#i am but a simple creature as it turns out...

[ananke-xiii]

usual disclaimer: this is just me thinking out loud, sort of, some of this stuff is probably incoherent or even incorrect, I'm just playing around with my obsessions lol, take it with a grain of salt.

Previously I've written that it's possible that Dean has inadvertently caused John to grow up without his father, Henry. Today I even dare to write that Castiel has accidentally ("accidentally" because he didn't know he was used as a pawn back then) caused "Mary's choice" by creating a causal loop where he sends Dean "back" in time causing the events to unfold as they did precisely because Dean was there.

In the episode "In the beginning" Cas sends Dean to the 70s saying he needs to stop "it" and that time is fluid and angels can bend it on occasion even if it's not simple. Then we have this dialogue:

Dean: Alright, if I do this, then the family curse breaks, right? Mom and Dad live happily ever after, and – and, Sam and I grow up playing little league and chasing tail? Castiel: You realize, if you do alter the future, your father, you, Sam – you'll never become hunters. And all those people you saved, they'll die. Dean: I realize. Castiel: And you don't care? Dean: Oh, I care. I care a lot, but these are my parents. I'm not gonna let them die again. I can't. No, not if I can stop it.

There are too many "ifs" in this dialogue. So can the future be altered or not? Is time fluid and can be bent or not? It seems the answer to these questions is yes but let's see what happens next.

Castiel has Dean under the impression that if he manages to stop "it", the family curse breaks and Dean very much wants it to be broken even at the expense of the people that he has saved. But the more Dean tries to stop "it", the more he makes it happen. He goes to that farm to kill the demon and Mary follows him there. She was not on Azazel's radar because we hear him say this:

"Where the hell have they been hiding you?"

And I wonder who this "they" is.

Then, after all the drama, Cas goes to Dean and tells him not to feel bad because he couldn't have stopped it and he just wanted Dean to see the truth. This is when he says this:

"Destiny can't be changed, Dean. All roads lead to the same destination."

And that now Dean knows everything that "we" (the angels, according to Castiel) know.

Therefore, the answer to those questions and to all those "ifs" is a big fat no, right? Right?! The future cannot be altered and time is not fluid, well, that is, humans cannot alter the future and for humans time is not fluid. The angels spend a considerable amount of power to make humans believe so and I wonder why if all they, the angels, want is The End of Time, therefore they don't care about the future because they know (or they think they do) that time will inevitably end. Maybe they are not so sure after all. It seems to me that for creatures who are able to bend time and move through dimensions, angels ridiculously depend on humans' notion of time. Which, in turn, make them very powerless.

The episode ends with this dialogue which is insane to me:

Castiel: We know what Azazel did to your brother. What we don't know is why – what his endgame is. He went to great lengths to cover that up. Dean: Where's Sam? Castiel: 425 Waterman. You brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean, and we're not sure where it leads. So stop it. Or we will.

There's something that doesn't add up AT ALL, or am I crazy? If destiny can't be changed and Dean couldn't stop it from happening and all roads lead to the same destination then why does Dean need to go to the destination of 425 Waterman to stop his brother from doing something that supposedly nobody (actually "we" who are, again, the angels according to Castiel before he knew the truth) really knows where it might lead while it was established that Dean can't stop jack shit and, on the contrary, the more he does, the more he's dooming himself and his family in the process? (okay that was a veeeery long question, you can breathe now).

Is it "destiny" that can't be changed or is it the past? 'Cause they either are the same thing or they're not. If destiny is the past then the question of free will changes significantly because time for the angels is fluid and they can bend it on occasion but it's not fluid for humans. If destiny=past and it can't be changed then all humans are left with is the capacity to accept it as it is, it's the only way to break "the curse".

If destiny and past are not the same thing, then why Dean couldn't change the past? If destiny is destiny and the past is the past, it shouldn't matter if the past is changed or not, should it? Because eventually destiny can't be changed and all roads lead to the same destination. And since this "destiny" can't be changed and Dean indeed didn't alter the future it therefore means that it was exactly what Dean did that helped cause the events in the past. What would have happened if Castiel hadn't made Dean think that he could have broken the family curse? If all Dean did in the 70s was walking around enjoying the view? Would the events still unfold as they did or not? Would it have been necessary for Michael himself to sweep in and "save the day" like he had to in "The Song Remains the Same"?

If this is the case, if Castiel acted as a sort of "agent of fate", then no wonder it's Castiel who must tear up the script by showing up in the story unannounced because he was the primary instrument that caused the story to happen in the first place. He cannot break the causal cycle because he is the cause. By showing up to Chuck's house and start making it up as he goes the loop is left to itself and will forever be happening while, in the "future", he helps events deviate from their supposed "destination". In this light, then, what Chuck says in s15 might be true, there might be other timelines where Cas does what he's told, i.e. keeping the timeline intact but it's not happening in "our" (the one we the audience see) timeline because it's a new branch that he himself has created to break from the impossibility of changing the "destiny", whatever it means, of that specific timeline.

I'm not sure if I'm making any sense but, like, time travels in SPN are insanely fun because they don't follow any consistency at all and are therefore interesting if you like to follow the thread and see what they might have gone if thoroughly explored.

[bluegarners]

EMBARRASSING how much i truly and sincerely like this fictional man

[grokebaby]

Deconstructing this A. Cola named entity... What's under that faux fur..

[inknopewetrust]

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐈 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝.

Summary: After days of uncertainty, you catch Aemond in the throne room and envision the future of what power can hold. [Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader] [WC: 2.8k]

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), public sex, exhibitionism, overstimulation, enemies to lovers dynamic.

Quick Links: Masterlist | gif by @vizual-demon

“Knee deep in the [throne room] and you’re eating me out… is it casual now?”

“Do you always look so smug after killing your own blood?”

In your shadows, Aemond Targaryen stared at the Iron Throne in the storm.

Thunder eclipsed the skies over the castle. In the late evening, you could feel the shocks of lightning beneath your fingertips as they grazed the columns of marble that flanked the room. Each scream of anger echoed through the stones, you could hear it so clearly.

You could see him in the shadows of the throne.

Aemond Targaryen had returned from battle two days ago.

In those two days, the world had changed drastically compared to the one that it was before. A King incapacitated, a legend buried in the rubble of a fallen house, and two sides burning as bright as the cascading terror above.

The tide was shifting and the power in the halls was striking.

Aemond’s arms hung limp at his sides. For someone so thirsty for the power the room held, his apathetic nature would bury him. He could see the darkness of the swords; twisting and bleeding each person dry for their aspirations.

He wanted to be someone who was remembered.

Aemond Targaryen did not want to be immortalized in history as a weak member of the greatest family to ever exist in this world. In his dreams he saw a man of profound strength and terror—someone who reigned a fearsome government with unyielding standards.

In his cruelty, he wanted people to see a person who would not sacrifice his name for peace.

So yes, he was a bit smug at Rhaenys’ demise and ultimately Aegon’s injury. He would not be in this position now had he not done what was asked of him.

But he didn’t answer you—Aemond did not feel the need to acknowledge it because he knew you understood. Even if you were to be cutting and cynical, Aemond knew you rationalized his beliefs in a similar fashion.

And that enticed him.

You had always enticed him. So simple yet cunning, an outsider amongst the other ladies in your class. You were not a whore, you were not a mother, and yet he wanted to know what it felt like to be a feign of your touch.

How would your hands feel on his body? Your delicate fingers wrapped around him?

“Ah,” you ticked at him, pushing off the stone pillar and moving in his direction. “You see, My Prince, when you allow a dragon’s head to be paraded for the city to see, people are going to notice.”

“Power is power. We needn’t parade it unless it was necessary to remind them who they should bend the knee to.”

“At the ill will of a sacred creature?”

Meleys was once a beautiful dragon. It was such a shame that the second time you were able to witness her beauty it was in the butchered attempt of showing off. The grandstanding sickened the soil.

“It does not take a Targaryen to understand that.”

“What would you know of Targaryen customs?” He spoke back. His voice was thin and dry. “You will never know.”

“I apologize… for my lowly status is not on par with such a great house. I am sure my Lord Father would appreciate the sentiment.”

You have a coy, playful smile that he could feel in his bones. The kind that would chide him, never take him too seriously, and one that rarely doubted him.

It was an uneasy feeling. One he would never quite get used to.

“His ambitions are not unknown. How people without power seek it.”

“Is that not why there are whispers of what you have done?” You questioned and his hands turned to fists quickly. “Small folk talk, Aemond. Power is power but when you misuse it, the omen may come true.”

The omen hovered like the storm above. The God’s were battling in the realm in the sky; giants of proportions unfathomable in their richness of blood. They scorched and rattled in the sky as cracks of thunder rumbled throughout the Keep.

“Yet I speak nothing of it,” he eyed you solemnly. “You talk of rumors and fallacies as if they hold truth. Perhaps it is I who should ask where your loyalties preside? Does war scare you?”

Aemond approached you with long strides. His hands lingered at his sides but never held onto his hilt, threatening you with violence or harm for your disagreements.

He could see you did not fear war. Your father would have called on your return if the prospect of war scared a house with the name of your own. A prominent family in the Vale—to the Greens you were a key.

And he could play you a fiddle if you let him.

“No,” you replied, keeping your head tall. “I live in a gilded tower.”

“That has been infiltrated before. It has seen death before.”

“They do not seek me,” your eyes ran along his face as the sky illuminated his sharp features. “But you know that.”

Aemond hummed and in a moment of faulted want, his right hand reached to brush your own. The electricity of shock pulsing through your veins as though it was as important as blood itself.

You swallowed the nervousness that built in your throat at his actions. He was so sure of himself, so different from the man you had known before.

He took his sins and bathed in them. Aemond let the water dry in confidence of himself as Prince Regent. If he was going to rule in his brother’s stead, he needed the reverie of power to seep inside of him.

“Men will seek anything if they are given the chance.”

You traced the direction of his eyes to your hand, how he ghostly itched to touch you again.

“And what is it that you seek?” You questioned quietly. “Is being a ruler not enough?”

In the lull, your ears filled themselves with the sound of your heartbeat. Pumping and beating to the thrills of anticipation you sought in the sordid walls of an ugly Keep. To please a King, well… It was a dangerous thing.

Aemond’s hand touched yours loosely again. His fingers gently grazed yours with a profound intent that was something he sought.

“No,” he admitted. “It is not.”

His hand bypassed yours and rested lowly on your hip. The touch stilled you. In the darkness of the hall, the world stopped moving and your vision tunneled. His hand moved higher to rest upon the crux of your hip and stomach, thumb caressing the fabric of your dress. He stepped closer.

Without thinking, you took a step back out of the chills that erupted on your skin, not out of want. He took the space you created and closed it again but followed you as you moved backwards and backwards until your back hit one of the marble columns you had hid behind not twenty minutes earlier.

One of your hands caught yourself on the column and the other wove itself around a post. The wings of the throne room were elevated for spectators that were nonexistent now.

Aemond’s other hand mirrored the other and he held you there.

“If someone came looking for you,” he huffed, tilting his head to the side which allowed his eye to narrow. “What would you let them do to you?”

You furrowed your brows yet the feel of his hands burning through your dress allowed your mouth to run dry.

Nothing. You would let them do nothing to you. You would fight to the death to defend yourself but if it were Aemond, you would let him devour you.

“What about me, hm?” There was a faint smile on his lips. “What would you let me, your Prince Regent, do to you while the Gods watched over us?”

His hands slithered up your torso, drawing a staggered breath from you as he cupped your breasts over your dress and groped hard to feel the flesh. Aemond saw your chest stutter under his touch.

“Tell me,” he whispered, pulling his head in close to yours. His lips became a mere centimeter from yours; breath lingering in the space between you heavy and taught.

“I-I-I,” your nerves got the better of you. Stumbling over your words like a dolt, his hands moved back down and began to gather your dress in his hands. 

“Poised to stick pins where the plans now lie but a stuttering fool now.” 

“I am not a fool,” you huffed as the cool night air began to make itself known against your ankles, then your shins. “I know what I want.” 

Aemond leaned in, knocking his nose gently with yours. 

“Tell me,” he repeated. 

“I want you to touch me,” you instructed him. “I want to feel the mouth of a King on my lips and under the Gods I do sin, but I wish to feel his lips elsewhere.” 

“Oh?” Aemond hummed as his hands continued their path. “I may not hold the title of King-” 

“You are a King, Aemond,” you said assertively and his hands stopped. 

“You rule in the place of Aegon’s incapacity and by all law and rules, you are the one to carry the heavy sword. You speak the actions and see them true.” 

His Adam’s apple bobbed at the reality. 

Aemond’s power lingered. It lingered in this great hall but it was a shell. The Aemond he felt in his bones was still as scared as the one who killed Lucerys. 

“I wish to feel your lips elsewhere,” you whispered, breath fanning his face. He tilted his head upwards and for a split second, his lips touched yours. 

Intoxicating; you would have fallen to your knees had you not already wished to see him on his. 

“I want to see a King on his knees.”

Aemond could only smirk. He planted a quick, brief kiss on your lips before bunching up the skirt of your dress as he knelt down to the floor. A beckoning, ethereal call from above led him to his knees to worship. With his hands collecting the material of your dress, Aemond’s hands met yours and opened them the best he could for you to grab onto it. He used the leverage of your assistance to bring down your stockings, clear the way of his alter as the thunder roared from above.

You let your head fall back against the pillar as his hands roamed your thighs, inching higher and higher but still skimming past the now unguarded temple.

You could not help but look at the exits in view as though someone would walk through them at this hour.

This late hour when all of the good, pious Lord and Ladies, Prince and Princesses, laid in their beds asleep—sans the King he would never fault himself for burning.

“Aemond,” you spoke with a voice that shook. “What if someone were to see us?”

He stopped his hands, gazing up at you from the ground on which he knelt.

“Let them see then,” he kissed the front of your thighs. “If they see, then I will marry you.”

Fuck. It made your heart leap in your chest. A frog in your throat, the honesty in his eye was enough for your anxieties to settle but your excitement to grow.

He would marry you. What a world you wished you lived in.

If all were true, it would have happened the first time he touched you. 

“Drop your dress,” he ordered.

Without hesitation, you dropped the skirt of your dress and he vanished before your eyes.

But you could feel him.

You could feel the breath of his body releasing itself just beyond where you ached for him the most. His grip on your thighs was bruising. Aemond used his position to prop one of your legs on his shoulder, sending you off balance and into the bannister behind you.

But then his hot breath met where you wanted him and the feeling melted you from the inside. Aemond peppered kisses on your mound, waiting until the perfect moment to lick a stripe through your folds and with it, you folded yourself. 

Daydreams of his hands on yours was not enough. The feel of your hand in the solitude of night where the sins of pleasure were trapped behind heavy doors could not compare. Aemond attached himself to your flesh and sucked, hard, before lapping again in a more gentle fashion. He repeated it again and again until the wetness began to gather more audibly. 

There was no stopping the breathless pants escaping your lips. 

You gripped hard on the marbled post. If you were the strongest woman in the Seven Kingdoms, you could have crushed it beneath your fingertips. Aemond’s tongue laded the wetness and gathered it in a lewd slurping noise to your clit only to run his tongue over it in brisk movements. 

“Aemond-” you swallowed your moan. Knees threatening to buckle, you wanted to grip onto him. Your hands sought his shoulders, his head or hair, and a soft bed. 

The Iron Throne was taunting you in the background. Power so divine, so close yet a million miles away. 

Aemond wouldn’t marry you, but in the moment, you would live sinfully until the Gods caught you in truth. 

He let out a low hum that made your senses tingle. He too was enjoying the pleasure he could bring, growing his own in his trousers that begged for its own mercy. Aemond could feel you palm at his head from the fabric that fell over his head—a delicacy; the rapture of someone he could love one day if he let himself. 

Your helpless want forced you to roll your hips against his face as though his tongue was not enough. Aemond gripped your hips tightly to guide you against his mouth. 

“Shit.” The words fell from your lips freely. 

“Aemond, I don’t think I will fare much longer,” you admitted to him and felt yourself burn from the inside. His accommodations to your wants, the fluidity of his tongue against you in need was sending you barreling toward the edge. 

Your mewls became whines that rivaled the thunder. 

In an instant, he removed his mouth from yours and appeared from under your skirts. Your clit throbbed as the blood began to rush downwards and a sickening wetness that was not your finish began to trickle down your leg. 

“Wha-” 

You could not speak before his lips met yours aggressively. You could taste yourself on his lips and for a second, you wanted to recoil at the thought but his hands cupped the back of your head softly and everything melted into you. 

You wished he would marry you. 

“I am not done,” he broke the kiss and admitted. “But I could not hold that in any longer.” 

His sentiment took you aback. Your eyes searched for a lie; begging for a fallacy to come true and reveal itself in the ugly colors of night but there was nothing. There was nothing but truth and in it, it broke your heart in the slightest. 

Aemond wanted to kiss you. He wanted to please you, pleasure you, hold you tightly as a husband would do but he wouldn’t marry you. 

He couldn’t marry you. 

But he would love you in the depths of darkness as his power soared for a brief moment in time and the hands of a fair lady, opposed by his mother, warmed his bed in the evening. May the throne be his witness, Aemond Targaryen was a sinner. 

He kissed you again before falling to his knees once more. 

As promised, he worked in quick licks to ignite the spark. It lit up the room brighter than the sky as the Gods boomed in discontent but they worked to drown out the sounds of your elation the closer you became. Aemond let you gather the dress back in your hands so you could see him as his tongue circled your clit and he pierced your cunt with two fingers sliding in the wetness easily. Your legs trembled. His other hand ran soft strokes along the muscle to sooth you but it was fruitless. 

His fingers curved inside of you, massaging your walls as they clenched around him and swore to the heavens for a release. 

“Fuck, Aemond.” 

He enjoyed hearing the words no Queen would dare mutter. It dared him to move faster, to move more heavy against your walls, against your lips as he continued to lap the juices that made the ghosts in the halls look away in a blush. 

It was building to a precipice inside of you. As though a volcano was erupting, you let out sounds he had never heard. You were not trying to be quiet. You were letting the castle hear your pleasure that would send you to a horrible fate. 

And you begged him to bring you to the end. His name lost its true meaning as it became lost in the night, falling from your lips breathlessly and your eyes shut tightly as the chills in your spin sent you spiraling. 

He was no God, but Aemond Targaryen gave what he had as a God should. 

“Darling,” he murmured from below. “Let them all see what a King can do.” 

And you did. 

A/N: thanks for reading! As always comments, reblog, and likes are always appreciated. I love hearing from all of you and thanks for letting me write this little self indulgent fic.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere King Naga // Part 1

Thinking about living in the forest once you’ve transmigrated to another world. Instead of getting caught up in some romance plot or adventure you decide to just live in a little cottage. Where you catch and cook your own food, making some passive income when you do venture into the town. On your way back from one of these trips you happen upon a little bundle crying on the dirt path.

“Oh my, who forgot you little sunshine?”

You smile when their crying ceases when you lightly rock them, beginning to notice a few odd-looking patches on their cheek. Then when those tiny eyes finally open little slits look back up at you while their mouth with little budding incisors open to coo at you. All of it leads to you opening up the bundled wrappings around them to find a wiggly and stubby little snake’s tail. It is then you make the perilous decision to raise this little naga in secret. 

In this world, you could tell it wasn’t advanced enough to accept monsters or anything not human into the community. That you might be branded a monster as well just for caring for the creature. Nonetheless, you rationalize that this is perfect for your forest life–where you’re more likely to meet other monsters than humans. Thus your life with this little one begins and you thank his naga-biology that he grows up fast. 

“I caught a mouse! Are you proud of me!”

“Yup, I’m real proud! Now come on you need a bath.”

But not too fast. Life is good for a while while you tend to the house your little one—Nox ventures to the perimeter of the forest to play before returning to you. He is still a child. Things go on normally until he comes slithering to you with snot in his nose, tears in his eyes, and babbling through tears. Hugging and holding him you check for injuries and when you find none you try to convince him to talk to you.

“What’s wrong, Nox?”

“I-I-There’s a guy out there! A-a-and he keeps following me! Look!”

Hiding behind you and clutching your pants, following his finger to the underbrush of the forest around you harden your stance. Thinking about the knife in your pocket and your other hand holding onto Nox, keeping him behind you. Watching the leaves and branches rustle with movement you prepared yourself for a fight. 

“Are you this child’s guardian?”

It’s another Naga, standing tall on a tail adorned with patches of gold in his white tail. Hiding further in the brush you can tell there are black rings around the tip of their tail which seems to be coiled a lot closer. He’s lean but muscular and his golden eyes are glaring at you. 

“I am. Why?”

He hisses, “To think a human would take in a hatchling purely out of goodheartedness is ridiculous. I’m going to take this child home where he belongs.”

“Nooo!”

“He’s my kid and if you want to fight for him I will do that.”

With a final pat on Nox’s head, you tell him to stay near the house. You goad the naga man into a place near the forest saying you’d rather not do this in front of Nox before taking off running. You know he’s following as you hear him angrily hiss and slither through the wood. Bringing him to a desired spot you turn keeping your knife behind you as he launches his tail in your direction. Expecting it, you dodge finally revealing your knife and aiming it at his tail creating a gash that has him hissing. 

“Haaaa Insolent Human! How dare you!?”

Usually, with a knife like yours, you never would have broken the protection of the scales but taking care of Nox offered some invaluable insight. You tried to dodge again but failed as his tail coiled around you in the blink of an eye. Squeezing immediately it took you a moment to turn your knife around to stab at what scales you could. He grunted but seemingly had settled for the stab at the expense of strangling you. 

“I’m going to enjoy watching the life leave from you, human! Your kind makes me sick.”

The pressure was unbearable but your adrenaline was high and with the simple gesture of bringing you closer to spit in your face you took a leap of faith. Abandoning your knife for some wiggle room you launched forward clamping onto his neck your only weapon left—your teeth. 

That seemed to catch him off guard his tail unraveling enough to let the rest of your body go. Now allowed to pin him down, using your feet and hands to pin down his own as you continued to bite into his neck you didn’t stop until you heard him moan.

“Aaaa~! Wait no, please! You’ve got to let aah~!

In your peripheral, you could see his alabaster tail twirl and twist oddly. From your position, you couldn’t see his face but you could imagine what his expression was. Considering you could feel the connection of his hips bucking against your own. The final nail in the coffin other than his constant streams of wonton moans you could hear the familiar worried slither of your son coming through the wood. 

He was calling for you. Hopefully, so loud he would miss the Naga continuing to make the loud moans despite you standing over him and wiping your teeth of his blood. Finally, looking at him you could see the darkened tips of their ears and cheeks as they continued to oddly curl on themselves. You didn’t bother trying to stop him, not wanting to trigger another fight you just ran scooping Nox up and barricading you both in your home. Hopefully, by the time the Naga man comes to his senses, he will have accepted his loss by then and leave. 

Unbeknownst to you that Naga would spend all night shifting and rolling in their ground replaying the fight. All the while moaning and groaning, driving all the smartest predators far away. This would continue until daybreak when he finally stopped but the heat in his cheeks was far from gone.

“That–that human is perfect…a human…who would’ve guessed.”

After a day you venture out, Nox sticking close to you while you undo the locks of the door with a knife in hand. Looking out you hoped you’d find no one in the clearing near your home—that was not the case.

“Hello human!”

Slamming the door on his face, you replay the expression and the closeness that they were standing outside the door. If only to sate your curiosity you opened the door again. 

“Hi–”

Slam

“How are–”

Slam

“You?”

When he seems to stay in that same place the whole rest of the day, you eventually encourage Nox to keep his nose down and help you with your chores.  Ignoring the smiley Naga who was oddly no longer hostile.

“What are you doing? Hanging your human clothes? How cute can I help?

“Is this how humans catch their food? How human-like so clever I would’ve never thought a net would be how you do that!”

“You are such a good parent to your little one? Would you like to have some more?”

Once you're able to shoo the intrigued Nox away, you decide to hose this guy down for answers. Good thing he’s happy to provide them. He finally introduces himself as a King of Naga who was coming to pass judgment on a Naga child living with a human from the smaller snakes of the forest. You hold your complaints about his presumptuous assessment, to ask why he’s still here assuming the fight said that you were capable enough to raise Nox.

“Yes well, now I’m courting you!”

“Excuse me?”

“You not only bested me in battle, you also did the most submitting action and claiming that a Naga could do. You…bit me~”

“Even so…I’m not a Naga.”

“Well usually that’d matter but I am the King of all Naga once my neck has been bitten and claimed there can be no others that is until you die.”

“Can’t you just pretend I died in the battle?”

“Preposterous your my destined mate! No other will do!”

Thus your days are spent trying to explain to Nox why the Naga you fought with was hanging around so often. On top of that the King Naga whose real name was Shian, had begun to ramp up his advances. No longer happy to just wave at you behind trees or happily follow you with your chores. He gets closer, testing your boundaries and breaking them as he intends to instigate some kind of reciprocation.

He is a King, And he’ll get what he wants....eventually.

Part 2: Here

[comfortless]

Pygmalion!König and Galatea!Reader………. 😖 What do you think?

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, light angst. self harm, implied animal death (not done by König or reader), fluff, König is horrible and by that i mean yes— he fucks the statue, outercourse, unprotected piv, implied mutual loss of virginity.

notes: lovely Salome did something similar to this already! 💖 however. yes. i am thinking about it and well…. take this out of my hands.

König has never had anything that could properly be called his own.

He walks the city entirely alone, no wife at his side to paw at his chest and bless him with adoring glances. His only steadfast companions are the grit slipping into his sandals as he walks, head held high even as the shadow of a boy begging on his knees for any semblance of love eternally tethers itself to him.

A glance lingering too long at the appeal of a soft face, the brush of his calloused fingertips against a pornai’s bare stomach before deciding that no, he didn’t want something so simple.

He merely slips a few apologetic drachma into her waiting palm and sets her free of him.

A warm body would never be enough, it was the heart that he starved for. To bed some poor creature that would never properly love him would be worse than the greatest of tortures in his mind.

It wasn’t a simple affair to find a lady to marry, either. Foreign soldier that he was, he had no right to some politician’s pretty daughter, court her properly and sweep her away to a bed that’s only ever been a harbor for lonely, twisted bitterness and blood.

Most turned away the moment he passed by: frightened glances that rightfully accused him of immense violence, shushed whispers of “barbarian” passed from soft lips before the sand beneath their fretful feet shifted and their shapes had disappeared from view entirely.

The ceaseless loneliness carves a burning ache somewhere within the expanse of his chest, something he knew he would never truly be free of, not until it rotted it’s way out of him in full.

It only seemed to quiet in moments he shed blood for this foreign country; burying his sword in some poor man’s gut was the closest he could get to sheathing a part of himself inside another, to touching a heart, seeing lips part in a gasp as their world becomes entirely consumed by him.

Just as the many days prior to this one, he grips the hilt of his blade, letting the metal dig into his palm, his knuckles bone white, as he makes his way back to the empty shack deemed a home.

Streets quiet and crowds disperse with each of his silent footfalls— not one of these smaller men or fearful women dares to look him in the eye. The only thing that does, the only eyes that ever lock to his, are those peering out from the harbor.

The figurehead guarding her expertly crafted ship has always called to him.

Her beauty was remarkable, from the curl of her hair to the patient look in her eyes. Her hands clasped before her breasts in silent prayer as she looms over the darkened depths of the sea beyond the soil, calling him to board, to venture away from this place that his left him in such an acute state of misery.

He swears he hears it then, a mere whisper on the wind, urging him in featherlight comfort to lie down his sword and take up the chisel and hammer.

It’s only when he pauses to look the gentle face of the figurehead over once more that he finds himself resolute in what he must do.

— — —

When he took to crafting her it was born of this desperation; hazy moonbeams cutting through the shade of his shack for hours before he would reluctantly pull away from a beautifully carved hand or the soft but stiff curve of a neck to retire to the straw-stuffed mattress at the corner of the room.

She was beautiful, a representation of all of the sweet, effeminate softness he would marvel at from afar. The swell of plush breasts, curved hips and silken thighs, eternally parted by her stance, the sweet face that could make any man feel entirely weak…

His hands tremble when they rest upon her form, unsure of just how such splendor could have come from his own coarse palms.

Weeks of scarce sleep only seemed to further his devoted madness. Though the warring dulled the ache and sated his blade, the longing seemed to only grow far more prevalent.

He yearned when they were apart, dreamt of coming home to her less lifeless and only demure smiles and hurried kisses the moment he would return to her. He would always come back.

Upon her completion, he took to courting her proper. Though she could not in any way reciprocate or reject his advances, he believed wholeheartedly that the cushiony love that had blossomed within his aching, neglected heart must be mutual.

Gifts were strewn at her cold feet, some gilded and shimmery, some soft with an abundance of colorful petals: offerings for a silent goddess that kept a part of his soul hidden away deep inside the pristine marble that she was carved from.

When he wraps her neck in a necklace with a sparkling beryl amulet attached, his hand does drift to the swell of her breast beneath the woolen chiton.

It’s hard and cold, but his groping becomes as incessant as the kisses he presses to her jaw, to her cold lips, tongue leaving a warm path down to her neck before he finds himself committed to having her.

He’s careful when he disrobes her, slowly revealing the mounds and curves and softness of her imitation of human flesh.

Dropping to his knees, his tongue laps at the ivory depiction of smooth lower lips, spearing between each silken ridge until he imagines her eyes squeezing shut as she cries out for him, rolling her perfectly sculpted hips to coat his tongue in waves of vulgar honey.

He moans into her cunt, drools and sucks at the mimicry for as long as it takes to find her thighs drenched in his saliva and his cock aching horribly between his thighs.

He rises to slot himself between her legs, pushing forward with a keening whine that dissipates into a relieved gasp. The feel of her pressed against him; the smooth ridges of her makeshift flesh running over his stiff, leaking cock is akin to finding divinity.

His hands rove over her breasts, thumbs pressed against her eternally pebbled nipples as he kisses her, each sloppy and filled with years of need.

It is pure bliss, almost as though he is burying himself to his hilt inside of her pulsing cunt.

He would fuck her better than any man— not a single other could match the strength of his affections nor his hapless willingness to please.

If he could have carved a proper hole between her legs, not a drop of his seed would be wasted on thin sheets or spilled into his palm, she would be filled, womb brimming until some loving god or goddess blessed her with child.

His pace quickens to the point of frantic, feverish hands drifting to her hips as he mouths at her breasts instead, hissing out praises for how good she feels against him, how his heart bleeds to feel her nearer.

There is so much heat between her thighs now he could swear it burns like the cold mist of the Underworld itself; the fuzzy heat pools from his navel and further as his muscles begin to tense and leave his thoughts a haze and his lips parted in a silent, worshipping cry.

It’s only when he envisions her tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, back arching as she drags her nails over his shoulders and whines through her own damnation that his cock throbs in repetition as his eyes roll back. His heavy sack arrives at her mound as his seed spills from him, cascading down to paint the thighs of his silent lover, smeared pearly and glistening over her labia as he rubs his cockhead against her with an agonized groan.

His forehead finds her shoulder, warm breath replacing the coldness of her skin as he wraps his arms around her perpetually beckoning form, lovingly trailing kisses from her clavicle to her ear where he whispers a breathless, “I love you.”

It’s only after he’s finished wiping away the evidence of depravity from her that he feels the first wave of shame, sharp and feathering from his chest that leaves his jaw set and throat tight.

What lowly man envies the warmth others experience with far less gratitude? König has never seen himself as pathetic, no matter how commonly he’s been sent off and kicked like a stray.

She’s the only thing that’s brought him any sort solace in a world that’s left him starved, but also a cruel mirror casting a reflection of his own nature.

Pulling the thin blanket from his mattress, the statue is soon swallowed up in her entirety, all guilt and pity-drawing attestation neatly hidden away behind rippling sable fabric; her form silent and waiting as it would remain eternally.

None of this is enough.

———

König has never found himself fond of prayer, never felt the need to partake in the festivals and ceremonies. His luck in battle was only a mere measure of skill, of a body so brutal and immense that most trembled before him, not born of any benevolent gift. There was no need to kneel, to bestow offerings upon the altars. If the people turned away from him, then surely any god or goddess would be even more inclined to do so.

Only… his mindless wandering has led him here, to Aphrodite’s altar whilst the festival of Aphrodisia plays on everywhere around him. The people invoke and dance, abundant offerings brought forth as the scent of timber burning and bold floral incense floods his senses. Blood and flowers already riddle the stone, a stark vibrancy of color that lures him closer, commands him to kneel.

He doesn’t have a thing to offer to the goddess, not so much as a petal, but if the pull were not just the first signs of a withering mind…

The glimpse of hope he’s offered is not taken for granted.

Thick fingers curl over his sharpened blade, dragging his palm against the steel until it stings almost sweetly. If she could accept the blood of a goat then surely, his could be no more polluted. Beads of crimson revel and dance along his forearm before dropping down onto the stone.

And he does pray.

It is not a vulnerable prayer, one that bares him in full, but only a wish— a longing for warmth, to have her share his breath, to admonish his shame and live free with the one thing that has never given him anything but safe harbor.

He unveils her when he returns, knowing that this is the closest he will ever come to love.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes against her cheek, leaves a kiss there before dragging himself away to disrobe and pull himself back into bed.

When the weariness takes him, his sleep in dreamless and calm. If any blessing were bestowed upon him at all, the surely that would have been more than enough. A night without turning, without visions of a darkened grave devoid of anything to haunt him.

He only begins to stir when the mattress dips at his side, a soft palm pressed to his chest, stroking along the loose curls of auburn there.

“König..,” a voice calls out, more gentle than any he’s ever heard.

He wakes to find her, leaning over him with the sweetest glimmer in her eyes, wide and fascinated. Her touches only trail further up to his face as he tries to silence the rapid beating of his heart, the stinging born of adoration in his own pale blue eyes.

“I missed you,” she whispers, moving to curl at his side, her hands cradling either side of his jaw.

König is utterly stifled and so terribly smitten, the most he can manage is a quiet huff of breath as he rolls onto his side to take this sweet, unreal woman into his arms. Dreaming or waking, it mattered not, if he were given only the night or a lifetime with this beautiful little creature it’s still more than he has ever had.

His head dips to press a chaste kiss to her soft lips, only finding a warmth there that had never been the many times he had kissed her prior. His palm runs along her side, feeling ever perfect dip and curve, all heated and so very alive.

She only falls apart beneath his touch, already quivering and softly gasping even from such a gentle kiss. The thought that this little dove has been longing for him just as much makes his heart bleed. He whispers his apologies against her temple, for his frustrations, for his doubt in their love, for all of the temptations and hatred that plagued his mind before she came to be.

She only answers with eager touches, grasping at him as she murmurs her own perceived shortcomings. If only she knew that she could never do wrong, that she was what’s saved him and that nothing could shatter that.

When her tongue slips past his lips and his breath grows heavy, there’s little else he can concentrate on than the throbbing pillar between his legs, the scent of her around him, under him when he guides her onto her back.

Thanking the goddess could wait, he’s far too focused on the one that’s willingly climbed into his bed.

One hand splays at her side forcing him upright as the other trails over her breasts, a satisfied groan leaves him as he feels her softness, fighting back to urge to squeeze and pinch until she cries in pleasure, howling out like those at the altar he had encountered only earlier.

A nipple is snared between his thumb and index, twisted gently beneath each pad, her back arches…The wetness of the dew slicked flower between her legs brushes against him and he whines like a starved dog finally presented with the aroma of a meal.

His hand falls from her breast to her hip, encouraging her to buck the source of her own need against him— take anything she needed. If she were to pull a blade and carve a hole in his own chest he would only let her, the taste of this heated bliss and the look that she gives him, enchanted and curious, is more than he has ever deserved.

Only does he pause when he parts her thighs, and her stare becomes more curious, searching him for any reason as to why he would even stop.

“We have done this before. Are you afraid now?”

No, he wants to tell her, that before was not the full extent of it. Instead he only laughs, peeling away just enough to fit his head between her legs, mouth only a small measure from her weeping cunt.

“I want to taste you.”

With a whispered plea from her lips, he raises her hips, mouthing and suckling at her until she shivers and sings against the cushions. He groans against her when she does come, her hips stuttering in his grasp as she drives further against him.

He hisses in his mother tongue when he pushes the backs of her thighs up, grinds his leaking tip against her until he swears he really will fall into madness if he doesn’t fuck into her immediately.

The ache in his chest that his been so prevalent for so long is finally smothered out the very moment she tugs him down by his shoulders and pulls him into a frenzied kiss. She encourages him in each lapse, murmurs how long that she’s waited, how starved she’s been for him while hidden away.

He nearly sobs when his tip snags against her entrance, so divinely wet, pulsing and begging just as he is. When he penetrates her, the breath is punched from his lungs, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of her within reach as she wraps around his shaft as though her cunt was made for him.

His little dove only covers him in kisses in turn as he mumbles obscenities into her flesh, revelling in her tightness, in the way her body fits so perfectly against his, mutually carved by the gods to fulfill one another. His professions of love come in abundance as she fits her legs over his narrow hips, crying out from his sudden depth as his cock jumps against a spot that leaves her writhing.

Though it’s almost painful to keep himself restrained, he tries his best not to rut into her like a mindless animal, even when he feels her constrict around him as another orgasm leaves her cunt drooling and pulsing. He doesn’t give her time to recover, however… forced to lie in wait for so long, it’s nearly taken out on her as he spears into her as she moans and babbles her praises against his chest.

He’s lost to the empyrean as his muscles finally pull taut, crying as he buries his head into her shoulder and pumps his come into her, shaking as he wraps her up in his arms and clutches her close as he melts against her.

Spent and sated, König holds her tightly against him as they pant and share sweet words, secrets and giggles from her that make every moment of dolor before this night seem insignificant.

She slots her fingers between his own, compliments his damaged face and the worships his body with brushes of her lips and tongue just as he does her. He does not leave her empty, warms her heart with words he’s kept trapped in his throat for months, guides her gently as she perches over him to descend back onto his cock, his thumb stroking her stomach as he tells her over and again just how much he loves her, compared his feelings to that of Orpheus, how he would suffer anything all for her.

A pleading “Stay” is uttered as she falls limp against him, stroking along her back as they come down for the second time that night.

The last thing that leaves her lips before sleep takes her is the most saccharine she’s said that night, a simple, “I love you.”

It’s the only thing that he’s ever truly longed for.

———

They marry after the voyage back to his homeland, his head clouded during the entire trip of seeing her swell with his child in time, a home built with her in mind for the two of them, of lying flowers at her feet just as he had before.

His blade lies neglected in the little glade they had chosen, taking up only a hammer and his own hands as he works tirelessly to provide for his wife, the dove that looks at him as though he were not a dog but a king.

When their home is built after many weeks of tedious work during day and bedding her beneath the stars each night, König only then thinks to pray his thanks to the foreign goddess who gifted his salvation to him with little more than a scrape from his palm. All the while his true goddess leans over him to tickle his cheek with flowers he had plucked for her only moments prior, covering him in a fragrance so sweet it only seemed befitting of herself.

She giggles and sighs when he pulls her down into the grass to roll over her, blanket her in kisses and gentle bites to her throat.

The beryl amulet around her neck catches the glimmer of the sun above as she sifts her fingers through his hair and tells him that the gods already knew he was grateful, that his worship of her was already telling enough.

[thebubblesareevil]

Only the best Kings wear pink! Pt 3

When Jason started to wake, he kept his eyes closed; his training kicking in to assess his surroundings. He could hear…giggling children?

He thought back on what happened and reassured himself that he had not passed out on a playground.

He could feel someone poking his cheek before someone else, an older woman, shooed the children away.

“Dear sir, feigning sleep will do you no good.” Announced a gentle voice.

He opened his eyes to see a woman draped in a medieval a large amulet around her neck, she had her hair tied back in a simple braid. She could definitely be considered attractive, he chose to ignore the glowing green skin for now.

He swiftly opened his eyes, it didn’t take long to realize his mask had been confiscated, which definitely didn’t help his mood any.

“Where am I and who are you?!” He demanded in a gruff voice.

“You’re in King Phantoms personal healing quarters. Sir Frostbite has informed me that you will make a full recovery from your overindulgence of distilled ectoplasm.” She giggled. “Must have been quite a wild night to still be feeling the effects this long, you must connect me with your supplier!” She chirped as if he understood a word of what she was saying. She straightened her back.

“As for who I am, I am Queen Dorothea of Maddingly. A pleasure to make your acquaintance ” She giggled a little as she gently held out his hand.

“Red Hood.” He answered, taking the hand. (Stranger or no, Alfred would kill him if he forgot his manners)

“The please is mine.” He grunted. He felt unusually calm considering his situation. Truth be told he couldn’t remember how he got there.

Then he remembered.

Lian. Roy. The summoning.

Jason jumped from the bed, much to the amusement of the Queen as he stumbled over his own legs.

“Where’s Lian??!!” He shouted at the Queen.

She only raised a single brow in amusement. “I can take you to the little princess now, though you may want to use the rest-“

Jason glared. Queen Dorathea giggled.

“Very well Sir Hood. The little princess is in the garden with her father having tea. Shall we?” She gestured to the door.

Then she started gliding out of the room, barely waiting for Jason to grab his guns and follow after her.

The traveled through the gloomy halls, though he could hear echos of children laughing. It should have been comforting.

It was creepy.

When they finally exited the castle, Jason was greeted with a bright just off-Lazarus green sky. Glowing children and various creatures roamed the gardens as he passed. Some carrying trays, some just stopping to smell the roses? All paused to greet the Queen.

Finally they came upon several arches and tables with little girls and boys talking in the most exaggerated fancy voices he had ever heard. He would have laughed if he weren’t listening for one particular little voice.

“JAYJAY!”

Jason spun around just in time to be tackled by the little cannonball. He allowed himself to be knocked to the ground, basking in the little girl’s laughter.

“Uncle Jay! Uncle Jay! Are you gonna have a tea party with us???” She chirped, beaming up at her uncle.

“Who?” Jason looked up to see Roy standing a few feet away, holding back laughter as he snapped pictures with a glowing green camera.

A boisterous laugh came from the table behind his friend where he found the so called Ghost King….wearing a princess crown??? (One of those pink cone ones with the ribbons)

“What on earth?” Jason muttered.

The king snorted. “I see the younglings managed to break into the medical wing.”

Jason frowned. Roy took more pictures.

The Queen giggled. “I did try to warn him.”

“Warn me? What??”

The large ghost approached Jason with some kind of disk. He had no chance to protect himself if the ghost attacked with Lian in his arms…

The King knelt in front of Jason and turned the platter to face him.

“Personally I think you look adorable.” He gave Jason a wink as Lian giggled.

Not that Jason noticed as he looked at his reflection in the platter to see his face covered in heavy glittery pink blush, his eyelids with a dark unflattering blue eyeshadow and bright red lipstick circling his lips.

That plus the little bows in his hair left him quite a sight.

Jason took a deep breath as he carefully got to his feet. He handed Lian to the Ghost King who dutifully snuggled the little monkey.

He turned to Roy. He didn’t hesitate, he took off after his dear friend, intent on prying the camera from his cold dead hands.

Roy booked it, the two performing impressive acrobatic feats from one tea table to the next as the fought for possession of the blackmail.

The King let out a booming laugh, turning to the little princess.

“Who should we help, daddy or uncle Jay?”

Lian tapped her chin, thinking carefully.

“Both?” She replied, tilting her head.

Danny grinned. “Both is good”

He released the little monkey as she raced to tackle her uncle Jay while Danny valiantly picked up the young archer by his armpits.

———

Clockwork sipped his glowing green tea. Entirely too pleased with himself as he enjoyed the sound of laughter returned to the infinite realms.

All was as it should be

[zomb1eturtlez]

"At the risk of stating the obvious, no woman can mate with a bull and produce a child. Recognizing this simple scientific fact, I am led to a somewhat interesting suspicion: King Minos did not build the labyrinth to imprison a monster but to conceal a deformed child, his child.

While the Minotaur has often been depicted as a creature with the body of a bull but the torso of a man, centaur-like, the myth describes the minotaur as simply having the head of a bull and the body of a man, or in other words, a man with a deformed face. I believe pride would not allow Minos to accept that the heir to the throne had a horrendous appearance.

Consequently, he dissolved the right of ascension by publicly accusing his wife Pasiphae of fornicating with a male bovine.

Having enough conscience to keep from murdering his own flesh and blood, Minos had a labyrinth constructed, complicated enough to keep his son from ever escaping but without bars to suggest a prison. (It is interesting to note how the myth states most of the Athenian youth "fed" to the Minotaur actually starved to death in the Labyrinth, thus indicating their deaths had more to do with the complexity of the maze and less to do with the presumed ferocity of the Minotaur.)

I am convinced Minos' maze really serves as a trope for repression. My published thoughts on this subject (see "Birth Defects in Knossos"Sonny Won't Wait Flyer, Santa Cruz, 1968) inspired the playwright Taggert Chielitz to author a play called *The Minotaur* for The Seattle Repertory Company. As only eight people, including the doorman, got a chance to see the production, I produce here a brief summary:

Chielitz begins his play with Minos entering the labyrinth late one evening to speak to his son. As it turns out, the Minotaur is a gentle and misunderstood creature, while the so-called Athenian youth are convicted criminals who were already sentenced to death back in Greece. Usually King Minos has them secretly executed and then publicly claims their deaths were caused by the terrifying Minotaur thus ensuring that the residents of Knossos will never get too close to the labyrinth. Unfortunately this time, one of the criminals had escaped into the maze, encountered Mint (as Chielitz refers to the Minotaur) and nearly murdered him. Had Minos himself not rushed in and killed the criminal, his son would have perished. Suffice it to say Minos is furious. He has caught himself caring for his son and the resulting guilt and sorrow ineeses him to no end. As the play progresses, the King slowly sees past his son's deformities, eventually discovering an elegiae spirit, an artistie sentiment and most importantly a visionary understanding of the world. Soon a deep paternal love grows in the King's heart and he begins to conceive of a way to reintroduce the Minotaur back into society. Sadly, the stories the King has spread throughout the world concerning this terrifying beast prove the seeds of tragedy. Soon enough, a bruiser named Theseus arrives (Chielitz describes him as a drunken, virtually retarded, frat boy) who without a second thought hacks the Minotaur into little pieces. In one of the play's most moving scenes, King Minos, with tears streaming down his face, publicly commends Theseus' courage. The crowd believes the tears are a sign of gratitude while we the audience understand they are tears of loss. The King's heart breaks and while he will go on to be an extremely just ruler, it is a justice forever informed by the deepest kind of agony."

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

pg. 110-111

[7seas-of-ryy]

Not Good Enough

Author’s Note: My second job started up again, I take care of my nephew in the mornings and after school, and I've been sick!! I have about 7 WIPs right now that I know need a lot more time before they will be finished. I hope you all enjoy this story!!

Summary: You know you're ready to go on your first mission but what does Az think?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: a few cuss words, let me know if I need to add any :)

---

“You can’t be serious.” You shouted at the male in front of you.

“I’m the most serious I’ve ever been. And this argument is over.” He calmly stated in response.

You scoffed and looked over to Cass for help but he refused to make eye contact. Looking back at Azriel, you decided you wouldn’t give up that easy.

“You don’t get to decide when the argument is over. I’m coming with on this mission, I can help you.” You argued.

“Yes, I do get to decide that. No, you’re not coming. And no, you can’t help us. End. Of. Discussion.” He was starting to get frustrated with you.

His words only made you more mad, your temper getting the best of you.

“You’re ridiculous! You have been training me for months.. MONTHS! And you haven’t let me go on a single mission or actually see any action. This trip will be too dangerous for just the two of you. You need me to help you so why can’t you just let me come with.” You exclaimed.

“Because you’re not good enough!” Az shouted right back.

Ouch. That one hurt. Before you could compose yourself he continued.

“If you’re not fast enough, strong enough, smart enough when you’re on missions like these, you die. I was put in charge of you to train you and it is up to me to decide when you are good enough. I am telling you that you aren’t. I don’t want to hear about any of this again!” He finished his rant, his chest was heaving.

You tried to hide it but the look of hurt was clear on your face. When you glanced over at Cassian he was looking at you this time, like you were a puppy who had just been kicked. You hated it, you didn’t want sympathy.

Az noticed how much he hurt you and reached out his hand to you.

“Y/N-” He started but you backed away from his reach.

You turned around and walked away before he could try and speak to you again. Eventually Cass and Az continued to prepare for their mission and you went to your room before you could be embarrassed any further.

You couldn’t believe him, he trained you for months and always told you how well you were doing. He would tell you how you impressed him with your intelligence but now you’re not good enough? You knew you were good enough. During the meeting with the IC, when Az first announced you wouldn’t be joining him and Cass, both Feyre and Rhys looked surprised as well.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you started to pack. You gathered your weapons and your bag and slid on your gear. When Cass and Az left, you waited a bit and then quietly followed their trail. It didn't matter that Az thought so lowly of you, you were going to prove him wrong.

You knew you had to stay a little farther back so they wouldn’t notice you, so you tracked them instead. Using all of the training you’ve had, you successfully followed them and stayed hidden the whole time.

The mission was supposed to be simple. Find the creature that had been causing problems and kill it. It should be easy enough for Cass and Az so you really couldn’t understand why he refused to bring you with.

You watched as Az and Cass followed the monster into the woods, trying to catch it off guard so it would be an easy kill. You stayed hidden in the shadows behind them and to the right when you heard some shuffling. Peering to where the noise was, you saw a second creature sneaking behind the 2 Illyrians.

Before you could even blink, the first creature turned around and swung at the two. The monster behind them pounced and landed on Cassian. He managed to fight it off and was dealing with that one when you saw Az backed into a tree. The vile beast swung at him again, and sent Az flying to the ground.

You took off running straight to Az, knowing you had to save him. Right before the creature could land the killing blow, you jumped on it's back. With fairly large daggers in both hands you brought your arms down, impaling it in the head with the two blades. It died quickly and fell with you still on top of it.

Cass had already killed the other one and came over to help you roll the creature off of Az. You held your hand out to him to help him up. After just saving his life, surely he sees how well you can do your job.

“What are you doing here?!” He yelled at you, rage in his eyes.

You were stunned, you saved his life and this is how he treats you? No, maybe he was in shock still?

“I assessed the situation first, Cass was holding his own and I saw you about to be killed so I acted fast. And I effectively and efficiently eliminated the threat. I did everything right-” You explained but he cut you off.

“No, what you did was disobey my direct orders to stay home. You could have been killed! You aren’t ready to handle this yet and you just proved it by not listening to me!” He continued to yell at you.

“How about you try saying ‘thank you’, you know, for literally saving your life one minute ago.” You sneered.

It was silent while the two of you glared at each other, smoke practically shooting out of your ears before Cass stepped in.

“Listen she did just save our asses and she’s already here now. We were going to set up camp and head home tomorrow anyways so she can just stay with us.” He told Az and then looked at you, “Come on, the cabin is about 30 minutes from here. Let’s go.”

He held out his arms, insinuating you needed to let him carry you so he could fly you to the cabin. The flight went by fast and you were still pissed at the spymaster when you landed.

The three of you entered the space silently and it wasn’t until Cass said something that you realized what the problem was.

“There’s only two beds.” He stated.

“Yes, because there was only supposed to be two of us on this mission.” Az grumbled and sent a look your way.

You rolled your eyes at him and looked at Cass instead.

“It’s a long trip home tomorrow so none of us should sleep on the floor. We don’t want to have a bad back all day long, believe me I’ve been there before. So who wants to share a bed?” Cass asked with a grin.

“Let’s just get three sticks. We can pull them and whoever pulls the longest gets the bed to themselves?” You suggested.

“Pretty and smart.” Cassian replied with a wink at you.

Az let out a growl at his words and Cass held his hands up. Unbelievable, he couldn’t even let anyone else compliment me.

“Fine.” Az agreed to your plan.

You all pulled sticks and held them up. Cass quickly let out a cheer, seeing his was the longest and started getting cozy in bed. You and Az glanced at each other and painfully made your way over to the bed. You sat on the edge of the bed when the spymaster hesitated.

“No. I’m not sharing a bed with her.” Az told Cass.

“Oh grow up. You’re mad at me so you’re going to throw a tantrum? It’s just for one night, then I promise you won’t ever have to be disgusted by sharing a bed with me again.” you snapped.

“What? No.. I’m not…I just…” He trailed off, “Fine. We leave at sunrise.”

Cass nodded his head in agreement and closed his eyes to sleep. You laid down and Az slowly got into the bed next to you, making sure to stay as far away as he could. The first thing you noticed was how cold the room was. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you decided to just try to stay put, too mad to ask for something to warm you up. Eventually, you let sleep take over.

You woke up to a large hand gently shaking your shoulder.

“Come on, you’re freezing.” Az whispered to you.

“I’m fine.” You stubbornly stated.

“No, you’re not. You’re literally shivering.” He argued.

You tried to stay completely still, to stop the shaking but you were just so cold.

“You would rather freeze to death than get close to me?” He added when you didn’t respond.

You stayed silent again and his hand traveled to your waist. His other hand slid under you and he pulled you into his chest. His wings wrapped around the both of you, creating warmth and giving you instant relief. You slightly pushed back into him even more, craving his body heat and he responded by wrapping his arms around you tighter.

You were still mad at him but you would be lying if this position didn't make you blush. For a while now, you've had a bit of a crush on the Shadowsinger, which is probably why everything he said to you hurt even worse. Pushing those thoughts to the back of your head, you decided to just relax.

The two of you fell asleep that way and when you woke up, his wings were still around you but now your face was nuzzled into his chest.

“It’s been sunrise for 45 minutes now. C’mon wake her up, it’s time to go.” Cassian complained.

“Shh. She hasn’t gotten this much rest in a while. Let her sleep a little longer.” Az grumbled.

His hands were rubbing up and down your back and you desperately wanted to stay like this longer. But then you remembered how mad you were at him so you opened your eyes. You got up and started to gather your things to leave, ignoring the look on Azriel’s face.

“Morning sunshine.” Cassian smirked at you.

You flipped him off and walked past him.

“Alright, we have to walk for about two hours north, then we can fly the rest of the way.” Az told you the plan.

“I know. Don’t forget I made the whole trip here.” You spoke with a sharp edge to your tone.

“Yeah, I was going to ask you. How did you know where we were? I mean you can’t fly so how did you follow us?” Cass inquired.

“I didn’t follow you. I tracked you. I stayed hidden the entire time and using the limited knowledge I had of the mission, I figured out where you were headed. It was actually pretty easy.” You asserted.

Cassian’s eyebrows raised in awe and Azriel’s eyebrows shot down in confusion.

“No that doesn’t make sense.” Az grumbled.

“Az, she outsmarted us and saved our asses. It’s time to admit you were wrong.” Cass stuck up for you.

You gave Cass a slight nod in thanks and the three of you continued to walk home. No one spoke for the rest of the walk until it came time to fly the rest of the way. You went up to Cass but he didn’t reach for you.

“I’m sorry, I hurt myself last night fighting the creature. Az will have to fly you.” Cass explained.

You were confused because he flew you last night after the mission but you were too drained to argue. Slowly, you made your way over to Az. Before Cass took off you heard him say 'Tell her' and fly off. You gave Az a confused look and he shrugged his shoulders.

He picked you up and the two of you took off. You could see Cass ahead of you but you were far back enough that he couldn’t hear you.

“What did Cass mean?” You asked.

Az stared straight ahead and didn’t respond.

“Really? I mean you can’t even talk to me now? You’ve been so rude to-” You started.

“I was scared.” He muttered, “I was scared of you getting hurt, ok? I didn’t want you in the field because I can’t lose you. I know you’re smart and strong enough but I was.. I don’t know. It’s stupid and I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” You said dumbly.

“That’s it?! Yell at me or something, I know I was an ass. I’m so sorry.” He told you.

“I’m not going to yell at you… I understand the fear of losing someone. Why do you think I wanted to come with? When I saw that beast on top of you about to kill you…I didn’t even stop to think. I just knew I had to save you, I’ve never felt that type of fear before. If something happened to you.. I don’t even want to think about that.” You told the male holding you.

“Well, I think it’s time for me to thank you for saving my life. If you weren’t there, me and Cass would both be gone right now, so thank you.” He gently spoke.

You gave him a warm smile and held onto him just a little bit tighter. There was comfortable silence for a little bit before you heard Az clear his throat.

“Now, tell me how you really tracked us all the way there. There was a point in the journey where we went through a portal. It would’ve been impossible to track us unless you had put a spell on the portal.” Az wondered.

“Ok fine. Once you got to the portal, one of your shadows noticed me and instead of letting you know, it stayed behind. It waited for me to catch up. Then it led me to you and even silenced my steps in the woods.” You admitted.

“What?!” he spoke in shock.

He looked down and could see a little shadow curled in your hair, peeking out like a child about to get scolded.

“You little traitor!” He gasped.

“Hey don’t be mean to it! I used my resources like you taught me, it just so happened that one of your shadows was a resource to me.” You let out a small laugh.

You could see the house coming into view when all of the sudden, Az took a turn and started to head towards a mountain instead. You weren’t sure where he was going but you trusted him so you stayed quiet. He landed and set you down.

“So there is actually one more thing that I have to confess. My shadows have always liked you.” He blurted.

“Well I like them too.” You told him, confused at his confession.

“Ok that’s not all.. I also like you, a lot. Look I’m not good at this, I actually have a terrible track record but all I know is I love you. And I don’t want to mess this up.” He finally revealed the truth to you.

“That’s actually really convenient because I love you too. I’ve actually been madly in love with you for a while now.” You told him.

“I really want to kiss you right now but I’m covered in mud and gunk from the mission yesterday and I want our first kiss to be nicer than that. After we get home and get cleaned up would you like to go on a date with me? Maybe get some dinner?” He nervously asked you.

“I would love nothing more than to go out with you.” You blushed.

His smile lit up his whole face. The two of you made your way to the house and once you were cleaned up you met in the living area. Before you left for your date you wanted to mess with him a little.

“I bet you’re happy I didn’t follow your orders, huh?” You joked.

“Yeah yeah, I would have told you my true feelings eventually.” Az grumbled.

“NO YOU WOULDN’T HAVE. I HAD TO LISTEN TO YOU BITCH ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS FOR HER FOR MONTHS NOW.” Cassian screamed.

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[heartsofminds]

if you could see my thoughts, you would see our faces

“I do a lot of things you don’t do. Doesn’t mean you should be knockin’ yourself out to try ‘em.” or Carmy takes an impromptu smoke break and you're begging him for a drag.

A/N: just a sweet little blurb that's been sitting in my back pocket for a while. hope y'all love it as much as i loved writing it!

Smoke breaks never last forever. 

The cacophonic slam of a door, the pliable edges of a pack of American Spirits, the grooves of a lighter’s spark wheel, the mix of brisk Chicago wind smacking your face, and the heat of a silently shameful cigarette caressing it in a false sleeve of comfort – The world is silent during a smoke break. 

Until the door opens and someone asks to bum a light. Or until you get called back in because everyone and their goddamn mother in River North decides to come in to try the dinner special, yet pretend like they’re actually fucking curious to know what you think the best thing on the menu is. Or until the ignored panic in the back of your mind knocks the wind out of you when taking a particularly long drag that leaves you stifling a deep and hearty cough. 

The small moment of peace before it all still remains good. The moment of peace is fine. The moment of peace is all you can afford to get sometimes. 

A smoke break never lasts forever, but the temporary solace it provides is enough for Carmen, whose brain never seems to stop spinning no matter how fast or slow the world is turning without him. 

He’s gotten better, he thinks, about voicing his discomfort and finding ways to “cope” with his feelings of metaphysical spiraling. He’s still getting the hang of this whole “finding meaning outside of the kitchen” thing, but he figures that twenty-eight years of having your worth summed up in how well something was chopped or seasoned or sautéed or whatever the fuck is ridiculously hard to disengage from. 

His therapist would kill him if she knew that he credited a portion of the advancement of his well-being to you. He can hear Erin tell him that he can’t rely on people to make him feel better; that the only person who can determine Carmen’s worth is Carmen himself, but quite frankly he doesn’t give a fuck. 

And then he remembers that not giving a fuck is him making his own decision about his life (which he was never allowed to do before, which is why he thinks he was damned to hell to pick the profession he has), and his heart swells a bit with pride. He cares about something for once that has all to do with him and the meaning of life and living and being alive and in charge, and that idea is no longer a room with a false ceiling that can cave in at any moment. 

He doesn’t give a fuck because he does give one, and he has never known that something as simple as being loved, fully and authentically, was something that would make all the difference. 

Despite not being stressed out nor having a “real” reason to smoke (except for the fact that he’s a creature of habit, and you seem to love the word “addicted” even though he disagrees), he finds himself lifting the window near the fire escape of his apartment and stepping out onto the rusted steps that are less than functional and whips out his lighter and the red cardboard package harboring his cigarettes. 

The lights are off in the apartment and the soft whistling of the heater helps him make sense of the foggy window glass. Chicago is nightmarishly cold in November, yet his body doesn’t seem to mind the teen-digited temperature that plagues the indigo-hued 1 AM sky. 

Carmy loved in living in the city (and the actual city of Chicago and not Naperville or Joliet or Downers Grove like all the other self-proclaimed “Chicagoan” jagoffs that littered the outskirts of the city for sleep, but polluted it for play). 

He liked living in New York City but he loved living in Chicago. New York was too noisy which, he knows, is so fucking ironic given the fact he lives in the heart of all things bustling and boisterous. 

But New York had the kind of noise at night that was isolating; the sounds of cars honking and the squeal of the subway telling the stories of a million different lives of a million different people that he didn’t know. 

New York City is the largest city in the United fucking States, yet a twenty-two-year-old Carmen could not have felt lonelier while he was there. New York City is the perfect city in the United fucking States to go soul-searching in, and yet a twenty-two-year-old Carmen could not have been more clueless about who he was at the time.  

And he’s still figuring out this “thing” called having an identity and finding peace, and he’ll never feel like he knows a whole lot about anything, but he does know two things for certain. 

He fucking loathes feeling lonely and he fucking despises feeling clueless. 

Chicago is noisy, but the kind of noise that sends an irritated streak of comfort down your spine; the hatred of your twin bed and its mismatched sheets in your childhood bedroom, but the comfort of knowing a refreshing and safe sleep is to follow that night. It was the kind of noise that filled living rooms on Christmas Day or the backyard on the Fourth. It was the sound of a vacuum cleaner running on an early Saturday morning during the first week of summer break and the ticking of kitchen timers and arguments and laughter and tears of all kinds. 

He was always reluctant to come back. His pride is something he holds close to his chest but wears with quiet confidence. He would rather die than it seem as if he ran away from New York back home with his tail between his legs. He would rather die than admit to himself that Chicago is where he was meant to be and where he should have always been. He would rather die than admit that through his fucked childhood and even fuck-ier adulthood (Thank you Mikey and Mom and NOMA and Chef David), the city is his safety blanket. 

Carmen hasn’t been back to the house since the incident five Christmases ago. Everyone mutually (and very silently so as to not piss his mom off even more than she always perpetually seemed to be) decided that Christmas Eve dinner is much better suited for Uncle Jimmy’s house. When Natalie called on the phone to let him know about the change of venue the following year, he had known from her tone that another Richter scale meltdown had occurred once their mother found out. 

From then on he found ways to stay away; to stay put and to put his life on hold and it was the closest thing he could get to not breathing with, you know, still actually fucking breathing. 

And it worked for a while. It worked for one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days, to be exact. 

But then Mikey died and then there was a restaurant and then there was every relative that had ever known of his existence knocking down his door and begging him to let them in; asking him if he was okay and prodding him with questions about any and everything in between his mom driving her car into the fucking house and his brother deciding croaking was better than sticking around this hell hole. 

And it’s crazy, he thinks, how him simply observing the weather and thinking about possibly smoking a cigarette before bed created this rabbit hole of what would usually be the beginning of an anxious spiral. 

Fucking Christ, I need a cigarette. 

His fingers create an unrecognizable beat on the package of cigarettes in his hand and he takes the first step out onto the fire escape. 

Carmen’s body weight bares down on a piece of the wired metal and it groans in protest. The sounds of tires passing through slush on the road create soothing white noise for his ears. The thin blue henley shirt he has on does little to shield the wind from icing his skin, but he doesn’t mind. 

He can’t chance going back inside to fetch his jacket. The coat rack near the front door lies at the end of a pattern of creaks from your apartment’s shitty floorboards. You’re not a light sleeper in any sense of the word (nor are you entirely sober right now), but he knows that he never places that one particularly decrepit plank of wood right, and the noise will jolt you out of your slumber. 

His nimble fingers swiftly pull a cigarette out of the carton. He cups it with his left and uses his right to cradle the flicker of his lighter. The orange flame disappears as fast as it had been kindled and he inhales deeply and his exhale is shallow. 

Carmen had been smoking since he was fifteen, but he never really had a reason to do it other than Mikey did, and it was a way to spend more time with him. It was their little secret; something that was his and Mike’s and something that seemed like a big deal at the time but would mean jack shit the second he turned eighteen. He never really loved the way cigarettes smelled. He could hardly stand the taste and the constant health class lectures about them being bad for your lungs freaked him out. 

But now that he knows what it feels like to have no thoughts in his head and be left alone in the solace of smoking a cigarette in the dead of night, he thinks he gets it. 

The silence is cut in half by the sound of the rickety floorboard groaning out in a warning. He doesn’t have to peek his head inside and look around to know that it’s you. You never sleep well after a night out and even though he had to carry you up the stairs, drag a damp washcloth over your face to remove your makeup, and bribe you to stand up long enough to take out your own contacts, he should have known better than to be anywhere but in bed next to you. 

Your drunkenness has started to fade and you’ve gone down on the meter from “off your ass” to “slightly tipsy.” Him picking you up from your girls’ night at one of the clubs downtown was more than two hours ago, but he figured you would’ve came and found him by now. 

You have such a fear of missing out and while it’s not Carmen’s favorite thing about you, it does warm his heart to know that you want to spend time with him or that you’re scared he’s doing something interesting without you around. He wishes your ‘fomo’ was based on some issue that he could tangibly fix and not on what he knows is your badly bruised self-esteem. It makes his chest heavy that sometimes you can’t see how great you are; that sometimes you don’t understand why he wants you around and loves you so dearly. 

He can hear your footsteps approach the window ledge and he wordlessly holds his arm out for you to grab onto. Your fingers come out from under the blanket you’ve thrown over yourself like a shawl and grasp his like a lifeline. 

Your body effortlessly molds to him; your front pressed to his back and his unoccupied arm pulling you closer like a seatbelt on your waist. The subtle pressure on your midsection comforts you and your body lodged into his helps alleviate some of the sting he’d been suffering from the cold. 

“You’re mad at me,” you speak. Your voice is small and soft; gentle just in case he really is mad at you and this isn’t something your drunk mind conjured up as you lay in bed alone. 

He sighs and turns his head to take another drag from his cigarette. He makes sure that your hair is out of target of his smoke exhale. A subtle whine leaves your throat as he steps away from you and he grins. Carmen loves when you’re like this; when you’re clingy and being near him is never enough to satiate you. 

“M’not,” he says. You shift from one foot to the other and his eyes momentarily gaze down to make sure you put on socks before you come out here to join him.

 Even though he can’t see your face, he knows that the corners of your mouth are posed in a frown. You hate it when he doesn’t elaborate. It makes you feel shut out. He’s not helping his case of denying your accusation. You may just burst into tears if he doesn’t provide more dialogue. 

Your nasty habit of feeling like everyone is upset with you all the time is swelling. His nasty habit of smoking more cigarettes a day than he knows he needs is bulging. 

Another drag from his cigarette. Another exhale of smoke. Another attempt at trying to be better for you. 

“Can’t ever be mad at you, baby. Not with a face like that,” he croons. The words come out of his mouth so easily; endearment dipped in honey and love warmed by sunshine. Adoration is easy when it comes to you. He’s never known a peace like this. 

“Sly dog,” you mutter. The brain fog from the four tequila lemonades you downed earlier makes you slow in finding a smartass thing to say. Carmen fights the urge to poke fun at you because he knows that you’ll take him seriously. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” your words silently praise. 

“You make it easy,” his hold on you acknowledges. 

Your face is numb from the cold and the alcohol making its way through your system. The lips pecking a kiss against your temple can barely be felt, yet you contently hum once the damp seal of them releases the affection you’ve been longing for. He never makes you work hard for his undivided attention when he readily has it. Wordlessness crafts a cradle of comfort for you both. Soulmates in ways that soulmates usually aren’t. 

Another drag from his cigarette. Another exhale of smoke. Another show of actually being better for you. 

A beat of silence passes with the whistling of the wind. 

“Can I try?” your voice is small with unacquired confirmation of what his answer will be. 

He giggles and you’re mesmerized by the way the smoke exhales with each minuscule twitch of his chest. You turn around at the feeling and press your palms to his torso. It’s impossible not to admire him. You’re always starstruck but he makes it easy to be that way when he looks so peaceful and sweet and good. 

Good for you. Good for your heart. Good for each other. 

You make a mental note to tell him that he should wear this shirt more often but know deep down that you’ll forget to do so until it comes back clean in the laundry basket in a week. You need to work on that, you think; telling him that you love him when you feel it. Moments like this don’t last forever, and you fear for the day that the ooey-gooey feelings of love in its purest forms are fleeting. You know that Carmen makes it impossible, but you can never be sure. Much like he, you’re always half expecting the ceiling to cave in. 

“Sweet baby wants to be a smoker?” he chides. He doesn’t feel bad when you flash him a pouty frown. 

“Carm!” you gripe. Your cheek presses to his pec. You hate when he does this; when he can’t give a straight answer. It isn’t something that needs an answer, but the satisfaction of having one, of being connected to him and the inner world of his mind he tries so hard to keep from everyone, would feel nice. 

Carmen’s tattooed hand snubs the cigarette out on the dish left on the ledge of the window. His fingers curl to let his knuckles brush the hair on the top of your head. You try your hardest not to melt into his touch. He’ll have a field day if you let him have the satisfaction of making you visibly weak in the knees. 

“Didn’t even say no yet, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah, but you’re being mean. Just tell me “no” instead of making me suffer.” 

He quirks his eyebrow and brings a gentle hand to guide your chin upwards, forcing you to make eye contact with him.“Well, m’gonna if you don’t lose the ‘tude, baby.” 

The shift in his tone of voice and the forced eye contact sends a beam of warmth down to your stomach. He has a way of leaving little leeway for negotiation and argument. It’s abstract to his everyday life, but that was complicated, you know. When it’s you and him and him and you, there is never a need for a fight for dominance or a clarification of authority. You both understand each other on a level that is molecular. There is never any need for guessing. 

His finger flicks your lip playfully before swiping a calloused thumb gently on the plush of them. You had fought him so hard earlier when he tried to swipe the lipstick and liner you had put on earlier off with a washcloth. He finds it wild that you’re wide awake and coherent after witnessing the mild temper tantrum you had thrown about it not even two hours earlier. 

Carmen spots the gentle gleam in your eyes and his heart instantly softens. He sighs, momentarily taking his hands off of you and reaching back in his pocket for his carton of cigarettes and lighter. 

“Fine, but you gotta light it.” 

The aforementioned cigarette sits unlit between his lips, the end sticking out like an invitation and the filter hid between his teeth like a dirty secret. He half expects you to chicken out when he hands you the lighter. You always freaked out a little about the flame being so close to your fingers. Something about feeling the heat so close to your hand made you insanely nervous and he could never seem to fully understand. 

His expectations are exceeded when your thumbnail crafts friction with the spark wheel and the illuminated peach of his lighter of the month spurs to life. You don’t cup it with your hands to shield it from the wind. You let it grow and shrink as you lift it up to the unlit butt sticking out of his mouth. 

Your eyes watch in childish awe as the wrapped paper gives way and reveals the hearty smell of tobacco and a sunburst of ashes upon making contact with the manufactured heat. You had watched Carmen smoke hundreds of times, but something about seeing it now right in front of you kindles a spark of curiosity deep in your belly. 

“Can’t believe my sweet girl wants to puff on a cancer stick,” he says. You know that he’s joking, but his trying to get you to change your mind strikes a nerve deep within you. 

“You do it so why can’t I?” you huff, agitated with him seemingly withholding the cigarette you so desperately crave. 

“I do a lot of things you don’t do. Doesn’t mean you should be knockin’ yourself out to try ‘em.” 

You roll your eyes. “It’s just one. Don’t be so mean.” 

He pulls the stick from between his lips and creates a perfect “o” ring with the smoke in its wake. A dopey-eyed grin plants a home on his face and his eyes look deep into yours. 

Fucking show-off. 

“All it takes is one to get addicted,” he continues to smoke and the cigarette butt starts to diminish with each puff he takes, “You sure you wanna bite, sweetheart?” 

“One won’t hurt.”

His gaze lowers to your lips and back up to your eyes. “Don’t wanna end up like me. All sad and addicted to cigarettes.” 

“Carmen, please. I just want one,” you huff, lightly pushing his chest away. He moves slightly with your force and has to stifle a laugh. 

“They ever show you Teri the Smoker in health class?” Carmen takes the cigarette out of his mouth and pretends to examine it, faux and forced curiosity at the cylindrical tube sitting between his lithesome fingers. He’s not giving into you on purpose, you know, and he’ll give in eventually, you also know, but him trying to delay the gratification of getting what you want is starting to annoy you more than it usually would. 

“Yes? What does that have to do with anything?” 

He pops it back in his mouth and takes an obnoxiously long drag. “Nothing,” he breathes out the smoke with his statement, “Just funny that you know that and here you are, damn near hands and knees, gagging for a cigarette.” 

“Carmen.” 

He laughs and you can’t help but love the sound. 

“You know, it’s real fucked up of you to ask for a drag from my cigarette that I get with my hard-earned money,” he says and you roll your eyes, “You should know I love you too much to let you stick a cancer stick in your mouth.” 

“It’s just one!” you plead. 

“It’s never just one, sweetheart.” 

“Well, who says’m gonna get addicted like – like you and Teri the Smoker?” 

“The nicotine content on the carton. That’s who.” 

He’s not paying you any attention and it’s starting to ache your heart a little. You know that he’s distracted; that he’s just trying to prevent the ashes from getting on your blanket and from getting the smell of smoke in your hair, but him biting at your insistence a little less than he was previously sends a pang of gloominess through your chest.

“You smoke all the time, and if you get a hole in your throat because of that then you’re so mean.” 

His lips upturn in introspection.“M’mean?” 

“Very,” you answer dryly. 

“Humor me.” 

“Because then I’ll have to live the rest of my life without hearing your voice again and then I’ll be so sad.” 

He shrugs, half knowing that you’re joking but half expecting something more to come out of what you’re getting at. “Ehh, don’t think anyone at the restaurant would miss it.” 

“I would!” 

You smack at his chest again lightly and he remembers how touchy and wild you get after you’ve been drinking. It’s never bad or out of control, but you’re more affectionate than usual and less gentle than you normally are. 

“Yeah, baby? Gonna miss my voice?” 

“Mhm,” you purr, leaning up to get closer to his ear, “Gonna miss how you call me a good girl. And how you whine when I pull your hair and how you tell me that I’m the tightest and wettest little th-” 

“Jesus,” he laughs, playfully pushing the side of your face away as your teeth nibble a tiny bite on the thick of his palm, “Fuck off.” 

You like to play around, too. That’s also something he sees more of after a night out. He never indulges; knows you get too riled up and in your head when it goes somewhere he’s not comfortable with, but he loves it nonetheless. Being together has helped the other not be so scared of permanence. Moments like this confirm what he knows, and he realizes that you’re a saint and he wants to marry you. 

The stuff that comes along with it has been plaguing his mind as of late, but he realizes how little it matters when he sees you all happy and grateful to be around him and doing the most mundane of things. He’ll get you that ring and that house and those babies and the happiest fucking life in a heartbeat, and he’s oddly comforted by the fact that he knows you’ll let him. 

Carmen’s never been the best at not wearing his feelings on his face and you know he’s deep in thought when the banter dies and the whistling of the wind takes its place. You hope he isn’t spiraling. He tends to do that a lot. You tend to feel powerless when it happens. 

Your eyes study his face; the lightness of his irises, the spiral of curls, the slope of his nose. The tequila from earlier remains in your system, but it doesn’t change the fact that you love him so deeply. 

“You know, it’s bullshit that you’re giving me hell about putting a cigarette in my mouth.” Your voice cuts through the quiet and he starts to grin again. 

“Hey, s’only bullshit because you’re sittin’ here beggin’ and then telling me I’m gonna have a fuckin’ hole in my throat from smoking too much.” 

“I never said that it was gonna be bad, Bear. I just said I was gonna miss hearing your voice is all.” 

His free hand comes out to sit on the base of your neck. A calloused thumb draws small semi-circles on the bottom of your hairline. 

“You know, her quality of life was probably amazing,” he speaks, “Like didn’t she have kids and grandkids and friends and shit? Health class is fucked up for making her out to be the ‘throat hole lady’.” 

“You shouldn’t say that,” you grimace and he plants his lips on your forehead. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

You make him softer. If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t think twice about how insensitive it had come off. His therapist is always saying people can’t make you better, but she clearly hasn’t met you. 

“But that was kinda the whole point? You shouldn’t want to be like her?” you pause and the frown lines in your eyebrows write “pensive” on your face before you even realize it, “. . .Because she does have a hole in her throat. And her quality of life was just very. . .different?” 

Carmen nods. “They’re fucked up for that.” 

“Jesus, Carm. Do you think smoking is bad or not because you’re giving me soooo many mixed signals here,” you sigh, your forehead moving forward faster than you intended and hitting the bony composition of his collarbones. 

He hums softly; part listening to what you’re saying and part acknowledging that he wants to move on from what you had said. 

“Did you know that your life expectancy goes down by eleven minutes or some shit like that each time you smoke a cigarette?” he swiftly changes the subject. 

You pick your head up and narrow your eyes playfully. “Oh, you don’t even love me enough to let me smoke one so I can be put out of my misery a whole eleven minutes earlier when you die from smoking a gazillion packs a day and leave me all lonely and wrinkly.” 

“I think you’d be hot wrinkly,” he replies matter-of-factly. 

“I think you’d be hot if you let me smoke one.”

“You’re probably not gonna like it.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

He realizes that the cigarette has pretty much burned itself out. There’s possibly one or two more drags left before he has to ash it out completely. He debates on whether he should let you have at it or silently take the last two and usher you back inside. If he chooses the former, he knows that he’ll feel bad if you don’t like it, and he worries that your realization will kickstart the unraveling of something almost perfect he’s found for himself. He can’t bear to take another loss in his life. If he chooses the latter, he knows you wouldn’t even be aware that he had smoked it entirely by himself, and that you’ll gripe and complain for the rest of the night and table the conversation for another time when he’s in a less resistive state. 

“Carm, you have to give me a puff from it,” you complain, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

He’s giving in to you. He always does. He doesn’t know why he pretends like he has free will when it comes to you. 

“C’mere,” he beckons your face closer, “And don’t use your hands. You have that blanket on and I don’t wanna have to call Chicago Fire tonight.” 

Carmen lifts his hand up to your mouth and gently laughs when you go cross-eyed to eye the filter sitting in between his pointer and middle fingers. 

“You just inhale, hold it, and then breathe back out,” he instructs. He feeds the filter to your lips before suddenly pulling it back. “Don’t choke yourself out though. That uh – that won’t be good and then you’re really not gonna like it.” 

Your neck extends to get closer to Carmen’s hand and you do what he says. You inhale, hold it, and exhale. You don’t think you’re doing it right (and he knows that you didn’t, but doesn’t say anything because he knows it’ll make you whiny) but you’re satisfied that he trusts you enough to try. 

“Took it like a champ, baby,” he cheers, “So proud!” 

He pushes the butt of the cigarette into the dish and your blanket-covered hands come up to palm his face gently. The plush of the cover feels soft against his stubble-covered cheeks, and your gazes catch each other’s. 

A moment of tranquility. A moment of peace. A moment of love. 

He so desperately wants to marry you. 

[mrsrookhunt]

What to Expect When Your Lab Experiment Drinks Formula

PART TWO, PART THREE

A continuation (Mini fic Ver.) fic of what I made for Rook, HERE

| Synop.: You and your lab partner make a mistake in your potion, one that comes out looking strangely like it's related to you.. |

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto, Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Floyd Leech, Sebek Zigvolt, (Rook Hunt) x MC

Warnings: Suggestive (Floyd), Angst (Sebek), implied light manipulation (Malleus)

Scroll Farther Alert! There's a narration cut for the second part of each fic after the first portion. Don't miss it! Each ends with fluff. Sebek's is long, fair warning.

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You're trying to make a simple transformation potion, aging up a tadpole to a frog, when you add the wrong ingredient, and use one drop too many on the poor tadpole. The result is a child that looks eerily like the two of you...

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Azul Ashengrotto

"Holy-- great sevens, Azul, is that a child??"

He holds it up a foot away from him, equally baffled.

"Don't ask me! You're the one who insisted on using the wrong ingredients!"

"You were the one who picked those--"

"WAHHHHHH--" The baby flails its arms and fusses at your petty squabbles.

You turn your attention back to the small creature, looking disoriented from being held so far away from any solid ground.

Azul's watching too, as the child seems to scold you both with an oddly knowing glare that could kill.

You've seen that glare before--

"Azul, am I crazy, or does that thing look like you??"

"Weh." It motions towards you as Azul looks over it.

"Gracious, so it does. And it looks like you too. Look at its' nose and eyes."

You come closer to look, but the baby seems intent on having you hold it, squirming out of Azul's hands.

"Ahem, I believe the little one wants you--"

He pushes the wiggly baby into your arms, taking the moment to reposition his glasses, which had slid down with nervous sweat.

"I'll go talk to professor Crewel, there is undoubtedly something he can do about this."

Malleus Draconia

"Child of man! What is that you're holding?"

"Um... it was supposed to be a frog...."

Malleus takes it from you, holding it cautiously. The little baby he holds has soft black hair, slit-pupiled eyes the same color as yours, and suspiciously familiar shorter horns. It coos at him and motions to his horns with curious, grabby hands.

"Whatever we did, we must have touched it at the same time, Tsunotarou... Because it looks like a mix of both of us."

He puts it on the back of his neck with his arms up to support the chubby infant as it grabs at his horns.

"Hm. It's quite cute, Child of man. We can keep it in Diasomnia if Ramshackle doesn't have the capacity to care for it."

You stare on in disbelief.

"It's... its a frog with a transformation potion... we can't keep it, Malleus!"

He frowns, taking the infant down from his shoulders and cradling the small bundle to his chest.

"The potion had birch seed in it. The transformation is permanent; so I don't see a reason to get rid of it."

Malleus smiles, tickling its chubby cheeks.

"There's no way it's totally permane-- Wait. Didn't you have me add some of those ingredients? Did you know this would happen?"

Malleus is suspiciously silent.

"Malleu--"

"I'll go ask professor Crewel if there's a reversal." He sighs, handing the baby to you and moping all the way to the desk.

Lilia Vanrouge

"If you wanted a baby, precious, you could've just asked--"

You nearly slap him. So cocky, when there's a baby that looks suspiciously like you and Lilia on the table where a grown frog should be.

"Sevens, Lilia, this is not the time--"

He chuckles.

"In my defense, I told you not to use a sprig of pine."

You splutter, lost for words and flustered. The baby certainly seems to share Lilia's sense of humor, giggling mischievously at your flustered expression.

You pick it up before Lilia can, determined to barge straight into professor Crewel's office if you had to to get an answer on what this thing was.

"Heh, MC, the baby's smiling at you--" Lilia calls from a distance. You look down and find that the baby is indeed wholeheartedly excited that you're paying it attention, reaching its chubby arms up to feel your face and grab your nose.

"Aww.. so cute," You whisper, blowing a stray breath into its face for amusement.

"I heard that!" Lilia shouts from the table. "Don't go getting too attached now. I'm not raising another child, darling."

"Shush! I'm taking it to the professor right now, you have nothing to worry about."

Floyd Leech

"SHRIMPY, CAN WE KEEP IT---"

Floyd is whirling the baby around in excited twirls.

It's a very cute moment, but you're still baffled at the little creature's existence-- since it very much didn't exist about 10 seconds ago.

"Floyd, I'm pretty sure that's just an oversized tadpole..."

He stops in mock offense, thrusting the baby into your face.

"Does this look like a tadpole to you?? Unless you're suggesting that we both look like tadpoles, in which case, I'm taking offense because this baby looks like us."

He puts it down to play with its tiny legs.

"Look, shrimpy! It's going for a walk--" He pauses to think. "A sky walk!!" And continues to make the little one's legs 'walk'.

While Floyd is busy making baby noises to amuse the child, you're panicking. This potion had birch seed-- an ingredient known to make transformation potions permanent, if you remembered correctly.

"Floyd, c'mon, give it here, we need to take this to profess--"

"NOO we'll keep it!!!" Floyd holds the baby tight to his chest. "It's wayyy too cute!"

You pry the baby from him reluctantly.

"We cannot just keep a child, Floyd, it's not an animal--"

"If you take this one I'm just gonna make another one!!" He cries, moving to grab another tadpole from the tank.

"NO NO NO NO FLOYD--"

"Well don't take my little sea-star then!!"

You sigh.

"I'm almost 100% sure this is permanent anyway, but neither of us are in a position to care for this baby. We might as well take it to the professors and see if they can do something. We can't just hide the fact that we accidentally made a baby for our final project anyway---"

He mutters something about 'could've made a baby other ways, but it had to be the boring way', but allows you to go with the little one, who coos in your ear.

You hear a clatter.

"GET YOUR HAND OUT OF THE TADPOLE TANK, FLOYD--"

Sebek Zigvolt

"Human, explain. Explain----"

The baby bites his finger, which apparently was pointing at it too close for its liking.

"Ouch--! What do you think you're doing, little tyke? Do you think that just because you're an infant that you have an excuse to bite a retainer of the great Waka-sama??"

The baby looks blankly at him.

"You can't scold a baby, Sebek." You scoffed, bouncing the child on your hip.

"Fine! But you still have to explain why this child has my hair and eyes and....-- isn't that your nose?" He looks momentarily horrified as he comes to the conclusion you came to minutes earlier.

"Oh NO NO NO NO MC THAT IS NOT OUR CHILD, TELL ME THAT CREATURE ISN'T OURS--"

"For goodness sake Sebek you're shouting right in our baby's ear--"

"'OUR'?? THAT IS NOT 'OUR' ANYTHING, THAT IS YOUR POTIONOLOGY MISTAKE AND NOTHING MORE--"

He's babbling nearly incoherently at this point, and you have to stop the baby from attempting to bite him again out of what you can only assume is annoyance.

"...I would NEVER have a child with a lowly, magicless human, this CANNOT get out---"

"waah...wEHHHHHHHH"

Sebek stops talking for a moment, ears ringing.

You, too, are shocked.

"Sebek.. if it's not your child then I have ANOTHER auditory atrocity of a person to avoid on this planet."

"..."

"I'm taking it to professor Crewel."

"I think that's wise."

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

You/ your lab partner take the child to professor Crewel, who determines that it is in fact a permanent transformation, and that biologically the baby is as much yours as any other naturally born to the two of you.

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Azul Ashengrotto

"Are... you ok, Azul? You've been staring into space for a... ahem, awhile."

The baby crawls around the the VIP Room of Mostro Lounge, bumping into walls. You suspect it may need glasses.

Surprisingly, the baby seems well-tempered, unless you have the misfortune of holding it the wrong way or otherwise inconveniencing it, to which it seems highly irritated.

However, it was one 'just like your father' comment that sent the already figity Azul into an unresponsive state.

"Was, um.. was that too soon?" You ask tentatively.

"..Yes.. yes, I think it was." He responds distantly.

"Azul, it's gonna be ok. We'll figure it out." You get up from the floor to hold his hand.

He meets your gaze, eyes sharp and calculating.

"Yes, of course we'll be fine, how could we not be? Finances are no issue and we could always hire a babysitter and.... well, it's not that. It's just a lot to take in."

"Today's been wild," You agree softly, gently picking up the baby to put it in his lap. "But I'm here for you."

You lean down to the baby's level.

"We're here for you, little one."

Malleus Draconia

"I still CANNOT believe you knew, Malleus--"

You're still squabbling with him pointlessly, even though the damage is already done. You can honestly say you've well warmed up to the baby, and Malleus seems to be doing worse than you on the details, having apparently very little idea how to care for a child other than playing with it.

"I'm sorry, Child of Man. I didn't know it was permanent," He insists calmly, but you don't quite believe that.

You sigh. He can act clueless as long as he'd like, but the overly exuberant smile on his face while interacting with your child says more than words.

He picked up the baby and put it down on his bed, already having sewn little, special pillows for the baby to sleep comfortably with its horns.

"You better be a good dad, you hear me?" You say, less threatening that you thought it would come out.

He beckons you over to the bed to lay down next to your baby.

"I will, Child of Man, I promise."

Lilia Vanrouge

You knock on his dorm room door, baby on your hip.

"So..um.. bad news, Lilia... it's perman-- Are you having a party?"

He shoos out at least 10 members of Diasomnia.

"I know, dear. Unfortunately I didn't realize what you had done in time to stop you. So I was having a little 'last moments of freedom party'. How sad, and Silver was essentially all grown up now.. Well, what's another 16 years?"

You're speechless. You had kind of forgotten that he was Silver's adoptive father.

"I'm... sorry, Lilia, I should've payed closer attention to the instructions and I screwed up--"

"Hush, it's fine. It's not the end of the world."

He takes the baby from you.

"I already brought in an old cradle and some food for our little one, see?"

He points out an old wooden crib next to his bed.

"Wow... you're.. so prepared, and I haven't even thought about that stuff.."

He smiled at you, nuzzling the baby's cheek a few times simultaneously.

"I'll admit, it got me a little excited. I didn't think an old man like myself would get the chance to raise a child of my own flesh and blood. But never say never, I suppose. You have nothing to worry about, precious. What you don't know, I have already experienced."

"...Thank you for being so understanding, Lilia."

"Of course, dear, after all, we're a family now."

Bonus the one stipulation is that you will not and will not ever share the cooking duties with him. Silver makes you swear by it to avoid his own childhood traumas for his younger siblings.

Floyd Leech

You brace yourself for the inevitable flurry of excitement before knocking on Floyd's door.

"WHERE'S MY LITTLE SEA STARRRRRR~~~~" You hear from the other side of the door before the door flies open. You hand the baby off to Floyd, who's more than ecstatic.

"It's permanent," you sigh, hoping he's listening. "We have to take care of the baby now--"

"WheeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEE" Floyd runs back and forth across the small room with the child, making faces all the while.

"Floyd!" You scold, finally breaking his stride.

"Ehh? I hear you, shrimpy, how can I not? It's ok, I have a plan. We'll love this baby with our whole hearts!"

"...That's the plan?"

"I spent two hours thinking of it, do you like it?"

"That child cannot stay here," A smooth voice cuts in. "This room is much too small for the two of us, let alone a third."

"Oh, hey Jade, didn't see ya come in," Floyd remarks casually. "And obviously I've thought of that. The baby will live in Ramshackle, because there's more space. It just needs some touch ups to be babyproof, is all."

"Touch-ups? It needs a whole remodel."

Floyd grins.

"Got an idea, shrimpy. Transfer to Octavinelle! Then the baby can share a room with you and we'll all be nearby!"

"Oh forget it, I'm asking Crowley to help me improve Ramshackle. Until then, you'll have to deal with the living arrangements." You put your hands on your hips and give Jade a look that means you'll raise hell if he doesn't agree to you and Floyd's half-baked plans.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt, so long as it was temporary."

"YESSSSS!!!!!"

Floyd's excitement leads to him jumping on you.

"D'ya hear that, Shrimpy? That means you can stay here too. And we'll be one big happy family."

Sebek Zigvolt

"Sebek?" You gently knock on his door, after having been told he'd been doing nothing but pacing around all evening.

"Sebek," you call again, a bit louder.

The door swings open violently.

"What?? Who dare disturb my-- oh. Human." He ushers you into his room swiftly.

"You still have the child? When does it leave?" He asked quickly.

"It doesn't," You said bluntly, putting down the freshly bathed and swaddled bundle onto his bed.

"Don't touch----! Ugh.. Besides... What do you mean, 'it doesn't'? It's leaving, I will not have that thing associated with the Zigvolt name just because of some lowly human's stupid mistakes!"

If you weren't so exhausted, you would be shouting at a decibel rivaling his own.

"Sevens, Sebek, it's permanent, no way around it. I can't go back in time and change this-! You were the one reading off the ingredients anyway, how dare you blame this on me?" You challenge.

"Ah-ahh.. Well, why didn't you check yourself?? Do I need to do everything for you!?" He crossed his arms.

"No, but you do need to do your task, and competently!"

That seemed to shut him up.

"W-whatever. I cannot be a proper retainer to--"

"Fine. Then don't raise the baby at all, I'll take care of it. I never said you had to involved."

"...I.. Human, I didn't say that." His tone seems to soften. You know he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders in his mind but you still find it hard to excuse his poor behavior.

He sits down next to the baby, picking it up at arms length.

"It's cute, just a bit. But I pity it.. it has even less faerie blood than me."

"Is that the heart of this?" You question gently, knowing it's a sore subject.

"Yes, I suppose so.."

"Sebek. Your heritage doesn't define you, and it won't define our child. You are an amazing, devoted person, and you've worked hard to be the person you are, and that's really all that matters. You have no reason to be upset, or worried. We can make this work, I promise. And I promise that I'll there to help you get through this. That is, if you're willing to."

He sighs, taking your hand.

"I fear I am diluting my sullied bloodline more than it already is. The Zigvolt family works with the royal family as their right-hand consults and guards. It's been that way for generations. But who would want a fae so adulterated with human genetics by their side?"

"I don't think that's true. If you really think that's the case, then why is Silver allowed to train as a protector as well? Malleus and Lilia are equally respectful of you both. You don't have to give up your family's title and honor just because of this."

He stiffens, a proud smile on his face.

"You are right, human! I shall not let this get the best of me. I will raise my child to be as dutiful as me!"

You laugh, relieved that he's warming up to the idea of having a family.

You kiss him on the forehead, giving him a hug that encompasses the baby in the middle.

"I'll work hard at being a good father, I swear on it."

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-June 30th, 2023

-Kaori

[mo-ondrcps]

♖ ˗ˏˋ 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 ´ˎ˗

❛ how fate cruelly plays with your hearts while a stranger desperately try to save you in each dream you had, over and over again.❜

: ̗̀➛ dragon! jiyan x town folk! reader warning(s): reader drowning twice, mentions of death (no major!). content: fem! reader, magical town vibes like magic humans and mythical creatures, jiyan dragon protective of you genre: au — magical town, fantasy, reincarnation, soulmates, romance, slight angst word count: 2.4K author's note: i love protective jiyan, makes anyone feel safe in his arms.

    Water surrounded you, making it impossible to breathe. You couldn't decipher whether you're dead or drowning in the ocean, though a bystander would think you're suffering from both because of your lack of struggle, slowly descending deeper. The light from the waters above your clouded vision continued to fade until a figure above dove in, swimming towards your direction. Unfortunately, his face was only just a silhouette, attempting to reach for your hand and resurface to save you. You wanted to move forward, take the stranger's hand in yours, but an unknown force within you had no strength to do so.

"(Y/n)...!"

    Your name, or what sounds like your name, came out in thick gurgles of water from the stranger. They still persisted in swimming with much of their might to save you. Who is this person? If they continued to sink in deeper with you, there would be no hope for either of you to live. How foolish. Your eyes slowly gave in to the darkness surrounding them before opening once more.

    Your eyes take in the surroundings of your room, all dimly lit by the moon that glanced from the open peak of your window curtains. Your head turned in search of your wall clock.

2:37 am.

    A sigh left your lips, burying yourself further into the warm blankets for comfort. It was the same dream that haunted you for years, the ocean and you sinking into your demised. However, the small moment didn't strike fear in you, at least you hoped not yet. You haven't visited the beach for over ten years now and you always found yourself sticking by the sand whenever your family asks you to come with them.

    You rise up from your spot on your bed, leaving to grab a glass of water before returning to your room. They were both calm, your water and the ocean from your dreams, moving on their own except for the other being more dangerous if you sink in too deep.

    But that man, who was he?

    You thought of leaving it aside, knowing your work starts early in the morning, taking a sip of your water before resting back on the comforts of your mattress.

────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹────────

"But you never saw his face? That's a shame... You should've seen it if he was cute or not."

    Your eyes narrowed at your friend after telling them the entire story of your dreams again. They always knew what kind of stress you're dealing with, but never knew the answer to how to solve it. At first, they informed you to brush it off as a simple vision your mind had randomly come up with until it grew too frequent for them to ignore.

"You really had to focus on that detail?? I can't just fall for every random stranger in my dreams."

    A boisterous laugh came from the mouth of your friend before shaking their head at your deadpan expression.

"At least they treat us better than the men in this reality. Who knows? With how frequent you meet yours, he might actually appear right through that door!"

    Now a smile erupted your features before bursting into a laugh at how silly they were acting with you. Though absurd, you still appreciate their sense of optimism in your dream related problems. A small chime came from the door, signaling a customer walked into the shop. Your friend gave you a small nod, which you returned before watching them move to entertain them. You, on the other hand, busied yourself in writing a list of the potions you both need to make and what's available to write down and display on the racks.

"Excuse me?"

    A voice deep yet soothing to your ear came in front of you, making you look up to them.

"Hello, what can I get for you?"

    The man was dressed in simple black and midnight green robes embroidered by silk and gold accents, making him stand out only just a bit but not too much to get everyone's attention. It was clear he looked like a soldier or a protector of some kind because of the sword strapped around his waist.

    You thought you would have recognized him because of this small town, but then again, he might be a wandering traveler from afar so you can't assume too quickly.

"Do you have any good potions for healing? I seem to run out myself on the way here."

    The man replied with a slight scratch on his nape. You nod before smiling, taking out a regular sized bottle. It's mixture flowing through green and hues of blue gradient inside, shimmering in utter brilliance.

"That will be fifty gold for a healing potion."

    He reached out from his pocket, pulling a small pouch where he fumbled to grab the amount needed. The man set down sixty-five gold instead of fifty, leaving you surprised at the change. You took the extra, your hands moving to give it back.

"I can't accept this much."

"Please, this shop deserves much recognition for the work you and your companion put through for everyone who needs it. Keep my change."

    Before you could push more to give the extra back, the man bows slightly before leaving the shop. Your friend, who just came back, glanced at the man you just entertained before turning to you with a playful smile you knew you wouldn't enjoy.

"Who was that? He looks so good! I've never seen him before. Do you think he's-."

    Just when your friend was about to ask you for more information about the customer you entertained, you stopped her train of thoughts, speaking ahead of them before it goes in a direction you'll never get back from.

"And don't you think it's your turn to brew new potions to stock while I grab some herbs we need outside? The strength and healing potions won't produce themselves."

    Your friend groaned.

"Let me dream a little. My single life won't move by itself either!"

    Throwing your quill pen at them, you caused them to move aside but still took the blow from the quill thrown at them, laughing at your advancements before heading into the staff room to do their work while you prepared your journey in the forest for herbs. You pack containers, water, and a bit of snacks to aid your short travel. You bid goodbye to your friend, starting your walk into the forest.

    You had a list written by you with a few additions to your friend. You crouched down to pick up yellow and purple flowers, one that radiated like the sun and the other mirroring the deepest night sky of the auras. Since you were here, it shouldn't hurt to grab them for a potion of good sleep. Not that you never tried it before and have it mix with your cup of tea. Your friend suggested this once after experiencing four nights of the same dream in your sleep, but it never worked.

    You move to the next item on your list, which is dewberries, picking at least three before turning your head to the bushes rustling nearby. Your eyes scanned the area before resuming your work of collecting three more until a large hand grabs your mouth, pulling you back towards their body.

"Such luck of running into a lady."

    A skinny man walked into the scene, next to his companion, who took you by surprise. He spoke before smirking. The items from your bag scrambled down after being forcefully pulled away. The man who held you back took one of them, shaking the containers of herbs inside before turning his head back towards you.

"A smart one who can provide and heal too! How much do you think we can make out of her if we sold her to the palace?"

    The skinny man only laughed before ordering his companion.

"Stuff her in the bag. I know we'll make a fortune in that case."

    You struggle in the gruff man's hold who was opting to lift you up while his friend took the large sack they had slung behind his back. Your legs kicked and swung around, managing to injure the skinny man on the groin out of pure luck. But you knew you needed more than that.

"Feisty as well! You'll pay for all the damages you'll do to me and my companion. Now stay still or-."

    A powerful surge of wind ripped through the scene, causing all of you to shut your eyes while your captors try to stay in place on the grass below, gripping onto the strands before getting blown away a few steps.

"You!"

    The voice of a man came, commanding and stern, but there was no man. Only the figure of a large, bright green, slender dragon came in sight. He was exactly like what the stories you kept hearing as a child.

    The Midnight Dragon.

    Its nostrils flared in anger, watching the two men as if they were its prey. The men who held captive of you had their hands tremble beneath their fingertips, eyes staring wide at the force of nature they just angered without moving another muscle.

"Begone or I will banish you myself."

    The men cowered in fear, flinging your body to a shallow lake before leaving in a hurry into the direction of the city. The dragon quickly shifts into a human man, running to the lake before diving in to save you.

    Your arms flailed around to resurface from the water. You weren't sure if you should feel even more terrified now that reality is making you sink deep into the waters just like in your dreams. No, nightmares. If only you agreed with your friend to teach you a bit of swimming, but you were too stubborn, confident enough that drowning would never cross in a moment of your life.

    Right now, you were afraid.

    Maybe it was a warning that you stupidly ignored and now you've fallen deep to your demise. You allowed your eyes to shut, accepting the darkness with the faint figure of the man reaching for your hand.

────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹────────

    Jiyan thought he could never save you, blaming himself for how slow he was in every haunting nightmare that plagued his thoughts. As if his previous life wasn't enough to make him feel guilty about how much pain you've pulled through and now in this timeline? How much more does he need to suffer?

    He swam deeper, faster, just to grab a hold of your hand before pulling you up with him to the surface. Jiyan carried your body to a nearby tree, setting you down next to it before leaning his head to your chest and mouth to check for your vitals. For the love of the gods, please don't let him see you dead again.

    Using the heel of heel of his dominant hand and the other hand resting on it above your breastbone, he began to push, watching a couple of water droplets leave your mouth. Jiyan counted quietly in inaudible whispers, begging for your revival until slowly a cough came from your lips, causing him to step away a bit to give you some space.

"(Y/n)?"

"W-who- I-."

    You shut your eyes, rubbing away the water residuals that dropped from your hair, regaining consciousness from the events prior.

"What... what did you just say?"

    Jiyan's eyes widen but you didn't catch his surprise, only a clear of his throat before carrying you in his arms again as if you were lightweight. A feather, if he might add, but he'll tease you later. He valued your safety the most, so he took you back home while you had a million questions running in your head, especially how he knew where you lived.

"Stalker much?"

    You uttered above a whisper, making Jiyan shake his head quickly before you act on him.

"I-... You wouldn't believe me if I told you this."

"I'm all ears... Midnight Dragon."

    You didn't know how else to call him besides what the stories and myths had told you. It made Jiyan's heart sink, trying to accept the fact that you will never remember him. Maybe in this life you wouldn't, but it didn't stop him from being your sole protector wherever you go. Why did it have to be him to be cursed to remember everything while you were reborn to forget?

    Jiyan was silent through the entire journey, slipping into the crack of your window with you in his arms, which you forgot to close before leaving. He set you down on the comforts of your mattress before finally answering.

"I've been protecting you endlessly in our previous life and now... Believe it or not."

    Jiyan confessed. It made you confused.

"Previous life? I never remembered anything or been aware of... living longer like you do."

    If it has been that way, maybe you should've had some majestic powers to make you live longer like him. Your thoughts only made Jiyan chuckle softly before ruffling your damp hair, mind racing at what you both could've possibly been, but you had no memory at all whatsoever.

"You may not remember anything about me. But I'll make sure you'll always feel safe and maybe... feel loved by me again in this timeline..."

    Jiyan took your hand, kissing your palm gently. It felt as if a gentle breeze flowed against your skin, gracing you with the dragon's passion and attention. Everything felt like a dream, to actually see the dragon in person who has concealed its identity until years later. Did it have anything to do with your existence? It made you wonder. Most especially with the mystery laced in his words about you and him.

"If heaven ever gives us the chance to meet again, I'll always keep loving you at that time and the next."

    His words held a promise that strangely made your heart accept him entirely. Jiyan smiled, rising from his feet, making you scramble from your seat on the bed.

"Wait."

    He paused, eyebrows raised in question.

"What's your name?"

"Jiyan."

    He blew a soft breeze in front of your face, effectively hitting your eyes before watching you fall back asleep on your bed. It made Jiyan smile, admiring how peaceful you look, waving his arm above your figure to use his own magic, drying your clothes to avoid you from waking up with a cold. He pulled the covers over your body, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead before leaving the room. Jiyan shut the windows behind him, taking a mental note to remind you about it before disappearing into the night.

    For the first time in your life, you finally got over your nightmares of drowning. Your dreams only painted the image of green and blue hues of a dragon before shifting to the figure of Jiyan, planning on your next meeting with him again.

author's note: took a bit of inspiration from the potions event of genshin. i was trying to find a good occupation for reader in a magical town and thought of that!

© MOONDRCPS. avoid stealing or translating my work to other sites. likes and reblogs on my works are appreciated ᵔᴗᵔ

[embarrasingmf]

unwanted calls

PAIRING: Castiel x reader

SUMMARY: you don’t like to talk on the phone, you prefer people texting you. Castiel always seems to break this rule.

WORD COUNT: 475 (this is short, sorry gang)

A/N: not proofread, also I used a prompt generator for this…

You were driving back to the Men of Letters bunker after finishing up a simple witch hunt.

You felt your phone buzz beside you, and you briefly glanced over at it.

It was Castiel, calling you.

Letting out a groan, you accepted the call and pressed the phone to your ear.

“This better be important.” You grumbled, waiting for Cas to start talking.

The familiar monotone voice soon rang out, “How was the hunt?”

You raised an eyebrow, unamused. “You called for to ask that? You couldn’t have waited until I got back to the bunker?” You questioned.

“Hell, you could’ve texted it to me.” You added as an afterthought.

Castiel was rendered speechless for a second before he sighed and replied.

“You wouldn’t have seen the text until you got back then,” Castiel noted, and you bit back a scoff.

That was true, you thought, you probably wouldn’t have seen the text until you got back to the bunker.

“Okay, well, still…” You huffed, taking an exit on a road that led to Lebanon, Kansas.

“Sorry, I’ll make sure to text you next time.” Castiel assured, “Mind telling me how the hunt went now?”

“Oh, the hunt went good. Just a simple witch.” You replied with a quick clear of your throat.

Castiel let out a hum of acknowledgment on the other line.

After driving in a few minutes of silence, you voiced a question that was in the back of your mind for some time now.

You always noticed that Castiel never texted you, he always called. Especially when you explicitly told him not to.

He continued to do it anyway. To be honest, if he needed to talk to you so urgently he could just teleport over to you and talk to you then.

“Why do you always call? You do know if you need to talk me so bad then you could just teleport to wherever I am.” You stated plainly, taking another turn down a road.

Castiel was silent for a second time, and you grew slightly concerned. Cas always seemed to have something to say, whether it was him spewing information about some supernatural creature or asking a simple question about something.

It took a few minutes before Castiel replied, it was a quiet reply. So quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

“I just like hearing your voice.”

That caught you off guard, your eyebrows raising almost comically.

“Oh.” Eventually, a smug grin tugged on the corner of your lips.

“Well just wait until I get back to the bunker and I can chat with you all you want.” You chuckled, listening to Castiel almost eagerly reply with an ‘okay’.

You hung up the call and placed your phone back beside you, and you could’ve sworn you sped up a bit more to get to the bunker faster.

—————————————————————————

feedback is appreciated , keeps me motivated! <3

[httpsobi]

YOU...YOU CAN DO THAT? “a spider-reader x team"

WARNINGS/TAGS + sfw, they/them (gender neutral) reader addressed as spider cause if you can't tell i'm very creative, inspired by miles morales spiderman cause hes my fav, no beta we die like aunts and uncles in spiderman movies/comics, canon-typical violence (not heavily detailed).

A/N + to the anon who requested this nearly a year ago, i'm so sorry pookie the writer block put me in a author coma of sorts. despite this being a year late and trash, i hope you enjoy regardless, and i'm hoping to get more active with my writing again! enjoyyyyyy!

REQUEST + "Oops here I am again (the same anon who requested a reader with spider like abilities).. I forgot to specify 😭 but like maybe could you do idk a first meeting between the YJ and the reader (they/them btw)? Would they be creeped out with the readers' abilities or would it go like 'oh wooooow. Show us how it works!'?"

KF & AQ "Kid!" Kid Flash turns to Spider as he sprints across the buildings adjacent to them. They struggle to match his pace, but as he slows to stick his landing, they manage to catch up and yell at a simple instruction that nearly has him freezing in his tracks out of horror.

"Jump!"

"What?" They flinch at the loud screech that pierces through their earpiece. "No way- are you crazy?!"

"Just-"

Their eyes widen as they watch the monster they've been trying to lead away from the populated city centre leaps into the air behind him.

"-do it!"

Kid Flash hesitates for a moment, they can see it on his face, ready to ignore their request when the creature lets out a rumbling roar.

The ground shakes under his feet as the monstrous thing lands on the building behind him and his face drops into a comical expression.

He spares it a glance over his shoulder, and with its claws reaching out from him, he takes the leap, narrowly avoiding the sharp nails, but as he flails around in the air, weightless, he wonders-

does he really prefer concrete over nails?

He shuts his eyes, readying himself from an impact that- never comes. Rather, there's something sticking to his stomach before he's being yanked to the side, and then- up.

Instead of the smack of concrete, he hits a person, their arms wrapped around him as they roll both of them through the force.

Kid Flash, finally, shoots up and opens his eyes.

Spider and Kid Flash are sat on their asses with matching shellshocked looks, staring down at the building across of them, where that beast shares a similarly confused look as it watches the street below them.

The two turn to blink at each other, shuffling to their feet as they let out joyous cheers that sound almost like screams (poor Kaldur's ears can testify), arms wrapped around each other as they jump with like two middle aged men who's football team just scored the final point.

"Dude, we did that!"

"Right?! I thought I was gonna fall to my death but then you just-!"

"I didn't even know how I did that! It was sheer animal instinct-"

Needless to say, Kaldur was less than happy, and no more "jumping-off-the-building-and-praying" was permitted or attempted. 

Not around Kaldur anyway.

ART & SUP Superboy fails to punch through it, the cage simply folding and stretching around his fist before it pushes him, his shoulder bumping into Artemis'.

"Are we stuck in here until Robin gets back?" Artemis asks with a irritated sigh, turning to look at Spider.

They seem mystified, a mischievous glint in their eyes that she can make out through the big cartoonish eyes of the mask as they take in the strange cage.

Their hands press against the cage, palm flat as they give it a little experimental shove before she can make out their eyebrows rising.

Their palms start to spark, and the red hue of the cage begins to light up a pale blue, "Nope."

The crackles of electricity grow louder and Artemis and Superboy step back just as an awful cracking sounds and-

The cage bursts around them, Spider's sent flying back into Artemis, who's then sent back into Superboy and the three hit the floor with matching grunts.

There's a moment of silence, before Artemis is shoving Spider off of her and rolling off of Superboy herself. As the three sit themselves up slowly, Artemis can make out Spider nodding to themselves with what she thinks is pride.

"I didn't know you could do that." Superboy comments plainly as the three slowly get back to their feet.

Blinking at him, Spider wiggles their fingers at him with a smile.

"Me neither."

MG & ROB With a grunt, Robin sits up with a grimace, hand on his head as his eyes readjusts when he manages to make out Bane stood just in his eye-line.

Bane isn't looking at him though, instead the man's eyes are trained on Miss Martian floating in the air, hands outstretched out in front of her.

She's clearly too busy managing her telekinesis to notice the hulking man anger as he grabs onto one of the many large pieces of machinery lying around the abandoned factory and prepares to ambush her. 

Miss Martian, watch out!

Robin's voice rings out in her head, and M'gann whips around, eyes landing on Bane.

Before either of them can react, something is suddenly flying through the air and with a loud thwack- Bane is lying on the floor, looking a lot less angry and unconscious. Now up on his feet, Robin slowly approaches Bane, M'gann landing on his side as the pair blink down at whatever hit him.

Upon inspection, it's the barrel tank that those cement trucks carry. Empty, sure, but Robin's not surprised that guy was put to bed.

What's more surprising?

"Woooo, my aim's getting good, no?" Spider grins, bouncing on their feet as they approach the two.

"You... you threw that?" Miss Martian asks carefully.

"Duh, who else?"

"Oh. Well, thank you." She offers, a little dumbfounded but Spider doesn't seem to notice.

"How?" Spider blinks at Robin, who's been silently gawking at them as they approach.

"What do you mean, 'how'? I just threw it. "

Robin sputters at them, left eye twitching under his mask as he watches them stretch their arms out over their head with no care in the world.

"That's not- that's impossible?"

"Nuh, uh! Just grab, do a couple spins to get some speed and let go- works pretty well."

"I don't believe you."

"Why not?! I'm plenty strong!"

Safe to say that Robin made them perform a couple of strength tests when they got back to the cave, and now Robin's worried Spider might not be aware of the fact that most people can't just throw around cement trucks.

all work n' writing is work of @httpsobi. i ask you please do not copy, rewrite, translate or post on other platforms without my consent.

[traveler-at-heart]

Across the Natashaverse - Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Summary: After you're sent to another world, Natasha has to deal with yourself, from another universe, and a very different life.

Other POV from this fic.

“Put more weight on your left foot” Natasha says, barely checking America’s movements.

Of course she knows this is important. Maria asked her to train Chavez in the basics of hand to hand combat. Her mind is elsewhere, though.

Especifically, you.

Natasha thought she was doing you a favor, she really did. Someone as kind as you could do much better than her. Agreeing to a date would only give you false hope, so she rejected the invitation.

It was foolish of her to think that things would be the same after that. You weren’t distant or rude, though that might have been easier.

Every morning, you’d still have breakfast with her, show her funny videos or tell her about your latest discoveries in the lab with Stark, which in the end, were related to her work as well.

You simply stopped sharing your interests, or going out of your way to seek her company. Long gone were the days of sitting together at the Met while you talked about your favorite paintings. Or the grocery shopping that turned into strolls through Central Park and ended in your favorite bookshop.

All that was left now were pleasantries.

“Am I doing it right?” America asks. She sure as hell isn’t, so Natasha shakes her head, hoping she can manage to focus on the task at hand.

“Stop” she says, stepping on the sparring mat.

“Please don’t tell me you want me to fight you”

“You’re punching the air, Chavez. The only way to learn is by doing. It will be fine”

The girl doesn’t seem too convinced, but Natasha starts with slow movements and corrects America as they go. When the intensity of the training increases, the girl’s powers begin to stir. A yellow flash on the ceiling distracts Natasha, and the next thing she feels is America’s fist colliding with her cheek.

“Crap! Agent Romanoff, I’m so sorry”

But there’s another loud thud, not far from the gym.

“Did you hear that?” Natasha asks, trying to figure what the noise is.

“Maybe”

“Take a break” Natasha instructs, looking around the room to check if everything’s alright. The team is still figuring out the extent of her powers and Natasha worries the girl just unleashed a demonic creature or something.

The redhead is so focused on the room, she doesn’t notice someone approaching.

That is, until she feels a hard slap on her ass, and a sultry voice against her ear.

“There’s my favorite ass-assin”

Five seconds later, she has the intruder upside down, back against the floor, gasping for air.

“Baby, I know you don’t like my jokes but this is a little too much, don’t you think?”

It takes her a second to process what’s happening.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, love” you smirk, all smug despite being knocked down by Natasha. “The weirdest thing just happened, I was going to get a snack because Anya was moody and then fell on my ass right outside the gym”

Natasha stares at you, as if you’re speaking a foreign language. And then it all clicks. The slightly longer hair, how you smell and feel different.

She let’s go of you and starts pulling your shirt by the collar.

“Hell yeah, let’s get naked”

“Where’s your birthmark?”

“I don’t have a…”

“You’re from another world”

“Ah, that’s so sweet…” you try to lean forward and kiss her, but she pushes you away. “Babe, I’m getting mixed signals here”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., call for an emergency meeting”

—

“I’m sorry, she’s what?” Sam points at you, and Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose.

“She’s from another universe. America must have opened up a portal when we were training”

“Alright, so she just opens it back and we correct the mistake”

“It’s not that simple” Tony walks in.

“Uhm, guys. This meeting should be for Avengers only” you lower your voice, eyeing the man suspiciously.

“Hello? That table you’re sitting in so carelessly. Mahogany. Paid by me”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen this man before”

“A world without Tony Stark” Steve says, amused.

“Must be really quiet in your Compound” Sam says and you smirk.

“Why, no thanks to you. Not with all those super models you’re always bringing back to your room” you raise your eyebrows and Sam’s eyes widen.

“I date super models? I wanna go to her world”

Steve and Tony begin to argue about how that will make the multiverse collapse, when Natasha interrupts them.

“She’s messing with you, idiots”

Tony and Sam look at each other and then at you. You almost fall to the ground as you laugh. Since you’re not helpful, the team ignores you as they keep discussing the best way to identify your reality and correct the glitch.

“Y/N 2.0, we need more information about your… where did she go?” Tony grumbles.

“I got this” Natasha sighs, stomping to the kitchen. Sure enough, you’re rummaging through the fridge, complaining at every item of food you find.

“Don’t you have anything with sugar here?”

“You’re free to prepare anything for yourself”

“Not unless you want the kitchen to explode, Nat”

The redhead pushes you aside, while you look around the living room, inspecting the pictures on every place you can find.

“No wedding? Or Anya?”

“Nope” Natasha says, her voice shaking lightly.

“Why?”

“None of your business” she says, handing you a plate with a sanwich.

“Thanks. How did you know I was lying about Stark and Wilson?”

“Your voice gets all high pitched when you tell a lie” she answers, refusing to look at you.

“Huh” you mumble, taking a bite out of the sandwich. “Um. Is this peanut butter?”

“Would her Highness prefer caviar?” Natasha teases, but turns around and finds you covered in hives. “Shit!”

“That’s fine” you say, struggling to breathe. “Nothing an epi can’t fix, love”

You pass out in the middle of the kitchen, wondering if you’ll leave this foreign universe in one piece.

—

After leaving you at the medbay, Natasha goes back to the meeting room. She’s examining all the reports and missions that are related to multiverses. It’s a lot to digest, including all the quantum physics.

Alone for the first time since this whole thing started, she finally allows herself the chance to miss you. Right around this time, you’d be making dinner, and she’d be in the kitchen, pretending to help just to be close to you.

What if she never gets you back?

“Hello, there” a voice says. You approach slowly, knowing it’s best not to surprise her.

“How are you feeling? I’m really sorry…”

“There’s no way you could have known. It honestly never occurred to me that things like allergies were different” you say, patting her leg. “Interested in string theory?”

“Yeah, it’s a great ice breaker” Natasha says, and you chuckle. “You don’t seem too worried”

“The America Chavez of my world has had a bit more training. I’m sure I’ll be back home for lunch tomorrow”

“You could have said something!” Natasha feels the need to kick your ass again.

“Hey, I was gonna! And then I almost died”

“Jerk”

“What are you so worried about? She’s in a safe world”

“What if your Natasha gave Y/N a similar welcome?”

“Oh, I’m sure she had her pinned to a wall, only for very different reasons”

Natasha turns to you, alarmed. Her jealousy is so obvious that all you can do is laugh.

“There it is. I wasn’t sure you had any feelings towards her. Wanna tell me what happened?” you nudge her chair with your foot and she looks at you, annoyed.

“She asked me out, gave me flowers, I said no”

“Flowers, huh? Well, she’s more romantic than me. Natasha and I were pretending to be a couple for a mission and then I just blurted out I wouldn’t mind doing it again under different circumstances” you explain, laughing at the memory.  “But hey, if flowers and chocolates aren’t your thing, I respect it”

“It’s not like that”

“Then, what is it like?”

She thinks back to all the times you’ve made her feel safe, cared for, loved. You make it look so easy, but for the life of her, Natasha can’t figure out how to reciprocate.

What you make her feel, is too good and beautiful for someone like her.

“I haven’t earned her love” is all she manages to say.

“Natasha” you call, softly, and only speak when she finally turns to you. “You don’t have to do anything to be deserving of love”

There is silence, and then you take her hand in yours.

“Come on, I’m starving. Let’s grab some Chinese”

“Fine. No more peanut butter, though. I don’t want to fight myself if something happens to you”

“Now that would be entertaining”

—

Next morning, everyone is back in the meeting room. Apparently, due to some bad experiences, they’ve decided you should come back to your world immediately, before the universes collapse.

“I promise you, it will be fine” you insist. Natasha is the only one that seems to believe you, so you save yourself the trouble and spin around in the office chair.

“Can you stop?” Steve says, irritated.

“I’m trying to create a vortex that is powerful enough to send me back to my reality, Steve” but he still glares and you stand up. “Fine. I’m getting a snack”

As you exit the room, Natasha comes running behind you.

“Wait. I wanted to apologize”

“Steve is an old grumpy man, don’t sweat it”

“No, not about that. I’m sorry for… being so hard on you when you first got here”

“We deal with aliens and all kinds of threats.  It’s not so crazy to think that an intruder is dangerous. It’s all good, Nat” you shrug your shoulders.

“I just wouldn’t be ok if your Natasha had acted that way with my Y/N”

“Your Y/N?” you repeat, pleased as Natasha blushes. “Good for you, Romanoff. Get the girl. Trust me when I say, she’ll make it worth it” you wiggle your eyebrows.

“Such a flirt”

“We can’t help ourselves around you, no matter the universe”

You wink, and walk to the kitchen, leaving Natasha in the hallway.

Inevitably, she thinks about you. The one that belongs here, with her. Are you enjoying your time in that other universe? Will you resent her for bringing you back? Maybe that Natasha is more loving and sweet, and you’ll finally realise that she can’t actually make you happy…

Her thoughts begin to spiral again, until the commotion in the room breaks her train of thought.

“Damn, you fell from the ceiling” Sam says, looking up. A yellow portal closes just as Natasha opens up the door. Everyone’s around you, and when your face comes to view, Natasha’s heart almost stops.

There’s a little cut and bruising from the fall, but you’re back.

She pushes everyone, and wraps you in her arms. You return the gesture.

“Hey, it’s ok. It’s me”

She hugs you closer, smiling against your neck.

Natasha’s never letting go again.

—

“So, tell me everything!” you say, sitting next to Natasha as you drive back home. “Did I tell you I almost died to peanut exposure?”

“Looks like someone had fun” your wife comments and you smile.

“What about you, my love? Did you do anything dirty with my other self?”

“Well, there might have been some kissing and touching before I noticed…”

“Not to brag, but the other Natasha was on top of me” you say, trying to pretend like it’s no big deal your wife kissed another you.

“You pissed her off and she threw you to the ground, didn’t she?” Natasha smirks.

Damn it.

“Maybe”

Seeing your daughter brings you back to reality. Fun as it was to be in another universe, your life is perfect here.

“Mommy, are you cooking dinner again tonight?” the girl says as you carry her to the kitchen.

“Uh… let’s have lunch first, yes? Go wash your hands”

Natasha hands you a plate of what the other Y/N made and you gasp.

“Holy crap, this is delicious! Babe, not gonna lie, I wouldn’t have judged you if you fucked her against a wall after tasting her food”

“You’re such an idiot” Natasha rolls her eyes, sitting on your lap and stealing a bite of the pasta. “But you are my idiot”

“Always and in every universe, baby”

You kiss her softly, happy to be home.

[0hcicero]

So I just started reading A Court of Thorns and Roses (audiobook), and am I the only one who is wondering if the author did any research into poor subsistence living or the lives of peasants? Because wow, I know Feyre’s family used to be rich, but if that was 8 years ago and y’all are poor as dirt now, somehow in the intervening period you might have learned:

- trap lines in the winter are far superior to active hunting. It burns less calories, you can use it with fish and land animals, and it will save you from frostbite bc instead of sitting in a blind for hours, you can go to your lines at certain times and head home, or drive animals toward your lines.

- buying flower seeds - or any garden seeds - is a suckers game when you’re poor. You only really need to buy seeds once!! Once you harvest, you let stuff ‘go to seed’ and then you collect it and store it for the winter, often trading seeds with your neighbours.

- they let things actively RUN OUT before doing anything about it. That’s absolutely buckwild if you’ve ever been poor — when you’re poor, you know how to make a meal stretch, and you DO IT.

- there is hunting, but no gathering?? This family has not stored any veg for winter, but neither do they go gather mushrooms, rosehips, roots, tubers, nuts, or even fucking bark?? What happened to their cottage garden?? Was it just flowers?! Were they that rich that they don’t understand that a garden produces food? Did they close their eyes as they walked past all their peasant neighbours and their gardens? Bc that’s maybe the wildest thing I’ve seen from both a historical and a ‘grew up so close to dirt poor you couldn’t tell the difference’ perspective!

- She left a whole ass Giant wolf carcass when her family is starving. Nah nah nah no that is the universe smiling on you when you’re subsistence! You will make a travois or somehow find a way to tie that to you and drag it along - that’s double the food, and possibly more money, because you could live off the wolf (which I assume does not taste great) and sell off some of the deer (which is delicious).

- she didn’t at least do a basic clean of her kill out in the woods?! She did not tan the hides?! Y’all, you do not want to be cleaning any kill on the kitchen table. Why? Because cleaning involves removing the intestines and stomach. That means shit and piss and food digestion in different stages, and the gases produced. You do that *outside*, typically at least close to where you made your kill, because you don’t want to have to have any…spills, and because it makes things a bit lighter to carry. Butchering? For sure do it on a table, but cleaning is an outdoor chore. Also, tanning a hide is not just skinning a creature! It’s scraping all the membranes off it, stretching and drying it, and curing the skin - sometimes with smoke, but often with a pretty gross solution (often including brain oil, and historically, I believe urine and/or feces, and other things with the right chemical components). It’s not a simple or quick task!

- soups, pottages, stews, with dried lentils, beans, or peas would have been the staple meals (depending on the climate and environment, but it feels fairly British thus far). Just having roasted venison (def not the best way to eat venison just from taste alone) would likely be a very very rare occurrence, because, as noted earlier, they’re so poor they would need to make it stretch. You would cure it or dry it or turn it into sausage. You would use it sparingly within a meal, not to serve as the whole meal.

- the market. If you were poor, you would likely be a stranger to spices, but not to salt. Salt is deeply necessary to survive in that period, as it’s one of the only ways of safely processing and storing meat with any longevity. And? If you got the money that they did while being as poor and as starving as they were? The first thing you would do — even if you were the most stupid rich person before then — is stock up your stores of dry goods! Flour, salt, honey, dried beans/peas/lentils, vegetables that store - onions, squashes, potatoes, root vegetables like carrots. It’s straight up Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs here - you will not give a shit about a new cloak before you give a shit about saying your hunger. They are said to be ‘starving’. Sorting out your survival comes before sorting out your fashion.

Anyways, this has been me for channel 4, reporting on anachronisms and misrepresentations in fantasy fiction. More news at 10.