#← I have no idea if there’s a specific tag

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt.16

Word Count: 30k...

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, pet names like kitten, sweetie, honey, threats with a gun, tw for birth, bodily fluids (although kept vauge i felt i should add a tw anyways), mentions of blood, tw for labor

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh @eliasxchocolate @nozomiaj @xmiisuki @sylus-kitten @its-regretti @ve1vet-cake @letgobro @starkeysslvt @yarafic @prince-nikko @connorsui @iluvmewwwww75 @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer @someone-somewheres-stuff @zaynesjasmine1 @honnylemontea @altariasu @sorryimakira @pearlymel @emidpsandia @angel-jupiter @hwangintakswifey @webmvie @housesortinghat @shoruio @gojos1ut @solomonlover @mysssticc @elegantnightblaze @mavphorias @babylavendersblog @burntoutfrogacademic @sinstae @certainduckanchor @ladyackermanisdead @sh4nn @milkandstarlight @lilyadora @nyumin @kiwookse @anisha24-blog1 @weepingluminarytale @riamir @definitionistato @xxhayashixx @adraxsteia @hargun-s @cayraeley @xxfaithlynxx @palomanh @spaceace111 @euridan

AN: This is on A03! This chapter was a doozy to write. And its 30k... thats what took so long! Also there is a birth scene (it’s not that graphic but still, be warned!) Reminder that the baby nor reader/mc have specific skintones. Imagine them how'd you like. Enjoy :3

“No,” you said coldly, refusing to let yourself fall for it. “If you really cared, you’d leave me alone.”

Sylus didn’t respond immediately, but you could hear his steady breathing on the other end of the line, a subtle reminder that he was still there—still looming over your life, even from miles away.

“I can’t do that,” he said after a long pause, his voice filled with quiet determination. “You’re mine, kitten. I’ll always come for you.”

See my masterlist for the previous parts!

Sylus strode up the sleek metal stairs of his private jet, the soles of his polished shoes clicking sharply against the aluminum. The faint hum of the engines warming up filled the quiet night, blending with the distant sound of waves crashing against the shoreline. He checked his watch—a sharp, precise movement—his expression impassive as the glowing hands ticked forward.

Seven hours and fifty-four minutes to Goldwood City.

Time was precious, and Sylus despised wasting it. Yet, here he was, boarding a plane and leaving you behind when you needed him most. The thought soured his mood, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. He didn’t like the idea of being away from you, not when the birth was so close, not when your body was bearing the weight of his daughter. But he wouldn’t be gone long. He’d make damn sure of it.

This mission wasn’t a choice—it was a necessity.

He took his seat near the front of the cabin, the plush leather chair creaking softly as he leaned back, his mind already dissecting the details of the plan. The tablet resting on the table before him blinked to life with a touch of his finger, casting a pale glow over his sharp features. Names, faces, locations—an entire network of filth sprawled across the screen, anchored by one name: Vincent Morrell.

The bastard responsible for commissioning the organ trafficking ring that had nearly ruined you. He had enlisted a woman named Serene Grey, a shadowy figure known for her ruthless efficiency, to abduct countless women in a desperate attempt to find a suitable match for his dying wife. The thought of Vincent Morrell’s cold calculations—treating the love of his life as no more than just a commodity to spare one, only deepened Sylus’s resolve.

The memory flickered across his mind, unbidden but vivid. The look in your eyes when he’d finally found you, the nightmares that haunted your head. You didn’t talk about it much anymore, but you didn’t have to. Sylus knew every scar, every broken fragment of what they’d done. He’d already erased Reese from existence for daring to touch you, and now he had the chance to do the same to Reese’s father.

The thought brought a flicker of satisfaction to his cold, calculated mind. Reese had been weak, arrogant, relying on drugs to keep his life afloat. But Vincent? He was the head of the snake, the architect of the operation that had dared to mark what belonged to Sylus.

And now, Vincent Morrell had become a loose thread—one Sylus intended to cut.

Sylus adjusted the cufflinks on his sleeves, the small, engraved pieces of jewelry glinting faintly under the cabin lights. His gaze drifted toward the window as the jet’s engines roared to life, the faint vibration coursing through the cabin a welcome reminder of progress.

“Goldwood City in seven hours and thirty five minutes, sir” the pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom.

Sylus didn’t respond, his eyes narrowing as his mind shifted to the finer points of his plan. Vincent’s desperation to save his dying wife had made him sloppy, careless. The man had taken the bait without a second thought—a whispered rumor of a rare, illegal protocore capable of miraculous healing. Sylus had dangled it just close enough to whet his appetite, and Vincent had all but begged for the meeting.

How easy. Sylus was no fool when it came to the complexities of human emotions. A man’s heart, no matter how guarded, became his greatest vulnerability when tied to a woman he cherished. The desperation, the raw, unbridled need to protect, could unravel even the most calculated minds. It made them predictable, reckless. Vincent Morrell was no exception—his wife’s life dangled in the balance, and that fragile thread had become a noose Sylus was all too willing to tighten.

A grim smile tugged at Sylus’s lips. Vincent probably thought he was walking into a business negotiation. A trade. He didn’t realize it would be his last mistake.

Leaning back in his seat, Sylus closed his eyes for a moment, letting the hum of the engines drown out the weight of his thoughts. He didn’t allow himself to linger on the fact that you were miles away, in a house guarded by men who could never care for you the way he did. He wouldn’t allow doubt to creep into his mind.

This wasn’t just revenge—it was a message. A warning to anyone who thought they could take what belonged to him.

When he opened his eyes again, the gleam in them was as sharp as a blade. Goldwood City awaited, and so did Vincent Morrell.

Sylus would make this quick.

The flight goes mostly uneventful. The interior of the jet exuded quiet luxury—plush leather seats arranged in a spacious layout, polished mahogany accents gleaming under the soft, amber glow of the dimmed cabin lights. Outside, the vast expanse of the night sky stretched endlessly in every direction, a sea of velvety black dotted with distant stars that glinted like shards of ice against the darkness.

It was the kind of serene atmosphere designed for peaceful reflection, but Sylus’s mind was far from tranquil. Each passing minute seemed to remind him of what he was leaving behind and what lay ahead. The soft vibration of the engines beneath his feet only heightened the restless energy coursing through him, his thoughts flitting between the present mission and the future he had long envisioned. It was a perfect setting for quiet contemplation, yet Sylus’s mind was anything but still.

He pulled out his phone periodically, messaging Luke and Kieran to check on your condition. His lips curled into a faint smirk when Luke responded with an update: you were pouty and visibly agitated. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest. You were nearing the end of your pregnancy, your discomfort likely growing by the hour. He could picture you pacing around the house, arms crossed, grumbling under your breath with that familiar fiery expression. The mental image brought a quiet chuckle to his chest. Even when irritated, you had a way of commanding his attention completely.

He typed out swift instructions in response, his tone precise and commanding: ensure she’s eating regularly, make certain she has everything she needs, and cater to her every whim. He didn’t care if you requested a specific dish at midnight or demanded a walk in the cold evening air—your desires were to be met without question. Satisfied, he shut off his phone and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes against the faint cabin light.

For a fleeting moment, the surreal weight of it all washed over him. In just a few short weeks, he would hold his daughter in his arms—a child he’d dreamed of for longer than he cared to admit. A baby girl. He had spent countless nights obsessing over what she would be like, what she would look like. Would she inherit your sharp wit or his piercing gaze? Would she be quiet and observant, or would she cry easily, her temperament as demanding as her mother’s? The thought brought a flicker of amusement to his lips.

It all felt strangely distant yet inevitable. His life had always been about control, about taking what he wanted and bending the world to his will. But this…this was different. This was something he couldn’t entirely predict, and despite the unfamiliarity of it, he welcomed the unknown. For once, the future didn’t seem like a puzzle to solve but a gift waiting to be unwrapped.

His musings were interrupted by a sharp, irritated caw from the corner of the plane. Sylus’s crimson eyes snapped open, narrowing slightly as he spotted Mephisto fluttering toward him. The crow's movements were awkward and agitated, its wings flapping with clear irritation.

“You’re the one who insisted on resting your wings,” Sylus said, his voice low and clipped, tinged with faint amusement. “Don’t complain about the consequences now.”

Mephisto let out another disgruntled caw, hopping onto the armrest beside him and fluffing his feathers indignantly. The bird’s beady eyes glinted with irritation, as though it fully understood the jab. Sylus rolled his eyes, signaling to the attendant stationed discreetly at the far end of the jet. The man, clad in an immaculately pressed uniform, stepped forward with practiced precision, his expression neutral and composed.

“One glass of Gin Fizz,” Sylus ordered, his tone as sharp as a blade. “Very little ice.”

The man gave a polite nod, disappearing into the small galley without a word. Sylus turned his attention back to the crow, his fingers brushing idly against the edge of the leather armrest. "We'll be there soon. Then you can fly as far as you'd like," he muttered, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as Mephisto tilted his head, unrepentant. The bird let out a soft croak in response, seemingly satisfied with the acknowledgment.

Sylus leaned back once more, his gaze drifting toward the window. The world outside was vast and indifferent, a stark contrast to the tightly wound control he maintained over his life. But even now, as the jet sped toward Goldwood City and the mission awaiting him, his thoughts remained tethered to you and the tiny life growing within you.

"Just a little longer," he murmured to himself, closing his eyes once again. "Then everything will be as it should."

Sylus’s jet touched down smoothly on the private runway, the whir of the engines gradually fading into silence as the aircraft taxied to a halt. Outside, the city of Goldwood stretched out beneath the dawn sky, its skyline gleaming with a mix of modern opulence and old-world grit. He descended the steps of the jet with practiced ease, the brisk air brushing against his face, sharp but invigorating. His long coat trailed slightly behind him as he made his way across the tarmac, each step deliberate and assured.

There was no need for the usual pomp or pretense here. The entire runway, and indeed the small airport itself, belonged to him—one of his many acquisitions over the years. His influence extended far beyond the city’s limits, a network of properties and safehouses woven into the very fabric of Goldwood’s underworld.

Rather than heading straight for a car, Sylus entered a discreet, private entrance that led into the lower levels of his hotel. The building loomed overhead, a towering structure of steel and glass, exuding both modern luxury and an air of impenetrable security. To the public, it was one of the city’s most prestigious hotels, a beacon of wealth and exclusivity. But to Sylus, it was much more—a carefully curated fortress where he could operate without interference.

Mephisto had long gone, no doubt stretching his wings across skyscrapers by now.

He bypassed the grand lobby, where polished marble floors gleamed under the glow of crystal chandeliers, and took a private elevator to the top floor. The ride up was smooth and silent, the soft hum of the elevator barely audible over the rhythmic beating of his heart. As the doors opened, he stepped into his personal suite, a sprawling expanse of minimalist elegance. The walls were adorned with abstract art, muted tones blending seamlessly with the sleek furniture. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, but Sylus paid little attention to the glittering skyline.

With a wave of his hand, soft music began to play from the built-in sound system, the warm, crackling notes of an old jazz record filling the room. He moved toward a vintage record player perched on a low table, carefully adjusting the needle to let the next track begin. The sound enveloped the space, a calming yet deliberate backdrop to his thoughts.

As he settled into a high-backed leather chair, a soft knock sounded at the door. "Enter," Sylus said without turning, his voice steady and commanding. A moment later, the door opened to reveal his personal chef, carrying a silver tray laden with a carefully prepared meal. The scent of freshly seared steak and roasted vegetables wafted into the room, mingling pleasantly with the faint aroma of leather and polished wood.

The chef approached with measured steps, placing the tray on a nearby table before retreating with a respectful nod. "Your meal, sir," he said quietly before exiting the room, leaving Sylus alone once more.

Sylus took a moment to savor the aroma before picking up his fork and knife. The first bite was exquisite, the flavors rich and perfectly balanced—a testament to the chef’s skill. Yet, as delicious as the meal was, his mind remained focused on the task ahead.

He didn’t have the protocore just yet. That was the true objective of being in the city so soon, tracking down the elusive artifact before his scheduled meeting with Vincent later in the week. The protocore, a rare and highly sought-after relic, was rumored to possess near-miraculous healing properties. For Vincent, whose wife’s life hung by a thread, it was the ultimate prize. For Sylus, it was the perfect bait.

Rumors had been circulating for weeks about the protocore’s appearance at an exclusive underground auction, a shadowy event known only to the wealthiest and most dangerous individuals in the network. Securing an invitation had been the easy part—now came the real challenge: ensuring he left that auction with the artifact in hand.

Tomorrow, the auction would commence, and there was no time to waste. Every move counted, and Sylus was nothing if not methodical. He allowed himself a brief moment of stillness, his crimson eyes narrowing as he contemplated the task ahead. Soon, very soon, he would have what he needed to finally end this chapter and protect what was his.

The night of the auction arrived, soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the expansive auction hall, muted by the distance from where Sylus sat high above. The private balcony he occupied offered a perfect vantage point, granting him an unobstructed view of the opulent, dimly lit room below. People milled about in elegant attire, each of them donning elaborate masks that concealed their identities. Some wore animal-themed masks, others bore intricate designs of gold and silver filigree, but all carried an air of wealth and danger.

Sylus leaned back in his chair, half of his own face hidden beneath a golden bird mask that gleamed faintly in the low light. In one hand, he swirled a glass of deep red wine, the liquid catching the flicker of candlelight as it moved lazily within the crystal. His gaze drifted across the room, watching the masked attendees as they whispered, schemed, and observed.

The auction had gone on for what felt like hours. The auctioneer, an older man with a booming voice and a flair for the dramatic, called out item after item—rare weapons, ancient artifacts, paintings that were no doubt stolen from private collections or museums. Each time a new piece was wheeled onto the stage, Sylus’s interest waned further. He found the entire display predictable, even tiresome.

His thoughts began to wander, drifting away from the glittering scene below to something far more important—you. According to the twins, you had spent the day cooking together, a simple, domestic activity that brought a faint, almost imperceptible smile to his lips. The thought of you in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, laughter echoing softly as you prepared a meal, stirred something warm and possessive within him.

Still, the idea of you cooking with another man, even if it was one of the twins, irked him slightly. He knew Luke and Kieran had no ill intentions-they were loyal to him, and more importantly, they respected you. Yet, a part of him bristled at the thought. He had vowed to be better, to curb some his possessive instincts. This was part of that effort. He took a long sip of his wine, the taste rich and dark on his tongue, as he reminded himself of the promise he had made to you.

His musings were abruptly interrupted when a large platform was wheeled onto the stage, drawing murmurs of anticipation from the crowd below. Sylus’s eyes sharpened, his attention snapping back to the auction as the item he had been waiting for was finally revealed.

The protocore.

Suspended within a cylindrical glass chamber, it hovered weightlessly, its surface glowing with a faint, ethereal green light. The room seemed to hold its breath as the auctioneer stepped forward, gesturing dramatically toward the artifact.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer began, his voice echoing through the hall, “behold the Emerald Protocore! One of the rarest and most sought-after cores in existence. With rumored restorative properties that surpass even the most advanced medical technology, this protocore is said to heal injuries, extend life, and grant vitality to its bearer.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed, the gleam of the floating artifact reflected in his crimson gaze. The anticipation in the room was palpable, tension hanging thick in the air as the auctioneer announced the starting bid.

“We begin at five billion,” the auctioneer declared. “Do I hear five billion?”

A hand shot up immediately from the crowd below. “Five billion,” the auctioneer acknowledged, his tone gleeful. “Six billion! Do I hear six?”

Sylus’s lips curled into a faint smirk as the bidding began in earnest. Hands rose rapidly, voices calling out higher and higher numbers. The price climbed steadily—seven billion, nine billion, twelve billion. The competition was fierce, as expected. Only the wealthiest and most powerful individuals in the world had been invited to this auction, and it was clear they intended to fight for the prize.

“We have fifteen billion! Going once, going twice—”

“Seventeen billion,” a masked bidder called out, his voice calm but firm.

Sylus waited, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of his wine glass. He had no intention of jumping in too soon. This was a game of strategy, and he always played to win. The numbers continued to climb, the atmosphere growing tenser with each new bid.

“Twenty billion! Do I hear twenty-five?”

“Twenty-six billion,” Sylus finally tapped the screen in front of him, his bid appearing in bold digits on the display above the stage.

The room went quiet for a brief moment, all eyes turning toward the private balcony where Sylus sat. He didn’t react, merely raising his glass slightly as if in silent acknowledgment.

“Twenty-six billion!” the auctioneer cried, his voice rising with excitement. “An impressive bid! Do we have a counter?”

“Thirty billion,” another voice called out from below.

Sylus’s smirk deepened. Good. He enjoyed a challenge. Without hesitation, he tapped the screen again.

“Thirty-five billion.”

The back-and-forth continued, each bid coming faster than the last. Thirty-seven billion. Forty billion. Forty-five. The tension in the room was electric, the air thick with anticipation. Sylus remained composed, his demeanor cool and unshaken as the numbers soared higher.

“Fifty billion” he entered with finality, the bold digits flashing across the screen. The room fell into a hushed silence, the weight of the staggering number settling over the crowd. No one moved, no one spoke.

The auctioneer paused, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of a counter. When none came, he raised his gavel high.

“Fifty billion, going once…going twice…sold! To the gentleman in the golden mask!”

A polite round of applause broke out below, but Sylus paid it no mind. His eyes remained fixed on the protocore as it was carefully wheeled offstage, his mind already calculating his next move. The artifact was his. All that remained was ensuring it reached his hands safely.

He took one last sip of his wine, savoring the moment. The hunt had been successful, but the game was far from over.

“Prepare the transport,” he said quietly into his communicator. “I want eyes on every entrance. Nothing leaves this building without my approval.”

The night was still young, and Sylus knew better than to lower his guard just yet.

As the applause died down and the crowd dispersed into smaller clusters of murmuring onlookers, Sylus descended from his private balcony, his steps measured and purposeful. The auction might have been over, but the real game was just beginning.

He moved through the crowd with ease, his golden bird mask catching the glint of chandeliers overhead. Several masked figures approached him, eager to exchange pleasantries—or perhaps gather information. Among them was a man dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, his mask crafted to resemble a snarling wolf, gleaming silver in the dim light.

“Congratulations, Sylus,” the man said, his voice smooth but carrying an unmistakable edge. “Fifty billion is a steep price, even for someone with your…reputation.”

Sylus’s lips curled into a faint smile beneath his mask. “A steep price for some. A calculated investment for others,” he replied, his tone calm, almost bored. He extended his hand, and the man took it without hesitation.

“All’s fair in the game of money, wouldn’t you say, Sylus?” the man continued, gripping Sylus’s hand firmly. His fingers tightened in an iron grip, an unmistakable attempt at intimidation. Sylus met the challenge without flinching, his expression unchanging as he returned the handshake with a force of his own.

The faint crack of bones was barely audible over the low hum of conversation around them, but Sylus felt it clearly—the subtle give of the man’s fingers beneath his unyielding grip. The man tensed, his body going rigid with pain, though he made no sound. His pride wouldn’t allow it. Instead, his eyes locked onto Sylus’s, silently begging for release.

Sylus chuckled softly, a low, dangerous sound that carried an air of amusement. “Indeed,” he said, his voice as smooth as silk. “All’s fair.”

He held the man’s hand for a moment longer, just enough to make his point clear, before finally letting go. The man took a step back, subtly flexing his injured fingers while maintaining a composed façade. Despite his silence, it was obvious to Sylus that he was rattled, his earlier bravado shattered.

“Good game,” Sylus added with a faint smirk, turning away without waiting for a response. The man said nothing, his pride keeping him rooted in place as Sylus walked off, victorious in more ways than one.

Some time had passed, and with still a day or two remaining before his scheduled meeting with Vincent, Sylus found himself meticulously inspecting the protocore once again. The artifact was undeniably genuine—its faint green glow pulsed steadily within its containment unit, casting an otherworldly light across the dimly lit room. Even Sylus, with his carefully tempered emotions, couldn’t ignore the subtle effect it had on him. There was something about its presence that made the air feel lighter, more vibrant, as though it carried a hint of life itself.

Satisfied with his inspection, Sylus gave strict instructions to his men to keep the protocore under maximum security until the time came. No one, save for a select few, even knew where it was being stored. He wasn’t about to take any chances.

Now lounging in his private suite, Sylus swirled a glass of dark red wine in his hand, the rich aroma filling his senses. The distant hum of the city outside was barely audible through the reinforced glass windows. Despite the calm atmosphere, a familiar itch tugged at his mind—a restlessness born not of danger, but of curiosity. The kind of curiosity that gnawed at him whenever he thought of you. Were you resting properly? Were you being taken care of properly? These thoughts had a way of creeping in, no matter how focused he tried to remain on his mission.

He leaned forward slightly, the rim of the wine glass brushing against his lower lip as he stared into the swirling liquid. The weight of the moment settled over him, a rare stillness that only deepened his longing. Without further hesitation, he reached for his phone, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he dialed Luke’s number. The line barely rang twice before Luke answered, his voice cheerful and energetic.

"Yes, boss!" Luke said, sounding as though he had been expecting the call.

"Is she sleeping?" Sylus asked without preamble, wasting no time on idle chatter. He glanced at the clock—6 PM. It was around the usual time for your midday nap, a routine he had come to know well.

"No, she’s awake. She’s been complaining of, uh…Brax…ten? Hits?" Luke replied, stumbling over the unfamiliar words.

"Braxton Hicks," Sylus corrected smoothly, taking a measured sip of his wine. His lips quirked in mild amusement.

"Yeah, that! I’ll tell ya, boss, I’ve been so on edge lately. I thought I was gonna have to deliver a baby the other night..." Luke admitted nervously, his usual bravado replaced by genuine concern.

Sylus chuckled softly, a low, rich sound that conveyed both amusement and exasperation. These idiots…they meant well, even if they were woefully unprepared for such a scenario. Still, it reassured him that they were vigilant, keeping an eye on you as instructed.

"I assure you, delivering babies is not part of your job description," he said, his tone light yet authoritative. "Now, put her on. I want to speak to her."

"Right away, boss!" Luke said, his voice brightening again before the line went silent for a brief moment.

Sylus leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine once more as he waited. A faint smirk played at the edges of his lips, but beneath the outward calm was a subtle tension. He hadn’t heard your voice in days, and though he trusted his men, nothing could truly ease the restlessness that settled in his chest when he was away from you. The line clicked, and then—

"Hello?" your voice came through, slightly groggy but unmistakably yours.

A quiet relief washed over him at the sound. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed to hear you until that moment. Even from miles away, your voice had a grounding effect on him, steadying the swirling thoughts in his mind. The weight on his shoulders eased slightly, as though the mere sound of you could pull him back from the edge of his constant vigilance.

"How are you feeling, honey?" Sylus asked, his voice softening in a way it rarely did with anyone else.

You sighed, the faint sound of shifting fabric accompanying your words. "Tired. These weird fake contractions are no joke. They keep waking me up."

You sounded so adorable when you complained. Sylus wasn’t sure what it was, but when you grumbled and whined to him, it made him feel an intense urge to fulfill your every need. To fix all of your problems. There was something strangely satisfying about hearing you vent to him, trusting him enough to share your frustrations.

"They’re normal," Sylus assured, his tone steady and calm. "Your body is preparing for the real thing. Just a little longer, and it will all be over."

"Easy for you to say," you muttered, a hint of irritation in your voice. "You’re not the one carrying around a bowling ball."

Sylus chuckled again, the sound genuine this time. "Fair point. Still, you should rest as much as possible. If anything feels unusual, you’ll let the twins know immediately."

"Yeah, yeah," you replied, the tiredness in your voice evident, but you at least seemed to be a little more at ease. He silently wondered…did you miss him as much as he missed you? You had said that you don't love him, that it was a lie. But you also said you didn’t hate him either…that you didn’t know how to feel sometimes. What could he do to change that?

Still, he didn’t dare ask the question for fear of the answer. Some things were better left unspoken, at least for now.

For a moment, Sylus said nothing, simply listening to the sound of your breathing on the other end. That simple, quiet connection was enough to ease the knot of tension that had formed in his chest over the past few days. He found himself savoring it, reluctant to let the moment end.

"Good," he finally said, pausing briefly before adding in a softer tone, "You’re doing well. I’ll be back soon."

"How soon is…soon?" you murmured, your voice trailing off slightly. "It’s been a lot."

He felt a sharp pang in his heart at your words, the weight of them sinking deep into his chest. You sounded undeniably drained, your voice carrying a fatigue he couldn’t ignore. Did you actually long for him like he did you? The thought gnawed at him, stirring something both tender and painful. Guilt began to creep in, a cold, unwelcome presence that made him silently curse himself for even entertaining the idea of leaving you alone in the first place. He had told himself this mission was necessary—that it was about securing a safer future for you and the child you carried—but now, in the silence that followed your words, he questioned whether his absence was worth the toll it seemed to be taking on you.

Yet, he couldn’t allow doubt to derail him. This had to be done. The thought of ridding the pests of your past—the ones who had dared to hurt you—was too tempting, too important to abandon. If he could eliminate the lingering shadows that haunted your life, perhaps you could finally find some semblance of peace. And that, more than anything, was what drove him forward.

"I know sweetie" he said quietly. His voice carried a gentleness, as though he wished he could bridge the distance between you with words alone. "I’m just wrapping up some stuff here, and I’ll be back before you know it."

There was a small silence from you for a few short moments, as if you wanted to say something more. He waited patiently, despite his growing anticipation.

"Alright then, I’m going to take a nap. See you later," you said, your voice soft but tired, as though every word carried the weight of the past few days. There was a pause, a faint rustling on your end, before the sound of the phone being handed over to Luke became clear.

He sighed. Of course, with everything going on, there was still much work to close the distance between you two. He shouldn't have expected otherwise.

"Talk to ya later, boss!" Luke said brightly, his tone attempting to mask the tension from earlier. Sylus could hear the faint sound of your footsteps retreating in the background, likely heading off to finally get some rest.

With that, the call ended, and Sylus placed the phone back on the table. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and let out a slow exhale. The faint smile lingered on his lips for a moment, but it didn’t entirely banish the weight of concern that remained. There was still much to be done, but for now, the sound of your voice was enough. Soon, very soon, he would be back where he belonged—with you, and with the life he was determined to protect.

The wine sat forgotten beside him as he leaned back in his chair once more, his thoughts already drifting to what lay ahead. No matter what obstacles remained, he would see this through. Because in the end, nothing mattered more than you, and the family he was building.

Sylus arrived at Vincent’s private estate as afternoon fully claimed the sky, casting a veil of orange light over the sprawling property. The grand gates opened with a mechanical hum, revealing a long driveway flanked by perfectly manicured gardens. The estate itself loomed ahead, its tall windows glowing with soft, golden light. Despite the inviting atmosphere, Sylus remained on guard. Every movement here was calculated, just like the man he was about to meet.

As the car came to a halt, Sylus adjusted his cuffs and stepped out, his eyes briefly scanning the area before following the butler waiting to escort him inside. Sylus walked through the grand hallway of Vincent’s estate, the soft glow of antique lamps casting long shadows over the dark wood paneling. Every corner was meticulously curated—gold-framed portraits of Vincent’s family lined the walls, each one exuding an air of wealth and status. Sylus’s eyes flicked over the paintings as he followed the butler toward the study. One, in particular, caught his attention: a portrait of a child, with striking features and messy hair.

Ah. This must be Reese as a young boy.

Sylus allowed himself a brief smirk. Vincent had taken great care to display these portraits prominently, as though to remind every visitor of his family’s legacy. But to Sylus, it only confirmed what he already knew: Vincent was a man desperately clinging to appearances. A man whose carefully constructed façade masked the rot beneath.

Interesting.

The butler leading him stopped at the entrance to a grand study, opening the door with a slight bow. Sylus stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room with practiced ease. The crackling fire cast long shadows over the dark oak bookshelves that lined the walls, their shelves packed with leather-bound volumes that looked more decorative than well-read. A crystal decanter glinted on the side table, half-filled with amber liquid, while the faint scent of burning wood added a comforting warmth to the space.

Vincent turned from the fireplace as Sylus entered, a practiced smile already in place. “Sylus,” he greeted warmly, spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome. “Glad you could make it.”

Sylus returned the smile with one of his own, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Please, sit,” Vincent said, gesturing toward a pair of leather armchairs near the hearth. “Can I pour you something?”

Sylus inclined his head slightly, lowering himself into the nearest chair with deliberate grace. He rested one arm on the chair’s polished armrest, his fingers tapping lightly against the leather. “Wine will do.”

Vincent poured two glasses, handing one to Sylus before settling into the chair opposite him. He raised his glass in a casual toast. “To new ventures.”

Sylus clinked his glass lightly against Vincent’s but didn’t drink. Instead, he swirled the deep red liquid, watching how it clung to the sides of the glass. His mind was already working, piecing together what little information he’d gleaned so far. The portraits in the hallway had been deliberate, a carefully curated display meant to project an image of familial pride. But something about it felt off. Reese’s face had been too prominent, his image too recent. Sylus suspected that Vincent wasn’t displaying a legacy—he was mourning a loss.

“I couldn’t help but notice the portraits in the hall,” Sylus said casually, breaking the silence. “Your son?”

Vincent’s expression flickered briefly before he nodded, taking a sip of his wine. “Yes, my son Reese. He was a good boy once. Smart, driven. But…” He trailed off, his gaze growing distant. “Things change. He got caught up with the wrong crowd—drugs, bad influences. You try to guide them, but at some point, they make their own choices.”

Sylus tilted his head slightly, feigning a thoughtful expression. “That must be difficult. Watching someone you love spiral like that.”

“It is,” Vincent admitted, setting his glass down on the small table beside him. “It’s been hardest on my wife. She worried herself sick over him. And now he's gone.”

Sylus noted the way Vincent’s jaw tightened ever so slightly at the mention of his wife. There was something guarded in his tone, a subtle hesitation that didn’t escape Sylus’s attention. He stored the detail away for later use.

“I suppose I’ll be finding out what that’s like soon enough,” Sylus said after a pause, his voice light but deliberate.

Vincent arched a brow, clearly intrigued. “Oh?”

Sylus allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. “I’m expecting a child of my own very soon. A daughter.”

For a moment, Vincent’s expression softened, genuine emotion flickering in his eyes. He chuckled, lifting his glass in a half-toast. “A daughter, huh? You’re a lucky man. I always wished I’d had a daughter. Would’ve given her the world.”

Sylus filed that comment away, noting the wistfulness in Vincent’s tone. He wondered, briefly, if Vincent’s regret stemmed from something deeper—some failure he hadn’t yet admitted to himself. But he didn’t press the issue.

“Perhaps things would’ve been different,” Sylus mused aloud, his tone carefully neutral.

Vincent gave a slight nod but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he took another sip of his wine, as though retreating into his thoughts.

Sylus allowed the silence to stretch for a moment before steering the conversation back. “Stress like that must be hard on your wife,” he said, his voice carrying just the right note of concern. “I imagine it’s taken a toll.”

Vincent’s eyes darkened, and Sylus caught the brief flicker of something—guilt, perhaps?—before the man spoke. “It has. She’s battling cancer. The doctors say she needs a new kidney and liver if she’s going to have any real chance of survival. That’s why this deal is so important to me. I need her to live.”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine once more. He didn’t respond immediately, letting the weight of Vincent’s words hang in the air. There was something off about the way Vincent spoke—his tone was too measured, too practiced. Before Sylus could probe further, a sudden knock at the door broke the moment.

“We're busy, come back later” Vincent called, his irritation barely concealed.

The door suddenly swung opened to reveal an older blonde woman with sharp features and blazing eyes. She stormed into the room with an air of indignation, her hands clenched at her sides.

“Vincent, you said you’d only be a few minutes!” she snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a whip. “I’ve been waiting long enough.”

Vincent’s composure cracked, irritation flaring across his face. “I told you not to come in while I’m conducting business.”

“That’s no way to talk to your wife!” she screamed before turning on her heel and storming out, slamming the door behind her.

Sylus’s eyes followed her retreating figure, his expression carefully neutral. But inwardly, unease prickled at the edges of his mind. That woman didn’t look sick. There were no signs of frailty, no visible indication of someone battling a life-threatening illness. Yet Vincent had just spoken at length about his wife’s dire condition.

Something wasn’t adding up.

Vincent sighed heavily, rubbing his temples before turning back to Sylus. The firelight cast long shadows across his face, accentuating the weariness in his expression. “Apologies for that,” he muttered. “Emotions run high in these circumstances.”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, resting his glass of untouched wine on the armrest. He didn’t speak, choosing instead to observe Vincent in silence. His sharp crimson eyes flicked to the door where the woman had stormed out, her angry words still hanging in the air like an echo.

"That’s no way to talk to your wife!".

The pieces didn’t fit. The woman who had just left was far from the image of someone fighting for their life. Her complexion had been healthy, her stride strong. There had been no trace of sickness in her voice or demeanor. Yet Vincent had painted a picture of a wife on the brink of death, clinging to hope by a thread.

Sylus’s instincts prickled with suspicion. Something was off, and he had a sinking feeling he already knew what it was.

“Look,” Vincent said, exhaling slowly as though bracing himself for judgment. “Man to man…I know what you must be thinking. I’ll explain.”

Sylus arched a brow, gesturing slightly with his free hand as if to say, Go on. He maintained an air of polite curiosity, though inwardly, his mind was already racing, calculating the implications of what he was about to hear.

“It’s not my wife who’s sick,” Vincent admitted, his voice low and strained. He reached for his glass, taking a long sip before continuing. “It’s…my mistress. She’s the one with cancer.”

There it was.

Sylus didn’t react outwardly, keeping his expression neutral. But beneath the surface, a flicker of disgust stirred in his chest. He wasn’t shocked—he’d dealt with men like Vincent before, men who cloaked their deceit in noble intentions. But hearing it spoken aloud, seeing the casual way Vincent justified his betrayal, made Sylus’s disdain sharpen.

“I know how it sounds,” Vincent continued quickly, as though trying to preempt any criticism. “Cheating is wrong, yes, but…I love her. I can’t watch her die. My wife—she doesn’t know. And I intend to keep it that way.”

Sylus leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the armrest as he steepled his fingers. His crimson eyes locked onto Vincent’s with an intensity that made the older man shift slightly in his seat.

“How long has this…arrangement been going on?” Sylus asked, his voice smooth but carrying a subtle edge.

“Five years,” Vincent admitted, his tone defensive. “I never intended for it to get this complicated, but things happened. Life happened. I love them both, but I can’t lose her—not like this.”

Sylus remained silent, letting Vincent’s words hang in the air. The fire crackled softly in the background, filling the void as the tension between them grew thicker. He could see the desperation in Vincent’s eyes, the way his hands gripped the glass a little too tightly, as though holding onto it would keep everything from falling apart.

“I see,” Sylus said at last, his tone measured. “It’s…a difficult situation.”

Vincent exhaled in relief, clearly mistaking Sylus’s neutrality for understanding. “Exactly. You do what you have to, right? That’s why this deal means so much to me. I need the protocore. It’s her only chance.”

Sylus swirled the wine in his glass, watching the dark liquid slosh against the sides. He didn’t drink. He never intended to. The game Vincent was playing was clear now—a game of betrayal, fueled by misplaced loyalty and selfishness. Sylus had no sympathy for men like him, but he knew better than to show his hand too soon.

“Of course,” Sylus said smoothly, lifting his glass in a silent toast before setting it down untouched. “You’re doing what you believe is necessary. I can respect that.”

Vincent relaxed slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing. He poured himself another glass, clearly emboldened by what he perceived as Sylus’s agreement.

But Sylus wasn’t done yet.

“Though,” he said after a moment, his tone casual but pointed, “I imagine it must be difficult keeping something like this hidden. Secrets have a way of…unraveling.”

Vincent’s hand stilled briefly before he resumed pouring, the faintest hint of unease flickering across his face. “I’ve managed so far,” he said, his tone a little too brisk. “She doesn't suspect a thing.”

Sylus offered a faint smile, leaning back in his chair once more. “I'm sure she doesn't.”

Luck. Sylus didn’t believe in it. Men like Vincent relied on luck, on the hope that their lies would remain undiscovered, that they could continue juggling their fragile lives without consequence. But luck always ran out.

For now, Sylus played along, letting Vincent bask in the illusion of control. But as he watched the man across from him, he couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of contempt. Vincent claimed to love both women, yet his actions spoke of cowardice and selfishness. He was no better than the men Sylus had crushed underfoot in the past—men who believed they could cheat fate with charm and wealth.

Sylus leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he observed Vincent closely. The older man’s initial air of confidence had begun to waver, subtle cracks appearing in his polished façade. It was almost amusing—how quickly a man could shift from composed to cornered when the right pressure was applied.

“You’ve always been good at balancing appearances, Vincent,” Sylus said, his voice calm, almost conversational. “A loving husband. A grieving father. And yet, behind it all…someone willing to trade women for profit.”

Vincent’s glass paused mid-air, the amber liquid inside trembling slightly. He forced a tight smile, setting the glass down with a faint clink. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, Sylus.”

Sylus’s eyes gleamed in the firelight, a dangerous glint flickering in their crimson depths. He leaned forward slightly, his tone still smooth but carrying a razor-sharp edge. “I wonder…how would your wife react if she knew the real reason you’ve been so…preoccupied? Not just with your mistress, but with the blood you’ve spilled to keep her alive.”

Vincent’s expression hardened. “Careful,” he warned, his voice low. “You’re crossing a line.”

Sylus didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk widened, a predator toying with its prey. “Oh, I haven’t crossed anything yet. I’m merely stating the obvious. Reese got in over his head, didn’t he? He didn’t just ‘fall in with the wrong crowd.’ He was the wrong crowd.”

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the distant crackle of the fire. Vincent’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white against the leather armrests. There was no more room for pretense—Sylus had laid the truth bare, and Vincent knew it.

Still, Sylus wasn’t done. He leaned back again, exuding a sense of calm control that only heightened the tension in the room. “It must’ve been difficult,” he mused aloud. “Keeping that kind of operation hidden for so long. Juggling the demands of your little empire while ensuring no one pulled at the wrong thread.”

Vincent’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sylus chuckled softly, the sound devoid of humor. “Don’t I? I’ve seen men like you before, Vincent. Desperate men. Men who cling to power, thinking they can cheat fate. But fate, you see…” He tapped the rim of his wine glass with a finger, the faint ping echoing ominously. “Fate has a way of catching up with you. Secrets—they don’t just unravel. They unravel you. And once the first thread is pulled…” He let the sentence hang, the implication clear.

Vincent’s breathing had grown heavier, his composure slipping further with every word. He was no longer the confident businessman who had welcomed Sylus into his home. He was a man standing on the edge of a precipice, staring down into the abyss.

“What do you want?” Vincent finally asked, his voice strained.

Sylus’s smile faded, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. “Simple. You’ll give me exactly what I came here for. No games. No double-crosses. And in return…” He let the silence linger for a moment, watching as Vincent hung on his every word. “I won’t pull that first thread.”

Vincent visibly paled, the color draining from his face as Sylus’s words sank in, each one landing like a deliberate blow. His fingers twitched against the armrests of his chair, his grip tightening momentarily before he forced himself to relax. The air in the room seemed to shift, thickening with unspoken tension. He cleared his throat, masking the tremor in his voice as he struggled to maintain some semblance of composure.

“Well?” Vincent said, his voice strained and tight, each word sounding as though it had to be dragged from his throat. “Spit it out, then. What did you really come here for? And…what do you mean Reese was?”

Sylus tilted his head slightly, crimson eyes gleaming with something dark and unreadable. The firelight cast long shadows across his sharp features, accentuating the cold detachment in his expression. He leaned back in the chair, steepling his fingers as though contemplating how much to reveal. For a long, excruciating moment, the only sounds in the room were the faint crackle of the fire and the steady ticking of the ornate clock on the mantel. Sylus let the silence stretch, knowing full well that it would gnaw at Vincent’s fraying nerves.

Finally, he spoke, his tone casual but laced with menace. “The woman you’ve been commissioning to steal those girls—Serene Grey. Where is she?”

Vincent blinked, clearly caught off guard by the abrupt shift in topic. His brows furrowed in confusion as he processed the name. “Serene…?” he repeated slowly, as though the mere mention of her brought with it an uncomfortable weight. Sylus didn’t miss the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, nor the way his fingers tightened around the armrest once more.

“She’s a slippery little thing,” Sylus continued, his voice as smooth as silk, every word carefully measured. “Been evading my sights for a while now. But that ends today.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving Vincent’s. “You’re going to tell me exactly where she is.”

Vincent’s expression hardened, his mouth drawing into a thin line as he squared his shoulders. “And what makes you think I know where she is?”

Sylus gave a low, mirthless chuckle, the sound devoid of humor but rich with something far more unsettling. He leaned forward further, the predatory gleam in his eyes growing sharper. “Come now, Vincent. You’ve been playing this game long enough to know how it works. You commission someone like Serene Grey for these organs, and you keep tabs on her to make sure she doesn’t turn on you. Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending otherwise.”

Vincent opened his mouth, perhaps to deny the accusation, but Sylus raised a hand, halting him before he could speak. There was no point in entertaining false protests. Sylus wasn’t here to negotiate—he was here to extract the truth.

“And as for your son…” Sylus said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, each word delivered with deliberate precision. “Not sure if you’re aware, but he was supplying these women to Serene. For crack, of all things. Small world huh?”

Vincent’s face twisted, a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and mounting rage flickering across his features. Sylus let the moment hang, savoring the weight of his revelation before continuing.

“One of those women,” Sylus said softly, his voice barely more than a murmur, “just so happened to be the mother of my child.”

The room fell deathly silent. Vincent’s eyes widened, and for a split second, a flicker of something close to panic crossed his face. But before he could form a response, Sylus leaned back again, a wicked grin spreading across his face like the blade of a knife glinting in the firelight.

“And he…ultimately paid the price.”

The silence shattered as Vincent shot to his feet, his eyes blazing with fury. The fire behind him cast long shadows across the room, making his figure seem larger, more imposing. But Sylus remained utterly unfazed, his grin never wavering.

“You…bastard,” Vincent hissed through clenched teeth, every syllable dripping with venom. “So it was you who killed my son?”

Sylus didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink. Instead, he calmly lifted his glass of wine, swirling the liquid lazily as though Vincent’s outburst was nothing more than an amusing spectacle. “He left me no choice,” Sylus said smoothly, his voice devoid of remorse. “Actions have consequences, Vincent. Your son learned that the hard way.”

Vincent’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white with tension. For a moment, it looked as though he might lunge across the room, driven by sheer rage. But something stopped him—perhaps it was the icy calm in Sylus’s eyes, or the chilling realization that he was entirely outmatched.

“You cold-blooded—” Vincent began, but the words caught in his throat, strangled by the weight of his own fury.

Sylus tilted his head slightly, his grin fading into something colder, more calculating. “I understand this must be difficult for you,” he said, his tone mockingly sympathetic. “Losing a son is…tragic. But you should know better than anyone—business is business. Reese chose his path, and he paid for it.”

Vincent’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling with barely contained rage. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, every second stretching out like an eternity. His mind raced, torn between the burning desire for vengeance and the grim realization that Sylus held all the cards. Attacking him outright would be suicide, but letting him walk away after admitting to killing Reese? That felt impossible to stomach.

“You think you can walk in here, threaten me, and leave without consequence?” Vincent growled, his voice low and dangerous, each word laced with barely restrained fury.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of amusement flickering across his face. “Threaten you?” he repeated softly, his tone almost bored. “No, Vincent. I’m giving you a choice.” He leaned forward once more, his crimson eyes locking onto Vincent’s with an intensity that made the older man freeze. “Tell me where to find Serene Grey, and this ends here. No more blood. No more…unraveling secrets. I'll even be so gracious and help you save your dear mistress.”

Vincent’s jaw clenched tightly, his eyes darting toward the door as though considering summoning his guards. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t matter. Sylus wasn’t a man who could be intimidated by force. He was smarter, faster, deadlier—and Vincent wasn’t willing to gamble on who would walk away if things turned violent.

“You’ll regret this,” Vincent said at last, his voice low and seething with barely concealed rage. “I’ll help you. But don’t think for a second that this means we’re done.”

Sylus inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the terms of the unspoken agreement. “Of course not,” he said smoothly. “We’re far from done. But for now…I’ll consider it a gesture of goodwill.”

Vincent’s hands still trembled slightly as he reached for the decanter, pouring himself another drink with far less precision than before. He downed the glass in one go, as though trying to steady his fraying nerves. Meanwhile, Sylus remained perfectly composed, watching him with the cold detachment of a man who had already won.

Vincent set his empty glass down with a sharp clink, the tension in his shoulders evident as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His expression was a mixture of begrudging acceptance and simmering resentment. Sylus’s unflappable calm only seemed to heighten his frustration, but he knew he had no choice—Sylus held the upper hand.

“She’s been operating out of a private estate about twenty miles outside the city,” Vincent said at last, his voice low and taut. “You’ll find her there. She keeps her movements quiet, doesn’t stay in one place for long, but I’ve…kept tabs on her.”

Sylus arched a brow, the faintest flicker of approval crossing his features. “Efficient,” he murmured, though his tone carried a hint of condescension. “I assume you’ve spared no expense in ensuring she doesn’t slip away from you?”

Vincent shot him a glare but refrained from responding to the jab. Instead, he reached into a drawer, pulling out a small folder and sliding it across the table toward Sylus. “Here’s everything I have—addresses, known associates, recent sightings.”

Sylus took the folder with a measured nod, flipping it open to scan the contents. Inside were photographs of Serene Grey, a woman with cold eyes and a cunning smile, alongside detailed reports of her movements and operations. He noted the precision of the intel, silently acknowledging Vincent’s thoroughness.

“This will do,” Sylus said, closing the folder and setting it aside. He leaned back in his chair once more, exuding the same aura of effortless control that had unnerved Vincent from the start. “You’ve made a wise decision, Vincent.”

Vincent let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “Wise? Hardly. You backed me into a corner.”

Sylus’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “It’s better to be cornered than crushed. You still have options. Play your cards right, and you might even come out of this unscathed. So long as you cease this trafficking operation of course.”

Vincent didn’t respond immediately. He poured himself another glass of whiskey, his hands steadier now, though his mind was anything but. The revelation about Reese’s involvement in Serene’s operations had hit harder than he wanted to admit. He had known his son had problems—had even suspected him of dabbling in criminal circles—but hearing it confirmed, and by the man who killed him, was another matter entirely.

After a long silence, Vincent spoke again, his tone quieter, more contemplative. “She’s dangerous, you know. Serene doesn’t just disappear because she’s afraid. She disappears because she’s planning something.”

Sylus regarded him with interest, his fingers drumming lightly against the armrest. “Planning what?”

Vincent hesitated, as though debating whether or not to share more. But something in Sylus’s gaze made it clear that withholding information wasn’t an option. “Word is, she’s been trying to secure something big. Something…rare.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed slightly. He had heard whispers of Serene’s recent dealings, but nothing concrete. “Go on.”

Vincent took a slow sip of his drink before continuing. “A shipment of illicit protocore. High-grade. She’s been brokering deals with some unsavory types—mercenaries, rogue scientists, the works. If she gets her hands on those cores…” He trailed off, the implication hanging heavily in the air.

Sylus didn’t need Vincent to finish the thought. Protocores, especially ones of high purity, were highly sought after in the underground market. They could enhance abilities, extend life spans, and, in the wrong hands, wreak untold havoc. If Serene was involved in something like that, it wasn’t just a matter of personal revenge anymore—it was a potential threat on a much larger scale.

Not that he cared much about illegal protocore trading. Its part of how he built his own empire. However getting his hands on them himself didn't sound like a bad idea.

“Interesting,” Sylus murmured, his mind already calculating the next move. He stood, picking up the folder and tucking it neatly under his arm. “I’ll handle it.”

Vincent rose as well, though his movements were slower, wearier. He fixed Sylus with a hard stare, his expression unreadable. “If you find her…do what you have to. But leave my name out of it.”

Sylus gave him a cold, knowing smile. “Of course. Discretion is a given.”

Sylus then dug into the pocket of his suit and pulled out the Emerald Protocore, it shining in its glass container. He dropped the container on a desk, watching Vincent eyes light up.

"Say hi to the mistress for me. I'm sure she'll appreciate the gift"

Without another word, Sylus turned and made his way toward the door, his steps deliberate and unhurried. Vincent watched him go, the weight of their encounter settling heavily on his shoulders. As the door closed behind Sylus, Vincent reached for his glass once more, downing the remainder in one swift motion.

Sylus stepped outside Vincent’s estate, the bright afternoon sun casting sharp shadows across the pristine driveway. The light glinted off the sleek black car waiting for him, but the warmth of the day did little to temper the cold fury bubbling just beneath his calm exterior. Mephisto swooped down from a nearby tree, perching on his shoulder with a soft flutter of wings. The bird ruffled its feathers, letting out a low, disgruntled caw.

Sylus absentmindedly reached up to stroke the birds head, his thoughts already elsewhere. He had done what he came here to do—secured the protocore and struck a deal that, at least for now, kept Vincent’s meddling contained. But something about the encounter still irked him. The man’s desperation, his hollow excuses for deceit—it grated on Sylus in a way he hadn’t anticipated. And now, as he stood there in the afternoon light, a new thought took root in his mind, one that grew darker with every passing second.

He pulled out his phone, dialing a secure number. The line clicked, and a voice answered, steady and efficient. “Yes, sir?”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone even but carrying an unmistakable edge. “Vincent’s plane trip—make sure it ends in tragedy.”

There was a pause, the person on the other end clearly processing the order before responding carefully. “Understood, sir. How would you like it handled?”

“Mechanical failure,” Sylus said, his voice cold and deliberate. “Something plausible. Nothing too obvious. And ensure the wife survives.” He paused, considering his next words carefully. “She’ll finally be free of his lies, and with him gone, there’ll be no more distractions.”

“Yes, sir. And the timing?”

“The trip is in a week” Sylus ended the call without waiting for a response, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He rarely reconsidered decisions once made, but something about Vincent’s situation—the false life he led, the deceit woven into every aspect of his existence—had struck a nerve. Perhaps it was because Sylus himself had no patience for such duplicity, or perhaps it was because, despite all his flaws, there was one thing he had always been certain of: loyalty.

Cheating on the woman you vowed to protect? And for what? Selfish love? The thought made his stomach turn.

At least Vincent’s wife would be free now. And as for the mistress? Sylus had no interest in her fate. He had given Vincent the protocore—what happened beyond that was no longer his concern.

Just as he turned to step into the car, his phone vibrated again in his pocket. He frowned, glancing at the caller ID: Luke. Without hesitation, he answered, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Speak.”

There was a brief pause, followed by Luke’s voice—uneven, trembling, and clearly panicked. “Boss. I—I’m sorry. Please, I’ll fix this.”

Sylus’s brows furrowed instantly, a flicker of unease settling in his chest. Luke’s tone wasn’t just nervous—it was bordering on frantic. “What are you even talking about, Luke? Fix what? Is she okay?”

“I—uh—she’s on foot right now,” Luke stammered, each word coming out more frantic than the last. “With a gun.”

Sylus’s entire body went rigid, his mind racing as those words sank in. On foot? With a gun? His heart rate spiked, but his voice remained dangerously calm. “What kind of joke is this? I told you to only call me if her water broke,” he said slowly, his tone low and laced with tension. “So unless—”

“No, it’s not a joke!” Luke interrupted quickly, the fear in his voice palpable. “It’s…I left my gun in my coat pocket. After I spilled soda on her, I gave her the coat, and…she found it. She pointed it at us and threatened to shoot herself if we didn’t let her go.”

Sylus’s grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. His blood began to boil, a mix of fury and something far more dangerous—panic. “You what?” he growled, his voice dangerously low, each word carrying the weight of barely restrained rage.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen!” Luke said quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “She just—she ran off before we could stop her. She’s on foot, boss. But I swear, we’ll find her.”

For a moment, Sylus said nothing, his mind racing through every possible scenario. You were out there, alone, heavily pregnant, armed, and clearly distraught enough to threaten your own life. The thought sent a wave of cold dread through him, but he forced himself to stay focused.

“I’ll deal with you both later,” Sylus said after a tense pause, his tone colder than ice. “For now, keep calm. There’s a tracker embedded in her engagement ring—I can see her location easily.”

Luke exhaled shakily, clearly relieved that there was a way to track you down. “What do you want us to do, boss?”

Sylus’s jaw clenched as he fought to keep his emotions in check. Anger, fear, frustration—all of it threatened to boil over, but he couldn’t afford to lose control now. He needed to get to you. Fast. Serene would have to wait.

“I’ll send you both her coordinates,” he said, his voice hard and unyielding. “I can be back in about eight hours. By the time I arrive, I expect her to be back safely. No exceptions.”

“Yes, boss,” Luke said hurriedly, his voice trembling slightly. “We’ll get her and the baby back. I promise.”

“You already failed me once,” Sylus said darkly, his tone cutting like a blade. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Without waiting for a response, he ended the call and lowered the phone, his hand still clenched tightly around it. His heart pounded in his chest, the residual anger mingling with a growing sense of urgency. He opened the tracking app, watching as a small blinking dot appeared on the map. You hadn’t gotten far yet—good. That gave him some time.

The thought of you, heavily pregnant and vulnerable, wandering alone with a gun, filled him with a growing sense of dread. He was a man who controlled everything in his world—his business, his empire, even life and death when necessary—but right now, the one thing he valued most was beyond his immediate reach. Anything could happen out there. You could get injured, go into labor, run into a Wanderer...

Gritting his teeth, Sylus inhaled sharply and turned to the crow perched on his shoulder. Mephisto ruffled his feathers, sensing the rising tension in his creator's demeanor.

“Mephisto,” Sylus said, his voice low but commanding, each syllable cutting through the air like a blade. “Hurry back to the N109 Zone. I want everything within a hundred miles scanned—every road, every path, every possible hiding spot.”

Mephisto let out a sharp, piercing shriek, his beady eyes gleaming with understanding. Without hesitation, the crow spread his wings and launched into the sky, disappearing into the afternoon light with powerful beats of his wings. Sylus tracked his ascent for a moment, watching as the bird soared higher, becoming a dark speck against the bright expanse above.

He climbed into the back of the waiting car, his expression cold and unreadable as he barked a sharp order to the driver. “Back to the airfield. Now.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver responded without hesitation, pulling away from the estate at high speed.

As the car sped down the long driveway, Sylus leaned back in his seat, his fingers drumming restlessly against the leather armrest. His thoughts were entirely consumed by you—your safety, your well-being, and his daughter. The very thought of something happening to you made his blood run cold. His mind was already working, calculating the fastest way to reach you. Eight hours. It was too long, but it would have to do.

And when he found you—when he brought you back—you wouldn’t be leaving his sight again.

Not for a long, long time.

Your breath came in short, sharp gasps as you stumbled down the uneven dirt path, your hands instinctively cradling your swollen belly. Every step felt like fire shooting through your feet, your muscles screaming in protest, but you didn’t dare stop. Not yet. You couldn’t. The weight of your baby pressing down on your abdomen made it harder to move with any real speed, and the burning ache in your lower back only worsened with each passing second.

Your daughter kicked fiercely, almost as if she could sense your distress. You winced, pausing briefly to press your hand against your belly, trying to soothe her. “It’s okay,” you whispered through gritted teeth, though you weren’t sure who you were trying to reassure—her or yourself. “Just a little further…”

You scanned your surroundings frantically. The area felt eerily familiar—broken streetlights lined the path on either side, and just ahead, you noticed a clearing that tugged at your memory. Of course. You’d been down this way before, during your last escape attempt. Back then, you had taken the path leading toward the corner store. That was how you had ended up with Reese. In that basement. You weren’t about to make the same mistake twice.

Without hesitation, you veered off in the opposite direction, away from the familiar route and deeper into the unknown. The air was thick with tension, every rustling leaf and snapping twig setting your nerves on edge. No doubt Luke and Kieran had already alerted Sylus, and he was probably tracking you right now. You could almost feel the weight of his gaze, like a shadow looming over you, relentless and unyielding.

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest—not just from the physical exertion, but from sheer fear. You knew what Sylus was capable of. He wouldn’t stop. He never stopped. He always found you.

You tried to push the thought from your mind, focusing instead on placing one foot in front of the other. But it was getting harder. Every few steps, a sharp, tightening pain rippled through your belly, stealing your breath and forcing you to slow down. Braxton Hicks, you reminded yourself, though that knowledge did little to ease your growing anxiety. You couldn’t afford to stop, not when freedom was finally within reach.

After what felt like an eternity, you spotted a bus stop up ahead. Relief washed over you, though it was fleeting—there was no telling when the next bus would arrive, and you couldn’t linger too long out in the open. Still, your legs threatened to buckle beneath you, and the burning in your chest demanded a moment’s rest. You staggered toward the bench, collapsing onto it with a quiet groan as you leaned back and closed your eyes for a brief second, trying to catch your breath.

The baby kicked again, harder this time, and you grimaced, placing both hands on your belly as if to calm her. “I know, I know,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “We can’t stop for long. Just give me a minute…”

Your entire body ached—your feet throbbed, your back felt like it was on fire, and the relentless pressure in your lower abdomen made it almost impossible to think straight. You wiped the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of Luke’s coat, which was now damp and clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Despite the cool afternoon breeze, you felt unbearably hot, every breath coming out ragged and shallow.

Just when you thought you couldn’t push yourself any further, the low rumble of an approaching engine caught your attention. Your eyes snapped open, heart leaping with a mix of hope and trepidation as a bus rounded the corner and slowed to a stop in front of you.

The doors hissed open, and the driver—a middle-aged man with graying hair and a tired expression—leaned slightly out of his seat, eyeing you warily. “You got any money?” he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Panic flickered in your chest. Of course, you hadn’t thought about money. “Please,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, raw with desperation. “I don’t…I don’t have any money. I’m pregnant, and I’m homeless. I just need a ride—just a few stops, to get closer to my-er mom’s house.”

Was the lie convincing enough? You hoped so. Your sure you looked a mess by now.

The driver’s eyes flicked down to your belly, taking in your disheveled appearance—sweaty, exhausted, clearly in pain. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and you held your breath, silently pleading with him. If he turned you away now, you didn’t know what you’d do.

Finally, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before jerking his head toward the interior of the bus. “Alright, get on. But just a few stops, you hear me?”

Relief flooded through you, so overwhelming that you nearly burst into tears. “Thank you,” you whispered, forcing yourself to your feet despite the burning protest of your muscles. You climbed the steps carefully, gripping the rail tightly to keep your balance as another wave of Braxton Hicks contractions tightened your belly.

Once you were on board, you made your way to the nearest seat and sank down heavily, letting out a shuddering breath. The driver glanced at you in the rearview mirror but said nothing more as he pulled away from the curb, the bus lurching forward with a groan of its engine.

For the first time since your frantic escape, you allowed yourself a moment to relax—if only slightly. The bus rocked gently as it moved, the familiar motion oddly soothing despite the chaos still swirling in your mind. You rested a hand on your belly, feeling the baby shift beneath your touch. She was still moving, still kicking, which meant she was okay for now.

But you weren’t out of danger yet. You knew that. No doubt Sylus was already on your tail—he always seemed to know exactly where you were, no matter how far you ran. You didn’t have much time, but at least now, with the bus covering some of the distance, you had a chance.

You had to be much smarter than last time. This would definitely be your last chance. God knows what Sylus would come up with next if he got you again. A cage maybe...? The thought made you shudder.

As the bus rumbled along the uneven road, you tried to steady your breathing, one hand gripping the seat tightly while the other remained protectively on your belly. The baby had calmed down somewhat, but you could still feel her shifting restlessly beneath your palm. The rhythmic rocking of the bus helped ease the burning ache in your legs, though your heart continued to pound, each beat a reminder of the ticking clock.

You hadn’t lied about being in pain—you were. Everything hurt. But the part about going to your mom’s house? That had been pure desperation. You hadn’t seen your mom in years. She was dead. Still, it had been enough to convince the driver to let you on, and that was what mattered.

Leaning back against the cracked leather seat, you glanced out the window, your eyes scanning the passing scenery. The streets were familiar but distant, hazy memories of another life surfacing briefly before fading away. You tried not to think about Sylus, but it was impossible. You knew him too well. He wouldn’t rest until he found you. Even now, Mephisto could be nearby, tracking your every move.

Your hand drifted to the ring, the weight of it feeling heavier than usual. It had once been a symbol of something you didn’t fully understand—Sylus’s obsession, his possessiveness. Now, it was a constant reminder that you were never truly free. You wanted to rip it off, toss it out the window, but you hesitated.

No. The ring could be useful. You could sell it for money right? Use the money to hop on a ferry and go overseas...to get as far away from Sylus as possible. Yeah that made way more sense than just tossing it.

“You sure you don’t have a husband looking for you?” the driver’s voice broke the silence, startling you slightly.

You turned to find him watching you in the rearview mirror, his brow furrowed in concern. It took you a moment to realize what had prompted the question, and when you did, your heart skipped a beat. Shit. The ring. You had been looking at it. How to explain how a "homeless" pregnant woman had such an extravagant ring?

“I…” You hesitated, your mind scrambling for an explanation. “Please,” you said quietly, avoiding his gaze. “You don’t want to get involved. For your own safety, just drop me off at the next few stops. I can’t say much more.”

The driver’s eyes flicked to the ring again, his concern deepening, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he gave a reluctant nod, his hands tightening slightly on the steering wheel as he turned his attention back to the road.

“Alright, lady,” he muttered. “But you be careful. Whatever mess you’re running from…I hope you find a way out.”

You didn’t respond, your fingers tightening around the edge of the seat as you stared down at the ring on your hand. The cool metal felt heavy against your skin, a constant reminder of the danger lurking just behind you. Every decision felt like a gamble, each one carrying risks you couldn’t fully predict. All you could do was keep moving and hope that, somehow, you could stay one step ahead. As the bus rumbled on, you leaned back against the cracked leather seat, trying to ignore the gnawing fear in your chest. You didn’t know what lay ahead, but one thing was certain—you couldn’t stop now.

The bus rumbled to a stop at the corner of a quiet, empty street, the brakes hissing as it came to a halt. You blinked, startled out of your frantic thoughts by the sudden stillness. The driver turned slightly in his seat, his weary eyes meeting yours through the rearview mirror.

“This is where I stop for you, miss,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with quiet finality.

For a moment, you just stared at him, unable to process the words. Your heart sank, a heavy weight settling in your chest. No, this can’t be it. It’s not far enough. You wouldn’t make it more than a few miles on foot before Sylus or the twins caught up to you. You needed to cover more ground, and you needed to do it fast.

“Please,” you said, your voice trembling as you pushed yourself to your feet, gripping the seat in front of you for balance. “I’m sorry, but…I really need to get out of the city.”

The driver’s expression softened slightly, but he shook his head. “I can’t. I’ve already taken you further than I should’ve. I need this job, miss. Please, just step off the bus.”

Desperation clawed at your throat, making it hard to breathe. You could feel the baby shifting restlessly inside you, as if she could sense your rising panic. This isn’t enough. I won’t make it. I’ll be caught. The thought sent a jolt of fear through you, making your hands tremble as you tried to think of something—anything—that could change the driver’s mind.

“I can give you my ring as compensation,” you blurted out, your voice cracking with urgency. You held up your hand, the engagement ring glinting faintly in the dim light. “It’s really expensive—”

The driver raised a hand, cutting you off with a sorrowful expression. “I’m sorry, miss. I can’t take that. I’m not looking to rob a pregnant woman, and I can’t lose my job. Please, just step off the bus. I can call an ambulance or take you to a hospital if you really need it, but I can’t drive you any further.”

Your heart pounded harder, every beat echoing like a ticking clock in your ears. You didn’t have time for this. You didn’t have time to wait for kindness or hope for mercy. Sylus could be closing in on you this very second. Every second you spent arguing was another second lost.

“I don’t have time for this!” you snapped, your voice rising in pitch as tears began to blur your vision. “Please! I’ll do anything. I need to get out of the city—for me and my baby’s safety!” You could hear the desperation in your own voice, the raw panic threatening to consume you.

Tears streamed down your face now, hot and fast, and your hands shook uncontrollably as you clutched at the seat in front of you. You could feel the driver’s hesitation, see the sympathy in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly, but his voice had hardened, resolved. “Please step off the bus. I don’t want to have to drag a pregnant lady off, but if you don’t get off willingly, I’ll have no choice.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as those words sank in. He was serious. He wasn’t going to take you any further. You didn’t have time to beg. You didn’t have time to argue. Time was running out, and you knew—you knew—that if you stepped off this bus, it was over. Sylus would find you, and everything you had done to escape would be for nothing.

Something inside you snapped.

Your fingers instinctively went to the pocket of Luke’s coat, wrapping around the cold metal of the sleep gun. You pulled it out in one swift motion, leveling it at the driver before you could second-guess yourself.

His eyes widened in shock, and his hands shot up in the universal gesture of surrender. “Whoa, whoa! What the hell are you doing?” he said, his voice rising in alarm. “Put the gun down! You don’t want to do this.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, and the words felt foreign, hollow, like they didn’t belong to you. Your hands were trembling, the weight of the gun cold and terrifying, but you didn’t lower it. “You seem like a nice man, but either you drive me out of here…or I’ll drive myself.”

The driver stared at you, his expression a mixture of fear and disbelief. “Look, I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in, but threatening me isn’t going to help you.”

“I don’t have a choice!” you shouted, your voice breaking as more tears spilled down your face. “You don’t understand—I can’t go back. I won’t go back.”

For a brief moment, silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the engine. The bus driver looked at you, really looked at you—at your tear-streaked face, your trembling hands, the sheer desperation radiating from every part of you. Slowly, he exhaled, lowering his hands slightly.

“Okay,” he said carefully, his tone calm but wary. “Okay. Just…calm down. Don’t do anything rash.”

You didn’t respond, your grip on the gun tightening as your heart raced wildly in your chest. You couldn’t believe what you were doing. The old you would have never—never—pointed a gun at an innocent person. But that version of you was long gone. This was survival. Nothing else mattered now.

“Just drive,” you whispered hoarsely, your voice trembling with emotion. “Please.”

The driver hesitated for a moment longer, then, with a reluctant nod, he turned back toward the wheel. The bus lurched forward again, the engine groaning as it picked up speed. You didn’t lower the gun, keeping it trained on him, your mind spinning with fear and adrenaline.

You didn’t recognize yourself anymore. You didn’t know who you were becoming. But none of it mattered—not now. The only thing that mattered was getting out of the city, getting as far away from Sylus as possible.

And you would do whatever it took to make that happen.

The bus rumbled along the deserted road, the engine’s low hum filling the tense silence between you and the driver. Your hands gripped the gun tightly, your knuckles white, though every passing second made it harder to ignore the gnawing guilt creeping up your spine. The man hadn’t argued, hadn’t tried anything. He was just driving, his eyes flicking nervously to the rearview mirror every so often, clearly hyper-aware of the weapon pointed at him.

You felt awful—wretched, really. Here you were, holding a gun to the head of someone who had shown you nothing but kindness. Someone who had stopped his bus for a visibly pregnant woman, taken her on board despite her lack of money, and now…now he was being forced to drive to God knows where under threat of violence.

But you couldn’t lower the gun. Not yet.

Every instinct in you screamed to keep it raised, to stay alert, because the moment you let your guard down might be the moment it all ended. Sylus’s reach was far. You couldn’t risk stopping now. You couldn’t afford to trust anyone—not fully.

The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of the bus and the sound of tires rolling over uneven pavement. You stared out the window, the scenery blurring past in muted shades of gray. Your heart still pounded in your chest, though the initial rush of adrenaline was beginning to wear off, leaving behind a hollow, aching exhaustion.

“Look,” the driver said suddenly, his voice cautious but steady, breaking the tense quiet. He didn’t turn to face you, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “I could take you to Linkon. It’s the next city over, not too far from here. You’d be able to find a safe place there.”

You froze at the mention of Linkon, a surge of anxiety tightening your chest. Linkon. Where Xavier was. Where you had spent that brief, fleeting moment of happiness before everything went to hell again. The idea of going back there was tempting—painfully so—but you knew it wasn’t an option. Going to Linkon would only put Xavier in more danger, and you couldn’t live with yourself if that happened.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I can’t go back there. I just…I can’t.”

The driver glanced at you briefly in the mirror, his brow furrowing in concern. “Okay…anywhere else, then? You name it.”

You hesitated, uncertainty gnawing at you. You didn’t have a destination in mind, only a desperate need to keep moving, to stay ahead of whatever storm was undoubtedly coming. “Just…anywhere but Linkon,” you said quietly, your voice trembling slightly. “And preferably not a major city. Somewhere quieter.”

The driver nodded slowly, eyeing the gun in your hands before turning his attention back to the road. Despite the tension in the air, he remained calm, his voice steady as he replied, “I got just the place. A small town a little further out. It’s quieter, like you asked.”

You swallowed hard, a flicker of gratitude stirring in your chest despite the guilt still weighing heavily on you. Even now, with a gun pointed at him, this man was offering to help. The realization made you feel sick to your stomach. What kind of person had you become?

“Okay,” you whispered, the word barely audible over the rumble of the engine. You glanced down at the gun in your hands, your fingers trembling slightly. For a brief moment, you considered lowering it, but fear held you back. You couldn’t take the risk.

“Please…just buckle your seatbelt, ma’am,” the driver said gently, his tone more concerned than fearful. “I don’t want you or the baby getting hurt.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. Despite everything—the fear, the tension, the threat of violence—he was still thinking about your safety. It was such a simple request, one that shouldn’t have made your throat tighten with emotion, but it did. You weren’t used to kindness anymore. Not real kindness.

With trembling hands, you reached for the seatbelt and pulled it across your body, clicking it into place. The baby shifted slightly inside you, as if responding to the sudden pressure, and you placed a hand over your belly, trying to calm the restless movement.

“Thank you,” you murmured, though you weren’t entirely sure who you were thanking—the driver for his patience, or yourself for not breaking down completely.

The driver gave a small nod, his gaze focused on the road. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on,” he said quietly after a moment, his voice calm and measured. “But whatever it is…life always finds a way to sort itself out again."

You didn’t respond. What could you say? That you were being hunted by a man who would stop at nothing to claim you as his own again? That you had escaped only to find yourself lost, with no real plan or destination? That you were terrified—terrified for yourself, for your baby, for whatever future lay ahead?

Instead, you sat in silence, your eyes fixed on the road ahead, the weight of everything pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. You didn’t know what was waiting for you at the end of this journey, but one thing was certain—you couldn’t go back. You couldn’t let Sylus find you.

Not now.

Not ever.

"Boy or girl?" the driver asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a gentle nudge.

You froze, caught off guard by the question. It felt strange—foreign, even—to be spoken to like this, in a way that wasn’t demanding, controlling, or laced with hidden motives. You had forgotten what simple, human interaction with strangers felt like. Disregarding the time spent with Xavier, it had been so long since you were alone, truly alone, without Sylus looming in the background.

For a brief moment, you didn’t know how to respond. Your mind reeled, still teetering between fight and flight, and this unexpected moment of normalcy felt almost surreal. Yet, something about the driver’s casual tone, his genuine curiosity, calmed you just enough to find your voice.

"Uh…girl," you finally said, rubbing your belly instinctively. "She’s a girl."

The driver gave a small nod, his eyes flicking briefly to the rearview mirror before returning to the road. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, softening the lines of his weathered face. "That’s nice," he said quietly. "Have you decided what to name her?"

You blinked, startled once again by the simplicity of the question. A name. Something that should have been joyous, something that should have been decided after endless happy debates over baby name books and hopeful dreams for the future. But for you, it was different. The idea of naming your baby was tangled in a web of uncertainty and fear, weighed down by everything you had been through.

Your mind swirled with the names that had crossed your thoughts before—Evia… Ruby… Names you had once clung to in moments of hope, names that had flickered like fragile flames in the darkness of your captivity. But now? Now, the thought of naming her felt overwhelming, almost unbearable.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers brushing lightly over the curve of your belly as you tried to keep your voice steady. "I honestly… I don’t know if I’m planning on keeping her," you admitted, the words coming out quieter than you had intended. Each one felt like a knife twisting in your chest. "Maybe…maybe her new parents will want to name her, y’know?"

The moment the words left your mouth, a tightness gripped your chest, and you felt a familiar sting in your eyes. You blinked rapidly, trying to push back the tears threatening to spill. But it was no use. The more you tried to suppress the emotion, the more it clawed its way to the surface, raw and relentless.

The driver didn’t say anything right away, but you caught the subtle way his hands tightened on the wheel, his expression shifting slightly. It wasn’t pity—thank God, it wasn’t pity—but something closer to understanding. Empathy, maybe.

"You’ve got a lot on your plate," he said after a moment, his voice softer now, more thoughtful. "But…if it means anything, whatever you decide, it’s clear you care about her. That counts for something."

His words hit harder than you expected, and you found yourself gripping the edge of the seat to steady yourself. You didn’t know this man, and he didn’t know you. Yet, in that moment, his words carried a weight you hadn’t realized you needed to hear. You weren’t sure if you believed him—if caring was enough—but for a fleeting second, it felt like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t entirely alone in this.

Still, you couldn’t let yourself dwell on that thought for long. There wasn’t time. You had to keep moving, keep running, because the moment you stopped, Sylus would catch up. And this time, you knew there wouldn’t be any escape.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to push down the lump that had formed there. "Thanks," you muttered, though you didn’t entirely know what you were thanking him for. Maybe for not pressing further, maybe for not asking questions you couldn’t answer.

Or maybe just for being human.

A few hours passed in silence, the bus rolling steadily along the deserted road. The tension in your chest began to ease slightly, though a nagging sense of unease still lingered at the back of your mind. You knew this brief calm wouldn’t last. Sylus was out there, and he was coming. It was only a matter of time before he caught up.

"We’re almost there," the driver said after a while, his voice breaking through your thoughts once again. "It’s a smaller area, like you asked. Should be quiet enough for you to rest for a bit."

You nodded, offering a quiet "Thanks" as the bus began to slow. Despite everything—the fear, the guilt—you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of gratitude toward the driver. He didn’t have to help you. Hell, you’d pointed a gun at him, and yet here he was, still offering a helping hand.

As the bus came to a gentle stop, the driver turned to you, his expression cautious but kind. "This is where I’ll drop you off. There’s a diner a couple of blocks down if you need something to eat. And… well, there’s a police station nearby if you change your mind about needing help."

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of the police station, and a cold wave of panic washed over you. A police station. Shit.

Your eyes darted to the window, and sure enough, you could see the telltale red-and-blue lights of the station’s sign glowing faintly in the distance. He’d brought you close—too close. You hadn’t been expecting this. You couldn’t involve the police. Sylus wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who got in his way, and you couldn’t live with more blood on your hands.

"Thanks," you said quickly, forcing yourself to sound calm even as your pulse raced. You unbuckled your seatbelt and grabbed the edge of the seat, pushing yourself to your feet with a strained effort. "I appreciate it."

The driver nodded, watching you carefully as you made your way to the front of the bus. His eyes flicked briefly to the gun still clutched in your hand, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he offered a quiet, "Good luck, miss. Stay safe."

You didn’t respond, too focused on the rising panic tightening in your chest. As soon as your feet hit the pavement, you turned away from the bus, your heart pounding wildly in your ears. You needed to move—fast. You couldn’t risk staying here, not with the police station so close.

But you didn’t get far before the panic fully set in. What if they saw you? What if Sylus had people watching nearby?

Your breath hitched, and without thinking, you broke into a run. The weight of your belly made it difficult, each step sending jolts of pain through your body, but you didn’t care. You had to get away, had to put as much distance between yourself and the police station as possible.

The world around you blurred as you ran, your mind spinning with fear and desperation. You didn’t know where you were going—only that you couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not until you were sure you were safe.

You slowed your pace, gasping for breath as the adrenaline began to ebb away, leaving behind a gnawing ache in your legs and a heavy, almost unbearable pressure in your lower back. You pressed a hand against your belly, feeling the baby shift restlessly inside. She wasn’t kicking as hard now, but the movement was constant, as if reminding you she was still there, still depending on you.

For the first time since you bolted off the bus, you allowed yourself to stop. Just for a moment. Your eyes darted around the unfamiliar streets, taking in the quiet surroundings. The town wasn’t bustling, but it wasn’t deserted either. A few cars passed by on the narrow streets, and clusters of people walked in and out of nearby shops, chatting and laughing as if everything in the world was perfectly fine.

You envied them.

To them, this was just another ordinary afternoon in their quaint little town. But for you? This was survival. Every second counted. Every decision mattered. You couldn’t afford to waste time, but right now, you didn’t even know what your next move should be. You were truly on your own. Just you…and your daughter.

Your eyes flicked down to your belly, and for a brief moment, you rested both hands on it, feeling the subtle, rhythmic movement beneath your palms. “We’ll figure this out,” you murmured quietly, as if speaking to her could somehow calm your racing thoughts. “I promise, okay? We just have to make smart decisions. No more mistakes.”

Easier said than done. The weight of your situation pressed down on you like an invisible vice, and your mind spun with all the things you needed to do. Find a place to rest. Get food. Figure out where to go next. But first and foremost…money. You couldn’t keep relying on threats and luck to get by. Pointing a gun at people wasn’t a long-term solution. It had worked with the bus driver, but sooner or later, it was bound to land you in serious trouble. You couldn’t risk that—not when you had a baby to protect.

Your gaze dropped to the ring on your finger, the glint of the expensive ring catching the late afternoon sun. Right. First things first. Gotta secure some money.

You sighed, sliding your thumb over the ring absentmindedly. Pawning it seemed like the best option, but it wasn’t exactly easy to do that without drawing attention. You looked like a mess—disheveled, sweaty, and clearly out of place in this neat, quiet town. The long coat Luke had given you only added to the strangeness of your appearance, making you stand out even more.

And you were starving. The dull, empty ache in your stomach was becoming harder to ignore, and the thought of trying to find food without any money only added to your growing anxiety.

“This is gonna be tough,” you muttered under your breath, glancing around at the buildings lining the street. Most of them were small businesses—cafés, bakeries, and quaint little shops. Nothing that looked remotely like a pawn shop or jewelry store. You needed to find someone who could point you in the right direction, but asking a stranger wasn’t exactly something you wanted to do. The less attention you drew to yourself, the better.

Still, you didn’t have much of a choice. You couldn’t keep wandering around aimlessly forever. Swallowing your hesitation, you scanned the street for someone who looked approachable. After a moment, you spotted a woman walking toward you, carrying a small shopping bag. She looked friendly enough—mid-thirties, casually dressed, with a kind face that didn’t seem too wary of strangers.

Steeling yourself, you took a deep breath and stepped forward, forcing a nervous smile. “Excuse me,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tight knot of anxiety in your chest. “I’m sorry to bother you, but…do you know where I could find a jewelry shop around here?”

The woman paused, blinking in mild surprise before offering a polite smile. “Oh, sure. There’s one just a couple of blocks down that way.” She pointed to a street branching off to the left. “It’s called Oak & Gold. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” you said quickly, relief washing over you. You didn’t linger, turning in the direction she had pointed and making your way down the street as quickly as you could manage without drawing too much attention.

The area remained relatively quiet as you walked, your eyes darting to each building you passed. Despite being a smaller town, the streets were clean and well-maintained, with neatly trimmed hedges and colorful flower boxes lining the windows of some shops. It was nice—too nice, really. You couldn’t help but feel out of place, like an intruder in someone else’s picture-perfect life.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on that. You had a mission. Find the jewelry shop, pawn the ring, and get enough money to buy some food and figure out your next move. Simple, in theory. In practice? You weren’t so sure.

Your stomach growled loudly, and you winced, pressing a hand against it in an attempt to quiet the noise. Just a little longer, you told yourself, though you weren’t entirely sure if you were speaking to yourself or the baby. We’ll get something to eat soon. Just hang in there.

After a few more minutes of walking, you finally spotted the shop—a small, elegant storefront with a wooden sign hanging above the door that read Oak & Gold Fine Jewelry. You paused for a moment, staring at the building as a fresh wave of anxiety washed over you. This was it. Once you stepped inside, there was no turning back.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. You can do this. Just get in, sell the ring, and get out. No one has to know anything. Just act normal.

With that thought in mind, you squared your shoulders and pushed open the door, the soft chime of a bell announcing your arrival as you stepped inside.

The soft chime of the bell overhead echoed through the small jewelry shop as you stepped inside, the sound immediately making you more aware of your surroundings. The interior of the shop was warm and well-lit, with gleaming glass display cases arranged in neat rows. Each case was filled with glittering treasures—rings, necklaces, earrings, and bracelets that sparkled under the soft overhead lights. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and something metallic, like the scent of freshly cleaned silverware.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes scanning the room nervously. The atmosphere was quiet, almost too quiet, amplifying the sound of your heartbeat thudding loudly in your ears. You didn’t belong here. That much was obvious. Between your disheveled appearance, the oversized coat draped awkwardly around you, and your protruding belly, you stood out like a sore thumb among the neat, polished surroundings.

Near the front of the store, a teenager stood behind one of the display cases, idly scrolling through her phone with a bored expression. Next to her was an older man, likely in his late fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a kind but sharp gaze. As you approached the counter, he looked up, his eyes immediately flicking to your swollen belly before settling on your face.

"Welcome!" he said, his tone friendly but curious. "Haven’t seen your face around here. Visiting?"

You swallowed nervously, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. Despite his casual tone, there was something in his eyes—an alertness, a quiet calculation—that made you uneasy. Still, he didn’t comment on your appearance, didn’t ask questions you weren’t ready to answer. Instead, he offered a polite smile, waiting patiently for you to speak.

"Ah, yeah… just stopping by. Seeing new things…y’know," you mumbled awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the engagement ring on your finger, sliding it off carefully. The weight of it felt heavier than usual, as if it carried all the tension of the moment. You placed it on the counter, the metal glinting under the bright lights.

"Um…I need gold. Or cash. Whatever you guys use around here," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

The man’s eyes widened as he picked up the ring, turning it over in his hands with a look of astonishment. He brought it closer to his face, inspecting it carefully. The teenager glanced up briefly from her phone, giving the ring a disinterested glance before going back to scrolling.

"I won’t lie," the older man said slowly, his tone a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "I don’t know where you got this ring, but…this costs a shit ton, miss. I don’t think I even carry enough in the store to give you for something like this."

Your heart skipped a beat, panic beginning to creep in at his words. Shit. This wasn’t going as smoothly as you had hoped. You had expected questions, sure, but you hadn’t anticipated this—him being suspicious about the ring’s value. The last thing you needed was to draw more attention to yourself.

"Um…that’s okay!" you said quickly, forcing a nervous smile. "I’ll take whatever you can give me. I need at least 20k though…"

The man set the ring down on the counter, his expression shifting from astonishment to something more cautious. He eyed you carefully, as if trying to piece together the story behind the expensive ring and the desperate, disheveled woman standing before him.

"Twenty grand?" he repeated, his tone skeptical. "Miss, this ring is worth at least a hundred grand…probably way more. I can’t in good faith only give you 20k for something like this."

He slid the ring back across the counter toward you, his brows furrowed in concern. "Look, if you’re in trouble or something, there are other ways to get help. I can’t just give you 20k for a ring like this. It doesn’t add up."

Your chest tightened, and a wave of panic surged through you. Does he think I stole it? The thought made your heart race even faster. You couldn’t afford for anyone to call the police, couldn’t afford for anyone to ask too many questions. You needed the money, and you needed it now.

"Please," you said, your voice trembling with desperation. "I really need the money. I don’t need its full value—I don’t even care about the ring. I’m about to have my baby, and I need some things for her. I promise it’s fine. Just…please."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. You hated this—hated feeling so vulnerable, so powerless. But you didn’t have a choice. This was survival, and survival meant swallowing your pride and doing whatever it took to protect your baby.

The man’s expression softened slightly, though the wariness didn’t entirely leave his eyes. He glanced at the ring again, then back at you, as if weighing his options. After what felt like an eternity, he let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Alright," he said reluctantly. "I can’t give you 20k in cash right now, but I can give you 10k upfront. The rest I’ll need to wire through a bank transfer. You got a bank account?"

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. You didn’t have a personal bank account anymore—Sylus had seen to that—but you remembered opening a small account in another name years ago, one you had used for emergencies. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. A quick stop to an atm to withdraw the rest and you'd be good.

"Yeah…I do," you said quietly.

"Okay," the man said, giving you a long, searching look before turning toward the back of the shop. "Wait here. I’ll get the cash and bring out the paperwork for the transfer."

You exhaled shakily, a mix of relief and lingering anxiety washing over you. You had managed to convince him, but it hadn’t been easy. Still, you couldn’t relax yet. Not until you had the money in hand and were far away from here.

As the man disappeared into the back room, you glanced down at your belly again, rubbing it gently. "Almost there," you whispered, more to yourself than to the baby. "We’re almost there."

Sylus glanced at the time displayed on his phone—just over four hours since he had taken off. The journey was dragging on far longer than he liked, every passing minute an agonizing reminder that you were still out there, beyond his reach. He tapped open the tracker again, watching the small blinking dot marking your location. You had stopped moving a little bit ago, somewhere in Brunswick, a quiet little town far from the bustling cities he was accustomed to.

The stillness of the tracker unnerved him. Were you resting? Hiding? Hurt? His mind spun through possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last.

“Luke, Kieran—update,” he said sharply, connecting to the twins through the communicator in his ear.

Luke’s voice crackled through the line, tense but composed. “We’re about an hour outside Brunswick, boss. Still no sign of her, but we did manage to track down the bus driver she…uh…borrowed transportation from.”

Sylus’s brows lifted slightly in surprise. “Borrowed?” he repeated, his tone edged with curiosity.

“Well…” Luke hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “She, uh, held him at gunpoint. Took control of the situation, made him drive her further than his route allowed. He was pretty shaken up, but he didn’t call the cops—figured it was safer to just let her go.”

Sylus leaned back in his seat, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. You? Holding someone at gunpoint twice in one day? It wasn’t exactly a scenario he would have expected from you, but then again, desperation had a way of pushing people beyond their limits. Instead of anger, he felt a strange flicker of pride. That’s my girl, he thought, amusement mingling with admiration. You were learning how to survive, how to fight back in your own way.

“Impressive,” he murmured, more to himself than to Luke. “She’s resourceful. Good.”

Luke, likely sensing Sylus’s mood, cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. Anyway, we’re keeping an eye on things. Shouldn’t be long before we catch up. You want us to approach her if we find her?”

“No,” Sylus said firmly. “You’ll wait for me. Don’t spook her. Just observe from a distance and report back if anything changes.”

“Understood, boss,” Luke said before the line went silent again.

Sylus’s fingers drummed idly against the armrest, his mind already racing ahead. You were clever, but you were also tired, stressed, and heavily pregnant. He didn’t need brute force to bring you back—he needed patience. He would let you think you had a chance, let you tire yourself out. And when the time was right, he would step in.

By the time Sylus’s jet touched down at the private airstrip near Brunswick, night was beginning to settle over the horizon, casting long shadows across the tarmac. He didn’t waste a second, striding down the steps with Mephisto perched silently on his shoulder. The bird’s sharp eyes gleamed in the fading light, already scanning the surroundings as if sensing his creator's urgency.

Sylus pulled out his phone, checking the tracker once more. The dot hadn’t moved in hours, remaining stubbornly fixed in the same spot. He didn’t like it. You were on the run, constantly moving—why would you stop now?

“What are you up to, kitten?” he muttered under his breath, his crimson eyes narrowing in thought.

“Sir, the car is ready,” his driver announced, approaching with a respectful nod.

Sylus barely acknowledged him, sliding into the sleek black vehicle waiting nearby. As the engine roared to life, he leaned back in his seat, fingers steepled in thought. You had stopped moving, and that worried him more than if you had been constantly on the move. Were you planning something? Had you found a temporary place to hide? Or worse, had something happened to you?

“Drive. Quickly,” Sylus ordered, his tone sharp and unwavering.

The car sped off, cutting through the quiet evening air as they made their way toward Brunswick. Sylus’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but beneath the tension and worry, there was a single, undeniable truth: he was close. So close to finding you, to holding you again. And once he did, he wouldn’t let go. Not this time.

Mephisto let out a low caw from a branch, as if sensing his creator's determination. The crow had been dispatched ahead of the car, already flying toward the town to scout the area. He hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of you yet, but that didn’t matter. It was only a matter of time now.

Soon, very soon, you would be back where you belonged.

The town of Brunswick was all but asleep by the time Sylus’s sleek black car pulled into the narrow street leading toward Oak & Gold Fine Jewelry. The late night had fully settled in, casting long shadows over the quiet town. Most of the shops had closed, their windows dark and their entrances locked, save for a few late-night diners and convenience stores still welcoming customers. The crisp night air carried a faint chill, but it was the quiet that unsettled Sylus more than anything—the kind of quiet that meant people were minding their own business, trying not to attract attention.

As the car crept down the street, Sylus noticed the occasional head turning, curious eyes peering at the unfamiliar vehicle. He could practically hear their whispers—Who’s that? Some kind of government agent? FBI? Maybe a politician? The polished, luxurious car didn’t fit in here, and neither did he. He didn’t care. Let them talk. Let them speculate.

He was here for one thing, and one thing only—you.

His fingers gripped the phone in his hand, the blinking dot on the screen still fixed at the jewelry shop. Oak & Gold. He narrowed his eyes, considering his next move. Had you convinced the owner to let you stay there for the night? Maybe you’d thought it was a safe place to hide. Or, more likely, you had decided to pawn off something valuable. His jaw tightened at the thought.

The ring.

Logically, Sylus knew why you would do it. You needed money, and the engagement ring was worth far more than most people in this town could comprehend. It was a smart move on your part—practical, efficient. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier for him to accept. That ring wasn’t just a shiny object. It was a symbol. A promise. A mark of what you meant to him. And now you’d tossed it away like it was nothing.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to let go of the irritation gnawing at him. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. I can buy you a thousand rings just like it. What matters now is finding you.

The car rolled to a stop across the street from Oak & Gold. Sylus stepped out without hesitation, the sound of his polished shoes striking the pavement echoing in the quiet night. His coat flared slightly as he moved, the cool breeze tugging at the edges. He crossed the street in long, measured strides, his sharp crimson eyes locked on the figure standing at the shop’s entrance—a man in his late fifties, fumbling with a set of keys as he locked up for the night.

Sylus didn’t slow his pace. He closed the distance quickly, placing a firm hand on the man’s shoulder before he could even register his presence.

The man jumped, his eyes widening in alarm as he turned to face Sylus. “Jesus, man!” he yelped, clutching his chest. “You scared the hell outta me.”

“Let’s have a chat inside, shall we?” Sylus said smoothly, though there was a cold edge to his voice that left little room for argument.

The man chuckled nervously, trying to mask his unease. “Look, I don’t have any money. Not much to rob, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Sylus’s eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light, a hint of amusement flickering across his sharp features. “After you,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

The man hesitated, glancing around the empty street as if contemplating whether to call for help. But something in Sylus’s gaze—something cold, unyielding—made him think twice. With a resigned sigh, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, flicking on a small desk lamp that cast a warm glow over the shop’s interior.

Sylus followed him in, his gaze sweeping over the room. The shop was small but well-kept, with polished glass display cases lining the walls and shelves filled with various pieces of jewelry. The faint scent of wood polish and metal lingered in the air, mingling with the quiet hum of the overhead lights.

“So, uh…what do you want?” the man asked, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to appear confident. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as tall as you before. You play basketball or something?”

Sylus didn’t bother responding to the weak attempt at humor. Instead, he pulled out his phone, holding it up so the man could see the blinking dot on the screen.

“I don’t want trouble,” Sylus said calmly, though his tone carried a subtle menace. “But according to this, there should be a girl here. Where is she?”

The man blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Girl? Plenty of girls come in here every day. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sylus’s patience was wearing thin. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I tear this little place apart until I find her—or until your memory jogs.”

As if to emphasize his point, Sylus raised his hand slightly. A polished trophy from one of the shelves floated into the air before crashing into the adjacent wall with a loud bang, shattering a glass display case and scattering jewelry across the floor.

“Woah, woah—okay!” the man yelped, raising his hands in surrender. His face was pale, beads of sweat forming on his brow. “Look, I swear, I don’t know much! There was a pregnant girl who came in earlier. She had an expensive ring—begged me to give her cash for it. I gave her 20k, and she left. That’s it! She’s not here!”

Sylus studied him for a long, tense moment, his crimson eyes gleaming with an intensity that made the shopkeeper visibly tremble. The air in the room felt thick, suffused with an almost tangible pressure that seemed to weigh down on the man’s chest. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, sweat gathering at his temples despite the cool night air filtering through the shop’s open doorway.

“Produce the ring,” Sylus said again, his voice low and measured, carrying a quiet menace that left no room for negotiation. “Now.”

The shopkeeper stumbled back a step, nodding quickly. “Y-Yeah, yeah, okay. Just gimme a second,” he stammered, turning toward the counter with clumsy haste. His hands fumbled as he opened a drawer, rifling through its contents with a frantic urgency. Each second felt like an eternity, the tension in the room stretching taut as Sylus remained perfectly still, his gaze locked on the man like a predator watching its prey.

Finally, with a faint clink of metal against wood, the shopkeeper pulled out the ring. He turned slowly, holding it up for Sylus to see. The band gleamed faintly under the dim light, and though the man’s hands were shaking, the ring itself remained steady, as if mocking the gravity of the moment.

“See? Here. This is the ring, isn’t it?” the man said, his voice wavering as he held it out further toward Sylus, desperate to prove he wasn’t hiding anything.

Sylus stepped forward with an almost lazy grace, reaching out to take the ring from the man’s trembling fingers. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger, turning it slowly so the firelight reflected off its polished gems. There it was—the symbol of a promise, now nothing more than a pawned object traded for survival.

The weight of it felt heavier than he remembered, though he knew that was absurd. The ring hadn’t changed. What had changed was the context—the fact that you had willingly parted with it, reducing it to nothing more than a transaction. Despite himself, Sylus felt a flicker of something…unpleasant. Annoyance? Frustration? He couldn’t quite name it, but it gnawed at him all the same.

Time was slipping through his fingers like sand, and every second wasted was another second you slipped further from his grasp. The thought sent a flicker of irritation through him, though Sylus’s expression remained perfectly composed. He had little patience for delays, and even less for dead ends.

Sylus turned to leave, his polished shoes making barely a sound on the wooden floor, but before he could reach the door, the man’s voice rang out behind him, hesitant but tinged with indignation. “Hey! You can’t just—”

“I’ll give you twenty thousand,” Sylus interrupted smoothly, without even turning around. His voice was cool, indifferent, as though the sum he mentioned was pocket change. He reached for the door handle, pausing only briefly to glance over his shoulder. “Plus more for the damage. It’ll be delivered by tomorrow. Thanks for your time.”

The shopkeeper’s mouth opened slightly, as if to protest further, but no words came out. He was left standing there, stunned, watching Sylus’s retreating figure disappear into the night. The glint of shattered glass and scattered jewelry reflected faintly in the dim light, a quiet testament to the storm that had just passed through.

Outside, the cool night air greeted Sylus like a whisper, crisp and biting against his skin. He paused on the sidewalk, allowing himself a brief moment to collect his thoughts. The town was eerily quiet now, the streets nearly deserted save for the occasional flicker of movement behind curtained windows. A faint breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the scent of old stone and damp earth.

Sylus pulled out his phone, his gaze narrowing as he stared at the blinking dot that had once guided him directly to you. Now, it was useless. Static. Still. He clenched his jaw, forcing down the frustration rising in his chest. You were gone, and without the tracker, he had no immediate way of knowing where you had gone next.

His mind raced through possibilities. You were smart—he had always known that. Resourceful, determined. But you were also heavily pregnant, vulnerable in a way that made every passing minute a risk. Anything could happen out here. You could run into trouble, get hurt, go into labor too far from help. He hated the uncertainty, the inability to predict your next move. It gnawed at him, an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the ring you had pawned. It was cold against his skin, a bitter reminder of how far you were willing to go to escape him. Kitten, where have you scurried off to? he thought, his lips curving into a faint, humorless smile. Was I really so terrible that you’d rather freeze in the night than be by my side?

A sharp whistle pierced the quiet night, and within seconds, Mephisto descended from the sky, his dark wings cutting through the air with silent precision. The crow landed gracefully on Sylus’s outstretched arm, his beady eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Go,” Sylus commanded softly, his voice low but firm. “Keep looking.”

The bird let out a shrill caw before taking off once more, disappearing into the shadows above. Sylus watched him go, his expression unreadable, though beneath the calm exterior, his mind churned with anticipation. Things were getting serious now. He didn’t know where you were yet, but one thing was certain—he would find you. It was only a matter of time.

And when he did, there would be no more running.

No more hiding.

You were his, and soon, very soon, he would have you back in his arms. He'd lock you away forever if he had to. You'd have his baby and everything would be right in the world again. His perfect, curated world.

With that thought, Sylus strode back to his car, his movements purposeful and precise. There was still work to be done, and though the night stretched on, he had no intention of resting until you were found.

The hunt had begun. And Sylus always caught his prey.

The hours since you’d left the pawn shop had felt like an eternity. The weight of the cash tucked inside your coat—far more than you had ever held in your life—seemed to grow heavier with every passing minute. You clutched the envelopes tightly against your chest, your fingers gripping the edges so hard they ached. It wasn’t just money. It was survival. The only thing standing between you and whatever came next.

Earlier, things had felt slightly more hopeful. You’d managed to grab a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich from a small deli tucked into the corner of a quiet street. The warmth of the food had been comforting, even if only for a short while. You’d even thought ahead, wrapping up a few extra sandwiches to carry with you in case you didn’t get another chance to eat soon. But that had been hours ago. The warmth had long since faded, replaced by the bitter chill of the night creeping in through your coat. The weight of reality was settling in once more.

You had sought refuge in the local library after the sun had set, grateful for the brief reprieve from the cold. The place had been warm and quiet, filled with the scent of old paper and polished wood. For a moment, you’d almost felt safe, hidden among the rows of books and the soft murmur of people flipping pages. But now, the library was closed, and you were back out on the streets, exposed and unsure of what to do next.

The thought of finding a motel crossed your mind, but the idea filled you with unease. Staying in one place, even for a night, felt like inviting danger. Like leaving a trail too obvious for Sylus to miss. You had no doubt that he was searching for you by now. No doubt that the twins were on your trail. And worst of all, you knew Mephisto—the damned bird—was probably scanning the area from above. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. The thought made your skin crawl.

Still, you had to do something. You couldn’t stay out in the open all night, not like this. The cold was biting, each gust of wind cutting through your coat like a blade. You weren’t just thinking about yourself anymore—you were thinking about your daughter, growing inside you, kicking occasionally as if to remind you that she was there. You had to keep moving. You had to find somewhere safe.

You spotted a bench near city hall and made your way toward it, your legs aching with every step. Sitting down heavily, you wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, clutching it for warmth. The wind howled through the empty streets, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to close your eyes, trying to think.

What now?

Your mind raced with possibilities, each one more desperate than the last. You could try walking out of town—find a road that led somewhere remote and hope to hitch a ride. But the thought of being stuck out in the open, miles from anywhere, was terrifying. You could keep wandering the streets, but that was just as dangerous. And then there was the motel option, the one you kept circling back to despite the risk. At least it would be warm. At least you’d have a bed.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling slightly from more than just the cold. Every decision felt like a gamble, and you were running out of time to make one. You couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that Mephisto was close. That Sylus was close. He always had a way of finding you, no matter how far you ran.

Think, think, you told yourself, glancing around the darkened street. Most of the shops were closed, their windows dark, their doors locked tight. The only signs of life came from a distant diner, its neon sign flickering faintly in the distance. The idea of stepping inside was tempting—food, warmth, people. Safety in numbers. But it wouldn’t last long. You couldn’t hide forever in a diner.

Another gust of wind blew through the street, making you shiver violently. Your daughter kicked again, a small but insistent reminder of the stakes. You pressed a hand to your belly, whispering softly, “Just a little longer, okay?”

But as you sat there, clutching your coat and feeling the weight of the cash against your chest, a chilling thought crossed your mind: You can’t keep this up. Not forever. Sooner or later, Sylus will catch up. And when he does…

You didn’t let yourself finish the thought. You couldn’t. Instead, you forced yourself to stand, your legs protesting the movement. You had to find shelter. Somewhere warm, somewhere hidden. Somewhere that wouldn’t feel like walking into a trap.

First things first, you thought. Get inside. Get warm. Then figure out your next move.

You took one last look around the empty street before making your way toward the distant glow of the diner. You didn’t have many options left, but for now, it was better than freezing out here. Better than waiting to be found.

And as much as you hated to admit it, a part of you knew that time was running out.

The bell above the diner door let out a soft chime as you stepped inside, the warm air immediately wrapping around you like a blanket. You took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting scent of coffee, fried food, and freshly baked bread. The fluorescent lights buzzed quietly overhead, casting a warm glow on the worn red booths and checkered floor tiles. A faint hum of conversation floated through the air, but the diner was far from crowded. Just a few late-night customers nursing cups of coffee or finishing off their meals.

You hesitated for a moment by the door, scanning the room. No familiar faces. No sign of Mephisto’s dark wings or any lurking shadows outside. Just regular people going about their lives. It felt… odd. You had been so consumed by fear and the need to keep moving that you’d almost forgotten what normalcy looked like.

“Come on in, hon,” a voice called out, breaking you from your thoughts.

Your eyes landed on an older woman standing behind the counter, wiping down a tray with practiced ease. Her short, curly hair was streaked with silver, and she wore a faded apron over her floral blouse. She had a kind smile, one that reached her eyes, though there was a hint of weariness in her expression—like someone who’d seen her share of long days and longer nights.

You managed a small, tired smile and made your way toward the counter, your legs feeling like lead beneath you. As you sat down on one of the stools, you noticed a name tag pinned to her apron: Clara.

Clara…You thought to yourself how her name almost rhymed with Tara. Your heart ached at the thought of your friend—of the life you had left behind. Tara had always been there for you, through thick and thin. You missed her more than you could put into words, but there was no going back now. That life was gone. All that mattered now was keeping your daughter safe.

“You look like you’ve been through the wringer,” Clara said, setting the tray aside and pouring you a fresh cup of coffee. “Long day?”

“You could say that,” you replied, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. You weren’t much of a coffee drinker these days, but the warmth felt good against your chilled fingers.

"Oh...uh. I can't have coffee. I'm pregnant" you say, eyeing the cup with an awkward smile.

Clara leaned on the counter, her eyes flicking briefly to your belly. “How far along are you?”

“Almost thirty eight weeks I think,” you answered, the words coming out quietly. “Almost there.”

She smiled gently. “ You can have a little coffee. It won't hurt the little one, I promise. Must be tough, traveling around at this stage. Most women would be resting up, nesting at home.”

You swallowed hard, the mention of a home cutting deeper than she probably intended. “Yeah…well, I don’t exactly have that luxury right now.”

Clara’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of quiet concern. She didn’t press, though, instead changing the subject. “Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. “Not yet,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just…I need a place that’s not in town. Somewhere out of the way.”

Clara studied you for a moment, her expression thoughtful. Then she gave a small nod, as if coming to a decision. “I might have something for you. I own some land some hours from here, got a little farmhouse on it. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean and quiet. You can rent it for a while if you’d like.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden offer. Suspicion flickered in your mind. You’d been on edge for so long, constantly looking over your shoulder, that trusting a stranger felt…dangerous. Especially after what you'd been through with Reese. But at the same time, what other choice did you have? You couldn’t stay in Brunswick for long. Sylus would find you. He always did.

“I don’t know…” you said hesitantly, glancing down at your coffee. “That’s…really kind of you, but…”

Clara waved a hand dismissively. “I get it. It’s not easy trusting people these days, especially when you’ve got a little one on the way. But I promise, I’m not looking to scam you or anything. I’ve got my own life back here in Brunswick—taking care of my sick father and running this place. The house is just sitting empty. Figured it might be of more use to you than to me.”

You still felt wary, but there was something genuine in her tone. She didn’t seem like someone who meant you harm. If anything, she seemed like someone who had simply lived long enough to know that sometimes, people just needed a little help.

“Okay,” you said quietly, meeting her eyes. “Thank you. I…really appreciate it.”

Clara smiled again, this time with warmth. “Good. Finish your coffee, and we’ll head out in a bit. Don’t worry about a thing—I’ve got some baby stuff at the cabin from when my daughter was little. You’re free to use whatever you need.”

The mention of baby supplies eased some of the tension in your chest. You hadn’t had time to think about those kinds of things yet, and knowing there would be something waiting for you at the cabin was a small relief.

Still, you couldn’t completely shake the suspicion lurking in the back of your mind. Don’t get too comfortable, you reminded yourself. Stay alert. If something feels off, use the gun if you have to. You can’t take any risks—not now.

As you finished your coffee, Clara grabbed her keys and coat, nodding toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get you settled before it gets too late.”

You followed her out to the parking lot, where a beat-up old pickup truck waited. The seats were worn, and the faint smell of leather and pine filled the cab as you climbed inside. It wasn’t luxury by any means, but it was warm, and that was all that mattered right now.

As Clara started the engine, the soft rumble filling the cab, she glanced over at you. “Boy or girl?”

You hesitated for a split second, caught off guard by the simple question. You were still getting used to having normal conversations with people. It was honestly still super jarring.

“Girl,” you said softly, placing a hand on your belly. “I'm having a girl.”

Clara smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Girls are great. I always wanted another one, but…life had other plans.”

You managed a small smile in return, though the mention of family tugged at something deep inside you. For a moment, you let yourself imagine a future where things were different. A future where you didn’t have to keep running, where you could raise your daughter in peace. But the thought felt too distant, too fragile.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, save for the occasional hum of the tires against the road. As you gazed out the window at the darkened landscape, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this cabin could buy you some time.

But even as that thought crossed your mind, you kept your hand close to your coat pocket, fingers brushing against the cold metal of the gun. You couldn’t afford to let your guard down—not yet. Not until you were far, far away from Sylus.

The drive to the cabin took a few hours, passing through several small towns and quiet stretches of countryside. Clara’s truck rumbled steadily along the narrow roads, the soft hum of the engine blending with the occasional distant sound of crickets or rustling leaves. You watched the world blur by through the window, fields giving way to clusters of trees and then more open fields again. It was peaceful—eerily so. You hadn’t felt this kind of calm in what felt like forever, but it was hard to let your guard down entirely. Every passing mile felt like a gamble, as though Sylus could be right behind you, closing in fast.

“Brunswick and the towns around here are pretty close-knit,” Clara said, breaking the silence. She kept her eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel. “We’re technically neighbors, just a couple of hours apart, but you’ll notice right away how much quieter it is here. Folks mind their business.”

You nodded absently, clutching the coat tighter around you as your fingers brushed against the envelopes stuffed with cash. The warmth of the truck’s heater made the cold feel distant, but you couldn’t shake the tension knotting in your chest. You knew this peace wouldn’t last forever, but for now, you had to take what you could get.

Eventually, the truck slowed as Clara turned onto a long dirt road lined with overgrown trees and shrubs. After a few more minutes of driving, the house came into view—a small, quaint farmhouse nestled in a clearing. It wasn’t much, but it was worlds better than sleeping on a bench or wandering the streets aimlessly. The farmhouse was simple, with a pale yellow exterior and a modest porch that wrapped around the front. The roof looked sturdy, and the surrounding land stretched far enough that you felt a bit more secure, knowing you were far from prying eyes.

“Here we are,” Clara said, turning off the engine and stepping out of the truck. You followed her, your boots crunching softly against the gravel driveway as you took in your surroundings. The air was crisp and clean, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Despite the late hour, the sky was clear, stars scattered across the dark canvas above.

Clara led you up the steps and unlocked the door, pushing it open with a soft creak. “It’s small, but it’s cozy,” she said, stepping aside so you could enter first.

You walked in slowly, taking in the space. The interior was simple but welcoming—wooden floors, white walls, and modest furnishings that gave the place a warm, lived-in feel. The living area was combined with the kitchen, separated only by a small counter. A single hallway led to what you assumed was the bathroom and bedroom.

As Clara guided you through the place, you found yourself comparing it to the one Xavier had hidden you in. This place was larger, more open, less like a prison and more like…a temporary home. You didn’t want to think about Xavier right now, though. Shaking off the thought, you focused instead on the framed pictures lining the hallway walls—Clara and what you assumed was her daughter, smiling brightly in various candid moments.

“Where’s your daughter?” you asked, your eyes lingering on one photo of a little girl holding a stuffed bear.

“Oh, she’s with her father in the big cities,” Clara replied, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place. “I get so busy with my father and the diner, I figured she could use some time with her dad, y’know?”

You nodded, following her into the bedroom. It was simple, with a single bed pushed against the wall, a small dresser, and a window overlooking the back of the property. “It’s not much, but it’ll fit two people,” Clara said, standing by the door. She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Not saying you have to stay here when you have your baby or anything, but…the offer’s there.”

You turned to her, feeling a pang of gratitude. “I really appreciate it, Miss Clara. Thank you.”

Clara gave you a soft smile and nodded. “Come on. Let me show you where I keep the baby stuff.”

She led you to a small storage room at the end of the hall. Inside were neatly stored baby items—an old crib, bottles, blankets, and a few onesies folded on a shelf. “All clean, just so you know,” Clara said, running a hand over the crib’s wooden frame. “I kept them for the memories, but they’re yours to use if you want.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. This woman—a complete stranger—was offering you so much kindness when she had no reason to. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion.

“One more thing, hun,” Clara said as she closed the storage room door. “I can’t be driving hours back and forth to visit, so you’ll be on your own for days at a time. Gotta save on gas. But I’ll bring enough food when you give me the money. I’ll even drop by tomorrow with some supplies to get you started. I hope that’s okay?”

You nodded, feeling strangely grateful for the privacy. “That’s fine. I… appreciate it. Really.”

Clara smiled again, though there was a hint of weariness in her eyes. “I just know how it feels,” she said softly. “Couldn’t leave a pregnant woman alone at night, not when she’s about to pop.”

Her words made you smile, despite the tension still coiled in your chest. You followed her back to the living area, where she picked up her coat and keys, preparing to leave. But before she did, you remembered something important.

“What if there’s an emergency?” you asked, your voice tinged with worry. “How can I get back to town?”

“Oh!” Clara said, pausing by the door. “I’ve got my father’s old car parked out back. Keys are in the drawer by the kitchen. He doesn’t use it anymore since he lost his vision, so I figured I’d store it here. If you know how to drive, you’re free to use it. I won’t restrict your freedom.”

You stared at her, at a loss for words. The idea of having a way to escape, even if you didn’t plan on using it right away, was a relief you hadn’t expected. “Thank you. I…I don’t know what to say.”

Clara chuckled softly. “You don’t have to say anything, hun. Just take care of yourself and that baby, okay?”

With that, she gave you one last smile before stepping outside and disappearing into the night, leaving you standing in the middle of the house. The weight of everything hit you at once—exhaustion, relief, fear, hope. You were truly on your own now. Just you and your daughter. But for the first time in a long while, it felt like you might actually have a chance.

Still, you couldn’t let your guard down. You made a mental note to check the car first thing in the morning and keep your gun within reach at all times. Sylus was out there, and you knew he wouldn’t stop until he found you.

But tonight, at least, you could rest. Just for a little while.

The days passed quietly, a welcome change from the chaos you had left behind. True to her word, Clara brought food and supplies as promised, enough to keep you comfortable without needing to venture back into town. You had begun to settle into the rhythm of this temporary refuge, grateful for the space to breathe and the chance to rest, though your mind remained vigilant.

Clara had been surprisingly accommodating, asking few questions and never prying into your past. You supposed you should be relieved by her discretion, but a small, nagging voice in the back of your mind kept whispering that this peace couldn’t last. Nothing ever does.

The deal you struck with her was almost too good to be true—$500 a month to cover everything, including the gas for her weekly visits. You were shocked by how cheap it was, but you didn’t question it. At the very least, it bought you time. Time to think, time to prepare. And most importantly, time to figure out your next move without Sylus breathing down your neck.

The place itself was simple but cozy, and the lack of modern technology was oddly comforting. No cameras for Sylus to hack into, no smart devices that could be traced. Even the old television in the living room had antennas that required frequent adjustment to pick up a signal. It felt like stepping into a different era, one where things were slower, simpler…and harder to find.

On the morning Clara arrived with her brother to clear out some old boxes from the garage, you were sipping on a cup of lukewarm tea when you heard it—a shrill caw that sent a jolt of fear straight through your chest. You froze, your hand tightening around the mug as your heart began to race. The sound was unmistakable.

It can’t be…It can’t be.

“Hey, what’s wrong, hun?” Clara’s voice pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. She nudged your shoulder gently, giving you a puzzled look. “It’s just a crow. You scared of ’em?”

You forced a laugh, trying to mask the rising panic in your chest. “Oh, um…I guess you could say so. Something like that.” You tried to sound casual, but your voice wavered slightly, betraying your nerves.

Clara didn’t seem to notice. She simply chuckled and went back to sorting through the boxes with her brother. Meanwhile, you set down the mug and moved toward the window, your eyes scanning the treetops outside. There, perched on a high branch, was a small murder of crows. They looked normal enough—just ordinary birds, not mechanical scouts sent to track you down.

You let out a slow, shaky breath, relief washing over you in waves. Not Mephisto. Just regular crows. You’re safe…for now.

“We’re heading back to town now, dear,” Clara called out from the front door, dusting off her hands. “You stay safe, alright? If you need anything, there’s a landline in the kitchen. I left my number on the counter. Call me if there’s an emergency.”

You forced a smile, waving as they loaded the last box into the truck. “Thanks, Clara. See you in about a week.”

“Take care, hun!” Clara said cheerfully, climbing into the driver’s seat while her brother waved from the passenger side. You watched as the truck rumbled down the long dirt road, disappearing into the distance. The sound of the engine faded, leaving only the quiet rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds in its wake.

Alone again.

You stood on the porch for a moment, staring out at the trees that surrounded the cabin. The air was still, almost unnervingly so. Despite the warmth of the morning sun, a chill crept down your spine. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming—something you couldn’t see yet but could almost sense, like the calm before a storm.

Nevertheless, you pushed the thought aside and headed back inside. Focus. That’s all you could do. Keep moving forward, keep surviving.

Clara had brought some loose-fitting women’s clothes with her last visit, simple but comfortable. You changed into a clean set, grateful to be out of your old, worn clothes. They weren’t stylish by any means—mostly oversized shirts and stretchy pants—but they fit, and that was all that mattered. You appreciated that Clara hadn’t pried into your situation. She truly seemed to mind her own business, something you couldn’t help but admire.

Still, you couldn’t completely relax. There had to be a catch, right? No one was this kind without wanting something in return. But Clara didn’t seem the type to harbor ulterior motives. Maybe she was just… genuinely good. The thought felt foreign, almost strange, after everything you’d been through. People like Clara didn’t exist in the world you had grown accustomed to—Sylus’s world. A world where kindness was a tool, a means to an end, and trust was a currency far too expensive to spend lightly.

You paced the small living room, the floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet. Your gaze wandered to the pictures on the wall again—Clara and her daughter, smiling in various snapshots. A life untouched by the kind of chaos you were running from. It made you wonder what kind of life your daughter would have if you managed to escape Sylus for good. Would she grow up in peace, free from the shadow of danger and control?

You pressed a hand to your belly, feeling the faint stir of movement beneath your palm. Maybe giving her up and leaving would still be the better plan? How far would you have to go to ensure her safety if you did give her up?

Just a little longer, baby girl. We’ll figure this out.

For now, all you could do was wait and hope that Sylus was still far behind.

The days stretched long and quiet, the silence of your new reality gnawing at you. It had been a few days since you last saw Clara or anyone else, and honestly, the loneliness was getting to you. You had never experienced true isolation like this before. Back at Sylus’s estate, even when he wasn’t there, the house had been full—staff moving about, the twins keeping watch, and Mephisto always lurking nearby. Eyes were always on you. You had grown used to it, almost dependent on the constant presence of others, no matter how suffocating it could feel.

But here? It was just you and your unborn daughter, and the weight of that solitude pressed heavily on your chest.

You tried to keep yourself busy, filling the hours with mundane tasks—cleaning, bathing, and eating in front of the small, outdated TV. The channels didn’t pick up much, mostly local news and a few old sitcoms that barely held your attention. Still, the static hum of the television provided some background noise, breaking the oppressive silence of the cabin.

Occasionally, you would spot a few barn cats prowling around the lawn outside. Their sleek forms darted through the tall grass, hunting bugs and mice. You started leaving scraps of your dinner for them whenever they came close, hoping they might stay a while. But they never did. They always ate quickly before disappearing into the shadows again, leaving you alone once more.

The loneliness had a way of making your mind wander. You caught yourself staring at nothing for long stretches of time, lost in thought. Sylus has to still be looking for me…right? Or maybe he already found me and hasn’t made his move yet…?

A more sinister thought crept into your mind: What if Clara was part of a trap?

You frowned, turning onto your side and staring at the ceiling. The possibility gnawed at you, but you tried to push it away. Clara had been kind, patient, and genuine—nothing like the calculated manipulations of Sylus’s world. Still, the paranoia lingered, refusing to fully dissipate.

You let out a bitter laugh, covering your eyes with one hand. “Wow… I’ve really lost it,” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head. You had never been this paranoid in your life. But then again, you had never been this alone before. And on top of that, you still had to give birth. The thought alone was terrifying.

You knew labor was supposed to hurt, but how much? Would you even make it to a hospital in time if something went wrong? What if Clara didn’t come back when she said she would? You tried to keep calm, but the fear was always there, lurking in the back of your mind like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

Clenching your fists, you closed your eyes and focused, willing the faint yellow sparks of your Evol to flicker to life in your palm. They appeared slowly, crackling softly like static electricity before fading away again. You stared at your hand in mild disbelief. It’s been ages since I used this…

Your Evol wasn’t exactly built for combat. It wasn’t like Sylus’s raw, destructive power or Xavier’s light-based weaponry. No, yours was subtle—an ability to enhance the strength of others’ Evols, amplifying their power when you resonated with them. It was useful in the right situations, but utterly useless when it came to defending yourself.

Would it have made a difference if I had used it back then? you wondered, your mind drifting back to the fight between Sylus and Xavier. You had frozen, standing there like a helpless child, too overwhelmed to act. Even if you had resonated with Xavier in that moment, would it have been enough? Or would it have just pushed your heart beyond its limits?

You sighed deeply, placing your hands on your belly, feeling the reassuring movement of your daughter within. “We’ve got to figure this out, kiddo,” you whispered softly, rubbing slow circles over your bump. “I’m scared too, but we can’t let it stop us. We’ll get through this. Somehow.”

But even as you tried to reassure yourself, doubt crept in. You didn’t have a plan. You didn’t know what came next. All you had was a temporary roof over your head and a growing fear that Sylus was closer than you dared to believe.

You stared at the ceiling again, your thoughts swirling in endless circles. How much longer do we have before he finds us? You didn’t know. But what you did know was that you couldn’t stay paralyzed by fear. You had to be ready. For whatever came next. You kept the gun under your pillow.

You definitely weren't afraid to use it.

The ache in your chest had been steadily worsening, and with every passing minute, it became harder to ignore. You paced the cabin, one hand clutching your belly while the other pressed against your sternum, hoping the pain would subside. Maybe it’s the stress. Maybe it’s Protocore Syndrome acting up again, you thought, grimacing. It had been worse whenever Sylus wasn’t around, but you refused to entertain the idea that it had anything to do with missing him. That was absurd.

Still, the pain was getting to be too much. You needed something—anything—to ease the discomfort. Maybe Clara could help. You rushed over to the landline, your fingers trembling as you dialed her number. The phone rang once…twice…and then clicked.

“Ah, hello! Sorry to bother, but my chest really hurts. Do you think you could—”

“Your chest?” The voice on the other end wasn’t Clara’s. It was smooth, familiar, and unmistakable. “What’s wrong, kitten?”

You froze.

The phone nearly slipped from your grasp as your heart skipped a beat. For a moment, you were too stunned to speak, your mind reeling in disbelief. Sylus. How the hell did he…?

“Cat got your tongue?” Sylus’s voice came through again, softer this time, but laced with concern.

Your shock quickly turned into rage, the heat rising in your chest overpowering the ache. “Leave me the fuck alone!” you snapped, gripping the receiver tightly, your voice trembling with anger. “I swear to God, if you come near me—”

“Now, now, don’t yell,” Sylus said gently, his voice carrying that maddening calm. “It’s not good for your heart. I’m just calling to see how you’re doing. It seems you’ve hidden in a place even I can’t find. You could make this easy and just tell me where you are, sweetie. I’m worried.”

Your mouth went dry, and anger flared in your chest, momentarily pushing the fear aside. Worried? How dare he. After everything he had done—after everything you had been through because of him—he had the audacity to sound concerned?

“Ha!” you spat, your voice trembling with both fury and disbelief. “As if…why would I willingly throw myself into another one of your punishments?”

There was a silence on the other end of the line, long enough for your heartbeat to fill the void in your ears. You expected him to snap back, to grow angry, but when Sylus finally spoke, his voice was softer than before, almost…tender.

“Honey,” he said quietly, as if trying to soothe a frightened animal. “Do you honestly think I’m going to punish you? I just want you to be safe. You’re about to give birth, and you running away doesn’t anger me. I only care about you and our daughter.”

You clenched your jaw, your grip on the receiver tightening. His words might have sounded genuine, but you knew better. You had to know better. He always knew exactly what to say to make you second-guess yourself, to plant that tiny seed of doubt in your mind.

“No,” you said coldly, refusing to let yourself fall for it. “If you really cared, you’d leave me alone.”

Sylus didn’t respond immediately, but you could hear his steady breathing on the other end of the line, a subtle reminder that he was still there—still looming over your life, even from miles away.

“I can’t do that,” he said after a long pause, his voice filled with quiet determination. “You’re mine, kitten. I’ll always come for you.”

"You fucking basta-"

“I just want to know if you’re taking care of yourself,” Sylus interrupted gently, his tone calm, almost soothing. “Landlines are a lot harder to track, y’know. If it makes you feel better, I don’t have your location, so don’t panic or get yourself worked up. I just know a few tricks…and happened to get lucky.”

His words made you bristle even more. Lucky? How dare he act like this is just some game?

There was a brief pause on the line before Sylus continued, his voice quieter now. “Are you eating? How’s the baby?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The nerve of this bastard, calling you like this, pretending to care—acting concerned when he was the reason you were in this mess in the first place. Rage bubbled up in your chest, your grip tightening on the phone until your knuckles turned white.

“Fuck you,” you spat, your voice shaking with emotion. “I’m alive, aren’t I? That’s all you care about, right?”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and you imagined Sylus leaning back wherever he was, thinking carefully before responding. “That’s not true,” he said softly. “I care about more than that. I care about you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry. His words, as soft and gentle as they were, only made things worse. He had always known how to twist your emotions, how to play the part of the concerned lover even when he was the source of your pain. And yet, a small part of you hated how much you wanted to believe him, how much you wished things were different.

“You don’t get to do this,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less sharp. “You don’t get to act like you care after everything you’ve done. Just…leave me alone.”

There was another pause, longer this time. When Sylus spoke again, his tone was careful, measured. “I already said I can’t do that, kitten. You know I can’t. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well, I am,” you bit out. “Now stop calling me.”

“I won’t call again, if that’s what you want,” Sylus said gently. “But you should know…I’ll still be looking. And I will find you. Not to hurt you, but because I want to protect you. To be there for you. You and our daughter.”

You couldn’t hold back the bitter laugh that escaped your lips. “Protect me? From what? You’re the only threat I need protection from, Sylus.”

His voice remained steady, though you thought you detected a hint of sadness in it. “Believe what you want. But if something happens, call me. Please. You have this number.”

In a fit of rage you slammed the phone back into the receiver, gripping the phone with trembling hands. You stared at it for a long moment, your mind spinning in a whirlwind of emotions—fear, anger, confusion.

I will find you.

Sylus always had a way of getting under your skin, of making you doubt yourself even when you knew you shouldn’t. And now, with his words lingering in your mind, you couldn’t help but feel the ache in your chest worsen, as though the weight of his presence still hung over you, even from miles away.

With a shaky breath, sank down onto the nearest chair, cradling your belly. Focus. Breathe. You have to keep moving forward. You can’t let him win.

How easy was it to trace the owner of a landline number? Did phonebooks still exist? Would he find Clara and threaten her? Fuck you felt like you were spiraling now. Hearing his voice made your heart beat erratically and you began to sob. Deep down, you knew that Sylus wasn’t going to give up. And the terrifying part? You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep running.

The decision had been weighing on you for days, but you finally made up your mind. You couldn’t stay here any longer. As much as you had come to appreciate Clara’s kindness, staying would only put her in danger. It made you sad—Clara didn’t deserve any of this, and a part of you hated that your life had brought chaos to her quiet little world. Still, it was for the best. You had to keep moving, keep running, and leaving meant ensuring she wouldn’t get caught in Sylus’s grasp.

You sat on the edge of the bed that night, checking the bullets in the gun Luke had so carelessly left behind. Six bullets. It’s not enough… but it’s enough, you thought grimly. Enough to slow Sylus down, enough to at least make a statement before he dragged you back to your gilded cage.

Setting the gun down on the nightstand, you lay back on the bed, trying to relax. But sleep didn’t come easily. Every time you closed your eyes, the same thoughts played over and over in your mind—Sylus’s voice on the phone, his promises, his relentless pursuit. You tossed and turned, anxiety gnawing at you, until exhaustion finally claimed you.

You didn’t know how long you’d been asleep when a sudden crash jolted you awake.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you sat up, wide-eyed and disoriented. The sound had come from the backyard—a loud, metallic clatter that sent a chill down your spine. Shit, did he find you already?

Grabbing the gun, you crept toward the back of the farmhouse, every step deliberate and silent. The cold night air seeped through the cracks in the windows, and the shadows seemed to stretch longer than they should. As you reached the back door, you peered out through the glass, your breath hitching at the sight before you.

It wasn’t Sylus.

It was something far worse.

A Wanderer.

And not just any Wanderer—a Sawshredder. Its hulking form loomed in the moonlight, leathery wings spread wide, jagged metallic edges glinting ominously. Its eyes gleamed with an unnatural light, and its claws dug deep into the earth as it stalked closer to the house.

You didn’t have time to think. Raising the gun, you fired two shots. The bullets hit their mark, causing the creature to screech in pain, a shrill, metallic wail that echoed through the night. But the shots weren’t enough to stop it.

Shit. Shit. Panic surged through you as you realized the house wouldn’t hold up for long. The Sawshredder was already clawing at the walls, tearing through wood and shingles with terrifying ease. You couldn’t stay. You had to run.

Without another thought, you bolted out the front door, the cold night air biting at your skin. You ran as fast as your swollen belly would allow, each step a painful reminder of how close you were to giving birth. The forest loomed ahead, dark and dense, but it was your only chance. If you could lose the creature in the trees, you might survive.

But the Wanderer was fast. Too fast.

Its heavy footsteps pounded behind you, and you could hear its labored breathing as it closed in. You stumbled, nearly falling, but managed to keep going. The pain in your belly was worsening, sharp and relentless, but you didn’t dare stop. Not yet.

Then, it happened.

Your foot caught on a root, and you went down hard, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. You tried to scramble to your feet, but the Wanderer was already there, looming over you, its eyes gleaming with predatory intent.

You raised the gun again, but your fingers trembled as you pulled the trigger—nothing. Empty. The gun clicked uselessly in your hand.

Is this really how it ends? you thought, despair washing over you in heavy waves, each one more crushing than the last. You were too tired to fight anymore, too weak to keep running. The cold, damp forest floor beneath you felt like the only certainty left, and as your body trembled with exhaustion, you knew you couldn’t move another inch. The pain in your belly was unbearable, your breath came in short, ragged gasps, and the icy fingers of fear wrapped tightly around your heart.

You closed your eyes, your mind racing through flashes of memories—Tara’s warm laughter, Clara’s kind smile, Xavier’s gentle gaze, and Sylus…Sylus’s haunting voice, the way he had always loomed over your life like an inescapable shadow. All those moments, all the twists and turns, had led you here, to this dark, terrifying forest, alone and hunted. I’m sorry… The words echoed in your mind, meant for everyone you had ever cared about. You were sorry for failing them, sorry for not being strong enough.

And then…

A strange silence fell over the forest.

The pounding of the Sawshredder’s heavy footsteps stopped abruptly, the screech of its metallic wings fading into the night. Confused, you hesitantly opened your eyes, expecting to see the creature lunging at you—but it wasn’t. Instead, it stood motionless just a few feet away, its massive form looming in the pale moonlight.

You watched, breath caught in your throat, as the Sawshredder’s eyes began to dilate and contract rapidly, almost like it was struggling to process something. The faint glow in its eyes flickered erratically, as though its circuits—or whatever unnatural mechanism kept it alive—had been scrambled.

It didn’t make sense.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic rhythm that echoed in your ears. The Sawshredder’s gaze, once filled with predatory intent, now seemed…unfocused. Confused. As if something had broken its singular drive to hunt you down.

Then, its gaze shifted downward—toward your belly.

You froze, too terrified to even breathe. The baby kicked wildly inside you, a flurry of frantic movements that seemed to intensify the longer the creature stared. The Sawshredder tilted its head slightly, the eerie metallic sheen of its eyes reflecting the faint glow of the moon. It took a single step closer, its jagged claws scraping against the ground with a shrill metallic screech.

Your pulse spiked, fear gripping you tighter than ever before. You instinctively placed a protective hand over your belly, feeling your daughter’s strong kicks beneath your palm. She was moving more than ever, as if reacting to the creature’s presence, or sensing the danger surrounding you both.

But the Sawshredder didn’t attack.

It simply stood there, its breathing heavy and erratic, each exhale releasing a faint plume of vapor into the cold night air. Its eyes remained locked on your belly, flickering in a way that was almost… reverent. Almost as if it could sense something—something beyond what you could comprehend.

Why isn’t it attacking? The thought raced through your mind, wild and desperate. It didn’t make any sense. This creature had chased you relentlessly, tearing through the forest with single-minded intent, and yet now…it was hesitating.

Seconds stretched into what felt like hours as you remained frozen in place, too terrified to move, too confused to understand what was happening. The Sawshredder took one last, lingering look at your belly, then slowly began to back away. Its heavy wings rustled as it folded them tightly against its body, and with a final, labored breath, it turned around.

And walked away.

Just like that.

You stared in disbelief as the creature disappeared into the shadows of the forest, its massive form blending seamlessly with the darkness. The tension in your body refused to ease, your muscles locked in place as you tried to process what had just happened.

What the hell was that?

You gasped for air, each breath shaky and uneven as your heart thundered in your chest. Relief came in a sudden, overwhelming wave, leaving you trembling as the realization sank in—you were alive. Somehow, against all odds, you had survived. In all your years of being a Hunter, never had a Wanderer just left like that.

But the moment of relief was short-lived.

A sharp, searing pain tore through your abdomen, doubling you over as a cry of agony escaped your lips. You clutched your belly, the pain unlike anything you had ever felt before—intense, all-consuming, as though your entire body was being wrenched apart from the inside.

No, no, no…not now. Please, not now.

Panic set in as you realized what was happening. The stress, the fear, the running—it had triggered something. Contractions. Early labor.

Tears blurred your vision as you leaned against a nearby tree, your fingers digging into the bark for support. “Please… just hold on,” you whispered desperately, your voice shaking. “Just give me more time…”

But the pain didn’t stop. Another contraction hit, even stronger than the last, and you cried out, sinking to your knees. The cold ground bit into your skin, but it was nothing compared to the unbearable ache radiating from your core.

You couldn’t stay out here. You had to get back to the farmhouse, had to find a way to call Clara, to get help before it was too late. Forcing yourself to your feet, you took a shaky step forward, then another, each movement agonizing.

“Come on…just a little further,” you whispered through gritted teeth, willing yourself to keep going. The farmhouse wasn’t far. You could make it. You had to make it.

But as you stumbled forward, another wave of pain hit, and the world around you blurred. Time was running out, and deep down, you knew…this was only the beginning.

You barely managed to stumble through the farmhouse door, each step a monumental effort as the sharp, searing pain in your abdomen refused to relent. Every contraction felt like a tidal wave crashing through your body, dragging you under, leaving you gasping and trembling. You clung to the walls for support, your breaths coming in ragged, shallow bursts, sweat dripping down your brow and soaking your clothes.

By the time you reached the bedroom, you were crying openly, tears of pain and fear blurring your vision. You collapsed onto the bed, clutching your belly as another contraction tore through you, this one stronger than the last. The intensity of it left you breathless, your mind reeling as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

This can’t be right. It’s too soon. It’s not supposed to happen like this… Panic gripped you tightly, but there was no time to dwell on it. Your body was taking over, forcing you to surrender to the primal, all-consuming process of labor.

Your trembling hands reached down, struggling to remove your pants and underwear, every movement slow and labored. The fabric clung to your sweat-drenched skin, and each second felt like an eternity. The ache in your lower back was relentless, a dull, throbbing pain that radiated through your entire body, while your abdomen tightened with excruciating pressure.

It hurts… oh God, it hurts so much… You clenched your teeth, trying to brace yourself for the next wave of pain, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer intensity of it. It felt as though your body was being torn apart from the inside, a searing, burning sensation that left you shaking uncontrollably.

Time lost all meaning. All you could do was endure, ride the pain as it surged through you, again and again. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears, and you found yourself gasping for air, desperate for relief that wouldn’t come.

Is something wrong? The thought crept into your mind, but it was quickly drowned out by another agonizing contraction. You tried to focus, tried to gather your thoughts, but it was impossible. The pain was too much, too overwhelming, and your body felt like it was spiraling out of your control.

Your vision swam, dark spots dancing at the edges of your sight. You felt a strange mix of pressure and burning, as though something was shifting deep inside you. A part of you knew that this was it—your daughter was coming, ready or not—but the terror that accompanied that realization was almost paralyzing.

“I can’t… I can’t do this…” you whispered through gritted teeth, tears streaming down your face as another contraction wracked your body, stealing what little strength you had left.

The world around you blurred further, sounds and sensations becoming distant, muted. You tried to hold on, tried to stay conscious, but your body had reached its limit. The pain, the fear, the exhaustion—it was all too much.

As the darkness closed in around you, your last conscious thought was a desperate plea. Please… let her be okay. Just let my baby be okay…

And then everything went black.

The sound of crying pierced through the thick fog clouding your mind. It was shrill, insistent, and ear-splitting, cutting through the haze of exhaustion and pain like a blade. You stirred, feeling like your entire body had been reduced to jello, heavy and useless. Where…?

Your vision blurred as you blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Slowly, shapes came into focus, and then—there she was.

Your daughter.

Writhing and crying on the hardwood floor between your legs, tiny limbs flailing, her little face scrunched up in distress. Shit. A surge of panic shot through you. How long had you been out? Minutes? Hours? You had no way of knowing, but it didn’t matter. She was here, and she was alive.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” you whispered, voice trembling as tears welled up in your eyes. You forced your groggy mind into action, adrenaline pumping through your veins. Your limbs felt sluggish, weak, but you pushed through it, reaching down to scoop up the wailing newborn. She was slick with fluids and blood, her tiny body warm and fragile in your shaking hands.

Your heart pounded as you stumbled around the room, searching desperately for something—anything—to wrap her in. Your fingers finally found a blanket draped over the armrest of a chair. You clumsily wrapped her up, hands fumbling as you tried to keep her secure despite the mess covering both of you. Blood, sweat, and other fluids clung to your skin, but you didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the tiny life in your arms.

Is this right? Am I doing this right? You wrapped her as best as you could, securing the edges even though your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She continued to cry, her tiny face scrunched up, and you didn’t know what to do.

You sat heavily on the couch, holding her close—not out of instinct, but because you didn’t know what else to do. The room felt too big, too cold, too…surreal. Everything about this moment felt off, like you were trapped in some bizarre dream you couldn’t wake up from.

The crying didn’t stop, and a wave of helplessness washed over you. What now? What am I supposed to do? You had no idea how to soothe a baby. You didn’t know what she needed, or if she was okay. All you could do was rock her awkwardly, whispering soft nonsense in a trembling voice.

“Shh…it’s okay…” you said, your voice wavering as you tried to calm her. You weren’t sure if babies even liked being rocked, but it seemed to help a little. Her cries softened into whimpers, though she continued to squirm in your arms.

She was so small, yet somehow bigger than you had expected. Her tiny fingers peeked out from the blanket, curling and uncurling as if testing the air around her. You could see tufts of hair already sprouting on her head, the same shade as yours. You stared at her, taking in every little feature, every little detail—the curve of her nose, the shape of her cheeks. She looked so much like you.

And yet…

You couldn’t help but notice the traces of Sylus in her face, subtle but undeniable. The shape of her eyes, the faint curve of her chin, the shape of her lips. As much as you wanted to ignore it, there he was, etched into her tiny features. She looked...human? No giant claws or green skin. It relieved you. Was Sylus just human then? He couldn't be...not after-

To your surprise, she whimpered, her tiny eyes fluttering open for the first time. You froze, heart stopping in your chest as you caught a glimpse of her gaze.

A crimson red, just like his. Milky and unfocused, as all newborns’ eyes were, but unmistakably red nonetheless.

Your breath caught in your throat, and tears welled up in your eyes again. Not from joy, not from fear—just from sheer, overwhelming disbelief.

This is real. She’s real.

But instead of feeling the rush of love or relief you thought you might feel, all you could manage was a numb sort of bewilderment. You didn’t know how to process it. Everything about this moment felt… wrong. Off. Like you were too far removed from it to truly feel anything.

You weren’t ready for this.

You hadn’t been ready for any of it.

Tears streamed down your face as you stared at her, your emotions too tangled to make sense of. You didn’t feel joy. You didn’t feel relief. You didn’t feel disgust or anger or fear.

You felt…shock.

Nothing but pure shock.

Months of suffering. Months of pain, of running, of hiding, of fighting. All of it had led to this moment. To this tiny, fragile life in your arms. Its not like you hated her. How could you truly hate an innocent baby in all this? But this was all surreal. It had happened so fast you couldn't process it.

You rocked her mechanically, your mind struggling to catch up with reality. “You just came out of me,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “This is fucking crazy…”

Your daughter whimpered again, her tiny fingers twitching beneath the blanket. You watched her with wide, tired eyes, still too dazed to comprehend what had just happened. You had given birth. Alone. In a strange farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. And now, here you were—holding your daughter, with no idea what to do next.

“I…I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted softly, your voice breaking as more tears fell. “I don’t know how to do this…I'm sorry.”

She didn’t answer, of course. She just continued to breathe, her little chest rising and falling steadily, her tiny hand curling against the fabric of the blanket. She was here. She was real. And for now, that was all that mattered truly.

But even as you held her, a deep, gnawing fear crept into your chest.

What now?

Would Sylus find you? Would he take her from you? Would you even survive long enough to figure out how to be a mother? You didn’t have answers to any of those questions, and the uncertainty was crushing.

For now, though, you were alive. And so was she. All you could do now was figure all of this out. To survive.

And somehow, that would have to be enough.

[freak-accident419]

‘the patch stays on’

Logan Howlett x Reader

(18+ SMUT PATCH!LOGAN HOWLETT x GN!READER)

Summary: Ever since you saw Logan, your boyfriend, in disguise for his mission in Madripoor, you couldn’t stop thinking about him fucking your brains out. Luckily, when you finally get the chance in your hotel room, you have but one special request for him.

Word Count: 2.1k

Content: 18+ SMUT, MDNI, gender-neutral reader, no pronouns for reader, no specific genitals assigned to reader, no use of Y/n, swearing, oral (r!receiving), unprotected penetration, creampie, missionary, riding

(A/n: me when i come back to write a wolverine oneshot… dedicated to @silverskyeline + @stop-talking, my fellow wolverine enjoyers ❤️ to everyone, I hope you enjoy, patch is one of my most favorite wolverine variants. based on/is a combo of both comics and movies. happy reading!)

-

The X-Men were presumed dead by the public. Gone from the face of the earth without a trace. And just for now, the uncanny team of mutants would continue to stay low and hidden, planning to keep it that way.

Naturally, of course, this also included the Wolverine. James Howlett. Logan. Weapon X. Kuzuri. Your lover. Despite having several aliases, in which one of the many would be a hostile sputter of ‘freak’, they would all seem to dissolve by the time he arrived in Madripoor. No, for there was only one name he would go by in this crime-ridden, neon city for the sake of lying low. And it was Patch.

Considering his unique X-Men uniform that incorporated the use of a mask, his full face would be barely recognizable to any of the inhabitants of this foreign island. All he had to do was to wear a classy suit and put on an eyepatch to create a new identity while fitting in with the locals.

In your case, you’d never been on the news or the front cover of a paper, despite your mutant status and affiliation with the X-Men. For quite some time, you worked as a scientist alongside Dr. Hank McCoy at the X-Mansion, while also working as an academics teacher for the mutant students at the school. You were reserved and intelligent, preferring to focus on your studies rather than fight as an X-Man amongst your friends.

Therefore, not being a famous X-Man meant that nobody would recognize you in Madripoor, so you didn’t need a disguise and only needed to wear elegant clothing to blend in. You were still precautioned to lay low and make your presence discreet, however.

Additionally, the trip there was long and even a bit tense, considering Logan’s crumbling fear of flying, which you attempted to soothe. For the most part, you were able to calm his nerves and himself down.

He wasn’t very fond of the idea of you tagging along either, taking into account the ubiquitous danger of the island, but you insisted. You could handle yourself, and even help him scope out the several crime operations he sought to terminate in the first place. That had been the main reason behind this mission anyways.

Not to mention, you’d been crudely compelled to come with Logan on this mission, especially after seeing him put on that ‘disguise’. Watching him step out in an all-white, three-piece suit, paired with a contrasting black bowtie and eyepatch, gave you some sort of awakening. In retrospect, it was almost comical, if you weren’t so severely blinded by your own lust at the time.

Frankly, you could even say that you jumped his adamantium bones the second you got settled into the hotel. With heavy breaths and desperate touches, your lips moved with his passionately in a deep kiss. Your fingers tangled in his brown, now-messy hair as your bodies sunk down into the plush mattress.

“What’s gotten into you, bub?” He nearly chuckles, almost teasingly as you nipped at his neck quickly.

“I just—“ you pant, cutting yourself off with a breathy laugh as you feel the embarrassment of your hastiness kick in. “I don’t know if it’s the suit or the eyepatch—hell, maybe both—but fuck, it’s making me go crazy.” You felt your body heat up the more you thought about it; his dapper, white suit, the smooth cuffs concealing his wrists, the emphasis on his veiny hands.

Shit. You wanted him to take you with all of it on.

Well… Maybe with just the eyepatch on, at least.

“Mm, yeah?” Logan hums lowly as you two continued to make out, resulting in your voices turning hesitant and shaky. “You’re actually turned on by this, baby?” And before you could even reply, he flipped your bodies over so that your back was now pressed against the bed with Logan hovering over you. His eyes looked both sensual and predatory, eager to feel your skin on his, just like the many times he had in the past.

Logan’s hands ran down your clothed body in a firm, yet worshipping manner, soon removing all of your clothing until you were half naked. You hummed softly in pleasure as you felt his slow hands palm your heat through your underwear, his lips nipping teasingly at your thighs. His hot caresses continued for a while, him adding more pressure with his hand until you let out a quiet, impatient whine, hips slightly flexing upwards.

Affectionately, he kissed at the center of your underwear before slipping his fingers under the elastic waistband, pulling them down your bare legs, past your ankles, and off of your body completely, discarding the futile cloth onto the ground. The cold air met with your naked crotch, which would soon be replaced by Logan’s close, hot breaths.

You shivered with arousal, feeling his arms hook under your legs, hands gripping your thighs as you saw his head positioned between them. The sight of him fully clothed in his white suit and eyepatch while you were completely nude in front of him made you feel so lustful and needy.

“Mmm…” Logan hummed simply as his tongue poked out to give kitten licks against your flesh. A quiet gasp left your mouth in awe as the little action caused you to feel so much already. Then, your breath hitched as his tongue worked stronger, taking you into his mouth as he tasted you and your arousal.

You began to moan softly, hearing his lewd, wet kisses and suctions as his hand moved to spread your thighs wider. “Ahh—Logan—!” You cry in pleasure, hand moving down to grip his hair in your hand. Your lover groaned in satisfaction, your addictive taste leaving his thoughts and vision hazy, sending vibrations to your core. To Logan, your moans were some pure form of aphrodisiac, and he only ever wanted to hear more.

He continued for a while, using his mouth expertly on you as he has for years, his single eye now looking up at you through his eyelashes as he pulls away slowly. Logan, the passionate lover he was, wanted to take as much time as you both needed, to extend this moment of bliss and sexual pleasure. Therefore, he couldn’t let you cum yet.

As he smirked from hearing your playful, desperate whine, he sat up on the bed and took off his blazer, working to undo his bowtie. His hand then reached for his eyepatch until you immediately stopped him with your assertion:

“Wait,” you firmly interject, “the patch stays on.”

A wide grin appeared on Logan’s lips with amusement, now averting his attention down to his button up and pants, taking off every single article of clothing and covering. Except for the eyepatch you requested for him to neglect, of course.

“You do know I can’t see shit with this thing on, right?” He exaggerates with a chuckle, almost mocking your decision for him to keep the accessory. You didn’t know what it was that made it so appealing to you. Perhaps it was the sexy mysteriousness to it that made your boyfriend seem even more badass than he was. Either way—

“I don’t fucking care,” you retort, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him down towards yourself, crashing his lips against yours. You could argue absolutely nothing could interfere with how astonishingly he could fuck you.

As Logan hesitantly broke the kiss, he lined up his body with yours, your legs remaining spread out on each side of his body while he made sure you were prepped. His hands were flat on the pillows beside your head, looking down at you with lust. Finally, and slowly, he pushed his cock through your entrance, gradually stretching your inner walls.

“Mmm… Ahh…” You would moan softly, looking up at him with hooded eyes and a flustered expression as he then pushed in completely, hips meeting with yours. He moaned almost simultaneously, feeling your satisfying tightness around him. Logan pecked your lips once, letting you adjust to his size before he started moving in and out.

“Oh—Ah—!” You whimper as his pace grows faster, hearing him grunt as his cock began to thrust fluidly inside of you, letting his firm pelvis grind against your sensitive flesh at the same time. The combined sensations felt extraordinary.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby,” he mutters swiftly, rocking his hips at a steady rate against yours, letting his slick length massage and caress your walls. He made sure to move in as deep as he could, desperate to hit every spot that makes you feel good. His hands moved off the pillows to grip your hips tightly, holding you down, “you’re so fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart. Feels amazin’…”

Logan’s arms now hooked under yours, meeting your lips to kiss you passionately as he fucked you sensually. You moaned against his mouth as you felt him become faster, sensing his animalistic instinct to become rougher with you. “Oh! M—Logan!” You whined as his cock continued to ram in and out of your entrance, the contact eliciting wet, lewd sounds of flesh slapping rapidly against flesh.

Feeling your walls begin to pulse and tighten, indicating your closeness, Logan pulled out, making you complain once more.

“Need you to ride me. Can you do that for me, sweetness?” He asks roughly, pressing soft kisses to your neck as if an apology for the abrupt stop. You felt a physical reaction in your body at his lustful words, watching his uncovered eye stare you down with both love and sin. Then you nodded.

The two of you changed positions on the bed, hearing the soft sound of sheets shifting as you climbed onto Logan’s lap. Your hands touched his shoulders, but then moved to cup his face in your palms, stroking his cheeks gently. Pressing a deep kiss to his lips, you moved one hand down to grip his cock, lining it up with your hole. Both of your breaths faltered as you sank down on him, feeling the same sensation as before. The angle change, however, somehow made everything feel so much more pleasant.

“Fuck…” you groan, hands on his shoulders as you began to rock your hips against his. Logan’s hands explored and traveled across your body to feel the warmth of your skin under his palms. His fingers moved with such purpose, akin to playing an elegant harp. You two panted heavily as you started off slow for a while, until you gradually sped up once you practically began bouncing on his thick cock.

“Ah! Ahh! Oh!” You cry, hearing Logan let out small grunts and moans as well, while you fucked yourself on his lap. His hands moved to grip your hips, fingernails digging deep into the your skin to assist your movements. His hands pushed you up and down his dick, letting you feel him stroke your insides.

“Mm—” he grunts as he mutters your name in admiration, thrusting his hips up to increase the sensitivity and speed. “Fuck!” Logan groans, looking up at you with arousal as you kept moving.

You felt your body begin to squirm and tense up, knowing that you were getting closer and closer to your well-anticipated climax. Based on Logan’s panting, grunts, and stuttered hip movements, you could tell he was close as well.

“Mmm—Mm—I—I’m gonna cum,” you whine, holding him close to your body with your arms as your hips kept moving to pursue the final, euphoric sensation.

“Ngh—Me too. Me too, baby. C’mon… Cum for me,” he gently orders under his breath before you felt your muscles clench, walls tightening as you reached your powerful orgasm.

“Mmm—Ahh!” You whine in deep pleasure, feeling the knot in your stomach untangle with euphoria. Your fingernails dug deep into his back, nearly scratching down his skin as your entire body quivered. Logan releases immediately right after, groaning your name as he cums deep inside of you, letting his warm, white seed shoot through and paint your fleshy walls. Your hips moved slowly onto his cock as you two rode out your sensitive, shared orgasm.

You both panted softly and you whined gently as you moved up, feeling Logan’s cock slowly slide out of you, now sitting on his lap normally. You could feel his cum begin to drip out of you already. Your hands caressed his face before you lift his eyepatch up against his forehead, finally seeing both of his loving, intimate eyes. Your lips moved against his in a gentle, passionate kiss that marked the end of your lovemaking.

You were usually clingy at the end of sex, as you would frequently hold onto him like a koala. So there you were, with your arms embracing him tightly, as if he would disappear the very second you let go. Logan stroked your skin affectionately, basking in the afterglow of the beautiful moment.

“So, don’t get me wrong,” you mumble, still merely exhausted, “I love your eyes, but… the eyepatch is just… so fuckin’ sexy. Especially with the white suit, just—everything…”

Logan chuckled humorously at your confession, pressing several gentle kisses on your shoulder.

“Mm? Well, get used to it, bub. We’re gonna be here for a while,” he smirks as he positioned the two of you to lay down beside each other on the bed.

“Oh, I know I will,” you giggle softly, burying your face in his sweat-stained neck.

[wundrousarts]

Something I’ve noticed for awhile is that I often get comments from people about how they are surprised how I always come up with theories and try to guess what might happen and they “could never do that” themselves. I want to say: yes you can! There’s honestly a shortage of Nevermoor theories and ideas and speculation and etc and I want to see MORE!!!

Want to talk about how Morrigan’s mom is actually secretly alive? How the Scholar Mistresses are a Wundrous Act? Do you think the Tempus Divinity looks like an owl, or do you think Weaving and Ruination would be met together? Or have you ever thought about how this one line, from Chapter 19 of Nevermoor, about Betram Crow actually means he was a Cursed Child? Whatever it is you want to talk about: GO FOR IT!!!

I personally find it very fun to go sort of “English class mode” and look at the text in front of me and think about what different things might mean and analyze it and even overthink it to an unnecessary (but fun!) amount. But that’s just me and how I like to approach things! You don’t need to make long posts and quote specific lines if that isn’t your style. The big thing to remember is that so much can happen in the next six books, so throw any idea out there! You never know what twists and turns will be thrown at us. I think it’s fun to share these ideas and discuss with other people— sure, maybe there’s just something you missed when reading, but perhaps some new ideas spawn might from it. Some speculation could even serve as inspiration for fics!

There are some theories and thoughts that I’ve posted that have been “debunked” when I reread a book, or when someone pointed out something, or even just when something had a real-world basis that I as an American didn’t catch. But it was still fun to think about it all, and there’s some bits and pieces that I see as notable and worth considering. I think most of the Silverborn Masterpost is going to be “wrong”, but if just 1% of it is “correct”, even indirectly, I will take that as a win. I know it feels like during the hiatus everyone’s talked about everything, but I hope that the incoming communal reread (fingers crossed) and obviously Silverborn brings some speculation back to the fandom because I want to discusssssss!

[romaticiseadarkcity]

hi! been inspired lately to create an urban design sideblog—so here you go! going to post a bunch of content from my classes here.

some guidelines/about me’s going forward:

I try to have an open minded view of how we design cities that takes into account history, the needs of people, and the overall good of the planet. If you want a blog that bashes cars I’ve been through that phase and out the other side. I’m not gonna be that blog for you

this blog has the opposite of a DNI!! If you disagree with me, I want to hear from you! I’m a strong believer that we can’t create good cities unless we listen to the needs of every person in them. and I’m assuming you’re a person in a city (or a regional area) who deserves to be listened to!

my background is in environmental science and I WILL be constantly thinking of how to incorporate ecology into our cities as well as Indigenous land stewardship. I won’t hesitate to call out trends I believe to be modern colonialism but I’ll also find the positives in them even while doing so

my main interests are transit cities, water sensitive urban design, biodiversity sensitive urban and social equity within cities. but I’ve also got a soft spot for placemaking (sometimes) and will cover every aspect of urban design!

im Australian. most of my examples will be from Australia. I also try to highlight the global south where possible, but the fact is that I have limited access to any international resources. If you have more international examples I want to see them! Just—don’t expect this blog to be america centric. Or europe centric. I have never been above the equator.

at this stage I won’t be blogging about working in the industry because I don’t do that. I don’t know if I ever will, because my goal is to create a nonprofit to use urban design for social and environmental good. HOWEVER if you do work in the industry I want to hear from you! because I genuinely have no idea what it’s like

im neurodivergent (adhd + pda profile) and mixed race and this will influence my designs. I will call out white, colonial or neurotypical norms. to find out more about it and my more unhinged thoughts while studying and going through life check out my main blog @faithfromanewperspective

url is from close my eyes by luke hemmings. to find out more about the music taste that inspires what I do head over to my (mostly 5sos) music blog @edge-oftheworld. I’m a musician too, and also an athlete and potential future tradie. I try to take into account the transport needs of these (non-mainstream) occupations when designing cities, but it’s a massive push against the tide to do so. I reckon it only helps my creativity though!

i don’t own the copyright of any of the material I post unless it’s specifically my own design and I will tag it as that. all rights go to the University of Technology Sydney unless referenced otherwise. Please don’t doxx me, I don’t know what the copyright laws are and I don’t want to be expelled from my uni!

[sunflower-enj0lras]

Im board and also curious to know and i also like polls

This is definitely not to see other people opinions/thoughts about enjoltaire whattt

Edit: i put this in a reblog and wanted to put it here too

I left it vague since most people have a different idea on what being canon means, i mostly was thinking "is it canon in the sense that victor hugo specifically wrote enjolras and grantaire as a romantic (one sided) relationship". Because often people will say "well the author didnt write it to be romantic" As a rebuttal to well known gay ships (for an example, achilles and patroclus)

Which is also the reason why i made the musical a separate Option, because i think that whether Victor Hugo wrote them as romantic or not , a lot of Enjolras and Grantaire actors will make them canonically romantic while playing them.

ldk if any of this makes sense so sorry in advance!

[starcollectorsilas]

Fuck you. *disables your able-bodied and pretty much superhuman character*

[spidercatweb]

Post-case Bedtime Story ★ Spencer Reid x reader

first fic!! im so scared! but i really like this so i hope other people do too :)

Warnings: none! this is fluff, gn!bau!reader, no y/n, second person pov, in my mind Spencer and reader are already dating in this, i imagined s2 glasses reid while writing, verb tense probably switches but idc, i also wrote most of this while half asleep so...

Word Count: 704

Description: Reader is sleepy on the jet after a case and has a cute little moment with Spencer :)

Likes, comments, and reblogs are very much appreciated! 💜

The past week had been long, tiring, and incredibly stressful. For everyone on the team. You would think that after five restless days of tracking down an unsub, the others would want the same thing as you, some peace and quiet, and sleep. Lots of sleep. But apparently not everyone had the same idea.

As the jet peacefully glided through the quiet night sky, Emily, Derek, and JJ sat in the seats around the small table. Not so quietly discussing their plans to go out for drinks when they got back. Surely, Garcia would want to go as well, she would enjoy her friends being back after so long and would most likely try to convince the rest of the team to tag along as well.

Hotch and Rossi sat in the back corner, Hotch tiredly flipped through the case file, determined to finish his paperwork before the jet landed so he could assure as much time spent with Jack as possible before the team was called out again. Rossi silently sipped some whiskey while doing crossword puzzles in a book he carried around in his go bag.

Spencer was sat on the small couch, sitting with one leg crossed over the other and a book in his lap, his messenger bag on the floor infront of him. You were sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder, sitting cross legged with your feet up on the couch. You lightly rested your head on his shoulder, angling yourself so that you could at least try to read his book along with him, even though he was flipping the pages too fast for anyone to keep up with. You weren't sure, but you think he may have started to slow down his page flipping just a little bit when he noticed you trying to keep up with his reading pace.

After a while, Prentiss and JJ had both fallen asleep, while Morgan was listening to music with his headphones, staring out the jet window. Hotch had finished the paperwork (or given up on it, you werent too sure) and was "just resting his eyes", Rossi was passed out with his arms folded over his chest, empty whiskey glass on the table beside him.

You felt comfortable. You cozied up to Spencer a tiny bit more now that most of the team was distracted enough not to notice. Putting the full weight of your head on his shoulder and loosely locking an arm with the one of his that was closest to you.

He still flipped the pages of his book every few seconds, though he neared the end. He looked down and scanned your tired expression, your eyes were half closed but a faint smile could still be seen. You liked being close to him like this. The corners of his mouth slightly curve upwards as he looks at you. "You know you're allowed to sleep, right?" he whispers. "Mm, I was waiting for you to finish your book so we could talk." you reply, looking up at him. "Oh, you could've just interrupted me, I wouldn't have minded. What did you want to talk about?" He replies, feeling a little guilty that he was the reason you hadn't gone to sleep yet.

"Nothing specific, I just like talking to you." You smile at him. "And we've only talked about the case for the past few days, I want to talk about something not so gross and scary." Spencer huffs out a small laugh and returns your sweet smile. "Well, you do look pretty tired. I could read to you if you'd like? I wouldn't mind if you just so happened to fall asleep." he suggests, gently nudging you with his elbow. "That would be nice, actually." You reply, nodding while still leaning on his shoulder.

For the next five minutes, Spencer quietly reads to you from his book, picking up where he left off while reading to himself. His voice served as a reminder that he was still there, even if your eyes were closed. Another five minutes pass and you're fast asleep, leaning against him, his arm locked with yours. He continues reading though, hoping that his voice keeps you in a calm, restful sleep.

thank you for reading! <3

please let me know if you enjoyed!

[nattikay]

Yeah, Izzo actually mentioned that panel specifically! We technically don't know for certain whether that particular character was meant to be her, but I'd say it's a very good reasonable guess and definitely the closest thing we have! Certainly gonna be my headcanon for now, until/unless we get something a little more concrete.

Speaking of which, I went ahead and transcribed the part of the interview about Norm, tagging @theoptimistictabby again because you're gonna want this, Norm fans are gonna be hype for this one haha. I'm gonna put the full thing under a cut because it's just a tad bit long, but the tl;dr bullet points are:

Izzo really wants to do a Norm comic at some point, exploring his past and/or the gap between A1 and A2

Norm's family probably won't make a direct appearance in the films, but might appear in other media such as comics

One of his kids is named Popiti and she, along with a sibling, do appear in The High Ground; he mentioned the panel with Norm playing the violin specifically

The majority of the Olangi clan died in the Battle of the Hallelujah Mountains and the survivors were absorbed into the Omatikaya clan. Norm's mate was one of these survivors and he met her in during the aftermath of the battle.

By the way, for those who didn't catch it on the other reblog, Izzo also confirmed later that day via this comment that Popiti and her sibling are indeed Norm's biological kids, not adopted!

...soooo with all that in mind, if we take that violin panel you posted and zoom out a bit:

I think there's a pretty decent chance that those two kids in the front holding hands are Popiti and her sibling! :D

Transcript from interview:

Mako: In the Visual Dictionary and The High Ground, it is hinted that Norm has a family. Do you know if we will ever meet them? Izzo: Yes! So, keen-eyed viewers…well, meet them on film, like, visually? Probably not. That will probably be, like, a lore, derivitive media sort of thing, but keen-eyed viewers…his children appear in The High Ground. They’re in there! There’s a couple panels where you see them, like when the Sully family return, and they have that kind of dance party, it’s at the top of book 1, I believe, where Norm is playing a musical instrument or something like that…Popiti and his other kid are there. They’re in that scene. But yeah, I would love to more with that; Norm is a character that….and actually this is something that again Ray, our creative guy, he’s talked about doing stuff about the Avatar program, the AVTR program, from a comic book perspective, he’s had some really interesting ideas…but Norm as a character is one that I’d really love to do some comic book or some other media about that’s either…y’know…I’d love to do something that’s between A1 and A2. What is he up to, what’s he doing, and y’know, touching a little bit on his past: where’d he come from, his study to be in the Avatar program, his relationship with Tommy, the meeting of all of the Na'vi, and kind of all that stuff…I think that it’s really rich. There’s some really meaty story there that I would love to do. But yeah, going back…the question, probably not on screen, but in other media, would love to. Would love to give it a shot. Mako: Well, I can imagine you just set off a flurry of comic book pages of people going to grab their copy of The High Ground to go digging… Izzo: Yeah, probably! Mako: But you’re right that the comic book format, the way that you guys have set that up right now, lends itself really well to anthology stories and character studies, I mean, the very first one was a Jake character study in a lot of ways, and we had Mo'at, and we’ve got So'lek in the latest ones, of course, so….yeah, it could be really interesting to see a Norm-centric story emerge in that format. Izzo: Just right now, just for the room…and I don’t know if it’s in the Visual Dictionaries…but in our documentation at work...this is all subject to change, so, y’know, of course, I’m gonna say it, but Jim might have different ideas…his mate, his partner, is one of the Olangi clan that he met during the post-Battle of the Hallelujah Mountains, one of Akwey’s people…and because Akwey’s people essentially got destroyed during that battle, the Omatikaya clan sort of absorbed a lot of their remnants, their lost, because that’s what happens during the wartimes…you saw that’s also what happened to So'lek’s clan…they passed away and then other clans abosorbed their survivors, and the Olangi clan came and lived with the remnants of the Omatikaya in their yurts on that border of Hell’s Gate between Hell’s Gate and the Omatikayan rainforest. So yeah, he was….we have it in our paperwork that he’s mated and partnered to an Olangi woman. Mako: Oh, ok yeah. That’s not lore that I personally knew, so that’s really really interesting, and again further stuff to potentially explore in a character study. Izzo: Yeah, super fun!

Norm family lore drop!!

so for Avatar fans who don't already know, Kelutral's "Omaticon" online convention (streamed on their Twitch channel) is going on this weekend, and the kickoff panel earlier this evening featured franchise loremaster Josh Izzo.

Some may remember this little panel in the High Ground, featuring Norm with a Na'vi child addressing him as "Daddy":

In the Visual Dictionary, there's also a very brief mention that Tuk has a best friend named Popiti.

...so here's the fun bit:

Izzo confirmed that this "Popiti" is in fact Norm's kid!!

Apparently Popiti also has a sibling, and her mother/Norm's mate is from the Olangi clan (which makes sense given that the Visual Dictionary mentions Norm having a bunch of Olangi trinkets).

ngl I love this lore drop but now I have so many more questions also!! How old is Popiti (I assume close to Tuk's age since they're best friends but there's still some wiggle room there so)? Is her sibling older or younger and what's his/her name? If they're Norm's biological kids, do either of them have avatar features like Kiri and Lo'ak? What's Norm's wife's name, what's their story? Norm didn't get his consciousness permanently transferred like Jake did, so how does him switching between two bodies affect things? PLZ I NEED TO KNOW

@theoptimistictabby thought you'd be interested in this one ;)

btw let it be known that I speculated all these things like two years ago, my mind is still reeling that what I thought was merely wild wishful-thinking speculation at the time turned out to be CANON lol

[brighteststarz]

HOT TAKE

Feel free to disagree with me, this is just my opinion..but hear me out till the end plz this is LONG

I’ve seen so much Jegulus hate since the rise of it.

I joined the marauders fandom literally the year Jegulus got popular so it was the first ship I saw and I connected to it. I started reading fanfics for it that were LIFE changingly good.

Yet when it was growing in popularity it was also gaining a lot of hate for not being canon or for being so random(which yeah, it was random. It started as a joke but who cares?? It’s amazing) since when has canon mattered to you guys?

Anyways with the rise of hate it’s like they knew they couldn’t hate on it just for it making James gay/bi because that would make them seem homophobic, so they brought Lily into it and HEARD ME OUT. Some people just can’t stand the idea of a character they want to see themselves with wanting someone who’s not like them and they relate to Lily so they don’t like regulus.

A lot of people bring up that Lily gets bashed in a lot of jegulus fics like saying it happens too much but that’s not completely true it’s not that common. A lot of “Lily bashing” tags aren’t attached to jegulus fics they’re attached to Jily fics or jeverus fics and prongsfoot yet the blame goes to ONLY jegulus fics bc yeah some do bash Lily I’m not denying that but it’s not that common. The tag is common, but not just in jegulus fics.

Misogyny is bad, yes. However this isn’t a Jegulus issue, it’s a whole marauders fandom issue they always avoid giving the girls characterisation or they make the girls seem like a roadblock for ships like wolfstar or jegulus, or drarry ANY ship.

The problem isn’t just Jegulus tho.

Which brings me to my next point. People say “jegulus fics sideline Lily” which… c’mon. If she’s not the main character that’s not a problem. Guess what, wolfstar fics also sideline Lily, they sideline James as well. Bc they aren’t the main character for that specific fic. Guess what? Jily fics also sideline wolfstar and regulus and Mary. Just because your fav character isn’t a main character in the fic doesn’t mean it’s bad or misogynistic or bashing. They’re just not the mains.

Also, almost every Jegulus edit I see or Jegulus related video I see has someone in the comments talking about “Lily💔” / “what about Lily” /“everyones forgetting Jily” / “I miss Jily” /

Which by the way, no one is stopping you from consuming Jily content or making it.

Whenever I see a Jily video, do you know what the comments are usually? Not about Jegulus that’s what. However occasionally the captions will say something against Jegulus like how they dislike it which is fair you don’t have to like it but what does that have to do with your edit?

Why do I see more Jegulus hate that Jily hate when all anyone ever talks about in this fandom is how toxic Jegulus shippers are and how we’re bashing Lily all the time. Every Jegulus fic I’ve ever read had Lily treated like a goddess which isn’t to say there are NO lily bashing fics I know they’re out there but they’re not a Jegulus problem.

Another thing I’d like to address is how some Jily shippers have told me before that since I like regulus I MUST be racist because regulus is racist in canon? First of all, he is a blood purist, at most he is probably incestous in canon not racist but the glory of fanfiction is you can take that away from his character and make him better. Blood purist has to do with keeping the bloodline pure, keeping magic alive and power, not race. I’m sure there were black pureblood families as well. Also, I’m black, so telling me that I must be racist for liking regulus is kinda… I’m not sure how the blood purist thing got translated into real world racism making ppl think I must be racist for relating to regulus, babes the thing I relate to is being the younger sibling left behind in a toxic household😳

Also, in the very end he sacrificed himself so that counts for something to me and I headcanon he didn’t share his parents beliefs or changed his mind. People act like regulus is so bad but none of the characters in marauders era are perfect. Sirius grew up the same way reg did. Sirius revealed Remus’s secret to Severus. James bullied Severus(even though I think that was more of a rivalry/mutual bullying)

Also for the people who say “Jegulus is just another version of Jeverus” I firmly believe it���s NOT for many different reasons but we are all entitled to our own opinions.

Jegulus: best friends brother trope, slight age gap(one year I think?), death eater/(whatever James was?), strict abusive family/perfect family, sunshine x grumpy, anti hero/hero, rivals to lovers/occasionaly enemies to lovers, quite and reserved slightly evil and highly mean character falls in love with the loud class clown, gay reg x bi James or sometimes ace/demi sexual reg x bisexual James, slytherin x griffindor AND MANY MORE REASONS BUT I CANT THINK OF THEM RN.

Jeverus: romantic rivals to lovers(competing for Lily), slytherin x griffindor, bully/victim?(idk I don’t read many jeverus fics), pureblood who doesn’t believe in blood supremacy x halfblood who’s also somehow a blood purist?

(There are big differences but because I don’t read jeverus I might not be the most qualified to talk about the differences but there are key ones if you take the time to actually read a good Jegulus fic before assuming)

Also people hating on Jegulus because it erases jily because Jily should be the main ship since it’s canon. I hate to remind you but you know Remus canonically married Sirius’s younger cousin yet yall don’t have a problem with wolfstar. If your issue with Jegulus is that it’s not canon, then I hope you also hate wolfstar and I hope you only read fanfics of Remus being straight since canonically he is and you care so much about canon 🌝

One last note, I’ve seen people say they HATE how people say drarry is Jegulus coded it should be that Jegulus is drarry coded because drarry came first… it’s not that deep. Timeline wise James and regulus are older, they were born first, however drarry was a ship before Jegulus was, but WHO CARES? why is this a reason to hate Jegulus? Just bc people say drarry is similar to Jegulus? They’re also mad that Jegulus stole ❤️💚 from drarry but why is that an issue? What’s the big deal? This part of the hate feels so unnecessary and forced plz find a better reason to hate this ship. The people saying that Jegulus is erasing Jily are more creative than the ones who are pissed off about two emojis representing different ships. Calm down.

Frankly I think the hate is fake and forced & some people think the only way Jegulus could work is if it’s hella toxic and leads to Jily because James could never choose regulus over his wife? Everyone has different opinions but don’t hate on others for liking Jegulus just because you don’t(this goes for any ethical ship in the fandom). If you don’t like it don’t read about it.

That’s all! If you took the time to read this full hot take thank you for hearing me out! I would be okay with having a peaceful debate in the comments if you disagree 🖤

[trialsofapollo-fanfiction]

The Hub

Why make this blog? To give us ToA fans easier access to fics that are strictly based on The Trials of Apollo!

The ToA Ao3 tag isn’t as bad as it once was, but it’s still incredibly frustrating to shuffle through fics that have nothing to do with our favorite books, so this is what this blog is for!

Who made this blog? Hi, I’m @firealder2005, though you may also know me as @apollosgiftofprophecy or Alder!

How are you doing this? With lots and lots of painstaking time. I work on this in my spare time between college, family, extracurriculars, and other hobbies of mine.

What will I find here? Anything ToA!

What qualifies as ToA? A few things;

Takes place during ToA/is directly influenced by ToA (ie, deals with aftermath of ToA)

Apollo-focused/plays a main part

Focuses on ToA-centric characters (ie, Meg or Lavinia)

Expands on past characters (ie, Reyna, Jason) and their lives due to ToA

What about minor ToA characters? They count too! Chiara, Damien, Valentina, Paolo, ect are all included, and more!

What does “anything” mean? Anything. Meaning, there may be ships you don’t like, but still qualify as ToA, so make sure your filter is on so you can enjoy your scroll! Everything is tagged appropriately.

What about fics that aren’t ToA-friendly? I will be skipping those. In my own personal perusal of the tag, I have come across some fics that are rather unflattering to our series, so I will not be adding them here.

What fics are those? This includes fics that make Apollo homophobic (wtf), ignores the characters’ development, has tags that is negative towards ToA, or denies ToA’s existence entirely. I am using my own judgment on this matter, so if you feel I have made a mistake, shoot me an ask!

What about crossovers? I have crossovers tagged accordingly!

How did you tag? I’ll have a guide below the cut!

Any Questions? Send them in!

Did I miss a fic? Send an ask and advocate for its addition to the masses! (Will not be taking any at the moment, since I’m still putting it all together)

Just come here to hate? Will not be entertaining.

Tags

Searching by Character

Type in a character’s name (ie, #leo valdez, #pjo ares)

Searching by (Relation)Ship

Type in ship name (ie, #pipabeth) OR a relationship tag (ie, #sunflower siblings, #triumvirate holdings)

Poly ships are tagged with #polyamory and #poly ship

If you have an idea for a ship/relationship tag, let me know and I will do my best to accommodate it!

Searching by Rating

Type in rating (ie, #gen, #teen, #mature, #explicit)

Searching by Book

Type in book name (ie, #the burning maze, #the tower of nero)

Crossovers

Type in #crossover to see the full selection.

Type in fandom-specific tag for a specific fandom (ie, #supernatural, #marvel)

Will update as needed. All fics are posted with their fic descriptions and ratings. Filter preferences accordingly.

[nightlyrequiem]

Would it be possible to get Valeria with a homebody writer (specifically romance writer maybe) partner?

This is totalllly not self indulgent at all, but I feel like the scenario you write where she broke into the readers house (which I loved btw) and becomes her stowaway would probably be the only way they meet lol, it's also possible that she could see the writer in a coffeeshop somewhere and have a meet cute but that doesn't really seem like her style to me :(

Feel free to change this up in any way you want I'm just throwing my ideas out from my mind palace

Yeah, I feel like meeting Valeria would be a little difficult unless it was some kind of home invasion type of scenario. Meet Cutes aren't her style sadly

Tags/Warnings: Kidnapping, WLW, Reader Gets Knocked Around, Fangirl Valeria

Meet Cute

Human error is unavoidable, like misspelling a word or grammatical errors. Even with a proof-reader, things are bound to slip past notice. Mistakes will be made eventually, no matter how careful a person is. You're tossed to the cement floor harshly, pain blossoming in your ribs from the impact. The sac over your head prevents you from seeing anything. Your ears ring, making it impossible to make out the low muttering of male voices.

No one is truly aware of how quickly things can change. Having four walls and a door often provides one with a false sense of security. Of safety. You thought you were safe. You were a bit reclusive. Preferring to be inside where the variables of life are easier to control. Even in a city like Las Almas. The environment that night was perfect for writing. Dark and slightly stormy. You were curled up on your couch, laptop in your lap with inspiration flowing from your pores. The first draft for your latest sapphic romance novel was almost completed.

Without any warning your front door was kicked open. The locks proving to be completely useless. You screamed and fought as masked men stormed inside. However, it was a short-lived battle. One punch to the temple was all it took to take the fight from you.

You're not given any time to catch your breath or get your bearings. Your grabbed by rough hands and dragged somewhere else. You're lifted and placed into a chair, hands tied behind you. Footsteps fade as the men leave you bound and blind. The only sound now being your own breathing and the frantic beating of your heart.

Waiting is the worst part. The dread of what's to come will never compare to what will actually happen. You're never going to finish your book. The second in your series. Your readers will never get to know what happens to the two main leads. Maybe it's your writing that got you here. You had gotten death threats before. As well as other types. As was the risks of writing the things you do. The situation almost reminds you of the story you posted to the internet when you were too young to be on it. A flawlessly witty girl is kidnapped by a stereotypically masculine guy. They fall in love.

You doubt there will be any love here though. Love doesn't flourish where death and decay feast. Finally, you hear footsteps approaching. Firm and confident. The door slides open and people enter, the room becoming heavy with tension.

"You thought you'd get away with stealing, hm?" A woman asks. You frown. You don't recall stealing anything. "Thought you were smarter than me?"

The bag is ripped from your head, and you recoil at how bright the lights are. You blink at the sight of the visibly angry woman in front of you. Reeking of violence and danger. Maybe it's because of all the questionable romantic leads you've written but there's something alluring about her. Though her being attractive doesn't make you less frightened.

She almost looks as confused as you feel. Brows furrowed into a frown. She says your name, which doesn't bode well for you.

"... I didn't steal from you." You say softly. Hoping to pacify the situation. "At least not knowingly, if I did I can replace it or give it back." You promise. The woman doesn't respond, just continues to gawk at you.

The silent staring is beginning to get uncomfortable. The two men she brought with her exchange confused glances. Clearly something isn't going the way it should.

"You wrote Stardust." She says finally. Your face warms with embarrassment. You're proud of what you write but it still feels... weird to have people talk about it. You furrow your brows. You didn't think a woman that looks like her would be in your audience.

"... Yeah, I uh, did." You nod awkwardly.

She puts her gun back into its holster. "I have all your books." She says. Surprising you.

The woman turns to the men beside her. 

"This isn't the right woman you fucking idiots! I even gave you a picture how did you mess up?" She hisses at them. You almost deflate with relief at those words. A mistake. A simple case of human error. "Get out." She snaps. The men nod and leave quickly. Ashamed or afraid that they messed up. She turns back to you with an appraising eye.

"... Do you like them?" You ask.

Her brows furrow. "What?"

"My books." You clarify nervously. 

She walks behind you.

"One of my guilty pleasures is romance," She starts. "it's a nice escape from the grueling, bloody reality of my life."

"That's... nice." You reply. She didn't really answer your question.

"I'm picky though, I'll drop a book easily if the characters do something I think is stupid."

Oh. She's probably going to chastise you for writing idiots - which admittedly, you have. In some of your earlier books. The ropes loosen, freeing your hands.

"But I like the way you write people." She praises. "They're realistically stupid."

You bring your hands to your lap and inspect your wrists. The soft skin is a little red.

"Oh, thank you." You say, blinking gratefully. She walks back in front of you.

"This was a misunderstanding." She says, voice soft and placating. You look at her and wonder if this is a trick. You rise to your feet.

"All good." You smile. Though it's actually not all good. You're shaken. Your home was broken into and you were kidnapped. However, saying that might not bode over well.

"... So is Stardust getting a sequel?" She asks, narrowing her eyes at you.

She has a very intense stare. You have to look away because staring into her dark brown eyes is starting to make you uncomfortable.

"I'm in the process of writing it, actually." You tell her. "Well, the draft."

She continues to stare at you. "Do you think you could add me into the book?"

You frown. "Yeah, sure I could do that." You nod reluctantly. This woman scares you and you'd hate to disappoint her.

"I shouldn't tell you my name, but I just love you and your writing so much," She admits. "I'm Valeria."

You nod.

"Valeria." You repeat. "Nice to meet you, I suppose."

Valeria nods and cracks a small smile. "Great. Why don't I take you home now then?" She says, herding you towards the door. You try to protest against that, not really wanting her to know where you live. Though considering her people had taken you from your home in the first place, she probably already knows. Your words fall on deaf ears. Valeria is determined to escort you home safely. Wanting to spend a little one on one time with her favourite author.

[gristlegrinder]

tag screenshot 1: #see also: i could write you a whole essay on the plush elder dragon trinkets #<- prev I would be thrilled to read that #I didn’t even realise there could be meaning behind those stats and will now look at the wiki page for every plush dragon #guild wars 2

tag screenshot 2: #yes yes yes and also UR TAG ABOUT THE STUFFIES #yes please write it cus i feel the same #i wish so badly theyd turn them into homestead decos #or something bc their icons are so cute and i love the flavor text

YES OKAY this took me a bit to get back to but!! elder dragon infodumping!!!! as fair warning, i am not an expert on buildcraft, but i’m trying my best.

anyways, i think all of the dragon plushies are actually really interesting viewed as deliberate character choices for each of them, both in terms of general vibes and how those stat combinations work. here are all of my thoughts, in story order:

zhaitan has grieving (power, condition damage, precision, ferocity) stats. first off, in the game, grieving stats are deeply intertwined with relics of the dead, beyond just the melancholic name. most of the gear that comes preloaded with grieving stats is in some way associated with death and burial— funerary armor and weapons and trinkets from the tomb of the primeval kings, the elegy armor set from season 4, and halloween weapons like the carapace of chaos. intact elegy mosaics are literally tiles that were originally laid inside of the tombs of monarchs, displaying representations of their triumphs in battle (which is why you receive them from bounties and metas). there’s a very specific vibe that grieving gear comes packaged with, and while it’s not necessarily orrian, it is very much in theme with zhaitan’s interests and domain. and, more than anything, zhaitan has everything to mourn. “like all ruins, they become what they are, not what they held” is a reflection on orr, but it’s an insight that also suggests a family dynamic that has been left to degrade. zhaitan’s death was always going to be the beginning of the end, and it’s implied that he had always accepted that.

as a stat combination, grieving is a hybrid power/condi set where your conditions don’t last very long, but you can maximize bursts of damage output by focusing on crits. necromancers have always been the favored profession for grieving builds— scourge (at least historically) does really well with it in world vs world, and grieving gear is still used on condition reaper builds, where most of its condi damage comes from maximizing bleeds on a grandmaster trait and it otherwise prioritizes power damage. giving it to the undead freak seems like the obvious choice. but also, the stats and the playstyle feels appropriate for zhaitan in other ways. he lacks the defensive toughness/vitality attributes of his family, and is in some ways the weakest dragon; caught off-guard by the pact assault and blinded and starved. like, he can cause massive destruction through direct assault (see: claw island), but it’s easy to take him down once you know where his weaknesses are (and any survivability associated with grieving builds is less about the stats and more just that you’re probably playing necro).

also, it feels fitting that zhaitan is the halloween dragon. i don’t really have much to say about that other than the obvious— during halloween, the barrier between tyria and the mists weakens, and the underworld is within reach through the mad king’s realm. so it’s death, death, death.

mordremoth uses trailblazer’s (toughness, condition damage, vitality, expertise) gear. this is one of the heart of thorns’ prefixes, although nothing really comes in trailblazers stats besides the gear you get from its crafting recipes. it’s kind of an interesting one, in that i have no idea who the trailblazer archetype is supposed to be. commander’s gear is the commander (duh), vigilant armor is associated with the vigil and laranthir, viper’s is for the forgotten, wanderer’s is for the exalted, and minstrel’s gear is largely associated with the virtues of the bardic profession. i would almost venture to guess that trailblazer’s is a prefix that is meant to represent the hylek, or even the jungle itself— first obtainable in tangled depths as you venture deeper into mordremoth’s nest. either way, the jungle provides.

(also, fun fact, trailblazer’s gear is crafted with maguuma lilies, and one of the only other uses for them is in crafting an orb of natural essence when reforging caladbolg. haha.)

trailblazer’s gear is surprisingly solid all-purpose condi gear for open world and wvw, having a lot of personal durability without sacrificing too much condition damage. mordremoth is a tanky guy who bites hard— he and zhaitan are similar beasts in fights like harvest temple, loving poison AOEs and fears (so many poison AOEs), but mordremoth throws his own weight around more, with headbutts and crowd control skills. mordremoth is the most hardened of the six of them with that toughness, as well. he’s a character that sees the world in terms of domination and submission, but also as an existence that requires the constant challenge of survival. anything in the jungle can eat you if you can’t defend yourself.

i think it’s interesting that you get plush mordy during lunar new year, and plush ess during SAB. for the longest time, i could not figure out the reasoning for that, especially since soo-won is tied so closely to cantha— and then it hit me. the heart of thorns campaign lasted from 30 zephyr to 74 zephyr, meaning the initial assault and mordremoth’s call would have been around the equivalent of january 30th, right around when the new year starts. his plush is commemorating that. discovering this while writing all of this did make me shout and i am now sharing it with you.

kralkatorrik uses diviner’s (power, concentration, precision, ferocity). this is one of two stat combinations introduced during season 4, alongside plaguedoctor’s gear for the joko half of the season, and it has a lot of personal connections to kralky: frodak steelstar (the ascended namesake) assisted glint in crafting the original dragonsblood spear, diviner’s gear is crafted with branded masses, and dragonsblood weapons in-game are diviner’s pieces. there’s also perhaps the obvious connection between “divination” and the prophetic sight that kralkatorrik, glint, and aurene all possess. it’s kind of kralkatorrik, it’s kind of glint, and it’s all family trauma all the way down.

not a lot of meta power boon support builds actually use diviner’s gear, though, because a lot of them reach concentration cap without it. whatever. it’s more interesting that kralkatorrik is a boon support build. concentration as a defining attribute gives him an almost mystic vibe, in line with both the visions he’s had in the past and the connection to the mists he gains from consuming part of balthazar. he’s wise beyond his years, but also hurting tremendously under the burden of all of the magics inside of him. he’s still primarily a dps build, because destroying everything will cease the torment inside of his head, but he has further insight into the weight of the cycle, and he does find ways to support the commander and aurene in moments of clarity.

finally, plush kralk is available during the festival of the four winds, which is both a summery festival and one largely centered around the zephyrites— so again, it all circles back around to glint.

jormag’s plushie uses bringer’s (expertise, precision, vitality) stats. it’s one of the two prefixes associated with wintersday, being crafted with snowflakes and found exclusively on wintersday rewards outside of crafting. hooray hooray. admittedly there isn’t much going on with bringer’s gear outside of tixx and wintersday. like, okay, jormag is associated with snow, and icebrood corruption is often framed as a gift bestowed upon the lucky. what else is there to say? but i do think you could also draw parallels between jormag’s vision of the world encased in endless winter and the original spirit of wintersday, grenth and dwayna (child and mother, even!) fighting over the changing of the seasons and their cycles.

bringer’s gear is uh… nobody really uses it because it’s not good. it has no damage or any real synergy between its stats. from what i understand, bringer’s gear is (in theory) largely best at focusing on non-damaging conditions— meaning you mostly use it as a supplement mixed with more damage-heavy pieces. i think the lack of damage on their stats is really interesting, both in contrast to primordus (and everybody else, really) and in that it highlights how jormag doesn’t like getting their own claws dirty in a fight if they don’t have to. they’re largely enabling somebody else’s ability to do damage on their behalf, like with ryland. the conditions that benefit the most from bringers are also generally non-damaging, movement-based conditions— such as, most fittingly for jormag, chill. it’s very much jormag’s style, and claw of jormag is always a never ending cycle of being chilled over and over again get me out get me out get me out—

as discussed, plush jorms is the wintersday collectible and there’s not much more to say about it. obvious pick. i think jormag can cloak the world in eternal winter if they want. my one additional comment is like, hey, side note, do you guys ever start thinking about how jormag’s blood canonically tastes like peppermint?

primordus, meanwhile, uses marauder’s (power, precision, vitality, ferocity) gear. of all of the prefixes, marauder has the least to do with primordus thematically out of all of the stat combinations— it’s associated with pirates and mariners, originally having a connection to grymm svaard from the sea of sorrows novel and in more recent times being retroactively associated with the aetherblades. the crafting materials don’t really resonate with primordus, nor do the characters associated with any related gear. this one, i think, is meant to be all about the actual use case for marauder’s gear, more than anything else. unless you could, like, maybe make some argument about naval marauding + barbed thorns (primarily dropping from mushrooms, mordrem, and treants/druids) suggest an association with draconis mons and the ring of fire, but that feels like a stretch to me.

so, marauder’s gear is about raw power damage, but it’s more protective than berserkers— its what you take if you just want to hit things until they’re dead, but you also don’t want to die immediately. he’s not tough, though; it’s a vitality build. he’s not mordremoth, who has armored himself against the world. primordus is soft under the surface, warm lava under volcanic rock— he can protect himself, but he doesn’t want to throw himself into fights until it hurts too much to do anything else. he’s a character that hides underground in the depths of tyria, and any destruction in his wake erupts recklessly when he’s provoked. now, that destruction comes in instantaneous, hard-hitting bursts, meteor strikes and wildfire blazes, but at least they’re over quick.

you can get him during dragon bash, which in its modern iteration is largely associated with the dragonstorm. and braham’s there in hoelbrak! braham’s his best friend! also, dragon bash and wintersday are on direct opposite ends of the year (june/july and december/january). that’s real balance, baby. although, i do tend to forget that dragon bash is considered a summer festival when its events are placed in the shiverpeaks.

lastly, soo-won uses ritualist’s (vitality, condition damage, concentration, expertise) gear. it’s one of the two prefixes added in end of dragons, and soo-won is deeply tied to cantha— it’s where the world, her world, started; and it’s where her world ended. you tie ritualist’s gear to spirit-workers who were pulling magic from the void of the mists long before the six arrived in tyria, when all we had were the dragons. additionally, the luxon weapons are ritualist’s gear, tying her to their traditionally-seafaring culture. i also think it’s fun to associate her with togo’s ascended gear, when togo is called the defender of cantha, something soo-won and kuunavang have similarly stepped up as in the wake of the tsunami following the rising of orr.

it’s our other boon support build, although it just feels different than kralkatorrik’s diviner’s set. i think that’s because ritualist’s isn’t really the direct condition-based equivalent of diviner’s gear, as it sacrifices power for additional vitality. it feels like we ultimately met a soo-won that has been divided into two, between the maternal character that she is— soft, protective, resigned to her mistakes— and the corrupting void that she has always carried inside of her. soo-won is, by all accounts, not a particularly violent dragon, not until the dragonvoid finally wraps its tendrils around her. (unless they’re planning some fun lore drops whenever we get the deep sea horror expansion). so, while kralkatorrik is primarily a dps character who happens to have boons, soo-won feels like a character who was originally more support-oriented, but now has more of a bite, one that’s been festering and threatening to spread.

plush ess is available during super adventure festival. we’ve already discussed why mordremoth is associated with lunar new year instead of soo-won, but i think it’s also fun to associate soo-won with SAB when she’s the most technologically-forward of the dragons, shedding her excess magic into the energized jade that powers cantha. i think soo-won could have been a gamer if joon gave her the opportunity.

dragons! rawr!

i’m always delighted when i realize the gw2 devs have done something playful with the stat combos on gear. right now i’m looking at the sinful weapons from SOTO for reasons, and you should’ve seen the big goofy grin on my face when i realized they gave the greed weapon (avarice’s command) celestial stats… because it wants a little bit of everything

also envy’s bite having vipers stats, despair’s lament and regret’s memory both having grieving, rage’s fist having berserkers…….. very cute 10/10

[littleeyesofpallas]

Are Kyoraku's game abilities actually based on real Japanese children games? I only know about the Daruma one.

Sorry i put this off so long, i kept meaning to go dig up the old anime episodes to see if the anime added or changed anything, but never did. I'm just leaning on the fan wikia to take inventory and trusting they didn't overlook anything...

Bushogoma[不精独楽]: "Lazy SpinningTop" is the type of spinning top toy you usually see in Japan, where you wind a bit of string around the top to use like a rip chord to send it spinning; as opposed to the sort you'd spin by hand or something.

(It's similar to the beigoma tops that Beyblades are based on.)

(Oh a good thing to note here is that in the japanese version of the game we generally refer to as "tag" as well as the "it" role in it is called "oni" as in a demon/ogre. So the term in all the associated "XYZ-Oni" attacks could functionally just be translated as "XYZ-Tag")

TakaOni[嶄鬼]: "(High/Steep)Mountain Tag" is a play on takaoni[高鬼]: "High(up) Tag" a variation of tag where the tagger must be at even or higher elevation than the person they're tagging. i.e. players higher up than the tagger are considered safe. The "taka" is also a homonym with taka[鷹]: "hawk/falcon" and seems to be a play on how hawks hunt by diving at their prey, meaning they have a blind spot above them.

KageOni[影鬼] "Shadow Tag" is a variation of tag where instead of tagging the person themselves, whoever is "it" has to touch their shadow to tag them out.

IroOni[艶鬼]: "colorful/lustrous oni" is actually a pun on irooni[色鬼]: "Color Tag." Unlike in the manga the rule is usually that once a color is declared, touching anything of that color is considered "safe," so each round is a matter of chasing down players until everyone is either out or safe, then declaring a new target color.

Daruma-san ga koronda[だるまさんがころんだ] got the most attention I think of the whole line up and is the Japanese name for what I think it most commonly called "Red Light, Green Light" in English.

(Pretty notably the manga Kami-sama no Iu Touri[神さまの言うとおり] aka As The Gods Will used it as the first big game in their death game series, with a literal Japanese daruma doll. It's also what Squid Game stole its first game plot from, beat for beat.)

Kageokuri[影送り]: "Shadow send(off)" i don't know that this is really a "game" but it's when you stare at your shadow on the ground for a bit then up at the sky and can see your shadow's afterimage.

BBS adds Yubikiri[指斬り]: lit."finger beheading" as in to cut off the "head" of a finger. It's what we'd call a "pinky promise" in English, the idea being that you've sworn to keep whatever promise at the cost of cutting off your pinky if you aren't faithful to it.

...as well as Kagome kagome[囲召籠目]: "encircled basket eye" a pun on[籠目籠目]: "basket eye, basket eye." Children hold hands in a circle with an oni/it in the middle, they dance around in said circle singing while the center child keeps their eyes close, and when the song ends the oni/it has to guess who is directly behind them. The tune of the song that goes with it is extremely recognizable.

Some of the old videogames had original techniques but those were largely made before any of his actual powers were revealed so they're mostly just like wind elemental attacks and don't contribute to the theme.(ugh... goddamnit now that i went and looked for it i realize there's like zero info around most of those old games and it makes me want to download emulator files for them all and look up all their move lists... i dont want to actually do all that tho...)

Honestly I'm surprised Katen and Kyokotsu didn't have any anime original abilities in the filler arc or something...

They do have a BBS card with the move Utage-no-Ikkyou[宴の一興]: "Amusement/(Brief)Entertainment of (a) Feast/Party" which isn't really a game of any sort. at least not specifically. It would refer to something like a bit of song and dance interlude at a feudal era banquet. Admittedly a clever intersection of Katen and Kyokotsu's differing types of play -children's game vs adult entertainment.

[digitalmidnight]

Project Eden's Garden Predictions

This is meant to be silly. Spoilers in post and in tags

There's a really big influencer light and Kai just walks right up to it and gets fried like a moth. Kai is a victim.

An area opens up with remote controlled RC cars. During the race, everyone hits the sand bags at least once. The sand bags start leaking pink. They open it like a cocoon. The butterfly was broken upon the wheel. Kai is a victim.

Toshiko forces Kai to watch teen rom-coms with her. Kai is a victim.

Grace goes "Screw you Damon. The man I shared a bed with is gone, so I'm killing the man you share a bed with." Kai is a victim.

Damon was supposed to die in Chapter 4. Kai becomes aware of the plan, but ends up dying himself to save Damon. This kickstarts a series of events (like the butterfly affect) that lead to Damon finally being fully into being part of the group and ending the killing game. Kai and his killer are treated as martyrs. Kai is a victim.

Same thing as above but Damon commits a murder instead. He gets away with it. It doesn't matter anyways. Kai was a victim.

Damon goes: "so how did the victim die?" Kai says: "Like this!" Kai is a victim.

Eloise is training late at night and sees Kai acting odd. A misunderstanding happens where she doesn't know it's Kai specifically. Still, she believes whoever she saw, which just happened to be Kai, was a horrible, irredeemable person. She makes him suffer. Kai is a victim.

Jean kills Kai for his attempt at French. Jean is a bigger victim. Kai is a victim.

A big plot involving handwritten murder notes pops up. Except the handwriting is atrocious (in trial, there's confusion whether it's Damon or Demond. Also Mark vs Ultimate Marksman). Kai ended up getting killed because the killer confused his last name with Grace's. Kai is a victim.

Diana gets Kai because chameleons eat butterflies and she was hungie. Kai is a victim.

Kai does a little hip bonk to get an item out of the machines. The machine falls over and breaks. Mara gets him. Kai is a victim.

Ingrid knocks Kai upside the head with a horny jail hammer. And by that I mean sledgehammer. Kai is a victim.

The casts gets it into their heads that this situation is like V3. They totally consented, this is a television show, and all their fans are routing for them. Cassidy and Kai end up fighting to the death for the sake of their fanbase. Kai is a victim.

Someone pops Kai's pool inner tube. He does not float like a butterfly. Kai is a victim.

Kai makes it to the very end where the garden itself is starting to crumble. They come across a statue of two men. The boulder that the Cain statue was holding falls. Kai is a victim.

Wenona wants to get out and somehow clocks Damon, Ulysses and Kai to be the only people smart enough to rat her out. Theres a sleepover between a lot of people in Ulysses room to try and research about where they are. The room fills with gas that Ulysses can't smell. The gas is denser than air. Kai, who was sleeping on the ground, is found before anyone else can be affected and the attempt at getting him to fresh air gets everyone else out of danger. Kai is a victim.

Jett goes "I like cars" and suddenly a car appears out of nowhere and hits Kai. Kai is a victim.

Kai begs Mark to listen to his super cool music idea. "Trust me it's so cool and you just have to make it but it's a billion dollar idea. I'll pay you in exposure. It'll totally pay for itself-" Kai is a victim.

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush". Two strangulation victims are found. You would think it would be the two women with bird motifs, but only one of them is. Kai is a victim.

It's a simulation. Kai is a bug in the program. Tozu removes him. Kai is a victim.

Kai discovers Mukuro Ikusaba. The sixteenth student, lying hidden somewhere in Eden's Garden. The one they call the Ultimate Despair. He didn't watch out for her. Kai is a victim.

Kai gets really messy in a bathroom with his hair dye. The pink smears make him look like the killer. The class gets it wrong and everyone is a victim. Kai is a victim.

Desmond is dared to hit a target. This triggers a trap which kills Kai. There is a debate over if whoever set the trap is the killer, or if whoever hit the target was the killer. Doesn't matter to Kai what the answer is. Kai is a victim.

Damon is too comfy cozy to get up. There is nothing containing Kai except for Damon sleeping on top of him. Kai starves to death. Kai is a victim.

[ficsinhistory]

Sonic 4 and Amy Rose: How her character can be.

So…Sonic 3 is kinda stuck in my head and spinning like a microwave.

In particular, Amy Rose. I loved her cameo and her possible dynamic in the fourth movie with all characters plus her story made my writer’s ideas go WILD! So, I decided to do a silly little post about it! 

I never played the games, just watched the movies, but I've done my search! 

 So let 's go!

(Spoilers to Sonic Movie 3)

Tagging @annymation @nerdyneko6373

BACKSTORY 

I answered an ask before with some basic thoughts, but repeating here, Amy would have a widely new backstory, motivations, arc and narrative purpose while keeping her core: Unconditional love for all living things and a deeply Empathy. 

From the mid-credits, we could see that Metal Sonic apparently came from the future, so not only we may have time travel but that Sonic 4 probs will be based on Sonic CD, which heavily has time travel and fate in its theme.

In the game, cards told Amy she would meet Sonic and she fell madly in love because…destiny said so. Ok, obviously, the movie will need a stronger reason for her to exist, and her role as a whole.

So, here's my theory:

Amy will be on a mission to protect Sonic to save the future from Metal domination. 

She would be a little girl from the Little Planet, or a place where it came close, raised in an orphanage where she never was adopted. Her home would be destroyed because the Metal Army wants the Time Stones. From who doesn't know, the Time Stones are 7 stones that can fold time itself. A crazy power to fall on bad hands. 

In this scenario, Amy would risk her life trying to save everyone, getting the stones first to use them to stop the Metal Army somehow. However, the time stones would why the Metals exist, because Sonic was defeated, before sending her to Earth (at the same age of Sonic or a little older, it depends)  to protect the gems and Sonic. But there is a small problem: she doesn't know where he is!

So she would grow up running away from Metal Army and the GUN, who find her after their readers went crazy since she didn't travel through rings but by the Time Stones, which would generate a lot of chaos energy. Amy also would have a beef with this organization not only for persecute her but for… you know…destroy the future as is known!

You heard me right, they'd be the ones who made Metal to be a “prevention” against Sonic before they get out of control (if with the help of Robotinik, Stone or not is open) and dominate Earth and universe. 

I also theorize that her being an orphan gave her attachment issues and feelings she will always be left behind, longing for a place to belong at least once since he could never stop running. Growing up with this mission of saving everyone by finding this specific boy and keeping the Stones safe would be the only constant in her “always running away to survive” life.

With those changes in the backstory, Amy Rose would become guardian of the Time Stones and an anomaly in the current timeline. With her latest pursuits settling her in New York (why Sonic ended up there is still a mystery, maybe his powers evolved?).

But not only that! She also would gain powers related to time. What I personally think is perfect for her. Sonic has speed, Tails his brain, Knuckles his strength, Shadow his teleport, Amy Rose, time.

In her case, time manipulation to some extent with chaos energy (and sure, Silver can do this but he already has psychic powers not to mention that there isn't really a reason in how he does it and I don't see any harm in transferring this ability to Amy, or even both of them having it in this universe, since Silver has more psychic powers as a trademark). 

I think abilities related to seeing the future and past, allowing her to think strategically and would be great for her core traits. Imagine when you can know all about a person's story? Or even a second chance, like Ekko’s from Arcane? Whatever could be, I think is amazing giving Amy a proper ability that also could push her empathy, love and determination more.

Also with her being the last refugee for a dominated planet and timeline would give her more complexity and a compelling story. Making her the only chance that things can be different and save everyone would be a responsibility and pressure for. While Amy could do anything to make sure things change, because that is who she is. 

Not only that, changing Amy’s backstory to protect Sonic can give their relationship a deeper foundation. With her, presumably coming to Earth not much younger than Sonic and always seeing him as her hope, is so cool! He would inspire her even before they knew each other. Imagine her powers showing some glimpses of him as Amy grows up with Sonic being the only constant in a life she always has to be running away. 

That would give a cool nood to her debut in the video game but with a blast! Destiny indeed brings her and Sonic together, but now isn't about her. Is about this lifetime mission. Is Sonic’s life on the line. The Wachowski’s life. 

Billions of lives across the universe on her shoulders. A hard mission she assumed because she loves those people and thinks all of them deserve a good life with freedom. That she has to try to get a better future.

She'd try to be a heroine, even if she was too young and this is a hell of a life. Because Amy Rose cares. She empathizes soo much! And always believes things can be different, better. What brings me to…

PERSONALITY AND TRAITS

Listen, I know she evolved a lot but…Amy, to be a movie character has to have a strong characterization. A thing thank God got better, but can get upgrades.

As I said above, with some story before Sonic like Shadow, Knuckles and Tails have, Amy can bring good points to establish her arc and persona.

First, this Amy would be more…traumatized. Sorry, but it is true. Everyone in these movies passed through the horrors, so should Amy. 

The girl'd see her home falling on evil hands and be the only one who escaped, that's alone is terrible. Now, add the responsibility of fixing things, find and protect the only being in the universe that can change things and she doesn't have any idea where is AND being on her own for years in one place after another? The past would do a NUMBER on Amy Rose.

Because see, Amy at her core is a lovable and kind character. And I can see this being the reason that she doesn't give up fighting at the same time she beats herself. Is too much pressure and stress, to think about. And she cares. Because is Amy Rose, and she cares too much. Amy’d be anxious and perfectionist in the movies, with the constant memory of a terrible future looming above her head. She can’t relax, she can’t get attached to anything or anyone.

More than that, if Amy really is an orphan with no family, always left behind, she can start to think that the mission is more important than herself, which would bring? Exactly, sacrificial tendencies. Amy would do all she can to protect Sonic and the rest of the Wachowski, even this put her life constantly on the line. If your mission is to save billions and you don't have anyone to care about you, why would you?

 Not only that but I think, because of her mission, Amy would be very lonely and independent. She doesn't allow rely on anyone, so she does it all by herself, without having others help her for so long. Amy may also not let herself dwell too much on her own sadness, being reserved with her emotions and avoiding talking about her past suffering in silence most of the time, leaving her, as well as her powers, unstable. Maybe working hard to put up a facade.

She also wouldn't be willing to sacrifice her loved ones, maybe prefering to die than to lose someone adopting, like in the games, a mentality of “between the world and you, I chose you” with her new found family. Again, pretty interesting conflit to her, and the whole save the world mission. 

But not only angst makes a character, so Amy would also be kind, gentle, emphatic and forgiving. I can see her loving the Earth and the animals and humans in it, even if it was humans – the GUN who still persecutes her – that shattered her life in the first place and still gets in the way of the mission which is nothing more than cleaning up their mess because she believes that all life is valid.

Amy would want to help, raising the morale of others and feeling very compassionate (imo she also would be amazing giving advice). I also see her being the type that sees someone's needing help and doing that immediately. I can see her being gentle with Tails because he's this cute, smart, little kid or admiring Knuckles’ strength and instincts. Or helpful to Maddie and Tom because she accepts her. Always glad for the good actions of others.

She also would be persistent, feisty, hot-tempered and aggressive.

Fight for the future can wreck someone's nerves and Amy is kinda irrational and violent sometimes in the games and, to be honest, go girl! I mean, she destroyed and beheaded Metal Sonics like they were made of paper. The girl can fight and is pretty good at it! She did it for a long time, I can tell. Amy also would often be in touch with anger, with some moments that would make anyone regret annoying her.  She's temperamental and it would be good to see it. Imagine seeing this little pink, cute, girl  who almost has a heart attack because things don't go the way she planned or because she was bossed around. Amy always has been angry, let her be in the movies too!

Not only that, but this is my “Amy is a powerful chaos energy user” agenda. The girl's hammer was infused with chaos energy to such an extent that it glowed brightly and seemed to obey her commands from a distance (please, let her cuffs be limiter rings 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼). Not to mention her stealth skills as she approached machines made to track without being noticed.

Amy also would be resourceful, clearly living by herself for so long, would make her see different ways. And I don't know if she made her hammer or brought her or built but it's a point. Maybe using her time powers to heal herself?

I think she would also have some difficulty acknowledging her own feelings, due to years of constant travels and persecution. But it would be more like she doesn't know how to behave with her being kind of intense at times. Not only that, I think that because of this she may not understand some feelings that she is not used to, such as acceptance and attachment, not allowing herself to get too attached because thinks she'll have to leave soon.

And of course, a funny sense of humor. I think Amy cracks jokes at the most random moments, but she would also go down the route of witty observations, dry one-liners, and good-natured teasing. And she really has time powers, time travel references. And propensity for chaos and shenanigans cause, c'mon…girl hates GUN (and any authority let's be honest, she does whatever she wants)  AND is a war refugee. Amy doesn't have the goody-two-shoes atitude, no way. If anything, she’s only less impulsive than the main cast in doing crazy shit, planning little to not get caught.

Amy would also have a strong belief in time and destiny. Having grown up on Little Planet with the Time Stones or at least them being prominent in her culture, she might have that mindset. Which would be fun since she's essentially trying to change the fate that was the end of her home and interfering.

My girl also would be a great leader. She would guide everyone on how to deal with the robotic threat that adapts to enemies and copies attacks very well. And also a love for adventures and emotion.

We can't forget her love for girly things. Amy is a girl who loves being one. I imagine she likes what all average girls like: music, books, fashion etc. I dare say that this is one of the most important traits to portray. Amy being more independent and a warrior should in no way erase how feminine she can and likes to be. The character was inspired by the average Japanese girl of the time, it would be a disservice to forget this very important trait. Not to mention that in the context of this story, it could give her comfort. Fighting your whole life is tiring and can destroy someone's spirit. So having these feminine hobbies and tastes could be a way for Amy to maintain her own sanity. To have something beyond the mission to define herself. An escape. And a funny way to put her obsessive traits in work like her being crazy about a saga she knows in a YouTube video's essay level.

And the greatest trait: Unconditional Love. Amy loves all things. It's her trait that has to be brought to the games. To all her interactions. It has to influence her decisions. 

Amy has the type of compassion and kindness that would make this girl hold your hand, say she's on your side and fight with and for you. The do-good-because-you-can type. That inspires the best in others. She canonically remembers Shadow of Maria's compassion in the games. Amy Rose never gives up or left behind those who chose to do good. She gets out of her way to help a random bird in the games, for goodness' sake!

That's what they can't get wrong. If SCU!Sonic already has compassion, Amy has to irradiate it. Have this vibe at the moment you look at her. Is who she is. Love is her central trait. Not that Amy couldn't hate anything, she can. She has the temper to do it and is as any character. But Amy chose hope and mercy by default, not fighting. 

She can be violent and angry as much as any girl is (which is a lot) but at the end of the day, would believe in the one she loves until the end without wavering and that cannot be ruled out. Amy is a loving person. An optimistic.

A girl that believes she can defy destiny by putting heart enough. An average little girl that chooses to put herself in danger in the name of others because of love and compassion.

With that covered…

DYNAMICS!

Oh boy I love this part!

To start, the Wachowski, more specifically, our colorful bunch: only child meet brothers.

That's it, fight me.

 Look me in the eyes, and tell me she didn't give the energy to the girl that made everything by herself finds THE trio ever. Amy would love all of them and the boys would be thrilled with her (one more but I'll get there). Tom and Maddie? In the clouds! Maddie, especially.

First, Knuckles and Amy would be besties. Protectors of a powerful gem? Lost their home? Badass warriors? Sold. They would click in a blink of an eye! Let's recall Amy is pretty strong and a class A fighter. This boy just found his new sparring duo! Not only that, but Knuckles is a protector above everything and if my theory about Amy is true, she can relate more than anyone with the role: my life is devoted to a single purpose, protection. Imagine a scene where Knuckles stands his hand ro a handshake and Amy actually gives it back with a big smile and equal force. 

Tails and Amy? She'd see Tails and would kill everyone in the room than herself if anything happened to him. He's the cutest little boy, c'mom. Tails? You see Amy's hammer? A gorgeous technological weapon? Nah, he's a simple boy. Plus, Amy is really gentle and Tails' main insecurity is people despising him. But if anything, she'd find him endearing, valuing him as a team member. This little kit would see this really cool pink girl who is kind and imprints on her like a baby duck. Is her sibling too now, your honor! She carried this boy on her back like a backpack whenever she could. I need to see them as the duo ever!

Now… Sonic.

Fun fact, I'm not a Sonamy shipper, but I am a writer and man, and I love when a dynamic can be WILD.  

To start: Amy is protecting Sonic. Period.

That girl doesn't find the boy randomly, no, no. She found him. 

And if it is true, it makes me so FERAL! Because in a meta level, would change the Amy's damsel in distress portraying, placing Sonic as the one in need of protection and rescue. Would be amazing! On a narrative level? Epic, because now Sonic, the everyone's hero who always meets their new allies fighting them and after being friends with them, is the one someone fiercely defends against an enemy that can't be reasoned with. He's out of his comfort zone.

Sure, Tails saved him too, but Tails also is a young kid that needs his help. Amy? Don't let the pink fool you, girl is a menace. She destroyed at least a dozen of Metal Sonics alone when Sonic himself barely scratched one. She knows this enemy in the palm of her hand because, remember, this thing can copy abilities AND improve itself! Girl is fighting an AI made to fight and is winning!

Amy isn't a person who needs Sonic…is him that needs her.

Amy Rose has survived all this chaos all this time, she doesn't need a hero for herself. She needs one for the world, for the future. 

Sonic has always fought villains like Ivo, or people who were fierce antagonists but became allies with him by extending a helping hand, like Shadow or Knuckles. Or even allies from the beginning, but who still depended heavily on external resources, like Tails.

Amy? Nah, girl can fight but not against him. On contraire, he is fighting for him. From the start. Total change. And it's so intense and incredible that I'm going to set aside a session just for it.

Amy and Sonic are equals in this version!

And God, this is AMAZING!

Tom Wachowski. The man would like Amy just for the fact that she saved his son. After all the saving him, saving future, and her being friend of Sonic (maybe more, I will cover later)? The man would be supportive as hell! Let's recall Tom is a helpful person as Amy and both would  find a common ground in this. She would respect his leadership as the patriarch and Tom appreciate Amy's effort in defending his family.

But now…Maddie Wachowski. The movie can destroy me so bad here. First, Maddie would be thrilled to have another girl at home. But not only that. Maddie's a nurturing person. She's the emotional support, the doctor, the mother of the house. And Amy would align very much with Maddie's personality. She's this sweet, brave girl who's trying to save everyone and just wants to help all the time. Maybe Maddie feels relieved to have another girl in the house because Amy understands her position: Love through sacrifice as a loving and caring person.

Maddie only is a veterinarian because Tom bust his butt to make her happy. She willingly would move her whole life to SF because now was time to support her husband. Maddie also supported Tom and adopted the boys. This woman helped and was helped, loved and was loved, many times. 

Both Maddie and Amy have this love in their essence. And how hard it can be for those who accept so deeply.

Maddie almost died a lot of times, so do her sons, and her husband who she loves so much too. Amy fights and hides and risks her life for this family. Love isn't easy. Can hurt.

Maddie almost lost her darling husband thanks to her adopted sons, aliens, that she accepted. Amy lost her home to humans that still want to kill her. But both don't give up on loving those others would hate. Because their caring and loving sides are bigger than any hate.

Just…Amy and Maddie man…

GUN. Oh, GUN…Amy would hate this organization's guts so much. They not only would make the things that destroyed her home and hurt billions but also their lack of empathy and complete disdain for others definitely put them as her public enemy number #1. 

Shadow. You hear me right, Shadow, because, fun fact, they're kinda friends from what I could see in the games and he has a great respect for her. Amy literally inspired him to save Earth once and believes that Shadow is a good person, having faith in him to do the right thing. They're like siblings. And I need to see this in the cinema. They could bond through similar despise to GUN :D

Metal Sonic. Your enemy is just like the hero you forseek. I need more info to go deep but thinking in how Amy fights copies of what should be her “savior” is sooo mess up and endearing.

SONIC AND AMY

I told you they would have a separate part!

Like I said, I'm not a Sonamy shipper, I only watched the movies and Sonic Boom sometimes. But man, the grip the version of this duo got me should be studied. 

They are a…controversial topic. Can see why, the foundation of them isn't good and they are kinda a mess. But in the movies? Oh man, how different things can be.

They will come from scratch in the movies which gives them a big advantage. No crazy behaviors or one-sided feelings. Is a fresh start!

As said, probably Amy will look out and protect Sonic for the Metal Army.

Which is great because it's not only an excellent reason to bring and keep the two together but it also avoids any of the obsessive stalking Amy had originally. No, she's looking for Sonic but to save his life and ensure the universe a good future. She's selfless, she takes Sonic as a person into consideration.

Which is good for Sonic too, since he will have an ally who is skilled in combat and who didn't start out wanting to kill him the first time. They will be equals, unlike Sonic who had to save Amy.

Now the dynamic. It's a... complicated topic. I understand why people are afraid it’ll be terrible with the writers apparently going the Sonamy route.

Some people fear that the film will be just that, that Amy will lose her personality in the name of romance or that they just aren't big fans of Sonamy because of how she was done in the games or because they have other preferences, which is valid.

But, at least in this version, I think it can work. And not only can, but be extremely well done and coherent, going beyond simply platonic and romantic.

To begin with, no matter how it develops, I firmly believe that their friendship and bond will be the strongest foundation of these two.

The games didn't start out focusing on Sonic and Amy's friendship, more in the romance-ish. However, the movie would change that. Instead of following the typical relationship story, I think the writers could explore more a route where they show why they are the person for each other.

While yes, because it was said by the directors that the plan involves a "romantic" route; the most important thing established for Amy and Sonic in the movies is to show why they work as a duo, why they get along in the first place rather than just romance and saying that they will be together. Will be about the bond. 

To begin with: Amy and Sonic's versions of the movies are extremely compatible. As a whole, independent of the label.

Movie!Sonic is a brave but extremely traumatized boy. He has some trust issues and what all the people he loves and cares about have in common is that they are all undeniably selfless and good people. Tom protects and helps both people and animals. Maddie is a veterinarian who helps animals. Tailes is his little brother who always helps. Knuckles is his protective older brother. Even Shadow, at the moment he realized that the black hedgehog was just very traumatized and manipulated, Sonic had no problem putting aside any animosity after nearly killing him. Sonic grew up isolated, with his first guardian telling him he would be persecuted for his powers.

If there's one thing he values in people, it's kindness and goodness. 

And these qualities Amy has plenty. 

And I say more, while Sonic would be impressed by the rescue, he would trust and like Amy seeing how kind and concerned she's with people and animals (I mean, in the games, she’d this story about helping a bird). Sonic would admire her for her fighting skills, yes, but above all, he would value Amy for her compassionate and loving personality. Someone who is risking everything just to keep people safe, to keep him and his family safe. 

Not only that, Amy is a deeply sensitive, forgiving and kind soul and that would be one of, if not the most, important points for her and Sonic's dynamic. This boy... has been through a lot. He's lost a mother figure, almost killed people, almost lost his dad and must surely have a lot of guilt. And if there's one type of person who knows how to deal with people with guilt, it's those with kindness and unconditional love. 

Amy, in Sonic's POV, wouldn't be amazing because she knows how to fight or because of the really cool powers she’d have, but because of her ability to show love and kindness unconditionally even after all she has been.

He shows so much compassion throughout the movies, but I think what still really gets Sonic is to receive it. And Amy shows it easily, like breathing. If Sonic at some moment lost faith in himself, that he maybe doesn't deserve his family, if he loses in guilt, Amy will be there with all her trust and love.

Amy, on the other hand, would value Sonic as well. 

She would grow up with this beacon of hope, this person who could put an end to the terrible future. But not only that, I believe that she had him as a role model, perhaps seeing lapses of Sonic's life, and how he always persisted even when alone and afraid. This would inspire her, he would not only be a hero, but like her hero. What she wants to be. Remembering that Amy would enter this mission purely to do good, the girl would be going through this. She didn't want to be a hero, maybe explore and have adventure, but not being in charge of countless lives so young.  But she entered this because it was the only way to fix things, that doesn't mean she doesn't crack under pressure.

Sonic is not just the trigger that can save the world. He is the shattering of expectations. Someone so good and special that he can change an almost certain destiny. For Amy, Sonic would be the reason she doesn't give up, won't let this crazy endeavor go by and accept defeat. He is the fastest creature in the universe who not only breaks the sound barrier, but also writes fates. The simple fact that he lives makes a difference and this would inspire Amy that maybe she can too. 

That a simple girl who threw herself against everything and everyone in a mission that could kill her in the name of change can be a heroine. That she doesn't need to accept bad things passively without fighting, that she can indeed change the timeline.

Sonic would be a reason for Amy. Someone who never gives up, who will try again and again, no matter how many times he falls. Who will keep running until he reaches the finish line.

What I mean is, that there is no shortage of real and profound reasons for these two to enjoy each other's company. Their personalities complement each other. Isn't just superficial reasons, but real, deep things that influence both of them. 

Is a mutual connection they have that is different from anyone. That just exists between them. Is about building.

Development

Everyone talks about reverse Sonamy and I see the vision, but may I add: both are low-key crushing…except they don't see it.

We're talking about a boy who was isolated for ten years before having a family, carrying devastating traumas, and a girl who lost everything, is on the run without creating bonds for years also with devastating traumas.

C'mon, they don't know shit about romance.

And no, it's not that the passion isn't there, because it is... it's just that they don't know.

Starting with Sonic, maybe he'll notice the signs: his heart beating faster, his need to impress Amy, his nerves on edge...but don't connect the dots until someone points them out.

While Amy thinks he's a little weird but definitely endearing and heroic, and finds Sonic's actions silly but cute... and ends up attributing it to devotion and attachment to him in general.

Meanwhile, Maddie and Tom are nearly having a stroke because for the love of God they are so obvious while Tails and Knuckles also didn't get the why.

And while it might be a funny running joke, it also takes the pressure off the romance. They're not self-conscious about it. For them, they’re just new friends…with a weird amount of tension. But friends, noneless. Y'know, not second intentions or anything. Just them thinking their new pal is cool! As should be.

With that said, I buy the idea of Sonic showing his feelings more openly and being the one who goes after Amy more while she is more shy about it. And considering that she has a mission that determines the end or not of the known universe, it makes even more sense.

Although I see moments where Sonic is flirting really cheesy and Amy comes with a super deep declaration full of sincere devotion and drives this poor hedgehog to blue screen.

Something that can also contribute to their dynamics is parallels.

Sonic has parallels with almost everyone: Tails, Knuckles, Shadow. Heavily in Shadow. Good dynamics are born from it. All iconic audiovisual interactions have them. And with Amy and Sonic it would be no different.

One really cute thing about them is, Sonic and Shadow for example thrived on the parallels of similar loss, grief and as opposites, which is amazing narratively, Amy and Sonic are more parallel in qualities and, depending on how the film approaches it, in backstories.

They are both kind and sweet souls who fight for the ones they love until the end and are compassionate. Not only that, Amy and Sonic may be young folks who grew up alone feeling the weight of loneliness hit them hard. And heroes who now have to save the world because no one else can.

They have opposing parallels too, like Sonic being more laid back and impulsive while I see Amy being more strategic and thoughtful, him having to hide while she had to constantly move around, or Sonic finding family while Amy can't have bonds for the greater good. 

Heck, the writers can even pull a Amy and Sonic/ Tom and Maddie parallel if they really want to hit us!

But imo, they'd thrive in the alikeness. In their shared compassion.

In the capacity of changing the other for the better.

Sonic could help Amy relax. She would have a lot of responsibility on her shoulders, without support and always struggling. He would show her what it's like to have support, a family, how to take life more lightly. That she's doing well.

Amy can help Sonic to find peace. That he’s a hero and that although isn't perfect by any means, and yes he makes mistakes, that does not diminish his worth. She gets what he has been and keeps the same hope and trust in him.

And that's the appeal, imo. Not a love at first sign or destiny. But showing how they work, how they don't need to change who each other is but help, and how natural the interaction is. The growing feelings. The simplicity of the whole thing.

The lightness of young love, y’know.

Conflict

Trust me when I say it, the writers can make Sonamy doomed by narrative. Not only that, but it would be their core conflict as a duo.

No, I'm not crazy. 

See, cuteness apart, Sonamy is almost an “anomaly” by default in this universe. With the Metal Domination, Sonic probably should be dead in the future, not possible to meet anyone after that. Amy who came from the future to a time that isn't hers to stop it. She is not from his timeline, and he isn't from hers either. 

Sonic and Amy never should meet each other in any normal circumstances. They have a mission bigger than them. They have a clear reference to Terminator and my pal, it romance doesn't end well.

If my theories are correct, the fourth film is essentially a fight against destiny. The star-cross story writes itself. Amy and Sonic meet and hit it off, but man, none of the odds are in their favor.

And to make matters worse, I'm pretty sure that if love is a theme in the film, the writers will pull to love is to sacrifice. 

Remember the Tom and Maddie/Sonic and Amy parallels I mentioned? Tom and Maddie’s relationship has a strong foundation in sacrifice.

Maddie has said that Tom did everything he could to get her to go to veterinary school while Maddie gave up her life in Green Hills to be with Tom and make his dreams come true. Same with Sonic and Amy, except the stakes for these two are so much higher.

Because these two have a policy of no loved ones hurt equally at least in this universe and I know this will be a point of discussion. Sonic would never agree to someone he cares about sacrificing themselves, while Amy wouldn't accept it either. They're alike.

And I say more, it would be worse for Amy because this is her mission but also her feelings. The goal she dedicated her entire life to vs the people she loves. She won't condemn billions...but she won't be able to send Sonic into a near-death fight. And I'll say more, if she can save both of them at the cost of her own life, I say she would.

She doesn't have a family or a home and after spending time with the Wachowski, she wouldn't accept the risk of the family losing their son and brother. And man Sonic wouldn't take this fact well. 

He wouldn't understand why Amy wouldn't try to fight to change things once more instead of just accepting death, not accepting that this time, there would be no way to talk her way out of this situation. Amy would be right in her point. Lives were at stake and any other decision would lead to losses. 

Sonic would be torn too. It's a very important mission, and he has his family and the universe at stake...but leaving Amy would devastate him just as much. She's cool, she's amazing, and she'd still die for others. How do you deal with that?

Love and sacrifice. And always think about the other person and their well-being, not your own because that would be better. Doing things so that others can have their dreams and aspirations fulfilled. And how to balance what them both want.

They will find a way but God, the drama!

So yeah, Sonamy can be doomed by the narrative.

.

.

.

Well, this ends my talk about Amy Rose. What is right we'll see only in 2027. Until then, let's enjoy what we have. Please, if you wanna say something, do it! I would love to hear it! A big hug! Bye!

[bluemoonscape]

This is in response to both Nad and @apriciticreveries - thank you both for tagging me 🥰 even you nad

I already did one of these with a Star Wars moot but I am certainly not opposed to the magical mythical part 2

Last Song: Misery Business by Paramore, Paramore is for the girls the gays and Blue

Favorite Color: Yellow, specifically a pale shade! It’s a cheerful and peaceful color to me. And it’s been my favorite color since I was about 9 or 10, and I’m loyal to my color ok man it needs love. Close second and third are blue and green.

Last Book: Jane Eyre - it was for a paper and yeah I should really get back into reading for my enjoyment. I enjoyed it well enough, I like reading classics (The Catcher in the Rye and All Quiet on the Western Front have been known to make me weep)

Last Movie: Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, again, nobody look at me just eat your broccoli <3

Last TV Show: The Clone Wars! Rewatching and on season 6 of 7. Currently on the arc where my boy named after the number 5 performs light brain surgery on his friend. It’s a very nostalgic show for me, it comforts me like a warm soup

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: Sweet for sure, specifically fruit flavors and caramel 🤩 savory is a close second, and spicy is third. I have a weak palate and also like 50 different conditions that make me collapse into a puddle of juice if I eat something too spicy. I’m a Victorian child.

Last Thing I Searched Online: Looked up “vivinos youtube” so I could grab the Patreon link for the English translation of Alien Stage’s latest character comic and get a picture of Hyuna from there for my Hyuna playlist cover!

Current Obsessions: main thing right now is the Star Wars prequels and animated tv shows! Also Alien Stage (godddd hyunaaaa) and Yellowjackets.

Looking Forward To: My psychology class in the spring semester and Yellowjackets season 3 in February!

For tags um um um mayhaps @yunoftheclouds @drippinginstarlight @funnypansexualanimorph and I willlll leave it at that number that is definitely 10 because I’m running out of ideas after last time of who I can theoretically acceptably tag but hey if you want to jump in and I didn’t tag you, do so by all means (please save me) and no pressure!!

10 People I'd Like to Know Better

Thanks for the tags @gaiaseyes451 and @beerok23!💜!💜

last song: Gloria by the Lumineers

favourite colour: Red, like a deep luscious red that you know would taste good if you licked it. Don't act innocent, you know exactly what I mean by that. Red is a color that you just know tastes good.

last book: I am currently trying to read the Witcher series (per @lickthecowhappy's suggestion) so I am at the start of the Last Wish

last movie: Moana 2 (I have young kidsssss)

last TV show: My oldest is almost 10 which means she stays up late. Which also means I have so little time to watch adult things. So we've been watching the Office with her. I think I want to watch the Good Place with her next tho (I've never watched it!)

sweet/spicy/savoury: Sweet followed very, very closely by spicy. Habanero maple syrup is one of my favorite things on the planet.

last thing i searched online: How to explain a 10 year career hiatus in a cover letter (looking to return to work since having kids. It's been an interesting experience so far).

current obsession: Have not moved on from Good Omens, but recently realized that my obsession may be more in my own little connected universe of fics that I wrote rather than the actual canon at this point😳. I'm sure once we get that first glimpse of red and white hair that will change very quickly.

looking forward to: Going back to work and having a more established adult life again, honestly. I've been so lucky to be home with my kids while they are young, but I am ready. And figuring out how my newfound passion for writing is going to fit into that new life of mine. Another big year of change over here for me, and I am eagerly looking forward to how the growing pains are going to make way for something beautiful beyond.

ten people i’d like to know better:

@addledmongoose, @di-42, @afrenchwriter, @haemey, @eybefioro, @alwaystuesday, @katspause, @alphacentaurinebula, @shadesofecclescakes, @ochre-sunflower and whoever wants to do it (but also feel free to ignore!)