#been in a creative rut lately

[bastardlybonkers]

i dont actually think hes blond

[pikamusume]

haven't posted art in a while so have this

[torchickentacos]

wip :) getting back into digital art a little bit. The way that the sun was shining on the snow in my yard was pretty and I am *attempting* to draw it!

[mel-hath-no-fury]

Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Fallout (TV 2024), Fallout (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cooper Howard | The Ghoul/Lucy MacLean Additional Tags: post-season one, Spoilers, major season one spoilers, Drama & Romance, Sex Pollen, (sort of), Pheromones, typical Vault-Tec bullshit, Idiots in Love, Pining, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, graphic depictions of yearning, Porn with Feelings Summary:

While pursuing her dad's trail across the Mojave, Lucy and Cooper come across an abandoned hotel connected to a vault that was never used. Hoping to scavenge some much-needed food and water, they venture inside only to find themselves subjects of one of Vault-Tec's experiments--one involving a luxury suite, a locked door, and a steady supply of pheromones meant to encourage...well, you know.

In their search for an escape, the wall between them begins to crack, and they find much more than what they were looking for. After all, with so much tension mounting between them, something's gotta give.

[junkboxcorner]

[WIP] Did y'all think I was done with this series?

[My Carrd | My Ko-Fi | Commissions OPEN]

[druidgroves]

there is a book inside me that wants to be written so badly but unfortunately it burrows ever deeper. or something.

[houseofwolvess]

god. i need to work on costume shit

[professional-crybb]

only took me 80 hours into DA:I but I've started coming up with a backstory for my Lavellan that I really like :)

at the beginning I wasn't going off much besides "dalish elf, warrior, want to romance Solas" lol but my brain is starting to knit together all the decisions made into a cohesive backstory for my Inquisitor.

basically, we've got Janne (pronounced "yahn-a"), a bisexual dalish elf woman. her mother was the clan's First mage, having been sent from another dalish clan that had too many mages. Janne herself was fascinated by magic but didn't have any magical talent manifest early in life, so she became a warrior/hunter. she wasn't the strongest or bravest or best fighter, but she did a lot of hunting and foraging to support the clan and was a talented leatherworker. Janne is compassionate and loyal to her loved ones nearly to a fault, with a deep openness and willingness to learn, though she can be headstrong and unable to let something go once she sets herself on a certain course.

in Janne's late 20s (she's 34 now) she fell deeply in love with her mother's mage apprentice—the clan's Second—another female elf named Maraya. Maraya was ambitious and erudite and in secret she studied ethical applications of blood magic. Janne eventually learned about this, and she tried to remain open-minded about what she was doing but still she worried about Maraya. still, she helped keep her secret from the clan—until Maraya became possessed by a demon, endangering the entire clan. heartbreakingly, Janne was forced to kill her lover, but always deeply regretted the way things turned out, thinking that there must have been some other way that she could have saved her.

when the clan (and especially her mother) later learned that Janne knew about Maraya's studies prior to the possession and had kept it secret from them, she was disgraced. clan elders had suggested exile, and while she did live away from the clan for a little while, eventually they allowed her to return to the clan on the condition that she prove herself to be trustworthy again, which was going to be a long road.

this is what leads her to unofficially attend the meeting at the Conclave as a spy. she sees it as her best opportunity to start making things right with her clan and get valuable information for them. but we all know how things went at the Conclave...

as for her later relationship with Solas, I think her experiences with her mother and with Maraya make her very open-minded to magic, even despite the tragedy that befell her lost love. his quiet intensity and level-headedness catches her attention from the beginning, and he sees her for her curiosity and openness.

[pixies--dust]

I need a new art style I don’t like mine anymore

[ittybittyfanblog]

Only You, Darling (Only You, Babe)

Summary: There were orders for your abduction. You were made to be the bait by a rival gang to get to the elusive head of Onychinus. Sylus doesn’t take it too well. Word Count: 4.8k Tags: mc x sylus, fem!reader x sylus (use of she/her pronouns), depictions of violence (it gets a little graphic), reader gets abducted and injured, strong language, protective!sylus, he’s a little unhinged here, self-indulgent! A/N: I can’t believe this game pulled me out of a three-year creative rut LMAO. I’ve been doing fanarts, now I’m writing again?? The power these pixelated men hold over me, man.  Anyway, enjoy!  This version of Sylus is probably a little OOC idk idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It's close to midnight, and you're being followed.

On your six, a stocky man in an unassuming dark suit has been tailing you since you left the dingy bodega, a little over a mile away from your apartment, for about, three? five minutes—no, maybe even longer.

Shit, you mouth silently. Sloppy. You should’ve noticed him sooner, and the two other lackeys now closing in from up ahead. They’re armed too, if the hands hidden inside their jackets are any indication.

As if things aren't looking bad enough, you’ve decided tonight would be the perfect night to go weaponless, deciding against bringing your handgun with you since it was supposed to just be a quick run to the store for supplies. Namely, the late-night cravings sort of supply.

You clutch the wrinkled paper bag containing your coveted jalapeño Cheetos tightly.

This is what greed does to you, a mocking voice echoes in your head. Since when did your inner voice of reason sound masculine and oh-so-familiar? 

Exhaling quietly, you try to calm the rising beat of your heart and appear to be clueless of your surroundings. Walk at a normal pace. Look unaware of the men with the intention to… What even is this? An ambush? Good, old, regular robbery? No, it doesn’t seem like they're in it for something that insignificant. They wouldn’t even bother to be this cautious if it were. 

But then, what are they here for? The dangers you're more familiar with are of the monstrous kind in the literal sense of the word; entities that you face on a daily basis as a Deepspace hunter. Not the regular threats posed by mankind – which in this particular situation, suddenly feels more foreboding.

While racking your brain for ideas on how to slip away from their sight without escalating the situation, you fail to notice a fourth person hidden behind the dumpster inside the narrow alleyway on your left until you feel the cold, hard edge of a pistol gun hit your temple.  

With a shout, your hand shoots up in an attempt to yank the gun away from the hand holding it but the sudden burst of pain from the impact has left you feeling dizzy and off-kilter. The moment you throw your fists up to block your face, heavy fists strike you directly in a flurry of hits, colliding with your forearm and your unguarded ribs.

You let out a pained grunt as you stagger backwards, trying your hardest to keep yourself from falling back on your ass and ward off the next incoming attack. 

A sinister laugh alerts you of the others, now surrounding you in a circle. Shit!

You hastily shift your legs into a crouching position, bracing yourself as you attempt to sidestep the one in front of you before making a run for it. You spring into action, but before you can even take another step, an arm shoots out and coils tightly around your neck like a noose. A cloth that reeks of something distinct is slapped over your mouth and nose, rendering you unable to do anything but struggle. 

“Now, now— the boss wants her in one piece, John,” The stocky man, who’s apparently larger and more jacked up-close, pipes up. John tightens the limb circling your throat, preventing you from breathing, before slightly loosening his grip. 

 “I’d advise you from struggling too much, sweetheart. But if you insist on making this harder for yourself,” the man talking suddenly grins, revealing rows of crooked, silver teeth. “He ain’t said nothin’ about a couple of bruises.” 

You give him your dirtiest glare, trying to pull away from the death grip the burly man called John had on you, but you feel your muscles slowly becoming heavier and your vision starting to blur. 

Ch-chloroform?

You make a muffled shout, a scurry that earns you a heavy hit on the stomach, one last futile move to free yourself, but the inevitable effect of the potent substance starts to overpower you. 

“After all, we need to make sure that the big bad boss of Onychinus actually comes for his bitch, don’t we?”

Rendered completely useless, the men start to make quick work to restrain your arms and legs in a hogtie before carrying you down the street, to a shaded corner where a large, gray van is parked.

The barn doors open, and you’re tossed in carelessly to the back, landing painfully on the cold, hard floor. An involuntary whimper escapes your lips, feeling like one big bruise; splotches of red and blue start to form like a violent watercolor on your skin. 

The engine revs. Before completely losing consciousness, you think you hear a faint caw.

The car drives off the beaten path, into the night, leaving not a trace of evidence of what transpired mere minutes ago aside from a discarded brown paper bag and a deflated bag of chips. 

-

-

-

From a distance, flying towards the hazy skyline, a mechanical bird crows a bad omen. 

_____

In the dead of the night, the head of Onychinus sits as a spectator; a towering presence at the head of a table inside a private room, obscured in plain sight, in an unremarkable establishment far east of Linkon City. 

Unassuming as it may be, the room’s occupants are men of great renown, both in influence and notoriety. The CEO of a chain business in Azure Square, a regional manager of a well-known bank in Linkon, the head of a weapons trade representing a faction in the N109 zone… All hold significant power, all hold ulterior motives.

A meeting of minds; the type held only in the secrecy of the night, gone in the break of dawn. 

Sylus has half the mind to listen in on the droning exchange of fake pleasantries and plastic smiles as the men deal trades in nature that of weapons and favors. A number of hungry, beady eyes cast him furtive glances, fearful yet devout. Some cautious in the hope of earning his approval. 

“–the package will be en route to the agreed-upon address by the end of the week,” a stout man in spectacles finishes off, clearing his throat. Beads of sweat start to form at the back of his neck as red eyes bore into his, assessing. Deliberating. “O-or if Richard’s able to give me the go-ahead in advance, I’ll make sure it arrives by Friday,” a gulp—then, “sir.” 

All in reverence. 

He hums, his switchblade dancing idly in his hand, deliberately stretching the tension that hangs heavy in the air. He delights in this power to unsettle, savoring the authority that his mere presence commands—a demand for absolute deference. 

“Make it half that time, will you, Raymond?” Sylus responds amicably, not as a question. The man, Raymond, sputters. 

“That won’t be pos–” Sylus tilts his head, eyes shifting into something more dangerous. “Please, I’ll try to cut the time shorter but there won’t be any assurances.” 

The pale-haired man sighs in acquiescence. “I suppose that will have to do.” Raymond lets out an exhale of relief, but catches his breath as Sylus continues, “Any later than Wednesday, and I’ll come to claim it personally.” 

Raymond, more nerves than man, starts to blabber something in response—but stops when something black suddenly appears in a blaze of dark energy, near the shoulder of the intimidating man he’s trying to appeal to. 

Sylus raises a hand, and a large crow lands on his pointer finger. 

He caws, once. Twice. And shows a projection. 

The inhospitably cold room suddenly went glacial. 

All conversation halts to a stop as an overwhelmingly suffocating aura starts to emanate from the man—no, the being at the head of the table, making all that are in the vicinity freeze in fear. 

The devil posing as the leader of Onychinus abruptly stands up, and Raymond thinks, Oh I’m going to die here.

Without a word, the man disappears in a Stygian haze.

_

Five minutes later, only after they felt like death was no longer looming over their heads, did anyone dare to move a muscle.

_____

Your head hurts, and your mouth tastes of rust. 

Having been awake for longer than your captors are aware of – two (?) of which bickering near a barred slate of metal that you assume is the door after taking a quick peek from beneath the mess of hair concealing your face – you try to get your bearings together without arousing the suspicion of your present audience. 

“–bet it’s gonna take a while ‘fore that guy arrives. You think she’s enough to get him to show his face?” 

“Damned if I know. In any case, we got a pretty, li’l plaything on our hands,” a snort. “Make her worth the effort.” 

Where were you? From what it looks like, you’ve been transported into a nondescript underground bunker of sorts, dank with a hint of mildew and rot in the air; a rumbling air vent on your left masking any noise that escaped your mouth when you woke up. The area is poorly lit, save for the flickering bulb hanging precariously above your head as your main source of light – good for casting shadows to hide your bruised face, bad for the pounding headache you’re pretty sure is a concussion. And with your back seemingly close to a wall, you arrive at the conclusion that there are no other entryways, no way to leave, but the guarded door in front of you. 

In short, you have no idea where you are. 

Fuck—this is bad, you swear to yourself internally, trying to control the rising panic swelling up your chest. You never thought your nightcap would lead to this mess. Nobody knows about your current predicament, and it’ll take more than a day before your absence raises any alarms, so right now, you’re on your own. 

Think, think! What can you do?

What can you do? You have nothing on you, nothing you can use as a makeshift weapon to defend yourself with, and your hands are tightly bound behind your back by a thick, heavily twined rope with no give. The situation is slowly turning bleaker by the second, and it isn’t even your fault that you’re here in the first place! You were made a pawn, a mere bait in this messed-up dick-measuring contest between a crazy, sadistic, self-proclaimed head honcho and Onychinus’s own crazy, sadistic—

Wait a minute. Sylus. 

You send a strong prayer to anyone above that’s listening, and an angry telepathic shout for good measure to the one who’s unaware of his involvement – but nonetheless the source of your ruined night – in this attempt at kidnapping a perfectly law-abiding citizen of Linkon.

Sylus, as much as I hate your unfortunate tendency to stalk me through means that, honestly? Eludes the hell out of me, I really, REALLY hope that you’ve been keeping tabs toni–

“Hey, boss! I think this one’s awake!”

Fuck. No use pretending anymore. 

You hear heavy footsteps from outside the room before the corroded metal door swings open to reveal a large man, easily standing above six feet, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and an unsettling smile. His arms are covered in tattoos– overlapping, almost undecipherable. A gnarly scar runs from the side of his mouth to just above his brow bone; his right eye a cloudy gray, most likely a morbid souvenir from the sustained injury.

His functional eye zeroes in on your pitiful form, and his smile widens into a hostile grin. 

“Well, well. It seems like our esteemed guest is finally ready to join in the fun,” His voice sounds like gravel, with a mocking intonation. “I hope my men weren't too rough with you on the way here.” 

You let out a breath through your teeth, blinking a few times to try and rid the blurring in your vision. You have to bide your time– “Why am I here? What do you want from me?” 

The man cocks his head to the side, smile still in place. “I assume you already know. But I’ll indulge you your little questions, why not?”

He crosses the space separating the two of you with just a few, languid steps before he’s in front of you. He leans forward, brushing the messy locks of hair – dried with blood – away from your face in a deceptively calm manner. “The devil needs to pay his dues, but it’s been rather difficult to get a hold of him, you see,” he sighs in exaggerated disappointment. ”I intend to collect, so I waited patiently for the right moment, for an opening. For an opportunity. 

And here, the opportunity presents herself.” 

You sneer, moving your head back to let your hair fall from his creepy hold. “I’ve no clue what you’re talking about, mister, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong idea.”

He barks out a laugh before gripping your chin tightly between his fingers. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you. Maybe we can find a better use for it.” 

You feel it before you hear it. 

“Perhaps not.” 

Something vicious saturates the air, something intense and terrifying and wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and some sort of primordial response deep within your brain is telling you to get away from it.

But then, the paralyzing fear melts away to something akin to hope when you realize the source of this new disturbance.

Relief washes over you when familiar ink-and-red tendrils materialize behind the man in front of you. The dark wisps dissipate like smoke as soon as it comes and in place, your savior – sporting an expression that could only be described as downright murderous – stands before you, all six feet of unadulterated rage.

Several things happened so fast, it was almost simultaneous.

A cacophony of shouts came loudest from the two men who had been on guard duty but screams also echoed from outside the room. You saw flashes of red, twin laughter, and blood spurting from the necks of the now headless guards, and then a symphony of bullets and a lot of things breaking rang across the room. 

Suddenly— 

Deafening silence. As if something has put an abrupt stop to the noise. 

Amidst all the chaos, the scarred man in front of you had no time to make a move before savage whips of crackling energy engulfed him, leaving only his head free from the smothering darkness. 

His expression betrays something wild and manic as he tries twisting around to look at the figure behind him. “You—”

Sylus pays no mind to the breathing, dead fool—lower than dirt on his feet, with the nerve to harm what is most precious to him—as he keeps his gaze solely on you; his eyes darting up and down as if taking inventory of all the bruises and scrapes you sustained from the abduction. 

You meet his eyes. “You came.” 

An indecipherable look passes his face, gone as quickly as it came. “A little too late. I apologize.” 

You weakly huff out a chuckle, wanting to shake your head but decide against it lest it aggravates your concussion. A prickling sensation, then the rope around your wrists falls off with a quiet thud. 

“Luke. Kieran.” 

“Everything’s all accounted for, boss,” Kieran announces, suddenly appearing beside your right, along with Luke who’s on your left. Both look no worse for wear.

 The latter gives you a sympathetic look. “Oh, man. They got you good, little crow.” 

“Caught me off-guard, s’all,” you insist half-heartedly. 

A sigh. “Transport her directly back to base. Attend to her critical injuries once you arrive, and keep her awake. I’ll handle the rest once I get back,” Sylus instructs the twins in a tone that brooks no argument.

They nod in sync and start making a move to carry you out, but you protest.

“Wait, you’re staying behind?” For some reason, the thought of being separated from him, even for a short amount of time, makes you feel ill. Well, worse than your current state, at least. 

Sanguine eyes soften when he hears the tremble in your voice. The offending man in front of you, reduced into something less threatening than a cowering dog in comparison to your rescuer, is forcibly pushed aside to make room for Sylus as he steps closer. 

He crouches low so that you’re looking down on him instead of up. One large hand covers both of yours, mindfully avoiding the fresh rope burns on your wrists, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the unmarred part of your skin. 

“This will be quick, sweetie. I’ll be back by your side before you know it,” he exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “I swear to you.”

You swallow, but nodded reluctantly. “Come home soon.” 

“I will.”

With that, you let yourself be carried out of the claustrophobic space you were confined to, into a larger room littered with unmoving bodies that you're frankly too tired to care about at the moment, up three (rickety) flights of stairs where you exit into what looks like the inside of an empty shipping container, before finally, finally getting out. 

A gust of salty wind hits you and you ask, “Are we near the docks?” 

“Yeah,” Kieran answers, carefully putting you down on the backseat of Sylus’ car. “Mephisto trailed after the van they stuffed you in before reporting back to the boss. We followed soon after.” 

Luke frowns as he inserts the key in the ignition. “We weren’t aware that they had eyes on you for a while now. An oversight on our part, won’t happen again,” he assures you. “Gotta give them props for that, at least.” 

Kieran, now getting in the passenger side of the vehicle, shoots him a look. 

“Anyway, we’re glad we got to you before they did anything… worse,” Kieran continues, then winces in a show of mock sympathy. “Can’t say the same to that fucker back inside. Haven’t felt Sylus’ bloodlust this strong in a long while.” 

You try to focus on their words, but you feel yourself nodding off as the remaining adrenaline slowly leaves your body. You know you should feel more worried about what the two were insinuating, but your mouth still tastes like you swallowed a bunch of coins and you just want a soft bed to sleep in for an entire day. Or three. 

“Oi, no sleeping. Doctor’s orders,” A snapping finger in front of your face forces you awake. 

You blink your tired eyes open in an attempt to stay lucid, the pulsing pain in your head becoming more prominent as soon as the threat of danger has passed. 

“This is gonna be a long night,” you sigh, wishing that Sylus will keep his word and be quick about… whatever he’s planning to do with your abductor. 

–––––

There hasn’t been much left of the man who proclaims to be the new head of an arms syndicate Sylus had dealt with in the past. He recalls the history of his relationship with the cartel being less than cordial, but nothing that would warrant his ire. Except for tonight.

He usually doesn’t leave a trace when doling out punishments; no, not anymore. Not in recent years. He prefers to be efficient about his killings, dissipating any evidence in thin air after reducing them into fine paste, rather than make a big show out of it. Quick and precise.

Except today… Someone had the arrogance, the absolute audacity to steal directly from the dragon’s nest.

The contents of which have always been kept in strict confidentiality. What is known, only chosen individuals bound to secrecy are privy to, and a lot of people would kill for. 

But unbeknownst to anyone else but its owner, only one thing in this hoard of secrets truly matters to the dragon. One solitary treasure alone he would burn planets for—and someone has tried to steal it.

Harm. the treasure. To get to him. 

It seems as if the new bloods needed a reminder of who, exactly, they’re stealing from. 

One who dwells deep within the underbelly of the cities both monster and men inhabit, that even the most heinous of sinners seeking solace in the dark, are afraid of. 

And what retribution tastes like to those who are foolish enough to bite more than what they can chew.

The poor soul unfortunate enough to be the first one to discover the carnage will witness that what was left of the man that had wronged the Onychinus kingpin is now stuck on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling of a basement where the treasure was held captive. They will find that the man’s innards are deliberately hung in a haphazard fashion, in all corners of the room like bloody, sinewy tinsel. 

And the centerpiece of this bloodbath is none other than the man’s decapitated head, forcibly attached to the hanging light in the middle of the room. A bulb crudely drilled past his cranium, while blood dripped down the floor in slow, ominous rivulets. 

They will understand in dawning horror that the one responsible for this... gross butchery, has left the head swinging. That the man’s mouth will forever remain agape in an eternal scream to immortalize the exact moment he realizes the gravity of his sin.   

Yes, Sylus is more than glad to remind them. 

_____

You arrive a quarter past four AM. 

Barely taking a step past the foyer, the twins immediately whisk you inside to perform an ‘emergency patch-up.’ Luke’s words, not yours.

“We’re your personal CNA while waiting for the head nurse to take over,” he explains cheerfully, wrapping another layer of gauze around your wrist. You hiss when Kieran dabs a cotton ball on the gash on your temple, peroxide fizzing as it comes in contact with the dried-up blood. Muttering out a “sorry!” Kieran does quick work in cleaning the injury and covering the affected area.

In no time at all, all visible wounds are bandaged and disinfected. The worst of your head wound had to be stitched up, but other than that, nothing seems to require immediate medical attention. There’s nothing left for you to do but to bear the aches that came along with the bruises – especially on your tender midriff – and to pop a tylenol for your throbbing headache.

You offer them a sincere, “Thanks. No, really.” before they leave you in Sylus’ room, after multiple reminders to “not sleep before the attending nurse arrives for the final diagnosis.” 

(You think they might have enjoyed playing caretaker a little too much.) 

With a lot more effort than you care to admit, you painstakingly remove your bloodstained clothes until you're down to your underwear, before draping yourself in a large, red, silk robe. A hot shower sounds heavenly to your sore muscles, but the soft mattress is calling to you more so you head straight to bed. 

With nothing else to occupy yourself with, you prop your head on a mountain of pillows – to keep yourself relatively upright – and let out a sigh. 

Tonight had been a shitshow. All you wanted was something to snack on while you binge through the last season of the show you were watching back at your apartment; you never thought a late-night run to the store just a few blocks away would result in… this. If not for Sylus’ intervention, you’re sure you'd be leaving with a lot more than a couple of scrapes. If not worse.

You're lost in your own thoughts when short, successive raps on the door catch your attention. It swings open before you have the chance to pipe out a, “come in!”

Speak of the devil.

Sylus enters the room, not a hair out of place. You notice that he’s changed into a casual, brown sweater and a pair of dark-washed jeans. His eyes meet yours, tightly-controlled expression relaxing as he crosses the room towards the side of your bed, wasting no time. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Still pretty sore, but Luke and Kieran already handled the worst of my injuries,” you answer, making a move to sit up. Sylus tuts disapprovingly, gentle as he puts a hand on your chest to prevent you from moving any further. He sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle you. Once fully settled, he let out a deep sigh.

“You had me worried for a moment there, kitten.” He admits, a slightly rough edge to his voice as emotion seeps into it. He regards you intently, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re here, safe. 

Your hand reaches out towards his face. Without missing a beat, he leans in to nuzzle your palm, eyes closing shut. He reminds you of a big wolf, unbridled fire simmering beneath the surface, yet tame in the presence of his handler. 

“I’m fine now, thanks to you,” you assure him with a lopsided smile. “Give my thanks to Mephisto, as well. Tell him he gets a pass on the stalking this time.” 

Sylus opens his eyes, a hint of amusement and something else you can’t identify flickering through. “Oh, sweetie. You’ll be lucky if that bird gives you the privacy to bathe alone after tonight,” he jokes. 

He’s joking. Right?

You eye him for a moment before deciding to let it go. You're too tired to argue.

Instead, you cautiously ask a question you aren’t sure you even want the answer to. “What happened after we left?” 

Sylus expression doesn’t change except for the upward tick on the corner of his mouth; the same peculiar glint in his eyes coming across a little stronger. “They won’t be bothering you anymore. You don’t need to worry about anyone coming for you.”

“That’s not what I asked.” 

He hums. “Do you really want to know?”

You stare at him, and he stares back at you placidly. 

You purse your lips and look away. “Maybe not.” 

Sylus breathes out a laugh. He gently grasps your chin between his forefinger and thumb, guiding your head to meet his gaze once more. A softer look on his face, inching closer to yours.

Your heartbeat slightly picks up. In your vulnerable state, you feel a welling desire to bare your feelings to the man in front of you. You want to tell him how relieved you felt when you saw him in that cursed basement, how he was able to quell your fears with just his presence alone the moment he appeared in a familiar haze of black and red. Like your own, personal, vindictive guardian. 

Instead, you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his. 

Sylus groans quietly, a hand cupping your face as he leans closer to deepen the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of contentment from being this close to him. You feel, more than you see, how his taut body loses the remaining tension from the events that transpired just mere hours ago, how he finally relaxes as he loses himself in you.

Very carefully, he eases you further down, cradling your head with one hand until it rests on a pillow. His lips drift to the corner of your mouth, trailing soft kisses up to the apples of your cheeks, your forehead, then to your nose. 

He pulls back slightly, chuckling when you make a sound of discontent. When you open your eyes, you see him looking at you—half-lidded and tender. 

In a low voice, he instructs, “Rest. You need it.”

The feeling of exhaustion pulls you in, but before you surrender to it, you remind Sylus, “I’m not that fragile, you know. You don’t have to worry too much.” You poke his cheek and he catches the offending digit to bite it affectionately. “I’ll be up and running in no time.”

He doesn't speak for a minute, considering your words. His mouth sets into a thin line before letting out a sigh.

“And if you get hurt again? What then?" He whispers so quietly, seeming as if he's talking to himself.

"I'll get hurt again, that's for sure," You tell him, matter-of-factly. "But really, that’s just an occupational hazard. I’m sure you realize."

“Love — what a terrible, little thing,” he muses, half-forlornly, half in jest. "I’d rip this cold heart out and throw it in flames if I could.”

While speaking, his hand finds its way into the tangles of your hair, gently running his fingers through the strands in a lulling manner. His lips landing on the crown of your head softly. Reverently.

You hum sleepily.

“Of course you would, Sy.”

_____

“You’ll be glad to know that the artifact you had your eye on back at the auction will be arriving this Wednesday.” 

“Huh? But I thought it was already sold to someone else?”

Sylus shrugs. “I made a counteroffer.” 

“You didn’t have to. I told you it was fine.” 

“I know. But I also recall a certain someone telling me how much they wished they had placed a bid on it on our way back,” he pinches your cheek fondly. “Don’t worry about it, kitten. It’s yours.”

“Oh. Well– thank you,” you yawn in response, leaning your head to rest against his palm.

His thumb strokes your cheek. “Anything for you.”

[deardiarywrites]

⋆˙⟡ — get up girl ! how to get out of a rut

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 ˆ𐃷ˆ

have you been feeling pretty sluggish lately? life seems to be moving so fast, that you can't even keep up? you want to do things but just seem to not have the energy to do so? do you feel like you are stuck in a loop? the same days play out over and over, wake up, school, come home, crash in bed, scroll for hours, and then feel guilty for being so unproductive while your pile of work keeps increasing. sometimes it feels like life is just not playing out in the way you want anymore. it feels like you have lost control. you're spiralling, falling face first. everything feels so hopeless but then- you, yes you, decide to get your life together. for how long are you going to live like this? and that is how the metamorphosis started. 𖦹ࡇ𖦹 step one : accepting where you are right now yes, you heard that right. pause for a second. take a deep breath. look around you. the state of your bed. your books. your skincare products. your yoga mat. your screentime. your to-do list. tune into your body and just accept your current lifestyle. ⋆ if this makes you feel sad, don't worry you can change! ⋆ if you feel motivated to get better, great! this is how you can save a wasted day : 𝜗𝜚 take a nice long shower, wash your hair, do your skincare and a facemask. put on your fav cute outfit, state one thing you love about yourself and compliment yourself on it. then if you feel like you want to, complete one task from your to-do list. or if you feel like you aren't ready yet, complete atleast 1% of something. choose your outfit for tmrw. or read one page of a book. meditate for 5 minutes. switch off your phone for 15 minutes. just do anything which makes you feel alive. and then rest. the sun will rise again.

(˶ˆᗜˆ˵) step two : coming up with a game plan now that you are aware of your current lifestyle, make a list of all the things that you do/experience which drains your energy and those things which make you feel happy. for eg - energery drainers : doomscrolling, comparing myself to others energy replenishers : going for a walk, dancing to fav music now after you have created that list, choose one habit from each category. it is advisable to start slow as it prevents burnout + making yourself feel overwhelmed. starting with easy habits will help you trust yourself more and thus will make this journey a lot more fun. remember you don't need to get better overnight. this is a journey! now an example of a gameplan for your first week could be like this : habit : doomscrolling (habit to quit) replace with : dancing to fav music wake up 30 mins earlier and go to bed 30 mins earlier (habit to cultivate) slowly you can add more and more habits that you wish to nurture and delete those nasty habits which deplete your energy !!!! okay so now that you have a gameplan, how do you stay motivated? ✩࿐࿔ step three : how to make life feel more vibrant by romanticizing everything romanticizing life is one way to totally switch up the narrative as it helps you feel like the main character. id really suggest to have atleast some sort of platform where you can store your progress. you could take cute pictures and add cute songs and post them on instagram or blog abt it on tumblr. or if you are a shy person, you could create a private acc with 0 followers and track your progress there. every problem has a solution babygirl! so don't give in to your excuses. you could also make a new playlist and listen to songs which make you feel like your highest self. listen to it when you feel down. tap into your creative side. create things and share it with the world. you will feel 10x times better i promise. ‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍀 ໒꒱ step four : believe in yourself sometimes.. life is just difficult. and you have no energy to do anything. so let yourself be. rest. crash out. cry. but promise me that you will always get back on your feet, no matter what. its okay to pause and step back. you can always start again. life can always change for you. but its up to you. nothing changes if nothing changes. so, what now?

[evie-sturns]

stubborn - Matt Sturniolo

summary: you and matt get into an argument, which he just keeps dragging despite your best efforts to stop the fight. you find a creative way to get him to apologise..

contains: a petty argument, bratty!matt, sub!matt, teasing, dry humping.

--------------------------------------------------------------

9:34pm

you and matt had been going at eachother for the past 10 minutes, it all started when you accidentally bumped into him while he was unpacking the dishwasher, causing him to hit his leg on the small dishwasher door.

"matt- literally why do you not fucking understand that accidents happen, its not like i body rocked you or some shit." i scoff, matt was just finding any excuse to argue with me.

"but it hurt! and it wouldn't of even happened if you were the one unpacking the dishes, makes me think 'bout how i do everything around this house." matt barks back, his voice raising in volume,

i take a step back, rubbing my face,

"we know thats not true, so dont claim some stupid shit like that." i mumble

"it is! all you do is lay on your ass and do nothing." matt says, his voice still loud.

"stop yelling, youre being ridiculous." i start, "im about to make dinner, and then clean our room, so i think that says something." i say.

"for once." he says with a snarky tone.

i feel my face heating up with pure frustration, "you know your being flat-out unfair, so stop it."

"im just saying the truth, and it hurts cause you know im right!" matt yells in my face,

"can you just go for a walk or to your room or something? im done with this and i want to make dinner."

"im not even hungry." matt mutters,

"okay? i need to make dinner anyway? so just go to your room please." i speak back, shaking my head slightly with disbelief about how stupid this argument was.

"youre such a bitch, always telling me what to do like youre my mom or somethin'." matt groans, running his long fingers over his flushed face.

"what the hell is your problem matt? seriously calm down!" i take a step back.

"my problem? my problem is that i cant even have a fight with my girlfriend without instantly being told what to do." matt says, getting more and more frustrated as he spoke.

"you're not even trying to stop this though? you want to keep arguing." i say softly, trying to deescalate the situation.

matt looks at me, his arms crossed over his chest, "maybe i want to argue,"

"i'm not fighting with you anymore, so you can try but its not gonna happen." i speak

matt groans in frustration, he was starting to deflate. "oh so you're done now? just finished?" he questioned.

oh my god, this kid just wouldn't let it go.

i grab matts wrist, tugging him down the hall.

"what are you doing this time." matt scoffs, resisting against my grip.

i pull him into our bedroom, slamming the door behind me as i shove matt backwards.

he stumbles backwards onto the bed, his eyes widening slightly as he stares up at me.

i crawl onto the mattress, my weight making the mattress dip slightly. i move closer to him, sitting right ontop of his lap.

"what- what are you doing?" he repeats, his voice slightly softer as he looks up at me through half lidded eyes.

"you don't want this?" i whisper, putting my weight fully down on his lap.

his cheeks flush a dark red, his adams apple bobbing up and down as he looks everywhere but my eyes.

"no- i- yes- i just mean that- i want this- yeah.." he rambles, his slender fingers.

"yeah, thought so." i speak softly, rutting my hips against his clothed crotch.

his eyes dart around the room,

"look at me," i say, grabbing his chin which is grazed with stubble.

his eyes meet mine, he looks so pathetic.

i gently press myself against him, dragging my fingers across his face gently.

by the second he's getting redder and redder,

"y/n.." matt mutters, his jaw clenching slightly.

"shhh.." i shush him, still straddling his lap.

"get off." he groans,

"why? because you don't want me to feel how hard you are right now? we both know its too late for that." i whisper

matts eyes widen,

"this isn't fair-" he starts,

"its not fair that you've been mean to me all day." i snap back,

"mmm- but you're being mean to me now!" he whines,

"tell me what you want then." i speak,

matt's cock throbs against the thick fabric of his jeans, increasingly becoming more uncomfortable.

"want you to touch me." he whispers, his hands reaching up and toying with the fabric of my shirt.

"say sorry first,"

matt groans, "but-"

"say you're sorry."

"sorry." matt whispers.

"look at me, and tell me you're sorry for being a dick." i tell him,

he rolls his eyes slightly before anwsering, "i'm sorry for being a dick.." he says, clearly humiliated as a small, damp, dark spot appears on his jeans.

"and say that youre the most annoying person to ever grace the earth!" i giggle,

"okay- pushing it now." he mutters,

---

wow i finished this thanks for the patience HAHAHA

taglist 1: @jayz4dayz4 4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover r @nathando-64 esgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 9 9 @sturnthepot t t @zayyluvz z z @realuvrrr r r r @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs s @riowritesitall l l @raysmayhem-72 @sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour r @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnn n @sturnioloxlver r @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya a @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney y y @lovingchrissposts @333michelle e @h3arts4harry y @jamiesturniolo o @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees enxtrees @certifiednatelover r r @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast t t t t @yomamaslays4lyfe e @peachmelbaesunpostre @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 9 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc c c @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise e @sturni0l0tripletzz z 0 @ratatioulle  @sturnsforlife @mattsonly @justalittle47 7 @sunsetsturniolos s @downbad4reid  

[the-ria]

I've been in a bit of a creative rut lately and one of the things that always helps me to get out of it, is studying and trying to imitate different art styles! I still haven't watched the new show that came out recently, but I HAVE seen the screencaps and fan art of it and they are just �� *chef's kiss*. The old school anime look and the overall creative direction are so cool

[doeidawn]

18+ MDNI — sort of a pt. 2 to my soapgaz x f!reader post

god help you when gaz comes up to you telling you he has an idea. soap's been so needy lately, he tell you, we should give him some attention, yeah?

well, you weren’t gonna turn that down. but kyle was nothing if not…creative, to say the least. there was no way of knowing what idea he could’ve come up with.

cut to johnny sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands tied behind his back (because kyle insisted on it, of course). you were directed to kneel in front of him, between his legs. you’re quick to realize that gaz was right—soap was needy; the poor guy was so desperate he was practically leaking while he begged you “please, lass, jus’ touch me.”

you felt so bad for him you would’ve done it. but kyle tells him to wait while he sits himself behind you, snuggling up close until his front is flush against your back. his hard cock presses against your backside, nuzzled against your curves and leaving a sticky mess of precum on your skin.

after a healthy smear of lube on your chest (a sight that he draws out a little too long just to make soap suffer a bit longer), gaz would guide you forward. he’s pressed so close, so tight against you while his hands grope your chest. kissing and nipping at your neck while he cups your tits around soap’s cock.

the sound johnny makes when your soft tits hug his aching dick nearly makes you moan. his head thrown back, cock twitching and leaking precum that mixes with the lube. he can barely buck his hips enough to properly fuck your tits, too overwhelmed already to slide his thick cock between the soft mounds.

“y’too shy, mate? you couldn’t stop talkin’ about her tits earlier.” you’d almost feel bad about the way gaz teases him…if the choked sounds johnny made in reply weren’t so hot. he can barely catch his breath, let alone talk. “c'mon, MacTavish. if you paint her tits, i'll let you watch me fuck her."

that seems to be enough encouragement. johnny tries his best to rut his cock against your chest, straining in those bindings that you know gaz made tight on purpose. he's babbling nonsensically, telling you how good you feel and how much he loves your tits, and please make me cum, make me cum on your tits, please bonnie, i need it so bad. and, god, do you want to, but kyle would rather keep you still so he can grind his own aching cock against your backside.

"you just sit there n' look pretty, love." he coos in your ear. "i'll give you want you need after he's spent."

[fawnme1]

THE SOFTEST THING — WILLNE

CHAPTER ONE

next part

an; sorry for the lack of posts, the past week has been hectic for me

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

It was a late afternoon and the three of you were exactly where you always seemed to end up — Joe’s place, half-empty takeaway containers scattered across the coffee table, music playing low in the background. The mood was lazy, familiar. Alfie was half-sprawled on the floor, flipping through his phone, while Joe leaned back against the couch, tossing grapes into the air and missing most of them.

You were curled up on the armchair with a blanket, sipping tea like it was the most important thing in the world. Saturdays were sacred, especially when none of you had plans. It was the one time you all just… existed.

“Right, serious question,” Joe said, suddenly sitting up like something vital had just occured to him. “How long’s it been now?”

You looked up, confused. “How long has what been?”

“You know,” he said, gesturing at you like it was obvious. “Since you went on a date?”

Alfie perked up immediately. “Ohh, we bringing that up again?”

You groaned and dropped your head back with a dramatic sigh. “Why is this a topic every time we hang out?”

“Because,” Alfie said, now grinning like an idiot, “it’s weird. Like, you’re actually undateable at this point. You might be cursed.”

“Cheers,” you said dryly.

Joe laughed. “Nah, but seriously. Five years? That’s some kind of record. Guinness should be calling you any minute.”

“I’ve been busy,” you shot back, tugging the blanket over your head to avoid the looks. “You know, pursuing my actual career.”

“And avoiding emotional vulnerability,” Alfie added.

“Okay, therapist,” you muttered from beneath the blanket.

Joe tossed a grape at you. “Admit it — you like being single. You’ve got full control of the aux, no one stealing your hoodies, and zero obligation to share fries. You’re living the dream.”

You peeked out, raising an eyebrow. “Exactly. So why mess with perfection?”

That got a laugh out of both of them, but you could feel the looks they shared. That subtle, slightly pitying kind of glance friends give when they think they know something you won’t admit. But they didn’t get it — not fully.

You weren’t afraid of dating. You just hadn’t wanted to. Not for a while. Not since things fell apart last time and left you questioning everything.

Later that night, you found yourself sitting in Joe’s home studio, headphones half-on, tweaking the levels on a new demo. The chorus still needed work, but the melody had potentil. You’d been in a bit of a creative rut lately, but something about today had shifted things.

Joe wandered in with a drink in hand, leaning in the doorway. “That the new one you were talking about?”

You nodded without looking up. “Yeah. Might actually finish this one.”

He came over, listening for a few seconds before nodding in approval. “It’s got something. You should record it properly.”

“That’s the plan,” you said, cracking your knuckles. “Might even drop it next month.”

Joe smirked. “Now all we need is a moody music video and a dramatic love interest.”

You shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying. Your fans are gonna start thinking you’re heartless if you keep putting out breakup songs without any actual breakups.”

“They’re not all about relationships,” you argued. “Some are about growth, healing—”

“Translation: you’re projecting your fear of dating onto your music,” Alfie said, walking in with a mouthful of crisps.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked.

“Long enough,” he replied with a grin. “You should write a song called Still Not Interested.”

You sighed, but it was all fondness under the sarcasm. This was how it always was — relentless teasing, zero personal space, and somehow still the most supportive friendship you’d ever had. Joe and Alfie had been there through everything, from your worst gigs to your biggest milestones. They never let you forget who you were, even when you did.

It wasn’t just your friends who were starting to notice your painfully long dry spell. Interviews, social media. Fans loved a love story, especially when it came from a singer. You’d become good at dodging questions.

“Focusing on the music right now.”

“Not rushing anything.”

“Just vibing, honestly.”

And it was true… mostly.

But every time you saw Alfie smirking across the table or Joe raising an eyebrow when someone new walked into a room, it chipped away at your composure just a little more.

“You know you can just download an app,” Alfie said one afternoon as the three of you walked through central London. “Like a normal person.”

“Or I could not,” you replied flatly. “You want me to go on a date with a guy whose profile pic is him holding a fish?”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Joe added. “You might meet someone who changes your life.”

You gave him a look. “What is this, Love Actually?”

Joe laughed and threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a side-hug. “Nah, but seriously. One day someone’s gonna come along and make you forget you ever went five years without a date.”

You smiled, letting yourself lean into him for a second. “One day.”

But not today.

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Struggling Yandere Musician finding His Muse

He’s a musician, through and through, taking inspiration from everything. His past life experiences, past lovers, art, other music, nature, you name it. And he’s a good musician too, maybe not the best at piano but certainly a god on the acoustic guitar.

For some reason, he’s been having trouble making music as of late. Nothing comes to mind and he feels screaming into the void every time he picks up a pencil and paper. No lyrics come about, no melodies, nothing.

He falls into frustration and self loathing. Why can’t he come up with anything? Why won’t the notes come to him anymore?

It all changes when he meets you.

You attend one of your local cafe’s open mic nights where you hear him perform for the first time. He’s playing a  usual, perhaps even lackluster routine, and as much as he wants to enjoy it, he can’t. He finishes without a flourish, and is welcomed by claps from listeners. 

Being as forward as you are, you cheer the loudest, which catches his eye. He’s surprised by your enthusiasm, it’s much welcomed after going through a rut of self doubt and no creativity. The two of you shake hands after his performance and he gives you an autograph, as thanks for the pick-me-up. 

A little routine builds between the two of you. He performs, you listen. After every open mic night, the two of you chat with drink in hand, savoring one another’s company. 

It’s safe to say that you’ve been hooked ever since. You listen to his music on your favorite streaming service, and attend every open mic night you can now. 

What you don’t realize is he’s been hooked too. On you, that is. 

You’ve become his muse without you even realizing it. Have you noticed his songs have become sappier? More romantic? That’s all because of you. 

He can finally play with a refreshing state of mind. The thought of you has him wanting to sing his heart out, play for hours on end just to see your smile. 

When you happen to bring a male friend along to the next open mic night, he feels crushed. How could you do this to him? Didn’t you realize you two had something special? What was he supposed to do? How could he change your mind?

His performance is angry, passionate. It doesn’t ruin his music, rather it fuels his creativity and he probably would consider this the best performance he’s ever given. 

In his head, he thinks he’s losing you, his only source of inspiration and light in his bleak, creative-less world. He has to do something.

When it’s over, he catches you at an opportune time, your friend having gone to the bathroom. 

He asks that the two of you talk outside, and naively you say yes. 

Before you know it, your body is pressed flush against him and a wall, in the back of the cafe. 

“You’re not going anywhere, my muse.”