#how many? the answer is at the end of the tags!
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
insteading · 2 days ago
Text
My aunt and uncle married during a brief phase when Toddler Me was into football and insisted on wearing a helmet everywhere. I was talked out of wearing the helmet for my flower girl duties, but I tucked the basket of flowers under my arm like a quarterback and ran like hell to the minister in the end zone.
I got kicked out of sophomore history class on the first day as a result of how I answered the icebreaker questions ("What's the most recent book you read?" and "What one thing would you do to improve the world most?"). I responded, "The Autobiography of Malcolm X," and "All humans run into the sea and let the earth recover." I didn't get put on a watchlist because I was white and female in a society that acts as if both these categories are non-threatening, but also: I was not being nihilistic or an edgelord. I was being pissed about the limits of the question.
In college I put on reporter drag and crashed a press conference with the then-governor in order to ask a question about education funding that was really more of a "you fucking liar." He did not give me a serious answer, but a real reporter gave me a high five after and asked if I wanted a summer gig.
I kind of suck at knowing who to tag-- many of the people in my mentions have been tagged already-- so, if you see this, please jump in!
it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore
41K notes · View notes
bullet-prooflove · 2 days ago
Text
You're The Sun To Me: Mitch Keller x Reader
Tumblr media
Tagging: @kmc1989 @dolphs-darling @watermeezer @queenslandlover-93 @redpool
Companion piece to:
Love Song - Mitch doesn't expect to see you in his bar after all this time.
Clean - Mitch asks you why you're back in town.
Home - Mitch gets an answer to his question.
Sunshine (NSFW) - You've always been the sunshine in Mitch's life.
Georgia Peach (NSFW) - You get a little territorial when one of Mitch's exes comes sniffing around.
Rhinestones (NSFW) - Mitch reminds you of the night you met.
Her Name Was Lola - You meet Mitch's wife.
Tumblr media
On the rare freezing days in Tulsa, Mitch struggles. The cold seems to set into his bones and the agony from decades of bull riding seems to flood his entire system. His muscles stiffen and he moves like an old man, every single motion filled with a devastation that makes him hiss through his teeth. It’s times like this that remind him how he ended up hooked on Oxy. Shit like Tylenol doesn’t touch the pain, no matter how much he takes.
He forces himself through the day, every minute ticking by like an hour until you show up fresh off the tour you’ve been undertaking in Oklahoma City. Jelly Roll has been playing a few indie gigs and had invited you to open for him. The two of you had met during a country music showcase back when Mitch was doing time and stayed close friends even after Jason's career blew up.
When you step through the door you take one look at Mitch and you know exactly what’s going on with him, despite how much he tries to hide it. You set up a stool behind the bar, coercing him into it with a fierce look. He knows better than to argue with you when you get a bee in your bonnet, especially when you’re coming off a forty one hour drive.  
You spend most of the evening doing the lion’s share of the work. You let Mitch pour a couple of shots when you leave the bottle by him but everything else is on you. At the end of the night, he watches you lock up before you draw him into the makeshift bed you’ve set up in the back. The ride home is filled potholes and sharp turns, things that will shake up at his bones, cause him even more pain and you know he doesn’t have it in him to face that tonight.
He can’t help but smile when he gets into that room because his baby, she’s done wonders with the air mattress, blankets and hurricane lamps he keeps stored away in there.
“You know Sunny, this shit is kinda romantic like.” He says as you begin to unbutton his shirt. “It’s not candle light and roses but it’s certainly something.”
“Next time.” You promise him, your gaze meeting his as you unfasten his belt and help him out of his jeans. “I promise I’ll romance the fuck out of you.”
He laughs as you help him down into the bed, tucking as many blankets as you can around him against the cold outside. He reaches for you, brushing a stray strand of hair back behind your ear as he looks into your eyes.
“You always take such good care of me.” He whispers, pressing a tender kiss to your mouth.
“I always will.” You murmur before you pull away and begin to undress. He watches appreciatively as you do, the fabric slipping from your skin and landing in a heap at your feet. There isn’t a chance in hell he can get it up right now, not with his pain level but he can still admire the beauty that God bestowed upon him.
“Gonna have to be cuddling tonight darlin.” He tells you as you climb underneath the blankets alongside him. “I don’t have it in me to give you a proper welcome home.”
“Good.” You whisper as you nestle in close, the heat of your body warming his skin. “Because I’m far too exhausted to ride you tonight.”
He chuckles as you bury your face into the curve of his throat, your fingertips tracing over the scars etched into his flesh from all those years of bull riding.
“Sunny…” He drawls as he closes his eyes, trying to focus on anything but the ache that seems to radiate through his entire body. “Will you sing me to sleep darlin? I’ve been missing the sound of your voice.”
You start to hum and he recognises the opening bars from Zach Bryan’s You’re The Sun To Me.
“You’re trying to make me fall in love with you all over again ain’t you sweetheart?” He mumbles as his cheek comes to rest upon the top of your head.
“Oh Mitch.” You whisper, tiling your head up so your lips brush over his grizzled jaw. “There ain’t no trying about it.”
Love Mitch? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.
Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!
Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee
Tumblr media
35 notes · View notes
trippinsorrows · 3 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Overview: The LTYE Multiverse refers to a collection of AU's based on the original fanfic, Looking Through Your Eyes. Each 'verse' shows a 'what if' type of narrative based upon the original characters.
The Works
Looking Through Your Eyes
Through Your Eyes
Dreamland
FAQ's
How did this whole thing come about? The multiverse organically formed following an abundance of questions from readers of the original story. Many people were curious about 'what if' narratives that I decided to write as oneshots, shorts, and eventually chapters. Essentially, it was created out of the readers interests/asks! Which story should I read first? The order in which the stories are read doesn't really matter, as they're all independent from one another. I will just say that whatever story/stories you do decide to read, make sure to read the chapters/parts in chronological order to avoid getting confused/spoilers. It might be beneficial to stick with reading and catching up with the OG story before tackling AU's, as you could get a little confused. However, if you plan to skip the OG one, then start wherever you'd like. What is the 'original' story? Looking Through Your Eyes is the original story, as it's the first work that I created and posted before any of this came to be. Is there mature content in the story/stories? All of my works contain mature content (see the disclaimer on my series masterpost HERE). I will say that the original story, LTYE, contains heavy, triggering content and should only be read if you can handle the content being tackled. Does [insert story title] have a happy ending? I can confirm that Dreamland and Through Your Eyes do. As the OG story is still in progress, I cannot answer that question.
What are the differences between the stories? Looking Through Your Eyes is the original story and shows the love story of Solana and Roman following the extremely traumatic upbringings of both of them. Through Your Eyes is an AU where neither of the main characters experienced major trauma. And, Dreamland shows Solana and Roman as parents of multiple children.
What if I can't handle triggering content?
Then, I would strongly advise you to stay away from the OG story. Dreamland and Through Your Eyes would be more appropriate options as they are significantly less triggering.
What if I have an idea for a short/oneshot?
Please feel free to send it to me via an ask or DM! I keep a list of suggestions from you guys and make my way through the list. :)
How often do you update [insert story title]? I don't have an update schedule. Thus, updates for all three are sporadic. You're always free to ask me about when 'XYZ' is being updated.
I have a question that's not on this FAQ? Send me an ask or DM, and I'll happily answer it for you. Assuming it's not a spoiler. ;)
Where can I read asks about the story/stories?
Dreamland questions fall under the 'ltye ask' and 'dreamland ask' tag. Looking Through Your Eyes questions fall under the 'ltye ask' tag. Through Your Eyes fall under the 'ltye au ask' tag.
27 notes · View notes
nshtn · 1 day ago
Note
need medsker hcs desperately but can't think of anything specific to request ;_;
imagine, with a resigned domesticism, if you were sitting there and you told him you wanted to talk to him but you didn't know what about.
schmoopy domestic medsker below! no beta.
606 words, tags: domestic, medical - medical jargon;virology, situationship, trauma ment., fluff - G/N reader
it's been a long day for wesker. really, he'd like to calm down with you. he wants to interact with the object of his affections, no matter how odd it may be to him, regardless of the inexorable march of time, that that object breathes and walks and was once one of his finest patients.
isn't it natural? you're like a squeeze toy, a stimboard, an interactive, talking stress-relief pet. well, he does quite like petting you, too, in the in-betweens when he doesn't know what to add. it's something he learned he liked, and now he can't undo it; even the medical director, whose boot and caseload shatter the dreams of shadowing residents, sleeps with a restrained need for primitive social contact.
disgusting... he'll do it more.
you tell him, sheepish and apologetic, that though you do want to offer him the respite you do almost every day now, your most important job of them all... you don't know how, today; you don't know what to say, or do, it just doesn't come easy for you... and it never has.
he regards you with a tilt of his head. silent judgment, or silent thought? he's lived with you long enough to know you usually fill the blanks with... well, blanks.
and normally his response to this is to yap into the long hours of the night about particularly grating cases or the latest in medical news, or how all the kids these days use medizzy and he never had that. sometimes it's about virology, about receptors in your duodenal enterocytes and how they're impacted after infections or his predictions about what will turn zoonotic next and whether or not you think it'll enter his hospital.
rarely, in the truly quiet moments, it's about himself; some small timecapsule memory, some redacted isn't-that-funny that doesn't make you laugh and ends with you quietly sliding your timid fingers across his cheekbones.
but he's got an idea today - something exciting! does his brain ever rest? perhaps not...
he puts a book in your hands, one about virology with pictures, and asks you to get to a page you like the image of. hand it to him when you're settled. he won't tell you why, but there's a mischievous glint in his eye that belies some kind of plotting & scheming that quirks your brow.
but it's harmless, right? it's just a book. a daunting medical book that nobody would read for fun that wesker has read front to back more times than you've written book reports... the thought is dizzying; it's no wonder he pulls such a large vocabulary around like it's weightless - to him, it's natural.
it would be to you, too, if you read that many journals.
you get to the page on PCR machines. you seem pretty transfixed with it, this machine - and its' counterpart, RT-PCR. you offer him the book back a little bashfully, feeling embarrassed at the level of incompetence you're showing at something he'd have you believe he's the world's best in.
wesker takes it from you with the brush of two of his digits on your own, and neither of you comment on it. then, he begins to read about them to you, adding his own interspersed comments and commentary and critiques of the book's lack of or overexplanatory knowledge, overexplaining and run-on sentencing much of it himself.
you can hear the joy it brings him in the way his voice, of little tonal cadence, becomes gradually softer as he talks and talks. he answers all of your questions directly and with barely-restrained enthusiasm for his mastercraft.
by the end of it, four hours have passed, and you're both sleepy.
20 notes · View notes
little-wawita · 2 days ago
Text
Im back <3. First of all
Tumblr media
and
Tumblr media
And the tags in cuestion of course
Tumblr media
Now.
VLAD YOU´RE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE. Guy thinks that just because he (nearly) flawlessly hid his lab he wouldn't be discovered? Tell me you've never met a bat without telling me you've never met a bat. Keeping all his incriminating stuff togheter is probably the dumbest thing he's done but Vlad isn't known for being as smart as he thinks.
Also the image of his sorry ass waking up in the middle of the night hearing the-baby-that-refuses-to-be-his-baby chirping for family? baby want family?? but not you, asshole, he's playing with your feelings, go back to sleep (his ass is not sleeping, don't believe what he says, he's a liar who lies) ((he's also screaming his lungs out to the next underling he finds)).
Orphan apearing out of nowhere to help, girl how did you learn that? what do you mean with you worked in construction?? where??? Ask all you want, she's not answering, wait where did she go? whatever, you heard her boys, keep working!
Now, the kids going to the police instead of home? Awesome, everything according to plan :]. Oh, a social worker? Ok, this seems a little bit excesive but they haven't been around for many police related issues so maybe that's how they handle minors? Oh. Their parents are under investigation? The GIW are actually a bunch of humans sopremacist and aren't legal?. Ok, it's fine, they can take it.
(it's not fine, but they can take it regardless)
At least the social worker is nice.
But learning that their aunt won't take the, specially the reason why? DEVASTATING. It felt like that anyways.
I also had to google about the axolotl thing, it shouldn't have been so funny.
Also, Jazz is baby. Please let her act like the baby she is, even if we know she won't. :'((((
THE WHOLE THING JUST TO MAKE JASON RELATED TO THEM. These bitches (bats) aren't just pulling some strings and faking papers, oh no, they are completely puppetering the whole situation so the kids would end up with Jason in Gotham. He IS getting his son, thank you very much. And his son's sister. (he aint calling her daughter unless she allows him to) ((Danny is not getting the same privilege.))
NOW ABOUT THE TAGS
There are going to be so many misunderstandings when they realize WHO, specificaly, Vlad was trying to clone. And his reasons. The little badger thing is also not helping, sorry Vlad. It's also gonna generate so many awkward questions and even MORE awkward-er conversations, sorry Danny.
Jack having five siblings is literally the least surprising thing about this post. He is also the middle child but the physically bigger of all of his siblings, you CANNOT tell me he's not used to having little gremlings and bigger gramlings using him as a literal climbing post. That's why he's so strong, all of his siblings were always on top of him when they were togheter before he was disowned. Too bad there's no one to climb him now.
Anyways. Thank you so much for feeding us with this lovely addition Op, kudos, all the kudos for you <3<3. Also don't stress yourself if you dont have (or dont want) more things to add to this au AND if you do dont pressure yourself to write it quickly or whatever, we love you anyways <3.
Ghost Chirps AU Part 4
A little treat in these trying times
Part 1 & 2
Part 3
***
The first time Daniel chirps (to Vlad’s knowledge, but it’s actually the fifth, he was just out of range in the GZ all the previous time) Vlad responds immediately. 
The boy attacks him just as viciously as ever, and Vlad assumes from then on that the boy is merely taunting him, crying out for family only to go “no, not you.”
Vlad ignores it from then on. It isn’t particularly frequent anyway.
When he hears him chirping back and forth with some other ghost somewhere on the East Coast he feels his eye twitch. 
He dismisses it, however. No doubt it is one of Daniel’s little ghost allies helping him try to antagonize Vlad into showing up just to be rejected again.
Well, Vlad won’t fall for Daniel’s petty tricks. He would be Vlad’s son in time one way or another, no need to indulge the boy’s temporary sense of superiority.
It is grating when it wakes him up in the middle of the night, but he goes back to sleep quickly after.
Midday, he thinks he might have to track down Danny’s little friend for a nice long chat about Not Doing That. But that’s an issue for later.
Before “later” can arrive, Vlad finds himself taken into “temporary custody” while the police search his house.
He goes peacefully, assured that they’ll find nothing amiss, all of his ecto materials tucked neatly away in a lab that is inaccessible any way other than phasing. And wrapped in lead just in case.
He does not notice that a member of the Justice League is involved, nor would he care, certain that none could find his lab. And utterly unaware of the JLD’s existence.
Not that the JLD is needed in this case.
Despite his best efforts to change every copy of the construction crews’ blueprints both digital and physical in order to eliminate knowledge of the inaccessible room, there’s no accounting for memory.
Officer Roger worked in construction before joining the force, and it was only less than a half a year ago that Masters’ Amity home was constructed. Officer Roger still remembers the doorless, windowless box they built alongside the small mansion itself. It’s nowhere to be found on the property, so he brings it up with his superior.
Orphan questions it - nearly giving the whole team heart-attacks in the process - but a simple “I used to work in construction” seems to be enough to satisfy her curiosity.
A two hour sweep with some metal detectors finds nothing.
Then Orphan reappears from the shadows, providing another jumpscare, before pressing a hand silently to the side of her head.
The crew watches in silence as well, giving their pulses a chance to slow.
A ten-count later Orphan’s hand drops, and she strides confidently to the rear-left corner of the mansion and points at the ground.
“200 feet beneath the foundation,” she says before disappearing back into the shadows.
The crew shares a look and gets to work.
The time it takes to dig up the cube is just more time spent in a cell for Vlad, where he waits patiently, assured he’ll be released soon enough.
The lab itself would be only a minor problem - there would be fines and inspections and a heavy watch until everything was brought up to code. Questions about how he accessed it would be a larger problem.
But worst of all, in the comfort of his lab? He’s not much for hiding away incriminating documents. 
Of which there are many, given his propensity for keeping extensive records of his experiments, which include unethical cloning and what sums up to human experimentation. 
Once they find the actual facilities for the experiments in his Wisconsin home? It will all be over for him.
Being a ghost he could, of course, simply flee the cell and start anew somewhere else, with a new identity or even in a new dimension altogether - so long as he could nab Maddie and her children to bring with him.
But within his labs, he also keeps extensive records of himself.
A copy of the Plasmius Maximus.
Other ghost- and halfa-capturing restraints.
When he hears steps approaching his cell 2 days into his stay when it is clearly not a mealtime, he thinks “finally” assured that he is about to be released.
He only registers that it is Batman after he’s been hit by the Plasmius Maximus - cut off from his powers for at least the next two hours.
He has no chance to complain, as he is subsequently tranqued unconscious to be taken to a more secure location.
***
It’s an hour and half after school let out when the cops - who had taken to trying to distract Jazz and Danny with cards games and work stories while they waited - step away to answer their radios. 
When they return, they tell them that it’s “time to go.”
The siblings share a look, then shrug.
It wouldn’t be the first time the cops had to drive them home - rare though it was, there were at least 4 such occasions in their memories. It wasn’t a big deal.
They were less than enthused when the cops explained that they’d be heading to take them to the station instead of to home. Still, they chalked it up to the whole “questions about the Red Hood” thing and moved on. 
At least it meant they could dodge a home visit like Danny had wanted.
Except when they get there, they are taken to a cushy room and introduced to their social worker, a woman with a kind smile and a soothing voice who introduces herself as Bethany Scott, sits them down and explains, very gently, that their parents are currently under investigation.
To her credit, she isn’t condescending. She doesn’t try to hide away the truth; when they ask why, she tells them.
It’s a surprisingly long list of charges. Of everything on it, the violation of the meta protection acts comes as the biggest surprise.
Their parents were obsessive about ghosts, but they were also good at it. They never attack anything that doesn’t have ectoplasm.
Well, barring a few misfires.
Another surprise comes then: the Anti-Ecto Acts don’t exist. Ghosts are covered by the MPA by design, the AEA would never have gotten off of the ground in any legal capacity. It is solely a creation of the GIW, an extreme “‘real’ humans only” supremacist group that had worked at every level to pull the wool over the eyes of the small town’s citizenry so thoroughly that they’d been thought a real government agency - the imitation of which would be just one of the many charges that every member they managed to capture would be facing.
Then Mrs Scott starts talking about placement options.
Their Aunt, they are told, is not an option. 
It comes as a surprise to Danny. On quiet nights, when no ghosts showed up to interrupt him and Sam and Tucker weren’t up to distract him with a game of Doomed, his mind would sometimes wander back to that darkest of timelines.
He’d wondered how Vlad had ended up with custody. Being his godfather made him an option, but Danny would’ve wanted to go with Alicia. Will be damned, Danny would’ve plead on both knees with the judge to go with his aunt. Grieving or not, he’d have wanted as much distance between him and Vlad as possible,
He’d assumed Vlad must have done something to her or paid off the judge to rule in his favor.
To find out it was because she simply wouldn’t take him?
A part of him understands. He doesn't - Aunt Alicia is a kind person, yes, but not particularly loving or caring. When his parents brought up the subject of children with her on one of their rare visits, she described herself as having “less motherly instinct than a starving axolotl.”
Not an encouraging description after he read a book on axolotls for context. 
With their options being “Aunt in a small wood cabin in the middle of nowhere with the emotional sensitivity of a bull in a china shop” and “Rich friend of the family who would enable them to stay in contact with their friends and could hire them therapists even if he’s personally useless for helping them through the grieving process” she probably also figured marking herself down as a solid non-option would just expedite them getting the help they need (because she does care, even if she herself can’t - won’t - be there for them in that way).
He doesn’t hate her, but the knowledge burns. To know that there really was no avoiding Vlad - in that horrible future and in the now - makes him sick to his stomach.
Except-
Except before he can spiral, Mrs Scott tells them that Vlad is also not an option. Because he’s also under investigation.
A hysterical giggle bursts past his lips before he can think to stop it.
“Why?” he asks, ignoring Jazz’ disapproving grimace.
It’s less funny when they’re told that he’s under investigation under suspicion of mostly the same violations as their parents - including MPA violation, given the whole “million dollar ghost” incident and related propaganda. As the mayor especially, he should’ve known the AEA weren’t real and that the GIW were frauds and it was his responsibility to do something about them.
Depending on how he’d interacted with the group, he might be looking at aiding and abetting treason - or just outright treason - charges.
“If Aunt Alicia and Vlad both aren’t able to take us, then where are we going to go?” Jazz asks, shoving her emotions aside to deal with the matter at hand.
“Ordinarily, we would call up a few local fosters and see if one could take you in for a few days while we look into more long-term options. Worst case scenario you would have to spend a night or two in a hotel suite connected to mine while I found someone,” she answers. “But the two of you are in luck; Batman is the one who brought the case to our attention - apparently some erratic behavior from Red Hood brought them here, don’t ask, I don’t have all the details - and offered to run your parents’ DNA to check for other relatives that could take you. There was a match.”
The siblings share another look.
Both grandparents on their mother’s side had been only children and both were dead. Aunt Alicia had already said no and had no children of her own. Their father had been disowned by his family, and even if their other Aunts and Uncles would have been willing to take them in it didn’t matter, because all 5 had died in various accidents on their “hunts.”
“Apparently your uncle, Jerry Fenton, had a fling before he passed with one Ms Sheila Haywood. Their son, Jason, was thought to be the son of Willis Todd and Mrs Haywood until the DNA test today. He was raised by Willis and Mrs Catherine Todd until his subsequent adoption by Mr Bruce Wayne, and is currently living in Gotham.”
And it sounds wrong - the only thing most Fentons could love was mystery and danger - thus why only one out of six had survived. But they don’t know enough to dispute it.
Also. The involvement of another billionaire is setting off alarm bells. On the one hand: this could be a fruitloop paying someone off in order to forcibly adopt them. On the other hand, maybe Jason Todd really was a Fenton and being adopted by fruitloops was some kind of curse on the current generation.
“We contacted Mr. Todd the moment the connection was made. He has expressed an interest in taking you in, and flew out immediately to come and meet you. He arrived not five minutes ago.”
She paused and gave them a sympathetic look. 
“I understand that this is all a lot to take in. Please know that placing you with Mr. Todd is not the end of my duties; even after he takes you, I will be following you to Gotham. I’ll be looking into counselors for the both of you, and we’ll have a follow up on that topic in a maximum of a week’s time. I’ll also be doing regular home checks to ensure you’re both settling in well and that you’re being taken good care of. 
Even with what little I’ve gleaned, it is obvious that the environment you both grew up in until now was neither a safe nor a healthy one. It is my job to ensure that doesn’t happen again. If you have any concerns about your placement home now or in the future, please do not hesitate to bring them up with me. If you worry something is not “important” enough to mention, rest assured that if it bothers you in the slightest, then it’s important to me.”
She gives them each a long look.
Then she brings in Jason.
335 notes · View notes
smallsafespace · 1 year ago
Note
Hihi!!! I love your blog so much, I hope you do more clown stuff!!!!
Tumblr media
Thank you!! :0) heres a child of the stars clown agere look and find!
543 notes · View notes
zara-renata · 1 month ago
Text
Not my type | ao3 | part 8 of this series
a tragicomedy starring Sylus and his clueless crush
Tumblr media
Summary: Sylus pesters you on your day off while you're at the arcade until you agree to "lend your talents" to him for the evening. So of course you show up at the designated location only to discover it's a nightclub, and you're dressed for a murder, but not on the dance floor.
Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc This story contains: slow burn, angst, grief, banter, stalking (Sylus), an ongoing one-sided misunderstanding that will be resolved in the next instalment in a way that hopefully won't destroy the romantic tension, mc with self-esteem issues, mentions of self harm, Kieran and Luke and some ocs that hopefully you'll like.
In the days following your utter humiliation at the hands of the Hunter Association’s most wanted criminal, you’re doing fine. Really. You are Fine.
You had a great time at the bookstore with Xavier, who kindly said nothing about your state of dishevelment or the glaring human bite mark on your shoulder when you answered the door that morning. You both lazily wandered between the bookshelves, leisurely reading summaries and showing each other finds that you thought the other would also enjoy. You stopped at the bookstore café and loaded up on sugary iced coffee.
“Here, try this, I think you’ll like it,” you offer your iced mocha with caramel drizzle and whipped cream to Xavier as you begin walking back home together, each carrying a shoulder tote full of manga stuffed with hot guys and big swords, after having spent probably half of this month’s paycheck in one impulse-fueled spree.
“Okay, but then you also have to try mine,” he smiles, holding his own cup out to you. You look at it dubiously, recalling from hearing him order that it had some sort of peppermint flavor in it.
“No way I’m drinking sugar-flavored toothpaste,” you grimace, shaking your head.
“What? Noo, it’s really good, I promise. The peppermint is really subtle. You can’t only just consume chocolate and caramel in your desserts. You’ve got to be a little more adventurous, or you might miss out on something surprising,” he earnestly advises, blue eyes wide, a little pout on his lips.
You eye the offending drink again, and then figure, why not? You’ve gone through much worse, recently, in terms of unpleasant experiences. You should try new things, of the food variety. Because you’re done trying new things of the people variety.
You take his cup and hand over yours, and you both quietly sip for a moment. Your eyes meet again, and both of you grin. “That’s really good!” you admit, and Xavier gently knocks your shoulder with his. “I told you so,” he smiles serenely.
“All right, all right. I’ll listen to my partner more from now on,” you exchange drinks again.
It was nice. Back at his place, you both lazed around on his soft couch and bean bag chair and read until the sunlight drifting through his windows was the golden-tinge of the setting sun, and his persistent yawning was so frequent that you decided to put him out of his misery. You couldn’t punish him by overstaying your welcome simply because you didn’t want to go back to your empty flat with all of your racing thoughts.
“Thanks for today, it was a really nice break,” you tell him as you’re gathering your manga volumes and slipping them back into your tote bag.
“It was,” he yawns again, tears forming at the sides of his clear bright eyes. “We should do it again soon. But I’m going to be out of town for a little while, starting tomorrow.” He gives you an apologetic look.
“Hey, no worries. I wasn’t going to demand you spend all of your leave entertaining me,” you smile, genuinely. You always miss him when he disappears mysteriously, but he’s gotten so much better at telling you when he plans to be away compared to how he was when you first partnered with him.
“I know. I just…” he pauses. “If you need me. For anything. Just send me a text, okay? I’ll come back as soon as I can. I don’t like the idea of you being left to your own devices for too long.” He gives you a teasing smile. “Who knows what other strange companions you’ll pick up if left alone for too long,” he continues, obviously referring to how you stumbled upon him in the no-hunt zone so many months ago. However, the only thing that comes to mind when he says “strange companions” is the image of narrowed scarlet eyes, a laugh that warms you like a shot of whiskey, and big, big hands.
You chuckle, totally naturally, and not nervously at all, mind racing, trying to figure out if he somehow knows that Sylus was at your place last night, and if so, if he knows who Sylus is exactly. Shit. Shit. Nope. You’re not doing this. Xavier is making an innocent joke about how the two of you met, and Sylus does not get to bulldoze into your thoughts while you’re having fun with your partner.
“I’ll be the paragon of caution, I promise,” you say solemnly. “I promise I won’t talk to any shady strangers while you’re away.” You nod firmly to him.
He smiles, seemingly reassured. “Good. Try to get some rest over the next few days. The Captain is right, you need some R&R. Even I couldn’t decipher your reports, and I feel like I’ve gotten pretty good at translating your … particular style of writing under most conditions.”
“Hey, at least I use actual words when texting,” you roll your eyes, pointing at him. He snorts softly, and you wave and make your way back to your apartment, where you proceed to spend the next few days manically cleaning your apartment and researching online for advice regarding acting, bluffing, the subtle art of reading micro-expressions and how to control your own, and in general all things you tell yourself are useful for your undercover work, and not because you anticipate having to lie to everyone you know and care about for as long as a certain hooligan continues to insert himself into your life when you least expect it.
But as the days pass, you don’t hear anything from said hooligan. The only crow feathers outside your window are of the normal variety, swaying in the branches of trees whose leaves are falling as autumn encroaches on the last days of summer in the city.
You decide, once again, to grab the memory of him by the throat and shove it down deep, with all of the other things you refuse to examine too closely. You’re probably close to running out of storage room, but that’s a problem for future you.
For present you, it’s time to hit the arcade. You haven’t been in a while. So that’s what you do, enjoying the cacophony of games music and sound effects, people laughing and shrieking as they win and lose, the too-bright lights, the scent of fried food. The wall of sound and lights and other people just having a simple, entertaining weekend afternoon is enough to drown out any overthinking you might otherwise be sucked into.
It works for a while. You spend some time beating teenagers at some 1 v 1 fighting games, beat some younger kids at your favorite motocross simulation. You manage to not make anyone cry, although for one poor kid it seemed like a close call for a minute or two, before his buddies dragged him away to get some soda as a consolation drink for being beaten within an inch of his pubescent life by the adult weirdo who demolishes children in video games.
You’re finally trying your hand at getting a few new plushies to bring home when you realize you’ve managed to go a couple hours without missing your grandmother, or Caleb. The only people who knew you, really knew you, as a child, and were therefore the scaffolding holding up the unfinished architecture of the adult you, with all of its missing floors and windows, and all the storage rooms hidden behind walls with no doors. But that scaffolding is gone now, and you can’t turn to them and reassure yourself: I am still me, right? I am still the me who I always have been, despite the scarlet voices in my head that come to me in frightening dreams, despite the endless hunger, the exquisite drowning I felt the one time I resonated with Sylus…I’m a good person. I’m a kind person. I’m a loveable person. Right? You loved me, right?
There’s no one left to ask, now. Just you, looking at yourself in the glass reflection of a claw machine, in a noisy arcade filled with people having fun. You haven’t been able to win even one plushie yet.
You take your hand off the joystick, suddenly exhausted. You will not cry in front of the stuffed llamas and penguins. They don’t deserve that.
Your phone dings.
You fish it out of one of your cargo pants pockets, and scowl when you see the name of the person texting you.
Not My Sy: I feel that Ive been more than generous in giving you sufficient time to draft your little rules, but Im starting to get bored waiting for you to send them.
You just stare at your phone, as the door of the basement that you had just slammed closed where you stuff all of your unwanted thoughts bursts open, flooding you with feelings you’re trying so hard not to feel. Just the sight of the nickname he gave himself in your phone fills you with a rush of anticipation—a thrill that aches. And that is exactly why you hadn’t sent him the rules you had insisted on imposing on his surprise visits to your place. One, because you refuse to reach out to him first and therefore lose. Lose what, you’re not sure, but you’re tired of feeling like you’re losing to him. If he wants to talk to you, he knows your number. Two, there is no longer any point to sending him the Rules. He can’t come to your place if he wants to talk to you, because the deal’s off. He can find some other place to recuperate from headaches and papercuts and someone else to manipulate and to… kiss, and bite.
You will not allow him to affect you like this anymore. You stuff your phone into your back pocket and decide to save all the tokens you still have for another day. Time to pick up some tacos and go home to binge watch a series of films that make you yell at the screen because no one can get shot that many times and not fucking die, what a load of bullshit, but you’ll keep watching anyway because the gunplay choreography is pretty badass even if it’s completely nonsensical. There’s also a dog in it. You’ve never been able to resist an anti-hero with a soft spot for animals.
Your phone dings again. You tell yourself that you won’t look. You have plans, dammit. Ones you just made, granted, but you’re not going to get roped into whatever little scheme Sylus thinks he can run on you today.
You wrap your hoodie tighter around yourself in preparation for the rush of cool autumn air as the arcade’s door swings shut behind you. Your phone dings again. You grit your teeth and reach into your pocket to flick your phone to silent.
Almost immediately, your phone begins to vibrate in your pocket. And it doesn’t stop. It just… keeps going. You jerk to a halt and just stand there, feeling it vibrate against your ass, over and over and over again. What the fuck is this lunatic doing?!
Finally, you reach for your phone again and angrily open his messages as you start moving again.
Not My Sy: Hmm, I see youve been busy in your phone settings. Cant say Im fond of the change. Allow me to fix it for you.
My Sy: Much better.
My Sy: Oh, I see how it is. A certain kitten thinks I can be left on read without any consequences. Are we feeling a little sullen today, sweetie?
My Sy: Hmm, I see that you decided not to wear one of my gifts out today on your little jaunt to one of my establishments. Probably for the best. They fit you perfectly, but expose enough skin that theyre not very practical for a brisk autumn afternoon at the arcade. Good call.
My Sy: I also dont think the teenagers you just slaughtered at the arcade could have handled the loss and the gorgeous view.
My Sy: Ah, would we prefer vibration as stimulation this afternoon? Im happy to help with that.
My Sy: Pick
My Sy: Up
My Sy: Your
My Sy: Phone
My Sy: I
My Sy: Can
My Sy: Do
My Sy: This
My Sy: All
My Sy: Day
My Sy: You
My Sy: Look
My Sy: Adorable
My Sy: When
My Sy: Youre
My Sy: Mad
My Sy: Like
My Sy: A
My Sy: Fluffy
My Sy: Little
My Sy: Kitten
My Sy: Back
My Sy Arched
My Sy: Fur
My Sy: Puffed
As the wall of messages load, you stop so quickly on the sidewalk that someone bumps into you from behind. You barely resist the urge to launch them into traffic with a one armed shoulder throw. Two more messages pop up.
My Sy: Oh I like the look on your face now
My Sy: Makes me want to grab you by the tail
The person behind you has the good sense to just keep going without saying anything to you, but that may have something to do with the fact that you’re now spinning in circles, eye darting wildly in an attempt to locate Sylus, or Mephisto, or the twins, or some security camera, so that you can take out whatever eyes are feeding Sylus your image right now.
You: where is it?
Instead of an answering text, your phone begins to vibrate in your hand, and … a picture you did not take appears on the screen along with Sylus’s incoming call.
In the photo, Sylus is leaning against your pillows, one arm leisurely bent behind his head, his bare bulky chest on full display as he lifts the phone with his other arm. You are fast asleep on top of him, face turned so that all that is visible in the picture is your hair—bedhead on full inglorious display. It is clear from the photo that you have your face smashed between Sylus’s man tits. He is smiling wide, the laughter clear in bright eyes that stare straight into the camera lens and now into you, with your mouth agape at finding this as his contact picture on your phone.
He must be texting while letting the call continue, because the notification of a new text pops up over his contact picture.
My Sy: I can work with this facial expression too.
You shut your mouth so fast and hard that your teeth click.
My Sy: While I love your teeth most of the time, well need to work on that bite.
Before your brain melts from imagining what he could do with your open mouth and how he’d handle your sharp teeth, you slam your thumb on the end call button, power down your phone, stuff it back in your pocket, and begin marching toward the metro station to get home. Fuck him. Fuck the tacos. You’ll go to Xavier’s apartment with the spare key he gave you for when he’s out of town, order takeout, and hide for the rest of the night.
Suddenly, your phone begins vibrating once again. You stop again, this time startling a pair of teenage girls who take one look at your face and cross to the other side of the street before continuing in the same direction. Great, now you’re not just pummeling children at video games, but scaring them as well. You open your phone and see Sylus calling again. You stare at the one nipple you can see in the picture. Your mouth waters. You’re not even surprised that he has fucked with your phone to the point that he can simply turn it back on remotely if you decide to turn it off.
My Sy: I told you kitten, I can do this all day. Some friendly advice: might as well accept the inevitable and pick up. Im used to your attention now. I don’t like being ignored.
The phone keeps ringing, vibrating in your hand. You let your hands hang at your sides, and tilt your head to look up into the crisp, sunny autumn sky.
You wonder if you’re strong enough for this. You can eliminate wanderers in your sleep. You can outmanoeuvre, outfight, outgun and outlast most hostile humans. You can even outsmart and outplay most people you meet when you’ve had a proper night’s sleep. But you’ve never met anyone like Sylus Qin. You can’t hide in Xavier’s flat forever. No matter how friendly you’ve become since you first partnered with him, he’d probably throw you out the window if you tried. And eventually, Sylus will come to collect what he thinks you owe him for allowing you to shoot him through the fucking heart. Wouldn’t it better to pretend to be on good terms with him, to make it as painless as possible? Instead of being a stone wall, trying to keep him and all the ways you know he can already hurt you out, you can be like water. Let him and the pain he’ll bring simply… pass right through you. Water is resilient. And if he burns you, well. You already saw it coming, right? You’ll simply dissipate into a puff of steam and float away. With enough time, you’ll heal—you’ll re-coalesce in the atmosphere, and you’ll fall back into yourself like rain. You can survive him, if you can adapt quickly enough.
You lift the phone, dig your earbuds out of one of your pockets and put them in your ears, and then answer his video call.
“Took you long enough,” Sylus’s beautiful voice flows directly into your brain.
“Sorry, I was a bit busy. Can I help you with something?” You close your eyes and will your face to relax, let your shoulders fall. You breathe in, the earthy scent of dying leaves filling your nostrils. You are water. You open your eyes.
He’s staring at you through the phone, a slight frown on his severely handsome face.
“Sylus?” You hold the phone a little closer to yourself as people flow around you on the sidewalk. When you look back, he’s still just… watching you.
“I have to admit, sweetheart, that this is not the greeting I was expecting when you finally picked up.”
“And what were you expecting?” You decide to keep walking. You’ll be fine. This will be fine. Multitasking is good. One foot in front of the other, and Sylus’s face, so distant, but still in the palm of your hand, in a small way. You can be satisfied with this.
He takes a moment, seems to choose his words carefully. “A little more life,” he responds. You let your hand holding the phone fall to your side for a moment. It will take a little while, to fully get into the headspace where whatever he says, can’t affect you. You just need a little more time. You breathe, you breathe, you breathe.
You bring the phone back up to your face, make your way through the crowd on the sidewalk. People must be scrambling to enjoy the last few bright days of the year before the long slide into the dark fall. You hadn’t expected so many to be out and about on a lazy Saturday afternoon.
“One would think you’d be used to me disappointing you by now,” you say, shrugging. “Can you tell me why you called?”
Sylus suddenly looks angry, and you resist the fear-fueled urge to throw your phone. You haven’t seen him look at you like that since… well. For a while.
“Sylus?”
“In what universe have you ever disappointed me?” he asks, voice even, controlled.
You can’t help it. You laugh. The kind of laugh that can spiral into something unhinged, if you weren’t water. Instead, it sinks into you like a stone. “Oh, I dunno, maybe this one, when you literally said ‘How disappointing’ and sneered that there was something wrong with me when I couldn’t resonate with you,” you say drily. You are water. Whatever he says next will simply ripple through you, and then fade into stillness.
But he doesn’t say anything. You peek at the phone screen. He’s looking away, his hand covering his mouth. You can’t tell what expression he’s making. Maybe Luke and Kieran are doing something silly offscreen.
In the end, none of it matters. “Okay, well, if you don’t want to tell me, I’m about to head into the metro. You can send a text if you change your mind.” Your thumb hovers over the end call button.
“I need your … particular talents this evening,” he answers right before your skin makes contact with the screen.
Oh. He really did have a reason to call— he needed your help with something dangerous.
That’s fine. You hadn’t actually had the fleeting thought that maybe he was calling because he just wanted to hear your voice, the way you never, ever found yourself feeling. Even in the past few days, since the Unfortunate Event of the Other Morning.
“And Kieran and Luke are unavailable this evening? Or anyone else from your hoard of henchmen who you can order to come back you up?” You’re being herded in a mass of other bodies into the metro station. You notice for the first time that Sylus is dressed really nicely—some sort of vest over a button down shirt. You find yourself trying to hold the phone discretely to minimize other people being able to see what you’re seeing.
“Kieran and Luke do not possess your particular talents. And besides, why would I want to see them this evening? I have to look at them on a daily basis, the last thing I want is to have to see them on a Saturday night.”
“I see. Had enough of a break from seeing me that you can stomach it again?” You smile, smooth as ice. Ice is just frozen water, right? You can ask Zayne to help—pick his brain to figure out how he stays so calm, in the face of so much chaos, not revealing a damn thing.
Sylus is just staring at you again, silver brows furrowed.
“So is it like, bring a gun to a knife fight kind of thinking? Do you really think that whatever situation you want my help with is too dangerous even for your minions?”
He just continues staring at you, and if anything, looks more displeased. You have no idea why he seems so pissed off. Maybe he’s rethinking asking for your help. You might be able to watch those movies after all.
“I see now that I've made a grave miscalculation,” he finally answers, rubbing his forehead. He suddenly sounds … tired? Or sad? You're so bad at reading other people.
You have no idea what you’re supposed to say to that, but you feel bad that he seems to be so exhausted and it sounds like your fault. You decide that you’ll help him tonight, with whatever he needs. And then maybe you will have finally, finally balanced the scales between you. And then you’ll be free.
After a few moments of you just awkwardly watching him in silence, he seems to come back to himself. “Why bring a gun to a knife fight when you can bring a grenade launcher?” He adjusts the buttons on the deep red vest under his tailored black suit jacket. The black shirt underneath the vest has its first few buttons undone, exposing his pale throat and collarbone. He’s also wearing a black leather collar, and you once again imagine a cute, bell on it, chiming with every one of his movements. You do not think about slipping a finger under the thick strip of leather and pulling him down, down to your level.
You shake your head. “I’m the grenade launcher in this little metaphor? What about you?”
“Do you even need to ask?” He pulls a watch over his hand, something antique and mechanical that probably ticks loudly when its quiet, and it clicks heavily as he fastens it on his thick wrist. You suddenly think of the night you spent searching for his brooch, the handcuffs around those same wrists, how he let them hold him there for you as your hands ran along his arms, under his soft silk robe, across—
“Then I think you’ll do just fine on your own tonight,” you clip out, wondering how much it would hurt if you slammed your face into the metro car’s heavily smudged, reinforced window in an effort to dislodge the intrusive thoughts that have become alarmingly frequent the longer you let this man stay in your life.
“Violence should be used strategically, sweetie. I would prefer to reserve the nuclear option for when it’s actually necessary. And isn’t it your job as an upstanding citizen to de-escalate conflict? Having you by my side will not only be useful for me, but is actually a public service for any bystanders.”
“I serve Linkon City, not the N109 zone.” You don’t know why you’re arguing. You had already made up your mind to help him. But the return of this familiar, smug and argumentative Sylus seems to pull you back into the pattern that is so easily repeated between the two of you.
“What an appallingly shortsighted response from someone who I know has gone to other cities and even other countries to fight wanderers in order to protect non-Linkon City citizens. Are the people of the N109 zone not also worthy of your devotion?”
It’s hot in the metro car, and you’re relieved as your stop approaches. You wait until you’re able to shoulder your way out of the mass of bodies and can breathe fresh air in order to respond freely.
“For shit’s sake Sylus, how did we go from hesitation about whether you actually need me to serve as your bodyguard tonight to me failing my duty to protect innocent people?”
“Is that honestly the only thing you can imagine when I request your talents? When did I ask you to be my bodyguard?” he asks, but before you can respond, he continues, “You’re the one who insists that you aren’t available to help people in the N109 zone tonight.”
“You, Sylus. Not people, you.” You step aside to allow a man with an adorable tiny fluffy dog move past, but it stops and sniffs you instead of moving along. You glance at the man, who’s actually quite handsome in a Finance Guy kind of way, which means he’ll be handsome to you up until the point he opens his mouth, but you can’t resist asking “May I pet this cutie?”
The guy’s face lights up. “Go ahead! Cricket loves pats.”
“Aww, Cricket is such an adorable name for such an adorably doggy!” You kneel down and offer your hand for Cricket to sniff, and then run your hand along the dog’s soft fur. It preens and arches its back, and then curls its hips around to ensure that you give it scritches near its tail.
“Aren’t you a good doggy,” you murmur, feeling the tension melt from your shoulders. You would love to have a pet, if you only had the time to take care of it. You give Cricket one final pat, and then stand back up. “Thank you, I really needed that,” you smile at Cricket’s dad.
“Anytime! Do you live in the neighborhood? Maybe, if you want—”
Suddenly you hear a loud crash on the other end of the phone, and the shock makes you wince.
“Or not,” the man rushes out. “It was just a thought.” He waves awkwardly, and then continues along his way, having to pull on Cricket's lead a little bit as the dog only reluctantly moves away from you.
You’re left standing there, wondering what the hell just happened. You look back down to your phone, where Sylus is looking somewhere off screen with a bored expression on his face. “The fuck, Sylus?”
“My apologies for interrupting your little interlude. It appears Mephisto knocked my phone off my nightstand,” he shrugs. “He’s not as well-behaved as… Cricket, it would seem.”
Interlude? What interlude? Petting a dog? “Uh, okay? I thought Mephisto isn’t a pet.”
“Correct.”
You wait for him to elaborate, but he remains serenely silent. “So why are we comparing Mephisto to a random dog on the street?”
“We’re not,” he lies. You stare at him. He seems to think for a moment, eyes moving back to the screen, taking in whatever he’s seeing on your side. Probably an unflattering view of your chin disappearing into your neck as you look directly down at your phone, still trying to weave through people on the sidewalk to get to your flat. You lower your head even further, trying to give him a good view up your nostrils, as a treat. There is no universe in which you care about what you look like to him. None. Certainly not this one. Finally, he speaks. “In any case, back to business. How about I make you a deal?”
In your happy break petting Cricket you had forgotten about the world, including what Sylus is demanding of you.
“If you come to me… and lend me your talents tonight, I’ll owe you a favor.”
You snort. “You already owe me for every day I haven’t delivered your head to my employer.”
“Then I’ll owe you a favor that I actually acknowledge owing to you,” he responds calmly. “Because I think you benefit just as much as I do from not delivering any piece of me, including my … head, to the authorities.”
You do not imagine any pieces of him. Delivering them, or doing anything else with them.
You’re finally within sight of your building. “I see. So you’ll owe me a favor. Any restrictions? Or are you actually offering me anything I want?”
“Anything you want. No restrictions, no conditions.”
“What if I told you to turn yourself in?” you ask, genuinely curious if he actually has no limits on this so-called favor.
“Done,” he says easily. Your feel your eyes widen, and he continues. “But again, for the same reasons that you haven’t already betrayed me, I don’t think that’s the favor you’ll call in.”
“And you’re really willing to place all your bets on that? Maybe I just haven’t turned you in out of laziness.” You watch him slip a pair of gloves on one big hand, and then the other, the supple leather gliding over his hands like a second skin.
“I’m all in on that bet.”
“And why’s that?”
“You are the furthest from the definition of laziness that I have ever encountered,” he says gravely. “And let’s just say, aside from the aforementioned benefits you enjoy with me walking around free, I think you’re more fond of me than you care to admit, even to yourself.”
You make a disgusted noise. “Let’s hope for your sake that your confidence isn’t misplaced.”
“Oh, there is no question that my confidence, in all things, is justified,” he smiles, one corner of his mouth quirking.
His arrogance is so thick, even through the phone, that you could gag on it. “Ugh,” is all you can say.
“Excellent. See you at 23:00. I’ll text you the address. I advise dressing appropriately and to bring the toy I left you when I had a headache, kitten.” And with that, he disconnects the call, leaving you standing in your elevator, wondering what the hell you just agreed to.
And now, here you are. Black leather pants, combat boots, a semiautomatic with red flames engraved along the hand grip in your side holster underneath your black leather jacket, various knives strapped along your forearms and in your boots. You brought two duffel bags with you. One is full of toys that might be useful if things get really ugly. The other simply contains something of Sylus’s that you’ve been wanting to return ever since he left it at your place. As you were getting ready, it occurred to that this might be the last chance you have to give it to him.
You’re standing in line in front of some upscale nightclub, waiting for your turn to be judged by the bouncer and either admitted or refused. Likely the latter, if Sylus doesn’t show up soon.
You showed up at exactly 23:00, approaching the long line with trepidation. You hadn’t realized when Sylus sent the address that it was actually a nightclub called Amnesia—a rather exclusive nightclub, with a selective policy regarding who they allow in. You hadn’t realized this until you saw the subtle sign glowing softly in the N109 zone's perpetual gloom and did a quick search on your phone. Most of the club goers are dressed in surprisingly tasteful club clothes—tightly tailored pants, artfully low necklines and backless tops, sensual dresses, except the sequins—so, so many shiny sequins. You squint and wonder how the hell you’re going to get in dressed like you’re ready for a biker rally with an arsenal big enough to stage a small coup. Mission objective number one, adequate renaissance of the target location: failed. But it’s your bedtime and you don’t even want to be here in the first place, so this is Sylus’s problem to solve. You wait. And you wait. The line inches forward. The longer you wait, the more irritated you get. Where the fuck is he? You glance at your phone, but there are no new messages.
So you dutifully stand in line, which continues forward at a very slow pace, quickly outpaced by your anger. You notice that the group of women in front of you have clearly been pre-gaming pretty hard. They’ve noticed you, and are side-eyeing your outfit. You’re worrying they’re going to say something mean, when one of them glides over to you effortlessly on very tall high heels. You straighten your spine and prepare yourself. I am a role model for the Deepspace Hunter’s Association, I will not punch a civilian in the solar plexus for saying something mean to me about the fact that I am a fashion disaster. I will not—
“You look so badass,” she grins, tossing her silky brunette hair over her shoulder. One of her friends sidles up behind her. “For real, and like, really hot. This whole look is a vibe.” She waves one beautifully manicured nail in front of you, to encompass the whole of your outfit.
You squint again, wondering if they’re making fun of you, but the entire lot of them are nodding and chattering amongst themselves. “Is it like, a cosplay event or something? Did we miss the announcement on Amnesia’s socials? I want to dress like I can murder someone with a look too!”
“Hey, I think most of our heels are sharp enough to count as weapons, right?” the first one says to her friend, and then looks at you hopefully for… confirmation? Approval?
“Oh, definitely,” you encourage her, because she really does seem earnest. “You can stomp your opponent on the foot or go for the groin! And you know, if you hold your keys like this,” you say, fishing your motorcycle keys out of your leather pants and holding the long, narrow part of the key between the knuckles of your index and middle finger while clutching the wider base in your palm, “you can use them as an improvised shiv! Just go for the eyes! Or the throat!”
You’re met with a chorus of “Ooooohs,” and wide, perfectly winged eyes. You’re feeling like a pretty good teacher when your phone dings. You fish it out of the inside of your leather jacket.
My Sy: Youre late.
You glare at the screen.
“Can you teach us that look, too? You look like you really want to end someone,” one of the women asks hesitantly. You nod.
You: no, you’re late. i’ve been standing out front since 23:00.
You look back up to your new friend and point at your eyebrows, lowering them to an exaggerated degree. She nods and tries to mimic you. Her gorgeous, perfectly plucked brows form a scowl. You nod and look back at your phone.
My Sy: Youre standing in front of the club?
You: huh, mr. sylus qin’s not as omniscient as he likes to pretend. looks like you should fire mephisto.
My Sy: No such luck, sweetie. Ive decided to put him on permanent kitten observation duty after tonight. Why are you standing out front, instead of going inside?
You point at your chin now, and lower your head so that you’re looking at the club girl like a bull about to charge. She gives you a thumbs up and lowers her head, and then stomps her foot for good measure.
You: because there’s a line. which you’d know, if you bothered to show up.
My Sy: Of course. I should have known youd obey the rules and refuse to jump the line. Another miscalculation on my part. Stay put.
You roll your eyes. Of course he expects you to just keep waiting. Maybe he needs to find a parking spot. You turn to your friend. “Yeah, you look really intimidating now! Do that to the next person who hits on you and won’t take no for an answer.” You grin at her.
She laughs and you two proceed to try to out-glare each other, until you see her eyes go wider than previous attempts. You tense when you sense a large presence behind you, but calmly turn, hand drifting to your jacket holster containing the gun Sylus gave you.
It’s just the bouncer. Or at least, you think she’s the bouncer. She’s tall, muscular, and has a tight black t-shirt with Amnesia written in small, tasteful letters in the middle, right under the collar.
“Are you…” she pauses, and checks her tablet again. “The boss’s ‘sweet little hunter?’” she intones, clearly reading the words against her will, but she manages to keep the look of disgust that you’re pretty sure is trying to fight its way onto her face from appearing with admirable professionalism.
“By boss, you mean…?” You already know the answer. Of course you do. Your anger ratchets up another notch.
“Mr. Sylus Qin,” she says. “So are you the hunter, or not?”
You nod. “All right, follow me.” She lifts the velvet rope, and your new friends wave enthusiastically and cheer loudly for you as the bouncer leads you past the crowd and into the club. You stare at the bouncer's back, where her shirt reads ‘security’ in large block letters. She has an obvious pistol harness crisscrossed over her strong shoulders with two semiautomatics strapped into each holster. This is the N109 zone after, all. It doesn’t surprise you that Sylus’s bouncers are well-armed.
Once inside, she gestures vaguely towards the back of the huge space and says “He’s waiting for you in the Lethe VIP lounge.” And then she’s gone.
You quickly scan your surroundings, assessing threats, noting exits and bottlenecks. The atmosphere is completely different than THE BOOM BOOM ROOM, the only club you’ve visited recently. This place smells expensive. No stale beer and stale sweat, but probably diffusers hidden along the walls that emit the scent of sandalwood and other subtle spices. The music is full of reverb, heavy, with slow beats, sensual—specifically composed to make the listener feel reckless and sexy after a few strong drinks. The décor is a blend of vintage details and modern sleekness, and somehow it works to create the impression of tasteful decadence.
A long, dark wooden bar lines one wall, with standing tables and booths filling the space in front of it. Vases of fresh, dark-petaled flowers sit on each surface. Beyond the seating area, the dance floor spreads out in front of a slightly raised stage, where a DJ is playing to coordinated LED lights. Acrobatic performers, faces painted to resemble crying jesters and theatrical masks, hang suspended by hoops from the ceiling above the dance floor. They slowly twist and arch their bodies through, over, and off the hoops, spinning gently over the heads of the surging dancers.
If nothing else, it has been worth coming tonight to watch one in particular, with curly ginger hair, lean chest bare, arching gracefully through a sequence, bowing their back until their foot touches the top of their head. You wonder what kind of mobility exercise routine is required to attain that level of flexibility, and make a note to do an online search—but you’re here on a mission. Although the longer you look, the less you understand why Sylus asked for your help tonight. The place is crawling with security. He has a small army on staff. Why does he need you?
As your assessing gaze continues to wander, you see two familiar figures at the far end of the bar. And a third, unfamiliar person standing with them. From across the darkened, tastefully lit room, you see a beautiful woman. She’s wearing a tasteful suit, dark hair coiled in beautiful braids. She’s laughing at something one of the twins has just said, her slender hand on his shoulder. They have the easy familiarity of people who have known each other for a long time.
She looks like who you had imagined, as Sylus told you that you had the sophistication of a cactus. You look down at your scuffed combat boots. The clunky duffel bags clutched in your gloved hands, in this beautiful nightclub full of beautiful people. You look back at Sylus’s associates. One of the twins has his masked face turned towards you, but you have no idea if he has noticed you. You turn away.
You are water. You can drown in yourself, before anyone can drown you first. You won’t give them the satisfaction. You focus on the dancers again. The handsome ginger catches your eye, and smiles. Your heart hurts, they’re so pretty.
You haven’t heard shit from Sylus since he told you to sit tight. He didn’t bother to give you proper intel about this night at all. And he clearly already has all the security he could possibly need in this edgy, sensual monstrosity of an establishment. You’re suddenly so pissed you can hardly see straight. You could be watching John Wick 16: the Penultimate Chapter right now, but instead your heart is drowning in your chest and the person he was probably dreaming about the other morning is in the same damn room. You make a fist and pound your chest, once, hard, right over your heart.
The pain brings you back to your senses. You turn away from the dancers, find a staircase leading to the upper floors of the club, and take two steps at a time, relieved that the rooms on the top floor have elegant nameplates, each named after something in mythology regarding memory and the psyche. You stop in front of a black door with the plate reading ‘Lethe’, and kick open the door. What? Your hands are fucking full.
Inside, the room is as over the top and beautiful as the lower floors of the club. You have an impression of deep maroon walls, black leather furniture, low-slung and perfect for fucking, for an orgy really, your intrusive thoughts tell you. There are people: the twins, the woman. Huh. They must have slipped upstairs while you were staring at the dancers again. And there are two men, but you only catalogue the men long enough to determine that they are not visibly armed. No threats. All you can see now is the relaxed man straight ahead of you, at the back of the room, his arms stretched wide across the back of the black leather booth, manspreading as usual.
You reach down, fling the duffel full of weapons over your shoulder, and unzip the other, incredibly full one as you stride towards the smug asshole who summoned you here.
“Finally, I was starting to—” Sylus’s voice hardly penetrates the fog of rage coursing through you.
“I have a present for you,” you interrupt him, and he perks up, a subtle smile lifting one corner of his beautiful mouth, but that’s the last you see of him before you expertly launch the absolutely stuffed duffel bag at him. It lands on his lap, where you aimed it, and the feathers he left on your bed the other morning explode into the air and gently rain down on him, covering him from head to toe in a thick layer of black. At least the landslide that has spread from him to the booth are hardly distinguishable from the leather.
You were right. The only thing you can hear in the ensuing silence is the tick of his fancy fucking watch.
You close your eyes. That felt good. You open them. He’s still sitting in the same relaxed position, but now there are black feathers caught in his silky silver hair, dusting his shoulders, filling his lap. He makes no effort to brush them off.
“You really didn’t have to, kitten,” he says peacefully into the ticking, shocked silence. "You already had my attention without launching another aerial assault."
“I know. But I couldn’t bear the thought of how sad the feathers would be, separated from you. I couldn’t just leave them to suffer on my bed.”
As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you slam your hand over it. Oh shit. If that woman really is his actual object of interest, you just made it sound like something is going on between you and Sylus that most definitely isn’t. You glance at her. She’s watching you from between the twins, and has a grin on her face. Maybe she didn’t hear…?
Someone clears their throat. You turn again, this time sweeping your gaze over the two well-dressed, handsome men, one seated next to Sylus and (you wince) who caught some of the feather fallout, and the other seated across the low table from Sylus. They’re dressed sharply, but not like they’re going clubbing. Almost like this is a… business meeting. But the dude who got caught as collateral feather damage is seated like, really close to Sylus. Now that you're actually looking at him, you realize that he’s really beautiful. Like, as pretty as Xavier. He's looking at Sylus, grinning from ear to ear. His teeth are blindingly white. Maybe it’s not the beautiful woman who Sylus was dreaming about, but this guy?
Why do you even care? You are a waterfall, drowning out any inconvenient feelings about this wanted felon. You are not a psycho who assumes that everyone who breathes the same air as Sylus is a potential romantic rival. Not even a rival, because you’re not competing. This is not a competition, you have no horse in this race, this is neither your circus nor your monkeys, you were just the hired help for the evening and it’s clear that there is a surplus of staff in the security department tonight so you’re going to go home and watch a man murder a football stadium worth of humans because of a puppy.
“Well, I’m so sorry to have interrupted,” you say, as if you had just accidentally peeked into the wrong room, instead of careening in here like a cannonball and launching a full scale feather assault on the owner of the establishment like a lunatic. “I will get out of your feathers—I mean, hair.” You bow slightly, because why the fuck not, tighten your hold on your remaining duffel. Sylus can just keep the other one—you definitely do not want a souvenir from this night. You then stride back the way you came.
You refuse to turn and look at Mister Toothpaste Commercial sitting next to Sylus again as you go. But as you approach the twins, you can’t help but take one last look at the woman since she’s standing next to your exit. You’re just curious. Nothing else. Just a curious little… lake. Because you’re water. And nothing can hurt you if you’re just a placid lake in a serene forest.
Yikes, after getting a better look at her face, you realize she is young. Like, teenager young? Okay, age gaps are fine if both parties have a certain level of maturity. Who are you to judge? You hope if she is the one he wants to bite that they’re happy together. Really. You’re just the bottom of the ocean, and you can survive great pressure.
“Are you just going to leave right after giving me such a considerate gift, without allowing me to even thank you?” Sylus’s sardonic voice seems to fill the room.
You stop, but can’t bring yourself to turn around. “No thanks necessary. It's not even a gift. Just returning property to its rightful owner.” You take another step.
“What about our deal? You still haven’t given me what we bargained for tonight.”
This time you turn your head. “I’m pretty sure you have enough security for your needs tonight. Let’s just call everything off, okay? No one owes anyone anything, and you can offer that favor to someone else.” You look at the girl, but she’s not smiling anymore—rather, she’s looking at you with… confused disgust? Fuck it’s hard to read people. Maybe she’s suffering from intestinal gas. Maybe Sylus carries around lactase tablets for both the twins and his girlfriend.
Someone clears their throat behind you. “Sir, perhaps I should return another time when you’re not so entangled in… domestic strife,” a respectful voice sounds behind you. You whip around. The man seated across from Sylus and wearing a nicely tailored blue suit is glancing between you and Sylus.
“Oh no,” you say, holding up your gloved hands. “No, sorry, this isn’t .. a domestic anything. Like, we are not like that.” You shake your head. The man suddenly looks relieved. You feel encouraged. You don’t want Mister Toothpaste Commercial or Miss Jailbait to get the wrong idea. You’re nobody.
You look at Sylus. He just looks steadily back at you, as if waiting to see what the next spectacle you have to offer will be. Why isn’t he saying anything to deny such an absurd allegation?
“So you are not the partner he wanted to introduce to me tonight, is that correct?”
He wanted to introduce his partner to this guy? Who even is this guy? You know what? None of your business. All you need to know is that he does, in fact, have a partner, and that partner, is in fact, not you, and it doesn’t matter that he helped you fall asleep a few times and touched you like you were precious, because he has a partner and that partner is not you and might be the child bride over there in the corner or the teeth whitening product model on the booth next to him. You are water so deep that you’re the Marianas trench. You’re so deep, no life can survive at all. You ignore the fact that you think you read somewhere that little weird volcanic tube worms can survive down there. Because where there’s no life, there’s no pain: the only solace of death. You’re fine. No tube worms at all.
“That’s correct. Just ask him! I mean, I’m not his type. And honestly, he’s not mine.”
The man looks alarmed for a moment, like he is afraid for you to keep going. But you do anyway. You try really hard to think about why Sylus wouldn’t be your type, when everything about him is gorgeous and intelligent and fascinating and when he wants to be, so, so sweet. “I mean, I’m only interested in someone who is tall. And who clearly spends enough time in the gym. Like, ripped. And who’s actually incredibly bright, who can make running multiple businesses look easy. And someone who seems really scary at first glance, but is actually heartbreakingly sweet when he feels like it. And funny! Who can honestly make me laugh on the worst day of my life.” You trail off. Clear your throat. “So no. Sylus is not my type.” You snap your mouth shut. You rub your heart—it must still ache from when you hit it earlier. That’s all this pain is.
The man, who has nice dark hair, and nicely trimmed facial hair, and nice shoes that may be oxfords or brogues but you have no fucking clue which, nods slowly, as if what you just said isn’t wildly awkward. “Oh, so when you said you wanted to introduce us to your partner,” he looks back curiously at Sylus, then at the woman standing with the twins. “Are you who he meant?”
Okay, is this guy just going to ignore Mister Toothpaste Commercial as a potential love interest? Maybe he’s bi-phobic. You don't know where Sylus's tastes lie. Again, not your business. You’re going to stomp your phone to smithereens the second you get out of here, you’re not going to stay at Xavier’s, because it’s too close to home. You’re going to Rafayel’s, and you’re going to sell your place. You’re going to apply for a hunter position in the arctic. You will be surrounded by snow there, all the frozen water you could ever want, and you’re never going to find yourself in such a fucked up situation ever again.
“I’m afraid not,” Sylus says. “She's not my type.”
You pause, just for a second. You don’t actually want to hear why she’s not his type, because in the end, it’s not your business. And even if you thought she was his partner there for a few minutes, you don’t want to hear him say things that might hurt her feelings. Because you know how it feels to be on the receiving end of Sylus's disdain, and it sucks.
“I’m only interested in someone who is effortlessly surprising." He looks at you. "Who uses their strength to protect the weak, instead of exploiting them. Whose tongue is sharp enough to match my own. A tongue I don’t mind surrendering myself to, to be shredded on again, and again.”
Again, there’s only the ticking of that insufferable, sexy watch on his insufferable, thick wrist.
Your heart doesn’t hurt at his description. At all. You must have just really hit it a little too hard earlier. You're a raindrop. It's your job to splatter all over the ground. You're just doing your job. You've always been very, very good at doing your job.
The person he’s describing sounds fascinating, and the perfect match for him. He'll never get bored with them, and maybe their goodness will rub off on him. Good for him. You had wanted to be friends with him, right? Before you realized that you might actually have feelings beyond hate, beyond wanting to fuck his brains out and then never speaking to him again. This is good. Your friends deserve people they can care about the way he just described caring about this person. Everyone should get to experience that in their life, at least once.
The silence and your thoughts are shattered when Miss Child Bride snorts. “Thank fuck. Cause we already went over why that would be gross.” She turns to Kieran and Luke. “Now I see what you mean. What a shitshow.”
“Right?” One of the twins responds. “So are you in?”
“Yeah. But I see your two weeks and raise you two months.”
The other twin fist bumps her. “You’re on.”
Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Clear the room,” he commands.
Kieran, Luke and Miss Jailbait all do little lackadaisical salutes and turn to leave. As the girl walks past you, she waves her hand in front of your face. You jerk back, hand instinctively going to the knife strapped on your thigh.
“Woah there, hunter. No need to get defensive.” She grins at you.
You suppress the urge to see how big she'd be smiling if you swept her legs out from under her sensible heels and then did a diving elbow drop onto her prone form as punishment for invading your space. She might be Sylus's partner and thus owed some respect because you respect him, but you don't like when people you don't know get in your space. “What the fuck was that for?” you ask instead, because you're polite.
“Just trying to see if you're blind.”
One of the twins puts his hand on her shoulder. “Rule number four: refrain from teasing boss’s pet hunter, or else he will get angry.”
“Yeah, cause he likes to do it himself.” The other twin chimes in, putting his hand on her other shoulder. “Let’s go get you to Linda before you're fired before you’re actually hired.” They guide her out the door.
You just stand there. You feel like what just happened is really offensive, to someone, somewhere, but you have no fucking clue why.
The two men have also gotten to their feet and are now moving past you, and Mister Toothpaste Commercial is grinning at you like you just made his night for some reason. Why is everyone in here a nutcase? you wonder hypocritically. You tighten your hold on your duffel and start trailing after them.
Only to be lifted in the air by the scarlet-ink tendrils of Sylus’s evol, its energy making the hair along your arms stand on end. “Not you, kitten.”
Against your will, you find yourself being carried gently to the booth and deposited onto the surprisingly soft leather, right next to Sylus. The feathers puff up, and then settle around you again.
Wordlessly, Sylus slips the duffel’s handle from your shoulder and with a little surprised grunt of effort, sets it on his other side. Yeah, it's heavy. You brought a lot of hardware in case things went south tonight. Which they did, just not in the way you anticipated. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him sweep a look from your head to your toes. “I tell you that I need your talents and to dress appropriately, and this is what you show up wearing?” he asks, as if all of the weirdness that just happened is of no significance. He sounds genuinely curious.
“Well, yeah. I can't wear my hunter gear into the N109 zone, and figured the leather was better than my usual cargo pants and harness. If we had to fight our way out of a group of assailants, or jump out of a window onto say, a gravel surface, this is still a lot more practical than…” you pause, eyeing his attire in turn. The black suit with the scarlet vest he is wearing is clearly tailored to fit him like the gloves stretching over his huge hands. You refuse to look at his hands. The fabric of his suit lovingly embraces his broad shoulders, nips in at his narrow waist, and leaves very little to the imagination regarding what he’s… packing, on both sides of the whole package. You will not think about what he is packing. What you felt against you, the other morning—
“I see. So this is what you consider your talents?” His voice mercifully interrupts your not thinking about bulges and the ‘Is that a billy club in your pants or are you just happy to see me’ dumpster fire in your head.
“This? What do you mean by ‘this’?”
“The ability to be prepared for any violent scenario and meet it with competence, in the service of someone else.” His blood bright eyes bore into you, and you know he’s not using his aether core on you, but it kind of feels like it.
“What else could you have meant?” you ask, genuinely confused. You eliminate wanderers. You fight, apprehend and on occasion, have had to kill humans who would have killed you if you had hesitated. You can’t think of any other talents you might possess that Sylus would want. Or any other talents, at all. Even if you could remember who you were when you were a child, you’ve been a hunter long enough now that it’s hard to remember who you were before you put on the uniform and dedicated yourself to defending those who are unable to defend themselves.
“Yes, what indeed? Good question, kitten.”
“And you didn’t tell me that you wanted me to meet you at one of your nightclubs,” you mutter, the irritation surging again. “If you didn’t want me to show up and embarrass you, ready for a fight, you could have just said so.”
“Is proper intel gathering before going on a mission not part of your hunter’s handbook?” Sylus asks, running a finger along your leather-clad shoulder.
“Of course it is.”
“Then why didn’t you investigate the location of our rendezvous tonight before heading out?”
You look away from him, staring through what you now realize is a one-way mirror. The room looks out over the two floors below, each with dance floors and bars, pulsating lights, tables adorned with those strange beautiful flowers. The undulating bodies of dancers are lit dramatically from the light show pulsing to the rhythm of the music.
You frown. “Since it was you, I just assumed it was some shady warehouse or something.”
Sylus is quiet, but you feel his finger continue drifting along your shoulder until his hand comes to rest on the back of the booth near your other shoulder. “That’s an unfortunate habit you’ve had, since the first time we met.”
You turn to look at him, only to find his face so close to yours that you can count the dark striations in his red, red irises. They’re all you can see for a long moment.
“What do you mean?” you whisper, because anything else would feel like shouting in the quiet of the room, with his face so close to yours.
“Assuming things about me.”
You’re alert enough to know that he’s not just talking about your assumption that tonight would take place somewhere dangerous. Your thoughts flit to your assumption that he had… that he had been responsible for the house explosion. For your grandmother and Caleb. Your assumption that he wouldn’t have a plan for dealing with his enemies at the auction. Your assumption that he would take advantage of your nudity in the hallway of your home by looking his fill. What else have you assumed about him? You remember his bite along your shoulder, and the assumption that it was meant for someone else. “You only tell me what you feel like telling me. How else am I supposed to fill in the blanks?” you ask.
Sylus’s hand along the back of the booth drifts back to your shoulder, over the collar of your jacket, up the sensitive skin along the back of your neck. His fingers find their way into your hair, and he gently runs them through its locks. It feels so good, you have to stifle a groan of pleasure.
“You could always ask me,” he says.
“Would you even answer me? You have a habit of answering questions with other questions,” you sigh, giving in to the temptation to let your head fall back into his big palm, his fingers gently massaging your scalp. You try to let your hands rest at your sides, but jerk a little when one of them lands on his big thigh. You move it, but he grabs it with his hand that isn't busy in your hair, and rests it back on his thigh again. He’s so warm, as always. You shouldn’t want to let him touch you like this if he has someone else. You can’t bring yourself to move.
“Well, you won’t find out until you try, will you?” he asks. You let your head roll in his hand, so you can see his face.
“Who was that man sitting next to you earlier?” you ask. Maybe if you start simple, you’ll lull him into telling you the truth when you ask him what you really need to know. What you don’t want to actually know, because then the illusion of Sylus treating only you like this, the illusion that you’re special, will dissipate like mist under sunlight.
His fingers pause, but then he continues caressing you. “That’s Aidan.”
You wait. He stares at you steadily. “You’re really going to make me ask detailed follow up questions, instead of just answering the question fully?” you scowl at him, but don’t move. His hand in your hair feels too damn good. He smiles, clearly amused by your frustration.
“I don’t give away intelligence for free. I need something in return for providing you thorough responses to all of your burning questions.”
You sigh. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.
“What do you want, Sylus?” you ask. If the price is too high, you’ll somehow stand up and walk away, and live with wondering for the rest of your life about who these people in his life are, and if he belongs to someone else.
“The price will depend on the quantity of intel you request tonight,” he gently tugs on a fistful of your hair. You are boneless. You are melting into the couch from the pleasure, despite the negotiation.
“I could always use the favor you owe me for even coming out tonight,” you remind him.
“I think not. You haven’t earned that favor yet. The only thing you’ve done tonight is show up late and assault me with plumage.”
“Excuse you, I was here at exactly eleven. It’s you who were late in realizing that you didn’t exactly tell me where to find you. And as for my present, just think of it as me contributing to a more environmentally sustainable lifestyle. I could have just trashed them, but instead I re-gifted them. Now you can stuff a fleet of throw pillows or the body of an enemy to display as a warning to others.”
Sylus laughs softly. “What a delightful image.”
“I'm fucking delightful,” you sniff.
He hums in agreement. You both sit there in companionable silence, with only the distant sound of the club below and his hands moving in your hair filling the space between you. After awhile, he says, “So what will it be? Are you willing to buy now, and pay later for the opportunity to interrogate me?”
You want to know. You don’t want to know. You follow the sharp lines of his face with your eyes: his panther eyes, his aquiline nose, his generous mouth, the cut of his jaw. You’re so tired of making a decision, only to fold and abandon it in the face of his indomitable will. You want off this roller coaster ride already. You need to decide whether you’re in, and want to be a part of Sylus’s life, in whatever form he’ll have you, or out. And then, once you’ve made your decision, you need to have the steel resolve that he so effortlessly displays—if you’re in, you’ll bury your affection and misplaced hope in him, and treat him like any other friend. If you’re out, you will destroy your phone. You will move. You will ask for a transfer that will put you out of his reach for a long enough period of time that he’ll finally lose interest in toying with you. You sit up, and his hand falls away from your hair.
“Do you have a coin on you? The one you do that little villain bit with when your mind is racing?”
His eyebrows lift a little, as if he’s surprised that you noticed that he tends to fidget when he’s thinking hard. The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Villain bit?”
“Do you have it?” you repeat.
“I do.”
“May I use it for a moment?”
He stares at you, amusement fading. Whatever he sees on your face has him letting go of your hand and reaching for his pocket, but suddenly your own arm is jerked forward.  
“What the—” you try to pull away, but only succeed in slightly pulling Sylus’s arm back toward you. You look down and find the scarlet-golden glimmer of the energy shackles linking your wrist to his. You haven’t been linked like this since the one and only time you managed to resonate with him.
“The fuck, Sylus?”
Sylus looks down as well, and then scowls deeply. “Why are you asking me? I was wondering what was on your mind, but was willing to let you keep your secrets for now. However, now I must insist on knowing what’s going on in that busy brain of yours.” He lifts your linked hands and gently taps your forehead with his index finger.
You try to pull away again, but he just grasps your hand in his, tightly.
You glare at him. He stares at you.
You stick your tongue out at him.
“Careful, kitten. Don’t make offers you’re not ready for me to accept.”
You look away. The club below is fascinating. You will not let him win. Finally, you hear him huff. He brings your clasped hands to his trouser pocket, slipping both into it. You feel his strong hip along the back of your hand through the cloth of his pocket. He pulls your hands out again and releases yours. And then, coin held between his index and middle finger, he solemnly offers it to you.
“Which side comes up more often than the other?” you ask as you take it from his fingers with your unlinked hand, careful not to touch him.
“Tails,” he responds immediately. You don’t trust him for a second.
If it’s heads, you’ll walk away from him and the life that allows him access to you.
If it’s tails, you’ll ask him who these people were tonight and whether he has a partner. You’ll be his friend, no matter what, and close off that needy, delusional part of yourself that hopes for more from him, and you’ll never think of it again.
You toss the coin in the air and watch it as it flashes, twisting in the air. You catch it in your palm. You take a deep breath. You open your palm.
You are the water in a bottomless well. All of the things that can hurt you are down so deep, you’ll never be able to access them again. You let the fledgling feelings for this impossible man slip quietly into the well. You’re a serene pond, reflecting an endless blue sky, and there’s nothing underneath at all.
“Who is Aidan?” you ask.
206 notes · View notes
lavendarneverlands · 4 months ago
Note
put 5 songs you listen to, post it, then send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers <333
Thank you so much lovely🫶🫶🫶
Oh goodness this is a hard question because I like way too many songs😂 though I am a huge Swiftie & since I’ve on my TOG binge have been listening to a lot of fan playlists so let’s let my history decide🤣 these have been in a heavy rotation:
“Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?” by Taylor Swift
“Red Wine Supernova” by Chappell Roan
“Please Please Please” by Sabrina Carpenter
“Blonde” by Maisie Peters
“Can’t Catch Me Now” by Olivia Rodrigo
@impossibelle @iwantavaldezinator @idfendyr @shadowhunters77 @archerons-elain @cheap-spirits @maevecrom @endlessdaydream @somethingsomewhereanywhere @korepio
p.s. as always, no pressure tags :-) 💕
(Heads up for some tags: this is my main account, the side-blog ur probably used to seeing (as I’m more active) is @acourtofquestions I have a terrible habit of mixing up pages/conversations; so if ur going “who tagged me?” it’s just me lol)
228 notes · View notes
rox-of-iu · 1 year ago
Text
ayoo guess who finally sat down and caught up with cultivate B)
is me. so you know what that means.
spoiler warning for cultivate ch 30-37
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
there was actually.... more things i wanted to draw but I already did so many I had to physically restrain myself hfsjkkdh anyway yes can you tell i love this fic very much
yet once again. cultivate by the wonderful @neonghostcat
#liushen#cultivate#cultivate: slow life on a monster infested mountain#mu qingfang#tagging him as well since theres lot of focus on him lol#and shen jiu as well u have to excuse me I love them they're meow meows#there was gonna be more sj content also but he ended up being cut in the end#wait- hdfdfhkj probably shouldnt talk about cutting something and SJ in the same sentence lmao jhfksdhfk ok bad joke sorry#anyway aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa absolutely deceased with all that has been revealed and covered in the past few chapter#actually dead wonderful powerful talented incredible showstopping never seen before#my most favourite part of cultive is its mysteries without a shadow of a doubt they're so intriguing and the reveal is ALWAYS sooo satisfyi#so the chain reaction of so many answers of the big ones tm? chefs kiss MWA#speaking of mysteries i never mentioned it before because I didn't know how to incorporate it without it being awkward but#for the longest time one particular piece of info has been rotting in my brain#and it was the off-hand comment on of the aqueduct by LQG#it is SO SILLY but THATS the one that has been just spinning in my brain FROM THEN ON ALL THE TIME it is indeed not the actually much coole#checkovs guns that have been setup nooo it was THIS hjkjsdfhksd I HAD TO KNOW where that was going AND NOW I KNOW I CAN REST EASY jsdhfkd#so yeah absolutely wonderful chapters indeed beautiful powerful#also some of you may noticed that time and time again I keep switching up the seniority between bai zhan and qian cao#and i have to formally apologize for that it is in fact not out of lack of attention to the text I'm just shdjkas#if im not mistaken qian caos position is not set in stone in canon so its free for grabs to put it in any of the free spots on the list#so i should respect neonghostcats (beloved i am so sorry) list in this case but i physically couldn't bring myself to write mqf as shidi#HSAJHS im sorry i am so biased and from doctors family i cannot put him in my head in peak seniority so low I'm sry i am legally not allowe#so lets just pretend i wrote it correctly ok sadhkas eyes closed xD#OOF th etags got long this time but im just SOOOO EXCITED WITH THIS FIC AND GOT FEELINGS OK BYE#anyway neonghostcat godspeed recovery buddy!!#also i hope using neonghostcat isnt like....calling u by your full name hdkfh but no idea to which parts i should shorten it either so hah
519 notes · View notes
luck-of-the-drawings · 8 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
OH ARTHUR BENNETT.. such a gorgeous and intriguing character. terribly burdened by a GRUESOME set of crimes, his light suffocated by a HEAVY century of GUILT. so tragic, so dark and broody, and yet PAINFULLY awkward in any social setting ever
#jrwi fanart#cw blood#jrwi show#jrwi suckening#arthur bennett#OUHH THIS ONE WAS SITTING IN MY WIPS FOR SO LOOOONGwhen i took it out there was mould on it :sob:#BUT i think i was able to fix it up okay#i keep seeing SO MANY MISTAKES RRAAAHHH BUT YOU DONT SEE THEM RIGHT?? THATS ONLY ME. RIGHT?? EXACTLY.#THE KEY IS TO SAY. AND REPEAT AFTER ME. 'FUUUCK IT WE BALL#so anyway. arthur bennett huh? grizzly says that arthur is reaal fuckin difficult to play. and i SUPER get that. i mean LOOK AT HIM..#grizz often needs a minute to think abt what hes gonna say in a way that matches w that Stoic Personality. which is FAIR but also that#ends up making way for awkward confrontations like: the lady in the parky lot. he took too long to answer and scared her away.& I LOVE THAT#arthur is tragic and sad and cool and stoic but hes ALSO awkward and silly and kinda dumb and short sighted. HE HAS COMPLEXITIES#I LOVE WHEN TTRPG CHARACTERS HAVE A GOOD SET OF SHORTCOMINGS. ESPECIALLY WHEN U FIND THEM ONLY AS U PLAY THEM.#I COULd go on and on saying the same things w different words abt arthurs intriguing and entertaining character but i shall spare u. for no#ILL ALSO MENTION HOW MUCH I LOVE HIS FLAVOR THO.. I LOVE TALL HOT BOY WHOS ONE W THE DARKNESS.. I REMEMBER WHEN HE FIRST MENTIONED THE#BADLUCK. N I WAS LIKE OOOHH THATS WHY HIS DESIGN IS SO COOL N CHAOTIC N ASYMMETRICAL. HES UNLUCKY!!! i love love love his design so much...#GRaaauruguguraguhhghghgh what else what else is there for me to spew on abt...i think im reachin a limit here..OH MAGNUS. i hope that#we get to know more abt how magnus and arthur met.. like How they became besties... ouuhh... I ALSO WANNA KNOW MORE ABT MARY DAVIS. LIKEHOW#he also apparently spent alotta time in a zone dominated by edward twilight? all he remembers is constant partying? I WANNA KNOW MORE..#i think i got room 4 one more ramble SO. THE ART PIECE.as i said its gone a lil stale BUT. im still very proud o the bits where hes allScar#I WANNA SEE HIM GET SCARYMORE. I like the idea of shadows solidifying to make him strange and eerie.like TEETH n CLAWS n SPINES n YESS#also the SILVER EYES.no1 does silver eyes like the show Claymore. they make em look so striking and eerie...i also like to think that#human arthur had deep beautiful brown eyes.just in my beaitufl heart.i mean look at him..i wanna cook him n eat him.ANYWAY#i think thats all my ramblin for this piece. now i gotta go cancel a single day i had ata hotel bc my work schedule change last minute FUCK#feel free to ramble in my tags aswell tho i read all of them and i chew on thenm and i love them so sos os mcuh
144 notes · View notes
the-acid-pear · 1 year ago
Text
Yesterday I was replaying Deltarune and I was going really insane about it picking up on things I missed on my first playthrough and something that fucked me up hard was this line here
Tumblr media
The little ellipsis at the end, almost like you can hear the regret on their voice. Voice of an ad who is realizing maybe they fucked up on this one. But it also made me think of... The possibility of this being a reaction to Spamton's actions.
Because I don't think this was an automatic thing, I feel like their drifting off was gradual. Sure, their jealousy had won them over (I'd have killed the guy or myself if I was them so I don't even blame them) but Spamton was too getting busier and busier the more famous he got, and as they say, that never stopped. He only kept getting bigger, until it all came crashing down. And when it did it was one of them who tried to go find him, after all that.
But I digress, let's focus on the original quote from my favorite sigma enby themselves, Pink Addison. There's obviously not only the regret to it, but feeling like they were abandoned too. Both parties lost a lot and the real tragedy is just how easily it could've have been avoided! Or rather, how beyond their control it was...
But I'll get off topic if I keep speaking so I'll leave it at that. The sheer tragedy that there is to everyone involved just makes me insane. Like I said in a post previous to this; you cannot trace down a good guy or a bad guy in this tale, it's just desperate people taking awful decisions and living to regret their actions.
94 notes · View notes
pocketramblr · 13 days ago
Note
I always found it slightly awkward how media makes siblings or people who see each other as siblings call each other brother/sister all the time as in real life you almost never see people do that with their own siblings (maybe someone out there like that)
In the case of Arkham Shadows I see why they did though because Bruce quite literally tells Harvey he loves him and Harvey says it back. Can't have the audience think Batman is in love with the DA.
They had Bruce pay for his college, pay for his campaign, pay for his surgery, pay for his therapy and had Harvey have him as his best man at his wedding. Wow..... Sugar baby Harvey is real.....
The calling sibling title thing is less common in English than in some other languages for sure- me and a couple of my siblings do it on occasion, but it's for a bit then. More common is when I call one of my close family friends "my sister" or "my nephew" when talking about them to someone else because it's faster and easier to say that than to say "my friend who I've known since she was born and lived with for a few years and consider a little sister" or "child of a close family friend who considers me an aunt" to someone who doesn't know them. Which is a lot of words to say that if they wanted to fully sell me on the brothers thing they should have either had a different bit or should have referred to the other as "my brother" when talking to an unrelated character instead.
But "oh no we have to make Bruce not look gay" has been a problem DC has struggled with more than once for many decades and it basically never works so I guess at least they didn't try to solve it this time by having Bruce pick a lady love over Harvey or cutting the holding hands thing
Because I saw that scrapbook! I know Harvey has been Bruce's sugar baby since he was ten years old! But we can't have Bruce take Harvey's hand and call him the love of his life because ok technically that's Gotham but also because gay. And we can't have Bruce take Harvey's hand and call him his best friend because they're not ten anymore and somehow that seems gay also. So brothers it is, I guess. Even if I think my brothers would bite my finger if I ever tried to pay for everything for them on that scale, guess it's different at billionaire levels
#I'm actually simultaneously a believer in grew up like brothers and absolutely down bad romantically#(and harvey as a representation of Gotham itself as a love)#like an election in two (three) positions at once#but the point remains- you can't really fully cover the care by slapping a brother label on it like dc tries to to avoid it being too gay ig#which is very funny because did you see all the bi Tim and Dick stuff in Gotham Knights- but Robin has always had more freedom than Batman#in the 'can we let anyone think he's anything other than totally straight' department#anyway now I'm thinking about how on earth-3 all the characters get a morality flip#but Two Face/Three Face is the only one i can think of who gets a gender flip as well#as if 'oh if we had just originally conceived of Dent as a woman it would have been better (morally) because then it wouldn't have ended up#looking so gay'#but no they did not explore that thread because apparently uh having love interests in the joker and riddler was more important#which you'd think should reflect back on standard issue harv eddy and clown but uh. not really no they don't want to admit it#and i suppose 'well no three face wouldn't have a thing for owlman because he's technically not a version of Bruce he's a version of b's#brother'#but like then again. if Harvey is his brother. then shouldn't something have been used there to connect it#in any way at all#but no#instead I'm left with many thoughts about Harvey as a brother as a lover as a personification of gotham and as a woman but#i am still very sleepy rn so i don't know how many of those thoughts are coherent#but all that to say#YEAH SUGAR BABY HARVEY#guess it wouldn't be comforting for Harvey to shakily ask what he is#and Bruce to answer 'you're my companion who i turn to for affection in and give you obscene amounts of money in turn'#but like. it also wouldn't have been incorrect.#... though 'sugar baby harv as part of the representation of Gotham itself' probably has something to it too#but i digress I'm sleepy#pocket talks to people#anon#* i meant 'electron' not 'election' in that earlier tag
9 notes · View notes
Text
the downside to being a sitcom neighbour sort of person is that when rough things happen and emotionally fuck u up a lil bit, it also sounds completely made up
#bert's dead dad tag#found out today the way my dad told mom he wanted a divorce?#he wrote her a letter and left it on the dining room table for her to find on the morning of her fortieth birthday#who the fuck does that dead father#like that is the sort of thing i would entirely make up if i needed everyone at the table to fuckin hate an npc#and at least one person would go 'you're laying it on a little bit heavy'#i know he did work to become a better person as he got older#which is good because BOY howdy was that man a piece of shit in the early 90s#and we are having Complicated feelings about it tonight and also for the last nine months#something something when i was writing his eulogy i came across an old article discussing something he did in the 90s#YDIP (your dad is problematic)#like yeah this is the sort of thing that would have been vaguely acceptable in the cultural context#but like. still objectively bad. potentially ruining several lives sort of bad.#learned this and then wrote the rest of his eulogy about how he was a great guy and how i'm lucky to have been his son#(which was rough enough on its own because i've never said 'i'm [dad's name]'s son' as many times as i did that trip home)#but like what else do you do? i sent off a message looking for more information#and that information if it comes is just gonna sit with me i guess#sure as hell not telling my sister and this whole thing i've been getting through without really having anyone here for me to talk to#(hence the big fuckoff tag rant. your problem now losers who like clicking the read more button)#so even if i get all the answers i want about this one thing it's not gonna do any good except putting an end to one question#but part of having a dead dad who's been out of the business of forming new memories since you came out is having more questions#answering this one's just gonna add even more questions to the pile#but. got fuckall else to do
13 notes · View notes
14dayswithyou · 1 year ago
Note
Bro i was listening to Taylor swift and ‘don’t blame me’ song reminded me of Rin deadass
✦゜ANSWERED: YEAHHHHH!! IT TOTALLY FITS HIM!! @yourunhingedgirlfriend once made a Ren mood board(?) including that song as well, and it hasn't left my mind since ^^ <3
But yeah!! I still stand by the headcanon that [REDACTED] is in his Reputation era and Ren is in his Lover era ;v; Also, in this 391,490,009 page essay I will be talking about how "Mastermind" and "Hey Stephen (Taylor's Version)" are such Ren/[REDACTED] coded songs, and that the entire Evermore and Folklore albums were the inspiration behind Elanor's charac-
78 notes · View notes
Note
FUCKED UP 4HALO MY BELOVED!!!!
I think Forever should keep asking Bad about the marriage. And then, Foolish convinces Bad to go through with a fake marriage and they'll blow it up to kill Forever! Something goes wrong. They're at the altar, Bad messaged Cellbit to set off the tnt but nothing was happening. Forever doesn't even notice how distracted Bad seems because everything is perfect! And then they kiss and they're married. ^_^
YESSSS i love the thought of the plan fucking up so they end up Married For Real and then we get the angst of bad in a position of semi-power because theyre married now!! :D if bad wants 200 mines placed around the server because it will make everyone happy, what sort of husband would forever be to say no? <3 and then we get a little arc of bad going mad fueled by guilt and disbelief at the nightmare he’s living in and he should really take advantage of the vulnerability to kill forever- (sleeping in the same bed, modicum of trust, access to all of forever’s resources). But. then forever smiles something small and sweet and asks bad if he would like a very big drill, against the regulations special just for him to make him happy because he’s done so much for the island, and bad can’t bring himself to do it. gift giving is his love language. he could cause many many problems with this gift. he is already a problem. forever has the reason of drugs but bad just has the excuse of grief but he still accepts the drill and swears he’ll murder forever tomorrow
47 notes · View notes
melverie · 6 months ago
Text
Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again
#i'm gonna ramble in the tags but#i've been talking with starr (if you're reading this--hi starr!! <3) about the blog today and sharing some of the entries#and it just made me miss it so much#+ the conversation actually made me realize some other reasons why i didn't enjoy the blog in general anymore#like i genuinely love the blog and i genuinely loved writing for it & that conversation reminded me of that#but also there were so many reasons that ultimately pushed me to more or less abandon the blog & then later private it too#so i'm kind of at a loss here#tbh i think i'm mostly just scared to pick the blog up again only for it to end exactly like last time i picked it back up#i've actually always wanted for the blog to be a source of inspiration y'know?#like the things mentioned in the entries are kinda just small ideas right#i was hoping that people would read these & feel inspired to write or draw something of their own based on my entries#that was actually what made me start the blog in the first place. the hope that i could inspire others that way#aaahhhhhh.... maybe it's on me since i could have more openly communicated that idea......#i did get to meet one wonderful person who wrote a few fics based on my entries tho!! (hi ali <3)#but yeah..there's that#also the way engagement just dropped significantly after a while#like i know i was gone for a good while & that a lot of people left the fandom and all that#but still getting maybe one reblog if i'm lucky really feels like a punch to the gut#ESPECIALLY considering that i was close to 900 followers on there#do you guys know that feeling when you proudly show someone you care about something you did only to get a disinterested answer?#yeah...#that's essentially how it feels like to me#and well as you might know the feeling of “why should i keep writing if apparently no one cares” eventually won... haha.....#but aaaahhhhh i'm still clinging onto the hope & what ifs here#that conversation with starr really just made me forget about everything that frustrated me about the blog & left me with this#longing feeling to start again lol#hey if you've made it this far into the tags let me just ask--would you care if i picked the blog back up?#would you also *show* that you care?#i'm actually quite curious (you could almost call me george lol)#anyway maybe we'll see each other on today-in-the-devildom again in the future.. who knows
10 notes · View notes