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pepperonibread · 7 months

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Emmylou [ONESHOT]

read on ao3 or below the line break. This will serve as a home for all my little silly builderxLogan onshots. a/n: This was something I wrote and finally edited. Fluff and cowboy shinanigans. Rating may change depending. I see a lot of fic's out there with Logan that have to do with the actual plot (and I love all of them). And here I am writing dumb cowboy stuff. Don't have too many of these since we don't actually know what happens to him at the end of the game - but I love writing shit like this.

Emmylou

Kiran loved to spend time with Logan because his personality was like a fantastic piece of art—brightly colored, full of depth, alive and unpredictable. She saw him as a man who thought deeply about his principles, which were the cornerstones of his being, and how he could apply them to his life in the best way possible. But it was his stubbornness that really drew her in; she found it both humorous and charming, as though she was witnessing a little kid's temper tantrum at epic proportions.

The irony (and challenge) was that Logan's very nature could be difficult to pin down. At times he was quiet and thoughtful, but other times he behaved impulsively, chasing after elusive monsters whose names sometimes slipped out of Kiran's memory. His desire to discover the mysteries of the desert reached beyond logic; it was pure fascination that drove him along those murky roads.

Adding to the complexity of her marriage to Logan was his loyal companion, Rambo. The animal was a living embodiment of Logan's eccentric side: always unpredictable and often disconcerting.

One morning as dawn approached, Kiran felt her peaceful sleep being disturbed by Logan's unexpected touch on her arm. She groaned and swatted away his hand before mumbling groggily, "What are you doing?"

Logan's voice pierced through Kiran's sleepy state like a sharp blade, adding to her confusion. "Kiran." He spoke her name slowly, "You best rouse yourself, 'cause I've got somethin' for ya."

At this strange hour, when most folks were tucked away in their beds, what could he possibly have planned? The clock's hands indicated an hour that was far closer to the dead of night than the beginning of a new day. Even more puzzling was his whereabouts before this predawn rendezvous. But she didn't ask.

Logan had done his best to wake her, but all Kiran offered in response were some languid groans of complaint. She adjusted her position on the pillow, seeming to be searching for a way to keep out the dawn light and retain her sleepy state. She held her eyes closed tight, an unconscious show of defiance against the morning's arrival.

Her semiconsciousness was rudely interrupted by a jolt of cold and wetness on her forehead, sending a shockwave down her entire body. She jumped as her eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected sight before her. There, on the bed, a small, milk-chocolate-colored baby goat. Its nose had gone from her forehead to exploring the hair on her head.

"What the fuck?" she yelped, disbelief registering in her voice. As she shifted her position, the goat let out a questioning bleat, its eyes fixed intently on hers as if trying to measure her reactions.

Kiran's gaze darted to Logan, her incredulous expression mirrored by his shoulders that shook with laughter. His shock of white hair seemed to shimmer in the soft light of the room, and the gleam in his eyes deepened as he witnessed her flabbergasted reaction.

"What the hell is this?" she demanded, a playful annoyance lacing her tone.

In between chuckles, Logan managed to catch his breath, his amusement evident in his voice. "Ain't she a sight to behold? Our newest family member, Kiran." He offered a sweeping gesture toward the goat, his grin wide and infectious. "And, to preemptively answer your next question, she's a goat, just like Rambo. Although, for now, she's a teeny bit smaller. She's got a whole lot of growin' ahead of her before she's as big as him."

Kiran's sigh was a combination of impatience and resignation, and with a small shrug she handed the wriggling goat to Logan. He accepted it deftly as if he had done this many times before.

There was a touch of teasing in her voice as Kiran quipped, "Looks like she found the right person, then."

A look of tenderness passed over Logan's face as he held the goat in his embrace. He ran his hands slowly over its fur in a calming caress.

"Been followin' her around for a few days now," he articulated, his words tinged with a hint of worry. "No sign of her mama anywhere."

As Logan spoke, his eyes stayed focused on the little goat. His touch was gentle yet confident, a reflection of his knowledge in workings with these types of animals. The goat seemed relaxed and comfortable as Logan held her, looking up at him with curiosity.

His gaze shifted to Kiran and he smiled softly. "Just take a look at that face," he said, his admiration for the baby creature clear in his expression. There was an authentic fondness in his tone when he spoke about the latest arrival.

Kiran's brow furrowed, "Logan, what am I supposed to do when she's all grown up? And what about Twister?" Her thoughts drifted to her copper-colored horse, undoubtedly resting soundly in the stable. Kiran longed to be in that state of slumber herself. "You know Twister won't exactly welcome her with open hooves."

Glancing sideways, she observed the baby goat. Logan's response carried an air of casual indifference, with a tone that suggested he was familiar with Twister's obstinate character for some time now. "That old horse ain't exactly friendly to anyone, not even himself."

Sitting on the bed, Logan held the baby goat in front of his face, their eyes meeting in a silent agreement. He used an exaggerated tone as he spoke directly to the tiny creature. "Emmylou, darlin', I don't think your new mama likes you just yet," He said with a sly smile and a glance towards Kiran.

Kiran in return rolled her eyes. "I never said that— wait, did you already name her?"

Logan was certain in his answer; there was no questioning it. "Well, sure I did," he replied like it was the most obvious thing. Of course he would already name it.

The realization washed over Kiran like a wave—the name, the attachment forming in an instant. She chided herself inwardly for entertaining the notion that she could somehow avoid Logan's penchant for forming a swift and heartfelt connection with the baby goat. Kiran let out a sigh as she leaned back into the comfortable hug of the pillows once more.

"Aw, c'mon now, Kiran," Logan coaxed, his voice gentle as he settled Emmylou back into his arms. "You've got a soft spot for Rambo, don't ya?"

She couldn't bring herself to dislike Rambo, understanding Logan's deep connection with the giant goat. Still, there were moments when she was frustrated by his presence in their living space, as if he had become an extension of Logan himself. Just the week before, for instance, Rambo had stuck his head through the bedroom window and helped himself to the curtains - this wasn't the first time that had happened.

Kiran's response held a hint of humor, the words coming off as more of an amused surrender. "I guess she's kind of cute," she admitted, her words acknowledging the undeniable magnetic attraction emanating from the tiny animal in Logan's arms.

Logan seized the opportunity to playfully elaborate, his voice taking on an animated lilt. "Imagine it, Kiran—Rambo out there, all by his lonesome, not a soul to chat with. You know Twister ain't exactly a conversationalist."

Kiran's response was punctuated by an exasperated huff, her gaze tracking Emmylou's every move as Logan gently set her down on the bed. The baby goat responded with a dainty yawn, a poignant reminder that sleep was a coveted luxury Kiran was currently missing out on.

Logan let his mind wander into the realm of possibilities as he began to unbutton his clothing. He said with excitement, "We can teach her whatever we want, Kiran. She's like a clean slate."

Kiran's face softened finally, her stubbornness slipping away as a tiny grin played on her lips.

"Fine, fine. Take her outside then," she relented, her tone carrying a mixture of playfulness and genuine acceptance.

Logan's response was prompt, accompanied by a good-natured shake of his head. "She's a bit too small for that, Kiran," he explained patiently. "And if I were to wake Twister from his slumber right now, he'd give Emmylou quite the ruckus." His gaze softened, "Plus, she's been cozyin' up with me these past couple of nights. Wouldn't want her thinkin' I've deserted her, would we?"

Kiran couldn't help but arch an eyebrow at his rationale, "So, you've taken up the role of goat mama now?" she asked.

Her gaze remained riveted on Emmylou, her interest piqued by the goat's intriguing antics. The small creature struck an oddly endearing pose, and before Kiran could fully react, her arm experienced an unexpected nudge from Emmylou's head.

"Alright, enough of that," she chided, her words carrying a tone of gentle amusement. "Time for both of us to get some sleep," she added with a comical lilt as if Emmylou might miraculously understand her intentions.

A soft chuckle reached Kiran's ears, drawing her attention to Logan. His laughter was evident in his eyes as he observed the interaction. As the baby goat was gently relocated and Logan adeptly settled onto the bed, a practiced routine.

A faint crease appeared on Kiran's brow as her thoughts shifted toward practical matters. "So, how long until she's as big as Rambo?" she inquired.

Logan's response carried a matter-of-fact tone as he laid back into the pillows, accompanied by a thoughtful look. "Give it 'bout a year or so, if my memory serves me right," he shared.

Kiran's lips parted in a sigh, the weight of her exasperation evident as she sank back into the embrace of the pillows. "Hold up, you mean to say we'll be sleeping with her for a whole year?" The notion still felt like a hazy concept, her mind struggling to fully embrace the idea of sharing their sleeping quarters with the lively goat for such a prolonged stretch of time.

Logan flashed Kiran a confident smile, trying to show her that the goat was only temporary. "Just until she feels at home," he answered calmly as if her worry wasn't a big deal.

Kiran responded with a combination of amusement and doubt. "You think this is a phase?" she teased.

"Well, I reckon we need to make sure she knows the ins and outs before she embarks on her own escapades," he explained, his words carrying a touch of lightheartedness.

Kiran let out an exaggerated, melodramatic sigh. "I'm just hoping that our bed isn't going to become a permanent stay for her."

The twinkle in Logan's blue eyes only deepened, his amusement undiminished as he settled into the bed beside her. "No need to get all bothered about it." he drawled with a mischievous grin. "Before you know it, Emmylou will be out gallivantin' with Rambo."

Kiran's musings danced through the air, her voice a delicate blend of wistfulness. "Funny how not so long ago, this very space was my workshop. It's a bit surreal to think that now it's become a sanctuary for all sorts of creatures that venture from the Peripheries."

Logan moved his arm to draw Kiran closer, and she nestled into his side, her head finding its place against his chest. She could hear the reassuring rhythm of his beating heart.

"Yeah," Logan concurred, his voice like a gentle embrace. It carried a warmth, laced with a unique tenderness that only he could infuse. "Life has a knack for unfoldin' in certain ways, doesn't it?" His words held a trace of awe as if he marveled at the journey they had embarked upon together.

Kiran's tone shifted between amusement and surprise as she observed Emmylou climbing onto Logan. "Well, looks like someone's a bit jealous," Kiran joked, her eyes rolling as she adjusted herself to make room for the little goat. She spoke again in an apologetic voice, addressing Emmylou, "Well, I'm sorry for stealing your mama away for a little bit."

Kiran settled back, her movements accompanied by the comforting rustle of blankets being drawn up to her chin. She cast an amused glance at the unfolding scene before her.

“Are you jealous, Kiran?” Logan asked with a hint of teasing in his voice as he placed a hand on Emmylou's back. “Don't they teach you about the importance of sharin' where you come from?”

Kiran's lips quirked into a grin, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Well, I've been known to have my moments," she admitted with a wink.

"Well, it's a good thing Emmylou is here now I guess," he said, glancing between Kiran and the goat.

Kiran's interest was piqued, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion as she remembered Logan being gone. "So, you were going around for two whole days just to find a goat?"

Logan smiled sheepishly, a mix of guilty pleasure and honest fondness playing in his eyes. "I can't say I was just after goats for you," he confessed with an amused edge to his voice. "But I guess Emmylou here did take up a bit of my time."

"You're something else, Logan," Kiran said with an affectionate chuckle. "Putting yourself in danger for a goat's sake—where would I be without you?"

Logan's laughter echoed softly in the air, and Kiran felt its warmth. "Guess we'd both be missin' out," he said.

"You sure have an interesting way of showing your feelings," she replied with an amused smile. A yawn slipped out of her mouth, a reminder of the hour.

Logan's response was swift and tender, his movements guided by an instinctual closeness. Drawing nearer, he leaned in to press a soft and lingering kiss against her lips. The warmth of his affection enveloped her.

A glint danced in her eyes as they parted, a contented sigh accompanying her words. "Well, I guess I can't complain then. Thanks for the goat chase, Logan."

His own grin matched her playful mood, his eyes holding a steady affection. "You're welcome, darlin'," he murmured, the endearment a testament to the depth of their connection. With a gentle touch, he settled back into the pillows.

Kiran's gaze drifted toward Emmylou, who lay curled in peaceful slumber, a sense of maternal instinct stirring within her. A strange urge prompted her to reach out, her fingers gently brushing over the sleeping creature's soft fur—a touch that conveyed both tenderness and curiosity. She looked at her for a while.

With a soft poke to his side, Kiran roused her husband from his own reveries. He grumbled out a response that seemed to mix sleepiness and bemusement.

"What's on your mind?" he inquired, his eyes remaining closed as he engaged in their late-night exchange.

Kiran's question tumbled out, the words flowing with hesitancy and hesitation. "Did you bring home a baby goat because you want an actual baby?" Her query was direct; her curiosity edged into nervousness. She quietly asked herself if the choice of words she used captured the essence of her thoughts.

In response, Logan was a little more candid than previously. "I wouldn't say that it was the first thing that came to my mind," he answered, his voice light in the dimly lit room. His lips curved into a soft smile as he added, "It's obvious you're not easily fooled, Kiran."

The idea hadn't really crossed her mind until now. Kiran's fingers traced an absent-minded pattern on the blanket as she considered Logan's words. She watched as he stretched his arms above his head in a languid yawn. His voice, tinged with a hint of amusement, broke the silence.

"You think that maybe Emmylou and Rambo could use a bit more human company?" Logan's gaze now wandered toward the sleeping baby goat. "Andy can't quite keep up with the antics, and poor old Twister could use some variety too."

Kiran's curiosity was piqued by Logan's suggestion, her brow arching in contemplation. "Are you implying you want more than one kid?" she ventured, her words laced with a blend of humor and skepticism. The idea of Logan wanting a large family didn't entirely surprise her.

Logan's response was accompanied by an easygoing chuckle, his gaze turning towards her. "Well, I reckon havin' six youngsters around could be quite the liveliness," he mused, his tone reflecting a hint of playfulness.

Kiran's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the number. "Six?" she repeated incredulously, her lips parting in astonishment.

A lighthearted smile tugged at Logan's lips, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Okay, maybe four," he conceded.

Kiran's lips curved up in amusement as she heard his response, her skepticism evident. Yet as she glanced up and their eyes met, the corners of her mouth softened and something about his expression made her heart sink with fondness. "Four, huh?" she echoed mockingly.

Logan's gaze held hers for a moment longer before a thoughtful look crossed his features. "Well, how about we start with two and see where life takes us?" he proposed, his voice warm and steady as he sought her approval.

____

There's a song I love by First Aid Kit called Emmylou - which I feel like everyone knows since they only overplayed it at every chain restaurant like seven years ago. Anyway, just a fun fact. If you enjoyed it, let me know. I just imagine Logan doing dumb cute shit like this okay? I suppose if there is anything specific you want to see, let me know?

#mtas #mtas fanfic #mtas oneshot #mtas builder/logan

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docolives · 1 month

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MERROCK TASK #17 SPRING FORWARD

first things first: do you like spring? Love spring! It's such a refreshing, happy time of year.

what is your favorite thing about spring? The flowers, I just love when everything turns green and colorful and pretty again after such a dreary time of year has come and gone.

what is your least favorite thing about spring? Easily the mud. I've lost many a good pair of shoes to mud being literally everywhere, no way to get away from it.

do you have a vegetable / produce / fruit garden? A little one! I don't grow a lot (the market is too handy for that), but I like trying a little bit.

how about flower beds, or things planted in the house? Flower beds! I don't have a lot of plants inside because of Mallow, but there are a few here and there.

regardless of what you do or do not plant, are you good at growing plants? have a green thumb? I'm not bad. I'm definitely not going to be a gardener in my next life, but I can keep houseplants alive and take good care of my flower beds.

what's your favorite flower or plant? I love hibiscus flowers, rose of sharons and swamp mallows!

what's your favorite scent that you associate with spring? Lilacs.

is there a sound that you associate with spring time? Baby birds, obviously. But also other sounds, like happy laughter, wind chimes and the chime of bike bells.

do you prefer sunny mornings or rainy afternoons? Sunny mornings!

favorite thing to do on a sunny, warm spring day? Horseback riding, or just hanging out with the horses in general. I love being outside as much as possible.

favorite thing to do on a rainy, chilly spring day? Those are normally the best days to get some work around the house done, I think -- catch up on laundry, do the dishes, then curl up for a nap.

do you celebrate Easter? any traditions you follow for it? Yeah, I do. My family always gets together. I still wear a nice dress and little white shoes, too! Sometimes we do church, but most of the time it's just a meal and my parents put together Easter baskets for me and Mandy, which is fun.

regardless of if you do or don't: favorite Easter candy? I actually kind of like Peeps? And the different flavored jelly beans, too!

what other springtime holidays do you observe? I go to the St. Patrick's Day celebration every year, and observe the first day of spring by trying to do something outdoors!

favorite place in Merrock to visit in the springtime? I mean... the ranch, obviously, haha! But I also love going to the beach. Not to swim, just to walk.

the spring bugs are coming out: do you rescue them and let them out of the house, or grab the nearest shoe? Ughhh, this is the part where I'm supposed to show how much I care about the environment by letting you know that I let them go, but I squash the really ugly, scary ones. Every time.

are you a big spring cleaner? Yes! Huge, I always feel like I need to get my house looking as nice as possible, otherwise I'm going to be upset about every bit of dirt that gets dragged in. I'd rather stay on top of things.

do you switch over your wardrobe from cold weather to warm weather clothes? Yes, but timing is everything. You absolutely have to wait until you're sure that it's going to be warm enough, or else... regret. And you don't want that.

how about the house: does your decor change for the spring season? do you rearrange furniture? It does, I have a lot of (faux) flowers and lacy, pretty things that come out in the spring time. The furniture, not so much, except for things like pillows and blankets, and maybe the slip covers.

what color makes you think 'spring'? Pink!

describe your perfect spring outfit: Jeans, white sneakers, light sweater, probably dainty jewelry, maybe hair tied back? Maybe not, depends on the weather.

most adorable looking baby animal that you ever did see? Baby horse, obviously! Kittens, too.

what's a drink that makes you think of spring? Strawberry milk.

how about a snack? That's a tough one, there are so many summer foods, but not as many spring ones. Maybe something like trail mix, or rice crispy treats.

#merrocktask

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comeandreadawhile · 3 years

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Clone Social Media : Hobbies

The phenomenon starts with the intention to show the civilians of the Republic the men behind the armor, as well as an encouragement for the men to do the things they enjoy when they have the time to in lieu of sitting around cleaning weapons for a third time that day.

Scratch that—the phenomenon starts with High General Kenobi, on a rare day of leave, teaching his Marshal Commander how to bake. Said Commander’s men were happy to taste test the flurry of experimental confections that pervaded their leave days in the following months. News spread fast of Marshal Commander Cody having a knack for baking, and so followed the spread of troopers attempting to make their own treats and/or branching off into other things the civilians called “hobbies” whenever what they could get their hands on afforded them.

The phenomenon kicked off when Padawan Commander Tano began a social media account with the intention of using it as a public diary, her first post was a picture taken of some of the 501st—with permission, her caption says—as they went about retouching paint scuffed in their most recent battle. The men are relaxed, some with paint smeared on their hands and cheeks and seemingly reacting to some joke or story told outside the threshold of the camera, and it’s an almost startling difference from the image of rigid lines of men, faceless in their full kits of white plastoid, that the civilians are used to. Tano’s second post is a video clip of one Captain Rex, with one General Skywalker sitting on his back counting reps, doing push-ups; the video was captioned “Another day in the G.A.R., restless in hyperspace.”

The digital diary continues from there, videos and pictures of specific locations posted only after reaching a safe distance to do so, never sharing anything mission critical—past, current, or hypothetical future. Eventually she shows the men under her how to make their own accounts, and other Jedi and their own troops follow suit. The 212th then takes it upon themselves to post pictures of the little cakes their Marshal Commander has gotten so proficient at making, and, when General Kenobi creates a joint account titled “command_212”, convince Cody to post pictures of things he bakes before they are distributed—even in the process of baking, if the fancy strikes him.

So Marshal Commander Cody shares pictures of his experiments, of recipes he finds that turned out well, of recipes that didn’t because of some error or other that he’s determined to give another go, with the occasional cryptid picture of General Kenobi taking his tea in the barrack’s kitchen. As time goes on those pictures shift to Obi-Wan covered in flour, or a shot taken from several feet away of Cody sneaking batter captioned “caught red-handed in the red velvet”.

As Marshal Commander of the 212th has taken to baking to relieve stress, the Commander of the 104th has turned to needlecraft and yarnwork.

The 104th retaliate the populatrity of the 212th’s command account with the domesticity of their own, despite the vaguely threatening possibilities of knitting and sewing needles. Boost and Sinker run the majority of the account, although all OG members of the 104th have access to it; they post pictures of the things Wolffe makes them, of General Plo covered in the lengths of scarves he’s received, of Comet in the ever-growing swath the gifted blankets with the current tally in the caption (his toes were off the floor by blanket burrito 6). The holonet at large loves Plo almost as much as his men, and once a week they post him saying some piece of sage wisdom—or utter nonsense, as the mood strikes—as the war goes on. After months of asking for a face reveal and requests for the patterns people are sure Wolffe uses, they make the most Force-forsaken tutorial videos as an all-in-one series.

“HOLY **** HE’S CASTING ON 12 TO START—“ “WHAT A MAD MAN!”

“So when you get to this row here you’re going to knit 3, purl 3–“ “TRANSCENDENT!” “—yes, thank you, and then keep doing that until you reach the end of the row...”

“Oh, OH MAN HE’S GONNA DO IT!” “HE’S GONNA CHANGE COLORS!” “Holy **** man he’s gonNA YOOOOOOOOOO!”

Cody is then issued a challenge by the holonet to learn to knit. He learns to crochet. Because Obi-Wan knows how to crochet. The holonet loves video snippets of them progressing on projects together. They also love the videos Ahsoka posts of Cody attempting to teach Rex, and praise the absolutely completely unrelated hat she later posts a picture of; it covers her Montrals with enough room for a few years’ growth. Anakin gets yarn stuck in his mechanical hand because he forgot to put his glove on before attempting to craft.

The real throwdown happens when the account for the Coruscant Guard posts videos of Fox aggressively tatting while venting about the lack of funding for proper security and surveillance tech.

Each posts sees a comical increase in the surfaces covered in lace doilies and runners, as well as a new topic for Fox’s venting.

A picture of an pillow embroidered with “Kriff the Seppies” is briefly posted to the 104th’s account before being taken down and replaced with a censor bar. Rumors begin to circulate when Senator Chuchi posts a picture wearing a gifted lace shawl; Senator Amidala comments on her confusion being resolved as to why Riyo kept bringing little baskets of crochet thread with her before a senate meetings.

A competition for ship nose art starts up, many votes going to the 501st, and the holonet’s heart once again melting at “Plo’s Bros”. Personal art begins popping up soon after. Fives starts posting spray paint tutorials, Rex and Hardcase become popular for clean graphic art. Bly gets his hands on metallic paint and the crowds go wild. Kix has taken his clean haircut game to the next level.

And then Colt and Shaak Ti make an account to post art the Littles make, most of them representations of their older brothers with wishes of safety and good luck, and of the only Jedi they’ve ever known, sometimes creatures they studied in their preparation for worlds outside of Kamino. Of batches passing their final tests with a congratulatory post.

Suggestions and instructions are sent out for clones who want to take and sell commissions, allowing them to finally make some money; most Jedi are more than happy to help make sure the finished work mails out properly to the buyers.

Ships of the non-nose art kind surface on the holonet. It’s generally agreed upon that command_212 is run by husbands, and Aayla is the protector of the 327th and Bly’s heart, even if she’s a clumsy menace around his artwork (caf spilled over a drying watercolor can be interesting or terrible depending on the circumstance). No one can agree whether Skywalker is married to his captain or Senator Amidala, but everyone agrees that Ahsoka is their baby. The holonet declares Plo to have Big Dad Energy. Shaak Ti’s Big Mom Energy is a friendly rival. The Jedi council has made no official statement denying or denouncing these attachments.

Public interest begins to shift from producing more soldiers to making sure the ones the Republic has stay alive, when the realization hits that within a couple of years the children posting art and losing teeth would probably be losing blood and brothers on some far away planet. Of making sure the men are eating well instead of just surviving. Well certain account-holders don’t post for a while, grieving a loss, posting again to reassure their followers they’re alright, the public questions what’s being done to keep the men emotionally and mentally well outside of the hobbies the public knows them for. “Born to handle any stress” is very much the wrong answer.

Pressure is put on the Chancellor to let the Separatists sucede, no one quite sure anymore why allowing them to would be harmful when at worst new trade agreements would need to be brokered; if they want to leave so badly, let them. And let the men have their hobbies.

(Sad thoughts ahead)

Sometimes commissioners never receive their orders, simply a refund with a letter from that clone’s Jedi after the latest battle ends. Any money they’d made would be split however their closest brothers decide.

The channel that always posts pranks and spray paint tutorials makes a post saying they’d be away to look after their sick little brother. It’s the last post they make.

The Coruscant Guard’s account stops posting a few nights later.

After Order 66 goes out, a new account goes up posting any pictures and cute videos of Aayla. Reposting old ones that the public is sure they’d seen somewhere before, posting new ones of funny faces and ridiculous videos of silly dances. The last one is the only one captioned, “she wasn’t a traitor.”

The account is deleted the same night, and the one of the 327th’s adventures never posts again.

Wolfpack_104 does not post, but is still there.

Command_212 is deleted almost immediately the night of the order.

Years go by, almost sixteen, and only after Vader already knows she’s alive does Ahsoka post again. It’s a picture of her, and Rex and Wolffe onboard the Ghost in hyperspace captioned “Was never a traitor. Always the little sister even if I’m four years older. In case you’re wondering, Rex still draws and Wolffe still knits when we can nab the string and flimsi.”

#star wars #the clone wars #codywan #blyla #implied #foxiyo #rexwalker #commander cody #captain rex #commander wolffe #commander bly #commander colt #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #plo koon #shaak ti

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owo-shenanigans · 2 years

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Hello amazing person! May I request headcanons for Dahlia, Ema, |and Person of your choice:) | From Ace attorney with A non-binary lover who is very flirty but the very moment someone compliments them they get all flustered and forgets how to speak for a moment. Burrito..

Yesss thank you :). I usually don’t apologise for requests taking a while, but I do apologise here because I did want to get this out earlier.

Dahlia, Ema, and Miles with a flirty S/O

DAHLIA HAWTHORNE

From her looks and her facade, she often gets hit on by others. So when you flirt with her, she’s unaffected.

However, once you get together and your comments become more personal, changing from ‘your hair is as gorgeous as the sunset’ to ‘you’re extremely assertive which is nice when the restaurant has screwed up my order twice and the waiter called me annoying for asking for the correct meal’.

She likes getting complimented on her actual self, not her facade. While she can be sweet and caring to those close to her, she has a lot of pent up frustration from holding it at all other hours so she may be harsher (nowhere near abusive, perhaps just snapping at them before taking in a breath or three before apologizing) to her s/o.

The day she found out your reaction to her own flirtations was a day that had started off pretty shittily. Her dress had gotten ruined from mud splashed from the rain, her mother had managed to find her address and dumped her half sister on her front step with only a scrawled note saying she didn't know when she'd pick her up, and the worst of it all was that she couldn't even scream into a pillow because she had to take care of said 4 year old.

Then you came in, and took Pearl out to lunch so she could shower and rinse what mud she could out of the dress before running it to someone who knew how to repair it, and by the time you were back she'd come up with a makeshift meal plan for Pearl and drawn up the couch for the kid.

Hours later, once Pearl was asleep and you two were leaning against each other in bed, watching some dumb movie on her laptop, she quietly said, "Thank you. Seriously. I'm…. I'm a lot happier when you're around. You make me feel human."

When you didn't respond she looked up, and the luminous flush on your cheeks and heat in your neck was answer enough.

From there, she began giving you compliments more often, trying to give you at least one serious one per day. It was kind of annoying… but the flustered smile on your face was worth it.

EMA SKYE

She's usually too involved in her own head to notice your flirtations, honestly. And when she does, she just rolls her eyes (with a small smile) and shoves your face away.

She's not really an active complimenter, usually saying "thanks, that's a really good idea" instead of gushing heavily, so she doesn't realize how embarrassed you get by compliments until a few months into your relationship.

"God, I just can't figure this out." You look over and notice with amusement that your girlfriend is laying facedown on the couch.

"What's up, babe? Don't know how to accept the cutest person in the world award?" You move to crouch next to her, and hearing her long groan makes you laugh.

"It's this assignment. I'm supposed to find out what this guy was doing on Thursday night for his alibi- the usual officer is on sick leave and chief just put me in charge of it. But there's nothing! The man has no social media. He refuses to tell us anything! All we know is that he's a calligraphy enthusiast."

"What's his name? You could look at Facebook groups for calligraphy- maybe his profile is hidden or something." You offer, and hop back when she moves, grabbing her phone and typing like her life depended on it.

"Perfect! I found him! Oh my god, you're a genius, a perfect genius, I thought I was going to have to steal his diary or-"

She looks up at you and paused at your deeply colored cheeks. "Are you… you are!"

She laughs and sets her phone on the table, kissing you on the nose. "Babe, screw it, we're having a night out. Let's see a movie!"

MILES EDGEWORTH

(ill put a pic in for him later i couldnt find a good one)

Okay okay hear me out…. He knows what flirting is, but he ignores it.

You're telling me Mr lived with Franziska for half his life doesn't respect everyone he meets because she would kick his ass for disrespecting women and non-binary people if he ever had the inclination (though he really didn't)?

He's the most respectful asshole on the planet. He gets people hitting on him often.

So when you start, he just zips it and ignores it. Once you become friends he starts finding the flirtations amusing, and when he starts to like you he gets incredibly red in the face and coughs into his wrist.

Also the reason he ignores it is because he doesn't know how to respond send tweet.

Honestly you probably get a kick out of flustering him. He's so pretty when he looks like that can you really help it?

Once you get into a relationship he doesn't react as heavily but his face still goes red and he covers his mouth.

He's a saint for not often getting back at you, as he found out early on that you were the same way.

"Hey, handsome, I got the papers and lunch you were asking for. No big deal for the smartest guy I know." You smile as you hand over the supplies to show you weren't flirting flirting, and his face lines ease.

"Ah, thanks. Oh-" he looks inside the bag and pulls out a steel samurai toy. "I thought they ran out of this one."

"I pressed the manager, and apparently there was one stuck behind the bags!" You clasped your hands and smiled. "I know you had been looking forward to it, so… I figured I would shop around."

"Thank you. Thank you a lot, I… this is really kind of you. You're a very kind person."

Miles pulled the fries out of the bag and turned to offer you one, but he had to stifle a laugh at your flushed face.

#ace attorney x reader #dahlia hawthorne #dahlia hawthorne x reader #miles edgeworth x reader #ema skye x reader #ema skye #miles edgeworth

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sylverstorms · 3 years

Text

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity

Three months, two days and seven hours.

That is how long you’ve been in Dimitrescu castle for. If rumor is to be believed, you are well on your way to setting the year’s record for longest living maid. Well. ‘Maid’, according to their perception. Your mind always automatically corrects it to something more fitting:

Prisoner.

You did not choose to work for them. You did not choose to be in this godforsaken place, cleaning crimson stains off the floors, trying to convince yourself the wailing that sometimes reaches your ears is simply the wind. You never would have imagined your life’s end like this, serving wine –no, who are you kidding, it’s too crimson for that— to the Dimitrescus at dinner until one of them snaps and drives the nearest blade into your throat.

Probably Daniela.

It’s not unheard of. And stories of other maids’ murders are plenty.

Daniela has bitten one’s throat off for the crime of addressing her wrongly. Cassandra has left increasingly deep gashes, some of which resulted in deaths, for random offenses, like staring at her for too long. Bela, arguably the more merciful of the three, has snapped necks only when the staff disrespected her sisters’ names, or her mother’s.

You aren’t sure if you want to thank the older maids for this information or yell at them for the nightmares it has caused you. You are lucky to not be in the village, they say –everyone there must already be dead. You are even luckier to have been taken from the dungeon by the Lady herself. It means the daughters don’t know you and the castle is big enough that they may never spare you a glance.

You hadn’t believed it, at first.

Yet in the three months of your stay, you have never come across anyone other than Bela in the sections you were assigned to clean and polish. She passed you by the hallway like she did the decorations and the furniture –and you couldn’t be happier about it. You have caught scarce glimpses of Alcina Dimitrescu, too. Never the other two residents.

Not until the fateful day another maid disappears and the staff’s assigned posts change. You have no say in it and no power to object.

May as well keep my head down and continue to work as carefully as I have. That is the idea. Not to look too much, or think too much, or feel too much. Avoid mistakes because those in the castle are fatal.

It is a little difficult to remain utterly calm when the sound of swarming insects comes from far behind you, though.

Your blood starts to kick in your veins. Your heart wants to jump out of your chest and make a run for it. You lock your muscles down and summon all the willpower you possess to stay focused on your task.

Please be Bela, please, please, be Bela—

The buzzing dies down. Steps approach you in the otherwise silent hallway. They are too light to be Bela’s. You’re probably screwed, you think, but you keep cleaning the surface in front of you until it’s practically a mirror with how it shines.

The steps halt too close to you for comfort. Out of the corner of your eye, you realize they’ve left bloody imprints on the floor you’ve been polishing for hours now. Dainty, pale fingers are wrapped loosely, almost lazily, around a sickle dripping crimson.

“Never seen you around, before.” the sound of her voice makes you freeze.

You stop and turn— to face none other than Cassandra Dimitrescu. Her hood is down, brunette waves on point, the dried blood at her chin a terrible contrast to her otherwise attractive face. You… didn’t know she was that pretty, up close.

“I… I have been here for three months. On the opposite wing.” you say. Was I even supposed to reply? You’ll find out soon enough, if your tongue is still attached to your body.

Her eyes give you a quick once-over. “Bela’s been keeping you a secret, huh.” she tsks. Her free hand goes to the handle of the door next to you… and only then do you realize it must be her bedroom. You’re literally assigned to clean the wolf’s den. “Come wake me up when the sun has set, completely.” she emphasizes.

What.

“Uh—”

The crimson-dyed sickle moves until its blade rests underneath your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet hers. From this angle, under the pale lighting of dawn, they look more –stunning— blue than inhuman gold. “No loud sounds. No lights. Got it?”

How can you not, when your life depends on it?

“Yes, my lady.” you reply. You don’t even dare draw breath.

“Good.” In one swift movement, the sickle is gone, the handle turned and she’s already shedding her robe.

You catch a glimpse of a black corset and a narrow waist before you avert your eyes.

The door shuts.

...

Waking Cassandra up can be… tricky, the other maids tell you.

She detests light when she opens her eyes but she also doesn’t want it to be pitch black. You’re not supposed to talk but you can’t shake her, either. Which brings you to the very logical question:

“What the hell am I supposed to do, then?”

To which they have no answer.

They have no answer, you realize with a start… because there’s nobody alive to tell the tale of how to actually wake the brunette sleeping beauty up without simultaneously signing their own death sentence.

The hours pass both too slow and too fast. The sun sets over the horizon.

And you stand, riddled with nerves, outside Cassandra’s room.

A deep inhale later, you turn the handle. The door is left half-open so a bit of light comes in from the hallway. Her bedroom smells like shampoo, bath salts and spices. She must have taken a shower before she went to sleep. You approach the figure tucked under the silken sheets of the queen-sized bed…

Cassandra is lying on her side, one hand underneath her pillow, the other extended loosely towards the edge of the mattress. She probably sleeps naked, at least from the waist up, but thankfully the covers are wrapped around her chest. Their royal red color makes a stark contrast against the paleness of her skin.

Her face is so… serene.

She is a monster and a sadistic killer, yet right there you can’t deny she looks more like a renaissance painting.

Now onto the hard part.

“My lady… the sun has set.” you whisper, kneeled on the floor beside her. No movement comes. “Hey… I’m here to wake you up?” you try again. Still nothing. Shakily, you bring your hand up to the bed. Not daring to touch her, you leave it beside hers, over the covers. “Cassandra?”

She turns her face deeper into her pillow –no, no, you don’t think it’s cute, what’s wrong with you— but at least she’s finally reacting. You call her name one more time.

Her nose scrunches up a little. Long fingers flex –and they touch yours. She’s cold. A pair of blueish ambers blink open to regard you. Not with malice, or with annoyance.

“Good evening.” you speak, unsure of what else to say.

A smirk slowly curves her lips. She looks like a lazy cat pondering whether or not it’s worth it to pounce and that’s not good. It’s not good, not ‘hot’ like your mind suggests. God, you’ve been in this castle so long you are starting to get messed up.

“Mm, breakfast in bed.” she grins and licks her lower lip sexily. Your eyes fly wide open, but her hand is already gripping the front of your black shirt, trapping you there.

How could you ever find this psycho attractive?! you get mad at yourself. Is she hot now that she’s going to kill you?

But Cassandra only lets out an airy laugh and releases you. You fall backwards on your behind. “Breathe, darling, I’m joking.” She rolls onto her back and seems to wince from it. Her smile vanishes.

“…does… your back hurt?” you ask when you finally find your voice again.

“Ugh, a Lycan landed a hit on me. He’s pieces now, of course, but my muscles still pull.” she says it casually, like it’s a thing that happens.

Silence falls over the room. You take it as your cue to leave. You stand and bow while she’s looking blankly at the ceiling—

But she stops you.

“Wait. Come here.” you don’t like it when she gets that tone, like she came up with something she cannot wait to try. You’re already close to the bed, you’re not sure what she means. Until she pats the spot right next to her. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You won’t. You know what’s good for you.

Hesitantly, you take a seat on the –admittedly very comfortable— mattress. “Yes, lady?”

“Give me a massage.” she says like it’s your job, like she’s the rich woman in a spa and it’s what’s expected. She turns onto her front, bearing her naked back to you and you have less than five seconds to come to terms with the thought of straddling her.

Carefully, you bring your knees on either side of her thighs and pull the sheets so they rest low at her waist. You feel warmer than you should given the temperature of the castle. If she knows the fine teasing line she’s walking, she is loving every inch of it.

Cassandra loves being the center of attention and she loves being pampered, you realize.

It’s probably amusing to her to make you fluster, but this is also an opportunity for you to get on her good graces. She is a dangerous one and it’ll be a great asset for your survival if she’s leaning favorably towards you. Win-win situation. You just have to be good at your job. Like always.

By some miracle of God, you do know how to work the tension out of muscles.

The first time you touch her, you simply rest your hands on her back to warm it. She doesn’t seem to object, from the way lean muscle stretches out under your fingers. Cassandra feels cool, but not hard like marble. Her skin yields under your touch, soft and smooth.

As you apply more pressure to your stokes, she starts to let out little sighs that you have to mute in your mind before they start to affect you. You’ve been high-strung and without sex for too long. Your body all too eagerly intercepts this death-trap as foreplay.

Minutes roll by.

You alternate between all the methods you know. The one that really seems to get her is when you drive your thumb into the knots and end with a little circle.

Cassandra is –God help you— openly moaning every time you press more. It is a bit too much pressure you’re applying though and you don’t know if you’re hurting her and she’s just into it.

“Is this too much…?” you ask. Fuck, why do you sound so breathless?

“No, it’s good.” she husks back.

“Harder?” You don’t know what innocent means, anymore.

Cassandra sends that little smirk again over her shoulder. “Harder.” she replies and the extra flair she puts into it is enough to nearly fry your brain. And other parts of you.

You’re pretty sure you need a cold shower by the time you leave her room.

...

At diner, you hang back in the shadows, gaze downcast.

You do not need to know what the Dimitrescu family is eating, nor what they’re drinking. You do not need to see Cassandra or risk catching Daniela’s gaze. You love your anonymity in the castle. It has kept you alive.

But it is shattered like frail glass when you bring another bottle of Sanguis Virginis to the table. You’ve almost retreated back to your place, when Daniela’s eyes zero in on you.

“She’s the human!” she exclaims like she’s made the world’s most startling discovery. Bela seems to understand, but the Lady and Cassandra frown over their glasses.

“I am almost afraid to ask, love.” Lady Alcina says…

And she’s right.

“The one who made Cassandra go ‘harder’ and ‘yes, yes!’ earlier this evening.” she impersonates in her sluttiest voice and then breaks into a fit of cackles. Bela’s lip twists into a withheld chuckle.

Lady Dimitrescu nearly chokes on her wine.

Cassandra slaps the back of Daniela’s head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Girls.” Alcina warns and glares until the table calms again.

Then, her eyes curiously fall upon you.

So much for your anonymity.

Ko-Fi

#Cassandra Dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu's daughters #cassandra x oc #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #fanfiction #cass kills with her hair and nails on point she's the murder-princess type #you can't change my mind #I love her

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randomshyperson · 3 years

Text

The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - Chapter 19 - The Seventh Yearh (Part Four)

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies. || Chapter Warnings: PTSD, mentions of violence, dark magic, mind games, emotional manipulation, brief sexual teasing/thematic with minors, angst, minors kissing.

Series Masterlist || Read on AO3 || All Works Masterlist

Chapter 19 - Part XIX - The Seventh Yearh (Part Four)

The tent is already set up, and you are sitting in the living room, adjusting the radio on the kitchen table.

"Are you sure it was working before?" You mutter discontentedly, beginning to feel frustrated with the device that refuses to recognize the signal.

Wanda, who is standing next to you with a magic book in her lap, doesn't take her eyes off the reading when she answers yes.

Agatha comes out from inside the room with several objects in hand, and dumps them on the table in front of you.

"Well girls, what I have to do in this country can only be done during the day, so let's study in the meantime." She announces as she arranges the jars she has brought. You raise your eyebrow, pushing the small radio away.

"Actually I wanted to ask a few questions and finish going through the memories, Agatha." You say but she laughs, denying with her head.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about." She says. "Are you trying to lose your mind completely? You can't use zinnia for too long. It destroys that fragile mind of yours. I'm sure that's part of the curriculum, so what are you doing at Hogwarts if not studying?" She sneers and then looks at Wanda. "Oh wait, I know what kept you busy."

You turn red, but before you can complain about the woman's lack of description, Wanda is speaking.

"In case you have forgotten, we learned about zinnia in fifth grade." She says. "And Hogwarts was not an example of any teaching in that period or the year after for Y/N."

Agatha rolls her eyes, shrugging to end the teasing. You feel too embarrassed to look at Wanda again.

"Well, I'll go and fix Kaecillius' damage to my school administration then." Says the teacher. "If Miss Stark intends to become a decent witch, she needs to learn magic. The same goes for you, Miss Maximoff."

"I know magic, Agatha." Wanda begrudgingly retorts, her gaze returning to the book.

"If I remember correctly, my tutoring was discontinued, so there is much you need to learn."

"You remember it well, yes. We had to break off relations because you attacked my girlfriend." Wanda returns the teasing, but Agatha only laughs lightly as she begins to do some mixing.

“Water under the bridge, now.” She mutters, and soon, she’s putting a cup in front of you, and pouring a clear liquid inside.

"No, thank you." You say, leaning your arms on the table. Wanda gives a short laugh from your side without taking her eyes off the book.

"It's not poison." Agatha says.

"I know, I've seen you do it." You say. "I just won't drink it because it would be the second intoxication in less than 24 hours."

Agatha laughs, pulling the glass back to herself. A proud smile on her lips because you were able to recognize that whatever she was doing, it wasn't ready yet.

She charms the mixture, purple magic touching the liquid, until the color changes to a brilliant gold.

She pushes the glass back, and you raise an eyebrow.

"Drink."

"No."

"Wanda, darling, drink this." She says pushing the glass toward the girl. The witch sighs, her eyes on the book.

"Don't drag me into it, Agatha. " She says. "It was you who told her not to accept drinks from strangers."

"You two are so annoying." The witch declares. You giggle, but accept the drink.

For the next hours, Agatha teaches you to recognize the smell, and then the taste, of different plants, so that if you do get poisoned, at least have time to try something.

It's dinnertime when she decides to wrap up with one last potion, and you're resting your head on the table, waiting for her to finish brewing the potion, the book she's enchanted floating in the air beside her.

"Here." She says pushing the bottle in front of you.

It is only when the potion touches your lips that you recognize the taste. The same elixir Agatha gave you in the dungeon.

Your body tenses, and you cough awkwardly, pushing the cup back to her while she watches you attentively.

“W-why would you…” You started feeling your chest hurt, your heart racing. Swallowing the emotion away, you look at her, but Agatha is already organizing everything.

"What did you do?" Wanda asks worriedly, noticing the way you have gotten jumpy. Agatha sighs.

"Trauma can be a powerful thing, Miss Stark." Murmurs the older witch. "An immense vulnerability to an opponent to take advantage of. You'll need to overcome that if you want to protect her."

You stand up, feeling embarrassed and overwhelmed, evading Wanda's touch on your shoulders. "I'm going to bed."

"I didn't mean to upset you, Miss Stark." Agatha says, but you are already leaving.

You hear Wanda slam the book down hard on the table before following you back into the bedroom.

As you sit on the bunk, trying to normalize your breathing, she kneels in front of you, her hands on your neck.

"What happened?" she asks worriedly, her fingers caressing your skin.

"It 's stupid."

"Tell me."

You sigh, looking down at your own lap. "It's the same potion she used on me, in the dungeons. To keep me awake."

"I'm going to kill her." Wanda says simply, but when she makes mention of getting up, you hold her in place.

"Hey, it's okay." You say quickly. "She's messing with us, again. But I don't think she really meant any harm. Besides, we have an agreement don't we?"

But Wanda had an anger in her gaze that you have never seen before, her jaw locked. You touched her cheek with your hand.

"Wanda?"

"I hate this, Y/N." She confesses between teeth, her eyes filling with angry tears. "I hate what she did to you. I hate that I can't change, take your pain away. Not being strong enough to protect you. Or smart enough to see that she was using me an-

"Wanda, stop it." You interrupt seriously, and as your hand moves down her neck, you feel the metal of the necklace. Sighing softly, you keep your attention on the green orbs in front of you. "I really want to take away all the guilt you feel before it eats you alive, but I don't know how. Tell me how to help you."

Wanda seems surprised at your words, and just looks at you. And then to your lips, and you feel her breath hitch, before she puts a little distance between your faces.

"I'll be fine." She assures you with a sad smile. "My priority is whether if you will be as well."

You smile at her. "I'm only okay when you're okay, Wanda."

It sounded romantic in your head, but maybe those weren't the words you should have chosen, because Wanda looked away immediately, almost embarrassed, and not for the right reasons. Swallowing dryly, she got up from the floor.

"I-I'm going to talk to Agatha." She declares. "About boundaries. This won't work if we don't have any." She walks away to the bedroom door, but before she leaves, she turns to you again. "I'm also going to heat up dinner. Join us if you want."

But you wouldn't. You weren't hungry, and you were feeling stupid for saying that just hours after you heard Wanda confess that she hated that your life depended on hers.

So you threw yourself on the bed, and tried to get some rest.

You ended up oversleeping. And you only woke up because Wanda was having a nightmare in the top bed.

Moving quickly out of the bunk, you stood, turning to check on her.

A frown even with closed eyes, wriggling slightly in bed. You sighed with concern, tracing the skin of her face to wake her without startling her.

When she had a small jolt, her eyes were red, but they returned to their normal color when she realized she was only dreaming, and threw her face back into the pillow.

"I'm sorry." She murmured in a hoarse voice, but you just supported your arms on the mattress, and your face in them.

"For what?"

"For waking you up." She retorts, turning to lie on her side, and face you.

"No problem." You say. "I guess in a way I'm returning favors."

Wanda smiles, but it is so short that you feel awkward. And then you extend your fingers to her neck.

"Why are you still wearing this?" You ask about the necklace, and she frowns slightly, turning back to stare at the ceiling.

"Agatha hurts you when she wears it." She says simply. " So I will wear it to avoid that."

You shake your head. "No way, take it off now."

Wanda moves further away, on the edge of the bunk. You sigh impatiently, and climb onto the mattress.

The metal makes a noise with the new weight, but you are busy trying to get the necklace off Wanda, who grumbles and tries to struggle against your hands as she tries to keep you from falling off the bed.

You end up on top of her, the necklace in your right hand, but your other hand dangerously close to her breasts.

"Don't wear it for long." You tell her half out of breath from the struggle and the closeness, Wanda is looking at you wide-eyed. "Let's switch whenever it starts to get too much, okay?"

"Y-yes."

"Wanda, you're blushing." You tease with a smile, watching her cheeks. She looks at your mouth, frowning.

"No I'm not."

"Is it because I'm on top of you, baby?" You continue, and she turns even redder. You were going to tease her further, but while you were talking, you had moved to put the necklace on.

And when the object hung around her neck, all the tension changed.

You looked into Wanda's longing gaze and could only remember that she chose to leave you. Without asking your opinion. Without caring about your feelings.

So you pulled away, with a neutral expression, laying down on the bed beside her.

There is a silence between you, Wanda is trying to control her heartbeat and you are trying to push so many doubts that pop into your head at once.

"I think if you're not going to be with me, we shouldn't do this kind of thing anymore." You state simply, and can hardly be bothered by the way Wanda stands tense beside you.

And there is a long pause, until she speaks. "Okay."

You want to scream at her lack of reaction. All you do is stand up, and leave the room.

From that distance, you cannot hear Wanda crying against the pillow.

//-//-//-//-//

It doesn't take long for you to realize that wearing the necklace is addictive.

The deal is not more than four hours for each, but every time the object is hanging around your neck, you are gripped by the urge to keep it with you.

There is a whisper in the back of your mind saying that Wanda could lose it, or break it, and it's hard to push those lines away when you need to give it back, but you manage. And you wonder if Wanda thinks the same things.

When you are wearing the necklace, you feel apathetic and angry. It's as if all the bad things that have happened to you reach the surface at once. You give short answers, and isolate yourself. Your mind sighs things that you think you should remember are lies.

Agatha is trying to make you a better witch. The same for Wanda.

She teaches you things you don't know, from books you've never seen.

But with weeks of running and camping, and the horcrux around your neck, you begin to grow impatient with the lack of answers.

So you are breaking a plate without realizing it.

"Fuck." You grumble in irritation as you feel the pain of the small cut on your hand. The noise has attracted the other two women, and it is Wanda who reaches for you first, but when she touches your forearm to pull your hand and see the cut, you move away as if you have been slapped. "Don't."

And you throw the dishcloth on the table, leaving the tent.

You are somewhere in northern Ireland, Agatha said it was at least.

And there are many trees obscuring your surroundings, but you walk among them without caring about getting lost. The necklace whispers that you should be alone, and you believe it.

The cut on your hand aches a bit, but you stop only when you reach the edge of a lake.

Maybe the icy water will calm your anger. Or maybe you will die of hypothermia and Wanda will live happily without you. The last thought made your stomach turn, but you kept taking off your clothes.

The necklace was cold against your skin, but no colder than water.

You dove in, and stayed under the water until you needed to breathe again.

The tears on your face were tears of frustration, but the lake wiped them away.

You wondered if they would leave without you.

If Wanda would run away and abandon you in Ireland.

She didn't want you to stay with her after all.

She didn't want you.

You sobbed.

And you went back under the water until you stopped crying.

But then someone jumped into the lake, the noise startled you.

You opened your eyes to find Wanda's terrified look under the water before you ascended together.

"Merlin, what is your problem?" She squinted in desperation, and you realized that she began to cry. "I thought you were-"

But she sobbed without being able to complete, and you shrank back against the cold water, hugging your body. "I just went for a swim."

"Don't ever do that again." She pleads between tears, throwing herself against you in a tight embrace, which you don't reciprocate.

The horcrux screams in the back of your head, like a loud whistle, and you are pushing Wanda by the waist. "I'm fine, we can go."

You walk out of the lake in a mechanical manner, ignoring the upset look Wanda has as you do so. And you put on your clothes in silence, until you are standing clumsily at the edge.

Before you return however, Wanda calls out to you.

"Take it off."

"I still have time." You mumble without looking at her, but Wanda is approaching and you clench your jaw.

"I wasn't asking." She says and you lock eyes with her in defiance, not moving. When she is close enough to pull out, you move forward and kiss her on the mouth.

She sighs affected, almost losing her balance. And when she motions to kiss you back, you pull away.

"Don't touch what isn't yours." You don't know if you're talking about the necklace, or your body, but either way Wanda's eyes fall to your lips, and she holds her breath.

"I wasn't." She whispers, and without losing her composure, her hands go up your arms until they reach your neck, and she is so close that you ignore the urge to keep the necklace, and let her do whatever she wants. Her fingers find the item. "The necklace belongs to any worthy slytherin. And you, darling, you have always been mine."

You sigh as the necklace comes off, and Wanda throws it on the floor the next moment.

This time, it is she who breaks the distance, bringing your mouths together in a passionate kiss.

Your head spins, and you surrender. Her hands go to where the necklace was, and her tongue invades your mouth without waiting for permission, taking you for herself, making you gasp.

Thrusting your body forward, with your hands on Wanda's waist, you press her against the tree behind her, never breaking the kiss and making her sigh at having your body so close.

You are kissing each other firmly, with longing. You breathe breathlessly against each other's lips, afraid that if any of you pull away you will be done for good.

Your hands start to move down before you can think about it, and when they reach Wanda's ass, you squeeze the flesh against your hands, and she moans against your lips, thrusting her hips forward, begging for more.

There's not the slightest possibility that your first time with Wanda would be in a forest, in the middle of the snow, but when she bites your lips and kisses you like this, it doesn't seem so impossible. It gets hard not to think about getting down on your knees, tasting her where you imagine she would like it.

"We shouldn't." She manages to whisper between kisses, in the mess you two have become, and all you do is move your lips down her jaw, and then her neck. And Wanda whimpers, digging her fingernail into your shoulder. "Please."

You don't know if she is asking for more, or to stop. The second option breaks your heart, but you follow it, breathing out of rhythm as you pull your lips from her skin, pulling away.

Wanda's lips are swollen from kissing hard, her pupils dilated, her chest heaving. And you want to kiss her again, but you just swallow dry and put more distance between you.

"W-we should go back." You mumble in a hoarse voice, looking down at the ground.

"There you are!" Agatha's voice makes you jump in fright, and so does Wanda. The tension turned to shame of you being found, with clearly visible appearances of what you two were doing. But the older witch doesn't mind, a teasing smile. "Busy?"

"I just came to check if she was okay." Wanda answers quickly, clumsily as she bends down to pick up the necklace she threw on the floor.

"I imagine so." Agatha mutters. "We need to go, we didn't come here for nothing."

The way back is silent,you don't have the courage to face Wanda, but she has put the necklace back on, and isn't looking because she must be hating herself, again.

And you bite the inside of your cheek, not knowing what to do.

Agatha is whistling, and you realize that you are not going back to the tent.

"Where are we going, Agatha?" You ask curiously, and she replies still looking forward.

"Your father really did have friends in all places, Miss Stark."

You frown, but it is Wanda who speaks. "Vague answers don't make you sound mysterious, Agatha. They just annoy me."

The older witch laughs at the comment, but you think you must be too affected by the make-out session, because Wanda's locked jaw makes you wish she would just kiss you again, non-stop this time.

Clearing your throat, you look away, and decide to follow the two other witches in silence.

“We are here to see a quite despicable sorcerer, who is going to make mean and unkind remarks, and you are going to be silent so that I can go on."

You exchange a look with Wanda, who has an expression of indignation on her face.

"I can' t promise that, Agatha. " She says. "Wouldn't it be better to leave us in the tent?"

"So you can be grabbing each other like two animals in heat?" She retorts and you choke in surprise, looking away to the ground immediately. "I don't really care, but I need Stark, because Tivan owed Howard a favor and only agreed to deal with her present. And well, I expected you wouldn't let her come alone with me."

Wanda completely ignores Agatha's teasing to reply "You're right, I don't trust you."

"Thanks, sugar." The witch retorts, causing the younger girl to roll her eyes impatiently. "Do me a favor and keep that necklace well hidden. Or give it back to me."

"No." She answers quickly. "I'll keep it."

"As you wish." Agatha says and you stand in silence as you walk through the small village.

It is really very quiet, and the few people on the street don't bother to look at you guys at all.

And then you are at the gate of a huge mansion, and Agatha is telling the gatekeeper that you have an appointment with the "collector."

"Why do you call him that?" You ask, and she gives a little laugh.

"You'll understand in a minute."

You walk down the front steps to the door.

And when you enter, you hold your breath.

It is no ordinary house, it is a long dark corridor, magically enchanted and giving you the feeling that it is endless, with the same doors for miles and miles forward.

A girl about your age is waiting, and she smiles politely at the three of you.

"Miss Harkness, you have finally managed to join us." She says. "My master is waiting for you and Miss Stark."

"Miss Maximoff will be joining us tonight as well dear. I hope Tivan doesn't mind." Says the witch following the other down the hall.

"Every friend of Howard Stark is welcome, my master said." The girl says simply, and you see Agatha sigh. She seems annoyed by the other's submission, but says nothing.

You stop in front of a double door, white in prominence with the darkness of the hallway.

The girl opens it, and you enter a huge room, with the ceiling so high that even if you squint your eyes, you can't see the end. And it reflects the stars.

A tall, strong man wearing a leather dragon coat is waiting inside, and he flashes a smile that does not reach his eyes. His hair is as white as the door.

"Agatha! It's so good to see you again, old friend." He says with open arms, but reaches up with outstretched hands, catching Agatha's quickly. "Did you have a peaceful trip?"

"Hardly, Tivan, I'm a fugitive now." She jokes causing you and Wanda to exchange worried glances, but the wizard doesn't seem to mind, laughing at the phrase. "And don't call me old, we're only a few decades apart!"

Tivan laughs again, letting go of the witch's hands. He turns his face to you, and looks at you with glowing eyes.

"By Merlin, you are Stark's daughter." He says. "You have the same eyes as Melissa, no?"

You look embarrassed under his gaze. It's evaluative, and Wanda seems to notice it too, because she covers you gently, and draws the man's attention to herself.

"Oh, and who are you, sweetheart?"

"This is Wanda Maximoff, Tivan." Agatha replies earnestly, and you are surprised at the scolding. "And no, they're not for sale."

You widen your eyes, understanding the reason behind his name. Wanda's hand slides into yours immediately, covered by the cape.

Tivan gives a short laugh, "That's a shame, Harkness. You know very well the value of a scarlet sorceress. Even more a pretty thing like that."

You take an aggressive step forward, but Agatha quickly stands in your way.

"Let's finalize everything soon, Tivan." She urges. "I can't stay in places for too long. I'm sure you can understand the feeling."

The man gives you and Wanda one last look before nodding to Agatha, turning to walk toward the bookshelves on the right side in the room.

There are several shelves, with many items, and just like the hallways, extend into what seems like infinity.

Tivan just goes to the first one, and pulls out a small chest from there, enchanting it to follow him in the air to you.

"Here it is, Agatha." He says. "Howard Stark's last translator."

You widen your eyes as the chest opens. Inside, there is a small metal device. Very different from any of your father's other machines, it looks much more rudimentary.

Agatha sighs softly, lifting her fingers to trace the object.

"And you assure me it works?" She asks, and the man chuckles softly.

"I have plenty of monsters in there if you want to test it."

You swallow dryly, but Agatha just smiles. "No need, you are many things, but a liar is none of them."

"I appreciate the confidence, Agatha." He says as he moves his fingers and magically closes the trunk. "But pay before you play."

The witch doesn't look offended, she just hurries to fiddle with her robes, and you widen your eyes when she takes out a necklace.

Kaecillius' gift, the eye of Agamotto.

"That's not yours to sell!" You blurt out angrily, but Agatha keeps the item out of your reach, while Tivan seems impressed by the whole scene.

"And neither is yours, Miss Stark." She retorts impatiently. "Be quiet while the adults talk."

"Are you serious? How did you even get it, it was in the house-"

"Quiet!" Agatha cuts in turning to you, her tone is angry, but her eyes are almost pleading. "That's enough of this. Don't disgrace the good manners your father taught you."

You are indignant, but Wanda's grip around your hands makes you believe it is better not to insist.

"Play along." Her voice sounds in your head the same second Agatha turns to Tivan again, and you swallow dryly, trusting her.

"Interesting." The man murmurs, impressed, but doesn't keep his gaze on you. His attention shifts immediately to the necklace Agatha hands him.

"As you can see, it's real." She says. "A fair price for another relic, or even more valuable, since you will find no use for the translator."

Tivan grimaces. "Don't push it too far, Agatha. The translator became quite valuable with Stark's death. No one was able to reproduce another one." He says as he looks back to the witch. "Actually, I think I should raise my price." He says curling his fingers in the necklace, thoughtful as you watch Agatha tense up before relaxing.

"Now I'm the one who's going to ask you not to push it so far, Tivan." She says. "Agamotto is also dead, and that's the only treasure of his you'll get. Don't try to change the value just because you don't know how it works."

Tivan looks offended, but only for a second, because his gaze softens and he laughs. "Right, right. Any chance you know what's inside?"

"I have no idea." She says, but a part of you thinks she is lying.

The man nods, and the trunk moves gracefully through the air into Agatha's hands. She takes the small device from inside, and stows it inside her cloak.

Tivan takes his eyes off the necklace in his hands to look directly at you.

"I have a question for you, Miss Stark, before you go." He says, and Wanda squeezes your hand from behind the cloak, but you just stand there, waiting for the man to speak. "Did your father ever mention New York to you or your brother?"

"Tivan..."

"I asked the girl, Agatha." He interrupts the witch seriously. You think she doesn't insist because you are in his house, and a wizard like that, should bring trouble if contradicted. "Well?"

"No, sir." You say uncomfortably. "I don't know any New York stories."

The man gives a disappointed smile. "I suspected, but I wanted to hear you say it." He declares straightening his posture, and the necklace flies through the air until it vanishes among the bookshelves as Tivan walks back to the center of the room. "I would invite you for tea, but I understand the rush. You should know that I am always up for new negotiations with you, Agatha. And the same goes for the Scarlet Witch and her protector."

Agatha bids a quick farewell, pushing you gently out of the room.

"Don't look back, or the hall will get longer. Just keep walking." She guides in a whisper, and you think it best to obey.

The exit does seem to take longer, but you manage to reach the door. The girl from before was already waiting for you all, her arms behind her back.

"Thank you for your visit, Miss Harkness." She says politely. "My master is pleased with the acquisition this evening."

"I'm sure he is, dear." Agatha says, and touches the girl's arm gently. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

The girl just smiles, nodding almost mechanically. Agatha hesitates, but walks away.

As soon as you are outside the property, Wanda is yelling.

"I can't believe you stole from me, Agatha!" She squawks angrily as you all walk back into the forest, and the older witch just grumbles displeased at the volume, speeding off. "I told you this wouldn't work if you kept lying!"

"Would you have given me the necklace in good grace?" She retorts impatiently, but doesn't even wait for Wanda to answer. "Of course you wouldn't. Because you don't know what it is, but you're smart enough to know that it's not something ordinary. And too stubborn to willingly hand it over, not to mention you don't trust me, Wanda. I did what was necessary for us to make some progress."

"No more lies, Agatha!" Wanda insists in a mixture of frustration and irritation. "Stop hiding things. You could have asked, explained what you were going to do!

"Witches don't do that, Wanda." She retorts impatiently. "I've been alive for how many centuries, child. Do you think you can survive by telling everyone what you were going to do? No. You go ahead and do whatcha you gotta do, that’s the truth. Secrets save lives.”

"That's such bullshit." The brunette retorts, but you are almost back in the tent area, and Agatha is stopping walking.

"Give me the locket." She says, and Wanda frowns. "Let's get this over with quickly."

"What are you talking about?"

"That's why I needed the translator." She clarifies. "I went to Stark Manor last year, looking for this in the wreckage, but the walkers found it first. And it circled the dark market for months until Tivan acquired it in his collection. It's just what I need to open the horcrux and destroy it."

You look surprised and impressed, but Wanda crosses her arms.

"And how do you intend to do that?"

"Six years ago, Pietro Maximoff took Godric Gryffindor's sword out of the selector hat at my request." She counters drawing surprised exclamations from you and Wanda. "I didn't let him remember that, and I spent the last few years fortifying the metal with every kind of magic I could find. The poison from the monsters you didn't face in the labyrinth in the fourth year because I was hunting them out, or the blood from the dragon you killed in the first task. Everything. The goblins wrote to me that the sword only absorbed what could make it stronger, and even without knowing the location of the horcruxes, I needed to be ready to destroy them."

"How did you lose the sword?" You ask then, trying to fit the whole story together. Agatha sighs.

"Pietro deserted Hogwarts." She says. "The sword immediately disappeared, it went back into the hat. And I had to go back for it."

"If you had the sword and the locket, why didn't you destroy it?" Wanda questions, and seems very annoyed at the information that Agatha also used Pietro.

"Because I don't know parseltongue." She replies. "But with this, I don’t need to and I can open it."

You exchange a look with Wanda.

"This conversation is not over, Agatha." She says as she moves her hands to remove the necklace.

Agatha turns toward the tent, raises her hand from where her magic is visible between her fingers, and it takes a moment for the sword to fly toward her, gracefully fitting between her fingers.

But she hands it to you.

"I have a feeling it needs to be held by a Gryffindor." She says and you frown.

"Do you have any argument to support that?" You ask as you pick up the sword.

"It's just a guess." She says as she takes the translator out of her pocket.

She gestures for Wanda to leave the locket on the ground, and she does so a few inches away from you so that you have room to wield the sword and destroy it.

"Well, let's get this over with." Agatha says with her attention on the object in her hands. "Help me understand the language of the snakes."

The small object trembles with Agatha's whisper, and when it ascends a golden light between the openings, she continues.

"Open it."

The sound coming out of the metal is unlike anything you have heard. But as soon as it becomes silent, the locket flips open.

And something leaps out, a dark shadow that knocks you to the ground, along with Wanda and Agatha, who are thrown at least two meters away.

Your whole body trembles with fear and alertness. You lean on your elbows to look.

It is the part of Mephisto's soul that is fighting, it is the darkness of magic that protects it.

Agatha didn't fall, she is fighting the part of the shadowy cloud that tries to cover her, the purple magic around her.

Wanda has fallen, but has the same position as you, staring frightened ahead. And your immediate urge is to reach for her, stumbling to get up.

"Destroy it now, Stark!" Agatha shouts, but you keep walking.

Except that the shadow shrouds your field of vision, and you stop confused.

Wanda is standing in front of you.

"What are you still doing here?" Her tone is icy, it chills your whole body the wrong way, and you frown in confusion.

"W-what? We're destroying the horcrux, Wanda, what-"

"I told you to leave." She interrupts as she approaches, her gaze cruel. She has never looked at you like that. "Didn't you hear what Agatha said? You are weak. You are not, and you were never good enough for me."

You stumble away, shocked by the words. But she doesn't stop, smiling arrogantly.

"How was it that the least smart Stark was chosen to protect me?" She teases. "Our classmates are right. I match with the champion of the Triwizard Tournament, that woman will indeed be able to protect someone like me. And if you're lucky, you might get someone who will accept your mediocrity."

You want to throw up. But this is wrong. Something in your brain is screaming, because Wanda would never say such things.

She reaches out to you, and her touch has no pressure. It's just a ghost. An illusion, playing with your senses.

"Pathetic." She whispers, the black orbs glowing. That's enough for you.

Your mind wanders immeditarily to last summer.

"You know how much I love you, don't you?" Wanda whispers in the dark, under the covers with you. The light of the lantern while you are reading Romeo and Juliet in her room is enough for you to see her face blurry.

You smile, closing the book, and pushing it away as you lie on your side to face her.

"I have a vague idea." You joke. "I think quite a bit since I've been sleeping here all week."

But Wanda looks worried; she copies your position, but keeps a serious face. You lift your fingers to trace the wrinkle in her forehead, squeezing lightly until she stops frowning and smiles.

"I just..." She starts almost embarrassed. "Promise you'll never forget?"

You smile, because the idea is absurd, but decide to follow the line. "I promise."

And when Wanda's eyes fill with tears, you worry too, but she quickly shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I'm just being silly."

You caress her cheek, wiping away the tears that have run down. " You know how much I love you?"

You repeat the question in a whisper, and Wanda's cheeks flush, but she smiles, straightening herself up better. "I have a vague idea, because you've been sleeping here all week."

You laugh softly, and she follows you. "It's more than that." You whisper as you stop, staring at her. "I love you more than anything."

Wanda nods softly, her eyes filling with tears again, but this time it's for a good reason. She feels the same way.

"More than the characters in the book loved each other?" She asks in a gasp, her hand squeezing your shirt softly. You smile.

"What I feel for you makes the love of Romeo and Juliet seem like a crush." You retort, making her laugh embarrassedly.

But her smile slowly dies, and she swallows dryly before speaking again. "I don't want us to end up like in the book, babe. Never."

You know she's talking about dying. But specifically about you dying for her. You know that Wanda would do that for you no matter what, but the idea of living without her is unreasonable.

"I wouldn't like that either." You confess, moving closer so that your noses are touching. "I'd like to live with you."

Wanda smiles shyly, embarrassed by the implications in your speech. But you let your fingers wander to her hair, tucking the strands behind her ear.

"I think we would be happy in a cottage." You say, and her gaze brightens beyond the redness on her face. "Or we could buy an apartment in the city where there's a park for you to walk around in."

"I would like that." She confesses smiling. "To have a home with you. Wherever that is."

You swallow dryly, feeling your chest warm with happiness. "Do you think we could handle taking care of animals? I don't ever remember feeding Iron."

Wanda laughs softly, nodding. "We could try a cat first, they're more independent."

"And then an owl."

"Soon a dog."

"Maybe two."

You take a chance. "Or who knows..." But you lose courage, but Wanda smiles.

"Children."

You nod softly, looking at the green orbs adoringly. And she looks at you the same way. "As many as you want."

Wanda's eyes looking at you lock on your mind for the next few seconds as the memory fades, and you find yourself back in the horror of dark magic all around you.

You stumble away from the illusion of the locket, wielding your sword, and ignoring the adrenaline whistle in your ears.

There is no time for another defense, you raise the sword, and the next minute, it strikes the metal, destroying it.

The ghosts scream, and are gone in the blink of an eye, and you gasp in shock, still standing with trembling hands.

When Wanda stands up, and makes mention of touching you, you stumble over your words. "W-we have to go. He'll feel it for sure, let's get out of here before they find us." And you are already walking out toward the tent, keeping your gaze on the ground.

For the next few minutes, you are on autopilot.

Helping Agatha with the tent in silence, the two other witches don't seem to know exactly how to talk about what has just happened.

And when you need to Apparate to a new place, you hold Agatha's forearm instead of Wanda's hand.

"Where are we?" The brunette asks as soon as the ground settles at her feet. Agatha sighs.

"Honestly, we're running out of options." She replies. "It's still the United Kingdom, but it's almost the limit. We're going to need ideas from here on."

You remain silent as you set the tent back up, and when everything is ready, your hands are still shaking.

"Try to rest, Stark." Agatha says beside you. "You did very well tonight."

You only mutter in understanding, hurrying off to your room.

Not even taking off your shoes, you throw yourself on the bed, burying your face in the pillow.

Maybe sleep will put the horcrux image out of your head, but you imagine that once you fall asleep, this will be the only thing you’ll dream about.

//-//-//-//-///-//-///-//-//

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#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x yn #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x yn #marvel imagines #wanda maximoff imagines #scarlet witch x reader #The Scarlet Witch Prophecy

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ashasmonsters · 3 years

Text

The Middle Prince

Male reader x Male Tiefling (Amon)

Citrus rating: Lemon

Content: Detailed wet dreams, alcohol

Words: 8k

Note: Some MLM goodness for Pride Month! This took me longer than I intended, but only because I wrote it way too long and had to break it up into parts! Expect more in this series.

The dreams started assailing you a little over a month ago. During the first week, you couldn't remember anything. You would awake in your bedchamber covered in sweat and panting as if you had just finished a sparring session. These nights, a name danced on the tip of your tongue, escaping just as you attempted to sound it out and make it real. Confused and alone you would promptly go back to sleep after flipping over your pillow. As time passed, the dreams grew both in intensity and clarity. Though still more mysterious than normal dreams, little details here and there coalesced in your waking memory: a soft touch followed by a rough one, the smell of lavender, your fingernails gliding over shallow ridges, the color of aquamarine gemstones. These dreams visited you every night without fail.

The determinations made by the court oneiromancers were limited in scope. After spending the night in the care of one such dream diviner, they found these dreams to be coming from somewhere else. The dreams were not your own, at least not fully. Beyond this, they had no more revelations. Anything more was conjecture; one stated that if magick was involved, it was either massively strong, thus able to conceal its origin, or so fleeting and ephemeral that even the oneiromancers couldn't trace it.

Your father's concern waxed but mostly waned. Perhaps if you were the eldest crown prince instead of the middle one, the answer would have been willed into existence by his command. He simply asked that the oneiromancers track your condition and report any findings to him, but no more than once each week. Though dismayed that little was being done to solve this mystery, you were used to being far from priority. Even years ago when an attempt on your life left one of your legs still and unresponsive, a leg brace allowing you to stand at public appearances was issued and the problem was declared solved. You vividly remembered the look on the assassin's face when he realized he had accidentally struck third in the line of succession rather than first. His reaction was not dissimilar from your father's when you mentioned your dreams: a mildly amused but primarily disappointed visage. The spot where the dagger had pierced your spine no longer ached but your discontent was as raw and fresh as the day the realization struck.

With the oneiromancers essentially told to only report something unquestionably threatening to your life or the family's honor, you shared very little with them. Several times you had dismissed them with little more than a hand wave. None of them ever protested. To their knowledge, no new developments within these dreams came to light. It was just another little curiosity that came with the court.

To their knowledge, anyway. In truth, there had been a quite substantial development that you withheld from them.

The night air was cool and crisp. From your bedchamber's veranda, you let the gentle sound of the garden's fountains below soothe your nerves. This had become your regular nighttime ritual; your last chance to feel relaxed and cool before waking up overheated and frantic. You enjoyed the last of it before sliding under the sheets and waiting for the dream to visit you.

This was the clearest dream to date. The scattered sensations and feelings from prior episodes came into focus: the touches came from smooth, tender hands, the smell of lavender from purple cups of herbal tea. Your fingers played over short, filed horns. That bold aquamarine color like a burning emerald belonged to a pair of eyes, their pupils narrow and catlike. The overall plot of the dream remained unknown to you. What came next, however, was new. Very new.

A pair of hands caressed your body as whatever clothing you had dissolved into the air. Your mind reeled from the realization of what was happening, yet you were relaxed all the same. Though surprised, you didn't wish for it to stop. Even as the tender hands had you at their mercy, one playfully pinching a nipple as the other reached lower in between your legs, you welcomed their touch without knowing why. You just did. It felt right. The hand between your legs started confidently stroking your shaft; making you moan. Their touch was expertly coordinated as if they knew everything about you. Not long after, the building pressure within you was too much to bear, then...

"AMON!" You cried out, the name that had eluded you all those nights finally woven from syllables into a complete utterance. You were no longer dreaming, your own hands reflexively covering your mouth in a futile attempt to take back the exclamation. In the dead of night like this, you most certainly alerted someone.

"My Prince, are you alright?" Your chief courtier, Petra, had burst through your bedchamber door. Guards with polearms at the ready had her back.

"I'm alright," you caught your breath, "it's the dream again. No cause for alarm." As usual, you bore a sheen of sweat and your heart was thundering in your ears.

"You've never called out like that before," Petra noted, not yet dropping her guard.

"I called out?" You lied, wincing as you felt something viscid and slimy on your groin under your dressing gown. Deep embarrassment came to the forefront of your mind, your face helpless to hide it. "Bring me my washbasin, please," you quickly uttered.

"At once, my Prince." Petra left the room as the guards resumed their posts. You peeled back your dressing gown to inspect the damage by moonlight. It was worse than you thought. Undoubtedly this gown would have to be thrown out. You groaned, disappointed in your own body for betraying you like this.

"Your washbasin, Prince." Petra returned and you hurriedly covered yourself up again. The moonlight was too dim, or perhaps she pretended not to see, but she was soon at your bedside without pause, brandishing a sponge and towel.

"I can do this myself," you said, taking the implements from her. She looked at you with intent to interrogate.

"Prince, if there have been changes with your dreams, you must inform the oneiromancers."

"No need," you said, eager to fully clean yourself. "You are dismissed, Petra."

Petra held her tongue. Her eyes told you she only did so because she was eager to return to bed. When she departed your bedchamber and closed the door, you finally discarded the soiled gown and did your best to cleanse yourself of your nocturnal emission. You donned a new gown and welcomed an ordinary slumber.

When morning came, so did Petra and a bevy of assistant courtiers. From the accoutrements they wielded you identified them as the "fashion corps," your nickname for the hairdressers, wardrobers, clothiers, and makeup artists whose arrival portended a formal event you were required to attend. As the squad of aesthetes communicated amongst each other, Petra drew you a bath. While the tub filled, she came to your side and took your shoulder on hers to help you hobble into the bathing chamber.

"What's the occasion, Petra?" You unfolded a privacy screen, dividing your bathing chamber in half. As you stripped and entered the balmy water, you heard Petra pull up a chair on the other side of the screen.

"The biannual alliance gala, Prince."

"The alliance gala?" You asked. Your appearance had not been required at one for quite some time. "Why me?"

"Your father has requested that the entire court attend. From what I've heard, there is quite the number of fiefdoms and baronies joining the kingdom at this one."

"Grand." You sighed and resigned yourself into the water until it met your chin. You imagined the great hall of the palace, teeming with strangers from far-off lands all speaking in such meaningless platitudes that they needed alcohol in hand to tolerate it.

"If it makes you feel any better, Prince, most of the night depends on your elder brother and your father. You have the freedom to do whatever you like once your father's opening speech is concluded," Petra said with a mild tone.

It didn't make you feel better. Your father built a kingdom that, apparently, smaller domains were scrambling to join. Your elder brother was the crown prince with hordes of suitors seeking his heart. Even your elder sister, with no direct claim to the crown, was quite sought after. Then there was you, with permission to get as drunk as you like at the gala. You seriously considered exercising that privilege.

Your ruminations were interrupted by the clatter of hammered metal and leather straps from beyond the screen.

"I've got your brace ready, Prince. Let me know when you're dry," Petra said. You reluctantly finished scrubbing and soaping yourself before heaving your body onto the lip of the bath and toweling off. Sat there, damp with dripping hair and a towel round your waist, you permitted Petra to attach the brace to you. She respectfully averted her eyes as she affixed the contraption to your immobilized leg. With it attached, you traded comfort for the ability to limp and stand unassisted.

Next came the gauntlet of clothing, hair styling, and makeup that the fashion corps employed. Even for today, which was merely a rehearsal for the true event tomorrow, they gave no mercy. They encircled you and passed you around as they worked like a knight being suited by his squires. The process was grueling. Your hair was tugged and the breeches squeezed your brace into your leg. With the freedom to choose your own clothes removed from you, there was no choice but to deal with the feeling of metal biting at your skin.

Bound in the tight, ceremonial clothing, Petra took your arm for the long walk to the great hall. It was full of palace staff and buzzing like a beehive. The ceiling, high as a cathedral's, let in beams of sunlight through its many massive windows. Tables were being arranged with the intent to give each attending guest a view of the stage: the stage where your father and elder brother would be giving their opening speeches tomorrow. The two of them were behind a podium, your brother reading a piece of parchment over your father's shoulder. Behind them towards the back of the stage was a row of ornate seats; not quite thrones but just as uncomfortable. Your elder sister met your gaze as she sat on one. She beckoned you over.

"That will be your seat for the rehearsal, Prince," Petra said.

"Rehearsal for sitting?" You quipped, walking towards your seat anyway. Resistance was futile no matter how silly this all was.

"I'll undo your hair and get you into more comfortable clothes as soon as I can, Prince," Petra said apologetically. "Bear with it. I must attend to the other staff now."

With that, Petra disappeared into the crowd of scrambling staff arranging the great hall into order. You limped to your seat, your brace clicking all the while.

"You look excellent, little brother," your sister said. She was attempting to alleviate your sour mood, but she still hadn't figured out how. Neither had you.

"I look like an idiot. And my leg is killing me," you snapped.

Your sister merely sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her hair, in a high bun, bumped the bejeweled headrest and made her curse.

"You used to love these events when you were smaller. You had perfected waving to the crowd before you learned to talk," she said.

"That was a long time ago. Things were different; I was naive, none of us had official duties, the assassination attempt hadn't happened, I wasn't bedeviled by these dreams... mother was alive." You cast your gaze downward, examining your buckled leather shoes. You heard her sigh.

"Not all change has to be bad. And to be fair, you still don't have any official duties to worry about." She placed a hand on your shoulder.

"That's a polite way of saying I'm useless." You looked up at your father and elder brother. They were discussing something about their speeches, annotating and marking the parchment before them. A small audience of pages stood in front of the stage, listening to them run through portions of their speeches. They hadn't yet paid you any heed.

"It's a blunt way of saying you're free," your sister said firmly. "Every week I'm fielding suitors from all over the world, and not one of them has proven to be anything but repulsive. I'm terrified that one day strategy and diplomacy will land me with someone like them."

Your eyes widened at her open disdain for the matters of the court.

"I'm sorry," you said, reconstructing your vision of who your sister truly was. "I had no idea you felt that way... I thought—"

"You thought I was traipsing about with handsome men from far-off lands every day?" She smirked.

"...yes." You blushed.

"Hah! I wish!" Your sister flinched at her own exclamation, then relaxed when she realized the monarch and the crown prince hadn't noticed. "But you don't have to wish for that. You're free to traipse with whomever you please."

You blushed harder. Turning away from your sister, you saw your brother and father finishing up their speech revisions. On cue, Petra emerged from the throng of staff to conclude this "rehearsal."

"Looks like Petra's coming to get you," your sister noted. "I know you'll be free to retire to your bedchambers as soon as the speeches are over, but I want you to try and enjoy yourself tomorrow night. It's what I would do if I could." She gave you one final smile before getting up from her seat.

"I will," you said, finally cracking a tiny smile in return. Petra had your arm soon after.

"Your presence is no longer required, Prince." Petra helped you up. "Shall I take you back to your chambers?"

"Yes, please," you said, giving your sister a thankful glance. She returned a similar expression as Petra whisked you away.

When you had finally returned to your chambers and changed into less constrictive clothing, you asked Petra to stay awhile to converse. Your sister's advice had forced you to re-evaluate your approach to the gala. Your priorities had shifted just as much as your notions of her personality had.

"You mentioned there were many newcomers to the kingdom? Quite a few tables were being set up in the great hall," you quizzed Petra.

"Yes, from what I've gathered, it's expected to be the largest event we've hosted all year. We're expecting guests from as far as Ankara and Nubia," she answered matter-of-factly. Perhaps she was a little proud, too.

"Are there any specific guests I should know about?" You asked with the grace of a war elephant. Courtship had crossed your mind for the first time mere minutes ago. "Anyone of high repute?"

Petra picked up on your clumsy intent immediately. She knew you too well.

"Prince, it would be quicker to list the attendees not worth approaching than those with stellar accolades. If it were me..." she drew in air through her teeth as if expecting to be reprimanded, "I would consider tomorrow's gala an excellent time to court someone."

"I'll try to take that advice to heart, Petra," you said.

"I'm pleased, Prince. Your matters are your own, but if I may speak unequivocally..."

"Speak your mind." You gave her permission. She hesitated, then sighed.

"You strike me as lonely, Prince. Ever since the Queen passed, your social life has suffered." Petra paused again, considering her words carefully. "You deserve love of that measure once more, whether from a partner or a good friend."

"Thank you," you sighed as if she had given you permission to use your heart. "I appreciate the advice, Petra."

"Of course, Prince." She glanced out the window towards the setting sun. "I recommend you retire early tonight to be invigorated tomorrow, lest the dreams strike again."

You nodded.

"They will." You avoided her eyes as you remembered what happened last time. "Have a washbasin ready. For the, erm, sweat."

"Of course, Prince," Petra said, her face remaining unmoved. You didn't bother trying to discern whether she was oblivious to last night's gown-soiling or if she merely extended you the courtesy of pretending. "I'll leave you be. Get some rest."

You watched her exit your chambers without another word, finally exhaling the breath you held. The idea of having to clean yourself up again was hardly appealing. Standing on the veranda and enjoying the cool night air was only prolonging the inevitable.

The aforementioned inevitable reared its troublesome head as soon as you surrendered to sleep. Your consciousness materialized somewhere, a location unidentifiable but still more detailed than you had ever encountered before. You glimpsed kaleidoscopic carpets, hammered brass, and vines growing freely about the place.

"Welcome back." A man's voice like sweet honey floated through the warm air.

"I missed you." The words left your mouth without you knowing them. You were merely an observer to your own actions. "Amon."

"My sweet prince." Lips on your knuckles. The smell of lavender tea. "Tea?"

"No thanks. We must keep this quick," you uttered again, breathless and surrendering to a desire that was both yours and unknown to you.

"Tut, tut. What's gotten into you, my prince? I've never seen you so impatient," the voice teased. Your head spun.

"I need my energy," you gasped, something warm and wet lapping at your member. "For tomorrow." The ministrations paused.

"Of course. Tomorrow will be very special indeed." The tongue on your shaft resumed, making you squirm. You reached out into the nothingness, your fingers grasping at frayed carpet tassels. Your other hand reached in between your legs and found a head of hair. You grasped a smooth horn that curved neatly behind an ear. It bobbed up and down at a tantalizing pace.

"Amon, I... I shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?" Another pause in the pleasure. You caught your breath. Those eyes again, burning into yours with the hue of warm ocean waters. "Say no to me, my prince. I implore you to try."

Caught in the stare you were helpless. You quivered with need, your manhood twitching and drooling. Only a high whine left your lips.

"Thought so."

You shot up in bed, crying out and spasming. Once more you had spilled yourself into your gown, your entire body slick with sweat. As a small victory, your cries remained nondescript rather than referential to this "Amon." In the dream, you had felt a sweet warmth in your breast each time you spoke to him and even warmer when he responded. In your waking memory, this name was empty. There was no connection and no feeling of belonging. If you hadn't heard your own voice leave your mouth in the dream, you would have had no way of knowing those experiences were your own. Your dreaming memory and conscious recollection were severed, at odds with one another. What did he mean when he said tomorrow would be special? Did he know about the gala? You didn't know how much you knew.

"The washbasin, Prince," Petra uttered as she carried it into your chambers. She stowed it at your bedside. "Shall I leave you like before?"

"Yes, please... but would it trouble you to return afterward?"

"Not at all, Prince. I'll return at your word." She slipped out of the room. You took the opportunity to cleanse yourself of the evidence before permitting Petra to return.

“Petra, would it be possible to acquire a guest list for the gala?” You asked.

“Possible, yes. However, it will be quite long without any qualifiers. As I mentioned previously, this is one of the largest events of the year.”

You considered simply asking her if the name Amon was among the attendees, but Petra would likely alert the oneiromancers and in turn, your father. You doubted anything would happen at all if she did, but this was a matter you wanted to confront on your own. Like all other decisions made for you at your father’s behest, your own interests would unquestionably be cast aside if he decided to involve himself.

“I’d like to know the first names of all the male guests scheduled to attend,” you said. Petra raised an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t narrow it down much, Prince,” Petra answered. The sweet, honeyed voice from your dream remained in your mind. It was the voice of a young man, one likely of your age.

“Only the male guests around my age, then,” you specified. Petra raised her other eyebrow, making her expression one of surprise rather than skepticism.

“Ah. That kind of list. I see...” Your cheeks burned; though you didn’t know where this inquiry would take you, you also felt the conclusion Petra came to was not wholly inaccurate. “Shall I make, erm, other arrangements as well?”

“Arrangements?” you asked. It was Petra’s turn to blush.

“The standard things... extra pillows, oils, skins—”

“Yes, of course, Petra,” you cut her off, not wishing for her to extend the list of amenities any further. Searching for a suitor was a favorable charade. If nothing else, if this search for the mysterious Amon proved fruitless, then you would at least have the means, motive, and opportunity to bed somebody... if you had the audacity. The look on Petra's face said she didn't think so.

"I’ll have the list and the... goods brought in before sun-up,” Petra said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, Petra, that will suffice.”

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Morning arrived and so did Petra's promises; the chief courtier herself was nowhere to be found, but a neatly transcribed list of names and a box tied with a bow sat atop a chaise lounge when you awoke. You already knew what waited inside the box, so you went for the list. Though only containing the names of guests that fit your qualifiers, the parchment was both long and double-sided. Your eyes began to tire just as they fell across what you were looking for:

Amon II - Eparch of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia

You were puzzled. Makuria and Elodia were names you hadn't heard since you were tutored. Even your father's kingdom with its diplomats venturing far and wide rarely mentioned them. You only knew they were small kingdoms far away from this one. There was not one but two oceans between here and there, they spoke a language no tutor in the palace taught, and both titles of "Nobatian" and "Eparch" were unknown to you.

Then the fashion corps arrived. You dropped the parchment and pondered the new information as they manhandled you into the appearance they had crafted for you yesterday. Perhaps due to more practiced hands or being lost in your thoughts, the process seemed to go much faster than previously. You almost didn't believe it when they told you they were finished, but the shifted sun and your appearance in the mirror confirmed that the gala would soon begin. Your hair was fashioned into an unnatural shape, your face was dusted with powder, and your clothes were so form-fitting that you appeared sewn into them. The bulge of the leg brace through your breeches peeked out at the ankle; the leggings were so tight that your overcoat preserved more of your modesty than they did.

With Petra absent and likely scrambling to put last-minute touches on the gala, you walked to the great hall with the assistance of the fashion corps, who likewise made hasty repairs to your appearance as your gait jostled things out of place. When you arrived, the great hall was even busier than at the rehearsal. It seemed there was a member of palace staff for each seat at every table, all of them fastidiously arranging cutlery, plates, decorative vases, placemats, and myriad other things you didn't know the names for.

“Little brother!” You turned your head and spotted your elder sister within a parade of her own fashion corps regiment. She waved at you from one of the great hall’s entrances.

“Sister,” you responded with a nod, your own cavalcade parting to allow her approach.

“Have you given tonight any consideration?” She asked.

“Yes, actually...”

“You’re not going to retreat to your chambers?”

“...not immediately,” you said, noncommittal.

“I’m glad.” She smiled gently. “I’ll likely be busy most of the night, though if you’d like me to send anyone your way, let me know. Who’s on your list?”

“My list?” you sputtered. “Petra told you?”

“Petra? Goodness, no,” she chuckled. “I just figured you’d have one. It’s standard practice for these sorts of things; I’ve a list as well. So... who’s on yours?”

You lowered your head and examined your shoes.

“Well... it’s quite long.”

“How scandalous!” she gasped exaggeratedly.

“I’m just casting a wide net is all! I don’t intend to bed every single male my age!” Your cheeks burned again. You considered dropping the charade if it meant this level of humiliation.

“I expected my mild little brother to have a rebellious phase eventually, but this...” she said, ignoring your cries.

"Sister, please," you pleaded. The tone of your voice convinced her to return to normal. She extended a hand to ruffle your hair but stopped herself when your fashion corps hairstylist glared at her.

"Apologies, little brother. I had to jest a little," she smiled at you, this time without intent to tease. "They're going to start letting in the guests soon. We should take our seats."

You nodded and followed her to the stage. The fashion corps fell away from you and went to help elsewhere. You sat in your uncomfortable pseudo-throne and waited, eventually joined by your other siblings save for your eldest brother. They greeted you as they took position at your side, but there was very little to talk about. This was the first time you had seen them in a while.

Then came the guests: the table-setters had cleared out some minutes before the floodgates burst and more staff escorted groups of people to their tables. The cathedral-like great hall was full in mere moments. Sorted by table, there was a sea of people in colorful finery all conversing amongst themselves and giving you and your siblings the occasional glance. You tried to pick out Amon from the crowd but quickly realized half-remembered fragments from your dreams wouldn't be enough to pick him from a sea of hundreds. Even finding his name on the list took a considerable amount of time.

Then the hall fell silent, or something close to it. A lively conversation between hundreds of people dropped to hushed whispers. Your father and brother had entered the hall and begun their walk to the podium, silencing the crowd with nothing but their appearance. When your father reached the podium, he extended both arms palms up and the previously subdued crowd erupted into cheers. If not for the applause, he would have heard you groan. Your sister said nothing, only giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

When the speeches started you practically willed your ears shut. Perhaps you would have built a tolerance to them if you had appeared at more of these events, but you couldn't bear to listen to your father and elder brother boast of their achievements to a sea of complacent, nodding heads. It was like a reminder that within the kingdom your father built, you served your purpose by distracting that assassin some years ago and now outlived your usefulness. At this gala, you were decoration only a few ranks higher than a potted plant.

You thanked any and all higher powers when the speeches were over. Father and his crown prince had left the stage to begin their targeted commingling with VIPs, prompting you and your siblings to stand from your seats. They all dispersed before you could look to them to follow their lead. When you stumbled off the stage and distanced yourself from it by leaning against the wall as you walked, hardly any attention came your way. Thankfully, the attention you did receive was from Petra.

"Prince, are you alright? You look troubled," she said, sidling up to you.

"What do I do, Petra?" you asked, intimidated by the sheer size of the room and the attendees within it. Each table was like its own little kingdom with strangers you didn't know and faux-pas to stumble over.

"See how each table has an empty chair or two?" She pointed to the tables nearest you, one full of scaly Sāmm-abraṣ emissaries and another with human diplomats bearing the flag of Bavaria. You nodded. "All the guests are expected to stay seated while dinner is served. They won't get up to dance and drink until the meal is concluded. Right now, only people from the host kingdom— like you, me, your siblings, and other members of the court— will be walking around."

"So I just sit at whichever table and introduce myself?"

"If you even need to. The fact you're walking will show them you're hosting. They'll pay you proper respect without you saying anything at all."

"Hm," you mused. That sounded like a lot of work, especially since you weren't aiming to meander. Finding Amon would be immeasurably more difficult once the crowd was disorganized and inebriated, though, so now was your best chance.

"I've a copy of your list, Prince. Shall I help you navigate it?" Petra asked, holding up parchment.

"Yes, let's," you said. The lengthy document threatened to touch the floor. "Let's begin alphabetically."

"Alphabetically, Prince?"

"By first name."

"Of course, Prince. That means we should visit Aariyeh, Sardar of Anatolia, followed by Abdul II, Knez of Smederevo—"

"Any Eparchs on that list?" You winced at your own forwardness. The charade was wearing dangerously thin.

"...Eparchs?"

"I'm in an Eparch mood at the moment," you explained weakly. Petra looked at you as if checking for signs of illness.

"I see. There's one: Amon II of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia."

"He sounds splendid. Take me to him."

Petra, either from exasperation, deference, or both, folded up the list and took your arm without another word. She led you through the clusters of gala attendees. You could feel every one of their eyes watching you as you caught their attention. Just as the scrutiny was starting to become too much, your eyes found a target of their own. A warm shiver ran through your spine, a sensation the French would call déjà rêvé: a dream made real.

His verdigris eyes locked onto yours. They peered at you from behind short, white curls of shiny hair. His skin reminded you of the bluebells in the gardens, and his pert, curled horns were a shade darker. He flashed something between a grin and a smirk at you, revealing pearlescent teeth with canines that could be mistaken for fangs.

Amon was breathtaking and he knew it.

If your arm wasn't in Petra's grasp already, you never would have made it to the chair. She struggled a bit as she plopped you into it, your leg brace protesting with clicks and creaks. The other tieflings at the table, all varying shades of azure, stopped what they were doing to acknowledge your arrival. You gave them a weak nod while you regained your composure.

"Greetings, delegation from Lower Makuria and Elodia. I'd like to introduce you to our Middle Prince," Petra said from over your shoulder, upon which she planted a firm hand. She squeezed hard.

"I'm pleased to meet you all," you managed to get out. Your audience of tieflings nodded and muttered.

"As am I, Middle Prince." Amon set his cutlery down and rested his chin on interlaced fingers. His voice was high and carried a boyish, scheming air; you envisioned him stealing lumps of sugar from a pantry. "I didn't think my kingdom warranted such a visit. What brings you to my little exclave of Nobatia?"

"A whim."

"How quaint," he said, still smirking. His gaze shifted as he eyed his all-tiefling entourage. The intent was to communicate something, though you didn't know what.

"I am the middle prince, after all. I've few obligations. None, actually," you said.

"Hm," Amon said, looking decidedly amused. "We may have more in common than we thought." His retinue nodded along with his observation.

"Surely you are a busy man? You are Eparch of not one, but two territories."

"Do you know what the title 'Eparch' entails, Middle Prince?" Amon said, more as a targeted quip than an actual question.

"I... am not familiar, I admit," you ceded.

"An Eparch is a figurehead. Makuria and Alodia have long been ruled by invaders and rebels, respectively. I'm kept in a symbolic position to preserve what's left of Nobatian culture," Amon sighed. "In fact, I was sent here in place of the true rulers since they thought it so unlikely that you would have anything important to say to us. Anything other than absorbing us into your hegemony, of course."

You averted your gaze. He clearly was not happy with his status, and while his discontent wasn't targeted at you, it hovered about him like a cloud. He picked at the remainder of his meal while the cloud dissipated and you plucked a topic from the clearing air.

"How was your journey here? You've come a long way," you said.

"It was pleasant enough. Your trains and... horseless carriages are quite impressive," Amon said, pausing. "What's your name for them again?"

"Automobiles," you answered.

"Yes, automobiles." He rolled the word in his mouth as if tasting wine. "Though you have such a fine river and only use it for cargo. A felucca would have made my journey quite enjoyable."

"A felucca?"

"Ah, it's my turn to inform you." Amon smiled. "A felucca is a sailboat we use on the Nile. It's built for comfort, with carpets instead of hardwood decks. Some even come with a kitchen, and it's unheard of to sail without finishing a pot of tea."

"It sounds lovely," you said. "Lavender tea, I hope."

Amon raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, my favorite," he looked amused. "How did you know?"

"A whim," you answered. "The same one that brought me over to your table."

"I see." His eyes locked with yours for a lengthy pause. His retinue shifted in their seats at the uncomfortable silence. He was thinking hard about something, but the subject of his thoughts remained unknown to you. If he truly shared the dreams with you, surely you must have gotten the point across by now?

"It was lovely chatting with you, Middle Prince." He broke the silence and straightened his posture. "But I would hate to keep you when you have other guests to see."

"I really don't—"

"Nonsense, my prince," he interrupted, "go on and mingle. Perhaps, if we're lucky, our paths will cross when the festivities begin in earnest."

You couldn't believe your eyes. Did he wink at you?

"Of course..." you said, slowly realizing he was scheming. "Enjoy the gala." He locked eyes with you again.

"Oh, we will."

You had resumed hovering with Petra on the edges of the great hall. More staff had filed in to take away dirty dishes and the remains of the guests' meals. The dance floor had been opened, the musicians were in position, and staff bearing silver trays readied drinks for the merry and hors d'oeuvres for the peckish.

"How was your visit with the Eparch?" Petra asked.

"Enlightening," you answered cryptically. The need for secrecy hadn't passed, but now you were unsure of what charade to uphold. You only knew Amon was in on it as well.

"I trust that means it went well?"

"Yes, I think so." You scanned the crowd of attendees, which had now gotten up from their seats and begun to mix and intermingle. Amon disappeared like an ace into a shuffled deck. Petra flashed you an impatient expression.

"Prince, do you want me to help you get with him or not?" She said with folded arms.

"Petra!" You gasped. "You're rather forward."

"It's quite literally my job to make sure you end up with him if you wish it, Prince," she assumed a stern tone as if you refused your vegetables. "Give me a yes or no."

You stewed under her gaze. It seemed the pressure and time-sensitive nature of the gala had started to affect her as well, though for different reasons to you.

"Yes." You muttered. She didn't ask for confirmation, instead slipping away into the crowd with nothing more than a nod. Was this part of the charade, still? You had no idea what Amon even wanted, or frankly, what you wanted from tonight.

The musicians started and the small groups that had formed on the edge of the dance floor produced couplets of dancers. They were eager to begin the waltz, a somewhat contentious dance that had only recently come into popularity. You hadn't been practiced in it, instead learning of court dances like the cotillion. As you watched it take place, the dancers seemed awfully close. They were practically pressed against one another!

While you tried to discern the intricacies of this new style of dance before you, that familiar azure face peeked at you from the crowd. Amon smiled and raised his drink in your direction. It was a small gesture but you were helpless to do anything other than join him. Before you knew it, you were at his side in the sea of people and some sort of libation had been thrust into your hand.

"You know, I'm starting to grow partial to this stuff," Amon said, sipping on a duplicate of the drink you held.

"I was under the impression your faith disallowed the consumption of alcohol," you said, watching him finish the glass.

"An easy mistake to make." He handed off the glass to a roving staff member. "Modern Makurians and Alodians don't drink. Nobatians like me do. It's one of the holdovers of my dead culture."

You looked at the glass in hand; it was a clear, cold drink with a slice of lime. As you expected, the taste was bitter and unwelcoming.

"You like gin?" You asked, one taste enough to identify it.

"As I said, it's starting to grow on me," Amon chuckled. "It's not good enough to stop me from missing home, but it'll get me through the night."

"Speaking of home..." you started, looking around. You were unable to spot any other blue-skinned tieflings in the crowd. "where has your retinue gone?"

"I told them to enjoy themselves. As my courtiers, that means they're likely hovering by the exit, waiting to escort me out of here when I leave."

"They seem like a serious bunch."

"They're overprotective," Amon hissed. "As I said, my culture is long dead. They see it as dying. They think they can save it by putting me in a glass case for future generations to study."

"You've given up on Nobatia?"

"Pah! Of course I have!" He deftly procured another drink from a passing waiter. "Nothing will bring the old country back. Nobatia is a minuscule region; I can say with certainty I'm the youngest one left. When I'm old and infirm, Makuria and Alodia will reject the idea of a royal family entirely and I'll finally be allowed to be forgotten."

"That's quite a bleak outlook, Eparch," you gently chided. "Perhaps in war, things would be on a fixed course, but matters of diplomacy are more malleable."

"Perhaps," Amon said, sipping his gin. "But that's enough about me. I'd like to know more about you."

His eyes looked into yours as if he would magick the information he wanted straight out of you. No incantations were uttered, though, and you took a pragmatic sip of gin to fill the pause.

"What would you like to know?" You said.

"I'd like to know about this 'whimsy' you have," Amon probed. "To be frank, my prince, I expected to be out the door by now. Instead, I'm here, conversing with you. It doesn't make sense."

You finished your gin. This was as good a time as any to explain yourself.

"What do you know of oneiromancy?" The question left your lips and slapped Amon across the face. He chuckled.

"The school of magick so vague and unmeasurable it's not even officially recognized?"

"It seems you know the same as most," you said. "Oneiromancy is real. At least, real enough to give me the same dream night after night."

"I see..." Amon was mulling something over.

"In each one of these dreams, though my waking memory is hazy, I remember one thing they all had in common." You took a deep breath. "You."

"We should discuss this in private," Amon interjected, gently brushing your hand against his. You had been so caught up with telling Amon that you forgot you were in the middle of a crowded gala. Concern crept into the corners of his face. "Do you have a place we can go?"

You nodded and grasped his hand in earnest. The spot you took him to was one of the many balconies that overlooked the palace gardens. The sun had set fully at this point, and waltz music lazily floated out of the great hall. A few revelers who had over-indulged caught the fresh air in the hedges below. You and Amon rested on the cool marble balustrade, momentarily admiring the mingling of crickets, music, distant conversation, and the night air.

"I've been having the dreams as well. All of them involving you in some... capacity. I wasn't sure it was you at first. The dreams were so vague..." Amon kept his gaze fixed on the gardens below.

"Were the dreams... um, did you wake up... well..." you stammered. He looked at you knowingly.

"Yes, a few times," Amon answered. He didn't seem nearly as embarrassed as you. "You suspect oneiromancy is at play?"

"The court oneiromancers determined the dreams are being intentionally created. They're not a coincidence."

"Court oneiromancers?" Amon nearly spat out his drink. "My, you do have everything in this kingdom."

"Yes, we have court oneiromancers, but your surprise is beside the point." You had finally found the mysterious Amon, and you didn't want to waste any time on tangents. "Surely you're just as curious as I? Do you know anything about these dreams?" Amon drained the remainder of his gin in response.

"When I was a child..." He paused and shook his head. "When I was a child, my mother told me folk tales. The standard stuff: damsels in distress, slaying horrific beasts, that sort of thing. But she also told me tales of lovers who met in dreams. She said that was how she and father met."

"Something tells me you don't believe in that."

"When I grew too old for fairy tales, I saw it as her way of helping me keep hope that the one would be out there. With Nobatia falling and no suitors left..." he trailed off, setting his empty glass on the balustrade.

"So what if she's right?"

"That's a rather large 'if,' my prince. She was the only one that believed in that stuff... Aside from an uncle who would tell more dreamers-to-lovers tales, but only after drinking too much boukha, and always with a sarcastic tongue. They're just that: tales."

You felt Amon's cloud of discontent precipitate once more. His words were scathing, but not towards you; they spoke to a painful past and familiarity with disappointment. He saw something hopeful, happy, and promising, then cast it down in order to never feel the pain of losing it. You rarely had such clear insights about people, but with Amon it was different. It was as if you had known him for a long time and learned the language spoken by his brow, posture, and eyes. You knew what you had to do.

"Amon," you sighed, placing a hand on his, "even fairy tales originate from some truth, even if only a little. Don't be afraid to entertain the notion that your mother might be right."

You tried to look him in the eyes, but he cast his gaze down to the gardens below. His quick tongue failed him and silence ensued. His hand had reluctantly surrendered itself to your grasp, resting warm and limp.

"Look at me," You commanded with a firmer tone than expected. Reluctantly, he swiveled towards you and his aquamarine eyes found their way to yours. "Think about what you truly want. Don't be afraid to take it."

He swallowed. After a pause of a few heartbeats, his free hand grasped the back of your head, entwined his fingers in your hair, and pressed your lips to his. Your hand that held his grasped even tighter. The two of you were entwined in your own scandalous waltz. You could feel his hunger just as clearly as you felt his discontent when he parted your lips with his tongue. You reciprocated, catching fleeting impressions of his sharp teeth. He tasted like gin and figs. Short, passionate gasps and moans escaped the two of you and joined the chorus of crickets. You pulled away only to catch your breath.

"Amon," you gasped, his name sweet on your tongue. He looked at you with a bewildered expression and flushed navy cheeks. Neither of you could believe what just happened, yet surprise gave way to familiarity. Kissing Amon made your heart race but your shoulders relax. Being breathless and panting in his embrace was as recognizable to you as Petra's morning wake-up calls, or the smell of the gardens, or the feeling of your bedchamber floor on your bare feet. Déjà rêvé.

"I..." Amon sighed, "I shouldn't. I've had too much gin. I've been foolish." He released you from his arms and took several steps backward. Your jaw hung agape as he jogged inside and disappeared from view. Too shocked to try to catch him, you remained outside and alone on the balcony with only the sound of crickets and distant strings to keep you company. Just as silently and perceptively as a cat, Petra crept from the doorway a short while later.

"I saw Amon run away and came to check on you." She looked at your expression and reciprocated with a downtrodden look of her own. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. Probably not." You sighed and buried your face in your elbows until all you could see was the balustrade. You sensed Petra take a few steps towards you.

"What happened?" She asked delicately.

"We kissed, passionately. Then he said he was foolish and ran away," you mumbled into your self-embracing arms. Petra rested a hand on your shoulder.

"Some people just can't handle the fast pace and the pressure at galas like this. I'm sure it wasn't personal."

"I know..." you sighed. To Petra, your attempts at flirting simply failed to land. She didn't see the dreams. She didn't see the look in his eyes. She didn't hear the fear of hope in his voice. There were not enough hours in the night to explain to her the true extent of your sorrows.

"There's always tomorrow, Prince."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tonight is only for the Gala," Petra explained, her tender tone turning slightly optimistic, "anyone attending will be staying at least until tomorrow night for the treaty signing."

"So Amon is still here, then?" you asked, finally pulling your forehead from its resting place on your folded arms.

"He was likely running to the guest wing of the palace, where all the other dignitaries will be. If you truly wish to meet with him again, breakfast tomorrow morning would be an excellent opportunity."

You considered things for a moment. If Amon were to stay one more night, then that was one more dream to share. Tonight, you and Amon would spring awake in bed at the same time after another shared dream, but he would be only a few corridors away.

"Petra, get me an oneiromancer." You commanded.

"An oneiromancer? At this time of night? They're probably attending the gala with the rest of the court."

"Petra, this is important," you said. "I haven't exactly been forthcoming about everything in these recent days, and I'm sorry for that... but I need an oneiromancer before I sleep tonight. If you can do this for me, I promise to explain everything soon."

Petra looked at you silently, deciding whether or not to press you for details now rather than later contingent on your promise. She chose the former, nodding and silently fast-walking inside.

Alone once more on the balcony, you leaned on the balustrade and studied the stars. The moon's halo of illuminated night sky was the same color as Amon's lips. With any luck, you'd be seeing them again soon in tonight's dream.

#exophilia #monster x reader #monster x human #romance #male reader #tiefling #male tiefling x male reader #monster love #mlm #monster romance #monster fic #mlm romance

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kstewdeux · 3 years

Text

@inukagfluffweek

August 14, 2021 - Family

Sure

Summary: Inuyasha & Kagome discuss starting a family

“Knee,” Kagome whined softly as her foot prodded her husband’s leg so it would go where she wanted, “Knee Inuyasha.”

With a tired sigh, Inuyasha slid his foot up until it rested comfortably against his thigh and adjusted his hips so falling asleep in that position wouldn’t make him lock up. It was a tried and true ritual. One that he didn’t mean to perpetuate but Kagome was always the last one to go to bed. Always. So by the time she changed and brushed her hair and washed her face and did whatever else she felt inclined to do, he was typically asleep in a position he found comfortable. Kagome told him he slept like a vampire but having met and fought vampires Inuyasha had no idea what she was talking about. Besides, he didn’t know why it had always seemed to matter how he slept. Sitting up had just been how he’d done it for over a hundred years and even though three years had gone by, he still wasn’t used to those while laying down business. Having a body trained not to move wasn’t ideal for laying down and he usually woke up stiff. His muscles locking up for absolutely no reason out of habit. Sitting up, having muscles that locked was useful. Not so for how the rest of the world went down for the night.

Still, Kagome slept laying down. Always had. Always would. And he planned on sleeping next to her for the rest of her hopefully long life. Which killed the monk. Even occasional overnight exorcisms were out of the question. Sunup to sundown only.

“That better?” he yawned and Kagome nodded against the arm she was using as a pillow while Inuyasha’s hand absently played with tendrils of her hair.

One of the things he liked best was that in this position he could feel her ribs expand with each breath and the steady rhythm was soothing. Every couple found a sleeping position that worked for them it would seem and with his primary issue being hardwired survival anxiety, a cuddling position where no backs were being exposed worked best.

Problem with this position was that it’d make co-sleeping with an infant dangerous. Not that…that they were trying or even planning on having brats. Hell, they’d never spoken about it but by some unspoken understanding, they’d been careful. Kinda. Sometimes. Okay, fine, mainly they’d been whinging it and been lucky as hell.

But…you know…maybe one day…

Lips twitching upward, Inuyasha allowed himself to imagine what their own puffy blob of flesh would look like. Newborn babies…well they weren’t exactly the cutest things in the planet. More they looked like boiled prunes - both in color and looks. And the screams. But once they hit a few months old they definitely started looking more like tiny people and you could start seeing the parents. From a strangers perspective anyway. Miroku’s twins had always looked identical but they went through phases and who they favored depended on which parent was standing closest….

God he hoped whatever they had one day - not that he was even sure they’d have babies - was a girl. He’d make a decent looking boy or girl. After all, minus the coloring, he looked just like his mother who had been very pretty. Kagome…Kagome would only make a pretty girl. Sota sure as hell didn’t look like her though so maybe there were some okay looking boy genes in there but Inuyasha for the life of him could not imagine what a Kagome-looking boy would even be.

Nah. If they did one day have a…

“Why you purring?” Kagome hummed bemusedly in such a way that left him powerless to stop said noise. A noise that he’d only discovered he made since she fell back into his life. At first it bothered him that she called the chest growl thing a ‘purr’ but seeing as how he didn’t have a better name, he just rolled with it.

“Dunno,” he laughed softly.

“What were you thinking about?” Kagome hummed as she slowly and awkwardly began trying to roll towards him - something which had the purring noise stop immediately. It didn’t matter that his brain knew they were safe and there was no need to worry about being exposed. His body though….was hard wired to worry.

She froze.

“I didn’t…”

“S’not the question. It’s the stupid back thing,” Inuyasha reassured her wearily before running one hand over his face, “Look, I was thinking about us having kids, alright?”

The slow smile that bloomed on her lips as she sat up brought the soft purring sound back.

“And what were your initial thoughts?” Kagome asked curiously and the purring sound intensified.

“How newborns look like meat sacks,” he offered as he stretched his legs out and yawned, “And how they’re loud. And obnoxious. And how they shit everywhere…”

“Ah but said things made you happy,” Kagome observed and shrugging, Inuyasha didn’t deny it. Couldn’t anyway given the vibrations rumbling from his chest. Well, that was what they assumed it meant anyway. Could be he was dying or something. Wouldn’t that be the final kick in the balls.

“Thinking about it and living it are two different things. Reality is I’d fuck them up,” Inuyasha countered with an ill-checked half-grin, “You’d have to go around fixing them all the time.”

“You’d be a good daddy,” Kagome soothed as she lay back down and stared up at the ceiling - allowing Inuyasha to fully relax by covering her back. She never really thought of Inuyasha as the anxious type but apparently that was his secret to surviving so long and once they’d figured it out and pinned down his triggers to better avoid them, he’d actually been significantly less…grumpy. In fact, he could be downright pleasant most of the time.

Miroku and Sango had told her on more than one occasion that Inuyasha seemed, at times, like a completely new person. In public, he was still by and large snippy and obstinate but among friends and in private, his natural state of being sans anxiety was much more Kagome-like than any of them previously believed. Looking back, he had always seemed to find comfort in being around others but he was never what anyone would call sensitive or attune to emotional needs of others. In recent months, however, he’d been surprisingly observant, kind and gentle.

Well, actually it wasn’t all that surprising. The gentleness yes but the rest of it? No. Every time one of them lost it during the quest, Inuyasha was always the one who stepped up and did exactly the right thing to bring his friends’ minds back to center. In fact, his brand of abrasive encouragement was what saved their souls from being devoured by the moth demon’s trap. Whenever any of them felt like giving up, Inuyasha had been the one to encourage them to keep going. In some ways Inuyasha was so forgiving it was beyond understanding. For all his insults and for all his aggression, Inuyasha could be…damningly gracious. Kikyo being, well, Kikyo. Sango stealing his sword. Miroku trying to kill him. Shippo pulling trick after trick. None of those things ever drove him away.

That wasn’t to say Inuyasha didn’t get irritable or react poorly when said things happened but he did tend to let things go eventually and truly act like nothing happened. And his brand of love was protection and providing so there was that too.

So maybe it wasn’t all that surprising that being kind and gentle was his calm state of being. Now that he was more comfortable and no one was in imminent danger of dying a horrible, painful death; now that Kagome had been returned to him and everything worked out, how his natural being manifested was different was all.

But his anxiety still did rear it’s ugly head on occasion. New things. Unexpected things. Any slightly uncomfortable thing and he’d instantly snap his abrasive behavior back into place. There were also his triggers of course but those could be negated.

For example, he never slept with his back exposed and now that Kagome was, sorta, an extension of himself, his body decided to make him skittish at night if she too was left ‘open to attack.’ Not fun for anyone involved - the amount of twitching alone had kept them both awake until they figured out the issue.

“Don’t know how to be a father,” he sighed sadly - the purring sound grounding to halt, “So maybe…maybe kids isn’t something we should do. What…what if I hurt them? They won’t be like me. They’ll be mostly human. I’ll be too rough.”

“No because of that fear, I imagine you’d treat them like they might shatter,” Kagome pointed out and with that, Inuyasha reached over to intertwine their fingers.

“I could turn one day. You…or they might get hurt and I’ll make it worse,” he offered in a small voice, “I’m dangerous. I shouldn’t…and what if they can’t control what I give them? What if they’re born and…and they’re just like that all the time?”

Turning her head to look at his defeated face, Kagome sighed and waited for him to look at her. When he did, the worry mixed with longing made her heart ache. He wanted kids. That much was clear from his expression as was the fact that he didn’t trust himself.

“Inuyasha, I always bring you back, don’t I?” she pointed out and with a faint nod of acknowledgment, her statement seemed to soothe some of the anxiety that needed checking, “And our baby will be part me too. So it’ll have both….”

“It could purify itself. Hurt itself,” he countered shakily, “And we’re happy just the two of us. What if I’m a bad father and you end up hating me? What if it ends up being a mistake? Ruins everything?”

“I will never abandon you,” Kagome promised as she brought his hand up to her lips and gave his thumb a quick kiss, “Never.”

A nod and a relieved sigh. Like he knew that to be the case but wanted to hear it anyway. There was still some tension though which meant his fears hadn’t been addressed completely and so Kagome waited for him to continue. It had taken a few months but anymore he discussed everything with her. From feelings to fears to his past. The only thing off the table was Kikyo but that was more her hang up than his.

From his perspective, he found himself much lighter when he heard her opinion rather than just imaging what she was thinking. His inner monologue was usually depressing and rather cruel. Always assuming everyone hated him or was upset with him in some way. That everyone thought the worst. How he needed to receive love was verbal affirmations. Kagome would’ve thought it was touch but she discovered words were much more effective. What would’ve happened if she just told him back then how deeply he was loved? But, alas, she didn’t and it didn’t matter. In fact, that would’ve been worse. What if he achieved this and then had her taken away?

“I mean, do you want kids? You’ve never really said…” Inuyasha asked wearily and Kagome knew if she said yes, he’d do whatever she wanted. Even if it terrified him.

No. This needed to be his choice. His decision.

“What do you want?”

For a long moment, he was quiet before he swallowed and closed his eyes.

“I think you want them,” he answered evasively before pulling up one knee and fidgeting slightly, “And I don’t know. I want…I want, you know, the type of things Sango and Miroku have with their brats. And what I had with my mother before she got sick. I want someone to…to…you know, there’s just some type of connection. I…I wouldn’t mind being a brat’s person.”

“Their person?” Kagome asked curiously and Inuyasha let out a long sigh as he swayed his knee.

“Like…like you know they’ll take care of you. You scrape your knee. They fix it. You get hungry, they give you snacks. You get sad and just…just they….,” Inuyasha floundered before seemingly choosing a word to describe what he meant, “A helper. I wouldn’t mind being their helper.”

“You’d be the best helper,” Kagome sighed affectionately and Inuyasha eyes fluttered open.

“You really think so? I don’t have the…the warm thing going…”

Nodding, Kagome gently rolled onto her side and scooted her back against his torso. Like clockwork, he assumed their former position and sighed contentedly.

“You…” she belatedly started to address his comment but he was already off to the races.

“I could work on that though. You know, with the twins,” Inuyasha opined hopefully - like he was trying to convince her that he could be a good father and encourage her to say yes, “See…see if I could get better at the whole…whole warm thing. I bet I could get the hang of it in a month or two. I mean look at how fast I mastered Tessaiga. You wouldn’t have to worry about…about me scarring the kid.”

“That has never been a concern,” Kagome chided affectionately earning a frustrated grunt. Oh yeah, he was trying to get her to just make the decision or convince her to just agree with his decision. A decision he’d clearly already made.

“Inuyasha, I know you’d be a great daddy,” Kagome finally yawned - earning a faint blush, “But don’t push yourself just because you think I want this. I only want babies if you do too. I’m honestly okay either way.”

She felt him inhale deeply.

“I think…I think I’ll see if…if I can do the warm thing then we can decide,” Inuyasha hummed before adding hesistantly, “I think I can do it but I wanna be sure.”

“I…”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure I could do it,” Inuyasha continued to think out loud, “But I just want to be sure, ya know? And I want you to be sure I’m good for it.”

At this, Kagome laughed softly despite herself - the hand by her head sliding up to cup his. Curling her fingers between his fingers, she pressed her fingertips against his palm.

“I know you can do…”

“J-just think about it,” Inuyasha interrupted shakily as he gave her hand a light squeeze “A-and I’ll think about it. And we can…talk about it when we’re sure.”

The miko grinned and replied with a soft laugh, “Sure.”

“Will you be mad if I…I think about it and say no?” he asked hesitantly and Kagome shook her head - making some of the tension seep out of him. For a long time, he was quiet and Kagome was just about to pass out when she heard his voice - small and timid - whisper those three little words he didn’t say that often.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

“I know. You show me all the time,” she affirmed and with a timid half-smile, Inuyasha flexed his hand ever so.

“Just want to make sure you know…”

“I do.”

“And you still love me, right?”

“Always.”

“Okay. Just want to make sure…”

#inukag fluff week 2021 #inukag #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #inuyasha #writing #kagome #inukag fanfic

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

i really am just so excited for part two of the roadtrip au and knowing it might be from obi-wan's perspective??? seeing obi-wan fawn over anakin while anakin dotes on him?? i'm losing my mind.

hey!!! bless!!!! i know i said it would be part 1, part 2, part 3, but i started writing part 2 and it's like already 2.2k long and they're just in Pennsylvania so i think we should all start thinking of this story as part 1 (finished, posted), ARC 2 (very long, is in segments, depending on what people wanna see and what road trip shenanigans i can think up), and part 3 (tbd)

anyway here's the 2.2k (squick: a/b/o, mpreg)

“Uh, sir? Are you...alright?”

That’s the gas station attendant. Obi-Wan barely resists the urge to thunk his head on the side of the bathroom stall. The only thing stopping him is how absolutely unsanitary it would be, and he already feels dirty enough. He pulls a few more squares of toilet paper from the dispenser and wipes at his mouth.

Of all the pregnancy symptoms he hates, he thinks morning sickness is the one he hates the most. And it’s the one that seems to be, for some reason, sticking around the longest.

He’d never even known how much of a misnomer morning sickness is, but it’s not like it’s only happening in the morning. He’ll feel nauseous halfway through the day, mid-afternoon, early evening.

His doctor and close friend at the hospital, Bant, had assured him this was normal and nothing to worry about. But it’s hard not to worry about it, especially when he lives with an Alpha who worries about everything.

“Just fine, thank you,” Obi-Wan says politely as he flushes the toilet and leaves before he can watch his breakfast spiral down and disappear. That’ll only make him feel even more sick.

The girl wrings her hands as she watches him wash his, and he has to take pity on her. She can’t be older than eighteen. “Morning sickness,” he tells her, placing a hand on the virtually unnoticeable swell of his belly.

“Oh!” she says. Obi-Wan fights the urge to grimace when he sees her eyes dart down to his unmarked neck. He knows how it looks. He knows how it sounds. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s quite alright,” he says. It’s not, but it is. Obi-Wan doesn’t want to have this conversation, doesn’t want to talk to this girl anymore. They’re passing through a small town in central Pennsylvania. He’s a pregnant, unmated, thirty-eight year old male omega. A rarity. A talking point. He doesn’t want to talk to her, he wants--

There’s a loud knock on the door to the bathroom. “Obi-Wan? Are you alright? Is there someone in there with you? I thought I heard voices. Obi-Wan? I’m coming in, Obi-Wan.”

Anakin.

Obi-Wan gets halfway through drying his hands before Anakin’s there, crowding him against the sink and nosing at his face and neck.

“Sir, this is a bathroom for omegas only!” the gas station attendant protests, but Anakin growls at her.

As much as the pregnancy has made Obi-Wan lose parts of himself to his Omegan side, it’s been ten times worse for Anakin for some reason. As far as Alphas go, Anakin’s always been a thoughtful, respectful one. Quick to anger, perhaps, but never violent or suspicious.

Now it’s like everyone in the world has done something to personally offend Anakin. Everyone but Obi-Wan.

If he didn’t feel such a burning, unignorable need to get to Seattle, Obi-Wan would have called the whole trip off weeks ago.

But he couldn’t then and he definitely can’t now, not when they’ve both taken the time off of work and Obi-Wan’s let his doctor know he’ll be out of the state and they’re already in Pennsylvania.

He’ll just let Anakin do whatever he needs to do to feel alright with taking a pregnant, unmated omega across the country. It’s not as if it’s a hardship to put up with all the scentings and hugs and looming and protectiveness.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Which just makes Obi-Wan feel even more guilty, the way he’s using Anakin like this. His dearest, closest friend, who is helping him in such an amazing way, and every time he touches him, it’s all Obi-Wan can do to not arch up into the touch.

He wishes he could blame it on the pregnancy hormones, the way his instincts are going haywire to keep an alpha--any alpha--close. But it’s not. It’s Anakin. It’s the fact that Obi-Wan is hopelessly, irreversibly in love with the alpha.

The touches and the scenting don’t mean what he wants them to. It doesn’t mean anything, the way Anakin pushes his shirts and sweaters to Obi-Wan’s chest and watches him put them on. He’s an observant man, his alpha. He knows Obi-Wan likes wearing his scent now that he’s pregnant. It’s comforting.

So even though it doesn’t mean anything at all, the way Anakin’s hands roam over his waist and stomach and hips as he growls at the poor gas station attendant, Obi-Wan has to fight to not push back into the touches, to not scent him in return.

He’s afraid once he does, he won’t be able to stop. The thought of it, of marking the beautiful, strong, virile alpha with his smell, is too addicting to ever risk trying.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just a bit of morning sickness,” he says lightly, touching Anakin’s chest gently. “She was just checking up on me.”

Anakin glares at the girl and starts to herd Obi-Wan out of the bathroom. “Not hers to check up on,” he mutters, hands latching onto Anakin’s hips and guiding him through the aisles of brightly colored chips and candy.

Obi-Wan thinks that for both of their sakes he should remind Anakin that he’s not his to check up on either, but he doesn’t want to, not when he can pretend for a little bit longer.

“I think I would like to lie down in the back for a bit,” he says, holding his stomach. “Just until we get out of this state.”

Anakin agrees immediately, like he knew he would. “Okay, Obi,” he murmurs, opening the car door for him. They’d laid down their suitcases in the wells behind the two front seats, and Anakin had thrown a couple of blankets over the entire area to make a sort of makeshift nest for Obi-Wan to sleep in should he want to.

They’ve only been driving for four hours, but Obi-Wan already wants to. He’s painfully on edge.

He hadn’t understood how hard it would be to convince his hindbrain and body to leave the safety of their apartment, but all he wants now is to nest somewhere safe for him and the baby. It would have been impossible to do this without Anakin.

“Alright,” the alpha says. “Um. Wait. Here.”

He shucks off his sweatshirt, a faded college one that Obi-Wan’s been coveting with his eyes since Anakin had put it on this morning. “Oh, dear one, no,” he forces himself to say anyway. “It’s December. You need a sweatshirt.”

“I’ll turn up the heat,” Anakin holds it out insistently, stubbornly. “Take it, come on.”

Obi-wan can only make himself hesitate for a second more before he’s snatching the soft fabric that smells like sunlight linen honeydew out of his hands and holding it greedily to his chest. “Alright.”

Under the weight of the alpha’s watchful eyes, Obi-Wan crawls into the backseat and curls up with his head diagonal from the driver’s seat. He thinks it’ll be nice to wake up and see Anakin’s profile whenever he wants to without additional shifting.

“Oh shit,” Anakin curses suddenly. “I was going to buy a coffee.” The alpha pauses, clearly torn between going back inside and not wanting to leave the omega alone in the car. But Obi-Wan knows Anakin, and he needs his coffee.

“Oh,” he says as if he’s just remembering something himself, “can you get me one of those bananas on the counter? I think they’re good for babies.”

That, obviously, changes everything for Anakin who straightens instantly. “Bananas are good for babies,” he declares, nodding his head before narrowing his eyes. “Would you...can I lock the door? I won’t be long. Just for safety.”

Obi-Wan blinks and purses his lips to stop his little smile. His alpha can be so silly. Safety. In the middle of the afternoon in rural Pennsylvania. “Okay, alpha,” he agrees before he even realizes that he really shouldn’t be calling Anakin alpha. Especially not when the other man always reacts so strongly to it.

Case in point, he thinks to himself sadly as Anakin’s hand spasms on the car door handle before he slams it and hustles away, almost at a run.

With a long sigh, he flops back down into his nest and squirms until he gets comfortable. There’s a pillow close to his hand that he hugs to his chest when he realizes it’s Anakin’s pillow from his bed at home. It smells amazing, a mix of both of them together.

Ever since he’d told the alpha he was pregnant, Obi-Wan’s fallen asleep in Anakin’s bed more often than not. It’s a comfort thing, one that Obi-Wan feels intensely guilty about. Surely if he keeps being so clingy and whiny and Omegan, Anakin will get sick of him.

And this is just the beginning of the pregnancy. He knows rationally that Anakin loves him as a friend, a brother, but how long is that love going to last if Obi-Wan can’t get a handle on his goddamn hormones? Anakin hadn’t signed up for any of this. It’s not even his pup. How much is Obi-Wan willing to put him through just because he can’t imagine a life without the alpha in it?

Wouldn’t it be the best thing for the both of them to cut their losses now? Bail and Breha had told Obi-Wan he could move in with them for the duration of the pregnancy if he needed to. The only thing that stopped him from saying yes immediately had been the hope that Anakin would be willing to stay with him, keep living with him even after he’d fucked up so much.

And the alpha, by some miracle, hadn’t left, hadn’t moved out. But Obi-Wan can’t shake the thought that he will soon, that this will all get to be too much. Obi-Wan’s omega whimpers at the back of his mind at the idea that one day the alpha will be gone.

The scent of distressed omega fills the car as Obi-Wan feels his bottom lip start to wobble.

Alright, the influx of hormones that are wreaking havoc on his emotions is probably the pregnancy symptom he hates the most. But morning sickness is still up there, too.

He sniffs into Anakin’s college sweatshirt and tries to think happy thoughts. He shouldn’t make Anakin worry about his emotions when he’s already spending so much time worried about his physical health.

How much is Obi-Wan going to take advantage of Anakin’s kindness?

The doors unlock with a beep, signaling his alpha’s return to the car.

It doesn’t take Anakin even a second to catch onto Obi-Wan’s recent spiral of emotion, but at least he won’t know why unless Obi-Wan tells him.

“Obi?” he asks frantically, as soon as he opens the car door. “Obi, are you alright? Did something happen? Did someone see you--?”

“Put the coffee down before you spill it,” Obi-Wan instructs after peeking out of his sweatshirt haven. “I’m alright, Anakin. It’s just the hormones. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Anakin shakes his head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

The statement pulls a wry smile from Obi-Wan. “Oh, I can think of a few things,” he murmurs, touching his belly with a pointed, gentle hand. Before Anakin can say anything about that, he continues quickly. “I was just wondering about something, I’m fine, really. Really.”

And then, knowing he shouldn’t but also knowing it’ll distract Anakin enough from this line of questioning, he tilts his head back to expose his neck and says, “Can we drive, alpha?”

The coffee cup still clutched in Anakin’s hands bursts open under the force of his grip. He really should have put it down.

Anakin curses up a storm as he shakes the hot liquid off of his skin, and Obi-Wan sits up worriedly. Anakin was bothered so much by Obi-Wan calling him that that he accidentally hurt himself. No more, the omega resolves. He can take a hint.

“Are you alright?” he asks, grabbing at Anakin’s hand to examine the red skin.

“I’m fine!” Anakin yelps, jumping away. “I just--I’m just going to go wash this off. Um. And get more coffee.”

He slams the door shut, and Obi-Wan wilts as he watches him go. He can’t even follow after him because Anakin’s locked the doors with his car key. He’s done enough already.

“Oh baby,” he tells his stomach. “I don’t think I’m ever going to have that alpha figured out.”

The baby is still and, of course, silent, but Obi-Wan takes comfort in their presence anyway. They can’t leave him. Not yet, at least.

Gingerly, he maneuvers his way out of his nest so he can reach his messenger bag he’d left in the foot of his passenger seat. It takes some finangling, but finally he’s able to fish out his headphones. As he resettles into his nest, surrounded on all sides by Anakin’s scent, he notices the bunch of bananas thrown in the driver’s seat.

Obi-Wan snorts at his silly alpha, but can’t deny that he’s touched at the same time.

It’s extremely easy to find the track he wants to listen to, what with how often he listens to it these days. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that can get him to fall asleep.

He pulls up the downloaded homemade album Anakin had given him for Christmas four years back. When he presses play, his alpha’s deep melodic voice spills into his ears.

“Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote, the droghte of March hath perced to the roote…”

Of course he can’t be sure, but he’s fairly certain he’s asleep by the time Anakin comes back to the car.

#asks #squick tag: a/b/o #squick tag: mpreg #prompt fill #roadtrip au #oh?? its somehow MORE angsty now that obi-wan's POV is being explored???#is ANYONE surprised??? lmao #(no)#also yes at the end obi-wan is listening to anakin recite the general prologue of the canterbury tales with the original english #that anakin learned how to pronounce correctly so he could make obi-wan the best christmas present ever #was it going to be a love confession too but he chickened out at the last second??? yah #will anakin get jealous obi-wan's always lsitening to something on his phone and demand to know what it is??? yah #poor dumb men

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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years

Text

have you seen baby?

pairing: bucky barnes x reader x natasha romanoff

word count: 3,196

summary: You and your two lovers haven’t gotten to spend much time together. Also, sex pollen.

warnings: Bad words. Filthy, filthy smut. Sex pollen.

a/n: Thank you so much to @cake-writes for this commission! I loved writing it and I really hope you enjoy it!

It’s late.

Well. Relatively late. Nearing three in the afternoon, and Natasha hadn’t seen you. Of course, that barred that morning when she woke up to your pretty face still sleeping beside her. Unfortunately, Bucky was on a mission, otherwise she’d get to see his equally as pretty face on your other side. It was disappointing. There was just something so sweet about waking up to the two loves of her life.

But now, it was almost three, and you hadn’t even emerged from your lab for lunch.

Which is why she headed down two floors to the huge lab that you, Tony, and Bruce shared. You kind of played as an inbetween for the both of them, wanting to know it all and then some. It was precious.

But it also meant that you had a bad habit of getting lost in your work and not emerging for hours or sometimes days. You had been getting better about it, if only because Bucky and Natasha were always on your ass about it.

Which is only because they love you. So much. Like. So so much.

“Have you seen Baby?” Natasha asked Sam, who was wandering through the kitchen after his workout.

He had a protein shake in his hand, sweat dripping from his brow. “No, can’t say I have. And you know you can call her by her name when it comes to other people, right?”

She rolled her eyes and gave him a look. “Her name is Baby.”

“To you.”

“To Bucky and me,” she retorted. “And besides, she doesn’t even respond to her name when it’s coming from us anymore.” A small smile crept up on her lips. “It’s adorable.” But she was on a mission. She had a little box that came in with the mail that’s a present just for you.

And sometimes Bucky, depending on how he was feeling.

But Natasha didn’t like being touched. She liked to give, but never to receive. Her therapist said it had to do with the various traumas that she’d taken on while growing up in the Red Room. Her body had never been her own during that time. She’d been hurt over and over and over again, to the point where someone touching her body in a sexual way sent her into a panic attack.

Bucky was mostly the same way. He had a hard time with sexual touch, though he’d gotten a lot better about it.

It was just one of those things that Natasha had to deal with. Not that it was hard. She loved taking care of you with Bucky’s help. Their little pillow princess.

You were always the smart girl. Some could argue that you were smarter than both Bruce Banner and Tony Stark simply because you knew both fields and then some. You tended to become… obsessed. You had to know more about everything just for the sake of knowing more. But with that, your mind was always going a million miles an hour. Which is why when it came to the bedroom, it was really nice to just be able to let go and not think for a while. You got to be their dumb little baby girl. It was always about you when it came to sex.

When it came to who needed cuddles and affection, that was when it was their turn. You slept in the middle of them, cradled between them like a precious pearl. You fought off their nightmares for them, their fears. You made them see that they were more than the weapons they had been crafted into. You provided relief for each other in different ways.

Before you had come along, Bucky and Natasha’s love had been volatile. They were missing a piece of the puzzle, even if they hadn’t realized it.

And then their precious little princess had been hired on as a scientist, and their lives were forever changed. They knew immediately that you were the one for them, their missing piece.

Of course, it had taken a while to get you to understand just what they wanted. You might be the smartest in the lab, but when it came to relationships…

Which is what brought her to today. You’d been a little… off lately. Of course, that could be because her and Bucky had been on back to back missions for the past few months. There hadn’t been a lot of time for the three of you all together, which was always frustrating. It was the longest amount of time the three of you hadn’t gotten to all be together since becoming a triad.

And they felt even worse when they both had to leave on missions and leave you all by your lonesome.

Maybe they’d get you a kitten. You wouldn’t have time for a puppy, but a cat? You’d love that. A little lab buddy. Or maybe they’d get you one of those senior cats with three legs that was deaf in one ear. Yeah, you’d love that.

But then it would die a lot quicker than a kitten, and they’d have to pick up the pieces because that would destroy you. But then you’d also be so happy that you got to give the cat a really good few years at the end.

Whatever. She’d talk to Bucky about it when he got home and they could make a decision.

But the little box.

The elevator down to the lab seemed to take forever, the silence mocking her since Tony absolutely hated elevator music and refused to let it play in the Tower. But was even more unsettling was the fact that you weren’t in the lab.

“Hey, have you seen Baby?” Natasha asked Tony, who was fiddling with something on his tablet.

“It’s still weird that you call her that to everyone.”

“It’s her name.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Her name is—”

“Baby,” Natasha said, glaring at him. “Yes, I know. Have you seen her?”

“You disgust me.” The man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “I think she went down to the spare testing room. Something about an unknown vapor.”

An unknown vapor? You hadn’t mentioned that. Then again, you’d been kinda quiet lately.

She headed down another few floors, bearing the silence as she went through a mental list of things she needed to get done. It was your birthday soon. She needed to make sure all three of you could get off, and she’d plan something really special. You deserved it.

The testing room you’re in has all floor to ceiling windows for walls, but she can’t see you.

“Strange,” she muttered under her breath. She headed for the doors, and her eyes widened as she saw you through the glass.

You were lying on the ground, sweat dripping from your brow, with your hand in your pants. From the… rapid way your hand was moving, there was no mistaking what was happening.

But why the hell were you touching yourself right there where anyone could walk by and see you?! Not that she didn’t like it. She loved watching you touch yourself and she often ordered you to when she was in a dominating mood. It was so much fun watching you edge yourself.

No, it was the whole public thing that was confusing her.

You looked up as she started to push the doors open, her eyes widening. “N-Natasha, no!” You shouted.

But it was too late. A sickly sweet substance filled her nose, and seconds later, she felt a strange heat creeping up over her. What the hell was happening? And why did her skin feel so warm?

“N-Natasha,” you whimpered, rolling on your side. Your fingers were still rubbing desperately at your clit, trying to find some kind of release. “Nattie, it hurts. It hurts. M-Make it stop.”

And god damn it. Her precious lover begging her to make whatever it was stop hurting? She was gonna figure out a way to make it stop hurting.

She crawled towards her, frowning as she saw a broken test tube on the floor. “What the hell is this?” She couldn’t read the label on it, the ink smeared. Tossing it to the side, she finally made it to you. “W-What hurts, Baby? What hurts?”

Your glassy eyes were wild as your hips bucked up in the air, a vein on your forehead popping out. “F-Fuck me. Fuck me, Nattie, please,” she begged, whining desperately. “Oh, my god, I need it. I need it. Please.”

“H-Here? Baby, wha—”

“Natasha, please, I am literally beg… begging you. Please,” you cried, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Well. It’s a good thing she brought the box with her. She ripped it open, pulling out the new harness that she ordered with it. “Okay. Okay, angel, but you gotta let me get my strap on, okay?” She asked sweetly as she stripped down. She didn’t care who saw. She had to help her baby girl.

Your response of a weak whimper only made her go faster.

She practically ripped off your clothes, a groan tearing its way out of her throat as she spread your legs. You were so wet it was obscene, your poor little clit swollen.

“Oh, pretty girl,” she cooed as she ran her fingers through your slick folds, slipping two in with ease. “You didn’t ask permission to touch yourself, sweetheart… But I think I can let this time slide…” With her one free hand, she pulled the new dildo out of its packaging, smirking at the whimper that escaped your lips as you saw it.

It was pretty. Really pretty. Eight inches, made of that realistic feeling silicone, and a gorgeous opal color. Her and Bucky ordered it especially with you in mind, since opals are your favorite.

“N-Natasha, please…” You grinded against her fingers, your pussy clenching as you tried to get more.

“Oh, good girl… You look so pretty, Baby.” She used her one hand to attach the dildo to the harness, her eyes flicking back and forth between the heat between your legs and her fumbling fingers as she finally got it secure. She ran it through your folds, getting it nice and slicked up.

That’s when the doors opened again, the familiar sound of size twelve boots coming towards them. “What the hell is that smell and why are you two—” Bucky broke off as he felt the heat. “Oh, shit.”

Natasha grinned as she looked over at Bucky. They were both clearly feeling the heat that the mysterious substance had caused, but not nearly as bad as you were. “I caught our little baby touching herself without permission… out where anyone could walk by and see her.”

The third member of your triad was already working on undoing his belt, tearing it off so quickly that it ripped a few of his belt loops, leaving little holes in his pants. “Has our baby been a little naughty?” He asked as he stripped down, kicking off his boots. He grasped your face with his metal hand, the cool digits a welcome reprieve to the heat that had overwhelmed you. “Princess, have you been a bad girl? Huh?” He lightly slapped your cheek, just enough to get you to answer. “When I ask a question, I expect an answer, sweetheart.”

You nodded, whining as you nuzzled your head against his cool hand, the angle hurting your neck a little since you were still on your back. “Yes. Yes, Bucky. I’ve been so bad, I’m so sorry…” You looked up at him with glittering eyes, your cheeks tear stained. “I need you. Please.”

His blue eyes were soft as he leaned down, stealing a soft kiss from your swollen lips. “What’s your safeword, Baby?” He asked, his free hand wrapping around his swollen cock.

“Bracelet.”

“And if you can’t talk?” Natasha probed, still sliding her strap through your folds.

Your hand wrapped around Bucky’s wrist, squeezing twice.

“Good girl,” he said, kissing you once more. His strong hands flipped you over easily, placing you on your hands and knees.

Almost immediately after, Natasha’s hand came down on your ass, causing you to jerk forward. “You better suck Bucky’s cock, Baby,” she said as a smirk curled up the edges of her lips. “If you want me to fuck you, you better put that pretty mouth to good use.”

“But—”

“Did she stutter, angel?” Bucky asked as he grabbed her chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Tasha gave you an order. Are you going to be a good girl and listen?” His flesh thumb ran over your plump bottom lip. “Don’t you wanna be a good girl for us? Huh?”

Fuck. Yeah, you did. You always wanted to be a good girl for your two lovers.

Matching moans fell from Bucky and Natasha’s mouths as your tongue flicked out to slide up his length, circling around the head. You always gave absolutely filthy head, your eyes watering as you choked around his length.

As you took him all the way, Natasha slid her strap into your wet heat, all the way to the hilt. You let out a choked moan, your eyes wide as she started to thrust in and out of you. Her fingers dug into your hips deliciously, the acrylics she kept at a relatively short length leaving little crescent moon indents. You loved it. The pain felt so fucking good.

“We should’ve made you wear your butt plug, Baby.” Bucky’s jaw clenched as he reached to gather some of your slick on his finger, before circling it around your tight hole. “Could’ve had you waiting for us to fuck you proper while I was on a mission all week…”

Natasha’s hips slammed against yours as she pressed her lips to Bucky’s. “We don’t use the diamond one enough considering how much we paid for it.”

You pulled off of Bucky’s cock with a pop, glaring at the two of them. “Is this the time to be talking about how often we use the butt plug?”

“Did I say you could stop sucking my cock?” Bucky growled as he grabbed your face and started throat-fucking you. “It’s been too long since we put you in your place, angel. You’re getting mouthy.”

“She’s always been mouthy.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks as Natasha and Bucky’s thrusts sent waves of pleasure through you. The heat that had consumed your body was faded, and all you could think about was making your doms feel good.

All the background noise that had been in your mind over the past few weeks was gone, drowned out by the praises coming from your lovers. All the self-doubt that coursed through your mind was gone when they loved you like this.

You choked around Bucky’s cock as you came suddenly, the release coming over you like a wave.

It only seemed to spur them on more as Natasha fucked you that much harder, Bucky’s fingers scratching soothingly against your scalp as he got closer and closer to the edge. You could always tell when he was close by the way his thrusts got more and more sloppy.

Natasha’s hand reached down and around to rub your clit, the pretty opal dildo sliding in and out of you with ease. She wished she had her phone if just so she could record the moans falling from you and Bucky’s mouths.

Hell, she’d make it her fucking ringtone.

It wasn’t long before Bucky came with a shout, spilling down your throat.

He groaned, his head falling back as he felt you licking him clean. He let you finish before pulling out, getting on his knees and kissing you sweetly.

Your eyes were dazed, a little bit of cum you hadn’t swallowed dribbling out of your mouth. You looked so damn pretty like that. Dumb from pleasure.

“You gonna cum again for us, Baby?” He asked sweetly, holding your face in his hands.

A nod, your lips starting to move to form words but not quite getting there. Adorable.

He watched it coming. Watched as your breath hitched and your eyes rolled back in your head before you let out a cry. You blacked out as your second orgasm ripped through you, violently like an earthquake. A force of nature.

“Seriously? In the lab?!” Tony demanded, glaring at them from the entrance. “What the hell happened?!”

Bucky and Natasha were very blasé faire about their own nudity, but they didn’t like anyone else seeing you. The redhead reached for the little test tube that she’d tossed to the side when she’d first gotten there as he covered you up with his leather jacket, cradling your exhausted body to his chest. He pressed soft kisses to your forehead as he rocked you back and forth.

“I think it was whatever was in this,” Natasha said as she looked at it curiously, trying to make out what the writing on the label was. “... Sexus… Pollinis?”

Tony grumbled as he walked over and grabbed the tube, looking it over. “It’s literally Latin for sex pollen. Which probably means exactly what we think.”

“Is that what the smell in the air was?” Bucky asked.

Natasha nodded. “I think most of it spilled on her, which is why she was so affected but we weren’t.”

“Okay. I’ll… clean all this stuff up,” Tony said. “Get her out of here and in a bed. Or a bath.” He shook his head as he started to call for the robots that mopped the floor. “Animals.”

You came to in your shared room, curled up between them in your giant tub. “Wha’ happened?”

“Hey, baby girl,” Bucky cooed, his fingers massaging your sore shoulders. “How do you feel?”

For some reason, you started crying. It just came over you.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Natasha said, cupping your face and wiping your tears. “Baby, what’s going on? Huh? Talk to us…”

“I-I’ve just been f-feeling so alone a-and this is the first time w-we’ve all been together in two m-months,” you whimpered in a shattered glass voice, barely able to string together a full sentence through your hiccups. “A-And you’ve been gone s-so often that all I can think is m-maybe I’m j-just here because you’re both d-dominants and needed a s-s-submissive!”

Bucky and Natasha’s faces both fell and they squeezed you that much closer to them.

“Oh, Baby, no,” Natasha said. Her heart hurt as she realized that that’s why you’ve been so off lately. “We love you so much. So, so much.”

“I think it’s time we stopped going on so many missions anyway, Baby,” Bucky added, his fingers tickling up and down your back. “I’m tired of not being home with my girls.”

“Really?” You asked softly, looking at him like he’d just told you he’d give you the moon.

“Yeah,” Natasha said, bringing your hand to her lips. She pressed a kiss to your left ring finger as her eyes met Bucky’s, a knowing look on his face. Maybe soon there’d be a ring on that finger. “Really, Baby.”

#bucky barnes x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #bucky barnes x reader x natasha romanoff #bucky x reader x natasha

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power-of-plot · 3 years

Note

Iida, Mirio, and Aizawa dating hcs please

Of course! But holy cow apparently this seriously inspired me, i hope this is ok xd

I I D A

Oh yes robot boi. Iida is someone nerdy in every aspect, his language even with close friends like Midoriya is very formal and polite, the same rule would apply when it comes to his significant other. Unlike what some would think, this doesn’t give your conversations a cold touch, on the contrary, it’d make him look chivalrous.

He’s a classic gentleman, he’d be the kind who opens the door and waits for you to walk in first or gives you his jacket when it’s too cold and you don’t have anything to cover yourself with, the second one would happen often in the classroom if you’re sensitive to cold. We are talking about U.A have you seen the measures of the classrooms and the entire area? It’s impossible they don’t have those huge air conditioners.

He highly respects the rules wich means, no PDA, on a certain level, no kisses to be specific. That doesn’t mean he won’t give you any affection, though every gear of his robotic soul is having a bad time working properly inside, he’d hold your hand or put his over your shoulder pulling you close when you’re sitting together.

He definitely would do that thing of caressing you with his thumb. As you expected it from Tenya, this is a sort of robotic motion, his finger would move like a metronome but that doesn’t make it any less nicer, he is slow and gentle.

Honestly, he’d be nervous most of the time. ALSO! Tenya is very thoughtful, he’d ask (often verbally) if you’re okay with whatever he’d do, as times goes by the questions turn non verbal, for example he’d hold his hand above yours waiting for you to give green light or grasp it.

“..Can i hold your hand?” “Sure!” “*DEEP INHALE AND BLUSH*” He couldn’t help to blush the first times. Specially on the firsT kiss but how would it be? A clasic scenenario after classes! And after you both have grown comfortable enough to each other’s touch. Seriously, if you like to go slow he's got you.

You two would be walking around in the campus after classes and he feels the tension grow.. he is analyzing every detail, he wants to ask but what if things get extremely awkward, he’s very tall- he’d have to bend down slightly (unless you’re nearly as tall as him) to do it so what if you flinch because it was unexpected.. he stops walking, he simply manages to say your name. You stared into each other's eye and then it happened, a big smile unexplainably forms in his lips complemented by a scarlet color across his whole face, his haircut made his head look like a strawberry.

There are going to be days you don't see him as much as you'd like, Tenya is very comitted to his hero patrols, he certainly would do extra hours from time to time or if the situation called for it. Let him know you like his hero suit! He’s thankful it has a helmet otherwise his flustered face would be exposed.

Whatever position you cuddle in Iida would wrap his arms around you, not only that, he’d interlock his fingers so he has a nice grip. His cuddles would be the classic spooning or having your head on his shoulder with your arm over his chest and in case you worry about his arm, this guy doesn’t know limb numbness- he literally tenses and holds his arms up every five minutes.

He sends good morning/good night texts often on the weekends since you're practically living together thanks to the dormitory system, they vary depending on the day, some are a reminder to get a proper amount of sleep or! To get done with homework so you can enjoy your free time and maybe ask if he can go over to study *cough spend time together*

He'd send the classic heart emoji, very detailed but easy to comprehend videos explaining any difficult lesson and history related stuff like paint restorations or facts about iconic sculptures. Please don’t send him those videos of people accidentally breaking things on museums, he’s gonna feel like something breaks inside.

M I R I O

This ray of sunshine fell for you? Your luck is so big you’d get jackpot on a slot machine on the first try-. You’re undeniably going to be good friends with Tamaki and Nejire, specially her, expect to get questions one after another without the chance to reply when she finds out you’re Mirio’s significant other, Tamaki would take it way better.

Mirio’s goofyness and confidence combined with his feelings give a unique result: he literally spoke to the boss of mafia himself twice like he was the manager in a store, but, the case is different when you’re around, he’s saying and actually good joke and suddenly.. it goes away, his mind goes blank. “So what happened after Mirio..?” “Ah.. i had practiced a lot, i don’t know what happened haha my bad!”

You’re going to get tons of his jokes and something more “intense” such as the classic “What’s in your shirt?” to make you look down so he can boop your nose with his finger, you should expect some gentle headpats as well.

If you’re shy he’s cool about it, he knows what do and adaptates to your pace, you’d start off with hand holding or rather pinky holding, he’d interwine his pinky with yours and show a bright smile. His hugs are the warmest, he doesn’t do it half-assesly, when you hug, YOU HUG, he uses both arms and slightly lifts you up! Height or strength are not a problem he’s actually one cm taller than Iida i just found out

He seems like the kind who loses their pen or eraser despite seeing it on their desk just one minute ago, if you happen to be that kind as well you’re both going to lay down your faith on poor Tamaki’s hands, i’m sure he has all his material complete.

He hardly ever gets nervous or scared by anything, things like the first kiss would go pretty smooth, instead of blushing intensely he’d just chuckle with slight disbelief, his mind is racing like “I just did that? woah!”. The biggest trouble for him would be gifts, he wants it to be perfect but asking Nejire for advice is not a good idea, roses are too formal and they don’t last long, going to the movies seems a little cliche.. his first gift would end up being a plushie of your favorite animal and a bamboo.

He’d sneak a kiss or two, specially before the class is begginning a training session, he’d send you a text telling you to go outside the changing rooms and oop! He phases through the wall poking out his head to give you a kiss kiss. If you don’t mind a prank from time to time he’d give a little scare using his quirk.

This guy is the big spoon during cuddles, no arguing! He could switch but as time goes by he’d slowly shift into the big spoon, that’s just the way he is, the most usual position would be where you’re facing each other with your limbs wrapping around the other’s body. Waking up with him would be adorable and attractive, morning and night are the only times of the day when his hair isn’t gelled into his All Might-like hairstyle, those blonde locks would frame his face, a heavenly sight.

Would send you a pic of stray animals he rescued with a “:D!” and Sir. Nighteye 'torturing' Bubble girl (half of his head visibly on a corner of the image). If you longed for a pet badly he would bring a nice dog/cat he finds around! In his hero suit to make the moment more special.

He uses the smiling emojis and emoticons! And shares videos of animals he finds adorable, if you sent him fails videos he'd laugh as long as the falls don't seem extreme or too severe, small trips on the beach or slips on the snow are fine. Mirio sends gifs i just know.

A I Z A W A

Have you taken a look at him? You must be a big The Walking Dead fan to like him lmao. Aizawa gives me an unexplainable gut feeling that he'd prefer a civilian (perhaps quirkless?) significant other over a hero, he wouldn't want his partner to go into the same dangerous situations he does.

His affection is tired, let me explain, he'd hug you and all that physical stuff but it'd kinda feel like his arms fall limply around you, still, even with his minuscule clingyness he loves you with all his might! He doesn't fall for anyone.

Not very fond of PDA, in public he'd preferr temple/forehead kisses and having your hand on the crook of his arm instead of hand holding (thinking about it Iida would do that too), seems more discret and! you don't let go when his hands are busy. He'd initiates it by gently resting your hand on his arm and sinking his hand into his pocket.

Surprise! He does smile, not that maniactic-looking grin he has sometimes during his shifts at U.A when a student impresses him, this one is less wide but somehow more tender and sweet, he tilts his head and for once his eyes seem relaxed, a relationship would make his cheeks hurt.. either for he's not used to smile so much or he smiles more than he thought he would.

If you give him a cat.. that's a strong blow straight to one of his weakest spots, he'd stare both at you and the kitten with a dumbfounded look before picking it up in his arm like a baby, his hand gravitates towards his it's head giving some nice pets before he shows a rare and somewhat bright smile "Thank you very much." Next time have a camera ready damnit! That smile rarely shows up.

He's practical, he wants his gifts to be nice but useful as well. He’d get you those mugs with candies inside, you get the candy and you can use the mug later for your coffee or tea; a power bank with a nice color or design and in case he choses something smaller: a bamboo, those one don’t wither away. Aizawa is fine with whatever you get for him, big or small he appreciates it. Sweaters, scarfs and blankets would be his favorite thing to get though, he likes to stay warm while working late at night

He’s sneaky, as an underground hero he’s used to work at times when the streets look disolated and the dark crime has more freedom to do as it pleases, he wouldn’t want to wake you up unless you asked him to. He’d leave a note on is pillow with the time he wrote it at and a short loving phrase like “i love you, i’ll be back soon, good morning”, before he leaves he’d always lift the sheet up to your neck or drag it away if you seem to be kicking it off you and give you a small kiss.

You’d find him passed out in his sleeping bag with his laptop besides him at random spots of his appartment, if it wasn’t because of the unatura position he adopts to fit in his sleeping bag he’d give you a death scare ‘cause let’s be honest he doesn’t look one hundred percent alive even when he’s awake. “Shota..? Shota can you hear me?!” “I’m not dead.”

Hibrid of big-small spoon. Most of the times you cuddle he’s asleep and you go snuggle him, his hair is a mess so better prepare to get tickled all night. He pull you close the best way he can when you’re behind him, not very comfortable for his arm but it’s worth it. He’d have you like a pillow over him, his chin over your head and both arms around you.

This man doesn’t bother typing when he can use his voice, the only situations he uses regular text messages are when he’s on shift or with you sleeping next to him. Send him gifs of kittens and a ‘i love you’ it instanstly gives him a good mood! He’d send pics of cats he sees around and gifts he bought you, doesn’t use emojis.

*COLLAPSES ON THE GROUND* Big oof- requests are open.

#mha headcanons #aizawa x reader #iida x reader #mirio x reader #fluff headcanons #requests open #mha fluff #fluff requests #my hero imagines #my hero academia #my brain is dying

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devilsodas · 3 years

Text

night hawks.

words: 1.5k

pairing: hayakawa aki x reader

also on: ao3

a/n: there is smoking throughout + talk abt memory loss if you’re not comfortable!

part ii

Maybe the second hand smoke was getting to you, but you’ve never seen Aki’s gaze appear so...deprived? Deep ocean eyes honeyed and pensive, suspended in longing. To always observe but never to hold.

And of all things, it was directed at you.

i. smoking section

“Those things can kill you, y’know.”

It’s just the two of you, for once, huddled together in the cramped booth of a hole-in-the-wall-diner. The place was practically a ghost town at this hour, the only sound being the mute murmur of the radio and the ‘clink’ of utensils between the both of you.

You were so enraptured with the anmitsu in front of you, delighted in the honeyed-sweet flavor on your tongue, that you hardly looked up from your plate. It wasn’t until the familiar sour scent of nicotine tickled your nose did your gaze meet the man across from you.

Aki takes a long drag of the cigarette--holding his breath for one, two, three seconds-- a ribbon of smoke leaves his parted lips. The usual gray almost gold in the aged yellow lights.

“Out of everything in the world, this--he bumps the head of the stick into the ashtray, crumbling the second it tapped the ceramic--isn’t what’ll make me kick the bucket.”

And the cigarette finds its rightful home back between his teeth.

Even though there wasn’t a trace of humor in his voice (when is there ever, you think) a laugh escapes you, because it was true.

Neither of you were ignorant of your occupation and the danger that followed it. As devil hunters-no-public safety devil hunters, you faced atrocities that the average person could never handle. Each time you clocked in a day was shaved off your lifespan. It’s almost guaranteed you’ll meet a bloody, bitter end the second you sign up.

In the grand scheme of things, a small stick filled with nicotine and whatever else would be a blessed way to die compared to what your other options were.

But even still, what was the point of fighting for a brighter future, risking it all for just a glimmer, if you voluntarily kept yourself from seeing it because you were too much of an addict? And you tell him as such.

Aki gives you a noncommittal hum, chewing his food.

“Besides,” You start airily, “Those things smell like crap, I don’t know how you can even shove so many in your mouth a day.”

He stops his chewing and raises a brow.

“What?”

“That’s a little hypocritical, coming from you.” He says.

You blink, taken aback.

Aki gives an exasperated look, eyebrows furrowed and frown etched into his lips. He looks at you as if you dropped the ball on some inside joke between the both of you, an important secret that seemed to slip your mind.

When the silence stales, his gaze changes from annoyance to confusion.

“..You’ve smoked before, a ton of times--you still owe me for those two packs you burned through.” He says bluntly.

“Do you have me confused for Himeno? Because I’ve never touched a cigarette in my life.”

The aged fluorescent light between you flicker and it makes his clear cobalt eyes appear to pulse as he searches your face; probing, dissecting gaze piercing right through you and it makes your stomach churn and your mouth go dry. You don’t know what it is that he’s looking for, what he sees when your eyes look back at him that make the fingers cradling the cigarette tense so strongly that it almost shivers in his grasp.

You open your mouth to speak, but his rigid face melts into something more somber.

Oh. You know that look.

Pity.

You swallow.

“Did-did I forget..again?” You ask, but you both know the answer. Aki stares at you for a moment longer, apprehension and something else you know you’ll hate in his eyes before his gaze flits away from you, staring at something just past your shared booth.

“Yeah.”

“..Ah..”

Whatever light and flighty air that mingled between you dissipated at the mention of your contract’s consequences.

If any of your coworkers were asked, they’d all answer in their own ways that you were a strong, dependable, hardworking, devil hunter. Someone you’d want in your corner when you need it most. But if you wanted someone to keep a secret or remember confidential information? You weren’t the one for the job.

In exchange for your devil’s power, it’d pick a memory of yours to eat. It wasn’t always bad--using small amounts of power only resulted in a blip slipping your mind; what you ate the day before, clothes you wore, certain conversations.

Difficult missions that require larger amounts are what do the most damage--weeks, months, even a year could pass through your mind without a trace and you’d never notice. Faces of people you should recognize now a clean slate, current events that you’d never register.(You still remember the red irate face of your buddy when, after a taxing mission, her whole existence was gone from your conscience. The look of absolute betrayal mixed with resigned grief is one thing you wish you could forget out of the myriad of memories you desperately try to hold onto.)

You couldn’t recall how Aki felt about it, or what else you’ve forgotten since you’ve known him, but the glassy look in his eyes makes your chest ache.

He licks his lips and a beat of silence follows. It’s not something unusual, it wasn't like he was much of a talker, but this time it feels just as oppressive as the grey haze drifting along your shoulders. All you could do was stare at the idle cigarette between his stiff fingers, desperate to focus on anything else besides the reason for the tension between you.

“Did I like it?”, a breath of a laugh escapes, uneasy, “The cigarette, I mean.” You look to him, floundering, hoping to distract and will away the dejected look coloring his face. To give you something you knew how to handle. A cool, stoic, dependable Aki. The Aki that doesn’t appear to be ten steps from cracking.

A beat passes, he clears his throat, and the moment is gone. Tension you didn’t notice building in your shoulders deflates and for just a second everything is okay. Just two normal co-workers in a shabby diner blowing off steam.

Like normal people do.

He shrugs and takes another drag in thought. “..I don’t think it’s something you can necessarily like. It’s more of an acquired taste.”

It wasn’t exactly the answer you wanted, but you’ll take it. Anything to escape the thought of your lacking recollection. You rolled your eyes, letting the fake irritation mask your silent sigh of relief. “ If someone’s smoking a pack a day they have to like something about it.”

He watches you silently in response and takes one last pull of smoke from the stick, closing his eyes as he inhales. You imagined how it must taste, what made such a small stick of nicotine so addicting?--was it as woodsy smooth as the smoke pillowing through the air suggested? Or was it like bitter chocolate? Dark and all consuming throughout your mouth until its hinted saccharine flavor glazed along your tastebuds? If you of all people were so dependent on such a thing it must have had a hint of sweetness to satiate your palate.

How did it taste to Aki’s tongue?

His lips part and tendrils of smoke waft towards you. Honest curiosity drives you as you lick your lips, aiming to catch a taste and your eyes dart upwards only to find his pointed downwards, half lidded. Your skin prickles and warms all over.

And of all things, it was directed at you.

Something, somewhere deep in your chest, lurched at the thought. Made your hands sweat and your knee jerk impulsively, only for it to knock with his. But he doesn’t move an inch, and maybe you’re hallucinating, but you swear you can feel the heady heat from him through the thick material of your dress pants. Feel it spread throughout your body, fervid and all consuming.

You can’t help but notice how close you two are. How the cramped and tiny booth creates its own atmosphere to dome you both together compared to the vastly empty diner surrounding it. And yet, Aki still looks at you.With so much space to cast his gaze to, he still looks at you. A heavy weight in his gaze that you’re not so sure you could handle.

Your eyes moves to a indecipherable point behind him and you inhale, deeply, and-

You can feel it deep in your throat and up your nose. The fumy, burnt stench of smoke coating your tongue and you almost gag. Coughs sputter out through your lips and in a panic you reach across the table to the soda Aki had been nursing the whole night, gulps a gallon in size. Aki throws you an irritated look when the sparse patrons look at you both sharply, but you can’t help but notice through your tear ladened eyes that the frown etched into his lips doesn’t reach the silent mirth lying deep in his gaze.

“You liar! How could anyone smoke these when they taste like that!” You say haggardly.

He’s stubbing out the cigarette, the smoke from the ashtray now a curtain to his face and you barely catch the pink on the tip of his ears.

“Some people are just hopeless addicts.”

#aki hayakawa x reader #hayakawa aki x reader #aki hayakawa #hayakawa aki #chainsaw man #x reader #reader insert #writings #did not double check this so if there r errors....

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prome-th3us · 3 years

Text

Some Runes readings and how to create Runes

Now that we're done with the meanings, let's talk about some Runes' extractions. I will talk about some if the traditional ways of reading them and then I will tell you my personal way of doing so: I really encourage you to find your own way once you're familiar with the traditional readings, because it will give you a better connection with the Runes and it will help you figure out what they want to say.

Before getting into the topic, I want to tell you something more about the meanings. Don't rely only on the "straight"/" Reversed " Meanings, but rely on what the Rune represents: what kind of success will you achieve? What kind of protection do you need? Some of them have basically the same meanings, but they are telling you something different. Let's have an example. ᛏ means "success", but the one achieved after fights and troubles, while ᛊ also means "success" but the one that a seed achieves thanks to the sun. That's what I mean.

One rune

Think about a question (it should be precise, it will make everything easier), then grab one Rune and gently throw it in front of you and see if it's straight or reversed. This is useful when in comes to a quick question like: how will be my day? Should I do this?

Basic oracle

After thinking about your question, grab a variable number of Runes and gently throw them in front of you. You will see some Runes facing upward and others downward: ignore those and concentrate only on the upward ones and if it's straight or reversed.

Nornir' oracle

It's very simple: throw three Runes sequentially:

The first one is the past and what we can't change (Urdh, the Norn of past)

The second one is the present situation (Verdandi, the Norn of present)

The third one is showing how will be the future looking at how the energies are shaping it rn (Skuld, the Norn of future)

If a Rune is facing downward, just turn it as you will do with a book's page. If you want more details, you can throw other Runes for an insight.

Oracle of the nine Runes

It goes in the same way as I will explain in the next paragraph, but there are some differences:

If a Rune is far away from the others/it's outside of your "mind scheme" ( I explain this in the next paragraph), it can be ignored or it can be more important than the others, it's your choice

The Runes near the centre are more important and personal, the others are more general

My way

Now let's see how I read them: as I said, it's a personal view and you can find it wrong, I'm not saying that this is the only correct way.

I have a scheme in my mind, depending on the question i'm asking:

If it's a question that needs an insight on the future, like "Should I go out with him/her?" Then I'm looking at the influence parts (past with influence, present with influence and so on); if the question is about me or someone I love, like "what's happening? Why am I feeling this way? What can I do?" Then I want to understand what's going on inside myself and if i'm conditioned by other people (inside/outside parts).

If a Rune is following one of the arrows, than it means that I should pay attention to it, but it depends on the shape of the extraction. Anyway usually I go for this:

Above the other Runes: this Rune is influencing the others/my path is leading in this way

Under the other Runes: this rune is kind of "bullied" by the others, I need to find more space in my life for it/ that's the origin of the problem.

Now the extraction. I don't do readings that much so when I do, I want a complete insight of the situation, so I go for 9 Runes. Think about your question, grab them and gently throw them in front of you. You will have some upright Runes which represent the present situation; leave the others for now cause they reprents the outcome. This is an example:

Now let's see where the Runes are pointing, leaving the unknown one for now.

We can see a lot of connection here:

ᛟ/ᛚ are pointing to each other

ᛜ is pointing at ᚺ

ᛗ is pointing at ᛏ

ᛏ is in the middle, so it's a central topic

Then we have three other possibilities:

ᛒ is watching over ᛜ,ᚺ,ᛚ

ᛒ and ᛉ represents two opposite aspects

ᛟ is watching over ᛜ,ᛚ,ᚺ (but I wouldn't say that, it's clear that it's connected to ᛚ)

I like the add a little more spice to the readings, this time nothing like that happened but let's just complete what can happen:

When two Runes form a cross touching each other, than they are opposite aspects of the same thing

When two or more Runes touch eachother without forming a cross, than they complete each other. They represent different aspects of the same thing and together they will give you a complete insight of it.

Let's give an example, with the question "how will this academic year go? Will I achieve my academic goals? Did I make the right choice?"

Let's start with ᛏ: success in every aspect, but after fights and struggle. It's reversed, so probably I will fail some exams and rn i'm struggling with studies or other things.

ᛟ/ᛚ᛬ Othala is reversed, so it means something like a loss of harmony in my family/clan, the loss of security that it gives. But we also have Laguz: there will be a growth, an hard one, but if we keep an eye on it should be fine. It can mean that probably my parents aren't happy with my academic choices, but this shouldn't affect what I decide because it's helping my growth: the water (Laguz) can be stirred sometimes and it can be difficult swimming through, but it will become placid again.

ᛜ/ᚺ᛬ Ingwaz is straight while Hagalaz us reversed, so we have the counterpart of Berkana and the destructive power of the hail. It can mean that we are definitely ready for a change (our college studies for example), but we should remember that changes never come without the destruction of something that was already here: we may face tests but it's what we have to do to become who we want to be.

ᛗ/ᛏ᛬ Mannaz pointing to Tiwaz is reminding us that it's ok to fail, that I am a human and this means that I have positive and negative qualities. I may be struggle and I may feel like shit for that, but i'm human and I'm not perfect, but I will get through it. Reversed means that I can't see a way out and that I have to rely on myself to find it.

ᛒ/ᛉ᛬ Berkana is straight, so we are talking about fertility. Algiz is reversed, so it's like a warning. Basically they can be saying that it's a time of personal growth and "mental fertility" as well so I did the right choice, but I shouldn't let my guard down and I remember to protect myself, both mentally and physically.

Now let's move to the future outcome:

(don't mind the position of the runes I just noticed that it's different, relay on the last pic sorry)

So the last one is ᛈ , and ᛜ/ᚺ is pointing at it.

Perth means "box", something in which you can put something else, but it's original meaning is unknown. If we take this, it can mean that our changes and our path, which we already see may be hard, once we got ok with that, it will lead to the knowledge of our faith. This means that it doesn't really matter what subjects we are studying, but the reason why we decided to do so: we can't know where this is leading but we will soon understand if it was the right choice or if we should completely change our path.

Sorry but I struggled a little with doing a reading for this question lmao, I really just grabbed nine runes without asking anything so I tried my best

How to make runes

I'm not gonna spend a lot of time on this topic, because everyone has a different way of making and preparing them.

You will see plenty of rituals on how to do so but they can be pretty difficult to do, especially if you don't have the time or possibility to be seen doing so. Here are some methods:

When I first approached to Runes I really didn't like the energy that the ones from the store had, so I made them in a quick way. I found 24 rocks, I washed them into a river with the intent of making them bond with life/reality (water is a symbol of life), then I went home and with a marker I wrote them on the rocks. Super quick and super simple. Then I slept with Them under my pillow for a week, to bond with them.

Use a little branch. Just cut it in little pieces and wrote the notes on it with a natural ink or if you can it, use a pyrography.

You can make them using the clay that you buy at a store. If you want to color Them, try using natural colors if you can.

You can buy them of course, but be careful with the energies that they have. I did find a store which has perfect runes, but I've been having mine for ages and I really don't feel like changing them.

Someday you will feel the need to cleanse them. This is what I do:

Full moon. Leave them outside for one night (I prefer on the ground, like dirt/rocks) and if they still need a cleanse or more energy, leave them for the day as well

Smoke cleanse/blowing air on them

If it's a material that goes in water, wash them

Pass them throw a flame for a fire cleanse

Then I sleep with them for some nights again, just to be sure.

And that's all for this beginner-friendly introduction to the Runes! There's still a whole world to say about them, but I will get into it in the future, for now here you can access to the whole grimoire I made and if you have any question, feel free to jump into my DMs or to make a question from my profile. I hope it helped you and that you got some interest in this amazing form of divination.

Blessed be 🌑

#norse runes #ancient runes #runes #divination

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