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zara-renata · 2 days ago

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So I had one holiday prompt that I couldn't include in the big holiday prompt fic I posted last week, and I also have been receiving some really sweet and cute ideas that weren't exactly requests, but the ideas were so nice that I wanted to write something for them. I've gathered them into one story that I hope isn't disappointing. I had intended to do separate, cute little drabbles, but I had a bad day the other day and somehow uh, really dark angst happened, and then I used the ideas people sent for the comfort half of the fic? So please forgive me for just... taking it as dark as you can go before including the sweet, cute ideas that people requested. I hope you like the result anyway, although please read the content warnings. Several of the people who sent requests/ideas apologized for doing so, as if sending the ideas was 'too much', but you don't have to apologize for sending asks. My requests are open, and I like seeing everyone's ideas even if I don't end up being able to write for them, or if I tweak them a little to make them work for the story that comes out of my brain despite my best laid plans to stick to an outline.

The river | ao3 | masterlist

It's Christmas Eve, you're at the end of your rope after an absolutely awful year, and you decide to end it all after pushing everyone in your life away. Sylus pulls you from the brink and convinces you to keep going.

Sylus x fem reader, Sylus x mc, hurt/comfort, angst, grief, banter, fluff. CW: attempted suicide, depressed thoughts, NSFW, Sylus penetrating reader (this is not sex ed, do not follow these idiots' example, no discussion of condom or birth control, this is fantasy and we're not going to worry about that in the fic)

Ask #1 You asked to keep sending silly little ideas for you to write so I thought I'd give my own request! After Caleb and Gran (supposedly) die it's pretty much canon that MC refuses help from their friends and isolates themself in certain ways. I always imagine MC sometimes sees Sylus as "the only one they have left" since he is the only one who goes out of his way to check up on MC. But MC kinda grows to resent this and has a moment when their drunk/really going through it and basically ask Sylus why he doesn't leave them be so they can just rot away in peace. Sorry if this is too lengthy or I'm overstepping! Brain worms are getting to me

Ask #2 Okay, so random thoughts here, but do you know that superstition that’s like, “the places where you have moles on your body show where your lover kissed you in a past life”? But like… can you imagine what it would be like if MC had a mole in the exact spot where Sylus bit her during Abyssal Mark (cus I have one there lol) and then that superstition randomly gets brought up, only for MC to show him that mole and Sylus is just s h o o k??? N e way that’s my random thoughts lol (sorry if this is a lot 💀)

Ask #3 I love the way you write the MC and I find myself relating to them at least 99% of the time. Sometimes I just imagine them giving Sylus one of those "Do you like me? Circle yes or no!" Love letters to Sylus because they are terrified of rejection -> i wrote the MC in this story really, really depressed, so if this didn't hit the spot for you in terms of fear of rejection, let me know, and I can include your prompt in another story idea I had before this one that's a lot lighter and sweeter before I got hit by the angst truck that this fic turned out to be. just let me know!

Ask #4 the last holiday prompt! -> idk if anyone sent it yet but from the xmas prompt list, i would love to see what you do with number 8 -> I'm so sorry that this is what I did with it, I hope you like it anyway😭

Thank you everyone who has sent me ideas! If you've sent me a request and I haven't answered it yet, it's because I'm still intending to do something with it.

Here you are. Again.

At the end of a long day. A long week. A long year.

A long rope.

It’s the dark, this time of year.

Maybe.

You’re restless. You’ve passed through the Deepspace Hunters Association doors for the last time this year. Empty days of leave stretch before you.

Normally, it would still be light out, leaving this early. But not now, this deep into the year—it’s already full night, as you leave work early.

The bright lights of the building pour over your upturned face as you look back, just once. You don’t know what for. You’ve successfully severed most of the ties you had built before.

Before everything.

Tara, Xavier. After Caleb, Josephine—they reached out, over and over, and you bit their outstretched hands with your sharp, sharp teeth.

You snapped enough times that they keep their distance, now.

They’re still kind.

Tara still comes, sits on your desk, shares tidbits of gossip during the workday. But she no longer invites you along to karaoke, to after-work drinks with other coworkers.

You and Xav work in sync, as you eliminate wanderers. He walks you to your door at the end of the day. But he no longer offers to lend you books. No longer invites you to the bookstore, or to try new restaurants.

You watch his broad back as he walks away from you, down your apartment building’s hallway. He feels as far away as a star in the velvet night sky.

It’s not their fault. You did this.

You wanted this.

You turn away from the warm light beaming from the Association as you leave early, the Christmas lights glittering in the windows, the holiday party you’re skipping still in full swing in the open, sleek company restaurant area on the ground floor. A division-wide shindig, to celebrate the end of the year, the holidays.

The night is cold. Fairy lights, nets of bright pinpricks in the dark night, cover the trees lining the sidewalk. Decorative light displays stretch across the busy road at periodic intervals, over the canals that parallel the streets, the gondolas and tour-boats festive under their own lights, red ribbons flapping in the cold winter wind.

You think about how they never recovered a body.

Only Josephine’s ashes fill an urn, sitting in a cold niche of a quiet columbarium. Caleb’s urn is empty.

You start walking, fast, along the busy sidewalk. People are out shopping, scurrying to tie up last minute errands before the city shuts down for the holiday tomorrow.

You want to unzip your coat. Unzip your uniform. Unzip your skin, your ribcage. Leave all these pieces of yourself behind, for others to puzzle over. To sweep up with the rest of the refuse left over from festive party goers on the street. You want to dissipate in the cold winter air like your breath with each cursed inhale, exhale.

You settle for beginning to jog to the metro station, your feet carrying you faster, faster, your boots heavy on the sidewalk. You see it lit in the distance, but you can’t stand the thought of being underground right now. Buried alive, with all the other people. You sprint past it.

You’re graceful enough to duck and weave, not disturb anyone else, until the crowds thin.

You’re running, running, the city is streaming past, like the tears from your eyes. Wet from the cold, because you haven’t cried since waking up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s silver chain glittering in the firelight on the walk up to your grandmother’s burning house.

Tears won’t bring a body back.

You don’t know how much longer you can stand this.

The days, one after another. Alarm, moving through the dark to get to work. Moving through the dark to get back to your apartment at the end of the day.

The pain—your only constant, now. The only thing you expect, have to look forward to, day after blurred day.

An echoing emptiness, like an urn without ashes. An emptiness that feels so full that your skin could burst with it.

You think about your apartment. The festive city outside its windows. The half-opened bottle of wine in the fridge, the only thing in it.

You veer from your neighborhood. Keep running. You’re sweating under your winter coat, your heavy Hunter uniform. It doesn’t matter.

You run, and run, and run, until you run out of streets, sidewalk.

Just the river, wide and black. There is a bridge, soaring over the water, in the distance. Its lights reflected in the water, along with the urban nightscape. Stars above, stars below.

You could drown in them.

You look at the bridge.

You could drown in it all.

There’s no one left, after all.

Who will miss you?

You slow. Stop.

Your breath is heavy in the quiet air. Fairy lights sparkle here, too. Pretty swooping light displays top each lamppost along the river path.

You would have gone to identify the body, as you did with Gran. She didn’t look like herself. Not even a sleeping version of herself. They did their best, reconstructing her face. But it wasn’t the stitches, the bruising. It was that she simply wasn’t there anymore. Like a stranger’s body on display. An empty house after the residents have been forced to flee in a night of unimaginable violence.

But running your hands through her hair, one last time. It soothed something in you. Enough that you could breathe in the cold mortuary air. Could nod. Could watch as they covered her again. As they escorted you out into the bustling hospital hallways, to stand under cold fluorescent lights. To stare vacantly at the wall, until you felt a strange, familiar feeling. You looked up, saw Zayne watching you, at the end of the long hallway. You stared at him, memorizing his beautiful face. His dark hair. His severe, cold loveliness. You let yourself look one last time, and he let you. Through the people filling the hallway, each walking with purpose, they were a blur and he was across the world, across time, a part of your past that should never have reappeared in your present. It hurt too much, to look at his beautiful, distant face. He left you behind, once. He should have stayed gone. You can’t stand to experience the loss again, the loss you felt every time he listened to your heart, expressionless, a stranger with a beautiful, familiar face from your past, a past in which Caleb was still alive.

You looked at Zayne one last time, across a bustling hallway in a place full of life, of death, and he let you. You then turned, headed to the reception desk. You switched doctors, hospitals.

You blocked his number, so you’ll never know if he sent you a text, tried to call and ask why, after. He let you walk out. Which is as it should be.

You wanted this.

The water churns under the whipping wind, the fast current. It looks so cold. Cold enough to numb. Cold enough to finally put out the fire that’s been burning in you, ever since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace shimmering in the flames.

You think of running your hands through his hair. Something the fire robbed you of—it would have been your first time, your last time. He would pat your head. Call you pipsqueak. Ignore your protests to not mess up your hair, to not treat you like a little kid. But he would always duck out of the way anytime you tried to return the favor, tease him, tousle his hair. His pretty brunette hair that always looked so soft. Now you’ll never know how soft it really was.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. The car headlights meteors streaking along their guardrail-gated orbit.

You think about going home. Waking up tomorrow, Christmas Day. The silence. You think about going back to work. Killing wanderer after wanderer. Wondering which one will be the one to finally kill you.

The days blur. The constant emptiness echoing inside your apartment, inside your ribcage.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. You imagine running your hands through Caleb’s hair for the first, the last time. A tender goodbye you’ll never have, because they never found his body.

There’s no one left to miss you.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You fish it out.

Rafayel no longer calls, or texts you words. He just sends photos, every once in a while. Mundane details of everyday life, rendered extraordinary through his artist’s eye. Paintings he’s working on. A foreign landscape. Leaves glistening with dew. The moon, waxing full.

You haven’t answered in months. You look at each one, tuck your phone back in your pocket.

You look back at the water. Think about taking a photo of the reflected stars, the thin crescent moon in the black waves, think of sending him one last response. But even you’re not that cruel. You don’t want him to realize later, that he was the last one to say anything to you.

You don’t open his text. You block his number. Tuck the phone back into your pocket.

You start to walk toward the bridge. As you walk, you keep your eyes on the path, its edges. Decorative, smooth stones line the walkway along the river embankment. You pick them up, here and there, as you walk. Slip them into your coat pockets.

Eventually you run out of room in your coat pockets, add more to your pants pockets.

You turn your eyes back to the bridge, looming now.

You think of your empty fridge. Josephine’s empty face. An empty urn.

You’re ready to scoop out what’s left of you, leave it behind on the sidewalk, smoldering as the cold night finally smothers the endless fire, the only thing left inside you. Maybe it will warm someone else, in passing. A last good deed, from you to someone in the world.

A metal staircase, leading up, up, into the black sky, mirroring the dark river, your heavy boots echoing. The cars are loud. If you close your eyes, they could be the rushing waves of an ocean, instead of a river of traffic, above a river of water.

You keep your eyes open. You’re not going to pretend that you’re not doing what you’re doing, now. You’re not at the ocean, its pure salt air drifting through your hair, now whipping around your face. You’re on a busy, exhaust- and oil-stained commuter bridge on the night before Christmas, having cut your ties with everyone you have always known never wanted or needed you in the first place. What’s the difference if a wanderer kills you tomorrow, or if something kills you today? Just empty time, blurry days, photo frames without pictures.

The guardrail isn’t so high as one would guess. It’s an easy step up. An easy step over. You stand, looking back over the city where you were raised. The city that contains all the past versions of yourself, from the moment you were pulled screaming into life from a mother whose face you’ll never know, through to now, an empty shell of a person. If your fellow hunters could see inside you, they’d mistake you for a wanderer and put you down, like the scientists who experimented on you, your own grandmother, did years ago.

Since learning that Gran was one of the people who fucked with your heart, you have often resented that she and her colleagues weren’t successful in finishing the job years ago, when they had the chance.

But now you wonder, standing over a dark, freezing river that reflects what’s inside you now, maybe they did finish it. You just didn’t realize it. Not till tonight, as you look down in the mirror of the rushing water, far below.

Even now, the tears won’t come.

What use are tears, when they can’t bring a body back. When they can’t wash it clean. When they can’t lovingly touch it, one last time, soft strands of hair under your fingers.

Your tears, your heart, your suffering, your existence—useless, for the entirety of a life you can only half remember.

You wonder if it’s the dark, tonight. Why tonight, and not yesterday? Why not six months ago?

Because it took that long to sever the ties binding you here?

Now you are assured, no one will miss you. It will take days before anyone even notices your absence because of your holiday leave.

You hope that they’ll assume it was a wanderer. Bad luck. Wrong time, wrong place. A modest little plaque on the wall of heroes, even though you know you’re no hero.

In the end, it doesn’t matter why it’s tonight, and not any other night.

No need to be dramatic, pretending there’s meaning in the meaningless.

You put your hands on the guardrail, the metal colder than your freezing hands. You lift a heavy booted foot. Take a deep breath.

It’s so cold. It will be over before you know it. You’ve read that from this height, it’s the impact, and not the drowning.

You’ve always had dreams of flying.

You lift your other foot, arms thrown wide for balance, just for a moment. The world feels so big, here at the end. The stars above, the stars below, the doubled crescent moon. You’re ready to drown in it all.

You only have one hope.

I don’t want to be reborn.

You breathe, empty your mind of Tara’s earnest smile, Xavier’s soft laughter, Zayne’s steady hands, Rafayel’s flashing violet eyes. Josephine’s empty face. Caleb’s soft, untouchable hair.

You let yourself fall.

You’re flying. Your heart is soaring. Your heart is seizing. The relief, the terror, mingle. You can’t scream, even if you wanted to.

You’re flying and it’s everything you ever dreamt, until it’s not.

Your body jerks, abruptly. Your hair whips down, lashes your face. You grunt with the impact against… nothing. You’re suspended over the water, drifting in the air. The wind tugs at your stone-weighted coat.

You twist away from the water, craning your neck to look up, up, back at the bridge.

You have withstood the uselessness of tears for almost a year now. But now, you want to cry so badly the pain of the need steals your breath.

You knew he was cruel. You knew he was merciless. You knew that he hated you. You just didn’t realize how much, until now.

You hang suspended over a dark, rushing river, wrapped in scarlet and ink tendrils, looking up into the sneering face of the one person you refused to think about as you made your final decision tonight, at the end of your desolate, half-remembered life.

His evol begins to lift you, away from the merciful impact, the numbing water. You, your past, your heart, the memories and despair and stones filling your pockets seem weightless, wrapped in his power.

His usual mask of bored indifference is gone. He is finally showing you his true face, what he must always feel when he looks at you—fury and disgust.

He says nothing, as he pulls you from the depths, back into the world. As he sets you gently back on your heavy feet on the sidewalk in front of him. His evol evaporates, winter breath in the wind.

He looks at your face with his wine-dark eyes. Looks at the water. Flicks his gaze back to your face.

You will not cry in front of this man. This man who hates you so much he won’t even let you seek the peace of death. Death, which has always been too good for you, but not for the people you loved the most.

You clench your jaw as the fire re-ignites in your chest. The flames you had tried so hard to scoop out, to leave behind.

You don’t want to feel this much anymore.

If you speak, you know you’ll cry. You can’t stand it.

Maybe, with enough repetition, he’ll get bored. He gets bored so easily, after all.

You turn, try to launch yourself over the guardrail again.

This time, it’s not his evol, but his arms that wrap around you, pull you back from the fall.

You struggle, throwing your elbows, kicking, throwing your head back, hoping to catch his perfect nose, break it under the hardness of your stupid, useless skull.

He says nothing, just holds you tighter, wraps one arm around your waist, the other over your chest, his big hand cradling the side of your face, pressing your head back into his own chest, as he hunches over you, an immovable wall of warmth. As you fight to break free of his hold, you are wrapped in his scent—cloves, gun oil.

Sylus.

Eventually, you tire yourself out—despite all of your strength, it is no match for his. He holds you against himself easily, as you pant, lungs burning with the effort, the sweat warm once again under your Hunter’s uniform. You become aware of a whimpering, the keening of a wounded animal.

It’s coming from your throat. Your eyes burn. You go limp in his arms.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. A voice like warm liquor in your veins. You think he’ll let you go. You prepare, hoping you can get to the guardrail again. Maybe this time he won't be so fast. But instead of releasing you, getting away from you as fast as he can, the arm around your waist moves up, cradling your upper back. He scoops his other arm under your legs, holds you against himself like you’re a delicate princess, if you were anyone else. But because it’s you, he’s probably just holding you like a useless sack of shit that would be too annoying to drop. He begins to walk, his stride steady, brisk.

He looks down into your face. “I bought a dress for you. Silk. A design like stars over a flowing river. That’s the only river you’re allowed in tonight, kitten.”

You stare at him. His breath puffs white in the cold air. The face of disgusted fury is replaced by his usual bored mask.

Why is he doing this to you? He wanted to kill you, just a few months ago. Why not let you do the job for him?

He is the only person in your life who didn’t take the hint. Who kept showing up, after you made it clear that you didn’t want their presence anymore. That you couldn’t handle the ties, because ties become nooses, snapping your neck when the other person leaves you behind.

When he showed up where you were, in a ‘coincidental’ meeting on the street, on a jog, you would turn, move in the other direction. He would match your stride, doggedly pestering you with questions, asking you about your evening or weekend plans, telling you silly stories from the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran’s latest antics. Sometimes he’d just walk in contemplative silence, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, or jog quietly next to you, never losing his breath, never complaining about the pace.

When you would routinely see him at various restaurants you were headed to in order to pick up takeout, you’d leave your food, immediately turning and hurrying away. When the same food was delivered to your door half an hour later, you’d refuse to answer, letting the confused and irritated delivery man leave. A half hour after that, the same man would be back, yell through the door that he had instructions to leave the food even if no one answered, and then he’d make good on his promise. You were faced with the choice of either letting the food go to waste, or eating it guiltily at your kitchen island.

No matter how many times you told the delivery person of the almost daily packages you received with no return address that you didn’t want to accept delivery, they would always insist that their instructions were to deliver regardless of recipient response. You were welcome to bin the items after receipt, but if you didn’t accept, the packages would just pile so high outside of your door that you couldn’t reach your apartment anymore.

You would accept, and then donate whatever exquisite item was inside to women’s shelters, children’s homes, university museums, soup kitchens, fundraiser auctions. No matter how clear it was that you wouldn’t accept anything from him, Sylus never stopped sending you gifts.

When you were sick, he’d show up personally, barge into your apartment when you were too tired to look at the doorbell camera before answering, a duffel bag gripped in his big hand filled with fever reducing medicine, homemade soup from his home chef, painkillers, hot water bottles, cooling pads, muscle pads, vitamins. He’d lounge on your couch, manspreading, insisting that he wouldn’t leave until he saw you swallow the pills and drink a gigantic glass of water.

He’d wait until you lay back down on your messy bed, until you fell asleep. He’d be gone when you woke again, but your apartment would be clean and your fridge and freezer would be stuffed full of healthy pre-prepared food.

You were half-convinced he was just buttering, fattening his prey before getting bored and mercifully ending its life.

Tonight, you are now fully convinced.

“Did your tongue freeze in your mouth?” he asks, descending the stairs you had just walked up, thinking it was your last time ascending them. “Do you need mouth-to-mouth to warm it up again?”

You scowl at him, at how appealing the idea of Sylus’s tongue in your mouth is, even now. You hate yourself, your traitorous body for being drawn to him, even now. “What’s the point of talking, when you never listen?” you grind out, your throat sore. You hadn’t realized how much your animal wailing had wrecked your throat. At least the tears are no longer so close to the surface that they’re threatening to spill.

“I listen to every word out of your beautiful mouth,” he counters serenely, with that same inexplicable kindness that makes your heart hurt. So at odds with how you know he must really feel about you. “I just listen to more than your mouth in order to hear what you’re really saying.”

“What?” You stare at his beautiful face, the way the lamplight illuminates its sharp features for a brief moment, before the night swallows it again as he moves between lampposts on his way… somewhere. Back the way you just came from.

He spares you a glance. “Your mouth says one thing, while the rest of you is screaming something else.”

You feel the blood draining from your face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

One corner of his beautiful mouth lifts. “Don’t play dumb, kitten. You’re too smart for it to be convincing.”

You were just falling into the river. You were just about to be free. How did you get here again? In this man’s arms, his smug, roguish smile filling you with the unease of being seen.

“I mean, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little more honest about the fact that you want people to fight for you, right?”

You begin to struggle again, shame lancing through you, making your body unbearable to be in. You know it’s weak, to have wanted so desperately that the people you were carving from your life would see what you were doing and stop you, place their hands over yours holding the cleaver, gently push it down, down, until it dropped from your grasp—how desperately you wanted them to step into your space, hold you tightly, just like this man who sees right through you is holding you now. You wanted Tara to keep inviting you out with your ridiculous colleagues, to sing your heart out at shitty karaoke clubs, to forcibly drag you to sleepovers and arcade nights. You wanted Xavier to push himself into your apartment, try to bake something horrible in your oven, sheepishly offer to go to the bakery with you instead when the fire alarm inevitably went off. You wanted Zayne to walk through the crowd to reach you at the other end of the hallway after you identified Josephine’s body, to ask to take your hand, to ask how you were doing, even though you knew you wouldn’t have been able to answer. You wanted Rafayel to keep inventing excuses for you to visit his studio, to keep insisting that he needed you to accompany him to expositions and fancy lunches as his bodyguard.

But none of them did in the end, and that’s okay. You kept pushing them away, because your terror of their leaving was apparently bigger than your need for their presence in your life, and at least if they were already gone, as they inevitably would be, you’d finally be free.

But the last person you would want to see this utterly humiliating need inside you, exposing you like this, is the one looking down at you right now with deceptively soft, all-seeing eyes.

You know the feeling, this need, of pulling away and pulling away and then being heartbroken when people finally let you is weak, and pathetic.

You may experience weak and pathetic feelings, but you’re not weak or pathetic. Not at your core. You were prepared to do what was necessary, to save yourself from the pain of your emptiness, the fire raging inside your chest. You weren’t asking anything of anyone. You were doing it all on your own.

Not a burden.

Never a fucking burden.

You clench your teeth, buck in Sylus’s arms.

He just holds you tightly, a straightjacket for the insanity that you’re feeling, the insanity of this man, out of all the people in your life, stripping you of your masks, flaying you so that all of your most tender, shameful parts are exposed to both him and yourself.

“Stop that. You’re just going to tire yourself further, when I need you tonight.”

Of course. The quid pro quo. He helped you with the auction, the Aether Core. Now you owe him. He doesn’t give a fuck if you live or die—he just can’t let one of his assets destroy itself before it fulfills his purpose.

You go limp in his arms. Turn your head away from him.

He continues his train of thought. “No, it wouldn’t kill you to tell the truth to your friends, so you decided to take matters into your own hands, huh? Telling the people in your life that you actually need them wouldn’t kill you, so why bother, right, when you can just jump off of a fucking bridge?” His voice sounds like the night you met him. Controlled anger. Disgust. Accusation.

Then there’s something wrong with her.

You thought you had killed everything inside of you already. The yearning for human connection. The kindness of a friend. Family holding you in their arms. You thought you had scooped out most of it, even as some of it rekindled when he pulled you back from the fall.

But the way you’re hurting now, at the memory of his hate, the reminder that the people you love won’t fight for you even if it would be fighting against you, and that this man, for all of his false generosity, never cared for you from the beginning, that his gifts and his visits were all what you knew them to be, all along—a bored predator toying with its prey before using it and consuming it.

You let your thoughts drift back to the bridge, push your pain away. Feed it to the fire. When he’s done with you, maybe you won’t even have to jump.

“Just shut up, Sylus. I’ll help you with your problem tonight. Just promise me you’ll toss me over yourself, when you’re done with me,” you tell the night, because you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

He stops walking. The wind is so cold against your face. You wish he’d snap your neck, right now. You’re so fucking tired.

“Look at me.” His voice is low. Menacing.

You watch the water. Wonder how long it would take if you just walked out into it, without jumping. Just walk in with your stone-weighted coat and let the cold paralyze you, the current pull you under.

“Look at me, my heart,” he whispers. The change in his tone, his bizarre endearment, has you turning your head, looking up into his face. “That is one promise I can never make you.” He looks like he’s in pain. You don’t know why. He leans down, rests his forehead against yours, hunching his big shoulders, lifting your body in his arms so he can meet you. His breath is warm against your lips. “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

You want to snort. It’s rich, coming from him—the same man who is telling you not to tell him to shut up, after all the things he said to you as he starved you, strangled you.

“Please don’t tell me to kill you. To hurt you. That hurts me.”

You stare up into his face. See the sincerity in his eyes. The wind whips your hair. He wasn’t upset that you told him to shut up, but that you asked him to kill you? “What does it matter? Aren’t you going to, in the end?”

“Why would I stop you tonight, if I wanted you to die?”

Of course he won’t answer outright. When has Sylus Qin ever answered a direct question?

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Why bother stopping me, unless you just need to use me and then be done with me? I can’t be that irreplaceable. Just get someone else to put on the dress, and let me get on with my fucking life. Someone who you can train to say just the right things, at just the right time, who’ll look good in whatever fancy shit you want to put her in. There’s gotta be easier idiots than me to serve your purpose.”

He closes his eyes, breathes in the cold night air. When he opens them, you have to look away. You can’t handle whatever is in them. “I know I hurt you, when we first met. That I said cruel things to you. I’m sorry.”

You laugh, even as your heart wrenches at this strange apology. Of course he doesn’t explain what offended him so much about your existence at the beginning. Why he treated you exactly how you deserved. Probably just whatever he saw when he used his Aether Core on you. He saw the echoing chambers of your empty, fucked up heart and was enraged that it was you, and not someone worthy, who would absorb the Aether Core. “There’s never been any need to varnish the truth, Sylus. You almost choked me to death the day we met. You should have fucking finished what you started,” you sneer. “Why does no one ever finish what they start?” You think of Josephine, her researcher cronies. Think of Caleb, his promise to return, the last text he ever sent you. Your fucking parents, who you will never know.

You don’t expect an answer.

And yet, you’re surprised when Sylus wordlessly releases his hold on you. Lets you slip from his arms, sets you back on your feet. You settle in your heavy boots, the weight of your coat, the stones in your pockets, grounding you to the earth.

The lamplight shines in his silver-sheened, wind-tousled hair. His cheeks are red from the cold.

Of course. Of course.

No tool is irreplaceable.

You’re not irreplaceable.

You finally said the right thing, to push him away.

This is it. This is it. This is it.

Your mind returns to the bridge. Your hand is holding the cleaver, dripping with the blood from the last unwelcome tether to your life.

You try to memorize his face, just as you did Zayne’s, but for some reason looking at Sylus’s face hurts you so much more despite having known him for so little time. Just a sigh, in the timeline of your life. The warm glow of his irises. The softness of his lower lip. The pride in his shoulders, his nose.

Maybe you didn’t want to think of him before jumping because you had fallen in love with him, despite the fact that any affection he offered was counterfeit—the steady way he breathed next to you on a jog, the way he spread out on your couch, his dry humor, his intelligence, his piercing gaze, his kindness that was actually more cruel than if he had just tossed you out and never bothered to look for you again after the auction.

You knew it was fake. You knew it was calculated. You knew that the reality was, because he had told you from the very beginning—

Don’t tell me that you like me. Is this all so you can get my attention?

Clearly you’ve read too many fairytales.

And yet you had believed, in the bright moments of receiving his kind attention, in the fairytale. Just for a heartbeat. A raindrop, splattering on the ground.

You thought that you couldn’t bear to see what it looks like when Sylus finally tires of you pushing him away, and stops reaching out, as everyone else has.

But with just a few words, you’ve finally managed to do it. He set the burden of you down, and now he’ll walk away, replace you with some other beautiful, breathing tool.

You learn in this moment that you actually can bear it. You can bear anything, as long as you know that very soon, you won’t have to bear anything at all.

“You wanted the truth?” you say, suddenly, the relief flooding through you that the worst has happened, that you’re now actually free. You think of the fabric of the dress, liquid stars over a night river, and wonder whose body it will caress, with Sylus’s big hand on her waist, his gentle fingers drifting across her collarbone, his forehead pressed against hers, for whatever ruse he needs to run tonight, on Christmas Eve.

He grows still. Watches you carefully, as if searching your face for a trick. You look back at him steadily, scooping everything inside you out, letting it splatter onto the sidewalk, here along this dark riverbank.

“Will you give it to me?” he finally asks.

“As a parting thank you gift, for cutting me loose.” You nod. Take a shuddering breath of the frigid air. “Here is me telling you the truth: you should treat the woman who ends up wearing the dress you got with more gentleness than you did me at the beginning. You could have the world eating out of the palm of your hand, if you skip the cruelty at the beginning and just treat people the way you treated me in the last few months. She’ll do anything for you, I think, if you do. Because somehow you made me love you, despite our beginning. I could bear to cut everyone else loose but you.” You laugh, and the sound is like icicles snapping, shattering on the ground. “Thank you for doing it for me, instead. It’s probably the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

You smile at him.

You don’t know why you’re surprised that he just frowns deeply, brow furrowing.

Well. That’s okay. You never expected him to be pleased to see your face, smiling or not.

“Good luck, Sylus.”

You turn, begin to walk back the way you came, for the second time tonight. Your thoughts are already at the bridge. You’ve been falling for months now. Soon you’ll finally hit the crystal water and shatter.

You hope you won’t be reborn.

“You said you love me.” His deep, low voice is carried by the wind.

You stop, turn your head. “Stupid, huh?” you ask, wondering if he wants to pour salt into the wound you just willingly exposed to him.

“Why would you love someone who treated you the way I did?”

You turn fully, face him across the night, one last time. “You’re so fucking funny. I’ve always appreciated men who can make me laugh.” You shrug. “And I’m a pathetic fool. You pretended to be kind, and I lapped it up like the thirsty dog I am.”

He tilts his head, takes a step towards you. “That’s all?”

You take a step back. You don’t need him and his pretty face, his delicious scent any closer to torment you.

You offer him more truth. “Of course not.”

“What else?”

You sigh. “What does it matter? We’ll never see each other again.”

He shakes his head. “Indulge me.”

So salt, it is. You press your fingers into the most tender part of yourself, peel yourself wide open. “Your cleverness. How sweet you can be when you want something—strangely pliant, for such a big, powerful man. The self confidence you have. I could say, do anything and you did so well pretending to never be embarrassed of me. You made me believe, very briefly, that you really wanted to be with me, do anything, go anywhere, just because I was there. It’s quite impressive, really. I can see why you’re so good at business. You’re competent. You’re beautiful to look at.” You pause, shake your head in turn. “But you already know all that. You know why you’re loveable. You made me feel cherished in a way that no one ever has, even as I was pushing you away. But honestly, those are just parts of you. They don’t fully cover what it is about you that makes my heart ache when I look at you. I love you because you’re you. Even hearing your name makes my heart race. Seeing your shoes in my foyer, because they were on your feet. The curve of your wrist, because it belongs to you. I know it’s pathetic, and stupid.” You shrug again. “Can’t help it, though.”

He stares at you.

You prod him. “Is that enough?”

“How can you ask if that’s enough, when it’s everything?”

You look at him in confusion. “Huh?”

He takes a step towards you, frowning. “Are you only telling me all this because you think I’ve finally given up and allowed you to push me away, because I set you back on your feet?”

You take a step back, as he takes another step forward.“What do you mean ‘I think’ you’ve given up?” You squint at him.

“Did you only tell me all this because you’re going straight back to the bridge to try again?”

You take another step back at the intensity of his face, his question. “What does it matter? You don’t have to worry about what happens to me after this.”

He takes two steps. “You tell me you love everything about me, and then you plan to fuck off and leave me alone again?”

Okay, this was a mistake. You don’t know why he’s mad, but he’s mad again. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what else to say. You’ve been sorry your whole life. This is yet another miscalculation. You should have just left. What did you think would happen if you told him how you feel? That he’d be happy about your pathetic heart bleeding pitifully for him?

He strides over to you, his long legs outpacing your own. “If you’re sorry, don’t fucking do it.”

“What?”

He looks down into your face, so close you can smell him again, you can see the fine lines around his eyes as he frowns. “If you’re really sorry for loving me, for ever meeting me—which are the only things you have to be sorry for, then make it up to me by staying. Don’t leave me. Don’t push me away anymore. Just stay, and love me.”

You huff. “Are you really that desperate for help tonight?”

He lifts his hands, places his palms on your cheeks, his long fingers dipping into your hair. “No, I’m desperate for you tonight. It’s Christmas—I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do. I want to spend it with you. You made me watch you jump off of a goddamned bridge. What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?” He sounds so upset. You’ve never seen him like this. The fear is naked on his lovely face.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What does it matter? You said you could get someone else for the dress, for tonight.” You’re so confused. Why is he acting like this?

“I didn’t say any of that. You suggested that I replace you with someone else, I set you on the ground to make sure you were looking at my face, that you were listening to my words when I told you that you’re irreplaceable. That no one else will do. That after watching you almost die, I can’t continue being cautious and trying not to frighten you away anymore.”

“You… what?”

“You love me. Right? You weren’t lying?” he looks uncertain, like he can’t quite believe it.

You can’t bring yourself to lie. The truth is out. You’re witnessing the fallout. There’s no point in backpedaling. “Yeah.”

He nods, once, decisively. “Okay. That’s enough.”

You sigh in relief. Maybe he’ll let you go, finally, finally.

He checks his chunky watch, the platinum flashing in the lamplight. “There’s still time.”

“Time for what?”

“For my plans tonight. Come.” He closes the distance, sweeps you into his arms again, cradles your body against him like something fragile.

“What plans? Listen—” you start to argue.

“No. Now it’s my turn to speak, and for you to listen.” he squeezes you tightly. “Today was the last day you spend alone. If you can’t live for yourself, then you can live for me, until you remember why you want to live for yourself again. No matter what you say, or what you do to get rid of me, it’s not going to work.”

You can’t even process what is happening. “What are you—?” you begin, but he cuts you off again.

His voice is strained, rough. “You love me. So you have to take responsibility. You have to stay.”

You don’t know what to say.

I’m desperate for you tonight.

You can’t believe this. He hates you. He has hated you from the beginning. He was so kind to you because he wanted to use you for something he never bothered explaining to you. He needs you for your resonance, your amplification of his powers.

You’re irreplaceable. No one else will do.

Because of your resonance?

I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do.

He carries you along the wind-swept riverbank, through the frigid night. Stars above, stars below.

You made me watch you jump off a goddamned bridge.

You didn’t think anyone was left to care.

You were so careful, severing ties like arteries, so that you wouldn’t leave the world with more pain than you found it. It was already bleeding so much.

You just were so tired of bleeding with it.

As if sensing the turn of your thoughts, Sylus carries you to the edge of the river’ embankment, where the concrete falls away, drops into the water.

He sets you down again, but doesn’t let you go. His big hands slide down the outside of your coat, dip into your pockets.

He pulls out a smooth stone. Turns it in his hands.

“I’ll never understand how someone so light can weigh so heavily in me,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.”

His ember eyes flick back to yours. He hands you the stone.

“This is your conviction that the world won’t miss you, if you’re gone. You will hold it in your hand, one last time. And then you will throw it in the water.” He wraps your cold fingers around the stone. Somehow, his fingers are still warm.

You grasp it, look up into his face. You see yourself in them. It hurts, to be seen so clearly. You’re so ashamed. “How did you know?”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head a little. Opens them. “I looked into your soul, the day we met. I know you’re too soft-hearted in this life to kill yourself if you thought it would hurt someone else. You don’t carry that spite, anymore.”

In this life.

Anymore.

You can’t bring yourself to ask him what he means. You only know that once again, Sylus Qin has seen inside you, has seen you, in a way no one else ever has.

“But I don’t think anyone would miss me. I made sure of it.”

He huffs. “You’re a fool, if you actually believe that. The people you’ve pushed away still love you. But if you can’t believe that yet, then you can’t pretend to yourself that you’re disposable anymore, if for no other reason than I’m standing here now, telling you that I would miss you.”

You think of Tara, sitting on your desk, nudging a steaming latte she got for you on her way to work toward you, asking if you’ve heard the latest about Simone and Andrew.

You think of Xavier, walking you to your door at the end of a nasty wanderer encounter, reaching out, brushing a bit of mud off your cheek, then smearing it across his own cheek. See, we match now.

You think of Zayne, waiting across a busy hallway, patient, letting you choose to approach him, and respecting you by letting you walk away.

You think of Raf, the beauty he shares with you with every photo, the funny strings of emoji that don’t demand an answer.

“How do you know, that they would miss me?” you ask Sylus quietly.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, sweetie. Do you think I haven’t seen your friends’ faces when you walk away from them?”

You clutch the stone in your hand. “I don’t think I can change my thoughts, my conviction, just like that.”

“You love me, so you have to try. Throw it. Every time you try to drag it back up, I’ll remind you that you threw it away, and you can let it stay at the bottom of the river.” He reaches up, caresses your cheek with his fingertips.

You want to cry. You want to cry, because you’re so afraid. If you let yourself believe that people love you, you have to stay, for them. You have to feel, every day, the weight of grief, of existence, the pain of being alive, of being inside yourself, your body. The hollowness will return, even with your friends, even with Sylus filling most of it.

It’s like he can read your thoughts as his eyes devour your face, as his fingers tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I won’t let you pretend, anymore. You love me, and I will not survive if you aren’t here with me. So you have to stay. We don’t have to accept that life is a curse. We can fight back. Make it something better.”

“I’m scared,” you say.

His eyes are so tender, as he watches your mouth form your biggest truth, set it free in the night. “I will protect you, until you can protect yourself again. There’s nothing to be afraid of, if we’re together.”

You want to believe him. Your heart beats painfully behind your ribs. The moon is a sharp crescent in the sky.

But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.

“You’ll really stay?”

He finally smiles, a faint Sylus smile that feels like a grin. “I told you. Today was the last day you’ll ever be alone. You can’t get rid of me now, no matter what you do, or say.”

You turn, holding the stone in your cold hands. You think of all the lies you’ve been telling yourself, about your friends, your place in their lives, because you were so tired of living with an unnameable grief, one you carried inside you long before Caleb and Josephine died, but whose loss compounded, made unbearable the original sorrow.

And I will not survive if you aren’t here with me.

You don’t know why he feels this way. Does he love you too? He hasn’t said so. Can he even love you, in the way you love him?

Does it matter?

It’s enough, that he says he’ll stay. That he wants you to stay alive. That he’ll help remind you, when the whispers drift back in your mind, telling you that you’re just a burden, that no one actually loves you, would miss you when you’re gone. When the hollowness echoes so loudly it’s all you can hear.

You lean back, lift the stone, throw it as hard as you can, as far as you can, into the rushing river.

You don’t hear its splash over the wind.

You turn back to Sylus.

He dips into your pocket again. Pulls out another stone. “Your guilt, for having lived. For having been born.”

You take it from him. Let your mind drift. Feel along the contours of your memories, the jagged, missing pieces, all the way back to when it fades to black. You throw the stone.

You don’t see it sink to the riverbed.

He dips into your pocket again. “Your shame, for needing others. For being human, and imperfect. For not being able to do it all alone. For wanting to be loved.”

You take the stone. “Is it really okay?” you ask, helplessly. There’s no point pretending everything he is saying isn’t true. “To want these things, when I haven’t earned them?”

He steps closer to you. Places his hands on your shoulders, draws you in. “There is no okay, or not okay. There is no crime and punishment, no transgression, no sin. How can it be shameful, to want what you were born to want? Why does love have to be earned, instead of just given?”

You lean into him, press your face into his chest, his thick wool coat soft against your skin.

“I don’t know.”

He reaches into your pocket, places a stone in your other hand. “One for your shame, one for the idea that love must be earned. Throw them.”

You lean back again, and it’s already too far away from him. But you throw each stone, and they disappear under the cold water.

“That’s enough, for now. We’ll take the rest home.” He draws you back into his arms. Lifts you without effort, stone-filled pockets and all. The weight of all of you. “When you have thoughts of shame, of guilt, of not being loved, we’ll come back. You’ll throw them again. Until they’re all gone. We’ll gather other stones, when other feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.”

Sylus carries you along the path back to the road that snakes along the river. His motorcycle gleams under a bright lamppost.

He settles a helmet on your head, checks to make sure it’s secure. Puts his own on. You sit behind him, cling to him. Rest your head against his broad back, close your eyes. The motorcycle is loud, and he drives it carefully through the busy, holiday bustling streets, until he reaches your apartment building. He holds your hand as he leads you through the front doors, as he stands quietly beside you in the elevator, his red, warm eyes never leaving your face in the elevator mirrors. He leads you to your front door, waits patiently while you unlock it with your cold finger.

In the hallway, he kneels at your feet, unlaces your tall boots while you look down at him, the soft fall of his silver hair, his big, nimble fingers working the laces.

He then removes his own boots. His coat. He’s wearing a garishly bright Christmas sweater, with prancing reindeer. He hangs his coat on a peg in the wall. He turns, slowly unzips yours. Eyes flicking between the zipper and your face. He gently lifts it from your body, again like it’s weightless, even though it’s still filled with stones. He pulls it from your arms, hangs it next to his.

He pulls you further into your place.

The first thing you notice is the warmth. It’s so warm, like someone came in while you were gone and turned on the heating.

The next thing you notice is the Christmas tree. The one you didn’t get this year, because the thought of the holidays without Caleb and your grandmother was unbearable.

Beautifully, tastefully decorated. Silver and gold, twinkling lights. Its pine scent fills your place.

Sylus moves to a record player on one of the cabinets along your living room wall. A record player that wasn’t here before you went to work today. He fiddles with the arm, and suddenly Joni Mitchell’s River fills your house.

It’s coming on Christmas

They’re cutting down trees

They're putting up reindeer

And singing songs of joy and peace

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He walks back to you. “Is this okay?”

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

Whoa I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The music flows around you, paralyzing you. You stare into his face, into the warm glow of his eyes. How could you have missed this? The way he’s looking at you now? Through all the long months since the auction?

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The words wash over you, through you. The scent of pine warms you, memories without form filling you with the sense of home, safety, love.

I made my baby cry

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

Now I've gone and lost the best baby

That I ever had

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He takes your hands in his, thumbs across your skin. “Is it too much?”

You think of how cold it was, standing on the guardrail of the bridge.

You were running toward the bridge, while Sylus was filling your home with warmth.

What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?

You think of him spreading out on your couch, as a fever raged through your body. You think of your freezer, filled with food. You think of the takeout boxes, still steaming, sitting in front of your closed door.

You think of him hanging delicate ornaments on a fragrant tree.

I made my baby cry

You shake your head, the enormity of what almost happened filling you. The enormity of the choice you made, that you enacted, until Sylus pulled you back from the rushing dark.

You start to shake.

“Kitten?”

“It’s not too much,” you say, teeth chattering. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

He stares down at you, seems to make a decision. “Shower. Now.”

You nod, moving away from him, but he follows.

Inside your small bathroom, he takes up the entire space. He peels off your hunter’s uniform, tosses it beyond the open bathroom door. His gaze flicks from your undershirt, your underwear, to your face. “Do you want me to leave?”

You think of the dark water, an impact that never came. Sylus plugging in the record player, choosing a record with one of your favorite Christmas songs on it. Placing it delicately on the turntable.

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again.”

He smiles a little. “I mean, leave the bathroom.”

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again,” you repeat.

He stares into your eyes. Nods. Lifts your undershirt. He reaches behind you, unhooks your bra with the same agility that he unlaced your boots. He lifts it from your body, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales.

You shiver.

He tosses the bra behind him. Kneels. Pulls your underwear from your hips, down your legs. You step out of them. He stands again.

He leans over, his ridiculous, festive sweater soft against your cheek, as he reaches past you to turn on the shower faucet. As he messes with the knobs until steam begins to fill the small space. He nudges you forward, past the sliding glass door and into the small shower cabin, letting the hot water pour over you. You turn, watch him through the clear glass. He picks up your underwear, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales as he did with your bra. His eyes close for a moment, and then open. He tucks the little slip of fabric into his pants pocket, sits on the closed toilet, rests his elbows on his knees, and continues to watch you.

You let the hot water flow over your tired, cold body. You stare at Sylus’s face, let it fill your vision, blot out the rushing river, the impact that never came, the idea of everything you would have missed, if he hadn’t pulled you out. Everything you would have missed, in such a short amount of time. What else would you miss, if he hadn’t caught you? If he could give you so much within an hour, how much would you have missed in a day? In a week?

What have you been fighting, this whole time?

Just yourself.

You think of the stones at the bottom of the riverbed, instead of your body. Your conviction that you’re not loved, your guilt, your shame, instead of you.

You stare at the man who handed you each one, and told you to get rid of them, instead of yourself. The man sitting in your tiny bathroom, filling it with his big body, his even bigger presence, staring at you, staring at him.

You stop shaking.

Reach for the body wash, lather your hands. Run your hands along your body, under your armpits. He frowns, eyes on your hands. You palm your breasts, dip between your legs.

He lowers his head, eyes still on your hands, rests his full lips on his long steepled fingers.

You finish lathering your body, let the water wash it away. He’s too far away, even this close, on the other side of the glass.

As you turn off the water, he stands, lifts one of your towels from the rack. Holds it out for you. You step into it, him, let him wrap it around you. He turns you both, so that you’re looking in the bathroom mirror, which is mostly fogged.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod, soaking in his warmth at your back, the steam of the bathroom.

You have a question, a question you can’t bring yourself to say out loud yet.

You reach out with one hand. Trace a finger through the fogged mirror.

Sylus watches you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

Letters, a question.

Do you like me? Circle yes or no

Sylus smiles again, lifts an eyebrow. He reaches out, takes your hand in his. He circles no with your finger.

You frown, heart sinking, but Sylus just whispers, “Patience, kitten,” and flattens your palm across like. Guides your finger again, just above the erased like, drags it through the moisture in an elegant script.

love

He then gently sets your hand down. Lifts his own, circles with one long finger, yes.

He watches your reaction in the mirror.

You had no idea.

This whole time, you had no idea, even though he was showing you, with every ‘chance’ encounter, his pestering you with questions about work, life, his silly stories about the N109 Zone. His packages at your door. Fever medication, a big glass of water shoved into your hands.

You think of the rushing water, what almost happened. What you almost missed.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me believe you still hated me?”

He looks down at you now, away from your reflection in the mirror. His eyes trail your face, down your curved neck. He palms the back of your neck, his thumb drifting along the side, over a mole there.

“Have you heard of the myth that where we have moles is where someone kissed us in a past life?”

Even if so much has changed between you in just the last few hours, you’re reassured that Sylus Qin still can’t answer a straightforward question with a straightforward answer.

You shake your head. “No, I had never heard of that.”

Sylus smiles, and it looks a little sad. He leans down, presses the softest of kisses against your skin, the mole there. “Like most human legends, it’s a pretty lie. Not quite true.”

You laugh. “I could have guessed as much.” You tilt your neck, enjoying the press of his warm lips on your skin for the first time.

He opens his mouth, runs his teeth over where he just kissed you. Bites, gently.

You shiver again. Press your neck into, instead of away from his teeth.

He bites harder.

You gasp.

“I was afraid I’d frighten you with the enormity of my feelings for you, when in your mind, we’d only just met,” he murmurs against your neck, his saliva, the indentation of his teeth hot on your skin.

He bites again, presses himself into your ass through the towel. You realize he’s hard.

You forget about the last part of his sentence. Had you not only just met?

You lift your hands, let the towel unfurl from around your body, let it drop to the floor.

You almost died tonight.

What have you been fighting this whole time?

Just yourself.

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

You turn in his arms. He’s breathing hard, cheeks pink.

“You love me?”

He closes his eyes. Opens them. Shakes his head. “Love isn’t intense enough.”

“Adore me?” You lift your arms, wrap them around his neck. Pull his face closer to your own.

He shakes his head again. “Still not enough.”

“You won’t survive without me?” You lift on your toes, his soft sweater almost unbearable against your sensitive nipples.

He nods. “You’re getting closer. Can’t breathe without you. When I saw you jump…” He swallows, thickly. “You might as well have pulled me down with you, beloved. If it ever gets to be too much again, take me with you. I’ll never leave you alone again. Promise me the same,” he demands, big, calloused hands running up your naked sides, the fabric of his dark jeans rough against your body, where your thighs meet, as he helplessly nudges against you again with his hips, his hard dick behind his zipper.

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

“I wouldn’t have known, unless you told me,” you breathe against his lips. “Promise that you’ll tell me how you’re feeling from now on, and I’ll promise to take you with me if I can’t leave the stones in the riverbed, even with you here.”

His voice is deep, rough like the fabric of his pants against your sensitive skin. “Deal.” He closes the distance, presses his soft lips to yours. Licks into your mouth.

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

His hands drift down your sides as his tongue dips into your throat, as he swallows your noises of pleasure, just from kissing him, his hands on you. He grips your ass, urges your legs around his waist. He carries you out of the tiny, steaming bathroom, manages not to knock you against the doorway, or into any furniture on the way to your bedroom, even as he continues to kiss you, as your hands in his soft hair probably block his peripheral view. He lays you down on your bed, the puff of your duvet. It’s so warm in your place that you’re not even shivering. You watch as he pulls his cheerful sweater and undershirt over his head, tosses them to the floor. As he unzips himself, hastily yanks down his pants and boxers, his socks. He blankets you with his big body.

You wrap your arms around him, pull him tightly to you, arch your breasts into his chest. He leans down, runs his nose along your cheek, inhales the scent of your hair at your temple. You just feel each other, for a long stretch of time. His soft chest hair against your skin, the silken skin of his dick between your thighs where he just leisurely rubs himself against you, as your palms run down the muscles of his back, the line of his spine. You’ve refused to think of him like this, ever since he wrapped his hand around your throat. You couldn’t bear his beauty, through all the long months that followed. You fled, every time your heart raced at the flash of silver as he approached you, met you where you were, over and over and over.

But now he says he has loved you, through it all. That he’ll never leave you alone again.

You let yourself feel him, under your hands, under your tongue, as you lick into his ear, feel him shiver. As you squeeze your thighs together, offering him a tight, snug space for him to keep pleasuring himself, as you feel your own wetness begin to coat your inner thighs, his cock, the longer you feel him on top of you, inhale the scent of his skin, the ever-present gun oil, the cloves, his clean sweat underneath it all.

After a lifetime, or only a few minutes, he leans down, says softly into your ear. “I want you. Tell me you want me too.”

“Can’t you tell?” you ask, bucking a little, squeezing him with your legs again.

He makes a low, pleasured sound in his throat. “I want to hear you say it. You’ve gone through a lot tonight. I need to know you actually want this. That you’re not just—” his breath hitches, as you move your hips again, as his dick slips between your wet, soft places. “That you’re not too tired to say otherwise, not thinking straight.”

“Use your Aether Core on me. Then you’ll know that my body is telling you what my mouth would, if I said the words.” You smile at him, teasing.

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

You had wanted to fly. You had settled for flying for a brief moment, before shattering.

But Sylus is offering you constant flight, under, over, along his crow’s wings.

You think of the rushing water. The tide of cars behind you, the wind whipping your hair. You almost missed this. You don’t want to waste any more time.

He lowers his forehead to yours, breathes, speaks against your saliva-slick lips with his own. “I don’t want to use my Aether Core on you. I want the words in your mouth, in your heart. I want your free will, your freely given consent. I almost lost you because I tried to force you, at the beginning. You believed I hated you, this whole time. Don’t ask me to force you again, my heart.”

You understand. You accept his request, his demand. “I want you, Sylus.”

He exhales, shifts above you, slips his wet cock between your legs, slides into your body with gentle, firm, graceful waves of his hips.

You whine, the feeling of fullness layering into the pleasure of the warmth of his skin, the taste of his tongue. For once, the feelings inside you threatening to burst out of your skin are so good, instead of painful, so pleasurable, that you can barely stand it.

He kisses you, his velvet tongue big, heavy in your mouth. You suck, whine again as he lifts a hand, palms your breast, begins to thrust into you.

You are filled with him. His warmth. The size of him.

You widen your legs, wrap them around his thick ass. Urge him with your own body to move faster, to fuck you harder. He gives you everything you want. Just the pressure of his body against yours has you coming, the release bright, sudden—you shake with it.

Your pleasure seems to trigger his. He grunts, roots into you, buries his teeth in your neck, bites where he bit you before, over the mole on your neck. The sting makes you clench, and he whimpers, groans, comes with a jerk of his hips.

He slows, still filling you, still pleasuring you, as he lifts his head to look into your eyes.

You stare at each other, breath mingling, warm between you.

You smile at him.

He smiles at you. Nudges your nose with his.

“Can we do that again?” you ask.

He laughs, low and surprised. “Yeah,” he says, kissing you softly. “Just tell me, and I’m yours, anytime, anyplace.”

“I’m telling you.” You move your hips, feel his cum drip drown your ass. Feel him gasp at your movement.

“Now?” He’s surprised again.

“Problem?” you grin at him.

“Fuck no.” He kisses you, hard. Slips out of you. Flips you over, lifts your hips with one big hand, pressing his other between your shoulder blades.

He presses his cock back between your legs, the slide easy and wet, and fucks you until you come again, until he blankets your back with his sweat-slicked, matted-hair chest.

“Was that enough, your highness?” he teases.

“I’m telling you,” you pant, wondering what he’ll do.

“As you wish,” he murmurs, before flipping you again. Before watching your face as he slowly, leisurely works himself, his cum into you, makes you come again.

In the morning, the sky through your windows is heavy, dark, gray. You wake slowly. Turn your head, find Sylus’s sleeping face next to yours on the pillow. He’s lying on his stomach. You take in the dark sweep of his lashes, his generous mouth, slightly parted.

You slip out of the bed, use the bathroom. You wander into the living room, gaze at the Christmas tree, its twinkling lights.

It’s Christmas.

Caleb and your grandmother are dead.

But you’re still alive.

Your body aches from Sylus’s efforts, but it feels good. For once, it feels good to be inside your body. To breathe deeply.

You think of riverstones, sinking deep in the riverbed.

You know that the feelings tied to them will try to rise, clawing to the surface again.

We’ll gather other stones, when your feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.

Your eyes drift to the top of the Christmas tree. It’s empty.

“I thought we should finish it together.” Sylus’s warm arms wrap around you from behind. He leans over your shoulder, kisses your cheek softly. “Do you want to do the honors?”

You smile, wrapping your hands over his forearms around your waist. “You’re taller.”

“Use me as much as you like, kitten.” He turns, grabs a pretty golden glass tree-topper from your kitchen table, hands it to you. He lifts you up onto one shoulder, easily, and you fit it gently over the highest point of the tree. He holds you against him, as he lowers you. You slide along his body, until he sets you gently on your feet again.

You both stand, admiring it for a moment. It’s beautiful, like the rest of the decorations.

You hug him, look up into his face.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

He smiles down at you, ruby eyes twinkling with reflected light from the tree.

You would have missed this moment, and all the moments like it, if Sylus hadn’t stopped you last night. You shudder, hug him more tightly.

You know your feelings will return. That no one person can solve a lifetime of wounds. But you promised him that you’d try. That you’d stay. You can only do your best.

You hear your phone vibrating, reluctantly pull away from him, head to your coat in the hallway where you thought you left it last night, but Sylus stops you. He points at your kitchen island. Your phone is lying on the counter. You look at him in confusion, but go to check it.

You’re shocked at how many missed texts you have.

From Tara.

Xavier.

Your eyes widen.

Zayne, who you thought you had blocked, months ago.

Rafayel, who you’re sure you blocked last night.

Each one is a response from a text you never sent. Telling them Merry Christmas. Telling them you love them. Telling them you hope to spend time with them soon.

None of them shame you, call you out on your behavior of the last year. Even Zayne simply suggests that you try a new bakery, that you’ve been in his thoughts, that he’s relieved you felt comfortable enough to reach out. Rafayel sends a bunch of firework emojis, suggests blowing shit up on the beach for New Year’s.

You turn to Sylus.

He looks steadily back at you, silver hair sleep-tousled, wine-bright eyes glowing.

Your eyes feel hot, and you realize you’re crying, the tears fat on your cheeks, dripping down your neck.

This is the first time you’ve cried since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace bright in the reflected fire.

Sylus walks over to you. Leans down, licks the tears from your cheeks with his warm tongue, one after the other. He kisses you, ignoring your suddenly snotty nose, your morning breath.

“If it’s too much, we can take it slow. We can throw more stones in the river. But please answer your friends. You need them. And you’re a fool, if you can’t see that they need you too, if that makes you feel better about your own need.”

You continue to cry as you wrap your arms around Sylus’s neck. As he gently sways with you, to music that isn’t playing. He hums, and you think it’s Joni Mitchell’s The River, but you can’t be sure. You smile against his chest.

A thought occurs to you.

“Last night, you said there was still time. That you had plans for us, a pretty dress for me. What did we miss?”

Sylus sighs, holds you closer against himself. “Don’t worry about it.”

You stop, look up into his face. “What did you have planned, Sylus? Are you sorry we missed it?”

He smiles at you. “Oh yes, so sorry I got to spend all night fucking you instead of going to a holiday concert featuring the organ.” His voice drips sarcasm. “But we can go tonight, if you’d like to make it up to me.”

You laugh, bury your face back into his chest. “And here I had planned to suck your cock while watching a black and white Christmas film marathon tonight,” you say forlornly. You smile into his chest as he chokes. “Oh well, the concert it is.”

He just laughs, rich and deep, and continues to sway you slowly in your living room.

“Merry Christmas, my heart,” Sylus says against your hair, in your pine scented apartment, as snow begins to fall outside your windows, as your phone continues to vibrate, filled with the love of your friends.

Here you are. Again.

You’re so grateful, to be here, again.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #my fanfic

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reocidal · 2 days ago

Text

stardust — r. itoshi

PAIRING: rin itoshi x fem!reader

CONTENT: actor au, fake dating, hurt/comfort, swearing, depressive spiral, might be ooc!!

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

NOTE: @choccorin i love u, enjoy!

it starts off pretty harmless, this agreement. you've known rin for a while now, the longest out of anyone he's in contact with in the industry these days, so it's obvious that he'll come to you when he needs help. in this case, the problem here is his fans.

rin itoshi shoots up to stardom out of the blue, all golden champagne and party streamers and hordes of screaming fangirls scattered (generously) around the globe. he's not a bad actor, not at all, but no one really expected him to be as popular as he is now.

not that he goes viral for his acting — not at first, at least. it's actually a low quality video posted onto twitter by a fan that does the trick; she doesn't expect her innocent six-second recording to break containment like this. but rin, with his pretty face and long lashes and perfectly fitted dark clothing, bathed in some gala's brilliant lighting, somehow manages to capture the hearts of a few million people that night. and when they find out that not only is he gorgeous, but he's also good at what he does? jackpot. the fame he's suddenly achieved is nothing if not terrifyingly overwhelming.

however, despite the massive growth of followers that he experiences overnight, you know that you'll always love him more. and that is precisely why you say yes to what he asks of you.

you remember that day embarrassingly well, down to the fine details, like how your phone's battery was at 37%, and how rin'd had a queer expression on his face, not really his usual deadpan look, but not really anything else either.

"date me," rin itoshi tells you.

"excuse me?" this isn't happening, right? you've been horrendously in love with him for a few years now; surely this isn't how things are going to go! but even then, you're not sure if fate is on your side or not, because he shakes his head and continues, and dashes all your hopes in an instant.

"i'm not in love with you or anything," he clarifies. "i just need a fake girlfriend so some of these crazy people leave me alone."

"ah," you manage to say. you should refuse, tell him to find someone else. you've read enough romance novels to know exactly how this plays out, and just how painful it'll be for you. not to mention the fact that he's literally just told you that he doesn't have any feelings for you, to your face. everything tells you to not do it, but when have you ever been able to say no to him? "sure."

his lips curve into the briefest of smiles as he hears your answer. "thank you. we'll discuss this later, okay?"

"sure," you repeat, ignoring the way your stomach does an unceremonious flip at his smile. he nods and gets up, and you watch him leave, leave you behind, just as he always has.

and so it begins.

the routine the two of you follow is easy to slip into; acting like you're in love with him isn't difficult either, especially when you are in love with him.

to his credit, rin treats you perfectly on his part. despite keeping you at arm's length off-camera, he treats you like a princess otherwise, apologising a few hundred times for the media outrage caused by the reveal of your "relationship". and while it does hurt to be so close, yet so far from the one thing you crave, the way you're getting to see a softer — although probably fake — side of rin, and how he's treating you almost makes up for it.

and inside, everything stays (almost) the same, perfectly platonic and unchanged.

and the fangirls (somewhat) die down out of respect for his new relationship, so that's good, too. keep winning, rin itoshi.

you're scrolling social media one day when you stumble upon a video that's slowly but surely gaining more and more traction. it's about you and rin — specifically, your relationship. the person speaking breaks down every (visible) aspect of it, and comes to the conclusion that the two of you must be gaking things. the thought of this assumption (although true) becoming more widespread terrifies you; the last thing you want happening is rin's career being damaged like this. he's barely in his twenties and there's still so much left for him to do. you can't let him lose just yet. so, with shaking fingers, you send the video to him. rin leaves you on seen, but the next time you're seen in public together he kisses you, and your relationship is viral again, and you question your friendship for the very first time.

another day, another rich-people party. it's the usual, really, for you and rin — even though neither of you are particularly fond of this setting — as the two of you linger in a somewhat secluded corner of the room. rin's hand rests lightly on your waist just in case anyone turns their attention to you, but his mind seems to be elsewhere as he stares into the crowd. a sudden flash of light catches your eye, and you whisper-yell at him urgently. "rin."

he doesn't react, eyes still blank and unfocused.

"rin!"

he blinks, realising that you're talking to him.

"yeah?" he leans down to hear you better, face dangerously close to yours.

"cameras," you hiss.

his brows raise ever so slightly in understanding. "okay. can i kiss you?"

"what?"

"for the cameras, obviously," he deadpans. "i saw the video; surely you sent it to me for a reason and not just for me to watch, right?"

"right."

rin's hand leaves your waist so he can cradle your face with both hands and angle your face up. there's a guarded look in his eyes, something you can tell he's hiding. you don't know what, though, and it's not like you get any time to even think when he finally, finally leans down to kiss you. every thought in your brain evaporates into stardust as he presses his lips to yours. in front of you, a camera shutter snaps, but you can't really find it in yourself to care when all you can think of, all you can feel is the press of his lips on yours.

it takes exactly twelve sleepless nights after this (you've kept count) and one (1) conversation with your best friend to realise that this whole fake dating thing is taking a — negative, obviously — toll on your mental health, even more so as the lines between platonic and romantic begin to blur.

you'd thought the relationship was just for show. so why does rin bring you flowers on a bad day, even when there's no media around to see? he treats you like his girlfriend at home too, now, and it confuses you. rin itoshi is not your boyfriend, so why are you always in his clothes? and what's with all the physical contact? not that you mind, of course.

he's just gotten too absorbed into this relationship, you tell yourself. he doesn't know what he's doing to you. but you don't speak up about it, either. you let it continue.

but regardless of whose fault this is, the uurt that grows within you stays raw and heavy. he just has to be the one thing you cannot have, and it really is impossible to not fall for his (unintentional) boyish charm and the quiet concern he displays — for you and you only.

it's a particularly rough day, even worse than usual — which is concerning, considering that almost every day in the past two weeks has been the exact same level of bad, when everything comes crashing down. it's been terrible from the morning and you haven't even gotten out of bed yet, even though it's almost three in the afternoon. you're drifting in and out of unconsciousness; everything around you and your thoughts and feelings are all coated in an uncomfortable haze.

a tentative knock on your door rouses you awake and you blink. why's there someone in your apartment? is this a break-in? who could it possibly— oh. rin.

your mind flashes back to a certain moment a few months ago, so fast it gives you whiplash. you're half-collapsed onto a bar stool by your kitchen counter, rin kneeling in front of you as he examines your bruised ankle.

"you should really be more careful," he murmurs, and your heart aches at the tenderness in his tone as he gently presses the icepack against the bruise.

cold seeps through your ankle as he holds it there, and eventually you wince; he must've gotten distracted and forgotten to pull away.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry," he whispers, uncharacteristically nervous and breathless. the apology forces itself out of his mouth, words tumbling over each other in their haste. "did i hurt you?"

you shake your head, and although he sighs disbelievingly, he does not argue.

"how do i return your key?" he asks you as he's about to leave. you're a bundle of blankets on your sofa, unable to move, so he's locking your door for you. your best friend's coming to take care of you soon — she also has a key to the apartment, so you'll be fine. besides, it's an extra one, anyways.

so you take a deep breath and hope you won't regret it when you wave him away with a laugh and tell him to keep it. he nods, although expressionless, and says a simple, flat bye before he leaves. you wonder if you're delusional or if the tips of his ears really did turn red when you told him to take the key with him.

your best friend is halfway across the world right now; it's obvious that it's rin who's standing outside your bedroom door.

another knock. rin clears his throat, like he's about to speak; you narrowly beat him to it. "don't come in, i-i'm okay!"

"oh."

you cough a little as you speak, wincing at the dryness of your throat and how rough your voice sounds.

"you don't sound okay," he adds a moment later, painfully stiff. "you weren't answering your calls or anything so i got— i mean, i came to check up on you."

"i see," you respond quickly. why is it so awkward today?

rin clears his throat again. "are you sure you're okay?"

your throat tightens; you do not respond — you cannot respond. rin reads your silence perfectly, almost too well. he does not speak again, but you hear a single step (forward?) outside your door. and the doorknob twists, and the door creaks open.

you are buried in an unkempt mess of bedsheets and blankets. when rin finally sees you, his eyes widen.

you burst into tears.

rin has never been good at comforting people. today, he doesn't even know what's wrong. unsure of what to do, he just stares at you owlishly for a moment before taking a hesitant step in your direction. when you don't stop him, he moves closer. and when you nestle into his side as he wraps his arm around you, he deduces that he must be doing something right.

the warmth of his presence is unfairly comforting; you cannot help but lean into him, breathing slowly becoming calmer as his thumb rubs circles into your shoulder.

eventually you stop crying, though not without the embarrassment of having a whole entire mental breakdown in front of your beloved rin itoshi, about said beloved rin itoshi.

rin lets the silence stew for a second or two; you feel him swallow from where your head is now tucked in the crook of his neck.

"what was that all about?" he pulls back slightly, loosening his hold on you as you stiffen at his question.

oh. well, now or never, right?

"rin," you begin. "i don't think i can do this fake dating thing anymore."

"oh. why not?"

he's quiet, but there's no particular inflection or change in his tone.

you shrug. "it's not working for me anymore, i guess. too busy these days."

he opens his mouth to speak, then exhales slowly instead. "okay."

"cool."

"okay," he repeats. "then we'll end the agreement tonight."

"why tonight?" confusion colours your tone as you finally look up at him. when his teal eyes meet yours again, his lips twitch into a small smile.

rin works careful and methodical, starting the cleanup from one end of your room. technically he's still your (fake) partner, and you've done so much in the public eye — the amount of pictures of you and rin scattered across the internet borders on obscene — so surely you can let him do one little thing in private, right?

"let me do this for you, yeah? you've done so much for me these past few months, let me pay you back."

it's mortifying, but you let him fix up your room anyways. and when he leads you to your bathroom, you follow along obediently, watching as he fixes the water temperature and leaves you to clean yourself up while he prepares something for you to eat.

the hot water washes away a surprisingly large amount of the discomfort you've been feeling as of late, and it's like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders by the time you see rin again.

long-limbed 6'1" rin itoshi, dressed fully in shades of black and blue, rin looks incredibly awkward and out of place in your kitchen. it's a quaint little place, decked out in pink and brown hues, but a total contrast to him. it makes you let out a little huff of laughter, and you swear rin smiles when he hears it.

there's a plate of your favourite food placed in front of you; rin sits downon the chair opposite you.

"eat. there's something i want to talk to you about."

anxiety pools in your stomach — there's no way he knows, right? you should've never done this; you're no better than all those fangirls he'd been trying to get away from in the first place. and if he knows this, he— wait, is this his way of saying goodbye? it makes sense now — anyone would feel the same after a betrayal of trust like this.

he lets you finish eating before—

"i lied. to you. i'm sorry."

what?

he refuses to meet your eyes, gaze fixed on the table of front of him. the tips of his ears are very, very red.

"about what?" you manage to ask. this is not how you'd expected this to go.

"i, um." he's half-hiding his face with a hand; what you can see nonetheless is flushed, like he's running a fever. except he's not ill, just shy. really, what's happening? "i didn't need— fuck, i shouldn't have listened to shidou, i knew it was stupid!"

"rin?"

"ugh. i just— iaskedshidouforadviceandhesaidthebestwaytoknowifyoulikemebackisthisandi'msorryididn'tmeanforyoutogethurt—"

"wait, like you back? as in you like me?"

"oh." well, now that he's said that out loud now, what's next? he can't exactly take it back, can he? but to his surprise, you look pleased. like you wanted this. "um. yes."

"oh! rin, don't apologise!" you exclaim, much to his chagrin. (are you patronising him right now?) "i also have some explaining to do."

he cocks his head in confusion; you can see the question marks hovering above his head.

"you didn't exactly hurt me by fake dating me or whatever; i was sad 'cause you were sending me a bunch of mixed signals, y'know."

"huh? i was?"

"yeah? you said you weren't into me, but then you did all sorts of stuff that implied that you did like me."

"that's cause i do like you though."

you choke.

he seems to have regained composure again as he raises a brow at you. "you don't like me, though?"

"i do!" you squeak. "i've liked you this whole time— wait, you said it was shidou who told you to do this?"

"mhm, why?"

"he knows i like you, though!"

rin grits his teeth, pushing his chair back as he gets up. "no way, that fucking bastard… i'm going to go kill him right now."

"wait, rin."

he pauses. "what?"

"can you kiss me again, but for real this time?"

his eyes widen, just a little. "oh. okay. yeah."

when rin gets to your side of the table, he just stands there, staring down at you with unbridled adoration in his eyes, all the feelings that he no longer needs to hide. you recognise it now — it's that same look from the night he'd first kissed you. all of this almost overwhelms you, and in the end the only thing you can really muster up is a simple "hi."

rin smiles, fingers gently tilting your chin up. "hey."

and when he bends down to kiss you, it's even better than the last time. because this time it's real.

800 follower event.

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littlechivalry · 1 day ago

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Threshold

Post-UD, everybody lives. Established Steddie

Eddie couldn't do it. He turned, ready to run, but Steve's hand clamped down on his arm like an iron manacle.

"Fuck you, let me go," Eddie hissed.

"Like hell I will," Steve replied, just as harshly. "You have to do this, you're the only one who can."

"I'd rather die."

The sales clerk cleared her throat and Eddie snapped his mouth shut.

"Are you-- can I help you find anything else," she said softly, her hands open in front of her.

"No," Steve replied. "Just this."

'This' was a vacuum cleaner. An upright vacuum cleaner with hose attachment and a retractable cord. A one hundred dollar vacuum cleaner.

Eddie felt sick. He pulled his hand away and Steve let it go awkwardly. Eddie cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, just this." He pulled out his wallet and passed over the money. Signing the warranty card in a messy scrawl.

They walked out of the store and loaded the vacuum into the back of Steve's truck.

Steve and Eddie had gotten to the car in silence but once the doors were closed it started.

"Babe," Steve said, his voice soft but firm. "What was that about? We agreed we need a new vacuum. Wayne's old one gave up the ghost and the carpet sweeper does nothing. I thought this was cool."

Eddie groaned and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "It's not-- it's just..."

He couldn't find the words and Steve didn't press him. The interior of the truck's cab was quiet, windows muffling the noise of other shoppers moving through the parking lot, the occasional sound of their radios drifting on the air.

Eddie took a few breaths, heard Steve do the same beside him - in - out - in - out

"Can I check in," Steve says after a few breaths.

"Almost," Eddie replies and they go back to breathing.

This time Eddie breaks the silence. "It's real, right?"

"Real," Steve echoes. "The vacuum? Yeah?"

"It's -- the vacuum we have now? Wayne got it from the Johnsons before they moved to go live with their kids in Des Moines. It was a really good vacuum. Lasted, like. Seven years. The one before that Wayne found in the trash. It needed some fixing up and the hose had to be taped together but it ran for two years."

Steve hums, just a considering noise to show he's listening but leaving Eddie some spacw to talk. Eddie cannot explain how much he appreciates that.

"The stove was a store display they were gonna toss out because the wiring was bad. The couch was abandoned on a curb up in Loch Nora. Most of my clothes come from the Goodwill; Wayne's too, even his work boots. My guitar, my sweetheart, is a hand-me-down to I don't know how many degrees."

Eddie sighs and tips his head back against the headrest. The ceiling of the cab is upholstered in dark blue fabric. Eddie drags his fingers over it.

"Munsons don't get new things, Steve. Not nice ones, anyway." He blew out a rough breath. "I know this is stupid. It's just a vacuum cleaner, but--"

"Don't say that," Steve interrupted. "If I don't get to say stupid neither do you."

Eddie reached over the gear shift and clasped the hand Steve offered.

"Okay," Steve said. "Do you... should we return the vacuum?"

"No," Eddie said. "No, that's not the answer. We-- I have the money. I can afford a new vacuum, a nice one."

"A really nice one."

"And it's okay to buy new things."

"It really is," Steve said.

Eddie nodded. "We're grown ups now, Stevie. Got good jobs, a nice apartment, a fancy new vacuum cleaner. What's next, a picket fence? 2.5 kids and a dog?"

Steve smiled and pulled Eddie's hand up to his face, pressed a kiss against his knuckles before letting go and reaching for the ignition. "I'm allergic to dogs but let's get home and we can start working on kids."

Eddie reached out for Steve, pulling him across the armrest into a fierce kiss.

Steve fell back into his seat, a bright flush in his cheeks. "Wow," Steve said, starting the car. "What are you gonna do when we buy a house?"

The radio came to life but Eddie could barely hear it over his own laughter.

#fanfiction #fanfic #littlechivalry #my writing #steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #stranger things #being poor is hard #that first big purchase is incredibly scary #i grew up on hand me downs and coupon clipping #i almost had a panic attack buying my first laptop #it was a thousand dollars - that was insane money #also i have no idea what vacuums cost in the late 80s

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resident-idiot-simp · 10 hours ago

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Fuck the idea of the X-Men being concerned about their Logan after hearing about the new Logan and Deadpool won't leave my head.

This Logan is so violent and feral him and Deadpool have done unspeakable things to one another and enjoy it. They HAVE to wonder if their Logan was stopping himself from doing similar stuff.

The professor had said before his thoughts were pretty dark and Jean had seen stuff that had spooked her which lead to lots of distance between them multiple times. She had admitted to others it unnerved her because of just how violent some of it was. She has worried about those he was close to because of it.

Logan had been upset after that because he couldn't help it. It was just how his brain worked.

This Logan however was so much worse. It was beyond disturbing for Jean who had told the others. After this discovery the questions started.

Did their Logan deep down think and feel this way? Was this normal or was this Logan just different? Jean could confirm that in retrospect some of this was definitely in their Logan, but it was hard to say how much.

Maybe theirs had suppressed it well enough you would have to dig to find these thoughts. This Logan was much more animal then theirs was or was it that this Logan just isn't hiding it.

Deadpool has commented on it when asked saying this Logan was less worried about being himself and he loved it. One quote that got passed around was of him saying. "He's a feral he should be acting like this it's natural, do you guys just not know that? A bit pathetic considering this is a school."

That had caused quite a bit of ruckus considering the implications. Sure ferals existed and everyone knew they were more animal then human, but with them being as rare as they were you didn't see them often. Lots of people had only heard stories about them. Hearing and experiencing were two different things and Logan had always seemed pretty tame... Or at least compared to this new one.

When questioned on how he knew how ferals were supposed to act he laughed, "I'm a merc where do you think they go when you goody two-shoes won't take them in because they're too disturbing for you?" This statement too caused a lot of upset.

Deadpool seemed to have a lot of answers If they were true or not it was hard to tell and impossible to determine considering he didn't like sharing. He was insane sure but he seemed to always be right on things he went out of his way to predict or point out.

Someone eventually asked if the old Logan was the same, which had (for the first time the X-Men head ever seen) silenced him. It took him a while as he thought over the question before answering.

"Yes and no, no because If you train yourself out of habits and thought processes they usually die down. However if he just didn't stop himself he would be the exact same. Which honestly would have been better."

When asked to explain why exactly it would be better to be like the new Logan, Deadpool had looked...sad.

"Are you telling me you would rather live a life that's not really you? To be inauthentic just to fit other people's ideals? To change yourself so much that you become practically unrecognizable to the person you were?"

Silence followed that as wide eyes took in wisdom from the unlikely source.

"That's a sad life to live knowing everyone likes that inauthentic version of you better. That you can never be yourself and are shamed when you try to be. That's a damn travesty."

No one knew how to respond and Deadpool had just shrugged, "That's not a life I'd want to live, that I'd want anyone to live." He threw in before walking off to find his Logan and daughter who....oh...was that why Laura always seemed to hate this place?

#deadpool and wolverine #deadpool & wolverine #deadclaws #deadclaw #deadpool 3 #deadpool #deadpool x wolverine #wade wilson #wade x logan #logan howlett #wolverine #poolverine #laura kinney #x23 #xmen #x men #X-men #Resi's shorts #jean grey

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sturnlsstuff · 13 hours ago

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NOT SO TOUGH | ghostface!matt

ghostface!matt comes to you for help after geting hurt on one of his "nights out".

— warnings; blood, mentions of murder & violence, cursing

requested by this person !! divider credits. @anitalenia

it was a quiet evening in which you finally found some time to take care of yourself, do skincare, watch your favorite shows and read a book. you were home alone, a week after finishing your finals at college, and you needed some relaxation and peace. you didn't think anything could destroy your alone time tonight.

until someone started banging on your door around midnight.

confused by someone visiting at such an hour, you get out of bed and lazily trudge to the door, first obviously checking who it was. a frown appears between your eyebrows and your heart skips a beat. you unlock the door, "matt? what are you—"

he practically pushes himself forward, almost losing his balance and leaning on your body for support. "fuck, sorry— are you... are you alone?"

"yeah," you kick the door shut with your foot, arm wrapping around his waist causing hiss to escape from his mouth. matt takes off his blood stained ghostface mask, tossing it to the side so you were able to see his face. he didn't look too good, blood dripping from his nose, hair messed up, dark circles under his eyes. your heart drops at the sight. "what— what happened?"

"fuckin' disaster, that's what happened." he retorts dryly, grimacing in pain as you start leading him to the bathroom. "i know is late, i just didn't really know where to go. i couldn't... couldn't show up like this at my place, y'know."

after helping him sit down on the closed toilet, you stand between his legs, grabbing his jaw and examining his face against the light to see better. he gently smacks your hand away, "is nothing, y'need to help me with this." he points at his black robe, only now it is noticeable that it was damaged, torn in some places and also bloody, your mind swirling with questions, assumptions and worries.

you help him untangle himself from the robe, several curses and painful groans filling the bathroom. underneath he had a black t-shirt through which you could also see the blood stain. you lock eyes with him, "matt. what the fuck happened?"

he rolls his eyes, trying to take off the shirt with which you're also quick to help. "i was out, doing my... stuff. had to take care of things, but it went slightly in a wrong direction—"

"slightly?!"

your eyes widen, breath catches in your throat as his bare chest is revealed to your gaze with numerous bruises forming on it and — what's worse, a cut on his rib from which blood was oozing out.

"yeahhhh... business problems," his voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm, before he winces when your fingers brush against his bruises. his skin feels exposed under your eyes, and he can see that concerned expression of yours that you were giving him more and more often recently. he sighs, "it looks worse than it feels, i promise. don't worry 'bout it."

"i'm not..." you mutter quietly.

he smirks, blood from his nose begins to flow down his mouth and chin. "sure you don't, sweetheart."

"matt, you should see a doctor. i'm serious, this is...."

"be realistic," he scoffs. "i can't go to the hospital. it'd arouse suspicions. you gotta be my doctor for tonight." he cracks a little smile, his amusement making you annoyed.

"you're helpless."

"wooow, low blow, low blow—"

you quickly find the first aid kit and take a towel, soaking it slightly with water. standing between his legs again, you tilt his head back, starting to wipe the blood from his face. "so how did it happen? and i don't wanna hear any of this 'business problems' bullshit."

he sighs, eyes locked on your face. "my victim was such a fighter, apparently. didn't really want to die." his words makes a shiver goes down your spine, even if you were already used to his lifestyle. "there were two of 'em, wanting to make sure to leave me with a few gifts." once he sees the death stare you give him, he decides to push the jokes aside. "it was just a little harder this time. one of 'em punched me in the face with something, which explains this," he points at his face that was now clean. "if not my mask, i'd probably get my nose fuckin' broken."

"and what about this?" you urge him to lean back slightly and look at the cut on his ribs that is still leaking blood. it wasn't deep luckily, but looked nasty.

"the other one tried to defend himself with a knife and scratched me a little bit—"

"scratched you? jesus christ, matt..." you start cleaning the wound without warning, causing him to flinch and curse loudly. "oh, sorry— sorry..."

"be maybe a bit gentler, huh?"

you kneel between his legs, looking up at him with clear annoyance, "what's the problem, tough guy? i thought it only scratched you."

"oh, shut up..." he rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards slightly, but then he groaned again as you continued to clean up the cut.

"not so tough now, hm?" you tease, but then gets more serious as the blood is still oozing out. "matt, you need to be more careful. and why the fuck would you even attack two guys when you're on your own? are you crazy?"

"hey, don't question my skills just 'cos i got hurt. it never happens, there always has to be a first time." he watches as you use a clean cloth, trying to stanch the gash on his skin. then you wrap the bandage tightly around his waist. luckily the wound really wasn't that big and didn't need to be seen by a doctor like you thought at the beginning. "besides..." he hisses uncomfortably. "i know what m'doing is dangerous and it's not gonna stop me. so quit worrying, m'kay?" he grips your wrist when you stand up, about to pull away. he pulls you to sit on his thigh, his hands finding its ways to your hips. "i'm serious."

"it's just... i never know what to expect from you," your arm wraps around his shoulder. "what if next time is going to be something worse? like..."

"m'good at what i'm doing, sweetheart. and you know it," he presses a small kiss on your neck, which breaks your attitude, causing to smile. "and to be honest? you're pretty good at being my personal nurse, so maybe i should start getting hurt more often."

"matt, don't even fucking joke like that," you reply, getting a chuckle in response which quickly turns into a slight cough and grimace, his chest and ribs in pain. "see? karma."

taglist: @certifiedstarrr @chrislovespepsi @le4hsblog @sturnsxbitvh @sweetlikesug4rvenom @xaristhings @mattsfavbitchhh @lvrsturniolo @r0s3luvr @slut4brunettes @madisonsturnioloss @chrispillowprincess @sturnioloslutttt4 @ashlishes @mattsbitchh @hi-people-who-are-alive @stellward123 @inssanely @matts-girlfriend @imnotalive420 @emely9274 @shadowthesim @yunkilm @sophiaxsblog @namelesssav @demyackerman @fratbrochrisgf @lvrsturniolo @chrisweetheart @chrisfavoritewhore @sturnslutz @ncm9696 @certified-sturniolo @mattsobvimyfav @swagalicious260 @giannalovessturniolo @sophand4n4 @brazyturtleneck @jocelyncsblog @sophand4n4 @giannalovessturniolo @alesturniolos @ilovenmcs

#sturnlsstuff ❦ [ghostface!matt]#ghostface!matt x sweet!reader #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x fem reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x fem reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolos

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penelopeswifey · 2 days ago

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ACCIDENTALLY YOURS!

CHAPTER 3 — WEIRDO!

a/n: so.. hey.. happy new year.. merry christmas... happy halloween. I'm SORRY FOR SAYING ID UPDATE MORE THEN LEAVING AND NEVER COMING BACK. I really forgot about Tumblr after a few days ☹️☹️ but HERE I hope you all had a good 2024 and a even better 2025!!

You just sat on your chair, contemplating life while deciding if you even wanted to live it

This is so humiliating.

Just when you thought your day couldn't get worse, you got a notification from someone you would rather die than talk to.

There is no fucking way.

Y/N stared at their phone screen, frozen.

" Funny how you kept whining about how overrated I was, wanna talk about those stories you've made? "

No. No. No.

The words burned into your brain as you read them over and over again. Scaramouche. THE Scaramouche.. The idol you dragged through the mud on countless streams and tweets. The same idol who was, apparently, now aware of your other identity.. the anonymous fanfiction writer who had single-handedly written half the internet’s “Scaramouche x Reader” content. The same person who shitted on him so much time!

You dropped your phone onto the desk and buried your face in your hands. Nope. This isn’t real. This is all a dream. It can’t be real. Why would it be real? There’s no way this is real. But when you peeked through your fingers, the message was still there, on the phone like it demanded your attention.

“Why.. why is this happening to me?” you whispered to yourself. Your brain was screaming at you to respond, but also screaming at you to jump out of your window where you could die or move to the countryside and become a farmer. But your fingers refused to move. What could you even say?

" Haha, just a prank, broski! " No, too weird. Who the hell says that.

" That wasn't me!.. " Yeah, because your whole stream was definitely ai generated.

No, none of this would work.

Maybe you could ignore it. Pretend you didn’t see the message. But what if he posted about it? What if he already had? But, he couldn't right?! He's an idol.. but just out of paranoia, you frantically opened Twitter, scanning his feed. Nothing. Yet.

Dropping your phone back onto the desk, you screamed into your hands begging to be taken out. But you were going through that crisis, your phone buzzed again. Another message.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” you muttered as you grabbed their phone.

Please don't be him again.

" I have to say, you’ve got quite the imagination. Because some of those scenarios? Bold. "

Your soul left your body. He read them. He actually read them. How many? Which ones? Did he see the one where he- no. nope, nope, nope. don't you dare think about that.

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, shaking. After a deep breath, you typed something anything- to atleast be able to solve this issue!

“ I can explain? 😁.. "

The response was immediate.

"Oh, please do. I'm very interested. "

You let out a strangled noise somewhere between a groan and a scream. Why did he have to be so smug about this?! This was his fault!, with his stupid face and his stupid voice and his stupid way of being the perfect material to write about! This is all his fault he knows damn well how he's acting In front of the camera does he expect no one to be taking one for the team and writing about him?!

“Look,” you typed, trying to sound calm, “it’s not like I’m the only one who writes this stuff. You just happened to find mine. "

His reply came in less than ten seconds.

“ Not hard to find when you've basically written half of the internet's fanfiction about me. "

You nearly chucked your phone across the room. Yes, death is definitely a better option, where's the nearest window? You couldn't even think straight before you typed back and sent

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you shot back

“ Oh, absolutely. This is the best thing I’ve seen all week. Do you always write such... intense stuff, or was it just for me? "

There's no coming back from that. You groaned, slamming your head onto the desk. There was no way you were living this down. Ever.

Driven by emotions instead of rationality, you texted back.

“I hate you.”

Another buzz.

“Doesn’t seem like it, judging by what you've written about me. "

You let out a soundless scream, shoving your chair back and pacing around the room, making laps as you ran around the house. Your heart was racing, your face felt like it was on fire.. out of embarrassment of course, NOT because you're interacting with THE scaramouche- the same one who in your fics did- yeah, stop.

Ignoring the continuous buzz of notifications erupting from your phone, you finally sat down from running laps and thought to yourself, knowing you just pulled yourself in a hole you sure as hell won't be escaping anytime soon.

He wasn't going to let this go, was he?

—

ACCIDENTALLY YOURS!

SYPNOSIS: You, a well-known streamer, have always kept your two hobbies separate. By day, you entertain thousands with your snarky commentary, but by night, you secretly write. fanfiction about your favorite idol, Balladeer. It was a guilty pleasure—until a late-night stream led to a slip of the tongue and exposed your secret to the world!

In a single moment of poor judgment and a misclick, which by the way was totally not your fault!.. I think.. clips and memes about you spread like wildfire! It was embarrassing enough for everyone to know about your fanfiction, but it spiraled down even further when they discovered you were writing about the very idol you constantly claimed was overrated.

Just as you wallowed in self-pity, a notification pings on your phone. A familiar username and a blue checkmark.

Shit.

accidentally yours masterlist: chapter 4 —

taglist

@kaeuri @kazumiku @kyouzki @skyoverkill1 @flowzel @lalalaloveallmydays @sketcheeee @vi0let-writes @kunikuzushis-darling @js-a-silly-little-guy @simonisferal @jayzioxx @naevis-callingae @vxmp-loml @dxrling-xing @suzueuieeeee @kinanahan @help-whatdoimakemyusername @khisuko @dearanemo @heusalettle @v4lerixxq @catorkitty @khsuvy @reivelmin

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ryuzakemo128 · 2 days ago

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Kintsugi: Chapter One: Red Flags, Why can't we see them?

Pairing: John Price x Female reader

Content Warnings: Female reader is the breadwinner, female reader is a sex worker, john price is an asshole to you, simon is there for you as a friend, John's secret affair mentioned, cheating suspicions, female reader has a secret apartment, pregnancy scare, arguement and yelling. Burned out female reader. Smut. Not the good kind sadly. Second warning for asshole john price. You will hate him. You are supposed to hate him.

Masterlist - Chapter List

Summary: “I am tired of being someone else’s last choice instead of someone’s first. It’s always what have you done for me? Instead of how was your day? I can’t take more of this. I knew what I was getting into. But I didn’t agree to any of this.”

I get what you're sayin' I just really don't wanna hear it right now Can you shut up for like once in your life? Listen to me, I took your nice words of advice

“I am tired of being someone else’s last choice instead of someone’s first. It’s always what have you done for me? Instead of how was your day? I can’t take more of this. I knew what I was getting into. But I didn’t agree to any of this.” You remarked into your cassette tape, another diary entry you keep from his prying eyes and another way to keep Price from using your own hurt against you. You don’t know what you did to earn it.

You mentioned your ex-boyfriend off handedly once and he blew up in your face. You waited for hours for him to come back home. You were crying your eyes out when he stormed out the door. It wasn’t like you were mentioning him to make him jealous either. You didn’t know what you did wrong.

He never told you why he was upset with you sometimes. He would always leave after a huge argument saying he needs ‘space’ and that you made things worse when all you wanted to do is to make things better. Nothing ever seemed to work for him at all. Nothing at all. You called Gaz and he would say he didn’t see him. But your hunch that Gaz was covering for him.

About how you think I'm gonna die lucky if I turn thirty-three Ok, so yeah, I smoke like a chimney I'm not skinny and I pull a Britney every other week But cut me some slack, who do you want me to be?

You didn’t want to turn to Simon for advice but john left you without a choice. What wer5e going to do next? He wasn’t content with just small insults at your appearance it seems. It was going to a different level like stepping out of your relationship. The one thing you thought was going well for you.

'Cause I'm too messy and then I'm too fucking clean You told me get a job then you ask where the hell I've been And I'm too perfect 'til I open my big mouth I want to be me, is that not allowed? And I'm too clever and then I'm too fucking dumb You hate it when I cry unless it's that time of the month And I'm too perfect 'til I show you that I'm not A thousand people I could be for you and you hate the fucking lot

“I don’t know what I did wrong, whenever I ask it’s like I’m talking to a brick wall. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” You felt awful about talking to your ex. But he knew you better than your current boyfriend it seemed.

You had tried everything to make it work with Price but it felt like you were just going around in circles. You felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore. It’s like every move you made was wrong. You decided to give him the space he wanted, hoping that when he returned he would realise what he had and that he didn’t need to treat you this way.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” You stated. “I need to find a new place of my own if he’s gonna keep actin like this. I don’t know what he wants from me and he just won’t use his fuckin words to say it either.”

You wonder where you went wrong in your life to get THIS kind of treatment. You never spoke back, never complained nor insulted him or looked elsewhere for comfort outside of your relationship. You pulled out of the apartment slowly enough to make sure he never caught on, last thing you wanted him to do is to catch on to what you were trying to leave him.

You hate the fucking lot You hate the fucking lot

You made rain checks whenever he ‘tried’ to have sex with you. You knew what he was trying to do and you weren’t going to fall for it this time. You didn’t want to feel like you were slowly losing your mind.

You don’t still don’t know what you did wrong to deser5ve John’s cold shoulder as of late. You still tried asking about it. But he always says, “Nothin for you to worry about.” No ‘babe’ or ‘love’ like he used to speak to you.

You slowly started to miss those moments more as the days went on. It made you worry more so you stopped mentioning his hours away from home and you silently continue to seek out a new place to move into.

You didn’t tell Price about the new place you managed to find. You stopped telling him much of anything related to you or your work. You didn’t want another lecture on how you were ‘wasting’ money. Even though you out earned him in your chosen profession. Money remained a sore topic for the two of you.

Staring to move your things into it while he would be deployed. Piece by piece, you didn’t move any of you old furniture it would make things far too ‘obvious’ to him. It would alert him far too quickly.

That’s if he even noticed anything about you anymore. Or if there was anything wrong to begin with. The selfish cunt. No guarantee that he hasn’t noticed either. He wasn’t completely stupid sometimes. Might get suspicious about what you’re planning to do or planning to go. You would have to come up with a convincing enough lie to get him off your back.

Though if he already knows? He may try something drastic enough to keep you there. You just hoped you had enough time to give yourself space between him and the man you used to love. That you used to adore and cherish. Before whatever cause this….monster, this fiend to come out of him.

You showed Simon the new place you bought, it had two bedrooms, the master bedroom had an ensuite attached and a walk-in closet. The kitchen had a stainless-steel dishwasher, and the apartment building had laundry machines on the ground floor. You can always buy new furniture, and any old furniture will be sold when you get comfortable with living somewhere he doesn’t know of.

You didn’t want to hire a private detective on your own boyfriend, but you can’t help but feel suspicious of what he was doing in those long hours far away from you. You pitied anyone who had the misfortune of dealing with him. Even the people inside the same task force as him. The need to control everything won all the time.

You worked in your office like you normally done. Giving him his own branded silent treatment into his face. You weren’t going to give the right to hurt you more than he had done tonight. You were so tired of his shit.

You weren’t perfect far from it too. But whenever he was around you it was clear it was what he wanted from you. You continued to play dumb and you didn’t give him anything he ‘wanted’ from you.

“No. Do it yourself.” You remarked one morning.

John raised his eyebrow, looking at you like you had grown a second head. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” He spat, his words dripping with venom.

“You heard me. Do it yourself. Clearly you don’t need my help. So, go on, do it yourself.” You stated as you walked upstairs to your office to continue your sewing on your dress.

John looked at you, his eyes wide with shock, “Is this what it’s come to? You’re just going to ignore me like that?”

“W-what’s the matter dear? Can’t handle your own portion of your responsibilities? Does he need his mother to write up a chore list?” you taunted from upstairs. “You know one thing a man can do that proves he’s a real man? Admit when he’s fucking wrong. You can’t seem to even do that anyway.”

As you finished the dress’s skirt velvet inlay for the next video, the amount of work you put into your pornographic content is both immense and taxing at times. As you didn’t want it to look like it was a cheap Halloween cosplay or cheap in general.

The main reason you earned so much is because of the level of care put into your craft. Your fans knew that and appreciated it. It was a stark contrast to the apathy John showed for your well-being. You had a loyal fan base and they were eager to support you. But that didn't matter to him.

Especially when he looked at the content you posted both behind the paywalls and the free teasers. He said it wasn’t real money. But you also pointed out that you sold pottery once a month online. You paid the bills, and you weren’t above reminding who earned more to be able to let him spend his income his own way.

Petty? Sure. But petty with a reason attached.

By the time most of your most expensive work gear is moved to the apartment, you were only living there now and cleaning up to a meticulous degree in total silence. As you cleaned the living room carpet with the deep cleaning machine you bought for the occasion. You were dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, showing off the tattoos that danced along your arms and your stomach.

You had dinner in the slow cooker since seven in the morning. You didn’t bother to set the table since it was just you and your thoughts. You weren’t expecting him to come home early tonight. You hoped he’d stay out for as long as possible.

When he finally decided to come back home. You had placed his dinner into separate containers. You were already asleep on the couch. The plush pink eye mask over your eyes, the matching pink silk pyjama set. The chunky, thick blue-grey crocheted blanket you made last year keeping you warm. As the unicorn shaped nightlight provided enough light in case you needed to use the bathroom.

You had a doctor’s appointment coming up sometime in the next month or two. You don’t exactly remember if it was next month or the month after that. A full body check up to make sure things were in working order. You had done one every three months. The job demanded that you were healthy physically and mentally.

You paid for these yourself, despite living inside a country with healthcare. You paid for medical insurance anyway. It was one of those private healthcare insurance things you paid a good chunk of your money for. You decided to go for the best of the best, and with John’s current mood swings? You weren’t going to take any chances with your health.

What if you were pregnant would he finally be excited that it had finally happened? Would he confess to his affair to another man or woman? All of these thoughts spun around your heard like ballerinas. You didn’t quite understand where his hostile started and if it would ever end.

You felt like it was your fault for not being strong enough to put your foot down. To demand what you did wrong. Why did he seem so fine with it if he felt otherwise? What made him feel this way? If he wanted to break-up why did he wait so fucking long?

You always felt like he was rushing things in this relationship. Especially when he found out about your career, your little side hustles which contributed to your cushy amount of money. But you weren’t perfect, you weren’t even close. From far away the illusion of perfection is there. But once you peak through the cracks they’ll see how many imperfections you got.

What were you supposed to be?

What are you supposed to be?

Everything is spinning out of control. Cliché advice doesn’t work when he doesn’t want to fix himself.

You were either too messy or too fucking clean. Either way he hated how you’ve been. You could be keeping the house clean, but he’ll comb through just point out a spot where you have ‘missed’. Like he knew what to do to make you so pissed at him.

Pushing all the buttons built inside you in the right order, the right way to get you annoyed with him., It was like he had some kind of sick satisfaction when you broke down in tears. Not because you were sad or even upset. You just had so much anger built up inside you that you couldn’t contain it all.

“I feel so fucking disgusting that I even still want the guy that way. It’s like he knows that about me.” You confessed to Simon during one of John’s solo operations. He knew he would have freaked if he knew Simon was inside his home while he wasn’t there.

“Its not nearly as weird as you might think, humans are supposed to be complicated. You’re not a simple creature, love. And neither is he.” Simon remarked. He didn’t have to say much to get his point across.

“He wasn’t so closed up before. He used to be so open minded about these kinds of things.” You remembered, talking about how John Price used to be before things went to shit after almost eleven months dating him.

Simon nodded his head, “Looks like you’re going to have to make a decision soon, love. You can’t keep living like this forever, hiding and tiptoeing around him.”

“I have a doctor’s appointment coming up, if he hasn’t spoken up by then, or by the time most of the house is back to how it was when I first moved in. I’m breaking up with the guy.” You remarked.

Simon raised an eyebrow at how you were putting the house back to how it was before you moved into it. The only difference is that you wouldn’t leave things unrepaired or maintained.

“Why bother with the appointment if you’re just going to leave him?” Simon questioned, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Full body check up remember? I still get one every three months. Four times a year.” You answered taking a sip of your earl grey with lemon and ginger tea.

The last thing you want is to drag some poor child into this whole mess. You don’t know how he would react to the news of it.

To think months ago you couldn’t wait for it to happen.

Only for your relationship to sour this quickly.

Over the weeks Price was deployed, you got the plumping fixed, the light switch and plug covers replaced by an electrician, the toilet and shower head replaced. You didn’t care if price wouldn’t appreciate the thought going into his house.

This was done selfishly not selflessly. Though your definition of what made someone hopelessly selfish was always different from his. Not that you cared anymore.

You replaced his couches and threw out his old, ruined ones into the large tip you rented one morning. Price barely recognised his own home when he came back home from deployment again.

From the old grey ones to dark crimson red ones, with charcoal grey cushions on them. A new cow’s skin rug on the floor. New light switches and plug covers. Painted the living rooms a deep blue-grey shade that made everything else pop. The kitchen had new cabinets and new appliances. It was a stark difference from what it used to be.

Price walked upstairs to the bathroom to see how you changed that too, the tiles were changed to a beige on the walls with black on the floor. The shower was now a glass cube instead of a shower curtain. The sink was no longer a pedestal sink, but a modern vanity with lights around the mirror. The bathtub was replaced with a walk-in shower that had a bench and rain shower head.

Other changes he took notice of where all his things were in the master bedroom, organised, hung up, ironed, folded, washed and put away. Everything was clean and in its place. The bed was made with freshly washed linens, and you had even gone so far as replace the mattress. It was a new king-sized memory foam one with a fancy cooling system that would be heavenly to sleep on.

As you fucked yourself on his thick cock for behaving so well? His rough hands on your hips. You continued to ride him with your luscious hips. Wide-eyed, rock hard and stunned. Your mind was elsewhere about hoping he didn’t do anything other than put a condom on. You didn’t know if you still wanted to have his children when he was treating you this way.

Your body betrayed your every thought, every moan you made were made from your lips. You felt your pussy tightening around him. He had to be feeling it too, his grip on you tightened and his thrusts became more erratic. Enjoying letting out his most primal nature into you. Feral and unabated. \

Only you knew he wouldn’t provide aftercare when he was done with you and you always had to finish yourself off in the bathroom as he passed out in his bed. You don’t know if you could stand him anymore. You didn’t know whether you could wait any longer.

Tags: @night-girl-301 , @evans-dejong , @persephone-kore-law

If you want to be tagged in the next chapter please let me know!

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wyvernspirit · 1 day ago

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So after watching all of Jentry Chau Vs The Underworld in the past 2 days I've quite a bit to say

This show needed to be two seasons long, I feel half my critiques would probably not exist if it got the runtime it deserved

Kit had the most interesting character arc and was done the most dirty of everyone by the lack of runtime later in the season and also the characters around him??? Can everyone stop treating Kit like shit for two seconds please??

I at multiple points went "God this feels like arcane levels of Greek tragedy" so it has that going for it

If it has ended as a season 1 on episode 9 (I think? The episode where she's out on the field and Cheng revived his daughter then the portals are opened) it could have been a really solid set up for a season 2, but unfortunately the next final episodes feel incredibly jam-packed and rushed with no room to breathe

The music and fight scenes were arguably the best part of the show, there was some really interesting "camera" work too

I didn't like how Michael basically played with 3 girls feelings for the whole show, particularly sorry to girl from the last episode who doesn't even get a name as far as I can tell

(also the way he went "and Kit did you love him too??" as some kind of snap back to Jentry like HE DIDNT LITERALLY JUST DIE MICHAEL CAN YOU STFU FOR TWO SECONDS NOT THE TIME)

Michael kinda just sucked? Like I wanted to like him but he's very meh to me and I'm sorry but the reveal of him actually being really bad at the flute just, threw me off completely especially because instruments are expensive!! He didn't buy it on a whim, the whole thing is he's supposed to have this deep passion for music but like it's not really reflected at all?? There's not even any conversations between him and Jentry about music outside band tryouts

And him having powers I guess could have been set up for a season 2 but we end this season really conclusively? All the plot threads and character arcs wrapped up. Like if anything I could see a spin off with him maybe but- like I don't want one, I just could see that happening

Actually to go back a paragraph for a second, that's something the show does a few times where it drops these very sudden interests of the characters and pretends they had them all along?? Like Jentry and baton twirling, like come on wouldn't it have made more sense if she got sought out by the school dance team or something?? Or just have her main spirit fighting weapon be a baton!! Show her having genuine interest in that aspect of spirit fighting and then have it reflect later in school? Like why did these girls see a video of Jentry dancing and go "Hey she could probably baton twirl!" that makes no sense!

The animation was really great! More than that even, I love the art style and art direction this show has, it really gave me some major inspiration! I want to draw some fanart really badly!!

Okay this a major IN MY OPINION, low-key I think the show might have been more interesting if it was just set in Seoul for the whole time, I preferred Jentrys friends there, I much preferred the environments and the colours the art direction had in the setting of Seoul

I didn't really care for Texas in the show and It made the feelings of her later questioning if she should return or not be hollow to me the viewer, because I was like OF COURSE SHE SHOULD

Stella is a character I have complicated feelings on! I really did not care for the minuet of Michael's introduction at school her getting weighed down as just "the girlfriend" character and how Jentry wasn't allowed form a meaningful connection to her until after Michael and her broke up, hell Stella basically gets forgotten by the plot until the last 4ish episodes, and IN THOSE she's a REALLY fun and strong character! I love how she started learning seals and was such a a big part of them winning that final fight at the school, which frankly I don't think she gets enough credit for

And while I find her blushing at Jentrys other friend cute it just makes me sigh because now I realize the show totally could have just done a "Fuck the boys" Jentry x Stella ship and I would have been totally down

Actually low-key I think my ideal is Kit and their Girlfriend Jentry and Jentrys Girlfriend Stella ((and I guess maybe Stella's boyfriend Michael if he got written better, but meh don't expect me to include him in the polycule if I ever write Fics/draw art for this show))

Also speaking of Kit god I would love them to be genderfluid or I guess it to be acknowledged? As queer and not just, because their a skin walker. Like you can read them that way because of them being a skin walker demon but like if it was acknowledged in the show after making Jentry's skin he experimented a little with how he looked as Kit and his sense of fashion and style!!

Idk I would have loved it, I have some strong feelings on how this show had hints of queerness but never actually acknowledged that queerness besides I guess Jentrys fake parents being like "So do you have a boyfriend?? ..or a girlfriend??" Which I mean, I guess, diversity win the cat spirits pretending to be your dead parents don't care if your gay!

I was very invested in the mysteries of the Chau family for the whole run I just wish that they had time to breathe, we went from one revelation to the next and each one hit just that little bit less because there was no down time given between them.

Okay overall though, it's going to be rotating in my mind like a microwave for the next two weeks I can tell

I don't know if it's strong enough to stick around as a major fixation but maybe a minor one where I occasionally get drawn back over the characters who had so much potential to me

I'd say a solid like 8/10

Yeah I know I just did all that whining and complaining

But I did genuinely enjoy most of the viewing experience and the ideas behind it

It was good, I think other people should give it a try, it deserves a lot more love and attention for sure

#jcvtu #jentry chau spoilers #jentry chau vs the underworld #jentry chau kit #jentry chau michael #jentry chau stella #media critique #review #media review #netflix recommendations

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insert-random-account-name · 2 days ago

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Crappy Character Analysis, part 4

Thank you to everyone who has read my rambles! This was a personal project, since everyone I know IRL is sick of e talking about this game, so it's nice to see that I'm not screaming into the wind alone.

part 1 (Broken)

part-2 (Skeptic)

part 3 (Cold)

VOICE OF THE PARANOID

I feel like Paranoid is one of the fan favorites. People really seem to like his “Heart, lungs, liver, nerves” vibes. It’s probably because he is actually pretty rational (for the situation), and makes overall good observations and choices. The only bad call I can remember him making is suggesting you kill the Nightmare if you try leaving with her, and even then, it’s only recognizable as a bad call after the decision is already made. Despite having the label of “Paranoid”, his responses actually seem pretty rational compared to the situation on hand. While him raving about eyes watching you in the Nightmare would seem deranged out of context, there were actually eyes, or at least, you were seeing eyes. Him having a bit of a breakdown in MoC was also a response that matched the severity of the event you’d just witnessed. In fact, the Paranoid is actually quite perceptive, on two separate occasions (The Cage and the Apotheosis) he realizes how the construct functions, and makes efforts to take advantage of that. In the Apotheosis, he even notices that you seem to be the “textured nothing” all around you. He also is able to restart your central nervous system in the Nightmare, saving your life.

The Voice of the Paranoid seems in a constant state of panic. He makes multiple comments about not being able to think in these situations, and how frustrating that is. The way you get him usually involves the Princess killing you without even touching you (In the case of the Apotheosis and the Nightmare) or one of your voices killing you (In the Cage [Skeptic basically forces your hand, even if you technically chose to slay yourself] and the HEA). This makes him distrustful of everything: The ground beneath your feet, the Princess, the Narrator, and even your own thoughts. Once you start getting to Chapter 3’s, this distrust and fear makes him really focus on your environment, and his constant reassessment of your situation leads him to make realizations about the construct that would otherwise be missed. He is the only one to recognize Smitten in the HEA. Going back to his constant state of panic, I think that’s how he keeps your body running in the Nightmare. He basically spams you with adrenaline until your organs reboot, which isn’t a good long-term solution, but keeps you breathing. However, this task requires constant focus, so he’s basically stuck doing that for the whole chapter. This adrenaline surge he causes is also what can help you throw yourself into the void in the Wraith. Paranoid’s main flaw is overthinking. In the Apotheosis, he almost screws up your chance to attack her because he thinks he messed it up. In the Moment of Clarity, he is freaking out too much to provide any type of valuable input. His worst enemy is his own mind. One last thing that I find very interesting about him is that he seems to have a different view on death. He struggles so hard to keep you alive during the Nightmare, but once you slay her, he’s all for ending it. I think that unlike the Hero or the Skeptic, who were sure that there was something after, Paranoid was certain that you would die for good, and thought it was better than the misery you seemed condemned to. This was my favorite one to write, I think. Paranoid is one of my favorites.

#slay the princess #stp #stp voices #voice of the paranoid #smitten or stubborn or contrarian may be next #undecided

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blubberbuns · 2 days ago

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A really crazy question came to me, I imagine this... If Bon the cartoon became conscious out of nowhere, how would the whole group take it?

Hiii these are awesome questions! I'm so glad ya'll want to know more about their lore! So- Bon never gets a consciousness, canonly. But, close enough, Lucky's consciousness is inputted into Frank's (cartoon Frankie) world! For a purpose of course- The higher-ups wanted to test if they could temporarily put a contestant's consciousness into his world, to add some spice to the gameshow! Put them through a 2D video game, in a way! Getting a certain amount of health and if they fuck up, and are killed in Frank's world, they die physically as well.

So, obviously, Lucky was the guinea pig for stuff like this. So he was hooked up, all set and ready, and when his body went into a stage of stasis, on the screen, there popped a chocolate rabbit who looked OH SO similar to a certain scrapped rival character. This was on purpose I'd say, since there were plenty of comments on Lucky's chocolate brown hair, hazel eyes, freckles- even had a bow that resembled rabbit ears.

(please note Lucky is a bit outdated here but point still stands)

How Does Franklin (Monster Frankie) React?:

Not much. If anything he's bummed he's going to get used less if this idea goes through. The most he does is sit by Lucky's physical body and poke it sometimes, though he's very protective of it and will sometimes pet Lucky's limp arm the same way Lucky sometimes pets his ears to keep him relaxed. He'll also try to feed him cereal by pushing it against the screen with his big ass hand- it's sweet

How Does Francis / Frankie (The Other) React?:

Well, he's the one responsible for setting Lucky up in the first place- but when he pops up as Bon- he's cooing about it like "Ohhho now I see what Frank's been on about! Just look at you!" While clasping his hands together and resting his cheek on them- just like "I could just- no I WOULD just eat you up if I could!" Obviously, he'd be in shock for some mere seconds before that, but he'd just find it sweet. I'd say he's the most enthusiastic about it- until he remembers- oh yeah- his Lucky contestant is stuck in there for a few days so all their banter will be from behind a screen. POV Frankie learns about long distance.

How does Frank React?:

Now Frank is the one who was most upset about Bon never getting consciousness- to the point he actively started calling Lucky nothing but Bon when he saw his face. The similarities between them were enough for him to start projecting onto him- trying to pick fights to match that dynamic the nonsentient version of him, and Bon had.

But Lucky isn't exactly the same as Bon. Bon is snarky, sarcastic, high up his own ass, and very particular. He would always feed in deliciously to whatever plot point was thrown at him. Lucky was not the same. Lucky would sometimes jokingly feed into Frank's attempts at headbutting (including actually headbutting with him to start). But overall, when he mellows out, he's a genuine rather soft-spoken guy. Way more conflict-avoidant than Bon ever was. Making the best of his situation even with how- weird it is and how much of a toll the show takes on his mental health. People ARE still dying and he never gets used to that.

Even voice-wise they're different, which makes sense:

Bon is the Grinch because he's more prone to conflict but he can have genuine heartfelt moments, for the majority of the plot he's usually the cynical rival

Lucky is Tramp because he's a soft-spoken, sweet man who's trying to make the best of his situation and is a romantic at heart. Sure he can be rougher around the edges and have playful conflicts with Frank or Franklin, but he is entirely well-meaning and wants connection.

So this just makes that projection so much worse. But it also showcases even further just how different Lucky is from Bon because he doesn't feed into Frank's attempts at a scuffle almost at all. He's not his rival, he's not the guy Frank misses so much. He's not the guy Frank has been "in love with" for so many years. He's Lucky, and it's really the first step in Frank realizing, yeah. You got to look past that similarity and realize you won't make a connection until you accept he's not the person you envision him as! They got a lot of slow-burn stew cooking basically- it's messy and I love it.

#💲- greedy little rabbit #finding frankie #autism rambles #chocolate rabbits #bon the chocolate bunny #cartoon frankie #monster frankie #other frankie #lucky contestant #self shipper #chocolate rabbits lore

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idea-less-author · 2 days ago

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I'm rewatching Doctor Who, and first of all, I forgot how much I not only loved this show but also Rose Tyler as a whole. Also nine needs more love. Anyway, I just finished episode 1×6 Dalek, and all I could think was how interesting it would have been if the Dalek survived and joined the time traveling duo. Walk with me a second.

We all known the Daleks, what they're like, what they are, what they've done, what they're capable of. But, this Dalek has spared 2 human lives. It's just kinda meandering with Rose questioning everything. It just wants freedom, but what does that mean really? The Doctor comes in and threatens it, sees that it's changed due to Rose's DNA, and is feeling something other than hate for the first time in it's existence. It's no longer a true Dalek, but it's still alone. It asks Rose for it's final orders. And, what if, she says no. And doesn't change her mind.

This is the first time the Dalek has ever felt the full spectrum of emotions. Of course it's over whelmed. It's neever felt anything more then maybe anger and hatred and now there are so many new things to feel.

Grief for what it once was and for all it once knew, fear of all of the unknown ahead, I'm sure some guilt for not only what it has done, but for even allowing itself to be changed in the first place. It gained human emotions for the very first time, moments after finding out that it was alone, and after being tortured for who knows how long. It's standing with the being that ended the time war by massacring both of their people, and the woman who' s DNA changed you so fundamentally that you know longer know what you even are. You're feeling sunlight for the very first time. That does not sound like a being that should be making life changing/ending decisions at that moment.

So, what if Rose refuses to give that final order. She recognizes all of the above. She's a lover, she's compassionate, she's emotionally intelegent. She doesn't like the suffering of anyone, including her enemies, but death would not be her first answer. It hasn't been before, it wasn't after, so why this time?

No, what if instead Rose chose to be kind to the Dalek by being a bit crule, and refusing it's request to die. Instead she convinces the Doctor to bring him aboard the ship. She picks the Dalek up, right out of the exoskelton, and not only gives the Dalek, it's first ever physical contact, but a new home. (I understand that the Dalek is squid-like and slimey but honestly I don't know how much Rose would care about that when trying to show compassion. Hell she tried to show compassion by carressing the Dalek earlier in this very episode.)

Nine would not be thrilled with these developments. You want to bring one of the creatures that helped end his people, terrorized the Universe, and is the reason that his alone, onto HIS Tardis? Are you mad? And they would bicker a bit. Shouting would happen, and the Dalek might even be on the Doctor's side. But I think in the end Rose would look at Nine with her big doe eyes, passionate about life in the way that she always is, and he would cave. He would be upset and cross (with himself mostly), but he would let Rose bring it onto his ship. I mean the Dalek has changed, and let's be real, he's the reason the Daleks alone, as well as himself. He had his reasons, but do they even matter at this moment? With this Dalek?

Now the next episode does take place near immediately after this one on station 5 and whatever, but even with the Dalek I think that the adventure with what's his name (I can't be bothered to look it up atm but you know the guy) can go much of the same as it did. The Dalek get's let on the Tardis recovering from it's ordeal, rethinking everything, and what the implications for it are now that everything is different. I think all of the Canon episodes for this season are much of the same too, just add a couple of new adventures showing the Dalek what life can be now with a full sectrum of emtions. And because it got these emotions from Rose, probably a shit-ton of compassion. I also think that it would start to build itself a new mechsuit, or whatever you want to call it. But this time, it has more uses then just death, destruction, and conquering.

The Dalek and the Doctor would have a whole frenemies thing. The Doctor doesn't trust the Dalek because it's a Dalek, and the Dalek knows that the Doctor should be it's number one enemy. But, they are cohabitating. And Rose wants things to work out, so they try to not be hostile. But every now and again, they find themselves... talking. Specfically when the Dalek is working on it's new suit, the Doctor will, help? Tbh it starts out with him being extreamly suspicious of the Dalek and wanting to keep an eye on it. Which leads to helping, segestions, being a sound board. And if I'm being honest, if it were a someone other than Nine I would say that this would be the time he notices what's happening and go and skulk around for a it before the cycle happens again, but I honestly think Nine would notice, and just continue on. Get to know the Dalek. Trust in Rose. At some point I do think that the Dalek chooses a name for itself, at Roses prompting. No idea what, but just another way that the Dalek changes and differenciates itself from the rest.

Now while this is all happening, they are still going on the rest of the adventures in the season. Jack joins the T.A.R.D.I.S. team. I think he'd kinda love a Dalek that's no longer a Dalek, who wants to live life, and maybe do some good for once. He joins the building sesions. Rose is there, it started off as her chaperoning The Doctor and The Dalek, but it just became hanging out and providing commentary fairly quickly. They're all having a grand time. It's strange, but it's theirs. Then Station 5 part 2 happens. The Doctor, Jack, and Rose get yoinked into their respective game shows. Rose gets disitegrated. Their Dalek and the T.A.R.D.I.S. are found and The Doctor and Jack are mourning. Their Dalek knows something is off. They figure out that the Daleks are back. They go to the Emperor.

Now I can't quite decide if Our Dalek would even be tempted by the emperor or not. Maybe at first? but It's changed so much. The Emperor likely wants nothing to do with It anyway because It's no longer a True DalekTM. And Our Dalek has changed so much. SEEN so much. Has been cared for by Rose Tyler, which we all know is a life chaging experience.

Once again I'm not entirely sure how the fight against the Daleks end for Their Dalek. It gets sent with Rose to protect her while everyone else fights and dies against the Daleks. It help Rose get back. Or It stays behind with Jack and The Doctor, completly fine with sacrificing it's life to save humanity as long as Rose is safe. If we go that route there are several ways you can go from there. It dies fighting what it once had been a hero. It dies, and comes back like Jack. In that case I think that It would continue on with Jack as a companion. Or maybe It goes It's own seperate way from Jack after resuraction. It lives, no need to be resurected. It could continue on with The Doctor and Rose. It could be left behind with Jack. It could stay behind with Jack. It could decide to go separate ways from the Doctor and Rose (I don't think Ten would be as tolerant of Our Dalek and It would sense that, so It goes on it's own adventures. Or maybe it goes and finds Jack after The Doctor becomes Ten.) Idk So many ways that it could go and I like a lot of them. I think bringing It back like Jack and letting them Travel together is my favorite.

I was just overtaken with this idea and had to share. I have no idea if this had been done broe, I'm sure it has, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. I just started rewatching and it's over taken me. I'd love to hear other people's thoughts.

#doctor who #ninth doctor #doctor who dalek #rose tyler #re watch #jack harkness #bbc doctor who #Also the Daleks pronouns are It/Its because I said so #Please someone talk about this with me #no one IRL would get my vision like you people on my phone

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cwritesforfun · 2 days ago

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Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader: You're cute

Inspired by the Season 1 Pool Scene iykyk except I change it up

Y/N = Your Name

Italics - directly from Criminal Minds - I do not own these lines

** I Do Not Own Criminal Minds characters or plot **

Masterlist

Spencer's POV

Y/N is in the pool. Hotch is going to fire me then kill me.

I snap, "You cannot do this!" Y/N swims around and replies, "Five minutes...go get a suit in the house." I reply, "What? No... I'm not gonna grab a suit. Are you kidding me? No." She replies, "Join me." I reply, "No. I'm not going to join you." She tilts her head to the side and asks, "Why not?"

I thought girls only tilted their heads to talk in movies.

I answer, "You're being pursued by a psychotic killer who shoots people in the head." She replies, "I'm not gonna stop living my life. I'm just not."

How do I explain to an actress that she needs to stay alive and be safe? Does she want to die? Does she not care what happens to her? Or is she just reckless? Or is she unaware of the importance of the situation?

I reply, "I'm begging you, please get out of the pool." She replies, "Really, Spencer? You should live a little." I reply, "I've known you for 48 hours. I feel like I've already aged 10 years." She runs her hand through her soaking wet hair and replies, "I can't be that bad." I reply, "Yes, you are that bad."

No, she's not the worst person I've ever met or the worst person in the world... she's just being reckless with her life.

Y/N swims to the ladder and climbs out. I notice the chill bumps on her arm, and before I can stop myself, I say, "Goosebumps are caused by the contraction of tiny muscles in the skin's hair follicles called arrector pili muscles. This pulls the hair upright, creating a visible bump at the base of each hair." She replies, "Cool, now pass me that towel." I hand it to her and try not to glance at her breasts. She says, "Since I might die, could you do me one tiny favor?" I shrug and answer, "Favors usually come with an expectation to reciprocate in the future. It's usually known as a reciprocation bias." She replies, "Ok, if I live, I'll reciprocate." I ask, "What is it? I have a bad feeling about this." She asks, "May I kiss you?" OH... I reply, "I'm working." She asks, "So you think I'm ugly?" I answer, "Uh no I never said that. I just should not kiss someone I'm watching because I'm protecting their life... I want to kiss someone when I want to not because I have to." She replies, "That's actually really romantic." I feel my cheeks blush and she says, "You're cute, Spencer. Whatever girl you choose to date should find themselves very lucky." I reply, "You're kind, Y/N. I'm sure whoever you date will appreciate you too."

References (Websites used for Reid's facts):

https://www.nih.gov/news-events/nih-research-matters/what-goosebumps-are

https://time.com/6987094/doing-favors-benjamin-franklin-effect-essay/

Masterlist

#criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds spencer #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid angst #spencer reid

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meowsticmarvels · 2 days ago

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Does Phi want to live or die: an insane essay because I can't stop thinking about it [PART I]

hi!!! so i said not too long ago (like literally a few hours ago) that i'd been working on this analysis but considering this post is getting very long and tumblr's glitching and bugging out a lot (it's over 6k words!) i'm gonna post this part first as is as a little treat, and the second part will come a bit later once i write the rest of it. i'll link it here once it's done!

I've been meaning to write a proper analysis on Phi for a while (see my more proper grammar while writing this which is Unusual for me) and while there is too much of her I think abojt a lot to write ONE BIG ANALYSIS I think this topic is a pretty good one. There's a lot to be said in the wake of all of this on how Phi feels about herself and the roles she's meant to play and her own self-worth, the affects of Radical-6, and the impact the events of VLR have left on her onto ZTD (spoiler alert: it's trauma) which I will get into here. Will be up for further commentary if anyone has any + if there's any other particular topic I find interesting about her (I.e. her familial relationships, the matter of trust in her dynamics with others, her backstory/mysterious presentation and framing, or analyses where i could say how a hc would affect the narrative e.g. her being trans. id love to talk abojt that sometime.) i might get into that another time

i will preface this with a few notes:

1. If you're a little confused at why I'm even asking this it's because there's a bit of a disparity on if Phi seems to be okay with the idea of dying or not. it seems to vary by timeline and circumstance and by what the purpose of her death would be and THAT'S what I'm digging into. basically "is she okay with the idea of being a sacrifice". parts i will be looking at PRIMARILY will be K End and Another Time End in VLR and Fire / Outbreak (D-END 1) of ZTD, but others will be mentioned obviously

2. she is NOT okay with the idea of people dying FOR her and I will get into that also

3. Of course spoilers for VLR and ZTD will be in this post, and while 999 isn't really going to be discussed at all since she's not in that game by proxy as sequels they will spoil it too. So please I'd reccomend only reading this if you've played all 3 games and/or are okay with spoilers if you haven't. But I won't be giving exposition to the plot here.

4. Additionally, I'm going to warn for talks of a lot of death (obviously), trauma, and self destructive behavior/suicidal ideation. Radical-6 by nature IS going to cause this but the nature of the topic also means the things I'm going to be talking about in the way Phi views herself is going to be a little fucked up. She's fucked up.

5. Any screenshots used will likely be taken trom someone's playthrough or the LP Archive, however I'm planning on just inserting quotes into the text when possible.

anyways!!! here comes the analysis. LONG post incoming

TABLE OF CONTENTS (only I-VI are in this post)

- VLR -

I. SURVIVAL OF THE SELFISH

II. K END

III. RADICAL-6

IV. ANOTHER TIME

- ZTD -

I. SURVIVAL OF THE SELFISH

V. AFTERMATH

VI. FIRE

VII. OUTBREAK

VIII. SUPPRESSION

IX. SELF-DEFINITION

At the start of Virtue's Last Reward and throughout most of the plot mostly early game Phi could very well be described as a selfish person. She acts in her own self interest primarily and will betray others if it means guaranteeing her own survival. It's not that she's completely against cooperation, otherwise the end wouldn't happen, and she isn't willing to go so far as to kill to save herself, but this is still important to consider. One day I'll get more into the nature of trust and how she pushes people away but I'm just going to mention it a bit here. The nature of the AB Game requires complicated moral dilemmas like this. Some characters are more selfish or selfless than others and will betray or ally in specific circumstances, and during the start of VLR, Phi could definitely be seen as the latter.

SIGMA: Damn... you're pretty cold, you know that? PHI: I prefer bold, but whatever. I just don't let emotions get in the way.

This is an interesting line in of itself that she doesn't actually LIKE being perceived as cold - and states here that she just "doesn't let emotions get in the way". Which I assume is both her own and other people's. Despite her cold and unemotional demeanor she does really feel a lot of things quite deeply, as evidenced by Way too many scenes for me to list, it's just something she tries not to let get in the way of decision making. Usually. This is important. But what's also important is her actual opinion on acting this way, on routes where she talks about the Prisoner's Dilemma:

PHI: In this game, if each individual acts for the benefit of the whole group, everyone benefits. But if everyone starts looking out for themselves, it'll impact the group negatively... And eventually it'll impact them negatively too. If all of us choose "betray" then the group gets 0 points. Ultimately, nobody benefits. Not even the individual. In other words, selfish but logical decisions hurt everyone, and they hurt you.

before I get into what this means, I'll also bring up this segment:

SIGMA: What you're saying is that I should pick "ally". PHI: No. I mean the opposite. SIGMA: What?! PHI: If you're going to make the most logical choice here, the only option is "betray". SIGMA: What?! Why?! You just explained why that was a terrible idea! PHI: No, I didn't. It's not the prisoner's solution. It's the prisoner's dilemma. Even though there's an outcome where everybody's happy, the choice you'd have to make for that outcome isn't the rational one. You want to pick it, but you can't. A dilemma.

This is at its core the heart of how the AB Game works, really. The ideal of the game WOULD be for everyone to Ally and escape together, which is what happens in Phi End, but not with countless (we see 20+) other timelines in which that doesn't happen because of various reasons that people can't cooperate or die too soon. It's a dilemma. You can't really guarantee how the other person will act, unless it's someone like Dio or Luna who will almost exclusively Betray or Ally respectively, but even they don't always act that way and have reasons for doing so. It's incredibly difficult and perhaps even ridiculous to expect all 9 players - all strangers - to vote Ally, especially with preconceived notions of eachother and secret personal goals to escape. And Phi is incredibly conscious of this. She knows she can't trust anyone to for sure Ally, but Betraying is a "safe" option especially in the first round and the more logical to protect yourself. Even if it means getting others into the 1 BP territory. She plays the game carefully. Even though in the first round she isn't actually supposed to know that dropping to 0 BP or below will kill you and only really knows because of morphogenetic field/time jump stuff, based on that inexplicable feeling she acts this way. The fact that everyone Allies in Phi End at the later point is almost a fucking miracle.

There's a lot I could go into in terms of Phi and the nature of trust in the AB Game but my main focus for bringing this up is protecting herself to survive. A desire to stay alive, in some way, e.g. instances where she has only 1 BP.

In contrast to all the Phi End talk here's the "everyone Betrays" scenario on tbe way to Alice End. Naturally Betraying when going against Dio is the logical option but there's a LOT of risk involved here.

ALICE: Two other people just tried to kill someone! SIGMA: Phi and Dio. ALICE: Yes! If Dio had chosen "ally", Phi would have killed Tenmyouji. And if she'd chosen "ally", Dio would have killed her.

Funnily enough this is not the only time Dio attempts to kill Phi (see: Dio End which Phi also DOES retaliate at him for. i love violence). But my point is here the weight in the decisions here. Both Allying OR Betraying is insanely risky for Phi in this scenario. An Ally, and Dio has no qualms with letting her die. With Tenmyouji out of the picture to take care of Quark, Betraying is the safest option. Even Alice says it's a "valid defensive move". But what's really interesting is the conversations this sparks.

TENMYOUJI: Hmph. Hard to trust someone who tried to kill me. PHI: Same to you. I told you letting Dio vote was a stupid idea. What did you think he was going to do? You might as well have pressed the button yourself! TENMYOUJI: I couldn't just leave Quark alone. PHI: That's no excuse. And where do you get off telling me I shouldn't have picked "betray"? Did you even think that through? What, I was supposed to pick "ally"? If I'd done that, I'd be dead right now! TENMYOUJI: I could say the same thing to you! Damn good thing Dio didn't choose "ally"!

This conversation is so so interesting to me. It puts a rift between Phi and Tenmyouji where there wasn't before because the other could've been killed, and Dio stands in the way of all of this by virtue of voting for Tenmyouji. There's a LOT I could say here especially on Tenmyouji's sake about Quark, but my focus is Phi here. Take a look at the text I put in bold above - "If I'd done that, I'd be dead right now". Which doesn't mean a whole lot on its own other than that Phi is willing to protect her own life at this point, but keep this in mind for future reference as it's a major contrast from a lot of other things she says on the topic of death.

II. K END

I'm not going to preface this by listing everything that happens in this ending, but all you need to know is at the point I'm focusing on, eventually K(yle), Dio, and Phi need to go through one of the white Chromatic Doors together. That's the only way they can go through. Dio is killed and has his bracelet smashed and nonfunctional which leaves both Kyle and Phi up for a penalty. Death. That's the gist of it, at least. Of course I know that Kyle was the one that killed Dio and smashed his bracelet in a fucked up way of seeing if Sigma would pick Phi or him as a method of testing his father's love, but really, the focus of my analysis here is on Phi as one of the sole remaining survivors in this ending. Many of the lines in this end are self-explanatory so I won't comment too much on the ones I selected but I pulled a few I felt were relevant.

PHI: Go on ahead, Sigma. You have those bracelets K gave you, right? You should be able to get through the secondary door with those. So just— SIGMA: Fuck that! You know I can't just ditch you guys like that!

^ Phi is surprisingly okay with the idea of Sigma just leaving them to die (likely since him staying behind puts his life at risk too, and as will be shown she does not like the idea of people dying for HER)

More text incoming as Sigma decides to have Phi be the one to be saved with the neostigmine due to Kyle's armor and Sigma not even thinking about himself. This is one of the most interesting parts of the route to me:

PHI: S-Sigma... What the hell...did you... SIGMA: I injected you with neostigmine... It's a type of cholinesterase inhibitor...It's the antidote to the muscle relaxant... PHI: Why did you...pick...me?

A bit self explanatory here and will make a bit more sense when discussing Fire but I really like Phi asking why she would be the one to survive. It's interesting IDK

PHI: No... Screw this... I don't want...to live if it means...being in debt...to you... No...goddamn...way... I'm not...gonna...

Once again pay very close attention to the highlighted text. That particular line is fucking fascinating to me. There's the idea of a "debt" to be paid with sacrifice here, as if she feels she owes Sigma some eternal debt that she can never repay in this timeline. And that's not worth living for in her eyes. She doesn't want to live with that weight. But she's doomed, in a tragic way, to survive it. I'll continue more on this idea when I get to Fire in ZTD on the nature of Phi being incredibly against sacrifices made for her life to be saved, but for now I think it's just worth pointing out how much she hates the idea. Hell this dialogue implies she would rather have just been let to die than to live with Sigma's sacrifice weighing on her and that's fucking interesting. And also really sad. Being forced to live in a doomed timeline where only a few people are alive is almost worse (if memory serves right I think Quark is still alive here but then again he's a 10 year old child). Nothing is elaborated on further in this timeline as Phi passes out from the anesthetic and Sigma and Kyle die, but this is a timeline where she's doomed to wake up eventually to their dead bodies. Not many people are left here other than Quark and maybe Luna. It's a dead end.

III. RADICAL-6

I was going to have to talk about Radical-6 eventually, wasn't I. Before I really get into this I'll mention the obvious: one of Rad6's main symptoms is causing suicidal ideation. This isn't shown outright with Phi in particular at any point, but she does show the symptoms, in its most extreme way, in Clover End.

SIGMA (NARRATION): In the middle of the lake of blood, like an island of flesh, were bodies. They were a bloody tangle of lifeless limbs and dead eyes, with too much blood and chaos for me to tell who was who. Had they sliced themselves open? Or stabbed one another? I couldn't tell.

Phi slices her own throat.

The effects of Rad6 are, obviously not actually a person's real intentions nor are they thinking clearly to do so, but it's still worth addressing in this case because Phi will very likely remember this ending in Zero Time Dilemma. She very well has the possibility to remember what it's like to feel feelings exacerbated and caused by the virus and the act of suicide itself because of all the esper shenanigans possible here. So although this says little about Phi's ACTUAL intentions and opinions towards death because of Rad6's influence, it's still a point I felt was worth mentioning due to that. And it's hard to discuss the topics of death and suicide without bringing up Rad6 in some capacity.

IV. ANOTHER TIME

As stated I'll go into Another Time End a little bit but mostly just exploring the idea of more doomed timelines here. This is where I managed to put the dialogue from failing to disarm the bombs in Phi End.

PHI: Our time's up. This is it. Before...well, before it ends... I wanted to tell you thanks. You knew we were about to die, but you still stuck with me. A lot of people wouldn't have done that. You're a good person. There's...one more thing. ...I'm glad I met you. The moment I saw you, you seemed...familiar. Anyway, thanks. It looks like our time's almost up. Hopefully the others will make it. There isn't much hope for us, though. I think this is— SIGMA: Don't you dare say "goodbye." PHI: ...What? SIGMA: We'll meet again. Somewhere. Somewhen. I guarantee it.

Sigma is right, by the way, in terms of things like SHIFTing its entirely possible he was alluding to that here, but it's the sentiment that matters. Dying is not either of their decisions at that point, and a cruel fate since this timeline only exists when neither of them can find the necessary passwords. And god is this interesting. Granted this says more about how much Sigma actually truly meant to Phi as much as she refuses to admit it but I still feel it's relevant. This is what happens when a threat of death becomes fate. I want to point out a specific part of that segment just because it's really interesting to me:

PHI: [...] You knew we were about to die, but you still stuck with me. A lot of people wouldn't have done that. [...]

I can't really explain why I like this line so much. But this entire part is a really interesting moment of an example of character growth, even if it spans however many timelines Phi ended up seeing and jumping between. And this line... I don't know. I'm not sure if it's a comment on that most people wouldn't stick with her specifically or just most people are selfish by nature, but either way I really like it. The focus of this analysis isn't Sigma and Phi's incredibly close dynamic even though they rarely will actually admit how much they mean to each other but it's so so necessary to think about I think. Despite everything, all the deaths and betrayal and hardship, Phi's glad she met Sigma. On the topic of character growth and/or Phi caring about others more than she lets on, though, there's also this part from the same excerpt:

PHI: [...] Hopefully the others will make it. There isn't much hope for us, though. [...]

It's important to think about the fact that Phi isn't completely selfish and cruel. She has her moments and is notoriously very cold and blunt but is nowhere NEAR the level of selfish that people like Dio reach and at least cares enough about the safety of others to hope they're okay. There's way too much other evidence for me to bring up the fact that she does actually care about people more than she lets on (especially Sigma and Quark most notably), so I'm not going to bring up every single piece of evidence that proves this but there's a lot. My point is that even though she has her relatively selfish and cold moments in VLR a lot of them can already be justified as an act of self-defense AND she's got a lot of actually genuinely caring moments beneath face value. She's just got a bit of a prickly exterior and isn't really used to people getting close. And by this end she's already begun to warm up to getting a bit closer to the participants of the third Nonary Game (bar Dio obviously she still very much hates him in this timeline)

This is relevant because very soon I'll be getting into the changes she goes through between VLR's Phi End and ZTD, so really understanding how she operates throughout VLR is necessary for really getting into the change. Setting up a basis for how she acted before and contrasting it to her ZTD characterization - that's pretty much what I'm doing here.

I want to go more into Another Time END a bit later (in the context of D-END 1 and in the context of her self-definition) but I'm putting this quote here for necessity and to get you thinking. Pay very close attention to the text I put in bold.

PHI: I'm kind of an unknown variable in this situation. You could think of me as a kind of... x-factor. It's taken me the last three and a half months to understand it. ?: And I haven't understood anything in the last three and a half seconds. Could you please explain? PHI: It's kind of like the relationship between classical mechanics and modern physics. Strictly speaking, you can't combine velocities with (v1 + v2). (v1 + v2) / (1 + (v1 x v2) / c^2) is the actual equation. Of course, the sort of velocities we encounter in day-to-day life don't come close to being c^2, which is the speed of light squared. That means that (1 + (v1 x v2) / c^2) is usually going to evaluate to something pretty close to 1. Since that would mean dividing by 1, it's usually okay to just skip that step and use (v1 + v2). You see what I'm saying? In most situations it works, even if it isn't technically correct.

And this, from the part where Sigma and Phi jump back in time to stop Dio from killing Akane. I don't have too much commentary on it but in the grand scheme of things I felt it needed to go somewhere.

SIGMA: People have died for this. I mean, let's count how many different ways people died... Murder, antimatter explosion, suicide... I've died. So has Phi. So have you.

V. AFTERMATH

AKANE: The purpose of the AB Project was to send the two of you into the past. Or your minds, at least. In order for that to happen, some death was necessary. When a human brain is faced with danger, its processing speed increases. Information is processed more quickly, and time almost seems to slow—a few seconds can feel like an eternity.

I don't think I have to prove that the events of all three main Games across the ZE series are incredibly traumatic for everyone involved. Junpei in ZTD is the most extreme representation of this but practically nobody really leaves any of these games the same. Granted, danger is necessary for a SHIFT to occur - as stated above and in many other parts of the series danger increases esper abilities - but this does not make the presence of danger any LESS catastrophic to Fucking You Up Quite A Bit. Most espers end up remembering their own deaths by the end of it all. While one of the less obvious cases, Phi does seem to clearly be damaged quite a bit by the events of VLR at least in my opinion.

She has virtually no dialogue in the written Prologue, so instead the best I'm getting for this part of the game is the flashback in Fire with her and Diana:

DIANA: Something the matter? PHI: No, not really... It's been three days since I came to Dcom… But nothing's happened. Nothing strange at all…

[...]

PHI: Hey, Diana. I want to ask you something... Would you mind…giving me a hug? DIANA: …Huh? PHI: I'm just... really tired...

I don't think I have to go into detail how especially the last part is a stark contrast from how she acts throughout almost all of VLR. She lets herself be vulnerable and exposed to Diana in a way she really doesn't allow other to people see here and it's so fascinating to me. Diana is someone she can trust to let down her barriers. Someone Phi can actively ask for support when she needs it as much as she doesn't want to admit she does. Their dynamic is REALLY interesting and what this is really indicative of is too I think. The first quote brings up her, Sigma, and Akane's time at DCOM specifically to stop the spread of Radical-6 - and they've got a few days of DCOM where nothing happens. Only a few, granted, mentally Phi has just experienced VLR and went straight to DCOM afterwards, but even these few days feel strange now that nothing's happening. After experiencing the insanity that is VLR this completely makes sense that it's just weird to be in some sort of neutral zone where nothing's happening but it's STATED to happen. And it does, the Decision Game happens later, but how does it feel to just be in wait? The second quote is interesting, also, as she lays it out plainly: she's tired. Maybe this is just situational and not a result of exhaustion or anything similar but I do believe it definitely impacted her to a great amount - as evidenced by her change in behavior to ZTD. She's much more trusting and has learned that since, but much more self-sacrificing at the same time. These next few quotes I'll elaborate on more in the self-definition segment, but they're important:

DIANA: "Not even gods can return to the past, so live in the moment so you have no regrets." That's not the right interpretation? PHI: Well, if you take it at face value. I guess that'd make sense, if I was a normal human being. DIANA: Does that mean that you're not?

This is what Phi and Diana say about Phi's brooch - "Not even jupiter can find a lost opportunity". Phi's wording is interesting, here - she's talking about her status as an esper, but as of this point in the story that's something Diana's not supposed to know (never mind her being one), but her phrasing as labelling herself "not a normal human being" is really really interesting. She certainly isn't, but it feels all the more permanent - can she ever go back? Will she ever be able to? What's considered 'normal' to her? Similarly,

PHI: Hey, this isn't normal, right? DIANA: It is. You're a completely normal girl, Phi.

Not a lot I can say here - I want to roughly try to stay on topic, but in terms of analysis I really like this line. Phi doesn't consider what she's doing 'normal', at least not with someone she barely has met. I also really like Diana's response to this; she reassures Phi by telling her that this is normal, what she's feeling is okay and normal to feel, and she is too. While Phi isn't 'normal' by definition of not being an esper, despite the weight of the world on her shoulders and her cold exterior she is still human. She's not perfect, she DOES feel things, and that's okay. This has gone slightly off topic but I feel like this part's worth mentioning somewhere in the grand scheme of things or for ANY analysis at all, and will be brought up again in the self-definition section. But there's more to Phi and Diana's relationship once the actual Decision Game begins, and what it means for Phi's idea of her own self-worth.

VI. FIRE

SYSTEM: Incinerator startup... will now commence. Incineration in... thirty minutes.

This is the big one. The big fragment I've been building to, and part of the reason I wrote this analysis at all instead of focusing on a different theme related to Phi such as family or trust (both interesting still, though). Once again, I won't preface this by explaining the fragment - but here, Phi's in the incinerator (reminiscent of 999...). A lot of the way she acts here is of major interest to me, especially after the puzzle room - notably she's incredibly self-sacrificing. I won't say that she's completely apathetic to her death, because she isn't:

PHI: I need to stop firing myself up or else I really will be… PHI: ...Stay calm, Phi.

But, I mean, who wouldn't when placed with the threat of burning to death. It's a slow and painful way to die, at that. But you'll see a lot throughout this fragment is Phi's mentality of "rather me than them" - as painful as death is, at this point she'd rather be the martyr to save their lives than the opposite.

PHI: Diana and Sigma are over there... Damn! Why am I here... But it's better that I'm the only one who got locked in.

At this point she doesn't know her death would save their lives (the true rules of the decision in this fragment haven't been revealed), but is still willing to be the martyr as she's the only one currently at risk of dying as far as all of D-Team knows. Maybe it's because she can SHIFT out, maybe it's because she sees herself as a worthy sacrifice, maybe it's both. This is also all the more noteworthy knowing she and Sigma both remember VLR - they've both died, both had to make sacrifices, and been through many of the same circumstances. Although where it is in their memory is different - for Phi it's mentally a few days prior and for Sigma it was decades ago but he's spent those decades creating it (and without the ability to talk to Phi) - that doesn't get rid of their bond. Phi's bond with Diana is a little different since the only scene they get is the flashback (if you want my personal opinion, I feel like Phi should have taken a bit longer to trust her or at least be wary; maybe not as slowly as it took her to trust Sigma, but it feels out of nowhere IMO. it could still show her development with coming to trust people but still provide an interesting and heartbreaking bond), but nevertheless still important. And then comes the decision.

DELTA: Diana, both of their lives rest upon your decision.

PHI: How dare you not consider everyone else's feelings, Sigma! What if the shot is a live bullet?! Do you really want Diana to end up blowing your head off with her own hands?!

What does Diana do? Sacrifice Phi's life for a guaranteed chance of saving Sigma? Or risk Sigma's life - a 50/50 chance of him living - to save Phi?

This analysis isn't about Sigma so I won't go too far into detail about his lines, but the important thing is that he's willing to risk his life for Phi - and it's the logical decision in his mind, since there's a chance of everybody living. If Phi dies, someone's guaranteed to die, but if Diana shoots Sigma, there's a 50% chance they all make it out alive. It's the more pragmatic decision, however Phi is very against it.

It feels a bit like the expected roles they'd play have reversed since VLR, or at least for a scenario like this. In a way, she's right - Sigma barely considers the fact that he might die. And the implication of her bringing up Diana is also a really interesting point of consideration that Sigma also doesn't think about - Phi knows Diana won't be able to handle the guilt of killing Sigma. She knows that, and in the timeline where that does happen, she's right. Sigma's sacrifice isn't just a simple detached death like with Phi's; if Diana chooses to shoot Sigma and he does die, she had an active role in his death. Which is sort of the complexity behind the trolley problem in the first place (it essentially is a sort of trolley problem - except there's a chance they'll both live and both victims are asking to be a martyr to save the other). I also want to call to attention Phi's specific wording of everyone; she mentions just Diana at the end, but given her difficulty with expressing her own feelings it doesn't feel like a stretch to assume that this is about her feelings too. Looking at her reaction in the ending where Sigma DOES die (which I will get to), it's clear she really can't bear to lose Sigma either. Not after everything. Not after all of this.

DIANA: But Phi, if I don't pull the trigger, you'll... PHI (facing away): Don't worry about me.

Like I said, she seems to believe herself to be expendable in this situation. Sigma can't die - she can't handle that, but in her eyes, she can. If it means he and Diana live. She basically asks Diana to let her be the sacrifice, even though there's a chance they can all make it out alive. I also will point out that while Phi had some moments of this in VLR, this is a stark contrast between her much more self-interested characterization there. Also, note what I wrote down in the quote - while ZTD's models aren't the best or the most expressive, I think it's an interesting detail that she faces away from them for a moment and while saying this. So what's Diana meant to do? Pull the trigger, and leave open the possibility of everyone living while it risks her killing Sigma? Or let Phi burn to death? Sigma wants her to pull it - it's the more pragmatic choice, they can all live, maybe - and Phi wants to ensure that Sigma won't die. Even if it means she burns to death. We're able to see all three options, but most of them aren't pretty.

As it's the shortest of all three options by a long shot, I'm going to first discuss Shoot: Live; where Diana shoots Sigma and he dies. There's not much to preface this with other than what's on the tin: Sigma has died by Diana's hand in an effort to save Phi.

PHI (crying): Why?! Why did you do it?! You murderer! Murderer! I wasn't... I didn't matter at all! I didn't...! I didn't...! So why... Why did you...

Yeah. It's a pretty heartbreaking route, and probably the most emotional Phi is seen as being apart from near the end where she yells at Delta, maybe. Every part of her that she's held together up to this point just falls apart. The subtitles/captions don't do it justice as her VA sounds a bit more like she's struggling to get out what she wants to say at all. Like as if she's so upset and broken by witnessing Sigma die right in front of her, and FOR her, that she basically breaks down right here. Hell, right after this line she stops actually saying anything and just cries until Diana picks up the gun. (side note: not to nitpick but the some of pauses here sound like the type of pause that would be used with an em dash rather than an ellipsis. take that as you will)

It's easy to wonder why she'd call Diana a murderer, of all things, considering the extremity of that accusation and Phi KNOWING she was forced into that situation, but once again you have to consider Phi's emotional state. It doesn't even sound like she's speaking clearly, and grief and trauma makes people do and say pretty fucked up things sometimes (and especially when it's someone so close to you. Phi also WATCHED Sigma die). Given the fact that she already didn't seem to be doing the best in the first place it mostly just seems to be something she said in the moment out of grief rather than an accusation with any real weight behind it. It's not completely out of nowhere - and may imply some sort of resentment towards Diana for choosing to pick that (which I will also get into in Shoot: Blank) - but my point is this line should be taken with a major grain of salt. Maybe some of it comes from somewhere, such as hidden feelings suddenly being vocalized and taken to their extreme, but not all of it may be how she really feels and just an inflation due to her mental state.

Another thing to consider is her constant questioning of why - why would Diana ever pick Sigma over her? Why would she make that decision? Phi can't fathom it. Even though Sigma did say it's the more logical situation because that means there's a chance they all could've survived, she still doesn't understand that she'd even be worth sacrifice. See the K End segment for more on Phi hating people - especially Sigma - sacrificing themselves for her (I'll get to it in Suppression but she seems to cope better when the death isn't FOR her to live, if it is she seems to deal with it a lot worse), but here its taken to its extreme.

I also need to point out the text in bold. It's so so important to this I think. She doesn't think she's worth the sacrifice. She didn't matter, doesn't matter, so why would Diana do it? Why would she risk Sigma's life? Again I'll point out that Phi's self-sacrificing nature here could be a result of many things; maybe because she can SHIFT out and she's done it before (too many times, maybe), maybe because she's just that willing to die for Sigma and Diana to live, maybe it's a mix of it all, and any of those could ring true here. But my point is that it seems like she doesn't understand Diana's decision or that she could really be worth dying for. She didn't matter, after all. (once again, take this with a grain of salt, but still.)

This route ends not long after this but I do want to mention how much of a horrifying dead end it is. Phi was right about Diana being unable to handle the guilt, and she kills herself - leaving Phi alone. On the topic of how Phi's more emotional here than before, she literally screams at the end of the fragment before the "Game Over" screen plays. This is the worst possible end to Fire, I think - two people die instead of the expected one, and the sole survivor is struggling to cope with even one of the two deaths she just witnessed. That was enough to cause her to break down completely. Adding onto that another death of someone she cares about, especially a suicide, is A Lot. For anyone it would be. It makes sense why it just ends right there; where else would it go, really, and anything that could happen is fairly bleak, but it's interesting to think about. Anthropic Principle confirms she lives, and considering the revelation that all of D-Team is poisoned from the start in Don't Shoot it implies she drank the antidote. But where does she even go from there? In the timeline where C-Team all dies, she ends up as the sole survivor, even. I don't know. But it's an interesting thing to think about for an absolutely heartbreaking and tragic end. It's a dead end, really. What's Phi meant to do now? After all this? After losing the people she cared about?

in the second part I'll continue starting from Shoot:Blank - but the rest of the analysis will go there. i'll link it in this post once it's done! i'll even include some deleted lines from Fire from TCRF because they're quite interesting ! feel free to leave any commentary you have (so far) in tags or replies because i'd love to hear :} (also note: everything up to near the end of Aftermath was written months ago, the rest was written in the past few days)

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