#last year I re-did the garden

[longlivetv]

Does anyone else get the urge to re-do their space every spring? I have zero funds with which to do so, but I suddenly want to buy a bunch of bookshelves to turn my office into a library, or buy some floor tile to finish the floor in the unfinished part of my basement, or replace the pedestal sink in my bathroom with an actual vanity, or replace every doorknob in my house with lever ones…and this happens this time every year

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

The Prince - Chapter Ten

A/N: Hello! I apologize that this is late, I meant to post last night but then I facetimed by bestie for 4 hours and got drunk. ANYWAYS, I present to you the final chapter of The Prince. Thank you so much for all your love and support on this story! I hope you enjoy this finale <3

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 4.6k Synopsis: Finally, we see the end of Jace and the reader's story.

Warnings: smut

Previous Chapter

Rhaenyra is understandably furious when Jace comes to see her the next morning. He had not wanted to leave you for long, so all he told her was a quick summary of the events in your room. She had wanted to rage, had wanted to know exactly everything that happened, wanted to see the proof for herself, but when he asked to postpone the meeting, she read the look in his eyes. It was fear. It was fading, but it was still there. Fear for you, fear for himself, fear that everything he had wanted was slipping through his fingers.

So she had let him leave, let him go to you, as long as he promised to find her first thing in the morning. Her rage had not abated in the night.

“If I could kill him again, I would,” she says, looking at the, thankfully, light bruising along his neck. Jace pulls back from her, not wanting the attention the bruises now gave him.

“Did you send word to the Iron Islands?” he asks.

“I sent a raven last night to his brother, the Lord Blacktyde."

“What does this mean for our standing?” he asks. Last night, besides his thoughts of dread that he almost lost you, he was also plagued by what the realm would think. Their position was still so new, to have an attack on his life so soon—

“The only thing the realm will know is that Lord Blacktyde attacked Y/N and the two of you fought him off,” Rhaenyra says.

“The two of us," Jace says softly. He brings his eyes to his mother's. She watches him delicately, like he might break with just a touch. "I'm fine, Mother," he says. She nods.

"I know."

"It looks worse than it is," he says. He wishes he could pull the collar of his doublet up, just to block them from her sight, and yours. Your eyes had been on the bruises all night long. "What of Y/N and I?” he asks. Rhaenyra smiles, her earlier rage ebbing away.

“Y/N saved your life, do you think I would deny her anything?”

“I was not sure,” he says, his smile spreading.

“I think it’s clear the two of you would do anything to stay together. I won’t get in the way. Before last evening, I had a few doubts, but after what Y/N did for you, and speaking with Baela, I trust this is the right decision."

"Baela?" he asks, furrowing his brow. "What did she say?"

“She seems excited about finding a new prospect,” she says. "Or a few."

"She does."

"You both have found happiness, and that is all I've ever wanted."

“Thank you,” Jace says, taking his mother’s hand with a smile. He feels more at ease, knowing that the events of last night only solidified your love.

The cool air of the gardens heals some of the pain inside of you. Of course, your hand still throbs after the maester had to redo your stitches. You are sore all over and have an angry bruise on your cheekbone, but amongst the flowers and the breeze, you feel light. The nightmare you lived in for years is over.

It doesn't feel real. Even after you went to your chambers this morning, looking down at the wet area the maids had scrubbed clean of Barun's blood, you still felt like you were dreaming. That you'd wake up and he would be waiting for you still.

You had woken up a few times in the night, startled from the dreams playing in your head. Jace had been there. His voice was still strained, but he said soothing words and held you close. He was the reason you could believe that it was over, that it would get easier.

He sent word for you to meet him in the gardens, but as you lap around the outer edge again, you still don’t see him. When you stop, its by the door you skipped out of months ago, to hide from your date.

Smiling, you realize where Jace is. You walk to the alcove with the fountain, the place where Jace first confessed his feelings for you. He is pacing beside the fountain when you walk up.

"Are you hiding from me?" you ask, jostling him from his thoughts.

"Never from you," he says, wrapping an arm around your waist. He left early in the morning, and he hadn't seen you until now. His eyes flit to the bruise along your cheek. It seems to only be getting darker as the day progresses.

"Jace," you say gently. His thumb brushes over the mark.

"He didn't suffer enough."

"It doesn't matter," you say with a shake of your head. "He's gone, and he does not deserve our remembrance." Against your better judgement, you look to the bruises along Jace's neck. Yours is darker, but his take up too much space on his beautiful neck.

"Y/N," he says, seeing the sadness in your eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jace. He never should have even come close to you."

"You never have to apologize for what happened."

"He hurt you."

"He hurt you, too," he says, a hand to your chin so your eyes meet his brown ones. "If this is the mark I must bear, so that he is out of your life, I'll wear them with pride."

"I don't deserve you," you say, a hand to his chest, your eyes starting to water.

"Of course you do," he says. You lean in to kiss his jawline once, twice. Jace is smiling softly when your lips meet his. The hand on your back tightens, holding you flush to him. When you pull back, Jace has a strange look on his face.

"What is it?" you ask.

"Do you remember the first time we came here?"

"Of course."

"You almost kissed me," he says, a shy smile growing on his face.

"That was a recurring pattern in our history, yes," you say. "But seems like we're past that." He smiles as he leans in again, his hand fisting in your hair, kissing your lips. He deepens it, backing you up until your legs rest against the fountain.

"Jace," you say, breaking away as he continues to kiss your face. You laugh when you say his name again. He breaks away, the smile still on his face.

"Sorry, just being back here reminds me of the last time, how much I wanted to kiss you back then," he says. "Sometimes, I can't believe this is real, that you love me back." You are smiling softly as you take his hand and kiss it gently.

"I know what you mean," you say. "It doesn't seem real. It's easier when I wake up next to you. Then I have the proof I'm not dreaming. I don't want to return to my chambers tonight."

"You don't have to," he says, squeezing your hand.

"It's not just the room," you say, "It's not being with you."

"I know, which is why I'm moving you into my chambers permanently."

"Jace, the message that would send--"

"What's wrong with a woman sharing the same room as her husband?" he asks. Confusion passes over your face for a moment, but quickly changes to amazement.

"What?" you choke out, the building emotions keeping you from saying much else. You need him to say it clearly, though.

"My mother has assured me that her blessing still stands. We can marry."

"Truly?" you ask.

"Yes," he says, pulling you close. "Doesn't this make you happy?" He studies your face.

"Oh, it absolutely terrifies me," you say with a laugh. "But it also makes me incredibly happy." He beams at you.

"You have nothing to be afraid of. Not when I'm at your side."

"I love you," you say, a hand to his face.

"I love you."

When he kisses you again, your arms wrap around his neck, and neither of you break away for a long while.

The wedding has been pushed until the bride and groom no longer have bruises marring their skin. The decision was also made that your wedding would be a private event. Although there would soon be a time when you would have to face the realm as princess, you want to stay in your bubble with Jace for as long as possible.

It's a lovely bubble to be in, too. To wake up next to him every morning, to learn more about him, to get to bask in his love and not hide away; you don't take it for granted for a second.

However, as the wedding approaches, the bubble gets closer to popping. You will only have five days of officially being his wife before you have to be presented as his princess.

Jace tries to keep your mind off of it, tries to keep you in the bubble. Still though, your anxious thoughts cloud your happiness.

Laying in bed now, you stare at the ceiling, imagining everything that can go wrong.

"What if they don't like me?" you ask aloud. Jace pushes out of the folds of your dress, wiping at his mouth.

“Why wouldn’t they like you?” he asks on a pant.

“Because I’m not what they expected, because our betrothal came out of nowhere.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“To the realm, it will appear so.”

“Y/N,” Jace say with a sigh, his hand tracing a soft pattern on your ankle. “They are going to love you because you will make a great queen. You are kind, smart, and not afraid to fight for the future of the realm.” He kisses your thigh and smiles. “Not to mention, you are so gods-damn beautiful, just a glance at you will have them bending the knee.”

“You exaggerate,” you say.

"I do not."

"You do," you say, "But I love you, still."

“I love you,” he says. “Now please, stop worrying and let me focus on what I was doing.”

“Yes, My Prince,” you say with a smile. You lay back as Jace’s lips meet your center, and this time, you let his mouth distract you from your worries.

Jace has never been happier. Watching you dance with his brother, he can't help the smile on his face. He hasn't been able to all day. From the moment he awoke, to when he finally saw you in your wedding dress, to the celebration now: his smile never fades.

The moment the song ends, he moves towards you, taking you from Joffrey's arms.

"Oh, hello," you say with a grin, falling into step with him.

"Hello," he says with a matching one.

"Joff and I barely finished our dance," you say.

"I didn't want to be apart from you any longer."

"Well I can understand that," you say. He kisses your lips easily.

"I'm so glad I can do that in front of everyone now."

"Me too."

"How does it feel?" he asks.

"Still so strange. Like I'm in the wrong shoes," you say. He shakes his head at you.

"There's something I've wanted to tell you," he says, "And I'm sorry it's on our wedding night, but I need you to know." You look at him nervously. "You've always been worthy. You didn't have to kill Barun and save me, you just had to be you."

You are silent for a moment, tears watering in your eyes. Your fingers are in his curls, playing carefully with them.

"I love you," you say.

"I love you."

"Brigitta," Jace says, his voice sensuously soft. "You are not needed for the night. I can help the princess undress." You look at him through the mirror in your bedroom, a sudden chill racing over your shoulders.

"Very well, Your Highnesses."

Jace doesn't even wait until she's left to come up behind you. His hand snakes around your waist, pressing his body into yours. He makes a sound low in his throat.

"I don't know if I will ever get used to that," you say, leaning your head back on his shoulder. He kisses your neck softly.

"Used to what?" he asks against your skin. His hands trail over your body, like it's the first time they've ever touched you.

"Being called princess," you say breathlessly. Jace's mouth closes on your neck, sucking gently.

"Why?" he asks. His hands move up to cup your breasts. He seems set on distracting you from speaking. He kneads them softly, eliciting a soft moan from you.

"Because I am not--"

"If you say anything about not being worthy," he says, breathless as he continues to feel your body, biting at your earlobe. "I will stop touching you."

"You can't comfort your new bride?" you ask, squirming against his body, the growing pressure there.

"I will do a lot to her," he whispers gruffly in your ear, "But pity her I will not." You grab at his hands, holding him still.

"Jace."

"Fucking look at you, Y/N," he says, meeting your gaze in the mirror. "You were meant to wear these clothes, this crown, this ring." He emphasizes his statement by squeezing your left hand.

"I was meant to wear this dress?" you ask. Jace grins.

"Not for much longer." His hand is gentle as it brushes your hair over your shoulder. Carefully, he pulls at the laces along your back. He moves agonizingly slow. Each time his fingers touch your bare skin, you shudder, until you are covered in goosebumps. Jace laughs against your skin.

"I love you," he says simply, then he lets your dress drop. "Princess."

"Jace," you start, but he cuts you off by turning you around, facing him.

"You better get used to it," he says. "There's no backing out now."

"I don't intend to."

"Good," he says, closing the gap between the two of you. He moves slowly, like he did your first night together. A hand in your hair, he explores your mouth easily. Your hands are on his chest, fiddling with the clasp of his cape. When it falls, it clatters to the ground. Jace pulls back from you with a soft laugh.

"Thank you, Princess."

"Stop that," you say, pulling him in for a quick kiss.

"Not until you're used to it," he says firmly. You loosen the ties at his side and he quickly tosses his doublet aside.

"This one, too," you say, a finger to the loose shirt he wears underneath.

"Yes, Princess," he says with a smirk. "I like when you tell me what to do." His shirt lands in a pile with your dress. His hand cups your cheek as he smiles at you, at your annoyance.

"I'm used to it now," you say, wrapping your arms around him. "You can stop now."

"It is so enjoyable though, Pri--" Your lips meet his, cutting him off. You want none of his slowness tonight. He can taste your need as your tongue slips into his mouth. He hums, bracing a hand on the back of your head to keep you close. The bed seems leagues away as he guides you towards it.

"Y/N," he says in breathless awe, watching your body as you sit on the bed. "You're my wife, my princess." A look passes over his face you know all too well.

"I know," you say, sitting up on your knees, so you are level with him once more. "Now, get up here and fuck your wife." He wraps warm hands around your waist. He speaks against your lips.

"My Princess." He crashes down on top of you, kissing you fiercely. You groan into his mouth, partially because of what he's doing, and partially because of what he called you.

He breaks for breath first, his mouth pink and smiling as he looks down at you. His arms bracket your face. You lean to the side and softly kiss his left hand.

"What is it?" you ask when he keeps looking at you.

"I can't decide between taking my time with you, or taking you roughly." He laughs at the whimper you make. "Slow it is."

"Jace," you say, gasping as his lips meet yours. He bites at your lower lip, eliciting another sound from you. His mouth moves down the length of your neck, leaving slow kisses in his wake.

He says your name, calls you princess, and tells you how beautiful you are, the entire way down your body. He stops at your hip, smirking at the face you pull.

"Y/N," he says lowly, smiling when your body jerks as he slide a fingers a finger through the wet warmth between your legs.

"Yes, My Prince?" you ask. He laughs.

"See, it's not so strange," he says. He adds another finger, both of them deliciously close to your clit, but never fully touching it.

"You were born into the name," you say breathlessly.

"So what?" His fingers slide inside of you. You moan, reaching for him. He holds your hand with his other.. You grip his hand as he pumps slowly. He kisses your inner thigh, slowly, slowly, moving his mouth to your center.

"Jace," you whine.

"Yes?"

"I--" His thumb finally grazes over your clit and you cry out.

"Tell me what you need, Princess." You roll your eyes, but it only makes him work his fingers harder. "Tell me."

"I need your mouth or your cock," you pant. Jace doesn't respond. The moment the words are out of your mouth, his is on your center. His touch is everything you want, and your body thrusts into him. You have devolved to a string of moans, swears, and gasps.

"You taste so good, Princess," he says against your skin. You can't even be annoyed, because when he's between your legs, whispering sweet nothings, it doesn't sound so strange.

"Jace," you cry out, when finally, the building pressure breaks in waves of pleasure. He rides you through it as always, a smile on his face when his fingers slide out of you. He moves up to your lips, kissing them sloppily.

"I'm never going to get tired of hearing my name on your lips," he says.

"I should just go back to calling you My Prince," you say. Your hand moves down to his trousers, working him through the fabric. His eyes flutter at your touch, and his intake of breath is near intoxicating.

"It means something entirely different now," he says, kicking his trousers off. When you touch him, the sound he makes has you smiling.

"You are My Prince," you say, kissing his lips slowly. Jace moans into your mouth.

"I need to be inside of you now," he says. You smile, nodding your head as you kiss him. You release your hand from his cock and he groans.

"So needy," you say, shifting on the bed, pushing him back until his back is against the headboard.

"Can you blame me, Princess?" he asks. You are shaking your head as you straddle his lap. Jace's hands are still greedy, grabbing at you anywhere they can touch. When you align his cock with your folds, his eyes are blown wide, filled with lust and love.

"I love you," you say.

"I love y--" He breathes in sharply as you slip him inside of you. He moans your name, and pulls your chest to his.

"Princess," he says breathlessly as you rock against him. Your arms are around his neck, giving him a view of your annoyed look.

"Stop with that," you say. He grips your hips, moving your body on his.

"I can't."

"I call you Jace, why can't you do the same?" You gasp when he shifts his angle slightly.

"Because you're finally my princess," he says, his breathing growing heavier.

"It's irksome," you say. His lips smile against your neck.

"I'm sorry, princess."

"Jace," you groan, grinding into him until he does, too.

"Let me do it, just tonight," he pants, "I want you to hear how beautiful it sounds." You don't respond, you just grab his face and kiss him. He holds your hips and drives your body against his. You are both quickly approaching your release, and Jace continues to moan 'Princess' into your ear. Per his request, you don't fight him on it. The more he says it, the less it seems ill-suited.

When he finally loses control and finishes inside of you, though, it is your name on his lips.

For a few moments, you are both silent, the room filled with only your breaths. You climb off of him, lying down at his side.

"So?" he asks.

"I could get used to it, I think. But only from your lips."

"That's a start," he says, leaning down to kiss you.

You stand along the balcony surrounding the ballroom, looking down at the throngs of people. The sight is beautiful. Ladies' ballgowns sparkle in the candlelight. Raucous laughter fills the room as wine is passed around.

The fact that all of this is for you feels incredibly wrong.

Just six days ago you were a title-less woman from the Vale, awaiting for you a life of nursemaiding, or marriage to a brute. It feels strange that now, you have what you have always dreamed about. What every young girl has dreamed about once in their life. You were married to a handsome prince. You were a princess. The rest of your life would be nothing but luxuries, and the juxtaposition is still jarring.

And somewhere, still inside of you, you felt as though you don't deserve it. That the life that had been laid out for you was the one you deserved. Your husband said otherwise, but in quiet moments like this, you feel out of place, like you don’t belong.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you look in red?”

You startle at Jace’s voice. He walks to your side, laughing softly. He is dressed in his finest, as well. The doublet he wears clings to his chest in ways that have you thinking about leaving the party altogether.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says. He leans up against the banister rail, surveying the crowd with you for a quiet moment.

“What are you doing up here, Y/N?” he asks.

“Just making a plan of attack,” you say with a smirk, resting your hand on the railing. The wedding ring on your finger sparkles in the light.

“They’re going to absolutely love you.”

“Untrue. Do you know how many of these men I left in the garden or lied to about a cousin needing my help?” you ask. Jace laughs, shaking his head.

“I think they’ll get over it. Besides, you’ll be queen one day. Whatever bad feelings they may have about you, they’ll put them aside to earn your favor,” he says. Your jaw tightens, reality washing over you that this is to be your life now.

“Y/N,” Jace says, standing upright and taking your hands. He turns over the right palm, looking at the scar there. He frowns and rubs it softly with his own thumb. “You are one of the strongest people I know. You can handle anything this court wields at you.”

“I’m not so sure,” you say quietly.

“I am,” he says. “I’m your husband now, Y/N, you should trust me.”

“I do,” you say, stepping closer to him slightly, meeting his eyes.

“Then trust when I say you’ve got this. And,” he says, squeezing your hand softly, “If we do hate it, we can always return to Dragonstone.”

“I don’t want to run,” you say, glancing out at the crowd. “Just hide.” Jace laughs.

“They’re going to love you, just as much as I do,” he says. He puts a hand to your cheek, making you look into his brown eyes. “In that dress, how could they not?” he asks. You are smiling when he leans in to kiss you.

His hand trails down your back, squeezing your backside playfully. You laugh into his kiss, opening it up with your tongue. Jace backs the two of you out of the light, up against a pillar in the shadow. His mouth claims yours, his hands greedy on your body.

“And just think,” he says, breaking away breathlessly, “If the party gets unbearable, we can always sneak off to do this.”

“Why go to the party at all?” you ask, pulling him back to your mouth with a hand in his curls. He laughs, but you know he won’t let the two of you stay like this for long.

“Come on,” he says when he pulls away. “I want to show off my princess.”

He leads you downstairs, just outside the banquet hall. For another few minutes, you keep him occupied with your lips on his, but then he breaks off.

"I'll announce you in a few minutes," he says, squeezing your hand.

"Dragonstone is always an option?" you ask. He smiles.

"Yes, but you won't need it."

"I love you," you say.

"I love you," he says. You cling to his words, gaining courage from them. He slips into the low murmurs of the crowd, leaving you alone. You hope he will be quick, because you aren't sure how long your courage will hold.

"Your Highness." The voice startles you, and when you turn to see Baela, your heart beat doesn't slow. "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to scare you."

"No, no, that's quite alright."

"What are you doing out here?" she asks with a smile. You haven't seen her since the wedding, and before then it was only in passing, or in large groups.

"Jace is going to formally present me," you say. Baela looks at you strangely.

"You're not used to it yet, are you? The title?"

"Not at all," you say with a laugh. Baela does, too, and it makes you relax a little.

"It'll take some time," she says sagely. You nod.

For a moment, it looks like she might leave, but you will hate yourself if you don't say what you must.

"Baela, Your Highness," you say, "We haven't talked very much since everything changed."

"Y/N," she says, smiling as she steps closer. "I want to talk to you, too."

"You do?"

"I know we haven't gotten to know each other, even before . . . everything happened," she says. You look down at your feet. "But I want you to know I'm happy for you. You make Jace so happy. I couldn't ask for anything better."

"Thank you," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "And I just have to say I'm sorry, for taking this from you." She gives you an easy smile.

"Do not worry for me," she says. "This change has given me a freedom I didn't know I could ever have. You have given me that."

"I'm glad for it. And glad for you," you say. "Jace is lucky to call you a friend."

"Thank you, Your Highness. Good luck, tonight. It will go quickly, I think."

"I hope so," you say. She gives you a smile as she enters the ballroom, too.

You stand still for a few minutes, a weight lifted off your shoulders you thought might never be. Knowing that Baela holds no anger for you, makes you believe that the rest might come easily, too.

When a guard waves you towards the door, you are ready. Your husband is on the other side, your family is on the other side. When the doors open and you hear Jace's voice, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Please allow me to introduce my bride, Princess Y/N Velaryon.”

[megalony]

Little Bird

This is a new Evan Buckley imagine that is going to have a follow up or two if you all like it. I hope everyone will enjoy this one, feedback is always appreciated.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii  @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: Evan starts to find himself falling for his new neighbour and her little girl. And he will do anything he can to help them when they need him.

Enjoy.

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"No- baby be careful, please?" A sigh rumbled past (Y/n)'s lips and she hung her head low while she followed after her daughter.

Why did she have to have so much energy? Why did she have to speed off when she knew (Y/n) couldn't keep up? She knew going fast wasn't good on (Y/n)'s heart and combined with her vertigo, (Y/n) had a mile per hour ratio that she couldn't go above.

(Y/n) sucked in a deep breath and lifted her head as she followed Birdie out the sliding door and onto the balcony.

Having a balcony was something Birdie was enraptured with. They moved in two weeks ago and the little girl was over the moon to have a balcony, since they couldn't have a back garden. The three year old had wanted to have a garden to put flowers in and to feed the birds, but now she had changed her mind and thought the balcony was much better.

It was spacious, they had a table and chairs out on the balcony, two hanging baskets, window-ledge baskets around the railing and two bird feeders. Every morning they would feed the birds and water the plants and then Birdie would beg to go to the park to feed the birds and run about to play with them.

"Mummy, water." Birdie held up her small aqua blue watering can and grinned when (Y/n) poured water from the kitchen jug into it for her.

To stop Birdie from leaning over the balcony, (Y/n) would water the hanging baskets and Birdie would water the window baskets. They were hung on the inside of the balcony rail rather than over the edge so Birdie didn't have to lean over and risk falling or having an accident.

She climbed up onto one of the garden chairs and knelt up, humming to herself as she watered the pansies that varied from pink to blushing purple.

(Y/n) pushed up on her tiptoes and watered the two hanging baskets on either side of the balcony. Her eyes kept moving over to watch Birdie on the chair in the left corner. She was starting to hum the song playing on the radio, but (Y/n) realised it wasn't their radio playing. Their new neighbour was playing his music rather loud, but it was one of Birdie's favourite songs.

"Pigeon! Look mummy," Reaching across the table, Birdie grabbed a handful of birdseed from the plastic tub (Y/n) had got ready.

"Don't climb on the table!"

(Y/n) hurried over and picked Birdie up before she wobbled or toppled the table over. The last thing she needed was her daughter crashing through the table or breaking her arm.

"Put the food in, and they'll come to you. See?" (Y/n) held Birdie high enough to put the seed in her hand into the rectangle feeder. She set her toddler back down on the floor and re-filled her watering can so she could finish their morning task.

A wave of dizziness washed over (Y/n) just as she finished filling both feeders and Birdie climbed onto the chair again to spy for the birds. She reached her hand out to steady herself on the door so she didn't fall. Vertigo only amplified (Y/n)'s heart problems. She suffered with fluctuating blood pressure that usually dropped too low. And her heart didn't pump blood around her body quickly enough because one of the valves in her heart was loose.

It meant (Y/n) suffered with a lot of headaches, dizzy spells which led to falls and bruises, and a lot of fainting spells.

Her hand bashed into the glass door and she leaned against it to keep herself upright while she tried to take deep breaths. She didn't see Birdie move until suddenly her daughter was in front of her, wrapping both arms around (Y/n)'s legs and looking up at her with those big green eyes.

"I help." She murmured quietly into (Y/n)'s legs and (Y/n) wasn't sure if she wanted to try and hold (Y/n) up so she didn't fall, or if she wanted to help feed the birds again.

Either way, Birdie leaned into (Y/n) who in turn had to lean further on the door.

A gasp broke past her lips when the door moved. (Y/n) fell backwards, landing on the floor with a thump as her shoulders bashed into the glass door and Birdie landed on her legs with a giggle.

(Y/n) took a deep breath and blinked furiously until it cleared the spots that danced in front of her eyes. She reached her hand down and rubbed up and down Birdie's back as she pushed to sit up. But when (Y/n) turned to the right and looked at the door, her shoulders slumped and she groaned.

"Oh no."

The door had shut. It had a safety lock; once it was shut the lock turned and it couldn't be opened without turning the key, which was on the inside.

They were locked out on their balcony.

"Mummy?"

"The door's locked… and my phone is inside." Reaching her hands out, (Y/n) shifted Birdie so she was sat on the floor, giving (Y/n) the room to slowly stand up and ward off the lightheaded feeling that swallowed her.

She had left her phone on the sofa next to her laptop. She should have put her shoe or a toy in the doorway to prevent them both from being locked out. But they had never had an apartment with a balcony before and (Y/n) didn't think they would get locked out here. She couldn't get inside, they were five stories high, and she didn't have her phone to call for help.

Would people down on the street hear if she called down? Would they listen, or would they think she was a silly rambler or a girl playing a prank?

Maybe she was going to have to try and break the glass door to get back inside. What could she hit it with?

The neighbour.

The new neighbour, he had his balcony door open. (Y/n) could hear his radio blasting out music, surely that meant he was home? Or was he in the habit of leaving his radio on and his balcony door open when he went out? No one would scale the side of the building to break into an apartment, it was foolish and they would be caught out. Surely he had to be home.

"I think we need to try and call out for the new neighbour."

(Y/n) leaned over the left side of the balcony and tried to see into the next door neighbour's balcony. There was a two foot gap between their balconies which wasn't a lot, but there was no way (Y/n) would risk climbing over, not without permission or the neighbour knowing. It would be her luck to scare him and then fall.

"Um… excuse me? Hello?" She pressed her hands down on the thick metal rail and tried to lean across.

A smile danced across her lips when she watched Birdie climb up onto the chair beside her and look over. The toddler shook her watering can over the edge until it sprayed a splattering stream of water across onto the other balcony to try and catch his attention.

(Y/n) had only met him once. He was the image of a tall, handsome stranger with a melting smile and a sweet, almost lovesick expression that made (Y/n)'s knees go weak.

She was sure his name was Evan, but she didn't want to call out to him just in case it wasn't him who was at home. (Y/n) had no idea if he lived on his own, if he was married or had a roommate. She didn't want to make more of a fool of herself than she was about to if someone heard her call for help.

"Excuse me?"

"Neighbour!" Birdie squealed and chucked a handful of birdseed across and watched it scatter across the other balcony floor and spray against the window. It made a clinking sound as it hit the glass window and repelled off out into the air.

Panic and confusion dwelled in the pit of Evan's stomach when he looked out towards the window.

He finished his twentieth sit-up and took a deep breath, feeling the sweat roll down the back of his neck. He tore the headphones from his ears and pushed up from the floor so he could go over to the balcony.

Evan always left the door open when he was doing a work-out. He had the radio on in the background and his headphones in so he could listen to a podcast and have music in the background. His mind needed to be dulled down with so many different noises to keep him calm and focused. And he forgot he'd left the radio on.

Sweat trickled down his forehead and made his black gym shirt stick to his back while his shorts flagged around his knees. He padded across to the balcony and looked around to see what had hit the window.

Birdseed.

Why the Hell did he have seeds on his balcony? The birds didn't tend to drop their food when they flew over. And someone couldn't have thrown it this high up. Did his upstairs neighbour drop some?

"Neighbour!" A high-pitch squeal caught Evan's attention and he headed out into the sunshine and glanced around.

When his eyes landed on a vibrant little girl, clutching a watering can to her chest, his lips curved up into a grin. And his eyes narrowed when he looked over at the other girl on the balcony. His new neighbour. (Y/n). The girl who apparently worked from home, although Evan wasn't sure what job she did to do that.

"Did uh… did you want me, for something?" He approached the edge of the balcony and leaned his elbows down as he stared across at the two of them.

"I'm sorry, but we've… we're locked out here, the door shut on us. Can you help us, please?"

The smile on Evan's face softened and he leaned to take a quick look over at the door. It was the same as his. He always kept a block of wood in front of the door when he was out here, he didn't want to risk getting stuck on the balcony, just like them.

"Is your front door open?" Evan ran his hand across his chin and jaw when (Y/n) shook her head. "I can get you both over the rail and into my flat, then we can find a way to get you back inside. How's that?"

"Thank you."

(Y/n) wasn't sure she had ever felt so relieved or happy to have a stranger's help.

"Okay." Evan clapped his hands together and pushed up, leaning his hips against the railing so he could plant his hands down on their balcony instead of his own. He locked his eyes on the little girl who couldn't have been more than four years old.

She had wide green eyes that looked like the sea that they could scarcely see in the background view from their windows. He watched her set down her watering can and push up, leaning as close as she could until their noses were almost touching.

"What's your name, beautiful?"

"Birdie." Her tongue poked between her teeth and she perched her chin on her hands, clearly flustered at the attention.

"That's a lovely name. Everybody calls me Buck." His eyes danced across to (Y/n) before he looked back at Birdie. "Can I pick you up?"

(Y/n) pressed her hand against Birdie's back and nodded so she knew it was okay. She wasn't the best around strangers because she would talk to anyone. Birdie thought everyone was safe and talking to strangers was normal, she was too trusting. But Evan seemed safe.

He smiled brightly as he carefully held Birdie's small waist and lifted her up off the chair she was standing on. Her hands clenched down around his forearms and she held tight as he pulled back and hoisted her quickly over the balcony so he didn't scare her.

"There you go." Evan set her down on her feet beside him, but he stayed crouched in front of her when she didn't let him go. "You stay there for me, beautiful, and I'll get your mum over. Okay?" He nudged her until she was near the door so she wasn't anywhere near the balcony rail. He didn't want to take any chances.

(Y/n) sucked in a deep breath and punctured her teeth down into her lower lip as she looked over the edge. It wasn't a big leap over, two feet separated the wide railings and going over the side like this wasn't dangerous when they had another six feet of railing spread out to the right.

But she didn't do well with heights in any sense of the word when her vertigo came into play.

"You're safe, you know. I'm a fireman, this is kind of my day to day stuff." Evan held his hands out and gripped (Y/n)'s hands tight when she gingerly reached out for him.

"I should probably let you know that I have vertigo, shouldn't I?"

"Oh, now you tell me."

The way Evan smiled and laughed made (Y/n)'s lips curve into a grin despite the panic she felt as she pushed up onto her knees on the railing. Her chest ignited with adrenaline and a shiver coursed down her spine when Evan let go of her hands so he could cup the back of her thighs.

Her hands immediately clamped down on his shoulders and she tilted her chin down until their noses were almost touching as Evan stared up at her.

"I'd rather you didn't stand up, if you're at risk of a wobble." He murmured quietly, unable to breathe properly when he stared up at her.

He pulled her closer and grinned when her chest merged with his and he turned to the left and pulled (Y/n) with him. He carefully swung her over the rail and turned to set her down next to him.

"Oh," (Y/n) tightened her hands on his shoulders and flopped her head forward onto Evan's chest when she felt the blood drain down to her toes. She felt his hands move to hold her hips and he mumbled "deep breaths," into her ear and (Y/n) swore she could feel him smiling against the shell of her ear.

"Okay?" His thumb brushed up and down (Y/n)'s hip and he leaned back to look down at her when she finally took a step back and held herself upright.

"Hm, I- I'm sorry-"

"No apologies, you're all good." After a few seconds of lingering, Evan finally found the courage to pull his hands away and place them on his own hips where it was safer.

He looked down at Birdie when she gingerly pulled on the hem of his shorts to gain his attention. "You a fireman?"

"I am."

Evan couldn't stop the way he smiled when she reached out for his hand. She didn't know him at all and yet she was smiling up at him like she had known him all her life. He kept his gaze on her as he motioned for her to head inside, feeling (Y/n) close behind him as they trailed back into his apartment.

"You drive the truck, with wee-woo noises on?" Her beady eyes took in his apartment like she was inspecting it for something and it made Evan chuckle. He wasn't sure what she thought she would find. Maybe she figured his apartment should be bright shades of red and white, like the trucks. Or she thought she would find a toy firetruck somewhere or his helmet and a fire pole to slide down.

"I can drive the truck sometimes, yeah. If your mum wants, I could show you around the station…" Evan crouched down until he was Birdie's level and he let her keep hold of his hand. "You can sit in the truck if you like, too."

Her wide smile told him he had just made a new friend.

***

Throwing the teatowel over his shoulder, Evan turned off the oven and reached in to take out the lasagne he'd made. It was starting to become a ritual that on his days off, Evan would make some of Bobby's recipes and see if he could get up to scratch with Bobby's level of cooking.

He was doing well so far, but everything he made was always missing something. Evan wasn't sure whether it was his level of perfection that was holding him back, but he was sure he missed things out on everything he made. No one else seemed to think so.

The lasagne he'd just made would probably be split so Eddie and Chris could have some. God knew Eddie wasn't the best chef in the world.

Evan hummed along to the music playing on the radio, but his lips pulled into a frown when a rapid knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts.

He wasn't expecting anyone.

He knew Maddie and Chimney were both at work today and Hen didn't often come by his place unless they had set up to go out drinking. And Chris would be finishing school soon so it couldn't be Eddie stopping by either.

He took the teatowel from his shoulder and tossed it on the counter before he made his way through the kitchen, towards the front door.

"Fireman!"

A bright smile lit up Evan's features the moment he opened the door and looked down. It was Birdie. The three year old had her hair up in a ponytail at the back of her head and with her hair being thin, it sprayed out behind her like she had been electrocuted.

She was wearing a pale pink Minnie Mouse shirt that was covered in flour and what Evan guessed was a drink she had spilled.

"Hey little bird, are you okay?" Evan took a quick peek down the hall to the left before he looked back down at Birdie. Her apartment door was open. Maybe (Y/n) had let Birdie wander down here to ask Evan something.

He knew now that (Y/n) was a writer which allowed her to work from home so when Birdie wasn't at nursery, (Y/n) was always there to look after her.

It had been a frightening surprise last week when he'd just come home from a night shift. By chance, he went to open the balcony door and heard (Y/n) scream. Birdie had been trying to climb up onto the rail. She wanted to see Evan so badly she thought the best way was to climb over the railing and get into his apartment like they had done the first time.

Evan had politely told her if she ever wanted to see him, she should just knock on the front door. It was much safer and if he was home, he would always answer the door to her.

"Yeah," Birdie reached up to take Evan's hand in both of hers and started swinging it back and forth until he crouched down in front of her. "Can you help?"

"What do you need help with?" He couldn't refrain from smiling when Birdie focused on his hand and started to trace her finger across the lines in his palm. Despite how shy Birdie seemed, she had attached herself to Evan straight away. If they bumped into each other in the hall or outside, she would run across to him and grab him.

She squealed and clapped if she saw him out on the balcony at the same time as her and (Y/n). Something Evan admittedly was doing on purpose because he knew what time they went out to water the plants and feed the birds.

Evan wanted an excuse to see them both and he loved the way Birdie would smile when she saw him. He was starting to find that the more he bumped into (Y/n), the brighter his mood became. He liked (Y/n)'s smile. He liked the way she would brush her hair anxiously behind her ear whenever they talked. He liked her laugh and her humour and the random things she would come out with.

"You a fireman, so can you help mummy?"

"Why, what does mummy need help with? She's not on the balcony again, is she?"

"She fell over, and now she asleep." Birdie kept hold of Evan's hand as he pushed up onto his feet again and reached his free hand out to grab his keys.

If (Y/n) had fallen, Evan would take a guess that she had fainted rather than knocked herself out. When she told him about her weak heart valve, he asked Hen about the symptoms and what it meant. It didn't sit well with Evan that (Y/n) was alone next door with Birdie.

Not in a bad sense, but in a sense that she didn't have any family out here and she didn't know many people. Evan knew it would be safer for her if she had a safety net, a support network of people in case something like this happened or she was ill or needed help looking after Birdie or herself. It was why Evan told her if she ever needed anything, she should come round and talk to him.

"Okay, let's go help her."

He closed the front door behind him and let Birdie keep a tight grip on his hand. She led him down the hall as if he didn't know how to get to her apartment.

The pair of them wandered into the apartment and Evan took a moment to glance around.

Every time he had seen the girls, they had either been outside or they had come into Evan's apartment. He had never been in their home before.

There were a lot of fake plants dotted around in a variety of colours and the kitchen was a lovely mint blue colour that added a lot of light into the space. When Birdie guided him past the stairs and towards the living room at the back of the apartment, Evan stared in wonder.

There was a reading corner behind the stairs. Stickers littered the wall, book quotes, stickers of open books and story characters and a rainbow. There was a dark blue beanbag and a bookshelf and hanging from the ceiling were a variety of paper birds and hanging felt birds.

And then there was (Y/n).

There was a desk in the other corner of the room behind the sofa with a lot of notebooks, highlighters, pens and stickers littering the top of the desk along with a laptop.

Either (Y/n) had tried to stand up and went lightheaded or she felt funny before she moved. She was now laid on the floor a foot away from her desk chair with her hair half-covering her face and her body slumped on her left side. It was almost as if she had tried to get herself into the recovery position before she passed out.

"Why don't you sit there, little bird, while I help your mum." Evan picked Birdie up and gently sat her down on her beanbag so she could still see him but she wasn't in the way either.

Once she was settled, Evan turned round and knelt down behind (Y/n)'s back. He could feel Birdie's eyes on him but it wasn't unpleasant or anything new, he was used to being observed when he was at work.

He hooked his finger around a tendril of hair and brushed it behind (Y/n)'s ear and the pad of his finger delicately brushed over her cheek before he shook his head and snapped back into focus. His index and middle fingers pressed against (Y/n)'s neck just below her jaw and he looked down at his watch, counting the beats per minute.

Slow, but that was to be expected with (Y/n)'s heart condition. An elevated pulse would be more worrying.

He hovered his hand over the middle of (Y/n)'s chest, level with her sternum and pressed down just enough to feel how she was breathing. Shallow, but her breaths were starting to get a little deeper which was good.

"(Y/n)? Love, can you hear me?"

Evan curled his hand into a fist and started to rub his knuckles up and down her sternum to try and bring her back round. When he felt her head nudge back against his other arm, he found himself smiling down at her softly.

"Come here," He murmured quietly. He slipped his left arm beneath her shoulders and carefully lifted her up off her side. She stayed limp and floppy in his arms but he was sure he heard her try to mumble something. He held her waist and eased her back up against his chest, letting her head flop back onto his shoulder.

Sitting up would help her wake up, the last thing Evan wanted was for her to wake up lying down and then faint when she sat up and the blood drained from her head again.

"That's better, how do you feel?" Evan rubbed his hand up and down (Y/n)'s arm to keep her focused and concentrating on waking back up. While his other hand moved back to her neck so he could keep a check on her pulse.

"B-Birdie…" (Y/n) tried to open her eyes but they rolled to the back of her head when all the colours meshed together like a canvas that had been drenched in water. Her head was pounding. She could feel the blood rushing back to her temple and it hurt. It always hurt. It would take a few minutes for her system to settle and for her head to come down from the clouds.

"She's here, she's safe. She came round to get me when you fainted."

A shiver tore down Evan's spine when (Y/n) fumbled to reach her right hand up until she could slump her arm on his shoulder and cup the back of his neck. He watched her lips curve into a tepid smile and when her head lolled to the right, she tried again to look up at him and focus on him.

"She got our fireman." Her voice was weak and croaky, but Evan made out her words and it sent his heart crashing through his ribs and hammering blood through each vessel in his body.

He was their fireman. That was how both of them thought of him and that thought made him high on adrenaline.

"Yes she did." He couldn't speak very loud, Evan didn't trust his voice because he knew it would give away how he felt about her. "Um, you, you didn't hurt yourself when you fell, did you?" Evan tripped over his words and let his eyes dance up and down (Y/n)'s frame to check for any injuries.

She could have hurt herself in multiple places if she landed the wrong way or went down with a bang. Evan didn't know if (Y/n) had managed to lower herself down or if she went down like a ton of bricks.

"No,"

(Y/n) danced her eyes across to her daughter and tried to smile when Birdie got up and trotted over towards the kitchen. She would most likely find her beaker of juice or watch the birds out the window for a while. But God knows if Evan tried to leave without telling Birdie first, she would grab him before he stepped foot out the door.

"Let's get you up then, shall we?"

She took a deep breath when Evan's arms curled around her waist. Reaching down, she curled her hands tightly around his wrists and tried to hold her head up off his shoulder but moving her head made stars dance in front of her eyes.

Her knees trembled when Evan slowly stood up and pulled her along with him and she could feel her legs about to give way, but it didn't matter. Evan didn't let go of her. His arms stayed looped around her middle and when he propped his chin up on her shoulder, she almost fainted again.

They moved like they were conjoined and when Evan carefully eased (Y/n) down onto the sofa, she reached out and grabbed his wrist.

It took him by surprise, but his lips curved into a soft smile and he gladly perched down next to her so their knees were touching and his hip was meshed against hers.

(Y/n) kept her eyes on their hands as she let go of Evan's wrist to slide her fingers down across his palm. She gingerly curled her fingers around his hand and gave a light squeeze, as if testing the waters between them.

"Thank you… I, I don't know what Birdie would do if it happened and we didn't know you."

She dreaded to think what Birdie would have done if this happened and they hadn't gotten to know Evan. (Y/n) liked to think that Birdie wouldn't panic and would sit and wait patiently and that (Y/n) would get up soon and be fine. But she didn't dare let her mind wander to what could have happened. Birdie could have wandered off in search of help, she could have found a neighbour who wasn't so nice or trustworthy.

At least with Evan being the man he was and being next door, it meant that if he was home, (Y/n) knew if Birdie went to him, she would be safe. She would be safe going to their fireman next door.

"Hey, I told you if you need me just come find me and Birdie knows she can come round and get me for anything you guys need." Evan was glad he had told Birdie to come over and get him if she needed him. He would come over every time they asked and Evan would rather Birdie take the risk to come find him than wait around on her own and risk her safety and (Y/n)'s health.

"Well, thank you for coming over, and I'm sorry we had to drag you over here like that." It was pure luck that Evan had been home and not on shift, but (Y/n) couldn't help feeling bad. He could have been having friends or family or a date over and she and Birdie could have gone and ruined everything for him.

"You don't need to thank me."

"I do, we've just messed up your day-" (Y/n) stopped abruptly when Evan let go of her hand.

Her chest tightened in anticipation when his hand reached out to cup the side of her face instead. His thumb swiped across the corner of her lip and she could feel his fingers tickling the back of her neck behind her ear which made shivers course up and down her back.

"I think you've just made my day better… and I know a way you can thank me, if you like." His day hadn't been ruined, far from it. Evan's day had just got ten times better to spend it with (Y/n) and Birdie, because there was no way he was going home yet and risking (Y/n) feeling unwell again. And something told him Birdie wasn't going to let him leave either.

Her hand shook when she cupped the back of his wrist and her lips rolled together as she waited for him to explain or more or do something to show what he meant.

As much as she was expecting it, (Y/n) still felt surprised when Evan kissed her. His warm lips on hers was still a shock to her system, even though she had been praying this is what he was insinuating.

She tilted her head forward until her nose bumped into Evan's but it wasn't enough. (Y/n) pushed her chest into his and leaned over until Evan curved his free arm around her waist and pinned his hand against her lower back between her hips. His upper body leaned back so (Y/n) was almost lying on top of him and when (Y/n) took the opportunity to sink her teeth into his bottom lip, she felt his chest vibrate with a growl. It was quiet but deep enough to made her core quake.

When they parted, panting for air, Evan swiped his thumb along her cheek and something swirled in his eyes when she pulled his lip between hers before releasing it with a pop.

Evan tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes slightly when (Y/n) began to laugh. He let his hand slide around to hold the back of her neck and he pressed his temple against hers, letting his eyes search through hers to see what was so funny all of a sudden.

"What?"

"Nothing, I just… I think I'm gonna have some competition for your attention, that's all."

As much as (Y/n) found herself captured by Evan, she knew her daughter was too, in a different manner though. Birdie had found a friend in Evan, someone to look up to and who she wanted to be around and (Y/n) knew if this was the start of something, her daughter would be vying for his attention too.

"I think I like the sound of that." Evan tightened his arm around (Y/n)'s waist so she was leaning further into his chest and he grinned when she curled her arms around his back before she stole his lips in another kiss.

(Y/n) felt his hand move from her neck and she was sure that when he held the back of her thigh, he was going to pull her onto his lap. But he didn't get chance. His fingertips dug into her flesh and his nose nudged hers when Birdie's voice rung through the air.

"Birds! We have birds… Buck come see." She dropped her beaker onto the small side table near the balcony door and turned to trot towards the living room.

With a lasting kiss against her wet lips, Evan gave her thigh a squeeze and slowly tore himself away from her so he could wander over to find where her toddler was. Evan clapped his hands when he found her and he reached down, scooping her up into his arms so he could settle her down on his hip.

"Birds," She repeated quietly, pointing over to the window but Evan scarcely looked out before he turned his attention back towards the girl on his hip.

"I think the prettiest bird is right here."

[scarletwinterxx]

NCT Mark | New Year's Day

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The clock ticks closer to midnight, and the rooftop hums with a crackling energy that only New Year’s Eve can bring.

Strings of fairy lights dangle above, casting a golden glow over Jaemin's sprawling rooftop garden, the perfect blend of chaos and charm. Your group of four fits neatly into this tiny world—Haechan perched on a rickety deck chair, waving a sparkling cider bottle like it’s champagne; Jaemin leaning against a small table laden with snacks, looking every bit the host he loves to be; and Mark, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, standing so close beside you that your shoulders occasionally bump.

"You know," Haechan starts, gesturing wildly with his cider bottle, "resolutions are capitalist propaganda. They're designed to make you feel bad about yourself so you buy gym memberships you’ll never use."

Jaemin arches a brow. "This coming from the guy who swore he'd start meal prepping last January and never made it past buying one Tupperware set."

"I did meal prep! Once. For a week!"

You snort. "You bought six packs of instant ramen and called it meal prepping."

Haechan gasps, clutching his chest. "Et tu, Brute? Betrayed by my favorite person on the roof!"

"Don't flatter yourself," Mark cuts in, his grin wide. "She’s only here because Jaemin bribed her with brownies."

"You’re here because I guilt-tripped you about missing my last party," Jaemin retorts, smirking.

You laugh, shaking your head as they banter, but you can’t help glancing at Mark out of the corner of your eye. His scarf is loosely wound, and the wind has turned his ears pink, but there’s something about him that’s magnetic tonight—or maybe it’s always been that way, and you’re just finally letting yourself admit it.

“Ten seconds!” Jaemin shouts suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts.

The crowd erupts into cheers, and a chorus of voices begins counting down.

“Ten!”

Mark shifts closer to you, brushing against your side. You glance up at him, heart beginning to race, but he’s already looking at you.

“Nine!”

Your friends chant along, but their voices sound distant now. Mark’s gaze feels like it’s holding you in place, anchoring you as the world speeds up around you.

“Eight!”

The air feels heavier, charged with something unspoken. His lips part as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out.

“Seven!”

“Mark,” you start, unsure what you even mean to say.

“Six!”

“Just trust me,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

“Five!”

Your breath catches as he steps in even closer. You feel the weight of Jaemin and Haechan’s stares, but they don’t matter. Not right now.

“Four!”

He leans down slightly, his face inches from yours.

“Three!”

“Is this—?”

“Two!”

“Just go with it,” he says softly, and before you can even think of a reply—

“One!”

Cheers explode around you, firecrackers going off in the distance, but it all fades when Mark wraps his arms around you. It’s not a hurried hug—it’s firm, grounding, and the kind of warm you didn’t know you needed until now.

"Happy New Year," he whispers into your ear, his breath brushing against your cheek.

Before you can say it back, he tilts his head, and suddenly, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is soft, like the way the first snow falls—delicate and almost shy at first, but it deepens quickly, warmth spreading through you in waves.

You hear nothing but the rush of your heartbeat, feel nothing but him, and for a moment, it’s like time itself has stopped.

When he pulls back, his forehead presses against yours, and he’s grinning like an idiot, cheeks flushed from more than just the cold.

"I’ve wanted to do that for ages," he admits, his voice just loud enough for you to hear.

You blink at him, stunned and maybe a little dazed. "You couldn’t have told me sooner?"

His laugh rumbles in his chest, and he hugs you tighter. "Thought you’d figure it out eventually."

"FINALLY!" Haechan yells, breaking the spell. You whirl around, cheeks flaming, to see him dramatically throwing his arms in the air. "We’ve been waiting for this since summer! Honestly, I was starting to lose hope."

Jaemin claps slowly, smirking. "I feel like a proud parent. Or maybe a wedding officiant."

You groan, hiding your face in Mark’s chest. "This is so embarrassing."

Mark laughs, his arms staying firmly around you. "Hey, at least we gave them something to celebrate. Happy New Year, right?"

You peek up at him, your lips curving into a smile despite yourself. "Happy New Year, Mark."

And as the fireworks crackle overhead, you let yourself lean into him, knowing you’ve just stepped into a year you’ll never forget.

[cxrsed-angel]

epistolae|marcus x fem!reader

summary: After two months of not hearing back from your husband while he's fighting a war, you worry about him and fear that he he may not be coming back to you alive, you re-read his previous letters as an attempt to calm your anxieties.

w.c: 3k

warning: angst, allusion to oral (f!receiving), brief mentions of pregnancy/postpartum, badly translated latin forgive me I stayed up so late using 4 different translators lol

a/n: this is my first time writing for acacius/ non Joel fic and this is also for @jolapeno's dear-uary challenge, my prompt was: A times capsule of letters written at different stages of life, predicting or confronting the future. I hope I did it justice and it makes sense also I made canva letter graphics for fun but I know they're difficult to read the letters are also included in the fic like normally I just wanted to something different and fun. <3

It’s going on two months since you last received a letter from your husband. Weeks of trying your best not to think of the worst, but it gets harder as each day without a letter passes. He usually responds to your letters sooner. It had been almost a month since he'd been away fighting for more land yet again. You wrote to him a few days ago but still haven’t heard anything back, which worries you. For the two years you had been husband and wife, he wrote back consistently, never going more than a few days without a response. The longest it had been was three weeks at most, but now it's going on to next month, and still nothing. Two months have passed since he had left you, and your concern grows that he is injured…or worse. That this may be the time that he does not come back home to you. 

You remember the first time he had to leave after you married. It was only a week after the emperors sent him away to fight and conquer more land for them. You leave your bed and go to the desk in your room, where you write your letters to your husband and store the ones he writes to you. You open the drawer, flipping through them to find the first one he sent. At the bottom of the stack, you open the envelope, re-reading it like you've done what seems like hundreds of times. You hold the paper, reading it yet again. 

“My carissima uxor, my carissima amor, 

I know this will be our first time being separated from each other since we’ve married. I know it must be harder for you. I am used to being away, but I can only imagine how empty our room and our bed must feel for you. But I do not want you to be alone, isolated in my leave, missing me. You should perhaps read new books, maybe garden, or speak with the other ladies. It will be more bearable if you occupy your time by keeping busy. I know it is hard. I will not say that it gets easier, for it does not, but it can be tolerable. I miss you terribly, but I will return home to you shortly. I love you.”

 ~ M

You hold the letter, remembering how alone you had felt those first few days he had left. You were not from Rome and did not have any family here, and you only spoke to Marcus primarily after your wedding, so when he left, you had no one to talk to. The first day, you did wallow away in bed, isolating yourself. The emperor's palace you resided in felt massive and empty without Acacius walking the halls with you and helping you around. But once you received his letter and took his suggestion, it did help. You started drawing, attending different activities and plays to distract yourself, and it did help some. But you still missed him deeply, especially at night. You miss laying in his arms, feeling his hands caressing you, rubbing your back as you fall asleep. You miss the rare times you would wake up before him and could admire his sleeping form, admire how gorgeous and peaceful he looked while he rested, but he was right that it eventually became more bearable.

You flip through the other letters you had received from him, reminiscing, thinking about him. You open another and see the date.  It was a little after a year since you've married Acacius. At this point you had gotten more comfortable with your husband being away. You still missed him greatly but had found ways to make it more manageable, and receiving his letter such as this one helped you feel connected and close to him while he was miles away. You remember he had sent the letter was when he had been sent to speak to the general of Galli to prevent sending his men to another war, but he hated it when he was forced to play politician. He sent you countless letters during the duration of this trip. It felt nice to get them more often. It was a little after a year since you've married Acacius. At this point you had gotten more comfortable with your husband being away. You still missed him greatly but had found ways to make it more manageable, and receiving his letter such as this one helped you feel connected and close to him while he was miles away.  It eased your mind knowing that he may be miserable, but he was safe and had the luxuries of a bed and a bath provided to him by his accommodations. You pick one envelope from the pile opening it to read.

“Carissima, 

I am most miserable here, my accommodations are pleasant but it is not our bed or our room, it lacks your presence. I miss sleeping next to you, having breakfast with you, and seeing your new drawings or paintings of the courtyard. I am forced to play with politics, which is not my strong suit. I have attended meetings during the day, parties at night, and talked with numerous people. I am tired deliciae. But if it prevents another senseless war, then it is worth it. I enjoyed your letters, and reading about your days, and the small drawing of our garden you sent of me was beautiful, a pleasant reminder of home. Your drawing is improving much. I wish you were here with me, little dove, you'd make it much more manageable, fun even. I leave for Rome the day after next and should be home with you soon. Te amor.”

~M

You smile, remembering when he returned from his trip and brought you many gifts from Galli. Necklaces, bracelets, and rings, fragrances, and paintings. You've told him numerous times that he didn't need to bring back so much, but of course, he never listens. You fold the letter inside its envelope and return it to the others. It's late, nearing midnight, and you aren't tired but have nothing else to do to preoccupy yourself, so you decide to lie in bed. You close the desk drawers with the letters in it, then prepare for bed. Changing into a tinner tunic dress to sleep you.  

You lay in your bed, the gold silk covering your body as you rest your head against the comfortable pillow filled with soft feathers and covered in white silk, trying to fall asleep. Instead, you toss and turn, looking at the empty side of the bed. You reach out gently, rubbing the empty linens, feeling the absence of your husband. It was, as always, the most challenging at night, lying in the room’s silence and feeling how empty and alone your bed was without him. You close your eyes, praying to the gods that he’ll return soon, healthily, and safely back to you.  

The next day, you're cleaning yours and Marcus's chambers, stress cleaning if you’re being honest. You knew that you’re not supposed to clean that you were supposed to let the miad and the help do it, but you couldnt. You didnt want to go out there with the ladies of the court, you could handle their gossping or fake a smile at the insipid conversations about dress colors or who they fucked that week. Cleaning was at least a doable distraction. Scrubbing the floors provides a way of preoccupying your mind. After washing the floors, you move onto your books and Marcus’s papers around the desk. Deciding to organize your books, large piles of books surround you as you sit on the floor, legs crossed, putting the books into groups. 

  You’re interrupted by a knock on your door. You know it can't be your beloved returning because he would be greeted with a warm and loud welcome back to Rome, along with a party hosted by the emperors which he would have preferred to spead the evening alone with you. Because you knew it wasnt him you couldn’t bother looking up from the books when responding. 

“Yes? Come in.” One of the housemaids enters your room while you organize your book selection. 

“Mrs. Acacius, you have received a letter from the military.” The second you hear the word military come out of her mouth, you’re standing, stepping over the piles of books, nearly tripping over the pile of books on the floor as you rush to her looking at the letter. 

“Yes, um I’ll take it. Thank you very much.” You give her a small smile as she leaves, and you close the door behind her before looking down at the envelope and seeing the familiar Roman Empire seal on it. You slowly rub it, feeling your heart beat out of your chest. You couldn’t wait to see what your husband had written without bothering with a letter opener. Excited at the though that he had finally responded to you. Eagerly you tear the paper with your finger, tossing the envelope onto the floor. 

 As you open it, unfolding the letter expecting to see the comforting penmanship of your love, but you don't. Instead, you’re greeted with unfamiliar penmanship, its very obviously not Marcus’ handwriting, and your heart sinks, dropping to the pit of your stomach as you grip the paper tighter. You anxiously glaze over the letter, looking at the unknown penmanship, confused. Immediately, you start thinking of what could've happened to him, where he couldn’t write to you himself. Your hand feels clamming and sweating, but you try to calm your breath as best you can, which wasn't much considering it was still rapid. After a few seconds of analyzing the handwriting, you finally read it. Seeing the top of the letter is greeted with your name instead of one of the nicknames Marcus has given you. The sight of your name feels cold, a heartless greeting, unlike the warmth you were used to when receiving Marcus's letter. You feel your stomach starting to twist, but you start reading. 

“Ad uxorem Acacius, 

This is Tiberius. I am writing to you because your husband wished for me to inform you of his condition. General Acacius fell ill shortly after claiming the land we sought. He has been resting and unable to write at the time. The general also endured a slight wound in battle but is healing well. We leave to return to Rome tomorrow. 

General Acacius was too tired, and weak to write, told me to write, that he apologizes for the lack of letters and that he will be home shortly. 

Tiberius.”

You hadn’t realized you were crying until you felt a tear drop onto the letter. You re-read it for what feels like a hundred times wishing there was more. Your hands are still shaky as you set the letter on the desk. You take a deep breath before going to your bed to sit. You try to calm your mind and reassure yourself that your worst fears haven’t come true. He was just ill and slightly wounded, but he was still coming home to you. You knew Tiberius was his second in command, and if something had gone seriously wrong, you would’ve been notified. Yet thet didnt ease your worries. You hope he hadn’t pushed himself too far to the point that he had gotten sick. Damn, those emperors and their incessant greed for land to control yet could not retrieve themselves. They can’t even manage the land they have already claimed. Unrest and turmoil fill the streets of Rome and have only worsened since you arrived. 

You crumple the paper, tossing it onto the floor before  lying back on the bed. You can't help but let the tears fall. A mixture of frustration and worry fills your brain, and you can't hold it in anymore. You stare up at the painted ceiling, wishing he could just appear in bed next to you, wishing you could be there for him, wishing you could see the state he was in. Wishing you could nurse your husband back to health yourself. The letter was vague and undescriptive, and it gave you no details about him at all. How ill was he? How injured was he? How bad was it that he couldn’t have written you himself? What kind of injury was it? A million questions flood your mind as you cry. All you wanted was your husband back in your arms. You missed him so much, and the month worth of emotions you’ve held in had reached the point had finally overfilled and you couldnt hold it in any longer. You turn in the empty bed that suddenly feels to big, and cry into the linens. You let yourself cry for as long as you feel like. It feels like hours of crying holding onto his pillow taking in the faint smell of your husband that lingered on the pillow.

After a few hours, when it felt like you have cried all the tears your body could make you get out of bed. You stand up quietly, deciding to put the books on the floor away, trying your best to do different activities the rest of the day to distract yourself, but you can not. Marcus’ state and health remain on your mind constantly. 

Later at night, you quietly look out the window staring as your mind wander, you decided to eat dinner alone tonight instead of joining most of the court in the dining hall, you could’nt stand being near the emperors hearing them cheer, laugh, drink, ignorant and careless to the effects their greed for control and land has. If you were in the dining hall you fear you would have hurled a knife at one of them which would get you killed, so your room was the best option. 

After finishing your dinner you, decide to draw yourself a bath, you grab some oils your husband had been gifted over the time of being General. Pouring olive oil, lavender oil, rose oil into the tub before getting into the hot water. The candles lit around the bathroom calmed your as you lean back against the tub closing your eyes. Once again thinking of Marcus, missing him, wishing he was in the tub with you. Your back resting against his his chest, sitting between his legs as he massages you. You open your eyes as if he would appear in front of you in the bath, when they opened. Of course though he doesnt. After your bath you dry yourself off with a towel and blowing out the candles in your bathroom and bedroom, getting to go to bed. You knew it would be hard to fall asleep as it as been for months. You lay in bed in one of your night gowns, sleeping just in your panties felt more comfortable. You close your eyes.

“Please. Please come home, safe, alive. Please Marcus.” You pray a similar prayer you had prayed everynight since he hadnt replied to your letters.  

You're deep asleep, clinging onto the pillow, imagining it was your beloved sleeping next to you.  The creaking of the big door to your bedroom opens slowly, causing you to stir awake. The noise startled You sit up confused, seeing someone walk in but unable to make them out in the darkness, which scared you. No one ever enters without asking or after you had asked so you were greatly confused. You thought this was it, they had woken you up to tell you that you husband had passed, died out in war. You sigh taking a breath before grabbing your robe that laid on a nearby chaise putting it on as you stand up. 

“Hello?” you call out, but immediately, once you see the figure in the shadow, you see a tall, board-framed frame his curls messily above his head, that you know who it is immediately. You can not mistake who it is. 

“Carissima…sorry to wake you.” Marcus’s deep raspy voice instantly responds, gaining your attention. You go over to your nightstand stand, lighting a candle. When you turn around, your husband's face is illuminated, his brown eyes evident with exhaustion. You look at him, and he looks sick and weak. You've never seen him look this tired. You go up to him as he grabs your hands, holding them in his larger hands, as tears start to slip down your face, you couldn’t believe he was home but you were also worried about his state and how bad his injuries were. 

“They…they told me you were sick? And injured? And I didn’t hear from you for weeks…I-I was so worried. What….what happened? Where are you injured?” you ask, assessing him, trying to find evidence of wounds, bruises, broken limbs, anything. He looks at you, softly kissing your forehead before pulling you against his chest and wrapping his arms around you in a warm, comforting embrace. Your cheek presses against the linens that wears under his armor, taking in his consolingpresence. His arms instantly provide a sense of home and peace you haven't felt since he left.

 “I am fine, Carmissisa. It was a simple cold, and my bad knees… it was a small pain, both of them combined did not provide optimal traveling conditions, my love.” He wipes the tears away with his thumb, holding your face softly. 

“I missed you, Marcus. When you didn’t write back, I-I thought I lost you.” The tears continue to fall, and he shakes his head before kissing the top of your head and looks at you warmly, reassuring you that he is here and safe. 

“I said I’d always return home to you. I promised you and intend to keep that promise dulicissima. I am sorry to have worried you, my love. ” He rubs your waist softly before his hand reaches your chin, pulling your lips onto his. Your eyes close, melting against him. His arms move closer to his chest as his arms move down to your waist. Your heart slows, finally feeling at ease and peace, feeling the familiar sensation of his lips. You lightly flick his bottom lips with your tongue, asking for more, and he obliges, deepening the kiss you press against him wanting to be closer to him, as close as you can be after months of being away from him. You notice him pulling away first, panting slightly, breathing heavily. He gently guiding you backward towards the bed until you feel it on the back of your legs. You get on the bed, laying back, watching Marcus kiss up your thighs, pushing the fabric of your tunic up around your hips. 

His hands move up your thighs as he lays in between your legs. His noses presses against your legs as he kisses up your legs, to your thighs, up your hips. 

 His kisses move up towards your inner thigh, his thumbs ghosting around the fabric of your panties before slowly taking them off his nose presses against your pussy as he presses his lips against it, giving it a kiss as his thumb rubs your inner thigh, drawing a whine out of you. 

 “Let me show you…how much I missed my wife.”

A Few Years Later…

You’re with your baby girl, Aelia, in the courtyard, playing with her as she lays on her back, wrapped in the linens you had sewn for after her arrival. You see your husband’s beautiful big brown eye in her as she looks up at you. She’s only a few months old, laying on a beautiful purple blanket Marcus had made for her when she was born, giggling and smiling at you as you shake a toy that made a noise she seems to enjoy greatly. You’re interrupted when you notice a guard bringing you a letter. Your name is written in the familiar penmanship of your husband. You pick up your daughter along with the letter and return inside the palace, going back to your room. You set Aelia down in her bassinet before grabbing the letter opener from the desk and opening the letter from your husband who has been away for a few days, eager to hear from him.

“My dulicissima,”

“I am returning to my accommodations after buying the home we saw earlier this year. I know you wish to accompany me, but it is a far journey from Rome, and you should be at home resting with Aelia, recovering postpartum, and relaxing. The meeting with the home’s previous owner went well, and we can move in at the end of the month. I am excited to move into our own home, away from my job, my previous job, I mean. I am not used to being retired, but I am grateful that there will no longer be any more long journeys away from you, fighting pointless wars. When I return, we can start preparing and packing to leave the Emperor’s place and enter a home of our own. I leave for Rome in the morning and look forward to being with you. Kiss Aelia for me, my love. See you both soon.”

~M.

tags: @baronessvonglitter 🖤

[oofmybad]

Gift Exchange

Synopsis: You and Billie have been friends for quite a few years now since you moved in across the street from her family home. You’re basically an extension of the O’Connell/Baird family since you’re an only child with absent parents, so they brought you in as one of their own. Over the years, you two have developed a romantic relationship, too. This year, you’re spending the 4th of July with her friends and family at their pool/BBQ/garden party. But you and Billie sneak away to exchange your annual 4th of July gifts - an ironic tradition that’s developed between you two over the past 5ish years.

 

Warnings: established relationship between Billie and reader, femme reader, teasing, fluff, references to smut (maybe it’s very mild smut idk), pole dancing, some nudity, reader is slightly implied to be Caribbean (Sorry if I got anything wrong, this is my first fic).

 

A/n: This is just a dream I had a couple of years ago. I still somehow remember it just as vividly. It’s pretty much just a fic about my life lol (but my dream state added Billie). Also, vibes are inspired by FKA twigs’ Cellophane music video, so there’s some pole-dancing terminology in here. I tried to keep it minimal cuz i don’t know how to explain the moves effectively other than just re-stating the name itself lol. So you may have to google a couple of things. I chopped the story off at 3.5k words cuz it was getting hella long. If anyone ends up reading this and wants the second half, pls just ask :) Ok, here we go!           

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

You’re standing alone in the front room of Billie’s family home, looking out of the large French windows facing their front yard, holding your cup of coral-pink guava juice. It’s never quiet over here - you’ve grown tired of silence in your years living alone - but it’s especially loud today because the O’Connell family is hosting their annual 4th of July party.

***

The first time Billie invited you to this celebration, 5 years ago, you laughed mockingly at the proposition. Billie knows where you stand on American patriotism, but without you even having to say anything further, she assured you, “We’re not those kind of people,” as she used her right hand to create a ‘shoo’ motion, finishing with a blasé “tsk” from her lips. You contemplated her words for a moment, then let out a simple “ok”, a sheepish smile surfacing on your lips. You pucker your lips and pull them to the side to hopefully conceal your fluster. “What should I bring?” you ask. “Just your pretty self, " Billie replies. You playfully roll your eyes and kiss your teeth at her response. Ignoring her flirty comment, you think out loud, “Maybe I’ll make some jerk chicken to grill. You know, to counteract the whole ‘American’ thing going on. Does that work?”. Both you and Billie were raised vegetarian and then turned vegan as children, so there was no need to clarify what kind of chicken you would bring. Billie’s eyes light up as she rapidly makes tiny little claps with her hands, her rings lightly clanking against each other. “Yes! That’s my favorite that you make! Purr”. At the final word, she childishly kicks the lower half of her left leg out to make a 90º angle, while her tongue peeks out and her eyes look up at the sky. There’s a small pause as you just watch her giggling, adoring the youthful energy that runs through her. “Hold up,” Billie says, putting a hand up, suddenly serious, “Please don’t make it hella spicy like last time”. “I did not!” You protest, “Your ginger-ass brother is just weak”. Billie lets out one of her laughs, your favorite one. The one where she abruptly throws her head back, mouth wide open, and cackles, “Ahhhh! Ahahah! … Ha! Haha!”. You just let it happen, watching her dimples emerge (the left one deeper than the other). Then, as her laugh settles down, you watch her gums peek out in the corners of her smile - also your favorite. She’s your favorite.

***

As you continue to gaze out of the window absentmindedly, there’s a sudden yet soft clasp on your shoulders. You inhale sharply, snapping your head around to see who is touching you. Billie stood there cheesing, her forehead only as high as your chin, and you immediately relaxed, exhaling. You noted that she had put a beige backwards cap on since you’d last seen her – probably to ‘complete the fit’ as she’d say, considering she was wearing cream-colored sweatpants and a brown mesh jersey that allowed her fluorescent pink bikini to be seen through the material. “Billie, what the fuck?! You know I hate being touched,” you say with your hand over your heart. “Yeah, but not by me,” she retorts. “And how exactly was I supposed to know it was you?!”. She just shrugs with a stupid smile. You lean in to hug her now, your arms around her neck, and mutter a joking “fuck you” into her neck. Billie is quick to pull back, keeping hold of your waist, and say, “I wish you would,” grinning with mischief. Your hand gently slaps her chest, and you push her out of your embrace, giving her a “seriously?” Look. Billie is quick to change the topic, asking what you’re doing over here all alone. “I’m not exactly sure, to be honest. I kinda just zoned out,” you answer her. “of course, you did, your adhd ass” Billie rolls her eyes. “Do you want your present now?”. “Hell yeah, pretty girl, lemme go get yours first,” Billie replies just before she turns around and slow jogs down the hallway to her room. She returns holding the pretty patterned fabric goodie bag with your name sewn onto it that Maggie made you when you started spending holidays at theirs a few years back. Smiling at Billie’s sense of urgency, you tell her that you both will have to go over to your house across the street for her present. Billie furrows her eyebrows, giving you a questioning look in return. You explain that her gift is in your bedroom, and it can’t really be “taken anywhere”. “Ok, let’s go then!” She says in a high-pitched voice – that youthful excitement you so love is starting to burst at her seams. Billie grabs the juice out of your hand, places it on the nearest table, and then yanks your hand out the door with you following behind. “Chill, bro! Why are you running?” You yell ahead of you, the latter part in the voice of the meme. Billie moves her head to look at you, her expression dropped. “I am not your ‘bro’!” You chuckle at her remark as you continue to let yourself be dragged. 

In no time at all, you both approach your home, a single-story white house that spreads widely across the plot of land. There is a banyan tree located to the righthand side of the front yard, but its branches bow over the whole front, creating shade that your macrame hammock chair swings under. (Whenever Billie doesn’t get a response from you over text, she comes out to find you here with your head in a book, glasses slipping down your nose, and your legs tucked up into a ball inside the hammock like a rollie pollie). Leading up to your front door from the sidewalk is a footpath made from some light terracotta diamond-shaped stones, arranged with some random white stones that are painted with intricate designs on them in a rich indigo color. Above the front door, there is a trellis archway that has overgrown magenta bougainvillea weeping from it. Billie likes to joke that your house is straight out of the Mamma Mia set. But because you locked the front door from the inside, you direct Billie to go in through the side door, which leads directly to your bedroom. You repurposed the Florida room [a/n: sorry, I have no idea what other people call them] into your bedroom because you like having all the sunlight and the high ceilings. As you walk in, your room mostly spans out to your right, highlighting the bright chrome pole [yep, that kind of pole] standing proudly in the middle of your room. The sun glistens against the pole, making it shine like a trophy, starkly contrasting the mahogany-colored bamboo parquet flooring beneath both of your feet. Whenever you have new guests over, they find it impossible to look away from the pole, especially because the surface area of the room is kept clear - aside from a midcentury wooden dresser with glass sliding doors seated diagonally in the back corner of the room with a chair perched next to it. Really, you keep the room empty so you have space to practice choreography, but for others, there’s simply nothing to distract their eye from what you do in your free time. To your left, there is a small loft above you with a chunky wooden ladder leading to it. You consider the loft to be your ‘actual bedroom’.

Billie eagerly pulls you deeper into the room and sits cross-legged on your reading bench that’s tucked underneath the loft. You sit across from her, mirroring her position, and giggle at her chanting, “Me first! Me first!”. Now you mirror her enthusiasm by saying, “Ok baby, show me then!”. Billie holds out the goodie bag to you, looking at you expectantly while she waits for you to open it. You pull on the rope drawstring and grab onto something large, thin, and square. You rub your fingertips along a thin plastic wrapping, enjoying the texture. Intrigued, now you dip your head down and peer into the bag. Suddenly you shriek, “Ahhhhh no way! Where the fuck did you find this? I’ve been hunting for it for years! Omg, and it’s even unopened!” You ramble on, not letting Billie get a word in edgeways. Billie patiently waits for you to take a breath, she’s amused by your excitement, then says, “I know some people”. Her coy statement makes you laugh self-effacingly because of course she can get you a however-many-year-old limited edition pressing of Lana del Rey’s Ultraviolence, she’s Billie. “Do you like it?” She asks. “Don’t be stupid!” You reply as you reach over to hug her shoulders and leave a quick kiss on the side of her head. You spring back out of Billie’s hold, evidently pleased with a new idea. “This goes perfectly with my present for you” you smile at her. Your voice is now a little lower, a sultry implication behind it. “Oh yeah? How’s that?” Billie questions you, copying your tone. “Be patient, you’ll see” you teasingly respond as you get up from the cushioned bench and slowly walk over, fiddling with the plastic coating around the vinyl cover, to the dresser in the corner of the room. You pull out the vinyl and flip it to make sure the a-side is right side up. As you carefully lay the needle down, the record player lets out a warm, fuzzy scratch, and West Coast begins to bellow through the room – the warping sound of the electric guitar is quickly pulsing to the beat. When you bought the pole, Finneas helped you install a surround sound system in the room so you could get the “full performance feel”. The subwoofers are intentionally placed in all four corners of the room so you can feel the bass as you do floorwork. In this moment, you’re glad Billie convinced you to let Finneas install the sound system despite your initial shyness on the matter. By the time Lana’s voice enters the song, you have walked back over to Billie, standing in front of her legs that are now planted firmly on the floor. “Come with me,” you say as you grab her hand. She effortlessly stands up and you lead her closer to the pole, still a few feet away from it, just to leave her standing there. She patiently waits for your instructions as you’re clearly going to grab the chair from beside the dresser. You sweep the chair behind Billie’s legs and push her chest down so she’s seated with a perfect view of you. Billie leans back and spreads her legs, holding onto the crotch of her sweatpants like she always does. Billie’s free hand grabs your waist, causing a small sting as she roughly pulls you in closer between her legs. Now that you’re inches apart, she leans forward and begins to lift your cropped white vest shirt ever-so-slightly so she can press an agonizingly long open-mouthed kiss at the top of your tummy, between your ribs. Suddenly, your breath hitches when you feel her soft, hot tongue lick your central ab-line. “I haven’t even given you your present yet, baby,” you say to mock her neediness and cradle the back of her head in your hands. “You wanna undo my shorts for me?” You propose, knowing Billie would never say no to such a question.

As predicted, her eyes shoot up to meet yours, her mouth still attached to your skin, her hands still gripping your waist, and she nods her head longingly. Billie carefully retreats only a few inches so that she can see what she is doing at your hips. Timidly, she is fiddling with the button and zip on your mid-wash low-rise daisy dukes. Billie doesn’t dare touch the strings from your skimpy bikini that’s poking out the top of them. She knows that’s off-limits for now. Eventually, Billie lets out a relieved sigh as she finally manages to undo the fastenings of your shorts. Wordlessly, Billie latches her thumbs through the belt loops and goes to tug your shorts down but stops abruptly when she hears, “Uh uh, they’re not coming off yet. Gotta be patient, my girl.” This time, she sighs in frustration and slouches back into the chair making you giggle. You lean down so that your lips are grazing her ear and whisper, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll make it worth your while,” then slowly stand back up, leaving her flustered.

Unfazed, you turn around to face the pole, simultaneously moving onto the balls of your feet, and take a step forward so that your left hand can stabilize you to the pole. Your mind begins to float out of your body now that you’re in ‘dance mode,’ so you just let the rhythm of the music guide your body. Smoothly, your hips begin to sway from side to side. Your free hand reaches down to your thigh, and you caress up the right side of your body until you’re standing tall again. Using your right hand, which is now naturally flowing above your head, you grasp high on the pole, releasing your left hand, and use your inside leg to step forward and across your torso, which allows you to do a small and measured tabletop spin that leaves you facing Billie. You notice her bottom lip bulging out from between her top teeth, then use your eyes to seductively trace up to her own. “Jesus,” Billie mumbles out a low groan at the eye contact. You lick your bottom lip triumphantly – pleased that your gift is having its desired effect. Lazily, you lean the top of your torso back so that your right shoulder is pressed against the pole as you softly rearrange your legs to be spread open a little wider. With both hands free now, you drop your head back, and your hands tussle your free-flowing, loosely curly hair, letting the sensuality of the moment move you. Your elegant hands continue to dance to the back of your head, along the sides of your neck, and travel further down to your boobs. You decide to tease Billie even more by roughly grabbing your own clothed tits, letting them bounce back to their natural position just as quickly. You draw soft shapes down your stomach until your hands reach the waistband of your opened shorts. Supplely, your right hand enters your barely-there shorts as you palm your bikini-covered clit. In this moment, your mind taps into the music, and you recognize where the song is at, allowing you to slowly grind your hips up and down in time with the lyrics “ooh baby, ooh baby, I’m in love… I’m in love… I’m in love.” The fifth and final time you grind your hips, you hear Billie let out a low moan. You know you’ve done enough to her… for now. So, you roll your body up into a standing position and hook your thumbs underneath the waistband of your shorts. You shimmy the denim down in time with your swaying hips. Once the shorts are nearly free and over the top of your ass, you turn the top half of your body to face away from Billie, still keeping the balls of your feet planted so that you’re left with your legs slightly crossed. You bend down a little, dragging the shorts down with you to give Billie a perfect view of your ass and barely covered pussy from behind. As though it is second nature to you, you step one leg out of the shorts and then use the remaining leg to flick the shorts up into Billie’s lap while you’re looking over your shoulder to check your aim.

Billie catches the shorts before they land, using only one hand, never taking her eyes off of you, and folds them neatly only to tuck them into her front pocket moments later. You chuckle as you look forward again and raise a hand high on the pole. You start to climb up the now spinning pole. You climb once, twice, three times to allow the full length of your body to be in the air. Effortlessly, you hold your body away from the pole in a pencil, causing the definition of your toned biceps to pulse under the glistening sunset seeping through the windows. Your legs open on either side of the pole, quickly clasping together in a sit, and then you feed your torso to the front of the pole to create a baby snake, S shape. The pole is picking up speed from spinning, which creates an illusion with the shape of your body. After basking in the music for a few rotations, you untangle the top of your body from around the pole and cross your legs over one another – the pole remaining in the middle of them. Hastily, you drop your head down toward the ground so that you are now in an inverted layback. Even with your eyes closed, you can hear Billie’s quiet gasp and a “baby” escape her mouth just as you drop. Though she was quick to conceal her fear once she knew that you were safe. Your hair swings back and forth in a rhythm from the momentum and your hands caress up along your body again, but this time, you cross your arms and grasp onto the hem of your shirt, quickly pulling it up and off over your head. The shirt leaves a gentle ‘shwp’ as it hits the ground at some speed, and you’re left in your sparkly gold bikini top.

The triangles of your bikini are doing little to keep you modest, just barely covering your nipples. While you continue to spin for a moment, you discreetly open one of your eyelids to see Billie sitting there with her legs apart, fists clenching her sweatpants, mouth slightly agape, and her eyes following your tits around the pole as they threaten to escape further from their cover with each rotation. You snap your eye shut before you get caught while your hands fiddle against your back, expertly untying the straps of your bikini. Once again, you use your hands to pull the stretchy material over your head so that your tits bounce free. You open your eyes properly now to quickly fling your top at Billie and, just as quickly, roll your eyes further up to spot the floor. Your hands, once elegant and dainty but now covered in veins that are attempting to burst from underneath your skin due to the blood racing through your inverted body, spread and reach for the floor so that you can lower yourself into a handstand. Billie is lucky enough to sit right in line with your bare chest, so she’s distracted from your un-crossing and straightening legs. But this is only until one of them is heading towards the floor in front of her, the other following closely behind [a/n: like a back walkover off the pole if ygm?] As you drop into an open-hipped split that accentuates your ass perfectly for her view. Billie is left wholly unmoving except for her eyes which are now transfixed on your plump ass that’s jiggling from the impact of your landing, highlighted by your sparkly bikini thong. You plant your hands on the floor and lift your hips up so that your legs can join and tuck neatly underneath your thighs as you face Billie. You’re positioned in between her legs now as you sit your ass back onto your ankles, your face wearing an innocent yet mischievous look. In the background, the record fades into the next song on the album. But you pay the music no mind since you don’t have to follow a beat anymore. Your hands grip Billie’s knees, teasingly sliding up her thighs and towards her core as you smile and whisper, “Did you like your present, baby?” The muscles at the back of Billie’s jaw clench and unclench repeatedly, indicating to you that you’re really in for it this time – just as you’d secretly (obviously) planned. She sits up menacingly and slowly inches her mouth next to your ear. You hear her swallow followed by a loud huff coming from her nose, which causes your breathing to shallow out of both fear and excitement. You hear the spit move inside her opening mouth as she says…..

[dalliancekay]

We've been talking for millions of years

Aziraphale was clearly taken by Angel!Crowley from the moment he met him. I think the 6000 years could be read as when the whole human (breeding) thing starts. They didn't start Universe with the Big Bang, much like they didn't start the Earth with micro life and then dinosaurs and then people. They planned up and build everything and then started it up. And once started, it was meant to last about - 6000 years. When we meet Aziraphale and Angel!Crowley in Before the Beginning, Earth was still an idea in the works. The War didn't happen. So I hope after they met, they talked and talked and Crowley grumbled about how unfair it all was and Aziraphale tried to placate him that it will all work out somehow and to be careful. And they kept meeting, Crowley showing Aziraphale the prettiest corners of the universe, Aziraphale telling Crowley exciting developments re: Earth.

I wouldn’t try to guess at how far their relationship has gone… maybe relationships of the kind we know now weren’t invented yet and still, these two loved each other without knowing anything about it. After all, no other angels seem to have ANY relationships of any kind. Apart from higher or lower levels of condescension towards each other.

Then the Great War came and tore them apart. After knowing each other for millions of years and their close more-than-friendship, their world falls apart. ---------

Aziraphale is relieved when he’s sent down to Earth to guard the brand new humans from the demons he has heard that the damned angels have been turned into. He’s a bit fearful about the whole thing maybe but glad to be away and keen, if a bit anxious to see the project he’s discussed/worked on for so long.

Crowley hates Hell. He hates it cos it’s not what he wanted nor what he thought he was joining. He has been lied to. He’s not regretting his decision to turn his back on Heaven, no. He still thinks they’ve made too many crappy decisions. But he despises what the Rebellion became.

When Beelzebub asks for a volunteer to go up to the new planet and tempt the fresh innocent human couple into joining them, he volunteers, even if only to escape the claustrophobic walls and the mess nobody ever clears up.

Tempting comes easy to him. He imagines talking to his lost friend. ‘But why wouldn’t you try fruit from this one tree. What’s the problem with knowing things anyway? Wouldn’t you want to decide for yourself Eve? And Eve does make a decision.

Crowley’s worried now. Not for himself. He’s without hope but did he hurt humans by doing this. He didn’t mean to. He doesn’t really want them to go to Hell. Or Heaven for that matter. He only thinks they should be free to make their own choices. If only he had someone to talk to.

He spotted a distant angel earlier. They held a flaming sword but surely he can dodge that if needs be. He could just try for a simple chat. He has no idea how demons are talked about in Heaven. He guesses the angel might just try to smite him. Worth the risk. Everything feels so raw and strange here. Maybe stealing a bit of familiarity will help him settle his nerves.

He decides to slither over and ask how the angel feels about what’s been done. Will they be furious. Hurt? Guilty? Oh. It’s him. It’s too late now. Always too late. It’s him. Aziraphale. Aziraphale. It is HIS angel. What is he going to do. FUCK! Well. No better way to find out. He could just tease him like the old times. What's the worst that can happen. “Well that went down like a lead balloon.” A lead balloon? Whatthefuck even is that. Oh for Someone's sake.

Aziraphale’s standing on top of the Garden wall, squeezing his fingers with worry - what exactly has happened anyway? What has possessed him to give away his sword. Did he disappoint God? Heaven? It doesn’t FEEL wrong to help them. If only he had someone to talk to.

Oh - who's this. Another angel? Oh. Oh no. Could it be? A lead balloon?!? “Sorry what was that?” Does he remember me? I think he does. I think he does. He’s here. As lovely as always.

I’ll keep him safe. Safe. I will keep him safe this time.

[batboyblog]

Hi! I was wondering if you're planning to continue the "Stuff the Biden Admin is Doing" series through early January? I'm seeing a lot of hopelessness and (obv) tons of focus on the new cabinet picks, their plan for the first 100 days, etc. And I'm hoping that we can take some time to focus on what (if anything) the admin is using these last few weeks to try and accomplish. Ty for all you do!

honestly I don't know.

when I started it there was just overwhelming zeitgeist that Biden didn't do anything as President, that he was so old he was basically dead, that his brains were soft bananas and endlessly "he promised to get rid of Student loan debt and that just never happened! so why believe anything he says!" all of which was horse shit. So I felt like rather than just bitch about it, I'd do what I could in a very small way to be counter programing to that. But the election was always a part of it? I was always making them with the implied case that Joe Biden deserved re-election which I firmly believe he earned by any objective marker, and after he decided he couldn't overcome the propaganda wave about his age and health, that his Vice-President surely deserved election based on what their administration had managed.

I hope I did convince at least some people to vote for Harris in the end.

any ways, for me posting more as the Biden administration ends would be deeply depressing, dealing with what we're losing and comparing what every week will look like for the next 4 years. Also at this late date, new rules are subject to a review period where the President can freeze and reverse them pretty easily so a lot of anything the Biden team passes can and will be stopped and returned because Trump will become President during the review period. Likewise any Executive Orders Biden's signed during his Presidency can be ripped up on day one of the Trump Presidency

So anything the Biden team gets done before January is very fragile at best and thats sad and depressing

any ways, I think if I'm feeling up to it in January I'll maybe try to write up some kind of overview of the full 4 years of the Biden Presidency and how great it was. And Sadly I suspect I'll get more and more active in covering the trash of the second Trump Presidency

sadly for all of us, I don't think there will be much good news in the years ahead, but I think we have to learn to live with that? um authoritarianism relies not so much on enthusiastic mass support so much as mass apathy, the majority going "ugh there's nothing we can do, why bother paying attention" or "it makes me too sad/upset to watch the news" I see a lot of people pushing vaguely self helpy "take care of yourself" type posts about gardening or whatever as activism and I fear people pulling away from the uncomfortable, from politics and giving up on the idea that change is possible. Someone talked about how middle class liberals in Europe, in Germany in particular after the Revolutions of 1830 and 1848 failed almost totally and the authoritarian conservatives won, these liberals withdrew from political life and became very focused on art, music, domestic life because they gave up and you have in the 1850s-80s a period where conservative elites in Germany have basically all their own way and it had longer term echos. I fear that a lot.

[guacamolleee]

Happy Thedas Weekend!! If you're interested, would love to see your take on this prompt from Angsty Prompts for Emmrich and Johanna 👀👀

'you never told me that. i can't believe you never told me.'

thanks for the prompt!!! For @thedasweekend

Mostly set pre-Veilguard, but the very last bit is during. 620 words.

Johanna was not soft — sharp-tongued and long-clawed, always had been, always would be. The type to leave the apprentices crying with a well-timed, cutting barb, shot to nip their unimpressive careers in the bud. The type to leave suitors wondering what the hell they were thinking in the first place. She scoffed at them all. Fools and cowards.

Then there was Volkarin, the bleeding heart, the insipid popinjay that stuck to Johanna like particularly cloying perfume, hard to wash off, harder to forget. Ambitious, brilliant, and charming, stealing into crevices she hadn't realized she had. Johanna had no soft center, but for him — well, her claws retracted only an inch, sinking hard enough to bruise, to bleed, but never to kill. It would be a waste of talent, after all.

Which, she supposed, was how she found herself here: the morgue at some Maker accursed hour. In front of her were two skeletons, dressed lovingly, prepared for re-internment in the Memorial Gardens in the morning. Idly, she read the cards bearing their names: Rupert Volkarin on one, and Elannora Volkarin on the other. Emmrich's parents. He had disappeared a few days ago, only to reappear with them in tow.

They were both no longer apprentices, now full-fledged Watchers with a monthly stipend, albeit a modest one as Junior members still clawing their way to the top of the pecking order — and the first thing Volkarin did was buy two plots in the Memorial Garden, a small fortune. He had saved for a year, maybe more, no mean feat, and Johanna had wondered why. The answer was in front of her now.

They had no flesh, having died over two decades ago, bones picked clean by the earth. Their clothes were modest, though well-made, another thing Volkarin spent his stipend on. That said, they were bare otherwise. No jewelry, no silken shrouds.

No grave gold.

Hm.

Johanna rummaged through her bag, pulling out a box. She placed it on the stone slab, hesitant for only a moment, before opening it. The glint of gold was unmistakable.

You see, Johanna's fondness had claws. It scratched bloody red down Emmrich's back and he would only turn to thank her for it, pressing a sickeningly affectionate kiss on her cheek that would have her gagging. So, no, this was a secret she'd keep to her grave. No need to give Volkarin any ideas.

She took out one cuff, inspecting the runes carved onto its surface carefully, spelled against thieves. Satisfied, she closed it around Rupert Volkarin's wrist. She pulled out its matching pair, did the same thing, and placed it on Elannora Volkarin's wrist.

There.

Another piece of gold was still in the box — a bracelet, about an inch and a half in width, waves etched into it, and a rune that would zap anyone daring enough take it before Emmrich did. She left it between Rupert and Elannora, a small note tucked below it, unsigned.

E, This is yours.

In the morning, when Emmrich roused her to meet his parents, a ridiculously cheery smile on his face and the bracelet slipped onto his wrist.

Well, she didn't mention it.

Not until years down the line, after their relationship turned not just sour but sharp, after exile, battles fought, battles won and lost, in a fascinating corner of the Fade, restlessness churning in her gut despite being reduced to her current form.

A slip of the tongue she no longer had, calling that bracelet hers, Emmrich's eyes softening until she wanted to pull out her teeth.

“You never told me.”

Would it have changed anything?

Doubtful. She could never be so soft, so declawed, and Volkarin? Johanna scoffed. “You were always a sentimental ninny.”

[reyla-the-black-wolf]

My heart speaks for you (Part 2)

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Pairing: Eris x f!reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: angsty fluff?, angst, hints of anxiety, anxiety attack, nightmare

Summary: Y/n is the youngest child of the High Lord of the Night Court and lives a slightly different life than the rest of her family. But what happens, when an unexpected visitor enters the stage and decides to completely change her life?

A/N: Hey guys! It took me a bit longer to write this chapter than I had planned to (accidentally deleted a part of the story ups) but finally did it! And I recommend you listen to "Remember that night" by Sara Kays and "The night we met" by Lord Huron.

Anyway, enjoy reading! 😙

Part 1 ⎮Part 2 ⎮Part 3⎮Part 4⎮

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Six days. Six days had passed since the incident in the conference room. Six tough days and not a single glimpse of him. No word, no letter, no message of any kind.

The water of the Sidra washed up on the shore in mesmerising waves, each time stealing a bit more of the glittering sand. Sunlight reflected off the mirrored surface, magically illuminating the facade of the River House. 

The hammock I sat in swayed gently in the afternoon breeze and, thanks to Elain, the sun didn´t bother me too much. My aunt had planted two Illyrian oaks in our garden the year I was born, providing shade now that they had grown from tiny sprouts into strong, sturdy trees. As I became older, I found my favourite reading spot underneath them. They stood a few feet from the River House and were the perfect place to relax and simply be. 

A piece of bark crumbled onto the pages of the book I was holding right now. `Feathers and Fire´ was written in large, ornate letters on the leather-bound cover. Nesta had borrowed me one of her novels to keep me company, as I had spent the last few days mostly by myself. 

I give up! After reading the same paragraph for the third time in a row, I finally slammed the book shut. I had really tried to concentrate on the story in the last hour, but my mind had drifted off more than once. And always back to the same place. 

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I was in shock. Or so I thought, as I couldn´t think clearly. My mind was racing and my heart was pounding so loudly that all of Velaris must´ve heard it.

Mate. Eris Vanserra was my mate. 

I couldn´t believe it. I mean, he doesn´t even know me?

The beige sofa under my legs felt too soft, as if it wanted to pull me into a hug and never let go. And the ticking clock on the opposite wall made my ears twitch in annoyance, so I decided to get up and pace around the living room, trying to quiet my mind. I was massaging my temples to ground myself a little when a soft touch stopped me in my tracks. Small, gentle fingers starting to trail along my shoulder in a soothing rhythm. 

„Sweetheart, look at me, please.“ My mother´s calm voice made me turn to her. „Everything´s going to be all right.“ She radiated pure love. „Whatever happens next, I want you to know you´re not alone. I´m here for you, okay, honey?“ It helped slow down my racing heart a little, but not enough. I sincerely hoped my father and his brothers hadn´t beaten Eris to death just out of anger. 

Just as I thought of them, three men winnowed into the living room. With long strides, my father rushed towards me, some of his darkness still clinging onto him, and cupped my face with both hands. „Darling, are you all right? Are you hurt? Do you need anything?“ He asked worriedly as he inspected me for any injuries, whatever he was looking for. 

I withdrew from his grasp, spun around once to show him I was fine, and put on my most reassuring smile to calm his worries, making his tensed muscles relax. „I´m so sorry. I never wanted you to see this.“ Regret seeped into his voice. „But…“ He paused, visibly struggling to find his next words. „Did the bond snap for you too?“ The question caught me entirely off guard, as I thought he was angry with me, trying to argue. I could almost feel my family holding their breath, dreading my answer. Silky hair fell around my face, casting tender shadows on my features as I shook my head. A quick glance at my parents and I knew they were having a silent conversation. Sweat formed on my palms as I unconsciously clenched my hand into a fist. With each passing second, an unpleasant feeling returned to my stomach, making me want to throw up.

It spread even further when my father turned his attention back to me, and my heart sank as I noticed the sudden change in his expression. A completely blank canvas. The mask of a High Lord. Others probably wouldn´t see through his masquerade of deceit. But I could. I did. I had studied his features over the years, every time he put it on. How his jaw tightened just an inch, noticeable only to the trained eye. How his eyes shimmered in a more vibrant shade of violet. I´d seen him in his role so many times that I´d learned to watch out for him. The real him. Not the High Lord, but my father. He kept his face sealed, but I could see what he hid behind that mask. Fury over Eris. His worry. But the strongest emotion was his love for me. 

„I want you to stay away from him. Or even talk to him.“ Someone had just knocked all the air out of my lungs and punched me in the guts. I hadn´t been braced for what was to come. My pulse skipped a beat and the blood in my veins began to boil. He can´t do this! Voices shouted in my head and a lump formed in the back of my throat. But why? I didn´t even know Eris, even though he was my mate. I shouldn´t be so disappointed. He is practically a stranger. 

At a loss for words, I stared at my parents. „We don´t want to make decisions about your life, but Eris is a... complicated man.“ my mother interjected. You mean dangerous. 

„Wait, Eris is your mate?“ I flinched and turned around, only to spot my brother hidden in the darkness with a shit-eating grin on his face. „Finally something interesting is happening.“ he chuckled, earning him a slap on the neck from Cass. „Hey!“ he cried out as my father shot him a warning glare before continuing his lecture. „Darling, listen. We only want to protect you and make sure you don´t get hurt. And Eris is not good company. He has proven that several times in the past. So please believe us when we tell you to stay away from him. We have our reasons.“ And what are they? A knot tightened in my stomach when I heard Azriel whispering from behind: „Especially after what he did to Mor.“

But he is my mate! Even if we don´t know each other well, don´t I have the right to figure out what´s happening between us? My mind screamed at me. Say something! Anything! You know you can! I forced my thoughts to shut down. We would not have this conversation now. Fight back! But I didn´t. I understood that my parents were trying to protect me. They were angry, no doubt, but with the love in their eyes, I couldn´t argue against them. 

So I only looked up and nodded, giving them a coy smile, even though it felt wrong. So terribly wrong. 

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This moment had been stuck in my head for the past few days. Although I´d agreed not to approach Eris, somehow I still hoped he would talk to me. Maybe to explain when and how the bond had snapped for him. 

Starlight? Az is waiting for you in the training ring.

Oh, right. I looked at the sun, which was already sinking deeper into the sky. Uncle Az had asked me yesterday if I wanted to train with him. We usually met at the same time every week to train, but over the last few days he had become more careful around me, giving me more space.

I quickly stowed the book away, not wanting Nesta to get upset if something happened to her beloved book. Changing into my fighting gear, I winnowed to meet Azriel. 

„Faster!“ Azriel shouted, lunging forward, but not fast enough. I sidestepped his punch to the right, and in the brief moment his defence was down, I landed three swift blows to his ribs. He groaned in pain and tried to sweep me off my feet in one smooth motion. Just as I was about to dive again, my back hit the sandy ground, Truthteller at my throat. A sweaty Azriel lay on top of me. 

He pulled me up, brushing the sand from my clothes. „That wasn´t too bad, but you´re less focused today.“ A questioning look crossed his face for a second as he looked down at me, then it returned to his usual straight expression.

I opened my mouth slightly as if to reply, but shrugged instead and walked towards the edge of the training ground, breathing heavily. Az only threw a knowing look in my direction. He knows. He knows how I feel. 

We had been training for about two hours and I didn´t know how my muscles were still able to keep me standing, but anyway, I was grateful for them when I winnowed us back to the River House for dinner. 

✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦

After a quick shower, I now sat opposite to my brother at the wooden table eating dinner and it was truly a symphony for the senses. Wine glasses clinking. Knives scraping against plates. The aromatic scent of grilled steak and vegetables wafting through the room as my family engaged in a huge debate about who had the biggest wingspan. All I could do was smile at the silliness of it all and feel it seep into my soul. 

My father stroked my back lazily beside me, probably to keep calm, as Nyx started throwing peas across the table at Cassian, who dodged them. It really was ridiculous. „Seriously! A little decency, please!“ Amren hissed at this `display of strength´. Mor chuckled, „They´re Illyrians. Do you really think their egos would just ignore it if someone with bigger wings came along?“ My mother nearly choked on her wine at this comment, earning an amused look from her husband. „Can we all just calm down a little before the whole dining room is decorated with pieces of food?“ A quick, stern glance around the table from the High Lord and everyone resumed eating, interrupted now and then by a few giggles.

Ten minutes had passed, and the others had just finished chatting about upcoming events in Velaris, when Amren apparently decided to break the comfortable silence. „So y/n. Has anything been happening with the Autumn Heir lately?“ The wicked smirk on her face made her look like a cat that had caught a mouse to play with. All of a sudden, the room fell silent and everyone stopped eating. I felt my father stiffen beside me, his muscles tense. „Amren.“ Azriel warned, a low growl escaping his throat. „What? Just a sincere question.“ Not impressed by his threatening face. Not in the slightest.

Of course, the incident with Eris had spread around the River House throughout the last few days, fuelling rumours, but the others hadn´t said anything to me yet. I should have guessed that it was only a matter of time until the tension would blow up.

I think I might throw up. I certainly wasn´t in the mood to talk about it with my family. Not today. My blood froze as I gathered the strength to look into Amren´s cold, steely eyes, which were fixed directly on me. She didn´t even flinch when my father shot her a terrifying glare that would send shivers down your spine. 

Words began to flow into my mind, begging to be heard and a familiar feeling crept through my entire body, making my nerves go blank. It felt like I couldn´t breathe. 

„Are you all right, dear? You look a bit pale.“ she said, making me feel even more nauseous. „Amren, don´t.“ Everyone had stopped breathing by now. „You don´t have to answer her question, darling.“ My father´s hand darted out to graze my fingers, but I pulled back at the sensation. „You are his mate y/n, aren´t you? Must be desperate to know why.“ „Enough!“ Pure darkness collected in the corners of the dining room, ready to consume everything. I´d never seen my father so pissed off. „Why would you say such a thing?“ Mor uttered. „Exactly! She´s my sister, I´m the only one allowed to make fun of her!“, Nyx joined in. „I´m in the mood for some trouble.“ she responded honestly, taking a sip from her wine glass, completely untroubled. 

Everyone began to talk over each other, making it difficult to distinguish the individual voices. Tears welled up in my eyes as I covered my ears. The noise was becoming too much to bear. I sniffled, holding back a cry as I stood up and took a few steps away from the table. My chair scraped along the floor, causing everyone to turn around to me and all the shouting stopped. The tears began to trickle down my cheeks as my mother noticed them first, „Sweetheart, we´re so sorry.“ She stood up too. „We didn't mean to make you cry.“ Mor tried to reassure me, guilt clouding her voice. Everything felt too overwhelming. Leave. Walk away. Get out of this situation. 

„Starlight, come here. It´ll be fine.“ He took a few steps in my direction, but I quickly held my hand up in front of him to keep a distance between me and my father. 

„Y/n. Darling, we´re…“ But he stopped when I shook my head and scowled at him. Stared at all of them, anger written on my face, before I winnowed to my room. Leaving them all guilty and silent. 

✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦

With my back against the door, I sank to the floor, tears streaming down my face. It´s my life! I get to decide how I deal with Eris! Why do they keep talking about it like it isn´t my decision? Like it´s not my life? 

My nails scraped the floor, attempting to hold on to something, anything, as I spiralled down a path I didn´t want to go. A guttural sound escaped my lips as my hand clenched into a fist and slammed into the expensive wood panels beneath me. Pain shot through my knuckles, making me want to scream. Anger. Fear. Emptiness. These emotions ran through my mind as my body shook with sobs. Why can´t I just talk? I want to, but I can´t... I don´t know... the words just won´t come out when I try. It made me even angrier when I thought about it. Do I not feel safe enough around my own family to talk to them? Or is there something wrong with me? 

A knot formed in my stomach. I had never had a big problem with myself before. Not with my body, nor with my inability to speak to others. But now I wished, longed to talk to someone. Just someone who understood me. Someone who...

A certain scent wafted through the room making me pay attention. Was that smoke? I sat up straighter to observe my own bedroom. Books were scattered across the floor and the door to the neighbouring bathroom was open. My bed was made, covered in indigo silk sheets that shimmered slightly in the moonlight streaming in through the closed windows. A few plants hung from the frescoed ceiling. Nothing more.

My eyes were no longer watery and my heartbeat had stabilised. But I could still smell that there was... something. Parchment.

I looked over at my desk, which was littered with various rolls of parchment, papers and pencils of all kinds. But right in the middle. Something had changed. 

Slowly, on shaky legs, I got up and walked over to my desk. A crimson envelope lay there, and next to it a shiny golden feather with light brown spots. I couldn´t remember putting anything like that here. It smelled of an open fire, fresh rain and a hint of vanilla. 

Deep down I knew who must have sent it. I opened the letter with trembling hands.

 ・✧✵✧・✧✵✧・

Hello Princess,

Do you remember the night we met? To be honest, I can´t forget you. Standing on the balcony in your stunning gown, watching the stars fall upon you, even though they couldn´t diminish your appearance. At first I wasn´t sure how to approach you, but I did it anyway.

And it turned out to be one of the most wonderful nights I have ever had, and I wanted to thank you for it.

I could almost hear him chuckling to himself as a warmth filled my heart.

As you probably know by now, I'm your mate, but I don´t want you to feel obligated to anything that concerns me. It is your decision whether or not you wish to meet with me. ( Though I wouldn´t mind, of course) 

A blush spread across my tear-stained cheeks and I instinctively smiled. He had thought of me. He really had. My heart melted like snow in early spring. Something about him made me feel complete and understood. 

But if that´s the case, winnow to the border of Autumn in two days. I´ll be waiting for you under a birch tree when the sun sets. You can´t miss it. Sleep well, Princess! 

His letter also contained a small note. 

(Oh, the feather and the paper you write on will appear on my desk as soon as you write back).

・✧✵✧・✧✵✧・

I was speechless. Not just because he had thought of me or wanted to meet me. No. But because he would let me decide for myself. He wouldn´t force me to accept the bond, even if it hadn´t snapped for me yet. 

Not wanting to think clearly at the moment, I did the only thing that seemed right. I broke the agreement with my parents. 

I pulled out the chair, sat down, picked up the quill and wrote back. 

Half an hour later, I was lying in my bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows and a gentle night breeze caressing my form. A few candles were lit to provide some sort of night light. 

Just as I was falling asleep, footsteps came from the hallway and my bedroom door creaked as it slowly opened. I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep, not wanting to talk to whoever it was. „Darling, are you still awake?“ My father´s voice echoed through the room as he peeked out from behind the door. 

Just breathe. He won��t recognise it.

And he didn´t. He only walked over to my bed and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind my ear, while the last thing I heard was him whispering: „I´m deeply sorry, Starlight.“ before he silently walked out of my room, leaving me alone. 

✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not the slightest flicker of light. Total darkness consumed everything around me. No light, nor sun, nor any kind of something... soft. Something to keep me warm as the cold crept up my body, like a hidden shadow from the depths of darkness. 

I gasped for some air to reach my lungs, but all I could inhale was dust. Air! I need air! My lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen and a tingling sensation shot through my entire being.

I felt like a flame being smothered as a deep, dark wave crashed over me, trying to drown me, as if I were nothing. As if I didn´t matter. 

The darkness drew closer with each passing second. Minute? Hour? Time didn´t matter in this place of emptiness. A place without walls or windows or even solid ground. The only things that trapped me were my own thoughts and the giant beast I couldn´t see, but felt. It swallowed everything around it as its claws raked along my skin, my soul, leaving scratches all over me.

I screamed, but all that came out of my mouth was... nothing. Every sound, no matter how small, was absorbed by the emptiness of this place. 

My body was drenched in sweat and my voice must have been hoarse by now from screaming my heart out for I don´t know how long. Slowly my body was losing consciousness and I was drifting further and further into the devouring void as I frantically tried to breathe. Please! I need to breathe! My heart stuttered for a moment. Help... help me! Somebody! Please, I... Hot tears streamed down my face and my eyes slowly closed as I was suffocated and drowned by the beast that guarded this place. My body went limp, tired from fighting. 

A gentle brush of soft fur against my back was the last thing I felt as I drifted into nothingness. 

✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦

I jolted out of my sleep, my heart racing and the sheets beneath me damp with sweat. You´re awake! Everything is fine! I placed my hand over my chest, feeling my pulse slowly steady as I realised it was all just a nightmare. The silver curtains swayed slightly at the open windows and the moon shone so brightly I had to blink my eyes. `Shh, it´s all right, Little one. I´m here´ it yearned to say. My breathing had normalised and I ran a hand through my sticky hair. It was just a dream. I lay back and tried to sleep again, but I knew it was going to be a long night. 

✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦・✴︎✦

@tele86 @circe143 @impossibelle @st4r-girl-official @cherry-cin

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x Player), THE ENDING

Chapter 18, In Which You and Raphael Live Happily Ever After

read on AO3

Luca Signorelli: detail of The Deeds of Antichrist 

The second year of the Coming of Prophet Raphael. Holy See, Rome. Do not let anyone deceive you in any way, for that day will not come unless the rebellion comes first, and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the son of destruction, who opposes and who exalts himself over every so-called god or object of worship, so that he sits down in the temple of God, proclaiming that he himself is God.

“Such a blessed day”, your mum said. 

“It is”, you said. 

A lovely midsummer day. The sun beat down on the Vatican gardens, dappled shadows through the trees. You and your mum were having coffee in the gazebo, you with your phone, she with her newspaper, enjoying the sweet scent of flowers and freshly cut grass.

Not much changed in the Holy See. The Family of the Prophet Raphael moved in where the late Pope used to reside; crosses were banned and called a heresy, replaced by a symbol vaguely reminiscent of the double horns, but otherwise, not much.

Your mum gasped as she read something, and you had to shoot a quick glance at the headlines as well…

…a tactical nuclear strike… the Holy Army of Prophet Raphael…

You quickly looked back on your phone before you could catch the rest.

“Well, there has always been trouble in the Middle East”, your mom said after some contemplation. "God willing, Raul will bring about an end to it all."

“Raphael”, you corrected. “And be careful with your phrasing”.

"I prefer to call him by his baptismal name, the one he bore before the Resurrection," she responded with a soft smile. “Old habit”.

“Those are two different people”, you said. “The one who got resurrected was not the one who died”.

“Anya, you got more religious than me”, your mum laughed. “Who could have known?”.

You held your tongue and continued scrolling through Reddit, the subreddit dedicated to the Prophet. 

“You should go out”, your mum said. "You should visit Rome someday; it's been reborn. The streets are pristine, people dressed in their Sunday best every day, crime rates at their lowest since records began. It’s heaven on earth. Reinstating capital punishment was truly an act of divine wisdom. We are blessed indeed to have witnessed His Second Coming".

And he will speak words against the Most High, and he will wear out the holy ones of the Most High, and he will attempt to change times and law, and they will be given into his hand for a time and two times and half a time.

You did not need to go out. 

Nothing existed outside of this house anyway.

It’s just you and this house. And the gardens.

As for your mum, she was the necessary evil.

Raphael was busy with his Crusades, you were busy battling Asmodeus, and since Raphael could not stand the idea of nannies, your mother looked after your son around-the-clock. It was her own personal mission from God, to raise the son of the Great Prophet, so she said.

“If you ask me,” she said as she sipped her tea from a china cup, “those who turn a blind eye to Raul’s miracles are simply reaping what they've sown. God knows who they truly serve.”

Oh, damn! They finally dropped the new update to the Conquest Of Nessus. At long last, you flagged these bugs a month ago. 

“Anya, pay attention to your child. What’s so interesting on your phone?”

Three new re-worked romance scenes with Raphael and a new boss fight, that’s what's interesting on your phone.

“What?”, you asked as you scrolled through the release notes. “He is happy. Michi is a very happy little boy”.

Your little boy sat in his stroller with his jet black hair and blue eyes; angelic except for those little double horns and tail. So well-behaved and sweet you sometimes forgot about his existence. Michi was short for Michael, and Michael was short for Archangel Michael - nomen est omen after all.

Couldn't ask for a better baby.

“Anya, you need to be present for your son”.

You never spoke with Raphael of Michael’s blue eyes; with your mum, of his horns. She never brought them once either; but she would often knit small hats for him, carefully including two holes on each side.

Some things you just don’t talk about in a family. 

“Present where?”, you tore your eyes off the phone screen. “Mom, I wish you would refrain from criticizing me all the time—I'm doing my best here.”

Your mother’s face softened into a serene smile.

“I know, sweetheart," she said warmly, "I am proud of you. I love you—you're the most wonderful daughter anyone could dream of."

That’s all you ever wished for.

****

The remainder of your day was spent immersed in beta-testing, just like in your pre-Raphael days. As midnight loomed, you'd squashed enough bugs to warrant a serious chat with Larian.

"Thanks for the latest patch," you began as the newly appointed development lead appeared on your Teams call screen. "There are a few areas I want to discuss, particularly this bit where Tav and Raphael liberate Nessus from Asmodeus' tyranny and celebrate their wedding."

“Too cheesy? We hoped you’d like it”

“Um, I appreciate the sentiment”, you said. “But I had a feeling it was too much. Like, unrealistic. Can you schedule me a call with the chief writer? Besides many other minor points. Raphael doesn’t talk like that. But you will receive my full feedback in an e-mail”.

"Certainly," he agreed with a nod. "We'll make sure everything is according to your preferences. After all, Lady Prophet, you're our exclusive client."

Nobody else was allowed to play the game.

“Anya”, you corrected. “I really cannot stand when they call me Lady Prophet. But just so you know, I really appreciate the hard work you do for me”, you said.

“How is the Prophet?"

"Oh, well... The Middle Eastern conversion isn't exactly going as smoothly as anticipated. South Asia isn’t looking much better".

Russia was in the drenches of a civil war between raphaelists and orthodox. China bought itself some time. 

"Here's hoping there will still be some folks left for him to convert," he joked without a smile on his face. "Just so we're clear though - we are all followers of the Prophet here at Larian Studios. In hoc signo vinces. No heretics among us, Lady Prophet. Anya. Sorry. Anya".

You could feel your cheeks turning red. There were heretics, yes. A lot of them. Especially in northern Europe.

They did not live long before they were put on trial in hellfire. Raphael had his own inquisitors (there were about ten thousand applications for a place, a favourite career choice for young men of Catholic background).

Raphael did not burn the inquisitors for their crimes back then.

He burned them because their crimes were not in his name.

For false messiahs and false prophets will appear, and will produce great signs and wonders in order to deceive, if possible, even the elect.

“Don’t hate me”, you muttered. “I did not… You guys created Raphael. Not me”.

There was a long silence.

"We'll have that update ready for you ASAP," he finally said.

***

You used to hate the spotlight, and you still do. 

Unfortunately to you, you were the most discussed woman in the world; and your marriage was the item of every gossip. Which meant you had to do public statements from time to time. This time, on national news, live stream from the papal enclave, you and Raphael sitting on the sofa, the entire United Christian nation's eyes on you.

He was dressed in pristine white and blood red; the two colors he hailed now to be his signature. White shirt, scarlet waistcoat, pristine white cape over his shoulders. Not quite the papal robes, not quite his devilish attire; something quite in the middle. 

"Lady Prophet," the reporter began, her face magnified on the giant screen behind her before switching to yours. “How challenging is it to be the spouse of the Chosen One?”

“It is what I wished for”, you said simply.

“My dear Anya and I are striving to give our utmost efforts in making our relationship flourish and serve as a model for other believers to follow”, Raphael said as he held your hand and kissed it gently.

Raphael was trying his best, you were sure of it. He never raised his voice at you, nor did he ever harm you in any way. Everything was wonderful in the bedroom. 

Both of you were putting in your best effort. Because that's what marriage is all about: work. It’s hard.

Not without it’s lovely moment, of course. Raphael read you poetry before bed: from Milton to Eliot to Keats. And you would go to the theater every other weekend, and to the opera once every two months. Not last month, though, as he was away managing the conflict from his war room in Zion. 

"Can you tell us how both of you were resurrected alongside the Prophet? Lady Prophet, is it true that God commanded you to end both of your lives so that you could be reborn?" another reporter piped up.

“The details are hazy, if I am honest”, you said. “I am not sure it was God who commanded me, but it seemed the right thing to do”.

Most of the details you yourself got from the press. You were dead for three days. They held a lavish funeral for both of you, despite you being the murderer. The Family wished for it (and kept the details of your deaths hush-hush), you learned later. There was a lot of press, a lot of crying. Both caskets were open, a scarf around your neck, a suit jacket covering Raul’s gun wound. They made this whole “and then, both were dead” thing oddly romantic.

So, half of the world witnessed you both coming back from the dead on a live stream. That part you remember. Chaos. Some went straight into religious hysteria, some ran, some just stood there shell-shocked. Raphael delivered his first speech within the first hour.

Therefore, stay awake, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.

"Anya chose to sacrifice herself for us all," Raphael added smoothly. "Her bravery knows no bounds."

“I did not feel so brave at the moment”, you said.

You killed yourself and you were dead for three days.

Three days of nothing. 

Absolute darkness. 

Not a single memory or feeling.

“Your actions triggered the Second Coming, Lady Prophet, for which are eternally grateful”, the moderator said as she clutched the double-horned pendant on her chest. “God guide your hand, Prophet Raphael. In hoc signo vinces”.

For the powers of the heavens will be shaken. And then they will see the Son of Man coming bearing the Holy Light and great glory.

“Tell us, what of your son?”, she continued. “You were pregnant at that moment, were you not?”

“I did not know that”, you said. “Everybody but me knew, but I did not”.

Raul knew. Jens knew. Camilla knew. Your mother knew. Nobody told you. Angus told them that you had a high risk of miscarriage, so it would be wise not to tell you until the 10th week, when the chances decrease rapidly. You killed yourself at nine weeks and four days.

Yourself and Michi. 

“And if you knew”, the reporter asked and took a little pause.  “Would you have had the courage to?..”

Would you kill Raul and then kill yourself?

Would you?

Michi (he would be called something different, for sure, Marco or Alessandro or something) would be playing with Raul now. Raul would have dreamt of such a kid.  You’d be living in his villa while the king of Blackrock would be turning the world into an even more capitalist hellhole than it was. You dreamt of this scenario too, recently, and woke up screaming and not knowing what’s real and shook Raphael awake to check what colour his eyes were.

Brown.

The only dream of Raul that came true was that Italy became the powerhouse of the United Christian Union. Raphael kept hold of Blackrock, too. He did not use the infrastructure and power and money to generate even more profits.

He used it for entirely different purposes.

“Every “if” is a different story”, you said. “I don’t know the other one”.

“Your words are full of wisdom, Lady Prophet. Oh! Such beautiful blue eyes your baby has”.

She gestured towards the photo projected on the screen, taken on Michi's first birthday - there were fireworks and a parade in his honour. The horns were carefully photoshopped away and his black hair slicked back.

Raphael said nothing to the comment, his jaw set tight, his lips slightly twitching. You didn’t have blue eyes either.

Nobody in your family did, all green and brown.

“Plans for more?”, she asked.

“Naturally”, Raphael said. “for as they say, one child is no child at all. I lead by example”.

You said nothing.

“Can the little one already summon the Holy Fire?”, the moderator said, immediately spotting unease between the two of you.

“Not yet,” Raphael said and stood up, facing the cameras. “But in due time, he shall be able to, as will all those who have faith in me. In hoc signo vinces”.

He produced Hellfire in his palm; the parlour trick that converted the first ten million, and it still worked wonders.

The cameras captured every spark. 

For false messiahs and false prophets will appear, and will produce great signs and wonders in order to deceive, if possible, even the elect.

“You never get used to it, do you?”, the TV show moderator said, trembling, her mouth agape with awe. “The miracle of the Holy Fire. The miracle of God”.

“I did”, you shrugged. “You get used to everything, really”.

*** 

After the interview, Raphael came out on the balcony to greet his flock in St Peter's Square, a smile on his face; you were standing next to him, hand in hand. 

The crowd applauded him, their faces absent, possessed, not a trace of humanity in him, chanting his name, chanting your name, chanting something in Latin, shaking their fists, raising the symbol of the Prophet.

"In hoc signo vinces!" They chanted the motto of his Crusades. "In hoc signo vinces!"

All beautifully dressed. White and red robes, gold emblems, guns at their belts. Former citizens of the European Union, now known as the United Christian Union (including the Commonwealth and Latin America). Raphael preferred the Holy Empire, but it never stuck.

"Hail Archangel Raphael! Hail His Lady Prophet!".

Raphael did not forbid to call him archangel, but he humbly asked to be addressed as prophet.

You dropped your eyes and reached for your phone. You haven't checked your emails for a while. It's high time you did.

"Anya," Raphael chided gently. "Your flock needs its Lady”.

Emails. Emails. Who knows what's there? You must know. 

"Give your worshippers some recognition," came the email.

You looked up and waved to the crowd, and they waved back in delight, shouting your title. Raphael raised both arms to the blackened sky above. The sky responded in kind; clouds gathered into pitch-black formations, fires flickered. They knew what Raphael was summoning, and so did his flock.

The hellstorm was coming.

***

"I keep thinking, Anya."

You watched as Raphael unbuttoned his shirt and prepared for the night's rest. Soon he'd be brushing his teeth and lathering his skin with moisturiser before changing into blue silk pajamas.

You wondered how much of this nightly routine was a remnant of his Raul days and how much was just Raphael. In moments of that, the reality of one blurred into the memory of another. 

"What about, my love?" you asked as you combed through your hair.

"The devil," he said. "The one you mentioned in Dr Bambauer's files. The one you lied to me about. It was not Asmodeus, Anya. I am sure of that now. Who was it, then, and why did he choose to reveal himself to you instead of me?"

You knew that little encounter would come to bite you one day.

"I wish I knew”, you muttered. “Let the old dogs lie. I rubbed his horns, nothing more happened".

"Well, I should be grateful that our child does not bleat," Raphael said, arms folded over his chest. "You've only seen this creature once, have you?"

"Yes," you said, very eager to drop the subject.

"I thought I would finally succeed when Mecca was converted," Raphael said, clenching his fists and relaxing. "Yet I am no closer to true divinity. The powers I know are there have never shown themselves to me. Why?"

"Why do you ask me?", you sighed as you laid yourself to rest.

"For the same reason I chose you, my dear consort. You seem to see more than anyone else".

And yet he never asked you about the things he decides to do on his crusades.

"Why the tactical nuke, Raphael?" you asked, closing your eyes and pressing your cheek against the silk of the pillow. "You can summon hellstorm and hellfire to make them worship you. Why?"

Raphael and tactical nukes should have never coexisted in the same sentence.

Whips, hellfire, infernal magic, yes.

Nukes, segregation, jihad, no. 

"I can summon hellstorm and hellfire," Raphael nodded. "Yet there are those who continue to dismiss it as psyops and propaganda and deep fakes. The use of tactical nuclear weapons has proven to be a more efficacious method for conversion."

For you yourselves are fully aware that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. While people are saying, “There is peace and security,” then sudden destruction will come upon them as labor pains come upon a pregnant woman, and they will not escape.

"You don’t like guns, but you like nukes? Was it Kötter's advice?", you asked. Raphael said nothing, so that meant "yes". "Why have you never fired him? He is Raul's man, and Raul was a piece of shit".

That was the first time you said his name out loud in ages.

"Raul was competent in choosing advisors," Raphael snapped back. "I shall not speak of the man again and neither shall you. I have enough reminders, thank you".

You read recently that parents with green and brown eyes have 12% to produce blue-eyed kids. It’s possible, just unlikely.

But you said nothing as Raphael creamed his hands. Some things you just don’t talk about in a family. 

"It's just... I wish you could have asked me," you said, emphasising the word "wish". “I would not have allowed that”.

No, your magic never worked on him. 

He never let it work with him. You have all the power in the world, but not with him, never with him. 

"I didn't wish to distract you from your reverie," Raphael whispered as he lay on top of you, ready to commence the next part of the evening programme. "Or disturb your beautiful dreams."

My sweet. My darling. Little mouse. Apple of my eye.

Never, never, "my love". 

Not even once.

***

Behold! I tell you a mystery.

You didn't have to do anything but enjoy yourself, day after day, week after week. Michi was growing up all by himself, a poster child in all manners conceivable, your mother took great care of him, Raphael was away on crusades. 

Life was idyllic behind the high walls of the Holy See, guarded by the carefully selected Prophet's Guard. Nothing ever happened inside. Perfectly orderly, perfectly lawful, clean and utterly, utterly beautiful. One thing Raphael did right (one of the few) was bringing back classical art with a vengeance - sculptures especially.

You didn't have to work, you didn't have to think about the future (what future?), you didn't have to worry about money or health - you had everything. Everything there was to have.

And the world outside was what it was: the world outside.

And the stories of others were what they were: the stories of others.

Do they exist, even? Maybe all that exists is you.

Or maybe all that doesn’t exist is you; maybe you never came back from your suicide.

Be it as it may, nothing ever disturbed your reverie, your own little world. And you dreamed, every day. Of how things could be different. Should have been different. 

Of other worlds, other people, other places, other stories.

And you played the game, of course, daily. You killed Asmodeus a thousand times, a thousand ways. You asked for three rewrites. None of them mattered. Raphael was getting more and more frustrated, so you searched for new ways to defeat Asmodeus. 

“Lady Prophet?”, the servant girl knocked on your door when you and your party were casting poisonous clouds on Asmodeus’ guard. “There is a visitor waiting for you at the entrance door”.

A visitor, on a Sunday morning? You haven't had any visitors in years. You personally, at least. You asked what he looked like. The girl flushed red and said she could not remember, but he was very sweet.

Huh.

You were all too aware of the sight that would greet you once you swung open the grandiose door to the Papal Palace, yet a gasp still escaped your lips.

There he was, Mr. Goat, looking somewhat dishevelled with muck clinging to his hooves and a rugged hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. In his mouth, he held a dandelion - its yellow petals slightly wilted from being gnawed on.

"That's for you, my sweetest morsel”, he said and handed you the flower. “I couldn't help but sample it myself; it was simply irresistible."

You felt heat rising to your cheeks when he said the word 'irresistible', and then he sent a little wink your way.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Goat," you replied, holding the flower close to your heart. "Raphael isn't home at the moment though. He will be back soon, though".

"The two of us have no need for him", Mr. Goat gave you a very ambiguous smile, and you blushed even harder. “May I come in?”

You nodded and watched as he clomped across Raphael's pristine white marble floors with little regard for cleanliness, leaving trails of dirt in his wake. If Raphael saw this mess, he'd surely have a heart attack. 

Not that it would kill him.

“Would you be so kind and make me a cup of tea, little human?”, Mr. Goat asked. “Terribly thirsty for some good tea”.

You found yourself trailing him into the kitchen, a place you didn't frequent too often - it was more the domain of your staff. But you and your mum did have a tradition of sharing tea on occasion. Mr. Goat glided as he moved, dancing with every step, his hooves tapping against the floor. 

You picked out the crème de la crème of your tea selection and fetched the loveliest cups from their repository.

"Sublime," Mr. Goat crooned as he savoured the first sip, his jet-black eyes sliding shut in pure bliss. "Just what I craved after an eternity.”

Now both of you were snuggled at your quaint coffee table, your legs almost touching underneath it. His coarse fur grazed against your skin.

"I'm glad you liked it. This blend was a gift to Raphael from the Chinese Premier when they signed their pact of non-aggression," you said, though you had doubts about how long that pact would last.

The Chinese government had never officially recognized Raphael's divine status; instead attributing his miracles to some high-tech psychological warfare tech.

"Mmm...I can detect a faint hint of cyanide in its aroma”, Mr. Goat said. “How delightful! So how fares our ambitious cambion?" 

“Well”, you said. “He rules the Earth now. Well, almost”.

The Middle East, India and China remained stubborn holdouts while America had been swept up in religious fervor almost instantly; offering weapons and intelligence support. Nordic resistance had been a minor hiccup but was swiftly dealt with.

The fact that all-out nuclear war hadn't erupted yet was nothing short of miraculous.

“Oh does he now”, Mr. Goat chuckled. “My, my, ready to enter the big boys club, is he? How exciting!”

“He is not too pleased with the result”, you confessed.

"Really? With all those souls under his thumb and yet no closer to achieving godhood?" Mr. Goat chortled with an unsettling glee. “Has he pondered why that might be?”

“He had”, you confessed. “He lashed out quite… profusely recently”.

That was quite a night. The whole house had to lay low and pray for their lives. He managed to punch a hole through a concrete wall in his human form. 

“Who knows, who knows why that might be”, Mr. Goat bleated. “And you, my dearest delight? Do you now have what you always wanted?”

You thought how to answer this question and decided not to.

“You know the answer, Mr. Goat”, you said instead.

“Really?”, Mr. Goat pouted his lips in dissapointment. “Why ever not? Has Raphael lost his charm after he became reality?”

You shook your head and said nothing more on the matter, looking at your nails.  Still chewed to the quick. Well, at least some things do not change.

“Why did you never stop Raphael, Mr. Goat?”, you changed the subject. “Hundreds of millions are dead. There will be many more. He needs to be stopped”.

“There will be trillions more, with him or without, in the future and in the past. People live. People die”, he slipped the tea. “What’s the problem again?”

“Raphael is impersonating God”.

“Who hasn’t tried that at least once?”, Goat said. “You should as well, it is lots of fun. Why did you never try to stop him, Anya?”

“I cannot”, you said, your lips twitching in anger. “You know that very well! I can only watch what I created but cannot do anything. I stopped bothering a long time ago anyway”.

“Ha, you remind me of someone I know! He also created something, and now cannot bear to look at it. Stopped bothering a long, long time ago. Not what I imagined, he said. But that’s exactly what you imagined, I tell him, and he just won’t listen. All touchy-touchy, that one”.

“Are you talking about God?”, you blurted out. “Will he truly never forgive me for taking my own life?”

“I am talking about someone I know”, Mr. Goat said and slurped some more tea. “As for your question, ask him yourself. But I don’t think so. He cannot forgive me stepping on his foot once”.

“Well, yes, Mr. Goat”, you admitted. “My life is not exactly what I imagined”.

“Then imagine something different”, Mr. Goat suggested.

“Please leave if you are here to mock me”.

"I'm not here to mock you, sweetest morsel”, he sniffed in offence. “Quite the opposite - I find you delightful! You've rubbed my horns just right and danced with me. That’s more than most mortals have ever done."

“Are you here to punish Raphael? Kill him?”

"Would you like me to?" asked Mr Goat lazily. "Give the wicked little cambion some spanking?"

You feel silent.

Something in his voice told you he could do that with a snap of his fingers.

Probably wouldn’t even need a snap.

“No. No. I love him”, you pleaded.”He is the father of my child”.

Despite everything, you could never truly wish for Raphael’s death. You don’t know what you would be without him. You don’t know who you are with him, either.

Besides, what would they do to Michi and you if Raphael was gone?

"Oh really?" Mr Goat smiled. "Anyone in your family have blue eyes?"

You hadn’t discussed this with anyone before, not even Raphael himself.

"Well, Michie has double horns," you retorted, your body rigid with tension. "No one in my family had those, that's for sure."

Mr. Goat bobbed his head in what you hoped was agreement. 

“Raphael is… He can do better, Mr. Goat”, you said. “He is half-human. He has… he can… I can… make him better. With time, maybe. I just don’t know how”.

Mr. Goat flapped his lips a bit in contemplation, and then raised a finger, as if struck by the idea.

“Anya, I bought you a present”, Mr. Goat started to pull something out of his worn and torn backpack. “You know, they say a book is the best present there is”.

“If this is a Bible, Mr. Goat, I am throwing it into the fire”. 

You cannot hear quotes from the Bible anymore. There was a whole scriptorium in the Apostolic Palace where they wrote the Prophet Raphael’s edition of the Bible day and night; replaced words, edited stories.

“Oh, no, I haven’t read this one for a while. The human interpretations grew too wild for my taste. No, it’s a much simpler piece of fiction. But I thought you’d like it”.

You peeked into his open backpack; there was a black hole inside of it and a half-eaten apple.

What he drew out from his bag barely qualified as a book; it was more like a stack of A4 papers haphazardly stitched together at one end. Your eyes widened as you recognized the layout on the first page: rating information, warnings, tags and main pairing.

"Mr. Goat," you burst out laughing. "Is this an AO3 fanfic?"

Mr. Goat slowly nodded and went for a toffee on the table. 

"'Knock knock'," you read aloud the title, trying to suppress another round of laughter. "I haven't read one of these in forever. Is it any good?"

“Ah, so-so. I am not the key audience”, he said. “You are”.

You flipped through to the last page and read the final line aloud: “I am not the key audience”, Mr. Goat said. “You are”.

“What is it?”, you recoiled, looking at Mr. Goat in horror. “What in the holy hell…”

"Your story," he replied calmly as if explaining why water is wet."And Raphael's too." He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully before adding, "It's still a work in progress though; one chapter left to go."

“And how does it end?”, you asked. “Please spare the child. Kill us, but spare Michi, he really is not at fault for anything”.

“Ah, Anya, don’t be morbid, I would never do something like that to your happy nuclear family. I'm asking you — how does your story conclude? Spill it. I'm all ears and ready to write it down."

He took the last page and held a pen at the ready. A very simple, blue ball pen, half-chewed upon. 

"It's a happy ending," you whispered. "Please, Mr Goat, make it a happy ending”.

"Anya," he urged gently, "give me the specifics here. Remember what I told you – this is your story.”

With that prompt, you began to speak rapidly - words tumbling over each other as if they were afraid of being left behind.

"Anya and Raphael lived happily ever after," Mr Goat nodded and wrote. "He... learned to love Anya... truly love her… and their little son. He became a good father. He actually came to Michi’s crib and rocked him and fed him at night, and he got one of those babybjorns to carry him around. He loved Michi just the way he was, no matter what colour his eyes were".

Mr Goat erupted into laughter (his spit flecked with bits of caramel splattered all over the page), but he didn't stop writing. 

Can Raphael even, will it even work…

Well. He has to. You changed for him, too. Not necessarily how you’ve liked, either. 

Love is fucking sacrifice.

You need to think about the world, too.

You are a good person.

"Raphael stopped killing innocent people who refused to pledge their souls to him and accept him as their new god”, you went on. “Instead, he vowed to build a better world on Earth. Basic income for all. Equal rights. Stock market is banned. And... and... high living standards and affordable housing. Space exploration!”

"Communism?" Mr Goat glanced at you. "Really? How many times are we going round this merry-go-round?"

"We'll get it right this time", you said, your jaw sat tight. “We will do right”.

"If you say so, my little idealist," Mr Goat nodded sagely. "Theocratic Communism, my favourite. You are right – what's another billion souls here or there?"

"Please write that down too: Raphael loved Anya unconditionally. He would sacrifice his own life for her. She was his special little mouse. She was! And no other little mice. Ever. He was faithful to the end of his days”.

At that, Mr Goat's laughter became so intense he had to put down his pen. You didn’t think it was all that funny.

"Please write the faithful part down," you reminded him. "It is important. I was beginning to have my doubts with all these crusades. Ah! But write down that Haarlep is okay. Haarlep does not count as cheating".

Haarlep was fucking his way through the United Christian Union Parliament (sex was no longer off charts for Christians, quite the opposite; the more believers the better). 

Mr. Goat transcribed your words, and he had some really sloppy handwriting, so you hoped he didn’t mess anything up. 

"Duly noted," said Mr Goat. "Anything else? What about Asmodeus?”

Hm?

“What about him?”, you asked. “I never cared about Asmodeus, really”.

Mr. Goat's expression turned to one of mock-offence, his pouty lips protruding.

"You are not him, are you?" you summoned all your courage to ask the next question. "What exactly are you, Mr. Goat? You are Satan, right? Our Satan?"

Mr. Goat let out a deep sigh and rummaged through his backpack before producing what looked like a gnawed-on business card - faded grey with some dubious stains on it. Your breath hitched as he presented it to you with an expression of grave solemnity.

"Mr. Goat" was scribbled on the card in childish handwriting.

Mr. Goat slowly nodded, as if he had just revealed the greatest of all secrets.

“Now you know the truth of this world, Anya”, he said.

“Thank you”, you let out a nervous laugh. “No more questions”.

“Well then,” he slapped his thighs and rose from his seat. “Appreciate the tea and the hospitality, sweet morsel. Give my best to Raphael".

He put his backpack back on his back and pulled on a silly knitted orange hat that made his ears stand apart even more.

"That's it? Will you just leave us alone then?", you could not believe it. "You're not going to destroy Raphael for what he's done to Earth?"

He cackled, a paw on his round belly.

"Why should I, my sweet morsel?" Mr Goat's lips curved into a sly smile. "You just did, and I must say I'm no match for your cruelty. To break a man like that! To twist his very nature! I applaud you."

He paused, clapping his paws together like an over-excited spectator at a show.

"I have not destroyed Raphael," you said. "I love him."

"And I love women," Mr Goat grinned, his furry face contorted into an expression of pure delight. "God's finest creations; far superior to men, if you ask me. What punishment would Raphael have in mind? Meat hooks and eternal torture, boring, boring, boring. What punishment have you thought of? Oh! Delightful!”.

He stroked your cheek and leaned in to kiss you.

The lips that touched you were not those of a man or a goat or anything in between. What was touched was primordial; it existed before the concept of existence itself.

"Au revoir, my little dreamer," said Mr Goat, his face disappearing into thin air until only his smile was left, but it did not linger for long. "Remember, there is only one truth: what has been dreamed shall never be lost”.

You sat there for a while, lingering the taste of eternity on your lips.

Until you heard a knock knock.

"Anya?" Raphael's worried voice called from behind the closed door. "My love? Why is the door closed? Are you well?"

THE END

(NO, SERIOUSLY. THE END)

[ottosuricatoblog]

"Jealous."

Link to my masterlist

Author: hola! I'm so happy you guys are enjoying my fics. I'm very thankful for the support🫶🏻 It's taken me a while to write this, but I think I like how it's turned out. I decided to add prompt 51 since it went well with the story. I hope you like it! Do let me know🥰

Request: Your stuff is seriously sooooo good. Absolutely adorable and then some 🥰💘 Maybe something angsty and fluffy with [69] and [74]. Like a jealous argument that ends all sweet and happy?

Prompts:

69. desperate, needy and forgiving kisses with [character] after a bad argument/fighting.

74. “oh my god– are you... jealous?”

51. [character] get jealous because they think someone is flirting with you, but it's actually a relative they didn't know about and the two of you have re-encountered with each other after a long time.

When your father told you that your cousin Eric was visiting, you couldn't believe it. The last time you saw him, you must have been around 14 or 15. He was a Tully, not a Stark, but he stayed with you and your siblings in Winterfell for around a year. You guys had a great relationship. He treated you like a sister, and you treated him like a brother.

Now, he was visiting Kings Landing for some trading matter.

You ask your father to tell Eric to meet you by the gardens after his meeting. You're wandering along them, waiting for him, when you hear a familiar voice.

"Bug!" Eric calls you, using the nickname he gave you when you were kids. "Or should I say Lady Y/N?"

You turn around to find a handsome young man in his late twenties. His face remains the same, though, his copper hair on his face and a dimple on his right cheek.

"Eric!" You smile. "Look at you."

"I could say the same about you. You've grown, bug." He smiles as well. "Come here." He says, opening his arms.

You hug him joyfully. "Gods, I can't believe it's been so long." You hear him say.

When you separate, he keeps an arm around your shoulders.

"Let's walk." You say, smiling. "I'm sure you have many things to tell me."

Sandor enters the gardens following the Prince. He stops abruptly when he looks at his left and spots you smiling at a man he doesn't know, his arm around you. You look at him smiling, say something, and start walking with him.

It makes his blood boil. This is what you were doing while he was working? When he's decided he's going to approach you and kill that fucker, he hears the Prince's voice.

"Come, dog." He says, motioning for the opposite direction.

He gulps, trying to calm down, and follows Joffrey.

It's earlier than usual for Sandor to come to your chambers, so the knock on your door surprises you. You open it to find Sandor with a cold stare. It's not his usual angry because of Joffrey face, though. Something's different tonight.

"Sandor!" You say, still a bit surprised.

"Aye." He grunts. "Oh, maybe you were expecting someone else?" His stare is cold as he walks in.

"What do you mean?" You say, frowning while you close your door.

"Oh, you know what I mean." He says.

You stare at him, one of your eyebrows up in your forehead.

"The redhead cunt you were having so much fun with before." He groans.

You can't believe what you're hearing. "Sandor, what..." You exclaim. "Oh gods, are you...jealous?"

He doesn't answer, looking away from you.

"I can't believe you're being a fucking kid about this." You mumble, shaking your head.

"What did he tell you, eh?" He says with a cold voice. "Promised you a bunch of fucking things, I'm sure. I bet he can give you much more than me."

"I truly can't believe this is happening." You sigh in disbelief. "Do you really think so poorly of me?"

"He was fucking hugging you, Y/N." He groans. "Do you think I didn't see you? You were all smiles. Fucking walking with him. Did you tell him all about yourself? Let him fucking court you?"

You snort, truly not believing his behavior.

"You find it fucking funny?" He asks, raising his voice.

"No, Sandor." You say. "I find it fucking sad."

His face turns into confusion.

"I find it sad that you think that I would just forget about you, about everything we've been through. You don't trust me." Your voice is harsh.

"I know what I saw." He groans.

"He's my fucking cousin!" You shout. "You're here being a fucking asshole about me hugging my cousin!"

His face suddenly changes, realization hitting him.

"Your cousin?" He asks, his voice much lower now.

"Yes, Sandor. My cousin." You say, irritated. "I don't..." Your voice breaks. "I don't know what we're doing together if you're not able to trust me." Your voice had gone from angry to sad.

"Y/N..." He says, taking a step towards you.

"Leave." You hiss.

"Love.. " He tries.

"Don't." You say, sending him a death stare. "Just go, Sandor. I need to think."

He looks at you, sadness now in his eyes, before turning and leaving your chambers. You fall asleep with tears in your eyes that night.

The next morning, when you open your door, you find a set of candles, which Sandor knows you love, and a note in his handwriting.

You take the candles inside and read the note: "I'm sorry. I love you."

It makes you think about what happened yesterday again. You stand by what you said. He needs to trust you if you want your relationship to work. Nevertheless, you have to admit you don't know how you've reacted if it was him instead of you. You want to think you would have asked him about it, but sometimes jealousy can get the worst of someone.

When you see him later that day, every bit of you that was still angry goes away. He gives you his best puppy eyes, and you smile at him. You give him a little nod, and he understands what that means.

That night, when you hear the knock, you open the door with a soft smile. After closing it, Sandor suddenly throws his arms around you.

"I'm sorry, love." He whispers against your hair. "I was an immature cunt."

You hug him back, putting your head on his chest.

"It's alright." You mumble. "Just... Give me some credit."

"I will." He says, pulling back to look at you. "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too." You say, caressing his face. "Now kiss me, you idiot."

He smiles, leaning in and crashing his lips against yours. His forgiving kisses soon turn desperate, needy.

"Sandor?" You moan.

He pulls back a bit. "Hmmm?"

"Make it up to me." You say, smirking.

He smiles mischievously, picking you up and throwing you on the bed. And gods, he does.

Taglist: @broadsdrinkwhisky @malkaviangirl if you wanna be in it let me know💖

[bittersweetcrusades]

Hi hello! do you have any alien stage fic recs??

i most definitely do!!!

I've only read ivantill until now (cus the brainrot is real) so that's what I'll share here but once I'm done scouring the mizisua tag, I'll definitely return!

links below the cut <3

from ashes by petitfives

vampire till and vampire ivan. ivan is deranged and till suffers per usual. rating: explicit

"This is the face of the dog who has killed so many of my fledglings,” Urak says, snapping Till out of his reverie. “Remember it. It might be the last thing you see.” Till has never liked Ivan more than he does right now. Good, he thinks, as viciously as he can. He doesn’t think his prayers carry any weight, but he stares hard at the saint wearing Ivan’s face and hopes Ivan puts a stake through Urak’s unbeating heart. Or, Till gets turned by a vampire, and Ivan is a vampire hunter.

the silhouette in my peripherals by Anonymous

till in the aftermath of r6. rating: explicit

Ivan is gone, but he is still there. Or: how to haunt a person.

till death do us part (so why are you before me again?) by Aminori

ivan and till reuniting in the afterlife. <3 rating: teen

When Ivan had held his beloved’s throat, felt the pulse of life as his own ended, he had expected to not see Till again. … He had expected Till to live on. Had selfishly wanted it, in fact. But here his beloved was, in his arms, in a place that they were never meant to be reunited in.

And he wasn’t quite sure what to feel, anymore.

(or: Ivan dies. He didn’t expect to see Till again, but he did.)

break a heart, stitch it right back by yamscooper

till being jealous. rating: teen

If Ivan wants to laugh and giggle and twirl his hair at some girl Till has never met before, that’s none of Till’s fucking business. “I don’t think Ivan’s hair is long enough to twirl,” Mizi says. “It’s a figure of speech,” Till bites out.

a certain ivantill fan's origin story by gustavo

somehow luka becomes the #1 ivantill fan. rating: teen

Over the course of his preparation for the much-anticipated Final Round of the hit dystopian drama, Alien Stage, Luka discovers that he might be a lot more invested in his best friend’s love life than he’d expected himself to be. or: the fic where luka somehow becomes an ivantill truther.

breathe again in the world anew by aerivel

more ivantill reunions after r7. rating: teen

Till and Ivan reunite one more time. - “I can’t say I’m not disappointed.” The sound of a deep, gentle voice cutting through the air startles Till enough to bang his head against the tree behind him. Wincing slightly, he sits up and jerks his head to the slowly approaching man in white. “I thought you would win after all,” the man continues, slowing until he stood a few feet away. The man’s attention is stolen by the fluttering of a crimson flower inches away from his foot. Absently, he shifts his shoe and crushes the petals beneath him. It’s enough to spark something within Till. Ivan. It’s Ivan.

your shadow on the wall of my room by ephemeroptera_insecta

ghost ivan haunts till. rating: teen

Till won Round 6. He had his first kiss. He’s one step closer to winning. He’s also, notably, now being haunted. Or : Ivan comes back as a ghost. Till realizes what Ivan has done for him, and the feelings he buried for him out of fear. They navigate life (and death) as a man and his ghost.

what we’re allowed to do to each other’s faces by fakekniferealketchup

ivan lives and till escapes. rating: teen

When Ivan had died, the lens through which Till saw the world had fractured, rearranged, and stuck that way, like a broken bone that wasn’t set. A bleeding kaleidoscope of the past. A dozen years of memories clamored for fresh attention, to be reexamined, to be cut open so they could show off all the terrible wriggling things that had wormed around inside them and eaten them hollow. He couldn’t think of the garden, anymore; only of how stupid he had been. — - — Ivan lives; Till escapes the arena. There's no elegance in their reunion, but there is spit, and blood, and something close to forgiveness.

[roseofbattles]

Continuing my year end tradition of finding things to celebrate :)

Greatest Hits of 2024:

1. moved back across the country :) Excited to start a new year in a new city

2. One of the highlights of this year was reading all 9 Temeraire novels - they have an endearing cast and are a very fun re-imagining of the Napoleonic Wars but with DRAGONS

3. A new apartment. This goes with moving but I am excited to have a new space and hang up art and spend time there, it's very cozy

4. I had a lot of fun with my garden this year, growing lots of tomatoes and drying a bunch of herbs for later

5. I got to spend the end of the year with my family and see some dear friends which has been so nice. I haven't been home for the holidays in a few years and it was especially nice.

6. Grateful for my friends in California and all the last minute things we did this year including a bonfire on the beach and tattoos, visiting weird restaurants, playing games and many many trips to the thrift store. I've been very lucky and I miss them already

7. I did some fun fandom writing events this year with @royaibigbang and the Temeraire summer exchange which is something I haven't done a lot of but which was very rewarding

8. Grateful for my cat

Historically I have done ten of these but this year felt hard in a lot of ways. I'm grateful to have made it to the end with my health and my sanity

Going into 2025 feels scary and I'm incredibly anxious over what this next year might hold but I have good people in my life and I hope that those connections will stay strong and provide light even when things are hard.

Tagging anyone who want to participate by sharing some victories from the last year or whatever made you happy:)

@littlewitchbee @fullmetalscullyy @lantur @firewoodfigs @nightofnyx8 @janetfraiser @possumsinatrenchcoat @baudleaires @musing-and-music @ssadropout @morganathewitch @thatisadamnfinecupofcoffee @captainlaurence @chewytriforce

[scarletwinterxx]

thank my lucky stars for that night - hong joshua imagine

to start this special day, i'm just going to say a few things about my favorite person aka Jisoo Hong🥺 through the years i've known svt, whenever someone asks me who my bias was I'd always say Joshua (this was way back when I was just a casual fan) now we're here. I like to believe there's this invisible string that's tied between us, my heart knew i would love him before my mind ever did. happy happy birthday My Josh🤍 you brought so much happiness and light in my life.

ANYWAYS OKAY SO i was just thinking what if... i make more of the members x proposal scene😅 turns out i really like making these. this will also probably my last post for this year, thank you all so much for being part of my year. for those who has shown love to my blog, for loving my stories thank you all so much from all 13 parts of my heart🤍

see you all next year!!! here's to many more fluff moments💛 - A.N🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The soft hum of anticipation fills the air as you pace around the garden, making last-minute adjustments to the decorations. The fairy lights you meticulously strung through the branches of the oak trees twinkle like tiny stars, casting a warm glow over the carefully arranged tables.

You’ve been planning this evening for months, pouring over every detail to make it perfect for Joshua’s birthday and New Year’s Eve.

The garden is a symphony of colors and fragrances, with flowers blooming in soft pastels, their petals illuminated by the golden light of lanterns. This night isn’t just a celebration of his birthday but also of the love you’ve shared for the past four years.

Guests begin to arrive, their laughter and chatter adding life to the serene setting. Seungcheol, ever the charismatic presence, gives you a knowing grin as he takes in the ambiance. Jeonghan and Mingyu flank him, one carrying a bottle of wine and the other balancing a tray of appetizers. Seungkwan’s energetic voice cuts through the air as he jokes with Vernon, who’s capturing candid moments with his camera.

As the clock ticks closer to the moment Joshua is supposed to arrive, your nerves bubble to the surface.

You’ve gone to great lengths to keep this celebration a secret from him, and the thought of seeing his reaction fills you with both excitement and trepidation.

The garden fills with the hum of conversation, the sound of glasses clinking, and the occasional burst of laughter. Everything is ready.

When Joshua finally walks in, guided by Seungcheol, your heart skips a beat. Dressed in a sleek suit, he looks effortlessly handsome, his warm brown eyes scanning the scene before landing on you. His face lights up in surprise, his lips parting in a soft, astonished laugh.

“You did all this?” he asks, his voice tinged with awe as he takes in the decorations, the guests, and the love infused into every detail of the evening.

You nod, your cheeks flushing. “Happy birthday, Josh”

He pulls you into a hug, his arms enveloping you in a warmth that feels like home. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

You feel him kiss the top of head, hugging you tighter to his side as he takes in the scene in front of him. You really have outdone yourself.

Seungcheol, never one to miss a moment to tease, strolls over. “Alright, birthday boy, how does it feel to have someone who loves you enough to orchestrate this masterpiece?”

Joshua grins, holding you closer. “It feels pretty incredible. But I think I’ll reserve my final judgment until I see the dessert.”

“Oh, don’t worry, the dessert’s good. Mingyu didn’t touch it.” Jeonghan smirks, chiming in

“Hey!” Mingyu protests, looking genuinely offended. “I helped decorate the cake!”

“Sure you did,” Seungkwan quips, earning a round of laughter from everyone.

The evening unfolds like a dream. You watch as Joshua mingles with friends and family, his laughter blending seamlessly with theirs. The food, which you carefully curated to include his favorite dishes, is a hit. The cake—a decadent creation adorned with fresh flowers—is met with gasps of admiration. Every moment feels like a snapshot of joy, a testament to the life you’ve built together.

At one point, Joshua finds you by the dessert table, sneaking a second slice of cake. “Caught red-handed,” you tease, crossing your arms.

He shrugs, grinning mischievously. “What can I say? It’s my birthday. Besides, you can’t expect me to resist this. Did you try the frosting? It’s like happiness in edible form.”

“I did,” you reply, leaning closer. “And I’m starting to think I should’ve just given you a giant tub of it instead of planning all this.”

He laughs, pulling you into a quick kiss. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is perfect.”

But as the night progresses, you can’t shake the feeling that Joshua knows something you don’t. There’s a glimmer in his eyes, a secret he seems to be guarding with playful ease.

When the clock strikes ten, Joshua takes your hand. “Come with me,” he says, his voice soft but insistent.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning suspicion. “Should I be worried? You’re not going to prank me, are you?”

He chuckles. “Just trust me.”

He leads you to a secluded part of the garden, away from the laughter and clinking glasses. The path is lined with lanterns, their light casting dancing shadows on the cobblestone. When you reach the clearing, your breath catches in your throat.

Before you lies a scene straight out of a fairy tale. Hundreds of flowers blanket the ground, their vibrant colors glowing under the soft light of stringed bulbs overhead.

The air is thick with their sweet fragrance, mingling with the crispness of the night. The lights seem to stretch endlessly, creating a canopy of stars just for the two of you.

You turn to Joshua, your voice barely above a whisper.

“What is this?”

He smiles at you, guiding you right at the center of it all. You look around, it looked like he had this planned all along. But if he did, then that means he knew about your surprise.

All of this question swirling in your head, you look over at your boyfriend once again. His eyes watching you with adoration and love, a look you've seen through the years you've known him.

He takes both your hands in his, his gaze steady and full of affection. “I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment,” he begins, his voice tinged with emotion. “These past four years with you have been the happiest of my life. You’ve shown me what it means to love and be loved, and I can’t imagine spending my future without you in it”

Your heart races as he drops to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. When he opens it, the ring inside catches the light, its brilliance rivaled only by the look in his eyes.

“Will you marry me?” he asks, his voice steady despite the emotion brimming in his eyes.

You blink back tears, a laugh bubbling out amidst your astonishment. “Are you serious? You’re proposing on your birthday?”

“Yes, so be nice to me and technically, it’s almost New Year’s Eve. I figured it’d make it impossible for you to ever forget the date.”

Tears blur your vision as you nod, your voice trembling with joy. “Yes, Joshua. A thousand times, yes.”

As he slips the ring onto your finger, a burst of color fills the sky. Fireworks explode overhead, painting the night with dazzling hues of red, blue, and gold.

The sound is thunderous, yet it only amplifies the heartbeat of the moment. Joshua’s arms wrap around you, his laughter mingling with yours as you both look up at the sky.

When the fireworks fade and the garden is bathed once more in the gentle glow of the lights, your friends rush in, their cheers filling the air. Seungcheol claps Joshua on the back, Jeonghan pulls you into a tight hug, and Seungkwan’s voice carries above the rest as he dramatically wipes away a nonexistent tear. Vernon captures every moment, his camera clicking away as Mingyu lifts you off the ground in celebration.

“You know,” Mingyu says, setting you down, “this means we get to plan a wedding now. I call dibs on being the taste tester for the cake.”

“In your dreams,” Seungkwan retorts. “I’m the best judge of flavors here.”

“Not if I get to the bakery first,” Vernon mutters, earning a round of laughter.

The night is a whirlwind of congratulations, laughter, and promises for the future. The new year have yet to begin but here you are celebrating a new beginning of your relationship, you find yourself in Joshua’s arms, surrounded by the people you love most. The garden, now quieter, feels like a sanctuary, a place where one chapter of your life ended and another began.

And as Joshua leans in to kiss you, the world fades away, leaving only the two of you and the love that brought you here.

[sunnysidewrites]

Demon prince!Seungcheol

Inspired by this prompt: “I’m a demon, not a hot water bottle. Stop cuddling me.” “But you’re so warm.” “Like hell. Fire, brimstone, eternal burning.” It had absolutely no effect whatsoever, and the demon sighed, wrapping one arm around the other. This is my re-debut (although not sure if this counts as a re-debut or if it's just a one-time thing) after nearly a 6-year hiatus and needless to say I am extremely nervous and excited!!! (talking in idol terms luv that) I am hoping that also means my writing quality has matured as well (I think??? or not but guess we will find out)! This is for everyone who knew me back then and is still around to see this play out! sorry if it's not the best i am EXTREMELY rusty but hope you enjoy lovelies <3333

wow omg it’s great to dive into writing after so long im getting emotional

you know the drill folks let’s get to it!!

Humans and demons have lived in co-existence for centuries and it’s more or less a chaotic neutral environment given the unique circumstances of these 2 different… races?

It can be difficult to distinguish the demons with the humans since they try to blend in seamlessly for their own sense of peace and security

Despite a big chunk of demons integrating with humans, there are still parts around the world, albeit small, where they have their own territory to control

They usually operate in more traditional political systems, such as still maintaining kings and queens

Humans can live there as well, but it is predominantly demons who are seen as the norm and the former as commoners/lower class

You happen to be one of the lowly commoners who have been working as a maid in the castle since you were young

you and Seungcheol, the Crown Prince, were actually kinda close as kids!!

you could tell all he wanted to do was let loose and have fun but was forced to follow the rules and take everything seriously 24/7

even as a 5 y/o you could see how much he yearned to be a regular kid but duty calls :”((

there were many times you hung out together in secrecy since you as a lowly maid could not be caught DEAD associating yourself with someone of such a high status

and add being human on top of that!! <3

But Seungcheol didn’t care you were literally his first and only friend at the time

Any time a guard looked for him, he and you would duck somewhere to hide together, stifling your smol little giggles im dead

As he grew up and more burdens were placed on his shoulders, you could no longer keep the same innocent, playful friendship between the two of you

Your interactions with him went from running around in the garden to stealing quick looks at each other when you passed by him in the hallways

He went from a happy lil child to a very assertive, stoic man who always picked his kingdom over anything

Despite his new persona, he would occasionally still show you very rare displays of fondness??

You would sometimes randomly find gifts on your bed with a note and well it doesn’t take a genius to know who it’s from

“I swiped the last cookie for you before Penny stole it and I know you would become a demon yourself if someone took your sweets”

“I noticed your uniform was ragged and a little ripped so here’s a new set. be more careful or our next encounter won’t be as pleasant”

“Here’s an extra blanket loser don’t freeze to death on me”

Your heart feels warm knowing that he still shows you his softer side to you while he’s practically a statue to everyone else

Now you were both in your mid-twenties and he’s been busier than ever with political meetings and social gatherings

You were his main maid since out of all of the staff, you were the only one who could really put up with his absurd requests and got along with him in a manner no other maid could, even the older ladies

There were times he summoned you to his headquarters for the sole reason of wanting some company

He would bring up some dumb question and you would be like no offense but this is kinda useless

But little did you know he would do that intentionally to see you crack a little smile, maybe even a laugh in there since he’s been seeing you look more despondent lately

“Even though we can’t run around the palace like how we did as kids, I’m still here. I’m the same Seungcheol – well, actually not really but I still look out for your wellbeing”

“Thanks, not-the-same-Seungcheol”

It’s rumored that the Crown Prince is coming of age to take over the throne soon, but before doing so he needs to find a bride yes it’s one of those tropes ok deal with it

You’re cleaning the hallways one day with some other maids and you can’t help but overhear their gossip

“Did you hear Prince Seungcheol is now engaged??? I think it was just last week”

Your ears perk up and your scrubbing slows down slightly so you can focus on their conversation

“Yeah, I heard the woman is a princess from some neighboring kingdom… It’s really hitting soon that he’ll be the new king”

“I don’t know how long she is going to last… he’s so cold and doesn’t seem to care about anyone. but what can you expect from a demon?” 

They both giggle and move to another room to continue cleaning and you can’t help but feel fired up from the way they were talking about him as if they knew anything about him

Sure, he was not really the friendliest and was very brutally honest with his curt words but it didn’t make him a bad person

Your heart aches after hearing the news and you recall a past talk you had with Seungcheol when you were younger

“Do you believe in love?” you asked him, the both of you lying down on the grass while looking up at the vibrantly blue sky

“Pshh, not really. Father always said marriage is for the people, not for love”

“But shouldn’t you love someone in order to marry them? you will be spending the rest of your life with them”

“I don’t think that is what he wants from me. I would be letting him down”

“Is that what you really want, though? to be stuck with someone you have no feelings for?”

he sighs deeply and looks down. “Well, I guess not… I do care a lot for someone”

your heart dropped. guess he already has his eyes set on someone else. “o-oh, well that wouldn’t be fair to you or to them right?”

he shakes his head, quickly glancing at you before looking away. “but it wouldn’t work out anyway. I wouldn’t want to drag them into the mess of my world. I want them to be free of what I go through. I just hope they know I’ll always care for them from afar.”

You shake your head out of a daze, painfully reminded of how raw that moment still feels

I wonder if he still cares for that person he mentioned, you think to yourself as you continue scrubbing the tiles. But what does it matter now that his future is sealed with someone else?

Shortly after that day, it was formally announced to the kingdom that the Crown Prince and the soon-to-be Crown Princess will be holding a wedding ceremony in just a short few weeks

On the outside, you smile politely and clap your hands but it takes every fiber of your being to not want to fling the door to your cramped bedroom and collapse on your bed and spill the tears you were desperately attempting to hold in 

As you stared at him and his fiancee out the balcony waving to everyone, you swear you thought you saw him give you a forlorn look that lasted for a millisecond before he returned to his usual expressionless state

From that moment on, you barely saw Seungcheol at all

This man was constantly getting pulled in all different directions, especially with the royal wedding around the corner

The night before his big day, he summons you to his room again and your mind is buzzing with loads of thoughts of what he could possibly want to talk to you about

You cautiously enter and close the door slowly before turning back towards him

He looks more disheveled than usual, his hair tousled, his usual prince attire crinkled and slightly unbuttoned

“You look stressed, what's wrong??”

He closes his eyes and sighs for a moment before slowly opening them again and says while still not making eye contact with you, “I… I feel like I’ll have so many regrets once tomorrow comes”

You’re like why is that??

“Do you remember me mentioning I cared a lot about someone back then?”

Your heart drops to your stomach. “Yes… why?” thanks for the reminder

“I keep thinking about them… and all of these what-ifs. I know I can’t do anything about it, but–”

“Of course you can do something about it! I know you’re a stickler for the rules, but if the cost is your happiness, is it really well worth it?”

He shakes his head, looking even more troubled than before. “I can’t risk putting them in that position. Yet I… I want to,” he articulates slowly, as if it’s only dawning on him now that he’s finally learned what he truly feels

You feel as if the waves of heartache and anguish are drowning you but you try to be strong for him and present a smile if not for him, then for yourself

“I think you know what you need to do, Seungcheol”

And with those words, you quietly bow out and make your way to your room

The next morning, you wake up with puffy eyes from crying all night and begrudgingly get out of bed to get ready for the busy day ahead

After a hectic morning and afternoon, the ceremony finally begins

The moment we’re all waiting for is “Speak now or forever hold your peace”

And the most baffling thing happens because it’s not you who speaks up, not some secret lover, not some random citizen in the audience

but it’s Seungcheol himself

“Wait – I don’t think I can go through with this”

SCANDALOUSSSS

That’s right, he causes a whole uproar and everyone is like what tf is he talking about?!?!?

You are unfazed to a certain degree due to the conversation you had with him last night but you’re still confused on where this is going to go

Never in a million years would you have imagined for him to say his next words

“I’m in love with someone else: Y/N”

And all the maids around you gasp like WHAT. IS. HE. TALKING. ABOUT.

You aren’t sure whether to feel mortified or happy but whatever it is, all eyes are now on you

The current King is like MISTER?? WITH A H U M A N????

“I know it’s never been done before, having a demon and a human marry each other. but I’m tired of always having to do the right thing and for once, I want to do something that is right but for myself”

You’re looking at him in complete bewilderment and disbelief like you were talking about me this whole time??!!

“If we can prove that humans and demons can come together, it’ll be a huge stepping stone politically for everyone involved. I can’t change how I feel about her but I can change our worlds with her by my side”

He makes his way towards you and grabs your hand and this time he does not break eye contact even once

“I want to be with y/n, and no one else”

You’re melting like putty in his arms it’s honestly really sweet!!!

The King eventually caves in although he’s obviously not happy with all of their efforts wasted but he’s cool enough to welcome in this new change

Everyone’s reactions are pretty mixed understandably but they don’t seem like they hate it which is probably the best reaction you’re gonna get

“You’re not asking for my hand in marriage are you?? bc that’s a little too quick on a first date”

He shrugs and nonchalantly says, “Not until you’re ready” JESUSLFSJDS

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of crazy events that you get caught up in as the Crown Prince’s new lover now 

By the time it’s time for bed, he summons you for the last time as you being a maid and not as a Girlfriend

Well turns out he’s actually a big baby and the whole time he tried to conceal his feelings for you all he wanted was for you to be by his side pshh lame amiright

“You sure move fast with wanting me to be in your bed already and we haven’t even gone on an actual date yet”

“Shut up and just lay beside me”

After you turn off the lights and get under the covers, you can’t help but notice he’s extremely hot (literally and physically) and considering it’s 20 degrees you’re taking all of that warmth

Of course, Seungcheol tries to make it a big deal and get you off of him even tho he secretly enjoys it

“I’m a demon, not a hot water bottle. Stop cuddling me.”

“But you’re so warm.”

“Like hell. Fire, brimstone, eternal burning” 

Like that was gonna stop you who does he think he is for putting you through all of this and at the very least not giving you some cuddles???

He sighs and wraps one arm around the other after he notices your breathing slowing down

“I don’t have to care about you from afar anymore,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face before also slowly losing consciousness