#future mud dogs

[endearng]

Like father, like daughter

Pairing: teenager dad!Spencer Reid x fem!reader Summary: Sometimes, you think Spencer made your daughter all on his own. Here are a few times that their manners supported your claim. WC: 2.7k Warnings: brief mentions of Spencer's past; mentions of underage drinking and bullying; he's an overprotective dad (because of course he is); JJ and Emily as a godmother couple <3<3<3 A/N: okay I'm super duper happy with how this one turned out. Yay!!! | Masterlist

Sitting together on your front porch, you and Spencer share the intimacy of the peaceful silence. Well, as far as peace goes — your 7 year-old son, Benjamin, plays with the dog, running back and forth, giggling and covering his entire overalls with mud. Barefoot in the grass, all you could do was pray they didn't mess the entire house when they eventually got back inside, but eh, that's a problem for future you. By your side, Spencer sits, focusing on going over his lecture plan for the day ahead, as barefoot as you are. There is a smudge of dirt in his cheek and your hands were feeling a little dry, proof from your earlier activities with Benji and the dog. After a couple minutes, Spencer places the paper aside, glancing lovingly as his son enjoyed being a kid.

You know, the whole projection thing. Spencer, as he raises his second child with you, feels as if his own childhood baggage means little to nothing now. Both of your kids are showered in the most pure love, and even though sometimes you struggle, like any other parents, you are proud of what you've achieved with them. Sometimes, Spencer just watches. Mesmerized. Entranced, as Benjamin discovers how the world works. They sit together by the small piano keyboard as his son attempts things in his own way, at his own pace. It is reinvigorating, to say the least, that the light given by your children and current life is able to burn some of the darkness that lingered in the back of his mind.

Between you two, Spencer is the quieter parent, while you often are seen as the ruler of the house due to his quiet nature. Despite it, all decisions regarding your children are taken together and, overall, you figure that it's how you've managed to stay together for this long. You are constantly discussing your relationship, both as a married couple and as parents, negotiating when some things get too rough or obscure for either of you, resigning when it's needed, but most importantly, loving each other all the way through.

Something that always catches your eye is how he manages to find his way into your heart every single day. You can only hope that's the case for you, too.

Running up to you, followed by a happily-wagging tail Midas, Benjamin giggled as he clutched your knee, resting his sweaty cheek on your thigh. "Mommy, Midas is doing it again.”

You stifle a laugh. Midas is a, thus far, small Samoyed puppy that reached about above Benjamin's knees. The fluffy friend had been a gift from his godmothers, JJ and Emily, after lots and lots of convincing that it would be good for the little boy. Despite the chaos he brings, you and Spencer find that Midas is great for your son's development and general well-being of the people in the house. In fact, Midas seems to have taken a special liking to you and to the little boy, following the two of you around the house whenever he could. Oh, well. Now you have three kids.

Anyway, by it, your son means to say that the dog was trying to climb him again, which, according to Benji, makes him feel ticklish. You gasped. "Oh, no! Midas, play nice!" You say, petting the dog's short ears as he wiggled his tail excitedly.

Benjamin seemed satisfied enough with your reprimand and Spencer smiles by your side, leaning down to plant a kiss to his son's cheek. "Daddy!" He shrieks, squirming and clutching your knee tighter, shoulders shaking with a childish giggle that makes you smile again.

Too involved in the moment, you two almost miss the arrival of your older daughter. Phoebe was almost turning 16. While having been a great child, not one to give you much trouble, her teenage years had been a challenging rollercoaster. First, during her early teenagehood, she struggled a lot to make friends after you and Spencer moved away from Washington, right after Benjamin's birth. You spent your days feeling worried and guilty for having seemingly taken her life away from her, and the thought ate you and your husband alive. Spencer barely slept, too focused on finding somewhere things might have gone wrong, where he might have done her wrong. After some therapy sessions and conversations with you and Spencer, she opened up to the two of you, quelling a bit of your blame. According to her, she felt homesick because the kids around her made her feel different from them. She didn't say anything further, and both you and Spencer respected the confidentiality between her and her therapist, who had filled you in on her behavior and guaranteed that there was nothing for us to worry about. Reluctantly, you believed her word, but never failed to keep her company.

Spencer, during that phase, went out of his way to be close to Phoebe. He took her out to the movies and they spent countless hours discussing them, taught her way around whatever subject she would have trouble with at school and the two of them danced together when she came home with an A+ on her tests. Besides, he delved deeply into her hobbies — you would never forget the day that they came home after a skating session and Spencer had a tear in his pants that exposed a bruised, bleeding knee. You tried to be as close to her as she let you, showing her around town, having weekly hangouts at her favorite ice-cream parlour, going shopping, listening about her days... One day, Spencer had traveled to be a consultant for the BAU for one particular demanding case. You two cared for Benjamin all night long and, pensively, Phoebe glanced between you and the baby securely cradled in your arms.

You had gotten the hint. Or so you thought.

"Hi, mom. Hi, dad. Benji. Midas." She greets, a bit awkwardly, wavy brown hair flowing with the soft breeze of wind.

"Midas says hi." Benji smiles, now back to being good friends with the dog, the two of them sitting on the grass in front of you and Spencer.

“Hi, sweetie.”

“Hi, Ladybug.” Spencer greets back, beaming.

Ladybug. It was the second nickname that Spencer had come up with after formally introducing himself to your newborn baby.

The baby was as red as a tomato from all the exertion of the moment and from her loud crying. Tears rolled down your face as you cradled your daughter against your chest, taking in her soft features, already feeling the sheer force of an overwhelming love. She had the soft curve of her dad's nose, her small pout reminiscent of Spencer's on his baby pictures. You almost wanted to feel frustrated for carrying her for nine months for her to come as a doppelganger of her dad. As you rocked her softly, her skin touching yours, her crying subsided, giving way to big curious eyes looking all around — guess which color. Damn it.

Next to you, Spencer kneeled to get a good look on her face. He was mesmerized as he found in her eyes and soft little pout the traces of his complexion. “Hi, Phoebe… you're so pretty, baby. I'm Spencer, your daddy. Look, this is your mommy…”

As he picked her from your arms, with the utmost care in the world, terrified that he'd drop her or break her were he to use too much strength, he felt complete. There would always be someone to look up to, to be someone for. And the thought made him equally frightened as delighted. "You look like a little dragon," he mumbled playfully instead, trying to downplay the tears that were forming in the corner of his eyes.

Biting back an amused grin, tears brimming in your own eyes, you scolded, "I'm not letting you call our beautiful daughter a dragon, Spence!"

Obediently, he settled for an endeared whisper of Ladybug.

Phoebe mirrors her dad's expression. Sometimes, she looks eerily like him. The features, mannerisms, interests... "I was thinking that, um... since finals are over, maybe I could go to the movies?" She asks, nervously. The same fidgeting hands from Spencer all those years ago. You try not to swoon.

Spencer gives her a weird look, but she's too busy waiting for your answer that she misses it. Naturally, she would ask for your permission, just like Spencer himself and Benjamin went up to you to check if it was okay to make physics magic — you had once stepped on one that they had left lying on the floor, and it wasn't pretty. Neither the ache in your foot, nor your reprimand.

You smile, happy that she's taking upon herself to have her own free-time activities. "Of course, sweetie, it's alright." You answer neutrally, not missing to read the subtle glance that Spencer throws your way. "Who are you going with?”

“Some friends.”

“What friends?” Spencer inquiries.

Fidgeting, she answers, “Kristen, Charlie and Alison.”

“I don't know any of—”

You cut your husband's mutter off with a nudge of your elbow on his rib. "Alright, sweetie. I can drive you to the cinema.”

"No need!" She says, rushed. "We'll meet at Charlie's to walk there together.”

Spencer looks alarmed with anxiety. You were amused, but still played the part, feeding into both Spencer and Phoebe's own perspective of the right outcome of the situation. “Are you sure, Phoebe?”

“Yeah, mom. Don't worry.” She says, shyly, that little look in her eye that tells you she is hiding something. “Thanks for offering, though.”

“Of course, baby.”

Smiling softly, she dashes back into the house. Spencer shrieks by your side, “why would you do that?!”

You remain composed as ever. “Do what?”

He glares at your feigned-innocence tone.

"Spence, darling, Phoebe needs to trust us. Aren't you happy she's making friends and taking the initiative of going out?”

Spencer looks conflicted for a second. "Still, I don't know any of these people. They could be doing all sorts of wrong stuff, not to mention the influence they can have on Phoebe.”

“Spence, Charlie lives down the street. She's the one who was here the other day.”

He falters for a moment, searching his brain for the Charlie girl as you make a small gesture above your shoulder, meaning her haircut. “They are teenagers!”

“Darling,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder. “They're going to watch a movie. Trust her judgment, okay?” You ask, biting back a grin, amused by his sheer nervousness. You search Benjamin's eyes as if to say, can you believe this guy?!

You don't find them, though. Midas is trying to climb him again at a distance.

"Oh, so you're not taking this seriously, huh?" He asks, mildly upset.

"Darling, I am!” You say, smiling. “But Phoebe is a good kid. I think you're overreacting." You mumble the last part, glancing back at Benjamin. Midas is licking his face. You try not to think that just earlier, the dog was chewing on a dirty shoe.

"Overreacting?!"

You look at him, softening. He looks almost panicked. "Do you want me to call their parents? I'm sure she's left their numbers, like we always asked and she's rarely done because she doesn't leave the house without us." You say in a light tone, standing up, making your way inside the house to grab your cell phone. Spencer waits behind, anxiously, keeping an eye on Benjamin and his friend who were now playing fetch.

Barely sitting back on the chair, he starts, "A research shows that around 22.7 percent of high school students have consumed one drink of alcohol on at least one day in the month prior to this specific survey? Do you know how alarming that is? Besides, the results concluded that alcohol consumption is higher among female students.”

"Gee, and you're telling me we have one of these sleeping under the same roof as us?" You ask, amused, scrolling through your phone, and you can hear him huffing softly. Finding your and Phoebe's messages chat, which, like expected, were now spammed with the adults’ phone numbers, you show it to Spencer.

He breathes in. "I'm not convinced." He grumbles.

"Spence, come on, sweetheart... We've always been so careful with Phoebe. I think we should give her a little credit and be happy that she's taking her own steps." You say, now with an earnest tone. He sighs. “Plus, we do know which kind of behaviors and environments lead to underage drinking. We have a safe space.”

"You're right, you're right. I just... I'm so scared, you know? I guess I was secretly relieved to see that she was quieter like me, but I guess that's just me frustrated that she now gets a life of her own. And, you know, I've seen it all... I don't ever want anything to happen to her. Or to Benji. Not you, either. God, not you. Hell, not even Midas."

You chuckle softly, placing your hand on his shoulder again, giving it a gentle squeeze and kissing his temple. "We have the best one on our backs all the time. Can't go wrong with that."

Spencer smiles, seeming to finally have believed you. You two share a knowing, happy glance that spoke many things. Amidst them, there is the unchangeable, non negotiable, explicit truth: I'm so happy you're the one I'm doing this with.

As he stands up to clean up both Benjamin and Midas before they enter the house back again, you check the location that you had asked for her to share when you were inside the house. Cinema. Oof.

What? Even teenagers scare teenagers. How would they not scare you?!

—

Soon enough, Phoebe's social life blooms into weekly hangouts with those friends. Eventually, they began to come over to your home and Spencer was slowly warming up to them. The house, which barely registered Phoebe's voice before then, was now filled with laughter and young voices discussing things such as pop music, bands, politics and celebrities. Things go smoothly as ever. There is just a single problem that Phoebe chooses not to address. Whenever the girls go to the movies, Phoebe always feels a presence looming around. Call it sixth sense or being a girl, but sometimes, she can't help but feel like she is being watched.

Spencer, before meeting you, was as quiet and reserved as a stranger in a new country, only opening his mouth to speak about facts and relevant information to the cases in which he worked. It was well after your relationship that he began to speak more freely, more spontaneously. After six dates, you found out how his laughter sounded. It was shy, but it had an inherent adorableness to it that it was easily distinguished from the rest. It is an oddly endearing sound that Phoebe knew all too well, too used to hearing it from his (existential) dad jokes.

When she gets home, wearing a shoe of each color, matching with Kristen, Phoebe doesn't mention the familiar laughter at the movies. Instead, she just greets her dad and they have a glancing contest, a conversation in which you are nothing but a spectator. In the silence, they bloom together.

It was when Benji was almost turning eight, on a bet with his sister that he couldn't find the presents you and Spencer had gotten him earlier, that he found a love letter filled with soft pink lipstick marks under her bed. Benji showed it to you and your husband to ask why someone would kiss paper. After Spencer stuttered out an excuse and your son left to sit on the couch, you grinned. “It runs in the family,” you teased, remembering how Spencer would struggle to speak properly around you back when you were simply dating.

The lipstick shade matched the one Kristen was always wearing. Phoebe couldn't look you in the eye for a week after she got home and saw you and Spencer examining the paper in your hands, struggling to find the words to talk to Benji.

At Benji's birthday/Halloween party, Phoebe and Kristen dressed up as Marceline and Bubblegum. You, Spencer and Benji wore Scooby Doo's gang costumes with small pride pins on your chests. Midas wore a rainbow tie. A silent manifestation of your support, willing the two of them to speak at their own pace.

As you cleaned up as much as you could, guests already on their way home, Kristen approached you, an almost apprehensive edge on her voice, “Mrs. Reid, may I speak to you and your husband for a moment?”

You and Spencer shared a knowing look, already familiar with the outcome of that moment.

This is the simplest yet rarest joy in your life. To share it with Spencer.

[waynes-multiverse]

Time After Time – Chapter 2

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, angst, humor, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, fluff if you squint, SB being a nice and kind human

Word Count: 4.8k

Posted on Patreon March 8, 2025

A/N: Welcome to Bizarro World, where Soldier Boy is somewhat OOC (but still a sly dog). Have fun snooping through his life, folks! Big thank you to everyone for your overwhelming support on Part 1 and kudos to all of you who figured out the little time travel theory we're going with here 🤓🩵

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 2: Is This the 40s?

Deep breaths, you reminded yourself as you squatted in a puddle of mud in an abandoned alley, throbbing and roaring head in your hands. If you could only manage to control your jittering, fragile nerves, maybe you’d find your way back.

Come on, come on, come on…

“Miss?”

Fuck.

Your gaze lifted to the tall, shadowy figure by the mouth of the alley, already recognizing the unmistakeable deep timbres of Soldier Boy before he stepped into the light.

“I believe I told you to leave me alone,” you muttered, annoyed.

An idiot like Soldier Boy would not be history’s downfall. You had to ensure the timeline stayed intact. The less interaction you had with him, the better.

“I know. I’m-… I’m sorry, miss,” he apologized once more to you.

If you hadn’t heard it with your own ears, you wouldn’t have thought apologies were even part of his vocabulary, hearing him say the word twice was almost mind-boggling. Then your eyes fixed on the little black box tightly clasped in his left hand and widened in horror – your phone.

Losing futuristic devices like this was a big time-traveling no-no.

Luckily, Soldier Boy was probably too much of a moron to puzzle it altogether. That might just be history’s saving grace.

“You-, uh, you lost this. Just wanted to return it,” he said and tentatively held the phone out to you.

With an exhaustive sigh, you jumped to your feet and ripped the device out of his hand. “Give that to me!”

You huffed a ‘thank you’ and stomped down the alley, back towards the busy street. All you needed was a quiet and warm place to figure this out and return to your own time. But Soldier Boy was still hot on your tail, following you with a swift pace.

“Miss, wait! Wait a second! Hey!”

With a few long strides of his bow legs, he had flagged you down before you’d even reached the main street. But that didn’t halt your feet completely, although he’d slowed you down significantly.

“What? I told you to stay away. Stop following me,” you snapped.

“I’m just trying to ensure you’re alright,” he insisted, attempting to appear as harmless as possible.

At this point, you thought you were beginning to hallucinate because your mind tried to convince you there was actual, legitimate worry gleaming in his forest green eyes. In reality, he was probably just acting to save the damsel in distress, so he could warm her up at his penthouse and slip something into her drink.

Not fucking happening. 

“I’m fine.” You gritted a smile and opted to ignore him as you scurried past the first crowd of people on the sidewalk.

“No offense, miss, but you don’t seem fine,” he insisted and ran in front of you, blocking your way. With a frustrated groan, you finally stopped and sent him a glare, but he only met you with a sincere look. “Let me help you, alright? I promise I mean no harm or ill-intention if that is what you’re worried about.”

Ha! 

Internally, you snorted. But he raised his open palms again as if to prove his words, his eyes boring intensely into yours. He might as well have been fucking Mindstorm.

“Listen, you look like someone who’s used to getting what he wants all the time, but no means no. Stop following me, okay?”

You hoped you had finally drilled the message into his thick skull and he’d leave you alone after this, but alas he wouldn’t be Soldier Boy if he listened to you. One step past him, and a hand grabbed your arm.

Ready to fend him off, you were surprised to find his grip wasn’t strong by any means. It was barely a brush before he dropped his hand again and looked at you remorsefully.

“I’m sorry! I just-… Please let me help you,” he reiterated with imploring green eyes. “Look, you clearly seem lost. Just tell me where you live, and I can get you home safely, okay? C’mon, you can’t do this to me.” He tried to loosen you up with a charming smile and a puppy dog look. “If you leave like this, I’m going to be up all night, worrying you’ve died of hypothermia out here.”

And my God, he seemed sincere! No wonder he had gotten attention from women like a goddamn bunny in a petting zoo.

Musingly, you then chewed on your lower lip and assessed the man in front of you. The people who strolled by you threw you the occasional weird looks – you’d chosen a bad day to wear a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans.

Admittedly, you could use a little help here. Maybe if you were being careful with the timeline – and him – you could risk it.

You exhaled a hesitant breath, but your head nodded slightly. “Just-, uh, just get me to Fifth Avenue. I can find my way from there, alright?”

It was a simple request, but his brows drew together as if you’d just asked him something insane.

“Fifth Avenue as in New York City?” he questioned.

Oh no, you didn’t like where this was going.

“Yes?”

He clicked his tongue, scratching the nape of his neck where the collar of his coat ended. “Well, uh, I guess I could take you there tomorrow. It’s about a four hour car ride in this weather. I mean, if we took the train, we’d be a little faster.”

Four hours?! 

“Where-, uh… What, uh, what city am-, am I?”

He clicked his tongue again. This time, a little smirk twitched on his lips too, but he tried his best to hide his amusement. “Uh, Philadelphia. You know, Pennsylvania?”

“Yeah, no, I know geography, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

Curling your lips, you tilted your head at him, your cheeks catching heat, even though you were practically freezing. Oh, he was trying to be clever now, wasn’t he?

Sheepishly, he met your eyes and smiled innocently.

But when that little fascinating moment had passed, you realized you were still stuck here, and the panic set back in. Your gaze flickered around – there was nowhere you could go. However, you then noticed something else – no one was staring at Soldier Boy, even though he was supposed to be America’s greatest hero. Was he in a disguise? Was that what he did back then?

“So, uhm… is this the 40s?”

There was beat of silence as he licked his lips. “Yeah, uh, this is the 40s, sweetheart.” He laughed heartily, throwing his head back. “You know, I’ve had some bad hangovers and woke up someplace, not knowing where I was, but I’ve never forgotten the year before.”

No surprise, you thought wryly and then swallowed, glancing back up at him.

“So, uhm, what year is this?”

“It’s January 24, 1942,” he replied patiently, his eyes watching you closely.

And then, it began to dawn on you.

“And what d’you do? Are you, uhm–“ Soldier Boy? “–a soldier?”

He laughed again, his cheeks slightly blushing in the cold. He adjusted the flat cap on his head. “Uh, no. Well, not yet anyways. I actually just came from the office downtown and enlisted when I ran into you.”

Holy fucking shit.

The man before you wasn’t a supe yet. He wasn’t Soldier Boy yet. He was just a normal human, and you felt like you were staring through the looking-glass and seeing Wonderland.

And if your math was correct, it also meant the guy in front of you was no more than 23 years old.

Holy fucking shit.

“But, uh, I also work at my father’s office,” he added after you hadn’t said anything. “Why are-, why are you looking at me like that?” he then asked with a flustered chuckle, and you realized you were still staring at him.

“Oh, uhm, I’m sorry,” you apologized quickly and forced a smile. “You just looked like a soldier, I guess.”

His cheeks reddened even more as he bashfully averted his eyes to the snowy pavement and scratched the back of his neck. “Well, uh, thank you.”

He clearly took it as a compliment that he already looked the part of a hero. Nice save, you praised yourself.

“Why-, uh, why don’t we get you warmed up a little, huh?” he suggested kindly and finally dared to step closer. Swiftly, he took off his coat and draped it over your shoulders and bare arms. “Here, take my coat. You poor thing must be freezing. Look at you, you’re shaking.”

His smile was friendly and reassuring as he adjusted the collar around your neck. Uncomfortably, you rolled your shoulders, though, and backed away from his touch.

“Alright, uhm, just please don’t touch me,” you said, your voice meek and barely audible. You knew technically it wasn’t the same guy who had abused, tortured, harassed, and bullied you for months on end, but you still didn’t want his hands anywhere near you.

“Okay, yeah, sure,” he resigned and raised his palms again before gesturing down the street, trying his hardest not to lay a hand on the small of your back and lead you there himself. “There’s a diner a few blocks from here. Would that be okay?”

Reluctantly, you nodded, wrapping the thick coat, which smelled like his cologne and cigars, tighter around you as you followed him.

Fortunately, the diner was quaint and dimly lit. The bell above the door jingled as you entered with your unwanted sidekick. He made sure to always stay one step behind you, and you didn’t know if it was because it was polite to let the lady go first, or if he just wanted to keep a watchful eye on you in case you’d make a run for it again.

You passed a row of customers sitting hunched over at the counter before Soldier Boy – or not Soldier Boy yet – then picked a table in a quiet corner, away from everyone else as if he knew you’d appreciate the privacy. The less people saw and noticed you, the better. You knew you had to get home fast before messing up the intricate fabric of time too much.

“So, uh, what’s your name?” he asked as the waitress placed down his simple black coffee and your Earl Grey, your cold hands quickly grasping onto the hot mug and warming against the ceramic.

“Uh… Cindy,” you replied quickly, not wanting to give him your real name and share too much. It was smarter to be careful.

“Cindy, huh?” The name rolled off his tongue with a subtle smirk as if he liked the sound of it. “Does that come with a last name?”

“Uh, yes… Lauper,” you replied and bit your lip hard. “I’m, uh, from the Lauper’s of Upstate New York, you know? From a small town called, uh… Flatiron.”

“Huh. Interesting…” he mused, pursing his lips. “Never heard of it.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, it’s a small town…” you deflected and sipped on your drink.

“Well, uhm, I’m Benjamin Brooks,” he introduced himself with a suave smile. “But, uh, most people just call me Ben.”

When you only gave him a disinterested nod, he licked his lips, his fingers tapping against the coffee mug in his hold before he looked at you again and cleared his throat.

“You’ve, uh, probably heard of the name. My father owns half the steel mills in the state,” he said with a bragging grin, which lost its energy when you still didn’t give him the time of day.

“Uh-huh…”

“Brooks Steel Company? You’ve never heard of it?”

“Nope.”

“Huh.” Somewhat defeated, he pursed his lips, his fingers tapping on the table this time. Then, a soft smile formed as he leaned back in his seat. “So, uh, what about you? What brings you here to Philadelphia?”

“Uhm… business,” you said as if you were answering a customs question at the airport.

“Really? What kind of business?”

“You ask a lot of questions…”

He chuckled slightly, his cheeks blushing. “Well, uh, excuse my curiosity, please. It’s just-… well, the clothes you’re wearing and the, uh, weird black box you’re carrying… What is it, anyway?”

Shit. 

“Uh, it’s a… flashlight,” you replied, thinking of the most basic function of your phone.

“Flashlight?”

“Yes, it’s a… prototype. Uses lithium-ion batteries instead of the carbon-zinc ones you find in flashlights at this… current time… right now,” you explained in a careful stammer and only realized you might have said too much when his brow raised.

“Huh.” He stumped for a beat. “You know a lot of technical things for a woman.”

Internally, you wanted to groan at the sexist remark, but considering it was 1942, you had to admit he was probably right. Even in the 21st century, it was still a rarity to find a woman in a STEM field.

“Yes, uh, well, my father taught me some stuff,” you lied. As a matter of fact, your father was a drunk loser, who couldn’t change a single lightbulb even if you turned it into a joke. “You know, just small… simple things. God knows I could barely understand what he was saying half the time.”

Your silly giggle at the end was the cherry on top of your sales pitch.

“Ah, that makes sense,” Ben bought it, chuckling.

Jesus fuck, shoot me…

“Where did you get it?”

“Huh?”

“The flashlight.”

“Oh…” Think fast. “I-, uh, I built it, yeah… To sell, you know? It’s an experiment, but it failed, so you can forget about it, okay?”

That was believable, right? Wozniak got nothing on you. And technically, you had already swapped out the broken screen glass of your vPhone multiple times – by yourself. It wasn’t so far-fetched if you really thought about it…

“Alright.” Ben nodded, a smile playing on his lips as he took a sip of coffee. “And, uh, is that why you’re wearing those clothes? Are you a mad scientist or farmhand or–“

Your eyebrows drew together. “A farmhand?”

He laughed lightly, shaking his head. “I promise I don’t mean any offense, sweetheart. It’s just women… people usually don’t really run around wearing… well, that,” he explained and gestured a hand up and down your frame.

Uncomfortably, you wrapped his wool coat tighter around you, the small, pleased twitch of his lips at your action sending a shiver down your spine. As you let your glance wander through the small establishment, you noted the tight dresses and skirts with tailored waists all women were wearing. You definitely looked odd and out of place compared to all the Mrs. Maisels around you.

Most of them were even wearing hats, too. Hats. Wide-brimmed ones and pillboxes and snoods and berets. Fucking berets.

And here you sat – with a messy bun that you hadn’t even bothered to brush once after rolling out of bed this morning.

“No, I-, uh, I just grabbed what I found,” you answered him quickly then but could see his lips parting with another question. Luckily, you were interrupted this time.

“Benjamin Brooks! You rat bastard!”

Ben’s green eyes widened almost comically as he shared a brief look with you before turning his head to the young, furious woman who stormed into the diner, heels clicking on the floor.

Ah yes, finally a more familiar side of the man you recognized from the future.

“Grace, darling!” Flustered, he rose from his seat with an awkward laugh, and you could tell he was trying to keep the drama on the down-low for your benefit.

The harsh slap across his cheek he instantly received, however, echoed loudly through the quiet diner. A few heads turned as cutlery clinked against tableware, but no one dared to say anything. You buried your face in your tea and tried to stifle your laugh.

Man, you would love to slap the human version of him, too.

“Don’t darling me, Benjamin, after you’ve been two-timing me with that tramp Betty Vanderbilt!” the girl yelled loud enough for the whole diner to hear.

Sheepishly and with a bit of charm, Ben scratched the back of his neck. “Well, to be fair, I thought you knew about Betty. We weren’t exactly exclus–“

He barely got the word out before another slap rang through the diner as her hand came down hard on his cheek once more. It was turning crimson red rather quickly and was a sight to behold. You had to admit you liked that girl.

“Not exclusive?! We’re engaged, you dog!”

Holy shit! Soldier Boy used to have a fiancée? Well, you’re not surprised that didn’t work out…

“I already forgave you once for sleeping with Sheila! I can’t believe you did this to me again!”

As much as you enjoyed the show, you appreciated the distraction and saw it as a perfect opportunity to sneak away and finally get rid of him. Stealthily, you rose from your chair and crept by the arguing couple to the exit.

You were warmed up enough to find shelter on your own and hoped the timeline wasn’t too cracked when you’d return. Mostly, though, you hoped Soldier Boy was too self-centered to remember someone like you.

You had made it all the way to the sidewalk again before his voice reached your ears. You sighed your frustration but kept on walking, ignoring his calls.

“Cindy! Hey, uh, wait!”

Shit.

Why was he so fucking fast? He wasn’t even a supe yet.

Once more, he came to a stop in front of you and blocked your way. “Why-, uh, why did you leave? I mean, I know this looked really bad, but–“

“Look, uh, thank you for everything,” you interrupted his beginning of an excuse with as much patience as you could find within yourself. “I know you’re trying to be nice and all, and you’ve been super kind… But I’ve got it from here, alright? Just forget you ever met me, okay?”

Amused, he snorted. “Well, kinda hard to forget someone like you, sweetheart.”

Fucking fuck.

“What d’you mean? I’m completely normal.” You tried to shrug it off, but you’d never been the best actress – another thing the two of you had in common.

“No, you’re not.” A smirk rose on his lips that he tried to bite back. “I mean, sure, you’re exceptionally beautiful, but you’re also kind of… mysterious. Guess that’s what intrigues me.”

Fuck. In all your effort to get rid of him and save the timeline, you had actually attracted his attention more. It seemed like your dismissiveness and aggression had only piqued his interest instead of deterring it. Your fallacy was thinking he’d back off from a strong, rude, and unruly woman like you.

You probably should’ve acted more like Grace, Betty, and Sheila – be forgettable.

“Alright, out of curiosity, does this little routine usually work for you?” you challenged, arching a brow. A smile played across your lips as you watched his reaction.

“What routine?”

“Oh, you know… Turning up the charming smile and being nice, while also dropping your rich daddy’s name and how much money you’ve got,” you retorted. “I mean, I guess it must work, right? Surely worked for Grace, Betty, and Sheila so far.”

Bobbing his head, he pursed his lips for a moment while you enjoyed your win. But with a smack of his lips, he found your eyes, the little smirk on his lips not fully vanished yet.

“Alright, I know how this looks, okay? But it’s not what you think,” he started.

“Oh, so you didn’t sleep with all of these women?”

“Well, uhm…”

Complacently, you threw him a smile. “Goodbye, Benjamin.”

“No, wait! Why don’t you come back inside with me where it’s warm and let me explain everything?” he proposed and then sent you that charmingly cute smile again. “I’m kinda starting to freeze here, you know? You’re still wearing my coat, sweetheart.”

“Oh, uh… Sorry.” Your brow knitted as you stared down at the warm, long clothing item around you. Flustered, your cheeks blushed, but as you began to take it off with the intent to hand it back to him, he stopped you.

“No, uh, please keep it. I can find another one,” he said, laughing softly. “Besides, it looks better on you.”

God, you wanted to slap him like Grace.

“Well, uhm, thank you, but I’m still not coming back in there with you again, alright?” you said firmly. “I have to get going now. Don’t follow me anymore.”

You tried to push past him, but of course, he still wasn’t listening to you.

“Wait! Just wait a second!”

And you knew if you didn’t stop, he would just keep following you till you both died of hypothermia. So, you spun to face him with a deeply impatient frown.

“Do you even know where you’re going? Do you have a place to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Where? In New York? You know, you’re not going to make it there on foot today. Especially during this weather,” he noted with a bit of playfulness in his voice. “Unless, you’re planing on stealing a car.” He chuckled but then lifted a brow at you. “You’re not, are you?”

“No, of course not!”

Well, not the worst idea…

“Alright, look, my parents are out of town for a month. Got the the whole mansion to myself. Just stay at my place for the night, and we can figure out how to get you to New York in the morning, alright?”

“You do know what that sounds like, right? Are you even hearing yourself?” you questioned, causing him to laugh again. It was still weird to hear it without undertones of viciousness in it – like a temporal whiplash.

“The house is big enough, and I promise you’ll have your own bedroom. Not mine, alright?” he clarified but tried to hide a smile. “Unless–“

“Nope.”

“Alright, well, uh, the point is, it’s big enough, so you don’t even have to see me if you don’t want to,” he added with an innocently imploring look. “Just let me help you, please.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, your brow only creasing more. “Why do you wanna help me so badly, huh? I don’t understand. I mean, are you really doing this out of the sheer goodness of your heart of gold? What’s your angle here, soldier boy?”

He chuckled, his cheeks warming with a flush. “Gotta say, kind of like that nickname.”

“I bet you do,” you muttered wryly. “So, why? Why are you helping me?”

Ben scratched his jaw and took a step closer to you. The air shifted, a part of you wondering if he’d finally drop his mask. He kept his deep voice low as he spoke.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I know you’ve been serving me a lot of bullshit today.” Your heart stopped, but when you glanced at him, he wasn’t angry. He was… worried. “I don’t mind, okay? You just-… you look like someone who’s in a bit of trouble, and I guess I can relate, so let me help you, alright?”

“I-… I don’t know,” you replied honestly this time, both hesitation and caution shimmering in your eyes as your teeth clawed into your bottom lip. “What if I say no, you’re gonna hand me over to the cops? The asylum people?”

“Is that where you broke out from?”

A bit offended, you gasped. “The asylum?!”

Granted, you were acting a little crazy – for the time period. You were perfectly ordinary and sane in your own century.

Oh God, was that how Soldier Boy felt in your time? Always displaced and out-of-touch? What a horrible feeling…

“No, jail,” he said then, which caused your brow to raise in surprise.

“Oh.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you. “Wait, did you break out of jail?”

“No!”

“Alright, uhm…” Ben laughed and rubbed his palms together, probably to keep himself warm. His sandy-blond hair had collected quite a bit of snow. He must’ve forgotten his cap inside the diner. “Listen, I’m not going to call anyone. I promise you can trust me, okay?”

That seemed like a trap, right? A demon tricking you into making a deal for your soul.

“Are you, uhm, running from someone?” he asked, with not only concern but also determination to fight whoever was after you gleaming in his eyes.

Ironic, you thought since you were running from him.

“Uh, no, not really,” you replied hesitantly.

“Were you held somewhere?” he asked next, carefully licking his lips. “You know, against your will?”

Yes, by you, you wanted to scream.

“Kinda, yeah,” you admitted softly. And in a way, it felt weirdly therapeutic to confess that to the Dr. Jekyll version of your future Hyde.

“Okay, uhm…” He swallowed subtly, nodding. Then, his eyes bored so sincerely into yours you really thought you’d fallen down the rabbit hole. “Well, you don’t have to be scared. You’re safe with me, alright?”

Fuck. You were fucking screwed, weren’t you?

“So? You’re finally gonna let me help you?”

You exhaled a deep breath as you assessed the man in front you once more. You had no place to go, it was cold, and the sun was beginning to set. Your powers, on the other hand, still seemed to be dormant.

“Fine,” you caved at last. “One night. And you better not crawl into my bed, alright?”

Placatingly, he raised his hands again but there was a broad smile on his freckled face this time. “Understood, loud and clear. I heard you earlier – no means no.”

Wow. You began to wonder what really happened to the guy in the following 80 years to shape him into the toxic piece of shit you have to deal with on a daily basis.

“You sure your fiancée won’t mind if you take another woman home? I don’t wanna get burned at the stake again,” you quipped, but there was wariness behind it. Grace’s slaps looked pretty painful. You’d rather avoid it if you could.

“Again?”

“Long story,” you sighed. When you first had told Soldier Boy about your past, he’d been kind and understanding. He’d said it was a good thing that all those people who tried to burn you were dead now – which was about the nicest thing a guy like him could’ve said.

Then he turned around and made fun of you for months on end.

“Well, uhm, I can assure you she won’t kill you. It’s not like that, alright? She’s not my fiancée. Trust me,” Ben said, amused.

“That’s not what she said,” you pointed out. You were definitely believing that woman over him. He was a fucking dog – as Grace put it. You were sure that personality trait was the same at any point in time.

“Technicality.” He shrugged it off. You arched a brow. He smirked. “It’s a long story, too.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing. “Alright, fine.”

Ben’s smile twitched eagerly to rise higher by the heartbeat. “Okay, uhm, my car’s over there.”

He gestured down the street past the diner and let you pass, only walking closely next to you but careful not to touch as his arm only hovered protectively behind your back.

“Still no touching there, alright, Romeo?” you reminded him with a stern finger.

“I know,” he sang, chuckling. “Just trying to be proactive here. There’s a lotta ice, you know? Wouldn’t want you to slip in your basketball shoes.”

For reference, you were wearing a simple pair of black Chucks.

“Fine, I’ll allow it.”

“You allow it, huh?” he teased with a boyish grin.

“Yeah, I’ll allow you to protectively guard me from a distance,” you retorted. “You’re not supposed to enjoy it, though.”

“Oh, I don’t think that was the deal we made, sweetheart.” His grin grew even wider now.

“Don’t make me regret this already,” you sighed.

“Well, uh, too late. We’re already here,” he then said and stopped, motioning to a deep emerald green, elegant, sleek car with a beige convertible roof. “That’s it. It’s a Cadillac 75. What d’you think?”

“I don’t know enough about cars to be impressed,” you told him.

He laughed, rubbing his chin. “Well, worth a shot.”

Ben then opened the door for you and waited till you were safely seated inside (or trapped) before rounding the vehicle and sliding into the driver’s seat.

And as the two of you drove down the snowy streets of Philadelphia, you wondered if you had just gotten into a car with Clarence or with the fucking devil himself.

▶️ Chapter 3: I'm Going To Be a Lady If It Kills Me

Ah, yes... Wouldn't we all love to slap him like Grace in the future? 😂 What do you think of young Ben so far? While he seems nicer and kinder than his alter ego, there are surely some core personality traits present 😜

Coming Up:

Reluctantly, you stepped into the hallway, unsure of how to ask, but the need to find something – anything – took over. It wasn’t like you could just wander around in a towel, although you were sure your host would probably appreciate the sight.

“Uhm, Ben?” you called softly, your tone a little shakier than you'd intended.

A few moments passed before his voice answered from down the hall, a bit too loud, as though he’d been waiting for this. “Yeah?”

“I-, uh, I don’t have... anything to wear,” you said quietly and swallowed, your gaze drifting to your bare feet on the floorboards.

There was a long pause before he appeared in the doorway, his face flushed. “Right. Well, I-... I can get you something,” he said. His eyes flicked to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again, the awkwardness hanging between you like a palpable thing that you could reach out and touch with your fingers. “I–” His voice dropped lower as he turned away for a second, his hand on the doorframe. He then gave a brief chuckle, almost self-conscious. “I don’t usually keep spare clothes for, uh, guests. But I’m sure I can find something that fits you. One second.”

You felt tethered to the ground as he disappeared down the hall, unsure whether to laugh or fucking scream. He came back a few moments later with a shirt and pants, an outfit clearly meant for a man, and you were pretty sure they were his own. The fit would be loose, but better than nothing.

“Here,” he said, offering it to you. His gaze lingered on you a second longer than was probably polite before he turned away again, his cheeks tinged pink.

Yeah, you had to get rid of the towel. You didn’t want to give him any ideas – or more, for that matter. He’d already seen you naked various times in the future. You knew privacy was an alien concept to that man.

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[eggbem]

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles episodes I wish we could have gotten (in no particular order):

The turtles get cloaking charms to look human, like Sunita or Big Mama have (I just wanna know what they'd look like as humans, canonically)

A flashback of the first time the turtles met April

More Donnie and Raph content (More Brains and Brawn, please and thank you)

More Donnie and Leo content

So much more more Mikey content in general

Casey Jr. adapting to living in not-the-apocalypse

Casey Jr. flashing back to all his future's turts and his April, and comparing them to their younger counterparts

Raph bonding with Cassandra (because raph and casey brotp ftw)

Cassandra bonding with Casey Jr.

We meet April's parents and April's parents meet the Hamatos

MORE TIME WITH GRAM-GRAM KARAI maybe before she got got (a flashback kinda ep) or Mikey talks to her as a Hamato ghost idk

An episode about Big Mama's masked lackey (I know we got a reveal for her in the anniversary comic, but I want to know mooore)

Another girls night episode, but with April, Sunita AND Cassandra

Cassandra trying to un-Krangify the foot leaders

Actually, maybe also an entire episode (or series of episodes) dedicated to addressing the fallout and trauma from the Krang invasion

The Crying Titan. 'Nuff said.

Draxum winning over the rest of the brothers (My theory on how it would go down: Donnie's the next most receptive besides Mikey. Raph's trust is harder to earn, but is won over when Raph sees how Draxum wants to protect the family as much as he does. Leo's...gonna take some work)

Leveling up ninja training, working on each turtle's weakest area. This would probably work better as multiple episodes, where in each one, Splinter focuses on one turtle's training and they root out some deeper-seated personal issues. And maybe working around post-krang injuries (Mikey's arms, Leo's leg, Donnie's shell, Raph's eye)

More Todd and the weird dentist poachers, there was definitely supposed to be more there

More Hueso, maybe with another turtle besides Leo

Agent Bishop and Sister Krang

More Mud Dogs, with Sean Astin voicing Heinous Green

[sodapopper]

How people see Darry Curtis depending on what they think his favorite color is:

Darry and the color purple are as intimate as the faded bruises on his knuckles, ink and blood, the anger in his veins. He’s restless and full of rage, sinew rippling with too much strength. A leashed dog, all fang. This is the guy who starts rumbles. This is the guy feared by gangs. This is the guy who almost broke Steve’s jaw for suggesting he’s dumb. He yells too much and swears too much and claws tooth and nail at the lot he’s been given, desperate to drag his brothers out of the grease they were born into. A Darry who loves purple is a Darry who’s discontent, who rages against the system, who fights like a man condemned. Blood and sweat. Switchblades.

Darry and the color brown is a guy who’s lost in the labor, lost in the exhaustion of living. He works and works and it’s still not enough, the bills piling up, his muscles sore. He comes home to a silent house and collapses on the couch. The work is done but his back aches. He looks to the future. There is no future. He is broken and silent, shoulders bowed beneath the burden. He doesn’t cry. Fear and failure coexisting, the mantra of his life. No one will ever hate him as much as he hates himself. Insomnia. Black coffee. Dark circles under his eyes. Dad’s shoes are too big to fill, and he’s drowning in the pressure.

But oh, the color green—Darry who loves green like the little tract of earth outside his bedroom window, hearty and determined to grow weeds no matter how much mud and snow and teenage feet lay waste to the yard. Darry who loves green hasn’t forgotten the pride of his father or the goodness of childhood, hasn’t forgotten the hope so hard to come by. He’s softer, kinder, more open with his boys. Sometimes, he remembers how to laugh—that deep feeling in his chest, rumbling out like spring thunder. Life has not been kind to him, but he takes it by the hand anyway, plows forward, refuses to bend. Late nights and unexpected laughter. Football in the lot. Dirty shoes on the kitchen floor, chocolate cake on the table, the shape of his brothers when he hugs them. Darry whose favorite color is green is a Darry who holds love with closed fists and warm heart. A Darry who won’t give up. A Darry who won’t let go.

Darry whose favorite color is green is a Darry who finally found healing.

[evilminji]

Know what's been haunting me? And my Yandere loving brain?

What if... an SI-OC? Fffffucked UP™?

Like? STRAIGHT up "....Oh No. I have? GRAVELY miscalculated."? Cause? And I'm probably wrong here, or forgetting nuisances, but? Dooku? Left the order and began his Fall? NOT because he disagreed with the vast majority of Jedi philosophy... but?

Because of what the Jedi had BECOME.

Senate attack dogs. Indentured servants. Following NOT the Force or their Orders Mandate, but a mere GOVERMANT. Politicians. Straight into ruin and slaughter no less! It was vile. Corrupt. A perversion and degradation of HIS beloved Jedi Order.

He was proud and filled with grief, isolated. Palpatine chose well.

But! He was ALSO a Master Jedi with DECADES of Mastery under his belt. You do not become that with out clear vision of what you want. Who you ARE. And Dooku? Very CLEARLY planned on winning. Killing Sidious and taking his place. An unfortunate necessity, really. In his Grand Plan™.

Too?

Start over, obviously.

Instead of just leaving and starting a NORMAL Religious Schism, building a temple on Serrano, and publicly calling his old Council members lil bitchs. Slap fighting in the town square, as is traditional. Maybe sending pass aggressive notes back and forth in the hands of increasingly spoiled Padawan, because OUR temple at least FEEDS these POOR WAIFS. Etc etc?

Dude went the SITH route. Of... you know... "kill everybody".

Bit extreme. Just saying.

However! Dooku? Not well! In fact, DEEPLY unhinged and masterfully hiding it! Because he is, in fact, a MASTER jedi! And know how to fucking DO THAT. So that slow creep of Deepyly Crazy? No one sees it. Gives ya time to miss the countdown to Boom, as it were.

Which leads to our dearly beloved SI. She? Is a well meaning IDIOT. She can't help it. It's the Force, man. All that feel good juice, clogging up her brain! Making her? Optimistic! Vaguely perky! Wanting to see the GOOD in people!!!

Disturbing, she knows. But it is what it is.

And MASTER Dooku? Feels? Stern but warm. Stalwart. Like one of those ancient trees or great temples in a quite moment. Old and powerful, not necessarily KIND, but certainly not UNKIND. Just... fussy, you know? Proper. Collected and self contained. Doesn't like messy and dirty and needless noise.

So... what's an itty bitty Crecheling to do? To stop this Respected Master from falling? Well... Yoda seems to think "babies" works? And SHE is Baby...

Better scrub down so I'm EXTRA not "why are all children so... sticky?" and make my self look as presentable as possible. Then? Plan: Stalk the Respected Master Dooku Like A Duckling is a GO~! Yoda finds this INSTANTLY hilarious. Starts feeding her insider information (One of his many, later Great Regrets).

Dooku likes THIS tea. Meditates in THIS garden. Ask him about THIS subject, no one listens to him rant about it, he'll enjoy lecturing you about it for HOURS. She actually learns quite a lot! Man's a good teacher. And SHE? Is a dutiful, polite, thoughtful, shining young paragon example of what he feels the Jedi SHOULD be.

She LISTENS. Unlike his foolish peers. She tries to better herself, day by day, instead of running around screaming and playing in mud. Asks after etiquette from the courts he's traveled too, so she does not offend in the future. Does not react with blind disgust to questions others would deem heretical!

Instead? SHE comes from a JEDI place of approach with compassion and consultation of the Force. What creates the most GOOD? How can we strive for the kindest, most ethical, most equal social possible? What brings the universe the most Light? Where do OUR duties end and the duties of OTHERS begin, and when is it time to call them on their failings, should there be any?

It is? Delightful~ if he were not already committed to his path, he would seriously consider taking her on as a Padawn. Like the Granddaughter he never had. In FACT? He is conflicted. While he does not wish to lose the bright little light he has become so accustomed too? He should probably do what is best for her.

He IS leaving after all. Eventually. Perhaps after Qui-Gon finally knights his own padawn. He can convince the man to come with him. A talk between them has been so very, very long overdue. And the man is like a son to him. Young Obi-Wan is a fine young Jedi. Upstanding and collected, could use a bit of tempering. Outrageous flirt. It would be hilarious.

It's a good plan.... right up until it isn't.

Until the Council's BLINDNESS lead his SON to dying alone. For Sidious little games. And the place in HIS chosen lineage is USURPED by some WHINY SAND COVERED BRAT who can not CONTROL himself! No. NO.

Absolutely Not.

As far as HE is concerned? HIS lineage? Goes him, Qui-gon, Obi-Wan, and then SI-OC. No Sand Brat. Is he spiraling? Oh yes. Has been for a while. But now? NOW someone just kicked out a major support beam. The building is a'shaking. SI-OC is worried. Knows this could make or break his Fall.

Doesn't realize that ship has sailed LONG before she arrived.

Jedi Master's do not Fall over night. It is the slow erosion that kills them. Death by ten thousand cuts. He was already thousands deep. Bleeding and bleeding, beyond her abilities to heal. Yoda could have changed things. He is a Master. But a mere Crecheling? An untrained child? No. She stood no chance.

Does not realize that, as she stands in the heart of the storm. The center of the bear trap. As composed Master Dooku grieves and rages, hair disheveled and robes a mess. No, he can not come to the comm right now. No, he is not taking visitors, thank you. Please, Master Dooku. Please! Drink some tea? Eat? Something. Anything. I beg you.

It is a focal point. An anchor to cling to, in that great Fall. As SI-OC fusses with blankets and music that might help, pressing her small and fragile light against his shields like a comforting weight. As though trying to protect him from the pain. As though ANYTHING could protect him.

Sits with him, in remembrance.

Comes with him, to the funeral.... where stands the sand brat. At HER Master's side. As though enough has not been stolen. How dare he? How dare THEY? To allow this!? Hatred festers. Rage. The mania that Darkness brings. He sees now. Ooooo ho ho, does he now see.

The Order has become Rotten. It cannot be saved. The Jedi have lost their way.

The old must be purged... and they must begin again.

It's all so CLEAR now. So simple. The path forward. Its so obvious now, HE is not leaving, oh no, THEY are leaving. It would be madness to leave a vulnerable Crecheling in such unfettered corruption. Exposed to the nonexistent mercies of Sidious and his ilk. Not to mention, Force knows what filth they'd attempt to stuff in her head behind his back!

Knight Kenobi is an adult. Can comport himself and defend his person. SI-OC can not. She is just a youngling. Should have BARELY been a padawn. But... things have changed.

SI-OC fall asleep, comfortable and certain she is perfectly safe, in MASTER Dooku's apartments. Just another Tea Time and obscure Force Philosophy lecture. Maybe some hands-on etiquette lessons. There are many, MANY different ways to take tea. And... man... the room is so cozy. Always so comfortable and tastefully inviting. Warm an... an snoozy... feelin... *thunk of a small child falling over, dead to the world*

Drugged? Sleep suggestion? Soothing bedtime tea? Yes. Yes, he did. She stood literally negative chances. He scoops up HIS granddaughter and leaves droids to pack the rest. Tucks her under his cloak. No one thinks to even check. Who would? He is trusted. Respected. It is well known how he dotes upon the child. Old age has softened him, some jest.

The dangers of attachment indeed. But it is not HIM who is in danger. It is HER who his attachment endangers. Because he can not let go. WILL NOT. Because it can crossed from caring to obsessive. Possessive. To mine, mine, mine.

Children are not property. Not toys or trophies. Teddy bears to squeeze until your hurt stops. They are living, breathing, entities in their own right. Which is something a JEDI would be able to accept. The SITH? No. No, see, his Great-grandpadawn is HIS. This is HIS family. HIS Jedi order. HIS plan to "fix" everything.

She done fucked up.

She wakes up on a ship to Serrano with COUNT Dooku.

His... his eyes turn Interesting Colors now. Ha ha... she is... staying Very Calm. It is REALLY important to stay VERY calm. No sudden movements. We Do Not startle the Darksider! Eeeeeeverones FRIENDS here! R-Right?

Oh of course. Nothing to be worried about, dear. You're just going to his Manor until the NEW temple is finished. (Neat. Terrifying. So, SO many horrifying parts of that sentence). And SI-OC? Pulls the good ol "never argue with the crazy person with a gun" technique. Smile and Nod! Mmmmhmmm! G-great! Can't wait!

(Oh god, help me)

War breaks out. She's on THE Separatist planet. But not? Before crazy grandpa? Has hired bounty hunters to find him force sensitive kids. You know, for the NEW Jedi order. Because we're all pretending here. Smile and nod, fellow hostages. For the love of the Force, smile and nod.

She's not entirely even certain half these children were from families that WANTED to give them up. It makes her sick to think about.

She still has to have Tea Time. Because she, a child, is the HEAD of the New Order. And he has decades of Jedi knowledge to impart. Also? Lonely and fixating. We're a happy family. Because I say so and have hostages. That's why you love you, don't you dear? *SI-OC with a wide, terrified hostage smile* mmmmhmm!

The Jedi? Have figured out what happened. Crecheling mysteriously disappeared at the same time a Count Dooku? They originally thought she tried to follow him. Got lost or grabbed by slavers. But now... NOW? Oh Force they know they horrifying truth. The Darksider stole a CHILD.

Everyone remembers SI-OC. She was the sweet little duckling. Well behaved and polite. A kind child. Worried for Count Dooku. And now look at what's happened?! The CIS is trotting out the "head" or their "new order" and it's their lost Crecheling. Now a teenager. Terror in her eyes and a fixed jedi smile.

The Creche Masters have to be physically dragged away from stealth ships. (They're just going to talk! They're jUST GOING TO TAL-!!!) Plo Koon is fucking HELPING and that's NOT helpful! No, your commander do NOT have "a point"! You can not do just a "little bit" of murder as "a treat"!

A certain Quinlan Vos? Never heard of him, of course, rocks up to this New Order with a smoothie. Has betrayed the OLD order and the Republic. Definitely for realisies and not because he's here to spy! Heeeeey, kiddo. How you holding up?

Answer? Oh THANK GOD, AN ADULT JEDI! Halp! Followed by gross sobbing. So... you know... not GREAT. Wouldn't recommend it.

But! The INTEL. Sweet holy shit, kid. Chips. Palpatine. Dooku behind the Clones. Everything ELSE she's quietly been noting down. Uuuuh, yeah. Yeah that WILL be... real useful.... Holy shit. No, seriously, give him a second. Just like that? Huh. Didn't even have to convince you. Wow. Okay.

Well then! Let's fuck over some Sith!

How the Shadows go about it? Probably very action movie and nail biting. High octane. Sweet big budget cgi effects. They get the De-chipped clones involved. Fox gets to finally, FINALLY shoot his boss. Never a happier man. He deserves it.

But that's not important. What IS? Is Quinlan Vos? Showing up to the Temple, with a burger and smelling strongly of smoke, and like.... over 450 force sensitive younglings, teenage and below. And probably a litter of tookas. Because what? Were they supposed to LEAVE them?

She takes One(1) step into the temple and gets hit with like? Three generations of Guilt Complexes. Man Pain. Yoda, Obi-Wan, AND Anikin? Mother FUCKER, you were 9! What were you supposed to DO? Bite him?! You literally JUST GOT HERE. *SI-OC has used Logic against Skywalker Guilt... it is not very effective!*

When? When will she be freeeeeeee? Cannon Yoda had the right idea.

She should go hide in a fucking SWAMP.

@babbling-babull @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @lolottes @hypewinter @mayfay @hdgnj

[chameleonsallinvermillion]

Nobody look directly at me but I've latched onto @elodieunderglass's Killie like a barnacle and I've been rotating him in my mind. Now that I know he and his siblings did have access to ponies growing up, but probably not one each, I've been experimentally putting these terrible siblings into childhood scenarios based on my own life growing up in the horse world. Non-canon Killie & Siblings(tm) childhood vignettes coming up.

--

Killie and Charlie avoiding people after a huge family row by climbing up onto a stack of haylage bales to hide out. Maybe onto the roof of a barn.

--

All four siblings taking the shared pony out, switching out who gets to ride. The rest follow on bikes with their helmets dangling from the handlebars, because not wearing a helmet on a horse is unthinkable but wearing one on a bike is "silly". Bickering over whose turn is next. Constantly accusing Colm of slowing them down.

--

Killie riding as fast as he can to get help on the shared pony whilst Colm lies groaning on the ground, too badly hurt for even Ciara to think it’s a smart idea to shove him back on the pony and carry him home that way. He’s been sent because he’s fast, brave, and – most importantly – utterly useless if he sticks around. Charlie is sympathetic to Colm’s suffering. Ciara is not.

--

Charlie standing barefoot on the back of the pony whilst it placidly chews hay in its stable so that he can peep into the nest of house martins up in the far corner and see the new-born chicks

--

I imagine the terrible mother to be a lot like the wealthier horse mothers I used to know and therefore to have a box of old Pullein-Thompson and similar pony books tucked away somewhere from her childhood, covers falling off and pages dog-eared, that if not she then her parents will pass on to Ciara at some point. Killie doesn’t really get them (no imagination). Charlie likes the ones where they protect foreign princes from assassins through the power of being horse-children. Colm likes the ones where everyone is nice to each other and organises a gymkhana or something.

--

Teachers at school trying to separate the twins because they think it’s healthier for them to grow apart (also, most of them still can’t tell which is which and it annoys them that Charlie will just lie about it). Both twins doing everything in their power to prevent this.

--

Killie getting hauled up to the headmaster’s office for biting another child.

--

Charlie getting hauled up to the headmaster’s office for biting another child because he didn’t want Killie to be stuck in the isolation room alone and, besides, that child deserved it for making fun of Killie losing his temper.

--

Killie taking a bad fall and riding home with a broken ankle as a child, sitting side-saddle because it hurts less, totally oblivious to the fact that his bones are pointing the wrong way.

--

Getting up in the dark to help do the stable chores before school on a freezing cold winter's morning. Killie and Charlie working together, trading the sledgehammer back and forth, to break the ice on the water trough. Shards of ice flying up and into their eyes. Heaving the broken ice (inches thick) out with sopping wet gloves and numb fingers.

--

Getting taken to the races as children. Having to be on their absolute best behaviour at all times because this is Work. These are your future employers and coworkers. You must impress them. It doesn’t matter that you’re only six years old. You are representing the Family.

--

Charlie, not on a horse, insisting that Killie let him up behind to give him a lift through the river / over the ford / over marshy ground because these are new shoes, Killie, and they’re not meant for that sort of thing, no it’s not silly to have shoes that aren’t designing to wade through mud, most shoes aren’t designed for that, just let him up

--

Having to go such a long way from home just to get to the bus stop to go to secondary school that they ride their bikes and then throw those bikes in a bush to pick up later in the day

--

Collecting conkers by climbing up into the chestnut trees using a horse as a ladder. Getting the smallest person up there to shake the branches whilst everyone else stands underneath with buckets.

--

Eating horse feed as children because someone has decided that they shouldn’t eat between meals but they got hungry and it’s oats, humans can eat oats. Or what? A salt lick? That’s delicious. It’s like a lollipop. Nettles? Nettles are a real food. Sugar beat? That’s basically a snack, right?  

--

Sitting around on a rainy evening (Colm has to sit on the floor, exiled for taking up too much sofa space) watching a horse racing movie (Racing Stripes, National Velvet, etc.) and critiquing it heavily for accuracy

--

Standing on the muck heaps on bitter winter days because the heat from the fermenting manure provides the most wonderful warmth to thaw out your frozen toes

--

Colic nights. Kids in wellington boots and coats hastily thrown on over pyjamas, walking a horse round and round in the rain whilst Pa bullies the vet out of bed to come down at once. Stumbling indoors in the watery dawn light, soaking wet and frozen to the core, with just time enough to grab a mouthful to eat and throw on school uniform before heading out again.

--

Colm dressed in his brothers’ hand-me-downs, until he ends up taller than them and then they get dressed in his hand-me-downs. Waste not, want not.

--

Killie volunteering to go out and do everyone’s least favourite chores on special occasions (Christmas, family birthdays, etc.) in order to get away from any guests or general hubbub in the home

--

The day the farrier comes round to shoe the horses. There are a lot of them at the stables – it’s a full day event. All staff need to be on hand to manage it, children too. It’s a working party. People bring cake. People are getting drunk the longer the day drags on. Watching the farrier at work with his portable forge. I imagine Colm, in particular, is drawn to the idea of being a farrier and blacksmith, though of course he knows that isn’t his role. He watches in awe, though, as a young child, before any tendency towards wonder or whimsy is fully trained out of him. Each of the children getting to keep one of the old shoes – dirty, encrusted with mud, with old nails still sticking out – for luck, but you’re not allowed to nail it to a door because that’s twee and you’re better than that.

--

Watching a horse be put down for the first time. Gruff instructions not to look away, that this is important, that this is part of the job. Different reactions from each of them to seeing their mother do it. No sentimental goodbyes. Ciara mocks Colm for shedding a tear. There is no grave.

--

Thank you for indulging me in this.

[konigofmyheart]

𑁍 farmer könig pt.2 𑁍

a rainy day on you + könig’s farm…

(gn!reader, fluffy fluff <3, part 1 )

𓇢𓆸𓏲𓇬𑁍 𓇢𓆸𓏲𓇬𑁍 𓇢𓆸𓏲𓇬𑁍 𓇢𓆸𓏲𓇬𑁍 𓇢𓆸𓏲𓇬𑁍

you were weeding the strawberry patch when it suddenly started raining. you gasped, the cold drops hitting your back making you shiver as you leapt to your feet. “liebling-“ könig laughed as he dropped the shovel he’d been using to prep a new patch for pumpkins, seeing how you’d put your sun hat on like that would help you. it did a bit, keeping the rain out of your eyes as you snatched up your harvest basket (some carrots, strawberries, green beans, and a head of lettuce snuggly nestled in the bottom), but your back was still being sprinkled with the rain.

this definitely wouldn’t do. in a flash, könig plucked your hat off your head, using it as a lid for your bucket, scooped you up, stuffing you under his shirt, and wrapped your legs around his waist. you blink in the darkness, his strong arms wrapped around you, your face pressed against his warm chest as he runs to your house, the sensation of being jostled like this making you giggle. it’s like a roller coaster, könig legit leaping over your crops, then your chickens and goats as they too dash for their little houses (built by him, of course).

“don’t worry, schatzi, almost there!” he assures you, hoping his voice masks the sound of the goats complaining about who gets to go inside first. all the better you’re under his shirt, unable to see, or else you’d definitely stop to scold delilah for head butting thomas to take his spot in line. könig makes a mental note to make the goats’ door wider to avoid little spats like that in the future. it’ll have to wait for tomorrow, though, the sound of the rain hammering on the roof of your porch as he carefully maneuvers you and him inside making it clear it’ll be an indoors day.

könig stops in the entryway, knowing better than to track mud onto the rugs. he can’t help but snort a little at the way your hair is mussed when he frees you from under his shirt, setting you on your feet. you’re just a bit wet, but könig’s dripping water on the floor, some drops plinking onto your hair when he places a soft kiss on your forehead. “you look so cute like that, liebling” he coos, and then, right as you’re thanking him… he shakes like a dog, sprinkling drops all over the place! “hold on, i’ll get you a towel. you’re getting water everywhere”, you scold him, lightly swatting at his arm.

𑁍

you sit on the bench in the entryway, having changed into dry clothes, and towel könig’s hair. he’s sat on the floor, your legs hooked over his broad shoulders, making you laugh at the way he leans in to your touch, and the way he playfully nips at your hands through the towel. yup, just like a wet dog…

it’s most definitely a relaxing day in, warm bowls of soup and cuddles on the couch as you watch the rain through the window. all signs point to a bountiful harvest season. <3

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Fifty-Five

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“Ready?”

Fireheart said nothing. He just stood still, gazing at the Titan of gods in front of him. Her legs stretched out on either of his sides, caked in mud and grass, the very slightest hint of stone claws peeking from beneath the layers of earth. Spikes like sharp boulders stood tall and rigid on her back—her spine, perhaps, or an armored shell. And still, no sight of a proper head, unless it was buried like her claws were, only leaving a wide, tall mouth that cold air drifted out of, even with the lack of a breeze. Not for the first time, he felt like he was an ant staring down a fox’s hungry maw.

Perhaps a dog’s, rather.

“Fireheart?”

He blinked back to reality and refocused. Cinderpaw was standing a little ahead of him and to his right, head turned back to him and cocked with humorous curiosity. Her tail, for once groomed clean of burrs and grass, curled over her back, waving a little at the crooked tip. One little fang was poking out of her mouth, a faint echo of her mentor’s broken-toothed grin.

“Are you back?” she asked playfully.

Fireheart lowered his ears. “Sorry. Just… got to thinking.” His eyes returned to the mouth of the Mother. “I forgot how intimidating she is.”

“Oh, she’s terrifying,” Cinderpaw said with a cheeriness that reminded Fireheart of Spottedleaf. “That’s the point. Even I’m nervous right now.”

Fireheart’s thoughts drifted again, this time leading him to look up at the sky, dark with a nearly half-moon floating high among the stars. They had been walking since dawn, to the sleepy (and still somewhat-anxious) farewells of their Clanmates. The journey through the forest, past the neutral grounds and up the moorlands of WindClan territory had been entirely silent. Cinderpaw had kept darting looks back at Fireheart, but her mouth stayed closed, tightened into a grimace of anxiety. Fireheart had been busy letting himself feel every sense and texture of the world—the growing grass under his paws, the slightly warm breeze brushing against his ears, the more impressive and welcome warmth of daylight and the sun—in an attempt at meditation. Something to prepare mentally him for the ceremony ahead.

He did not feel remotely prepared. He itched more to turn around and flee the instant Cinderpaw looked away. Even going so long without sleep, he thought he could sprint across the world to escape.

“I’m sorry I’m doing this as an apprentice,” she said, startling him into focusing again. “Yellowfang should be here, and I should be watching her perform the ceremony in person, so I’d be ready in the far future for when it was my turn.” Her eyes sank to the ground and her usual mirth almost entirely disappeared. “It’s absurd, isn’t it? ThunderClan having an apprentice as their only seer.”

Fireheart took a few steps to reach her and gently rested his tail on her haunch. “And they have two very young cats with no experience as leader and deputy. At least you were about to get your name; you count, as far as I’m concerned.”

Cinderpaw huffed a bleak attempt at a chuff, but her expression lightened. “Then let’s work together to not lead the Clan into disaster.” Her own tail thwapped his back leg. “Starting with your ceremony. Come on.”

She limped forward, somehow looking more dignified even with her odd steps. Fireheart silently followed her, resisting tucking his tail between his legs. He gulped as the Mother’s mouth drew closer and closer, stretching wide and swallowing him whole as the pair left the remnants of light behind.

He hadn’t forgotten how bitingly cold it was in her throat. Even so, his steps were ginger on the vaguely damp ground that was more akin to ice than soil, if it was soil. He didn’t really want to know what it actually was.

As before, the black of her innards kept him from being able to “see” Cinderpaw by anything but hearing her breath. He was careful to keep her tail close to his whiskers, just in case she turned suddenly. Thankfully, this time he didn’t need to sneeze from it.

“Are you able to find it on your own?” Fireheart whispered.

He could practically hear Cinderpaw’s amused face. “She would never lead us wrong. Just keep quiet. We’ll get there soon.”

Fireheart shut his mouth tight, winced when he stepped in something wet, and kept walking.

Turns, stretches of nothing, more turns, and then, abruptly, Fireheart had to squint his eyes as the walls flew open and the massive, milk-white Moon Stone greeted them. He stopped in place, staring at it as well as he could until his eyes recovered from the shine the moon, hovering above, blessed this massive rock with.

“Alright,” Cinderpaw sighed out, bouncing a bit like she was trying to psyche herself up. “Fireheart, sit right here.”

He obeyed quickly, coming to stand a few body-lengths across from the Moon Stone and sitting down, attempting to ease his own nerves. Cinderpaw, meanwhile, approached the stone and placed her paw on it.

“StarClan, the Three, and Mirra,” she began. “I bring you a warrior who has proven that he’s ready to be named as the leader of ThunderClan. I ask that you take a moment to come to him, his mind and soul, and hear his words of worry and doubt. I ask that you reach for him and touch his heart, and bless him with the spirit and confidence he needs to become the leader that this Clan deserves.” She paused. “And I ask that you forgive me for performing this ceremony without my name. We’ve been in kind of an emergency state for a bit. It’s been crazy. Yellowfang can tell you all about it.”

Fireheart had to hold back a snort.

“Anyway…” Cinderpaw’s bushy tail raised. “Horoa, Endless Watcher, gift him with honesty and bravery. Suriin, Pathcarver, gift him with knowledge and cleverness. Rokhar, Lord of Twilight, gift him with clarity and focus. StarClan, watch over him and guide his steps as he walks the path of his lifetime.” Her voice faintly echoed. “And Mirra, our Mother, grant him his name and protect his soul as your blood protects all of us.”

There was a small pause before Cinderpaw’s dark fur flared, the light of the Moon Stone catching the tips of her hairs. Fireheart thought he heard the wind, though there was none in this cavern. Before he could say anything, Cinderpaw turned back to him, silhouetted by white, and stepped up to him, almost touching noses.

“Now, Fireheart of ThunderClan,” she said, her voice still faintly echoing, almost sounding like it wasn’t hers. “It is your time to speak. Take your burdens—your fears, worries, doubts, all of your troubles—and give them to the spirits and gods above. Let them be taken from you, and when your soul is cleansed, touch your nose to the Moon Stone and sleep.”

Her nose now touched his forehead, and the cold of the Moon Stone rushed through his body in one complete shiver. When she stepped back, her fur no longer caught the light like it had and a cautiously eager beam graced her face.

“I’m going to leave you here overnight,” she said. “You do as I said, and I’ll come back for you when the moon sinks.” Fireheart blinked in surprise and opened his mouth, but she held up a paw. “You only speak to them tonight. Wait until you can’t hear me anymore, and then you say what you need to.”

Before he could say anything, she set off at an ungainly trot, tail high again, and disappeared around the corner of the entrance of this cavern.

Obediently, Fireheart waited, listening closely as the very faint pawsteps faded. Once he was sure she was gone, he looked at the Moon Stone. He had no idea if anyone was here with him, listening, like Cinderpaw had requested, but he opened his mouth anyway.

“So,” he said, “here I am.”

Silence.

“I’m… sorry, if this is a waste of your time.” His front paws shifted self-consciously. “I know you must get tired of all the ceremonies and blessings and all that. I don’t mean to cause any annoyance with… with what I’ve got to say. Just…”

Another pause, and silence still. Anxiety bubbled from his chest up to his throat, then it burst out of his mouth before he could restrain it.

“I just don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” he blurted. “Dustpelt should, or– or Whitecloud. One of them should be getting their leader name right now. A– and I should be back at home, hoping everything’s going okay, just being a regular warrior.” His throat tightened. “I don’t know if any of you are here, and I’m almost certain you aren’t, because I shouldn’t be the one getting this blessing. I mean, I-I’m barely about to turn two, and I haven’t even finished training Cloudpaw, and I’m just some dumb softheart they allowed in, and—”

The light of the Moon Stone suddenly flared white, illuminating the cavern so much that Fireheart had to force himself to open his eyes back up and face the painful light. Along the walls, tall shadows danced in barely-distinct shapes, touching the open ceiling in arches and points.

Above even this, a blazing warmth, almost searing, swelled in Fireheart’s body, starting from his chest and sweeping through the rest of him, down to the tip of his tail and the ends of his whiskers. He gasped as he felt the heat roaring behind his eyes and gripping around his heart, pouring into its core.

Then the Moon Stone’s glow faded, and the shadows with it. The warmth sank down his body and dissipated through his toes and claws. He was standing in a freezing cavern again, the only mortal in this hollow in the earth. Still, eyes were on him, an invisible presence bigger than anything he’d ever seen circled around him.

Loud and clear.

Barely able to speak, completely unable to fight a beam at the weight lifted out of his body, he breathed out, “Okay.”

The intensity of the air settled down again. Walking like he was on a cloud, he approached the Moon Stone and touched his nose to it. It was still cold, but the echo of heat in every hair on his body kept him from really feeling it. He stepped back, laid down and curled up, shutting his eyes.

The first thing he saw when he opened them was a huge, empty sky, vibrant blue in the center and paler at the edges of the horizon. He looked down to see endless, softly rolling hills of gold and ginger grass, dotted with the occasional tree that he had never seen before: somewhat like an oak, but leaning more to one side and with a smoother, flatter canopy of leaves. It was warm, even with the wind blowing around him.

On instinct, he looked to his right. A cloud of petals in a calico rainbow of colors danced erratically towards him, swirling and spinning on the wind. He twisted his head to watch it whirl around him, the wind taking on a sound like a trill of amusement. It flew further into the air, and he stared up at it, mesmerized.

A caw sounded off, and out of the corner of his left eye, a massive crow dove through the cluster of petals and flew upwards, a few petals caught in its black beak. It looked down at the little tom below, winked and sailed off into the distance.

Then there was heat—overwhelming like the fire, but not unwelcome.

He blinked and almost jumped backwards in alarm as a massive, mountainous creature suddenly stood before him. He stared at it, this thing vaguely cat-shaped, gold as the grass around them, muscular and long-bodied. A long, thin tail swished back and forth, a flare of dark smoke drifting off at the tip. When he looked up at their face, only a large, bold nose and round muzzle were visible; black smoke drifted around the neck and covered where the eyes should be.

It couldn’t be.

“Horoa?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

He got no response beyond a twitch of long, white whiskers. The giant head lowered, the small cat trembling in awe and fear, and the broad nose rested against his forehead. Another wave of heat flowed through him; with it came a blazing thrill, a joyous urge to run as fast as he could, as far as he could, and chase the largest, most dangerous thing he could find. For an instant, he thought tall warriors formed a ring around him, and—

He opened his eyes.

The Moon Stone no longer shone in front of him, simply sitting as a dull white-grey rock. The visible mote of sky was growing pale, and the stars were gone.

He raised his head with some difficulty, blinking in confusion and sleepiness. The thrill inside him was gone. He was on a cold, hard floor that sucked the warmth from his body. His energy was shot.

“Welcome back.”

He blinked again, more alert, and looked over to his left. Cinderpaw was sitting close to him, her tail curled around her paws and her eyes creased in merriment.

“I saw you,” she said. “Your aura burned. I thought you were on fire for a moment. You must’ve seen something great.”

He braced his front feet on the ground and slowly hauled himself up into a sitting position. “I did. I saw—”

“Ahp.” Cinderpaw shook her head. “Don’t tell me. What you saw and what you said are for you and the stars to know. Nobody else.”

“Oh,” he said, admittedly a little disappointed.

Cinderpaw stood. “Well, Yellowfang told me I could do this part however I wanted, so long as I got the right point across. With that…” She limped up to the leader, lifted a paw and placed it on his chest.

He looked down in mild surprise, then back at her curiously.

“With the blessings of the Three, the Mother, and StarClan…” Her eyes twinkled. “Welcome to leadership, Firestar. You’re gonna be great.”

Firestar.

He was Firestar now. Leader of ThunderClan. Responsible for more lives than he could count. Tasked with serving until the death of his body or his mind.

Cinderpaw lifted away her paw. “How do you feel?”

Firestar opened his mouth and paused, trying to sort out exactly what the answer was. The faintest echo of the thrill of the chase flickered in his heart, the warm gaze of an eye he couldn’t see prickled his fur, and the weight of all of his fears and doubts had been lifted away, leaving his body lighter than it had been in a long time.

He’d been asked this before, though, hadn’t he? And the answer was still the same.

“Like a ThunderClan cat,” he said. “Like a leader.”

Cinderpaw straightened up, beaming. “Awesome. You ready to get out of here?”

Firestar chuffed softly. “Yes. Please. Can we stop by the Barn for prey?”

“Hey, I’m not the one in charge.” Cinderpaw thwapped him with her tail again and started off back into the dark tunnels. Firestar, following, marveled at how the light from outside was so suddenly cut off into blackness.

It wasn’t until they were back outside that Cinderpaw spoke again, vibrating with excitement. “Ohhh, boy, this is awesome. I got to help you get your name! I did it!”

“And you’re still an apprentice.” Firestar caught up to her with a purr. “The next time you come here, you ought to get your own.”

“Oh, I will. The half-moon meeting’s tomorrow, and Fognose already agreed to do the ceremony for me.” Cinderpaw sighed, a little dampened. “I just wish it was Yellowfang instead. She’d be so happy to lace in insults all through the rites. Oh well. Guess I’ll have to be treated nicely instead.”

“What a shame,” Firestar said. He started forward. “Come on, let’s get some food.” He paused, then looked at her again. “Actually, do you want to stay in the Barn tonight? Since you’re coming back here anyway.”

“Oh, good idea.” Cinderpaw tilted her head thoughtfully. “Then again… hm. Will the Clan be okay without me? Will you be okay to travel without me?”

Firestar nodded. “And Barley can keep you fed until tomorrow.” His ears went back sheepishly. “And, if I’m being honest, I think I’d like to journey back alone. Just to think, and feel.”

“That sounds appropriate.” Cinderpaw caught up to him and they started walking again. “First things first, though, let’s make sure you don’t starve to death on the way home.” She looked at him, the sun shining through her expression. “And I mean it. You’re going to do great, Firestar. Don’t let yourself ever doubt that.”

Firestar purred, tail high over his back. “No promises.”

[eldritchblaaaast]

i really, really appreciate the nuance in KCD and in A Woman's Lot DLC regarding gender and class in medieval europe

like yes theresa does have to get married eventually. that's an imperative for a woman in her station of that time period. the survival and economic stability of herself and her family depend on it, and she does not necessarily get that much of a say in the ultimate decision. but she's more upset at her future husband being older (and not henry) than the concept of getting married itself. and in the days leading up to the attack on skalitz, she can drink ale and haul flour and learn how to shoot a bow and arrow and traipse around skalitz with her dog and get mud on her dress.

there are absolutely Rules that structure her life, but they are definitely Not The Same Rules that structure the life of women born into a higher station.

like even the nuance with her father arranging a marriage for her! her father does spring the idea of marriage on her, which is a bad look for him. however, it is still his responsibility to take care of such things, and economics feature heavily in that decision making process. but it's not the end of the world if it doesn't go well immediately, if theresa gets cold feet for meeting with her fiancee-to-be. there are no potential alliances to be built or broken, no lands to be fought over, no livelihoods to protect - the stakes are generally lower.

there's room in the relationship between father and daughter for discussion, for apologies, for the potential of feedback that never gets realized.

i just. A Woman's Lot DLC.

[utane]

Who's your favorite character from the gaslight district? What would you like to learn more about them in future episodes and how was your day?

My fav is Mud Love me a good shady skeleton guy. He has a nice voice and he's also sleazy in a very fun way.

I wanna know more about his history, like did he ever try to start a business of his own since it seems like he'd work on his own if he could instead of his brother. He looks like the kind of guy who has a dozen failed business ventures under his belt. Also how gay is that man? 🤔🤔 Mans has ghosted at least one guy, and I wouldn't doubt there are several more.

I had a fine day. Took granny dog to the dentist so she has been sleeping off the anesthesia all day. Also did my job... lovely time doing environment modeling 👍

[sleepyeepyp3rson]

tf141 as Hozier songs !! (x female!reader section in each)

an: used to so this with hazbin hotel characters, this was my og format before i started writing fics, decided to go back to it!! also shout out my poor best friend who had do read the spam texts of me explaining which song goes with with each character

hope this keeps yall fed until tf141!wwe au pt 2 drops :33

tw: vauge mentions of (soap's) death, canon typical mentions of violence, small references to ghosts childhood abuse, price in the gulag, religion/religious doubt, and civilian death

(masterlist)

John Price

If I ever say Too Sweet isn't Price, I want you to shoot me because THATS NOT ME!!!!

This song is him in every aspect. He's not a "good man," he knows that. He's committed atrocities, and done things no one else has the guts to do, and he does it all in the shadows.

He'd corrupt anything sweet he put his hands on. He has his boys, sure, but they're not sweet. And that's what's best for him.

He's fine where he is. Captain John Price. He doesn't need some sweet thing, it'd be bad for his health anyway.

He's watching his sugar intake.

(x reader section)

He's scared, honestly. And John Price is not a scared man. Not in the gulag, not facing down Shepherd, not staring down the barrel of a gun. He makes other people scared. He is the boogeyman. There's no way some sweet thing can make him scared.

But you do.

He thinks that at any moment, he'll break you. He knows how to nurture skill, he did it with Gaz, but he doesn't know how to be gentle. Not anymore. He tries though. Tries softening his harsh edges, makes two cups of coffee instead of one, apologizes when he's too blunt with you, tries his best to keep Captain and John separate.

He messes up sometimes, slips into commanding officer mode when you drop glasses or mess something up, but he doesn't mean to. He cups your face when you cry, tries to make it better. Just let him fix it. He can fix it, he always does.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

He gets two whole songs! (Price is my favorite but these fit a little too well for me to pick one.)

Simon's a soldier first. Hardened by the years, mean, rough, with blood stained scarred hands. He chose the military not because he was attached to his country or from a sense of loyalty, but because it was this or nothing.

He is what his father made him. A rabid dog, and given the chance, he'll tear men to bone.

His only other job was a butcher. He was made to draw blood. Made to be this Ghost, this horrid thing that haunts the nightmares of anyone unfortunate enough to hear the stories. He would retire if he could. But he can't. This is it. There is no Simon, only Ghost.

Even when the mask comes off, and he stares into the mirror, the scars covering his skin keep him there. Trap him in his own web.

He is a soldier, but he is nobody's. He's just Ghost. Livin' the dream.

(Jackie and Wilson, x reader section)

He finds you in a bar. Or, more likely, Soap finds you and won't stop talking his ear off about "That bonnie lass in the corner, just look at 'er, Lt." And through grumbles, he turns his head and-

He stops short. Guess Johnny knew him better than he thought, if he knew his type that well. And behind the very, very intense stare he's giving you, he's thinking about the future already. Maybe kids, name them Jackie and Wilson, go on coffee dates or whatever it is a bird like you likes. He'll learn.

He'll bury his mask if you ask. With his childhood bear in the backyard. Deep, deep in the mud and dirt, where he can finally keep the Ghost down and be Simon.

This world certainly isn't for him. He never got to feel like a kid, but this sudden crush has him feeling childish.

Johnny snaps his fingers in his face. "Aye! You're scarin' the lass! Stop staring."

He huffs, the smoke of his cigarette blowing out. He puts it out, and by the time he looks up, you disappeared. More of a ghost than him.

John "Soap" MacTavish

This is mostly x reader, but also also! thought the song fit his general attitude and death (HE WASN'T IN THAT URN)

He's used to working on empty. Chugging through missions and fighting his way through Hell to get back to a base with mediocre food. He likes it though. The rush of explosions, the quick decisions and actions, his team. He likes it.

But good Lord, his Mam will kill him for this. An early death is what she warned him of when he left home, with a wary pat on his cheek and a prayer.

Where is his mother's God now? Where is He as Johnny lies on the ground, the splitting pain in his head, the bullet under his skin making his vision blurry?

He sees no God. He only sees Simon, leaning over him.

He won't die. He can't. He crawls right back to his team everytime. He'll crawl home to them.

(x reader section)

You save him. Through hushed curses and Simon looming over you. You removed the bullet from his head before he could be lost.

He thinks you might be an angel, through the fever. The combat medic who saved him, the one person who could reach him in time, sent down from heaven.

He knows you've seen your fare share. He knows you don't care about what he's done, he knows you've seen the explosions and bombs and guns and came right back to your post everytime. You're just like him.

He tries to court you. To show his unending devotion. It doesn't work out well, but maybe he shouldn't have followed Simon's advice.

But one day, while he's lingering by you while you're trying to patch someone up (definitely breaking a few rules,) you take one look at him, sigh, reach in your pocket for your pen, and you write down your number on his hand.

He beams, leans down and gives you a peck on the cheek and leaves.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Gaz!!!! He gets arguably my favorite Hozier song because I LOVE HIM AWOOO AWOOOOO

Whenever he gets the adrenaline rush of battle, he feels like he's floating.

When he was in the SAS, he got that feeling often. The rush before the jump, the air wooshing around him, knowing he was doing something good. He was doing the right thing.

He's doing the right thing now too, but sometimes he doubts. Seeing his friends shoot bystanders alarms the morals floating around in the back of his head, makes him want to jump in between the barrel of the gun and the enemies and keep the peace.

But he can't. This is the right thing. They have to do the dirty work, right? The things no one else will do falls on them. Of course it's not pretty.

He takes a deep breath, and he jumps out of the heli. He falls, yet he feels like he's floating up, like the world is falling away from him.

(x reader section)

He'd do anything to keep you from falling away from him. He knows what the world is like, he knows what he's done, and while he knows there is good, he knows the bad is tenfold. He needs to keep you safe from all of it. To keep this floating feeling in his palms before it slips away.

He comes home from missions ragged, and you soothe.

And in your arms, he is weightless again. He has his wings, he's got the adrenaline he lost long ago back, he is in love.

And he finds himself craving that always. So much so, that on base between one mission and another, he's ranting about you to Price. "--everything to me. Always has been, since I saw 'er, Captain. Has me feeling lighter than a feather."

"Maybe you should get on with it and marry her then."

And that alone has him buying a ring the next day. His Captain knows best, after all.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

I mentioned in a reblog thing that I'd wanted to make a Rise comic series called "ROTTMNT: UNPAUSED" and I hinted to one of the finale episodes being called "Mikey's Birthday Bash"

Well I'm gonna infodump about that now...

So basically the episode started off with Mikey waking everyone up for a special breakfast to celebrate his bday, only to discover that not only did his brothers forget his bday, they all made plans of their own. To quickly make up for it, the guys take him into the Hidden City for a quick shopping spree before they all have to leave for their engagements. While Mikey is looking for something to buy, he overhears his brothers conversing about how in the next year, Raph won't be a TEENAGE mutant ninja turtle anymore (he is 17 currently). Donnie adds that he is already looking for colleges to join and hopes for an early admission. Leo also admits he has been planning for the future. Mikey realizes that his brothers are all planning to leave and grow up, which he is not ready for. He runs away crying, and meets a strange old hag who sells him a "special" birthday candle, which she promises will grant his biggest birthday wish.

Mikey finds his bros again and uses the candle on a meager cupcake they got for him. As soon as he blows the candle out, the four are transported into a version of the Battle Nexus, trapped there along with every other character from the show (and my comics) by the hag who sold Mikey the candle. She reveals that Mikey's wish was for "everyone to spend my birthday together", and the only way for them to escape is for the turtles to win the tournament! The bros are furious at Mikey for making the wish, and Mikey promises to get through the games as quickly as possible so they can get back to their plans and leave.

The hag states that the turtles will be pitted against their previous enemies, and with each round they win they'll will receive more allies. Anyone KO’d will be eliminated from the round and sent to watch in the audience, and upon the ending of the game all contestants will be returned to their last location. The enemies will get progressively more challenging until they defeat all of their opponents.

Round 1, April is with the guys, and they are up against Baxter Stockboy, Albearto, and the Purple Dragons.

Round 2, the Casey Joneses join the fight against the Foot Clan.

Round 3, Draxum, Splinter, Big Mama, and the two missing siblings hinted at by the writers join against the evil league of mutants and the Mud Dogs. April is KO’d after getting slammed into a wall and knocked unconscious by Heinous Green. Cass is KO’d by Hypno after he hypnotizes her to knock herself unconscious as well. Draxum is KO’d by Meat Sweats after he steals his power.

Round 4, Several characters (such as Agent Bishop and Mona Lisa) join to fight against the Triceratons (which were introduced in my series). During this round, everyone is K.O.'d except the turtles. However, Mikey sees that he didn’t finish the battles in time and his brothers have missed their appointments. He feels guilty, and his brothers are admittedly irritated.

Round 5, the final boss battle. They are pitted against the Shredder and the Kraang. Before the fight begins, Mikey has a blowout with his brothers and finally admits that he was angry they were gonna leave because he was scared of growing up, as he is not ready to be an adult yet and he doesn’t want to be alone. The Kraang interrupts stating “I can help you with that” and captures Mikey. However, the Turtles get one last team member… Karai. The Shredder -- having been defeated and Oroku Saki redeemed -- turns against the Kraang and sides with the Turtles and his daughter. The boys defeat the Kraang using the special formula from the movie, but not before the Shredder and Karai are K.O.'D by the Kraang. The Kraang are defeated with the last of the mixture, but to the boys' horror they see that Mikey was kraangified, and now have to fight against him as their last opponent. They try, but are unable to defeat him due to his increased strength AND his ninpo. Leo refuses to admit defeat, saying “Mikey never gave up on me… I can’t give up on him.” He tries one last attack, grappling with Mikey and holding him down...

I happened to make sketches of what came next...

The game finished, everyone is returned home. Mikey apologizes for everything, but Raph admits that he isn’t ready to grow up yet either, and he never wants to leave Mikey alone. He found out the hard way what that felt like, and the brothers agree to wait a little longer to grow up and enjoy being the teenage mutant ninja turtles while they can. Back at the lair, everyone bursts in to make sure Mikey is okay. They spend the rest of the day with him, enjoying his birthday...

So yeh that's that

[howdeepthegrave]

Which do you think is more likely for Rio to have: praise kink or degradation kink or BOTH? 🤔

...This question leads to Rio and Agatha discovering which it is one night.

If we're talking canon Rio, I'm actually feeling a tiny hint of a praise kink, because let's be real, Death does not always get a lot of love. Not a lot of people showering them with "Oh, who's my good little Cosmic entity who always does their job? Who follows the dictates of the Cosmic dance so perfectly except that one time when they fathered a kid and got all sentimental?"

As for the greatest couple ever mommy and daddykins AgathaRio figuring this out... The following is... Not precisely what you probably want, but more some kind of fascinating psychosexual nightmare that turned into maybe How Nicky Is Made? But it definitely reflects my headcanons about Rio exceedingly enjoying praise as well as other stuff.

Heads up for overly domestic Cottage Era Agatha, smut, implied past pregnancy loss, and rampant pronoun shifting

"Are you simply endeavouring to amuse yourself at this point?"

Death looked up and saw Agatha in the doorway of the bedroom, watching Them in that way she had that might mean there were fun times ahead, but equally might mean there was soon to be a lot of shouting.

"Dearest one?" They grinned.

"Rio, you have once again tracked in so much mud from the garden that I might as well not even attempt to keep the floors clean."

"Oh. You could use magic, my love. Some enchantment to keep the floors..."

"That is not the point, Rio, and you know it!"

"I do?"

Agatha sighed, and she looked sad, or at least she wore an expression that Rio had come to interpret as sadness. Standing, they went to her and shyly embraced her.

"I am sorry. I was in a rush. You know how I do get in a rush..."

"To show me that you once again grew a turnip as large as a dog's head? My love, forgive me if I find your ability with roots a little less than thrilling."

Sensing an in, Rio squeezed Agatha a little closer.

"Some of my roots do interest you, my sweet."

"Oh, you would be coarse at a time like this."

Pulling away, Rio frowned.

"Mi corazón, I do not..."

"Have you considered what sort of example you might set for our future children when you slop about, leaving a mess all over the place?"

"Dearest one, I... I am not certain children are..."

Rio trailed off. She knew by now not to venture too far into that perilous and painful territory.

"I'll go and clean it up," she sighed.

She thought to simply snap her fingers softly a few times to clear away the mess she knew she had left just inside the door of their home, but she also knew that Agatha expected a sort of atonement in the form of physical labour. She knew that her wife wanted her to learn. So she went and pulled the broom from the corner and began to sweep up the dust and dried mud. It was calming, really, the repetition, the back and forth of the sweeping. Two little bits of magic were employed: one to keep the door open while she swept the little mess outside, and one to make a minor repair to the door hinge that had been needed for ages.

Setting the broom carefully back in place, she thought to return to the bedroom and report her work completed, but then she felt it. Of course. The pull of souls, perhaps a dozen, some great distance away.

Death sighed and left the little cottage, going quickly to Their duty.

By the time They returned, it was late. They knew that it was the same day, but hours had passed. Agatha would long since have had her supper and gone to bed. Probably she would still be upset with Them, even thought They had done the job she asked, because They had left so quickly.

Entering the cottage, They conjured a little bouquet of flowers, pretty exotic things that did not grow in this place and which Agatha would perhaps find pleasant. It was small apology, but it was an attempt, and They had found that with Agatha, sometimes even the attempt was enough, so far as They went.

"Dearest one," They whispered, entering the bedroom.

Agatha was not yet asleep. No, she sat awake in bed, reading some tome or other, and the candle on the little pine table nearby was guttering badly.

"So, my hunter is home," Agatha said, not even looking up. "And how badly have you tracked up my floor this time?"

"I did not, Agatha. I was very clean."

Why was she still in so low a mood? They sensed nothing ill about her health, it was not so near unto her monthly blood, she did not seem to be starved for power...

"Come here," Agatha said.

Death went, offering the flowers carefully from Their bony hand. Agatha took them, studied them a moment, then laid them aside with the tome.

"You did what was asked of you."

"I did. As I always do."

Agatha reached out, gracing Their fingers with a delicate touch from her own.

"Sometimes I think I am too harsh with you, my Death."

"I did something incorrect. I was wrong."

"Yes, but really, should I have been so brusque? You are such a pretty little thing, after all."

"Am I?" they asked, flesh flowing in to cover the cold of bone.

"You are. Every form of you. Pretty things should be treated kindly, methinks."

"I must learn from my errors, Agatha."

"Ah, but you do learn so quickly, my darling. You are so very apt a pupil. So bright."

Death felt a rush of blood to their cheeks.

"I try to please you, my love."

"And you so often do, my sweet Rio. Sit, hmm?"

Rio sat on the edge of the bed, still holding Agatha's hand in their own. When Agatha pulled their hand to her lips and kissed the knuckles fondly, they felt the flush in their face only deepen, and felt other diversions of her body's blood that made her need to shift her seat slightly, to press the thighs together.

"I should more often tell you how pleased I am, my love," Agatha said. "How happy you make me when you so quickly do as I ask."

"I want you always to be happy," Rio said.

"Always?"

"Always."

"My good, beautiful Rio. Will you kiss me?"

Rio lunged perhaps a bit too quickly, a little too hungrily, but she could not be asked to care when it was a matter of life and death, as far as she considered it. If she did not feel Agatha's breath soft against her face, did not taste the sweetness of Agatha's lips at once, she would simply perish from want. She smiled at the pressure, mouth-to-mouth, and felt a little flame in her body's belly when Agatha moaned and allowed Rio's tongue passage beyond the sweet lips. With ease, she lifted herself and stretched out on top of Agatha, magicking all their clothes away without a thought.

Agatha let out a little huff of air, turning her face away suddenly.

"Naughty," the witch spat.

Rio drew back. She had been certain Agatha wanted to be made love to, and yet now...

"My own little rascallion, always plunging straight ahead without a by-your-leave."

"Agatha, I am sorry. I thought..."

"You thought too quickly, perhaps. Can you be my very good boy and listen to what I want?"

A sound almost like a purr buzzed through Rio's chest. She very much liked it when she could be Agatha's good boy.

"Kiss me," Agatha said, and Rio relaxed back in to do as she was bade.

The kiss was almost chaste, no chance to deepen, and when she sensed that Agatha was done, Rio pulled back.

"Is this..."

"You're doing so well, my sweet. I very nearly think I might be proud of you."

Rio gasped, eyes wide, as every bit of her body tingled. Some places tingled more than others, and given where she was, she was quite inclined to rut her hips down against Agatha, but did not dare.

She could not stomach being naughty again.

"May I kiss you again?" she asked, feeling as nervous as she had their first time.

"You may," Agatha said.

This one was deeper, warmer, and Agatha certainly seemed pleased with it, her legs slipping further apart, one coming up to curl around Rio's hip. The weight drove Rio to grind down at last, but she did so only timidly, wary still of misbehaviour.

"It's all right," Agatha cooed, moving to meet Rio's careful thrusts.

"Am I... Doing well?"

"Very well, my love. I'm so pleased. So very, very pleased with you."

The room felt very warm, as it often did in such times, and Rio felt her thoughts, the part of her thoughts that were inseparable from this human form, go vague and cloudy. In her head everything was Agatha Agatha Agatha.

"Rio, I love you. I do love you."

"I love you, Agatha."

"Can you be... Very, very good for me?"

"Always. Anything you like, my love, my own, my heart."

"Please? Please, can you... Can we try again? Please?"

Rio's heart, so young in comparison to the rest of the entity, quivered. This again. This that her wife wanted so deeply, that even by now she wanted so deeply. The one thing she was certain she could never provide, being as she was. Even with all her power, her grasp of the Cosmos...

"Is it what you wish?" she asked.

"You know that it is."

So, never wishing to deny her wife anything, Rio resolved again to try, pushing away all the memories of past disappointment and loss and letting her power move and shift in the appropriate ways most useful to the task at hand. With a grunt, she thrust down again, down and in, and held very still a moment, face near enough to whisper in Agatha's ear.

"For you," Rio murmured, "I would reshape the universe."

Pulling back, she let her tongue slither up the side of Agatha's neck, tipping over the spot where beneath, the witch's pulse beat wild. As she thrust back in, she drew her tongue back and let her teeth nip at the same point, drawing a gasp and moan from Agatha.

"Good boy," Agatha whispered.

That nearly tipped Rio over, and she had to slow for a moment, had to hold back, her body panting for breath.

"Oh, do not deny me now, my pretty," Agatha said.

"I would not, love, only... Only please..."

"Come along, my sweet one. My dear, darling one. My good, sweet, perfect..."

Rio fell apart, thrusting back in deep, feeling as if some essential part of herself was leaking free as she came, as she felt the softest part of Agatha clench wild around her.

"My love," Rio choked. "Oh, my love. My love. My love."

And then Agatha was sobbing, shaking, needing comfort, and Rio held her, kissed her, caressed her.

"I'm so sorry," Agatha said, voice soft and small and frightened.

"It's all right, my love. You are good. Everything is good."

[curarems]

So we know Vetinari has his drama queen benevolent tyrant streak. I do believe it is pineapple. Do you believe in angels. Ah, Vimes. I am about to play a damsel in distress. Brb gotta juggle some knives and melons. Lurking in the shadows. I come from the city. Think of me as your future. Boo. Which is PEAK drama. Havelock calm down.

What I am saying is, bby Havelock absolutely was the most™ kid ever. He joins the Assassin's Guild. He excels, gets good grades. Madam Meserole spends the next few years listening to 'I wear darkness as my cloak' and 'I hide in the night' and him practising cringy phrases to send people away that have not developed into 'don't let me detain you' yet. He is trying out his dramatic entrances. He speaks like a posh middle-aged intellectual about to present his latest discovery to the council. He practises martial arts with cutlery. He accidentally breaks a vase with a kitchen knife and defends it with 'no improvement in skill comes without sacrifice'. He discusses his political opinions with ugly stray dogs. He comes home covered in mud and gods know what else after falling into Ankh while trying to balance on a rope. Madam keeps finding him on the rooftop dramatically sitting in the moonlight. He is twelve. He is adorable.

[pillow-anime-talk]

reaction to his s/o’s death.

request: hi! how would moriarty the patriot characters react to his girlfriends death? sorry my english is bad becaues it’s not my language. if you don’t want to do it, dont do. have a nice day/evening😁

# tags: headcanons; current relationships; romance; drama; angst; death and blood mention; pregnancy and cancer mention too; suggestive

includes: female reader ft. sherlock holmes, jack renfield, james bond, fred porlock, george lestrade {mtp}

author’s note: hiii, thank you so much!

— SHERLOCK

↘ Your death was sudden. Sherlock was not prepared for it at all. He wanted to spend time with you that day at your favorite cafe on the corner of one of London’s streets. He wanted to eat apple pie with you, drink some coffee or tea with honey, and at the end take a walk along the park, talking about plans for the coming weeks.

↘ Your smiling face and eyes full of love, which shone even more at the sight of sweets, were muffled after a short while by the screams of the barista and customers, as well as gunshots, probably the most ordinary pistol. This day was going to be great, but it ended with a shooting by a madman.

↘ The sight of your body covered in blood and your blurred eyes was something indescribable to the man. After everything, the only question left was: Why didn’t he take you somewhere else? The feeling of guilt overwhelmed Sherlock Holmes like nothing else.

— JACK

↘ Just a few hours earlier, you were teasing each other about what to have for dinner, and a little after five in the evening, when you and your dog went for a short walk around the tenements, Jack heard many screams. He quickly put the newspaper he was reading on the table next to his cup of coffee, and then went to the huge window to see what had happened.

↘ The man could only see the galloping horse, the driver shouting incomprehensible words to God, your dog – Sharon – curled up under… you lying in a pool of blood, dirt and mud.

↘ That was when Jack cried for the first time in ten years, since your wedding.

— JAMES

↘ Together with James and William, you went to fulfill a mission; it was a simple task. Talk to the suspect, make a deal, possibly admit guilt and consider the punishment for the sins that the person was supposed to have committed.

↘ At first, everything was going well. Harold Stein, a German who came to London five years ago, was a human trafficker, who he brought from Germany. Pimping was a huge crime, so the three of you decided that there was no other punishment for the man than to hand him over to the police. And it was probably these words caused him to become so furious and disapproving. In an instant, the flash of a knife was within your sight. You quickly jumped away from the criminal, and then, with the will to fight, you wanted to stop him by saying that nothing would improve his situation.

↘ Your good spirit and aversion to aggression caused the knife to move towards you in an instant, and the next thing you felt was cold in your hands and toes. Looking down at the knife stuck straight into your chest, you just laughed. Flying bullets, fights, and poison had never defeated you… it was just a knife. Seeing this, James went into a rage, and even the calm and powerful William couldn’t stop him.

— FRED

↘ Fred understood the concept of death, he had dealt with it for a very long time, especially working for the Moriarty brothers.

↘ However, he never understood and never would understand the concept of the death of someone close to him, beloved, so precious. You were so young, so beautiful and had your whole life ahead of you; you wanted to write, sing, dance ballet, you wanted to open your own café, start a family with Fred in the future, have a pet and a garden where you would grow your favorite vegetables for salads or dinners. And yet cancer, for which a cure had not yet been invented, took you away from Fred in half a year.

↘ And although he had seen your life fading away for the last six months, at the funeral he could not hold back his tears and emotions; even Louis, even his mother, even God himself could not calm his suffering soul or soothe the longing that was visible in his gaze when he kissed your forehead for the last time in the coffin before placing it in the grave.

— GEORGE

↘ To George, you were a real princess, real Queen. And when you got pregnant with your first child, your husband couldn’t have been happier; a beloved woman, a home together, a long-awaited baby that would bear his surname, and also plans for the future like a secure old age and a group of grandchildren around the two of you sitting in old armchairs. Could it have been more beautiful?

↘ It certainly could have been... different. George had many enemies, but when you entered a relationship with him, you knew what to expect. So for five years you lived quietly, not sticking your neck out too much, enjoying being his life partner and future mother. However, everything changed on that one rainy night, when your beloved stayed at work longer than usual, wanting to finish some paperwork. And that’s when someone broke into your apartment. At first, they took what seemed valuable and expensive; your necklace, pocket watch, a bottle of red dry wine, a cigar, your grandmother’s rings, and also gold in small bars. And you would probably have survived that night if not for the instinct that told you to wake up and check if your husband had already returned.

↘ Instead of George, however, you saw a stranger who, upon seeing you, immediately attacked you with a vase standing on the dresser. In a moment, you found yourself on the floor with a terrible headache and spots before your eyes. The only thing you could think about was your husband and child in your belly. Unfortunately, your beloved returned too late and the sight he found was worse than all the nightmares he had dreamed of throughout his life. Guilt, anger, sadness, mourning, a desire for revenge… And in all of this, emptiness and loneliness...

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 46

Azriel x Reader Fic

Warning: The following section contains explicit content. There is a warning before the description begins, so I strongly encourage anyone under the age of 18 to stop reading at that point. We will continue with the next part afterwards!

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 4.8K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

After weeks of not winnowing, the familiar sensation made you sick as a dog - just like old times. Azriel reached out to steady you as you stumbled, and you could already hear Nesta's voice echoing through the halls. "Cassian, if you dare come in here covered in mud and mess up my carpets, I will personally flay you alive." She emerged from a room, her signature scowl slowly melting into awe as she saw you standing there. With the pregnancy weight and newfound curves, she looked radiant - motherhood clearly suiting her. With tears in her eyes, she rushed towards you and enveloped you in a tight embrace.

Azriel stepped back with a knowing smile, allowing the two of you to have your moment. Nesta finally released you from her hug, only to hold your face in her hands and give you an intense once-over. "You know," she said with a slight quiver in her lip, "I tried so hard not to cry when I knew you were coming, but I should have known better."

You let out a sniffle mixed with laughter as you replied, "At least you have a legit reason to cry - I can't blame my emotions on being pregnant."

Nesta laughed again, her tears now streaming down her face. "I missed you so much," she whispered before pulling you into another hug. And in that moment, all was right with the world.

"I missed you too," you murmured into her ear.

As she pulled away, she added somewhat seriously, “Everyone in this whole city is insane and has no sense of color coordination or taste.”

You both burst out laughing at that, feeling at home with each other once again. "And Cassian," Nesta added, "I swear, I want to kill him every day."

You raised an eyebrow, "I don't think that's just the pregnancy talking."

Azriel chimed in from behind you two, "Nesta, do you dream about murdering people every night?"

Nesta shot him a dirty look over your shoulder that could curdle milk. "Maybe if any of you were actually helpful, I wouldn't have these homicidal thoughts." She then turned to you with an appraising gaze. "Why are you drenched?"

You chuckled, glancing down at the puddle forming around your feet. "Just got caught in a little drizzle."

Nesta raised an eyebrow skeptically. "It's been pouring for hours and you just now got 'caught'?"

You shrugged sheepishly. "Well, it’s a long story"

She rolled her eyes at the water on the floor and waved you off. "Showers. Both of you. If you stand here any longer you’re going to soak through the floorboards." Azriel raised his hands in surrender as he headed down the hall, with you trailing behind. "And when you're done, meet me in the library," Nesta called after you.

You laughed, catching up to Azriel. "So she's been like this since I left?"

Azriel looked like he was trying not to laugh as he answered, "This is actually a good day."

"Poor Cassian," you joked.

But Azriel just smirked and said, "After all the trouble he's caused throughout the centuries, this is a fitting punishment." He shrugged lightly, “Plus he gets a babe at the end of it. And he did also cause Nesta to feel like this.”

SPICE WARNING - DO NOT INTERACT IF UNDER 18

Azriel swung open the doors to your old room, and you couldn't help but smile at the sight of the familiar dark blue accents and perfectly made bed. But as you stepped inside, a pang of bittersweet memories hit you. It seemed that Azriel didn't share the same sentiments as he walked past you and into the bathroom. You followed behind him and watched as he turned on the shower, steam immediately filling the room. As he turned back towards you, his shirt clung to his body from the rain outside, and with a wet slap it landed on the tiled floor. The House, disapproving of the wet mess, quickly made the shirt disappear before it even touched the ground. He smiled at you as he stood there, water droplets glistening on his bare chest in front of the now steamed-up mirror.

Your eyes greedily drank in the sight of Azriel's chiseled chest as he leaned over to adjust the water temperature. You couldn't resist sliding closer to him, your hands pushing his away as you slowly undid his belt with deliberate slowness. The growl that rumbled from his throat only fueled your desire as you peppered kisses across his chest while he breathed heavily under your lips. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you removed his belt with a satisfying clang and looked up at him through your lashes. His gaze was dark with longing as you worked to unbutton his pants, teasing and straining until finally they fell to the ground with a wet thud.

Your fingers traced over the elastic band of his underwear, causing a deep purr to rumble from Azriel's lips. You couldn't help but smirk at his eagerness, but you weren't ready to give in just yet. Stepping back, you released his bulging cock and began to remove your own clothing, each piece falling away with agonizing slowness until you stood before him completely naked. Azriel's eyes devoured every inch of you and you reveled in the power you held over him.

But this wasn't going to be a quick release, not when it had been weeks since you last saw each other. So instead of giving in to the primal urge that pulsed between you two, you took a step back, watching as Azriel let out a desperate moan at the loss of contact. Slowly, tantalizingly slow, you peeled off your wet sweater before struggling to remove your soaked pants. The moment was broken when you almost tripped in your haste to strip down for him, your clumsiness causing both of you to laugh breathlessly.

As you stumbled back to standing, your fingers fumbling with the waistband of your underwear, Azriel's velvety moan stopped you in your tracks. "Leave them on," he groaned, his voice rough and full of desire. You stood across from each other, both almost fully exposed save for the thin layer of fabric covering each of you. The warm steam of the shower enveloped your chilled skin, sending shivers down your spine as Azriel's eyes roamed over your body. His gaze traced up from your toes to the goosebumps that prickled along your skin, lingering on every curve and dip until it finally met yours. With a bite to your lip, you closed the distance between you, rising onto your tiptoes to meet him in a kiss.

As your bodies pressed together, Azriel's hands hungrily explored every inch of you, his grip strong and possessive. Tongues danced and lips fought for dominance as you lost yourselves in each other's touch. Pushing against his chest, you forced him to pause and catch his breath. He struggled to pull in air as you kissed a trail down from his lips, following the contours of his muscled jaw and down his tattooed neck. Your hand found its way back to his throbbing length, eliciting a deep moan from Azriel as he leaned his head back against the mirror.

Without breaking eye contact, you continued your slow descent down his muscled chest, teasingly dragging your teeth against his hip bones and making him buck uncontrollably. His grip returned to the counter for support as you let your fingers wrap around the band of his underwear and pull it down. His hardened length sprung forth, causing excitement to flutter in your heart and a throb between your legs. You ran your hands up and down the length of his toned thighs, admiring every inch of his sculpted body.

With your mouth watering, you couldn't resist any longer. Falling to your knees, you rested your hands on your thighs and closed your eyes, sticking out your tongue to lick up the full length of Azriel's cock. Slowly, you felt him harden on your tongue as you reached the tip, swirling it around and savoring the taste of him. Azriel's grip on the counter tightened as he moaned and hissed in pleasure.

Opening your eyes, you glanced up at Azriel with a mischievous grin before taking him into your mouth, barely getting to your thumb as your hand wrapped around the base of him, feeling yourself gag slightly at his length. You coordinated the pace of your mouth with the strokes of your hand, feeling Azriel shudder and mutter "Fuck..." breathlessly as you worked at him.

Your cheeks hollowed as you took him in your mouth, feeling the weight and girth of his cock pressing against the sides. You could sense Azriel's struggle to keep control, his hips lightly thrusting from the counter as he fought back the urge to fuck your face without restraint. Wet sounds filled the air as you tasted every inch of him, your tongue tracing up the throbbing veins along his shaft. With a steadying hand, you pushed him deeper into your mouth, taking him to the back of your throat and fighting off the gag reflex. His pelvis hit your lips with a satisfying moan, his hands leaving the counter to grip onto your head and hold you there, filling your mouth completely. “Such a good girl.” He praised through a breathless moan. Your nails dug into his hips, eliciting shudders from him as he looked down at you. Meeting his gaze from beneath your lashes, you struggled to maintain your position at the base of his cock, tears forming in your eyes “Just one more second baby, just give me one more minute of this. Come on baby,” he urged. You felt a tear slip down your face as his grip on your hair loosened. As you pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip before finally being emptied. Wiping your lips clean of his pre-cum and saliva, his hand came down to trace your full bottom lip, now glossy with wetness. Hunger burned in Azriel's eyes as you took his thumb into your mouth and sucked on it erotically while keeping your gaze locked on him. He seemed entranced by the sight before pulling his thumb away with a pop. "Such a little tease," he moaned out. A smile played on your lips before turning back to his throbbing cock. With an expert opening of your lips, you slid down again until reaching the middle and then pulled back with a strong suction that made it difficult for even Azriel to reach his tip. Rolling his head back in pleasure, he braced himself against the counter and repeated praises of your name over and over again.

With each slow stroke, Azriel's body contorted in a battle between pleasure and restraint. Your nails dug into his hips as he struggled against your hold.

"Be a good girl," he commanded, his voice thick with desire. "Take it all."

You hummed in satisfaction, the vibrations in your throat causing Azriel to moan uncontrollably. As you descended to his full length, you swallowed him down eagerly, savoring the taste of him on your tongue. He let out a breathless moan, overcome by the pleasure you were giving him.

"Keep your head still, my love," he instructed, and you obediently complied. "Just let me fuck you for a little while, then I'll stop. Okay?"

You hummed again in agreement, lost in the act of pleasing him.

Azriel seemed to let out a satisfied sigh as his hands tangled in your hair. "If you need me to stop, just tap my hips," he reminded you. But you were determined to take all of him, no matter how much it made you choke or struggle for air. The pleasure was worth any discomfort.

Starting with slow and deliberate thrusts, Azriel tested your limits before quickly increasing his speed. His hands held onto you tightly as he fucked you with unrelenting passion. You could hear his moans and groans of praise above your own slurping and sucking sounds.

At one point, you felt yourself choke but allowed him to continue, reveling in the way his cock twitched and stuttered as he pushed deeper into your throat. He kept going, his pace faltering slightly as he tightened with impending release. Then suddenly, he pulled out completely.

When you looked up at him, Azriel's eyes were hooded and dazed with ecstasy. "Fuck..." he whispered hoarsely, tracing your face with his fingers. "You're perfect."

You couldn't help but lick your lips, still tasting him on your tongue. In a desperate whisper, he beckoned you closer. "Come here," he moaned. "Let me taste myself on your lips."

With a groan, you pushed yourself up from the floor, your knees protesting at the rough surface. But any discomfort was quickly forgotten as you met Azriel's hungry kiss. His hands cupped your cheeks, holding you close as he ravished your lips. The sound of the shower pounding against the tile matched the ferocity of his touch. As he pressed you back against the wall, his fingers digging into your skin, you could feel his desire and need radiating from every inch of his body as he ripped your underwear from you.

With a strong arm around your waist, Azriel lifted you up and carried you across the bathing room. When he reached the other side of the room, he pinned you to the wall with his body, pressing against you in all the right places. His kisses were relentless and passionate, his fingers leaving trails of heat wherever they roamed.

As he positioned himself underneath you, he whispered in your ear, "I have missed you every second that we haven't been together like this." And with that, he slid into you fully, filling you with every inch of himself. It had been too long since you felt him inside of you, and your body eagerly welcomed him back home.

Azriel started with slow thrusts, savoring every moment of being buried deep inside of you. You clung to him desperately, your legs wrapped tight around his hips as he lifted and lowered you onto him. Each time he hit that special spot deep inside of you, a surge of pleasure shot through your body and set it on fire. You couldn't help but bite down on his shoulder to stifle your moans.

But there was no stopping the primal sounds escaping from Azriel's own lips as he picked up speed. Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, his hand squeezing and kneading at your ass as he drove into you with all his pent-up desire. You couldn't resist glancing at your reflection in the fogged up mirror, watching as Azriel's glorious wings spread out behind him, his muscles rippling with effort and ecstasy.

Your nails scraped lightly over the soft flesh of his wings, eliciting a primal growl from Azriel. "Don't do that," he warned, his rhythm faltering slightly.

Unable to resist teasing him, you ran your fingers through the softness once more before obeying his order.

But even without that added sensation, Azriel's thrusts were enough to bring you both closer to the edge. "You're going to make me cum right now if you keep doing that," he gritted out, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. “And I’m not stopping until you’re screaming for me.”

Breathless, you leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "You being inside of me is like being in heaven."

Azriel's own breath caught at your words as he continued to move inside of you. "It's like I've left this world and gone to the next," he murmured.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you reveled in the sensations coursing through your body as you met each of his thrusts with equal fervor. "Every part of me is complete with you, Azriel," you whispered back.

His hips stuttered at your words, and he lifted his head to look into your eyes. "Say my name again," he commanded.

"Fuck, Azriel," you moaned out, unable to deny him anything in this moment.

With a triumphant smile on his lips, Azriel picked up speed once more, both of you lost in the overwhelming pleasure building between you. He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips and continued his movements with renewed vigor.

His voice was low and commanding as he looked at you, your back pushed up against the wall. He turned to catch your eye in the mirror, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Do you like it when I take you like this? When I make you mine?"

Desire burned within you as you nodded eagerly, whimpering in anticipation. With a slow pull, he withdrew from your heat completely, leaving you aching for him. But before you could protest, his skilled fingers slipped inside of you, filling the void left by his cock. Your head hit the wall as he expertly explored every inch of your inner walls.

A deep rumble of pleasure escaped him as he spoke, "You want me so badly. Your body can't get enough of me." He dragged his fingers out slowly, making you moan in need. "Can you feel how tightly your pussy clenches around my fingers, begging for me?"

Breathless and desperate, you whispered back, "Yes."

Azriel ran his thumb over your sensitive clit while keeping a steady rhythm with his fingers inside of you. "Open your eyes, baby," he commanded. "Watch yourself being fucked by me."

You submitted to his control, feeling your body willingly surrender as Azriel let you sink onto the ground back onto your unsteady feet. His hands wandered over your skin with possessive hunger, igniting every nerve with unadulterated desire as he moved behind you. As he kissed and caressed you, you watched in the reflection on the wall, seeing yourself consumed by pleasure under his skilled touch. His hand cupped your breast, teasing and squeezing until your nipple hardened with pleasure, while his other hand wrought sweet torment between your legs.

Your wetness coated his fingers as he thrust into you over and over again, making you moan uncontrollably. In the reflection, Azriel's gaze locked with yours and you felt a jolt of electricity surge through you. "Look at yourself," he growled, claiming you as his own. "A picture of pure ecstasy. This is what I can do to you." He trailed kisses down your neck, “My little pleasure-fucked girl, you’re all mine”. And just as he spoke those words, he thrust his fingers deeply inside you, filling you completely and sending you spiraling closely into a mind-blowing orgasm. "Come for me, baby," he urged, spurring on your release. The waves of orgasm crashed over you incessantly, leaving you breathless and completely at his mercy. "Watch yourself cum for me, my good girl," he purred seductively. And as you watched yourself unravel in the reflection, all you could think was how utterly satisfied you were in his hold.

You watched with hazy eyes as your mouth opened in choked, sobbing moans while Azriel growled into your ear. He brought you down from your high, your chest heaving with anticipation. "Good girl," he praised, kissing your shoulder as you felt your legs give out under you.

Lost in the euphoria of release, you lifted your head and met Azriel's intense gaze in the mirror. His smug smile only fueled your desire as he asked, "Had enough?"

Shaking your head, you feel his hard cock pressing against your back as he leaned closer. With a seductive tone, he whispers, "You want more, don't you?"

Nodding eagerly, you swallow hard as Azriel pulls your hair away from your shoulders and trails loving kisses up your neck. He breathed into your ear, "Bend over for me, my little wildflower."

Your legs trembled as you made your way to the counter, knowing exactly what he wanted. In the mirror, you saw his reflection fixated on your glistening pussy with hunger in his eyes and his tongue darting out to lick his lips hungrily.

He sucked in his breath and let out a low growl as he stalked towards you, one hand possessively gripping your hip while the other aggressively stroked his throbbing erection. His heated gaze met yours through the mirror, a smirk playing on his lips as he playfully smacked your ass with his cock. Your body shuddered with anticipation as he leaned in close and whispered in your ear, "Listen carefully..." His cock teased your entrance, causing you to moan and arch your back in pleasure. But he stopped you from losing yourself by yanking your hair back and forcing you to meet his intense gaze in the mirror. His voice turned commanding and forceful, just like how he led his armies. “Look at me when I speak to you." He snarled.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, barely able to form coherent thoughts.

Azriel chuckled darkly as he slowly pushed into you, relishing in the way your body tensed up and stretched around him. With each thrust, he watched himself take you in the mirror, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "As I was saying," he breathed heavily, setting a slow and sensual pace while firmly grasping your ass, kneading and squeezing it roughly. "Those filthy desires that you sent me through the shadows... They revealed just how unapologetically dirty and naughty you truly are. And how much you crave me." The thought of all the explicit scenes you had described to him through the shadows, including this one where he had you bent over the counter and ravishing you, made his heart race with excitement. Azriel wanted nothing more than for you to lose yourself in ecstasy, but you kept your eyes locked on his reflection in the mirror, unable to look away from the dominating and irresistible male before you.

Azriel started to pick up his pace, causing you to shift harder against the counter. "You were such a tease with those," he rasped out. His focus wavered for a moment before picking back up again as he continued, "But no matter how hard I stroked my cock, how much I tried to remember the look on your face when you cum on me..." He hissed in pleasure as he quickened his pace, "It's never the same as being buried deep inside your hot, wet pussy." Your head fell forward, unable to keep yourself upright as he fucked you with increasing intensity. His hand slipped between your bodies, finding your throbbing clit and sending you spiraling towards another orgasm. Glancing in the mirror, you saw Azriel's eyes fixed on you as he nodded and whispered, "I can see it.” He smiled at you with a deep hunger, “Cum for me, baby."

With a loud moan, your body tightened around him and you let yourself go over the edge once again. You felt your toes curl and back arch as waves of pleasure coursed through you. It seemed that watching your face was enough to push Azriel over the edge too; his mouth dropped open and his hips stuttered before releasing ropes of cum inside of you.

As he breathed heavily, whispering "I love you so much," Azriel's hand tenderly caressed your back, soothing the aches in your body. His words were like a healing balm to your soul as he repeated them over and over until his breathing calmed. He leaned in, leaving gentle kisses on your skin still glistening with sweat. With a soft moan, he pulled away, reluctantly breaking the physical connection between your bodies.

But his arms remained wrapped around you, holding you close as both of you exchanged those three precious words again and again. Lost in the warm afterglow, you allowed yourself to be led to the shower, Azriel's strong arms enveloping you protectively as he guided you under the warm water. As you stood together under the cascading water, Azriel's skilled hands massaged your scalp, his touch both comforting and arousing. You couldn't help but let out a contented sigh as he continued to wash away any remnants of your passionate encounter on the counter.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked, stepping back to take in your relaxed form.

"Better than I have in days," you admitted, leaning into him. You closed your eyes and let the water wash over your face, feeling a sense of peace wash over you.

Azriel's fingers traced the lines of your face, his touch gentle and affectionate. "Was everything okay for you?"

You chuckled against his chest, "More than okay."

Azriel laughed softly, "I should have asked if it was alright for me to talk to you like that beforehand. I just thought after what we shared in those shadows, maybe you would be open to exploring something more intense."

Your lashes fluttered open and you smiled at him, "I love intensity."

Azriel wrapped his arms tighter around you, "And I love you." He said, resting his chin on top of your head.

"I love you too," you replied, kissing his skin softly. "And I missed you. So much."

"You were worth the wait," he murmured, his voice filled with love and emotion.

As you gazed into the foggy mirror, Azriel's features softened for a brief moment before a single tear slipped down his cheek. He hastily wiped it away, but the sight left an unsettling feeling in your gut. You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the warmth of his embrace and the temporary bliss it provided from the chaos outside. But deep down, you couldn't shake off the impending sense of dread about what plans Azriel had already laid out for your next encounter, and what sacrifices he may have already made in the looming battle ahead.

To my readers: To those who enjoy smut, this is my apology for not posting for a few days prior. Kisses!

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