#narrow mirror

[dukegenocide]

Powder Room - Rustic Powder Room

[razberrypuck]

staring directly at sonic generations. classic metal sonic had a voice box. for one of the chaos emerald challenges, he demands (classic)sonic face him for the emerald. which means metal was originally created with a voice box, and presumably just. didn't talk much. neo metal sonic didn't give himself a voice, he always had one, and was finally using it -- but when eggman got his hands on him again after heroes, he took it away, alongside the rest of his autonomy.

and it just feels so needlessly cruel, doesn't it? I can at least understand why eggman would make him more obedient after being betrayed (its still a fucked up thing to do, don't get me wrong,) but his voice? that just feels like something eggman did for himself. a punishment, as if being stripped of the ability to act on his own will wasn't punishment enough.

[acourtofquestions]

Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:

She'd rebuild it—what she had been.

Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.

Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."

"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.

"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."

"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.

Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.

Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.

At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.

In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.

She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.

Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."

A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.

She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."

Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."

"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."

Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.

"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."

"I do know."

"And?"

"And what do you wish me to say?"

She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. If…"

"If what?"

"If you wish it wasn't so."

His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"

She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.

It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.

"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."

She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.

"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"

"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just ….." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."

"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."

"Then it is her choice, not yours."

Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."

"What did she show you?" A breathless question.

Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have been—if there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."

She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."

His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"

She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.

Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."

She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.

"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.

"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."

A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requires—"

"We'll face it together," he swore again.

"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.

Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."

"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."

She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.

"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."

She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.

She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

"I thought you might want to be asked first."

"That never stopped you before."

"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.

She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."

He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.

"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."

The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.

"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.

Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.

Together.

[sungtaro]

💖🍑 tagged by my @jaebeomtual + @yeofi to post 9 selfies from 2023 !

tagging: @possession1981 @yangsminho @marklyluvr @berryjaellie @kimjiwoong + anyone else who might be comfy posting your face pls tag me !!!!! i love u !!!!

[mc-critical]

E22 is certainly all about the deepest fears and suspicions of the characters related to belonging (or rather, NOT belonging) that accumulate through the whole episode (as it gets more and more likely for them to be fully realized), which in turn makes the jealousy and/or resentment within these characters grow.

Ibrahim starts off still ruminating on Beyhan's words from a previous event relayed to him through Hatice in the previous episode, so his fear is immediately established: the fear of his death coming forth regardless, and from the sultan's hands worst of all; of his place in SS's heart, in the family's hearts, ultimately always ending up shaky and temporary; of him being discarded and erased at a moment's notice; of him never actually meaning anything to anyone, thus he aims for the biggest sense of belonging out of everyone else here: SS is most valuable to him, of course, as this is his first bond in this foreign world, but that value and his approval also turn out predicated and empowered by the value and approval everyone else gives him too. As it all begins from the possibility of a future action of SS and his bad mood that could possibly mean anything in the next day, then it goes to Mustafa's opinion on Ibrahim's closeness to SS, and then it circles back to SS again as a reaction to Mustafa's reaction (hence the smallest recurring disapproval, as Mustafa's stance here is a continuation of Mustafa's remark in E03, means wide disapproval — this is why in Ibrahim's dream everyone is out there witnessing and almost delighting in his execution; even Hatice who is clearly sad, is portrayed with resignation, as if the execution is an inevitablity she has to accept and never go against - this is of course also informed by what Ibrahim has seen of Hatice so far, how she couldn't oppose SS's decision to marry her to Mehmet Celebi even though she loves Ibrahim and aches inside and always claims to not be able handle it if she loses him, so the only thing he can say and do is try to spare her the pain). Ibrahim has to fully belong in order not to be reminded of what he's lost before and what he can lose now, but his sense of belonging is so fragile that every little thing can create big, irreparable cracks, bringing him to realize that he never actually belonged anywhere and what's more striking, he has nowhere to belong now as he's lost everything. This is terrifying to him and he can't share it with anyone (not even Hatice could really provide him solace: she calmed him down a bit, sure, but she also related to Mustafa's motives - right on par with Hatice's theme of relating this episode - that perhaps meaning to Ibrahim that even she can't be reliable, that even she could turn her similar possessiveness against him, if she can muster to do even that), so he buries it deep - he is the only one who doesn't lash out due to his fear in this episode, but this sense of fear beginning with him colors the whole rest of the episode and remains an omen of what's to come next. It's this fear that will make him more offensive, more insistent to secure his position even more and remove everyone who stands on the way of that, even in this season finale.

Mustafa's fear is established by one event in this exact episode that puts him at odds with his brother more directly than ever before (there's a reason why this is their first lesson together): the fear of him not becoming a padişah; of him being replaced by someone else, and by someone else who he too loves worst of all; of his efforts not being recognized; of his father leaving him behind forever, not wanting him, not loving him anymore; of him not having the future he's been eager and preparing to have, what's his use if he doesn't have it?, in that case the only thing he can do is disappear, thus he aims for a narrower sense of belonging: he cares about the rest of his family, but his father's love matters to him most of all. He looks up to him and is inspired by him, trying his best to follow his example in order to be the best he can be. And he is constantly encouraged by everyone to be the best he can be, so when even the smallest threat to that come up, his whole self is challenged, so what's left is to lash out, to defend his beliefs and mindset, to make this fear known in order to evade it. He doesn't belong without his father's love that gives him all he craves. He can't belong if that isn't there. And his belonging predicates on him being prioritized at all times, as this isn't a place reserved only for him, it turns out; anyone can take it away. So Mehmet's assertion plants this fear, while Ibrahim's place next to SS confirms it (Mahidevran here, just like Hatice with Ibrahim, tried to comfort Mustafa by putting Mehmet's words into context as well to an extent, but Mustafa actually managed to ease up until the Ibrahim matter popped up), so Mustafa's reaction is precisely that kind of lashing out. The lashing out culminates the episode but there's some finality attached to it as well, as it is the last such clash Mustafa has with Ibrahim (with him realizing his mistake afterwards) - from that point on, they will fully be a source of support for one another. Even his jealousy of Mehmet that sets up the future becomes more restrained.

Gülşah's fear is established by a series of events in this exact episode, feeding into each other and fueling her at every turn: the fear of falling into disgrace alongside with her closest person, or on her own worst of all; of being scolded by both the person she loves and the person she hates; of being mocked and ridiculed; of being denied the agency to do anything about it, as everyone else overpowers her either by being above her or simply being the majority. Her fear seems the most driven out of self-preservation, not so much out of a desire to belong at first, however these two are interlinked for her as well. Her very survival is predicated by the most narrow sense of belonging: on her sultana, the only person who can give her any sense of belonging. Her job is being next to her, so she has to share her joys and sorrows, but she also gets her sense of respect and worth namely from that role, so she can't help but make these joys and sorrows her own. E22 is the first time this is challenged however, since we see her outside of her sultana for the first time, as even what she has to do due to her role as her servant (taking Mustafa from the lessons and defending him) and as a servant in general (bringing Mehmet to Hürrem), is challenged and that whole facade of respect from others due to her sultana is fully broken (even Nigar's threats and almost drowning Gülşah before are because of something Mahidevran's ordered and done, this here has next to nothing to do with Mahidevran) and then her own wishes to seek justice and accountability are uncovered, but the more her sultana seems to not join in, the more Gülşah loses every sense of belonging in each moment (the mockery of the girls of the harem is only there to accentuate that loss and reveal how alone she is) and the only thing she can do is desperately tie them to her sultana, to cling to her in order to convince herself of her righteousness, of how she hasn't lost her sense of belonging actually, isn't that right?? She has no choice: the disillusionment, the resentment only grow throughout the entire episode and she can't really share the full extent of her sorrow with anyone - even her sultana wants her to suck it and wait, but she's sick of waiting, of being humiliated, so she provides the final imminent lashing out of the episode, the one that sets up the future the most in terms of Gülşah's relationship with Mahidevran, as well as it sets up the main deal of the very next episode.

[extravagantliar]

the mirror honestly is the one piece of solid canon on his back that is good. Giving up something that was so long a part of your life to yield to the next and kneel down for those who have come before us and those who come next. Yes this queer with back pain is very happy about this and the most silent character is queer.

[passengerpigeons]

okay besides the spot of like deteriorated linoleum tile in the corner by the door i'm more and more feeling thisweird pittsburgh toilet off my bedroom. could probably just put a rug over it and then get some decor going

[agnes-come-back-challenge]

"I wore a black coat and had never existed." (209, "The Black Coat")

"Did she lean over your sobbing face and ask you, 'Why are you crying when you don't even exist?' […] Have you ever decided you wanted a lightweight wool button-up coat, all black?" (171, "Go to the Mirror?")

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Had an epiphany during class that my WIP actually is in an important way, thematically anti-mindfulness.

[mahmou4d]

[the-heaminator]

.

[hypnowave]

.

[cheapcheapfaker]

i also now have a large oval frameless mirror to DIY something with but everything i look up is like. Do YOU want to use a bunch of industrial foam to make this ~*~aesthetic~*~ mirror frame? And the answer is no because im old enough to remember what i was doing on 9/11. I might try going to a craft store and looking for a round frame to glue onto it though.

[team-frightfur]

Atem's also a really good demo on how strong constrast and saturation can make a character look much more 'resistant'. I think because it visually connotes a refusal to blend into the background? And the sharp edges make them seem combative (If that makes sense). In turn, though, red is a shade of pink so, in that way, you establish a connection between the two. Man, I love such clear messaging. Even I (a stupid idiot) can understand it! Good work!

yeah i totally mirrored them on purpose hahaha

original separate posts here

(please don’t use without permission)

[gallusrostromegalus]

Might I inquire as to what, precisely, a Mustain't is? (Aside from a string of letters I hesitate to Google in that order.)

In October 2014 I went on a road-trip to the Dryest Place In America.

I was having a rough year, very depressed from having dropped out of college for the third time. I decided a road trip was in order to re-set my brain and get a little distance. Being that it was October, and therefore all the campgrounds in the American Southwest were filled with people who have the good sense to camp in reasonable temperatures, I elected to take my parent's minivan so I could car-camp anywhere suitably isolated, and looked up some of the southwest's geographic extremes- the highest place I could drive to (Pikes Peak), the lowest place (Badwater Basin), and for fun, the Dryest Place in the continental US, which turned out to be the Pinacate Volcanic field just west of Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It gets rain maybe twice a century and has no standing water, despite being less than 100 miles from the gulf of California.

It's a startlingly beautiful and alien place. The ground is a deep chocolate brown to black volcanic sand, and in mid October, the rabbit brush is turning bright yellow as it shifts to autumn, the organ pipe cacti are a dark green and stand, partially concealed in the brush at exactly human height. The air is alive with birds and insects and bats at night. The stargazing is like looking into the eyes of God.

You get there by driving down a little dirt road called "El Camino Del Diablo", or "The Devil's Road".

I drove out about three hours from Glendale, AZ to get there, arriving at sunset, and felt a profound sense of peace. I stargazed, listening to the bats hunt and sing, and slept peacefully for the first time in months.

I stayed out there for three days, sketching and painting the landscape, taking strolls through this almost alien landscape, and enjoying the light and sound and total absence of human intrusion besides myself.

On the fourth night, it was a new moon, and I awoke in the middle of the night. Something was amiss, and it took me a while to realize it was because I could NOT hear the bats. I was sleeping inside the van with the rear windows rolled halfway down rather than trying to set up the tent, so I when I sat up, I looked out of the van's reflective windows to discover what at first appeared to be A Horse.

It was something between pale gray and bright white in the starlight, standing maybe a dozen feet from the van, sniffing curiously. It made sense- I was in the middle of mustang country and there was quite a bit of foliage in the area for it and it did look like a truly wild horse- lumpy where the bones were jutting out, dusty about the hooves and face.

I was instantly seized by the sort of paralytic fear Sleep paralysis is made of. I couldn't move. It wasn't quite looking at me because it couldn't quite see through the windshield into the shadowy into the shadowy interior, but I had the distinct impression that if I looked away, it would know, and get me.

I already had problems with horses. My beloved Aunt Helen's Prize mare tried to kill me on two separate occasions, and the year before I had to carry my sister-in-law backwards out of a slot canyon whilst reciting the Saint Crispin's Day Speech as loudly as possible to keep a mustang from trampling us to death.

This is approximately what it should have looked like:

Instead, it was... off. like trying to draw a horse from memory.

The waist tapered in.

The legs were slightly too long or the torso slightly too short, probably both.

The ears were Triangular.

The head wasn't quite right- Too narrow and the jaw wasn't heavy enough.

The tail was too long and arced unnaturally away from the body.

The neck arched.

The nostrils were too high and close

The mouth too long.

Whatever this is, a Mustang it Ain't.

I watched it from the back seat as it sniffed around the front of the van, curious with about the side mirrors. It moved around the van, nibbling experimentally on the front door handle. It came up to the side windows, sniffing like a dog, and it's breath didn't fog up the glass.

Finally, it came up to the rear window, which was rolled halfway down to let the fall night air in. Not even half a pane of glass and two feet of air between us, and I could clearly see it's bright blue eyes.

Horses have Elongated pupils to give them a wide field of vision, and eyes that rotate sideways in their sockets so the pupil remains parallel to the ground. Rather creepy to watch, especially the ones with blue eyes.

A real horse that was curious about the interior of the van would have come up to the window more or less sideways, and looked at me with something like this:

Instead, the damn thing walked up and faced the back window head on, staring back at me with this:

I'm not sure how long we watched each other like that, eyes locked. My eyes burned. I couldn't blink. My mouth was dry. I couldn't swallow. My throat began to ache. I couldn't make a sound. My skin began to twitch, like I was severely dehydrated. I couldn't move. My lungs burned. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move.

Something was touching the side of my hand on the seat next to me. It's my water bottle.

The realization must have broken the terrible paralysis in the lower parts of my brain first, because by the time I consciously realized I could move again, I was already flinging my water bottle out the window at it.

The top was open, and splashed out the window at the Mustain't.

I've never heard such a scream out of an animal. Something halfway between the sound of unquenchable rage vibrating in someone's chest and the way rabbits cry out to God when the dogs catch them.

It jumped back, pivoting away from the van, snarling at the water bottle. I don't think you're supposed to be able to see All of a horse's teeth at once, no matter how angry it is.

I watched it run into the night for some distance, it's pale body visible against the black sand and the dark gray shadow of the ancient volcanic cone it was headed for.

When the blood stopped pounding in my ears, I could hear the bats again.

I debated leaving right then, but I didn't want to get out of the van with that thing in the area, nor litter by leaving the water bottle out there. I also had the awful idea that if I left now, it might somehow be able to follow me home. I ended up staying up three hours to watch the sunrise, shaking and trying to figure out if I'd woken up from a vivid dream, if my meds had stopped working, or if that had really happened. I didn't dare move until I actually felt the temperature rise, before stepping out of the van to grab the bottle. I had my camera ready- I was still using a DSLR back then- to take pictures of the hoofprints, to show how close it had gotten to the van.

No hoofprints.

Beetle tracks in the soft sand around the van, and the clear foot-and-wing prints of a bird that had hopped around then taken off. But no hoofprints.

I went over the entire campsite with the tent broom, to make sure I removed every scrap of evidence I had ever been there, including my footprints, grabbed my water bottle, and drove the three hours back back to Glendale, then decided to do seven more hours of driving to Moab, Utah just to put more than 500 miles, the state line and at least nine things that could be considered "running water" between me and the Mustain't.

-

I still have that water bottle. It has a dent in the bottom from hitting something, but that could have happened at any time. Strange thing though. I can't drink that bottle dry. I'll have it on me, drink whatever I've put in there- water, juice, iced coffee- and eventually feel like I've drunk the whole think and that it's empty. But I open it up and it's still at least a quarter full. I drink that. I get thirsty. I open it up again. ...and there's always a mouthful left.

Not sure what the side effects of drinking from a bottle cursed by a Mustain't to always have some left are, but it lives in the Emergency Breakdown Kit in my car now, just in case I meet another one.

---

(I'm a disabled artist and make my living telling stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi or Pre-order the Family Lore book on Patreon)

[odoraful]

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄.ᐟ

what happens when you don't use their pet name to call them?

⟡ content: zayne/sylus/xavier/rafayel x gn!reader; more dialogue heavy; silly and cute

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ZAYNE ⟡

“Can you help me put this on, Zayne?”

From the reflection in the mirror, you tried not to react at the twist in his brow and the momentary confusion in his eyes. Wordlessly, he moved behind you, fingers taking the necklace out of your hand. With his gaze focused on the task before him, you could see him open his mouth, hesitating to speak.

“Did I do something wrong?” he questioned.

Zayne’s deft hands carefully laid the chain around your neck, centering the pendent between your collarbones.

You plastered on your most innocent expression, despite the twinge of guilt you felt at his question.

“Hm? Why do you ask?”

Swiftly, he clasped the ends of the chain together. His eyes flicked towards yours in the mirror.

“You’re calling me by my first name. I thought pet names were an important step in a relationship for you.”

You nodded. “Yes, Zayne, I do think it’s an important step.”

His eyes narrowed at your continual uncharacteristic responses.

Folding his arms, he mused aloud. “It took you some time to drop the title ‘doctor’ for me and to just use my name. After we became official, you were quick to call me ‘love’.”

You fiddled with your necklace, trying to, impossibly, force away the heat from your face.

“So, either I did something to make you upset, or”—he leaned in close to you, the side of his face almost touching yours—“you’re playing a trick on me.”

You gave a mock frown. He cocked his head to the side, awaiting your response.

“Okay, okay, it was a prank.” Sighing, you surrendered to his deductions. “I wanted to see how you’d react, but you saw right through me,” you mumbled.

His lips quirked. “I’ve known you for long enough to figure these things out.”

Wanting to wipe off the amused look he had on his face, you quickly planted a kiss on his cheek. His face turned into surprise. He chuckled, shaking his head at your triumphant smile.

“Thank you for helping me, my love."

SYLUS ⟡

“Sylus, could you play that new record you bought?”

You called from the sofa. Standing by the record player, he turned to face you. The offence on his face was unmistakable as he placed his hands on his hips.

“Sylus?” he scoffed. “We both know that’s not what you call me.”

Your brows furrowed, feigning confusion. “What are you talking about? Isn’t that your name?”

“Sweetie,” he levelled a look of scepticism at you, “that hasn’t been my name for the past month we’ve been together.”

“I still don’t know what you mean, Sylus.”

He paused. Gears turned in his head trying to unpack what was happening, much like he would do when reading the truthfulness of a dealer during a bargain.

“Y/N.”

You’ve never heard your own name being said in such a serious manner. Perhaps you got a taste of your own medicine.

“I’m not particularly fond of lose-lose situations.” The softness in his tone made you feel weak. “You can tell me if I’ve done something to annoy you. I won’t be angry.”

“Not at all!” you quickly blurted out. Unable to hide it any longer, you confessed. “You haven’t done anything to annoy me. I was just trying to pull a small prank.”

All the tension visibly released from his body. A relieved sigh escaped him. “You really do play some dangerous games, kitten.”

Playfulness returned to his voice. “Now then, how will you correct your mistake?”

“Honey,” you drawled out each syllable, making it sound as syrupy as the nickname itself, “could you play that new record you bought now?”

Sylus couldn’t help but laugh at your exaggeration. “Why of course.”

XAVIER ⟡

“Xavier, do you want to try this?”

Subtly glancing at his reaction from the kitchen, you saw his face immediately fall into a pout. The look was fatal, and it took all the willpower you had not to drop the ruse right then and there.

“That’s not my name,” he answered.

“What do you mean?” you chuckled, continuing to put icing on the sugar cookies you baked. “Of course it is!”

“No, it’s not,” he insisted.

Placing his book down, he walked to stand at your side by the counter. You avoided his eye contact, pretending that nothing was amiss.

Resting a hand under his chin, he began to think. “You usually call me bunny, sweetheart, sunshine, or darling.”

Your jaw dropped in amused shock. “You remember all the names I’ve called you?”

His mouth twitches. “There are some more, but… they might be a bit embarrassing to say aloud right now.”

That was enough to make you look at him with wide eyes.

“Xavier!” Your face turned pink as you slapped his shoulder. There was no force behind the hit, but enough to convey your embarrassment.

“You did it again. You used the wrong name.” He stuck his bottom lip out.

You gently poked at his cheek, trying to lift the corner of his lip upwards. “Come on, don’t be sad darling.”

Immediately, he brightened before you.

“It was just a joke I saw couples do online. I wanted to see how you’d react.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “And was my reaction satisfactory?”

“I think it was,” you smiled at him, "but it’s a shame I didn’t film it, it would’ve made for a good Moments post.”

He shook his head. “But, the nicknames we use are only for us.”

The finished cookie in your hand had a bite suddenly taken from it as Xavier leaned down to have a taste.

“I don’t want anyone else to know.”

RAFAYEL ⟡

“Are you ready to go yet, Rafayel?”

He continued to hum to himself, completely ignoring you. You folded your arms as you watched him busy himself with something trivial. He flung open a random cupboard and inspected what appeared to be an assortment of spare art supplies.

“Rafayel,” you called again.

He then turned his attention to the fishbowl in the centre of the room, where a small orange fish darted around.

“Reddie, do you hear something?” he asked, gazing so earnestly into the bowl. This fish paused its movement and stared back at his owner.

“Rafayel~” you sang his name aloud this time, extending the last syllable.

He gasped, apparently receiving some confirmation from Reddie.

“You hear something too? Thank god. I was thinking there must be something wrong with my ears.”

Surveying the room around him, Rafayel intentionally looked past you standing barely a few metres from him, tapping your foot against the wooden floorboards of his studio.

“It sounds like”—he continued—“some kind of voice. Someone familiar to me, but I can’t make out who it is.”

“Rafayel!” you shouted his name between fits of laughter. Only he could respond to your jokes with his own dramatics.

He sucked in a breath in puzzlement. “I wonder who this person is calling out to.”

“Baby,” you finally conceded, “I’m talking to you!”

It seemed like he couldn’t keep up the act either, as he started laughing with you.

“Took you long enough,” he huffed, moving towards you and linking your arm with his. “Otherwise, Reddie and I would have been searching for this phantom voice for the rest of the day.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━