#lizziewrites

[lizzie-queenofmeigas]

—𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

Dany was used to pain, she had experienced much of it during her short life. Something that caused her great sorrow, for she was only a young girl, innocent once, when the pain began. And no longer innocent when it stopped. If it ever did stop.

But never had pain been as rewarding as the one she felt during childbirth. The agony she was put through, the agony Jon, by her side, felt, was rewarded the moment the midwives placed her child in her arms.

Her daughter had come to this world crying and screaming, kicking like a goat, strong, alive. Breathing. Unlike her Rhaego. Her little girl was alive and well.

And after feeding she had quietened, but still, she breathed.

"She takes after you, Dany" Jon whispered, as if he was afraid the slightest of sounds would perturb their daughter "She's so beautiful"

With careful movements, Jon stroked their baby's cheek. So careful, so frightened he might hurt her.

"Do you wish to hold her?" she asked in an equally quiet tone.

"I..."

"You will not harm her" Dany reassured him, yet it had been him who treated most often with babies. Before, at least "Take her"

He sat on the bed, next to Dany, and with a curt nod, she proceeded to place their daughter in his arms. His grey eyes filled with tears at the slightest of noises their child made. Dany carefully wiped them with her fingers so they would not disturb their baby. Her head fell against his shoulder.

Jon smiled.

"I was afraid of this once"

"As was I. But she is here now"

The baby protested, stirring, making her parents laugh.

"And she wants to be heard" Jon chuckled, head falling to the side, to gently rest against hers "Rhaella, was it not?"

Rhaella or Lyanna?

"It matters not now" she whispered.

They fell quiet, the three of them, silently enjoying the warmth of the others. The comfort. The feeling of being home. Something she had not felt in years, until Jon.

"I love you, Dany. I could not do without you"

Her own vision began to blurry with unshed tears.

"Neither could I, without you, not anymore"

Not when she finally knew what being loved and at home felt like.

[lizzie-queenofmeigas]

—𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐓𝐇

In the past, Lyanna had never wished to finish her rides, to return to Winterfell. For Winterfell, much that she loved it, was constricting. A cage. Not the walls nor the keep in itself, but who ruled it. Who ruled her.

Or used to.

Much had changed since then, even if not much time had passed. Now, Lyanna walked through the halls of the Red Keep with more confidence that she once had. Surer of her place there. Of her new life.

"Mama!" a loud voice called for her once she had entered the nursery.

A smile formed in her face the moment she heard him, her little boy. Aemon stretched his arms towards her, opening and closing his little fists in a way of demanding to be held. Lyanna all but ran to him, picking him up from the carpet where he had been so decisively playing with his toys, and pressing him carefully against her body.

"Hello, my little love" little Aemon stared at her with a toothless smile and wide grey eyes that were a mirror of hers "Did you missed me?"

"I certainly did" Lyanna turned, a grin still gracing her face, to see Rhaegar approaching at a slow pace. He was fairly calm, she noted, his face did not bear the stress it usually did. Mayhaps there were fewer responsibilities today "Zoklītsos"

He bent his head to kiss her, softly, slowly, as a warm welcome. Aemon protested, making a slight and incomprehensible noise that made them separate a bit.

"What is it, Aemon?" Lyanna asked in a teasing tone "Do you not want Kepa around?"

Rhaegar placed a hand over his heart, in mock offense.

"Now, Aemon, you wound me"

Aemon, once again, stretched his arms, asking to be held by his father this time. Rhaegar did so, holding him against his chest. There was no sweeter sight, nor one who would warm her heart as much.

Lyanna rested her head against her love's shoulder, listening to their son babble about something that mightily interested him.

Winterfell was not as warm.

[lizzie-queenofmeigas]

—𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

Buffy pressed the gauze against the open wound. Spike moved, hissing the moment the alcohol touched his flesh.

So sensitive for a vampire, she thought amused.

"Ouch" he complained.

"Sorry" Buffy smiled apologetic. She didn't want him to be in pain, but the wound needed treating "Stop moving, you—"

"You don't have to do this, pet" Spike tried to sit straight on the couch "Really, I'm—"

Buffy did not relent.

"Stop it, this wound looks bad you need—"

His hand wrapped around her own. It was warm, no, that wasn't right, he was a vampire. She was warm. Too warm, maybe. Her face did feel on fire.

"Blood. I need blood" he finished for her, though that was not what she wanted to say "I am a vampire, there's no wound a little blood can't heal. Well, except a stake to the heart. Can't heal if I'm dust"

Buffy chuckled, eyes moving to where their hands were joined. To where his hand was still wrapped around hers.

"But maybe you'll heal faster with help"

Spike just smirked.

"Well, far be it from me to stop you, Buffy"

She smiled back. He said her name more, lately. He didn't call her "Slayer" as much as he used to. The change was unexpected, to say the least, but not unwelcomed.

"You never could"

"No one can" there was a glint of something in his blue eyes, something that a few years back would have had her giggling.

If only....

He had comforted her so many times before. And she hadn't. Not really. Why hadn't she?

"Is that a good thing?" Spike squeezed her hand gently.

"Don't doubt yourself"

Buffy thought she could feel her heart beating on her throat.

"I'll get you some blood" he still didn't let go of her hand.

"You don't have to" she still didn't want him to.

"I want to"

[carousel-flight]

Two out of three ain’t bad....

Baby we can talk all night / But that ain't getting us nowhere / I told you everything I possibly can / There's nothing left inside of here

Eyes of chocolate brown and a smile that made my heart pound in my chest. Thinking of your smile still elicits warmth. A memory of playing cards with you at the kitchen table. The delightful giddiness I felt as I watched a blush creep down your neck when someone snapped a picture. My first lanky boy. My first kiss.

And maybe you can cry all night / But that'll never change the way I feel / The snow is really piling up outside I wish you wouldn't make me leave here.

Was it really possible to feel so much while I was so young? I loved you so hard. I loved you without pretense or expectation. I loved you with a pure innocence. I loved you in the only way I knew how – fiercely and completely. When I close my eyes and think of you, I can still feel your hands on my hips, the touch of your lips on mine. The intermingling of our breaths and our fingers twisted together while we held hands.

I poured it on and I poured it out / I tried to show you just how much I care / I'm tired of words and I'm too hoarse to shout / But you've been cold to me so long / I'm crying icicles instead of tears

We danced in the darkness of the room – if you can call the awkward shuffle of feet any sort of dance while we tried to keep a reasonable distance between our bodies and couldn’t figure out where to put our hands. It was innocent and lovely. Until it wasn’t quite so innocent anymore. A private moment in your basement. Stolen, exciting moments of awkward fumbling, hormones racing, panting breaths and forbidden touches. I shut you down. We weren’t supposed to. As much as I hungered for it, for you, I wasn’t nearly ready. It would be the last time I really remember saying no. I remember your face. I remember feeling crushed by the look you gave me. So many emotions. Frustration mixed with anger. Lust mixed with disappointment.

And all I can do is keep on telling you / I want you / I need you / But there ain't no way / I'm ever gonna love you / Now don't be sad / 'Cause two out of three ain't bad /Now don't be sad /'Cause two out of three ain't bad

Was that the reason for the betrayal? I was leaving. Changing schools. You were hurt and angry. Said we could never work. Reason says yes. But why did I decide to hurt you before that even happened? The details aren’t clear to me anymore. It’s been too long. I vaguely remember an invitation to your cottage that never materialized. I’ve learned I can be a terribly vengeful bitch when I’m angry. But I’m not forthright. I would much rather let it simmer under the surface until it thickens. More often than not it thickens into something hot and sensual, because those are the things I’m very good at. Those are the things that get me noticed. Those are the things that bring attention.

You'll never find your gold on a sandy beach / You'll never drill for oil on a city street / I know you're looking for a ruby / In a mountain of rocks / But there ain't no Coupe de Ville hiding / At the bottom of a Cracker Jack box

I don’t remember making the actual decision. I remember the simmering. I remember a glance tossed my way on the bus. I remember thinking I should refuse. But another part of me didn’t care and said yes anyway. I wandered over to another boy that I didn’t necessarily like. That I knew you absolutely didn’t like. How did he feel about the whole thing? I honestly don’t know. I do know that he wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth half of you. My first real expression of self- sabotage even though at the time I thought I was hurting you, I can see it so crystal clear that it hurt me more. It began a long, twisted path of guilt and loathing.

I can't lie / I can't tell you that I'm something I'm not / No matter how I try / I'll never be able to give you something / Something that I just haven't got

I can stand back and look at it now and think that maybe what I meant to do was to be in control. I wanted so desperately for things to be different. I didn’t want things to stop being what they were. I blamed myself but couldn’t tell you. I wanted to control what was happening. I didn’t know how to do that with my words. I didn’t know how to tell you what was written on my heart. I didn’t know how to say the words that would have made you understand. Instead, I chose to shatter everything we had into a thousand shards of glass that still prickle my skin when I reach out to try and touch them today, so many years later.

There's only one girl that I will ever love / And that was so many years ago / And though I know I'll never get her out of my heart / She never loved me back, ooh I know /I remember how she left me on a stormy night / She kissed me and got out of our bed / And though I pleaded and I begged her / Not to walk out that door / She packed her bags and turned right away

Would it matter if I told you that he didn’t care? Would it matter if I tried to take it back? I blamed myself then and probably still do. What I know with absolute certainty is that this song reminds me of you and it always will. It fills me with warmth mixed with melancholy and tugs so hard at my heartstrings. It’s a song I turn to when I need a fulfilling, cleansing cry. I belt the words out loud. I whisper them inside my head. I let the feelings wash over me and the tears fall down my cheeks. And when the song is over, I smile because at the end of it all, I remember two kids so young and yet so desperately in love.

And she kept on telling me / She kept on telling me / She kept on telling me / I want you / I need you / But there ain't no way / I'm ever gonna love you / Now don't be sad / 'Cause two out of three ain't bad / Don't be sad / 'Cause two out of three ain't bad / Baby we can talk all night / But that ain't getting us nowhere

[littlefirefox]

Teaser!

He lept over the terrace railing and onto the ground below, running toward the falling form as fast as he could. It was too late though, the shining orb crashed to the cement pavement before him, millimeters from his outstretched hand.

“GOD DAMMIT!” he bellowed, startling pedestrians. A whirring sound emitted and rewinded the tape. Joshua Parker glared at the suited figure, who kept rewinding those fatal moments. His partner glared daggers into his head, cold, crystal green eyes sat fixated on his right temple. Heels clicked on the linoleum floor of the federal interrogation room. The agent, finished repeating those moments turned and left the room, leaving the couple alone and a waving form of the paused orb, literally grazing Joshua’s hands. Once the door clicked, his partner exploded.

“So, LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT! You LITERALLY held the FATE of ALL HUMANKIND and YOU DROPPED IT?!” She screamed. With red hair matching, the fiery anger running through Scarlet’s veins would literally cause Hades to shy away in fear.

“Yes, Scar, yes! I dropped it. That piece of shit is so damn slippery, matched with wet floors, FBI agents and ridiculous jumps, I’m surprised that I was even able to SURVIVE!” Joshua yelled. Both stood, glaring. A small click sounded, and both whirled around to face the agents.

“While I would love to watch you adolescents continue fighting like children, act like adults and let’s discuss your futures.” He said, a grisly voice matching his hulking form and primed suit and blacked out aviators.

[antiquery]

(june fifth, 1832) and midnight, midnight was always the darkest and the clearest (praying on the roof of the cathedral, balanced between morning and night, city and church, and all of paris below him- how he missed the days of black and white) he remembered midnight the best, even now.

kyrie eleison, kyrie eleison

[antiquery]

pa told me about the people who used to live here, the indians who disappeared. they used to dance, he said, dance like you wouldn’t believe, feet pounding in the rain atop the mesas, drums pulsing to the heartbeat you can feel in the red red earth on still days- oh, it was terrifying to behold. tell me more, papa? what a sight it was to see, my girl, lightning cracking and ripping the stones down to bones, the canyon taking itself to pieces. it was the world falling apart, child; the gods were angriest then. (papa was a poet, a storyteller.) how do you know these things? my grandfather told me, and his grandfather before him. (i used to think that if i watched the western mesa during the summer storms, i might see them- ghosts and shadows, men and gods. but they disappeared a long time ago, ages and ages before, and now there is nothing left to remember them by, save the heartbeat of the red red earth, and the bones left by the lightning.)

- e.h.

[antiquery]

first sentence of a fic: "Elphie.. Elphie.. please listen to me. it wasn't like that. don't you dare fucking walk away, we are talking about this, right here, right now. we've put it off too long." Glinda says to Elphaba with tears in her eyes, as she walks through the door. As Elphaba leaves, Glinda breaks down, realizing she's been through enough.

she closed her eyes.

"fuck!" 

indulgent. ladies weren’t supposed to swear; she certainly knew that. but…there were some occasions that called for it.

she swallowed, hard, and stood up. put her coat on, and her shoes. her hands were shaking.

(stupid! you stupid, stupid girl! you had everything, and now where are you? and all for that boy. was it worth it, making her angry? making her walk out on you?)

she put her hands over her ears. out. she had to get out. 

she raised her chin, picked up her bag, and walked briskly out of the apartment and down the stairs to the street. outside,  it was cold, the city sky dreary and the pavement crunchy with snow. she turned left off of forty-second street, towards the small coffee shop she used to frequent.

"galinda."

she turned, almost to the door.

loose black hair, lumpy gray hat, too- large navy coat- she didn’t look like much, not now, not after that hell of a weekend. she stuck her hands in her pocket and looked down at the pavement.

"i’m sorry."