#very short as i get used to them............ i hope this works

[xiepheer]

If you're up for it, how about a headcanon of reader, shadow milk, and pure vanilla as a throuple? Feel free to go both SFW and NSFW if your mood is up

Truth and Deceit

Pure Vanilla cookie x reader x Shadow Milk cookie

Hello everyone! Honestly tysm for the likes in my previous post!

ANYWAYSSSS reader will be a fem here!

Hope yall enjoy this! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Also so sorry if this is bad 😭🙏

Dating the truth and deceit is crazy work.

Imagine just having a calm boyfriend and a boyfriend that wastes his time on shows, carnivals, puppets, etc.

That's exactly what it is.

Pure Vanilla cookie would most likely be the calm and collected one in your throuple.

Meanwhile Shadow Milk cookie would be the one who mostly be the chaotic one and the one who gets in trouble all the time.

And you have to handle all that.

Both truth and deceit loves you very much.

The truth would spend his time being with you, teaching you ways of Earthbread.

The deceit on the other hand, would let you watch with him as he manipulates cookies. Making them his puppets for his shows.

Pure Vanilla cookie would scold him whenever Shadow Milk cookie teaches you things like how to manipulate cookies.

But very often, Shadow Milk cookie wouldn't care about him and would continue doing so.

Why would he listen to him anyways.

These two had different jealousy.

For Pure Vanilla Cookie, it is simply just talking about it to you and how it made him feel slightly jealous and would politely ask for you to slightly distance from them a little.

For Shadow Milk cookie, he would NOT talk about it to you. He would manipulate the cookie using his strings to say mean things to you which can make you think they're actually being real at their words.

Then when you actually cried to them about it, both would comfort you.

But Pure Vanilla always suspects that it had something to do with Shadow Milk cookie.

Because of his slight smirk after you crying to them.

Pure Vanilla would talk to him about this but he most likely ignores him.

Both still love you very much.

No matter what, they love you and would do anything for you. (Pure Vanilla would do anything except for foul things like murder and robbery)

During events, Shadow Milk cookie would host the most incredible shows you would have ever seen and it's all for you.

Pure Vanilla cookie would make you a whole table full of delicious food for you, him, and of course, Shadow Milk cookie.

Since Shadow Milk cookie thinks giving you items and beautiful gifts make you happy,

So Shadow Milk cookie would give you the most beautiful jewels he could find all for you during Valentine's or birthdays or everyday.

Meanwhile, Pure Vanilla always gives you affection. The affection you wanted.

Shadow Milk cookie would also scare you sometimes which can end up to you crying or laughing. 50/50 chance.

And if you DID cry, Pure Vanilla would comfort you and scold Shadow Milk which ends up to Shadow Milk snuggling up to you at night as a apology.

Shadow Milk cookie is like an affectionate cat when it comes to cuddling. He would nuzzle to you or your chest and sleep there or on you.

Pure Vanilla cookie would lay on your lap and sleep there.

They would sometimes snuggle on both sides of you body if you're asleep by yourself.

Pure Vanilla cookie, the gentle ancient, hero, and lover

Shadow Milk cookie, the chaotic beast lover.

Though both don't usually get along, you managed to get them to get along overtime.

Both reminded you who you belong to. You belong to Them. Always.

So sorry if this is short! I'm trying!

Anyways Pls correct me if you need to, I dont mind! Have a great day! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

I hope you enjoyed this!

[cupcakeinat0r]

Another Valentine's w/ Dadbod!Miguel

It’s that time of year again; A day you so dreaded turned into one of your favorite days of the year: Valentine’s. 

And even though you insist on telling each other you ‘won’t be getting each other anything’ because ‘all you need is each other’, both parties buy gifts anyway (and let’s face it; his were always pricier. The man’s a scientist.) 

Like the year prior, you cooked him breakfast in bed wearing something that was very much short-lived and ended up on the floor, ripped, before he even got to the toast. 

Having taken off from work, especially for the holiday, the both of you then rest in bed, the midday sun cascading across the bedroom floor. Just like last year, he’ll big spoon you, the plush of his stomach against your back and rumbling along with his rich chuckles. Just like last year, you two will snicker in bed, because he’s just murmured in your ear how he’ll need to renew that gym membership if you keep cooking for him like this; how his New Year’s resolutions are impossible with you around. But then he’ll immediately thank you, not for just loving him through food, but for being his rock; he would’ve never eaten this good before you. He would intertwine his fingers with yours under the sheets, the size difference in them endearing. Just like last year. 

After an accidental nap, Miguel groggily mutters in your ear how he’s gotten reservations somewhere nice and that he’s been wanting to take you. Here’s the kicker: it was in 30 minutes. 

“What?!” you jump out of bed and instantly retreat to your closet. Easy for him to stay calm, all he had to do was comb back those black curls of his, dress those muscles, and be ready to go. 

Miguel waits for you in the bedroom, announcing the time you have left through the bathroom door. When he hears your haste voice through the wall, he smiles to himself. 

His eyes wander, and maybe too far, because he finds a notebook. Curious and mindlessly looking for something to do while you finish getting ready, he goes to it and reads through it. It’s fine since there’s no secrets between you; you go into each other's things all the time. 

It doesn’t take too much reading to realize it’s a journal; your journal.  He remembers you mentioning wanting to start for this new year. A little part of him knows he shouldn’t… but the curiosity was killing him. He looks back at the door for a moment, ensuring you’re still occupied.

He turns to the book and resumes reading, but it’s not as wholesome as the first few entries.

His face falls, a certain, familiar wave of heat passing through him as he reads your handwriting. 

This entry was all about him. 

You two had just made love, and you raved about how romantic and tender it was, going into details of how sweetly he treated you. And you also praised the rougher side of Miguel; how he took control in bed, how his strength kept you in a trance, and that body…

You went on to list the many things you wanted Miguel to do to you. Bashfully written secrets of love kept away, in hopes that maybe, through manifestation, they’ll come true, rather than being upfront and telling him what you want. How you wanted to experiment with taking the control for a night, maybe making the entire performance be about his pleasures for a change. To kiss up his thighs and the little pudge of his stomach, until he was rock solid, placing kisses there as well until he was too worked up to resist begging. How you want to experiment with food and maybe use his entire torso as a plate for your enjoyment. 

‘Whipped cream off his chest and tummy… GAWD. I need a moment. Goodnight.’ was how the entry was sealed.

There was also mentions of wanted to be choked by him, tied, and other various things that Miguel would otherwise be shocked coming from you.

Miguel stares down at the notebook baffled. He knew you loved his body the way it was… but he guess he just didn’t realize how much. 

“Okay, baby, I’m ready. You got the-” a perplexed Miguel turns around to you, your notebook in his hand, and you immediately want to crawl in a hole.

“Miguel,” your voice shakes with shame, bracing yourself for an unbearably embarrassing response, ”How much of that did you read?”

Miguel’s lips curl into a wicked smile. 

“Whipped cream?” his brow quirks.

“Oh… so that much, huh?” he sheepishly nod. You’re stuck where you stand.

Miguel walks with purpose and ease until he’s right in front of you, his frame demanding the lift of your head and guilty gaze.

“Mamita, there’s no need to be hiding this stuff from me.” the tone of his voice is nothing but nurturing and reassuring.

You smile softly up at him, grateful that he at least isn’t disgusted by your twisted mind. Desperate to change the subject, you look at the time, “We can talk later, but aren’t gonna be late?” You ask in hopes he’ll take the bait.

“Late to where?”

Miguel’s hands find the flesh of your hips, giving them a light squeeze, pulling you closer to the plush of his muscles. The small yet dominant gesture making your heart flutter,

“We’re staying right in this room.” 

And he made alllllll your dreams come true in one night. 

Happy Valentine's Day <3 xoxo

[twistedpink]

Who’s your valentine? @/cafekitsune banner

And the spinner says….

Floyd + love languages + forced proximity

This is why you hate roommates, it’s always something with them. Poor Thumper, the love of your life’s been absconded with, and it’s all thanks to that beer-ponging-fridge-vacumming knucklehead that Thumpy’s late to the vet. In fact, you hope he doesn’t graduate. He doesn’t deserve a degree! And,

creaaakkkkkkkkkkkk

“Shrimpyyyy,, you tweetin’ about me again?”

It’s always something with your roommates.

Floyd Leech’s the last in a longgggggg line of roommates your college’s set up for you, and at this point it’d just be easier to take the loss and get a rental. All of your housemates have been just terrible- That Ace who stole the communal router and tried to sell it back to you, or Kalim who (despite being one of the nicest guys you know) is your landlord. Whenever he wracked up a noise complaint, you were the one to pay it, “on principle” he said. None of them are as bad as Floyd!

You’ve been flashed SO many times because the idiot can’t use doors, you’re basically forced to tail him with a wet cloth whenever he loiters, and the clinging! You have never met someone who can just stick to people like that!

Your life flashes before your eyes when Floyd hangs lazily in his bedroom doorway, instead of lurking in the shadows of his room,, It’s like a blindbox reveal- He’s shirtless and wearing your Hawaiian basketball shorts. The way he gravitates towards you when he’s sleepy is almost.. Sweet? It’s very distracting to your mission. Stupid washboard abs.

“I asked if you’re puttin’ me on your tweeter.”

“And I’m telling you no!”

“So you’re lyin?”

“Yes. NO. WAIT!”

.

And that’s how you ended up here, in his bed, getting spooned by your evil roommate. It was only a routine checkup for Thumper anyways, but it would’ve been so cute if you snagged a valentines headband :( Atleast Thumpy looks happy. You abided Floyd when he begged for a “bunny base” in his room for “enrichment”, and it’s been a massive help.

Floyd’s watching magicam above your head, and you’re slowly resigning ever standing up again. His legs are SO strong! Anytime you struggle they just yank you closer to his body, (or shake you like a chewtoy) and Floyd is unbothered to the max.

“Why’re you so clingy today?”

“Jus’ work. Jade wants me to come in on our holiday! Can you believe it?”

Instead of asking about the implications of that, like a normal person, you rub shapes into calf. Maybe if you’ve placated him enough, you can still get that headband! The only difficult bit of leaning into Floyd’s antics, is there’s no way to tell who’s enjoying it more. It’s a terrifying thought that maybe, just a little bit, you actually like the brute. But that might just be him worming his way into your brain- it’s pretty hard to tell where Floyd starts and you begin right now.

The worst part of Floyd is that he’s just a little bit good for you. He can be kind! And motivating, and so pretty that it’s only human nature to be drawn in by him. That childish, needy voice in your head hopes he feels the same about you.

When he brings you closer (with all his limbs this time, phone long forgotten), and nuzzles against your neck with the tip of his nose, there’s nothing you want more than for him to kiss it instead. It’s loving, and spontaneous, and so Floyd- That it makes your head fuzzy with alllllllll the good thoughts. He’s warm. In that sudden, horror flick esque eurika! moment you realize there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here, right now. There’s always something with your roommates.

“Yup, can’t. Jade’s just jealous he’s alone on valentines.”

“Foshow. OOOO! I forgot about the earrings I made ya’!”

[angel-of-the-moons]

The Bird and The Worm

Steven Grant x Shy!Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None really, some fluff. Overprotective Birb Dad Khonshu, activate!

A/N: Alright since y'all loved this post so much I had to do something with it, and given that it's Valentine's Day and I am, as usual, chronically single, I figured I would share the delulu with our sweet little nerd. It's short, I know. But my chest is hurting and I am thinking of going to the ER later lol (I also recommend listening to Owl City's "The Bird and The Worm" it's a cute song!)

You had been in a very good mood, today, Khonshu had noticed. Humming to yourself, giggling a bit louder than usual at something on your phone. He watched as you practically bounced around your flat.

"I take it something has happened, little bird?" Khonshu hummed, a humored scoff coming from his chest. You continued to buzz around, even reaching for your seldomly-used makeup kit you only used for special work parties or for fun--and the latter was rare.

He leaned against the wall, to remain out of your way, amusement tickling something deep within him. Indeed, you were like a busy little bee, buzzing around her hive.

"Oh!" You finally chirp out a response, beaming happily up at him. "I... Um... Well, I um, got a date!"

That surprised him.

You were a wallflower; a shy, little thing that had beautiful and bright colors that stood out; especially amongst his dwindling followers. Not keen on being the center of attention, you preferred to dance on the coattails of most social situations.

And you had never been out on a date before, let alone asked out by anyone.

"And who is your date?" Khonshu asked, tipping his head to the side as you began to apply your facial primer. Makeup trends definitely changed from how they used to do them back in his day...

"Oh, he's so sweet! Some guy knocked into me while I was out today; knocked my smoothie all over the floor and didn't even apologize." You huff, recalling that rude dude, "Then he showed up and snapped at him! He even paid for me to get a new one, even though I said he didn't have to..."

You remembered how heartbroken you felt--you had been looking forward to your favorite smoothie all day. Work sucked and those little pick-me-ups always boosted your mood and energy when you needed them.

"And after that we sat down and started talking--we have a lot in common." You giggled, carefully dripping foundation on your face before beginning to blend it. "He seemed hesitant at first, when he asked me out, tonight... But he finally got all the words out and, well, I d'nno... It felt right to finally say yes to someone?"

"Hmm." He hummed, thinking hard. You didn't normally warm up to people, and to see you so excited for something... he was happy for you. His shy little bird opening up her wings a little.

"And you are not concerned this man was putting up a front?" He asked dubiously, his own mind drawing conclusions.

"...No. I really didn't get that vibe from him." You replied thoughtfully, looking down at your bronzers and highlighters; trying to think of what kind of look you wanted to go for. Something to match your little turtleneck dress, surely. And well, it was Valentine's Day, so.... You went with some neutral shades. Blush was light and pink; your eyeshadows a mix of red and pink, too.

"...I see." Khonshu murmured, his head tipping to the other side.

"But we're going to meet up for dinner tonight. I hope it all goes well..." Your voice had fallen a little bit; the melancholy tone slipping into your voice a little saddening. You had spent many of these holidays alone--never having anyone to spend them with.

So... Well. There was no harm in letting you have this date, letting you go out and try to have fun with this mystery man of yours.

But you were downright silly to think Khonshu would just up and let you go to an undisclosed location without him shadowing you to make sure your were safe.

He had intended to follow you to make sure your date was what you had claimed he was--not some secret serial killer or someone who had a history of some form of violence towards another person.

But this... was so much worse.

Oh, he was steaming.

Fuming, toxic--an inferno of rage and disgust when he sat down with you at your little table.

The setting was a little roo intimate for his tastes; warm, soft candlelight, round-table booths where two could sit undeniably closer than most would deem normal--tucked in the back where few prying eyes would see.

Well. Save for him, anyways.

But what made him the most angry wasn't even how close you two were sitting; or even how he made you laugh.

It was the fact your date was Steven-fucking-Grant. The biggest thorn in his side since Marc had begun work under him as his Avatar. Even bigger than Marc's challenging and anti-authoritative attitude towards his will.

He was glad the man was no threat, but he hated the fact that naturally, your shy and quiet-natured soul had been drawn to Steven. The man was, by his own tally, a whiney, soft-hearted little cretin.

Always looking on the verge of a panic attack or a sobbing fit, his very soul radiated something that pissed Khonshu off.

And so... Khonshu decided that he could not let this be. Not his little bird. Not on his watch.

You needed to be kept safe--and being involved with Steven or any of the others meant you could be put in harm's way. Even moreso just than being a follower of his.

At least worshipping him can be done in private. Here you are, in public, with the worm. Instead of devouring him, like a bird should, you commiserated and laughed with him.

And so, he spent the rest of the evening trying to ruin your date; if only to keep you safe. Yes, yes. He had to keep you safe. And away from Steven. Especially Steven.

...Mostly Steven.

When Steven held out the little flower he'd gotten for you, Khonshu made the candle flame flare up and catch the head on fire--making the both of you panic just for him to dunk it in the pitcher of water at your table.

But all that did was make you worry, taking his hands to check them over for burns, handing your napkin from your lap to dry his hands.

He spilled the glass of wine on Steven's crisp and neatly-pressed shirt. All that did was make you giggle at Steven's apology for being "clumsy", and you leaned over with some napkins to try and dab away the red stain on the fabric.

The waiter had dropped your food order, spilling your pasta in your own lap and covering your legs with the sauce and noodles. (Oh, he felt bad for that one.)

But once again, fate was conspiring against him. Steven had all but tripped over himself in an effort to try and flag down the staff for a towel to help clean you off (but maintaining a respectful touch as he did so).

At all the "funny" coincidences of the evening, Steven managed to convince you to let him walk you home.

Khonshu had had enough.

He pushed Steven into a dirty puddle in the sidewalk, splattering your nice shoes with grime and muck, his curls plastered to his head with gross water as he was left sputtering in confusion.

So... naturally, you ripped off your jacket when you pulled him up, and wiped his face with it; offering to take him back to your apartment to clean up.

The night turning out "perfect" for you two had him wanting to smash his skull open on a brick wall.

"Don't mean t' take up your couch, love." Steven murmured into his warm cup of tea. You had so generously offered to wash his clothes for him and let him shower--even giving him permission to use your special shampoos and soaps!--and then told him, since his laundry was dirty... He could have the couch and you two could split the vegan-friendly chocolates he brought for you while his clothes were washing.

"It's okay." You reply, wiping the last bits of your makeup from your face; already having slipped into some cute pajamas with kitty cats on them, your shirt had the slogan "Nap time is the purr-fect time!" on it. You sat next to him, cradling your cup of tea in your hands, the faint sound of your washer humming along in the background.

"Whole bloody evening's been a mess, hasn't it?" He smiled apologetically. "I didn't mean to come home with you--that is! Uh! I mean..." He rubbed the back of his neck and couched nervously, a hint of pink on his cheeks, "Well, I didn't want to impose, y'know? Or seem like some creepy weirdo who tries to stalk girls home, yeah?"

Steven was wearing a pair of your largest pj pants, and an old sports jersey, wrapped up in one of your fuzzy bathrobes. He looked the farthest thing away from a "creep". He had been a perfect gentleman all evening!

"It's okay." You smile warmly at him, setting your mug down next to his on the coffee table in font of you, reaching for your TV remote.

As you both settled in on your couch for a silly rom-com movie that had popped up in your recommended list on Netflix, Khonshu was almost vibrating from the sheer rage he felt--he was certain he would snap his staff with how hard he had been gripping it.

He was even more enraged when, after you had both become so engrossed with the movie you had let your time slip away; that you had offered to let Steven stay the fucking night. And even moreso that he accepted.

When the two of you had fallen asleep, cuddling on your couch--Khonshu hated the fact that you two just seemed... so... Ugh! Perfect for each other! No matter what he had done tonight--somehow you inevitably wound up in his arms; snuggled up and sleeping peacefully.

Well... it was better than the more intimate alternative--but still!

The bird wound up cuddling with the worm. His little bird.

As your chests rose and fell with calm, even breathing; Steven snuggled so tightly against you that his arm was draped over your waist and his nose was in the crook of your neck, Khonshu glowered.

He wondered if he let himself get hit by a car, would it kill him?

It was better than watching his sweet, innocent little bird fall for one of the most deceptively innocent creatures on Earth.

Yes you were happy, but come on...

Why did it have to be his Avatar?!

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Jumping on this early!! Bedsy v-day date!🥰🎁

...and I'm late getting it done! ( ´-｀) I had to work late! Sorry! 💔

He didn't have a clue what he was doing. Hockey was his forte, not planning dates and whatever.

Connor had just gotten off the phone with his sister, for pointers as to what he should and shouldn't do when it came to taking you out. She had given him the standard dinner and flowers sort of expectation, but that seemed too boring. Connor was guilty of putting off making plans with you until the very last minute, but Valentine's Day fell smack-dab in the middle of the season, and he had bigger things to worry about than making dinner reservations.

Y|N: Is there a dress code for tonight? 🤔🤔

Bedsy: Um I mean just wear something warm. Were not going anywhere fancy srry

Y|N: Aw, okay 🥺🥺

Bedsy: I know I kind of let you down Ill make it up to u later

Y|N: So, like leggings and a hoodie?

Bedsy: If u think youll be warm enough yeah Ill see u around 7

Y|N: okie dokie ❤️❤️

Texting with Connor left a lot to be desired, but you got enough from the short conversation to make you excited about the evening. If you were being honest, the fact that he had asked you to do anything was more than you had expected -- a pleasant surprise. Since he said that you just needed to be warm and casual, you wasted no time trying to figure out what to wear. You still had four hours before he would be picking you up, but you wanted everything to be perfect! Well -- you wanted to look perfect! His gift was already packaged up and waiting on the table. You didn't really know what to get him, since he was known for getting anything he wanted when he wanted, but you tried to find something useful.

"So, what kind of hot date do you and Connor have planned?" One of your roommates asked as you checked your hair one more time in the bathroom mirror. "You can't be wearing that!"

You'd try to avoid making eye contact with her, but she persisted by sitting on the counter right next to you; getting as close to you as possible. "C'mon! Tell me!"

"No hot date, Chloe. I actually don't know what we're doing. He said it was just something casual."

Chloe rolled her eyes, obviously hoping for something much more luxe and romantic. "He's not taking you to Ever or something like that?"

"Pfft! Like he'd even have the thought to take me to a place like that!"

"Yeah, but he's this superstar hockey player, Y|N! He can afford it!"

Now it was your time to roll your eyes, "Like we fit the aesthetic of Ever! Yeah, okay..."

Your roommate hopped down from the bathroom counter in a huff. It was like she was trying to live vicariously through your date with Connor. "I still think he should take you out somewhere nice! I expect full details!"

You sighed as she finally left the room, "Of course you do."

Bedsy: Hey i forgot to tell u make sure u wear or bring some thick socks just n case

Y|N: Oh? Okay! Thanks for the heads up ❤️❤️❤️

Bedsy: ur welcome

Connor picked you up slightly after six-thirty, which you didn't mind given that your roommates were still on your case about your plans with him. You hardly said goodbye to them when his text arrived in your inbox. They probably meant well, but whatever he wanted to treat you to was your business and they could just wait until you got home to voice anymore of their opinions.

"You alright?" Connor asked, as you hurried down the front steps of your apartment to his awaiting car. He was leaning against the passenger side door, looking comfy in his beige hoodie and black pants; his hair was tucked under the hat he was wearing, leaving cute, little wings over his ears.

"Yeah-- yeah, I'm fine. The girls were just getting on my nerves. Happy Valentine's Day, baby." You smiled against his lips before sharing a tender moment against the cool, February air. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his body for a tight hug. You nearly dropped his gift feeling yourself shift off balance against him.

"Happy Valentine's Day," He mumbled, placing another kiss on your lips before letting you go. "I managed to get us a last minute dinner reservation."

"How?"

He laughed, looking down out of pure embarrassment, "I may have..."

"Did you name-drop?"

Connor's face flushed bright red, and it wasn't from the iconic Chicago wind. "It's possible, yeah. Look, I'm not happy about it... They said they didn't have anything at that time, but took my name just in case there was an opening. After I told him, he said he'd make sure there was something open. So, technically, I didn't really do it...on purpose!"

Shaking your head as you smiled, you'd let him open the door for you, "It's okay, I won't tell."

- - -

The sushi had been amazing and a wonderful surprise to start the evening off with. You had a quaint little table, tucked back in the corner where the two of you had been free to enjoy each other's company without fear of being gawked at and you weren't interrupted by anyone but the wait staff. You didn't have a problem with fans approaching Connor, when the two of you were out in the city, but no one wants their dinner being disrupted.

You hadn't yet exchanged your gifts, but once you got back to the car, it was Connor who insisted you open yours first. The box he handed you was heavy, and proved to be a little difficult to drag up from the back seat, but he managed after a little bit of a struggle.

"Oh, this is heavy!" You commented, once the box laid in your lap.

He laughed, "I hope you like it."

Tearing through the hastily wrapped gift, you discovered that Connor had given you a pair of hockey skates! "You got me skates?"

"Yeah, I thought I could give you that skating lesson you've been asking for."

"Aw, baby! Really?" You were smiling from ear-to-ear. They looked like something an NHL player would have, not someone who had never had skates on before, but you were thankful and excited nonetheless. "These are really nice!"

"I reached out to Bauer for a favour, and they came through pretty well, I think."

"So, this is why I needed the extra socks?"

"Ha, yeah. I hoped you wouldn't figure it out," he grinned, blushing in the dim light of the parking garage.

Reaching down, you'd retrieve the gift box you had for him, but you knew your gift couldn't compare with his. "My gift isn't as flashy, sorry."

"Huh? Anything you've ever given me, I've loved. I'm sure this is no different."

He had the sweetest smile, and always knew how to reassure you, in his own subtle way, that just being around you was worth more than any boughten thing. Carefully, he unwrapped the box, and upon flipped the lid, was grinning. Inside, were a dozen pairs of hockey laces, all lined up in their individual plastic boxes.

"Thanks, babe! I can always use these."

"I just wanted to get you something you could use. I'm sorry it's nothing more than just some laces."

Connor leaned over the center console to cup your right cheek, pulling your gaze to him. "You could have just given me a candy bar or something, babe, and it still would mean as much."

You didn't know what to say, so you said nothing. He was just too sweet.

"No sad face," he teased. "Ready for some skating?"

"Promise you won't let me fall?"

He laughed, "I'll try my best."

- - -

The park's outdoor rink was bustling with giggling couples enjoying the company of their partners during the holiday. White lights twinkled overhead, hold-overs from the Christmas season, and somehow brought a warmth to the area, despite the low temperatures. Connor took your hand as you walked, giving you a little squeeze that made you smile every time he did it. It took a minute before the two of you found a place to sit down and get your skates on. As was expected, he got his on first, as you put on your extra socks and loosened the laces of your new gift.

"Here, let me get them for you."

Connor bent down and placed your right foot between this legs while he laced everything up tightly. The whole time you sat there patiently, you wondered how you were going to even walk towards the rink, let alone skate!

"Will you carry me out there?" You asked, half joking.

"You'll be alright. We'll go slow."

"Promise?"

He smirked, "I promise."

After a few minutes, it was time to see just how wobbly you were. "I'm scared."

"You're fine, babe!"

"Don't laugh at me!"

"I'm not trying to! You're just making too big of a deal out of it. Just relax. Gimme your hands."

Reluctantly, and with a sigh, you put your hands in his and so very carefully, pulled yourself to your feet, using Connor for balance. He let you stand there for a moment to find your center before stepping backwards while leading you.

"You're okay," he cooed, holding your hands tightly, keeping an eye on your steps. "Almost there. Now, watch your step, okay? You've gotta step down here."

On shaky ankles, you followed his advice and followed after him. Connor kept you close, and you had to restrain yourself from digging your nails into his skin.

"Babe, you've gotta breathe," Connor laughed.

"Right, right! Sorry!"

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Biting your bottom lip, you looked him in the eye, but you were unsure of how to answer. You wanted to skate around with him --if you could consider what you were doing skating-- but the fear of getting hurt (or making a fool out of yourself) was getting really heavy.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"I'm going to let you go for a second, okay?"

"What...? Why?"

Without another word, Connor spun around and put his back to you. "Put your arms around me."

"Oh...okay."

With your arms around his waist, you felt more secure which was a good thing, because shortly after Connor began skating around the outer edge of the ice, at much more speed than you had ever expected. You just kept your feet together while he skated like normal. It was fun being so close to him, feeling his muscles tense beneath your hands. Keeping your head against his shoulder, the two of you went into a turn and you gripped him tighter. Connor placed a hand on your crossed arms, giving you a silent reassurance that everything was still okay.

"I'm not going to skate off without you," he said, keeping his pace as you both stayed along the boards. "You just let me know when you're done."

Three laps had been enough for you, and Connor seemed content with getting you off the ice. He didn't want to stress you out anymore than he feared he already had, and more and more people had decided skating on Valentine's Day was a cute idea, making the ice congested.

"You didn't fall down," Connor said, walking you back to the bench. "I'm going to go get our shoes, okay? I hopefully won't be too long."

His kiss could have lingered a moment longer, but it was enough to make you wait quietly for him to return. You'd watch everyone else on the ice while he was gone. Seeing little kids out-skate you stung a little, and you hoped you wouldn't waste Connor's gift. Maybe you could secretly get some lessons and ask him again for another skating date.

After about ten minutes, Connor returned, apologizing for having taken longer than he expected. "Sorry, babe. I got stopped."

"It's okay! I figured you might have." You smiled, taking your sneakers in shaky hands.

Connor noticed and frowned, "Are you cold? You're shaking."

"I'm a little chilly, but I'm okay."

"Well, here, let me get your skates off and we'll go get warmed up."

Even though you could have managed on your own, Connor seemed adamant about helping you so you'd let him. He worked so diligently, and you wondered if it was because he knew you were cold. You did fear that he'd be taking you home after this, and selfishly, you weren't ready to let him go just yet.

"Are you going to take me home now?"

Connor looked up from undoing your second set of laces, "Not if you don't want me to."

"I just want a little more time with you," you lamented, looking away from him.

His laugh made you snap your eyes back to his face. "That's fine with me. Wanna go get a coffee or something?"

"And donuts?"

His smile warmed you through completely. "And donuts."

[aggieharkness]

A garden of sorrows shall bloom into hope.

Pairing: Joan Ramsey x reader

Summary: love can never be evil. Love should never be cruel or selfish but listen and comfort. Love could never have a form or fit in a mold as it is a feeling so deep that it shapes one's very soul. Love was at Joan's feet and she was cradling it, on her knees.

Warnings: religious trauma, mentions of murder and death, grief, child loss, isolation, buuuuut things get better cause there's fluff

Author's note: I'm sorry it has taken me so long to post this, but I wanted it to be good because it's a Joan story and she's a really complex character. I hope you all like it and I do hope that you can all see it as a Valentine's story. Special shout-out to @bravewithacapitalb for being my Beta Reader when she's got her own thing going. I love you girl. Sorry @delusionalforolderwomen but it's not Libby (don't be mad 🥺) . As always, do tell me how it looks, if you all like it or if there are things I need to change. I accept constructive criticism. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Joan Ramsey but curse the writers for not giving us more scenes with her. If she evil why shaped like such a cutie pie?!

Happy Valentine's!

Words: 12 K (No comment)

A garden of sorrows shall bloom into hope.

Say you’ll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset. The radio never ceased its incessant pour of songs, most of them speaking of love and romance and futures that held no pain, only promises. Lies, all lies. Joan couldn’t help but scoff as the words went on, a goodbye to a loved one, someone who had meant something and who still held a special place in the singer’s heart, she thought, a foolish message that would fall on deaf ears. Or dead ears. The house was cold, silence creeping around every corner, making the wood creak and whine under its weight, curtains drawn and windows closed, not even a small breeze breaking into the house. She had no one to remember her by, not a soul left in her meaningless life that would hold her at night or sign with her in the kitchen while she cooked, only bitter memories and regret at her actions. The almighty had forsaken her, abandoned her in a vast land of sins and pain that she couldn’t escape from, and in the centre of all that fire and destruction that had become her life, she stood alone.

She laid in bed each night hoping she would not open her eyes the next day, unable to cope with everything that had happened, with the thoughts that she once had had a husband and son that she had loved more than herself and now only smoke was left, swirling in between her fingers, unable to grasp them, unable to fix what was broken. Joan barely ate, what little appetite she had vanishing every time she stepped into the house hoping to hear Luke, to even hear her late husband speaking on the phone to some client or other, only to be met by silence, that deafening noise that seeped into her bones. And today, was no different. She sat at the head of her oak dining table, a glass and bottle of red wine sitting in front of her as the radio played in the background trying to fill up the room with something that wasn’t the brutal sorrow that had overtaken her body. Her hair was piled on the back of her head, held by a black claw clip that dug onto her scalp, her bangs brushing her eyelids each time she blinked, but she showed no sign that it was bothering her, a few short random strands framing her face.

Months had passed since she had lost Luke, since she had let her own madness take him from her, the Devil’s work she had thought back then, and she was no closer to getting over it than the oceans were to drying up. No matter how much she tried to find an excuse, a reason as to why she had done all she had she could not, and it frightened her how lost she was, how little the scriptures she had once held onto as if they were oxygen to her meant to her now, only words in a worn book that brought no comfort. When had she stopped walking the path of the Lord? She had been His humble servant, and he had only put stones on her path that as the years went by, she had more trouble climbing, winning each trial he set before her with more difficulty each time. Had he been testing her faith all along or had he never cared for her? She was one of his children, and he cared for all of them equally and yet she felt… alone. Even when she had first gotten married she had felt alone, sitting in an empty house waiting for her beloved to walk through the front door to a warm delicious dinner and the sweetest, loving smile she could muster on her face. He had never truly seen her, pushing her aside without her noticing, or perhaps she had been aware, and she had been far too terrified of being left behind that she had let him.

The wine in her glass was sweet, her favourite kind, and it tinted her rosy lips as she took a sip, but as it slid down her throat it became sour, bitter on her tongue. Nothing tasted right anymore, the air around her didn’t smell as fresh as it once had, dusty, perhaps even musky and it clashed with the aroma of her perfume and shampoo, vanilla and sandalwood, in a nauseating manner that didn’t help her empty stomach. The song had ended a while ago, something different playing, raking in her ears like nails on a board, but she had no desire to stand and turn it off. She could not face the silence once more, it was poisoning her, killing her as the minutes passed by, the clock on the wall ticking in a perfect rhythm. So I'll dance with your ghost in the living room and I'll play the piano alone. What ghosts? The ones that she had caused or the ones that haunted her every second of every day? Could your eyes be considered a ghost? She had seen you arrive a few months ago, shortly after the incident with Luke, and as Joan’s big brown eyes had settled on your form, through the living room window, she could not help but admire the agility and grace with which you moved. It was a change from the way the girls in that school flaunted themselves, and in her heart, she felt a pang of sadness imagining how different you would be in only a few weeks. Probably condescending and with an air of superiority taught to you by Fiona, losing everything that made you so unique. She was proven wrong.

You had been warned about Joan, told about what she had done and how you were supposed to steer clear of her, but you didn’t. It had taken you several days to warm up to the idea of knocking on her door, a tray of homemade cookies in your hands, hoping your new housemates and teachers wouldn’t give you detention for breaking their rules, but there was something inside you that was curious, drawn to this unknown woman everyone seemed to hate. There were questions no one had ever bothered to ask to get the whole picture, and you intended to gather your own information and form your own opinions about her before you condemned her, after all she was nothing but a name to you. The instant the doors had opened your mind erased all preconceived ideas. She was beautiful, her perfectly straight hair framing a face of prominent cheeks and plump lips, a most exquisite pink hue tainting her skin, her features unique and utterly breathtaking. She had observed you quietly for a moment or two, curiosity glazing her eyes and she had not expected anyone to come knocking on her door, much less you, the new girl, but she could not say, not even now, that she was displeased by having another human being speak with her.

And it had taken her completely by surprise just how kind you were, how softly you spoke to her, and how unbothered you seemed to be by what she had done. Perhaps you hadn’t known? No, she had seen the hesitation at first in those beautiful eyes of yours, the way you held yourself at a prudent distance as if she could cause you harm, but when she had greeted you, Joan’s voice hoarse from not having spoken a single word in days those doubts had melted into nothing, ice under the sun. Of course, she was aware of what you were, of the power you held within you, and she had been wary of what you might do to her if you changed your mind about how you felt about her in the middle of the conversation, but that never happened, not for an instant did your interest sway from her and only her, no past tainting your ever-growing opinions. After she took the plate of cookies, a quiet thank you slipping from her rosy lips, the aroma of chocolate and sugar making her mouth water, your semblance took on a more sombre aura and with the utmost respect words of sympathy left your mouth, falling of the tip of your tongue like rain on a desert. And for the first time she felt as if someone actually cared about her pain, as if someone who could see her grief and sorrow and not just the actions that had unleashed it all. Tears had gathered in her eyes at that, only managing a nod as a lump formed in her throat preventing her from speaking, barely hanging on by a thread, and thankfully you understood. As you turned around to leave, your hand brushed over Joan’s wilting roses and like magic they blossomed once again, soft pink petals gleaming under the warm sunlight.

That first time she saw you haunted her to this day, the way your hair shone under the golden light of the full sun, how your flowy dress swayed in lazy waves around your legs in the warm breeze, the way your eyes had instantly bewitched her with their honesty and their caring gaze. You had known nothing but horrible things about her and yet you had had the courage of meeting her and treating her with kindness. She hadn’t known such a feeling since she was a young girl, not even her church acquaintances had bothered to show her an ounce of mercy and care when everything had unfolded before her, when hell had broken loose in her life. If God was supposed to love her, why had he closed his eyes at her pleas and let her wander into a dark path that had no exit? Each day became unbearable, long, dragging out until her tired body could not remain awake a moment longer even if all she had done was sit in her living room and let her guilt pushed her to the ground and stomp on her. The only moments of joy she lived were when you made it your own personal mission to get her to walk out onto the porch of the garden, her dressed hugging her frame looser every time you saw her, her skin losing that healthy glow that had adorned her that first time. It broke your heart just how everyone had cast her aside without asking why. Things were so much more complicated that she let on, you could sense it, but you never pushed her into spilling her secrets to you, highly doubting she had faced those terrors since they had happened.

You were indeed the only ghost she ever wanted in her life, floating through the halls of her house and whispering her name in her ear as soon as the sun set on the horizon, her bedroom bathed in the cool like of a full moon. But she had pushed you away, like the coward she was, afraid of what was blossoming in between the cracks of her broken heart, shards of red glass spread inside her chest. She had never thought anyone would be able to pick them up and put them together again, that someone who take an interest in a lost woman like herself, and as you had held her hand for the first time a week ago Joan had crumbled like a house of cards. She had melted into your touch, your smile lighting up the entire city as you pulled her out of her house and down the street, laughing and talking a thousand miles per minute about nothing and everything. She had listened to your every word, the sound of your voice a balm for her wounds as she let you to take her to the ends of the world, but when she had realised what was happening, that she had fallen for you she had pulled her hand from yours, forcing you to halt your steps and turn to her with a confused look on your face. Had you said or done something wrong? Why did she seem so upset all of a sudden? Without a word she had taken a step back from you, horror painting her features before she had run back to her house. She had refused to turn back as you called out her name, each time with a more pained tone, because if she had she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have kissed you right there on the street, and she couldn’t be in love with someone like you.

What a joke it was now to think she had been so terrified of having something with you when the “Good book” was nothing more than a paper weight on her dining table. Verses about love sounded empty, just as hollow as was the void in her chest, the accusatory sermons she had heard over the years about what was supposed to be a happy marriage, how love should feel and look nothing more than poppycock as they echoed in her mind. I'm so scared that the moments we shared won't happen again. I don't want this to end. The radio had changed yet again, and it seemed to Joan as if it was connected to her, expressing what she could not bring herself to voice, terrified that if she opened up her heart all those verses that had been carved into her very being would crush her, punish her for not being who she was taught to be. But how could she carry on lying to herself? The Joan that had been blinded by God’s words had done things that should have made you run away, and yet you stayed, came back to her whenever she needed you without expecting anything but a smile in return. The Joan that now sat all alone in her big empty house, filled with demons brought by her own hand, could feel nothing knowing that the only chance at redeeming herself had been right there, in the palm of her hand and she had run away from it. You could have been the star that made her retrace her steps to the beginning of the road.

Like a leaf that falls from a tree, the cold breeze of winter making it sway from side to side, its broken edges slicing through the air, a single tear fell from her eyes, the crystal drop sliding down her cheek. It fell on her lap, sour and full of regret, and the once delicious wine tasted like a vile concoction the instant it touched her lips, but she forced herself to drink as if it could numb the pain of her past while her soft eyes stared at her bleak future, clouds only getting darker. No, it wasn’t God who punishing her, it was obvious he didn’t care enough about her to even do so, she was flagellating herself as if that could make the blood she had on her hands vanish, refusing to let anyone love her, crushing her own feelings as if she didn’t have the right to find happiness once again. She who is without sin, cast the first stone. The words stung her skin, fingers gripping the glass harder to the point where her knuckles turned white, the thin crystal cup threatening to shatter and splash wine and shards everywhere, but she didn’t stop. She could never pick up said stone, she could never throw it unless it was at herself, because she had done nothing but commit sin after sin thinking that they were justified, that she was being a good Christian woman when in truth she had strayed from the path long ago. Who was she following now? The Church? The Devil? Perhaps there was no one on the other side of those empty words preached every Sunday. Ain't it funny how time shows you, you know nothing.

The song finished, leaving a few seconds of complete silence to fill up the room, the flames of a few candles Joan had lit an hour ago or so the only source of light, casting wavy shadows onto the wood. When had everything gone wrong? With a silly voice the person doing the program on the radio spoke about the playlist they had ready for the next forty-five minutes, every song a message of love for everyone who celebrated this special holiday. Another scoff fell from Joan’s lips; it was Valentine’s Day, of course. She had barely left the house in the last three days, she had not seen the millions of flowers and balloons that filled up the stores, not the way your frame had been glued to your bedroom window hoping to get a glimpse of her, wondering why the sudden reluctance and fear of you. She hated the holiday, it felt frivolous, cold to her, and she hadn’t really had anyone to celebrate it with since Luke had been a child, her husband always busy, always emotionally unavailable, the house waiting for a bouquet that never arrived, a ring that remained at the store, a box of chocolate that went stale on the shelf where it rested. She had been s deep in thought that it took her a couple of minutes to hear the doorbell, the shrill sound almost making her ears bleed. She only wanted to be left alone so she could get drunk in her own sorrow until she could no longer breathe, but whoever was on the other side of her front door was not giving up, and after switching between knocks and that horrid bell for over five minutes Joan stood, the chair scraping angrily over her wooden floors.

She was angry at the interruption, and it showed in the way her heels echoed as she made her way to the door, grabbing the knob and throwing it wide open, the glass rattling as it hit the wall. Whatever she was going to say to whoever was on the other side faded into the ether as her eyes were met with the sight of a sea of flowers at her feet, a rainbow of colours gleaming under the soft light of the full moon that shone high up in the night sky. There were dozens of roses of every shade imaginable sprawled over the white pine wood, tulips, sunflowers, and what seemed a thousand more flowers resting in between. She was no stranger to gifts, small things that didn’t mean much like an old perfume or a silver bracelet in which her name was spelled wrong, but this was a whole new level. On the stairs, kneeling before Joan, you looked up at her, a lovely white dress subtly hugging your figure while a blue box rested on the palms of your hands. You had never looked so perfect before, smiling kindly up at her as your eyes held her gaze, something she couldn’t quite recognise dancing like stars on your irises, sparkling with a life that pulled her towards you like a magnet. Her brown heels took one single step forward, the wood creaking under her weight, her hand falling slowly from the doorknob and coming to rest on her side, her lips parted in surprise, a slight red colour lingering from the wine.  

-Y/N? – her voice sounded so raspy and raw, as if she hadn’t used it since the day she left you, and perhaps she had. No one had come to visit her ever since you had moved in next door, it would be no surprise, but that didn’t mean it was a pleasant thought.

-Hello, Joan.

-What are you doing here? What’s all this?

-121 flowers. One for each day I’ve known you, and all of them as an apology for whatever I did wrong the other day.

-This must have cost a fortune. – her feet brushed the soft petals of a purple tulip as her body moved closer to yours of its own accord, almost as if your skin was calling out to hers, her heart racing against her ribs nearly painfully.

-That doesn’t matter, you are worth this and much more, Joan.

-But why? – she had never felt so conflicted before, wishing you would take her in your arms and never let her go but knowing that whatever this was, if it was ever something and not just a hallucination of her mind, wasn’t right. But then why did she feel like you were her saviour and guide? Part of her would follow you blindly like Mary had followed Christ, sharing your burdens and kneeling at the foot of your cross ready to gather you in her arms. But the other held her back, keeping her in a prison that was her own mind, prejudices that had been taught to her all her life making her feel as if what her heart was saying to her, whispers spoken from in between the cracks, would condemn her to an eternity of pain. But wasn’t she already living like that? You had stood from your spot on the stairs, analysing the sadness that had laced her question as you stepped closer to her, barely a foot separating you, the blue box you had been holding now resting on the floor next to your feet.

-Because you don’t deserve what you are going through. I don’t care how many times Fiona tells me you are dangerous and that I can’t see you. I know you would do me no harm. I have heard your story on a loop from mouths that weren’t yours for months and it doesn’t seem fair. They have no right to tell your story.

-But they do, and people listen to them. Do yourself a favour Y/N and go home.  

Was she really about to give up on the only thing that had made her truly happy in years? Her hand hesitated to touch you, knowing it would be even harder to let you go the moment her touch starved soul caressed yours, but she indulged herself, at least one last time, and took your hand in hers, her thumb rubbing your soft skin. All the way from the dining hall a new song played, and it couldn’t have been a most perfectly cruel choice. Don't you know I'm no good for you? I've learned to lose you. Joan truly fought to keep her composure, to not break down before you had walked away, but you didn’t move and with the way you were looking at her as if she was the sun, the moon and all the stars combined her carefully crafted walls collapsed. Tears fell down her cheeks in quick succession, burning her flesh, and she almost expected you extract your hand from hers and leave her standing there drowning in her own grief the same way everyone else had, but your warmth never left.

You had never known of anyone who deserved love more than Joan, and at the sight of her tears, her very soul conflicted with who she was at this point in her life, unsure of what she wanted and what she felt she had the right to ask for, all translated into the tears that fell like sharp diamonds all the way to the cold hard wood under her feet you threw caution to the wind and gathered her in your arms. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt the palms of your hands on her back pressing her against your warm body, a sea of flowers and fallen petals in a circle around your feet, the sweet aroma enfolding her as much as your embrace did. Her thin dress was no obstacle for your heat to seep into her bones, easing all the aches that had settled deeply within her, listening to the way your heart beat slowly, almost in a perfect rhythm. But it was the touch of your lips, soft and tender, on her temple that had her sobbing into the crook of your neck. She could not do it, she could not watch you slip through her fingers after all the pain she had gone through, your presence the only thing she ever wanted in her life. My love, my love, my love, my love. Won't you stay a while? 

You would stay for all eternity if that’s what she wanted, if it meant healing her and seeing her smile as you shared the smallest of things, watching her find her own path, her own light and purpose out of all the teachings that had turned her into a woman she hadn’t recognised when standing in front of the mirror. Your fingers traced lazy patterns in between her shoulder blades as your other hand held her gently against your frame by the back on her neck, her tears leaving wet patches on your dress, though you cared very little about it. A chill drifted under the roofed porch, riding up Joan’s spine and making her shiver but she didn’t move, the grip her hands had on your gown making her knuckles turn white. If loving you, caring about you was such a horrible thing, a temptation from the Devil, why did it feel as if she was walking the heavens now that she was in your arms? Was she willing to risk eternal damnation in exchange for a lifetime with you? You had come back to her even after her fears and doubts had made her run away, and you had brought her a flower for every single day you had known each other; no one had ever done such a thing for her, she could not even recall the last time she had been given a single lilting flower, let alone 121.

-You don’t need to be so strong all the time Joan. Let yourself grief, I will be here to hold you and take what you can’t carry. Don’t believe for an instant that you are undeserving of love or understanding. Those who have not lived it all in your skin cannot see and feel the truths hidden in your mind. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Your voice was calm, soothing as each word fell from your lips like rain after a long draught and it filled every cell in her body with a sense of peace that halted her sobs and made her lift her head from your shoulder, red, puffy eyes locking onto yours. Were you an angel sent to her to return her to the rightful path, to the road built in the truths that were never written and therefor never changed, each stone an action that had no other witness but Him? There could be wrong in the way her heart raced as your words sunk deeply withing the cracks, no evil clouding her mind, making her stray for she was now exactly where she was meant to be, and your touch was nothing but glorious, a rejoicing song against her skin. Her face was only inches away from yours, your eyes counting every freckle that adorned her nose and cheeks, such an intimate position reminding her that that was the closest she had been to another person in years. The traces of a life she didn’t want to go back to lingered in everything she did and everything she said, habits that would take an entire lifetime to erase and yet she was willing to do so, as long as you were right beside her, reassuring her that everything would be alright every time those demons that haunted her came to claw at her free will, tempting her to fall back into the darkness she currently resided in, regret and fear her only companions.

Her chocolate eyes hid thousands of secrets, of untold stories that you wanted to hear, but not because you were a curious person or a gossip, which you supposed you were to a certain extent, but because they were simply hers and everything that belonged to her was, everything that was her, meant the world to you. You did not fight the feeling of your heart jumping a bit as you held her gaze, falling down rivers of sorrow and happiness that run underneath long oak bridges, their path taking you to where Joan’s broken soul laid, cracks running deeply from side to side as the light within her quivered dimly under the weight of everything that had happened. Your gentle hands could not heal the ill nor make the dead rise, but they could hold her steady as the wounds stitched themselves together, no more blood pooling in that void that had formed in her chest. The late-night breeze carried the words of song Joan didn’t know, sweet notes that danced in between specks of dust, floating lazily, twirling in a waltz that no one saw. And even though she was unfamiliar with the music, it somehow made your eyes glint under the silvery beams that bathed the pavement, moonlight casting a spell over the city, away from the yellow lights of the streetlamps. Now, I've thought it through. Crawling back to you.     

Over glass and burning embers, you would crawl on your hands and knees back to her, even if the world turned against you, even if there was nothing else worth living for, she would be the only reason you drew breath every morning as dawn broke through the horizon and as the thick veil of night covered the sky. The petals scattered on the floor glowed under the pearly beams, reflecting on Joan’s sun-kissed skin, translucent rainbows lingering on her cheeks, dripping over her full lips like honey, slow and perfectly sweet. Her hands didn’t want to release your dress, afraid you might vanish before her eyes and her brain realised that all this had been nothing but bitter dream induced by the lack of sleep and the wine, another punishment she was inflicting on herself, but she still did it, her fingers stiff as they released the warm fabric, discomfort building in her hands at the hard grip she had had on you. Your touch lingered for an instant longer, but when her arms fell to her sides you understood the moment had passed, and as much as your words were still echoing inside Joan’s mind, your fingers tenderly brushed the skin of her neck one last time before cold meet the spots where your warmth seeping from your palms had been.

It was a most odd sensation to feel a shiver running down her spine at the lack of your touch on her, wishing your hands were still on her. She could hardly recall when had been the last time her husband had held her hand, let alone kiss her on the cheek or look at her they way your eyes did, no fear or disgust shinning over them. She could not remember if anyone had ever bothered to go to the extents you had to show her they cared, to do something with a meaning, not just to fill up the purpose of the holiday and get her off their backs, and make her feel like perhaps there was hope for her. Standing in separate circles once again, you took the opportunity to kneel at her feet and pick up a single flower, a most perfect pink lily that Joan hadn’t noticed before, a little trick you had had up your sleeve, and in the most gentlemanly manner you could muster bowed and handed it to her. Her lips broke into a giddy smile, unable to stop it even if she had wanted to, her slender fingers taking hold of the stem and bringing it to her nose, the rich floral accents that fell from its petals, bright and deep pink tones painted on the inside with the utmost care as the edges stood out in a pristine white, never overshadowing the other, only blending to perfection as pastel pink dots laid scattered over the soft floral leaf, filling her lungs.

-Its beautiful Y/N. Thank you. – her timid smile was partially hidden by the flower, resting gently over her rosy lips, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t seen it or hadn’t noticed the tint that was spreading over her cheeks, a most enchanting shade of red complimenting her doe eyes.

-I’m glad you like it, but I’m not done yet. I have a few more things planned for us. That is of course, if… you want to be my Valentine.

-Your… your Valentine? Me?

-Yes. There’ no one else in the entire planet that I would rather spend this day with than you, Joan. Not a soul. – you had rendered her speechless for a moment, the thought of you actually asking her such a thing never having crossed her mind, which was foolish really. You had done all this because you wanted to spend this holiday with her. She was aware that her smile was that of a shocked by lovesick teenager now, her heart fluttering like butterflies trapped in a cage begging to be released, using the lily as a shield to hide her ever-growing blush from your piercing by kind eyes.

-I… I think I would like that. Very much.

-Then please, take this as a token of my affections for you.    

She had completely forgotten about the blue box that rested next to your feet, a white ribbon tying it closed so its contents wouldn’t be spilt all over her front porch, Joan’s eyes watching as your body quickly bent over to pick it up. She still held the flower in between her fingers, cool under its touch, as you presented yet another gift to her, curiosity peeking for the second time that night, but she didn’t want to let go of the lily, and so with quick hands she placed it on the side of her head, the smooth petals caressing her temple as the she secured the flower by threading the stem in between a few locks of hair and the claw clip that held the silky strands on the back of her head. She would wear it all night long and put it in a vase with water next to her bed when the day was done and sleep began to creep up on her, wishing to close her eyes to its sight and wake up to it as well, the gesture forever engraved in her mind. With both hands now free her fingers made quick work of the bow and ribbon, the rough material resting over your palms, and with shaky limbs, anticipation building quickly within her, she pushed the top off.

-Oh, Y/N! – wasn’t it a most melodious sound to hear her laugh? Those loud tones, unapologetic as they echoed in the night, sweet as happiness poured out of them in quick succession, her smile only growing bigger as sparks shone in her eyes. One thing was to hear her chuckle, maybe even be granted the honour of hearing a soft laugh pass her plump lips, and another far more magical and sublime was to hear that rumbling sound sliding with easy from her throat, being you and only you the cause and the benefactor of such a sound. There were no gold necklaces or platinum bracelets resting over expensive layers of velvets, no seas of diamonds or rubies that could adorn her collarbones or her fingers, not even a unique bottle of scotch waiting for her inside that box, and yet what was presented to her held a much deeper meaning and an aura of love and care that she appreciated far more than all the jewellery money could buy. Twenty small doughnuts were neatly placed on top of a pink sheet of parchment paper, white melted chocolate displayed on top of the spongy dough as red icing spelled “ Happy Valentine’s Joan”, purple, red, white and pink sprinkles decorating each pastry to perfection, the last doughnut of the batch being the only one shaped as a heart, covered in ruby chocolate and with what looked like some sort of jam spilling from its insides.

-I made them myself. The first batch burned because I didn’t hear the oven go off, but I think these ones turned out pretty good. I hope you like them.

-They are wonderful. And beautiful. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me you know?

-It’s no trouble, at all Joan. Anything that I make for you is never a chore or a task. I enjoy it, trust me. – she did, she could not find a single reason not to do so when your intentions shone as pure as snow, no hidden requests or lies masked as innocent compliments. There was no venom in your smile, no evil behind your beautiful eyes, only genuine care for her that made her all warm and fuzzy, a feeling she had forgotten about, a sensation she wondered for a moment if she had ever truly felt. You took one step towards her, the edge of the box barely an inch from her bosom, the chill breeze that had been lazily twirling around the both of you now picking up slightly, goosebumps and shivers making you shake on your spot. -Could I come in? It’s getting colder and I still have one more thing to give you.

-Another present? Greed is not a friend that one should engage with Y/N.

-It is not greed, I assure you. I did not buy it, and in truth it’s more of a necessity. – her narrowed a little but her smile never faltered, not for a minute, the lily in her hair matching the blush that painted her cheeks.

-Alright, come on in. – she took a few steps back until her heels clacked over the wooden floors of her entryway, watching as you made your way to her door carefully as not to crush any of the flowers under your feet. She would figure out tomorrow morning what to do with them all, for now, she liked to think they were simply guarding her home. You picked up quickly on the musty smell that floated in the air, clinging to the drawn curtains, darkness spreading through every room like a wildfire, a pang of sadness slamming you on the chest as you made your way to the dining room. The candles Joan had lit hours ago barely had any wax left, the flames dimming with each passing second, the lonely bottle of wine along with the half-drunk glass resting and glistening under the flickering light. You had no taste for such a drink, but it was obvious that the burgundy liquid was a common guest in Joan’s house, a hint of shame in her eyes as you looked at her over your shoulder. Carefully not to make the glass tumble and ruin both the table and the floor you left the box of doughnuts beside one of the silver candlesticks, white wax embedded in the crevasses of a swan engraved in the metal, checking that the pastries were all still intact before turning to face Joan, a bright smile on your face to overshine the downcast look that had taken her hostage.

-Wait here a moment. I’ll be right back.

Like the perfect summer breeze your perfume caressed her face as you walked past her, your hand brushing hers, fingers timidly kissing each other for an instant that ended too soon, leaving a tingling sensation on her skin that travelled like electricity up her arm to her elbow. Watching you walking back to the front door, your dress flowing around your knees, she stood in the poorly lit room, cursing herself for the way the house betrayed her and screamed silently about her state of mind, long curtains refusing to let the cold breeze of February in. Hoping you didn’t think less of her she rushed towards the closet window, pushing the heavy fabrics to the sides and unlatching the frames, pushing the glass upwards until the cold wind of the night burst in unannounced but not unwelcome. Shivers ran down her spine, but she pushed through, repeating the motion for the other two windows that were left, that stale stench she had mentally complained about not that long ago losing the fresh crisp air that was now filling the room. It wasn’t that she hadn’t cleaned the house in months, she still woke up every morning with a task to fill all those dead hours that lay ahead of her, but she had neglected certain aspects that would have clashed with her mood, the need to keep herself secluded, detained in her own home as much as she was by her mind, preventing her from enjoying the simple sight of the sunlight breaking through her front door, or basking in its warmth by the window with a hot cup of tea cradled in her hands. She had no right to such simple things after everything, she thought.

But now the room was bathed in perfect waves of silver and platinum, strings of pearly dust floating along to the sweet voices that still played on the radio, the wind that now rushed through the house kissing the flickering flames goodbye as one by one they vanished into rivulets of smoke. Standing in the doorway your eyes raked over Joan’s frame as moonlight rained over her, her deep eyes holding your gaze, sparkling under its silvery touch. Never before had a person been more beautiful than her, her blue dress like an ocean enfolding her curves, her hair shining under the glow of the pink petals that caressed her temple, the soft breeze that came from the windows kissing her skin and twirling around her like currents, transparent foam around her feet. It's you, it's you, it's all for you. Everything I do. I tell you all the time. Heaven is a place on earth with you. Words had never spoken bigger truths. All for Joan, so she would grant you entrance to the Heaven that clung to her skin, your lips begging to worship the ground she walked on, the air she breathed, the clothes she wore and hoping that one day you would be able to cross the threshold on her bedroom and lay beside her in that bed that claimed her holy body each night. With slow steps you made your way to the table once more and placed two paper bags gently over the wood, eyes never straying from her form, fighting not to blink should you miss a single thing about her.

She walked towards you, her gentle movements a sight for sore eyes, approaching you as if she hadn’t noticed the way your sight lingered on her and drank her in, and perhaps it had been so. Joan was unused to being the object of people’s affections, it would be no surprise if she had mistaken your actions for nothing more than admiration, but inside the woman’s chest, her heart slammed against her ribs with each beat, a million butterflies fluttering inside her, thanking the darkness of the room that had kept her blush at bay from your beautiful eyes. Without a word each of you worked on a bag, a comfortable silence accompanying your actions as the song carried on softly in the background, a few containers with food lay on the table after a few minutes, the delicious aroma of well-cooked and homemade dishes reaching Joan’s nose, making her mouth water as she turned to look at you, surprise and a hint of gratitude painted on her face. It had been far too long since she had had something that hadn’t been a premade meal, her constant internal battle and continuous self-sabotage leaving her drained and unable to do one of the things she loved the most. Lifting one of the lids, the smell of rosemary filled the room, her eyes as wide as saucers as slices of a rotisserie chicken stood out from under what she was sure was a delicious sauce.

-You made and brought me dinner? That’s the surprise you had for me?

-I know it’s not as grand or greedy as a night in town or a diamond necklace, but I thought this would be much better for you. I’ve made enough so that you’ll be able to eat for at least a week.

-Y/N… I… You don’t know how much this means to me. You really are a blessing. – her hands rested tenderly on your cheeks, her smile as big as the entire universe and so bright that she could light the whole house, but her palms didn’t remain on your skin for too long, and you didn’t stop her when they left a cold spot over your flesh. It was obvious things would have to be done at her pace.

-I’m happy you like it. Why don’t you bring some plates while I open the rest?

Her steps were quick as she made a beeline for the kitchen, leaving you in charge of everything else. A most exquisite sea of aromas overwhelmed the crisp air of the dining room, salty condiments along with tomato and herbs dancing in perfect unison as you placed the main dish of the night, baked parmesan chicken on a bed of angel hair pasta with green beans and roasted potatoes as sides, beside the glass of red wine. You truly hoped to steer her away from the burgundy drink before dinner started, but at the same time you didn’t wish to make her feel self-conscious about it, as if she was doing something wrong when she was a grown woman who could make her own decisions. But there was no time to indulge in that train of thought as she came back with two plates and cutlery in one hand while she juggled two glasses and a pitch of water in the other. Of course, you rushed to her aid and were thanked with the sight of that tender smile she seemed to have reserved just for you.

-You really have outdone yourself.

-Thank you. I had the kitchen all to myself today, so I was able to prepare everything with all the care in the world. Where do you keep your candles?

-It’s okay, I’ll get them. – the radio rested on top of a set of drawers, Joan heading its way and pulling the first one open before returning to the table, two long white candles in her hand that she exchanged for the old ones. Just as she was about to head back to the kitchen, to get matches, you thought, your hand shot out to grab her wrist, the sudden touch making her whip her head towards you, a wary veil of confusion covering her features.

-Let me. – without letting her go, the grasp on her skin never too strong, allowing her to pry her hand away should she wish to, the fingers of your right hand touched each wick, observing happily how in less than an instant the warm light of a flame bathed the room, colliding with the cool tones that they moon cast inside the house, orange and silver fighting as they reflected on Joan’s pink cheeks. Her big eyes shone under the orange light, like melted chocolate that called out to you, her gaze glued to the candles as the flames flickered steadily, amazement hiding behind her perfect irises. You could not say that you were not proud to have rendered her speechless once again. She was no stranger to what people called magic, but the way you used it, you seemed to have a relationship, some sort of understanding of your own abilities that she had never seen before, didn’t make her feel fear anymore. She felt curious about what else you were capable of, but was too worried about you taking offense that she didn’t ask and simply basked in the beauty of such a domestic task. – Now we can eat. Are you okay Joan?

-What? Oh, yes, perfectly alright. Before we have what clearly looks like a delicious meal I was wondering if we could have one of those doughnuts you brought.

-Of course. Which letter do you fancy?

-I was thinking we could share the heart. One half for you and the other for me, if you are agreeable.

-Absolutely.       

 The cardboard made a scratching sound as you lifted the top, and with careful fingers you pried it from the parchment paper and placed it on one of the plates she had brought, the knife slicing through the middle as if it were butter, stains of pink chocolate and red jam over the metal. Joan took her half of the pastry, muttering a thank you, and slowly took a bite savouring the fluffiness of the dough and the sweetness of the chocolate, the flavour removing the bitter aftertaste the wine had left on her tongue. But the calm moment didn’t last for too long, the acidity of the jam hitting her as if she had just been run over by a car, not because it was too strong or bad, but because it was raspberry jam. She could recall as if she had done it that same morning, going down to the market with little Luke grasping her hand, holding onto her and looking up at her with his big adoring eyes, asking her if he could have some ice cream, the wicker basket she had in her other hand heavy with all the food she had bought. Every Saturday morning would be the same. She would get up and get ready for the day before heading to her son’s room, opening his teddy bear curtains so the sun could come through the window, drool falling from his mouth onto the pillow as he slept, one of his front teeth missing.

Getting him up and ready was her first task of the day, his groggy form sagging against her chest and shoulder as she picked him up and took him to the kitchen, a bowl of cereal waiting for him as she made herself a cup of coffee. She could hear his rumbling as the radio played, talking a thousand miles a minute about whatever he had done in school the previous day, mentioning his friends and teachers and speaking of how elephants were big and grey and hamster so small, cupping his tiny hands as to make his point clearer to his mom. Those morning watching him be so utterly excited about the most mundane of things lingered in her mind, memories that she had revisited so many times as her boy grew, feeling as if she was losing him, as if those moments had vanished into nothing. She would have done anything to go back to all that, to stumbling up the stairs to help him dress as she told him gently that he needed to pick up his toys, brushing his unruly hair before walking out the door with her basket, Luke trailing behind her sometimes with his fish plushie and sometimes not, her attention having to drift from the pavement to her boy and his friend Nemo. They would walk between each stall and Joan would tenderly answer and explain everything that her beautiful boy asked, not caring how many hours they spent out in the streets as long as Luke remained by her side, the warm sun rising higher and higher in the sky.

The feeling of his little fingers, soft and smooth against her palm, lingered on her skin still, as if she could look down and see him standing there with scraped knees, begging her to kiss his pain away, cheeks pink and fat tears falling from his eyes, after taking a tumble with a rock. She could almost feel him pulling on her arm as his eyes landed on his favourite stall, pounds and pounds of raspberries waiting for him, the boxes a few inches above his head. His excitement was always contagious, his toothy smile matching the one on her lips as they made their way towards the grocer. The first time he had seen them his eyes had been wide as saucers, pointing at the red fruits, amazed at the quantity and hadn’t stopped asking to have one until finally Joan had given in and bought a pound of them, knowing that even if Luke didn’t like them, she could still use them and eat them herself. He had fallen in love almost instantly and when they got home the bag had barely lasted more than a few days, so the next Saturday she had purchased more had told her boy that they would make jam with some of them as a treat for how well he was doing in school. He had been so excited that that night he had woken her up almost every hour to ask her if it was time, his thrilled tone preventing her from scolding him, strands of his hair sticking in different directions and his body dressed in a pair of yellow pyjamas with a big giraffe on his t-shirt.

A onetime thing soon became a habit, a special moment they shared every Saturday once they were done at the market, his steps jolly and bouncy as they walked down the street, Luke pointing at every single thing his curious eyes could see as if Joan wasn’t to used to them already, and she indulged him, because he was her little boy, her everything. And now she only had those, the bittersweet memories of a happy life that had turned into dust all because of her own selfish wants and needs, because she could not heal from a broken heart and let her grief and sorrow lead her in life. She had been so sure she was doing the right thing for Luke, following the scriptures her priest had provided her with, telling her that the only way Luke would grow to be the man she wanted him to be was by making sure temptation never entered her house, keeping him secluded with her and following the Lord’s teachings without question. She had not doubted that man’s words, too distraught to even consider that that was not the way, that God was love, not fear, that he was everyone’s father and loved each of his children without expecting anything in return. And yet she had followed him blindly, losing herself in the process and ruining her boy with each day that she punished him for not doing what she had been taught was right.

She had tried so hard to keep him safe, paranoid that temptation hid in every corner that she had forgotten who God was and what his son had preached, stealing Luke away from Nan as if she was the Devil herself all because she had a gift no one else she had ever met had. She had driven her son away, lost that little boy who used to fall asleep in her arms as she sang lullabies and with whom she used to make raspberry jam. The pain that crawled under her skin was beyond anything she had ever felt, as if millions of daggers were stabbing her, blood pouring out of each wound as tears fell down her cheeks, fire burning her flesh, guilt and disgust poisoning and rotting her blood in her veins. She had killed her boy, her reason for being alive, her very soul, because to her there had been no other truth but that of the “Good book”, her narrowminded thoughts having turned her into the biggest hypocrite and selfish woman she had ever known, refusing to believe her actions had been wrong until now. Her baby was gone because she hadn’t wanted him to be with someone like Nan, a girl she had called a servant of Satan, an abomination that walked the Earth, and who had taken her life now that Luke was no longer there with her. She wished to rip her skin off, to escape this agony that crushed her under its inevitable weight, but there was no way out.

How wrong she had been, her own mind betraying everything she had ever loved and cherished and turning her into a monster. How could you be there with her, speaking of love and bringing her gifts when she had killed her son? Her Luke. The name escaped from her lips as realization fell harshly over her, the fact that she was here with you, a woman, her feelings betraying everything she had ever known and been told about love, a most needed but agonising wake-up call. She had put her son through Hell in the name of a God that had forsaken her, that had abandoned her and left her in the dark when she had needed him the most, bringing forth a side of her that had not hesitated to claim her own son’s life so that the secret of her husband’s death would never be brought to light and to ensure that her perfect boy’s soul remained pure, untainted by the girl he had fallen for. How could pain be so raw, so overwhelming and vast that it caused one to want to rip their own heart from their chest? She had carried him, birthed him and held him to her as she told him that love would find him when the time was right, only to refuse him the gift of a happy life with her own bare hands. There wasn’t enough air in the entire planet for her to breathe, her throat refusing to swallow not even an ounce of oxygen, her lungs begging for it as sobs rocked her body.

A thousand emotions had rushed through her eyes the instant she had taken that first and only bite. One moment there had been the sweetest of the smiles gracing her lips and the next tears had begun to pour as her gaze became lost in a world of her own, the atmosphere clinging onto the regret and sorrow that seeped from her body. And then her son’s name had fallen from her lips and the last piece of the puzzle was finally in its rightful place. You had stood as fast as your body had allowed you and wrapped your arms around her trembling frame, the pastry forgotten on the ground by her feet. These tears were different from the ones she had shed a few moments before, they were harsh and sharp as daggers and they were accompanied by the grieving sound of a mother who no longer had a child, a mother who would never get to see her baby become an adult and have a life of his own.

-It’s alright, I’m here. I’m here.

-I… did it… Y/N… - her voice was muffled by her head hiding on your chest, hands gripping the neckline of your dress in despair.

-I know, Jo, I know.

-I didn’t… I didn’t want to… He was my baby! My only baby… - had the Devil taken reign of her senses and clouded her mind with false verses? She would have never laid a single finger on her little boy, not even to discipline him and yet she had caused him harm far too many times to count. She could not escape this pain, this feeling that she had no right to feel anything but grief, to let it consume her. Undeserving of your love and your kind words. Underserving of having you in her life, your mere existence bringing forth a happiness that she had denied to her own flesh and blood.

-I know, my darling. Let it out. There is nothing you could do that would make me leave you, so grieve. You have lost your son, there is no greater pain than that.

You had never heard a sound so frightening and yet so heartbreaking slip out of someone’s throat like the scream that was ripped from Joan’s chest. It came from so deep within her that it made her entire body shake and tremble, rattling her very soul, the sound vibrating through your skin like a thousand needles. It was blood curling and hellish in execution, so full of anger, regret, and pain that it mixed into the most agonizing sound a human could ever produce and yet should never hear. Nothing could have prepared her for the sheer emptiness that coursed through her veins, for the way she wanted to claw at her own skin to make it all stop hurting, begging in between sobs to turn back time, to return to how things had been once upon a time, when it had been her and Luke against the world. Before her mind had been poisoned by false words and her entire life had lost its meaning. She could have carried on screaming for all eternity, blood filling her lungs as she choked on her own remorse, but she was too broken to even hold the sound for too long, and after a few moments it blended back into sobs. It had been four months since she had lost the most precious thing in her little universe and it was only now that she was feeling all that anguish for the first time, all the grief slamming onto her at full force, knocking her off her feet and making her tumble and crumple to the floor. ��There would be no more helping him with his math work, no more cuddling him to sleep when he was sick, no more Saturdays at the market. No more raspberry jams.

Her tired body melted slowly in your arms with each passing second, her tears pooling in the neckline of your dress leaving a cold spot on the skin underneath that the breeze was not gentle with, shivers running down your arms as it sliced through your flesh. You could not imagine what thoughts swirled in her head, what memories were haunting her as her boy’s name fell from her lips over and over, as if that simple action could bring him back, but the house remained quiet, cold, and empty, even the light of the candles seeming to have lost all its warmth as the flames flickered gently. The only sounds echoing against the bare walls, empty frames hanging over the floral wallpaper, were Joan’s sobs, or at least the only sounds you were paying attention to, rubbing comforting circles on her back as your other hand caressed her soft hair, for the radio carried on playing. I wish that Heaven had visiting hours, and I would ask them if I could take you home. The words floated around Joan’s head, begging her to listen, making a lump form in her throat as her heart bled inside her chest, the crimson liquid puddled on the floor under the shard of her completely shattered life. But a glimpse of light shone amongst all the darkness, your voice hushed and tender as you spoke the last verse of the song against her temple, the lily slightly crumpled but nevertheless beautiful.

-And I will close the door, but I will open up my heart. And everyone I love will know exactly who you are. Cause this is not goodbye; it is just 'til we meet again. So much has changed since you've been away. - An entire lifetime had happened since she had lost him, and not once, not even for an instant, had her boy left her thoughts. She almost expected still to see him walking down the hall or stealing a bite before dinner, to find him in his room playing that horrible music she despised so much as he did his homework, but he wasn’t even a ghost haunting her. She would have given her soul, as blasphemous as she knew that was, for one more day with him, to explain, to look at his face and engrave the colour of his eyes in her mind for all eternity. With tears still streaming down her face she lifted her head to gaze upon yours, a question on the tip of her tongue that she couldn’t bring herself to say. Would he forgive her if she could talk to him one last time?

-Y/N…

-What? Talk to me, Joan.

-Luke… I… Would he… - why was it so hard? Why did those words seem to weigh like a thousand rocks? Her grip was even stronger now, her eyes pleading for you to understand, to look deep inside her and pry the question from the very essence of her being so she would not crumble at your feet once again. Your voice did not hesitate to respond.

-He would. He would listen to your every word, and at first, he would be mad, furious even, but it wouldn’t be for the reasons you think. He would be angry because you were so deeply hurt, so broken, that your pain made you ask for help from people you trusted only for them to deceive you. He would not diminish your doings, and he would be upset at the extent of your own actions, but with time he would have understood that you only did it because you thought it was the right way. You are his mother and always will be, and you have repented for what you did.

-But what I did was evil, something so brutal that I fear has no possible salvation. I killed my own son, Y/N.

- “For you became sorrowful as God intended and so were not harmed in any way by us. Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret”. You have walked this path alone Joan, you have grieved and cried in remorse for what you have done, and He, who cares for us all has seen it and has forgiven you. Luke would do the same, because you are his mother and he would not want to see you like this, broken and battered by your own hand.

-But I deserve it. I am no better than all those people who drove me to this point and then abandoned me.

-You are Joan, you are the most wonderful person I have ever met, and one that needs to heal from all the horrible things that have happened to you. You are free from them, from the chains that held you down with false hopes and lies dressed in empty promises, and it is that, and only that, that would make Luke forgive you. You are deserving of love, and you must not think that your little boy would not be thrilled to have the mother he so loved back in his arms. “Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy”.

Your words, coupled with the tender, caring tone you used soothed her pain like nothing had ever before, and for the first time in years, she felt as if she could breathe, as if the air filling her lungs wasn’t rotten anymore. She would be forgiven. Her precious baby boy wouldn’t look at her like she was the worst human in history, pointing accusingly at her while telling her that it was all her fault, that she had brought this agony onto herself. There was hope for her to find happiness once again, to let the gentle rays of sunlight burst through her windows and for her to not run away as if her skin would blister at the feeling, the warm light bathing her house, the silence that had settle so deeply in each beam and wall fading as the sound of birds chirping and voices coming from the street filled each room. Her eyes glistened under the flames, orange and yellow tinges caressing her perfect chocolate irises, so full of hope and dreams she had not even dared to think about before, tears no longer falling but leaving wet paths over her cheeks. With a tender touch your thumbs wiped them away, and with that motion, your fingers ripped the weight that had been crushing her from her flesh, guilt and shame fading into acceptance and understanding as her penitence ended. She had taken accountability for her actions and in return she had been granted a second chance. She had been gifted with your presence and your love.

This time she didn’t let go of you, not caring if your face was only inches from hers, if she could breathe your sweet perfume, a blend of berries and vanilla, deep within her, its soft tendrils enfolding her essence the same way your hands were cradling her face. It would have been so easy to kiss her, to brush your lips against hers, but if you were going to do this, if you were going to walk this path with her, hand in hand, you could wait until she was sure, until her body spoke to you and asked in a silent plea for your touch. The radio was silent for a moment, only the sound of Joan’s sniffles filling up the room, her warmth seeping under your skin, and in an instant her hands released your dress, disappointment crossing your eyes, only to be delighted and surprised as she place her palms over the back of your hands, her heat wrapping around you like a blanket, shielding you from the cold that was breaking through the windows. At that moment in time, there was nothing but Joan and the blossoming lily in her hair, no past, no future, just her. Joan, wrap me up in all your, I want you in my arms.

Her hands were in yours, and with a gentleness she could not get used to you lifted her from her seat, pulling her body away from the table and into an empty spot where the carpet covered the wooden floors. Coming to stand next to the windows she let you do whatever you wanted, take her to the ends of the world if you so desired, because under the silvery beams that swayed in the night, she knew she would give you everything you asked from her as long as you never stopped looking at her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. Your hands guided hers to your shoulders, her fingers feeling the cotton of your dress around your neck, strands of your soft hair teasing her knuckles as your arms snaked around her waist, the gap between you vanishing as each of your bubbles became one, you in her personal space and Joan in yours, no fear or reservations clouding her mind. Oh, let me hold you. I'll never let you go again like I did. Never would you leave her, never would she have to face the world on her own, never would you let her go as long as your body drew breath, and your soul belonged to her. Slowly your feet began to sway from side to side, Joan’s frame molded to yours and following suit, her gaze never straying from your enchanting eyes.

Dancing lazily with her made your little heart leap with joy, a petal suddenly falling all the way from the tall ceiling, oscillating gently as its pristine white colour shone under the moonlight, blending into the same shade of pink Joan’s lily wore as it touched the ground. Then another fell as you pulled her closer, her chest against yours, her fingers twirling your hair in between them as the palms of your hands held onto her waist, a soft touch of sandalwood reaching your nostrils as her hair brushed against your check, her head coming to rest on your right shoulder. Her chin dug gently onto your flesh over the cotton of your white dress, her eyes watching in amazement at the way the room filled with the floral aroma of roses, petal after petal filling the room, a most perfect sight to match a most perfect you. A couple of flower leaves soon turned into a gentle shower of them, dozens swaying in the chilly breeze as the two of you danced, the top of her head resting against your cheek, the moonbeams never faltering in its glow, the flickering flames never ceasing to shower the room with their warmth as a sea of petals laid at your feet. In your arms Joan came to one last conclusion: God had never forsaken her, he had seen her lost in the dark and had sent you to her, to guide her and love her the way she had never been before, to return her to the right path with you by her side, her son’s forgiveness her banner and your love her shield. From now and for all eternity.  I would never fall in love again until I found her. I said, "I would never fall unless it's you I fall into".

[gamesetattach]

Valentine's Special

Jannik Sinner x Reader After nearly a month of distance during their established relationship, reader and Jannik are having a harder and harder time dealing with being apart. Warnings... Valentine's Day Cynicism

Jannik had always thought of relationships as something that shouldn’t interfere with his career. He had convinced himself that having a partner shouldn’t—or rather, wouldn’t—change much. Tennis had always been his priority, his life structured around training, travel, and competition. But then you had come along, and without even meaning to, you had rewritten everything.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t function without you—he could, and well. He was still training and playing hard as ever, and was now in Doha preparing for his next match with his renowned, unbreakable discipline. A full life to him used to mean days mostly consisting of his practice regime and the company of his team, but now those things alone just felt incomplete. Ever since you.

So when you weren't around, it always felt like he was missing something.

You'd last been together at the Australian Open, and he had been counting down the days until he could see you again ever since. He had hoped that his short off-season before the Qatar Open would hold some uninterrupted time with you, but your work had pulled you away. Your travel for a new project overlapped with the time in between tournaments, sending you halfway across the world for work. He understood—your career was just as important as his, and he would never be the kind of partner to ask you to compromise on your ambitions. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard.

Jannik wasn’t used to missing someone quite like this. It was an ache, a quiet but persistent tug at his chest that lingered throughout the days. Mornings felt empty without waking up beside you, nights stretched too long without your laughter filling the space. He missed everything—the way you absentmindedly run your fingers up and down the back of his hair, the way you'd mutter to yourself when you were deep in thought, the way you always made faces at him when you thought no one was looking. Even the quiet moments, when you would just sit together without saying much at all and just exist in each other’s presence, had become something he longed for.

The only thing keeping him sane were your calls.

They had quickly become the best part of his day. No matter how different your time zones were, no matter how late or early it got for either of you, you both made time for them. He could go through hours of practice in the heat, and train until his body ached, but everything washed away the moment his phone lit up with your name.

"Hey, baby," you would greet him, voice warm and familiar, instantly easing the weight of the day.

He couldn't help but sigh, a small smile always tugging at his lips. "Hey. Tell me everything."

And you would. You’d recount your day, your voice animated as you talked about your project, the people you met, the small things you noticed that you knew he’d find funny. And then you’d turn it on him, asking about his training, his stories, and everything ever.

"So, how was today? Take any balls to the balls like yesterday?" you teased one evening, phone propped in the bathroom as you got ready in a hotel room miles away.

Jannik let out a chuckle. "Not for me, but Darren had... an incident."

"Oh? Do tell."

"I was getting too close to him during one of our drills" Jannik said, shaking his head. "He warned me, but I just waved it off. Then, boom. Nearly took his head off his neck with a backhand."

You gasped. "No way."

"I know. He tried to play it off, but we all saw him stumble backward and I know my swing was very hard. Marco and Uli couldn’t hold in their laughter. Even Simone lost it." Jannik was laughing now, the memory still fresh. "I swear, as calm as Darren is, I think he actually was pissed for once. Gave me the longest circuits of my life after that."

You cackled. "Oh, totally unrelated call of his, I’m sure. Ugh, I wish I could have seen it."

"Sadly, no footage. If only, because how hard Simone was laughing it must have been funny. I wish I got a better view."

"Aw, poor Darren. I would not want to on the other end of your racket. Not as an opponent, and definitely not as a casualty."

And you both laughed and, just like that, the distance didn’t feel so unbearable.

Jannik grinned. "I’ll make sure to relay your condolences."

---

As much as he loved those calls, they were only a temporary fix. No screen could make up for the feeling of holding you, the warmth of your presence beside him. He wanted to see you, to feel the weight of your head against his shoulder, to press a kiss to your temple. The moments in between your contact, and right after your calls, made your absence feel that much larger. It took a great effort for him remind himself that you'd be together soon.

He hadn’t quite realized how much he had grown to prefer going through his life with you around until you weren’t there. He was still whole on his own, but with you, he was more—his days fuller, his nights warmer, his world brighter.

And now, another morning standing in the Doha heat wiping sweat from his forehead, weeks into being you being away, he could only think of one thing in between practice sessions: You.

And how he needed to see you again. Soon.

---

Jannik laid in bed, holding the the phone above him in front of his face, one arm tucked behind his head. The hotel room was dimly lit, only the bedside lamp and the screen to cast a warm glow over his face. He could hear the occasional murmur of traffic outside, but otherwise, the room was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that made him miss you even more; he turned the volume up on your call.

"What are you even doing?" he asked, voice slightly drowsy as he watched the screen. The sight of you, doing something as normal and everyday as maneuvering a shopping cart down the grocery store aisle, made his chest squeeze.

"Oh, you know, just navigating through capitalist hell," you quipped, flashing a dry smirk. "It’s all hearts and roses and overpriced chocolate in here. It’s an actual nightmare."

Jannik chuckled. "And you're deeply affected."

"You know I am," you deadpanned. "You should’ve seen the display by the entrance. There was a literal, towering mountain of pink teddy bears—and they're so freaky looking! And they sing when you press their stomachs. And even when just walk past them, to be honest. It’s fucking scary."

He laughed again, shaking his head. "Oh come on, there's worse than teddy bears. It’s only Valentine’s Day."

"Oh, don't get me started. You know how I feel about it," you said, as you made a sharp turn with the cart around a corner. "It’s a total scam. A corporate ploy to make people spend money on things they don’t need, all in the name of some grand romantic gesture. And don’t even get me started on the expectations. The dinner reservations, the expensive gifts, the pressure to do something special just because the date on the calendar says so. It’s ridiculous."

Jannik smiled, eyes softening as he listened to your familiar antics. "You’ve given me this speech before."

"And yet, you still seem to enjoy bringing it up. Just love to poke the bear, don't you?"

"Because it’s funny," he admitted. "You went on a whole rant about it early on when we just started dating, remember? I think we were out for coffee, and you got irrationally angry over some heart-shaped sugar cookie."

You groaned. "Because it was two euros more than a normal cookie! Because it was pink? That’s robbery in any court of law, Jan."

Jannik bit his lip to keep from laughing too hard. "A true crime against humanity."

"That's what I'm saying!"

He watched as you grabbed a carton of milk from the shelf, stuffing it into your cart before turning back to the screen. "Speaking of... Valentine's is coming up later this week."

Your eyes narrowed immediately. "What? Don’t tell me you’re falling for the trap now, too. I thought I trained you better than this."

Jannik smirked, tilting his head back against the pillow. "No, no, never. I wouldn’t dare. I just thought... if your schedule allows, of course—maybe you could come to Doha for the weekend. Not even for Valentine's or anything, it's just... we haven’t seen each other in weeks, and won't for at least another few."

Your fingers tightened around the handle of the cart, suddenly all too aware of your own face and expressions on the screen. You hadn’t expected him to ask outright, even though you had a feeling he was considering it.

You swallowed, forcing a regretful sigh. "Jannik, I’m so sorry. I can’t. Work is getting especially busy."

His brows furrowed slightly, the hope in his face dimming. Still, he turned it back to you, checking in. "Is everything going okay?"

You nodded quickly, rushing the lie. "Yeah, but it’s going to pick up the next few days. Honestly, it’s gonna be crazy. I might even have trouble calling and texting as much."

Jannik exhaled quietly, nodding in understanding. And though he tried his best to cover it, his disappointment was clear. "I get it. Work comes first. You'll smooth it over in no time, I'm sure."

It hurt you to watch how easily he accepted it. How his reaction came second to his unwavering support, even with how let down you could tell he was.

"I’m sorry," you murmured again, softer this time.

"It’s okay," he said, but the mirth in his voice had dimmed into something just a little despondent. "I just miss you, that’s all."

There was a pause. One where you could hear the unspoken weight in his words. One where you nearly cracked and told him the truth.

But you held off.

Instead, you smiled, trying to keep the mood light. "I know. I miss you too. But don’t get any ideas—I’m not sending you flowers."

He let out a small laugh, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "No teddy bear either? Not even the singing kind?"

"No, definitely not. And trust me when I say I'm doing you a favor."

You both sat in silence for a moment, your eyes locked through the screen, the time and space between you more pronounced than ever. It took everything for you to school your face, and not give anything away—after all, no one knew you as well as him.

"You should get some sleep," you finally said, noting the time and how tired he looked.

Jannik sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. I guess."

You hesitated, then smiled softly. "Goodnight, Jan."

"Goodnight, I love you."

The call ended, and Jannik stared at the dark screen for a long moment before placing his phone on the nightstand. The absence of you always felt especially jarring right after your phone calls. He exhaled slowly, rolling onto his side, the emptiness beside him noticeable and cold.

And, not for the first time in weeks, he fell into a restless night of sleep.

---

Jannik had come down from his room on Valentine's Day to meet a flood of claps on the back and cheery, cheeky smiles from his team, each one relaying some variation of greetings for the "holiday". He responded with equal, playful enthusiasm, smirking as his friends all checked in on their respective partners, planning FaceTime calls, last-minute gifts, or made dinner plans from afar. They all knew the drill when it came to balancing their love lives and relationships with their frequency of travel. Jannik, however, had been met with radio silence ever since the teasing text acknowledging Valentine's day sent to you in time for what should have been your morning of.

You had been calling and texting less and less over the past few days, explaining that work was piling up, leaving you with barely any time. He understood, of course, but it didn’t stop the pang of disappointment each time he checked his phone and saw nothing from you. And he checked more often than he cared to admit. The last proper conversation had been a few nights ago, and even then, it had felt a little distant. He hadn’t wanted to press you, these periods weren't uncommon with your busy schedules, but without communication the distance between you two felt even greater.

Still, he pushed the thoughts aside as he made his way to the courts. Jack Draper, his practice partner for the day, greeted him with an easy grin, stretching out his arm as Jannik set his bag down.

"Happy Valentine’s, mate. Good to see you."

Jannik grinning at his old friend. "You too. Have a nice date lined up?"

Jack snorted. "Something like that. What about you? How's your relationship going?"

Jannik blinked, caught slightly off guard, but nodded. "She’s good, we're good. Great, actually... but she's away right now, she has this big project for work."

Jack hummed. "Right. Sorry, man. Distance is tough."

Jannik ignored the look of sympathy Jack gave him and turned his focus to his warm up. The practice was grueling, the Qatar sun relentless even in the winter. They pushed through long rallies, each point more intense than the last. It was exactly the kind of distraction Jannik needed.

That was, until he walked back to the bench for some water and saw an unusual guest sat in his place.

A pink teddy bear.

Sitting there, staring up at him with beady, hollow eyes. He looked around quickly, before picking it up in confusion. At his touch, the stuffed animal began... singing?

Jannik froze, water bottle now forgotten. His team was no help, they were ignoring his looks and had all suddenly found something very interesting to look at everywhere but him, failing to suppress their laughter.

Slowly, he reached down and pressed the bear’s belly. It let out a cheerful little jingle amidst its screechy song, a high-pitched I love you, I love you squawking from its speaker.

He narrowed his eyes, scanning the court and the stands. No way. His pulse had kicked up, heart thudding as his mind dared to hope. No way she—

Then, movement. A figure appeared amidst the stands, hands raised in mock surrender.

It was you.

It was actually you.

Jannik's breath caught. His body moved before his brain could fully catch up, his legs closing the distance between you in long, hurried strides. His team erupted into cheers, clapping and whooping as they watched him climb over the barrier.

He reached for you, hands finding your waist and pulling you into him, reveling in the warmth of you after weeks of being without. Your arms wrapped around him instantly, your body fitting against his just like he remembered.

"You—" His voice broke off into a laugh, and pushed you to arms length for a second to really look at you, face full of disbelief and relief. "You’re here?"

You grinned, pulling him down for a kiss, feeling tension in his jaw melt the moment you pressed against him. "Surprise."

He held you tight for a moment, and face his face into your neck. Breathing you in, he muffled out a few words. "I can't believe this."

You pulled back just enough to look up at him. "And I'm glad. It took a lot to keep you from figuring this out."

Jannik shook his head, still grinning, still trying to process that you were actually in front of him. He repeated what he said before, "I can’t believe this."

"Well, I’m here. Better believe it."

His thumb brushed over your cheek, a gesture so instinctive and fond that it made your breath hitch. "How? When?"

You laughed softly. "I’ve been planning it since before we even had that one call where you asked. That’s why I’ve been bad at responding—I was traveling since then. That, and I knew you'd catch on if I had to lie to your face."

Jannik let out a breath, shaking his head again. "And here I was thinking you were too busy for me."

You softened, squeezing his hand. "Never."

He dipped down for another kiss, this one longer and deeper with only the beginning of three weeks worth of emotion leaking out. For that moment, it was just you and him. The world faded, the background noise of practice and the team, everything else slipping away. Then from back on the court, Jack cleared his throat loudly.

"Alright, alright, I'm glad we pulled off this reunion, but some of us have do have practice to finish."

You turned and called back, grinning at him. "Sorry, Jack. Didn’t mean to steal your Valentine's date and training partner all in one go."

Jack smirked. "Oh, you absolutely meant to. But I guess I can share."

Jannik, still beaming, tugged you closer by the waist. "You’re staying for the weekend?"

"Of course," you murmured, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "Figured I might as well spend this ridiculous holiday with someone I actually like."

Jannik laughed, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. "Good. Because I actually like you too."

And with that, he made his back to the court with this blissful smile on his face, and you thought maybe Valentine’s Day didn’t have to be so ridiculous after all.

---

I'm personally a big fan of Valentine's day, but I hope this fic was a rounded out enough demonstration of feelings for the day. A little bit of hate, a lot of love, and a fair amount of longing. Hope you enjoyed xx

[ablueboxandabentley]

Discussion of the S3 Leaked Set Pics Below:

Edit: Just to be clear I am not shaming any one at all for having theories different to mine. I understand that tone can be different for some people, myself included, to parse out sometimes. I just wanted to clarify in case it at all sounded like that’s what it sounded like I was doing. These are all my own opinions and ideas. Please DO NOT go after/ harass anyone who has ideas about the story’s direction that is different from your own.

No one has done this in my comments as of me making this edit, but I just wanted to give a reminder. Let fandom remain a space for people to enjoy together.

I do, as always, encourage RESPECTFUL conversation and debate however.

Okay, okay.

Here’s the thing. I legitimately HATE the “Aziraphale and Crowley become humans” theory. They are supposed to have eternity together. A major part of their characters is that they are eternally watching/learning/ protecting humanity. Crowley especially thinks of himself as human anyway. (“For my money, the really big one is going to be all of US (i.e. humanity) against all of them”).

After 6000 years, those two getting only a few short decades together would be a genuine tragedy. They are already human.

Aziraphale and Crowley have never, ever angsted over their immortality. Oh, I’m sure there are people they both miss, places they wish had lasted, but they aren’t the Tenth Doctor. They like all of the perks of not having to worry about money, getting expensive stuff. They would be bored, transcendentally bored, without the ability to perform miracles, and honestly they probably wouldn’t know how to function without them. To them, after enough time, the fall of a certain ancient civilization probably feels like your favorite local restaurant going out of business. (Ooh, I quite like that as a line for a fic in future). Sure it’s quite a shame, but there’s the memories.

I don’t even really want this to be a “they get tricked into thinking they’re humans” because I don’t think a story like that would work in such a short time. I actually think people are underestimating how much powerful storytelling can happen in 90 minutes. Would I have liked the full, promised series? Absolutely yes. But acting like movies can’t be moving is underestimating them. Obviously the writing has to be good, but I’m hoping we’re in good hands.

Now, what I would love for this to be is some sad, pathetic “what if we had met as humans and everything was easier?” daydream that Crowley is having because it feels very on brand for him. He doesn’t want to imagine THE bookshop because he had his heart broken there.

Now.

As for the wardrobe. The whole vest/peacoat/slacks look…yeah it does kinda look like he’s adopting bits of Aziraphale’s style, but he was also wearing a cardigan with sweater garters last season so…

Also, this is also a lot more aligned with Crowley’s clothing style in the NOVEL. In a season 1 BTS feature, David even talks about how the gothic-rocker style was a choice made for the show, that his character’s novel counterpart was specifically mentioned to wear suits.

Oh and that flat, Bill Masters hair Aziraphale has is probably his sad corporate hairstyle.

[starlightsuffered]

The Wedding Night

Warning - mentions of religion, family trouble, smut, oral (male and female receiving), short refractory period.

The wedding had been a beautiful affair with all our closest friends and family. I had been a bit sad for a small amount of time. My family was extremely religious, and when they'd found out I was dating Timothée they tried to talk me out of it. They were upset he was Jewish, and therefore, didn't believe Jesus was the Messiah. I was a Christian, like my family, but I wasn't an extremist.

When they found out Timothée had proposed, they'd refused to come to the wedding. They had hoped the threat would work, but it didn't. I told them they could do what they wanted, but If they didn't attend the wedding, I would cut off contact with them. I think they probably thought I would break, but I didn't. The wedding was wonderful without them, but there were times when I felt something was missing.

However, I knew my Timmy would do everything in his power to make me forget about them. Currently, he was insisting he carry me all the way from the limo, into the decadent hotel he'd booked for us. We'd leave for our official honeymoon in France in three days, but before that we were staying here, to drink each other in a bit before the long plane ride.

"Timothée, we're going to get looks," I giggled as he continued to try to grab me.

"We're already going to get looks, I'm a famous actor," he smiled.

"Come on, please," he gave me the puppy dog eyes that he knew I couldn't resist.

"Oh alright, you adorable thing," I said, pinching his cheek lightly. He beamed. He'd been smiling hard all day, as had I. I loved him smile.

"Come on Ms. Chalamet," Timothée said, pulling me to him. My heart skipped a beat at the name. I didn't think I'd ever get tired of it.

We were both laughing as he held me in his arms. He walked carefully so he wouldn't trip on my dress. I was right, we did get looks, but to my surprise they were sweet looks of admiration. People could see how genuinely in love the two of us were.

"You are so beautiful," he praised as the elevator closed. He had said it at least twenty times today.

"So are you," I said, caressing his face. Soon he was fumbling with the hotel key.

"Put me down," I laughed as he awkwardly tried to bend to swipe the card.

"Absolutely not," he said stoically. He eventually got it and gave me a triumphant smile.

He walked in the lavish room and my mouth fell open. It was more of an upscale apartment than it was a hotel room.

"Tim, this is gorgeous," I gasped.

"Anything and everything for my girl," he pledged as he laid me carefully on the bed. He hovered over me, just looking into my eyes. He kissed me, long and slow. I sighed into his mouth, treasuring every second of contact.

"Can I undress you?" He asked. I bit my lip and nodded. He got down on the floor and I watched him. He ever so slowly removed my sparkling heels. He kissed the inside of my ankles as he did.

"How was it today?" He asked anxiously.

"Don't you dare think I didn't have a wonderful day Timothée. I missed my parents and siblings a little, but you're worth it."

"I feel so bad," he whispered as he reached up to pull down my stockings. I grabbed his face, forcing him to look in my eyes.

"Stop it. It's their fault, not yours. It isn't very Christ like to act like they are anyway."

"I just want you to have every happiness. Every good thing, it is what you deserve."

"Yes, but Timothée," I said sliding to the floor so I could look him in the face. "I have you, and that's all I need. If I have you I can face monsters, and slay dragons, and move mountains, and stop thinking about asshole family members."

He chuckled and pulled me into his arms. We stayed this way for a while, just breathing each other in.

"You're so brilliant, and brave," he said burying his face into my neck. I grinned.

"And you are so kind and gentle," I responded contentedly.

"I'm going to finish undressing you Mon Amor," he said, and I nodded eagerly. He stood me up, and turned me around so that he could undo the many laces on the back. He hummed the song we'd had our first dance to. Finally, he'd gotten them all undone. He sighed as he pulled the dress down so it pooled at my feet.

I turned around to face him. He bit his lip looking me up and down. He smiled so brightly it almost hurt to look at him. He reached behind me and expertly unhooked my bra. My breasts fell free heavily, and Timothée took a second to run the pad of his finger over my nipple. I captured my own lip between my teeth

Then he was getting on his knees, keeping eye contact with me the whole time. He hooked his fingers in my panties and slowly dragged them down my legs. He looked so beautiful on his knees for me. He stood up, taking my form in, eyes darting everywhere.

"How did I get so damn lucky?" He asked.

"I feel the same about you," I promised. "Now let me go get some of the things I was given at the bachelorette party," I said with a wink, but he stopped me.

"Baby, I'll only be gone a minute," I said squeezing his hand.

"It's not that. I don't want you to go put on lingerie," he said earnestly. I might have accused him of joking if he didn't look so serious.

"Why?"

"You can wear that other times for sure. But I want you wearing my favorite thing for our first time as a married couple," he said.

"And what's that?" I asked cheekily.

He got closer to me, mouth ghosting over my earlobe. "Your gorgeous smile, and nothing else."

I shuddered and pulled him into a heated kiss. His hands were roaming my body, squeezing and massaging my skin. He pulled back and began to press kisses all over my chest. I was breathing hard. Why did this all feel so new, it was like it was our first all over again. I was just as jelly legged and excited.

"I'm going to kiss every inch of you," he promised, motioning for me to lay on the bed, and began kissing down my breasts and stomach. He moved down to my heat.

"I love you," he said, pressing a kiss to my pussy before he dove in. He was lovingly lapping between my folds. His mouth was putting me in heaven. He continued making love to my cunt with his mouth. He had never done it quiet this good before. The sounds were pornographic as he slurped me up into him.

"Baby, I'm so close," I told him, and he moaned into my heat. As he swirled around my clit I felt the cord inside me snap. I was rolling through my orgasm, convulsing from the pure pleasure.

"Ughhhh Timothée," I moaned. "That was so good."

"I would do anything for you Angel," he said, climbing up, his mouth glistening. I tasted myself on his tongue as he kissed me deeply. I could feel myself dripping onto the bed as he bent down to take my nipples in my mouth. He suckled, giving my sensitive buds tingles off pleasure.

"So good baby, so good," I said, grinding against his hard length. "Let me take care of you now," I said eagerly.

I worked his cock up and down in my hand, using his precum to aid me. He bucked up into my hand.

"You want my mouth Timmy?"

"Yes, please, Y/N," he nodded. I leaned down to take him in my mouth. He threw his head back as I sucked him. His cock was long and hard and delicious as I worked my way down. My nose hit his skin and I gagged. He was groaned.

"So good, you're so good to me," he praised. "That mouth is magic baby, I adore you."

I hollowed out my cheeks around him. He was whining, fucking up into my mouth. I heard him panting. As I worked on him, he reached down to massage my clit and I moaned on his dick.

"That's it baby, feel good while you suck me off," he urged, and I wiggled my hips onto his hand. I let my tongue tease his head, and massage the under side of his cock.

"I'm going to cum baby," he warned and I continued my vigorous efforts.

"So close, so close," he whimpered and then he was shooting ropes of hot cum down my throat. I popped off his cock.

"Fuck, y/n, you're good at that," he complimented.

"Please tell me the fun isn't over," I begged, so wet from his fingers.

"Of course not," he grinned. He got off the bed and grabbed his phone, he synced it with whatever Bluetooth was wired in the room. He started a playlist of some of our songs.

"You're a sweetheart," I smiled. He came behind me, hands running down and massaging my breasts as he kissed my shoulders and neck. I could feel he was already hardening again against me and I gasped.

"So soon," I said, reaching behind me to urge him along. He hardened further from my touch.

"It's hard not to have a boner when Mrs. Chalamet is naked in a room with you." he said as he kissed my cheek.

"Call me that again," I begged.

"Mrs. Chalamet," he whispered in my ear before sucking my earlobe into his mouth.

"Mrs. Chalamet," he said again as his fingers went down to massage my clit.

"Mrs. Chalamet," he said for a final time as he slid inside me. I moaned, long and low. He began to thrust, one hand massaging my clit, the other my breast. I pressed back against him and he continued to pound into me.

"I love you," I cried as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside me.

"I love you so much. I'm going to love you until my last breath, and if there's a world after this one, I'll love you there too. Mon Amor, my wife."

His words were almost enough to make me cry. The mix of pleasure and emotion was making the sensation of him all the much better.

"I can't do this," he stilled inside me.

"What?" I asked.

"I got to be able to see you, I want to see my wife while I'm inside her," he said as he pulled out. I lead him over to the bed, laying down and pulling him on top of me.

He hovered over me, kissing the tip of my nose.

"In my world," I whispered to him, nearly choked with emotion. "The sun rises and sets on you."

"I am your family now y/n," he said in earnest. "and I'll never leave you."

"Never," he said as he sheathed himself back into me. He took my hand, intertwining our fingers as he began to move.

He was filling me perfectly, hitting every spot I needed him to hit. He thrusted into me at a perfect rhythm. I was not being fucked by my husband, I was making love with him.

"I love you, so much," he said.

"I love you," I responded.

"I'm close," he said pressing his forehead against mine.

"Me too," I said shakily. He grunted as he gave one more thrust before he was spilling into me. The feeling of his pulsing member was enough to make me fall over the edge as well. We rode out our orgasms together as we panted each others names.

"I can't believe I get you forever," he said.

[wereprinxe]

I started doing this thing where I did fankids based on a random ship of redactedverse and now I have fun with it! So please, give me more of these, it was really fun so pls give more! :D

Preferably in reblogs! /nf

Excluding Caelum ofc

Allowing also trio and more! (and you can tell me if you want two or more, i will usually do one per ship!)

So far, I did: Asher/Geordi, Milo/Lasko, Huxley/David, Porter/Damien, Porter/Morgan, William/Cam

Asher/Geordi

I would like to call this blurbo Mikey! And he would be a wolf shifter, I can imagine him being either really short or really tall and people pick on him for that. He has a vitiligo like his dad, but on his mouth and then across his left side of his body to his hand and waist. Blue eyes, very cute and silly guy, but can get really awkward once he realizes he talked for too long and has a bit to hide under his shirt. ADHD combined boi, he/him but doesnt mind they/them, demiboy and questioning his sexuality and romantic attraction, but is probably very pan

William/Camelopardalis

This blurbo is one of a kind when they keep their eyes closed or you don't see them well. But when theyre opened, you know you fucked up MASSIVELY. I imagine to be VERY TALL, like its intimidating and their outfit is very black and red with a hint of white. Their color of their eyes is almost nonexistent, to be very bright white, but have pupils! (is it contacts? Who knows!) They like to wear jewelry and are very *very* call it is actually scary, but they dont do it on purpose. They will troll you tho LMAO. They have vampire vibes but are a seer! And they really like gargoyles. Name is Monique, they/them, nonbinary, bisexual!

Milo/Lasko

Marshall is quite a tall guy, somewhere between Lasko and Milo and is actually a sassy guy. Dont judge a book by its cover with him! He is a contra-air elemental, but will always try to shift or gain more air elemental control, but alas! I say no, fuck you! He is actually a very smart guy, but can really get carried away with being a menace around people he tries to befriend, he forgets to focus on whats important. And because of bad decisions he makes (influenced by others) he feels like a disappointment to his dads (he is not and Lasko is very reassuring if that, he just has trust issues). Uses he/him, transmasc non-binary and is on asexual spectrum

Huxley/David

This little guy is a contra-earth! Jude is sometimes mistakes for a bear shifter considering how genes worked so extremly to be considered very atteactive and wanted, sometimes when he walks around, people will sigh in hope he will notice them. He is a lot in his head and will not notice, can be considered an ignorant to his surroundings, but its the adhd-i in him NDNSJSKMS, he/it pronouns, gender neutral (doesnt really care) and is demisexual

Porter/Damien

Oh their daughter is a GIRLBOSS in CAPS. ICONIC GIRLIE I SAY. Yuko is a mysterious person and really likes that. Wears a facemask, black clothes and just loves using her eyeliner, takes a lot of inspiration from Porter. I mean, she is their dad's assassin princess, ofccccc <3 her powers are unknown, but she is very skilled in acrobatics. Sometimes, her persona breaks when she sees my melody (she loves to collect sanrio stuff, especially my melody) She/Her, cis fem, asexual sapphic

Porter/Morgan

Theyre a literally walking magazine cover for VOGUE, you have never seen such a beautiful person in your life, evil queen is JEALOUUUUSSSSSSS /j Brook is a quiet person, kinda intimidating but is really just shy and awkward around people, especially how they can act around a vampire royalty such as her. Loves tea parties with her closest, especially her dads and they love to dress up in any kind of fashion they hyperfixate on that moment, but stick to gothic and lolita. They/she, genderfluid transfem, bisexual

[arachnixe]

I'd be lying if I said I didn't notice the meandering at times, but... well, let's just say that compared to other web serials I've read, your style of meandering is practically laser focus. And I'm saying that as someone who primarily writes and reads short fiction, so I definitely have less patience for narrative bloat than most web serial readers do.

That said, I think you also used the wider breadth of scope in very satisfying ways. Like I commented on before, the human-as-monster and monster-as-human theme is better executed here than I think I've ever seen from another author, and a large part of that is how you iterated on it again and again in different ways and with different characters that all had their own relationship with their struggle for identity on that axis.

We've got Vita, the monster who thought she was human and struggled with how she had to pretend to be so, whose struggle for fulfillment required being true to her natural, inhuman nature. Penelope (my beloved!) is almost her mirror, human in truth but still "faking" her humanity in her own way. Like Vita, her struggle for identity means pursuing and embracing inhumanity.

There's Penta, who got to touch humanity once and fell in love with it, longing to pursue that life and identity for herself. She's mirrored and contrasted by Lark, who doesn't so much pursue humanity as constantly wrestle her inhumanity.

All of them have their own relationships to the dual concept of "human as identity" versus "human as person who acts with compassion," and I loved reading each of their POVs as they grappled with all of it.

Also I really truly fell in love with Penelope as a character. Her arc is perfect.

I don't know how much you care to read one reader's mini literary analysis of your own story, and I can't be sure which themes you feel like you didn't quite nail, but... I mean, the punchline is that it's still a fantastic story, and what it does well it does *very* well.

Bioshifter is a delight in its own way. This post is getting long enough as it is, so I'm not going to dive too deep into it, but I adore how it inverts the self-sacrificial conclusion that HMGGH had. I don't know if you plan to write a sequel, but is it weird if I hope you never do? I find the ending powerful and moving as-is. Hannah did what she could, and it's more than anyone else managed, and now the future is unknown but with a spark of hope there wasn't before. Personally, I love the ambiguity of it. Putting in the work to make a difference for the next person even when things are bleak and you can't know what the future holds... it feels deeply relevant to the world we live in today.

vigor mortis is my favorite stories of all times, only thing that's managed to locked me into a binge read in years and yeah you're right, the ending had me crying. looking forward to your thoughts on bioshifter, i still haven't finished it myself (why is it so hard to pick things back up >.>)

Bioshifter didn't resonate with me quite as much as Vigor Mortis—which is perhaps surprising given the whole spider thing—but that's not a slight against it. Vigor Mortis just hit some very specific themes I adore with laser precision.

Having now finished Hive Minds Give Good Hugs, it's easy to see a thematic throughline of "trying to do the right thing" and how it both connects with and is separate from the concept of ones "humanity." Both VM and HMGGH seem to take very similar approaches to that specific theme, but...without going into specifics, Bioshifter veers hard off the course charted by the other two. I actually think it has an even stronger ending than Vigor Mortis, which is impressive considering how well VM really sticks its landing. One of the things I like about it is that it doesn't wrap everything up in quite so tidy a bow, and it has a wildly different conclusion.

Also Sela might actually be my very favorite take on the "killer robot with contempt for flesh-beings" trope, especially with her role in the climax. Genuinely, the way that whole thing plays out is delightful.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I made a few new wax seal stamps out of clay (like the ones I did for my worldbuilding stuff forever ago), this time just of random symbols that I thought might look good done in the style of painting over the raised part of the wax or etc. :0c Some of them aren't carved deep enough to really show up that well, but overall they worked okay for being clay lol

[gorespawn]

also while we're here i would like to share the two iterations of tumblr user gorespawn that have existed since i abandoned this blog back in like early 2021. Who wants me

[skrunksthatwunk]

BREAKING NEWS i said yeah on the phone and rascal meowed back at me from across the room hehe

[ofcowardiceandkings]

the sinus headaches are already not great but Extra Shit has been added to the pile and im just sat on that right now trying to figure out what the fuck to do

[tardis--dreams]

There's silverfish in this apartment so the only chance for my body to get some rest would be collapsing from exhaustion otherwise i will not sleep for a While