#prompt 9
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Trusted
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Angstpril 2024 | Day 9 | Prompt 9: Trust Issues
Rated: G | Words: 445 | Summary: The issue of trust…or lack thereof. | Character Focus: Wrecker, Crosshair, Omega
“Can you hear me? Wrecker?”
Wrecker groans, the voice - one of his brothers…he can’t tell which one - throbs like a percussion inside his skull. It’s excruciating and soothing all at once. He’s dying, but he’s not alone. He won’t die alone.
“Stay with me, Wreck, you’re going to be fine,” his brother says.
His eyes are open, but he only sees darkness, a consuming shroud of a thing. He’s blind, he can’t even see his brother’s face one last time before…
“Dying…” Wrecker croaks.
His brother scoffs, and he’d know that deprecating sound anywhere. Crosshair.
“I just told you you’re fine,” Crosshair says, but his voice is reedy.
“Cross…” Wrecker manages. He reaches out blindly, and thin fingers clasp around his hand, gripping so tight Wrecker wonders if Crosshair thinks it will keep him from falling into the abyss of death.
“Do you trust me?” Crosshair asks.
Wrecker swallows around the pain, the fear, the sorrow. He nods, the tiny movement agonizing.
“Good. Then you’re going to be fine. I promise.”
Crosshair doesn’t have any sort of cosmic power to keep his word. Wrecker clings to it nonetheless. He trusts his brother to the ends of the galaxy.
<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>
Omega curls into Wrecker’s side. She’s grown in the months they’ve been apart. She’s taller, her hair is longer, and her face has lost some of the soft edges that made her look so young. But the light in her eyes has dulled, her expressions have sharpened. She’s seen and experienced things on Tantiss that haunt her and have shaped her.
“I missed you so much,” Omega whispers.
Wrecker chuckles brokenly. “I missed you more.”
Wrecker’s gaze darts to the sniper sleeping in one of the fold down bunks. Almost as soon as Hunter got the Marauder into hyperspace, Crosshair had wilted, as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
The weight of keeping their sister safe.
He’d gotten Omega out of Tantiss when Wrecker and Hunter couldn’t. Omega had given them an abridged version of their escape. She couldn’t have done it without him. Not a chance in sith’s hell.
“Do you trust him?” Wrecker asks, a rumble of a whisper. He doesn’t have to clarify who.
Omega twists in his one armed grip, looking up at him so that their eyes meet. “Yes,” she says, her voice soft and confident, no discernible waver of doubt.
Wrecker remembers when he trusted his brother that much, with every last particle in his being. That trust had shattered long ago, but maybe it could be gathered up and rebuilt. Omega trusts him, and Wrecker trusts Omega. Maybe that can be enough for now.
Almost 1/3 of the way through Angstpril! 😱
Prompts Completed:
@the-little-moment (1. Homesick / 4. Longing / 7. Bad Dreams)
@just-here-with-my-thoughts (2. Frozen / 5. Self-Surgery / 8. Lost Battle)
KyberCrystals94 (3. Broken-Hearted / 6. This isn't going to work / 9. Trust Issues)
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Tag List: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @merkitty49
#angstpril2024#day 9#prompt 9#trust issues#the bad batch#star wars#fanfiction#ao3 fanfic#ao3 writer#tbb omega#tbb crosshair#tbb wrecker#angst#sibling relationship#trust#fics by kyber
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Prompt #9
"You know, I'm not a person who walks away when things get complicated-"
The man refrained from rolling his eyes.
"Yesterday you cried over spilled coffee and screamed 'I cannot take this anymore!' "
"...good point."
#writers#writers on tumblr#writing prompt#writing prompts#writeblr#writing inspiration#writing#writerscommunity#writer things#dialogue prompt#story prompt#story prompts#story inspo#story ideas#story inspiration#creative writing#creative writing prompt#creative writing inspo#creative writing ideas#original prompt#daily prompt#dailyprompt#daily writing prompt#prompt 9
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Blossom
It started out small, this thing between them.
Fragile.
Tentative.
They were certain it couldn’t last.
But that tiny little seed of hope had blossomed into the most beautiful thing in Harry’s life. It had become a great tree that bore fruits of strength, gentleness, and love every single day.
Written for the @microficmay prompt: blossom (read more of my microfic may drarry fics)
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Prompt #9: Fair
Stefan had left the cafe owned by his cousin, Lothaire. The pair had been talking about the business itself for a bit. Though it had soon changed into topics of namedays. Particularly Sahji's.
He wanted to bring Sahji out for a special date to the cafe. Probably not on Sahji's nameday exactly since Sahji had plenty of people who would love to wish him a happy nameday. But none the less, Stefan wanted to give Sahji a special day by himself. Not that there was anything wrong with Sahji's family. Stefan still felt shy to an extent around them. Especially Toshi. He swore Toshi wore so little when he was present in an effort to try an make him pass out.
Of course he was reading over a book he himself had gotten from the cafe. Payment for his help since he kept refusing to take his cousin's gil. So books were offered instead which was much more to Stefan's liking.
But he probably shouldn't have been reading it while walking. Especially since he wasn't overly familiar with Ishgard. Looking up from his book to notice all the brightly colored decorations. Apparently he'd taken the wrong path to leave the cafe and ended up in the Firmament where they were still celebrating all the rebuilding efforts. Maybe not celebrating quite as hard as before when the work was originally finished but still celebrating regardless.
Too bad this wasn't more like a true Fair or a Carnival. The games and such were too limited or unappealing for his interest. Maybe he'd have brought Sahji here after the books and sweets of the cafe. He didn't think it was worth bringing Sahji unless Sahji asked him. Not in this cold. Even if the cold meant snuggling up to Sahji's warmth.
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prompt #9
"Sometimes it's easier to stay broken."
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Prompt 9: Fire and Ice
Prompt 9: Fair - FFXIV Write 2023
Characters: Arsène Marin aka Ice @the-ring-xiv; Gaheriet de Rosaire @thestoneheart; mention of Fane @templemoth
Ice welcomed the cold wind and blowing snow on the way home from Purgatory. Certainly helped clear his mind some.
Why did he let that man get under his skin?
The moment Gaheriet stepped into any room Ice was in, he couldn’t help himself but to look. Like he had barbed fishing hooks sunk in his skin and Gaheriet possessed the reel to pull him around. Make him bleed for doing it. The maddening part was the jab of ire watching him settle next to Fane had caused.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
Fane toyed with all of them. Hells, the miqo’te decorated his own bed from time to time, and he was lovely in every way a man could want. Plus there were never strings with Fane. So why had Gaheriet… No, Constant sitting down so close to him bother him? Ice didn’t want strings. He wanted things like he had with Fane.
The pulling Gaheriet aside thing really had to stop. At least some of the answers he got out of him tonight solved some of that. Bored noble looking for a bit of excitement. Well, that The Ring could give him. So much excitement it’ll land him in the tribunal or the gaol.
Ice kept tabs on where he was walking. The Brume giving way to Foundation was a gradual change, but the change into the Pillars was more jarring in his opinion with the increase in grandeur. He unhooked the belt holding his daggers and slid them inside his coat. Last thing he needed was some dumbass noble thinking he was about to mug him. Normally, he might’ve but tonight, he just wanted to go home and lie face down on his bed for several hours.
Like a normal person.
A normal person with a neighbour that drove him crazy.
His feet passed by his street and took him around the block once more, his pace sedate.
Here, he was Marin Arsenault. Some well-to-do wastrel son kind enough to house-sit while his artist cousin was on tour. In truth, he’d bullied the artist out of his house and into hiding somewhere in Limsa Lominsa. One of The Ring’s safe-houses and his men watching him. They even sent updates on how the tour was going so as not to tip off the landlord too much. Judicael de Rosaire was a sharp old fox and his nephew was a nosy former knight.
Ice cursed under his breath. The bottle of spirits he typically brought back with him was sitting on the table in The Ring’s office. This is why he couldn’t have Gaheriet there. He was a distraction. One his brother had loved.
And Ice had gone and made him his bodyguard. To keep an eye on him was his reasoning. In a way it was true. Plenty of things in the underworld would be plenty happy enough to sink their teeth into unsuspecting do-gooders thinking they could take a walk on their darkened streets. Their fucking pact protected them both.
He went around the block as many times as he chased his thoughts in a circle. Far too many. By the time he turned onto his street and followed the glowing lamps down to the gate that led him to the old manor house he lived in now, he was frozen through. The snow and wind howled around him. His teeth clattered along with it.
His hand extended to push the door open, but it swung wide before he could even grab the handle. Pale blue eyes lifted to meet the glowering gaze of Gaheriet de Rosaire. A hand reached out and grasped him around the upper arm, yanking him into the warmth of the front hall.
“Where the hell have you been, Marin?”
“Took a walk.” He tried his best to flash Gaheriet a roguish smile. The shivering did not make it as debonair as Ice hoped.
“In a blizzard?” Gaheriet shook his head, one hand roughly knocking snow off Ice’s shoulders. “You left before I did.”
“Needed to think. Cool off a bit.” He cleared his throat and grabbed one of Gaheriet’s wrists. “Which you’re not helping.” Every time a hand connected, he might as well have been tossing lit matches inside his coat.
“Well, you certainly managed that.” Gahereit grunted in agreement. Thankfully he let his hands fall back to his sides, fingers curling in against his palms.
Ice stiffly strode toward the stairs that led up toward his apartment. He paused at the base of them and for the life of him had no idea why he asked, “Nightcap?”
Gaheriet lingered a moment in the foyer before giving a single nod. He followed Ice upstairs.
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#prompt 9#me again!! i'm asexual :>#cookie run#cookie run kingdom#cookie run ovenbreak#crk#cookie run pride 2022#affogato cookie#kumiho cookie#almond cookie#frost queen cookie#dark cacao cookie#espresso cookie#white lily cookie#dark choco cookie#lilac cookie#ace pride#asexual pride#pride 2022
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Sicktember #9
Prompt: White Coat Syndrome
Fandom/OCs: Jurassic World (Claire and Owen)
Words: 1700
Inspiration: None
Author’s comments/background: Set before the events of the first Jurassic World movie, a few days after the last fic I wrote for this fandom (read it here if you want). I know this isn’t a super popular fandom, but as I said before, it’s one I know well and can write easily. And guys like Owen are the perfect whumpees in my opinion.
~~~***~~~
Claire wasn't sure what led her to go check on Owen that evening, except that she had a hunch he might need some help. The Monday after their strange “date”, he didn’t show up for work, and after some digging, she learned he had called in sick. A man like Owen Grady, born and raised in the military, doesn’t call into work for a cold, or for anything short of being near death. He hadn’t been well on Saturday, but it hadn’t seemed like anything alarming. Had he worsened over the rest of the weekend?
Going completely against her character, she actually left work early that day. “I won’t even leave in time to make sure I get dinner at a decent hour, but I’m leaving early to check on some random guy. What does that say about me?” she muttered to herself as she drove over to his bungalow.
It looked much the same as it had two days prior, though today it had an almost deserted feel. With some trepidation, Claire mounted the steps and knocked. It took several tries before he answered, and when he did she regretted not texting ahead like she’d considered. He was an awful mess, looking sicker than anyone she’d ever seen. He was sweaty and disheveled, and he sagged against the doorframe as if his legs couldn’t hold him, yawning and shirtless and dressed in athletic shorts. Behind him his house was dark with all the blinds drawn, so she couldn’t see what lay beyond.
“Claire?” he croaked, squinting into the afternoon sunlight, though he stayed as far back from the light as he could. “Whadt are you doi’g here?”
“I heard you were still sick, so I came to check on you. I’m glad I did, because, wow, are you looking horrible. Are you… okay?”
“I mbean… I’ve been bedder. I wouldn’t have called in if I wasn’t sigck as hell.” He coughed wetly, proving his point. “Did you cumb jusdt to see for yourself, vouch to the bosses thadt I’mb ndot playi’g hooky?
“I came because I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself. Can I… come in for a minute?”
Owen ran a hand through his tangled hair. “I mbean… thadt’s really ndot ndecessary. I’mb fide. But I guess suidt yourself.” He stood aside to let her brush past.
“I can see from here that you’re most certainly not fine. You said it yourself, you wouldn’t have called in if you were fine. Here, sit. Or lie down if you want. I’m sorry I got you out of bed. Can I get you anything?”
“Ndo. I told you, I’mb fide. I’mb… I’mb handli’g idt.” He gingerly lowered himself to the couch and lay back as he spoke, pressing a hand to his forehead as if in pain.
“Nothing? Not even a glass of water? I can run to the store too. Whatever you need.”
“I guess sumb water. Budt you really don’t have to stay. I don’t wandt you to catch this.”
She ignored him and fetched him a tall glass of ice water. He sat up awkwardly, drinking down the liquid as if he hadn’t drunk anything all day. The way the fever sweat was pouring off him, she guessed he probably felt like he hadn’t. She’d brought a clean, dry cloth back with her from the kitchen and sponged off the sweat from his face and neck as he drank, then pressed her palm to his forehead. He was roaring with heat, much warmer than he’d been only a few nights before. He groaned softly as he leaned into her touch.
“Damn, I should’ve brought a thermometer,” she sighed. “What hurts? You have to have some sort of infection with a fever like that.”
He shrugged, stifling a cough. “Mbainly jusdt mby head. I’ve had the worst splitti’g headache since yesterday. Mby ndose, I guess. Jusdt totally plugged up.”
“Is there green mucus when you sneeze?”
“Umb… yeah,” he mumbled, embarrassed.
“And your headache is here?” she gently touched right between his eyes. He nodded miserably, pressing the ice-filled glass to the spot as he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Sinus infection,” she said, nodding sagely. “That means antibiotics. C’mon, I’ll drive you to the doctor. I don’t trust you behind the wheel, since I’m sure your head hurts too badly to see straight.”
Owen made a face. “I’ll jusdt ledt idt run idt’s course. I’mb ndot goi’g to the doctor jusdt for a cold.”
“Sinus infection,” Claire corrected. “And yes you are. It’ll take weeks to clear up on its own, if it ever does, and you’ll get worse before you get better. Trust me, the doctor is what you want.”
“Ndo, I really don’t. I’mb fide withoudt,” he insisted, and this time Claire thought she saw a flash of fear in his eyes.
Claire raised her eyebrows. “Owen Grady, are you afraid of going to the doctor? You are, aren’t you!” she answered herself when he shook his head mutely, his eyes wide. “You’re not afraid of raptors, but you’re afraid of people in white coats?”
He sighed, then coughed wetly, glancing away. “Adt least the raptors would kill mbe fasdt. Doctors poke and prod you until you die a slow, paindful death instead. I had enough of thadt in the service.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” she said. “It’ll be a short visit. Just in and out to get a prescription. And I’ll be with you every step of the way. Consider it a second date. We can even get food after, if it’ll make you feel better.”
She had definitely piqued his interest upon mentioning a date, but she saw him continuing to war internally. “You’re sure I ndeed mbedicine?”
“Pretty certain, yeah. And you can’t tell me you aren’t wanting something to help you feel better faster.”
He shrugged as he looked up at her again, and all she saw was nervousness, which when paired with his visible illness made him seem incredibly boyish. “If I go, you’ll stay with mbe?”
“The whole time. If that’s what you want.”
He thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Thed I guess I’ll do idt. Since I can tell you’re ndot goi’g to ledt idt go.”
“Nope, I'm not. So I’m glad you’re being reasonable. Do you need help getting ready?”
She saw a flash of the old, roguish Owen then. “Are you offeri’g?” he asked with a smirk.
“You know what, forget I said anything. You go ahead, and take as long as you need. But try to not collapse while you’re naked, please. Neither of us wants that.”
“Yes mba’am,” came the slightly deflated response.
~~~
The urgent care visit and subsequent pharmacy run were unremarkable. Owen was a ball of anxiety the whole time, fidgeting and agitated. He was brusque and borderline rude to the nurses, even though most of them were very pretty, and Claire watched this transpire with curiosity. The telling moment came when they were taking his blood pressure and pulse, though.
“Those are both pretty high,” came the verdict from the nurse. She looked at him seriously. “And you're not on any blood pressure meds. Other than your respiratory symptoms, are you feeling okay?”
“I’mb fide, like I keep telli’g everyone. I jusdt don’t wandt to be here,” he spat.
A look of understanding crossed her face. “Oh, so a case of whitecoat syndrome, then. Got it.” She made a note in his chart, and nothing more was said about it, though Claire gave him a playful nudge when they were alone to try to lighten the mood. He mostly ignored her and stared at his feet, shivering in long sleeves and sweatpants and looking utterly pathetic.
She could tell he was more than relieved when they pulled into his driveway after all was said and done, and beyond exhausted as well. It seemed like he barely made it to the couch before collapsing, burying his face into a throw pillow.
Claire bustled around, setting things down and fetching him water and medicine as she listened to him sniffle and cough endlessly. Finally she perched on the edge of the couch and rubbed his back to get his attention. He turned to meet her eyes, his own heavy-lidded and fever-bright.
“Just take this medicine and drink a glass of water, and then I’ll let you sleep,” she promised.
He took the items and did as he was instructed before settling down again. Claire continued to stroke his back for a bit, and his eyes slipped closed under her touch. After a few moments she stood and stretched.
“Are you leavi’g?” he croaked, opening his eyes as soon as her hand was gone.
“I guess so. You should get some sleep, and so should I. It’s getting late.”
His face fell. “Oh. Okay.”
“What? There’s nothing else I can do for you right now. We got everything you need at the pharmacy. There’s no reason for me to stay.”
“Can you… adt leasdt stay until I fall asleebp?” he asked, boyish and shy again. He wondered if he was doing that intentionally, because it was very effective.
“And why would I do that?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe, echoing their exchange from a few nights prior with a smirk.
He clearly remembered, and smiled back. “Idt’s jusdt… you prombised you’d be with mbe every stebp of the way. The ndight’s ndot over yedt.”
Claire shook her head, still smiling. “So I did. Okay. Until you fall asleep, then.”
“Will you rub mby bagck again? Thadt feldt so good,” came the final congested request.
“Give an inch and he asks for a mile," she laughed. "Fine, scoot over a bit, then.”
Owen eagerly complied, closing his eyes again as soon as Claire resumed scratching and rubbing his back.
“Do you thingk you’ll cumb bagck tomorrow?” he asked sleepily after a few moments.
“Maybe. We’ll see. If you play your cards right.”
“Thed I hope I gedt the besdt damn hand ever.”
Claire smiled to herself, and so did Owen. In fact, he fell asleep with a smile on his face. She kept rubbing his back, though, and didn’t move for a long time.
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Whumptober Prompt 9:
"You're a liar."
Last chapter of Part 1!
#whumptober2023#prompt 9#worth it part 1#royce melborn#riyria#riyria revelations#riyria revelations spoilers#ao3 fanfic#riyria fanfic#fanfic
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Prompt 9: Longing
@aurlyn and I together for @14daysdalovers event.
Have fun 💖
#14daysdalovers#14daysdalovers 2023#prompt 9#longing#cullistair#cullistair kisses#cullen rutherford#alistair theirin#dragon age#dragon age origins#dragon age inquisition#dragon age fan art#dragon age fanfic#raflesia65 draws#aurlyn writes
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The Depth of Shadows
By KyberCrystal94
Read on Ao3 here!
Whumptober 2023|Day 9|Prompt 9: “You’re a liar.”
Bad Things Happen Bingo| Prompt: Betrayal
Rating: G
Words: 626
Summary: Sequel to “I Won’t Hate You”…Crosshair struggles with memories of the chip.
Before, he felt like a shadow, the absence of light, a shape that moved in tandem with its caster. He felt stretched and ominous...enslaved.
Oppressed.
Weak.
Good soldiers follow orders.
And while he became imprisoned, his brothers walked away from the chip’s influence, minds strong and adamant against it. Even Echo. A reg. Though, perhaps, the Techno Union’s kriffing around in his head helped with that.
But Crosshair was weak. Is weak. And he became a shadow cast by the Empire.
Good soldiers follow orders.
The mantra still haunts him, taunting him, again and again and again in his mind. Good soldiers follow orders, good soldiers follow orders, good soldiers follow orders...His brothers hadn’t heard, hadn’t understood, hadn’t listened. Crosshair tried to tell them, warn them, goad them into staying. But they left. They left him. But they went back for her.
“She’s one of us. We’re not leaving her there.”
Hunter said that a lifetime ago. Crosshair had thought at the time that he was one of the collective, one of them. That he would not be left behind; however, he should have known there were conditions, a limit to the loyalty of a brother.
Liar, Hunter. You’re a liar. You left me! I needed you, and you left me!
“What are you thinking about?” Omega asks, her soft voice screaming into the abyss of his dark, circling thoughts.
Crosshair doesn’t look at the clone child. “None of your business.”
“I know,” Omega agrees, “but you can still talk about it if it would help you feel better.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“I didn’t say I could help you,” Omega says.
“It was implied,” Crosshair hisses.
Omega rolls her eyes. “Fine. Don’t talk about it.”
They sit in stoney silence, side by side on the cot. Crosshair wants to be angry, to hold the bitterness of abandonment against the child at his side; however, she truly is innocent. She asked them to leave, she never asked them to come back, or to leave Crosshair behind. It isn’t her fault. It never was. “I know what you are going to do, but please don’t…I know it’s not your fault. You can’t help it.” Her words in the Kaminoan holding cell, a wistful almost hopeless plea against the inevitable.
“You knew about the chips…” Crosshair says.
“Yes,” Omega agrees.
“You knew mine had activated, when we came back for you on Kamino.”
Omega looks up at him, nods, but says nothing.
“Did you tell the others?” Crosshair asks.
Omega watches his face for a moment, as though gauging how her words might make him react. “After we left Kamino…we didn’t have time before. Not without being overheard. But Tech made a device to find the chip,” her voice catches on Tech’s name, but she presses on bravely, “he never said so, but I know he made it to help you. And Hunter felt so guilty leaving you behind. Wrecker would tell me stories, and Echo wanted to help other clones escape the chip too.”
“But they thought it was me that turned against them, before you told them it was the chip,” Crosshair says, deadpan, emotions carefully hidden.
Omega frowns and blinks. “Is that what you were thinking about? About them leaving you?”
“It’s all I’ve thought about,” Crosshair hisses. “Being betrayed by your squad doesn’t sit well with most soldiers.”
“The Empire betrayed you,” Omega counters, “The Empire betrayed all of us. And as soon as we found out you had turned on the Empire, we tried to come for you. And if our brothers are still out there, they won’t stop trying until they’ve found both of us.”
And for a shadow of a moment, Crosshair almost believes her.
END
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#whumptober 2023#Day 9#Prompt 9#You’re a liar#Bad Things Happen Bingo#Betrayal#The Bad Batch#Star Wars the Bad Batch#sw tbb#star wars#the clone wars#sw the clone wars#the bad batch crosshair#tbb crosshair#the bad batch omega#tbb omega#hurt/comfort#inhibitor chips#post season 2#fanfiction#ao3 fanfic#ao3 writer#star wars tbb#fics by kyber
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#9: Scars
M’rath stretched out on top of the coverlet on his belly, his hands linked below his cheek. There was a familiar weight on the bed next to his waist; his chief of staff, gently seated on the bed’s edge.
“Did you ever think that it would turn out like this?” The half-hyur was tracing his bare fingertips over Rath’s exposed back, each delicate touch a reminder of the scar that lay beneath it. There were many of them; a network of mostly faded stripes that he’d had since his teenage years. Before Illian had discovered them, they had been much more visible, and even the twisting snake tattoo that ran up the length of his spine and curled along his back wasn’t enough to hide them from a casual glance.
But Illian, bless his big, beautiful heart, had developed a concoction that had, over the years, minimized the appearance of the scars so that they only glinted faintly in certain light conditions, and otherwise stayed mostly invisible but for the slightest difference in smoothness where scar met unmarred flesh. And he’d done it without provocation, on the premise that it wasn’t right that he had to bear those stripes for all these years for no other reason than that his master had decided he needed them when he was young.
He’d even told Illian what had happened to his old master, what he’d done to secure his own life. What he’d promised himself would never come to pass again, for him or for those he cared for. And the man had only gathered him into his arms in the privacy of his own quarters and told him in no uncertain terms that he was the strongest man he’d ever met.
Willful, perhaps. Cruel, at times. Angry, jaded, and weary, often. But strong? Please, he’d said. It’s unbecoming to lie to a man like that. But it wasn’t a lie. He’d known that when Illian had opened his mind to him. It had baffled him then, and it still baffled him now.
“My scars?” M’rath murmured, turning his head so that his other cheek rested on his hands and his particolored eyes regarded the man next to him. “No. I knew they would fade with age, but I never imagined that a smart man might try to make them disappear altogether.” A lazy smile pulled at his lips as Illian snorted and reached for the pot of cream on his bedside table.
“A smart man might have avoided you,” Illian said, blue eyes focused on Rath’s shoulders. “I am not a smart man. And that was not what I was referring to, anyway. I meant this. All of this.”
“All of this?” Rath echoed. “No. Everything that has happened up to this point has been a mixture of luck and circumstance.”
“Mmmn, I will respectfully agree to disagree.”
“How else do you explain a loyal staff? If anything, that is your doing, not mine.”
“Is it?” Illian asked, and Rath hissed briefly as he felt the cold cream make contact with his back. “If I were to ask any one of your staff why they are loyal to you, they would give me three answers: Good pay, good living conditions, and a good heart. You pulled most of them out of very bad situations. Why would they not adore you?”
“They don’t know what I can do, or what I do in the places they are not allowed to wander.”
“I do. I still don’t think you are the monster you make yourself out to be when you look in the mirror.”
The feeling of Illian’s hands rubbing the cream into his skin has his eyes drifting closed and his tail settling finally against his thigh with naught but a lazy flick of the tip every now and again. When his voice sounded, it was tired. “Well, you’re welcome to think what you think. Not a smart man, indeed.”
Rath made a sound as Illian smacked him between the shoulderblades, and then laughed.
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For prompt number nine, we're going with a classic. This one never gets old, right?
prompt #9:
❄️ Fake Relationship ❄️
#osws fandom challenge#winter sports#prompt 9#ski jumping#cross country skiing#ski cross#freestyle skiing#alpine skiing#hockey#ice skating#snowboarding#biathlon#nordic combination#fanfiction#fanart#sports rpf
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Mead Moons prompt: Hay
Is Derek a a new cowhand at the Stilinski ranch? A hermit who has only the animals on his small farm for company until he finds fugitive Stiles hiding out in his barn?
Does bird-shifter Stiles make a hobby of building nests out of hay, straw, and various odds and ends for a bemused Derek to find? Or does he go to Dr. Hale for relief from his out-of-control hay fever?
Do high-ranking Derek and commoner Stiles meet up for a hayloft tryst in ye olde handwave-y times? Or do they take their kids on a summer hayride while visiting Grandpa Noah (or is it John?)
Bundle together some ideas and make it happen!
Accepting new and unpublished fic, art, and playlists until July 31st. See here for more info.
#sterek#sterek events#teen wolf events#sterek & stuff events#mead moons#mead moons hay#prompt 9#graphic design is my passion 😂#random daily prompt
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#9 arguing about minor disagreements
arguing about minor disagreements
original prompt list here
There are loud voices in the common room when the Fire team makes it back from a call. Marjan hops off the rig first, and she frowns when she hears TK’s voice overlapping with Carlos’.
“What’s going on?” she asks Nancy, who’s looking already fed up with the situation.
“There hasn’t been a call in hours, and it was lunchtime so Carlos came over,” Nancy explains, sighing deeply as the voices rise up. “And then it was time for them to start organizing something or the other for the wedding.”
“Oh, is there going to be a wedding?” Paul jokes. “It’s not as if they hadn’t mentioned it in the past two months.”
Marjan laughs; they all love Carlos and TK with their whole hearts, they’re a family, but the wedding mentions as the date has been approaching have become ridiculous. “So this is about the wedding, huh?”
“This is about the color of the napkins,” Tommy stage-whispers as she joins them. “It all started because Carlos said that he loved the plum ones.”
“TK didn’t?” Mateo asks innocently.
“TK loves the same napkins,” Nancy explains. “It’s only that, apparently, they’re not aubergine. They’re boysenberry.”
“Are they arguing because of a color?” Judd pipes in, only for Captain Strand to interrupt him.
“Colors are important, you know, and a good color palette—”
The alarm blares off once again, signaling that Fire was needed somewhere. TK’s voice could be heard over the noise, making Nancy cringe. “Can’t we go with you?” she pleads to her boyfriend.
“I’m sorry,” Mateo replies, cheekily. “You may be needed for an emergency sooner than you think, if that argument escalates any further!”
And with that, the truck is once again back on the streets, leaving Nancy and Tommy to deal with two inexplicably angry fiancés arguing about color names during their lunch break.
#lire's 40 to the 40s#prompt 9#prompt 9: arguing about minor disagreements#tarlos#tk strand/carlos reyes#carlos reyes/tk strand#911ls#911 ls#911 lone star#fluff#tarlos wedding
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FFXIVWrite2023 Prompt 9: Fair
With the weight of the world on her shoulders, Shuri wondered if the Mother Crystal was a fair deity.
She didn't understand those of Eorzea, with their proclamations for the Twelve and the Mother Crystal as well. The Auri worshipped merely two, Azim and Nhaama. What on earth did mortals need twelve or thirteen deities for?
A wonder at a different point in time.
Azim and Nhaama, Shuri knew, were more than fair once their war with one another ended to love that blossomed among their children. But these other deities, ones that were spoken to her as though she should know who they were, Shuri knew nothing about them. Once, she had asked Thancred to explain Eorzea's deities to her, of their significance and why there were so many. However, the most important question of all to the Xaela was if those deities were fair.
Thancred was taken aback at her question and couldn't answer her. Nor could Y'shtola, whom Shuri could count on being one of the most intelligent of the Scions.
No one could answer her in terms of the Twelve or the Mother Crystal's fairness. Were they truly such? Or did they simply masquerade it so?
Shuri wasn't sure. Yet, she tried to not let it cloud her mind. Even when the protection afforded to her by Hydaelyn, the Echo, continued to remain, she forced herself to not think.
Surely, surely...Hydaelyn, the Mother Crystal, was fair, at least.
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