. It’s barely anything, just a nick.

But it’s enough. Steve knows that it doesn’t matter how fast he is—the bats will just keep coming. They’re on the scent, to hunt. To devour. And his wounds are dried up. Old.

Fresh blood dripping from Eddie’s wrist. Dustin’s bloody leg.

Oh, you’re going to die, Steve thinks. Both of you.

Then he thinks Well, fuck that.

He flings off his jacket, wraps it tight around Dustin’s thigh. Dustin whimpers, eyelids fluttering.

“Shit, sorry, bud,” Steve whispers. “I know it hurts, I know, I know…”

Underneath the screech of more bats, he presses a brief, fierce kiss to Dustin’s forehead, pushes back his sweaty curls. I love you.

Eddie takes out another pair of bats in quick succession, slamming them with his shield—narrowly avoids their tails wrapping around his wrist. His luck won’t last forever, Steve knows that.

So he just has to be quicker.

He rips the end of his shirt with his teeth, pushes the torn fabric into Eddie’s hand.

“Eddie. Eddie, listen,” he says urgently. “It’s the blood, okay? They’re coming for the blood.”

Eddie wraps the fabric around his wrist as if on autopilot, eyes wide with fear.

“It’s the blood,” Steve repeats, as calmly as he can. “You’ve gotta stop the bleeding, okay? You can do that.”

Eddie nods jerkily, and some of his panic fades away, replaced with a white hot determination. He sets his jaw.

“Hey, Dustin?” Steve says. Tries to be gentle while raising his voice, praying it breaks through the pain-induced fog. “Eddie’s got you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie chokes out. “I’ve got you, Henderson.”

His hand strokes through Dustin’s hair, too, and God, Steve trusts him. Trusts him so damn much.

Trusts him enough for this.

Steve jerks his head upwards to the gate. “Stop the bleeding. Get him home.”

Eddie nods again, but a wrecked laugh comes out. He ducks as another bat breaks in; Steve temporarily takes the spear, kills it without flinching.

“Jesus! How the fuck are we supposed to do that, Harrington? There’ll be hordes of those fuckers in a minute.”

“You’ll be fine,” Steve says. He discreetly pats at his pockets. Feels the handle of the switchblade. Touches Dustin one last time, a palm across his brow. “Look after him.”

“Hey, I—I don’t like your tone, man,” Eddie says. “We’re looking after him, together. Together, all right? Fucking promise me, Harrington.”

“You promised me first, remember? Stop the bleeding, get him home.”

“No, no, no, Steve, don’t you fucking dare—”

But Steve is already heading outside. He locks the door behind him, just in case, but he already knows Eddie can’t leave—won’t leave Dustin behind. There’s a thump at the door, a desperate jiggling of the handle. Steve shouldn’t look behind. He shouldn’t.

But, God. He can’t help it.

Through the glass, he can see Eddie standing there, breathing raggedly. Terrified.

Steve can’t hear him through the cacophony of the bats’ cries, the thunder and lightning. But he can read his lips.

Don’t. Please don’t.

Steve brings out the blade. Slashes it right across his palm.

Eddie screams.

I’m sorry, Eddie, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to do.

Steve runs. He grins savagely as he hears the bats following him, all of them, like he’s the fucking Pied Piper of Hamelin.

Yeah, that’s right, you sons of bitches. Steve laughs through a searing pain in his side. You’ve already had a taste. Come and get me.

[twigg96]

Hi! Can you do daryl dixon x y/n where Daryl gets protective over y/n when a creepy guy won’t leave her alone no matter what she says so he punches him across the face, ending in like comforting fluff/ smut or both ❤️

Hello @dustbunniess!! This sounds like a great idea! I'm so so sorry it took me so long to get this out to you love so much has happened since you asked for this I'm just trying to get by.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon X Reader

Era: Post-Prison, Pre-Terminus Era (Claimers Era)

Pronouns: You/Your, She/Her (No use of Y/N)

Warnings: The Claimers, Daryl with the Claimers, Attempted Sexual Assault, Crass behavior and language, Swearing, Physical Violence, Assault, Blood, Panic Attacks, Confusion, Delusion, Daryl becoming a literal savage, Abuse, Death, Beatings, Daryl reliving past traumas, Doing what you have to survive, Things happen off screen,

Summery: After the prison fell you were left alone in a world you felt was unfair and cruel. And who could blame you? Truly after all you'd been through? You changed from the person you were in the prison. But then... so did everyone else... When Daryl your boyfriend is the first to find you out in the world you see just how much things have changed with the new group he's in.

Separate Ways

It was when the prison went up in flames that you knew it was over. There was no going back. No redemption. The governor… in some sick twist of fate. Had won. Although your family had taken his life, and the lives of all his followers. You were all left to suffer, and after such a horrendous outbreak that you all had thought you defeated too… The difference was. This time you were completely on your own. No friendly face to turn to. No guiding hand to help you. Just you and the corpse you stabbed in the skull.

You had followed the screams out. So sure you were following Rick and Carl… but so soon you realized you were completely and utterly wrong. Trudging through the woods towards the highway you knew was your Emergency escape route you cursed your lack of preparation. No water, no food. You knew you had to act fast. Find shelter before the sun completely set for the night, find food before you starved... trudging through the thick forest you quickly found a path to follow. It had paid off to have followed your boyfriend on so many hunting expeditions and to help him on runs.

Coming to a stop you stilled your breath slowly scanning the wooded area around you. Nothing but trees and leaves surrounded you even though you had thought you heard the soft crackle of leaves, the snapping of a twig behind you. It wasn't loud and obnoxious. Something you've come to expect of walkers by now. Nor was it natural and fluid like the wildlife you had so greatly come to miss. It felt human. Large and concise. Hunting. Shivers ran down your spine. Bobbing and weaving through the tree line you darted back out onto the road that you had left in favor of the camouflage of the forest. Pulling your rifle you aimed blindly. Footsteps coming nearer. Louder. Like a bear charging it even growled. Placing your finger on the trigger you stepped back. "Stop!" You yelled.

A boy scrawny and pale came tumbling out of the brush. No older than Carl he looked up to you, his eyes wide and fearful he shivered in fear. Plastered in mud and blood you stared him down panting as the adrenaline left you both. Slowly he raised his hands high, shaking like a leaf he shook his head. "I-I'm so sorry." He whispered. One of the governor's, you realized. "I-It's my sister. She's hurt real bad... please..."

Glaring daggers at the teen you hissed through your teeth, stepping forward your weapon still raised and pointed directly between his eyes. "And why should I help you?" You growled. "She's all I got left." He whispered a tear running down his cheek. Hmm... at one time in life you would have felt pity. You would have run to his aid in a heartbeat. Now... Now however you scoffed at him. "Shoulda thought about that before you got yerself blown ta hell and back." You hiss lowering your gun. With wide eyes the boy watches in disbelief as you sling your pack off your back and rummage through it. "Y-you're just going to let her die?!" He screamed. "Pretty much sounds like you are kid." You growl, pulling out the last of your protein bars before slinging your bag back over your shoulder. "Standing there ain't doin' her no favors so I'd hop to it if I were you." You muttered taking a bite of your bar and walking down the road a stretch. Stomping on the ground like a toddler who didn't get his way the kid whined. "No I'm asking you for help!" He yelled. You wanted to turn and glare. You wanted to yell and scream. Hell you wanted to shoot him. But the growling and the thick rustling of leaves alerted you to the oncoming horde early. In his rage he must not had heard. Until they were right on top of him. You wondered briefly if his sister was among them.

Alone again you let the road take you where it will. across a bridge and through a town that was overrun with walkers. It was there you adopted a few walkers to help you navigate the thick hordes in the streets. Releasing them into the next life once you made it to the next side of town you sighed the tire marks in town leading to a hospital you'd rather not go near. So instead a set of train tracks that you crossed became your path. Instinctively you listened for trains. Your boots worn with wear stuck in the wood and on the nails. It was there you saw the first sign. "Go to Terminus." Your heart swelled. You didn't know where they were. How close they were. But you had to hope. Maybe. Possibly. They were safe.

Resting against a garage for the night you closed your eyes for what felt like a mere second. It most certainly wasn't hours... or so you had thought. Leaves and twigs had become your best friend in this world. The early indicator of something to come. But this time it was more. Loud. Uncaring if it was heard. Jumping awake you reached for your gun by your side but before you could grab it a large boot kicked it away. The large man standing before you sneered at you. "So she's awake." He laughed as you pressed yourself as far into the metal wall as possible. Three more men stepped out of the woods around you both. The laughed and jeered at you kicking at your feet as you tried to make yourself as small as possible. "Bet she's good." One said. Another had the sheer audacity to grab a handful of your hair and sniff it. As you went to slap him another grabbed your hand the leader with the grey hair chuckled.

"Claimed."

Two voices chimed out at the exact same time. The leader's sleazy voice and another more familiar voice that made your chest hurt with expectancy. You had waited. Hoped. Dreamed. Hell you even dared to pray for the day to come again where you'd hear your love's sweet voice again. But not here. Not now. Not looking down the barrel of weapons pointed against you.

The leader turned. Glaring at the man who dared to oppose him. Stepping into the light of the moon Daryl looked... different. Changed. His eyes were distant and dark even in the night. "Daryl..." The leader hummed his scowl melting as he turned to the archer. Tutting slightly he shook his head snapping his fingers the other men moved in on you. Two men grabbed your upper arms, hauling you to your feet while the others grabbed your shit. "C'mon now..." He growled. Giving your boyfriend a look. "Ya know better by now than to try and just claim whatever ya want... specially if ya know I'm gonna claim it." He cooed circling Daryl menacingly.

You had expected Daryl to act. The Daryl you knew would have. He would never have stood there and took the shit these creeps were giving either of you... but this Daryl... this one you knew in passing but never truly met before... he bowed his head. He turned away. He simply murmured something low. Soft. Something you couldn't hear.

The leader nodded eyeing you. His expression morphing. From wolfish and greedy to concentrated and scanning. "A'ight..." He sighed running his hand through his hair. "You gonna let us teach him a lesson?!" One of the men currently bruising your arm screamed. The others rallied behind him. Cheering and jeering they whooped and hollered. The men holding you jerked you back and forth making you stumble back and forth between the two. There was silence and for a moment contemplation on the leader's face that made your heart race. "Search her... Daryl and I got business to discuss." He growled turning around he spun your boyfriend with him grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him into the woods.

They dumped the contents of your bag onto the ground. Screams of "Claimed" ripped through the air and you were certain you'd be overrun by a horde any moment. Ripped apart limb from limb by the dead you had survived for years because of a few fucking morons. When all of your supplies including the bag itself and your rifle and ammo were claimed... the men turned their eyes on you.

"Can't touch 'em til Boss gets back." One chimed in as a particularly greedy one stepped forward. "Yeah... but she got pockets don't she?." The man hummed placing his hands on your waist. The others whistled and hollered once more as you backed away as far as the other two would let you.

"Don't you fucking touch me!" You hissed, baring your teeth to the bastard. Nodding he chuckled following you he grabbed you once more this time burying his hands deep in your pockets, attempting to cop a feel. Rearing your head back you growled and head butted the man landing a blow directly onto his nose. The satisfying crunch it left and the blood that trickled down between your brows onto your cheeks like war paint was proof enough. "I told ya not ta fuckin' touch me!" You screamed.

"Hey!" You heard the leader scream from inside the barrier of the forest. Immerging from the shadows of the trees the leader stormed up to the group with Daryl following behind like a kicked puppy. The one you hit writhed on the ground holding his face he whine and whimpered as the others parted like the sea for the leader who grabbed you by the jaw getting close enough to smell the rancid canned food on his breath. "You really got some fuckin' nerve." He bit out. It took everything in you not to spit in is filthy fucking face.

Standing back up straight the man huffed glaring down at you a glint in his eye you didn't like. "Now boys... as you know Daryl and I both called dibs at the same time..." All eyes on you. You swallowed the thick lump in your throat ready to fight to your last breath. "Now Daryl has made me aware of something very important here... a rule. See he did... in fact... call dibs first. He called dibs Long LONG before he met us. This here... This is his wife."

Wife? You blinked but tried not to look too surprised. Daryl was locking eyes with you. A quiet desperation there only you could see. Keep the act up. Stay strong. You glanced between Daryl and the leader. You felt the man holding your right arm tighten his grip adding another fresh bruise to your bicep. "Bull shit." He growled, his hands slid down your arm to your wrist twisting it back and up painfully so that you yelped out in pain and doubled over. "I don't see a fuckin' ring on her finger!" He yelled.

You heard footsteps. Not one set but two approaching you. "He's right... no ring..." The leader spoke directly above you. His boots shufled to turn towards Daryl's. "But..." He spoke again his boots shifting again as you felt a new calloused hand take your left hand, the promise ring you bore sliding off your ring finger made you feel naked and cold. "You were looking at the wrong hand..." The leader said his voice low and cold. The man holding your right arm released his grip stumbling back. Sitting back up you twisted out of the other man's hands for a second before he took your wrist lightly.

The leader held your promise ring up examining it. Your initials were carved into the inside of the ring. Something Daryl had done himself with his knife back at the prison when he found a set having stolen the idea from Glenn of course. "Teach him a lesson boys." The man grunted out gesturing with his head to the man who shook his head and begged for his life. You stood stock still as the others circled him like sharks to the drops of blood that fell from his face. Even Daryl who's eyes went as dark as the night nodded to the command, picking up something from the ground.

Your vison blurred, all you could see was Daryl's back. Blood splattering. You heard the screaming. Jumping at the hand on your shoulder you looked to the man turning you away from it all. "I haven't properly introduced myself yet." He murmured watching you swipe pink tears from your cheeks. "I'm Joe. I'm the leader of this here group. The Claimers. We don't normally keep women long... They get passed around a bit and then... well we get bored and they end up roaming as one of the other biters." He chuckled eyeing you up. Hyperventalating you shook your head pulling away slightly when you felt his arm wrap around your waist. "Now now," He whispered in your ear. "You're a valued honorary memeber." He cooed but his expression became cold and dark. "That means... you work for what you keep. You start with shit. And half yer shit goes to Daryl. Like in any good marriage." He said menacingly, grabbing your wrist. "Oh and one last thing... I get to taste you one time... just part of the deal Daryl and I worked out to let you live."

Cut between confusion and pain you wondered if all the promises Daryl ever made to keep everyone safe were in vain. Who was he? Was he really the man you met back at the Quarry and fell in love with? No... Probably not... He was different. Changed. Evolved into something different. Looking over your finger as Joe slipped your ring back on your finger you felt sick to your stomach. This Daryl, dripping in another man's blood was animalistic. He was brutal and cold.

That night Joe told everyone to just bunk down in the garage. Safer. He said. You tried to clear your head of the mess of a human corpse outside the metallic walls. Following close behind the others you followed Daryl like a lost puppy. "Claimed" Echoed through the building as all the "good" spots were being taken. But Daryl just stood. He waited out in the open and waited with you by his side. Never once looking at you or acknowledging your existence. "Dar-" You tried to speak but was only ignored as he turned away once everyone went quiet. "Claimed." He yelled out when he found the most secluded spot in the garage behind a tarped tactor.

Pointing to the ground he looked around for a moment, waiting for your to sit on the ground. "Dar-" Shaking his head he knelt pulling a blanket from his bag he tossed it over you. "Here." He muttered. Not looking at you. Never looking at you. He stood and walked back out of the garage.

Even with the wool blanket you felt alone and cold. Even more so than when you were actually traveling alone. You hated it. This feeling of abandonment. Blinking back tears your glared at the ceiling wrapping yourself tight in your blanket you tried to fall asleep.

Hours passed. You hadn't slept. How could you with the men snoring like chainsaws all night. But the door opening and closing quietly didn't go unnoticed. Rolling over you turned to Daryl as he approached you slowly. Kicking his boots by your feet he laid down beside you. Lifting the blanket you welcomed him into the warm environment you created with time. You fully expected him to turn you away. To roll away and huff. But instead he scooted close. pulling the blanket over you both.

His arms were around you in a second. Finding tender blossoming bruises he burried his face in your neck. The wetness of his cheeks stained your dirty shirt. "Thought I lost you." He whispered. "Wasn't gonna let anyone take you... Not..." He went silent pulling you as tight as ever. Happiness and warmth swelled in you. Love and security. Wrapping your arms around his neck you kissed the top of his head, running your fingers through his wet hair.

Truth be told he still smelled like a wet dog. Musty and damp. But he washed off. Didn't stop you from feeling angry and betrayed. "Daryl... Why did you tell Joe..." You swallowed the doubt that still reigned suprieme and rampaged like a tornado in your mind. "Why did you tell him he could... have me?" There was a moment Daryl was silent. You thought he would lie. He would divert the situation. But instead he pushed himself up on his elbows and cocked a brow. "Never said that." He whispered. "Did that prick say that to ya? Say ya owed him somethin? "He whispered his eyes scanning you worriedly. You nodded slowly watching his reaction. Nodding Daryl hummed. "Ok."

Blinking you tried to read his face in the dark. "O-Ok?" You whispered. Nodding he lowered himself down to your ear. "Can't say out loud what I want to do ta the bastard. Someone could hear." He breathed. "Oh..." You tensed. You eyes instinctively scanning for threats but the dark felt claustrophobic and you wanted to simply run.

You were kicked awake early the next morning. You hadn't even realized you had fallen asleep. Another night of closing your eyes and suddenly jerking awake to danger feeling entirely unrested... Nothing new but you could never get used to it either. "Up an 'em, sweetheart." The man with greasy hair murmured. In the morning light you could see the shiner that was swelling half the man's face. A large cut ran down his forehead to his cheek that in the old world would have required stitches to keep it from scaring but now would just prove as a lesson to the man to listen better in Joe's twisted system. "Waistin' daylight..." He growled once more glaring at your boy- No. Your husband.

Daryl seemed to respond in kind. Huffing at the man he stood with a low painful groan. "Let's go." He murmured softly offering a hand to you.

You followed on Daryl's heels throughout the day like a duckling to their mother. Keeping your eyes on the wings on his back, you tried to stay strong and keep from physically acting on the men who treated you more like an object than a human. "Why you carryin' yer own bag when you got a bitch ta do it fer ya?" The rotund one called, chuckling as you moved to Daryl's left away from him. "No on would blame ya if ya went off and unwound on her for a bit... hell I'd even let the boys have a turn when I was done." One of the men with a beanie called out smirking at you from across the crick you had all stopped at to refill your canteens in. Holding your middle you glared at him. Daryl stood handing you your canteen. Reaching out you caressed his arm to sooth him. You were safe if he was here. He couldn't be if he was hurt or dead. He needed to act rashly.

"Shut up." He hissed despite it all. The Dixon temper was never one that could easily be quelled. When pushed down it only became more explosive. More dangerous. "What did you fucking say to us?" The three men rounded you. "We're just tryin' ta be friendly like." The greasy haired man that woke you growled. "Don't need no friends." Daryl growled stepping up to him. "Daryl." You whispered, reaching out to touch him but decided against it when you saw the crazed look in your husband's eye.

"Enough."

Joe's commanding voice ripped the fight apart before it could start. "Len, go fetch some firewood and scout the area. Got a feeling we could get lucky 'round here. Tony, go sharpen that damned blade of yours it couldn't cut butter if we had any for fuck's sake let alone take a biter down if we needed. Dan, fuck off with Len. Set up a perimiter. Daryl. Go hunting for dinner." Joe gave out orders like it was nothing. But your heart pounded in your chest and and nearly leaped into your throat when he met your throat reaching into his bag to grab something. You watched Daryl closely. Every muscle tense and primed to act in case Joe acted pulling something. His hand snaking to the pistol he had hidden at his back.

"Honey, I need ya ta wash our shit. Our clothes, specially our socks and boxers are really starting to get ripe and chafe us. I think you could handle that much... huh?" He purred walking up to you handing a small bundle of used men's socks and boxers. The smell was horrendous and made bile rise to your throat. You had to force yourself to breath the same way you would in a hot summer day around a horde of walkers to get by. "Ok..." You whimpered nodding. Freezing when you felt his hand on your shoulder you stood stock still. "And, sweetheart..." He hummed, his grip becoming incredibly painful his soft expression turning hard. "It's sir to you... Yes, sir. Say it." Whimpering you tried not to give into him. You didn't fall to your knees or bow as he desperately wanted you to. Instead you turned to glare at him your hair swirling around your, a single tear as his only satisfaction. "Sir, yes, sir." You growl stumbling as he pushed you forward into the water.

Hours passed by. Joe gave you meaningless task after meaningless task. Anything to see you in a compromising position. Scrub his boots. Wash his hair. Wash your hair. Sort their bags. Weave a basket. (Something you didn't know how to do and utterly failed in doing.) When he ran out of tasks to give you he made things up. Jump in place in front of him. He tried to make you bathe in the crick but when you threatened to cut his balls off he laughed and said it was a joke.

"Hey..." Len's voice cut through your newest meaningless task. picking up acorns while Joe watched. Looking over your shoulder you cocked a brow at the man that seemed far too excited to have just been told to fuck off for a few hours. "We found something." Dan muttered. Walking out of the woods with a string of rabbits Daryl glared hard at the ground. You'd seen him through the treeline throughout the course of the day. Taking aim at Joe at certain angles when he was certain the older man wasn't looking. But Joe always laughed or shook his head. "I know your watching Daryl. Go back to hunting." Or a promise of "I won't touch if you don't shoot."

"We found a camp!" Len cheered, pulling you from your thoughts. "A camp?" You breathed without thought. "Hell yeah girl." Joe murmured misreading your concern for excitment and curiousity. Or rather ignoring it completely as he slapped you hard on the back making you drop the acorns you gathered. "Come on let's show our newbie how it's done..." Joe said smiling so much like the devil that when you actually met him years later you'd never believe it.

The camp was small. It only housed two people. A man and a woman. The woman gathered baby supplies on a pink baby blanket before her. Brunette hair caught the wind just so that her face was concealed an you never truly saw her face. The man was undoubtedly in love with the woman. From the distance you hid you swore the couple were Glenn and Maggie. Your heart pounded deep in your chest. Your breath caught in your throat and you had to stop the scream that threatened to rip through you.

"We flank from all sides." Joe whispered so low you could barely hear him over the ringing of your ears. "Daryl." He whispered, moving closer to the two of you as the others moved into position. "I want to actually see you in there this time. No late arrivals." He hummed nodding as Daryl grunted in response.

"C'mon." No.

"Darlin'... We need ta move." Daryl whispered. No, God please no.

Your entire body shook, your eyes wide as saucer plates. Moving forward in the brush you only stopped when you felt Daryl's hand on yours. Turning to Daryl fear in your eyes you shook your head. Not again.

Pulling you away into the denser brush as Joe began his speech to the couple you could just barely see the others moving in.

Your body jerked when the screams started. Pulling at Daryl's hand you sobbed hard. "Daryl!" You wailed only to be pulled back his hand covering your mouth so your sobs were muffled. "It ain't them." He whispered. Pulling you incredibly tight you felt him bury his face in the crook of your neck hot tears rolling down your collar bone mixing with your own. "It can't be them."

That night you all slept under the stars. Fire lit and as warm as you could be in the middle of fall you and Daryl were of the first to retire, finding a spot in the dirt to bed down you laid against a large tree your back pulled against him. Just like when you two started dating out on the road. His wool blanket provided enough warmth to the both of you that the ground didn't bother you. Even with the rocks and roots digging into your side.

Just as you started to nod off you jerked awake to the sound of sets of heavy drunken footsteps. Daryl's arm wrapped tight around your middle. pulling you close. The others had found liquor at the camp and indulged heavily in it. Only Daryl and Joe refused to touch it.

"Claimed!" One man screamed loud. Belligerent. The smell of booze stained the air and made your empty stomach turn. "Nuh-uh." Another hissed. "I already claimed that spot." Len... Daryl had told you to watch out for him. He had an issue with claiming what wasn't his. he'd claimed what little food Daryl could get out hunting while on patrol.

"Bull shit!" The other man, you assumed to be Ivan screamed back. "It's true!" You tried to tune them out, squeezing your eyes shut breathing slowly, hoping you and Daryl went unnoticed. But as the fight got worse and worse you couldn't help the way you physically jumped when Tony landed on the ground on his back near by the two of you. Covering your mouth Daryl pulled you tight against his body as the two men rolled onto the wool blanket then off again.

You couldn't sleep after that even if sleep found the two that fought just a few moments ago. Turning to Daryl you buried yourself deep in his chest. "What was the wife thing about?" You got the courage to ask when all was quiet and the snores of the men matched the previous night. Shaking his head Daryl laid back staring at the night sky. He was silent for a moment. Whether he was waiting for a break in the snoring or simply listening for any eave's droppers you'd never know. "Probably shoulda done it a long time ago... just..." His words fell off going silent. Sitting up you captured his eyes in yours. "I love you, Daryl." You whispered. "We'll find them... I promise." But he remained cold. His eyes dark, distant. "Get some sleep."

Time seemed to go in a blur after that. Days and nights melded together. Didn't matter which was which truly. You never felt rested. Your stomach never empty. Daryl attempted to feed you his portions. But as the lowest on the poll he got scraps as it was and you hated taking what he had.

You were tired and underfed when you found Rick, Michonne, and Carl. You had believed that they were just visions when you first saw them. Len held you by the arm. "Gotta make sure she gets in on the action with this one!" He yelled, jerking you around. Wide eyed and in disbelief you gapped like a fish. These people looked just like your family.

"Rick?" You managed. Silence. Joe turned to you his eyes questioning before he gripped you hard. Jerking away you tried to free yourself from his grasp. "Hey! Let her go!" Michonne screamed from the grasp of another man. "Don't you fuckin' touch her!" Carl cried. You nearly wailed out and fell to your knees in pure bliss and euphoria. Hearing their voices. Knowing for a fact they were real. But you were on the ground before you could act. Your face to the pavement you groaned as a boot ground against the back of your skull holding you there. "I've got one free ticket to paradise here boys... why not use it while the pickin's good?" Joe hummed.

You screamed as hands grabbed at you before you could even process the cold pavement below or the screams of your family by your side. Swinging with all your might in any direction you could get a good hold on you connected a few good hits. The yelling from your family was nightmarish. You forced yourself to close your eyes Not wanting to witness or watch what could possibly be happening. Daryl had shielded you last time. Alone you felt vulnerable and terrified.

The boot on your head made your head pound and ache. It was crushing your head and it felt as if your brains would spill if they stepped any harder. Your hair was yanked. Your blouse cut down the back. But before anything else could happen. The person on your head. Joe you believed. Stumbled off. A resounding smacking of knuckles to skin echoing through the woods. Sitting up your shirt slid from your shoulders as you stared wide eyed at Daryl. He had gotten one good swing in. Glancing to you was his downfall. He was dogpiled before he had the chance to say otherwise but the others forgot the knife in your boot. They forgot to check Carl or Michonne in their haste.

Blood pooled on the highway. The five of you stood gasping as one family unit once more, covered in blood but victorious above all odds. Gasping and staring down at the ugly hideous creatures below you, tears rolled down your cheeks. Daryl once again refused to look at you. Instead he offered his vest to you to cover you up with. Instead he turned and glanced to Rick a heartbroken boy staring at a man looking for forgiveness.

You were enveloped by Michonne and Carl before you could say other wise. Not that you would ever pull away ever again. Pulling them close you watched the makeshift brothers share a silent conversation. One guarded and afraid.

The other loving and accepting willing to forgive.

Rick held Daryl tight as he cried and the three of you migrated to them. Hugging them tight you rested your head on Daryl's shoulder, closing your eyes. For the first time since the fall... there was a small flicker of hope.

[phsychobanana]

Denial is a river in..... Kyoshi Island?

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

WC: 1.1k

Summary: No chance, no way, she won't say it, no no!

A/n~ Totally WASn't listening to I Won't Say I'm In Love while writing this 🤭

The air was thick with panic as the ash falls from the sky in flutters around the island. People trying to seek shelter while their homes were being burned right before their very eyes. The Kyoshi warriors trying their best to protect their people in the midst of the panic, while the gaang tries to come up with a plan to stop everything.

I grab Zuko's arm and look up at him, worried. When Iroh tried to stop him on the ship, he didn't listen to him. Which meant it was now my turn to try. Or, that's what Iroh said, at least. And Iroh's only sometimes wrong.

"Zu," I pause for a moment to make sure he looks at me while i speak, "we should go. You're destroying these people's homes. How is this any different than your father?"

Whoops, definitely not what you say to someone with daddy issues and anger problems...

"You're right," Zuko nods.

Excuse me?

"Excuse me?" *My brows shoot up in surprise.

"We should go back to the ship. We'll have other opportunities to capture the avatar. This can just be a warning of what'll happen if he doesn't comply. Let's get you to safety," Zuko speaks in an even tone, ushering me back to the ship as he does so.

I've never been more confused in my life, but if he's willing to listen, who am i to complain?

Zuko is practically sprinting with me, trying to get to the ship as fast as possible for some reason. But again, not complaining.

"Uncle, we're going," Zuko nods at Iroh, his tone stern.

"Ah, i knew you'd agree with her. Alright, let's retreat," I raise a brow at the older man's words, but don't say anything.

The horn blows, calling Zuko's troops back to the ship, to which they all come running back. Talk about effective.

And just as soon as we were there, we were out.

Zuko leaves, presumably to go brood in his chambers, leaving me to play Pai Sho with Iroh all alone.

"So, did you two finally confess?" Iroh asks randomly, causing me to choke on my spit.

"H-Huh?" I manage out through my coughs.

"Y/n, i had you talk to him for a reason."

"Which is..?"

"You're not just his best friend, you know. He cares about you much more than you know."

"Yeah, that's what friendship's about."

"No. Beyond friendship. Beyond the relationship you both have now. You are meant to be. Twin flames."

I raise an unimpressed brow. "Right. How much tea have you had to drink?"

"You're in love. Even if you don't know it yet."

Stupid Iroh and his stupidly true words. NO. I'm not in love. Never. That's gross. Especially not in love with Zuko. He's like...emo.

"Sure... Let's just keep playing, alright?" I look back down, only to find that he's beaten me.

"Good game, Y/n." Iroh smiles cheekily. Damn old man...

***

No matter how long ago it was, i never forgot that conversation with Iroh. Zuko and i had swapped sides, found his destiny, stopped his father, everything. We'd done it all. Together. And as much as i hate to say it, i enjoyed being with him so closely.

Suki had invited the gaang back to Kyoshi island for a nice getaway/vacation, since everyone had gotten so busy and stressed out due to existing. With Aang being peace to the world, and everyone trying to come back together as a whole, we've all been busy. Especially Zuko and i, trying to get rid of the brainwash wrapped around the Ozai defenders.

So, here we were. Sitting on the sand, chatting, drinks in hand, and all the couples being way too touchy for my liking. Aang was making flower crowns with Katara, and Suki and Sokka were just making out. And considering they were doing that the entire way here, i'd say my poor eyes need an insane amount of disinfectant.

At least Zuko, Toph and i were able to hang out without third wheeling anything.

Zuko left to go use the bathroom, leaving Toph and i to talk.

"So, when are you going to grow the balls to confess your feelings?" Toph asks as she draws in the sand. Granted, the drawings weren't good, but hey, she was trying.

"What do you mean?" I ask, playing stupid. Did everyone just know? Did that mean he knew, too? Oh, spirits...

"You know what i mean. Don't worry about him not liking you. He likes you so much, it's getting disgusting."

I chuckle at that, and glance over at Zuko, who's now walking back.

"I don't like him." I say, though my stuttered breaths, rapidly beating heart, and lovesick eyes say otherwise.

"Right. And i can see." Tops retorts with a scoff, making me push her face first into the sand.

"Seriously, Toph. Back off." I huff.

"I'm just sayin'. Denial's a river... and you're drownin' in it." Tops shrugs, and spits out a mouthful of sand. "You may deny it, but truth is, you're falling for him. Hard. So just tell him."

"Tell who what?" Zuko asks as he takes his seat beside me once more.

No chance, no way, i won't say it, no no...

"Hey, you. Don't worry about it. Heh..." I punch Zuko's shoulder lightly.

"Uhm...hi?" He rubs his shoulder, a clearly confused look on his face.

Spirits, he's cute when he's confused. And when he's mad. And happy. He's just always cute. And handsome. And hot. Pun very much intended!

Get a grip, girl!

I clear my throat awkwardly, and turn away from him. I glance at Toph, and can practically feel her urging me to confess.

I glare at her. I look over at Zuko with a smile, trying to act normal. My heart immediately skips in my chest at the sight of him.

No way, no how, i won't say it...

Zuko look over at me and smiles back, and i swear that time freezes around me.

No chance, nuh uh, i won't say it...

"You've got sand in your hair..." His voice is quiet, and soft, and flustered, and woah.... He reaches out to gently pick the bits of sand from my hair.

Get out my face, i won't say it...

"Thanks." I swallow, and look away.

Zuko ruffles my hair affectionately and leans down, so close that i can feel his breath fan over my face. Way closer than friends should be.

Get off my case, i won't say it...

"So..." He trails off.

"So..." I repeat.

At least out loud, i won't say i'm...in love...

[autumnshighlady]

Love You For Infinity

Elrond x adopted daughter reader

summary: you’ve been in a depressive episode for weeks, and your thoughts turn dark - luckily, elrond is there to help guide you 

warnings: depression, self harm thoughts, mention of suicide, VERY bad mental health

word count: 3.5k

requests: It’s taken me a year to finish this oneshot due to my mental health. It was a bit difficult to write for reasons I won’t get into, so i apologize for the long wait. If you can relate to the reader in this fic at all, please know that you are not alone, and you are loved <3

IF YOU ARE STRUGGLING WITH THOUGHTS OF SUICIDE AND ARE IN NEED OF HELP PLEASE REACH OUT TO A PROFESSIONAL OR A HOTLINE

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

You wandered through the gardens, feeling the warm sunlight soak into your skin. It was a beautiful day – the flowers were in full bloom, their scents filling the spring air, countless colours surrounding you as you made your way down the cobblestone path. The aged moss and lichen draped the marble statues and carvings along the gardens, an ancient beauty contrasted with the new growth. But you could not bring yourself to enjoy the scenery, nor stop to smell the flowers you loved so dearly. For all their vibrance, they seemed dull, muted, despite their bright colours. The glowing sunlight that so many other elves basked in felt too hot, too invasive. The sweet spring scents were choking you, stifling their air in your lungs as you tried to breathe.

            You had once loved wandering through the gardens of Imladris. Now you felt nothing but indifference, the guilt of losing such a joyous area of your life gnawing at your gut. You used to spend hours in these gardens, soaking in the scenery and revelling in the nature around you, content to simply sit on one of the benches or lay down in the grass and let the sounds and scents of the environment wash over your mind.

Now, you could barely stand to walk through the familiar path. Still, it was an improvement, considering it had taken all of your strength to get out of bed this morning. The task alone was daunting, yet you felt no sense of accomplishment. Most days had been like this lately – sleepless nights tossing and turning, yet no motivation to get out of bed when the sun rose, no drive to get yourself ready for the day. Instead you would simply lay there, sheltered in the confines of your room, closing off the rest of the world.

You hated every minute of it. You hated the fact that you felt so useless, the weight of simply getting up being too much to bear. You loathed that no matter how hard you tried, you could not bring yourself to join your friends for breakfast or pick up a good book and read. You hated feeling so weak, so empty – your brain screamed at you to stop wasting away, to get up and do something, anything. But you just could not.

Hours of pondering and crying into your pillow was not enough to figure out why you felt this way. Nothing bad had happened, no traumatic event to set off this episode of pain and depression that felt neverending. You were simply an elf from the Woodland Realm, who had been sent to and raised in Rivendell after the darkness began to creep into what was once Greenwood the Great. You worked as a scholar in the libraries of Imladris, safe within the House of Elrond. You had not seen some violent war, as some of your peers had, nor had you known anyone close to you who died or suffered tragically. Your life was pretty much perfect, your days amounting to reading, art, and simply wandering the grounds – none of which warranting the pain which now seemed to have spread through your entire chest, threatening to cave it in and shatter every piece of you.

You brushed my finger against a rose carelessly, letting your hand wander down from the soft petals to the thorny stalk. You felt a sting of pain, a thorn snagging your pointer finger. Instead of wiping away the blood, you just stood there and dragged your finger further down the thorn, creating a longer red line, content to let droplets of blood spill onto the marble pavement, deep red contrasting with the white floors. At least I could still feel something, you thought bitterly, relishing in the pain slightly. At least you had not gone completely numb.

“My Lady?”

You turned at the sound of a familiar voice. Lord Elrond was standing a few feet behind you, clad in his regal silver robes. He wore no crown, yet still possessed that regal authority that he was so renowned for. You felt your gut twist as you saw the concern flood over his face as you turned your body to face him.

You could see in his eyes he knew something was wrong, but your body gave you away entirely. You knew your eyes looked hollow, framed by dark circles that sucked the life out of your face. Your dress was slightly too big, evidence of the weight you had lost in the past few weeks as you isolated yourself in your room. A sick part of you delighted in it, always having been insecure of your size. Your hair which was usually well-kept and styled hung loosely around your face, knotted and frizzy in some parts as it cascaded down your back.

To cover your shame, you bowed your head in formality. “My Lord Elrond.” You managed to say, staring at the pavement as you inclined your head, eager to get away from his piercing gaze.

Elrond sighed, visibly attempting to soften his gaze. “My dear, must I remind you again that you may simply call me Elrond?”

“My apologies, my Lord.” You mumbled, straightening up and finally meeting his gaze. He did not correct you. Instead, his eyes travelled down to your hand and the blood that still dripped from it.

“You are hurt.” Elrond stated, his eyebrows furrowing. He stepped forward, a gentle hand reaching out as if to assess the wound, but you found yourself stepping back.

“I am alright,” you said quickly, moving your hand back to your side. The blood smeared your midnight-blue robes, but you did not care. “I simply snagged my finger on a thorn. A careless mistake, that’s all.”

Elrond’s eyebrow raised, and dread filled your stomach as you knew he didn’t believe a word you said, or at least he did not buy the too-casual excuse you pulled out of your ass. Your relationship with Elrond had always been relatively close – as close as one can have with an elven Lord of Imladris. When you had arrived in Rivendell as a child, Elrond had ensured you were well cared for. He became involved in your life – often bringing you gifts and trinkets, showing you around the place. Reading to you evolved into him teaching you how to read, sitting at the table with you and his children at dinner. Elrond had taken a special interest in you, always finding a way to make sure you had everything you needed beyond what a normal elven lord would do for their people. Sometimes you wondered if this was due to him losing Celebrían right before you arrived, as if his protective instincts had doubled with wife’s departure to the Undying Lands. He could not spare her from torment, but he could do his best to make sure you never met the same fate. Things changed a bit as you grew older – not wanting to impose on the family he already had before you, you found yourself growing a bit distant. You had no desire to be a burden to him, you were not his blood nor did he raise you, but he still played a paternal role in your life. Even as you began to make a life for yourself in Rivendell, that kindness and care Elrond had shown you as a child prevailed. You and him still had walks in the garden, he still ordered books from other kingdoms he thought may interest you. It was complicated, as he was not your father per say, but he was all you had, and he was important to you. But at the same time, he was still the Lord of the town you had the privilege of residing in and living under.

Guilt clawed away at your gut as you realised how even more distant you had become in these past few weeks. You could not recall the last time you had a conversation with Elrond or sat down for dinner with him. Surely, he noticed your absence but did not want to intrude, trusting you to make your own choices and open up if you were ready.

But you were too far gone for that approach, and deep down you knew that he knew it too.

“That is more than a simple thorn prick, little one,” Elrond said, the concern on his face seeping into his voice. “If you will not tell me what happened, at least let me take care of it for you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but quickly shut up. You knew from the look in his eyes he was not going to let this go. You gulped down your nausea that was produced by your stomach, which churned knowing where this conversation was headed.

Arwen had made attempts to get you out of your room lately, none successfully executed. You cried even harder as she softly knocked at your door, her gentle voice ushering you to come out and join her for breakfast. You knew it broke her heart when you did not answer, unable to even crawl out of bed and unlock the door. She and her father knew something was wrong but had waited for you to come forward to them about it.

You guess they had waited long enough.

With your non-bloody hand, you accepted Elrond’s outstretched arm and began to walk with him towards his quarters. He did not hold you close to him as he usually did, as if he was afraid getting too close would scare you off. Instead, you walked in silence, which you appreciated. Other elves bowed their heads at him as you passed, but you kept your eyes to the ground.

Five minutes later, Elrond shut the door to his room, grabbing some herbs, water, and bandages to tend to your wound. The silence prevailed, and you sat down on the bed and let him take your hand. He began wiping the blood off, waiting a few seconds before saying softly, “I am glad to see you in the gardens again. It has been a few weeks since I last recall you spending time there.”

You sat quietly, torn. Part of you wanted to break down in ugly sobs and explain the struggles of the past few weeks, to open the floodgates and let go of every horrible and depressing thing you had felt and thought you had over the last while. But the other part of you screamed at yourself to suppress it, to make yourself go numb, a practice you now excelled at. Deep down you knew you wouldn’t have to make that choice – Elrond could see right through you. You knew that one look into those kind eyes and you would crumble, so you looked at the floor.

“Arwen has not seen you lately either,” Elrond continued gently, beginning to wrap up your hand in soft bandages. “Neither have I, in fact. Are you sick, my dear?”

“I…” Your throat went dry as you tried to speak. Say something, come on, say anything, you screamed at yourself. But no words came out.

After tying the final knot, Elrond looked up. “I can tell that you are unwell. I understand that you are grown now, but you are still my little one, and I wish you would know that you can always turn to me in time of need.”

At his comforting voice, you involuntarily looked up and met his gaze. Seeing those kind, concerned eyes that had watched over you all of these years opened that gate inside of you that you had tried desperately to keep sealed for so long. Like a dam bursting, tears spilled down your cheeks and your body shook with sobs. The world around you stopped turning, leaving you enveloped in a flood of your own pain. Your chest hurt, feeling as if it was filled with cement. You felt lightheaded, gasping for air between sobs.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You couldn’t keep living like this. You were in so much pain you couldn’t handle it. You weren’t strong enough, it was going to kill you. Everything you felt raging inside of you was all-consuming, your own thoughts so loud and relentless, screaming at you all day and night to the point where you figured only death would release you from them. You were stuck in your own head, and the fight to swim to the surface was too exhausting to bear.

You felt movement, and the space on the bed beside you shifted as Elrond sat down. He wrapped one arm around you, cradling your head with the other and bringing you close to him. “It’s ok,” He murmured, stroking your hair and holding you as you sobbed uncontrollably. “It’s ok, little one. Let it all out.”

And so you did. You let yourself feel everything – the guilt of neglecting your job, the pain in seeing your friends give up their attempts to see you, the hateful thoughts about yourself that clouded your mind telling you that you were deserving of nothing good, all of it. You clung onto Elrond as you cried, feeling so overwhelmed that you may implode. “I can’t… I can’t, I can’t,” You managed to choke out between sobs. “It hurts so much, please make it stop, please make it stop, Ada.”

Ada.

You had never called Elrond ‘father’ before, always using his name or title. You did not want those around you to think you were getting special treatment, or to seem like you were expecting it. Before you could gather your wits and apologise, you felt him hold you tighter.

“It’s ok,” He repeated. “You are safe. You are strong. You can overcome this, but not if it is burning up inside of you. Let it all out, my dear.”

You nodded into his chest, your relentless chants of I can’t fading out as you slowly regained control over your breathing. The raging sea that was storming inside of you calmed down to a simple rocky surface, the weight of everything lifting off of your chest slightly. You stayed there for a few minutes, letting Elrond hold you close as you calmed down.

He had done so much for you, more than you could ever hope to repay him for. Yet here you were, crying like a child despite the perfect, safe life he had worked so hard to provide you with. What a fucking ungrateful brat, you thought to yourself bitterly, allowing yourself a cruel sob.

You managed to peel yourself away from Elrond, sitting upright. You put your head in your hands, wiping away your tears as you took a shaky breath. His hand remained over your shoulder, rubbing in comforting circles. “I am sorry.” He murmured.

You laughed half-heartedly. “What are you sorry for? I’m the one who should be sorry, not you.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Elrond said softly, but firmly. “I am sorry because I should have noticed this sooner. I should have noticed that you were hurting and found a way to help before you suffered this much. I failed you.”

You pried your head from your hands and turned to face him, and your heart nearly broke. The noble elven lord looked so sad, so guilt-ridden at the sight before him. An elf who had seen thousands of years of suffering, who had lived through the most brutal wars in Arda’s history, looked more defeated than ever as he looked at you. That guilt churned inside you again as you realised you had caused this. “You have far from failed me, Elrond.” You said quietly. “You have given me everything, more than I could ever ask for. I have no reason to be this sad or act this way.”

Elrond cocked his head, brushing the hair out of your face. “Is that what you truly think?” He asked gently. “That you need a reason to be sad?”

“Uh…yes?” You said, puzzled. “There is nothing in my life that is going wrong, or even remotely horrible. I have not been traumatised by battle or had to run from a sword. My village was never raided by orcs, I have never known hunger nor harsh winters. I truly have nothing to be sad about.”

Elrond paused for a minute, contemplating your words. “Just because you have not fought in war does not mean you have not suffered,” He said. “You are a young elf; you are allowed to feel whatever your heart feels. Circumstance does not spare you from pain or suffering. Things like this are not always the result of war or hardship. Sometimes we hurt for no reason, and no amount of explanation will reassure us nor will it change what we feel in our hearts.”

You sighed, cheeks damp. “It doesn’t make me feel any less ungrateful. I’ve never even been courted. Nobody has ever looked at me like that. All of my friends have been shown that type of affection, except me. I don’t understand what makes them worthy of it and not me.”

“You are young, little one. You have centuries ahead of you to find whatever love you may wish. You’ve only met a fraction of the people who will come to love you. Give yourself time, allow yourself to be comfortable in your own skin. I know it is easier said than done. If you cannot be at peace with yourself, no soul in this world can fill that void for you.”

You swallowed thickly. He was right – you felt like a stranger in your own body. Like the bones and flesh beneath your skin belonged to another. But sitting here with the elf who had been a pillar in your life for as long as you remembered, you began to feel more at ease within yourself. You sniffled, wiping your tears from your face with the back of your hand. Elrond reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at your cheeks gently.

“Someday,” he said softly. “Someone will love you exactly how you deserve to be loved. I did not meet my wife until I was 1759, and even then, I loved her in secret for many a century.”

 Arwen had told you stories of her mother. It always brought a deep sadness to her eyes as she remembered her mother’s grim departure to the Undying Lands. You knew the tale all too well, for talk of the tragedy Elrond had been faced with travelled all the way to the Woodland realm. When you had first arrived in Rivendell, the wound Celebrían’s departure had cut him deep. It took years of you getting to know him before his eyes went from hollow to bright. One day, you had snuck a book from the library on the elves of the First Age. It was then when you stumbled across Elrond’s story, a sad pain in your heart as you read about him and his brother’s early years during the wars and the period that followed.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a few moments. “About your wife. And everything that has happened to you.” You weren’t sure what had prompted you to say that, for you blurted out the words before you could stop and think. Elrond had never discussed his past with you besides the occasional story told in the grand scheme of sharing wisdom and life lessons.

But there was no defensiveness, for Elrond simply put a hand on your shoulder. “Thank you,” was all he said.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being your hitched breath as you calmed your breathing down. A slight weight had been lifted off your shoulders, lessening the crushing feeling in your chest. For weeks, you had feared Elrond finding out about your depressive episode and thinking less of you for it. Deep down, you knew that was illogical, but the thought had haunted you nonetheless.

“I want to help you, my dear,” Elrond said, grabbing your hands and looking at you with all the love and care a father would. “But only if you will have it. If you do not wish for my interference, I understand and will be there if you need me. But I urge you not to walk this path alone.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do,” you said quietly.

“I cannot change what you feel in your heart and soul. But there are little changes, perhaps, we can make to get you on the right path. If you would like, I shall have our breakfasts delivered to your room, and I may join you for breakfast and then we can go on a walk. It does not have to be long, nor strenuous. Simply something to get you up and moving at the beginning of the day. Once you climb that step, you may find things become much easier.”

Emotion clogged your throat. “You would do that for me?”

Elrond gave you a gentle smile. “For you, anything. I may not have fathered you, but you are my family. And I will move heaven and earth just to make you closer to the stars if that’s what would make you happy.”

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

wildest dreams is an ineffable husbands song.

HEAR ME OUT. I KNOW ABOUT QUEEN. I KNOW ABOUT HOZIER. THIS FANDOM ADOPTED ME AND INDOCTRINATED ME AND I AM AWARE. And I know I've only seen three episodes in S1 and a few edits but... hear me out.

Taylor Swift's Wildest Dreams seems very contrary to the vibes but look. It's from Aziraphale's perspective. Also, I use he/they pronouns for Crowley here. Behold, Taylor's Wildest Dreams lyrics... but they're Aziraphale to Crowley, his angel, his demon, his lover, his best friend.

...

He said let's get out of this town

"We need to get away. We need to be an us," Crowley says desperately.

Drive out of the city, away from the crowds.

Crowley and Aziraphale, speeding away in the Bentley.

I thought Heaven can't help me now

Aziraphale, wondering about how he defied Heaven and fell in love with a demon.

Nothing lasts forever, but this is getting good now.

"Oh, Crowley. Nothing lasts forever."

He's so tall, and handsome as hell

Crowley. Tall, handsome, hell. Aziraphale has never seen anything more beautiful than this fallen angel from hell.

He's so bad, but he does it so well

"I'm a demon, I'm not nice." They both know it's true, and it's a lie.

I can see the end, as it begins, my one condition is...

Crowley and Aziraphale, watching the fall of man at the beginning, Crowley and Aziraphale, knowing they are in the end times.

Say you'll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe

At the fall of man, the Garden of Eden, an angel and a demon stand and look upon the world, the angel dressed in his white robes, he raises a wing to shelter the demon, his demon.

Red lips and rosy cheeks, say you'll see me again, even if it's just in your wildest dreams

Aziraphale, with his sweet face, his cheeks that rise into a helpless smile every time he glances at Crowley. Aziraphale, begging Crowley to come with him. Aziraphale, who would never want Crowley to forget him.

I said, "No one has to know what we do."

Aziraphale lying to Heaven and God and the angels, because he cannot lose this, Crowley is a demon and they are not supposed to be friends, they are not supposed to be lovers, but they are.

His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room

Crowley holding Aziraphale in a desperate kiss, clutching at him as if that will persuade him to stay.

And his voice is a familiar sound, nothing lasts forever, but this is getting good now

Aziraphale knowing Crowley is there before he even sees them, at the French revolution, every time Aziraphale needed them. Why did Crowley have to kiss him now, and not before? Why only at the end, when Aziraphale knows he has to leave? Why does it have to get good just at the ending?

You'll see me in hindsight, tangled up with you all night

Aziraphale knows, hopes, that Crowley will not forget him, his last request is that Crowley not throw away what he is offering him.

Burning it down

The bookstore in flames, Crowley screaming, because he cannot lose his best friend.

Someday when you leave me, I bet these memories follow you around

"Don't bother," Crowley says, and Aziraphale watches them walk away, but he also knows that he's the one who pushed them away. Whose fault is it, really? But it's been 6000 years, and those memories aren't going anywhere, for either of them.

Follow... you... around.

No matter how painful, those memories are going to stay. For Aziraphale, for Crowley, for all of us.

Heaven can't help us now.