#until the ice begins to thaw

[midwrites]

I already know what Ice!au electric boogaloo I just need you to post a snippet <3

I should say no and leave you hungering for more tbh <3

Anyways here's a snippet of the second chapter of what makes a (good) man or my permawinter post-apocalypse AU:

There’s no breath left in him when he’s done, his arms falling limp like wet noodles onto his sides as he watches the first cow walk past him with a bellowing moo, watching in awe through his unfocused gaze how more gentle giants follow, barely paying any notice to him. He laughs he thinks, or screams. Tommy’s not sure, unable to decipher the hoarse raspy sound that leaves his throat at the rush of adrenaline that floods his body. And then there’s the hiss. The rustling of brambles across the gate Tommy barely registers before he takes one step back. Then another, shifting through the animals as vile threatens to claw up his throat at the hollow gurgle that can be heard from the vegetation just a few steps behind him. Let the boy feed! Let the boy live! He tries not to run. God, does he try. The cows keep marching, immutable, when Tommy scrambles past, his eyes fixed in the brambles where the low murmur that has begun to soar. Still whisper thin, but real enough to make some of the animals turn their heads. Tommy is faster than that. Smarter too. Staying would be utter insanity. He is getting into that van and telling Sol to get away from here as soon as he’s sitting— And then the ground gives way. No snow under his feet, his boots slipping on the ice, refusing to catch him before he falls face first and there’s only pain. Pain, cold, and numbness creeping up his legs where his knees have met the ground. There’s gonna be an ugly scrape there when he pulls up his trouser. Sol will worry. God, he hopes Sol wouldn’t worry so much.

[hopesangelsprite]

Your Touch

Summary: A thought that turned into me writing at nearly 1:00 am 💀

Warnings: language, fingering, biting (sexually and not sexually at the same time-), groping, grinding if you squint, manipulation (this is Illumi we're talking about... bffr)

There are many, many things we don't know about Illumi Zoldyck. For example his birthday, the full extent of his power, his total body count, etc. But we can safely say that Illumi Zoldyck is one touch starved mf 💀.

We know that he didn't have the best upbringing or most affectionate parents, so we can safely assume that the only reason he doesn't have to Google what a hug is is because of his expensive ass education and the things he's seen on television. So, imagine his shock when his wife is one of the most affectionate people on the planet.

At first he's appalled and thoroughly considers getting an immediate divorce. Then, ever so slowly, that insanely thick layer of ice on his heart begins to thaw. Those hugs he used to blatantly reject? He welcomes them albeit stiffly. If you ask him how he's feeling now, he's less likely to release bloodlust with the intent to kill you. He even finds himself seeking situations that naturally warrant your love and affection being directed solely toward him.

And just like he usually does, Illumi becomes obsessed. Forget about sleeping on your own ever again. Night after night, his cold body is either completely on top of yours or pressed firmly against your backside. When he's on top of you, settle in for the night and kiss bathroom trips goodbye because he's not moving until sunrise. When he's spooning you, both his hands station themselves in two spots: one on your chest, the other between your thighs on your crotch.

The amount of times you've fallen asleep breathless because his hands have a mind of their own is insane. The amount of times you've tried to fall asleep but couldn't because Illumi wanted to see you cum on his fingers is even crazier. And he swears he wasn't even thinking about it. You could be overstimulated and crying before he pauses in the middle of you coming. "My bad, kinda spaced out a little there.", he whispers in a voice so even it's almost believable, "I suppose I should reward you for being so patient with me, right?". Then he's back to abusing your holes. Even though you might be missing sleep, Illumi's never slept better.

When he's not terrorizing you're sensitive spots in the night, he makes sure that no matter where you are that he's got his hands somewhere on you. In a car heading somewhere? His hand's on your thigh, kneading it "absentmindedly". At a party for reconnaissance or a hit? His hands only leave your hips when absolutely necessary. Relaxing while he's in the room? Be prepared to be moved from your spot onto his lap with a quickness. If you're already in comfy spot, he won't hesitate to climb into your lap instead.

Either way his teeth will find your skin shortly afterward. This is another thing he discovered that brought him comfort. There's nothing like coming home from a long day of murder and espionage to mark you're pretty little wife up out of pure, twisted love. Bonus points if you squirm a bit while he's marking a path across your throat. Bonus bonus points if you bite him back, now you've got him started. Say you don't encourage his not so innocent behavior, he'll relax and tell you all that's been on his mind recently. It's a perfect time to bond in more ways than one.

All of those things are good and all, but his absolute favorite way of showing his affection is practically glueing his hips to your ass whenever your bent over. Say you drop a utensil while you're in the kitchen or need to grab something from under a cabinet. No matter how far away in the house he is, within seconds his big hand is on the small of your back and his crotch is nestled perfectly against your ass.

Then, to make things even eerier, he'll say shit like "My my, that was a hard fall... you should be more careful next time." or "What have I told you about putting your ass in the air without me around, someone could take advantage of you. Now bend a little lower for me.". He's such a loving husband that he makes sure to punctuate each sentence with a warning thrust or a hearty slap.

Illumi Zoldyck may be touch starved, but he's slowly making up for lost time every step of the way.

[gravedigginbbydoll]

winter’s cold touch

Jotun! Loki x Huntress! Reader Smut

You find yourself and your village in the midst of winter, struggling to survive. But as fate would have it, you meet a powerful being willing to offer you a deal…

CW: MDNI!! survival, fear, temperature play, rough, penetration, P in V, light choking, hair pulling, spitting, worshiping, dom! Loki, overstimulation, deals, size difference, monster! Loki, textured! (Iykyk), flavored body fluid, magic? At play, etc.

The gusting wind was biting and cutting straight through your layers. You knew today would be one of the coldest of the year, but also knew that you needed extra food and supplies for the village, as people were beginning to run out. This winter had been an especially hard one, what with two elders dying and hardly any meat to hunt. Your village had survived off vegetables alone for the most part, and the children were growing sicker.

You cursed Ullr, god of the hunt. Surely he would have spared a few moments for his people.

But alas, it seemed as though the gods had all but forgotten your tiny village.

Your nearly frostbitten hands clutched desperately at your furs, blinded by the storm and flurries. Your people had begged you to stay inside and wait, but you snuck out. Which was a foolish decision, truthfully, as you could die out here and never be found. But you knew you needed to do something for the village.

Your people were fearful to wander out past the river after tales from nearby traders and towns circled of a large blue monster, something with eyes as red as blood and skin seemingly made of rock. The creature was described in whispered tones as a possible jötun, or giant, roaming Midgard for some strange reason. You knew this tale was probably just a trick of the light, someone spotting a rock or even animal and assuming the worst.

You began to feel your fingers go numb as you attempted to trek through the snow, cursing aloud. You squinted to look around, spying mostly trees…until you held a hand over your brow, blocking out most of the flurries of snow. A cave, off in the distance. Shelter.

Now you knew as a hunter and gatherer that entering a cave was an act of stupidity unless one was readily aware to fight. Bears and other predators enjoyed caves and made them their homes. However, you also knew that without that shelter, you may have lost all your limbs to the ice and snow.

So you trekked forward.

Once near the entrance, you smelled…smoke?

It seemed someone had come into the cave and lit a fire.

You cursed under your breath, looking up and praying to the gods that whoever was on the other end may be a kind soul.

“Hello?,” You called out, walking slowly into the cave. Though it was still cold, you felt your body begin to warm up slightly, bringing that sharp stinging pain of thawing along with it. A nuisance, yes, but a reminder that you were still alive.

You were met with silence.

You decided to walk back towards the fire in the distance, still armed and alert. Once you reached it, you noted a fire with no attendee, and the remains of a meal left. It seemed whoever had taken refuge here had since moved on. You sat down cautiously by the fire, your stomach pained from hunger as you stared at the leftovers of a meal, clearly gone cold. You couldn’t fight it any longer. With a hand still clutching your dagger, you shovelled the meat and vegetables in your mouth, moaning at the taste of something other than just your rations. You greedily lapped up the plate, praising whatever foolish stranger had left this haven for you to find.

Once you had eaten and warmed up by the fire, you felt a lull of sleep coming over you, and tried your best to fight it, only to nod off by the fire, clearly exhausted from fighting the cold.

When you awoke, your eyes were first met with blue. Blue carved skin like that of a rock, the skin bare… except for some gold armor plating and what looked to be an armoured loincloth? You froze and your mind raced. The creature was large, its head nearly touching the ceiling, with long black hair that reached its shoulders. You could not fight this being. You tried to even your breathing, hoping somehow, you could pretend to be asleep and take it by surprise. You tried to look around, your heart pounding in your chest, attempting to formulate a plan, a way to-

“I know you’re awake, little huntress,” The creature’s voice teased, the tone smooth and masculine.

You stayed still, bracing yourself. This was it. You were to die in this cave like a fool and-

“Come sit by the fire. We have much to discuss.”

You sat up slowly, keeping your eye on the creature as you felt around for your dagger only to find…dirt. Your eyes scanned the space only to see the creature holding your knife in its fingers, the instrument laughably tiny in his hands.

“No worries, little one. I will not harm you. Now come sit.”

His tone was teasing, almost mischievous. You were reminded of tales of forest tricksters and spirits who thrived off of chaos in the human realm. You needed to be careful.

You came towards the fire, sitting across from the creature. In the dim light of the cave, You could see his blue skin with thin grooves in it, like a carved rock. He wore golden armour and a pair of…horns? You took note of the creature's deep red eyes and long straight nose. His lips held a bit of a sly smile, as he arched a dark eyebrow at you.

“Enjoying the show?”

You held your ground, jaw tight and teeth clenched.

He sighed, poking at the fire and seemingly…bored?

“Midgardians used to be a lot more fun.”

You stared at the being, feeling fury rising up through your body into your throat. You tried to bite your tongue. Try being the key word.

“Perhaps being fun is less of a concern when lives are on the line,” You gritted out.

The creature blinked at you for a minute before grinning in amusement. “Quite a fiery huntress you are, hm?”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks and anger drum in your chest. The creature viewed you as a cute little biting pup, something to coo at and laugh.

“Besides, if there’s an issue…I could be of help. Surely we can make a deal?”

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as your brain quickly went through all the fables and tales you grew up with. One message was clear: Never make a deal.

You shook your head, standing up, and trying to be as stern as possible. “No, I think I will be on my way,” you stated as calmly as possible. Your hands were clenched at your sides to prevent them from shaking. “If you could give me back my dagger, I will be going.”

The creature grinned, shaking its head. “In this weather? You will be lost or dead in minutes. And you won’t find any of the supplies or food you need to bring back to your village.”

You blinked at the creature, confused as to how it knew, only for it’s smile to transform to some look of secrecy. “I take an interest in observing Midgardians.”

You stared down the creature, trying to feign confidence. “And how could you help us?”

He fiddled around with your dagger, seemingly bored. His voice was light and airy, as if discussing his day rather than a possibly dangerous deal. “I am…a sorcerer…of sorts. I can multiply your current food supply and ensure there are animals to hunt. I can also multiply your wood. Enough to survive the harsh months and have some left over.”

You bit your lip, considering the possibilities. You could help your people. You could end this before you lost any more villagers. But you knew there was always a trick.

“And what do I give you in return?,” You asked, trying to keep your voice even. You knew some frost trolls and giants (which is what you assumed this…thing…was.) desired to eat human flesh. You also knew that everything came with a price.

The giant stared at you, before seemingly shrinking down a bit. The creature was still massive, but closer to a very large human’s size. He came near you after tossing your dagger to the side haphazardly, his ice cold fingers going to touch your neck. The action sent a shiver down your back, your skin raising with goosebumps. He seemingly was intrigued by you and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “I desire you.”

You swallowed, your heart racing as you tried to control your breathing. “Wh-what do you mean?”

The frost giant pulled back and ran a finger under your jawline, tilting your chin up at him, smirk on his face. “It’s been nearly a century since I’ve bedded a human. One gets tired of their own hand.”

You felt your face burn as you tried to back away, mind racing with the thoughts of being bedded by this ginormous being, and what differences there were in anatomy.

“N-no, I think-”

The frost giant's eyes darkened as it leaned in closer, its breath hot on your face. “I can bring your pleasures never heard of, little one. I can make you see stars and give you such a holy experience that you may worship me,” His voice was a low rumbling growl, his words sending desire straight to your core and snatching the breath from your lungs. His nostrils flared and his eyes rolled back in his head as he chuckled darkly, grinning.

“You smell…absolutely sinful, little one. Don’t tell me you don’t desire this as much as I do.”

You swallowed, your brain swimming with visions of this creature bedding you. You were a woman of little words and needs, and often the time spent trying to care for the village took away much opportunity to indulge your wants fully. You bit your lip, thinking of your people, and how much weight this deal would take off their shoulders. Your stomach twisted at the idea while your heart raced and your core began getting slicker with desire. You steeled your nerves and began to strip off your furs, standing as bare as you felt comfortable to be in front of the creature.

“It’s a deal.”

The giant smirked, before it’s expression went dark once more. Your heart raced at the change in his demeanor.

“Kneel.”

You blinked up at the creature, bewildered. “Sorry?”

The creature growled deeply, eyes in a hard stare as it stood to full height, a little over twice your size, still intimidating in nature. “I said kneel.”

You scoff, shaking your head while opening your mouth to snap at the creature, when he growled, fingers lacing into your hair and pulling, causing you to fall to your knees. The pain stirred something deep inside you, making you slicker with wetness and your chest and face burn at the humiliation.

“You will praise me. I am your god now, little huntress.”

While you tried to ignore the somewhat stirring lust within you at being ordered, you couldn’t help but be curious. You looked up at the giant who dropped his loin cloth to reveal his hardened member, the shaft lined with ridges and lines similarly to the rest of his body, and a similar chill came off of it. You reached out gingerly to hold it in your hand, the weight shocking you. His cock felt hard like a smooth stone but cool to the touch and lined with etching and ridges. You find yourself stroking him, staring in fascination. His growls mingle with his moaning, his voice growing thick with desire.

“Now taste me. I want your mouth, little huntress,” He groaned out, eyes still glued onto you. You felt your core clench around nothing before leaning down to give a tentative lick, finding yourself drawn in for more. You opened your mouth and slid down the impressive girth, barely able to reach past the middle of the shaft. You tasted wintergreen and musk, involuntarily moaning. Deep down you knew this creature was no ordinary frost giant, the taste of its skin pulling out some type of ferocious lust in you. You bobbed your head up and down, drool slipping from your lips and covering both his cock and the floor. Your knees ached against the cold stone floor, yet the chill was somehow desired because the heat within you was unbearable. The creature, this god, held onto your hair, beginning to lead your head, becoming more forceful as his moans and growls became more wild. You were eventually pulled off with a vulgar pop, strings of spit coating the large member and dripping down your chin.

The giant grinned menacingly at you, red eyes burning you from the inside out. “Such a good little pet. So obedient for your savior.”

You nodded wordlessly, unable to reply, mind clouded with lust.

The giant still gripping your hair pushed you in the opposite direction, your face immediately going against the stone floor, your body on all fours. The creature then chuckled darkly, clearly able to see your slick wetness through your garments. A shocking ripping noise echoed through the cave and you felt a relief of a cooling air on your cunt, which felt as though it was dipped in the fires of Muspelheim. The giant moaned at the sight, it’s impressive hands gripping your backside and digging in what felt like claws. You heard him spit, and then felt the icy liquid touch your center, moaning at the tingling sensation it caused, making your already sensitive core aflame with need.

“Please, god, please, I will do anything you wish, please,” You found yourself saying, your mind focused on lust and desire. You would never usually react this way, always wanting to be in control and in charge of yourself, but this…being…this…deity made you wild.

You felt a sudden thrust into your core, your back arching in pleasure as the giant forcefully thrust in, your cunt pulsating with pain and pleasure. Tears welled in your eyes, the beast thrusting in and out at an alarming and inhuman rate, your moans tumbling out from your mouth at the feeling. You felt your core clench around his cock, your eyes rolling back as your pleasure was heightened at an alarming rate. The ridges of his cock heighted every thrust tenfold, and the chilling temperature seemed to mingle with your flaming skin and core in the most pleasurable way.

Before your could finish, the beast pulled out and shocked you with a ridged tongue slipping through your folds, moaning against your center. You whined at the loss of being filled until your felt your clit being sucked into his mouth, his ridged tongue flicking back and forth against the sensitive bud. You screamed, your pleasure crashing over you like waves, vision getting blurry with tears.

Your entrance, puffy and swollen from the intense pleasure was given no warning or rest. You felt the beast slam into you again, growling deeply, tugging at your hair once more, pulling your back towards his chest. The new angle had the ridges of his cock pressing against your walls in the most torturous way. You cried out, the pleasure unbearably intense as he rammed into you repeatedly, his cock pulsating within you. He moved his hand from your hair to grab the base of your throat and ripping your thin cotton blouse open, used his other hand to play with your breast, his fingers expertly tugging and kneading your flesh. He seemed to relish in your crying, a dark chuckle leaving his lips. You felt yourself lost in pleasure again, the waves crashing over you as you cunt pulsated around him, his growling ‘yes’, spurring you on. By this point, you could no longer hold yourself up, your legs shaking and hold body a light with pleasure on the verge of pain.

He leaned over to whisper in your ear, voice closer to a bestial growl. “You are mine now, little huntress. I will come from Asgard every winter season to claim you, drive you wild with my cock and pleasure you. Then I will give your village everything they need. But you must never let another Midgardian touch you. I am your god now, your savior.”

Your mind, ablaze with desire and drunk on lust, just swirled with fantasies of being the god’s plaything. You whined and cried as he began to thrust deeper, the ridges of his cock hitting you in the right spot.

“Do we have a deal, little wolf?,” He rumbled in your ear. You nodded before he thrust deeper into you, cutting off your nod with a sharp snap of his hips. “Answer your god properly.”

You nodded, voice thick with tears and pleasure, your body close to the breaking point again. “Yes, yes, yes….You are my…god! My god!,” You cried out, feeling the pleasure overwhelm you and crash over you, your body tensing up and giving out, practically collapsing in his arms.

You heard a dark chuckle, and a pause before the giant began thrusting in wildly once again, his member pulsating before his cum spilled into you, cooling off your burning cunt. You moaned again, collapsing into his arms, eyes fluttering. Despite all odds, you felt your body drift off…weak from the immense sensations and pleasure.

When you awoke, you were back in your cottage, wrapped in furs and a new fire burning. Your mind was fuzzy, remembering the snow and frost… but uncertain how you got home. You peered out the door to spy everyone rejoicing in the village tavern, beer flowing like water. You quickly went to change and raced to reprimand the idiots for wasting what was a last resort.

You rushed in, slamming the door open and about to shout before seeing everyone singing and rejoicing, their cheeks pink, and their eyes not holding the same hollowness as usual. You pulled aside one of the older hunters, Einar. He looked at you with one usually piercing blue eye, now warmer than you’d ever seen.

“Einar, what’s the meaning of this? We are starving and you are all drunk?!,” You hissed, anger and confusion clear in your tone.

Einar grinned, making you pause and feel as though you entered a fae realm. The man was known for being solemn and levelheaded, rarely smiling.

“It’s a miracle! The gods have blessed our storages with triple our goods! Our prayers have been answered!”

You felt your breath catch in your throat as memories flowed back to you. The giant. The deal. His icy touch against your feverish skin.

Was that real?

Was he truly a god?

You ran into your home, ignoring Einar’s confusion at your reaction, looking for a sign that the whole ordeal had been real.

You spotted a small piece of parchment upon your small table. Picking it up, you felt your heart pound and your core grow slick at the memory of him, though your heart was squeezed with fear at the words across the page.

Until next winter, little huntress.

Your savior,

Loki

Your cheeks burned hot as the sun as the breath was stolen from your lungs.

Loki was your giant? The trickster god?

Winter was sure to become a whirlwind of chaos and pleasure from now on.

[ckret2]

If the Time Baby exists in the far way future of the Gravity Falls Main Timeline, why was he so concerned about Bill being free from the Nightmare Realm? The fact that he exists in the far future proves that Bill was defeated in the past to begin with.

Here's what we know about time & Weirdmageddon:

When it begins, one of the first things Bill says is "TIME IS DEAD and meaning has no meaning!"

Something like a week of time passes inside of Weirdmageddon, but when it's over, it's like no time has passed in the real world

Bill murders Time Baby and then declares he can control time.

Something temporally fucky is going on inside Weirdmageddon.

So here's my theory:

In the normal timeline where chronological cause and effect matter, Time Baby can rest assured that events proceed such that he will safely rule the future. But Bill "WHY MUST CAUSE PRECEDE EFFECT" Cipher's party isn't part of the normal timeline. It's capable of retroactively breaking the universe in the 21st century and erasing the future where Time Baby rules—along with every other future.

Time Baby's future isn't proof that Bill's defeated. It's an example of a timeline in which Weirdmageddon NEVER HAPPENED—and Bill's about to change that. There's a possibility Bill COULD win.

Bonus headcanon:

The fact that Weirdmageddon's outside the normal timeline is also why I headcanon Time Baby only got involved THEN—and didn't, say, appear over Gravity Falls in 1980 to say "HEAR THIS, STANFORD PINES! BILL'S A CREEP. DON'T BUILD HIS PORTAL" or whatever.

My headcanon is that any given Time Giant can only exist in ONE place at any point on their own timeline. So like, if a Time Giant does the laundry on Wednesday, and then on Thursday finds out that there was a cool concert yesterday, they can time travel back to Wednesday to catch the concert, but now the past has been changed so that they didn't do the laundry because they were at the concert instead. They can't loop back and cause two versions of themselves to exist at once; the act of looping back erases the original version of themself.

The same way the time tape works: when Dipper & Mabel rewind the day of the carnival, Dipper doesn't run into his past self attempting the ball toss and Mabel doesn't run into her past self winning Waddles; they replace their past selves so only one version of them exists.

Something about the fact that Time Baby has been comatose and in ice in Antarctica for the past 66 million years or whatever somehow interferes with his time powers to prevent him from time traveling back to (and replacing) himself during a moment he's frozen. A time giant can loop back to a moment they're doing the laundry, but apparently not to a moment they're comatose. That means that entire era of Earth's history, from the moment he's knocked out to the moment he wakes up, is guaranteed Time Baby-free, because he can't visit ANY of it...

... except for the one moment OUTSIDE of time... Weirdmageddon. Which is why Time Baby could ONLY make a move to try to stop Bill right then, even though he surely knew Bill's been working on breaking into earth for millions of years.

This is why he also has to send human agents with time tapes to do his bidding during that era: he can't do it himself.

AND it's why I headcanon it takes 1000 years for his molecules to reconstitute after Bill zaps him. Because two Time Babies can't exist at the same moment in history, and because Present Time Baby can't replace his past self while his past self is in a coma, he just has to wait in a state of non-existence until Past Time Baby thaws, wakes up, and pops off to some other point in the timeline... and at last, Present Time Baby has a free spot in the timeline where he isn't being nullified by his own past self and can reconstitute.

[carlijcorson]

It's a Love/Skate Relationship

US Release: January 28, 2025

UK Release: March 13, 2025

Preorder & Goodreads links here!

Fans of Rachael Lippincott, Elise Bryant, and Dahlia Adler will love this joyful debut novel, a sapphic enemies-to-lovers romance between a hotheaded hockey player and the ice princess at the figure skating rink next door.

Charlie Porter is a force to be reckoned with, both on and off the hockey rink. When she accidentally starts a brawl after a game, she's suspended from school, meaning no hockey this season--and no chance to play in front of college scouts.

Alexa Goldstein's pairs skating partner was hurt in the fight, and with only four months until their next competition, pickings for a replacement are slim. So she strikes a deal with Charlie--skate with her at the competition well enough to place, and her Olympian mother will use her formidable connections to get Charlie in front of scouts at D-1 schools, even without her team.

It seems impossible, and not just because Charlie has never figure skated before. Where Charlie is powerful, Alexa is elegant; where Charlie is quick to blow up, Alexa is cold as ice. But as the frostiness between them starts to thaw, they begin to wonder if they've found a partner for more than just skating.

[heedeungism]

say yes to heaven (say yes to me). | teaser

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⭒ ice prince!sunghoon x fire princess!reader 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ⭒ the crown prince of the ice kingdom is not known for having objects of affection. perhaps the fiery princess of the fire kingdom is all that is needed to thaw his frozen heart. (route 1 of the eternal flame saga) 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒 ⭒ alcohol, cursing, the beginnings of a panic attack, dwagons 𝐄𝐒𝐓. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⭒ 10k> (teaser is 1k) 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 ⭒ this is only a small snippet of a longform fic i’ve been working on since house of the dragon started up again, so obviously it’s inspired by that. however i did need to fix the whole incest = dragons so i made up this whole concept that, while obviously inspired by hotd, is incest free! i have other fics in this same universe outlined(hence the ‘route 1 of the eternal flame saga’), but i will be focusing most of my attention on this fic until it’s done!

masterlist. rules. request.

The House of Frost’s sigil is arguably one of the more simple of the Great Houses. A banner of pale blue, a white emblem of stark beauty, a dragon. Next to sigils of the other Kingdom’s, it appears as icy as one would imagine.

The Houses of Earth and Wind fly flags of more neutral colors, ivories and browns. The Water Dragon Kingdom’s a royal blue and Sky Dragon's a pale pink, but none so beautifully bright as his.

Yet, you see no sign of it as you sit at the head of the dining hall beside your brother.

Tourney’s you’ve attended usually start with a dinner the first day, then a melee or joust the second and third, a tour, maybe even a hunt if so desired by the king, or Prince Regent in this case. Your brother seems keen on being exceptionally annoying, booking your schedule for the week with barely enough time to bathe let alone avoid the eyes of the realm.

So, now, you sit at the large dinner, and realize you have yet to see the sigil you were so expecting.

Riki leans down at his station standing close behind you, “I imagine the Northern Sea is rather backed up this time of year.”

His jest does not impress you, “He could arrive on dragonback if he so cared.” As you finish your childish claim, the doors open.

“Prince Sunghoon of the House of Frost. Heir to his throne.”

Your sworn knight nearly snorts, as a tall male arrives. He has no company, only the sword at his hip as he prowls toward the table you sit.

Ten years had changed a lot. No longer did he have the sickly look about him, his skin even and his shoulders fuller with what you can only assume is muscle. He carries himself with a confidence you could never compare to princes like Yeonjun of the Earth Territories, who holds his head too high and carries too cocky of a smile for you to respect him outright, or Sunoo of the Sky Archipelagos in the west who’s bashful countenance somewhat underwhelmed you considering the story attached to his crowning.

Prince Sunghoon is sure of himself, you can see it in the slight sway of his shoulders and his wide gait, but he doesn’t carry that confidence with the arrogance you expected of the Prince of Crystal Snow.

He’s beautiful. Fuck.

“It appears he does care, your highness.”

Riki snickers as you quickly bite back, “Shut up.”

“Prince Sunghoon, I thought we were to expect your family on the morrow?” Your brother muses, and the prince bows at his waist in greeting.

“My mother, the queen, fell ill. I come alone.” He said, his voice is much deeper as well, though that’s to be expected.

“I wish her good health, then.” The Prince Regent wishes a genuine prayer. The ice prince bows his head, his gaze only moves to you when you speak.

“And your knight?”

Your brother kicks your foot under the table at your tone, yet the prince only offers a gentle smirk with another honest bow, “Ser Jaeyun arrives tomorrow. He found a ride on dragonback to be…unpleasant.”

Riki coughs, and you fight the tug at the corner of your mouth with a sip of wine, “Pity.”

“Is Ser Jaeyun to participate in tomorrow's celebrations?” Your brother asks, the joust, and the prince shakes his head.

“I would prefer, Your Grace, myself to participate,” His gaze flicks to yours, and an unyielding warmth plants its roots at the bottom of your spine, creeping up the longer his eyes keep you in their sights, “If you would allow it.”

Your brother seems all too pleased at the news, “I see no reason to object. What of you, Princess?”

Sipping the wine in your cups does nothing to ease the nerves of your heart, “By all means.”

He bows once again before a servant guides him to his table, where a visibly excited Prince Sunoo waves him over. The other princes gather at that table, mingling and laughing together.

While you sit at the grand dining table sipping from your cups like it’s life’s water, the dress you were put into squeezing your abdomen uncomfortably.

“I do hope we have enough sheep to keep the dragons fed.” Your brother muses, observing the table of dragonheirs before glancing your way.

“Most of them keep themselves fed,” You dismiss, “We shouldn’t deplete our people’s resources for an event this needless.”

“Your words wound me, sister.” He pouts, quite unbecoming of a Prince Regent.

“Then may you bathe in the salts of Azora.” The bite to your words makes your brother sigh, he startles slightly when you slam your goblet back onto the table beside your plate of picked-at food, “My cup is empty.”

A servant hastens forward to refill it, a shaky apology falling from her lips, which has you regretting your outburst immediately. When she moves to retreat back to her position hovering near the wall so as to not be seen, you grab the pitcher from her hands and say, “I’ll keep this, please.”

The word falling from your lips seems to surprise her, before she panics and bows, “Of course, my princess.”

Riki snickers as the servant hastens away to make herself useful elsewhere, biting his cheek when you hiss, “Shut. Up.”

When you face forward once again, your eyes scanning the room, your gaze is caught in another.

Smoldering flames meet biting frost, and a burning tug travels up your gut and into your throat. It’s pure instinct that tears your gaze away, an attempt to free your body of the dreadful feeling.

It lingers in your chest even as you take a hefty swallow from your cup.

I am dragonfire. You repeat to yourself, a rush in your veins. The wine makes your skin hot, and the corset around your torso only makes catching your breath all the more difficult. The litany does not quell the flames in your chest.

I am dragonfire. I am the flame's heart. I am unburnt and I am the Princess of Eternal Flame.

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Frostbite

Frostbite - damage to the skin and other tissues caused by freezing.

Frostnip - a milder form of cold injury; it is sometimes described as the first stage of frostbite.

Some doctors use a 4-degree classification of injuries:

First-degree: The epidermis (outermost layer of the skin) is reddened, swollen, and may look waxy. There is also a loss of sensation in the affected skin.

Second-degree: The skin is reddened, swollen, and has formed blisters filled with a clear or milky fluid.

Third-degree: Blisters are filled with blood and the skin begins to turn black.

Fourth-degree: The epidermis, dermis, and underlying muscles, tendons, and bones are damaged.

The early stage of frostbite is sometimes called frostnip.

Short-term symptoms include:

loss of feeling or aching pain in the affected part,

followed by redness of the skin and

tissue swelling.

Unfortunately, a victim is often unaware of frostbite until someone else points it out because the frozen tissues are numb.

Long-term symptoms include:

intense pain in the affected part,

tingling sensations,

cracks in the skin,

dry skin,

loss of fingernails,

joint stiffness,

loss of bone or muscle tissue, and

increased sensitivity to cold.

If left untreated, frostbitten skin gradually darkens and blisters after a few hours.

Skin destroyed by frostbite is completely black, looks burnt, and may hang loosely from the underlying tissues.

Freezing of exposed tissues results in the formation of ice crystals inside the cell wall.

A variation of frostbite - mountain frostbite, which affects mountain climbers and others exposed to extremely cold temperatures at high altitude.

Combines tissue freezing with oxygen deprivation and general body dehydration.

TREATMENT

Frostnipped fingers are helped by:

blowing warm air on them or

holding them under one’s armpits.

Other frostnipped areas can be covered with warm hands.

The injured areas should never be rubbed.

While waiting for medical help to arrive, one should, if possible:

remove wet or tight clothing and

put on dry, loose clothing or wraps.

A splint and padding are used to protect the injured area.

The patient should not be allowed to walk on frostbitten toes or feet, as the weight of the body will cause further damage to tissue—unless walking is the only way the patient can get to shelter.

Rubbing the area with snow or anything else is dangerous.

The key to prehospital treatment is to avoid partial thawing and refreezing.

This releases more inflammatory mediators and makes the injury substantially worse.

For this reason, the affected part must be kept away from such heat sources as campfires and car heaters.

The injured person should not be given alcohol or tranquilizers, as these will increase loss of body heat.

Experts advise rewarming in the field only when emergency help will take more than 2 hours to arrive and refreezing can be prevented.

Because the outcome of a frostbite injury cannot be predicted at first, all hospital treatment follows the same route.

Treatment begins by rewarming the affected part for 15–30 minutes in water at a temperature of 104–108°F (40–42.2°C). This rapid rewarming halts ice crystal formation and dilates narrowed blood vessels.

Aloe vera (which acts against inflammatory mediators) is applied to the affected part, which is then splinted, elevated, and wrapped in a dressing.

Depending on the extent of injury, blisters may be debrided (cleaned by removing foreign material) or simply covered with aloe vera.

Except when injury is minimal, treatment generally requires a hospital stay of several days, during which hydrotherapy and physical therapy are used to restore the affected part to health.

Experts recommend a cautious approach to tissue removal, and advise that 22–45 days must pass before a decision on amputation can safely be made.

If frostbitten skin is not treated and its blood vessels are affected, gangrene may set in.

Gangrene is the death of soft tissue due to loss of blood supply.

It may be treated by surgical removal of the affected tissue if caught early; otherwise, the surgeon may have to amputate the affected digit or limb to prevent bacterial infections from spreading from the dead tissue to the rest of the body.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Realistic Injuries

[macfrog]

walking through fire | one shot

just something that's been on my mind the last few weeks. i hope that you're all ok going into this difficult time of year. and if there's any part of this, big or small, that you find yourself resonating with - there will always be a warm, cozy chair in my inbox/dms, free for you to come sit, hang; we can talk about everything or nothing at all. love you guys. 🤍

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you’re neck-deep in a bout of seasonal depression. your boyfriend suggests an autumnal walk. (better than most healthcare systems offer amarite)

warnings: quite literally about depression & anxiety so please read at your own discretion. established relationship, fluffy soft!joel takes care of his girl, implied suicidal thoughts, use of medication to treat depression/anxiety, feelings of worthlessness/burdening, but hope! in the end! a wee sliver of hope!

word count: 2.7k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🖤

November turns on itself all too quickly.

Your body feels like lead, sinking deep into the mattress. Like a broken, rusted shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean; your hand lying limp above the bedsheets like a sailor’s last attempt at reaching over the waves for help.

Joel opened the blinds today. Nuzzled into you, the scruff of his beard sharp on your numb skin, and then stood up and slowly unveiled the glaring light of white cloud. You shrunk further into the bed, your hot breath suffocating you under the sheets. Inhaling and exhaling, breathing in your own rotten air.

He pushes the door open and shuffles across to the bed. Your sea dips when he lowers into it, two arms slipping around your waist like a lifebuoy. He pulls you into his chest; his warm body melting the ice of your bones.

“Hey,” he whispers, and drags his nose across your cheek. He kisses your temple, combs his fingers through your hair. Dabs his thumb along your bottom lip and then says again, “Hey, darlin’. You awake?”

Your eyes flutter open, only enough to see the blurry shape of him; the strong curve of his shoulder, the binary of dark cotton and pale skin.

“Hi, baby. How you feelin’ this mornin’?”

The words catch on the dry cliff of your throat, dangling for a few seconds like panicking climbers, before plummeting into the abyss. You settle for an incoherent mumbling, a vibration on your lips that Joel understands through the pad of his thumb.

“Yeah,” he sniffs, “not so good, huh? That’s okay. You know how much I love you?”

And that peels your eyes open a fraction more. Only enough to sharpen the image of him, to find the dark pools of his eyes and the way the flame in them flickers as he says it.

“Love you so much,” he whispers. The tiny fire thaws the very bottom of your heart, even if only enough to keep the blood pushing heavily through your veins.

Your eyes close over again, and you take his shirt in two weak fists, pulling yourself into his body. Your head fits in the crook of his arm, burying into his side.

“You feel like leavin’ the house today?” he asks, voice sweet and earnest. “Just for a little while? We could go for a walk, could go for a drive. Just you ‘n me, sweet girl.”

You shake your head, your eyes prickling from the sincerity of his question. The guilt beginning to creep its way over your shoulders.

“No? You don’t wanna?” He lifts his head, staring out at the view from the window. “’s a nice day out. Cold, but it’s dry, ‘n the leaves are all orange and yellow, just like you like. Not even for a half hour?”

That same guilt – sneering, bullying – pokes a sharp-clawed finger in your ribs until you answer him. “Tired,” you mumble, screwing your eyes shut until you see the sudden, violent assault of stars in your vision.

“I know you’re tired, baby,” Joel says, stroking your back. “But it might do you a little good to get some fresh air. And you’d be with me, and we can come back home whenever you decide.”

Your fear and shame seem to cower beneath his words; melted by the soft timbre of his voice. They retreat inward, burrowing deep between the cage of your ribs, twisting and mangling around your pale bones.

“We can come back whenever?” you whisper, defying their threats.

“Whenever, darlin’. Promise.”

You surrender yourself, letting him take you in his arms and carry you over to your closet, where he sets you down gently. Keeping an arm around your waist, Joel waits patiently as you pick an outfit, and then helps drape it over your frame. You feel more statue than human – solid substance rather than plush flesh. Cold and brittle; the tender touch and lively glow drained from your skin the same way it drains so quickly of energy.

You’ve been fighting for years. Months and months and months of one step at a time and just keep going. Being told you’re more than what’s going on in your brain, being told not to let it become you. But there are days when you stand before the mirror, and you don’t recognize the figure staring back at you. The dark tunnels in place of eyes, the thin line of her lips.

There are days you can see the marks on your skin from how tight your anxiety and depression bind you; wrapping like ivy around your body until there’s nothing left of you to see through the dark green leaves. Just a haggard, shapeless thing. A skeleton too tired to carry the weight of yourself; a heart too weary to beat in time.

There once existed a time you had smiled, even laughed – you know it, you have the lines scored deep into your cheeks to prove it. Sometimes they ache when you think about it, like even they miss the feeling. Joel knows it, too – you sense it whenever he tells some dumb joke, sense that he’s searching your face for the slightest lift, the slightest dip of a dimple. And it fucking kills you, when you realize you have nothing sincere or true to offer him. No swollen cheeks, no flash of teeth. At best, a heavier exhale pushed from your nostrils.

It all feels so long ago, that lighter, fresher, happier you. It feels so far from your clutches. Like you’re drifting further and further from the surface, disappearing into the murky depths of your own mind.

The doctors, the articles, the fucking motivational posts on Instagram all say the same. Keep fighting it. Confront your illness. Prove it wrong. But you’re so fucking tired of fighting. Fighting it the entire drive to work, your heart threatening to burst; fighting it every conversation you have, your façade slowly cracking. Swallowing the panic like you swallow the medication; both of them sticking in your throat and refusing to go down.

There is no fighting it. There is no overcoming through confrontation. If you broke your leg, shattered every bone to dust, would they say the same? You gotta walk on it straight away to make it strong again. You don’t think so.

Joel doesn’t seem to think so, either. Joel, with a heart of molten gold, ready at every turn to let it pour onto your skin and paint it the color of sunlight when you can’t do it yourself. Joel, with his strong arms and wide reach, bundling you up over the top of all that foul ivy and snapping its thick stems with just his fingers.

Joel, who will sit at the edge of your bed and watch you take your meds; kiss your forehead and squeeze you tight when you show him your empty mouth. Joel, who will hold you in the dead of night and tell you stupid stories about his brother when they were kids, rubbing your back and chasing the dark ghosts from your mind.

Joel, who still sees something in you – whether he’s imagining it or not – and decides each day that it’s worth protecting. Worth saving. You’re worth saving, even on the days you don’t believe it yourself.

He drives for ten minutes, a little out of the suburbs and into a thicket of fire-colored leaves and solid, frozen ground. Fall sinks its teeth deep into the roots of the earth, drying up the bloom of summer and replacing it with something harder, something tougher. Nature is dying in the November breeze – the amber leaves painted the color of the trees’ blood as they fight a losing battle against the shifting of time. You feel yourself decaying with it: a drawn-out, painful surrender to the bleak days and dark nights.

Joel keeps his hand on your thigh the entire ride; you keep your fingers intertwined with his. The fluttering in your chest gets quicker and quicker, spreads its wings wider the further you feel from home. Your mouth dries up, forcing you to swallow after every third breath. But his hand stays there, planted on you like the root of an ancient tree: never shifting, no matter how strong the wind throws punches.

A shaky breath falls from your lips when he slows to a halt, the truck parked by a long wooden gate. He cuts the engine and turns to you, squeezing your leg lightly.

“We’re just gonna walk down there,” he nods out the window, “and back again. As slow as you like, ‘n we turn back when?”

“Whenever I want,” you whisper, nodding.

“Whenever you want, darlin’. Just say the word, alright? Sound good?”

You nod, blinking away the strain of tears across your vision. Your knee bounces, the metal buckles on your boots clinking in the footwell.

Joel rubs his thumb against your cheek. Lifts your free hand and places a delicate kiss to your knuckles. “I am so proud of you,” he mumbles against them, like scoring it into the bone.

You fill your cheeks, flattening your lips together, and he pulls on his door handle.

Five paces from the car, you realize how cold it is. The bitter air snaps at your cheeks, drags the salty tears from your eyes. Joel quickly fixes the collar of your jacket and pulls your scarf over your face.

“You bring gloves?” he asks.

Your head shakes in response.

“Here.” He fishes in the pockets of his tan jacket for a dark brown pair, flicking his fingers for you to hold your quivering hands out. He slips them on, all too big for you, and then knots his fingers through yours and leads you on down the sloping backroad.

Bordered by tall trees on either side, you feel secluded and hidden from the rest of the world. It fills you with equal parts comfort and terror: nobody else is here. No one can see your vacant eyes, the wet stain of fallen tears on your cheeks. Not the vice grip you have on your boyfriend or the weak quiver of your voice.

And at the same time: nobody else is here. No people, no sign of life. Just an isolated track, the looming trees overhead, the squelch of muck and the bite of fall for company.

Joel matches your pace, strolling along by your side with your arm through his and his hand resting on top of yours. He catches your glances over your shoulder, sees the jittery movements of your head as you scan the scene around you, and pats the back of your hand tenderly.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

You fill your lungs with a chilly gulp of air, pushing it back out again as steadily as you can.

“And again.”

You repeat the exercise, your chest swelling against your buttoned up coat.

“You’re doin’ great,” he says, looking down at you. “You feelin’ okay?”

“I’m – Yeah, I’m just…” you twist back to search for the wooden gate, “…can’t see the truck anymore.”

“’s right there, promise ya. You wanna go back?”

He pauses, and your boots scuff to a halt on the stony terrain. You chew the inside of your cheek, eyebrows arching to release more tears from between your lashes. “No,” you breathe, “I wanna try to go further.”

“Then let’s try to go further. Yeah?”

You nod, setting off when you realize he’s waiting for you to take the lead.

The fields on either side of you are strung with a thick blanket of mist from one end to the other, masking the trees at the opposite side and obscuring the line between earth and sky. Your body close to Joel’s, your heartbeat attempting to match the steady pace of his, you feel safe, protected. The promise that you can call it a day whenever your body begins to weigh too much, whenever your lungs begin to falter.

Somewhere between the thinning of the hedgerows, another slanted, shabby gate materializes. Its crisscross panels and worn wooden posts separating you from the first company in your twenty-minute walk.

“Joel,” you call, loosening your grip on his arm and wandering over to the long, dewy grass towards a chestnut horse, a sliver of white fur diving deep between her eyes.

She slowly thumps over, huge hooves sinking deep into the soft dirt. Her long tail swishing, navy rug wrapped around her midriff. She docks at the gate, puffing a heavy breath – hot, thick clouds shooting from each nostril.

“Hi,” you say quietly, lifting a floppy-gloved hand for her to sniff. “Joel?” you say again, glancing down at her swollen belly, the low droop of the rug. “I think she might be pregnant.”

She tosses her head up, ears flicking, and nuzzles into the soft material of Joel’s glove. You feel her wrinkled muzzle, the strong, solid bridge of her nose. She blinks slowly; huge, deep brown eyes twinkling in the late-morning light, and you swear she’s trying to communicate something to you.

“Hey, girl,” Joel says, running a careful hand down her mane.

The horse sighs serenely, eyes flitting between the two of you. Her nostrils flare gently, light brown lashes fluttering. You tilt your head, stroking her and letting her teeth graze the sleeve of your jacket. Her bulky head turns to-and-fro, glancing up and down the trail you’re stood on, contently waiting for the passage of time. Enjoying her view from the misty field before it all changes again.

Unexpected and unwelcome, the absence of compression in your chest suddenly makes itself known. Dread spills into your lungs, thick like tar. You turn on your heel and cast Joel one fleeting glance.

He catches it, and without missing a beat, asks, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Is that okay?”

“’s more ‘n okay, baby. You did so good today. Didn’t she?” he asks the horse, who huffs another hot breath. Joel tosses a thumb towards her. “See?”

You step back over to the animal, now preparing to wander back on home, and give her one last tender stroke. She blinks twice, tosses her head a final time, and her broad body turns, thudding off back up the slope.

As he links your arms again, Joel blinks down at you, the corners of his mouth slowly lifting.

“What?” you ask, shyly.

“Look at you,” he says, nudging your shoulder with a glint in his eye. “You’re smilin’.”

Autumn flashes by as Joel drives you home – ginger and bronze and honey and cinnamon blurring into one as you pass them by. You settle back against the headrest, moving with the sway of the truck, your tired fingers tracing blind shapes on Joel’s palm.

Nature is burning. Perhaps dying is too harsh a term. Burning in preparation for the winter, when it will lay dormant and restful. Quiet, save for the crunch of snow beneath your feet. Bland, save for the sparkle of frost on your windowpanes. The droplets of beauty laced through, the little reminders that not all has been lost.

I am burning right now, the earth says, but wait until you see what I can become.

The days will turn to night. The sun will tear the sky to tatters, set the whole thing fucking ablaze, go down in a battle stained in red and orange and deep, dark blue – and she will still return, spilling golden all over the horizon. She always does.

The clouds will cover overhead, dampening the color on earth. The blues will fade to gray, the yellows will undoubtedly pale. And then the sky will clear, when it is ready; the clouds will break in two to let a ribbon of cerulean burst through.

The leaves will fall to the ground and feed the soil; new ones will sprout from buds left in their wake. The ground will thaw, will soften again in time to welcome the push of daisies and burst of heather. The horse will foal, the birds will sing to their babies, the buzz of insects will irritate your ears; the rivers will gush and the trees will sway and you will be okay again.

You will be okay again.

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

No Excuses

PAIRINGS: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wife!Sri Lankan!Reader

WARNINGS: HEAVY FLUFF, Simons a fucking simp for the missus, good food :)

SOME INFO: 'Avurudda' means 'New Year', and Kottu and Appa are some famous Sri Lankan traditional food

WORD COUNT: 1,484

ENJOY!

"Yes, Amma. Yes, I cleaned the house like you told me to," you confess softly to your Sri Lankan mother, a tender smile gracing your lips as you recall the gentle encouragement she always provided.

Avurudda season has arrived, a time when the essence of your Sri Lankan heritage fills the air with warmth and nostalgia. In homage to your roots, you meticulously prepared your home, ensuring every corner gleamed with the promise of new beginnings. 

And with a sense of reverence, you sought out a traditional Sri Lankan lamp online, a beacon of light to guide you through the festivities of the new year

When you married Simon, Your parents hesitated, their reservations echoing the unspoken fears of marrying outside your culture lingered in your heart

Yet, can they really blame you?

You fell in love with the Lieutenant while you were a techie for one of the TF-141 missions. The mission was primarily automotive, so the team, especially Simon, heavily relied on you. You didn’t think that you had it in you to thaw the ice around the Lt’s heart, but to him, you were his solace, his light.

In the steady rhythm of time, Simon's heart quietly yielded to the gravity of your presence, each day etching deeper into the stone of his resolve, sculpting a silent monument to the unyielding strength of his love for you.

After a few tense debriefs, he finally had the courage.

From the tension of your first encounters to secret touches, which morphed into silent kisses behind closed doors. Your both grew needing the other, the love you have for him and him, you, just became heavier in the depths of your hearts.

Soon, you moved into his flat. And a year later, you’re sleeping next to the love of your life with a gold band on your finger and his last name after your first.

Your parents soon backed off when they realized how much Simon cared for you and you for him.

Your mother's voice breaks you out of your reverie.

"Have you seen the recipes I’ve sent you, the Kottu and the Appa ones?" Your Amma questions, and you tilt your head back and close your eyes. "Yes, Amma, I did. Haven’t I told you that already?"

-----

You hear the door open as you sauté some vegetables the way your mother said to, in her recipe.

"Love? Are you here?" you hear the gruff voice of your husband through the entrance hall of your home.

You holler that you’re in the kitchen.

With a gentle embrace, Simon enfolds you in his arms, his touch igniting a spark of warmth that spreads through your body like wildfire. You lean into his embrace, relishing the comfort of his touch as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your skin. "Hi, handsome," you whisper softly, your voice a tender caress that lingers in the air between you.

Simon grunts out a laugh and hugs you tighter, "missed you, love."

You both stand in silence, letting Simon take you in.

"Have you brought the things I asked you to?" you whisper gently, switching off the heat of the stove. Simon nods, "it was tricky to find them, but I managed to."

 Simon finally releases you and goes to grab the paper bags from the table near the door and places them on the kitchen counter.

You smile at him and give a little squeeze to his bicep and dig through the bag. "Great, everything is here, thanks babe," you lay out everything and start to cook your Kottu. You start chopping up the fresh thin, soft rotti until it's the right size.

You feel Simon peek over your shoulder and then go back to the pot and get a whiff of the food you made already. "Jesus, love. It smells incredible," he leans against the kitchen counter watching you chop the last of the rotti and throw the shredded fine bread into your pot.

You inhale deeply, "well, it's Avurudda. Sri Lankan new year." You say sheepishly, as you throw a glance at your husband over your shoulder.

Simon’s eyes go wide and he nods slowly, "I see." He rubs a hand over his chin and takes in the information you just gave him. He pieces everything together and scolds himself for not remembering, "love, I'm sorry I didn’t know."

You chuckle and shake your head, "honey, it’s fine, really." Simon shakes his head, "I should remember my wife’s cultural holidays. No excuses, love." You pout at Simon beating himself up, "hey, I know what can make you feel better."

He looks up at you confused and raises a brow. "I bought a Sinhala lamp, could you help me set it up?" you smile at him as he nods eagerly before you finish your sentence. You give him the instructions and show him the package that came in this afternoon. "Alright, I’ll get on with it," he whispers, rubbing a hand on your lower back and kissing your temple.

You smile and finish your work in the kitchen.

-----

Simon sets the table and you plate the food. 

Then you sit down to enjoy the meal you've prepared together, the flickering light of the candles casts a warm glow over the table, bathing you both in its gentle embrace. 

Now he sits in front of you and looks at the crispy Appas and delicious looking Kottu sitting between the both of you.

"Alright, so. This is Kottu, it's basically pieces of thick paratha or rotti, cooked with veggies and shredded chicken. It’s my ultimate favorite dish," you point at the plate of food, and talk animatedly.

You don’t see the subtle smile on your husband's face as he sees you talk passionately, and he opens a file in his mind and files in the information that Kottu is your favorite meal. You then point at the crispy upside-down domes.

“These are Appas, or Hoppers, they are amazing with chicken curry," you point at the curry you made a little while ago, "alright that’s it, dig in! And, Suba aluth avurudak weva, mage rattaran.” Simon has learned a little Sinhala for you since you first got married, and he translates your words in his mind.

Happy new year, my darling.

-----

As you and Simon delve into conversation about your respective days, you both begin to enjoy your meals. With each bite, you savor the taste of home, the flavors of your heritage filling your senses with a sense of belonging.

You take occasional sips from a glass of wine, Simon leisurely drinks from a bottle of beer.

“It’s absolutely delicious, love,” he says, reaching for your hand across the table. He rubs his thumb on the delicate skin of your hand. You smile and say your thanks.

You meet his gaze, your eyes locking in a silent exchange that speaks volumes without a single word. And in that moment, as you sit together in the soft glow of the candlelight, you know that you are exactly where you're meant to be, with the man who holds your heart in his hands.

Your leg brushes against his ankle, the fabric of your sock gliding over his skin. Simon grins and gently clasps your limb, placing it tenderly on his lap. Your smile broadens as he begins to caress it, sending waves of comfort through you.

The atmosphere is filled to the brim with your love for each other, the only source of light is from the candles lit on the table and the traditional lamp next to your dining table.

Simon reflects on his fortune, marveling at the serendipity of finding a woman as remarkable as you. He finds solace in the thought of a love so deeply reciprocated, where every beat of his heart echoes with the resonance of your affection, intertwining your souls in a bittersweet symphony of devotion.

-----

You stir from slumber to the not-so-gentle melody of your phone's alarm.

Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you reach out to silence it, yearning for the familiar presence of your Simon beside you. 

Yet, as you turn, you find only the empty space where he once lay, his absence palpable in the morning light.

With a soft exhale, you sit up, the soft rays of dawn casting a warm glow around you. It's then that your gaze drifts to his bedside table, where a bouquet of delicate pink and white tulips awaits, their petals kissed by the soft light of dawn. 

Nestled among the blooms, a note written in his hand catches your eye.

It’s in his handwriting, the ink scratchy and blotchy. His sinhala words marking their spot on the hard paper.

A rush of emotion floods your senses as you read his words, each stroke of the pen a testament to his adoration. 

Happy New Year, my love.

🎀🎀🎀

OMG!

My first Simon Riley fic!!

And

My first Sri-Lankan!Reader fic!!!

One of the main reasons I wanted to start writing is because there is very minimal representation of brown girlies in the fanfic world. Especially, there is lack of rep for South Asian women. And even though I do associate myself with being a WOC, there is still a difference in between cultures.

I srsly keep in touch with my Sri Lankan heritage, and value that part of me.

It's why I try to make my Fics as inclusive as possible, but sometimes ya girl's got to represent her girlies back home.

(dw desi babes, I got a Diwali fic planned for y'all)

Sorry for the ramble and I'm sorry if this is not what most of you lovelies wanted😅😅.

But I've planned this for a while.

Suba Aluth Avurudak Weva, my loves!

(Also, please lemme know what you lovelies think about the fic!!)

Till' then,

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

[pursuitseternal]

“Wrap Me Up:” 🎀 A Merry (NSFW) for the Vampire Lord Astarion, “The Rogue You Were” Christmas Special 🕯️

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 5.6K of thawing his “Scrooge-ish” heart with bondage and ice play

Based on “A Christmas Carol,” because Astarion would be a total “Scrooge”

Part 2: “Yuletide in Faerûn”

Summary: He hates Yuletide, a time where he is haunted by the ghosts of Yuletides past, but you won’t let him remain so cold, not when all he needs is a little warmth and pleasure to thaw…

CW: Bondage, Ice Play, temperature play, Dom/sub tones, face fucking, nipple play, breast biting, blood kink, sex as healing, face the ghost of Yuletide past, make him look towards the ghosts of Yuletide present and future with you

AO3 link | Read “Rogue You Were” | Masterist

🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊

Cazador was dead to begin with…. His palace redone, reclaimed by your love, your master. No longer some distasteful, neglected home of a miser and monster. It is the toast of Baldur’s Gate, the lavish, decadent crowning jewel of the city, and home to the man all admired and feared. Astarion, Vampire Ascendant.

Your love. Your Master. Your spouse.

But even still, as the streets of the city filled with snow, wet and heavy from the sea, as the air filled with the sights and sounds and smells of Yuletide, your home remained cheerless.

Cazador was dead, and so was the infamous Yule Ball he hosted in his decrepit halls—forbidden by its new lord and master. Astarion had no wish to carry on any of that monster’s legacy. A gala event meant to make his spawn work all the harder for victims at the risk of torture… a night of sumptuous darkness, where victims were aplenty, a prize for their master.

And so… Yuletide was banished. Halls were bright, but no more shining than usual. No evergreens or music or mirth. No gatherings or carols or banquets or dances.

And no… gifts. Those were his orders.

Orders that you understand, but ones that make you grieved. That make you wish to show him the true meaning of Yuletide. And you will show him tonight. To do so, you have been sneaky, subtle, deceptive. And above all… disobedient. But that only makes this plot of yours all the more delicious.

He’s been away all day, corrupting officials and threatening the right people. Turning the powerful into puppets, ensuring everyone pays their tribute to the most powerful being in all the realms. In fact, you think as you begin to peer out the window looking down into the drive, banks of snow scattered to the side and torches flaming to await the master’s arrival, he has been extraordinarily ruthless of late. These last weeks leading into Yuletide, he’s been extorting more money, squeezing favor after favor from the influential, securing all the wealth he could to line his own coffers. And all the while, he grinned that brilliant fang-toothed smile, laughing to be such a menace before the festivities.

Little did he know what you are doing in his absence. Your little secret.

It wasn’t easy to keep. You had to block out his mind, the little ways he liked to check on you from a distance, swirling into your thoughts down your bonded minds as master and bride. You were careful these last few days. Conveniently sending him only thoughts of how much he pleasures you… his hands gripping your ass, his fangs in your throat, his cock shoved to the hilt between your thighs or down your throat, the slick feeling of his cum or its rich and bitter tang….

And once he was satisfied, his presence would leave you, back to your own devices.

Even when he was home of late, he spent much of his time in the treasure vaults, counting and recounting your wealth… until he wandered back to your bed for sweet words of praise and pride in your victories… and for all the carnal ways he loved to consolidate that power with you.

And so, you were free to continue your little plan. You are free to complete your plan.

The eve before Yuletide, and you place a few finishing touches around the library. His favorite place. Not only because he was fond of books, but it is a room all of his own creation. A room free from the ghosts of Cazador’s abuse and violence.

A room all his own.

And now, you made it… festive. The air smells of fresh evergreen and holly, spiced rum punch and sugared sweets, candle smoke and… him. Of citrus and rosemary, that makes your mouth and your cunt wet. Your eyes peer out from the slit in the curtains, watching the snowdrifts billow up in the wind and weather, more flakes of white falling heavy in the night. All that soft, fresh fallen snow muffles the rattle of Astarion’s carriage as it glides up the drive.

Your heart leaps, your hand pulling the curtain back, making sure the light illumines behind you. Making sure he sees you wait for his return, his most beloved spawn in his most beloved room.

He is like shadow incarnate, his black cloak wrapped tightly around his body as it still flaps in the icy winds. Those crimson eyes catch your figure, backlit by the glow within, intrigued, suspicious, his smirking grin makes your quiver, even at this distance.

“Little love… whatever could you be up to?” His voice caresses your mind, sultry and purring to warm your soul.

“Oh, don’t be so cold, my love,” you throw back down the bond of your minds, “why not come and… make yourself warm?”

“Make myself…” he continues to purr even as he strides inside the doors to your palace, “…or permit you to warm me?”

“Come and find out, my darling…”

You can feel his approach, as if you travel as his shadow. Sensing the moment he undoes his clasp, the wet wool of his cloak flopping to the tile. Riding the movement of his legs as he climbs the stairs two at a time. Hearing the sniffs of that aquiline nose that makes a little growl resonate in his throat.

“What have you done?” he hisses into your mind, a pulse of rage and suspicion flaring down your bond.

“It will please you greatly,” you chide in reply, “as long as you overlook my loving disobedience.”

His presence pulls away, only because his hand tears the handle from the library door, the panes of its dark wood flying open to reveal him.

Where he fumes in the entrance.

Crimson eyes glow as he takes in the sight… the fresh scent of spices and sweets and evergreens making his nose turn up in disgust… his gaze scanning from the decorated mantle to the table of sweets, to where you await him near the window.

“My… defiant… little… consort,” he speaks steadily through his grit teeth. “Do you wish to tell me the meaning of all this before I punish you or will it be an extra sweet revelation I pry from you… during…?”

“Or, consider this, my love,” you give him a warm and sultry smile, “you let me, your beloved bride, your treasure, lavish you with some festive joy,” you gesture to the mantle and the table of spiced punch and sweets, “bestow upon you some adoring gifts to show my undying love for you,” you point to the two, small gift wrapped boxes waiting on the table, “and of course some very… merry… entertainment…” You would blush harder if it were possible, your hand tracing down the deep cut of your silken dressing gown. His crimson eyes darkening and dilating as it follows your touch on your own skin.

“You, of all people, my darling should know the dangers involved in tampering with the ghosts of the past that still haunt me…” he crosses the room in what feels like a single bound, his hands closing on your upper arms, his warm touch crushing you against his chest. “You are on some very thin ice… darling. Tread. Very. Carefully.”

“The Rogue I love wouldn’t shy from a fight, even against facing the ghosts that once tormented him,” you smirk up at his enraged face, you can feel his heart racing in a heady mix of emotion, see it throbbing in the veins of his neck. That powerful ascended heart. “Won’t you… at least open my gifts? Let me spoil you for once this Yuletide, as you have never been spoiled before…”

A single brow raises at that. “Well,” he sniffs, tilting his head, eyes falling to the boxes impeccably wrapped before him. “I do rather like being spoiled.” It was a quiet, begrudging sort of acquiescence. “And…” he sighed through his frowning, open mouth, “I suppose you did make a huge effort… even if it was a secret…” he hisses, suddenly giving you that gaze as if you are his next, most delicious meal, “…and disobedient… and deceptive sort of effort for me…”

You smile, such a saccharine look of innocence. “I’m glad you’re beginning to see it, my love.”

His hands fly to your chin, clasping around it before slinking down to claw gently around your neck. “I still expect much from you, darling, to make reparation for your… defiance, as loving as it might be.” You laugh, letting your throat vibrate beneath his touch, as he brings your lips in for a consuming kiss.

However brief.

He presses against your throat, breaking with that dark, conceited grin. “Now, my dearest pet,” he purrs, “impress me with your festive spirit…”

You give him that slightly pouting smile that seems to lower that haze of lust over his eyes. You keep his gaze locked, reaching for the large box,

wrapped in golden paper, tied with golden ribbon. He accepts it into his hands, sifting its weight, shaking it just a touch to feel something hefty sliding inside the container. Then, you see it, almost like the first trickle down an icicle as it starts to melt, the corner of his lips turns just a little higher.

His fingers grip the end of the bow, slowly unraveling it. “What is it?” he asks, a skeptical brow raised.

“The gift to help you chase away the ghost of Yuletide past, my love…” you grin, feeling so confident, so sure of your choices, of your knowledge of him more than he would even admit to his ascended self.

That wins you a twist of those full lips. Those crimson eyes flicker up to yours briefly as his long, dexterous fingers lift open the lid. “Is that a… crown?” pure amusement, voice tickled with the flattery only a perfect gift could give.

You reach your hands in, lifting the metal circlet from its box, the little interwoven strands of dark metal rising into little spikes. “Elegant and vicious,” you hum as you take it between your hands and raise it to rest on his tousle of silver hair. “Just like you, my roguish love.”

“Well if this is your idea of spoiling me with festive cheer…” he raises a brow, turning his head to test out the weight upon his head, “you’re exceeding my expectations.” He turns to the wall behind you, where you have draped boughs of holly leaves and blood red berries around the ornate and gilded mirror on the wall. A fixture in every room now, so he may bask in his own reflection when he wishes. He primps and preens before the glass, turning and twisting to view every angle.

“And I must say, you’ve really captured my power and prestige with something so deadly and…” He pauses lost to the silence as he lavishes in his own reflection, rubbing a finger over the sharpened edges of the points.

You sneak up behind him, where he is lost in his own reflection, that piercing red stare meets yours in the reflection. “A gift, reforged from the past… your old, sadistic master’s dagger, melted down to make you into the sovereign you have always deserved to be…”

He pouts, dramatic and whining and most of all, fake, “A dagger for a crown?” Sighing, he turns quickly to capture you in his arms. “I’ll say, it is the only acceptable repurposing of a blade. You’re lucky I love you so much, if you’re going to be turning my weapons into jewelry…” He presses his lips against your neck, “But even a crown worthy of my handsome head won’t spare you from your own recompense.”

“For my loving disobedience,” you laugh, arching your neck to expose even more of your skin. “And perhaps, you should open your second gift, my love, before you settle on any ideas of exacting such delicious… retribution. Especially now that your chilled heart seems to have thawed.”

“Me?” he rasps into your ear, “cold? Chilled? Cheeky little pup… do you forget that my heart beats now, my skin warmed over as your ascended lord?”

“Hmmmm,” you sigh, “why don’t you open that second gift, a little something to help you embrace the spirit of your Yuletide present and future with me, your own… forever…”

“Oh,” he smirked, wicked and ravenous, “if you’re my gift… and all the many ways I can play with you, I doubt you’ll fit in any little box, darling.” he gave a loud giggle, “but I can imagine how festive you would look… all wrapped up in ribbon…”

You feel his hands wandering over your body, his touch seeping its warmth through the fabric of your dress as he does wrap you in arms and presses you against his unyielding body.

“My little treat, ready to be unwrapped once she’s been very… very… good to me,” he growls in your ear. Shivers racing down your spine as you giggle. Your stomach flips upside down, despite the months of this… of being his, forever. Your body still gives you away with each encounter.

And you grin like a lovesick fool, reaching to the table beside you for that second, smaller package.

He palms its wrapped sides in a single hand, the other remains clutched firmly around your waist with his hand curved hard over the swell of your ass. He smirks, dark and playful, as he bites into the end of the bow and tugs the black silken ribbon apart with those gleaming fangs. The silk slides, no resistance as the bow comes apart in his mouth.

You know that feeling all too well. Of coming apart at the command of those teeth or lips or tongue… You love that feeling. Crave that feeling.

He lets it drop from his teeth to flutter to the floor, a finger flicking open the top of the box to fall to the same fate. Then his brows furrow, he lips drawing in a smile so wide, those perfect teeth glint in the flickering warmth of the firelight.

“My, my…” he purrs, lifting his touch from your backside to fish out the gift within.

It’s coiled, wrapped around itself, this long strand of thick and smooth, a long velvet ribbon, as crimson as his own eyes.

“Perhaps our minds are shared more than the bond formed when you made me, my love,” you taunt, a lilt in your voice as you press into him harder, letting the curves of your breast flatten, the panting of your belly push into his. “Now… are you going to finally let that cold, beating heart of yours be melted by Yuletide warmth?”

He cocks a brow, tilting his crowned head at that rakish angle, hand returning to claw around the base of chin. That free set of eager fingers slipping the gifted ribbon from the box. You gasp as those fingers pull you against his lips. He sucks and caresses with all the hunger that flares under his touch and behind his eyes. “I think I’d rather watch you melt, watch you puddle on my fingers and come when I say, my consort, beloved but also naughty.”

“Sounds like you’re burning to use your gifts, my love…” you growl between his lips. “My lover with the warm touch and the ice in his heart, a bit different than before, my love….” You rake your nails into his hair. “Now I can make you warm all over.”

He chuckles, his grasp easing around your throat, winding to the back of your neck to tilt you open for his tongue all the more. “Sounds like you’re missing that icy touch of your undead rogue, my treasure,” he snaps in return, biting down on your lower lip just enough to draw blood.

“And what are you going to do to remedy that?” you reply, a little moan coloring your voice as his hands begin tearing off your clothes.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he taps his thumb over your swollen lips. “Not a sound, not if you wish to earn my forgiveness, and perhaps receive a little sort of gift of your own in return…” you shudder in his arms, the only reply needed for him to flash you that feral, twisted grin. “Then lay down, my love, and warm yourself by the flames of the fire.”

A hand tugs apart the last laces from your dress, sliding the sleeves from your shoulders. “Oh, and you won’t be needing any of that now…” Your silken gown becomes a silken puddle around your feet. Your skin turns to gooseflesh as he scores his nails down your sides. He snaps his gift, your velvet ribbon, between his hands. “Get comfortable, my treasure, while you still can…”

His gaze scalds you, intensity beyond even your expectations. He is about to enjoy this… and you are too.

He lets you settle on the puddle of furs, the thick white skin of some animal that lines the floor before the fire. Back turned on you, he busies himself at the table of sweets and punch, the clatter of dishes enough to make you smile; he is indulging. You lounge, letting the light flicker over your flesh, letting the fire warm your skin, a cascade of heat over your back and shoulders and ass. One that almost rivals the heat that puddles and pools between your folds.

“Hurry,” you mewl, rubbing your thighs together. “I’m burning for you…”

“Don’t worry, my greedy pet,” he snickers from the table of refreshments, his back to you, purposefully hiding just what he is busying his hands with. You hear the silver spoon stirring the bowl of punch, the clatter of metal and the clacking of ice cubes as he chuckles to himself. “I’m confident there are many ways to cool that lust in your veins, darling.”

He turns slowly, his face leering at you, you see why he has suddenly begun a low rumbling laugh in his chest, a small glass holds a few of the cubes of ice, your velvet ribbon hangs over his wrist, and his eyes glow with that simmering power that crawls beneath his skin. Stalking towards you, you flash him your own fanged smile, running your fingers through the lush fur that cradles your naked form.

Astarion steps over you as you lie on your back, settling down to straddle your belly, making you work for every breath beneath his weight. “Now, for the toughest decision, just what sense to control as your reparation for such a willing… if loving… transgression.” He sets the ice down at his side, the silk of his breeches strained taught with his arousal as he covers you with his body. “Do I take away your sight to awaken all your other senses, do I gag that pretty little mouth of yours to make your screams deeper and richer… or do I bind your hands and make you crave only my touch for your release.”

He trails the soft, fluttering edge of the ribbon up and down your belly, your eyes following it, drawn to the way it makes your gaze flicker to his own straining cock. You snigger, gripping your nails shamelessly into his hips, running them down his thighs hard enough to score his flesh. Stopping only once you cup that erection you crave.

“I guess that seals your fate, my love,” he licks his lips, gripping your offending hands by the wrists to stretch them overhead. The velvet caresses your skin, soft and cool as he snugs it around you, tethering them together and binding them around the leg of the chair nearest you.

It wouldn’t hold you captive, not for real, but this… this was for fun… delightful divertisment to help him rekindle his… festive spirit.

And as he leans over you, satisfied with the work of his skilled fingers to bind your hands above your head, you moan when he slips his legs between yours. Prying you wider, grinding that confined erection against you, the slippery feel of his silken pants soaking with your arousal.

Wet and warm before the fire, every nerve ignites under his attention, flaming with your need to have his skin against yours. “Seems unfair,” you try to whine as your voice ripples more as a whimper, “for me to be so… unwrapped and ready for you to enjoy.”

“You’re going to have to beg and plead more sweetly than that, my darling,” he smirks against your whining mouth, capturing it with his. You taste the burst of flavors on his tongue, the sweet and spices of the punch, his tongue cool in your mouth from having imbibed it.

Just like old times. You shudder and moan to feel it tangle with your own, that flavorful concoction, the tingle of alcohol spiking your senses. “Mmm, delicious,” you moan against his fangs.

“Not as delicious as it will be as I taste you, my pet. Be a good little consort, plead so prettily, and you’ll get everything you desire tonight.” He gives a little extra, hips undulating into your slick, his breeches undoubtably ruined by your arousal. You groan at that ferocity, that untamable hunger. And you, you buck your hips to ride that friction. You give him what he wants, a loud mewl of your pleasure to tickle his punch-coated tongue.

“Very good,” he smirks, raising back to his knees. “I’d ask you to help me…” he taunts, rubbing his hand down the front of his decadently embroidered jacket, slowly letting his buttons free one at a time. “… but you seem already… tied up…”

“Oh, you must be feeling merry to throw such taunting puns at me, my love,” you smile.

“Hush, love,” he grins wickedly, tossing that jacket to the side, the firelight dancing over his ivory skin, rippling over all the rises and ridges of his torso. “Or if you insist on that insolent mouth teasing me, I might just have to find something with which to gag you.”

You smirk, hungry and defiant, as you stick out your tongue. A taunt. And an invitation.

“If you wish,” he growls happily, hands quick to unbutton his breeches. A split second, and he frees that cock, drips of his seed already seeping from its tip. You keep your tongue dangling as he scoots forward straddling your shoulders, until your mouth has nothing more to do than let him in.

With a groan, he thrusts into that familiar wet. Head thrown back, but not so far as to risk that magnificent crown to tumble off. He’s slow, languorous, savoring the way you’ve taken him so well. “Such a good little consort, earning your penance and more…” One hand knots in your hair at the crown of your head, the other you can’t see.

But you hear his movements, that dull clank of ice cubes on glass. And suddenly, you gasp, that frigid cold in his invisible grip, trailing its cold up your thigh. He’s so quick, his face scrutinizing your slacked mouth as he continues to fuck your throat, a twist of total delight on his lips as you shiver.

That is your only warning, the only inkling of his devious intentions before he slips that cube of ice between your folds. His mouth grins so wide, you see every tooth, his pleasure cemented as he thrusts between your moaning lips. Your body fights against his pinning weight. Thrusts begin to accelerate, timed with the swirls of that ice as he circles faster over your clit.

You feel the water beginning to drip, same as your slick, and your body shudders, heated by the fire and his body, frozen between your thighs as he still sweeps the melting ice through your seam.

Wave after wave consumes you, total swept away by the play of hot and cold, the merry dance of ice and fire that crashes through your body. It makes your buck and writhe, panting and choking on his cock between your cheeks. He withdraws a bit to let you savor your pleasure, pouring those praises over you once more, “Perfect, my treasure, coming for me so hard and beautifully.”

He chuckles, stroking his fingers through your long hair, lifting your head for a few really slow, really deep thrusts. Ones that you curve your tongue around and suck hard until you gag.

“Yes…” he growls, taking his cock back in his hand as he withdraws it from your now swollen lips, “good girl, so delicious… I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson of loving disobedience.”

“Savored the fruits of it, more like…” you grin, sultry, desirous, licking your lips clean of his juices that have already snuck out to coat your lips, your tongue.

That ice, so much smaller already, skates up your mound, your belly, settling it in your navel. “Astarion,” you screech as he leaves it there, as the chill settles over where you crave the heat and weight of pelvis, where you wish for him to crush you and fuck you.

“So greedy, little love,” he purrs. “And isn’t I who should be the greedy one? Denied any semblance of Yuletide joy for so long?”

“Then be… greedy… be naughty, and I will be very, very nice,” you giggle, deep in your throat as you watch him sliding down to settle between your burning thighs.

But not before he sneaks another ice cube from the cup. You lose track of it… until he grins with his mouth spread wide, his gleaming teeth biting down on that piece of ice, shining like crystal in the firelight. You shiver in anticipation. Waiting, watching for just what he might do next.

Angling down agonizingly slowly, his eyes lock into yours, his mouth aiming that fragment of ice for your already straining taught nipples. You scream again, bucking and writhing as the cold shoots right through you, racing down your every nerve. He laughs, taking that cube back inside his mouth, swirling that ice-cold tongue now over your flesh, sucking it hard between his lips.

“I will be undone, my love…” you groan, arching under his tongue.

“That’s the point,” he laughs darkly taking out that cube to rub over your other aching nipple as he teases and toys with it, “be undone before you’ll be… unwrapped, my darling.”

It steals your breath, making you writhe and tug against your binds as you feel every shiver down your spine consuming every sensation. Then he sets the ice, nearly gone back in your navel.

Heavy-lidded, Astarion licks his lips, dragging his tongue over his fang, announcing his next desire loud and clear.

“Hungry? Then get to it, greedy love,” you squirm and squeal as he gives a bite on your breast, just enough to bring a little blood to the surface. “Hgnf,” you groan as he drinks from you, those little hums and noises he makes as he feeds bring even more arousal pooling between your thighs.

You feel his cock hardening even more, as if that was possible, the union of your bloods, that tremor down your bond as he feeds from you, chin red with your essence. It makes him grind against your mound, cock twitching, a mind of its own to find that wet and clenching pressure he craves more than anything.

You feel that slow undulation, the tip of his length slipping into your folds, teasing just an inch inside you. The chair above your head scrapes across the floor, the ribbon snapping as you struggle against your binds. “Please,” you beg, “free me. I want you… I need you.”

“And why should I release you early?” he asks, barely raising his head from the pillow of your breast as he still laps at your blood. Eyes closed. As if he is too preoccupied to watch your agony. Even though you feel his smiling lips against your skin. “Just what would you do… if… I set you free?”

“Touch you…” you pant, feeling his cock dipping in and out again, shallowly. But he stills, unsatisfied.

“And?” he goads, slowing his tongue, eyes flickering up briefly at last.

“Cling to those powerful scars on your back, trace them since I know them all…”

Another dip inside your channel, slowly still but deeper as he withdraws equally slow.

“…and?” he smirks, licking his bloodied lips and chin.

You give a laugh, heavy with your need. “Clean your face from my blood, you messy thing…”

“Hmm,” he smirks wider, the lights catching in the red of his eyes as he scans your pale skin, where you pant and squirm beneath him. “Tempting, but…”

“Worship you,” you interrupt, “caress every inch of your ivory skin, grip hard into the clenching power of your ass as you fuck me… finally, run my fingers through your hair to keep that perfect crown on your perfect head…”

His lips twitch just once, a single arm reaching for that ribbon as the velvet release from your wrists. You groan, finally… finally touching him again, your voice rasping in your throat as he sheathes himself in fully. Already he commands a punishing pace, but you are so on fire for him, you crave it. You ride it all, legs wrapped tightly around his hips, your hands clutched into his hair, pinning that crown in place.

A good thing too, his body shaking as he loses all his control. His rhythm is feral and driven, giving no regard to anything other than filling you with his cock and making you burst with his cum. But he watches, arms pressed into the floor as his eyes drink in that sight of you. The way your bosoms sway, coated in his spit and your blood as they glisten in the soft light. The way your eyes lock into his, flickering every now and then to watch the way his pale cock spears harder and harder into you.

You snicker, a wicked idea in your head as you glance to the last cube of ice in the glass. “You wouldn’t dare…” he groans inside your head. But it’s too late. You’ve already snagged that chilling, hard lump, tracing it down the planes of his belly as you reach between you.

“Oh, I would…”

You have to be quick, but he lets you… his flawless reflexes could stop you… if he wants.

But instead he just groans so loudly as you press that ice at the base of his cock. Caressing whatever length of him doesn’t thrust inside as he fucks.

He shivers, his arms shaking as he lowers down on top of you. That crown falls into the furs at your side, but he doesn’t care. His mouth devours yours, his grunts and pants as you bring him to climax deafen you, reverberating inside your mouth.

And as the melting ice drips to your seam, you follow him into that wave of pleasure. Heat and ice, fire and cold blast through your bodies. His thrusts are merciless, slamming hard against the end of your channel, the pain adding to the heady mix that steals your breath and sends his name screaming from your lips.

He stills inside you, your greedy walls squeezing out the last of his cum, working against the twitching pulses of his cock. Resting his hot, damp forehead in the nook of your shoulder, he struggles to catch his breath. Nuzzling closer, you feel his warmth saturating your flesh, your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders as he lays on you and in you.

“I… should thank you, my love,” he whispers, that tenderness he saves for your ears alone. “You never give up on me, never allow me to remain trapped, haunted by those ghosts of my past… however tormenting they may be. You have… done more than make my heart to beat again, to teach me how to love again. For centuries, at this time of year… I wanted nothing more than to take one of those stalks of holly and ram it like a stake through… his heart.”

Cazador’s. He won’t say it. Can’t say it.

“But with you, perhaps it is something just the two of us may… enjoy. To savor…”

“My love,” you whisper, placing a kiss into those silken, gleaming silver locks, “you don’t need to use Yuletide as a reason to wrap me up in pretty ribbons.”

“It is rather pretty, isn’t it?” he chuckles as he raises his head, “not as magnificent as this, however…” His hand closes around that metal circlet, replacing it crookedly on his silver hair. On that head made for a crown. “Seems like you’ll need one of your own, my little consort.”

“I’m open to all sorts of gifts from you…” you purr, catching his chin to bring his mouth to yours.

“Perhaps you need me to give it to you again, my darling?” he speaks into your lips. “Another lesson for me in finding the warmth of Yuletide? I might still feel a bit frozen in the heart, if you’re not thorough, you know…”

“Avernus would freeze over before I abandon you to such a fate, gods bless it…” you catch his lips in your mouth, a good long suck in that thick lower one as you nip it gently in your fangs. Tasting the richness of his blood, the thrumming of his power that rides his essence.

“Then gods bless it,” he growls, hand catching tightly around your chin, a slight drag of his still hardened cock inside you, “every time.”

[kithtaehyung]

🎶 Composition of the Century (The Collab Masterlist!) 🎶

Hello, everyone! Welcome to the concert hall.

Take your seats and silence your phones, we have the genius Min Yoongi himself to celebrate on his thirtieth birthday!

Isi (@raplinesmoon), Ryen (@kithtaehyung) and Mars (@joheunsaram) are stoked to announce the masterlist for our second BTS 30 for 30 collab. For this collaboration, we have gathered 30 fantastic writers to showcase 30 musical pieces celebrating Yoongi's brilliant mind during his birth month.

🎼 All details/ratings of the upcoming lineup are under the cut. These fics are slated to go on tour by March 15th, so get ready to be moved (and don’t forget to come back and give them a listen!)

by the time i've figured out what it's worth (m) by @ugh-yoongi ⤷ Guitar 🤍 Yoongi x Reader(f) 🎶 est. relationship, marriage au | angst, smut

🎼 You used to find comfort in it—listening to those old songs, an aural timeline of your and Yoongi’s relationship. The shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. All those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and Yoongi’s got one foot out the door.

🎧 Listen Here!

The Eternal Prince (13+) by @phenomenalgirl9 ⤷ Accordion 🤍 Yoongi x Reader(f) 🎶 fantasy, reincarnation au | action

🎼 Everyone heard of the Prince who got cursed to be a beast for being too proud of his beauty, ever heard of the Prince who got cursed to have a frozen heart because he was cold? But, only one thing can thaw the ice in his heart, love. And only one person can give it to him, Y/n, will he be able to save her this time round? This time round, will his heart thaw?

🎧 Listen Here!

Seductress In Satin (M) by @daimyosjeon ⤷ Songwriting 🤍 Songwriter!Yoongi x Reader(f) 🎶 est. relationship au | smut

🎼 Yoongi has been ignoring you for a couple of weeks now because of his work. Finally, it's time to step up your game.

Pull On My Heart Strings (13+) by @cutest-bunny-writings ⤷ Harp 🤍 Yoongi x Reader(f) 🎶 angst, fluff

🎼 You've been waiting for this show for so long. To see award winning harpist Min Yoongi perform live, in a front row seat! What could possibly go wrong?

🎧 Listen Here!

Please Linger (M) by @matchy6812 ⤷ Synrix 🤍 Musician!Yoongi x Reader(f) 🎶 fantasy au | humor, smut

🎼 After terrorizing the villagers with one too many pranks, you’ve been locked away in The Tower to atone for your petty crimes. As far as you know, The Tower is impenetrable. Nobody can get in, and nobody can get out. It seems you’ll never escape—until one night, a man named Yoongi barges in…

🎧 Listen Here!

Floating Chapels (17+) by @persephonesorchid ⤷ Chimes 🤍 Yoongi x Reader 🎶 regency au, strangers to lovers | angst, fluff

🎼 You open a music school for underprivileged youth and since the beginning, you've had an anonymous doner: they provide your students with instruments and general funding. One day, Duke Min presents himself and a grand offer for you and your students.

The Departure (M) by @sugalaritae ⤷ Double Bass 🤍 Classical Musician!Yoongi x Classical Musician!Jungkook 🎶 rivals to lovers, exes to lovers, romance | angst, light fluff, smut

🎼 It's been 5 years since Jungkook's seen Yoongi play live. 5 years since he was in the same room as Yoongi. 5 long years and so much has changed. Now, on the evening of what looks like Yoongi's last concert, Jungkook watches from the audience. Every finger movement reminds him of what it felt like to be touched. Every bow movement pulls out an old memory tucked away reminding him how intoxicating it was to play with Yoongi and oh! how he aches for a chance once again. Except he's ruined everything, and nothing will ever be the way it was. Especially Yoongi.

🎧 Listen Here! 

unrequited love (& other clichés) (m) by @hot-soop ⤷ Cello 🤍 Cellist!Yoongi x Violinist!Reader(f) 🎶 non idol au, friends with benefits | angst, smut

🎼 Namjoon thinks it’s almost funny how both of you were dumped a year apart to the day. (It’s not.) While you’re partial to ignoring your problems, Namjoon likes to analyse. He cries a lot. Has an existential crisis. Starts talking about how suffering breeds creativity. Quotes a bunch of arseholes like Huxley and Lennon, and apparently the validation from a few long dead greats is all he needs to get the ball rolling. So sure, you’ll go along with it - because he’s your friend and you’re feeling numb to everything anyway. Namjoon needs a way to process his pain. But when his community orchestra project takes off and becomes something bigger than either of you expected, you think maybe the distraction is something of a blessing - especially when it brings Min Yoongi, someone you knew from before, someone who’s going through a heartbreak of his own.

all that we wouldn’t say (m) by @effortandmore ⤷ Producer 🤍 Yoongi x Namjoon 🎶 canon-divergent (post-disbandment), exes to lovers | angst, smut

🎼 If Yoongi told someone that letting go of BTS and Namjoon at the same time was hard, it would be a gross understatement. It was, in fact, the worst year or so of his life, but he’s managed to somehow move on. He’s had time, therapy, and lots of friends, family, and work to distract him. Things are good now—the best they’ve ever been, maybe. But Yoongi knows better than anyone that good things don’t always last, and that point is proven when Namjoon shows back up in his life out of nowhere with an album that needs producing and questions Yoongi doesn’t have the answers to.

harder, better, faster, stronger (m) by @the-boy-meets-evil ⤷ Synth 🤍 Synth Player!Yoongi x Reader(f) 🎶 non-idol au | fluff, smut, probably not angst

🎼 Yoongi had it all. He was part of one of the most famous musical acts on the world. Sold out shows, endless opportunities to collaborate, everything he'd wanted. And he had a great personal life free from all that since so few people knew what he actually looked like. Enter you, the new person he's head over heels for. Only one problem - you have no idea he's part of the group and don't seem particularly fond of them. Will he tell you what he actually does for a living or chicken out after hearing another of your rants?

moonlight sonata (m) by @sugarwithtea ⤷ Piano 🤍 Pianist!Yoongi x Reader(f) 🎶 enemies to lovers | angst, fluff, smut

🎼 Passion is a fickle thing. It is a feeling that drives you to success, but if lost -- you can turn as stagnant as a pond. Min Yoongi has always took pride in his passion, his skill, his art. But what happens when slowly the flame dies inside him? He returns back home, to the place where he had started to love music. But, you are there. The bane of his existence. You hate him like a sweltering flame, bigger than his passion for music. And you, are not so thrilled with the news of his return. What happens when you both inevitably cross paths and start a saga of hate and love?

🎧 Teaser!

가연 (Ga-yeon) (m) by @raplinesmoon ⤷ Bassoon 🤍 Restaurant Owner!Yoongi x Nurse!Reader 🎶 fake dating au | angst, fluff, smut

🎼 Your younger sister is getting married at the end of the summer, and while everyone else in your family rejoices, you’re stuck without a date and picking up extra shifts, your previous failures coming back to haunt you. The only comfort you can find is in the tiny hole-in-the-wall Korean place that seems to stay open all night, and its handsome owner Yoongi. But what happens when your circumstances force you to rope Yoongi into a crazy plan? Will the lines between you begin to blur, or will the events of the summer bring some much needed clarity to your otherwise murky life?

A Love Supreme (M) by @gimmethatagustd ⤷ Saxophone 🤍 Musician!Yoongi x Author!Reader 🎶 cruise ship au, strangers to lovers | light angst, fluff, humor, smut

🎼 After your most recently published novel miserably flops, shipping yourself off to sea on a three-week cruise without reliable internet or cell phone service sounds like a great way to run from your problems (and your editor). You don’t expect to find the cure for writer’s block at the cruise ship’s jazz club in the form of an uptight saxophone player.

Dissonance (M) by @sailoryooons ⤷ Clarinet 🤍 Musician!Yoongi x Musician!Reader 🎶 enemies to lovers, idiots to lovers | a little angst, smut

🎼 You have worked endlessly for everything in your life. Your scholarship, your high standing at Juilliard, and most certainly trying to afford an apartment in New York while chasing your dreams in the legendary halls of musical geniuses. And then there’s Min Yoongi, who works hard at nothing, who doesn’t care to study, and who shows up late to everything. After three years of dealing with him, you are determined to take first chair from him during your final semester at Juilliard. Even if it kills you.

Standing Right Here (M) by @sweetestofchaos ⤷ Keyboard 🤍 Business Management Major!Yoongi x Business Management Major!Reader 🎶 college au, friends to lovers | angst, fluff, light smut

🎼 As the youngest son of the Min family, Yoongi is forced to follow in his father's footsteps to help take care of the family business. Yoongi goes about his college life with his head down, keeping to himself but one encounter outside with a classmate changes Yoongi's view about his life. When Yoongi's father catches wind, Yoongi is giving an ultimatum that will change his life forever. Will he make the right call or be left standing alone?

🎧 Listen Here!

Insatiable (M) by @mincursedarokster ⤷ Janggu Drum 🤍 Actor!Yoongi x Actor!Jimin 🎶 romantic comedy, rivals to lovers | fluff, some smut

🎼 When Yoongi loses his top spot in a recent poll to Jimin, the last thing he expect was to find himself on set with the younger male and having to take him under his mentorship as they work together in period piece where Jimin is the vocalist to Yoongi's Janggu playing. Whilst everyone around him see’s Jimin as the perfect little angel, a doting mentee, Yoongi knows differently. Can Yoongi keep his sanity and his composure on set dealing with the insatiable appetite of the devilish angel?

Hexed (T) by @minisugakoobies ⤷ Oboe 🤍 Witch!Yoongi x Vampire!Seokjin 🎶 supernatural, enemies to lovers, witch au | fluff, humor

🎼 Ancient vampire Jin really has it all - fame, fortune, and undying good looks. His immortal life is perfect... or it would be, if it weren't for that annoying(ly handsome) witch Yoongi and his unearthly desire to make Jin's world an unliving hell.

The Song of Us (PG) by @seokra 🤍 Yoongi x Reader(f) 🎶 contemporary romance | fluff

🎼 What was supposed to be a simple cafe date, turns into a night of adventure in a world of music you’ve never experienced before.

Gold (M) by @yoongimingyu ⤷ Vocals (Singing) 🤍 Yoongi x Reader(f) 🎶 est. relationship | fluff, smut

🎼 One thing your boyfriend isn’t shy about is his musical talent. He puts words together in a way that completely convinces you that that’s how they were supposed to be all along – strung next to each other just like that. The fact that he knows it too… It's pretty hot, honestly. You know he enjoys getting to show off a little – sit you down, share what he’s been working on and watch you light up with pride. All of this only makes it especially intriguing when he gets suddenly bashful about his most recent songwriting development.

🎧 Listen Here! 

A Change of Rhythm (PG) by @min-yumniverse ⤷ Trumbone 🤍 Yoongi x Musician!Reader 🎶 contemporary romance, hurt/comfort, comedy | slight angst, fluff

🎼 Music doesn’t feel as powerful as it once has. The notes on the keyboard feel boring, and uninteresting. The guitar and drums feel likewise. Each day feels like it’s littered with laziness and unamusement. Which means; it’s time for a change of rhythm.

🎧 Teaser! | 🎧 Listen Here!

all about that bass (m) by @augustbutwinter ⤷ Bass 🤍 Yoongi x Reader 🎶 band au | crack, fluff, light smut

🎼 Yoongi’s band tries to get their grumpy bassist laid. Little do they know he has a secret.

Time Out (M) by @bangtanintotheroom ⤷ Vocals (Rap) 🤍 Underground Rapper!Yoongi x Underground Rapper!Reader(f) 🎶 non-idol au, not-quite lovers | angst, fluff, smut

🎼 What you and Yoongi had going on now was a far cry from the days when the two of you would be at each other’s throats with lyrics that cut sharp as a knife. But lately, you’ve been pulling back, busy with something that you didn’t want to divulge to Yoongi just yet. And now, he can’t help but wonder if you want to go back to those old days...

Beat of my Heart (M) by @joonminshua ⤷ Tambourine 🤍 Yoongi x Afab!Reader 🎶 college au, band au, strangers to lovers | fluff, humor, smut

🎼 'How hard can it be to play the tambourine? You just shake it around and smack it and then you have music, right?' That’s what you think until you’re holding the instrument in your hand and it sounds nothing like the way it does when Min Yoongi, your college’s musical prodigy, plays it during band practice. When he reluctantly decides to help you practice, you start to notice just how serious he is about the unassuming percussion instrument. You also start to notice just how passionate, kind, and undeniably handsome he is. Needless to say, you didn’t intend on picking up a crush alongside your new hobby.

Counting Time (M) by @mrworldwideshoulders ⤷ Xylophone 🤍 Percussionist!Yoongi x Flutist!Reader 🎶 college au, enemies to lovers (or so she thinks) | fluff, eventual smut

🎼 Min Yoongi only cares about two things. One: keeping his parents off his back. Two: finishing college on time so he can spend one last summer playing gigs with his band before he has to start working and join the rat race. Faced with losing out on his summer plans over a missing course credit or joining concert band, a guaranteed easy A, the choice is obvious. He knows how to count the beats. He just never counted on you.

Muffled Tones (21+) by @nabiolive ⤷ Drums 🤍 Drummer!Yoongi x Groupie!Reader(f) 🎶 glam rock au, strangers to lovers | angst, fluff, smut

🎼 To Yoongi, all that mattered was sex, drugs, and rock & roll. Then you came along, and although he couldn't stop thinking about you, his priorities remained the same.

dearly bereft. (nc-17) by @rkivian ⤷ Flute 🤍 Flutist!Yoongi x Duchess!Reader 🎶 forbidden romance, exes au, suggestive | angst

🎼 dearly bereft, you should be aware by now, that your words are only a product of your silly little heads - that which is also stubborn... that which puts your drivenness to perilous use. alternatively, yoongi's audacious company is to blame for your failure of ending your repetitive endeavours.

Inconvenient (M) by @v-hope-mins ⤷ French Horn 🤍 Jazz Lounge Owner!Yoongi x Heiress!Reader 🎶 marriage of convenience, friends to lovers | fluff, smut

🎼 While on a family vacation, your father delivers his ultimatum. He wishes you to be married before taking over more responsibilities in your family’s hotel chains. Either you choose someone, or he puts forward his own suitor. He admits he already has a suitor in mind - Kim Seokjin. Feeling betrayed you walk out of the lunch. Your walk leads you to an old acquaintance, Min Yoongi. The two of you get to talking, your conversation leading you to make a decision. A marriage of convenience. Yoongi obviously thinks it's a bad idea, but you convince him. However, Yoongi proves to be too good of a husband, and suddenly your growing feelings become inconvenient. How are you supposed to survive in a marriage of convenience when you're falling for your husband?

beguiling melody (m) by @ressjeon ⤷ Gayageum  🤍 Vampire!Yoongi x Seamstress!Reader 🎶 romantic suspense, strangers to lovers, historical fantasy, 1800s au, voyage au

🎼 Secretly boarding the ship in hopes of finding a better life had not been easy. Even more so when you witness something that could have put your life in danger. but the ominous yet captivating stranger sparks your curiosity when he began targeting your greatest desires - making you question if his intentions are to solely ensure that you will keep his secret.

———————————————————————

adagio (pg-15, nc-17) by @lveclouds ⤷ Violin 🤍 Violinist!Yoongi x Princess!Reader 🎶 forbidden love, strangers to lovers | heavy angst, fluff

🎼 In which Queen Mara’s only heir falls for a gorgeous violinist with a mysterious and shrouded past.

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Lasting Melody (R) by @joheunsaram ⤷ Conductor 🤍 Conductor!Yoongi x Violinist!Reader 🎶 exes to lovers | angst, fluff, smut

🎼 The flowers blooming always reminded you of the spring you spent in the arms of your program’s recluse. The man who was too shy to even raise his hand in class but bold enough to ask for your number. With years spent apart and your fame making it harder to build any connections, you thought about him sitting at his piano composing a melody you played when life got too hard. The same melody echoing through the empty theatre you stumbled onto to hide from the rain.

———————————————————————

to zanarkand (m) by @kithtaehyung ⤷ DJ 🤍 Yoongi x DJ!Reader(f) 🎶 marriage au, childhood friends to lovers | angst, fluff, smut

🎼 Your best friend has explicitly entrusted you to be in charge of all the music for his wedding. Which means you get a back row seat to watch the love of your life walk down the aisle. To the song that brought you together in the first place.

Thank you to all the participants and everyone showing love! If you would like to be tagged in any of these fics, go ahead and comment on this post so the writers that do tag readers are made aware :D (Or you can definitely drop a sweet message in their inboxes and/or check if they have a taglist form!)

Lastly, let's give a huge round of applause for these wonderful artists👏 They're working hard on these pieces for Yoongi Day, and even a little bit of support goes a long way💕

[sierra-touge-bitch]

@toffiendfee here is your Secret Santa gift! Sorry if it's not great, I've never really written fanfic before lmao

Anyway...

Blood on Fire

(This takes place around Third Stage)

The heat of summer, although long, never lasts forever. Eventually it fades away into the relentless season of cold and bitterness. To most spirited drivers, winter is a time to rest, ponder, and plan for upcoming endeavors to take place once the ice begins to thaw. But for others, the constant yearning to better their skills outweighs any care about conditions and risks.

Especially for Keisuke Takahashi. He had been considered the fastest driver in the Gunma locale, tearing up the roads with his Mazda RX-7 FD3S. Racers and enthusiasts feared him. He was incredibly skilled, second only to his older brother, Ryosuke. Although Ryosuke was his roadblock between being Gunma's greatest racer, Keisuke did not see him as such. His older bro was someone to look up to, to emulate, to learn from. After all, Ryosuke was the one who led him and raised him into the world of touge racing. Keisuke had the privilege of learning straight from the best, the unbeatable. What more could he ask for?

However, just this past summer, his exaltations of his beloved brother were shattered. His invincible mentor, the best street racer he knew, was dethroned by a junky 15 year old Toyota Corolla driven by a young kid who looked to be half asleep. But Keisuke dealt with more than just the sting of Ryosuke's upsetting loss. He was the one who was beaten by him first. His 350 horsepower rotary engine was made out as a joke by this random guy who just showed up one day in his shitbox.

And it would never happen again.

Winter was coming. To most enthusiasts, this is a time to take a break and maybe do some upgrades and maintenance. To Keisuke? Any time not spent out on the road was time wasted. If he was going to prove he was the fastest driver, he needed to spend every second possible improving his technique.

"Keisuke, I'm impressed with how much you've been practicing lately. But you're allowed to take a day off, you know. It's Christmas Eve."

The blond grabbed his keys and was just about to head out the door when he heard the voice of his older brother in the next room. He slowed his pace towards the garage upon hearing him, pondering his words. He'd been in the driver's seat of his FD just about every free second he had. Maybe he did deserve a break.

But he couldn't. Any idle time meant time not spent practicing. He couldn't let the tofu boy surpass him. He had to get out on the road. Nothing was going to stand in his way. He glanced back intently at Ryosuke with his hand on the doorknob.

"Aniki, I can't. Sorry."

That was all he said to his concerned brother before he quickly exited into the garage. There was a certain fire about his eyes, a fierce glow of sought revenge and determination. Even if it killed him, he was going to keep driving nonstop until his fated rematch.

The FD's rotary engine hesitated for a second to start in the cold, but after giving it a little bit of throttle it fired up. Keisuke hardly gave the car a chance to warm up before dashing away on the street. His boiling emotions were drowned out by the roar of the 13B engine as it screamed down the road toward the domain of his rival.

The sun was long gone by the time Keisuke left the Takahashi household. Darkness covered the world around him, hazed by a layer of light fog. Some snow lay on the ground, but the roads had been plowed recently, leaving them clear. It was quite cold outside as well, but Keisuke was kept plenty warm inside his car by the heater and his burning rage.

The determined Takahashi didn't even hesitate when he reached the bottom of Mount Akina. He knew what he was here to do, and he was gonna get it done. The FD began charging up the mountain. Although his opponent stood no chance against him uphill, making it unnecessary to practice, Keisuke knew that the quicker he got to the top, the more time he had for downhill runs. He continued his climb, expertly rounding the five consecutive hairpins. His control over the Mazda RX-7 was near perfect. He could feel every shift in weight, every loss in grip, every braking point, every apex. Since the end of summer, he had been obsessively running up and down Mount Akina. He basically knew every corner by this point.

About halfway up the mountain, Keisuke felt like he was more in the zone than he had ever been on any other practice run. Maybe because it was a holiday, and only those who are extremely dedicated to their craft wouldn't be lazing the day away. As fog started to form on the windshield, he cranked up the defroster to the highest setting. The temperature was beginning to rapidly drop outside, and the wind picked up. Even at his speed, Keisuke could feel the wind nudging him from side to side. There was a faint voice in the back of his mind telling him that the weather could keep getting worse, and that he should call it a night after his downhill run and head home. But why should he? Any good driver should be able to handle any sort of road conditions, no matter how bad. He silenced the nagging in his head with the sound of his engine.

Entry, brake, apex, accelerate. Brake, slide, power out. This line will set up the next. Perfect.

Keisuke couldn't be more in tune to his driving than he was at that moment. Every move felt natural. He was riding a rollercoaster operated by his nonconscious. His body instinctively guided the car up the road, reaching the mountaintop with adrenaline coursing through his veins. With no hesitation, he whipped the car around and began flying down the hill, not wanting to lose his high from the run up. Nothing could break his concentration at this point. Not even the snowflakes beginning to accumulate in his field of vision.

Back at the Takahashi home, Ryosuke stood by his window watching the snow fall and quickly stick to the ground, blanketing the town in a soft field of white after only a few minutes. Although he had previously emphasized snow as being excellent for driving practice, the raven-haired man couldn't help but worry about his younger brother. He stared out from his bedroom watching the flurry on the other side of the glass. It was becoming near impossible to see across the street in the whiteout. He resisted the impulse to check the weather forecast. No matter what it said, he wouldn't be able to contact Keisuke in the thick of it. The cold emanating from the window bit at his nose. All he could do was wait and hope for the best.

The yellow blur continued barreling down Mount Akina at his usual insane speed, caught up in the wind of his driving and ignoring the road in front of him turning white. Sure, Keisuke noticed the tires losing grip as he cornered, but he would instinctually correct any slide he found himself in. If he could master snow, then what could he possibly have to fear in his driving career? If anything, this was more of a perk to him than a hurdle. He opened the throttle a little more as he hit a straighter section, the shout of the rotary engine further fueling him like a high-energy song. The twin turbos spooled up in harmony with the howling wind.

The FD shot towards the five consecutive hairpins like a bullet. Keisuke knew in his mind exactly where he should start braking. He pictured the upcoming turn in his head and pushed the pedal in. As he did so, his rear tires gave up their traction. A pang of fear shot throughout his entire body as his car lost grip. The tires glided on the slick snow as the FD rocketed straight towards the outside of the corner. At this speed, he couldn't possibly regain control.

He did it, he broke his limit.

The last thing Keisuke felt at that moment was a sharp pain in his head.

The RX-7 came to an abrupt stop wedged underneath the guardrail of the first hairpin. After only a couple minutes, the snow absorbed the bright yellow car into the rest of the scenery.

"Up and at 'em, sleepyhead. Your alarm went off 15 minutes ago."

"Crap, did I oversleep?!" Takumi nearly jumped out of bed at the sound at his dad's voice. By the time he aligned himself with reality, the old man had already left the room. "So cold..." Takumi shivered after emerging from underneath his cozy blanket. He looked out the window as he usually does, but couldn't see much through the dense fog apart from the subtle bloom of the street lights. He dragged himself down the stairs, feeling like he'd rather just fall and let himself slide the rest of the way. Something about cold, gloomy weather makes him sleepier than usual. Probably because anyone with an ounce of sanity wouldn't be awake, let alone outside, in this.

When Takumi stepped out the door, some flakes were still gently falling from the abyssal sky. He fought with the door of the 86 for a second before yanking it open and stumbling backwards in the snow. His cold hands turned the ignition key to bring the AE86 out of its short-lived hibernation. The engine struggled to get going, but eventually started up after a few cranks. Desperate for some warmth while the car warmed up, Takumi stood at the exhaust pipe exit. He held his frigid hands out in front of it to attempt to regain some feeling in them until the car was warm enough for the heater to work.

He could only stand being out in the elements for about a minute before leaving his source of warmth and retreating back to the driver's seat of the 86. He shook the snow out of his hair before sitting down. He leaned his face against the steering wheel eyeing the coolant temperature gauge, waiting for it to begin moving. He could have passed out right there if the knock at the window didn't jolt him awake. His dad opened the door and handed him the paper cup.

"You know the drill, don't spill the water. And no sleeping at the wheel."

"Yeah, okay," Takumi replied sleepily, grabbing the cup and putting it into the cup holder. He closed the door, put the car in gear, and turned onto the street towards the mountain. Once he was on the road, his focus was more tuned in to the drive. About an inch of snow covered the pavement. Snow was no problem for the Fujiwara boy; delivering tofu every single day no matter how bad the road was made him quite the seasoned driver. The Trueno's studded tires kicked up snow behind them as Takumi opened the throttle. He started his trek up Akina's mountain road. Everyone thought his car was ridiculously fast, like a monster was under the hood, but the drawbacks of the 4A-GE became crystal clear on an uphill climb. As the road became windy, though, Takumi unleashed his immaculate cornering ability, sliding through the snow like a crazy horse-drawn sleigh.

He glided towards the consecutive hairpins, taking care to not be too rough as to not ruin his fragile cargo. If anything were to happen to the tofu, Bunta was sure to do the same to Takumi's brain. The water rode the inside rim of the paper cup and threatened to splash out. Even with the challenge of not spilling the water, Takumi learned to control the car to keep it steady while also maintaining a quick pace. The five consecutive hairpin turns proved to be a challenge early on in his driving career with the back-to-back weight shifting. Through years of practice, though, the section became second nature to him.

As the 86 began to round the last left hairpin, Takumi noticed a snowbank sticking out into the road that wasn't normally there. He knew where piles of snow usually show up in storms, but here wasn't one of the normal spots. As he continued around the corner, a subtle flash of yellow caught his eye. He briefly thought about his race a few months ago with Keisuke Takahashi and his brilliant yellow FD. He shook his head to himself, it couldn't be it, why would it be here now, off the side of the road nonetheless? He kept telling himself he'd just imagined it, but the thought lingered in his head. Besides, if he were to stop right now, the tofu delivery would be late. He'd see if it was still there on his way down.

The snow on the pavement became deeper with the elevation gain. Knowledge was keeping Takumi on the road more than being able to see the course itself. When he recognized he was coming up on the lake, a small sigh of relief came out of his mouth. Snow driving wasn't anything new to him, but God, was it a chore. He pulled up to the hotel, popped the hatch, and brought the tofu inside. Walking back to the car made Takumi wish he had better snow shoes since his feet were getting a little chilly. He got back in the panda Trueno and blasted the heater to thaw his toes. Maybe next time he'll stop at Itsuki's and see if he has any plastic bags to keep his shoes dry.

Takumi began his downhill drive once feeling returned to his feet. Without the numbness plaguing his mind, the mound of snow at the hairpin took over his thinking. Something just felt off to him. What if something had happened to Keisuke? He was pretty rude, sure, but he would never wish anything like that upon him.

The hairpin approached and the snow pile remained. The dawn sun slightly illuminated the foggy landscape. Now it was obvious that there was in fact a snow-covered FD with a giant wing on that corner. Takumi pulled over and put on his hazard lights (in case anyone was insane enough to be driving on this road in this weather). The water slowly seeping into his shoes didn't matter now. As Takumi neared the car, he brushed the snow off the driver window.

The blond young man laid there in his seat with his head resting on the steering wheel, motionless. The front end of the RX-7 was smashed up from being pushed under the guardrail. The body work was definitely going to be expensive, but there were bigger things to worry about.

Reluctantly, Takumi knocked on the window in some feeble attempt to wake the unconscious driver. No response came. He then reached for the door handle and pulled it. The front of the door scraped against the fender and let out a crack as the teenager broke the icy seal keeping it shut. His hand approached the older man's shoulder.

"SHIT!" Keisuke yelled the second Takumi's hand made contact with him. Immediately, Takumi jumped back, hitting his head on the door frame.

"Ah, sorry! Ow..." Takumi rubbed his head from the impact. Keisuke was wide awake now. He looked at who just tapped him. Once it struck him who it was, he looked straight at the windshield to avoid eye contact.

"Hey man, are you okay? I thought I saw your car on my delivery so I figured I'd..."

"Shut up. This is your fault." Keisuke uttered silently.

"WHAT?! What did I do?!" Wow. You come to help a fellow racer you've met before and the first thing he does is attack you.

"You're the reason I'm here. You beat me not once, but twice. And my brother. And then you just go winning every challenge you come across like you're the main character or something. I've been running up here every chance I get. Because one day I'm gonna beat you. Here. I'm gonna show you that I'm not just another win on your list. I'm more of a racer than you'll ever be! You're just a stupid kid! In a shitty excuse for a car! How can you even..." His tone began to shift from anger to sadness, "just my damn luck, I swear," Keisukes head lowered. He tried to sniffle quietly so his rival, at his car door, wouldn't hear. He failed.

"Listen, I just came here to help you. Are you hurt? I can take you to a hospital," Takumi was much more focused on Keisuke's well-being than any of the words just shouted at him.

The blond didn't even flinch. His arm was covering his face. He said nothing. It was clear the greatest injury he sustained was to his pride.

"Come on, get in my car. I'll take you home if you want."

"..."

"...please."

Keisuke barely whimpered out the word. There wasn't anything to hide anymore. He'd showed all his weakness to his enemy, who was trying to help him. Nothing to lose now. He took Takumi's hand that was offered to him. A wave of relief and comfort washed over him as he felt the warmth of his hand. He stepped out of the car and leaned on Takumi as they walked towards the idling 86. Through the pounding of his head, all Keisuke could think about was how warm his human crutch was. His feet moved by themselves until the two men got to the white and black hatchback.

Takumi guided Keisuke to lean on the car while he opened the door. Before he walked around to the driver's side, he reached up to ruffle the snow out of Keisuke's hair. Keisuke just stared at Takumi with a tired but confused look.

"Dad doesn't like when the seats get wet," Takumi said after an awkward period of silence. He got into the driver's seat and began driving slowly down the mountain.

The drive was almost completely silent aside from Keisuke giving one-word directions to the Takahashi house. Not many people were on the road since most were spending Christmas with their families. As they pulled up to the house, Takumi parked in the street. He took a look at the house and stared in awe. He knew the Takahashis were rich, but their house looked like something he'd only see in a movie. He and Keisuke, now fully awake, walked up to the front door. Takumi knocked.

"You don't have to do that, this is my house." Keisuke opened the door and went inside. "You can come inside if you want. Aniki's probably making breakfast or something."

Takumi stood blankly at the door for a second before the offer processed in his head. As he stepped inside the house, he was entranced by how clean and fancy it was. Words couldn't describe the feeling of being invited into such a rich house. It was quite humbling.

"You can go sit on the couch," Keisuke gestured towards the most comfortable piece of furniture Takumi had ever seen in his life. It called to him. He nonconsciously drifted towards it like it was pulling him in. He plopped onto the cushions and sunk right in. He could have fallen asleep right there if he wasn't kept awake by the nerve of being in Keisuke and Ryosuke's house. They both are so rich, so skilled, so good-looking...

Ryosuke got himself dressed and came down the stairs upon hearing his brother's voice. He'd been silently worrying about him all night, especially considering he'd not been home at his usual time.

"Good morning, Keisuke. How was last night's run?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," Keisuke responded from in the kitchen. He was rummaging through the fridge for something to snack on.

"Alright, I won't pry. If you're hungry, I'll cook something for you," Ryosuke playfully nudged his younger brother away from the fridge.

Keisuke rubbed his head in response with a light groan.

"Come on, be careful. My head hurts."

Ryosuke's expression turned from a smile to one of concern.

"Did something happen last night?" He asked sternly.

"I lost control on a corner and ran off the road. Fujiwara woke me up and took me home."

"Oh, Fujiwara. Is he here now?"

"He's on the couch."

Ryosuke walked over to the couch and was greeted with Takumi's wide eyes staring right at him.

"Ah, Fujiwara, good morning. I see you brought my brother here?"

Takumi was like a deer in the headlights at the shock of Ryosuke talking to him. It wasn't even near the first time they'd spoken. Ryosuke had asked him a few weeks prior in person to join an expeditionary team while he was at work, as well as asking how to get in contact with Kyoichi Sudo. Talking to him in person definitely felt a lot more awkward than over the phone, but even just his presence was enough to get Takumi anxious.

"Oh! Uh, yeah. I saw his car on the side of the road and went to go help him, and I offered to bring him home. The car doesn't look too good, though."

"I thank you for that. I was concerned about him driving in this storm. Don't worry about the FD, we'll take care of it. Would you like some hot chocolate? It's a good Christmas drink."

Oh yeah, today was Christmas. Takumi didn't really celebrate the holiday, and failed to notice the lights and garlands around th

[celestialseawitch-ff]

🌹

Hermione couldn’t meet their eyes. It finally clicked in her mind, what she was feeling. The cold. The ice in her chest. Her eyes grew in horror. She hadn’t felt this unrelenting cold in three years. 

Ron turned to Harry. “How do we get home?” he demanded.

Hermione slowly lowered herself to knees as she began to cry.

“Hermione?”

“Hermione!”

Harry and Ron were crouched down by her. Their hands felt burning hot on her shoulders.

“Hermione, what’s wrong?” Harry pleaded.

“I- I can feel him,” she cried.

Harry paled. Ron stood and stormed away as he released a stream of curses. Hermione felt her tears begin to overwhelm her.

“No, no, no- Hermione.” Harry cupped her face in his hands. He pressed close until all she could see was the bright emerald green of his eyes. “Listen to me, stay with me. You’re okay. I’m right here. You can feel it right, feel my magic?”

Hermione sobbed as she nodded. She could always feel Harry’s magic. It smelled like wind and sage, and had the uncanny ability to wind around her in the softest, most beautiful way.

“Focus on me, love. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Mummy?” Teddy cried and pressed his face into her neck, clearly upset by her distress.

Hermione’s expression broke. Harry pressed a kiss to her forehead and Hermione felt his magic wind around her like a blanket, stronger and tighter than ever before.

She gasped in a shuddering breath.

“You need to block it out,” he whispered against her skin. “Just like Snape taught you. Block it out.”

“I can’t- he’s too strong.”

“You can. For Teddy, ‘Mione. Do it for Teddy.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as she cried. She forced herself to build up her occlumency walls. She hadn’t been strong enough when she was younger, but some sort of unknown magical protection had always kept her safe in the past. Whatever magic had been cast over her as a baby to hide her from her birth father had failed after their accidental time travel.

Hermione breathed in deeply and released it slowly. She felt her emotions settle. The ice thawed in her chest. The cold remained – as it always would while another was alive in her family magic. But it no longer consumed her as it had before.

Hermione opened her eyes.

“Okay?”

She nodded. “It won’t last.”

“No. But we’ll be gone before that happens.”

She shook her head.

Harry stared into her eyes. She could see the frustration in the furrow of his brow and the press of his lips. She saw the thoughts racing through his mind as if she were using legilimency.  Maybe she was a bit, she tended to slip up around him – especially when she was upset. He was remembering their time travel trip in third year, the things she’d told him about it.

“Time-turners are circular paradoxes,” he said.

“Normal time-turners,” she responded with a sniffle.

“And the one we used?”

“Red and gold. I’ve never seen a time-turner with red sand. I don’t know what that means, but… it activated without me turning it. And none of us were wearing it. And it’s gone now.” She held up her hand with the little crumpled note inside. “The note came with us but not the time turner.”

“Is it back in the… future?” Ron wondered, having come back to them again.

Harry slowly shook his head. “No, I think it exploded.”

Hermione’s brows drew together as she stared at Harry. “It activated when you brushed past. I think your… magical aura might have activated it.”

Ron made a face. “Harry’s magical aura is bigger than that.”

“But it’s concentrated closer on,” Hermione insisted.

“I didn’t do this,” Harry snapped.

“No,” Hermione agreed in a soothing voice as she gently rubbed circles into Teddy's back. “No, Harry, not on purpose. But if whoever sent this wanted this to happen, maybe it wasn’t just sent to me.”

“Keyed to Harry’s magic?” Ron wondered.

Hermione nodded.

[sweetsummercourier]

Wings of Icarus

But he told him, "Beware

Do not fly too close to the sun

The blaze will surely melt those wings."

But alas, he fell

His cries swallowed by the sea...

Synopsis: Saoirse's final memory of Eren. Their goodbye, a memory unlocked after the Rumbling ends.

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Saoirse Wolford-Blackwell (oc)

Content: angst, cursing, pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy / child, teenage / young adult pregnancy, season 4 characters are 18+

Word count: 4k

A/N: not gonna lie... got teary eyed writing this. like the teary eyed where your throat begins to hurt. I proofread and used Grammarly just to make sure, but sorry for any minor mistakes myself or the software missed :) wings in art,,, symbolism,,, not real lol

Borders by @tsunami-of-tears + @saradika-graphics

Remember me, though I have to say "goodbye,"

Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be...

Until you're in my arms again,

Remember me...

/ / /

Saoirse gasped for air, her back arching slightly as she felt her neck. It felt like a fist had been stuffed into the center of her throat, adrenaline pumping through her veins like broken ice in a thawing river. 

Where was she? Where were the screams, the deafening drum of the colossal footsteps? Where were her comrades? Why wasn’t she looking through the eye of her Titan?

Ah, she thought. I’m dead.

That was the only logical explanation. Why else would she be lying in soft grass, staring up at the leafy branches of a towering oak tree? Dappled sunlight peered through the leaves as the wind wove through the branches, carrying the sounds of cheerful birds. The dampened sunlight felt warm on her pale skin. 

Through her one eye, everything was beautiful and vibrant – so much more vibrant than it had been in years. She could see each leaf on the branches above, and all the grooves in the tree bark. When she looked to her right, she could see rolling hills and wildflowers. Houses were sprinkled here and there, some together and some far apart. She could see a farm, the paddock filled with cows and goats that were just little forms in the distance.

“Beautiful…” she whispered. If this was heaven, she didn’t want to leave. She wondered who else she would find here. Marco? Sasha? Hange? A sense of calm washed over her at the thought of reuniting with the friends and comrades she lost… those she always believed she could have saved, and had horribly failed.

Something touched her left cheek, something she couldn’t see. It was a gentle touch, warm and comforting. The touch made her feel like she was a flower, and someone had reached out to touch and admire her soft petals.

“You’re awake. About time.”

Saoirse turned her head to find Eren sitting next to her, leaning against the trunk. His head was cocked to the side as he stared down at her, resting his cheek on his shoulder. His eyes remained on her face as a small yet fond smile graced his lips. His hair was short and trimmed. She could see his face. His eyes were so clear… a light shone in them that hadn’t been there before.

Her body moved by itself, twisting as she sat up and latching onto him with intense ferocity. Her nails dug into the fabric of his shirt, her face pressed against his chest. He was warm. Warm and safe and real and beside her. Like it should have been all along. 

“You ass… how many times have I told you not to stand on my left!” Saoirse huffed as she pulled away, moving onto her knees and gripping the collar of his shirt with his hands, shaking him slightly. “You’re such a pain!” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he smiled. “I just wanted to admire you. Had I been on your right, you would have noticed me. And besides, I woulda blocked your view.”

Saoirse huffed and sat on the heels of her feet. She couldn’t stay mad at him. Not now, at least. She sighed and looked down at her hands.

A heavy weight fell on her shoulders, blanketing her. A deep sorrow sat in her chest. As much as she wanted to believe otherwise, self-awareness was a curse. 

“This is another one of your tricks,” she surmised. “We’re not really under this tree outside of Shiganshina. The Rumbling’s still happening.”

“... yes,” Eren said. “I was… hoping you wouldn’t have noticed. You’re too clever for your own good.”

Eren slowly stood up and turned to her, offering to help her stand. He latched onto her hand, holding it tightly like he was afraid she’d disappear. 

“Come with me… I want to show you something,” he said. “I know we’ve talked about the future we wanted, the future we could have. Let me dream with you a while longer.”

A lump formed in her throat. She had a million thoughts flooding her mind at that moment, everything she wanted to say was a swirling whirlpool. Eren’s eyes softened and pulled her closer to his side.

“Later… for now, just… let’s just be.”

Eren led her down the hill, keeping pace with her. The crisp grass swayed as they passed, flowers in full bloom reaching their leaves to the sky. People and horse-drawn carts dotted the dirt road leading to Shiganshina. Destroyed and desolate houses had been transformed into abodes filled with life. Children were playing in the streets, and mothers called for them to come inside for lunch. A dog chased a ball. A cat startled a flock of chickens. A man on horseback tipped his hat towards them and bid them a good day.

The Wall was no longer there. 

They entered the city where the gate once was. The infamous gate, where both had seen the Armored Titan smash through nine years ago. There were no traces of it now. It was as if the walls and gate itself had never been.

Saoirse paused and pulled Eren to the side of the road, and just stared. There were no soldiers. There wasn’t a massive structure blocking her view. She was standing where the Wall and gate had been, right where they stood that separated the Shiganshina District from the interior of Wall Maria. 

Saoirse wanted to stand there and watch the people and carts go by. To see the merchants come with their wares to set up shop. To see the weary farmer head to town to wind down at a tavern. To see the young women return to their homes with arms full of groceries. To see the children run to the river to play, dogs nipping at their heels. To see what she would be going back to once the Rumbling was over.

Life looked so… normal. Plain. Boring.

Eren squeezed her hand and coaxed her along, pulling her to continue walking. As they entered the teeming streets, what once would have been overwhelming brought comfort. The noise that would have given her a panic attack and ringing ears soothed her. Maybe it was because, after nine years of hell, everything was okay. All traces of Titans and soldiers and humanity struggling behind walls had vanished. 

The couple maneuvered through the bustling streets, wandering throughout the district. The smell of fresh bread and spices wafted into Saoirse’s nose. Rowdy music and patrons were singing in one of the city’s taverns. A heated argument had broken out between a merchant and a consumer over a poor barter.

A child ran into Eren’s leg while chasing a ball. The young boy looked up bashfully and apologized, hanging his head as if he were to be scolded. Eren laid a gentle hand on the boy’s head and ruffled his hair. 

“Don’t worry about it, sport,” Eren replied, very much like a dad. “No harm done.” 

Saoirse smirked and snorted, looking away. She began to chuckle softly. Eren gave her a quizzical look.

“What? What’d I say?”

“Nothing… you just sounded like such a dad.”

Eren laughed softly and pressed a warm kiss to the top of her head. He laced their fingers together and gently rubbed his thumb against her skin. He was being so tender with her, which wasn’t a bad thing, but it certainly hadn’t been a common thing, especially in public. Yet in the back of Saoirse’s mind, if this was their final moment together, it made sense he was being so affectionate.

No, she thought. This isn’t the end, everything’s going to be fine. This is all just leading up to Eren telling me that everything will be okay.

Eren led her down the bustling streets to the town square. There was a large fountain, decorated with flowers and surrounded by benches. Slanted plaques lay on the edges of the fountain. There were names etched into each plaque in neat rows, displaying the names of every person – civilian or soldier – who died when Wall Maria fell, who died when they were forced to be sent back, and those who died after reclaiming the Wall. 

Saoirse traced her fingers over the names, feeling the grooves of the etchings. She felt Eren pull away and move over to another plaque. His face grew somber and his heart seemed to sink to the pit of his stomach.

She moved over and stood by his side, her eye flitting over the names. Carla Jaeger stuck out like a sore thumb, and her blood ran cold. She leaned against Eren and sighed gently.

“She would’ve liked you,” Eren sighed. “I can almost picture how happy she would have been to hear she was going to be a grandma.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over what happened,” Saoirse replied. “You were ten.”

Eren remained silent for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. He passed his thumb over his mother’s name and heaved a shaky sigh. He grabbed Saoirse’s hand and gently pulled her away from the fountain and down another street.

“That fountain… this whole city… is this how the city looks or did you make this up?”

“A little bit of both,” Eren replied, not looking at her. “This is how the city looks in my memory and how it looks now that it’s been repopulated. But the memorial fountain? I made that up. It doesn’t exist.”

“Well, maybe it should,” Saoirse said. “It’s beautiful.”

Eren led her through the streets and up some paths in silence. He looked like a man on a mission, with a soft, somber expression on his face. He looked like he was half excited, half dreading to reach the destination.

He led her to a house and nodded in its direction. As they stood back, Saoirse turned her gaze up at him. She gently nudged his shoulder, yet he wouldn’t budge. He swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. He sounded slightly hoarse like he was parched.

“It looks different… without the giant boulder on top.”

His home. His childhood home. It did indeed look so different. She hadn’t been present when they went into the basement, but Eren had brought her by to at least show her the home he lost… where he lost his mother.

Suddenly, a small child of about four years ran out of the front door. Saoirse couldn’t determine if the child was a boy or a girl, but something about the child caused butterflies in the pit of her stomach. The child laughed and called for their mother, gripping a red ball in their hands.

“... That’s me.”

Saoirse’s eye widened as she watched a slightly older version of herself step out of the house. She held a large basket of laundry at her hip, donning a white blouse and yellow skirt, a red apron wrapped around her waist. She made a gesture to the child that said “one minute!” as she began to hang the laundry on a clothesline. She had even grown her hair back, and it looked soft and fluffy. 

“Is that how you picture me?” *Saoirse asked.

“Yeah,” Eren said softly. “Why? Have I offended you?”

“Not at all… just never saw myself in skirts and dresses.”

“I think you look beautiful in everything.”

“Shut up.”

They observed the pair as the child played with the ball, shouting at their mother to come play. They watched as the other Saoirse tied up her skirt to form makeshift shorts and began to kick the ball around with the child, laughing as the wind pushed up her hair. 

Someone called out in the distance. It sounded like a man. They turned toward the voice and the child yelled out “Daddy!” The child abandoned the ball and raced towards another Eren, who was dressed sharply. He beamed as he picked up the child, spinning them around before pressing a kiss to their cheek. When the other Saoirse approached, they seemed like a big happy family as Eren held her close in his other arm, kissing her lips.

“... we look happy.”

“Yeah… we do…”

Eren turned to her, his jade eyes soft and sad.

“Close your eyes for me. Don’t open until I tell you to.”

/ / /

Solid stone gave way to soft sand. Ocean water lapped at her feet and the urge to take off her boots was undeniable.

When Saoirse turned to look at Eren, his appearance returned to the now. His hair was pulled back in a messy bun, eyes devoid of light. He breathed a sigh and looked at her, his frame bathed in the red light of the setting sun.

“I think back to this time a lot,” he said. “How you looked standing here, in the water. It was the first time I ever saw you smile, I think. Truly smile,” he started. “I remember thinking to myself how beautiful it was. I wanted to protect it. I wanted to see it again.” 

Eren sighed softly and looked over at Saoirse. His eyes were at half mast, and his eyes just seemed so dead. So still and so dark. 

“Saoirse, be honest with me. When you look at me as I am now, what do you see?”

Saoirse knew what he expected her to say. A monster. A murderer. A demon. No — the Devil. Yet while she did agree that his actions were monstrous, she did not see him as a monster.  

Saoirse sighed and combed her fingers through her short hair before slowly shaking her head.

“I won’t say you’re a monster. I don’t see you as such. I’m… disappointed, and I’m mad, but when I look at you I see the man I love… and the father of my child.”

His expression softened and he reached for her hands, gently holding her fingers. He ran his thumbs over her knuckles, and for a time that felt like an eternity, there was only the sound of this imagined ocean.

“You’re going to live a long life,” he said calmly, his tone soft and low. “I want you to live a good, fulfilling life.”

“I will. With you, of course,” she replied, her tone slightly forceful with determination.

Eren hesitated and sighed softly, averting his gaze. Saoirse tugged on his hands a little as if trying to coax him into agreement. That somehow this whole disaster would end in a fairytale ending. That somehow, they would both walk away from this alive and live that life they talked about — that he had the gall to show her. 

He wouldn’t have conjured that up if it wasn’t going to be true… right? He wouldn’t dangle that in front of her like a carrot… right? Right? Right?

“Where you are going, I can’t follow,” he replied. “I’m sorry…”

His hold on her fingers tightened and he clenched his teeth, a tch emitting from his throat. Emotions overwhelmed him and he huffed,

“Shit… I don’t want this at all. I want to be here with you. I want to be close to you and grow old with you. I want to see your smile every day. I want to know what it’s like to live a boring life. I want to hold our baby, I want to be there when he or she is born… I want to be a dad…”

He closed his eyes and set his jaw, tears wetting his lashes. He opened his eyes and looked at her, his voice filled with regret.

“I want to be happy… I want to be happy with you. I don’t want anyone else to be by your side but me. I want to be your one and only. I want to raise our kid together… the idea of another man raising them, calling them “dad,” witnessing all those milestones… shit!!”

Eren shook his head and inhaled sharply, trying to control his emotions. It was clear he was in a tumultuous storm, battling with his emotions and the icy mask he had created. He was battling with his resolve, the older one wanting to be free and avenging his mother and the newer one wanting a clean slate for himself and his fellow Paradisians.

“Ah… I’m sorry,” he breathed slowly, the mask settling back over his face.

“No.”

Eren blinked at her comment. Something in her stomach churned angrily, and a white-hot marble of frustration and hurt boiled within.

Saoirse pulled her hands from his and began to wring them together, pacing. It was a feeble attempt to calm her. The more she paced, the angrier she got. Maybe it was because Eren had his eyes on her. Maybe it was his presence. Maybe it was his words. Maybe all three.

“Dammit, Eren… Dammit all!” She yelled as she turned to face him. “You selfish bastard! You don’t think, do you! You think you can just say that shit to me after everything!?”

She picked up a small rock from the wet sand and chucked it as far as she could, watching it splash and sink into the lapping waves.

“You didn’t have to do any of this! This whole “it’s the memories, it’s the future” — cut the bullshit! Destiny, predetermined fate… bullshit! You didn’t have to do any of this! We could’ve lived the life we wanted! But you decided it was more important to — to end the world? And for what? For what, Eren! Tell me! How many people have died for your — your stupid “memories!” Tell me!”

“...eighty percent.”

“Eighty perc — Eren!”

Saoirse held her head in her hands and exhaled sharply, her one eye rolling around. Eighty percent. How many lives was that? How many human lives was that? How many generations had he snuffed out? How much hatred had he sown into the hearts of survivors? How many survived who believed that, through Eren’s actions, all Eldians were devils?

“I’ve redone this over and over again… all with unsatisfactory results.”

“And this is the best case scenario? Slaughtering millions? Forcing us to go to war against you? Ostracizing your friends — do not give me that look, Eren Jaeger, I cannot believe the shit you said to Mikasa and did to Armin! They have known you forever! And this is how you treat them! And me! What about me! What about the kid!”

Eren grabbed her and pulled her to his chest. She beat her fists against him. She battled and screamed, but he held her. He didn’t speak, just held her and let her get all her frustrations out. He knew that if he tried to speak to her, to calm her, she’d only freak out more.

Saoirse wept, the rhythmic drumming of her fists stilling. Instead, she gripped his shirt, feeling the fabric against his skin. He gently pressed his nose to her shoulder, breathing deeply and closing his eyes.

“Was all of this a lie?” she whimpered. “Was I just… some pawn? Was I just a puppet with a role to play…”

“No,” he responded immediately. “No, you were never a pawn or a plaything. Never once have I seen you as such… but there is one thing.”

Saoirse rested her cheek against his chest, swallowing thickly. Her chest and shoulders heaved as she stuttered, gasping for air to calm herself and regulate her breathing. Eren gently pressed his hand to her back and rubbed small circles against her, his fingers brushing against her spine.

“I cannot change the past,” he continued, “but through the Founding Titan, I can influence thoughts and memories of the past… my father never saw you in the future memories of me, therefore I originally never paid you any mind… but I did.”

Saoirse looked up at him, stunned. Eren held her shoulders gently, searching her face. She opened her mouth a few times, but no words came out at first.

“... did you alter me?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I… primarily intervened in your thoughts to ensure your survival. At first, my intentions were purely selfish: your Titan abilities were useful, and I determined they would make the events leading up to now more achievable. But I certainly didn’t think I would fall in love with you as a result.”

“And the baby?”

“... no, that was a surprise,” he replied. “Again, in ensuring your survival, I never imagined falling in love with you. I suppose I… could’ve prevented it but can’t imagine why I would. In the end, I got to be with you, even if there was an unexpected result."

Eren paused and gently took her face in his hands, tilting her head up. Tears continued to pour down from Saoirse’s one eye, liquid pearls rolling down her cheeks and onto his thumb. 

“I have been a terribly selfish lover,” he continued, “but I love you. Truly, honestly, deeply. I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to be alone. I don’t want our child to be raised without a father… I want you and our child to thrive. To live peacefully and happily in this new world. My biggest regret is that I won’t be by your side.”

“Eren… please…” Saoirse pleaded quietly, her lower lip quivering. “Don’t go where I can’t follow… if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have ever dreamed of the life I want now…”

Eren’s breathing was shaky, and tears pricked his eyes once more. He leaned forward and pressed a warm kiss to her forehead, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. His lips were so soft in the moment, the kiss so tender and soft and loving.

“I know I’ll be going to Hell,” he whispered against her skin. “Never doubt that I’m not watching over you, though. I promise I’ll be all around you. I’ll always be with you.”

“Where you go, I go too,” she replied quietly. “In death, be it Heaven or Hell, I want to be with you again. I would happily give up Heaven’s gates to be with the man who showed me love, who saw past my cynicism and cared for me anyway… I will shoulder your sins, too.”

Eren laughed softly and pressed his forehead to hers. He commented on how that was “pretty selfless” of her, and that he admired her resolve to abandon a peaceful afterlife for someone who didn’t deserve it. 

“Raise our child well,” he whispered, brushing his nose against hers. “Make them better than me. Show them that the world has so much beauty in it — so much more beauty than cruelty. Give them and yourself a normal life, free of the Walls and Titans.”

He tilted her head up a bit more and pressed his lips to hers. Saoirse moved her hands from his abdomen up to his chest, pressing herself closer to him. Even in this dream-like memory, she wanted to savor every little thing: the way he smelled, the way his chest rose and fell, the softness and warmth of his lips and how they moved against hers… how when she pulled back for a breath, he pulled her back in, a little tighter and more earnest. 

“I’ll be waiting for you,” he whispered. “When your time comes, I’ll be there. I will see you again. We will meet and be together again… and I look forward to hearing all the stories you’ll have to tell me.”

“Don’t go… ”

Eren finally broke away and embraced Saoirse tightly, resting his chin on the top of her head. Saoirse nestled her head against his neck. As tears dripped down her face, he rubbed her back and pet her hair tenderly. His tears began to slip down his face, knowing when they saw each other again, she’d be fighting him… she wouldn’t even remember this conversation until his head left his neck.

“Take care, Saoirse… I love you. Always and forever, and even after that… I love you. Goodbye, my love… thank you for everything.”

[carlijcorson]

It's a Love/Skate Relationship

US Release: January 28, 2025

UK Release: March 13, 2025

Art by Emma Gillette

Preorder & Goodreads links here! (This art print will be part of the Love/Skate Preorder campaign. More info coming soon!)

Fans of Rachael Lippincott, Elise Bryant, and Dahlia Adler will love this joyful debut novel, a sapphic enemies-to-lovers romance between a hotheaded hockey player and the ice princess at the figure skating rink next door.

Charlie Porter is a force to be reckoned with, both on and off the hockey rink. When she accidentally starts a brawl after a game, she's suspended from school, meaning no hockey this season--and no chance to play in front of college scouts.

Alexa Goldstein's pairs skating partner was hurt in the fight, and with only four months until their next competition, pickings for a replacement are slim. So she strikes a deal with Charlie--skate with her at the competition well enough to place, and her Olympian mother will use her formidable connections to get Charlie in front of scouts at D-1 schools, even without her team.

It seems impossible, and not just because Charlie has never figure skated before. Where Charlie is powerful, Alexa is elegant; where Charlie is quick to blow up, Alexa is cold as ice. But as the frostiness between them starts to thaw, they begin to wonder if they've found a partner for more than just skating.

[rjzimmerman]

My 500-Mile Journey Across Alaska’s Thawing Arctic. (New York Times)

Excerpt from this guest essay in the New York Times:

We had come here to begin a 500-mile journey that would take us in pack rafts down the Noatak River, believed to be the longest undeveloped river system left in the United States, and on foot, slogging the beaches of the Chukchi Sea coastline. Our goal was to get a close-up look at how warming temperatures are affecting this rugged but fragile Arctic landscape. Worldwide, roughly twice the amount of the heat-trapping carbon now in the atmosphere has been locked away in the planet’s higher latitudes in frozen ground known as permafrost. Now that ground is thawing and releasing its greenhouse gases.

The fire we flew over was our first visible sign of the changes underway.

While wildfires are part of the landscape’s natural regenerative cycle, they have until recently been infrequent above the Arctic Circle. But now the rising heat of the lengthening summers has dried out the tundra and the invasive shrubs that have recently moved north with the warmth. This is a tinderbox for lightning strikes. The fires expose and defrost the frozen soil, allowing greenhouse gases to escape into the atmosphere.

More than 30 years passed before I returned to the Noatak with my son in 2021, for a weeklong float trip on the river. I was shocked to see how climate change had transformed the Noatak’s headwaters. As I wrote in a guest essay for Times Opinion later that year, the warming climate had radically altered the place I once knew.

I returned a year later with the photographer Chris Korbulic, one of the world’s most accomplished expedition kayakers, to document in a book how climate change was upending the region and the lives of its villagers.

Migrations of fish, mammals and birds have shifted as temperatures rise. Sea ice has diminished; without that protection, storms are eroding shorelines and flooding villages. Forests are following the warmer conditions north; so are animals new to the Arctic. The permafrost is thawing and wildfires ignited by lightning sweep across dry tundra.

We had read about all this. Now we were witnessing it.

We saw only one caribou along the Noatak; in 1983, I had seen hundreds. The western Arctic herd has declined by two-thirds since the early 2000s. The changing climate is thought to be at least partially responsible.

We returned home wondering what to do about a problem so monumental and consequential. A crisis, rather than mere climate change. As always, we believe that taking action begins with voting for candidates who support efforts to end greenhouse gas emissions. We must rethink our lives as fossil fuel consumers and reduce our carbon output, support legislation to relocate threatened villages, keep up with the science and be evermore vocal about our concerns.