#this is Amazing anon thank you so much!!!!

[syluses]

HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS

𓍯𓂃 PART THREE (3) of the stepdad! sylus x reader series

(3) LOVE ON THE BRAIN

𓍯𓂃 CONTENT: stepdad! sylus therefore step/pseudocest, eventual smut, nsfw, dubcon, slowburn, yandere undertones, all characters are 18+ (mc is presently 23; sylus is in early forties), possessive & yandere behaviors, age difference, daddy kink, unreliable narrator, drinking, non-evol au, modern au, lowkey enemies to lovers, lots of (sexual) tension, loss of virginity, emotional breakdowns, some angst, some fluff, a lil bit of everything; tags will be added as story progresses— but know the story is relatively triggering

𓍯𓂃 SIDENOTE: hi guys sorry for the wait :,) this one’s a lil bit of a slower chapter imo but it’s still super important to the story. the next part or two might also be a lil ‘slow’ by some definition, but it’ll build onto itself do not fear. shoutout to the anon who gave me that song rec btw bc i was listening to it throughout writing this chapter 🫰 amazing taste. anyway without further ado.…. please enjoy :,) ALSO thank u sm for the support thus far!! i’m so happy yall seem to be liking it!! 🥹 if there’s any typos no there ain’t; i might come back to edit a lil later :,) [art credit: @/chimmyming on twitter/X]

He comes like a flashbang into your life.

And to preface this: you get it, alright? that your mother misses your late father, she’s not doing half as well as she used to be and she technically can be considered single, open for the dating market. This is a trying time for you both. God as your witness, you’ve been slipping down the slope while she’s been putting her nose to the grindstone; there’s no shortage of struggle for you both since your dad died- but finally, it’s settling in for her.

The loneliness.

The need for something- someone- more.

And you somewhat bitterly suppose you just don’t qualify, do you?

It was an inevitable thing.

Away from the metaphorical sand you buried your head in, deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before a new man walked into her life- some actually half-decent, upstanding suitor- and flipped your world off its feet.

It wasn’t a maybe. Not a what if, either.

It was a when.

…Call it naivety on your end or just sheer stupidity, though, your sixteen-year-old brain having a lapse in judgement, but for whatever reason, you didn’t think that when would come.

You prayed against it. Childish or not, whether it can be considered a secret little attempt to sabotage your mother’s possible, budding relationships you had no proof of but suspected all the same (you recognize her perfume; not the rich cologne lingering on her blouse when she finally comes back from work)- you’d hoped she’d keep off from it, anyway.

From, you know,…

The whole ‘falling in love’ thing…

You’re not so deluded to believe it’s infidelity, her quietly seeking out another man outside of your father whole years after he’s passed (anyhow, you’re sure the legal side of it, the paperwork, doesn’t hold up the same), but that doesn’t ease the blow that is the idea of it.

Sure. He’s gone. That much is clear to you…The days pass- weeks, two years- and it’s almost like your life has reached a stopover, waiting for him to come back. I mean, sometimes, it’s almost like he was never even there.

…But at night, when darkness comes with its unbroken silence, you lie there and your heart thinks of him. Wherever you remember him, it hurts.

And yeah, maybe your mother seems growingly eager to leave your father behind… to truly make him a thing of the past even in memory- the final thing you have left of him. But you’re not so chummy with the silent suggestion of joining her there.

You don’t want that ‘when’ to come. Desperately, you don’t.

Oh, but it does.

Out of the blue like a comet from the sky, blindsiding you.

Swinging through the door, chuckling at something she’s said over her shoulder, you think, but the amusement on his face is almost too bare, too shadowed, to tell from where you sit.

You jolt in your chair.

The microwave, droning on, beeps, signaling your frozen dinner’s finally thawed out. But while it draws the attention of your drunken mother- otherwise distracted by the stranger she leads inside your little apartment- your growling stomach becomes the furthest thing from your mind in the moment.

Apparently, the stranger— tall, broad-shouldered, all suave with his sidepart and tailored leather jacket draped behind him like a cape— couldn’t care less for what’s cooking, either.

He doesn’t take his shoes off.

For that, you’re grateful, observing him with a reasonable sum of doubt as he lingers by the entry: It means he doesn’t have plans to stay long.

Which is good, because if he did, you think with a morsel of unease, your brow slowly creasing, you might’ve had to consider grabbing the broom and brushing him out.

The con is that he does wipe them off on the mat, though. Evidently, he plans to step deeper in.

His eyes, a ruby red, sharp as a hawk tracking prey, find yours from where you sit at the table, caught unawares as you scramble to hide your bare legs under your shirt, and he raises a subtle, curious brow at the observation.

“Oh,” he cocks his head, the front door- your front door- clicking behind him as he swiftly fixes his slight surprise into a cool, inscrutable mask.

“What a surprise. Your daughter, I presume?”

Distantly, in your head, a warning bell chimes.

…O-Or maybe it’s just the microwave, but—

Your mom turns it off, “Oh, honey,” in lieu of a greeting, she says, giggling as she walks over and sets her purse down on the tiny, round table you sit at.

Her work blouse is at least intact: you’ll give her that much. But her shift ended four hours ago and by the looks of it, she’s forgotten that promise to stop by the store on her way home- clearly occupied with something else- and in any case, you can’t really say the same for the stranger…

Dapper as he is— what with his perfect posture and urban get-up, the image of dashingly handsome, debonair, imposing (yet somehow just a touch weathered, too, however that may fit)- just to list a few traits off the bat— his top buttons are undone.

His hair, a natural silver all the way through, is almost imperceptibly disheveled. And maybe those things could be reasoned for or go unnoticed- to the untrained eye, they would- but you’re a little too paranoid, on alert as this asshole saunters into your house like it’s his, to miss the outlying factors.

The most damning of them all:

The wine-red smear of lipstick on his neck, only half concealed by his collar.

Your heart shudders in your chest.

And this is scary, this is nerve-wracking, yes, suddenly being force-fed the reason behind all the late nights your mother spent out, the whiffs of man on her clothes and the inexplicably giddy mood she’s been in lately- oh, it’s a million negative adjectives all packed in one- but when he strides forward, confident like you wouldn’t believe, and extends a hand for you to shake-?

You wonder if it’s fury, rising above anything else, that broils in your gut and makes accepting it an all but impossible task.

“Sylus,” he purrs as introduction.

And to be honest, that’s what this feels like in the most grandiose, pervasive of ways: the bad guy being introduced.

It’s true that you caught fragments of him: the vestigial notes of bergamot and vanilla that follow after your mother like some ghostly haunting; the odd lifts in her mood as of late; the phonecalls she gets at night that she always dismisses, but not without a thick swallow and a darting look your way before letting it ring— hell, you’ve even heard whispers within her friend circle of some dishy man dropping by her work building, nonchalant with a bouquet of flowers in tow—

Actually being face-to-face with him, literal inches apart, is freshly alarming.

Meeting him is something cinematic and new. Like a chord in the soundtrack dips; a note lowering to introduce the villain as one of the keys shake.

And perhaps comparing the scene, this man, to a movie isn’t so bad a coping mechanism, because yes, as the surround-sound kicks in and he’s all you can hear- that rich voice of velvet and bass to boot- the room going dark as you tunnel in on him before you— it feels like none of it is even real.

The kitchen blurs. The tiles on the wall smearing into one another, fuzzing together in a way that doesn’t resemble the home you know.

Bergamot, subtle but carrying a little bit of a punch, floods your system and inundates you. Vanilla lays the base for it, as sweet-smelling as nectar.

It settles in your lungs like congestion.

Truffle wrap. Marble and stone. The banister: meant to be sturdy.

It is.

He must be within the same age pool as your mom, yet when his penetrating stare briefly shifts over to her (if you didn’t know any better, amused at your reluctance to accept him)- and he grins that damned grin— he looks young again.

You’re actually almost fooled into believing he’s a gentleman.

There’s nothing… inherently wrong with him, you suppose. But none of that, him seeming apparently decent, matters- not when you’d already decided you’d stay loyal to your dad no matter what. N-Not when-

Not when something is wailing in your subconscious, parting cars in its path. Like a siren in the night shaking you awake to tell you something is terribly, terribly wrong. A wildfire. A disaster.

You quietly wonder if being in places he doesn’t belong gives him a confidence boost, or if he’s just impossibly tone deaf to the environment as it whispers in his ear, ‘you shouldn’t be here.’

All the while, something- mystical in nature, almost, like an angel or devil on your shoulder (it could be either)- is whispering to you, too.

Faintly, that voice in your head, deathly-quiet, says stop. Stop this. Nip it in the bud before it—

This is overwhelming. All of it.

You’re mortified and unsure of yourself; a mite betrayed, even, as you toss a cursory glance to your mom who watches on with a look of both expectance and worry, chewing away at her bottom lip.

It’s a little humorous, the faint concern made ten times more obvious in her half drunken state, as she puts herself on standby.

You can’t help but wonder what face you’re making now. If it’s one of shock, anger, or fear. Or an ugly amalgamation of the three— that’s possible, too.

Truthfully, you’re just as hard pressed to distinguish what you’re feeling: unsure of your next reaction. If anything, you might appreciate if she chooses to step forward and help you figure out just what the hell is happening, whether that means by extraction or a gentle hand on your shoulder to help steady you as he tells you his name.

Two minutes ago, you were waiting for your frozen dinner to thaw (really just a block of something half edible, but with the milk gone, you can’t make your routine cereal), thinking you were in the clear to lounge around with panties and a baggy shirt with your mother out God knows where. Now, you’re looking dead-on at what is perhaps your worst nightmare as the kitchen, not so comfortable anymore, fizzles to nothingness around you.

From this close, he’s… Leonine, that’s a pretty good word for him. As elegant and cocksure, relaxed, as a king of nature.

He doesn’t worry about what he will eat tomorrow: his sheer presence is dominating enough to have it served on a silver platter for him. Something about him just tells you so.

But he’s… beautiful in a way, too, you’ll concede that much (and only that much). Said with the best of intents, he reminds you of some prized thing from an antique shop, lacquered and pretty but weathered all the same.

You can’t imagine all the zeroes on his price tag, but he’s definitely an expensive thing. Part of you wonders what the hell he’s doing with your mother: you don’t come from wealth, so if he has any desire to romance her, it’s not for material gain.

…An admittedly endearing revelation. But it doesn’t quite placate you.

You can see the slight scruff of his chin, the faint wrinkles settling into his angular features. The harsh fluorescence of your kitchen isn’t the most flattering of lights, but he fairs surprisingly well under it regardless.

It’s obvious he takes good care of himself. And it’s also clear to you that he knows his worth- but considering the air of snugness around him, and your flowering dislike for him, you can’t help but wonder if he overestimates it.

The guy is a complete fucking stranger. You know him about as far as you can throw him.

A few beats of silence pass on. Each more unbearable than the last as you wordlessly drink the stranger in, his brow lifting with what you can only assume to be the stirrings of a challenge as he waits for you to take his much larger hand in yours.

Your uncertain gaze- made wide at the unwanted suddenness of it all- flits down to that hand. Despite the many jewels and glittering things that adorn his long, svelte fingers, though, there’s a lack of a wedding ring.

You allow yourself to deflate just a tiny bit at the observation.

It’s good to know he doesn’t have a wife and kids waiting at home for him, you sarcastically guess, while your mom guns for him as they sit unawares.

Still. You don’t know this man. You don’t- you don’t know what he’s doing with your mother (but don’t you?).

And he’s…

Perhaps draconian, actually, is the best descriptor.

Parting your lips in a silent breath, trying and failing to provide a simple hello to the guest or your nervous mother to the side, spectating it all, you’re at a bit of a loss for words when your subconscious realizes it’s presented with the quiet comparison of an animal or a devil for the guy— and no in between.

Sweetie, hey- Are… Are you able to talk? It’s… Important.

I… have some news. Not the good kind. Find somewhere to sit down and breathe.

…Breathe, you remind yourself. Yes. Just…

Just breathe.

Yet, his cologne- that citrusy spritz he wears like a coat, a smell you’re so unexplainably sensitive to for some reason, with its treacly vanilla undertones- is all you can breathe.

“Honey,” a thin, yet encouraging voice, your mom’s, calls out, and then her hand does settle on your shoulder as she sidles up to your chair hesitantly. “Say hi to him?”

You blink, lashes fluttering.

…And his stupid hand is still there, outstretched and waiting.

✦

You’ll give him credit for this:

Sylus, at the first opportunity to ditch his bratty, seething stepdaughter after his wife- his only real obligation to her- passes— doesn’t take it.

He had every chance to kick you to the curb now that your mother’s out of the picture. And to be honest, he has every reason, every right, to give you the boot. You’ve only been a complete bitch to him for the last seven years you’ve known him. Not to the point of ball-breaking, not quite, you were only a teenager after all, but it wasn’t extremely far off from that either.

Sylus, by his own volition, stays.

Moreover, he invites you into his home. And yes, you know it’s technically yours, too, but the circumstances of your filling out the rest of your youth under his roof weren’t the prettiest, and you weren’t the most… pleasant of persons to be around. Let alone live with.

Yet every stolen, curious glance he takes of you and the gentle, half smirks in passing- brushing your shoulder like it’s the most casual thing ever, like you never left- is a reminder in its own that this is your place, too. Whether you believe it or not is irrelevant.

If your stepfather’s aim is to reassure you, it’s working.

Slowly but surely.

Four days into the visit, you let go of much of your resistance and let yourself simply… breathe.

The past is the past, and, capable of rational thought, you’d do well to leave it behind. Let bygones be bygones and forgive both yourself and the people around you for former hurts of former times.

It’s called maturing, you quietly decide at the door one early morning, having been all but hauled out of bed, bidding the twins adieu as they hover at the porch.

This little resolve you let bud in your heart and grow is what compels you to wrap your arms around them when they hug you, embracing them back as Kieran mopes in your ear and Luke reminds it’s only for a few days.

It’s not as much to comfort you as it is to comfort himself and his brother.

You’re well aware of this, but keep quiet on the matter; you’re too sleepy to be in the mood to tease him for it, but mentally pocket it for a later time anyway.

Occupying any sort of space with the twins guarantees that you’ll need a decent deck of comebacks on standby. You’ve been adding to yours.

This short business trip of theirs isn’t some long, drawn-out pilgrimage taken to distant lands, despite their theatrics- it’s not even obligatory- but you know very well how eager the boys are to please their father, and if working a few days at one of the subsidiary companies to better the career he gave them will make him preen, then they’ll do it. Gladly.

You wouldn’t call either of them homebodies, per se… but wherever their father is, so is their heart. It’s only natural they’d want to make him proud. You know that.

You understand why they’re going, you do…

It’s just…

Over Luke’s shoulder, your eyes meet Sylus’s only briefly, but a second is all you need to read his emotions.

Propped against the threshold with folded arms and a spark of amusement that’s only slightly obvious, he watches them sandwich you in a big hug.

If it hasn’t been made clear yet— yes, they’ll miss you.

“Oh, so dramatic,” their father comments, not with any shortage of entertainment. You think if he could, he would’ve prepared a bowl of popcorn for this- but while he’s certainly tickled by the sight, there’s something else in his stare as he divvies it between you three, gathered in a tangle of arms and suitcases, that he won’t admit aloud.

Pride, maybe…?

Satisfaction?

Or… Content. That’s the closest word.

You hope Sylus doesn’t see the slight fluster left on you by his flippant remark. Untucking your chin from one of the boys’ shoulders as you stand upright and pat their backs respectively.

“A-Alright, boys, that’s enough.”

“Say it back,” Luke chirps, “say you’ll miss us!”

Sighing, you roll your eyes. “I just said I did-“

“But do it louder! We’ll be gone for three whole days!”

“Yeah! Don’t you love us, sis?! Will you really just stand there unaffected as we turn our backs and go?”

If unaffected means arms crossed, shivering in freezing temperatures with the faintest of frowns on your face, some inner piece of you experiencing a quiet, unanticipated ache at their departure, then yes- by all means, you’re unaffected.

You purse your lips, snipping back with only half the bite, “If you keep pushing it, I’ll email the firm specifically and tell them to keep you dummies there for longer.”

A deep, languid chuckle answers back; like a slowed song with reverb, it hits differently.

Considering your newfound efforts to squash the beef between you both- even if it was only one-sided- you don’t ignore him out of bitterness, but the slight unease is still something you can’t quite shake, so you momentarily survey the porch below (anything but him, stood somewhere behind you), and sniff.

I mean, it’s reasonable to be a little awkward, isn’t it…? You’ve spent all your adult years clinging onto the straws of a grudge your teenage self kept for him- and back then, you were only fiercer, more vocal, in your stance taken against your new stepfamily.

So yeah, while it’s safe to say the worst of that metaphorical storm has blown over, the debris is still absolutely there: the ruined bits you have to cautiously step across and just- try to overlook.

Too low for anyone to hear, you softly sigh.

Just as you determined to make peace with him, though, you tranquilly think to yourself, you’ll too learn how to navigate the aftermath of that silently-signed treaty.

Of course, that awkward feeling in the air, not powerful enough to take precedence in your mind, but niggling all the same, is only temporary.

Two weeks.

“Geez, sis,” Kieran snickers, Luke grinning ear to ear at your other side, the duo forming a flank, “someone woke up on the wrong side of bed, huh?”

“You’ll be late, you two,” a lilting voice from behind chimes in, effectively putting an end to the antics.

You don’t bother looking behind, but the twins’ focus shifts over your head before they slump their backs and sigh, conceding.

Hmph. Theatrical as always.

“Yeah, yeah, we got it, dad! We’re going!”

Rewrapping your robe, you offer a longanimous exhale when Kieran’s lanky arm unfurls from you, the boys finally stepping away for the car. The thin cotton does little to ward off the December cold, its roots digging bone-deep within seconds of lingering on the porch, and underneath it, your tanktop and panties offer not an iota of warmth, either- but you weren’t about to wave them goodbye half-naked, so the robe does its part to cover you.

Within a few minutes, you’ll be curled up in your bed anyway, allowed to revisit the sleep you’d been so rudely pulled from.

Piling into the car, they holler to you, and with a smile you can’t quite fight off, you shake your head at them all the while.

The engine grumbles to life. The idiots they are, they give it a few gratuitous revs (to impress you? God only knows their end goal) and then the gate is opening for them as they peel off.

Dummies.

And then it’s just you and him.

You and Sylus.

You and… your stepfather.

A hand, broad and big but warm- oh so reluctant- places itself on your shoulder, circling the blade reassuringly with its thumb. To your immense surprise, you manage to keep from flinching beneath it, but just barely.

Still. If that’s not progress, you don’t know what is.

With an only somewhat visible shiver, you turn around and face him as he shifts sideways to the door, his chin trained your way as he offers a slight, deliberate smirk. Something like encouragement is used as its subtext.

His hand leaves as quickly as it came, slipping away. Its imprint of warmth slowly fades, too.

He opens the door wide, gesturing with a nonchalant little nod, “Ready to go in?” In flannel pajamas, bare foot, he doesn’t even shiver.

Vacillating, you spare one last look behind you, out to the courtyard with its sprawling, greyed lawn and erected fences, and watch the stillness. It’s a sight worthy of your admiration.

A flurry— the first of the season— begins to fall.

You breathe out. A cloud of white whisks from your lips and blends into nothingness. It’s pretty in the way that it doesn’t last for long.

And it’s freezing but it’s… strange. How this one cold winter develops this way of thawing you out.

Returning to the man in front of you, waiting patiently, you nod, dipping your head on the way past him. Bundling yourself tighter. “Yeah.”

✦

Not long after midday, you’re a fraction through one of your new books- but you decide to put it down.

It’s for a couple different reasons. One of them being that it’s not gotten good yet- the plot moving at a snail’s speed, the protagonist not interesting enough to even remember the name of- and you figure the chapter you’re closing out on now is a good breaking point. The main one, though, is that you’re awfully bored and this house, despite holding not the best of memories, has lots to offer.

When it comes to fun— exploring its labyrinthine rooms, utilizing its many services and amenities (like a personal chef, for instance, or a home theater and gym)— there’s no shortage of things to do.

It’s just with an ounce of unease that you realize those fun opportunities, however, are only half the appeal without the twins.

Annoying, troublesome, experts at exaggeration and being thorns in your side— yes, they’re all of that and then some. But if we’re listing all their shining traits right now, then for the record, ‘fun’ must be one of them.

And yeah, okay, their absence is starting to kick in just a little bit. But it’s not a big deal. I mean, what’s it matter if they’re gone for a few days? You’ll blink and it’ll be over.

They’ll be back. You’ll greet them at the door after they veer into the driveway, waiting there just as you did when waving them goodbye, and Sylus will be chuckling behind you in that rich, unruffled way he does as they herd you inside and divulge their journey.

Heaving a sigh, you toss your book aside on the dormer window and relocate to your bed.

You belly flop on it before rolling on your back to stare at the ceiling.

For only a moment, you close your eyes and let yourself be barraged by the thoughts you’d been blocking out; the unique responsibilities and aches.

You intake an unsteady, deep breath and attempt to manage them all one at a time— but they don’t stand in single-file, eager to attack you from every angle all at once.

The dress for the funeral…

Looking through your mother’s old things…

And then everything that comes afterward of that, too. Whatever that might entail.

As ambivalent as the future may seem, an abstract thing veiled behind fog and uncertainty, you ruefully suppose not wanting it to come won’t stop it from doing just that.

And then of course, there’s the whole booking your flight thing… leaving this place for, if you’re being realistic, probably the last fucking time and then—

Have you even asked Sylus who’s giving the eulogy?

“No,” you mumble before rolling on your stomach again, legs and arms splayed on the bed like a starfish.

God help you. Half of you is expecting for the twins, just as irksome as they are entertaining, to come bursting through your door at any moment and save you from the woes of having nothing to do. To be fair, sitting around and doing absolutely nothing is better than some things- like work, namely (you don’t want to imagine the stack of papers that’s building on your desk during your leave)- but as you quietly ponder the week and a half ahead, you start to worry it’ll be uneventful from start to finish.

Well, as uneventful that a trip begotten by a funeral can be, anyway.

Maybe it’s being wishful- sickeningly optimistic in a situation with no one silver lining- but you’d like to hope you can at least squeeze out some enjoyment during your stay.

As sheepish as you are to admit it, the twins were a staple in that halfbaked idea.

But now they’re gone. For three days. And God only knows why it was so simple a decision for them to make, leaving you behind when right now, realistically speaking, your little screwed up family should be huddling together now more than ever, but—

(‘Why was it simple?’ Well, why do you think…? Because you’ve been so coldly pushing them away and they finally took the hint and-)

You get up and leave your room, traipsing down the hallway. You can’t find it in you to care, right now, about who you might bump into while the house is left to two people and a whole lot of ice.

Sylus is probably in his study, anyway. Assuming he even is in the home right now, but with the long laundry list of errands and contractual deals that require his flowery, hasty signature to be secured, you doubt he spends too much of his time here on weekdays.

As you walk through the stretching halls, you trace the walls with a finger, bored.

You’re stopped in your tracks by a picture- just one of the many lavish decorations- and tilt your head up to stare at it in its entirety.

It’s a big thing; a large, elaborate wooden frame without dust.

Five portraits stare back at you. But you- squished between the cheerful twins, stood before your mother and stepfather who join in a kiss behind your head, smiling lips smushed together as he holds back her veil- don’t don the same delighted expression.

Maybe it’s immature of you, but as the lingering, subtle whisps of something citrusy waft by, you do offer a slight huff of amusement at the image. It’s just so comically awful, nailed to the wall in a frame so stupidly opulent it’s like some boast against poor people— a should-be perfect wedding photo marred by the bitterness oozing off the stepdaughter.

Alright, to be fair, you’re not outright scowling or anything, but the smile you plaster on is so clearly fake it’s hard not to laugh at it—

“She looked like you, you know.”

You must jump five feet into the air.

He adds, raising one wryly amused brow, “Somewhat.”

Startled, you turn to find him staring not at the picture he presumably references- but you.

Your brow furrows slightly, and then he does glance over to the frame as you hover your hand over your heart, clutching your invisible pearls in a moment of deja vu.

A soft sigh. Is this how you’ll be seeing him now…? Every time you happen to bump into your stepfather- evidently not the best at evading him- does it mean you’ll be caught off guard as he stands there, unbothered, before apologizing?

Except, this time he doesn’t. He’s content pretending not to notice your shudder- your fear of him. Ruby-red hues drifting off as his jaw imperceptibly tightens.

Murmuring under his breath as he surveys the illustration almost quizzically, “But wasn’t… quite you.”

Ah, right- the wedding photo. Your mother. You resemble her— That’s what he’s getting at here.

“Y-Yeah…” You mumble back. You don’t have much to offer him, but it’s better than ignoring him: the thing you recently decided you wouldn’t be doing on this trip.

Slowly, you close your mouth. You do a quick once-over of him, and then look back towards the hanging memory.

There’s a certain silence that occurs between you both, then. Simultaneous to it- is a weight dropping in your heart, slowly descending the longer you reminisce on the familiar woman’s profile.

Not only has the stepdaughter’s scornful face been immortalized, but so has your dead mother’s.

It’s in a moment of weakness, perhaps, that you reach out to trail her jaw, pondering the past as it sweeps you up in its nostalgic current.

Your mind is less focused on acting cool and indifferent in front of your stepfather and more on the parent that has been ripped away from you- now stood before you in an intricate frame along a dark wall. So maybe later you might regret showing your belly to him, but right now, you really can’t find it in you to care.

You told yourself the past is the past.

Now, all there’s left to do is commit.

“She looked… so happy,” you’re surprised to realize the voice filling your ears is your own, gravelly from disuse, barely audible. Part of you debates feeling embarrassed, but quickly erases the idea because you don’t think your stepfather would have any real intent to ridicule you, least of all right now.

Your younger self has always been fairly good at believing everyone around you is a sworn enemy, out to get you behind your back, but your stepfather is…

Family, a little voice in the back of your head supplies. And you’re puzzled at the lack of backlash it receives this time around.

You start to wonder if he’s heard, the quiet sprawling for just a touch too long, self-consciousness a breath away as something, his attention, you think, bores into the back of your head, but then he hums and you’re at ease again.

“She was so happy,” he agrees. “We both were.”

Sylus, from the corner of his eye, watches.

Some gear turns in the very back of your skull and begs to ask the question of just what he’s doing here right now; the master bedroom- now his alone, you realize with an unbidden squeeze of your heart- is on the other wing of the house. During the daytime, he’s typically downstairs, anyway.

But you suppose that’s besides the point.

Your eyes flutter down, and then your hand follows. Ghosting along the photo in one sweeping motion before you turn just halfway to face him.

You’re making headway on squashing your beef with him, oh definitely, but there’s a sort of intimacy that comes with standing front-to-front, and right now, you think that’d be overwhelming and weird for the both of you.

He’s not… used to you being exactly nice to him, anyway, or open. Or agreeable. Or- or anything, really. For your teen years, you erected a wall in between you both and actively refused to let anyone scale it— and after you moved out, you weren’t so hellbent on keeping him away, sure, not half as immature and bratty as you had been, but the distance was absolutely still there. Just quieter.

No longer screamed, but rather implied.

For a while, you’d even wondered if he’d agreed upon it. If he threw in the metaphorical towel on building a relationship with you; defeated and exasperated. But you guess he’s a multimillionaire for a reason— it requires dogged ambition- drive- to reach those heights, after all— and you’ve sometimes wondered if meeting Sylus was like an immovable object going head to head with an unstoppable force.

For your part, you’re not so used to this, either. Kind of giving into this… paternal subtext to your nonexistent connection.

It’s odd. New, as it creeps in on you, slowly dialing up the temperature. Though the way it plants its seed is too gradual to make you want to dig it out from the dirt right away.

It’s a foreign thing, yes— when your eyes meet his, an inscrutable, glittering red, and a ribbon of warmth unfurls in your aching chest as you quietly realize he’s there for you, that in this tragedy, you’re not alone— but it’s not… bad, per se.

Not like you’d always imagined it’d be, anyway.

I mean, back then you didn’t even want to imagine it, but now—

Two weeks, your nagging subconscious reminds, and then you’ll be gone. Your… family (the pest-like, ever plotting twins; Sylus, even, the persistent but gentle stepfather you’d kept on hold indefinitely) will become just a speck in the distance as it grows behind you. And then….

And then you’ll be alone. And that was what you wanted, wasn’t it?

But maybe if you had just- not been so fucking stubborn and bent on making a point to your mother, if you had just visited a little more, then maybe by some stretch of inagination you could’ve done something to-

Your soul sinks in your chest. The feeling of regret, terrible and distinct, rips you a new one as you try not to wilt in the silence. But Sylus’s eyes are warm, softening into a pass of concern as he drops his folded arms.

Business-oriented, arrogant, competitive, bound and determined. You and the world have seen each of those facets of him, but the gentler side is one that the latter doesn’t own access to.

When Sylus’s fingers twitch, his arm nearly reaching out to you as he visibly vacillates, you feel a strange flash of endearment towards him.

Your mother saw this side of him all the time, you inwardly consider. Because that’s who he reserved it most for.

Sylus assigned things to one of two categories: his family, and then everything else.

And you- you infuriating, lovely little dragon of a daughter- fell to the former.

There’s all kinds of uncertainty swirling in his eyes, but he settles for a soft clear of his throat, looking you over. The gloss in your stare, the one that hangs over your lashes and refuses to fall as if permanently suspended there, makes him open his mouth, but before he can say anything, you undercut his words.

“What are you doing here?”

You ask. Not in a demanding way: you’re just eager to distract you both from your impending waterworks.

You wonder if he knows; what’s running through his head as you stand there and fidget with the hem of your shirt, rapidly blinking to keep the tears at bay. You don’t remember giving them permission to come, but here they are, knocking.

His brow raises by the faintest tick, and then he smiles an easy, slight smile. Dipping his hands in his pockets to rest.

“The twins forgot something on their journey, it seems. They texted me to grab it for them. So,” he says, giving a loose shrug with one shoulder, looking down the hallway past you, tone as mocking yet sincere as ever, “Here I am, letting myself be treated like some poor… errand boy.”

“Oh.”

Poor is… certainly not the word you’d select for him, but…

He finishes, eyes catching yours in a second of boldness, “I’ll mail it out to the firm. They’ll receive it no later than this evening.”

You give a small nod, looking down to his chest because it offers a convenient escape to his penetrating, sharp stare, and frankly, if you’re getting emotional at some old picture on the wall- then you need the respite.

You rub your forearm, “Well, I’ll just be going now.”

“Where to?” A tiny twitch of his lip tells you he spoke too soon. His chest swells out. Your eyes jump to his.

“If you need a car, you can use any of the ones in the garage,” he remedies. You blanche. “Just point, and I’ll give you the keys-“

“Oh, no, no, no,” you chuckle suddenly, shaking your head. Sylus pauses, quirking one brow as he tilts his chin by a fraction, interest and maybe even a little bit of mirth reshaping his face at your change in demeanor.

“I didn’t mean I was going out,” you quickly add, “Realistically, I probably would’ve just went downstairs and ate something... Or brought a snack out to the sunroom.”

He frowns. “The sunroom might be a bit cold, though.”

“I know. I- I just wanna see how it looks after all this time.”

To your surprise, Sylus lets out a smooth, somewhat short chuckle. At your confusion, he elaborates, “This place is still the same, Kitten,” he chides in a harmless, rather loving tone, “All that’s different is that you’re here.”

…And that this time around, your mother isn’t.

Yet Sylus, as if clueless to the glaring elephant in the room, smirks and doesn’t mention it. And truthfully, you’re grateful for that. Just- you have your questions, those little segments of his short account over the phone that you want to pick apart and scrutinize- but all of that is for later. An indefinite later... Right now is too soon.

You’re hardly keeping your feelings in check as is: you don’t need to pile further revelations of your mother’s death onto the plate. In any case, as much as a gritty, inward part of you would like to know every scrap of information possible- at the end of the day, it’d be unnecessary.

Your mother died the way she did. And all attempts or methods of probing for more context, you fear, would only do more harm than good.

“I guess it still feels the same,” you mumble out an agreement, peering down the corridor towards the stairs, his figure standing tall and unruffled to your side. “All the decorations are the same.”

“Exactly,” he hums, “and the sunroom is no different. You wouldn’t want to… catch a cold on your vacation, would you?”

Vacation is a funny word for it, but you won’t shoot him for being optimistic. You’d honestly benefit from following his example.

You snort softly, sheepishly looking down, “I won’t catch a cold. It can’t be that bad. Besides,” you lift your chin, meeting his gaze- wholly transfixed on you, a glimmering, fascinated red- “Back at my apartment, the AC and heating is usually broken, so… I’m used to arctic temperatures.”

You try to joke, but he doesn’t laugh at it. In fact, his lighthearted smirk ebbs into a thin line as he parts his mouth and furrows his brow at you. Your breath hitches slightly.

The tears that had been beading at your eyes are gone, but now a sense of uncertainty replaces them in your chest.

He unstuffs his hands from either of his pockets. “That’s nothing to brag about,” he croaks.

Your lashes flutter, ears perking under his uneven timber. You… don’t often hear that voice come from him.

He swiftly recorrects himself, saying in a lighter but just as firm tone, “You should take care of yourself. Have you… been well, by the way? How is it back at your old place?” Sylus lowly ventures, before one half of his mouth quirks up playfully.

He leans his back against the wall, localizing his attention fully to you. Not paying the smallest of glances to the large, idyllic photo you stand in front of.

“I wonder,” he starts, “What a day in the life looks like in your shoes.”

A beat of silence passes. In that time, you realize it’s not just a spoken fragment of his thoughts, but a question. You answer accordingly.

Not without a look down the hall, though, silently wishing to exit the conversation as it begins to drag on.

The sunroom, for as cold as it’s advertised, sounds better and better.

You don’t quite laugh, but by some standard it might be considered one. “Well, it’s not really anything interesting. Obviously, it’s not as glamorous as like, you guys here,” you say, “but I’m fine where I am.”

Physically, fine. Although, the level of content you hold inwardly is a bit of a different story.

You’ll keep that on its shelf. Right now, it’s better where it is: in the dark; in the quiet.

Safe with you.

Sylus simply says, “You… shouldn’t settle for less,” impossibly careful with his choice of words, albeit you don’t fully know why.

“I-I’m not,” you jump to justify. You have a growing inkling that this conversation is going nowhere, and you don’t exactly like small talk, so you aim to wrap this up.

“I work hard at my job, but-“

But what? you still don’t wanna die in a cubicle during your mundane 9-5 job? Hmph. Yeah, get in line behind literally everyone else.

Not everybody has the same luxury that Sylus does, though: he’ll die without regrets, knowing he secured riches for his next thousand generations, but you can’t really say the same. That is… assuming you branch off from the Qins and separate yourself from that golden heritage. Which-

You are. You will. These two weeks will either fly by or slug by, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll be bidding the boys farewell one last time.

You’ll do the right, reasonable thing, excuse yourself from the metaphorical table that is your stepfamily (who, if you’re being honest, are probably done with you deep down but are too nice- sympathetic in this dark time- to say something), and go back home. To that shitty, cramped apartment with its broken utilities and cracks in the ceiling. To that cubicle; to all the paperwork on your desk amounting to a miniature Tower of Babel.

You’ll go back to the loneliness and uncertainty.

Yet it will just be even colder, then. Knowing that palatial house on the hills, once a backup plan of sorts- a final failsafe if your humble little life you’d been trying to make for yourself collapsed- is no longer an option.

Because the one precious thread tying you to it—

Snapped.

“I work hard at my job,” you try anew, inexplicably having trouble meeting his eyes. “I always strive for better, just- I know how to be content with what I have, you know?”

It’s not meant as a jab towards him, you swear it’s not, albeit your way of going about it could use a little bit of work. Considering you’ve been making all sorts of revolutionary improvements on this trip, though, you don’t think adjusting your tone should be too big of an issue.

At any rate- you’re not about to start this big discussion with your stepfather on career paths and how satisfied you are with yours, though, and that’s where this seems to be headed.

You gesture down the hall with a shoulder and smile if only to be polite.

“But anyway, I think I’ll-“

“You know,” Sylus starts, glancing up to you expectantly, and it’s only right then that you realize he’d been looking at the floor- or, more accurately, your legs- while mulling over something, silent. His words are measured, slow; his hues more obsidian than ruby in the dimly-lit corridor. The vibrant twinkle of scarlet is still there, but a shadow pours over his brow. His slight crow’s feet can be spotted.

He’s pushing forty one now, but it’s strange- how you look at him and don’t notice the age. He’s as virile and manly as ever. In his prime, you’d say.

Silently, you wonder in a breath if all men are like wine in the way that they age, or if your stepfather was a result of a fluke.

I mean, you’re aware that he takes good care of himself. Those boxing sessions he does on the side in the home gym certainly do their part to keep him physically afloat, and his chef only uses ingredients of the highest quality— but still…

It’s not wrong to make the comment that he’s a bit of a genetic jewel.

You remind yourself to tune back into his words, straightening your spine slightly.

Yes, you can acknowledge- in absolutely no weird way, mind you- that your stepfather is an attractive guy. There’s no science to it: he just… is. Your mother certainty knew it; all her gossiping friends, too. You’re not so taken by an old grudge to pretend Sylus’s charm isn’t universal.

“Don’t… take this the wrong way, I don’t mean to be pushy,” he drawls, the image of casual. There’s a wisp of hesitance in his eyes, though. You don’t miss it. “But if you ever want to try your hand at my company,” he leaves the suggestion open-ended, although there’s nothing you need further clarity on.

You laugh nervously, ignoring the inward part of you that perks a little at the offer.

“Ah, no, I… already have a job back at my place. And I think the commute would be a nightmare,” A commute is a bit of an understatement— if you were to hop aboard your stepfather’s panel, you’d actually have to move back out to Linkon or, perhaps more conveniently, just live out of your old bedroom already here.

But for so many reasons, working for Sylus just… isn’t a great idea.

Besides- he’s just being nice to you, anyway. The four of you are in a hard time right now.

You’ve never gotten along well with Sylus, sure, and he’s well-acquainted with your abrasive exterior, but he’s never been half as immature as your younger self in regards to sympathy, so of course he’s trying to make you feel better— you’re his veritable stepdaughter, after all. There’s not many better ways to do that than to offer you an extremely lucrative job that he knows you’ll ultimately decline— meaning he’ll take no loss.

He’s just being polite… Which makes you a smidgen more uncomfortable to acknowledge your bumpy past with him. Here he is with the twins, flying you out and making efforts to comfort you in his own roundabout way after his wife’s died- no doubt dealing with that loss as well- and you’re still trying to fully commit to ‘new beginnings’ and all.

He’s just a man at the end of the day, you realize right then, a pang of guilt fattening your heart. He fell in love with your mother; so much so that he was willing to put up with her insufferable, brat of a child for years on end.

And you were- well, for lack of a better word you were a bitch.

And yeah there’s a million justifications you can make for it, but the point of the matter right now is that you feel bad. You feel like such an intruder, a nuisance, a burden now weighing on his, Luke’s, and Kieran’s shoulders, and-

Sylus shrugs like there’s nothing on them. Glances down to rub his forefinger and thumb together. Dripping nonchalance right from the pores.

“Suit yourself.” He says smoothly, taking your rejection no different than a duck would with water off its wings. “But Sweetie,” he states, eyes clashing with yours as if to add emphasis to whatever he’ll say, “The opportunity will always be up in the air for you. Do you understand?”

Oh, the emphasis is there, alright.

You swallow. “O-Okay.”

“See you, then.”

And then he’s breezing past before you can even clumsily dismiss yourself. Tall and broad and gone.

His heady cologne remains in a subtle draft and then that, too, disappears.

R-Right, you blink, sighing out a big breath you didn’t realize you were holding all along.

The sunroom.

✦

His large hand, extended like an offering, slightly falters when he understands you don’t have a lick of desire to shake it.

Maybe you’re a bit hangry, yes, and you’ll admit that probably does no favors for your current mood as this ridiculous scene unfolds before you- but all these emotions that bud inside you now, flowering no different than weeds, entangling themselves as they expand- are very much valid and real.

You’re still positively pissed and confused and above all, hurt that she’s been going behind your back and flirting around without so much as telling you.

See, of course you had your ideas and creeping little doubts— it was hard not to what with the way her schedule was warping in front of your eyes, how she seemed just a pinch happier than usual, giddy, almost— but being faced with the truth of it all in its real, physical form is a different matter entirely.

And-

And how she could do this to you? after- after what happened with your father?

Well, you just don’t fucking know.

But she’s doing it to you right now, anxiously peering at you from your side, and she’s smiling.

A beat of silence occurs, loud and tedious.

His hand stays out, dangling like a modifier, and it’s like the sumptuous asshole knows you’ll change your mind and backtrack or something: as if that’s all he’s used to, people parting like the Red Sea and bowing for him without question.

…Audacious: you’ll admit that much. But you’ll give him no more credit than that, as kind of backhanded as it is.

Time slows. In reality, no more than two seconds must’ve passed, but as the eyes of your mother drill into your profile both in a mash of expectance and worry, and your heart lodges in your throat, it feels like you’re stuck in a time capsule.

You’ve been standing here too long. This enigmatic, admittedly dashing stranger (Sylus, your mind- seemingly having shut off in the moment to lend your senses full control- helpfully contributes) has been in your home too long and—

Mentally, you scold yourself for visibly balking. You steel yourself against him and school your expression.

This is your house.

He won’t make you feel like an outsider in it.

The silver-haired man, with the scruff on his chin and the punch of whiskey underlining his fancy-shmancy cologne, with his sharp red eyes, drops his hand back to his side and actually laughs at your blatant rejection of him.

“Very hospitable, I see. I like that,” he tosses behind his broad shoulder to your somewhat mortified mother as he, egregiously enough, goes to take his shoes off at the door, a hand in his pocket. “Your kid is as bold as you are, honey.”

Honey?

…Honey?

You grow a mite afraid in that moment, internally struggling to pinpoint just what degree of involvement this awful yet handsome guy has with your mother.

How deep into this little… fling of theirs are they, anyway?

She opens her mouth, looks at you, then closes it. Blustering out a laughing apology, she leaves your side and flutters over to him. You don’t know if you’re thankful for the reprieve, the momentary alone time to your own thoughts, or unbelievably hurt as you watch her take his jacket and hang it in the coat closet, happy to do it despite the turmoil hidden beneath all her inebriated twirling.

On the inside, your world is fracturing down the middle, drifting apart steadily like the planes of Pangaea— but this stupid awful guy just shrugs out a kink in his neck, turning back to your mother (who’s only slightly embraced on your account) to swoop down and thank her with a peck to the lips.

The rest of your weak appetite for microwaved dinner flies out the window.

And in your undies and that old beloved tee of your late father’s, you take the chance while they’re distracted to hop off the chair and fly up the steps.

For everyone’s sake, you hope the guy— Sylus, your mind so helpfully provides as you sob into your pillows— is only temporary.

♡ tags: @leftpoetrymoon @valhalla-soulstealer @gingybimby @crowsandapples @novthirty @mcdepressed290 @jadeloverxd @satansdaughter123 @blitziwitch @luminaaaz @eialovescats @noliniodeaes @dramaticalsachan @loudhologramturtle @softiepeachess @reni502 @datfangirl @lilyalone @thatsbunnysmind @lioria @floooring @babyx91 @rosie279 @calistaxoxo24 @kingheinrey @msturi2u @theplaid-wearingmoose @blueseachelle @themonotonysyndrome @crazyartist0001-blog @librarydame @deathlycrow @whdhjfjvjvjfjdhsj @terriblesoup @floofycookie @sdlyoongi @hikaakox @melba1982 @crimsonsylus @miuangel @ravynstreasure @corvo-core ✦ ask to be added to the taglist! just make sure you have an age in your bio (17+) ✨ hopefully i got everyone down lol :,)

[dark-moonlust]

Hello Kate! I LOVE LOVE LOVE your stories! I was wondering if maybe you'd like this idea.... It's not smut, tho you write it like a boss! This one is fluff between a centaur and freader. I'm thinking that he wants to cuddle the reader but is so bummed that he is half horse and can't cuddle/spoon! Somehow reader finds a solution and they snuggle in the end. I'd love to read it in your writing :)

Big Spoon Problem (centaur x fem reader)

Pairing: centaur x fem human reader

Warnings: none, SFW, fluff, domestic softness, emotional vulnerability leading to safety, size difference, tender kisses. Hi Moonlust friends! 💛 I’m back working on your requests! Thank you, anon, for the cute idea! I LOVE it and I LOVE you and your sweet words! Thank you!! 🫶

There are a lot of requests in my inbox (I see you, you’re all adorable 🥺), and I’ll try my best to do as many as I can over the next few months. It might take a little time, but thank you so much for sticking with me. You are amazing! Also, if you send me new requests, it would really help if you keep them short rather than huge essay-sized ones, so I can get to them more easily. Otherwise, you can always commission me on Patreon if you want something bigger or detailed! Again, thank you for being here. Enjoy your centaur cuddles below!

It was another night, another time your centaur boyfriend was bummed that he couldn’t spoon you because of his half-horse legs. He always tried valiantly to make it work, as he did tonight. “Just—c’mere,” he grumbled, shifting again, the entire bed frame creaking under his massive, horse-shaped lower half. His hooves clopped against the floor, tail flicking. You blinked at him from your spot on the edge of the bed. “How? Baby, you’re going to break the slats if you keep moving like that.” He glared, black wavy hair falling over his stormy eyes. “I want to cuddle you. Why is this so—” his hoof thumped. “Damn—” Thumped again. “Hard?!” The mattress sank, the entire bed squealing under his shifting weight. You let out a squeak, clutching the pillow tighter. “I told you! Baby, the bed! We can just use the couch!” He shook his head. “I can’t fit on your tiny human couch,” he muttered. “I’m supposed to be the big spoon, remember?” “Pretty sure ‘big spoon’ doesn’t mean levelling the entire bed with your sexy butt.” “Don’t tease,” he grumbled. “I can be the big spoon. I can be so good at being the big spoon.” You exhaled, your heart squeezing at the sight of your massive, powerful centaur trying to fit into your bed just so he could hold you. Not one to give up, he tried to climb further onto the mattress. The bed let out a shriek under the pressure, one hoof scraping the floor for balance. Eventually, his upper body collapsed forward onto the mattress, making it bounce so hard you nearly fell off, yelping. The rest of his body took up the entire lower half of the room: legs curling, tail flicking once, twice, before settling.

“This is fine,” he said, face smushed against a pillow, hair in his mouth. “I can do this.”

You wheezed with laughter. “You’re ridiculously adorable, you know that?”

He spat out a strand of hair, grumbling, “Hmm…”

Breathing out slowly, you reached out to brush the hair from his flushed face. “Baby,” you said gently, “come closer, big guy.”

He peeked at you. “How?”

“Roll on your side,” you instructed, patting the bed, “and let your other half remain on the floor.”

“You think that’ll work?”

“I know it will,” you said, a smile teasing your lips. “Trust me.”

With a heavy sigh, he carefully maneuvered his bulk, rolling his massive body so his human torso rested sideways on the mattress, while his equine half stayed on the floor, hooves bent, tail flicking nervously. It looked awkward, but it worked and he looked comfortable enough.

“There,” you said, crawling closer. “Now you can cuddle me.”

A sigh left you both as you tucked yourself into his waiting embrace. His arms came up, big, warm, calloused hands cradling your waist as he pulled your back flush against his chest, your head fitting perfectly under his chin.

“See?” he murmured, burying his face in your hair with a happy sigh. “Told you, sweetheart. Big spoon.”

You heard his tail swishing with satisfaction, giving heavy, slow sweeps across the floor.

You grinned. “You win. Big spoon king.”

“Damn right I win,” he drawled, his arms wrapping tighter around you. The scent of clean grass and male musk filled your senses. The scent of him; safety and warmth.

Moments later, he spoke again, his voice throaty, “Sometimes… I wish I was smaller. So I could fit you. So I could fit your world.”

Your breath caught and you tilted your head back to look at him. His eyes were open, vulnerable in the faint lamplight.

“Hey,” you whispered as he rubbed his cheek against yours, the scratch of his stubble making you shiver. “I love you just the way you are.”

He swallowed, throat working. He didn’t answer.

“We’ll always make it work,” you added, your hands cupping his big ones around your waist. “Big hooves, fluffy tail, giant everything—I wouldn’t change a single part of you. I never want to change the things that make YOU so special and beautiful.”

He cuddled you tight, so tight. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything. You’re perfect,” you whispered, turning to kiss the corner of his mouth, your lips brushing lazily. “You’re the biggest, safest, warmest spoon, baby.”

“You are even more perfect,” he growled, kissing you wetly.

Outside, the night was warm and quiet.

Inside, it was just you and him, tangled blissfully on a bed that was too small, but your hearts were more than big enough to make this work.

------------------

Author: Imagine explaining to your landlord how your centaur boyfriend broke your bed 💗🫣

Also, if you liked this, please reblog so more monster lovers can find it!

[aetherflowers]

A Word With Friends 6/30 & More Cullen Positivity

@hedwigoprah is back with her amazing word game! Thank you so much for hosting it, Sparkles. And thank you to the anon who suggested this week's word!

This week's word is:

Moribund

Adjective • Approaching death; about to die; dying; expiring. • Almost obsolete, nearing an end. Noun • A person who is near to dying.

Passing out no-pressure tags to: @woundedsoul12 @in-the-drowning-deep @in-the-drowning-deep @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @davrinsleftpectoral @p0lkadotdotdot @babydinosaur930 @nirikeehan @jenn2d2 @draco-illius-noctis aaaaaand

You!

I kind of struggled with this because I was going to include it in DA100 earlier but then I didn't. Then I used it in another little drabble that I hated. So I skimmed stuff I had written and found this and it felt like fate.

So here's more Cullen Positivity for Cullen Positivity Week by @loveofdragonage!

Word count: 900

When green painted the sky, he wondered if he imagined it. Before he could turn to Cassandra to ask, she had gasped beside him. “That has to be her,” the Seeker breathed, her voice full of hope. The odds of her surviving the encounter with the twisted Darkspawn - or whatever it was - and his archdemon were slim enough; surviving an avalanche and blizzard as well? Impossible. He had told himself as much over and over because he didn’t know if he could survive finding her corpse if he let himself hope.

And yet…

He whistled to his forward scout and pointed toward where the magic had bloomed, and then he took off at a jog. Just over the next ridge he stopped, squinting against the bitter wind and snow. Like a beacon her marked hand stretched across the ground, its magic emitting little sparks, and he followed it to where she lay, half-buried in the snow and far too still. His heart raced as he dropped to his knees beside her and cleared snow and hair from her face, her skin pale and cold.

“Please,” he begged, his voice breaking as his fingers brushed her cheek. It wasn’t until her eyelids fluttered that he breathed again. She was alive, if just barely.

“Is she…?” Cassandra leaned over his shoulder as he gathered Yvette into his arms.

“She’s alive,” he confirmed. “For now.”

As he carried her up the mountain, he tried to keep her awake, knowing it was her best chance. Every time her eyes would slip closed he would rouse her, and every time it took longer for her to come around. Her breathing was erratic and a few times he was sure it stopped altogether, and he begged the Maker to give them just a little longer.

The next time hands brushed her cheek, her eyes didn’t flutter open in response. “We’re losing her,” Cassandra cried.

“We’re not losing her,” Cullen insisted as he tried harder to rouse her. When was the last time her chest rose? The pulse at her neck was so faint it took several healers just to find it. Mages swarmed her in the camp, healing and heating and hoping.

Outside the tent they had carried her to, the people of Haven recited verses of the Chant. Word had spread around the survivors before he had even made it back with her, and a crowd had been waiting to look upon her broken, moribund body with wonder. She felt far too small and cold in his arms; her presence had always been big enough to fill a room. How had these small shoulders carried the weight of the fledgling Inquisition? How had hands so small closed a hole in the sky?

Leliana paced and Josephine cried softly. He should have looked away when the healers began to undress her and cut away clothing, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave her side. Mother Giselle had gently moved him to the head of the cot they laid her on, but she hadn’t told him to leave so he had taken vigil there. 

“Talk to her,” the Revered Mother told him. “Keep her with us, Commander.”

And he had knelt at her side and done just that. At first it had just been a stilted report of their escape from the Chantry, but then he had told her about how her stubborn horse had tried to go back for her three times. It had taken sugar cubes to get Imogen to follow them, but thankfully the horsemaster had them on hand, and then the beast had refused to leave his side. He told her how the people had cried when the avalanche came down, and how Dorian had tried to get them to use blood magic to find her. They had almost given in and done it, and then they had seen her flare. Eventually his words morphed into pleas for her not to leave him and promises that he would do anything if she would just keep breathing.

Her chest rose with another breath, and relief flooded him. Blood pooled in the corners of her mouth, fresh and wet, but Cassandra handed him a warm cloth to clean the dried blood and grime from her skin. There were bruises forming around split skin by her temple and the bridge of her nose; blood had caked around her nostrils and dried in her hair. She was as pale as the sheet they draped over her after they cut away her clothes and her lips were blue, but she kept fighting for every breath.

The tenacity that she had displayed time and again, that had drawn him to her, kept her going. He pulled off his glove and ran his fingers over her cheek. There were so few places that seemed safe to touch, but he could not stop himself. She felt so fragile beneath his fingers when she had once felt so strong; he pressed his lips to her skin and her brows knit. Her lips formed his name and he cradled her face in his hands and murmured to her that he was there and he loved her.

“It’s time to let her sleep,” Mother Giselle explained to him. “Her temperature is up; the mages will put her under so we can work on the leg.”

“And then?” He was barely following along.

“Then we pray,” she answered plainly, “that it is not too late and the Maker will leave her with us.”

[triplepich]

Your hitches and sneezes are amazing (your voice too!). Thank you so much for sharing with us. Blesss youu. Anything you'd be up for sharing holdback or build up wise would be out of this world. Just know that your sharing is appreciated so no pressure. This is mostly just a thank you!

✨build ups anon

Hi, build ups anon!

Here's a gift for y'all:

🤍🤍🤍 Video, M, NSFWish, buildups/failed holdbacks, inducing and ABDOMENNNN

How shy I feel rn

🤍🤍🤍 love love love

[nekoboydreams]

Your game is really, really amazing！😆 So excited for the next update! 😆 I absolutely love your game! 😆

I have a few questions:

1. We all know Pierrot can live for a super long time, but the MC is just human. If the MC and Pierrot end up together later, would Pierrot worry about the MC’s lifespan? Or could he find a way to make the MC immortal?

2. I really want to know about Harlequin’s reaction when that rude woman from the coffee shop shows up at the pink tent and Pierrot says, “This one’s mine.” Would Harlequin figure out that Pierrot wants her because of the MC? Or would he deliberately say he wants her too, just to mess with Pierrot and make him mad?

3. If you don’t mind answering, can I ask what the other circus members think of each other? Or specifically, what they think of Pierrot and Harlequin? For example, do they think Pierrot is quiet but decent, or that Harlequin is a troublemaker?

4. Since the circus travels around the world a lot, how do they usually get around? And how do they carry those big tents?

Hope you have a wonderful day! 😊

Thank you so much Anon!

I think it would take him quite a while to start thinking about those things. He’d be so in love that the idea of MC not being like him wouldn’t start to worry him until a few years had passed. As of now, I don’t think they have a way to extend MC’s life.

2. That’s a really interesting and unique question! Harlequin would notice that Pierrot's intentions with this woman aren’t romantic, so he’d be curious: “Why is he choosing this human now?” So when it comes time to vote, he wouldn’t interfere just watch closely to see if it’s worth getting involved, or if it’s not that interesting. And since Pierrot brought her to the stage, Harlequin didn’t bother stepping in after all, chasing after MC is far more interesting at the moment.

3. They all know Harlequin's personality well and are used to it. Jester values him like everyone else, but knows that sometimes he can be a real headache. The Ticketmaster doesn’t get involved much, unless Harlequin meddles in his own business otherwise, they get along fine. The Fifth is more laid-back, since Harlequin doesn’t usually provoke him very often.

Now about Pierrot: Jester knows well how “unstable” Pierrot is, so he usually pays a lot of attention to him. The Ticketmaster has a normal relationship with Pierrot they get along well when they’re not in public. And the Fifth gets along with Pierrot too he likes to make things easier for him when needed.

4. That was a great question, many people talk about the technology aspect, but no one has asked that until now! The truth is, some of them do drive. They have trailers and a few vehicles to move around with all the circus equipment.

Thank you so much! Wishing the same for you too!

[starp00k]

Any Tadc ship! I just like those guys! They are so heart warming

I had so much drawing these!!!!! here are my top tadc ships :D

[i-like-forcefem]

what are you talking about?? you’re a girl! you can wear girl clothes! can you get on this table for me? just spread your arms out like this for me, good girl. look up. what do you see? do you see her? do you see that pretty girl? doesn’t that skirt look good on her? it’s a good skirt and she’s such a pretty girl. say it with me. tell me you see a pretty girl. I can wait all day…

I- I- I'm a- a pretty girl

[fafodill]

Ok I think I have an angsty one… so AU what if Lily is alive, they somehow reconnect and then there’s Lily constantly calling him to help her for whatever mundane reason, would Snape prioritize his SO or Lily?

Oh. Ohohohohoho I LIKE this. *inspired laughter* ✨🦇

Well it depends heavily on the war, the context etc. so let's choose a premise here: Lily, James and Harry are alive, Severus isn't part of the DE anymore and is in a relationship with is s/o.

The tricky part would be how far he is in his relationship with his partner. But let's say it's already been a little while and he's in love with them (I'm not discussing Snily here, only their relationship as (ex) friends). They may not be living together yet but close-ish. Or maybe they are.

I would assume his s/o heard about Lily. She was a big part of his life and the first person he valued before his s/o. More than that, Lily may have been a big barrier between them at first since she broke his heart and his capacity to trust people - I assume he would have closed off hard after their fallout.

So at some point, his partner heard about her. I don't think he shareed too much at first but let's say that with time he opened himself a bit more and talking about her even started some sort of healing process. Not only because it would make it feel less dramatic, and because his s/o might have also shared friendship breakup stories and also their opinion about Lily - which, I hope, would be that she wasn't such a good friend to begin with (because she wasn't).

I don't think Severus would be okay or happy to hear this but he also kinda needs it because, no of course he wasn't the sole responsible for their fallout and she did let him down a lot. Anyway, it helps him.

And then... they cross path one day. It's awkward but to his surprise, she asks him how he is doing. They exchange a few words and that's about it. He's very disturbed and doesn't sleep much that night. He doesn't say anything to his s/o at first.

Then he gets a letter. Lily says she'd like to talk over coffee someday if he'd like. His stomach is in knots, he puts down the letter, busies himself for a while but quickly replies. Yes. Yes, he'd like that.

After that first coffee, he gets home and tells his s/o. They're immediately frowning and he doesn't like that. They ask what she wanted, he says they just talked about their lives and that's it. His s/o asks if he's happy about that. He hesitates then say yes.

Some time passes. They do indeed reconnect. At first he's cautious about it. They see each other once a month. Then twice a month for a time, only the two of them. He meets Harry. It's not easy but Severus is happy to be part of her life again. Something clicks just like back then and it's like a dead part of his soul is getting watered again and coming back to life.

And she's like he remembers. Bright, impulsive, talented. She doesn't really get what he does (well she can't, he's an Unspeakable) but she listens and praises him a bit about it. It feels good to be seen by her again. She compliments his appearance (his s/o made sure he had a few different fitter pair of robes), talks a little bit about school and it stings because, yes, she kinda acknowledged that these were 'messed up times, Sev' but she doesn't really apologize. But he won't ask that of her anyway.

She hasn't met his s/o. It doesn't matter, he doesn't want to see James either. But with time it's a bit awkward so the four of them meet once and it's a big deal for him because Lily is back in his life and he'd really want his s/o and her to get along. It's a bit tense but cordial overall. James is clearly making efforts to talk to Severus (who is trying his best as well but the days following this event he's clearly not acting normally because it was very triggering for him). His s/o and Lily talks (well, mostly Lily) and when Severus asks them later how it went, they're like 'yeah, it was fine'.

Because at the end of the day, what matters is that Severus is happy to see her. Not their opinion on it.

And then Lily starts asking for help for mundane reasons and he always goes. Always.

He drops everything he's doing. And yes, I think he would cancel things on his s/o, like that dinner they had planned on Friday night. Or that quiet weekend, just the two of them, because Lily has trouble with Harry (he's sick, you understand) and Severus makes better potions than the ones they have.

And I think Severus would feel guilty about it, but something about Lily may override them because she runs deeper. She's history, she was his support system for so long but also she represents something more. She was the first ever person who showed him kindness. He grew up with her being this loving figure he didn't have elsewhere and he did expect (unconsciously) too much from her. Things she couldn't and wouldn't provide.

What will happen next will depend on his s/o' personality and Lily's overall attitude.

I personally would enjoy a s/o who isn't afraid of addressing the matter. And I hc Lily as being: dismissive of what Severus suffered in school (or barely acknowledging it, it's mostly swept under the rug), taking advantage of his time/skills and basking (unconsciously) in the devotion he still clearly feels for her (maybe because James isn't at home so much, he's hanging out with his buddy Sirius ofc).

I don't think Severus would completely forget about his s/o. He's very loyal and would try to make it up to them, even more if they express they're sad about it. But he'd also not take well their opinions about Lily.

But he may also feel something isn't quite right. Not that Lily isn't acting like herself. That's the issue. She's exactly like before and he... he isn't. Despite reconnecting the wounds are still there, the need to address things, to get excuses are present. He can ignore it but it doesn't feel nice.

And he doesn't want to look at it too much because it would be heartbreaking again.

Yes Lily is back. But he needed more than that. And he kinda hates himself for it. Isn't he selfish and self-centered?

He is not, his s/o tell him. He deserves to hear these words. Because the relationship is unbalanced again. And he deserves better.

ANYWAY I'm gonna stop there. This could be dramatic (he pushes s/o away and chooses Lily) or a tale about self-respect and accountability (he talks about it with Lily and it goes well/mid/bad).

I find this subject fascinating actually. I love the characters analysis that we can explore with this premise.

[erabu-san]

Tis I, vibrating insane anon! I am writhing in joy as I read your oc lore drop, I love them so much! Thank you for sharing more, you are marvelous (regardless of if you decided to share more or not)! Liliane looks and sounds like such a sweetheart; I hope the best for her as well in this story. Thank you for the general synopsis of Dao and Haki's story, I promise to patiently wait for the day you are ready to release their full story with bated breath. (or any amount really, I am invested)

Waaaah thank you so much urghghrhgbhb ;;;;; <33 I will do my best to continue developping it, thank you for being interested on my OCS !! ;; Here a sketch and a little comic DivineBeast!Dao x CorruptedCore!Haki (it is just them in a fantasy AU i made in my head after just waking up)

[shepscapades]

I HAVE BEEN WONDERING FOR SO FRICKING LONG WHERE I KNEW YOUR ART FROM BECAUSE IT LOOKED FAMILIAR

SHEP

I FOLLOWED YOU IN YOUR MYSTERY SKULLS ANIMATED DAYS

I can't believe it took me this long to realize

Nor did I realize it's been this long???

HOGRIAHERO;GIHS ;EFITHJ;S LFGTJHSRGH I'M GONNA BE SIIIIICK THAT'S SO FUNNY <333333 true homie

[karioke13]

Notice how Zooble always has an angel wing parts? Hint hint! Guardian Angel to Gangle!

OH MY GOSH ANON YOURE RIGHT!!! I didn’t even think about that you’re so intelligent 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩

While analyzing episode four where they both interact Zooble’s wing is most noticeable when Gangle needs help the most. Like when Zooble first offers to give Gangle a happy mask they found!

And notice how Zooble speaks and looks at Gangle so softly, while the other members of the group (mostly Jax) yell at her to do stuff, while Zooble ask her what SHE wants rather than yell demands. We see a different side to Zooble, where she’s soft and kind to Gangle while with others she sharp and sassy.

Like these two pictures for example. She glares at Jax and Ragatha, snapping back and saying how it’s not cool that Jax is making fun of Gangle. Meanwhile with Gangle they give her their full attention and softly asking what she wants and helping her.

Like I said earlier, we see Zooble’s wing show up more when Gangle needs help or comfort. The scene where this stuck out to me was the final scene in episode four. Here, Gangle feels abandoned, unloved and unwanted by the rest of the group. But then it zooms towards Zooble and urges her to hang out with the rest of them and that they still like talking to them. As Gangle says “I don’t deserve a friend like you” Zooble responds with “Well you got one!” Again showing the wing. Now to show you what I mean here’s the whole clip! (It’s my favorite!!!!) 👇

Zooble literally becomes Gangle’s guardian angel, always looking out for her and speaking up for her when she’s too shy. And Gangle allows for Zooble to open up their soft side around each other. They’re literally each others guardian angel and it shows us how no matter what their will always be at least one person out there who’ll understand us and love us to the fullest! 😭

Thank you so much for this information anon YOURE so smart I’m in awe! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

[frownyalfred]

There’s a chart incoming to your dms from The anon who Talks A Lot bc while I still wanna publicly stay anon, I wanna be able to send this to you lol. Yes I set up my drawing tablet to make this more easily and then also made it in mspaint bc im lazy but would love to see your perception on how I view these things! Colour coded it a bit and labeled whose who hoping to make it a bit easier!!

I love this!!!! So much. I find it so fascinating you put Jason at the center. It makes so much sense. I tend to think about Bruce as the center but Jason is really the one holding them all together moving forward, isn’t he?

I love that you included “almost romantic” for Lex and Bruce. So true. I tend to view their relationship as a little less than equal in some ways, just because of how Lex defers to Bruce so much when it counts. The same for Clark and Lex. A part of Clark will always be a little suspicious of Lex and Lex will always be trying to make up for Zod in a way, I fear.

I’m curious what your take on Dan and Alfred is!

[yanderemommabean]

Hi Momma! I hope you are doing ok!

This is a bit random and I apologize if i'm intruding, but you should definitely push your grandpa to check for cancer! My grandma had the same internal bleeding and after exams we found out it was due to intestinal cancer. She has had to change her whole diet because her intestines couldn't handle food the same way, so if we didn't find out the cancer and change her diet it could've gotten much worse.

Again hoping for the best in his situation, just wanted to say that to be sure (also sorry if my english isn't good...)

Your English is perfect ❤️

This is good advice! I want to cover all fronts and make sure we have things under control. I was told today he’s still bleeding so they’re doing a CAT scan with dye tomorrow to see what’s going on.

With any luck it’s hopefully something we can fix ❤️ I appreciate you telling me bean!

-Mommabean

[watermelonsverything]

Hey Melly, I don’t know if you’ll see this, but for whatever it’s worth, I just wanted to let you know that your old Blitzbee art has brought me a sense of joy and ease whenever I see it. I came into the Transformers: Animated fandom only just last year, since I didn’t grow up with cable as a kid like most of my peers and straight up just never even knew about dozens of these apparently “childhood defining” TV series. Turns out I really did miss out on some fun times! Of all things, I’ve practically hyperfixated on Blitzwing and Blitzbee fanart since discovering TFA, and your Blitzbee fanart is genuinely some of the most laid back and most heartwarming I’ve seen. This past year has been pretty stressful for me, so maybe seeing your drawings of Blitzwing and Bumblebee as the numbskulls they are being both lovey and goofy together provided my lizard brain a source of levity completely unrelated to what I was going through any time it popped up on my dash. Turns out I very much needed that bit of levity. Sorry this got long, and I know it must be a bit weird to bring up something so specific from a decently long time ago, but please know that your Blitzbee art brightened up this particular tumblr user’s day anytime I saw it, and it still does. 

I needed this

[baronessblixen]

https://x.com/buzziightqueer/status/1935364260030288169?s=46&t=yXA7J89mdWfMrTVb8W4x5A

i never saw this blooper but it’s so cute

I have never seen it either! I gotta admit I laughed so hard at DD getting the name wrong 😂

[not-poignant]

I just read all of Palmarosa yesterday and I am blown away by your character development. You are amazingly talented and I cannot wait for Chapter 29.

In good news I finished chapter 29 today! I also started chapter 30 (I really don't want those chapters coming too far apart because chapter 29 honestly ends in a really bleak/grim place), and got about 1000 words into that!

It's been really awesome to have a bit more time for Palmarosa again :D And I've started playing BG3 again which has really helped just for mentally holding the atmosphere in my head! Every time I see Raphael I get so stupidly excited lmao