#thanks if you read this far <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[retrogradedreaming]

I need to start thinking of ideas for the prompt list I made to get myself to sketch more in October, but instead I'm drawing self-indulgent comics about cats 😭

[qiornono]

PLEASE PLS PLS read in memoriam by alice winn this book changed my freaking life!!!!!

[taikin4]

the seeds 🛐

[katsu28]

home is wherever you are

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: secretly falling in love with your best friend is tough. secretly falling in love with your best friend who also happens to be your roommate is even less than ideal. the solution? move out! (hint: it isn’t a very good one.) (5k)

warnings: angst with a happy ending, a smidge of google translated french lol

a/n: CHARLES LECLERC!!! CHARLES LECLERC!!!!LECLERC!!! LECLERAUGHCOUGHCOUGH

“I still cannot believe you’re abandoning me.” 

Charles shoved another box of your things into the boot of your car rather huffily, as if to reiterate just how unhappy he was. 

“I’m not abandoning you, I’m moving out of your apartment.” You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully at him. You passed him the last box off the ground, wiping your hands off on your shorts before propping them on your hips. 

“That is quite literally the same thing.” He mirrored your stance in total seriousness, frown unwavering. “And it’s not my apartment, it’s yours now too. Your home.” 

You’d been living with Charles for a while now, having been suddenly evicted from your own place three, almost four years ago. With nowhere else to go, you’d turned to your best friend, and Charles had welcomed you with open arms, giving you a home when you’d needed it most. 

There were many good things about living with Charles—he liked to cook (which boded well with you, seeing as you were no master chef yourself. Except for when he’d gone through a questionable phase of combining cuisines that did not go well together.), he was respectful of set boundaries and agreed upon rules. You had the same taste in shows and movies, which made for little fighting when it came to deciding on what to watch. 

But most notably, he loved to play the piano. It was a hobby he’d picked up during long days spent staying at home, and he was good at it too. An electronic keyboard when he’d first started out, just to see if it was something he was serious about, but as he zoomed through the basics with ease, he’d splurged on a gorgeous white piano that stood proudly in the living room. 

Soon enough, it wasn’t unusual for the apartment to be full of music, beautiful songs of Charles’ own composing. 

He played whenever he had the feeling. Whenever he had something on his mind, whenever he was bored, anything, he’d spend hours at the piano, playing, playing, playing. Some might’ve called it annoying, but not you. You found it rather soothing. 

It had very quickly become a habit of yours to fall asleep listening to Charles play. Something about it seemed to always relax you just enough to the point where you could pretty much fall asleep anywhere if he was at the bench. 

Your favorite spot was on the sofa with a big blanket, watching him get lost in the notes until you drifted off. More often than not, you could rarely get a good night’s sleep without Charles’ accompaniment—your very own version of white noise. 

But truth be told, this past year of living together with Charles had been trickier than the first couple. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment things began to change, but something had definitely shifted between you. 

You’d been trying to write it off just the two of you being very close, but you’d been dancing on the line of close friends and more than friends for a long time. Falling asleep together cuddled on the sofa, lingering touches whilst you were in the same room and in passing, hugs that lasted a little too long to be considered normal. 

The more your feelings for Charles grew, the more worried you became. Worried about what, you weren’t exactly sure. All you knew was you didn’t want to lose the longest and best friendship you’d ever had because you went and fell in love.

“I know. But I think it’s well past time I get out of your hair and try being on my own for once.” You said softly, stepping in to fold yourself into Charles’ arms. 

Most of that was true. You did feel like you needed to live by yourself for a chance, to see what it was like to be fully independent in your adult life. You’d moved in with Charles when you were twenty two, and you were twenty five now. It was time for you to venture out on your own. 

But the uncertainty of falling in love with your best friend was definitely also a contributing factor. 

He made a displeased sound at your words, but tucked you under his chin nonetheless. “I don’t want you to get out of my hair. My hair likes it with you here.” 

“I live fifteen minutes away, Cha. I’m not moving across the country. You and your hair can come over anytime.” You scoffed, giving him a gentle poke in the ribs. “And I’ll come over here all the time too, you know that.” 

“Fine, fine. I don’t know what I am supposed to do with your empty room now, but I’ll figure it out. Maybe I will take up scrapbooking. Knitting. Needlepoint, maybe. Turn it into a craft room.” 

“Maybe you can turn it into a music room. Move the keyboard in there, your piano.” 

“Ah, bien entendu, my piano. How will you ever fall asleep without my sweet, sweet melodies?” 

“I think I will manage just fine.” You chuckled. 

Charles held you at arms’ length, dark brows furrowing as he scowled. “What I’m hearing is you don’t love me anymore.” 

Oh, if only he knew. 

You smiled instead, patting his cheek good-naturedly. “Come on, you drama queen. I want to move in before the sun goes down.” 

Charles went full protection mode the second all your belongings had made it safely inside the apartment, intently checking every lock, window, door hinge, cabinet—not an inch of the apartment went uninspected by him. When he seemed fairly satisfied with his safety checks, he returned to where you were unpacking kitchen items over by the oven.

“Everything up to your standards?” You asked, pulling out a stack of plates wrapped in brown paper. Charles shuffled over, easing them out of your hands and unwrapping them to help put them up in the cabinet. “No one is going to break in through my window tonight?”

“Don’t even joke about that.” He grumbled, chucking the balled up paper at you gently. “Everything I checked is fine. You will be safe here.” 

Food was simple when it came time for dinner—takeout on the floor of your living room, because you hadn’t had the time to go shopping for a coffee table yet. Or a dining room table. Or even chairs, really. All you had were some pillows and an overturned cardboard box to put the food on. 

Charles had insisted on helping you furnish the whole place before you moved in but you’d declined, saying that you wanted to get a feel for the place before filling it with everything. The last time it would be this empty would be the day you moved out. 

He seemed a little quiet the rest of the night, but you didn’t press it until after dinner, whilst he was helping you with the washing up. Well, helping was a strong word. 

“You’ve been drying that plate for ages now.” You observed, tilting your head at him thoughtfully. Charles inhaled sharply, shaking his head like he’d been snapped out of a stupor. He glanced down at the completely dry plate, then back up at you blankly. “What’re you thinking about?” 

“You’re really going to be gone.”

“You say that like I told you I’ve only got days to live. I won’t be gone, Cha. I’ll be around.” You chuckled, flicking dish soap bubbles in his direction. Charles responded by flinging his towel at you, cracking a smile. You liked it when he smiled, hated it when he frowned. He was still unfairly attractive, but it wasn’t Charles’ scowl that made you fall in love with him. 

“We can spend the day together anytime, you can come over whenever you want, and if it makes you feel any better, I will give you your very own key.” 

That seemed to put him a little more in higher spirits. 

 “What will you ever do without me?” He wondered out loud, feigning a thoughtful expression. 

“Probably clean up a lot less. Be able to take a shower without running out of hot water halfway through. Oh! Have a bottle of shampoo last more than a month because someone—not naming names, of course, won’t use it because they’ve run out of theirs. Not have to fight for—” 

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Charles huffed, grabbing you by the shoulders and promptly shoving your face into his chest to stop you from talking. 

You grinned against the softness of his hoodie. “Shall I go on?” 

“No, no you shouldn’t.” His hold on you loosened, but you stayed right where you were, wrapping your arms around his torso. “Just admit it. You’ll miss me.” 

“I will miss you.” You said softly, pressing your cheek into the crook of his neck. If there was something Charles was unbelievably good at (besides literally anything he’d ever tried), it was giving the best hugs. Something about them made you feel safe, like nothing and nobody could ever hurt you as long as you were in his arms. 

“You already know how much I’m going to miss having you around.” 

“Yeah, I am pretty great.” 

A laugh rumbled through his chest. “You are.” 

“You’ve been the best roommate I could’ve asked for. Thank you for everything.” Your words were muffled between the two of you, and you were glad for it, because he didn’t seem to notice the waver in your tone. But he did squeeze you a little tighter, so maybe he did hear you. “I love you, Cha.” 

Charles’ voice seemed to waver just a bit too. “I love you too.” 

“Okay, okay, you really need to leave. Go before I change my mind and make you stay.” You blurted, pushing him away playfully. It was better than letting him see you get emotional. 

“Is that a promise?” 

“No, it’s a threat. Go home. I will see you soon.” You gave his hand one last squeeze, nodding reassuringly to rid him of the crease between his brows. “Don’t worry about me. Go, get some rest.” 

It was only then that he seemed satisfied enough to leave, but even then, he cast another backwards glance towards you on his way down the hall, as if he was waiting for you to beckon him back. You just smiled as best you could. 

You’d get over it. You had to. There was still a lot you needed to get done before you called it a night. 

It wasn’t until you were getting ready to go to bed that you started to feel lonely. You and Charles had your respective bedtime routines, but they always intertwined. 

You never liked being the one to turn off all the lights in the apartment because the switch was at the end of the hallway opposite from your bedrooms, so he knew to do it because you hated running back through the darkness after flipping the switch. 

He always filled a glass with water for late night sipping, but never remembered to actually bring it to his room until he was already in bed, so you always grabbed it for him so he wouldn’t have to make the trek back out the kitchen.  

The bathroom counter was where you’d find each other the most, terrible jokes and funny stories told muffled through toothpaste bubbles, even though you could’ve just waited until you were finished to tell each other. You’d flick water at him as you washed your face because he took up too much space at the sink, he’d turn off the tap in retaliation, things like that. 

Sometimes Charles would stay up later playing video games with his friends, or take some extra time to practice piano, so you wouldn’t get to do your well oiled machine routine, but he’d always take the extra second to pop into your room to say goodnight when he heard you bustling around, even if he was in the middle of something. 

The times you fell asleep on the sofa to Charles’ playing the piano, he’d camp out at the other end of the sofa for the night, or at the very least made sure you were covered with a blanket if he went to sleep in his own room. 

It was something you’d grown accustomed to over the years, oftentimes the well-needed end to a not so great day. Charles never failed to put a smile on your face, even with something as small and mundane as a bedtime routine. 

But there was none of that as you ran through your routine this time. 

You didn’t hear him shuffling around over in the other room, the muffled sounds of his shouts as he played his games, and most of all, you didn’t hear him and his piano. 

Because there was no Charles. Of course there wasn’t. You were in this new place that you hadn’t had quite nearly enough of a chance to get used to yet, alone, and it was finally settling in. 

Suddenly moving out and away from him seemed like the worst decision in the world. 

You knew it was only the first night. You had to give yourself a chance to reacclimate, and that would take time. So you inhaled a deep breath, trying to get as comfy as you could for a long, probably sleepless night ahead. 

It was nearing four in the morning when you finally decided to give up and call Charles. Part of you thought he might not even pick up the phone, because he was probably asleep. Any sane person would be sleeping right now. 

Much to your surprise, he answered on the second ring. 

“Why are you awake?” You asked, maybe a bit harshly. 

“Um, you are the one who called me? Why are you awake?” He replied, groggy voice still teasing. His accent always grew thicker when he was sleepy. You thought it was adorable. “You cannot sleep, can you?” 

“...No.” Your voice grew smaller. You felt embarrassed at the fact that you couldn’t even make it one full night without Charles around. “I just…I wanted to hear your voice, I guess. I miss you already, Cha.” 

Charles fell silent for a few moments, the only sound on his side of the line being his gentle exhales. “I miss you too. Do you want me to come over? I can stay the night, if you want.” 

“No. No, you don’t need to do that.” You said softly. “Can you just talk to me?” 

This was also something that had become somewhat of a ritual when either of you couldn’t sleep. 

You’d tiptoe into each other’s rooms quiet as a mouse, slipping into bed beside the other. Charles always stirred when he felt the bed dip under your weight, half asleep but still reaching out to pull you against his chest like it was second nature. On the occasions when he came into your room, you’d feel him tuck himself close to you, nosing against any part of you he could find with a content sigh. 

There was no rhyme or reason to the things you’d talk about in those moments, but eventually, somehow, you’d both end up asleep, usually fairly quickly. Maybe it was the extra added comfort of each other that helped, you could never tell. 

It wasn’t unusual to wake up a jumble of limbs tangled together, and neither of you ever addressed it either. Just went on with your business as usual, never talking about it because it was just something you did. To help each other sleep, of course. 

Another thing that really blurred the line between friends and more. 

Charles hummed a noncommittal sound, soft and fond like he always was around you. “I’ll do you one better. How about I play some music for you?” 

“Yes, please. Thank you.” You sighed, relieved. He knew what you needed without you even having to ask. 

You heard him get up, footsteps padding along until there was a thud and some shuffling coming from Charles’ side. A few warm up scales in and you were already feeling a little less anxious, letting yourself get comfortable. 

“Any requests from the audience?” 

“Been working on anything new?” You yawned, nuzzling a little deeper back into your pillow. 

“I have, actually. It’s still—fuck, how do you say it…a work in progress?”

“Anything you play is perfect.”

“You flatter me.” He snorted. “Alright, here goes nothing.”  

He began to play. You knew jack shit about music, so there wasn’t much you could think of to describe how it sounded, but you could describe how it felt. You could almost feel the emotion pouring from his playing, even through the scratchy quality of the speaker. 

It felt like something you’d hear in the background of a movie montage, lilting and delicate and warm notes swirling together to create a bright melody, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. 

Memories of good times with Charles flashed through your head—all the long days and even longer nights you’d spent together because you thrived in each other’s company, cooking together, binging Netflix shows until you both passed out on the sofa. 

Hushed laughing during dinners at fancy restaurants that Charles could get into by flashing his name, soft conversations accompanied with expensive food and even more expensive wine. 

Day trips up the coast with the top down on the car, pushing the speed limit just to feel an ounce of the freedom that it could give you. Walking through Monte Carlo on late night gelato runs, switching flavors because you both enjoyed each other’s choice more than your own. 

Most of all, you thought of the love you felt for Charles, ever since you’d first met him. You’d never been one to believe in the concept of soulmates, but fuck, it was so easy to think of him as yours. Never had you felt as much for someone as you did for him. 

God, why were you even thinking of those things? 

It would never happen. Any love that Charles had for you would be strictly platonic, limited to however much one could love their best friend. 

Surely he’d drawn inspiration from something else when he’d composed the beautiful piece. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know. 

Soon enough, you’d drifted off like you always did when Charles played, coincidentally right before he came to a lingering stop. 

Had you been awake, you would’ve heard him say that the beautiful piece had been inspired by you. Instead you were fast asleep, still none the wiser to anything. Maybe it was a good thing. You might not have believed it if you’d heard him. 

-------

Charles was on your doorstep first thing in the morning, coffee and pastries in hand when you opened the door for him. 

“Hello, good morning, your savior is here. And with breakfast!” He chirped, coming to just enough of a halt for you to slide an arm around his shoulders in a hug and grab one of the drinks out of the tray before he swept past you.

Bright morning sunlight poured into the open area, washing the whole place aglow. A warm breeze floated in through the ajar window, rattling the shutters only slightly, and you could hear the all too familiar sounds of the city in the morning coming from the streets below. It was a gorgeous picture of peace; one of the apartment’s many fun quirks that convinced you to go for it in the first place. 

The only thing that might’ve rivaled the beauty of the moment was Charles standing at the window, leaning against the sill drinking his coffee while the breeze ruffled his hair. His back was to you as he checked out the view, but even the mere image of him here was nice. 

You sipped your own coffee, smiling to yourself when you realized Charles remembered exactly how you took it. You didn’t even need to look inside the bag to know they were your favorite pastries from the bakery down the street from your former apartment that both you and Charles loved. He was always thoughtful like that. Things like remembering your favorite foods and drinks, and going out of his way to get them as a little pick-me-up. 

It seemed wrong to ruin the moment, but you felt like you had to say something. 

“I’m sorry for waking you up last night.” You sighed, taking a cross-legged seat on a pillow. 

Charles turned away from the window, shaking his head quickly. He took a seat on the floor next to you, long legs stretching out towards your crossed ones to nudge a sneaker against your socked foot. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, I’m glad you called me.” 

“Right, but it’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it? First time on my own and I didn’t even last a whole night.” 

“Not pathetic.” He insisted, entirely firm in his words. He set his cup down as if it could strengthen his point. “It is a change, definitely. You can’t expect yourself to get used to such a big change immediately. It takes time, you know.” 

You messed with the lid of your cup, picking at the plastic with a scowl. “I know. But I can’t always come running to you whenever I need help. It’s not fair to you to have to keep rescuing me every time I need saving.” 

“Okay…” He trailed off, stretching out the last syllable in confusion. “I feel this is about something more than just last night. We can talk about it, if you would like?”

“I don’t know what it is.” You huffed. “I thought I was ready to be on my own, but maybe I’m not. Maybe I don’t know I’m doing and I’ll never figure it out, and—” 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. Where is this all coming from?” 

“I don’t know,” You repeated, bordering on a whine. “But what I do know is that I can’t always keep relying on you for everything. It’s not good for me, or for you.” 

“You know, you could always just move back home if you’re truly not ready to do things on your own.” Charles offered, taking a casual sip of his own drink.

Home. He said it so casually, like home was with him instead of this new place you’d chosen to make yours. In a way, Charles was your home. Safety, comfort, love—all the things that made something home, you felt with him. 

That was the problem. You didn’t feel right relying on him for all those things, not without him being aware of how you actually felt about him. It seemed like too much of a burden to put on a friend, even one as perfect as Charles. 

His eyes met yours over the rim and he shrugged. “I still don’t know why you were so insistent on moving out in the first place.” 

You sighed, again. There weren’t many ways you could make yourself any clearer. Other than telling Charles one of the real reasons why you had to leave, which again, was more of a last resort (hopefully not at all) type of thing. “It was time—” 

“It was time for you to venture out on your own, yes, I know. But it doesn’t seem to be working out so well right now, does it not?” The last sentence seemed to slip out of Charles’ mouth before he knew what he was saying, because his mouth snapped shut right afterward. “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I don’t want to argue.” 

But what had been done was done, what had been said was out there for you to know. Your coffee suddenly left a bitter taste in your mouth, and the traffic from outside became glaringly loud. The once peaceful atmosphere had been shattered now that you knew Charles’ true thoughts on it all. 

You stood up, letting your feet take you across the room from him. “No. Tell me more, Charles. Tell me how you really feel.” 

His nose wrinkled at the use of his full name. You never called him Charles unless you were upset with him, which wasn’t that often. Even hearing it come out of your own mouth seemed foreign. 

That seemed to change his reaction, because he stood too instead, doubling down on his words. “Okay. Yes, that is how I feel about you leaving. You barely even talked to me about it, and the next thing I knew, you were packing all your things into boxes! I didn’t understand where this—this sudden desire to leave came from. I still don’t.”

“You don’t have to understand it. It’s already done.” 

“Did I—did I do something wrong?”

You almost faltered. Almost.

“Did you ever think maybe me wanting to leave had nothing to do with you?” 

“Honestly? No. It feels like it has everything to do with me. It feels like you moved out because you didn’t want to be around me anymore!” Charles exclaimed. “And I have kept my mouth shut, I’ve been trying to be supportive of your decision, but I think I have a right to know. Am I why you wanted to leave so badly?” 

“That’s…part of it.” You admitted. Charles froze, brows flying up towards his hairline. “But not because of anything you did. Not because of the reason you’re thinking of.” 

“I don’t really see any other explanation. And I am sorry, but that is a shit excuse. I would’ve thought that you of all people would tell me the truth.” He didn’t sound angry, just disappointed and a little hurt. Somehow that felt worse. You’d rather him be mad at you than hurt by you. 

“I didn’t want to move out.” You said firmly. 

“Then why did you?” 

“I had to! I—I couldn’t live there anymore.” 

“But why?” He sounded desperate, begging for you to clue him in to any reason, anything at all that would help him understand. And god, as scared as you were of changing things by telling Charles how you really felt about him, you were infinitely more scared of losing him for good if you didn’t. 

“Because I’m fucking in love with you, Charles!” You blurted, finally. “I couldn’t live with you any longer, keeping this huge secret all the time, because it truly made me feel like I was about to explode. I just couldn’t do it anymore—pretend like everything was alright when every time I looked at you, all I could think about was how I felt about you! How much I felt for you.” Your voice rose with every word, emotion lacing your tone. 

You could feel the tears burning your eyes, threatening to fall no matter how much you willed them not to. “I just thought, maybe if we lived apart, if we didn’t see each other all the time, maybe those feelings would go away.” 

Charles blinked at you slowly. He scrubbed a hand over his cheek, across his mouth, letting it disappear into the neckline of his hoodie as he continued the motion near his jaw. Still, he said nothing. You weren’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad one, but still you continued. 

“So no, it wasn’t because of anything you did. Or maybe it was, for making it so fucking easy to fall in love with you. I don’t know. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t say anything to me, but I’m not sorry for making the decision on my own. It was for the best.”

There it was, out there in the open at last. It felt like a proverbial weight lifted off your shoulders, but at the same time like a thousand rocks sinking to the bottom of your stomach, because he wasn’t saying anything. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was how you’d fuck up the best friendship you’d ever had. 

Charles was silent for the longest time before he replied, and when he did, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it before. It felt unnerving. “You could’ve just told me.” 

“Told you?” You had to fight the urge to let out a bitter, watery laugh. “Telling your best friend you’ve fallen in love with him isn’t just something you mention at the bathroom sink one night.” 

“It is, if he feels the same way about you.” 

A coldness crept down your neck, shooting through your veins like you’d just had a bucket of ice cold water dumped over your head. 

“No you’re not—you don't...you can't.” You whispered, disbelieving.

Charles’ brows furrowed in confusion. “What, do you want me to prove it?” 

You couldn’t give him an answer even if you wanted to. You weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to say a damn word, just in case this was all a dream and you'd wake up any second, still alone, still without him there.

He must’ve taken your silence as a yes to his question, because he crossed the room in three strides, took your face in firm hands, and he kissed you. 

Despite your utter shock, you managed to kiss him back clumsily, fingers curling into his hoodie tightly. Charles kissed you like he was afraid to let you go, like you’d slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful enough.

A guiding hand curled around the back of your neck, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss, but only for a few seconds before he broke away, panting. His forehead stayed pressed against yours, soulful green eyes boring into your own in total seriousness.

“Do you believe me now?” 

“Maybe.” You breathed, letting your nose bump against his gently. This was not a dream. Charles was real and here and one hell of a kisser (just as you suspected).

“I am in love with you.” He murmured, stroking his thumb over your cheek fondly. “I have been for a long time. And I never thought you would feel the same way.” 

“I love you, Cha.” You were suddenly brought back to last night, when you’d uttered the same words to him. Only this time, they had a whole different meaning to them. 

This time, you knew Charles loved you in the same way you loved him.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[xxcrumbxx]

Hello hello soo um im still workin on it ,ive been kinda burnt out from it an ik thers no real preshure and im wayyy past valintinse day but heres a wip of those silly lil valintines cards

Also today is my birth day im 22 now so .. Thats a thing. Anyway im planing on making like 3 alternet vershions of eclips 1 with the cannon tipical 2 arm pre decomishion desighn 1 with the 4 armed fannon /cannon design and 1 with the 4 armed ballone world desighn. Probly ganna take a bit but what ever it will be valintine in fuckin may who cares lol

[rhinoyo]

a little fan animatic for @lostxmelody's mikofuu fic parts of a human...! <3 a very very very good read :') <3

[verridaiya]

—The Here, and Now // Dream Blooms

"I see you here, now."

The long-awaited (at least, for me) comfort ending to my mini series! My first ever multi-fic work and my longest fic to date, finally finished. This was way longer than I anticipated it to be. Since it's meant to be a continuation, I would highly recommend reading either parts 1 and 2 (or either one, technically) before this one. I hope you all enjoy <3

Synopsis: Something hangs heavy in the air ever since that night, unspoken and weighty. Determined to change that, you give Sylus a gift.

Contains: Sylus x MC/reader, gender neutral MC/reader, comfort, current timeline Sylus & MC

Word Count: 5.6k

< Part 2 | end >

There’s nothing quite like driving on an open road in the countryside.

Colors blur through the window. The road is an endless stretch ahead, a black arrow cleaving through an expanse of verdant green and loamy brown, loping hills and flat ranges under an infinite blinding blue. Metal flashes under a late summer sun, the only signs of civilization zooming by as they make their way towards the city you left. The world passes by and there is only one thing that remains steadfast beside you—a stroke of alabaster, a touch of shadow, a stain of red. A striking palette that comprises the masterpiece sitting beside you, ever by your side.

And he is driving you mad.

“Is it a theatre?”

There is a permanent scowl etched on your face, your hands a vice around the smooth leather of the wheel. You turn to glare at the headache lounging in the passenger seat next to you, before returning your gaze to the road ahead. His eyes are still dutifully shut at least, hiding those gorgeous, infuriating carmine eyes, his arms crossed with a finger tapping a rhythmless beat.

“Sylus, are you still trying to guess where we’re going right now?”

“And if I am?” He sounds amused, as he always does when he knows he’s getting a rise out of you. He hasn’t bothered turning to you, instead speaking to the windshield of his car. “Will you tell me if I’m right?”

“Wha- no, Sylus!” You cannot stop the exasperation from leaking into your voice. “What part of surprise isn’t clicking?”

The audacity of this fiend of a man. Behind your mild vexation, the anxiousness inside you thrums and grows. Here is one of the many parts of your plan that you have no control over: that Sylus keeps his eyes and curiosity to himself on the drive over. It was a variable you hoped would resolve itself; there were already so many things to worry yourself over.

You bite your lip, run the plan through your head again. Examine the crossed-out ideas, the things you ran out of time for, the what-ifs. There are little blemishes here and there, glaringly obvious in your eyes. They are scabs waiting to be picked at, a scratch you can’t itch without making it worse. It’s too late now to change anything, now that the plan is finally in motion, but it doesn’t stop you from turning it over and over again in your head, unsatisfied with the finished product.

Maybe you should have found a different way to bring Sylus to where you wanted him to go. Maybe you should have been clearer about what you wanted, when you told him to close his eyes. But there is no telling the whims of this man, and you have all but given up trying to read his intentions, mercurial and incomprehensible as they were.

Then again, you were more than a little bewildered when he got into the passenger side of his car obediently after you told him you had a surprise to show him. It’s struck you sometime at the start of the drive that you’ve successfully kidnapped the leader of Onychinus. Well, he came very willingly and without complaint, but still. You had expected more questions and teasing, but he simply smiled and did as he was told. You see now that he was just biding his time, now that you’re trapped with him in this tiny space, luxurious as it was.

“Not a theatre, then.” He hums thoughtfully. You see him rubbing his chin thoughtfully from the corner of your eye. “The new aquarium, maybe?”

“That wasn’t an affirmation or denial, Sylus.” You say flatly. “And stop trying to figure out where we’re going. I’m not going to tell you.”

“An outdoor activity, perhaps.” He muses to himself, throwing one last guess out there. Your heart rate skyrockets. Thankfully, he doesn’t hazard another one and changes the subject. “You’ve robbed me of my sight, kitten. Am I not allowed to speak as well?”

You sigh, feeling the beginnings of an actual headache at your temples. “Of course, you’re allowed to. But you can’t guess where we’re going. Please, Sy.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest. “You’re the only one bold enough to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

He says that a lot, that you’re the only one. The only one who can drag him out during daylight hours, the only one who can make him wear silly plushies on his head, the only one he brings to those fancy galas, the only one he worries about. You wonder at how many things you are an exception to when it comes to the man beside you and how you came to have such an exclusive pleasure.

Who could ever do anything to me except you?

And it’s true. Because you’re also the only one who’s managed to make him look as pained as he did on that night.

You think about it a lot, that hazy, fever-driven night of warm dreams and unspoken sorrows. Though nearly a month ago now, it still remained fresh on your mind. The sweetness of the dream and that night has long since dissolved, like the candy coating of medicine; now the memory of it only tasted bitter against your tongue. You don’t understand what you said that made him look that way, bereft and grieving. You’re not sure you ever will.

Sylus was something of a legendary figure in your eyes. He didn’t bleed, he couldn’t die. Hell, you’ve fired a bullet directly into his heart and watched the blood fade away like the remnants of a bad dream. He had the unwavering confidence of someone who controlled fate in his very palms and the unyielding power to match it.

And yet there he was, laid bare before you, looking lost and splintered.

You made no attempts to talk about that night after you recovered. To be honest, you weren’t quite sure where to begin, or what to even ask. Maybe you were afraid of the answer. These were uncharted waters for you both, after all—nothing like this had ever happened before in the year and odd months that you’ve known him.

And Sylus, for his part, made no mentions of it either. Instead, he carried himself as he normally would: teasing you, rankling you, endlessly smug, all the while remaining an unwavering presence by your side through missions and holidays alike. Anchoring you, though it feels like you’ve somehow let him slip and sink into dark, suffocating waters.

Ever since that night, something had shifted. You’d catch him, sometimes, staring at you with a far off look in his eyes and something akin to sadness lining his features. When he comes to his senses, realizes you’ve been staring, all he does is flash you a smile and say something teasing, something that distracts you from the question perched on your lips.

There was something separating you from him, something as incorporeal as your dreams but still tangible nonetheless. It was a gauzy curtain hung between you both, a veil you can vaguely see him through, the shape of him blurred and distant. You can feel the weight of it whenever you reach out to him, its texture abstract between your fingers and its heft wrapping around his shoulders like a burden.

You want more than anything to tear it to shreds.

And, hopefully, today will be the first step to doing so.

“I may be the only person who tries to tell you what to do,” you say lightly, unwilling to let your heavy thoughts spoil the atmosphere, “but it’s another thing to get you to actually do it.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Sylus gestures at himself. “Sitting here with my eyes closed like the obedient, benevolent man that I am. Depriving myself of the one thing I adore the most.”

His theatrics draws out a laugh from you. Sylus and obedient are two words that would never find themselves in the same sentence together. “And what am I so rudely depriving you of?”

“You.” Your heart skips a beat. “And the adorable expressions I can get you to make. Like the cute little scrunched up face you’re making now.”

You fight to unwrinkle your nose, smooth your expression. Even if he couldn’t see it, you won’t give him the satisfaction of eliciting a response from you. “Sometimes I think you have eyes in the back of your head or something. It’s creepy, Sylus.”

Amusement colors his voice in warm hues. “I just know you well, sweetie.”

You can offer no retort at that; he really does know you well. Probably the best too, out of all of your friends. You remain begrudgingly silent as you navigate the car through a bend in the road. You flick the sun visor up as the sunlight shifts, arcing its way to land on Sylus instead.

Sylus once told you that he prefers the dark and the cold, belongs there even. There was no place for him in the bright light of the day. But looking at him now, his side profile illuminated, full lips and proud nose kissed by the stray daylight filtering into the dark of the car, you’d be inclined to argue differently. He’d look gorgeous in the sunlight, you think.

A yawn escapes you, the sound of it audible in the quiet of the car. You had a shorter, fitful sleep last night, having been too busy worrying over today. When Luke and Kieran told you that they had managed to cleared their boss’s schedule, you had to scramble to make sure everything was in place.

Sylus tilts his head, his sensitive ears picking up the sound. “Am I boring you, sweetheart?” he says, sounding almost offended.

You start to shake your head, but remember he can’t see the movement.

“I didn’t sleep too well yesterday.”

“Bad dreams?” he asks quietly, casually.

You’re glad he can’t see you wince. “No, I just have a lot on my mind.” You pause, then continue hesitantly. “I haven’t had any dreams recently.”

“Is that so?” he murmurs, voice inscrutable.

The car returns to a silence, stagnant and stilted and charged with the energy of unsaid things. The veil hangs heavy in the air between you, unmoved.

You shift in your seat, your hand gripping the wheel, grimacing. You had to open your big mouth. This happens too often now—you, ruining the mood by bringing up the night that you’re both skirting around. Why is it the right words never find their way out of you?

You think about your plan again, not out of worry, but out of comfort. Remind yourself what this whole trip was for. Where the words die in your throat, your actions will speak for you.

You open your mouth to say something to break the silence, but Sylus beats you to it.

“You know, we’ve been driving north for quite a while now. We must be past Linkon by now. And since we turned east about 17 minutes ago-”

“Sylus!” You screech, your train of thought derailed as panic overtakes you. You want to whack him but manage to keep your hands on the wheel. Instead, you turn to glare at him as he smiles, all sharp teeth and mischief. “You- no! You’re can’t keep track of where we’re going!”

He shrugs innocently. “I can’t help it, sweetheart. Instincts of a trained criminal, I’m afraid.”

The smug bastard. You fight the urge to get off the road to do a few donuts to throw him off track. It’d likely just make you dizzy instead. Besides, you’re feeling kindhearted and charitable, unlike someone.

“I should’ve brought a fidget toy for you,” you grumble. Or that coin you always see him play with.

He just laughs. Low, rich, and heavy—a sweet song, the only melody his voice can carry.

“No need kitten,” he purrs. “I have everything I could ever need right here, entertainment and all.”

His hand unerringly finds your own, resting on the center console. Warmth envelops you as his hand dwarfs yours, rough and calloused, gentle in the way you’ve come to expect from him. It never fails to make you feel safe, soothed. You resist the urge to flip your palm up, intertwine your fingers together.

He plays with your hand, thumbs over your pulse. Your erratic heart, tense with worry, has since calmed during your banter. You wonder if he can feel it. You think he enjoys feeling its slow and steady rhythm, one that his own hummingbird’s heart fails to beat.

You miss the way he subtly relaxes, untensing as you calm.

The silence that settles in is pleasant, companionable as you continue to drive, your hand in his. The sounds of cars rushing by fades as you leave them behind, turning away from the main road. Asphalt becomes dirt under your tires, narrowing into a single unpaved lane. You steer Sylus’ car through the meandering forks in the trail, recalling the directions Luke and Kieran gave you the other day. Eventually, you find what you’re looking for.

“We’re here,” you announce, pulling the car to a stop. The nervousness slowly trickling back in. This is it.

You get out of the car, taking the time to collect yourself. You’re a seasoned Hunter, part of the best of the best—you’ve fought Wanderers the size of trucks before, infiltrated the ranks of notorious criminals, handled heckling reporters at the scene of metaflux instabilities. You can handle giving a little surprise gift to Sylus.

You round the car and open the passenger door, taking the time to examine him. He’s humming a little tunelessly, body relaxed as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. He cocks his head at the sound of the door opening, eyes still shut. Hm, you didn’t anticipate this to be a problem. After a moment of deliberation, you speak.

“Sylus, do you trust me?”

“Sweetheart, I would lay down my life for you in a heartbeat,” he answers with a gravity unbefitting of the circumstances.

You roll your eyes, used to his antics by now, his flair for theatrics. “Okay, mister dramatic. I’ll settle for just your hands.”

He sniffs, almost like he was offended, but remains pliant as you slip your hands under both of his to hold them. Indulge yourself with the feel of his hands in yours as he returns the favor, holding them gently. With your help, he gets out of the car.

This inverse of this scene has played out plenty of times before; Sylus has always so gentlemanly helped you from his car whenever you’re out with him. It feels nice to be on the giving end rather than the receiving, for once.

“We’re almost there, just follow me and then you can open your eyes.”

You angle yourself to look over your shoulder as you walk, leading him onwards. There’s a small trail nestled between the dense brush, under the shadows of viridian trees. You make your way over, an occasional murmured apology leaving your lips when your feet bump into Sylus’s. It’s such an awkward way of walking, sort of sideways and backwards, all the while staying close enough to hold both his hands. You don’t want to let either of his hands go, though. And he doesn’t seem to mind, indulgently docile as you find your tempo eventually.

For all he looks lax and nonchalant, you know Sylus is on alert and attentive, gleaning whatever he can of his surroundings from his other senses. Another perk of being a ‘trained criminal’, you suppose. You can practically see him cataloguing the scent of the cool fresh air, the hush of the trees swaying and the decidedly un-urban sounds of birdcall and silence on the wind. There’s not much you can do about that besides escort him faster.

When you almost trip on a tree root jutting out into the trail, you automatically start to adjust your stance to avoid falling, reflexes courtesy of your Hunter’s training. But there was no need; Sylus’s hands grip yours, strong and sure, steadying you as you find your balance.

You brace yourself, knowing what’s coming.

“Be careful kitten,”—and there it is, that teasing lilt, mirth in his voice— “If you get injured, I can’t carry you without opening my eyes. Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise for me, would we?”

“I was distracted, my eyes were on you,” you bite back without missing a beat, mimicking the quip he always says when you’re in a firefight together. If he was going to use your own words against you, you’re not above doing the same.

His lips quirk upwards at the familiar words leaving your mouth. “As they should be.”

You huff a laugh at his self-satisfied reply but hold onto his hands tightly, as he does with yours. You can’t tell who is supporting who, as you continue on.

Eventually the gravelly dirt underfoot gives way to grass. You catch a glimpse of your final destination through the underbrush: a peek of open sky, a hint of something that shone like jewels nestled in verdure. Excitement prickles at your senses, your breath quickening with each step as your strides grow longer, and it’s not before long before you’re all but tugging him along.

“You know sweetheart,” Sylus begins, as you pull him to the final stretch, his long legs effortlessly keeping up with your pace, “for all the undercover work you do as a Hunter and with me, it might do you well to practice your stealth a little more. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you plotting with Luke and Kieran behind my back. And you forget, Mephisto is always watching.”

You refuse to take his bait, not when he’s finally here. Your scheming had to have worked, there was no other way. “Shush, you definitely didn’t figure it out! Come on, come on, you can open your eyes now!”

Of course, your words don’t stop his attempts to provoke you. “If you say so. But if you wanted to unwind and go fishing with me you could have just-” he cuts himself short as he opens his eyes.

“Surprise!” you flourish your hands, albeit a little awkwardly, as if presenting a gift.

Sylus stands there, frozen. Breathes out your name. “Kitten, what is this?”

“It’s uh, my gift to you.” You turn around to also examine the view.

Flowers. Flowers all around you, blooming under the golden light of an almost setting sun. They flood the open field in a riot of colors, stopping only at the edges of the surrounding forest. Brilliant oranges, deep blues, and luscious purples dot the meadow, strokes of vibrancy amid lush green, a palette of brilliance upturned towards a blushing sky. The air is filled with its sweet scent.

It had taken Luke and Kieran weeks to find this place, what with going behind their boss’s back and finding a spot to your liking. You couldn’t quite explain it, but you wanted to find a place similar to the one in your dreams. You were lucky that this beauty of a place was within a decent driving distance of Linkon.

But still, looking around the small meadow, you wonder if it’s enough.

You wander a little further in, your steps cushioned by the plush grass. You speak to the open sky and the birds that dart through the air, your back still to him.

“I found this place a while ago- Well, Luke and Kieran found this place, but I asked them to look for something like this for me. I wanted to take you here as soon as they showed it to me. But I had to wait for the both of us to be free and it took so long, especially since you’re such a nocturnal creature. There wasn’t a good time to take you here in the past weeks.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. “The influx of Wanderer sightings I told you about last week didn’t help either, since Alpha Team had to be on standby. And then when all that was done I had to figure out how to surprise you and you’re so hard to surprise and-”

You pause only to take a breath. You need to calm down, before you ramble the rest of the daylight away.

You think of Sylus. His gentleness as he places a towel on your fevered forehead, as he coaxes you to eat soup. His hand wrapped around yours, steady and safe. “Anyway, I wanted to do all this to thank you. For taking care of me when I was sick. And being there, always.”

Silence. You turn around.

He’s staring at you, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them before, plush lips slightly parted. A marble statue standing stock-still against the vividness around him. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him so speechless.

Though it isn’t his usual bored poker face, you still can’t read his expression. Your heart rate picks up nervously. Does he hate it? Perhaps this was a bad idea, a terrible approach to thanking him and apologizing for that night. Maybe it was awkward timing, or that this gesture was given too late.

“Sylus? Are-”

Sylus launches himself at you.

You barely have any time to react. With a gasp you jerk backwards in surprise, but he catches you around the waist, wraps his strong arms around you. The world tilts as his momentum has you both falling. You don’t know how, but he manages to twist himself over to take the brunt of the fall. The world is a kaleidoscope of color as you both roll into the meadow, coming to a stop amidst a patch of lilac.

Everything is still spinning as you reorient yourself. You’re still nestled in Sylus’s arms, on top of him as he lays in the grass and the blooms. You didn’t realize that you were laughing breathlessly until Sylus joins in, a rumbling chuckle reverberating in his chest, under your cheek. You wriggle your arms from his hold, brace them on the ground in an attempt to unplaster yourself from him, but his arms tighten around you and has you collapsing back into his hold. It was only at a mirthful “Sylus!” and a light pinch to his side does he release you.

You sit up and find yourself straddling his torso, hands splayed to steady yourself, muscles rippling under your touch. The rat-a-tat-tat of his heartbeat echoes beneath your fingers. Your chest rises and falls with his, breaths intermingling as you both recover from your tumble. His eyes meet yours, rubies glittering in the sun.

“Does this mean you like it?” you ask, though you think you know the answer.

“I do, sweetheart. Of course.” Sylus doesn’t take his eyes off of you. They’re soft, softer than they have ever been before. “This is the best gift you’ve given me.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you, as if you were the gift given and not the delicate blossoms around him, framing his body in pale purple. His eyes are a lit match, the way it ignites your body, warms your heart. The shadows of anxiety and nervousness flee under the heat of his gaze. In its place is a spark of excitement, the feeling of being pleased that he is pleased. You can’t help the smile slowly taking its permanent residence on your lips.

“You have twigs in your hair,” you say with laughter in your voice, and reach up to pick them off.

They fall away easy enough at your deft hands. Two in particular are stubborn, small and branching enough to have somehow intertwined into his hair. You stop when Sylus lifts his own hand up towards you—to brush your cheek?—no, to wind it into your hair, tugging at it gently. After a moment his hand comes back into your view, revealing his prize.

“You have some as well. We match."

Your hand flies up, landing on a leaf that has made its home in your nest of a hair. “It looks like we’re part of this meadow now too. But a little warning next time, Sylus? Getting tackled by you wasn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting.”

Sylus raises an eyebrow. “And what were you expecting, kitten?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I thought you’d burst into tears of joy or something? I brought tissues and everything.”

Sylus laughs, something loud and raucous, the sound of it brighter than the sunlight enveloping the meadow. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time you surprise me, kitten. I’ll be sure to act accordingly,” he says, taking a deep breath of fresh air as if he can breathe freely for the first time.

Sylus has yet to move or try to remove you from on top of him, though you had expected him to already. He seems content in this position, lounging in the grass. “So, Luke and Kieran assisted you in finding this place? And kept it hidden from me all this time. I assume the fishing trip discussion was a red herring?”

A quick enthusiastic nod of your head answered his question.

“Mephisto was also in on the plan,” you grin.

It had taken a lot of coaxing and bribing to convince the ornery bird to film the fake interactions of you and the twins talking about fishing and send it to Sylus, in addition to not sending the real recordings. You had a small suspicion that Mephisto was also actively trying to catch you and the twins plotting in order to blackmail some more treats from you. Damned bird. So much thought and careful planning had to be done in order to make sure Sylus was properly surprised. It still makes your head dizzy thinking about it.

Sylus shakes his head in amusement, his hair glinting a shining silver. He looks ethereal underneath you, in this lighting. All hard planes and sharp edges, melting at your touch. “Turning my own subordinates against me, kidnapping me and whisking me away into the woods. You’ve grown quite bold, kitten,” he says, the pride in his voice apparent.

“I didn’t think I’d be able to pull it off,” you say, blooming under his praise. “Taking the legendary leader of Onychinus by surprise? Unheard of.”

“My one true equal,” he murmurs affectionately. “Only you could surprise me like this.”

Only you, only you.

There it is again. Like clouds blowing in to block the sun, the warmth fades. You’re reminded of fever dreams and a careless mouth, saying things it shouldn’t have. You think of pain where there should never be pain, especially when brought on by you. You think of a curtain swaying in the wind, of a lonely figure just on the other side of it. You think of the real reason why you brought him here in the first place.

Sylus must see something change on your face. He parts his lips to speak, but you beat him to it.

“You know Sylus,” you start slowly, softly. Your eyes cut to the lilacs around him, the swaying grass. Look at anything other than the man under you. “It’s okay if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you. You never have to tell me anything.”

You know without looking that he knows exactly what you’re talking about. Sylus is perceptive, as sharp as Xavier’s light blade as it sings through the air.

In truth, you ached to know though of what could possibly hurt Sylus, if only so you can ensure it never happens again. But just as he is ever indulgent of your whims, you would let this want remain unfulfilled and festering inside you if he had no desire to talk about it.

“But that night, seeing that look on your face…it never sat right with me, seeing you that way. I don’t know how I hurt you and I don’t want to ever again. But whatever it was I said, I just needed to say that I’m so-”

“Don’t,” Sylus cuts through your apology softly. You feel the whispers of his fingers at your cheek, his hand a breath away from caressing your face. “Look at me.”

There was no refusing him, when he was so gentle with you. You turn back to those twin hearths, glowing warmly up towards you. There was no hiding from them—you’ve always been an open book. And he knew you best, after all. Your sadness, your pain that mirrors his own from that night, it was all there for him to see.

But, returning his gaze, he couldn’t hide from you either. There was an openness in his words as he spoke, an honesty to the way he lays himself bare before you, under you.

“You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. You have no fault in things you have no control over, nor can I ever blame you.” He pauses, clearly picking his words carefully. “There are things in my past that I have safeguarded with my life. Memories that I cherish deeply, that not a single other living soul in this world knows.” His eyes are burning into yours. “Your…dream reminded me of one such memory. That night, I was caught off guard by it. And it…weighs upon me still. One day, when the time is right, I’ll tell you the whole truth behind my words.”

Sylus searches your eyes as you absorb what he said. You want to say something, anything in response to his vulnerability and sincerity. But the words are lodged in your throat, stuck under the lump and the tears that you refuse to let fall. Instead, you just nod and hope he understands your silent acknowledgement.

Sylus smiles softly and nods his head slightly. He releases you from his gaze and turns his head to examine the flowers around him, alighting on them like the sunlight that nourishes them.

“But this gift you have granted me, being with you here. How could I ever bring myself to be burdened by these heavy memories in such a place, given to me with such generosity and benevolence?”

“Is it enough?” you ask, voice small.

“Sweetheart, it is everything I could ever ask for.”

This time it’s your turn to launch yourself at him. Sylus welcomes you with open arms, embracing you just as tightly. Core muscles flex under you as he lifts himself to sit upright, taking you with him.

There are no more words spoken between you. There was no need; the way he holds you and doesn’t let go tells you everything you need to know, and you hope he knows too from the way you return it just as fiercely.

The warm musk of him mixes with the fresh air and the scent of wildflowers. Birdsong and the sound of wild things accompany the rapid-fire song of his heartbeat. The world around you ceases to exist outside of this meadow and Sylus.

You don’t know how long you sat there with him. Eventually, you pull away just enough to stare at him. Contentment colors his eyes, affection lining his features. The setting sun had brought a gentle flush to his face. A small breeze ruffles his hair, some of it falling onto his face.

The curtain had lifted and you glimpse the full majesty of the masterpiece before you.

You were right. He does look gorgeous in the sunlight.

You speak into the serene silence between you. “There’s supposed to be more wildflowers here, you know. But it hadn’t rained in a while and I spent too much time planning and waiting for the right time. And then summer arrived earlier than expected and- yeah, there were supposed to be so much more than this, if we came earlier.”

Sylus reaches to cup your cheek, a promise in his eyes. “Then we’ll come back next spring, together.”

Butterflies dance in your stomach at his words. You have never adored anyone else more. You cover the hand holding your cheek with your own. “Together.”

You turn your gaze to the scenery around you again.

It wasn’t exactly what you envisioned. The dappled wildflowers aren’t the vibrant shade of red you desired. The meadow is flat and surrounded by forest, not towering snowy peaks and rolling hills. The breeze is faint and carries the scent of damp grass, instead of the crisp mountainous air it should be.

Things aren’t perfect.

But they don’t have to be.

Because he is here beside you, in your arms. And that is all that matters. His happiness is a chalice overflowing, sloshing and filling your heart with warmth and contentment. Something inside you relaxes with a quiet sigh, finally at ease. A coil of tension that unwound itself, a restlessness you didn’t know existed because it has always been there.

The shadows of the forest elongate on the earthen ground as the sun dips below the tree line. Your shadow and his are there too, complete with the twigs adorning both your hair, recognizable and unfamiliar all the same.

From a certain angle, one could envision the shadows as that of a dragon holding their beloved, their crown of twigs two pairs of horns, nearly touching as their heads bent towards each other, together at last.

And perhaps one day, when you think back on this day, you will see a double vision of the Sylus you know and the Sylus of your dreams, a Sylus you’ve forgotten, and come to a realization.

But that is an echo of the past and a moment in the future.

Right now, there is no worry, no hesitation, no past or future. Here in this remote, secluded meadow it is just you and him, enjoying the gift that is the present.

[ganondoodle]

carefully attempted to draw (still sick); wanted to give Shargon another redesign, this is an older version of him but the basics should also go for his younger self (idk yet about his lung replacement design; arms are posed weird to make anatomy clearer)

(wip, oc art, Shargon, he/they)

[abisalli]

using this post to kind of announce a prolonged hiatus as I'm nearing important deadlines. In the meantime have some miscellaneous fountain pen sketches (of OC stuff!? what is happening?!)

[lockheed-martin-unofficial]

After @randomationality mentioned Starscream getting thrown around often here, I remembered him being shiny for the first few episodes and decided to do some digging and figure out exactly when he lost the shine.

In Episode 1, while Megatron is still gone, Starscream’s chest has a very prominent shine.

Then again, Episode 2, Megatron returns and he is very shiny.

In Episode 3 he’s not as shiny as earlier (possibly due to the lighting, possibly due to offscreen Megatron) but we do see the glow of his weapon reflecting on his chest.

Same for Ep4, continuation of the Fowler scene. But at the end of Episode 4, Megatron beats Starscream on camera for the first time. And when you watch Episode 5,,,

You can clearly see he’s lost the shine. The same lighting is hitting both of them and while it reflects from Megatron, it doesn’t from Starscream.

Worth noting that Ep 6 does give him back a bit of shine, he never quite recovers to the same degree as the first few episodes. I stopped watching carefully after that point. Make of this what you will. The animators tweaking his design after the first few episodes, or an intentional change to show Megs’ abuse.

[repurposedmeatlocker]

Guess who just graduated university

[arget-star]

For Thy Sweet Love

Umemiya Hajime x F!Reader

tags: fluff, reader and ume are married with two kids, not beta read. if you see any spelling mistakes, no you don't

wc: 2k

about: There's someone new at the park today. Umemiya, happily married with two kids, isn't a fan of how this man gravitates towards you

“My nephew loves this park,” says a voice to your right. You glance over, unsure if the young man is talking to you or into a phone you can’t see. He catches your eye and grins—no phone, then. “Last week, he said the swings were his favorite, and now he claims the slides are the most fun he’s ever had.”

He sticks out a hand in greeting. “Nishida Hideo. A pleasure to meet you.”

There’s no harm in making a new acquaintance at the park. It’s nice, knowing the other frequent visitors, making your trips here less lonely on the days Hajime’s stuck at work. Puts you at ease, surrounded by people you can chat with. You accept his handshake, offering your name in return, silently appreciative his touch doesn’t linger once you gently pull your hand away. “How old is your nephew?”

“Six. He’s the little terror currently reigning as king atop the slides,” Hideo replies, tilting his head in the direction of said slides. You follow the gesture, eyes landing on a little boy whose black hair has the same cowlick as his uncle’s. His tiny fists are planted atop his hips, mouth moving as he explains the rules of whatever game he and your son—also six—have created. At least, you hope it’s just silly rules, instead of something rude or the age old you can’t play with me.

You squint a little, right hand raising to shield your face, and see the smile on your Yuzuru’s face. That same wide, open grin he inherited from his dad. Your lips quirk up as you turn back to Nishida. “He seems to rule his subjects well.”

“Is that your son up there?”

“Mhm. Also six. He loves making new friends.” Yet another thing he inherited from Hajime. Nishida’s nephew shouts something, raising his tiny arms up and stepping aside. Yuzuru, with a loud laugh also courtesy of his father—honestly, you’d hardly know Yuzuru was also yours if he hadn’t inherited your hair color—positions himself belly-down on the slide. Pushing himself with his arms, he goes flying, landing in the woodchips covering the park ground, giggling like a maniac all the while. You sigh fondly; you’ll be cleaning woodchips off him until bath time tonight.

Nishida’s nephew follows suit as soon as Yuzuru stands up. They brush themselves off, then climb back up the staircase next to the slides, presumably to do it all over again. A handful of woodchips cling to the back of your boy’s shirt, and his fellow conspirator has one stuck to his cheek.

“To be a child again,” Nishida says wistfully. “They make me tired just watchin’ them.”

A small snort escapes you. “Try parenting. It’s just as exhausting as you think it is, and yet, there’s nothing in the world I love more. Do you watch your nephew often?”

Nishida gives you a sidelong glance, like he doesn’t quite believe how people could willingly love something so tiresome. “Every couple weeks or so. My sister and her husband own a shop on market street. I try to help out by takin’ him off their hands.”

Yuzuru flies down the slides again. This time, when he pops back up, he gives you a wave. You eagerly wave back; some days, you can hardly believe the tiny baby you once cradled in your arms every night has grown into such a big kid.

“That’s kind of you. Which shop—” You begin to ask, cutting off as movement catches in the corner of your eye. A newcomer has arrived at the playground in the form of your three and a half year old daughter. Shiori’s tiny pigtails bounce as she toddles along, calling for her big brother. You smile again—she’s fearless, so long as Yuzuru’s around. The boy in question momentarily abandons his game, turning towards his sister. You tilt your head, looking for Hajime. He shouldn’t be too far behind your runaway girl.

Nishida, now busy shouting a hello to his nephew, misses the commotion. Just as well; despite the sunny day, a shiver unexpectedly runs down your spine as you finally spot your husband’s approaching figure.

Umemiya Hajime is not a jealous man.

Protective, certainly, and fiercely loyal to those he loves. Never once in all the years you’ve been together has he acted out of jealousy.

Yet now, you feel the same aura that so frightened any and all who opposed Bofurin and commanded the utmost respect from his fellow members. You think Nishida asks you something, but all your focus rests on Hajime, wondering what, exactly, has ruffled his feathers.

He grows closer, features becoming distinct, and it’s then you notice the edge to his smile, the hard glint in his eyes. The tails of his coat snap behind him, in time with his purposeful strides. He doesn’t look like a father who just spent the last twenty minutes calming down his tearful little girl from a scraped knee.

Umemiya Hajime looks every inch the former leader of Bofurin.

An arm wraps around your waist before you can think of anything to say. His right arm, you note, which he uses to tug you closer. You spare a glance first for your children—slides abandoned, they happily chase each other up and down the jungle gym steps—then to Nishida, whose face has gone carefully blank.

“Haji—” You begin, then stop. You don’t know what to say.

A rogue piece of hair has come loose from its usual slicked back style. Normally, you’d brush it aside, laughing as he uses your proximity as an excuse to kiss you senseless. He’s not feeling play now.

In mirror to your own greeting earlier, Hajime sticks out his left hand to Nishida. Sunlight glints off the golden wedding band adorning your husband’s ring finger, and you know he was planning this the moment he began stalking over here.

“Great day to be at the park, isn’t it? Umemiya Hajime. My wife’s such a great conversation partner, isn’t she?”

Nishida stares at Hajime for a heartbeat, then slowly accepts the offered hand. From your place tucked against his side, you can feel the tense line of his muscles, a snake coiled to strike if provoked. You don’t have anything against Nishida, and his nephew plays quite nicely with both Yuzuru and Shiori. You want to be annoyed, even a little angry, but you know Hajime. He wouldn’t act like this unless he had good reason.

“Y-yeah, she is,” Nishida replies, quickly retracting his hand. Nervousness has replaced his earlier ease, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart over to the children, who have commandeered the swing sets. Yuzuru must have helped Shiori onto one; now he’s twisting her round and round while she kicks her legs in delight. One of her pigtails has started to come loose. Nishida’s nephew propels himself on the other swing.

A throat clears. Nishida’s, you realize, as he casually slips his phone out of his pocket. “I should be getting back. Thanks for chatting with me,” he says to you, phone still in hand. Another look at Hajime. “…I’ll see you around.”

“Have a great day!” Hajime calls as Nishida scurries away. His nephew pouts. Your children halt their own game, offering loud farewells of their own. There’s a moment where you think someone will start throwing a tantrum—Nishida’s nephew, mainly—but the man quickly scoops his young charge into his arms and carries him off.

Hajime releases you with a sigh once Nishida’s retreating figure disappears, all that coiled tension dissipating in a puff of air. He smiles at you like nothing happened. “What were you thinking about for lunch?”

You stare at him in disbelief. Is he not going to say anything? It takes a moment for your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth, and when it does, you can’t stop the hiss that escapes. “Hajime, you didn’t have to scare him off like that!”

He tilts his head, gesture almost boyish. You know better. “He said he had to leave.”

“Because of you!”

“Baby—”

“Mama! Mama! Pus’ me, p’ease?” Shiori shouts. You sigh, glaring at Hajime to let him know this conversation isn’t over. Plastering a smile on your face, you happily trot over to the swing sets. Yuzuru has claimed the one left empty by Nishida’s nephew, leaving his baby sister to wiggle pitifully in her seat. A bright, floral patterned bandage sticks to her right knee.

“How’s my brave little girl?” You coo, planting a kiss atop her head. She giggles, sticking her leg up while you set about fixing her loose pigtail.

“Dada fixeded me!”

“He’s quite talented at patching up owies, isn’t he?” Against your better judgement, your hands still, chin tilting up to find Hajime standing alone where you left him, hands tucked casually into his pockets. He’s watching you and the kids with undiluted joy.

You’re still upset with him, but the look on his face tempers some of your annoyance.

“Mhm!”

“I’m glad, my love.” Pigtail fixed, you gently take her tiny hands in yours, placing them around the metal chains holding up the swing. “Ready? One, two, three!” On three, you give her a light push, sending her soaring into the air.

Twenty minutes later, everyone’s safely buckled in their car seats, hands thoroughly cleaned courtesy of your stash of baby wipes in the glove box. Hajime passes around a water bottle from the driver’s seat, while you stand at the back passenger door, shaking woodchips out of Shiroi’s shoes.

“Mama, can we listen to Bluey?” Yuzuru asks, idly running a toy motorcycle up and down the car window.

“In a minute, baby,” you reply. Shoes free of debris, you shimmy them back onto Shiori’s little feet. She’s clutching the metal water bottle in both her hands.

“T’anks, mama.”

“You’re welcome,” and it’s accompanied with a loud smooch to her forehead. You take the water from her, stealing a quick sip. She giggles, waving as you close the passenger door. You clamber into your own seat with a relieved sigh. Park days are fun yet exhausting.

Yuzuru, never one to forget anything, pouts. “Mama, can we listen to Bluey now?”

The car engine roars to life. You fiddle with your phone, queuing up the latest Bluey album while telling Shiori yes, you did see how fast she went down the slide, and you know she’s hungry, reassuring her that lunch will be made as soon as you get through the door at home. She kicks her legs out again, pretending she’s still on the swings. Your hand snakes between the car door and the seat, questing fingers latching playfully around one small ankle. “Got you!”

She squeals, delighted, kicking harder now. “Shake her off,” Yuzuru encourages, and now you laugh, releasing your hold.

“You’re too strong for me, my love,” you say, shaking out your hand.

“’Cause I eats my gebtables,” she replies seriously.

Haji laughs, grinning at you as he backs the van out of the parking spot. It soothes the remainder of your irritation—that smile of his always makes you melt. “That’s right, baby,” he agrees.

Shiori asks for more water. You oblige, passing the bottle back. Yuzuru starts humming along to Bluey. Hajime rolls slowly to a stop at the intersection. It’s all so normal, so perfect. Almost enough for you to forget about Haji’s odd behavior.

Yuzuru may have inherited most of his father’s looks, but he got his knack for persistency from you. Gently, you prod Hajime’s arm. “What was all of that about, earlier?”

He sighs. Flicks his eyes up to the rearview mirror, looking at your children in the reflection. They aren’t visibly paying attention, although your son listens to far more than he lets on. Scary, how often he asks about things you were positive he wasn’t within hearing distance for.

Hajime’s hand flexes around the steering wheel, like he’s fighting off the urge to rub the back of his neck. You squeeze his shoulder this time. He’s the most responsible driver you know—and it makes your heart ache whenever you think of why.

“I was a little jealous,” he admits, softly.

“A little?”

“…a lot,” he concedes, flicking on the turn signal. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Something about his manner set me off.”

You frown in thought, playing back your interaction with Nishida in your head. Nothing struck a warning bell inside your own head. Other than the strange look he gave you when you said how much you loved being a parent. Overall, you’d considered Nishida nice enough. Not someone you’d want to become best friends with, but a decent enough park companion.

“I thought he was gentlemanly enough,” you say carefully, trying to see the interaction through your husband’s eyes. Maybe Nishida ended up a bit too far into your personal space, towards the end of your conversation. Half of your attention had been on Yuzuru by that point; the other half was worried about Shiori’s wounded knee.

“It’s how he kept watching you when you weren’t looking. Like he was sizing you up.”

You didn’t feel anything untoward coming from Nishida. Then again, Haji’s always had a gift for reading people and their intentions. You lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m yours, always and forever.”

Those impossibly blue eyes of his land on yours. “I love you.”

Yuzuru, no longer occupied with Bluey or his motorcycle, blows a raspberry. “Gross!”

[nixotinix]

Dementophobia: Page 9

First | Previous | Next

Chapter One: Nosocomephobia Page 3/13

don't have much to add here other than i had a lot of fun with this page. thinking up gerald crane's evildoings is always fun and i get to do a lot of that for DMPH.

oh and i made a playlist for DMPH :) nothing extravagant, just a few songs i like that have The Vibes.

any interaction is greatly appreciated <33

[noheteroexplanation]

AO3 Milestone: 100,000 hits <3

Thank you so much to everyone who has read my works, who has left kudos and comments! It means so much. It is actually kind of insane to me that so many people have read my fics.

For my own documentation and for those who are curious, these are my current top 5 most read fics:

you don't need no air (you can just breathe me) – Galinda/Elphaba (Wicked)

i'm always afraid (but never to die) – Galinda/Elphaba (Wicked)

lately i've been crying (like a tall child) – Rhaenyra/Alicent (HOTD)

A Thin Line between Love and Hate – Penelope/Josie (Legacies)

tripping, falling with no safety net – Galinda/Elphaba (Wicked)

On that note, I am so grateful to Rhaenicent and Gelphie for inspiring me to start writing again. It has been amazing. I am currently on a short break, but I have a lot more ideas to write for both of these ships and I look forward to writing them.

Special shoutout to my friends who read and comment on everything I write! Reading your thoughts and discussing my ideas with y'all inspires me so much. Thank you💗 @invisiblue @anticurses @dykefyre @mistoffeleesisawitch

[maliciousmace]

Object show friendships

Yes it's shitty but I had fun all throughout the process of this so I'm sharing my joy with you, also I'm like really sleepy so that explains a lot

Idk they're just so funky <3

(edit: I MADE THE REBLOG THING)

[rainyraisin]

Movie Gerald Robotnik: An analysis on how sympathetic does not equate to forgiveable and the differences between redeemability and forgiveability

Redemption is a possibility for every person. To be redeemed is to change for the better. And as Sonic states within this film, "You always have a choice". Choosing to be better is an integral theme within this franchise and has so far been shown through Knuckles, Shadow, and Robotnik, and the movies make a point of illustrating that anybody has this choice. Everyone can be redeemed.

But not everyone can be forgiven.

There is no threshold for where redemption no longer becomes a possibility, because being better is always a possibility, after all its well known that when you're at rock bottom, you can only go up. But when it comes to forgiveness, there is a threshold where granting that forgiveness brings your own morality into question. If you're willing to forgive something that bad, what else are you willing to forgive? The characters that Sonic forgives in these movies only ever get close to doing what they aim to, and these instances only occur because of manipulation, both Knuckles and Shadow being manipulated by one of the Robotniks to aid them in their plan, along with Eggman being manipulated by Gerald. The one character that does go forward with it yet still gets redeemed, Sonic doesn't even outright forgive like he does the other two. Eggman and Sonic never make amends or properly team up together. The one time they do team up is begrudgingly and it is incredibly clear that both sides still despise each other. Despite Ivo's redemption, there is no forgiveness there. Redeemability and forgiveability are not outright intertwined with one another. Being deserving of one does not automatically grant you the other.

Something else that most would assume is interwined with forgiveness is sympathy. You understand why someone has done something, so you forgive them for doing it. That's how the majority of people assume forgiveness to work. If you do not understand why someone has done something, then on what grounds can you forgive them? But sympathising with someone does not mean that their actions are no longer inherently bad or morally wrong, nor that they should be forgiven. And in my opinion, the perfect example of this concept is Gerald Robotnik.

Outside of the movies, Gerald Robotnik had never really been a character I'd thought much about. But something that is a trend with these movies is that they tend to bring characters I wouldn't expect to have liked or didn't previously think about any interpretations of to the forefront of my brain, and that's what happened with Movie Gerald.

The character of Movie Gerald is objectively sympathetic, yes. This man has been torn apart by his grief, losing the person he cared most about, someone he took everywhere and did everything for, and imprisoned for 50 years at the hands of the people who took her from him, only able to escape by giving them more power than they deserve to have (although I do believe that this incarnation of Gerald didn't expect GUN to have the chance to use it, he was incredibly quick to enact his plans and seemed very confident within them). But the movie makes a point to display how he is in no way a character that you should respect or care about, because he will not change. He will not care about others, and so you should not care about him.

One of the best examples of this is one of the first scenes within the eclipse canon, where Gerald forces Shadow to relive Maria's death in order to power the eclipse canon. This event was the downfall of both he and Shadow, the thing that led to the paths they are currently on and the entire reason that all of this is happening right now, but despite how emotionally charged this memory is for the both of them, despite him being the one other person who knows how damaging and absolutely devastating this moment was for the both of them, despite being the only person Shadow has left, he uses it against Shadow anyway for his own personal gain.

And yet, in that same scene, it visually displays how destroyed Gerald was by it. In one look, you can see the moment where this man was broken to the point of irrepability, a point of no return, and in that moment you sympathise with him. Because why wouldn't you? But as soon as that flashback is over, you remember how he has just used what caused that change to hurt the one person who understands, and suddenly all that sympathy is gone, because he does not care.

Gerald Robotnik is a manipulator. He is cold and calculating and any sense of sympathy or care he himself shows at this point is only there to serve his own personal goals. The people around him, the people you expect him to care about (Ivo), and the people he has cared about (Shadow), are only there to be tools for his ultimate plan. He does not care if they live or die, in fact his entire plan revolves around the fact that they will die. Every single human life is completely irrelevant to him. Is utterly disgusting to him. So why should you care? Why should you sympathise? When this man would vaporise you in an instant simply because you exist? For something that may have happened before you were even alive. Before your parents were even alive, in some cases. A small group of people caused this pain, and yet Gerald wishes to take revenge on everyone, no matter how innocent they are.

And the thing that hurts the most is that this change is so perfectly displayed through the flashbacks within this movie. One line that has stuck with me the most is "They want to take Shadow from us, Maria". From US. He cared about Shadow just as much as Maria did. Yet now, when Shadow betrays him, he does not show hurt. He does not speak of how much he trusted Shadow, and how he is saddened by the fact that he would act against him. No. He simply laments how Shadow was once so useful to him. He pratically raised Shadow, he knows he is a child, he refers to him as a child, a kid, yet now he only cares about how useful he can be. Someone he considered his child just as much as Maria is now pratically dead to him.

This man does not care about anyone and never will again. He cannot be forgiven, because he will not forgive anyone. He cannot be sympathised with, because he refuses to sympathise with anyone. He cannot be allowed to live, because if he does everyone else's lives will be forfeit. The choices he has made have led to him being completely unforgiveable, and whilst that sympathy is still somewhat there, it gets harder to provide the further on the movie goes, the more you see of just how little Gerald cares anymore.

I really love how his death was not given a single ounce of seriousness or importance. Every other death or near death experience in this franchise is treated with the severity and intense emotional charge that is necessary within these scenes. Even Walters, a character most people do not even like, is treated with respect during his death, and he is allowed to have his last words.

Yet Gerald doesn't get any last words. Nope, he gets a quill to the ass and get launched into a fucking bugzapper and is never mentioned again. It is utterly perfect for this interpretation of the character because he got the death that he would've provided everyone on earth. No last words, no chance to properly come to terms with the fact that they are going to die. Some may have not even noticed what was happening. Half the world wouldve been asleep. They wouldve all been there one moment, and gone the next. Just like Gerald. And I think that is the death he deserves, or at least it is at this point in his life. The point of no return.

Gerald had multiple chances to change. He always had a choice. He had 50 years to make that choice. He had people there who wanted to help him make that choice, tried to help him make that choice. *Ivo*, his grandson, the last family he had left other than Shadow, tried to help him make that choice. Yet Gerald rejects him. Because he is no Maria.

Gerald is completely hung up on something that happened so long ago, and he will never let that go. He would rather vaporise every living being, including his loved ones, because he lost one person. And whilst Shadow was going to make that same choice, he chose to change.

Some people may even be of the opinion that he had been put through more than Gerald had. Gerald had more family than just Maria and Shadow. Yet they were all Shadow had. Shadow was forced to relive that exact moment for 50 years whilst he was in statis because he had no other choice.

But Gerald did. Gerald always had that choice, as soon as he got out of prison he had that choice, because he had the freedom to do what Shadow could not on his own. He had the choice to not let his anger consume him. Other characters in this franchise have displayed not letting their grief ruin them. Shadow, someone who went through the exact same thing Gerald did, possibly something even worse, makes the choice to not let his grief ruin him, and to do the right thing. To redeem himself. To not let himself get to the point where forgiveness is no longer an option, because deep down he knows that that isn't what he wants. That isn't what Maria would've wanted. She wouldn't want him to reach that threshold, something that Gerald shows he doesn't even care about anymore when he states that it isn't about what Maria would've wanted, it's about what they deserve. Maria is now only the vehicle for his anger, something that pushes it forward but no longer the reason for its presence, because anger has consumed all that remained of him. Even though he says it is in the name of Maria, he isn't doing it for her. Not anymore.

Gerald is the example of someone who allowed themselves to pass the threshold to a point where they could no longer be forgiven, the complete opposite of Shadow. And what does he receive for this? Nothing. He does not get the revenge he wanted. He does not get an honourable death like Shadow does, and unlike Shadow, nobody cares when he dies. Because he always had a choice. He just refused to make it.

He didn't choose to be redeemed.

And whilst he is sympathetic, and always will be, he didn't choose to be able to be forgiven.

Gerald Robotnik is the perfect example of how sympathetic does not mean forgiveable, and is, in my opinion, the perfect villain for the Sonic Cinematic Universe. Because he openly rejects every theme that the movies uphold. He rejects family. He rejects being redeemed or forgiven. He rejects that he can change. He goes against everything that these movies and characters stand for, and all he has to show for it is a meangingless demise that only served to make people laugh. Gerald Robotnik is made out to be a joke. And that is the only part of him that will persist in death.