#Thus his puppy love was born

[bamboozledbird]

𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒏 𝒈𝒐 // stiles stilinski imagine Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, Isaac Lahey, Malia Tate, Kira Yukimura, Allison Argent Pairing(s): Stiles x you, Word Count: 8.9k Tags: human!au, fluff, childhood to friends to lovers Warnings: there are a few little nsfw mentions in the middle, so MDNI. Stiles does go out on a window ledge, but i have to make it clear he has no intention ever of jumping lmao.

A/N: this is basically just one day i thought what if stiles had a nick x jess first kiss because he seems stupid and awkward enough to jump out a window. and thus this nonsense was born. also the pov switching was new, so you’ll have to let me know if you’re a fan or not.

The thing is, Stiles isn’t an idiot. He’s stupid, but he isn’t dumb. He knows that it’s not normal to think about your best friend like this. That being so intensely attuned to the curve of her spine when she stretches or the hint of citrus that clings to her hair after she showers isn’t exactly platonic. 

And he really doesn’t want to be that guy. You know, the guy who just wants more, who gets upset when he can’t have more—the guy who can’t be friends with the girl who doesn’t love him back. So. Stiles stuffs it down. Deep down. And he’s content to die like this because he needs you. 

There are other girls. Boys too, after a latent discovery freshman year ( one that surprised no one but himself ). They come, and they go, and Stiles makes due with what he can have because he knows this is how it has to be. 

But they aren’t you. 

A blatant fact that ruins anything real before it even has the chance to start. 

So here he is: 24, single, and perpetually in love with one of his three roommates—but, hey, at least he does his own laundry now.

Stiles watches you on your bed, sitting on the floor like a child, while he pretends to work on a case report. He feels a little like a child too, the longer he stares at you—like a little boy with his hand in the cookie car. 

He plays with the fluff on your rug to keep his hand busy, tugging on it a little too harshly when you pull your hair back with the scrunchie on your wrist. Stiles feels like a cretin when his eyes follow the rise of your breasts as you fiddle with the knot on top of your head. They trail over the flex of your collarbones, and he sinks further into his shame when he imagines tracing the lines with his tongue. 

You catch him staring, and his throat bobs with his swallow. 

“What?” you ask with arched brows. You grin at him like you know something. 

Fuck, what if you know? 

You asked him something. Stiles knows you asked him something, but he can’t remember what. He just swallows again and fumbles for his coffee. Stiles knows that he should be desensitized to it all by now: your clever mouth, your deft fingers, your fluttering lashes, but he’s still startled by it every so often—like right now, when you look like you’re about to say something snarky at his expense. 

“Does it look that bad?” A few strands of your hair slip from their loose hold when you shake your head at him. “Are you moonlighting with the fashion police? I thought you’d be a little busy living in the murder capital of the world.”

Stiles laughs a little, mostly because of the simple fact that your hair always looks pretty. He said it the first time he saw you, blurted it out like a little lamb. Stiles knew, even at six, that he should be embarrassed, but he just couldn’t help it. He was so little and completely overwhelmed by his first case of puppy love; the words had nowhere else to go.

He’s gotten better at swallowing the praise-vomit, but he still notices. You’re always pretty. He’s doing his best to ignore it. 

“That’s St. Louis actually,” Stiles says. He burns his tongue on his coffee and pulls a face that he knows gives him a double chin. 

You slide off of your bed and kneel down next to him. Your knees press into his thigh, and it feels like something more, something profound, but he knows it doesn’t mean anything. You’re generous with your affection; you make everyone feel special when they’re around you. Stiles loves that about you, how you make him feel like he’s so smart, so vital when he knows that he’s moderately clever at best and really a lot closer criminally obsessive most days. 

“Can you tell me anything about it?” you hum, nestling your chin in the hollow of his shoulder. 

Stiles can smell your body wash. It’s sweet, fresh, and tickles his nose pleasantly—marigold and aloe. He’s seen the bottle in the shower. Sometimes, he has to bite his fist and turn the water to freezing when he accidentally imagines your wet, sudsy body, lathering the scent of marigold from neck to toe. It’s the in-between bits that make him especially nauseous with guilt. 

“Huh?” Stiles mumbles, pressing his singed tongue to the roof of his mouth. 

You poke his cheek and say, “You’re eating your lip. You only do that when you get stuck in a case.” 

Stiles can think of several other things that make him suck his top lip between his teeth, but he is stuck—most likely because he’s spent the last hour watching you. 

You frown, and he smiles a little at the wrinkle between your brows. You smooth out his own forehead wrinkles with your thumb and say, “It helps you sometimes—talking. You think best out loud.”

He does. Stiles swallows a little. You know him so well. You know everything about him. Everything except, of course, that the crush he had on you in elementary school has metastasized into an all-consuming, all-encompassing, honest-to-god, tried-and-true-blue, last-of-dying-breed, core-of-the-sun, probably-caused-the-big-bang kind of love. 

Stiles has tried, and failed, to think of a way to casually confess how he feels. How do you even begin to break something like that to a friend? Over Chinese food? After a few beers at your favorite bar? During one of your Buffy binge nights? How is he supposed to say, ‘Hey, so I’m kind of totally and irrevocably in love with you, and it’s ruining my life a little—but that’s okay ’cause I can’t be happy unless I know that you’re happy’ without blowing up his entire life? 

He can’t. So Stiles stuffs it down again with a sip of his coffee: black and bitter, a little like his heart when your not-boyfriend, boyfriend texts you. And he knows that’s so incredibly unfair of him. He knows that he’s needy, and pathetic, and far too possessive of your attention—it all makes him a little sick with self-loathing. 

You have every right to remove your warmth from his side to respond, and Stiles thinks that if a guy can make you smile like that, he must not be all bad. You seem happy. When isn't feeling sorry for himself, Stiles is happy for you. 

“The local police think it’s gang-related,” Stiles says eventually. His voice is raspy from his burnt throat and too loud in the silence of the near-empty apartment. 

You slide your phone back into your pocket, and Stiles tries not to feel victorious. “And you don’t,” you scooch back to his side, ducking your head over his shoulder to see his screen. 

“No,” Stiles combs his fingers through his hair and sighs, “I don’t. It’s too easy.”

“Follow your gut,” you say, poking his abs, “he usually knows what’s up.” 

“You know what he’s sayin’ right now?” Stiles’s back clicks as he stretches and rolls his neck around in slow circles. It does little for the perpetual ache along the ridge of his skull, but it gives him some space from you and your stupidly sweet smile. “It’s time for chimichangas.” 

You smile at him again, and Stiles blames the swooping in his stomach on hunger. “I think you deserve a little more than off-brand, freezer-burned Tex-Mex.” 

“Don’t knock Great Value,” Stiles grumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. His lips, swollen from an afternoon of tearing into them with his teeth, tug into a tired smile when you wave your hand impatiently in front of his face. He wraps his long fingers around yours and says, “She’s been there for me through everything.” 

“Higher standards, Stiles,” you roll your eyes, crinkled at the corners with your grin, “you’re in desperate need of higher standards.” 

Stiles wants to laugh, feels the impulse itch his throat. High standards are precisely his problem. 

“Maybe you should stop being such a brand snob,” Stiles pokes you in the side, a spot between your ribs that he knows is ticklish. You laugh and shove him away with a firm hand; Stiles goes willingly, stumbles into the doorframe just to make you laugh again. 

“I am not a snob,” you push yourself onto a barstool, socked-feet dangling below. He smiles as you swing them and then knock your ankles together. You used to do the same thing on the playground swing set. “Not liking over-salted garbage is not snobbery.”

Stiles reaches for the open bag of corn nuts on the island, needlessly resting his palm on your lower back under the guise of balance. Your skin is warm, and he’s too busy thinking about how his hand must’ve been molded around the shape of your hip to notice how hard you’re biting your lower lip. 

He tosses a few corn nuts in the air and catches them in his waiting mouth, smacking his lips together until they’re free of nacho cheese seasoning. He grins at the look on your face, and he wants to kiss the tip of your scrunched nose. “See,” Stiles sucks the leftover orange dust off of his fingers. His voice is muffled by his thumb when he says, “You’re snubbing my snacks right now—like a little munchie elitist. How dare you; they probably won’t ever recover.” 

You laugh, as expected, and snatch the bag from the counter, not expected. “You’re literally biting your thumb at me!”

Stiles leans against the counter, rests his forearms on the granite, and watches you chew with a dumb, fond smile on his face. You’re just so clever, all wrapped up in keen smiles and sharp wit. You keep him on his toes, always have—Stiles hasn’t ever met anyone else who can spar with him so well. He doesn’t think he ever will. Admittedly, he hasn’t looked that hard; his heart just isn’t in it—who else would paraphrase Shakespeare in the middle of a mock debate? Who else could possibly look so wily and wicked while doing it through a mouthful of, objectively, terrible gas station eats. 

“Purely accidental,” Stiles taps his fingers against the counter, and his shoulders lift with a small, oh-so innocent shrug, “it’s what we professionals call a ‘serendipitous turn of events’.”

“A professional what?” You grin at him. It’s one of his favorites, the one that says you’re about to tease him. “Sadist?”

“Oh,” Stiles’s brow quirks as he leans forward onto his arms, “so I torture you? Being around me is torturous?” 

“Yes.” Your chin jerks with a small, sharp nod, but the only thing Stiles can see is your pouty bottom lip. 

Sometimes, Stiles swears you do it on purpose—turn him on in the most inconvenient of moments. Make his heart swell into his throat until he devolves into a lovesick caveman. You have to know what you’re doing to him when you walk around in those little tank tops with the lace trim and the sleep shorts that ride up to the swell of your ass. It can’t be accidental, the cute laugh-snorts you’re so embarrassed of, or how you get so excited when you see a bird in a parking lot. It’s all too effective to be a coincidence.

Like right now, the way your lip balm shines under the kitchen lights and exaggerates your pout. You must know how completely and utterly kissable you look, and Stiles can’t do anything about it—now that’s torture. 

You give him mercy and tuck your pout away for a solemn line instead. “You’re evil; you never close the cabinets or take the trash out.” 

“Careful,” Stiles grins and snaps his teeth in the air, ���I bite too.”

You lean across the island, and it’s torture, the way your arms squeeze your chest and push your cleavage to the neckline of your shirt. Stiles pointedly avoids looking at the round flesh. It just looks so soft, so plush—so ripe. His teeth ache. His tongue salivates. He craves with reckless abandon, and he’s never satiated. 

Stiles knows you’re a smart girl, but sometimes he forgets. You’d have to be pretty dense, after all, to not see the ravenous gleam in his eyes. You certainly don’t seem to notice it now, not with all that fondness twisting your lips into a grin. Stiles often wonders, worries, how you’d look at him if you knew. Disgusted most likely; he’s disgusted with himself half the time—but you’re so sweet, and so understanding, you’d probably forgive him. 

Pity, Stiles decides, if you knew, you’d pity him. He can’t decide if that’s worse. 

You rest your finger between his brows, and his dark lashes flutter, brushing against his freckles like they stamped the specks onto his skin. “Eat your nuts, monster,” you drag your finger along the slope of his nose and then ‘boop’ the tip, “and then preferably something with a single gram of protein.” 

Stiles grumbles to himself and searches the fridge for something that will placate your relentless bullying. He picks up the whipped cream and rolls the chilled can around in his hands, squinting at the label. 0 grams of protein. Stiles scoffs. Reddi Whip is, like, 75% milk, right?

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he forgets to shut the fridge door until it starts beeping at him like it's a personal offense. 

“Work?”

Stiles barely hears you, nose almost smooshed against his screen. “Huh?” He stares at his phone, eyes rapidly flicking back-and-forth, brain turning over how to counter the latest move on his ever-changing chessboard. 

Stiles finally registers what you said when he begins his reply to his unit chief. “Oh…yeah.” His thumbs fly over his screen at a speed that, frankly, shouldn’t be humanly possible, “One sec…”

“You need a break.” You stand and place your hands on your hips in an adorable show of strength. He knows that you’re going for stern, so he bites his twitching mouth lest he invoke your actual wrath. “You’ve been working 18-hour days for the last two weeks.” 

That’s an exaggeration, but Stiles doesn’t argue. He feels like it’s true. His stubble is out of control, and he’s afraid to look in the mirror and see exactly how dark his eyebags are. He only stopped by to shower and get a fresh change of clothes, but you came out of the bathroom in your little pink bathrobe and distracted him. 

Stiles hates that robe. Detests it. He wants to burn it. He wants to rip the flimsy tie off with his teeth. 

Mostly, Stiles wants to tuck you under his blankets and snuggle into the fuzzy fabric until he falls asleep. 

He wants, he wants, he wants. That’s the problem.

You pry his phone from his hands and slip it into your back pocket. “We’re getting drunk tonight,” you say, and you say it in a way that he can’t even argue with. You say it like it’s a fact—you’re informing him, not telling him. Stiles is usually happy to comply. 

That’s how you’ve always worked, after all: You point at a crocodile infested river, and he goes merrily, merrily, merrily down the stream, with a stupid, dreamy smile on his face. 

It’s just. He’s functionally useless at doing anything without you. You take care of him. Always have. 

Way back, when he was pre-Adderall Stiles, all baby energy and undiagnosed ADHD, you shoved a kid off of the swings when he made fun of Stiles’s babbling and twitching. He still babbles and twitches, but at least now he knows why. He doesn’t have some parasitic monster inside him; he’s just Stiles. 

You’ve always known that—how was he supposed to not fall in love with you? 

And after his mom died, you let him cry on your shoulder until your shirt was soaked through. He got snot all over your collar, and you just squeezed him tighter. Held onto him until he could breathe again, and then you said, “Want a grape soda?” and he almost started crying again because right then, at that moment, that was somehow the only right thing to say. Maybe because it was you, or maybe it was because you knew him so well. Maybe, it didn’t matter. 

You spent the rest of the night starfished over your bed, and after a minute of staring at your ceiling fan, Stiles whispered, “Do you think we’ll be best friends forever?”

You looked at him and grinned, all teeth and sparkly eyes, and said, “You better hope so, boy blunder. Who else is gonna watch Twin Peaks with you a zillion times?” And Stiles knows that he was only eight, and he knows that maybe it was just because you made him laugh after all the emptiness, but he thinks that he fell a little bit in love with you then, even if he was too young to put a name to the feeling. 

He finally figured it out when he was seventeen. Stiles wanted to be an adult so badly back then—and he felt like he was sometimes, after everything he’d gone through, but in so many ways he wasn’t. He definitely didn’t know how to handle his breakup with Malia like an adult—his first breakup, his first real relationship. 

Stiles drank a lot that night. He can’t remember exactly how much, or anything that happened after 11 pm, but he does remember how you stroked his hair. He remembers how you wiped the foul mix of bile and sweat from his face with a cool washcloth and tender hands. He remembers how you tucked him into bed and curled up next to him when he asked you to say. 

He remembers falling in love with you. 

The epiphany felt a lot better when he was warm and limp from his dad’s scotch. It hurt a bit, when he woke up hungover and in an empty bed. You were in the kitchen, making him breakfast: greasy eggs and hashbrowns. After he got over seeing you in one of his t-shirts, he wondered if you’d ever get tired of cleaning up after him and all his issues. 

Stiles still wonders that sometimes, even after you crawled into bed with him the night you found out your college sweetheart was cheating on you. He stroked your hair and ignored the wetness soaking into his neck, and you whispered against his skin, “Do you think we'll best friends forever?” 

Stiles wanted to laugh. And then scream. And then kiss you. He didn’t do any of those things. He just said, “Can’t picture it any other way.” He didn’t say that whenever he thought about the future, whenever he pictured forever, you were always there. 

He didn’t ask, ‘Is it okay if I’m in love with you forever?’

Stiles wants to ask it now, while you rattle off your plans for him this evening, but he doesn’t. He chews on a corn nut instead. 

“Lydia’s looking for the right opportunity to make a move on the guy in 2B anyway,” you finish, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. 

You’re looking at him like he’s supposed to say something, so he nods dutifully, “The guy with the mullet, right?”

You roll your eyes and poke around the cabinets, taking stock of the chips and tequila. “It’s not a mullet—you’re so obtuse when you’re jealous.”

Stiles blinks because…where the hell did that come from? “I’m good on the perm front, thanks,” he snarks through the food lodged in his cheek.

“Not of him,” you say, tongue trapped between your teeth and distracted by the mixers on top of the fridge. Your back is to him from your perch on the counter, and Stiles watches you with wary eyes. It would be so much easier if you'd just ask him to get things down from the top shelves, but you never do. Refuse to, actually. Vehemently. You'll do it yourself, even if it means breaking a limb.  

You manage to keep a hold of the pile of bottles cradled against your chest through your dismount, and Stiles breathes easier when your feet are pressed against solid ground. He’s glad your eyes are still on the kaleidoscope of sugar and citrus because you’d mock the relief in his eyes without mercy. 

You line the bottles up in order of emptiness and absently hum, “Well, yes of him, I guess, because—can you check on the vodka and gin?” 

Stiles sticks his head in the freezer, grateful for the blast of frigid air, and tries to untangle the crumbs of meaning in your flimsy accusation. He comes up with absolutely nothing—on every front of his mission.  “No gin.” 

You let out a long, heavy sigh and shake your head at the dangling light fixtures. “Lydia.”

Lydia was the only person in the apartment who liked gin, but Stiles didn’t have any room in his brain for commiseration. “So, I’m jealous of little orphan Annie from 2B because…?” He leans against the counter and tucks his hands under his arms, squinting skeptically, “Just so we’re on the same page n’ all.” 

You’re texting someone. He’s sure it’s Lydia, probably asking her to pick up more gin on her way home, but Stiles can’t help but wonder if you’re inviting your…whatever you call three decent dates and one evening of alright sex. ( Oh, how Stiles loved hearing all the details when you came home. ) 

“Hmm?” Your smile is lit up by your screen and the kittenish glint in your eye, but Stiles knows it’s not for him. He swallows his pettiness before he chokes on it. “Oh, right,” you put your phone down on the counter and smirk. This one is for him, but Stiles actually wouldn’t mind if it was for someone else; the look in your eyes is downright diabolical. “You’re so adorably, blatantly jealous that Lydia is into another no-neck, illiterate jock from the gym—but the perm is pretty bad, I’ll give you that.” 

Stiles’s jaw falls, and you laugh, completely misinterpreting his stupor. He stares at you and just shakes his head, scrambling for a grasp on at least one of the million questions pinging around his skull. “You think I want Lydia?”

“Uh-doy,” you roll your eyes like he’s said something particularly stupid, “only since forever.”

He’s struck again at how you can simultaneously know him so well and not at all. “You don’t think that would’ve come up in the last, I dunno,” Stiles’s head jerks with his choppy hand gestures, “eighteen years?” 

You wave your hand and then grab his wrist, “It’s been intermittent.” 

You lead Stiles back into your room by his hand like he’s a wayward dog on a leash. He’s grateful for it. Stiles can’t do much else besides blink and breathe when he’s like this—when he’s wrapped up in a case he can’t crack.

Stiles drops onto the edge of your bed with a solid thud, feeling a bit like someone slammed a 2x4 into his gut. His tongue seems to be useless, glued to the back of his teeth. All he can do is watch you flit around your room, gathering an armful of skirts and dresses. 

You hold up a black dress in one hand and a black mini-skirt layered under a red baby tee in the other, “Pick.”

Stiles wants to pick the sweats you’re currently wearing because they’re his, but he points at the skirt. He knows it’s your favorite; you’d pick it anyway. 

You sit down in front of your vanity and pull the scrunchie out of your bun. Stiles watches your hair tumble over your shoulders. You’re insecure about it, always have been. One day it’s the color, and then it’s the texture, and he, for the life of him, doesn’t understand why. Your hair shines so prettily under the light, and it always smells so sweet, like citrus and honeysuckle—Stiles can’t decide if he wants to bury his nose in it or wrap it around his spindly fingers. 

Graciously, you twist it into an artful arrangement before he can do either. 

“I don’t want to be with Lydia,” Stiles finally says quietly. 

You stop fiddling with pieces of hair framing your face and meet his gaze in the mirror, “It’s okay if you do.”

Stiles nods and stares at his lap, twiddling his fingers. “I know,” it’d be easier if he did, “but I don’t.”

You turn around in your chair and give him a little smile. It’s fond and sweet, and Stiles feels like a hand is closing around his heart and twisting it behind his ribs. “We’ll find you someone tonight, then,” you say, popping up from your seat. You grab your clothes off of the bed and squeeze his shoulder on your way to the full-length mirror next to your closet.

Stiles turns his head when you start to wriggle out of your shirt. He knows you don’t care what he sees after years of sleepovers and lake vacations, but you don’t know what it does to him. How all your dips and curves slip behind his lids when he’s alone with his fist and too much lube. If he’s really being honest, it also happens when he’s not alone, but that makes him feel like a piece of shit for a whole other list of reasons. 

All of it feels pretty awful when it’s over—when Stiles is left with the unpleasant sensation of drying cum on his stomach and the very unpleasant realization that you’d never wear a swimsuit around him again if you knew exactly what he does with the image. 

So. Stiles does what he can. He doesn’t look when you change, tries to avoid seeing you in a towel altogether, and watches so much porn of people who look nothing like you.

It doesn’t work, of course, but he tries. That has to count for something. 

Stiles swallows and taps his fingers against his thighs. “I can’t think of anything I want to do less than interact with a bunch of drunk strangers partying in my—”

“Not a bunch,” you say around a grunt, tripping over the dragging hem of your borrowed sweats, “and not a party. Just a chill get-together of like-minded peers.”

He scoffs and tips his chin up, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “I’m sure I have so much in common with Lydia’s guest list. Yeah, we can talk about how they can bench-press two of me and that I also love me some stacking—pancakes, not steroids, but close enough.” 

There’s a whoosh of a zipper and then you’re in front of him with your arms folded over your chest and thinned eyes. “You better behave.”

Stiles grins; it’s decidedly obnoxious. “I’ll be perfectly cordial, promise. I’ll even speak slowly.”

You laugh, and Stiles knows you’re only pretending that you didn’t want to. 

“I think it’ll be good for you.” You return to your vanity and pilfer through your mess of earrings. “Y’know, to get out of your head for a little bit. It really is just gonna be us and a few plus ones. I know you, boy wonder, no parties shall ever be thrown in your honor. I solemnly swear.”

He smiles at the childhood pet name, a private little grin Stiles keeps tucked in his chest and at his feet. It falls, however, when he remembers the middle bits of your speech. “So,” Stiles gnaws on his thumbnail and jiggles his knee, “did you invite a plus one?”

You slide a gold hoop through your ear and grin at him, “Nah, I’m all yours tonight, Stilinski.”

Good. God.

Stiles wants to kiss you. He always wants to kiss you, but sometimes every inch of you rips the air from his lungs—cleaves him right in two. Like right now. He forgets how to speak, trying to remember what he can say and what he absolutely can’t say, while he imagines a life where you really are his and you know that he’s always been yours. 

You’re just so pretty in your little skirt and cherry t-shirt, and you’re so clever, and funny, and you’re looking at him like he’s your favorite person in the entire world, and Stiles feels all of it spilling over the edges of his restraint. He almost says something so heavy—so categorically, catastrophically stupid, it would ruin your friendship for good.  

Stiles swallows it back into his chest, but his voice is still thick when he says, “All mine, huh.”

He’s sick with yearning, and he’s petrified for a moment that you can tell. It seems so obvious to him. It would be obvious to anyone, Stiles thinks, if they heard how weak he sounded, how soft in his throat and reverent in your presence. 

But you don’t notice. You never do. It’s a relief, and it’s endlessly frustrating. 

“Yep,” you smack your lips together, blotting your red lipstick until it’s perfect, “I wanna win, and everyone knows you can’t win True American with a noob on your team.” 

His brow arches, and a lazy grin smears across his mouth, “Oh, so we’re getting drunk drunk tonight.”

You wink at him in the mirror, “If you play your cards right.”

Stiles does, in fact, play his cards right. He picks Scott as the third member of your cabinet, possibly because Scott can outdrink anyone…or maybe it’s because Scott knows that Stiles is pathetically into you and can’t keep his mouth shut at the best of times, but especially not when he’s drunk. 

Who’s to say, really?

Honestly, Stiles doesn’t need the advantage—Lydia’s voluntarily stuck with Isaac and the guy from 2B who can’t follow the rules no matter how many times they shout them at him, and Malia and Kira care far more about making goo-goo eyes at each other than they do helping their friend from yoga make any progress towards the King—but he’s competitive by nature and feeling exceptionally stupid tonight. 

Lydia introduced the Clinton Strip Rules solely to ogle her latest man candy’s aggressively sculpted six-pack and show off her bewitching décolletage, and it was going along swimmingly until the idiot forgot how to count. 

It was so simple. All the guy had to do was hold up three fingers—that’s all. He would’ve matched Lydia's count, and then they could've made out behind the Iron Curtain. But he didn’t. He held up two fingers and in doing so single-handedly crafted Stiles Stilinski’s demise.

Ironic. Considering the moron can't craft a compound-complex sentence to save his life. 

For a single, endless moment, you and Stiles just stare at each other, more specifically, at the four fingers plastered against your foreheads—and then the spell is broken by drunken cackling. Lydia grins like the cat who caught the canary, and Scott laughs until his face turns red. He’s loud and obnoxious with the four drinks he’s downed, and Stiles wants to shove him out the window. 

“Guys,” Stiles whines, “you don’t really—”

You finish the beer in your hand and shrug your shoulders, “It’s fine.” 

Stiles’s head whips towards you, big-eyed and fish-mouthed. He can’t form words. Can’t speak any of the five languages he knows. He’s become a Stiles Stilinski skinsuit held up by a skeleton of gelatin and faulty survival instincts. 

You smile at him a little and shrug again, “It’s just a game, right?” 

You don’t say it, but Stiles can hear it with painful clarity: It doesn’t mean anything. 

Stiles doesn’t know how to say no without telling the truth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, not exactly. Stiles wants to kiss you—of course he wants to kiss you, feels like the whole goddamn world knows he wants to kiss you and is conspiring against him—but not like this. He doesn’t want to kiss you when it’s nothing. He’s thought about it far too much, imagined it on his bedroom ceiling in the safety of darkness too many nights, to blow it all on a stupid drinking game. A stupid gym-bro’s mistake. 

Stiles had a plan. A plan he never actually had the courage to act on, but a plan nonetheless. 

He was going to hold your face with shaking hands, smooth his thumbs along the sleek line of your jaw, look you in the eyes so that you could see the disbelief, the wonder, the awe. You’d see that he was overwhelmed to the bone, to all the nerves shivering inside the marrow, and you’d have to forgive him for being so tongue-tied and awkward—for taking so long. 

And then, he’d kiss you. 

He’d kiss you again, and again, and again, until one of you started laughing, but that’d be okay because it would give him the chance to kiss your neck and whisper, 'You’re the sky, and the mountains, and everything in-between.'

'You’re dark matter; you’re gravity,' he’d kiss the words into your skin and sigh, 'you’re the only thing holding the universe together.'

But he can’t say that, so Stiles follows you into Lydia’s bedroom and wipes the sweat on his palms off on his jeans.

You’re a little giggly while you fumble for the light. It’s breathy, and you can’t meet his eyes. Stiles feels a little better knowing that you’re almost as nervous as he is. You aren’t usually the nervous kind, after all. That’s his thing. 

Stiles slides his hands into his back pockets and rocks onto his heels, “We don’t…we can just pretend that we…did it.”

“Did it?” you arch a brow, lips curling into a wry grin. “It’s just a kiss, Stiles. I thought you wanted to win? We gotta end Lydia’s streak, or she’ll be insufferable.”

Stiles’s mouth goes dry: cottony with wanting, brittle with misery. He can’t pretend anymore; he can’t pretend that he's not dying from this.  

You can’t look at Stiles’s face. Can’t see the panic. It’s why you shuffle closer to him, stiffly reach for his shoulders and awkwardly search for the least romantic place to rest your hands. Stiles’s back thuds against the wall, and you finally dart your eyes to his. “It’s fine,” you say weakly. 

There’s a loud chorus of, ‘Kiss, kiss, kiss,’ through the door, and Stiles watches the resolve harden your face. His chest rises and falls with quick, shallow exhales. He can hear his pulse ricochet around his ear canal, can feel the sweat gathering on his palms, can taste the anticipation in the air.

You roll your shoulders back a few times and shake your hands by your side, rotating your neck in a few slow circles. “Just kiss me, Stilinski. No biggie. I think we can catch up to Isaac if you hurry the hell up and plant one on—”

“Not like this!” 

Your mouth parts into a perfect little ‘o’, and Stiles’s eyes bulge when he realizes that the pathetic, desperate cry came from him. 

You fold your arms over your chest and tilt your head with an expression on your face that Stiles can’t read for the life of him. “What,” you lick your lip, and Stiles squirms with shame when he can’t stop himself from tracking the movement, “what does that mean?”

Stiles’s face spasms, and he can feel his IQ drop by tens the longer you stare at him. 

“No, I didn’t…” Stiles’s stutters, flicking his gaze to your forehead, your chin, between your brows—anywhere but your eyes. His nose scrunches as he shakes his head, “Nothing. I just—I didn’t mean like that.” Stiles isn’t entirely sure what you think he meant, but considering he can’t decide what he means, it’s a safe bet that you’re wrong.

Stiles's hands take over for his melting brain matter, gesturing wildly every-so often like the flexing and contracting add any actual meaning to his meaningless babble. “I just, we can’t like that because that’s not…Do you know, like…? It’s very, like, you don’t…” His eyelids seem to have forgotten how to blink, and Stiles thinks he’d do just about anything for a piano to fall out of the sky right about now.

The chanting outside the door gets louder; Stiles isn’t sure if it’s real or just his anxiety. Through his narrowing pinprick vision, the only thing he can see at the end of the dark, dark tunnel is Lydia’s window. The heavy purple curtains frame the opening like serendipitous velvet gift wrapping.

Stiles swallows and nods sharply, “If you’ll excuse me.”

Stiles steps around you, and you follow his path with your eyes. They’re pinched with suspicion, but mostly concern. “Stiles, what are you do—”

“I’m fine,” Stiles tries to wave off your worries with a shaky hand. 

And then he unlatches Lydia’s window and crawls on top of a chair to reach the opening.

“Okay, this makes sense. I just need a little air,” Stiles mumbles to himself. His dirty sneakers leave a clear outline of his soles on the white fur. Under any other circumstances, you’d both be desperately trying to scrub the fabric clean before Lydia found the stains and rained her wrath down upon your very fragile, bruisable bodies. Under these circumstances, you’re preoccupied with the half of Stiles’s body that’s hanging outside the window of your 3rd-story apartment.

“Stiles!” you stumble to the wall and freeze, unsure how to pull him back in without accidentally tipping him onto the concrete three floors below. 

Stiles manages to slip the rest of his body through the window without breaking any limbs. Yet. “This is what I needed. Yup, this is—” his eyes engulf his face, a wide pool of churning honey, when he finally realizes just how small the ledge is and just how far away the ground is, “ah, ha, ha!”

“Stiles!” You cover your face with your hands and shake your head over and over again. You hope, childishly, if you spin fast enough, you can rewind time back to 10 minutes ago—when Stiles was safe on the floor and you could stop yourself from giving into the silly, stupid desire to kiss him. Just once. To finally find out how it would feel.  

You peek through your fingers and wince as he stumbles towards the left. “You don’t have to kiss me!”

Stiles disappears from view, and you tumble into the hallway. You let out a low hiss when your hip slams into a sharp corner. The flare of pain is soon forgotten, however, when Stiles slams his hands against the living room window. Everyone turns to gawk at him, eight mouths wide open and not a single word is spoken until Stiles presses his entire body against the glass. 

The window hasn’t been cleaned since you all moved in, so you can’t quite make out his expression through grime and dirt, but you can hear the shrill urgency in his voice. “This is a regret—I immediately regret this.” It would be funny, how high his voice is—approaching autotuned chipmunk territory, honestly—if he wasn’t six inches away from certain death. You can all laugh about it later when Stiles is safe on the couch, you decide. After you’ve punched him in the arm for doing something so bone-shatteringly stupid, obviously. 

Malia does laugh, and Kira smacks her shoulder. You almost appreciate the levity; it reminds you that your brain needs oxygen to function.

Scott cups his hand around his mouth and shouts, “Don’t move!”

Stiles smooshes his button nose into the glass. He inhales and exhales with mad abandon, creating and erasing a cloud of condescension with every breath. “I've made a very bad mistake! I’m not trained for this!” his lips smear against the glass, muffling his cries for help. Stiles pulls back, and leaves a streak of saliva behind. At least, that patch of the window is clean now, biohazard be damned. 

It’s Scott who ends up saving the day. No surprise there. He gets Stiles through the window and shoves him onto the couch, teeth ground in what can only be described as parental frustration. 

Scott folds his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes, “You scared me half to death out there.”

Isaac snorts and rolls his eyes, quipping over Scott's shoulder, “Are you not getting enough attention?”

“I’m fine!” Stiles groans into his hands and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s still red from being smashed against the window, and the rest of his face matches with his embarrassed flush. “I am fine! I was partly joking and at least 64% drunk!”

“Stiles, we will talk about this in the morning,” Scott’s face is stern, and his grip on Stiles’s shoulder is just as firm, “but right now, I’m gonna go do stuff with a girl.”

Scott’s face is still solemn when he high-fives Isaac, mostly out of habit. You do laugh then. Can’t help it. A little bit of relief creeps through your constricted chest when Stiles smiles. It’s brief, a little twitch at the corners of his slightly-swollen mouth, but it’s there. 

Allison rolls her eyes when Scott holds out his hand, but she still takes it and follows him towards his bedroom.

“Shut the door!” Stiles shouts at their backs. He slumps back against the couch cushions when the thudding of Scott's door closing echoes through the hall.

It’s quiet for a moment. Kira shifts awkwardly, clinging to Malia’s arm for balance when the fog of alcohol spreads from her flushed cheeks to her platform combat boots. Malia doesn’t look that concerned, but she’s always been cool under pressure…and any other emotion. 

You expect Lydia to look as worried as you do, but she has a strange, calculating look in her eyes. They’re sharp in the light of her brilliance; the jade almost looks feline. 

Lydia’s beaux ends up breaking the silence with a loose laugh. His head tips back with his chuckle, and he throws his meaty arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “That was freakin’ hilarious! I mean, dude jumped out on a ledge instead of kissing a 10. Can you believe that?”

Lydia looks wholly unamused and says flatly, “I really can’t.” She fixes Stiles with a look you can’t read, but Stiles seems to understand. 

“I know.” Stiles drops his face into his hands and digs his face into the cradle of his wide palms. "I’m an idiot.”

Everyone seems to hear a cue that you missed while watching Stiles’s chest rise and fall. Malia, Kira, and their plus one filter out the door one-by-one, and Isaac kisses your cheek before wrapping his scarf around his neck. You’re relieved again when you hear Stiles scoff; it’s something he always does when Isaac puts on one of his pretentious kerchiefs in the balmy, LA weather. It’s nice to see some things are still the same. 

Lydia stares at Stiles, and they have a silent conversation that ends with a patented Lydia Martin glare and a quintessential Stiles Stilinski squint. 

Lydia leaves with her late night delight and kiss to your other cheek, and suddenly it’s just you and Stiles. 

You wring your fingers together, gnawing on the lining of your cheek. You can’t think of anything to say. To Stiles. You never thought you’d see the day. 

The couch creaks with Stiles’s shifting weight. He pushes himself to his feet and stands in front of you. The redness in his face has faded, baring the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose that you’re so fond of. His lips part. Your breath stills, waiting. Wanting. His silence washes over the room like a flood, and you close your eyes. You’re afraid of it, witnessing the inevitable wreckage. 

It doesn’t come. 

You hear the quiet padding of Stiles’s footsteps. When you open your eyes, he’s gone, slinking down the hall to his bedroom. You stare at the place he was just standing, feeling the chill of his absence, and then it’s gone. A glaring blaze of anger warms your face, and you allow it to carry you to Stiles’s closed door. What a metaphor; the thought grinds your molars together until they screech.  

You wrench his door open, and Stiles jumps, halfway out of his jeans. He stumbles over the cuffs and almost falls on his face. You wish you could tease him, laugh until you snort and Stiles glares at you through his pathetic attempt to hide his smirk. But you can’t. Not yet. 

“You’re really just going to leave it like that?” you say, closing his door behind you. It’s preemptive; you feel a little like yelling. “That was a whole other level of stupid, Stiles, even by your standard.” 

Stiles quickly yanks his pants back up and buttons them, struggling with the zipper and his twitching fingers. “Can we just not,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face, looking infinitely older than he is, and mumbles a hollow, “actually, can we never.”

The words hang heavily in the air. In the harrowing quiet, you think: Oh god, is this it? Is this really the end?

Stiles stares at his feet, at the hole he’s wearing in the oak floor. He hears it too, the weight of what he’s done. Fucking hell, he thinks, I didn't know cowardice could be so loud.

You smooth your hands over your hair, clasping for any semblance of composure. “I just…I didn’t realize that the thought of kissing me was so…traumatic.” 

Stiles jerks his head from the floor and tugs his fingers through hair. He pulls at the roots until it stings and shakes his head, “That’s not…you’re,” he gestures towards you helplessly and swallows the millions of things he wants to say, “you.” 

“Yeah,” your shoulder lifts in a tiny shrug, arms winding around your torso like a brace, “that seems to be the issue.”

Stiles just looks at you for a moment. The lamp on his desk bathes his skin in a wave of warmth when he tilts his head. The tip of his nose casts a shadow over his lips, and you want to trace the divot in his cupid’s bow, the little lines by his nose, the hollow space under his eyes. You want to trace them all with your fingertips and then memorize them with your mouth. 

Stiles's eyes are golden in the light, and they’re stuck on yours. 

“You are…” Stiles closes his eyes, and his voice is so soft, so devout, “you are so fucking...inescapable, you know that? You are…you’re so deep inside my head, I can’t do anything without thinking about you. It’s becoming a serious fuckin’ problem—a nuisance, actually, a nuisance. And it’s not like I haven’t tried to stop, y’know, like it would be fuckin’ awesome if I could just forget how you smell like going home and a goddamn spring meadow, or if I could go fuckin’ grocery shopping without looking for those impossible to find chips with the Elmer Fudd lookin’ fucker on ‘em—”

“Hot fries,” you whisper hoarsely. 

Stiles stops pacing for a moment and nods at you, “Thank you—hot fries. And I would love it if I could walk down the street, just once, and not look for a dog to take a picture of, just so I have an excuse to text you without looking like I was just thinking about you—even though I was obviously just thinking about you because, re my previous ranting, there’s literally not a single second of the day that you're not on my mind. You're just…inevitable.” 

“And…I am Iron Man?” your smile is wobbly. 

Stiles gives you a flat look over his shoulder, “You’re a smartass—but I love that. I love everything about you—even the way you talk through my favorite movies and force-feed me a vegetable once a week.” 

“Stiles,” you swallow shallowly and rest your hand on his chest. Stiles stops pacing and meets your gaze with big, endless eyes and blinking butterfly lashes. Tipping your head to the side, you swipe your thumb over his thudding heart, “What are you trying to say?”

Stiles rests his hand on top of yours, clunkily lacing your fingers together for a little stability. “I love you,” he whispers, because he has to. It has to be this soft. It has to stay just between you and him, in the little bubble of air between your lips. “I’ve been in love with you since…” Stiles chews on his lip, trying to pinpoint when he knew, when he knew that you’re it for him. There are so many moments that come to mind, and he can’t pick a single one. It’s just that the line between mud pies, and t-ball, and this is so blurry. Stiles can’t tell where it really begins and where it ends. 

It feels boundless, Stiles thinks, infinity. It’s something, somewhere, past the edge of the universe. He’s yours infinitely. There is no before he loved you, and there is no after. It’s just always.

Stiles breathes and sighs out his answer, “Forever. I’ve loved you since forever, and I couldn’t—I can’t kiss you if it doesn’t mean anything.”  

Your lips curve slowly. It’s a nervous smile, one that’s afraid of the rug being yanked out from under happily ever after. “You love me?” you say quietly, voice little and meek. 

The tip of Stiles’s tongue darts out, wetting his lip. He nods slowly and rubs the back of his neck—an anxious tick you know very well. You’ve watched Stiles for eighteen years, after all. You’ve studied the tendons in his neck, how they flex when he crooks his head down to read, how it makes your belly warm more than it should. You know he flexes his fingers exactly three times before starting a test, and you know that the long veins in his arms are the most stupidly attractive things you’ve ever seen. He’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen, and you’ve loved him for so long it’s written in your bone marrow. 

Stiles scratches his neck until it’s pink and raw, and you pull his hand away instinctively. He smiles at you so timidly it breaks your heart, “Is that okay?” 

You nod, and nod, and nod. “Very okay. Very, very okay. The most okay of all the okay’s.” It’s so fast, and it’s been so long, but mostly it’s right. Like this is the only logical conclusion, the answer to a cold case that took eighteen years to solve. Your life has always been youandstiles, and that sounds a whole like forever. 

Slipping a hand to the back of his neck, you run your thumb along the knobs of his spine and whisper, “I am so ridiculously in love with you, boy wonder.” 

Stiles grins. It starts small, fond, tender—but the more times he hears it, every time she loves me, she loves me, she loves me bounces around his ribcage, his grin gets a little bigger, a little brighter. Soon, it stretches across his entire face and swallows you whole. He looks more than alive like this; you want to taste the electricity in his mouth. 

You smile at each other for a long time, and you look at Stiles through your lashes. “So,” you tip your chin and bat your eyes, “you gonna kiss me?”

Stiles is going to kiss you. He swears. He’s just…he’s thinking too much after an evening of not thinking at all. He’s been waiting for this for forever, and what if his lips are dry—or, worse, what if they’re too wet? What if his hands are cold and clammy, and you can feel his sweat when he cups your cheeks. He definitely feels sweaty. And nervous. And—

You rock onto your tiptoes and kiss him. It’s a little kiss, soft and short, but everything goes static and neon around you. You let out a little sigh, start to pull away—and Stiles whimpers. His hands surges forward and latches onto the back of your neck, pulling your mouth back to his. 

Stiles slides the breadth of his large palm up and down your back, chasing the rhythm of your breath. There isn't much to chase, you think deliriously, you aren’t really sure if you need oxygen to survive anymore. You like swallowing his sounds and tasting his tongue far more than breathing. It feels like Stiles agrees with you when he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest, digging his fingers into the small of your back until there’s nowhere else for you to go. Silly boy. As if you’d rather be anywhere else. 

He makes the sweetest little noises in-between your kisses, softening the wet smacking of lips and tongues. You chase them, learning what he likes by unraveling him one sound at a time, with a tug on his hair here, a nibble on his lip there, and your hands just about everywhere.

It’s hot. Literally. You can feel heat licking your skin—or maybe that’s just Stiles. Your head is a little fuzzy from his kisses and not enough oxygen, and logic is a distant thought. Breathing. People need to breathe. 

Stiles’s nose bumps against yours when he pulls back. He smiles drunkenly and leans in for one more kiss. It’s quick and open-mouthed, two little brushes of his lips, and it steals what’s left of the air in your lungs. 

Stiles brushes your hair back and rests his forehead against yours. His breath chills your spit-slick, swollen mouth, and you shiver at the look in his eyes. “I meant something like that.”

[schoenpepper]

Isekai'd Chronicles 5

Intro: Pomefiore in an isekai AU.

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, proofread by quillbot, Rook Hunt is a warning in his own right, some bullying, a duel, google translated French

A/N: The thought of elf Vil makes me want to do things. Cry, maybe. Thoughts on Neige in this AU: he's just a random pretty human celebrity that people are saying is prettier than even the elves (who are known to be hot af). Anyway, enjoy!

Masterlist

It's a really big deal when you have the future ruler of the elves standing in front of you, especially when said elf has blond hair and purple eyes and ungodly beauty. You knew your new friend Epel was going to bring about chaos, but you just had to befriend him anyway and let him hide out in your room in an act of (stupidity) kindness. Thus, you carved your fate in stone and you really only have yourself to blame when Vil Schoenheit is glaring at you and the elf that so courageously jumped out to defend you.

This is not what a smart 'reincarnated into a villain' would do, you know? You should be avoiding them, so why is it that you seem to be a magnet for trouble? This one's definitely on you, though.

He seems mildly impressed that you have the guts to actually stand up to him, and he invites you to Epel's etiquette lessons hoping that perhaps the purple haired elf would calm his rebel spirit when the lessons are happening with a friend. You accept stupidly because Epel's puppy dog eyes are very hard to say no to, plus, Vil's regal aura did not seem like he would even take no for an answer. It's not too bad, you tell yourself, especially since elf etiquette isn't too different from the kind you'd needed to learn from childhood. It also started from beginner level basics, because apparently, Epel was born in a part of the elven forest where there were no nobles at all.

Vil isn't a bad teacher, by any means. In fact, he feels more like a caring mother hen when he fusses over your clothing and teaches you about proper skin, hair, nail and everything else care. He gives you tons of homemade products and serums and cosmetics, and you smell like a bouquet of flowers by the time you're done with the routine he'd set up for you. Time spent with him is soothing almost, and you eventually find yourself spending time with him even without Epel, outside of etiquette lessons. He goes out shopping for clothes with you as he teaches you about elf fashion, and you talk to him about human celebrity scandals that you'd seen in magazines. He lets you try makeup on his perfect face when he has nowhere to be, and you concoct healthy meals in the kitchen with him to try to make delicious food that still passes his caloric and nutrient standards.

Vil won't kill you. He's above that, you're sure. Then that's another capture target down.

There's just no way you can keep your eyes off Vil, you know? He's ethereal, too beautiful to be human. Because he's not, he's an elf. Lilac eyes meet your own in confusion when you hand over the small bouquet of lilacs to him.

"What is this for, potato?" You give him a proud smile and answer. "My lilac flowers bloomed, senpai. I planted them a while ago, but this is the first time they've had such pretty blooms. They reminded me of the color of your eyes, so I thought I'd give you some!"

There's amusement and...something else that's lingering in his irises, but you can't quite put a finger on it. He takes the bouquet. "I must thank you, then. These are lovely."

Some people have gotten on your nerves recently. You know who they are, they don't hide their snickers when they pull their stupid childish pranks. But they hide it well in public even when you know they mock you for 'sucking up to everyone', but you're not a suck up! They're your friends! In any case, you're also a duke's heir, so they definitely have a lot of guts to be picking on you. If you were any more cruel, you'd sic Floyd or Jade on them (or Floyd and Jade if you were feeling particularly sadistic), but you decide to call them out instead and challenge their dumb leader to a duel. So there you were, sword against the other person's neck and they use magic and that's not in the rules! Right before the flames catch onto your hair, an arrow whizzes past your ear (the PTSD from your childhood has you frozen in place) and grazes your enemy's arm. It wounds him but he's not going to die, so you call out to the referee and the duel is your win!

You still tell Floyd afterwards because you were pissed the guy had the audacity to cheat.

When you look up past the ring, you see another blond elf, this time with a bob cut and clear green eyes the color of peppermint leaves. Your savior tips his hat to you as he puts his bow away with a smile on his face.

Your savior is Rook Hunt, Prince Vil's most loyal retainer.

You really are a trouble magnet. But it won't do your noble upbringing justice if you don't pay him back, right? He did save your reputation after all, maybe even your life. Thus, the following days are spent with Rook, giving him gifts and doing everything you can to pay back the debt of whatever weight you thought that duel carried. He treats you like a friend even though you're sure you've never met him before, and he lets you stay in his room to help him scrapbook photos of Neige LeBlanche. He teaches you how elves wield a bow and arrow, and his eyes light up when you invite him over to your manor for the weekend to hunt some monsters that loitered around the edge of the woods. Typically, your family's knights would handle the culling, but he seemed to find killing monsters with you as a fun pastime so you do as he wants to.

He sits you down and tells you he really enjoys spending time with you, and that you shouldn't think of it as a debt to be repaid anymore. And surely, this very nice elf won't kill you...right?

You gingerly cross him off the list.

"Rook senpai, I'm glad I found you." You walk over to the bush that wiggled weirdly earlier, and you're not surprised when a blond elf pops out of the foliage. You show him the item in your hands. "Look! I got you a limited edition signed photocard of that Neige. This hasn't been released yet, so I know it's not in your collection."

You swear there are tears in his eyes as he captures you in a hug, laughing wildly. "Merci mon amour! C’est vraiment merveilleux, oh, je comprends maintenant pourquoi tant de personnes sont tombées amoureuses de toi."

You don't know what he said, but you're glad he's happy.

[mochinomnoms]

The day Yuu introduced any of Octavinelle trio as their mate (Let alone all 3 or just 2), a part of their soul dies 1. Beacuse he knows they mate for life and 2. Beacuse on the list of suitable suitors for his dear pup all of Octavinelle was on the bottom in the F tier. He has a slight heart attack and gives "the dad talk" to them.

"Them?"

"Yes"

"Them. Out of all the pups in the school you chose THEMMMM"

"Yeah."

*His soul rises out of his body for a moment* "Are you TRYING to make me go GREY!!!! I swear i will turn into Trien by the end of the year!"

Then on the complete Opposite end, if Yuu introduces Kalim as their partner Crewel is happy. He was in the A teir for suitors beacuse he is the goodness Boi.

S tier is Vil but he is happy his puppy ended up with someone who wasn't a criminal.

Ah, I love assigning Crewel as the dad against his will. I do believe that he and Trein out of the staff are the best parental figures to Yuu. Let's be honest, Sam is like an older cool brother, Vargas is your way too into sports uncle, and Crowley is the dad that you don't call your dad anymore cause he was a really shitty dad. I imagine his relationship with Yuu is closer to bickering siblings with a maaaaasive age gap.

Anyways, yes Crewel has a tier list:

His main priority is making sure that you end up with someone who has/will have a good foundation to take care of you, especially since you don't have any family (other than him now) to be your support if something goes wrong. Is other priorities are that they will be generally good to you, you'll be in no danger, and that they're responsible.

S tier is Vil, you're correct. Vil is one of his top students, is respectful, has a wonderful taste in fashion and makeup, makes good money even now, and comes from a good family. Crewel knows that with Vil, his pup will be taken care of! This is simialr with Trey, someone who is doting and kind and also comes from a good family), and Riddle. He thinks Riddle is good, hard worker that will be loyal and dedicated to you, as well as provide a solid home and family. Even if his mother's a bitch, he has a good background and lineage... plus you'd live near him over school breaks.

I actually don't think he'd have that much of an issue with Azul. Yes, he can be shady, but Azul does well in school, is very motivated to become a great business owner, and has a good family that owns a restaurant. The others in this section are also solid people who Crewel thinks would cherish and care for you. Deuce is probably the most surprising… but Deuce is very earnest and cares very deeply for his family. While he may not have the best track record, and doesn't have a rich family, Deuce cares very deeply and will make sure that his partner is happy no matter what. Thus, Crewel approves.

Neutral is pretty self-explanatory, but the “ooh, really?” is very interesting, as it's filled with arguably the richest and prominent students. Which is why he does not like them. Kalim regularly deals with assassination attempts, Leona is an arrogant second-born prince from a nation with numerous issues, and Malleus is the crown-prince of an isolated nation that is known to not like humans. He'd be worried about any sort of stress you'd be under, especially since you'd be publicized, and while he trusts Vil to keep a tight grip on the tabloids due to his career, he can't extend the same courtesy to what are quite frankly political figures. He knows that they have the means, family, and personality to love you. Arguably, these three are the type that once they fall, they fall hard and become devoted to their partner. But… still… are you sure you wanna get with them?

For the bottom tier…. Yeah. The twins are shady troublemakers, and while Azul at least has a good family, Crewel can figure nothing out about the Leech family or what they do. They enjoy scaring other students, and while Jade at least does well in school, he and Floyd are just not what he thinks you deserve. Ace is… well… Ace. Rook, as much as he enjoys having him in class and in the science club, is a bit too eccentric for his tastes. He'd be worried about Rook drawing the line between love and obsession. Finally, Idia is just a shut in who has little to no social skills, bad habits, and lives very far away. Crewel firmly believes that you'd become some sort of house spouse cleaning after a man-child, too busy with his games to help you out.

Overall, though, Crewel knows that he can't control who his pup falls for, but he can give a very solid shovel talk with a very solid warning about what happens to bad dogs that don't treat their partners right.

[rocks-in-my-vodka]

lestat is the most glorious morally grey character in modern media rn and here’s why :

he is literally the vampire ever.like ever. every mythical creature, when stripped of its feathers and stage makeup (as in exaggerated monstrous behaviour to incite fear in humans as a form of enjoyment or just to create lore) at its heart reveals a mirror to humanity’s worst qualities. it’s rotten humanity’s most bent out of shape behaviours given a fantastic name, put in the body of folklore passed down centuries, ideas that we as people still cannot escape, we are just as fascinated by vampires and zombies and werewolves now as we were 500 years ago and it’s truly because ( and i’ll talk abt vampires here specifically) vampires are everything a normal human would like to be but as all things it can only be achieved by a complete perversion of our “moral ideals”, a rejection of morality and humanity. and lestat is a diva at playing this part

like think abt it. you’re a vampire. you will never die, you will be young and youthful, you will have strength beyond belief, you will have the ability to create (fire) from nothing, super speed, flying, all fantastic things humans themselves work tirelessly to achieve. but at the cost of what? you must sustain yourself on the blood of others, thus, you must consider your own self more deserving to live than the mortals, you must decide daily that you are more important, you matter infinitely more, that the people who were once your brethren are now simple prey, there for you to literally drain the life out of, who else can make this choice of whose life matters more than others’, other than some kind of a god? everything around you will change, you will remain, the eternal witness, the immortal hunter, a living juxtaposition of a savage creature who hunts like an animal for blood and at the same time a narcissist who thinks itself above mortals. and lestat is exactly this. he is a walking contradiction and yet you will believe everything he claims because it is all true, because he has a thousand lifetimes stored in him, because these creatures have worn a hundred skins and a million faces, at what point do you forget where your skin begins and your mask ends? where lestat the young actor began and lestat the devastated, angry, jealous lover ended?

and yet everything he says is true. when he tells you he would murder you in cold blood while you sleep, it’s true, when he tells you he loves you more than anything in the world, it’s true. he contains multitudes, contradictions get neutralised inside him like nebulas colliding. as a vampire, you get to do the one thing that, as a mortal, eats you alive from the moment you are born, and that is : meet your maker. when you’re born as a human, you can only imagine your maker, hear stories, believe lies, but never see for yourself, as a vampire, in your second life, in your living death, you can know your maker, your master, your maitre. so when you look lestat in the eyes, in his cold glassy undead vicious eyes, you realise he is your god. and if this god said to you he would burn you in pain and misery forever for not believing in his love, you believe him, when he says he will lead you into glorious heaven like the lord shepherd you believe him, because you know he will. he knows only killing, only savagery, only the kind of love that is realised in complete bodily physicality, viciously, unforgivingly, through pain and death, not a love that is simply felt but never materialised. when he says he will kill you if you disobey him, you know he will, when he says he stitched your initials into his chest pocket so your name cradles his heart, you know he did. he is a boy, a monster, a puppy, a wolf, a savage manipulative liar and a killer, and the eternal lover, betrayed and frozen in time and memory, his memory too a monster

[banshatheblademaster]

g-ghost swap...? (i don't need to explain to you guys who morro's gonna swap with)

Bansha: - Master of fire. hotheaded, eager to fight, prideful and kinda ruthless, much like her canon counterpart. - does care deeply about her fellow ninja though. feels a bit of a need to appoint herself as the leader and prove she is worth becoming the green ninja. takes missions incredibly seriously, would do anything to succeed - born and raised in a smithery like kai, but starts out with more battle training being the sole overseer of her home by the time shes found and brought to the monastery. likely abandoned by her parents. has the golden blades bc blade master and all. something something 1000° knives - NO idea who nya would be i nthis swap maybe you gyus cna figure something out. - has a soft spot for ghoultar, likes causing mischief with wrayth occasionally and harbours respect (and a bit of jealousy) for soul archer

Ghoultar: - Master of earth. kind-hearted, a bit naive but incredibly loyal. mess with his friends and youre done for. - youngest of the crew. definitely has puppy privileges, but wants to be treated equal to the rest and thus trains harder than he needs to - his family owns a restaurant. his strength came in pretty handy when helping around the place, theyre unsure if his father or mother passed down their powers onto him since he lives mostly with his aunt and uncle. - the sunshine of the monastery. can even make bansha and ghoultar smile once in a while - golden scythe all the way but he is a bit clumsy with it

Wrayth: - Master of lightning. reckless thrill-seeker, kind of an asshole even to his friends. expressing onesself in a healthy and direct manner? dont know her - street kid, probably busted out of the orphanage and got kicked out eventually. wouldnt be surprised if he knew ronin. growing up like this gave him edge and a lot of skills but made it hard for him to trust others. - loves getting into trouble, and specifically getting his fellow ninja into trouble too. its fun for him to pester them, but god forbid they get annoyed, he cant deal with being alone for too long. - golden chains through which he channels lightning. almost as clumsy as ghoultar at first, he only knows how to throw hands. - bandaged face because of a lightning-induced injury on the back of his head

Soul Archer: - Master of Ice. reserved and cold much like his element, only intervenes verbally when he thinks its of upmost importance or when he is asked his opinion on a matter. speaks in a highly proper manner that could even rival their master. - born and raised in a family of high standing, roots able to be traced back to way back before the serpentine war. his mannerisms are a direct result of this environment and only being allowed to speak when necessary - already an archery master when he receives the golden bow. much like zane, he at first prefers to train solo rather than with his team (though its how everyone sans ghoultar handles the first few days aswell) - oldest of the bunch. seems very uninvolved with the others and whats on their mind, but once a connection is formed, he is able to open up a little about his life and his family.

(Bonus) Morro: - a little shit! secretly the green ninja though unbeknownst to anyone. - wu may be swapped with like a creepy gijinka of preeminent, but regardless, morro joins the team much like lloyd did. - him and bansha are pretty much exactly like kai and lloyd but. worse. she cannot stand his guts, as it seems (we know she does care bc hey, abandoned by those who were meant to care? sounds familiar enough) and he plays pranks on her a lot. makes the volcano scene all the more impactful, and they have a sister-brother bond later on - the prank playing means he gets to bond with wrayth first though. neat. until he pulls a prank on him too and its all back to hating the little guy - does this make lloyd the ghost of their masters past? yes! sure why not!

[inventedfangirling]

Pat's Growth- from troublemaker to walking green flag

Pat Napat Jindapat is by far one of the greenest flags i've ever seen in shows. Especially asian shows with men. But for quite a while i was wondering why Pat's character in the first episode gave very different vibes from the one he turned out to be eventually.

Of course he liked to help people but Pat in episode 1 is mostly picking fights for no reason and just exuding aggressive {alpha} male-ness (derogatory) and i just couldnt really put a finger on exactly how his transformation happened. How convincing it was that this was the same guy.

Pat and icy?? I just had to replay that part when i rewatched the episode for the second time cos the pat i loved was the very opposite of icy.

That's when I was reminded of Pat from high school. The younger, happy go lucky version of himself who had few disappointments in life being the spoilt golden son in a clearly patriarchal household. Despite being spoilt though, while he was still mischievous he wasn't really picking fights for no reason. He had left that in his childhood as had Pran.

High school Pat was thus a glimpse of the man he could turn into, the man he would turn into. That was until Pran moved away and Pat was suddenly all alone. He was still the popular guy, he still had people around, his family was there still hurrahing every small and big victory spoiling him left and right, he didn't have to move away, he no longer had to compare GPA's he was finally at peace, except that the peace came at the price of a loneliness so depressing and soul crushing it literally sucked the very Pat out of Pat.

The loneliness borne out of Pran's absence allowed a multitude of thoughts to fester in his mind. Idle mind is devil's workshop and whatnot. He began to be more man. Be more louder. Be so in your face nobody could ignore his existence. Loud enough that maybe it could drown out the deafening silence of his loneliness. And that's the Pat we meet in episode 1. The one who picks fights for the flimsiest of reasons and just can't control himself in one. And then? And then he sees Pran.

Memories flood back. Of times gone by. Childhood games and Guitar picks and writing songs.

Except it doesn't. Pat doesn't allow them to come back. There is no instant change in him. He tries to continue his old ways. Tries to fight.

Tries to keep it loud and all man. But alas how longer could he have stalled the change. How longer could he have pushed away the memories. Pran was back. His competing dimpled and fierce buddy-enemy was back. More importantly at that point the Pat who he was when Pran left was steadily knocking at the door to be let out. And Pat could choose to suppress him again. Or he could choose to be him again.

With Pa's advice and fate intervening and putting them in  next door apartments, things begin to change. Pat suddenly finds himself wanting to be around Pran all the time. Trying to make up for all the lost time. For all the loneliness. And that's when we see Pat meeting his younger version.

A softer, kinder, more safe space puppy human than macho fighter.

Still Pat, but a better one. One who looked for solutions than to create problems. One who wanted to be friends more than fight. The one who wanted to and now once again suddenly got to be around Pran. 

And so he does. He sheds his macho skin like that, he becomes the Pat that Pran fell in love with in the first place.

He becomes the Pat that Pran continues to fall deeper in love with.

He becomes the Pat that sacrifices his win for his boyfriend, sacrifices his need to be loud if that's what Pran wanted, the one that is lifted up by a simple phone call or the smallest note, the one who still fights but apologizes soon after.

The one who wakes up early to make breakfast for his boyfriend, the one who reaches inexplicable levels of happiness just by sniffing a shirt.

The one that ends up on that rooftop with Pran. Not the iconic rooftop kiss one. Of course that. But eventually the one on the house they will end up sharing together.

And thats how i believe Pat became the Pat we loved in episode 12. He was always in him. And when he longer suppressed that part of him, when Pran's return heralded his own revival, that was when that Pat could come out and breathe the fresh air and become the person he was always meant to be. The one with whom just being in his presence makes Pran feel like freedom was his. The one who both Pran and all of us fell in love with.

I made a much longer version of this but for Pran, do check it out if you'd like here

[yeorin08]

Headcanons ⭑｡𖦹°‧

🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧

ᯓ★ Armin had learnt stitching at a young age , one , because he did not wanted to trouble his grandpa's weak eyesight by making him stich his torn clothes he got by bullying, and second, he found it interesting.

Carla had noticed Armin's poor attempt at stitching, and thus had offered to help. Carla stitched his clothes and Armin sat by and learned. Eren sat with a grumpy pout and waited for it finish, so they can continue playing.

Carla had took interest in teaching to the boy who was excited to learn, and in her excitement she taught him embroidery and stitching in various patterns.

and whenever they got holes, and torn clothes while training, they knew where to go.

and now their shirts had little embroideries of flower, initials of their names, or the person they liked.

‧₊˚ ⛲️ ‧₊

ᯓ★ Eren's titan form mostly listened and recognized Armin's voice, and followed what he said. so it took a ton of practice to break the habit, so he could hear other commands and follow them too.

‧₊˚ ⛲️ ‧₊

ᯓ★ Armin has the most scars hidden behind his bangs and those long sleeves.

‧₊˚ ⛲️ ‧₊

ᯓ★ As the shiganshina trio was among the outcast children who didn't much get along with the other kids , so the three mostly played games which didn't much required more than three players.

‧₊˚ ⛲️ ‧₊

ᯓ★ when eren and Armin were around 8-9 they named newly born puppies and played with them. Eren had tried to sneak in all the pups and tried to hide them in his backyard but is he no good at hiding things (especially from Carla) , and carla knew the moment she came back from market.

And the pups were back to where eren had picked them up from. Armin loved petting their soft fur and the pups loved to follow him around. But when the winters hit, none of the pups survived. And the rest is rest.

𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍓✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊

(i'd keep on adding in the future)

[furinana]

The downplayed significance of Nanashi's family dynamic with Boss and Asahi

Before we start, let's cut the main root of concern for many people: The concept of Nanashi and Asahi being a possible romance option. Would it be taboo in Japan?

From a legal viewpoint: No. According to Article 734, Paragraph 1 of the Civil Code, marriage is legally recognized for non-blood adoptive siblings.

[Panel from Neko no Otera no Chion-san]

For historical background, here's a translated excerpt from Oshiete (Q&A Japanese website):

"[...] Before the war, it seems that there were many cases where daughters were adopted by families with the intention of becoming their sons' wives in the future. Also, if a girl was born as a biological child after a boy was adopted, there were inheritance issues, so the two would often be set off to marry. Nowadays, parents are no longer allowed to decide to whom a child will marry, but they cannot stop their children from wanting to get married as well".

Asahi and Nanashi are basically in a gray zone where they ''could'' be called siblings by social definition but nobody-cares-or-thinks-it's-a-big-deal if they decide to marry, specially given their circumstances of growing in a devastated Tokyo.

[Puppy love... everything goes back to Asahi being a Pascal reference.]

They don't call each other or are referred to in any way by words synonymous to brother and sister. Despite the elephant in the room that Boss took care of both, nobody raises a brow because they aren't blood-related. The best you could say is that they're technically an example of this trope.

Gender roles be damned, one could go as far as think that Boss's constantly telling Nanashi to look after Asahi (repeating it even in his last breath) enforces the incredibly narrow line between adoptive father and father-in-law...

[Three different instances prior to the unseal of Krishna where the same dynamic plays. In the first one, Nanashi complies to what Boss asks of him in both options; from then on, the option box doesn't show anymore, with the third instance being the most indicative that Nanashi being obedient to his father's figure (thus contrasting with Asahi's impulsiveness) is an established fact.]

Now, if we were to comment on Nanashi's individual relationship with Boss through the clues we were given... Nanashi certainly felt distant given that he only referred to the man that raised him as "Asahi's dad" and moved on rather quickly compared to Asahi (or that's how the world he lives in expects him to).

Hallelujah is the only character that was able to sense that Nanashi might hide unsolved feelings underneath his composed persona, and it says a lot considering how Hallelujah would often be in awe of how reassuring his peer felt compared to himself.

Hallelujah's friendship with both Nanashi and Asahi is earnestly felt through the story but it's particularly intimate in this part.

That being said... while Boss would be shown as more protective of Asahi, an attentive player would notice the few glimpses where he also displayed fatherly feelings towards Nanashi.

The most subtle and yet telling example is Nanashi's design itself. What would come first to someone's mind over Nanashi's punk attires and fondness for those lyrics from a John Lennon song would be that they come from his own preferences alone. But then one of the relic descriptions reveals this:

And yet, Boss was also the guy that lacked self-awareness regarding his partiality towards his own daughter compared to the unnamed orphan he took care of... well, it's complicated. Certainly not a black-or-white relationship.

[Similarly to Asahi, Boss reacts in a more positive tone if Nanashi decides to stay 'nameless' as he's been since birth. Manabu and the rest of the cast are impartial to what Nanashi chooses]

It's ironic that the people Nanashi felt the closest to were the ones that grew attached to his lack of name. We have seen fair reasons for Nanashi to be read as a protagonist that perceived a clear distinction between him and Asahi but hints of family affection from Boss are felt nonetheless.

Am I insecure and have attachment issues from being an orphan? Despite everything, was I still a child blessed with love from those around me? This is the turmoil inside our protagonist's mind where it's our role as the player to figure out which answer he would give. And just like the middle ground tends to be the biased view for the SMT4 duology instead of relying on extremes, you could conclude that both statements can be applied for Nanashi's background.

But the rather understated yet possibly most important element from this discussion is the "untold" consequence of the act of Nanashi sticking with his placeholder name behind the themes of the main antagonist of the game. As YHVH's power is amplified through his followers' fear of pronouncing his name (thus staying unreachable and not be at risk of being distorted as other deities), the parallel in the Massacre ending becomes intrinsic as the one who snatches YHVH's throne for himself is none other than our John Doe Protagonist, going from an anonymous human to an anonymous God.

Perhaps Nanashi unintentionally turned out to be the ultimate form of protection a father could give to his neglected adopted son.

[justarandomlambblog]

Coffeeshop/teacher AU...

Sorry my handwriting is horrible that's just how it is and it is 2 am I am too tired to transcribe rn but I will make a more legible version later

Info about the AU under the cut

Mystic's Coffee House is run by a mysterious person, Mystic. That's it, just Mystic. Stage name? Maybe. They're a very popular, high-status coffee shop, and Narinder is essentially the manager at this point.

Narinder, who was disowned by his family at only 17 years old following a huge fight/accident, began working at Mystic just a year or two after. He never finished high school and was homeless at the time, and Mystic took one look at him and decided, yeah, that looks like an employee right there. Is Mystic aware that Narinder is a Bishop, a very famous, very rich family that has so many brands and trademarks under their name that they may as well own half the country? Probably, Mystic knows Narinder's real name after all. But his nametag simply says;

Nari.

Nari is a single father by technicality only; Forneus is a very good friend that he met a bit after being disowned and kicked out, and in the beginning they mistook fondness/kindness as attraction and had a brief relationship. They mutually decided that they only loved each other as friends, but the twins Aym and Baal were born shortly after they broke up, and while they have a very healthy coparenting relationship, Forneus is often away on business trips as she runs a shop all her own. Narinder took over primary custody. Aym and Baal have Forneus' surname, and do not hold the Bishop name (a choice Narinder insisted on).

Aym and Baal are now seven years old and entering the second grade, and their teacher is Mz. Lamb, whose first name is... mysteriously missing. Lamb is a regular at Mystic's and has a huge puppy-crush on Narinder (they think he's cute), though Narinder only knows them as "the weird sheep who tried to ask for my number as soon as they saw me." Everything kinda changes after Aym and Baal enter Lamb's class, as Lamb realizes Narinder bears a striking resemblance to the rambunctious twins and strikes up a conversation about them, and Narinder will NOT pass up a chance to talk about his children.

And thus a friendship is born, which will very quickly snowball into something more.

Lamb believes in living life to the fullest and expresses themself however they feel, they'll go from suits and ties to hoodies to off-shoulder shirts to dresses and they will THRIVE with it. This is their life philosophy; live life to the fullest, and go to the Beyond without regrets. Live enough for your lost loved ones, too.

Narinder and Lamb both know sign language, Narinder bc he grew up using it to communicate with family, Lamb bc after an... accident they were unable to speak for several years. Lamb still has "mute days" and Nari signs as he speaks, a habit he hasn't broken in the ~10 years since he was disowned.

Ummmm I can't think of anything else it's way too late/early but that is the gist of it (without getting into the Bishops themselves). Also they end up getting married, and Aym and Baal 1000% take credit for getting them together.

"Hey pops, remember how dad rejected you when you first met?" "Hey Aym, remember when you dropped the ring and it rolled down the vent in the middle of our wedding." "... I was ten-"

[noellie-writes217]

Word Diary

Chapter one: Whelve

Summary: Tom comes back from a hectic year to find his ex from his teens in his parents’ house. She’s got big plans for herself and all of Tom’s brothers know, he’s a risk for her.

Series warnings: Smut, exes to lovers, pining, additional warnings per chapter

Tom came home for the holidays on December twentieth of 2020 but was not expecting to see what he saw in his childhood home on that day. His mother sits there indulging in conversation with a friend she’s had since Tom was born.

“Tom! Honey! Look who’s here!” She points to her friend who’s been playing with a puppy.

“Hello Holly. It’s good to see you.” But it’s still really awkward given the history… but then again, Holly doesn’t know the history.

“Tom honey, come see Rosalind’s new puppy! His name is Cerberus.” Tom’s brows raise a little more when he hears the name.

Instead of kneeling and playing with the puppy immediately, he stands there for a second wondering if this is real or not.

He hears laughing from the kitchen, and then his younger brother Sam walks out with Holly’s daughter, Rosalind and a few dishes for dinner.

Once he sees Rosalind, everything stops for him. She’s wearing that smile she used to wear around him when they were alone and no one knew. The one he hasn’t seen in years. The one he’s dreamt of. The one Harrison has made fun of him for fantasizing over. The one he’s had no luck finding in any other girl. The one he fell in love with right before he left for carpentry school. It still hasn’t changed.

She looks up for a moment at him and her smile fades so she quickly leaves with Sam as he tells another story.

Harry of course notices and texts the brothers group chat calling an emergency meeting.

BROTHERS GROUPCHAT

Harry:Meeting in Paddy’s room. ASAP

Sam:why?

Paddy:Yeah and why my room?

Harry:All will be explained. Just get there

Tom:I just got home. Can it wait?

NON FAMOUS HOLLANDS

Harry: Tom’s still in love with Roz. He’s either gonna be a dick or a loser if we don’t talk to him about it. That’s why we need a meeting.

Sam: Seriously? Still? He was such a dick last time they saw each other.

Paddy: Agreed

Sam: If he starts acting like that again she might not just leave for Paris for school, she could leave forever

Harry: Thus why something. Needs. To. Be. Done.

Paddy: Meeting in my room

All of the brothers get to Paddy’s room in a short few minutes. And Tom is told to sit on his bed while the twins get ready to interrogate him and paddy guards the door.

“I saw the way you looked at her Tom,” Harry starts.

Tom tries (and fails) to bullshit through this conversation, “what are you talking about?”

“We’re talking about you being awkward about Roz being here,” Sam chimes.

“Roz is like a sister to us, and we’ve seen you fuck it up with her to the point where she left the fucking country,” Harry says, “so whatever your thinking about her, stop. She’s too good for you and everyone knows it but you apparently.”

Tom gets angry at his younger brothers for trying to tell him what to do. He has since they were all little… well, little-er. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Rosalind left so she go to ballet school in Paris. That had nothing to do with me.”

Now it’s Paddy’s turn to speak up, “Oh yeah? When was the last time you talked to her?”

5 years almost. Right before he went to carpentry school.

“Exactly.” “We lost a sister because you were a fucking asshole.” Sam crosses his arms. “And she probably wouldn’t have come back if it wasn’t for that other dick.” His twin copies his gesture.

‘Does Roz have an ex?’ He wonders. She does not. The dick that Tom’s brothers are referring to is Rosalind’s father, who just got his mistress pregnant. Rosalind moved back to England to support her mother during the divorce.

“Look, mates,” Tom starts, “do you even know what happened between me and Roz?” It’s silent for a moment. “Exactly. So don’t assume that just because I used to like her, I’ll automatically still be in love with her. I’m not. Nor have I ever been!”

What Tom didn’t know was that Rosalind heard everything that just happened.

Instead of busting in on them, she just goes back downstairs and decides to text Sam that his dish was ready.

“Shit, my foods done,” he states, “let’s call this a wrap for now and follow up later.”

The lot of them sit at the table eating the food Sam made.

Most if the conversation is made up by Tom’s parents and Rosalind’s mother. She compliments Sam on the food.

“Thank you so much, Holly. Roz made desert too, and it looks absolutely delicious. What’d you say it was?” Sam asks the girl.

“Lavender vanilla bean beignets.” She informs.

“My mouth is already watering with anticipation! That sounds lovely.” Tom’s father comments.

Roz has always been bashful when someone compliments her. Tom has always found it adorable… which is why he would compliment her any chance he had when they were teenagers.

“My friend’s mother taught me the recipe. She said it was a family recipe and I’m not allowed to tell anyone… so please don’t ask.” She jokes.

“Damn. That sucks. I was gonna ask for it.” Sam says.

Rosalind smiles lightly.

“So, Rosalind,” Nikki calls for the girl’s attention, “do you have any plans for tomorrow?”

“Moving into my new flat, meeting up with some old friends, and then I have a date.”

Holly’s mother peeps up, “be careful, darling. Unless you’re lucky enough to marry a Holland, men tend to disappoint.”

Holly doesn’t know about Roz and Tom. That they used to see each other after the sun went down, sneaking out of each other’s windows to mess around.

Holly was a nurse who usually worked nights and Rosalind’s father was just an idiot who didn’t notice Tom taking the condoms.

“Trust me Mum. I know.” Rosalind’s eyes shift up to Tom for less than a second but it’s enough for the other boys to notice. Harry kicks his shin.

“Actually, I should probably get going now. There’s a lot of stuff I need to unpack. And Cerberus is getting sleepy. But I do hope you all enjoy desert.” She politely gets up from the table.

Nikki clicks her tongue, “Oh, darling! I was so hoping you could stay so we could discuss our plans for Christmas! And Tom just got back from filming. It’d be so lovely if you’d stay.”

“Love, if it’s just unpacking I’m sure one of the boys could help you tomorrow.” Dom says.

It’s true. All four boys would be more than willing. But it would be far too soon for Roz to be ok with it.

“No no. It’s ok. I also have to figure out some choreo for some clients.”

“Well let me help you with your stuff.” Sam offers.

“So what exactly is your new job?” He asks once they’re alone.

Rosalind clips Cerberus’s collar and leash, “I’m a new ballerina for the royal ballet company. And when there’s time, I choreograph for musicians.”

He nods and grabs an umbrella. “You might want this.”

She smiles at the nostalgia, “I can’t believe you’ve had this in your umbrella bin all this time! Thank you Sammy.”

“You know you’re still the only person who gets to call me that.” He laughs

“What? Not even your girlfriend?”

“That’s still pretty new.” He explains, “you would have met her tonight, but she had her own family thing.”

“Well I’d love to meet her.” Rosalind pulls the strap of her bag onto her shoulder before opening the door. “And thanks for setting me up on that date.” She calls out before patting her thigh for Cerberus to follow her. She waved one last time to the boy before leaving on her way.

Little did either of them know that Tom heard the entire conversation between them.

“What the hell, Sam!” He claps his brother on the back once Rosalind is out of eyesight and earshot.

Sam shrugs, “You know, for a guy who said he was never in love with her, you seem to care an awful lot. Maybe I should set you up with someone too.” With that, Sam walks back inside.

[riftclaw]

Gonna fill out this questionaire for Curie's upcoming appearance in the @sonic-oc-showdown round starting this weekend! Let me introduce you to my beloved flying radioactive puppy!

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

Curie is named after the radioactive measurement of the curie, and also Maria Skłodowska-Curie. Their name is actually older than this particular iteration of the character, who was originally not a sonic oc and was named Curie as an intentional callback to the name of a character in Homestuck. "The Radiant" is because he glows in the dark, playing on a rarer sonic character naming convention (Fang the Sniper/Hunter).

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

Developmentally and physically, Curie would be roughly in their early to mid twenties. However, they were born in 1923, making them about 86 in their AU's current day (2009). They spent most of their life locked in isolation in a military facility, though, and were only freed and started living life outside a box again in 1995.

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

He's part of a 5 person polycule including my other characters Agent VX, Caprice Amaranth, David Valke and Luka Mosaic. He has different relationships with all of them, having fallen for V, Caprice and Valke while adapting to modern life, and becoming involved with Luka later after they bonded over being giant nerds.

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

Candy, pretty much any type. Crunchy sweets like rock are their favourite.

💼 - What do they do for a living?

Curie runs a nuclear power plant and waste disposal business, which is largely a front for making sure he has enough to eat-- because as much as he enjoys candy, his body will only properly digest radioactive materials. Since his business is really only there to keep him fed, he sells power at a loss-- which means it's very affordable and in high demand, giving him the ability to expand his power network and thus bring in more nuclear waste to eat later. He's not in it to make money, though-- outside of his personal R&D efforts, he sinks practically all his profits into charity. His main reactor base and the surrounding city of Bloodwood Grove was built on the Painted-Rocks clan's abandoned land, specifically to help camouflage the habitats of the last living mobosaur herds that the clan once hunted and protected.

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

They collect plushies, radioactive knick knacks like uranium glass and watches with radium paint, and Godzilla merchandise, and they love to tinker with technology and study space.

🎯 -What do they do best?

Nuclear physics, probably-- it's something that started out of necessity (because of his unusual diet) but he developed an aptitude for it and genuinely enjoys working on nuclear powered inventions. It's not unusual for him to build experimental reactors for fun.

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

They love to watch Godzilla movies and play around with unusual tech. They hate being confined to boring meeting rooms or made to deal with unnecessary beauracracy.

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

The first time he rolled in the grass after he was freed from the facility he was imprisoned in. The grass wasn't even on Earth/Mobius, but it was grass, and he'd all but forgotten it existed after being locked away for 60+ years.

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

They don't currently have many-- a lot of their most traumatic experiences will occur in the future, such as when the forces/zombot plot occurs. That's not fun for anyone, but especially Curie.

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

The very first proto-Curie was actually just a heavily au Jade Harley-- who had changed so drastically I "filed off the serial numbers" and made into their own character. His first ever original design was human! He still ate nuclear waste, though. This current iteration of Curie was developed when I was initially setting up my Amalgam au, drawing more on his initial prototype's personality and history than Cain Einley, the other character I split off the same prototype several years back.

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

Related to the question above, they spawned from a particularly ridiculous homestuck fanfic that never made it past a disjointed first draft back in the early 10s. If i sink enough development into a canon character that they stop looking/sounding like that character, I split them off, give them a fursona and a new name, and carry on writing my new oc, and Curie is just another in a long line of similar characters who occupy my brainspace.

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

Science fiction for sure.

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

They are agender with a side of transmasc*, and use he or they pronouns interchangeably. Curie is also demisexual-- they need to form an emotional bond with someone before they can develop romantic feelings for them. *My friends and I often refer to them as "none gender with left boy"

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?

He had four, but none of them are alive today, and he doesn't remember them anymore. :(

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

They don't remember either of their parents, either, but considering that the guy who made them what they are now was their father, at least one of those relationships was pretty unhealthy.

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

On a purely aesthetic level the fact that he glows in the dark will always delight me. It's such a fun trait to play with!

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

I draw them decently often, although a lot of what I draw in general doesn't get published. I write about them a lot more, but nothing that's in a state to be shared. They're the secondary main character of Amalgam's whole main storyline!

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

He does die in the future. Not for a good long while-- mobians in his universe live for 150 years on average, and his peculiar metabolism means he's going to outlive that many times over, but eventually he will power down and fade away. He's got a lot to accomplish on the way there though!

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

Claustrophobia for sure.

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

In the future he'll be taking the rookie's place in Amalgam's version of the forces/zombot plot (they are combined!), and will be facing up against their version of Infinite. His radioactive blood means he can't get infected by the zombot virus, which puts him in a position of being the best person for a lot of problem solving in this particular plotline.

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

As "Curie the Radiant", since early 2019. Here's the first ever picture I posted of them, before their personality had finished solidifying!

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

In 2019 I was 29! Although as I said earlier, he has roots in fanfiction/original fiction from before Amalgam became my primary worldbuild, and his prototype form would date to when I was about 23.

[natsmagi]

Do you mind explaining the war in great detail for me? It confuses me a lot and I feel like I can never fully understand it

OH MAN. THE ENTIRE WAR ?? IN GREAT DETAIL ???? ME ?????? omg the war has like. So many moving parts and theres so many characters involevd all of which doing what they do for their own unique reasons (which tended to lean selfish) and i am just a mere switchP i do not know the inner-workings of all these guys (plus if i had to sit down and try to psychoanalyze wataru and truly understand what was going on inside that mans head i feel like id evaporate) BUT!!!!! there is actually a section of the enstars wiki COMPLETELY dedicated to the war that you can read! https://ensemble-stars.fandom.com/wiki/The_War

but, to summarize; eichi had always loved idols his whole life and naturally wanted to become one. but when he had enrolled at the esteemed yumenosaki he noticed none of these students took being an idol seriously, which really got to him as eichi could die at any moment, and now he sees no one taking what he had always dreamed of seriously? so he crafted a plan with the help of keito (who has ties to the student council) and tsumugi (who is on good terms with practically everyone) to make the students feel like they could be the heroes rising from the ashes by "defeating the villain" that put yumenosaki in such disarray (even though this was of their own making). And who would be more suitable to play the antagonist against people who are selfish and lazy and dont care to put in effort themselves? why, the newly established Five Eccentrics formed completely against the members will of course! the five eccentrics who are naturally gifted and perfect in every way, unlike the other students who have now become "the underdog." and, since eichi is aware of how lazy these students are, he created a protagonist, Fine, to defeat the five eccentrics. fine was meant to represent the underdogs, hence why eichi made tsumugi officially considered the unit leader since he was the only one who was actually fitting of the title "underdog who came from nothing," and could thus set a greater example than the likes of eichi or hiyori who were born into wealth

the war was eichis meticulous plan to basically save the idol industry? or at least yumenosakis reputation, and eichi needed this done FAST because again; he could die at any minute, and he NEEDED to see it out til the end. and because he needed this plan executed in such a short amount of time he didnt care about spilling blood, ruining relationships, or making himself the villain in the end. eichi is a very self-loathing person, and during the war he had failed to realize that some people might actually genuinely like him as a friend. that part would lead to eichi unintentionally hurting those he held close too such as tsumugi, but his plan also ended up hurting the likes of leo, who he never even wanted to be part of the war to begin with because itd feel like kicking a lost puppy. only for the war to then affect leo probably the greatest of them all, as the events of Checkmate made him a depressed shut-in for half a year or so. once the war was over, the regret eichi felt was so great he didnt think he deserved to live, only for wataru to then show himself to eichi and express a desire for them to join forces and plan a second revolution, where they will be the villains and "defeated" by the shining new idols who will set a better example than they ever couldve

[sorayah2]

━ Sensory Lovers| Neteyam x oc FF

@Sorayahluvs on Wattpad

✠ ━━━━━━━ Chapter 2

✠ ┏━━━━━━━━

✩°̥࿐୨୧

"Get up kids! Start getting ready!"

Neytiri shouted from outside.

Tired groans can be heard from the sleeping children, tossing their bodies around and basically doing anything but opening those sleepy eyes. Even though they always go to bed early so they can get enough sleep, lifting the mightiest mountain in Pandora seems like an easier task for Neytiri and Jake than getting them out of their beds.

"Tuk move your feet," Lo'ak whined in annoyance, shoving his little sister's leg off his face. She rolled over, now doing the same thing to Neteyam.

"C'mon Tuk..." Neteyam tapped her ankle, he's laid flat on his back with his eyes closed, too lazy to actually move her.

"I told you she'd do it again, but your weak ass fell for her puppy eyes. Next time she sleeping with mom and dad, I don't wanna hear it." Lo'ak said after yawning and stretching his body.

Tuktirey was unresponsive to his complaints for a moment, so she could turn to Neteyam and apologize before returning her focus to him.

"As if you don't blabber in your sleep, weirdo. I was using my leg to shut you up." She remarks.

"First of all, I've never in my life done that crap. Second, nobody wants your stinkin' feet on their face, that's totally disgusting!" With a disgusted facial expression, he pointed out.

"Oh please, you must've been smelling yourself, not my feet! I don't think you even took a shower yesterday, ya nasty!"

"Why you—I did shower. I was the one who gave you one, you ungrateful smart mouth!"

"Lo'ak hush, you're literally arguing with a 7 year old. It's too early for this." Kiri says, rolling her eyes.

"I'll argue with a 7 year old if she's this disrespectful, I don't care."

"Fine, I don't want your big head to give me one today. I want Teyam to!"

Lo'ak waved her off. "Whatever. I wouldn't do it anyway."

"And I'm telling on you for breaking dad's camera, I saw you." Tuk stuck her tongue out at him.

"Snitch."

"Teyam, help me. Lo'ak is a big jerk and he's bullying me." She poked his left cheek.

"Gimme a few minutes, yeah?"

"Sure."

She stayed silent for a while then started shaking him, "Okay, minute's over!"

"I'm up, ma'am, I'm up," He gave her a tired smile.

Now fully awake, Neteyam was able to stand up while carrying Tuk in his arms and twirling her in an effort to lighten her mood just a little. Nope, she persisted in grumbling about how much of a bully Lo'ak actually is, thus it didn't quite work as he'd hoped. He would chuckle at the name-calling and false accusations that she'd make randomly, admitting in his mind that their brother was right to call her out on having a sharp tongue. Obviously, he was aware that she wasn't being sincere and will quickly forget about their 'fight'.

She loves him no matter what.

And his point was proven much sooner. He offered Tuk a drink of water and helped her do her daily morning routine before asking Lo'ak to lend her a hand with her hair and the new accessories that Neytiri gave her so that he could get ready as well. Lo'ak grumbled under his breath but still complied.

"I'm gonna make lots of friends! I hope they like me..I'm nice so why wouldn't they?"

Kiri gave them some of the fruits she went to get in their parents storage space. "Just stay out of trouble, we don't wanna give mom and dad more stress than they're already going through."

"Yeah that's Lo'ak's job, I listen to my mom and dad."

"I'm sitting right here."

"We can see that." Tuk simply bite into the piece of fruit, her comeback made Kiri laugh.

"We cAn SeE tHat." He imitated her in mocking tone, still putting her braids through the beads.

"I'll go see my mom one last time, catch you guys in a bit."

They nodded and Kiri took her leave.

About our lovely queen Kiri. She is the beautiful, inquisitive, intelligent adopted daughter of Jake and Neytiri. As she was born around the same time as Neteyam, they were both simultaneously given a first connection to Eywa at the Tree of Souls in front of the entire clan.

She is unlike any Na'vi or avatar that the Omatikaya have ever met before. From a very early age, she has had an unusually strong connection to Eywa, even more than that of a tsahìk. While out in the forest, Kiri occasionally gets lost in thoughts and quiet meditation and her siblings will find her, eyes closed, feeling Eywa's heartbeat beneath her.

Kiri deeply wishes she could have met her biological mother, Grace, when she was still alive. She does whatever she can to feel closer to her, whether it be visiting Grace's incubated avatar, trying to get answers from Jake, or reading the documents and video recordings that Grace has left behind. Interestingly, Kiri shares many of her mother's traits, such as a certain rebellious attitude and a rather pure love for all that Pandora stands for.

Because Grace had an avatar body, Kiri possesses human-like traits such as her eyebrows and four fingers on her hands. Similar to Lo'ak.

On her way to the lab, she saw Neytiri struggling to lift all the luggage on her own. Jake did tell her they wouldn't need all of those belongings, but she insisted that she isn't leaving anything behind and packed so much stuff that will remind her of home.

"Pfft, mom, do you need help?" Kiri tried to hold in her laugher. Neytiri's posture was amusingly awkward.

"Oh, hey, sweetie..kind of. Your dad's feeding Bob, so I'm left to do this by myself. I should divorce that man, I deserve better."

"Drama queen, I'll help you." Kiri took the other bags that were left; luckily, those were not heavy.

"Thank you, and be careful not to lose your balance. Walk slowly." Neytiri warned her. Following her to the Ikrans, Kiri nodded.

They were able to finish with the task in no time. Then, both let out audible sighs.

"I'll be right back." Kiri resumed with her plan, she started walking away.

"Where are you going?"

"To the lab. Don't worry, I won't be there for long, I'm just gonna say a quick final goodbye to mom and the others."

"Look if you can find any of those strange gadgets in there that can be useful to us!"

"Mom! You're already over-packed." Kiri waved her off.

Hours later:

The moment has arrived for them to leave. Despite understanding their decision, Mo'at felt devastated to be separated from her daughter and her grandchildren. As Tsahìk, the spiritual leader of a Na'vi clan and the most important member next to the clan leader, she couldn't leave her people; they needed her.

She gave each of them a squeezing hug while shedding unrestrained tears of sorrow.

Turning to Jake, she placed her hand on his shoulder. "Protect them with your life. That's my only wish from you."

"I will. That's my duty as a father and mate." She was trembling from all the crying when Jake put his hand on top of hers and made his vow.

Mo'at nodded. She did grow fond of Jake throughout the years; he brought her daughter tremendous happiness, along with four bundles of joy who called her grandma. She was grateful for such luxury. She had long since forgiven the previous betrayals and never held grudges against him. Jake atoned for his initial betrayal by becoming the sixth Toruk Makto in Na'vi history and aligning himself with the clan.

The clan harbors much respect for him as a former leader and had learned a lot from him. And the fact that Mo'at had guided the people alongside him, and her daughter made her feel honored. She accepted their marriage, loved and provided for the family.

"Daughter, be brave and strong like I know you to be." Mo'at instructed her daughter, gaze stern yet encouraging.

With Tuktirey in her arms, Neytiri sobbed and nodded. "Yes, mother."

"Geez grandma, stop squeezing so much, you gonna break my bones." Lo'ak grumbled, earning a smack from Neteyam.

"Lo'ak!"

"What?" He glares at him.

"Thankful that this thing is another territory's problem now." Mo'at said sarcastically and rolled her eyes.

"He's playing grandma, we'll miss you for sure." Neteyam assured her.

"I know. Go ahead, don't let me hold you guys back."

Eventually they all made their bonds with the Ikrans and set off.

'I'll be here waiting for whenever you come back.' Were her last words to them.

—༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚—

|𝐌𝐞𝐭𝐤𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐧|

As Jake has previously informed them, the Metkayina are an oceanic Na'vi clan who live along the shores of the Pandora oceans, on islands or near the mainland. Their homes are marui pods, which are built into the roots of mangrove-like trees spanning the islands. These homes hang directly above the water, presumably for easy access for swimming. Massive seawall terraces, similar in appearance to travertine terraces, guard the villages from strong waves and provide an easy place for the clan to fish.

The wind whistles a new beat, its gentle breeze caressing his face as his world seems to just pause as he takes the majestic wonder in slowly. He loves nature. And the lustrous and bright blue waters that the Metkayina live on are like the oceans that Neteyam thought he'd only see in his dreams. A dreamy sea that has a rhythmic pulse to it unmatched by any other part of nature. Except his home forest, of course.

"Why do you come to us?" The chief of the Metkayina clan, Tonowari, asked Jake.

"I just wanna keep my family safe," Jake replied.

Curly hair appears to be the norm within the clan. Their skin also sways towards a more turquoise color than the traditional blue, and with the fluid, ripple-like stripes he's used to, they blend perfectly with the aqua blue-green of the sea. They have distinct areas of lighter coloration on their underbellies and faces. The people had physical differences that he figured made their life on water easier, like a stronger tail for swimming faster.

"Treat them as brothers and sisters, teach them our ways." Tonowari says to the people.

Neteyam thought their first meeting was quite overwhelming. Although the relationship between his father and Tonowari was civil, their wives definitely didn't start on pleasant terms. While her husband did sympathize with Jake's request to protect their family, Ronal otherwise believes that their arrival inherently invites danger, as they have already brought destruction to their very own home. Neteyam genuinely understood where she was coming from, but their enemy's ongoing ambition isn't solely the family's fault.

And his mother isn't any happier about the situation than Ronal is; she has had to leave her people, her title, and the only home she's ever known. Fortunately, Jake asked her to leave her bow behind or...let's just be thankful.

He didn't appreciate her first impression towards his siblings either; he had to keep his cool in front of his parents, who warned them to do so. Not that he would openly stand up to her; she does seem like she would whoop his ass in front of everyone in a flash with no remorse. Additionally, he made no fuss over the other boys who were making fun of him and Lo'ak because they're deemed irrelevant to him. They were childish jerks.

One thing that most certainly didn't go unnoticed by Neteyam is that the chief's daughter, Tsireya, almost immediately caught Lo'ak's attention when she made her grand entrance. His eyes even sparkled when her father told her to show them their way of life.

They were shown to their marui pods by Tsireya, where they'll be staying at in the meantime. The three of them are still sharing a room, and Tuktirey is now sleeping with their parents as a result of Lo'ak's desperate pleading. So, nothing has changed on that part.

"Okay, Sully's fall in." Jake called out to everyone.

"Remember? Family meeting." Lo'ak was tugged along by Neteyam a little more forcefully than he had intended. If he hadn't caught Lo'ak in time, he knew that he would've skipped the meeting. Kiri was on the same boat.

"-Come on, take a knee, let's go."

"Kiri." Neytiri urged her to sit.

"What?" Kiri said with an attitude. She was still upset about what happened earlier with Ronal; Neytiri could tell that, and she objects to anyone treating her children in such a way.

"I need you kids on your best behavior." Jake looks around as he speaks. "I mean it."

"Learn fast, pull your weight, don't cause trouble, got it?" He added.

"Yes, sir." Lo'ak answered. Neteyam smiled and touched the back of his neck. Lo'ak hissed at him; he too was mad at the way Neteyam pulled him.

Neteyam mumbled a, "My bad."

"I want to go home."

All eyes turned to the little angel in the room, who was quiet until she cried aloud.

"Oh, Tuk..." Neytiri gave her a sympathetic look.

"Tuk, this is our home now." She continues whining as her dad stroked her hand in a comforting gesture.

"We're gonna get through this."

"We're gonna get through this if we have each other's backs, right?" Jake took a quick glance at Neytiri, as a form of asking for her help.

And that she did. "What does your father always say?"

The children nonchalantly uttered their family's slogan, specifically the brothers. You can tell by the way they respond when they say it for the first time that they've really been hearing and saying this their whole lives.

"That's right, Sully's stick together. This time with some feeling."

"-Sully's stick together." Kiri and Tuk joined as they said it altogether.

After the family meeting, the siblings gathered with Tsireya, her brother Aonung, and their friend Rotxo. The Metkayina trio had a head start. Soon Kiri and Tuk dived into the water, following Neteyam and Lo'ak, screaming as they jumped in.

Beneath the Metkayina clan reef is an underwater world absolutely teeming with life. The extraordinary scenery greeted them, with its colorful corals, plants, and diversity of sea species.

The calm and peace down here were incredible. Fishes quickly surrounded them, being friendly. Both above and below the waters, the oceanic wonderland delivers breathtaking experiences.

Tsireya smiles as she watches them, they did look like they were babies taking their first breath but freaking adorable. She was so excited to show them her amazing home environment.

While this is great and all, Neteyam was finding it difficult to stay under the water for too long; his swimming was becoming clumsy, and he needed air. Tuk and Lo'ak were experiencing the same issue.

The three of them went back to the water surface to breathe. Tsireya and the rest noticed that.

Lo'ak afterwards dipped his head back into the water. Tsireya signed to him, "Swim together with us."

Despite their confusion about her gesture, she encouraged them to continue moving forward.

Taking a deep breath, they dived back in, swam for a bit and then resurfaced once more.

"What's wrong with them?" Aonung signed. The stopping was getting on his nerves.

"They're bad divers." Rotxo replied.

"Stop. They're learning." Since they arrived, they have been continuously making fun of the guys, which annoyed Tsireya.

She ignored Aonung's shrugging and resurfaced also.

"Are you alright?"

"You're too fast, wait for us." Tuk voiced, rubbing her eye.

"Just breathe. Breathe." She advised.

"You are not good divers." Aonung popped up. " You may be good at swinging through trees, but-"

He was stopped mid-sentence by Tsireya's smack at the back of his head.

"Come on bro,"

"We don't speak this finger talk. We don't know what you're saying."

Obviously they can't keep up, they just got here. Plus they're confused by the sign language.

"I will teach you." Tsireya gave Neteyam a slight look for referring to it as such and told them, meanwhile Aonung stayed smirking to himself.

Her eyes did a thing that Lo'ak keeps catching, he was impressed by it. He wanted to tell her that.

"Where's Kiri?" Rotxo suddenly interrupted the short conversation.

"Kiri?" Tuk became alerted.

"Who?" Aonung genuinely asked. He then remembered there's another one.

"Kiri." Rotxo replied. "Where's Kiri?"

"Did you see her?" Tsireya frowned, feeling worry creeping inside her.

While they were worrying about losing track of her, Kiri was in her own world. They eventually located her after a brief search. Tsireya led them to a spot where she and her group of friends usually hang out.

They were having their conversation by the seawall terraces, where several people were fishing.

"It was the first time I got to hold a gun like that, kinda heavy.." Lo'ak was telling them the story of when they destroyed the Sky people's supply chain.

"He didn't even know how to use the gun though."

"I told you dad taught me!"

"So? Man we almost died."

"Neteyam got hurt trying to protect his ass as usual, he never listens. He's obsessed with danger." Kiri licked her tongue.

"So much for being the mighty warrior." Aonung laughed.

Tsireya smack him again. She enjoys doing that. "Cut it out, that was brave of him for trying to save his brother. I can only imagine how intense that must've been."

Aonung glared at her, "How are you warriors but almost got blown away by puny Sky people? I can easily take them on."

"Dude, those people have dangerous high-tech weapons like those guns and other stuffs that can easily kill you. You'd wet yourself." Neteyam shook his head at the guy's ignorance.

"Don't mind him, he's just being annoying." Tsireya giggled, agreeing with what Neteyam said about her brother peeing himself. She knows that he lives and breathes cockiness.

"Speaking of annoying, where's little miss demanding? I haven't seen her today. Is she dead?" Aonung turned to her.

"You won't call her that to her face. And she's probably sleeping, so let's not disturb her."

"I wasn't going to, I love my life."

"Who?" Kiri asked confusedly.

"Our beloved cousin," Tsireya smiles brightly. "I'll introduce her to you guys tomorrow."

"Is she pretty?" Tuk asked.

"She's absolutely gorgeous!"

"Meh, I'd say mediocre." Aonung murmured and shrugged.

"What was that? I'm telling her."

"It was nothing!" He cleared his throat. "Why you acting like I'm scared of her or something..?"

Tsireya ignored him. He is scared of her.

"Is she nice like you?"

"Of course. We're literally twins."

"Tuk you'll meet her tomorrow, relax with the questions." Lo'ak softly pinched her cheeks.

"It's fine." Tsireya played with the ends of her hair, secretly eyeing him with dreamy eyes.

"Anyways, back to me..."

-༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚-

Neteyam was strolling through the village's nearby forest alone. He's actually exhausted, but he wanted to free his mind. Just a peaceful moment to himself. He had enough of Aonung boasting about his greatness. Not that he hated the guy; he honestly was at his wit's end. During their ongoing chit-chat about whatever topic, his head was somewhere in the clouds. He'd occasionally say something, and that was it.

The forest had what he sought: peace and quiet. And to his surprise, there weren't that many creatures in sight, the ones he saw were very small in sizes.

He's happy that his family is welcome to stay here. His brother even found a crush on the chief's daughter. This does causes déjà vu. Lo'ak is so much more like their father than he gives himself credit for. Who would have thought that the boy who avoided any girl that approached him would fall in love as soon as he landed here? He was interested in how things would unfold for them.

A new page in their lives' story. It is as scary and amazing as it sounds.

Neteyam's instincts started kicking in all of a sudden. He looked around his surroundings and sighed. It happened again. Him getting lost in his thoughts.

Now he's lost for real. He spent the entire time walking aimlessly and now has no idea where he is or the path to go back. And since he left his throat microphone in the suitcase, he can't communicate with his parents.

I'm fucked.

He stayed put against a tree, walking further didn't seem like a smart thing to do in this situation. Glowing species similar to Shimmyflys' emerged from the flower nectars, heading in the same direction. The waterfall. The burbling was audible to him.

"Mommy's so proud of you, Chichi, you ate everything~!"

His ears perked up.

Was that someone's voice?

Neteyam glanced over his shoulder carefully. First, he saw the waterfall in the background.

He gasped in astonishment at the clarity of the purplish-blue, magical waterfall. At its widest point, it was surging and plunging down the mountain, drizzling onto the rocks. When it toppled into the ecstasy pool, it foamed at the bottom. The rest of the pool was varnish clear, enabling him to see down into the rocky bottom. Fronds of plants and flowers waved gently in the depths. The waterfall looked like a sheet of colors blended as it swished down. Its edges were hemmed with whipped white lines.

Then, he saw her.

The source of the sound revealed herself. His mind went completely blank.

An Ilu swimming freely beside her as she dived into the water. He could only make out her side profile. And he was taken aback by her appearance.

Neteyam suspected that she might not be purely Metkayina. She does have their long wavy black hair, which is casually floating onto the water as she swims. But her complexion is unlike that of any Na'vi he knew of—fair with faded greenish blue stripes. Her body is curvaceous and beautifully toned, similar to that of a female Omaticaya.

However, he wouldn't really draw the conclusion that she was mixed with only them; there are numerous clans in Pandora, some of which could even be hidden. Still, it's possible that she is.

"The more you eat, Chichi, the more you'll grow. Snatch bigger fishes then come to me so I can pet you. M'kay?"

Her voice is warm, charming and sweet.

She was just there, not far, nor close to him, caressing the creature as if it were the most delicate thing in the world. The Ilu swung its tail eagerly in response to her touch.

Should he go ask her for help?...She's a stranger...He's a stranger...What if he scares her...

Neteyam was startled and felt his knees almost give out and nearly fall when she unexpectedly looked up and locked gaze with him. He reacted by retreating. Placing his palm on his chest, he felt his heartbeat pounding.

And the next thing happened in a flash. His breathing, movement, and thought processes came to a complete halt as the knife made contact with his skin, pressing against his throat.

His heart was racing. She's right in front of him, a respectable distance between them, with a glare that was piercing through his soul. Big, bright, kind, and bold describe her eyes.

They remind him of the sea.

"Who are you?"

He did not, and could not, look away from those ocean eyes.

On the other hand, her patience was wearing thin. His silence made her tighten her grip on the weapon, face telling him if he doesn't start talking he'd soon be united with Eywa.

Snapping out of his trance, he raised his hands in defense. "Easy there, easy."

"Who are you? And why were you spying on me, pervert?" She asked, calmly yet firmly.

"Wait what—I'm not a pervert! This is a misunderstanding. I wasn't trying to spy on you, I swear."

"You were looking. Don't think I couldn't see you."

"Just let me explain, yeah?"

She stayed silent, so Neteyam took it as a sign to explain himself.

"The thing is, I was taking a walk since the forest kinda reminds me of home, then I got lost and ended up here by accident."

"An Omaticaya Na'vi taking a walk in a forest far away from his homeland, silly him got lost, and he decided 'hey

why not hide behind a tree to watch someone who could've been naked in a waterfall'. Hmm, that's crazy, right?"

"Well when you put it like that..."

"Boy."

"Alright, alright, I was playing." He grinned, finding her frowning facial expression cute. But this is a serious matter. She's serious, rightfully so.

"My family and I are welcome to stay with the Metkayina clan, approved by leader Tonowari and his mate Ronal. I'm not a complete stranger."

So he's one of the new newcomers some of the villagers were gossiping about, she didn't pay close attention to them. She was rushing by.

"You were wandering around in a place you just came to and not even familiar with? How stupid is that."

"Curiosity did get the best of me. In all honesty, it was better than listening to Aonung brag about how superior he is and what not. I had to pass out on that and dipped." He purposely mentioned the chief's son, although what he was saying was all true.

"Good for you." She shrugged.

"Look, I'm sorry. Even though it was accidental, I did violate your privacy with my actions and gave myself a bad impression." Neteyam knew he had to hold himself accountable, what he did was in fact wrong and awfully misleading. She deserves a sincere apology. "I was debating whether or not I should approach you and ask for help, but I went about it the wrong way. I apologize for that. Really."

Her gaze softened. Now they were just staring at each other. He was anxious, waiting for her to say something.

She didn't respond, instead put the knife in the pouch around her waist, gave him another look, then turned to leave.

"Hold on, wait!" He called out to her.

Slowing down her steps, she tilted her head with arched brows.

"Do you mind helping me get back to the village?"

"Why should I?"

"Uh.." He trailed off, not knowing what to offer her.

How...cute.

"Let's just say you owe me a favor."

"What kinda favor?"

"That's for me to decide."

He said nothing else and followed her.

"And I mean it, you were staring..way too hard at that."

He mumbles under his breath, "Can you blame me..."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

—༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚—

Please check it out on Wattpad and vote, thank youuu!

[somereaderinblue]

MAWS S2 Trinity Theory

So, everyone is theorizing how S2 might introduce more superhero characters to the point the finale involves the formation of the JL.

But yk what I think? I think we should take a step back.

For it to be the whole JL, it'd mean introducing a lot of new characters. Keep in mind that if S2 also contains only 10 eps, that's not a lot of time for each one to develop & for us to subsequently connect with. It'll also encroach on Lois & Jimmy's screen time.

Thus, instead of the JL, it should be the DC Trinity.

Introducing Bruce Wayne/Batman:

-It can be the usual playboy vers or maybe a younger rougher vers like Battinson. 

-MAWS can subvert his usual 'Beware the Superman' attitude & he instead comes to Metropolis for help (after some testing & stalking observing). It’d also be a huge middle finger to a lotta writers if he outright says something along the lines of ‘This guy? A threat? Please, actual puppies have more malice than him.’

-Maybe he strikes up an unexpected friendship with Jimmy over his conspiracy theories, bcz Bruce being Bruce would definitely be investigating similar cases with dead seriousness.

-He can also bond with Clark & Lois by making fun of other corrupt ppl in power (*koff* Lex *koff* Vicki). 

-He unknowingly shows them that like Clark, he too is a good person at his core. Instead of using his trauma as a Freudian Excuse to be horrible, he uses it to be better, stronger, all so a family can safely go home after a great movie.

Introducing Diana Prince/Wonder Woman:

-Maybe Clark assumes she's also a Kryptonian refugee. 

-She isn't, she's an Amazon but they still connect. They understand what it's like to have that inherent feeling of being an outsider bcz you'll always be that one adoptee amongst the billions of others born in the world you've given your heart to.

-Maybe Diana/Wonder Woman bonds with Lois. Lois confides with her abt the struggles with being a minority woman (due to her half Korean heritage) & Diana also admits her uncertainty in navigating Man’s World which isn't as black/white as her mother & sisters painted it to be.

-Jimmy is mostly fanboying bcz Amazons are real! Now he just has to know if they rlly live on an invisible magical island (they do).

-She meets Superman both inside and outside of the cape and she sees that this is what Man’s World is capable of bcz at the end of the day, despite the blood in his veins, Clark was raised by Man’s World. All his virtues and strengths were taught to him by Ma & Pa Kent, not Kryptonian soldiers or Amazon warriors.

I love the JL as much as anyone but I wouldn’t mind if the show finds a middle ground in focusing more on the DC Trinity. Each of them have endured loneliness, each of them are full of so much love they want to give to a world that’ll always choose to take first, each of them will always go above and beyond to do what’s right and save others naysayers be damned.

Most importantly? All of them deserve to be happy and maybe they can find some happiness with each other too.

[yan-lorkai]

Anon with some silly ideas here!

So, Malleus looks a lot like his mom, right? I think everyone born into the Draconia family must look really similar to their ancestors. Like, the Draconia family's genetic traits are soooo strong that they overpower their partners' genes. You just see them and already know, 'those must be the Draconia!'

So, when Malleus and his lover have a kid together, the citizens of Briar Valley expect to see a mini version of Malleus. But when they finally see the little prince/princess, they're shocked! Because the kid doesn't look like Malleus. They still have horns, pointed ears, and eyes with vertical-slit pupils, but their eye and hair color, nose, and face shape are the same as Malleus's Darling.

For many years, the Draconia family's genetic has overshadowed their partners', lost to Malleus's Darling genetic—the magicless human from another world!

So, everyone just thinks maybe the next child will look like Malleus. But then, when they have another kid, that child still looks like Darling. And if they have more kids, they all still look like Darling. Thus, the citizens of Briar Valley just accept it.

And then, when Malleus and Darling have grandchildren, everyone expects them to look like Darling. But they're shocked again because they look like Malleus.

So, for many generations of the Draconia family, there is one generation that looks completely different from the others.

Thanks for listening to my silly ideas! 🙏💖🥺

OMG this is so cute 🥺 🥺💕💕 💕

Ngl this had me smiling from how cute it is. Everyone is already waiting to see their new prince/princess the moment Malleus announces his darling pregnancy (or when, like, Malleus laid an egg? Do these just come to exist btw? I know about the whole love thing that is necessary but like do they just appear out of nowhere??? Twst, I need some answers pls ✍️)

Every Briar Valley citizen, or anyone who knows about their rulers, knows that the Draconia genes are strong. Well, everyone but you apparently lol. Bcs every child you two had is so similar to you, face shape, hair, eyes, smile, and Malleus is in heaven! He loves his darling so much and he really love his child/children so so much, I mean, he would love them even if they looked like him. But he is very giddy and happy when every little one looks like you, even more if when they grown up they act like you

Aaaand they have him around their little fingers, making him more susceptible to not ground them and spoiling them rotten when they give him their best puppy eyes. The same eyes you gave him whenever you want something

Plus Grandpa Lilia? And uncle Silver and Sebek? And kitty Grim? Imagine them taking care of the prince/princess 🥺🥺💓

[futurefind]

//A concept I both rlly love + epitomize how very much I run off of, like, passion? Attention?? Interaction??? being able to turn an inch into a mile inspo wise: when my friends had an urban fantasy spn group for like a month and this is what I went with for Sa's SpnTM stuff :3<

Ice puppy sa beloved

The Kerberos, or Cerberus, date back to antiquity with the guardian of the Grecian Underworld. Kerberi have long served as minor psychopomps due to the intersection of their chthonic and protective natures, helping restless ghosts pass on and protecting the slumber of those that already have.

Regardless of how they choose to wield (or not wield) their powers, Kerberi have a heightened attunement to the spiritual. They’re most aware of ghosts (that is, once-living beings that have passed on to noncorporeal forms), in particularly, followed by spirits (living entities who have always been noncorporeal), with elementals and then magical energies being those they have the least-heightened awareness of. They also have increased physical senses, though the exacts vary depending on the type of Kerberos.

While ancient records can only agree upon the Kerberos being multi-headed and having been defeated by Heracles for his Trials, its descendants have catalyzed into two primary variants: lupine and serpentine. Shared physical traits include: a hardy constitution and endurance; slit pupils; often (but not always) yellow-to-gold irises when channeling their powers; sharpened teeth.

The only cited ‘magical’ traits of Kerberos in myth are eyes of fire and a nebulous ability to spew the poison aconitine (namely, the growing of wolfsbane). Kerberi, thus, have a nebulous affinity for fire, and either a resistance to poisons or an extreme weakness to wolfsbane.

Kerberi are a ‘schrodinger’ existence, being neither physical nor noncorporeal. Instead it is a state rooted in the ‘soul’, completely variable from person to person, with mixed blood in the traditional sense being impossible for them: They may reproduce freely, and all their descendants will technically be Kerberi, but even a child born to two powerful Kerberi is not guaranteed to display strong Kerberi traits. One may have limited physical traits, another unable to hide theirs at all, and so on.

Overall, Kerberi’s ‘active’ powers are rooted in elemental energies, ranging from the classical elements (Western or Eastern) to ones such as light or time or even vitae itself. This goes hand in hand with the standard of ‘fire’, but ‘monoelement’ Kerberi— whether they wield only fire or are unable to use it at all— have exponentially more powerful and volatile, dangerous powers. Often, their elemental powers effect one’s appearance and are always effected by their emotions.

Kerberi are social but territorial creatures. They thrive in consistent group environments, and suffer in solitude, with inclinations towards protectiveness— both towards their peers and loved ones, and the areas in which they reside. If two Kerberi intersect in ‘territory’ this can lead to conflict: not because they cannot coexist, but because each feels the need to be both ‘the’ guardian/protector, including of the other Kerberus, while refusing to be the ‘protectee’ in any manner themselves.

For Sasume: Large, sleek-fluffy canid ears and tail (replaceable with human equivalents/lack of) and, when channeling her abilities, typical gold eyes (and slit pupils) alongside further-sharpened and hardened teeth and nails. Wounds & skin irritations, small scars & scar edges have a propensity towards sharp angles and paleness, like fractured ice, while larger ones’ internal discolorations are patterned like ice fractals. Moreover, actively channeling her elemental powers leads to creeping patterns of frost along her skin. 

Powers wise: Sasume wields the relatively common abilities to actively enhance her physicality (stamina, strength, pain-resistance, hardiness), including a less-common amplification of healing rate. She also has the ability to generate and/or control water, preferring to wield it in the form of ice, to a powerful degree. As it runs counter to the Kerberi standard of fire, she has difficulty using any sort of flame manipulation, but retains an immunity to mundane flames. When angered or on edge or the like, her immediate vicinity will chill, and the worse it is the broader and colder the reach. Caution is advised, as she’s not immune to the cold. Though, her own powers are only high risk to herself if their induced ‘chill’ becomes internalized. 

In the day to day: Sasume is reserved, and literally buttoned up due to her aversion to anyone seeing the physical signs of her abilities. Outside of this, she keeps an ear out for ghostly unrest, and can get distracted by spiritual activity if there’s no appointments/set times she needs to meet.