#“but you promised us Caleb-” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amoscontorta · 12 days

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Sylus gets a headache | ao3 | other fics in this 'series'

Summary: Sylus has secured the promise from you that he can use your place as a safe house if he's in the area and needs it. Sylus's definition of "need", it turns out, might be different than your own, as illustrated by the first time he shows up unannounced at your door.

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, no use of y/n. This story contains: fluff, banter, Sylus has a hard time keeping his hands to himself, legal arguments, bad puns, self-indulgent writing, repetitive finger caressing, insomnia that Sylus is determined to vanquish by any means, Xavier is an innocent victim in all this and has no idea, except has Xavier ever been innocent in his entire life? CWs: insomnia, consumption of alcohol, profanity SFW, mostly. With some filthy innuendos at the end. It's Sylus, after all.

It has been a few days since you had the best night’s rest you can remember on the back of a certain miscreant crime lord’s motorcycle, and you’re once again preparing for a long, torturous night of staring at the ceiling and trying to catalogue all the classes of wanderers in an attempt to lull yourself to sleep—Nero’s suggestion. You have your doubts about whether it will work, but he gave the advice so earnestly after overhearing you talking to Tara about your insomnia that you feel obligated to give it a go. Sylus would probably scoff and say something about ‘people pleasing,’—you shake your head. That man does not get to live rent free in your brain, no matter how suspiciously kind he was the last time you saw him.

The kettle squeals, and you pour the boiling water into your chipped “World’s Greatest Hunter” mug that Caleb had gifted you once you were admitted into the Association’s ranks. The hot liquid steams soothingly into your face as it drowns a chamomile teabag, and you try not to think about the last time you saw him, when he was smiling. Patting your head. Whole, and so, so vibrantly alive. You take a deep, shaky breath.

After a suggestion from Tara, you add some honey and then slice a lime and squeeze the juice into the tea, absently stirring the spoon and gazing out your balcony window. You’re home early for once, and the sun is only just setting. You can’t see it through the high rises around you, but dusk filters down into the streets below your flat. The gentle sounds of the city moving into late evening drift up, the traffic like waves crashing on the shore, laughter and shop bells tinkling, a dog barking somewhere.

Suddenly, your doorbell chimes through your apartment and startles you out of your reverie. Did you forget that you had ordered something to be delivered today?

Without thinking too hard about it, you take your still piping-hot tea and pad to the foyer to answer the door.

Only to have your sense of calm shattered as you fling the mug out of sheer, instinctual self-preservation that Zayne accuses you of not having, when you see who is standing on the other side.

Quicker than your brain can actually process Sylus’s presence outside your flat, scarlet-night tendrils have prevented the mug from shattering on the floor, but have failed to stop the liquid from continuing its projectile path right onto his red, standing collar shirt and black vest.

“The fuck, Sylus?”

“You really, and I mean really, need to work on your greetings, kitten,” he tells you calmly, evol delivering the mug into his waiting hand while he holds the suitcase he has in the other hand away from his body to avoid being dripped on by his now soaked torso.

“Sorry, you were the last person I was expecting.” You wince, heart still threatening to beat its way out of your rib cage.

“Oh, expecting someone, are we?” he lifts a dark silver eyebrow.

“No, but least of all… you.” You flap your hand in his general direction. “What are you even doing here?”

“How about,” he drawls, “you let me in, and I’ll tell you. You wouldn’t want your neighbors to get curious and come to inquire about the mess I’m making on your doorstep, would you?”

You stare at him for a moment longer, trying to think of a way out of having him in your space, again, but you’re tired at the end of another long day, another long week, another long month and this whole entire fucking year. Trying to get rid of him will take more energy than just letting him do what he wants so that he’ll go away again. You run a hand down your face and shuffle aside.

He enters, and the scent of him fills the small foyer, warm and mouth-watering. He sets the briefcase and mug on the floor, removes his dress shoes and places them neatly by your own hastily-kicked-off boots next to the step leading into the rest of your flat. He then picks the mug back up and reads what’s written on it.

“World’s best hunter, indeed.” He snorts softly, eyes flicking from your face to your thin tank top and sleep shorts covered in grinning little bounce, bounce planet blobbus, to your bare feet. “Is this how the world’s greatest hunter always answers the door to unknown visitors?”

“It was a gift,” you say defensively, snatching the mug from him and cradling it to your chest. “And the only people who would be at my door this late is Xavier borrowing a cup of sugar for some doomed baking experiment, or a delivery person. I’m sure they’ve seen much worse than this,” you sweep your hand down your body in a dismissive flourish.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ve seen much worse.” Sylus frowns slightly.

“Yeah, so if they don’t like it, they’re welcome to move on to their next delivery.”

“Or buy their own sugar,” Sylus murmurs, reaching out to run a finger along your knuckles as you clutch the mug. “And who gave you this highly accurate mug?”

You hesitate, knowing that his face is going to do something complicated, like it always does, when you mention your family. But fuck it, he asked. If he doesn’t like the answer, he can also move on to whatever his next nefarious errand is. “Someone who was like a brother to me.”

“Brother, huh,” he says softly, still gently stroking your skin. “Well, he wasn’t wrong in this.” His hand falls back to his side. “Invite me all the way in, kitten. With your words,” he commands.

“And why should I do that? The deal was to let you come in. You’re in now. You don’t need to come in any further. Now it’s your turn to honor the deal. Why are you here?” You glare up at him, your foyer feeling minuscule with his big body and presence filling it.

“You offered me your place if I ever needed it,” Sylus narrows his glittering eyes. “I needed it today before you flung steaming liquid all over my clothes. And now I need it even more.” He looks pointedly down at the still-dripping clothes in question.

“What did you originally need it for?” You stall, the guilt of throwing a mug full—half! Half full! of tea at him starting to creep in.

“How about you invite me all the way into your home, with your words, help me take care of this mess you caused,” he waves a lazy finger at his torso, “and I’ll tell you.”

“But you already promised to tell me why you’re here in exchange for the initial value of me letting you in, and I let you in. I already paid. You can’t make me pay twice for the same goods,” you protest.

“Remind me to take you with me the next time I have contract negotiations. You’re more useful than my own legal counsel.” He pauses, considering you. “Circumstances have changed. Force majeure prevents me from fulfilling my original promise without requiring additional time and means to fulfil that promise. You owe me the opportunity to successfully deliver what I owe you.”

“What, exactly, is preventing you from telling me why you originally came to my home right here in my entryway?”

“The consequences of an unforeseeable natural disaster,” he answers with a little helpless shrug. “Namely, the trauma of nearly getting drowned in tea following almost being taken out by a mug launched with your god-like strength. Kitten, your assault is the equivalent of an act of god, and I can’t be responsible for the fact that I now need a dry shirt and a safe place to recover from the shock of almost being murdered by your tableware.”

You can’t help it. It has been so long since you’ve actually laughed out loud, so the noise that comes out of you doesn’t even sound human. You’re laughing, and you can’t stop. The affronted look on Sylus’s face in response to your ugly-snorts, causes you to laugh even more, and you’re suddenly bending over, holding your knees, laughing like you might die if you stop.

After a long moment, when you are finally able to breathe again, you straighten and find Sylus looking at you with a soft expression, one corner of his wide mouth slightly lifted… which is alarming. But you’re too filled with gratitude for the relief of laughing that his absurd exaggeration just gave you, so you refuse to think about anything at all too hard right now. You give in.

“Sylus, would you do me the honor of coming into my home? You can tell me what the hell you’re doing here after I find you a dry shirt.” You sarcastically bow as low as you can, your arms uplifted to gesture him forward.

“I suppose I can’t refuse such a graciously extended offer,” he says, as if resigned to a terrible fate, but his smile is smug and he wastes no time striding into your living room while unbuttoning his vest. He gently lays it over the back of your couch, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. You force yourself to stop staring as the pale skin slowly being revealed with each flick of his long fingers and head to your bedroom.

You paw through your chest of drawers, trying to find a shirt that will fit his broad shoulders and chest, but all you manage to do is make even more of a mess in your barely organized drawers. You stand, remembering the hoodie Xavier leant you after a recent, particularly messy battle on a chilly night. You move to your closet where you had hung it carefully to remind yourself to give it back to him after having washed it. You pull it from the hanger, turn around, and squeal loud enough to shatter glass.

Sylus is standing right behind you, chest bare, black slacks hung low around his narrow hips, and you did not heard him come in.

“I thought we were past the terror stage of our friendship, sweetheart,” he says, cocking his head, the same ruby stud earrings he was wearing at the club flashing in the light. “But that’s twice today that I’ve frightened you to the point of violence. Am I really that scary?”

“You keep… appearing, out of nowhere. A little warning would be appreciated,” you huff, heart pounding. You don’t know why you’re so nervous around him. Really. It has nothing to do with the broad expanse of creamy skin and pillowy man-tits shoved in your face at the moment. “And honestly, considering the fact that our friendship started with you choking me out and keeping me captive for days, it’s a wonder that I’m not more scared of you,” you flare, because yeah, how dare he act like you should be over the absolute shit-show of your first encounter, when you’ve hardly had any time to get to know him. That’s why you’re nervous. There is no other possible explanation. A couple friendly interactions do not make up for how much of an evil bastard he was when you first met him.

“Would you like me to wear a bell when I’m here, then?” he asks, conveniently ignoring the reminder regarding how he treated you not so long ago.

“How about you just stay out of my bedroom and stay where I can see you at other times,” you snap, feeling violent again at the intrusive thought of Sylus wearing a collar around his thick neck, cute little bell dinging every time he moved.

“I’ll do my best,” he says absently, clearly distracted by his thorough inventory of your bedroom as he takes in the tumbling plants in mismatched pots on floating shelves hanging over the unmade bed, the army of plushies scattered over the bunched up mountain of duvet and pillows. Your bed used to be your sanctuary. The place where you could find rest and relaxation after exhausting battles and long days squinting at the computer filing incident reports. Now it just gives you anxiety. You try to pull his attention away from the chaos of your former safe space by holding Xavier’s hoodie out for Sylus to take.

“Here, this might fit you.”

Sylus looks down at your offering, crosses his arms, and takes a step back, as if the hoodie is so offensive that it warrants recoiling physically from it. “That’s quite a big hoodie for you, even for days when you want to be comfortable,” he says evenly.

“It’s not mine, but it’s clean, and I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing I have right now that will fit you,” you say, shaking it a little in the universal, impatient gesture of just take it already for fuck’s sake.

“And who is its actual owner?”

“Xavier.”

“In the habit of wearing your partner’s clothing, are we?” he asks, still staring at it, the disdain now plain in his assessment of the sweatshirt.

“Uh, sometimes? We were on a mission recently and my jacket got torn to the point of uselessness, and it was cold. He let me wear his hoodie so I wouldn't be cold. It's been washed since then, so it's clean. I’ll just wash it again when you’re done using it before I return it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

After what seems like a ridiculous amount of time for him to apparently make some mental calculations that only he will ever understand, he finally takes the soft hoodie from you, fingertips brushing yours as he grasps the fabric. You can’t figure out why he he suddenly looks more smugly evil than you’ve ever seen, with his lips curved up in a sardonic smirk. “Oh, of course, I’m sure he will not mind at all.” He pulls the hoodie over his head and shimmies a little as he drags it down is body; it’s a little tight around the shoulders, but you don’t think it’s tight enough to permanently stretch the fabric.

After it’s on, he tugs the collar up to his nose and inhales deeply.

“What are you doing?” you ask, as if you can’t see perfectly well what he is doing.

“It smells like you,” he answers, shameless, as if that is a perfectly reasonable answer to your question.

“Well, I did wear it, and wash it with my normal detergent and it has been hanging in my closet for a while, so…” your voice trails off.

“And soon it will smell like me too,” he continues, letting the collar fall with a satisfied flick of his fingers.

What even is this conversation? “Can you just be normal? For once?" A look of boredom is all the response you get, so you continue. "Now get out of my bedroom. Come tell me why you’re here in the first place.” You stride past him, making your way into the living room.

He follows you obediently and plops down on the couch, and just like last time, spreads his legs wide. This time, he is able to rest his arms on either side along the back of the couch, effectively occupying the whole damn thing. He sits quietly, looking at you expectantly.

You stand, arms folded, a safe distance away from the couch near the kitchen island.

“Well?” You prompt.

“It’s customary to offer your guest a refreshing beverage upon receiving them in your home. I believe I offered you wine the first time I hosted you in my own home.”

“Hosted?” He can’t be serious. “What a generous euphemism for ‘unlawfully imprisoned,’” you bite out.

“Po-tae-to,” he says serenely, “Po-tah-to.”

“Sylus,” you warn—about what, you’re not sure. He wants a beverage? Okay, perhaps you’ll fling more hot tea at him if he doesn’t start talking.

“Kitten.” He continues gazing at you, clearly in no hurry to move things along.

“If you don’t tell me, right now, why the hell you showed up at my place unannounced, I will report you as a burglar and have you removed by the authorities.”

“But then how will you explain to Xavier why I’ve been arrested wearing his sweater?” he asks, eyes wide, all concern for what your partner’s thoughts on the matter would be, and what they would mean for you.

“Burglars have been known to be creeps and go rooting through their victims’ closets and wearing their clothes! I’ll just say you were wearing it when I got here. Maybe he’ll be worried that it’s him you’re actually interested in harassing,” you snicker, trying to picture Xavier’s reaction.

As you’re speaking, Sylus pulls out his phone and fiddles with it with a bored expression on his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I boring you? Perhaps you should go find something more interesting to do and leave me in peace,” you grind out after you’ve finished and notice his complete lack of attention.

Your irritation is interrupted by a notification on your phone. Since Sylus is so busy messing with his, you grab yours from where it has been lying on the counter since before Sylus interrupted your peaceful evening staring out into the city. You see that you have a new message from… the man currently oozing across the entirety of your couch, head lolled to the side and watching you with a hint of amusement curving his mouth.

You open the chat, and your eyes widen at the conversation that never fucking happened currently loading into your chat history, with time stamps corresponding to when Sylus showed up at your door.

You: Oh Sylus, my big, handsome partner in crime, I think there’s an intruder in my flat and I’m so scared!

The Sytuation: What makes you think theres an intruder in your home, kitten? Im on my way.

You: There is sugar missing from my pantry! I just bought a new bag yesterday, and it’s gone! Oh please, my dark knight, come protect me from the sugar thief who should buy his own sugar and stop coming to my place to pilfer mine!

The Sytuation: Of course, sweetie. Go wait by the door, Ill be there in 5.

“What. Is. This. Fuckery,” you demand, thrusting your phone in his face.

He shrugs. “You threatened to lie about why I’m here in a bid to get rid of me. Did you not expect me to counter your move to ensure that no one will believe you?” he pauses, and then narrows his eyes. "Did you really save me in your phone as 'The Situation,' with a Y?"

"Punny, right? My phone doubles as my work phone. You really think I'm going to save your real name in my contacts? I might as well just save you as 'Sylus Qin, leader of Onychinus, most wanted criminal in the N109 zone," you grumble. "And trust me, that's the nicest name I could come up with."

"Punny," he repeats derisively, unimpressed.

“And don't derail. What is this nonsense about a sugar thief?” You wave the phone again.

“Your colleague should learn to stock his own pantry if he wants to engage in… what did you call them? Doomed baking experiments?”

“How did you even… why does it look so real?” You gaze down at the texts that look so authentic that if they hadn’t been filled with such bullshit, you’d be doubting your own sanity about whether the conversation had really happened.

“You’re really surprised that faking evidence, alibis and dirt on my opponents is a part of my vast skill set? I’m hurt that you underestimate me so.” He looks at you like he’s disappointed, a little pout pulling down his stupid beautiful mouth.

“For fuck’s sake.” You’re done. The longer you resist, the longer Sylus will be in your flat, driving you up the wall. “Fine. Fine!” You set your phone down again and throw up your hands. “What do you want to drink, Sylus?”

“Two fingers of gin, if you have it. Or brandy. Or vodka.” He thinks for a moment. “I’m not feeling too picky tonight.”

“I don’t keep hard liquor in my house, you alcoholic. I have a half-open bottle of rosé in the fridge. Will that satisfy his lordship?” You turn resignedly to trod your way to your fridge.

“What vineyard and vintage?” he asks, perking up.

You open the fridge and pull out the bottle. You squint at the label. “I dunno. It has a cute fish on the label, so I bought it.”

He looks at you like you just murdered Mephisto, and you begin pouring the pink liquid into another mug. This one says UNT on the side in big block letters, matching the size of the handle so that when you hold it, the handle looks like a matching C. You walk back to where he’s sitting, and you think that maybe your smile looks as smug as Sylus’s usually does when you hand him his drink.

He takes the mug from you, snorts when he reads the side, and then look at its contents dubiously for a moment.

“You taste it first,” he finally says, looking back up at you.

“Worried I poisoned it?” You’re still grinning.

“As you say,” he says, tilting his head.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t demand beverages from people you don’t trust then.”

“I trust you, just not your taste in wine after learning you choose bottles based on the cuteness of the label. Indulge me,” he murmurs. “Prove to me that you’re willing to drink it, and that it’s not just swill you’re trying to get rid of by offering it to me.”

You take the mug from him and lift it to your lips, taking a sip, watching him over the rim as you swallow. His nostrils flair, and he lifts his hand in a gesture for you to return it to him. Instead of giving it back, you take one more big gulp, and his brow furrows. Only after you've slowly swallowed again do you comply, relishing the warmth spreading through your body as you lower the mug for him to take. He brushes your fingers again as he takes it back. He turns the mug, so that his mouth hovers where yours just was. He then closes his eyes and inhales, gently swirling the liquid inside. Eyes still closed, he takes a sip.

After a moment, he sighs. “Thank you. This is actually not bad, for a rosé.”

“You’re such a snob,” you smile down at him, irrationally pleased that he seems so pleased.

“Life is too difficult, and too short, to waste on inferior experiences. I only like tasting the best,” he says, bright red eyes opening and fixing on you.

He looks up at you like you should be able to draw some deeper meaning from his words, but you’re tired, warm from the wine, and despite how much he winds you up you were just moments ago, right now you’re strangely relaxed for the first time in days.

“Tell me why you’re here, Sylus,” you say quietly.

“You told me I could use your place when I needed it,” he says, just as softly. He takes another drink, rolls it around in his mouth. Swallows, his adam’s apple dipping.

“And why did you need it this evening?”

“I had some negotiations regarding a business acquisition that I’m considering in this part of Linkon City, and they were abhorrently boring. By the time they were over, I had a splitting headache, and the sunlight didn’t help. It would have been unsafe to operate a motor vehicle under those conditions, so I thought I’d come and wait for it to pass in my newest ‘safe house,’ he answers gravely, as if getting a headache was a perfectly logical reason to crash your evening and take over your couch. “Wouldn’t want to endanger the innocent citizens of Linkon City with reckless driving, now would we?”

“Aren’t all of your shady business deals done under the cover of darkness? Why were you here at a meeting during the day?”

He’s holding the mug in one hand by his fingertips now, along the rim, slowly swirling it. He crosses one long leg over the other and answers languidly. “You’re assuming that today’s business was ‘shady.’”

“So your business today was legitimate?” You’ve been standing for awhile now, and begin to shift from bare foot to bare foot.

He hums in acknowledgement. “My business interests are as varied as they are successful. You insult me by looking so surprised.”

“Well I would never want to insult you,” you drawl. “So that’s it? You got a headache and decided you’d crash my evening?”

He nods, touching his temple and grimacing. “It’s still pretty bad, to be honest.”

“The daylight bothers you that much?” you ask, genuinely curious. You have always assumed that it was the nature of his occupation and perhaps just a proclivity for being a night owl that explained his nocturnal existence, but now you’re wondering if it’s not something deeper that has him avoiding it as much as possible.

You finally decide to give your tired feet a break and perch on the little corner of couch cushion that has been freed for use by Sylus crossing his legs. “If sunlight bothers you that much, what could possibly be so important to come out in it today?��

“Are you really asking about the details of my business ventures, sweetheart?” he asks in what you suspect is feigned astonishment.

“And if I am?”

“Then I’ll tell you,” he responds easily.

“Then I am.”

“I’m in discussions for acquiring a chain of entertainment venues in Linkon City.” He leans his head on the couch’s backrest and lets it roll to the side to keep looking at you. He catches the look of disgust that is no doubt obvious on your face.

“Entertainment venues,” you say flatly.

“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

“What kind of … entertainment venues?” you ask, hating yourself for wanting to know. It’s his business if he wants to buy porn shops, or strip clubs, or brothels—your stomach twists, and you refuse to consider why.

“What kind of ideas are racing through that fascinating brain of yours?” he asks, reaching up and running two of his fingers along your temple, brushing your hair away from your eyes.

“Nothing,” you bite out, turning your face away from his touch. You normally dislike how you have a hard time concealing how you’re feeling, but you particularly hate it right now.

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs. “Then, to answer your question, it’s a chain of arcades.”

Your brain grinds to a halt. Did he just say—

“Arcades?”

He nods, and winces, closing his eyes. You’re starting to believe that his head is actually hurting him, and you feel bad for throwing dishware and hot tea at him and refusing to offer him more than the one drink he asked for.

“Why would you be interested in acquiring an arcade chain?”

“Even for odious crime lords, it’s always wise to have a diversified business portfolio.”

You have called him a lot of things both out loud and in your head, but you’d never call him odious. Odorous, perhaps, when he’s sweating heavily after being riddled with bullets. But you have to suppress the urge to chastise him about talking about himself that way.

“Which chain is it?”

“You probably don’t know it,” he says, as if bored with the question. “It’s not a very large chain, but large enough for my interests.”

“Try me! I love going to the arcade when I have some free time. I mean, you’ve seen my plushie collection now that you invited yourself into my house,” you bounce a little on the couch.

“You invited me, kitten. You’ve had a choice, each and every time.”

“Don’t deflect! Answer the question!” You’re quite excited about this. Maybe if it’s a place you know, that has a location nearby, he’ll give you a discount if he ends up buying them? Like an employee discount or something. Is that ethical? You should check the Association’s employee handbook for conflicts of interest.

He squints, as if preparing to evaluate your reaction, and names your favorite place to play the claw machine.

“For real? You’re really going to buy them?”

“I still have to review the contract that was proposed during today’s discussions with my legal counsel, but if negotiations are successful, then yes,” he says, casually examining his nails.

Your excitement is hard to contain, but you suddenly have a troubling thought. “You’re not going to change anything, right? Like, that place is perfect as it is, and the employees are all really friendly and helpful and clearly work hard to keep it really nice,” you rush out, worried that he’s planning to reduce the staff or try to jack up the prices for a larger profit margin.

He turns to look at you again, and doesn’t answer for long enough that you’re really starting to worry. But then he says softly, “No, I’m not going to change a thing.”

“Oh? So they’re doing well? It’s a solid financial investment?” You’re so relieved, safe in the knowledge that your plushies will continue to be accessible, insofar as claw machines by design allow them to be.

Sylus laughs softly. “Yes, the financials all look good. Considering your interest in the nature of binding agreements, would you like to look over the purchase agreement with me? I have it with me.”

“I’d actually really like to, but I’m starting to get really tired,” you yawn, the relief you were just feeling—the relief of knowing that Sylus wasn’t up to anything that would leave a blood trail today, relief that he didn’t come tonight to try to force you to resonate or finally kill you for refusing to do so, and most importantly, relief that he wasn’t going to acquire and ruin one of the little pleasures in your life—all of it is now drowned out by a heavy feeling of pleasant drowsiness.

“Then I’ll read it to you, until you fall asleep.”

“Huh? You want to stay?”

“Yes,” he says, hauling himself to his feet and offering you his hand. You take it in confusion, and he lifts you to your feet as well. He sets the now empty mug on your coffee table, and then places his hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you from behind to your bedroom.

“Why?” you ask, not even thinking to object.

“Headache, remember?” He pushes you gently by your shoulders so that you’re sitting on your bed.

“How can you review legalese when you’re suffering from a headache?” You sink into the softness of the mattress.

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” he says, nudging you until you’ve scooted to the middle of the bed. “Don’t move. I’m going to get my tablet out of my briefcase.” He disappears through the doorway, and you’re left sitting on your bed, surrounded by all of your plushies, and you have no idea what’s happening. You’re just too tired to argue with him. You really did miscalculate by spending all of your energy trying to get rid of him when he first arrived.

But just because you’re bone-tired, doesn’t mean you’re going to let him boss you around. You get off the bed and pad into the kitchen, passing him as he snaps his briefcase shut, tablet in hand.

“I distinctly recall telling you not to move,” he gripes, pushing up an elegant set of gold framed glasses perched on the uneven bridge of his nose with a middle finger. Huh, you didn’t know he needed glasses to read. He looks almost … cute wearing them, a little less feral. Like a leopard wearing a monocle.

Suppressing the thought of Sylus and cute in the same sentence, you ignore him, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. Then you rummage through your most chaotic kitchen drawer for a few moments, before triumphantly pulling out what you were looking for.

You pad back over to where he’s still watching you, and offer him the glass and the half-used blister pack of over-the-counter painkillers you fished out of your chaos drawer. “Here.”

He looks down at your hands, offering him what you hope is some relief from his headache. His face is impassive, and you’re worried he assumes you’re trying to poison him again. But then he tucks the tablet under one arm, and reaches out with both hands to grasp the glass and the pill pack—except he doesn’t take them from your hands. He envelops yours with his, and pulls you gently closer to him. He somehow manages to pop two tablets out of the pack with his thumb, and they drop into your curved palm. Still holding your hand, he leans down to sweep them from your skin with his tongue. In a complete daze, you watch him lift the glass that you’re still holding to his lips, and he takes a long pull of water, washing the pills down, all the while holding your gaze with his. When he’s done, he slowly lowers your hands again.

“Thank you,” he murmurs “For the benevolence of your heart.” He says it gravely, as if you’ve just saved his life instead of giving him some headache medicine.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, feeling like you’ve been struck by a truck after… whatever that was, feeling the warmth of his tongue in the palm of your hand like he was still licking it. Sylus then turns and heads back to your bedroom.

You set the glass and the now-empty pill pack on the kitchen island, thinking you’ll clean up tomorrow if you manage to sleep tonight, and follow him.

In the bedroom, Sylus sits, leaning back against your headboard, having needed to gently scoop some plushies out of the way to make room. He stretches his legs out in front of him with a sigh. He looks so soft, wrapped in the white hoodie, silver hair rumpled, surrounded by pillows and cute little plushies.

It’s getting increasingly difficult to remember that the man currently sinking into your duvet and wiggling his sock-covered toes in contentment is the same man who straight up exploded the man who dared kidnap you, and then proceeded to kidnap you himself after choking you to the point of passing out. You try to hold both of these truths about him in your mind at the same time, but the image of Sylus dancing you gently through a press of bodies, of the way he caresses your fingers at every opportunity, the soft slide of his tongue along your palm—these images are conquering every other version of him that you know to be true in your mind. You wonder briefly if this is part of some larger scheme of his, and what his endgame could possibly be. But right now, you’re too fucking tired to care.

“What is even happening,” you ask. You’re exhausted, but you still have enough mental reserves to question how you got here, in this situation, with this man migrating from vanquishing your couch to a large part of your bed. “Is the coffee table, or kitchen table insufficient for your needs? Why are you going to review the paperwork here, on my bed?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how quickly you fell asleep on my back on the motorcycle the other night, sweetheart. I’m just reading you a bedtime story featuring limitations of liability and allocation of risk so that you can finally get some sleep again.” He pats his thigh. “Here.”

You just stare at him. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warns, tapping his thigh again with one long finger. Just for that, you glare mutinously at him and fold your arms over your chest.

He sighs again, this time in exasperation, and leans over, firmly lifting you and setting you down so that your head is pillowed against his meaty thigh. He begins to run his fingertips gently up and down the middle of your back. He returns his attention to his tablet. “Now listen carefully,” he commands, before flicking the screen with his thumb and beginning to read in his softly in his deep, rich voice.

But of course you don't. You fall asleep as the skyscrapers light up like a dragon's hoard of jewels in the night sky outside your window, to the sounds of Sylus’s quiet recitation of indeed, a terribly boring contract, and the whisper of his fingers along your skin.

When you wake up, there is another black feather on your pillow, and you are alone. You yawn, once again feeling unbelievably rested despite the chaos Sylus always brings to your door and into your life. You stretch leisurely, spreading your arms wide and turning your head on the pillow, when something catches in your earlobe. You reach up and run your fingers along a stud earring that was not there when you fell asleep. You feel your other earlobe, but it's empty. You grab your phone from the nightstand, knocking over a semiautomatic hand pistol with scarlet flames engraved along the grip that you also don't remember owning onto the floor. You stare at it briefly, ready to commit murder if you check it and find that the safety isn't on. But first things first: you put the phone camera in selfie mode and lift it to your face, but quickly lower it again after confirming that it is indeed a ruby stud in your ear, sparkling cheekily in the morning sunlight.

Later, you're relieved to find that Sylus did actually leave the safety on on your new little ... toy, and you'll find that the mugs have been washed and set neatly away, the empty pack of painkillers placed in the recycling bin. You also see that various takeout containers and other debris that had piled up on a lot of surfaces in your place are also gone, and the countertops are clean, the coffee and kitchen table gleam in the early morning sunlight. You don't notice that the white hoodie is nowhere to be found, until you meet up with Xavier later in the day. He's wearing one that looks exactly like it.

"Thanks for returning the hoodie," he yawns. "But you really didn't have to."

You pause, feeling a thread of panic start to wind its way through your stomach. You decide to just... go with it. "Oh? You found it okay?"

"Yeah, but why did you just leave it hanging from my door handle? You could have rung and come in. I had a new limited edition bag of those cookies you were looking at in the corner store last week. I would have shared some with you... but now I've eaten them all," he admits sheepishly, big blue eyes shimmering with guilt.

You try to think fast. Did Sylus give back the hoodie without washing it? What the fuck was he thinking? He could have been seen! Does this flat have surveillance footage? Does Xavier suspect anything? You realize that you still haven't answered Xavier's question as your panic spirals. "Oh, you know, didn't want to wake you up," you flap your hands, as if you can flap this entire situation right out of your messy life.

"Well, I don't know what you did to it, but it feels brand new. As if it's never even been washed. And you somehow got out the bbq sauce stain that no matter how much I sprayed it with that stain remover stuff would never come out. So you're going to have to teach me some of that laundry magic," he says contentedly, snuggling further into the entirely new hoodie that you now realize Sylus must have somehow, over the course of the night, had hand-delivered to Xavier's place. "Uh huh," you say absently, pulling out your phone to furiously text Mr. Asshat when you see that he has also changed his name in your contact list.

You: What the hell did you do with Xavier's hoodie?"

My Sy: It doesnt matter who it belonged to before me. All that matters is that its mine now.

You: It doesn't even fit you properly! You're too big for it!

My Sy: Nothing a little size training cant fix.

Your jaw drops. He cannot be implying what you think he's implying. This is your filthy mind at work. You decide that you will simply pretend this conversation never happened. Absolutely nothing good can come from trying to figure out what the fuck is going through Sylus's head at any given moment.

You: And 'My Sy?' Really?

My Sy: Its not punny, but it rhymes. And its accurate. Gotta put the phone down for a bit, kitten. Business requires my attention. Ill be seeing you soon.

You stare at his last message for long enough that Xavier asks if you're okay. You're not. You're not okay. You couldn't even bring yourself to ask him about the other earring, or the gun. You just slowly slip your phone back into your cargo pants pocket and try very hard to stop thinking, for the rest of the day.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #love and deepspace fanfiction #my fanfic #did i spend time in glint just to make a photo of sylus touching his temple for this post #to go with today's theme #yes your honor #i hope someone finds this enjoyable #i'm having fun writing and fixating on this king

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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 7 months

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Thinking about messing with the boys. About how when we say we want to give them a blowjob, and they're excitedly anticipating it, cocks eager and hard and just twitching for us, we do stupid shit like literally blow air on their cockhead or into their bellybutton. But we make up for it well after they give us the silliest pouts/sulky faces at our antics 👀 (nonnie here is 31yo I promise 😭)

── no omg anonie... i GET YOU ??? SO FUCKING MUCH ??? this triggered a brainrot in me because messing around with them would be SO FUN... what with all the teasing they do to us, they should get their own kind of payback! 😤

caleb would have likely been surprised you'd mention it at all. he's more of a giver, than anything else—but the mere thought of having you suck him off would appeal to him the moment you suggested it. it's only unfortunate that you're a tease about it, but he probably expected it, anyway—you always teased each other, after all, whether out of bed or not. of course, not that expecting it could stop the impatient curses from falling from his lips, a telltale sign of how affected he was by it. maybe, if you teased him a little too much, he'd probably snap—fuck your mouth like he intends to, and perhaps, teach you a lesson for making him wait. but, whatever the case... he will use your pretty mouth to get off. i mean, you offered, right? it would be rude if he didn't make the most of it! "haah, you're a tease, pipsqueak. should'a just—fuck—taken it in when i told you to—"

rafayel? he would be so FLUSTERED but also so. fucking. pissed. you wouldn't hear the end of it! he'd be sulking, alright—complaining to no end, straight up accusatory in his tone the more you tease him... except, unfortunately for him, it would only make you tease him more. more than whatever silly antics you'd started with, you'd have a mission make him so sensitive under the slightest of your touches, and he'd be shuddering. it wouldn't take long after that for him to begrudgingly start begging you, and then, god, the moan he'd let out when you finally take him in would be so heavenly. he'd immediately lose all restraint and start rutting into your mouth, moaning your name, singing praises lf how good it feels and how well you take him... "f-fuck, princess—plea—please, 's so good—"

xavier would be a mess. it wouldn't even be the teasing, he'd get hard the minute you suggest giving him a blowjob at all. it's almost like he's waited for the moment you'd offer one, and you could almost giggle at the way he would draw in a breath, eyes wide and attentive when you slowly pull down his pants. his cock would already be leaking when you take it out—so responsive. he would twitch at every little touch, letting out soft, quiet whimpers when you'd tease him, only looking at you pleadingly... but he wouldn't complain, and he'd be patient, and then you'd reward him for it. his head would be thrown back with a shaky gasp when you finally wrap your lips around him, his fingers threading through your locks to guide you into a comfortable pace. the tips of his ears would be red, his eyes shut, mouth falling open in breathless pants—and boy, it'd be a sight. it'd be an experience—for you, just as much as it would be for him. "a-ah... just like that, angel... s-so good... so good for me..."

zayne, in the first place, always enjoyed watching you take him, and you knew that offering to suck him off would excite him. but how you got the courage to dare tease him at a was beyond the both of you. his gaze would remain steely into your own, eyebrows quirked up in a silent dare... it would be inevitable to have this courage of yours falter, and you'd allow him to massage his fingers into your scalp, guiding you into the rhythm that he wanted. low grunts would fall from his lips, and even if this had started with you offering to make him cum, you'd find yourself completely at his mercy. his words and his hands would coax you to take him all the way into your mouth, soothing you through the rocking of his hips and the feeling of having him press deep into your throat. "mmm. that's a good girl, sweetheart. so nice and deep, just the way i like it."

⁺₊ / an: AUGH... thoughts of giving them head... suddenly i want it so BADLY

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

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anarcoqueer1994 · 1 year

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Eddie was going to tell them, he promised Steve he would. Its was easy to tell the apocalypse crew, kind of hard to keep things from a group of people you saved the world with. But telling Corroded Coffin about his new boyfriend was different. Not that they would care that he has a boyfriend. They've known he was queer for a while. What he was worried was who he was dating.

They had spent years in high school touting their superiority over the "conformist, arrogant sheep, and their leader King Steve." Except he had been to harsh, he had gotten to know Steve.... love Steve. And he was afraid if he told Corroded Coffin, not only would they rag on him, but they may say something horrible to Steve. But Steve said he didn't care, that he could handle it. He would "kill them with kindness." He just wanted to be open with Eddie with all their friend groups.

So Eddie promised he would tell. There was a little part of him, though, a superficial part of him, that cared a little more about what his friends think than he should. And so, even though he told Steve he would, he has been dragging his feet. Unfortunately, Steve does not know that. Eddie told a little white lie a few weeks ago that he told them, bringing the brightest, prettiest smile to his face. Eddie had planned to tell them soon after.

But he still hasn't, did not realize the mess he was about to make. Tonight they were having Hellfire at the Wheeler house. Dustin, Will, Lucas, Mike, Erica and the rest of Corroded Coffin were there.

Dustin mentions that Steve would be there soon to bring he, Lucas, Erica and Will home. That's when Garreth says "I still don't see why you guys like hanging out with that guy. He always seemed like an asshole to me." Jeff and Caleb nod their heads.

"He kind of is." Mike jokes. "But he's not a bad dude."

"Steve is cool, man." Dustin adds, obvious admiration in his face.

"Yea, Steve has always been really nice to us." Will smiles. "He is like another big brother." The rest of the party, including Erica, nod in agreement.

Erica gets a shit eating grin(not knowing Eddie has not told Corresed Coffin about he and Steve dating) "And he's cute, right Eddie?" The rest of the guys except Lucas and Will groan in response.

Eddie tries to play it off. "Yea, Harrington is hot. Anyone with eyes can see that."

"Well you must think he's extra hot since he's your...' before she can finish Eddie cuts her off. "I think we are at a good place to stop for tonight."

Everyone notices the quick way he cut her off. Everyone looks confused, even if the younger teens are for a different reason. Jeff speaks up. "What's Steve, Eddie?" He pokes.

"Steve is Steve." He shoots back avoiding the question, slight embarrassment creeping to his cheeks. He knows he should say more, tell them about his wonderful, adorable boyfriend. But maybe he ego is too big to admit he fell for the jock.

"What are you talking about?" Dustin speaks up.

"Why are you being weird?" Mike adds.

Suddenly a chorus of voices chime in, all asking questions. "What is Steve?" "Eddie, why are you being like this?" "Is something up with Steve?"

Finally over the loud voices from his old friends and new friends, he defensively says. "Steve is nothing!" His cheeks are red.

Unfortunately, over the chaos, they hadn't heard Steve come down the steps, having heard Eddie's proclamation. He had come a bit early, thinking Correded Coffin knew. He was carrying a plate of cupcakes, wanting to make a good impression during the first time seeing Correded Coffin as Eddie’s boyfriend.

But he was wrong. They didn't know, and Eddie had lied to him. It hurt. It's not like Eddie’s friends are homophobic, so Eddie was...ashamed to be dating him.

"I'm nothing?" Steve's voice causes everyone to look behind them. Steve looks devastated, like Eddie had just took his heart and stomped on it in front of everyone.

"Steve..." Eddie jumps up, trying to will time to rewind, but he can’t. He hadn't meant to say those terrible things.

But Steve is shaking his head, setting the cupcakes down, before bounding back up the steps.

All the "kids" including Mike, practically shoot daggers at Eddie as they leave, following after Steve.

Eddie is left sitting in the basement, with his three confused bandmates, feeling deflated, knowing he just fucked up the best thing in his life.

Part 2? Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list.

Tag list closed, part 2 here :)

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie angst

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sylusheart · 2 months

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`sylus: a character study

finally here with the sylus post as promised <3 if you haven't already, do check out my caleb post. in this post i'll summarise the current theories/speculations regarding sylus, however with all the new confirmations and reveals a lot of the previous theories have been debunked so i'm only going to include whats still relevant as of now. and don't worry, even in the future if most of these theories are complete waffle i'll still leave this post up, as well as my caleb one and any other upcoming lnds theory posts. as always, if i miss anything or if you want to correct anything please fill free to mention it in the comments <3 also this includes spoilers for love and deepspace veresion 2 so if you haven't finished the new updates yet and don't want to get spoiled pls look away!!! but if you're thirsty for more sylus content buckle up and keep reading, let's start... ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

ᰔ the meaning of sylus' name

starting things off simple let's look into the meaning of his name. 'sylus' can mean "from/of the woods", or more specifically the name sylus/silas originally comes from the short form of 'silvanus' which means "protector" or "guardian" (of the forest). funnily enough, this has clearly been depicted throughout he main story so far as he's been watching over mc from the very beginning. it's also said that silvanus can appear as someone who is unfazed and daring with a rebellious soul and is willing to explore the darkest woodlands - which sort of links back to how sylus is so comfortable in the N109 zone despite it being a terrifying place to others and outsiders.

ᰔ the flower in his trailer represents mc

i've seen a few people point out that the untouched flower in his trailer represents mc. seeing as sylus is the ruthless leader of onychinus he's clearly meant to be seen as someone who is unforgiving and rather rash. but amongst all of the deadliness shown in his trailer, a lone flower sits unharmed as he walks past, suggesting a softer side to him. we can assume that him avoiding to trample over the flower was intentional because he steps over his wanted poster, this small detail in general shows how he holds a tender and respectful side that he reserves for mc. ultimately, it shows how sylus is a multifaceted character - he voluntarily avoids the flower, willingly choosing to be tender even when no one was there to witness so. not to mention, on the recent stream one of the kitties (blurple) said that sylus had rescued it when it found itself on top of one of the buildings (probably in the N109 zone) and he gently set it down to a safer place on the ground after telling it that "kitties don't belong here". to me, he comes off as a man that is unforgiving when need be, he's not going to start terrorising everyone because of how he tends to behave. he seems like someone who prefers not to cross over lines unless someone has crossed his first - that's to say, he won't act hostile or irrational unless he has been wronged first. but of course, many people who know of him can find that difficult to believe because all of the stories they hear about him don't tend to have a civil ending. it's sort of like he only shows his softer side in private, which makes sense if you think about it as he probably has an endless list of enemies and the last thing he needs is having someone/something close to him used against him for blackmail or whatnot.

ᰔ sylus' heartbeat, is he actually human? i remember that before sylus came out a lot of us seemed to think that raising his heartbeat would be worse than how it already is to try and raise zayne's, although if you've tried to do it you'll notice his heartbeat tends to be very fast almost all the time. his heartbeat in game is about 90-105 in the morning and then in the afternoon/evening time it ranges between 100-164. even though it varies, it's still a faster heartbeat than the norm. but why is it more faster later on in the day? i mean it could be because he has a preference for doing things at night which explains why his heartbeat seems to be more active during those later times of the day - but regardless, it's still overly fast.

a resting heartbeat usually ranges between 60-100bpm, unless of course excercise becomes a factor - but even then sylus doesn't go red or show any physical signs that can explain why his heartbeat is so high. so the only explanation as to how his heartbeat is so fast is because he simply isn't human. but to be fair, a crow's heartbeat is usually between 150 to 200 on average when awake and can rise up to 600 when resting, but then again just because his familiar/pet is a crow and he's associated with crows it doesn't exactly confirm that he himself is a crow-human... hybrid. so... then what is he? well, there's a part in the main chapter, a flashback of some sort, where mc is reliving a memory for a bit. she's seen to be holding a hand - a hand that doesn't look very human - and called it "sylus". the creature seems to look like a wanderer, and if it really is sylus but in wanderer form, i presume he''s stuck in the transition stages (if you're familiar with zayne's dawnbreaker lore, this'll make more sense) from human to wanderer as mc can still recognise him (?) as she's holding his hand (we assume) it might be that she's resonating with him? perhaps this halted the transition process or something... but it's not clear enough to indicate what exactly is happening, from what we can tell mc appears to be covered in blood and they both seem to be injured but other than that the whole ordeal looks quite bizarre.

within the main story chapter we also see the little girl describe sylus as a monster with horns and huge wings who can never die. from what we've seen of sylus' regeneration ability (his self-healing) during that part when mc shot him (actually, it was sylus who pushed down the trigger, using mc's finger but i'll go more indepth on that below), and he healed only moments later - further proving the little girls rumor that sylus is invincible. the other attributes in her description (horns, big wings and being a monster) seems like she's just describing a devillish like wanderer, which sort of sounds like how sylus would be if he were to be one...

if we go back to the experiments involving core fragments, the people who participated in the experiment said that one is to "implant a core in a person't heart" and the other is to "implant a consciousness in a high level wanderer body" and so from here we know that mc is the former and sylus could possibly be the latter, that is - if he truly was one of the test subjects.

also, in the destiny cafe he has an interaction that says he likes observing humans and also says that things without heart are more loyal.

going back to that main story scene where there's a memory/flashback of mc and the wanderer-like being, we see the creature hand over something to mc which looks like a sword with his claw-like hands. the bottom looked like it was inlaid with a red core a red ruby, so if this wanderer thingy isn't sylus himself perhaps it was sent by sylus (?) somehow… which could be why mc says his name. the wanderer asks mc to hold it tightly and at this point (if this wanderer really is sylus) he hasn't completely transitioned into a wanderer yet as he can still talk to mc.

so if the creature/wanderer really is sylus, from what we can gather - sylus was turned into a wanderer. if mc didn't kill him, then he might've completely turned into a wanderer, which is why he said "because if you don't, there's no going back", and so sylus in his wanderer form handed mc the weapon when he was still conscious so that mc could pierce his heart and prevent him from becoming a wanderer and losing consciousness. though it doesn't look like she chose to kill him and instead opted to resonate with sylus which ultimately made his self-healing ability increase/double in power. at the same time this pulled on the energy from mc's aether core and altered the heart in sylus body, reshaping it in such way that he can now regenerate/self-heal. it also paused his transition into become a wanderer. as pointed out, this only happened because of mc resonating with sylus - which is why the voice in mc's head tells her "it's your power", because without her sylus wouldn't of gained such abilities and be able to manipulate with his evol as much as he can now. maybe the real reason why he wants to resonate with her so badly is because he wants to give mc her power back so that she can be as strong and as powerful as she once was. i'm not saying he feels 'guilty' for mc choosing to use her abilities to save sylus' life but i feel like he feels as if its his time to pay his debt to her and give her back what was rightfully hers, even if that meant he'd die in the process (which most likely will happen if he were successful). the part in the main story where sylus is on a throne and he uses his evol to pull her onto his lap and then allows her to point a gun at him and shoot him, he notes her hesitation and clasps his own hand around hers - and if you look closely in that scene he pushes down the trigger himself (pressing down on her finger) so that the shot goes through his chest. maybe he thought her power would restore to her if he was killed by her hand. when she realises whats happened, she feels immense guilt and regret, believing she was the cause of this. mc says something like "you can't die yet" in a way as if she's known him forever and not for the few hours/days we are shown in the story so far. he makes a remark, and talks a little smug over mc feeling bad for what happened. at this point, he's probably realised that his evol was beginning to take effect because of the failure to resonate with mc - meaning he was going to regenerate and not die like he assumed he would.

going back to that wanderer memory/flashback, after mc resonates with the sylus-wanderer it must've reversed the wanderers body back to human. the use of her evol in all of this must've altered fate and went beyond the rules of the unprecendented and unparalleled, sylus has also said "someone has already overcome fate" and that people have done it/conquered fate before him (source: abyssal chaos) most likely referring to how mc changed his fate so that he wouldn't turn into a wanderer. he also says something about being told a blood-soaked disaster would be waiting for him, but he twisted fate by bringing a blood-soaked disaster to other people. it seems like to me, that there is a possibility for loopholes and changes of destiny in the deepspace but it's not something that can happen so easily.

sort of like how zayne was punished for defying astra, mc must've payed a price for going against the laws of fate to save sylus. i guess this means her paid price was the result of her death as she must've been overly exhausted from the loss of energy spent to save sylus.

sylus also said mc owed him a "farewell ceremony bigger than death" because the love-hate story between them has not come to an end yet, even if she died first. i haven't read his anecdotes yet but i've heard that he searched in all the galaxies across time and space to find the mc again, only to find her in linkon city (similar to xavier's situation with mc really).

ᰔ the significance of sylus giving mc wine someone pointed out that when sylus gave mc the wine it was somewhat similar to hades giving persephone the pomegranate seeds. if you're unfamiliar with hades and persephone's story to put it short, when persephone was going to leave hades gave her pomegranate seeds and she consumed them without much thought only to later realise that she was now unable to leave now that she had consumed food from the underworld, ultimately meaning she had to stay with hades forever. i really like this theory because it does really amplify sylus' possessiveness. not to mention one of his chat bubbles is literally a pomegranate... if that doesn't solidify this theory i don't know what else will.

ᰔ so was sylus also experimented on? a lot of the scenery associated with sylus seems to show much about cages/being restricted/tamed/tied up, it could possibly nod towards being experimented on (like how mc was) which is why sylus tells mc that they are the same and true kindred spirits. even if he didn't go through the exact same experiments mc was put through its possible he went through something similar. he does have aether core inside of him after all, just like mc, and i highly doubt he was just 'born' with it, it must've been planted there by something or someone or maybe it has something to do with one of his past lives (?).

ᰔ sylus and astra, what's the extent of sylus' evol? now onto some juicy stuff, i've seen some talk about sylus being astra personified and although sylus being astra might be a little far-fetched, i do think there's some sort of connection. in zayne's foreseer myth, there's a part that says “astra gifted one of his eyes to the foreseer. by walking the winding path of time did the foreseer understand its passing.” since zayne still sees his alternate lives when he’s dreaming, it’s safe to assume that he’s still connected to that foreseer eye, but what about the other eye? isn't it strange that it's only one of sylus' eyes that glow... when mc asks sylus if his eye is an aether core he doesn’t say yes, he responds with “something like that”. if the foreseer’s eye sees one’s fate then sylus’ eye sees one’s true desires - as evident through what we see in the main story. there's also a part in zayne's last myth that sort of links back to this: “it’s said the god wields the power of yin and yang, governing life and death.”

we know astra granted his eye to zayne, but what about sylus? was it a gift too or did he steal it? and again, it's possible he was a victim of one of the experiments that happened all those years ago.

now this brings attention to rafayel's heart. was that astra's too, the aether core? if mc has an aether core, and sylus and rafayel have one too… perhaps these are all just fragments of the real aether, and maybe there's 5 fragments in total meaning xavier and caleb may have one too... mc is also heavily affected by sylus' evol which is probably due to her playing a part in how strong it has become or because his evol in general can mess with anyone regardless if they're an ordinary evolver or not. it's pretty obvious at this point that his evol is most probably the strongest we've witnessed yet, not only does he has multiple abilities and an aether core, but some of mc's power too (if the wanderer = sylus theory is correct). it's also important to note that sylus' self-healing ability which essentially allows him to survive death is similar to how mc could come back to life after the many experiments she was put through that killed her each time, i guess this confirms that the only reason sylus obtained this ability in the first place was when mc chose to save him and resonate with him once upon a time. unlike mc, he remembers everything - or so it seems. to mc his words may seem cryptic, but he probably does know more than he lets on and he just chooses to be very vague with what he says (probably out of protection, it seems he wants answers - perhaps after he gets his answers he will be more open with mc and trying to get her to remember).

ᰔ sylus and caleb/ever group (?) in the main story, when speaking about ever group sylus seems to regard them in distaste. of course, as onychinus and ever are two different groups entirely, we can assume they're also on two sides and are potential enemies. sylus makes it seem as if he's quite familiar with them, probably having dealt with them on a few occasions, but with the way he speaks of them i presume they weren't very delightful occasions. there is a part where sylus says to mc, "the people closest to you might be the ones who want to kill you the most.” which could refer to josephine and how she quite literally participated in the experiments that repetitively killed mc. but i primarily think this line has everything to do with caleb. i get the sense that the only reason sylus can know caleb is through ever group and we all can tell caleb is associated with something bigger than the aerospace academy. so if caleb truly is part of ever group, then we know one potential reason as to why sylus dislikes them, or more specifically caleb. there's also an official artwork (see below) that has a white, red-eyed snake wrapped around caleb's arm. the snake could very much represent sylus in a way. the art itself can allude to when mc went into the no hunt zone. she takes on the role as a sinner by pretending to betray the hunters, and as caleb is speculated to be the guy in the shadows in chapter 8, there's a possibility that sylus might be forcing caleb to pretend to be dead/betray mc which is why he is maintaining a low profile. as sylus is the snake and has control over caleb like a puppet with strings, in the art we can also see that both caleb and mc are tempted to eat the forbidden fruit - however, mc is able to freely do so whereas with caleb’s side of the art it looks like he will get bitten by the snake if he even dares to, it's as if there are consequences if mc ever finds out that caleb is actually alive.

that's all i've gathered for now <3 i'll update as i find more and read more of his cards (as well as the new world underneath stories... i haven't read those yet) but it might take a while for me to update because i'm swamped with work :T but anywho, thank you for reading :3 pls let me know your thoughts! (⭒•͈ 𓎺 •͈ )

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kaces-graham-crackers · 1 day

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Stirring the Quiet - Sips with Stardom

Jenn Ortega x Female Reader

Summary: Y/N's morning is stirred when Jenna arrives before opening hours. She finds herself sipping coffee and sharing stories with the star again. Between bodyguards, family, and an unexpected promise, Y/N's day becomes more than just her regular routine—a start to a little more, one sip at a time.

Word Count: 2.9k

As I unlocked the door and stepped inside, the familiar smell of Chinese takeout filled the air. The sounds of laughter and clatter of utensils echoed from the kitchen. Kicking off my shoes and slipping into my slippers, I sighed in relief. Home. Before I could take another step, Mr. Noodles—my black-and-white tuxedo cat, complete with his signature black bowtie—greeted me by weaving between my legs, purring loudly. "Hey, Noodles," I chuckled, bending down to scratch his chin. He meowed once, flicking his tail, and followed me into the kitchen. Marcus and Caleb sat at the table, surrounded by various takeout containers. Marcus dug into his lo mein while Caleb balanced his fork in one hand and scrolled through his phone with the other. "Look who finally decided to grace us with their presence!" Marcus called out, waving his fork in the air dramatically. "Yeah, too high on your horse to join your big brothers for dinner? Caleb chimed in without even glancing up from his phone. I rolled my eyes and dropped my bag onto the floor, giving Mr. Noodles a final pat before sitting down at the table. "Whatever you say, peasants, you wouldn't believe the day I had." Marcus raised an eyebrow, grinning. "What happened? Did Tom Cruise stop by to argue with his reflection again?" Caleb snicker. "Or did Chris Hemsworth come in to try and order his post-workout protein shake?" 'Ok. So maybe I don't only keep celebrity conversations with just Wilma.' "No, I still don't know what kind of gym rat demands a coffee shop to make a protein shake," I said, grabbing some fried rice. "But actually, it was Meryl Streep. She and her manager walked in, supposedly for a meeting. And they broke into a feud over whether or not she should be having hot chocolate and a donut." Both of them looked at each other, chuckling. Marcus leaned back in his chair to scratch Mr. Noodles under him. "Meryl Streep, defending her sugar right? You go, girl!" I grinned, stuffing a dumpling in my mouth. "Yeah, his face when she chewed him out was priceless." Caleb's full attention is on me now. "What about Will Ferrell? Did he drop by and give any hints about his upcoming movie?" I shook my head. "No Will Ferrell today. But Liam Neeson came in, ordered tea and a jelly donut, and then tripped on his way out. Spilled tea all over the place." Marcus and Caleb both froze mid-bite before bursting into laughter. Marcus set his fork down, "Let me guess, he threatened the floor after that one, right?" Caleb swallowed his food, "I can just imagine him giving his famous death stare. What did you do?" "I gave him another one, free of charge," I shrugged. "The man looked so heartbroken. I couldn't let him walk out like that." They laughed again, shaking their heads in disbelief. Marcus wiped his mouth, "Man, only in your line of work do we find out Meryl Streep and Liam Neeson are out here having bad days like the rest of us."

We kept eating, trading stories about our day. Marcus talked about a guy at the gym who almost dropped a barbell trying to impress some girl. At the same time, Caleb vented about the latest office drama. While leaning over to offer the piece of chicken on my fork to Mr.Noodles, without even thinking, I casually mentioned, "Oh yeah, Jenna Ortega came in today." Marcus froze, his fork nearly dropping, while Caleb slowly lowered his phone. Both of them stared at me in studded silence. "Wait...what?" Caleb asked, voice rising. "The Jenna Ortega?" It took me a second to realize what I had just said, and I immediately felt my face heat up. Damn. "Uhh...yeah. She was just, you know, having coffee." Marcus leaned over the table, grin growing wider. "Are you seriously telling me you met Jenna Ortega and didn't freak out? Come on, you've been obsessed since she made it big on Wednesday." "I wasn't obsessed!" I protested, feeling my cheeks grow even hotter. "And it wasn't a big deal. She's just a regular person." Caleb raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Did you...like talk to her?" I groaned, running a hand through my hair and throwing my head back. "Yeah, we talked a little. She was reading a book I loved, so we ended up geeking out about the author. She already read it, too, just revisiting it." Marcus' grin grew, looking smug. "You geeked out about a book...with her? And you're sitting here acting like it's no big deal?" I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "She's just another customer like anyone else, guys," Caleb smirked. "Uh-huh, sure. Except you're blushing right now." I could feel the heat creeping back into my face. "Am not." Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "Our lil sis rubbing elbows with big stars. Be careful if she wants to meet us, we're totally gonna embarrass you." I groaned, covering my face. "Shut Up, Please!"

After dinner, I headed upstairs. Changing into a pair of comfy sweats and a loose T-shirt. Noodles, ever my loyal shadow, hopped onto the bed and curled into a little ball beside me as soon as I laid down. He purred, vibrating through the blankets. I grabbed my phone and, doomed scrolled through Instagram and TikTok. But no matter what I did, my mind drifted back to Jenna. The way she was there—from anxious to completely calm in the café. It was hard to match that with the version of her I'd seen on the screen. And the fact that we actually talked? That was still sinking in. Then there was the blush. That small, subtle blush when she realized she was the last one left in the café caught me off guard. Jenna Ortega, the same Jenna who played the confident, intense character on screen, blushing because she'd lost track of time in a quiet little coffee shop? It made her seem so much more...cute. I immediately slapped my face. 'No, no, not what I meant. I meant human.'" When I looked over, Noodles' eyes were wide, and his tail flickering. I must have startled him with that slap. After a moment of us watching each other, Clearly unimpressed, he huffed and circled a few times, kneading the blankets before settling back down. "Sorry Noodles...What do you think? I murmured, my fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes behind his ears. "Do you think I made a fool of myself?" He responded with a soft purr, utterly unbothered by my internal crisis. I tossed my phone onto the nightstand, my mind replaying every detail of the evening: the way Jenna smiled when I brought her the donut, her casual posture as we talked about horror novels, and, of course, the way she blushed. It was as if, for a moment, she wasn't Jenna Ortega, the actress. She was just...Jenna. A regular person who got lost in a book, just like me. I sighed, rolled onto my back, and stared at the ceiling. "I'll probably never see her again, right?" I muttered to myself. Noodles meowed softly in response, unbothered by my troubles. But a small part of me couldn't help but hope that maybe she'd come back. Noodles stretched, yawned, and moved closer, curling up beside me. I smiled at his contentment, but my mind was still swirling with thoughts. I couldn't help but wonder if this was it or if I'd get the chance to talk to her again. Maybe she'd come back. With her lingering in my mind, I eventually drifted off to sleep, contemplating the unexpected conversation that had turned my usual day at work into something unforgettable.

The next morning came far too quickly. My alarm blared, and I groaned, rolling over to smack the snooze button. Mr Noodles, the early riser, pounced on my chest and meowed directly in my face until I finally gave in. "Alright, I'm up," I muttered, pushing him off and dragging myself out of bed. After a quick shower, I threw on some clothes and grabbed my bag, ready to head back to The Daily Grind. As I patted Mr. Noodle's head one more time before slipping out the door. I headed out the door, keys in hand, and my phone buzzed as I locked up. I answered. "Hey, Y/N! You're going to have to open up today," she said, practically out of breath like she was jogging. "The twins are dragging their feet and won't put their shoes on! She yelled that last part as I pulled out of my parking spot. "Mama couldn't take them, so I got stuck on babysitter duty again. I'll be in later." I chuckled, imagining the chaos on her end. "No worries, Captain, I can hold down the fort until you come." "Thanks! Oh, and by the way..." Wilma's tone shifted to something more playful. "How did things go with Prima last night?" I paused for a moment, feeling my face heat up. Of course, Wilma was going to ask. I couldn't avoid it, but...did I really have to tell her everything? I could already picture the girl tackling me if she had to find out on her own fruition. "Y/N? You still there?" Wilma prompted, clearly sensing my hesitation. I sighed, knowing there was no way out. "It was fine. We just talked a bit more," I started, trying to keep my voice casual. "Mhm, sure," Wilma replied, egging me on. "And?" I took a deep breath, feeling the warmth creep up my neck. "Jenna...actually walked me to my car," I admitted, my voice quieter now. "And then she teased me, said I had somehow 'charmed' her like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She flashed that smile—half playful, half serious—like she knew she was messing with me. Honestly, it was impossible not to blush." "Wait, hold up, She walked you to your car?" Wilma interrupted, her voice dripping with amusement. I could practically see her grinning on the other side of the phone. "And what smile? You've already memorized her smile, huh?" I groaned, blushing. "It wasn't like that, Wilma. She was just being...friendly." Wilma laughed. "Friendly? Please. You're a natural-born flirt, and you don't even realize it. And with "that" smile? She was totally into i—" "I wasn't flirting!" I protested; the thought of Jenna's smirk made me doubt my words. "She was just messing with me." "Oh sure, because it's so easy to charm someone with those smooth barista skills," Wilma teased. "You better brace yourself when she comes back. You're in trouble, Y/N." "Yeah," I admitted, resting my head on the steering wheel. "And then her bodyguards showed up out of nowhere and scared the life out of me." Wilma's laughter echoed through the phone. "Bodyguards? Of course. This keeps getting better by the second! What else? I know there's more." I sighed, already resigned to the teasing. "She made me promise that the next time she comes by, I'd share some of the stories about some bodyguards at the café." There was a beat of silence, and then, as expected, her laughter doubled. "Y/N, you've got her hooked! Wild café stories? She's definitely coming back now. Congrats—you've got yourself a celebrity lover. You're basically famous." "Wilma, seriously," I groaned. "Please don't blow this out of proportion." "Oh, honey, it's already out of proportion," her voice full of playful mischief. "You've charmed Jenna Ortega, and now she's coming back for more. I can already see it—this is how it all starts." I rolled my eyes, fully aware of how this conversation would go. "You're impossible." Wilma snickered. "Well, look at you—handling business like a pro. Don't let the fame go to your head, mascot. Remember to stay humble when you're hanging out with Hollywood Royalty." "Yeah, yeah," I muttered, though I couldn't suppress the small laugh. "I'll try not to let it change me."

"Alright, gotta get these monsters buckled and shipped off to school. Don't have too much fun without me!" "Sure, I'll try not to, and hopefully, I'll survive the first horde," I said, grinning as I hung up the phone. As I pocketed my phone, I shook my head, a smile lingering on my lips. I was starting to get used to the teasing. I grabbed my bag and headed inside. The sun crept up, casting soft light through the windows as I unlocked the door. Stepping inside, I could still feel the leftover warmth from yesterday. The café was quiet and still, just how I liked it before the rush. I went to the back, checked in, and threw my stuff into my locker before heading to the employee area. I slipped into my all-black barista uniform—simple black pants and a fitted black shirt before getting my apron from the hook by the door. The apron was the only pop of color, a warm brown that stood out against the dark. As I tied it around my waist, I fell into work mode. First things first: the plants. I grabbed the watering can we kept under the counter, filled it up halfway, and made my way around, giving each hanging plant a good drink. The soft trickle of water and the rustle of leaves was strangely calming, making the café feel like it was waking up, too. I always made sure to take extra care of the plants; Wilma was obsessed with them. Her grandmother had a green thumb, and she followed suit. So she'd notice if even one leaf looked droopy. Next up, I headed to the kitchen to bake the day's pastries. The scent of flour and sugar greeted me as I pulled out the ingredients. I started with the croissants, carefully rolling the dough before placing them on the baking tray.

While they baked, I started on the rest of today's menu items. If a customer wanted anything else, we'd bake it fresh for them. Next, the muffins were mixed with batter and folded in fresh blueberries. The lemon scones were last—I zested the lemons, mixed the dough, and shaped them perfectly before sliding them into the oven. As they finished in the oven, the warm, sweet smells began to fill the café, and I could already imagine the regulars lining up for their favorites. Once they were done, I arranged the croissants, muffins, and scones, which were still hot, and I knew they'd be the first to go as soon as we opened the doors. I also double-checked the coffee machines, making sure they were clean and ready to brew all day long. Once the plants were watered and pastries set, I headed to the front window to hang up a new poster advertising an upcoming poetry night we were hosting. Wilma printed and designed it with bold artistic letters and a little sketch of a coffee cup next to it. I used a bit of tape to secure the edges, securing it to the front window and centered for everyone to see. As I finished up, I wiped down the tables and chairs, making sure everything was spotless. The last thing I needed was someone complaining about a sticky spot on a table or chair. I rearranged the cushions, giving the booths that extra welcoming touch. Everything was in place by the time I was done, and The Daily Grind was ready to go. The café had this lived-in feel that always made me smile. It was the kind of space that felt like a warm hug—for anyone who needed it. I poured the fresh streaming brew into a mug, fixing it up just how I liked it, feeling the warmth spreading through my hands. As I leaned against the counter, taking that first comforting sip, a familiar figure appeared outside, her bodyguards in tow. I wasn't even officially open yet, but when Jenna Ortega knocks, who am I to not answer? I walked over to unlock the door, letting her and the guards in. Jenna wasn't in her usual hoodie this time. Today, she wore a stylish see-through white tee paired with a pair of plaid pants with high heels. Looking casual but chic. "You look nice," I said, feeling the comment slip out naturally. Jenna smiled warmly. "Thanks. She added, "I have an early interview for an upcoming film...and then some other boring meetings," her tone was slightly sarcastic. I gave her a teasing look. "Boring? Sounds like you've got a rough life," I joked, rolling my eyes playfully. Jenna chuckles lightly, brushing her hair out of her face. "Yeah, it's tough being me," she shot back. I shrugged, "Well, technically, we're not open yet, but I've already got everything set up, so if you want, I can get you and your crew settled in." Jenna exchanged a quick look with her bodyguards, who nodded back at her. "Thanks, that would be great." I turned to the guards, who had positioned themselves quietly near the entrance. "So, what can I get you guys?" The taller two, who had a more serious demeanor, spoke first. "I'll take a hot coffee. Black, with two pumps of vanilla and a dash of cinnamon." The second guard, who seemed more talkative, said with a small smile, "Tea, please. With milk and one sugar. I'm more of a tea guy myself." I nodded and then looked back at Jenna, expecting her to give her order, but I beat her. "Iced coffee with caramel and whipped cream, right?" Jenna raised an eyebrow, "Not bad. I guess I'm predictable." Jenna leaned her back on the counter as I got to work preparing the drinks, glancing toward the front. "What's that about?" she asked, pointing to the poster I hung earlier. "Oh, that? We run an event for people to come to enjoy poetry or music with their coffee. It's pretty laid-back. Kind of a 'grab the mic if you feel like it' vibe." Jenna nodded, looking at it. "Noted," was all she said softly. "Here's your drinks," I called. Each drink lined up. I handed the bodyguards their drinks, and they settled into the bar area by the cash register while Jenna and I sat at one of the tables, far enough away to talk privately.

"Sorry to inconvenience you again." Jenna replied, smiling briefly before glancing out the window, her fingers tracing the rim of her drink, a little distracted. "You look like you're lost," I teased. "Something on your mind?" Jenna blinked, snapping out of her thoughts and giving me a small smile." Just thinking about the day ahead. Meetings, interviews...nothing too exciting." She glanced at me, smile falling slightly. "But I guess everyone has their own version of busy, right?" I nodded. "Yeah, but at least your 'busy' involves making movies. Not a bad gig." Jenna chuckled softly, "True, but you'd be surprised how much of it is just waiting around, talking about things you've already said a thousand times. It's not all glamorous." I tilted my head slightly, "I can imagine. It's like running a coffee shop. People think it's just pouring drinks and chatting with customers, but there is a lot of behind-the-scenes stuff no one sees." She looked up around me, a spark of intrigue in her eyes. "Yeah? Like what?" I shrugged. "You know, making sure machines are maintained, cleaned, and functional, keeping the inventory stocked, baking pastries fresh every day, And don't even get me started with dealing with the occasional difficult customer, celebrity or not." She laughed, her smile returning tenfold. "I guess we both deal with our fair share of drama, huh?" I grinned, nodding. "Exactly. but hey, at least you get to wear cool outfits. All I get is this apron." She glanced at my apron. "Well...it suits you. And besides, I'm sure you could pull off one or two if you tried." My blush crept up, but I sipped from my cup to cover it. Jenna gave me a playful smile, taking a sip of her own. "So," Jenna began, "Where's Wilma this morning? I feel like I'm missing the other half of this Daily Grind dynamic duo." "She had to drop off her siblings at school," I explained, getting comfortable. "We've been best friends since preschool. Never really been apart, even traveled across the country to open this place together." Jenna's curiosity grew. "That's amazing. No wonder you guys make a great team; you're like a hive mind." I nodded, laughing at the thought. "As terrifying as that is, we do make a great team. Wilma's practically family. We've seen each other through school and jobs. It's been an adventure." Jenna's gaze softened as she asked, "And your real family? Are they around?" I shifted slightly, setting my drink down. "My older brothers, Marcus and Caleb, live here in California with me. We share an apartment together. But the rest of my family, my parents and younger sister, are back in New York." Her eyes lit up. "Wait, you've got a younger sister too? Same here—she can be such a pain, always finding ways to bug me, but that's little sisters for, right?" Jenna chuckled softly, a mix of affection and exaggeration in her voice. "She keeps me on my toes." I chuckled, adding, "Tell me about it. Sometimes, it's a lot of deciding whether to ship her off or not, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. And then, of course, there's Mr. Noodles." Jenna's brow furrowed in confusion, gnawing at her straw. "Mr. Noodles?" I smiled, nodding. My tuxedo cat. He's the real boss of the house." Jenna gasped loudly, startling her guards. "I need to see pictures. Now." I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the dozens of photos I had of Mr. Noodles, and handed it over. Jenna's face lit up with a huge smile as she swiped through the photos. "He's adorable! Look at this gentleman; his tie is too cute! How can you ever leave him to go to work?" I shrugged, shaking my head. "It's tough, but he's got work too. He's a professional napper around the clock, so he manages without me." Jenna handed the phone back, shaking her head in return. But my brain froze; her fingers brushed against mine for a brief moment. It quite literally—shocked me. "Thanks," she said, her hand lingering just a second longer than I expected before she pulled away. "No problem," I replied, trying to calm my racing heart.

"I think I might be in love with Mr. Noodles more than anything else." she joked. I laughed as the door swung open, and Wilma burst in, a disheveled mess, panting like she had just run a marathon. "Sorry, sorry! I swear, herding those beasts into the car is like trying to wrangle lions." Jenna, her guards, and I all turned to look at Wilma, who attempted to play it cool, straightening up as she wiped her brow. "Don't mind me. I'll be in the back getting ready." But before disappearing, she shot me a cheeky smile and said, "Keep charming, mascot." I quickly drank from my empty mug, hoping the ground of the mug would swallow me whole. Jenna raised an eyebrow, "Mascot?" she asked, her voice laced with amusement. I rubbed the back of my neck, "Yeah, it's just Wilma's nickname. She has called me since we opened the café, and she says I'm the face of the place." Jenna let out a laugh, "That's cute. It suits you," she teased, her smile growing. She added, "So, do I call you Mascot now, or is that just reserved by Wilma?" I chuckled, shaking my head. "More like trademarked; she's big on original nicknames but doesn't mind if they stick." "Alright, then, I'll have to go to the drawing board." She chuckled. Jenna's guards glanced at each other, then at the phone in front of them, before standing up. "Ma'am, we've got to head out. Your manager's been calling non-stop," one of them said, holding up Jenna's phone. It read 25 missed calls and 12 growing messages. She sighed, clearly not ready to leave, but she nodded. "Alright, guess I've got to go face the music." She stood up, and I offered to top off her coffee. "You've got a busy schedule. Want a refill to help get through it?" Jenna smiled gratefully. "That would be great, thanks." I quickly refilled her cup, handing it back to her as she pulled out some cash. I frowned, confused. "You don't have to—" She cut me off with a smirk. "I never paid for my drink the other day, and I'm covering today, too. Keep the change as a tip for the drink and for treating me like an actual person." She handed me the cash, along with a piece of paper. As Jenna and her guards left the café, the door softly closed behind them. I stare down at the money. Suddenly, I felt a pinch on my arm. "Ow!" I yelped, spinning around to see Wilma scolding me. "That was to snap you out of it. Also, for not charging your celebrity crush like a regular customer," she teased, hands on her hips. I shot her a look. "I was! I was just caught up in conversation. And besides, Jenna's a good tipper." Looking back at it, I realized the paper wasn't just her receipt—it had her Instagram handle scribbled at the bottom, along with a note that read, 'Thanks for the coffee and conversations again, Slick. You still owe me some more café stories.' I stood there, dumbfounded, as Wilma yelled back, "Come on, mascot, it's opening time before I take your tip!" Snapping back to reality, I shook my head and pocketed the receipt and money. "Alright, alright, I was just counting!"

#jenna ortega x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #x y/n #wednesday addams x fem reader #tara carpenter x female reader #slow-burn

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roll-of-royces · 5 months

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How The LaDS Celebrate Mother's Day

He takes the day off of work which given his abrupt entrance into fatherhood this year, staff aren't actually surprised for once. First thing in the morning he is bringing you breakfast in bed, including all of your favorite breakfast foods, a vase of flowers, and freshly brewed coffee.

Of course your little one is well taken care of, as Zayne made sure to attend to them the night before so you could get some much needed sleep, after all he's used to getting little rest.

As he presents you your breakfast, he explains that the three of you have an exciting day planned together going out to a local swimming attraction where you're little one will be able to splash around in the water for the first time.

You wake up alone, padding through your home to find Xavier asleep on the floor beside the crib, one hand up, fingers shoved through the bars. You're the one to wake him, pressing an amused kiss to his mouth. As soon as he is aware enough, bleary eyed as he is he wishes you a happy mother's day.

With the two of you both taking off work you're looking forward to a day of relaxation (and apparently an insane amount of snacks as there's a gift basket in the kitchen stocked full). Though he did promise he would take you two out for dinner for whatever you would want, and go to the arcade, which your little one loves to observe.

You're sure he's about to spend a small fortune making sure he gets whatever plush you or your kid happen to point at even if it means cheating with his Evol.

There are balloons above your head, you wake to a cacophony of colors above you as Rafayel lays on his side, watching for your reaction. You giggle and lean in to kiss him as he announces that he supposes the day can be all about you.

You come downstairs to a lavish breakfast laid out on the table, as he pulls out your chair for you and rushes back to collect your little one from their room. Sipping a delightful concoction, he really can make a drink, you wait for them to join you.

Rafayel fills your day with little gifts here and there, a new necklace, a swimsuit, a gift card to your favorite coffee place, and your favorite present of all, matching paintings. Two pieces of abstract art, one with meaningful well planned lines and an artistic flair, the other a series of chaotic blobs, half a handprint and mixed color smears. He's determined to raise an artist.

When you wake it is to the smell of childhood, you can smell some of your favorite meals from your youth as you wander into the kitchen. Caleb is there, bent over a pot though plenty of the food is already done. When he spots you he holds out a ladle and gestures for you to come taste.

You know he wants to introduce meals that mean so much to the two of you to your child, and he hates having to baby-fy for now, but you'll eat your fill. As he makes you a plate, little one all set up for breakfast too, he kisses your forehead.

He has two words for you 'Baby Arcade', which apparently translates to an establishment with a baby play zone and an adult play zone. You're pretty sure you might not make it out of the obstacle course alive if the competitive gleam in his eye has anything to say about it.

#love and deepspace #xavier x reader #lads #l&ds #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #caleb x reader #happy mother's day

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doctorbitchcrxft · 5 months

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Asylum | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions of parental abuse (take care of yourselves my lovebugs)

Word Count: 5444

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You and the boys had bonded quite a lot since Kansas. You and Sam had always been close; bonding over random pop culture debates, philosophical musings, and your interest in the pursuit of knowledge. It was your relationship with Dean that was really starting to confuse you.

You knew you were attracted to him; that much you had never denied. But it was the way your heart seemed to tug toward him in your chest when you two made your pinky promise next to his car that confused the hell out of you. You and Dean were friends, and that was truly all you needed from him. Or, at least, that was what you told yourself.

Sam was on the phone with one of his father’s friends named Caleb. The boys were growing frustrated at their inability to find him. Every lead they followed was a dead end.

“You know, maybe we should call the Feds. File a missing person’s,” Sam suggested.

“We've talked about this. Dad'd be pissed if we put the Feds on his tail,” Dean rebutted.

Sam shook his head. “I don't care anymore.”

Dean’s cell phone rang on the bed next to you. You got up to bring it over to him.

“After all that happened back in Kansas, I mean, he should've been there, Dean. You said so yourself. You tried to call him and… nothing. You know, he could be dead for all we know.”

Dean took the phone from you. “Don't say that! He's not dead! He's – he's…”

“He's what? He's hiding? He's busy?” Sam argued.

Dean went to respond, but the message on his cell phone caught his attention. “Huh. I don't believe it.”

“What?” you asked, peering over his shoulder.

“It's, uh, it's a text message. It's coordinates.” Dean immediately opened his laptop and began clacking away.

“You think Dad was texting us?” Sam asked.

“He's given us coordinates before,” Dean said.

“The man can barely work a toaster, Dean.”

“Sam, it's good news! It means he's okay, or alive at least.”

“Well, was there a number on the caller ID?”

“Nah, it said 'unknown,’ “ Dean replied.

“Well, where do the coordinates point?”

“That's the interesting part. Rockford, Illinois.”

“Interesting how?” you asked him.

“I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this.” He handed the paper to you. “This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum.”

“Okay, I'm not following. What has this have to do with us?” Sam questioned.

“Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let’s see…” Dean flipped to the page. “Here. Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths; till last week at least. I think this is where he wants us to go.”

Sam snorted. “This is a job. Dad wants us to work a job.”

“Well, maybe we'll meet up with him? Maybe he's there?”

“Maybe he's not? I mean, he could be sending us there, by ourselves, to hunt this thing.”

“Who cares! If he wants us there, it's good enough for me!”

“Guys—” Their bickering had gotten more frequent in days of late, and it was beginning to bug the shit out of you.

“This doesn't strike you as weird? The texting? The coordinates?” Sam pressed.

“Sam! Dad's tellin' us to go somewhere, we're goin'.”

Sam made a bitchface at his brother and sighed.

***

Your destination was a bar in Rockford you had stalked the cop you knew was the partner of the deceased. You found him sitting at the bar, nursing a beer. You monitored the scene from a few tables behind. Dean was to meet you there after his interaction with the cop.

“You're Daniel Gunderson. You're a cop, right?” he asked.

The cop nodded.

“Huh. I'm uh, Nigel Tufnel, The Chicago Tribune. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions, about your partner?” he asked enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I do. I'm just tryin' to have a beer here.”

“That's okay, I swear it won't take that long. I just want to get the story in your words,” Dean continued.

The cop was not amused. “A week ago, my partner was sitting in that chair. Now he's dead. You gonna ambush me here?”

“Sorry. But I need to know what happened.”

Sam came up and pushed Dean aside roughly. “Hey buddy, why don't you leave the poor guy alone! The man's an officer! Why dontcha show a little respect!”

He was calling an unnecessary amount of attention to himself that amused you slightly. Dean paused, glaring before walking over to you.

“Spinal Tap?” you questioned, laughing, referencing his fake name. “Seriously?” The two of you began walking out of the bar over to the Impala.

“What? It’s a classic!”

“I’m not arguing that,” you said. “But what are the chances he knew your reference?” You sat on the hood next to Dean.

“Oh, come on, we’re probably the only two people in Rockford who even know what Spinal Tap is,” he remarked.

A moment of silence passed between the two of you.

“How’s your neck healing?” Dean asked.

You turned your neck up to him. There was still quite a bit of bruising from the way you were strangled back in Kansas. He sucked in air through his teeth. “That’s gotta hurt, huh?”

“Meh, a bit,” you answered. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “Are we ever gonna talk about Kansas?”

“Hmm… I did pinky-promise,” you jested.

“That you did.” He looked at you expectantly.

You sighed. “My dad was uh, a bit of an asshole. The man’s dead and I still can’t decide if I love or hate him. He was mean. And that’s putting it mildly. For instance, like, one time, I missed a shot on a hunt, and he beat me til I was black and blue later that night. Said it was gonna make me sharper, and he’d rather me hate him than fuck up again like that on a hunt. I was twelve.”

“Wow,” Dean responded quietly. “How young were you when he started taking you on hunts?”

“Ten.”

“Holy crap. Could you even hold a gun at that age?’

“Please, I’ve been able to hold a gun since I was four. He said I needed a dose of reality if I wanted to complain so much about being in the motel room with my brother.”

He nodded. “How much younger was your brother?”

“Two years.” You smiled at the memory of him, but your smile quickly faded. “I, uh, took beatings for him a lot.”

Dean nodded again. He paused for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged and sighed. “It’s over now.”

“Yeah, but I know it still hurts.”

You don’t know what made you do it, but you leaned your head on his shoulder. He tensed under you briefly, but let you keep your head there.

You hadn’t noticed Sam walked out of the bar and was approaching the two of you. “You two look cozy.”

You jerked away from Dean.

“Bite me,” the older Winchester answered. "Shoved me kinda hard in there, buddy boy.”

“I had to sell it, didn't I? It's method acting,” Sam quipped.

Dean looked confused.

“Never mind.”

“What'd you find out from Gunderson?” you asked.

“So, Walter Kelly was a good cop. Head of his class, even-keeled, he had a bright future ahead of him.”

“What about at home?”

“He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody, but he was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids.”

“Alright, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to bust out, or something else did it to him,” Dean nodded. “What'd Gunderson tell you about the asylum?”

“A lot.” Sam filled you in on the local legends and experiences teens had in the place. Kids frequently dared each other to spend the night because it was said everyone who stayed all night went crazy.

You and the boys arrived at the asylum a little while later. The interior of the building was gray and gloomy. Metal carts were laying on their sides, vials spilled all over the ground, and you were sure you would find needles sticking out of the soles of your boots by the end of the endeavor. Dust covered every surface, flaring up your allergy, and every few minutes you were sneezing.

“So apparently the cops chased the kids here… into the south wing,” Sam described, gesturing to the sign above the door.

“South wing, huh? Wait a second…” He pulled out his dad’s journal. “1972. Three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived. Way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place.”

“So whatever's going on, the south wing is the heart of it,” you continued.

“But if the kids are spelunking the asylum, why aren't there a ton more deaths?” Dean questioned.

You noticed a broken chain on one of the doors. “Looks like the doors are usually chained. Could've been chained up for years. Keep people out or keep something in.”

Sam slowly pushed the door open, and the three of you began heading down the hallway.

“Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel,” Dean remarked at his brother. He was passing his EMF meter over various surfaces in the hallway.

“Dude, enough,” Sam groaned.

“I'm serious. You gotta be careful, all right? Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got going on.”

“I told you, it's not ESP! I just have strange vibes sometimes. Weird dreams.”

“And that’s not ESP?” you quipped.

Sam made a face at you. “Okay, maybe it is, but—”

You snickered.

“Not funny, (Y/N/N).” He playfully shoved your shoulder. “You get any reading on that thing or not?”

Dean shook his head. “Nope. Of course, it doesn't mean no one's home.”

“Spirits can appear during certain hours of the day.”

“Yeah, the freaks come out at night.”

“Hey, Sam, who do you think is the hotter psychic: Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or you?” Dean deadpanned.

You and Dean laughed, and Sam shoved the both of you. The three of you entered another room. You looked around, a sinking feeling hitting your stomach.

“Man. Electro-shock. Lobotomies. They did some twisted stuff to these people,” you shook your head.

“Kinda like my man Jack in Cuckoo's Nest.” Dean made crazy eyes and grinned at you and Sam.

Sam ignored him and his smile dropped.

“So. Whaddaya think? Ghosts possessing people?” Dean questioned.

“Maybe. Or maybe it's more like Amityville, or the Smurl hunting,” Sam suggested.

“Spirits driving them insane. Kinda like my man Jack in The Shining.” Dean grinned again.

“You are such a nerd,” you mumbled.

“Hey, don’t talk about Sam like that,” Dean gibed back, even though he knew you were talking about him.

“Dean. When are we going to talk about it?” Sam asked his brother.

“Talk about what?”

“About the fact Dad's not here.”

Dean clicked his tongue. “Oh. I see. How ’bout… never.”

“I'm being serious, man. He sent us here.”

“So am I, Sam. Look, he sent us here, he obviously wants us here,” said Dean gruffly. “We'll pick up the search later.”

“It doesn't matter what he wants.”

“See. That attitude? Right there? That is why I always get the extra cookie.”

You scoffed. “C’mon, guys, cut it out.”

Sam ignored you. “Dad could be in trouble; we should be looking for him. We deserve some answers, Dean. I mean, this is our family we're talking about.”

“I understand that, Sam, but he's given us an order.”

You loved Sam, but you were on Dean’s side. Your father’s training probably programmed you that way.

“So, what, we gotta always follow Dad's orders?” Sam bit back.

“Of course we do.”

Sam huffed frustratedly. Dean stared back and then turned away, ending the conversation.

You started poking around the room a bit more. You picked up a dusty sign off the floor and sneezed again. “ 'Sanford Ellicott'... You know what we gotta do. We gotta find out more about the south wing. See if something happened here.” You put the sign back down and walked away from the boys.

***

You and Dean dropped Sam off at a therapy session with Sanford Ellicott’s son, James Ellicott. You figured it was the best way to get information from someone close to the situation. In the meantime, you and Dean spent some time hanging out in the Impala.

Conversation between the two of you never felt forced. You still enjoyed pushing each other’s buttons, but you genuinely got along very well.

“Okay, so, I told you about my fucked up family, you need to talk about yours,” you told Dean.

He scoffed and gave you a bitchface. “Says who?”

“Says me. Now, spill.”

Dean seemed uncomfortable.

You took the hint. “Okay, if you don’t wanna talk about it now, will you tell me at some point?”

He nodded and stuck out his pinky with a smirk. “Promise.”

A smile spread across your face and you linked his finger with yours. “Okay, then. Different question. What’s your favorite color?”

He scoffed lightheartedly. “What?”

“I’m serious! What’s your favorite color? Mine’s (Y/F/C).”

“Blue,” he answered.

“Like, baby blue or navy blue?”

“Definitely closer to navy,” he told you. He was eyeing you strangely again.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” you asked him.

“You… confuse me.”

“Oh?” You raised a brow. “Why?”

He shook his head. The one thing you hated about Dean was his inability to talk about quite literally any of his feelings.

“Will you ever tell me why?” you asked.

He nodded and stuck out his pinky again. You smiled warmly and took it.

***

“He’s been in there for-fucking-ever,” you groaned, pushing yourself off the wall of the building.

As if on cue, Sam walked out at that moment.

“Dude! What the hell were you talking about?” you asked as you headed back to the car with the brothers.

“Just the hospital, you know,” Sam responded.

“And...?” Dean pushed.

“And the south wing? It's where the housed the really hard cases. The psychotics, the criminally insane.”

“Sounds cozy.”

“Yeah. And one night in '64, they rioted. Attacked staff. Attacked each other.”

“So the patients took over the asylum?” you questioned.

“Apparently,” Sam answered.

“Any deaths?”

“Some patients, some staff. I guess it was pretty gory. Some of the bodies were never even recovered, including our chief of staff, Ellicott.”

“Awesome. What do you mean ‘never recovered’?”

“Cops scoured every inch of the place but I guess the patients must've...stuffed the bodies somewhere hidden.”

“That's grim,” the older brother commented.

“Yeah. So, they transferred all the remaining patients and closed the hospital down,” Sam explained.

“So, to sum it up, we've got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies.”

“And a bunch of angry spirits.”

Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Good times. Let's check out the hospital tonight.”

***

You held a shotgun full of rock salt round, Sam a video camera and flashlight, and Dean his EMF meter.

“Getting readings?” Sam asked as you walked down the labyrinth of hallways in the asylum.

“Yeah, big time,” his brother responded.

“This place is orbing like crazy.”

“All of these unrecovered bodies are probably causing it,” you added.

“We gotta find ’em and burn ’em. Just be careful though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit... is the pissed off spirit of a psycho killer.” Dean’s unwavering confidence cracked a little in a rare moment of vulnerability.

The three of you continued searching. You and Sam split off to one room and Dean took another. You looked around the debris scattered through the room to try and find some of the bodies.

Sam’s yelp caused you to wheel around “(Y/N), shotgun!” he called to you

You came up behind him. “Sam, drop!”

He obeyed and you shot the apparition in front of him square in the face.

Dean came running into the room. “What happened?”

“That was weird.” Sam was breathless when he got up from the ground.

You furrowed your eyebrows at him as the three of you made your way out of the room. “Why?”

“She didn't attack me,” the younger brother replied.

“Looked pretty aggro from where I was standing,” you retorted.

“She didn't hurt me. She didn't even try! So if she didn't wanna hurt me then what did she want?”

You shook your head and shrugged. You and the brothers jerked in the direction of a sound coming from a room you were passing. You raised your shotgun, and your eyes flicked to Sam’s. He nodded at you to go into the room first. You approached a ragged metal bed that had been turned on its side in the corner of the room. You could see something hiding behind it.

Sam tipped the bed over and you aimed the shotgun at the thing behind it. However, the girl hiding behind it screeched and jerked further back into the corner.

“It's alright,” Dean told her, “we're not going to hurt you. It's okay. What's your name?”

“Katherine. Kat.”

“Okay. I'm Dean, this is Sam and (Y/N).”

“What are you doing here!?” you asked her.

“Um, my boyfriend, Gavin,” she replied shakily.

“Is he here?” Dean questioned.

Kat nodded. “Somewhere. He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts. I thought it was all just… you know. Pretend. I've seen things. I heard Gavin scream and…” she trailed off, tears welling in her eyes.

“Alright. Kat? Come on. Sam's gonna get you out of here and then we're gonna find your boyfriend.” Dean gestured between the two of you.

“No! No,” she protested. “I'm not going to leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you.”

“It's no joke around here, okay. It's dangerous,” Dean responded.

“That's why I gotta find him.”

You looked over at Sam, who shrugged.

“Alright, I guess we gonna split up then. Let's go,” Dean commanded your group. Kat went with Dean and you headed off with Sam. You kept your shotgun raised just behind Sam, tension gripping your chest.

“Gavin.... Gavin?” Sam called.

A few minutes of walking later, you noticed a figure on the ground unconscious. Sam crouched to wake the boy up, and you lowered your gun.

Gavin awoke and freaked out, pushing himself away from you and Sam.

You were consistently impressed by Sam’s ability to calm others down. “Hey, Gavin. It's okay, We’re here to help.”

Gavin calmed down considerably, but still sounded slightly panicked. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sam, this is (Y/N). Uh, we found your girlfriend.”

“Kat?” Gavin got up from the floor. “Is she alright?”

“Yeah. She's worried about you. Are you okay?” you asked.

“I was running. I think I fell.”

“Running from… what?” you questioned.

“There was...there was this girl. Her face. It was all messed up,” he explained.

“Okay listen, did this girl... did she try and hurt you?” Sam asked.

Gavin looked back at Sam and shook his head. “What? No, she... uh…”

“She what?”

“She kissed me.” Gavin’s cheeks flared in embarrassment.

Sam seemed to feel uncomfortable, too. “Uh, um, but- but she didn't hurt you, physically?”

His eyes widened. “Dude! She kissed me. I'm scarred for life!”

“Well, trust me, it could have been a lot worse,” you snickered. “Do you remember anything else?”

“She uh, actually, she tried to whisper something in my ear.”

“What?”

Gavin shook his head. “I don't know. I ran like hell.”

You scrubbed a hand over your eyes. “Okay, let’s go.”

The three of you went walking on, only to hear a female scream and Dean calling Kat’s name. The three of you broke off running toward the sound.

“What's going on?” you asked Dean as you approached him. He was trying to jimmy open a heavy metal door with a pipe.

“She's inside with one of them,” the older Winchester explained.

“Help me!” Kat screamed from the inside.

“Kat!” her boyfriend called back.

“Get me outta here!”

Sam pushed Gavin back to get against the door. “Kat, it's not going to hurt you. Listen to me. You've got to face it. You've got to calm down.”

You and Dean turned to Sam. “She's gotta what?!” you exclaimed in unison.

“These spirits, they're not trying to hurt us, they're trying to communicate. You gotta face it. You gotta listen to it,” Sam urged.

“You face it!” Kat protested.

“No! It's the only way to get out of there.”

“No!” she cried.

“Look at it, come on. You can do it,” Sam told her.

And then, quiet. There was nothing for a few minutes.

“Kat?” Gavin called through the door.

You and the brothers backed away from it. “Man, I hope you're right about this,” Dean told his brother.

“Yeah, me too.”

At that moment, the lock clicked and the door slowly opened. Kat stood in the doorway, shock overcoming her face.

“Oh, Kat.” Gavin hugged his girlfriend.

You headed into the room Kat had been locked in. Nothing. You came back out and shook your head at the brothers.

“One thirty-seven,” Kat muttered.

Dean quirked a brow. “Sorry?”

“It whispered in my ear. One thirty-seven.”

“Room number,” you and the boys muttered in sync.

The three of you crouched along the wall and led the teenagers back to the exit. Sam was to take them out of the asylum while you and Dean went to investigate room 137.

You sneezed again for the umpteenth time. Your eyes were itching you, too.

“Are you allergic to me or something?” Dean asked you as you moved down the hall toward room 137.

You giggled. “No. Dust.”

“Aw, sweetheart—” he mocked, “—don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the dust bunnies.”

You rubbed your nose and sniffed. “I’m gonna kill you.” You pushed against the door of room 137, only to meet major resistance. You figured there was a bunch of furniture blocking it.

“Move, move,” Dean told you. Of course, he shoved the door open with ease. He looked at you smugly.

“Whatever,” you deadpanned, pushing past him into the room. You moved your flashlight around the dark room, finding tons of papers scattered over the floor. Filing cabinets were laying on their sides and a desk was completely broken in half. You sifted through folders in one of the only upright file cabinets.

Dean was behind you, and you could hear wood creaking. He grunted. You turned to see him trying to pry a wood panel off the wall.

“Need help, princess?” you asked.

“No,” he grunted once more, finally jerking the panel off. Inside was a satchel that was relatively dust free. “This is why I get paid the big bucks.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

The two of you pulled up chairs next to one another and began flipping through the journal inside the satchel. There were mad scribblings and hand-drawn pictures of the strangest medical instruments.

“Well, all work and no play makes Dr. Ellicott a very dull boy,” Dean remarked.

“This is insane,” you muttered, disgust overtaking you as you read the doctor’s accounts of what he had done to his patients.

“Yeah, I want this fucker nice and crispy,” Dean said. “C’mon.”

He led you back to the exit of the asylum, and Dean jerked back into you suddenly at the sound of a shotgun.

“Damn it, damn it, don't shoot! It's us!” Dean called, trying to catch his breath.

You heard Kat from around the corner next. “Sorry! Sorry.”

“Son of a…” Dean huffed out a quick breath. He led you around the corner. “What are you still doing here?! Where's Sam?”

“He went to the basement. You called him,” Gavin said, looking at Dean dumbfounded.

“We didn’t call anybody,” you returned.

“His cell phone rang. He said it was Dean.” Kat was confused, too.

You and Dean came to the realization of what happened.

“Fuck,” you muttered. “Basement, huh?”

Dean found Sam’s discarded duffel bag and grabbed an extra handgun. He handed it to you and grabbed a shotgun for himself. “Alright. Watch yourselves. And watch out for me!”

***

You and Dean had your guards up immediately upon entering the basement. The two of you called out to Sam, only to get no response. When you turned around, however, Sam was right in front of you. “Holy shit, dude!” you lowered your handgun. “I almost shot you.”

“Man, answer me when I'm calling you! You alright?” Dean said.

Sam sounded different to you. “Yeah. I'm fine.”

You eyed him strangely.

“You know it wasn't me who called your cell, right?” his older brother told him.

“Yeah, I know. I think something lured me down here.”

“I think I know who. Dr. Ellicott. That's what the spirits have been trying to tell us. You haven't seen him, have you?”

Sam shook his head. “No. How do you know it was him?”

“’Cause we found his log book. Apparently he was experimenting on his patients, awful stuff. Makes lobotomies look like a couple of aspirin,” Dean retorted.

Sam’s face was set in hard lines. He was scaring you, if you were honest. “But it was the patients who rioted.”

“Yeah. They were rioting against Dr. Ellicott. Dr. Feelgood was working on some sort of, like, extreme rage therapy. He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger then they would be cured of it. Instead it only made them worse and worse and angrier and angrier. So I'm thinking, what if his spirit is doing the same thing? To the cop? To the kids in the seventies, making them so angry they become homicidal,“ Dean went on. “Come on, we gotta find his bones and torch ’em.”

You continued to eye Sam, not quite sure what was going on with him.

“How? The police never found his body.” Sam’s movements were almost robotic.

“The log book said he had some sort of hidden procedure room down here somewhere where he'd work on his patients. So, if I was a patient I'd drag his ass down here, do a little work on it myself.”

“I don't know, it sounds kinda…”

“Crazy?”

Sam nodded.

Dean motioned for his brother to follow him into the next room. You continued to watch Sam carefully, and the sly look he gave his brother did not escape you.

“I told you I looked everywhere. I didn't find a hidden room,” Sam said.

“Well, that's why they call it hidden.”

You shushed the boys. “You hear that?” You crouched to the ground and Dean followed suit.

Sam was still standing behind him. “What?”

“There's a door here.” Dean felt along the wall until he found it.

“Dean.” You heard a gun click behind you. “Step back from the door.”

You and Dean rose from the ground with your hands raised. Blood was trickling down Sam’s face from his nose.

“Sam, put the gun down,” Dean pleaded quietly.

Sam’s voice was hard. “Is that an order?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, it's more of a friendly request.”

Sam pointed the gun straight at Dean’s chest. “ ’Cause I'm getting pretty tired of taking your orders.”

“Sam, stop it,” you told him. “I fucking knew it. Ellicott did something to you.”

“(Y/N), for once in your life, just shut your mouth.”

You knew it wasn’t Sam talking and you tried not to take offense.

“What are you gonna do, Sam? Gun's filled with rock salt. It's not gonna kill me,” Dean bit back.

Sam shot Dean square in the chest. The shot threw him backward through the hidden door. “No. But it will hurt like hell.”

“Dean!” you cried, rushing to his aid.

“Get back, (Y/N),” Sam demanded.

“What the fuck, Sam? Cut it out!”

Dean grabbed your arm, doing his best to silence you and steady himself. “We gotta burn Ellicott's bones and all this will be over, and you'll be back to normal.”

“I am normal. I'm just telling the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here? ’Cause you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? Because you always do what he says without question? Are you that desperate for his approval?” the younger brother spat.

“This isn't you talking, Sam,” Dean groaned, head lolling back against the floor.

Sam tapped the gun to the side of his head. “That's the difference between you and me. I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic, like you.”

“So what are you gonna do, huh? Are you gonna kill me? Then (Y/N)?”

Sam laughed bitterly. “You know what, I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago.”

“Well, then here. Let me make it easier for you." He held his treasured handgun out to Sam.

“Dean, no,” you pleaded, grabbing his wrist. The look he gave you told you to trust him. “Come on. Take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt.”

Sam hesitated.

“Take it!” Dean commanded.

He did, and pointed the gun straight at Dean’s face.

Dean laughed humorlessly. “You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger. Do it!”

Sam pulled the trigger. The gun clicked, but no bullet left it. He tried once again. You took the opportunity to kick Sam square in the stomach, knocking him to the floor and winding him.

Dean scrambled to his feet. “Man, I'm not going to give you a loaded pistol!”

Sam stared up at him with venomous disdain, only to receive a wicked right cross from Dean. Sam was knocked out cold.

“Sorry, Sammy.” Dean patted his brother’s head on the ground.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He nodded. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The two of you found the rotting corpse of Dr. Ellicott behind a cupboard door. The smell nearly knocked you out. “Holy hell.”

Dean covered his nose with the back of his hand. “Oh, that's just gross.”

You pinched your nose with one hand and salted the body while Dean covered it in kerosene. “Soak it up,” he told the doctor. The two of you went to stand, only to be knocked to the floor by a gurney flying across the room.

You looked up to see the ghost of Dr. Ellicott right above you. “Don’t be afraid.” The doctor grabbed your face. “I'm going to help you. I'm going to make you all better.” His fingertips felt like they were burning holes into your skull.

You wailed in agony. And suddenly, he backed away from you. You dropped to the ground and looked up to see the doctor turning black and falling to the floor in front of you, crumbling on impact.

You turned your head toward Dean. “Thanks.” You knew he had lit the corpse on fire while the doctor was distracted with you.

“Don’t mention it.”

You turned to the sound of Sam moaning from a distance away.

“You're not going to try and kill us, are ya?” Dean asked him.

Sam flexed his jaw painfully. “No.”

“Good. Because that would be awkward.”

After the three of you bid goodbye to Gavin and Kat, you were on the road again.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam said.

His brother turned to face him.

“I'm sorry, man. I said some awful things back there.”

Dean’s tone was guarded. “You remember all that?”

“Yeah. It's like I couldn't control it. But I didn't mean it, any of it,” Sam told him.

The older brother didn’t sound convinced. “You didn't, huh?”

“Dean—” you started.

Sam cut you off. “No, of course not! Do we need to talk about this?”

Dean turned his attention back to the road. “No. I'm not really in the sharing and caring kinda mood. I just wanna get some sleep.”

“Ditto,” you mumbled, stretching out over the backseat.

Soon enough, you and the boys arrived back in your respective motel rooms. You’d decided to get some shut-eye before heading out to your next adventure. You awoke hours later to the sound of your cell phone ringing. You picked it up, not recognizing the number at all.

You shot straight up at the sound of the man’s introduction. “John?!”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @thepocketverse @simpingdeadcharacters @elqsiian @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey

Quite a few tags were broken; sorry lovebugs! :(

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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critrolesideblog · 28 days

Text

AO3

"Hi, Yussa!" Yussa paused, fork suspended in midair, as the voice of Jester Lavorre flared into his mind, sudden and bright, but not at its usual break-neck pace. There was a slight pause as she considered her words. "Caleb wants to send a friend through your teleportation circle tomorrow… Friend is from Xhorhas… just passing through… Caleb casting - that okay?" He heard a note of triumph in her voice as she managed to complete the question within the allotted word limit. From Xhorhas… It was not every day he had visitors from Xhorhas, and for Caleb Widogast to ask… that was intriguing.

"I may be amenable to that, so long as Widogast is not handing out my teleportation coordinates to whomever requests them."

"He's not." The reply came so closely on the heels of his own that she must have started casting before he completed the thought. "He really wanted me to stress that. Great! Esssss- our friend will message you when he is on his way. He's cool! You'll love--"

"Very well," was all he replied, and as the spell released, he felt a reverberation of annoyance at his failure to use up the space allowed. He smiled to himself as he retrieved his fork and called to Wensforth to clear his schedule. Tomorrow promised to be an interesting day.

---

"Well, we should get on with it I suppose," Caleb said softly. His breath was warm against Essek's ear as he squeezed him tightly one last time, and Essek breathed in the now-familiar scent of him -- woodsmoke, incense, leather, parchment, Caleb. Essek knew he was right. They had delayed long enough as it was, lingering on an outcropping of rock, sheltered from Eiselcross's fierce winds and bitter cold by Leomund's Tiny Hut. Caleb had important things to get to in the Empire, and Essek should not keep him from them. But he indulged in his selfishness a moment longer, keeping his grip around Caleb firm. He was the stronger wizard, by a hair, and Caleb did not resist the embrace. Instead, he leaned his cheek against Essek's for a breath, and then offered a kiss there in exchange for his release.

"I suppose so," Essek agreed at last, keeping his hands in touch with Caleb's form until the very last brush of fingertips against fingertips as he slipped from his grasp and crouched to begin drawing the teleportation circle.

Essek turned away from the sigils being drawn and looked out over the icy tundra. The day was fittingly grey and dreary, the sun a weak suggestion of a glow through the haze of snow on the horizon. He pulled a copper wire from his pocket, stretched it, condensed it, collapsed the distance between his voice and its intended recipient: "Hello, I hope I am not intruding. I will be arriving in one minute."

"Thank you for the warning," replied an unfamiliar voice, sounding pleasantly-surprised. "I will be waiting."

Curious.

"He sounded surprised to hear from me," he called back over his shoulder. "That was the plan, was it not?"

"Ja," Caleb's voice sounded amused. "But our calling ahead is usually a message from a few floors up after we've already arrived."

"Ah… yes, that does sound like you."

"It's a good thing Jester is so charming."

"We will have much to commiserate over."

"Ready?"

Essek turned back to find Caleb twisting the remaining stub of chalk this way and that in his hands, the circle beyond awaiting the final marks that would complete it. He took a deep breath to steady himself and with a flourish of his hand and a murmured word cast Disguise Self. He then slipped a pearl from a pouch on his belt and held it close enough to Caleb's forehead to feel the warmth radiating from his skin but vigilant not to touch it. Caleb's clear, blue eyes looked at him with such warmth that it made him want to say foolish, selfish things about running away together or venturing into Aeor once more, but he murmured only the verbal component of the spell and took another steadying breath.

"Good luck, Caleb Widogast."

"Don't be a stranger."

Caleb knelt again and completed the final rune.

------

Disguise Self.

Disappointing.

Yussa had all night and the better part of the morning to hypothesize on the identity and motivations of his intended guest and came up with a few interesting theories. Interesting being the key word. The Mighty Nein were many things, but never dull.

He could allow that the handsome, young Drow now standing in his teleportation circle had applied the spell in a smart way: shifts to the hue of his skin and eyes and adjustments to his facial features, leaving his hair, clothes, and the shape of his ears true to form. Such small changes were harder for the untrained eye to spot. But he had to have known he would be arriving to a pair of very well-trained eyes.

The young man arranged his features into a soft, politician's smile.

"Yussa Errenis, I presume." He bowed politely, speaking in Common. "It is a pleasure to meet you." Yussa dissected his features for tells of the veracity of this statement, but even looking past the paltry illusion, he was hard to read. Good for him, he supposed. Good for his chances at surviving this side of the Ashkeeper Peaks, anyway. There was a slight shift in pitch to his voice that might have been earnestness, but he arrived in Yussa's home in a poorly-thought-out and -- more importantly -- boring disguise. He could not allow that to pass unchecked.

"Welcome," Yussa replied in High Elven to match the young man's mask (and his own). He watched his attention come to a still point on the sound of his voice as he continued at a conversational speed. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And what is your name? Ms. Lavorre did not provide it." He knew high-born Drow (which he would wager his guest to be given the fine make of his clothes, if he were a gambling man, which he was) often studied High Elven as part of their schooling, but with little occasion to use it, found it difficult to converse in. It did not help that Drow diverged from High Elvish some centuries ago, influenced by Undercommon in subtle but important ways.

His eyes became sharp above his soft smile as his mind worked quickly.

"Sylmarr is my name. I'm sorry. It took me a moment to… change roads." He responded at length, accented but much more smoothly than Yussa expected, and that was interesting…. Sylmarr… Right.

"Please, come in. I have prepared tea for us."

"Ah, no. Apologies, I cannot--"

"I insist. It would be very rude of me to have you in my home and not at least provide you with tea. Right this way."

Yussa lead the way down the stairs and heard a soft huff and the rustling of a cloak behind him. Sylmarr's steps behind him on the stairs were quiet…

Imperceptible…

Nonexistent?

He glanced back. He had not paid attention to his feet before, noticing only the height of his head to be commensurate with the illusion, but he saw now there was a space between his feet and the steps. Indeed, now that he was so close behind him, he caught …

He never found a good word for it in any language. It was not a scent exactly or a taste but an evocation of ozone and burnt metal and the feeling in the back of one's skull when dizzy and about to fall. Something he hasn't sensed in a long, long time.

Interesting.

Yussa's tower contained a number of receiving rooms for guests of varying importance. The one Sylmarr was ushered into had walls painted a shade of blue that matched the midday sky outside and high windows that opened onto balconies rarely visible from the exterior but which offered sweeping views of the city, the harbor, and the ocean. Layers of finely-woven linen curtains filtered the bright Nicodranian sunlight. The furniture was made of imported, Uthodurnian maple, expensive but not ostentatious. Yussa settled into his favorite high-backed chair upholstered in a rich turquoise velvet by the tea table as Sylmarr paused by the window overlooking the city. When he turned back to the room, his politician's smile was gone, replaced by a thoughtful frown.

"So, do you think my Elvish is good enough to continue with this disguise?"

"Briefly, perhaps, but if you plan to spend much time in the Menagerie Coast, your accent is just strong enough to garner unwanted attention. I would recommend limiting its use to places further afield."

"Understood."

He sat gingerly on the edge of the chair opposite Yussa, as if it might grow a mouth and consume him if he got comfortable. Not an unreasonable fear, all things considered, Yussa mused as he poured the tea. One of the adventurers he travelled with centuries ago was almost consumed by such a creature… Talia? No, Talia, when he travelled with the Wandering Wyrd, was almost killed by a Gelatinous Cube. It was Tyros with the --

"You have lived in Nicodranas for some time?"

"For over two centuries. Before that I travelled. A little bird told me--" at three in the morning last night, when she could not sleep and decided to make that Yussa's problem "--you have been travelling yourself recently."

"A bit."

"With Caleb Widogast?"

"He speaks very highly of you."

"He is an impressive talent and a good ally."

"And a good friend."

"I have not known many high-born Drow to speak of friends."

"Well," Sylmarr retrieved his teacup from its saucer. "I have been called exceptional." Yussa was uncertain whether he actually took a sip or just made a convincing show of it. He fixed Yussa with a sharp gaze as he set the cup back down neatly. "And have you known many Kryn?"

"A few."

"You've been to Xhorhas?"

"Not for many centuries." Yet he remembered the way the wind swept across the plains, ruffling the grasses like a great, invisible hand, the dry caress of it on his cheek. The bustle of the Gallimaufry at New Dawn. The ebb and flow of song as devotees wound their way through the streets. The echoing halls of the Marble Tomes, traversed by its supplicants with as much reverence as any shining temple.

"Have you any Undercommon?" Sylmarr asked, switching tongues as he did so. Yussa smiled at the at the attempt to knock him off his game, failed though it was.

"A bit, yes."

"You are well-travelled, indeed."

"Quite. Now, back to Caleb Widogast." This elicited a small crack the genteel mask as Sylmarr's eyebrows raised ever-so-slightly. He sat back in his chair then, settling in for whatever Yussa had to say.

"What about him?"

"As I have said, he is an impressive talent and a good ally. I consider him something of a --" Student wasn't right word. Nor apprentice. "A mentee of mine, if you will. We have different arcane specialties, but I believe I have some wisdom to offer on surviving as a mage in a mercenary group, not to mention centuries worth of professional connections." Sylmarr made no response, except to pick up his teacup again with a noise of polite attentiveness. "Ms. Lavorre mentioned to me that you are an accomplished arcanist as well, and you've taught Caleb -- I believe her exact words were a bunch of cool magic." Sylmarr frowned thoughtfully for a moment.

"I taught him the basics of my discipline, but much of the interesting magic of mine that he possesses he reverse engineered." He said the last words with a huff of annoyance that had little heat behind it. "He caught up to me very quickly and has taught me some of his own discipline as well."

"You would consider yourselves peers?"

"Yes," he responded quietly, lowering his eyes to his teacup for a moment, and there was a soft, shy smile on his lips, a little awkward and, if Yussa was not quite mistaken, tender. …Ah.

"I see."

"Yes," his smile sharpened quickly into something more keen. "You need not worry about me poaching your mentee." Yussa was only allowed an instant's intimation of indignation before Sylmarr continued. "If anything, I may wish to avail myself of some of your wisdom before too long, if that is agreeable to you." Ah… well… Yussa took a sip of a tea. He supposed if he wasn't losing the ear of the rising star in the field of Transmutation that would be alright, and the proposition did present an opening.

"It is agreeable, but I prefer to know my mentees' names. Sylmarr doesn't strike me as particularly Kryn."

"Neither does Errenis Yussa."

No, it doesn't does it, Yussa mused as he took another sip of his tea. Then again, that was rather the point when he chose it. There were other considerations as well, of course. He reflexively ran the pad of his thumb against a spot on his finger where a ring had not existed for centuries. Sylmarr was watching him with a haughty expression that dared him to challenge his conclusion. He considered the merits of feigning confusion but had to ask. "What gave it away?"

"If my Sun Elvish is a little too rough, your Undercommon is a little too smooth. There are also the windows." He gestured toward the curtains. "It could be polite consideration for an expected Drow guest, but I find non-Drow's idea of dimmed daylight is often still too bright. The odds that you happened to get it just the right amount to see clearly are slim. Also, the way you have arranged your robes -- I believe it is the custom in Gwardan to arrange the front panels right over left, not left over right." It was, but it always felt wrong.

"I see." Yussa set his teacup neatly in its saucer. "In that case, let us be plain with each other." He dispelled the young man's Disguise Self with a flick of his wrist, allowing the lilac eyes, high cheekbones, stardust freckles on twilight skin to become fully clear at last. He let his own facade fall as well.

They surveyed each other quietly for a moment: two Drow in a sunlit room.

The young man bowed politely in greeting as he had when he first arrived. Yussa bowed in return, and asked "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, and you are?" His persistence earned him a wry sort of grin, followed by a frown.

"I … have enemies," he responded slowly. "It may be better for your not to know."

"It is always better to know."

That earned him another wry grin and a moment's thoughtful consideration.

"Thelyss," he said at last, with a sigh. "Essek." Thelyss. Not just a noble den, but a ruling den. Yussa did some quick mental math regarding the Luxon beacon the Mighty Nein brought him, some months ago now, the level of political intrigue that would have been required for its Dwendallian sojourn, and the likelihood of Essek's involvement. Interesting. "And you?"

"Errenis Yussa is the only name of mine that matters, and the only one I have used for a long time."

Essek's lips formed a thin line, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. Open curiosity burned in his eyes. Nevertheless, he had the tact to approach his next question gingerly. "May I ask why you left Xhorhas?"

"No." Yussa replied primly, pushing aside memories of that first band of adventurers that wandered into his life (the way Dzi'an's golden eyes shone when he laughed, Anat's swagger, Maggie's sweet voice). "Not this visit, anyway. It is a long story, and I believe you have a ship to catch." Essek conceded the line of questioning with a nod.

"You're not wrong."

Yussa gestured for Essek to stand and with a word and a twist of the hand settled a Seeming spell around him, so he looked much as he did before, though with a new touch of gold embroidery to the hem of his robes. "Do you have Seeming in your repertoire?" He asked, and Essek had the good grace to look mildly chagrinned at the question.

"I do, but I wished to conserve my spell energies."

"Energy expended to avoid a fight is never wasted, young man." Essek barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes at the platitude, which delighted Yussa to no end, and he smiled smugly to himself as he reapplied his own facade and ushered Essek from the parlor.

"Do the Nein know?" Essek asked, pausing before the front door. "Of your… origin?"

"Not that I am aware of. I did hint once that my appearance in the Empire would cause a stir should my illusion be dispelled, but they had other, greater mysteries pressing on them as I recall. You may tell them if you wish."

"Ah, I only asked because Jester implied to me once that she thought you were a dragon. I wondered if she was pranking me, but perhaps not. Fare well." And with that, he glided out into the bright hustle and bustle of the Open Quay, melding quickly into the crowd and leaving Yussa standing agape in the doorway.

A dragon?

#it's wizard wednesday!#yussa errenis #essek thelyss #shadowgast #couldn't resist a little interlude #see the notes on AO3 for my Yussa is a [spoiler] theory :)#my writing tag

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literalite · 7 months

Text

mistki's the land is inhospitable and so are we (2023)!! as edits featuring mine and some of my friends ocs 😁 had a lot of fun with this project... rough explainer of how/why each song corresponds to each character/s under the cut because i love symbolism and talking! sorry it is long

bug like an angel - sapphire

without spoiling too much of her story and arc... sapphire's life is not easy. she's hurt by people she cares for and who care for her, although inadvertently, and in turn hurts people who she cares for and who cared for her, also not by her own volition. it's kind of a terrible truth that you will harm and be harmed by the people you love, even when you and they truly don't want to. it's up to you how much you're willing to take and deal. you can't keep every promise you make and you can't right every wrong. but you have to keep trying anyway. that's sapphire's strength, and the core of her goodness and why i personally consider her one of my favourite ocs. i chose to depict bug like an angel in mitski's more positive interpretation here and in that light i think it works best for saph

buffalo replaced - heiya

well first and foremost the vibes of the song fits heiya perfectly fhgjk but also lyricism and tone... yep. quick breakdown of heiya's background since i doubt i'll ever be able to do it properly she's an interesting character for me because she like a lot of my other characters has lost. everything. she had a wife and a child and they were both killed and she had to leave her home again and again and unlike how some of my others would have taken this she has never flagged in her unwavering dedication to preserving hope. for herself for her people for the future etc etc. which is a very fucking difficult thing to do! the world changes faster than you can keep up with it sometimes but for heiya she will not let herself tire and be swept away in it all. people rely on her. she's a guiding star as much as she is a woman. she's a lover and a fighter and thats what buffalo replaced means to me! so

heaven - vinny and caleb

i feel like of all my oc couples so far they have like. the sweetest most kind of simply mutually trusting dare i say straight forward love. they just love each other so much and thats all. the world could end around them when theyre together and it'd be okay truly. also yeah vinny is ostensibly in heaven now bye angel i feel like this one was pretty self explanatory. me and who WHEN

i don't like my mind - sunny

he just like me fr (said in denji voice) anyways wow ha. unstoppable unending guilt due to past actions that haunt your every waking moment? throwing yourself into any and all distraction just to take your mind off it, filling your time with other shit so that past sin doesnt for once echo in your awful and hollow brain? this song is perfect for sunny honestly just that sentiment also the "please don't take this job from me".... sometimes the coping is worse. you can be proud of something because you can do it better than anyone else even if that thing is terrible

the deal - wolfgang munch by @gunthermunch

Wolfgang Amadeus Munch. umm this will make more sense later on but it still kind of makes sense now i think. he doesn't want to be himself he keeps . leaving and moving and running away from his own memories his own self in reaction to others. if he could pawn it all off he would. if he could be better in an instant without having to feel every agonising second of change he would! but thats not how the world works. or is it. read munch by gunthermunch thats an order

when memories snow - lilian

i feel the older you get the more your past kind of swells up and trails behind you... at least for lilian that is shes very linked to the different versions of the girl/young woman she used to be. for her its a double edged blade, a lot of her own strength is drawn from who she was and what happened to her throughout her life. they haunt her but she's haunting it back in her own way

my love mine all mine - saige, bellona, ari

stares you down okay so usage of this song very much almost verges into spoiler territory but uhm. uhm. starts twitching basically the whole dynamic here is . sometimes when you love you will sacrifice. and while that is usually a good thing sometimes it is not but sometimes it still is. sometimes you pay your dues for love and sometimes someone else has to pay for your love as well. and whether that is worth it to them remains to be seen. but it's all about love still. whether that's a worthy cause is up to you i suppose

the frost - yoshiki and hikaru from hikaru ga shida natsu

fun fact (or not so fun fact since i had it listed as such) this slot was originally meant to be taken up by a gojo/geto edit and while it still works for them frighteningly well i swerved to do another black and white haired doomed gay pairing gfhjkl; i really recommend yall to read hikaru ga shinda natsu/the summer that hikaru died because honestly it speaks for itself! it's SO good i love it so bad

star - ari and luca by @anjitrait

wow these two did not deserve the horrors the narrative (me) slammed down onto their heads. they're kind of the most married of all time to me but like of course under pressure even the strongest most loving of bonds will warp. they've been together for roughly a decade and a half now. they know and love each other as totally as you could possibly imagine. despite it all i am yours, no matter. are we picking up what i'm putting down chat

i'm your man - nayef and sióar by @lucidicer

after the album dropped like at least 3 people swung into my dms with a ?this you?? about this song which. i mean the fucking dogs that start barking halfway through the song. are you kidding me. but anyways sioyef and devotion. sioyef and putting yourself in your lover's hands and looking to them like they are a god. this is super self explanatory. you know

i love me after you - redacted and ophelia

HM.... all i'll say here is that sometimes the homoerotic tension filled high school friendship where both parties have something very wrong with them but in totally different directions can be. scarring. bad. sometimes love just isn't enough when you don't know what you're meant to do with it and when you've lived in survival mode all your life. but that once the dust clears you can scrape yourself off the ground get up keep going and that isn't gonna be the end for you there. or for love, even. sometimes shit just ain't meant to be and thats ok

#ts4 #urghhgh idek how many hours this is cumulatively. dont wanna #ts4 edit #seph.txt #p

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writingdumpster · 9 months

Text

first impressions

pairing: Matt Murdock x reader (no pronouns used)

warnings: none I think

summary: i wrote this purely bc i know matt murdock is excellent at meeting people’s mothers. after impressing your parents matt gets to thinking about his future.

word count: 1.6k

“I’m nervous.” You sat next to Matt in the restaurant he had chosen for the evening. It was fancy. There was a pianist in one corner of the room and linen tablecloths. It was nicer than the hole-in-the-wall joints that you and Matt usually preferred. He wanted to impress your parents though, so he had made a reservation at a swanky restaurant in midtown Manhattan.

Matt was in his court suit and you had donned the blue silk dress he bought for your anniversary. It was by far your favorite dress. Beyond being a treasured gift, it fit you perfectly and the fabric always felt soft against your skin. Karen had helped Matt pick it out, but she had told you that all she did was describe the dresses and that he had completely ignored her opinions. She had strongly recommended a yellow dress but he had refused her suggestions, insisting you would like the one he picked better. Never having seen the yellow one, you knew he was right. If he picked it, you loved it. You would have him choose between options you put out when you got dressed in the mornings by describing them to him and he always had you match his tie to the rest of his outfit.

“It’s going to be fine,” Matt said and kissed your temple.

“I only ever introduced Caleb to my parents,” you told him, not that you hadn’t said it before. Matt knew that Caleb was not someone you had pleasant memories of. He had heard the stories from you and he was the one who helped you get over many of the fears that Caleb had struck into you. Matt was remembering those stories while he heard in your heartbeat how nervous you were.

“You know I’m not like Caleb,” Matt reminded you.

“I know, Matt. I just…this is a big deal for me,” you said.

“It’s a big deal for me too, sweetheart,” Matt told you. “It’s just an exciting big deal for me.” You inhaled deeply. Matt smiled. “You have nothing to worry about. Moms always like me, angel. It’ll be great,” he assured you.

“All women like you,” you said. Matt laughed lightly.

“Then that will include your mom, won’t it?” He asked rhetorically. He gave you a light peck as he tangled his fingers with yours beneath the table. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he cooed. You sighed.

“You’re right. I know they’re going to love you. I just…” You hesitated.

“Caleb was a mistake and you think it’s bad luck,” Matt said, always knowing what you were thinking.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“This isn’t a mistake, sweetheart. I promise. It’s just the next step,” he told you. You nodded and Matt gave your hand a squeeze. You looked up at the doorway to the restaurant.

“They’re here,” you said. You rose from the table and greeted your mom and dad with hugs. Matt was standing by your side with a charming smile across his face.

“Hello, Mrs. y/l/n,” Matt greeted with a smile. Your mom held her arms out to Matt and pulled him into a hug. He returned it kindly.

“Oh, please, call me y/m/n,” your mom said. “Y/N has told us so much about you. I think we can be on a first name basis,” your mom said. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as your mom told Matt how you spoke about him. Matt simply turned to you and smiled. He loved that you told your parents about him. He wished he could tell his dad all about you. Your father held out his hand for Matt to shake. Matt stayed still, not wanting to give up his powers. You took Matt’s hand and pulled it to where your father’s hand was waiting.

“Oh, sorry about that,” your dad said in embarrassment as he shook Matt’s hand. Matt chuckled lightly.

“That’s alright, sir. Took y/n months to stop answering me with nods,” Matt joked.

“It was not months,” you said sharply.

“You still do it sometimes,” Matt teased. You pursed your lips, biting back the comment about how you knew he could tell. The four of you sat down, Matt pulling out your mother’s chair for her before doing the same for you and taking his seat.

Matt was right about mothers loving him. He charmed your mom with his dry sense of humor and enchanting smile. He won your dad’s approval when he mentioned he owned his own law firm. Your father didn’t need to know that Nelson and Murdock was nearly always on the edge of bankruptcy. Your parents told Matt stories about you from your childhood, despite your protests that they were too embarrassing. Matt loved the stories. All he could do was smile at you. The night was perfect. Matt was perfect. Your father refused Matt’s attempt to pay for the meal before the four of you left. You said your goodbyes in front of the restaurant before getting into different cabs and going back home. Matt’s hand was resting innocently on your leg while the two of you sat in the back of the cab.

“I told you it was going to be fine,” Matt teased you. You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, you were right, Murdock,” you agreed. Matt chuckled.

“Doesn’t happen that often. I have to brag when it does,” he said. The cab pulled up outside of your apartment and the two of you got out. You made your way up the stairs and walked through the sliding door. The glow of the billboard outside of your window was blue. A new advertiser had taken over a few weeks earlier and the red light that usually filled the room had been replaced with a blue light, making it seem like your apartment was bathed in moonlight. You were looking through the mail that you had collected on your way up.

You realized you didn’t know where Matt went when music started playing. You smiled to yourself as you tossed away the junk mail. Suddenly you felt hands on your hips as Matt pulled you away from the counter. He spun you around and moved one of his hands to the small of your back. The other went to cup your hand in his. You giggled before moving to wrap your free arm around his shoulders, fingers tangling in the hairs at the nape of his neck as the two of you began swaying back and forth. Matt loosened his hold on your waist and moved to let you spin beneath his arm before pulling you back into his body and dipping you.

When Matt pulled you back upright you leaned up on your toes to press a kiss to his lips. Matt smiled against your lips. You stared into his eyes when you leaned away. His eyes were so beautiful. You never cared that his eyes didn’t see you the way yours saw him. He saw you in so many other ways.

“You really impressed them,” you said as you leaned closer to Matt, tucking your head against his neck.

“I told you moms like me,” Matt said.

“My dad liked you too though,” you said.

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “We just can’t let him visit my office. He won’t be impressed anymore.” You chuckled.

“I certainly hope he won’t ever need a lawyer,” you said.

“If you hadn’t needed a lawyer we never would have met,” Matt reminded you.

“Yes, and that worked out very well,” you agreed. “But when we tell our kids how we met I think we should make something up.” Matt beamed.

“Our kids?” He asked. Your heart dropped for a moment and your face went blank.

“I mean, umm…” You started stuttering.

“We’ll have to get married first,” Matt interjected before you could start backpedaling. Your panic turned to excitement. You grinned.

“You obviously have my parents' approval now,” you said. Matt smiled.

“And you’ve certainly gotten Foggy’s approval,” Matt replied.

“Foggy likes me better than you,” you said with a laugh.

“Yes, I know,” Matt said flatly. “He’s very clear about that.” You held back your giggles.

“If you came into the office with cookies instead of bruises like me he might like you more,” you joked.

“I do bring in cookies,” he grumbled.

“Yes, but Foggy knows I made them,” you said. Matt sighed.

“He wouldn’t like me at all if I brought in cookies that I made,” he said. You giggled at the memory of Matt trying to make your birthday cake and causing the building to evacuate after setting off the smoke alarm.

“When we have kids I bet he’ll like them better than both of us,” you said. Matt smiled.

“That’s alright. We can use him as a babysitter that way,” he said.

“Maybe if Karen’s there too,” you said. Matt chuckled.

“You don’t trust Foggy with our kids?” He asked.

“Matty, you have told me far too many stories about you dragging Foggy back to your dorm after a frat party for me to trust Foggy with our kids,” you said. “He will most certainly let one of them do something stupid.”

“And you think I won’t?” Matt asked.

“You won’t let them do something stupid, you’ll do it for them,” you said. Matt spun you around in his arms once more as the song came to an end. He kissed your forehead when he pulled you back against him. Matt’s heart was full at the way the two of you were so casually talking about your kids. He hoped it wouldn’t be long till they were real. He knew what he wanted. He didn’t want to wait for it anymore. There wasn’t anything stopping him now.

“You want to go ring shopping tomorrow?”

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