#my beloved has spoken!!!! and he is still loved and will continue to be

[hanafubukki]

Malleus is troubled.

In his many decades of living, Malleus had never faced a quandary he could not solve.

Yet, here was a problem he could not find a solution for.

Every time he tried to lay Silver to sleep. He would be met with the same answer.

"No!"

"Silver-hair, you need to sleep."

"No!"

Malleus sighed as he raised the boy in his arms again.

Malleus offered Silver his favorite plush, gave him food, read to him, but he continued to resist taking his nap.

It wasn't that Silver wasn't sleepy; he would doze whenever Malleus held him.

His singing would lull Silver into enough of a slumber but the little one would still awaken even at the slightest movement of laying him on the bed.

The fae sat on the rocking chair by the window. Staring at the one who looked at him expectantly.

What a fearless beastie.

He couldn’t help the slight frown as Silver yawned, his clawed hand wiping tears.

Silver has to sleep soon. The book Malleus recently acquired spoke strongly of various illnesses and death would befall a child who did not adequately rest.

Malleus taps on Silver’s button nose, smiling as the beastie broke into laughter.

“Silver, do you want your toy?”

“No.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

How frustrating.

The fae leans his head against the rebellious one’s, “Then what do you want?”

Nothing would ever prepare Malleus for the answer he receives.

A hand smacks him right on his nose, gabbing tightly, “Yes.”

Laughter resounds from the cottage in the woods. A sound only a few rare had the opportunity to hear.

“How bold! You? A mere human dare ask for me?”

Malleus pulls Silver close to him, rubbing his cheek against tender warm skin. The young one giggling as he grabs at the hair and clothes within his reach.

“Why didn’t you say so before? All you had to do was ask, for you I would do anything.”

I love them. My dearly beloveds ☺️💞💚 The precious brothers 🫶🥰

Fun Fact: the last line spoken by Malleus is in fact a rewritten version of his, “By all means, ask more of me; for you I shall deliver.” I felt it would be perfect for Mal and Silver ☺️🥰

Another fun fact: the “no” phase can occur anywhere between 1.5 - 2 years. It’s when a child recognizes their desires and wants to have it heard and met. It’s a sign of independence. Additionally in certain cases, separation anxiety starts/ends from 6 months - 3 years. So, take that info as you will 😘💞

[twstgarden]

✿ ❝ 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ❞

━ lilia vanrouge x gn! reader (reader can be yuu or an oc/twstsona)

━ you were once his light in his darkest days, but since then, he has not seen you and still yearns for your return, yet he wonders if he is just deluding himself into thinking you're still here.

this work may contain spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia's arc.

do not steal or translate without my permission.

ko-fi here if you want to support me, commissions are open

silver and sebek were in lilia's room, aiding him in tidying up his items as they tried to distract themselves from the fact that their beloved father and mentor had dropped the bomb that he was migrating elsewhere.

in the middle of their packing, silver came across a photo album that he had not seen before. sebek also saw the photo album and spoke, "is that yours, lilia-sama?"

hearing sebek's query made lilia turn his head before realising that his son held the photo album, and with a smile, he replied, "yes. go through it if you wish."

and so they did. silver sat on lilia's bed with sebek standing beside him as they went through each page of the photo album together. they were filled with pictures taken during their younger days, and one even had the photo that lilia took on silver's birthday with malleus and sebek.

as they moved on to the next page, they came across a photo of lilia in his prime general days with a person smiling next to him. they looked ethereal, the very definition of beauty and grace. they looked gorgeous and breathtaking, and yet they had never seen this person before.

silver took the photo and examined it with sebek as the former asked, "who are you with in this photo, father?"

lilia looked at the photo in silver's hand and his eyes widened a little in surprise. 'oh, they found it,' he thought to himself. as he tried to keep a smile on his face, lilia responded, "someone very dear to me... however, i don't know where they are now."

"a lover?" questioned sebek as he and silver looked at one another in surprise.

"i had not realised that father had a special someone before..." mumbled silver in surprise.

lilia laughed a little at their statements, "what's that supposed to mean? i am the charming little fellow! is it such a wonder that i have a fair lover in mine arms?"

silver and sebek were about to respond until lilia continued, "ah, but... that was in the past." he then took a seat beside silver, taking the photo from his hand as he looked at it once more, gently caressing the image of his love - the only remaining piece of memento he had on them.

"...it has been over 300 or so years since i last saw them. i don't even know where they are until now," muttered lilia, "they were the charmingly funniest person i have met. quite shy, but definitely can sense danger."

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"what are you doing in here?" the sudden voice made you jump out of your seat as you looked around your garden in a cautious stance, wondering who had just spoken when you were peacefully sitting alone in the lovely garden of your cottage deep in the woods. "who's... who's there..." you muttered to yourself, uncertain if you should even ask. a rustle was then heard nearby and in a blink of an eye, you were caught in a chokehold. you tried to pry free from whoever was holding you, but they had a strong physique. "i won't ask again. what are you doing in here?" "i live here...!" you quickly answered. hearing this made the perpetrator raise a brow before looking around and noticing the cottage, "...here? deep in the woods?" "yes!" they then stared for a while before sighing and unhanding you. you then got a good look at them. it was a fae, standing at 158 cm tall, with a mask to cover his face yet his uniform gave away his occupation. "...an imperial guard...?" you muttered. "a human?" muttered the fae as well, "living in the woods... hah! good joke." you raised a brow at his words before speaking, "um... i do live here, though..." feeling threatened, you quickly backed away from him, making sure you were getting closer to your crops. he thought nothing of it, but he sure did sense your weariness. nevertheless, he spoke, "you shouldn't be here. no human is supposed to live deep in these woods. do you live under a rock? if other soldiers stumbled upon you and this cottage, you'd be dead in no time." "and here i stumbled upon a soldier..." you remarked. he took a step closer as he spoke, "i won't say this again. lea——! wha— hey!" before he could complete his sentence, you grabbed a bunch of your tomato crops and threw each of them at him while yelling, "go away! i won't hesitate to throw more tomatoes at you if you try to kill me!" the fae clicked his tongue and groaned in annoyance as he shielded himself with his arms from your tomatoes. "stop it!" yelled the fae, "cease this tomfoolery at once, human!" he eventually got close enough to you and grabbed your wrists before you could throw another tomato at him. with a glare, he spoke, "what do you think you're doing, throwing tomatoes at a faerie - a general at that? do you have a death wish?" once you registered his words, you blinked owlishly and eventually brought your hands down, letting your other tomatoes fall back to the ground, "...general...?" 'i'm done for.' with a sigh, the fae dusted off some tomato residue on his clothing before glaring back at you, "i was only giving you a warning and you already threw tomatoes at me. do you really think that will help you when others - especially with bad intentions - come over and attack? really, this is the first. attacking people with crops. horrendous."

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"they threw tomatoes...?" spoke silver in surprise.

"what kind of defence weapon is that?" muttered sebek in shock before silver spoke, "perhaps it was the only thing accessible." lilia laughed a little as he replied, "well, it did take place in the garden. at least they had the initiative to be resourceful and use their surroundings to their advantage."

"i suppose..." replied silver, "what else?"

"well, aren't you two curious? they're also very sweet and ensure i am taken care of."

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"you need to stop throwing yourself at the battlefield so carelessly." you scolded as you looked at his injuries and tried to tend to them, even if he said he could heal them with magic. "i do not need your he— hiss!" "calm down! i can't clean the wound if you keep moving," you scolded once again as you continued to dab the cotton on his injury, "really now. is this a thing with you gents - humans or faeries alike? just throwing yourself at war and getting yourselves injured without a proper plan?" lilia huffed in annoyance at your nagging, but he did not exactly do anything to stop you as he let you clean up his wound. "i do not 'throw myself at the battlefield'. i was merely defending myself." you sighed and muttered, "whatever you say, general vanrouge." after cleaning his wound and bandaging him up, you collected your first aid kit supplies and returned them to your cabinet. "have you eaten?" you asked. "...roasted lizards, yeah." hearing his reply made you freeze as you blinked in shock. though you are aware that faes tend to have a different palate than humans — though they do enjoy a human meal from to time — you still could not believe his version of a "meal" is some random animal he comes across in the woods and roasts it. "...i'll make you some dinner."

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"your lover cared for you a lot, lilia-sama," cheered sebek, "how wonderful! this is an amazing love story!"

lilia smiled at sebek's remark as he replied, "...i'd like to think so too."

silver then spoke, "then... what happened, father? why have you not seen them for years now?"

"...i do not know if they're still alive and hiding from me... or..."

lilia did not have to finish that sentence for the two to know what he meant.

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"f/n!!!" lilia cried out as he rummaged through the cottage, entering every room and going through every space possible to check if you were hiding. he had just gotten back from the silver owls headquarters and was supposed to be on the way back to the wild rose castle to chase them back and make sure they didn't get to meleanor. on his way back, however, he came across your cottage and saw its dishevelled state. not caring for baul's calls, he got off his grip and ran to your cottage, ignoring the aching pain coursing through his entire body due to his injuries. "shit! shit, shit, shit!" lilia cursed as he looked everywhere and found no one. baul was quick to enter the cottage as he called out to the general, "right general, we must go! princess meleanor might be in danger!" "THEY TOOK THEM!" his loud, wrathful voice stunned baul as he spoke, "right general...?" "f/n! that human i'm with! those bastards took them!" baul then realised who he was talking about. lilia had mentioned a human in the cottage once that he was acquainted with, and baul started to connect the dots. "let's go!" before baul could ponder more, lilia's command quickly snapped him back to reality as they both continued their journey back to the wild rose castle.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"they were kidnapped...?!"

"father, that's...!"

their concerned and shocked faces were not lost on lilia as he smiled sadly, "i tried searching for them everywhere, and i did everything... and yet, nothing came to fruition in my endless search. eventually, i thought... maybe i was too late."

lilia then stood up, looking at the photo before he cast it aside only for silver to grab it and return it back to the photo album once more.

"it may have been centuries ago, but i will never forget the radiant light they shone in my life."

'and now, i don't even know if i'll ever see my light again.'

© twstgarden 2024 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.

[transchesters]

sam and castiel spend their evening talking, leading dean to discover sam can speak ennochain, and sam doesn’t know what love means. inspired by this post from @wendibird !

"do you ever miss heaven? the way it used to be?" sam asks, lifting his eyes from the current men of letter's record that he is reading so he can meet castiel's eyes. the angel sits across the table from him sam and dean had just gotten back from a hunt, one that was pretty cut and dry, and now he and castiel are engaging in their own reading and research, enjoying the quiet company of one another while dean showers.

castiel glances up as well, setting down the leather-bound book he has been purusing. his brow furrows in the way it often does, the way that sam can't help but smild fondly at. "sometimes i do, yes," he answers after a moment of thought. "but then i recall that heaven was never..." he trails off, as if searching for the right words. "heaven was never as ideal and perfect as i had believed. i was ignorant and blinded by my devotion to my father, but with time and distance i have come to realize that heaven was not the home i thought it was."

sam nods silently, feeling a certain understanding for the slight grief he thinks he observes in castiel. "did you ever meet him? god, i mean?"

a fond, perhaps bittersweet smile pulls at castiel's lips as he nods. "yes. when i was created, he brought me down to earth and spoke to me about mankind. he entrusted me to care for his most beloved creations."

it's then that dean is steps into the doorway, pausing there at the domestic scene before him. he can’t help himself from eavesdropping, because what on earth could these two be talking about that has them looking all… lovey-dovey? as his brain processes the last things spoken, he realizes... he has no idea what the hell castiel had been saying. a confused expression pinches his face. had he been hearing things?

"how long ago was that?"

"you would not believe me if i told you."

"it used to be hard for me to comprehend just how old you are, or the earth and angels in general," sam starts, his own brow pinching a little, "back when we first met you. before... before the cage. but i think i understand better now." dean darts his eyes back and forth as the conversation continues, chills running down his back which cause goosebumps to erupt over his arms. as he watches, sam and castiel are switching from speaking english to... something else, and dean has no clue what.

actually, with a sudden realization, he does have a clue.

"your time there, it must have felt like... centuries. no wonder your ennochian is so good. does it bother you to speak it? i cannot imagine you have good memories of the language."

sam blinks, as if shocked by castiel’s compliment, which helps him ignore the memories that do in fact resurface. "really?" he asks, still oblivious to the minor panic attack he and castiel are subjecting dean to. "most of the time, i don't even realize i'm speaking ennochian. it just… happens, i guess. but i do like speaking it with you. i get to make new memories, with you." he doesn't try to hide the warmth behind the words as he usually does.

dean slams his book shut, suddenly unable to remain quiet. "you speak what? since when?!"

sam and castiel are both startled by the sudden exclamation, glancing over at the eldest winchester in sync, which makes dean wonder just how much he’s been missing.

"since the cage," sam answers after a moment, his brow furrowed. "i… guess i forgot to mention it."

dean scoffs, full of disbelief. "dude, what the hell? you can speak some weird, angelic language and forgot to mention it?"

"actually, the ennochian that sam speaks is even older than the tongue i am used to," castiel speaks up, as if that were a fact that would help diffuse the situation. now sam and dean both turn their confused glances at the angel, though dean is much more perturbed than sam.

"i didn’t know that," sam mumbles, sounding thoughtful at this new information. "i guess it makes sense, though. i learned from lucifer and michael, and they probably spoke a much older tongue than most angels." the names fall from his lips, coated in pain, but he ignores it.

castiel gets the sense that sam doesn't want to dwell on those names and that pain, so he just nods in agreement. "yes, i think that's the case."

"alright, y'know what, that's enough freakiness for me for the night. sam, we'll talk about this later." dean shakes his head as if disappointed, groaning as he turns on his heel and soon disappears down the hallway leading to his room. as usual, he doesn't notice the pinched and pained expression he's caused on sam's face.

sam heaves a sigh, folding his hands on the table in front of him and staring down at them as if they would provide some sort of answers. he flinches when, suddenly, castiel’s hand envelops his own.

"he speaks rashly, sam, and does not mean it maliciously," castiel says gently, meeting sam’s multicolored eyes with a smile. "he doesn’t understand."

sam tries to relax under castiel's touch and his gaze, his eyes so full of warmth and the understanding he doesn't get from his brother. but he doesn't want to think about dean right now; instead, he considers the fact that he and this wonderful angel have been dancing around whatever this was for quite some time now. but sam feels like they might be reaching a point they can't ignore any longer.

"cas…" sam trials off, because what is he supposed to say here? everything about this is wrong. castiel isn't supposed to think of him this way, isn't supposed to look at him with such fondness. "don't look at me like that. i'm just some human."

now it's castiel's turn to look pained, and he sits forward in his seat, leaning closer to the other. "sam, please, don't say such things about yourself. you are not filth."

sam's lips part in shock, but his clenching stomach stops him from speaking. "filth? i thought…" he swallows painfully and shakes his head. "lucifer called me that. i thought it meant human."

castiel lets out a sharp exhale, feeling a ball of rage grow in his stomach. "no. it doesn't." sam nods silently, leaning back in his seat which makes their hands pull apart. castiel can't help but chase the contact.

"don't we both deserve some comfort, after all of this? can't you see that i love you, very deeply, and i'm tired of hiding it?"

sam blinks, his brow furrowed as he tries to place some of the words he can't recognize. "love?" he repeats, the ennochian word foreign on his tongue. "what is that word? i don't think i've heard it." he grows even more confused when castiel gazes at him with a profound sadness. the angel squeezes his hand, almost tight enough to be painful, but sam doesn't complain.

"love. it means love, sam. i was saying that i love you."

[twstjam]

"I've got writer's block," I admit, and am immediately overtaken by the urge to write something. Anyways this is brought to you by that one tiktok audio ("I should go back before ____ realises I'm not in bed!") and "Malleus sleeps in a nightgown/sleeping gown" brainrot. Idk i just love it okay. this features: married!Malleyuu and implied besties Sebek and Yuu (don't tell me he wouldn't be their right-hand man after they marry Malleus. They were besties in college!!!)

Crown Prince Malleus stirs slowly from his peaceful slumber. In his arms, his spouse is still as they remain within the realm of dreams.

Malleus sighs contentedly as he holds your small, soft body closer and burrows his face into your hair.

"Good morning, my love…" he trails off uncertainly as his nose buries into something soft. Too soft. Malleus finally opens his eyes and realises with a start that he was not, in fact, holding his beloved in his arms, but a mere pillow. Lifting himself up on his elbows, he ascertains that your side of the bed is in fact woefully empty.

Malleus sits up in alarm. He very vividly remembers falling asleep with you the previous night, so why has he woken up all alone?

"Child of man? Darling?" he calls out to the empty room. The door to the bathroom is closed and he can hear no sound from it and neither can he hear anything from the closet. His sleeping gown brushes his ankles as he slides out of bed to go search for you anyway. He calls your name with each poke of his head past the doorways and receives no answer.

Malleus grows increasingly frantic as he quickly walks towards the bedroom's double doors and throws them open.

He yells your name out into the hall and is only responded by echoes of his own voice. He hears the castle's caretakers startle and yelp in surprise. He must've been louder than he had intended to be.

Malleus's bare feet patter on the cold stone floors as he hurries towards the equally urgent steps of one of his attendants.

"My liege!" the maid exclaims in surprise when he almost runs her over in his haste. Still though, she doesn't miss a beat and bows. "Good morning, sire. Is something the matter with their highness?"

"I do not know," Malleus's voice is level but slightly sharper than his usual tone. He's putting all his effort into not letting his panic surface but his lips have also downturned into a severe pout. "That is the issue. You see, I woke up with them missing from my side. Where are they?"

The question is spoken more like a demand. Expectant. He unconsciously scowls fiercely at the maid before him, who begins to tremble. She lowers her head reverently.

"Forgive me, my lord. I am not aware of their whereabouts."

Malleus's glare deepens and he walks past her. She quickly hurries after him, squeaking about his lack of footwear and proper attire.

"Where are our guards? Silver. Sebek!" He doesn't wait for the maid to respond before shouting for them. The guards of the castle stiffen and stand at attention at their posts when he nears them. Several of the other castle staff pause and bow. Malleus searches among them for Silver, Sebek or, better yet, his missing spouse, but upon finding no sign he sniffs and places his hands on his hips. "Where is my partner? How can any of you have allowed this?! Where are your commanders? Retrieve them this instant!"

Thunder rumbles faintly in the distance. The soldiers bow their heads and chorus their affirmations, but one of the guards bravely displays their confusion on their face.

"I apologise for questioning you, my lord, but do you request us to retrieve your spouse or—?"

"Find them. Find them at once!" Malleus cuts them off sharply. The soldier shrinks back but they continue to look up at him with a furrowed brow. Malleus reigns in his anger with a deep breath before saying, calmer this time, "Send someone to retrieve Commanders Zigvolt and Vanrouge. Tell them that I have summoned them. The rest of you, search for my spouse. Now!"

"Yes, Lord Malleus!" the guards chorus, but right as they're about to scatter to fulfil the orders of their prince, a gentle voice, starkly different in comparison to the prince's roars and the castle's dark walls, draws their attention.

"There will be no need for that."

Commander Silver Vanrouge marches down the hall swiftly and elegantly, the long tail of his uniform's coat billowing behind him. The only thing that disrupts his intimidating image is the way his silvery hair sticks up on one side.

Silver stops in front of him and Malleus notices a little bat peer up at him from where it clings to the human's shoulder.

"Silver." Malleus's nerves ease slightly in the presence of one of his closest confidants. "What do you mean?"

"When I woke up this morning, the bats reported to me of your partner's departure from the castle after midnight." As he relays this information to his prince, Silver casually reaches up and allows the bat to climb onto his hand and hang off his fingers.

"Departure?" Malleus repeats with wide eyes.

Silver nods. Before Malleus can begin to question him further, Silver elaborates, "Worry not. They were not alone."

"Weren't they now?" The brief relief that swells in Malleus's chest is quickly washed away by irritation. "And who was this that also did not think to inform me of my spouse's sudden disappearance in the night?!"

Silver pauses at that. Even with Malleus's furious glare trained on him, he doesn't falter and seems reluctant for a completely unrelated reason.

"…I assume that neither of them wished to wake you."

At the quiet words, Malleus is so suddenly reminded of a time many years ago when Silver barely reached his waist and his features were much rounder and softer than the adult human guard before him.

"…He won't get in trouble if I tell you, right?"

Still though, despite the twinge of nostalgia, Malleus narrows his eyes at Silver. His sheepish expression says it all.

Malleus's pout deepens. He huffs an irritated breath and murmurs your name and Sebek's, followed by, "Those two…!"

Green flame bursts past his lips and his gown billows as he throws up his fists and stomps his foot into the stone floor with a crack not unlike a child throwing a tantrum.

"Where have they gone?!"

------

You're rudely awakened by someone shaking your shoulders. Sebek shouts your name and mumbles a comparison to Silver as you finally come to.

"This is no time for napping!" he snaps. "It is almost daylight. We must return to the castle at once!"

A little giggle comes from your left and you see Lilia smiling down at you. His shoulder-length hair spills over his shoulders as he tilts his head.

"Sebek's right," Lilia says in a deep and raspy voice, one that still takes you by surprise how different it is from how he sounded back at Night Raven. "A dragon gets quite restless when they are apart from their mate for too long. And you said that you snuck out?" He shakes his head disapprovingly.

"Hey, you've got no room to talk, old man," you snip back at him. He dramatically puts a hand to his chest as if he'd been wounded. "It wouldn't be a surprise if I told Tsunotarou what I'm up to."

You pick up your bag and Sebek helps you to your feet. You look into your bag before slinging it on. The jars inside and their contents consisting of many, many, many fireflies had remained undisturbed.

"Goodbye dears, it was wonderful to see you!" Lilia chirps as he waves you off. Both you and Sebek grin and wave back.

"It has been a pleasure as always, Master Lilia!"

"Yeah, thanks for helping us out!" As you wave at him, you glance up at the sky and realise with a start that Sebek really wasn't kidding about it almost being morning. "Okay, I really should get back before Tsunotarou realises I'm not in bed—"

You're abruptly cut off by a sharp roll of thunder and a flash of green lightning. Sebek shrieks and instinctively lowers his head while Lilia gives you an aggravating "I told you so" smile.

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 2!

I'm so glad you all are as hyped about this idea as I am!! ^_^ So you know, I've been reading every Other Idea, every reblog, and I am going to use your input to inform my choices going forward. This is OUR fic, after all :)

//Edited to include title

Beginning || Previous || Next

***************

That FREAKING coffee. Your eyes narrow. Everyone is still in shock, no one has spoken yet. You use the hesitation to grab the coffee out of the Metatron's hands and chug it back all in one go. It's the perfect temperature for drinking. Because of course it is. You're vaguely aware of some sounds of protest from Metatron and Aziraphale, but they're monosyllabic, and don't need a response. That can wait till after you finish.

You pull the cup from your lips and exhale in an overly-dramatic fashion, and look at the Metatron. It tasted exactly like almond-flavoured coffee, and you still hate him. YUP. Good.

"I beg your pardon!" The Metatron gasps, his face glaring at you with fury behind his eyes. But, oh, you couldn't care less if you tried.

"Get. Out. Now," You say to him. Your eyes have figurative fire behind them, the rush of caffeine and adrenaline making you braver than you otherwise would be.

"Young person, have you any idea who you are ordering about? I think you'll find that you're of no authority to be making demands and that you would do best to see yourself out. Before you make any foolish mistakes," the Metatron's voice is cool like a spring creek, but you can hear the malice just below the surface; barely contained.

But here is the thing, my dear Reader, this is a self-insert fanfiction. And in this work of fiction you are brave and clever, and you have been grieving for everything this monster put our beloved Ineffable Husbands through for too long not to be very, very angry now that you have come face to face. And you are not about to let this go. Crowley and Aziraphale have spent so much time trying to defend the world, defend humans, defend those they don't even like! You'll be damned before you let them go undefended when you, yes you, with all your love for them and all your knowledge are standing right there. So defend them you shall. Someone has to. And right now no one else will.

"Do you," you begin after a moment, "have any idea who you are speaking to?"

For a moment, the Metatron looks taken aback. But only a moment, before his eyes grow cold again.

"I mean," you continue, "I just fell through the ceiling, and landed in front of you just as you were about to hand over that coffee. I don't know about you, but I can only think of one reason why that would have happened, and it has three letters."

In your peripheral vision you notice Muriel, counting on their fingers. Aziraphale chokes back a gasp. You can't see it right now, but you can FEEL Crowley's eyebrow from here. Metatron holds your gaze, not ready to give up just yet.

"If I were you, Metatron, I would pop on back to Heaven, and double-check a few things. Because, I mean, there must be a reason why I've been dropped here to interrupt you. Seems like your plan hasn't been...approved. Otherwise it would go forward as planned, yes?" Matching his arrogance is key here, and if you mess up, the consequences could be dire. You glance at your cuticles with an air of nonchalance. "Unless, of course, you presume to know better?" And to seal the deal, you raise your eyes in a sideways look that screams smug.

You've spent months reading meta analysis, character analysis, everything you can get your hands on about the final fifteen. You're pretty sure you have a solid enough grasp of the Metatron's character to pull this off. The main thing is to pretend you know what's actually going on, convince him that he doesn't, and buy some time.

Suddenly, your phone in your pocket buzzes four times, and your mouth tastes like salt. But, actually really pleasant salt. Like you just ate McDonald's french fries, or theatre popcorn. Something clicks into place in your mind.

"....Did you...just try to turn me into salt?"

Having spent months learning to read Michael Sheen's facial expressions, you see the Metatron's eyes shift through Surprise, then Curiosity, before landing on what you can only call Calculating.

So YUP for the salt. But apparently he can't touch you. Later, you tell yourself, we'll figure this out later. Get him out, and get him out now.

You take a step forward, herding him towards the door.

"It seems," you say to him, "That you have some things to clarify."

The Metatron huffs, and straightens his tie. "Indeed it does," he says, knives beneath the calm once again. "I shall return, Aziraphale, and when I do, I do hope we will have a chance to chat."

And so the Metatron leaves, as though it was his own idea. You follow him to the door. Oh, you shouldn't, but you just can't help yourself. And honestly, I don't think you should. You call to him as he walks away.

"And be careful with those questions, Metatron! We all know how THAT ONE goes, don't we?" And with that you slam the door.

While you're apologizing (very quietly and lovingly) to the bookshop door, you hear Crowley behind you.

"Nnnyeah, I have no idea what's going on, but I like this one."

You pull out your phone. There are five heart icons. Four that are full, and one that is just an outline. Oh. OH.

"FUCK," you say to yourself.

Now you look up. You're shaking like a leaf, but lucky for you, there's still a metric ton of adrenaline running through your system, allowing you to realize that you need to figure out what comes next.

Vote on This One too please (I'm only able to do one poll per post, so bear with me).

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with the Los Angeles Times (2024)

“This is where all the cruising happened.”

Jonathan Bailey and I are standing in Pershing Square on a bright, blustery spring afternoon, nearing the end of a homemade queer history tour of downtown L.A.: One Magazine, Cooper Do-Nuts/Nancy Valverde Square, the Dover bathhouse, the Biltmore Hotel and this, the city’s former Central Park, a haven, since before World War I, for “fairies” and “sissy boys,” servicemen on leave and beatniks on the road.

“Is it still happening now?” he asks.

“Probably not as much,” I venture.

“Well, you let me know if it’s happening,” he teases, a mischievous smile lighting up his face.

Bailey understands the uses of the charm offensive. As Sam, the handsome Lothario of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s delightful pre-”Fleabag” curio, “Crashing”; Anthony, the romantic hero of “Bridgerton’s” second season; and John, the jerk of a protagonist in Mike Bartlett’s love triangle play “Cock,” the English actor, 36, has swaggered up to the precipice of superstardom. With roles in such studio tentpoles as “Wicked” and “Jurassic World” on the horizon, he may just break through. Yet he delivers career-best work in Showtime’s queer melodrama “Fellow Travelers,” as anti-Communist crusader-turned-gay rights activist Tim Laughlin, by leaving behind the self-assured rakes and tapping a new wellspring: soft power.

Tim may be, as Bailey puts it, “an open nerve,” but as it turns out, the devout Catholic and political naïf — who falls for suave State Department operative Hawkins “Hawk” Fuller (Matt Bomer) just as Sen. Joseph McCarthy tries to purge the federal government of LGBTQ people — is formidable indeed.

Stretching from the Lavender Scare to the depths of the AIDS crisis, in scenes of tenderness, cruelty and toe-curling sex, Bailey’s performance communicates that little-spoken truth of relationships: It takes more strength to submit than it does to control. The former demands discipline, courage, trust; the latter requires only force.

“In ‘Bridgerton,’ [Bailey] is like a Hawkins Fuller character — he is very sexy and has lots of power, has that kind of confident charisma that absolutely is not Tim at all,” says “Fellow Travelers” creator Ron Nyswaner.

But any doubt about Bailey’s ability to mesh with Bomer, who boarded the project early in development, was put to bed with the actors’ virtual rehearsal of a meeting on a park bench in the pilot. “‘Well, that’s a first,’” Nyswaner recalls an executive texting him. “I cried in a chemistry read.”

‘Am I inviting people in?’

Bailey grew up in a musical family in the Oxfordshire countryside outside London, and this, coupled with an appreciation for the morning prayers, choir practice and Mass he attended as a scholarship student at the local Catholic school, fed his precocious talents. (“I loved the performance of it,” he laughs. “Not to diminish the celebration of religious process, but I did love the idea of wearing a gown.”) By age 10, he’d appeared in the West End, playing Gavroche in a production of “Les Misérables,” an experience he now recognizes as an encounter with a queer found family — albeit one shadowed by the toll of the AIDS crisis, which peaked in the U.K. in the mid-1990s.

“When I’m asked about my childhood, there’s so much I don’t remember, and I think that’s true of anyone who’s been in fight or flight for 20 years,” he says. “I would have been in a cast of people whose friends would have died in the last seven years. I think of where I was seven years ago. I had all my gay friends then. It’s only retrospectively that I can retrofit a real gay community around me [in the theater], that I just wasn’t aware of [then].”

During the late 1990s and early 2000s, American and British culture presented queer adolescents with a bewildering array of mixed signals. As beloved celebrities came out in growing numbers, and the battle for marriage equality became a central locus of LGBTQ political organizing, the media continued to propagate harmful stereotypes of gay men as miserable, lonely, perverted or worse — and, Bailey remembers, callously turned George Michael, arrested on suspicion of cruising in a Beverly Hills restroom in 1998, and Irish pop star Stephen Gately, who revealed his sexuality in 1999, fearful he was about to be outed, into tabloid spectacles.

No wonder Bailey, like many LGBTQ people of his generation, should feel the “chemical” thrill of “validation and acceptance” during London Pride at age 18, then embark on a two-year relationship with a woman in his 20s.

“Dangerously, if you’re not exposed to people who can show you other examples of happiness, you think that’s the easiest way to live,” Bailey says. “It’s funny. You look back and you can tell the story in one way, which is that I always knew who I was and my sexuality and my identity within that. But obviously at times, it was really tough. I compromised my own happiness, for sure. And compromised other people’s happiness.”

Disclosures about his personal life have become particularly thorny for the actor since the premiere of “Bridgerton,” the blockbuster bodice-ripper from executive producer Shonda Rhimes.

“The Netflix effect does knock you off center completely,” he says, recalling the experience of finding a paparazzo waiting outside his new flat before he’d even moved in. “Suddenly, you do start having nightmares about people climbing in your windows... Even now, talking about it makes me feel like, ‘Am I inviting people in?’”

He is also critical of the media for churning out headlines about the smallest details of celebrities’ private lives, often detached from their original context. In an interview with the London Evening Standard published in December, Bailey described a harrowing encounter in a Washington, D.C., coffee shop in which a man threatened his life for being queer — and, in recounting the experience, offhandedly mentioned the “lovely man” he’d called, shaken, after it happened. Although Bailey acknowledges that the original story handled the subject with aplomb, he felt dismayed that more attention wasn’t paid to the intended warning about rising anti-LGBTQ sentiment: “The only thing that got syndicated from that story was that I had a boyfriend, and it wasn’t true,” he sighs. “It was kind of depressing, if I’m honest.”

Still, Bailey, who once turned down a role in a queer-themed TV series because it would have required him to speed along revelations about his personal life he wasn’t ready to make, is prepared to embrace the power of vulnerability when it feeds the work. Although a member of his inner circle expressed doubts about “Fellow Travelers’” steamy sex scenes, for instance, the actor intuited that they were what made the project worth doing: “I was like, ‘I’m telling you, they are the reason why this is going to be brilliant.’”

‘He’s changed my trajectory in my own life’

To those who would complain about the state of sex in film and TV, “Fellow Travelers” is the perfect riposte. All of it matters, from Tim’s first flirtation with Hawk to the finale’s closing minutes, because the series, at its core, is about the importance of soft power: the strength required to bend, but not break; to adapt, but not abandon oneself; to survive without shrinking to nothing in the process.And depicting that through sex, specifically gay sex, makes “Fellow Travelers” radical indeed.

Bailey understands that baring so much comes with certain risks. When I tell him that research for the story has filled my algorithmic “For You” feed on X (formerly Twitter) with speculation that his onscreen relationship with Bomer has a real-life element, he notes that “shipping” fictional couples and costars alike has long been part of Hollywood fantasy. But he bristles at the implication that he and Bomer are anything but skilled actors at work.

“I would love for people to know that the success of our chemistry isn’t based on us f—. It’s actually about us leaning into the craft,” he says. “It’s a vulnerable situation to be in, talking about it on record. I don’t want to rob people of their thoughts. But I do have a set of values, and as an artist, you don’t need to be f— to tell that love story.”

Underlying that craft, Bailey adds, is the confidence to speak up, as with one scene in “Fellow Travelers” that was adjusted because he said, “I don’t want to be naked today.” He learned to use his voice the hard way: In his early 20s, he recalls, he was once “bullied” on set when “someone was threatened” by him and vowed to himself, “I’m never going to do that to someone. I’m never going to allow that to happen.”

This impulse to direct his influence in support of others has blossomed further with “Fellow Travelers.” On the day of our interview, Bailey enthuses about an upcoming meeting with legendary gay rights activist Cleve Jones and shares his idea for a docuseries recording the stories of elders in the LGBTQ+ community while they are still here to tell them. He describes lying in a hospital bed on set on World AIDS Day, in character as Tim, surrounded by gay men who had lost friends and lovers during the crisis, and finding himself thinking, “What do I want to leave behind?”

“I think he’s changed my trajectory in my own life,” Bailey says.

This is, perhaps, the most common reaction I know to diving deep into queer history — the understanding that we, like our forerunners, are responsible for shaping the queer future, whether in politics, society or art. No one is going to do it on our behalf.

As we stand on the nondescript corner now named for her, I relate the story of the late queer activist Nancy Valverde, who was arrested repeatedly while a barber school student in the 1950s on suspicion of “masquerading” because of her preference for short hair and men’s clothing, and later successfully challenged her harassment by the police in court.

“What a hero!” Bailey exclaims, wondering at Valverde’s bravery. “The thing that’s so interesting with power battles is, ultimately, identity is the thing that gives you the most strength and power in your life, isn’t it?

“Because that’s one thing people can’t take away from you: who you are and how you express yourself.”

Source

[psychesetra]

luci and alastor with a filipino ! reader

VERY. SELF. INDULGENT. ALASTOR'S WAS A TEST AND SHORT ASF BTW !!!!! LUCI'S WAS POSTED IN THE I LOVE LUCI COMMUNITY SO YEAH!!!!!!!

they say the same thing in filipino but i do think the oneshots are different enough :3

❤ al

your downfall to hell had been rather early, considering your age. a child of the 1900s, you were, yet you died in 1929 to a simple poison. walking around in hell was surprisingly.. normal. like walking down the streets, although with the addition of sinners screaming and.. other, noises. it took years after your death before someone recognizable dropped down. you and alastor had been friends since childhood, though only briefly. you had moved from your home country to new orleans due to your father missing the city, but moved back home after a year after his death. you didn't expect alastor to remember you in hell, let alone the detail that your home country was the philippines. but now, as he shook your hand, he greeted you with a smile not different to the one he had in life. "greetings, and good morning, my dear! it has been a while, has it not?" opening your mouth to reply with a witty remark, you do nearly get to say it before he adds, "or should i say.. magandang umaga, aking mahal na reyna."

(good morning, my beloved queen.) you freeze in surprise for a few moments, processing the fact he had quite literally spoken in your native. you had never cared to teach him, though, so how..? he chuckles, noticing your surprise, and continues, "i decided to make it a point to learn your native after your death, dear! it was a little hard, but it was worth it to see the shock on your face, hm?"

💛 luci !!!!

your death and subsequent arrival in hell was.. unexpected. you were a confusing case, having fallen asleep at the wheel and getting into an accident. ironically, the person you hit did not die, and you.. well, considering you're down in hell, it's mighty obvious. you weren't exactly the most religious person, so maybe divine judgement had been a little harsh on that. but hell.. wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. sure, there was fire and a shit ton of red and screaming, but it was still civilized, at least. but one thing you REALLY didn't expect? to meet the goddamn king of hell. you could hear the christians screaming for mercy when you first saw him, you swear. he was surprisingly friendly, albeit a little awkward (though that was adorable). you honestly wondered how on earth god had put the poor man down in hell all those millennia ago, he was nicer than a lot of people you'd met. really, much nicer, considering he'd cared to learn your native language. you just mentioned your nationality once in a conversation, just a "oh, by the way," that you thought he'd forget. you were sure he didn't know many filipino people like you, so he might not even remember what country you were from. but no, actually. months later, he still remembered, especially after the two of you became somewhat of an item (cue charlie's confusion as to whether or not you are now her parent). but you didn't know all that. weeeeeellll.. at least until this morning. you had woken up a little late this time, and to the smell of pancakes, no less. already, there was a smile on your face. the thought of him tinkering away in the kitchen was one that you found adorable. you started to do a few tasks for the day, bustling around the room, fixing things up. if he could surprise you with pancakes you could at least return the favor by cleaning up a little. later, as you were tidying up a few ducks on the desk (which is to say there were dozens of them), the door creaked open, and the scent of pancakes became noticeably stronger. "gooood morning, duckie!" he greets, setting down the pancakes on his desk with a grin that you think is one of the cutest things you will ever see in your (after?) life. you smile at him, opening your mouth to reply, before he adds, "or, should i say.. magandang umaga, aking mahal na reyna." (good morning, my beloved queen.) his grin seems a lot more smug now, especially when seeing your face of surprise. did he just.. speak in your native? filipino? did he seriously learn how to speak that for you? after a few moments of silence, he seems to get a tad bit nervous. "did i say that right..? i made sure to check a few times before, was my pronounciation off?" he asks, worriedly, mumbling. your surprise disappears the moment he speaks, as your own smile widens. "no, no, you're right, luci. that was wonderful." his face shifts from worry back to happiness, and as he's about to speak, you add, in the same manner as he did, "or should i say, tama ka, aking hari?" (you're right, my king.)

[rainhidesmytears]

Miraak x Reader NSFW

(This is literally just an idea I had in snippets all piled together for Miraak, it's a lil bad but that's okay, we're here for affection not perfection. Lemme know if anyone likes it!)

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

The first time he'd woken to her kisses, she was startled and bright pink in the face, worried she had crossed some invisible like that they hadn't spoken of yet, only to be greeted by an amused gaze as he would play with a strand of her hair that was close enough for him to reach.

"Enjoying yourself this morning, Dearheart?" He'd take notice of how her eyes dilated, and that silent swallow she did when she was nervous whenever she was scolded, watching as her gaze sort of flickered down to her hands that were placed on the bed to hold herself up, else she'd fall on him-

"I- um... Yes. I'm sorry- I thought- um?" She'd flounder for a minute, the tips of her ears turning a cherry sort of red as he slowly understood in his sleepy haze that she had very much been enjoying herself. "I-I'm sorry, Miraak. I should have asked beforehand- but you looked comfortable and... and I didn't want to wake you. You don't get enough sleep as it is- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." She's embarrassed and flustered- and this man has half a mind to fuck the insecurities out of her right that instant. But of course, he contains his own urges. Bringing a hand to hold her jaw and bring her gaze back to meet his own, still very comfortably lounging against the large and very luxurious pillows he refuses to go without.

"What if I was to say that I enjoyed being woken like this? It's not every day a God is loved and cherished with the warm and gentle kisses of his lover. How could I deny such a delicious request if it were to come from your lips?" His words are sincere and clearly just a hint of a tease as his hand moves to the back of her neck, gently tugging her down to his level to taste her kisses himself, able to feel her melt against him, her hands hesitantly hovering in place just a little closer to him as she sits up on her knees now so she won't fall, only for him to grab her hands, physically moving them and placing them on his naked chest.

"I am yours, My Love. Be selfish with me. Touch me, kiss me, taste me, bite me if you so wish. You need not shy from me. Regardless of whether my attention rests with you wholly or if I am still asleep. You may take me as I am in any form you choose." The tone that he says this is almost like he's begging her to continue, and he is. His voice is still soft from sleep, kissing her, pulling her closer, and letting her touch him with his hands over hers so she isn't unsure, begging this woman who loves him so honest and deeply to be selfish with her own desires because he desires her just as much, if not more.

"I can - I can kiss you when you're not busy? Even when you're tired?" Her tone matches his, wanting to make sure she is allowed what he is silently offering her, only for the Priest to laugh and kiss her again.

"You can kiss me always. I only ask that you mind the attention you wish to give me when important guests arrive, but yes, My Love. Yes, you may kiss me. Busy or not. Kiss me, touch me, and give me any of your attention. I am eager for your affections. Especially if I am to be woken by such gentle cherishing. You make my heart sing for you, Beloved. Never doubt this." His lips are against hers as he mutters the last part, before she has pulled back a little bit and he watches her chew on her lip a little bit, moving to sit that much closer so she can reach him-

"Does that mean I can kiss you more?" She means now. In that moment that he'd woken to, only for him to grin up at her and give his very eager approval, only for the woman to kiss him again. It's slower and deeper than he'd usually expect from her, but his hand drops from her neck to her thigh beside him, enjoying this new wave of confidence from his woman as her kisses begin to travel. Across his face and even over his eyes, feather light in nature and even against his ears- oh his poor heart beats to life in these moments.

Her kisses trail from his face to his neck and just under his jaw, knowing she can get away with it because he thinks she isn't aware of what it does to him when she IS, and she just keeps little discoveries like that quiet. Her lips travel to the center of his throat and then to his pulse point, but she keeps those kisses mostly closed, and then more open mouthed kisses across his shoulders and then down his chest, her tongue just barely hinting over the scars she can reach and the hitch in his breath tells her how much he is enjoying this. Her slow kisses began lulling him back to sleep only for the feeling of her tongue against him to pull him back up- and he can't even find it in his heart to groan about it because it feels so good, especially when her teeth graze over his nipples - oh, this Dragon Priest is in love.

She's not fast or harsh enough to jolt him awake, but his cock is another story. His woman is taking her sweet time in getting a taste of her lover, letting her fangs just barely graze over the center of his chest where his ribs connect or the center of his stomach before her tongue has pressed against him again before she sucks a mark into his skin- she can't keep her hands to herself, and it's as if time stops between them, allowing her to kiss and suck and caress as much of his skin as he allows before a quiet moan finally breaks from his lips. His cock is hard under the blankets they share, aching from her playful teases and cherishing and pulsing when she travels low enough he can feel her lips against his hips, following the curve lower past his pelvis and then finally pulling at the blanket. But his woman is infuriating.

She does it slow enough that the friction against him is prominent but not fast enough for a rush of cold air to properly wake him- she's takes such care to keep him comfortable and relaxed and partially dozing off again only for her lips to make it to his thighs, these slow careful bites into his flesh bringing him frustration and ecstasy,  only for her kisses and playful licks to meet the inside of his thighs instead of where he wants it.

When her lips finally make contact, it's not what he expects because her slow open kisses are against his balls first, and it makes him drop his head back into the pillows with this breathless moan leaving him at the surprise of how thoroughly she's taking this, only for her to start sucking and licking where she knows is most sensitive- but she's so careful with her attentions, not allowing him the chance to drift again but also not rousing him enough for him to be aware of anything other than her lips on his cock- and by the time he's finally vaguely beginning to drift again because it just feels so heavenly she's finally taking the tip of his cock into her mouth. Slow sucking that makes him pulse and twitch because he wants more, but his exhaustion doesn't allow him to make demands, only drawn out moans and sighs of relief make it past his lips in that moment. When she finally takes mercy on this poor man and starts sucking his cock, he doesn't have enough energy to pull her hair to tug her closer, until she grabs his hand that had reached for her, only to entwine their fingers as she takes him down her throat?

Oh, he can't even close his eyes anymore because the view of her cherishing him and swallowing his cock as she holds his hand just pierces through his heart when she gets him to cum. It's such a drawn-out orgasm too because of all of her teasing, paired with being able to watch her take him so well and swallow what he gives her. That orgasm lasted much longer than he'd expected it to, and the man felt like he was floating, only for her to start sucking again and milking that poor Priest until his eyelids were so heavy and his moans were damn near whimpers.

Miraak can go a good while until it's finally too much for him to take more, and gods he loved how she took him, keeping him comfortable and warm and sucking his aching cock until he had barely anything left to give as he held her hand like a lifeline, quietly begging for her to stop HOURS after she'd started.

"My Love, please- Oh~ Oh, My Love- I can't- I can't take more, Beloved. Let me rest. We'll play again another time." It's this gentle plea, quickly interrupted by him cuming again before she'd slowed to a stop and let go of his cock, grinning so widely at him as she tucks him back into bed, pressing gentle kisses across his skin once more before he has pulled her back to his side, turning to use her as a pillow as they cuddle up together- and he sleeps hard. Well on through that day and even into the next morning before he had even attempted to rouse from sleep because she was there, her wings laid over him to keep him warm and comfortable and it felt so good that he hadn't a care in the world. It was the first time he'd missed an entire day of work, even one of the servants coming to check on their Master, only to be relieved at the sight of him sleeping through the night, wrapped in her arms with his face in her breasts- covered by blanket with the fire going? They take it upon themselves to finish what he'd worked on, allowing Miraak an entire day of rest with no outside interruptions. Not a single noise aside from their even breaths as they slept together. No arcane auras, no chatter, nothing but them, and the crackling fire.

[pandoa]

"say you love me but make it sweeter"

you tell rook you love him. in a language he doesn't quite understand.

~rook hunt x gender neutral reader~

warnings: slight cursing; reader speaks tagalog. as i’ve said before, my tagalog is a tad rusty, so if there are any fluent tagalog speakers out there who can check my grammar, i’d appreciate it very much!! i’m too embarrassed to ask my irl filipino friends lol

just something short i wrote that’s purely self indulgent; happy birthday to meEeeEEEeEe~

“Mahal na mahal kita, Rook. Ikaw ang aking puso at aking buhay. Ang ilaw sa pinaka madilim ng gabi ko. Hindi ko kayang mabuhay nang wala ka, aking sinta.”

“(Y/n),” Rook’s voice rang throughout the golden-accented room of the Pomefiore huntsman. “What did you just say?”

You gave your eccentric boyfriend a knowing smile that reached the corners of your eyes in mischief, “Not telling~”

“Ah! You wound me, mon ange!” The shining blonde cried as he clasped his heart, feigning agony at your pixieish stunts. “How can one live in mystery after their beloved has spoken such lyrical words?” Rook, playing along with your indifference, sighed as his mind ran miles—pondering the meaning behind your native language. There was something so warm about each poetically bewitching thing you said. He could feel the sincerity and passion within your unknown words and was determined to pull the hidden meaning out of your wonderous mumbling. The man was curious, could you blame him?

“Well, continue to suffer because I’m still not telling you what I just said,” you laughed, beaming at the hunter.

The young man glanced at you anticipatingly, “Tell me what it means.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“What if I knelt down on one knee right this instant, reached out for your hand, and declared my love just for you?”

You paused for a moment, contemplating his tempting offer, “...Never.”

“Trickster, I beg of you!”

“Oh, Rook—I already said no,” you said, giving him a sympathetic grim—almost pitying Rook’s desperation. “It’s more fun this way; like a small little secret only I know out of everyone in Twisted Wonderland~”

Rook, giving you a subtle pout, then promptly placed a gentle grasp onto your unknowing shoulders as you both sat atop the cotton covers of the vice housewarden’s mattress. “Mon tresor, if you refuse to tell me what it means, then please at least say it again. I wish to engrave your lovesome, enchanting voice into my mind.”

You looked his way again, baffled at his surprising request. “But… You knew nothing of what I had just said? Why would you want to hear it again?”

“Because your voice alone is so beautifully ethereal,” he replied with a certain tenderness gracing his tone, “however when partnered with the harmonious words of your home’s language, I cannot help but adore each syllable that comes from your angelic self.”

“I could have easily just insulted you and called you a bitch, you know,” you jokingly commented.

“Even that is beautiful in itself, mon amour.”

“...”

“You're hopeless, Rook.”

“Aha!” The man you called your lover laughed at your amusing reactions. “But you love me just the same, do you not~?”

You stared at the blonde—deadpanned—before sitting up and making your way out of the Pomefiore dorm room, away from the said third-year. “No comment.”

“Ah—Trickster! Wait!"

✧ ･ﾟ : ˚ · . ✧ ･ﾟ: ✧.* .ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐ ✧.* ✧ ･ﾟ : ˚ · . ✧ ･ﾟ:

“I love you very much, Rook. You are my heart and my life. The light of my darkest night. I cannot live without you, my dear.”

✧ ･ﾟ : ˚ · . ✧ ･ﾟ: ✧.* .ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐ ✧.* ✧ ･ﾟ : ˚ · . ✧ ･ﾟ:

a/n: IKAWWWW LAMANGGGG ANG TANGI KOOONG MINAMAHAL~ ANG LAGI KONGGGG DINARASAL~~~ also yes that last quote is a translation of what reader said- i'm cringing lmao

[gumnut-logic]

Cethair (Bit 2)

Óen | Cethair - Bit 1 | Bit 2

Glossary (contains backstory spoilers)

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight, @idontknowreallywhy, @womble1 and @sofasurf for all their amazing support of my writing.

Here we continue with the fic about Gordon, but this bit focusses on Johnny and a little backstory.

Sorry for the delay in writing. I will get there eventually.

I hope you enjoy.

-o-o-o-

John was beside himself. Cóic’s thoughts were a turmoil and her heart anguished.

“It was not your fault, my love.” He reached up, ever so glad of his lanky height to reach her eyebrow feathers and rub her gently. “You know Gordon-“

She snorted, warm breath catching his long hair and tossing it about.

“Yes, he has a history of rapscallion-hood, but you know his heart. He would not have acted any other way, even should he have known this outcome. He did this for us.” He let his forehead rest against her white and gold cheek feathers, soft in their strength. “As did our father.”

That was a raw wound in his heart. Losing their father and king, his strength…all because…

It was Cóic‘s turn to interrupt his train of thought, sour that it was. He reached his fingers to his left temple, closing his eyes as her mind enveloped his.

It truly was magic. To be held like a child in the arms of a giant. Cóic had inherited the memories of the Ages, those who had come before, and the wisdom that entailed. But she was still young, unable to access it all until she was fully grown. Kyrano had spoken of it as a burden and part of John feared his beloved dragon would lose some of herself the day she came into her knowledge.

And feared he wouldn’t be good enough.

His father had spoken to him from a very young age about the importance of the gift he had been given, the honour it was to help guide a Matriarch into adulthood.

His mother’s family had been stewards of the great dragons across the Western Ocean and when the Matriarch of the tribe chose him to be the companion of her unborn child, the O’Treasaigh family had been ever so honoured.

His mother had held him in her lap telling him stories of the old ones and legends of their tribe leading back into the darkness of the past. How the tribe had grown strong and safe with the dragons, the great Thunderbirds. And how, in each generation one was chosen for the next Matriarch, the next great Thunderbird. Chosen for his mental prowess and agility, his strength for love and for kindness.

The Matriarch had chosen John.

And Gaat had not agreed.

John hadn’t been aware of it at first, until one day their father announced they were returning home.

As far as he and his brothers were concerned, they were home. The land of the Matriarch was all they had ever known. They were, of course, aware that their father was from across the ocean, very far away indeed. And they knew the story of how he had entered these lands held in Óen’s claws, a half-dead bedraggled mess - Kyrano’s words, not John’s.

The tales of Ériu, a land of eternal green and bounty, of their grandfather, Flaithri O’Treasaigh, king of their lands, and their grandmother who had trained in the Temple and knew all the medicines and was so kind to their people.

It would have been harder to leave if Gaat hadn’t forced the issue. John was still young when it all happened, but he remembered the fires and the screams. His mother grabbing him and Cóic, still in her egg, and bundling them up in furs so warm.

Of Óen’s bellows and fire, all the family’s dragons taking to the air in the darkness, his mother’s reassuring words as she held him close, his father’s voice firm and strong.

John shook himself. He often drifted when held by Cóic. He suspected she had interest in his memories and his point of view. They were so different, yet together they were one.

The family had returned to Ériu to great fanfare. The Flaithri was over joyous to have his son not only return, but with a wife and three strong sons.

The revelation of dragons took a longer time to settle, but eventually the O’Treasaigh family settled back into a new comfort, a new home that was as full of history as their previous.

The Kyrano family had travelled with them, their mother’s brother exercising the right to ensure her safety. Scott had once confided in John claiming Kyrano wanted to get away from Gaat as much as any of them. Gaat was a half-brother to both their mother and Kyrano, and a half they could both do without.

But as time passed and they all settled, it was good to have another family from across the Western Sea to share memories with.

Gordon and Alan were born one after the other and the Flaithri doted on both the young children. Five strong sons were cause for as much celebration as three.

The day Cóic hatched, John’s life changed.

He had slept with the egg every night, kept it warm as his mother instructed. It had so long been his companion, it was second nature to keep it safe. Until early in the morning dark, he had been awoken by movement and shattering eggshell.

She had bowled him over in eagerness, landing on his chest, still dripping with egg fluids. He had been bewitched by her beautiful turquoise eyes - to this day, he still was - though it had taken some time for her gold-tipped white feathers to fully come in. As a hatchling she had been rather scrawny, more like a bald bird than a dragon.

The wave of fond mock-offence had him smiling and he suspected that his response was her purpose in sending it.

It also brought him back to the present and separated him a little from her embrace. Today was one of mourning but in it there may be hope.

Cóic rumbled deep in her throat.

John startled. “Have you a response?”

The matriarch had sent out a request, across dragon minds seeking one willing to give everything for a heroic young prince. One willing to make the sacrifice to save him.

How the dragons saw his people, why they served, associated, and loved their human counterparts was not clear. While Cóic never hesitated to share her thoughts with him, there was seeing and feeling, but understanding was not a given. Dragonkind had its mysteries and its purpose and it was other than what humans pursued or recognised. It was also something John could only accept and trust.

But the call out across the seas and the land looking for one willing to give everything for a stranger…only clarified dragon difference. It was a hope, but it was also a terror, an unknown.

Cóic warbled, her heart lifting. She touched her great head gently to John’s.

She had an answer.

Her reassurance was a boon. Gordon could be saved.

As his fingers drifted through her neck feathers and he climbed into her saddle, his hope was joined by fear and his heart ached.

-o-o-o-

Next

[merrysithmas]

i really like reading your thoughts on "girl"! i was just wondering what you think might happen after paul passes? do you think people will start to examine the relationship between them as something more than just songwriting partners? i mean nothing really changed when yoko said john was bisexual (and some fans still don't believe it!). in my wildest dreams, paul's estate will drop a posthumous tell all book and we'll be left with so many questions lol.    

John himself said he was queer several times - I remember watching an interview with him when he was saying being an artist in a capitalist world requires money and that if he wasn't famous he'd need to have married "a rich old lady or man" to be a songwriter.

He also said he hooked up with Brian in Spain (Yoko confirmed he told the press they did "do it" and she was seemingly applauding his bravery in saying so).

Lennon remarked that he was "afraid of the fag in him" which made him act on his anger and set off his worst most fearsome temper explosions.

Also I think there was a few "tell alls" where past friends reported that he was open about his queerness & confirmed hooking up with Brian in frustration.

May Pang wrote that he told her he considered (lol) an affair with Paul. He spent two years in gay clubs in LA.

Yoko also confirmed he was bi (as far she she knew, maybe later on had he not been murdered he'd have identified as gay or pan).

Elton John said he and Lennon did "naughty" things together and laughed about said things with Sean, his godson. Julian Lennon did an interview where he said he "agreed" that John and Paul were in love during the Get Back film period.

Lennon also contributed a first-person poem the First Gay Liberation book.

Those are just the examples I can think of off the top of my head. He also seems to have had a relationship of some kind with Stu (conjecture) and an obvious-departed-from-platonic dynamic with Paul which is easily, easily an emotionally romantic affair at least (which isn't the half of it).

Anyone who denies his queerness does a great disservice to his memory & the incredible poignancy of his songs in this context during his time period. Artists have been reworking the lyrics and wording of their queer songs to appeal to an unaccepting general audience for commerciality FOREVER and to assume this was not done by Lennon, who is "confirmed" queer (if you needed to hear it from Yoko for it to be true to you) is truly delusion.

I think after Paul has left us people will feel more comfortable analyzing their relationship in a queer sense and I do think at some point it has likely been engineered that something to that effect will be officially announced or endorsed in some regard by their Estates (to generate continued moneymaking lol and interest and enigma). I feel like that's something that could happen, reasonably, after Yoko is gone and her hold on the Lennon narrative is diluted into Sean's POV & the McCartney family has the freedom to speculate or give their personal feelings on the life of their beloved father in retrospect. There's also the chance Paul could say something or leave something to that effect before he leaves us.

I feel like Paul would never say anything otherwise because John never got to endorse any release of their personal history before his tragic and senseless murder in a time period where being gay was still treated with such bigotry and cruelty (the 80s). I feel like Paul's great respect for Jane Asher and their relationship is a testament to this because he has never spoken about their relationship out of respect for her - for the exact reason that she has never spoke publically about it herself.

Paul is a pragmatic and private person and I feel like he knows the majority of the ignorant world isn't ready to hear the biggest band in human history was founded on teenaged homoromantic affection/gay love. But maybe one day, it will be.

This is speculation on my part but Paul also probably doesn't want Yoko to know anything because either she is willfully ignorant or John truly wasn't honest with her and Paul feels it's something she doesn't deserve to know - especially if it's something John kept private & only between he and Paul. It's something he always has that's over and beyond what Yoko and John had & he seems to treasure those specific things no matter what they are. Obviously... Paul still doesn't care for Yoko and he is probably extremely fatigued of the fact that she has been the managing agent & author of John's estate for 40 years (when in the late 70s she and John seemed on unsteady terms as per other parties) and then treated Julian with such disregard. Sean on the other hand seems to have grown to love Paul, but we'll see lol.

I also feel like Paul probably has a few "surprises" for Beatles fans lined up for after he and Ringo are gone - he just seems like that kind of person and wants the Beatles to continue on in great esteem for many many years to come.

thank you for your ask!!

[deathisararemercy]

In Perpetuum et Unum Diem

Death x Reader

You knew for certain that Death knew every language. You, on the other hand, were far from multilingual (or whatever you would call someone who knew literally every language ever). So it came as a surprise to Death when this occurred.

A/N: Loosely inspired by this post by @sunnypop02 (Puss x multilingual!reader), except it's Death x reader who knows languages thought to be "dead" (ie. Latin). I highly recommend reading their fic/post; it's so freaking cute and sweet.

This is my first time writing "x reader" content, and I'm still trying to figure out how to write Death, so please forgive me. This is a little short and I'm still trying to figure out the format I'm going to go with, but I hope it's not too bad. Translations are at the bottom. Let me know if you catch any typos!

You knew for certain that Death knew every language. There was never a barrier between him and any soul he needed to collect (though usually his presence alone spoke more than any words could). You, on the other hand, were far from multilingual (or whatever you would call someone who knew literally every language ever). Death liked to tease you a bit for this, calling you pet names in various languages.

Elskede. Danish. “Beloved.” يا قمر (ya amar). Arabic. “My moon.” Nhà tôi. Vietnamese. “My home.” Mi vida. Spanish. “My life.”

He was sure to translate them for you, making sure that you were comfortable with them and nodding enthusiastically when you were. As far as he was aware, you only knew one language. So it came as a surprise to Death when this occurred.

=x=x=

“Faex.”

“Swear jar.”

The wolf’s ears perked up, while you continued reading your book. It took him a minute to realize what exactly had just happened. He plopped down next to you on the loveseat, cocking his head to the side, perplexed. You looked up, feeling his eyes on you. His gaze was intent.

You set aside the book and readjust yourself so that you’re kneeling on the cushion. You turned towards him, giving him a long and thoughtful stare. “Boop.” You tapped the tip of Death's snout, but he remained motionless, brows knit together. Now it was your turn to worry.

“Uh, oh. Is something wrong?”

“You understood what I said," he said, mystified.

“Yes? What, don’t have anything to put in the swear jar right now? Just because you swear in another language doesn’t mean it doesn’t count.” Teasingly, you wagged a finger at him. “That’s cheating!”

Death laughed a little, and the distance between you decreased. He took your hand and held it to your lips. “Shh. Don’t tell.” You could hear his tail thumping on the seat as he continued, dropping your hand with red eyes burning with excitement, “But wait, wait, wait. If I say this: Amo te. Es pulcherrimum in omnia terra.” He paused, waiting to see your reaction and thrilled to see your flushed cheeks. “Do you understand me?”

“I- I do. And I love you too.”

He was beaming now. “And the ‘pulcherrimum in omnia terra’ part. Do you believe it?”

“Maybe,” you joked, expecting him to laugh it off.

Instead, he drew closer, so close you could kiss him if you leaned a little closer. It would be a lie to say you weren’t tempted to. “You should believe it,” he said tenderly. “You’re the most beautiful in the land.”

And then, he threw his head back, laughing and staring up at the ceiling. “But I can’t believe you know Latin of all languages. Don’t get me wrong, mi vida,” the wolf added hastily, “It really is a great language. I just never thought I’d meet a mortal who knew it again, or at least has some interest in it.”

You shrug. “It’s nothing really. I like reading old stories. I don’t get to speak it much since it’s kind of, you know, dead.”

Scowling, Death took your hands in his. His paws were always cold, but he held your hands with firmness and surety. “It may not be spoken by natives anymore, but it’s not extinct because you still know it. You are one of few keeping a language alive and that’s incredible. Most people wouldn’t care for a dead language. You wouldn’t believe all of the words I know that no one else can ever understand anymore.”

“Couldn’t you teach people, Muerte?”

He shook his head solemnly. “Death is a great teacher, just not of languages. But I’m curious now, apricum,” he grinned. “There was this one old saying and I want to know your thoughts on it. Amantes sunt amentes. You ever heard of it?”

“I think I’ve heard of it before.”

“Well, what do you think? Suntne amantes amentes?”

You gave it some thought and shook your head. “Minime. I think people who are in love may be blind or see their partner in a way that’s different from who they actually are…but I wouldn’t call them ‘lunatics’ or ‘fools’. Isn’t it a really beautiful thing for us to be able to love someone so deeply?”

Death chuckled a bit before falling silent. For a moment, your muscles tightened, and your heart skipped a few beats. Did I say something wrong?

But before you could hastily make out an apology, he planted a kiss on your forehead. “Es pulcherrimum, candidius quam stellam.”

And you manage to catch him by surprise, quickly kissing him back. “Et te amo. In perpetuum et unum diem.”

=x=x=

Death loves having someone to speak this language to. Even if you need to take a little time to process and translate what it is he says, you actually understands it! The souls who would’ve been able to speak or understand it have long since passed, and Death mourns the loss of languages and cultures over time. He's been around since the very beginning, after all.

He encourages you to practice speaking the language for fun. Though he still likes using a variety of pet names for you, he now adds more from dead languages. It's so much fun, saying things he’ll know you understand that no one else will (though now he knows he can’t swear in a dead language anymore unless he wants to put money in the swear jar).

Translations:

Faex: shit

Amo te. Es pulcherrimum in omnia terra.: I love you. You are the most beautiful in the whole land.

Apricum: sunny (I would use lux solaris for ‘sunshine’ or literally ‘light of the sun’ but this is cuter.)

Amantes sunt amentes: Lovers are lunatics (fools).

Suntne amantes amentes?: Are lovers lunatics?

Minime: No.

Es pulcherrimum, candidius quam stellas.: You are the most beautiful, brighter than the stars.

Et te amo. In perpetuum et unum diem.: And I love you. Forever and one day.

[iboatedhere]

peaches from the June prompts -OR- endless freckles from the Summer List. AU! 🙏🏼

Xx

They’re only three weeks into the season before Alex declares that the man that sells peaches and honey three booths down and across the aisle from him is a real fucking problem.

Alex has been attending the Barton Creek Farmers Market for as long as he can remember, sitting on a stool while his abuela sold agua fresca and horchata in the summer and Mexican coffee and hot chocolate during cool fall mornings.

She’d let him help when he got a little older, taking money and making change, filling cups with ice, and squeezing fresh limes.

He loved being there and spending time with her. She had this way about her, treating first-time customers like old friends and regulars like family. She loved to make people smile. She loved the community. She loved Alex, kissing the top of his head and slipping him twenty dollars, a life-changing amount when he was six, for his hard work.

Then he got older, and other things took precedence. Studying, sports, and girls…he didn’t have the time or desire to get up early on a Saturday morning and sit beneath a tent in one hundred-degree heat.

She said she understood and that he was becoming his own person and finding his path. There were no hard feelings. He still loved her, and she loved him, and he’d still get twenty dollars in a card sent to his dorm at UT at the end of the season.

Abuela passed the winter before he graduated college, and a few weeks after graduation, he got a call from the market organizers asking if he’d be taking over her booth.

“What kind of guilt trip is that?” Alex asked June afterward, tipsy on tequila in his small post-college-pre-job apartment. “She put me down as a contact, she knew that they’d be calling. What am I supposed to say, never mind, let my grandmother’s beloved business fucking rot?”

“I wouldn’t say it exactly like that, but yeah,” June had said. “You’re not under any obligation to continue.”

“If I don’t, then who? You? Dad?”

“No one,” June said. “Sometimes things just end. It sucks, and it’s sad, but it’s the way things go. You should tell them that she loved attending and being a part of the market and that our family appreciates the offer, but you’re not in a place in your life where you can make that kind of commitment. Simple. They’ll understand.”

Alex shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because I already told them I’d be there. The market starts in two weeks.”

That was five years ago.

Now, Alex lives in an understated but pricey loft downtown. He works at a law firm that offers enough pro-bono work that he doesn’t feel like his soul is dying and contemplates going into politics each time a politician does something stupid, which is almost all the time. He dates and hangs out with his friends, and every Saturday morning, from nine to one, he sells drinks to market-goers behind the Barton Creek Mall.

“You’re going to cut your finger off.”

Alex looks down at the cutting board where his index finger is dangerously close to the paring knife he’s using to slice strawberries.

“Told ya,” Nora says from her perch on the stool.

“Fuck,” Alex says as he puts the knife down.

“Please don’t swear,” June says sing-songs through an over-the-top smile as she passes a family with three small kids their watermelon agua frescas. And please don’t cut your finger off.”

“Yeah,” Nora agrees, “the hot paramedics aren’t even working today, so it would be a total waste.”

“Not that he would care,” June says, “he’s been staring at Henry for the past three hours.”

“I have not,” Alex snaps, “and how do you know his name is Henry?”

“Because we’ve actually spoken to him instead of staring at him like a big creep,” Nora says.

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping?” Alex asks.

“I am. I crunched the numbers. Did you know that raising your prices by just ten cents increases your earnings—.”

“No, no,” Alex interrupts, “I don’t want to know, I don’t care. I’m not in it for the money.”

“Everyone is in it for the money,” Nora deadpans. “Even rich lawyers. Hell. Especially rich lawyers.”

“I’m different. This is how Abuela Lina and I’ll continue to do it this way, too.”

“Yeah,” June says, “he’s not here for the money. He’s here to pine from afar over Henry.”

“Would you please shut up,” Alex begs as June and Nora cackle.

“Just go talk to him,” June says.

“And say what? Hey, I work at the booth over there, and I’ve been trying to count the freckles across your nose for weeks now?”

“Oh, yikes,” June says.

“Down bad,” Nora adds with a shake of her head.

“I hate you both,” Alex tells them.

“Just go and bring him a drink,” June says. “Tell him that it’s hot and that you thought he might need it, and don’t you dare come back here without his number.”

“What if he doesn’t want to give me his number?”

“Then you move on and stop mooning over him.” She shoves a cup into his hand. “He seems like a pineapple kind of a guy.”

“You know what they say about pineapple, right?” Nora asks, and Alex grabs the cup and steps out of the booth so he doesn’t have to listen to her.

The peach guy—Henry, apparently—works at Fox Family Farm, or at least that’s what the pale yellow banner with a minimalistic sketch of a fox, its tail curled around a full peach basket, hanging on the front of the booth says.

He’s taller up close, blonder too, and when Alex hovers just a few feet away, he’s shocked at how blue his eyes are.

It’s like he was created in a lab to specifically become Alex’s problem. His very hot problem.

“May I help you?” Henry says in a British accent.

Alex nearly drops the drink.

“Fuck,” he swears as he scrambles to grab it. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sure you did anything wrong.”

“Right, this is for you,” he says, setting the cup down before he almost drops it again. “I work at the booth over there.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Henry says, waving at June and Nora, who are crowded close together to watch.

Alex steps into Henry’s line of sight, blocking them.

“I just wanted to introduce myself since it’s obvious I’m the only one who hasn’t.”

“Technically, you still haven’t done that.”

“I’m Alex.”

“Henry.”

“Yes,” Alex says, “I’m aware.”

Henry smiles wide and bright, and Alex guesses that at least two dozen freckles are dotted across his nose and cheeks.

“Can I ask,” Alex starts, “what the hell are you doing in Texas?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that my grandmother passed and left me a peach orchard?”

“No.”

Henry hums. “A shame. Maybe I can take you to dinner and convince you.”

“Wow,” Alex says, “I was sent over here just to get your number.”

Henry grabs a pen and a scrap piece of paper. “I can give you that as well.”

[justanamesstuff]

Aemond Targaryen x cousin!reader

A/n: first thing, thank you so much for the support already…thanks for reading!! Secondly, this is a second part but you can read it as apart from the previously. Hope you enjoy!!

Y/n’s dark blue dress was scattered around her legs, hiding the bottom of the chair she was sitting on. The fire touched her figure softly, warming her on the rear cold night of summer. The temperature dropped after a big storm.

The lady scratched her right eye trying to get rid of the tiredness. Big storms and lightnings scare her to death. Many hours, the night before, where spent under the sheets of her spacious bed, hiding her curled up body.

Y/n moved on her sit. The fear still shaking her bones. She gripped the big book on her lap preventing it from falling, at the same time noises were heard from behind the chair. Someone entered the library although the young girl chose not to care. She faked being very much into the story shown on the pages. Even when she lost truck long minutes before.

“It’s rude to make them wait, cousin” Aemond’s raspy voice made her skin got warmer.

Y/n didn’t answer. She wasn’t in the mood to fight with him. For now.

“Do not tell me you are shy to meet the lords, ha?” He tried to gain a reply out of her. Still, nothing. Aemond quickly dropped his teasing. “My mother worked hard for you inma-“he stopped mid sentences. Took a big breath and continued. “For you to hide like a little, I know so well you are, rat”

“Always so desperate to please your beloved mother” y/n finally spoken, rolling her eyes while passing the page.

Aemond appeared from her right side, scarring his cousin in the act. Although she tried not to show it, he knew her better. “You are going to stand and walk all the way to the grand salon-“

“Or?” She turned her head to look directly into his healthy eye. Y/n witnessed how hard he tried to compose himself. His white knuckles gave him away. The dark pupil grew a size, taking over part of the violet circumference. She loved his eye colour. Y/n never met someone with prettier eyes.

“Or…” he started slowly, staring directly at her dilated nostrils. “Or I will drag you there myself” Aemond stood trying to gain space between their bodies.

Y/n looked up to her cousin. Knowing he will fulfill his promise. At the same time wanting to play with him as much as she could. “You’re not capable” she stated. “And your mother would kill you if you make a scene”

“If her wish is to have you there, I’ll drag your little body directly to the table” she hated and loved him talking about her figure.

“I don’t believe a word that came from your little mouth” she shot back.

She though he was gone, even though she didn’t dare to look. Y/n continued trying to focus on the drawings and words, pushing off the duty of attending the ball to introduce her to candidates for marrying. When suddenly the massive book covers closed with a big noise. The item was far from her sight in a blink of an eye, and her body was pushed up into another body.

Aemond made his way out of the room with his cousin shouting his ears off. The servants they encounter on the alleys look the scene not daring to made a single movement that angered the prince.

“Put me down, Aemond” y/n stated, hitting as hard as she could on his back with small fists. “I’m going to murder you…when I can” he laughed out loud because of her words.

The guards opened the big wooden doors letting them pass. High pitched screams coming from the lady brought the attention of all of the guests towards the pair. Aemond was unbothered.

As sudden as her body was pushed up, y/n’s feet took ground in front of the Queen Mother. Alicent looked at his son with a stunned face.

“What is the meaning of this?” She inquired them.

“You wanted Lady y/n here…here she is” Aemond answered logically.

Y/n looked down towards the patterns of her dress, not daring to looked at her disappointed aunt’s eyes. Alicent straighten her form and fold her arms. Aemond was imitating his cousins focus on the floor with a big smile. Alicent noticed and decided to let them pass the scolding. She will scold the pair latter. “For the mercy of the Seven, just go to your places”

They obey, while the Queen allowed the rest of the court to continue with the feast.

Once seated, Aemond came closer to y/n’s ear “I told you I will. When I say I'm going to do it, I do it cousin”

Y/n didn’t dare to respond. Just took a big gulp of wine of her goblet, hearing Aemond’s soft laughter.

Thanks again for reading!! Let me know what you think…feedback is always welcome!!

[geminiagentgreen]

Hello!! It's me again!! I have another question!! I saw a post the other day, I think I saw it on twitter, but it brought up a Bible verse that I've always been confused on. The one that talks about honoring your parents. What exactly does it mean to honor your parents? Like what does one do to honor their parents?

I ask this because my relationship with my dad is not good. I don't want to get into to much detail here (as tempting as it is lol) so the most I'll say is that he isn't a great dad. He has a lot of anger issues, he's insensitive and at times judgmental. He knows the Bible like the back of his hand but he feels very dead in it. He hides behind it a lot instead of actually tackling his issues in any shape or form. Always says that God is working on him but nothing ever changes, he's still the same miserable man he's always been

Because of all of this, I do not love him. I try to, but I just can't. I don't want him around me, I try to avoid him as much as I can, his presence alone can greatly sour my mood. And yet, God talks about honoring one's parents. There's clearly importance to that, I just don't fully get it. I don't understand what it truly means to honor my parents. As much as my dad needs to change, does this include change in me as well? In how I view and interact with him? I hope this isn't to much of an ask from me (and I hope I didn't overstep any boundaries with everything I've said here lol)

Oh, beloved, how I related to your predicament...

Well, for starters, a good and basic way to honor your parents is through obedience to them. Under their roof as a child to being an adult and visiting them, doing as you are asked or told by your parents is honoring them. There is also how you speak of them to others and truly in your heart; are they respected? Do you obey your mother at home but when you're with friends is she spoken of bitterly? I feel like I could go on, but overall the principle of honoring your parents has its roots in the supreme commandment of honoring God - for what are earthly parents if not a picture of God's character?

But as is often the case, parents are not perfect, and some of us are born to difficult fathers. I want to say right off the bat that despite of how sour, even miserable our relationship with our fathers may be, we are still called to honor them as well (though not above the authority and commandments of God, and not to where we don't reach out for help when we can as his sins are not justified by any obedience towards him).

Myself and all of my siblings can attest to the less than stellar relationships we had with our father; he too had anger issues - he'd walk into the room and everything would go silent, every now and then he'd explode about something or make a mountain out of an anthill - and right to the T with your father is how I'd continue to describe mine.

With this, we can look at your lack of love for him. The beautiful thing about love is that it's not a feeling, but it's actions. Love is deciding to repay anger with gentleness, bitterness with kindness, a rude comment with an "I love you", and praying for him - the more often, the better - for God commands us to love even our enemies and to pray for those who persecute us (Matthew 5:44), and unfortunately sometimes our fathers are our enemies.

My father was also a man who was very close with bible verses, and I personally look back upon his life and see an honest effort from a man with more pain than I think I ever got to know. My pop felt like a better father when he tried being my friend, if I'm being honest, but I know he cared in his own way (he made sure everyone was at church if you were under his roof, and I'm glad he did) and I'd very much like to give your father the benefit of the doubt; many of us don't like who or where we are, even as Christians, so it could be that is something he's dealing with, or he very well could be dealing with the sin of pride. Regardless, and in fact because of how unlovable he is to you, he needs you all the more, and that right there is one great way to honor you father: love him even when he is unlovable.

And, to be blunt, I would get to loving him ASAP, because tomorrow is not guaranteed.

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

I am once again blessed that you would consider me for advice, and I thank you for I am coming from some personal evaluation of whether or not there are any works within or from me to justify my faith. By the good grace of God, here you are to demand my reliance upon Him with what couldn't have been a more tailor-suited question.

I'll be praying for you both, I sincerely hope you two will be reunited and get to reconcile and grow.

[jankandjonch]

Reasons for Waiting, Part Two

probably my most requested piece. gather your tissues. read part one before reading this. word count: 2.7k

*

“You said you would wait for me, that was the loudest lie I’ve ever been told.”

“Okay, drama queen, just take your turn already,” Jake rolled his eyes at his older brother. 

“Oh, guess who I ran into today,” Josh spoke slowly as he moved his Monopoly piece across the board, his eyes lulling to stare at Danny. Subtlety has never been in his genes.

“Who’s that?,” Danny spoke around the beer bottle raised to his lips.

“Y/N.”

A splatter of the liquid landed on the corner of Josh’s mouth, making him chuckle as he reached to wipe it. Sam reaching for a napkin to clean up the rest of the beer that had been spat out of Danny’s mouth.

“Like from home? Where the fuck did you see her? Is she here? In town? Where did you see her? What did you- what did she say?”

“I’d love to tell you all of the details, if you’d shut the fuck up, my beloved Daniel,” Josh laughed along with his brothers at the shock the simple confession had put Danny in. “I ran into her at Publix. She said she’s doing great, she’s in town visiting her fiancé. She’s still doing photography. She’s got purple hair. Lots of tattoos. This really cute nose ring,” Josh rambled on, waving his hands about.

Fiancé. Danny’s heart was sitting in his lap. He didn’t hear any of the other words Josh’s mouth was spewing out at him. Staring at his lips as he continued talking, all Daniel could hear was blood rushing in his head and the hammering of his heart. His body moved faster than his mind, scooting his chair back a little too aggressively as it slammed into the wall behind him. His legs carried him out the door, he leaned over the banister of Jake’s back patio, feeling lightheaded and nauseous. 

What the fuck is wrong with me? I haven’t seen her in six years. I haven’t spoken to her in five years. Why do I care? Who the fuck is she engaged to? Did she have an engagement party? Did she think about inviting me? Will I be invited to the wedding? Holy fuck. A wedding. She’s going to get married. It won’t be me.

“Babe? What are you doing out here?,” her voice was shrill and it went ran a shiver down his spine. “Are you alright, what happened?” Her hands felt like flames against his skin, burning straight through his shirt.

“I don’t want to be with you.”

“Excuse me?,” her touch turning icy cold. “Like, you need some air, some space?”

He laughed, tearful and gruff, at how hopeful she sounded.

“No. Like I do not want to date you. It’s over, it’s done. I’m in love with someone else,” his voice was stern, even while it wavered as tears streaked his cheeks.

He let out a breath of relief when she left without another word. He didn’t have the strength to argue right now. A rush of wind blew through, Danny closed his eyes, leaning into it. The breeze drying his tears as the moonlight washed over him. He could picture it so vividly in his mind, your presence next to him. 

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He’s 18, it’s his last round of golf on the high school team. He’s oddly emotional, feeling stupid as his eyes begin to water. One glance over at the crowd and his eyes find you, your hand waving him toward you, the other reaching into your bag to get his sunglasses out. He jogs over, so grateful for your over packing tendencies. Slides the oversized glasses on, hiding his reddening eyes from the other players. A kiss to the back of your hand, and he’s back on the fairway. 

He’s 16, his dad is behind him in the mirror, teaching him how to tie his tie. Dan is smiling at his son, his little boy is growing up. Junior prom came in the blink of an eye. Danny’s hands were shaking, growing more and more nervous as the minutes ticked by. He was awaiting your arrival with bated breath, knowing you would look the most beautiful in your dress. His heart stopped, his jaw dropped, his stomach hurt. The rose gold gown you wore caught the setting sunlight in the most glorious way. “Aphrodite,” he called you for the entire evening.

He’s 12, feeling what he could only explain as his first ‘real’ heartbreak. The girl he finally worked up the courage to ask to be his girlfriend had told everyone she only said yes as a joke. He hid in the gymnasium, skipping three classes in a row. The door swung open and he dropped between the bleachers, hoping it wasn’t a teacher and if it was, that they hadn’t seen him. “Daniel, come out of there,” his cheeks glowed red when he heard your voice. Lifting himself out of the bleachers, he saw you approaching him with the worried look of a mother on your face. “You can’t run away from all of your problems, you know?” He didn’t need to, just this one. You understood, and held him in your arms while he cried of how embarrassed he was. You skipped the rest of your classes for the day, walking home with him after the final school bell rang. You made sure he had a glass of water by his bed before you left him as he fell into his bed. His mother gave you a hug before you left, whispering in your ear “you will be such a good wife some day.” 

He’s 7, sat huffing on the side walk with two skinned knees. Unsure if he’s crying because he’s angry, or angry because he’s crying. That stupid jerk from the 9th grade had pushed him while he was trying to skateboard, stealing his board and leaving him bloody and humiliated. He didn’t want to walk home, knowing his mom would give him the fifth degree for losing the board she didn’t even want to buy him in the first place. “I thought you were doing a good job before,” you muttered as you plopped yourself down next to him. “You’re better than that idiot, that’s probably why he took your board. So he could practice some more. He’s a loser.” He stared at you in confusion. “I’m Y/N, by the way,” he stared at your hand outstretched to him. “I’m Daniel. You can call me Danny, though.” He shook your hand.

He’s 24, understanding just how big of a mistake he had made with his life.

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“Did she say where she was staying?,” Danny was panting, out of breath from crying harder as he ran back inside to find Josh again.

“Uh, not specifically. Just said her fiancé lived near the river. I’d guess those apartments by- hey, Dan, wait, don’t-“ Josh couldn’t finish his thought as Danny was sprinting out of the front door, jumping into his car. 

He drove to the river, looking at GPS on his phone, seeing all of the apartment buildings in the area, all of the houses and condos, he felt his shoulders deflate with defeat and his eyes fill with tears once again.

A knock on his window startled him, his head springing up to look at the passenger side of his car. 

“Daniel?”

“Holy fuck.”

“Hi, Daniel,” you laughed, mostly in disbelief as he scrambled out of his car.

“I missed you so fucking much,” he crushed you against his chest, fingers not able to sit still — squeezing into your sides, tangling into your hair, grasping at the back of your sweatshirt, like he thought you’d vanish if he let you break away from him.

“Yeah, I missed you too, Dan,” you did, that was true. The bitterness that you sat with for a while had vanished long ago. “It’s been so crazy to watch your career. I am so fucking proud of you,” you pushed him away from you to look into his eyes, showing him you really meant it.

“You have purple hair,” his eyes were roaming over your appearance, he’s taking so much in at once and he’s overwhelmed.

“Indeed I do, thanks for observing,” you laughed, pushing him further away from you. “Would you like to come in?” You waved your hand in the general direction of the apartment complex across the street.

Hm. Even with no address, no idea of where he was going or what he was looking for, he had found you. He felt proud of that, universal pull or intuition or soulmate attraction or something.

“I’d love to but- I don’t want to- Josh told me-” he didn’t want to say the words again.

“Josh told you that I’m engaged? What a fucking rat. Um, yeah, so, this is actually his apartment but he’s out of town so. Yeah, no worries about running into him or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He simply nodded, letting you lead the way. 

“What were you doing in this area anyway? Josh said you live all the way on the other side of town,” you left him to get comfy on the couch as you grabbed some drinks from the kitchen.

“You asked him about me?,” he stared at the tattoo on your wrist as you handed him a beer. The letters scrolled honey across your skin.

“Okay, I know a lot of time has passed but I think I still know you pretty well and I know this conversation will go absolutely nowhere because your brain is scattered right now. So, ask what you want to ask. Say what you want to say. Get the elephant out of the room, okay?,” you could hardly look into his eyes, knowing he had been crying, wondering if you were the reason why his face was red and puffy.

“You’re engaged? Who is he?,” Danny was quick to spit it out, the question fucking killing him since he heard Josh utter the word.

“His name is Jason, he’s a wonderful guy. Everything you always told me I deserved. Here,” you scooted the photo album that lay on the coffee table closer to him. He realized he hadn’t even taken in his surroundings, snatching up the book and flipping it open so he could see who this man was.

“I didn’t tell Josh where I was staying,” you mumbled. He left that unanswered as he thumbed through the photo book quickly, absorbing as much of these memories as he could, seeing so much of your life that he had missed out on.

“When did you guys meet?,” he needed to know how long this had been happening, somehow he thought that might ease the ache that was spreading in his chest.

“2018. He worked at the tattoo shop that I started going to, and he sat with me in the parking lot one night after a tattoo and we talked for hours. He wanted to know why I was in such a rush to change myself, asked about the word I had him put on my wrist,” your thumb mindlessly brushed over the area as you spoke. “I told him all about you.”

Danny’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, breaking away from watching the motion of your fingers. “What?”

“Well, it was you, after all,” you laughed. “God, I loved you so much Daniel. I really, truly thought it was going to be us. The day you told me you were leaving, I knew. I would never be enough. You were going to have this huge, spectacular life, and I’ve just been happy to see it from the sidelines. I really am proud of you,” you reached over to wipe his tears before you wiped your own, forever putting him before yourself.

“It is us, honey. I swear it is. That’s why I found you tonight,” a sob fell out of his mouth, “I love you. I love you so much and I always have and I’m so fucking sorry I let you go. I should have never sent that last message, it wasn’t what I wanted but I thought it was best and now I’m a fucking wreck because you’re engaged and I can’t watch you marry someone that isn’t me.”

The silence the two of you sat in was full of pain, yearning, regret, and worst of all - disconnect.

“Daniel, I’m in love with Jason. I haven’t been in love with you in a long time. You coming here and making these statements isn’t going to change that, honey.” 

“Can I come?,” his voice was weak, he sounded like a child just shot down from getting his favorite treat.

“To the wedding? You don’t want that, Daniel,” your voice was still full of intent, getting your point across, but shaking as you let your emotions take root.

“You think you aren’t enough for me?”

“What?,” you let out a light laugh at his not so subtle questioning. His mind truly is everywhere and nowhere tonight.

“That’s what you said, a minute ago. You said you knew you would never be enough. You’re wrong. So fucking wrong it’s despicable. You’re everything. You were too good for me, always were too good for me. From the first day we met and you cared more than my own mother about my banged up knees and making sure I wasn’t upset about what that dick Greg O’Connell said to me- you cared about me. Far more than I ever deserved, honestly. Far more than I ever showed you how much I cared. I did, though, I do. I always will care so much about you. I’ll always find you, GPS be damned. Your soul rests with mine and that is something no one can ever take from me. He can take you, marry you, make a family with you. But your soul will always be for me. We’ll find each other again. Maybe the next trip around the Sun. I want to go to the wedding, I want to know and feel that pain, let it hurt enough that I remember it the next time. In the next life, I’ll remember that knife in my fucking chest and I’ll never be selfish enough to let you go again.”

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

As much as everyone, yourself included, agreed it was a bad idea, the following summer you invited Danny and the guys to the wedding. They sat third row from the back on your side, they cheered the loudest when you kissed your husband for the first time. Never able to mistake Josh’s loud whoops or Jake’s wolf whistle for anyone else. As you walked down the aisle to your future, you locked eyes with Daniel. The smile on his face was genuine. So were the tears rolling down his face. You scrunched your nose at him, he returned it immediately. A signal through the years of silently saying I love you, and in this case a thank you for all of the years passed and growth done.

Three weeks later, you sat on the floor of your living room watching a shuffling playlist of music videos on YouTube, sifting through and opening gifts that were left for you and your husband at your wedding. A stack of blank thank you cards sat on the coffee table, writing a personalized one for every person. Opening a sky blue gift bag, pulling out the white stuffing paper, your eyes landed on a white card envelope first. Only your name scrolled across the front, you opened it to begin reading- interrupted by a quick glance toward the TV where ‘Light My Love’ by Greta Van Fleet just begun to play.

Beneath it, encased still in the original plastic box, the boutonniere that he donned the night of Junior prom. A pink rose, dusted with gold, now dried and partially crumbled. You hugged it to your chest, rising from your spot on the floor and wandering to the bookshelves across the room. Ever so gently, as not to jostle it anymore, you reached up on your tip toes to place the gift on the shelf. Right next to the framed photo of yourself and Daniel at graduation.