#written with glacier in mind
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It Started With an Appendix
Carlos Sainz x nurse!Reader
Summary: in which an inflamed appendix turns out to be the ultimate matchmaker
Warnings: medical ethics are basically thrown out the window
“Y/N, the patient in room 312 is awake,” a voice calls from the hall outside the nurses’ station.
You make your way down the bright, sterile corridor toward the private room, the scent of antiseptic lingering in the air. Taking a breath, you rap your knuckles lightly on the door before entering.
Carlos Sainz Jr. is propped up in the hospital bed, blinking slowly as the anesthesia wears off. His tousled hair and grogginess make him look adorably vulnerable.
“Hola, señorita,” he slurs with a lopsided grin as you approach. “Are you an angel? You must have fallen from heaven.”
You can’t help but giggle at his cheesy line, shaking your head in amusement. “No, Mr. Sainz, I’m your nurse. You just had your appendix removed.”
“Call me Carlos,” he insists, his Spanish accent thick and velvety. “And you’re definitely an angel to me.”
Suppressing another laugh, you check his vitals and make a note on his chart. “How are you feeling, Carlos? Any pain or nausea?”
“I feel ... floaty,” he murmurs, blinking slowly as he looks you up and down. “But you’re making me feel much better already.”
You bite your lip to contain your smile. This man is incorrigible, even fresh out of surgery. “That’s the pain medication talking, I’m afraid.”
“No, no ...” Carlos protests weakly. “You’re just ... muy bonita. So beautiful.”
His boldness makes warmth bloom in your cheeks. You clear your throat. “Why don’t you try to get some rest? The anesthesia can make people loopy for a while.”
“Don’t go,” he pouts, trying and failing to grab your hand from the bed. “Stay and keep me company, hermosa.”
You gently lay his hand back at his side. “I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything, okay?”
Carlos levels you with a look that could melt glaciers. “At least tell me your name, ángel?”
Holding his smoldering gaze, you reply softly, “It’s Y/N.”
“Y/N,” he echoes, savoring each syllable. “What a beautiful name. Maybe I’ll dream of you, Y/N ...”
With a flustered smile, you turn and exit the room, his flirtatious words still ringing in your ears. This man is going to be the death of you.
Over the next few hours, you check on Carlos periodically, each time greeted by a fresh cheesy line or thinly-veiled compliment. He’s relentless, but also strangely endearing in his drug-addled state.
“Did the sun come out or did you just smile at me?”
“Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got fine written all over you.”
“I must be in a museum, because you truly are a work of art.”
You roll your eyes at each one, but can’t deny the little thrill it sends through you. Despite his grogginess, Carlos’ charisma still shines through effortlessly.
By the time your shift ends, you’re almost disappointed you won’t get to hear any more of his terrible pickup lines. You linger a moment in his doorway after bringing him his evening dose of medication.
“Feeling any better?” You ask kindly.
Carlos gives you a crooked smile. “I feel a lot better when you’re around, querida.”
You shake your head in playful exasperation. “Get some rest. I’m off for the night.”
His expression turns almost ... wistful? “Will I see you again?”
Something warm blooms in your chest at his hopeful tone. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” you assure him. “Same time.”
The bright grin that stretches across his face is worth a million cheesy lines. “Buenas noches, mi ángel.”
You don’t bother holding back your smile this time. “Good night, Carlos.”
As you make your way home, his handsome face and melted chocolate voice keep popping into your mind unbidden.
You try to push thoughts of Carlos from your mind as you cook yourself dinner and get ready for bed. He’s just a patient — a ridiculously charming one, yes, but a patient all the same.
Still, as you drift off to sleep, his teasing grin and warm brown eyes seem seared into the back of your mind ...
The next morning, you arrive at the hospital with a new spring in your step. You can’t help but look forward to seeing Carlos again, newly appendix-less or no.
When you enter his room with his breakfast tray, the sleepy Spaniard perks up instantly at the sight of you. “Y/N! Buenos dias, hermosa!”
You chuckle at his enthusiasm. “Good morning, Carlos. How are you feeling today?”
“Much better now that mi ángel has arrived,” he declares boldly.
As you check his vitals, he continues to bat those ridiculously long eyelashes at you. “You must be a hell of a thief, because you stole my heart from across the hospital room.”
You snort at the line, rolling your eyes in amusement. “You do realize those cheesy pick-up lines aren’t going to work on me, right?”
“Not cheesy ... poetic,” Carlos argues with an impish grin. “Poetry for a woman of your beauty.”
You raise an eyebrow in mock skepticism. “Is that so?”
“Of course,” he nods matter-of-factly. “Here, let me demonstrate ...”
Carlos clears his throat dramatically. “Your eyes shame the brilliance of the desert sun, while your lips put roses to shame with their beauty. A sculptor could study your face for a lifetime and never capture its perfection in marble.”
Despite yourself, you can feel heat rising to your cheeks at his earnest compliments. “I ... you can’t just-”
But he’s not done. “While bandits would slay and sack entire cities for even a glimpse of your splendor. Why, the gods themselves weep at being outdone by such a radiant vision of loveliness!”
By now, your face is burning scarlet as he gazes up at you, eyes sparkling impishly. “Th-that’s enough, Carlos,” you manage, turning away and busying yourself straightening his blankets to hide your flustered expression.
You can hear the grin in his voice. “Too much for you, hermosa? I haven’t even gotten to the part about your luscious ti-”
“Carlos!” You squeak, spinning back around with wide eyes.
His mischievous laughter fills the room, head thrown back in pure delight at your scandalized reaction. The melodic sound is utterly infectious — soon you find yourself giggling helplessly along despite your embarrassment.
“You’re terrible, you know that?” You admonish once you’ve caught your breath, trying and failing to look stern.
He winks unapologetically. “I’m just being honest, ángel.”
You shake your head in feigned exasperation, trying to ignore the little thrill his flirtations still send through you. “I should get going before you corrupt me further.”
As you turn to leave, Carlos calls after you. “Until later, mi amor! Don’t forget my poetry books for next time!”
His infectious laughter follows you into the hallway, that bright sound certain to play on a loop in your mind all day ...
Over the next few days, Carlos’ recovery progresses smoothly — maybe a little too smoothly, you think with a private smirk. His cheesy compliments and relentless flirting show no signs of letting up, much to your mingled embarrassment and secret delight.
“For you, hermosa, I would wrestle bulls and paint sunsets!”
“Mother Nature herself must be jealous of your radiant beauty.”
“Careful, or you’ll put the Arabian sun to shame with your smile!”
You somehow manage to roll your eyes and blush simultaneously each time he unleashes a new line. Part of you wishes he would just give it a rest already. But an even bigger part never wants this game you two have going to end.
On your third day caring for Carlos post-op, you arrive to find a small bouquet of red roses sitting on his bedside table. “These are for you, querida!” He announces happily when you enter.
You blink in surprise, taking in the brilliant flowers. “Carlos, you didn’t have to-”
“Of course I did,” he cuts you off dismissively. “An ángel as dazzling as you deserves all the flowers in the world.”
A pleased smile tugs at your lips despite yourself as you inhale their sweet fragrance. “They’re lovely, Carlos ... thank you.”
“Anything for you, mi amor,” he grins impishly. “Though it pains me to give a rose to one who outshines it so effortlessly.”
You shake your head, fighting a blush yet again. “Are you always this much of a shameless flirt?”
His eyes dance with impish delight. “Only to beautiful nurses who make my heart race faster than any lap around the fastest street circuit on the calendar.” Carlos pauses, expression turning serious. “Truthfully Y/N ... I know I’m a patient, but I feel a connection with you. Something deeper than just pretty words.”
You regard him carefully, caught off guard by his sudden earnestness. Part of you wants to laugh it off, dismiss his words like all the cheesy lines before. But something in his warm and open gaze gives you pause.
“I ... feel it too,” you admit quietly after a moment. “I don’t know why, it’s just ... a spark. Like we’ve known each other for years.”
Carlos’s face breaks into a brilliant smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Exactly, ángel! A connection of the soul — that is what it feels like to me.”
He holds out a hand in invitation, eyes soft yet intense. “Come over here? Let me get a closer look at mi amor’s beautiful face.”
You move toward the bed instinctively, taking his hand as he guides you to sit at the edge. His touch sends little electric tingles coursing through you that raise goosebumps along your arms. Even when you’re seated, Carlos has to look up slightly from where he’s reclining on a pile of pillows to meet your eyes, his thumb caressing your knuckles tenderly.
“So lovely,” he murmurs huskily, eyes tracing your features reverently. “A woman more beautiful than Aphrodite herself. And just as captivating ...”
Slowly, carefully, he lifts your joined hands to brush his lips along your knuckles in a feather-light kiss. The simple, intimate gesture steals the breath from your lungs.
“Carlos ...” you start breathlessly, hardly daring to move lest you break the hypnotic spell between you two.
He gives you that crooked, heart-melting grin. “Let me take you to dinner when I’m out of here, mi ángel? So I can woo you properly like you deserve.”
Despite the warm tingles his attention still sends through you, you nibble your lip uncertainly. “I ... I don’t think that would be appropriate. You’re my patient-”
“Just dinner,” he interjects smoothly. “As a thank you for taking such wonderful care of me. I insist on repaying you somehow.”
You search his face, wanting so badly to throw caution to the wind and say yes. He could charm the feathers off a bird, this man.
“Just dinner,” he reiterates in a low, sincere tone. “And if nothing else ... maybe we both make a new friend, yes?”
A slow smile spreads across your face, anticipation blooming in your chest. “Alright then. Just dinner.”
The boyish grin he gives you makes your breath catch. “Excellent! I’ll wine and dine you like a true gentleman, you’ll see.”
You roll your eyes, even as a giggle escapes you. “I’ll hold you to that.”
With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Carlos lifts it once more to brush his lips across your knuckles, holding your gaze intently.
“I cannot wait, mi amor.”
***
The luxurious restaurant that Carlos chose for your dinner date is dimly lit by ornate lanterns and alive with the sounds of traditional music. You can’t help but let your eyes linger on him as you’re shown to your private table tucked away in a secluded corner.
Even in a simple shirt and slacks, Carlos looks effortlessly dashing. His warm eyes crinkle at the corners when he catches you staring, rewarding you with that heart-melting smile.
“See something you like, querida?” He teases once you’re seated across from him.
You feel heat rush to your cheeks at being so brazenly caught out. Recovering quickly, you arch an eyebrow cooly. “You just look different out of that hospital gown, that’s all.”
Carlos throws back his head with a rich laugh. “Ah, so you prefer me in my natural state then? Bueno, no complaints here!”
You shake your head in amusement, trying not to smile too widely. “Is that ego really as big as they say?”
“What ego?” He asks innocently, shrugging broad shoulders. “This is merely healthy self-confidence, mi ángel.”
The banter comes so effortlessly between you two, like going back-and-forth with an old friend rather than a man you just met days ago. Carlos reaches across the table to take your hand, calloused fingers stroking your knuckles gently.
“Truthfully? I’m just thrilled you agreed to have dinner with me tonight,” he admits in a low tone. “I wasn’t sure if all my flirting was too much.”
You chuckle softly, gazing at him through the glow of the lantern between you. “It was definitely ... persistent. But also strangely charming, if I’m being honest.”
A pleased grin stretches across Carlos’ face, lighting up his handsome features. His thumb caresses your knuckles tenderly as he holds your eyes.
“I meant what I said, Y/N ... I felt an unexplainable connection with you from the moment I woke up in that hospital bed.” His expression turns almost wondering. “Despite my joking and terrible pick-up lines, there was something deeper drawing me to you. Like my soul recognized yours, si?”
You nod slowly, inexplicably understanding exactly what he means. That spark, that feeling of having known him for years — it’s indescribable and yet so real at the same time.
“I felt it too,” you murmur. “A pull, like I was meant to meet you.” You give a soft, self-conscious laugh. “It sounds silly saying it out loud.”
But Carlos shakes his head adamantly. “Not silly at all, cariño. Spiritual, cosmic, whatever you want to call it — I felt it too, and I don’t question these things anymore.”
He leans in conspiratorially. “Do you know what the nomadic Bedouin peoples of Arabia call that? Finding your namiah.”
You can’t help the way your heart flutters at the unfamiliar word and the enchanted look on his face. “What does it mean?” You breathe.
“It translates roughly to your twin soul,’" Carlos explains in a hushed tone. “Two souls destined to connect in this life. Bound together across lifetimes, finally reunited.”
He gives your hand a meaningful squeeze, utterly transfixed. “The Bedouins believe when you encounter your namiah, it’s sacred — a reunion that must be honored and embraced, regardless of what life may throw your way. Because you’ve been given a second chance with your twin soul.”
His words seem to reverberate somewhere deep within you, ringing with an ancient truth you can’t fully grasp but feel with your entire being. Impulsively, you lift Carlos’s hand to your cheek, holding it there as you bathe in his wonder-filled gaze.
For a long, charged moment, the whole world narrows to just the two of you sharing this cosmic revelation. Then the spell breaks as you let out a breathless laugh, eyes shining with amazed delight.
“You believe in destined soulmates? I never would have guessed,” you tease gently.
He chuckles warmly in return, leaning back but keeping your hand pressed tenderly against his cheek. “The universe works in mysterious ways, querida. I’ve learned not to question things my heart recognizes as true.”
A comfortable silence stretches between you, filled with unspoken understanding and newfound intimacy. He grazes his thumb along your cheekbone reverently.
“That’s why I couldn’t stop myself from flirting with you, you know,” Carlos muses in that rumbly tone. “You captivated me from the first moment I laid eyes on you. I knew I had to at least try winning your heart, mi ángel.”
You shake your head in fond exasperation, fighting a smile. “Carlos Sainz, actually a hopeless romantic? Who would have thought ...”
His playful grin is back in full force. “Only for you, hermosa.” Then his eyes take on a hint of hesitant hopefulness. “Speaking of ... there’s actually another reason I wanted to take you to dinner.”
You regard him curiously as the waiter arrives to fill your glasses with water. “Oh? Do tell.”
Carlos takes a fortifying sip before fixing you with those warm, earnest eyes again. “I would be honored if you came to Australia with me in a few weeks. As my guest for the race in Melbourne.”
Your eyes widen in surprise, mouth falling open slightly. “The ... the Grand Prix? In Australia?”
He nods eagerly. “It’s at the end of the month. I will arrange for your travel, put you up in the plushest hotel, everything. My treat.”
Carlos leans in closer, an impish gleam dancing in his eyes. “It would give me the perfect chance to keep wooing you properly, mi amor.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh, barely able to wrap your mind around the unexpected invitation. “Carlos, I ... I can’t just fly across the world like that! I have work, responsibilities-”
“Ah, but you’d only need to take a week or so off,” he counters smoothly. “I’ll handle all the details. You just need to relax and be my honored guest for the weekend.”
He gives you that smoldering look that makes your heart skip a beat. “Let me spoil you, mi ángel. Just say the word and it’s yours.”
Part of you is tempted — so, so tempted by the enthralling prospect. A luxurious vacation with this enchanting man who is already well on his way to sweeping you off your feet? It sounds utterly magical.
But the practical part of you holds you back, brow furrowing with uncertainty. “I don’t know ... even taking time off for a trip like that would be difficult.”
Carlos regards you intently for a moment, reading your hesitation. Then he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, voice turning softer yet insistent.
“Y/N, when was the last time you took a real vacation? Away from the hospital, away from responsibility for a little while ... to just breathe and enjoy life?”
You open your mouth automatically, then pause. Truthfully, you can’t even remember. Life has become an endless cycle of work and sleep with little room for anything else.
“Exactly,” Carlos nods knowingly at your silence. “Everyone needs to get away sometimes, querida. To recharge their soul before the daily grind drains them completely. Even an ángel like you.”
He fixes you with those molten brown eyes again. “Let me give that to you, mi amor. A week to relax, to be spoiled and carefree in one of the most beautiful corners of your world.” One side of his mouth quirks up teasingly. “And with a ruggedly handsome Formula 1 driver to keep you company, of course ...”
You chuckle in spite of yourself, warmth blooming in your chest. He has a point — when was the last time you allowed yourself to have fun and truly unwind? You certainly can’t remember. And if there’s anyone who seems like the ideal travel companion ...
Carlos notices your resolve softening and presses his advantage. “I promise you, it will be an experience you’ll never forget. Put yourself in my hands for just one week — let me take care of everything so you don’t have to lift a finger. What do you say, hermosa?”
His gaze is so open and full of restrained yearning that your breath hitches. You search those bewitching eyes for one more long moment, feeling yourself teetering on the edge of a decision.
Then, with a breathless laugh, you give in to impulse.
“Okay! You win. I’m yours for a week in Australia. Show me what you have in store.”
The smile that slowly spreads across his face is brighter and more radiant than the high desert sun. Carlos lifts your hand to his lips to brush a lingering kiss across your knuckles, sending delicious sparks dancing along your skin.
“Your wish is my command, mi ángel,” he murmurs fervently against your fingers, holding your breathless gaze. “I’ll make sure it’s a trip you’ll never forget.”
***
The bright Australian sun feels glorious on your skin as you relax on the private rooftop terrace of Ferrari’s plush motorhome. Leaning back on the cushioned lounger, you close your eyes and inhale the first deep breath you’ve taken in ... well, you can’t remember how long.
For just this fleeting moment, all the stresses of everyday life as a hardworking nurse seem to melt away into the balmy afternoon air. You’re worlds away from the frenetic hospital routine, from the bright fluorescent lights and permeating smell of antiseptic. Here, surrounded by towering palms swaying lazily in the breeze, you can almost imagine you’re at a lavish resort rather than the Albert Park paddock.
Almost.
A fond smile tugs at your lips as the roar of engines echoes across the circuit. That unmistakable sound is your reminder of just how enchantingly surreal this entire experience has been.
When Carlos first invited you to be his guest at the race, you expected some form of VIP experience to watch the Formula 1 action up close. But you never could have imagined the level of extravagance and pampering he had planned.
From the moment you landed, you’ve been put up at a five-star hotel in the lap of luxury — a stunning penthouse suite, complete with a butler at your beck and call plus a private concierge team to arrange anything you may need. Not that you’ve had time to need anything, with Carlos’s personal assistant, Elena, catering to your every whim.
You had tried to object at first, insisting this level of opulence wasn’t necessary. But Carlos merely placed a finger over your lips with a mischievous grin.
“Ah ah ah, mi ángel — you agreed to let me spoil you for a week, remember?” He chided playfully. “No objections!”
Before you could protest further, he pulled you into his arms, warm and solid and smelling faintly of bergamot. “Just relax and enjoy la buena vida for once. That’s my only condition.”
Looking into those warm brown eyes, you found yourself getting deliciously lost as his breath fanned across your lips. What choice did you have but to nod breathlessly and let yourself be whisked away into his lavish wonderland?
And it has been nothing short of wondrous so far. After being settled into your palatial suite with its giant marble bathroom and wall-to-wall windows, Elena escorted you into the exclusive world of Formula 1.
The Grand Prix itself is certainly glamorous — the electric atmosphere, roar of the cars driving at breath-taking speeds, and prestigious crowds dripping in finery and jewels. But it’s the behind-the-scenes action in the paddock that truly left you dazzled.
Elena led you through a dizzying labyrinth of state-of-the-art motorhomes and garage bays with cutting-edge equipment full of personnel bustling about in a flurry of coordinated movements. She introduced you to a mind-boggling array of mechanics, aerodynamicists, race strategists, hospitality workers, and more.
The entire operation felt like the world’s most organized theatrical production playing out before your very eyes. And at the center of it all? A beacon in red drawing all eyes to where he’s leaning against a metal wall towards the side of the garage? None other than Carlos himself.
Seeing him in this element, commanding the hushed and reverent attention of dozens of crew members with an intense yet unhurried confidence ... there was something almost unbearably sexy about it. His typical warmth and charm were overshadowed by a blazing intensity and poise more potent than any poem he could compose under the haze of painkillers.
Between briefings and warm ups, you managed to steal a few stolen moments with Carlos. Whether brushing a clandestine kiss to the back of your hand or pulling you aside for a heated embrace out of view, he always reaffirmed this sublime fantasy was for you … and you alone.
“Having fun so far, mi ángel?” He would murmur, lips brushing your ear as his hands skimmed teasingly down your sides.
You shivered at the gravelly timbre of his voice, rendered speechless by the fire flickering in his eyes. How could anyone put the depths of your experience into words?
So you simply answered by pulling him into a searing kiss, fingers tangling in those sinfully tousled locks. By the time you parted, Carlos’ pupils were blown wide, chest rising and falling heavily against yours.
“Save some of that fire for after the race, cariño,” he’d say thickly with a wolfish grin. “You may just be the greatest distraction I’ve ever had to overcome.”
With one last smoldering look, he rejoined his crew, leaving you flustered yet utterly euphoric. Yes, Carlos Sainz had managed to spirit you away into an all-encompassing dream — one you never wanted to wake up from.
The sound of a nearby door opening brings you back to the present with a contented sigh. You let your eyes drift open again, blinking against the brilliant sunlight as a familiar figure emerges onto the terrace.
“There’s my hermosa,” Carlos greets you warmly, slipping off his cap to run a hand through his ridiculously perfect hair. The simple gesture makes your breath catch as always.
You feel a smile stretch across your face as he approaches. “Hi there, stranger. Taking a break?”
“Something like that,” he chuckles, dropping into the lounger beside you with a groan. “Just a quick respite from the crowd.”
Carlos turns toward you with poorly concealed mischief dancing in his eyes. “Though ... I may have also needed an excuse to see this beautiful sight again.”
You roll your eyes in exaggerated exasperation to hide your giddiness at his flattery. He’s been adorably smooth this entire trip. “Save your lines, Casanova. You already got me here, remember?”
“Ah, but a man can never compliment his lady enough,” Carlos objects smoothly, grasping your hand in his calloused one to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Starting with how radiant you look basking in the Australian sun, mi ángel. A lesser man would get jealous.”
You shake your head, even as tingles race across your skin from his gesture. “Is flattery how you butter up any pretty girl who catches your eye?”
“Just the especially gorgeous ones,” he winks unapologetically. “But there’s only one who’s made me want to be a hopeless romantic.”
With dizzying ease, he leverages himself across the narrow space between you, caging you in on all sides with his toned arms. Your breath catches at his sudden proximity, pulse quickening from the heated look in his eyes.
“Perhaps I should stop with pretty words ...” Carlos rumbles in that velvety accent, closing the remaining distance until you can feel the heat radiating from his body. “And use actions instead.”
His mouth captures yours in a slow, smoldering kiss that has you melting bonelessly against the plush cushions. Large hands splay across the dip of your waist, firm yet intoxicatingly gentle. You melt into the unhurried caress of his lips, addicted to the way he sets your entire body deliciously alight.
When you finally part, you’re flushed and breathless, gazing up dazedly at his twinkling eyes. “You’re ... terribly persuasive, Mr. Sainz,” you manage.
He rewards you with a wolfish grin and another toe-curling kiss. “Only for you, mi amor,” he growls against your lips, pulling you flush against the hard planes of his chest. “Only for you ...”
A tiny gasp of surprise parts your lips as Carlos suddenly freezes, mouth going taut. You tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze questioningly.
“What’s wrong?”
He drops his darkened eyes down toward his palm sheepishly. It’s then you notice the tiny trickle of red seeping from a paper cut across his skin.
“Oh no, it seems our ... passion got a bit too rough,” Carlos grins cheekily. “Gave myself a battle wound.”
Rolling your eyes, you gingerly take his hand to inspect the miniscule wound. Just a thin cut that was reopened, likely from reviewing telemetry packets between briefings.
“It’s nothing serious,” you chide. “Though I suppose I could play nurse for you one more time.”
He gives you a devilish look from under his inky lashes. “Please do, mi ángel. I’ll need your ... very special care.”
You level an unimpressed glare at him, slipping off the lounger toward the rooftop bathroom to grab the first aid kit inside. By the time you return, Carlos has the audacity to be sitting patiently with his lightly bleeding palm extended in offering. Like a king awaiting tribute from his loyal subjects.
“It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” you scoff, cracking open the kit and perching on the edge of his lounger. With the utmost care and tenderness, you gently apply antibacterial ointment and wrap the cut with an oversized adhesive bandage.
“There, all better, your Highness,” you announce with a solemn nod.
But rather than releasing your hand, Carlos envelops it fully in both of his. His warm eyes search yours impishly.
“Actually, hermosa ... there is one last thing that could help it heal even faster.”
You quirk a skeptical brow at him, already thoroughly endeared by whatever outrageous thing is about to come out of his mouth. “Oh? And what’s that?”
The corner of his lips twitches up in that rakish half-smirk you adore. “A magical, healing ... kiss.”
Of course. Of bloody course.
“You can’t be serious,” you laugh, trying in vain to tug your hand back. Carlos simply holds it fast, fervently earnest despite the devilish twinkle dancing in his eyes.
“Completely serious, mi amor! The power of a beautiful woman’s kiss has incredible healing properties.” He pulls your hand close. “Especially from an ángel like you ...”
Warmth blooms across your cheeks at his antics, head shaking in amusement. Even after weeks of witnessing Carlos’ particular brand of cheeky charisma up close, he can still catch you off-guard and leave you deliciously flustered.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” The reprimand lacks any bite as you can’t help but grin back at him, captivated as always.
His answering look is all playful innocence — one you know better than to trust for a single second. “Does that mean you won’t bless me with your magic?”
Brown eyes beg at you over your trapped knuckles, full lower lip jutting out in a pout far too enticing to resist. With a shaky laugh, you finally acquiesce and bend forward to press a slow, petal-soft kiss over the bandage.
A grin stretches across Carlos’ face once you pull back. “My hero!” He exclaims, catching your hand in both of his to nuzzle the inside of your wrist adoringly. “See, querida? Already I can feel the enchanted restorative properties working wonders.”
“You’re utterly shameless!” You let out another breathless laugh.
“Only because you make me crazy, mi ángel,” Carlos retorts with an exaggerated groan, tugging you closer until you half-cover his toned body.
You go easily, resting comfortably against the solid wall of his chest. Strong arms wrap around your waist, securing you in place as Carlos pillows his cheek atop your head with a contented sigh.
“You render me nonsensical and utterly bewitched. I’m powerless against your effortless magic.”
The words rumble through you in that low timbre you’ve become addicted to, spreading warmth from the crown of your head to the very tips of your toes. With a quiet hum of contentment, you tuck yourself tighter into his side and watch the swaying of the palms framed against the brilliant blue sky.
In this moment, the entire world seems to shrink away into insignificance — nothing but you and Carlos tangled in this serene haven apart from all space and time. Nothing but the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek, the cocooning circle of arms that sets you ablaze and soothes you in equal measure.
Just as you feel yourself being lulled into a state of blissful relaxation, Carlos presses a lingering kiss to your hair. His chest vibrates with quiet yet fervent words.
“Thank you, amor ... for giving me a chance to make you mine.”
Pure affection blooms golden in your chest at the reverent sincerity of his tone. You tilt your head up to find his warm brown eyes already trained on you. Filled with adoration yet still flickering with that insuppressible spark of mischief and zest you adore so much.
With an impulsive hand curling around the nape of his neck, you pull his mouth down toward yours. As you part, twin smiles linger on your swollen lips.
“And thank you,” you smile wryly. “For having an appendix that decided to take matters into its own hands so we could meet.”
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୨♡୧ PRETTY LITTLE DISTRACTION — you want his attention elsewhere.
pairing. dan heng x reader.
warnings. f!reader. established relationship. college au. finger sucking. all characters written 18+.
dan heng’s bedroom is flooded with warmth as he opens the door to the bathroom, steam from his shower escaping the en suite. there’s a towel on his head and his hands make work of drying inky black strands of hair, though a few drops of water drip from his bangs down the bridge of his nose. gray sweatpants hang low on his waist, his v line on display and thin, dark hairs peeking out from his waistband. your eyes linger there and you miss the way dan heng’s brows furrow upon seeing the mattress void of his laptop and books. “where’d my stuff go?”
“i put it all on your desk,” you tell him, dragging your gaze up his abdomen and chest, finally reaching his glacier eyes. “you need to take a break.”
he tosses his towel in the hamper before joining you on the bed. you scoot closer to him, taking his hand in yours to play with his fingers. the motion does little to derail his train of thought. “i did. the shower was my break.”
“yeah, right. i bet you were drawing equations on the steamed-up glass.” dan heng rolls his eyes at that but you ignore it and sit up on your knees. your fingers continue to trace lines over his knuckles with your next words. “it’s not a break if you’re still thinking about the material. you’ve gotta take your mind off of it.”
he raises his eyebrows, if only slightly. “is that so?”
you nod matter of factly, as if your statement should have been obvious.
“then what do you suppose i do to take my mind off of everything?” dan heng asks, his resolve slowly beginning to slip. you have a knack for doing that, convincing him to change his mind. your honeyed voice is hypnotizing; captivating in a way he can’t explain but certainly doesn’t mind.
you lick your lips before they curl up into a grin. dan heng is the epitome of a good student and while you’re proud of him for keeping up with his studies, you selfishly desire to pull him away every now and then. that eagerness is rearing its head now as you swing one of your legs over his hips so that you’re straddling him. you haven’t let go of his hand yet and you don’t plan on doing so any time soon, raising his lithe fingers to your face.
the scent of almond butter follows him, wafting under your nose and feeding your craving for dan heng. you need a taste of him and with his fingers so close to you, the thought of popping them in your mouth grows more and more enticing with each passing second. it wins you over quickly and you slip his pointer finger past your puffy lips. your eyes drift closed, lashes brushing the tops of your cheeks as you moan around his digit.
the sound has more of an effect on dan heng than he’d like to admit. half of the blood in his body rises up to his cheeks and the tips of his ears, painting them both a pleasant pink while the other half goes down, fueling the slowly rising tent in his sweats. you suck at his finger leisurely, let your tongue swirl around it in lazy, wet circles. the act draws a sigh from dan heng’s lips, a shaky one that sounds twice as loud to him in the silence of his room.
you smile around him upon hearing his reaction, dragging your lips up his finger and suckling sweetly at the base of his nail. his chest rises and falls beneath your unoccupied hand, his heart ricocheting off his ribs. another hint of his arousal presses against you, growing harder, more difficult to ignore as you continue to suck at his finger.
it’s subconscious, the way your hips roll and the slow grind of your panty-clothed pussy over dan heng’s aching cock. he tosses his head back against the cushioned headboard, choking out a moan at the sudden attention you’re paying to the sensitive bulge in his pants. it makes your tummy flip and flutter as you breathe out a sigh around him, goosebumps raising all the way up his arm.
there’s only so much satisfaction you can get from suckling away at his finger, rubbing against him with so many layers between you. it won’t be enough to soothe the throbbing of your clit and you think the same can be said of dan heng’s erection. you’re hungry for more.
“mm,” you hum around his finger before releasing it with an exaggerated pop. you dip your head to capture the man’s lips in a messy kiss, still languidly grinding against his hard-on. a string connects the two of you once you finally pull away and only breaks when your lips move to pose a question. “how’s this for a distraction?”
thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎
#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: honkai star rail#dan heng x reader#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#dan heng smut#hsr smut#honkai star rail smut#dan heng x you#hsr x you#hsr imagines#honkai star rail imagines
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Alright. So. I have a confession to share with you.
In middle school, I strongly identified as a libertarian. In my defense, I was 13 and I had autism. Against my defense, I was literate, and capable of using common sense. I confessed this to you willingly, so go easy on me.
One thing about this that I can share with you is that I, as a 13 year old boy, read Atlas Shrugged. I read it as someone very committed to the ideology, who wanted to believe it, who wanted to like it, and there are two things I can share with you about that book from that time period.
The writing is terrible. It has the slowest, most boring, most pretentious prose you could possibly imagine. Calling it glacial would be a compliment. It makes glaciers look like Formula 1. There is no description for the pacing outside of hellish torments. It is like being condemned to watch a dog with an itchy ass wear the Himmalayas away only by scooching. It is like counting the grains of sand on a beach while Alexa reads off random phone numbers. It is like dipping saltines into lukewarm tapwater while listening to white noise in a beige room with no doors. It is like wearing a blindfold and being told to guess what a man is painting by sound alone, but there is no man, there is only a dog licking cold vaseline off a window. Forever. It is all of those things and more.
There is a multipage rant about how affairs are Good and Rational that is so insanely desparate that even middle-school-autist me thought she must have been having an affair while she wrote this. And then I googled it, and the answer was yes, she was. She called her philosophy Objectivism, because she believed, like everyone else in the world, that her ideas and motivations were Pure and Rational and Ojectively Correct, but I still find the name accurate, because it was really written with one Objective in mind, and that was finding a way to never admit that Ayn Rand had ever made a mistake in her life.
I was going to rant more about this but I kind of lost my train of thought. The book fucking sucks. It was propaganda of such remarkably low caliber that it actually helped me move out of those circles. Every time someone talked about liking the book, I'd reply with something along the lines of "Yeah, I especially loved the part where she destroyed the post modernists by unequivocally condemning affairs", and if they agreed with me, they would have lost my respect forever, and if they looked very embarrassed, I could at least acknowledge that they had a soul, albeit small and malformed. I had dozens of people claim that they read the book, and only three or four actually passed the test.
And now, goodnight.
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Hi babes!
Could you possibly write a battinson x sunshine vigilante!reader where the reader is just an absolute sweetheart in and out of the suit. Like she's super sweet to literally everyone she meets but she's also a badass vigilante. Maybe her and Gordon are close friends and that's how Pattinson meets her and he is just absolutely lovestruck when he meets her for the first time. Like a love at first site kind of thing, he's just absolutely whipped and enamored by the reader. Maybe written from Batsy's pov.
Much love babes
thank you so much anon for sending this prompt! I know this is super duper late, but it was a wonderful idea I truly wanted to do it justice. I made the reader a little morally grey cause I think it would be a little different, so I hope you enjoy darling! Feel free to send in any of your requests and asks and even if it takes time I’ll make sure it's done. (who I write for)
Carved in stone
pairings: bruce wayne x fem!reader
warnings: mentions of drug trafficking, morally grey!characters, Gotham itself (its a warning alright), mentions of loss and grief, and a hint of touch!starved bruce if you turn it upside down and squint.
word count: 4.6K
The darkness that surrounds Bruce as he steps into his cave is one that he embraces like an old friend. The light that shines from every frosted window of the Manor stabs his eyes with an insistent twinge akin to a razor blade that had been left to rot on a windowsill during one of Gotham's thunderstorms.
There is a child-like fear in the air of the glacier cave sheathed in its darkness, the kind that materialises into green monsters and pale ghosts in the thin veil of nightmares. The kind that causes your parents to check under your bed, behind your clothing rack, in your closet.
Places where shadows and darkness would settle and make a home for itself. For most children, that gripping fear would outgrow itself over the years, replaced instead with reaching the 5th bar on the playground, failing driving tests, and falling in love for the first time. That was life, but Bruce Wayne was hardly a normal child. He had surpassed his pupils years before they had even begun to walk on two feet, and yet, that gripping fear of the dark still sprouted open deep within his stomach every time.
He has to shake it off of himself, as he reaches for his seat in front of the blaring screens projected from his desk. What he had found was too important to be tainted by the pathetic fears he allowed into his mind. Placing the contacts into the surveillance reader, Bruce combs through the hours of footage captured by the camera placed over his pupil.
He had been trailing a shipment of drugs and armed artillery that was masked as a children's book delivery that had frequently made its route through Gotham's city streets. You didn't need to be Batman to know that it wasn’t the next edition of Captain fuckin’ Underpants being delivered to the underfunded children's orphanage. No, greed had taken over any sliver of humanity within Gotham governors long before the barrel of murders rocked through the suburban neighbourhoods and left hundreds orphaned.
He could hunt those killers down, but the crooked thug that had massacred his family was something Bruce would never be able to make it right.
The irony burnt a hole through the veil of what was left of him.
Gordon had been no help in tracking those marked vans down, whispering under the guise of the moonlight one night atop Gotham PD’S rooftop that it made his officers nervous. ‘Jittery and anxious’. Especially after so many of their dear brothers in blue ended up neck-deep in the underground crime syndicate they were meant to investigate, only to have their heads on a stick at the bottom of Miller Harbour.
Oh yes, Bruce knew all too well how greed had the habit of seeping into the morals of even the most respectable men, corruption had a way of appealing like salvation when you had no choice. That's what Gordan had said, and Batman laughed at that, shook his head and spit out in venom,
“There is always a choice, Gordon”
So it was up to Bruce now, the vigilante sheathed in darkness to uncover every small detail that could lead him to where these vans were heading too. This was different however, there was an unsettling itch behind his eyes, something pressing into his mind, begging him to see. And it isn't until he catches the flash of silver from the corner of the warehouse that he notices that someone else has been watching them too. Clicking on the magnified frame, Bruce leans in to try and decipher the glimpse of a face turned to the side, obscured by a black hooded cape that seemed to camouflage them into the darkness. The facial recognition software embedded in Bruce's computer pulled up nothing, not even a single trace of a face like theirs, obscured as it was.
Someone that lived in the shadows as Bruce did, someone who made it a home for themselves.
Bruce needed to find out who they were.
Now suddenly, Bruce has an actual reason to go to Gordan.
You rip off the latex body suit that enabled you to glide through the air, and shove your face into a navy hoodie in the backseat of your car parked outside the GCPD parking lot. It wasn’t safe but you had no choice, anonymity wasn’t pretty, and it sure isn’t easy.
But what you had found tonight, trailing after those marked vans that drove down the streets of Gotham like they fucking owned the place, was too sensitive to hold onto any longer than you had to.
Your eyes strain and survey the dark city streets filled with drop heads stumbling around and the thugs that fucked with them, for that same marked van charging towards you. You knew they wouldn’t dare come within the vicinity of the police department, and most importantly, you were smart enough to not leave even a hint of a trail.
It was irrational, but you knew enough of this life to know not to bet on rationality to keep you alive. You have to force yourself to shake it off before slamming the car door behind you and marching towards Gordan's office.
Officers decked out in uniform, glance at you twice before recognition fills their features, barking out hushed hellos and waves of acknowledgement towards you with confused faces as you walk through the department walls. You couldn’t blame them, your dark makeup had smudged from the humid air of rainfall and fog, and the incessant itch of your eye didn’t make it any better, even your cover outfit was washed in a deep midnight black.
They were used to seeing you in bright colours and skirts every time you met with Gordan to transfer any knowledge you had gathered the night before during your vigilance. Usually, you would wait until the next morning, when the mask of your pedestrian outfit and a sunshine smile would keep any questioning looks from the Officers around you at bay. To them, you were just a friend of Gordan who happened to actually like the last few pieces of Old Gotham.
It wasn’t like you were putting on a facade, despite the incriminating outfit you wore now, you loved the colour as much as a child loves colouring outside the lines, your home itself was true to that. A true reflection of the warmth and sunshine you radiated, filled with potted plants hanging from ceilings and in corners, dyed pane windows that reflected warm hues of orange and yellow when the sun set over your studio apartment.
But that didn't mean you would let crime syndicates tear through your home, and this couldn’t wait until the next morning, no, no it was too personal, and oh how you loved mixing pleasure and business.
You couldn’t wait until you got their jaws crushed beneath your boot, watch their blood run through the city streets until it washed away all the crime, and the filth was clean.
You had a special hatred for people who exploited children, using them as a cover to transport drugs and arms had motivated you enough to spend the entire 3 nights straight documenting their every move, where their vans lead to and from when they would start their daily route of drug trafficking. It was imprinted into your brain, an obsession you would have to pretend was for the good of peace to Gordon, and not for your own twisted vengeance.
You don’t knock as you charge through the office doors of Gordon's chief floor, your connection to Gotham City’s Police commissioner gives you free clearance of the department, and your baked honey biscuits were good enough to bribe even the stone-cold assistant parked outside Gordan's office anyway.
You shut the door with an even loud ruckus, causing Gordan to sigh as he rummaged through papers stained with smoke scattered across his desk.
“Now what do I owe the pleasure of having Ms Sunshine in my office this goddamn late in the night?” Gordan says, not even having to look up to know it’s your loud boots against the hallway floors.
“Gordan” You reply, marching towards his desk until you are standing across from him.
“Yes?” Gordan replies, still skimming through the backlog of case files and police reports that seemed to double every night.
“Gordan.” You reply again, this time with an edge of urgency in your tone, and it’s sharp enough to cause Gordan to flicker his focus towards you.
“Those vans I was telling you about? The ones I’ve been trailing since August? I’ve finally found something, the cold must have loosened them up a bit because they got pretty fucking lazy” You start before Gordan cuts you off with a half-hearted sigh.
“You’ve been on them for months now Sunny, every bit of information you’ve squeezed out of them has led us to dead ends. Every time we’ve found a trail to their hideouts it’s packed up and shut down by the time we arrive.” Gordan replies before you shake your head quickly
“No, listen, Gordan, we’ve been looking at it the wrong way” You press on, but Gordan shakes his head
“I can’t afford the manpower Sunny, you know how my men have been feeling lately, the whole department is just holding their breath. Fucking restless, you damn near scared me marching in like that”.
You grit your teeth as you mutter under your breath, Gordan wasn’t listening to you, you didn’t need his men, they were all cowardly corrupt assholes on a power trip anyway. You just needed him, and he wasn’t listening.
“Sometimes you won’t always get to win every battle alright? It doesn’t work that way for us, you gotta save it for the big ones, the ones that are so bad you can’t even see them yet. You start putting your heart into it like you're doing right now? You’re gonna lose yourself along the way”
“They’re using fucking kids Gordan” You bark out when he begins another speech, you can’t help it. Gordans acting as if this is some small drug bust in a crack house. It’s way bigger than that, more sinister, it always is.
Gordan looks towards you wide-eyed, eyebrows furrowing as he opens his mouth to talk before closing it again.
You see that as a guide to continue,
“We’ve been seein’ those vans' as transporting the drugs through the cover of the orphanage, but they’re only using it to get to the warehouse. We can never find the drugs on them because it never was, they’re using the goddamn kids to traffick it, Gordan, fucking middle schoolers”.
“Jesus Christ”
“Okay, alright-uh” Gordon mutters under his breath as he gathers the paperwork strewn in front of him. He reaches into an unmarked drawer, pulls out a white card, and scribbles a mix of numbers onto it you had never seen before.
“Take this-” Gordon begins, motioning to hand you the card before you shake your head
“Gordan-”
“Take this, and meet me tomorrow, please” Gordon pleads, looking up at you, you wait a bit before nodding and taking the card from his palm.
“Come at the same time, but maybe next time you come barging in you at least change first” Gordon groans, knowing the litany of questions he was bound to get hounded for the second you left.
You roll your eyes, “I did” You mutter under your breath before saying Gordan's name again
“Thank you, Gordon, seriously, you're the only hope I have left in Gotham you know, the only one who actually cares what happens to this goddamn city,” You say
“I’m sure that’ll change soon Sunny” Gordan hides a smile, nodding towards you, before you leave his office quickly. You are too absorbed with the hidden message Gordan had said just before you left, to notice Gordans secretary staring into your back, what did he mean?
You ruminate over it as you pass the officers and down the precinct stairs, piling into your car and driving through backlit streets illuminated by just the moon in the sky and the sound of bats.
The visions of the cries of children fill your nights and leave you restless in the morning. You know you shouldn't, but you spend the break of dawn surveying the barren city streets for any sign of their presence, and when your obsession leaves you coming up empty you pull over and step out into the harbour bay.
You stare off into the Miller manor, watching the violent waves of the river crash into each other. Some people had an unrelenting fear of the ocean, of what may lay in its depths, but you had grown to fall in love with its beauty.
It was simple in its destruction, washing away the dirt and filth of the world. You had wished to escape in it, swim down to the bottom where you would lay for eternity, let the waves crash into you and take you away from it all.
You spent the entire morning standing there, blinking back hot tears and the brick that formed in your throat when you began to think too much of what you had lost.
You went home, for the first time since yesterday, and slept until you forgot.
-- -
Decked out in a light-coloured skirt and your face free from the dark black eyeshadow streaming down your face, you marched into the police department once again.
This time the officers greeted you with a genuine smile, seeming to forget about the events of yesterday, and were even more elated when you uncovered the Tupperware filled with the cookies you had made. You figured food would make them forget about it all but it seemed Gordan had beat you to it.
Opening the door to Gordan's office, you can't help but let out a chuckle when you see the commissioner in the same position you had stormed into last night. Gordon perks up at the noise, rolling his eyes before collecting the papers into a neat file and walking towards you.
Gordan begins to say something before a loud commotion muffled his reply, you reach for your gun fitted into the holster on your waist, and shift your body to point it towards the door of Gordan’s office.
It begins to shake as the loud sound of metal on wood gets increasingly closer and you can't decipher it until it stops at the front of Gordans office to understand what it is.
Footsteps.
Your eyes catch the door handle and begin to turn slowly, and you take a tentative step closer to the door, forming into a defensive stance with your gun pointed straight ahead and your finger dangerously close to the trigger.
The door opens much like it had before, with a loud bang, and you aim your gun towards the darkness that follows.
“Wait!” Gordon screams towards you, but you don't dare to take your eyes off the dark figure missing your perfect shots. There is a release of compartments before the figure uncovers itself, and there he is, in all his beautiful and dark glory:
Batman.
Batman’s POV
“What the hell Gordon?” You murmur, the glow of the table lamp illuminates your features, highlighting every dip and curve and line and Bruce can’t help but stare.
“Listen, please put your gun down Sunny, I invited him alright? Because there is no one in this precinct who can help you half as much as he could'' Gordon says, and Bruce catches your scrutinising gaze that seems to penetrate him through his cowl.
He raises his eyebrows as if testing the waters to see if you'll really do it, but you sheath your gun back into the holster hidden under that patterned skirt that's got Bruce thinking thoughts he shouldn’t.
“Uh, I think this conversation is better equipped somewhere more..discrete. Follow me” Gordon coughs, before opening the office doors. Bruce follows the dark patterned shirt of Gordon back from a short distance, you by his side, the heat emanating from you causes Bruce to step further away.
Bruce moves like he knows the ins and outs of the building, his shoulders tense, and his eyes always searching, but his body moves fluidly through the halls like muscle memory etched into him and you can't stop staring. Bruce catches your eyes once, his cobalt blues stare right back at you with no hesitation, a flicker of recognition flashes over his eyes and Bruce begins to piece the face that's got his heart stopping and his hands reaching all at once.
You shift your eyes to the wainscotting lining the walls of the precinct, and Bruce's chest burns with a desperate need to see you seeing him. Bruce didn't know what overcame him, it seemed like the fear of the dark was replaced with the fear of never seeing you again. Bruce didn't even know your name, just Sunny. Bruce wanted to see how it would taste on his tongue, speaking your name and having your reply.
“You sure you know your way ‘round this building Gordan?” You sigh, as it seemed you both were through endless hallways
“We’re here” Gordon replies, before pushing a lever door that opens into the precinct rooftop.
Bruce steps out into the rooftop courtyard, the cold chill of the night breeze does nothing to the burning hot in his stomach, but your visibility shivers and Bruce has to stop himself from covering you with his own damn cape.
Gordan passes you his worn-out leather jacket and you take it gingerly before he nods to Bruce in understanding moving to the far end of the roof.
You step towards the edge of the roof, knuckles turning white as you grip the handrail and Bruce watches you gaze out into the sky-scraping towers of Gotham City, glistening under the pale moonlit sky.
“It doesn't look so bad from up here you know?” You murmur, and Bruce's eyes flicker from the city streets below to your gaze.
Bruce shakes his head “No, no it doesn't”
“But then, doesn't everything get uglier up close?” You continue, your gaze flickering back to the city skyline
“No, not everything” Bruce replies in a whisper, but it's loud enough to hear and you shift your gaze back to Bruce
“You were there, weren't you?” Bruce says, the recognition hit him the second you stared off into the city, that same dip in the cheek, that same mark on your jaw. You were sheathed in the cover of the warehouse darkness then, and adorned an outfit akin to what Bruce was wearing now, but it was you the entire time.
“I suppose it was, but how were you there, Batman?” You reply, eyes flickering down to Bruce's tall stature,
“Been trailing them for weeks, but every single thread of their trail-” Bruce says
“Is a loose end” You murmur, and Bruce nods in agreement.
“I know it may look like it isn't, but I've been after them for even longer, and it’s like this has become my entire life now you know? If they can’t be stopped, if I can't stop them then’”
“What’s the point” Bruce replies
You nod thoughtfully, it was why you had barely slept in the last month, barely ate, this vengeance, this thirst for justice, it consumed you. And now it seemed you had met someone who was consumed by it too.
“How did this” You gesture between Bruce and Gordan “alliance even form” You question, it didn't really hit you then but this was the known vigilante that had been plastered on the front of newspapers across Gotham, now standing, comfortably on GCPD’s rooftop.
Bruce hides a chuckle, shaking his head “It’s a long story, but you see that light projector there” Bruce gestures his chin to the signal hidden near the edge of the rooftop, tilted to the sky.
“It’s a distress signal, carved out in a bat wing, and whenever Gordan turns it on, I always come, no matter what”. Bruce says
“I’m not foolish, these people we're both after, aren't the normal crooks and pickpocketing gangs, and together we can put an end to all of this, and I know you I haven’t made the best defence compared to the hundreds of newspapers calling for my head, but I care, I care about Gotham-
“I know, Batman” You stop Bruce mid-way through his erratic tangent, reigning him back in with that heavenly voice of yours.
“Bruce” He replies, after a heated silence, and a flash of recognition fills you.
How could you not have pieced it before? You don’t know if Bruce sees the surprise in your eyes but it dissolves right back into the space between you.
“Bruce” You nod, his name taste sweet on you tongue and it has him yearning to hear it again.
“I thought I would be scared if I ever came face to face with Batman, but, all I feel, all I really feel is understanding. I know you, Bruce, I know you because I see myself in you. This long life of fighting, of putting your everything in your purpose. It gives you a reason to survive in this hellscape, but it also fucking destroys you.” You say, eyes searching Bruce’s .
“How did you get into this life?” Bruce says
“I know from this darn skirt that is yellow of all things it may not look like it but I’ve been fighting the plague of crime and greed that had taken over this city for years”
“First with the power of books that could lead me to become something those rich fucks needed and then with my fists after this city took something from me it had no right to. And honestly? I’m surprised I hadn’t run into you sooner”
“Don't say sorry because I’ve hated that word ever since it happened” You reply
Bruce nods, his grip on the rooftop rial tightening as he stares off into the city skyline, Bruce wore his loss like a tattoo imprinted on his forehead, anyone could see what the violence of this city had done to him without having to read the hundreds of newspapers detailing his parent's gruesome death.
But you, at first glance seemed like a damn tourist in this city, unfazed by the crime and death that seems suffocating to Bruce, radiating a kind of glow and kindness Bruce had long forgotten exists.
“And for the record, I don’t read the newspaper” You reply, causing Bruce to let out a chuckle
“Oh yeah? You’re too prestigious for ink on paper?” Bruce replies
“No, not really, I just like to get my news first hand, as an observer. My uniform may not be as prestigious as yours, but it gets the job done and is a hell of a lot more discreet” You reply, a smile pulling at your cheek.
“Discreet is definitely the word to call it, couldn't even decipher your face in a damn near million-dollar computer” Bruce replies
You look at him in confusion, but he simply shrugs in response and before you can let out a reply, Gordon comes back into view from whatever dark corner he had ventured to.
“Now that you have acquainted yourselves, why don't we find a way to take those sick fuckers down” Gordan replies, and Bruce catches the delighted expression that forms over your features. You nod enthusiastically towards Gordon's words, interjecting pieces of information that even Bruce himself had not acquired. Bruce watches you in your element, formulating a plan with a million other plans B’s, that same unstoppable desire to protect this city that drives Bruce to put on that cape each day, and it’s like Bruce is falling in love.
“So we’ll hit them from the orphanage rather than from it, hopefully, their lack of diligence continues in our favour, Batsy, you okay?” You reply, eyeing him in worry as Bruce stares back with a glazed expression before snapping back at the sound of your nickname.
“Batsy? Now that's a good one” Gordon chuckles
Batman eyes you in question to which you reply with a shrug
“Batman is too long, and I figured if you're gonna be callin’ me Sunny, I’ve got to give you a nickname too, right?” You justify, and Bruce fails to hide the smile that erupts across his face at the mention of him calling you Sunny.
“He’s smiling Gordan!” I made Batman smile!” You giggle, shaking Gordan's shoulders, and if Bruce could he would bottle that sound and keep it forever.
“That's definitely a first, isn't it Batsy” Gordon replies, and Bruce simply shakes his head
“Can we get back to what’s important here?” Bruce replies, but the smile in his voice is clear as ever, and you don’t know why but it fills you with a burst of joy in a place that had remained empty ever since your sister had left.
“Mhm” You reply, and Gordan shares a knowing look towards Bruce as if to say “I’ve found you out”, and for some strange reason Bruce wants him to, he wants the entire world to know he's completely enamoured and enthralled by you the second he stepped into Gordan's office.
“Alright, whilst you both were arguing over costumes, I got a distress alert from one of the squad cars surveying the area near the orphanage. One of the vans seems to be making some sort of detour, we’ve got to hit them now, I don't know when they will be this unprotected” Gordon replies.
“I’ve got a car waiting for me, so Sunny, you’ll ride with Batsy” Gordon replies, and Bruce doesn't have a hard time seeing the smile hidden behind Gordan's stern face.
Bruce bristles at the mention of having you so close to him in such an enclosed space, fearing you would protest out of fear of him and all the other insecurities Bruce had burdened. But you nod and smile towards him, and it's like every doubt, every worry is dissipated, and every anxious thought sounds so stupid because nothing else matters but you.
And so, just like moments before Bruce walks side by side with you down the endless corridors of the Gotham Police precinct, but now, with the heart scorching desire to follow you down a hundred endless corridors, to dampen the burn in his chest with your silken soft voice.
Bruce didn't believe in prophecies, or soulmates that transcended time and space, but right now it was as if you both were meant to be. A sacred bond that was carved into stone long before Bruce had started to lose himself in his own purpose, long before the fear of darkness had seized him all those years ago.
Bruce had thought you made a home in the darkness within you, but it was so different now. You embraced this darkness, this thirst like a mother embracing a child, carved it into you like a relic, until it transformed within you to become the light Bruce had been blinding himself to.
And Bruce pleaded for the first time, he begged to the midnight sky for the first time since he cried out for God to will the loss of his parents to be erased. Bruce was left with the bitter taste of a silent sky then, but now he’s on his knees, begging that you would make a home for him too.
Bruce wanted to take the darkness you carried, wanted to uncover it from your skin and bones until all that was left was the illuminating glow Bruce knew he would ruin. But he didn't care, for the second first time today, Bruce wanted to be selfish, and have you all to himself.
Wanted to feel your touch hold him until the burn of your absence was stamped away, wanted you to uncover his cowl and run your fingers through his hair, wanted to curl into your body and under your skin at night, wanted everything.
Bruce wanted it all.
#bruce wayne#bruce wayne fanfiction#batman#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne fic#bruce wayne angst#the batman#the batman 2022#bruce wayne x fem!reader#bruce wayne x you#Bruce Wayne x sunshine!reader#battinson x reader#battinson#battinson x fem!freader#battinson x you#battinson fanfiction#dc comics#reader insert#Gotham city#bruce wayne x black!reader#Bruce Wayne x black fem!reader#morally grey reader#touch starved!bruce wayne#Robert Pattinson fic#Robert Pattinson fanfiction#needy!bruce wayne#neonovember#neonovember's asks#battinson x y/n#vigilante x reader
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I love WoF!! I love Darkstalker!! I love the dragonet characters such as Mink and Cliff amd Peacemaker!!
I see a lot of hate on this book series and while I do acknowledge that there are flaws, it's really mostly a great concept of a world with interesting characters and fascinating lore. I don't think it got bad after book 10. I don't think the DoD are overhyped. I don't think the plot devices are lazy.
When I say that I love Darkstalker, I do not mean to excuse his crimes. I think his motivation is honestly about 60% being born pure evil, and I'm okay with that. He's a great villain who serves to drive the plot forward on many levels, and I loved his book. I acknowledge that he is a genocidal maniac and a borderline pedophile and a horrible dragon, but that doesn't make him uninteresting! I see a lot of Darkstalker hate simply because he did bad things or was written poorly at times. I personally thing Tui did a pretty good job writing him, and the books he was in were very enjoyable.
There's a lot of content out there hating on the children of WoF purely for existing. Mink is fun and naive and would make a fantastic MC because of her connection to Queen Snowfall and Queen Glacier. Cliff is adorable and brave and is a vital part of Queen Ruby's story. Dusky is traumatized and heroic and would give us a great insight into the Leaf/Silk Kingdom. Auklet will be Queen of the Seawings one day. Bumblebee would make a great sidekick to a main character - I can see her being funny and loyal. And Peacemaker. Oh, Peacemaker. Darkstalker's demise, in my opinion, was well written and has a good conclusion. Peacemaker is not annoying. He is not stupid or a cop-out. He is a child. And the child that Hope deserves. Peacemaker has room to be a really interesting character! Maybe he has visions of the old Nightwing kingdom falling. Maybe he has memories of massive black wings and moving things with his mind. Maybe he's what the Nightwings need to fully accept the Rainwings as their equals. I personally think he should grow up to be a royal advisor. Imagine, if you will, a dragon who was once Darkstalker, actually having power in a throne room. Imagine how much he would hate being a hybrid. Imagine how interesting it would be to see a mostly grown-up Peacemaker having visions of Darkstalker hating his life. In any case, he's exciting, and seeing people hate on him for not being Darkstalker and not being nothing just makes me sad.
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Blood of Eden // Part Eight // Noah Sebastian Urban Fantasy AU Fic
Tropes and Tags: MM, MF, MFM, MFM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed men, polyverse, shapeshifters.
CW: 18+ only minors DNI. Urban Fantasy romance, Smut. Angst. Fluff (ish), Story includes D/S themes, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of drug use and distribution, mentions of prostitution, unprotected sex, male receiving oral sex, female receiving oral sex, cuckolding, P/A sex, P/V sex.
This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.
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Jolly strode into the grand council chamber, adjusting the lapels of his suit and surveying the scene before him. Fellow mages mingled in small groups, their hushed conversations echoing off the circular walls and intricately carved marble pillars. His gaze swept down the stairs to the center of the room, where the massive, oaken table of the Head Magistrate sat, its surface polished to a gleaming shine and inlaid with intricate sigils and runes. Flanking it were the four smaller tables of the Council Elders, simple and unadorned in contrast. Off to the side, almost as an afterthought, were the utilitarian desks of the Secretary, Scribe, and Guardsman, stacked high with parchment and quills. Jolly slumped into his seat at one of the Elders' tables, crossing one leg lazily over the other and leaning back with a sigh. Another mind-numbing meeting awaited him, just like all the others this month. These interminable gatherings were the bane of his workday existence. He often found himself zoning out as the Magistrate droned on, his imagination drifting to literally anything else - magical experiments in his workshop, reading in the archives, even watching paint dry. Today would be no exception, he mused, stifling a yawn and steeling himself for the boredom ahead.
Jolly's mind wanders to Rosa as he waits for the meeting to start. He thinks back to this morning at the breakfast table, when he caught a brief glimpse of the intensity simmering behind her eyes. For just a moment, he saw the aurora glow of her irises - greens, blues and purples swirling together like a cosmic storm.
As Jolly poured himself another cup of coffee in the kitchen, he overheard Rosa telling Noah about the victims of the disease she called The Rage. But it wasn't really a disease at all- just uncontrolled magic consuming Unclaimed Mages from within.
Jolly shudders at the thought. Where would he be now if his own magic had spiraled out of control like that? He feels a swell of gratitude for his mentor, who helped him harness and master his abilities.
His family was a lineage of mages with a magic that spanned generations, each adept at wielding the immense power of water. He had a cousin who made her home right on the tumultuous waves of the Aegean Sea in Greece - open her back door and the ocean spray hits you in the face. Another cousin was an Olympic swimmer - clearly the family gifts gave him an advantage in the pool. It was no coincidence they hailed from the icy north, where snow covered the ground most of the year. His parents were in their element among the glaciers and snowdrifts. They never understood why he felt compelled to head west to the sweltering city.
The simplicity of it resonated within him. Blood. The one common thread that bound humans, mages, and hunters together as one. Its rhythmic flow coursed through every living being, connecting them in an intimate dance of life. As he stood among the pulsing thrum of bodies, feeling their sanguine energy swirl around him, he found peace. In that moment, all differences faded away, and there was only the blood - the vital, crimson river that made them all one.
As she sits down next to him, he can't help but notice her defeated sigh, though her appearance exudes anything but. Maria's dark caramel locks cascade in perfect curls down to the middle of her back, effortlessly framing her sweet mocha skin. While her heather grey suit accentuates her figure, her aura commands the room. He knows Maria to be a confident, successful woman who carries herself with poise and grace, yet in this moment she seems weary. Though she looks as put together as ever, her sigh betrays her, hinting at an exhaustion or worry she tries hard not to show. He wonders what could be weighing on her mind to make her shoulders slump ever so slightly under that perfectly fitted jacket.
Jolly's lips curl into a playful smile as he asks, "What is it this time, Maria dear?" The two have been best friends ever since his arrival from Sweden. Maria herself was born and raised in Brazil - two foreigners who found companionship in one another.
"What isn't the matter?" she exclaims, throwing her head back in defeat. "My experiments are failing left and right. And my herbal farm in the west? It got hit with an unexpected frost. Half our stock is dead and the rest are in shock." Poor Maria lets out an exaggerated sigh, hands slapping her face as her fresh red manicure slides down pulling her skin with it.
With a warm smile, Jolly noticed the sparkling diamond ring on Maria’s finger. "So how's Oliver handling his new promotion?" he asked.
Maria sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "About as well as can be expected. He's determined to support the hunters and make me proud, but I can tell his mind has been preoccupied." A frown tugged at her lips as she absentmindedly twisted the ring. "I just hope all the added responsibilities aren't weighing too heavily on him."
Jolly nodded in understanding, giving her arm a reassuring pat. "I'm sure he'll get the hang of it. Oliver's got a good head on his shoulders." He offered an encouraging grin. "And if he needs any advice, tell him to give me a call. I'd be happy to help however I can."
The magistrate's presence silenced the room as all eyes fell upon him. His receding dark hair and heavy-lidded eyes, now dulled by age, did nothing to diminish the air of authority he exuded. With shoulders squared, he strode in with the confidence of a man accustomed to commanding obedience. Though time had etched its marks on his face, the magistrate's piercing gaze and imposing stature ensured that he remained an intimidating, powerful figure that few would dare defy. Flanked by armed guards with hands ready at their weapons and fierce hunters prowling in his wake, he exuded power. The assembled mages and council members watched with bated breath as he took his place at the head of the room. His piercing gaze swept over the crowd; with but a look, he could end any man's life. When he spoke, his deep voice echoed off the stone walls, steel underlying his every word. This was not a man to be trifled with. All knew that to defy him meant certain death. His will would be done, one way or another.
The magistrate called the meeting to order, his gravelly voice booming through the crowded hall. As the magistrate continued explaining the agenda for their meeting, Jolly listened intently, waiting for the right moment to make his case with passion and conviction. Jolly had been concerned about laboratory finances being off for months now, although it was only slight loss each month he wanted to propose more access to the financial bracket in order to ensure the funding was being spent appropriately. As the head researcher at the biotech firm, Jolly took pride in running an efficient and productive lab. He had assembled a top-notch team of scientists who were making great strides in genetic research that could lead to new disease treatments. However, Jolly had noticed some peculiarities in the monthly budgets that left him scratching his head. Each month, there seemed to be a small but consistent discrepancy between the approved funding for equipment, materials, and salaries and the actual spending. The differences were not huge - usually just a few thousand dollars - but they bothered Jolly, who liked to have full transparency and understanding of his lab's finances. He began to wonder if the discrepancies were a sign of innocent accounting errors or something more concerning like misconduct or fraud.
The council chamber erupted into a tumultuous debate as the mages representing the western territories voiced their strong objections to the proposed expansion plans. The western mages were incensed, but controlled in their anger, as they argued against the council's designs to push westward, establishing new laboratories, research facilities, and magical institutions on their lands. They fretted that such development would tax their resources, both material and magical, to a breaking point. More than that, the mages worried how the humans living in the west would react. So much of the mages' livelihood and profits depended on providing services to the non-magical humans there.
The western mages implored the council to reconsider the westward expansion, lest they lose the faith and business of the humans and thereby undermine the prosperity of mage and human alike. But not even ten minutes had passed when Jolly's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pressed it between his palm and thigh, silencing it until the buzzing stopped. A minute later, it buzzed again. Maria turned to him, concern swimming in her soft brown eyes. Jolly never got calls during meetings, especially not with the High Council of Mages. He was always diligent about turning his phone off beforehand. Yet here it was, buzzing insistently in his pocket, disrupting the solemn proceedings. Jolly shifted in his seat, ignoring Maria's worried glance. The phone vibrated again, persistently. Noah knew better than to call during High Council meetings, but after the third buzz, Jolly discreetly slid his phone out from his deep pocket and tapped back a quick message: "In a meeting."
The phone hummed once more against his leg. He offered Maria an apologetic nod before slipping to the back of the room. He could feel the eyes of the other Mages following him, their curiosity mingled with annoyance at the disruption. What could be so urgent that Noah would risk the ire of the High Council? Jolly's grip tightened on his phone as he stepped into the shadowed recesses of the hall.
"Noah, what's going on?" he whispered.
Before Jolly could even finish the question, Noah blurted out: "It's Rosa. She's been sick all morning, shaking and sobbing. I think she's having trouble breathing." Jolly could hear Rosa whimpering and choking back sobs in the background. His heart sank with worry.
Jolly ended the call and quietly returned to his seat beside Maria. Crouching down, he saw her eyes widen as she took in the evident concern on his face.
"Go," she whispered. "I'll check in after the meeting."
NOAH’S POV
He glances down at Rosa's small, trembling body curled up in his lap. Her fever still rages even as she finally drifts into a fitful sleep. He gently rubs circles on her back, hoping to provide some small comfort as they huddle near the warming fire. Jolly has been on the phone with Maria all day, both of them racking their brains trying to figure out how to make Rosa feel better. They've tried everything - bland foods, rest, warm baths, piles of blankets - but nothing seems to break this persistent fever. He feels so helpless watching his young mistress suffer. His heart aches to see her so miserable and weak. If only there was something more he could do to ease her discomfort. He continues rubbing her back, wishing he could absorb her illness into himself and spare her this torment.
Late into the night, the apartment was dark and still. Noah's eyes peered through the shadows, his night vision sharp. In the next room, Jolly tapped away at his keyboard, the occasional thud against the desk revealing his frustration. They were all on edge.
Before the knock came at the door, Noah caught their scent on the air - the earthy musk of Oli mixed with his wife's exotic floral perfume. Hushed voices murmured as Nick let them in, arms laden with bags. The commotion stirred Rosa from her sleep. She groaned, turning her head in Noah's lap as the visitors carried in their chaotic noise. He stroked her hair, hoping to soothe her back to rest, even as his own nerves remained taut.
Noah gently scoops her up, cradling her in his strong arms as if she were the most delicate porcelain doll. Carrying her down the hall to the room she shares with Jolly. His face softens as he gazes down at her, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Oli and Nick follow closely behind, ever-watchful guardians ready to protect their cherished friend.
Oli takes up his post by the tall windows, his tall, lean frame leaning casually against the glass as he keeps a close eye on the surroundings below. Nick stations himself firmly by the door, arms crossed, prepared to ward off any disturbance.
Noah lays Rosa down tenderly on the bed, tucking the blankets snugly around her resting form. His touch is feather-light, yet secure and comforting. Oli and Nick exchange a quick glance, reassured by the care Noah takes with his vulnerable mistress.
Noah stops tucking her in, looking up at Oli with a questioning gaze. "She's different now," Oli said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Since that night. Something's changed."
Nick chimed in, sounding puzzled. "She's sick, right?" But he had never even seen Rosa before. How could he know?
Oli hesitated, sensing there was more to it. "No, it's...something else. Something more." His tone was laced with curiosity and unease.
Noah gazed upon his mistress' sleeping form, a knot of unease twisting in his gut. She was his to protect, yet he sensed a power within her that gave him pause. As she shifted in slumber, a lock of hair fell across her face. But as his fingers grazed her cheek, her eyes flashed open, swirling with the cosmic colors of the morning sky.
He whimpered, feeling her gaze pierce his soul. His body shuddered, dropping to all fours in supplication before her might. With but a glance, she commanded the room. Oli and Nick, too, succumbed, bowing as beasts before her.
Though uncertainty gripped him, Noah felt no fear. He would surrender all to keep her safe. There was power here, yes, but no evil. Only light.
JOLLY’S POV
Jolly's leg bounced impatiently as he watched Maria pore over the results for the fifth time. "Well?" he finally burst out, unable to contain himself any longer.
Maria glanced up, one eyebrow raised. "This is unbelievable," she murmured. "Nightshade serum? Created in someone's home lab? Preposterous."
She turned back to the email, reading through it again with pursed lips. Jolly groaned and leaned his head against the back of the couch.
"I just can't wrap my mind around it," Maria said after another minute. "This Rosa woman managed to synthesize a complex biochemical compound using makeshift equipment? And achieved these kind of results?"
He sits casually on the couch, legs crossed, as he considers the situation. "Seems like it," he muses. "She's been getting nightshade from some garden shop over on the east side."
Maria thinks quietly to herself. "Well, I don't own that shop. And I certainly don't sell deadly nightshade here." She shakes her head slightly.
Jolly sat up, placing both feet firmly on the ground as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His hands clasped together tightly as he looked at Maria expectantly.
"Well, will any of that mumbo jumbo you brought actually help or not?" he asked, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. He needed something real, something tangible to help Rosa get through this.
Maria just leaned back in the office chair, clicking her tongue thoughtfully. "I might be able to whip something up, but it may only provide temporary relief. She may just have to ride this thing out."
Jolly shook his head, countering firmly but not unkindly, "She needs strength, real medicine, if she's going to recover and get back on her feet. Something to help her keep food and water down, not just take the edge off."
Maria nodded contemplatively, eyes glazing over as she turned ideas over in her head. "Let me see what I can do. Oh, and when she's better, I'd love to be able to pick her brain a bit." At Jolly's confused look, she continued, "My experiments keep failing, but with a brilliant mind like hers, maybe I can finally achieve what I'm looking for."
Jolly sighed, but had to admit her skills could help. "We'll see when she's back on her feet. For now, let's just focus on getting her well."
Maria spins out of the chair, gliding across the room before she rummages through her bags with eager hands, searching for the ingredients she needs. Maria finds them and gets to work, pouring and mixing with practiced motions. Several syringes are filled with a murky green concoction. She tidies her workspace, then picks up one of the syringes. gives it a flick, making sure there are no bubbles, before securing the needle. Her eyes gleam as she admires the fruits of her labor.
Jolly scrambles to his feet as she catwalks out of the room, her words trailing behind her. "Let's see if it works." He hurries after her, struggling to keep up with her long strides. They make their way down the hall to his room. As he opens the door, they both freeze, startled by the sight before them.
Between the soft cotton sheets and warm down blankets, Rosa rests peacefully, her head propped up on the plush pillows. Next to her, Noah, rests his furry head on her belly, his legs twitching occasionally as he sleeps curled up close to Rosa, ever watchful and protective. At her feet, paws crossed over her legs, lies Nick, snoring softly in tranquil slumber. And there, curled perfectly at Rosa's thighs, eyes open and alert, is Oli, the vigilant comander.
Jolly leans against the door frame, crossing his arms as he watches the faithful guardians wake and look at Maria with curious yet cautious eyes. They have locked onto the syringe in her hand. Noah turns to Jolly, who offers a reassuring nod as Maria approaches slowly. The protective canine companions follow her every move, never leaving their posts at Rosa's side. Jolly looks on calmly from the doorway as Maria grasps Rosa's arm, finding the right spot and delivering the medicine from the syringe. When the syringe is empty, Maria walks away, and the devoted guardians snuggle into Rosa even tighter, continuing their vigil watch.
#bad omens#bad omens cult#bad omens band#noahsebastian fanfic#noah sebastian#noah sebastian fanfiction#noah sebastian smut#noah sebastian fanfic#joakim jolly karlsson smut#joakim jolly karlsson fic#jolly karlsson#urban fantasy#dark romance#romance#bad omens au#bad omens fanfic#bad omens fic#blood of eden
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The mystery of names (and their correct spelling). Part 2. Aleksander Morozova
I'm back with a new analysis. In the last analysis, I promised to analyze the Morozovs. Let's start with Aleksander. And the correct spelling of his name in Russian is Aleksandr Morozov. Everything is simple with the surname: Morozova is the feminine form of the surname. The name is more complicated, as far as I understand, the correct spelling of the name in English is Alexander with an “x” and not “ks”, while in Russian it is written “ks”, but without the second letter “e”. Why Leigh Bardugo wrote this name the way she did is personally unclear to me🤨.
Okay, we’ve sorted out the correct spelling, let’s move on to the meaning of the name.
Aleksandr (abbreviated as Sasha, Sashka, Sashen'ka, Sashechka, Sanya, Sashok, Sanyok, San'ka and these are the first that came to my mind, there are a lot of options😁)
I think I won’t surprise anyone by saying that the name comes from the Greek words “alekso” - “to protect” and “andros” - “man” in the sense of “human”, and means protector of people. Therefore, without further ado, let's move on to the surname.
Morozov
Morozov is one of the most common Russian surnames; moreover, it ranks 9th in the list of all-Russian surnames. Like the Starkov surname, there are several versions of the origin of the surname:
1) Origin from the name
According to one version, the surname Morozov came from the name Moroz. "Moroz" is a weather phenomenon meaning extreme cold. In ancient times, names that denoted certain natural phenomena could become the basis for the formation of surnames. Thus, a person nicknamed “Moroz” could give rise to the Morozov surname.
P.S. The most famous person named Moroz is the Russian equivalent of Santa Claus - Ded Moroz or Moroz Ivanovich, so perhaps Sashka is a descendant of the Russian Santa😂
2) Origin from occupation
There is also a version that the surname Morozov came from the ancestors’ occupation of this type of activity associated with the frosty season. For example, they might have been involved in the production and sale of ice cream, ice products, or working in ice caves.
3) Symbolic meaning
The surname Morozov can carry a symbolic meaning, indicating strength and perseverance. Moroz is a natural phenomenon that can overcome obstacles and remain unshakable. Therefore, the Morozov surname can be associated with a family possessing such qualities.
4) Relief features of the area
It can also be assumed that the surname Morozov is associated with the relief features of the area where the ancestors of this family lived. It may have been a place with a cold climate or glaciers, which ultimately influenced the choice of surname.
Regardless of origin, the surname Morozov attracts attention with its mystical and mysterious connotations.
The names of Ilya and Baghra deserve a separate analysis, so the next post will be about them. See you later😘
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Ninjago Fic Rec Week: Day 4
Prompts: Fluff / Cole Recs! (i'm sure I'll be seeing a lot of my favorite fics today aaaa)
Fluff Recs-
Good Hair Day:
Kai helps Skylor do her hair, based entirely on a headcanon of Kai being good at doing hair (hey, his own style is a choice)
Little Brother:
Lloyd realizes the perks of having five older siblings. Lots of sweet family fluff and young!Lloyd shenanigans <3
Nya, Kai, and That One Drink:
Including this one specifically because it's probably the most lighthearted thing I've written yet that doesn't involve Jesse snknksnskn, the group goes for takeout in the X-1 Ninja Charger, only for one thing to lead to another and Kai winds up forgetting Nya's drink. What's a brother to do now?
Socks:
Wu wearily but delightfully is forced to watch the ninja get way too much merriment out of a ridiculous pair of socks (I, personally, am of the belief that they belong to Lloyd, but—)
Five Times Jay Cheered Someone Up:
And the one time he was cheered up in return (i am DISTRESSED that i didn't include this on my Jay list aaaaAAAA)
Five Times Lloyd Was a Pain:
And the one time he wasn't. Child!Lloyd for the soul in this one!!!!
There's Insurance For That:
In which Skylor gets a taste of the life of a ninja (and learning just how many places they've been banned from in Ninjago) Quite possibly my favorite lighthearted Skylor fic!!!
Cole Recs-
Sick Days:
Sickfic, featuring Cole and having to contend with "Being useless", and the doting care
Passing On the Hammer:
Cole has a meeting with his grandfather, while Jay tries his hand at being a fisherman and Kai thinks he can do the Triple Tiger Sashay. (Really a fic about Cole and his family's legacy, but Kai and Jay's antics are too hilarious not to mention snksnknksnk)
You're An Excellent Chef, Really
*screams loudly* UGNH one of my very favorite fics exploring Cole and Zane's dynamic, will recommend every single time!!!! But, it's basically the duo bonding over cooking over the years. Makes my heart very happy <3
Quiet Weirdo:
Cole and Nya friendship fic that the world definitely needs more of!!!!
Adjusting:
PILOT BONDING, this time Cole flavored!! Cole's thoughts on his new budding team consisting of a chatty blue guy and the guy that won't stop staring at things. But a guy like Cole has never needed friends anyway, so he's got nothing to worry about, right?
Again and Again:
MORE PILOTS BONDING but this time with Glacier! People keep asking me how Cole fell in love with Zane in Legacyverse and my mind always drifts back to a thing similar to this story! My personal investment aside, a nice fluffy fic about how Cole met Zane and they became friends with a touch of pining <3
You Worry Too Much:
By the author of Chips and Salsa (another fandom Cole/Glacier classic), here we have a another tale centered around Cole's parents while he was growing up, and though it's a little more about Lou than anyone else, Cole ofc has a huge stake in the story and uwaah I love reading about Cole's family dynamics (both the fluff and the tragedy)
Some Climb Mountains:
A retelling of how Cole met Master Wu, always gets me misty eyed because i am a soft soul ;v;
Cole and the Tastiest Broken Glass:
S2 Pre-Child's Play, Cole and Lloyd bond over broken things, life philosophy, and candy. Cole and Lloyd sibling duo that the world also needs much more og!!
I'm Sure He Knows:
More Cole + Wu bonding that speaks to me specifically, involving a conversation about a certain ghostly wind master who is no more.
Four Times Cole Helped The Guys With a Nightmare:
And the one time they helped him. Cole's character at his purest in this one!!!
#ninjago#the lego ninjago movie#tlnm#ninjago fanfiction#fic recs#ninjago fic rec week#cole brookstone#fluff#just reading all of these reminds me of how and why i write cole#(which also includes a few fics i'm saving for later days aaaAAAA)
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hold on — carmy berzatto
a/n: we want soft moments for carmy only!! It is the season of love after all. I’m taking a stab at writing a little bit this month, I’ve been more in the spirit this time around. Nothing too long but hopefully makes you feel a little something.
S/n: always written with a blk or brown woman in mind. Not overly descriptive so you’re welcome to imagine whomever.
prompt: running a bath for a loved one + catering to them like Destiny’s child :)
WARNINGS: things get eccentric? Idk I have no ties with the spirit realm or healers lol. I did minimal research, not gonna lie. This is just for story purposes, don’t take it too seriously if it’s not really your thing—It’s not Carmy’s either! + gif belongs to its rightful owner! You know the deal.
˚ ◌༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ ˚ ◌༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ ˚ ◌༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ ˚ ◌༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ
“Uh, how the hell did you get into my apartment?” Carmy stood frozen in the entryway of his living room.
That last thing he expected to see was his old and only friend from high school swaying away in his living room.
A deep dimple appeared in her cheek as she glanced over her shoulder at the blue eyed man.
“Carmy! Welcome home!” She waved the incense in the air as if it was a wand, before walking on her toes towards him, he knew that habit to be from years of gymnastics.
Interlocking her wrists around Carmy’s neck, her dark eyes connected with his much lighter ones.
“Not that it’s not great to see you but…what are you doing here?” Carmy pried, almost waiting for her to drop some form of news on him.
They shared the same sentiments yet Carmy knew how to deal with it better. He found a sense of comfort being attached to his family, that was one thing that he was sure of, having family at the end of the day. Carmy already knew that he would be right down at the original beef after graduation, beside his brother, Mikey, continuing to help what their parents could no longer do.
They shared the same sentiments yet Carmy knew how to deal with it better. He found a sense of comfort being attached to his family, that was one thing that he was sure of, having family at the end of the day. Carmy already knew that he would be right down at the original beef after graduation, beside his brother, Mikey, continuing to help what their parents could no longer do.
He was the youngest so whenever Carmy was exposed to questioning events in the Berzatto household, his head was always turned to face another direction. That’s how it always was. From the moment he entered senior year and his dad started complaining about chest pains, Mikey would push Carmy to help their mom clean the kitchen, when he would catch his mother and sugar giggling about some special date she was excited about, Mrs. Berzatto would ask if he had a date of his own with her tonight, and when there would be arguments between his mother, Mikey, and their father about Mr. Berzatto putting off doctor visits, Sugar would drag Carmy back upstairs to talk about school.
It seemed as if everyone wanted to lead Carmen to another path, a better one in their eyes but it all ended up bittersweet in the process.
She suddenly gripped Carmy’s face, analyzing every detail as if she could ever forget what he looked like. Round blue glaciers for eyes, a tall pointed nose, scruff all along his jaw and chin, long brows and thin at the tips, faint moles underneath his left eye and another on his cheek by the scar sugar accidentally gave him one summer.
Still Carmy.
Except she always seemed to know more than what she let on, even if they haven’t talked but that didn’t mean she didn’t attempt to in her own way. They were always on different time zones and she sent a post card every once in awhile that he kept tucked inside a impressive bookcase.
“You need to prioritize self-care, my friend.”
“That’s doesn’t answer my question.” Carmy sighed, he was used to his friend’s mind wandering.
Huffing she spun away from him, long lettuce trimmed skirt ruffled at her ankles as she placed the incense in a ashtray that sat on the coffee table. The woman stood in almost perfect posture, inhaling and turning back with hands on her waist.
Her arms were equally decorated in tattoos as she twisted her fingers out to Carmy who just blinked at her, “isn’t it obvious? I’m here to provide that self-care.”
“Which entails…what exactly?” Carmy leaned from one foot to the other, while crossing his arms.
She walked up to place her fingertips against Carmy’s abdomen, “your gut-health is heavy. I can just tell by looking at you. It’s holding a lot and we need to clear that up.”
“No.” Carmy lightly flicked her hand away to plop down on the couch, “Whatever spiritual shit you wanna do, I don’t have the energy to get into tonight. I just worked a twelve hour shift and all I want to do is try to get a nap in—
“Napping is not full sleep. This cleanse will help with that and that’s what I’m here for.”
“Who says I need it? Let me guess? Sugar?” Carmy scratched at his hair, “‘ppreciate that but I’m not feeling it. Take it up with her for wasting your trip back here.”
“Spending time with you is never a waste,” she stated patiently with her hands clasped in front of her, “I know you’re not into my whole spiritual shit, which is fine. But I’m here and we need to do something better than just holding on.”
Carmy felt his brows twitch into a frown but found himself pressing his chin into the palm of his hand in thought. It was his turn to look at his old friend. Of course he had a idea that she found some sort of spiritual awakening when he received a postcard from Nepal…and he knew this was genuine but Carmy always had to keep moving.
He didn’t have time to let things settle.
Carmy also noticed that she said, “we,” which wasn’t so foreign. She’s always been the kind of person to take your problems as her own. However Carmy couldn’t help but to think that something else might be going on with her too. After all it’s been two years since they physically saw each other and a lot can happen in two years, hell—even a year!
“Can we start with a simple conversation first?” Carmy started, “how’ve you been?”
“Ah,” she kicked out a bare foot, “I already made myself comfortable. We can do the socializing after we take care of you first.”
“I don’t need—
A look was sent his way and Carmy found himself scoffing out laughter. She was not letting this whole “gut saving,” thing go. He pinched at the skin in between his brows as he thought this over. One thing he was aware of is, he wouldn’t get as much sleep as he needed so at least he would continue to be productive?
“Okay honey, what do we—
Before he could finish his sentence she skipped right up to him. She interlocked their fingers together and tugged for him to get back on his feet. Carmy was used to the soreness in his feet; being on them hours at a time so he ignored the buckle in his knees as he stood. His eyes locked on her frame as she sent him a sweet smile, leading the way with her woodsy but powdery scent lingering in the air.
Carmy did not expect to be brought into his bathroom. How the cubed space was only illuminated by pillar candles and smelled citrusy instead of the usual bleach and Lysol filled bathroom. His eyes then shifted to the greenery that was hooked to the tub.
“Why is there eucalyptus hanging on my shower?
“There’s also small bags of it combined with lavender wrapped around the sink,” she added, “I told you, I’m here to help.”
“By putting a hex on me?”
Suddenly she gasped as if the man she’s known for the longest offended her, “I would never! Not to you, my true soulmate. But I don’t recommend reaching out to my last two partners though. They might say something different.”
Carmy snorted out a laugh.
He was still skeptical but he also knew her. It was not in her nature to want to hurt him, they were too connected.
“alright uh, what do I need to do? Is there a pentagram hiding underneath one of these rugs or what?” Carmy lightly joked while she rolled her eyes.
She sat on the edge of the tub and ran her hand across, which echoed the sound of water splashing around. Shaking her hand out she crossed one leg over the other and dipped her head, “remove your clothing.”
“What?”
“Connecting with the water in the way that we first entered the planet is key. We as humans have had a spiritual connection to water for generations, it’s what we need to survive but it’s also energetically healing.” She explained to the man who listened but still couldn’t find that correlation.
Carmen hummed as he nodded his head, “that’s cool to know and I respect it but I’m not getting naked.”
“Do you shower with your clothes on?”
“Of course not.”
Her stare was intense,“Then what are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not taking my clothes off in front of you, that’s out!” Carmen hissed while she exhaled.
She pushed off the edge of the tub, “I never said you had to get completely naked…you’re not ready for that step in vulnerability and that’s okay. I’ll do that for the both of us.”
In that moment Carmy felt like his eyes were about to bulge out of his head like one of those squeak toys. He stalked towards her, reaching for her wrist to halt her from yanking the tie that was around her neck.
“Don’t do that, it’s not necessary.”
Her laugh sounded like bells as a small one escaped her full lips, “it kinda is and I can say that because I’m a healer. This is my territory. You don’t have to be shy, we’ve seen each other in our natural glory plenty of times before! You have a wonderful body…from what I can remember anyways.”
Carmy puffed out a breath, “God! what am I? A fifteen year old boy who just had their mother walk in on them fresh out the shower and is trying to erase her son’s embarrassment?”
“Did that happen with you and Mrs. Berzatto?” Her head tilted to the side while Carmy dropped her wrist.
He ran a hand over his mouth in frustration, “shut up. I’m not doing this stupid therapy session with you so that you feel…whatever it is you think you’re gonna feel. I don’t need you to fix me…I’m going to the sessions okay? and why won’t you answer why you’re really here?”
It was the first silence that filled the bathroom that made Carmy flick his eyes back to his old friend. She began slowly pacing the bathroom now as she took in his emotions. They’ve always been a “weird” duo growing up, with her wearing all sorts of whacky colors and patterns, a large vitiligo patch that took up the apple of her right cheek trailing up to her temple, and preferred doodling and creating stories than talking to other people.
Yet she never seemed to mind talking to Carmen. He had the stutter and preferred her speaking for them both when they were around large groups of people, especially when he got nervous. Carmen’s mind was always wandering but whenever she was near it tended to slow down for some time.
Like the possibility of a dream could be reality when their eyes held onto each other.
“Please don’t forget who you’re talking to here,” she softly said, “I’ve always loved you for all that you are…even if you don’t exactly know who that is yet. My intentions are to solely just be here, next to you, while you heal.”
She didn’t attend Michael’s funeral because she didn’t deal with death well. However she knew that it wasn’t about her and sent her condolences to Mrs. Berzatto while sharing a lengthy phone call with sugar. With Carmy? He dodged her attempts to reach out to him and she didn’t take it personal. Sure death was part of the life experience but it always felt so out of place to her back then. She also learned that Carmy didn’t attend either—not mentally anyways…he was in town for the service but he couldn’t bring himself to stay inside the church or watch them place his big brother into the ground.
She understood that better than he did.
“No, I get that. Fuck, I’m sorry…Even if the philosophy is strange as hell,” Carmy let out a long exhale, “but I’m sensing something else is going on. What is it?”
That’s when she let her top fall and Carmy immediately put his back to her, “Jesus! Why!? Are you serious right now?”
“Very.” She responded walking to the tub and climbing in with only her low-waist skirt, “the water’s starting to cool off. Are you getting in or is this going to be a one person session?”
What did Carmen really have to lose?
He still wasn’t getting naked but he did kick his shoes to the side and step out of his work-day trousers. He swallowed with his eyes closed and took a deep breath before he moved to head to the tub. Just as he was getting ready to climb in, her voice halted him.
“Against me, instead of across. My heart to your sacral and possibly solar plexus.” She instructed.
Carmy kept his eyes on her face and figured this would be easier with him in front. Shaking his head, he held onto the edge of the tub before he shifted to face the opposite direction and stepped in. The water was much hotter than he expected, letting out a hiss as the water stung at his ankles. Although the bathroom was dim he could see swirls of pink salt and petals, orange and lemon slices, and herbs floating around.
“Sit.”
“I’m gonna!”
“Your flat ass is still in my face.”
“Oh, Fuck off.”
“I love you too.”
Carmy rolled his eyes as he slowly allowed his body to sink into the steaming water. He sat forward, both tatted hands resting against the edge of the tub. Briefly he glanced over his shoulder at her in question, “so what now?”
Her hand shot out, reaching under his arm and over to push at his chest, urging him to rest his head back against her clavicle. Carmy exhaled as he felt his shirt become damp and cling to him now.
“You know…you’re still very bossy.”
“Coming from a chef? I think not.”
A twitch of a smile appeared on his lips at that.
Her arm remained wrapped across his chest and hugged him from underneath the pit.
“We’re going to set the intention now.”
“Which means what?”
“Set what the purpose of this healing will be for you.”
“You said you could see the gut issues all on me…whatever that means,” Carmy began talking with his hands, the droplets fell from the tips of his fingers, “so I’m guessing it would be for that?”
“You got it.”
“…and what about you?”
“Hm?”
“You wouldn’t be inside the water with me if this healing sesh was just for me, now would you?” Carmy asked.
The man was smarter than he gave himself credit for.
She thought fast, “I had to get you in here somehow right?”
It was Carmy’s turn to hum now. The hand that was once covered in water and herbs, lifted to press against her’s. Silently that was his way of knowing and telling her that when she was ready, he was around.
“So,” she breathed, “let’s start by closing our eyes, focus on your breathing, and then the feeling of the water.” She coached.
Carmen always had trouble focusing but the second he closed his eyes, blackening his sight momentarily and inhaled the multitude of scents that were in the room with him now, it all began to feel natural. He didn’t feel himself flinch as another hand gently rested on his stomach as he inhaled then exhaled.
He got comfortable with his back pressed against her front, a ink embedded arm was secure around his body, while the rest of him gradually felt lighter the longer he kept his eyes closed. Any negative thought that occurred in his day that dared to swirl through his mind, was almost instantly bum rushed away with a snarl he was familiar with.
He wanted to open his eyes to question it, how the ball of emotions he kept bottled up could be smacked away just like that? It couldn’t be that easy…although his legs and feet felt like he was floating but was still leveled by the guide that held him by the chest. Up ahead of his body, he felt the tugging of the organ that beat inside of it’s cage, covered in barbed wire until his head rolled to the side.
He thought when his eyes adjusted to the few burned out candles, that he must have dozed off for maybe ten-twenty minutes? It wasn’t until he felt the once steaming water was now barely lukewarm. Abruptly he sat up, water sloshing as he looked around, before he twisted his body to face his friend who sat peacefully with a J pressed to her lips.
“How do you feel?” She asked around a cloud of smoke that she blew to the side.
Carmy used the palms of his hands to press into his eyes until he saw stars, “ah…what the hell was that?”
“Did you see something?”
“I saw a lot that doesn’t really make a whole lotta sense to me.” Carmy admitted.
She dipped her head in understanding, “yeah, my first time also fucked with my head…then it all came together.” She responded before leaning forward, “here.”
Carmy plucked the j and brought it to his lips, taking a few puffs before he scooted forward, getting ready to explain but she held out her hands to stop him. “We don’t have to discuss it now. You marinate on it first after you get more sleep and see if your perception changes in twenty-four hours.”
He blinked, unsure what to say to that. Sometimes dreams? Illusions? weren’t meant to be discussed. Just felt. However Carmy felt like he had some concerns from what he just witnessed.
“How long was I out?”
“Almost an hour.”
Carmy let out a low whistle, “Can I?”
She motioned for him to feel free as he slid back to rest against her chest. He took another puff before passing it back to the woman who held onto it between her fingers. Carmen also did the honors of grabbing her other hand to play with her fingers.
It started to come back to him in spurts, almost like a spasm until she pressed her nose to the side of his face. “You need a official shower now, stinky bear.”
Carmy breathed out a laugh joking, “are you taking that with me too, honey bear?”
“Only if you’re comfortable.”
And that’s how they ended their night, standing face to face with Carmy underneath the shower head. It was his turn to search her face, cradling it while using the pads of his thumbs to caress her skin. Her hands stayed on his wrists, as they shared this intimate moment with the cleanse running down the drain.
Carmy hoped she didn’t run away once he revealed that he knew her secret. However it gave him some sort of warmth inside to know that she wanted to be near him when it happened. So he held her stare for as long as she wanted before she fully stepped into his embrace.
Skin to skin.
Her head fit right against his neck and he used the arm that didn’t rest against her back, to reach up to take the claw-clip that held her twists up. They fell down like a curtain around her and Carmy felt her squeeze herself even tighter to him then.
“I see you too, ya know?” He whispered over her head.
“It feels good to be seen doesn’t it,” she replied, “that’s why I’m glad the universe made you my person.”
She didn’t give much away, she was tricky like that and it was on the tip of Carmy’s tongue but he knew she didn’t want to make tonight about her.
It was not her intention.
So he’d save it for another day and hoped she stayed long enough for him to comfort her in return—no further questions asked—if the cleanse was right.
He gripped her chin this time, turning her face to place his lips on both of her eyes.
That hold that she had on him would not go unseen.
He cared too much to let that happen.
After all, she was just as much as his soulmate as he was her’s.
˚ ◌༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ ˚ ◌༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ ˚ ◌༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ ˚ ◌༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ
taglist: @louderfortheback
Continue along with my winter anthology prompts here.
#the bear#the bear hulu#the bear fx#Jeremy allen white#Carmen berzatto#carmy berzatto#carmy x oc#carmy fluff#carmen berzatto x black! reader#carmy berzatto x reader
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OC Kiss Week - day 5
For my friend @undyingembers 💜 You can’t believe the contortions I had to go through to set up a plausible kiss for Lenarius/Leonosa. This was so much fun 😁
A little Act III scene with Siavash as a chaotic companion to the aeon Knight-Commander
Though his primal mind still recoiled from standing this close to a perilous drop, the Citadel balcony provided Lenarius with an excellent view of the stars on a clear night. He found his mind wandering ever further from the familiar surface of Golarion: calculating the trajectories of the celestial orbs, watching them whirl slowly to the perfect music of the spheres, losing himself in their divine symphony. Fascinating, he thought, that even when his mind soared like this the part of him that was afraid of heights—that needed its feet on the ground—grew quieter and quieter lately. He frowned when he heard footsteps approach.
“Len?”
It was Siavash, the bard he’d recruited in Kenabres. Whatever was he doing in the Citadel at this inappropriate hour? Lenarius tilted his chin to look over his shoulder at him and glanced away again in alarm.
He was aflame with wrongness.
Lenarius was only beginning to understand these auras he now sensed. This one blazed enough to set his teeth on edge but with what he was not sure.
“Listen, I had a crazy idea about the Midnight Fane. I couldn’t wait until morning. Instead of waiting for the Queen, what do you think about a surprise—” Siavash gasped when Lenarius suddenly turned the full force of his starry gaze upon him.
“What have you done?” the Knight-Commander demanded in a monotone that weighed as much as a glacier.
Siavash recoiled—took two steps back from him, fear stealing his smile.
Lenarius asked again, inexorably: “What have you done?”
“Nothing yet! I just—”
“I don’t mean about the Fane. I mean about everything!”
“I—I don’t—nothing. On purpose anyway.” Like a deer Siavash stood frozen. Confessions began to pour out of him. “I never hurt anyone on purpose. It’s just part of my nature. I can’t live up to what they want from me and it lets them down and I’m so sorry….”
A small part of Lenarius—a part he experienced like an alternative angle, a reflection in an oblique mirror, softened. This was his friend, a gentle soul full of music and laughter. Why did he seem so wrong?
And then he began to understand. This was not the volcanic red aura of Arueshalae, whose cruelties clung to her like a foul odor, nor even the cold aura of the Paralictor whose heartlessness had been placed in the service of cosmic order.
This was chaos. Unpredictability. The tiniest butterfly whose wings could stir up hurricanes. Anathema to the Aeon.
Not evil.
Jarringly, it felt as if two of Lenarius’ angles were not in alignment. Part of him wished to erase this source of cosmic error, and another part ached with sympathy.
“Len. Are you all right?”
Lenarius blinked slowly behind his glasses. “Of course I’m all right.”
“This power—it’s changing you.”
“Of course it is. That’s perfectly logical. This power is more than most mortals are accustomed to handling. I am… still adjusting to it.”
Siavash did not look convinced. He still stood several paces away, confusion and concern written on his features where usually there was an easy smile.
“It’s kind of frightening, Len,” he said at last, letting out a breath.
What was frightening was that awful, nauseating, swirling, chaotic aura. It must be stopped—erased—but Lenarius shook himself. “What do you mean? I’m hardly frightening, except to demons.”
“All right, but you’re not you.”
“I do not know what you mean. I am the Knight-Commander of the Fifth Crusade and chosen of Iomedae—” Wrong. Something about that was wrong but Lenarius could not discern what.
Though he still looked terrified, Siavash began to smile. “Oh, come off it. You’re Len, who’s afraid of heights and loves opera and poetry. Not to mention dirty limericks.”
A weight fell away from Lenarius’ mind at those words, leaving him suddenly emptied and exhausted, like a scraped out pumpkin. He reached for the wall to steady himself.
“Let’s get you inside,” Siavash said, lending him a shoulder.
A few moments later, with Anevia’s help Siavash was pulling the coverlet up to Lenarius’ chin and tucking it under his beard. He noticed the mirror in the Commander’s chamber was covered with a cloth and wondered at it, but only for a moment. Knowing Lenarius it was probably to keep off the dust.
Already all but fast asleep, Lenarius murmured dreamily, “Mmh. Daeran…”
Anevia and Siavash stood stock still, only their eyes darting to meet each other’s in surprise. And began choking down laughter.
When he had it under control more or less, Siavash put on his best airy highborn Mendevian accent. “Yes darling. Sweet dreams.” And kissed the Knight-Commander softly on the ruddy forehead, right between his horns.
Anevia’s repressed snorts echoed down the hall as they snuck away.
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I am FORGING ONWARDS, given I'm down to 3 more Holiday Specials to go, then getting back to this year's Santa story.
Next up is 'Tis the Season to be Freezin' (2021)
Window Shopping - Robin and Mr Freeze. I finally get a new Tim story in a Holiday Special and it has to be BTAS!Tim. Anyway Tim goes to buy Bruce's christmas present from a not-at-all suspicious shopkeeper who mysteriously has gifts nobody else does:
Interesting beard, sir, as is that Spock in command yellow holding a lightsaber.
Only to be interrupted by Mr Freeze freezing Old Gotham Square during an oncoming blizzard so he could reminisce about something good from his childhood. Tim talks Victor down and gets him back to Arkham, then we get to see the Christmas presents he's giving.
The Syphoning - Vixen and the Super-Pets. Fun Mari story! Penguin's captured the Super-Pets and is trying to steal their powers and mind control them to do his bidding.
I hate to say it, but this feels really fanficcy, down to Mari giving a speech to Cobblepot to go get some therapy.
Bizarro v Seasonal Depression: Dawn of Climate Change! - Bizarro.
Bizarro text gives me a headache, I'm sorry, particularly reading a story written wholly in it. In any case, this story is about a bunch of villains melting the 6 polar icecaps of Bizarro World and Bizarro getting the water vapour refrozen into a single icecap.
Stay Frosty - Firestorm and Killer Frost.
I liked this one! Killer Frost has reformed, but Firestorm is on monitor duty with her and doesn't quite trust that she has turned over a new leaf. Eventually he trusts her, after they take down the Royal Flush Gang together.
Snow Date - Polar Boy.
Firstly, Andrew Dalhouse deserves some praise here for the colouring job, which I really enjoyed.
Polar Boy and Comet Queen have a date while enjoying the ice sculptures of winter festival characters on different planets that Polar Boy made. Also they defeat Captain Freeze who wanted to steal Captain Cold's cold gun.
A Change of Heart - Harley Quinn and Blue Snowman. It's interesting when occasionally the pandemic gets a form of reference in comics. Here's it's a new lethal virus that causes pustules, which has infected Ivy. Harley tries to cure Ivy, first by getting the virus frozen (which freezes Ivy into a block of ice) then stealing an ancient healing rod to heal her.
Only this theft interrrupts a sting operation run by Hawkman and after some confusion, Harley and Blue Snowman team up with him.
Hawkman gets the rod, they heal Ivy with the power of friendship (okay 'heart, community, belief') and all is well.
Christmas: Cold and Fast - Flash and Captain Cold. This is essentially a sequel/rewrite of a A Flash Christmas Carol from 2016 - it hits all the same beats.
Captain Cold has dressed up as a donations Santa and is collecting to get toys to all the children of Central City. Barry suspects Snart's just doing it for Crimez reasons but gets talked into helping: Snart creates snow and an ice rink for the city, while Barry delivers all the presents while dressed up as Santa.
We also get a surprise last minute appearance of You Know Who.
Break the Ice - JLQ.
Solstice party for the Justice League Queer.
Oh hey, Ray Terrill! I haven't read any of your recent stuff.
This is...fine? The crew have to calm down Sigrid Nansen, Ice Maiden, who is having a breakdown about identity (and now wants to be Glacier). The themes. They are obvious.
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Things You Do That Warm Their Hearts | AOT Headcanons
Characters: Levi, Armin, Eren, and Jean
Notes: I want to hug and squish all of them and pat them on the head and tuck them in and give them a kiss
Levi - When You Bring Him Tea
Levi is a man of action rather than words. Through kind gestures, he showcases his love and care. But he doesn't know how much you appreciate the little things he does he does for you until you return the favor.
It's subtle at first.
You brew yourself a pot of tea, but you make enough so that he can drink some as well.
He's hard at work in his office, eyes glued to the endless stack of papers in front of him, when he's interrupted by you gently placing a cup in front of him. Just by the scent, he can tell that you've made his favorite.
The sun has set and most of the cadets have retired to their beds, but you still approach Levi with some calming herbal tea, sweetlt kissing him goodnight before you head off to sleep.
Now you ready a warm cup of tea for him whenever he crosses your mind. At times, Levi almost swears that you can read his thoughts. He'll only have to wonder for a moment if he should refill his empty cup when you walk into the room, offering him a freshly-made tea catered exactly to his liking.
You always wear a warm smile as you present the hot tea to him. Perhaps your happiness is simply infectious, but he finds himself smiling at you in return. He notes the fluttering of his heart when it's just him alone with his thoughts, and he considers the possibility that maybe he's just falling in love even more.
The thought brings a smile to his lips as he quietly sips his tea. It's then that Levi decides that he should bring you tea more often. He's curious to know what kind of expression you'll give him when he repays your kindness in full.
Armin - When You Read His Favorite Books
When you'd first expressed interest in the books he read, Armin couldn't contain his excitement. The thought of you wanting to participate in his hobbies, no matter how insignificant they might be, makes his heart swell.
Once he's finished a book, he hands it off to you, a slip of paper tucked securely inside the pages. And at the end of every week, you return his belonging along with your "review" of the contents.
He settles down for bed, eager to read what you've written for him. Your notes are filled with exclamations and drawings, as if words were not enough to express your every thought. Armin can't help but smile fondly, his thumb gently brushing over the inked letters.
He stores all of your notes in a small tin container inside his dresser, safe from the outside world. They're his precious kept secrets, only allowed to be seen by himself and you.
Because they're not just thoughts about a novel, but also love letters, messages too precious to be viewed by someone else.
Some of them have faint impressions of your lipstick you'd pressed against the parchment. Others have lines taken from the book reimagined as a poem created especially for him.
Icy glaciers found only in the Arctic...eyes so brilliant and blue...only then can one truly understand the beauty of nature...this is the world's most scenic view.
No, the prettiest sight in the world, Armin thinks, his racing heart shot through with cupid's arrow, must be you.
Eren - When You Ask If He's Okay
The burden of liberating the whole of humanity has been placed on his shoulders, and it can be too much to bear, especially for someone so young. Eren wonders sometimes if the Scouts forget that he's practically still a child. All they seem to see when they look at him is a weapon of war.
But when the ground beneath him begins to crumble, you give him a firm foundation to lean on.
You are always there to ask how he's faring, offering him your shoulder or a listening ear. You remind him that he's merely human and that it's not his responsibility to solve the world's problems, especially not on his own.
That's what you're here for: to endure life, side by side, until the very end.
A gentle squeeze from your hand calms his troubled mind, and it's then that he vows that one day he will be the one taking care of you. The love and concern that you give him now will be returned to you tenfold.
With you beside him, he has nothing to fear.
Jean - When You Know He Needs Comfort
Was it really true that some couples can read each other's minds after so much time spent together? Jean had never considered this to be true in the slightest - all until he met you.
Not a single word has to pass through his lips for you to understand when he needs you. Wordlessly, you intertwine your fingers with his, offering him a warm smile that prompts him to open his heart. The relief that washes over him after getting everything out feels like a drop of water in the desert, refreshing and soothing to his soul.
When the world has beaten him down and left him bruised, your arms are always waiting for him to run into. Your presence alone is a safe haven to him, a place that he dares to call home.
You are his comfort, his warmth, his starlight gleaming in the expansive night sky. You are his beacon of hope in the midst of the chaos. You are his assurance when all hope seems lost. You are everything he could ever wish for.
As long as your light is there to guide him, he will always find his way back to you.
#aot#aot x reader#levi x reader#armin x reader#eren x reader#jean x reader#levi ackerman#armin arlert#eren yeager#jean kirstein
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To the Shadows that Cry Witch /// Chapter I
Hi! Welcome to the first chapter of my fic (I'm very nervous posting this lol). This whole story is gonna be a bit long winded, so hopefully you're all in for the long term, hope you enjoy! <3
Summary: Magic was real, but it came at a price. So when two girls from England ended up in the one place they never thought they could reach, strange things began to happen. Good or bad? That's up to them to find out.
Tags: Kíli x oc/reader - Fíli x oc (POV to be written soon) - Thorin's company x ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - SUPER slow burn - crack - Bagginshield
Word Count: 1450
Warnings: Nothing really, just some rain :)
Taglist - comment or message to be added!
If you haven't already please read the prologue!
You want background music? Check out my Soundtrack Playlist!
Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)
< Prologue // Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 >
PART 1: Chapter 1 -
Go on a road trip they said, it'll be fun they said.
Pluviophile (Definition): One who loves rain; one who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days.
Lake District, Cumbria, North-West England - Modern Day Earth, August 2022
English weather truly loves to give the middle finger sometimes, especially on a day out you planned for weeks in advance.
But this is England we’re talking about, so despite the already dwindling faith you put in the weatherman, you prepare for every possible element for when you step out the front door.
I was glad I had this in mind when packing for a week trip to the Lake District. Windermere is notorious for giving not one, but two middle fingers, having more rainy days than dry in the year.
‘And today was one of those lovely days,’ I thought, watching as the rolling grey skies grew darker from the curtains of rain hammering down into the soil. Periodically, the shuttle bus would sway slightly from the aggressive wind, creating a silent feeling of unease for the small group of passengers taking the ride to the hostel.
Sensing the symptoms of fatigue from a long trip, I leant my head on the vibrating window, trying my best to ignore the consistent head drilling from both the engine and rain.
Twisting slightly to get more comfortable, I squinted at the foggy glass in attempt to sight see between the streaks of rain racing across my view. At best the only clear thing was my reflection and the stone wall flying past, dangerously close to the bus as it twisted down the narrow road. Everything else merged together into large, blurred masses of green and grey.
Leaning down to pick up and rummage through my bag, I pulled out a small book on glaciers. Kay had practically thrown it at my head once I had proposed the idea travelling up to the lakes. We spent a week packing, with Kay almost bringing down the entire bookshelf trying to find her geography books, that now took up the entire bottom of her rucksack. Sightseeing with your friends in fun, but going with one that will see one (1) rock and spend an hour reciting its origins like Tolkien would looking at a tree is a lot more entertaining and educational.
My drooping eyes looked to the left to see that Kay was still in her shrimp position, headphones on and back hunched at an odd angle with her knees drawn up to prop up the iPad she was drawing on. I decided to leave her be and propped my own legs up, resting the book on my knees as I took out the bookmark and started reading from where I left off, tuning out the murmurs and whispers of the other holiday makers around us.
Around twenty minutes of quiet passed, until the driver up front announced our arrival would be soon, causing a stir as everyone began to gather their bags. Kay still had her headphones on, so I nudged her knee with the book in my hand, waiting as she slipped her headphones off and around her neck,
“Pack your stuff away,” I whispered, “I’ll make sure to get the booking up.”
Both of us began our respectable jobs, Kay making sure everything that had been brought out on the ride was back in its place, whilst I scrolled my phone until I brought up the booking reference.
Considering the rainy weather, we both slipped on our raincoats before slinging the bags over our shoulders, waiting for the bus to slow to a stop. Soon enough, with both hoods pulled up, we squeezed down the aisle along with everyone else and stepped out into the fierce winds and rain.
The sound of the continuous downpour and gravel crunching underfoot filled my ears as I scoured the surrounding area for the hostel. Said hostel was some ways down the winding lane in front of us, nestled within a wide valley surrounded by green, speckled hills smothered with trees, curving down to cradle the small building that stood politely at the bottom. Running from the top of the valley down past the hostel was a small river, threatening to burst at the banks from the onslaught of torrential downpour.
A freak gust of wind and the noise of the shuttle bus pulling away seemed to usher everyone forward, and we began the trudge through the churned up mud and soaking puddles. By the looks on everyone faces, we were all desperate to escape the miserable weather as swiftly as possible.
“Tomorrow better be the light clouds we were promised,” Kay groaned over the noise, face twisting in further annoyance as she looked down to find her shoes and trousers were already caked in mud, “cuz I don’t wanna be stuck in a dingy hostel waiting for all this to blow over.”
I hummed tiredly in reply, agreeing since despite how much I adored the rain, this type of weather wasn’t ideal for hiking up mountains in, no matter how much of an adventure it would be. But tomorrow could wait, since right now, nothing but a warm drink and comfy bed could satisfy us until tomorrow.
After slipping over almost twice, whilst quietly laughing at those who did, we crossed the threshold of the hostel, kicking off our mud clogged hiking boots immediately as to not tread dirt all over the place. We also made sure to give one of the men from the bus stink eye as he trampled past, doing quite the opposite, smearing whatever, wherever, much to the dismay of the poor lady at the desk. Thank god any carpet was yet to appear.
Approaching the desk, I gently placed my boots on the floor as I displayed the booking on my phone to the lady behind it. She reached under the desk and brought out a set of two keys, handing them over. We thanked her politely and wandered further into the building, leaving her with the now nervous man who had finally noticed what was on the bottom of his shoes.
Meandering upstairs and down a few corridors of the small hostel, the door sign eventually matched the key.
“Finally!” I exclaimed in relief, excitedly twisting the key in the lock until I felt a click.
Kay turned to me with a face of exasperation that I couldn’t tell was fake or not.
“13?” She questioned. “Weren’t there at least ten rooms available with a different number?”
“It’s my lucky number,” I stated nonchalantly, using my shoulder to budge the door open. I emptied one hand of luggage onto the floor to flip the light switch. “It’s quite funny watching the looks on people’s faces when I tell them.”
With an amused roll of her eyes, Kay followed in and dumped her own bags on the floor. With light now illuminating the room, we turned to inspect our surroundings.
The room was nothing special, just a plain and simple double bedroom; two single beds; a pair of small bedside drawers sat in between, small lamps on top; two wardrobes pushed against the walls at the foot of each bed; and a few portraits depicting the natural surroundings hung up on the walls.
Like I said, plain and simple.
Tucking my shoes into the corner, I crossed the room with Kay trailing behind and clambered over the creaking bed on the right to reach to window. Gazing out into the valley, I realised the rain had slowed to a stop, now able to make out the details of the thick forest outside. Picking up a key that had been left on the windowsill, I flicked off bits of rust that had begun to form on the metal before carefully slotting it into the keyhole and twisting. Pulling the handle up, I swung open the window, taking a deep inhale as I breathed in the fresh breeze that replaced the stagnant air inside.
After taking in our weeklong view, an hour or so was spent putting away everything we had brought. I had overpacked as usual, so Kay lent me half a drawer, in exchange for the window side. Shoes and wash bags were left by the door since the bathrooms were communal instead of personal.
The remainder of the day was us mostly chilling in our room, taking a couple visits downstairs to explore the rest of the building and eat in the small canteen, before heading to bed for the night.
The next few days trudged by contently as we explored the surrounding area, visiting the nearby towns and returning to our room with a concerning amount of bags brimming with gift shop items. I had gone a little crazy after spotting a shelf of glass animals, if the bag containing half a dozen at the foot of my bed said anything.
However, tomorrow’s plans were different.
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< Prologue // Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 >
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Okay, this took many redrafts to write lol, so I really hoped you enjoyed reading it just as much as I did writing it!
Chapter 2 is out now!!
Taglist:
@opheliasdrowningg
#the hobbit#the hobbit x reader#the hobbit x you#the hobbit x oc#kili x reader#fili#kili#fili x reader#hobbit x reader#fili x oc#kili x oc#thorins company x reader#thorins company#To the Shadows that Cry Witch#big soup#kili durin
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Tag Game: Ten First Lines
Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.
tagged by @aobawilliams
1) Finny can’t get her words out of his mind even weeks later.
2) A detective is a person who investigates and solves crimes. A great detective is something more than that. They’re someone fantastical, right out of a novel, who sweeps into the scene and with just a look deduces everything.
3) The bento box weighs heavy in his hands. Izuku peeks inside to see hard boiled eggs, sliced cucumber, and octopus sausages. Stomach lurching, he’s quick to close the lid and set the container in the middle of the bench he’s sitting on, between himself and All Might. He folds the bento cloth carefully and puts it there too.
4) Time spent with the director is hard to find these days. It’s an hour of downtime at the agency spent lying upside down on the sofa in Fukuzawa’s office, the ends of his hair touching the floor and his feet hooked over the back of the sofa as he plays on his DS. It’s a long day, where Ranpo hangs around past closing time to accompany Fukuzawa back to his home uninvited.
5) It’s hard to stitch up a wound one-handed. You can’t thread the needle by yourself, because you need one hand to hold the needle and another to hold the string, and once it’s threaded, you have to go as slow as you can, pushing the needle through flesh with as much precision and care as possible. Once that’s done, you can’t even tie the thread off by yourself.
6) Giyuu returns to him with slit pupils and blackened claws for nails. He stares at Urokodaki from just outside the temple grounds, eyes an ice cold glacier, body limp and still as if he is a spectre. Drool drips from his mouth, a low growl emits from his throat, and his fingers clench on nothing.
7) “What are you doing?”
8) Oda Sakunosuke can say with confidence that he has never met anyone as clever as Edogawa Ranpo before. His eyes see through everything and his brain works twice as fast as any other, making almost every situation one of boredom and frustration for him. With every job they accompany Fukuzawa on, Ranpo walks into the room and deconstructs would-be crimes like a starved dog catching its teeth on fresh meat.
9) The thing is, Shiho had always known. She’d been aware. Once she left the Organisation, she’d have nowhere else to be.
10) The warehouse he’s been lured to is dark and cavernous. A single sound can be projected across it in a second, like a gunshot in an empty room.
this is meant to be wips right and not posted?? anyway here u are. a lot of them aren't ones i have any interest in continuing (tho digging up that shiho one again has me salivating over the au like i wish so so hard it wasn't so hard to write. aoba you know what i'm talking about. i want it so bad but it's so hard). also rip to my longest current wip that makes me go the most insane having one sentence to open it (number 7, this is to you).
and umm like usual i won't tag anyone but anyone's welcome to take this as an opportunity to play the tag game
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Name: Leofgyð Collingwood-Huxtable III
Species: Human-elf hybrid
Birthday: September 23rd
Age: 89 (chronologically), 37 (biologically)
Sexuality: Lesbian
Occupation: Witch, noble, rebel
Abilities: She often prefers using her black magic grimoire, but she’s gained a few magical abilities from her elf mother. Leofgyð possesses heightened awareness, which means she can perceive the presence and emotions of other people easily. She also has exceptional proficiency in archery and is extremely agile, being able to dodge numerous projectiles. Leofgyð is capable of healing from any damage inflicted upon her to such an extent that she can even reattach severed limbs. She has the power to manipulate the wind and air, and, to a lesser extent, clouds.
Personality: She pretends to highly disgust the poor, but she secretly believes that everyone should be treated equitably. She cares about the rich and poor, forever her respect and kindness is directed towards those who are genuinely good people. Leofgyð often seeks to attain her ends through guileful means, possessing the skill to conceal her aims and methods from other people. She prefers to do exactly what she desires by indulging in her personal pleasures such as gambling and teasing people. She has a clear understanding of many facts about the New World and a few subjects such as astrology, jurisprudence, and magic. She’s willing to lend a helping hand and share her knowledge with other individuals that she seems worthy or has taken pity on. She’s capable of paying attention to the needs, wishes, and feelings of those she interacts with or wants to help. Leofgyð is able to show genuine concern for those who are experiencing hardship and personal misfortunes. Due to her altruism, lack of social narcissism, and good sense of humour, she’s quite charismatic. She’s marked by gracious courtesy and high-minded consideration, especially when interacting with other women. She can multitask, and easily adjust to new conditions and situations, allowing her to be competent in many things. She’s a flirtatious perfectionist who has a constant need to be admired and a habit of setting unrealistically high expectations for herself. Leofgyð usually strives to please others in order to feel more loved and valued within her relationships as well as to maintain harmony and avoid conflict.
Likes: Arsinoe, creating written/spoken codes and ciphers, falconry, the sound of café chatter, going for a walk during rainy days, intricate jewellery, and the performing arts.
Dislikes: Being caught in a thunderstorm, know-it-alls, her handwriting, those who disrespect her, chauvinism, uninteresting adventures, and mistreatment of the poor.
Physical and outfit appearance: Her approximate height is 7 ft (213.36 cm) and she has a mesomorphic rectangular body type with fairly defined hips, slim arms, and slightly broad shoulders. Her skin is a lovely sienna and she has heterochromia eyes: her right eye is a sparkling aquamarine and her left is like muddy brown. She has pointed ears that are slightly drooping and her medium hair with backswept layers is a golden bronze.
She wears a silk voluminous ball gown of jagger purple with floral embroidery made from silvery and golden thread. The ball gown has an elegant cowl neckline, elbow-length tiered sleeves, and a vivid violet bodice. She has an elaborate bleached cedar hat that has black glittery veil, which is decorated with artificial garden flowers and a male golden pheasant feather. She has ruffled lace glacier choker, a pink pearl necklace, and five rings: a hexagonite cocktail ring on her right index finger; a diamond statement ring on her right middle finger; a golden dome ring on her right ring finger; an alexandrite solitaire ring on her left middle finger; a carnelian signet ring on her left index finger.
Equipment: An ancient grimoire of black magic, golden kiseru, a matterhorn umbrella, her father’s sabre, an enchanted bow and arrow made from an oak tree, a Komodo dragon skull, and a gifted hot air balloon that has a viridian green, tapestry, and hokey pokey yellow envelope.
Family:
Leofgyð Collingwood-Huxtable II (great-great-great-grandmother)
Uhtric Collingwood-Huxtable (father)
An unnamed elf mother
Biography: On September 23rd, she was born into a wealthy family where her mother is an elf witch and her father is a human warlock noble. Once born, her mother abandoned her family in pursuit of forbidden knowledge and gaining more magical power. Her father decided to name her after his great-great-great-grandmother and great-great-great-great-great-grandmother. Despite being half-elf, Leofgyð’s father didn’t care and treated her like everyone else. Uhtric constantly spoiled her with exotic gifts, told her stories about his adventures around the New World, and taught her how to wield magic. Her father secretly cared about the poor, but often tried to hide it from the other nobles in fear of being ostracised himself. However, he would teach his daughter the importance of equity and peace, but she had difficulty understanding it at first. During her adolescent years, Leofgyð eventually understood what her father taught her after witnessing the unfair treatment of the poor. This would change her perspective on the Xuissedora Empire and would try to help the poor earn peace and strengthen their human rights. Leofgyð always manages to cover up her tracks and pretend that she isn’t helping them. She would eventually catch word about a magical travelling merchant and became enamoured by the description of her natural beauty.
@ask-liam-and-co
#writerscorner#writing#creative writing#original character#witch#noble#rebel#lesbian#elf#human#hybrid#might go through a couple of changes and add ons but let's see
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Lovecraft considered Algernon Blackwood's tale, THE WILLOWS, to be the finest supernatural story ever written in the English Language. It is my contention that he modeled the single most ambitious of his own stories after Blackwood's masterpiece. AT THE MOUNTAINS OF MADNESS would probably have been Lovecraft's proudest moment. Unfortunately, though the story appeared serialized in three issues of the science-fiction magazine, ASTOUNDING STORIES, it was abridged and filled with typos. As far as the similar themes in THE WILLOWS and 'MTS': Both tales feature explorers discovering vast and desolate regions. THE WILLOWS takes place on a broad region of the Danube River. For mile after mile there are only small islands covered in stunted willow trees. Both tales depict terrific winds. In THE WILLOWS the islands that dot the landscape are constantly being eaten away by the waters of the Danube as they rush forward. Lovecraft's tale on the other hand occurs in an unexplored region of Antarctica. In that story a mighty glacier (a frozen river) moves at an infinitely slow pace through the ancient city of the 'old ones' and likewise will one day grind it to dust - Lovecraft here plays with his favorite dimension-time. Another theme shared by each story is that of a mirage acting as a premonition. In THE WILLOWS the pair of lone travelers sees what they at first believe is a human body spinning in the current. The pair look again and realize the thing is really an otter playing near the shore. In 'ATMOM' the adventurers - in this case exploring Antarctica - see a mirage in the distance of the very ruined city they will soon discover. In this mirage, however, the city appears to be in pristine condition and crawling with movement as it may have looked a million years previously. Both stories feature tents and odd footprints or tracks. In the case of THE WILLOWS it is suggested that the stunted willow trees are actually able to move about - though the explorer-friends never actually see this happen. In Lovecraft's tale, reports come to the protagonists that alien creatures, not unlike trees in some respects and definitely as much plant as animal are discovered frozen in a cave. In their frozen state the lobes of their starfish-like heads droop down around their barrel-shaped bodies - reminiscent of the branches and trunk of a willow tree. As in THE WILLOWS our Antarctic explorers never actually see one of the creatures alive and moving. In THE WILLOWS the narrator and his friend, 'The Swede', have shared several outdoor adventures previously. The narrator appreciates that his pal is dependable and somewhat lacking in imagination. Now, however, The Swede, suddenly developes the ability to 'channel' the minds of the terrible 'spirits' of the mysterious region. When Lovecraft's Antarctic adventurers finally enter the ruined city of the alien beings - they refer to them by a variety of nebulous terms - they seem to be able to 'read' the history of the beings in the bas-relief carving they left behind with preternatural detail and precision. In both tales there is a hint of some even greater and more powerful menace beyond even the haunted willow landscape in one case, or the alien-built ruins of Antarctica in the other. In THE WILLOWS the pair of explorers - traveling through the haunted region in a canoe - are able to escape because another victim has been claimed by the spirits there. This time they see the illusion of a creature spinning in the waves again. Here it is not an otter, but a human corpse! In Lovecraft's tale a perusing monster- heard more than seen- is slowed as it stops to feed upon huge, grotesque white penguins in its path. There are other thematic and structural similarities between the two men's stories, but it is almost certain that Lovecraft was making an effort to build the same kind of atmosphere of sustained dread and cosmic fear that he appeciated so profoundly in Blackwood's greatest masterpiece. (Exhibit 287)
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