#like... the paintings on the wall and the strawberry garden

[natjennie]

what if I was never normal again.

[earth4angels]

𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

jacaerys velaryon x aunt!targaryen reader ͟ ͟ ͟ friends to lovers, sexual content but no smut, incest (reader is aunt), fluff, semi angst(?), aemond being dumb, jace knows how to fight, i refuse to believe laenor never taught his kids how to defend themselves. slight switch of povs, basically the dinner fight, but added my own take, not edited.

summary: after the accident in driftmark the relationship between y/n and jacaerys became distant, when it came to the petition of the heir to driftmark, feelings came back full force. it took a bloody fight yet again to get jacaerys to act on his feelings before it was too late. but also, to unite the house of the dragon.

a/n: um? this is probably more than 1k words, i really went in. i had so much fun writing this & gosh.. do i have the guts to expand their relationship BUT ANYWAYS ENJOYYYY

somewhat based on this request. jace tag list: @jacaerysgf, @star611, @jules420, @gracexthoughts, @astrxq, @reyndaisy, @hxtd

For as long as Jacaerys can remember, he had always felt deep affection for his dearest aunt who was no more than a year older.

At first, it started with a childish admiration for how she spoke to him, how she would run her fingers through his curls when he would run towards her after sword training, read stories about the doom, or Visenya who she claimed was the best warrior to ever exist. Jacaerys admired her, she was his favorite aunt not that he had many but besides Helaena, she was his favorite. Again, it started with a childish crush. The smallfolk had a joke spread about how if anyone wanted to find Y/N, one had to look for small Jacaerys who followed closely behind her like a pup.

She never minded the talk, she loved her siblings and her nephews, it was one thing that differed her from her own brothers, who grew to despise the Velaryon boys. She loved Jacaerys, the way he always spoke of his growing bond with Vermax, the small adventures they would take to the gardens, or the adventures they took through the secret passages, and the library. She especially loved the moments he would sneak her strawberry cakes during her high valyrian studies when no one was looking. To her, Jacaerys was so dear to her heart, she dreamed childishly how it would be if they married.

She never understood why the hatred grew to the point everything that pointed toward her older sister was prohibited. Her siblings never had a close relationship with their father, but she did, she enjoyed the stories her father told her, but she mostly loved building and painting his replica of the seven kingdoms with him. Her father, King Viserys had always talked to her about protecting their own, as it was said, the House of the Dragon had to stay together to hold the realm united.

"Damn bastard," Aemond muttered under his breath as he rushed past her dusting his now muddy training gear. She narrowed her eyes at her brother, the word bringing her to wince. It was not the first time she heard it, at the age of 6, her mother had prohibited her from spending time with her half-sister and her children since the fight at Driftmark. She understood why, but she could not bring herself to be cold towards her half-family.

"Brother, enough." Y/n had her hand up to his shoulder, Aemond's one eye glared at her, "You must learn to let go of this anger, it is treason to speak of that word out loud."

Aemond scoffed, "Of course, my dear sister, protecting the bastards, you still defend them after what they did to me?" Aemond had snatched his eyepatch from his eye, showing its bright blue glow of a gem towards her.

"Brother... we were all children! Luce was only protec-" She choked as she was now slammed against the wall, a hand tight around her neck, she wildly stared at him, alarmed.

"Protecting? Dear sister, you are more than a fool. You rather protect bastards than the blood of the dragon?" Aemond chuckled in disbelief, "You, the same as father are fools."

He let go of her as she slumped against the wall, her hand clasped around her throat as she heaved, trying to get air back into her lungs. She watched teary-eyed from the loss of air the shadows of her brother grow distant with the further he went down the hall.

"Y/n?" a voice spoke from the opposite side of the hall. She looked back to meet the face of her once-best friend. "Seven hells! What happened?!"

Jacaerys rushed towards her, lifting her carefully as if she were the most fragile jewel to exist. In a sense to Jacaerys, she was.

She blinked, confused as to where he had come from. The last time she saw him, they were children, and he had promised to write her, yet after five ravens, the letters stopped, causing her to believe he had grown to hate her for what happened that night. It was then she realized why Aemond was so upset, why her mother suddenly left her and Heleana from embroidery to attend the council. Her mother avoided greeting her half-sister. Today was the petition of who was going to take over Driftmark. The house of the dragon was united once again, but not in the way she wanted to.

"Nephew?" She asked, confused again.

"Come, sit here. Let me get you some water," Jacaerys had placed her in the comfort of the shade of a tree. He had removed his cloak, placing it on the ground for her to sit as he ran to get her water. She stayed in silence beside her dry coughs that slipped once in a while. Jacaerys appeared again with a glass of water, she muttered a soft thank you before she drank till her throat was once again free from the harsh itches.

She looked toward him, finding him looking at her softly, his eyes burying themselves in the soft lilac color of her eyes. She blushed, coughing to avoid looking at him instead she focused on the grass beside her, picking at it softly.

"So... care to explain why you have a red mark on your neck?"

Y/n bit the inside of her cheek before she focused her stare on the blank blue sky, if Jacaerys was not paying attention he would have missed the soft murmur of her voice, "It was nothing."

Jacaerys opened his mouth to argue when the bells of the castle banged so hard that they echoed through the hallways.

"Don't think I won't let this go y/n," he spoke softly beside her, she only blinked in response. He shook his head as his tongue touched the roof of his mouth and he let go, making a sound that almost sounded like a click.

"You should go, my sister would probably be worried as to why you are taking so long. It is rude to keep your mother waiting."

Jacaerys rolled his eyes, before he lifted a hand towards her, a gesture for her to grab onto it. She stared at his pale hand, taking a moment to admire the changes, he was muscular now, and no more stood the boy who almost looked easy to push around. She followed the path of his hand toward his face, her breath hitching when she realized he still wore the necklace she had made him when they were children.

"You... you kept it?" Y/n stuttered, pointing to his neck. Jacaerys hummed, touching it delicately, his fingers rubbing softly at the soft shells. She had made that the day of Laena's funeral, she went and followed the path towards the beach to find seashells. She made it in hopes for him to feel better. She never thought he would keep it after all those years.

"Why wouldn't I?"

She stood up on her own avoiding his touch in fear she might want to curl into the safety of his hold.

“Go figure. You stopped writing to me.”

“What?” Jacaerys stood in front of her, stopping her from stepping another step further from him, “I never stopped? What do you mean I stopped? I sent so many ravens to you. I never heard from you after the fourth or fifth one.”

Now she was confused. “I sent you ravens too! You never sent me any back, I waited… I figured you just blamed me for what happened,” she muttered.

Jacaerys did another click with his tongue, before he reached out to her, her small hands fitting perfectly well inside his.

“Whatever happened that night, it’s forgotten. We were children, you were not even there for me to blame you. Aemond being your brother changes nothing, I still care for you just as much as I did when I was a child.”

She tightened the hold of his hands between hers before looking into his eyes, all she found was a soft gaze, not anything that was malicious, as she would find mostly in Aemond’s eye.

She opened her mouth, then closed it, she did not want to tell him how she felt for him. It was like Jacaerys had read her mind, though he was one year behind her, he always looked after her, to Jacaerys - she was everything he wanted in a wife, and he dreamed of making her as such.

“I’ve missed you, did you not?” he lifted one hand to caress her braid that was left falling off her shoulder to slowly reaching for her cheek where he held her delicately once again.

Y/n smiled, the fluttering feeling in her stomach making it hard to not release a giggle, she felt home.

“Of course I did Jace, I missed you so much.”

Ser Arryk spoke from the entrance of the garden, his armor glittering with the rays of the sun reflecting it, “Princess? The queen is expecting you in the grand hall.”

She nodded, feeling regretful of not spending more time with Jace, she had so much to tell him, to get caught up on.

“Thank you Ser Arryk, I will be there in a minute.”

She looked towards Jace again finding him still looking at her, a glint of mischief flashed, she narrowed her eyes making him smirk, “I guess you have to go aunt.”

The way he said it made her want to clench her thighs together, she cleared her throat, “I’ll see you soon my dearest nephew.”

He laughed like the word from her mouth was the biggest joke he had heard. His curls bouncing with the shake of his body, he reached down for her hand, placing a lingering kiss, “Princess.”

She watched as he turned, walking towards the grand hall passing Ser Arryk who bowed his head. Her stomach was still fluttering, all she wanted to do was jump and roll in the comfort of her bed, but she needed to meet her family and yet again witness another rift between the family.

"Her children," a long pause echoed through the grand hall, Y/n had her hands interlaced with each other, squeezing them so hard her skin was becoming white. She quickly glanced around the room, noticing her brothers smirking with anticipation, to her half-sister's family. She came across the eyes of her prince, who looked seconds from using his sharp sword to kill. She licked her lips, the anxiety building, she knew what was coming, and honestly, she was looking forward to it.

"ARE BASTARDS! And she is, a whore," Vaemond exclaimed.

Echoes of gasps and murmurs were heard, but Y/n blocked it as it all happened quickly. The blood splattered harshly like a quick burst of wind splashing her dark emerald dress. She gasped, her body being pulled back by Aegon who quickly acted to wipe off the blood off her dress and the little that landed on her face.

She would lie if she said she did not enjoy what she saw, in fact, she was glad it happened. That word being tossed around needed to be acted with a consequence, and she was proud of Daemon for warning those who followed Vaemond in speaking of her family that way.

The court ended and she was left rushed to her chambers, her ladies-in-waiting rushing to prepare a quick bath as her father requested them to have dinner together.

"You all can go," y/n spoke as she untied the laces off her dress.

"Princess-" Elydia, her closest handmaiden reached towards her to help her protested.

"Please, I need to have some moments alone, I will notify when finished."

"Princess."

She sighed, the weight on her shoulders becoming too heavy, she rolled her head side to side to relieve the pain. As she sunk into the rose-covered bath, moaning in bliss from the warmth she was sunken into, a knock was heard from her bed chamber. A familiar series of knocks, one that she missed hearing, sparking a rush of adrenaline.

She rushed to throw on a light blue gown, her hair soaking the silk material, making her breasts noticeable. Her footsteps were rushed as she reached the familiar wall by her bed, she knocked a similar tune before she pushed into it.

Jacaerys stood behind the wall, in his hands laid a wooden box with letters, her letters.

"Hi," he spoke softly, his voice sending butterflies all over her body

"Hi," she moved aside to let him enter her room, her eyes flickering quickly to the door of her room before eyeing the male before her, "What are you doing here? If my guards, see you... the scandal we could be in!"

He smirked, his plum juicy lips - she did not want to stare so much but she could not help observing him - quirked to the side, "That did not stop us when we were children."

She scoffed, "You said it yourself when we were children."

He smiled mockingly before he stopped in his tracks. He did not expect to see her so... vulnerable. The fantasies started to play out in his mind, he recalled all those moments he thought of her late at night. The fire ignited inside of him when he saw her in the garden, her hair flowing through the wind, her soft features to her soft lilac eyes.

Jacaerys wanted to propose to her mother a betrothal, to finally make y/n his, to act out all the fantasies he thought when she appeared in his mind.

"Jace?" She whispered, feeling self-conscious about the way he stared at her. He looked ready to bounce, his brown eyes scanning her up and down, she squeezed her thighs together.

"You... aunt I can see you wholly," he cleared his throat to avoid his voice sounding so raspy.

"Excuse me?" Y/n was confused until he gestured to her body, "Oh... Oh!" Her cheeks blossomed with a deep scarlet red tint; she rushed across the room to grab her robe tightly wrapping it around her body.

Jacaerys cleared his throat again, "Um... I just wanted to stop by before we saw each other at dinner again, the letters you had sent me."

Her cheeks still stained with red walked towards him, gathering the box between her hands, "So what with it?"

"I received and sent you letters y/n. I never stopped writing to you, I even made Mother annoyed with how many times I have asked her if there was ever anything sent to me."

She blinked her confusion, "Jacaerys I always wrote to you, your letters never came but I always sent you updates how things were here - "

"I know of everything, but I am giving you complete honesty on the fact that I never stopped," he stepped towards her, his hand on her cheek with his thumb rubbing soft circles calming her.

"What do you want me to do with that information? Do you know how much our families hate each other? How much Aemond goes around cursing Luce's name, your name? I shouldn't even be talking to yo-"

She stopped when he stepped closer, she felt his breath on her lips, her eyes darted down his lips to his eyes. Her breath hitched, he was so close. So close, she just wanted to taste how soft his lips truly were.

"Tell me to go, and I will. I will never bother you again, but tell me, you never want to see me, and I will."

Jacaerys hoped she never spoke of the words, as he wanted to kiss her, to tell her of the once confession he wrote in those many letters. She was just so pretty; he wanted to steal her and take her to Dragonstone where he wanted to marry her. He wanted to taste the sweetness between her legs, to have her scream, moan out his name, to fill her belly with the future heirs of Westeros.

His hand stayed on her cheek as he continued to stare, waiting for her to speak. Her breaths came out shallow and she began to shake with need.

"Don't go," she whispered, her hands reaching to grab his shoulders, pulling him closer towards her, "Please don't leave me."

"Gods," he wrapped his arms around her as he shakingly asked her, afraid she will finally reject him, but he hoped, "Can I kiss you?"

She gasped, the dazed look in her eyes fading as she began to pull away, "No... No... we can't Jacaerys! We are not betrothed, we are not promised to each other, my virtue could be quest-"

Her rambles were left to the old gods to wonder as Jacaerys placed his lips on her, "No offense, but you talk a lot."

She groaned against his lips at the jab he made but melted into the kiss, a kiss she longed for as the feelings that she did not want to admit surfaced. She only read books about the acts of kissing, yet she felt as if she knew with the way she kissed Jacaerys.

Her core suddenly felt tingly with how he was holding her, his hand deep inside her hair as the other ran down the silk of her gown to hitch a leg around his waist as he guided her down her bed.

"Jace..." she moaned, her throat begging for air as she pulled away, yet he did not stop, his lips trailing down her cheeks, prepping her with soft kisses to finally nipping at her throat. She moaned again.

"I have always wanted to do this," he whispered against her throat, "I badly want to take you, to have you sore, so fucked out of your mind that you forget your own name," he raised his head, his elbow by her head to prep himself just so he can look down at her.

She breathed heavily, "You..." she reached out, "You can't..."

"I would never dishonor you that way, but I will fight to make you, my wife. I will speak to mother, to my grandsire."

"Jace..."

He placed a kiss on her nose, smiling when she let out a giggle, "Tell me you also want me."

"I never wanted to admit it, but I do, I have always wanted you."

A knock disturbed their sweet bubble, and they both scrambled away from each other as y/n pulled her gown down. Jacaerys grabbed his cloak she did not even realize he had removed as he moved to the secret passage again.

"Princess? The queen requests your presence, dinner will start shortly."

She looked at Jacaerys as he whispered, "I will see you soon aunt." Y/n rolled her eyes but still smiled as she nodded.

The wall closed, and as if nothing happened, the room became quiet once again, she gathered her thoughts as she replied, "Almost done, please help me dress Elydia."

The entire time she was prepped for dinner she was smiling to herself. She could not wait to see her prince again. She had even requested for her hair to be loose, just two small braids creating a crown decorated her. She had wanted to look perfect for him.

Dinner was awkward, to say the least. Her family was beyond divided, as she sat beside Helaena, it was too quiet, the only noises came from the cooks who were walking around to place the food on the table. She watched as Aemond sent nonstop glares towards her nephews.

She had found out through Helaena that Aemond had lost against Jacaerys during training. Jacaerys had taken his sword one minute into sparring. It finally made sense why Aemond was so upset when she came across him in the garden. Her lips tugged into a quiet snicker at the idea of her brother being put in his place.

As she drank her wine, her father spoke.

"It pains me to see our family divided. As the house of the dragon, we must be united to have the kingdom prosper in peace. All of you must leave behind your childish arguments! Do it for me, your father, your brother, your husband, your grandsire. Leave behind this anger!"

As her older sister stood to make a toast in hopes of making peace with her mother, she made eye contact with Jacaerys who was already looking at her. He smiled softly at her before he looked towards his mother, his mouth turning into a smirk as he hid it behind his glass of wine. Her eyebrows furrowed, and as she was going to question her sister's voice came through.

"... It has been decided for the good of our families, and to make the future of House Targaryen stronger, that Princess Y/n, and my son, Prince Jacaerys be wed. They shall be in the future the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

Alicent shot up from her chair, "What?!"

Viserys wheezed but held strong as he banged his hands onto the table preventing an argument once again, "I wholeheartedly agree to this proposal as my dearest grandson himself asked to be wed to my beautiful daughter. They are to be wed as soon as possible."

Y/n couldn't help but smile widely, "Thank you, father," she looked towards her oldest sister, "Sister."

"Har! Har! Har!" Daemon raised his glass with a mischief glint in his eyes, his mouth into a wide smirk, he enjoyed seeing Alicent and Otto Hightower's plans get ruined.

Her mother could not argue against the newest betrothal since the King had officially declared it. She also had made peace with her once close friend as they toasted to each other. However, that did not stop her brothers from having a mind of their own, their mouths ready to retaliate.

As the night passed, and her father was no longer there to hold the peace, she held her breath as she knew, no she felt the anger boiling from her family. Aegon was the first to let out jests, and with that followed Aemond who did not hold back.

Jacaerys stood, his hand slammed into his uncle's shoulders to sit him back onto his seat, "You will keep your mouth shut about my betrothed. Jest all you want about me, but my wife-to-be, you will keep shut. Understood?"

Aegon snickered, satisfied with the reaction, he lifted his hands up in surrender.

She did not want to admit how it ignited such a need for her soon-to-be husband. She has never found him any hotter than what he looked like. His curls covered his dark gaze, his veiny long hands clasped together as to hold himself back.

"Boys. Enough. Let's finish dinner without any more arguments." Rhaenyra spoke in hopes of stopping the tension that was boiling.

It was enough for a moment. As Lucerys snickered at the pig that was placed on the table, in hopes for his uncle to join in the fun, as he believed it was an innocent act of jest. The blood came and what was a peaceful dinner, turned into the dragon's war.

"I dare you to say that again," Jace spoke from beside her, his hand holding hers to calm himself.

"Are you not proud of your house, dear nephew?" Aemond mocked, Aegon snickered, as the adults surrounding them stopped their dinner to hear what was going on, "I thought you considered yourself a strong knight."

A growl-like rumble came from Jacaerys as he rushed to punch her brother over and over. She scrambled towards them, yelling for them to stop, Aemond had gotten two hits through, but Jacaerys had the upper hand as his knuckles were bloodied. The guards had come to pull her brothers and nephews apart.

"Enough! All of you, back to your chambers! Now!" Rhaenyra spoke, sending them to their rooms. Y/n felt the angry tears stream down from the exhaustion of the fights between her family.

She yelped when a hand pulled her into the shadows of pillars. With a scream stuck in her throat, she widened her eyes at Jacaerys who had his hand on her mouth to stop her from screaming.

"Come back home with me, we will marry before the old gods," he whispered.

"But if I leave, I can potentially make mother and grandsire even more mad..."

"You are already promised to me, the realm will soon learn of it, ravens are being sent as we speak. Nothing will be able to stop our union, please. Just come home with me."

She hoped she was not making a mistake, for she loved Jacaerys so much more than waiting around for her family to come between her happiness. She only hoped, this union, would unite the realm and stop any possible war that Helaena had spoken of. As she kissed Jacaerys in the shadows, the said sister smiled as she poked another thread into a gown to continue the embroidery.

"From the blood of red and green, the pain will end as the union will bring peace once again."

[khaire-traveler]

🌊 Subtle Aphrodite Worship 🦪

Make your body wash/shampoo/conditioner rose scented

Have a rose or sweet scented candle that you light (doesn't have to be on an altar)

Create a skin/body care routine

Have perfume/cologne that you dedicate to her

Wear jewelry that reminds you of her

Carry a pocket charm that reminds you of her (dove works well in a Christian household and is a sacred animal of hers)

Keep a small picture of her in your wallet

Have a dove or swan stuffed animal

Have imagery of beaches, seafoam, seashells (especially clams), wings, hearts, swans, pearls, or doves around

Wear a locket with a picture of someone you love or of her

Give compliments to strangers

Drink water regularly and dedicate a glass of it to her

Collect seashells (if possible)

Collect things you simply find pretty

Plan your outfits/wear clothes that make you feel good

Keep a journal of poetry dedicated to Aphrodite and love-related topics; can also be a general positivity journal or diary (maybe a diary in a way of writing letters to her but saying a code name instead of "Aphrodite")

Keep heart-shaped imagery around

Embrace yourself; give yourself love

Forgive yourself of past mistakes

Give yourself compliments; start small if needed; I recommend doing this in a mirror

Pin up pictures of loved ones on a mirror or wall

If possible, burn some incense in honor of her; strawberry always has a great smell to it

Watch a love-focused movie (romantic or platonic)

Listen to or read stories about acts of kindness and love

Paint your nails or wear make-up (if you enjoy those things and are able to)

Listen to music that makes you feel good; dance to it like nobody's watching!

Have a party where you and your friends create drawings, items, or crafts that you can decorate your rooms with c:

Start a flower garden, especially with roses; tend to a plant

Practice compassion, especially towards yourself

Fall asleep/meditate to the sound of ocean waves or singing birds

Listen to/sing love songs!

Spend time with loved ones

Have a friend's night; go out on the town together, watch movies, go camping, etc.

Spend time with your pets

Take a shower/bath, especially with rose petals and candles (SAFELY!!!!)

Visit a nearby ocean or body of water; stand in the water (if safe) and ground yourself there

Write about your crushes

Make a list of qualities you'd like in a partner; make a list of qualities you don't want (like green flags and flags)

Take a walk alongside a beach/body of water

Take care of your personal hygiene

-

I may add more to this later, but here is my list of subtle ways to worship Aphrodite so far! Worship can absolutely be discreet, and if it needs to be for safety or the like, know that the gods will almost certainly understand. Take care, y'all! 🩷

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

[anendtopursuit]

all those emotions aside - something i liked about episode 3 was the emphasis on surviving vs living.

you have people like bill who are survivalists. he's resourceful, stubborn, and self-sufficient - bill knows how to survive, he spent his whole life pre-outbreak preparing to survive. he's not a people person, he doesn't like relying on other people, and he can survive just fine by himself.

then he meets frank - and frank is the kind of person who knows how to live. frank eats meals like he's at a fancy restaurant, and spends just five more minutes in the shower, and sings songs out of key on bill's dusty old piano. he repaints the walls, and waters the flowers, and grows strawberries in the garden just so he can watch bill hide his giggle behind his hands when he tastes them. he uses bill's radio to make friends, and throw little garden parties, and he makes a code out of nostalgic old songs.

the reason bill and frank lived as long and as happily as they did, despite the outbreak and the solitude and frank's health - it's because they had that balance. yes, survival is important - you can't survive an apocalypse without bill's resourcefulness, or joel's construction knowledge, or tess and frank's networking - but surviving isn't living. bill lived and died happy because he let frank in past his (incredibly literal) defenses, because he let him paint portraits and grow flowers and hold him at night.

i saw a youtube comment earlier that i think got it right; in the game, bill was an example of who joel would become if he kept shutting people out, if he didn't allow himself to live. in the show, bill is an example of what joel could have, if he just let himself live and love, if he realised that all his walls and defenses mean nothing if he never has anybody to share it with.

for bill, that person was a husband. for joel, it just might be a daughter.

[caitchercatlady]

The Promise of Forever

-2nd Year Version

Inspiration song: Thinking Out Loud-Ed Sheeran

Riddle Rosehearts

"(Y/N), these six months...nay, eight months I've been away from you have been utter torment. Yes, even with the "Adeuce vacation perks." Nevertheless, I've thought long about how and who I would spend the rest of my life. I thought I would have the scripted words for this night. The truth is...I lost them. Because those words I made were for myself and any person. You are not any person, (Y/N). You are the teapot to my mouse. You are the paint that makes the roses of this garden shine red as strawberry jam. Most importantly of all, you are my one and true Queen. There is no other individual in all of Twisted Wonderland whom I could ever fallen in love so hard. I will not waste another moment wondering. I must ask now. (Y/N), will you marry me?"

Ruggie Bucchi

"Look at this sunset. Isn't this view everything you always wanted? It took a little work, but we made it. (Snicker) Yes, we. No one person can make this happen by themselves. Hey, I"m still working on it. A dream business isn't built in a day...by oneself. Well, uh...I've been thinking...no, I've been wishing this for a long time. I made up my mind years ago. I'm sorry it took me so long. I wanted to make sure the ring was pefect. You deserve only the best and nothing less. Now, I don't knonw if I'm the best for everything, but I know this much: I love you, and you are my perfect half. Will you marry me, (Y/N)?"

Azul Ashengrotto

"(Chuckles) No, I didn't invite you here just to shower you with food and presents. I do that whenever you want. Yes, always. Well, about that...I've been drafting what may be the biggest of my life's work. (Y/N), you've played a bigger role in my life than anyone could ever imagine. For so long, I've hid behind strong gates, locked doors, and tall walls. You managed to break down every single one effortlessly, and much to my own surprise, I can't be mad about that. I've needed a wake-up call, and while it was hard to look at myself i the mirror, with you in it, it becomes easier everyday. You were the sun I've been striving to reach for all my life, (Y/N). Without you, my days will only become dark. My sunlight, my pearl, my angel fish. Will you take this ring and become my partner...forever and always?"

Jade Leech

"How could you not be more stunning than the moon? If I always tell you something, it means I mean it. And I will continue to remind you of it. For how long? As long as you'll have me. What do I mean with this ring? I was hoping you'd know. (Chuckles) I'm jesting, (Y/N). I've spent many moonlit nights, working for this day. From the moment I saw your peak wit, I knew there was only one individual in this world who would fit the missing puzzle spot. May I have your wit forever, (Y/N)? We can be married by tomorrow if you so wish."

Floyd Leech

"Found ya, Shrimpy! Do I need you for anything? Nah. But I want ya. (Laughter) You're so straight-to-the-obvious. Of course, we've been dating for three years. I don't forget things like that. I mean, I want you forever, silly. Prove it? Ok then. My ma said that you'll fall head over fins for this. Yeah, it's pretty, but not like you. I'll let ya wear it if you say, "Yes.""

Kalim al Asim

"You made it! All of this? It's for you! Yeah, it's also for me. It's for us to enjoy. What's the occasion? I love you. That's the occasion. Of course, I love you everyday, but this night is very special. (Laugh) I don't love you more tonight...What I meant is I already love you forever i teh biggest way possible. Tonight, I wanna prove I'll love you forever. How will I do that? With this! I picked it myself. My dad gave Mom a lot of rings to show how much he loves her. She let me look at her collection and pick a ring for you. I chose this one because it reminds me of hte day I fell in love with you. Ever since that day, my love for you hasn't changed, and it never will. Please, (Y/N), please, please, please marry me!"

Jamil Viper

"Good evening. The moon is quite bright, isn't it? It reminds me of your smile. Yes, there was a reason I wanted to see you here. I've been wondering how to begin. You have me at a loss for words during every important moment, and when I wonder why, I believe the answer is that you resemble the unexpected. I thought my life had been planned out for me since my birth, but you proved that I can choose where I go in my life. Tonight, I'm chooing my path again, and there is no question who I choose to walk it with. Will you join my life, (Y/N)? For how long? Forever, I wish. I wish it with all of my heart."

Silver

"Yes, graduation is upon me, and it has arrived too fast. It's not that I'm not ready. I've never been more ready to enter the world as a full mage. I'm just not ready to leave my life behind as I venture forward. I mean you. I know you're only a class year below mine, but I cannot wait a year to tell you how much I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Yes, I will ask you now while my chances are ripe. Please, will you be my partner forever? Will you marry me?"

[multifandomfix]

Wednesdays In Westview — Wanda Maximoff

Summary: You and Wanda spend your days getting accustomed to your brand new house, both ready to start your new life together.

Word Count: 1,279

Warnings: Only some tooth rotting fluff

Wednesday, moving day, had finally arrived, and you couldn't contain your excitement. Westview was everything you and Wanda had hoped for. It was quiet, picturesque, and the perfect place to start your life together as newlyweds. The house was inviting, its white picket fence gleaming in the sunlight. You glanced over at Wanda, her eyes sparkling with the same joy that filled your heart. She gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, her smile radiating the love that had brought you both to this moment.

As you stepped up to the door, the smell of fresh paint mingled with the aroma of the roses Wanda had planted in the front garden. Inside, the walls were a soft, welcoming shade of cream, and the hardwood floors gleamed under the sunlight streaming through the large windows. Wanda looked at you with a playful smile, her fingers lacing through yours. "Welcome home, darling," she whispered, her voice a sweet melody that made you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

You spent the day unpacking, laughing as you stumbled over each other in the small hallway, bickering over where to place the furniture. Wanda insisted that the sofa belonged by the window so you could watch the sunsets together. You couldn’t argue with that logic. Every now and then, she'd brush her hand against your cheek or steal a quick kiss, making your heart flutter each time.

At one point, you found yourselves in a tug-of-war with a particularly heavy box. "I've got it," you grunted, determined to prove your strength.

Wanda raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Oh really? Because it looks like the box has got you." With a mischievous gleam in her eye, she gave the box a gentle nudge with her magic, causing it to float effortlessly to its designated spot.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Cheater."

"Resourceful," she corrected, her grin widening. "Besides, why strain when you have me?"

Later, you found yourselves in the kitchen, surrounded by boxes of dishes and utensils. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue across the room. Wanda wrapped her arms around your waist from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. "You know," she said softly, "I always dreamed of this. A home with you."

You turned around, cupping her face in your hands. "Me too, Wanda. And this is just the beginning." The look in her eyes was pure love, and you knew she felt the same. She leaned into your touch, her eyes closing briefly as she savored the moment.

That evening, you decided to take a break and celebrate. Wanda had prepared a simple dinner, and you both sat on the floor in the living room, your legs intertwined as you shared a meal. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on her face. She fed you a piece of strawberry from the dessert she'd made, her fingers lingering on your lips.

"Do you think we'll always be this happy," you asked, tracing circles on the back of her hand.

Wanda leaned in, her forehead touching yours. "As long as we're together, I know we will be." Her lips brushed against yours in a tender kiss, sealing her promise.

The night ended with the two of you lying in bed, exhausted but content. You held her close, feeling her heartbeat sync with yours. Wanda whispered sweet nothings, her fingers running through your hair until you drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, you woke up to the sound of birds chirping and the smell of coffee. Wanda stood by the window, watching the sunrise, a mug of steaming coffee in her hand. She turned to you, her smile brighter than the sun itself. "Good morning, my love," she said.

You joined her by the window, wrapping your arms around her. "Good morning, Wanda." The view from your new home was beautiful, but nothing compared to the woman beside you.

The days that followed were filled with settling in and making the house truly yours. One afternoon, a week later, as you were hanging pictures in the living room, Wanda appeared with a box of old vinyl records she had just unpacked. "Look what I discovered," she remarked.

You took the box from her and began to sift through the records. "These are amazing," you said, pulling out a record with a familiar cover. "We have to play this one."

Wanda set up the old turntable, and soon the room was filled with the warm, crackling sound of classic music. She held out her hand to you, a mischievous glint in her eye. "May I have this dance?"

You laughed, taking her hand and pulling her close. The two of you swayed to the music, the world outside fading away. It felt like you were the only two people in the universe, wrapped up in each other's arms.

As the song ended, Wanda pulled back slightly, her eyes locked on yours. "I love you," she murmured softly.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart swelling with emotion. You leaned in and kissed her, pouring all of your love into that single moment.

More weeks passed, and you found a comfortable routine. Every morning, Wanda would make coffee while you prepared breakfast. You would sit together at the kitchen table, talking about your plans for the day and sharing dreams for the future. Each evening, you would cook dinner together, laughing and joking as you worked side by side.

One weekend, you decided to plant a garden in the backyard. Wanda was in her element, guiding you as you dug holes and planted seeds. "This is going to be beautiful," she said, wiping a smudge of dirt from her cheek.

"Just like you," you replied, earning a playful swat on the arm.

As the garden began to take shape, you were finally starting to see the future you were building together. Each flower and vegetable plant was a testament to your relationship and the life you were creating together.

On another Wednesday evening, a few months in, you were sitting on the porch, watching the stars. Wanda leaned her head on your shoulder. "Do you think we'll grow old together here," she asked, soft and contemplative.

You took her hand in yours, squeezing it gently. "I know we will," you assured.

Wanda smiled at your answer. "I'm so happy we found each other," she told you.

"Me too," you replied, kissing her forehead. "You’re my everything, Wanda."

Each day you were together brought new joys and challenges, and through it all, you had Wanda by your side. You celebrated birthdays, holidays, and everyday moments that made your life together special.

One morning, you woke up to find Wanda standing in the kitchen, a tray of breakfast in her hands. "Happy anniversary," she beamed.

You sat up, a smile spreading across your face. "You remembered."

"Of course I did," she replied, setting the tray down on the bed. "How could I forget the day we started our life together?"

You spent the day reminiscing about your journey, from your first meeting to the moment you moved into your home in Westview. It was a day filled with laughter, love, and the promise of many more years together.

As the sun set, you stood on the porch, watching the sky turn shades of pink and orange. Wanda wrapped her arms around you, her head resting on your shoulder. "I love you more every day," she said softly.

"I love you too," you replied, turning in her arms and kissing her gently. "Here's to forever."

With Wanda by your side, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would face it together. Your home in Westview was more than just a house. It was a symbol of your love and the life you were building. And as you stood there, holding the woman who meant everything to you, you knew that you had found your happily ever after.

For anon

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @nclgsticore, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @bitchr-mkay, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Wanda Maximoff: @unexpected-character, @lilyontheloose, @puppy-coded, @marinarashakeyobooty, @og-kvsh-420, @becomingthedreamversionofme, @music-bird, @chaotic-mushroomz, @mbruben-stein, @sunflowergurlsposts, @danimorgan1708, @multifandomlover01, @wandsmxmff, @ayyy-lety, @tokyo-liv, @geekyandgay98, @sweetyprincesschaos, @yetanotherattemptatanaccount, @lady-darkswan3, @postcardgirl425, @garlicbreadrry, @foxherder, @esther123123, @alexthen3rd, @ahlookatallthelonelypeople, @chaoticdragonrage

[fw00shy]

Slow Days, Bad Habits

When Draco told Pansy he was moving to Los Angeles, Pansy said, "Fuck off, you're not." It was a Thursday and the afternoon sun stretched over Pansy's fire escape patio like a lazy cat. Draco fished out the olive from his glass and ate it, saying, "No, I really am," when he really wasn't — lying was a bad habit of his, and he was five martinis deep — but the next day he woke up thinking: Why not?

Doing what he wasn't supposed to do was a relatively new bad habit of his (sure he used to break rules, but he never broke Father's rules) but it was by far his favourite. Doing the unexpected. Turning heads. Like when he wore the shirt the Muggle orphanage gave him for painting walls to one of his mum's "Sorry We Lost the War" benefits and Daphne said, "You? Volunteering? No way, I bet a thousand Galleons you bought that from a thrift store."

Los Angeles was everything London wasn't and everything Draco wanted to be. Cars built to go 300kph putting bumper-to-bumper down wide, yawning freeways. Plastic surgery to cover up whatever you didn't like about yourself. Every day Draco looked in the mirror and changed something different. What if he had a different nose? A larger mouth? Would his life change for the better? Some days he wished he had more time to figure out how to turn his life around. Other days it was a lot easier to let his eyes droop until every second stretched long and he lost track of it, another day lost in the waste of his life. 

When Draco saw Harry at the farmer's market he knew Harry had moved to Los Angeles to disappear. He knew this because Harry wore dark glasses and a cap pulled low over his scar. He knew this because the papers had reported Harry missing four years ago, and had never found him since. He knew this because he had moved to Los Angeles to disappear, too. Draco bought his oat milk and his strawberries and walked back home with them tucked under his arm, like his little secret. That was another bad habit of his now: secrets. Anything could be a secret if he wanted it to be. His favourite bench at the park. The line from an Ada Limon that made him cry. Waves crashing against the pier. The scent of jasmine in his mother's garden. And now, Harry, in LA. All his secrets. All just for him.

Draco saw Harry at the farmer's market again the following week, around 1pm when the stalls were packing up and the baskets of strawberries numbered in the ones and twos. Draco came to the farmer's market every week and some weeks they ran out of what he liked, but he was fine with that; this was the time best suited for him.

Draco watched Harry meander past the stalls, his hands behind his back, like he was browsing with no intent to purchase. But why? Maybe he was a ghost. Draco chuckled at the thought, and then he saw Harry walking toward him.

"I won't tell," Draco said. "So don't Obliviate me, please. I like my memories. Or the recent ones, anyway. I mean, they're nothing special. Just things like, eating a good peach. The sun sinking into the sea. Waking up and not being too hot or too cold. Normal things." (Running his mouth: maybe the original bad habit?)

Harry blinked slowly, his mouth slightly agape. He didn't look like he was going to attack Draco. He wasn't even carrying a wand. 

"So," Draco said, smiling, a little more confident now. "I won't tell if you won't tell?"

"You live here too?"

"Sure do," Draco said. "Do you want to come over?"

So it was their secret now.

Which was fine. More than fine, even. Draco didn't normally like to share, but he sure did like breaking rules. Especially his own.

[rabbit-flaying]

A Taste of Paradise chapter two

Content Warnings: captivity, kidnapping, bugs, religion, false paradise, pet whump, the beginnings of stockholm syndrome

"I was going to pick tomatoes in my garden before it gets dark," Christopher said. "Would you like to join me?"

He had just finished washing the dishes, and hung his rubber gloves on a bar beside his sink. Unlike Ezra, who tended to leave his sink filthy, Christopher was dutiful about tossing any food scraps in the garbage.

"That sounds lovely."

Ezra was surprised that Christopher would allow him to go outside, but supposed there wasn't any risk in it. Not if he was going to be under supervision. And, in any case, getting some sunshine would do him good. He couldn't remember the last time he had taken a walk that wasn't just to and from his car.

He followed Christopher out the back door in the kitchen and into the mud room, a gateway between the outside world and Ezra's captivity.

It seemed to be the only place in his home where dirt was tolerated. A rack of drying herbs took up much of one wall, hanging basil, sage, chamomile, mint, and lavender. Withered petals and leaves were scattered on the tile floor beneath it.

A painting of Maryum- or Mother Mary, Ezra supposed- hung over the door frame. She watched over the entrance to Christopher's home with a serene smile.

A shoe rack sat next to the door, and Ezra spotted his cheap polyester boots next to Christopher's church shoes and hiking boots. Neither of them bothered to put their shoes on, however. The weather was too good for such things.

Christopher opened the door, and Ezra felt the sunshine on his skin. He couldn't not help but smile. It warmed him down to his bones, and he understood truly well how plants must feel when drawing energy through photosynthesis.

He was no longer in the city, of course. A small field surrounded by towering pine trees laid before him, undisturbed by the sound of cars or the obnoxious buzz of electric wires.

This was the place he dreamt of, when he got a chance to close his eyes during long shifts and imagine a better life.

If only he had chosen it.

Christopher's garden was to the right of his house, surrounded by a tall fence to keep the deer from eating or trampling his plants. Christopher unlatched the gate, and put it back in its place when he and Ezra were through.

Functionally, a wire fence was no different from a cage. But Ezra had a hard time remembering that, distracted as he was by the smell of tomato plants and the sun warmed stepping stones beneath his bare feet.

He would almost prefer being tied up in a warehouse somewhere.

Ezra caught the thought, and immediately and sharply reminded himself of how stupid of a thought that was. His current situation may have been deeply uncomfortable, but it was also much easier to deal with than actual torture.

He would return to his life well rested and relatively trauma free. Hopefully his debts wouldn't spiral too badly before that.

"Nature is so beautiful. I love cultivating plants," Christopher said, as he picked a ripe red tomato. He twisted the stem close to the fruit to break it free without damaging the vine.

Ezra picked a strawberry, not quite sure how to respond. It tasted infinitely sweeter on his tongue than those bought from a store. All his self control went into practice to keep him from stripping the vines of their fruit in a gluttonous fashion.

A butterfly landed on Ezra's sweater. Its massive wings beat gently for a moment, then we're still. It was covered in black and white stripes, but with bizarre orange tips, as though it had an accident trying to land in paint.

"How beautiful," Christopher said.

He had filled half a bowl with tomatoes now, some large and red and others miniscule and yellow, more than enough for dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow.

Ezra held still until the butterfly took to flight once more. Being its resting spot felt so special. He missed it at once.

"I love butterflies," Ezra said. "All bugs, really. And animals. Anything but dogs."

"I agree totally. There is nothing more charming than seeing a ladybug crawling on tomato vine."

Christopher knelt down and put his hand in the path of a harvestman spider, letting it crawl onto his palm. He was so gentle with the delicate thing. Every movement was slow and deliberate so that he would not crush it or pinch its legs.

Then he stood again, and offered it to Ezra. As far as Ezra was concerned, this was the truest show of friendship anyone could give him.

He smiled at the strange, harmless creature with its absurdly long legs as it crawled onto his hand. He turned his hand over so it would not fall as it made its way around and around his hand.

"Alright, back down you go," he said, after he had watched it to his content.

He lowered his hand to the ground so the harvestman could return to its burrow. Christopher smiled, his brown eyes fixed on the spider for a moment, then returning to Ezra.

"They're not really spiders," he said. "Harvestman, they call them. Or daddy long-legs."

"I know," Ezra said. "Spiders have a distinct head and abdomen. Harvestmen only have one continuous segment."

He realized too late the way he was smiling at Christopher. Sharing his happiness with the man who had kidnapped him. And over what? A moment under the sun? A good meal? A not-spider?

He didn't want any of this. He wouldn't have been happy in his regular life, of course. But there were bearable moments, spent listening to music and drawing animals in his sketchbook. He wasn't sure if he would get any of that back.

Christopher's voice cut through Ezra's thoughts. "Are you alright? Oh, it's a hot day, isn't it? Perhaps we should go back indoors."

Ezra nodded. He was disappointed to leave the garden, and more still when he stepped into the shade of Christopher's mudroom.

He usually spent all his time hiding indoors. But now he felt trapped, and hoped to God that he would be allowed to stay outside again. Today, tomorrow, and every day until he was rescued.

Taglist: @inbloodandtears @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @i-eat-worlds @whatwasmyprevioususername @boonasaurusrex @suspicious-whumping-egg @parasitebunny @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

[ifancyharry]

Under the italian sun

Hiiii lovelies :) first of all thank you for liking and reblogging my work, i love you all so much💓 this is something i wrote as a proud italian, it's just tooth aching fluff. if you want to listen to the song mentioned, here it is, it's one of my favorites!

What it is: fluff; a day spent with Harry in his house near Rome

Word count: 3.7k

“Oh, I missed Italy’s weather!” YN sighs, her chest heaving as she takes small intakes of the humid Italian air.

“It’s so hot though” Harry whines, “here, hold this.” He hands her his Pleasing cream bag he uses when traveling, and YN holds it in her arms between them as Harry searches for the house keys.

“I still don’t get why you pack that bag to the brim” she chuckles, the bag resting heavy on her folded forearms, “why can’t you use suitcases like everyone else?” She questions, but Harry doesn’t answer, still busy looking for the keys, his eyebrows furrowed as he’s getting more and more frustrated, the hot sun burning against his unprotected skin. When YN had asked him — still on the plane —  if he wanted to put on sunscreen, he had shook his head, grimacing at the sticky white liquid as she covered her face in it, claiming he didn’t need it and the sun wouldn’t be that hot; now, as he can already feel his skin start to redden, he thinks maybe he should’ve followed her advice. 

“Give me that” he mumbles, taking the bag from her arms and placing it on the ground as he crouches down to be able to rumble through it more easily. 

YN rolls her eyes at him but chooses to stay quiet; she knows Harry, and, despite him being the most bubbly and solar person to exist (in her opinion), when he’s annoyed, he’s annoyed, and she knows it’s better to let him sort through things as he wishes, without interfering with his thought process. 

YN brings a hand to her face to shield her eyes from the sun, and she squints as she looks around. She has always loved his home here, and she remembers fondly the first time he’d brought her here: they’d driven from England to Italy in one of Harry’s vintage cars, only four months in their relationship, and despite the hot weather and the lack of air conditioning, she feels her heart warm when she remembers Harry opening up about his stepfather while they listened to his favorite CDs on the stereo. From that trip, their relationship could only grow fonder, and with it their visits to his house in Civita. 

What YN loves most about the house is Harry’s choice of flowers adorning the outside walls, which he picked meticulously after buying the house. 

Despite being almost 10 in the morning, there’s not many people around, because the village is small and mostly inhabited by elderly people, so thankfully, not many people know where Harry is currently, which gives them some time to rest in the hot July weather.

“Found them!” Harry exclaims, keys in hand, a sly smile adorning his features.

YN smiles back at him and waits for him to open the door when he’s back on his feet.

After Harry unlocks the door, he gestures for YN to go inside and open the blinds, claiming he’d take care of bringing their bags inside. 

She walks across the small garden and when she reaches the front door, she unlocks it with the keys Harry gave her. As soon as she enters inside the house, she’s invested by the obnoxious smell closed spaces tend to have, and she hurries to open the windows and let some fresh air inside. 

The house is the same as she remembers; the walls are decorated by colorful paintings and by some framed pictures Harry took of the beach at sunset, the kitchen is small but YN thinks it’s the perfect size for two people, a strawberry shaped ceramic dish is placed on top of the wooden dining table where she can’t wait to eat some fresh picked fruit in the morning with her boyfriend. In the living room, there’s two floor to ceilings windows, allowing the house to be always illuminated by natural light, overlooking the patio, where Harry decided to put a big wooden table where he usually likes to eat dinner, claiming it’s too hot to stay inside.

YN feels a pair of strong arms circling her waist and she squeals a little when Harry bites at her earlobe playfully, placing a soothing kiss on the skin after. 

“What do you want to do first?” He asks her, and YN places her hands on his and squeezes them lovingly.

“I don’t know, what do you want to do?” She smiles, still overlooking the garden from her place on the window frame as Harry platters languid kisses all over her salty skin.

“Mmmh,” Harry mumbles in her neck, his curls tickling the skin of her jaw, “i may have a couple ideas” 

YN giggles softly at his suggestion and Harry turns her around gently, his hand sneaking from her waist to her hips, squeezing at the plushy skin with his fingers. When she gets on her toes to plant a kiss against his lips, her sundress raises a little with the stretch of her arms around his neck, and Harry moves his hands down to cup her ass, pushing her against him. She moans in his mouth and Harry licks her lips with his tongue, pushing it inside after.

When they both start to feel dizzy from the lack of oxygen, Harry tears away from her lips to give her time to breathe, and with delicate fingers he pushes the straps of her sundress down her shoulders, her naked skin shining in the sun. 

Harry plants a kiss against her collarbone and with sticky lips against her skin, he says: “let’s go inside”

-

“Help me tie it?” YN says, walking out of the bathroom with her bikini top dangling between her fingers. Harry nods and “Come here”, he says, stretching one of his arms to nudge at the back of her tights playfully. 

“You come here!” She giggles, but with two strides she covers the distance between them and places herself between his slightly parted legs. 

“Such an obedient puppy” he chuckles darkly, “turn around”

YN nods and does as he say, blushing a little at his choice of pet name — one he usually uses when he feels particularly soft.

She takes her hair in her hands and raises it above her head, allowing Harry to take the top and tie it first around her neck and then behind her back. When he’s done with both laces, he places a wet kiss against her shoulder and gives her bum a playful smack, chuckling when she lets out a squeal. 

“All done”.

“Thank you” she turns around and, still smiling, she bends down to peck his lips. Harry raises both his hands to cup her face, holding her hair in place behind her ears.

When she feels Harry deepen the kiss she allows herself a minute to drown in his touch, but when he begins to palm her skin and push her closer to his body, she parts from his lips with a pop and whines when he tugs her down in his lap. 

“Nooo” she whines childishly in his lap, “I want to go to the beach!” 

Harry huffs against her lips, “I am your boyfriend!” He pouts, cupping her face once again and tugging her down against his mouth, “you’re supposed to love on me. I need kisses”.

YN giggles when he buries his face in her neck and his hair tickles the skin of her jaw, “needy baby”, she murmurs, tugging playfully at the roots of his curls.

“One more kiss and we’ll go” she says, splattering a kiss against his hair line.

Harry lets out another childish whine but nods his head nonetheless. He tilts his head back and puckers his lips, asking silently for a kiss. Yn smiles to herself and presses her lips against his in a long, wet kiss, and when Harry doesn’t make a move to part from her mouth, she pouts her lips and says, “I said…” but she’s interrupted by his lips closing hers in another affectionate kiss, “one!” She laughs when he kisses her another time.

“Fine” he breathes out, huffing. Yn gets off of his lap a little unwillingly and she stretches her hand in his direction, which he takes in his grasp. 

“Let’s go to the beach!” She squeals, tugging him by his hand towards the door, happily. 

Harry rolls his eyes at her playfully, a lazy smile adorning his feature. When they reach the living room, he picks up the cream Pleasing bag they previously filled with everything they’d need for the beach, and, car keys in one hand, bag in the other, he lets her tug him out of the house, excited to finally rest under the hot sun.

-

“Baby!” Harry shouts from inside the water, enough to make sure his voice would reach YN standing on the shore, her feet buried in the sand. When she looks up at him, he smiles at her and waves his arms “get in!”

She shakes her head, “no!” She exclaims, “It’s cold”

“C’mon” he says, dragging the end of the word to express his annoyance. He wanted her to get in. Of course, it was a little cold at first, but they’d been lying in the sun for hours, she needed some fresh water.

“Nooo” she repeated, placing her hands on her hips, “i’m not getting in!”

“Don’t make me come get you” he says, his brows pinched in a furrow. 

“You wouldn’t” she laughs, and at her words, Harry starts walking toward the shore where she’s standing, his movements slowed by the water. 

“No, Harry, please” she begs when he’s in front of her, looking at her seriously. 

“I want you to get in” he affirms, placing his own hands on his hips this time.

When she shakes her head, his gaze softens and he looks at her with loving eyes, “please, baby get in” 

YN takes a small step towards him, and Harry stretches an arm out, caressing delicately the skin of her waist with the tip of his fingers, leaving goosebumps behind his cold touch. 

When she’s within arms reach, Harry circles her waist with his hands and picks her up, his arms falling down to her ass to hold her better. 

“No!” She shouts, squealing in his hold, but that just makes him tighten his grip.

“Shh” he coos, walking back to where the water is deeper. Thankfully, the beach they chose wasn’t crowded, and paparazzi still hasn’t been notified of Harry’s whereabouts, so the couple could be able to enjoy the day as they wished without worrying about indiscreet eyes.

When they reach a deeper point, Harry shifts YN in his hold and picks her up from under her arms, throwing her in the water and submerging himself after.

When he comes back up for air, he still has his eyes closed when he feels splashes of water against his skin, and when he opens them, he has to shield his eyes with his hands to not let the salty water in.

“Stop! Stop!” He laughs, hands groping the water as he tries to make up from where YN is splashing him with her hands.

When she finally stops, he shakes his head to shake the water off of his hair, and he passes a hand on his face to get rid of the droplets of water.

“You’re such a brat!” He exclaims bewildered when his girlfriend is back in his sight.

“You are!” She pouts, swimming towards him, making sure to stomp her feet extra hard so the water splashes around them once again messily. When she reaches him, she throws her arms around his neck and her legs come up to wrap around his waist.

Harry splatters loud kisses against her wet cheek and she sighs happily in his hold, “the water is so nice”

He chuckles but agrees to not say anything, despite every muscle in his body is fighting against saying ‘i told you so’.

He squeezes her tighter against his body when he feels her shiver, his hand coming up to stroke at her back.

They soak in the water for sometime, swimming and kissing every once in a while, bashing in the feeling of the cold water against their warm skin.

When YN jumps in his hold again, he sees her lips a slight purple color and her teeth clattering, so, worried she might get too cold, he says “how about we get out?”

She pouts her lips, “but I love the water!”

“I know, but I’m cold” he lies, shrugging. He knows she’d never get out if it wasn’t for something concerning him.

“Okay” she nods immediately, pecking her cold lips against his.

“Thank you, water bug” he chuckles, squeezing her in his arms. 

-

“Harry!” YN breaks the comfortable silence they were basking in, tucking her index finger inside the book she’s reading to mark the page when she closes it down on the towel.

Harry places his still open book down against his chest and looks at her with a questioning look from his position next to her, “Yes, baby?"

“We need to make a reservation for tonight!” She worries, stretching her torso so she could grab his cellphone resting on the towel beside Harry.

“I’ll do it now” he nods, picking the phone from her grasp and unlocking it with the code — he doesn’t use face id, and despite YN having told him many times it would just make his life easier, he claims he couldn’t be bothered to set it up and he honestly doesn’t know how to.

YN shifts to position her body from laying on her tummy to laying on her side, propping her elbow up so she could hold her head with her palm. She looks intently at Harry when he places the phone to his ear, mouthing to her that the line is ringing.

“Ciao” Harry says, “posso… posso prenotare un tavolo per stasera? Alle 20” YN raises from her position and sits with her legs crossed on the towel, watching down at Harry as he nods his head when the other person talks on the other side of the line, and he gives her a reassuring smile that everything is going okay, because, despite knowing he probably asked for a dinner reservation, she isn’t sure what he exactly said.

“Si… si… due persone” he nods, “alle otto” he repeats.

“Grazie mille… ciao” 

“All done, they’re waiting for us at around eight” he tells her, putting the phone back on the towel beside him.

“How are you so amazing at everything that you do?” She asks, her eyes wide and soft.

Harry raises his gaze to meet hers, and when he takes in the bewildered look on her face, he erupts in a loud laugh, squeezing his eyes and opening his mouth, his two bunny teeth appearing.

“It’s not funny” she pouts, pinching her eyebrows. 

When he’s calmed down, he raises his torso a bit, enough to be able to circle her shoulders with his arms and he tugs her down to his chest, plastering sweet kisses all over her salty hair.

“I love you so much” he smiles, lips still buried in her hair.

-

It’s later in the day now, and after basking in the sun all day, YN and Harry decided to head back home to start getting ready for their dinner in Rome. 

Harry has a vinyl playing one of his favorite Italian artists, Rino Gaetano, and YN, despite not knowing the words, sways her body to the melody as she does her makeup in the bathroom, still in her towel, while Harry hums the words from under the shower.

The house is quiet and warm, the only sound being Harry’s voice mixing with the Italian singer's, and the cicadas singing from outside the garden, and YN wishes this day could go on forever and never end. She waits all winter for this exact moment, being so content with her boyfriend she doesn’t feel like doing anything in particular, her skin red from the sun and still salty despite the shower, her hair falling in waves down her back.

When Harry gets out of the bathroom, he’s wearing only his boxers, his skin is golden and tanned, making his tattoos even more noticeable and dark. YN is standing before her suitcase, trying to decide what to wear, and Harry walks slowly to her, swaying his hips playfully to the music with his mouth open showing his teeth in a sly smile.

“What are you doing?” She laughs when he takes her hand in his and tugs her up from her crouched position on the floor.

“Wanna dance a bit” he mumbles, making her do a spin in front of him and then tugging her back in his arms, against his chest. 

They’re not properly dancing, just moving their embraced bodies to the music, but YN relaxes in his hold and lets him guide her. Before Harry, it used to take her a lot to be this carefree, she’d usually feel embarrassment when dancing or having fun in general, but since she met him, everything came easy to her, because she knew he’d never judge her, and she could let herself be playful without worrying about looking cringe-y.

“Può crescere un fiore da questo mio amore per teee…” Harry sings loudly, swaying their bodies from side to side to the rhythm of the catchy music.

“What does that mean?” She asks, curiously.

“He’s saying that a flower could blossom with all the love he has for his lover” he says softly, looking directly in her eyes. YN feels her heart clench in her chest with his words, and she wishes she understood the song enough to dedicate it to him.

Once the song ends, he takes her faces in both his hands and platters kisses all across her skin; first her cheeks, then the side of her mouth, then between her eyes, her closed eyelids, her forehead… and only after, he kisses her lips, harshly pushing his mouth against hers.

She loves when he’s like this. Sure, he’s affectionate always, especially behind closed doors, but there’s something about him when he’s rested that makes her insides all warm.

“We should get ready” she murmurs against his lips.

He nods his head, gives her another brief kiss, and parts from her mouth, walking to his bag to pick something to wear.

“This or this?” She asks Harry after a while, holding out two dresses before her, one is definitely more elegant, strapless and black, that ends around her mid tight, the other is more a sundress type of dress, midi length, white with small pink flowers and a heart shaped neckline.

Harry points to the white one and says, “i love that one”

She nods and goes along with his advice, tossing the black one back in her suitcase.

Once they’re both dressed, Harry wearing a colorful crochet shirt and some tailored grey pants, they make their way out the front door, locking the door behind them.

Harry unlocks the car door with his key and gets in first, then, he leans over the passenger seat to open the door for her from the inside, and YN gets in the passenger seat of the convertible Alfa Romeo.

When Harry starts the car, the engine roars and he puts the car’s gear in reverse, he places a hand on his girlfriends head rest and stretches his torso to look better behind them. 

The drive to Rome is about an hour long, but the landscape makes the drive much more bearable. YN gets lost in the purple and orange colors the sky is turning, and she points every once in a while something for Harry to look at (“Harry, look at that bird!”, “oh my god are those men fishing?”).

The convertible car allows the wind to fly through her hair, and she breathes in the salty air coming from the beach, the sun a bright orange, almost disappearing in the water, and turning the water shiny in his wake.

Harry, sitting next to her, driving, shifts his gaze whenever she calls out to him, following her pointed finger with his eyes, lovingly, amazed by the way she perceives things. 

“It’s so beautiful” she sighs dreamily, overwhelmed by the scenery developing before her eyes.

“Yeah… so beautiful” he whispers, but he isn’t looking out of the car, he’s looking right at her in the passenger seat, her hair messy from the wind and her cheeks and nose red from the sun.

When she turns her head to look at him, he’s turned his head toward the road, but she swore she could’ve felt his eyes on her when she was distracted by looking outside.

She doesn’t say anything, relaxing against her seat and stretching one hand out of the window, her fingers caressing the wind and spreading open with its force.

“How do you say ‘i love you’ in Italian?” She says after a while, turning her head to him with a mischievous smile spread across her face.

“Si dice… ti amo” he smiles to himself, his voice changing a bit with the switch to another language.

“Ti amo?” She repeats, and he nods eagerly at her question.

YN brings her hands to cup her mouth and, “Ti amo!!!” She shouts, her cupped hands amplifying her voice. 

“Harry, ti amo” she repeats, laughing loudly at her own words and the feel of them on her tongue. She’s said I love you to him many times, but shouting it to the empty road before them, gives her a sort of unknown power she adores the feeling of.

“Say it again” he says, turning his head to her once they reach a stop.

“Ti amo” she giggles, and Harry cups her face with his hands and places a kiss against her lips. 

“I love you too” he nods against her mouth, “i love you, I love you, I love you” he says between kisses, and he feels drunk despite being sober. Drunk with her vanilla scent, drunk with all the love he feels for her. Because with YN, he doesn’t have to be in Italy to love her. He’d love her everywhere. And he thinks about all the flowers in the world that blossomed with all the love he has for her.

[rocks-in-space]

THE WITCH OF THE WORLD'S HEART

1. “Hands,” Sarah Kay // 2. desde my ventana // 3. The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One, episode 27, Erika Ishii // 4. "The Svenborg Poems", Bertolt Brecht // 5. "My God, Girlhood Ripened," Savannah Brown // 6. The Ant and the Pigeon, illustrated by Mikhail Komadin // 7. Unknown // 8. Detail of "The Chaste Heart of Saint Joseph," Giovanni Gasparro // 9. The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One, episode 22, Erika Ishii. // 10. Everything Changed When I Forgave Myself, Charlotte Eriksson // 11. "Dogfish," Mary Oliver

The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One web weaves:

Eursulon Suvi Ame True Friends

[Image IDs:

Image 1: Text reading, "Hands learn more than minds do./ Hands learn how to hold other hands./ How to grip pencils and mold poetry./ How to tickle pianos, and dribble a basketball/ and grip the handles of a bicycle./ How to hold old people and touch babies./ I love hands like I love people"

Image 2: A photo of a cottage surrounded by a garden. The cottage has vines on the wall that form the shape of a heart around a window.

Image 3: Text reading, "I am the Witch of the World’s Heart, and my job is bringing together the things that the world wishes to see separate, and now I’m gonna go do that."

Image 4: Text reading, "In the dark times/ Will there also be singing/Yes, there will be singing./ About the dark times."

Image 5: Text reading, "Oh I only want to write/ about tomorrow Tomorrow/ I'll be wiser and scarier/ and so much harder to trick oh/ it will be the best/ and only day of my life."

Image 6: Drawing of a fox looking up, apparently smiling, with blades of grass behind it and a small strawberry plant.

Image 7: Text reading, "It's the way the world works./ I don't want the world to work like this! I have a heart."

Image 8: A painting of a man's torso wearing a loose white shirt. He hold a glowing heart shape in his hand in front of his chest which illuminates the person.

Image 9: Text reading, 'I shoulder past, but as I feel that, I spin around, and my eyes flash at her. You see for a second something terrible and much greater and older than Ame. And then it’s gone, and I also look scared and frightened, and I start running."

Image 10: Text reading, "I'm not everything I want to be, but I'm more than I was, and I'm still learning."

Image 11: Text reading, "Mostly, I want to be kind."

end ID.]

[veevz-drawz]

DoaHD | Entry 2: But Tea Time with Friends is the Best

A/N: hey remember when i said i would upload biweekly? yeah so that was a lie LMAO. anyways sorry for literally uploading a month after, i was busy moving and switch to working full time;; (and working on a zine :0!) but i've been getting used to the schedule change so hopefully updates will be more consistent now!

Taglist: @minecraftninjerkid (DM if you would like to be added!)

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The summer months were never Strawberry Tea Cookie’s cup of tea.

It was so oppressively humid. The consistent moisture never failed to soak through her dough, making it intolerably soft and sticky. Her curly locks always flatten the minute she stepped out of Strawberry Mansion, with the glaze holding her hair up immediately dissolving upon contact with the damp atmosphere.

However, on this day, the Great Witches seemed to have taken pity on the former heiress, sending waves of cooling wind across the kingdom after hearing of yesterday’s misfortunes.

The breeze traveled deep within Hollyberry Palace, carrying ballads of rustling leaves and songbird melodies past pristinely kept rose gardens and winding bush mazes. It softly brushed past four cookies huddled around a tea table, careful as to not disturb their conversation.

Strawberry Tea Cookie was situated under the protective shade of a berry palm tree, recounting what happened between sips of refreshing fruit tea. Princess Cookie and Wildberry Cookie basked under the oven-hot sunlight, listening to their friend intently— the former more visibly angry. Knight Cookie stood beside his princess, insisting to keep his post despite the chair offered to him.

“...And now I’m no longer heiress,” Strawberry Tea Cookie sighed, placing her now empty cup back on its saucer. Dread crept through her dough like mycelium across a dish of rotten fruit. If the weight of her parents’ decision hadn’t hit her last night, it certainly did now after she told her friends everything.

“How dare they!” Princess Cookie huffed. “Your parents had no right to do that!”

She turned to her retainer for affirmation, which he gave in the form of a quick nod and a “yes princess!”

“I agree, it’s strange that they would forfeit your position like this,” Wildberry Cookie commented.

“Yeah! You practically launched House Strawberry into high fashion!” Princess Cookie added. “That alone makes you more than deserving of that spot!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie leaned back into her chair, remorse pulling her mouth down into a slight frown. “I… Don’t think that mattered to them.”

The designer agreed that this achievement alone should’ve solidified her place as heiress. She clearly remembered the proud look in her parents’ eyes when FragariA debuted during Hollyberry Fashion Week, its popularity instantly skyrocketing to rival established oat couture powerhouses such as House Blueberry.

A fresh wave of betrayal snapped open the wounds she had stitched up the night prior, her sullen expression digging deeper into her features. “I just… Don’t smile like the rest of my family.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie’s brows furrowed, her previous emotions washed away by resentment. From the moment she was born, House Strawberry’s intertwined principles of creativity and expression were emphasized in every aspect of her life. She studied every immaculately painted portrait lining Strawberry Mansion’s walls, was tutored by the best artists in the Hollyberry Kingdom, and attended the same kingdom’s most prestigious fashion institute.

Yet she will take drawing a naked cookie for eight hours straight in the smallest, most dingiest studio over being forced to smile and laugh like the rest of her family members.

Growing up surrounded by creativity also meant that she was constantly criticized for her lack of emotion, which her family never failed to remind her of. Yet she always believed that forcing expression countered creativity. Acting happy impedes one’s ability to connect with where art fundamentally came from— their true feelings. Plus, Strawberry Tea Cookie would argue that her defiance was still a form of expression, much to her parents’ dismay.

Sure, disobedience was undesirable within her family circle, but what’s the problem if that’s what she truly felt? She couldn’t possibly perform at her best if all her family wanted were soft smiles and saccharine words towards their benefactors.

Then the realization sank in, pulled down by a heavy peach pit as horror blew out her frosted pupils. “...And that’s the problem…”

“That’s not true and you know it!” Princess Cookie practically jumped from her seat, grabbing Strawberry Tea Cookie and pulling her closer from across the table—into the light. “You are perfect the way you are, Peach Jam Cookie’s words mean nothing!”

“They meant nothing until my parents agreed with her,” Strawberry Tea Cookie argued, voice cracking as she retracted back into the shadows, holding herself close. “And what father said…” 

Bare minimum. Incapable of expression. Too spoiled.

“He’s right, I’m far from a good heiress.”

If showing up to family dinners was a rare occasion, then attending parties hosted by other nobles was something that didn’t even occur on a blue moon. She found them to be a waste of time that otherwise could have been used on building FragariA’s name.

Yet they were excellent opportunities to network, as her parents constantly stressed, but Strawberry Tea Cookie found no use in it. She already had strong connections with the royal family and a few notable designers, there wasn’t any use for more besides maintaining the ones her family already forged.

Ones that she has actively destroyed due to her inactivity.

In retrospect, the designer should have put more care into strengthening these precious relationships— she only did when her parents implored her to. Perhaps she naively believed that they would remain static for years to come.

Though, if she were to be completely honest with herself, it was because those cookies weren’t all too interesting to talk to. But that excuse was leagues more fragile than her cousin’s ego.

“Don’t tell me they brought up Blueberry Raisin Cookie too?” Princess Cookie asked heatedly. “Removing him from your life was the best choice you could’ve made!”

“Your aunt already crossed the line by mentioning him.” Wildberry Cookie stated, an annoyed inflection edging his tone.

“No, thankfully they didn’t.” Strawberry Tea Cookie sighed. She would have truly snapped if they did. “But, I think they were referencing other events…”

The fighting finally died down after what seemed like a millennium, leaving the once elegant banquet table an absolute mess. Strawberry Tea Cookie stepped over scattered silverware and shattered plates, grimacing when she accidentally stepped on a piece of sticky cake. She sat down on a nearby chair, watching as cookies regained their senses.

What a great start to the Princess Contest.

The designer was still dumbfounded by the amount of cookies who drank the punch after seeing it turn a different color— they didn’t even listen to her warnings when she made said observation! She was left stuck on the sidelines watching the feast turn into a battle royale until whatever was mixed into the punch wore off.

“Whew! I need a break.” Princess Cookie sighed tiredly, slouching next to Strawberry Tea Cookie. She looked worse for wear, but her dress was still impressively intact— as expected of the true Hollyberry Princess.

“Why are cookies always fighting,” she bemoaned. “It’s not fun, AND it’s exhausting!”

“How dare you, that is an insult to the noble House Raspberry!” Raspberry Cookie proclaimed, pointing her candy cane blade towards the two. “We have built our culture and wealth with nothing but the tips of our swords!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie and Princess Cookie exchanged confused looks with each other. But while the latter seemed only bewildered, the former was growing ever more annoyed with the pompous raspberry heiress.

“And how exactly is that an insult?” Strawberry Tea Cookie questioned, standing up and shielding Princess Cookie. Not only had Raspberry Cookie called her friend “unimpressive” earlier, it now seemed she was just cherry-picking—or rather, raspberry-picking—a reason to confront her.

“Fighting is what molded us!” The noble fencer explained fiercely. “What brought us above the other Cookie Houses!”

“Yet here you are, needing a silly Princess Contest to prove your family’s worth,” the designer shot back, eliciting an indignant gasp from her opponent. “House Raspberry is far past its glory days, it’s evident from the way you’re so desperate to undermine Princess Cookie.”

Now that was an insult, not a harmless comment her friend made.

“You just insulted the great deeds of my ancestors,” Raspberry Cookie furiously cried. “Who risked every speck of flour in their bodies upon their blade.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie had to fight every grain of sugar in her body to not openly roll her eyes.

“I demand an apology, here and now!” The raspberry fencer ordered, pointing her rapier towards the irritated designer. “Strawberry Tea Cookie, I challenge you to a duel!”

“Hold up!” Princess Cookie interjected, standing up and marching towards Raspberry Cookie. “This is MY battle,” she declared with determination, swinging her scepter to match the stance of Raspberry Cookie’s sword. “And it’s time for me to find out what kind of dough she’s made of!”

“You were defending her highness’s honor!” Knight Cookie interjected. “I see nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah! And I really appreciate you supporting me throughout the Princess Contest,” Princess Cookie chimed in. “Plus, you apologized to Raspberry Cookie after, right?”

Strawberry Tea Cookie shook her head shamefully, her mother had to apologize on her behalf. She didn’t miss the way Princess Cookie’s expression shifted subtly.

“And that’s not even the worst of it,” the designer lamented. “I permanently severed ties with House Blueberry after I made Blueberry Cookie cry during that one ball.”

Fate seemed to have it out for Strawberry Tea Cookie that evening, being forced to face Blueberry Raisin Cookie’s granddaughter only a short month after being dismissed by him.

The young blueberry noble looked undeniably nervous under the designer’s scrutinizing gaze, a stark contrast from her usual bubbly self. 

“Spit it out.” Strawberry Tea Cookie demanded frigidly. Cookies began gathering around the two out of concern and curiosity, surrounding them like a blinding spotlight. Blueberry Cookie glanced at the crowd anxiously, stuttering out jumbles of unintelligible words.

The strawberry heiress couldn’t care less.

Out of patience, she walked past the trembling noble, purposely bumping against the other’s shoulder. “Wasting my time just like your grandfather, good to know that it runs in your family’s dough.” She remarked tartly.

That seemed to set Blueberry Cookie off. “Why are you so mean!?” She shakily blurted out, so loud that it cut all conversation and music in the ballroom. “I was just trying to apologize for what Grandpa did!” 

Strawberry Tea Cookie’s jam stilled. She turned around, the hot tears running down Blueberry Cookie’s face biting through the heiress’s hardened expression. Every sob-induced hiccup and whimper pounded more guilt within, grinding it into her very dough like she was trapped in a mortar and pestle.

Blueberry Cookie ran off before the designer could utter an apology, leaving the crowd’s scornful gaze solely on her.

Judgemental murmurs filled the room as Strawberry Tea Cookie’s face grew hot with embarrassment and shame. The sea of ornate ball gowns slowly melted into a tall, amorphous wave of burnt caramel, yet she could still feel the contemptuous heat radiating from each individual cookie.

The spotlight was all on her now.

“Why does Lady Blueberry Cookie have to apologize anyways?” A voice whispered.

Strawberry Tea Cookie glanced at the direction Blueberry Cookie ran off to. If she’s quick, she could probably catch up to her and apologize– she didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of the designer’s frustrations.

“No, no, Lady Blueberry Cookie was apologizing on behalf of Sir Blueberry Raisin Cookie.” Another cookie corrected.

“But he’s such an upstanding cookie!”

That caught the heiress’s attention. All plans of apologizing flew out the window with that single phrase alone.

Upstanding? They can’t be serious.

“I heard she was so difficult to deal with that Sir Blueberry Raisin Cookie dismissed her as his apprentice.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie turned to face the gossiping cookies, anger threatening to boil over. They were glaring right back at her, as if wanting her to hear their absurd rumors.

“I’m not surprised, given how she acted with Lady Blueberry Cookie.”

This was ridiculous.

“Well maybe if he wasn’t such a gross wretch, she wouldn’t need to apologize in the first place!” The words just slipped out of her mouth– a culmination of months worth of resentment and stress.

The entire ballroom collectively, and dramatically, gasped at Strawberry Tea Cookie’s statement. A surge of indignant shouts rose after the brief silence, drowning out all attempts at explaining herself. 

Strawberry Tea Cookie was tired. Tired of this ball, tired of her family, and especially tired of maintaining that geriatric raisin’s reputation for the sake of public relations.

The heiress rushed to get out of the limelight, wading through the massive ocean of angry cookies towards an exit— an escape.

“House Strawberry’s relationship with House Blueberry was already a thread away from snapping,” Strawberry Tea Cookie sighed, burying her face into her palms. “I completely severed it that night.”

She made such a huge mess that not even her family’s extensive connections could clean it up. House Blueberry refused any contact, turning away Strawberry Tea Cookie and her parents when she tried entering their estate.

For months, the former heiress couldn’t show her face in public without hearing the scrutinizing whispers of cookies nearby. She had to endure her relatives complaining about the endless rumors at social gatherings— not to mention the arguments that ensued after.

“Crumbs, and now my cousin is heir,” Strawberry Tea Cookie cried. “That means House Strawberry will belong to the Peach Clan, and who knows what will happen afterwards.” Strawberry Sugar Cookie’s stagnant view on art and Peach Jam Cookie’s… personality were already concerning enough. She couldn’t possibly imagine what would happen if the Peach Clan got their sticky hands on her house. “Great Ancients, what do I do?”

How could she possibly fix this? Would her parents even consider giving back her inheritance? Just how long ago did they decide Strawberry Sugar Cookie would take her place?

“You’ll figure something out.” A strong, warm hand grasped Strawberry Tea Cookie’s shoulder. She looked up to meet Wildberry Cookie’s comforting gaze. “I know you wouldn’t let this go without a fight.”

“Yeah! You’re THE Strawberry Tea Cookie after all!” Princess Cookie added, wrapping her arms around the designer.

“The Princess has her faith in you,” Knight Cookie exclaimed. “You better not fail!”

“Thanks, you guys.” The designer smiled, uplifted by their encouragement.

But what should she do..?

“Oh! Isn’t Hollyberry Fashion Week coming up in a few months?” Princess Cookie perked up. “This would be the perfect time to prove you’re the rightful heir!”

“A comeback during one of the biggest events in the Hollyberry Kingdom…” Strawberry Tea Cookie thought for a moment. “That’s a really good idea.”

If she were to come up with a collection so compelling that it got cookies talking about her again, she could revive FragariA’s popularity and skyrocket the brand back to the top. At the same time, she’ll work on mending those severed connections while also forming new ones. That would hopefully demonstrate to her parents that she’s more than capable of taking over House Strawberry. Determination filled her jam, and for a brief moment, she felt there was hope in this situation.

But there was still one problem…

“What do I base this collection off of..?” There’s a reason why Strawberry Tea Cookie hasn’t participated in Hollyberry Fashion Week in almost two years, let alone released any new designs. She had simply exhausted all sources of inspiration in the Hollyberry Kingdom. Worse yet, it seemed that the more time she spent stuck here, the more creativity drained out of her.

“Why don’t you go traveling?” Wildberry Cookie suggested. “You have been burnt out for quite some time, perhaps a change in scenery could bring new ideas.”

“That’s true, but where have I not gone to?” Strawberry Tea Cookie pondered. She had made collections based on all the nearby regions, and reusing ideas wouldn’t garner the necessary attention for her brand.

“Wait, what about that Isle of Tea collection you made years ago?” Princess Cookie mentioned. “It was so pretty, but you never released it...”

“Considering how much of a fuss my parents made when I showed off just one of the dresses, I doubt they would allow it,” Strawberry Tea Cookie sighed. It was a shame, that collection was genuinely her favorite— her magnum opus, even. “I should refrain from arguing with them anyways.”

This left the trio–or quartet when counting Knight Cookie–stumped. The designer considered writing to Mont Blanc Cookie for some help, perhaps arranging a short visit to the Cookie Kingdom so she could get some inspiration.

“...Her Majesty, Hollyberry Cookie, and I have been invited back to the Crème Republic to celebrate its reconstruction,” Wildberry Cookie brought up. “Perhaps you could join us.”

“Isn’t the Crème Republic on the other side of Crispia?” Strawberry Tea Cookie queried, she was reluctant to travel that far when Hollyberry Fashion Week was just around the corner. It would take a couple of weeks alone just to figure out the logistics. However, she couldn’t deny her curiosity regarding the city-state. The snippets Wildberry Cookie shared of its culture and architecture piqued her interest back then, so perhaps risking the trip could rekindle that spark.

Anything to become heiress again.

“Would Her Majesty allow me to tag along?” The designer asked.

“Of course, she always enjoys the extra company,” Wildberry Cookie reassured. “…And she’ll probably use this as an opportunity to get her hands on more strawberry juice.” The dread in his tone was apparent.

“Then I’ll be sure to procure House Strawberry’s finest bottle,” Strawberry Tea Cookie chuckled. “When are you two planning to depart?”

“A week from today.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie’s eyes widened in surprise. A week? There’s no way she could arrange travel plans that quickly, even with the help of the Strawberry Estate staff.

“I’m aware it’s rather last minute,” the retainer admitted. “But don’t worry, I will make sure accommodations are arranged for you when we arrive.”

“Thank you,” the designer smiled, bowing her head towards Wildberry Cookie in gratitude. “Then I suppose I shall start packing.”

[toomanygoldfish]

At five you knew that you wanted a garden. A big garden that had all kinds of vegetables, fruit, and flowers. your grandfather would sit behind you as you plotted out your own garden, spinning tales of him and your grandmother planting their own. 

Your grandfather's garden was one of the most magical places in the world. You remember him leading you through the wall of berry bushes, eating the different types of berries as he dutifully explained the care he put onto each bush. 

Even as he got older he would still walk with you as you inspected the zucchini, tomatoes, grapes, and strawberries. Picking the rippest and bringing back your bounties to your mother and grandmother. 

You would sit with wide eyes trying to take in everything as the adults canned the berries, grapes, and fruits. Watching as they made jam with the leftovers. 

Your small little family could often be found behind a farmers market stall on Sundays. A small tired child leaning, with half lidded eyes, into their mothers side.

As your grandparents got older, the garden grew with them. With your grandfather sick, he was unable to take care of the garden. it grew over, it grew until the berry wall was reaching over into the grape trellises. The grape vines reach for safety on the garden wall, blocking the pathway from any wandering children. 

Your grandfather passed away when you were ten. The night you found out you ran sobbing into his study. You shoved yourself into the space between the wall and the desk, your spot. You shook with sobs. He left. Why would he leave you?  

Grandmother passed away soon after. She was inconsolable after her husband’s death, she was relieved when she fell ill. She was going to be happy with your grandfather. Just happy away from you. 

Your mother sold the house. When you were thirteen. She let you keep anything you took. You ended up taking all of his books and his desk. For years the books were in boxes shoved in your closet, holding too many painful memories to open. From your closest in your childhood home they went into a storage complex, as you moved to college. 

They only made a reappearance recently, when your fiancé when’s to grab some old paintings to decorate your new home. It was raining outside when you opened the box. 

You felt your fiancé behind you as you peeled back the tape.

 “Haji, I’m nervous. I haven’t looked at these books and papers since he died.”

“It's alright baby, I’ll be right behind you. You can take a break at any time, no one’s going to judge you” Iwaizumi reassured. 

You bit your lip, eyes already welling up with tears as you opened the first book. 

You and Iwaizumi had stayed up well into the morning going through every single book and paper in those boxes. The boxes were full of poem books, herbology books, and sketch books. But most sentimental to you were plans of a garden that you had made with your grandfather. 

His writing was delicate behind your bold toddler strokes, explaining which plants to plant. Perhaps even better than that were sketches of trellises, benches, flower beds, and landscaping, all meant to surround that initial garden. 

You fell asleep in Iwaizumi’s arms with tears staining your cheeks. 

You and Hajime got married the next week. As he pulled you away from the crowd he whispered plans into your ear. Plans for a garden to be made. Just the two of you, working together to make the garden of your dreams. 

**Time Skip**

Laughter filled your ears as you held a newborn in your arms. You look up to see Iwaizumi lifting your three year old high in the air, her face stained by raspberries, smiling big, and giggling. Her father looked at her like she was his world. 

Your toddlers giggling gets louder as he spins around, coming to rest next to you. He sits down next to you, letting your toddler go to waddle over to the flowers. He kisses your cheek, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

You love your garden built by hand over the course of three years. Hopefully one day your family will get bigger. But for now you're happy.

[asterdisaster06]

Strawberry Pie

Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

summary > The four times Simon helped you, and the one time you helped him.

word count > 2.5k

cw > Serial killer AU. Inaccurate police information + procedures for plot reasons. Allusion to murder + getting away with crimes, yeah, that’s the kind of help (:<

a/n >  inspired by hannibal + “strawberry” by andrew montana

ao3

“How does it look?” A simple twirl following the words accompanying the small smile. Lips painted blood red with a new lipstick. 

“Beautiful love, absolutely stunning,” Simon says with a slow blink, a cat-like behaviour to express his adoration for you.

“I found this sundress while out shopping. And I got my nails done while I was at it! I followed your recommendation,” You answer with a smile as soft as the blanket beneath your rosy fingertips. 

“And the lipstick?” Simon asks, tilting his head. 

“Something I found in college. It’s served me well all these years,” You send a grin filled with sharp teeth towards Simon. His sweet little vixen. 

“Others would call you crazy,” Simon mentions, the teasing tone trailing off as he stares at you intently.

“But?”

“But, I admire your gumption, sweetheart,” Simon says, cupping your face gently in his hands; laying a tender kiss on the tip of your nose.

“You missed,” You remark with a twinkle in your eye.

“Oh did I now?” His voice softened from its usual gruff timbre. 

Simon RIley leans in to kiss your forehead, and then one corner of your mouth to the other, and then finally landed home onto your lips. He didn’t seem to mind the transfer of dye nor the chastising you did because of it. It was messy, it was sweet, it was entirely and so wholefully the two of you with the only disturbance being the gentle breeze shifting the pastel curtains. The ones that Simon insisted on keeping open to let the precious sunlight in - he claims that the way it brushes against your skin is a look into heaven itself. 

“Okay, okay, I really have to go this time. You’ve kept me trapped here like your little Rapunzel for far too long, Simon,” You urgently get out between fits of laughter and giggles alike. 

“So satanic, the way you plan to simply leave the love of your life here to die alone,” Your boyfriend sighs, sagging back into the comfort of the mattress you both were now laying on. Of course, he was being dramatic. As per usual. It would be endearing if it wasn’t so humorous to see the giant of a man turn into a feeble ghost of the soldier he usually is. Price would be proud to see that his subordinate does in fact have some humanity left within himself. 

“Don’t panic. You’ll live, I’m sure of it,” You reply, giving him a sympathetic kiss on the cheek, before getting up.

“Hey love?”

“Yes, Simon?”

“You missed,” Was all he could get out before you rolled your eyes and gave him exactly what he wanted - despite the fact that it made you a minute late. 

. . .

“Welcome to our humble abode,” You smile, giving a sweet little twirl and a flourish of your arms. The team had to admit that it was a cosy little thing out in the sticks. The interior design was no doubt your doing, a cottagecore vibe, considering the fact that Simon was limited to plain walls being his entire experience. Plants here and there, sunlight streaming through the glass paned windows, and pots and pans hanging with their herb friends. 

“Thank you for having us,” Price responds.

“What he said,” Came from the other two. 

“Where’s your lover?” Soap asks teasingly.

“Oh, he’s out in the garden gathering a few last minute spices,” You say, a gentle expression taking over your features at the thought of your love doing so much for you. You see the group share a knowing look and a few chuckles were heard from behind you. A soft reminder is all they need to stop with their shenanigans while you’re cooking. Of course, Gaz offers a helping hand with chopping up various vegetables for the stew and Price had called dibs on doing the dishes. He claims it was the least he could do for the host. Soap on the other hand insists on being the taste tester. A gentle ring of a bell alerts you to Simon coming in from the outside, completely drenched. 

“What happened to you? You look like a stray dog,” You laugh, leaning against the counter. 

“In my defence, it started as a drop before it ended up pouring a minute later,” Simon grumbled, 

“We’ve needed a good shower, wouldn’t you say? Good for the fertiliser,” You say, sending your lover a wink as you scoot over to allow him access to the sink.

A playful eye roll is what you earn in response as he says, “This is what I get for agreeing to hide out in the country.”

“Bite your tongue if you know what’s good for you,” You nudge him good-naturedly. 

“You know I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, love,” He says, facial expression softening into pure adoration. He sends you this look even as he’s scrubbing his hands of the dirt and blood from the garden. The scent of decay quickly running down the drain, tainting the water black. 

“I know. My saviour day in and day out, wouldn’t you say?”

Before Simon got the chance to answer, the timer - the one in the shape of a chicken because Simon just couldn’t say no when you held it up to him with those puppy dog eyes - went off. 

“Your world famous strawberry pie? Again?” You click your tongue and shake your head with a sly smile.

“It’s world famous for a reason, love. And, we have guests that have yet to taste my creation,” Simon grins back at you. 

“Whatever you say, Simon,” You huff out with a laugh. 

Laughter filled the air as the dinner party continued later into the night before it all quieted down with the departure of the boys. A simple contentment washes over the two of you left on the couch, a fleece blanket encasing your figures. Something about it warmed your beating heart as you listened to the rhythm of Simon’s long after you drifted off into unconsciousness. 

. . .

“Simon, you wouldn’t happen to be busy right now, would you?”

“Of course not, love. What do you need?” Simon answers over the phone.

“There was a roadkill accident, and my car isn’t in tip top shape anymore. Do you think you could come pick me up? I’m about two klicks down the road from our house,” You say, your phone tucked in between your ear and shoulder as you slide latex gloves over your hands. 

“As you wish,” Simon’s voice rumbles in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. 

You drag the corpse into the bushes and thank whoever was listening that the only evidence left was the blood pool. It would be quite a shame if any innocent had to feast their eyes on the remains of the carrion. Vultures would have to find another meal elsewhere - this one was yours. Right on time, Simon’s car reverberated down the gravel lane. 

“I didn’t think you would become so reckless, angel,” Simon chuckles, hopping out of his truck to help you lift the body into the back of his car. 

“I like the word hasty more. It sounds better, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you call it, just remember I’m always here to help clean up your messes.”

“And I you, darling,” You nudge Simon as he opens the car door for you. 

“I should’ve seen it in your eyes when we first started seeing each other. You were trying to warn me,” Simon chuckles, humour lacing his words. 

“I always wanted to be able to see you in the morning, Simon,” You begin solemnly. “I don’t wanna be alone, it’s quite boring, isn’t it?” You shrug. 

“Oh, baby, let me finish. I’m keeping you, you menace. Until the day one of us kills the other,” Simon smiles, giving your hand a tight squeeze. 

“That would be how it ends, wouldn’t it?”

“Of course, there’s no other way,” Simon says, a simple grin on his lips. A rare sight, but a common one with you. And just like the rain, it was washed away just as quickly.

. . .

“Shit, love, did you go after a military man?” SImon asks as he gently wipes away dirt and grime from your face. Your clothes were receiving the same treatment in the washer after you took a shower.

“I somehow doubt her boyfriend got into the military with that weak of a punch. He just got the jump on me. . . and had a pocket knife,” You explain, wincing when Simon brushed over your wounds. 

“That would explain all these lacerations, now wouldn’t it?”

“Actually those were from the girl clawing me half to death. The guy did jack all if I’m being honest. Tried to run like a pussy too,” You laugh, your ribs protesting at the act. 

“Sounds like you did her a favour, showing her the real colours of her boyfriend. A shame she isn’t alive to make a change,” He hums, confidently bandaging your arms and face like he had done a million times before. And like he would continue to do a thousand times over. As he does that you down a cheap whiskey from the bottle to ease the pain. 

“Quite a shame. Almost as much as the fact that I have some cleaning up to do later. They were surprisingly bloody for how little it took to bring them down,” You sigh, raking your hands through your hair before realising your hands were still stained metallic red.

“You just take a shower and leave the rest to me,” Simon says with a quirk at the edge of his lips. 

“What would I do without you?”

“Probably end up in jail.”

“That’s both true and insulting.”

“Whatever you say, love.”

. . .

“Simon? I think it’s time for a change.”

“What colour?”

“You know me so well. I was thinking something colourful this time around, really make the sight a seemly one before they meet their end,” You say, looking in the mirror and preemptively mourning for the identity that would be no longer. 

Not if Simon had any say in it. He had a surprising knack for disguise; although, you suspect that a few missions would require a little bit of magic to make it work. Odd, though, considering it’s doubtful that anyone would be left to tell the tale of the infamous Simon “Ghost” Riley. 

“You just get into the bathroom, I’ll be there soon with the dye,” Simon calls out from across the house. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Not today,” Simon answers.

“Well, I love you very much for all that you do for me,” You say, expressing your thanks.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Simon chuckles, entering the bathroom with all that you could ever need for an identity change. “Although, have you ever considered wearing a mask? Speaking from personal experience, it does make a wonderful impression alongside shielding you from the public eye.”

You hum thoughtfully before responding with, “I have, although I’ve discovered the personal touch makes it all the more better. That, and, I think between the two of us, you pull it off way better than I ever could.”

“If you insist, love,” Simon laughs, the sound reverberating throughout you. 

“It’s the truth, now which colour would suit me better?” You ask, alternating two dyes in your hand and in your favour. 

“Tough question. I fear we might need a second opinion,” He teases. 

“You know me too well, get the team on the phone,” You grin, practically bubbling over with excitement. Some may say you were too enthusiastic given the circumstances, but not Simon. He always supported you in your little hobby and dinner parties - much to your surprise. He was everything that you could’ve ever asked for, and more.

. . .

“Hey, love, are you busy right now?” Simon asks over the phone - a surprising event considering that he was never one for calls. They irked him, verbatim words that make you giggle at the absurdity of all.

“No, of course not, Simon. What do you need?” You ask, slightly busy with cooking dinner but Simon always came first. You did put him on speaker though to make it a little easier. 

“Could you come down to the station? Some stories need to be set straight, if you know what I mean,” Simon almost growls out.

“I’ll be there in five,” You reply, dropping the pleasantries as a dark look overtakes you. 

. . .

“What seems to be the problem, Officer?” You ask, acting the part of an innocent victim.

“Can I get you some water?” Fake pleasantries. Nothing upset you more.

“No thank you. I’d prefer to get this cleared up as soon as possible, sir,” You spit out, decisive and curt with your words. 

“Of course. There appears to be significant evidence that forty-eight hours ago your significant other was put at the scene of a crime near the Lincoln bar. Likely as a perpetrator,” Is what the officer tells you, much to your chagrin. Despite the calm facade that you were putting forth, you were fighting the urge to roll your eyes. You know exactly what happened, exactly who was killed, and the reason behind it was all because of a jealous spat between Simon and a man who had the misfortune of hitting on you in front of the infamous Ghost. He just couldn’t control himself when it came to you.

“I find that highly unlikely,” You say brusquely.

“And why is that?”

“He was at the Lincoln bar, but both myself and three other people were with him the entire night. Here, I’ll write their numbers down,” You say, quickly uncapping the pen on the table. 

“We’ve already checked the surveillance, but thank you for these witnesses. There is a gap of time between 9:31 PM and 9:39 PM that we are awfully curious about.”

“From what I remember, he went to the bathroom,” You answer genuinely.

They continued their line of questioning, asking if you had any connection to the victim, if you had seen anyone suspicious, along with other interrogations that all ended with the classic ‘if you think of anything else, notify us.’ You had high hopes that Simon would be released almost immediately and you were proven right when he walked right out of the building over to where you were on the curb. 

“There’s my saviour,” Simon says, embracing you tightly.

“You haven’t forgotten our promise, right?” You ask with a smile.

“Of course not, love. I simply wanted to show my appreciation, as per usual,” Simon chuckles lightly.

“Be your alibi, and never ask why,” You say, interlocking your pinky with Simons.

“Never ask why,” Simon whispers back, promising it like a vow. 

“The boys invited us out to dinner at Price’s, angel. You feeling up to it?” You ask.

“Always if it involves you,” Simon flirts.

You roll your eyes, replying with, “You menace.”

“You know you love me,” Simon laughs. And you did. So, very, much. 

[marvelmusing]

Total Eclipse

Chapter One

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lord Morozova returns to his summer residence earlier than usual - accompanied by his new wife.

Word Count: 2.7K

My Masterlist

At the sight of the black coach, you drop your sketchbook into a secluded nook at the entrance to the church and take off, running back inside and heading towards the servants entrance.

As always, the minister scolds you for running, his stern words startling you, but you don’t pay him any mind as you continue to run. After stumbling through the back door, you weave by the girls pulling up weeds from the spot where their strawberries had been planted last week and leap over the old stone wall at the end of the garden.

Heart pounding, you follow the tracks carved into the fields by the farmer’s horse and cart, hoping that you can reach Lord Morozova’s summer residence before the coach arrives.

Growing up in Keramzin means that you know the fastest route to anywhere in the town and as a child you had snuck onto Lord Morozova’s estate countless times. He very rarely used the house there, aside from a month or so during the height of summer.

It is barely spring now. He’s here too early. The chill in the air hurts your lungs as you run but you can’t stop.

Mikhael and Dubrov are your closest friends. They had invited you to join them today on a visit to Lord Morozova’s house - a bit of fun for old times’ sake. Too busy with the mural you’ve been painting in the church, you had declined.

But at the sight of the Black General’s coach tearing its way through the town, you knew you needed to warn them.

There’s no sign of the coach as you approach the house, gravel crunching beneath your feet. Whatever window the boys had used to climb inside they must have shut behind them, so you pick the easiest one. Underneath the window to the drawing room sits a stone basin filled with flowers which you stand on to provide enough leverage to open the window and slip inside.

The curtains are soft against your skin as you wade through the thin white fabric adorned with shimmering golden threads that catch the sunlight beautifully.

The drawing room is a private space used only for entertaining Lord Morozova’s most valued guests. Silence greets you and despite the urgency that had fuelled you into running here, you can’t resist stopping to admire the room for the first time in years.

Tracing your fingers over the wallpaper, you’re surprised to find it as smooth and intact as when you last saw it. Dark blue, like the night sky, decorated with pale gold sketches of the summer constellations.

Some people say that Lord Morozova is descended from the Starless Saint. If that is true, this room is a perfect reflection of that heritage.

After hearing how quiet it is on this floor, you slowly make your way upstairs to search for the boys. The stairway is the same as you remember. A dark swooping beam of wood that curls in companion to the black metal rungs connecting it to the steps.

Those that don’t believe Lord Morozova is descended from a Saint are usually the ones who believe he is a descendant of the Black Heretic.

If his drawing room is that of a Saint’s then his bedroom is fit for a heretic. Almost everything is varying shades of darkness. Stained oak vanity table, wardrobe, and chair. His bedsheets are black, as are his pillows and the plush looking cushions that sit against the carved wooden headboard.

For a moment guilt tugs at you. As a child, Lord Morozova was more fantasy than reality. Some dark figure that was never seen. His presence had always felt almost ghostlike as you wandered through these halls. All those times you had visited, even as a rebellious teenager, you had never set foot in his bedroom.

Now, staring at his bed, he feels like a very real man. A powerful one. One that would not take kindly to some commoner breaking into his house - whether he used it often or not.

Heart pounding, you shut the door behind you, moving onto the next bedroom. Relief fills you at the sight of your friends, though that quickly fades into a mixture of horror and anger when you see the contents of a jewellery box lying spread out over the vanity table.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?”

Mikhael says your name in disbelief as he pockets an ornate looking necklace and a slow grin spreads over his face.

“You couldn’t stay away could you?”

Rolling your eyes, you move closer to them.

“Not when you two idiots are about to be caught by the Black General.”

They both freeze.

“What?”

“I saw his coach. He’ll be here any minute.”

Dubrov frowns.

“Are you sure? He’s never here this early in the year.”

Mikhael sighs with a smirk.

“Honestly, you see one black coach and you’re spooked. It’s a good job we didn’t involve you in this part.”

“This part?”

There’s no time for him to explain as the sound of a coach approaching at high speed reaches your ears. All three of you go still, hearts pounding as panic sets in.

“We need to go.”

Turning back to the door, you stop when you realise they aren’t following you. Instead, they’re both filling their pockets with jewellery.

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

Mikhael scowls at you.

“He won’t miss it.”

“Come on.”

Dubrov tosses the rest of the jewellery back into the box, fumbling as he returns it to its original position on a shelf by the window.

The three of you tear down the stairs as the coach wheels turn rapidly over the gravel outside. If you leave through the drawing room window now, they will see you.

“The library. Quickly,” you order them.

The old door creaks louder than it ever has before, and the new layout of the library takes you off guard for a few seconds. The sofas have been moved towards the centre of the room and your favourite armchair is now placed by the window – a perfect spot for basking in the sun.

You rush to the back of the library, opening up the window at the far end and pulling yourself out.

It’s a small jump but you land awkwardly, knees buckling a little and the gravel digs into the skin of your kneecaps even from underneath the fabric of your trousers. The boys follow you, Mikhael closing the window behind him before he jumps off the ledge. Both of them land better than you.

Hidden from the view of anyone at the front of the house, you rush towards the treeline, using the cover of foliage to circle around and watch as the coach comes to a stop.

The Black General’s silhouette alone is imposing, and a shiver runs through you at the sight of him. His dark eyes scour over the grounds as he holds out a hand for someone else to exit the coach.

“Who’s that?” you ask quietly.

The two boys duck down to follow your eye line.

“I hear a rumour he got married,” Dubrov muses. “That must be the new Lady Morozova.”

She’s beautiful. Despite the paleness of the spring sunlight, she practically glows. Her dark hair is tied neatly into an intricate combination of braids, and she smiles widely at him as her hand remains in his. Even from this distance, they look like a matching pair.

Mikhael tuts sympathetically.

“Poor girl. Imagine being married to a monster.”

You elbow him hard in the side and he winces.

“Ouch! What was that for?!”

“He isn’t a monster. He won the war for us against Fjerda.”

“Yeah but he’s still a Darkling. His ancestor created the Fold, and he has the same power. He could make another one, whenever he wants.”

Unfortunately, Dubrov doesn’t back you up.

“I heard he had one of his Grisha sew a man’s mouth shut. He died of starvation, after days of writhing in agony.”

“Dehydration would have killed him first,” you correct him, moving out from the bushes as the travellers disappear into the house.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Two days later, it’s approaching noon and your hands won’t stop shaking. Sighing, frustration claws at you as your paintbrush hovers over the face of Sankta Ursula. The minister had wanted you to start retouching the depiction of Sankt Feliks by this afternoon, but as your fingers continue to shake that goal seems further and further away.

Rolling your shoulder, you try to figure out what has you so unnerved. The church services that honour Sankta Alina are held twice a day - at sunrise and sunset - and you had missed this morning’s service. Perhaps your body is waiting for the minister’s scolding. Or maybe you should stop to eat something. The bakery had smelt particularly tempting this morning and you have a few loose coins in your pocket.

Then a shadow passes over your painting and you turn around, almost dropping your paintbrush when you see who has joined you in the empty church.

“Lord Morozova.”

He sits down on the old wooden bench beside where you’re kneeling on the hard stone floor. Dark eyes flicker over you, taking in every detail – the paint flecks on your skin and clothing, the tension in your muscles and the shadows under your eyes.

In turn, you take the opportunity to look at him. His kefta is a marvel up close. Despite the lingering winter weather, you have seen a few Grisha already sporting their silk summer keftas. Lord Morozova must feel the cold as you do, as he is still wearing his winter kefta. Delicate threads of black embroidery weave over the wool, accompanied by a small addition of golden threads. Is the gold a new feature? Something for his marriage perhaps?

As you realise you’ve been staring, your cheeks flush with warmth. Lord Morozova makes a dismissive gesture as you move to stand and possibly bow. You’ve never met a noble; you’re not quite sure how to interact with him.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt your work.”

A small smile touches the corner of your mouth.

“It’s fine, I was about to take a break anyway.”

He nods slowly, moving over a little for you to sit down beside him. Wincing, you stretch out your stiff legs. A few small bruises linger from where the gravel had pressed into your skin after jumping from the window of Lord Morozova’s library and the memory makes you nervous of his presence. His shoulder brushes against yours as you adjust your position on the bench.

“How long have you been painting?” he asks.

“I started not long after dawn this morning.”

The corner of his mouth twitches with the hint of a smile and something akin to laughter sparkles in his eyes. Heat flushes over your cheeks once again as you realise you had misunderstood his question. Shutting your eyes briefly, you sigh before running a hand over your face. The sound of his chuckle is a soft balm to your embarrassment, encouraging you to answer his question properly.

“But I’ve been painting for as long as I can remember.”

When your eyes flutter open, you find his gaze already on you. His thumb brushes delicately over your cheek and for a moment you don’t dare to breathe, stunned by his sudden proximity. A thrill runs through you at the brief contact of his skin against yours and something deep inside you calls to him, tempting you to lean into his touch. He is an incredibly handsome man, but this feels like something bigger than attraction.

His brows furrow as he withdraws his hand, rubbing at the speck of blue paint he had removed from your skin. Ducking your head down, you stare at the stone floor beneath you, worn and weathered by thousands of visitors over hundreds of years, as you try to slow your thunderous heartbeat.

“My wife is extremely fond of painting,” Lord Morozova says lightly with a tender smile. “Whilst she might protest against such compliments, I believe she is a highly talented artist.”

That draws your attention back to him. The rumours are true. He is married. As he speaks of his wife, there’s a fond edge to his voice and he doesn’t even look at you, clearly lost in thoughts of his beloved. Then he appears to rouse himself, glancing over at you as he continues,

“She wishes to repaint the ballroom in my summer residence, and though I have warned her it will be a trying feat she seems determined to prove me wrong.” There’s a hint of laughter in his voice, as if his wife is often eager to achieve the impossible. “She wants to paint the summer night sky - sunrise on the eastern side with sunset on the west.”

“That would be beautiful,” you admit softly, thinking of the ballroom in his house and imagining how you would create such an image.

A rich midnight darkness in the centre, fading into the soft yellow and pink of summer sunrise on one side and the warm orange and blue on the other side. Sparks of silver stars would be painted over the blackness, perhaps even accompanied by the height of the summer moon.

Then a frown creases at your brows.

“But you are right, ceiling paintings are rather taxing – especially on a scale like your ballroom.” His brow lifts slightly and you panic, stomach plummeting as you recognise the familiarity in your tone and hurry to stammer a justification, “It’s quite large, from what I’ve heard of it.”

“Do the townspeople often discuss the dimensions of my property?”

As you observe the hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, your heart skips a beat.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but not a lot happens around here,” you remark drily. He chuckles quietly and some of the tension leaves you. At least Lord Morozova doesn’t appear to be suspicious of you.

After your escape from his estate, you hadn’t spoken to Mikhael or Dubrov. You don’t want to know what they did with the jewellery they had stolen, and your heart rate picks up again as you wonder whether Lord Morozova had noticed any missing pieces. Perhaps he hadn’t even entered that spare room yet, and never would.

A comfortable lull settles between you both, and despite the fact that he is one of Ravka’s most powerful men, you don’t feel anxious to fill the silence with unnecessary chatter. The sound of the minister calling out for you has you sliding down a little, hoping that the figure of Lord Morozova might shield you from sight.

Once again, Lord Morozova’s mouth quirks slightly in amusement as he observes your sheepish expression.

As the minister steps out from behind a pillar, his eyes bounce between you and the lord beside you. Saving you from the scolding that was without a doubt already on the minister’s tongue, Lord Morozova stands smoothly and offers his hand to the man.

“Lord Morozova, what an unexpected surprise.”

As the two of them discuss the history of the church and the service schedule over the course of the summer, you decide to use this opportunity to your advantage. Slowly, you tuck your supplies back into your cloth wrap, folding it carefully and tucking it against your body. Sticking to the shadows, you attempt to make a quick escape.

Before you can move two steps, the bench you had been sitting on creaks at the sudden lack of weight against it. Ever the optimist, you keep walking casually.

“Not so fast,” the minister says firmly and your footsteps falter. “You missed service this morning.”

Turning back towards the two of them, you find Lord Morozova’s scrutiny far more nerve-wracking than the minister’s.

“I apologise. I was working late and did my prayer before bed instead.”

He purses his lips together. Night prayers are for the Starless Saint, something the church feels is optional, unlike the morning service which had been for Sankta Alina.

“Remember to ask our Sankta for forgiveness tomorrow.”

“I will.”

He holds your gaze as he says,

“The candles on your Saint’s table are burning low.”

The cream candles used for Sankta Alina’s altar are always in abundance, despite the fact that the wax is mixed with flecks of gold leaf. You know which Saint he’s referring to.

“I’ll go to the market tomorrow.”

The two of you both know that the market doesn’t sell the black candles traditionally placed on the Starless Saint’s altar, but you’re not going to tell him where you get the candles from. He would never let you work in the church again, and this position is the only way you can afford to paint.

Lord Morozova inclines his head in a small bow, providing you with an out as he says,

“It was a pleasure to speak with you.”

Warmth spreads over your cheeks as you duck your head. Looking down at your boots, your reply lacks his elegance, but your words are no less genuine.

“It was nice to meet you too.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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[miwhotep]

I'm writing fanfics on Milverton for a while now, mostly concentrating on his human side (well, his relationship with Ruskin) and related to this, I also wandered a lot what does he like to do when he is not blackmailing/tempting others to sin.

So I collected some little things from the manga what Milverton seems to like.

1, Flowers

We can see flowers in vases at his London home - I'm sure it's his household staff what put them there, but I doubt they would do it without their employer's order. Milverton also keeps a plant in his home study. Besides, lot of from his decorations are flower-themed: his safe, his wallpaper both at his home and his office.

2, Nature

In his London house, he has a big, beautiful garden and his manor in Brighton is far away from town - for safety purposes, too, of course, since he likes keeping this place a secret, but also, his house is deep in the forest, with lot of trees around it and a perfect view to the sea. He surely likes to come here sometimes to rest, away from the busy capital.

3, Books

He keeps lot of books in both at his London manor and Brighton residence and since he keeps his company documents separated from them, those books are most likely for his own enjoyment - he surely likes to read in his free time (while drinking tea, as we can see it in the Whiteley meeting scene).

4, Art

In his Brighton residence, he has a Pallas Athene statue on his cupboard (like his canon counterpart at the Conan Doyle story) and he also has paintings on his wall (about nature, not humans being tortured). And during his Bible explaining session, we see paintings as illustrations - don't forget, this is not just for to look good in the manga, this is a look into Milverton's mind, why he does what he does. He most likely got inspired and think on that painting a lot (the painting is The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun by a poet/artist William Blake). Milverton seems to be a well-cultured man, interested in art.

+ Strawberry

Yeah, it's just from the omake, but there, Milverton does admit his favorite food is strawberry (giving us, the very few, but dedicated Milvey fans, a well of unfailing ideas and inspiration). And this is totally not something you would expect to hear from a dangerous blackmailer.

Beside his evil hobbies, Milverton seems to have a more sensitive side to him, he is also an art- and nature-loving bookworm who likes beautiful and peaceful sights, too, not just sin. I'm sad that we only got glimpses from his human side - but it's still there, offscreen.

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

September 24th - Roses / Cherry Blossoms

WARNING: This chapter has a brief touch of homophobia/homophobic comments/bullying, viewer discretion is advice

The spring air feels nice and gentle as the Queendom of Roses goes into full bloom, busy bees hum and fly about in the gardens of the warm air in the flowers. The season was perfect for various outings and even indoor activities as the sun shines and birds chirp, a perfect day for a father and daughter to go on a little grocery shopping.

“I’ll pick up the apple and berry cheesecake for the anniversary party while we’re out. I saw in the paper the bakery is also selling some cherry donuts if you want me to buy you some.” Said Riddle as he talks on the phone in one hand while his other hand holds the hand of a little red haired girl who jumps along the cracks of the pavements. Ace, Riddle’s husband, chuckles and speaks back, “That sounds great! I’m sure it’ll taste good with some of that tea we got from Trey and Cater.” “I agree.” Riddle giggles when he watches Rose start singing a little ditty as she skips beside him, her red pigtails bouncing and swaying in happy joy. “I’ll let you get back to work dear, make sure to text me if you want us to get anything else.” Ace chuckled, you can very clearly feel the warm smile and heart eyes from the speaker, “Will do, love you rosebud.” Riddle tucks his phone back in his bag before walking into the bakery with his little princess. The store’s walls were a beautiful cream color with the hard wooden red oak flooring to match like a white cream above a red velvet cake, large window displays filled with treats lay out in the shop’s back, the sound of coffee machines stirring in life can be heard behind the farthest counter filling the bakery with the sweet scent of coffee grounds that blends perfectly with the aroma of freshly baked sweets. The man walks to the glass counter, the little Rose running behind him giggling past her adorable gap tooth grin.

“Good morning, what can I do for you two?” Asked the shopkeeper, a sweet, gentle older man with a sweet set of chocolate eyes and a hot chocolate warm smile with a marshmallow mustache of curly white. Riddle smiles, "Good morning sir, can I get the apple and berry cheesecake a box of a dozen cheery donuts." Blue-grey eyes look to the girl staring wide eyed at the beautiful lollies on display. "And a few of the strawberry suckers please."

Ace poked his head into the living room, his red eyes shining in worry as his freckles hands hold the cup of hot chocolate.

Rose, his ever so sweet and growing girl, just arrived back from her middle school sports club in tears and shut herself in her room and hasn't come out yet in the last 15 minutes. Taking a deep breath, the man journeyed down the hall to the sunset red painted door with fairy lights decorating the edges in soft yellow glows of blinks and glimmers.

He knocks. Nothing. "Hey cherry bomb, I made you some cocoa. Extra whipped cream with chocolate sauce drizzle, just like how you like it." No answer.

The police officer signs, leaning his aging body against the wall closest to the door, his voice somber as his thumb rubs the warm edge of the mug in hand, "Look, I know you're upset and you don't have to tell me what's wrong if you really don't want to...but we're worried about you..."

". . .Jennifer said I was gross..." "Huh? Jennifer? The Champbell girl?" After some years of little Rose's growing, she starting playing basketball just as well as her dear daddy, to the point she joint her school team earlier this year, and she always looked up to this one girl named Jennifer. Weird she said something so harsh suddenly...

The door knob jiggled. The door clicked softly. Soon, the red disappeared as the door creaked open to show the tear swollen red face of the crying tween who sniffs, still dressed in the orange basketball uniform from her club and her scrunchie has long since been abandoned and leaving her ginger licks a mess.

Ace's heart broke looking at her. "Oh...sweet heart..." He accepted the rush she had to his arms, allowing the snot and tears to stain his button up shirt as she buries her face into his chest and sniffled. "S-She said... people who don't have moms can't possibly be in touch with their emotions... that I was a freak cause I don't see the issue..." Ace's veins felt like their were on fire hearing it. He can handle some homophobic shit, he knows his husband's biological family and has dealt with some stuff back when he was a student, but he can't stand someone being so cruel to his daughter over something like if two men were in love!

Yeah, Riddle deserves to handle this with the school board once he gets home He thought, but for now he rubs his daughter's shaking back as she cries.

This is another piece for the @ridoaceweek challenge, I was gonna write more stuff related to a lot of moments of Rose's childhood but decided last second to just do two stories and save some of those ideas for the later works.