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bitchlessdino · 8 months ago

Text

Reckless (m)

Pairing: adult actor!mingyu x pervert afab!reader Genre: smut Word count: 4.8k tags: camboy!mingyu, established friendship, banter, brat!reader, glass toys, invasion of privacy, rough play, anal, double penetration, degradation (pervert, slut), choking, spanking, spitting, oral (giving and receiving), swallowing, hair pulling, deep throating Summary: Mingyu is a camboy and proud of it, as he should. Finally, he's getting the applause he deserves for his work and will be attending one of the biggest adult industry events to date. He just needs you to watch over while his house while he's gone. Easy enough, right? Unbeknownst to him, you happened to be a fan. A big one. One so big that you cant help but take advantage what Mingyu fans have only ever dreamed of. author note: finally the awaited winner, camboy!mingyu! still so crazy he won over multiple reverse harems on the poll. tagging my wife @wongyuseokie because it's her birthday and deserves to wake up with some NASTY mingyu smut. thank you @highvern for beta-reading to better this fic and like both of us are saying, mingyu is a fucking freakkk in this so enjoy my babies.

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @cottoncheol @embrace-themagic @onlymingyus

You have only seen the room in passing personally, but countless times over video. You’re not even shocked by the dozens of expensive toys he’s put in those glass displays, so used to seeing them enter a human orifice one way or the other. The burly man bashfully guides you away from the scandalous room, skillfully diverting your attention to the lush foliage he's entrusted you to tend to, a gentle blush adorning his warm-toned cheeks.

How you keep the fact that you have been secretly watching your friend’s cam shows–including the charity stream of him doing push ups in a singular pair of skintight briefs–was a mystery, even to you.

It’s not like you meant to get addicted to porn. But Mingyu, unapologetic about his line of work, practically served it up on a silver platter for you. He says he could use all the help he could get, but frankly, he couldn’t have it more easy.

With that body, that hair, that face, that smile, there’s no doubt in your mind he’d be a fan favorite and you were right. He’s now one of the rising adult content creators in his line of work, heavily acclaimed in the cam category and recently in independent film. That’s what his trip is about, awarding him for his hard work that he never thought he’d accomplish.

It fills you with pride, yet piques your curiosity; fusing platonic and sensual feelings that blur the lines between friendship and desire for Mingyu, actualizing this full fledged crush. But you’d never let him find that out. Not unless it was against your will.

“And that’s pretty much it. Everything else is pretty self-explanatory. I’ll be back on Tuesday.”

“Tuesday, hmm?” Your eyebrows bounce in place suggestively. “Thinking of pursuing personal projects while working?”

He shrugs like a timid schoolboy, cheekbones pigmented and perky like bright ripe cherries. “No promises—Now, repeat back to me everything I’ve told you to do.”

You playfully roll your eyes, offended he had the gall to doubt you. “Water each green buddy once a day; keep crumbs off tables, counters, furniture, etc; put everything back where it should be; and,” you start to grin, “no sex parties, even though this is the perfect place for it.”

“Okay, that last one was obviously a joke but very much serious. Although tempting, under any circumstances, do not fuck anyone in this house while I’m gone.”

“So circumstances would be different if you were home?”

Getting a shade brighter in red, he points a demanding finger at you like a stern mother, “I mean it.”

“Yes, mom,” sarcasm coating your tongue.

“Good.”

Mingyu, armed with a suitcase containing all his essentials, casually waves you off. There's a playful authority in the final point of his finger, a silent reminder to behave before he disappears behind the imposing door.

You promise him you’ll do your due diligence in taking care of his home, and that would be an easy enough task, the real problem stems from the temptation of one specific room. Mingyu’s cam room.

Distinct from the usual rooms such as the bathroom, Mingyu's kitchen, and his primary bedroom, this space stands alone, akin to an office. Mingyu himself has shared its origin story: starting from the sweetest of riddances of a god-awful roommate, followed by many desperate nights to cover the remaining monthly rent, ultimately giving birth to this room that many of his fans like to call ‘Sinner’s Safehaven.’ So rightfully acclaimed.

You’re a fan of yourself, able to outline the bedroom from memory and recollect every toy from every live stream he’s ever posted. Unable to resist the temptation, your feet instinctively embark on a self-guided tour. Your eyes are bewitched by the intricacies of every weapon of pleasure, every scent of his array of miscellaneous liquids, every phallic-shaped object that stands tall and mighty like a national monument.

It’d be a lie to say you weren’t tempted to take advantage of the opportunity, maybe just to get the sick idea out of the way. Your hands manage to find a mind of their own, reaching over to unlock one of the glass displays, wrapping your hand around the object’s girth, and taking it out from its confinement for a closer view.

A stunning crystal toy that reflects off the lights of the room, looking in pristine condition as if fresh from packaging. If Mingyu is good at one thing it’s maintaining his tools, and he does not let anyone forget.

Ever since he showcased it on screen, you've desired to covet one just like it, inducing a late-night web surf to discover the outrageous out-of-reach prices for a product of such exceptional quality and aesthetic appeal. It does not look to be in the cards for you to own one, but borrowing wouldn’t be a problem. He did say everything only needed to be put back in place and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Following the devilish voice whispering in your ear, you slip into something more comfortable, letting the well-conditioned air blow a draft against your bare legs. You hold the toy excitedly before dipping your weight in the bed, the silk sheets and pillowy cushion embracing you at all sides.

The knowledge that the infamous crystal dildo is in your hand makes your heart pound and pussy throb. You can count all the videos of it being featured with one hand, and despite it all, you know it had to be Mingyu's favorite.

One particular video comes to mind as you hold the tip against your inner thigh, moving it identical to the way Mingyu held it against him, realizing they are coincidentally the same length, same girth, and same tantalizing presence. You practically dreamed of having him and this toy inside of you for months after that show and now half of that dream would be possible.

Your fingers didn’t have to be inside you to know you’re wet, practically soaked through your panties the moment you laid eyes of Mingyu and his sex room. Fuck, if you aren’t so damn ashamed of the truth of your feelings, you’d never let him out of your sight.

A long note of your moan exhales as you insert the tip between your wet folds, introducing the strangest yet arousing thing to be done to you. It’s certainly big as you expect it to be, maybe even more as you plunge it in deeper. Affirmations exit your lips in short bursts, your other hand up your shirt as they tease your nipples through your bra.

Your legs crutch in reaction to its ridged shape massaging your walls, then the cool hard surface finds that familiar hotspot, unfortunately only halfway down its length. Your cheeks flush imagining Mingyu’s face, imagining the words to come out of those lips if it were his cock.

‘Already? I haven’t even put it all in yet.’

It fuels your determination, deadset in taking all of it—all of him.

‘You can do it, can't you? You can take my cock for me?’

Somewhere, lost in the contagious air of sex and starvation, your mind runs rampant. Your hips buck into the crystal, letting it settle inside you all the way before you thrust it harder. You hiss at its size, expelling a moan once you no longer feel its shaft around your fingers and just take it, take it as if it a canine smile were on the other end.

‘So good…so good at taking all of my cock.’

“I am being good,” you mumble under your breath. “So good...”

Your whimpers go unnoticed by you, only worried of the dildo carrying on its mission. Sensation running down your legs and arms, and your hips hover over the mattress. Your back arches and you spell his name out in the only way the body fully intends you to: in longing breaths, “Mingyu…please…”

‘What? What is it?’

You groan at the image of his smile. “Let me cum please…”

‘Do you deserve it?’

“Yes, Gyu, please…” You thrust faster. “Oh my god—“

‘Yes, that’s it. That pretty pussy should cum all over my hard fucking cock.’

“Yes, yes!” Your arousal seeps all around you, a visible stain beneath your thighs and you don’t care. “God, right there! Right there—“

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Then it becomes no longer your imagination. The voice you’ve created in your mind had an echo, lingering in the depths of your filth rotted head, but the one you just heard had to be the original.

You scramble to hide under the sheets, eyes as big as saucers as the man of your fantasy stands clear in your reality at the foot of his bedroom. “M-Mingyu. The train.”

“I forgot some things. Couldn’t leave without them, so I told the driver to turn back.” He peers over your situation, intrigued by your legs folded on top of one another beneath the covers, the proof trepidation of your forehead, and your lips swollen from instinctive biting. “What do we have here?”

You laugh nervously, unprepared for the shitshow soon to arise. “I see how this looks—“

“Looks like you’ve had a bit of fun.” He huffs with his arms crossed as he approaches, the human made stain plain in sight on his bed sheets which you’ve fail to cover up. “Too much maybe. And all by yourself.”

“Well, you see—“

“And the mess you made.” His hand pushes against the mattress, leaning over to your side and drinking in your view. “All over my bed. All over my Crystal dildo.”

You avoid his gaze, wishing to disappear in a cloud of smoke right about now. “Okay. You can understand how this would bother you.”

“Oh I’m not bothered by it—not in the slightest—but…you could’ve at least waited until I came back.”

Mingyu pulls the sheets off of you and he exposes your guilt, seeing it in its raw, glistening glory. His eyes scan over you, swallowing at that scent revealed, and a fire lights up in his stomach. “Dirty little pervert can’t stop saying my name while using my toy, hmm? Don’t you know better to touch things that don’t belong to you?”

“I…I…I’m sorry,” You squeak.

“Well, I can’t just let this go now, can I?”

You shake your head, breathing through your nose. You’re scared of him hearing how fast your heart has decided to pound, how wet you’ve become well after your orgasm, and how dry your throat is after you heard him call you a pervert.

Wordlessly, he takes the glass dildo from your fingertips, claiming what’s rightfully his, and plunging between his lips halfway down its shaft. Your eyes capture it in full color, reveling in the moan that slips past his lips. Your chest rises and falls watching him take it deeper almost effortlessly as his slack cladded knees dip into the mattress.

“Mmh…who knew a pervert’s pussy could taste so sweet,” he mumbles, smiling into the toy. It leaves his mouth with a pop before it aims back at you. “Taste it. Taste how sweet your dirty pussy is all over my cock.”

Your stomach coils, reluctantly obliging to crack open your mouth. Mingyu hums, content with what he sees as he eases the toy towards your mouth. “Don’t be shy. Take my crystal cock, perv.”

Your lips wrap around the head, tasting the salty, faintly sweet, flavor lingering on the glass before it travels past your lips.You look back at him, almost as if waiting for his instruction, and receive a stroke on the back of your head as a response.

“That’s it. Let it go deep down your throat. Have to make up for ruining my bed, right?”

You nod, unable to speak as you bob down, licking up what you can and collecting every inch of the toy. His eyes become a dark pit that stares back at you, dominance taking over his entire presence. He doesn’t speak, only watches and for what feels like forever, pushing the toy in and out of your mouth.

Your muffle around its girth, tears starting to brim your eyes as it hits the back of your throat, but it doesn’t falter Mingyu in the slightest.

"You're crying. Does it hurt?" Mingyu asks in a domineering tone, to which you nod. "Do you want me to stop?" he inquires, to which you shake your head.

His lips graze your ear, and you sense his charming smile whispering against your skin as he replaces the imaginary devilish voice with his very real and alluring one. “Then deep throat it like you mean it, you fucking slut.”

Your lips parted wider, a shattered moan aches out, only to have the toy stuck down your throat long enough for your tears to sting. Gasping for air, Mingyu finally shows mercy and unplug your airways. Coughing uncontrollably, salvia dribbles down your chin as you retrieve your stolen oxygen. His hand tenderly caresses at the back of your head, threading through the tangles of your hair.

“Good job,” he says in a hushed voice, picking your face up by your chin. “Now. Do you think that was an appropriate punishment?”

He tucks your hair behind your ear, lethally silent as he anticipates your response.

It takes you a moment to realize where you are, who you're with, and what this all meant for you. Mingyu’s cam persona has haunted your inner thoughts, degrading you as if you were scum, tossing your body like a rag doll, marking and bruising your skin only he would find, and you relished in every earth-shattering, mind-blowing orgasm it’s caused. You’d be a fool to say otherwise.

“N-no. It’s not enough.”

“Is that so,” He questions amused. Slowly, his hand travels from your hair to your face, tracing your jaw in a languid movement and coming across your neck to size it in his large hand. “What will be enough for you exactly?”

The pad of his fingers presses the slightest amount of pressure on the column of your neck, emerging a gasp so soft Mingyu almost doesn't register it. He grins, hot breath fanning your face as he watches your legs squirm. It comes as a surprise to you when he single-handedly pins your body against the bed frame, leveraging you against it before he comes down and faces your pussy drowning its own cum.

“I should at least have compensation done for the damage you’ve made, don’t you think?”

He grips your neck a fraction tighter before you feel his mouth make contact with your core. Physically vibrating, you feel the sensation of his tongue flicking at your clit, and visibly melt before he explores down. “You’re so fucking wet,” he chuckles condescendingly through your arousal. “If I knew any better I’d think you’re wet because of me, as if the screaming of my name wasn’t proof enough.”

“Mingyu...” you whine through your ceased breath.

“And you sound so pretty when you say my name too,” He groans as inhales your scent that blurs his surroundings, devouring you inside and out. “Fucking tease…taste so damn good.”

Mingyu’s chokehold loosens to cascade down your body, fingers moving like ribbons tracing your shape and memorizing every bump and curve through the thin layer of your shirt. Your voice gives out, clenching your fists as he explores you in swirls, moisture seeping out of your cunt but never ending and leaving you in an endless loop of pleasure.

He holds you up by your legs, your thighs crushing either side of his face as he buries himself in your insatiable pussy while its dripping down his chin and neck. He groans inside you, mustering every impish sound possible as he eats you clean, not minding how you’re at the end of your wits locking his head in place.

“G-gyu, shit,” you sputter. “I’m c-close.”

He simply scoffs, “Good,” plunging his tongue deeper, nose pushing against your swollen clit. Words stay lodged down your throat, trapped from escaping as you writhe in his grip and he swallows the taste of you succumbing to his control. You aren’t aware of the eyes watching every second of you give in, how they beam with pride and greed as he goes for more. The notes of fruit and musk only makes Mingyu’s craving intensify, unwilling to surrender the sweet nectar once he’s gotten his taste.

With a yelp, he drops your legs and tugs you toward him, rendering you defenseless as he's clamped either of your side. You drink in his body towering over you as he swiftly pulls his shirt over his head and off his body, bestowing you a deific image that you never grow tired of.

“Shall I help you undress?” He offers, kindly for once.

You drop your head in a reluctant nod and your heart swells at the sight of his smile before they capture your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Mingyu’s movement isn’t needy, it’s efficient and effective. Salty peppermint kisses and hands that move gingerly with ease culminate proof of a man that has countless amounts of partners and endless experience. Almost as if he’s ready for any and every given opportunity and you more than believe it.

Seeing as he knows how to handle himself, undoubtedly that meant he’d know how to handle you. That rouses you, anticipation resonating in the pit of your stomach, and like that, you’ve embraced your nudity just as Mingyu has in the safety of his firm arms.

He manages to kick off his pants, freeing him of the restraint of fabric and his hips dip into yours. And again and again. And again and again. Just to show you what you’ve created in your messy experiment.

If you weren’t already hot under his touch, you swear the room was hotter than any vast desert. Perspiration sprayed against your back, your forehead, your chest, but strangely you’re obsessed with his and the incidentally salty taste of his skin as you kiss. “You feel huge,” you mutter in a flustered breath.

His cock pulsates through his briefs against your thigh, screaming to join the party and make himself known in ways he hasn’t shown yet. Not yet with you. He smiles against your lips, grasping your hips more firmly. More definitely. “It’s too soon to be saying that.”

“Then…” Your fingers, tantalized by the appearance of his styled hair, didn’t resist the urge to comb through it, pleasantly surprised with the silky, pliable sensation. “I hope I get to soon.”

“Pervert,” he repeats with a grin. His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling it away from his head and landing on the hem of his underwear. Mingyu is good at getting back on track as he immediately pulls his waistband away from torso, springing his cock that stands in your direction in determination. A familiar yet foreign sight that you never expected to be on the other end of. “By the way, don’t forget. You’re making it up to me. Not the other way around.”

Naturally, your hand finds the ridged texture of his shaft. “Yes, of course.” You feel it twitch under his touch, growing as a nail trails up a singular vein. “But I never said I’d make that easy.”

“Really? A sentence where ‘you’ and ‘easy’ just seems to fit.”

You sneer at him, calming down after seeing an amicable jab you’re used to. “You’re one to talk.”

“And I won’t be done talking. On your knees,” He demands.

“Or what?”

Mingyu isn’t new to your taunting but he can't help the steam coming out of his ears this time around. Gathering your weight, he swiftly turns you on your stomach and props you up as his cock settles between the cheeks of your ass. “I’ll do things like that. I’m patient until I’m not. Not when it comes to perverted brats like you.”

You voluntarily moan as you back into him, allowing the cock to slide up and down. “I’d like to see it. Unless you’re all talk.”

A familiar coolness of glass finds itself home in your sopping cunt. You mewl at the sensation, rolling your eyes to the back of your head. The side of your head braces for the bed and letting the toy suction your pussy, buzzing . “Fuck…”

“Spoke to soon, didn’t you?”

“Have—fuck—mercy…” Your words speak like pleads but your body could not be more delightful in taking every inch, adjusting from the backside in record time.

“See? Look at you take all that cock,” he spits in the smack center, rubbing around your rim and pussy thoroughly. “And knowing you and our conversations, I know you can take it well somewhere else. Isn’t that right?”

“Y-you wouldn’t…”

“I can. Unless…that’s not what you want. Unless you want me to leave this room without putting my cock in you and not fuck you like the dirty fucking slut you are.”

“Fuck…you…” The glass vanished through you, reappearing at Mingyu's will, muffling your protests, and swallowing the glass dildo satisfyingly from your cunt. The bedsheets become balls in your hand, wrinkled and worn, just as you planned to be after Mingyu is through with you.

“That’s not an answer.” He teases, thrusting faster.

“Shit…fuck…Yes please fuck, I want it. I want more. Please…”

“Excited are you, pervert?” He inquires, managing to grab the lube from a nearby drawer and squirt it on the ring of your hole. The bite of the cool gel stings in a way that’s familiar, but does not grow any easier as it physically and mentally preparing you.

“You…suck…Kim Mingyu…”

“I’ve already done that already, perv.”

Taking the crystal dildo out of your pussy, he carefully sets it aside, prepping your untouched hole for entry and feeling you clenched around his fingers. “So tight. What? Did you lie and you’re actually an anal virgin.”

“I’m not,” you moan in defense, hearing the erotic squelching burns your ears and makes your already hot skin scorching to the touch. His fingers are tolerable, but still bigger you’re used to and it’s more apparent as he inserts another finger. “I just never had anything that big. Nothing your size.”

“I’m honored.”

You hope that his cock could fuck you the way his fingers does, if not then better, already buzzing at the pace they move inside you, stretching you wider and wider.

“F-fuck off.”

“Not yet. It’s coming.” You feel the head of the dildo perk up your rim as it eases in you, the drip of lube between your cheeks drowning your hole and all the moisture it could ask for. Still, Mingyu is careful to adjust to your preference, opening you up and seeing how the toy slowly destroys you inside and out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your hands slam against the bed, allowing the gradual introduction to take over all your senses.

“You’re taking the cock so well up your ass, fuck. I haven’t seen anyone do that yet. Remember you talking about it, made curious if you actually could.”

“I don’t lie…about stuff…like that…” you spread your ass, offering the perfectly lewd view for Mingyu, practically dripping all for him.

“Shit, I need to be inside you.”

He rolls a condom on his length, tossing the wrapper where he doesn’t see it and teases your slit moist in your cum. In the midst of it, you feel the tip of his cock rubbing your clit, and your whine ensue as you wait for more, not properly being used to the full advantage. Mingyu laughs to himself, seeing how desperate you look, reveling in the sounds that leave your body as it fuels his cock before he plunges inside you.It's an indescribable sensation, almost sacrilegious in its intensity, yet it leaves you convinced that Heaven must reside wherever Mingyu is.

You thought you knew the meaning of being spit open until it’s Mingyu reintroducing the idea. His cock and toy planted so deep inside you, fucking both of your holes until you’re rendered into like what he calls you, a perverted little slut. You don't mind in the slightest; in fact, when the thoughts swirling through your mind are nothing but incoherent, you're utterly indifferent to anything else. Your state of matter was to be fucked, double fucked, and fucked to ruin until you’ve come over and over again.

“Stupid slut…stupid…perverted…fucking slut…Look at you…you like getting fucked in the pussy and ass, hmm?”

“Yes god yes,” you confirm, devoid of words otherwise.

He smacks you full against the cheek, groaning into the sex thicken air as he melts into your body like butter. “Yeah? How does it make you feel?”

“Full…”

“You like that?” Another smack to your ass. “Fucking pervert likes being fucked full. Big fucking surprise.”

His thrusts grow rough, already annoyed by the toy in his hands when he’s eager to plant both on your body and fill the full extent of your body. “God you’re hot,” he mumbles, “Why does a pervert like you get to be so hot, hmm?” He rams into you, feeling you jump back against him.

“Makes me want to fucking drain my cock in you, but no, I have—“ he slams again, a burst of ache living your lips, “—Work! God, I fucking needed this. I needed you and every inch before I needed to leave.”

You’d respond if you weren’t so occupied. He drowns your thoughts out every second he’s inside you, to the point nothing else exists.

“Shit, I have work,” Mingyu repeats as if dawning the thought for the first time. He lets go of the toy and manages to direct it with his thrusts, moving him and the toy into you at the same pace. You scream at him, shattered breaths taking over you, and his name is the only consistent, as you spread yourself wider to take it, left with only the base of the toy and the end of Mingyu’s shaft.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you whine incessantly, shaking and bucking into him until you cum all over his cock, undoubtedly flooding and dripping down the side of your legs.

But Mingyu takes his time and it tastes sweet than any candy, fucking your pussy and ass deeper, harder until his mind as gone as yours is. “Shit, shit, shit. Turn around and look at me.”

You do as told, dildo still in the pocket of your ass, as his cock is aimed at your lips, the condom abandoned just like its wrapper. His hands run in your hair, gripping from the root and he pushes you over the head of his cock, groaning as more pretty souvenir images for him to look back on. “Look at you. Good at taking cock there too?”

You nod, mumbling a confirmation before Mingyu penetrates deeper, noticing him lodged in you throat before bucking his hips in your mouth. “Then take it. Take all of my cum. Can’t leave another mess behind.”

Wide eyes of mischief look back at him, holding him by the back of his cock as you bob against him. He grips tighter to the back of his head, pulling and tugging as your hair become the size of his fists and you feel him hit the back of your throat. He now sees the white of your eyes, the flare of your nostrils, the quiver of jaw before it overwhelms him.

“Fuck, take it.” The load builds up to its full intensity, intoxicating him until theirs tears even in his eyes, the kind that supersedes one of joy.

You hold his hips with both spreadhands, welcoming his release with closed eyes. You mouth gets flooded, blown up so full you’re close to choking, gagging from the contents dispersed in you.

“Take it,” Mingyu says fatigued. “You don’t have to swallow it, but take it.”

But you do swallow it, what you could anyway, and it’s inevitable that you’re a coughing mess when you unlatch from him, dribbling in a concoction of your bodily fluids and cum running along your torso, cunt, and legs.

“Okay,” Mingyu pants, “Now I really need to get to that train.”

You’re catching your breath as he cleans himself off with wet paper towels he had on hands, cleaning off the work of his cock but leaving the rest of him untouched. It’s fine, however, seeing as he glows with an air of lust, making him more charismatic than he normally did, and you’re brimming with pride knowing you’ve caused it. “I’m surprised you have that much energy off camera.”

“It helps, that it’s you.” He timidly admits, raising the temperature in your body. “And who said we’re off camera.” He points to the security camera at the corner of his room, reminding you too late that he’s used to using more than one camera to capture any and all angles. “I even forgot about it for a second.”

“Oh.”

“I can delete it if you want.”

“No it’s okay, but um….Send me a copy.”

2K notes · View notes

rebelfell · 2 months ago

Text

linecook!eddie x reader

cw: cigarette smoking/shotgun. IRL 🤢 In fic? 🫠

I saw one photo and now this exists…enjoy 😏 I told y’all to stop me and everything, but no one did. Tsk, tsk.

As if it wasn't hard enough working the late shift alone with your crush, he seemed to be going out of his way to push the limits of your self-control.

With his long curls twisted up in a bun, scraped off the back of his neck that was slick with sweat after the dinner rush, he pulled a cigarette from the pack in his apron pocket with his teeth.

His lips pursed to hold his smoke in place, brow knit in concentration, he hunched low over the gas range and craned his neck sideways. The bright orange flame of the burner flickered, mimicking the flicker of excitement in you.

He puffed a few times as the flames licked the end until it glowed and clouds of smoke obscured his features. Soft during this rare stretch of quiet where they were normally steely and rigid during service, his fists clenched as tight as his jaw and threatening to snap whatever cooking utensil he held in his hand right in half.

And while that certainly did something for you, it was much nicer seeing him like this. Looser, more at ease. More interested in shooting you flirty glances than in shouting out orders.

You sat at the end of the prep line watching his every move, side work long since abandoned. It was honestly absurd of them to expect you to roll silverware when Eddie was torturing you like this.

When he looked more delectable than anything on the menu. And likely twice as bad for you.

His head popped up suddenly, dark eyes landing on yours as he took a long drag, plucking the cig from between his lips to exhale.

"You're not gonna tell on me are you, sweet girl?" he asked, brow lifting as a sly smile curled his lips.

The pet name made your chest as hot as if you'd been stuck under the broiler, but you didn't dare let it show on your face. Much too early for that.

Besides, similar to Eddie's homemade ice cream, it would be so much sweeter if you made yourself wait just a little bit to indulge…

You shrugged your shoulders and pretended to weigh your options as you went back to rolling, making that thinking face Eddie thought might be the cutest thing he'd ever seen in his life.

“I can let it slide, I guess,” you teased him lightly.“Besides…if you get fired, who would make me my midnight pancakes?”

Eddie smirked. “Excellent point,” he hummed as he took a few slow strides towards you, bringing the cig to his lips for another drag.

With every step closer he got, you felt your heart pound twice as hard. By the time he was standing in front of you, it was liable to burst straight out of your chest cavity Alien-style.

His long fingers in a V, missing the chunky silver rings he wore any time besides during service, he pulled the cigarette from his lips and tipped his head juuuuust slightly to the side.

It’s a move you’ve come to know well, responding with a tilt of your own head the other way.

He leans in slow, letting his chest hover in front of yours so you can feel the heat still coming off his skin from where he leaned over the flames.

It’s tough (read: impossible) to keep your breath steady when he gets close to you like this—so close you can nearly taste the spices he’s been using tonight, the ones that his skin must be imbued with by now after years at this job.

And yet, when he parts his lips slightly for you to inhale his breath as he releases it, you manage to do so. The taste is actually revolting, even when taken in secondhand, but something about having Eddie’s air in your chest…

It makes it worth it.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things

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novantinuum · 10 months ago

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Steven's Breakdown Was Inevitable From the Very Beginning

I feel like the thing that fucks me up the most about Steven Q. Universe and how well conceived he is as a character is that the fundamental building blocks of why he reached his breaking point in SU: Future were laid out as clear as day in the span of legit only the first four episodes of the original show. The writing was literally always on the wall that future him would struggle with matters of self worth and identity in relationship to the others around him.

Let's take a look:

Gem Glow

"Awesome! What are these things?"

Foundational Trauma #1: Steven's home is always either under threat or actively being wrecked by antagonistic forces/beings, and he constantly copes with this by pushing down his fear in favor of a curiosity and silver linings based mindset.

Look at his initial shock when he opens the door and gets tackled by one of these things, and then his response when one of them spits acid:

The kid's freaked the hell out about all this, and while I do think there's a part of Steven that genuinely IS curious about what these lil critters are, I think he's subconsciously using that curiosity as a way to distract himself from his own fears and anxieties. This is Steven actively learning how to ignore the deeper problems in favor of emoting a facade to the others in his life that he can totally handle himself in scary situations like these.

The underlying reason why is incredibly apparent, when you look at the example from the next episode-

Laser Light Canon

"I don't know what a magic lady like her ever saw in a plain old dope like me..."

Genuinely- from the bottom of my heart- I think the above quote from Greg is a moment where his own insecurities around the Gems actually rubbed off on Steven.

At this point in time, Steven may be living with the Gems... but he hasn't started to harness any of his powers at all, so in his own head he might as well be the same as his dad- another human, just one who happens to have a gem! But the way Greg talks about himself... given Steven was living with him in the van for years before moving in to the beach house, he had to have heard negative self-talk from his dad like this before.

And then there's the rest of the Crystal Gems... always speaking of Rose with such reverence as if she were an all-powerful goddess... and Steven can't help but look back at himself, and his gem that won't work... the gem that the others still identify as Rose's...

"Your gem-! You have Rose's gem!"

And maybe he starts to wonder if- without any working powers- he's just a plain ol' dope like his Dad, too.

"Please work... Unlock! Activate! Go! Please-!! Everyone's counting on you, you can't just be useless!"

Foundational Trauma #2: Steven has Rose's gem, and as such, is constantly living under the silent expectation to live up to a standard that he simply cannot ever hope to achieve, because he doesn't KNOW her and he never will.

I want to highlight one of Steven's expressions while his dad is talking about Rose- look at that sad look. My god, I just wanna hug him. This is the expression of a child who has already come to terms with the fact that his only relationship with his mom is through the rose tinted stories that other people tell him about her.

Cheeseburger Backpack

So. Steven has learned so far that he needs to push down his feelings and emote a false veneer of cheer and bravery even when he's afraid, because the rest of the people in his life have expectations and hopes for him due to the legacy of his parentage and he can't bear the thought of letting them down. (And in a sad way, at this point "letting them down" literally just means... being an ordinary human boy. I believe Steven at this stage of the show is flat out scared to be human, because to be human is to fail at being a Gem, and no amount of love and sacrifice in the name of humanity in the seasons to come could've ever saved him from the fundamental fact that the wedge between him and this whole half of his being was already drawn long before the events of season 1 even started. But I digress.)

Let's see where we go from there. Let's check out Steven's first "mission." Or as Pearl puts it about 35 episodes later, his first "test."

"Yeah... they can't all be winners."

This episode is tinted with a little bit of tragedy for me on rewatch, because I genuinely do think the Gems handled the situation as well as they could've. They were supportive of Steven's successful ploys, and (for the most part) responded with grace when he majorly blundered and left the Goddess Statue at home. The main problem, however, is that Steven has already developed a bit of a complex about impressing the three of them-

Foundational Trauma #3: Even when they claim otherwise, Steven has convinced himself that affection from the Gems is transactional, and that when he messes up he's not truly a part of the Crystal Gems.

Of course we the audience know this isn't true- I mean, hell, Amethyst even said as much in episode one after her slip-up ("and you're fun to have around, even if your gem IS useless!")... that the Crystal Gems wouldn't be the same without him. But Steven... the poor kid is a complicated little guy living a complicated life, and whether they intended it or not, the language used they've used around him thus far has not backed up their attempts at fully embracing him, human parentage and all.

Thus, Steven just spends the entire episode wracked with anxiety trying to find creative non-power using ways to make the mission easier so he can convince them he's useful to have around.

Look how nervous he gets even when all three of them are visibly and vocally supportive of his presence here:

This is the face of a boy who feels like he's under constant judgement and scrutiny from those around him.

Blessedly, viewing this episode in isolation, he experiences a brief moment of mental respite where he finally accepts the Gems' encouragement and agrees that his ideas 'can't all be winners,' but this lesson does not stick for him moving forward. A shame, really.

Together Breakfast

"What's the matter, Steven?" "I wanted us all to have breakfast together, so I made Together Breakfast! But everyone keeps leaving..." "Oh, that's nice..."

Taken in context with what we've learned already in the last three episodes, Steven's desperation to spend quality time with the Gems here and his sadness that they keep leaving him alone doesn't just exist within a vacuum. He spends the whole morning watching them shuffle in and out of the temple, or come back from missions he wasn't invited on, and with the disastrous result of the LAST mission he went on probably fresh in his mind it's not hard to understand why this bothers him.

Foundational Trauma #4: Steven internalizes that the price of "not being useful" is that the Gems actively ignore him, meaning that the only way to guarantee their attention is to work as hard as he can to become a stronger member of the team.

I know this screenshot is usually used as a lighthearted meme, but I wanted to include it because I think it's a good example of how Steven's intense desire to impress permeates every facet of his personality at times. Just LOOK at how desperate he is to make Garnet laugh at his joke, to be the one that's at very least "fun to have around," as Amethyst put it in episode one.

The Gems do eventually drop what they're doing to spend time with Steven by the conclusion of this episode, but this only comes after Steven shows his growing strength and "proves" himself by saving their butts from the breakfast monster.

If he successfully gained their attention in literally any other way he might've come away from this episode with a different lesson, but no. Instead, his fears were proven true- the Gems value strength and utility, and if he's not exhibiting that, then what use is he to them?

These fears of his can be seen weaving throughout the foundational fabric of the entire show, but I think Steven lays out what he sees as his "stakes" in the clearest way possible in the episode 'An Indirect Kiss.'

"But- if I don't have powers, then I can't hang out with Amethyst, or Garnet, o-or Pearl, and- I-I can't go on missions!"

And these same insecurities even rear their ugly head as late as the movie.

"I can't believe this... for the first time in years, everyone's in danger, everybody needs me, and- I'm useless!"

Powers = Utility = Worth = Other's love, for Steven. Everything is transactional to the end, which is a hilarious double standard he's set for himself when he's made his reputation as the kid who always listens and encourages and gives others a chance to change, no matter their messy history with him.

So let's recap and restate those foundational traumas from Steven's perspective.

One: The only way to cope when your life is constantly under threat is to bury the damage and pretend to be fine.

Two: Everyone expects you to live up to the standards of someone you're not.

Three: The Gems only love you when you're of use to them.

Four: If you ever stop being useful, the Gems won't want anything more to do with you.

In sum, Steven's habit of burying his feelings for the benefit of others was there from the very beginning, not just since 'The Test.'

Those unreachable standards he felt so daunted and intimidated by all his life were the ones set by Rose, at first... but over the course of the series, the dynamic of this shifted. As Rose's influence fell into the background, Steven's rose into the front. And so it's with great irony that- by the time of Steven Universe: Future, the expectations this exhausted, worn down teenager is fighting to once again achieve are the ones HE set for himself. Many of young Steven's selfless actions during the war are quite admirable when analyzed in isolation, but almost none of them are sustainable. He set himself on fire just to save the world, but teen Steven is genuinely unable to see this for what it is yet- as a tragic sacrifice of his own childhood. You can't burn your own ends for others forever, not at all. His breakdown was simply inevitable.

When it comes to the interconnected beliefs three and four, these are exactly why the ultimate confrontation at the end of I Am My Monster HAD to be one fueled by selfless love. Steven is at his absolute lowest at this point- he's everything he fears he's become, trapped in a form that's nearly incapable of reason. He's big and angry and spiky because that's a part of the facade- because a part of him WANTS to scare the Gems away, wants to be left alone forever, believing this the fate he deserves as price for his misdeeds.

In this form, by his own definitions he is NOT useful to the Crystal Gems at all.

But they don't care.

Because it never WAS about Steven's 'usefulness' to them, they simply love him for being Steven.

With this in mind, the conclusion of Steven Universe: Future wasn't just a salve to teen Steven's immediate struggles, it was a salve to the foundational insecurities that have been plaguing him his entire life.

And hopefully... from this point on... his family's shows of love and encouragement will be enough to finally convince Steven that he's more than worth their time...

No matter what path the future leads him on, and no matter what form he takes.

#su #su future #steven universe #su meta #my post stuff

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zara-renata · 28 days ago

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Q&A with Sylus Qin | ao3 | the Sylus series

Summary:

Sylus cares for your injuries and feeds you a meal. After he shows you a part of his home that you didn't know existed, you finally ask him why he was so cruel to you when you first met him. Sylus does his best to answer with as much honesty as he can right now.

Notes:

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV Enemies-to-friends-to-lovers slow burn This story contains: hurt/comfort, allusions to wild speculation regarding Sylus's lore, mention of bodily injuries, canon character death, grief, canon violence toward mc, a meal and drinks laden with heavy-handed metaphors because the author has no self-restraint, lots of plants, sexual innuendo as a treat, alcohol use, and promises to treat each other with more care and honesty moving forward. I wrote this before I did Sylus's POV, and then both parts together seemed a little too long to force readers to endure so I split them. I hope the continuity makes sense.

“Can we talk?” you ask Sylus, as he leans against the doorframe, a lovely dream of silver hair, otherworldly eyes, pale skin and silver fur across his large pecs, arrowing from his navel to beneath his black, silken pants.

“Sure, kitten. Right after I bandage your feet.” He strolls into the bathroom, heading to the large black marble-topped vanity. He opens one of the cabinets and pulls out a large first aid kit and brings it over to where you’re sitting.

“So I’m not wandering around, bleeding all over your nice floors?” you ask, laughing softly, as he once again kneels before you, silver head bowed over your injured feet. You let your gaze drift from his soft hair to his strong shoulders, his big hands cradling your foot. Sylus on his knees does nothing to diminish his formidable presence. If anything, this position of supplication seems to highlight the inherent threat in the broad line of his shoulders, his powerful arms, his long legs folded beneath his big body. It’s like witnessing a dire wolf on a leash, a prehistoric creature bound only insofar that it’s willing to let itself be bound. You find yourself wanting to pull him to his feet, because you never want to see Sylus at anyone’s mercy, ever. Not even yours.

“Because the only blood that should be soaking your feet is that of your enemies. Otherwise, I refuse to see blood anywhere on you,” he answers, as if that’s a totally normal thing to say to someone. You just stare at his bowed head.

As he gently spreads some kind of soothing balm on the bottoms of your feet and wraps them securely in long stretchy bandages, you hear soft piano music drifting in from the bedroom. He must have put on a record while you were finishing up in the shower.

After the final bandage is secured, he rises to his feet. “Are you hungry?” he asks. You hadn’t thought about it, but now that he has mentioned it, you find yourself feeling almost dizzy with hunger. You nod, and shift to stand, but he just makes a “Tch” sound and scoops you into his arms.

“Are we done asking for permission to touch me already?” you ask him without any heat.

“You can just assume that until I’m satisfied that your feet are healing well, you will not be walking on your own two feet,” he informs you, which is such an absurd thought that it makes you laugh. “And from now on, you will tell me no if you honestly don’t want something from me.”

“Is that so?” You stare into his serious face, trying to figure out what is going on inside his head.

“Deal?” he asks gravely. He’s not joking. He wants this from you, and you realize that this is his way of asking for it.

“And if I say no, but don’t mean it?” you ask, curious.

“Don’t,” he says softly, with that same strained tone in his voice from the roadside. “I could use my aether core, and figure out what you really want. But I promised you that I wouldn’t, unless you ask it of me. Guessing whether you seriously don’t want something from me is a game I’d rather not play going forward.”

If you agree in good faith, then you will be agreeing to allow him to do the things for you that you want from him. And in doing so, it will serve as an admission to him regarding what you want from him. There will be no flimsy cover of token protest to shield yourself from the vulnerability of revealing your true desires—there can be no more lying to him, nor to yourself.

This idea terrifies you. But you’re so tired of being afraid. And it’s not like Sylus hasn’t been able to see through you regarding so many things, even after he stopped using his aether core on you. Is it so unfair of him to ask that you are honest with him, when all you’ve wanted from him this whole time is to figure out what he wants, which is essentially his honesty in return?

You’re terrified, but you feel brave, held tightly in his arms right now. Maybe you’ll regret it later. But that’s for future you to deal with.

“Okay, Sylus. Deal.” You rest your head against his warm pillow of a shoulder, and feel the way his chest expands with a big breath. “But as much as I’d like to use you as my personal mount until my feet don’t hurt anymore, you really can’t carry me everywhere for the next week. I have to get back to Linkon City. Work starts again the day after tomorrow.” You pause, trying to figure out what day it even is. Everything is such a blur since what feels like last night, but has it been longer? “Or even tomorrow,” you mumble. You feel so, so tired just thinking about it.

“Personal mount, huh? I guess I can offer personal mounting services upon request,” he says thoughtfully as horror rushes through you at what you just said. But Sylus seems unruffled as he continues. “And no, you don’t have to get back to Linkon City.” He strides into his bedroom and settles you on the freshly made bed, which apparently has had its silky black sheets changed because they’re not damp at all from your nightmare sweating. You blink up at him as he turns to fetch a large silver tray from the low table in the sitting area, and then brings it over and sets it on the bed next to you.

You’re so relieved that he treated your accidental innuendo so casually that you just pretend it didn’t happen. “Yes, I do. This was the last weekend of my leave. I’ve got to get back to it on Monday,” you counter, eyeing the food on the tray—thinly sliced steak, chunks of steaming baguette slathered in what looks like herbed butter, and strangely, an entire pomegranate, split in half. Some seeds have already fallen from the rind, and lay scattered like little jewels around the plate.

Sylus ignores you and sets a large glass of water on the nightstand next to you. “Do you want anything else to drink? I have a full bar,” he gestures to one of the huge, heavy pieces of wooden furniture that you didn’t recognize as a vintage booze cabinet until he pointed it out.

“Damn, Sylus, is your liver okay?” You eye the size of that thing.

“Asks the hunter whose feet are shredded to bits after a midnight jaunt in the cold with no coat or shoes,” he sniffs. “Fine, but I’m making myself something. Eat.” He stands and heads over to the cabinet, opening it to reveal bottle after bottle of topshelf liquor. He tilts his head and hums a little tunelessly as he makes a selection.

You don’t have to be told twice to eat. You take one of the beautiful silver forks lined neatly next to the plate and start shoving steak into your mouth.

Having finally selected something and dumped a few fingers’ worth of liquor over a tumbler filled with ice, Sylus returns and sits next to you on the bed, back against the huge black leather-padded headboard. He quietly waits for you to finish stuffing your face while sipping his drink.

After you’ve demolished the steak, a few chunks of bread, and half the pomegranate’s seeds, you lean back as well, just basking in the feeling of calm, sated exhaustion. Sylus turns his head against the headboard and regards you with his bright, bright eyes.

“You wanted to talk,” he says.

“I wanted to talk,” you repeat.

He peacefully takes another sip of whatever he’s drinking. You close your eyes. Breathe deeply. The scent of the alcohol is heady, spicy. You open your eyes and return Sylus’s gaze. The words are stuck in your throat. You let your focus drift over to the bookshelves lined with books that look like they were chosen for aesthetics rather than content. They all have some combination of black and red designs, it’s ridiculous.

Your thoughts on the stupid books are interrupted by the sensation of calloused fingertips running along your jaw. “Look at me,” Sylus says softly.

You have to do this. But you can’t get the image out of your head of Sylus’s long fingers drifting down the spines of those books just as they’re now drifting along your face. The way your heart was racing as you tried to sneak up on him for the brooch, which was your lifeline out of the hell you were in. Your only ticket to the auction, to answers to questions that had plagued you for months, to going home on your motorcycle instead of in a body bag, according to Sylus’s threats at the time. You don’t want to be in this room. You don’t want to be in this house.

You turn your head to look at him, and he must see it in your face. Suddenly his evol is lifting the glass from his hand, and at the same time he is leaning over, pulling you back into his arms. He lifts you, as he did before, one arm under your legs and the other cradling your shoulders. He pauses, slipping back into his houseshoes, and carries you out of the bedroom. This time, he takes you further into the house, down hallways you don’t remember walking down before. Eventually, he brings you into some sort of large …mudroom? The worn tiled floor is shockingly colorful, with a drain in the middle. Stacks of pots and bags of what look like dirt or fertilizer sit haphazardly on a long wooden table. An extensive hose is coiled beneath a huge farmhouse sink along one wall, and the wooden counter is covered in gardeners’ tools and watering cans. Wide windows above the sink look out into the dark night. Galoshes and rain boots are lined up neatly along the wall near the door. It’s homey in a way the rest of the house isn’t. Lived in. A bit messy. You like it very much.

Just as you think Sylus is going to make you have this conversation in the equivalent of a gardener’s shed, which you honestly wouldn’t mind, he continues to the door on the other side of the room. Again, he pauses to switch out his house shoes for a pair of galoshes. He looks a little silly, wearing the garden shoes with his silk sleep pants and nothing else, but as usual, he doesn’t seem to care what anyone else may think. The scarlet-ink tendrils of his evol then throw open the door and all of the thoughts in your head evaporate like rain on a hot summer day.

Because Sylus has just thrown open a door to another world—the heat and humidity hit you first, a soothing contrast to the chill air of the rest of the house. And then the smell—earth, decay and growth, a cacophony of floral scents. You turn your head and take in the slate-colored pebbled pathways leading in different directions from the door Sylus has just brought you through, winding through huge tropical plants, leaves heavy and dripping with moisture. Colorful birds twitter and shriek and coo as they shift in the trees overhead, flying under the soaring ceiling of what you now realize is a huge greenhouse. At periodic intervals along the path, torches in a modern, savage style, similar to the chandeliers in Sylus’s house, illuminate the way forward and the surrounding plants.

You just take it in, overwhelmed by the riot of life and colorful beauty of this veritable oasis in the desolation of the N109 zone and the contrast it poses to the austerity of Sylus’s dark, sophisticated home. Eventually the plants along the path Sylus has chosen thin and part to reveal a large pond, covered in gigantic flowering lily pads, a fountain in the middle. The fountain itself is a flowing sculpture, two figures locked in either battle or embrace. You’re overcome with a strange sense of familiarity— something about each figure’s proportions in relation to the other—how one has to look up into the face of the other—you look away. The flow of water from the fountain is a constant, soft hush underlying the birdcalls and swaying leaves, the skittering of little animals unseen under the vegetation.

Next to the pond is a clearing built from the same bright, multi-colored patterned tiles as the mudroom. In the middle, there stands a large blond wooden garden bed, complete with a canopy and flowing gauzy drapes half obscuring the bed itself. As Sylus carries you closer, you realize the bed is also a swing.

“What in the garden fuck-bed, Sylus?” you breathe, because what the hell else would he use this thing for? Is this where he takes his dates for romantic wooing?

He looks at the bed. And then looks back down at you. “Well, kitten, it can be if you insist. That wasn’t my plan for tonight, but I’m nothing if not adaptable.”

You roll your eyes and poke him in his big man bosom. “You can’t tell me that you didn’t have that thing installed specifically to seduce dates out here in your own wild sex jungle.”

“Not everyone gets as excited about plants as you do, sweetheart. And I had it installed because even I like to relax in nature sometimes, without having to go for a ride north of Linkon.”

“But a… swinging bed?” You look back at it dubiously. It just seems so wildly romantic to you.

“Do you like it?” he asks, settling you down on the surprisingly soft mattress, covered in white linen sheets. Unlike his bed, this thing is piled high with pillows. You immediately roll over and bury your face in them. You hear a soft laugh from above you. “I’ll take that as a yes.” You just sigh happily.

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink? I also have a bar here,” he says, and you laugh out loud.

“Of course you do.” You finally look up from the pillows and see him through the bed’s drapes as he stands behind what you now see is very obviously a bar, built from the same light-colored wood as the bed, wooden stools lined up along its counter, torches on either side providing ambient light that is reflected off the neatly lined bottles of liquor.

“Okay, Sylus. I want a cocktail, with a little umbrella and a fruit skewer.”

“That can mostly be arranged. But you’ll have to be more specific. What kind of cocktail?” he asks with a slight lift to his full lips. He opens one of the cabinet doors and you see bottle after bottle of juice and other mixers.

“Surprise me,” you say, rolling onto your side so you can watch his big hands pull out a deep red bottle of juice and some sort of storage container.

He nods. “Fine, but if you don’t like it, I don’t want to hear any complaints.”

“No deal. I reserve the right to whine very loudly if I don’t like it.”

“Is that so? Not really the whining I’d prefer from you,” he says, smiling in a way that reveals one sharp canine. As your brain short circuits, he continues. “I guess I’ll have to do my best to please you, to spare the birds from having to endure the consequences if I fail.” He proceeds to competently mix the drink, shaking it in a cocktail shaker and pouring it over ice in a low, heavy bottomed glass.

You’re shocked as he digs around in a drawer and pulls out a little black umbrella, plopping it into your drink as a final touch. He then grabs a glass for himself, pours from the same liquor bottle that he used to make your cocktail, and brings both glasses over to you. He sets his own on a little table next to the bed, and hands you yours. He then sits next to you on the bed, one leg crossed beneath him, one foot on the ground.

You sit up, taking the offered glass carefully, and stare down into the ruby colored liquid. “Where’s the fruit skewer?”

“The fruit’s in the drink, you spoiled creature. Try it.” He picks his glass back up, but just looks at you. Waiting for you to drink.

You take a sip. It’s delicious—not too sweet, a little bitter. And strong. You can feel the warmth of the liquor spreading through your belly. You swirl the liquid, and little pomegranate seeds bob to the surface.

“I’m sensing a theme,” you murmur, looking back into his satisfied face.

“Must be your imagination,” he sniffs. “It’s an Old Fashioned, made with pomegranate juice. In case you were wondering.”

“I was,” you smile. “And thank you. It’s delicious.”

He looks pleased. He holds his glass up. “Toast with me.”

You eye him. “What are we toasting?”

“You,” he says simply. You wait. He just looks at you.

“And what have I possibly done that deserves toasting tonight?”

“You’re here right now, with me. That’s enough for me.”

Your heart, which had been quiet ever since you crossed the threshold into the greenhouse’s mudroom, kicks a little. He sounds so terribly sincere. You lift the glass to his, and he gently taps his against yours.

He then brings his glass back to his lips. He pauses, inhales deeply, and takes a drink, closing his eyes.

You both sip quietly, listening to the sounds of the fountain, the fluttering of birds’ wings. Your gaze drifts over the array of orchids growing at the edge of the clearing, nestled under huge palms drooping over clusters of fruit you don’t recognize. You love it here. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so relaxed while being surrounded by nature. There have always been other people present in the public spaces you would visit to try to get away, on your precious days off. Their presence, the possibility that they’re observing, judging you, as you try to enjoy the botanical garden or hiking trail is always a constant itch under your skin. The closest you have ever gotten to this feeling of riotous life, space, and peaceful solitude is from the houseplants hanging in your bedroom.

You’ve had half the cocktail now, and a pleasant heaviness weighs down your body. You look at Sylus. “I think this is enough, for now.”

He nods, and takes your glass from you. He sets his own down, and goes to the bar again. When he returns, he hands you a glass of water. “Drink.”

You nod in turn, and empty the glass. And then you sit, fiddling with it.

“It’s time, sweetheart,” Sylus finally says. “Tell me what’s on your mind now.”

You take a deep breath and clutch the glass. You can do this now. You can’t look at him as you speak, but you can say what you need to say amidst all this life, with the soft linen against your skin, and Sylus’s steady presence at your side.

“I don’t understand how you can treat me with such kindness now, when you were so cruel to me when we first met. You scared me, Sylus. You hurt me. You treated me like something inconvenient that you had stepped in and needed to scrape off the bottom of your shoe, except you also needed something from me. And now, you wash my feet for me. You hold me when I’m tired. You treat me like I’m someone you care about.” You look back at him, suddenly overcome again with the images flooding into your mind again, of what it was like to be in his grasp the first time you were in this house. You take another shaky breath. “But nothing has changed. I’m still me—the same person you strangled within five minutes of seeing me for the first time. I resonated with you after the auction, so you didn’t have to do anything else to ensure that I’d be able to resonate with you again. I can’t reconcile these two Syluses,” you finish.

You wanted to have this conversation. And now you’re having it. You watch as he gently takes the glass from your hands and sets it on the side table. He then turns on his side, so he’s fully facing you. He leans down and gently coaxes you down next to him, so the both of you are sharing a pillow, sharing the same breath. The bed slowly sways with the movement of your bodies. He runs his fingers from your jaw, down your neck and over your shoulder, until his hand comes to rest in the dip of your waist as you lie on your side facing him. The tie of your silken robe has loosened, and the dark fabric pools in the small between you.

“I will answer your question, as best as I can right now.” He pauses to make sure you’re focused on him. “I didn’t realize at the time how much I was hurting you when we… first met. All of my intel led me to believe that you’d respond better to a challenge than to honey. Especially because you were convinced that I was behind the bombing that killed your family.” He runs the hem of your tank top between his fingers, knuckles brushing the skin of your stomach. “Would you have believed me, if I had insisted that what the Association had told you about me was wrong?”

You think back to your certainty, at the time, when you first kneeled in front of this man. The months leading up to that moment, hearing rumors about Onychinus, how dangerous and ruthless its leader was. The certainty, and the hate that underpinned every move you made as you prepared to infiltrate the N109 Zone. No. You wouldn’t have believed him if he had tried to deny everything you were convinced was true. You shake your head, just a little, still searching his face. He looks so soft, in the warm glow of the torches and the riot of green surrounding the bed.

“No. You wouldn’t have. So, I weighed my options in terms of strategy. I couldn’t quickly convince you that I wasn’t the completely depraved boogeyman you had been led to believe, nor could I convince you that I wasn’t responsible for what happened to your family. But I needed you working with me, and not against me. If I couldn’t ask you nicely, I needed to leverage whatever I could get to force you to help me. Answers to your questions, the other half of the aether core, and your own freedom from my terrible clutches was that leverage. I also needed to see just how strong you were, because I knew the aether core was in your heart and that you probably had capabilities you weren’t even aware of based on the discrepancies between my intel about you and what I know an aether core can do. So I was placing all my bets on … motivating you to fight back, forcing you to reveal the true extent of your strength so I knew what I was working with. I was also hoping that you would come to realize the true extent of your strength that you weren’t even aware of in the process.”

You soak in everything he has just said. It seems so preposterous. “So that’s why… you threatened me? Taunted me? Called me a disappointment? Threw me in front of that huge mech to see if I’d live or die? Deprived me of water? Starved me?” You clench your teeth, trying to keep the tears from flowing again. You’re so done with crying for the next century.

“Yes,” he says, simply, red eyes seeming to glow as they search yours. He moves his hand back to your face, cupping your cheek in his big, warm palm. “What you didn’t know at the time was that I was prepared to intervene the moment it looked like you couldn’t handle it. But I knew you could handle it. I knew you could handle everything I did to you.” You feel your lip trembling, and his gaze drops to your mouth. “I just didn’t realize how much it would cost you to handle it.” His thumb runs down your cheek and sweeps along your lower lip, pressing gently. “I believe that the end justifies the means. That a certain level of collateral damage is inevitable, and even acceptable, if the reward is big enough. But if I could go back and do it again,” he pauses, watching his thumb as he continues to caress your lip. “I don’t think I’d be able to do it again. Even if it was the most efficient method at the time to find out what I needed to know, and to compel you to work with me.”

Despite the aching tenderness of his touch against your lips, you scowl at him. “Sylus, you choked me until I blacked out. In what universe is that just ‘challenging’ me to realize my inner strength? I can’t respond with some sort of magical anime transformation into some final badass form if I’m fucking unconscious!” you bite out. For the first time in this whole conversation, he looks a little sheepish.

“Sweetheart. I’m not a good man. You know this. Even if the Association’s intel is exaggerated and wrong ninety percent of the time, I do bad things to get good results. And… sometimes, I get carried away. And I was…” He pauses, and you’re flabbergasted that this typically smug, arrogant, self-assured asshole is actually at a loss for words. “Would you buy it, if I told you I was excited to meet you?”

“You’re asking if I believe that you were excited… to meet me. And so you choked me?” you ask dubiously.

“Maybe I was excited to meet you. So I might have misjudged how long I could… squeeze before you really blacked out. Usually I have much more control,” he shrugs, as if discussing his golf swing and not his knack for strangling people.

You try to imagine that he was so excited to meet you and therefore choked you out in the same way an overeager puppy will bite too hard and pee on your shoes. How nice would that be? If this was all some huge misunderstanding. That his cruelty was an accident, and not intentional. But he asked if you’re willing to buy it—he has not said that it’s the truth. And you’re not buying it. He was so intensely cruel, from the very beginning. It wasn’t fake. His reputation as Onychinus’s brutal leader is not a misunderstanding, even if it’s not the whole truth. And neither is the fact that he strangled and starved you.

“So you want me to buy the assertion that you were so happy to meet me that you accidentally strangled me to the point of unconsciousness and so committed to the bit of being a villain that you then proceeded to traumatize me with starvation and violence for the next three days.” You stare into his ridiculous, beautiful, red eyes and feel that same sense of unreality that is so often paired with this man. Wine and cheese. Guns and ammo. Absurdity and Sylus. You let yourself believe this comforting lie, just for a moment. “I wouldn’t even know how to process that.”

As always with Sylus, you can’t help it. The noise that comes out of your throat isn’t human. You snort, the laughter violently trying to escape your body. You laugh directly in his stupid handsome face, because you’re so close to him on the pillow, and you’re loud. You hear the sound of birds suddenly taking flight, probably startled by the sounds coming out of you. You laugh, and laugh, and laugh. He watches you carefully through it all, as if he can’t quite believe how easily you’ve swallowed his lie.

After a long, lovely time where you just release the rest of all of the months of tension that you’ve been carrying, deep deep down, you raise your hand and bop his nose. “Do I need a rolled up newspaper to swat you if you ever get over-enthusiastic again and decide to put me in a full nelson or garrotte me because you’re so excited to see me?”

“If you’re ever on the other side of my garrotte or in one of my full nelsons, sweetie, the newspaper will not help you,” he grumbles. He slings his arm over your waist and scoots closer to you. “And I’ve seen you with little dogs. Mosquito, was it? Termite? You’d never swat one with a newspaper.”

“Cricket, you barbarian. But you’re not a little doggy, are you?” you tease, bopping him on the nose again.

He catches your finger in his teeth, and this time he bites down. You shake your hand, trying to dislodge him with a laugh. He lets go. “No, I’m a big, bad man,” he smiles softly at you.

“Yeah, you are,” you agree, just lying there, taking in his long, uneven nose, the dark sweep of his eyelashes. “So you get the newspaper.”

Sylus groans. “I can think of other things I’d much rather get,” he murmurs, eyes trailing from yours to your mouth and back again.

For a moment, you’re paralyzed, caught in the intensity of his gaze. Even now, how he manages to make an innocuous statement sound so… you refuse to think about it. He’s your friend . You’re having a serious conversation. A conversation that needs to be finished, properly.

“But Sylus, I don’t buy that explanation. At all. You need to try again. And be honest, this time. It’s only fair, since you’re asking me for honesty moving forward. I don’t believe you when you tell me that you never would never have let me actually get hurt. That you were just so eager to meet me that you lost your self control. Because you did actually hurt me. And I don’t believe that you were just testing me, and that you just wanted to be my friend, all along. Because you could have tested me in other ways. You didn’t have to go to such extremes to see what I am capable of.”

The amusement fades from Sylus’s face as you speak, and when you’re done, he looks… relieved. “It’s true, I didn’t want to be your friend,” he begins, and absurdly, your heart hurts a little. Well, that’s okay. You didn’t know you wanted to be his friend back then, either. He’s quiet for a long breath, and then he sighs. “You’re right. I was eager to finally meet you, but nothing I did to you was an accident. I needed you to believe that I was your villain. I thought you would collapse without the hatred keeping you strong. I was mistaken. That is the truth. And that’s the only part of the truth I can give you, right now.”

You close your eyes. Is this enough for you?

He speaks into your silence. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I treated you with such violence when we first met. If I could go back and do it again, I’d do it differently. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that, no matter how confident I was in your ability to handle it, and no matter what I was feeling at the time.”

You open your eyes and search his face. He just looks back at you, a sincerity in his expression that rarely comes through. “So are you telling me that this is the real Sylus? Who you’ve been to me, since the auction. And the Sylus I first met… that’s just you when you wear the mask of Onychinus’s leader?”

“No,” he says, to your relief. Because you don’t believe that he’s only one, and not the other, no matter how much easier that would make having him in your life. His denial proves that he is having this conversation in good faith—he’s not trying to convince you he’s only a good man who sometimes does bad things, and that all the horrors are simply a mask. “I’m insisting that I never expected to be able to hurt you as deeply as I did. That no matter what, I didn’t want to hurt you as much as I ultimately have.” He strokes your side with his thumb, for once not looking into your eyes. His gaze elsewhere, somewhere past you. “I am not a good man. I am not the supervillain you thought you were facing during those three days, but I am Onychinus’s leader, and all that such a role entails—it’s not some mask I put on. It’s who I am.” His gaze returns to you, as if asking a question.

“I know.” You whisper, and you think the relief intensifies in his eyes. “I just needed to hear you admit it.”

He nods, just once. But you’re not done.

“But you need to understand. Although you’ve explained what you did to me, your reasoning behind it… and although you’ve apologized for it—it doesn’t erase anything.” You watch him carefully, trying to read into every breath, every lift of his brows, the tightening around his eyes, the dilation of his pupils. “You did hurt me. I trust you when you say you didn’t intend to hurt me to this extent, but you did intend to hurt me. You didn’t stop yourself. And that was when we hadn’t even really met, when you had no reason to hate me. I hadn’t done anything to you at all. What happens, when you do finally get angry with me? What happens, if I ever manage to hurt you?” You’re shocked when you see an almost imperceptible flinch when you say that he had no reason to hate you. But it’s so brief. He glances away, but looks back at you almost immediately. He moves his hand to your cheek as if he just wants to feel your skin under his fingers, and then grasps your jaw in his rough hand. Gently, but firmly. And then he speaks, with the solemnity of a knight pledging an oath to his sovereign.

“I would let you carve out my heart with your blades before I would ever intend to truly hurt you, regardless of what you make me feel. And you can’t hurt me in any way that would change that fact.” When he finishes, he lets his hand fall back to your waist.

There’s more to this. There’s more to what he has explained. The feelings he mentioned earlier, after he explained his strategy. You don’t believe that his brutality was a result of over-eagerness to meet you—it was some other emotion. Something that felt a lot like barely controlled rage, or grief. His subtle reaction to the idea that there was no reason for him to be so malicious towards you. The fact that he seems to be so invested in you, when you’re just… you. An average hunter with no special qualities besides the aether core in your heart. An aether core which is more of a liability than an advantage at this point, judging by the way your heart is aching. Just you, with enough emotional baggage to sink a warship.

Your mind races, trying to sift through every mission you’ve ever been on for the Association. Trying to pinpoint if you could have ever crossed paths with Sylus before, without knowing it. But there’s nothing. He was a phantom to you, ever since you first heard his name. Something in you knows that he will not answer, even if you ask. So you don’t. This has to be enough, for now. You have to choose to trust the parts of the truth he’s telling you now, even if it’s not the whole truth, or you have to walk away.

“I know there are things that you’re not telling me. And that’s okay. There are things that I don’t want to know—now, or ever. Partially because if anyone ever figures out that we have a connection, and they want me to roll over on you, I don’t want to have that information in my head. I want plausible deniability. Not only for my work, but in case someone else tries to pry something out of me with force. I don’t want to be able to give them what they want even if I wanted to, if they break me.” Sylus’s brows furrow, and his hand tightens on your waist. “So I’m not going to ask you to explain. And I’m telling you now—I only want to know the details of your life as Onychinus’s leader that you think I absolutely need to know.”

“And the details of my life, apart from being the leader of Onychinus?” he whispers.

He sounds so different when he speaks softly like this. Accessible, instead of so far away. Within reach, instead of flying so far ahead of you.

“I want to know everything you are okay with sharing,” you answer. Because it’s true, and a lot less unhinged than saying, everything, everything, everything .

“Does this mean that you’ll stop trying to leave me?”

You think back to earlier tonight, when you thought Sylus was going to tear you apart for hurting Kieran. For damaging the car. For simply being a nuisance. You were prepared to let him, because you care for him and you felt like it was deserved. You’re tempted to tell him the rest of it. Because even if you accept the punishment as just—your parents leaving you behind, probably because of your fucked up heart. Your partners cheating on you, because you were physically or emotionally unavailable. Sylus’s fist, for hurting someone he treats as more than an employee. You have always been willing to accept the punishment. But after, you never let yourself be caught in that same situation, with that same person, ever again. If you ever knowingly run into your parents on the street, you’d just keep walking. Past lovers who cheated, you cut so thoroughly from your life that it was like they never existed in it at all. You know yourself. If Sylus ever treats you the way he did when you first met—he will never see you again. If you deserve to receive pain from him, you’ll take it. But then you’re gone. Your heart hurts, considering saying these words. As a warning, and a promise, that you’ve never offered to anyone else.

Sylus’s strained voice interrupts your thoughts. “Is this your answer?”

You follow his furrowed gaze and see the swirling gold and scarlet shackles tying your wrist to his.

Apparently it wasn’t a choice at all, to answer him truthfully. “Yes,” you say, and feel like crying at the thought of having to leave him behind. But you will, if you ever fall from this strange pedestal he seems to have placed you on, and turns on you in the way you’ve seen him turn on those he considers not worthy of his respect or his generosity. “If you ever hurt me like you did when we first met again. Do you understand?”

He closes his eyes, inhales sharply. As if something hurts. When he opens them, you’re shocked by how bright they are. “I understand.” He pulls his hand to his chest, dragging your linked wrist with it. He then presses your hand over his heart. “If I ever hurt you again, you have my permission to rip this out, with your bare hands.”

The idea of Sylus hurting in any way—and worse, the idea of his pain being at your hands, upsets you so much that you feel like crying again. You press your hand gently into his chest. “Why can’t you do anything like a normal person? Do you always have to be so extra?” He lets out a little huff of surprise. “It’s enough that you’ve said you’re sorry. And that you’ve promised not to treat me like that again. I don’t want your heart on a platter.”

“Too late,” he murmurs, leaning in until his forehead is resting against your chest, right over your own heart. He’s still clutching your hand to his own chest.

You have no idea how this happened. You have no idea what he means when he says that it’s too late. As if you’ve already ripped his heart out, and carry it with you on a silver tray like the one he served you food on earlier. How did you acquire the affection of this wild, dangerous creature when all you’ve managed to do is not get killed through the blur of grief-filled days since you met him? You can’t make sense of any of it, right now. You’re so tired, from tonight, from all the nights before, stretching back through the months since your family was murdered. But you have the feeling that right now, Sylus is also exhausted, and is carrying a sorrow that you’ll be lucky if he ever shares with you. All you can do is press your hand more firmly to his body, to lean into him in return, to let him take whatever comfort he can from your own body, as you both lie here, tied together by shimmering strands of energy and heartache, surrounded by all this thriving life nestled in a barren wasteland.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace fanfiction #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #my fanfic #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #ok so hopefully this is satisfying #i've been wrestling with this all week #come yell at me if you like it #and also if you don't

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conduitandconjurer · 1 year ago

Note

Does Klaus tend to focus his efforts on one project at a time, or does he spread his efforts across a variety of projects?

Klaus has ADHD so if he doesn't muti task at all times, he will spontaneously combust or otherwise stare at a water stain on a bedroom wall while eating freezer-burned gelato with a giant serving spoon.

Sweet summer child, you think I'm joking.

#Klaus Hargreeves #meta #headcanons #show me my silver lining (self)

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conduitandconjurer · 2 years ago

Photo

I have never laughed so hard at a gifset in my entire fucking life.

Klaus literally just embodies

The Umbrella Academy 3.07

#his eyes LMAO #it's funny until you realize klaus is so desperate to be significant and lovable in some way #that he'll WILLINGLY allow someone whom he KNOWS to be unsafe 'train' him #it's still a funny moment but agh lol #Show Me My Silver Lining (Self)#Monster (Reginald)

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dalamjisung · 3 months ago

Text

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 2: He's not yours to keep

genre: more angst than fluff, but I swear fluff is coming up next!

word count: 5562

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you are trying to make sense of all this mess, but it's time to learn that, sometimes, things are just messy and chaotic and you have to learn to look for the silver linings.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

author's note: I am absolutely over the moon with the response I've gotten on this series and I'm really thankful for all the love and support <3 if you want to join the taglist for this series, please let me know in the comments!

You don’t usually dream.

Well, actually, if you tell Spencer that, he will say that you’re wrong– you do dream, you just don’t remember it. It’s common, not really recalling the scenes your brain conjure, Spencer would say; it can be due to a series of factors including high levels of stress and poor sleep. He would then tell you to stay home for a day, read a good book, and drink one of his fancy teas Penelope got for him a long time ago.

But the thing is, Spencer can’t really tell you any of it.

Not when you seem to be avoiding him even inside his own home.

It starts after you wake up still in his armchair, feeling exhausted and disgustingly sticky, you finally have a couple of moments to yourself. Spencer is still sleeping, and you’re actually surprised to see him stretched out on the couch– his tie is throw on his coffee table, the purple colour suddenly too bright in the dim apartment, but otherwise, still wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday. You don’t understand why he didn’t change into pyjamas, but then again, you don’t understand much of anything right now.

So you go through the facts.

One by one, you list them in your mind– and little by little it dawns on you just how bad this really is. It’s hard, conceptualising that this is reality; that you really do have a psychopath targeting you. It’s the kind of thing that you only saw in those TV shows you loved to binge on late night, the kind of thing you read on the newspaper, happening to other people, but never really you. Except, it is happening to you, and you are not sure what to do next. Do you just sit and wait for her to make a move? Do you continue to live your life normally? How? How are you supposed to ignore the fact that a, as Agent Hotchner had described her, ‘prolific serial killer’ might know who are?

“Oh my god,” You whisper to yourself, head falling in your hands. The watch on your wrist, an old, analogue thing your mom had given you before you left New York, is pointing to a time you would never have been awake before. 5:23 in the morning. The sun is not even up yet and you have hours before you have to open the store, but then again, you have to clean the mess that was left behind due to your rushed departure from it. You wince, disgusted at the thought of having to clean old vomit from the floor, and disgusted with the bitter taste it left behind. Right now, you are a shell of a human being and you need to get yourself back together.

You follow a familiar routine of recovery. It’s something you’ve done before and something you will surely have to do again, and it all starts with a simple list.

Firstly, you need to get up. You need to stretch your legs, throw them to the side, and stand. You need to walk, remind your self that you can still make your own path even if it’s only to the bathroom down the hall.

Then, you need to brush your teeth. The bitter taste stuck to your mouth makes you wince with memories that you want to bury.

Showering would be your third step, but this is not your home. This is not your space, and these are not your things.

A pettier side of you, one that is bothered and angry and irritated in a superficial level, wants to march back out to the living room, as loudly as you can, and shake Spencer away. You want to wake him up at the crack of dawn and make him share your torment, because in some level, even if you try to push against it, you blame him. Deep inside, you know that there is a big difference between the two– between blaming him and it being his fault. One is purposeful, conscious; it’s a decision you take and lay on his head. If you blame him, you commit yourself to hate him. The latter, however, is a fact. It’s irrefutable and immutable as the fact that you need air to live. It is his fault, but it was not his goal.

“He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault,” You whisper to yourself, pushing yourself off the sink to try and figure out his shower. It is his house, that’s a fact. But you also deserve a nice, warm shower, and that is another fact. He pushed you to come stay with him, so you need to also push yourself to feel comfortable in this space that feels so foreign to your senses. “He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault.”

The words become your mantra. He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault. Somewhere in you, you know you have what it takes to forgive, but you just don’t have what it’s needed to forget. By repeating those words, you allow your brain to slowly process this situation as what it is– something that happened because of him, but not by him. As much as you want someone to blame, someone to scream at, Spencer Reid just isn’t that person.

It takes you a moment to realise you don’t really have a towel or any of your products here, and using Spencer’s shampoo just feels… odd. Like an invasion of his space almost. “Oh thank god for you, Spencer,” You sighed, happy to see the pairing of shampoo and conditioner sitting perfectly on the corner. His hair had been one of the first things you noticed about him, all chestnut and shaggy and longish, but you are aware that not every man knows the basic of self-care. There is something about the way his smell takes over the bathroom, floating with the evaporation of the warm water hitting your skin, makes you smile. You feel closer to Spencer than you’ve ever been, and that is when your sense of danger hits. Your heart starts speeding, and your breathing is suddenly really shallow, and you’re trying to come out of the shower, to breathe in cold air, but all you get is humid mist and you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe at all, you can’t–

“Spencer!” You gasp, eyes wide in desperation once your legs feel like they might just give out. Scrambling to hold yourself up, your hands knock over some things in the counter, making more noise on top of the running shower. “SPENCER!”

“What? What? What– oh my god,” The door slams against the wall and back, almost hitting him on the side when he crouched down next to your naked, curled up body. It’s quite unnatural for you to witness, him jumping into action so fast, like he is trained to make these decisions in a split second. But then you remember that he actually is trained to make these quick choices– like grabbing the towel before anything else, covering you without a single quip about your nakedness; like sitting you up and putting your back against the wall; like turning off the shower and sitting back down right next to you, breathing deeply and loudly. It’s unconscious, how you let your breathing fall in line with his, and it takes a moment to realise he’s doing this on purpose. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“No,” You whisper, shaking from either the cold or the nerves or both. There are goosebumps all over your legs, the towel not covering you much from the top of your thighs down. “Spencer, I’m not okay. I’m… Until yesterday, you were just the adorable guy who shared my love for books. Y-You’d come into the store smiling and we’d talk and talk and– and now I have a serial killer possibly tracking me. How am I supposed to be okay? I’m so scared… oh god, I’m so scared, Spencer…” The one thing you are proud, amidst your utter embarrassment, is that you are not crying anymore. You still sound a bit rough, throat tired and hurting, and there is no energy left in you and he can hear that, you know he can, because when your voice echoes in the silent bathroom, kicking from wall to wall, you hear it too– the exhaustion and the numbness and the emptiness left behind.

“I-I’m still that guy,” He stutters, head falling down in shame but voice still twinged with something resembling hope. “I love books. I love talking to you about books, I love going to your store first thing in the morning. I’m still this guy, I just… I just happen to work for the FBI.”

“Yeah, but I… I think that after having my life turned upside down because of a serial killer who has a crush on you, I’m just not that same girl.”

That is the last time you talk to him that day.

—————————————

Actually, that was the last time you talked to him that entire week.

After he dropped you at the store that day and you were forced to face the embarrassing remnants of your lowest moment in life, moping old vomit from the floor, that feeling of turmoil in your chest died down. It settled. And it hardened.

He tried making conversation on the walk back to his, but you’re clearly not up for it, so his voice slowed down, getting lower and lower, until it stopped altogether. This time, you shower before bed and make a beeline to the armchair again, letting Spencer’s begs and pleas for you to sleep on the bed fall in deft ears.

For five days, you two don’t talk.

It’s a dance of chaos, how you step around each other at the apartment, and seeing him biting his words back or catching a glimpse of the bags under his eyes makes you feel guilty; of course it does. But you know that you can’t help him right now. Even if you were to forgive him, to force your mercy onto the situation, it wouldn’t be genuine. It would give him a false sense of relief while you’d forever be uncomfortable next to him, and you don’t want that. You don’t want to feel on edge next to Spencer, you don’t want to feel nauseous and scared when you’re with him. You want to talk about books and coffee and favourite places to order take out from. Instead, all you get to do is talk about her.

It would be a lie to say you don’t feel slightly jealous with the way that his mind seems to be so wrapped around Cat Adams. The imposed talking ban is hard on you both, that much you know, but the more Spencer let it happen, the more he let it stretch out and continue, the more you feel like maybe he doesn’t care that much. Maybe what is hard for him is the awkward tension trapped in his own apartment, rather than the pain of seeing each other so close yet not being able to laugh like you used to. And you know– you know how ridiculous your thought are, how childish you’re acting, but you can’t really blame yourself for being so on edge lately, not when your emotions are so zip and zapping through your body like thunder and lightening.

There are exceptions, though. In this case three exceptions, three moments in a day in which he brakes the ban, and you, for once, allow yourself some weakness.

“Good morning,” Is moment one. He says that every day, when he blinks himself awake on the couch. Ever since you’ve been there, a total of six days now, Spencer has slept on the couch, right next to the armchair you’ve claimed as your own. For these, you meet his eyes and nod, as if saying same to you.

Breakfast is quiet. He makes coffee and you make eggs, because despite you being there under forced circumstances, you are not going to be ungrateful and so you pay him back by getting groceries and cooking most meals. Which leads you to exception number two– the moment when he drops you at the bookstore.

You two walk there at 8 and he’s gone by 8:07, giving you enough time to mumble a “Be safe,” and give him his lunch for the day. He tried telling you that you didn’t have to cook for him, but you don’t really listen. As pathetic as it seems, this is the one way you’ve found to keep what you two had before, alive.

The third exception is the one that truly breaks your heart, again and again. It’s when he gets home, and he looks exhausted, and his hands fidget with the files he holds close to his chest. You are the first thing he looks for, and you almost melt at the way his shoulders visibly relax when he spots you– always ready for bed, always in the armchair. He stopped trying to come get you at the bookstore at night once you’ve agreed to let the officers walk you home. The spare key he added to your keychain should hold a bigger meaning than it does, though it feels like it does hold a bigger weight. A means to an end, you tell yourself every time you unlock his front door. This is just a means to an end. “Thank you,” he will then say, before he even moves to the kitchen to see whatever it was on the plate you had made and set in the microwave for him. “And good night.” By then, you’re already semi-asleep and you don’t really say anything.

You never thought you would miss these forbidden exceptions when they’re gone.

You know that travel is a big part of Spencer’s job, but with all that is going on, you never really considered the fact that he might need to leave for a few days. At least not until he calls you, right before you lock the store. The irregularity of it all has you scrambling to pick it up. “Spencer?” You barely whisper, voice cracking in half as little by little, you freeze up. The sensation is like ice running through your veins, burning it’s way to your heart until it makes it stop. “Spencer? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” He quickly answers, voice rushed in a way that makes you relax. He always talks fast and you find it incredibly endearing, even during these times apart. “I’m okay, it’s okay. I’m calling because we got a case.”

“Uh, okay?”

“Y/N, that means they need us in Ohio. Today.” He seems almost hesitant to tell you he needs to leave the state.

And you are as hesitant to accept it. “Oh,” You mumble, suddenly needing to making sure the officer assigned to you is still outside and ready to go. “Okay. Do… Do you need clothes or something?”

Spencer’s chuckle almost makes it all okay. Almost. “No, thank you. I just– I want you to be comfortable, okay? Feel free to sleep in my bed and do anything you want to do, I don’t mind! Feel at home! Just… be comfortable.”

For a second you nod, forgetting he can’t see you right now. “Okay. Thank you.”

“And Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You started biting your nails when you were twelve and middle school was kicking your ass. To this day, right now, you still bite them when you’re nervous.

“It’s good hearing your voice.”

Going home and knowing he won’t be there is not as comforting as you thought it could be. The two of you are not speaking and the constant walking on egg shells does get tiring, so you try to rationalise this as something that is just not that bad. Maybe Spencer going on his mysterious trips is not that bad anymore. Before, your curiosity was your downfall– you worried he had gotten sick or worse. However, you don’t think knowing the truth is much better. The nature of his job is incredibly dangerous, and you don’t even know much about it. Now, you still worry, that much hasn’t changed. What has changed, though, is that getting sick would be considered lucky. Right now, you worried about the ‘or worse’.

Your mom’s voice fills the empty space for a while. She texted you a couple of days ago and you just now got around to calling. “Sweetheart, how do we switch to video again? I want to see your face.” Alarm bells sound off in your mind and you immediately shut down the idea. “Sorry mom, I can’t right now. I’ll video call you tomorrow, okay? I’m cooking dinner right now.” Her worry is that of a mother, comforting like a blanket and familiar like a home. It is not, though, the worry you want.

For obvious reasons, you don’t tell her what’s going on, much rather preferring to tell her about the mundane things that keep you going. “And I sold out of the book!” You say, a short-lived excitement running through you. “It’s quite exciting, mom– since I opened the shop I have never sold out of anything! This is a first!”

“That’s amazing, sweetie!” She says, and you can’t help but wonder how Spencer would’ve reacted to the news if he was there. It’s only then that you realise you’re halfway through making him a plate for when he comes home, except he won’t be back until the case is complete and you gulp, too aware of the common noises you hear around you.

This is when you realise how much you miss you Spencer. And how much, even if unconsciously, he makes you feel comfortable and safe. You thought it was the apartment, but now, by yourself, laying on the armchair yet again, you feel vulnerable and exposed. Footsteps can be heard from time to time, neighbours getting home or leaving for the night, and every time, without a fault, you hold your breath and wait. Maybe the door will open and she will be there, or maybe it will be another delivery. God, it could be anything– a letter, flowers, another box. Knowing that Cat Adams had such easy access to Spencer’s apartment is enough to get you up and running to his room.

Green. The walls are green, muted and cozy, and you smile even when your eyes sting with tears. There is a hole in your heart right now and it’s Spencer shaped. “God,” You groan, rubbing your tears clean so aggressively that it hurts. “When did things get so fucked up?”

There’s no real answer to that, and you if you think any longer about this, your brain might just implode. For now, all you need is to sleep, but that won’t happen for a while; not with the way your heart speeds up at every crackle coming from his old, metal heather. Still, the chill air of Autumn seeps in through the walls, and you shiver. I want you to be comfortable, Spencer had said before leaving, and you might be crossing some boundaries right now, but you need him close to feel comfortable. You might not be able to get him, but the next best thing you have right now is one of his sweaters, and you have no qualms about opening his wardrobe and grabbing the first thing you find. Ironically enough, it’s an FBI Academy hoodie, though you can’t really imagine Spencer and all his formal glory in a hoodie. You put it on, nonetheless, shutting the door with your foot and just as you turn around, your eyes catch sight of something. Something big, and beige, and bone chilling.

The box.

In the heat of the moment, you simply thought he had throw it away. Hell, it would’ve made sense to throw it away! What the fuck was that box doing there…? With a shaky breath, you open the wardrobe door again, hoping, praying, that you were actually hallucinating and that what you saw was nothing but a shoe box or a bag. “God, please, be a bag, be a bag…” Safe to say, your words are in vain. “Fuck, Spencer, what is wrong with you?”

You’re shaking when you pull the box out of its hiding place, breathing shallow and fast. Reason escapes you as you quickly open it, not worried about how it was or even about putting it back in place; if it was up to you, this box would’ve been gone a long time ago. Clearly, it had not been up to you. “Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.”

Expectations are a tricky thing to deal with. When it comes to your life, you never expected anything big. You know your limitation better than anyone and the largest you’ve dreamt before was the store. You didn’t expect an FBI agent. You didn’t expect a serial killer. And you certainly didn’t expect a box full of sex toys. “What the…” You don’t want to touch them, not with your bare hands, but it looks like there are tens of toys in there, varying in shapes and sizes and colours. It makes you wonder… last he told you, her games are psychological and manipulative. From what you are seeing, though, this is incredibly physical. This is about touch and intimacy and… fuck. This is about connection. You don’t have to be a profiler to know that, not when you are so secretive about your own toys, hidden in the back of your besides drawer away from unwanted eyes. It’s a private thing, and only people you trusted, people you let into your life, knew about them.

Before you know what you’re doing, you rush to find your phone. It’s somewhere in the house, and you need to find it, you need to call him. “Pick up,” You whisper when you finally find it in the living room, under your favourite blanket on the chair. Even your fingers are shaking, vision a bit blurred from the adrenaline rushing through you– you feel like you’re in danger, and you don’t know what to do. “Spence, pick up, pick up, please pick up–“

“Hello?” You almost cry when you hear his raspy voice on the other side. It doesn’t make you feel any better to think that you might just have woken him up.

“Spencer,” You whine, embarrass with how needy you sound. The nice officer that brought you home is standing outside the door, and you could’ve gone to him– could’ve opened the door, asked him to stay inside, talk to him a little. Or you could’ve called Penelope. She had given you her number with promises that more often then not, she stayed behind to work from the BAU office. There is no place safer than my office, she had promised you, but how do you tell her that the problem is not your environment, it’s not where you are or what you’re doing… how do you tell her that the problem is you? She might not understand it so you don’t even dare try to explain it. You don’t dare to give her and the team this part of yourself too and you shut your mouth with a firm hand over your lips.

Memories of a life you left behind flash behind your eyes, and you whimper, hugging your knees to your chest while you hear him desperately calling for you. As far as you can, you kick that godforsaken box away from you. “Y/N?! Y/N, say something, please! Are you okay? Y/N!”

“I’m here,” You whisper, pushing your hair away from your face. “I’m here.’

“What’s going on?”

“Spencer, I–” A moment of regret and hesitation makes you pause. What can he even do all the way from Ohio? “I want to go home.”

You’re not his priority.

You’ll never be his priority.

There is no point to this.

“…did something happen?” This is the Spencer you know– voice soft and guarded– and for a second it feels like you two are getting to know each other all over again. “Did officer Kaper make you uncomfortable? I’ll ask for a change of guard, I’ll–“

“N-No,” You cut him off with a shaky exhale. Your head falls on your free hand, finger tangled with your messy hair, and you tug on it. Sharply, the tingly pain on your scalp grounds you for a second, brings you back to this situation you created. “No, Spence, no no no, I just want to go home, I need to go home, I–“

“Y/N, breathe,” He coaches you as gently as he can, voice stable and strong, everything you seem to be lacking. “You’re going to set yourself off in a panic again if you don’t breathe. You’re safe in my apartment, okay? I know it’s not the same as being home, I know, but you’re safe there!”

“You’re not here, Spence!”

There is a moment of silence for both of you. “You’re not here and you didn’t throw that fucking box away,” You whisper, keeping the moment something in between just the two of you. It’s enough that you are falling apart like this in front of Spencer, you don’t need officer Kaper bursting in the door to witness this too.

“You found the box,” He sighs. This is the first time you notice just how tired he sounds.

“I found the box,” You confirm, sniffling in a stubborn attempt to not start crying all over again.

“It’s evidence. I can’t throw it away, Y/N.”

“Why is it here?”

“I’ve been working on the case on my free time and it just made sense to keep it at home…”

“Spence, I want to go home. I don’t feel safe,” You admit, shaking your head. “I don’t feel safe here when you’re not here, Spence, I want to go home.”

“I thought you hated me.”

“Spencer…” He has a point, though, and you know it. This is the first time you two speak in days, the first time you experience this type of comfort again, but it’s still not enough. He’s still not here, next to you, watching over you. He’s still not with you. “Spencer, I’m sorry.”

“Silly girl, why are you apologising?” He asks, chuckling on the other side and you can picture him– you can see him shaking his head, hair falling around his pretty face like a perfect picture frame when his eyes, pure honey with specks of green, search for yours. Yeah… you can imagine it to perfection, almost like you are the one with eidetic memory. “This is all my fault. And I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Y/N and I’m trying to protect you, so I need you to stay there, okay? I need you to stay in my apartment, please.”

You don’t know what to tell him. Your eyes wander around the room, looking at all the details he left behind without even noticing. There is a copy of Dostoevsky on the bed side table. I hate Russian literature, you remember telling him once. He was in the shop, bringing you coffee, when you caught a glimpse of a book you certainly didn’t sell him. And I’m appalled you’ve been buying books somewhere else. The way he laughed then, like his biggest problem in the world was explaining to you that this had been a gift from a friend and that he would never betray your trust like this. What do you hate so much about it?, he had asked, leaning over the counter and into you, eager to debate this topic he loved so much. I hate that it’s all about suffering. Even the moments of realisation and self-improvement, they are all through suffering and misery. And of course he had a retort to that, fingers twitching with his enthusiasm. But it’s contextual, you see! Those were written in time of civil unrest and political chaos, and it makes sense to have characters and plot lines that revolve around suffering when that is all you know from the world around you. To this day, your answer paralyses you. I’m a believer in silver linings and happy endings. And not because I’m naive or ignorant, but because the world around me has made me believe that there must be something better out there. Isn’t that nicer?

“Y/N, please tell me you’ll stay there, I need you to stay there.”

His words almost escape you, but you catch them in the very last minute. It gives you a glimpse into a side of him he has yet to show you, and it absolutely shatters your heart in bits. I need you to stay there, he had said. Not you need to stay there, but I need you to stay there. Suddenly, you realise that this– all of this, the relocation, the involvement of the FBI, the dropping off and picking up– is not just for you.

“I’ll stay here,” Whispering with him like this helps. “I’ll stay. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be. I’m happy you called.”

“I’ll let you go back to sleep, but Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“Be safe. I need you back here.”

“I’ll be home in no time.”

For a second, you trust him. You trust everything will be okay, that you can make everything okay until he gets back, and then you’ll pass the responsibility onto him. For a second, you trust him, but you also trust yourself.

Everything will be okay.

You fall asleep like this; wearing his hoodie and hugging your phone, nose buried on his pillow in hopes to dream of him. The sun wakes you up, and there are birds chirping at your window. Despite the heaviness you feel in you and dooming headache you know will settle soon, the romantic in you believes that today will be a good day. That today will be an okay day.

“Miss Y/L/N? It’s officer Kaper.”

The knock doesn’t scare you anymore. On days one through three it had you jumping on air, heart about to stop from how fast it was beating. Days four and five were easier, less scary and more anxious, waiting for the punctual 9AM knock. From day six onwards, it was a welcome start to your day, knowing that someone is looking after you.

You check the fisheye like Spencer told you to, and then you open the door only when you recognise the face on the other side. “Good morning, Officer,” You smile, nodding at him a bit stiffly. The two of you had been formally introduced by JJ, but it didn’t make this any less awkward for you. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Sure,” He nods, smiling as he comes inside with his usual stack of mail. Everyday, without fail, someone picks up your mail and brings it to Officer Kaper. “Here’s your mail for the day, ma’am.”

“How was the night shift?” It’s almost like a scripted conversation, these back and forth questions you throw at each other, and you’re finding that you hate this. You hate the stiff conversations and the self-imposed bans. But this is day two, and in just more two days, Spencer would be home. And you would talk to him, just like you used to before, just like you did over the phone. Nothing will change; you’re not going home any time soon and Cat Adams isn’t going to just magically disappear. It’s time to accept it and learn how to live with it, as hard as that sounds.

Sifting through your mail has to be your favourite part of the day. It’s normal, slightly boring, and a peek into the routine you used to have and love. No one ever sends you letters, so it’s just bills. “Water, electricity, marketing, marketing,” The coffee is brewing in the background and Officer Kaper is telling you about his daughter. She’s a tiny girl, just two and very, very shy, but apparently, she loves stories. “I might have a book for her,” You get distracted from the letters for a second, smiling at the kind officer. “I’ll bring it to you later tonight!”

When you look back again, it’s the one on top.

The envelope is white, like any other letter, and it has no thing in the back but your name and address scribbled in red, a big heart right next to it. “Uh, Officer, this is… this is weird.” You’ve been instructed to let someone know if you received anything unlabelled or unexpected. This letter is certainly unexpected. “It has no return address.”

“May I open it?” He asks and you nod. He opens it with a knife, pulling a small piece of paper inside. “Okay, it seems like a normal letter. There is no signature of any kind.”

“What does it say?” You’re nervous now, walking around Officer Kaper to read over his shoulder. “Oh my god.”

“Does this mean anything to you?”

Nodding, you’re dialling Spencer’s number already. “It means I’m fucked.”

On the table, laid a message you’d never forget.

He’s not yours to keep.

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

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foone · 28 days ago

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whats your favourite narnia book if you have one

Since I grew up as an autistic christian, I have many Narnia Opinions!

So, my favorite book for it's own reasons is probably The Magician's Nephew. I'm always a slut for worldbuilding and backstory and that novel is basically just only that. Some guy we know from another book goes on an adventure and in the process gets to be involved with the creation of one world and the destruction of another? kick-ass.

Best book to adapt? The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. 1988 BBC version, 1979 Cartoon version, 2005 theatrical? All good, in their own ways. The BBC version is just perfectly 80s and the costumes are amazing (because they are costumes! they did all the monsters by sticking a guy in a big costume and I love it), the cartoon version captures the fucking whimsy of a story where SANTA SHOWS UP AND GIVES EVERYONE PRESENTS and the first person to offer any serious lore about the situation is named MR BEAVER. And the 2005 film has the big battles and CGI and Tilda Swinton as the White Witch which is... so much. I love them all.

But the best book adaptation is the 1990 BBC The Silver Chair. Hands down. It's got Tom Baker's Puddleglum, Warwick Davis playing an owl, 0£ BBC budget greenscreened giants (MULTIPLE TIMES), a group of people discovering IT'S A COOKBOOK and one of them being offended by the cookbook saying they don't taste very good, the bad guy turning into a giant rubber snake. a witch trying to gaslight some humans into believing the sun is a myth, and the ultimate salvation of Eustace Scrubb: a boy who almost deserved being named that.

And since I can't not list basically everything Narnia ever made, BBC's 1989 Prince Caspian and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader is pretty good too. It's a fun "road movie", in that it's an odyssey into a fictional Mysterious Ocean of Here There Be Dragons.

Lotta hits in that one. It's also got a "collect the macguffins!" plot where they're trying to collect the Seven Lost Lords.

But yeah, it's like... the first Island gets them a lord and they get to end slavery. Next up, Dragon TF island (The dragon is Greed... but it's also just a literal fucking dragon). Next, Gold TF island. Gold, it turns out, makes you go insane in your lust for wealth, even if you're already a Prince of a whole country. The gold is Greed, but it will also just fucking kill you because you'll be turned into gold.

Then it's the island of the ugly invisible one-foot guys and it turns out they cast a spell to turn invisible so no one could see how they're ugly but they're not ugly, they just think they are? and then it goes "HEY LUCY COMPARE YOURSELF TO YOUR OLDER SISTER" and she's like "I'm ugly.... unlike her. Maybe I should use magic to STEAL HER BEAUTY?!" and it's like, wow. Is there maybe a theme here about self-esteem in your appearance? and Clive Officemax Lewis is over there going I'LL NEVER TELL.

Anyway it's got the good line about how the Wizard in charge of the ugly invisible one-footed pogo-idiots is that how he eagerly awaits the day that they can be ruled by wisdom, instead of magic. It's a fun approach to magic: it's something that is a shortcut, a crutch, and it's a poor replacement for Wisdom, even when used by "the good guys". Tell me, Mr. FedexKinkos-Lewis, do you have any opinions on the complicated relationship between Christianity and magic? oh, you do? I never would have guessed!

They also find The Island Where Dreams Come True. They don't land there, they just fish a screaming man out of the ocean who is trying to escape it. The sailors hear it's The Island Where Dreams Come True and are like "wow, I could have my own ship!" and he yells no, you fools, not dreams like your wishes and imaginations, your actual dreams come true on this island.

and everyone agrees: Get us the fuck away from this island and lets never return.

Anyway I'm not gonna talk about THE ENTIRE MOVIE/BOOK but it's got a great weirdness at the end where they reach the end of the world (which is flat. It's okay, this is Narnia, a completely different world with different physical rules than Earth), and it's a waterfall, but a waterfall going up?

It turns out Heaven is on the other side of it. They turn around, but the anthropomorphic mouse is like "ehh, I'll take that journey" and becomes the Elijah of Aslan's Country, their equivalent of heaven.

Narnia, won't you?

#chronicles of narnia #narnia

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serenbriar · 3 months ago

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"I'll be your mirror"

"I want to know what the world sees when it looks at me. What you see."

You open your mind to Astarion, letting him see himself through the memories you've shared together since you met. You focus hardest on your favourite features of his, showing him his charming smile lines, the softness of his cupids bow, the way his silver hair curls around his pointy ears, those piercing sultry eyes, and the two subtle moles that adorn his left cheek.

"That's... That's me!" He stares at you wide eyed with disbelief, but you sense a certain sadness in his tone. His hands instinctively reach up to his own cheeks and remain there for a couple of seconds before the left trails down his neck to caress the two healed wounds punctured into his skin.

"I look so familiar, yet if I walked past myself in the city I wouldn't know it was me. That face... The red eyes, the fangs, I've never seen them and it's quite unsettling. You'd think after two hundred years I'd get used to the idea."

"Aside from the new additions, is it what you remember?"

"I.. I don't know." His voice catches. "I tried to hang on to the memories, to keep myself feeling, well, me. It's like when someone dies, after so long your memory fails you and their features become a blur, no matter how much you want to remember them. I don't even remember what colour those eyes were before they turned red."

He furrows his brow while his arms drop to his sides. A defeated sigh escapes his lips.

"Well, you've nothing to worry about. You've got a very good face."

His shoulders roll back and he lifts his chin, assuming his usual self-assured stance. "Oh darling, I knew I looked good. It's nice to have a reminder of how good." He winks, flashing a cheeky fanged smile.

Despite his wit, you can hear the gratitude in his voice while he takes your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, my love."

You nudge the shattered mirror on the floor with your foot. "You won't be needing that anymore. I will be your mirror whenever you desire."

#i wish we had an option for this in game #i haven't written in years but my heart was aching #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x durge #bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic

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conduitandconjurer · 2 years ago

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#baww man the IRONY though of that photo representing klaus' sweetness and optimism#i mean it's correct but the poor man just got run over a dozen times

I think that’s kind of the point though: Klaus is a dandelion <3 He persists despite circumstances that would crush most people, or at least make them extraordinarily bitter. He is a mess yet he is so deeply compassionate and accepting of people, even people who frankly do not deserve his repeated forgiveness. That tension between his natural proclivities and the way that circumstances (and sometimes his own poor judgment) repeatedly batter him is exactly why he is one of my favorite characters of all time <3

Thank you, Sheehab

#idk i'm emotional about klaus today lol)#meta #kinda lol #Show Me My Silver Lining (Self)#i love it when official members of th TUA team describe klaus this way #because i am soooohho sick of fanon portraying him as a selfish dick

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joelalorian · 8 months ago

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Fall Into Me - Chapter Three: No Mirror for Monsters

dbf!Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter Warnings: Mature, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. Lots of feelings, confusion, and self doubt. Joel goes on a date but not with you. Two idiots falling and pining for each other. Lotta swearing, because, yeah, I like it. Reader has long enough hair for a ponytail and likes comfy clothes. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname used by her dad.

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Thank you for reading this little tale! I did not expect all the love - my heart is fit to burst over all the wonderful comments and reblogs!

Chapter Two | Main Masterlist

“Good morning, Millers!” you greeted as you let yourself into their house the following morning. Nearing late October, it was a beautiful day outside and the crisp morning air made you happy. It would heat up later, but for now you were enjoying the comfort of a beloved hoodie and yoga pants.

“Hi darlin’,” Joel replied with a lot less enthusiasm as he leaned against the kitchen doorframe. Still nursing his first cup of coffee, his sparkling personality hadn’t kicked in yet. “Sarah’s just gettin’ dressed. Want some coffee?”

“Nah, don’t drink the stuff. Smells good, but the taste is just…” You scrunched up your nose, at a loss for the right word to describe how utterly disgusting you found the taste of coffee. You moved through the house to join him in the kitchen.

Turning back to the counter with a chuckle, Joel poured himself another cup and shrugged. “There’s no accounting for taste, I guess. More for me, then.”

“There’s the silver lining!” you teased. “So, you guys have any big plans this weekend?”

“Nah, should be qui—Oh shit, I almost forgot!” Joel closed his eyes, bumping a fist against his forehead. His gaze was shuttered when it met yours again. “Would you mind watching Sarah on Saturday evening?”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t have any plans, so I’m happy to hang with the nugget. You got a hot date or something?” You meant it as a joke, but the way Joel winced clued you in. Your face fell at his next words, and you hoped he didn’t notice.

“Uh, yeah. Tommy set it up.” Joel drained the rest of his cup, tossing it into the sink, and ran an anxious hand through his curls. “First one in a while, ya know.”

No, you didn’t know. But it wasn’t really your business, was it? Sarah’s arrival in the kitchen saved you from having to say anything else as the little girl launched herself at you.

“Hey nugget,” you said, wrapping your arms around her little body as she clung to your waist. Despite your best efforts, your greeting lacked your prior enthusiasm. You could feel the heavy weight of Joel’s gaze on you like a laser, but you refused to look in his direction. “You ready to go?”

“Uh huh, I already ate breakfast,” Sarah said proudly, spinning to hug her father. “Bye Dad, love you.”

You turned away, already heading for the door as Joel pulled her in for a bear hug, feeling your heart constrict at how much they loved each other. You didn’t bother to say goodbye.

Joel had a date.

A date who wasn’t you.

Man, that fucking sucked.

Could you blame the guy, though? He was still young and handsome, hardworking and responsible to a fault. And, most of all, he didn’t know that you harbored growing feelings for him. Nor could he ever find out, you reminded yourself, not when your dad was his best friend.

The ride to drop Sarah off was full of silence, your mind weighed down with thoughts of Joel and the valiant effort of trying to convince yourself to stop thinking about him. Coming out of the fog as you moved up in the school drop-off line, you wished Sarah a good day and watched as she bounced up the steps into the building. You envied that sweet obliviousness of youth.

Driving away from the school, anxiety started to kick in. The thought of going back to your house to sit alone as the four walls closed in on you made your stomach churn. You drove around for an hour, no real destination in mind, and ended up at Peace District Park. With nothing much else to do, you walked the trails of the urban oasis and let nature work its magic in calming your nerves.

It worked.

As you sat on a bench watching songbirds flutter around the flora, you texted one of your best friends from high school who still lived in the area. You needed a girl’s night out.

Distractions were dangerous in his line of work, but Joel struggled to get his mind to focus all morning. He fixated on the way your face fell and your entire demeanor changed when he mentioned the date, like you were disappointed, hurt even. But that couldn’t be, could it?

There was no way you felt something for him. Was there?

Joel went over and over every interaction between you two since the day you met, trying to see if he was reading into things too much. He wasn’t the most observant guy, he knew that well enough, but there were moments when he’d catch you gazing at him with this look of wonder in your eyes… that had to mean something. Right?

Fuck. He was really bad at this stuff. So out of practice and lacking confidence.

Maybe he just imagined it all. Maybe you had something else on your mind and didn’t give a shit about someone like him going on a date.

What could he do about it if you liked him anyway? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So, what did it matter. You were JB’s daughter and Sarah’s babysitter, nothing more and nothing less.

Joel’s mind continued to cycle through the same thoughts all day, until he smashed his thumb with a hammer because he was so distracted. Pissed off and in pain, he called it a day a couple hours early, leaving Tommy in charge of the site. He needed to get home and put some ice on his thumb.

By some cosmic coincidence, he arrived home at the same time as you and Sarah. He couldn’t hide his thumb from your eagle eyes as the three of you entered the house.

“Jesus Christ, Joel!” you hissed, trying not to swear in front of Sarah, your delicate hand already reaching for his larger, dirtier one. “What happened to your thumb?”

“It got in the way of a hammer,” Joel mumbled, doing his best not to wince as you gently prodded at the swollen digit. He also did his best to ignore the softness of your skin and the warmth of your touch on him, wishing you would touch him everywhere. “You don’t have to fuss, darlin’. It just needs some ice.”

“Oh, hush up, you. Go wash your hands then sit down and relax, I’ll get you some ice and aspirin to help with the swelling. You’re lucky it’s not broken!”

“Bossy lil’ thing, aren’t you,” he grumbled, doing exactly as you ordered once his boots were kicked off to the side of the foyer. Sarah nestled against him on the couch once he sat, fussing over his thumb just as much as you did. His lips quirked upwards at the thought that it meant you both cared about him.

You returned minutes later with a bag of frozen peas, two white pills, and a bottle of cold beer in hand. “Take these,” you directed, offering him the pills and beer. Once he swallowed, you placed the bag on his hand, carefully adjusting it to wrap around his thumb. Your teeth bit into your bottom lip as you concentrated on not hurting him and he nearly groaned as an ache built up in his belly at the sight.

“Thank you, darlin’,” Joel said, voice deep and husky before clearing his throat. His eyes clocked your movements as you stood up straight and your eyes widened when they met his half-lidded gaze. He catalogued the moment to add to the growing list of moments between the two of you that hinted at something deeper, something more lingering in the air.

You waved off his thanks and headed back to the kitchen, calling over your shoulder, “I’ll make some dinner for your two before I leave.”

He wanted to follow you, to let you know he wanted you to stay for dinner, and maybe watch a movie with him and Sarah afterwards, but Sarah’s sweet little voice distracted him.

“Will you help me with my homework, Daddy?” She peered up at him with eyes that matched his own and his heart swelled with love.

“Of course, my little nugget. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

They worked on math problems until you called them for dinner, Joel relieved at the break. An exceptionally bright girl, Sarah didn’t really need his help, but she enjoyed it when he tried. Math made his head hurt, a headache starting to build between his eyes. The headache grew at the sight of only two plates full of spaghetti on the table.

“You’re not eating?” Sarah’s voice squeaked, making her dissatisfaction clear. Turning to him as you shook your head, she added, “Daddy! Tell her she can stay!”

Joel’s mouth barely opened before snapping shut again. You were already speaking, cutting off whatever he would have said.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, nugget. I gotta go now.”

“Oh, okay.” Sarah’s disappointment broke his heart, and Joel felt helpless.

“You sure you can’t stay? I thought maybe we could watch a Disney movie after.” He looked at you with unmasked hope in his eyes. He wanted you to stay even more than his daughter did, but he couldn’t tell you that.

Something flashed in your eyes but disappeared before Joel could figure out what it was. “Sorry, I have plans with a friend and I can’t stay. You two enjoy the movie without me,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’ll come by at 4:30 tomorrow, okay?”

Joel nodded, cringing at the reminder of his date, and watched you leave with a pang of disappointment rivalling Sarah’s.

Emily never changed. She was still the prettiest girl in the room and funny as hell, lifting your mood just like she did back in high school. The pair of you sat at a swanky bar downtown, catching up like you never missed any time together. You stayed in touch a bit over the years, but the distance and different priorities led to your friendship taking a back seat to everything else. Now that you were back, it was easy to dive right back into that unbreakable bond the two of you always shared and pick up where you left off.

You didn’t realize how much you missed that bond until now.

The bar filled with the typical Friday night after work crowd as the two of you sipped at your drinks and rehashed the past few years. Soon, the conversation moved to your current love life – or, more accurately, your complete lack of one.

“So, you seeing anyone lately?” Emily asked, signaling to the bartender that you were ready for another round. “Last I heard, you were with that dude… what was his name? The one that would gaslight you and always insisted your tears were weaponized when he made you cry.”

“Yeah, Tom. That asshole. I wasted too much time on him not knowing any better, but we broke up about a year and a half ago, thank God.” You cringed at the thought of all the emotional damage you had to overcome after that one. You worked hard on finding yourself again after that disaster. “No, I’m not seeing anyone.”

Ever the receptive one, Emily picked up something in your tone that you couldn’t hide. Tilting her head curiously, clocking your movements with her sharp eyes, she continued, “But there’s someone who caught your eye? Do tell!”

Without hesitation, you launched into a long-winded explanation of how you met Joel and how you’re now a mess over the guy.

“Dad’s best friend, huh? When did you become such a cliché?” Emily teased, her shoulder gently bumping yours. “He sounds dreamy, though!”

“I am not a cliché! We don’t all get to all get to marry our high school sweetheart because we met ‘the one’ when we were 15. Talk about a cliché!” You cackled, drawing the attention of two men in suits a few seats down from you, but you ignored them.

“Alright, alright,” Emily mock surrendered. “Back to dad’s best friend. What is the problem? The JB I remember is a cool guy who wouldn’t have a problem with you dating his friend, not when said friend is only a bit older than you and such a good guy.”

That caught you by surprise. “You really think my dad would be okay with it?”

Emily shrugged. “I mean, I haven’t talked to your dad in years, but I remember him being a pretty reasonable guy and he always wanted the best for you. Why wouldn’t he want you to be with someone responsible and caring like this Joel guy?”

You nodded thoughtfully, your teeth worrying your plump bottom lip. “Even if my dad was cool with it, there’s the fact that Joel is not interested. He’s going on a date tomorrow, for fuck’s sake.”

After a moment of consideration, Emily asked, “Does he do that often? Date, I mean.”

You shook your head, fingers dancing absentmindedly along the edge of the bar. “Apparently not. He said it’s the first one in a long time.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “And you don’t find the timing suspicious?”

That caught you off guard, your eyes darting to hers. “Should I?”

Shoulders shrugging beneath long layers of dark hair, Emily hummed. “Maybe? From what you just told me about your interactions, I find it interesting that he’s suddenly going on a date. Makes me think he has feelings and he’s struggling with them just like you are.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.” You blew off her observations, you couldn’t afford to start having hope now when he was going on a date tomorrow. Instead, you changed the subject. “So, how are you and Ed doing?”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of conversation and mixed drinks with the occasional interruption from a few brave men hitting on you. It crossed your mind to flirt with one or two of them, but you were having too much fun catching up with Emily and blew each of them off. Before you knew it, the hour was late and Emily’s husband, Ed, picked you both up to make sure you got home safe.

“What the hell am I doing?” Joel asked his reflection as he tried on his fourth shirt from his closet. He wasn’t looking forward to this date at all, his mind a mess between feeling guilty about leaving Sarah, the confusing mix of emotions revolving around you, and his complete lack of confidence.

Torn between trying too hard and not trying at all, he huffed in frustration, ripping the buttons of the shirt open before tossing it onto the growing pile of discarded clothes on his bed.

He had no business going on a date. What had he been thinking when he agreed to go?

Joel slumped onto his bed in defeat, his right fist coming up to bump against his forehead. How could he ever think that going on a date would get his mind off you? Not to mention, he felt like a dick for asking you to watch Sarah while he went on said date.

God, he really wasn’t good with this kind of shit.

A glance at the clock got him moving. You were due to arrive shortly, and he had to pick Annica up for a 5:30 reservation Tommy insisted he make. There was no room to dilly dally.

Another glance through his closet and Joel settled on a blue flannel and dark jeans, paired with newer black boots. Best to just be himself, he thought. Using a bit of gel, he pushed his curls back from his face. His beard was freshly trimmed, and he ran his truck through the car wash earlier in the day.

“That’s as good as it’s gonna get,” he said to his reflection before leaving his bedroom, the doorbell ringing as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Joel opened the door to find you standing there, your feet shifting uncertainly. You looked tired, yet beautiful as always and he gulped. “Hey, why didn’t you just come in? You have a key.”

“Hey Joel,” you greeted with a shrug, your voice quiet. Your eyes scanned from his head down to his feet like you were drinking him in. “Just didn’t feel right, I guess.”

“Ok?” Confused, he waited for you to explain, but you kept your mouth shut. Something was off with you. He wondered if something happened last night – you said you had plans, had it been a date of your own? His heart skipped a beat as he shook his head clear. “Well, come on in. You doin’ alright, darlin’?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed back causing Joel’s brows to pull into a frown as you followed him into the house. “You look nice. Ready for your date?”

Was it just him or did it seem like asking that question pained you? What the fuck was wrong with him? Shaking his head free of thoughts like that, he blushed. “Oh, uh, thanks. As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” After a beat, he added, “I’m kinda nervous, actually.”

Joel watched your eyes soften at that. “You shouldn’t be. Any woman would be lucky to go on a date with you.”

Including you? he wondered. There was a wistfulness to your voice that shattered him, leaving him ready to ditch his date and stay there with you and Sarah. “Hey, I, um—”

“You’re here! Finally! Come on, I want to show you something!” Sarah sprinted into the living room, grabbing your hand, and stealing your attention before Joel could finish his sentence. Maybe that was a good thing. God only knows what was about to come out of his mouth.

“Slow down, nugget! I’m coming,” you laughed as the young girl dragged you toward the stairs. It was the first smile of yours Joel glimpsed since you arrived, and his heart beat heavy in his chest when you turned to speak to him over your shoulder, your broad smile dimming with your next words. “Have fun tonight, Joel. You deserve a nice night out.”

“Thanks, darlin’,” he replied, the words heavy in his mouth. Clearing his throat, he called out, “Be good, Sarah! I ordered pizza for you both, should be here soon.”

“I always am, Dad! Love you!” Sarah yelled down the stairs, her attention already focused on whatever she wanted to show you.

“Love you, too.” Joel continued staring up the stairs long after the two of you were out of sight, a sense of yearning knotted deep in his chest. Forcing himself to look away, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door, once again asking himself why the hell he agreed to this date in the first place.

“Can we go see it tonight? Please?” Sarah gazed up at you with her dark eyes widened like a baby cow and you were powerless. How did Joel ever tell this precious, sweet girl ‘no’? It was impossible.

“Let’s see what the showtimes are first. We can’t be out too late.” Scanning the movie listing Sarah pulled up on her tablet, you found the showtimes for the latest kid friendly adventure movie she wanted to see. “There’s one at 6:30. We can totally do that one and still have you home for bedtime. Sound good?”

“Yes! Can we get popcorn?”

“Of course! No trip to the movies is complete without popcorn.”

The two of you ate some pizza before getting ready to go. You liked getting there early enough to find your seats and see the trailers before the movie started. Texting Joel on your way out the door to let him know you were taking Sarah out, the two of you climbed into your car.

The movie theater was busy as usual for a Saturday evening, but you found a good parking spot beneath a light post not far from the entrance. There were lines for tickets and concessions leaving you relieved at arriving early. With tickets in hand, you led Sarah to the shortest of lines in front of the concessions counter. That’s when you saw them.

A tall blonde with big hair and legs for days, wearing tight fitting jeans like a second skin and yapping away while walking closely with a taller man with broad shoulders and curly, dark hair. The man’s sleeves were rolled up, his left hand placed low on the woman’s back, gently guiding her as she gripped a bucket of popcorn and a fountain drink. Another fountain drink was clutched in the man’s right hand. As if he felt the searing heat of your jealous gaze, the man turned, and your stomach plummeted.

Joel’s dark umber eyes met yours in surprise, his hand dropping from the woman’s back as he watched your face fall. He looked uncertain, like he didn’t know whether to carry on with his date or rush to your side. His eyes darted to find Sarah standing at your side, her focus on the snacks displayed within the glass counter. Forcing a half smile to your face, you dipped your head in greeting and turned to move forward, your attention refocusing as it was your turn to plan an order. All the while, your mind raced with thoughts of Joel and his date. Knowing that he wouldn’t want to introduce his daughter on a first date, you never told Sarah that you saw him.

Handing the bucket of popcorn to Sarah, you said, “Careful now. I’ll grab napkins and carry our drinks.” You led the way past the concessions toward the designated theater, which was, thankfully, on the other side of the building from where Joel and his date had been heading.

You phone buzzed in your pocket once you and Sarah were seated – in the middle of the aisle, at Sarah’s insistence, because you’d have the best view. It was a text from Joel.

JM: Sorry darlin’ just saw your text. Hope you and Sarah enjoy your movie.

Torn between responding or just leaving him on read, you went with a third option and gave his message a thumbs up before shoving the phone deep into your pocket. Minutes later, you relented with a sigh, pulling the phone back out to respond a little kindlier.

You: Thanks. I didn’t know you were taking your date to the movies or we would have gone somewhere else.

Bubbles appeared as he was typing, but you didn’t want to see what else he had to say. Silencing your phone, you shoved it back into your pocket.

You were distracted the entire movie, staring blankly at the large screen as you over-analyzed every detail about Joel’s date. She was closer to his age, maybe even a bit older, with big, perky boobs and a pretty face covered with a thick layer of makeup. Her hairstyle fit the old quote, “the bigger the hair, the closer to God” and likely took her an hour or more to style. She made an effort, that’s what seemed to matter. Meanwhile, you sat in the theater with your hair scraped back into a messy ponytail and wearing worn jeans and a hoodie. You felt like a child compared to Joel’s date.

Part of you wanted to hate her for having all the features that Joel apparently found attractive, but you couldn’t. It wasn’t her fault the man you were pining over wasn’t the least bit interested in you.

Finally, the credits rolled, and you pretended to have paid attention to the movie as you listened to Sarah gushing over it for the entire ride back to the Miller house and in the moments between brushing her teeth and tucking her into bed.

The living room couch was particularly comfortable when you sat on it, your body settling into the pillowy cushions with a sigh as you stretched across it. Staring at the ceiling, eyes blinking tiredly, you wondered when Joel would be home, both eager for and dreading his arrival. Still mortified over nearly crashing his date and self-conscious about not fitting the mold of what he found attractive, you wondered what you’d even say to him when he walked through the door.

The pull of sleep too strong to fight, you submitted to the emotional exhaustion, dozing off until a gentle shake of your shoulder caused you to stir.

“Darlin’, go sleep in the spare room,” Joel murmured as you blinked your eyes open.

It took you a moment to come back to your senses, your body following his orders before your brain kicked back to life. He stepped back as you got up, one strong hand reaching out to hold you steady as you wobbled. You met his eyes as the haze of sleep began to clear. He gazed at you with such a soft look you trembled.

“You okay there?” he asked with a quiet laugh and your eyes flicked down to his mouth, catching the glint of something on his cheek, just above his beard. Focusing on that spot, it became clearer. A very distinct lipstick mark. He wasn’t even bothering to hide it.

Wrenching yourself from his gentle grasp, you slipped on your shoes and pulled your keys from your pocket.

Joel watched your every move, confused and clearly not wanting you to leave. “Hey, where are you going? Just take the spare room. You’re still half asleep.”

Shaking your head, you avoided looking at him. “Nah, Imma head home. G’night Joel, see ya Monday,” you said, turning your back on him as you headed for the door. Unable to help yourself as you wrenched the front door open, you added, “Might wanna go clean your face off.”

“What?” his baffled question echoed behind you as the door closed.

tbc

Taglist: @mellymbee@untamedheart81@anoverwhelmingdin@runningmom94@leilanixx@pedropascalfan221@lovelyjess69 @sarahhxx03 @sofiparallel @tammythr @lulawantmula @islacharlotte @allyourfavesinoneblog @lover-of-books-and-tea @pedropascalsbbg @ashleyfilm @brittmb115

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel x female reader #the last of us #tlou #dbf!joel #Fall Into Me #pedro pascal #eventual smut #mutual pining #idiots falling for each other

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sarawritestories · 8 months ago

Text

Love Story (All To Well Chapter 1 Part 1)

Cassian X OC (Rhys' Sister), Eris VanserraX OC Rhys' Sister (Eventually)

Summary: Under the Mountain, Estella, have flash backs to her 50 years in captivity, and losing hope she will ever see her lover. That is until a human girl shows up and give her and her brother Rhysand something they lost decades ago...Hope and in a matter of mere months she is reunited with the love of her life. The General of the Night Court Armies.

Content Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+, dub con, whipping, poisoning, murder (I think this covers it if I missed something please let me know). Longing for loved ones, while in captivity.

A/N: This was going to be extremely long if I didn't break this up in two parts and I really wanted to get something out to you since I had been teasing this so much!

Word Count: 4.1K

All Too Well Masterlist ACOTAR MasterList

Romeo Save Me

“Hello Beautiful,” Amarantha cooed, circling around Rhysand's baby sister, Estella. The raven haired female held her chin high. “Rhysand, you didn't tell me you had a sister.” Estella's eyes glanced over to her brother. If he was panicked he didn't show it. Amarantha tsked, “Naughty boy, no matter she'll make a fine addition to the court.” Amarantha purred as her eyes grazed the black gown the Princess of the Night Court wore. The silver chains connected the two pieces of fabric at her hips revealing her toned, tanned legs, the neckline dipping to expose her stomach. A tiara of black and purple gems placed upon her head. An outfit she wore in the Court of Nightmares.

Did you know about this? Estella questioned her brother in the part of his mind he kept open for her.

If I did do you think I would have brought you here. Cassian begged me not to. I should have listened.

Amarantha snapped her fingers and the young princess felt hands grip her arms tightly, as fear flooded her system as the dreaded footfalls of the attor came into her line of sight.

Rhys…

I'm here, Little Star.

Estella glanced at the Attor's talon like hand. Faebane. Estella pressed her lips in a tight line, Rhys I'm scared.

She glanced over at his face and found no emotion there, the tick of his jaw the only indication that he was worried. Stay calm. I'm here, Stella. Just breathe.

Before Estella could take in a breath the Attor pinched her nose and instantly she began to struggle in the guards arms. The Attor's smile was sinister and would be the center of the young heir’s nightmare's to come. “Come now, Princess, open for me.

Estella, refused to open her mouth, her piercing blue eyes met the Attor's in pure defiance. Breaking eye contact she looked back to her brother to find Amarantha had wrapped her arms around Rhys pressing his back to her front as if it were a lover's embrace. “Come dear, don't be stubborn, or I may have to punish my new treat here.” She dragged a manicured finger down her brother's exposed chest and Estella maintained eye contact with the self proclaimed High Queen, as she nibbled his ear. To Rhysand's credit he didn't react to her advances he just stared at his Little Star.

Estella's lungs began to burn and her vision began to blacken around the edges and she opened her mouth to take her breath. Wasting no time the Attor poured the liquid down her throat, still pinching her nose as she had no choice but to swallow.

“Wonderful, guards take her away.” Estella watched as she planted a kiss on his cheek another tick in his jaw as they began to haul her away. “Don't worry Rhysand, We'll make sure she is comfortable and well taken care of.”

Before she let the panic settle in her bones she reached out to Rhysand once more; Rhys we need to put up the wards. Keep Velaris safe. Keep him safe. We have to do it before the faebane takes effect.

On my count Rhys voice echoed through there she could feel the beginning of the Faebane taking effect.

1…2…3…

Estella threw out her power to siphon the wards, draining to the dregs and she could hear the pounding of her shields. A familiar presence in the back of her mind.

Cassian she spoke in his mind.

Stella sweetheart, what's going on? His voice sounded distant in her mind as the poison was taking hold and she was being hoisted away.

It'll be okay. I'll be okay. Watch over Velaris for me won't you, General?” The young heir could feel her power suppressing itself. As if her power was trying to combat the drug coursing through her veins.

No I'm coming to get you his voice roared through Estella's mind though it sounded as though he was talking to her underwater. She fought back tears that were stinging in her eyes.

I love you, Cassie. Then she felt the connection being severed and she allowed herself a few tears escape her eyes as she was ripped away from her home, her family, her lover.

We Were Both Young When I First Saw You

“I don’t want to train.” Estella whined dragging her feet as Rhys held a firm grip on her hand as they approached the camp.

Frustration bubbling over Rhys turned around and gently cupped her cheeks. “My Little Star, I love you, I promised Father, Mother, and Astrea that I would protect you.” Estella fought her flinch at the mentioned, of their dead family members. Rhys tenderly brushed a strand of hair that fell loos from her plait and tucked it behind her pointed ear. “I almost lost you once. I won't let it happen again. Could you please try training with my friends? If you don't like it, then I'll leave it alone. I just need you to try.”

Estella quirked a brow as she stared into his pleading violet eyes. With a roll of her eyes and dramatic sigh she replied, “Promise?”

Rhys smiled and kissed her forehead, “Promise.”

With a slight tilt of her head, Rhys led her to the two Illyrian warriors that were standing at the center of the fighting ring. The young heir had yet to meet her brother's friends but had heard stories about his “brothers.” The two were giants compared to her, both warriors wore seven siphons a piece. The shorthaired one with blue siphons, Estella had seen in passing in Velaris before her brother became High Lord, his shadows were hard to ignore. She had never uttered a word to the Shadowsinger but heard his name whispered by the maids in their home: Azriel.

The warrior with the red siphons had his hair up in a bun, his wings rustled as the wind kissed them. His hazel eyes met her pale blue eyes and gave her a toothy grin that caused her heart to quicken. “Finally nice to formally meet the Princess of Velaris.” His deep voice seeped into her bones and warmth pooled in her belly.

Estella then scrunched her nose, “Don't call me that.”

The long-haired Illyrian smirked stalking forward, causing Estella to crane her neck to hold his pointed gaze. “What would you have me call you, Sweetheart.” Heat warmed her cheeks at the pet name.

“I'll call you a dead male, if you keep staring at my sister like that, you prick.” Azriel snorted at Rhys' response. “Stella, the shameless flirt in front of you is Cassian. The stoic one fighting his laughter is Azriel. I'm sure you've seen him around. Gentlemen, this is Stella.”

Cassian's leather clad hand picked up Estella’s and brought her knuckles to his lips, “A pleasure, Sweetheart, if you're ever tired of big brother Rhysie, come find me and we can play.” Rhys growled, as Cassian gave the young female a wink. She gave him a smile in return, then averted her gaze to focus on anything else.

Maybe training wouldn't be so bad after all.

I Got Tired of Waiting

A hand grazed Estella's waist. Sipping from her goblet staring at the High Queen, wearing the Night Court tiara that she ripped from the Princess' head when they first arrived 49 years ago. A male from the summer court pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “Warm my bed tonight, Angelfish.” His breath was sour, and Estella took a sharp breath as his hand gripped her barely covered ass.

She turned into his touch, breaking her gaze from the queen who was kissing her brother's neck. Placing her hand on the male's bare tanned chest, “It would be my honor.” She gave her best seductive grin as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Bile rose in her throat, a feeling she had grown accustomed to since being there.

The male gripped her ass tighter, “I will retrieve you from your cell when I'm ready for you.” He whispered on her lips as if he was her lover. Another wave of nausea burned her esophagus as he pressed his lips to hers once more. A warm memory of kind Hazel eyes, calloused hands with red siphons atop them, and soft plush lips caressing hers bubbled to the surface. Estella forced the memory back down as the male swatted her bare flesh and walked away.

“Stella dear,” Amarantha's drawl felt like a snake slithering up Estella's spine. The young female met the Queen's gaze, her brother by her side his face a mask of cool indifference. “Come here.” Gritting her teeth the heir of the Night Court approached the dais her chin jutted out, the tiara on her head gleaming with the colors of her court. Trying to keep a semblance of dignity, though Amarantha's insistence that the top that only covered her breast and the gossamer skirt that barely covered her ass made her feel less than.

With the snap of the queen's fingers a male approached with a female their hands linked. Estella bowed, aware that her skirt was revealing more than she wished to the fae behind her. “Yes, your majesty.”

“Rise, dear, I have a gift for you.” Estella rose and the couple with their hands linked together smiled in her direction.

Breathe, Little Star Rhys' voice filler her head, Inhale she breathed in, Exhale she released the breath.

“This couple,” Amarantha's voice bellowed out, “Wishes for someone to join them in their bed this evening. You will go and they will do as they please with you.”

Shock flooded her system, so that was what her role was to be concubine…Cassian's face came to the surface and guilt laced her whole body. He will understand, Stella. We are not in a position to fight this.

Bullshit. The princess shook her head, “I will not, your majesty.” She held her head high. I cannot betray him like this, I will not. I'm sorry, Rhys.

Estella! Rhys scolded

Amarantha sneered, “I don't recall it being a request.”

Estella straightened her spine, “I don't care,” she retorted defiantly. “I will not lay down in someone's bed for their amusement.”

Amarantha rose from her throne her dark crimson skirts draping to the floor similar to blood dripping down a body. The Queen approached and Estella refused to cower. Amarantha approached her mouth upturned into a saccharine grin that appeared the most sinister. “Are you defying my direct orders, Princess?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Very Well, Rhysand, bring me the Ash whip.” Color drained from Estella’s face. Her brother approached whip in hand and his mouth formed into a tight line. “Thank you, now you will give her 10 lashes for her disobedience.” The siblings heads whipped to the evil witch next to them. “Is that going to be a problem, Rhysand. I figured she would learn her lesson best if it was given to her by someone she cares for. Wouldn't you agree?”

Estella then met Rhysand's eyes, “I do, Your Majesty.” Turn around and close your eyes, Little Star. She did as Rhys told her and the crack of the whip wrung out in the entire hall. With each sting of whip against her skin, and whimper that slipped from her mouth, Rhys’ voice rang in her mind.

I'm Sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm so fucking sorry.

By the end Amarantha had ripped the crown from atop of her head, and the couple had carried her to their room and in spite of her bleeding back, had taken her, over and over again, until she passed out from the pain, where hazel eyes and dark long hair greeted her.

Romeo Take Me Somewhere We Can Be Alone

Estella sat up as the male swiped lazy circles around her stomach, “Would you like some tea?” She asked placing her hand on top of his stalling the movements.

The male hummed his eyes glazed from his orgasm. “That would be wonderful, Angelfish.” He gave a lazy smile that the young female returned and rose to gather her clothes and began preparing him a cup of tea. “Amarantha is generous to share you.” He praddled on as Estella placed the kettle over the flame, grabbing her tea mixture she made a few weeks prior. “I know she has her own whore that warms her bed.” Estella clenched her teeth as he kept talking, “Only to give the court his sister. Truly a gift.”

Estella closed her eyes as she schooled her voice in a calm manor, “I am happy to serve my queen and my court in whatever way is needed.” The words fell to ash on her tongue and tears burned her eyes as the kettle sung to life. Grabbing the kettle she brought it over to the cup with the tea mixture in it. Pouring the hot water and letting the tea steep for 2 minutes, Estella brought the tea to the male, “Here you go, Darling,” She purred. She slipped into his mind easily his mental shield down, Drink all of it for me. The male did as he was told and she cooed in his ear, “Good boy.” She ran her fingers through his light brown curls as his eyes began to droop.

A half hour went by, and Estella leaned over the male’s face, and found that his breathing had ceased and she could no longer hear his heartbeat. She patted his cheek, “This has been fun, Angelfish.” She got dressed and snuck out of his room and ran right into a finely dressed chest. She looked up and inwardly groaned, “Eris.” Estella tried to step around the Heir of the Autumn court when he stepped in front of her.

He smirked his russet eyes that glimmered with mischief, “Hello, Estella. Tell me how my Little Viper is, today?”

She glared at him, “I thought I told you not to call me that, Princeling.”

Eris grinned, “Well I can’t help myself. Tell me who was your victim today.”

Estella sighed, “No one of importance.”

Eris eyes darkened his fist clenched for a moment, “I highly doubt that.”

The princess of Night lowered her head slightly, “If I’m not back in my cell, I could be subject to a lashing so if you don’t mind, your highness.”

Eris slid out of her way, “Have a good night, My little Viper.” Estella shivered but moved past the red-haired Prince, without another word. winding the halls to her cell. Not noticing the Autumn prince sneaking into the room she came out of.

She arrived in her cell, and she found Rhysand standing in the middle of it. “Hey, you.” she said as she stepped onto the threshold of her prison.

“Hey, Little Star. How are you faring?” Rhys looked her up and down, assessing for injuries.

“Fine as always brother,” She got jittery and despite needing to put on appearances she hugged him. He wrapped her arms around her tightly. “I’m exhausted Rhys.” She whispered into his chest.

He pressed his hand to the back of her head and rocked her, “I know. I’m so sorry. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret trying to get you home. Or never bringing you to the Hewn City that day.” He whispered into her hair.

I miss them, Rhys. I miss him.

I know you do. I miss them too. “Tomorrow is Calanmai. Amarantha has granted me to leave.” Estella pulled away from her brother to stare at him and he read her face and shook his head speaking into her own, I can’t risk you being hurt because I attempted to escape. I won’t do it. It’s bad enough I have had to hurt you.

I don’t blame you; you know. She whispered in her mind.

I do…She makes me fuck her with your crown on...

Estella stilled at the brashness of his words, “Rhys...”

He hushed her as he kept her in his arms, “It’s okay.”

Will you stay with me tonight?

I’m not sure that’s a good idea.

Rhysie, please. Estella smiled slightly as he sighed.

I can’t deny you anything. Brat.

Rhys led her to the pile of hay in the corner of the cell and laid her down. The princess pressed her cheek against his heartbeat and Rhys began to rub her back. The two siblings sat in silence for a few moments. “Can you play the music for me, Rhys?”

Rhys smiled and kissed her forehead, “Sure thing. Close your eyes.”

Estella closed her eyes, “I love you.” Music began to play inside her mind, the musicians at the rainbow began to build their symphony and tears welled in her eyes.

Rhys’ voice was strained as he responded, “I love you too. Sleep. I will be here in the morning.”

Estella was beginning to be pulled into slumber when she mumbled, “No one likes a liar, Rhys.” And she fell unconscious to the sounds of her brother chuckling.

Beggin You Please Don’t Go

“You are not leaving this bed!” Cassian pulled her waist dragging her back closer to him the warmth of his bare tattooed chest seeping into her bones. “I don’t need to leave for Windhaven until tomorrow. It’s cruel that Rhys would prevent you from spending the rest of today with me.” He kissed her cheek hips moving down the slope of her neck. “I want to be with my girl.”

Estella giggled as he nibbled her neck, his hands clinging to her waist tightly as if the General of the Night Court Armies were afraid, she would slip from his fingers. “Cass, I need to make an appearance in Hewn City. Apparently, Rhys has been getting shit for it from Keir.”

Cassian turned her to face him. He caressed her cheek gently, “I could care less about Keir. I hate it when you’re there when I can’t be.”

“Because you’re an overprotective bat?” Estella quirked a brow and smirked that the general pushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

He chuckled and kissed her nose, “No, you brat. I just don’t want to be separated from you. Especially when you’re in a place with cruel males that look at you like you’re their next meal.”

She looked laughed, “So an overprotective bat.”

Cassian’s grin was laced with mischief, “Overprotective bat?” He began to tickle the young raven-haired female. Her laughs filled their shared space, “I’ll show you an overprotective bat.” He pinned her back to the mattress and continued her assault on her waist, his fingers tickling her to the point of tears sliding down her eyes. He began pepper kisses over her face picking up her tears.

“Cassian, I yield.” Estella panted and she tapped her hand on his forearm. He stopped and leaned down pressing his forehead to hers. “I yield.” She whispered.

“I can’t help being protective you know.” He whispered in return. There was a long-delayed pause, his eyes growing distant.

Estella growled, “Had I known you wanted Rhys’ attention so bad I would have shifted into him.” Cassian shook his head and flicked her nose and she smiled, “What did he say?”

Cassian sighed as he pressed his lips to hers, “That I can beat the shit out of him when you both come home.”

Estella’s brow furrowed, “I never wanted you two to be at odds, Cass.”

Cassian smiled and interlaced his large hand over hers, “Sweetheart, we have been friends for centuries, he’s stuck with me.” He kissed her nose once more, “Just like you are.” He grinned and she found herself smiling too. “I love that smile of yours.”

She tilted her head, “What else do you love about me?”

Cassian kissed her forehead, “I love your eyes,” He kissed her cheek and Estella closed her eyes. “Your lips.” He pressed his lips to hers. “Your kindness,” He pecked her jaw line, “Your compassion.” His lips moved to her neck, “Your bravery,” moved to the collarbone. “You, Sweetheart. I love you.”

The princess opened her eyes, “I love you too, Cassian.”

And I love you two, as well, but Cassian please get off my sister we must leave soon. Rhys’s voice filled our minds and the two of us laughed as Cassian placed another kiss to her lips.

“I’ll be home before you’re able to miss me, General.” Estella whispered.

Cassian sighed and placed his head in the crook of her neck. “I always miss you, Stella.”

You Were Everything to Me

The human girl was hanging against the wall, her fear flooding her scent. This was the human girl that Rhys had found in Tamlin’s court. Estella had a hard time breathing. As the Attor unleashed another attack on the girl. Rhysand was standing by Amarantha, his face emotionless, and Estella wanted to scream to lash out, to save this girl from the torment. She wrapped her arms around herself, as the screams of the human girl rang out.

Estella released a whimper when a smooth warm hand gripped the female’s hip. The scent of Autumn leaves and cinnamon overtook her senses. His thumb rubbed a circle around her bare hip. “Come to my chambers tonight, Little Viper.” Eris breath grazed her pointed ear.

Estella gritted her teeth, fighting away the tears as the sound of the broken screams rang in her ears while the Attor continued his torment, “Why? Why do you insist on tormenting me, Eris? Mor wasn’t enough for you?”

Eris’ hand stilled, his nose grazed her skin, and her heart raced. “What do you know about that day, really, My Little Viper?” He held her close to him, “I expect you in my chambers when this is done, Estella. I mean, immediately after, no getting those cute little concoctions from your cell first. Or I may let our High Queen know about what you like to do to the males who request your services.” He gripped her hip tighter than her and smirked as a spark of arousal flooded her. The feeling singed away when he removed his hand, and Estella reluctantly missed the comfort of his touch, as the human girl gave out a gurgled scream, causing the young female’s blood to run cold.

Hours of torment and Estella knew that those screams would haunt her forever. Her bare feet padded through the halls as an Autumn court sentinel led her to the Heir of Autumn’s chambers. When they reached the door Estella bowed her head, “Thank you.” She whispered and knocked on the door.

“Enter,” Eris’s voice muffled. The raven-haired beauty stepped inside, the red gown with a blunging neckline swished at her feet. “Hello, Viper.”

“Prick.” She retorted; her sharp blue eyes met his copper liked ones. “Let’s get this over with.” She began to pull the straps of her gown down when Eris raised his hand.

“I have no interest in sleeping with you Viper.” Eris rose from his chair; his orange vest lay over top his white tunic hugging his frame. His tanned pants tucked into his brown boots that looked as though they were recently shined. His red hair pulled halfway, and Estella couldn’t deny that he was the most beautiful man she had ever encountered, but he was a wild card and lethal and made Estella’s heartbeat erratically when he closed the distance between them. “I would like to keep my life intact thank you.”

Estella swallowed and her voice low, “Then what do you want with me, Princeling?”

Eris didn’t answer, instead his hands gripped hers and he pulled her into an embrace. The female blinked as Eris gripped her tightly. The kind gesture so foreign to her from anyone other than her brother in 50 years and the emotions erupted in her. She gripped the back of his vest and buried her face in his chest and erupted into sobs. Estella had no idea why he was doing this, or how he knew she needed this, but for this moment she allowed herself the comfort of letting out a half a century worth of feelings into his chest. As Eris rested his head atop hers, hand stroking her dark hair. His other hand rubbing her back almost soothingly.

After a few moments Eris picked her upholding her knees and her back and walked her over to the bed and he leaned against the headboard as the Princess of the Night Court sobbed into the chest of the Prince of the Autumn Court. The latter whispered soothing words in her ear and warmed his hands as an extra comfort for the Princess until exhaustion took over and the viper fell asleep in the arms of the fox.

Part 2

Story Tags: @milswrites @eve175 @melsunshine @believinghurts @awkardnerd @historygeekqueen @mischiefmanagers @mybestfriendmademe @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @glitterypirateduck @littlestw01f @mal-adaptive-dreams @lilah-asteria @hellodarling1357

#cassian x reader #cassian acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #cassian imagine #cassian fanfic #cassian x oc #rhysand sister #eris vanserra #eris acosf #eris x oc #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris vanserra acotar #Spotify

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conduitandconjurer · 2 years ago

Photo

This makes me happy because he’s so beautiful, and because he’s so glad to spend time with any version of his brother.

It makes me sad because o the fatalistic connotations of relapse at the end of the universe and because he is so good at looking on the nihilistically cheerful bright side of things, which connotes many many years of relentless and merciless practice.

That was some night.

#Show Me My Silver Lining (Self)

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flamebringer0 · 1 year ago

Text

About Nightwing Powers

Wow it turns out you can attach titles to posts, awesome. I will now make another post.

It always drove me kind of crazy how Nightwing powers are presented in canon. I think it drives a lot of people crazy because I've seen more than one person's headcanon adjustments to them. So here is my contribution to that genre.

Some Nightwings have perceptual abilities that other dragons -- other Nightwings and members of other tribes -- lack. One is the ability to read minds, the other is the ability to see the future.

All Nightwings develop both future sight and mind reading in the egg. The mind of a fetus can't integrate any of this information, and most will lose both abilities long before learning to understand what they mean. The dragonet's third eye closes, so to speak, within hours after hatching, and will stay that way for the rest of their life. For unclear reasons, the loss of these abilities is prevented by exposure to the light of a full moon immediately after hatching.

Nightwings always hatch at night, at least if the eggs are exposed to the sky. Those who hatch under a full moon retain the ability either to read minds or see the future, whereas those who hatch under two or three full moons retain both. The presence of these abilities also causes the development of silver scales on the face. A mind reader has a silver scale at the outer corner of each eye, whereas a prophet has a silver scale in the center of the forehead.

[Image ID: Two simplistic line drawings of a dragon's head. These drawings are identical with each other aside from the placement of specific scales, which are highlighted in white. The left drawing is labeled "mind reading" and shows two crescent-shaped scales at the corners of the dragon's eyes. The right drawing is labeled "prophecy" and shows an eye-shaped scale in the center of the dragon's forehead. /.End ID]

The appearance of the silver scales correlates with the strength of the ability. A larger, rounder scale indicates greater power.

[Image ID: Five simplistic line drawings of a dragon's head. These drawings are identical with each other, and with the drawings in the previous image, except in the placement of specific scales. The first drawing is labeled "Starflight" and has no highlighted scales. The second is labeled "Fatespeaker" and has two crescent shaped scales near the eyes. These scales are very thin, much thinner than those of the drawing that was labeled "mind reading". The third is labeled "Clearsight" and has a single scale in the center of the forehead. This scale is large and perfectly round. The fourth is labeled "Moonwatcher" and has three scales: two at the corners of the eyes, and one in the center of the forehead. These scales are shaped identically to those of the "mind reading" and "prophecy" drawings from the previous image. The last drawing is labeled "Darkstalker" and has three scales: two at the corners of the eyes, and one in the center of the forehead. All of these scales are large and perfectly round. /.End ID]

A dragon hatched under three full moons inevitably has the most powerful prophecy and mind reading. Other than that, it's unclear what exactly makes the abilities of one Nightwing stronger than those of another.

Raw power isn't the whole story, though. Clearsight is the greatest prophet of all time, but she isn't the most powerful prophet of all time (or even the most powerful in her immediate friend group). It just turns out that a dragon who diligently works on her abilities will have a certain advantage over one who believes he is already the most powerful and has an inevitable destiny.

It may not be immediately obvious what it would mean for someone to be "more" or "less" powerful at mind reading or prophecy, but there are two relevant metrics: clarity, and control. I think the names are self-explanatory, but just in case, here's a metaphor. If you imagine Nightwing powers as a flashlight shining into a dark room, clarity is the brightness of the bulb, and control is how easily one can direct the beam. These metrics are not really independent: weakly empowered Nightwings will be weak in both aspects, and strongly empowered Nightwings will be strong in both aspects. For those in the middle, who make up the majority, clarity is more developed than control.

The strongest prophets can direct their vision down many different paths, examining the futures that cascade out of intricate chains of decisions, possibly centuries into the future. The weakest prophets have occasional, muddled impressions that a certain decision in their immediate future might lead to something good or bad. In between are the average prophets, who have clear visions, but little ability to control when they occur or what they are about.

Similarly, the strongest mind readers can root around in another dragon's mind and examine any fact, belief or memory they're interested in, whereas the weakest may have a vague impression of the most immediate, intense feelings of whomever they're around. Average mind readers can clearly read the surface thoughts of other dragons, but can't probe arbitrary mental structures without somehow activating them -- by inducing the target to actively reminisce about a memory or some such thing.

In the old days, back when Nightwings understood where their powers came from, it was quite common for ambitious parents to try to time the conception of their eggs so that they would hatch under the full moon(s). For a single full moon, this is almost pointless: the quickest of the three moons cycles through its phases in just a few weeks, and the variation in the incubation period for a Nightwing egg is great enough that it can't be reliably timed to any specific moon phase. For two and three moon nights, this practice is more meaningful, but only in the very general sense that someone who doesn't conceive an egg roughly a year before the brightest night definitely won't have any thrice-moonborn dragonets, whereas someone who does, might.

Some seers would also offer advice about how to do this. For the most part, this advice was snake oil; only the most powerful seers could decide to have a vision about a particular egg's future. Even among the few who could, it would be extremely difficult to see and articulate all the subtle factors that lead an egg to hatch after a longer or shorter incubation, and most of them would be far outside the ability of the parents to really control anyway.

More unscrupulous parents would occasionally try to break an egg open under the full moons, regardless of whether the dragonet was ready to hatch on their own. This practice has never been successful, as hatching in this way disrupts the delicate developmental process needed for the dragonet to retain their power. It is also quite dangerous, and many of the dragonets who were subject to this simply died.

Foeslayer and Arctic didn't do any of this, incidentally. They just got lucky. Or they got unlucky. Depending on which of them you ask.

Speaking of Foeslayer and Arctic's kids, Whiteout has both Nightwing powers. It's not because she hatched one day after the brightest night, though. Hatching a day after a full moon doesn't grant any power. It's actually a manifestation of synesthesia. Synesthesia causes sensory modalities that are unrelated in most people to correlate in a specific way. Whiteout, like all Nightwings who hatched under no full moons, lost direct access to her abilities shortly after hatching. However, she's still able to use them indirectly via synesthetic influence on her other senses. This is why she describes Clearsight as "azure on the inside": to her, Clearsight's thought patterns are azure in a fairly literal sense.

Another Nightwing whose power manifests in an unusual way is Flame. I mean, Flame isn't actually a Nightwing, but he has a semi-recent Nightwing ancestor. That's why he has a forked tongue, unlike other Skywings, and why he has darker scales than any other Skywing. And he hatched under a full moon, so he can read minds. But since his Nightwing ancestry is slight, his power is extremely weak. It's so weak that he has never become consciously aware of it, and most of the time, it doesn't really affect anything. But if someone thinks really hard about him, he senses it. This is why he's the only dragon Moon has ever met who can tell when someone's looking into his mind. It's a very weak form of the same two-way communication she uses to talk to Darkstalker.

In the year 5000, Nightwings have largely lost access to their powers, since they no longer allow their eggs to hatch under the moonlight. Contrary to what Moon thinks, this isn't because they're afraid of hatching another Darkstalker. After all, if it were specifically desired to avoid hatching eggs under the full moons, we would expect to see some kind of active prohibition, or at least some sort of legend about the terrible consequences of doing so. What actually happened is that the Nightwings' new home prevented them from hatching eggs in moonlight, and after a few generations with no mind readers and no prophets, the dragons started to believe their own abilities were legendary or allegorical.

Despite the Nightwings' present powerlessness, belief in their abilities persists. The Nightwings encourage these rumors, and also train their dragonets to imitate the power they lack. This training mostly consists of cold reading and theatrics, not unlike the techniques human con artists use to simulate psychic powers. However, they also leverage the one sensory ability that Nightwings still have over all* other dragons: an extremely strong sense of smell. Most dragons are aware that Nightwings smell better than members of other tribes, but they don't grasp that they may leak private information through subtle odors that only Nightwings can perceive. By examining the smell of another dragon's body, modern Nightwing "seers" and "mind readers" deduce information in a way that is easily mistaken for magic by the uninitiated.

Darkstalker is highly scandalised by this practice when he wakes up, not least because he has an Icewing-tier nose and can't do it.

Now that Nightwings are living in the rainforest, it's likely that their extrasensory abilities will start to become more common again. Unfortunately, their only connection to the ancient techniques for controlling those abilities turned out to be evil and was sent to gay baby jail. It will likely fall on Moonwatcher to begin the process of re-developing these practices and teaching them to a new generation of Nightwing dragonets.

*Actually, Seawings can smell nearly as well. But only underwater.

#ok i think that's all the thoughts i had about that #turned out to be more than i expected honestly #wings of fire #wof #wof headcanon #headcanon #wof nightwing #nightwing #wof clearsight #clearsight #wof darkstalker #darkstalker #wof whiteout #whiteout #wof moonwatcher #moonwatcher #wof flame #flame

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