1) "What is it with this app and wanting black LIs to die so badly? Loy/War/Greg from HS, Regina literally being the antagonist of SC and you're supposed to hate her while rooting for the white boys and PrOtEct them from her. Now Veronica is telling us that wanting to sacrifice Matteo is the "Right choice"? 😭"
2) "Not to be woke, but as a Black person, seeing that killing War, the only Black person in HS2 , has an achievement, leaves a bad taste in my mouth"
Just read a comment on TT that they didn't want to choose Cassiel because he was rude to Audrey. But then I saw they are romancing Xander from Advent No. 3. Like???? 😭😭😭
"The fact that Donovan who on a bigger scale is actually less evil than characters like Malek and Malbonte is hated and considered the "old hag" of her book, while they're are loved just shows how anti women this fandom is. You know if this was a man instead he would be requested to become a LI and every "mistreatment" of Lane would be viewed as erotic instead."
barely go here anymore but everytime i think about how the dmitry yan backstory was built up like yan singlehandedly slaughtered his entire family only for dmitry to angst about it when HE was the one who shot yan & talk about how greg joined the squad with the intention to lie when he was called out for hiding info about his sister i start crying laughing
synopsis: come inside and be with me, alone with me
tw: they kiss and thats pretty much it lol, rated T
wc: 1k
Reaching the gnarled tree that she assumed had been the stranger writing on her door, Lane lets out a breath that shakes on the way out. A dejected sigh that melts into the sound of falling rain. The night is cold, the air heavy, and the stone lip of the fountain bites through the thin fabric of her nightgown as she sits. But she hardly notices.
Rain pours from the sky in heavy sheets, soaking her completely. Her hair clings to her face, her gown dripping and plastered to her skin. Lately, everything had been getting in her way.
“Lane? What are you doing out here?”
Cain’s voice cuts through the downpour like a blade. Quiet, but edged with concern. When she looks up, she expects indifference, but finds only weariness instead, etched into the corners of his eyes like an old ache. He looks exhausted. The rain runs down his face, soaking his clothes and wings, but he doesn’t flinch from it.
He scans the shadows instinctively, like he thinks she must’ve come out here chasing danger. Then he steps closer, cautious but purposeful.
“You’ll catch a cold.” His voice is soft, but it lands with more weight than it should. One of his wings lifts, feathers fanning wide to shield her from the worst of the rain. Water drums against the makeshift canopy, muffled and rhythmic.
She blinks rain from her lashes, brushes sodden strands of hair back from her face. Her hands are trembling from more than the cold. But Cain, as always, doesn’t interrogate her. He just watches her. And then, like some silent conclusion has been reached, he steps even closer and gently takes her hand.
“Are you alright?”
It’s such a simple question, but coming from him, it feels like a confession. There’s no trace of the usual cool distance in his face. Just open concern, raw and strange in its clarity. Blue eyes take her in as she stands, their bodies so close together they almost touch.
“I’m fine.” She says, though her voice sounds hoarse even to her own ears. Her lips part, dry despite the storm, and she doesn’t know what she’s lying about. Maybe everything.
His hand rises to her cheek, brushing away a drop of water. She closes her eyes at his touch. Cain’s hands are always cold, but not in a cruel way. It’s the kind of cold that soothes, that calms. Like quiet in the middle of chaos.
His kiss comes without fanfare, but not without feeling. It's sudden but not shocking, like thunder that follows long after the flash. She hadn’t anticipated it, but still she feels like she had been waiting for it. Like some part of her had always been waiting.
His lips press to hers with gentle insistence, coaxing rather than claiming. She leans into him, mouth parting just enough to invite more. Her fingers reach up instinctively, weaving into his soaked blonde hair, anchoring herself in the closeness. His hands slide down from her jaw to her waist, lingering, then tightening. He pulls her against him like he’s afraid she might drift away.
The kiss deepens. Slow, then hungrier, then almost desperate. He leans forward and she arches into him without thinking, their wet clothes clinging, their breath catching. His wings stretch wider to shelter them, muting the outside world in a rush of white feathers and warm shadow.
The rain becomes background. The world narrows to just this: the taste of him, the weight of his body against hers, the tension blooming between them like something sacred.
Cain kisses her like it costs him something.
There’s yearning in it, thick and aching. Not just want, but absence. Like he’s kissing her for all the times he hasn’t. Like he's afraid he'll never get to again. She feels it in the trembling of his hands, the urgency in the way his mouth slants over hers, the sigh that escapes him when she pulls him closer.
She’s soaked, shivering, but the cold doesn’t matter. All that matters is how real he feels. How alive. She can feel his breath on her cheek, his heartbeat pounding beneath her hands. When her thighs hit the fountain, he stops her, holding her there like she’s the only thing keeping him steady.
His tongue brushes her bottom lip, and she doesn’t hesitate. She opens to him willingly, helpless against the pull. The kiss turns reckless and consuming all at once.
When they break apart, it’s reluctantly, with labored breaths and eyes that don’t stray far. She’s surprised to find the familiar shade of blue grey staring back at her. They had been red last time they kissed.
She wants to ask why. But instead, she doesn’t ask anything. His forehead rests against hers, wet hair plastered to both their faces. Their breaths mingle, shaky and uneven.
Around them, the rain patters gently against his wings, the softest lullaby. A reminder that the night hasn’t stopped. That something waits on the other side of this fragile bubble.
But inside it, she only feels him. The echo of his kiss still burns on her mouth, thrums in her ribs.
Her arms remain looped around his neck. She doesn’t want to let go.
“…Let’s go inside,” she whispers, barely more than a breath.
Cain nods, slow, silent. His eyes search hers as though he’s trying to memorize her face, the way she looks in this moment. Undone. Wanting. Real.
His hands fall away first. And though she aches with the absence, she lets go too.
He walks beside her without speaking. Their footsteps are soft on the stone, their wet clothes clinging to their bodies. At her door, he hesitates. Rain drips from the ends of his wings.
The sparkle in her eyes was gone. Then she left again, and at first everything was quiet... until she called from somewhere and said that she had submitted her resignation
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