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kwillow · 3 months

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People are too nice to me and send me so many intriguing and prescient questions and scenarios about my imaginary friends. Some of these I would have a hard time responding to with drawings, so I've gotta just use my words (SO MANY WORDS) instead!

So, for all interested parties, in response to those questions, here come some LORE RAMBLES: THEO EDITION.

Asks and answers under the cut!

Thank you! “Strange but interesting” is what I aim for with him.

I don’t think I’ve talked about Theo’s voice before! To be honest, I often struggle to imagine precisely what my character’s voices are; the qualities of my mental performance for them varies from day to day. Still, I think with Theo I can formulate a description of some kind.

I imagine his voice to be on the higher end for a man, though not exaggeratedly so, along the tenor range. He can deepen his pitch purposefully to sound more imposing or masculine, but his voice tends to rise in pitch further and further when he’s tense, like a violin string on the verge of snapping. He speaks clearly and distinctly, sometimes to the point of almost biting off the ends of words rather than having them sloppily run into each other, and only rarely uses contractions. His voice has a slight nasal quality to it at times. When he’s angry, a bit of a rattling growl can edge the end of his words.

When he was young, he was a terrible stutterer. He made a concerted effort to train himself out of stuttering in his adolescent years, but he will still lapse into r-ruh-ruh-repeating his syllables if anxiousness gets the better of him and makes him forget to swallow those extra sounds.

He is an expressive speaker, far more so than he’d prefer. Like his pitch varies, so too does his volume, and he can swing from speaking so softly as to be almost inaudible to screaming with all the volume his lungs can muster in a moment. His cadence is full of exaggerated pauses for effect mixed with swift traipses through less important words said simply for the music of reciting them to himself; his conversational tone sounds more like a performer going through a soliloquy than casual speech. In large part, that’s because he’s had more pleasant experiences with theater than conversation.

As many have noticed, he has also a vocal tic. He makes nasally sounds and guttural grunts and growls involuntarily, more often when he’s nervous or upset about something. As he gets older and his body is less able to shrug off the effects of his little smoking habit, he wheezes and coughs in the middle of his sentences as well.

For most settings, I imagine him speaking in a highly affected Transatlantic accent, but in Amaranthine (which is what I assume people are asking about and what I’m defaulting to for these answers), his accent might be more typically British posh-y, like Received Pronunciation. Or maybe not, I mean, it’s a funny animal fantasy setting, so he could have any accent I like. :P

If you want auditory examples, I think something mixing the high-pitched, sibilant, nasally breathiness of Peter Lorre with the refined yet expressive voice of Vincent Price would get you pretty close to what I imagine. To break from the classic horror actor category, you can also throw in this animated series’ depiction of Doctor Octopus to add the all-important ingredient of “nerd factor” to his voice, haha.

He’s a bookworm, yes, but that means he likes to learn! In his case, he’s also someone who enjoys mastering (or at least getting competent at) new skills and is extremely likely to learn to do something well just because someone thinks he can’t. He also has the benefit of being kicked out of school and extremely unemployed, so for most of his life he had lots and lots of free time to take on all manner of niche hobbies if he so desired!

His drive to learn a new skill is motivated by a combination of practicality, gentlemanliness, a need to know how to handle his own business to have as little outside interference as possible or simple intellectual curiosity (which itself is often a cover for boyish whimsy about Cool Stuff). To give examples of practical skills he taught himself: most people probably wouldn’t expect him to be a good cook, but he learned to do that because his family lost their household staff, and someone had to figure out how to cook beef – and because he wanted to take better care of his mother after she fell ill. He’s a great seamster because he wanted to make alterations to his clothes to better fit his unusual proportions without suffering the indignity of being prodded and measured by some nosy tailor. Where he lives, engines are extremely uncommon, being used only for agriculture if at all, but if Theo did own his own automobile, he would learn how to fix the thing himself as best as he could because he wouldn’t want some stranger poking around in his precious baby. He does know how to repair basic clockwork mechanisms, though! (Even if he won’t fix his own pocket watch for weird sentimental reasons.) He taught himself to be ambidextrous purely because he worried about losing a hand in a freak accident one day. He never wants to be caught unprepared or feel like he can’t handle something on his own if he needs to.

For skills in the “oh but if I could do this it would be so cool – I MEAN GENTLEMANLY” camp… yeah, actually, he does like to fence. He might not be able to hold his own all that well against a trained opponent, partly just because of his own physical limitations, but he knows the footwork and he certainly enjoys fighting stationary enemies while role-playing in his head as a knight. (He would be exceedingly embarrassed if anyone knew that part.) He can dance – but only as half a pair – and play the piano – or at least the chords his fingers can reach. He makes model ships and is familiar with all their parts even though he’s never seen the ocean. He knows a fair bit about women’s fashion and could probably help a lady pick a flattering dress for a gala… if she didn’t mind dressing about decade out of style. He’s a fine marksman, though that does overlap with “practical skills” when you live in a world with monsters creeping around on the edges of towns. And that’s not even getting into his self-taught anatomy lessons! But maybe we shouldn’t get into that, for the sake of our stomachs.

I could keep rambling, but to summarize, Theo lacks worldly experience, but he is a curious little guy and has all kinds of weird skills rattling around in his skull. You never know what he’s gonna know! Except for anything involving successfully interacting with other people. He’s never going to know how to do that.

Theo is the sort of person who enjoys collecting things, in that he is often captivated by the history and sentimental value of objects that catch his eye, likes to have a little hoard he can lord over like a dragon, doesn’t see value in minimalism and is loath to get rid of anything he owns.

However, he’s a homebody who rarely traveled far from his hometown of Northcrest, a small and remote barony, and his family (and therefore he) did not have the kind of financial situation that allowed for many frivolous expenditures. Therefore, he cannot regularly obtain new items for his collections because he would quickly exhaust everything that caught his eye in his own town, and he would be wary of spending his family’s dwindling funds on something that only served to satisfy his own whims. If he were in different circumstances, able and willing to travel more broadly and possessing the kind of wealth that allowed him to fully indulge his fascinations, I’d imagine he’d have quite the collection of art, weapons, antique books, clothing, and other fineries. As it stands, he only rarely adds a new object to his own collections, and he instead contents his inner dragon by attempting to maintain and catalogue the acquisitions made by past Norths that have accrued in their manor over the generations. Still… a toy store in his town has made quite a profit off him by having new model trains in stock around his birthday and holidays.

I don’t think he’d be terribly enthused with an insect collection, regrettably. At least not a live one. Preserved, exotic kinds might at least hold the intrigue of far-off places, but something more mundane (and wrigglier) would repulse him more than fascinate him.

I’m going to say somewhere along the line between “absolutely not” and “it’s complicated.” Theo obviously gets fulfillment from looking after the people he cares about, and in Amaranthine, he’s been in a caregiver role for so long he takes a certain amount of comfort in it. Even so, if he somehow knew people thought that he “wants” the people he’s close with to fall ill, or have chronic poor health, he’d be horrified. Theo’s not exactly the most hale and hearty fellow himself (and he’s also made his health notably worse through the years via his own actions, good job on that bud), so he knows first-hand how miserable frequent illness is. He wouldn’t want someone to suffer through that. Also, witnessing his mother’s slow decline and death was harrowing for him, and part of why he flings himself into caring for Hyden is that he doesn’t want to see something like that again and is doing all he can to keep Hyden stable. It brings him comfort, but the stress of feeling responsible for someone’s health – and the stress of only being able to manage their symptoms and never fix the problem – takes a toll on him, too, even if he wouldn’t say so.

So, he wouldn’t blame a sickly partner for their condition, and he’d be willing to care for them and want to help them, but I don’t think he’d ever say he “wants” someone he cares about to be sick. Would he nonetheless be more likely to get close to someone sick versus someone well? Well, maybe. Theo has a bit of a dependent streak, not in that he needs someone to dote on him, but that he doesn’t feel like he has any worth in a relationship unless he can provide protection or assistance. But someone could easily satisfy his need to be needed in other ways, too. Like someone being clumsy and needing their clothes mended regularly, or having a deadbeat husband they need murdered, you know, stuff like that.

He doesn’t know much, and never cared to ask much either, like you imagine. He mostly just knows they’re not nobility, they do have some mage ancestry and ability, and beyond that aren’t important (according to Jocosa). Besides, as a history nerd, he has little interest in learning about his father’s side when his mother’s side has biographies, tapestries, records of badges and achievements and personal spellbooks in such great measure that he couldn’t hope to go through them all in his lifetime. Does Leonard’s side of the family have even one tapestry? No? How dull.

For his part, Leonard isn’t close to or fond of most of his family and isn’t very candid about his past life before becoming successful, so he was amenable to not talking much about his childhood or ancestry. He would prefer if Jocosa was similar restrained and didn’t extoll the virtues and history of her bloodline constantly, but alas, no. One of the consequences of marrying into snotty nobility, I suppose.

Oh, you’re on to something there! :)

Now, with someone like Theo, whose brain is a Gordian knot of congealing gray matter basting in a cerebral soup of self-deception, neuroticism, and concentrated hatred, it’s hard to point to one thing as the sole cause for any of his many issues. At the same time, I don’t want to just dump the entirety of Theo’s issues with his family and how they impact him psychologically because I worry that I could write a thousand words about it and still have five thousand more in me, and we all have other things to do with our time than read all that. That said, to briefly (ha) touch on what you’ve mentioned…

Many of Theo’s problems with intimacy, with needing to feel useful, with fearing connections with others, and so on do stem from his troubled family history. At least some of his self-loathing is borne from him, at a glance, looking more like the man he most despises instead of being the same long, slim, elegant creatures that form the roots and branches of his mother’s family tree. Although, the irony in that is that all the “bad” genetics that cause him grief and suffering come from his mother’s side – but he alternately blames the cruel gods and himself for being a freak, not his mother or grandpa or any of his weaselly ancestors for that.

It’s also true to say that Theo’s self-sacrificing and self-effacing acts of kindness towards his mother and to others he cares for are done in part to make up for the fact of his own existence. The fact that his beloved mother had to couple with a disgusting, loathsome, degrading, unfaithful cur of a man (have I mentioned Theo really hates his dad yet?) in order to bear him weighs heavily on his mind and warps his self-concept. As much as Theo knows his mother loves him, he also knows – and despises – that he if he’s his mother’s son, he’s also his father’s spawn.

Jocosa doesn’t talk at length about her problems to Theo, or anyone – she wouldn’t want to make Theo feel responsible for her woes and she isn’t the kind of woman to whine about her life’s tribulations besides – but Theo isn’t so ignorant that he can’t pick up on the tension in other’s conversations, read meaning into words left unsaid, or work backwards from what he is told to deduce the rotten truth behind what little he’s told. He knows that everything involving his conception was hard for her, even if she doesn’t say it, and he feels he needs to do everything in his power to make up for the suffering bringing him into existence put her through. ...And I could go on but I think that’s enough to get the picture for now. Have I mentioned I can write a lot of words about Theo??

I think Hyden would know better than to say something like that – out loud. Hyden does try to push Theo into a personal valet role. But Theo has his limits and Hyden is smart enough to not press them (too much, right away). Being referred to as a kind of servant is one of those limits that really pisses him off and would be a one-way ticket to not getting any more pillow fluffing. Also, for as much as he helps Hyden with daily tasks and provides whatever dotage he feels is required of him as an apprentice, caregiver or host, there are tasks a manservant would be responsible for that Theo categorically refuses to do (even though Hyden wishes he would).

I am greatly amused by the thought of someone trying to get a flower crown on Theo. I can’t imagine it’d ever go much better than people trying to put shirts on their cats. He just really doesn’t like situations wherein Stimulus I Have No Control Over Is Happening To Me.

He does tend to flip from fury to (relative) calm depending on the circumstance and the source of annoyance, so you’re spot-on with the variable reactions he could have to a floral intrusion. I would say he isn’t likely to use “witch” as an insult for the same reason as he wouldn’t use “harpy” or “ice queen” as an insult, which is that any kind of derogatory comment his mother was ever called might as well be a compliment in his books. “Harlot” is completely fair game, though.

Thanks a bunch for the kind words on my weird rat guy. So happy you like him!

(Also “dark fantasy rose type flower” made me laugh. God. He’s such an edgelord. Emphasis on the “lord”, with a title and arms and everything.)

Glad you like seeing him! I guess one of the benefits of me not getting particularly exotic with the colors or markings on my furry designs is that you can find associations to actual animals like this! I hope your pet rat had a better temperament than Theo does, though.

…Which sounds a little stupid considering quite a lot of these answers involved me talking at length about Theo being sad and self-sacrificing and crap like that. I swear to God he’s a nasty little bitchboy most of the time. I need to draw him biting someone on the face or insulting someone for being poor or eating someone’s eyeball or something again to balance the scales here.

Note to self.

#WHO WANTS TO READ 2800 WORDS ABOUT THEO?? WAIT COME BACK #i wrote this joke about anonymous letters but actually looking at these -#like half of them were actually sent by people non-anonymously #YOU ARE ALL SO BRAVE #also sorry to those of you who sent in asks months or years ago who either are in this or are worse AREN'T...#i do have plans for the asks I get but well #timeliness is not one of my skills #my draws #doodles #asks #theo #amaranthine

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magpigment · 8 months

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the thematic parallels of martyn picking his battles and staying out of certain conflicts/having the upper hand because he listens in on conversations compulsively and frequently, versus grian getting INTO conflicts and battles and shenanigans because he can’t help but watch constantly and usually gets caught, and when he doesn’t get caught he ends up meddling anyway and causing even more chaos.

fundamentally, martyn does joke around, he does things for the hell of it, but ultimately he always has some plan, is always wary, and is willing to do whatever it takes to see the games through to the end; his goal is just making it out, no matter the cost. martyn only listens as a means to an end- he’s more than capable of surviving in other ways, as he’s proven by being one of the last four players on the server the past Three Life Games, but he’s compelled to listen, to play it safe, to be underestimated. martyn doesn’t really care about any of his allies, not truly. he’d betray most in a heartbeat, honestly, if we don’t count ren. and even then, if it came down to either martyn or ren, while martyn would pick himself any day, ren is the one ally i think he truly, deeply cared about. it’s a life or death situation, and martyn treats it as such, picking his loyalties but never dying for them.

grian, however, does what is interesting, what is appealing; a lot of what he does is a performance, progressing the plot; he’s both the consumer and the producer of the entertainment. grian loves watching, it’s a part of who he is, but he loves playing the game for what it is, loves influencing the outcome, far more. grian treats the world like the game it is, but his loyalties run deep

martyn the listener trying to survive v grian the watcher in it for the ride.

#dandy talks #trafficblr #traffic smp #this is very half baked and not entirely finished but i wrote this very late at night several months ago and just remembered it #hope this makes some sort of sense tho lol #life smp grian #life smp martyn #martyn itlw #grian #watcher grian #listener martyn #dandy writes

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poewriteslemon · 1 year

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First time with Knives

Summary: You let your demons win and decide to ask Knives if you can sit on his lap, curiosity takes over Knives and some smut ensues

Content: no established relationship, both are virgins, Knives is pretty nice here but will be his usual self in the second part (if I finish that...), reader is female, reader is an overthinker, pet name (Knives calling you good girl & slut, reader calling him master) Only finguring, Like 1.5k words long?

A/N: first time writing smut! I'm sorry if it's not too great <'3 also this is super self indulgent, I only made this for myself but since there's so little Knives smut in here...I must share

NSFW warning!

You've been wondering for a while, how does it feel to be on master Knives lap? To feel his heartbeat, to feel his warmth- or lack of- to have his strong arms around your delicate body. This question has bugged you for weeks, and it was starting to become more of a need than a want. The more time passed, the more you couldn't ignore it and today you finally decided to figure out what would be his reaction.

"Knives?" You quietly muttered in a room with nothing but the empty piano that you're so used to seeing be played by the man that has captivated your heart. It felt odd being here without Knives around, almost as invading his privacy, but curiosity got the better of you as you made your way to the piano, your fingers gently brushing over the tips of the keys, too scared to actually play any notes to alert the master.

"Y/N?" But there it was, the familiar voice that always made your body jump. You quickly turn around and place your arms behind your back. "Knives! I'm sorry I didn't mean to touch it..." You tried to explain yourself but he only walked towards you, his expression was hard to read under his coat, you could only hope he wasn't angry at you. "Why were you here?" He asks in a softer tone, genuinely confused which makes you sigh in relief, thankfuly this won't be your last day on this planet. “Um..I was actually looking for you.” You admitted, lowering your face to avoid eye contact at all cost.

“Did something happen?”

“No- actually,” You start, taking a moment to collect yourself, finally meeting his eye. “Can we go to your room?” You manage to blur out, a little more enthusiastically than you wanted to. He’s taken it back a little by your honesty, he scratches the back of his head questioning if he should even let you in, and what could be so important that it needs to be talked about privately, but seeing you anxiously wait for an answer makes him give in, he turns around and waves for you to follow him. You smile as you excitedly walk alongside him.

You enter the room, and suddenly all of your anxieties come crashing on you as soon as you realize what you truly wanted. You gulped as your hands fidgeted with each other, how do you tell Knives- basically your master- you want to sit on his lap? And so much more than that?? Your thinking gets interrupted when he points to the bed for you to sit, your heart suddenly begins to beat louder and louder as you feel your chest build a twisted knot. Is now a good time? I shouldn't do it- but when else should I?? Wouldn't he kill me if I even mention this? You tried to speak but words wouldn't come out- “I want to sit on your lap!” ...okay well maybe you just needed your lust to take over your rationality.

His eyes widen as he stares at you, lost entirely for words. “W-what? Why?” He manages to say through the confusion, you cover your mouth as your cheeks heat up- oh my god you dumbass- “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say it like that! I’m just…curious” You wish god would just strike you down with lightning already. He takes a moment to think and the room goes uncomfortably quiet, until he sighs and removes his coat, showing his muscular build, has his arms always been that big? And his hands…your mind trails off, losing focus on anything else besides his body. Knives sits on the bed, reaching out his hand to you “Come here.” Your heart feels like it could leap outside of your body, it was almost paralyzing but you still manage to sit on top of his lap, feeling as though you were seconds away from melting away.

Your eyesight gets slightly blurry as your brain- no, your body tries to process any of this. “Is that what you wanted?” He asks, not seeing any point in this, you could only nod in response, thanking god he can't see your immensely flustered face. He scoffs in response and places his arms around you. “You humans are so odd- what's the point of something so…” He says, suddenly stopping as he stares at your tiny body compared to his, your gentle hands becoming a nervous mess, your knees slightly rubbing against each other, your breathing, and your heartbeat so close, how your body felt against his…why did it bring his attention now? “Master?” You question, making him focus again. “You’re the most confusing human I've met, I could never figure you out.” He states, never removing his eyesight from your body. You can’t bring yourself to say anything besides an awkward laugh.

The room goes silent, all you can hear is your own heartbeat. It feels awkward- or are you the only one seeing this awkward? No it most definitely isn’t just you- You continue to overthink everything about this situation but a sudden touch in your leg makes you gasp quietly, looking down to see his big hand caress you, drawing circles in your leg. Oh god oh god…. Your breathing becomes sharper, your eyes somehow losing all focus yet still stare intently to his hand. Knives didn’t know why, but your small body being so near to his…it made him curious. He moves his hands on your upper thighs to see your reaction, another gasp comes out of you, interesting. He pushes on, moving to your inner thigh, every slight touch would make your body quiver in response and beg for more, your legs spread wider as your breathing was no longer trying to hide your lust as it turned more into quiet panting.

"Knives…" you murmured under your breath, turning your head to face him but you can't bring yourself to see his eyes. He tilts his head to try and see your expression, he wants to see your cute face as you melt under his touches, he wants to see what makes you excited and what doesn't, he wants to see you, but you look away before giving him that chance. He grunts silently, moving his hand closer and closer to your sensitive area but he stops entirely, making you almost look at him- but you can't, it's too embarrassing. His other hand touches your belly over your clothes, you bite back a moan as his long finger gently makes his way to your chest, and then your nipple that was showing through your shirt. He begins rubbing circles again, this time a moan comes out, you want him to just hurry up and put his dick inside you, but gosh this felt so fucking good, you couldn't complain. He stops, now putting his hand behind the shirt and touching your warm body, making your whole body tremble, every small touch felt like heaven to you. His other hand still hasn't gotten there yet, and your hips became desperate as you started thrusting a little, hoping something would make your aching body feel something, but there's nothing there. "What do you want me to do?" He whispers into your ear, almost taking a bite but he resists his urges, you gulped and tried to speak but nothing but quiet moans came out, you could barely focus at all and he didn't like your silence at all, so he began to finally touch your aching are, but only slightly over your panties, it could barely be called a touch. "Knives…" you moaned trying to get him to touch you, to fuck you, but he doesn't do it. You couldn't take it anymore "Please…" you beg, but he still doesn't do anything. "Say what you want." You hesitated, but you knew you had to swallow your pride and just say it. "Touch me more..fuck me already please.." You blurred out in between your desperate panting, he smirks to himself, placing a quick kiss on your neck "Good girl."

He finally begins rubbing your pussy, it's slow and nowhere near enough for you, but you still exhale in relief. For someone who's never had sex before, he sure knew how to use his fingers. He used two fingers to rub your area, the rest to touch the surroundings, after a bit, he lifts up his hand and shows you his thick, yet delicate fingers. "You're already this wet, huh? You've been thinking about this for a while haven't you?" He teases, you shake your head no but we all know better than that. He removes your soaked panties to the side, taking a moment to himself. Fuck that's hot, he thinks before he begins to rub your clit with one finger, you loudly moan at the cold surface hitting your warm inside, grabbing his arm to calm down your pleasure, it didn't work. "Wait-" you tried to say more but the sudden thick finger pushing in made your head jolt back with a loud moan, your eyes started to get watery and your body wouldn't stop shaking. "Do you like that? Or would you prefer…" He inserts another finger in, they both push in and out of your wet pussy, making lewd noises that covered the room, it was embarrassing to hear but it made you so desperate to hear more, especially from him. Your hips moved accordingly with his fingers entering you, making loud noises as the two clashed between each other, your mouth drooled as tears began to fall, his hands never stopping from touching their respective areas. "Faster.." You commanded but he didn't obey, he stopped touching your nipple and turned your head to finally see him "I'm the master here, not you." Suddenly his lips meet yours, if you weren't already feeling dizzy then that definitely changed now. You wanted both his hand and tongue deeper and deeper, you wanted him to touch your g-spot, to make you see the stars from so much lust, you wanted the man you loved to turn you into a complete mess.

The kiss was sloppy but you never moved away, even when you needed to catch your breath. He pushes you away for a moment when he realizes so, you gasped loudly as a string of saliva connects the two of you. You could hear his breathing now become less controlled, his pacing becomes faster, you grab his arm tighter and your mix of moaning and panting echoes through the room. You begin to cry at how overwhelming it all feels. "I'm going to cum-" you groaned as you could feel it build up from inside you, he kisses you again, this time using more of his tongue, never once wanting to leave you as his fingers fuck you harsher and faster, he let's out a small groan at the sight of your quivering body, such an adorable human now looks like a total slut. "Knives!" You screamed, your back arching back as you could feel the inside of you get full with your orgasm, you kept gasping for air and your body gave in, he never removed his hand till you came down from your high. He kisses your neck once more, his other hand that has been touching your chest moves to remove your tears. You rest your head on him and your panting turns into breathing again. "Fuck…" you whispered, he stops kissing your neck and finally removes his now slimy hand from inside you, he let's out a quiet moan in between your neck, did this really just happened?

You turned your body around and placed your hands on his chest, your breathing now becoming normal but your eyes were full of pure lust. He didn't fully show it, but fuck he was hard, who wouldn't be after their first time with someone as cute as you "Please..I want you inside of me" You beg, legs still trembling but needing more, and how could he ever deny such a beauty of her wishes.

#i wrote this like a month ago- i never finished the second half but if this gets some attention ill get around to it!#please give me any feedback since this was the first time i wrote stuff like this! id highly appreciate it!#Trigun smut #million knives smut #million knives fanfic #trigun fanfics #smut #million knives

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themeganator5000 · 7 months

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Ayo, who ordered the 4k smut fic for the 40-year-old yaoi ship?? 🛎️👋👩‍🍳

#hope y’all are hungry!! i know i am! (<- she hasn’t eaten dinner yet bc she’s been editing this fic)#discworld #rinceflower #rincewind #twoflower #the color of magic #the light fantastic #the luggage #i can’t believe i just started reading this series a month ago and i’ve already written a whole smut fic #i’m so proud of myself 🥹#it’s been toooo long since i wrote some good ol’ fashioned hanky-panky <3 #my writing #anyway this was a blast and a half and i hope i can write more discworld stuff in the future!!#i got the whole series ahead of me so i’ll be here for a while 🥰

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achaotichuman · 5 months

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Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra

Hello Everyone! Once again I find myself bored with nothing to do, so here is a super angsty Tamcien oneshot!

*Trigger warning- Non-Explicit Mature Content.*

Summary- He smiled, for the first time in what felt like centuries, he smiled, "We don't have any music."

Lucien smiled back, he smiled back and it was the most beautiful smile Tamlin had ever or would ever see, "We'll make our own."

A snippet of what occurred UTM before Feyre came back to save Prythian. Tamlin misses the sun, when he sees Lucien again for the first time in weeks, he realizes his sun was Under the Mountain with him all along.

“You can’t mope here forever.” Rhysand drawled.

“I can definitely try.” Tamlin snapped back, drinking from the glass of faery wine in his hand. Rhysand eyed it curiously, no doubt wondering how much Tamlin had already drunk. Tamlin didn’t know or care, he hadn’t been counting.

The Dark Lord waved away the guards stationed near Tamlin. They all glanced at each other and narrowed their eyes at Rhysand, wondering whether or not he had any actual authority over them. Rhysand drew up a sliver of darkness and they all scurried away.

Several guards were always stationed to watch him. Fine, Tamlin could easily deal with that. Remain faceless, emotionless, tune out everything. Forget himself. Forget what he used to be above these caverns. He wasn’t anything anymore, he was fine with that. The stone sitting in his chest was heavier than ever, it was the only thing he felt anymore. The scraping of his lungs, the strange weight that wouldn’t leave, everything else was numb except for that.

Fine. The numbness just made the days go by faster.

“Why are you here, Rhysand?” Tamlin seethed, he already had to see the male almost every night and morning, why did he have to pester the Spring Lord any more?

“Bored.” Rhysand sighed. Sitting down on the large lounge out of the way of the party. Most of the time Tamlin was beside Amarantha on her throne, tonight she had allowed him a slight of freedom. He took it. He knew it wasn’t real freedom, but he’d play into her games, what did he have to lose?

“Then go annoy the guards… or Tarquin.” Tamlin added as an afterthought. The Summer Lord himself looked quite bored where he stood amongst his small entourage.

Rhysand breathed a cruel, wicked laugh, “Already done that.”

Tamlin breathed in. The sweet scent of early morning dew and rich starlight drowned out the wine in his hand. At first the smell had disgusted him, especially with how he had to be so close to him. Now he had learned to not let it get to him. How to be numb to it.

“Where’s your little emissary? I haven’t had the pleasure of tormenting him yet.” Rhysand said. His arms sliding along the back of the lounge.

Tamlin whipped his eyes back around to Rhysand’s face, where a smug smile now rested.

Lucien…

Tamlin hadn’t seen him in days.

If the world Under the Mountain was a spinning haze, Lucien was the one thing that made it stop. A reminder of home that Tamlin couldn’t put away from his mind. The last thread of his sanity.

He had tried to rid his mind of that fiery red hair, but he couldn’t. He found himself clinging onto Lucien’s memory like a life-line.

And he hadn’t seen him in so long.

“I don’t know.” Tamlin answered honestly, what was the point in lying when Rhysand would always get what he wanted in the end.

“Why not?” Rhysand pushed, that smug smile growing. Tamlin wanted to slap it off him.

“Don't know if you’ve noticed, Rhysand, but I don’t exactly have the power to look for him.”

“Right.” Rhysand murmured, there was a sharp look in his eye. A glint of danger and sadistic joy. Tamlin was stuck down here with him. The Night Lord loved to rub it in every now and again.

Tamlin felt a thrum of power dance under the surface of his skin. He glanced up at the stone carved throne that Amarantha lounged upon. Looking so at peace. Smiling as she looked down upon the kingdom she had taken, stolen.

She was a thief. A lying, two-timing, backstabbing thief. Not a Queen. Not his Queen. Not above him.

But she was. Tamlin looked away from Rhysand’s gaze. The look in his eyes that said, ‘I may have lost but so did you.’

He was right. She won. She ruled him now. He was no High lord in her eyes. A slave at her feet. No better than the mortals when Fae ruled them.

Rhysand’s eyes glazed over his form. Staring down and at his chest, then leering at his crotch. Tamlin didn’t need to be a Daemati to know he was remembering their times before they fell apart.

The times Rhysand had taken him apart at the seams. Wrung orgasm after orgasm out of him. Made him forget his own name. Touched him in a way no one else ever had.

Rhysand let his tongue slide over his bottom lip. Tamlin remembered the look of hunger and pleasure in the older male’s eyes when the then Spring Prince had sucked him off. Taking his cock again and again.

Tamlin closed his eyes. Drinking the rest of his wine.

He felt Rhysand drag a finger down the curve of his shoulder. Tamlin didn’t open his eyes as Rhysand leaned over, that hand sliding down his chest, and said, “We’re both monsters Tamlin, you and I. She’s caged us like animals.”

Tamlin still didn’t open his eyes as he felt the barest brush of Rhysand’s lips, grazing the tip of his ear, whispering in a low sultry voice that once upon a time, Tamlin would’ve fought and died for. The voice of his once friend, “You and I belong in a cage for what we are. She knows that.”

“No.” Tamlin whispered back, watching lights swim behind the darkness of his eyelids.

“Yes.”

Tamlin forced himself to open his eyes, and look at Rhysand. Really look at him.

His eyes held a deep kind of danger and cruelty, something that set off your fight or flight sense. Something that rendered you powerless when under his gaze. You couldn’t run from Rhysand. You couldn’t fight him either. He was a kind of chaos and danger that you could try over and over to kill, but he’d always return.

Rhysand always came back.

Tamlin knew that before they fell apart, and he knew that now.

Rhysand was living, breathing darkness. The embodiment of something strange and evil.

Maybe that was why Tamlin was always drawn to him. Once upon a time he had been curious, now he was angry. But no matter what, he was always drawn back to Rhys.

“I am nothing like you.” Tamlin strained to keep his voice low and emotionless.

Surprise wretched through the anger that made his heartbeat faster. His body for once wasn’t numb, but alight with energy.

Rhysand knew that, he smiled so wickedly. “No, not yet.”

Yet.

“Tamlin.” A voice slithered into his mind. Amarantha. He looked up to see her deep brown eyes locked in on him. Slanted and cunning. Watching, observing. He looked back at Rhysand who was smiling and staring at him, he knew what she was doing.

“Yes, my Queen,” He answered.

“Do keep your thoughts down, you think so loudly, be quiet and don’t make such a fuss over there.”

Rhysand had been sending their conversation to her. The thought made him sick. Of course he was. Get him to say something treasonous, even think it and Rhysand might get to punish him. Might get to see him suffer more.

Tamlin wanted to run away, wanted to vomit.

Rhysand would force him to keep his mind. Keep his fire. Wouldn’t let him be numb to the pain. He’d set him alight again and again, keep the flame from going out.

Afterall, you couldn’t bring pain to something that was numb.

He wanted to squeeze every drop of suffering from Tamlin. He wanted to make Tamlin pay for the fifty years he had already endured.

“Since you don’t know the whereabouts of your little fox, I’ll tell you.” Rhysand sneered, “He’s running about the upper floors of the Mountain. Perhaps you should go see him.”

Rhysand then got up and started to slink away. Tamlin blinked at him, he looked around to see no guards coming back to watch him.

“Why?” Tamlin whispered.

Anyone else wouldn’t have heard it, but Rhysand did, Rhysand was in his head.

“So that you don’t break before I want you to.”

Seething rage coursed through Tamlin and begged to smash something. To tear something apart. To make Rhysand hurt.

They were dangling Lucien in front of him. Using him like a pawn. Like a toy used to keep Tamlin in line. And sane for as long as they wanted him to be sane.

And it worked… Oh fucking hell it worked.

Tamlin got up and followed their game. Did what they wanted him to do. Crawl back to the last light in his life. In some desperate attempt to protect the last person he had.

The Spring Lord stood up, he hastily walked through the party, shoving some people away. They all glared and whispered.

He opened a small door off to the side, before he went through the dark tunnels, he glanced back over his shoulder.

Amarantha smiled at him, her eyes pinning him to the floor, she whispered in his mind, “You are mine, Tamlin. I’m all you have and I’m all you deserve.”

Tamlin left the throne room. Closing the door behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut and took in a breath, waiting until the two presences in his mind left.

Then he took off running down the looming corridor.

The halls of the Mountain caged in on him. The darkness whispered and sung. Tendrils drifted through the stone. Wispy hand-like things tried to consume him.

Amarantha wouldn’t let him go.

He belonged to her now. Every inch of him, soul and mind.

Rhysand may not get to leave the Mountain. May have no way out anymore, but he’d still get something back, he’d make Tamlin pay for all the years he served her. If he couldn’t make anyone else pay.

Tamlin stumbled around a corner, nearly smacking into the stone wall. It loomed high above him and caged him in. There was only darkness. Only darkness. Dark, cold, cruelty filled every crack and crevice of this place.

There was no getting out anymore.

It was over.

They had lost.

Someone slammed into him, and Tamlin fell to the ground. He immediately scrambled back up, hackles up and trying to peer through the darkness. Someone had come out for him. Why would Amarantha let him leave her sight? Of course they had sent someone out.

“Hey now, no need to kill me.” A smooth, silver-lined tongue said.

Tamlin’s heart began to quicken, but no longer with fear.

He blinked away the dark fuzzy haze. Finally he saw the metal eye Dawn had given his friend after Amarantha stole it. Lucien stood just before him, dusting himself off.

Tamlin could only stare at him. Lucien flicked his fingers and a small flame appeared in the palm of his hand, lighting up the hallway.

Even after all that had happened. Lucien was still so beautiful. His red hair had been pulled back into a loose braid. His skin was far paler now, but Tamlin could still map the freckles on his face and down his neck, disappearing under his shirt. The scar that ran down his face, framing the metal eye that now resided in his socket were like shattered glass, something sharp that stands out, but still so beautiful. Even if the mask on his face hid most of it. Tamlin could still remember exactly where everything on his face went. How it was put together, where each piece was, like a puzzle he would never stop loving putting together.

Tamlin wanted to tell him. Wanted to say just how beautiful he thought Lucien was, but he could only manage a half-whispered, “You’re hair is longer.”

Lucien blinked at him once, then twice. Then he huffed a laugh, a smile curving on his face, “That is what happens when you don’t cut your hair, Tam.”

It was the same as before. Lucien was still the same as before. Before they were taken under here. Before they were cursed. Before any of this happened. Lucien remained the same.

Tamlin knew things about Lucien had been lost. He knew that very well, he saw it in himself. When he looked in the mirror and couldn’t recognise his image, he knew things had changed.

At least Lucien still kept his sly fox tongue, and silvery voice.

At least some things hadn't changed.

“Lucien.” Tamlin rasped.

Lucien smiled, he knew.

Lucien pulled Tamlin into his arms and held him tightly, the flame in his hand going out and leaving them in darkness. He knew. He always knew. He knew exactly what was going down. He knew how Amarantha taunted and caged him, he knew that Rhysand was punishing him for his own fate.

Tamlin wrapped his arms around his best friend. He buried his face in the crook of his neck, holding him tightly like he might disappear. The coldness of the Mountain seeping in like a morning mist settling over his skin, slowly saturating his clothing, then his skin. Tamlin tried to push it all out by holding onto the only warmth left in this place.

Lucien swayed them from side to side. Pressing his face into Tamlin’s hair, his mouth against the shell of his ear. Everything about Lucien was so warm and bright and kind. Tamlin felt infected compared to him. Amarantha’s hold tainting him, the memory of his time with Rhysand made him feel stained compared to the ethereal otherness Lucien had. He felt small and useless when next to Lucien, even if he was the High lord.

Was the High lord. Tamlin had spent the past weeks trying to rid his own title from his head, subjecting himself completely and wholly to Amarantha. Yet it had been undone, he remembered now, he knew it all, it came flying at him like a dam breaking and flooding the world with freezing water.

Tears now stained Lucien’s shirt. Silent cries were wretched so suddenly from Tamlin his body shuddered. He struggled to keep his voice in check. He wanted to scream and cry so loudly the mountain shook. Lucien whispered sweet nothings in his ear, promises he couldn’t keep, sentiments that meant nothing down here. But with the state he was in, Tamlin allowed himself to believe all of it, even if every kind, caring word would fall short when they finally returned to Amarantha.

“I can’t do this, Lucien, I can’t do this.” Tamlin whispered, his voice broken, undone, “I can’t do this.”

“You can, Tam, you can, you will.” Lucien said, “I’ll be right beside you, like I always have been. I’ll be right there, always.”

He wouldn’t, if Lucien got too close to him Amarantha would smell blood. But still, Tamlin took the lie, greedily clutching onto it, to the idea Lucien would never not be by his side.

“Lucien.” Tamlin breathed, not a question, a simple acknowledgement he was there, that they were together. A promise half-fulfilled, Lucien was here now, whether he would be there in the future was another question. One Tamlin didn’t want to think about.

“Tamlin.” Lucien whispered back.

It was dark, it was cold. The weight of what would happen once they separated again was pressing in at all sides. He felt sick. He knew once Lucien and him let go of each other they may not see each other for weeks to months, maybe even years. Unless Tamlin was watching him from beside Amarantha. Or even worse, Rhysand would force them together after a while away, to keep Tamlin fighting. Until Rhysand deemed the debts he held over Tamlin’s head repaid, he would continue to force Tamlin to keep his mind, keep his sanity. He would be alive and in pain until he was allowed to become numb.

Lucien pulled away just an inch, just to look Tamlin in the eyes. Those mismatched eyes were near invisible in the darkness, but Tamlin just needed to lift his hands and cup Lucien’s face to remember every detail. With his thumbs Tamlin stroked the exposed parts of Lucien’s cheeks. Tears were forming in his eyes again, the once High lord let them fall down his fall like the raindrops of Spring. He tried to imagine cold rain on his skin, saturating his clothes, dripping down his skin, soaking him thoroughly. He tried to remember the feeling of Lucien’s hair in his hands when it was wet with rainwater. Tamlin ran a hand through the red strands. He remembered how it would bleach an almost blond colour when Lucien went on border patrol with the sentries. He remembered how Lucien would let him braid it. He remembered how one strand fell across his eyes.

Tamlin’s bottom lip was trembling, he bit it in an attempt to prevent another cry from escaping his throat. Lucien pressed his forehead to Tamlin’s, the metal of their masks clicking against each other.

“I hate this.” Tamlin said.

“I know, so do I.” Lucien whispered back, his voice somehow so clear and strong.

A moment passed and Tamlin felt like he might break down again. Lucien sensed it somehow, he pulled Tamlin back into his arms and gently rocked back and forth. Tamlin held him tightly. Trying to give back some of the warmth Lucien was giving to him. Tamlin began to think that Lucien wasn’t just comforting him, but comforting himself, making promises not just to Tamlin, but to try and convince himself it would all be okay. When they both knew there was no escaping this.

It would get worse and worse everyday until one of them lost it. Until one of them finally died from either insanity or Amarantha’s cruel torture. It was a day that may be a while away, but was inevitable.

This curse was never meant to be broken, it was the illusion of choice. The illusion of a chance. They lost the day Amarantha set foot on Prythian’s lands.

Lucien began to shake. Tamlin felt him coming apart in his arms. Unable to keep up the brave face any longer.

“I’m scared Tam.”

Tamlin couldn’t say anything at first. He could only hug Lucien tighter. Could only press a soft kiss to the skin of his neck. A soft cry shook Lucien, Tamlin decided he would give back what Lucien gave him.

“It’s going to be okay.” Tamlin whispered, his voice so quiet, if it were any louder his voice would crack.

Lucien cried into his shoulder, trembling with the force of his crying. Tamlin rubbed his back, whispering in the same promises that he would have to break, the same soft kind words that would mean nothing in the end. Lucien listened to them as if they were true, for a moment pretending Tamlin and him could stay locked in this moment forever, never leaving, not separating.

“We’re not here, Luce.” Tamlin whispered, “We’re outside, we’re at the border of Spring and Autumn.”

Lucien squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Fisting his hands in Tamlin’s shirt.

“The grass is soft under us, the stars are lighting up the night sky. There’s a gentle breeze and your hair is unbound and fluttering in the air. You can see the tall oak trees covered in green giving way to Autumn. We’re outside, I’m with you, and you’re with me. There’s nothing and no one else.”

Lucien could see it. He could feel it all. The cold bite of the Autumn winds travelling into Spring. He could smell the pollen mixing with smoky cold. He could feel soft grass under his feet. He heard the rushing of water from the stream winding around the trees of the Spring forest. Disappearing into Autumn.

He opened his eyes to see Tamlin. Instead of the dark eyes and too pale skin, he saw forest green eyes bright from health, skin a shade darker from the sun. Instead of his face covered with a golden mask, Lucien could see the high points of his cheeks, how his eyes crinkled from his smile.

Tamlin saw it too. He saw Lucien, hair unbound and free, flowing down his back and shoulders like waves of scarlet. He saw Lucien’s scars, every one of them, not hidden behind a mask. Another beautiful part of him that didn’t need to be hidden. Lucien grinned at him, it was a bright toothy grin. Moonlight cascaded down on both of them. A strong gust of wind swept by, a strand of Lucien’s hair whipped Tamlin in the face and they both laughed, they laughed. For the first time in weeks Tamlin heard that bright, beautiful laughter.

Lucien intertwined his right hand with Tamlin’s left. He wrapped his free arm around Tamlin’s waist and began to sway them from side to side. Tamlin pressed his face into Lucien’s neck.

Then Lucien lifted the hand of Tamlin intertwined with his own and spun his High lord around. Tamlin laughed. Lucien would’ve given his other eye to hear it again.

Lucien pulled him back close, kissing his forehead, then he murmured, “Dance with me Tam.”

He smiled, for the first time in what felt like centuries, he smiled, “We don’t have any music.”

Lucien smiled back, he smiled back and it was the most beautiful smile Tamlin had ever or would ever see, “We’ll make our own.”

“How will we do that, Luce? We don’t have any instruments?” Tamlin asked as Lucien spun him around again.

“We have our voices, do we not?” Lucien grinned, Tamlin bit his bottom lip trying to contain the huge smile on his face. A blush spread across his face.

“A duet then.” Tamlin said, wrapping his arms around Lucien’s neck. Pressing them closer together. Lucien leaned forward, just a touch, his lips just brushed Tamlin’s own, stealing the breath from his lungs, making his blood race in his veins.

“Which song?” Lucien whispered against his mouth.

Tamlin was near trembling with happiness as he said, “The one you and Andras would sing for me and the sentries on Solstice night.”

Lucien shuddered, eyes falling shut as he remembered those nights by the campfire. The soft, beautiful song that Andras would sing with his low, powerful voice. Lucien would join him in the performance and Tamlin would play his fiddle, whilst the other sentries tapped their feet to the beat. It was a slow, beautiful piece that Tamlin hadn’t been able to play since Andras was killed.

“Okay.” Lucien said, opening his eyes again.

Lucien began, his voice a soft hum on Tamlin’s skin. This song didn’t have a corresponding dance, so they made one up. Lucien twirled him, they spun together, Tamlin twirled him. They stepped apart, then back together, one hand always connected.

Tamlin joined in, he thought his voice might tremble, but as Lucien pulled him back and forth. As they travelled across the ground, as the wind seemed to pick up, as the trees creaked and swayed with their rhythm. Strength came to him, the strength to keep going. To sing clearly, without faltering.

They fell into harmony. Each knowing the other’s step like they were both an extension of their own bodies. They travelled along the border of Spring and Autumn. Dancing in and out of trees. Stepping in between territories. They became the land around them. Spring twined around Autumn, Autumn blending with Spring.

An Autumn leaf flew by and landed in Tamlin’s hair, a Spring leaf flew by and landed in Lucien’s hair. They sang through their laughter, they danced as they held each other.

Darkness was all around them but it was penetrated by the silver moon. Birds watched them from the trees, rabbits and hares cautiously watched from a distance. A fox appeared from in between the bushes of Autumn, it spotted them both and ran into the forest of Spring.

Their voices overlapped, blending with each other until Tamlin felt like he had been wrapped completely in Autumn smoke and cinnamon. Until Lucien felt wrapped in Spring rain and roses.

The song slowly came to its conclusion. Their voices softened until there was nothing. Tamlin and Lucien came to a stop. Staring into each other’s eyes with the love and adoration they held for each other.

Neither knew who pressed forward first, but their eyes closed and their lips connected in a searing kiss, a final promise, a last goodbye, a deal between them sealed. They would fight until the very end, they would fight for themselves and for each other until they both walked into the great beyond, hand in hand.

When they pulled back and opened their eyes. They were back Under the Mountain. There was no grass, or Autumn leaves, or Spring forest, or birds or foxes. There never was. There never would be again for them.

They said nothing, all was held in their eyes. Tamlin felt tears coming down his face, matching Luciens, as he turned away, letting go of the last light in his life. He turned down the tunnel and met violet eyes.

Rhysand smiled, it was cruel and filled with fifty years of suffering.

Tamlin didn’t look back as he took the hand of Night and left Autumn behind.

#acotar #tamlin #lucien vanserra #pro tamlin #pro lucien vanserra #acotar au #tamcien #tamlin/lucien vanserra #tamsand #rhyslin #a little bit of tamsand #really not that much #rhysand #amarantha #i wrote half of this two months ago #and just remembered it existed yesterday #this was a lot angstier than i intended it to be

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crownspeaksblog · 6 months

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As someone who kinda enjoys the angsty aftermath of the shooting, the shooting scene itself doesn't work for me, it doesn't make alot of sense from rio and from the show.

Because what is rios motivation here? it's sure as shit isn't to help beth. Is it to punish her for kicking him out of bed? Is it to teach her a lesson, that she can't just quit a life of crime? Is it to fully make her a criminal?

Whatever his reasoning is, rios reaction, kidnapping beth from the front of her house with a bag on her head, yelling at her "shut your mouth bitch" in that way is too cruel and violent of a reaction from him in a way he's never felt/been this cruel and violent towards beth specifically! It's too cruel and violent considering it's coming from the same man who got beth her daughters blanket back, the same man who smiled fondly at her mismatched socks, the same man who kissed her in that way..

Rios portrayal in that scene and the way he yelled "shut your mouth bitch" while walking towards beth is so violent, abusive, misogynistic man who beats up defenseless women and that is SOO not who rio is.. and to me he truly didn't feel like that in any other scene for the entirety of the whole show, not when he put his gun to beths neck when he thought they were ripping him off, not when he got out of jail and beat up dean, not when he showed up in her bedroom after getting out of jail the second time, not ever, except for that fucking scene!!

to me it just feels like the writers were trying to tell a curtain storyline that starts with beth not being able to shoot rio and ends with her shooting him WHILE they simultaneously had to building up beth and rios relationship (to give the fans what they wanted) but at the end of the season they failed to make these two things work together..

And the fact that the show had to portray him like that for just that one scene, just to get beth to shoot him, just to set up season 3 is not good enough of a reason to do this to rios character.. It just doesn't make scene and i don't like it and i hate they did this to rios character for just ONE FUCKING SCENE!!

(I don't know if I'm making much sense because rio has been intimidating and life threatening in literally every season but it never felt this real (i guess?) Or this out of character..)

(I know that alot of people don't like that beth shot rio but that's literally the only thing that makes sense to me... Also beth shouldn't just feel guilty for shooting rio, she should also feel angry at him and the fact we never got a full conversation about that night and that they didn't give rio scars pisses me off!! Like fucking commit to it).

#I'm ranting i know #i just rewatched brio scenes from 2x13 and i had to just let these feelings out #this is literally my first time rewatching the shooting scene and i just never really processed these feelings #while bing watching the show for the first time like 2 months ago #i remember a scene where rio threatened her children i think i don't exactly remember it but it still wasn't as horrifying as 2x13 #nbc good girls #good girls rio #brio #beth x rio #👑#wrote this like a month and a half ago.. i just never posted because i got to caught up with ofmd..

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slowips · 1 month

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faithfully yours or haunting sounds interesting 👀 - Mimikyu

@andromeda-nova-writing

faithfully yours is an office!AU where reader notices that kaeya brought lunch and the cuisine is... unique. turns out they grew up in the same town, and as they start to grow closer, they learn more and more on how their lives intertwined... (sort of).

the term faithfully yours was adapted from the prompt that stared the story.

haunting is a canon compliant piece that takes place after the inazuma's war. kazuha goes to sumeru to meet with an old friend who he somehow got connected to, and as reader walks him around town, it becomes increasing clear that to reader, kazuha never left.

this story was inspired by how i misread one prompt, and then it took a life of its own, haha.

#with love.#mimikyu #/#my biggest fear is that these summaries make the stories seem more cooler than they actually are #these 2 stories are very old btw... like... i started haunting in dec 2022 #i just couldn't seem to find the right flow or the right ending so i never finished it #same for faithfully yours tbh. i wrote the first half and re-reading it (or at least when i did a few months ago) it was orite #but i faced the same situation in which i wasn't sure how to continue or develop it further #thank you for asking btw!!! maybe after this ask i'll look into these wips again #i do want to finish haunting i love that idea so much it makes me sick sometimes hahaha #attempted to rewrite it or at least worked on it a few times but my brain literally couldnt focus #and it doesnt help that life has gotten pretty busy (i'm just procrastinating...)#q: with thoma.

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slightlyunconventional · 1 year

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windows

Mornings in the Slat have never differed. It starts with Kaz getting up at some ungodly hour, significantly before anybody else has even stirred, leading many to wonder if he even slept at all. Next to rise is Inej, making her quiet descent down the stairs, eyes meeting Kaz's with a glint. They enjoy half an hour or so of comfortable silence, bathing in each other's presence, until the others begin to show. Wylan and Jesper come as a pair, sitting down together and Wylan almost immediately falling back to sleep on Jesper's shoulder. Shortly after comes Matthias, usually dragging a protesting Nina with him.

This morning was no different, except for one thing. Kaz had spent the past couple of hours muffling soft sneezes into his sleeve; not so many to be considered a fit, but just enough to cause slight concern. He was becoming mildly frustrated now because it just wouldn't seem to stop.

A short while later, he picked up the sound of Inej's soft footsteps against the stairs, and moments afterwards, she appeared from around the corner. They exchanged their usual greeting of short eye contact and Inej sat herself down in an armchair at the far end of the room. Not even a minute went by before Kaz felt the irritating need to sneeze again.

"Shit- hiH'NGKt! ..huhh."

Inej looked up to see him crushing a sharp sneeze into his wrist, but decided not to say anything for the time being.

Less than a second later, Kaz braced himself against his hand for another-

"..hH'nNGK-shUHh!"

The second half of the sneeze had clearly escaped the attempt at stifling, causing him to release an almost tired-sounding sigh and thick sniffle.

"Something bothering you?" asked Inej gently from across the room.

His response was simply, "ihHTSHUHh!" which apparently had caught him off guard, and confirmed Inej's suspicion.

"You aren't coming down with something, are you?" she inquired, eyes trained on him.

Kaz looked up. "..No. No, I'm not."

"Are you sure? That's three times you've sneezed now, and you never sneeze more than twice at a time.." replied Inej, still looking over at him.

A faint flush rose to his cheeks. "I'm fine, just... nothing," he said. Such mundane information of her to retain about me, he thought, a shallow sense of what he felt was embarrassment rising in him. He then remembered the stacks of things he knew about Inej, all of her quirks and individualities, organised in his mind like ledgers on an office shelf. The dark-haired man cleared his throat awkwardly, aware of the brief breakage of his cold outer shell, though Inej's presence allowed that shell to be lowered, even if only a little.

Inej tilted her head slightly to one side but decided again not to press the matter. That was, until Kaz rose warily from his seat to grace himself with the first (but definitely not last) steaming mug of pitch-black coffee of the day. The open window above the counter let in a gentle spring breeze right as he stood up, and the cool waft on Kaz's face triggered an involuntary inhale, as two heavy sneezes volleyed through him, almost stumbling over one another.

"haH'KTSCHh! KSSCHhuh!"

He gasped deeply again, and a third strong sneeze left him panting slightly.

"hahHH-! hH'KSCHUuh! Saints..."

Inej's concern manifested itself in the form of the small furrow between her brows that Kaz was always so secretly fond of. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by yet another sneeze, this time rather wet-sounding, ripping its way through the taller man.

"haH'GKkTSCHHh! The hell..?"

"Are you sure you're alright? I mean, could you be sensitive to something here?" Inej questioned. She was leaning on the worn counter now, careful not to get too close to Kaz, especially with him in a vulnerable state like this.

"I don't know," he replied, exasperated. Inej clocked the tiniest twitch of his face, before his eyes narrowed and brows drew together as he fought off another impending explosion. There was a faint note of triumph in his eyes as he succeeded in holding it back.

The stairs creaked, and Kaz stiffened. The wood's miserable squeaks heralded the appearance of Jesper, with a half-asleep Wylan at his side.

"You alright, boss? We heard some, uh. Commotion?" he asked warily.

"Fine." Kaz spat, striding past them with his lopsided gait, unable to ignore the itch still wreaking havoc in his sinuses. He was able to let his guard down in front of Inej - she'd never judge him, never laugh or make a mockery. But when anyone else came into the equation, he was all hard stone and sharp edges.

Kaz made his way to his office, scrubbing furiously at his nose, in no mood for paperwork (or anything, for that matter).

Considering Inej had heard nothing from upstairs all day, she assumed Kaz's "incident" from this morning had been nothing more than that - an incident. Nevertheless, she decided to pay him a visit.

She scaled the building and pushed open the window to Kaz's office at the top. Inej knew, tho he never showed it, that he liked her visits from the window.

Thankfully, he looked much less tense than he had done before, though his nose still possessed a faint pink tinge, and his eyes were now very slightly red-rimmed and watery. Much to her dismay, where Inej expected a greeting, she instead heard an irritated-

"huH'szZSCHH!"

She sighed as Kaz let out an exhausted groan.

"Are you going to tell me what's up?" Inej asked, only a little bit demanding.

Kaz pinched the bridge of his nose. "I already told you, I don't..." His lips parted. "...don't kn- huHh-! Idon'tknoHh'kKZSCHIEW!"

His attempts to hold back were futile, and he was forced to sneeze straight downwards, much to his own disgust.

"Saints, Kaz..." Inej said with worry, "And you're sure you're not coming down with something?"

He nodded, breath already snagging once again.

Inej appeared to ponder for a moment, recalling his outburst from earlier that morning. All she remembered was him standing up to make a coffee at the counter in front of the open wind- oh. The window. He had started sneezing again when she had entered through his office window, too. She sighed again in a mix between blaming herself and berating Kaz's obliviousness.

"Hayfever," she muttered.

Kaz glanced up. "What?"

"Hayfever," repeated Inej, "You started sneezing both times the window was open today, and this happens to be the highest pollen-count spring Ketterdam has seen in decades."

Kaz didn't believe her for a moment until he, too, considered it. He did distinctly remember a few unexplained fits having happened during jobs in "greener" nations that he never managed to put a finger on. And the time on Black Veil Island mere months ago, with the ridiculously abundant pollen from the flowers woven into Nina's hair after the job with Cornelis Smeet. He hadn't even been in close proximity that time. Sensitive much, he thought with an eye roll.

"How did you not realise that?" Inej questioned, almost incredulously.

Kaz, vaguely defensively, replied, "I just didn't really care to think about it."

Thinking about it now, however, seemed to reignite the fiery burn in his nose. He was determined to fight it back, but one slender, gloveless hand hovered instinctively between his desk and his face, anticipating the inevitable.

"Wylan will have some medicine for it, or something. He's the same."

Inej's words cut Kaz from his anticipatory trance and he ducked forward with a pair of sneezes.

"hih'khHSCHh! szZSCHh!"

"Bless you," offered Inej with a sympathetic smile. Kaz tried not to glare daggers at her. She leaned back and took the window's handle.

"I think I'll just close this."

#guess who wrote another fic and hates it #me!!!#i feel like this is kinda out of character but its self indulgent so i dont care #anyway hope u likey #snz #snzblr #snz kink #snz blog #snzfic #snzario #sneeze kink #s/ix of cr/ows #sneezefic #i also wrote half of this months ago and half of it literally right now so hopefully its not obvious

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queenangst · 4 months

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If you want to - 6 from the Richard Siken prompts for Gerard/Elody? :)

[read on ao3]

i was finding myself sleepless and he was running out of lullabies

The last night Elody sees Gerard, they argue.

She doesn’t remember all the words, thinking back on it. The same song and dance, stepping on each other’s toes and barely holding onto each other. She’d looked at him and thought he’d never seemed further away than he had in that moment, across the table.

The anger has been a constant for a while. It sits heavy like a stone in her chest, rolling around and hitting the sides of her ribs.

Elody doesn’t want to fight with her husband. She loves him—she has to keep telling herself that, she loves him—but it’s so hard in the moment to not snap back at him. But love alone isn’t enough. Love doesn’t repair the sieged walls, and love doesn’t repair the cracks forming in her heart. Both require work.

Anger is a weapon.

Not everyone is a fighter. Things are better, when not everyone is a fighter, and that’s why she’d fallen in love in the first place. Gerard has never been a fighter.

She doesn’t need him to wield a sword. Armies need healers and runners and support. Elody can handle the fighting. She needs him to hold her hand, to listen to her, to support her. She needs him in the war room, taking letters and planning.

She needs him next to her.

Where he belongs. Like he’d promised, the day he’d took her hand in his own, human one, and promised to spend the rest of his life next to her.

The fight doesn’t end the way it usually does. It usually ends somewhere in between them. Gerard promises he will think about the war. Elody promises she will think about home. They leave the table and don’t.

“Come on,” Gerard pleads. He tries to soothe her. He tells her he loves her; it is a drop of water trying to douse a rush of flames. “Elody…”

That night, the fight ends ugly. Elody shouts with a commander’s lungs and then storms away.

She feels bad after walking out. Just not bad enough to walk back in and apologize, yet.

Her general catches her in the hall.

“Princess Elody,” he says. She’s grateful for the low torchlight so he doesn’t see how her eyes have betrayed her and filled with tears. “I don’t mean to interrupt—”

“That’s alright. You haven’t interrupted. What’s the matter?”

He hands her a sheaf of papers. “Scout reports. Snowhold marches on us.”

The war began as a few border skirmishes through the City of Chimneys. Testing, she thought, their limits.

Then an entire patrol was killed, save for one soldier who rode straight through the gates of the castle. She’d been spared purposely. It was a warning, she said, from the Tsar of Snowhold.

Greenleigh could surrender, or it would be taken by force.

Her patience grew thinner. Their arguments grew louder. Her nights grew sleepless.

What’s left of her anger dissipates and leaves only dread. “Estimated arrival?”

“...Within days, my lady. Three, at most, if not sooner.”

Stories come in threes, but so do misfortunes.

Elody doesn’t know how to bear it, but she must. She always has to.

Gerard finds her by the pond. There isn’t enough space in her heart for hope at the moment, but she does feel a bit of warmth when she sees him, like winter giving way slightly for spring.

“Elody,” he murmurs.

“I don’t want to hear it right now, Gerard.”

She’s too tired to fight. Her head feels like it’s being pounded against an anvil.

He pauses by the reeds, glancing briefly at the muddy bank, then crosses over to meet her. The mud squelches a little when he steps into it with fine shoes, and Gerard makes a face at it. But he sits next to her anyway.

“You can rest,” he says. “Elody, you—you’ve done everything you can now. Come to bed for a while. We still have time.”

She wants to say yes.

How can she rest, while enemies march on Greenleigh? How can she rest, when the outer villages have fled here for protection?

She shouldn’t even be here, at the pond, but she’d been desperate for even just a moment of reprieve. The waters are calm and still. There are no frogs, only a prince.

“I can’t.”

Elody has begun to dress in full mail, in case.

She doesn’t want to think about war, but she doesn’t want Gerard to not think about war. Instead of thinking about either, she just… leans over. Gerard makes a surprised sound when she tucks her head into the crook of his shoulder. It can’t be comfortable, with her pauldron pressing into him, but after a moment Gerard reaches up and runs his fingers carefully through her hair. Webbing is beginning to form between them, a fact Elody doesn’t know what to do with.

Gerard clears his throat awkwardly, and like he used to when they were young, begins to sing. There’s a slight croak to his voice. “ ...Be still, love, don’t cry, sleep like you’re rocked by the stream…”

She closes her eyes for a moment. The hazy smell of water and sweet lilies lulls her.

"Sleep and remember this river lullaby… and I’ll be with you when you dream."

Elody doesn’t sleep. She listens to Gerard sing, and tries to remember it. This is the first time in a while, she thinks, that she’s felt close to peace with him.

It isn’t going to last. She knows it won’t. Maybe tomorrow they will place their swords to each other’s hearts. Maybe tomorrow he will try to sing her another lullaby, and she won’t hear it at all. Maybe tomorrow he will say I love you, again, and he will look more frog than prince, and Elody will feel more fighter than lover. There are only so many lullabies. There are only so many times the skin can split, before it will begin to scar.

The song drifts off. Elody stands, wordless, and strides away.

Later she will ask herself what went wrong. Later she will ask herself why she didn’t stay.

She can’t find the strength to apologize for the argument earlier. Gerard doesn’t say sorry, either. She turns her back and leaves him by the pond.

Three days is a lie. With dawn comes misfortune. The castle crumbles. The sound of screaming fills the street, and Elody raises her golden mace, her lily-flower shield, and sees nothing of her husband.

They fight bitterly. They lose. When they retreat, Elody looks for him, but Gerard is gone somewhere far from her. This isn’t what I wanted, she wants to scream. This isn’t what I asked for.

She tries to remember the last snatch of lullaby he’d sung for her. The memory is too soft on the banks of war, and it pulls away from her, sinking into the water and slipping away.

#ok so i wrote half of this months ago and then uhhhh picked it up again to finish it!#d20 #d20 fanfic #dimension 20 #d20 neverafter #enjoy!#sorry this took so long lol i'm finally getting back to these

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