#the autumn minister: are you—

[violetwolfraven]

The timeline of the Tinkerbell movies is so fucking funny like Tink was out there getting bullied attempting to fundamentally change what she is and revolutionizing the talent of tinkering all within like. A week tops. of her birth. At the queen’s revue Queen Clarion goes “Tinkerbell sweetheart has no one explained?” (about tinkers not going to the mainland) and it’s like!!! No shit they haven’t explained!!! Homegirl was born yesterday!!!

[noctilin]

"pleased to see you're doing well, esteemed fix-it of mistria!" he's a seasonal romanceable, better act quickly before he's gone forever! 🌼✨

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Away We Go {3}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: It’s winter break and silly season 2024/25 which means drama (and officially the end of the series). Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, angst, fluff WC: 4.1k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry || One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || 6.5 || Seven || SMAU || Eight || Nine NAV: Away We Go || One || Two || Three

With the final three races of the season a triple header you hadn’t been home in weeks. You had missed your own space and knowing where everything was unlike the hotel rooms you had spent almost a month living out of. What you hadn’t missed was the pile of mail to sort out. Three stacks were neatly comprised on the kitchen table: one each for Lando, Charles and you. A quick skim through them found most were the usual culprits - bills, fan mail and junk - but two stood out. 

A thick brown envelope had a return address for Oxfordshire, England and you tore it open with a squeal. “I got it!”

Your shouts had Lando and Charles dropping the suitcases in the bedroom and even Autumn looked up from where she was playing with her toys in the living room. “Guess who’s back on the grid, baby!”

Your feet were lifted off the floor as you were bear hugged from the front and back, kisses peppering your cheeks that ached from the wide smile. 

“Congratulations, love.”

“Knew you would do it, amour.”

You couldn’t keep still as you reread the welcome letter and the others picked through their mail. 

“Huh,” Lando huffed as he opened an envelope similar to one you also received. “That’s weird.”

“It’s not another pair of panties, is it?” you asked, the item making an unfortunately common appearance in their mail.

“No, it’s from the Vegas Chapel.”

You tore open your envelope too and skimmed over the letter that confirmed the marriage to Lando had been successfully submitted to the State of Nevada, and accepted. “Wait, that’s not right. Who submitted it?”

Charles rushed through his pile searching for the same envelope but there was nothing for him. His brows furrowed and he grabbed the two letters, holding them side by side to see for himself. “What about me?”

A lump formed in your throat and you curled your arms around him. “We’ll figure it out, baby, it’s got to be a mistake.”

It wasn’t a mistake. 

Well, it wasn’t a clerical mistake but the human kind, where the minister's assistant had missed the conversation about the marriage not being legal. She had submitted the paperwork with the rest of the chapel weddings and since yours and Lando’s document was on top it was processed first. The other two were rejected.

You were legally married to Lando, for better or for worse.

–

“We should get ready,” you murmured, not really feeling in the partying mood but Max had returned from the FIA awards and wanted to celebrate his championship win. 

In the week since getting the letter, things hadn’t been the same. Charles was withdrawn, Lando was full of remorse, and you were left trying to figure out a way to reunite your family. Even Autumn was picking up on the tension in the house and was fussier than usual. 

“You can tell Max I am sick,” Charles muttered from the couch he sank into, clutching a cushion to his chest so he could rest his chin on it. 

“You’re not sick.”

“I feel sick.”

“We all feel sick,” Lando added before curling a finger your way and you followed him down the hall to the office. He had spent most of the day locked in the room, talking with lawyers about the best option. It was too late to annul the marriage, he found, and neither of you really wanted to go through the paperwork for a divorce - but if it saved the relationship with Charles then that is what you would do. 

“Steph can draw up the documents,” he said after closing the door and dropping into his computer chair. “We just need to go through our assets and figure out whose is whose.”

“Even though we aren’t actually breaking up?”

“Yeah.” The one word held so much defeat and Lando scratched at his head before tugging the curly strands. “I fucked up, love, I should have just kept my mouth shut and none of this would have happened.” 

You followed his eyes to the picture frames that were still stacked in the corner of his desk. It would have been rubbing salt in the wound for Charles if they had been hung as planned in the bedroom. Taking a seat on Lando’s lap, you brushed his hair back into place and kissed the frown away from his forehead. 

“What if there is a way to show Charles that he is as much a part of this family, without a divorce?” The marriage so far had been kept quiet but a divorce would become public, something you would rather avoid given your seat signing hadn’t yet been announced. 

Lando perked up with hope and you took a deep breath. “How do you feel about changing your name?”

–

Winter break hadn’t got off to the best start but you were trying to remedy that with the two documents laid out on the kitchen table. 

“Charles, can you come here please?” 

Lando fidgeted with his necklace as footsteps padded down the hall. Charles had locked himself away in the gym and his grey shirt was damp with sweat as he looked between the two of you waiting for him.

“Family meeting, sit,” you ordered. You had taken Autumn over to Max’s so there would be no interruptions and she had enough bottles of milk to last the day if needed. “Christmas is coming and I am not having anything ruin this for Autumn’s sake.”

With less than a week to go, the house had nothing to show. There were no decorations hung and the Christmas tree was still in a box in the storage closet. You couldn’t even bear to think about going to the ski resort with everyone and having to put on a brave face. 

“We are going to fix this today,” Lando said with a serious tone.

Charles scoffed, clearly not believing him, but he dropped into the seat at the head of the table and looked down at the papers and pens. “What’s this then?”

“Your choice.” You pointed to the left, and a much thicker stack. “This one is for a divorce. Everything would hopefully go back to the way it was before, but since it will need to be filed in the US it will be publicly accessible. Nothing we can’t handle with a PR team statement, if that’s what you want.”

Charles fingers the pages but didn’t try to read them before turning his attention to the smaller document. “What’s this?”

“A promise,” Lando said, taking Charles hand and trying not to cry when it went limp in his. “You’re my husband, no matter what a stupid piece of paper says, and we are a family. I know how you are feeling, I remember when you two accidentally went public and I thought I was being left behind. But you didn’t, and I won’t ever either. I belong to you.”

“Me too,” you said, taking his other hand. “And we want to show that we are in this together until the very end by changing our last names to Leclerc, if you’ll have us?”

The question hung suspended in the apartment and the only sound came from the clock hanging in the kitchen. The seconds ticked by as Charles quietly contemplated the options in front of him. What he wanted wasn’t a possibility, no matter how hard he wished it was, but he knew he couldn’t continue the way he had been, keeping you both at an arm's length. He could see the bags under your eyes from the restless nights and hated the toll this had taken on everyone. 

Charles tried to remember those three short weeks of bliss, the intimate secret that only the three of you knew about, and he sighed as he realised he hadn’t kept his promise. Rising from the table he grabbed the thick stack of papers and walked away, the office door closing behind him.

“Well, shit,” Lando muttered. “I always imagined being married longer than Kim Kardashian.”

“I know, but it’s his choice and we have to respect that,” you agreed, hanging your head in your hands. “I suppose I should ring James and give him the heads up.”

You couldn’t muster up the energy to make the call though, you just sat there in silence with Lando. Twice he opened his mouth to say something but the words fell short and the minutes continued to abandon the day as if they wanted it to be over just as quickly.

Strange whirring sounds came from the office and Charles dipped across the hall to the storage closet, then into the bedroom before hard banging echoed through the house. Each bang sent a jolt down your spine and your eyes began to burn at the thought of Charles being so angry he had to break things. You looked and Lando and he looked at you, a little shake of head saying, ‘Leave him be’.

Finally, it all went silent and Charles sauntered his way back into the room and dumped an armful of paper shavings into the table along with a hammer. The mountain of shredded paper spread across the wood and some fell into your lap, the barely-legible name of the attorney spelled out on each strip.

“That was a stupid idea,” Charles muttered as he fell back into his chair and scrambled through the rubbish to find the application forms for official name changes. “You’re not getting a fucking divorce.”

“Uh, okay…” Lando said with a frown, his eyes darting to the hammer and then to the hall. “Should I ask what’s broken or are we just ignoring that?”

“I didn’t break anything,” Charles said, clicking the pens and holding one out to you and Lando. “I hung our marriage certificates up where they were meant to be. Now, are you serious about this?”

“Wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” you said as you took the pen. “Are you?”

“You’re mine, and the whole world is going to know it.”

–

Christmas Eve 2024

The long table was in a state of chaos as parents tried to wrangle the older children and the grandparents watched on with amusement, remembering the days when that was them. You shared a smile with your husbands and knew that next year you would be a part of that chaos but for now you were happy to watch on while Autumn played with a plastic spoon in her high chair.

It had become a tradition to open one present before the meal and a small box sat beside the glass of wine you were indulging in, a group present for the three of you. A larger box was just out of Autumn’s reach and Penelope’s was tempting the young girl with a Christmas cracker balanced on top.

“Who wants to go first?” Adam asked, a chorus of ‘me’s’ ringing out from all the kids old enough to understand.

You leaned in to whisper to Charles and Lando, slyly glancing along the line of adults. “$500 says Kelly’s pregnant.”

Lando looked at Max and Kelly who were busy chatting to Daniil and his eyes widened. “Holy shit, you might be right.”

Charles was just confused. “What is going on?”

You watched Kelly take another sip of her drink before Max refilled it, with water. “See, that is not a gin and tonic.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Charles laughed, shaking his head.

“And they invited Daniil.”

“Exactly, that would be more awkward, no?”

You huffed at fault in the logic until you snapped your fingers excitedly. “Except they want P here for the announcement and it was his year to have her for Christmas. Jesus, I am in the wrong line of work, I should be Sherlock.”

Charles picked up your glass and sniffed the wine. “I think it is you who needs water, amour.”

“Does that mean you are up for the bet?”

“I don’t need the money, but I will enjoy taking it from you,” he teased.

Adam quickly gave up trying to have any organisation and let the kids tear into their presents. Luka and Lio were the first to get through the wrapping paper and immediately wanted to play with the racecars. Mila squealed at the unicorn helmet she got to match the bike she had asked Santa for while Athena hadn’t even attempted to open hers as she was distracted by the cheese and cracker board. It was Penelope who sat in silence as she stared at the shirt she unwrapped.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Kelly asked with a knowing grin and you slapped Charles’ leg under the table.

P held up the shirt and started to bounce in her seat, a wide smile splitting her face. “I’m going to be a big sister!”

“I can also take the $500 in the form of sexual favours,” you whispered.

“Happily, but later,” he said before standing up and congratulating Max and Kelly.

“I’m surprised she could keep the secret,” Max said to Charles, his head nodding in your direction as you sank lower into the seat.

“Hmm, is that right?”

“She kind of figured it out a few days ago when she caught Kelly spooning marmite out of the jar with celery sticks. Cravings, mate, they are a strange fucking surprise.”

Charles laughed in agreement and clapped Max on the shoulder. “Speaking of surprises, we have one of our own too. Don’t worry, it’s not another baby this time.” He returned to his seat beside you and waited a few minutes for everyone to congratulate the two. Finally when the room calmed a bit he picked up his glass and tapped it with a spoon to get the adults attention. 

“I just wanted to thank everyone for being here and spending another Christmas with us,” Charles began, his finger tracing the lip of his glass he still held. “Every year the table keeps growing larger and, Max, you finally get to be the reason for an extra chair next year, so big thumbs up for taking that responsibility. My wife thanks you,” he chuckled along with Lando before reaching for the small box on the table, opening it to reveal the wedding bands you had chosen.

“You know, three years ago I would have never imagined being this happy without winning a championship, but I have learned that even if I do get to raise that trophy myself one day it is more important having loved ones to share the experience with.” Charles took the first of two identical rings. Your husband’s rings were relatively simple but it was all they needed - like the necklaces they wore, it was made of three bands woven together. “I can’t wait to experience it all with you,” he said as he slipped the ring on Lando’s finger before picking up yours. Similar to theirs, yours was woven with three bands but yours had a dazzling emerald and sapphire inset to represent them. “Every moment, good and bad, as long as it’s with you.”

You reached for his ring, the last one in the box and placed it on his finger with a smile.

“You’re meant to ask the question first, then give them the rings,” Lorenzo teased as Pascale nudged him to shush.

“That would be a proposal,” Lando laughed, curling an arm around Charles' waist and pulling you in too. “We are actually celebrating what comes next.”

“Wait, what?” Max gaped. “Marriage? You guys are married?”

“So, not quite, it’s, uh, actually a funny story,” you said with a grin. Now that everything had smoothed over you could finally laugh about the situation and the rest of the table found it equally amusing once they forgave you for not telling them. “I should probably update the FIA with my new name. How confusing is it going to be for Crofty to have three Leclerc’s on the grid?”

“Two,” Max corrected, but you just winked. His eyes widened and he stood up, walking around the table to grab your shoulders. “You got a seat?” You nodded and he squeezed the air out of your lungs with a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you, zusje.”

“Season hasn’t even started,” you reminded him. “There’s still a lot of work to be done but the testing looks promising for next year.”

“I know you’ll do great. It’ll be nice to have a little competition again,” he teased Lando and Charles, despite the final results being closer than they had been for a few years.

“The only competition we have to worry about is out on the slopes. I’m not pregnant this year so I will be out there at dawn ready to kick your ass, Verstappen.”

Max smirked at the challenge and raised his glass to tap yours. “You’re on, Leclerc.”

–

Epilogue

The same faces welcomed you back to the grid but the colours they wore had changed. Lewis was at Ferrari and Carlos was at Red Bull, but the most surprising change was Alex who had gone to Mercedes. Albon was meant to be your teammate but he had chosen not to renew his contract and rather than bring in a rookie to start from scratch they renewed Logan for his third year.

The American driver stared at the roof for the team meeting before the first race of the season and you tapped his cap. “You don’t need to worry,” you chuckled. “It’s just a boob.”

The man was born and bred a polite southern boy and still couldn’t bring himself to even look in your direction while you pumped the excess milk out. After finding out the hard way during testing, you knew you had to get at least a bottle out or there would be leaking in your racesuit before you passed the chequered flag. Starting in P6 there were high hopes that you would score some good points and you didn’t want to go to the media pit with two wet patches on your chest.

“I’m not worried, just giving you some privacy,” he said quietly.

“You’re good at that,” you said as you swapped the pump to the other breast. “I don’t think I properly thanked you for not telling anyone I was pregnant.”

He frowned and almost looked your way before turning his attention to the computer screen of data. “It wasn’t my place to say.”

“That doesn’t stop some people, so thank you.”

“No problem.”

“We are having dinner after the race, you’re welcome to join us if you want.”

“Isn’t it your family?”

The flow into the bottle had slowed to a drop so you turned the machine off and packed it away with the bottle, covering your chest back up at the same time. “We can have eye contact now,” you teased. “It’s a long way here, most of our family couldn’t make it so it’s really just a bunch of orphans congregating in our suite. You can bring your girlfriend too, or boyfriend - we don’t judge.”

“Definitely girlfriend,” he admitted before shyly scuffing his shoes on the concrete floor. “How did you know?”

“You’re very private, I figured you’re either in a quiet relationship or a serial killer. I’m really happy it wasn’t the latter.”

Logan loosened up with a laugh and began to relax as he joked, “Innocent until proven guilty.”

The rest of the briefing went quickly and strategies were made for the current weather readings. The mildly warm temperatures at the tail end of an Australian summer were promising from the data and you knew it would come down managing tyre degradation with all the right hand turns. Albert Park was a fun circuit but as Alex learned last season, one mistake and the race could be over in an instant.

“I’m just going to check on Autumn,” you said to James as you walked out of the garage after the driver parade.

The team principal checked his watch and gave a nod. “15 minutes.”

You knew those minutes would fly by so you jogged down the pit lane to Mercedes where Susie was watching over your daughter, when she could get her away from Toto. But it appeared you were the last one to arrive as Lando and Charles took turns having some last minute cuddles.

“I hope you have one left for me, my love,” you cooed as you stole her from Charles. “Mwah, mummy loves you.”

You handed her back and swung the bag off your shoulder. “There’s plenty of milk in here if she runs out, and some yoghurt too.

“Relax, mama, we will be fine,” Susie assured you. “Focus on the race.”

As if to remind you, the bell for the grid opening rang out and you knew it was time to head back. “Okay, focus,” you told yourself before kissing Autumn’s cheek again and inhaling her baby scent. “Love you.”

Lando tugged at your sleeve and you reluctantly let him pull you away or you wouldn’t have had the strength to. “Come on, love, time to go.”

“I know, it’s just…hard.”

“Always is,” Charles admitted, kissing your temple. “See you out there, Spitfire.”

—

Testing was nothing compared to the strain the race put on your body, but it was like riding a bicycle, once you got into the groove you couldn’t even feel it. Your sole focus was on the car ahead and the carbon fibre rear wing that belonged to Lando. Though the Williams didn’t have the down force to compete with a McLaren or Ferrari in the corners, it somehow had great straight line speed. That straight line speed mixed with a classic Ferrari strategy and a slow pit stop by Mercedes had you defending the third position you suddenly found yourself in. It would have been a different story if Carlos hadn’t’ve had a turn one incident with Lewis, but you would take all the luck you could get.

“Wow, what a welcome back,” Naomi cheered as you stepped onto the interview mat and you looked back at your car parked in the third spot.

“It doesn’t even feel like I left,” you admitted with a laugh.

Lando had already done his interview and stepped over to the barriers where Susie’s silver Mercedes uniform stood out in a sea of dark blue Williams mechanics, Autumn squirming to be put down when she spotted her daddy.

Naomi followed your eyes to your husband and she smiled. “But there have been a few changes since we were last standing here.”

“Some things never change though.” You jutted a thumb at your brother who was busy kissing Kelly and P who cheered with the rest of Red Bull for his win. “I was kind of hoping for a repeat of last year since Charles was right on my ass - I mean tail.”

“Three Leclerc’s on the podium would surely have been a historical moment and I apologise to our viewers for that little whoopsie.”

Not wanting to risk another swear word on live tv, the interview ended and you raced over to Lando and Autumn, enveloping them both in a hug. “Wish Charles was here,” you murmured to his chest.

“Me too,” he said, kissing your sweaty forehead. “Ready to go pop some champagne, baby?”

“Also-fucking-lutely.” You kissed Autumn and thanked Susie for watching her as you made your way to the cooldown room. “Remind me to pump and dump later because I am chugging that bottle.”

“You deserve it,” Max said as he entered the room and took Lando’s seat since he had stolen the middle one. “I had to double check you parked in the right spot.”

“Lando’s the one who does that,” you pointed out. “But honestly, it was like the stars aligned, I don’t know how it happened. I mean, testing was good, but everything just fell perfectly into place.”

Lando smiled proudly and took your hand, resting on his thigh while you watched the highlights on the tv.

As the Dutch anthem played you watched the crowd below the stage, your keen eyes finding Autumn on Toto’s shoulders where he stood with your principal and you were certain you saw him wince as she pulled his hair. Finally the last anthem finished and you grabbed the jeroboam bottle, giving it a swirl to really make it fizzy before bringing it down on the stage.

Bubbles tickled your skin as the fountain rained down and you turned it on Lando and Max before tipping it back and savouring the taste after almost a year without it. Floating on the high, you took a seat on the podium and watched the last of the confetti fall to the ground. Sensing the celebration was over, Max joined you, tapping his bottle to yours.

“Told them I’d come back and win in a Williams.”

“You didn’t win, zusje,” Max corrected, lifting the medal that hung around his neck for emphasis.

“Yet,” you grinned, taking another long drink before wiping the excess from your lips. “But it’s only round one.”

[fibey234]

Minister of Winter Vinta (or “Snowflake” as her fan-club nickname)

The cold and mysterious personality of the Minister of Winter inspired me to create trainings and sketches about her.

In my imagination fantasy world I gave her another name: Vinta.

Here I imagine how she gets ready for a workday and combing her hair.. lol.

And here - she started a snowball fight with the Minister of Spring..

Do you remember that Hyacinth started with the autumn leaves fight with the Minister of Autumn? So, now it continues with the winter minister snowball fight..😎🤪

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (9/22)

Chapter summary: Several weeks later, an unfortunate situation drives Wanda to seek you out, only to be met with someone she least expects.

Chapter word count: 9k

Pairing: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader (heavy in this chapter)

Author's note: And we start the second phase :)

Next chapter: Ten

AO3 | Masterlist 

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife

-

Nine

Five Weeks Later

“By the power invested in me, by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The minister reads from his pamphlet without as much as a glance to the enamored audience.

Wanda hadn’t known that she was going to attend a wedding near the start of autumn; if she had, she’d have been more than ready with an ensemble that’s appropriate for both the event and the cold season. To be fair, Pietro hadn’t known either. Just a week ago, Shannon surprised him with a date, a venue, and a business card of some designer that she commissioned to provide Pietro’s suit for the ceremony. Wanda might have considered it a trap if it hadn't been for the fact that Pietro was the one on his knees with a ring a year ago. Shannon had simply grown tired of his excuses and took matters into her own hands. Wanda still thinks it’s a colossal mistake but his history with women and commitments tracks. She just wants to know how many more of these she’ll have to attend for the rest of her life. 

“You may kiss the–”  

The minister is cut off by Pietro diving in for a sloppy kiss, and the small crowd of thirty people cheer the newly weds. Wanda claps for the sake of being a good attendant. She almost feels sorry for Shannon, but if she wanted this, she probably wanted it for the wrong reasons. 

And, well, karma is a bitch.

Having been sober for exactly thirty-two days, Wanda’s been nursing the same mocktail she’s had before the start of the program, and she finds it difficult to enjoy anything that’s watered-down. A longing to light a cigarette tugs at her, but the establishment's strict no-smoking policy extends even to the outdoor gardens. Pietro asked that she stays until the party’s over, and knowing how much her presence means to him, she reluctantly agreed. 

“Stop brooding at my wedding, for god’s sake.”

It’s Shannon, dressed in her second gown, a simpler one that makes it hard to tell her apart from her bridesmaids.

"Hi, Shannon," Wanda drawls, swirling the tiny ice left in her rocks glass.

"It's Mrs. Maximoff now," Shannon mutters proudly, displaying both her wedding and engagement rings.

Wanda hides her grimace behind her drink. “Try not to get used to it though. I’m pretty sure you’re aware that there had been two other Mrs. Maximoffs in his past.”

“Don’t sass me on my wedding day, it’s just disrespectful.”

“Point taken. I’d offer to get you a drink, but I think that’s just gonna push the stick further up your ass.” 

Shannon sourly responds with one of her signature fake smiles, but Wanda can see through the facade. She takes pride in having hit a nerve.

Taking the seat next to her, much to Wanda's dismay, Shannon changes the subject. "Anyway, your ex-wife is doing exceptionally well at our company. She's managed to turn around all the bad practices that have been going on for ages."

Wanda’s brows stitch together in confusion. “Your company?”

“Stark Industries.” Shannon says, taking a sip of Wanda’s untouched water.

The revelations throw her off. You didn't appear too thrilled when Wanda saw you right after your interview, so she had assumed you either didn’t get the position or you passed up on the opportunity. But what surprised her even more was discovering that someone like Shannon held a high-ranking position at a popular tech company–which now explains where the extreme confidence comes from.

Shannon smirks. “Don’t look so surprised that I work for the number one company in the world.” 

“Number one?” Wanda scoffs, rubbing her nose with her middle finger. “Hardly. And why are you keeping tabs on her?”

“She works in my department and I interviewed her. She was a disaster, by the way,” Shannon says. “But her references were solid. I mean, Scott Lang? I hired her solely by his recommendation.”

Wanda can't help but smile at the mention of Scott, reminiscent of the old days when she used to host dinners for your boss and your co-workers. She doesn’t, however, dwell this time about the people you’ve brought with you when you walked out of her life. The reality is, people take sides, and rightfully, they have chosen yours. 

"I'm happy for her. She's brilliant and hardworking. You won't regret having her on your team," Wanda says softly, her voice a little bittersweet; she remembers a time when she used to be the first one to know every little thing about you, and it's a feeling she misses.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re hearing this just now?” Shannon smacks her lips together and then fixes her lipstick that has stained the rim of her drink. “I thought I saw you at our lobby right after her interview.” Shannon gives her a knowing look, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and malice. It's as if she's perfectly aware of the unspeakable things you did to Wanda that day.

"Y-You did?" Wanda stammers, her blood rushing to her face.

“I assumed you were seeing each other again. You looked like a lost little housewife in your little jeans and little shirt.”

“I stopped by to bring her food. I didn’t know I had to dress up for that.”

“How sweet,” Shannon says, though her tone is barely mocking. “Well, if you’re not back together, then I have a piece of information you might find useful.”

Wanda leans back on her chair and crosses her arms in front of her. “And what makes you think I’m interested?”

“Because despite my wrong assumptions earlier, it’s clear that you’re still head over heels in love with her,” Shannon says. “Or am I wrong?”

Wanda looks away and takes a sip of her watered-down mocktail and tries to hide the displeasure on her face. 

Shannon takes this as her cue to continue. “She recently changed her address in our database. I know because those things usually undergo my approval.”

You moved out? Wanda hadn't attempted to contact you, but while running errands for her cafe, she had found herself in your area a couple of times. Each time, she observed that your curtains were drawn and the lights in the living room were always turned off.

Wanda looks on quietly as Shannon reaches into her purse, retrieves an eye pencil, and grabs a napkin from the table. With deliberate movements, she begins to scribble on the napkin.

“Here,” Shannon hands Wanda the napkin with your address scrawled neatly on it. “You’re welcome.”

Wanda hesitantly accepts it, and then asks, “Why are you doing this?”

"Maybe I'm a hopeless romantic," Shannon shrugs, though the glint in her eye betrays her nonchalant demeanor. It almost penetrates Wanda’s defenses, but then she says, “Or I’m supporting your unhealthy obsession knowing it won’t lead anywhere.”

Wanda finds herself laughing. Unlike Pietro, Shannon had never treated Wanda delicately, even after her hospitalization. She finds it oddly refreshing and, in a peculiar way, endearing.

Shannon adopts a small, awkward smile herself. 

“Fair enough.” Wanda says, folding the napkin carefully before putting it inside her bag.

Shannon gets up and runs her palms over the creases on her gown. “Good luck, Wanda. I’m sure you’ll be needing a lot of it.” 

Pietro finds her in the gardens, rubbing her arms to keep herself warm. The nighttime breeze isn’t particularly chilly, but Wanda’s always been susceptible to the cold regardless of the season. He looks particularly dashing in the dark blue suit that Shannon picked for him; and with his hair back to its natural brunette color, the similarities between them have become uncanny once again.

“Sorry about that.” Pietro mutters as he approaches.

Wanda tilts her head at him, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Sorry about what?" she quips, her voice laced with humor. "You mean this wedding?"

Pietro laughs and then shakes his head. “I saw you talking to Shannon and I could tell you weren’t having the best time.”

Wanda doesn't hold back as she speaks her mind. "She's still a bitch," she says bluntly, not mincing her words. "No offense."

“Do I hear fondness in the way you said ‘bitch’?” 

“Not a chance.”

“Between me and her, you forget I’m actually the asshole, right? I know she told you I cheated on her countless times.” Pietro says, somewhat seriously.

“You are,” Wanda says. “But I stand by what I said.”

Pietro sighs. “Anyway, I’m not here to negotiate how you feel towards my wife. I’m here to say goodbye.”

Wanda sobers at that. She’s been so used to having her brother in the same city, a call and a cab away. 

“You’re returning to LA?”

“The day after tomorrow.” Pietro confirms with a nod. 

“Doesn’t she work at Stark Industries?”

“Oh, did I tell you that?” 

“She told me a while ago.” Wanda says.

“She can work remotely,” Pietro explains. “And she prefers doing that from our home in LA.”

The wind begins to pick up, its gentle breeze evolving into a stronger gust. The air becomes alive, stirring the surroundings and causing leaves to dance and swirl in a mesmerizing display. 

Wanda sweeps her hair back from her face, and asks, “Tell me, honestly, why did you stay here for so long? Even before the–” Wanda finds herself having difficulty naming the accident she had more than a month ago. 

But if there’s something she’s learned from therapy so far, it’s that confronting her inner demons requires acknowledging their existence.

“Before my overdose.” Wanda finishes, managing to keep her tone even.

Pietro regards her with a tender look that conveys his immense pride in her recent growth and progress.

“At first, I just wanted to check in on you,” he says, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit. “And when I saw you and the cafe, I thought ‘see, she doesn’t need you’. But at the same time I also realized it was me–I needed you.”

Pietro pauses and rubs the back of his neck–something he does a lot when he’s trying not to be emotional. 

"I missed you, Wands. These past few months, I've felt more like myself than I have in years. I know I'm free to visit you anytime, even when you and Y/N were still together, but it's just not the same when–"

“–when it’s just us.” Wanda finishes for him, her voice thick with emotions that her brother is trying so hard to hold at bay.

“Yeah. I had a really great time with you here, it was good to be home after so many years.”

“LA is your home.” Wanda reminds him. 

"You're my family, Wands," Pietro says, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a warm side hug. "You're my home too."

“I love you, Piet.” 

“I love you too, sis,” Pietro says. “I’m rooting for you–your happiness. Whether it’s with Y/N or someone else or no one. You deserve to be happy. You have a big heart–I know this because you love me just as I am.”

“Then why don’t you just stay here so we can be close to each other all the time?” Wanda sniffs. So many losses. So many changes. Wanda craves normalcy and consistency–things you used to provide in her life with your steady presence.

“Shannon’s family lives in LA, and we’ve already talked about settling there once we’re married.”

Wanda shakes her head, smiling in contempt.

Pietro notices the change in her demeanor and starts rubbing her arm in comfort. “Don’t blame Shannon for this. I suggested it because she’s more comfortable living there if we’re going to start a family.”

“You’re already talking about babies? Piet, that’s a huge step.” she says.

Pietro falls into a thoughtful silence, weighing the decision of whether to share the news with Wanda now or wait a little longer. However, the anticipation and joy of becoming a father soon overpowers his doubts.

With a burst of excitement, he finally speaks up. "Actually, she's pregnant."

"Wow," Wanda exclaims, embracing him tightly, more than thrilled at the news. But as suspicion creeps in, she pulls away abruptly. "Hold on, is that why you rushed into marriage? Because she's pregnant?"

“No. She actually just told me last night, as a wedding gift.” Pietro says. 

“I’m going to be an aunt?” Wanda giggles. “I mean, congratulations! You’re going to be a dad!”

"Thank you, Wands," Pietro says, returning the hug.

Wanda pauses for a moment, a realization dawning on her. "I should stop being mean to her," she admits.

Pietro chuckles. "My advice is to take everything she says or does with a grain of salt."

Wanda's expression softens. "I'm going to miss you, you know? Your future kid, and, fuck it–even Shannon. I'll try to visit this Christmas, okay?"

"You better. I already got you plane tickets."

“Oh, and Piet?”

“Yep?”

“I’ll cut your balls off if you cheat on your wife again this time. Not because she’s having your child, but because it’s… not normal. It’s fucked up. We’re fucked up. The stakes are higher for you now, but even if it wasn’t, it just ruins everything in its wake. it's the biggest regret of my life," Wanda states firmly. Although she feels like a hypocrite as the words escape her lips, she feels compelled to express her feelings in the hope that it carries some weight.

“I know,” Pietro says, looking down at his feet. “I’ve been seeing a professional for two months now.”

“You are?”

Pietro smiles and takes Wanda’s hand, leading her back inside the reception. “Where do you think I got your therapist from?”

***

"You've really nailed it with this restaurant choice," Natasha exclaims at you, her fork stabbing into the juicy medium-rare steak. Her mouth waters as the meat releases its flavorful juices. She’s sitting to your left and Yelena’s right, and when you haven’t developed a psychic link with your partner yet, navigating a delicate situation feels like a sailor and a pilot has come together to figure out how a tractor works. 

Natasha had phoned you earlier today, informing you that her flight from Washington D.C. was scheduled to depart in a mere two hours. This left you with approximately three hours to prepare for her arrival, as well as to have a conversation with Yelena on how you’re both going to break the news to her unsuspecting sister. However, due to Yelena's demanding work schedule, it was difficult to abruptly pull her away from her assignment and so you took it upon yourself to organize this impromptu dinner. 

Your girlfriend, in a state of panic, had only just read your texts an hour ago and arrived late. Since then, there has been absolutely zero opportunity to discuss what your relationship entails for Natasha.

Delaying the inevitable, you focus on other topics.

“So, how was your flight?” you ask Natasha.

“Quick.” 

“When did you find out you’re coming home?” you inquire, eyebrows wiggling at Yelena, attempting to seek her support in engaging in the conversation

“The other day.” Natasha says.

“How do you like your steak?”

Natasha gives you a funny look.

Shifting in your seat uncomfortably, you try to think of more questions to ask, but Yelena beats you to it.

“We’ve been seeing each other.” she announces over her plate of untouched meatballs. 

Your eyes widen in alarm as you look at Yelena, but she nonchalantly shrugs at you, then whispers, "I thought that's what you were trying to tell me with your eyes."

Natasha serenely savors her steak, taking a graceful sip of wine before responding, "Yes, I'm aware."

Surprised, you murmur, "How did you...?"

With a hint of amusement, Natasha replies, "If I were to reveal my skills, I would be violating at least ten pages of a non-disclosure agreement."

"Right," Yelena huffs, a feeling of ease finally settling over her. She indulges in her own plate, eagerly digging in and savoring each bite.

“You know,” You start, shoulders dropping and feeling some of the tension leave your body. “I thought I’m used to what you do, but it’s still weird that you disappear for several weeks and then you come back like,” you snap your fingers. “And we can’t ask you questions.”

“It’s why I love my job so much. People are literally not allowed to ask questions,” Natasha says with a satisfied smirk, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “But I can. So, how did this happen?” she says, motioning between you and Yelena with her finger.

“Didn’t you already know?” you say with a teasing smile. 

Natasha fixes you with a piercing gaze, the kind she typically reserves for her job, making you retreat but not before a nervous gulp catches in your throat.

"Yelena?" she prompts, noticing the uncharacteristic silence.

“I, uh–”

"Hotdog sandwich," you blurt out abruptly, interrupting Yelena's non-existent train of thought, while your mind drifts back to the night when you and Yelena officially started dating. Two pairs of eyes fixate on you, their faces a mix of surprise and bewilderment, as if questioning your sanity. Realizing the awkwardness of your outburst, you quickly clear your throat and gather yourself to continue, "I asked her out one night, shortly after I started my new job, and we kind of just decided to give it a shot while eating a hotdog."

When you look up, Yelena’s eyes carry a fondness, effectively deepening the blush on your cheeks.

“That’s a nice story, Y/N, but I didn’t mean literally. More like… how did you arrive at the decision to be together?” Natasha says, her gaze on you unwavering. You avoid her eyes, suddenly determined to finish the remaining vegetables in your dish.

“It came to us organically, Nat. I don’t know how to explain it without sounding a bit cheesy.” Yelena says. 

“I don’t mind cheesy. Cheesy is good. Love is often cheesy, right?” Natasha says, her gaze directed at you. The mention of the word 'love' catches you off guard, and you almost choke on your peas. Although you feel it deep in your heart that you love Yelena, neither of you have actually said those words to each other.

Yelena nods, her expression serious. "Okay, then. It happened because we still have deep feelings for each other, and we felt it was necessary to give it a chance."

You smile, fully understanding and appreciating Yelena's sentiment. "I agree." 

“Can I speak to Y/N in private?” She tells Yelena, who just shrugs, and then turning to you, Natasha says, “Is that okay?”

“Sure.” you reply, rising from your seat.

You and Natasha emerge from the cozy Italian restaurant, deciding to take a leisurely walk through the neighborhood. The rain has just subsided, leaving behind glistening streets and puddles that dot the pavement, making each step a bit precarious. The dampness in the air seems to mirror the tension in your chest, and you can't shake off the feeling that this walk holds more weight than just enjoying the post-rain atmosphere. The droplets on the ground reflect the streetlights, creating a mesmerizing shimmer that momentarily distracts you from your unease. 

Yet, as you walk alongside Natasha, the silence between you only heightens your anticipation for the impending "sister talk." 

You value your friendship with Natasha deeply, and the prospect of jeopardizing that bond fills you with uncertainty. 

Just as your pulse falls into a steadier rhythm, Natasha breaks the silence, her voice filled with a sense of pride. "I'm proud of you," she declares. "Honestly, I half-expected to return and find you still unemployed, living in my apartment. But look at you now: a new job, a new place... and a new girlfriend," she adds, without a trace of animosity in her words.

“I was the crutch you had to get rid of after all.” Natasha says. 

You laugh nervously at the ‘girlfriend’ remark, appreciating the genuine support from your best friend. "I suppose I relied on you heavily after my divorce," you admit. "It was easy to succumb to self-pity and a meaningless routine because you were there to take care of me. Eventually, I knew I was rotting away no matter how indulgent these Netflix shows are,” you laugh a little. “And well, things simply worked out, you know?”

“Yeah, I can see that it worked out pretty well with my sister.” Natasha quips.

"I care about her, Nat. I always have." you say, coming to a stop to face Natasha and properly look her in the eye.

Natasha nods and takes hold of your elbow, urging you to continue walking. "I know," she acknowledges, a knowing smile touching the corners of her lips. "She may not have shown it earlier, but she’s giddy as fuck. Kind of grosses me out seeing her eyeing you like a piece of candy.”

“But kidding aside, you have my blessing.” Natasha says, and you give her a soft smile in return.

A slight pang of guilt tugs at your heart as you decide not to mention your encounters with Wanda. You understand why Natasha requested this private conversation, and you don't wish to complicate matters by bringing up the brief rupture caused by your connection with Wanda. You and Yelena had reached a mutual understanding regarding Wanda, recognizing that your current relationship should not be overshadowed by your past with your ex-wife. 

Besides, you haven’t talked to Wanda since you and Yelena entered into a relationship. Things have been going well; consequently, you see no justifiable reason to stir up any unnecessary complications or rock the boat.

But nobody reads you the way Natasha does, as she brings up the person you’ve been trying to forget all this time.

“And Wanda? Is that over?”

Lying to Natasha is akin to attempting to deceive a lie detector machine; there’s just no way out of it but the truth–or at least some of it.

“We were briefly in touch,” you admit, carefully filtering the story in your mind as you speak. "Coincidentally, she happened to be at the same club where Clint organized your going-away party."

Natasha raises an eyebrow; you read her well enough too, and it tells you that she hadn’t had an inkling that Wanda had reentered your life at one point.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Natasha asks, the level of her tone masking how she feels about that new information.

“Because you hate her?” You say, daring her to deny it but Natasha only rolls her eyes. “And, uh, I don’t know… Maybe because I knew you’d be disappointed?”

Natasha takes a deep breath, the crisp evening air filling her lungs as she gathers her thoughts. "Did I," she begins, "did I push you into making choices in the past that you weren't entirely comfortable with?"

"Why would you say that?" you inquire, puzzled by Natasha's question.

Natasha's gaze softens, and she replies with earnest sincerity, "Because I never wanted you to feel like you couldn't be completely open with me about anything. I never wanted you to fear my judgment regarding your decisions."

You wonder if Natasha would say the same thing if she knew you had fallen into Wanda’s bed post-divorce. You think about how Natasha urged you to file for it in the first place, how she helped in preparing everything from finding a suitable lawyer to ironing out the details of the agreement. Despite your emotional state during that period, you acknowledge that you made those decisions and chose to take responsibility for them.

“You’re like family to me, Nat. Of course your opinion of me will always matter.” you say.

“I’m happy you stood by your decision without me,” Natasha says. “I was worried you’d go back to her as soon as I was gone.”

A nervous smile tugs at the corner of your lips as your eyes flit to anywhere but your best friend; the weight of deliberately concealing a significant portion of the story makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Now more than ever, you regret being with Wanda that way. It had every potential to jeopardize your friendship with Natasha.

“How about you and Bruce?” you say, taking the spotlight away from yourself.

Natasha’s smile is sad as she shakes her head. “That ship has sailed. For good.”

“I’m sorry.” you say.

“Don’t be. He can finally allow himself to be happy. He’s a good man. He deserves more than I can give him.”

“What about you?”

“I’d like to believe I deserve more than he’s willing to give,” Natasha says, her voice not harboring any resentment; but it’s clear that she has accepted the fact that their desires and needs diverged, leading them down separate paths. 

“Are you happy?” you ask suddenly, widely curious.

Natasha takes a moment to reflect, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "As happy as I can be," she contemplates. "I've learned that life shouldn't solely revolve around falling in love, you know? I have my work, my sister, my friends, and well, you're not that bad either," she adds with a light-hearted chuckle.

Turning the last corner back to the restaurant, you both bump into Yelena who’s wearing a frown after being left for so long.

“You were both gone for a while already so I thought I’d settle the bill and join you guys for a walk.” Yelena says. “You guys are okay, right?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be?” you say, taking her hand and interlacing your fingers together.

Natasha ignores Yelena’s question and says, “How much do I owe you for the food?” 

Yelena pushes the receipt in her sister’s hand and says, “Everything.”

Settling beside Yelena on the bed, you reach for the lamp on your nightstand and switch it off. The room is cast in a soft, bluish glow, as the moon's radiance filters through the blinds. It hasn’t been too long since you and Yelena started sharing this room, and despite initially intending to take things slow, the pace of your relationship accelerated naturally. With busy careers, it felt right to embrace the opportunity to spend more time together without the added complexities of planning and scheduling dates.

“It was weird introducing you to Nat as my girlfriend,” Yelena says, turning on her side to face you as soon as your head hits the pillow.

"I think you handled that quite smoothly," you say with a quiet chortle, the sarcasm failing to come across as strongly as intended.

"You were absolutely perfect though," Yelena whispers, her hand gently cupping your cheek as she pulls you in for a kiss. It begins with a slow, tentative pace, reminiscent of the other kisses you have shared since becoming a couple. 

Tonight, however, there's an undeniable intensity in Yelena's kisses that sends a fiery sensation rippling through your body. Her touch, tracing the skin below your belly button, ignites a rush of heat that intertwines with the passion of the moment. With your hands threaded in her hair, you boldly deepen the kiss, your tongue exploring the depths of her mouth, eliciting a surprised moan that you eagerly swallow.

As Yelena's fingers venture past the waistband of your underwear, a sudden jolt of surprise shoots through your body, causing you to abruptly sit upright. In the process, Yelena loses her balance and falls back onto the bed.

“Y/N?”

"Sorry," you stammer, attempting to calm your nerves and the racing of your heart. "I just remembered I have an important work email I haven't sent yet and..."

Yelena nods understandingly. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead. I've got some editing to do anyway."

You offer a grateful smile and lean in to press a tender kiss on her forehead. Then, you trail another moist kiss just below her ear, eliciting a soft sigh from Yelena's lips. 

“I’ll wait up, okay? Hurry,” Yelena purrs against your neck. 

“I’ll be back.” you say.

At half past midnight, you return to a snoring Yelena, her arm sprawled over the empty spot where you’re supposed to be. It was one email and you got carried away. And even if Yelena’s awake, you’re too exhausted to continue earlier’s steamy exchange.

Carefully, you remove her arm from your side of the bed and mold yourself to Yelena’s sleeping form. 

You haven’t had sex with her yet. The desire is there–a hot burning coal of it–and you have entertained the thought numerous times, but each time the moment draws near, you find yourself hesitant and not quite ready to take that step. It's a decision you have consciously made, respecting your own boundaries and wanting to ensure that the timing feels right for both of you.

Kissing the back of Yelena's head, you savor the softness of her hair against your lips. With a contented sigh, you nuzzle your nose into her locks, finding comfort in her presence as sleep gradually envelops you.

***

“Ms. Maximoff? Over here.”

Wanda looks up to find Sparky’s doctor motioning for her to come inside the check-up room. She gets up and hurries to where Sparky has disappeared into for almost twenty minutes now, and sees him hooked up to an IV, dozing off on his side. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Wanda asks immediately.

“The results of Sparky’s blood test don't look good. His liver is significantly higher than the normal range, and that could be the cause of his recent vomiting. For now, we’ll keep him confined here for one or two more days, depending on his condition, and if he’s responding to medication, you can continue giving them at home.”

“And what if he doesn’t respond to his medication?”

“We will conduct further tests to see what’s going on there. Surgery could be an option, depending on the outcome. While liver diseases in dogs can be treated and managed, there is always the possibility of expiration, I’m afraid.”

Expiration. Dogs have significantly shorter lives; Wanda knows this. But hearing it spoken so soon directly shatters Wanda’s heart. “W-What could have caused this?” she asks.

This is her fault, Wanda makes the conclusion, even before the doctor is done explaining the common causes in detail. She successfully fucked up another important thing in her life. 

In the absence of a little furry baby wagging its tail to greet her, Wanda returns home to a dark and empty apartment. Seeking solace, Wanda clings to the hopeful possibility that Sparky may return home in the next few days. 

Without bothering to turn on the lights, she kicks off her shoes and curls up into a ball on the couch. Her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, eventually focusing on the small desk where the potted chrysanthemums you gifted her rest. The faint light casts a peculiar shadow on the wall, capturing her attention. Yet, it is the piece of napkin discreetly slipped beneath the pot that her mind is apprehensively fixated to; a thin, fragile thing that would ultimately lead her to you.

It has remained tucked away in Wanda's study, for a month now, as she couldn't bear to disrupt your life once again. She imagines that you are likely doing well, leading a quieter and less tumultuous existence without her. As for Wanda, she has been diligently working on herself, taking each day as it comes. However, the passage of time hasn't diminished her feelings for you, not even in the slightest. The void in her heart, shaped by your absence, remains steadfast, but she has learned to adapt and coexist with it, allowing herself to grow while carrying its weight.

And she wouldn't—not even for a moment—consider disturbing your peace if it weren't for the dog. If your roles were reversed, and you were the one keeping him, Wanda would undoubtedly want to be informed if his brief existence was endangered by an illness.

But then again, you've made your choice. You didn’t want anything to do with her. It was evident in your absence, when you stopped your visits to her apartment, her café; when Wanda's phone could no longer detect any recent online activity from you. You had simply vanished without a trace.

It would be unjust to intrude on your decision when you clearly didn't want to be found.

…And she’s still, quite literally, debating it when she finds herself at your doorstep an hour later.

Your new building looks lavish, Wanda can only imagine how much you’ve spent on the deposit alone. It was a little intimidating when she was asked to leave an ID and the receptionist had to ring your unit to inform you that you had a visitor–dropping her name to you in the process. More interesting than that, however, is that she gave Wanda the go signal to proceed to the elevators, meaning that you gave your consent for her to see you.

There's a sense of relief in realizing that you wouldn't go to the extent of turning her away just to avoid her altogether. She sets aside the questions that her heart desperately wants to ask, knowing they would only thwart the initial intention she has of seeing you.

She is fully aware of how guarded and cautious you were the last time; memories of her well-crafted plans to lure you and get close to you for the obvious reason of winning you back are still fresh in her mind. Wanda understands that she needs to approach this meeting with sensitivity and genuine concern, keeping her intentions clear and focused on Sparky's well-being.

But as she’s about to knock, the door swings open.

“Hi, I–” Wanda’s words die on her tongue and the nervous smile on her face fades into uncertainty.

Standing there, clad in nothing but a t-shirt (which she recognizes having bought it for you) that goes past her thighs, is the woman from the club. The woman who drew the curtains for you in your living room. Her blonde hair cascades in messy beach waves, framing her face and reaching her shoulders. 

She is breathtakingly beautiful. 

But what strikes Wanda the most is how effortlessly the woman seems to blend into the space, appearing more like a tenant than a mere guest who just happened to visit you at this particular time.

Does she live with you?

“Is Y/N home? I’m Wan–” 

"Wanda. I know. I’m Yelena," Yelena interrupts, her tone firm yet not unkind, like she’s struggling as much as the brunette. "She's still at work. Is there something you need from her?"

“You’re Yelena? Natasha’s sister?” Wanda asks.

Yelena nods tentatively, her eyes studying Wanda's reaction; she was surprised to get a call from the reception that a certain Wanda Maximoff wanted to come up to her unit. Despite the nagging question of whether you've been seeing Wanda all this time behind her back, she makes a conscious effort to maintain her composure in front of your ex-wife.

Meanwhile, something in Wanda's mind clicks. It's Yelena, not you, who allowed herself to go up to your floor. It's her, not you, who wanted to meet her. Wanda's mind races with questions. Does Yelena know about her? Did Yelena feel the need to introduce herself to your ex-wife?

"Uh..." Wanda's voice trembles with the onset of a panic attack. It turns out, coming here was a mistake, and she’s just grateful you’re not around to witness it. "I'm sorry. Please forget that I came here. Don't let her know I was here, please? I'm really sorry. I'll just go."

Yelena sucks in her cheeks as she reads into Wanda’s sudden panic. "Sure," she replies before softly closing the door on Wanda.

-

The nights are longer at Stark Industries. You knew what you signed up for when you accepted the job, but now you're starting to feel the repercussions. The stress is taking its toll not only on your work-life balance but also on your relationship with Yelena. You haven’t had dinner together recently, much less a conversation that lasted longer than a few exchanges of “how are you” and “I’m fine”. There’s a lot to make up for, but no date in sight to actually start doing so.

The office is empty except for you and the maintenance worker assigned to the night shift, so when your ringtone cuts through the stillness, the sound of it reverberates off the walls of the empty room, making it too loud for you to ignore.

With your eyes concentrated on a formula on your spreadsheet, you answer your phone without looking at the caller.

“Hey, I’ll be home soon.” you say, assuming it’s Yelena on the line.

“Y/N.” A vaguely familiar voice that’s definitely not Yelena greets you. That’s when you remove your phone from your ear and notice the unknown number on the screen.

“Who’s this?”

The caller doesn’t answer right away. Instead, you can hear rain pouring heavily in the background, something you haven’t been aware of due to the thick windows of the office blocking out outside noises.

“It’s Vision,” The voice cracks over the speaker before you can decide to drop the call. “Wanda needs your help.”

The rain had been relentless throughout the day according to the weather app on your phone. You’ve just been too busy to notice, and so you find yourself without an umbrella. Thankfully, by the time you arrive at the location Vision instructed, the downpour has subsided into a gentle drizzle.

“Jesus, it’s freezing.” you mumble to yourself, wrapping your jacket tighter around your body.

You recognize this part of the city, having gone here numerous times in the past to visit your favorite dive bar where you, Natasha, Clint, and Wanda would hang out for hours just talking and having a good time. Although Natasha and Wanda don’t really talk, they engage in group shots, and Wanda would always challenge you to a game of pool, and you would win one or two matches in a best of seven, because your wife–ex-wife–is just so gifted in just about all kinds of sports. 

However, it's not the same bar where you find Wanda. Instead, it’s near a dead-end street and you stumble upon her slumped against a light post in a sorry state. It's obvious that she has consumed a significant amount of alcohol, leaving her almost blacked out. It makes you suspicious if this happens often–Wanda getting shitfaced in random places with Vision in tow. 

The sight of Vision doesn’t bother you as much as before, but it still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth to see them together in the same place. Vision, to his credit, keeps a respectful distance, yet the yearning in his face is unmistakable. It's a familiar look, one you've witnessed on Wanda's previous boyfriends when they believed you weren't paying attention.

As you draw closer, Wanda's head tilts back, and her intoxicated eyes, heavy-lidded and unfocused, widen ever so slightly in recognition as they lock with yours.

“Y/N? Is that really you?” Wanda drunkenly slurs, her struggling eyes attempting to focus on your face. “If you’re not, please tell Y/N that I’m not with him,” Wanda says, pointing her thumb in his direction, refusing to even look at Vision. “He just showed up out of nowhere and I told him to stay away. I swear, I’m telling the truth. Vision, tell her, please. Tell her to tell Y/N.” 

The street lights become too much for Wanda to bear, and she buries her head into her arms, her knees drawn to her chest. She looks so small and insignificant against the backdrop of a vibrant metropolis. 

Steeling yourself against her sorrowful pleas, you turn to Vision instead. “How did you find her?” you demand.

“I was out with my friends, and happened to pass by this area on our way back,” Vision recounts. “I saw two men trying to take her home, and we intervened. I tried asking Wanda where she lives so I can take her home myself, but she refuses to tell me. I tried calling you using her phone, but I think you blocked her number, so I tried calling you myself.”

You’re inclined to believe him, but there will always be bouts of suspicion lingering on the surface when it concerns Wanda. Though as your eyes return to Wanda’s shivering form, you can’t help but wonder if she would truly rather die in the ditches than accept help from him. For the first time, you find yourself contemplating the possibility of believing her, although a part of you wonders if it's simply your enduring soft spot for her attempting to sway your judgment.

“Thank you,” you say to Vision, surprised to find a little sincerity in your voice.

“If I find out you’re the reason why she’s this miserable, I’m putting everything on the line to make sure you stay away from her.” he declares, igniting a cigarette as you support Wanda, draping one of her arms over your shoulder and lifting her up. In that moment, she feels noticeably lighter than before, and your hand can discern the protrusion of her ribs as you secure her against your side.

“Is that a threat?” you say, clenching your jaw, your own clothes getting soaked fast, not realizing early on just how drenched Wanda is from the rain.

“It’s a warning,” Vision answers coolly. “As far as I know, you haven’t atoned for anything. And it’s not because you don’t deserve it. It’s because of her.”

He’s right–you walked out of that bloodied room unscathed from the law. All along you thought the consequences of what you’ve done to Vision just miraculously resolved on its own with the help of Natasha, but if Wanda had anything to do with how you’re not being served with at least damages for physical assault, what price did she have to pay in return?

It’s a conversation for later–you don’t need Wanda to protect you, especially if it means being coerced into complying with Vision's demands.

“I’m ready for anything,” you tell him, goading him with a smirk as you feel Wanda nestle closer to you, seeking your warmth. “Now, get your jacket off her and I’ll take it from here.”

As Vision gently takes off the garment from Wanda's shoulders, your eyes catch sight of a distinct mark on her finger, a faded indentation left by a ring that she no longer adorns.

-

Upon arriving at Wanda's place, there is no sign of Sparky. You feel a twinge of disappointment, as you had been somewhat anticipating him despite the circumstances. However, your attention swiftly turns to Wanda, who appears even worse now that you have brought her home: her lips are dry and pale, the flush all over her face down to her neck is still there, and she feels excessively warm to touch, almost as if she is–

“Shit, you’re burning up,” you mutter as you place your hand on her damp forehead.

Then all of a sudden, Wanda forcefully pushes you away, her hand covering her mouth, as she rushes towards the bathroom. In her haste, the straps of her sandals snap, breaking under the pressure. Swiftly, you trail behind her, conscientiously removing your shoes along the way to prevent leaving any dirt tracks on her pristine floor. 

When you enter the bathroom, you find Wanda hunched over the toilet, emptying her stomach. Grimacing at the sight, you kneel beside her and carefully gather her dark hair, holding it up while you wait for her to finish. Once she's done, you flush it down for her. Wanda, seemingly drained, rolls away from the toilet and crawls towards the shower where she simply sits in one corner, closing her eyes with the clear intention of settling down for the night right there.

Faced with a decision, you find yourself contemplating your next course of action. You weigh the responsibilities you had undertaken which was to get Wanda to her apartment safely. What happens to her thereafter should no longer be your concern. After all, Yelena is most likely still waiting for you back at home.

Home. A year ago, the extent to which your definition of it has changed would have been unimaginable.

“Y/N,” Wanda’s weak voice draws your attention away from your thoughts. “You should g-go.” she says hoarsely.

Your fingers close around the doorknob, silent and unmoving, as anger wells up within you; Anger at Wanda for getting herself into this mess. Anger towards Vision for asking you to come to her rescue. Anger at yourself for feeling unable to leave Wanda behind, despite everything.

"Did she tell you about me? I told her not to, Y/N. I'm so sorry..." Wanda's whisper reaches your ears, her eyes remaining shut and her head tilted back, revealing the graceful column of her neck. You instinctively avert your gaze.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

“I-I went to see you. But she said you were still working. I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted you to know about Sparky…”

She? Yelena? You didn’t think Yelena would allow Wanda to go up to your apartment just like that.

"He's not well," Wanda continues, her gaze focused on your face as she takes in every detail of it, as if trying to capture the memory of you in case this is the only opportunity she gets.

Your grip on the doorknob tightens. So that explains why Sparky is nowhere to be found.

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? Is he okay?”

Wanda hiccups, thoughts too jumbled to put together anything coherent. "Liver–not normal," she manages to say, her voice trailing off. She had convinced herself that she wanted to see you for a legitimate reason, but as she gazes at you now, it becomes painfully clear that it was her deep longing for you that has ultimately prevailed.

"Is there anything I could-" you start to offer your help, your concern for Sparky overriding whatever tension lingers between you and Wanda.

"You should leave, Y/N," Wanda interrupts, mustering the strength to open her eyes and meet yours. The shame and despair swirling in those green orbs are hard to ignore, but you try to remain steadfast. "She's probably worried about you."

You chew on your lower lip for a moment, and then, instead of doing as she says, you close the door behind you. Silently, you begin removing your own clothes, stripping down to your underwear.

"I have to dry them anyway," you mumble after feeling the weight of Wanda's stare. "Come on, let's fix you up and get you ready for bed."

Wanda reaches for the hem of her shirt, her hesitation evident as she refrains from removing it. Sensing her struggle, you take the initiative, hoping to expedite the process so you can attend to her needs and leave soon. With gentle care, you lift her shirt up and over her head, exposing her trembling form. 

That's when you notice it–her wedding ring that Wanda used to wear on her finger, even after your divorce. But now it has taken on a new form, transformed into a pendant hanging delicately from a chain around her neck. It rests there, nestled between her breasts, a symbol of a past chapter in her life–and yours–that she carries with her, in a different way.

Wanda notices where your eyes are lingering and removes the necklace herself when you remain passive and unmoving. 

The next task is unclipping her bra, and as your fingers reach for the hooks, Wanda's hand covers yours, halting your actions.

“Is this–I mean, do you think should…?” she stammers out, and you’re unsure if the blush on her face is still from the alcohol.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," you say, feeling your own face heat up. "I think you have a fever. I need to get you out of these wet clothes, is that okay?"

Wanda nods meekly, giving her consent.

A few seconds later, Wanda is naked except for the pink she wears on her cheeks. You help her get up and move under the shower. You twist and turn the knob of the shower until you find the desirable temperature, and then start shampooing Wanda’s hair. 

As the water cascades over her and rinses away her self-loathing, Wanda finds herself surrendering to your care, allowing her to cherish this rare, tender moment she never knew she’d get to experience again. She is grateful for the water, realizing how weary you must be of seeing her cry; it’s just not possible to restrain herself from it when you’re this gentle with her.

“Can you handle the rest?” you ask Wanda, putting your hands under the shower to get rid of the soap.

“Yes,” she answers.

“Okay. I’ll go get some towels.”

Collecting both yours and Wanda's clothes from the floor, you quickly step out of the bathroom before you can start processing what you’ve just done.

Don’t think, just do, you say to yourself as you put the clothes in the dryer. 

Don’t think, just do, you repeat as you get fresh towels from the cabinet.

Don’t think.

When you’re both dry and you’re back in your work clothes and Wanda in her pajamas, you accompany her to her bedroom. You tuck her in and touch her forehead once again to check her temperature. The heat still radiates from her body, and it becomes clear that her fever isn't letting up soon. It won’t go down unless she takes something, but with alcohol still in her system, you don’t think that’s a good idea.

Here, drink this," you offer, extending a sports drink to Wanda.

"Thank you," Wanda murmurs, taking a generous sip before returning the bottle to you.

"Try to finish it. You're likely dehydrated," you suggest. Wanda, acknowledging your advice, obediently continues to drink.

“Better?”

Wanda nods with a small smile. “Thank you, Y/N. I’m sorry you had to go through all that trouble. I didn’t think Vision would–”

“You’re welcome,” you interject as soon as she mentions his name. “We’ll talk soon.” 

Wanda's gaze remains fixed on her folded hands in her lap. "You don't have to," she whispers. "You don't have to talk to me or see me if you don't want to. I'm sorry. This doesn't happen a lot anymore—not as often as you might think. Just something happened, and... I didn't mean to involve you, Y/N. I'm really sorry."

Something? What exactly happened? Regardless, you don't think it's healthy for Wanda to subject herself to such a high level of intoxication, no matter what the circumstances may be.

"We'll talk soon," you repeat, keeping your tone firm but gentle. "Take care, Wanda. Good night."

-

Yelena is wide awake in the living room, her attention focused on a book resting on her lap as you arrive home. The soft glow of a lamp illuminates her features, casting a gentle light on her face. There's a stillness in the room, interrupted only by the turning of pages and the sound of your footsteps.

You hesitate for a moment, taking in the sight of her. 

"Hey," you greet her wearily. "You're still awake?"

“I couldn’t sleep without you,” she says, somewhat bashfully. "There's salad in the fridge if you haven't eaten." she offers.

You pause for a moment, and then meeting her gaze, you ask, "Do you have something to tell me?"

Yelena levels you with a look, putting her book down, she says, “No. Do you?” 

Taking a deep breath, you tell her you do. “I took Wanda home,” you declare, bracing yourself for Yelena’s reaction but her face remains stoic. There's a flicker of something in her eyes, almost as if she had been anticipating your words.

“Can you clarify?” Yelena finally speaks up when you make no further effort to elaborate.

"In the office, I received a call from Vision," you explain. “He said Wanda needed my help. She was in no condition to go home on her own so I took her.”

“Why didn’t he take her home himself?”

You shrug slightly. "Wanda refused to go with him.”

There's a quiet intensity in her eyes, a depth of emotions that she holds back, yet you can sense them lingering beneath the surface. And then, she asks, “And nothing happened?”

“I helped her get change and manage her fever,” you say. “Nothing else happened.”

Yelena's gaze softens, and any trace of her being bothered by your confession finally reveals itself in the form of a soft sigh that escapes her lips.

"Thank you for telling me," Yelena says, wrapping her arms around your neck. "In that case, I should have mentioned that Wanda came by, and I let her come up here."

"Why didn't you say anything?" you ask curiously.

"She told me not to let you know," Yelena reveals quite casually. "And I didn't think it was important anyway."

You hum in response, grateful for her honesty and openness at least. Although, you sense that there might be more to the story than meets the eye.

"Aren't you going to ask me if I've been in touch with her?" you inquire, unable to ignore the nagging curiosity in your mind. Yelena's seemingly mild reactions in response to her encounter with Wanda is slightly unsettling.

“I wasn’t going to,” Yelena confesses, lowering her gaze before they come back up with a vulnerability that wasn’t there before. “But have you?”

You shake your head in response, indicating the truth. Yelena’s shoulder slackens and she steps closer to you. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore. I missed you,” Yelena mumbles the words like a secret, before capturing your lips in a short, sweet kiss, effectively stealing you away from your thoughts.

"Me too," you whisper back, feeling the day's events weighing on you, you take her hand and guide her towards the bedroom. "Let's go to bed."

[yourlazykitkat]

feel alive, lover

notes: Happy Holidays @bubybubsters!!! This I, your secret santa who will save you from eviction (and my fax machine from all the noise complaints we've been getting.) I rewrote this little snippet many times coz I struggled to get it just right but hopefully you'll enjoy it.

thank you @acotargiftexchange for hosting this lovely event <3

word count: 2.1k

tags: Azriel/Eris, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, There was Only One Bed, Graphic Depictions of Injury/Healing

summary: After the war with Koschei, Azriel finds a letter meant for no one and decides to follow through anyway.

fic:

For my dearest Lady of the Darkest Mountain,

Your last letter was a prayer answered in this bloody war. Even though the war has been won and our soldiers are trickling home, the path from my waiting heart to your ever-gracing lips has become a river of blood and death. I do not beg often but I must here- that your sweet hand will not leave mine or else I may drown without ever learning how a sweet mouth like yours passes breath to another. 

With all my heart,

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court

---///---

“His Lordship is not currently taking visitors." Azriel snaps, using his whole weight deceptively against the mahogany door and his unblemished hand pulling the gold-trimmed curtains closer as to conceal his patient. He clicks his tongue, the Autumn tongue not settling quite right, "You'll have to make an appointment with one of his ministers."

“I have been waiting for hours,” Lady Delour hisses, with their face like a blushing flower, and Azriel watches, fascinated as the lace and ruffle of their bodice begins to bloom. “Lord Eris-”

“High Lord.” He corrects and Delour’s face flushes insidiously.

“ High Lord Eris has no ministers to speak of as of now.”

“The absolute tyranny,” He agrees, “A week in and there is no reason to his government. Someone should kill him.”

A pause. “What?”

“Someone should heal him.” He repeats patiently. 

Weak laughter and Lady Delour gives him one of the most anxious smiles he’s seen on a fae holding a beautiful bouquet, “You are the Healer.”

Azriel stares at them, unimpressed. They stare back, twisting the cobalt ribbon wrapped around the bouquet around their gloved finger. The paper wrap crinkles as they shift and Azriel, quite reasonably, wants to rip his ears off. From behind the curtain, there’s a guttural cacophony of coughs.

“That would be our High Lord.” He eases on the door, letting it close slowly, “I shall... attend to him.”

“Please.” Gloved hands grab his pale forearm and he hates how he flinches, “Just for a moment, I need an audience with Eris. We’re old childhood friends.”

“I’ll take those for you,” Azriel says before they can speak, thoroughly bored now. He takes the bouquet of mostly blue-purple flowers which look like sweet bells folding into themselves. With one last smile, he shuts the door in their face and lets the curtain fall.

Arikan Foxglove , his shadows whisper. Psychoactive. Lethal poison. Autumn-Winter-Spring Cartel. 

He hums mindlessly, plucking a few imperfect petals and rubbing them between his fingers. On the patient's bedside table, there's an empty vase, a steaming tea set and half of a medical kit. He slouches into the visitor armchair, catching sight of himself in the mirror: ears longer than a High Fae's, his skin is pale and unscarred against the white and pink Healer uniform. From his height in the chair, he knows he's been offensively glamoured to be a head shorter and perhaps worst are the gossamer wings in lieu of his leather. 

It had been necessary. Azriel was needed in the Forest House during its transitory stage between High Lords as both the eyes of the Night Court and the third hand in Autumn. He'd have settled for stealth but this dreadful fortress had always foiled Azriel's plans and he wasn't sure how long he'd have to hide.

The schematics of the Forest House had remained elusive to the Prythian’s spies for as long as Azriel could remember. There had been attempts of course, that if procuring the true and original plans was a damned river run dry, drafting one’s own was the next best thing. An old Dawn Spymaster had come close- Azriel had been expected to commit it to memory as clearly as his own hand and his high lords’. If he hadn’t, he would have been persecuted, gushing blood from his wings, in the Dawn Treasury.  

But even then, it was no help. The columns of the Forest House were ancient ebony trees whose roots and branches looked like the untamable and gnarled hair and limbs of screeching wood nymphs. He swore the house moved, the hallways and rooms changing like a rearranged gut. The only way to navigate the fortress with any real success was through birthright and their permission, the latter achieved through his false employment as one of Eris Vanserra's Healers.

"Should I kill them?" Azriel murmurs, watching his fingertips turn a sickening blue from the foxglove petals, "They'll have killed you before Beron's casket is closed."

There's no response, just like there hasn't been all week. Eris Vanserra, the new High Lord of Autumn, lay listless in his bed with sunken cheeks and pale skin. His bare chest was void of freckles, covered in rolls and rolls of bandages. It's hard to look at him- whether that be because Azriel has always felt sickened at the sight of the Autumn Prince or the harsh light of noon making the white sheets and his pale skin blinding.

"You have no ministry, no security, no intelligence. The only Healers in the Forest House are Beron loyalists-" Azriel counted down and then looked up, "Really, you only have me."

---///---

Eris writhes in his sleep, pulling and scratching at his wounds that took hours to clean and dress. He tosses and turns, hitting Azriel in the face with a flailing arm but the Shadowsinger almost cries of relief.

A momentary lapse of sanity and exhaustion, he reasons. Tending to Eris for the last week and a half had been like decorating a corpse for its funeral and just any sign of life- any at all, that’s all he had needed.

---///---

Azriel's fingers brushed the bandages delicately, each motion slow, deliberate. Occasionally, he'd be tempted to wrap an open would too tight, too let a needle submerge into skin before sewing the injury- but that was a habit very easily dismissed despite their centuries of mutual violence. Especially as his shadows swirled restlessly around him, anxious about the injuries in a way Azriel hadn't seen since Cassian's wings had been ripped out- since his own hands had been burnt.

Eris's wound, a massive gouge in his side, was a deep, ugly thing—raw, with jagged edges and exposed tissue. Azriel had seen worse, far worse in his life, but there was something about this wound that struck a chord in him, made him linger longer than he should. Perhaps it was because for the last five hundred years, Eris had stopped being fae and turned into an unwashable stain, an untouchable annoyance no matter what Azriel threw at him.

But now, Azriel’s gaze trailed from the wound to Eris’s face, noting the pallor, the way his features seemed too sharp, too sunken. The silence of the room had him hunched over and queasy.

His fingers trembled slightly as he began to rewrap the bandages, the sickening scent of blood and something darker filling his nose. The shadows that clung to him hissed, as though uncomfortable with the proximity to such a vulnerable Eris, yet they didn’t move, didn’t leave.

Eris, once a formidable prince, lay like a broken doll in the bed, unable to speak, unable to move, his body a testament to whatever battle had been fought before Azriel had arrived. His eyes fluttered, the lids heavy from fever, but there was something sharp in the way his gaze flickered to Azriel—a subtle challenge, a silent question.

Azriel couldn’t bring himself to look away, not now, not with the way Eris’s breath shuddered with each inhale, not with the way the autumn prince’s chest rose and fell, slow and painful. Something stirred in Azriel’s gut, something that felt almost like curiosity, like an unfamiliar kind of fascination.

“How did you let this happen to you, Eris?” Azriel muttered, his voice rougher than he intended.

Eris's lips parted, but no sound came out, just the rasping breath, the faintest flutter of his chest as he tried to move, only for pain to hold him still. His eyes, though dimmed by exhaustion and fever, met Azriel’s with something like defiance. It was familiar, that look, the one Azriel had seen so many times before, though it was now tempered by the weakness of the body beneath it.

Azriel couldn't help the way his gaze flickered back to the wound, the horror of it—of seeing the raw cavity in Eris’s flesh. It was something that Azriel would have never expected. Not from Eris. The great prince of Autumn—untouchable, always in control. But now, here he was, lying broken in front of Azriel, his body reduced to nothing more than a fragile thing in need of repair.

“I should leave,” Azriel muttered, the words slipping from his lips before he could stop them. He felt the familiar pull to step back, to retreat into the shadows, to leave Eris to whatever fate awaited him. But his feet remained rooted to the spot.

Instead of leaving, Azriel carefully adjusted the bandages, tightening the cloth around the wound, trying not to wince as he pressed against the raw tissue. His fingers were unsteady, too slow, too gentle, and his breath came too harsh as the silence stretched between them.

Eris’s eyes flickered again, this time with something more pointed, more aware.

“I never thought you’d be the one by my bedside,” Eris rasped, his voice a rough whisper. The words felt strange coming from his lips, strained, fragile, but they carried with them an edge, a defiance even in his weakened state.

Azriel glanced up sharply, his hands halting for a moment as he met Eris’s gaze.

“I’m not here because I want to be,” he growled, the edge of his voice betraying the tension building in his chest. "You left a letter."

Eris’s lips quirked, a half-smile that looked more like a grimace than anything else, but it was there.

“Funny, I’d forgotten I had even written that. That wasn’t meant for you.” He said weakly. “For someone who doesn’t want to help, you seem very invested.”

Azriel didn’t answer immediately, his gaze lingering on the wound once more. The sick fascination gnawed at him, despite his better judgment. The scar tissue, the way the wound was shaped—it was something unnatural, something cruel.

“I’m not invested,” Azriel finally said, though his words were laced with something darker. “I’m here because you’re worth more alive.”

Eris’s eyes narrowed, but there was no fire in them, no anger. Only the weariness of someone who’d been through too much, who’d survived too long, only to find himself in a position of weakness.

“If I survive this,” Eris croaked, “I’ll make sure you regret that.”

Azriel couldn't help but laugh bitterly. “Of course you will, Vanserra”

The silence stretched, thick with something between them that neither of them was willing to acknowledge. Azriel finished bandaging the wound, his hands steadying with each passing moment, but the words he had held back earlier remained heavy in his chest.

Eris shifted slightly, his lips parting again as though he were going to say something, but he stopped, his body betraying him. His eyes slid closed, exhaustion taking over, and Azriel couldn’t bring himself to move away, not yet.

“I won’t let you die,” Azriel whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Eris’s chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic motion, his breath shallow, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes as they opened once more, a slow, cautious glance toward Azriel.

“You’ve never cared before,” he rasped, his voice weaker now, the fight fading.

Azriel didn’t respond, only leaned back slightly, his gaze lingering on the man before him. For a moment, the room was silent, the tension between them still palpable, even if unspoken. But something had shifted. Something had changed. And Azriel wasn’t sure if he was ready to face it.

But letting Eris Vanserra die alone seemed an awful lot like losing. Losing a bet, losing a war, losing breath underwater. And even if he'd eventually have to leave, Azriel stayed.

END

[fe-fictions]

Happy new year!!! 🥳 could I request a prompt with Dimitri / Claude where they surprise Byleth for the new year? I imagine their post game where Byleth is separated from them for a while bc of their respective duties so a surprise reunion would be super cute 🥹

(This was so much fun to write ;; A ;; )

Claude: Running a country as a new king was no joke, though becoming the religious head of an entire continent (with no experience) wasn’t any easier. It was only natural that when you first started talking about what to do, and what the expectations would be in your new roles, it would mean some distance was required.

What you didn’t realize was that “little distance” thing turned into a long-term absence. Of course, letters were exchanged every day; and the timing of the responses varied depending on the carrier and the weather.

But you were in constant contact, calways wishing to see one another and longing for the separation to reach its end.

It felt more like you were widowed for six months, conversing with a  very charming ghost.

“Seteth…what are the possibilities for taking a sabbatical this year?”

You could feel the prime minister’s hackles raise at the very thought.

“It is the same as I told you last autumn, Archbishop; it’s simply not possible with your current position.”

‘But we’ve been working non-stop since the ceremony- surely we can spare a few days' rest.”

“Not with the relations between kingdoms still in such a dire state. If we were to step away now, and they were to find out, the people would become even more upset. They would feel as though we are trivializing their very lives.”

“I don't want that.” You admitted, looking down at the towering mess of papers on your desk. “But...people are allowed to have days of rest.”

“They are, indeed.” Seteth agreed, “However, we must bear in mind that we are not just any ‘people’. Our obligations transcend those whom we serve.”

It did very little to invigorate you or ease your stress. If anything, Seteth was simply piling them on higher and at a much faster pace. He was not the best at rousing speeches.

“Still…we’ve been working non-stop like this for months…surely we’ll have to slow down and rest so as not to falter later?”

“I do see your point, but I believe we are far from in need of such relief. After all, we bear the expectations of all Fodlan on our shoulders; you moreso, as both a queen and the Archbishop. I would argue that it is more necessary that we continue to push without wasting a single moment.”

“I would argue the opposite…” You mumbled, and the dragon-eared man was polite enough not to acknowledge it. After all, there was a particular reason why he was laying on the pressure so thick.

He wouldn’t have agreed to do so without there being a much desired reward waiting for you. You’d been working harder than most to pull Fodlan back from the struggles of war, and the rebuilding was being overseen in as many areas with the greatest detail you could bring to the table.

You hadn’t heard it yet; it would be a few minutes more.

“Milady, I empathize with your argument, but we must make sure not to allow such temptations that follow a ‘slowdown’, so to speak. It may be difficult for you to ever regain your vigor and our work will suffer for it!”

“Seteth, please…” You groaned, your head hitting the stack of paper before you. There was a good chance the ink hadn’t dried yet, but that was the least of your worries.

The minister worked hard to suppress his smile. Instead he continued to prattle on and on about the importance of diligence, duty, discipline, and several other responsible “d” words, until you heard a shift, outside.

As a matter of fact, you heard the sound of people gathering just below your office, towards the front gates.

And following that rabble was…a wyvern’s wingbeat.

You sat up from the papers, eyes narrowed. There weren’t any wyvern riders that were scheduled to be patrolling this time of day. 

And the only person who could possibly be riding in and exciting everyone would be-

“Claude?”

Seteth grinned, watching the hope spark in your eyes. You hurried from your desk, pulling the balcony doors back.

The shimmering white scales of his beloved wyvern reflected the sunlight right into your eyes. But you knew that roar, and you could recognize that gorgeous, golden cape from a mile away.

With a sharp gasp you turned on your heel and burst from the room. The stairs were too far-- no, the front gate was-! You had to move as quickly as possible.

That man had been gone for so long. You hadn’t seen each other in ages, but now he was flying right up to the monastery out of the blue!

You wracked your brain, trying to think if he’d referenced coming to visit you in any of his letters. Though perhaps it was easier said than done, as the closer you got to the front doors, the harder it was to think of anything other than him.

Mercifully, you did not have to wait until you were outside. The king of Almyra had already made his way inside the building. He was halfway across the great hall, speaking with Hilda about something completely inconsequential.

Well, inconsequential to you. Because all that mattered was the instant your eyes locked, and you could feel the joy build in your chest.

“Claude!!”

The Archbishop’s voice raising was already surprising, but to see her running towards her husband, decorum be damned, was a stunning sight for any bystander.

Claude’s face lit up at the sight of you, his arms spread wide to accept you.

“Byleth!!” Your name was a laugh on his lips; the very sound of his voice made your heart soar. You closed the distance and all but leapt into his arms.

His mere touch was enough to bring tears to your eyes. His scent, his laughter, his…his everything…it overwhelmed your senses in the best of ways.

“I’m home, By.” 

“Welcome back,” Your voice was muffled against his neck, his embrace tight and wanting,  with zero intention of letting you go. “I missed you so much…!”

“I  missed you too. You have no idea how bad I wanted to see you.” He murmured, peppering kisses into your hair between his breaths of laughter.

“I didn’t have a clue- but when did you say you were coming?? I can’t remember reading a single word about you visiting.” You gathered yourself enough to ask, pulling back to look up at your husband.

He grinned at you,  squeezing your waist. “That’s because it was a surprise. I cleared it with Seteth about a month ago; you and I are going to take a nice, long break from all this intercontinental repair.”

It was hard to balance your desire to take in every detail of his face and simply kissing him senseless.

“Really?”

“Of course; I’ve been waiting for ages because I know how badly you’ve wanted to get away. You’ve been talking about it in your letters for the last…three months, I think.” 

“I suppose I’m not as subtle when I’m writing to you.” You smiled sheepishly, “I would love to take a vacation with you, my love.”

“Gods, I’ve been waiting to hear that for so long.” He sighed, capturing your lips in a much needed kiss. You held his face in your hands, relishing the scruff along his jaw and the warmth of his skin.

“Hear what?” You whispered against his lips, your hands shifting from his cheeks to the collar of his tunic, tugging him closer. Your bodies were practically pressed against each other; you couldn’t have gotten closer if you wanted to.

“To hear you call me ‘my love’. I haven’t heard it in so long…I’m afraid your written word doesn’t hold a candle to the sweetness of your voice.”

“You flatter me.” You blushed, kissing the beaming smile he wore with warm reverence. “Shall we  have a proper reunion upstairs? I’d love to hear all about these plans you have for our vacation, but I think we both have some more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, darling.” Claude chuckled, and swept you up into his arms, carrying you down the corridor that had mercifully been emptied at some point during your touching reunion.

You were sure the rumors were swirling around the monastery from the bystanders who hadn’t escaped quickly enough, but it was the last thing on your mind.

After all, your sweet husband was back home in your arms…and there was nowhere else you’d rather be. Especially after such a punishing several months’ work without him.

You peeked around the corner, making sure no one was nearby while he strode towards the stairs with a particular skip in his step.

“I’ve been waiting to say this for a while, but…”

“Say whatever’s on  your mind; I’ve been dying to hear it for ages.”

You leaned up to his ear, whispering those longing words.

“Welcome home, Khalid.” 

He nearly tripped up the stairs and took you tumbling with him. When he steadied himself, he pressed his forehead to yours, his whole face flushed.

“If you’re not gonna fight fair, you’re gonna have to deal with the consequences, Teach.” He grumbled, making you laugh. You kissed his nose, squeezing your arms around his shoulders.

“I haven’t been able to say your name in so long either, you know…I wanted to give you a proper welcome.”

His grin turned mischievous, hoisting you back up and starting up the steps with renewed vigor.

“Don’t you worry about that- we’re about to have the greatest reunion of all time! And an even better vacation after that, might I add.”

You didn’t get a chance to ask him what the plans were until several hours later. But you weren't particularly bothered by it. 

Having your Khalid beside you again was everything you could have asked for, and more.

-------------------------

Dimitri: He’d gotten the worried letter from Prime Minister Seteth about three days ago. He was already deeply depressed because he hadn’t seen you in such a long time.

It was incredibly difficult, how you were trying so hard and working to get everything in order for the greater continent of Fodlan. 

You were working from the monastery, and had remained there long after the two of you were crowned as the king and queen of Faerghus.

It was deeply upsetting to have spent the first several months of your marriage apart. But it was nothing that heartfelt letters that were practically 300-page journals between each of you.

So when he received a much more brief letter with Seteth’s seal on it instead of the expected loving message from his wife, Dimitri was concerned.

When he read its contents, he was consumed with worry. 

“King Dimitri, it is with deep concern that I write to you regarding your wife, the Archbishop of Fodlan. I am afraid she has become obsessed with work to the point that she cannot seem to remove herself from it. 

The few times I was able to ascertain the reason behind this change in behavior is due to her separation from her spouse. I believe it would be prudent to schedule a visit to the monastery immediately. I fear she has stopped taking care of herself; her eating and sleeping habits have become practically non-existent. 

Please write with ideal dates and times that you would be able to join us. We anticipate a swift response, milord.”

Dimitri had the troops rallied and the Blue Lions en route to the monastery without a second more hesitation. He sent a pegasus knight ahead to relay the information as quickly as possible.

But there was a little more time to waste! His wife was neglecting her well-being, and even though he had no idea how he was supposed to fix it, he knew that he missed her just as terribly and wanted to do anything in his power to make everything better.

He galloped through the forests of Fodlan, not slowing down even in the face of bandits or dangerous weather. 

With the help of the Lions and their unwavering support for the royal couple, the valiant group turned what was typically a weeks’ sojourn to the central mountain range into a four day journey, instead.

And as soon as they were there, Dimitri all but ripped the front gates from their ancient, unmoving hinges.

There was no time to waste. His Beloved needed him!

“King Dimitri has arrived!” The gatekeeper managed to squawk out, sending the passersby into a confused frenzy of excitement and panic. What in the world was the Archbishop’s husband doing here, now??

Dimitri did not bother to socialize or engage with anyone outside of the green-haired man hurrying to meet him, opening the massive old doors that led into the main hall.

“Thank Sothis you arrived so quickly. I just received word from the envoy you sent hardly a day ago; it is a miracle you were able to travel with such swiftness!”

“And not a moment too late, I hope. Where is my wife?” Dimitri asked, breathless from his endless onslaught to visit his dearest.

Seteth motioned towards the stairwell. “She is locked in her office, as always. I fear it has been difficult to access her, even as her right hand. She is deeply troubled by your absence, milord. More So than even she realizes.”

“It saddens me to learn this…but I will do everything in my power to help Byleth in any way I can.” He spoke a solemn promise, striding to the steps and making his way to your office.

A swirl of memories, sweet and bitter, filled his mind. It had been so long since he’d seen the monastery, let alone restored to most of its former glory. 

It was not his favorite place to be, and in spite of all the good things that happened there, he would not lose any sleep over the thought of leaving it behind permanently.

Especially if his having to rule the kingdom while you languished in the ancient halls could cause such a panic.

He hesitated at the door of your office, finding it was indeed locked when he tried to turn the knob. He knocked on the old oak once, twice, three times…but you did not answer.

So he opted to pound on the door, instead.

“Byleth!! Byleth, my love…are you in there? Can you hear me??” His fist hit the door again, with more urgency. There was an indent starting to form where he struck the wood.

There was no answer. He grit his teeth, hitting the door harder.

“It’s me, Dimitri! Open the door- everyone is worried about you! You must-” His hand went straight through the wood, and not a moment too soon.

The punctured hole, while embarrassing, did provide immediate access to the door knob on the other side.

Dimitri dismissed the damage done and opened the door, swinging it into the wall with another crack that likely destroyed the structural integrity of the poor thing.

The sound of wood splintering was enough to get your attention, however. You had been slumped over your arm at your desk, a quill halfway falling out of your hand when the sudden eruption of noise startled you awake.

Your eyes were wild with exhaustion and confusion, only to find a large, black and blonde blob storming towards you.

“Beloved!!”

You gasped at the sound of Dimitri’s voice. That  couldn’t be right, he was far away, back home in Faerghus…his last correspondence with you had been only a week ago.

This was surely a figment of your over exhausted imagination, right?

“D…Dima?” 

“Thank goodness, you’re at least conscious.” He exhaled heavily, rushing around the side of the desk so that he might place his hands on your shoulders. “I was knocking at your door and calling for you- did you truly not hear me?”

“Dima…w-what are you doing here?”

“Dammit, your skin is so pale. The shadows under your eyes- and you’re clearly underfed! Byleth, what has happened to you? How could this have happened?”

“I…” You trailed off, looking down at your hands which trembled in your lap. Dimitri followed your gaze, feeling his heart twist in his chest.

“Nevermind. You're in dire need of rest, Beloved. I will take you to our quarters immediately. When you wake up, I will have some food ready and waiting.”

“But…but Dima, how did you-?” 

“I received an urgent message from Prime Minister Seteth.” He explained simply, taking you up from your seat and carrying you from the office. “He said that you were neglecting your health, and it is quite clear to me that is the case.”

“W-wait, you don’t have to carry me, Dimitri, I-”

“I will not risk injury because you have not been taking care of yourself. I will see to it that you are well rested and well fed before you’re ready to have a conversation about your health. Am I clear?”

You fell silent, realizing that the firm yet gentle touch was indeed quite real. That your husband had arrived from across the land to come to your aid.

Perhaps you were in worse shape than you first thought.

Dimitri took your silence as a sign that you either conceded defeat, were falling asleep, or both. Regardless, you weren’t far from your bedroom.

The attendants and knights who were anywhere nearby as the king crossed the long corridors were quick to scatter, or politely avert their eyes as he tended to you.

With far greater care than when he’d “opened” your office door, he let himself into the Archbishop’s quarters and made sure to fasten the lock as well.

The world shifted around you, and you were suddenly in the soft embrace of your bed. Gods, how long has it been since you were lying there, of all places? 

Dimitri sat on the edge of the bed, taking your ankles up and resting your feet in his lap. He began to undo the laces on your shoes, handling you as though you were glass (a technique ingrained in him since he was little).

“Dima, you don’t have to do all this…”

“You need to rest, Beloved, and I have many, many months of tending to you that I must make up for. Please, allow me to do this much.”

You hummed softly, letting him finish his work on your shoes. Then he prompted you to sit up, slipping the coat from your shoulders and shifting the pillows so that you could recline far more comfortably.

His hand cradled your head, guiding you back down so that you laid fully across the bed. 

The covers weren’t drawn over you, though. Instead, Dimitri unclasped his heavy, fur-laden cloak, and draped it over you.

The overwhelming comfort at being surrounded by his scent nearly brought tears to your eyes. This was indeed your Dimitri. Not a figment of your imagination, this time.

You drew the furry cape closer to your face, nuzzling against the fabric with a soft sniffle.

Dimitri’s smile was sad, but the tension that had wracked his body seemed to have eased at the sight of you.

“Please, rest, my dearest. I will have food prepared and waiting for you by the time you are better.”

“Will you stay with me?” You whispered, as if the pull of sleep wasn’t already  taking hold.

Dimitri laughed softly, carding a hand through his hair. 

“I am still in full regalia, my love. I fear I will be a poor bedfellow.”

“Just until I’m asleep.” You insisted, “I…I missed you so much.”

As if he could say no to that.

Dimitri walked over to his side of the bed,   careful in joining you so that he didn’t dip the mattress and jostle you out of your far too comfortable position.

He propped himself up on one elbow, facing you on his side so that you might have full access to him.

And take advantage, you did. Dimitri flushed when you shifted over, burying your face in his chest and curling your fingers into his tunic. The soft clinking of all the metal bits and pieces didn’t seem to bother you. He wasn’t in his armor, but the formal layers of Faerghus’ royal uniform did not make for excellent nightwear.

The queen did not seem to mind, however.

“I’m so happy you’re here…”” You mumbled into his chest, feeling strong arms wrap wholly around you, drawing you in as close as he could.

“I have longed for you, terribly, in the time we have been apart. I could not bear to be away from you any longer when Seteth sent for me.”

“I must remember to thank him for his wisdom…I may very well have wasted away had he not asked you to come. It…felt so hard, going through all this work without you by my side.”

“It was no more joyful in Faerghus, I’m afraid. Ruling as king feels cold and empty without you there, right alongside me.” 

You nodded into his heartbeat, melting when his fingers worked through your hair.

There was no way you’d stay up a moment longer.

“But all that matters is we’re together now. And once we have you full and smiling again, I believe we ought to make plans to visit the countryside. The snow is glistening this time of year, up in the northern mountains…I can finally introduce you to the rarer parts of our home.”

“I would…love to…” You yawned,    wide and obvious.

Dimitri bit his tongue to keep from fawning. You were too cute when you weren't even trying.

“ Please rest, Beloved. I swear I’ll be right here when you wake. I will not leave your side again.”

“Thank you for this…and…thank you for coming… I'm so happy you love me so much.”

“As am I.” He kissed your forehead, squeezing you gently. “I have been yearning to see you for far too long. To hold you in my arms, even in less ideal circumstances…I could be any happier.”

“I love you, Dima.”

“I love you, too.” He beamed, before gingerly tapping his forehead to yours. “Now rest. Sleep. I beg of you.”

You smiled softly. Perhaps Dimitri was right; you were indeed long overdue for a good nap.

It wouldn’t be until seven hours later, well into the nighttime, that you came back around.

 But Dimitri was ready and waiting, a beautiful meal set aside on the nightstand and waiting to be enjoyed by the royal couple.

And of course it was immediately paid for by a mess of urgent kisses from wife to husband, wrapping your arms around him and rolling to lay atop him, your hands happily pressed to his chest.

How you missed that strong, thundering heartbeat.

The food would have to wait, unfortunately;  you both had much more pressing matters to tend to. 

Especially for the next seven days, as prescribed by the monastery clerics to prevent further burnout.

While you were certain Dimitri had some influence in this decision (ie, nearly all), you couldn’t help but relish every single second you got to spend, alone and warm with your fiercely loyal lion.

[niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian]

I just rewatched the 2md tinker bell movie after your one post, and I can see what you mean about that minister guy

Do you SEE it, man? I mean, LOOK

10 year old me just saw him and went, "Oh, you are beautiful."

To think he has the same VA as Jake the Dog and sounds like the most regal autumn themed person to ever exist. I love him so

[josefavomjaaga]

Rumours about Junot in autumn 1810?

As I happen to have been reminded of Junot again: Does anybody know what rumours were being spread about him in 1810, while he was serving at Masséna's army of Portugal? The passage below is only a small snippet of a long letter with instructions that Napoleon gave to his Minister of the Interior Montalivet on 13 October 1810, about what the local prefects of France should counter these rumours with:

You will tell them that the rumours being spread against the Duc d'Abrantès are slanderous and untrue; that this general serves with the greatest distinction, and that the best harmony reigns between the generals.

Now I'm curious what these rumours may have been about. Thanks in advance for all information!

[whoreforfictionaloldermen]

Lord milori x reader

This is the first chapter if you like it I’ll post the others but giving it a go first hope you like it!

Fandom: tinkerbell

Description: You are a fairy that was born of 3 seasons summer spring and autumn. One day you go to the winter woods and meet the Lord of winter but will you get a happy ending or will it turn out the way everyone would expect?

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

I was doing my classes with Queen clarion. You see I have a mixture of 3 seasons. Autumn, summer and spring very unusual yes but all the while it happened anyway. And because of this Queen clarion thought it would be good for me to one day take over pixi hollow. As Queen.

I wasn't sure how to feel about this to be honest. I mean. I was honored. But you may think that I still have to do what the other fairies do. While that is true I also have to take classes on how to rule each season. And do work around pixi hollow I didn't really have time to myself.

You see my time table is:

Classes with the minister of autumn then work

The next day

Classes with the minister of spring then work

Next day

Classes with the minister of summer then work

Next day

Classes with Queen clarion then work

And then it goes back to the beginning. But there's one day after my classes that I don't have anything planned. A day for me. Tomorrow is that day.

*next day*

The minute I woke up I jumped out of bed put clothes on and flew as fast as possible away from the tree. I didn't want to be asked to hang out or to help with work because I needed time to myself and besides fawn is taking the animals across the border today and I wanna go help.

You see queen clarion said that fawn and one other person can go across just to take the animals its always me because I love helping her. I got to the border and saw fawn waiting for me.

"hey fawn" I said as I walked up behind her. She jumped and turned around.

"gosh Y/N don't do that!" she said loudly as I laughed. She's too easy.

" can we take them nowww!!" I said getting excited. She giggled and smiled at me.

"sure Y/N. Let's go"

As we crossed the border I remembered how cold it was. As we were walking to where the winter fairies usually are we dropped off the animals and while fawn was talking to one of the winter fairies I decided to walk around.

I always did this so fawn just waited for me to return when she was done talking.

As I was walking through the winter woods I bumped into someone and fell backwards.

"oh gosh in so sorry I wasnt looking where I was going" I said looking down.

"oh it's alright no harm done" a deep and quite cute voice said. I looked up and was met with the most beautiful brown eyes. He put his hand out to help me up and I took it getting up. I then realised. He was the Lord of winter. 'oh god' I thought to myself.

"I-I'm extremely s-sorry my lord" I said as I bowed slightly. I was always taught to be polite. He put a hand on my shoulder and I lifted my head reluctantly feeling my cheeks burn as they went red.

"no need to be sorry my dear. It happens to everyone" he said smiling sweetly. 'oh my his smile is gorgeous' I thought as I felt my cheeks redden even more.

I smiled at him and nodded slightly. He then began to speak again.

"what's a warm fairy like you doing in the winter woods may I ask?" he said in a gentle tone.

"I was bringing the animals over with a friend and I wanted to walk around for a bit. The cold doesn't affect my wings you see so I'm aloud." I said finally not stuttering. He continued to smile.

"how about I take you back to your friend?" he said offering his hand once he got onto his owl. I blushed even more and took his hand.

"thank you my lord" I said still trying to be polite.

"please call me milori" he said as we took off.

"oh no I couldn't. I've always been taught to be polite to new Lords I meet." I said being a little less polite then usual but still very polite all the same. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at me.

"taught?" he said in a confused tone.

"yes lord milori. I was chosen by Queen clarion to take over once she retires and because of this I have to take classes with the ministers." I said using his name but still being polite. He nodded but turned back to me.

"I still insist you call me milori. Please you do not need to use Lord around me" he said smiling again. I smiled at him as I put my hands on his shoulders.

"as you wish milori" once I said that his smile grew and it made my heart flutter. 'snap out of it Y/N you cannot fall for him already you just met and he's a lord!' I thought to myself.

As we got back to fawn she looked at me and smiled.

"ready to go Y/N?" she said still smiling. I nodded and I said by to milori and walked towards the border.

"when did you get all friendly with the Lord of winter?" she teased as she nudged me and winked. I rolled my eyes at her.

"don't get me started" I said laughing and she laughed as well. I knew my life was going to be pretty interesting from this point forward.

[starlitsilvereyes]

Love To Hate You | E | 1.9k

Written for @harryjamespotterweek's prompts: Size Kink, Scars, Sex Toys, & Hate Sex | Warnings/Tags: PWP, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Sectumsempra Scars, Sex Toy (Anal plug), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjob, Rimming, Light Bondage, Edging, Choking

Thank you so much to my wonderful beta @intimatelyrearranged for looking over this &lt;3 <3

Summary/Excerpt: Sex with Potter was always rough. All claws and teeth – a hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, fingernails on Draco’s hips, and Potter’s filthy mouth panting against Draco’s ear.

Read Love To Hate You on Ao3

or Expand to keep reading :)

---

Sex with Potter was always rough. All claws and teeth – a hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, fingernails on Draco’s hips, and Potter’s filthy mouth panting against Draco’s ear.

“I fucking hate you, Draco.” 

Satisfaction bloomed within Draco at the frustrated expression plastered upon Potter’s face, knowing he’d been the very cause of it. 

~

They had been in the Ministry Gala not even an hour before, with Potter’s green eyes piercing through Draco from across the table. Draco made sure they’d been seated right across from each other, so he could slide his socked foot up Potter’s leg. 

Potter ignored him at first, but there was no mistaking the tightening of his fingers around his glass. He tried to close his legs a short moment after Draco settled his ankle against Potter’s knee, but Draco thought quicker than him, sliding his foot right on Potter’s wool-clad crotch, trapping it between Potter’s thighs. 

“The wine is exquisite, Minister,” Draco praised, licking his lips as Potter let out a soft gasp when Draco pressed his foot more firmly against Potter’s clothed cock. 

“I’m pleased to hear it suits your fine taste, Mister Malfoy.” Shacklebolt smiled proudly. “I hope you’ll be as delighted with our dinner. I especially picked out the most luxurious Jamaican dishes, and I plan on developing a trade of goods between my home country and Wizarding Britain this year.” 

“I’m sure the dinner will be just as ravishing,” Draco drawled, eyeing Potter before he made a show of closing his eyes in delight when the first dish was served in front of them. 

Draco settled his foot on Potter’s inner thigh for the entirety of their meal, brushing his heel against Potter whenever he spoke to someone else at the table. Potter tolerated it, until Draco dragged his foot along the length of Potter’s entire cock, now fully hard. 

Potter visibly jumped, earning him looks from almost everyone around the expansive dining table. 

“Alright, Harry?” asked Weasley, glancing suspiciously at Draco before turning his gaze back at Potter. 

“Yeah,” Potter said, breathless. “I just need some air. If you’ll excuse me.”

Potter left the table without another word, and Draco followed halfway through his meal, as to not be too suspicious. 

He found Potter outside, hidden behind the grand oak tree Draco was certain was older than the both of them combined, a cigarette between his lips as he leaned against the brick wall. 

“Took you long enough,” Potter spat, flicking off his fag and crushing it beneath his boot. 

Before Draco could come up with a snarky remark, Potter crossed the space between them, latching is hot, wet mouth against Draco. Out of habit, Draco slot his knee between Potter’s legs. 

But Potter seemed to have a different idea, backing Draco to the wall and snogging him senseless until Draco had to pull away to catch his breath.

“Potter–” 

Without another word, Potter flicked his hand, and a silk magically appeared around Draco’s wrists, tying them together and pinning them in place above his head.

Oh. 

“If you’re going to act like a cock-hungry whore, you’re going to get treated like one.” 

Draco barely had any time to grasp what was happening when Potter knelt before him, hurriedly unbuckled his belt, and pulled his trousers down along with his pants. He inhaled a sharp breath when the cool autumn air hit his cock. 

Potter made a show of mouthing at Draco’s tip, lapping around it like some – well, some cock-hungry whore, but Draco was too occupied with the velvety warmth of Potter’s mouth to make his point. 

“So big,” Potter moaned. “So fucking perfect for me. You like this, hm?” He took Draco even deeper, only pulling off to spit on his palm and wrap a first around the base of Draco’s cock. “You like my throat around your dick? Tell me you like it, Draco.” 

“I love your mouth,” Draco gasped when Potter started fucking Draco’s cock into his mouth hungrily, desperately. “I love it when you suck me off like you’re made for it, Harry.” 

They only called each other by their names whenever they fucked. It was not something they particularly agreed on, but neither of them had complained in the past six months, and Draco hadn’t exactly thought of calling Potter by his first name outside of their rendezvous. 

Potter’s eyes, lightning green and striking, stared through Draco as he opened his throat a bit more, taking Draco deeper than he’d ever taken him. Draco shut his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowing as Harry’s name fell from his lips. “Harry, god, don’t stop. Fuck – fuck --” Pleasure rose from the depths of him, his knees growing weak, mouth going slack, and fingernails digging through his own palms.

On the brink of Draco’s orgasm, Harry pulled off, and the pleasure stopped. 

Draco opened his eyes to find Potter wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, tucking Draco back into his pants and smirking devilishly as he rose from the ground. 

“Don’t like the taste of your own medicine?” Potter smirked. 

“Fuck you, Potter.” 

“With pleasure.” 

~

The Apparition to Potter’s flat made Draco dizzy, as though he just downed an entire bottle of whiskey. Upon trying to balance himself, he realised Potter didn’t even bother to untie his wrists. Draco shut his eyes and braced himself to fall face flat on Potter’s hardwood floor, but Potter wrapped a steady arm around his waist, unabashedly pressing his fucking crotch against Draco’s arse. 

“Bend over.” Potter’s breath was hot against Draco’s ear. 

“What?” Draco asked, bewildered. “Right here?” 

Without another word, Potter vanished both of their clothes with a flick of his wand. Draco shivered, gooseflesh rising on his skin as Potter’s magic wrapped around him like an intoxicating curse.

Potter placed a firm palm on the back of Draco’s neck, guiding him to the red velvet couch and bending him over. 

“Draco –” 

Draco smirked, cheek against the cushion as he looked back at Potter smugly. He arched his back even more, relishing the surprise on Potter’s face as he eyed the plug nestled into Draco’s hole. 

“Draco,” Potter sighed. He reached for the base of the plug, pressing a firm finger against it and pushing it back. Draco closed his eyes, breath hitching as pleasure jolted within him. He knew there was no other way to end this night than to fuck Harry – or rather, be fucked by Harry, so Draco got himself ready earlier that evening by fucking himself with his fingers at the thought of Harry. Both for the intent of preparation and because he knew Harry would like it. 

“Fuck me, Harry,” Draco panted. 

Harry was already hard, pre-come glazing the tip of his pink cock. He pumped himself a few times, gaze never leaving the sight of the plug in Draco’s arse. Draco’s mouth watered at the sight. He wanted Harry to fuck him now, the desperation nearly all-consuming.

But Harry had different plans. He pinched the base of the plug between two fingers, pulling at it before letting go with only the tip in, and letting Draco’s body pull it back. 

“Oh.” The protest was at the tip of Draco’s mouth, but pleasure and want only kept building up within him. So, he resorted submitting rather than complaining. “Oh, Harry.” 

“Yeah?” Harry hummed, fucking the plug slowly into Draco. “You like that?”

Draco closed his eyes, mouth going slack as he tilted his hips higher. He could come like this – untouched, only by the mercy of his plug and Harry’s fingers. “Hmmpphhh – Harry, fuck, fuck, fuck —” He was close again, cock sensitive from rubbing against the velvet couch. He thrashed under Harry, whimpers falling from his lips like a whispered prayer, a promise, a curse – begging for Harry to let him come. 

Without warning, Harry pulled the plug from Draco’s arse. Draco gasped. He could feel himself gaping and dripping from the lube, his hole desperate to be fucked. 

Harry shifted above him, dipping the cushion with his weight. Draco braced himself to be filled by Harry’s cock, but something wet, hotter, and softer pressed against his hole.

The moan that spilled from Draco’s mouth would’ve embarrassed him if it weren’t for the scorching pleasure soaring through him like lightning blazing through a sky. Harry’s mouth kissed Draco’s hole, tongue prodding at it like Draco was something to devour. 

Draco had never come from rimming before. No doubt, it was pleasurable to him, and it aroused him to the point of neediness, but he never found it to push him over the edge. It was a pleasure that crossed the line but not quite enough to finish him off. 

Until the moment Harry inserted a single finger alongside his tongue, pumping slowly until he was knuckle deep. Draco wanted to cry from it. He was certain he’d do anything just to come – he’d live and die and go to the ends of the earth if it meant Harry made him come by his tongue and finger. There wasn’t anything Draco wanted more. 

But like all the pleasure brought by Harry tonight, he pulled away, leaving Draco panting, desperate, wanting, on the verge of madness from it all. 

Draco was limp and boneless, sedated by being brought to the edge, as he let Harry turn him over to his back. 

“Fuck you, Potter,” he said weakly. 

“I fucking hate you, Draco,” Harry said. Both of them knew it didn’t matter if they hated each other or not – not when Harry was finally pushing inside Draco with a punched out gasp. 

The tension coiled within Draco like a whirlwind brewing through a thunderstorm. A tear rolled down his cheekbone when Harry’s cock slid inside of him, overwhelming relief rushing through him. Harry started moving, slowly and earnestly at first, like Draco was delicate and untouched. Like he was someone in need of softness. 

Sex with Potter was always rough. All claws and teeth – a hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, fingernails on Draco’s hips, and Potter’s filthy mouth panting against Draco’s ear. 

But sex with Harry – his Harry, was always gentle. Soft lips mouthing at the intricacy of Draco’s silver scars; calloused palms caressing the expanse of Draco’s body; lightning green eyes rolling back from pleasure. 

Draco didn’t know who he wanted more. But he’d always been a selfish man, unashamedly so. He decided he wanted to have them both. 

With what was left of his strength, he hiked both of his legs up and settled them atop Harry’s broad shoulders. Harry opened his eyes, mouth slightly agape in surprise as Draco gazed up at him in challenge. 

“Fuck me like you hate me, Potter,” he said through clenched teeth. 

Harry let out a breath, eyes darkening as he held Draco’s calves on his shoulders, hips pistolling into Draco like he was being paid for it. He fucked and fucked until Draco was reduced into aching hunger, his mouth only ever knowing how to moan Harry’s name. 

Above Draco, Harry was a powerful storm blazing through his violent desire. He was anger and rage and fire bursting into flames – a feverish desperation clinging to Draco’s bones. Draco wanted only to have him – all of him – both Potter and Harry. He thought he could die from it and live for it. He would kill for it. 

He opened his eyes just in time to marvel at Harry in all his orgasmic glory – mouth hung open and eyebrows furrowed as he pumped his hips harder and faster. Like he was desperate for this as much as Draco was. Like there was nothing he craved more than being inside Draco. 

It hit Draco when Harry opened his eyes in post-orgasmic haze, starlit emerald eyes telling more than words ever could. 

I hate you; I hate you; I love you. 

Draco came as he looked into Harry’s eyes, with Harry’s name falling from his lips like sinful and heavenly poetry all at once. 

[rosyfingered-moon]

2023 drama roundup

Unchained Love: I still hum the unhinged flute intro on a regular basis, easily my fave intro of 2023! I didn't actually finish the show due to dwindling interest, but for the first 14 episodes or so I took a keen pleasure in it (and it made me go on a eunuch webnovel spree, expertly curated by @mercipourleslivres). I love it when heroines are allowed to be truly funny, rather than just quirky or ditzy. Also appreciate the goofy Lamp Prince turning into a brutal incel tyrant the moment he got power.

Six Flying Dragons: I don't think I can write anything succinct enough for the roundup format so I direct you to my "my sfd tag" if you want to access my enthused livetweeting. Show of all times, lives were changed.

Tree with Deep Roots: I literally can't think of a better topic for a tv show than Sejong the Great constructing hangul together with his band of nerds, one of whom he has a weirdly intense, vaguely erotic relationship with. Han Suk-kyu carried this entire show on his trembling shoulders. What an actor! What range!!! It was such a treat to watch him smugly debate his ministers, roleplay a farmer, and hiss half-mad soliloquies to himself in the dark. It took nuance and depth to portray the kind of inner conflicts and generational trauma that Sejong battles in the background of this drama. To be honest I didn't always enjoy the Milbon subplot which I felt got repetitive, and often found myself wanting to fast-forward the wuxia scenes. In a better world the show would have centered the whip-smart palace maids and their alphabet workshops. But I will definitely rewatch this soon. And maybe also write a fix-it where Sejong and Soo-yi fuck idk.

Quartet: Cute little murder mystery about a found family of freaks, liked it a lot.

My Country: The New Age: As entertaining as ever. Very fun to rewatch this back to back with Tree with Deep Roots, since Jang Hyuk plays diametrically opposite characters with the same vigor and commitment.

Gone with the Rain: Sometimes you watch something which you understand is technically a masterpiece but it doesn't do anything for you, and sometimes you watch a piece of campy silly fun and it makes you tingle with joy. This was the latter category for me. I liked the first and middle parts enough to make up for the lukewarm fizzle of an ending.

The Autumn Ballad: Has some fucked up elements that are difficult to stomach, but the parts that are good are really good.

Not Others: Bingeable! But imo they could have cut out the stalker/murder cases and just focused on the excellent family drama.

The Matchmakers: This surprisingly swooped in towards the end of the year as my favorite comedy of 2023, all thanks to a rec by @haraxvati. I adore Cho Yi-hyun in this role!!! She is so hot as a shrewd matchmaker with a fake mole and a twinkle in her eye. Love the virgin prince with his yearning-induced panic attacks (Rowoon didn't work for me in The King's Affection in a quite similar role, but he's so much weirder and lamer here, which is something I like in a man). I am obsessed with the side plot of the crossdressing romance novelist and the solemn police officer who is trying to capture her and ends up giving her free home renovations and smouldering looks instead. Also, Park Ji-Young and Lee Hae-Young are two of my favorite villain actors on their own, and here they are married!! Still have a few episodes to go, but I intend to binge them as soon as I post this.

Dramas I dropped or paused:

Our Blossoming Youth: I shipped the heroine and her cute maidservant a little too much to bear the dull prince they stuck her with. But I might rewatch it some day bc I want to write a Sherlock Holmes fic for the girls.

Little Women: A real disappointment, because I love Louisa May Alcott and I love Jeong Seo-kyeong. Once again, letting the women kiss might have solved much of it.

Island: Casting Kim Nam-gil as an expressionless cool-guy action hero offends me personally. (Yes Song of the Bandits I'm giving you the stinky eye also.) But Lee Da-hee and Cha Eun-woo were delightful!

See you in my 19th life: I couldn't, even for my most darling Shin Hye-sun, go beyond episode 1. There's something about a kid dating another kid even though she's a literal adult inside her brain that I can't really vibe with.

My Dearest: I do intend to finish this, but I lost the thread after the first half. It got a little too dark for me I think.

[cursedonyx]

Hey, can you please write an interaction between Professor Fig and Sebastian? I always see Sebastian around Fig's classroom.

Gosh, this was really open-ended so I wasn’t sure which direction to go in! But I think we can all agree that Professor Fig is a great guy and Sebastian needs ALL the hugs.

Word Count – 3.1k

Warnings – Mild angst, I guess? Some comfort.

Set in Sebastian's 4th year at Hogwarts, a few months after Anne was cursed.

It was a cool autumn morning, the kind of morning where the air is crisp and hits the back of your nose with an almost minty sharpness. Eleazar Fig stood at the window in his classroom office, staring out over the grounds of Hogwarts Castle, admiring the turning of the leaves. This time of year was Miriam’s favourite, watching the lush greens slowly becoming butterscotch, marmalade and strawberry jam. She loved to describe things like food, as well. He hoped she’d write soon.

He smiled, rubbing the silver wedding ring on his finger, twisting it around. It was certainly good weather for the start of the weekend, and if he was any judge, the students would be outside, making the most of the last vestiges of warmth before autumn truly took over.

He turned, eyeing the papers on his desk with a light sigh. Essays to grade, letters to write, negotiations with Minister Spavin to plan. He gave a soft chuckle. They could wait a few more hours. A stroll around the grounds would be just the thing to get him energised for another day behind his desk.

Striding past his dark detectors and through the silent classroom, stepping through the beams of cool sunlight flooding through the high windows, catching swirling motes of dust, Eleazar reached the door and stepped out, almost falling headlong over a student.

He stepped back, staring down at the puddle of books surrounding a mop of messy, brown hair, the boy’s head bent to the enormous tome he was reading, seemingly oblivious to the fact he’d almost been trodden on.

“Mr Sallow?” Eleazar said. “What are you doing here?”

“Scribner kicked me out of the library,” he said, not looking up from his book. “Said I was being disrespectful.” He glanced up a moment, then went right back to his book, showing a flash of his freckled face and sharp brown eyes. “I wasn’t, I was only carrying these eight. She said I might drop them. It's not my fault she’s got anti-levitation charms on them.”

Eleazar eyed the hefty tomes spread out around him. He himself would struggle to carry them all the way up here without a levitation charm, let alone a fourteen-year-old boy. He crouched down.

“Perhaps it’s unwise to sit in front of a classroom door,” he said, gently. “I almost fell over you.”

“Sorry,” Sebastian said, tracing a line of text with his finger before shaking his head and flipping through a few pages. “I didn’t think anyone was here. It's the weekend.”

Eleazar tilted his head. “I presume this is homework?”

“Of a sort,” Sebastian replied, absently, flipping through a few more pages. “Sir, I’ll move in a minute, I just really need to get this done.”

Eleazar didn’t move. Balancing his elbows on his knees, sitting back on his haunches, he looked at the lad properly. His eyes were bagged, and he seemed to have lost weight. He’d been a chubby little thing when he’d first arrived at Hogwarts four years ago, alongside his twin sister, Anne Sallow. She’d been just as full-cheeked, her eyes the same mischievous brown, the pair of them making a beeline for the skinny Gaunt boy as soon as they were Sorted, sitting alone at the Slytherin table, the weight of his name already pushing the other students away from him.

Eleazar tilted his head. Anne had been cursed by goblins, of all things, a few weeks before the start of term. The bright and cheeky Slytherin boy had changed almost overnight, becoming withdrawn, irritable and distracted, spending almost every spare moment in the library or in Feldcroft, if the gossip amongst the portraits and professors was to be believed. It was said that Anne was in terrible pain.

“Is everything alright?” Eleazar asked, quietly.

Sebastian’s hands tightened on the book. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Just fine.” He glanced up again. “Sir, I really don’t want to be rude, but I really, really need to get this done.”

Eleazar’s smile was kind. “Perhaps you’d like to use the classroom?” he said. “No one will step on you there, and I’m sure you’d be more comfortable at a desk than huddled on the floor.”

“I’m fine,” Sebastian replied, though his shoulders bunched.

Eleazar chuckled and drew his wand, casting a nonverbal counter-charm to lift the anti-levitation one and waving it so the books surrounding the young Slytherin rose into the air, including the one in his hands.

“Hey!”

Sebastian scrambled to his feet as Eleazar opened the door and marched through, the books hovering before him. He set them down on one of the desks by the front of the classroom, eyeing the covers. By the scampering footsteps behind him, Sebastian had followed. Eleazar picked up the one he’d been reading and held it out.

“Countering Curses, Volume Three?” he said. “Mr Sallow, this is rather advanced reading. I wouldn’t expect my seventh-year students to study this beyond a few chapters.”

Sebastian snatched for it, his expression fierce, hugging it to his chest. “I was just curious,” he muttered. “I want to know about the theory behind it.”

Eleazar chuckled. “Well, my boy, I happen to teach Magical Theory. Do you have any specific questions? Perhaps I can help.”

Sebastian blinked, and the flicker of a smile touched his lips. He seemed to stand a little taller, his expression becoming shrewd, one that Eleazar was used to seeing on Slytherin faces.

“I guess I’ve got a few…” he said, putting the book on the desk with the others. “I’m not keeping you from anything, am I? Sir?”

“Not at all,” Eleazar said, waving his wand and bringing a couple of chairs over. He settled in one of them, and Sebastian perched in the other, resting his feet on the rung, clasping his hands and leaning forward, his expression eager and earnest. He nibbled his lip, his brows drawing together a moment before he straightened.

“Making new spells,” he said. “How do you do that?”

“Ah, beginning with a difficult one, I see,” Eleazar chuckled. He’d expected nothing less from such a curious student. “Well, one must have a thorough understanding of Magical Theory, to begin with. The nature of magic itself isn’t completely understood. You would need to combine an incantation in Latin that describes in brief what the spell should do with a specific and unique wand movement, but the true mastery of creating spells is the intent behind it. It's rather difficult, and if done improperly, can go very wrong.”

“Why?”

“Because magic is governed by strict laws, such as-”

“Gamp’s Laws, Waffling’s Laws, and Golpalott's Laws are the main ones,” Sebastian said instantly, and Eleazar raised his brows.

“Precisely,” he said.

“I already know them,” Sebastian said. “And I can speak Latin fluently, I learned in First Year when I realised all the spells would be in Latin. So me making a spell shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

“Well, having a grasp of the Laws is a good start,” Eleazar said, his brow creasing. “Are you really fluent in Latin?”

“Ita. Haud difficile est,” Sebastian said, with a grin. “And I learned some Ancient Greek, and Phoenician, Aramaic and Cyrillic as well, and I’ve spoken Gaelic since I was a kid.”

Now that was unexpected. “Any more languages you plan on adding to your roster?” Eleazar said, a little weakly. The boy knew more languages than he and Miriam did together, and he was fourteen.

“Well, I tried to get Ominis to teach me Parseltongue, but he only taught me some swears after I annoyed him for a week straight, and he told me my pronunciation sounds like a troll farting,” Sebastian said, then blushed a little. “Sorry, sir, I probably shouldn’t have said that. Don’t tell him I told you he can speak to snakes, he doesn’t like it.”

“I assumed he could, given his heritage,” Eleazar swept a hand over his flyaway grey hair. “Understanding these languages will certainly give you a head start in understanding more about Magical Theory, many of the old texts are written in these tongues.”

“I know, that’s why I learned them,” Sebastian said. “Well, not for Magical Theory specifically, but…” he tailed off, his expression growing thoughtful once more. “I suppose if one can create a spell, they can make a counter-spell too?”

“That would be essential,” Eleazar said. “Finite Incantatem only works for certain minor spells, and even so, if a powerful witch or wizard cast a hex, for example, you would have to be equally powerful in order to counteract it with such a general charm. A spell without a counter could cause chaos.”

“Or you could just knock the caster out,” Sebastian shrugged. “But… that doesn’t always work, does it? If someone’s unconscious, or dead, some spells can linger, right?”

“It depends on the spell,” Eleazar replied, eyeing him curiously. He was far cleverer than he’d given him credit for, and that was saying something. Yes, the other professors often said how smart this boy was, but to experience it for himself… it was almost like conversing with a wizard of age. Briefly, he wondered what had happened to make the poor lad grow up so fast, aside from his parents dying and his sister being cursed. No, this was a long-standing early maturation, without the experience of life to support it. His concern grew, and not just about the subject matter. “Mr Sallow, I have to ask. Why are you so curious about this?”

“Just am,” he shrugged. “My parents liked learning, I guess I picked it up from them. So… counter-spells…” he met Eleazar’s eyes and looked away quickly. “If a spell doesn’t have one, how hard is it to make a counter to it?”

Eleazar loosed a silent, slow sigh. The boy was inching towards what he really wanted to know. There was little point in dancing around the subject, but then, he didn’t want to frighten him away by telling him outright that he knew what he was doing. He had to be sure the lad had all the information he needed before he tried something that could very well get him killed, and he couldn’t risk him running off half-cocked.

“Extremely hard,” he said. “If the spell in question is well-known, there’s a chance there’s already a counter for it. If there isn’t, but you’re familiar with the spell itself, you can begin to use logic and reasoning to deduce what elements went into creating it, and thus, what can cancel it. This will then lead you to the experimentation phase, though this is the most dangerous of all. Magic will not violate the laws it’s governed by, and if someone tries to create a spell that breaks these laws, it will try to mould itself to the laws, often with disastrous results.”

Sebastian made a face. “Right, okay, that’s useful, sir. But…” he fidgeted a little. “What about a curse?”

“Creating a counter-curse is perhaps the most difficult and dangerous of all,” Eleazar said. “It’s why Curse-Breaking is such a highly-paid position at the Ministry.”

“But it can be done, right?”

“It can, yes.”

“What if you don’t know what the curse is?”

There it was. The real reason he’d been sitting outside his classroom, buried in books, waiting to catch his interest and softening his already gentle heart. The reason he’d been so adamant in researching day and night, turning up to breakfast late, falling asleep in classes other than History of Magic, turning in rushed, but somehow still excellent essays.

At this moment, Eleazar Fig would have given his wand arm to be able to tell the poor lad anything other than the only answer he had.

“I’m sorry, Sebastian,” Eleazar said. “If you don’t know what the curse is, there is no safe way to reverse it.”

“That can’t be right!” Sebastian cried, jumping to his feet. He paced a little, staring around the room as if someone else would appear and tell him something different. “What if… what if you had a list of curses, and went through them all, trying each counter-curse?”

“I’m afraid that could be just as detrimental as another curse,” Eleazar said, gently. “Curses react differently to attempts to break them, and unless you know what it is, such effects could prove devastating.”

“But…” he bit his lip, his expression switching back and forth between pain and anger so fast Eleazar wondered for a moment if someone had cast a jinx on him. “But… there’s got to be something! You can’t just tell me there’s no way to fix it! How can I find out what it is?”

Eleazar stood up, watching as Sebastian ran his hands through his hair, his teeth bared as he kept looking wildly around the classroom, as if an answer would appear before them. Eleazar wished one would.

“Some of the most gifted Curse-Breakers would struggle to find out what a curse is, especially if it’s not normal wizarding magic,” he said, softly, but Sebastian spun, glaring.

“I never said it was goblin magic!” he barked.

“Neither did I,” Eleazar replied, gently. “Sebastian, I know you’re looking to help your sister. Believe me, if there was a way for me to help, I would. But I understand your uncle has already tried many avenues.”

“He’s not tried them all!” Sebastian snapped. “He gave up after a month! It’s not fair, it’s not right! He didn’t even try, not really, he’s just letting her sit there in that horrible pain, like he wants her to hurt! It’s…” he drew a sharp breath, his voice cracking. “It’s not… It’s n-not fair.”

He stopped pacing, and his face crumpled. He raised his hands to cover his face, hunching forward, weeping. Eleazar raised a hand, and hesitated. It was a long-standing rule of Hogwarts that Professors should minimize contact with the students in order to toughen them up, preparing them for the real world. It was never a rule that sat right with him.

He pulled the young Slytherin into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Sebastian stiffened immediately, tensing so that he seemed to become stone. Then he sank forward, his hands finding the back of Eleazar’s robes, sobbing into his shoulder.

“I-it’s not fair,” he said again, his breath hitching. “She’s hurting so bad, and I can’t help her! I have to help her! Solomon won’t, he won’t even look anymore!”

There was nothing Eleazar could say that would make it right. There was no advice he could give that would help. There were no answers. Goblin magic was jealously guarded from wizards just as their own was hidden from them. Even an experienced Curse-Breaker would struggle to find a cure, and he couldn’t think of a single one that would even attempt it, for the risk it would pose to Anne.

So he settled for holding the young lad tight, trying to pour as much comfort into the hug as he could as Sebastian cried against his shoulder. He’d never had the talent for comforting people like Miriam did. She always seemed to know the right thing to do and to say, and he wished she was here to support this poor boy as his world fell apart around him. Perhaps he could ask her to stop by the castle once she’d finished her research. She’d know what to do to help the Sallow twins.

He took Sebastian by the shoulders and held him firm as Sebastian scrubbed his sleeve over his face, his breathing ragged.

“I wish there was more I could do,” he said, softly. “But Sebastian… you must be careful. Meddling in magic like this could prove very dangerous, for both you and your sister. You must know what you’re doing before you even think about beginning any experiments.”

Sebastian nodded, seemingly distracted, and Eleazar’s lips formed a thin line.

“I mean it,” he said, firmly. “You must be careful. If you even think for a moment that you’ll try creating a counter-curse to goblin magic…” he sighed. “I hope you’ll come to me first. We can work out any issues before you try it. I don’t want you to be hurt, or worse, and I don’t want anything you try to make things harder for Anne.”

Sebastian managed a brave smile. “Thank you, Professor. I… I will.” He sniffed, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. “Am I… can I go? Ominis will want to know.”

Eleazar nodded, releasing him.

“If you ever need anything, even if it’s not to do with Magical Theory, I’m here,” he said, softly. “I’d like it if you talked to me. I’ll do what I can to help.”

Sebastian stepped back, a faint hope lighting behind his eyes, and he turned and dashed from the classroom. Eleazar sank back into his seat, eyeing the books left spread over the desk. He could only hope, and perhaps pray, that the lad wouldn’t try anything silly in the meantime. Clever he may be, but there were some things that just shouldn’t be tampered with. He’d have to keep an eye on him, and he would. Only something desperately important would keep him from making sure the young Slytherin didn’t get into any trouble.

[fibey234]

The Ministers of Seasons :)

I started drawing this last night, and today (all day) I just painted and shaded it...

The Minister of Summer took me the most time, and also the dress of the Minister of Winter..

I think the girls were the MOST challenging for me.. lol

and finally all the 4 ministers are together in full ensemble! :)

The Pixie Hollow's kingdom's ministers pose for a joint photo:

Minister of Summer: What a perfect day to take pictures together! We have never done this…

Minister of Winter: I agree with you, Bestie. It's just a shame that it's a bit hot here.. Please, do it quickly.. I have to go back to colder air.. It's not healthy for my wings.

Minister of Spring: Shhh… I have to come out perfect in the picture! Is my leaf crown standing still?

Minister of Autumn: Take your time, I'm not in a hurry.

_______

Art by: Ruthi Batash.

[ask-de-writer]

SUBMARINE! 1812 an Alternate History

Chapter 7, part 3 of 6

Winter in England

by

De Writer

Return to the Master Story Index

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We forged on, guided by compass alone for most of the time. The storm finally failed and we rose to periscope depth. Looking about I saw no ships in sight but there were welcome breaks in the cloud wrack above us, letting me get a navigation sight. That sighting combined with our chronometer reading and some figuring showed that we were over half way to our destination but had been carried further north than I would have liked.

Laying in our corrected course we proceeded to stalk the Beast of Britain.

~ ~ ~

The Gazelle pulled out of the rough waters of the sea and into the calmer waters of the Thames estuary. Carefully picking her way westward up the river, she passed the London Bridge and pulled up to a river dock close by to the Houses of Parliament, where she discharged her diplomatic pouch and returned down river to the sea, turning south and into the English Channel. Her weather was, for a wonder, clear as she made her way to the crowded Harbor of Portsmouth to resupply and give her crew a well earned shore liberty. This last crossing had been a rough one.

In London, the Foreign Office disclosed Sir Lional's Note to the Prime Minister who erupted in rage! “This is an outrage! Sir Lional proposes that we seek to have peace with the Continental Congress over this? Mere Congreves?”

The Foreign Officer nodded, “We feel the same. It is true that their battle group did us great harm this summer and autumn past but they have withdrawn and we are even now working to equip two Ships of the Line with our best Congreves. We have already consulted with Whitehall and we all agree with you. We need to recall Sir Lional at the least.”

The Prime Minister leaned back in his thickly upholstered chair and took a long pull at his pipe. He let out a cloud of smoke before replying, “There is but one possible difficulty with replacing Sir Lional. His Majesty King George III. He has the Right of Review and can simply say No to anything that we or Parliment propose.” He held up a hand and went on, “Therefore, let us repair to Buckingham Palace and get His Royal approval first. With that in hand, we and Parliment can proceed without issue.”

They had to delay some at the Great Gate of Buckingham while the Guards verified that the King was willing to see them at this late hour of the day. They were ushered to a modest room deep in the Palace, where His Royal Majesty was having a quiet supper.

He gestured hospitably to chairs at the end of his table, but they knew that it was a blunt command. “Gentlemen, I do hope that your business is urgent. My audiences for the day are closed. So, what is it that demands such a violation of Protocol?”

“It is, Your Majesty. This very day, the message Packet, Gazelle left a diplomatic pouch from Sir Lional Humphries, Ambassador to the Continental Congress. In it, besides his usual reports and the like was a Note filled with outrageous claims and recommending that we conclude a treaty of peace with the Continental Congress, lest we feel their wrath on our Home Island.”

“Indeed, Gentlemen, that does not sound like the Sir Lional that I know. He is normally very level headed. I would expect that he has some sound reason to write such a thing. Have you the Note itself?”

The Prime Minister nodded, “We have, Your Majesty. Here it is.” He passed the Note to a servant who carried it to the King.

He spent some time examining what was written there. Tapping his finger upon the calculations concerning the Continental Congress' new missiles, he inquired, “Have you considered, Gentlemen, that these might be correct and the ranges publicly announced are far short of the reality? We have very direct evidence that they do possess some quite good Congreves. We have lost a good many ships to them.”

“We have, Your Majesty. We have spent the afternoon consulting many experts, including Sir Congreve himself. Besides not having enough ships to mount a serious invasion, we feel that the missile demonstration that he recounts had to be some sort of hoax.

“We wish to at the least, recall Sir Lional to be interrogated by Parliament. This call for an end to a war that we did not declare may be treason. Therefore, Your Majesty, we seek your approval before hand so that Parliament can handle the details of his recall without fear of a Royal Review.”

“I see.” He signaled a courtier and scribbled a note. “Have this prepared for my signature at once. One original and three file copies.”

For once, the nearly always obstreperous Parliament was in agreement. Doing it's business still took long into the night simply because every MP and every one of the Lords wanted to weigh in and have their speech in the record.

The actual vote to replace Sir Lional Humphries as Ambassador and recall him to be questioned before Parliament was a formality and quickly done. Choosing a properly hard line man as Ambassador to the Continental Congress took longer.

Speeches were still going on and general indignation about Sir Lional's cowardly advocating of Peace terms, when Sir Cootinar took horse and set out across the London Bridge and raced through the streets of London on his errand. By midnight, he was well out of the city, on his way to Portsmouth Harbor.

In spite of some rough weather in the English Channel, the Kraken proceeded silently and stealthily to round the eastern end of the English Isle. Entering the Thames Estuary, guided by periscope alone, we made for a particular and exacting location, actually well into London town as evening was falling.

I called cheerfully, “Set both fore and after hooks! The bottom here should be sound enough for our needs! Gentlemen of the Kraken, you wondered why we bypassed so many fine targets on our way here!? This is the answer. We are going to strike at the very heart of the British Empire.

“The tide is rising. When it is near full, and well after dark, we shall surface, held firmly by boyancy and our anchors. That will give us the stable platform to deliver our message to the Beast of Britain. They are Not Safe even in their most secure places!”

It took several hours for the tide and time to be right. Rising up until our decks were only a foot above the river, hatches opened. Lifting equipment was set up and pulled up launchers that were placed along the length of the deck.

The lean and deadly rockets that Sir Lional so rightly feared, were hoisted up and set into their launchers. Careful bearings and angles were passed down the line.

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[the-monkey-ruler]

Are there more stories about what demons Erlang has faced? Or more stories about him or where his character is included? I'm aware of Journey to the West, fsyy, the story with his mother and Lotus Lantern, but I was wondering if there were other stories where his character appears.

There are a lot of stories with him but they are more like legends than like narrative tales so to speak. Xiyouji, FSYY, and Lotus Lantern are novels and plays that allow full narratives that Erlang Shen features in but none really show the full extent of his character as he is more of a feature character than ever the protagonist.

Erlang's control of water is Erlang Shen's first and greatest achievement was water control and water control and made him a famous water god. With Erlang God's water control as the core, it radiates into legends such as killing dragons and slaying dragons.

Carrying mountains to catch the sun was from the Kaixi Period of the Song Dynasty, the "Inscription of the Induction of King Zhaohui Lingxian" describes the Erlang Shen as "the majesty of disturbing the mountain to take advantage of the sun, and the bravery of crossing the sea to capture the dragon.

The legend of Erlang Shen leading his divine soldiers and generals to search the mountains and succumb to demons can be found in the volume "Searching the Mountains", also known as the "Erlang Shen Searching the Mountains".

In the Five Dynasties, there is a legend about Erlang capturing an evil dragon. "Shu Shu": "The New Year's Banquet in June, "Guankou Divine Team" by Jiaofang Haiyu. The image of the two dragons fighting, the sky and the earth were dark for a moment, and there was heavy rain and hail. The Qing Dynasty's "Sichuan General Chronicle" locks the dragon: " It is said that Erlang locked the evil dragon in it. When frost falls and water falls, you may sometimes see it locked in the clouds."

In the Song Dynasty, there were a lot of themes of Erlang killing dragons. The Erlang who spent money usually rode an eagle and followed the dog. The entourage held a bow and stood a three-pointed two-edged sword beside him to subdue the dragon or the dragon transformed into a human body.

In the early days, Erlang Shen's divinity mainly came from Li Bing, who controlled floods. Guankou Erlang Shen controlled wind and rain, and Li Erlang's main deeds were also to capture dragons and control floods.

The "Stele Record of the Divine Blessing King" written by Zhou Hu of the Southern Song Dynasty (1170-1231) records that in 1206 AD, that is, the second year of Kaixi, Erlang Shen helped him fight against the Jin Dynasty and achieved a major turning point. Therefore, Emperor Ningzong of the Song Dynasty named Erlang Shen "Saint Martyr Zhaohui to protect the country".

As the belief in Erlang Shen spread widely, the priesthood of Erlang Shen also expanded as he was seen as a protector of the country's spirit. The "Nangong County Chronicle" of the Republic of China quoted Lu Zhongfu from Jin Zhangzong as saying: "In the autumn of the fifth year of Zhenglong (1160), the giant locusts covered the sky and ate all the acres. There were reports of hunger everywhere, the price of grain soared, and county people rushed to pray at the temple of Erlang Shen. The locusts dispersed and did not stay in the area. Fortunately, they were harmless at this time."

Erlang Shen is not only a god with vast supernatural powers and remarkable spiritual responses, but he was also regarded as the god of drama in the Ming Dynasty and was worshiped by Liyuan.

The Cuju industry also respects Erlang as the god of the industry and follows his character of playing games in the world.

Erlang God was revered as the "Lord of Sichuan" and became the god who protected the people of Sichuan from living and working in peace and contentment.

Song Zhang Tangying's " Sichuan Prayer " records: "(Qiande) in the second year of August, (Wang) Yan patrolled the north, and Prime Minister Wang Kai judged the guards of the six armies. The banners and flags were inexhaustible for hundreds of miles. Yan's military uniforms, Wearing golden armor, a beaded hat, and brocade sleeves, he holds a bow and carries an arrow. The people look at him and say he is like a 'guan-kou god'." Erlang Shen is equipped with a hound, an eagle, and a slingshot. It is a standard image of the hunting god, capable of restraining birds, beasts, mountain spirits, and wild monsters.

Because Erlang Shen carried a slingshot, he was attached to the function of delivering children by later generations. Because the slingshot is homophonic with "birth", it means birth. Almost every Erlang temple has people seeking children, which is the basic priesthood of Erlang Shen.

Tianqi was built in southern Fujian during the Chongzhen period of the Fengshan Ancestral Temple in the Ming Dynasty, the belief in Erlang Shen has formed a water god worship with strong local characteristics of southern Fujian in southern Fujian. There are now three statues in the Fengshan Ancestral Temple, which are called "Ambassador", "Second Ambassador" and "Third Ambassador", and "Ambassador" is the Erlang Shen in people's minds

I'm taking this all from his page so if you want a more detailed explanation I would suggest looking it into yourself because there is SO MUCH information about Erlang Shen being such a well-known figure and hero of legend that no way I can fit it all in one post but I hope this gives people an idea just how grand Erlang Shen's legend is and just how rich in both history and lore he is!