#frosty paradise

[herbalnature]

A serene winter wonderland, where snow-kissed trees stand tall under a soft sky. It's like a silent ode to the chilly season, don't you think?

[akkivee]

THEYRE ALL HERE

[harmonytre]

I tried out a slime tutorial and really love how this ended up looking!!

[e-m-p-error]

"Excuse me...?"

The voice is timid, and when Vick likes up he'd see who it belongs to. He looks like Alastor, but instead of wearing red clothes and having red and black hair, he's wearing blue clothes and has blue and white hair. His skin is pale blue, and his nose is bright red. He's visibly shivering a bit as he stands a couple feet away, but despite that he's offering a shy smile.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, and I hope this isn't too forward of me," he starts, stuttering fairly badly as he speaks due to the chill he himself is constantly suffering from, "but...you look sad. Do you want some ice cream? That always cheers me up! And I can make any flavor you want! What's your favorite?"

[ Vick ]

"Hm?"

Lifting his head from where it had been resting on his palms, his elbows on his knees as he hunched on the park bench, Vick's antenna sparked.

"May I help you?"

Okay, so maybe he had been moping just a little. His day had been tough at the hotel, and he was worn down. Between a meltdown from a patient at his separate clinic to an offhanded comment from Angel Dust sending him into a panic, he wasn't having a very good day.

"Oh, uh-- No, no, it's-- not too forward. I... Are you sure you'd like to? I'd hate to impose." I can eat a lot of ice cream, "I'm partial to chocolate or chocolate chocolate chip cookie dough, though. I usually just mix chocolate syrup into it."

[milksnake-tea]

━━ to walk amongst the living .

Jade's last words continue to haunt Sunday as he is cast from the heaven of Penacony and goes from a Family Head to a mere traveler. On his journey to fully understand the struggles of mortals, he ends up becoming companions with you, a fellow wanderer.

sunday x gn!reader

contains: post 2.3, written before 2.7, sunday is hinted to have asthma, sunday is trying his best but bro hasn't touched grass in years so he's struggling, hardcore yearning from sunday

word count: 3.1k

a/n: SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL BARKSI RIYGHGUGHU if hyv doesnt give us any crumbs on what he was doing before he runs into us again. EXPLODES

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @tragedy-of-commons , @cakechase , @kiiyoooo , @moineauz

“Achoo!“

The cold was starting to get annoying.

Sunday sighed, biting back his frustration as he wiped his nose with a handkerchief and tugged his scarf to better shield his face. It was a good thing he’d decided to bundle up before leaving Penacony; otherwise, he would’ve already died of pneumonia.

The Planet of Dreams and Festivities was the very definition of a paradise. Everything, from the colors, the sounds, and the temperature was carefully maintained to never be too much or too little.

Sunday did not have such privileges here.

He didn’t remember when the last time he saw snow was. Back home, the closest he’d seen to a natural landscape was the Moment of Oasis, where tourists lounged about on the spectacular beaches - and even then, Sunday hadn’t exactly had time to indulge in such luxuries.

His nose was no doubt red from the cold, and his thighs burned from the long hike he’d decided to torture himself with. Wind battered his hood against his face, occasionally blocking his vision or smacking him. Sunday’s wings instinctively shielded him from the incoming snow that somehow made its way past his hood. He grimaced at the feeling of the ice catching and melting on his feathers, already dreading having to clean them out.

Upon reaching a somewhat flat piece of terrain, he gave himself mercy and allowed himself to stop for a break. His halo, his main weapon against frostbite, glowed gently with a heat not unlike a fireplace as he surveyed just how far he’d traveled.

Mountains upon mountains greeted his gaze, all jagged and covered with the same multi-colored snow that was the staple of this planet. He stood among fallen aurora, and down below, he spied a cluster of bright, warm lights that stood apart from the greens, blues, and purples of the snow: the cities, where he’d first arrived here.

Zastrugi was a planet infamous for its harsh conditions, rivaled only by the recently reintroduced Jarilo-VI. Even so, the people here prided themselves on their resilience, and gladly welcomed those seeking a challenge or a death-defying thrill.

In other words, it was a cemetery of the arrogant and the ambitious, and a perfect fit for Sunday’s current goals. After all, what better way to live a mortal’s life than to endure their struggles?

Sunday looked down at himself. His legs were weak, shaking and trembling from the hike, and no doubt were only kept standing due to adrenaline. His chest burned from haggard breaths, cut again and again from each frosty inhale. His head felt light. He wanted to die.

If this wasn’t suffering, he didn’t know what was.

It was invigorating.

Never before had he felt more alive, with the frost biting at his cheeks and the pain that ransacked his body. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, fighting yet strong and resilient and surviving. A soft smile graced his pale lips as his breath fogged in the air.

How strange, he mused. To find such joy in his own suffering… Was he always this twisted?

“I was wondering when you’d catch up.”

Sunday turned to see you sitting on a rock nearby, snow brushed off of stone so that you could sit without wetting your pants. One of your legs is propped up as you look out at the view, your bored expression proof enough that you’d been sitting there for a while.

You were a fellow traveler he’d met sometime on his travels. Sunday still groaned whenever he remembered your first encounter; he’d gotten swept up in a sudden storm and remembered too late that 1.) he didn’t know how to swim and 2.) his wings were not waterproof. Had you not dove into the raging tide and pulled him out, he would’ve drowned for sure.

Ever since then, you’d accompanied him on his travels - or, rather, he accompanied you on yours. Sunday, with what little he knew of the world outside of Penacony, knew not what his destination was, nor where he should head off to. Your goal was a little more simple - you wanted to see all that was beautiful in the universe.

Even if that meant climbing to the tops of unreasonably steep mountains or camping out in unbearingly hot deserts.

Thankfully, you weren’t opposed to his offer (begging) to join you - on the contrary, you were thankful that he had been the one to say it because in your words, you didn’t know if he would survive if you left him alone by his lonesome.

He still didn’t know what to make of that. For his own pride, he chose to ignore it for the time being.

“Were you waiting long?” he asked, gloved fingers holding the edge of his hood as to keep both it and the snow out of his face. You shook your head, your own hooded cloak flapping in the wind as you looked back out at the view.

“Not as long as I might’ve in the past,” you joked lightly. Sunday breathed a laugh.

Back when he’d first walked alongside you, he’d fought a long and hard battle with his own stamina. It was embarrassing when he thought back on it, how many times he’d have to ask you to stop for a break or even had to be carried by you to the nearest rest stop. Sometimes he wondered why you kept him around, but of course, he never asked.

But he’d grown stronger and more resilient since then, at least, he hoped he did - if not for you, then for his pride.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Your voice was rather wistful as you spoke, a little breathless and hushed, yet clear in the crisp, scarce air. “What do you think? Was it worth it?”

“I’m not so sure,” Sunday tried for a joke of his own - although, he wasn’t all joking. No matter how much he traveled, he could never get used to the feeling of his own breath scraping against his lungs as he heaved for air.

You, intuitive as ever, sighed knowingly. “Sit down. You look as if you’re going to pass out.”

Brushing aside some snow on the rock, you shifted over to make room for him. Gratefully, Sunday fought demons in order to stop his trembling legs from collapsing in from under him as he lowered himself onto the rock. That would’ve been mortifying.

His breath fogged in the air as he sighed, thankful for some rest. Around him, the snowfall was gentle and slow, and as the moonlight from Zastrugi’s two moons caught on each individual flake, ribbons of light came and passed like wisps of smoke.

An echoing click of metal caught his attention. He looked to his side and was greeted with a cloud of steam warming his face. In your hand was a small metal thermos that held what he assumed is either tea or hot water. You gestured for him to take it.

“Drink; you need to warm up before we continue. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you died of hypothermia.”

Sunday breathed his gratitude as he took the thermos. Your fingers brushed slightly, but with the cold, he registered it only after it was gone, and by then it was too late to respond. Still, his heart skipped regardless, and he turned away before he dwaddled too long, thankful for the cold that had already reddened his cheeks.

He blew gently on the liquid within, and took small, careful sips as to not burn his tongue (it’d happened before, and it was humiliating). He was delightfully surprised with the subtle floral tastes of white tea, his favorite. It was obvious that it had been sweetened, and the honey added was just enough so that it satisfied his cravings.

But, as Sunday drank away, the tea warming him from the inside, he thought to himself - he never told you he liked white tea specifically, nor did he ever tell you how much sugar he preferred. How did you know?

Had you, every time you’d taken him to a local cafe or restaurant, watched and observed? Had you remembered, from the few times you’d seen him order or make a drink for himself?

His hold on the thermos faltered as fire rushed to his cheeks. In his chest, under all those layers of cloth and cloaks, a dance unfolded, his heart tip-tapping away, a steady rhythm that was both nerve-wrecking and comforting.

Sunday inhaled deeply, wings fluttering ever-so slightly, and pushed his thoughts away to focus on the tea, nearly burning his tongue in the process. You only raised a brow before returning your sight to the distant city. A comfortable silence enveloped the two of you.

As Sunday gazed down upon the scene, a sharp ache in his sides and a stiffness in his legs, he wondered - was this how Robin felt, when she performed from that grand stage of hers. Sure, the aurora couldn’t compare to the lightshow that accompanied his sister’s concerts, but still - there must be some similarities. Here, at the top of this world, he felt light, as if nothing could ever touch him.

“O chosen one, who dared to exceed his bounds. Sever your wings, descend to the mortal realm, and walk their lands. See what this world is truly like.”

Lady Bonajade’s words rang in his head. Instantly a scowl twisted his features.

He’d never liked the IPC, and he wasn’t going to start now - especially not with a snake like her. He could still hear her taunting voice, that indifferent condescention presented as good-natured pity dampening his mood. There wasn’t much that could truly anger him, but it only seemed natural that it was yet another IPC Stoneheart that managed the feat.

But still, she had been right… much to his chagrin. As much as he hated to admit it, he had flown too high from the people he wished to protect. Even the Astral Express - whom he respected far more than Jade - had made it clear: Know your people before you decide what was right for them.

“What’s on your mind?”

Sunday flinched. You peered at him from behind your hood, face gentle yet your brows were furrowed ever so slightly.

“Ah, I apologize.” He lowered the thermos to his lap. “I was… thinking.”

“I know,” you replied. Shifting slightly so that you could lean back on your hands, you stretched your legs out into the snow. “You do that a lot.”

With a kick, you sent the snow flying into an arch off the cliffside, creating another ripple in the aurora.

“Thinking too much in a place like this… seems like a waste, doesn’t it? Try and take a break from your brain, and just- see. Look at where you are.”

Sunday raised an abdominal wing to block the multi-colored snow from falling into his thermos. Shaking the snow off the twilight feathers, he sighed, staring into what remains of the tea.

You clicked your tongue. Snow crunched, and cloth shuffled, before the cap of the thermos blocked his view. Screwing it closed, you took the thermos from him, a twinge of annoyance tugging at Sunday as he mourned the last bits of tea still left in there.

Before Sunday could complain, however, you beat him to it.

“Don’t give me that look,” you teased lightly. “We’re almost to the top - you can finish your tea there.”

The beginnings of a pout tugged his lip, but with a reluctant sigh, Sunday abided. Pushing off of his knees, he brushed himself off.

“Very well,” he relented, but not without fixing you with a flat stare first. If you saw it, you didn’t say anything, for you had already begun your trek to the mountain’s peak.

The higher you climbed, the harsher the snow became. No matter how beautiful something was, Sunday found that he didn’t care if it was pelting him in the face with as much punch as a bullet. His hood became his shield, and he hurried to keep in pace with you.

Because unlike him, who specialized in Imaginary and Quantum manipulation, you were a master of fire. Your footprints lasted longer than his for the mere fact that you seemed to melt through the snow, and as long as Sunday kept close to you, he wouldn’t be at risk into becoming a popsicle.

But that was easier said than done. Again, you were far more traveled than he was, and as such you moved at a much faster pace despite the melting snow’s attempts at slowing you down. Sunday was already dreading the next morning - he’d have to do a full-body stretch for at least half an hour after this was all done if he wanted his legs to be functionable tomorrow.

Every now and then, you would glance back at him, as if making sure he hadn’t been swept up in an avalanche - which, if it weren’t unfortunately a valid concern, would’ve damaged his already ruined ego. And each time, Sunday would meet your gaze, and offer the tiniest of smiles before returning to his suffering.

By the time you had reached the summit, Sunday was well about to pass out. The air was thinner up here, making it hard to breathe, and his exhaustion did not make things easier. But he had done it, and surprisingly, he had kept in pace with you.

He breathed as much as he could, swallowing what little oxygen he could grasp from the top of the world. A wheeze or two ripped through his lungs. Wordlessly, you pressed his inhaler into his hand, a pat on his back to congratulate him. Sunday nodded his thanks.

Once his medication had done its magic and he no longer had to focus on the struggles of breathing properly, he realized that the world had gone silent. Snow no longer pelted at his face, and the aurora had gone dark.

And then he swept his gaze, and saw the clouds below him. Somehow, without noticing, he’d passed through them, and entered an entirely different plane of Zastrugi. Here, there was nothing but sky, and the stars - real, actual stars, not the false ones created by the snow, danced in nebulae above him.

And there was you, your cloak flapping in the wind as you gazed up at the cosmos. With so little light, he could only see your silhouette, but he has the impression that your back is turned towards him.

You are silent, as you always are when you see new sights. In moments like these, it was as if your breath had been stolen, and it is all you could do to absorb the picturesque scene before you, engraving it into your mind to store for all eternity.

Once, Sunday had expected you to take photos of your journeys, as a memento. But you never did. No, rather, you would stand there, memorizing every little detail, and then return to your temporary home to paint it instead.

And he swore, those paintings were almost always more magnificent than the places they were based on.

Sunday took one last look towards the everlasting cosmos before coming up to your side. Rather than the sky, the image he drank in was you. Your expression was soft, yet awe-struck, much like a child seeing the world for the first time. There was always a sort of melancholy in your eyes, but also a love for everything that he could drown in if you allowed him to.

You loved the world, and it was that love that he adored.

You turned to him, noticing his gaze, and for a moment, it was if time itself had stopped. His breath caught in his throat, and words died on his tongue. All he could do was look into your star-speckled gaze, all the colors of the universe casting their light onto the two of you.

What expression was he wearing, he wondered? A smile, or perhaps… something else?

But then you raised your hand, brushing it against his cheek ever so slightly, and all of those thoughts disappeared.

A smile wove onto your lips. “You had some snow left on you.”

Sunday tried not to miss your hand as it left him. His fingers trace what you had left, his gaze becoming lidded.

“Ah,” he breathed.

The corner of yours eyes crinkle, and you turned to the cliffside. Leaning over slightly, you peered over the edge, the clouds obscuring the true height of the fall. Sunday blinked.

“What are you planning…” he sighed, crossing his arms. You chuckled, turning slightly to meet his eyes.

“One way or another, we have to get down,” you pointed out. Sunday’s expression fell flat.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Your feet toed the edge, sending rocks and snow tumbling down. “You said you wanted to experience life as a mortal to the fullest, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t aware that included throwing oneself off a mountain.”

You shook your head, a grin surfacing. “You’re no fun, Sunday. Don’t you have those wings of yours? What do you have to worry about?”

Sunday’s answer was immediate. “You.”

“How sweet of you,” you commented as he came to besides you. “Well, then, you’ll just have to catch me, won’t you?”

Sunday squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. “[Name], I swear upon all that is good in this world-”

He opened his eyes. You were already gone.

Sunday swore.

Midnight unfolded behind his back, clashing with his white cloak. Without so much as a second thought, he dove into the clouds headfirst, shooting through the sky like a meteor as he searched for you.

The second the fog of the clouds leave, however, he was thrust into a world of color. He fell alongside the snow, and unlike when he was on the mountain itself, he became a part of the aurora. The colors nearly blinded him, if not for the fact that he had his sights set on one thing - your falling figure, so close yet so far.

He tucked his wings as to fall faster. The second he reached you, he grabbed you, arms locking around your waist and pulling you into him, where it was safe.

“You’re a fool,” he scolded as your chest met his. You laughed, throwing your head back to return to the aurora.

“And yet, you saved me all the less.”

Sunday rolled his eyes as your legs wrapped around his waist. His wings returned to their full wingspan, catching the wind and ensuring that your fall didn’t end in a tragedy. He swerved and turned and glided, dodging peaks and keeping his sights on the city.

And all the same, you laughed, nothing short of pure glee in your voice.

And he sighed, fondness squeezing him regardless.

Yes, you were a fool.

But you were a fool he couldn’t help but love.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[verstappensrealwife]

Reclaiming Lost Love - Fernando Alonso x Reader

[fernando alonso masterlist / f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... fernando caves after a breakup, realising he can't live without reader. ʚɞ angst, fluff  ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 1100 words ʚɞ warnings: n/a

-୨♡୧-

The rift between you and Fernando had deepened, a chasm of conflicting desires. He yearned for the sun-drenched shores of a Mediterranean paradise, while you clung to the damp embrace of your homeland, England. Endless debates turned into heated arguments, each word another brick in the wall dividing your once inseparable bond.

One frosty morning, the silence between you became too heavy to bear. You made the agonizing decision to leave, to escape the suffocating grip of disagreement. With a heavy heart, you departed his Spanish abode, leaving behind shattered dreams and a hollow ache.

In the solitude of his home, Fernando's world crumbled around him. The vibrant hues of Spain paled in comparison to the vibrant memories of your laughter echoing through its corridors. The warmth of the Mediterranean sun felt cold against the emptiness in his soul.

As the bleak days of January dragged on, Fernando tried to piece together fragments of his shattered heart. But with February's arrival came a cruel reminder of what he had lost. Valentine's month, a time meant for love, mocked him with its saccharine sweetness.

Determined to mend what was broken, Fernando rehearsed his plea in the mirror, his reflection a ghost of the man he once was. "Go to dinner with me?" Each word dripped with desperation, a plea to bridge the chasm that separated you. 

Despite the bitter cold outside, Fernando's heart burned with a fervent hope as he stood outside your door, ready to lay bare his soul in a final, desperate bid for reconciliation. Flowers wilted in his trembling hands and a box of chocolates in the other, symbols of his futile attempts to win back your affections.

Just as he had steeled himself to knock on the unforgiving wood, the door swung open with a suddenness that startled even him. There you stood, framed in the doorway, your expression a mixture of shock and disbelief. He flinched at the expletive that escaped your lips, the harshness of it contrasting with the softness of your features.

"Jesus fucking Christ!-- Fernando? What are you doing here...?" Your words cut through the air like shards of ice, each syllable a painful reminder of the abyss between you.

For a moment, Fernando faltered, his rehearsed speech evaporating into thin air. He stood there, a lost soul, grappling for words that could bridge the chasm between you. Finally, he managed to croak out, "I... I came to... to beg for another chance."

His voice cracked with emotion, the weight of his longing heavy in the air. As he met your gaze, he saw the walls you had put up, the barriers that kept him at arm's length. But beneath the layers of hurt and anger, he saw something else—a flicker of something he dared to hope was still love.

Fernando's breath caught in his throat as he beheld you, a vision of ethereal beauty standing before him. Despite the passage of time and the weight of your separation, you remained as captivating as ever, a testament to the resilience of your spirit.

"God, how did you manage to get even more beautiful?" he whispered, his voice barely above a reverent breath. His gaze lingered on your parted lips, the brightness in your eyes, and the perfection of every strand of your hair. To him, you were flawless, an embodiment of all he had ever desired. "I miss you," he confessed, his voice a fragile thread woven with longing. "And- and I'd do anything for you, even if that means living here in your sad country."

You couldn't help but snort at his words, a mixture of amusement and disbelief dancing in your eyes. "Always a charmer, are you?" you teased, a hint of affection softening your tone. His shy smile in response only served to deepen the ache in your heart, reminding you of the love that still lingered between you. "I missed you too, but--" you began, your voice trailing off as uncertainty clouded your thoughts.

"Why does there have to be a but?" Fernando's voice was gentle, pleading, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

"Because you might change your mind, Nando," you replied, the tenderness of his nickname slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Nando. The affectionate name held a world of forgiveness, a beacon of hope in the darkness of your doubts.

"Not about this, not about you..." His words hung in the air, a promise wrapped in the warmth of his gaze. Despite the uncertainty that lingered between you, in that moment, you dared to believe him.

-

As the door clicked shut behind you, the warmth of the building enveloped you both like a comforting embrace. But while you basked in the cosy atmosphere, Fernando wasted no time in voicing his next complaint of the heat.

"God, do you ever stop?" you chuckled, watching as he aggressively shook his coat off his arms, as if trying to rid himself of the oppressive heat.

He flashed you a sheepish grin, his cheeks flushed from the sudden change in temperature. "I swear, it's like jumping from one extreme to another," he replied.

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a smile at his antics. "Well, you wanted to experience the joys of living in England," you retorted playfully, a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes. "Consider this a crash course in British weather."

You laughed, the sound filling the air with a warmth that had nothing to do with the building's heating system. 

The playful banter between you and Fernando continued as you shed your coats, the warmth of the building wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. With each shared laugh and teasing remark, the tension that had once hung between you melted away, leaving only a sense of intimacy and affection in its wake.

As Fernando flashed you a sheepish grin, his cheeks flushed from the sudden change in temperature, you couldn't help but feel a surge of fondness for the man standing before you. Despite the trials you had faced and the distance that had threatened to tear you apart, there was something undeniably magnetic about him, something that drew you in like a moth to a flame.

Leaning in closer, you caught the scent of his cologne, a heady mixture of sandalwood and spice that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. His eyes met yours, dark and smoldering with desire, and you knew in that moment that you wanted nothing more than to lose yourself in him.

[tinydefector]

Transformers Energy fluid AU

Request are open

Original taste au is by @callsign-relic

There's alot of stuff over transformers loving the taste of humans, from the sweat of their skin and arousal and this got me thing and I went down a rabbit hole of transformers transfluid taste like Energy drinks. And humans can't get enough of it,

Imagine you're going down on your favourite bot and getting a mouthful, and instead of it tasting God awful, you're just there like. 'Why does that taste like monster Mango loco?' The bots don't really take much notice to it until they realise their partner seems alot more interested in oral with them.

And on that thought, imagine both sides of it, humans tasting amazing to Cybertronians and vice versa.

With that out of the way I present to you my chart of what I believe different bots taste like.

Bulkhead: monster ultra paradise

Megatron: monster Zero Ultra

Rodimus: Ultra peachy keen

Ironhide: monster mule (ginger brew)

Ratchet: Mother Original

Ultra Magnus: monster Zero sugar

Tailgate: monster punch mango loco

Cyclonus: mother Lava guava

Drift, Rung: monster Ultra Gold

Optimus prime, Breakdown: Blue V

Starscream: monster Juiced Khaotic

Pharma: monster Juiced Monarch

Bumblebee: Mother Passion

Prowl: monster Juiced Pipeline punch

Knockout: monster ultra strawberry dreams

Whirl: Mother Epic swell

Swerve: V raspberry lemonade

Soundwave: mother original, zero sugar

Shockwave, Tarn: Mother frosty berry

First-aid: V original

Brainstorm: mother Rainbow Sherbee

Skids: red bull

Mirage: Rockstar Jucied El mango

Perceptor: Rockstar Recovery

Red alert: rockstar Refresh summer fruits

Thundercracker, astrotrain: Rockstar Punched

Thunderclash: rockstar original

Getaway: C4 original

Arcee: Mother Razzle berry

Blitzwing: monster ultra violet

Jazz: rockstar Silver Ice

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk and enjoy, use how you wish.

Let me know if you would like to be added to tag list (tagged for every fic)

[minhosimthings]

From Eden || HJY

Synopsis: You ask your favourite angel, Hyunjin about love. And he has a lot to say on a chilly night.

Pairings: Angel!Hyunjin × demon!fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, biblical themes, Heaven and Hell, ik angels don't technically have genders but I made reader a bit feminine, teensy bit of angst, mention of Han because I love him, VERY poetic, me yapping about love

A/N: whatsup my popsicles your girl's back from her hibernation with Hyunjin because God damn this man has been bias wrecking me so much. Also this is based on Good Omens, so I hope anyone who watched the show notices the details I put in. As always, enjoy!

Song Recs: From Eden by Hozier, My love Mine all Mine by Mitski

I am yours,

The way the sea belongs to the moon,

And the way the moon belongs to the sky.

The cicadas were chirping. It was a beautiful, wintry night.

An angel and a demon lay on a tiny mound in a park.

“Do you ever think about going back up there?”

Your question stuck to Hyunjin’s mind like pollen to a bee. His magnificently outstretched left wing was practically numb now, from bearing your weight on it for so long. But Hyunjin didn't complain.

 After all, he wouldn't have let you lay on wet grass on a frosty November night if his life depended on it; even if he knew that you—as a demon—couldn’t technically feel anything. But as much as you’d tried to convince him of that factual piece of information, he’d rather throw his halo into a river than believe that you had no emotion hiding in you. Hyunjin was a stubborn angel.

Your stubborn angel.

“Not really.” Hyunjin said in a tone almost as soft as his feathers, “Why do you ask?” He pressed a light kiss to the side of your forehead before you could answer, as if wanting to distract you from the topic at hand. You’d understand why. He disliked the idea of talking about it.

“Just….” You trailed off with your sentence, not knowing what reason to give him. Why did you ask him that? 

Hyunjin hummed softly, shifting his legs so that yours could be more comfy. You didn't have the heart to tell him you were just fine in your previous position. In fact you didn't have a heart at all!

That was the common human perception of demons, Hell, Lucifer and all that jazz. But you knew that your boss, Lucifer, was only scary when his new assistant didn't get some paperwork done for souls to enter that paradise that was Hell. 

“Do you remember the first time we met on Earth?” Hyunjin suddenly asked you, his eyes still gazing up at the painting of the starry sky hanging above you.

“Of course I do.” You laughed gingerly. You vividly remembered the first time you had met Hyunjin.

Five Years Ago

 Contrary to popular belief, demons or—as you liked to call yourself—fallen angels, actually didn't like wrecking stuff and destroying everything in their path. You just had to trip people on the sidewalk every now and then and occasionally make a deal with a naive human who stumbles across a cross-road. Most of the time, you were stuck doing paperwork.

So there you were, on a fine November’s evening, strutting down a nice little street in your very cliche all-black outfit, when you abruptly stopped in your tracks in front of an art supply store. It wasn't the Studio Ghibli-esqueness of the shop that made you stop or the fact that the most beautiful paintings of flowers lined the big windows. 

It was the familiar celestial energy that was practically leaking out from the shop.

The energy only got ‘louder’ as you entered the shop, having lost the battle to your curiosity. You knew this feeling well enough to figure out that there was an angel or perhaps even God themselves hiding in this store. Turning into a corner, which was lined with shelves of paints of all sorts, you stopped in your tracks, when you lay eyes on the only other living being in the shop.

It was a tall, long-haired man, wearing a black worker’s apron over a white shirt and beige pants and restocking some empty shelves. Perhaps the most beautiful man you had ever laid your eyes on. But you knew better than to strike up a conversation with him.

He was no ordinary man, from the looks of the golden halo floating above him, something only you could see very faintly. 

Angels and Demons who get stationed on Earth are warned very strictly not to interact with each other. Not even so much as a glance if they accidentally reach for the last cupcake at a bakery. Hell and Heaven's monitoring systems were the best in the universe. But perhaps they were lying about that.

Because no sudden flash of death-inducing lightning struck you or the angel when he turned his eyes to you in the store and said with a sweet smile, “I can see you staring, you know.”

To say it in simple words, you were practically awestruck when you saw him face-front. It was a face which was….eerily familiar. Beautifully familiar. Like a face from a memory you had chosen to rewrite. His beautiful hair fell perfectly onto his face, framing it in such a way that all his features stood out. With eyes that stood proud yet gentle, like a stream by a forest, and lips that looked as if they could heal anything with a single kiss, one could say that he looked angelic.

“What are you looking to buy today?” He asked you as if you two were nothing more than mere humans, “The oil paints perhaps?”

“No…” You said with uncertainty, “I’m sorry I barged in, I just…” You paused, studying his features even more, why was he so familiar? “I thought I saw someone I knew.”

He smiled again, his eyes forming half-moons at you. “Don’t worry, the shop has a spell around it.” Then as if to certify his point, he said in a childish whisper, “Neither Hell nor Heaven will find us here.”

“Oh.” You said simply, not knowing what else to say. You slipped your hands into the pockets of your coat and considered him for a while. Then you slowly walked towards him, feeling warmer and warmer as you did. 

“Y/N.” You extended your hand, “Former angel of creation, collector of souls and occasional deal maker.” This was perhaps the boldest act you’d ever performed ever since you fell into Hell, “Oh and I like plants.”

“Hyunjin.” He took your hand in his and shook it formally, “I own this shop.” His gaze was locked on yours, never once wavering, “I’m an angel of Heaven.” He finished the sentence with such gusto that you were sure wind was blowing inside the store.

“Yeah I got that figured.” You said curtly, “I just wanted to ask—” You took a deep breath before speaking, “Have we ever…met before? I mean you just seem so familiar for some reason.” You let out a forced laugh, “I’m sorry if we haven't. It's just that I don't remember anything that happened before—” You stopped briefly, you hadn't talked about it much, “before my fall.” 

You noticed the way Hyunjin’s face dropped for only a second or two before he went back to his calm gaze. “No worries.” He said cheerily, “I don’t have a really good memory either so we can just start over from now.” 

As an angel of Heaven, a loyal servant of God and Humanity, Hyunjin hated lying. His honesty proved to be as useful as it was dangerous. For example, Hyunjin had gained one of his best friends, Jisung, when he kindly albeit bluntly stated that beige would be a horrible colour for Jisung to paint on a rock album’s cover. After a few hours of debating, in which many noise complaints were involved, Hyunjin had gained a human friend for the first time. He knew Jisung wouldn't live for as long as he would, but it didn't matter. Hyunjin loved the company.

Of the three lies he had spelled in his entire life, this was one of them. You were the second angel he had lied to. Well, fallen angel.

He, in fact, had a terrific memory. And he distinctly remembered the time he first set his eyes on you 

After a few days of the Universe’s creation, he had been ordered by Gabriel to bring you forth. They alleged that you had been far too creative in your matters of creation–and too curious as well. God didn't create curiosity for the angels.

After a few hours of drifting through the vast caves of the newborn Universe, Hyunjin spotted an angel of high ranking standing stagnant before what appeared to be a large canvas of infinite, colourful, space. 

Your wings were spread high and mighty, beautiful feathers of gold and silver silhouetting an excited figure. You were rushing your fingers about in orchestral movements. Every flick of your finger brought forth a string of rainbow colours that burst forth into one or the other star in front of you.

Angels were not meant to have feelings. It was something that only the lowest of 

organisms—humans—had. Atleast, that was what Hyunjin was taught.

But something inside him stirred when he set his eyes on you.

(Was it hatred? You’d broken the Rule of Heaven with your curiosity. Hyunjin loved rules.)

 Your sparkling eyes, filled with far more stars than any galaxy that surrounded him, captivated him. You looked like one of those things that the humans did, what was it called? Perhaps it was called a painting, but Hyunjin's memory disappointed him for the first time. He took a deep breath and flew towards you, his mind frantically racing as to how he’d tell you that you had apparently failed God.

“Ahem.” He had said, trying not to seem too overenthusiastic, “Excuse me?” 

Hyunjin couldn't find a word to describe your appearance when you turned towards him. He described the moment to you eons later—in a heated argument of betrayal and trust that shook the very Earth itself—as the most beautiful thing he had seen since his birth.

“Oh hello there!” You had responded, not waiting for the angel’s response as you beckoned him to come and stand by your side, “Come look! This is always my favourite part.”

‘Favourite part’ evidently meant the stream of colours that had just erupted in front of you both, some rushing off rapidly in different directions, while some lay still joining together to form a nebula. Hyunjin had seen the creation of nebulae before, but this one was exceptionally magnificent to look at.

“That's…amazing.” Hyunjin breathed out, his eyes widening by the minute as he stared at the dance performance in front of him. You stood with a smug smile on your face.

“I’m quite proud of it actually.” You grinned at him, “I love making nebulae the most. Don't get me wrong though, I still like galaxies!” You threw him a wink, to which he sheepishly smiled

“I don’t see the point in nebulae much though.” He mumbled, trying to make conversation, “I mean, a poor star has to die in order to make such a divine formation.” He motioned towards the theatre of colours in front of you, “It seems odd doesn't it? For death to be so beautiful a thing?”

“I dont think it's odd.” You said, tilting your head, your gaze fixed on his, “I think it's a lovely thing. That the star, which was so beautiful in its first life—” You turned your head back towards the nebula and smiled wide, “—is allowed to be so beautiful in its second one as well.” You grinned with all your teeth this time, “Makes me wonder about all those humans down there on Earth. I think they’re rather lucky to have a life which is short, don't you think? They get to appreciate love better.”

“Appreciate it?” Hyunjin asked, feeling a creeping emotion cling to his wings. Did curiosity always feel this amazing?

“Of course! Loving is practically what anyone would—and should—live for!” You said in the same cheery tone, “Love wasn't made to be locked up in some cage and fed a beggar’s meal all day like Heaven thinks! Absolutely not!” Your eyes shone with determination, “Love was created to be talked about. Asked about. It was made to be yearned for, cried after and laughed about. Love, I think, took God the longest time to make. It would be hard, wouldn't it?” Your eyes softened, “To make something that is to be given so tenderly and felt so violently.” 

Hyunjin drew in a sharp breath at your words. He didn't comprehend the concept of love that well, having only been taught that it is a dangerous thing. Now he mused on what danger might feel like.

“Personally I think we angels should be allowed to live a mortal life at least once in this infinitely dreary life-span of ours. I do love the idea of love so much and maybe we’ll learn to appreciate warmth once in a while. Heaven does get so cold.” You laughed.

“So it’d be like some sort of mission?” Hyunjin asked, cocking his head to the side. You stared off into the distance for a while before answering, your eyes wider than ever before.

“Oh I have such a brilliant idea!” You said, radiant joy lacing every word you said, “Why haven't I ever thought about it ever before?”  You noticed the dark-haired angel staring at you in confusion before you started to explain, “Why don’t we suggest to Gabriel and everyone else to have a few angels be posted down on Earth?” You looked around you frantically, before your far-seeing eyes landed on a tiny blue dot floating about its own space, “So we can keep an even better check on them.” You smiled widely, before looking at Hyunjin and making an excited sound, “I should go right now if I want to catch Gabriel at a good time.”

Your wings seemed to have understood your excitement, as they fluttered rapidly, at the prospect of going down to the planet you and a few others had designed so carefully. A planet that was neither too hot nor too cold. A planet filled with your favourite creations of God. A planet that was just right. 

“Oh I never asked.” You snapped your gaze to him, “What is your name?”

Right. He never told you his name. What an idiot you are Hyunjin, he scolded himself, getting distracted by pretty angels.

“Hyunjin.” He said, bowing his head, “My name is Hyunjin.” 

“I’m Y/N.” You said, bowing your head back, your lucent halo shining so brightly in Hyujin’s face. He already knew your name. He had to bring you to Gabriel in chains.

“Well I’m off to Gabriel’s.” You said, “Thanks for the idea, Hyunjin!” 

Hyunjin never thought his name could sound so harmonious. So melodic, full of stories. A captivating name.

He relished that moment endlessly, all the while trying to suppress the carnal hunger within him that wanted to speak to you again. To explain all his thoughts and ask every question residing in his non-existent heart. He had that feeling that you’d know the answer to each of them. But he wouldn't have the opportunity to do that for a very long time.

A couple thousand years to be precise. 

In a paint store. 

Out in the middle of nowhere and yet in the middle of everything. 

Time always seemed faster to you after you became a demon. The same old routine—though it tired you out—seemed to continuously keep you on your toes. You couldn't remember the last time you looked up at the stars. For some reason unknown to you, you had always felt a special sort of connection to them, as if they were your own creation. You could always retrace your footsteps at night, feeling the warm splutters of light being shaped like soft clay in your hands. And then you’d forget it all by the morning.

It was only a dream, you’d surmise, demons don’t get dreams though.

But the dream you had that day was one you’d never dare to forget. 

The dream in which you stumbled upon a faintly familiar (absolutely gorgeous) angel, brought a few weird looking paints called gouache, realised you knew nothing about painting, and took up the angel’s offer to teach you.

The dream in which your colorless penthouse apartment held a little more colour when Hyunjin stepped into it, with a canvas and an easel and another home-stitched apron made just for you. A white one with tiny black cats on it. He always despised the fact that angels couldn't also turn into any animal they wanted. He wanted to be a snow-coat ferret. 

And the dream in which a sin was committed, a sin greater than when Eve sunk her teeth into God’s most precious jewel.

It didn't matter though. You weren't struck by Heaven’s lightning.

Just sweetly kissed on your forehead by Hyunjin as you both lay in bed, silently wrapped in each other’s arms tightly, afraid the other would float away if you let go.

“I think I want to love you.” Hyunjin said, "I think I really want to love you."

Love was for humans, not angels and demons.

"I think I do too." You said, breathing in his scent. It was the same old crisp smell of paint and a bit of something else. Rain maybe? Or was it pine? There were some traces of old paper as well but you thought—

"I love you, Y/N." Hyunjin exhaled shakily, "I love you so much." 

Love was not meant for demons.

"I love you so much too, Hyunjin."

Present

"How could I ever forget the time we met?" You chuckled, cuddling closer to Hyunjin. His warmth made you want to sleep so bad, but you persisted. Anything to complete a conversation with your favourite angel.

"I think that was the day I made up my mind to never leave Earth." Hyunjin said slowly, tentatively almost, “That was the day I found something—” He smiled, and closed his eyes, taking a breath in before continuing, “—that made me want to love again.”

“It's funny.” You chuckled, admiring a distant red star in the sky, “People would usually end that sentence with ‘live again’.” You sighed, the red star glistened again, “But we’re not people are we?” You nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck.

Hyunjin’s arm beneath your neck slightly shifted, causing you to press your nose into his chest instead. Angels smell like rain, you thought. His breathing slowed down and you could hear the cogs in his brain turning. My angel smells like paint.

“Would you like to be human?” Hyunjin asked hesitantly. The constellation of Cassiopeia was particularly bright tonight, with her five stars reminding everyone of the downfall due to vanity. You shifted again, not saying anything. The same silence remained hanging in the air for a few minutes, with the two of you just taking in each other’s mellowness. And then you spoke.

“What do you think about love, Hyunjin?” You asked him, for perhaps the fifteenth time in five years. Every time he had been confronted with that question, he’d either never answer it or find a way to flirt with you. But he couldn't escape now, you thought. He was trapped in between your arms and your attack of a thousand tickling kisses was notorious for its ability to—

“Love…..” He started, “is practically what anyone would—and should—live for.” You tilted your head curiously up at him and he began to narrate.

“Somebody once told me that, you know?” He laughed, “Back in heaven. She loved the idea of love so much, she gave me an entire speech about it.” He cleared his throat dramatically.

“Love wasn't made to be locked up in some cage or thrown onto the streets.” His eyes seemed to gleam, “Love was created to be talked about. Asked about. It was made to be yearned for, cried after and laughed about. Love  took God the longest time to make.” It would be hard, wouldn't it?” His eyes softened down at you, as he pressed the umpteenth kiss of the night to your skin, “To make something that is to be given so tenderly and felt so violently.” 

 Those words…..why were they so familiar?

“But I think I disagree.” Hyunjin said again, saving you from the task of replying, “As much as I liked that idea back then, I think I find it a bit incorrect now that I know more about love.”

“It's not like you to disagree on most things.” You smiled to yourself. Though Hyunjin did like giving his own opinions very honestly, he didn't like to disagree or argue over other people’s choices. Unless it was his mortal friend Jisung of course. Hyunjin chuckled and raised his hand up to touch the sky. You followed his outstretched finger to where it was pointing and your gaze stopped on something. 

A nebula.

Though you were a demon, you were still technically a celestial being. So your vision stretched about as far as the Aries constellation’s multitude of galaxies. And maybe even farther. You didn't know though. You were far too lazy to waste your energy on peering at the sky. 

“You know that angel who told me about love?” Hyunjin dropped his hand back down onto the soft grass, “She was creating a nebula when she said that.” 

Hyunjin shifted to lay on his side, his wing beneath you stretching to adjust to the new position. He fluttered his eyes from your eyes to your lips, admiring all of your features in the process. You felt warmth cloud your cheeks and ears. He always did that to fluster you, and it was a battle you could never win. 

Reaching out a hand, he cupped your cheek in his palm. You melted into his touch and closed your eyes, relishing the moment like a touch starved human.

If this was what being human felt like, then you wanted to be human. 

“I think love is like a nebula.” Hyunjin said in a crooning voice, “Nebulas are created by the death of a star right?” He started to explain, amused at your confused expression, “When the star dies, those wisps of starstuff come together again to form something so beautiful, something which can support another galaxy, something that is as pretty as that late star.” He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again, you could clearly see the mole beneath his eye, “That's what love is, I think.” 

You shifted in your place onto your side, and took him in—his words and his beauty. By God were both of them absolutely gorgeous. 

“Love is eternal.” Hyunjin’s voice was an early morning mist, “Love is something that can never truly die out, no matter what. It's those little things that we do without realizing it was the habit of someone in our past. It's the fact that we are all just made up of starstuff and little bits of someone else’s soul. In a way we are also nebulas, don't you think?” He brushed a strand of hair back behind your ear, his hands were still warm in the cold night’s air, “I think love is a mystery which shouldn't be solved. Just embraced.” You blinked, feeling the mellowness of him and for a moment, you thought it was a dream.“I don't think love should be felt violently. Just….warmly.”

His solid form pressed into you, the familiar rise and fall of his breath. Your fingers resting gently on his chest, and the sense of closeness sent a rush of feelings that almost hurt. Your mind spun as you tried to recall your memories as an angel. Were you the one who had told him about love?

Hyunjin looked at you, at the faint crease between your brows as if he were afraid to lose you again. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he allowed himself to think for a moment—just a moment—that an angel and a demon could defy the rules set by the one who created them. If God didn’t want love to exist between Hell and Heaven’s soldiers, then damn Them, Hyunjin thought.

“If love is a nebula…” You softly hummed, eyes flickering to his lips every now and then, “...that means it's always changing right?” Hyunjin nodded, taking note of the teasing expression on your face and taking his eyes down to the grass instead, “Then I think I want love to be us.”

In that second heartbeat of silence, Hyunjin looked up, his eyes blazing with passion, and before either of you could think, you pulled him by the neckline of his hoodie, your lips crashing onto his with a desperate intensity that left no room for doubt.   

Your breaths mingled, Hyunjin could see the flicker of longing in your gaze, the vulnerability you’d always tried to hide. With a hum, he closed the distance between your bodies, capturing your lips again with a tenderness that held nothing but love, both of you melting into the intensity of the moment. 

“Love is us.” You said, after pulling away from the brief moment of passion, “I think love is nothing but us.”

“An angel and a demon?” Hyunjin asked, his lips faintly pinkish and his cheeks even more so.

You shook your head, “A star and another star.”

Hyunjin laughed heartily and nodded, “A star and another star it is then.” He pressed his lips to your forehead, “Love is us.”

The cicadas were chirping. It was a beautiful, wintry night.

Two stars lay on a tiny mound in a park.

And even if the jealous stars

Break and shatter upon the milky way,

I will still see Heaven in your eyes.

[lina-vas-dom]

Надо посуду вымыть, а тянет разбить. Это отчаянье, Господи, а не лень. Как это трудно, Господи, — век любить. Каждое утро, Господи, каждый день. Был сквозь окно замерзшее виден рай, тусклым моченым яблоком манила зима. Как я тогда просила: «Господи, дай!» - На, — отвечал, — только будешь нести сама. /Наталья Хаткина

I have to wash the dishes, but I want to break them. It's despair, Lord, not laziness. How hard it is, Lord, to love for an age. Every morning, Lord, every day. I could see heaven through the frozen window, and through the frosty window I could see paradise. How I begged then: ‘Lord, give it to me!’ - Na,’ he answered, ’only you will carry it yourself. /Natalya Khatkina

[ncis-nerd]

Sweet Troubles

Ship: Wives WandaNat || Future WandaNat x Reader (Not in this Chap) || Wives WandaNat & OC daughter (Masie)

About: Wanda and Natasha's home life and their sweet little angel Masie! Natasha is gone for evening and it's just Wanda and Masie. Until Natasha comes home! Fluffy domestic wives with a young child!!!

Warnings: Fluff, Christmas season, kissing, relationship troubles, arguing (??), trouble in paradise but they have healthy communication and talk through it, massaging, suggestive themes at the end.

christmas au

The fireplace roared as the little blonde girl picked up her blue crayon. Wanda sighed softly, watching Masie sitting at her little Disney princess table and swinging her feet. The young girl picked up a cookie from her Christmas plate, biting on it as crumbs fell down. Wanda hummed softly, closing her eyes for a moment. “Chestnut roasting on an open fire” filled her ears, as her Christmas vinyl played faintly from the other room.

Masie brought her cup of milk up to her mouth as the door opened. “Mommy!!” Masie exclaimed as she arose from her pink chair, immediately running into the Russian's arms. Natasha dropped all the bags in her arms, “дорогой!” She carried Masie in her arms, peppering her in kisses.

“Mommy!!” Masie giggled, squirming in Natasha's arms. “Ты была хорошей девочкой для своей матери, моя маленькая любовь?” Natasha asked Masie, placing the little girl in her and Wanda's lap. “Hi my love,” Wanda whispered, moving closer to her wife and bringing her lips to the Russian's forehead, leaving a kiss. 

“Mhm!! Right Mama?” Masie nodded, looking up at Wanda. “Yup, the best girl.” Wanda smiled, wrapping her arms around the young girl. Wanda loved that her daughter was able to understand Natasha's native language. Wanda loved her little family. But deep down, there was that feeling, like something was missing. But she couldn't put her finger on it.

“Wans” Natasha spoke, capturing her attention. Natasha's eyes met her wives but it felt as if they were a million miles away. “Where'd you go, love?” Natasha said, her eyes filled with nothing but love and concern. 

"Nowhere, I'm just thinking about Christmas..” Wanda's voice appeared in Natasha's head. Wanda's hand intertwined with Natasha's. “Love–” Natasha's voice echoed as Masie squirmed out of their lap, returning to her coloring page.

“Can we not speak about this right now, please” Wanda responded, once again projecting her thought into Natasha's head. Natasha nodded, taking the hint to change the subject.

“So Masie…Do you know what you want for Christmas from me and mama?” Natasha hummed, reaching for the television remote. She turned on Frosty the Snowman for them to watch.

“Mommy, I love this movie!!” Masie jumped up excitedly, nearly falling in the process. Natasha frowned “Careful, sweetheart. Don't want you getting hurt, now do we. Either sit at your table and continue your coloring or come join mama and me on the couch, baby.” Natasha said sternly. Masie took her seat at her pink Disney princess table. 

“For Christmas, I want the Winter Wonderland Sweet Sally dolly please mama and mommy!” Masie thought for a moment.

“Alright angel. Is that all you want, baby?” Wanda nodded, making a mental note to search up what exactly that is.

Masie nodded as a quiet yawn escaped her mouth. “Did you hear that, Nat?” Wanda spoke, rising from the couch. “Well, I believe I did, Wans” Natasha spoke, also standing up. “I think it might be someone's bed time?” Wanda inched closer to Masie who was starting to get tired. 

“Noo” Masie whined softly. “And why not?” Natasha spoke, kneeling down to meet Masie's level. “Not done.. Coloring” Masie yawned. “Well, someone's getting sleepy. You can finish your coloring in the morning, lovebug.” Natasha hummed, lifting Masie. Masie tucked her head in Natasha's neck.

Natasha carried Masie to her bedroom and laid her in her princess bed. Natasha turned on Masie's nightlight and placed a kiss on Masie's forehead before pulling the covers over her. “Momm..mommy.. song..” Masie yawned.

Natasha has had a routine of reading Masie a story, singing her a song some nights, and lulling her to sleep in Russian. 

“Of course, little love” Natasha nodded. “и у мамы есть ты. вы в безопасности и вам не о чем беспокоиться. закройте глаза и мечтайте об овцах и кроликах.” Natasha hummed softly, as Masie's eyes fluttered closed. Natasha placed one final kiss on Masie's head before shutting the door quietly.

Natasha returned to the living room, only to be greeted with an empty room. The television turned off and Masie's plate gone.

Wanda sighed softly, rubbing her temple. Natasha's arms wrapped around her, Wanda jumped, not detecting the Russian entering the kitchen. “детка” Natasha sighed, her hands massaging Wanda's shoulders. Wanda groaned softly.

“What is bothering you? And do not tell me it's nothing because I can see your mind is elsewhere.” Natasha spoke. “Okay” Wanda sighed.

“I don't–” Wanda paused. Natasha held Wanda's hand, squeezing it softly. “You know I love you and Masie so, so much. More than anything else on this planet. But it just feels like something is missing.” Wanda sighed.

“I understand, I get what you mean. You and Masie are the best thing to happen to me, and I am so glad I get to be that little girl's mommy and your wife, but I also have the feeling, deep down. I don't know how to place it.” Natasha nodded, sighing softly.

“So we'll do it. We'll place it. Let's try to find the root cause because I love you Natasha. I love you so much and I am so grateful that you get to be the mommy of my- our daughter and I don't want anything to change or affect that.” Wanda whispered, turning around to meet Natasha’s gaze.

Natasha’s lips met Wanda’s. “I love you so fucking much,” Natasha moaned. Wanda kissed Natasha’s neck. Natasha groaned softly, her hand traveling down to Wanda’s sides. 

Translation (google translation):

▪︎ дорогой - sweetheart

▪︎ Ты была хорошей девочкой для своей матери, моя маленькая любовь? - Were you a good girl for your mama, my little love?

▪︎ и у мамы есть ты. вы в безопасности и вам не о чем беспокоиться. закройте глаза и мечтайте об овцах и кроликах. - and mom has you. you are safe and have nothing to worry about. close your eyes and dream of sheep and rabbits.

▪︎ детка - babe

a/n: A snippet of Wanda and Natasha's backstory, there is more to their history but that will be revealed as the story proceeds. This is taken in place before Reader first sees Wanda and Natasha. A little bit of context about our lovely two wives. Next part will be focused more on the wives and reader's interactions/first officially meeting.

previous part

[herbalnature]

A serene winter wonderland, where trees wear a thick blanket of snow. It's a peaceful scene that whispers the magic of the chilly season.

[purgatoryfm]

source

[harmonytre]

Frostie won Featured Character, so I drew this to thank everyone for drawing her! It's also a more accurate reference to her design!

[chicgeekgirl89]

Summary: While responding to a multi-car pileup, Carlos is involved in an accident that leaves him fighting for his life. A/N: This was a request from @rubinsteinsilva126. They requested: I’d want a Carlos Whump story! Carlos getting injured, riding in the ambulance that TK responds to the call of, and then TK later holding Carlos in the hospital bed because Carlos was in pain and needed comfort 🥺 (Also, they requested this almost a literal year ago. So I am no longer taking requests because I am clearly bad at following through on them! 😂)

Read on AO3

T.K. does not want to be at the scene of a multi-car pileup. T.K. doesn’t want to be at work in general today. What T.K. wants is to be at home, in his bed, with the covers pulled up over his head, his moody playlist blasting in his ears.

But unfortunately his work schedule doesn’t care about his feelings in the slightest and instead he’s arriving in an ambulance at said multi-car pileup in the middle of the highway.

And his husband is here. Because of course he is.

T.K. spots Carlos directing traffic around the accident as soon as they pull up in the rig. Usually this would be a delight. Usually he would smile and wave and feel a rush of joy at seeing Carlos during a call. There’s something special about working together to save lives. 

But today he is not thrilled.

“Oh look, there’s Carlos,” Nancy says as they jump down from the rig and start gathering supplies. “Are you going to go say hi?”

At that moment Carlos sees them, his eyes locking with T.K.’s. Neither of them smile and after a second Carlos looks away, focusing on directing a blue Toyota around the mangled mess of cars.

“Well that seemed a little frosty,” Tommy says as she steps up next to them.

“Frosty? That was downright arctic,” Nancy says, eyeing him curiously. “Trouble in paradise?”

T.K. shifts the backpack on his shoulders, annoyed at how the straps are already digging into him after only a few seconds. “Carlos and I,” he says testily, “are in a fight.”

“Well that explains it,” Nancy says with a roll of her eyes. “You’ve been grouchy all day.”

“No I haven’t,” T.K. snaps back at her in annoyance. The only thing worse than being pissed off at your husband is having your friends point out that you’re pissed off at your husband.

“Sweetheart if looks could kill we’d both be dead,” Tommy says gently. “Several times over.”

“Well I’m—” T.K. huffs, “I’m mad at him.”

“Yeah that doesn’t mean the rest of us should have to suffer,” Nancy says. “What are you so mad at him about?”

T.K. turns his hands into fists, squeezing them tightly as all the feelings of the last twenty-four hours bubble just underneath the surface of his control. “He keeps turning the thermostat down.”

Tommy and Nancy both blink at him. When they don’t speak he presses on. “I turn it up and the next thing I know I come back out and it’s turned down again. It’s like he doesn’t even care about climate change at all!”

“Haven’t you two lived together for like, a long time now?” Nancy asks. “Shouldn’t you have worked out the temperature of your living space at this point?”

“We had to replace the thermostat last week,” T.K. says. “It’s all different now.”

“I understand that must be frustrating, but I’m not sure it’s worth having a fight about,” Tommy says.

“That’s not the only thing,” T.K. continues. “It’s the pillows.”

“The pillows?” Nancy asks.

“He buys allllll these throw pillows and puts them all over the place, but guess what? Are we allowed to touch them? Lean on them? Use them for what they’re intended for? No. Why? Because they’re ‘decorative’ and if I lean on them they’ll ‘lose their shape.’ Isn’t that insane? Why do we have them if we can’t use them?”

“Okay, yes, that does seem kind of annoying,” Tommy says, but T.K. is on a roll, and now that he’s started airing his grievances to the public he can’t seem to stop.

“Also he got his hair cut too short last time!” he gripes, glaring at the back of his husband’s head.

“Um, his body his choice dude,” Nancy says.

“I know that!” T.K. says with a scowl. “But he knows how much I like his curls and he didn’t even tell me he was going to do it, he just showed back up at the loft looking like a sheep after shearing!”

He can hear the words they’d hurled at each other even now, as if he’s reliving them.

T.K. had come out of his shower, still toweling off his hair when he’d heard the whoosh of the AC system kicking on. Eyeing the thermostat on the wall he’d sighed. “Seriously Carlos?” he’d said, turning to look at his husband, who was reading in their bed.

“What?” Carlos asked in confusion.

“You turned the thermostat down. Again.”

“Yeah…” Carlos said slowly. “It was getting stuffy in here.”

“You know that air conditioning is a big part of the issue with our carbon footprint.” This shouldn’t have been a big deal to him, but T.K. had come from a meeting grumpy and in the mood for a fight.

Carlos set his book down and scoffed. “I don’t think using the air conditioning that was built into our home long before we moved in is that big of an issue T.K. We live on the top floor. Heat rises. It gets warm up here without it on.”

“Then open a window.”

Carlos bristled, rising to the bait T.K. was laying out for him.“It’s ninety five degrees outside! The air is so stagnant out there it’s like opening an oven door! Why are you freaking out about this?”

“I’m not freaking out, I’m just asking you to think about the environment and our electric bill!”

“Our electric bill is fine! What do you want me to do, plant a tree every time I turn the temperature down a degree?”

“That would be a start.”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “It’s my home too T.K. I should be allowed to have a say in it.”

“Oh, like I have a say with the throw pillows?” T.K. snapped.

“That’s totally different!”

“How Carlos? How is it different? You want to use the air conditioning, I want to use the throw pillows. It’s exactly. the. same.” He gestured sharply with his hand to emphasize his point.

“Because the air conditioning doesn’t lose shape and color when you lean against it! I picked them all out, I’d like them to stay nice so that when people come over they don’t look like shit!” Carlos’ eyes flashed dangerously, a sign that he was well and truly pissed off.

“You think our friends are judging us for our misshapen throw pillows? Wow you really are a control freak.” 

“You don’t care if our friends think our home is nice?”

“I really don’t.” That wasn’t true, but it felt good to say it in the moment.

Carlos rolled his eyes.“Okay. Sure. Next time we have game night we’ll just let our all friends sit against lumpy, flattened pillows.”

“Do you not hear how insane that sounds?!”

“Oh, is it as insane as keeping mealworms in our refrigerator next to our food so they last longer?”

T.K. gapes at him. “You said it was fine!”

“I said it was fine. I didn’t say I liked it,” Carlos said, his lips pressing together into a thin line.

“So you’d rather Lou II starve? Is that what you want?”

“No, of course not T.K.! It is unbelievable to me that you would even say that after all I’ve done for that stupid lizard!”

They’d gone on for another fifteen minutes before descending into frosty silence after T.K. declared he hated Carlos’ new haircut. Both of them refused to move to  the couch so they laid angrily next to each other until they fell asleep. The silence had persisted through the morning as they readied for work, ending in a terse, “Love you, be safe,” from both of them before they headed out the door.

“You’re comparing your husband to a sheep?” Tommy asks, an amused smile on her face.

“Yes!” T.K. gripes. “And that’s not all. He also—“

There’s a screech of tires and a car, a silver Honda, pulls out of the line of vehicles that are waiting to pass the accident and tries to zoom around them. Time slows and T.K. sees what’s about to happen and realizes there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

The Honda clips Carlos and sends him spinning, his body whirling like a top before he collapses to the ground, unmoving. 

“CARLOS!” His husband’s name tears from his lips and T.K. is running before he can think, feet flying over the ground to reach Carlos’ side. He skids to a stop and drops to his knees, backpack falling to the ground beside him.

Carlos is flat on his back, eyes wide, mouth gaping as a harsh, rasping sound escapes from his chest. He looks shocked, terrified, and T.K. can tell his own face is a mirror of the same horror. “Carlos, Carlos, hey, hey talk to me,” T.K. babbles out, hands hovering, afraid to touch, all his training completely gone from his mind as panic takes over.

“T.K.” His name comes out on a whimper and T.K.’s heart shatters inside of his chest. He’s never heard Carlos make such a terrible sound in his entire life.

The world around him feels like it’s moving through sludge, everything slow, muffled out of focus. The only thing he can see is Carlos’ pained expression. And then there are hands on T.K.’s back and everything snaps into real time as Nancy and Tommy join him on the ground.

“T.K. back up,” Tommy says sharply. “Give us some room to work.”

T.K. shuffles back awkwardly, hands clenching into the knees of his uniform pants to stop them from shaking. 

“Carlos, baby, where are you hurting?” Tommy asks as she takes scissors to Carlos’ uniform shirt.

“My…chest…” The words barely come out, strung together on forced gasps that sound terrible and painful. “Leg…”

“He’s not moving air,” Nancy says, a stethoscope pressed to Carlos’ chest. “I think it’s a pneumo Cap.”

“Okay, we’ll have to decompress him,” Tommy says. “Grab the kit. And a splint, he’s got a tibia fracture in his left leg.”

“On it.”

It’s all moving so fast, everything a blur, and T.K. is struggling to keep up with it all. It doesn’t feel real, this can’t be happening. Not to them. Not now. Not again—

“T.K. come hold his head,” Tommy orders.

In hindsight he’ll wonder if she really needed his help or was just giving him something to do so he didn’t come apart at the seams on the asphalt of the highway, but in the moment he does exactly what she asks without question, his hands, cloaked in blue gloves, cradling Carlos’ head just above the c-spine collar they’ve put on him to keep his neck stabilized.

Carlos’ terrified eyes look up at him, boring deeply into his own and T.K. should offer some words of comfort, tell him he’s going to be okay, that they’re taking good care of him, but he can’t. The words won’t come.

He can tell when they finally shove the needle into Carlos’ chest, feels relief when air hisses out and Carlos takes a huge breath. “That’s it, keep breathing Carlos,” Tommy says as Nancy slips an oxygen mask over his face. “You’re doing great. Just relax and let us take care of you.”

She glances up her eyes finding T.K.’s and usually he would grab onto the calm he sees in them, but he can’t right now. His spirit feels wild, like it’s been torn loose from his body and is whirling around in an uncontrollable storm. “T.K., you with me?”

“Yes,” he rasps out. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good. Because I’m going to need your help getting him onto the backboard.”

They roll Carlos on and then get him into the ambulance. Later T.K. will find out the entire event took less than ten minutes. In the moment it feels like hours. 

T.K. sits in the back of the ambulance with Tommy as Nancy drives. He watches as Carlos’ body finally starts to relax, morphine doing its work as it drips into his veins. 

He looks up into T.K.’s eyes and it’s only then that T.K. realizes he’s crying, his eyes a darker brown color than usual that only comes when tears are falling. T.K. reaches down and carefully wipes them away.

“I’m—“ Carlos’ voice is breathy and muffled behind the mask, but he pushes the words out anyway, “—sorry.”

T.K. shakes his head his own tears falling now, droplets landing in his lap and soaking into his pants. “You don’t need to be sorry,” he says, brushing a hand gently through those short curls that he said he hated last night and now he loves more than anything in the world. “I’m sorry.”

“Call…my….mom?”

T.K. nods. “As soon as we get to the hospital and you’re checked in okay?”

Carlos’ eyes close and T.K. thinks the medicine and the pain have finally pulled him under, but then the blinks them open again, and they spear him with a terrified intensity. “Scared.”

Oh god. Oh god this is going to break him. “I know you’re scared,” T.K. says, clearing his throat when his voice cracks and resuming brushing his fingers gently through Carlos’ hair. “But you’re okay. You’re stable and we’re almost to the hospital. They’re going to take good care of you and soon…soon all of this will just be a memory. We’ve got you. Tommy’s here and Nancy and…and we’ve got you.”

He hopes that will be enough.

Within fifteen minutes of arriving at the hospital Carlos is taken off to be prepped for surgery. That’s when T.K. finally loses it, collapsing into a chair and sobbing into his hands as Nancy rubs his back while Tommy takes over the task of calling Andrea and his dad.

“He’s going to be okay,” Nancy says, but T.K. can hear tears in her voice too. “It’s a pneumo, some bleeding, broken bones, it’s all fixable. He’ll be all right.”

“What if he’s not?” T.K. cracks out. “What if this is…what if he…and the last thing we did was fight about the thermostat?”

“T.K., Carlos knows it was just a fight,” Nancy says. “Couples have fights. About important stuff and stupid stuff.”

“She’s right.” Tommy sits down on his other side. “Just because you were having an argument, it doesn’t negate everything else. Carlos knows that. And you do too.”

“It was just so stupid,” T.K. says, sniffing and wiping ineffectually at his eyes which will not stop crying. “How could I have been so stupid?” He struggles to push the next words past his throat. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“I know,” Tommy says. “Let’s not go there yet though, hm? Let’s have faith. Carlos is strong. He can pull through this.”

Andrea and his dad arrive and T.K. pulls it together enough to be strong for his mother-in-law who needs to believe that she’s not going to watch her only son die when the loss of her husband still feels so fresh. T.K. explains what happened, interprets everything the doctor told him on arrival, discusses what the surgery will entail, and the possible outcomes. 

It’s exhausting and he takes himself off to the bathroom for another crying jag about two hours after they arrive, returning with red, swollen eyes that they both can see. Andrea immediately folds him into a hug and they stay that way until the doctor finally returns.

He reports that Carlos’ surgery went well. They repaired his lung along with some other internal damage and set his leg fracture. He’s also got three broken ribs and a concussion, but overall he’s in good shape considering. It could have been much worse.

Somehow that phrase doesn’t feel like a comfort.

Tommy and Nancy leave once Carlos is settled into a room. He’s very out of it, the sedation and heavy pain medication taking a severe toll on his ability to stay awake. He manages a hello to his mom and Owen before lapsing back into sleep again. It’s brief, but it goes a long way toward reassuring them all that he’ll be okay. 

His dad heads out after that to grab some things from the loft so T.K. doesn’t have to spend the entire night in the hospital in his uniform and Andrea decides to go to the chapel for a little bit. T.K. is grateful for the space.

He sits in the chair next to Carlos’ bed, picking at a stray string on the cuff of his shirt. God he fucking hates hospitals. They’ve spent more time inside these walls the last few years than any human should have to. If he never has to come here again it will be too soon.

“T…K.?”

The croak has him snapping his head up to find Carlos struggling to open his eyes, pain lining the tension in his limbs, the darkness of his eyes, the creases of his forehead. He has medication onboard, but it’s like his body still knows how broken it is, even if he can’t fully feel it.

“Hey.” T.K. sits forward and forces a smile that feels like it’s straining his face. “Hey baby.”

Carlos swallows, the pain mixing with confusion in his eyes. “Am I—?”

“You’re okay,” T.K. says. They filled him in the first time he woke up, but it’s clear that it didn’t stick. “You were in an accident. Your lung was collapsed and you have a broken tibia and some ribs, but you’re going to be okay.”

Carlos nods, his eyes closing briefly as if he’s struggling to take it all in. “I’m okay?” Carlos asks, like he’s really not sure.

“Yes,” T.K. says firmly, reaching out to cover the back of his hand. “Yes, you’re okay. It’s going to be a long recovery, but you are okay.”

Carlos’ next breath is shaky and full of tears. “I’m not—I don’t want to leave you.”

God damn it just when he thinks he can’t cry anymore. “You’re not leaving me,” T.K. manages to choke out, squeezing his hand. “You’re not—you’re not dying. I promise baby. I promise.”

“I love you,” Carlos is crying in earnest now, like he has absolutely no control over his emotions. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

“Shh,” T.K. soothes, sliding the chair closer so he can run his hand up and down Carlos’ arm. “There’s no need for sorries.”

“I wasn’t safe.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Carlos swallows hard like it hurts him to do so. “Do you want some water?” T.K. asks and when Carlos nods he helps him sip a little bit.

When he’s done he licks his lips and meets T.K.’s eyes. “We can turn the thermostat up.”

T.K. chokes out a laugh, his eyes still damp with tears. “I don’t care about the damn thermostat.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Me neither.” T.K. grabs a tissue and uses it to gently wipe the tears from Carlos’ face. “We’ll bring in a neutral third party to deal with the thermostat setting. Paul can do it.”

Now Carlos manages a small huff of a laugh. “And we can use the throw pillows.”

“Thank god,” T.K. says, trying to lighten the mood. “I was ready to sign the divorce papers on that one.” He reaches up and brushes a hand through Carlos’ hair. “And I love your hair. I love all of you. All the time. Any way you are.”

“I love you too.” He shifts a little bit, trying to get more comfortable. “Was my mom here?”

“She’s in the chapel. I think she needed some time to herself,” T.K. says. “My dad was here too. He went to grab us some stuff. If there’s anything particular you want from home I can text him.”’

Carlos shakes his head. “Just you.”

“I’m here,” T.K. says immediately. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you.” Carlos closes his eyes and a shudder runs over his frame.

“Are you cold?” T.K. asks. He knows all too well that blood loss brings on a special type of chill. One that settles into your bones, that you can’t get rid of no matter how hard you try.

“A little,” Carlos says, shivering again and then letting out a small, pained sound as the movement jars his injured body. “Can you…can you hold me? Please?”

He shouldn’t. There’s barely any room in the hospital bed. And Carlos is covered in bandages and IV’s and the cast on his left leg. But honestly, T.K. needs some physical reassurance as much as his husband does right now.

So he carefully maneuvers himself into the bed, moving so slowly that it’s almost painful, tucking himself up against the railing so that his touch against Carlos is practically featherlight. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep,” he says quietly, running his fingers gently over Carlos’ stomach in a soothing motion. 

It always helps Carlos sleep to have his back rubbed, but this will have to do for today. He watches as the tension slips out of his husband’s body, sleep pulling him down and T.K. breathes out. They’ve survived. Again.

[theliterarybeldam]

Love Beyond Time - Chapter 1: A Fateful Encounter

It's finally here y'all! Please enjoy something that caused a lot of sweat and tears for me ❤️😭

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this story besides my OFC and potential future OCs. This is purely a work of enjoyment.

Series Masterlist

The heart of London pulsated with energy as Lady Elizabeth Pierce, a woman of resplendent African descent, emerged from her stately home onto the bustling streets. Her radiant skin, as rich as the coffee beans of Ethiopia, contrasted beautifully with her elegant white dress. Her tightly coiled hair was tastefully pinned up, revealing her regal countenance and sparkling hazel eyes. Her mannerisms echoed a bygone era, a grace and elegance that seemed out of place in the current world.

The secret behind her timeless beauty was known to only a few. Time, for Lady Pierce, was a frozen river, her life a pause button that had been hit in her late twenties. Like Adaline Bowman from a story she once read, Elizabeth too did not age. Her tale was not of fiction but her own reality, woven through the warp and weft of over two centuries.

Lady Elizabeth Pierce was born in the heart of Ethiopia, a land teeming with lush flora and fauna, hidden from the world, housing secrets as old as time itself. The vibrant city was an advanced paradise, a stark contrast against the backdrop of its rich traditions and culture. 

Her childhood was saturated with the vibrant hues of the Ethiopian festivals, the thrill of tribal dances, and the wisdom conveyed through the ancient tales of her ancestors. She was brought up in the shadow of the majestic Panther God, always aware of the potent power that pulsed through their lands.

However, her life took an extraordinary turn when an encounter with a revered shaman left her with a cryptic prophecy - an intertwining of her destiny with the enigma of time. This mysterious event marked the beginning of her timeless existence.

Centuries later, as she stood on the foreign land of England, her memories of Ethiopia were as vivid as the sunsets, the rhythm of its pulse echoing in her heart. Her roots ran deep, grounding her to the heart of Africa, regardless of the miles she had traversed since then.

Her transition from a young Ethiopian woman to Lady Elizabeth Pierce of London was a tale of resilience and resourcefulness. With her timeless existence, she bore witness to the changing world around her, her eternal youth a blessing from the shaman that allowed her to navigate the ebb and flow of the centuries.

Embracing her immortality, she used the wisdom acquired over the years to amass knowledge, skills, and wealth. She found herself intrigued by the distant land of England, its culture, its monarchy, and decided to make it her home. With her wealth amassed over the years, she bought land and a stately home in London, her grand residence soon becoming a symbol of her stature.

Her intelligence, charm, and philanthropic nature soon caught the attention of Queen Victoria, who was so impressed by Elizabeth's contributions to society that she bestowed her with a title, officially making her Lady Elizabeth Pierce. Over time, she became a figure of fascination and respect, her seemingly eternal youth adding to her aura of mystique. However, she kept her secret carefully guarded, the mystery of her agelessness becoming an unsolved riddle in the heart of London.

Away in the frosty expanse of Russia, Count Alexei Vronsky led a life of solitude in his vast estate. Since the tragic end of his tormented affair with Anna Karenina, he had withdrawn from society, living with the ghosts of their past. However, the news of a grand ball in London, hosted by the illustrious Lady Pierce, coaxed him out of his reclusion.

As Vronsky embarked on his journey from the frost-laden expanse of Russia to the buzzing metropolis of London, he found himself in a state of melancholy contemplation. The biting cold of the Russian winter seemed a reflection of his own solitude, its icy grasp mirroring his internal chill.

The trip was long, the scenery changing as he moved across the continent. The vast Russian plains, stark and blanketed with snow, slowly gave way to the greener landscapes of Eastern Europe. The monotony of the endless expanses was occasionally broken by huddled villages and bustling towns. The harsh Russian winds slowly softened, replaced by the crisp, cool air of the west. Each part of the journey echoed his solitude, whispering tales of his past, stirring memories he had long since tried to bury.

He passed through cities that bristled with life, each one a stark contrast to his current emotional state. The elegance of Vienna, the charm of Paris, the majesty of the Swiss Alps - these places, magnificent as they were, held no joy for him. They were but waypoints on his journey, devoid of the warmth of home, echoing his own emptiness.

His arrival in London marked a significant shift in his journey. The city was a vortex of energy, teeming with life. Its grand architecture, the bustling streets, the rhythmic hum of the city - everything felt different from his homeland. Yet, as much as it was disconcerting, it also offered a glimmer of hope, a chance for a fresh start.

As he moved through the city, taking in the unfamiliar sights and sounds, Vronsky couldn't help but feel a spark of curiosity. His heart, which had been in a state of icy numbness, seemed to thaw slightly. Here, in this city of endless possibilities, perhaps he could find solace, perhaps he could escape the shadows of his past.

The grand ball held by Lady Elizabeth Pierce was a spectacle of elegance and sophistication. Every detail was meticulously curated, each element a testament to Elizabeth's exquisite taste and attention to detail. The grand mansion was transformed into an extravagant carnival, its opulence matching that of the royal court.

The grand hall was illuminated with hundreds of glistening chandeliers, their light casting a soft glow on the assembly of distinguished guests. Nobles from the length and breadth of England and from continental Europe filled the hall, their gowns and suits adding a vibrant palette of colors against the rich tapestry of the mansion.

A live orchestra was stationed at one end of the hall, the music they played was a captivating blend of classical and contemporary tunes. Their melodies filled the air, adding to the cheerful buzz of the gathering. Couples twirled on the dance floor, their movements fluid and graceful, mirroring the rhythm of the music.

Servers, dressed in pristine white uniforms, moved around offering a plethora of delicacies. The aroma of roasted meat, baked goods, and exotic spices wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of fine wines and perfumes.

Conversations ebbed and flowed around the grand hall. From political debates and discussions of recent literature to harmless flirtations and whispers of latest scandals, the gathering was abuzz with engaging dialogues. Laughter rang out, toasts were raised, and connections were formed.

Entering the lavishly decorated ballroom of Lady Pierce's mansion, Vronsky was greeted by the intoxicating music of the orchestra and the heady scent of perfumes. However, it was Lady Pierce's striking beauty that held him captive. Poised and graceful, she navigated the throng, engaging with her guests, her lively eyes taking in the merriment. She was the perfect hostess, her aura commanding respect and admiration from her guests. Vronsky almost started to believe this was a goddess idly chatting with people who were truly clueless to who that was. 

The grandeur of the ball was momentarily forgotten as Elizabeth's gaze locked with the newcomer's. There was something hauntingly familiar in the man's eyes that drew her in, a sense of shared solitude that resonated with her own. She gracefully navigated through the crowd to introduce herself.

"Count Vronsky, I presume?" Elizabeth said, extending her hand in greeting. 

He took it, bowing slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Yes, and you must be the enchanting hostess, Lady Elizabeth Pierce."

Elizabeth gave a small, appreciative laugh. "Flattery so early in the conversation? One might think you're trying to win my favor."

"Only stating the obvious, Lady Pierce," he replied with a half-smile, his eyes twinkling with genuine admiration.

Their conversation unfolded naturally, starting from polite pleasantries and gradually delving into deeper topics. Elizabeth found herself drawn to the man's intellect and his perspective on art, literature, and culture, which mirrored her own. 

"You have quite the appreciation for art, Count Vronsky," Elizabeth observed, referencing their discussion about the Renaissance.

"Only as much as you do, Lady Pierce. It's rare to find someone who appreciates Botticelli as much as I do," Vronsky replied, his interest in her visibly growing.

“There is an agelessness about you. It feels as if you've seen the rise and fall of ages."

Elizabeth met his gaze, a soft smile touching her lips, "Perhaps I have."

They shared light-hearted banter and stories, their connection deepening with each passing moment. The world seemed to blur around them, their focus solely on each other. 

"Do you believe in fate, Count Vronsky?" Elizabeth asked suddenly, her gaze intense.

"I can't say I've given it much thought," he admitted, slightly taken aback. "Why do you ask?"

"Perhaps it is fate that has brought us together tonight," Elizabeth proposed, a mysterious smile playing on her lips. 

This unspoken shared understanding marked the beginning of a poignant bond between the two, a bridge of companionship across the chasms of their solitary lives. Their shared experiences of love and loss, and their ability to transcend them, tied their fates together in a dance as old as time.

As the last notes of music faded away and the merry chatter of the departing guests grew faint, a deafening silence descended upon Elizabeth's grand mansion. She found herself standing in the now deserted ballroom, the echoes of laughter and music only serving as a stark contrast to the stillness that enveloped her. 

The flickering light from the dying candles threw long, dancing shadows across the room, the extravagant decorations now seeming almost eerie in their quietness. Elizabeth's gaze was drawn to her reflection in the grand mirror on the far wall. Her timeless beauty, framed by the gleaming diamond necklace around her neck and the rich silks of her gown, was a sight to behold. Yet, the woman who stared back at her felt like a stranger, her radiant appearance belying the inner turmoil she felt.

Her heart felt heavy with names etched deep within its corners - names of lovers she had once held dear, whispers of affection shared in the silent watches of the night, remnants of love stories that had faded with time. Her life was a testament to the endless cycle of love and loss, each love story a reminder of the agonizing loneliness that followed their inevitably brief existence. 

The grandeur of her life was a double-edged sword, the vibrant celebrations and extravagant balls merely temporary distractions from the solitude that awaited her. As she stood alone, her heart echoed with the melancholy of lost connections, the vacant halls of her mansion reflecting the emptiness she felt.

The fear of losing someone again was a constant gnawing presence, a silent specter that loomed over her every time she found herself growing close to someone. Yet, she also recognized the longing for companionship that tugged at her heartstrings, the yearning for the warmth of shared affection, of heartfelt conversations, of love.

She was caught in a constant struggle - a tug of war between her desire for love and the fear of the inevitable loss that her immortality brought. As the silent witness of passing ages, her heart was an immortal battleground of conflicting emotions, the scars of past losses a grim reminder of her endless existence. Her solitude was not just a condition of her circumstances, but a fortress she built around herself, a protective barrier against the inevitable heartbreak that loving mortal beings entailed.

With the quiet hum of the London night as her only company, Elizabeth settled at her mahogany desk, the flicker from the nearby candelabrum casting a warm glow on the parchment before her. Picking up her quill, she paused, her thoughts lingering on the evening's encounter.

"Dearest Esther," she began, her script elegant and precise. Esther was her oldest confidante, the one person who had managed to see beyond Elizabeth's mask of endless youth and understand the solitude hidden behind it. Their friendship was a source of strength for Elizabeth, a treasured connection that had withstood the ravages of time.

"I met a man at the ball tonight, a certain Count Vronsky from Russia," she wrote, her thoughts returning to their engrossing conversation, the ease of their banter, and the depth she'd seen in his eyes.

"There's a depth to him, a sorrow that resonates with my own," she continued, her quill dancing across the parchment. "He carries the weight of his past like an invisible shroud, much like I do."

A thoughtful smile traced her lips as she remembered his words, his appreciation for art, his passion for literature. "His intellect is as captivating as his charm. His words weave a tapestry of profound thought, mirroring my own fascination for art and literature."

The memory of his gaze, warm yet haunted, caused an unexpected flutter in her heart. "His eyes, Esther, are windows to a tormented soul. I found myself drawn to him, compelled to understand the mysteries they hold."

Elizabeth sighed, her gaze momentarily drawn to the starlit sky outside her window. "I know the perils that lie in the path of my heart, yet I cannot help but wonder. Could I dare to love again? Could I dare to risk the agony of inevitable loss for moments of shared love and companionship?"

Her words echoed the turmoil within her. "I find myself at a crossroads, Esther. To love or not to love, that is the question that plagues me."

She signed off, "Yours always, Elizabeth," before sealing the letter. As she dispatched it to Esther, she felt a strange mixture of relief and anticipation. Sharing her thoughts with her old friend, even in the form of a letter, had always brought her solace. Now, she could only wait for Esther's wisdom to guide her through her inner turmoil.