#genuinely makes me want to curl up into a ball and DIE

[bikananjarrus]

thinking about the remaining members of the ghost crew after the liberation of lothal. they've freed lothal, which is like a second home to them, but the victory is bittersweet. because kanan is still gone. ezra is still gone. and they have to return to yavin, triumphant but grieving, ezra's message still ringing in their ears. thinking about them having to fill out reports for the rebellion, saying that they're two spectres short. having to start dealing with the questions from people around them: where's spectre 1? where's spectre 6? (dead. missing in action). hera discovering she's pregnant just a few weeks later and it's a joyous moment for the remaining ghost crew, but it brings a fresh wave of grief too. because the other two members of their crew should be there. just thinking about them throwing themselves into the rebellion, taking it day by day with the ever-present reminder that their family is incomplete. because there are holes in their life where kanan and ezra should be (where's spectre 1? where's spectre 6?) (still dead. still missing in action. but maybe he's dead too. maybe he has been the whole time).

[iwaasfairy]

Hi, Fairy! Maybe your first blowjob with Sakura from Windbreaker?

this is awfully soft for my blog but for just this once I will provide you the fluffy smut you want bc it got awayyy from me :>> first impressions, I like haru

tw. blowjob, spit, neither are virgins but Haruka is having a first

“Okay, my turn.” You giggle, and roll over after putting your drink precariously close to the edge of the coffeetable. “Hmm… weirdest place you’ve gotten a blowjob?” Your head’s too close to his thigh, you’re not being subtle. Your toes basically curl without intent at even having this conversation with him. It’s the most overtly sexual you’ve been with him— and you’re alone. Blame a girl for being giddy. When it stays quiet for a few seconds, you get anxious though.

“What, you can ask me my favorite positions, but I can’t ask something personal back?” He’s still looking, and you swear you catch him staring at your lips when you look over.

“No…” His normally serious, predatory eyes flick away. “Never had that so, gotta pass.” Your lips smack, and he seems to tense at the sound.

“What’dyou mean? You’ve never…” You look up at him innocently, genuine curiosity making it’s way over your features. Haruka’s got a massive blush on his face all of a sudden, running from his nose to the tips of his ears as he stares resolutely at the corner of the room instead of you. He speaks much too loudly to be unbothered by the topic.

“It means what it fucking means. Stop staring at me, brat. You might’ve got around when you were young,” he bursts out -and you would take it personally if he didn’t look down at you like something to eat earlier- “but I wasn’t all that popular back home. I had a reputation of being a hardass, so no girls were jumping for the opportunity, alright?!” He’s loud enough that if your big brother was home, he’d come in to check in on you. Luckily then that he isn’t. Sakura’s all tense and balled fists, and it makes you quiet; then giggle when he finally takes those mismatched eyes away from the wall back down at your face.

Your giggles die down as soon as he starts getting up out of the couch, and you shoot into motion to wrap soft fingers around his wrist. “Haru~ kun, wait! You have to give me time to react first, seriously.” He’s so tense you can feel each muscle in his forearm flex when you slide your hand up just a little. After a bit of debating, with your big, soft eyes still aimed at him, he eventually sits back down. But pulls his arm away from you to cross them over his chest instead, with a ‘what?’ sort of expression.

You bite your lip. “Around the campfire the other night, you … Didn’t you tell the guys you weren’t a vir-”

Again that fucking blush, now also over his hands as he smacks it over your mouth— hot palm shutting you up as his eyebrows get so high on his forehead. When he realizes that this isn’t really the way to shut a lady up, he frowns, and his chest rises and falls a little too quickly. For such a tough guy- he really can’t handle teasing at all. “How did you know about that?! And- w-what about it, anyway?” He keeps your eyes with a searching expression for a bit longer. As if he’s trying to see if you’re mad. What’s there to be mad about? You’re both adults. When he doesn’t find any accusations in your irises, he lets go of you. Seriously, this guy.

“Was that a lie?” you ask.

You’ve known him for a while now. At least enough for you to get a slight little crush on your brother’s friend— and this is the first time since maybe high school that he got this flustered. Usually, you’re the one a flushed mess whenever he’s around. Tonight’s been different. Instead of backing down, he puffs his chest out a little, and looks back at you. You don’t want to let it go to your head, but when you ask it he lets his gaze trail all over your body where you’re resting, lingering on the way your shorts have ridden up between your thighs.

“No, it wasn’t a fucking lie. Some stuff happened back in highschool and I ended up getting plenty of experience.” Those pretty eyes keep yours, and he licks his bottom lip. “Believe me, I know what I’m doing on that front.” There it is. Under all of that thinly veiled temper— is the guy who makes your head spin when he’s around with his hopeless brashness. You’re smitten.

You sit up, instead shifting your legs under you as you run a hand through your hair and brush it away from your face instead, exposing the long stretch of neck that he also takes a slow journey down with his eyes. It’s as flattering as it is making your hairs stand on end, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth. When you manage to calm your racing heart rate a little, you smile, eyes on the ground.

You breathe out. “But you’ve never had your,” now it’s your turn to struggle through the words, “your dick sucked?” The dent in the wall from where your big brother once threw a chair is endlessly interesting now. “Do you want to? I mean- not- I’m not asking for me to- just- in general.” You smooth your hands over your shorts to readjust them. Now would be a good time to get a drink, tingles trailing up and down your spine. “I mean- isn’t that a lot of pressure for whichever poor girl is the first?” You can’t bear to look at him, but you have a feeling Haruka’s smiling at the side of your face. You could shoot yourself. “Thirsty,” you squeak.

When you slide your legs off the couch with the intention to escape to safety for a bit, a warm palm now grabs onto your upper arm, winding around it with just enough pressure to keep you from going. You’re so rigid that when he gets closer and the air of his breath dusts over your ear, you squeak. “Where are you going? Gotta give me some time to react first, don’t you?” You barely manage to look back at him, but when you do you’re nose to nose. He trails fingertips around your ear before nudging your chin up with one finger. “Say, if I ask for it myself, would it still pressure you? If I show you how badly I want you to?”

Then after a second he tilts his head in thought. “Only you.” You can’t think straight, can only focus on the sliver of distance left between your lips. Holy fuck, your heart is beating so hard it makes you a bit shaky. Sakura’s lashes flutter as he whispers the next words against your lips— and all you can think about is how good he looks in the low light of the tv. His words are slow, as his fingers drag through your hair to hold you in place. “Can I ask? To put that pretty fucking mouth on my cock?”

Your entire body tingles, and you nod. “Yeah.” Your mouth meets his eagerly, but not as eager as Haruka is when shifting his body weight into you and almost knocking teeth when you kiss. His tongue’s sweet, a little bitter because of the drinks, as it pushes against yours and kisses and sucks the air out of you. His free hand wrapping around your waist drags you against him more, tilting your head back for his access by a soft pull on your hair. When you disconnect for a moment you breathe his name, and he sits back to pat his lap a few times.

“Come. Sit for me first.”

“You have no clue-” you pant as you get onto him, feeling those strong thighs flexing under your own, “how long I’ve wanted to.” His brows slant up at the admission, as you pull your shirt over your head. “Do this, that is. I’ve had a crush on you for like three years. I haven’t been constantly thinking of ways to trick you into having you fuck my mouth.” A soft chuckle shakes his chest when he follows your lead to take off his own shirt, tosses it somewhere. Then he kisses you again, and smiles.

“I wouldn’t be upset if you admitted you had.” As you roll your hips against him, you’re pleased to already feel his bulge pushing against you. He looks positively radiant looking up at you like he is, biting his bottom lip as his hands grip your tits through your bra and he can’t hold back a smile. You can’t help but kiss him again, and start making marks on the pretty skin below his jaw. Haruka groans. “I’ve wanted you too, by- agh- the way. So much longer than that. Not to say that I waited or nothin’… ” He admits after a few seconds of trailing kisses down his neck and collarbones, making your way down to the patch of white hairs from his navel down. His voice gets heavier when he bucks up into your doughy pussy, only separated by a few bits of fabric. “But I’ve wanted your lips wrapped around my cock since freshman year- fuck.”

You’re halfway down his body and pulling his sweats out of the way when you look up at him with big eyes, and a surprised giggle makes it’s way out of your open mouth. “Freshman year?! You’ve been wanting to fuck your friend’s little sister’s mouth since freshman year?” He’s quick to lift his ass and push the pants to his knees along with his underwear, and grabs his cock at the base as another blush makes it’s way over his face.

“Shut up- just… If you’re gonna do it, do it.” He’s all flushed and honestly, adorable as he glances between his own body and you where you’re now on your knees on the carpet. He watches you lick your lips and give him some time to squeeze out a drop of glossy pre, before running his free hand through his hair to get it out of his face. “No p-pressure, though. Anything you do will be more than enough for me.” It’s so genuine it almost makes you hold back on giving him your best.

Almost. “No way. If you’ve been waiting to fuck my mouth for that long…” You smile up at him, blink your long lashes, and then pat the puffy head against your hot lips a few times.

Your lips meet his swollen tip with a hum, before blowing a bubble of spit and pushing your tongue against him, wrapping it around the hot head. Your tongue squirms as you wet it with as much spit as you can, before putting your lips on him and slowly feeding more of his cock inside with a hum- batting your lashes up in time to watch how Haruka’s eyes widen and then he has to push them closed entirely. “O-oh fuck. Fuck; You’re-” Your tongue rubs over his slit to taste the slightly salty, musky pre and your hand moves down to squeeze his shaft, then gripping his hot, heavy balls. “A- ugh- hold on.”

“Holy fuck- ah- fucking shit.” His normally tense expression takes on a wonderful helplessness as you push your cheeks together and hollow them around him, suck slow first and then harder— and Haruka groans deeply. “So pretty. Oh shit, I’m close. I’m already close- slow down.”

He opens his eyes for a few seconds, only to close them again, placing his hand on top of your head to hold you back a little. Your tongue strokes the underside of his shaft, melting along the curve of one throbbing vein. “Fu—ck me, you’re- so fucking good at this, you’re so good. Ah, agh ah.” He pants, opens his eyes, strokes your crown a few times as his cock fills your mouth up and you pull back, leaking spit. “Taste good, does it?”

“Mhm.” It’s too messy and hot between his legs for you to stay entirely untouched, as you rub his spongey, pink head on the outside of your cheeks. One hand makes it’s way between your own legs to grind against your own palm, while the other winds just tight enough around the base of him to make his breathing hitch. “Haru~ y’taste so good. Feel nice in my mouth too.”

“I promise you-,” his leg twitches when you stroke slow motions on the slick length of him, “you feel even better.” You dip your face to instead take his balls into your mouth instead and suck, and the nervous twitch becomes a full on spasm that has him grabbing your head by the hair. “Oh-oh don’t do that. I’m- I wanna come in your mouth. Fuck, baby. What the fuck.” The pull aches, but watching him basically glare at you from under thick lashes makes your entire body glow. When he wraps his larger hand around yours to hold you still for a moment, you can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face. “You can’t keep doing that, unless you want me to cum all over your face.”

“But I like tasting you so much.” You pout. Your hair sticks to your neck, and your tears make your lashes sticky. He looks at you like you’re a princess though. Your pussy clenches around nothing. “Stand up for me?” Haruka’s frown comes back at that, but he strokes comforting pets over your head as he thinks. He eventually grits his teeth when you let go of him entirely, escaping from his touch. It’s too hot, and really— you ache to be touched too. But it’s so nice to watch that blush spread on his neck. You get back a little and squeeze his thigh, and with a bit more urging he stands up out of the couch.

Thick, pretty cock right before your nose, he twitches before you. Your eyes find his when you smile. You stick your tongue out to drop some drool onto your fingers, and hold your hand out. Haruka’s face only blanks. “Want to fuck my face on your pace instead?”

“No.” It takes a few seconds to register the expression he’s wearing, but it isn’t one of annoyance. Instead he’s holding out his hand to pull you up— and you let him. “Bend over here. It’s my turn.”

[vodika-vibes]

Hi again, hope you’ve been well! I just wanted to see if I could please ask for a hurt/comfort fic with either an alpha arc or a null, your choice of who specifically. One where reader is an informant of some kind, but they end up getting caught and interrogated before trooper of choose comes to the rescue. When they do maybe reading is having a panic attack after being severely injured. Thanks and happy writing!

Abandon Ship

Summary: You’re a member of the Republic Strategic Information Service (SIS) though you’re not a high ranking member, in fact, you’re not supposed to be doing field operations at all. However, when your supervisor orders you into Separatist space, your options are follow orders or lose your job. You manage to get off one coded message to Ordo before you’re captured. And all you can do is hope that he’ll come.

Pairing: Ordo Skirata x F!Reader

Word Count: 1802

Warnings: Torture

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Sorry that this took so long! I think I have several other requests from you as well. I feel so bad that it took me so long to get to this one. Anyway, I chose Ordo because I love him, though it was a toss-up between Ordo and Mereel, but given the subject matter, I thought Ordo would be a better fit than Mereel. I hope you like it!

You huff out a near silent groan of pain as you slowly, and painfully, uncurl from the protective ball that you curled yourself into when the interrogator came into the room.

Eventually, they’ll figure that you genuinely don’t know anything.

You’re smart enough to know that when they do figure that out, it’s game over for you.

For a moment, you lay on your back on the frigid, dirty, and wet floor. Trying to work up the will to get to your feet, or at least to crawl over to the “bed” that you were supplied when you were thrown in here.

Calling it a proper bed would be an insult to beds everywhere.

It’s little more than a thin mat with some ratty blankets thrown on top. But it’s slightly more comfortable than the concrete you’re actively laying on.

Slowly you press your arm over your eyes and try to ignore the burning in your eyes (tears will not help this situation) and the stabbing pain around your ribs.

You shouldn’t be in this position at all. You’re an analyst, not a field agent. There’s no reason for you to be anywhere but on Coruscant, or maybe a warship. You definitely should not be on Raxus.

You shouldn’t be in Separatist space at all.

You cringe at the sound of someone screaming further down the hall, at least you’re not alone in here.

It doesn’t make you feel any better.

Finally the throbbing in your chest and abdomen fades enough that you’re willing to slowly push yourself to your feet, and drag yourself to the bed on the other side of your cell.

All you can do now, you’re only option, is hope that someone will come for you. Either another member of the SIS, or maybe Ordo will answer your panicked, and heavily encrypted, message.

And if he doesn’t...well, you’ll die here. And no one will ever know what happened to you.

This time, as you roll onto your side so you’re not facing the door, you don’t bother to stop your tears.

It’s been...you aren’t sure how long. Longer than a week, definitely. But you don’t have an exact number of days that you’ve been on Raxus. It’s intentional, you’re sure.

Or, maybe not. The people holding you don’t seem to be all that proficient at the more psychological aspect of torture. Though they’re more than proficient in the more physical aspects.

Your shoulders twinge painfully as your arms are twisted behind your back, and heavy binders are snapped around your wrists, and magnetized to the chair you’re sitting on.

It’s uncomfortable, boarding on painful. And mixed with the staggering number of bruises you’re nursing, not to mention the open lacerations that have been prevents from healing due to your captors rubbing actual salt into your wounds, and the fact that your captor decided that using a whip on you was the best way to get you to work with them-

Yeah. You’re not having a good time.

Honestly, if you weren’t in so much pain, it’d almost be laughable. It’s like they read a storybook on how to be the most cliche villain ever, and are following it like a checklist.

“So,” You slowly lift your gaze to the man standing in front of you. He’s a massive human, and honestly looks like he should be modeling for GQ rather than being an interrogator. “You have been here for almost a month. And you haven’t even told us your name.”

You just blink at him and a flash of irritation crosses his face.

He walks over to you and grabs a fistful of your hair, before roughly jerking your head back, “All of this can stop, if you just work with us rather than against us.”

Once again, you just blink at him.

He growls and releases your hair, “Fine.” He walks away from you and turns to the men standing near the door, your personal torturers. Although, you’re pretty sure that one of them is new.

It’s kind of hard to tell, since they’re both completely covered in armor.

“Start removing appendages, start with her fingers.” He looks at you, “Remember, girl, you brought this on yourself.” And then he’s gone, and you’re alone with your old friends.

One of the men walks over to you and presses a button, releasing the heavy binders, and then his boot slams hard into your chest, knocking you and the chair over, and knocking the air out of your lungs.

“This one,” He drawls, “is stubborn. Hasn’t said a damned word since we found her. Though we do know that she’s SIS. I doubt this is gonna work like the boss thinks, but I’m happy to try.”

He walks over to you and slams his boot down on your chest again, pulling a pained gasp from you, as you struggle to catch your breath and from the pain. He lifts his boot long enough that you’re able to catch your breath, and kicks you in the side to roll you over.

“You like your job then.” The new guy says, and you’re at least aware enough to note that you recognize the voice. It’s familiar though you can’t quite pinpoint why it’s familiar.

“Course I do.” The man who kicked you kneels next to you, “These holier than thou pubbie assholes deserve everything that they get. You’ll learn.” He draws a, almost comically, large knife and lazily presses the tip against your cheek.

The knife is sharp, sharp enough that it doesn’t hurt as much as it could as it cuts into the skin of your cheek. You bite your tongue hard enough that you can taste metal.

He pulls the knife away from your face and jerks your arm out to examine your fingers, “I think...I’ll start with the thumb.” There’s something gleefully cruel in his voice, and your eyes snap shut as he presses the blade against the base of your thumb—

—And then there’s the sound of a blaster being fired, and the sound of something heavy falling to the floor.

Your eyes open when you feel large hands on your shoulders, encouraging you to sit up. And you peer up at the new guy who’s kneeling over you. You want to lean away from him, to press yourself against the wall, but you just don’t have the strength to do anything anymore.

He’s silent for a moment, and then reaches up and pulls off the helmet.

You blink at him. Once, twice, three times. Sure that your eyes are playing tricks on you.

“...Ordo?” Your voice is raspy from disuse.

His dark eyes scan your face for a moment, before he brings his gloved hand up to press soothingly against your cheek, “Sorry I’m late, mesh’la.”

“I...I didn’t think anyone was coming.” You admit as your hands, bruised and bloodied, come up to wrap around his wrists.

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to. The orders we were given were very clear.” Ordo says with narrowed eyes, “You were to be written off as a lost asset.”

It feels like a giant hand wraps around your lungs and squeezes tightly. Oh, you think absently, there’s the panic attack.

“Hey, hey,” Ordo’s other hand presses against your cheek, trying to draw your focus, “You’re safe now. I was never going to leave you behind. We’re going to get you safe and home. And you’re never going back to the SIS.”

Ordo sounds like he’s miles away.

“Kriff, cyar’ika, keep your eyes open-”

He looks worried.

The world around you starts going gray at the edges, and you try to open your mouth to reassure him that you’re fine, but the world goes dark. And, for the first time in ages, you don’t feel any pain.

You wake to the sound of a heart monitor beeping in your ear, and the scent of bacta in your nose.

The lights are dimmed, which you notice as you slowly blink your eyes open. And as you turn your head, you see that Ordo is asleep in a chair next to the bed you’re laying in, his feet propped up on the edge of the bed.

He looks tired.

Slowly you try to sit up, but a sharp pain makes you hiss, and his eyes snap open and land on you immediately, “What are you doing?” He drops his feet and leans in to encourage you to lay back, “You shouldn’t move.”

“Was going to look for a blanket for you,” You admit sheepishly.

Ordo sighs softly, his large hand coming up to brush some of your hair out of your face, “Well, don’t. You haven’t been in a bacta tank yet.”

“I haven’t?”

“No, you have an infection and it needs to be cleared before we can stick you in a tank.” He still looks worried, “You weren’t supposed to wake up yet.” Ordo adds.

“Sorry-”

“Don’t be.” His hand moves to your cheek, to trace the bandage that you can feel there, “I’m glad that you’re awake. You scared me, cyare. I thought you were going to die in my arms.”

You feel a surge of guilt, “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He scans your face for a moment, and there’s a glimmer of sadness. Ordo’s fingers ghost over bruises, and against your lips, “My vod’e thought I was going to have a heart attack when we managed to decrypt your message.” He admits, “Cyar’ika, what were you doing in Separatist space?”

You blink at him, “I was following orders.” You say against his fingers.

Ordo’s fingers stop moving, and something cold slides across his face, “Come again?”

“My supervisor ordered me to Raxus for a field mission,” You clarify, “He said if I didn’t do it I’d lose my job.” You stare at him, “Why did you think I went to Raxus?”

“...your supervisor said that you defected from the Republic.”

Panic washes through you and you can hear the heart monitor start racing, “I didn’t! I wouldn’t! I had orders! I-”

“Hey. Hey, hey.” Ordo’s hands are so gentle against your face and the ice in his gaze thaws into something warmer, and for you alone, “I believe you. None of us believed what we were told. You need to calm down.” He doesn’t pull his hands away even after your panic subsides, “I’ll tell the others to do some digging, but we’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“...Thank you for coming after me.” You whisper.

He leans in and presses a light kiss against your forehead, “You can thank me by getting some rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“On my life.”

You release a quiet sigh. “I love you, Ordo.”

Finally, a small smile crosses his face, “I love you too, cyare.”

[nomoreusername]

Harry Potter

Pairing:Thomas x female reader (G/N Pronouns)

Summary:Despite being on your cycle, Thomas still knows how to make you laugh.

Thomas does his best to be comforting. He really does try to make me feel better when I want to curl up into a ball and die at least once a month. It's just that when he does, it's always very hit or miss.

“I'll fight mother nature for you,”He said firmly.

“Okay, Thomas. Okay,”I nodded, leaning back and looking over at him. I wasn't even hurting or having any hellish side effects and he was already threatening violence on something that he couldn't fight. That's a pretty Thomas thing to do.

“Yeah. I’ll make her be nice.”

Rolling my eyes at his antics, I rested my head on his shoulder. Wrapping his arm around me, he pulled me closer while tracing his fingertips up and down my arm. “I could become a wizard too and get rid of it forever and ever?”He offered.

“Okay, Harry Potter,”I deadpanned, a teasing smile on my face despite my words.

“Well, I have always wanted to go to London, and I do like snakes,”He pointed out, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he appeared to be genuinely thinking about if he's a boy with an arch nemesis and magic powers.

I may not be suffering that badly right now, but if I am at least I have him to make living bearable.

[wh1spyz]

HER WISH, HIS WISH || YANG JEONGIN

pair : childhoodfriend!jeongin x reader

genre : angst

warning : cursing, rejection, no happy ending

you confess your feelings to your best friend jeongin, but does he like you back?

quick a/n : hi everyone! first time posting on here. i used to be a wattpad writer but due to school and stuff i stopped writing. i just want to write for fun every here and there, so i probably wont post here constantly. sorry! anyways, enjoy :)

everyone wanted you to confess.

all of jeongin's friends knew about your crush on him, and it made you curious if he knew aswell. but clearly, he didnt know, and he was more oblivious then ever. you never really wanted to confess, you found the idea terrifying and you knew that if he didn't reciprocate your feelings, your friendship could be ruined. but his friends still urged you to make your feelings known to him (despite being obviously head over heels for him).

so here you were, sitting on the same couch in his apartment, watching him study. you had told yourself several times before you came over that you would tell him your feelings, despite being scared out of your damn mind. you watched him as he studied, and he looked handsome as always. you couldn't help but blurt out "i like you", like the dumbass you were before covering your mouth.

his gazed turn to you, a bit stunned by your sudden confession, and extremely confused aswell.

"what did you say y/n?"

you didnt know if you wanted to gaslight your crush into thinking you said nothing, run out of there as fast as possible, or genuinely admit the truth (the other 2 options sounded better to you, honestly). but you took a deep breath and decided to confess properly.

"i like you, jeongin. i've liked you for a long time. you've always put a smile on my face and make me feel happy, and i don't know what i would do without you. i've spent hours just thinking about... you, and only you. i really like you, alot."

the room was tense after your confession, a deafening silence that was killing you on the inside. before you heard the words you were dreading to hear. the words that shattered you into pieces when you heard them.

"y/n. i don't feel the same."

the words echoed in your head, the whole situation felt like a nightmare, a horrible one. it was like your whole world came crashing down. you were completely frozen, biting your bottom lip as you supressed the tears that threatened to seep through your eyes and stream down your face. your throat closed up and it seemed like you could curl up into a ball and die right then and there. you nodded slowly, standing up as you were getting ready to leave.

"i understand." you mumbled, grabbing your bag as you turned away from him, walking out of the dorm. you didn't want him to see you cry. he couldn't see you cry. atleast not because of him.

jeongin’s expression became more sad as he processed your reaction. he was unsure to comfort you, since he was the cause of your pain. so he just sat there, silent as you exited. and hearing the door shut just made his heart ache more. he didn’t expect your reaction. but he couldn’t bring himself to go outside. it was as if he couldn’t move. his thoughts racing. he was so conflicted and lost in them.

'why can’t i like her back…?', 'i don’t want her to be sad..', 'why do i feel so guilty?'. that was all that was going through his head as he sat on the couch, frozen.

a moment of silence passed. but the quiet atmosphere was shattered with the sound of jeongin shutting his laptop. he abruptly stood up.

“fuck.”

you were taking a cab back to your apartment, tears rolling down your cheeks as you sniffled silently. "you're an fucking idiot" is all that went through your head. why did you even confess? you ruined everything. that was for sure. your thoughts just kept getting more and more negative until you suddenly got a call from jeongin. knowing that he wanted to probably ask where you were, you were hesitant on picking up. but your heart was stronger than your head, so you picked up.

"y/n! fucking christ.. where are you?" you heard him the other side of the phone, sounding like he was grabbing his keys and his coat to go outside.

"jeongin, i'll be fine. i just need some time alone. if you come and try to make things right, it might turn out worse. please."

you were basically pleading with him, your voice was shaky and tired, trying to rub your tears away.

hearing your voice over the phone, it only made him feel even worse. his heart clenched and a wave of guilt washed over him once more, running his fingers through his hair.

“i-i know i said i didn’t feel the same but… i can’t leave you like this..” he spoke quietly, hesitating. "just tell me where you are.. please?"

you sigh, knowing that arguing with him wouldn't help much.

"in a cab, headed to my apartment."

jeongin listened to the sound of you sighing and he slightly relaxed at the fact that you told him where you were headed.

“okay..” he mumbled, biting his nail. he spoke again in a softer tone of voice. “i’m coming.”

you wince, having a small feeling that this was going to happen.

"please jeongin, can we just talk tomorrow..?"

he let out a shaky exhale. he didn’t want to upset you further, but he was also extremely stubborn.

“please.. i just want to make sure that you’re okay..” he pleaded once more, he truly cared about your well-being.

you groaned.

"goodness... okay, but youre not staying for long, 'kay?"

he smiled to himself, a sense of relief washing over him. it didn’t matter if he was only staying for a few minutes, at least he could see you.

“yeah.. i won’t stay long.”

he reassured you, grabbing his coat, keys and phone, before leaving the apartment.

"see you." he says before hanging up the phone and catching a cab himself to head to your house.

you watched him hang up the phone, running a hand through your hair, groaning. you looked out the window, seeing that you were basically at your apartment now, so you paid the driver as he parked and got out, heading inside to your apartment.

you changed into comfortable clothes as you waited for jeongin to arrive to your apartment, still somewhat crying and your tears stain the baggy white shirt you wore. you sat on the couch, running your fingers through your hair. you suddenly remembered a small conversation the two of you had as little kids.

"what would you do if a genie could grant you three wishes?" you asked jeongin with a toothy smile, sitting on the swings with him on a cold winter day, which was rare in busan.

"genies dont exist..."

"oh shut up! what if they did?"

"i would wish..." jeongin thought about the question for a moment before answering. "to be rich! super duper rich!"

you rolled your eyes with a frown, kicking the snow infront of you.

"thats so boring!!"

"oh yeah? then what would you wish for?"

you paused for a moment, smiling at him again when you had your wish.

"i would wish to be your friend forever! i want to be your friend for as long as possible!"

he laughed and threw a snowball at you. "thats so stupid."

you gasp as he threw the snowball at you, pouting.

"so you dont want to be my friend?? wow.. how mean can you get.."

"i didnt mean it like that! goodness.."

you glared at him, still pouting.

"then what did you mean?"

he smiled at you, sweetly.

"we are gonna be friends no matter what, always and forever. you wouldn't need a wish."

you smiled back at him.

"promise?"

"promise."

you got snapped out of your trance as you heard a knock on the door, rushing to it. after a few seconds, you opened the door to meet jeongin's eyes. you looked tired, and it was definitely obvious you were previously crying from your tear stained shirt.

"come in." you mumbled.

when the door opened and you revealed yourself, his heart ached. your red puffy eyes and tear-stained top were the first things that he noticed. he looked at you with a mix of guilt and sadness.

he slowly walked in, taking off his shoes and coat, setting them aside. without a word, he walked closer to you. jeongin hesitated before pulling you into a tight embrace. his mind was a mess but one thing he knew for sure, he was happy to be close to you right now.

you were extremely tense due to the hug, and you werent sure if this was right. he didnt like you, why was he hugging you, comforting you? you didnt know. so many thoughts were racing through your mind and you couldnt relax.

you wish things were different.

jeongin could feel the tension in your body as he held you. he pulled you closer, gently rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you.

he closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against your head. he wanted to stay like this for a while. he needed to be close to you. but at the same time, he felt conflicted. like he shouldn’t be doing this since he didn’t feel the same.

he wishes things couldve stayed the same.

after a while, he finally spoke. his voice was soft and gentle. he was still torn but he had to say something.

“i’m.. sorry.. i’m really sorry..” he mumbled, his voice coming out a bit shaky.

"its not your fault that you don't reciprocate my feelings. i shouldn't have confessed in the first place. i should be the one apologizing." you said with a sigh.

jeongin’s heart ached, as you spoke those words. he tightened his embrace around you, not letting go.

“no.. don’t apologize.. please..”

he was trying to hold back the tears, his eyes burning. there was too much going through his mind right now.

he held you tighter against his chest, his hand resting on the back of your head. he couldn’t even look you in the eyes. guilt and sadness filling him.

“you.. you don’t know how much i wish i could like you..” he muttered.

"you cant force yourself to like me to make me happy."

you mumble, rubbing his back reassuringly. as much as you wished he liked you back, you wanted him to be honest more than anything.

he buried his head in the crook of your neck. you were being the reasonable one right now. he was so confused and conflicted about his feelings. why couldn’t he like you? why did it hurt him when he had to reject you?

“then.. why does it hurt me..?” he mumbled, his voice was shaky.

you sigh.

"because we're friends. if i was the reason a friend of mine is crying, it would hurt me aswell, not just them."

you mutter, trying to reason with him and calm him down.

"you didnt mean to hurt me, and it wouldve hurt more if you lied to me. so its better that you told the truth to me."

jeongin closed his eyes, listening to your words. he knew you were right but he couldn’t help but feel guilty and conflicted. he hummed in agreement, holding you tighter. he didn’t know what to do with the whirlwind of emotions inside him. he mumbled once more.

“i don’t want to lose you..”

you wrap your arms around him, hugging him back finally.

"youre not going to lose me anytime soon."

jeongin took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. your presence was comforting and he was grateful for your reassurance. he muttered, keeping his head tucked in your shoulder.

“promise?”

you nodded, hugging him tight.

"promise."

he closed his eyes once again, breathing in your scent. for some reason, he didn’t want to let go. he was supposed to leave after minutes but he wanted to stay for longer. to be near you longer. he gently rested his forehead against your shoulder, feeling your warmth and closeness. the warmth felt so wrong, but so right. after a moment of silence, he spoke, his voice barely above a soft whisper.

“stay like this with me for a few more minutes.. please?”

you sigh, a little hesitant to stay like this longer, knowing your feelings for him still lingered, and this seemed wrong. he knew it just as much as you did. but you hummed in agreement anyways, not pulling away.

jeongin smiled against your shoulder, hearing you agree to let him stay a bit longer. he knew you were probably hesitating due to your feelings for him, but he didn’t want to let go. he needed this, he needed you right now. his grip on your waist tightened slightly, his body pressing against yours. it was as if he wanted to stay like this forever, not caring about the time.

he mumbled as he held you, feeling a wave of sadness wash over him.

“i wish i could like you..”

you sighed again, feeling guilty for liking him.

"its okay."

you mumbled, knowing that you wished the same thing aswell.

your feelings continued to linger for months, a year or two, but he still didn't like you back.

he only realized his feelings for you were clearer than the blue, summer skies when you were gone. when you moved away from busan to start a new life.

the promise was broken.

and sure, the wishes came true. but just like his feelings, they came true much too late.

"she was my wish, the only wish i couldn't make come true."

[peaceoutofthepieces]

4 + kandreil for the ask game ? hope you’re doing well <33

you could not have chosen better tysm

4. Shut-Up Kiss

Andrew berates Neil endlessly for running his mouth, but Neil has never known anyone to rant as pointlessly and frequently as Kevin. Sometimes it's almost charming; Kevin's love for history sends him on tangents of fascination every now and again, especially with a drink or two loosening his tongue, and his genuine respect and fanboy adoration for the Trojans—and Jeremy Knox—is almost sweet. Sometimes it's concerning; Kevin's breathing turns ragged and his eyes grow foggy when his mind returns to the Nest, and sometimes, now, commentary will come with it, the knowledge that Riko can't touch him anymore allowing Kevin to tell some of the stories that have refused to die with Riko, at least when Andrew and Neil are the only ones around to hear it.

Other times, it's annoying as shit. In these instances, Neil cannot help thinking Kevin's tattoo is glaringly accurate.

Kevin is nothing if not a drama queen.

"You have been doing this drill for two years," Kevin rants now, eyes full of thundery frustration as he looks down at Neil. "You should have long perfected it, even without the addition of your captaincy, and soon I will not be here to pick up your slack. I do not understand how you expect to–"

The thing about Kevin's ranting now is that it's annoying as shit, but the angrier Neil is at Kevin these days the more he wants him. Neil doesn't—will never—find Kevin's scoldings endearing or amusing or anything of the sort, too short of temper as he is, but he has always found a pull in response to Kevin's fire because of how terribly it matches his own.

The thing about Kevin's ranting now is that Neil can still fantasise about punching him while kissing him instead.

Kevin makes a noise against Neil's mouth, indignant and pissed off and wanting, and the fire in Neil's veins stokes higher, burns hotter. He curls a hand around Kevin's neck and draws him down, down, satisfied only when Kevin's arms fall to his waist and pull him up in response.

They only startle apart when a ball thwacks the floor a few inches from their feet, both breathing hard. Neil feels a savage smile curl his lips at the sight of Kevin's hooded eyes, his lips parted and silent.

Then he looks over at Andrew, who appears as bored as ever to anyone who knows him less, but to Neil is amused and annoyed and interested all at once, if only for how his gaze bores into them. He raises an eyebrow at Neil, and Neil is shrugging before he has even consciously decoded the expression, agreeing yes, alright, I'm stealing your moves now.

"Thanks for the show," Andrew says, dryly, and Kevin makes another wordless noise somewhere between dismissive and craving. "Are you done yet?"

To give credit where credit is due, in the past few months of embedding himself more deeply in them than ever before, Kevin had found the remainder of his spine and has been learning to recover himself remarkably quickly. He presses his palm to the dip of Neil's spine and meets Andrew's eyes to return, "Eager to get back to the dorms?"

Andrew flicks his gaze over to Neil, and Neil obliges; Andrew is not quite close enough, but Neil is more than happy to kiss Kevin quiet again.

send me a number + ship

[alaskan-wallflower]

i’m deadass fucking terrified right now like i’m volunteering and i have no idea what the fuck i’m supposed to do and if i’m late or not mad my mom refuses to help me because i have to be independent which i get but im being a pussy and i just want to curl up in a ball and die because nobody else knows what’s going on, i’m gonna make a fool of myself and im shaking i want to cry because i literally just woke up and my mom was yelling at me to leave because i would’ve been prepared for this but u wasn’t and i genuinely just want to fucking die right now

[somerandomcryptid]

Ok so this is a dreaming of death wip I did a while ago that I will probably rewrite at somepoint because the pacing's weird to me but I like the characterizations, and how I did Cryptid's inner monologue so I'm just posting it here :)

“Dream?” Their voice cracks when his name leaves their lips. He looks so…. Apologetic…It looks so genuine…

“I missed you….” He mumbles, and they're pulled into a hug, it's loose grip, gentle. It doesn't feel natural for him. Not after the months of crushing affection. His sharp fingers run themselves through their hair, scratching their scalp in a way that is all too relaxing.

“You're not mad at me for-” Wait. Sharp. They immediately grab his wrist. “Stop fucking with my head, XD.” XD’s lips -they're not his, get out of his body get out get out get out- curl up into a smirk.

He grabs their jaw roughly, pulling them onto their tip toes in a way Dream had done so often when he was angry. Apologize apologize apologize, their head rings out with immediate commands for response, I need to make it- XD was just fucking with their head. They knee him in the stomach, they would have fallen if not for his hand holding them up.

“You know you can't hurt me right?” XD comments amusedly. They roll their eyes.

“Worth a shot. Now let me go and-” The god interrupts them. Bitch-

“You still miss him so much. After all the things he's done, you still miss him. After you were so adamant of to leave him, to stop the pain. And then you still embrace what you think to be him like a sad little puppy. Tell me, little one, is the true reason you don't want to go back because you know you’ll always cave to him. You’ll always let him mold you into whatever you want. To break you just because he can, to fuel his own selfish want for affection. You're so desperate that you'd endure that? What we’re your parents like to make that w-”

“Get them out of your mouth. You don't fucking get to yoink me out of my life and then have the gawl to ask why I’m so fucked in the head.” They hiss out, grabbing the wrist holding their jaw and wrenching themself out of his hold. “Now get out of my head. And get out of his body for fucks sake.” XD chuckles.

“It's amusing you think you can order me around.” He starts pacing around them, god they hate it when he does that.

“Well it is my mind, logic would say I control it.” They respond, rolling their eyes, he just bursts out laughing, his smile way too wide for Dream’s face.

“When have you ever controlled your own mind, my little puppet?” ew. Hate that pet name. “I mean one doesn't even have to be a god to make you into a shell to fill with their own ideas. With their own wants. You’d break your own spine if it meant you felt like you belonged.” It's not true, it's not true, it's not true-

“Just get out of my head XD, I don't want to- I’m not talking about this.” XD laughs again, such a grating sound.

“You know it! You know your a fucking push over. You know you are so mentally weak!” His voice is even more gleeful now. It makes them want to slap him and curl up into a ball and die all at once.

“Just leave me alone XD.” They won't cry, they won't cry, they won't cry. XD’s grin practically gets wider, if that's even possible.

“Oh please do cry. You cry so enjoyably.” No no no no, they don't want to cry in front of him. They can’t, he didn't even say anything that bad. You don't need to- they wipe their eyes. Crybaby. Stupid fucking tears.

They properly curl up, burying their head in their knees.

“Please just wake me up.” It's embarrassingly a whine, but they can’t help it. They just need out. They need out, they need out, they- XD crouches down beside them, pulling their head out of their knees. He’s still grining too fucking wide. And they still want to collapse into him and just cry. No. Don't do that. Absolutely don't.

“See? Weak.” He coos.

“But, I suppose I’ve had my fun. For tonight at least.” With that they shoot up from their bed, gasping for proper breaths and their face sticky with tears. Fuck. That was hell.

They slide out of bed, it's in the early hours of the morning. But they’ve decided they never want to sleep again. Not if that fucker is going to taunt them in their dreams.They try to traverse the house as quietly as they can, they just want a drink of water, and maybe to burn their soul somewhere so they don't have to deal with any of this shit anymore. But when they get to the kitchen Sam is still up, tinkering with some kind of gadget, Fran sleeping on his foot.

Sam’s also not wearing his gas mask, it's the first time they’ve ever seen him without it. He glances up and clearly spots them, his eyes going wide once he notices that they’ve clearly been crying.He rushes up, disturbing Fran in the process, who looks dejected for a few seconds before following Sam to them.

“What happened? Are you hurt? nightmares? Are you homesick? What do you need?” Sam’s voice is going very fast, and he looks them up and down for wounds. They’re a bit taken aback. And they can't process that many things right now.

“Please slow down.” They mumble, rubbing their temples in an attempt to ground themself. They hear Sam let out a breath, one of those self regulatory ones.

“Sorry kid. I just… panicked.. that's all. Do you.. do you… how can I.. how can I make you feel better?” Don't hug him don't hug him don't-

They hug him. He tentatively hugs them back, like they're made out of glass and easily breakable, which they suppose they are for him. They can feel their eyes start to sting as just… everything comes crashing down at them at once. They’ve had these moments before, where everything they’ve been through just properly hits them again. But usually they happen alone.

“Kid.. please tell me what's going on… I want to help you…” His voice is soft, and it brings them some amount of comfort.

“I just…. I just want this all to be over… I just want it to be simple again…” They mumble into his chest, they can feel their tears soaking into his sweater, they really hope he doesn't mind. Sam sighs.

“I’m so sorry you got pulled into this Cryptid… you didn't deserve that…” He murmurs back to them. “But I promise I will keep you safe, I’ll try to make it at least somewhat normal for you. I promise. You're just a kid. You shouldn't be involved in all of this.” That makes them sob more, not because of their usual disgust about the idea, but because he's right.

They feel Fran nudge their hip before they can spiral about that too much. The let go off Sam so they can sit down and hug Fran, who curls up in their lap, despite being too big for it. So they snuggle against her, nuzzling their face into her fur, Fran doesn't seem to mind getting wet either, just seeming concerned with making them feel better.

They hear Sam sit down beside them, and the immediately lay their head in his lap, still with Fran in their lap. It's a bit of an uncomfortable position sure, but Sam runs his finger through their hair gently. And that combined with Fran helps calm them. At least a bit.

“I won't let him hurt you again.” Sam mumbles after a few moments. They almost say something dumb about fighting a god before realizing Sam means Dream, not XD.They don't have a response to that. “Do you… do you still think Dream is the good guy?” He asks, sounding almost afraid to receive the answer. Thankfully a smartass response comes to their head before a logical one.

“I think good guys and bad guys are a concept constructed by territory instincts. Actually! Overall it seems that most bases for morality are based around territorial and pack instincts. Oh fun fact actually! The conditions that create sapien life probably also create as byproduct discrimination due to differences due to sapiance being linked to extremely competitive environments such that learning new things rapidly and passing on such information becomes necessary for survival!” Do they start going on a ramble to ignore having to confront that question, to have to categorize Dream as… something? Yes. They don't even want to think about Dream, much less categorize him. So yeah they totally do it to distract themself.

But it is a genuinely interesting topic! So they manage to ramble for a while, and then that ramble somehow turns into a ramble about cat genetics, and to his credit Sam listens, he looks a bit sad looking at them, but he listens, and he does seem interested. The next thing they know it it’s 3:45am and oh god they’ve been info dumping about everything they know about evolution and cat genetics for almost an hour and a half.

“Sorry, I’m probably boring you.” They finally say, but Sam doesn't look bored or annoyed when they look up at him, his gaze is affectionate

“You're not. I think it's really cool you're so interested in this kind of thing. I didn't expect it.” He almost reminds them of their mom in how he says it, which is to say, genuinely proud and interested. They can't help but smile at him, even though they still feel bad for keeping him up so late.

“Yeah, but you probably want to go to bed by now.” They reply apologetically. He ruffles their hair fondly, but he looks almost sad.

-

God this kid. They apologize so much, for things that aren't even anything to apologize for, if Dream is the reason they feel the need to do this- He reminds himself to calm down as he feels the gunpowder rize in his throat. Those small sparks die down as he looks back at Cryptid, and his heart melts.

“It really wouldn't have mattered, kid. I have a really hard time sleeping anyway.” They still look so guilty.

-

HOW THE FUCK IS THAT 1.7K???? Idk but ughhhhhh why does the pacing have to feel weird when it's so many words.

Um anyway sorry it's unfinished and needs reworking I just wanted to post the original so it didn't rot in my docs

Writing Cryptid pov is very therapeutic and easy because they think in the same style as me :)

(Dreaming of death is an au of the fic Penpal by @calamari-minecraft-corner)

[nerves-nebula]

Do current events ever make you feel so unsure and afraid and physically sick with worry for others and about violent political trends that only seem to be getting worse that you wanna curl into a ball and genuinely die because you can’t see things getting better and you don’t even have the energy to do your mundane daily tasks and homework without sleeping for hours every evening which only makes things worse and you can’t help but want to end it all just to get out of this world you never fit into even in the best of times but also you’re afraid that if you kill yourself you’ll just wake up as a new person in a worse situation. Nothing horrifies me in these moments quite like the fear that reincarnation is real and I will never ever escape this.

[allylikethecat]

i genuinely do not think its possible for any one person to have more energy than i do atm. IM GONNA DIE. please im gonna actually die ok ok ok wait so. i promise i am sane. however.

Matty was still standing in the aisle way, the brim of his helmet casting his face in shadow. Even while wearing a crew neck sweatshirt over his show shirt and tie, George could tell that he had lost weight. He was holding himself carefully, looking up at George with wide eyes, like he couldn’t believe that he was actually standing before him.

TEARS IN MY ACTUAL EYES. george can tell hes lost weight ☹️ hes holding himself like that again ☹️ i cannot DO THIS ALLY im gonna scream and cry in a really good way but also a very sad way pls this is so ☹️☹️☹️ george u fucked up real bad and im gonna punch u for it hoe...

They reached the back of the barn and Matty turned, his arms crossed in front of his chest. George wasn’t sure if the position was a defensive one, or one meant to self soothe.

im convinced u want me dead. this is. AAAAHHH but in a sad way. just that line oh george u fucked up so so so so so so so unbelievably badly LOOK WHAT UVE DONE TO HIIIM im gonna cry. the way u described it is ☹️☹️☹️ like either way hes Not In A Good Way AND. i dont even know. im having. A CRISIS i love this so much

“You’re not my keeper,” said Matty, the ice in his voice freezing George’s veins. “That’s not up to you.”

tears in my actual eyes im srs this is so ☹️☹️☹️ (emoji of the day ong) im literally about to die pls no the one time hes confident in his words is when george has hurt him THIS BADLY that he just has to be IM GONNA SOB. 😭 thats 😭 not 😭 up 😭 to 😭 you 😭

Matty snorted, “That’s funny,” he said cruelly, “because I think you’re the one that pushed me away. You fell off Mars and somehow that was my fault and meant that I was stealing drugs from the barn. Something you went and told our boss to try and get me fired.”

every chapter i think Wow this cannot get any better. then BAM. george being completely oblivious to how badly hes hurt matty is making me want to curl up into a ball and die because of SADNESS im gonna. AUGH. pls no omfg i dont even have words like usually i at least try to say things that Make Sense but IM SO. AJSHJSJSJSH I CANT EVEN DO THAT i need u to write a book Right Now

George blinked, Matty’s words a shot to the chest. Matty loved him. Matty had loved him as in past tense. He swallowed hard.

I AUDIBLY GASPED. nononoejsiqksjswkd pls LOVED IN THE PAST TENSE im about to rip my heart out of my own chest this is the best thing ever pls george LOOK WHAT U DDIIIIIIIIDDDDDD

“You’re missing the point!” Matty shouted, “I don’t want to try.”

STOP IT RIGHT NOW STOOOPPPPPPPP STAWP STOOOPPP STOP IT NOW STOP STPPROOQOSOOWIXIOWOXOS ally. how do u. DO THIS. its eleven words and im clutching my chest and screaming silently. a way with words im sO SRS

“Everything,” said George, “I’m sorry for the way I took you for granted, for the way I didn’t take your feelings and needs into account during our relationship,” he swallowed hard, “I’m sorry for the way I let my jealousy take control and the way I took it out on you, and I’m sorry that I let my feelings about Matthew Healy, the rider I grew up wanting to compete against, overtake my feelings for Matty Healy the person. Because Matty Healy the person is one of the kindest, strongest, most resilient people I have ever met and he shouldn’t give up his dream because I’m an asshole.” George took a breath, “and I just, I don’t care if you hate me, you should hate me, but don’t let more of my mistakes keep you from coming back to Dirty Hit, don’t let it keep you from coming back home.”

THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH???????????? im im AWE this is beautiful and its going to make me SOB. 😭 dont 😭 let 😭 it 😭 keep 😭 you 😭 from 😭 coming 😭 back 😭 home 😭 HIS HOOOME ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ pls im gonna start screaming crying throwing up pls slpslskqikakdkkwosoi I CANNOT DEAL. difference between matthew healy and matty healy is making me DIE

Matty sniffled. “Do you actually mean that?” he asked, his voice shaking, he had his arms wrapping around himself again.

George nodded. “I’ve never meant anything more.”

HES NEVER MEANT ANYTHING MORE MATTY PLSPLS i am genuinely fighting for my life rn this is the best ever and i love it so much and the way u write them is so Jajjanzjjwjdjjwisijs in an amazing way and im gonna EXPLODE AND DIE because of this one line. "ive never meant anything more." AKANJAJDJWJKZKQJ OKAY THEN DO U WANT ME DEAD. DO U WANT ME SOBBING ON MY FLOOR. BECAUSE I WILL. but also thats The Goal u know. emotion. ok. im going to DIE but pls pls understand i mean all of this in a very positive way and i am not telling u i hate u with this because i actually do not have the ability in my body to hate anything u have ever or will ever write and i am professionally thanking u for writing this 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ MY JESUS U KNOW. ok. enjoy ur day and i will be screaming crying in my room over this in a Very Very good way. also i apologise for my lack of punctuation im having a horse gatty crisis

AHHH Thank you so much for reading! I apologize for being so slow in the response department 😭 Y'all are kind enough to send me asks then I take ten years to respond I'm so sorry.

Horse shows are physically hell on your body when you're like, healthy and emotionally stable... Fictional!Matty is none of those things he is struggling... and Fictional!George is so obsessed with him that of course he notices!

Fictional!George has put Fictional!Matty through HELL he is confused, and hurt and thought he found a home and a family and someone that care about him but then Fictional!George burnt it all down with his jealousy. BUT Fictional!George is Fictional!George and is so caught up in himself he didn't even realize it 🥺 He realizes it now though!! Sort of... it's a work in progress

Thank you SO MUCH for reading and for sending me such a wonderful and enthusiastic ask omg I smiled SO HARD reading it omg I'm just so grateful that you not only took the time out of your day to read my fic but to send me such lovely and detailed commentary?! Thank you, thank you thank you! I hope you liked the epilogue and I hope you continue to enjoy my works!! Have the very BEST Tuesday and a wonderful rest of your week!

❤️Ally

[fereldanwench]

How does your V feel about River. I just did a playthrough where my own V was crushing after someone else (Takemura) and that whole scene with the kids wanting her and River to get together made both me and my V wanna curl up in a ball and die from how awkward it was. Just curious as to your own feelings on River.

Ahhhhh, so I was writing a very long answer, and then Tumblr just wiped it on me. 😭 Thanks, Tumblr.

ANYWAY, River's romance wasn't for me or Valerie. 😅

I'm gonna put the rest under a cut in case anyone wants to avoid River critical opinions, and I really want to stress that this is just my preference. I'm not trying to convince anyone not to like their boy--I actually liked River outside of his romance, and I genuinely enjoy other folks' River ships. I also think a lot of my issues with the romance can be chalked up to neglect from the devs. But playing through it was nevertheless a minefield of squicks for me.

From Valerie's perspective, she basically saw River as a decent, principled guy while they were working together on the Rhyne/Peralez investigation, but thought their relationship, working or otherwise, would be concluded when they wrapped that up. She admires that he wants to stick to his convictions and go to IA with the corruption, but she is a much more cynical person when it comes to the powers that be, and he doesn't respond overly fondly when she says such.

So Valerie is very surprised when he reaches out for help with Randy, and she assumes it's totally out of desperation rather than any interest in her personally. Johnny, of course, picks up on it, which she sort of brushes off, but when River starts saying things like "I'll tell you about it over a beer sometime," she does get the sense that maybe he's interested in more than just her professional help.

By this point, though, Valerie is smitten with Goro. She's denying it to herself, and trying to keep her focus on the Relic and fixing her terminal condition (which River doesn't even know about), but either way: she has no interest in pursuing anything romantic or sexual with River.

She does help River with Randy, because despite any awkwardness she feels around River, she's not gonna let a kid potentially die because of it. But again, when they part ways, Valerie thinks that's that. So when he calls later, telling her that he misses her and inviting her to family dinners, Valerie is immediately like hey, buddy, don't do this.

I think the most in-character thing for her would be to not go to the dinner and just wish him well on the phone call, but since the game won't let you close out the quest without making an appearance, I made her suffer through the world's most awkward family meet-n-greet.

Valerie doesn't dislike kids, but she's not overly keen on them either, particularly those who aren't related to her, so playing with them and a man she's trying to let down gently is incredibly uncomfortable. She also doesn't particularly appreciate the way Joss probes into her family life or plans for a family life, and when the kids do the "raise your hand if you think River and V would be a good couple," Valerie has pretty much fuckin' had it.

And then, when they're chatting up on the water tank, Valerie is frustrated that River implies she's been stringing him along when she's tried as nicely as possible to tell him she's not interested. She's also sober and the daughter of an addict who lost her life to drugs and alcohol, so she does not find his "I can be awfully charming when drunk" comment endearing at all.

So, after all is said and done, Valerie doesn't really want anything to do with River anymore. She might be willing to help him professionally again, and she's still friendly with him, but she doesn't think of him as a friend.

As for my personal opinion on the romance, I think it was just incredibly underdeveloped (especially compared to the ladies), and that lack of development paired with the fact that he's the only male romance option available to female Vs ends up having a lot of frustrating and troubling implications.

It does kind of feel like CDPR made a very bold assumption that what women who are attracted to men want in a relationship is something that is heavily centered around family and children. As a woman who does not like that in real life or fiction and often has to defend my own child-free relationship, I found that very off-putting. And this isn't to say that it shouldn't exist at all--I fully support anyone who does enjoy this take on a romance, and I'm glad they got to have something they enjoyed--I just really wish it wasn't the only option.

I also don't like that there's no way to reject him without subjecting yourself to the awkward family dinner. It makes him feel very pushy if you're not into him, which I feel probably isn't the intent. I'm sure some folks would take the stance that it's more realistic, but I'm okay with forgoing a little realism if it means I don't have to have the uncomfortably immersive experience of telling a man I'm not into him while we're sitting atop a water tower and he's getting drunk. 😬😬😬

I also really disliked both his and V's responses if you chose the "ever feel lonely?" prompt, which I talked about here.

But the Peralez/Rhyne mission with him is actually one of my favorites in the game, and if his story had stayed more in that route, like fighting the corruption in the NCPD, I probably would have enjoyed him overall a lot more.

And if I remember correctly, Goro's creation also ended up affecting how River was utilized in the story--I think he was supposed to have a bigger role in some of the corporate happenings, but the writers realized they wanted someone deep inside Arasaka instead, hence Goro. Well, first it was going to be a more villainess lady character, and then it became Goro because they wanted to humanize Arasaka more.

So yeah. Those are my complicated thoughts on River. I mean, from the in-character perspective, it's pretty straightforward, but my own opinions on him are kind of ambivalent.

[tklpilled]

obligatory "i just joined a fandom and need to make hcs for it" post (but its only the characters i like the most)

TANJIRO. BABY BABY BABY BABY

I LOVE HIM SM

he'll be like "oh!! sorry im ticklish there!!" if you accidentally tickle him HES SO SWEET I CANT STAND IT

sososo giggly and he curls up into a ball and kicks his feet a little HES SO CUTEEEE

he will let you tickle him if you ask

hes also the best person to go to if ur in a lee mood bc he'll be like "if it makes you happy!! :D" and hes so gentle too

but he will make you outright ask for it bc he genuinely does not know what you want otherwise

i think he was the oldest sibling? dont quote me on that but i know was at least one of the oldest so he has experience

if he needs to convince someone to do something he goes straight to tickling

inosuke ... does not know what tickling is

this is completely unrelated but he sounds like muscle man in the dub and i fucking lose it every time

ANYWAY zenitsu's trying to tickle him or something and he's like "no wtf dont touch me"

so zenitsu's like "damn .. then i guess tanjiro is more ticklish than you ....." "no the FUCK he is NOT" (<- does not know what that means)

so. cut to inosuke trying to stay still while being thoroughly wrecked bc he is BETTER than tanjiro in EVERY WAY

idk i feel like his back is super ticklish. like if you poke him he jumps ten feet in the air

he takes tickling as a competition so sometimes he accidentally goes too far/is too rough when tickling someone

but he apologises afterwards. in his own way

(the way in question: calling them dumb for being too weak to handle it and needing to be treated like a baby. he means it affectionately ok)

GIYUU <333

super ticklish but actually really good at hiding it??

like there are only one or two spots that will actually get him to break so most people think hes not ticklish

but he IS and i will die on this hill

once you break him he IMMEDIATELY bursts into laughter like theres no buildup

he makes a lot of threats but he doesnt mean any of them

if you tease him he goes bright pink he cant handle it

especially compliments. tell him how cute his smile is and he's like.. a concerning shade of red

his knees and ribs both seem like really good spots for him

hes not the kinda guy to just spontaneously tickle someone, but like. if you ask him to then he will

kind of an awkward tickler but still effective

i want tengen uzui so so so badly

i wanna be one of his wives its NOT FAIR

anyway hes. very very good at tickling

he can immediately pick out all of your worst spots its HORRIBLE

teasy mf. i hate him

this is a very specific thing i think about but he's the type of guy to get super close like he's about to kiss you and then suddenly grab your sides

but its all a coverup bc he himself is also very ticklish

he doesnt let anyone tickle him though unless he's in the mood

like if you even THINK about it he's onto you

[probablynotsamantha]

Stupid but I'm having a lot of feelings about not having done a lot of things yet, like I know there's not a timeline you have to conform to but I want to go away to college, I want to have a long-term relationship, I want to have sex, I want to start hormones, I want to have independence from my parents, and I just feel so behind because I'm stuck doing a lot of nothing and being depressed as hell instead... it's just sinking in that I'll probably never get to do a lot of stuff I've always wanted to and have to wait a long time for others and have to watch other people go do all the stuff I want to do and have all the experiences I'm not having and really genuinely be happy for them but at the same time my heart is breaking because I should be there too, and don't get me started on finding someone who wants the same sort of relationship I do where there's mutual interest, I can't imagine that's ever gonna happen and I was stupid enough to think that it had and I just want to curl up in a ball and die because living with this shitty situation is just pure hell and I've been putting up with it for years and I don't know how much longer I can before I just snap, I'm pretty sure my brain doesn't work as well as it used to just due to the whole being depressed for 10 years straight, everyone always says it'll get better but it's only really gotten worse and now my entire support structure is gone and I can't live like this and I suck at making new friends and I just want to have a life I can enjoy but I have to live with my shitty family with my friends not being here for most of the year and not seeing them much when they are and it's just not going to get better because it's always one step forward and two steps back and I can't do a single fucking thing right

[samethyst01]

A Mother's Love: Chapter Three

As the argent glow of the moon shone through Coraline’s window, she stood facing it with her back to her uninvited guest. She had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, her body heavy with anticipation and the clammy, uncomfortable sensation of the clothes she had worn all day still clinging to her skin. She wanted to change into her pyjamas, but not in front of her visitor. She could wait until they had discussed the elephant in the room.

“She’s back, isn’t she?”

She didn’t have to turn around. She knew what was coming next. And come it did.

“It seems she never perished.”

There came that familiar purring voice, one she had come to expect when she was lost in the folds of the Other World, the witch’s minions hunting her down. Slowly she turned around to face him, watching as he sat on her bed and stared at her. It was almost frightening, the way the moonlight glanced off his frame and illuminated his shadow on the wall behind. Coraline wanted to wake up from this dream, wanted it desperately, but try as she might she couldn’t convince herself that it was not as real as everything else.

“You never used to talk in the real world. I thought you couldn’t.”

The Cat said nothing.

Coraline scoffed before leaning back against the windowsill and folding her arms, considering her options. She could curl into a ball and force herself to sleep away the apparition, waking in the morning to find that all her worrying was over nothing and she could go back to living her normal, ordinary life. She could dive out the window to the streets below and escape everything forever, and whatever horrors the Other World had in store for her could die alongside her. Or…

“I did what you asked. I dumped the key down the well where she couldn’t get it.”

The Cat’s hackles raised.

“The well is just another portal to her world.”

Coraline tensed. If that was true, if all her work thirteen years ago had been for nothing, then— then that was horrifying. More than that, it was infuriating, and it caused Coraline’s fists to ball up and her brow to furrow. She took a step forward, no intentions to strike the animal but rage building inside of her.

“So you lied to me…”

Sensing her anger, he shook his head.

“There are secrets that I even I do not know. I am sorry.”

For a moment, Coraline’s anger was diffused. Not due to anything as simple as an apology, but because in the short time she’d known the Cat, he’d never apologised for anything. She had come to know him as a haughty, condescending creature who thought the world of himself. He had been instrumental in the Beldam’s defeat, and taught her everything she needed to know about the Other World, but he was neither gracious nor polite. About the only time he ever showed genuine care for her was when he dropped the third ghost’s eye in front of her, having slain the rat that guarded it.

Biting her lip, Coraline took a step back and thought about exactly how she was going to approach the subject. It felt like every time she wanted to say it, say that name, her brain screamed at her to stop. She felt cold tingles running up and down her spine, and without even thinking she had already sat down on the bed next to the Cat. He was silent, and so was she, and that silence remained for a while until it was broken, not by Coraline but by her feline companion.

“I had always assumed she would die eventually. As all creatures do when they are starved. But I fear she is not like any creature in this world. I fear it will take more than starvation to kill her, especially if she gets that key.”

Coraline followed that line of thought.

“It doesn’t make any sense… even if the well was another door, it shouldn’t have led to her world. I mean, we both saw it, it’s nothing but— what did you call it, ‘the empty part of that place’?”

“Do you doubt what I’ve seen?”

His tone was incredulous, his eyes narrowed. There was that arrogance again. Coraline shrugged and didn’t look at him. In response, he circled around her before sitting on her lap, his big blue eyes staring right at her, perhaps into her soul. It was an uncomfortable, almost judgemental stare, as if he was asking her what she’d been doing all these years, why she hadn’t done everything in her power to make sure that the witch never came to the real world and ruined all these other people’s lives along with her own.

“You know what you must do.”

With his words came that horrible pit in Coraline’s stomach. She knew he was right – the Beldam could not be allowed to return to full power – but the thought of even stepping foot back in Ashland made her feel sick to her stomach. What was going to be there, waiting for her? After a few moments of contemplation she turned her gaze toward the Cat and matched the intensity of his expression.

“If she’s still alive in there, I’ll make her sorry for what she’s done. Then I’ll kill her.”

The Cat nodded at her words and slinked off the bed and towards the window. She followed, opening it for him. He hopped up onto the windowsill and the two shared a deep gaze. Coraline began to smile softly.

“I missed you.”

He gave her a doubtful look, but said nothing. He looked out the window and stared at the moon, its glow casting a great silver light onto his body, and he had an ethereal look to him.

“I have faith in you, Coraline. I always have.”

He turned to her, and for the first time since visiting her that night, she could see fear in his deep blue eyes.

“But the Beldam is desperate. She survives only on the thought of escaping the Other World. She will do whatever it takes to have you. She will use trickery, she will manipulate, she will scare you beyond your wits and she will break your soul. But you cannot give in.”

He looked back up at the moon, staring into its light.

“I think she’s watching me.”

And with that, he was gone.

Coraline stumbled back onto her bed and started hyperventilating. She didn’t even realise how much tension was coiled around her soul, and when it lifted, she was a mess. She curled up and tried to steady herself, her heart beating at a rapid pace. He had come here. He had come here and it was real. He had come here and it was real and so was she, and so was everything that had ever happened to her. Now it all made sense, why she had painted that dreaded house, why she felt so on edge, why she knew what was coming, implicitly.

After a while, she steadied herself and came to the realisation that there was no other option. She couldn’t sleep this one away, and jumping out that window would be selfish. No, there was only one thing left for her to do. But she wasn’t ready to face that yet, she had to sleep, had to collect herself. She had to just rest.

The Beldam could wait.

******

Wybie and Coraline didn’t speak to each other in the morning. The air was filled with an uncomfortable weight. She suspected that he heard her talking to the Cat during the night, and if he knew about the Cat then he knew about her plan. She desperately wanted to keep him out of danger, despite the offer of help being so comforting to her. She didn’t know for sure if she could actually go back to Ashland alone, but if she could, she’d do it, and help Wybie stay out of harm’s way. It was the least she could do.

Wybie was working early that day, so they didn’t see much of each other in the morning. Coraline decided she would do some chores around the apartment to try and keep her mind off things, and focused on something else instead of what ate at her. A little after Wybie left, and she’d had her breakfast and freshened up, she started her work, going to the cupboard and grabbing the vacuum cleaner. As she opened the door, something fell out and onto the floor. She crouched down to pick it up, examining it.

It was a button.

Coraline immediately clenched her fist around the object, burying it in her palm. She wasn’t sure whether to be angry, disgusted or terrified, but she settled on a sort of indignant dread. She never kept buttons in the apartment, or anywhere, finding them to be an unpleasant reminder of things she never wanted to remember. Especially considering the thought – buried though it was – that a button signified the Other World, and that perhaps she was still in it, to this day.

With a grunt of repulsion, she stamped into the kitchen and dropped the button into the trash bin. She considered burning it, but she didn’t want to make a mess. She thought for a second that she might be giving the Beldam exactly what she wanted, but she also knew that living in comfort was preferable to forcing herself to stare down her trauma every day. No… she was not going to cave to that evil monster.

Never.

Coraline achieved much progress that day, cleaning both her bedroom and the living room. The kitchen was just a small part of that latter space, given the size of their apartment, and so she managed to clean part of that too with relative ease. She debated going into Wybie’s room, but thought better when she reminded herself that though they were close, it was rude to invade his privacy. Maybe he was building a motorcycle in there or something.

At around two in the afternoon, Coraline sat down with a bowl of chips and began watching something on her phone. She had just started the video when it paused abruptly, an incoming call silencing it. It was an unknown number. Cautiously, she answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Coraline Jones?”

The voice on the other end belonged to a young woman.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Ms Jones, this is Pontiac General Hospital. Your friend Wybie’s been in an accident.”

******

It wasn’t often that Coraline used Uber. She always maintained that the service was far too expensive, and even if she could afford it, regularly, she preferred the peace and quiet of her own music and being able to sit on her own, just staring out the window. She’d only taken a taxi twice in her entire life, both times because she was all out of other options and couldn’t wait for the problem to resolve itself.

This time was no different.

When she received the call, she knew she had to act fast. She called for the Uber and waited impatiently outside the apartment, trying to steady her breathing. She didn’t know what had happened, not in much detail. The only thing she needed to know was whether Wybie would live, and the woman on the phone told her his condition was not critical. That still didn’t put her at ease, and a thousand thoughts swarmed around her head like wasps. They stung at her.

As soon as the Uber arrived, she jumped in and directed it to the hospital. It only took twenty minutes. She said very little to the driver, and he in turn asked few questions, able to tell rather easily that she wasn’t in the mood for conversation. As soon as they arrived at the hospital, Coraline paid the fee and immediately jumped out the car, sprinting to the front desk and demanding to know where to find Wybie. She received a few strange looks but they were the least of her concerns.

She was told that Wybie was in intensive care, and that there had been an accident while he was at work. Apparently, something had caused him to stumble while he was working on a car, and his arm had become trapped under one of the wheels. The car only had to drop for a second, and most of the bones in his arm were shattered. Coraline was horrified, her mind filled with images as she tried desperately not to picture the event… Wybie’s screams… the grinding…

Shaken, she sat in the waiting room for nearly five hours, unable to see her friend until his condition was stabilised. When it was, after she had stared at the wall in complete shock, she was called by a doctor who led her towards Wybie’s room. He was a tall, frail man with a balding head and thick glasses perched atop his nose, rather resembling a professor whom Coraline had admired at her university.

“I’m sorry to say this, Ms Jones, but the damage is extensive. It’ll take months for his arm and hand to heal, not to mention the physical therapy to get them working again. It’s going to be a long and very tough road ahead.”

He spoke with a soft tone, and sounded quite sympathetic. Coraline sniffled, trying her utmost not to cry. She didn’t want to yet, not in front of a stranger.

“How did this happen…?”

The doctor checked over some notes on his clipboard.

“His colleagues called in the ambulance, found him pinned under the car. He was apparently screaming and babbling about a rat,”

And that was enough for Coraline. She barged past him and into Wybie’s room. Her hand covered her mouth instinctively as she saw him, his entire left arm cocooned in a white cast, medical needles inserted into it. She slowly approached, her body shaking with anxiety. He was unconscious, presumably sedated, and he looked like he’d aged ten years in just a few hours. The pain must’ve been horrific.

Coraline began to cry softly as she crouched down beside Wybie, taking his other hand in her own and gently pressing her face against it. This couldn’t have happened, surely it was just another nightmare. But she had come to learn, the hard way, that her life was beginning to get very strange again. First came the dreams, then came the Cat, and now her best friend was laid up in hospital and might never be able to use his left arm again. It almost tipped her teetering mental state off the edge and into the rivers of a breakdown.

But what drowned out her fear in that moment was not misery but rage, rage at the mere thought of another of the Beldam’s minions having slipped into the real world to torment her, and that minion had hurt her friend. She wanted, so badly, to take that little monster and feed it into a wood chipper. More than that, she wanted to grab that witch by her straggly hair and beat her porcelain face into dust, burn down her awful palace, shred apart all of her ridiculous inventions, and board up every single door that led into her world.

As if sensing her desperate fury, Wybie’s hand began to twitch, and he made a sort of gruff croaking sound. Immediately, Coraline shot up and saw his eyes open, the smallest hint of a smile creeping across his face.

“Hey, Coral…”

His voice was hoarse from screaming, but Coraline rejoiced upon hearing it. She reached down and hugged him, careful not to disturb his arm, still crying softly. He did his best to match her movements, wrapping his uninjured arm around her torso. After a few seconds she pulled back, her expression filled with worry. They were both thinking the same thing. Instead of firing questions at him, Coraline sat back on the chair next to his bed, dragging it closer, and just let him explain.

Wybie licked his lips, formulating his sentence the best way he could, before giving her the answers she needed.

“Everything was normal at first… I was just working on the drive shaft… and then I heard this… scurrying noise.”

He paused for a moment and looked over at the bedside table, upon which sat a cup of water. Coraline stood up and grabbed it, bringing it over to him. He sipped it a few times before holding it against his chest.

“It sounded like it was coming from inside the car. I grabbed my torch and I reached inside, and… and it was a rat. A big, fat rat with wild eyes. It bit my hand and I… I dislodged the jack stand somehow. And then the car came down on my arm…”

Coraline winced at the thought, taking a deep, measured inhale. When she looked up, Wybie was staring at her with an expression so intense that she felt fear lurch up her stomach.

“But I swear to you… when the wheel came down… I could hear somebody laughing.”

Now that really did it. Coraline jumped out of her chair and quickly took Wybie’s hand, matching the intensity of his expression. She knew she was going to have to fight her way around this one, but there was no discussion, not anymore.

“I have to go back there, Wybie. I have to finish what we started.”

“I know.”

She raised an eyebrow. She expected a lot more resistance than that, but instead Wybie wasn’t even trying to stop her. He must’ve known her mind was set, and that nothing could change it. That didn’t mean, however, he wasn’t going to make sure she was ready.

“You keep your phone with you at all times… and you call me if things go sideways.”

His voice was calm but firm. Coraline nodded and was about to turn away so she could refill his cup but Wybie grabbed her wrist to stop her. Again came that intense expression.

“Promise me, dragonfly… that you’ll kill that fucking bitch.”

She didn’t even need to think about it.

“I promise you…”

She whispered.

*******

As Coraline stood outside in the hall, her head full of worry and determination in equal measure, she felt around in her pocket for her phone. She found it, but her hand also brushed against something else in her other pocket. She pulled it out, and scoffed as she beheld a small black button. Shaking her head, she threw the button in the trash before dialling her father’s number. She hadn’t even texted him in over a year, and the guilt began to gnaw at her.

It only took two rings before he answered. His voice was husky and filled with surprise.

“Coraline…?”

“Hey, dad…”

She looked down the hall, watching as the shadows began to form the shape of a massive, spectral hand.

“I need to come home for a few days.”

[onlyplatonicirl]

very very good chapter yippee yippeee tcoti my biggest special interest yay hurray huzzah

but in all seriousness the newest chapter was fantastic, all the characters are so well writte, despite condemning what error has done i can sympathise with him so well in this chapter and now throughout the entire story, he is a being who exists outside of reality unable to properly integrate into it because its just not in his nature, his body rejects its very existence and his mind is completely shattered (even more so after what the council did lmao), he seems so hopless in these last few chapters focusing on him, all he wants is to just get to his little void and curl up on a nice comfy bean bag and then fucking die

the way youve characterised ink is also incredibly interesting, he isnt this paragon of moral superiority but he also isnt a naughty no good bad man >:(( , he really truly is just such a uniquely neutral blank slate of a person (or monster ig), he doesnt seem to have any motivations outside of what he deems to be moral but his sense of morality is somewhat twisted by his desires and is doomed to forever be selfish because it only ever serves to suit himself and the current emotional palette hes experiencing, he cannot truly feel in same way others do so hes always running off of what his id tells him, what does he need in that moment to survive? what does he want in this moment to make him feel good? hes a pleasure seeker through and through, so long as his desires dont conflict with the relationships hes already established he'll go for that goal and he wont stop until hes got locked between his teeth through hell or high weather, doesnt matter if it conflicts with his moral compass, who needs one when no ones looking?

dream is also another really fantastic character in this fic, truth be told im usually not the biggest fan of him, a lot of his characterisation, like ink, lacks nuance, hes either a happy go lucky naive ball of energy, or this rude burnt and backstabbed cigar smoking loner, but dream in this seems to be a lot more nuanced, hes had bad past experiences and he does what he believes is right, every character in this story has these sets of moral principles and not all of them align, which is really interesting when you put them all in one room (the council) and force them to try and agree upon one major decision, the results of which will literally affect the entirety of the multiverse, dream believes in a great good otherwise known as utilitarianism - making choices which will maximise the happiness of everyone involved - and right enough killing or otherwise disposing of error would be the most utilitarian option, but he cannot shake the fact that murder is wrong despite how much he hates him and everything hes done

needles to say i am excited for the next chapters, i want to see these three relationship evolve (or devolve), and from the looks of it, dream corruption arc 👀👀????? he may not go the path of his brother, but hot damn that boy is gonna be pissed off at the world and the people who live in it and i cannot wait to see him tell them all whats what

glad to have you back in the writing biz

YESSSSS THANK YOU FOR THIS, YOU GET ME!!!! YOU GET MY CHARACTER ANALYSIS WAAAAHGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Ink is a TRUE NEUTRAL and has his own interests in mind. That being said however, when he has a normal emotional palette he does genuinely care for the people important in his life, such as Dream and Error. He’s mildly pissed off at Error and more pissed off at Dream, but he does care. It may be shallow but it begs the question - is it anymore shallow compared to people with souls?

Dream is at his core a good person, and he was opposed the murder. He’s happy and kind, but he’s also not an idiot, and after going through everything he’s been through he’s more an in his right to be pissed beyond belief

And Error, well, you nailed EXACTLY what I was going for

I really wanted this story to be something that people could have discussions about, arguing in favor of and against characters and their actions. I’ve seen people get in ARGUEMENTS over alchemy and whether or not he’s in his right to do what he did. And I love it

THANK U SOOOO SO MUCH FOR THIS!!! I absolutely adore hearing people’s takes on characterization and what they think will happen. They’re all so complex and I ADORE them for it

The closest character we can get to “evil because I love being evil” is like - Nightmare and Killer probably, but we already know enough about their characterization outside of TCOTI to where I don’t really have to say anything lol

[connorsui]

Each time you post …you have me in this state where I genuinely have to think before I say anything ..sometimes it's raw ..straight to the point… out of the girls mouth but sometimes you just have to have a moment to yourself to truly think and mesmerize what you just read because it can be so impactful that it truly disturbs the rest of your day – it's not even the fact that their is so much detail all jam packed into a chapter for everybody to read that it has me wanting dissect it like I'm inside a science lab looking at a sheep's brain for a project

But I feel as if I'm looking at thousands of specks of gold all in a neat little pile and a god is telling me to tell the difference between all of them from the shine to the color to the star and to the planet ..but the thing is …I can't…it's all perfect ..you can put them together just like every chapter of this story and I would still rate em a 10/10

Now first things first I do hope you are taking care of yourself well my luv 🩷 – if you did a hiatus and arrive a year later you will find me in the steps of the great temple that is now in your name ✨️ – Now allow me to provide some thoughts… because if this was a book…. this entire series would have sticky notes sticking out of every single page and highlighted sections all over each paragraph

Seeing through sylus perspective constantly makes me feel conflicted over how I should truly express my emotions about him ...sometimes I genuinely feel like hating him ..other days you switch up the tactics and now I'm left with one singular note hitting off in the corner of my head going: "you know what? ...he aint that bad" -- it's like looking at the exact same picture but switching the fonts..and I'll admit ..I never look back on my previous reblogs of any story so I never know if I'm repeating myself

HOWEVERRRRR this man has me in a stand still between my own morals and my insanity ..it's like a battle of the heart and mind ..we know what he is doing and it's manipulative and filled with tactics to get us to atleast ...try ..to love him ..but as the more you stay with him ..your insanity ..is starting to look ..a little moreee ..like you can agree with what they are saying (to love him ..to stay with him) ..and although "MC" is still in that fighting stage I do fear of the "breaking point" we might soon see with them

Though sylus? ..seeing us all defeated curled up into a little ball and still finding the words to call us ..cute? ..absolute mental ..he had no business to lie to us and make us feel as if where he is going he is most likely going to die ..though I understand that he amplifies that fear to make us realize ...we NEED him in our lives but it's so unbelievable that it truly makes me wonder if this is the only thing he could think of before allowing our mentality to fully plummet into a broken state

Not only that but him having this secret jealousy factor over Xavier really takes the cake for me ...laughing at him and mocking him by thinking: "this your knight in shining Armor?" -- like YES ...THATS MY MAN ..MY ONLY MAN THAT I DREAM ABOUT AND HOPES HE SAVES ME FROM YOUUUUU -- and yet he still has this gall in him to allow him to drive his car just so he can tell him to never come back "You feel like you failed already" NAH HE NEVER DID AND HE NEVER WILL

HE WENT THIS FAR IN A CITY WITH NO MORALS AND HE STILL LIVING AND BREATHING

Though my lawd allow me to cut this short cuz this has me in a hold so hard it should choke me ..however I cannot cloud your mind or anyone's mind like this -- but let me just say this ..sylus bringing us that pregnancy test really filled a deep and rooted sense of disturbance in me that i have never felt besides this one scene in the handmaids tale with Serena Waterford and June Osborn where Serena makes June take a prengnacy test infront of her

And while June is on her knees clinging to the bathtub Serena has the test with a smile on her face saying this is a great wondrous day for everyone ...and June just looks at her and goes: "you think this is what I wanted?...to bring a baby for you?"

IT GIVES MC IN THIS SITUATION --- DIFFERENT FONTS SPEAKING IN THE SAME LEVEL

His Watchful Eye Pt.8

Word Count: 23.4k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, mentions of pregnancy, forced pregnancy, mentions of breeding, attempted murder, mentions of murder, tw attempted car crash, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, Xavier appears, tw vomiting, mentions of blood, cramping, nausea, very plot heavy chapter wld recommend not skipping, its well worth the read!

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @fading-twinkle, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze

AN: Hi all! This is of course on A03! I totally forgot about my wisdom teeth removal surgery and therefore added a LOT more words to make up for it for the late upload. Also, readers symptoms are based on what a friend told me it was like for her so please be aware of that going in if you've been pregnant and don't find readers timeline aligning with your own. Its a lot different for everyone! (Plus considering Sylus isn't even human in the first place I doubt the pregnancy would be normal anyways lol). Anyways, please enjoy this chapter! /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

“No, I’m not pregnant,” you whimpered, shaking your head as tears started to spill down your cheeks. “I’m just sick…I'm just sick...” “Only one way to find out, honey,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. Like he was comforting a child. He could feel your fear, could see the way you were choking on the sobs that kept spilling from you. But there was no rush. He had all the time in the world.

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7

Sylus sat on the couch, fingers drumming absently against the wood of the arm rest as he packed away files and data chips for the upcoming trip. The low hum of the N109 Zone’s endless night buzzed through the small cracks of the window, a constant, oppressive reminder of where he lived. But his mind wasn’t on the trip, not really. His thoughts kept circling back to you—you sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, probably confused at the coldness he’d been showing you for days.

He had expected this. Of course, you would try to leave him. That’s what all this distance had been about—your inevitable attempt at escape again. It was frustrating, yes, but not surprising. You had been stubborn from the very beginning, always resisting, always challenging him. And in truth, that was part of what drew him to you. Your defiance. But the fact that you had actually gone through with it that night, tried to walk out on him... that cut deeper than he was willing to admit.

He had said too much. Far more than he should have in his drunken state. Words spilled out of him, cracking through the cold, calculated exterior he usually maintained. He had shown you something raw, something he didn’t even think he was capable of—vulnerability. And for a brief moment, he had hoped—foolishly, he knew—that his words had reached you. That, despite everything, you would see what he was offering. That maybe, just maybe, it had tugged at your heart enough to make you stay. To choose him over the open door, to choose him over the freedom you so desperately craved.

But, just as he expected, you made your choice. And it wasn’t him.

The sting of it gnawed at him, the rejection simmering under his skin. He had allowed himself to feel something he had long considered a weakness, let down his guard for just a fleeting moment, and you had turned your back on him. He had given you the chance to see him as something more than the cold, possessive figure he had been. And yet, you had gotten out of bed, chasing the illusion of freedom.

It wasn’t just that you had tried to leave—it was that you had chosen to leave him. That, even after all the effort he had put into controlling, guiding, and shaping you, you had slipped away. He had thought he could bend you to his will, that with time, you would see there was no life for you beyond him. But clearly, you still hadn’t learned.

This wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. You were his, even if you didn’t fully understand it yet. He saw something festering in your eyes. In your mind. You could run from your feelings, but Sylus knew better. You could try to escape, but in the end, you would come back. Either by choice or by force.

Either way, vulnerability was a mistake he wouldn’t repeat.

He told himself it was nothing, that your defiance was natural, a part of who you were. You just needed time. Time to understand, time to adjust. Time to realize that you were better off here, with him. You didn’t know it yet, but you needed him just as much as he needed you. Maybe more.

And forcing it? He had tried that. It didn’t work. The chain, the teasing, even the brief moments of affection, none of it had broken through yet. That was why he was ignoring you now, why he’d stopped giving you the attention he knew you craved, whether you admitted it or not. You had to come to him, and maybe a little distance would push you toward that realization. You just needed a little… push.

Sylus sighed, running a hand through his hair as he stood up, glancing toward the bed. He didn’t want to make things so cold between you two. It hurt him, too, to ignore you like this. Every time he saw you sitting there, doing something as simple as folding your clothes, his heart clenched. You didn’t even realize how cute you were, the way your face twisted in concentration as you neatly tucked each item away. The way you fumbled with the edge of your blanket, lost in thought, was enough to drive him mad.

Sometimes he’d catch himself watching you when you weren’t paying attention, your intricate fingers working on some small task, and he had to fight the urge to go over to you, to touch you, rip that nightgown off and hear those cute sounds you make as you squirm under him. There was something sweet, almost delicate, about the way you moved, unaware of how captivating you were.

But then, there was the chain. The damned chain.

His eyes darkened slightly as his gaze flickered toward the weight of that metal around your ankle. It bothered him more than it should have, seeing you restrained like that. It didn't suit you. It was large and imposing on your skin. He didn’t want you to feel trapped, at least not in a way that made you fear him. The chain was a necessity—for now. It was for your own good, to keep you safe, to keep you from running again. But the sight of it weighed on him, a small reminder of the lengths he had to go to keep you by his side. One day, you won’t need it, he promised himself.

One day, you’d stay because you wanted to. Right?

Sylus continued to gather the last of his belongings, his thoughts already on his impending return. The journey ahead was fraught with danger, much like the rest of his work. Business in the N109 Zone was never without risk, especially when it involved the kind of deals Sylus specialized in. The ones outside of it though...could be a little unpredictable. A new weapon had surfaced in the market, and with supply running low and demand soaring, things were bound to get chaotic. But Sylus had already secured his piece. Not because he needed it—no, it was merely bait. He had his eyes on a particular "fish," one that had been slipping through his fingers for weeks.

He had been keeping close tabs on your cycle, watching the days go by on the calendar. You had stopped bleeding while in captivity with Reese and now, it was just a matter of time. By the time he came back, he was sure his seed would take hold. That was why your recent "punishment" hadn't really been about discipline. It had simply been a means to ensure his seed was planted, without too much resistance. He knew you well enough by now. Had he hinted that you were ovulating, you would’ve fought, screamed, maybe even tried to hurt him—only to harm yourself in the process. Disguising it as punishment had been the simplest way to get you to comply.

He was well aware of your fear. He knew that if he pushed hard enough, you would obey. It wasn't what he truly wanted, but if playing mind games was what it took to reach the future he envisioned, so be it. Sylus was no stranger to playing the bad guy.

He would have everything he wanted by the time he got back—you by his side, in more ways than one. The thought of you swollen with his child, completely his, was enough to stir something dark and possessive inside him. He felt his cock slight stiffen at the thought, pooling almost desperate desires to have you under him one last time before he left. To ensure his seed would take.

Sylus moved quietly through the room, packing the last of his things into a sleek, black briefcase. His movements were slow, calculated, betraying nothing of the thoughts racing through his mind. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, now curled up in bed, your form tense beneath the blanket. He could sense your unease, feel the anxiety radiating off of you even though you hadn’t said a word.

Cute.

A silent chuckle echoed in his mind as he noted the way you stiffened the moment he began to approach. You gasped, almost imperceptibly, and tensed like a rabbit sensing a predator. He wanted to close the space between you, to cup your face, trace his fingers along your skin, and feel the heat of your breath against him before he left for the trip. But he held back. No, he had to maintain the cold distance he’d imposed. It was for your own good.

But damn, it was hard. He wanted to mark you, to remind you that you were his—no matter how far he went. Still, there was something delicious about your reaction, the way your eyes widened as he stopped beside the bed.

Why was everything you did so adorable?

You sat up slightly, your gaze locking onto him, every muscle in your body tense. You were clearly waiting for him to say something, to finally break the silence that had lingered like a heavy fog between you for days. Instead, he reached down, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair that was near your face. A piece of lint had gotten caught in it, likely from the laundry you’d folded earlier—one of the small, mundane tasks you’d taken to doing in your isolated state.

Sylus plucked the lint from your hair with an easy, almost gentle motion. It was such a simple, unassuming gesture, but it left you staring at him, taken aback. The look on your face was a mixture of confusion and something deeper, something Sylus could feel but couldn’t quite define. You were shocked by the touch, the sudden break in his cold routine. And then, before you could process it further, he turned his back on you, preparing to leave.

The silence was unbearable.

"Sylus..." Your voice broke through the quiet, trembling ever so slightly, and he felt something tighten in his chest. His back was still to you, but he could hear the frustration, the desperation lacing your words. "What's wrong with you?"

Your question hung in the air, and he felt his resolve waver for the briefest of moments. He wanted to turn around, to explain, to tell you that you hadn’t done anything wrong—that this distance, this coldness, was a game he hated just as much as you. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

"Stop playing your stupid games," you continued, your tone hardening as the frustration bled into anger. "You bring me back, chain me up again, just to ignore me? Asshole." There was venom in your voice, but it was laced with hurt, and Sylus could feel it.

A pang of guilt settled in his chest, but he pushed it down. You had tried to leave him, after all. He had expected it, even understood it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. Still, he had to maintain control. She just needs a little more time. He sighed softly, his back still turned to you as he gathered his thoughts.

You weren’t done, though. "You leave me alone for days, barely say a word, and now you’re going on some mysterious trip like nothing’s wrong?" Your voice cracked just slightly, betraying the emotion you were trying to hide. "Why do you even bother keeping me here if you’re just going to act like I don’t exist?"

Sylus swallowed, his jaw tightening. He wanted to answer you, to give you some reassurance, but the distance was necessary. For both of you. And besides, he had seen that look in your eyes before—confusion, anger, frustration. You were close. Close to realizing that he was the only constant in this world, the only one who cared enough to keep you safe, even if you didn’t understand that yet.

"This may be the last time we talk, kitten," he said, his voice colder than he felt. It pained him to keep up the facade, but he forced himself to continue. "Why not be nice in our potential final moments together?"

The words were a joke—he wasn’t planning on dying, not anytime soon—but the way your face contorted in shock, the hurt that flashed in your eyes, made something twist deep inside him. It was cruel, yes, but it was part of the game. You had to see what life would be like without him, even if only for two weeks.

He turned slightly, just enough to catch the look on your face. You were staring at him, wide-eyed, stunned by the cold indifference in his words. Your lips parted as if you were going to say something, but the words seemed to catch in your throat. The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.

What were you thinking? Were you hurt, confused, angry?

Sylus wanted to take it back. He wanted to tell you that he wasn’t going to die, that this was just another dangerous job, but it hurt him to say it. It hurt him to see you looking at him like that, but he couldn’t back down. He had to keep his distance. He had to let you come to him on your own terms.

But then, you broke the silence. "Well," you spat, your voice hardening again as the hurt morphed into anger, "at least if you die, it’ll be a lot easier getting away from this hellhole."

Sylus chuckled softly, though there was no real humor in it. He wasn’t surprised by your words—they were expected, even—but they stung nonetheless. He turned his back to you again, straightening his suit jacket as he prepared to leave.

"I’ve arranged for you to be fed three times a day," he said, his voice smooth and detached once more. "Mephisto will be keeping an eye on you while I’m gone. Any refusal to eat or bathe will be reported directly to me." He paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle over you. "And I wouldn’t want to hear about any attempts to run again, kitten."

"I'll be sure to take apart that stupid bird while you're gone" you spat, laying back down again.

He walked toward the door, his hand resting on the handle, ignoring your tantrum. He didn’t turn around, didn’t give you the chance to say anything more. This was the hardest part—leaving you like this, with so much unsaid. He could feel the turmoil radiating from you, the confusion and anger clashing with something deeper, something he knew you weren’t ready to admit to yourself yet.

But he had to wait. Forcing it hadn’t worked, and now, with the distance between you growing, you’d have time to think, to realize that you needed him as much as he needed you. He would return, and when he did, he hoped that the time apart would have made you see things more clearly.

Without another word, Sylus stepped through the door and left, the weight of your gaze burning into his back the entire time.

Sylus descended the staircase of his mansion, his steps silent, but his thoughts anything but. His mind, which had been lingering on you, now shifted to something else that had been gnawing at him for some time.

The boy from Linkon.

He had recently received reports of a disturbance at the shoe store—one of his covert fronts for an illegal drug operation. It was nothing major, just another petty interruption. But the details? They were unmistakable. A man had walked in wielding a sword, babbling about protocores, asking questions about the twins and a missing girl before escaping in a ball of searing light. His associates had been nearly blinded in the chaos. They hadn’t managed to catch the culprit, but Sylus didn’t need confirmation. He knew exactly who it was.

Xavier.

The name burned in his mind like a festering wound. Sylus had always known that dealing with Xavier would be no easy feat. The boy was reckless, persistent, and—most infuriatingly of all—he still loved you. And worse, you loved him back. Sylus could feel it in every interaction, every fleeting look you gave when you thought he wasn’t watching. It was in the way you hesitated sometimes, the way you still held back, despite everything. You may not have spoken Xavier’s name since Sylus had threatened his life, but that hope—that dangerous, foolish hope—still flickered inside you. The hope that Xavier would come bursting in like some white knight to rescue you from his place.

Like hell Sylus would let that happen.

The mere thought of it stirred something violent inside him. He had worked too hard, done too much, to let some delusional hunter ruin his plans. You were his, and no one else had any claim to you. Not Xavier, not anyone. And if the boy thought he could just sweep in and steal you away, he would quickly learn how wrong he was.

Sylus’s grip on the banister tightened as he reached the bottom of the stairs, his jaw clenched in cold resolve. The game with Xavier was nearing its end. Sylus would not allow this boy to remain a thorn in his side much longer. Xavier’s love for you made him reckless, vulnerable. He would exploit that, get rid of Xavier once for all. Sylus would ensure he never got the chance to try a second time.

As Sylus stepped off the last stair, Luke appeared from the kitchen, casually munching on an apple with his mask tilted up just enough to expose his mouth. The moment he spotted Sylus, his demeanor shifted entirely. Panic flashed across his face as he hastily yanked the mask back down to cover himself, the half-eaten apple forgotten as he tossed it into a nearby trashcan. He quickly straightened his posture, standing rigidly at attention.

“Er-boss! Everything’s packed for you!” Luke stammered, his voice betraying his nervousness. “I can take your suitcase as well!”

His gaze flickered nervously toward Sylus, clearly unsettled. He had seen that energy in Luke's posture before—fear, the kind that made men trip over their words and scramble to stay in his good graces. Luke's hands fidgeted at his sides as if unsure whether to reach for the suitcase or wait for further orders.

Sylus didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch for a moment too long, just enough to make Luke sweat. His cold, calculating gaze swept over him, taking in every detail of the young man’s anxiety, before finally giving a subtle nod.

Sylus sighed, releasing the tight coil of tension that had built up in his body. There was no need for uncontrolled anger—at least, not yet. The pest would soon be dealt with, and once that distraction was removed, there would be nothing left to stand in the way of the future he envisioned. A future where everything fell perfectly into place.

“I have something to take care of first,” he said, his voice cool and deliberate, as if every word was a command in itself. “Make sure the chefs fully understand the strict instructions I gave about her meals while I’m away. Balanced nutrition. Have them repeat it back to you—every single detail.”

He paused for a moment, his gaze narrowing slightly as he fixed Luke with a look that could freeze blood. “I don’t want any mistakes.”

Without waiting for a reply, Sylus tossed the suitcase into Luke’s hands with casual indifference. Luke’s eyes widened as he scrambled to catch it, his fingers slipping momentarily on the leather handle. The weight of it nearly sent him teetering off balance, but he managed to steady himself, face flushed with embarrassment.

“Yes, boss! I’ll—uh—I’ll make sure of it!” Luke stammered, standing rigidly at attention, as if that might somehow erase his clumsy fumbling.

But Sylus had already turned away, his attention far beyond the room, far beyond Luke’s awkward attempts to regain his composure. His long strides took him toward the door with an air of certainty, as if the world itself bent to his will with every step.

Xavier. Xavier. Xavier.

The name echoed in his mind, an insistent drumbeat. He could feel the anger simmering beneath the surface again, but it was controlled—held in check by sheer force of will. Xavier. The boy had become more than a nuisance. He was a threat. A distraction that had lingered for too long. But that would soon change. Sylus had no intention of letting anything—or anyone—interfere with his plans.

Xavier had dared to love you, dared to think he could save you from the inevitable. The thought of it sent a dark thrill through Sylus’s chest. How naive. How foolish. Did Xavier truly believe he could stand between you and your rightful place at Sylus’s side?

Not a chance.

He would deal with Xavier swiftly, thoroughly. Once the boy was removed from the picture, there would be no more obstacles. No more fantasies of rescue. You would see things clearly, finally understand where you belonged. With him. Always with him.

As the door swung shut behind him, Sylus’s lips curled into a faint smile. Xavier had no idea what was coming. But Sylus did. He had planned for everything, anticipated every move. And soon, Xavier would be nothing more than a forgotten name. A foolish memory.

Nothing—absolutely nothing—would prevent Sylus from claiming the future he deserved. The future he would have with you.

Sylus had always been ten steps ahead. As soon as he had caught wind of Xavier’s desperate attempts to escape the N109 Zone, he had put his plan in motion. Word had spread quickly through the Zone's shadowy network—the kind of word that made people look over their shoulders and shut doors the moment they saw the boy approaching. No one dared to help him as the days passed. Not with the subtle but ever-present threat of Sylus looming over their heads. They knew what would happen if they defied him, and no one was foolish enough to test that.

Mephisto had been watching Xavier from the skies, tracking every move the boy made. It was almost pitiful, Sylus thought, how determined Xavier was, knocking on doors, pleading with anyone who would listen, trying to get someone—anyone—to process the SIM card he had found. The card that held all the damning evidence of what had happened in Reese’s basement. But it was futile. The boy had no idea why people turned him away with frightened eyes, why they avoided him as if he carried some curse.

Sylus felt a flicker of pity for him—how bewildering it must be for Xavier, seeing doors shut in his face, confusion mixing with anger as hope slowly bled out of him. But that pity was short-lived. Xavier had made his choice, and Sylus was about to make sure it was his last.

As Mephisto tracked Xavier’s latest movement, Sylus watched from the GPS feed in his jeep. The boy had finally given up on finding help within the N109 Zone. Likely desperate, he had chosen the hard way—going on foot, sword strapped to his chest, with nothing but determination keeping him moving. He was heading back to Linkon, likely hoping to catch some cell service once he left the Zone's signal-dead perimeter. It was a hopeless task, but Xavier didn’t know that. Not yet.

The boy was relentless, Sylus had to give him that. Mephisto’s feed showed Xavier’s ragged state—his clothes dusty, his eyes sunken with exhaustion. But he kept walking.

What a fool. Maybe he'd like some help.

Wasting no time, Sylus tracked him to his location and pulled up alongside the road in his sleek black jeep, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, his suit perfectly pressed despite the rough terrain. He brought the car to a slow roll as he neared Xavier, careful not to appear too eager.

He took in Xavier's disheveled appearance and stifled a laugh as he finally got a real life glimpse of the man you dared to call your lover. This was your knight in shining armor?

Xavier glanced over his shoulder at the approaching vehicle, his hand already gripping the hilt of his sword with wary blue eyes. Sylus could feel the boy's suspicion even through the tinted glass. He cracked the window, letting in the cold, arid air, and called out in an easy, practiced tone.

“Need a ride?” Sylus asked casually, his voice carrying the hint of a smile. “You look like you could use one.”

Xavier’s eyes narrowed, scanning the jeep and the man inside it. “And you are?” he asked, his voice rough, a mixture of caution and exhaustion. He didn’t let go of the sword, though it remained sheathed at his chest.

Sylus feigned mild surprise, raising an eyebrow as if the question had caught him off guard. “Just a passerby,” he said smoothly, adjusting the cuff of his suit sleeve. “I just got back from my daughter’s birthday dinner and thought I’d offer a lift. Figured you’d be tired of walking by now.”

Xavier’s suspicion deepened. His gaze flicked over Sylus’s clean hair, the well-tailored suit that seemed out of place in the desolate outskirts of the Zone. His grip on the sword tightened slightly, though he didn’t draw it. “You’re wearing a suit,” Xavier said, his voice dripping with distrust. “Why would you be all the way out here, wearing that?”

Sylus had anticipated the boy’s suspicion, but it didn’t faze him in the slightest. In fact, it was almost amusing. He had expected Xavier to be cautious, to scrutinize every word, every detail, but in the end, none of it really mattered. The boy wouldn’t figure out who he was—how could he? Sylus was an enigma, a shadow in the dark corners of the N109 Zone. His reputation may have spread like wildfire, but few had ever laid eyes on him. Not even a glance.

The genius of it all was that Sylus had made himself a ghost, a figure of whispered warnings and vague threats. His power rested not in his appearance but in his influence, his ability to control from a distance. To orchestrate chaos while remaining completely invisible. As far as Xavier knew, the man sitting behind the wheel of this sleek, black jeep could be anyone—just another passerby, another face in the crowd. That anonymity was what made Sylus dangerous.

So when Xavier narrowed his eyes, suspicion etched into every line of his face, Sylus remained perfectly calm, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his lips. Let the boy wonder. Let him think. It wouldn’t change the outcome. Sylus always got what he wanted.

His fate was sealed.

Sylus smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He let the silence stretch just long enough to feel heavy between them. “Like I said,” Sylus replied, his voice smooth as silk. “I just came back from my daughter’s party. The restaurant was out of town, and this is the route I take back home.”

Xavier didn’t move. His eyes bored into Sylus, searching for cracks in the façade. Sylus could almost hear the boy’s thoughts, could feel the way Xavier was picking apart every word, every detail. But Sylus was calm, unbothered. He had done this dance too many times. He could see the exhaustion in Xavier’s posture, the way his legs trembled with fatigue, the faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, this stranger could help him get out of the Zone.

But the distrust remained. The boy wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t be easy to trick.

“You look too calm,” Xavier said finally, the edge of accusation in his voice. “No one from around here is that calm...or helpful.”

Sylus chuckled softly, as if the remark amused him. “I’ve lived in the N109 Zone for a long time,” he said, shrugging lightly. “You get used to the chaos after a while.”

Xavier’s eyes flickered with indecision. His instincts were telling him something was off, but the exhaustion in his limbs and the desperation gnawing at his mind were wearing him down. Sylus watched, a faint smile tugging at his lips as the boy’s resolve wavered. It was only a matter of time.

“You sure you don’t want a ride?” Sylus asked, leaning back in his seat. “The next town’s pretty far. It’s a long walk—especially on foot.”

For a moment, Xavier just stared at him, his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. He knew something was wrong—Sylus could see it in his eyes. But fatigue was a powerful weapon, and Sylus knew just how to wield it.

The silence stretched on, thick with tension, as the two men sized each other up—one desperately looking for a way out, the other calmly calculating the exact moment to strike.

“No thanks,” Xavier muttered, his voice curt as he adjusted the strap of his sword and continued his walk past the car, not bothering to look back.

Sylus’s jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation flashing across his otherwise calm demeanor. The boy wasn’t just persistent—he wasn’t stupid either. It was becoming clear that Xavier’s survival instincts were sharper than he had anticipated. Fine, two could play at that game. Sylus needed the boy in the car, and he wasn’t about to let his plan slip through his fingers over something as trivial as Xavier’s mistrust.

Without a word, Sylus reached over, twisting the keys in the ignition until the engine went silent. The mechanical purr of the jeep ceased, leaving only the sound of the wind rustling through the desolate landscape. He opened the door and stepped out, calling after Xavier before the boy could get too far.

“Wait,” Sylus said, his voice carrying with a casual ease that belied his annoyance. Xavier slowed, turning halfway to glance back, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Sylus could sense the boy’s reluctance, the wariness etched in his every movement.

With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, Sylus tossed the car keys in Xavier’s direction. They spun in the air before landing in Xavier’s open palm, the boy catching them reflexively but frowning down at the unexpected gesture.

“How about this,” Sylus said smoothly, his tone relaxed, as though they were discussing something as simple as the weather. “You drive yourself to your destination, and I’ll drive myself back. No strings attached. Sound fair?”

Sylus knew Xavier couldn't refuse such an offer, and even if he wanted to, his love for you was more important to him than his own safety.

He would take the bait.

Xavier’s brow furrowed as he stared down at the keys, then back up at Sylus, who had already moved around the vehicle to the passenger side. The offer, on the surface, seemed absurd. What kind of stranger would be so willing to give up control of his own car to a random traveler on the side of the road? And yet, there Sylus stood, casually opening the passenger door as if they had made some mutual agreement. The ease with which Sylus handed over the keys was unnerving.

Xavier’s instincts screamed at him to keep walking, to leave this strange man and his too-kind offer behind. Something about this whole encounter was off—way off. But there was another part of him, the exhausted, desperate part, that couldn’t ignore the fact that his journey to Linkon was still painfully far from over. He had been walking for hours, pushing himself past the point of exhaustion, and the weight of the sword on his chest felt heavier with each step. He couldn’t shake the urgency pounding in his chest. He needed to get back to Linkon, and fast.

The SIM card tucked away in his pocket was his only lifeline. Without it, any hope of uncovering the truth of what happened in Reese’s basement would be lost. He needed to see it. But the odds of finding anyone out here who could process it? Slim to none. He was running out of time, and every step he took on foot made him feel like the distance between him and his goal was growing wider.

His eyes flicked back to the car keys in his hand, their weight oddly unsettling. Why was this man so eager to help? And why the hell was he offering the keys to his own car?

Xavier’s gaze darted back to Sylus, who had settled into the passenger seat without a trace of concern, leaning back as if this was the most normal thing in the world. His expression was calm, almost too calm, as though the outcome had already been decided in his favor. It unnerved Xavier. This man—this stranger—was too willing. Too casual. Too smooth.

But Xavier didn’t have time to figure it all out. His priority was clear: getting back to Linkon, getting the SIM card processed, and making sure the truth came to light of what happened to you. Without transportation, he could be walking for days, and every minute he spent out here increased the risk that he'd never find you.

The keys felt heavier now, the weight of the decision pressing on him. He didn’t trust this man, not by a long shot. But the idea of having control of the car, of being the one behind the wheel… it was tempting. Too tempting. If he was driving, there's no way this could be a trap right?

It would be fine. Yes. Anything for you. Even if it meant putting himself in danger.

With one last glance at the man, who was patiently waiting in the passenger seat, Xavier’s grip on the keys tightened. He didn’t say a word as he took a tentative step toward the driver’s side. Every instinct told him to keep walking, to leave this stranger behind and take his chances on foot. But exhaustion and desperation were powerful motivators, and right now, he needed to get back to Linkon more than he needed to figure out why this man was offering help.

Xavier climbed into the driver’s seat, the worn leather creaking beneath him as he adjusted to the unfamiliar space. His hand hovered over the ignition, eyes still darting toward Sylus, who sat quietly beside him, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Take us wherever you need to go,” Sylus said softly, his voice like velvet, as though the game had already begun. “I’m just along for the ride.”

The tension between them was palpable, thick in the confined space of the car. Xavier could feel it in the air, in the way Sylus’s gaze lingered on him, calm but unrelenting. He knew this wasn’t right—none of it was. But he was too far in to back out now.

With a sharp turn of the key, the engine roared to life, and Xavier gripped the steering wheel, feeling the weight of every decision he had made in the last few minutes. The road ahead seemed endless, and as the car pulled away from the desolate stretch of highway, he couldn’t help but glance sideways at the man again.

This...this could end badly.

The two men sat in crushing silence as Xavier navigated the unfamiliar roads, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. Each mile passed with a suffocating weight, the tension in the car palpable, like a storm ready to break. Xavier kept his eyes locked on the road ahead, hands gripping the wheel tighter than necessary, his knuckles pale under the strain. He hadn’t wanted this stranger to know where he lived, so he punched City Hall into the GPS instead. From there, he could make his way around Linkon without anyone trailing him. He needed to get the SIM card processed, and fast, before time ran out.

Every few minutes, he fiddled with the GPS, his body coiled with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline. He could feel the man's eyes on him, his name still unknown, even despite the sunglasses. He hadn’t said much since they set off, but his presence in the passenger seat was unnerving. His calm was unnatural, unsettling. He didn’t fidget, didn’t speak, didn’t even glance around the car. He just sat there, arms crossed, studying Xavier with a level of intensity that felt out of place for someone offering a simple ride.

Xavier tried to sneak glances at the man beside him, but every time he did, he found the mans gaze already on him, sharp and unblinking, as though he had anticipated Xavier’s every move. The man’s lips twitched with something like amusement, though he didn’t say a word.

What’s his deal? Xavier thought, forcing his eyes back to the road. The whole situation felt wrong. He had expected tension in the N109 Zone, but not this. This was different. The man beside him wasn’t just casually observing him—he was waiting for something. Every second that passed felt heavier than the last, like time itself was stretching, tightening the knot of anxiety building in Xavier’s chest.

Still, Xavier didn’t let any of it show. He had learned long ago how to hide his fear, how to stay calm when every nerve in his body screamed at him to run. He’d dealt with dangerous people before, people who could smell weakness like blood in the water. He wasn’t about to let this guy see that. But the silence between them was unbearable, thick with the weight of unspoken things.

Finally, Xavier broke it, his voice low and careful. “I didn’t get your name…” He asked, eyes darting between the GPS and the road, trying to sound casual, though he was anything but.

The man took a moment to respond, as though he were weighing the question, wondering if he should even answer it. His eyes flickered with a hint of something—amusement, perhaps. Or something darker.

“Skye,” he said eventually, his voice smooth, detached. He crossed his arms, leaning back in the passenger seat, as though the conversation were nothing more than a formality. “And you are…?”

Xavier’s heart kicked up a notch, but he kept his expression neutral. No way was he giving this guy his real name. “Anthony,” he lied easily, the false name slipping out without hesitation. His voice didn’t waver, his hands stayed steady on the wheel. But he could feel Skye watching him, a slight smirk pulling at his lips.

He knows I’m lying, Xavier thought, his gut twisting with unease. But Skye didn’t press. He didn’t even seem surprised. He just watched Xavier with that unnerving calm, as if the lie were nothing more than an expected move in a game they were both playing.

“Anthony,” Skye repeated softly, his tone almost mocking, though he didn’t push the issue. Instead, he let the silence fall between them again, a silence that felt even heavier now. He seemed content to let Xavier stew in it, the tension building with every second that passed.

Xavier’s eyes flicked back to the road, his mind racing. Something about this guy was all wrong. The way he moved, the way he spoke—it was all too calculated, too smooth. People didn’t act this calm in the N109 Zone, not unless they knew something everyone else didn’t. And Skye definitely knew something. The question was, what? And how much?

Xavier kept his gaze focused ahead, trying to ignore the weight of Skye’s eyes still on him. The man hadn’t looked away once. He could feel it, the silent scrutiny, the way Skye seemed to be measuring him. Assessing him.

“Where are you headed?” Skye asked casually, his voice cutting through the silence once more, though there was nothing casual about the way he said it.

Xavier didn’t miss a beat. “City Hall,” he answered, a little too quickly. He glanced at the GPS, as if confirming the destination would make the lie feel more real. He wasn’t taking this man to his home—no way. Not with the way things were already playing out.

Skye raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “City Hall,” he repeated, his tone light but laced with something that made Xavier’s skin crawl. “Not a bad place to end up, but pretty unusual for a first destination."

Xavier’s pulse kicked up, but he kept his face neutral, refusing to look over at Skye. Something in the man’s tone made his stomach tighten, like a hook had just been baited and dropped in front of him, waiting for him to take it.

Unusual? Why the hell would that be unusual? The thought ran through his mind, but he forced himself to stay calm. His plan had been simple—get to City Hall, lose this guy, and handle his business. But now, it felt like every move was being scrutinized, every choice questioned.

“City Hall's the easiest place to get a read on things in the city,” Xavier replied, his voice steady, though the defensiveness crept in at the edges. “I need to handle some things, and it’s central. Easier to move around from there.”

He could feel Skye’s eyes still on him, could almost hear the smirk in his voice when the man chuckled softly. It was the kind of laugh that got under your skin, not because it was loud, but because it carried a quiet, unsettling amusement.

“Smart,” Skye said slowly, nodding as if Xavier’s explanation made perfect sense. But something in his tone felt off, like he didn’t fully buy it. “But still… after some time in the N109 Zone, you’d think you’d want to rest somewhere less… official. Get off the radar. A nice bed, maybe.”

Xavier tightened his grip on the steering wheel, feeling the weight of Skye’s persistent questioning pressing down on him. Each word from Skye was like a carefully placed needle, poking at his decisions, making him second-guess everything. He hadn’t expected the guy to be so relentless, and the pressure was building with every exchange.

“I’ve got some stuff to take care of,” Xavier said, trying to keep his voice steady, casual, but the tension in his body betrayed him. “Time’s running out to save her, so I can’t waste a single second.”

The moment the words left his mouth, doubt flickered in his mind. Was that too much? Too rushed? The urgency in his voice—had it come across as desperate? Or worse, suspicious? His heart hammered in his chest as he mentally replayed what he had said, wondering if he had tipped his hand. Or had he been too vague? The ambiguity of his answer might have made Skye even more curious, pushing him to dig deeper, ask more questions.

Xavier kept his eyes on the road, refusing to look over at Skye, but he could feel the man watching him, studying him. The silence that followed his response was unnerving, stretching long enough for Xavier to feel like he’d made a mistake. He fought the urge to glance over, to see if Skye’s expression had changed, but his instincts screamed at him to stay composed. Any sign of weakness now, and Skye would pounce on it.

Too much, Xavier thought, cursing himself internally. I shouldn’t have let the urgency show.

Skye’s sudden shift in demeanor caught Xavier off guard. The icy coldness that had made the air feel suffocating was replaced with something else—something that felt even more dangerous. Concern. Pity. It dripped from Skye’s voice like honey, smooth and deliberate, but just artificial enough to send a ripple of unease through Xavier’s chest.

“Oh?” Skye said, his voice almost soft, a note of worry creeping in. “Seems serious.”

Xavier’s breath hitched slightly, his guard wavering for just a moment. He wasn’t prepared for this shift. The relentless scrutiny, the probing questions—he could handle that to a point. But this? This sudden turn toward sympathy, as fake as it felt, was a punch to the gut.

“It is,” Xavier muttered, his voice betraying the strain he was under. The words felt heavier than he intended, a sign of the cracks forming in his defenses.

Skye shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if he sensed something in Xavier’s voice. “You know,” he began, his tone deceptively gentle, “I understand what it’s like. When you want something so bad. And its almost in reach, yet so far. You feel like you've failed already."

The words struck hard, like a knife twisting in Xavier’s gut. For a brief moment, his mind went blank, the weight of Skye’s words sinking into him. The man’s voice, though still edged with that unsettling calm, carried a truth Xavier couldn’t deny.

Skye had unknowingly—or perhaps very knowingly—touched a raw nerve.

Xavier’s fingers flexed against the steering wheel, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. He tried to block it out, tried to keep his walls up, but he couldn’t stop the flood of emotion that came crashing through. His breaths quickened slightly, the tension in his body shifting from vigilance to something more raw, more vulnerable.

Skye was quiet, but Xavier could feel him waiting, giving him just enough space to fill the silence. His mind screamed at him to stay quiet, to shut it all down, but the pressure building inside him was too much to contain.

“I…” Xavier’s voice cracked, his throat dry. His hands trembled slightly as the words formed on his tongue. “I have someone waiting for me. She’s in danger. And I feel like I’m failing her with each passing second.”

The admission came out before he could stop it, the weight of his guilt and fear spilling into the space between them. He’d been holding it in for so long, running from one obstacle to the next, always trying to keep moving, to keep fighting. But now, in this moment, it all felt too heavy to carry alone. The pressure of failing you—of not getting back in time—had gnawed at him relentlessly, and now, it was too much to keep inside.

For a moment, the silence was deafening, his vulnerability hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

Xavier’s chest tightened, panic seeping in as the reality of what he’d just said hit him. He’d let his guard down—completely. He’d shown Skye more than he ever intended, more than anyone should know. He could feel the walls he’d carefully built crumbling around him.

And Skye was still watching, listening, absorbing every word.

He shifted slightly, his voice lowering, becoming softer, almost understanding. “You know,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “I’ve seen it before… that look in your eyes. Like you’re carrying something too heavy for one person. Trying to fix it all yourself. You can push as hard as you want, but…” He paused, letting the silence settle for just a beat before he continued, “the weight of failure starts to crush you, doesn’t it?”

Skye glanced out the window, his tone still calm, still smooth. “And the worst part? It’s when you realize that maybe, no matter how much you fight, you won’t get there in time. That you might be too late to save the people who need you.”

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected much from this man—this stranger who seemed so out of place on these roads—but this? He had expected more questions, more veiled curiosity, maybe even some vague attempt at comfort. But what Skye had just said—those words, that insinuation—hit him like a punch to the gut.

The casual mention of failure. The suggestion that he was already too late. Was this guy trying to be an asshole?

Xavier’s chest tightened, his pulse quickening as the words churned in his mind, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. “No,” Xavier said, his voice shaking slightly, the denial rising like a defense against the weight of Skye’s statement. “That’s not true. It’s not too late. I can still find her. I just—” He cut himself off, his voice thick with desperation.

But before he could even finish the thought, Skye’s demeanor changed in an instant. The false pity drained from his face, replaced by something far colder, sharper. His voice dropped, his tone void of the faint warmth that had laced it earlier.

“People like you should know when to quit.” The words were flat, cutting like ice. Skye lowered his sunglasses, his eyes gleamed with a new cruelty, his expression as still as stone. “It’s a shame you even tried in the first place.”

Xavier, caught slightly off guard by the crimson color of the eyes now boring into him, opened his mouth to argue, the frustration boiling over. How dare this guy—

But then something hit him, something beyond words. A creeping cold, seeping into his skin. At first, it felt like a mist settling over him, faint and barely noticeable, but it spread quickly, a numbing chill that slithered through his body, wrapping around his limbs like an invisible fog. His chest tightened as panic started to rise.

The cold red mist crept up his neck, stretching outward, reaching his arms, his fingers. And then—nothing. No feeling. His hands. He couldn’t feel his hands.

Xavier’s heart raced, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts as he looked down at the steering wheel. His hands were still there, gripping the wheel tightly, but the sensation was gone. His fingers felt as though they no longer existed, and worse, he couldn’t move them. He tried to force his body to respond, to shake off the creeping cold, but it was as if his muscles had turned to stone.

The steering wheel suddenly turned under his grip, and the car began to drift. Panic surged through him. He tried to shout, tried to move, but his body refused to obey. The cold mist had taken control, and now it stretched through every inch of him, locking him in place, paralyzing him completely.

This wasn't him moving it.

What the hell is happening?!

He wanted to scream, to fight, but his limbs remained useless, his mind screaming in terror as the car veered off its course. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe properly, and then it hit him—this was him. Skye. Skye was doing this.

Skye hadn’t moved from the passenger seat, but the aura around him had darkened, the shift in his demeanor unmistakable. The cold that gripped Xavier’s body—this mist—was him. And this wasn’t some accident. This was planned.

Skye had been waiting for this moment.

Xavier’s mind raced as the reality sank in, dread curling in his gut like a beast ready to devour him whole. He could see it in the cold gleam of Skye’s eyes now, the man having removed his sunglasses completely. The man had never intended for this to end peacefully.

He tried one last time to move, to will his body to do anything, but the cold mist had stolen everything from him.

Skye leaned in slightly, his presence looming over Xavier like a shadow, cold and unrelenting. His tone dropped, devoid of any warmth or pretense. “Don't bother fighting. I’ve already decided how this ends.”

The car was fully off the road now, speeding, barreling toward a tall tree. Xavier’s mind screamed, the terror paralyzing his thoughts. He was about to be made into a casualty, another statistic—a crash that would look like an accident, neat and tidy. He couldn't even shut his eyes to brace for the inevitable impact.

Closer. And closer. And-

Xavier's phone ringing cut through the chaos, snapping both men's attention.

The sudden, shrill sound sliced through the thick tension in the car, jarring Xavier out of his rising panic. The ringtone echoed in the confined space, pulling his attention away from the tree, from the creeping red mist that had taken over his body. The sound was so out of place, so normal amidst the terror, that for a moment, it didn’t seem real.

It must've caught signal again.

Skye’s eyes flicked toward the phone, his expression unreadable, but Xavier saw the faintest twitch of something—something like interest or annoyance—cross his face. The car suddenly veered back on course as if it was not just about to plunge into a tree, dooming its driver.

The phone continued to ring, vibrating against the dash, relentless.

For a brief second, the pressure on Xavier’s hands loosened, the grip Sylus had on him flickering, just enough for Xavier to feel the tiniest bit of control return. It wasn’t much—he still couldn’t move fully—but it was enough to know that the phone had interrupted something, that it had momentarily disrupted Skye’s hold.

Skye’s gaze darkened, his calm demeanor slipping ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing at the sudden disruption. The mist that had coiled around Xavier’s body seemed to pause, just for a moment, as if Sylus was reconsidering. Calculating something.

The phone kept ringing.

Xavier’s heart pounded, a mix of hope and fear swirling inside him. He looked down at the contact name.

Captain Jenna

His phone had stopped the inevitable, if only for a moment. His eyes darted toward the screen, the bright contact photo lighting up the car. This was his lifeline, the only thing keeping Sylus from finishing what he had started.

Skye’s lips curved into a tight smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Duty never stops for Linkon's best hunters hm?”

His voice was low, almost mocking, but there was something behind it, a flicker of curiosity, as though the phone call had shifted something in his mind. Sylus’s hold on Xavier wasn’t entirely broken, but the red mist began to recede ever so slightly, its grip loosening as Sylus seemed to consider his next move.

For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped, hanging on the precipice of whatever decision Skye was about to make. The phone rang again, insistent, demanding attention.

Skye leaned back slightly, his cold demeanor returning, but with a spark of something else. “Maybe,” he grinned, almost to himself, “I should let the other person on the line hear your screams before your imminent death?"

The mist, which had been suffocating Xavier moments before, suddenly retracted, slithering away like a serpent disappearing into the shadows. The sensation returned to his limbs, though weak and shaky. His hands were his own again, but Xavier couldn’t bring himself to move.

Skye eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched Xavier’s shock and confusion, the boy still frozen in the driver’s seat. “Answer it,” Skye said softly, a quiet command, but with an underlying threat. “Let’s see what she has to say.”

Xavier’s hand trembled as he reached for the phone, still feeling the lingering numbness from the mist that had wrapped around him moments before. His heart was pounding, but he forced himself to answer, trying to regain control, trying to steady his breathing. His mind raced as he glanced nervously at Skye, whose amused smirk remained firmly in place.

“Hello?” Xavier managed to get out, his voice shaky but improving.

“Xavier?” Captain Jenna’s voice crackled through the speaker, filled with a mix of relief and frustration. “Where exactly have you been? No one’s been able to contact you! You can’t just go off and disappear like that for days and days on end!”

Xavier winced at the urgency in her tone. She had always been direct, never wasting time sugarcoating things. He could hear the worry layered underneath her sternness, and for a moment, a wave of guilt hit him. He had been so focused on his mission, on everything happening in the N109 Zone, that he hadn’t even thought about how it might look to his colleagues.

“I…I’m sorry,” Xavier said, shooting a quick glance at Skye, who raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Something came up that I had to take care of. I didn’t mean to disappear.” His eyes darted back to the road, the weight of Skye’s gaze still heavy on him. He kept his tone measured, trying to sound calm. “I’m on my way back now.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a deep sigh from Captain Jenna. “Regardless, I’m glad you’re safe. We need you for an operation in—”

Xavier’s heart raced. He couldn’t let Skye overhear anything about the association, about their secrets or what was going on back at headquarters. Whatever this man—this monster—was after, it wasn’t something he could afford to share.

Before Captain Jenna could continue, Xavier cut her off, his voice a bit too sharp in his haste. “You can explain everything when I get there,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual but failing to mask the underlying urgency. “I’m almost there.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and for a moment, Xavier worried he might have raised her suspicion, but Captain Jenna eventually replied, her voice softer. “Alright. Just get back safe. We’ll talk soon. We also need to talk about your...partner”

Xavier gulped at the mention of you, but simply exhaled slowly as the call ended, his hand lowering the phone from his ear, feeling the intensity of the moment crashing down around him. He didn’t dare look at Skye just yet, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to figure out what his next move would be.

When he finally glanced over, Skye was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, his expression calm but with an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Well,” Skye said, the smirk deepening, “it seems like you’ve been keeping busy.”

Xavier felt the weight of the man’s words, the way they lingered in the air like a challenge. Skye knew more than he was letting on, but he wasn’t pressing—for now. It was as if he were waiting, watching, enjoying the little puzzle Xavier presented.

But Xavier wasn’t about to give him any more pieces. He’d already said too much. This guy wanted something from him, something to do with the Hunter's Association. Why else would he target Xavier?

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Xavier began, forcing his voice to sound steadier than he felt, “but I can promise you I don't have it. If you're after the associations secrets, killing me wont get you any closer".

He forced himself to meet Skye’s gaze, trying to hold onto whatever composure he could muster. But the way Skye looked at him, with those unreadable eyes, made it impossible to know whether his words were even having an effect. His tone had been sharp, maybe too sharp, but he couldn’t afford to show weakness now. Not with someone like him.

For a moment, the air in the car grew even heavier. Skye’s expression barely shifted, but Xavier caught the brief flicker in his eyes—was it intrigue? Curiosity? Or was there something darker lurking just beneath the surface? Xavier couldn’t tell. It was like staring into the depths of an ocean (a very red one at that), unsure of what might lie beneath the calm.

Skye didn’t respond right away. His gaze remained steady, almost too calm, as if he were savoring the tension, letting it stretch between them like a taut string ready to snap. Xavier’s stomach twisted, his mind racing with possibilities—was Skye sizing him up, or just toying with him? It was impossible to know.

After what felt like an eternity, Skye tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Who said I wanted the association’s secrets?”

The words sent a chill through Xavier. The way Skye said it—so casually, as if the association wasn’t even part of the equation—left Xavier feeling more vulnerable than before. Skye had just dismissed his entire assumption without a second thought. If he wasn’t after the association’s secrets, then what was he really after?

Xavier’s pulse quickened, his mind scrambling to keep up. If Skye wasn’t interested in the association, what could he possibly want from him? And worse—why was he keeping him alive?

Skye leaned back in the passenger seat, his amusement clear now. “You think too small, Xavier,” he said, his voice smooth and unhurried, as though they were simply having a conversation. “I don’t need to kill you for information. That’s too… crude.”

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm wild and erratic, but he kept his face neutral, refusing to let the panic show. His mind raced, trying to grasp what had just happened. Skye had called him by his real name. And Xavier was sure—positive—he had introduced himself as Anthony. But Skye hadn’t hesitated. He knew.

“How do you know my name?” Xavier asked, keeping his voice steady, though inside, the tension coiled tighter. His thoughts were a blur, his instincts screaming at him that something was very, very wrong.

Skye tilted his head slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips, as if Xavier had just said something amusing. “What do you mean?” Skye replied, his tone light, almost playful. He leaned back, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “Didn’t your captain just call you Xavier?”

Xavier blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. His mind scrambled, piecing together the conversation, and then it hit him. Of course. The phone call. His captain had said his name during the call. Skye had been listening the entire time. Idiot. He mentally slapped himself, feeling foolish for even asking the question.

He sighed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He was losing control of the situation, and the casual way Skye was toying with him only made it worse. But Xavier couldn’t afford to get rattled now—not when his life was hanging by a thread.

“What do you want?” Xavier asked, his voice quieter now, more measured. He could feel the weight of Skye’s gaze on him, sharp and calculating. “What do you want in return for my life if not information on the Hunter's Association?”

Skye chuckled softly, the sound light but dripping with malice. He looked out the window for a brief moment, as if pondering the question, then slowly turned back to Xavier, his smile deepening. “I don’t usually make deals where I don’t get more of a benefit.”

Xavier swallowed hard, his heart racing faster, though he kept his face expressionless. He didn’t respond—he was waiting, watching Skye carefully. The man’s words were a game, just like everything else he’d said. Xavier knew there had to be more, some twist, some condition that hadn’t been revealed yet.

Skye leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “However…” He paused, as if savoring the moment, watching Xavier closely. “I've realized you're much more useful to me alive than dead. If you stay away from the N109 Zone—and everyone in it—you’ll live.”

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat, the weight of the ultimatum settling over him. Stay away from the Zone. That meant cutting ties with everything he’d worked to find, abandoning the hope of finding you, abandoning you. Could he even afford to do that? Would agreeing with this deal mean he'd never get the chance to see you again?

Also how was he useful to Skye?

"And if not..."

Skye’s smirk widened, sensing the internal struggle playing out behind Xavier’s calm facade. He leaned in closer, invading Xavier’s personal space, his presence suffocating. Xavier instinctively tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to go—the car’s cabin suddenly felt too small, too enclosed.

“Lets just say I don't really give second chances,” Sylus whispered, his voice low, dripping with menace.

Xavier swallowed hard, his body tensing, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact, even as the urge to run surged through him. Skye was too close, too calm, too dangerous. The warning wasn’t just a threat—it was a guarantee. Sylus had already proven what he was capable of, and Xavier knew that crossing him again would mean death, or worse.

The silence in the car was heavy, suffocating, as Skye leaned back again, his smile never fading, his eyes never leaving Xavier.

“So,” Skye said, his voice almost casual now, as if they were discussing something far less deadly. “What’s it going to be?”

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest as Skye’s words echoed in his mind. Stay away from the N109 Zone—and everyone in it? The weight of the ultimatum pressed down on him, suffocating. He didn’t want to abandon the N109 Zone, and even more than that, he couldn’t abandon you. The thought of leaving you behind gnawed at him, the sharp pain of longing cutting through him like a blade.

He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining your face—how much he longed to see you again, to hold you, to feel your warmth. It had been too long since he’d last heard your voice, since he’d last felt any sense of peace. But now, this? This deal with a devil, this impossible choice?

Xavier wasn’t sure why Skye was so insistent on keeping him away from the N109 Zone. Maybe it had something to do with his work as a hunter—his job was to take down people like Skye, after all. But that didn’t matter. What mattered now was survival. Because if he didn’t agree, if he didn’t concede right here and now, Skye might just kill him on the spot.

And then who would save you?

The thought gripped him like a vice, twisting his insides. No. He couldn’t let that happen. If he died here, there would be no one left to protect you. No one left to pull you out of whatever darkness was festering over the N109 Zone. He had to live, for you.

Xavier took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing the words out, even as they weighed heavy on his soul. “Fine,” he said, his voice low, barely more than a whisper. “I agree. I’ll stay away from it.”

Skye’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, the faintest smile curling at the edges of his lips. He nodded, his demeanor cooling instantly, the menacing presence he’d exuded just moments ago receding into something more neutral. “Good,” Skye said, his voice soft but still holding that dangerous undertone. “I knew you’d see reason.”

The tension in the car seemed to shift, though the air was still thick with the unspoken threat that hung between them. Skye leaned back in his seat, his posture relaxed now, as if the deal had wiped away any lingering tension. Skye was certainly dangerous, but seemed to be a man of his word at least.

Xavier forced himself to nod, though the weight of the decision felt like it was crushing him. I’ll find a way, he told himself, his mind racing. Skye’s only one guy. He can’t keep me out of there forever, right? There had to be a way back in. A way to find you. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—abandon you.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, the tension still hanging in the air but now subdued, like a coiled snake waiting for the right moment to strike. Xavier’s thoughts churned, his mind battling with itself as the distant lights of the city began to appear on the horizon. The rising sun painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Xavier saw the light breaking through the darkness.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the sun brush against his skin. How long has it been? Too long. He had missed the sun. He had missed the light, the feeling of something familiar, something safe. But most of all, he missed you.

But this wasn’t the end. Skye was only one man. He couldn’t keep Xavier away from the N109 Zone forever. Xavier would find a way back—he had to. He wouldn’t rest until he found you, until he knew you were safe. And once he did, Skye would regret ever making this deal.

As the city drew closer, the familiar skyline of Linkon coming into view, Xavier’s pulse quickened. The tall buildings glistened in the morning light, their architecture grand and imposing. But even with the comforting familiarity of home, his mind remained restless.

Finally, the car pulled to a stop in front of City Hall. The building stood tall and unyielding, its imposing columns and grand facade casting long shadows across the street. Without wasting a second, Xavier pushed the door open and stepped out hurriedly, the weight of his decision still heavy on his shoulders.

He stood for a moment, looking up at the structure, taking in its architecture. It felt strange, being back in the city after everything that had happened. But he wasn’t here for reflection. He was here for answers.

Xavier’s hand instinctively moved to the pocket on his chest, patting the place where the SIM card was safely tucked away. The key to everything. Whether Skye was after associations secrets didn't matter now, the information on that SIM card was everything Xavier needed right now. It could give him answers, maybe even lead him to you. It was his only chance to understand what had happened in Reese’s basement, and where you had possibly gone.

With a deep breath, he turned back toward the car—only to find that Skye had already sped off, leaving nothing but the faint smell of exhaust in the air. The man was gone, disappearing into the distance as if he’d never been there at all.

Xavier stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where the car had been, his mind still whirling with thoughts. This isn’t over, he told himself again. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Skye’s shadow would loom over him, no matter where he went.

But for now, he had work to do.

With one last glance at the distant city skyline, Xavier turned and made his way past city hall, heading straight for headquarters, the weight of the SIM card in his pocket a constant reminder of what was at stake.

And of what was still to come.

“Caw! Caw!”

Your eyes snapped open, the sound cutting through the suffocating darkness. For a moment, you couldn’t tell where you were—the inky blackness of the N109 Zone was so complete that it pressed in on you from all sides. There was no light here, not even the faintest glow filtering in through the windows. Just endless, crushing darkness.

You groaned, pulling the blanket tighter around your body as if it could shield you from the cold reality of your situation.

Not yet. You just wanted to get lost in your dreams for a little while longer.

Through the thick stillness of the room, you could hear the faint rustling of feathers, and even without seeing, you knew exactly what had disturbed your sleep.

“Go away, you stupid fucking bird…” you muttered into the blanket, your voice hoarse and tired. But the familiar flap of wings told you the crow wasn’t going anywhere.

There was a slight rustle at the head of the bed, and then you felt it—the sudden weight of the bird landing on the pillow next to you. Its presence was unmistakable, a cold, ominous shadow in the already oppressive darkness. You didn’t need to see the bird to feel its eyes on you, watching, waiting.

You sighed heavily, pulling the blanket away from your face just enough to squint into the darkness. Mephisto's shape was barely visible, a faint silhouette against the dim outline of the room. Even without light, you could sense the bird’s beady eyes, glowing with unnatural intelligence, watching your every move.

“Why are you always here?” you groaned, turning your head to the side but not making any real effort to shoo the bird away. It wasn’t the first time you’d woken to find the crow lurking in the shadows, unsettling and always too close for comfort.

The bird didn’t move, only cocked its head at you, its dark feathers rustling in the silence. A low, throaty caw escaped it, the sound strangely muffled by the thick blackness of the Zone. The air felt heavier here, like it was weighing down on you, draining what little energy you had left. Fatigue clung to you like a second skin, making it hard to even lift your head from the pillow.

“Go on, then…” you muttered, voice trailing off as exhaustion tugged at your body. You were too tired to fight, too tired to care. Whatever strange game the bird was playing, you didn’t have the strength to resist.

Mephisto's soft caw echoed in the suffocating stillness, the sound barely audible but enough to gnaw at your nerves. The scrape of his claws on the pillow sent an uncomfortable chill through you, his dark presence creeping closer, settling into the shadows like it belonged there. The oppressive darkness of the N109 Zone outside made it impossible to see him clearly, but you didn’t need to. You could feel him—watching, waiting, like he always was.

For a moment, the room was silent again. Then, without warning, Mephisto took flight, the sharp flutter of wings cutting through the air as he landed somewhere across the room. You didn’t bother to follow his movement, too tired to care. Not until his caw broke the silence once more. And again. And again.

The crow’s incessant cawing drilled into your already frayed nerves, each sound louder than the last. You groaned, pulling the blanket tighter over your head in a futile attempt to block him out. But the bird’s persistence didn’t stop. Caw. Caw. Caw.

“Are you serious?” you muttered into the pillow, your voice muffled. But Mephisto continued, relentless, as if mocking your exhaustion. The weight of the past few weeks pressed down on you—sleepless nights, endless fatigue, nausea creeping at the edges of your mind. The last thing you needed was this damn crow breaking what little peace you had.

Finally, you had enough. With a frustrated groan, you sat upright and turned the lamp on, ready to scream every obscenity you could think of at the annoying bird.

But before you could let the words fly, the sound of metal scraping against metal stopped you.

Your eyes darted to the door just as a small slit opened, and the tray was pushed through with a loud clank. On the tray sat a plate of buttered French toast, syrup drizzled generously on top, fried eggs glistening with oil, and three thick slices of bacon.

You blinked, staring at the meal as if it were the most absurd thing you’d ever seen.

Breakfast? All of that noise and irritation—for breakfast?

You glanced at Mephisto, who had now stopped cawing and perched himself smugly atop a shelf in the corner of the room. His beady eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness, and you could swear there was a mocking glint in them. As if he were proud of himself for his part in waking you.

“The hell, Mephisto?” you muttered, rubbing your temples in frustration. “You woke me up…for breakfast?”

The crow gave a final, low caw, as if satisfied with himself. You glared at him for a moment before your stomach growled, betraying your irritation. The rich smell of bacon and syrup filled the room, and despite your fatigue and frustration, your body responded.

“Unbelievable…” you sighed, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “I guess I can’t be mad at you. But next time? A little less cawing, alright?”

Mephisto tilted his metal head, as if considering your request, then fluffed his feathers and settled into silence. For now.

You dragged the tray toward the couch, the familiar clank of metal chains following you with every step. The buttery smell of the French toast filled the room, a comforting contrast to the cold, oppressive dim darkness of the room. It was a simple pleasure, one you rarely allowed yourself to enjoy. Sitting down, you tucked your legs beneath you and began to eat, the warm toast melting on your tongue, the crisp bacon adding a much-needed crunch to the silence.

But as you chewed, your thoughts began to drift, slipping away from the meal in front of you. Unwillingly, they went back to him.

Sylus.

The room was empty now, and yes, you had often eaten breakfast alone—but more times than not, Sylus had been there. His presence had always loomed, a constant shadow in your confined world. Sometimes he was silent, simply watching you with those cold, unreadable eyes. Other times, he would speak, absently chatting about his ventures outside the N109 Zone, about deals made or enemies eliminated. You had never cared much for the details—most of it sounded like distant noise, some half-forgotten memory—but even then, it had been more entertaining than staring at these four black walls.

A scowl crept across your face as you took another bite. Why the hell are you thinking about that prick now?

You shook your head, frustrated. You were alone now. Sylus was gone, off somewhere dealing with whatever business had called him away, and you should be enjoying this time without him. You should be savoring the silence, the freedom from his looming presence. You should be grateful that he wasn’t here, filling the space with his mind games, his cold, possessive gaze always tracking your every movement.

Fuck him.

You stabbed at a piece of bacon, chewing aggressively as if it could help rid him from your thoughts. He was a manipulative bastard. And yet… despite your best efforts, his presence lingered in your mind, as persistent as ever.

Your gaze drifted to the empty space where he would normally sit, his absence both a relief and an unsettling reminder. You had despised him, hated every moment he had been there, the way he made you feel like a pawn in whatever twisted game he was playing. But now that he was gone, the space felt… strange.

Stop it. You shouldn’t be thinking about him. Not now. Not when he was out of your life—if only for a while.

But even as you tried to push him from your mind, one of his last words echoed in your head, an unshakable whisper: “This may be the last time we talk, kitten.”

The way he had said it, that cold finality in his voice, had stuck with you, nagging at the back of your mind ever since. He had called you that damn pet name after days of ignoring you, his voice dripping with condescension, as if he were giving you a final warning. Or a promise.

You hated it. You hated how those words seemed to hang over you, even now, as if he had left part of himself behind in this room, even after he was gone.

“Kitten.”

You shook your head again, harder this time, trying to shove the memory aside. No, you told yourself. You wouldn’t let him get to you, not like this. He was gone. For now, you were alone. Enjoy it while it lasts, you thought bitterly, taking another bite of French toast, the syrup coating your tongue in sweetness.

But no matter how hard you tried, that final word—kitten—kept echoing in the back of your mind, a lingering reminder that Sylus might be gone for now, but he was far from finished with you.

You forced yourself to focus on the meal in front of you, determined to push any lingering thoughts of Sylus away. You chewed quickly, finishing the French toast, the syrup leaving a sticky sweetness on your lips. The bacon and eggs soon followed, and though the food was far from satisfying, it was enough to momentarily distract you. You let the warmth of the food settle in your stomach, willing the heaviness in your chest to dissipate with it.

"No drink to wash this down?" you muttered, annoyed that the chefs had seemingly forgotten yet again.

With the last bite taken, you placed the empty plate back on the tray and rose from the couch, the clink of metal cuffs reminding you of your ever-present situation. The chains dragged behind you as you moved toward the bathroom, passing Mephisto, who had settled back onto his perch in the corner. His black feathers were fluffed up, his head tucked beneath a wing, and for once, the bird seemed content to leave you in peace.

You shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted. At least now, with breakfast behind you, you could take a moment for yourself.

The bright lights of the bathroom strained your eyes as you flicked them on. The chill of the tile beneath your feet made you shiver as you moved toward the shower, feeling the exhaustion settle deeper into your bones. The mirror reflected your tired eyes, the dark circles beneath them, the weight of sleepless nights etched into your face. You needed this—the chance to feel clean, to wash away the grime of the past few days. Maybe then you could feel a little more like yourself.

With a sigh, you began to undress, your fingers reaching for the clasps at the sides of your underwear. You couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of gratitude as you unclasped the sides with ease. Sylus had, at the very least, provided you with something that made life a little more bearable. You didn’t have to go bare for two weeks, which had been your fear the moment you realized the cuffs restricted you from putting on anything that required more movement.

At least he wasn’t completely cruel, you thought, though you hated giving him even that much credit.

The underwear unclasped easily, falling to the floor as you stepped into the shower. The hot water hit your skin like a wave of relief, and for a moment, you let yourself breathe, closing your eyes and letting the steam rise around you. The weight of the cuffs dragged slightly at your wrists, but you ignored it, focusing instead on the heat that loosened the tension in your muscles, if only temporarily.

As the water washed over you, you forced your mind to stay present, to focus on the warmth, the small comfort of being alone in this space. You scrubbed your skin, letting the soap and water cleanse the sweat, the fear, the exhaustion that had clung to you like a second skin.

You weren’t thinking about him. Not now.

The shower passed without incident, the warm water a brief respite in an otherwise unchanging routine. You let it wash over you, not bothering to rush. There was no need to hurry—nothing would be different when you stepped outside the bathroom. The four black walls of your confined world would still be waiting, the ever-present weight of captivity pressing down on you.

You dressed slowly, fingers lazily fastening the clasps on your new underwear and pulling on the rest of your clothes. It was a mundane task, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much. What was the point? Nothing was going to change outside of this small space. Nothing ever did.

With a sigh, you stepped through the bathroom opening and stepped back into the main room. The dim light from the lamp did little to brighten the space, but something caught your eye near the door—a small bottle, sitting neatly on the floor.

You walked over, the clink of your chain echoing in the silence as you crouched down to pick it up. A small bottle of apple juice. You stared at it for a moment, turning it over in your hands. Ah. So the chefs finally remembered your drink.

You examined the label, noticing the word "organic" printed in bold letters across the front. A scoff escaped your lips as you raised an eyebrow. Organic? Really?

It wasn’t like you had asked for anything fancy. Just apple juice. Something simple, a small comfort in a world that was anything but. But the idea that the chefs had gone out of their way to make sure it was organic felt almost laughable. As if the quality of the juice would somehow make up for everything else. As if this one, carefully selected bottle could erase the chain around your ankle or the suffocating darkness that clung to every corner of the N109 Zone.

You shook your head with a faint smirk, unscrewing the cap. The liquid inside swirled lazily as you brought the bottle to your lips, the familiar taste of apples flooding your senses. It wasn’t bad. In fact, it was probably the best thing you’d had in days.

Still, the absurdity of it lingered, and the small humor in the situation wasn’t lost on you. Organic apple juice, of all things, in a place like this. It almost made you laugh—almost.

You took another sip, walking back to the couch where your breakfast tray still sat, the weight of the cuffs dragging slightly as you moved. You sat down, staring at the empty plate, the apple juice bottle still in hand. For a moment, the silence stretched, and the thoughts you’d been pushing away started to creep back in.

But no. You wouldn’t let them take over. Not now. Not yet.

Instead, you focused on the small sweetness of the juice, the faint taste of apples grounding you in the present moment. A small comfort in an otherwise impossible world.

Time passed, though you weren’t sure how much. Minutes? Hours? The stagnant silence of the room made it impossible to tell. The dim light never changed, the walls never shifted. Everything felt stuck in place, leaving you floating in a haze of monotony, barely tethered to the reality outside your mind.

It wasn’t until you heard the familiar scrape of metal against metal that you realized lunch had been passed through the small opening in the door. You glanced toward the tray and sighed. Another meal, another reminder of how routine your captivity had become.

Grilled chicken sandwiches with a side salad, the tangy scent of vinegar dressing wafting up as you sat back down on the couch. For a drink, water. The sight of it barely registered. You gave the chef your dirty dish from earlier and took your new meal. You ate out of necessity, chewing mechanically as your thoughts drifted away from the plate in front of you.

Xavier.

His name filled your mind suddenly, unbidden, and a sharp pang of worry twisted in your chest. You tried to swallow it down with a bite of chicken, but it lingered, heavy and insistent.

Was he okay?

You hadn't allowed yourself to think about him much since you’d been taken here. The thought of him searching for you, desperately trying to figure out what had happened, was too much to bear. The last thing you wanted was to feel hope. Hope was dangerous, a slippery slope into despair. But now, as you sat alone in this suffocating room, your thoughts strayed to him without your permission.

Had he given up searching for you?

You forced yourself to take another bite, trying to ground yourself in the present. But the idea gnawed at you. Xavier was relentless. He wouldn’t stop—not unless… No. You shook your head. You knew him better than that. If there was even the slightest chance that you were alive, Xavier would be searching, tearing apart the world to find you. He wasn’t the type to give up. He couldn’t give up.

But still, even as you tried to cling to that thought, the darker possibility crept in. Slowly, insidiously, like a poison sinking into your veins.

What if… he couldn’t find you because Sylus wouldn’t let him?

A chill ran through you, cold and unsettling. Even if, by some miracle, Xavier had tracked your location, there was no way he’d get anywhere near this place without Sylus knowing. Sylus had eyes everywhere. He controlled everything in the N109 Zone. No one could move in or out without his permission. If Xavier had found you, Sylus would have stopped him.

Or worse.

Your stomach churned, the food on your plate suddenly unappetizing. A horrifying thought started to crawl its way into your mind, gripping you tightly. You tried to push it away, but it clawed its way to the surface.

Had Sylus… killed him?

You swallowed hard, the tang of vinegar burning your throat as you forced the food down. The thought stuck in your chest like a stone. Was that why you hadn’t felt any hope? Why everything had felt so bleak, so final? Because somewhere, out there, Xavier was—no. You couldn’t let yourself believe that. Not now. Not when the possibility of his death could unravel you completely.

But still, the idea sat there, festering, filling the silence with dread. Sylus wouldn’t have hesitated if he saw Xavier as a threat. The cold, calculated way he moved, the ease with which he eliminated obstacles in his path—it was entirely possible that Xavier had become just another casualty in Sylus’s game.

You set down the sandwich, your appetite gone. Your mind raced, heart hammering against your ribs as you sat there, staring at the black walls that had closed in around you for what felt like an eternity. If Xavier was dead, then what? What did that leave you with? Nothing but these four walls and Sylus’s twisted version of captivity.

No.

You couldn’t think like that. Not now. You couldn’t give up. Not yet.

Xavier had to be alive. He had to be out there, still fighting, still searching. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t abandon you. You refused to believe anything else.

But no matter how hard you tried to push it away, the seed of doubt had already been planted. And it wasn’t going anywhere. You clutched your stomach as a surge of pain cramped in your lower abdomen. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone. Chalking it up to the food, you decide to lay down.

The fifth day. At least, you thought it might be. Time had blurred into a strange, formless thing, slipping through your fingers without any markers to distinguish one day from the next. You had no way of knowing how long it had been since Sylus left, or even what day it was. You were just staring at the ceiling now, your mind slowly unraveling from the sheer weight of boredom.

The darkness of the N109 Zone outside was relentless, pressing in from all sides, and the oppressive silence only seemed to make it worse. You had run out of things to think about, your mind turning over the same memories, the same thoughts—where was Xavier? Was Sylus really gone?—until they became noise. Background static.

You turned your head, your eyes landing on Mephisto, perched nearby. He was preening his feathers, utterly unconcerned with your slow descent into madness.

“Hey…” you muttered, breaking the silence. The bird paused, one red eye shifting toward you.

“You should’ve told your owner to leave me a clock,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “A calendar... books. Something. I’m going crazy here.”

Mephisto stilled, cocking his head slightly as if he were processing what you said. He blinked, staring at you with his unnervingly intelligent eyes. For a brief, absurd moment, you wondered if he understood you. You let out a soft, bitter laugh, turning your head away from him.

“Yeah, I figured.”

The silence settled in again, the darkness heavier now. Your body felt sluggish, your mind clouded with exhaustion. Sleep had become your only escape from the monotony, so you let it take you. You felt odd. Like something was wrong in your gut. Despite this, your eyelids fluttered shut, and soon you were drifting into a restless slumber, the weight of the world outside slipping away.

When you woke, the room was still dark—unchanged, like always. But something was different. Your eyes drifted to the door, and you blinked in surprise. A small bundle of items lay just inside the door. Food, probably. You were used to meals being passed through the metal slit in the door, arriving without ceremony.

But this wasn’t food.

You sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you stared at the items. Your pulse quickened, curiosity gnawing at you. You shuffled across the room, the clink of your chain barely registering as you crouched down in front of the bundle.

A calendar. And an old, slightly battered record. On the record a note reads:

Listen to this if you're bored. Should help.

-Sylus

You stared at the items in disbelief, your fingers hovering over the calendar as if touching it might cause it to disappear. A calendar? It was such a simple thing, but it felt monumental in this place, where time had become meaningless.

Mephisto let out a soft caw from his perch, but you ignored him, your thoughts spinning. You reached for the calendar, flipping it open to find a bookmarked page and a date circled in bright red ink.

February.

It was February now. The realization hit you like a wave, and you froze, staring at the circled date. How long had it been since you’d arrived here? Days? Weeks? It was impossible to tell. Time had slipped away from you, leaving nothing but this void of endless darkness. And now, suddenly, a date was staring you in the face, mocking your inability to track time.

Your heart thudded heavily in your chest. Sylus probably had the chef leave these things for you. A reminder. A subtle way to toy with you maybe? Reminding you that no matter what you did, he was always watching? Or was it really a nice gesture?

You glanced at Mephisto, who was once again preening his feathers, seemingly oblivious to your shock. The absurd thought crossed your mind—could this bird telepathically communicate with Sylus?

No. You shook your head, trying to push away the ridiculousness of it. There was probably a live feed in his eyes. Sylus had eyes everywhere. This was just his way of reinforcing the fact that you were never alone, no matter how much you wanted to be.

But even with that realization, a small, giddy excitement bubbled up inside you. A calendar. An actual date. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Something real. Something you could hold onto, in a place where everything felt so distant, so out of reach.

You rushed to open the calendar fully, your fingers flipping through the pages, tracing the days you had lost. How long had you been here? You couldn’t tell anymore. The days blurred together, the passage of time meaningless in this dark, suffocating world.

February. You had been here for longer than you thought. But how much longer? Weeks? The time was slipping away from you, and even now, with the calendar in your hands, you weren’t sure what it meant.

Still, you clung to it, flipping through the pages again and again, as if the answers you sought were hidden somewhere in the numbers. You sighed, settling back against the couch, holding the calendar in your lap. The small victory of having something, anything, to mark the days felt like a lifeline.

You glanced at the record. Another piece of the puzzle. Was it just an old record, or was it something more? Maybe a way for Sylus to toy with you, another way to keep you under his thumb.

For now, it didn’t matter. You had a calendar, a way to tell time. February. It was something to hold onto.

But the unsettling thought still lingered in the back of your mind—how long had it really been?

Your gaze shifted to the record player in the corner of the room, one that had been there since you arrived but had remained untouched. Shelves lined the walls, filled with records you had never bothered to look at. They felt like relics of another time, useless in the darkness of your current world. Besides, you had never known how to use one, and even if you did, the thought of music felt distant, disconnected from the stark reality of your life here.

But now, with the record in your hand, the idea of playing it stirred something in you. The room was suffocatingly quiet—always had been. Maybe music, any music, could break the monotony, even if only for a little while.

It couldn’t be that hard to figure out.

You stood slowly, the weight of the chain dragging slightly as you crossed the room toward the record player. The shelves of records loomed next to it, untouched and collecting dust, but your focus was solely on the player now. You stared at it for a moment, feeling a small flicker of uncertainty. You’d seen record players in movies, but you’d never used one. Still, how complicated could it be?

Placing the record down carefully on the turntable, you fumbled with the needle, your fingers shaky as you tried to set it up the way you remembered from vague recollections of old movies. The needle slipped a few times, scratching lightly over the surface of the record, and you winced.

“Come on…” you muttered under your breath, frustration building as you fiddled with it, adjusting the speed and placement. For a brief moment, you considered giving up entirely. What was the point of this? It wasn’t like playing some music was going to change anything.

But just as you were about to pull the needle away, the record began to spin. You held your breath as the sound of soft crackling filled the room, and then—music.

A hauntingly beautiful tune drifted through the air, slow and melodic, the soft notes of an organ echoing in the stillness. The melody was deep, resonating with something inside you that had been silent for too long. The music wrapped around you, filling the empty space, pulling at emotions you had long since buried.

You stood there, frozen, as the music enveloped the room. It was strange, hearing something so beautiful in a place that had become nothing but a prison. The contrast made the music feel almost ghostly, like it didn’t belong here. Like it was an echo from another life, another time.

For a moment, you just listened. The sound washed over you, the haunting notes tugging at something deep inside. It was almost too much. The weight of the loneliness, the fear, the uncertainty—all of it seemed to rise to the surface with each note that played. You hadn’t realized how much you had been holding in, how much you had forced yourself to push down, until now.

The haunting tune was a reminder. A reminder of everything you had lost, everything that had been stolen from you. But it was also… comforting, in a strange way. It was the first thing in this place that had touched you—really touched you.

You closed your eyes, letting the music sink in, every note heavy with meaning, every chord reverberating through you. For a moment, it was as if the darkness of the N109 Zone didn’t matter. As if the four black walls that surrounded you had disappeared, leaving you in a space where only the music existed.

The tune swelled, filling every corner of the room, its melody bittersweet, carrying an unspoken sadness that felt far too familiar. It wrapped around you like a soft blanket, drawing you into its haunting embrace, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel. To let the music stir something inside you that you had locked away for too long.

As the song played on, you sat down on the edge of the couch, the record player spinning quietly in the corner. Your fingers absently traced the label of the calendar in your lap, your mind floating somewhere between the haunting melody and the strange sense of calm it brought.

It had now been two days since you first played the record, two days of trying to distract yourself from the endless monotony of your existence in the N109 Zone. You’d made it a habit now—when you woke up, you marked the calendar with a ballpoint pen you’d found in Sylus’s desk, scratching a line through the date as if it could somehow bring you closer to freedom. Or at least closer to understanding how long you had been trapped here.

Your circadian rhythm was the only other way to tell what time it was.

The haunting melody from the record still played in your mind sometimes, but you hadn’t touched it again. There was something about the music that unsettled you. Too emotional. Too revealing. So, for now, you kept your distance.

In an attempt to stave off the boredom clawing at your mind, you finally agreed to join Luke and Kieran for a game of Kitty Cards—something they had pestered you about for days. You figured it was better than staring at the walls, waiting for nothing to happen.

At first, the game was almost enjoyable. Luke’s awkward attempts at jokes and Kieran’s quiet intensity made for an interesting dynamic, and for a brief moment, you let yourself relax. It was a small respite, playing cards with these two in the dim light of the room, their presence a distraction from the oppressive weight of your thoughts.

But then, slowly, you started to feel it.

The familiar aches. A dull, persistent cramp settling in your lower half, tugging at your body like an unwelcome reminder. You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore the discomfort, but the tiredness crept in next, sudden and heavy. The exhaustion weighed down on your eyelids, your muscles growing sluggish.

You sighed softly, knowing what was coming.

“Sorry, guys,” you said, trying to keep your voice light as you gathered the cards in front of you. “I think I’m done for now. Just… feeling off.”

Luke blinked, his mask tilting slightly as he looked at you. “You okay?”

Kieran’s eyes followed you as you rose from the table, his expression unreadable. You nodded quickly, not wanting to explain.

“Yeah, just tired. I’ll catch you both later.”

Without waiting for a response, you made your way back to the small bathroom. The cramping in your lower half was more noticeable now, pulsing with every step, but you welcomed it. At least it means something’s happening, you thought bitterly.

Once inside the bathroom, you heard the door close as the twins left, your body aching as you lowered yourself onto the toilet. You exhaled sharply, leaning forward slightly as the cramps continued to tug at your abdomen.

Then, as you glanced down at your underwear, you saw it—tiny specks of blood, dark against the fabric.

Relief washed over you, heavier than you expected. That time again? Already? You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, feeling the tension drain from your body. The blood meant your period had come. It meant everything was still functioning normally, despite the chaos of your life. And most importantly—it meant you weren’t tied to him.

You weren’t pregnant. You weren’t carrying his child.

Your stomach unclenched slightly at the thought, and you leaned back against the cool tile wall, closing your eyes. Sylus had tried to plant that seed in you, that much you knew. But your body had fought against it, and now, seeing the blood, you knew for sure—you weren’t tied to that monster in the way he had planned.

Relief mingled with anger. How dare he even try to bind you to him like that? As if forcing you to bear his child would somehow solidify the twisted power he had over you.

But now? Now you were free from that possibility. You pressed your hand against your lower abdomen, feeling the faint ache of cramps beneath your palm, and allowed yourself to feel grateful. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A small victory in a place that gave you so little.

You dressed again slowly, wincing slightly as another cramp rolled through your body. You were exhausted—your body already begging for sleep—but you felt lighter. Freer, even. The blood meant you weren’t Sylus’s pawn, not in the way he had wanted.

And for now, that was enough.

Week one without Sylus had passed, but the moments that passed blurred together. You woke up feeling more drained than the last. No matter how many hours you spent in bed, you couldn’t shake the exhaustion that clung to you. It felt like a weight pressing down on your entire body, your limbs heavy and uncooperative, as though sleep was nothing more than a brief interruption in the long strain of fatigue.

You rubbed your eyes, the dull ache of sleepless nights pounding behind them. It’s just the insomnia, you told yourself, convincing yourself that the exhaustion was simply from the tossing and turning that plagued you every night. After all, how could anyone sleep well in this place?

But deep down, you knew this tiredness was different. It wasn’t the usual grogginess from a restless night—it was deeper, more persistent. No matter how long you tried to rest, you woke up feeling like you hadn’t slept at all.

With a groan, you forced yourself out of bed, each step slow and heavy as if your body had to drag itself from the sleep it never really got. You winced, pressing a hand to your stomach as you moved. The bloating was worse after every meal now. Every time you ate, your stomach would swell uncomfortably, tight and distended, like something inside was pushing against your skin. The discomfort was constant, and by the end of the day, you could barely stand it.

It’s the damn period, you thought, grimacing as you placed your hand over your abdomen. Has to be.

Periods always made you bloat. That wasn’t new. And with all the stress you’d been under lately, it made sense that things weren’t exactly running like clockwork. Still, the bloating felt different this time—more intense, more persistent, as though it was refusing to settle. Even after hours had passed, the discomfort clung to you, making you feel like your body was swelling from the inside out.

You shuffled to the bathroom, trying to focus on anything but the nagging fatigue and the bloating that made your movements stiff and awkward. A cramp twisted briefly in your abdomen, but it was dull, barely noticeable. You sighed, pulling down your underwear to change your pad, expecting to see the usual gushing blood.

But there was hardly any.

You blinked, staring at the emptiness on the pad. Yesterday, you had bled more—definitely. The first day had felt like a normal start to your period, but now, there was barely anything.

Huh?

You sat there for a moment, staring down at the pristine white of the pad. Your fingers traced the waistband of your underwear as confusion settled in. The cramping had mostly faded, too, just a slight ache now, nothing like the intensity of what you usually felt during your period.

Where is it?

You pressed a hand to your lower abdomen, the discomfort of bloating still lingering beneath your fingers. There should have been more blood. There should have been more something. But now, all that was left was a faint stain and a gnawing sense of unease.

It’s fine, you told yourself, standing up and trying to shake the feeling off. Periods can be irregular. It’s just stress.

That had to be it. The sleepless nights, the strain of living in the N109 Zone, the constant tension pulling at you—it was all catching up to you. Your body was just reacting to the emotional and physical stress. It made sense.

But still, the small voice of doubt in the back of your mind was growing louder. You’d always had unpredictable cycles, but this? This didn’t feel right. The bloating, the exhaustion, the lack of blood—it was all off. Yet, you forced yourself to ignore it. What else could it be?

You shook your head, forcing a laugh under your breath as you stared at the nearly empty pad. It’s fine. Just stress.

But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, the nagging discomfort remained. And as you changed your pad and moved to wash your hands, the question gnawed at you with every breath.

Where is it?

It didn't help that with every meal from that day forward you'd get a slight pang of sickness in your belly. Maybe the chefs weren't that great of cooks after all.

But as time passed, the nausea only become more unbearable. It was no longer just an inconvenience that popped up here and there—it was constant. It churned in your stomach from the moment you woke up, creeping up before you even thought about food, making the thought of eating feel like a battle. Each meal now brought a wave of queasiness that lingered long after you forced yourself to swallow a few bites. The food you once ate out of necessity now felt impossible to keep down.

It wasn’t just the nausea, either. The small comforts you’d relied on—like lying on your chest when you finally collapsed into bed—were gone, too. Your breasts had grown tender, so sensitive that even the thought of pressing them against the mattress made you wince. Rolling over had become a challenge, and any attempt to settle into your normal sleeping position left you frustrated and sore.

You sat on the edge of the bed, gingerly pulling on a loose shirt, hoping the fabric wouldn’t irritate your nipples any further. Every little thing seemed to be falling apart inside you. Between the nausea, the tenderness, and the bloating that hadn’t eased up, your body felt like it was turning against you.

It was the same with everything else, too. Even simple things—like playing another round of Kitty Cards with Luke and Kieran—had started to feel overwhelming. You had hoped the game might distract you from the constant discomfort, but it wasn’t working. Every time you sat down to play, your mind would drift, thoughts swirling around Sylus, his absence, and the creeping uncertainty that gnawed at you.

The twins were patient, at least. They sat across from you, dealing the cards and chatting casually, oblivious to the storm brewing in your mind. But today, the pressure felt different. Everything felt different.

You stared at your cards, barely processing the game as it unfolded in front of you. Your head was spinning, your stomach twisting uncomfortably. You had lost again—no surprise there. Normally, you’d shrug it off, crack a sarcastic joke about how the twins were impossible to beat. But this time, you felt something break inside you, something small but undeniable.

Before you could stop it, the tears welled up in your eyes.

“Damn it,” you muttered, your voice trembling. You quickly wiped at your eyes, trying to will the tears away, but it was too late. They fell fast and hard, streaming down your cheeks before you could control them.

Luke and Kieran exchanged a panicked glance at each other through their masks, their playful demeanor evaporating as they rushed to your side.

“Whoa, hey, it’s just a game!” Luke said, his voice soft and cautious as he reached out, clearly unsure how to handle your sudden outburst. “It’s not a big deal, we can play another round, yeah?”

Kieran didn’t say anything at first, just shifted closer, his presence more of a quiet comfort than anything. He placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his voice calm but concerned. “You okay?”

You shook your head quickly, choking back a sob as you tried to speak. “I’m fine. I’m fine, really. It’s just… I don’t know.” The words felt flimsy, hollow, even as you said them. You didn’t know what was happening—why the sudden flood of emotions, why you felt so completely out of control. It wasn’t like you.

“It’s just everything,” you whispered, more to yourself than to them.

The twins stayed close, Luke rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly while Kieran quietly handed you a tissue. You wiped your face, embarrassed by the sudden outburst. This wasn’t you. You weren’t the kind of person who broke down over losing a card game, and yet here you were, crying in front of two people who probably didn’t know what to do with you.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. “I don’t know why… it’s just been—everything’s been so off lately.”

The twins exchanged another glance, but they didn’t push you. Instead, they nodded, offering small smiles of reassurance.

“We get it,” Luke said softly. “It’s a lot. You don’t have to explain.”

But as you sat there, sniffling and trying to regain control, the spinning in your head worsened. Your mind whirled with a thousand thoughts, none of them settling. What was happening to you? The nausea, the fatigue, the sensitivity, the tears. It didn’t make sense. You had blamed it all on stress and your period, but now the doubts were creeping in again.

And with those doubts came the nagging thought you’d been avoiding for days now: When is Sylus coming back?

The last time you’d seen him, he had left without giving you any real answers. His cold, detached demeanor had sent chills down your spine, and the memory of his final words replayed in your mind over and over again, like a taunt you couldn’t escape.

"This may be the last time we talk, kitten."

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the words away, but they echoed louder than ever. Was he dead? Had something happened to him? No… that wasn’t possible. Sylus wasn’t the kind of man who went down easily. He was always ten steps ahead, always in control. But then why did his words haunt you like a final goodbye?

Your chest tightened, your stomach churning as the weight of it all pressed down on you. You needed answers, but you had none. And without Sylus here—without knowing if he was ever coming back—there was nothing to do but sit with the spinning confusion, the unease, and the gnawing fear that something was very, very wrong.

Days pass in a blur and you were getting tired of feeling god awful. And thirsty? You couldn't stop drinking.

You kept finding yourself asking Mephisto, of all things, if he could somehow pass a note to the chef for more drinks. Water, juice, anything you could get your hands on. The constant thirst gnawed at you, as relentless as the rest of the changes you couldn’t understand. The more your body demanded, the more frustrated you became.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” you muttered under your breath, staring into the mirror after pushing away yet another meal you couldn't finish. Your reflection stared back at you, tired and drawn, with dark circles under your eyes that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago. Your body felt foreign—heavy, sluggish, like something you couldn’t control anymore. You weren’t even sure what was happening to you, but you hated it. You hated how powerless you felt inside your own skin.

It was as if your body was betraying you in slow, painful ways. And it was getting harder and harder to hold yourself together.

You stepped back from the mirror, and the weight of it all—everything you had been pushing down—suddenly crashed over you. A sob escaped your throat, and before you could stop it, you were breaking down. Again. You slid to the floor, pressing your hands to your face, trying to stifle the tears, but they came faster than you could handle. The frustration, the exhaustion, the endless confusion—it all bubbled over.

Your hands were shaking as you cried, your body feeling too weak to even hold yourself upright. You were falling apart, piece by piece, and there was nothing left to keep the walls up.

After what felt like an eternity of sitting there on the floor, tears streaming down your face, you glanced over at the calendar. Through tear-stained eyes, you caught a glimpse of the circled date—the day Sylus was supposed to come back.

Your heart sank, a hollow pit forming in your chest as the realization hit you like a blow.

Three days.

Three days had already passed since he was supposed to be back.

Your breath caught in your throat as the thought consumed you. Shit. He’s dead. That’s the only explanation that made sense. Sylus was dead, and now you were trapped here, in this miserable, suffocating prison, forever.

And what made it worse—what twisted the knife in deeper—was that you cared.

You shouldn’t. You knew that. Sylus had kidnapped you, manipulated you, left a scar on your arm and worse, scars in your mind. He had controlled you, twisted your life into something unrecognizable. And here you were, crying—actually crying—because he wasn’t coming back?

Fuck him, you thought, angrily wiping your tears away. Why do you even care?

But even as you tried to convince yourself, the tears kept falling. Why did you care? What was wrong with you? Why did the thought of Sylus being dead, of him never walking back through that door, tear you apart in ways you couldn’t explain?

Your head spun, the weight of your emotions crashing over you, dragging you under. You hated him. You hated everything he’d done to you. He’d stolen you from your life, cut into your skin, ripped away your freedom. You should be celebrating the thought of him being gone. You should want him to be dead.

But you didn’t.

You leaned your head against the wall, pressing your hands to your chest, trying to quiet the storm inside of you. The nausea was back again, swirling in your stomach, making it harder to breathe. Your body felt like it wasn’t yours anymore, like you had lost control in more ways than one.

Tears dripped down your cheeks as you shook your head, whispering to yourself. “What is wrong with me?”

There was no answer, only the suffocating silence of the N109 Zone, pressing in on you from all sides. And in that silence, one thought kept repeating itself, over and over again, haunting you with every breath:

"This may be the last time we talk, kitten."

“FUCK YOU!” The words ripped from your throat before you even realized it, raw and filled with a fury you didn’t know you still had in you.

You surged to your feet, your vision blurred with tears and rage as you grabbed the calendar from its place on the wall. The innocent object, the one thing that had grounded you to the passing of time, now felt like a mockery. Every marked date, every circled day—it was all a lie. He wasn’t coming back.

Without thinking, you hurled the calendar across the room with all the strength you could muster. It hit the opposite wall with a dull thud before falling to the floor, pages crumpling as it landed. The sound echoed in the room, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the roar inside your head.

You stood there, chest heaving, your heart pounding in your ears. The room felt too small, too suffocating, the darkness pressing in on you from every side. You wanted to scream again, to throw everything in the room, to tear it all apart until there was nothing left to remind you of him, of this place, of the horrible truth you couldn’t escape.

Sylus. His name was a bitter taste in your mouth. He had controlled you, twisted your life into this nightmare, and now he had the audacity to leave you here—alone. The anger burned in your chest, mixing with the sadness, the confusion, the overwhelming feeling of being lost.

You wanted to hate him. You did hate him. But in that same breath, the thought of him being gone forever, of him never walking through that door again, left you hollow. Why?

You felt an intense pain in your chest. In your heart. Physical, longing, brimming underneath all the hate when you thought of Sylus.

Tears streamed down your face as you stood there, fists clenched at your sides, staring at the crumpled calendar on the floor. The broken mess of it mirrored the way you felt inside—shattered, with no way to piece it back together.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. It wasn’t just for Sylus anymore. It was for everything. For the N109 Zone, for your broken body, for the endless spiral of confusion and fear that had taken over your life. You didn’t know who to scream at anymore, who to blame, because everything felt like it was crumbling.

You wiped your tear-streaked face with the back of your hand, your breath shaky. The calendar sat motionless on the floor, a reminder of time slipping away, of promises not kept. And with it, a reminder of the haunting words Sylus had left you with, the ones that echoed in the hollow space inside your chest.

"This may be the last time we talk, kitten."

You sobbed, eyes turning toward the record player. You had been avoiding it. But now you longed for its song.

You sobbed, knees giving out as you slid to the floor, your body trembling with the weight of everything crashing down at once. The room spun around you, the tears blurring your vision, and for a moment, all you could do was sit there, letting the raw emotion pour out of you, your chest heaving with every breath.

Through the tears, your eyes drifted across the room, falling on the record player sitting in the corner, covered in a thin layer of dust. It had been sitting there for days, untouched, and you had purposefully ignored it, trying to avoid the haunting melody that had stirred too much inside you the first time. You’d been afraid of it—afraid of what the music had made you feel. Too much.

But now, as you sat there in the suffocating silence, the world collapsing around you, you longed for it. You longed for the song.

There was something in that music, something that had connected with you in a way nothing else here had. The haunting melody had pierced through the walls you’d built, allowing you to feel, really feel, in a place where emotions were a dangerous luxury. And now, in the midst of your grief and anger, you craved that connection again, that strange, bittersweet comfort.

Wiping at your tear-streaked face, you slowly pushed yourself up, your legs shaky beneath you as you staggered toward the record player. You hesitated for a moment, standing before it, your fingers hovering over the record that sat waiting, as if it had known you would come back.

Your hand trembled as you placed the needle on the record, the familiar crackling sound filling the room as it began to spin. For a moment, there was nothing but static, a brief, fragile pause before the music began.

And then, the first notes hit.

That hauntingly beautiful melody. It drifted through the room, filling the empty space with its ghostly echo. The sound wrapped around you, soft and delicate, but heavy with meaning, with emotion. The organs slow, mournful tune carried through the air, each note pulling at your heart, drawing out the feelings you had tried to bury.

You sank to the floor again, leaning against the wall, your head resting back as you let the music envelop you. The tears didn’t stop, but the sobs quieted, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. The melody tugged at your soul, a reminder of everything you had lost, everything that had been taken from you.

But in that sadness, there was a strange comfort. The music understood. It mirrored your pain, your frustration, your confusion. Every note felt like it was speaking directly to you, like the song itself was mourning with you.

The organ swelled, and your chest tightened, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over as the emotions surged again. But you didn’t fight it this time. You let the music carry you, let it take you wherever it wanted to go. There was no point in resisting anymore. You were tired of fighting.

As the melody continued, you closed your eyes, the sound pulling you deeper into its embrace. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to truly feel everything. The sadness, the anger, the fear—it all poured out of you, spilling into the notes of the song.

Sylus’s absence still loomed over you, his words still echoed in your mind, but for now, the music dulled the edges of that pain. It was a small reprieve, a brief moment where the chaos of your mind quieted.

And even though the haunting melody was filled with sorrow, in this moment, it was exactly what you needed.

Sylus stepped into the room quietly, the soft click of the door unlocking barely audible over the faint hum of the record player. He exhaled slowly, exhaustion weighing heavy on him from days of endless travel, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, they landed on you, and the fatigue seemed to fade into the background.

There you were, curled up on the floor, fast asleep, your chest rising and falling in steady, peaceful breaths. The haunting melody from the record player filled the air, casting a strange, melancholic atmosphere over the room. Sylus’s gaze flickered to the spinning record and, with a small smirk, he turned the player off, cutting the music short. It pleased him to see you had actually played it.

For a moment, he simply stood there, watching you sleep. There was something oddly vulnerable about the way you lay there, your body relaxed in sleep, your face free of the tension that so often creased it when you were awake. His eyes traced the faint tear tracks on your cheeks, the puffiness around your eyes, the clear evidence that you had been crying.

You’ve been sobbing, he realized, his smirk fading as he studied you more closely. Dried tears clung to your skin, and your face looked stressed and worn, as if you’d been fighting a losing battle with your emotions for far too long. He could see it now—the exhaustion, the way your body seemed to have given up.

His gaze softened, lingering on you for a moment longer. You stirred slightly in your sleep, your eyelids fluttering as if caught in some dream. Your chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, and for the briefest moment, he allowed himself to simply observe the small details—the way your breath hitched every now and then, the way your lips parted slightly, the faint twitch of your fingers.

It was strange, this feeling. Sylus had seen you broken before, had seen the moments when you were at your most vulnerable, but watching you like this—so peaceful, yet so fragile—something else stirred in him. A flicker of something softer, something he quickly brushed away.

He stepped closer, kneeling beside you as he reached out to gently shake your shoulder. “Wake up, honey” he murmured softly.

Your eyes flew open, wide and startled at first, darting around the room in confusion before finally settling on him. For a split second, something flashed in your gaze—relief? But it was quickly replaced by something else. Worry? Concern?

Before he could say anything, you grimaced, your face twisting in discomfort, and then you were dry heaving. Instinctively, Sylus moved quickly, slipping his arms under you to help guide you toward the bathroom. The sudden movement caught you off guard, but he held you steady, his grip firm but not rough.

“Easy,” he said, his voice low as he helped you to the bathroom. You could barely focus, your body convulsing with the effort of dry heaving, but Sylus kept you upright, guiding you with surprising gentleness.

Once inside, you collapsed near the toilet, and he crouched beside you, watching as your body struggled against the nausea. His hand rested lightly on your back, a quiet, stabilizing presence as you fought to regain control.

One dry heave. Your body convulsed, a sharp, painful spasm that left you gasping for breath. Sylus's grip tightened slightly, his hand steady on your back as he helped guide you to the edge of the toilet. The nausea had been building for days, and now it was finally pushing its way out, relentless and overwhelming.

Then came another heave, your stomach twisting violently, your muscles contracting as if your body was trying to wring itself dry. Your vision blurred, and the room spun as you tried to fight it, but it was no use.

The final heave hit hard, and this time, you couldn’t hold it back. The contents of your stomach surged up, and you vomited into the toilet, your whole body trembling from the effort. The acrid taste burned in your throat as you retched, your eyes squeezing shut as tears leaked from the corners.

Sylus remained silent, his hand still resting on your back, his presence a quiet anchor in the chaos of the moment. He didn’t speak, didn’t react—just stayed there, watching as you emptied yourself, each convulsion wracking your already exhausted body.

When the retching finally subsided, your shoulders sagged, and you leaned against the toilet, your breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. The nausea still lingered, but the worst had passed, leaving you feeling weak, drained, and raw. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, still shaking, your entire body feeling like it might collapse at any moment.

Sylus knelt beside you, his gaze fixed on you, studying your every movement. There was no mocking smirk this time, no cruel amusement. Just a quiet, almost clinical focus as he watched you recover. His eyes flickered over your tear-streaked face, the sweat glistening on your skin, and the unmistakable exhaustion that had settled into every fiber of your being.

"Better?" he asked quietly, his voice softer than you expected.

You nodded weakly, though you weren’t sure if that was the truth. The nausea had faded, but your head was spinning, and your body felt foreign, like it didn’t belong to you anymore. You slumped back, resting against the cool tile floor, trying to steady your breath as the overwhelming fatigue took over.

“Were you so excited to see me that you threw up?” Sylus’s voice slipped out, laced with dark amusement as he eyed you laid on the bathroom floor. The corners of his lips tugged into a smirk as he watched your exhausted figure, trembling from the aftermath of your retching. The sight of you, so vulnerable yet still so defiant, stirred something in him. It was quite adorable.

Your head snapped up, eyes red and watery, and shot him a glare that would’ve been more effective if you weren’t barely holding yourself together. That was what he liked about you, though—you still had fire, even when everything else was crumbling.

“I hate you,” you muttered, barely audible, your voice weak and strained.

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in the quiet room. Of course you did. You’d spat those words at him more times than he could count, but they never carried the weight you thought they did. “I'm hurt, kitten,” he said, letting the pet name slip out with just enough bite to remind you of your place.

He shifted, straightening up slightly but still crouched beside you, watching the way your body slumped against the cool tile. You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand again, trying to recover, but he could see how drained you were. Your limbs looked heavy, like they’d given up on you, and the flush of your cheeks told him you were still fighting that lingering nausea.

But it wasn’t just the exhaustion that interested him—it was the way you looked up at him, the fire still burning behind your eyes despite the tears and the clear discomfort. Even now, as broken as you were, you fought. That was what intrigued him, what kept him coming back to you.

He couldn’t help but chuckle again, this time quieter, more to himself. The sight of you like this, caught between rage and weakness, pulled at something in him. You didn’t want him here, and yet, your body still leaned into his support, still let him guide you when you needed it most. Whether you hated him or not didn’t matter. You still needed him.

He watched you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning your face, the way your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. The tear tracks were still fresh on your cheeks, and he could see that you’d been crying long before he’d arrived.

The silence stretched between you, and Sylus felt it settle—heavy, weighted with something more than just your physical exhaustion. He could feel it in the way you looked at him, as though you were grappling with something you didn’t want to admit. And then there was that brief flicker in your eyes, something that looked almost like relief before it shifted to concern.

It intrigued him. What were you so worried about?

He could see your body still trembling, and before you could react, your face twisted again, and you dry heaved once more. His amusement faded as his hands instinctively moved to help you, his grip firm but not rough, guiding you back toward the toilet just in time as you retched and gagged again.

“Don't fight it,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something quieter. For once, the teasing tone was gone. You were still shaking, still fighting the nausea, and he kept his hand on your back, steadying you as you vomited again, your whole body convulsing with the effort.

He knelt beside you, watching the way your frame trembled, the way your body seemed to be betraying you. His eyes narrowed slightly. Something was different—off. This wasn’t just exhaustion or sickness. He’d seen you in pain before, seen you in worse states, but this… this felt heavier.

He kept his hand on your back, waiting until your body stopped shaking, until you slumped again, too weak to do anything but rest against the cold tile.

"You okay?" he asked, keeping his voice low, though he doubted you had the energy to do much more than nod.

And sure enough, you gave a weak nod, not even trying to speak. He watched as your chest rose and fell, your breath coming in shallow gasps. The fight hadn’t left your eyes, but the exhaustion had taken over now, and he could see it in the way you struggled to keep yourself upright.

Sylus stared at you for a moment longer, something cold and calculating behind his eyes. You were breaking, yes, but not in the way he had expected. Something else was happening—something deeper, beyond the physical symptoms. He could feel it, a shift in the air between you.

Sylus remained there for a moment longer, his eyes tracing over your trembling form. You looked so small, so fragile in this moment, slumped against the cold tile with tear-streaked cheeks and watery eyes. The sight of you like this stirred something inside him—a mix of satisfaction and curiosity, though he wasn’t entirely sure which feeling dominated. He could see how much this had taken a toll on you, how every day without answers had chipped away at your resolve. But this? This was different. This was the moment he had been waiting for—the moment where the walls finally came down.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, keeping his tone even and composed as he turned away, heading toward the bathroom drawer. He could feel your eyes on him, glaring into his back with what little strength you had left. You were trying to hold onto that defiance, trying to summon some kind of fight, but he knew better. You were unraveling, and the truth of what he was about to show you would tear down whatever was left.

He rifled through the drawer, his movements slow and methodical, savoring the quiet tension building in the room. His fingers brushed past a few irrelevant items before closing around the small box. It felt almost anticlimactic, the weight of it so light in his hand, yet what it represented was monumental. He straightened and turned back toward you, holding the box just high enough for you to see.

Your reaction was immediate—your mouth opened in shock, and your eyes widened in horror as realization dawned. There it is, he thought, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He watched the shift in your expression with a quiet, controlled satisfaction. It was like watching a puzzle piece snap into place, watching you connect the dots and realize just how deep in this you really were.

“No…” you whispered, your voice cracking, barely more than a breath. The desperation clung to your words, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus felt something akin to pity stir in his chest. But he quickly brushed it aside. This is how it has to be. He knew it. You were spiraling, trying to cling to the lie that everything was normal, that your body hadn’t betrayed you in the way you feared most.

“No, I’m not pregnant,” you whimpered, shaking your head as tears started to spill down your cheeks. “I’m just sick…I'm just sick...”

Why lie to yourself?, he thought, though there was no cruelty in those words. He didn’t enjoy seeing you like this—no, not quite. But there was something about your vulnerability, something about watching you come to terms with this new reality, that intrigued him. You were always so strong, so determined to fight him at every turn, and now, with this one tiny box in his hand, he had you crumbling.

Tears poured from your eyes now, and your voice wavered as you kept trying to convince yourself, to convince him, that this wasn’t real. That you were just sick, that this was something else, something manageable. He could see the panic rising in you, the way your hands trembled, the way your breath hitched between sobs.

But Sylus just watched, his eyes soft, yet calculating. He wasn’t surprised by your reaction—he’d anticipated it, even counted on it. You weren’t ready to accept the truth yet. That’s why he was here. To guide you into it. To show you that, whether you wanted it or not, you were his in ways you hadn’t even realized.

He stepped toward you, his movements slow, deliberate. Kneeling back down, he reached out and wiped the tears from your face, his touch unnervingly tender. The way he was looking at you displayed the same tenderness but also something else. Control, This was control—calm, steady control. He had been waiting for this moment for weeks, watching the signs, knowing where this was all leading.

“Only one way to find out, honey,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. Like he was comforting a child. He could feel your fear, could see the way you were choking on the sobs that kept spilling from you. But there was no rush. He had all the time in the world.

He watched the panic bloom in your eyes, the way the tears kept coming, your body shaking with the effort of holding back the reality you didn’t want to face. It fascinated him—the sheer desperation in your every movement. The fear of being tied to him in a way you couldn’t escape, in a way that would bind you together forever.

She’s terrified, he thought, his thumb brushing away more of your tears. But beneath that terror, there was something else—a kind of inevitability. You already knew. Deep down, you must have known. He could see it now, in the way your sobs became more frantic, the way your body shook as the weight of the truth crashed over you. You weren’t just crying from fear anymore. You were crying because this was real.

The satisfaction he felt wasn’t born of cruelty. It was born of the quiet control he had over you now, a control that went beyond the physical, beyond the chain that kept you tethered here. This was a different kind of control—one that reached into your mind, your soul. And it was deeper than anything he had ever seen in you before.

As you burst into sobs, your whole body trembling with the force of your breakdown, Sylus stayed right there, crouched beside you, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. The box sat between you like a looming reminder of what was coming, and he knew there was no turning back from this.

Watching you crumble like this, completely undone by something as small as a pregnancy test, brought a strange sense of finality to the moment. You were his now. Not in the way you had been before—this was something more permanent, more inescapable.

All that was left was to confirm it. Show you its real.

And as your sobs wracked your body, Sylus watched with soft, patient eyes, knowing that no matter how much you cried, no matter how much you resisted, there was only one way out.

The truth.