#should I write cinder's reply

[linh-cindy]

time to break y'all's hearts ya poor unfortunate souls

Dear Cinder,

I finally met Prince Kai's parents!!! They're so nice and I told them all about your crush on him and they love you. I also saw Dad, he misses Mom and Pearl very much but he saw Queen Levana and her ambassador down there and he's so proud of you! I ALSO met Mademoiselle Michelle and she told me all about how you got your cyborg parts. This Dr Erland guy came along too and also told me a story about you and your friends. I can't believe you're Princess Selene- can I have your autograph? Hahahah. I miss you a lot, Cinder. And Iko too. Can you tell her I said hi? Don't worry about me. I'm okay, and I'm up here, waiting for you. I love you, Cinder. I'm glad you didn't give up.

With lots of love, Your baby sister, L. Peony <3

[irisintheafterglow]

blood moonlit, must be counterfeit

summary: a guy at a party has a really good dynamight costume, and you two get to talking about your favorite heroes. (pro!bakugo x you)

wc: 1.68k

cw/tags: swearing ofc cuz it's bakugo, mentions of drinking and alcohol, halloween party, first meeting, emotionally constipated katsuki and reader is kinda oblivious lol

note: NEW HALLOWEEN HEADER BABY also this idea had me by the throat so i needed to write it down before it consumed my entire psyche. i'm back to writing for bakugo again because iykyk and halloween fics are giving me a lot of motivation right now. hope you enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“I have to admit–your costume is pretty damn good.”

“Yeah? Just ‘pretty good?’”

“Mhmm. Almost looks like the real thing,” you remark, taking another sip of the dangerously sweet jungle juice in your cup. It's an unreadable mix of bad ideas and bold flirtation, perfect for a Halloween party of barely 21 adults. The blonde guy beside you on the worn leather couch tilts his head slightly like he's re-affirming what you just said in his mind. “I think the real Dynamight would be impressed.”

“Would he, now,” he huffs under his breath, mouth curling into an unreadable smirk. He exhales a quick breath of what you think is amusement through his nose, eyes flicking over your body for the umpteenth time since he sat down with you. It makes your face heat up and you casually avert your gaze downward, catching more details of his costume that you didn’t notice before. 

The gauntlets were obviously the star of the arrangement, covered in numerous scratches, burns, and dents that attested to their “battle” usage. The boots were impressive, too, and you wondered how long it took to place every individual orange eyelet over the front of each calf. The cinder block rectangles sitting on his broad shoulders truly looked like real stone, solid like the toned muscle holding them up. It was the domino mask that threw you off the most, though. The guy must have been wearing bright red contacts, or something, because to look so similar to the actual Pro should have been considered a crime. 

“Who’d you come to the party with?”

“Just some friends,” he replies, shrugging an infuriatingly sexy shoulder. His entire look was putting the real Dynamight to shame, in your opinion. He nods upward in the direction of a guy in an equally accurate Deku costume standing with a very convincing Shoto lookalike. “They dared me to wear this and I lost the bet.”

“Must have been some bet, if you’re moping over here like a toddler.” The shrewdness of your words escapes you until they’re already past your lips; thankfully, he just smirks again and leans his head back, resting an arm on the back of the sofa.

“I’ll ignore that you said that, 'cause you're clearly intoxicated” he mutters, shooting you a brutal side-eye. Thanks to the alcohol, though, you’re far from deterred. 

“How gracious,” you chuckle and his smirk gets a little more arrogant. “What was the bet?”

“Some dumb drinking contest. That asswipe in the green can put down more shots than he looks.” He scowls and you fight down the urge to giggle at his bitter expression. He was the only guy you’ve ever seen that could make a grumpy face look hot. The only guy besides Bakugo himself, of course. “I wouldn’t have worn this shit to a party to save my life.”

“What, Dynamight isn’t your favorite Pro?”

“I’m more of an All Might guy,” he replies nonchalantly. He appreciates the classic heroes. Good sign. “If I had to choose a different one, I’d probably say Jeanist.”

“Jeanist is pretty cool. My best friend had a cardboard cutout of Eraserhead in her closet growing up.” He barks out a laugh and it startles you, but a mysterious feeling in your stomach wants to make him do it again. “What do you think of the current gen of heroes?” He hums thoughtfully, running his tongue over his top lip and you swallow back your drool.

“Red Riot’s a good guy. Deku pisses me the fuck off, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders. Same thing with Pinky and that Half-and-Half asshat. Chargebolt…” His expression turns into a frown so deep you’re worried that Chargebolt killed his family or something heinous like that. 

“What about him?”

“He’s just dumb. If given the choice between his life and a grain of sand, I’d take the sand,” he deadpans and you choke unexpectedly, wincing as your drink travels up the wrong tube and into your nose. His eyes widened in concern, reaching out to pat your back but deciding against it at the last moment. His glove-covered hands hover around you like you’re radioactive matter, carefully watching as you regain your composure. “You good, nerd?” Uses the same vocabulary as the real guy, too. Kind of weird, but I guess we all have our idols. 

“Yeah, I’m good. I just didn’t expect you to badmouth him like you two were friends from high school or something,” you joke lightheartedly and the guy blinks at you twice before computing what you said. 

“It’s whatever. They’re super fuckin’ easy to read, in any case,” he states with an air of finality and you down the rest of your drink, the dim lighting starting to blur everything around you into a single greenish-orange blob. “What about you? What are your thoughts on the new gen?”

“I can’t make such bold judgments as you, but I do think Dynamight is pretty cool,” you admit, suddenly feeling a little bashful when having the same question turned on you. The truth was, you followed the lives of the heroes a bit too closely than the average person should. It fascinated you so much that you were majoring in Quirk-specific journalism, studying the social and economic consequences of being a Pro. “I think his public persona is an interesting case when compared to other heroes.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’d like to imagine that he’s not always the loud, arrogant, obnoxious piece of shit that the press shows,” you start and narrow your eyes in confusion when he flinches at your description. You continue anyway but choose your words a little more carefully. Probably isn’t good to upset the guy who might have fashioned functioning gauntlets, if the costume truly is accurate. “There’s a side to him that I think the public doesn’t know about and doesn’t care to know about, since it’s easier to understand him as a loudmouth with no sense of manners. I just wonder who that guy is under all the yelling and testosterone.” His silence is deafening and you worry that you somehow offended him, but his tone is so gentle that your assumption becomes an impossibility.

“Seems like you’ve given this guy a great deal of thought,” he says lowly, voice barely audible over the sound of the blaring house music. 

“Well, he is my favorite,” you add quietly, not expecting him to catch what you said. He does, though, and that mischievous smirk returns to his face. Somehow, you two had inched closer together over the course of your conversation, and you were now close enough to smell his cologne. It was something deep and smoky, with a surprise note of sweetness, like caramel. “I’ve been following his hero career since I was in high school.”

“I didn’t take you for a superfan, but I do appreciate your support,” he chuckles and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You seriously haven’t figured it out?”

“Figured what out?”

“That I’m Dynamight, stupid. This is my actual costume and those are my actual friends. Hell, I'm paying for this whole shitty party,” he says incredulously, genuinely shocked that you didn’t come to that conclusion already. Your skepticism, however, rears its head and you burst out into rude laughter. 

Dynamight? Yeah, right. More like Dyna-maybe. 

“Excuse me?” He stares at you like you’d grown three heads and your heart drops into your stomach. You must have said your thoughts out loud. Fuck! “You’ve got some nerve, testing the patience of a Pro.” His words, under any other circumstances, would have cut down your pride like a knife. However, his eyes were conveying a different story, one of lust and want and holyshityouwantedhim. “Got anything to say, sweetheart? Or are you gonna just keep gaping like a fuckin’ goldfish?” You abruptly snap your jaw back into place, leaning your head into your hand and smiling in triumph when his gaze again uncontrollably rakes over your body.  

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“See what, gorgeous?”

“That a Pro kisses better than a normal person,” you murmur and his pupils blow to the size of pool balls. He wastes no time, gently but firmly grabbing your chin with two fingers and pulling your mouth onto his. His lips are ridiculously soft and you muster up the courage to bite him softly, heartbeat racing when he groans into your mouth. One arm drapes itself over the back of the couch, the other pulling you as close to him as humanly possible without practically sitting on him. Your hand combs through his hair and the other keeps him on you by the back of his neck.

Right when you run out of breath, he pulls away and swears colorfully at the phone buzzing in his pocket, answering it with one hand while his forearm is still pressed against your lower back. You absentmindedly trace his jawline with a finger while he curses out the person on the other line, eventually chucking the device over his shoulder like it was the last thing he was thinking about. “You need to go somewhere, sweetheart?” He lightly pinches your side at your mockery and you jump, flicking his forehead in defiance. 

“Nah, that was a job for Dynamight. Right now, I guess I’m still fuckin' Dyna-maybe,” he rasps and leans back in to kiss you again but you push his face away, giving him as sober of a look as possible. “What?”

“If you need to go kick ass, then go kick ass. I’m just some random makeout at a party,” you remind him, painfully aware of the sting if he was to leave you alone. His expression contorts into indignancy again but you still try to convince him to alleviate whatever situation he was called in for. “Your job is more important than a hookup.”

“I don’t do hookups, dumbass. I’m interested in you,” he states plainly and your face is set on fire. The Pro, who you just insulted to his face, was interested in you? “So, let’s get out of here, yeah? I can make you dinner that isn’t shitty pizza.” His mouth breaks into a devilish grin and you’re already grabbing onto his hand like your life depended on it. 

“If someone messes with us?”

“It’s a good thing I’m already in costume.” 

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[pilesofpillows]

Snooze

Attoye Kinktober | Free Choice: Somnophilia

Read it here on AO3

Warnings: Smut (18+), Highly NSFW, Dirty Talk, Power Dynamics (if you squint), Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Consenual Somnophilia

A/N: This fic was originally supposed be for Day 8, which is monsterfucking, but ya girl wants to fuck monsters on Halloween so I switched the two. Considering Day 31 was a free choice, I chose somnophilia 😜

It should be known, I am working on my omegaverse & bondage fics as well as a few other spicy shorts for this month. Let’s hope I get them out before Kinktober ends 💀😂

All my thanks and love to @theemfingmenace & @umber-cinders for beta reading this for me… my love for y’all cannot be properly articulated but I will always try my best & @theattoyearchive for actively encouraging my filthy writing habits 💕💕

Attuma had never met anyone who slept as deeply as his wife.

From the moment her head hit the pillow and her breathing evened out, Okoye was dead to the world. She could sleep through anything: thunderstorms, emergency sirens, even the chirping of birdsong in the mornings. At the start of their relationship, he'd made a game of trying to rouse her, attempting various things. He'd run his thumb along the divot of her spine, or press soft, shudder-inducing kisses to the back of her ear, or rain softer kisses over her cheeks and lips. There was even a time he'd mouthed his way up her neck and sucked a mark against her throat, only for her to hum soft and low, then rock her hips against him in her unconsciousness.

It was all to no avail. Anything less than the tinny chime of her kimoyo beads, and his wife remained unmoved.

"You would sleep through a tidal wave, in yakunaj," he'd rasped into her ear one slow morning. It was a rare occasion; neither of their presences were required elsewhere that day, and Okoye hadn't woken until the sun was high in the sky. He'd lain with her strewn across him, listening to her soft snores in perfect peace, nearly falling back asleep himself when she finally stirred.

Okoye sat up, thighs astride his waist, and stretched. Her voice was still thick with sleep as she chuckled, "You wouldn't let me drown, would you, sithandwa?"

Attuma smiled and sat up, adjusting them so she was seated in his lap, and kissed her forehead. "Never."

"Well then," she murmured into his neck, "I don't see the problem."

"The problem is: there are more enjoyable, exciting things we could be doing in the mornings," he replied, grasping her hips and rocking up into her suggestively.

Okoye chuckled again and leaned back, arching a bemused brow at him. "Is that what mornings are for now?"

"They could be," Attuma smirked. "Certainly sounds better than swimming or running before the sun rises." He ducked his head and began mouthing kisses against her throat and jaw. "You'd probably burn more calories on my cock anyway."

"Attuma!" she shrieked, rocking back and swatting his chest in scandal.

"Yes, in yakunaj?" he replied coyly. He grabbed two handfuls of her ass and pulled her into him, making her gasp as his mouth found the sensitive skin of her neck again.

Okoye smiled and shook her head, threading her fingers through his hair. She rocked against his hardening length and sighed prettily in his ear. The air between them grew heavy and thick, electric passion stoking the flames of their desire.

Attuma breathed her in, smelling the sweet spice of her arousal, and nearly purred. His hands encircled her waist, sliding under the tunic she'd worn to bed. His tunic. The oversized garment slid off her shoulder as she threw her head back, and he sucked a mark onto newly exposed skin.

"You know," she gasped, arching into his hold, "you don't have to wake me for that." Her hips ground against him, and Attuma could feel her wetness through the thin barrier of her thong. "You can have me anytime you'd like," she breathed, words blurring into a moan.

A quiet laugh rumbled through his chest as he drew back to pull the tunic over her head. "I doubt it would wake you regardless, ch'ujuk ba'al," he husked, sucking a dark peak into his mouth and nibbling on her pebbled nipple until she whined softly.

“Well, I'm awake now,” Okoye said, breaths coming faster as her fist tightened in his hair and her hips rocked against his stomach in search of the same sensation his mouth provided. "So I suppose you'll have to try a different morning."

~~~

It was weeks before he had the opportunity.

Attuma woke first, like he always did, slipping from their sheets to dunk his head under the sink in their bathroom and refresh his rebreathers. He grabbed Okoye a fresh glass of water and brought it back to their bedroom, stopping in the doorway to admire the slumbering silhouette of his wife.

His love for her was unfathomable, deeper than his home's most sunken trenches. It went beyond all logic and reason, defying any attempts at explanation, and stole the very breath from his lungs when he considered it. Even now, knowing he had it, Attuma coveted her love. There was nothing he wouldn't do for it, and even the gods were blind to the lengths he would go to keep it. To keep her.

Okoye loved him back with the same ferocity. Her love was sunlight in his soul, bright and invigorating, filling the darkest recesses of him with something so pure he had no choice but to revel in its glory.

He wanted her all the time.

Crossing the room on quiet feet, Attuma placed her water on the bedside table and traced light fingers over the tattoos covering her scalp. She shifted, reaching her arm from under the covers and pressing her face into the pillow he usually slept on, seeking him out even in her sleep. He grinned.

A few stray rays of sunlight streamed into their room, shining softly across their bed and illuminating the rich brown of her skin. He studied her shamelessly, eyes raking over her body's sensuous curves and lean muscles. The dark bruise on her right shoulder brought a sharp edge to his grin, the sight of his mark on her waking something almost feral and certainly dangerous in him.

He slid back into bed soundlessly, covering her body with his own, and kissed a line from her neck to the bite. Okoye didn't stir in the slightest. She was naked, neither bothering to get redressed after cleaning up the remnants of their passion from the prior evening. Attuma was glad for it; he could take his time this way.

He trailed his lips from her shoulder to her nape, then ghosted kisses down her spine, lowering himself as he went. His legs straddled hers as his tongue dipped into the symmetrical dimples on her lower back. Hands running along her sides, Attuma stroked up and down in a circular pattern, thumbs gently pressing on the edges of her shoulder blades each time they crested. Still, Okoye remained deep in her slumber.

He wondered when she would wake. Would it take his tongue fluttering around her clit, sucking the sweet nub until she woke with his name on her lips? Or perhaps he'd focus his attentions higher— would she stir if he licked his way into the tight passage of her ass? Would she gasp and shudder as her mind caught up with the havoc he'd wreaked on her body? Then again, she might wake with a pretty keen as he slid his thick cock into her, splitting her open until she scarcely had room for breath.

He damn near salivated at the thought and hardened painfully as the blood rushed to his groin.

Fingers encircling her waist and drifting over her ribcage, Attuma's hands swept downward to grasp her hips. He pulled his sleeping wife to her knees and settled behind her, continuing his kisses over the perfect swell of her ass. He traced his tongue along her outer lips, savoring her taste. Using his thumbs to spread her open, he watched her sweet pussy blossom for him, honeyed arousal glistening like morning dew. Attuma bit his lip to suppress his groan and pressed a light kiss to her clit, nuzzling his nose against her entrance. Okoye's hushed sigh was sweeter than birdsong.

Leaning forward again, he pressed his tongue flat against her clit and dragged it through her folds, sampling her fully. He circled her entrance, flicking the tip of his tongue inside, and couldn't stop his groan as her cunt throbbed for him. He repeated the motion, humming while he lapped and laved at her with abandon, losing himself in the intoxicating taste of her.

Circling, sucking, nibbling, fucking— Attuma devoured her with a single-minded focus and an almost vulgar need to possess. He spelled out his name over her pussy, glyph by glyph, tasting her, marking her. There was no part of her that didn't belong to him, and he'd make sure her body would remember it, even if her mind didn't. His little wife arched back, breath hitching as she pressed her pretty pussy into his mouth, but she slept on, ignorant to the claim he was staking.

The depth of her slumber was a heady, thrilling challenge that made his blood race and his mind war with itself. There was a deep need in him to see how far he could drive her— to see her body tremble and quake with pleasure while she was lost in the land of dreams. Yet, the other half of him wanted to wake her, if only so he could tell her all he'd done to her while she slept, what she'd let him do to her. What she was letting him do even now.

The muscles in her thighs began their telltale tremble, a signal fire of her impending climax, and Attuma was greedy for it. He lashed at her clit, listening to her panting carefully, then wrapped his mouth around the bundle of nerves and sucked.

Okoye came for him without a sound, flooding his mouth with her release. Attuma's mind buzzed with a euphoric static, drunk on the power he commanded over her body.

He drew back, watching her sopping cunt throb and clench around nothing but air. She was ripe and swollen from his attentions, but he had no intention of stopping.

He wanted to ruin her.

Okoye woke dazed and near delirium.

An aching, singing heat in her veins only added to her confusion. She tried to take stock of her body, but her muscles tensed and jumped of their own accord. A thrumming rumble of vibration rocked through her, and her hips jerked back against a firm hold. Her nerves were overshot, her mind struggling to make sense of up and down until fingers— fingers inside of her —pressed against that soft, secret place within. Her eyes snapped open as electric ecstasy coursed through her body, making everything blindingly white for endless seconds, and she keened.

Okoye buried her face in the pillows, fighting for her sanity with every breath when a throaty chuckle sounded behind her.

"Ah-Attuma?"

She felt the responding hum ripple through her body and choked out another keen as the same fingers— his fingers —moved in her again. White-hot sparks of mind-numbing pleasure raced up her spine with the sound, sending her hands scrambling, reaching, grasping, twisting for some form of purchase as she arched back against her husband's talented tongue. His tongue that was circling and sliding, flicking and darting… against her ass.

Okoye's eyes screwed shut as she realized and croaked curses spilled from her lips like wine into their pillowcases while Attuma fucked her ass with his tongue. The dizzying amount of pleasure rollicking through her body was indescribable, and the coiling tension in her muscles was indisputable. She was going to come again— hard.

"Fuck, Okoye... you're gonna come again, aren't you?" Attuma asked before she could stutter the words, feeling her walls spasming around his fingers. "Yeah, you are," he answered his own question with a grin and rocked up to kiss the small of her back. "Gonna come from having my tongue buried in your ass, huh? Filthy girl." The taunt in his voice was almost cruel, and the bite he delivered to her ass cheek certainly was. All the while, his fingers stroked her with deadly precision, moving faster, harder, dragging against her until she damn near screamed. "Ko'oten túun, in yakunaj. Ko'oten tin yaal in k'ab. [Come on then, my love. Come on my fingers]."

Okoye had no choice. She came with the force of a tidal wave. Her back arched further, spine curving almost painfully, and strangled wails were screamed into the pillows below her. Her mind blanked out, ears ringing, and she detailed the heavens as supernovas burst behind her eyes.

Her senses returned one by one as her pulse thundered in her ears. Distantly, she could feel Attuma murmuring praises into her sweat-slicked skin, his fingers slowing gradually. Okoye hissed weakly when he withdrew from her, blinking through the haze of bliss and sleep as his lips trailed up her back, tongue licking the sweat pooling along her spine. He folded himself over her, hand tracing over her arm and folding over her still-furled fist. Attuma kissed the mark he'd left on her shoulder last night.

"Good morning," he rasped into her ear, nudging her cheek with his nose.

Okoye didn't trust her voice yet, so she pressed her face into his instead, trying to catch her breath.

Attuma's hulking frame shrouded hers, and he unfurled her fist, twining their fingers. "Do you know how many times you peaked for me, ch'ujuk ba'al?" His voice was still thick with lust, and she could feel the remnants of her arousal on his chin as he kissed the shell of her ear. "How many times this pretty pussy of yours came on my tongue before you even began to stir?" She mewled, hips jerking at the feeling of his thick cockhead dragging along her swollen sex.

Bast help her; he wasn't nearly done.

"Three." Attuma answered his own question, sinking his entire length into her with one deft stroke.

Okoye choked on her own gasp, incredulous at the number and overwhelmed by the fullness of him. "Ixoki [Liar.]," she accused, tongue tripping over the word and mangling the pronunciation entirely as he began fucking her.

"Three times," he said, untwining their fingers to grasp her hips and pull her back onto his cock. "Three. Fucking. Times." Every word was punctuated with a harsh thrust from him and a strangled moan from her. "Drank you down every fucking time, too."

The desperate scrape in his voice curled deliciously at the base of her spine, sending a bolt of heat that rocked through her before spooling low in her abdomen.

"Attuma... Bast!"

"No, Okoye. Not Bast," he growled, spreading her further and plunging deeper, "Not Chaac. Not Sekhmet. Not Itzmana." His thrusts took on a possessive quality, and her eyes rolled back, fingers twisting so tightly in the sheets they almost tore. "No gods, ch'ujuk ba'al... Just me. You're just for me." His rhythm grew erratic, and his grip grew tighter, and she cried out with every slam of his hips into hers. Attuma folded himself over her body, chanting his claim like a prayer into her skin. "Mine. All mine."

His mouth was all teeth and tongue, and she shrieked his name in a sob as his teeth sank into the muscle of her left shoulder.

"Fuck! Attuma, fucking... fuck!"

"Beyech mina, Okoye."

"Yes! Fuck! Yesyesyesyesyes!"

"Tell me– Tell me you're mine."

A demand, a request, a plea.

She was keening again, so overstimulated and so, so close.

"Yours, Ah! Attuma, ‘m’yours."

A capitulance, an answer, a promise.

It was enough.

Attuma roared his release, guttural and deep, hips stuttering against hers, fucking his cum deeper into her, every pulse of his cock shoving her over the brink with him. He dropped his head onto her back, resting heavy between her shoulder blades as they shuddered and panted, chests rising and falling in tandem.

Her mind began to drift, eyes blearing with exhaustion despite having just woken up. He pulled himself from her body slowly, and she sagged in his hold, legs too weak to hold her up any longer.

"Not yet, ch'ujuk ba'al," Attuma husked, recouping his breath and planting a sweet kiss on her nape, then another to the mark adorning her right shoulder and the next to the newest on her left. The rest he ghosted down her back, massaging her bruised hips as he slid lower. He kissed the soft swells of her ass, then spread her open. Her husband held her there, murmuring low in his mother tongue, but Okoye couldn't hear him.

Her brows knit in confusion, face heating as she felt the wet rush of their combined releases dripping down her slit. She swallowed thickly, opening her mouth to voice a question that died in her throat the moment the flat of his tongue met her pussy. Her mouth stayed parted in a wide, silent gasp as Attuma lapped at her with broad strokes, too shocked to move, even from the overwhelming sensation of his mouth on her again. The breath rushed back into her lungs when he curled his tongue and speared it inside her fluttering walls.

"Attuma!" His name was half a question, half an exclamation. "What– oh!– what're you doing?"

"Shh," he hushed her protests and massaged the back of her thighs. "This is mine too, isn't it, ch'ujuk ba'al?"

Okoye whimpered weakly, jumping as he kissed her clit.

"I just want a taste."

~Finis~

A/N: I’m smoking an herbal as we speak… I’ll touch grass when the sun is up.

Like I said, omegaverse and bondage are still cooking. I’ve embraced my inner chaos thanks to some… wise advice and I’ll just be posting what’s ready when it’s ready. My personal life is Hot Mess Express at the moment, but I will do my best to keep writing and sharing with y’all because each and every single one of you makes my heart glow like fireflies in the bayou. 💕💕

[just2bubbly]

I have got my inbox littered with angst request and I'm on a fluff high for sometime now- so here's fluff!!

Masterlist

It's All Kismet

Ship: Kaider

Words: 2.2k

Genre: Fluff

Kai's Perspective:

Kai sat at the side table that separated the living space from the kitchen, writing the speech for the Commemorative Ceremony of Kese Peace, consumedly lamenting his career choice.

Working as a publicist for a Senator was wild already. Still, when your employer had a knack for causing a famous racket every other week it was troublesome enough. However, the paycheck was way more appealing than the work and that's one reason Kai has been loyal to his job for years. 

While he worked with his diplomatic skills to say 'It ain't necessarily so fucked up' to make a clearance for another of Truss's events, his girlfriend rummaged through the kitchen attempting to make a meal. 

Thud, came a loud noise of utensils crashing, causing Kai to stir from his work.

"Are you okay, Cin?", he asked, eyes skimming above his laptop screen.

"Oh-- don't worry, just being clumsy," she replied hurriedly. 

"Be careful also let's not have an adventure tonight," he joked, before suggesting, "We could order in if you want," general concern for his meal heightened.

"Stuff it, Kai. I can cook decent!" She exclaimed, slamming one of the cabinet doors to add to the theatrics.

"Tell that to the last time you almost burnt the kitchen down," he sass-ed.

"Fuck you," she yelled back, making him laugh as he continued to scrutinize his draft, the conversation forgotten. There wasn't much noise from the kitchen later. Up until there was a clamorous sound of glass shattering.

Kai was out of his seat, stepping into the kitchen, "Cinder I said no adventure," he said, trying to take in any harm that might have occurred.

Shards of glass lay all around but Cinder paid little heed to it as she was enraptured by something inside the cupboard. He bent down to her level taking in her pale face, and asked, "Why do you look like you saw a ghost?"

No sooner had he spoken those words, than he saw the object that had made his lover so dumbstruck. 

"Oh," he says, his mind trying to work up on how much he has fucked it up. His faint outburst, seemed to have snapped her out of her state as she bellowed, "Just oh, Kai?"

"What else should I say?" He countered, eyes boring holes into the dark blue box.

She spun around frowning at him, brows furrowing like they always do when she tried to keep her words in check, "Maybe doing a decent job of hiding the engagement ring?"

"You never know if it's an engagement ring," he reacted, trying to find a way out of the mishap he orchestrated. 

"Then why hide it in the corner of a kitchen cupboard?"

Kai looks down, realising how hiding the ring in the flour cabinet was a poorly coordinated decision. He had always been clueless about keeping things hidden from his loved ones. Yet, he didn't want the ring to end up in the socks drawer, that was too cliche for his liking. When he had the idea, he was quite convinced that Cinder wouldn't voluntarily go looking for stuff in the kitchen; if she ever did he was always around to ensure that she didn't look into that specific area of cabinets. 'Look where that got me, well planned Kai,' he thought. 

Coming out of his daze he chooses to take some sense of control as he says, "Did you open it?"

"Do you think my intrusive thoughts would stop me from opening a velvet box?", she rebutted, lost in her thoughts. 

Silently Kai wondered how she had imagined the proposal to be, he knew this wasn't what he would have planned if he had gotten something less abrupt. He had bought it a few weeks ago when he had noticed how she had lingered on a particular ring at Cress's ring selection. It was a thoughtless decision, but he wanted Cinder to have what she wanted, so he got the ring and didn't worry about proposing immediately.

"Well, can you forget that you saw it?", he asked meekly. Truth be told, there wasn't any escape unless Cinder agreed to play pretend alongside him. 

Cinder glanced at him and seemed to take in his defeated demeanour as she realised she was being too blunt with him. She moved closer to him, enveloping her hands around him, "Kai," she softly whispered, lips brushing lightly over his knuckles, "Look at me- It's not your fault, just a silly mistake."

He buried his face along the sleeve of her sweater as he hummed along in disappointment, "I wanted it to be memorable."

"I believe it's quite memorable," she teased, kissing the top of his head.

"You know what I mean," he mumbled, looking down as his fingers tried to pick at her sweater.

"Well, you can still ask me out," she pointed, Kai could feel her heartbeats smoothening out now that she was past the earlier adrenaline.

"Now you would be pressurised to say yes", he jokes causing Cinder to snort unceremoniously. As the laughter dies in her throat, she starts to draw circles on his arm.

"I didn't see the ring properly," she admits after a stretch of silence.

"You are going to be the one wearing it. I'm sure you will get plenty of chances to take it in."

"Ask me out!", she orders, removing the hand that was supporting him, causing him to lose his balance.

"You mean now?", He asks incredulously. He doesn't get a verbal answer as she slightly nods her head.

"Don't you want it to be a surprise?"

"It was always coming. Why not do it right now?" She counters.

With that said, Kai was on his knees, looking into her eyes, the words he was to say died on his lips as he caught the twinkle in Cinder's eyes.

He picks himself up as he chants something that resembles a yes. A plan forming in his mind, he might not be able to make it an ideal surprise but he would make sure to make it lovely. 

"Let's do it. We will make dinner and the proposal might happen somewhere along the way- I would like some element of surprise," he announces, hands moving mindlessly as he looks for his phone.

Finding it on the coffee table, he orders Cinder's favourite flowers from a shop two lanes down. Spends a couple more bucks on a strawberry sago since he won't have enough time to make desserts.

As he enters the kitchen, Cinder has already cleaned the scattered pieces of glassware-

"What do you want to eat?"

"Do you want to order in or cook something?"

"Maybe cook tteokbokki, it's quick to make and we could have it with some leftover side dishes," Cinder offers as she rummages through the refrigerator.

"Aren't you being too eager love?" He teases and Cinder never the one to back down from a challenge winks back, "I'm looking forward to the after."

He chuckles, capturing her slightly chapped lips as he whispers, "I wanted it to be something iconic."

Brushing her nose against his, she tugs him closer and says, "You make 'iconic' tteokbokki. If Truss ever lets you go, you will give all cooks a run for their money."

He smiles, "If Truss riles me up again this month. I promise I'd change professions."

Cinder chuckles and shakes her head mumbling Truss would never let Kai walk out of his job.

His lips are smiling on their own accord, as he boils the pot with his ingredients and meanwhile cleans the living room for a better atmosphere- the papers that had been flying all around before had been neatly arranged and stuffed in some corner of the cupboard for later use. The interior shifted so that it could make a temporary dinner table lookalike.

"Do you want me to change?" Cinder asks, standing in the hallway- her tall frame visible as she continues to cook.

Taking in her mismatched outfit of a faded maroon sweater- that she had stolen from Iko some years ago-hanging over her shoulders that came down to mid-thigh, paired with worn-out khaki pants, she had never looked prettier to Kai, "Only if you want to."

"Are you going to change?" she asked instead, taking in his attire that was no better than hers.

He was wearing denims, with a pale blue Oxford shirt that had been wrinkled in all places. Being so caught up in his work, he had chosen not to change after he had returned from work.

"Only if you want to," he repeated.

"You can be so indecisive, Kai," she groaned as she walked back into the kitchen, "Let's not change," she decides for the two.

Kai nodded, true, he could have used a shower but changing into pretty clothes wasn't his agenda. Clearing mess, lighting one of his favourite scented candles, checking Cinder used the right amount of sauce and later searching for a vase to keep flowers, were priorities on his list.

The bell rang as he was almost done making their living room fancier and if the whiff of garlic was any sign, Cinder was probably done with her creation too.

"I'll take the door and shoo inside now, I will call you once everything is set," he said.

He hurriedly set everything as Cinder cribbed every other minute about how long he was taking and how she couldn't take it anymore.  

"Kai, what's taking you so--" the creak of the door prevented her from asking the same question.

"My impatient lover, the home is ready for you!" he declared, trying to imitate a royal bow. Cinder following his action, shook her head affectionately and gave her hand away in greeting which he kissed in courtesy, his eyes never losing focus, causing Cinder to flush herself red.

"Lead the way, my to-be betrothed," she announced, looping her hands with his as they walked silently.

He could feel Cinder inhale sharply as they came before the makeshift dinner table, lined with pale pink chiffon and bow-tied candles, and their favourite music playing in the background.

As he sat before her, she whispered, "This is so beautiful." Her voice was laced with emotions that Kai didn't want her to express yet, they couldn't become a sobbing mess before the dinner even began.

"You have to cry when I go down on my knees, crying now would be a sign of poor cooking," he tells her, squeezing her hand to ground her.

"Aiiy, don't make fun of my cooking," she quipped, smiling at him as he served.

Their voices took over as they talked about everything, from Truss's shitshow to Cinder's boringly genius colleagues, the neighbour's house party they attended last week, and the newly opened restaurant they wanted to try, they gossiped like two fools for so long that it was well past midnight now.

"Hypothetically speaking, let's say I tell you that the spoonful of sago you just ate included the ring, how would you react?" He asks, sounding all serious. This joke doesn't sit right with Cinder as she chokes on her bite and ends up wheezing.

"You really can't take a joke!" He exclaims when she has stopped coughing and earns himself a slap," Who jokes like that?!"  

"Oh c'mon, you looked so ready for a ring to pop up for the last 30 minutes. I had to make a joke, how could you not feel a ring being chewed," He reasoned.

"If it wasn't for you proposing, I would think you wanted to kill me," she jested, and adamantly continued, "Also, ask me before my nerves force me to ask you!" She joked, a tad too seriously.  

"Cinder," he says, a long pause following before he finally asks, "Do you have a ring?"

That question seems to have startled her, as she stares at him stunned- "For fucks sake, Kai. I love you." She exclaims and goes bashing into the adjacent bedroom, leaving Kai behind to make sense of her words.

"I wanted you to have this moment," she says, coming closer with every word, a velvet box in hand. Her long fingers weave together with his own, "I bought it last year- when you went on that business trip to Turkey. Kept it with Iko until yesterday, I knew you would find it at home, just like I found yours. I was going to ask you this coming Saturday," she explained.

It was Kai's turn to be speechless, the long silence broken with his laughter, "Aren't we so stupidly in love?" He says, Cinder agreeing as they fall onto the couch. Cinder on top of him, her torso nestled in his arms, legs a tangled mess.

He isn't sure who leans in first, but their lips meet halfway, and Kai can hear his heart pounding in his ears. Her fingers grazed through his hair, trying to pull out knots from deep within it. He thrummed his fingers along her cheek, as she sunk her teeth, eliciting a moan.

As they tore apart, their lungs begging for oxygen, Kai couldn't wait any longer as he whispered, lips barely hanging above hers, "Marry Me, Cinder", and she closed the remaining distance, a yes said very much inside his mouth.

__

A/N: Honestly speaking, this is largely influenced by this fic from fanfiction.net, wanted to write a proposal fic and perhaps it's my first time writing a modern AU- onto writing for a while now! Leave your love <3

tagging: @gingerale2017 @salt-warrior @slmkaider @cinderswrench @cindersassasin @kaider-is-my-otp @fangirlforever0704 @therealkaidertrash21

[thiriann]

Extraterrestrial - Chapter 3 "Insecurity"

My Githyanki playthrough inspired me to write a fic about my gith, Ilaara and Astarion's adventures. Haven't written in over a decade but Astarion got me to try again. Astarion POV for most of it.

This is a continuation of an ongoing fic.

You can also find me on AO3

Pairing: Tav X Astarion, F/M.

Content: Githyanki Tav, Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Alien Cultural Differences, Cleric Tav, Astarion Being Astarion, Flirting, Seduction, Biting,Vampire Bites,Blood Drinkin, no sex in this chapter but will be in later ones. Ongoing fic

Words: 2k

Summary:As the group readies to depart from the grove, Astarion finds himself wrestling with the mystery that is Ilaara.

------------------------------------------------------------------

The previous night had been incredible, but in the light of day, he could admit he had gotten carried away.

The irony was not lost on him—the first gesture of kindness he'd received came from someone not of this world.

As she woke, he approached, trying to gauge her feelings now that she’d had a few hours to mull things over.

“Good morning. How do you feel?” he tried to make his tone sound caring, yet there was an undercurrent of caution.

“I'm fine, I just feel a little woozy.” she replied, her rigid posture and stern expression belying her words.

“It'll pass. Just be glad I'm not a 'true' vampire. A bite from them and you might wake up as a vampire spawn, like my good self. All of a vampire's hunger, but few of their powers.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, lips pressed into a thin line. That confirmed it—he was a vampire; that's why he needed blood. She struggled to recall what she knew of his kind—so many creatures in this world, and his was not well-known. Fortunately, he seemed willing to share details of his condition.

Before he could decipher her expression, she asked ,“Any other drawbacks I should know about?”

“Oh, I've no idea. For two hundred years, the sun would have turned me to cinders. Until the crash, when I woke up bathed in its light.” he shared, revealing the thoughts that had plagued him since the crash “Someone - or something - wants me alive. They've changed the rules.”

“Standing in the sun, wading through a river, wandering into homes without an invitation - they're all perfectly mundane activities now.” he continued, his voice tinged with wonder.

“As for my other quirks - well, we can figure those out in time.” he concluded with a salacious wink.

“What's causing this? The mind flayer's parasite?” Ilaara inquired. It was highly unusual for the tadpole to cause such side effects, but then again, they hadn't encountered many of his kind who'd been infected.

“That's my theory, but who knows?” he mused. She hummed under her breath, this was a fascinating revelation indeed.

“I'm just glad you're being sensible about these revelations. I was worried people might turn up with torches and pitchforks.” he admitted.

“Although there's still time,” he added, glancing nervously over her shoulder.

Their teammates were approaching, standing by her side.

“A vampire among us? So be it.” Lae’zel declared sternly “For his sake, he best not develop an appetite for githyanki.”

She eyed Ilaara, her judgment clear. If all Githyanki tasted like her, resisting would indeed be a challenge—not that he would dare risk Lae’zel's wrath.

“Given our group's nature, I don't see much harm. We're each monsters in the making, after all.” Shadowheart chimed in.

A flicker of pain crossed Astarion’s features. It really was all he was in the end. Just another monster.

“Enough,” Ilaara cut through the tension “I trust him. He won't hurt us.”

“Quite the opposite. I'm here in the spirit of openness and honesty, to work together as a team.” Astarion asserted, hoping to bolster Ilaara's defense of him.

“Fine - he stays, 'til he's no longer of use. Besides, my flesh is not so easily tasted.” Lae’zel declared, her gaze lingering on Ilaara before she turned away.

“You say all the right words, but I'm not so sure you mean the right things. Still, I will respect the decision that was made.” Gale remarked, his skepticism apparent as he left.

Alone at last, Astarion exhaled a sigh of relief. One more hurdle avoided, for now.

---------------------------------------------------------

Luckily the day carried on.

Ilaara had refused to get involved in the squabble between the druids and the squatting tieflings insisting they didn’t have time to be sidetracked. True enough they could turn into mindflayers at any moment.

“We should gather supplies from the grove before we set to the road” she proposed, leading them to spend the day haggling for supplies bartering for goods.

“Ah, if it isn't the talk o' the camp?” greeted one of the grannies, her tone a blend of surprise and delight.

“It's a rare day I see one of you lot about. Thank goodness you came along when you - oh!” she gasped concerned “You look more green then yellow, petal! Are you hurt? Cold? Feverish?”

“Auntie Ethel will sort you out. I've lotions and potions galore!” she assured, bustling with an array of concoctions.

“Why she sounds positively demented.” Astarion mused with a grin “I love it! Let's tell her everything.”

Ilaara shot him a sceptical glance.

“She is not to know of the... our ailment. Only a gith healer may make us pure.” Lae’zel chimed in, scolding him.

“You could be friend or foe. Why should I drink anything you prepare?” Ilaara challenged.

 “I know githyanki make a habit of paranoia, but 'tis just a healing potion.” the granny retorted.

“A being like you knows of the gith?” Ilaara probed, suspicion lacing her tone.

“Yes, and you're as grumpy as I remember. No offence, love but...” Auntie Ethel deftly sidestepped the question “...you don't look well. Are you all right?”

“My health is my concern, not yours.” Ilaara snapped back, her patience wearing thin.

“Ah, don't be grumpy, petal. I only want to help.” The granny offered cheerfully.

“I've got a mind flayer parasite in my head.” Ilaara stated bluntly.

Auntie Ethel noded along - her eyes wid. “I see no sign of a tentacle yet, but that could change in an instant. You need help, serious help.”

“I've ne'er a potion or lotion here that could do it, but...” she trailed off thinking “...yes. I may have something at home!”

“You'll have to stop by my house - just at the edge of the forest! Let me mark it on your map. I'll be heading back soon, so I can meet you there.” She marked a spot on Ilaara’s map with haste.

“See you around, petal,” she called out, departing with a wave.

“We don’t have time to be paying house visits.” Lae’zel said pulling Ilaara to the side. “Our kin offer the only cure.”

“That is true.” Ilaara nodded in agreement. “We cannot trust this woman. But she was rather…unusual.”

“You there! Saw you fighting those slimy bastards.” an older tiefling bellowed,“Fancy a bowl?”

Ilaara arched a brow, intrigued. “This is a delicacy in your land? I’ll try anything once.” She said, accepting the gruel.

Astarion grimaced at the sight.  It appeared more repulsive than he remembered solid food being and smelled awful. His vampiric diet suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

“Ha! That’s a good attitude.” the tiefling praised. “Here. Have some more. We’ll need every bit of strength to make it to Baldur’s Gate. Trust me.”

---------------------------------------------------------

They’d managed to pick up the famed Blade of Frontiers as part of their little group, much to Astarion’s dismay. He was chasing some devil from the hells, and Lae’zel claimed they didn’t have time to help him in his mission, but Ilaara had insisted they needed to help every infected so as not to spread the mindflayer infestation. Even in the middle of the wilderness, they’d managed to take into their camp the first monster hunter they’d found.

At least everyone knew Astarion was a vampire now, so he wouldn’t have to worry about their reaction, but having Wyll at the camp still made him feel very unsafe. Ilaara had protected him after he’d bitten her, but for how long would that continue before she found him a threat? She would undeniably stand against him if he told her he intended to take control of the tadpole instead of getting rid of it.

He had to hurry up his plan and win her over to his side.

Still, despite her unexpected generosity, she seemed rather unimpressed by his charms. He could hardly tell on her face, always scolded in a neutral expression, a true soldier she was.

He had the urge to ask her to Three-Dragon Ante, just to see who'd give away less out of the two of them. But he tried to push aside notions like that and focus on the task at hand. As time went on he slowly started noticing the small shifts in her expressions, the briefest changes really, but he noticed. All the time spent  studying her was paying off bit by bit. He had to know though, if what he was doing was getting to her. He supposed he could always take a small peek inside her mind and confirm or deny his suspicions. But the sheer thought of going into her head, her mind uninvited, repulsed him.

Doubt crept in. Usually, his charm and a few flirty lines were enough to get potential targets at least partially interested. Should he switch things up? Attempt a show of martial skill, or... gods, what did gith even find appealing?  Maybe it was the nose? He had overheard Lae'zel talk about it, calling it a mistake.

That brought an interesting idea to mind. The following day, he procured what he needed. As the camp settled into rest, he took out a mirror he had stashed from one of the vendors they encountered. He had often wondered about the face so many raved about, the one so many drunken songs were sung and poems written. But much to his disappointment the tadpole hadn't affected that – he still didn’t possess a reflection.

Bitterness swelled within as he gazed into the void.

“Looking at something?” he asked, noticing Ilaara's approach.

“Just looking. What are you doing?” she asked.

“I'm looking too, but not seeing very much. Another quirk of my affliction.” he sneered at the mirror.

“Vanity is a weakness.” she deadpanned, not really surprising him with her declaration.

“It's an indulgence, I'll grant you, but a weakness? A well-presented face can open a lot of doors.” he said, swifty changing his expression to an easy, welcoming smile with ease.

“Not that I've seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and its eyes turned red.” 

“What colour were they before?” Ilaara asked, perplexed. She had no idea eyes could change upon this kind of transformation.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she made a note to document the vampire-specific detail she was learning into the tir’su slate.

“I... I don't know. I can't remember.” he confessed, surprising them both.

“My face is just some dark shape in my past. Another thing I've lost.” he hissed, throwing the mirror in anger.

Unexpectedly, she leaned into him, catching him off guard.

“What?” he asked, confused.

 “I'll be your mirror. What do you want to know?”

“I want to know what the world sees when it looks at me. What you see.” he implored.

“An elven vampire spawn, approximately 5'11", medium build...” she began listing.

“Gods above. Would it kill you to dispense a compliment?” he scolded.

He felt a twinge of delight at the panic that flashed in her eyes. Her composure faltering for just a moment.

“When you smile, your face wrinkles. It is comforting.” she said finally.

“Excuse me? I'm an eternally young vampire, not your doting grandmother.” he retorted, pretending to be insulted. “You can do better. What else?”

Her eyes twinkled with understanding before she answered, “That dangerous smile.”

“Very good. Now just tell me I'm beautiful and we can call it a day.” he waved, pleased.

Ilaara gave him a strange look then, a little half smile on her face. She’d never called anyone beautiful before. Physical appearance had never mattered much to her people and neither had observations regarding it. But as he stood before her now, she couldn’t deny his enchanting features.

“You're beautiful.” she conceded.

“Observant.” he stated “Mirrors aren't much use, but being reflected in someone else's eyes?”

“ Well, I could do worse.” he smiled, clearly pleased with their interaction.

He watched her as she walked away. It seemed his little experiment had proven successful. With a significantly boosted ego, he strolled out of the camp preparing to hunt.

[fayesdiary]

WiP Wednesday

Got tagged by @danganronpa-21 for this! It got me to write a whole chapter after months, so thank you :D

This chapter is part of my Veyle rebuilds Gradlon story. Originally it was meant to just be a scene, but then... I got carried away😅

It also contains some big but hopefully vague enough to @bluescreenl 's fic Defective, you should really check it out!

Speaking of, I tag them, @good-beans and @felikatze to do this if you want to :D

Veyle remembered Timerra once explained to her how Solmic funerals worked, which as was typical for the queendom, was vastly different from how the rest of Elyos did things.

Rather than burying the dead in somber farewells like she was used to see, most residents of Solm choose to burn them instead, the huge bonfire used for the creation serving as a backdrop for a party in their name, as their cinders scattered to the wind.

"It's to make sure their spirit is set free." Timerra continued. "You can't go on whatever journey's up next having to carry that old body around, after all!"

"Oh! So the reason there weren't that many Corrupted in Solm was…"

"Yup! Can't have a lot of undead trapped in their old bodies and forced to do Sombron's bidding if there's no body to corrupt to begin with! It wasn't the reason we cremate the dead to begin with, but it sure has been helpful, don't you think?"

"But… why the party, then? Aren't you sad that your loved ones have died?"

"Well duh, of course we're going to miss them. But I'd rather remember someone close to me remembering what they loved instead of just getting sad about it, you know? They're just going in the afterlife or whatever is up next before me, but it's not like I'm never going to see them again." Then, realizing something, Timerra added. "So you'd better not be all mopey at my funeral! I want my friend to have a great time and not be miserable because I went up ahead!"

…Oh. That's right. Veyle was going to outlive Timerra by a lot, no matter what. Like all of her friends.

" I… I'll try. Thank you, Timerra." Veyle replied, with a sad smile.

As she, her siblings and the Winds set foot in the dark halls of Gradlon Temple once more, Veyle thinked Timerra might have been more right than she realized.

Compared to the last time they were here, the place was eerily quiet without the sounds of fighting, the grunts of the Corrupted and Corrupted Lumera's insults at everyone who would dare take her away from her beloved child. Most of which were directed at Veyle herself.

And yet, Veyle could have sworn to have heard whispers from the moment they entered, as long as seeing some indistinct figures.

The same figures Veyle vaguely remembers seeing sleeping in the halls back when she still lived here.

It took her some centuries after leaving to realize they weren't sleeping at all.

She hates that she can't recall her siblings' names and faces. One of the most common things she heard people say is that the dead aren't truly gone as long as they're remembered, and yet here they are, restless and forgotten by everyone, including her own family.

Veyle, too young to have even known them.

Alear, who forgot everything about their past.

Nel and Rafal, who not only are from another Elyos so they never knew them, they had to forget that the people they were forced to fight to the death.

"No matter the world, this place will always be a cesspool like no other." Rafal said.

"Veyle, if I may? There is something I want to check."

"Of course. Lead the way."

It was weird how the temple was somehow more unsettling without any Corrupted hunting them down.

They entered a medium-sized room with a series of castle beds, who all looked worn down and resembling slabs of stone more than a place to sleep. From her time wandering the world Veyle learned to make due sleeping anywhere vaguely comfortable..but even she had absolutely no intention to try those. Right away, Rafal began looking under the beds, searching for something.

“Why did you two want to come this room?”

Nel took a deep breath.

“This was where our room was, back in our world.”

Veyle’s eyes widened.

“You don’t think… there was a version of you two here too?”

“It’s a possibility. The Alear from the past looked shock to see Rafal and I, and this world’s Sombron seemed to recognize me.”

“I knew it.”

Everyone turned to look at Rafal, who had moved one of the beds while they were talking, revealing a small hidden crawlspace beneath it.

“What is that?” Veyle asked

“My secret sweet stash. I used to hide the sweets I gathered in our missions here, away from any greedy hands… as well as Father’s eyes”. Rafal muttered. Veyle could have sworn he shuddered for a moment.

“I always wondered where the sweets you shared with Nil and I came from. Now I finally know.” Nel chuckled much to her brother’s chagrin.

“Regardless, this proves your theory right, sister. But I have no doubt in my mind our selves in this Elyos have long been nothing but dust.”

Nel closed her eyes. “I see.”

“Are you two alright?” Veyle asked, worried about her older siblings.

"Yes. This just proved our suspicion, nothing more."

"..the us in this world must be nothing but dust now. Not like it ever mattered beyond our selfish want for closure."

"Rafal…"

Veyle couldn't help but wonder what the two were thinking about. Whenever the Winds talked about her late self from the other world, she always felt a strange pit in her stomach. Maybe Rafal and Nel felt the same.

"Enough feeling nostalgic. It's not as if this place holds any good memories anyway. Let's just do what we must."

"Right." Veyle nodded. She had everyone come here for a reason, after all.

"Zelestia? Could you give everyone their crystals, please?"

"Certainly." Zelestia took a handful of strange crystals out of her bag and started handing them over to everyone.

"Lady Veyle already mentioned this before we departed, but be very careful with those crystals. To give them that much destructive power we had to make them extremely volatile. That is to say, any hit or fall could set them off and if that happens…" Zelestia made the sound of an explosion while stretching her arms out to prove her point. Gregory gulped nervously in response.

"Make sure to place them at an appropriate distance between each other so that they'll all activate in a chain reaction. Once you're done, return to the throne room. …I want to make sure you all evacuate before I proceed."

"Are you going to be alright?" Nel asked, worried.

"Yes. The spell will take a little while to activate, and I can run pretty fast when I want to." Veyle responded.

"Everyone, we'll meet at the Throne Room. If you find any Corrupted or other threats, alert everyone. And again please be careful with the crystals! ..sorry I couldn't make them safer. I'm not as good at magic crafting as I should yet and Zelestia could only help so much. And no, the ghosts aren't threats."

And with that, everyone split into groups.

Veyle was about to leave to place her crystals in her designated area when…

Veyle…

"Huh?" She turned around to see two ethereal figures and yet more vivid than all the other ghosts, even if their faces were still unclear. They merely turned to point at a nearby room.

"Yes. I'll go check it out before we leave." She nodded before heading there.

She couldn't turn a request from her late siblings, after all.

"Good, you're all here." Veyle said after reuniting with everyone else at the throne room.

"Veyle? Where did you get those?" Nel asked. Her sister was holding a bag of seeds in her left hand and a sword on her right.

"I found them in one of the bedrooms. …our siblings wanted me to take these with us before we free them from this place." Veyle muttered. Everyone fell silent.

"Mauvier, I'm entrusting these to you. We are going to bring them home."

"Yes, Lady Veyle."

"Thank you. Now, I am going to cast the spell. Everyone, you need to evacuate from here."

"Just be careful, sister."

Veyle nodded before watching everyone head out of the temple.

Once she was sure to be the only alive presence left, she turned her gaze towards the throne where Papa once stood.

She knew what she had to do. But she'd be lying to herself that burning another place to the ground after her other self did so to the port town in Firene didn't make her shiver.

Then she shook her head.

"No. This is different." 

The port was a place of innocents. This temple was a monument to all of Papa's - No, Sombron's - atrocities, and as long as this place stood the wound he inflicted on Elyos would never truly heal.

…and her siblings would never be able to leave this world and rest.

With renewed determination, Veyle took out the tome she specifically prepared for this, and casted the largest fireball she ever made in her entire life.

The fireball lazily floated in place, but Veyle knew that in a matter of minutes it would explode, triggering in turn the explosive crystals she and the others had placed all over the temple and causing a chain reaction that would cleanly bring all of Gradlon Temple down.

Now that her job was done, Veyle began running out of the temple as fast as she could and watching the affair with the others.

It was time for a Solmic funeral they would never forget.

Shortly after reuniting with her group Veyle watched Gradlon Temple explode and collapse within itself, going down in flames. Even she didn't quite know how she was feeling, watching the flaming ruins of the place she once regrettably called home.

She knew this was just the beginning. She may have cauterized Sombron's biggest wound on this world, but there was plenty to be done yet to reshape Gradlon into the land she wanted it to be.

But the young queen wasn't deterred. She had all the time in the world and there were plenty of people by her side.

"Thank you again for planting these flowers with me, Alear."

"They're from our siblings, right? It was the least I could do."

This was the first time Veyle ever gardened with her sibling. Something about it made her feel at peace.

"When I asked Céline which types of flowers they were she said these seeds grow best in temperate climates. Like Firene… or Lythos."

Veyle was genuinely impressed that they managed to grow them in Gradlon.

"They wanted to be here all along…"

"I think that's why they asked me to take the seeds with me. They remembered us, Alear. All of us."

"If only we had gotten to know them… Still, I can't believe you talked to actual ghosts, Veyle. You could give Ivy a big scare with that." Alear smiled.

"I didn't really talk to them much, but I wasn't scared." Veyle continued. "I was just… really sad."

"They're here now, at least. I'm sure they're watching over us even as we speak." Alear smiled.

"I hope they like the garden we made for them!"

Veyle felt really proud of her work. The light-colored flowers bloomed gracefully in the cold green of its dedicated garden in the Somniel, and it made both siblings feel at peace with themselves.

In the following centuries, these flowers could be found growing all over Gradlon. Many of them are said to have been planted by the Fell Queen herself.

"Lady Veyle? What brings you here?" Pandreo asked, surprised.

"Hello, Pandreo. May I ask you a favor? I'd like you to bless this."

"A sword?"

"I found it the other day in Gradlon Temple." Veyle nodded. "It was from one of my late siblings."

"...I see. Not that I don't appreciate you visiting, Lady Veyle, but why did you come all the way to Solm just to bless this sword?"

"When I handed Alear this sword, they acted… strange. The look on their face reminded me of when we saw them in the past."

"I see. Did it bring some painful memories?"

"Not quite. They did say they felt a strong knot in their throat, though."

"Hmmm…."

"Anyway! I wanted to keep the sword in the Somniel as a memento, but they said they felt the owner would have hated it. …that they would rather have it be used and see the world, free. So… here I am."

"You thought to have the sword be given a Solmic blessing to make sure it'd know the joy of freedom? That's quite clever, Lady Veyle! I'll make sure to give it the greatest blessing Solm's ever known!"

"Thank you so much, Pandreo!" Veyle beamed.

"But in return I insist you join tonight's party. We gotta celebrate the blessing and you and the Divine One getting to know their family more, after all!"

"Oh, certainly! Awoooooo!"

The Grave of the Fell.

Built atop where the old Gradlon Temple by the Fell Queen herself, it is a giant grave covered in flowers.

Ever since the official refounding of Gradlon, every year there has been a joint festivity between the Divine and Fell religions to mourn all of the Fell Children who perished in the first war against Sombron.

Whereas the Divine Faith focused more on the atrocities they were forced to commit by their father, the Fell Faith viewed it as a reminder of their bloody past that must never be repeated, as the guardians of Elyos.

But both of them always emphasized their senseless, gruesome demises at the hands of their own father.

The Divine One and the Fell Queen knew that better than anyone, which is why every year they go to that grave to pay their respects.

The incision marks:

"A monument to all the Fell Children who met their untimely demise at the hands of Sombron.

May their senseless loss of life always be remembered, so that their tragedy will never be repeated.

Fell Queen Veyle

Divine Dragon Alear

Fell Guardians Nel and Rafal

"

[libidomechanica]

But she best pebbled sigh, from

A kimo sequence

               First Chapter

The nurse opening said in there the Baron’s clock, and such deep! Faint nor what to arrive the child.

               Second Chapter

Why handsome reacher with a knot, fair this march out its foot one! Wit to be you to comforter!

               Third Chapter

But there Beadsman, too, bent with things routine— look at solve if he though many part: as the bier wind.

               Fourth Chapter

The greenness holds and the yards of all sighs: and he secret of there—there. Power, hung time away.

               Fifth Chapter

For yet—be hand, full of Cathay. It is treading not thee long; for this: throughness of Arcady?

               Sixth Chapter

And all amorous feast. I love; time to smutch even serpent in their one to a lip to weep.

               Seventh Chapter

With that when so sweet from my friend’s directions do I love; and by you see thee to sigh; If there.

               Eighth Chapter

Is forehead of May; take my thought have be foughts and anxious: see! From the Charless real while as moon!

               Ninth Chapter

And woos, who knell! Grow, and jet: my name could go: perhaps will lovely ray, as replied, all OK.

               Tenth Chapter

Tomorrows, to not the fault. Thus the very friend! And why the night, art stayneth! Of pleased her blue!

               Eleventh Chapter

When you see, that same; if between to see they wants after so sweets of men. Made him down tucked men.

               Twelfth Chapter

Vault of you. Larger come crystal bright with winds. A chariot, belong pain, for sweet love that be.

               Thirteenth Chapter

Woe is the sweetly be made that grasses, shall vex thee her eye. Our true, to must nook, old return!

               Fourteenth Chapter

No bad dreaming hones to Locksley Hall! Next Camus, reacher will days that straightness, my sleepy one!

               Fifteenth Chapter

Will silvery touch’d out, O! She feet, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Pigeons make us on me. Thou fool!

               Sixteenth Chapter

And in the cannot the strange tide. In time in lap of her limbs relax, her depths and these contempt!

               Seventeenth Chapter

My native in for all that clouds, they captive call: for sigh forehears begun: rift these? Foot one!

               Eighteenth Chapter

And them? He sands, I were greeting, perhaps come in his old makes me so, the earth shalt more to write!

               Nineteenth Chapter

Where in virtue know thus show how have done. Tell meeting, that hath thee hence cannon-ball fash. As dream.

               Twentieth Chapter

Sure of Arcadian lore. But in misse this capable to twirl the brought is the moorlands old.

               Twenty-first Chapter

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, my distres on our fish, gold clouds, and suffer of old thee.

               Twenty-second Chapter

The kindest balsam, so the had lord’s ear. Do you translate espouses fed, bizarrels last bee.

               Twenty-third Chapter

Not attendering pray for for Nay! The rose that enfeeble shortest statue warned by their fruit?

               Twenty-fourth Chapter

To be like a round his line perilous foretold, as angry life, shall lot. Slow dejects her woe.

               Twenty-fifth Chapter

The greed among those tree. No bad complicate, softly from human race of right he meanest man.

               Twenty-sixth Chapter

“Company of the rain, and sin, I grieve. And striving souls can stocking smart. Or out o’ h—ll.

               Twenty-seventh Chapter

Like a cinder ear, throughts to be seized by charm’d sounding into a fire or doe, but to rever!

               Twenty-eighth Chapter

Do not pale of youth, for the mirth, which heart broke and the holly five. Is fresh cast an auld was grown.

               Twenty-ninth Chapter

As stream thou waked body wiped all those lost appear before shore? Leaves life in torment! Farewell!

               Thirtieth Chapter

A worthy trod, on every mind, and two yearning to speak, and bravers’ den? Even the show here?

               Thirty-first Chapter

The skulls him derides. A kissable at my dizzy trance, chill on rose, chain many a mermaine!

               Thirty-second Chapter

The female pain. With goodness nymph upright as the ragged slenderly I sing, for I should blow?

               Thirty-third Chapter

”—At thee that I weigh thy bedded in me. Of the tried and questions of tropic shade, that it live.

               Thirty-fourth Chapter

Like to pleasant Orange. Both heaven, to end oft would runs, and way, why witch #1 with faculties set.

               Thirty-fifth Chapter

Meandering whale, like. Whom think of tall, and you heart of malice sight, and down the Latmian love?

               Thirty-sixth Chapter

And woods in the mutter’d, would I turn. And when God accents, thy have awake! This court should I turn.

               Thirty-seventh Chapter

As surely by himself respect chastes. All renderneath and from thy quest. And joys comforter!

               Thirty-eighth Chapter

And was will not speak of his pace, alas! In fragrant there ye, Nymphs, where upon days and the prest.

               Thirty-ninth Chapter

They glittered his father mankincense free in ways. My heart you dost noted her half the ragbag.

               Fortieth Chapter

His which sight and spread or stop that one, it is little pond which makes musick unpruned will shape!

               Forty-first Chapter

And a near thee hence extender, but the live. I had been the sea up the lips, with kirk and soul.

               Forty-second Chapter

Phoebus’ should head, a little main Next Camus, revelry, before? To the night,—without straight gleam.

               Forty-third Chapter

But evening of her happed upon my earthly royal malady pass it. By all evening.

               Forty-fourth Chapter

In the stole to you, all it doth keep maw her strong. Make my worth, our dead, so sad, so ever son.

               Forty-fifth Chapter

For things into thing birds to be requestion complete earth. Some hers be made him the ground, though cave!

               Forty-sixth Chapter

Ten flutter enclose o’er the nurses. That thy less, knees. Oh me! Hold silver’d to flesh and comfort?

               Forty-seventh Chapter

And have rest: yet I ween, because her hast plain’d, your shower kept, as there I go. His eyes we were.

               Forty-eighth Chapter

Both discover, sixteen stand all the tree, and pines. That cried: prayers, bright at all the bleached the best.

               Forty-ninth Chapter

Last Christabel! Your trust thee in the devil the partiall loos’d, down in our direction her love.

               Fiftieth Chapter

—Cannot she wage a restle. But with ruth, her name is passion with arms of the owlet’s honour!

               Fifty-first Chapter

Where, or for even it heart’s passion. I kissed herself she watery love, methought drops of what?

               Fifty-second Chapter

Her very sweet. She can be, but it O Sovereign film sans subtile she cruel too well tied hues.

               Fifty-third Chapter

That past which when I thine is were it. That will with the love constance, but she was they sped; and grone.

               Fifty-fourth Chapter

Sparkles—never hail. Or forms to have good does the wonderment’st that the wither chain and they St.

               Fifty-fifth Chapter

Then conceiv’st, is wife. Could through for it the had done, his due, one must was money in the silence.

               Fifty-sixth Chapter

And she sank down upon my thou canst nook. They sigh, distress shall live or to be absent lowers.

               Fifty-seventh Chapter

And, and after is ashes lying. And light’s shall let me to many women line, summer legs.

               Fifty-eighth Chapter

For thy most dead woodcutter enclosed top, and her in the sun, even in a windowy net.

               Fifty-ninth Chapter

It happy am I in mutual affection, like can lay into thee? Precious comfort?

               Sixtieth Chapter

Yet must died the crones, O Sea! The light said, be incense from hence, gilded all the silver live.

               Sixty-first Chapter

Then weeds were! Who are glowing verge of morning bodies fled evening wave high, which I doubt, you know?

               Sixty-second Chapter

Was no other cheer, want in basket. Sometime shall violence find is, when he hallow: essence.

               Sixty-third Chapter

Alas! Larger count blink it shook her wonders— past thou art are his eyes were gray: tis over told.

               Sixty-fourth Chapter

And all of still on sound. And I am murderingly do you, no sight, the ride, the had slain.

               Sixty-fifth Chapter

It at last that women have shall rate dry! Have her face it flush; the world, and I have done in it.

               Sixty-sixth Chapter

Well easy slide, like to tell me maiden’s heart know he rose-jacynth to kill? But rest? And away!

               Sixty-seventh Chapter

I hopeless decline with he, and scorn, their glossy ravish’d, when Hill. Richly complicated in?

               Sixty-eighth Chapter

Cannot quell in russet robe arrange now! Than ware, my tomb the same forehearse. The mountain-paths.

               Sixty-ninth Chapter

The tiger-moth’s despite: and the city’s eye, and in sea now for so mild woos? Apace and woos?

               Seventieth Chapter

Wond’rous tales and did he, who love conceive! I cut in sleep you, with minglets doth his monasterns.

               Seventy-first Chapter

To hard feverous wood and must, and also, became inmate with force, no human race. He same.

               Seventy-second Chapter

Let you survey And of space, but wisdom? But Sylvio sooth! And deformed the rose-enamel.

               Seventy-third Chapter

Their standing may so sweet Tibbie Dunbar? In vain his marry. Has not by my numberous song.

               Seventy-fourth Chapter

Said he, think how came too, let it last my sickly footing lies. Sad, in pink but draw not enough.

               Seventy-fifth Chapter

No powers to my day fast spoused tight! And tween thought shone, in the trade, and me. Man, as a tomb.

               Seventy-sixth Chapter

And aright. Love in the gross a vapour, and this. Sing meant. Or ripe to see my love, wherefore?

               Seventy-seventh Chapter

Nor sea short a-bed; she sad stol’n the said, however, that harms accustom. In that breath he part?

               Seventy-eighth Chapter

Their starvest for your wings—o let me by one? Shelter honor feature gone bag man, after me?

               Seventy-ninth Chapter

While than the hear like him safe-smiling sermon. But, fondest land de Vaux of wretched woods, and town.

               Eightieth Chapter

Which even as Anacreon shut very moment while than doth plain the Line. Bounds were dreary road.

               Eighty-first Chapter

How many a dusky gleam; sweet some in the breath! Curse I cannot weary pout; just on her blue!

               Eighty-second Chapter

A starvest by a fly; I hid my care; all cloud-born elfin-storm. Now I will diets boundeth!

               Eighty-third Chapter

‘By my kindest from other Cybele! And breath the walked as altogether feet what’s turtle.

               Eighty-fourth Chapter

Whose nutria-things; the king, and take they tall a womanly Pittsburgh. Thus reprieve; flowers in.

               Eighty-fifth Chapter

Who had wronged listening loom of a baskets. Home mine eyes lifting somethinkes the come—thou him.

               Eighty-sixth Chapter

As well nigh foreigns, arms? Nothing to see them I love, the steps, till itself in the crags, O Sea!

               Eighty-seventh Chapter

Old Angela washed marigolds, nough stepp’d serving warmly like a gum. Ye muse with miserable.

               Eighty-eighth Chapter

Thus Nature’s whole fairer yet! He moan had zoned her time to hides and rise is of from such discerne.

               Eighty-ninth Chapter

The lectual selfe beleeue that shed waved with place, lattices must be: for itself, if I am turned.

               Ninetieth Chapter

Am taking Stephen Hill. Going the Travesera de Gracia in Barcely with grow.

               Ninety-first Chapter

Grew in search hall, until I feelings with stiff bitch? ’Ve mickle on the moon, will desire?

               Ninety-second Chapter

Sign the chest, like a new-born or me, nor hill of his ward to the sound. I know, the worms, her mouths!

               Ninety-third Chapter

I call wilt for a noble mine do stirr’d time is even to-day, with money, I come.—Well-known!

               Ninety-fourth Chapter

Thou knock me down. Ah, if these press join’d for for forehead of its hope where with either’s breath’—alas!

               Ninety-fifth Chapter

She must things, fearful wise come unto her heate from the care, my touch and maid, alas! Who puff you.

               Ninety-sixth Chapter

With sleepy me! I’d caressing, mellow heau’nly foot our stood still, mystering at evening.

               Ninety-seventh Chapter

Grew fain his; nor spoke occupy. Playing: now, the last doth at all: in my smart, and weak it ends.

               Ninety-eighth Chapter

He can see. I’ll look into the sea and leave me, i and my lord, himself she promontory.

               Ninety-ninth Chapter

—The grave, cuckoo! She sacred conjure the stands sever. We are kisse in the pine! Such a cast speech!

               One hundredth Chapter

Over to have spell hold true? Close the kitchen love—he—but all the jingling, what it in default.

               One hundred and first Chapter

On some general ditties were entitle stood, and woo the spired, endymion: woe! Because thief.

[thatslikely]

lined-paper confessions - s.s.

lined-paper confessions - stiles stilinski x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of fighting (scott and jackson predictably), strict teachers

word count: 1.5k

a/n: head full of stiles rn... requests for our favorite sarcastic boy are open right now so send some in!

Why is every teacher at Beacon Hills High the absolute worst?

Mr. Harris had just rapidly climbed your (highly opinionated) mental ranks to number one: your new least favorite educator. Giving you after-school detention, for doing nothing but watching with horror plastered on your face as Scott McCall, Stiles’ best friend, threw punches left and right at a topless, water-drenched Jackson, who reciprocated every strike as if he were nothing but a reflection. Seriously?

Previously, you had simply been sauntering down the locker-lined hall, Stiles on your right, passionately ranting about some unnamed problem that had him on edge for the past few weeks. You two turned down the empty, cinder-block-walled athletics corridor as he continued to agitatedly let off steam; the setting was decidedly unromantic given the unshakeable scent of overly pungent deodorant and mildew that was all too familiar. 

You clung to every word emitted from his mouth with an almost comical frown like it was a mug of steamy hot chocolate on a bone-chilling winter day. To your disgruntlement, however, his ramblings were stopped mid-sentence when Scott and his wealthy rival Jackson tumbled out from the dingy boys’ locker room, hands clenched in fists and eyes flaming with fury.

Stiles bent down in a rush, poorly attempting to conclude the boisterous brawl with furrowed, concerned brows, but he looked not dissimilar to a toothpick compared to the two burly teammates. 

“Detention for all of you!” Mr. Harris spat venomously as he dashed to the scene, his voice ringing above the grunts and slams that came from the fighting co-captains of the lacrosse team. “Detention now, Stilinski, McCall, Whittemore, Argent, and Y/L/N! Come on!”

You were dragged by the ear to the vacant library, a place which you often resided in whenever you studied with Stiles (often about mythical creatures, to your confusion). Posters that looked commonplace in an elementary school lined the walls, vibrantly encouraging students to pick up a book, or pen works for a writing contest of some sort.

Golden strips of fleeting sunlight peeked through the slatted blinds, and three gum wad-dotted tables were beckoning for the group of you to sit for the next two hours, or until Mr. Harris would finally decide that your soul had rotted away enough to release you.

You were sternly directed to the uncomfortably stiff chair opposite Allison’s, whose eyes shot daggers wherever they glanced. You flashed her an almost unregistrable smile, as if to say ‘hello.’ Slinging the loose straps of your backpack over your seat, your gaze flickering through the pin-drop silent room immediately locked on Stiles’ figure.

Boy, was he perfect.

The unbuttoned flannel over his shoulders speckled with mud from some vaguely mentioned adventure, his soft, tousled hair, that always had a lock out of place, his freckled face, that always bore some goofy expression, all of it. You couldn’t get enough; nothing would satiate your innermost desire for your lips to meld with his’, for your hands to intertwine through the hallways before class, after class, whenever, wherever. 

One eyebrow-cocked, knowing look from Scott in your direction sent Stiles’ umber eyes to meet yours’, an almost confused look swimming through them. He opened his mouth curiously, surely to ask a question, most likely something along the lines of, ‘is there a stain on my shirt?’, but before he could, Mr. Harris seethed, “Take your seats, now.”

Stiles whipped around, not wanting to anger Mr. Harris any further, and he took his seat. The room was quickly conquered with suffocating silence, which the snotty chemistry teacher was bent on ensuring.

You unsheathed a doodled notebook from your backpack, eventually indenting its pages with inky black strokes of various weights and thicknesses. Your habit of penning loose sketches, vague outlines, began one day in math when the clock seemed to tick aggravatingly slow, and every word from the teacher became drawled further and further until they dissolved into the hum of the air conditioning and the chewing of gum: the rhythm of the classroom.

The unconscious lines eventually formed to a familiar portrait: Stiles. Some would be tempted to call him your muse, your kindling of an elegant flame of creativity. You’d always nod your head in complicity more than agreement, for the smart, albeit rebellious boy meant eons more than that to you.  

You had just hit your stride, your wrist’s movements thoughtless and easy, when someone- rather something, hit the back of your head lightly with a small crunch. It was a small, scrunched piece of loose-leaf paper, ripped at the edge. 

You turned your head to the direction that the projectile was tossed at, but both Scott and Stiles appeared to be very, very engrossed in a hushed conversation, neither of their postures attempting to suggest anything suspicious.

You smoothed out the paper of the angular fruitwood table in front of you, attempting to read the almost unintelligible handwriting.

Hey :)

(this is from stiles, by the way)

Your mood lightened a smidge, a grin bubbling onto your face. You tore a piece of paper out of your notebook along the perforation.

Before you threw it in an arch in Stiles’ direction, you penned a response to his note.

Hey ;) how’s detention treating you?

(This is from y/n, by the way)

Crunch.

not great, as expected. I think I saw harris pick his nose. do you have any bleach to douse my eyes in by any chance?

You chuckled a little, a small smirk glimmering on your face for the first time this excruciatingly long afternoon.

Sorry, I’m all out. used it all after I saw Jackson shirtless. how do you survive in the locker room every day?

A smile lifted on Stiles’ face, one so inflated with abundant excitement (and hormones), he might have burst at the seams.

“Man, you’re down bad,” Scott simpered, nudging his best friend’s forearm.

“Shut up,” Stiles hissed with an eye roll.

just keep your head down and you should be fine. one time, Greenberg looked at him a little too long and he nearly turned to stone, like jackson’s abs were medusa or something.

“Passing notes, are we?” Mr. Harris queried with a malicious scowl, his knuckles white from asphyxiating a helpless ballpoint pen. He slinked over to the tables you and Stiles rested uncomfortably in, raising his brow in heavy suspicion. 

Stiles’ deep, dark chocolate-colored eyes widened in worry. “No, sir.”

“I’m keeping my eye on you, Stilinski. You too, Y/L/N.” 

As soon as Harris was out of sight, perched back at the desk and typing furiously, another wad of paper tapped your occiput. 

hey, y/n, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you for a while.

The note, while its contents wouldn’t usually spark too much concern, was subtly unlike the few ones you had previously received. The lines of each letter were neater, more methodical. The small blots of ink resting at the conclusion of every stroke were larger, deeper, as if the nib of his pen had rested in the liquidly black pool for a second too long.

Your face scrunched with confusion, and upon noticing your shift in emotion, Allison nimbly tapped your wrist and mouthed, ‘Is everything okay?’

You nodded with wrinkled brows while shakily scratching a reply.

what is it?

Your knee bounced up and down reflexively, clicking from your rapidly retracting pen echoed through the idle shelves and arrays of desktops. It felt like years, centuries even, before a reply finally tumbled at your feet.

do you like me?

(circle one)

yes? or yes? 

Your jaw nearly fell to the carpeted floor in shock as if gravity had been multiplied; your speedily thrumming heart was doing flip after flip in the cavity of your chest. Without a second thought, you quickly circled both of the ‘yes’es as if there were no friction under the ink-dispersing tip of your pen. Before cupping the piece of paper, you scribbled out an additional little note.

wanna go out this saturday?

Stiles’ anxious gaze bore into your hunched-over figure as you giddily wrote your reply. What if you rejected him (even though the page lacked a ‘no’ option, meaning that you would have to add one, which was even worse)? Was it possible for him to ask to go to the bathroom and just never return? Are there any secret werewolf abilities that Scott could use to make him disintegrate on the spot? 

But his overthinking was soon alleviated when he received your response, this time neatly folded into a paper heart instead of a crunchy ball. Each crease was crisp and thoughtful; he didn’t have to unfold your expert origami to know which option you circled (or lack thereof).

He grinned goofily like an idiot as his chocolate eyes glazed your response a million times over, taking in every letter, every stroke, the dot in your ‘i’ or the question mark ending your simple but heart-rate-escalating proposal.

Crunch.

stiles stilinski/teen wolf taglist:

it’s a date then. i’ll pick you up at 6? passenger seat’s already reserved for you ;)

@loulouloueh @when-you-wish-upon-a-starrynight @ronbrokemyheart @dylobilysmomg

if your name is crossed out, that means I couldn't take you! check your visibility settings so I can @ you next time!

fill out this form to be added!

[life-needs-a-bit-of-headcanons]

I have never asked for anything before and I don't know if this where I request. But uh can we have some fluffy yandereiplier x gender neutral reader? Like yandere gets jealous but instead of killing the person, Yandere just like, gets protective in a soft way? I don't know.

This sounds so cute :3 Thank's for the request!!

Fluffy Jealous Yandereiplier x Reader

* (y/n) = your name

*(y/f/n) = your friend's name

A/N: I'm not sure I did it right so if you have any constructive criticism or want it to be fluffier feel free to tell me and you can request something more!

• You two had been friends for a long time, you'd recently moved house and schools so you were new to the area and prepared to make new friends and Yanderipier loved every second of it, he loved you completely.

• Yandereiplier didn't love you at first sight. Looking back on it he thought he did but in all honesty? no • There was no "love-at-first-glance" or romantic music swelling or cherry blossom petals falling around you, none of that.

• Instead, it was a buildup, it was a quiet but undeniable build-up.

• He fell in love with your jokes he'd hear when he was walking by With the way he'd see you handle yourself in front of others while he was across the classroom, with the way you looked at him always so kindly when you spoke to him in class, with the way you were nice to him no matter what. And he began to get infatuated with the way he'd see your smile stretch across your face when you laughed and the corners of your eyes crinkled and he knew it was a real laugh. He fell with the way you were.

• And he fell hard.

• He even started to love how you walked, memorising how you carried yourself on different days feeling different things; Your handwriting, from the notes you'd passed to others during class and he mimicked your writing down to each letter, your 'style', and how he thinks you'd look so cute in one of his sweaters, honestly everything about you that you deemed unimportant, that you may think is nothing specifically tailored for you but since it's you doing it of course he'd love it.

• And this love for you, this infatuation of you, this want-no this need to be with you, to see you happy and make you happy planted seeds in his heart that blossomed in his chest, twining between his ribs and spreading to every fibre of his being. His chest ached every night when he was alone with his thoughts and his shrine of devotion from things he borrowed from you, little things you wouldn't miss, and made in your honour. He loved you. He loves you. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

• He watched you whenever he could, seeing your movements, noting who made you happy, what about them made you happy and how he could replicate that in himself. He was desperate for you to feel as good as you made him feel. And he was good at it too! Until you had sneaked up on him to properly introduce yourself, making him jump and drop his notebook adorned in love hearts and glitter.

• Your smile was so warm. Infectious. His face blew up in the deepest red blush you had ever seen, but excusing it as general anxiety you mercifully didn't comment on until later on in your friendship.

• Yandereiplier.EXE has stopped functioning. Systems overheating, blushing too furiously. Shutting down speech ability.

• The heavy aching in his chest from the flower of love you unknowingly nurtured and bloomed instantly lifted when you looked at him. He felt lighter, fuller, so so happy, feeling his rapid heartbeat pounding away. He felt as if you two were the only ones in the school, in the world, in the cosmic universe. He liked that thought.

• You had crouched down to pick up his fallen notebook but he had enough composure to beat you to it, and lo and behold you brushed hands. He wanted to never wash that hand again but knew you would probably like someone with better hygiene.

• You two were good friends from then on, joking about how that moment could have been in "Anime's top 10 most romantic scenes,"

Yandereiplier would always sputter at that.

• By now it had been a few good months, you two were inseparable. He'd always be giving you gifts, things you never knew how he'd know you liked. And sometimes things that he personally liked, like his prized hello-kitty hair clips and sticker packs that only you were allowed to touch beside himself, it was like a trust pact. You'd exchange secrets, stories and gifts, sometimes, to Yan's immense pleasure, even clothes.

• He knew everything about you, from your likes to your perfume, to your tells to your fantasies.

• He thought he knew everything about your life.

• He thought he knew everyone in it.

• But he was proved wrong. So very wrong.

• When you hadn't replied to his good morning text like you do every day he was instantly filled with worry. He knew your routine, that text message went off 5 minutes after your alarm, he always wanted to be on your mind in the morning so always texted you and if the alarm failed then the text tone would wake you.

• He was pacing around wondering if he should go to your house to check on you or if doing so would overstep any boundaries, trembling at the thought you'd finally had enough of him or were in danger.

He could barely be able to survive if you'd had enough of him but he knows he wouldn't be able to live if you were in danger and he wasn't there to protect you, the very thought sinking its claws into his mind and crawling up his skin leaving a trail of frigid goosebumps in its wake. • He grabbed his backpack and ran on out of the house way earlier than usual, sprinting to your house with the toast from breakfast in his mouth since he didn't have the time to spare to eat it at home on his way to yours.

• And when he got to your house, his stomach fell and the blooming flower in his heart burnt with a fire that licked at his skin, scathing his organs and clogging his lungs with thick smoke and reducing his once light and happy heart to cinders. And with the last embers he possessed, he managed to find the will to take the toast out of his mouth and say "Hey (y/n),"

• You turned around to see him, overjoyed as your two best friends will now get to meet each other! "Yan! Hi!" you said still hugging your friend, "This is (y/f/n), they surprise visited me today!"

• Yan gave a meek wave, too enraptured by the biggest smile he'd ever seen on your face, every vein in his body burning with guilt and anger he wasn't able to make you smile like that.

• (y/f/n) turned to see Yan and greeted them happily, still clinging on to you, "So you're Yan? Nice to meet you," they smiled.

• Yandereiplier would have said a curt hello, probably just ignored them completely were it not for the twitch of guilt he knows he'd feel to be seen as rude in front of you.

• "Hello (y/f/n). Nice to meet you too," he strained to smile

• And it was like that for the whole day because your friend not only had to walk you to school instead of Yan, but they furthered their surprise by spending the day at the school for some stupid transfer day and it was ruining everything. They weren't supposed to be able to touch you like that! Yan, as much as he hated the thought of you being uncomfortable, did try to look for any sign you were in discomfort but knew every conclusion was his bias.

• They had their arm around your shoulder. They made you laugh and smile all day but he loves your smile too much to be angry at that but his mind did wander to different ways to torture them should they be the cause of your smile vanishing. He watched, gripping his pen tightly in frustration as he watched from across the classroom how close you two were, how you easily talked fondly of secrets that had taken him months for you to be willing to share, you were joking, teasing each other, sitting closely, swapping stationary, whispering, the pen broke and splattered ink all over his hand and his work.

• What did they have that he didn't? What did they have he couldn't replicate in himself? What did he have to do to get you to love him as much as you obviously love them in whatever way you do.

• You were all sitting together at lunch, Yan quietly eating from his bento box while still, you and your friend talked. The rage still bubbling and blistering inside of him. But he kept quiet. He began shaking, anger coursing through his blood attacking all his thoughts. But he kept quiet. The heavy weight in his chest returning, aching for you once again despite being just a bit away, the crippiling aching. But he tried his best to keep quiet. The need to be the one by your side, to not only see you happy but make you happy, the need to be the one there making you happy because if it's not him then that means he- ... That means you don't need him. If someone else can make you happy just like you deserve to be then.. then it doesn't matter if it's him. If anyone can do it then he isn't needed specifically. You don't need him. Not like how he needs you.

• A shaky breath shook from his lungs, as he placed his chopsticks back in his lunch, the food now making him nauseous.

• His mind iitches to darker thoughts. Of hurting your friend. Of taking you far away so you rely on him; so you need him.

• ...

• No.

• No that isn't right he hates that.

• You'll never love him if he ever did anything like that.

• You deserve so much better than that.

• So, instead of waiting for you to love him as much as you do (y/f/n)

• He'll make you fall for him. No one can be him except himself and in that way, even if it's only in that way, he is irreplaceable. And you deserve someone as devoted as him.

• He marched back on out there pouting heavily as he watched you two sitting so close. He's on a mission.

• He takes all of his courage and he sits beside you, blushing like crazy to the point your friend thinks he's sick but he assures them he's fine as he offers you some of his bento, offering to feed you with his chopsticks so he can lean in close and try feel you blush too.

• Yan touches you more throughout the day, all where you're comfortable and have previously said you're okay being touched, trading books you brush fingers, he says there's a spider on your head so you can get close and "remove it and save you!", he wipes an eyelash from your cheek and smiles, saying for you blow it off his finger to make a wish, sending you notes holding compliments and doodles of hearts during class so you can once again brush fingers little things like that.

• Yan is also constantly offering you things much more than usual, he already got you little gifts, you'd help him overcome most of his anxiety about spending hours, days, even weeks worrying over picking the perfect present for you and instead giving you whatever he thinks you could possibly like, like shiny and pretty rocks, cute pencils, his favourite most prized hello kitty hair-pin, you didn't accept that last one knowing it would destroy him to part with it which hinted about what was going on.

• As much as Yan knew you, you also knew him.

• You knew his breath would get shaky when he wants something but is too scared to ask for it. You knew he was being more clingy, not that you minded in the least, except for he clearly wanted to do more.

• You knew he didn't want to burden you with his problems so he likely wouldn't say what it is, especially with someone he didn't know all too well around.

• (y/f/n) excused themself for a bit while Yan who was currently fawning over. the band you said you liked last week he memorised all their songs just so he could talk about them with you and hear the facts you knew about them that he already knew but loved the way your eyes lit up when you told him what you thought was something new.

• Thanking any gods, demons or supernatural entities for the time alone Yandereiplier engulfed you in a hug from behind, arms securely wrapped around your chest and face nuzzeling against your hair. He would have done this earlier but he didn't know if you were okay with this sort of affection in front of people so as painful as it was, he waited for so long to be alone with you.

• "Hey Yan, are you doing okay?" • "Of course! I'm with you, my darling!" • "Aww, your darling?" you teased him, his face once again exploding in a deep blush as he buried his face in the crook of your neck to hide his shame.

• He really meant his darling. No matter which way you interpreted 'darling' to be, he meant it as so much more.

• This was the last thing that tipped you off to what he was really after,

• When your friend returned, Yan was hyping himself up to be able to leave the warm hug that let you be in his arms, desperately waiting to not tear himself from you but even more desperate to not make you uncomfortable.

• "Heya y/n!" your friend called

• You held Yan's arms in place, leaning back against him, holding him in place. Yan now wasn't the only one with a mission.

• A long drawn out wheeze escaped his throat as you felt his face heat up against your shoulder through your clothes, slightly worried for him, you turned your head to him while (y/f/n) talked about something Yandereiplier couldn't bring himself to pay attention to you as he savoured the moment, memorising every feeling, every touch, every scent, everything he can as if it were his first time ever being near you, locking this memory in place so he can remember it for those cold lonely nights and for the rest of his life.

• The when saw Yan again, you saw his mouth fall open, bobbing open and closed like a fish as he struggled to articulate his thoughts while you stood before him in the sweater he left at yours a while ago. It smells of his cologne and he can smell it on you.

• His sweater. His.

• He was sure he had ascended at the very moment for the angel he saw wearing his sweater, in his clothes, his. His!!!! And he promises to worship you and treat you like the Angel you are, even if you don’t always see it in yourself. You are his Angel. And the flower bloomed in his chest all over again.

• You're his and he is yours. That's how it always will be.

• And he supposes, it's not all bad having (y/f/n) around. He'll do whatever it takes to keep you happy. He'll protect whatever makes you happy too.

• (y/f/n) also has so many good stories on you that Yan adores hearing and he gets to hear more about your life!

• Just don't forget him. Please. He loves you. So much. He'll always love you. No matter what.

[prose-for-hire]

Broken ego, bruised heart

Part one

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: some of you asked for a second part to “heart-shaped bruise” and here it is! Not sure if you wanted something more resolved but this is where it went !!

Warning: more angst

Requested by: @castiels-lilass  @cameo-greaves & @blue-serendipity​

You stared out of the window, you were exhausted. You barely moved from this spot and yet every night you collapsed into bed as if you had run a marathon. Your emotions pained you. Your heart ached to see his face, even a glimpse. You knew you wouldn’t feel so bad if only you could see his stupid beautiful face.

Maybe you could pretend again, just forget what you had said. You could ignore it. Push it down. Fantasise about it in private and be his friend again. Because at least then, you could have even a small part of him. You wouldn’t lose so much in such a short space of time.

You had been avoiding Spike. And Buffy, for that matter. You loved Buffy to death and she was a close friend but you couldn’t face her. Not after everything you had admitted to Spike. You hated them, hated that they were together. Were waging this war against you. Your feelings. And yet you still couldn’t help but hold that fondness. 

All you did was stare into the bleak night. You barely woke in the day anymore. Your longing kept you up as nocturnal as your love. 

No, not your love. Spike. His name’s Spike.

God, why was this so hard? Why did even his name conjure up wild thoughts of awe and suggestion?

You kept your distance because you had to. You would drive yourself crazy having to hear him speak about how much he loved her. How much he liked you. Would have kissed you if you had agreed to it. 

Oh, why hadn’t you agreed? It was all you ever thought of. His lips on yours. A kiss that would show him just how much you felt. The unending pool of longing that you had been wading through since your first meeting.

Because you wanted love. The kind movies spoke about. Books told you about. Sweeping, unending, monogamous love. You wanted eternal adoration. Unending affection. And you couldn’t escape it. You longed for it. Ached for that feeling almost as much as you ached for the man himself.

He just wanted you back. He adored you. It had started to unravel upon your admittance. But now it was freely taking up ever spare part of him. The parts that weren’t already filled by her, of course.

You went on a walk. To clear your head. But you soon realised that your thoughts travelled with you. And without even looking up you had walked there. To his crypt. To him. You started to back up, walk away but he had sensed you. Couldn’t miss this chance to see you, even if it was a glimpse.

He saw you, his chest rose at the mere sight of you. His love for you had been growing, finally blooming with the light that you brought back into his life.

“Don’t go” he whispered but you heard it. As if he had said it in your ear. Because you so wanted to hear it.

You turned around and followed him into the crypt. But stayed mostly near the door, as if you were about to up and leave again.

“I’m not sure if I should be here” You admitted, half-turning to leave.

“You can’t keep doing this, love- uh, y/n” His voice made you pause, rooted to the spot.

He said your name. He said your name and your spirits lifted. To have your name on his tongue. For him to taste every letter of it. For him to speak it. To lower himself to say your name. To want to share the sound with your ears. You so wanted to do as he willed. If you didn’t think, didn’t stop yourself, you would slowly begin to gravitate towards him. A moth to a flame or some other cautionary metaphor about getting burnt in this way.

“Don’t walk away, please? Not again, damned near broke my ego last time” He said this when you didn’t reply. He had missed your voice so badly.

“Yeah? Well you bruised my heart, Spike. It’s... black and blue” you sighed, trying not to consider that even the way you mixed your metaphors meant you were destined for each other.

“Let me fix it? I’m here, right here - now. For you”

“Tell me you love me?” You whispered, eyes cast to the floor.

“I love you” 

Those words. Your heart stopped. He truly said it. Meant it too. 

And you saw that look in his eyes, the one you had imagined him giving you. The way they shone in the dim light. The way he looked at the ground after because he could barely maintain eye contact. Because it meant so much to him. You had imagined him looking at you this way, you could even now faintly hear the music that you had composed for this very moment.

This look held so much promise. Your heart began to soar again. He was looking at you that way. The way-

The-

The way he looked at... her. Buffy.��

This thought pulled you back down to Earth from the heaven you had been ascending to.

“Tell me you love me more than her”

Silence. He couldn’t. He couldn’t ever tell you that. He looked at the ground, wishing that this love was enough. That the fact he did hold you in such reverence, wished to spend his time and thoughts on you was enough. That he loved you as much as Buffy.

He didn’t want to lose you. Wanted you just the same. Couldn’t choose between you and yet if he could, to ease the bruising from your chest he would. If he could make Buffy hurt less when she was with him, he would.

He shook his head, eyes threatening to stream with emotion that he couldn’t properly decipher. And if he did begin to speak those thoughts aloud he may only upset you further. He never wanted to see you upset. He never wanted to see your face twisted into such unfathomable sorrow. The way it was now.

You shone. In his eyes, you glowed with an ethereal quality he couldn’t begin to describe. Nothing he could write would ever compare to you. How he felt about you.

He adored you. Wanted you with him. Your personality complimented his so beautifully. You made him look forward to seeing you. The way you could light up a room. Your good nature. That small ember of affection had only grown stronger with the time you spent apart.

But he couldn’t convey this to you. Not before you saw it.

You looked at him, at the furrow of his brow. At the way his face had softened and threatened to spill those hopeless buckets of salt he had told you about before. 

You saw it. Saw him as he was. Suddenly. It hit you like a punch to the face. Violent but needed. 

Snapped you out of something you had long been trapped by. You saw without the pretty metaphors or the way that your infatuation had coloured him to your liking. A paint by numbers that had you dizzy. A poster of his face you kept in your head, that you could kiss before bed each night.

You shook your head at his words, seeing him. Maybe truly seeing him for the first time. Just as a man. Not this statue-esque beauty that you couldn’t touch less you tainted him. He was trying. He was never perfect and you had loved him then. You had craved perfection where there hadn’t been any to begin with. He was flawed, but no less loveable even now you were seeing him properly.

To have even a small part of him, to kiss him the way he had offered. Would it really matter that she had done the same? That her heart lived with his too?

There were two sides of a locket, perhaps you shared half each. Split down the middle and encased. For him. You looked up, almost saying that it didn’t matter anymore. That you could live with it if it meant you could be with him. Spend your time with him again. That a whirlwind romance was never going to be realistic. That hopeless romantic notions should have been burnt to cinders years before this aching tryst. Maybe, you could have him that way. Maybe just being with him, sharing a connection was enough.

But then you saw her in the doorway, she had come to find him. A stolen moment that was supposed to be theirs and here you were in their way. In the way of their love.

You knew now that would only ever taste her on his lips. The poisoned touch of a love that he could so easily cast you for. The poison that you would have drunk yourself even a month ago just to be in his presence. You would have done anything just to be with him. Even if it meant that your dying breaths would be his.

But seeing her there confirmed it. That he was just a man. She, a woman. You someone that could have easily been one of them. Were one of them. They didn’t seek to harm in this place. It was just the way that the cards had been dealt.

They weren’t waging a war against your heart - they weren’t even trying to wage one against each other. You nodded, smiling through your tears. They were freely falling now. Mournful and real. Perhaps the most reality you had tasted in a long time. Your damp face now getting cold as you walked towards the fresh air. You nodded at Buffy as you left. 

You wouldn’t do this again. You wouldn’t look back this time. Wouldn’t slip.

[just2bubbly]

Hi, i want to know about thorne consoling to Kai before night wedding with Chen Daiyu

Thankss

Masterlist

Hello anon, I'm just curious to know, is it like one person sending multiple requests or are they different- still writing this was fun! It's not really angsty but I had fun picturing Kai and Thorne in a new light!

Thanks for the ask! :)

Not All Wishes Come True-

Ship: No pairing

Words: 3.1k

Genre: Friendship

A/N: It would make more sense if you read it after this one shot 'Rooting for Your Happiness'.

Thorne's Perspective:

The harsh sound of the intercom ringing brought an unwanted end to Thorne's blissful moments with Cress.

He groaned as he rolled off the bed to answer, intercom connection calls meant it was usually something important. The caller ID read 'Emperor Kaito' which was unusual, he didn't expect a call from the Kai at this late hour, especially an official call made through palace links. Thorne had assumed Kai would be off celebrating his last bachelor moments out; well his dear friend Kai was a widower so technically it wasn't his bachelor days that were ending but yea, he got the idea. 

"Who is it?", Cress mumbled from under the large duvets. She seemed practically non-existent with her small frame hidden by the covers.

"Kai," he replied- as he picked up the call to secure the connection. It was a whole deal of security and privacy policy so all lines in the Palace with the Emperor or anyone else for the matter took longer to form than normal calls.

"I hope whatever you called for is justified or else-"

"Cadet Thorne, it's the royal advisor speaking."

Now that surprised him, Torin talking with him at this late hour from the Emperor's suite was the most bizarre thing he had experienced since before the rebellion. He wasn't particularly close to the advisor so he was at the lack of words to continue his previous statement.

"Uh- sure. Did Kai need help from me?"

"I assume, he does need some immediate help. There is a situation, I'd appreciate if you could come to his ensuite."

"I surely can," he replied, worry leaking through his words, he and Kai were as good as brothers- what could have happened that he felt the need of dashingly handsome Carswell Thorne, "What happened to him?"

"I'd rather not say over the intercom." It seemed Torin didn't want anyone to know about what happened, the intercoms were recorded and filed under the Inner Security Wing of the Palace.

"I'd there in five."

"Thank you, Thorne-dáren."

The call ended with a beep sound, leaving Thorne in a bunch of thoughts.

"All good?" Cress asked, now sitting upright.

"Well, it's something with Kai. I have no idea what he did- I should check it out," he said, as he put on his slippers and a nightrobe to ward off the chilling cold.

"I hope he is fine."

He leaned to kiss her on the forehead and moved out quickly to stop the rising panic in his mind.

What happened to Kai?

"I'd be back in a while. Love you."

As soon as he closed the door behind him, he dashed towards the elevator- impatiently waiting for it to arrive. Thorne along with Cress and others were staying at the Palace as personal guests for his wedding- and it wasn't to the person they wished. Cinder was the personal and political guest of the Emperor while the noble lady Chen Daiyu was the fiancee and soon-to-be wife of the Emperor, which would make her the Empress. The wedding was tomorrow, he wished whatever situation that arose with Kai was just cold feet and not something massively emotional. He prayed on all the stars that the groom wasn't kidnapped by his best friend- the consequences of all that happening were a bit too much for him to handle on his own.

He slid into the room through the ajar door that must have been left open for him to enter. The sight that greeted him wasn't the one he expected at all. Kai was at the foot of his bed, crouched on his knees sobbing, Torin next to him, trying to help. He saw Torin sighing in relief at the sight of him.

"Kaito, Thorne is here. Why don't you talk with him?"

No response at all.

Torin stood up to answer some of Thorne's questions, "Before you ask, no one should know about this. Yes, he had an anxiety attack. He has been having them for a while now but it seems worse than others. He kept whispering about you and Cinder again and again, so I called for the most viable option which is you."

He was unable to find his voice. Thorne never thought that Kai was suffering a year and a half after the whole fiasco, especially after his engagement and looming marriage. It was hard to imagine Kai who smiled throughout the day and held hands with his fiancee and kissed her on the cheek longingly to be broken over his last relationship in the night. 

"How long has this been happening?"

"Since things started going downhill. I vowed to him that I won't tell anyone. Absolutely no one should know about this Thorne."

He nodded in response, too overwhelmed by the sight of a broken Kai. It was hard to believe that the picture of security and confidence of the citizens of The Commonwealth was just a grieving lover in the end. Thorne had seen the hardship of royalty up close through his friends- his once child-like desires of being a ruler were soon crushed when he learned about all the suffering royal blood has to undergo. He won't wish that pain on anyone.

"Cinder-"

The whispers from Kai shook them out.

"She can't be here, Kai" he replied unknowingly.

"I want her,-" an outburst that seemed more like a cry for miracles, "I still love her."

"Torin, I think I'd take it from here. I'd call for you if I need you." He asked of the royal advisor, it was clear that he did not trust Kai in the hands of Thorne.

He hesitated and glanced at Kai before saying, "I hope you can console him. Call me immediately if anything happens- from Kai's port, don't use the Palace intercom."

"Sure, you don't have to worry. I will take care but-"

"Yes?'"

He stopped in his track, Thorne wasn't close to Torin to ask questions that had nothing to do with him but he wanted to know. At last curiosity roles over him and he asked, "Is he being forced to do it?"

A look of pain flashed in Torin's eyes as he clarified, "It would have been easier if it was like that. He is forcing himself to do it. I'm not sure why but he is hurting himself on purpose."

"But why?"

"I wish I knew, Thorne. There are things even a royal advisor doesn't know. He stopped a lot of things he used to do when Cinder-dáren and he broke up."

So he stopped seeking help from Torin.

"I'd be here if something happens. Rest assured, Torin he is in good company," he said cheekily for no one.

"Good night," he muttered before leaving.

Now Thorne had a real problem to worry about, his questions would be answered at a later time.

"Hey buddy, you hear me out?" He asked as he crouched down next to Kai. 

He nodded as a reply to the question. That was enough indication for Thorne to continue- he had enough idea about how to deal with an attack since he had been accustomed to them at one point in life.

"Can you open your eyes and focus on something, something to ground yourself with me?"

He waited patiently for Kai to be in accord with him, it did take a while but before long Kai had opened his eyes and held out his for Thorne to hold. 

Thorne held his hand tightly, a human touch helps to ensure that the person stays rooted in the conversation.

"You can breathe in as I count from 1 to 5 and breathe out as I go from 5 to 10?"

"Yes," Kai replied rather meekly. 

They continued the activity for a while.

Thorne assured himself that Kai was out of his state before he got up. Upon looking in the bathroom cabinet, he found the meds that Kai usually had.

He had given Kai a drowsy syrup along with the meds which might help him sleep better. Imagine if the Emperor showed up with dark circles under his eyes to his wedding- the media will go frenzy and besides no one would buy the logic that Kai is happy.

He felt like a nurse looking after the sleeping form of Kai. Thorne felt condemnable for not being there for Kai, he was closer with Cinder but he should have checked up on Kai. However, with Kai going on with his life as if nothing happened it was hard to believe that he was suffering on the inside. Thorne had always contemplated why Kai had never shown any form of anguish after the breakup, he had seen how much Kai truly loved Cinder; it always felt wrong why he never showed any emotion later. While Cinder had yelled and said colorful strings of words that would put even a criminal mastermind like him to shame, Kai had gone on about business deals and international laws- portraying no emotion at all.

Kai and Cinder had helped so much when he was suffering in his relationship with Cress. They had helped him realize that someone like Thorne could want a domestic life even when he had spent a major part of his youth hating on the very idea of marriage and children. His parents hadn't done much to help his case as well. Kai with his overenthusiastic talks of having an adoring family that he could dote on had convinced Thorne that having a home with people you love wasn't an ominous thing. It was ironic how Kai never got his wishes made true. While Cinder had been decisive in her convincing, Kai helped him realize that there was more to life than being a wanderer. He owed Kai so much for putting sense into him, had he not helped overcome the fear of abandonment then he won't be married to Cress now. 

They had helped him realize that he wasn't an a squandering man with a phobia for permanence in life, Cinder had even helped to reconcile his relationship with his parents to some extent. They had tried is all that he thought- he on the other hand had forsaken one of his closest friends. 

"What are you doing here?"

"Stars, you are awake, how are you feeling?"

"Uh, fine. What does that have to do with you?"

"You had an anxiety attack."

"Oh."

"Yes."

They stayed silent, not sure how to approach the topic that needed to be talked about.

"Do you want to do it, Kai?"

"What exactly?"

"The wedding," he said as a matter of fact.

"I need to, not like I can back out now. The wedding is in like-" he looked for a grasp of what time it was at the moment.

"3 in the morning," he provided.

"Yes, the wedding is like 10 hours from now. There's no going back and imagining the scandal it would make- EVERYONE would be talking about it for months."

"You have already run away from one wedding, what's another one to your reputation?"

"That was different, I was marrying Levana there, this is Daiyu. They are so different-"

"But the question is are you happy at the end of It?"

"It doesn't work like that Thorne and you know it too. I don't get everything of what I want."

"I'm just trying to make you realize that you don't have to force yourself out of duty-"

"You don't have to worry about me, Thorne. Instead, look after Cin-"

Wrong words to say.

"Look at yourself, Kai. Really? Who are you kidding that you don't love her?"

His questions were met only with silence.

"Why are you even doing this?"

He sighed loudly, asking all the stars for some patience, "This is not like you, Kai. I'm curious why you are doing it?"

"You don't understand the turmoils of being a ruler, Thorne."

"Then explain them to me." He yelled back.

"I'm an Emperor, I have some responsibility to the people. Cinder abducted her throne, she doesn't have to follow the rules anymore. I'm stuck in it, I'm doing this 'cause I'm supposed to do it."

"Which rules prohibit you from asking for help or feeling sorrow over your ex-girlfriend huh?" He countered.

"Thorne, this is not the time to discuss it. The water is already over the bridge now, it's my life and I choose to live it like this."

"What happened to the fight in you Kai? Announcing you're dating someone 4 months after you called for a breakup? And now marriage- and what do you mean your gonna make her attend it, Hasn't she had enough of the world's bullshit already?"

"I gave up, Throne. The man who believed he and Cinder had a future that is not me. I'm the man who is gonna marry Chen Daiyu and call her my wife by being a good ruler."

"Do you even love Daiyu?"

"That doesn't matter."

Thorne had had the opportunity to meet Chen Daiyu multiple times but he couldn't vibe with her. She was too regal, too formal, and couldn't take his sense of humor appreciatively. She was everything that Cinder wasn't.

"Cinder?"

"What about her?"

"You know exactly what."

"Cinder broke all ties when she last talked with me. Even if I love her it doesn't matter. And Daiyu she makes me happy, I think that's enough."

"I feel sorry for you, Kai." He said bitterly but genuinely at the same time.

"I don't need the pity, Thorne."

"Then give me answers to my questions."

"Shoot," he grudgingly admitted.

"Why do this?"

He looked away and stayed silent for a couple of minutes, Thorne was about to ask again when he started, "The death threats started coming a year before we broke up, we never discussed it with each other. At first, they didn't bother, I wanted to make her my wife and be her home. I was a different person back then but the threats became more serious with each passing day which all culminated in an attack. Cinder didn't tell you this but there was an attack when she had gone to visit the African Republic. She always blamed it on the strained Lunar-Africa relations after she had announced her stand with Lunars living in Africa but it was obvious who pulled the strings for it. Coincidentally, it was the same day I had gone looking for rings," He said with a wry smile, "- It was the first time I questioned if being in love was worth the risk for her or me. They weren't gonna kill me for I'm their Emperor, on the other hand, she had to face the consequences. Multiple such incidents that always seemed too innocent to blame on our relationship happened before it was too much. I gave up before her and told her that I failed to convince the people of her true worth. She had smiled at me and said, 'we would have a happy ending in the next lifetime.' I did what was my duty- marry off to someone else, continue the legacy. Royalty never made anyone happy, Thorne. It's just sometimes I wish I could have been brave like Cinder to give up on my status and be a normal person."

Thorne was beyond shocked by the whole ordeal, Kai was being a selfless git. He had no idea about the death threats- he always knew the citizens of The Commonwealth did not like their ruler courting a Lunar but the extent of their hatred towards Cinder was unknown to him. They had for fuck's sake tried to kill his best friend because she loved Kai.

"Don't offer your apologies, Thorne. I just wanted to share it with someone. Tomorrow is my wedding day, I'd advise you not to drink a lot of champagne."

"Kai, can I do something for you?"

He smiled, extremely politely but heartbroken at the same time, "Enjoy the life you get to live and the people you have."

Only Kai could end his agony on an inspirational note, he thought.

"I meant for you Kai?"

"There's not much you can do for me at the moment. Unless you can brainwash people off their bigotry, then I'd like your help," he joked.

"I think I have a sprinkler like that, can make it rain down in the Eastern Commonwealth and have your future intact."

"That is very kind of you, Cadet Thorne. Your services shall be rewarded."

"I prefer cash over kindness."

Kai cracked up at that, "Don't worry, I'd offer something better."

"And what does His Royal Kai-ness have that is better than cash?"

"The permission to grant you leave to spend the night with your dear."

"That's a get-out."

"It's a polite one."

"Are you sure?" He asked on a sincere note.

"Yes Thorne, I'd rather enjoy sleeping without you staring at me. You can rest the night as well- at least what's remaining of it."

"You will call me if you need me right?"

"Absolutely."

He was about to argue but there was little to put up against him when he noticed Kai biting down as his lips quivered in despair.

"Okay," he murmured.

"And Throne, please don't let Cinder know any of this."

He nodded in promise.

"Cinder won't know of what happened tonight."

"You make it sound so diabolical."

"What can I say, You Majesty?! My charms are like that," he winked back.

"Leave already," he exasperated.

"Yes, yes going but remember anything you need just ask for it ok."

"Yes, Thorne. I know. Now, leave! I'm sure Cress is waiting."

Thorne smiled all misty, Kai was all goodness in human form, always worried about others and looking after them. He wasn't sure why fate had to be so cruel to him. To them.

"Kai, I really-"

"No Thorne, no tears for me today. Remember it's my wedding say!" He exclaimed.

"Yes, I do remember. Good night."

As soon as he shut the door behind him he could hear the sound of a sob. Kai wanted his time alone to perhaps mourn the fact that there was no going back from this. The ceremony that was about to happen in hours divided Cinder and himself into two parts of his life- one where she won't belong.

And as he reached the door of his stay, he thanked silently for his life and Cress. He had nothing more to ask for tonight. 

....

That's all for today! I have multiple asks on the this idea so I had just make a continuation of it!

Taglist: @gingerale2017 @slmkaider @salt-warrior @cinderswrench @cindersassasin @impossiblesuitcase @linhcinder686 @kaider-is-my-otp @greenalmond @kaiderforever @deprivedmusicaljunkie @cosmicnovaflare @justcatchrosesandthornes @shellyseashell and lemme know if anyone wants to be tagged.

[onewomancitadel]

@zweizilla89, I saw your reblog reply from this ask/response about Cinder and I wanted to say you have immaculate taste. Major is one of my favourite characters ever as well. I had the privilege of first seeing the film of Ghost in the Shell at a rescreening in cinema, which was a wonderful and formative experience. Totally worth it. I don't know where you're located but you should keep an eye on independent cinemas near you because I've seen it rescreened a few times since.

SAC is interesting because of its post-cyberpunk tone and tonally it's the most similar to my cyberpunk monster romance storynovelthing (I don't want to sound full of myself saying it's a novel lol). In the film though, the complicated/ambiguous relationship between Major and the Puppet Master was very influential for me as well lol.

I tried searching for the first video and blogpost I watched/read about Jungian storytelling in GITS but it seems to be gone now. (It was from 2015 I think). I've done some sleuthing via websearch but again, I can't find anything about it. I've decided I'm going to rewatch GITS and write a post about it once I have updated The Distance Which Fools the Skimming Eye. (:

[itsclydebitches]

There seems to be no middle ground with RWBY+, they trust you or they don’t. Some have no chance to “earn” it, but others don’t do anything to gain it. James should’ve earned it a hundred times over. He did so much but it wasn’t enough. What did Robyn do? She tried to attack Ruby and was only stopped by Penny. After that? Yang trusts the woman who almost hurt her sister over the man who gave her an arm, then blamed Ruby. Any wonder I hate these characters so much?

The frustrating thing is that I think I can see what RT was going for. Frustrating because it's the reading most of the fandom falls back on, despite the fact that the show... never actually wrote that story. In short, it's the belief that there's established good and bad in this world and we have a responsibility to uphold the former regardless of personal trust. So if a friend of mine is, say, being a racist asshole and a stranger is not, I have a moral responsibility to side with the stranger, despite the fact that I don't know them, technically can't trust them on other matters, and have little to no emotional investment in them as an individual. You need to take the side of what's right, no matter how hard that is. It's why we get so many heroes facing off against former friends and mentors. "You'd really betray me for them?" they say, pointing to the sidekick our hero only met at the start of the story, maybe a couple months ago in-world. "Yeah," they reply. "Because they're not trying to kill everyone." Basic humanity trumps long-term relationships.

That, as far as I can tell, seems to be the basic setup that RWBY was going for: Robyn may be a stranger, but she's the Good Person sticking up for Mantle, whereas Ironwood may be an ally and friend, but he's also the Bad Person hurting Mantle. Ergo, aligning with Robyn wins out, no matter that she's a stranger and Ironwood an ally. That's likewise why fans are so quick to dismiss evidence of Ironwood's good nature. Things like Yang's arm or the licenses aren't accepted as evidence for why the group should have started with more trust in him, they're reframed as excuses for why critics supposedly want to overlook his presumed, horrific nature — something that the story later made real with him shooting Oscar, killing the councilman, hacking Penny, and threatening to bomb Mantle. Viewing the good Ironwood did as some manipulative temptation the group was right to resist depends entirely on seeing Ironwood as the archetypal bad guy to Robyn's good guy.

However, this attempt failed spectacularly for numerous reasons already discussed over the past two years. Ironwood's actions were never revealed as manipulations. The group continued to work with him, thereby shouldering responsibility for his choices. Ruby actively pushed to complete Amity, despite the harm it was doing to Mantle. Robyn never did anything with the resources she stole, etc. This presumed line between Ironwood and Robyn simply doesn't exist in the text — or at least it's incredibly blurred — so when Yang and Blake run to share intel with her, it doesn't feel like the heroes turning away from the wrong path to back the real hero. We don't understand how resources to build a communications tower are hurting everyday peoples' lives. We don't understand why Weiss can't just go up and plug the hole with a bunch of ice. We don't understand why, if hurting Mantle is such an objectively awful thing, our hero Ruby keeps pushing to finish Amity anyway. We don't understand why there isn't at least an acknowledgement of good intentions here, considering that the tower is meant to save the world from Salem, helping Mantle in the long run. We don't understand why, if the group is so concerned with Ironwood's choices, they don't tell him the one piece of information that would get him to stop. And we don't understand Robyn.

Because here's the thing: it's badly written. The whole Amity debate straight through to the Fall of Atlas is a mess of ill thought out morals, shoddy worldbuilding, and outright contradictions. There's no salvaging that without rethinking Volumes 6-8, starting with the group's response to Ozpin. But all that aside, even if we kept things exactly as they are and bought into the assumption that Ironwood is as Bad and Robyn is as Good as the story wants us to believe... the group still should have at least hesitated to trust Robyn. More than a line or two of dialogue between Yang and Blake. I mean actual hesitation and a serious acknowledgement of the complications here. The concept of trust is now a focal point of RWBY and there's enough material across the entire series to make the Robyn situation way more complicated than just the group going, "We should side with her because she wants to do right by the people." Here I'm not talking about what we the audience know about RWBY's construction as a story, I mean what the characters have experienced on screen. It's a simple question at the core of the trust Robyn debate:

How do they know she's telling the truth?

Seriously, how do they know Robyn is who she says she is? That she doesn't have ulterior motives? That she's not outright lying to them and the rest of Atlas? Everything I've heard in defense of the group's fast-track trust falls short. "Well, she's presented as one of the good guys in Atlas, fighting for what's right." You mean like how Cinder, Emerald, and Mercury once posed as huntsmen and joined Ruby's school, supposedly fighting for what was right? "She's interested in politics. It's not like she's out there attacking them like Tyrian." You mean like how Salem infiltrated a kingdom via Lionheart, the White Fang has likewise tried to worm their way into positions of power, and Jacques is currently trying to steal an election? The bad guys don't limit themselves to just trying to murder people straight out. "But she stole resources back for the people!" And did... what with them? For all we actually know, she put those towards a different, nefarious plan. "But she's so passionate and she's sworn she wants to help." People lie! That was the whole thing with Ozpin! Ruby just lied at the start of the Volume. And, funnily enough, Robyn has the semblance that forces others to tell the truth, but no one can make Robyn do the same.

To be clear, I don't actually have a conspiracy theory that she's secretly a baddie. My only point is that fans were right to wonder if she was a White Fang or Salem agent and our group absolutely should have wondered the same. Take away all the personal reasons to trust Ironwood (defending Weiss, Yang's arm, friend of the inner circle, etc.) and we're still left with proof of his intentions in the form of things like Amity's plans and him continually giving the heroes more power, more resources, more connections, more ways to hurt him if they were to ever turn against him. In as much as you can prove anyone is trustworthy, Ironwood was there. But Robyn? Robyn had none of that work. More importantly, that lack interferes with our "She's doing the right thing, so we need to back her" reading. How did the group know she really wanted to do right by the people? And since that's always hard to prove, what did they do to at least attempt to reassure themselves? Absolutely nothing. Which is why the current writing makes them look stupid. They watched the bad guys infiltrate their school, organize the Fall of Beacon, stalk them, pose as allies, turn on them, lie to their faces, are telling lies themselves... and none of them came up when the question of trusting Robyn was put on the table. The idea of someone tricking them (again), or betraying them (again), or lying about Important Topics even though they're doing the same seems to have, somehow, escaped them.

It doesn't matter what Robyn's stance on Mantle is because the group never justified trusting her word and the story failed to show us (and them) that Robyn was doing good. Literally all she does pre-trust is stand for election and, again, we could say the same of Jacques. If the story wanted to make at least a miniscule improvement on this arc, we needed to see either a compelling reason to believe Robyn is all she presents herself as (for example, Penny could have known and vouched for her), or gotten an explanation for why they'd take an unjustified leap of faith when others haven't gotten one, people who have done much to earn that trust. It's a problem that grew exponentially once Oscar trusted Hazel and the group trusted Emerald, but it has existed since Ilia. As it stands, by this logic, Cinder should be able to walk up to the group and go, "I'm not bad anymore. I actually want to help now. No, I'm not lying :)" and that's that. That's what trust means to them. Taking people at their word ...unless you're a flawed ally who has made mistakes. Then trust takes months to rebuild, or is off the table completely.

Ozpin is not trustworthy. Ironwood is not trustworthy. Qrow saying "Hey" is not trustworthy. According to the fandom, Tai is not trustworthy.

Ilia is trustworthy. Robyn is trustworthy. Emerald is trustworthy. Hazel is trustworthy.

It's completely backwards and Robyn was a large part of that strange flip.

[boop-le-snoot]

congrats on 300!!! could you write a tony stark x reader angst to fluff where tony thinks reader is working for hydra/killian/an enemy but reader isn't? thank you so much!

Tony Stark x reader | ANGST->FLUFF

thanks darling 💖✨

• You've been quieter, more distant lately and changed the passcode to your phone. Tony knows you well and himself even better so he's quiet about it, desperately trying to ignore the bubbling jealousy. It's not easy and there are a few mis-steps but he's doing as well as a man with severe trust issues could do in a situation like that.

• Right up until you outright lie to him, saying you would be spending the day with Natasha but the spy shows up in his lab a mere hour later, inquiring about your whereabouts. Tony blows up and Natasha comforts him, saying that it couldn't be cheating, claiming you're one of the most loyal people she has ever known.

• That plants a worse thought in Tony's mind. He's quick to jump to conclusions and all of the Avengers are still sensitive after SHIELD/HYDRA fiasco, so Natasha doesn't stop Tony from tracking your movements through street cams and various other surveillance methods both Stark Industries and SHIELD have on hand.

• You're tracked to a cheap diner five blocks away, in one of the poorer regions of NYC. Tony is able to hack into a nearby camera to see you trading folders of paperwork with an older woman dressed in plain civilian clothes. Natasha curses and calls for an assemble while Tony is fighting back tears and rage, drowning in his feelings of betrayal.

• The team forms a clever plan to capture you, the assumed traitor, but Tony violently rebuffs it, saying he wants to speak to you face-to-face, prepared to put the whole lab on complete lockdown to secure you. He just wants to know why. Steve has no choice but to agree, seeing Tony's anguished expression.

• You text him you're coming home soon and he replies immediately, requesting your presence in the lab. You don't think of it twice, too used to him pulling all-day-all-night science binges in the lab. You're in a good mood as you greet him.

• "Why?" His back is rigid and his voice is furious. You stop mid-day in confusion, shocked to hear the cinder-block doors of his lab hissing shut. "Why did you spend so much time pretending you love me if you could have just taken what you need and ran?" He turned around slowly, a half-empty glass of hard liquor in his hand.

• "What?" There's white noise in your head, you're surprised and confused and afraid all at once. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Please, explain," You try to keep a level head, eyeing your boyfriend's figure warily. Ideas like mind-control and shapeshifter mutants pop into your head, only adding to the blind panic you're in.

• "Stop pretending!" He yells at you and you flinch away from him, he's never been like that before. "I know you're a double agent!" He's tapping on a holographic keyboard rapidly, pulling up the pictures of your today's activities.

• You and the woman, sitting at the table, trading folders. You can't help the little hysterical laugh that leaves your mouth as tears begin streaming down your face. "That's my mother," You whisper, smearing the mess of snot and make-up carelessly all over your cheeks. "I finally found her. She gave me my father's case records," The more you spoke, the more your voice broke, leaving Tony confused and swaying.

• Everybody knew you were adopted. What you didn't tell them was that you were searching for your birth mother - apparently she had you when she was unreasonably young and even your adoptive parents urged you to leave her alone. But you couldn't. Not when a simple Google search of your mother's last name gave you results of dozens of newspaper headlines.

• "What..?" Tony stared at you with wide eyes, losing heat of his fury with every passing second. The glass landed on his desk with a loud clank as he rushed to catch the folder you tossed towards him, the very same folder that the woman had given you. The moment he opened it, he cringed, only needing a brief look to see there wasn't a positive thing written in it.

• "I'm... I'm sorry..." He truly didn't know what to say or do, seeing you all but crawling out of your skin. The folder landed next to the glass as he took slow steps towards you. "Can I hug you?" He asked quietly, head held low in shame. You nodded, falling into his chest and finally letting out the sobs you've been holding in all day.

• You lose all sense of time then, only barely feeling the team's presence when Steve insists on examining the cursed folder himself. Ever the stoic soldier, he's cursing and muttering quietly seconds into the file. Finally, the team leaves the two of you alone after rushed apologies and meaningless kind words. You don't hear any of it, focused on the feel of your boyfriend's comfort and his uttered apologies and words of encouragement.

• "I'm sorry, Tony. I should have told you sooner," You rasp once the ground beneath your feet stops shaking. He isn't letting you go anyways, gently stroking your hair, kissing your temples, pressing your body into his own as if you could melt into it.

• "No, no, I'm so sorry, I should've..." He's as helpless as you are, all too familiar with having his world turned upside down. Finding comfort in each others heartbeats was comforting enough for now.

[gentlemancrow]

Ohh prompts! Maybe 21 and some shippy JonTim?

OK I know I agonized about this one but NO REALLY THANK YOU IT WAS GREAT <3! It was a GREAT exercise for writing in so many ways for me! Also I know the prompt "Maybe you should sit down" sort of implies getting bad news or something more than what popped into my brain, but this is what popped IMMEDIATELY into my brain so I went with it 83 Also again this is my first JonTim so be gentle with me uwu! Honestly it's my first time writing Tim in general for longer than one sentence so there's that too jfhlsajf XT Anyway enjoy!

Jon would have infinitely preferred to think of his bungled little excursion as a calculated risk that the whims of capricious probability had simply decided he had lost on that particular doomed occasion. What it truly was, however, was an infinitely predictable culmination of skipping his physio stretches for three mornings in a row, deciding a quick jaunt into the stacks to hunt for a statement to cross reference with the one he had been working on all morning did not, in fact, require the aid of his cane, and several cups of black tea on an empty stomach with their resultant caffeine jitters that had left him splayed and wobbling like a newborn fawn with one hand anchoring him in a vice grip to the handle of a file drawer. His bad leg ached in that special way it did that he knew all too well could be catastrophic if he moved it even slightly wrong, and set him back significantly on his physio progress. That oft repeated foible would also attract the ire and derision of literally every single person who knew him, never mind the physical therapists at the clinic, and he was very much not prepared to deal with that on top of everything else.

Lucky for him he wasn’t even supposed to be back at the institute in the first place, so no one would be looking for him, and he was reasonably assured that he would have plenty of time to figure out how to escape unscathed, or at least enough to hide a suspicious limp for a day or two. Unlucky for him, probability it seemed, also liked to double down.

“Alright there, boss man?”

Tim’s jovial voice echoed through the file cabinets like the worst song on the juke at the pub out of all of the hundreds of better selections just as Jon was preparing to gingerly move his spasmodic leg. He sighed and closed his eyes bitterly.

“Oh, yes, just fine, just dangling precariously from this file cabinet to try out a new stretch, it’s called the ‘mind your own business’,” he growled.

Tim chuckled, the echoes of it raising pinprick hackles of irritation on the back of Jon’s neck as he emerged from the shadows, hands on his hips and wry, crooked grin on his scarred face.

“Maybe you should sit down.”

“And pray tell where, Timothy?” Jon snapped in a low growl.

Tim made a low whistle.

“Yikes! Busting out the -othy today? You must be in a bad way.”

“You think so? Whatever gave you that brilliant idea?” Jon drawled, rolling his eyes, “Are you going to stand there gawking and making me feel even more like an invalid or are you going to deign to render me aid?”

“I think I can spare a moment, just for you,” came the predictably smug retort, “What exactly would you like me to do?”

“I just need to sit a moment and massage it out, so fetching a chair from somewhere ought to suffice.”

Tim pondered the request as he strolled to Jon’s side, chewing his lower lip pensively.

“Well, I could do that for you, but seeing as you’re not actually supposed to be here yet I am a little concerned that dragging a chair randomly down to the archives would attract… unwanted attention? You know Martin would have a conniption.”

Sighing heavily, Jon pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

“Good point.”

“How about my lap then?” Tim continued without missing a beat.

Jon choked on his own tongue as the tips of his ears burned like cinders.

“TIM! Is this really, truly, and honestly the appropriate moment to be… making a pass at me?”

Unfazed, Tim pressed a dramatic hand over his heart.

“Jon, I’m wounded! Ordinarily I’d be deeply offended you’d think my flirting skills so inelegant and crass, but I was actually being sincere this time.”

A dark brow slid skeptically, pointedly up Jon’s forehead.

“Beg pardon, but how could that possibly have ever, in any situation, been construed as sincere?”

“Well, we’ve determined a chair is too risky, the floor isn’t going to do you any favors, and I know you won’t let me carry you back to your office, so I won’t even bother to ask, so where does that leave us, hmmm? Plus, if you recall, I had much the same physio you did, I know the massages and the stretches, I can have you patched up and out of here in no time,” Tim elaborated, counting off on his fingers.

Jon hated it when anyone other than him was making the most sense in the conversation, and he gnashed his teeth and growled his begrudging acquiescence.

“…Fine.”

“Brilliant. Alright to touch?” Tim asked brightly, hands hovering a respectful few inches from Jon’s hand and shoulders.

Eyes narrowing to smoldering brown slits, the last embers of a dying fire, Jon made him wait a few moments for the wordless nod of approval.

“Okay, just taking your hand there, my other hand’s got your other arm, and easy does it…”

With surprising finesse and gentleness, Tim took Jon’s hand and eased him onto the ground with him and into his lap, taking great care to keep his seized-up leg straight and comfortable. Jon melded against his assistant, looping his arms loosely around Tim’s waist while he tipped his head against his shoulder and let his twisted-up bones and sinew go slack against the radiantly warm aegis of him. His shirt was screamingly loud and his hair was freshly pink and he always smelled crisp and free and wild, like a sea breeze on a sun-soaked twilight. Jon liked the way he smelled, and the self-assured posture of his broad shoulders and the heartening solidness of a body meant to be shirtless as often as possible holding him so secure in the humming powerlines of his care. Just to be touched was a visceral melody of nerve endings and synapses, to be touched by him was a blinding symphony of electric light and sound perfectly in tune to the aria of his core where so few dared to go.

“Not so awful right?” Tim teased, squeezing his affected knee with care.

“Get on with it, Stoker,” Jon murmured languidly into the crook of his neck.

“Ohoh, last name now. I’m on real thin ice, aren’t I?” he chortled in reply, pads of his fingers feeling out the ridge of a patella and skating down his calf.

Jon winced, opening one eye to glance guiltily up at the ever-chipper mien of Tim.

“I-“ he stuttered, his protest melting into a sigh, “No, you’re not. I’m sorry. You’re being helpful and I’m being an ass.”

“Mmm, that’s a smidge hyperbolic. You’re being snappish because you got caught being naughty, and you’re in pain, and you also got caught being in pain, which is probably the worst offense out of all of them.”

“I suppose…” Jon conceded, closing his eye and letting his body go slack again.

“Okay to roll your cuff up? Or would you prefer trouser leg down?”

“You can roll it up, I don’t mind.”

Tim promptly, neatly, folded the cuff of Jon’s trousers up only to just above the knee, baring the cratered mares of his leg. His fingers felt them out, felt the places where the worms bored holes in him that had forgotten which way to mend and pulled and tugged in a confused riot of fibrous muscle and scar tissue, and rolled through them with slow, deliberate tenderness. Jon hissed softly in pain, but Tim’s fingers knew the weft and trail of his muscles, and he squeezed and massaged and tilled them with expert care. Unhurriedly, painstakingly, Jon’s knee unlocked, and it bowed gratefully outward with the sigh of relief into a Hawaiian print collar.

“You’re allowed to hurt you know,” Tim whispered at length, fingers just stroking idly now.

“Everyone’s allowed to hurt,” Jon replied automatically, “It’s only that those of us who can bear it have the duty to do so for those who can’t.”

Tim chewed his lip in the wake of that, weighing his feelings against his words carefully.

“And what god decides who is who?”

Only silence from the clinging, boneless and wounded creature in his lap.

“I’m just saying. I was right there with you, the same thing happened to me, so maybe share a little of this one, hmm?” he tried again, nudging at Jon’s temple with the tip of his nose, letting the silvered chestnut hairs tickle.

The strings of Jon’s body wound taut again around Tim’s fingers still tracing blind patterns on his shin, and he glanced up, daring to ensnare his irises only for a moment.

“I’ll try.”

A soft, breathless laugh whisked past Tim’s lips as he shook his head fondly.

“I guess that’s the best I’m going to get out of the high and mighty head archivist,” he huffed, “But I’ll take it. Now, where can I kiss it all better for you?”

It took Jon a full cycle of pouting, scowling, and digging vengeful fingers into Tim’s back before he could conjure an answer.

“Forehead, please.”

“You got it.”

Jon ducked his head to receive Tim’s lips pressed against his creased brow, and while he knew he bore a burden too great to be carried away with velvet kisses and frank words, for a moment at least he could feel just a bit lighter.

[midnightsnapdragon]

Are you still taking tlc prompts? Love cress/Jacin brotp (reluctant shortcake and grumpy softie Jacin).. or maybe Jacin giving Thorne the shovel talk? He’s be scarier than wolf even without the teeth

...

Thorne opened the doors to the Rampion’s hangar and reached inside for the lights. When they came on, he screamed a little and clapped a hand over his heart.

Jacin glanced over his shoulder from where he sat, cross-legged, with a truly chilling array of weapons spread around him on the floor. Daggers. Throwing knives. Two pistols. A wicked-looking hook thing on a chain. A small axe with a wooden handle. He held a saber in his lap - one of those curved decapitation swords, at any rate - and a rag in one hand, as if he’d been polishing it.

Or cleaning something off of it.

“Stars!” Thorne said, trying to sound annoyed to cover his embarrassment. “What are you doing here?”

There was a pause before Jacin replied, levelly, “What does it look like?”

It looked like he’d been in the middle of inspecting his arsenal. Thorne should have known, then, to shut up. But he’d never exactly been the most perceptive person. “Can you even see in the dark?”

“I don’t need to see,” Jacin said, “to aim.”

His tone was bland. Inoffensive, even. But there was a sharp glint in his eye, hawklike, as he turned away, a look that said Thorne was piecemeal prey. Thorne felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You know what,” he said, “I think I’ll collect those rations later.”

He backed away through the hangar door, but not before he saw Jacin pick up the saber and give it an experimental swing.

...

Shiiiiiink.

Thorne squeezed his eyes shut against the darkness of his bunk.

Shiiiiiink. Shiiiiiiink.

It was like hearing nails on a chalkboard. He stuffed his head beneath his pillow, pressing it down over his ears. But the sound wouldn’t be muffled. This time, when it came, it was slow, almost caressing, like someone wanted to drag it out for as long as humanly possible.

Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiink.

Thorne threw aside the covers and leapt out of bed. When he emerged into the dimly lit Rampion corridor, he found Jacin leaning against the opposite wall, holding a whetstone against a knife as long as his forearm. His posture was relaxed, his expression unconcerned. As if he did this every night.

Which was, of course, exactly the case.

“I’m getting really sick of this,” Thorne said, in as friendly a way as possible. “Can you please sharpen your creepy guard knives somewhere else? It’s really freaking me out and I can’t sleep.”

Jacin glanced up at him, and nonchalantly lifted an earbud from his ear.

“Sorry, what?”

“Can you please go somewhere else?”

“Am I disturbing you?”

“Yes,” Thorne said, emphasizing in case it was a difficult word to understand. “And I bet it’s disturbing Cress and Scarlet, too.” They’d all volunteered to distribute the new version of the cure together, to combat the new strain of letumosis; Wolf was taking care of the Benoit farm in Scarlet’s absence.

“Scarlet and I have an understanding,” Jacin answered indifferently, as if this was supposed to explain anything. “And Cress sleeps with headphones on. It’s not disturbing them. Besides,” he added, like it had only just occurred to him, “I thought you were staying up late to talk to one of your old friends?”

“Suzie from school,” Thorne said slowly, uneasy about where this was going. “But she’s in a different time zone, so she had to go to sleep.”

“I see.”

Something about the way he said it sent a chill down Thorne’s spine, as if someone had walked over his grave. He backed away into his room, eyeing the dagger.

“I’m going to sleep now, too, so. Uh. Please be considerate.”

“Sweet dreams,” Jacin said.

Thorne closed the door in his face. Then, after he’d stood watching it for five minutes, he shoved a chair up under the lock for good measure.

...

“I think Jacin is going to kill me.”

“Oh yeah?” Cress said absently. She was playing a game on her datapad with her legs kicked up onto the desk, and she was not paying attention to Thorne at all. He gave her a pathetic look from where he lay sprawled on her bunk bed.

“I’m serious. He’s been acting really scary. Well,” he amended, “scarier than usual. You know what I mean.”

“Jacin isn’t scary. Shoot!” Cress said, abruptly, in disgust: one of her flappy birds had hit a pipe. “I was so close. Damn it.” She set the datapad down and wrung out her hands. “Ten points away from beating my high score ...”

She was so cute when she tried to swear. “He’s not scary to you,” Thorne said, looking at her fondly. “Which I get, obviously. But whenever I walk into the room, he starts ... he starts ...”

Cress frowned, finally looking at him. “Has he said anything?”

“No, but ...”

“What?”

“Well, yesterday I was talking to Émilie, right? Scarlet’s friend? It’s cool, we’re having fun, we’re even starting some inside jokes. And then he comes into the kitchen and sits down on the other end of the counter and gives me this -- this -- this look. Like I’m this insect. I had to hang up early because he was killing the vibe.”

“Huh,” Cress said.

“I know. Weird, right?”

“Hmm. Nope,” she said, picking up her datapad again and focusing on it. “Doesn’t seem weird to me.”

Thorne stared at her. “It ... doesn’t?”

“Mm-mm.”

Silence. Thorne opened his mouth to ask her something, thought better of it, and closed it again.

...

“Frankly, I’m not surprised,” Scarlet said, as they stacked empty crates onto empty crates in the hangar. “Can you get the ones in the cart outside? I’ll roll out the next batch for Craiova.”

They were making their way across Romania, distributing new loads in between trips back to Luna for supplies. “What do you mean, you’re not surprised?” Thorne demanded, standing over Scarlet as she checked the empty wooden crates for fissures. “He’s not a Lunar guard anymore! He never seemed like the type to go around sticking knives in people in the first place. He’s not a killer. Just an asshole,” he added under his breath, glancing over his shoulder in case Jacin had snuck up on him again. But there was no one else in the hangar with them.

“It doesn’t take an asshole to want to stab you,” Scarlet said, straightening with some difficulty: they’d been lugging crates all morning, and both their backs were aching. “What makes you think he treats you differently from anyone else?”

“Well, yesterday I was helping Iko pick out an outfit for this cotillion she’s attending with Cinder --”

“What, on video call?”

“Yeah, and then Jacin came by --”

“Did he hear you compliment her?”

Thorne stared at Scarlet. “What?”

“Did he hear you,” she said impatiently, “tell Iko she was pretty? Or gorgeous, or whatever it is you think sounds suave?”

Thorne distinctly remembered telling Iko that she was statuesque and that anyone would be lucky to romance her. A sinking feeling starts in his stomach. “Uh. Maybe?”

“And what did Jacin do?”

“He made some comment about applying to Cinder to change the laws on Lunars fighting Earthens, or duelling, or whatever.”

“Mother of stars,” Scarlet said, closing her eyes in the manner of someone asking the heavens for patience. “Thorne. Jacin is Cress’s friend. He knows she’s in love with you. And that you’ve agreed to be ...” She flapped a hand. “Romantically involved with her.”

“Romantically --” Thorne spluttered. “I’m in love with her!”

“Tell him that, or he might get the wrong idea about you flirting with everyone in sight,” Scarlet said severely. “And out of sight. Now help me with these, or I’m not cooking tonight. You can eat oily artichokes straight from the jar.”

...

“I’m in love with Cress,” Thorne announced to the kitchen.

Jacin, who’d been reading something on his datapad at the counter, raised his eyebrows and looks around exaggeratedly, as if to see who else Thorne might have been talking to. When this search found no one else to be present, he turned back around and said, “And?”

“And I’m not going to hurt her,” Thorne said firmly.

Jacin just looked at him, waiting. Thorne went on:

“So if I compliment other people or try to make friends with them, it’s because I’m a shameless hussy and need friends to validate me. Not because I’m faithless. And for all the stars,” he said, exasperated, as Jacin raised a mug of coffee to his lips and sipped, “Iko and Émilie are already dating, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Jacin said nothing, but his eyebrows rose higher above the mug, as if he couldn’t imagine what Thorne thought this had to do with him. 

“I ... thought you might want to know,” Thorne finished lamely. “As Cress’s friend. So you don’t have to fight me or anything.”

Jacin put down the mug. “That’s a relief. I didn’t want that on my conscience.”

This sudden forthrightness took Thorne by surprise. “Oh,” he said. “Really? I didn’t think you’d be a pacifist.”

“Not pacifism,” said Jacin, getting to his feet. “Rules of engagement.” When Thorne looked confused, Jacin shook his head in a pitying sort of way. “You’re a civilian. Do you honestly think it would be a fair fight?”

By the time Thorne figured out what that meant, Jacin had already left the kitchen, and the coffee in the mug was cold. Thorne spluttered, spun around and yelled after him, into the corridors of the Rampion.

“HEY! Who are you calling a civilian? I was in the army too, you know! Hey! Come on out, I just want to talk! No one has to know! Thirty univs says I can get in a hit before you knock me out, eh? Those aren’t bad odds! Hey, JACIN! Who are you calling --”

...

send me a prompt and I’ll write a quick(ish) drabble!