#that jesus is also an uncertain entity both man and god

[awesome-cookies-and-cream]

Conclave said: when God sings with his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?

[cryinginthebackseat]

you’ve got more poison than sugar - part iii

part i  part ii  AO3

Fandom: Call Of Duty

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 6.572

Warnings: here’s where the smut tag comes into play, boy with a copious amount of power play and yeah, it’s messy af

Author’s note: after three months, a couple of brainstorming in the bathtub, delays, revisions and self-doubt, chapter 3 is finally done. i hope you'll enjoy it. also, i don't think i have to warn you what will go down in this chapter.

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Fast forward to twenty-four hours since he discovers that Bell is fucking someone, Lazar drops about half a dozen of dusty manilas on his desk. Adler’s eyes sweep over them. He recognizes Bell’s handwriting etched across the memo attached to one of the folders right away.

He picks it up. It’s becoming second nature to him lately; drawing himself to her, an ineradicable magnetic force pulling his end of the pole.

A muscle on his jaw twitches.

For a moment, Adler despises her. He allows himself to really despise her. She’s started something in his head- a war; an intangible, unmanageable riot and if he lets her, she’ll rearrange him until he’s insane.

And he can’t let that happen. He’s the one holding the leash here, not vice versa.

“This is what we have on Dragovich’s activities in Yamantau,” Lazar informs him, pulling him back down to earth.

Adler stands, keeping his face easy, neutral. “Is this everything?”

“So far, yeah. Bell says she’ll let us know if she digs up something more from the archives though.”

Bell- the Bell in question- can be heard sighing, like she turns the corner and finds herself at a cul-de-sac; hunching over her desk, reading, her fingers keep buttoning and unbuttoning the top of her shirt, madly distracting (him).

She remains in her seat, for pretty much the remainder of the day. Eyes glued to the pages before her, factory-like dedication. She hardly looks up when Sims borrows her pen or when Park stands over her, sipping her coffee, inquiring about her progress behind a plume of smoke.

The only- truly time Bell ever lifts her head from her work is when Mason approaches her desk. She gazes up at him, notes forgotten, a kittenish smile etched across her face, come-hither eyes that could have time hung in motion, or held at ransom, perhaps. Mason’s own smile is full-blown, too wide, too genial, as he stalks closer and closer to her table, her whirlpool.

Adler does a double-take, like his eyeballs only functioning for the first time. He might as well be hallucinating it because no... this can’t be right, can it?

But then Mason is touching her hand, a blink-and-you-miss-it movement that was not lost on Adler and oh, she’s looking at him hopefully now.

The knots in Adler's stomach are vertiginous. Realization rings in his head like a gunshot, nearly leaving him in a daze. There’s no denying it. Not when the exchange unfurls before his eyes like a broken, warped film reel and there’s nothing to stop him from seeing it.

The thought of her and him haunts the rest of his waking hours, until there’s absolutely no telling how far he’s fallen into his own pit. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ( Alex Mason fucked her that night.

Mason was in her bed; beside her, above her, under her. Inside her. He imagines her fingers digging into the mattress as Mason rolled her onto her stomach, mouth trailing down the ladder of her spine. Their breaths intermingled in the seraphic glow of her hotel room.

Alex Mason fucked her. It shouldn't leave an acrid taste in his mouth, but it does.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ She haphazardly reaches for the mug and takes a hearty gulp of its content. It’s not hers.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Bell says, mortified and places the mug down noisily on the desk. “I’m sorry, I thought it was mine.”

The rim of his mug is now stained with her lipstick. Adler bites down on a careful retort.

He thinks he knows now. Why he lets it happen, why he thinks of her in metaphors, why she gives him that vertigo. The answer is at the tip of his tongue- he can almost taste it, like spoiled milk or rancid gardenia. But it’s much easier to ignore it until the words grow diminuendo and disappear, that he thinks he imagined it all along.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You can’t obsess without turning around and getting lost in the middle.

Or losing a part of yourself in the process.

The idea of obsession, to obsess, perhaps is a far riskier thing for a person to have than playing the knife game, blindfolded with absolutely no telling where to start.

Yet we all do it, despite knowing the very dark flipside it possesses.

Perhaps it’s the very nature of humans, tucked deep within the pigeonhole of our minds, suffused by the very promise of bogus achievements that usually leads most of us insane, thinking that obsession is essential to living. But without it, artists are corporate slaves, slack-jawed know-it-alls moving stiffly in the middle of the hullabaloo that is our world; Paris would be just as unrecognizable today without Napoleon’s artistic legacy.

Obsession is good.

Obsession is dangerous.

The very dichotomy should have us all warded off of it.

Yet, again, we all do it. Again, and again, and again until it taints our veins. And it’s always far too late until you realize, that yes, now all you see is her, the air has been poisoned by her perfume, that her name is now forevermore engraved in your skin, like an overgild tattoo.

That you end up in downtown Berlin, out of sight, out of mind.

He finds them there, in a shoebox-sized cafe. Ill-lit, low-ceiling, coffee-stained floor that shows the wear of three decades worth of boots, pantoffels and high heels and Adler is sitting in his car, nursing a beer with but one all-consuming, perplexing thought:

Bell and Mason.

Someone told him they arrived together, about an hour ago. The cafe has become their usual haunts, his source said, ever since they’ve returned from Ukraine and Adler just can’t wrap his head around this- them. In his head, they’re wholly different entities. Two proper nouns separated by a conjunction, or a comma if mentioned in a list.

They’re the kind of opposites that he thought don’t attract, yet here they are.

Perhaps it's inevitable, both are products of brainwashing. Maybe they sensed one another, speaking in code, like detecting an RF signal from a nuclear bunker.

Then the doors to the cafe swing open. They step outside, cheeks flushed, his arm wrapped around her waist, her lips glueing on the slope of his neck. Shaded eyes watch them from the opposite street, his disgust obvious.

Now, Adler wonders how this all began. Someone must have made the first move.

He wonders if it was her. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You wanted to see me?"

Adler looks up from his desk and nods. "Lock the door behind you."

And Alex Mason, the root of all this trouble, obeys. Looking somewhat uncertain under the scrutiny of the harsh lights, and shuts the blinds. Unlike Woods, he takes a seat at the chair Adler sets up before the desk.

"What is it?" Mason asks, after a long, almost unending silence. His curiosity seeps through the room.

There is very little control when the first domino falls. Oftentimes, once it starts, it’s like crossing the Rubico n and the next thing you know, you are lying flat on the ground in some theater, 23 fresh stab wounds decorating your body and the beat of your pulse seems dim and distant, everything feels cold except your blood; warm, bright and thick like gasoline, crawling into every space until it goes into your throat and strangles you, kills you. Fini, kaput.

But then again, he's not Caesar and this isn't Rome.

Adler pushes the first tile.

"How long has this been going on?" he asks without fanfare, tight and composed as ever. Never mind the way his eyes ignite like cold blue fire behind his glasses.

"How long has what been going on?"

“You and Bell." And Mason blinks at him in surprise. Bingo. "I saw the two of you leaving for her hotel from a cafe in Downtown Berlin last night. So don't bother skirting your way around this.” Adler leans forward across his desk. He’s a man on a mission- there’s no stopping him now.

“Now, let me rephrase the question, how long have you been fucking her?"

"Hold on, hold on, you were stalking us?" Mason asks, waspish.

Adler winces inwardly. "I was keeping an eye out for my asset.”

“Asset?” Mason hisses, like Adler just blasphemed. “Jesus Christ, Russ, is that all she ever is to you? An asset? She’s your protégé, for god’s sake- a person! What is wrong with you?"

"Plenty. Or apparently, so I've been told.”

"I don't find you amusing.”

“I'm hardly ever,” Adler parries. Mason remains silent, yet the tilt of his lips translate exactly what words can't. "And you haven't answered my question."

“Bullshit. I don’t owe you anything."

"Listen, Al-"

"No, you listen to me. You may be calling the shots around here, but this has absolutely nothing to do with you. Whatever- or whoever - we're doing in our spare time is none of your business, do you understand? So you can just drop it," Mason seethes, bitter, and, much to Adler’s surprise, rises to leave. “We’re done here.”

"That's where you're wrong."

Mason has only managed to put a few paces between them before he turns around, once again stepping inside this metaphorical boxing ring.

"What?"

"This has everything to do with me," Adler says coolly. "You said it yourself, I'm the one who calls the shots here. Meaning, anything that could potentially fuck up my operation is my concern and I have the right to intervene should it needed. This, being a case in point."

Mason looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “What the hell does fucking her have to do with this whole operation?”

“Everything.” He says it like quiet resignation. It’s time to acknowledge the truth, he thinks, to that unusual idea that has been swirling in the deep recesses of his mind, that everyone’s weakness is varied.

Achilles had his heel, and Adler has her.

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to, Al. You don't even know her."

Mason gives him a level stare. "And you do?"

Adler is so hard-pressed to say 'I made her' but even he wouldn't stoop that low.

"That is beside the point,” Adler tells him instead as he turns to his vice- one of them, at least- and lights it.

“There is literally no point to this conversation.”

“The point is, stay the hell away from Bell. I'm saying this for your own good."

"My own good or yours?"

Adler does not flinch, but his hand does ball into a fist under the table, how the fingers curl and then flex.

"Don't be ridiculous. I gain nothing from this except assurance." It's a lie, it's the truth. There's no in between. He doesn’t know which is which anymore. "You, on the other hand, I'm sure the old ball and chain wouldn't be near as thrilled about hearing this if word ever gets out."

Mason is quiet for a beat.

"Is that a threat?"

"Only once I pulled the pin," Adler replies, a dangerous undercurrent in his voice.

But the thing with Mason, he'll come to realize later, is how much, like with Bell, weaving through his mind is like trying to grasp for purchase in the dark as he, once again, does the unpredicted and smile- a venomous grin warps his face, like he’s mocking him, challenging him to move his piece on the board and make this mistake.

Adler stares back, surprised despite himself.

He shocks him further by saying, "Go ahead, then. Pull the pin, throw the grenade, tell her. See if she cares."

Adler’s eyes narrow at his askance. He then drags his attention to Mason’s left hand, and something grave and familiar rises in his chest.

The absence of the metal band around his ring finger tells him why.

“You know where to reach her. If anything, I’m sure she’d trust your words better than anyone else’s. So please, do it.” And Mason’s so goddamn sanctimonious about it. He’s clearly expecting this particular reaction out of Adler. It only leaves Adler angrier.

Another long pause stretches, heavy and unkind.

"Fine. Maybe she won't mind, but I'm sure the Agency wouldn’t be as tolerant.” Adler takes one last drag of his cigarette. He has that ‘Having nothing, nothing can he lose’ look on his face that makes Mason frowns. “Not when you’ve been fraternizing with the enemy.”

"What?”

"Bell. She’s not who you think she is, Al. Tell me, who do you think is the sorry bastard we saved in Trabzon?”

Mason blinks. His face is blank with shock, then he shakes his head. And he keeps shaking it, almost manic. If he laughs, which one would come first, he wonders, the gun or his fist pummeling the side of his face?

“You’re lying.”

“And why would I lie to you about this?”

"No, no, no, Woods- he told me the guy’s dead,” Mason says, his words are shaky.

“He’s not. And he wasn’t a he."

A crease forms between Mason's eyebrows, the starting of another frown.

“Hold on, if she’s helping us get Perseus then why is she the enemy?”

"Because she doesn't know that."

"Doesn't know what?"

"That she's the enemy."

Mason holds his gaze for a moment, his expression tense, like a slingshot.

And that cold elastic band finally snaps.

“What did you do to her?” He’s openly glaring at him now, mouth tight, an icy fury that is no longer dormant and for the first time since Adler has known him, he finds the man dangerous.

Adler takes a steadying breath. “We did what had to be done.”

"You sick son of a bitch. You brainwa- You-” Mason clamps his mouth shut, trembling hands finding his head. “Shit. How could you?"

Adler ignores his colorful outburst.

“She resisted every form of interrogations we threw at her, Al. We had no choice but to implement MK-Ultra as a last resort. We needed what’s in her head.” Mason is silent in reply. Adler continues, “Look, it’s nasty business, I know, but some of us have to cross a line just to make sure that line's still there in the morning. And as much as I hate agreeing with Hudson, he’s right. We need to preserve our way of life.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to play God,” his voice is resentful and crisp. “Do you have any idea what you are doing? You could jeopardize everything, and for what? You’ve seen what this- this experiment did to me, this won’t end the way you think!”

“Lightning never strikes the same place twice.”

"You’re really willing to gamble on that?”

Adler scowls. “I don’t gamble, Mason. I calculate. And if by some chance I was given a second chance, I’d do it all over again. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Mason doesn’t say anything at first, his loaded gun stare never falters. Then, “The flag may be different, but the methods are the same.”

"What was that?”

“Someone warned me, a long time ago, about how people like you will use people like me or Bell as pawns in your own game. You’d do whatever it takes to get what you want- and my, how you get results, don’t you? But you’re actually no different than the rest of the assholes you're fighting against,” Mason tells him, like he’s spitting out acid in Adler’s face.

“Bell may be the enemy- heck, she could be the architect behind all the chaos Perseus has done, but what you’re doing to her is vile and unethical. There are many ways to make her spill the beans, yet you chose the most immoral method there is out there. I sincerely hope you rot in hell for this."

Before Adler could formulate a response to his tirade, Mason stands to his feet.

“You want me to stay away from her? Fine. Consider this as my formal resignation. After Yamatau, I’m done. I’m out of the team. And if you know what’s good for you, you stay the fuck away from me because I don't ever want to see your face again, do you hear me?” he snarls. “If you think Woods is dangerous, Adler, just remember I nearly could have killed my own president."

Then Mason turns on his heel and walks out of the room, once and for all. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The fist is very much expected, and so does the pain that follows.

"You're out of your fucking depth, shithead," Woods spits, venom lacing his words.

Adler doesn't even bother to retaliate.

He doesn’t see the point. He didn’t think it would get this far. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The garage grows quiet and stodgy with now Mason and Woods are out of the picture. Everyone settles back into their own normal rhythm, the same routine before both men set their feet here almost a week ago.

Hudson doesn’t take the news of their departure kindly, naturally. He stands in Adler’s office, pacing, fuming. Adler ignores him, trying to nurse the skull-splitting migraine he's having at his desk instead. The nasty black eye hidden underneath his glasses. A secret locked, the key thrown away.

His headache, thankfully, has subsided when Sims takes a seat on the other side of the desk, hours later after Hudson left.

"I'm not trying to cause an alarm here, but you'd better watch your back."

Adler's brows furrow but doesn’t look up from the papers before him. "And why's that?"

"'Cause I think you just pissed off the wrong beast," Sims tells him. Adler pauses, then lifts his head to look at his cohort. There's genuine worry flashing over his face.

“Are you talking about Bell?”

“Who else?”

If she's a beast, then what am I? What he wants to ask, but there's a knock at the door and he swallows the words down his throat.

"Come in," Adler says, pretending to be reading again.

The door opens and Bell, fucking Bell, enters his office. It's like watching a tiger pass by your hiding spot in near dark. Neither he nor Sims breathes a word.

Bell's gaze immediately swings to him, like a cosmic pull. She's watching him as she wanders over to the desk and the weight of her stare burns him like Greek fire.

He pushes the documents close, all the while returning her stare. He is never the one who backs out of a challenge, and at this point, he knows that she probably knows that. Maybe that’s why she initiated it in the first place.

"Bell, what is it?" Adler asks firmly, in possession of his full power in this place.

Bell produces three diskettes from her pocket. Something odd definitely shining in her eyes.

"These have been lying on Lazar's desk for hours, but he's busy, so I thought I'd deliver them to you myself," Bell says. And he's trying to work out on her angle but she is unreadable. As always.

Adler nods, frustrated and indignant. "You can leave them here. Thank you."

It is only once the woman leaves that the two agents share a dark, significant look. That was too close.

And it goes without saying, something needs to be done about this. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

March 7th. A's insistence on raising the dosage is illogical. Recent behavioural analysis indicates depression. Will monitor for the next few days. Considering lowering the dosage instead. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The elevator reeks of smoke, cheap Soviet air freshener and something far more poisonous than the devil’s spider, silky hands.

It embodies the woman standing next to him right now- this special animal, emotionless, a constant mystery wrapped with a warning sign.

Adler is tempted to shut his eyes.

Or get out of here. He doesn’t dwell well in this atmosphere, this limited space shared with her alone. He probably should have listened to Hudson about taking Bell for this mission, but she’s the only one he trusts who won’t fuck this up. Not to mention her spotless Russian has proven to help them blend in with the crowd seamlessly.

He needs her, whether he would admit it aloud or not.

But she puts his head in such a spin.

She’s been near-mute since they departed from Germany. She barely acknowledges his questions and orders, barely looks at him. She’s been treating him as if he’s another shadow on the wall.

He rubs the side of his jaw. Something does need to be done about this.

“Are you going to stay quiet forever?” Adler asks. He’s bad at this, but he can’t stand her silence for much longer. Not to mention, they’re at the Lubysnka- the fucking lion's den. If she wants to wallow over Mason’s absence or sinks into whatever melancholic feeling she’s in, she can do it later.

Bell hums, her mouth curls up like serpentine. Adler sketches a confused frown.  And she says, “I don’t know. Should I?”

And then, sudden and swift, Bell undoes the cuffs of her uniform. Beady eyes never leave his.

The sight catches him off guard. Somewhere in his mind, he curses something like ‘you’re a beast’ and ‘what the hell are you?’ at her, all in negative connotations. The effects she inflicts on him is maddening.

“What are you doing?” Adler doesn’t bother to hide his surprise.

Bell shrugs and gestures to the duffle bag at their feet. “Gearing up.”

Oh. Embarrassment wells up in him. Fucking hell, this woman will be the death of him.

Her fingers quickly move on to the buttons, still indifferent, nearly tearing them from the seams. The first glimpse of her skin and Adler can’t help but give in, openly stares at her in a way he has never imagined before. Her clavicles like daggers glinting in the lamplight.

Curiosity is a dangerous and heavy load.

He should have closed his eyes.

“Enjoying the show?” Her voice pulls him back from his musings. Her eyes still zero in on him, cutting him to pieces.

Her cleavage comes into view.

The lines on Adler’s face grow taut.

“What do you want, Bell?” He asks, intending for a bark but it ends somewhere like a plea.

“I want many things. As of right now, I want Alex’s cock inside me.” And Adler nearly chokes on his own breath. Bell, eagle-eyed as ever, caught the movement. “But it seems someone insists on being in control of everything, isn’t he?” she snaps.

Adler’s back goes rigid. Trepidation bubbles up in his chest.

Of course, she knows.

“It's not about control.” Adler turns around. He doesn’t quite know what he’s avoiding at this point, her flesh or the truth. “It’s about what’s right.”

He hears her uniform touches her floor as she laughs, mirthless, like broken chandeliers. “I didn’t know whose cock I’m riding is any concern of yours.”

“It is when he’s a member of the team,” he seethes. “What you’re doing with Alex will only lead to complications. And I can’t have tha-”

“Because this is all about you, isn’t it? It’s about upholding your precious reputation in the Agency, controlling the narrative the way you want it no matter how many characters you kill off in the process. It’s always about what you want.” Bell interrupts, not missing a beat. “You selfish motherfucker.”

"This has nothing to do with my reputation in the CIA."

She scoffs. "Spare me the crap, Adler."

Adler turns to fully face her again and holds his arms open, the way someone is facing the firing squad. “Fine. Fine, yes, I’m a selfish motherfucker. I did it because I thought it could ruin the operation. Is that what you wanted to hear? Now, what are you going to do about it?”

She says nothing at first. He silently catalogues her movements as she steps towards him now, half-naked and furious. He feels pinned.

Then, “What do you want me to do about it?”

His mouth dries at the implication. She is temptation, benediction, the coarse ice block before the carver.

How terrible it is to lose control, even just once.

A knowing, vicious smirk flashes over her face. Adler feels like he’s just shown his hand.

“You are one selfish bastard and a coward to boot, aren’t you?” Bell sneers before he has a chance to respond. “At least, Alex was brave enough to make the first move, but you…” her gaze raking up and down his figure coldly, a jeweller presented with second-grade imitations. Wind her up and this honey bee stings.

“You’ll always be the man who hides behind his shades,” she says, dry as dust, and steps back and snatches her clothes from the bag.

This is, without a single doubt, the longest elevator ride he’s ever experienced in his life. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adler arrived back in Berlin breathing a little harder. Worry wrapped around his neck like a noose, placed by Bell herself; the judge, jury and executioner.

The knot tightens every time his mind refers to her.

The agency trained him, specifically, to keep calm under pressure. He didn’t coin the title “America’s Monster” from his colleagues for nothing. They don’t fear him because he’s hot-headed or thinks in large-scale violence— guns blazing, napalm-induced flames over the hill in the morning, bloodied knuckles and fractured jaw, blood-soaked soles tarnishing the white marble floor. Someone can point a fucking shotgun to his face and he’ll barely flinch. Only monsters remain impassive to direct threats of violence.

But there’s something about Bell that elicits this visceral, primal reaction out of him. Something strange and new; lightning about to be uncapped from its chains.

It chokes him, frightens him to the core.

How gauche is it, don’t you think, that his own mind is conspiring against him?

Now, in the garage, where it dawns on Adler that she’s probably the only person who can make him walk around the city, feeling like a fool, he decides he’s had enough. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I’ll drive you back.”

Adler apprehends Bell outside the garage. He kind of assumed she’d have a pistol aimed at his head right now, but she spins around, hands shoved deep inside her pockets and clayey mouth curls in distaste.

“Get in the car, Bell,” Adler says tightly, almost adding please.

But he would not beg.

The brunette remains rooted in her place. For a moment, a calculating look crossed her face. Always, always that sharp mind of hers turning and he wonders where it would take her this time.

“Try asking nicely,” she demands.

Adler’s eyes flash. She really is testing him. But fine, he'll play her game.

“Bell, would you kindly get in the car?” He is all but snarls, teeth gritting. Bell hardly wavers- he wishes she would waver for a change.

She does what he asked of her, finally, the shadow of a smirk on her face mocking him. Adler follows suit, teeth still clenched together, and starts the car and drives away.

It's sort of like a deja-vu, he supposes; him and her in this very same car, except that stupid krautrock music is absent this time. Neither says anything for the first twenty minutes. Everything feels heavily still.

Until he realizes she’s probably waiting for his move.

This might gloriously blow up in his face, yes, he knows this. Especially remembering the last time he was alone in a tight space with her, it had cost him his pride.

And his mind.

But he’s been here before, in the eye of the storm. He was at his calmest here. He has his cards prepared now.

Adler inhales deeply.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he utters resolutely. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t want to. “I was out of line, I admit it. Your affair with Mason should be no concern of mine but I really am just trying to look out for you.”

It’s weak, he knows. The words feel more like an anchor than an actual apology in his tongue anyway, but Adler didn’t expect that Bell would give him nothing. Not even an acknowledging hum, a scathing retort, a scoff. Nothing.

A twinge of irritation brews in his stomach. Why does she insist on playing games?

The car comes to a stop. They’ve arrived. Adler wrests his hands from the steering wheel to say something harsh to her, but Bell is already stepping out of the car.

She stands on the sidewalk; an enigma in royal red, and her lethal, all-seeing eyes gravitate to him in the night.

There is a long paralyzing beat where they just stare at each other- which seems to be a running theme between them lately. Adler is fuming, as he is confused.

It feels like hours, centuries, eons, but, like all magic, the spell is broken. Courtesy of a stranger hailing a cab behind his car.

Bell turns and walks inside the building. She doesn’t bother sparing him the final glance or extend her appreciation for the ride back and Adler thinks to himself, this universe, god fucking damnit, nothing makes sense here.

But it is also in moments like this that the world spins, when he notices a singular, significant detail that makes his stomach roll, nearly throwing him off balance:

Bell left the passenger door open.

And he’s insane- he has to be, right? He’s looking too much into this. It doesn’t mean anything. His mind conjures an image, like a graphic guideline or something, step one: get out of the car, two: make your way around and close the passenger door, and third: zoom out of the neighborhood while your sanity is still intact, all in that order. Easy to comprehend, to follow.

Adler only does the first two steps. He’s ass-backwards doesn’t even bother to digest the third step.

He enters the hotel instead and takes in the surroundings. The lobby is pointedly bare, but warm and smoky. The concierge is reading behind the counter- a young, wiry boy with shocking bleached hair- with headphones on. It’s late, he probably doesn’t expect anyone to check in at this hour.

A movement by the staircase catches his interest. He sees Bell climbing up the steps slowly, leisurely. Adler makes his way there.

Halfway reaching her floor, Adler has the inkling that she knows that he’s following her. Also, because the next she does is glancing back at him over her shoulder. He waits for her to push him down the stairs or wrap those delicate hands around his neck. She does neither. She doesn’t want him gone.

Yet, his mind betrays him. Only because she doesn’t know what other atrocities he’s committed to her.

She stops by her door, opens it and goes in first. Adler, without waiting for a formal fucking invitation, slips in behind her.

Her room is much smaller than his. The TV is still on- a German dubbed of All the President’s Men is playing- a stack of books and meds lying haphazardly on the desk table.

The door clicks shut behind him. Bell wanders over to the table and turns off the TV. Her back to him.

She doesn’t bother turning the light switch on. The green neon of the hotel sign outside illuminates the room, bathes her in it, making her look even stranger and faraway.

He doesn’t take off his sunglasses.

“What do you want, Bell?” Adler is all but snarling. His anger comes in a bottle with a twist-off cap. “I’m fucking sick of playing your games. I apologized, I admitted I was wrong- I fucked up, but what more could you want?”

Jesus, and now he’s losing his temper over a brainwashed Russian who rarely talks. How did it come to this?

She tugs off her gloves. Once again, barely acknowledging him. Apparently, if ignoring him is an art form, she is the fucking Monet.

Until:

“Take them off.”

Adler blinks hard behind his glasses. Like he’s just stepped into a whole different earth.

His mouth moves.

“What?”

“Your sunglasses. Take them off.”

He stares at her back. Trying really, really hard to make sure he’s not hallucinating this, but then Bell turns around, a finger tapping against her arm, waiting.

Realization hits him like an uppercut in the face and nearly leaves him in a daze. He’s walked into a trap. That much is clear as day. She wants him to suffer as she does. An eye for an eye.

Adler holds no modicum of control in her domain, not unless she gives the reins. Once again, she plays the judge, jury and executioner at her own court.

But, like before, he’ll play her game.

There, the glasses are off. His eyes, bare, blue like fractured ice, meeting hers. In the dark, he feels her eyes shift to assess his bruise.  

His heart booms against his ribs.

"Kneel,” she says glibly.

He obeys, again. His legs and hands don’t shake, but his mind is much less governable than his limbs. No, the CIA didn’t prepare a manual for situations like this and he doesn’t trust his instincts to help him dance his way around this.

Nor does he want to.

The thought fucks him up to a degree.

Adler should have known that it wouldn’t take an entire nation or continent to bring him to his knees, no, no. That would have been too easy, anyway. Although history has dictated and taught him that women are never to be underestimated, Adler hasn’t expected that one woman would be able to do the deed and succeed.

But then again, when that woman is Bell, he supposes anything is possible.

When Bell approaches him, he’s unable to take his gaze from her. Her eyes spangle with determination, an avenging soul in the neon lights. Her fingers work on the sash of her coat. The line of her mouth is flat and inscrutable. The air crackles with electricity and a promise of the unsayable, the unattainable.

She stands over him now, gloveless and coatless. She’s powerful like this and he can only crane his head up at her, ceding his fate in her hands, against his better judgement. She catches that.

Suddenly, something unpleasant breaks on her face, like when one’s smelling something foul or pungent.

Bell reaches down and grips his jaw painfully in one hand, her nails digging into his skin, and tilts his head sideways. Strange that his stomach leaps at that.

“Say you’re sorry,” she spits furiously. “And say it like you fucking mean it.”

He feels, suddenly, triumphant and chuckles darkly. Eight fucking long weeks and the beast finally shows her claws.

“Try asking nicely,” Adler parrots her words from before, not a beat missed. Two can play that game, he thinks. "Or are you above niceness, Bell?”

Her grip tightens.

"You’re one to talk,” Bell says. Then, rubs the pad of her thumb over his scarred cheek and it feels like forgiveness, or the beginning of it, at least.

His confusion spikes.

Her nose skims down his jawline.

A better, sensible man would apologize. He'd squander it until his tongue burns acid, he'd beg for her forgiveness like a man asking for repentance before his god.

“Why did you do it, Russell?” Bell whispers against his skin now, baleful and raspy. Her chest rising and falling too rapidly.

But he’s a sick bastard, a selfish motherfucker, a heartless monster. All he does is hurt the people around him. He doesn’t get to take from her, not after what he's done.

Still, Adler catches her wrist. Relishing the way her wrist bone grinds under his hold. He pulls his face back to look at her.

“You know why.”  

Her eyes flick dangerously to his lips.

Desperation really can make the most vulgar things tolerable.

“Then prove it.”

So he does. As his hand reaches up to her neck, past the delicious column of her throat and with a precise swift, Adler grabs a fistful of her hair, the feminine gasp escaping her mouth is like a jolt to his groin, and kisses her.

Bell responds in kind. That little beast. She grasps his collar and drags him up to his feet, impatient with want. She laps at him, bites and sucks. His free hand snakes around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

She pulls away, catching her breath, and his teeth skim down her jaw, her neck. He bites her there in retaliation, on the delicious junction of her neck and shoulder, into the fabric of her shirt, making his intentions clear. Bell chokes in surprise and scrapes her nails over his scalp.

It hurts. But with pain, along comes pleasure and it’s good. It’s so good, Adler melts with a shaky breath.

His gloves come off first. Next, she pulls him free off his jacket, his sweater and snakes a hand between his legs, stroking him. He bites off a strangled ‘fuck’ into her throat. He’s worked up real fast already. Adler manages to make a short work of her shirt, unclasping her bra before he’s all but pushes her onto the bed.

Adler settles above her, capturing her lips in another feverish, hot-blooded kiss. He tugs her zipper down and slips his hand inside her pants. Her cunt’s everything he’s come to expect: wet, warm and oh-so wrong. She sucks in a breath. Her hips move against his hand. His blood sings. She throws her head back against the pillow, while his finds her earlobe.

“Has this proven my point, Bell?” he asks. His answer starts on a moan and ends with a breathless ‘yes’.

He doesn’t let her come that easily. No, he wants to drag this out for as long as he can until it drives her mad. So, Adler peels the rest of her clothes away, pulls her shoulder and turns her onto her stomach. He pins her down, hard. She gasps loudly against the white pillowcase, her hand fists into the sheets.

Adler slots himself behind her. His hand tracing along her spine, followed by his mouth, just how he fantasized once upon a time. His other hand quickly undoes the snap of his pants. Everything has been poisoned by her and her only; she is in his tongue, his veins, his mind, his lungs. She takes the centrefold of his mind and it's ridiculous.

He presses himself against her ass. His mouth falls open. Her body trembles. She’s all sin and racing hearts and sweaty flesh. She’s perfect. His now free hand slides up to the nape of Bell’s neck, reaching her throat, pressing down. She makes this high-pitched, demanding noise as she moves her hips back against him, leaving him wanting, helpless at the thought of having her right here, right now, in the warm neon glow of her hotel room.

“Please,” Bell begs. He groans in response and he gives it to her. Fuck, he’d give her anything if she begs just exactly like that.

When Adler is finally inside her, he thinks his world drops dead. He sets a merciless pace. He is not a gentle man and there is nothing gentle in the supple arch of her back, a rose bent backwards in the wind, as he pants along her neck before he pulls out, twists her onto her back again and pushes deeper into her until she comes apart underneath him (he’s made sure she begs for it- please, Russell. Oh god, Russell)

(He didn’t have to. Russell Adler is never the kind of man to fall for his dark side, but Christ knows he is only one man)

[nyxshadowhawk]

Nyx’s Complete List of Goth Names

Abaddon: From Greek, means "destruction" or "demon of the pit."

Acheron: The River of Woe in the Greek underworld.

Achlys: Greek primordial goddess of poison, misery, and sadness, personification of the death-mist.

Adonis: Means "lord" (as in Adonai). In Greek mythology, the most beautiful youth in the world, loved by both Persephone and Aphrodite. Died tragically.

Adrian/Adrienne: English, from Latin; means "from Hadria" (the Adriatic Sea). I've heard sources saying it means "dark one," but I haven't been able to confirm this. It's still a really cool, kind of gothy name. (Also the real name of Alucard from Castlevania.)

Ahriman: The Zoroastrian devil/evil god.

Akeldama: Means "field of blood," a place in Jerusalem associated with Judas.

Alastor: Greek, means "avenging spirit."

Alcmene: (Female) Means "might of the moon," Heracles' mother in mythology.

Alecto: One of the Erinyes (Furies), the goddesses of vengeance. Means "unceasing."

Altair: The brightest star in the constellation Aquila (the Eagle), from Arabic, meaning "the bird."

Amaranth: (Female) Greek; a mythical purple flower that never fades, a symbol of immortality.

Amethyst: A dark purple crystal, associated with wine and preventing drunkenness.

Andromeda: Greek, means "thinks like a man," the name of a princess in mythology, a constellation, and a galaxy.

Anubis: Jackal-headed Egyptian god of death and embalming.

Arcana: From Latin "hidden, secret" (literally "to shut in a chest"), refers to secrets or mysteries. Also refers to the groups of cards in a tarot deck (the major and minor arcana).

Arianrhod: Means "silver wheel," Welsh goddess of the moon, stars, and the flow of time.

Artemis/Diana: Greco-Roman goddess of the hunt, the moon, and virginity

Asmodeus: Means "wrath-demon," a Goetic demon appearing in a number of texts, representing luxury, sensuality, and lust. (Also Asmodai)

Asphodel: A white flower planted on graves, said to grow in the Greek underworld, and therefore heavily connected with death.

Astaroth: (Unisex) A demon in the Ars Goetia (from the Lesser Key of Solomon), described as a male demon and a Duke of Hell, but the name likely comes from the Phoenician goddess Astarte (or Ashtoreth), who is a version of Ishtar (Babylonian) and Inanna (Sumerian).

Astor: A French and German name from Occitan, meaning "goshawk." A goshawk is a bird of prey. I've read on naming sites that this name was originally a derogatory term for young men with hawk-like, predatory characteristics, but I haven't found anything to confirm this. This is the name of my alter-ego and one of the main protagonists of Shadowbook.

Astra/Astrid/Asteria: From Greek, "star." In Greek mythology, Asteria was a Titaness of astrology and prophecy, the mother of Hecate. An aster is also a star-shaped flower.

Atropos: The last of the Moirai (Fates), who cuts the thread at the end of life.

Autumn: The darkening part of the year, when everything is dying, and Halloween happens.

Azrael: The name of the Angel of Death, means "whom god helps." (Also Asriel)

Azazel: A Watcher's name, means "scapegoat." Taught humanity the arts of weaponry and cosmetics. Commonly associated with demons and evil.

Baphomet: A goat-headed, winged deity associated with Satanism; obscure etymology.

Bastet: Egyptian goddess of cats.

Belial: A Hebrew name meaning "worthless," a name of the devil or a demon.

Belladonna: Also called "deadly nightshade," an extremely poisonous plant that causes hallucinations and death.

Bellona: Roman goddess of war

Bezaliel: Means "shadow of God" or "damaged," a Watcher's name.

Blodeuwedd: Pronounced "bluh-DIE-weth," means "flower-face." A Welsh goddess who was turned into an owl.

Bram/Brom: Technically short for Abraham ("father of a multitude"), the author of Dracula, Abraham "Bram" Stoker.

Bran: Welsh, "raven." The name of Bran the Blessed, a giant and king of Britain in Welsh mythology.

Branwen: (Female) Welsh, means "white raven" or "fair raven."

Breksta: Lithuanian goddess of night, dreams, and twilight.

Caligo: Latin word for “mist,” “gloom,” and “darkness.” (Calignes is the plural, which could also work) (feminine)

Calypso: Greek, "she who conceals." The nymph who kept Odysseus imprisoned on her island.

Carmilla: A lesbian vampire from the gothic novel of the same name, predating Dracula. The name seems to have been invented by the author.

Cassius: Roman, "empty, hollow."

Ceridwen: Welsh enchantress or goddess who stirs the cauldron of poetic inspiration.

Cernunnos: Celtic forest god depicted as having a stag's antlers.

Chiroptera: Literally means "hand wing," the order of bats in taxonomy.

Circe: Means "circle." In Greek mythology, a sorceress who turned Odysseus' men into pigs (and later helped them).

Cora: From the Greek name Kore, meaning "maiden." A name for Persephone. (Also, Coraline.)

Cornix: A princess transformed into a crow by Athena in Ovid's Metamorphosis.

Corvus/Corax: Corvus corax is the scientific name of the common raven.

Crimson: Dark, rich red, the color of wine or blood. One of the Gothiest colors that isn't black. It's very easy for this to sound banal or cringey, especially if it's a character's given name, so use with caution. Scarlet works, too, if you want something easier to use as a given name.

Damian: From Greek, means "to tame," tends to be associated with demons or vampires, a bit cliche at this point.

Dantalion: A Goetic demon, the name is particularly cool.

Desdemona: A tragic character in Othello, comes from Greek and means "ill-fated." Can be shortened to "Mona."

Desmodus: The genus of common vampire bats. (D. rotundus)

Devana: Slavic version of Artemis/Diana, goddess of the hunt.

Dorian: The corrupt, depraved, nearly immortal and astonishingly beautiful protagonist from The Picture of Dorian Gray. (Turns out Oscar Wilde invented the name; it did not exist before the book was written.)

Dracul: Romanian, "devil" or "dragon." What really needs to be said?

Ebony: A very dark wood.

Echo: In Greek mythology, a nymph who was cursed so she would only repeat the names of others; died while pining after Narcissus.

Edgar: Anglo-Saxon, "rich spear." The name of the one and only Edgar Allen Poe (also, my cat).

Eidolon: A type of spirit or ghost in Greek liteature. Also a genus of bats.

Eirlys: Welsh, "snowflake."

Elatha: An Irish god, described as the "beautiful Miltonic prince of darkness with golden hair." Not sure what the source for that is, but cool!

Elvira: Spanish, means "foreign true," a stereotypical Goth name (and the name of the Mistress of the Dark!). Actually, I first ran across the name in reference to a vengeful ghost called Elvira Blood in New England folk legend. Spooky!

Empusa: A kind of Greek female demon (similar to Lamia) that served Hecate.

Endora: Comes from the Witch of Endor, a Biblical sorceress.

Endymion: In Greek mythology, a handsome shepherd whom Selene fell in love with. Zeus granted him eternal sleep so he would never age. Means "to dive, to enter."

Erebus: Greek primordial god and personification of darkness.

Esmeralda: Spanish name meaning "emerald." (Also, the heroine in The Hunchback of Notre Dame.)

Ethelinda: Anglo-Saxon, means "little serpent."

Euryale: Greek, means "far-roming," the middle Gorgon sister.

Eurynomos: Greek chthonic spirit of corpses.

Eventide: It could work as a name.

Fenrir: A wolf demon in Norse mythology, the son of Loki.

Finvarra: Irish, King of the Fairies (and sometimes King of the Dead), a benevolent entity that ensures a good harvest and abundance.

Gabriel: The angel. Means "warrior of god." Gabrielle also works (and is the name of Lestat's mother).

Gehenna: A Hebrew name for Tartarus or Hell.

Golgotha: From Hebrew, "skull," the place where Jesus was crucified.

Grimm: The surname of two German brothers who recorded a classic collection of oral folklore and fairy tales, many of which are very... well, grim.

Habundia: A Celtic name for the queen of witches and night creatures, possibly another name for Nicnevan. Etymology uncertain.

Hades: The Lord of the Underworld in Greek mythology (also the name of the Underworld itself).

Hawthorn: A type of shrub steeped in folklore, associated with fairies and with Beltane (1st May).

Hecate: Greek goddess of witchcraft, magic, the occult, the moon, necromancy, the Underworld, and the crossroads. Means "worker from far off."

Hellebore: A type of evergreen flower, some species of which are poisonous. Believed to summon demons, also believed to cure madness.

Hemlock: A plant used to poison people.

Herne: "the Hunter," a ghost that haunts Windsor Forest (sometimes identified with The Horned God).

Hesperos/ia: The evening star.

Hypnos: The Greek god of sleep.

Iblis: Satan in Islamic lore.

Idris: Welsh, "ardent (passionate, fiery) lord."

Igor: Russian, "bow-warrior." Became famous as the name of Frankenstein's hunchbacked assistant, even though he doesn't exist in the book and his name in the original Universal film was Fritz.

Ingram: Swedish name meaning "Ing's raven."

Iolanthe: Greek, means "violet flower." (eye-oh-LAHN-thay)

Iseult/Isolde/Isolt: A tragic lover in Arthurian legend.

Jasmine: A type of flower, in this case referring to Cestrum nocturnum, or night-blooming jasmine.

Kali: Hindu goddess of destruction, name means "the black one."

Kasdaye: Means "hidden power," the name of a Watcher (another name for Tamiel). (Unisex)

Kiara/n: Gaelic, means "little black one."

Kimaris: A Goetic demon. (Male)

Kokabiel: Means "angel of the stars," a Watcher.

Lacrimae: Latin word for tears.

Lamia: A female demon in Greek folklore who devours children. The name of the witch in the film version of Stardust.

Lenore: A variant of Eleanor (also a good name), means "foreign," the lost love of the protagonist of "The Raven," also has her own poem.

Leshii: A Russian god of hunting, similar to Veles

Lethe: River of Forgetfulness in the Greek Underworld.

Leviathan: From Hebrew, "twisted in folds," a Biblical sea monster. Sometimes associated with Midgard's Serpent.

Libitina: A Roman goddess of corpses, funerals, and the dead.

Ligeia: Greek, the name of a Siren, also the subject of a Poe story of the same name.

Lilah: Comes from the Arabic Leila, meaning "night."

Lilith: Means "of the night" or "screech owl." In Hebrew mythology, Adam's first wife and the Queen of Demons. She refused to submit to Adam, so she left Eden and began screwing around with demons. Often considered a succubus or vampire, or a champion of feminism. A lilim is also a succubus or incubus.

Loki: Trickster god in Norse mythology with ambiguous morals.

Lorelei: German, means "murmuring rock," the name of a German Siren.

Lucius/Lucifer/Lucien: All mean "light" or "light-bringer," a name associated with Satan.

Lucy: From Dracula, also could be a shortening/feminization of Lucifer. (Still means "light.")

Luna: The Roman personification of the moon.

Lycoris: A Greek word that means "twilight," the name of an Asian red flower, associated with death and the underworld (much like Asphodel).

Maeve: Comes from Gaelic, means "the intoxicating one." Associated with the Fairy Queen Mab.

Makaria: Greek goddess of blessed death, a daughter of Hades and Persephone.

Mania: Etruscan/Roman goddess of the undead, ghosts, and underworld spirits, goddess of madness. Also a modern medical term referring to a specific mental illness.

Mara: A name steeped in darkness, referring to a nightmare spirit (nightmare), a (benevolent) goddess of death in Latvian mythology, a (male) demon in Buddhist mythology, and a Sanskrit word meaning "death."

Medea: In Greek mythology, the sorceress who helped Jason, but then went on a murderous rampage when he left her. Considered to be a priestess (or, rarely, daughter) of Hecate.

Megaera: One of the Erinyes (Furies), the goddesses of vengeance. Means "grudge."

Melanie: Greek, "black" or "dark."

Melantha: Greek, "dark flower."

Melinda/Mindy: English, "black serpent."

Melinoe: Greek goddess of ghosts, nightmares, and madness, a daughter of Hades and Persephone.

Mephistopheles: The name of the devil in the Faust legend, could be from Hebrew and mean "disperser of lies," or from Greek and mean "does not love the light."

Merle: (Unisex) from French, "blackbird."

Mina: From Dracula. Short for Wilhelmina, a German name meaning "will-helmet."

Morana/Marzanna: Slavic goddess of winter and death.

Morgan/Morgana: From Welsh, means "sea-circle," the name of Morgan le Fay, a sorceress in Arthurian Legend (who may be good or evil, depending on your interpretation).

Morpheus: The Greek god of dreams, the main protagonist of Neil Gaiman's Sandman comics. (Also, The Matrix.)

Morrigan: An Irish goddess of death, battle, and ravens, name means "great queen."

Morwenna: A Welsh name meaning "maiden." ("Morwanneg" is the name of the witch in Stardust.)

Nepenthe: A magical drug from the Odyssey that cures sorrow and causes forgetfulness.

Nephthys: Means "lady of the temple," the Egyptian goddess of the dead, mate of Seth and mother of Anubis.

Nergal: Mesopotamian god of death, war, and destruction.

Nicnevan: Queen of the Fairies in Scottish folklore. She is the Scottish version of Hecate.

Nightshade: A family of plants including tomatoes, potatoes, and eggplants, but also the notorious deadly nightshade.

Nisha/nt: A Hindi name meaning "night."

Nocturne: Self-explanatory. Refers to a night prayer, a musical composition evoking night, or a night scene in art.

Nyctala/Nyctea: Two obsolete genera of owls. Nyctala is the genus of Boreal owls before it was changed to Aegolius, and Nyctea was the genus of Snowy owls before it was changed to Bubo. Both probably mean or are related to "night."

Nyctalus: A genus of bats.

Nyctimene: A princess from Ovid's Metamorphoses who was so ashamed at having been molested by her father, she refused to show her face in daylight. Out of pity, Minerva (Athena) turned her into an owl. Also a genus of bats.

Nyx: A Greek primordial goddess and personification of the Night. (also Nox)

Oberon: From French, means "elf-ruler," the name of the Fairy King in A Midsummer Night's Dream (Referred to in one scene as the "king of shadows").

Obsidian: A shiny black volcanic stone.

Onyx: A type of banded stone, most famously black. (The word comes from the Greek for "fingernail.")

Ophelia: A tragic character in Hamlet, which probably comes from Greek and means "help."

Orcus: A Latin word for Hell, and a Roman god who punished the dead (possibly an epithet of Hades/Pluto).

Orion: A hunter in Greek mythology, and the famous constellation.

Orlok: The name of the ugly-looking vampire from Nosferatu.

Orpheus: Greek name, possibly comes from the word orphe, "darkness." The name of a demigod with an impossibly beautiful singing voice who attempted to rescue his love from the underworld, failed, and then died tragically.

Pan: Greek goat-horned god of nature, herds, and lust, induces "panic."

Pandora: Name means "all-gifted." In Greek mythology, the name of the first woman, who opened a box that unleashed evil upon the world.

Pandemonium: The capital city of Hell in Paradise Lost, name literally means "all demons."

Persephone: Greek Queen of the Underworld, wife of Hades, and goddess of springtime. You probably know her story. Her name might mean "thrasher of grain" (which would make sense for an agricultural goddess), but could also mean "slayer."

Phaenon: Means "shining" in Greek, refers to the planet Saturn (which has long been associated with darkness in mythology, being the furthest planet from the sun that is observable with the naked eye).

Pluto: Hades' Roman name, also the ninth planet, or what was the ninth planet.

Ransley: An English name meaning "raven's meadow."

Raven: This is by far the most cliche Goth name there is (I originally created this list to provide alternatives to the name “Raven”), but it’s classic, it’s simple, it’s unisex, and it’s undeniably Goth. 

Ravenna: Self-explanatory, also an Italian city.

Renwick: Scottish surname meaning "raven settlement."

Sable: A word referring to the color black.

Salome: From Hebrew shalom, "peace." The daughter of Herod and Herodias, unnamed in the Bible, who requested the head of John the Baptist and danced the Dance of the Seven Veils.

Samael: Means "venom of God," a vicious angel of death, the mate of Lilith. He is not technically a fallen angel, but a servant of God who does the dirty work.

Sekhmet: Egyptian goddess of war and destruction, with the head of a lioness. Her name means "power" or "might." Her epithets included "Mistress of Dread," "Lady of Slaughter," and "She Who Mauls." Ra had to stop her from killing people by getting her drunk on beer that was dyed to look like blood.

Selene: Greek personification of the moon. (Includes "Selena" and variants.")

Senka: Basque name meaning "shadow."

Seren: (Unisex) Welsh name meaning "star."

Seth: A name of Set or Sutekh, the Egyptian god of evil, chaos, and storms. He killed his brother Osiris and cut his body into pieces, and then was defeated by Horus. His head is that of an animal that looks kind of like an aardvark but is not an actual existing creature (at least not anymore). He was associated with the color red and the desert. His name possibly means "one who dazzles."

Shadow: Self-explanatory.

Silas: From Greek, means "from the forest." In The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman, it's the name of a [spoiler]vampire.

Silver: The color of the moon, and it looks nice with black.

Sinistra: Technically, it's Latin for "left," but it obviously has "sinister" connotations.

Skiá: Greek word for "shadow" or "shade."

Skotos: Ancient Greek word for "darkness," especially the darkness of death or the netherworld, or obscurity.

Skuld: The last of the Norns (Fates), representing death. Means "debt."

Sombra: The Spanish word for "shadow."

Somnus: Roman name for Hypnos, sleep.

Spyridon: Greek name referring to wicker baskets, which implies wealth. Could also be connected to the Latin spiritus, which means breath or spirit. Usually shortened to Spyro.

Stella: The Latin word for "star."

Stheno: Greek, means "forceful." The eldest of the Gorgon sisters.

Styx: The River of Hate in the Greek Underworld, the most famous of its rivers. The souls of the dead are ferried across it by Charon, and the gods (foolishly, if you ask me, seeing as they always regret it) swear on the Styx to make unbreakable oaths. The word "Stygian" means "of the River Styx" and refers to something very dark or abyssal.

Summanus: Roman god of nocturnal thunder.

Sylvia​​​​​​/Sylvana: Latin, "from the forest."

Tanith: Phoenician, "serpent lady."

Tartarus: The deepest hell-pit of the Greek Underworld, where evildoers are punished.

Tempest: A wild storm, from the Latin for "time."

Thanatos: The Greek personification of Death.

Tiamat: Babylonian primordial dragon goddess.

Tisiphone: One of the Erinyes (Furies), the goddesses of vengeance. Means "murder-retribution."

Tristan: Welsh, "riot, tumult." (Although it sounds like the Latin tristis, which means "sad.") The name of Isolt's lover in Arthurian Legend, and the name of the protagonist in Stardust.

Valerian: Roman, means "strength" or "valiant," also the name of an herb.

Vega: (Unisex) Latin from Arabic, means "falling" or "swooping," a star in the constellation Lyra. It is one of the brightest stars in the entire sky.

Veles: Slavic horned god of cattle, forests, magic, and the underworld.

Veliona: Slavic goddess of death

Velvet: A fabric that most goths love to wear.

Vervain: An herb (verbena), meaning "sacred bough," considered a magical or holy herb in multiple cultures.

Vesperus: (or just Vesper), a Roman name meaning "evening." (Vespera for a girl)

Vespertilio: A genus of bats.

Victor: The first of the trio of gothy male "V" names, means "conqueror," as in "victory." Frankenstein's first name. (Victoria also works for a girl.)

Vincent: The second of the trio of gothy male "V" names, also meaning "conquering," from Latin.

Vivian: The Lady of the Lake in Arthurian legend. From French, means "lively."  (Another name for the Lady is Nimue, which is Welsh and may be related to the Greek word for "memory." She sealed Merlin in a tree.)

Vlad: The third of the trio of gothy male "V" names, the name of Vlad Tepes or "Vlad the Impaler," the real-life Romanian prince who inspired Count Dracula. It's Slavic and means "ruler."

Willow: A beautiful and mournful-looking tree.

Winter: The dark, cold season. Unisex!

Yvaine: Scottish, means "evening star," the name of the star in Stardust.

Zagreus: The name of a chthonic Greek god who was potentially a son of Hades and Persephone or Zeus and Persephone, considered in Orphic lore to be Dionysus before he was dismembered and reincarnated.

Zillah: Hebrew name meaning "shadow."

[sonaaaaaaice]

Ianthony Fic - New Beginnings

Anthony hadn’t been himself lately. To anyone else, he was the same old jolly Anthony but Ian knew better. He noticed the crease between his brows that presented itself a lot more frequently now. He noticed the expression of relief after they were done shooting a video - not the kind that the others had, not out of accomplishment; it was the relief one got after coming out of a strenuous situation. He noticed how his smiles seemed to grow less and less genuine with each passing day.

And then there were other things. Things that didn’t require over a decade of friendship and an eye as keen as Ian’s. Basically, Anthony hadn’t been himself lately and it was obvious to anyone who cared to pay attention.

Ian brought it up one night when they were at his apartment “chilling”. In reality, there was an air of awkwardness and tension around them, as if the night suspected what they were about to discuss and decided to set the mood accordingly. Ian was sure the last time a conversation between them had felt so dreadful was when Anthony had called to announce that he was going to propose in Japan.

Trying (and failing) multiple times to bring up the topic without sounding overly concerned, Ian decided it was best to be direct. Although before he could utter another word, Anthony beat him to The Discussion.

“Ian, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” he began in an ominous tone.

And just like that, Ian knew why the night had felt so significant earlier. He had subconsciously picked up on the clues all along and his thoughts had culminated in the realisation mere seconds before Anthony informed him so himself.

“I want to leave Smosh.”

Ian should have prepared himself better, goddammit. Because hearing those words hurt. He grimaced and something like guilt flashed across the other man’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, as if to lighten the blow.

Ian hummed but didn’t say much more. They had talked about this once. Years ago. Leaving Smosh. Back then, it was them and a couple other people who assisted them occasionally. They didn’t have dedicated makeup artists back then, unless it was to make a fake wound. They also didn’t have a movie or wax statues to boast of.

Ian didn’t want to continue their conversation that night. He felt too exhausted all of a sudden and the idea of sleep was too enticing. But this was important.

“How long have you been mulling over this?”

“Quite a while…”

“Anthony-”

“Since December.”

“Jesus.”

Silence set in once more. Each man held his breath, anticipating an ugly argument. The tension in the room grew so thick, it was almost like a physical entity.

Ian took a deep breath. “I am not angry,” he enunciated, because it was essential that his best friend knew that much. “I’m not angry but I can’t understand why…”

Anthony sighed and an expression flicked across his face that Ian wasn’t sure he ever wanted to see again. It was gone before he could analyse what it even meant.

Feeling an oncoming headache, Ian massaged his temple gently and thought about what he could say. It was odd because he never had to think before talking to his friend; it was one of the best features of their relationship.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t miss the old days?” He sounded more bitter than nostalgic and Ian hated it.

“I don’t need to look you in the eyes to tell you that. Of course I miss the old days! Everyone misses their old days, nothing new about that.”

“For fuck’s sake, you know that’s not what I mean. I hate this Ian. I hate it! I hate what we have become, I hate that I have no control, I hate that Smosh has become a…a brand,” he spat with no inconsiderable contempt, “and has so many censors on our ideas. This is not what I ever intended it to be and I don’t want to be part of it any longer!”

His chest was heaving and Ian flinched at the last shouted word. Yeah, fights with Anthony, however rare, were always the worst.

“I just really fucking miss when it was the two of us having fun,” he murmured, avoiding Ian’s gaze.

Ian found his annoyance mitigate on hearing that and felt his heart flutter. He pressed his shoulders fondly and smiled sadly at him. “Me too.”

“Don’t get me wrong Ian, I love our friends, I love the crew. I just…I don’t like what we’re doing here. This isn’t us. I wish we could go back to when it was just you and me with our silly skits and lunchtime videos. It’s like we hardly hang out any more outside of Smosh related stuff. When was the last time we had lunch together without talking about any new ideas or business projects? I miss you Ian…” he trailed off.

After a heartwarming speech like this, the only logical option was to engulf him in a bear hug. Which Ian did. And they stayed like that for several moments, breathing in the comfort of familiar arms. Secure. Warm.

“I am such a sentimental ass,” Anthony huffed, his breath tickling Ian’s neck.

“It’s okay. You get to be a sentimental ass once in a while.”

“Mhmm.”

“Look,” Ian pulled away gently, but didn’t place much distance between them. “I won’t lie and tell you I’m okay with you leaving. Because I’ve never done this alone and I don’t know how to. But know one thing, I will always be there to support you, no mater what. I don’t think I want to leave yet. But I trust you and if you’re sure leaving will make you happier, go ahead. And just in case you feel like it isn’t working out-”

“That’d be embarrassing.”

“Doesn’t matter. If you feel like coming back, I’ll be right here to welcome you.”

They shared fond smiles and breathed synchronised sighs of relief. The argument was handled much more maturely than either of them anticipated.

Ian suddenly became aware of their proximity and stood up abruptly.

“I assume you won’t be joining us for the summer games then?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Oh well. It will be a tough job explaining this to the rest of them. Anyway, I’m tired as hell,” he nodded towards his bedroom. “You might as well stay the night, it’s already past two.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I have it in me to drive after having this talk.” He fiddled with a thread on his ripped jeans. Ian knew he was holding back on something else he needed to ask but wasn’t sure about Ian’s reaction.

Before he could prompt him to continue, Anthony looked up at him with dazzling eyes and an uncertain expression.

“Do you remember the other thing we never tried because of Smosh?” He asked tentatively.

Ian froze. “You mean…”

“Yes.”

Silence again. They stared at each other with contemplating eyes for who knows how long. It wasn’t common for Ian to have to look down at his friend, but he was grateful for the height difference that Anthony being seated lended him. He felt like he was in control here, the one who could decide whether or not they were about to discuss something they’d avoided talking about seriously for years now.

“We’re both in relationships, you know that right?” Ian said at last.

“And are you happy with her? Because I know I’m not.”

That was a revelation. He had never talked about being dissatisfied in his relationship before. Ian took a moment to process the new data.

“Anthony,” he began, his voice shaking.

“No Ian, please. Yes or no? Are you happy with her? Your girlfriend who just happens to look a lot like me and have the same interests as me?” His words were made worse by the accompanying cold and mocking tone.

“What the fuck man?!” Ian’s temper was rising steadily. “You’re one to talk. Blue eyes. Brown hair. Dog person. Remind you of someone?”

And to his great annoyance, the bastard smiled. Smiled! “Point proven. We’ve both settled for the next best thing we could find after each other.”

Ian was at a loss for words. He knew that, of course. He had accepted the fact that he and Anthony were never going to be a thing and so had given up waiting long ago. But to hear it out loud from another person made him feel pathetic. And guilty. The girls deserved better than this.

“I’m not leaving just because I’m tired of having no control. It’s been years and I’m still crazy about you Ian. I want you. I want so much more than what we’ve got going on now, and knowing that you feel the same way hurts so much because we could have everything if we just tried.”

Ian didn’t ask how Anthony could be so sure Ian still felt for him the same way he did so many years ago. But then again, he was Anthony. Of course he knew.

“I know you’d never agree to be together as long as we were business partners because somehow you found this reasoning by 20 year old me really sensible. God knows why I even suggested that.”

“We were 23 and at the peak of our career. Of course I found it sensible. It’d have been stupid to risk our careers for what could just have been hormones and a little crush. You’ve never been good at relationships, admit it. I didn’t want everything we had achieved to go down the drain because we couldn’t handle a break up.”

“But it isn’t just a crush though, we know that now…right?”

Ian found it very endearing, the hope and uncertainty lurking behind his seemingly confident guise. Anthony rarely looked vulnerable. Ian couldn’t believe this was happening after years of pining. Despite himself, he started crying.

Maybe he should have felt ridiculous. He was almost 30 for god’s sake! He just couldn’t find it in himself to care when Anthony was looking at him like that and strong hands were guiding him to the couch, enveloping him, grounding him, comforting him.

“I’m sorry but you look adorable when you cry,” Anthony chuckled next to his ear. And wrapped himself more tightly around his smaller frame. “I want to kiss you so badly right now,” he said in a rumbling voice.

“But you can’t. I’m not cheating on her.”

Anthony hummed and they stayed embracing each other. Ian found himself drifting off and was soon dead to the world, content in the warmth of loving arms and dexterous fingers stroking his hair, oh so gently. He didn’t hear the soft “I love you” murmured against his forehead.

The coming days would be testing for them both. But right now, they were in the safe space where anything was possible.