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(OC Lore and design time!)
(it got longer again ... sorry ... idk how to make things short, i just need to talk, but i guess if you can read the written stuff in the pic thats the barest bare bones of what i wrote here)
i was asked what new lore story stuff i had thought about that made me sad which i mentioned a bit ago, and while that is too hard to explain given all the missing context i thought i could at least talk about lore having to do with it :D
so, (Lord) Eadrya is one of my fav OCs (big blue lad, here a rough sketch in humanoid form) they are both one of if not THE most powerful demon alive and the most battle trained;
at the mid point of the story the demon world gets invaded by the celestials (the angel inspired things i talked about in the previous lore post with Xaror) and Shargon, as the king, should be their first and only frontline, but at this point his life is only being sustained by maschinery after being mortally wounded, he cannot fight (he realizes what is going on, rips himself off the maschinery to get at least his youngest child to safety, barely managing it before dying- the guardian, the demons god, takes over his body to attempt to fight against the celestials but cant keep itself alive long enough since its host is already dead) Eadrya takes the role of the frontline fighter (despite being very full of themselves and aggressive they care about their 'job' of protecting their own, also giving them the chance to show off just how strong they are); the fight was going well for them all things considered, but when the guardian activates it drains the power of all elemental lords (which Eadrya is one of, and since they have the most strength it also takes the most from them), so much so that they lose the fight and suffer deadly wounds (the worst being a spear through the chest made of a material that grows hard, root-like formations when in contact with demonic blood like a fungus but worse, also stopping any self healing processes) after the guardian falls apart it creates a huge shockwave of energy that stuns every living thing within a certain distance and possibly more-
Eadrya (in true demon form, so like a blue whale in size at least) was likely taken through an active gateway to the human world in a large tidal wave also created by the guardians fall; they wash up in the harbor of a small secluded village, the head of which is 'lady 13'; although never having seen a demon before and everyone being afraid (largely thinking its a strange hurt animal, only she suspected otherwise), they still gather all villagers to pull out the celestial spear, which is diffcult and brutal given that its already taken root, but the village lacked both knowledge and means to help any other way- doing so damaged their heart which is how they were able to collect samples of all three demonic blood types ('normal' -red like humans-, energy -essentially purely magic- and heartblood -highly concentrated energy only found within the heart of a demon and the only one to contain genetic material) (this is the start of Eadryas character arc, having to deal with the fact that their world is likely destroyed, them failing what they didnt think they could fail, having lost a battle so badly (even if not really their fault) for the first time and not knowing if literally anyone else has survived .. also being now stuck in the human world, which they dont like)
Lady 13 (placeholder name? stands for experiment 13) is a human that was tricked by demon hunters to enroll into a series of experiments trying to create hybrids of demons and humans, which they hoped would be powerful and easily controllable tools for their endeavours, though the two are inherently not compatible, they tried grafting body parts of demons on humans to make them compatible- all experiments failed except for her, more or less, though she never got to see the hybrid she carried and was then told it had died too, they threw her out believing she wouldnt survive much longer either and all such experiments were cancelled due to the high cost of human life, research material (demons are still rare) and upkeep with no successful results Lady 13 survived though (perhaps even via the pirates picking her up?) and she ended up living in said small village far away, hiding her half demonic body, though most know there soemthing 'wrong' with her (her being this tall when it doesnt fit the rest for one), only few know the full extent; she enjoys the life she has now, perhaps on the more poor side but safer and more loved than ever before; she largely lead the efforts to try and help Eadrya when they ended up in the harbor, though there wasnt that much anyone could do it was still enough- they leave immediately after waking up, but return after really having nowhere to go and struggling to deal with everything that has happened; over time (probably years) they start to open up towards the people there (though not .. very much) enough to get rather close with Lady 13 too- she actually falls madly in love but after Eadrya (extremely aro/ace) rejects all her attempts quite clearly she respects their boundaries
However, after hearing news of potential demon sightings Eadrya decides to leave in hopes of not being the last demon left after all; Lady 13 then decides to reveal her secret to them (though hearing and seeing what lengths hunters would go to for their experiments makes them absolutely seething with rage- she insists on not being out for revenge) and asks if they would be willing to donate a small amount of heartblood; shes always wanted to be a mother but is now incompatible with humans too- through things she picked up back at the experiments facillity, hers and her doctors research she is sure that is all that is needed, she dares to ask since she does not know when, if ever, she will meet another demon, much less one she could actually trust enough for this though Eadrya hesitates (why would she want to go through the same thing again that didnt work and threatened her life, if it does work, do they want to be involved with any of this? what if hunters find out it worked after all?) but after her ensuring that they would have no part in it other than giving up a little blood and would not be considered a parent in any way, nor made responsible for anything that might happen to her, but considering it all in the end they agree to it
only for her to reveal shes had a small bottle of it already, along with multiple samples of the other types, which she collected when Eadrya was bleeding out into the harbor not knowing if they will survive, though not wanting to make use of it without their consent either way (they are actuallly rather touched by this)
alot later the main group returns here and it turns out to have worked (though she is unable to walk/bedridden for a long while bc it did alot of damage to her body, which can heal since its demons parts, but only really slowly bc she does not have a full functioning system and no demonic blood of her own -she uses the other samples for the healing process-) though its a little awkward to explain, especially considering that 13.1 took alot after Eadrya xD (their theory as to why it worked so "well" that time is that even though the sample was already taken, them giving their consent for it still made it less likely to be rejected; demons dont need partners to have offspring, and all can do it, they just have to decide to- so them agreeing to it, even though its long been outside their body, still had an effect on the blood sample)
#ganondoodles#art#ocs#original art#oc lore#demons#monsters#WHY does writing things liek this take me so long#i spent two hours again on this and im falling asleep as we speak bc its almost 2 am#ANYWAY this was alot again ... sorry#but its a relatively new storyline that i have been afraid of telling#since it touches on things im afraid might come across wrong and uses themes im a lil uncomfy with#but i found it interesting ... and works well with eadrya as a character bc it challenges alot about them#yes im wrote and mean this genuinely#i would have made the cut from her human body to the demon parts more smooth ... but this hard cut is the point#so that she looks rather normal on the upper part and can hide the rest#thoguh im unsure about the color scheme and if maybe i should be more creative with the demons parts#then again its largely just legs lol#if anyone actually reads this ........ i hope it comes across correctly#i like to use darker and more mature themes but am riddled with anxiety over how it will be understood#im gonna work on zelda comic stuff again now .. sorry for all the oc spam#but if there are questions PLEASE feel free to ask im pretty sure i have answers to almosst anything?#also i havent thought of a name for her or the kid .. though im starting to like lady 13#13.1 wont do as a name though poor kid deserves a proper name after already being a weird hybrid that shouldnt exist#either way ... going to bed now GOODNIGHT q-q#(any typos are excused by me being deadly tired ok)
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The dream, the tie, the tour, the dream | ao3 | the Sylus series
Summary: You have a good dream, get a guided tour of Onychinus's base by the chaos twins, talk yourself into being sad again, and then have another good dream.
Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, Sylus's POV. Up until now I've avoided using MC's pronouns, but when the conversation is about MC and takes place outside of MC's presence, the dialogue can get really awkward. There is a small section in this part where MC is referred to as "they/them," meant as a placeholder for whatever pronouns the reader prefers. I'm still trying to figure out how to move forward in situations where body anatomy may differ depending on reader's preferred gender, but that's a problem for future me. Slow burn friends to lovers This story contains: dreams, grief, survivors guilt, sexual tension, inner monologues with lots of sexual contemplation, mc with self esteem issues, mentions of self-harm, boundary crossing typical of Sylus
You are on a beach. The black volcanic sand under your feet, sifting softly between your toes, is pleasantly warm. Heated through by the sun, but not so hot as to burn your tender soles. Your bandages are gone. The weight from your shoulders is gone. You lift your face to the sun. The golden light, the cherry blossom pinks and mandarin oranges bleed into ruby streaks, spilling across the placid water stretching to the horizon—it feels like evening. You walk to the water’s edge, the tide gushing over your ankles and retreating, and the water is as pleasantly warm as the sand. There is no one else on the beach. It is just you, the water, the occasional call of a gull overhead, and the constant whisper of the water, shushing onto land, sighing in retreat again.
Your heart is quiet. Your mind is quiet. You lower yourself to your knees, sit back on your heels. The water slips over your thighs, swirls around your backside, drifts back into itself again. In this moment, in this tranquil place, you feel a sense of validation—your constant struggle to survive, to be useful, the clench of your teeth as you shoulder your way through fight after fight, the memories that usually invade your sleep, the daily grind of simple existence—you keep going, despite everything, despite the whispering in you that maybe it would have been better if you had opened the door before Caleb, it would have been better if you had gone in ahead, and left him standing on the sidewalk, laughing softly outside of your gran’s house—you keep going, for moments like these. The sun pouring into the ocean. The birds overhead. The warmth of water and sand. You can survive it all, because every once in a while, you take a breath and the world is stunning. If Gran can’t meander along the beach, digging up clams anymore—if Caleb can’t sprint into the tide, slip through the waves with strong strokes of his muscular arms—then you must carry on, and do it for them. You must continue, to do everything that they no longer can.
Here in a pocket paradise that is all yours, you soak in the ecstatic feeling of being alive, and offer this feeling to your dead, a rainbow chrysanthemum laid upon their shrine in your mangled heart.
Eventually, the tide rises. The warm water reaches your waist, and then your chest. The pressure of the water increases, but you can’t find it in yourself to move. You let it rise to your neck and begin to float, but something begins to weigh you down. You try to kick up, but there’s a weight against your body, and you can’t seem to dislodge it. The water rises, rises, until you’re straining your neck, trying to keep your mouth and nose above the waves.
You wake up abruptly.
The weight of the water is the weight of another person’s body, heavily draped over your own. You blink into the gloom of a dark room. Your racing heart slows, because you can tell by his scent alone that it’s Sylus—his face is pressed into your neck, his chest against the span of your torso, your leg caught between both of his, his hips are pressed heavily against one of your thighs.
It’s like having a giant, breathing, weighted blanket draped across your body. It’s not terrible at all. You breathe in his hair, faint shampoo and sleep-sweat. Normally, you would try to roll him off you. Or wake him up and ask him to move. But you’ve made a little deal with yourself. You’re going to allow yourself to accept whatever he offers you, for as long as it’s offered. Until you have to return to your real life, and wake from this glittering dream. The pleasure you feel, being pressed beneath him, free to simply exist in this quiet moment—you let yourself have it.
His breathing is slow, quiet, steady. His heartbeat, a hypnotic rhythm—you think it might be faster than average, though you’re no doctor—thuds against your skin. After a long, peaceful stretch of seconds, minutes—who knows, maybe hours? You find that it’s not enough to simply lie here, soaking in the comfort of Sylus’s body against yours. You find it incredible how quickly greed seeps into your desires. You want more. Very slowly, you lift your hands and begin running your fingertips along his silken skin, along his back, trailing his spine, the grooves of his muscles. You keep your nails short—even if you wanted longer nails, you will never forget the pain of one particularly nasty hand-to-hand fight in which one of your nails was ripped off, and several others bent painfully, after you had gone too long without trimming them properly. You’ve never made the same mistake again. But now, you let their blunt edges drag a little as you pet the sleeping dragon currently smothering you, hoping that he can feel the pleasant sensation in his dreams.
You do this for as long as you dare, but you’re worried that he’ll wake and catch you touching him like this, and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. You think you’re a creep for doing this without his consent in the first place. Regretfully, you let your hands fall back, resting on the bed’s soft sheets.
“Why’d you stop,” Sylus’s sleep-rough voice shatters the silence.
You freeze. Fuck. How long has he been awake?
When you fail to respond, he huffs his disapproval against your neck and pats around the bed until he finds one of your hands. He drags it to his back, and repeats the motion with your other hand.
“Continue,” he mumbles. How he can sound so imperious while half-asleep will remain a mystery to you for the rest of your life.
It feels so good to have his skin under your hands again. This is just a dream—who are you to deny his petulant request when you enjoy it so much and there is nothing to lose, at least for right now? The invoice will come, eventually, and you will pay dearly. But for right now, you’re going to indulge, dammit. You let your hands wander again, and he sighs in contentment.
Time drifts again. You have no idea what hour it is, or how long you slept. You feel rested, satisfied. Eventually though, the needs of your body make themselves known, and you need to get up. You stop caressing his back.
He grumbles. “More.”
“I need to get up.”
“No y’don’t,” he starfishes even harder, his weight sinking you further into the mattress.
“Sylus, I really do need to get up.”
“You’re not getting up unless you manage to throw me to the floor again,” he gripes, flinging his arms out to impede any threat of you somehow finding an angle and rolling him again.
You laugh as you realize you’ve only seen him waking up once, when his sleepiness ended abruptly with a bite in your neck. You’re now learning how childishly grumpy he can be in the morning when he isn’t confusing dreams with reality.
“Now that’s a sound that I want to hear from you,” he sighs. “You don’t have to get up. We’ve been over this. You don’t have to work for a while.”
You poke him in the side. “I have to get up for other reasons, crow man. You’re crushing me—if you don’t get off me soon, I’m going to die smothered under your weight.”
“You can handle it,” he squishes you harder again. “And crow man? If you’re going to give silly nicknames, make sure they’re accurate,” he sniffs disdainfully.
“Oh? I think it’s rather fitting, what with your feathers and your squawking familiar.” He just tsks in response. “Well I’m certainly not going to call you a good boy,” you tease, preparing to try to tickle him off of you, if he’s even ticklish at all. If tickling doesn’t work, you’ll resort to biting.
He lifts his head and meets your eyes, his own narrowed. “You just made it worse. There is nothing boyish about me,” he gripes. “But if that’s what you want… it could be an interesting challenge. I can be a good boy, for you,” he says, his rich voice impossibly deep.
Your brain short circuits. You imagine caressing his face, that stupid collar he occasionally wears around his neck, a discreet pendant dangling from it, engraved with your name. Whispering “Good boy,” after he dumps the corpse of someone you despise at your feet.
You have no idea where this thought comes from. You’ve never wanted to exert complete ownership over anyone before. You’ve never wanted to whisper demeaning pet names into their ears, even if such names were welcome. You try desperately to distract yourself from these unwelcome images of Sylus somehow beneath you, instead of at your side. “I said I’m not going to call you good boy, you deviant.” He frowns a little, and part of you wonders if you’ve somehow hurt his feelings. So you decide to be truthful, because even if this is just a shimmering dream, you don’t want him to hurt. “I can call you a good man, though, if you want to try being that for me,” you whisper.
Something changes in his face. His narrowed eyes widen, just a little, and he swallows thickly, Adam's apple bobbing in the long line of his throat. “Only you,” he breathes.
You lie there, shocked into stillness by the sudden intensity of his gaze. There is a flush along his skin, tipping his ears pink. Slowly, you become aware that his thick length is suddenly very prominent against your thigh. It’s morning wood, you tell yourself. This is normal. He had it last time you woke up together, too. And he must be so hot, pressed against you so tightly under the luxurious blanket.
You, however, have no excuse for your own body’s immediate reaction to his body’s reaction, your response to his vintage wine voice. This is bad. You want him so, so badly. You need out from under him before you do something really stupid, like lick into his mouth, suck his tongue into yours, and live like that until you die happily, your mouth full of him until the very end.
“Get off me,” you manage, strangled voice barely human. He just looks at you, eyes so bright they’re almost glowing. Like he’s daring you to cross a line, beyond which lies his great amusement at your humiliation.
You skip the tickling and lean forward, sinking your teeth as hard as you can into the meaty place where his neck meets his shoulder. He gasps, but instead of flinging himself off of you like you had expected, his gasp is followed by a groan, and his dick jerks against your thigh.
His skin tastes so good, but this is not what you meant to happen. You release his skin from between your teeth and are about to order him to move again when there’s a knock at his bedroom door. He lifts his head and glares over his shoulder at the sound of knocking, and you take the opening in his defenses to leverage your body and roll him again. Not off the bed, but just enough for you to free yourself from under his bulk.
He watches you carefully as you look down at your disheveled sleep top and short shorts. You don’t even want to think about what it must look like with you sprawled across Sylus’s big bed. You launch yourself onto the floor and hightail it to the bathroom before whoever it is can open the door.
You take your time, nosing around Sylus’s big, expensive cave of a bathroom, trying to calm the fuck down. You’re shocked to find more of your hygiene products tucked away in the vanity’s cabinets: your face wash, lotion, your preferred toothpaste. Maybe you should have expected this, based on the presence of your hair products in his shower. But expecting such thoughtful care… only in a dream, would you ever dare expect such consideration. You think back to his answer to your why— “I’m never bored when you’re around.” And how you immediately retreated into yourself, wallowing in the self-pitying thought of being nothing more than a jester for his amusement. You turn the bottle of face wash in your hands. You love your friends, deeply. Even Zayne, as your impenetrable doctor. You would kill for him. Then again, you kill a lot, so maybe that’s not saying much. Okay, you’d offer him your shoes, the shirt off your back, a place on your couch, if he ever needed it. You’d offer him your kidney, if he ever needed it. You’d take a hit for him, because he’s a good man, and so much more useful than you, his surgeon’s hands saving more lives than you could dream of. Xavier, you’d die for. To protect him, because he’s better at protecting Linkon City citizens than you, and because you care for him deeply as a person. But would you ever think to stock his face wash in your bathroom, in anticipation of him needing it? Would you ever offer to shampoo Zayne’s hair, even if you were utterly convinced that he still cared for you as a friend? Okay, so you can imagine throwing Rafayel into a tub and hosing him down like an angry cat, but that’s not quite the same.
What if Sylus actually … you prod the thought like a sore tooth with your tongue. It hurts a little, even considering it, because of the huge possibility that it’s so completely absurd. But he was turned on last night, after you threw him to the ground. Fully awake, no dream lingering in his mind. And this morning. Some part of your intuition, the part that has kept you alive this long, tells you that the reaction he had in bed just now was because you had brought up him being a good boy. You’ve never really praised him, have you? You set the face wash gingerly on the black marble top counter. Why is everything so fucking gothic in his house? He can be allergic to sunlight, but he doesn’t need to live in a mausoleum. You pick up an electric toothpaste, still in the packaging. The same color and model as the one you have at home. This is your dream, right? What if you just close your eyes and keep running your hands along his skin? What if you say kind things to him, and watch how the blush rises up his chest and cheeks? That can be part of your indulgence, right? You won’t hurt anyone, telling him truthfully how you admire him. How you think that just as he contains multitudes of darkness, you’ve seen flashes of such deep kindness—he is also such a good man. He can laugh at you, and discard you at the end of all this. And you’ll have stayed true to yourself, the genuine person you always try to be, and you’ll have said what you really thought, knowing that the stakes are so low, because the chance of reciprocation was always nil to begin with.
You set about preparing for the day, finding your anti-perspirant in a cupboard, teeth brushed, face washed. You change the bandages on your feet. When you’re ready, you look down at yourself. If anyone is offended at your sleep clothes, well. That’s their problem, because you don’t have anything else. You hear low voices drifting through the bathroom door, but gather the courage to go back into the bedroom.
Sylus sits on the edge of his large desk, and the two young men you now recognize as Luke and Kieran lounge on the black leather armchairs circling the low table in the sitting area before Sylus’s desk. For the first time since being back at the base, you see Mephisto resting on a tall perch in the corner, his glittering crimson eye fixed on you. You stick your tongue out at the little snitch.
They fall silent as you stand in the bathroom doorway, suddenly tense under their gazes. The last time you saw them, you were choking one of them.
Sylus lifts the corner of his mouth as he follows the twins’ gazes and finds you. “Come,” he says, as if pleased to see you. You take another look at the twins, but then pad silently over the thick rugs covering the dark marble floor, pausing in front of Sylus. He opens his arms, and with only the wordless thoughts amounting to indulge, seize what’s offered while it lasts, it’s only a dream, drifting through your mind, you go to him. He takes your wrist and draws you into his side. He’s still shirtless, so his warm skin is satin against your own as he wraps an arm around you and noses into your hair for a moment. “Luke and Kieran have brought some things from your place. I have a meeting with Aidan that I have to attend—he’s waiting impatiently like he employs me and not the other way round, so Luke and Kieran will show you around. You can tell them where you want your things to be placed for your stay here.”
You stiffen, pulling back a little from his embrace. It hadn’t occurred to you that he wouldn’t want you staying in his own bedroom. Why hadn’t that occurred to you? You blink away the sudden slice of shame at the thought of your arrogant presumption, and the pain at the thought of being separated from him. What had you been expecting? That he’d be around 24/7 to accommodate your every whim, at your beck and call? Waiting for your touch, your kind words? Ridiculous. Without thinking, you reach behind yourself, prepared to dig your short nails into the skin of your back with your free hand, deep—punishment for these stupid thoughts.
Sylus’s wine-dark eyes follow the movement of your hand, and he catches your wrist.
“Kieran, Luke, leave us,” he orders, low, without taking his eyes off your hand. You look away, deeply embarrassed for having been caught trying to harm yourself, and for the twins being sent away as a result. Surely you weren’t that obvious? It was just a short movement of your hand. You hear their retreating footsteps, and the soft click of the door ricochets through the quiet room.
“New rule. Every time you have the urge to hurt yourself, you hurt me instead,” Sylus says softly, caressing your wrists with his thumbs.
The idea of hurting him hurts worse than the embarrassment of this part of yourself being exposed, worse than the idea that he doesn’t want to share his bed with you anymore, worse than the idea of being so close but separated. “No.”
“This is non-negotiable,” he retorts, squeezing your wrists a little, but not enough to hurt.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Sylus,” you bite back, heart clenching as you take in his lovely face, the pale sweep of all his unmarred skin.
“Then you will not be hurting yourself, either.” He says this with a finality that makes you bristle.
“You don’t get to decide this for me.”
“My house, my rules,” he pulls you closer and then lifts you onto his desk. He stands between your legs and places his big hands on your shoulders, thumbs meeting at the hollow of your throat.
“That’s not what I agreed to when I accepted your invitation,” you argue. “I will leave, if you try to condition my stay here on following your unilaterally imposed rules.” You mean it. No matter how much you’ve come to crave being close to him, he doesn’t get to tell you what to do like you’re a child, or his subordinate.
“I really think you should consider apprenticing with Aidan, if you ever want to switch professions,” Sylus murmurs, his eyes soft. “But I’m not saying that this rule is a condition of staying at the base.”
“Then what are you saying?” You eye him suspiciously.
“It’s a condition of accepting me into your life. I refuse to watch you get hurt. Even if it’s you who is inflicting the injury. If you’re so opposed to the idea of hurting me, then every time you have the urge to hurt yourself, just think that hurting yourself is the equivalent of hurting me.”
You can’t meet his eyes anymore. Instead, you lean forward and rest your forehead against his stomach. He rests one big palm against the back of your head and strokes over your hair gently.
“Did you want to hurt yourself because you felt bad for how you responded to Kieran last night?” he asks suddenly.
Ah, the guessing game has begun. You made a deal that you’d play. You hate your past self for making that deal, a little. You shake your head. You do feel bad for how you treated Kieran, but that’s an entirely different story.
“Is it because you don’t like the selection of bath products I have for your stay?” he follows up, amusement lightening his tone.
You snort softly. “No. You’ve basically reproduced my own bathroom in yours. Thank you for being so thoughtful.” You hope he can hear the sincerity in your voice.
“Anything you want, or are missing, just ask. It will be yours,” he promises. You lift your head to see him looking down into your face with an inexplicable fondness.
“Did you want to hurt yourself because you weren’t expecting me to offer you a different room?” he asks, and your stomach roils. You swallow, staring up into his face. Answering truthfully will say so much about what you want. What will happen, if you reveal this vulnerability? What if he thinks you’re an entitled, arrogant fool?
He waits patiently, that fond expression unchanging.
You promised him. You made a deal. You’re not a dealbreaker. You have principles, dammit. You’re in a dream. None of this will matter, in the end. You close your eyes. You close your eyes and nod.
“I win,” he gloats, pulling you up, wrapping his arms tightly around you. He settles his big palms under your thighs and lifts, and you wrap your legs around his waist like a koala. “Thank you,” he says. You just hug him, afraid of what’s next. “I wanted to give you a choice. I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay in my bedroom with me, simply because we’ve been sharing beds up until now. You’re free to do as you like while you stay with me.”
At hearing his words, something inside of you realigns, and it no longer hurts. You assumed the worst of him, and his intentions towards you, again. “Free to do what I want, but you say shit like ‘My house, my rules,’” you imitate his deep voice, but try to make it sound stupid. Which it could never be, because his voice does things to you that you are not willing to admit yet.
“You need to keep practicing, if you ever want to properly impersonate me,” he says serenely, and ignores your scowl in response. “Promise me that you will come to me, anytime you feel like hurting yourself,” he continues. “If you can’t bring yourself to hurt me, at least bring yourself to me.”
Why does he want so much from you? Why is he extracting promise after promise, deal after deal? Will he ever be satisfied? You feel like you’re feeding him pieces of yourself, bit by bit, and are afraid of what will be left when he’s finally sated. But each request, though monumental from one perspective, seems so reasonable from another. Can you go to him, each time you have the urge to hurt, to hit, scratch, to cut your own flesh, because it’s better than whatever emotional poison is seeping through you at the time? Surely he’s too busy to enforce such a promise.
It’s just a dream. It will be over, soon enough. You nod into his shoulder.
“It’s a deal.” He seals your fate with a satisfied sigh. He holds you tightly as he turns and sits on his desk. You find yourself in his lap, again, and look questioningly into his face.
“Luke and Kieran are going to give you a proper tour of the base. If there’s no other room you like better than mine, you can ask them to move your things in here. Are you comfortable with that, while I meet with Aidan?” He slides his hand under your chin and lifts your face. He’s so beautiful, and treating you with such thoughtful consideration—it hurts to look at him.
“Why do you think I’d prefer a different room?” You can’t imagine a room that is more enticing than any room he’s in. “Don’t tell me you have themed rooms, like a novelty bed and breakfast,” you gasp, getting excited about the thought. Maybe this extravagant drama queen has an undersea themed room, complete with submersible-shaped waterbed and floor to ceiling aquariums with exotic deep sea creatures in them! Or a fairy tale grotto, with floor to ceiling vegetation and mossy rocks and a hot tub designed to look like a natural hot spring. Or—
Sylus laughs softly. “Will I disappoint you if I say no, I can’t currently offer you themed rooms like some tacky love hotel?”
You gasp again, but this time in indignation. “I said bed and breakfast, not a love hotel, you visionless snob,” you scowl at him. “Money is wasted on the rich. All of your wealth, and you don’t do anything fun with your house,” you say forlornly.
“You haven’t even seen a fraction of my house, and yet you think you’re qualified to judge whether there’s anything fun here,” he clicks his tongue.
“If you don’t have an aquarium themed wing with endangered fish rescued from fishermen nets, your house doesn’t qualify as fun,” you grumble.
“You’ve been spending too much time with your artist friend,” Sylus caresses the line of your jaw with his thumb. “But if you want me to build an aquarium to rival the Linkon City Aquarium and Aquatic Wildlife Center next to the greenhouse, then just say the word. It’s done,” he says lightly, as if this would be the easiest task in the world for him to fulfill.
You just stare at him.
“Well?” he asks, patient, placid. You realize that he’s serious. He would do this, if you asked it of him. You suddenly recall one of the first times he came to your home, and told you he had bought the chain of arcades that happened to be your favorite place to go when you wanted to acquire new plushies. He had acted as if he had no idea that you liked to spend time there. Even then, did he…? You can’t go there. You can’t read so much into the things Sylus does. He’s larger than life. Of course he’d make extravagant offers to his friends, because he can afford it. Even so, it’s such an absurdly over the top, sweet thought.
“You’re so good to me,” you breathe, instead of answering his question. What a lovely dream, to be able to say this truth to his face.
His eyes widen, and his grip tightens on your jaw. That pretty flush appears on his cheeks.
“Would you go so far as to say that I’m a good boy?” he teases, and the playfulness in his tone makes you laugh out loud. You put your palm on his face and push him gently away from you. He just laughs softly. However, your mind short-circuits as you feel his body respond, again, as you sit on his lap.
It hits you suddenly, that same flash of intuition as in the bathroom earlier. Sylus Qin likes challenges, but he also likes praise. He reacted when you bit him. And he reacted when you said he was good. It’s most likely not you in particular that incites his excitement each time it has happened—he probably just has a kink for being bullied, because of his tendency to be bored out of his mind in his uncontested position of authority. And in turn, he probably has a kink for being praised, because of how he spends his days atop a mountain of corpses, surrounded by enemies desperate but incapable of dragging him from his throne. You wonder if he might even like praise more than he likes being taunted. You suddenly want to indulge yourself—you want to pester him, bully him. You want to praise him, spoil him rotten. Even more so than he already is, the rich bastard. And you want to watch each and every reaction, to store away with all the other memories you intend to collect while staying with him.
“Sylus, I swear to god if you don’t stop your simpering and canoodling and get out here right now, I’m dumping your exclusivity and taking on new clients. I’ve already missed knitting club because of your antics, I’m not going to miss this month’s pet play meetup too,” a voice you don’t recognize derails your racing thoughts, and the pounding that follows on Sylus’s closed bedroom door is so loud that you wince.
You turn your head slowly and look at Sylus in dawning horror. “Tell me that’s not why you call me kitten,” you demand, loud enough to be heard over the door-banging. Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose like he has an oncoming headache. “Is this a pet play thing?” you ask, trying really, really hard not to make assumptions, as you promised. Look, you’re really not one to judge. People get off on a wide variety of weird and wonderful things. But you will not be wandering around with a butt plug tail and licking your “paws” for his amusement, no matter how much you want to spoil him while you’re staying with him.
“That’s not why he calls you kitten, kitten! Send him out! Luke and Kieran will take care of your needs while he’s busy with me!” The voice shouts again before Sylus can answer, and you realize that the man currently bellowing through the door is Aidan.
“Okay, if your legal counsel ever calls me kitten again when he’s within reach, I can’t guarantee that he won’t be missing his tongue the next time you need it for your defense,” you hiss, your skin crawling from being referred to by an endearment that only one person in the entire universe is allowed to call you.
Sylus lifts his head from his hand, an alarmingly pleased look on his face. “I’ll be sure to warn him, kitten.” An actual smirk spreads over his big sexy mouth. “Just to confirm: it’s okay that I call you that, but no one else?”
You stiffen, realizing that yes, that was just the thought you had, and you wonder when the hell you started to enjoy it when Sylus referred to you by the most ridiculous pet names. In any other man’s mouth, they’d be cringeworthy. But it’s Sylus, and it’s Sylus’s mouth. You’re realizing that you’d probably let him do almost anything to you, as long as it involved his mouth. You bite your tongue, trying to clear your mind of that thought, but gently, because now you can’t think of hurting yourself, without hurting him. So you just glare mutinously at him, hoping he can’t read your thoughts on your face which so often seems to be the case.
“If you think I won’t have you disbarred the moment you try to dump my exclusive patronage, you’re more delusional than your puppies. Cease abusing my door and go wait in my office,” Sylus commands, eyes never leaving yours, voice raised only to the volume necessary to be heard over Aidan’s racket and seemingly utterly unfazed by his antics.
“You have five minutes, and then you’re going to have to find me at the meetup,” Aidan retorts, before a distinct sound of heels clacking on the glossy floor briskly fades down the hall.
Sylus touches your elbow gently. “Sweetheart, I really would prefer not to have to fish him out of a doggy run designed for humans pretending to be puppies for their owners again. If you’re not comfortable with Luke and Kieran, I will personally show you around in a little bit. You can stay here and get some more sleep while you wait.”
You wonder why he is so insistent that someone accompanies you around his house. Maybe he doesn’t trust you to not go into certain rooms, or snoop where you don’t belong. You want to ask him, but you also don’t want to be the reason he misses his five minute window with Aidan and then will have to … you try to imagine Sylus surrounded by a bunch of adult humans in puppy masks, halters and wagging tails, and you almost do want to make him late. Maybe you can bribe Mephisto with some sort of snitch treat to record footage of the look on Sylus’s face as he tries to pry Aidan away from his extracurricular activities. You wonder if Aidan is an owner or a puppy. Actually, you never want to actually know the answer to that question. People are entitled to their privacy, you tell yourself firmly.
“I feel like you’re up to no good, with that look on your face,” he murmurs, calling your attention back to him. You decide to be merciful, since he offered to build you an aquarium.
“I’m fine with Luke and Kieran giving me a tour,” you say, although you’re dreading having to face them alone after what you did to them last night.
“You’re sure?” he asks, dipping his head and running his nose along your shoulder.
“I’ve faced worse than you minions,” you say lightly, truthfully. You can survive anything they plan for you, if they’re inclined towards retaliation.
He breathes deeply, once, as if collecting the scent of your skin to store for later, which can’t possibly be true, and stands, setting you softly on your feet.
“Take what you want from my dressing room. I’ll be back in a while. If you need anything, tell Luke and Kieran, and they’ll arrange it.”
You just nod, and watch him as he slips on his warm-looking house shoes and a robe before leisurely strolling out of his bedroom. You admire the kind of petty self-assurance displayed as he refuses to hurry, even in the face of Aidan’s threats.
You shake your head and wander back into what Sylus referred to as his dressing room, which is apparently just a room-sized walk-in closet, with the clothing racked and displayed like an upscale boutique instead of just some rich guy’s oversized wardrobe. As in the rest of his house, the benches and sitting chairs are all black leather, the walls a mix of black and maroon. There are large floor to ceiling mirrors in between the racks and cabinets. You eye a display case of heavy men’s watches. There are a series of thin drawers, and you wonder what they contain, so you pull one out and find carefully folded ties. You run a finger along one silky black one, but then jerk back, pivoting back on one foot and raising your fists at the sudden loud squawk that bursts into the room.
Mephisto must have silently flown in behind you, because he’s now sitting on yet another one of those edgily designed perches in one corner of the dressing room and eyeing you with one glittering ruby eye.
You drop your fists. “Don’t like me touching daddy’s things, huh?” you ask, without rancor. You get it. You’d be protective of some stranger nosing around Sylus’s things too, if you didn’t know what intentions they may have.
Mephisto squawks again, this time more quietly, as if satisfied that you’ve removed your filthy paws from his master’s possessions.
“You do realize that Sylus said I could wear what I want though, right?” you ask. “Even you can’t expect me to wander around the base in my pajamas all day.”
Mephisto just ruffles his soft-looking feathers and continues to watch you.
You decide to be a shit, and reach for the tie again. But he doesn’t respond, as if he understood you when you said that Sylus said it was okay. You slip the glossy tie from its place nestled in the drawer and go to one of the mirrors, tying it around your own neck a little clumsily. You’re not accustomed to wearing ties, but the idea of something belonging to Sylus around your neck is calming in the face of having to walk around without him in the place he kept you captive before you knew that he didn’t actually want to kill you.
There are so many choices, and you know nothing will really properly fit you in here. You don’t wander further into the room any more than strictly necessary, ignoring the rows of closed wardrobe doors lining the wall until the far end of the room, which contains one of those three-sided mirrors designed to show your reflection from multiple angles. You grab one of his endless soft sweaters from a stack displayed on one of the open shelves and slip it over your tank top. Hopefully you can fetch pants that actually fit from the things Luke and Kieran apparently brought from your place. You do not want to think too hard about the fact that they were able to access your apartment without a key and what they rifled through in order to bring some of your stuff. You open a few more drawers in search of thick socks to wear since there’s no way you’re going to stumble around in Sylus sized slippers, but you find yourself having accidentally opened his underwear drawer. You stop, staring, taking in pair after pair of folded boxer briefs, and briefs, in a variety of dark and bold colors. You swallow, imagining him walking around in one such pair of little crimson briefs, all of that ass stuffed into the thin scrap of fabric.
You slam the drawer shut, quickly yank open more drawers until you find socks, and pull them onto your feet. They’re big on you, of course, and the tops sink back to your ankles. Oh well. You stride out of the bedroom before you give into the urge to go back and shove your face into his underwear drawer like the creep you are.
You hear the flap of wings, and glance behind you to find Mephisto leisurely following behind you. Okay, so apparently you’re going to be surveilled the entire time you stay here. Got it.
You peek out the bedroom door and find Luke and Kieran leaning on either side, messing with their phones. They look up at you in unison, and the mirrored effect is a little uncanny.
“Uh, hi,” you say, trying not to sound hesitant and failing. “I was told there’d be a tour?”
They look beyond you, at each other across the threshold. Some unspoken communication seems to pass between them, but you have no idea what it could be about.
One of them clears his throat. “Yes, Sylus tasked us with showing you rooms that you can stay in during your time with us,” one of them says, with a strange formality.
“Okay, thanks.” You shift from one foot to the other as they do that staring thing again.
“Yeah, but we gotta warn you, Sylus doesn’t really keep track of the day to day shit of the house, and a lot of the rooms he thought may work for you aren’t actually free right now,” the other one says, glancing to his brother as if checking to make sure what he’s saying is right.
“I see,” you say, because what the hell else are you supposed to say? It doesn’t matter to you, because you’re just going to end up choosing Sylus’s bedroom since the man doesn’t have enough imagination to have a carousel themed room with dragon mounts and a cotton candy machine in his big stupid mansion.
And thus begins your tour. You’ve seen a lot of the places they show you before, during your time creeping around trying to locate the brooch. Expansive sitting room with its soaring windows and black leather, heavy furniture. Gigantic kitchen topped with the ubiquitous black marble, dark wooden vintage cabinetry, double chef’s refrigerators and sinks big enough to take a bath in. The dining room with a dining room table for hosting kings’ banquets. Your heart is racing, standing in the room Sylus ordered you to have your last meal. You tell yourself that you’re here now, and not still back there, facing Sylus’s cruel, indifferent, beautiful wrath. You smooth your fingertips down the length of his tie around your neck, imagining it’s the soft skin of his broad back.
“Hey, are you okay?” one of the twins asks. “You look like shit.”
The other one shushes him. “There are more diplomatic ways of phrasing that, Luke,” he chides gently.
Okay. You’re starting to figure out that Kieran is the one who speaks with formal gravity, and Luke speaks like the typical twenty-something dude he resembles.
You force a smile. “Yeah, man, no worries. Luke’s probably right, it’s been… a stupid couple of days,” you say.
They just stare at you, their pretty dark curls sweeping over their foreheads. You notice their mirrored beauty marks, Luke’s at the corner of his left brown eye, and Kieran’s under his right. Now you think you’ll be able to tell them apart, moving forward.
“Yeah, I’d say so,” Luke scoffs, and then glares at Kieran nudging him with his elbow. “What? Are we just gonna pretend that last night didn’t happen?” he sulks.
You take a step back. Okay, apparently this is happening now. You should have brought it up at the beginning of this little tour. “Look, I’m really sorry—” you begin, but Kieran cuts you off.
“You don’t have to explain,” he says, glaring at Luke.
Luke rolls his eyes. “I hate tiptoeing around shit,” he grumbles, sounding increasingly irritated. “Better clear the air now than just pretend that shit didn’t happen.”
You nod. “Luke’s right. I’m sorry I didn’t say something immediately. I’m really sorry about what I did to you, Kieran. I didn’t know it was you,” you say softly. You mean it. The marks around his neck are still visible above the standing collar of his black shirt. Come to think of it, as you look at the twins, they look like they took clothes right out of Sylus’s closet. Does Onychinus have some kind of dress code? You tilt your head, wondering if Sylus imposes his flamboyant fashion sense on everyone in the organization.
Kieran curls his finger and thumb around Luke’s wrist, and Luke seems to settle down at the touch. “You don’t need to apologize. We miscalculated our approach to … our approach to you out there.”
“Yeah,” Luke says. “It sucked, but it’s no worse than what boss did to Kieran the first time he tried to hug him from behind.”
You just stare at them, wondering if it’s okay to ask what Sylus did.
“Quite right. He threw me so hard that I landed flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, with my vision blurring,” he says, chuckling as if at a fond memory.
“Yeah, and boss was so upset that he wouldn’t allow anyone to move Kieran until he had the N109 Zone’s top spinal surgeon helicoptered to the base to give the green light for Kieran to get up in case he hurt his back,” Luke snickers. “Boss insisted that he wanted to make sure he hadn’t damaged one of his employees in a way that would piss off Linda from HR instead of admitting he was worried about accidentally hurting Kieran.”
You snort. Of course. Why would the big, bad leader of Onychinus admit to caring about one of his men so much?
“You would do well to remember that when it comes to boss, you have to watch what he does, and pay less attention to what he says,” Kieran says, staring at you intently, like he’s telling you some incredibly valuable piece of intel.
You laugh, a little uncomfortable. “Okay, I’ll, uh, try to remember that the next time he is choking me after praising me as his kindred spirit,” you say without heat, and then immediately regret it. You don’t know why you said that, because you’re not lying to yourself or Sylus when you say that you’ve forgiven him. It’s in the past, now. Maybe it will just take you a little longer to forget, though.
Luke and Kieran’s faces fall in unison, and you feel even worse. They exchange glances again. “He’s so fucking stupid sometimes,” Luke mumbles, and Kieran closes his eyes as if in pain at the thought of Sylus’s epic stupidity.
You clear your throat. “Forget I said that. Your boss and I are good now, I promise.”
“How good?” Luke perks up and asks eagerly. Kieran elbows him again.
“Shall we continue with the tour? We’ll go through the guest room wing after the gym, theater, ice rink, armories, and pool,” Kieran cuts in smoothly.
Your brain short circuits. “You guys have an ice skating rink and a pool?”
“Yeah, both are really fucking nice when you wanna work out but are tired of the indoor track, cardio machines in the gym, and boxing ring.” Luke ticks each off his fingers, like going through a grocery list. “And Kieran and I are nuts for professional ice hockey, so boss built us a rink.”
You laugh. No wonder Sylus so easily offered to build you an aquarium. Apparently that’s just what the man does for people he likes.
“All right,” you say, tucking the idea of the pool away in your mind as a possibility since your feet hurt like shit and you know you’ll go out of your mind if you don’t work out while they heal.
Mephisto flaps behind you as Luke and Kieran lead the way to the promised destinations, showing you all the soaring-ceilinged rooms in the house containing so many entertainment options. If you lived here, you’d never have to leave again unless you wanted to. You shake your head at the thought. This is not your home, nor will it ever be.
Luke and Kieran are bizarrely kind to you, as if they really meant it when they said they don’t hold your actions the previous night against you. They crack jokes, and share little anecdotes about Sylus that paints him in a truly benevolent, generous light. As if they’re trying to convince you of what you already know: for all of his capacity for cruelty, he’s equally capable of the heights of kindness.
By the time they lead you down a long hallway, you’re exhausted. Of course, your body could keep going, but the emotional toll of the past 48 hours suddenly hits you like a brick.
The twins stop at the first closed door in the hallway, and do that particular silent exchange of looks again. You wonder what they’re so furiously telepathically discussing.
Finally, Kieran gently opens the door and invites you to take a look. “So this is what most of these rooms are like,” he says, as you peek in and, as expected, do not find a sky-diving themed room with one of those high velocity vertical wind tunnels that you can hop into and simulate the experience of freefall in the comforting knowledge that you won’t be careening to your messy death in case of parachute failure. It’s just a tastefully, if rather gothic, appointed room with a big bed, a view of the N109 Zone wasteland and urban skyline, a loveseat, coffee table, and desk. You definitely would not prefer this space to Sylus’s presence.
“Too bad that this room, and you know, like, all the rest of the rooms Sylus said you might be able to use are actually like, not free for use,” Luke says, eyes wide and mournful as if he really regrets this “fact.”
But why would Sylus suggest showing you these options if none of the rooms are actually available? He insisted that he wanted to give you a choice, and you believe him. You suddenly get the feeling that you are missing something. Maybe the easygoing kindness of the twins towards you was just an act, and they really, really do not want you staying here after all.
“Oh?” you ask, casually. “Is there someone already staying here?”
Luke glances at Kieran, as if for help. “Yes,” Kieran says slowly. “A business associate, who is staying briefly for a meeting with boss.”
“Huh,” you say. “And all the rooms are occupied?”
The twins nod in unison.
“But we haven’t seen anyone else, the entire time you’ve shown me around. Where is everyone?” you prod.
They exchange another look, and Kieran turns back to you after a long moment. “Of course, due to the nature of their business, they come and go. And right now, they are… absent, probably taking care of their business,” he says vaguely. “And, my apologies, it slipped my mind—not all the rooms are occupied. Some are under reconstruction. Renovations, and the like. Rewiring. Boss was gone for a long time, and the upkeep suffered a bit,” he clearly lies.
You just nod, slowly. “So… where should I stay?” you ask, in the hope of being about to suss out why the hell they’re lying to you.
Luke jumps in. “Oh, I bet boss won’t have a problem with you staying with him! We can just bring your shit to his room,” he says brightly, like the thought just occurred to him.
Suddenly it hits you. Shockingly, the twins don’t dislike you. Inexplicably, they ship you with Sylus. You try to control your face. You’re going to have to disappoint them terribly. But before that, you see the opportunity for fuckery, to repay them for their little handcuff and flare gun prank from the last time you were here.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose on him. He probably has people in and out of his bed all the time, and I don’t want to cramp his style,” you say, even though that’s not what you intended to say, at all. Where the fuck did that thought come from?
Oh shit.
It’s probably true. If you’re going to be staying here for a while, you might see Sylus bring home… other partners, until he lands his crush. Just because he loves someone doesn’t mean he isn’t interested in engaging in pleasure with others until he and his crush decide to go monogamous. Or maybe he is polyamorous, or simply believes in open relationships? What the fuck do you know? All you know is that he’s so beautiful, and could have anyone so long as he doesn’t strangle them upon first meeting. You wish, not for the first time, that you had a heart that could handle being with someone who loves another. But you can’t even believe someone would choose you in the first place. You’d always assume that they preferred the other, no matter how much reassurance they offered. Your heart aches, and aches, and aches.
No. You won’t wallow in this pain. You can survive it, watching Sylus invite others into his bed. Well, not literally. But being aware of it. You can survive anything. You were just intending to fuck with Luke and Kieran, but now you’re serious. “If all the bedrooms are taken, I can just sleep in the greenhouse garden bed,” you say, lightly, smiling. You don’t have a care in the world. The greenhouse is beautiful, and it’s tucked conveniently away at the back of Sylus’s stupidly big house. Staying there will spare you from having to lurk through these dark halls when Sylus has guests—those of the bedroom variety, and business. It will spare Sylus from the annoying task of having to order you to make yourself scarce when he does need you to make room for someone else in his bed.
“No!” Luke and Kieran interrupt your train of thoughts. “That’s not—” Luke begins, before Kieran talks over him.
“Oh no, that won’t do. The humidity alone would make it very hard for you to sleep. You’re here to recover, correct? The greenhouse’s environment isn’t suited for—” he continues, before Luke cuts him off in turn.
“You can’t, sorry. Boss’s pet jaguar needs free range time every day, and it’s dangerous for anyone to be in there when… Sprinkles is loose,” Luke finishes with a look of triumph, like this lie is non-rebuttable.
“Oh, I love large cats! I actually have some training in handling large predator rescues,” you lie in return. “Could you take me to meet… Sprinkles… now? She can get familiar with my scent to begin,” you say brightly. “I’ll just make sure to leave the greenhouse when she needs her free-range enrichment time.”
Kieran pinches the bridge of his nose, and you’re struck again by how sometimes the twins sometimes look and act so much like their boss. As if they’re two young ducks who imprinted on Onychinus’s fearsome leader as ducklings and now reflect his mannerisms and style. Luke’s face just falls as he realizes that now you’re going to find out the Sprinkles is, in fact, not real.
Kieran turns to his brother. “We’ve talked about the art of lying, buddy,” he says patiently. “What is one of the things we need to avoid when fabricating an untruth?”
Luke looks a little chagrined. “Saying anything that is easily disproved with a simple internet search or other immediate attempt at verification,” he says forlornly.
Kieran nods, breathing through his nose. He turns to you again. “We’ll take your things to the greenhouse,” he says in resignation.
“Thank you,” you say, genuinely. It’s cute that they think you and Sylus could ever be a thing, and it’s such a relief that they don’t hate your guts after last night.
“I’m really tired, so I’m just going to head back there now,” you say, letting them off the hook for being your babysitters. “Thanks again for the tour.”
You turn to leave, and as expected, Mephisto’s wings flap behind you. You don’t think the twins will get in trouble for not surveilling you if Mephisto is going to be your shadow while you stay here. You resolve to just stick to the places the twins showed you, so as not to wear out your welcome faster if Sylus finds you somewhere he doesn’t want you sticking your nose.
As you slowly make your way through the base because of the throbbing in your feet, the N109 Zone urban skyline blinking in the far distance through each huge window you pass, you try to recover the good mood you were in earlier as you teased Sylus, buoyant in your fantasy of being capable of spoiling him. You feel ridiculous now.
Mephisto squawks quietly when you begin to limp. You consider removing Sylus’s ruby and throwing it into a room so that he’ll swoop after the shiny bauble like the crow he’s designed to mimic and then slamming the door shut, just so you’ll be free of that feeling of being judged for a brief moment, but you decide to wait to thwart him until you really need his eyes off you. You assume that he’ll only fall for such a ploy once.
Finally, you’re back at the greenhouse. You sigh after taking a big breath of the fragrant air. You don’t realize how chilly you were in the cold marble halls of Onychinus’s headquarters until you step back into this warm, alive space. You reach the bed, and note that Kieran and Luke must have beaten you in here. Your “things” consist of a small crate with your phone charger, ruby earring, and a crow plushie you had won at the arcade, what feels like a lifetime ago. No clothes. No shoes. Your phone isn’t even in here.
Mephisto settles on top of the garden bed’s canopy and begins preening his feathers. You think for the first time since accepting Sylus’s offer that you’ve made a mistake. You don’t know if you can handle the loneliness, even in this beautiful, verdant space. Maybe you’d feel safer, curled up in the confines of your small bedroom in your apartment, watching the fall rain hit your windowpane as you wait for your grief and fear of loud noises to fade with time.
Until you catch Sylus again, you won’t be able to get a vehicle to go home though. You’re hungry, and tired. You hobble to the little fridge under Sylus’s garden bar and root around. There are some fresh chunks of pineapple in a little container, and more pomegranate seeds. You fill your stomach, drink some water, and then collapse back onto the bed. The linen sheets are cool on your skin, despite how warm the air is.
The slow sink into oblivion eclipses everything else, and you pass out.
* * *
Now that Sylus is done with his meeting, which got sidetracked into a heart-to-heart that he had not planned before he found himself under Adian’s concerned interrogation. As a result, the whole thing went on for much longer than he anticipated. But now the most urgent pending matters have received his attention, and he can turn such attention back to something that is much more interesting.
He strides down the hall to his bedroom, only to find it dark and empty. He flicks on the lights. Not even Mephisto is in here. Maybe you’re still on the tour with the twins. But by his quick calculation, they should be done with the pro forma offer of his various empty guest rooms and you’d be back by now. Sylus drums his long fingers on the worn but well-cared for wood of his desk and fishes his phone from his sleep pants pocket. He should get dressed, too. But not before he locates you, and gets you back where you belong, unless you’re actually somewhere in the house enjoying yourself.
He pulls up the app connected to Mephisto and sees only the lush vegetation surrounding the garden bed. Why would you be there? He fiddles with the phone, and Mephisto receives the message, dutifully flying to the bar. Sylus sighs, something clenched inside of him relaxing now that he has his eyes on you again. But you’re asleep on the garden bed. If you were tired, why wouldn’t you have come back here? He asks Mephisto to look more closely at your face. You’re frowning, even in sleep. As if you’re having a troubling dream again. And you’re wearing… is that one of his ties? And one of his sweaters. He’s pleased, but also surprised that you chose more of his clothing, instead of choosing from the entire back section of his dressing room that contains your preferred style of clothing in your size that has been in there since he met you again.
Sometimes you’re such an enigma to him, and he relishes each new mystery—each like a wooden puzzle box, opening with a satisfying click after he has managed to figure out the key required to release the contents hidden inside.
His mind drifts back to his tie. He’s never seen you wear one before. He thinks of running a finger underneath its silk length, where it lies against your throat, and tugging a little. Of letting the fabric slide under his palm as he pulls the tail of it, and you along with it, until you’re pressed against him.
He rubs his forehead. If he continues this line of thought, he’s going to have the same problem that he’s had to some degree almost constantly since you set foot in his home again. You’re here , of your own volition now. And he can’t wait to just… be near you, as much as possible, every minute that work doesn’t call him away from your side. The closer you are, the more it seems to hurt when he’s forced to be separate from you.
There has to be some reason you’re not here with him this instant, and instead have retreated to the greenhouse. He fiddles with his phone again and a few minutes later, Luke and Kieran come slinking into his bedroom.
“We tried our best, boss,” Luke blurts, not even letting Sylus ask his question.
“We really did,” Kieran adds glumly. “But we uh. We failed to provide the motivation for your hunter to return to your room instead of choosing somewhere else to stay.” He toes the thick, intricate carpet with his house shoe.
Sylus narrows his eyes. You had already bravely expressed your desire to stay in Sylus’s room. He saw how much you were afraid of admitting it, as it made you vulnerable to rejection. As if Sylus would ever reject the opportunity to be as close to you as possible. He frowns. He thought he had sufficiently reassured you of his desire for you to remain with him. Something must have gone wrong during your tour of the house.
“Explain.”
“We might have told the hunter that none of the guest rooms were available, because they were taken already,” Kieran mumbles. “They subsequently said that they could just stay in the greenhouse if that were the case.”
“And then I lied and said that you had a pet jaguar in the greenhouse,” Luke confesses, as if he’s confessing to a murder that his boss didn’t order.
Sylus blinks. He’s consistently surprised by Luke’s creative, completely ineffectual attempts at lying.
“But they obviously didn’t believe that and said they have experience in lion taming or some shit and a free-range big cat wouldn’t bother them,” he rushes on.
Sylus laughs, low in his throat. He doesn’t recall reading anything about hobbies you may have regarding handling big cats, but you’re not lying, if you count how Sylus felt like the most domesticated of leopards under your soft touch when waking up to your delicious body under his.
“Is that it?” he asks, forcing himself to focus again. “Nothing else was discussed regarding the rooming situation?”
“No, we swear!” Luke says. “You can check Mephisto. They just suddenly seemed really sad and tired, and said they would head back to the greenhouse. We fucked up our chance at helping you get what you want,” he says regretfully. “Not to mention we probably managed to give Noah an advantage in the bet,” he adds, quietly. As if everyone in the room can’t hear that he is disappointed by this fact too.
“Let’s not forget that the whole point of the bet is to help boss, Luke,” Kieran pats Luke’s back softly. Luke looks a little guilty, but nods.
Sylus sighs. “You’re dismissed,” he commands, trying to put them out of their misery. He suspects whatever sent you running again has nothing to do with their ridiculous attempts to encourage you to stay with him, and he knows they meant well. In any case, he’s not going to wait to get to the bottom of whatever negative thought must be currently bothering you. Never again is he going to allow you to be in pain for a moment longer than necessary. And if you insist on sleeping in the greenhouse, then you’re going to have to accept that he’ll be there with you. He winces at the thought of all that heat and humidity, but he’ll gladly bear it. For as long as you’re under his roof, wherever you are, he’ll be there too until you tell him to get lost and mean it. He checks Mephisto’s view again, and you haven’t moved. He takes a shower as quickly as possible, throws on some fresh comfortable clothes, and heads out of the bedroom.
The greenhouse is still dim, since technically this is Sylus’s “day” and he has the lighting system tied to his own sleep schedule and not the rest of the world’s. He finds you still sleeping, curled in on yourself. He’s relieved that you can sleep at all, after your seemingly endless months of insomnia. He hopes it’s because you’re near him. He pauses at the bedside, just taking you in, savoring the rise and fall of your chest, the curve of your soft lips. Mephisto ruffles his feathers and lifts into the air before settling on Sylus’s shoulder. They both stare down at you for a long quiet moment.
“Thank you,” Sylus murmurs, running his fingers along the bird’s soft feathers. Mephisto recognizes the gratitude, and the dismissal, and leisurely takes flight to wait by the door for when Sylus is ready to leave again or call him back.
Sylus watches you sleep, a dark figure looming over the your curled-up form, the white linen sheets draped across your hips. Finally, Sylus’s patience stretches thin, a frayed wire. He half kneels on the bed and slides his arms under your shoulders and knees, and lifts you until your cheek is resting against his shoulder. Your eyelids flutter, but don’t open. He begins the long walk back to his bedroom, brushing past heavy leaves quivering with dew, pausing to let a butterfly pass safely from one side of the path to the other.
“Sylus,” you sigh as he passes through the mudroom, the air growing significantly cooler. Mephisto flies ahead. When he looks down into your face, he realizes you're talking in your sleep.
“Yes, beloved?” he asks softly.
“Sylus,” you repeat, this time with a little whine of distress.
“What’s wrong, darling?” He hopes you’ll answer honestly from a place of safety in your dreams.
You sigh and nuzzle his shoulder, but then make a low keening sound in your throat, as if you've just seen something terribly painful. He tightens his arms around you. "Tell me what you see," he coaxes, quietly.
"Don’t wanna…” you clench your teeth. “—someone else in your bed.” Your words are mumbled, voice strained, and there are tears gathered at the corners of your eyes. He wants to lick them away, but he’s worried he’ll wake you if he jostles you by leaning down.
Sylus lets his normally racing thoughts drift back over the conversation that Luke and Kieran reported to him. Their lie regarding the guest rooms—the assertion that they’re fully occupied, while in reality empty, and rarely used. Something in that conversation triggered something in you. Full guest rooms imply other people in the house. Sylus snorts. His home is his sanctuary, and he guards it jealously. Very few people have ever made it past his threshold. And lived, in any case.
His thoughts drift to your current distress, and your insistence, contrary to the agreement earlier, that you sleep in the greenhouse. The floodlight of his intuition washes through him.
Despite all of his reassurances about not having a lover, about hoping you’d stay in his room, he has failed to make it clear that you would be the only one doing so. Sylus looks down into your lovely face, and his heart thumps-thumps-thumps in the cage of his ribs.
He admires the thoroughness of your worries. Just as Sylus spends his time layering plans upon plans, trying to account for every contingency, your anxious brain seems to do something similar, but it’s constantly seeking the disasters, the hidden traps posed by others if you place your trust in them, layering fear upon fear. He recognizes that truly earning your trust will require him to carefully dismantle every trap for you, real or imagined, until you no longer look at him as accessible only through a minefield, but via an unwavering, inevitable path, free of tripwires. Until you realize that, in fact, he’s the one who has the most to fear. Because you can, and will, run if driven to it. And he can’t. He surrendered himself to you so long ago, the shackles tying him to you unidirectional. He’ll be the one left behind, his chest ripped open and gaping, as you flee with his heart between your teeth, if he is unable to catch you.
He’s relieved. At least this particular trap is easy to dismantle. He carries you into his bedroom, lays you gently on his bed. He settles on his side, head proposed up by his hand resting on his elbow.
“As if I would want anyone else in my bed, now that you’ve been in it,” he whispers. He continues to luxuriate in how close you are as he debates with himself. He promised you that he would not use the power of his aether core eye on you without your consent. This is no longer a problem for him: he successfully circumvented that rule with the guessing game. There's no reason to use that particular asset of his evol if you are willing to answer his specific questions when he needs to map the depths hidden in your heart. And he figured out what is currently bothering you without even having to ask you. But you don’t know the full extent of your own powers, let alone his.
He gives in to temptation, and runs a finger along the tie wrapped around your throat, where your skin meets the fabric. He never promised that he wouldn’t use any of his powers on you. Only the one. He won’t be breaking his promise. You should have been more specific, if you wanted to restrain him completely. He knows that he should be patient, wait to reassure you. That he should go through the motions of playing the game, and wait patiently until you answer him, so that he can relieve you of the ridiculous notion that he would ever have anyone else in his bed when you exist in the world. He slips two fingers under the tie, presses against the pulse point in your throat, swallows the temptation to lean down and suck. You make another sorrowful sound, brows furrowing as if having a distressing dream. Sylus has never been a patient man. He has all the time in the world for you, to draw you to him, to slip under your layers and unfold them carefully, one by one. But how can he be expected to wait to soothe your pain when he can resolve it immediately, even as you sleep? He marvels at the insatiability of his greed—the closer he gets to you, the longer you're near. Yes, it is increasingly difficult to bear any distance when you're so close. Further still, he has begun to miss you terribly even when you're asleep in his arms. His patience, a wire already stretched thin, snaps.
He won’t be breaking his promise, he tells himself. It's better to soothe you now, than let this worry fester. He lets the energy of his evol build, the dark tendrils curling up your sleeping form, until they thin, drift like mist, and slip under your closed eyelids.
You sigh again and settle deeper into sleep, as Sylus closes his own eyes, and lets himself dream.
* * *
You’re on the beach again. The sun is bleeding into the ocean, hemorrhaging streaks of violet, magenta, neon orange. You want to catch some in a glass and drink it down. The sand glitters darkly underneath you as you stretch sleepily. You slowly become aware of a soft, solid bulk underneath you. You turn your head, and downy fur, silver a stark contrast to the black sand on the beach, sweeps under your cheek. Your heart jolts as you realize that you’re resting on a preternaturally giant jungle cat, like a prehistoric leopard or jaguar. Its breathing lifts your whole body with each inhale, and lowers you gently on each exhale.
Just as you’re about to panic about being so close to such a large predator, a sense of calm spreads through your body, like the warmth of a large sip of wine. You know, as one sometimes does in dreams, that you are the safest you’ve ever been, resting against this fearsome carnivore. The creature may pose a danger to every single other creature in the world, but you are its master, and you are the only master it will ever acknowledge.
The certainty you feel is intoxicating. You smile, and run your fingers and flat palm through the animal’s soft, thick fur. A low rumbling begins to shake your body, and you realize it is purring, the noise vibrating through your chest. You’re delighted, sitting up, placing your other hand in its coat, and begin to caress the flank of this giant beast with both hands. When you look over, you find it has lifted its head, whiskers twitching, ruby eyes regarding you lazily. The purring continues.
“Who’s a good kitty?” you ask, laughing, and the cat’s whiskers twitch again. It leans forward and bumps its head against your shoulder. You take the hint and begin scratching behind big fluffy ears and the purring increases in volume. “You’re a good kitty, that’s who,” you coo, voice saccharine, and the cat opens its wide jaws, huge fangs glittering in the dying sunlight, and licks a stripe up the whole side of your face.
“Noooo!” you cry, half-amused, half-disgusted at the saliva now coating part of your face, and push the cat’s head away with the flat of your palms. “Bad kitty!” you scold, the effect lost in your laughter. The cat just huffs and noses your wet cheek.
“You’re so beautiful,” you sigh, running your hands through its fur again. You close your eyes and just enjoy the sensation of warmth and safety under your hands. You lean down and rest your cheek against the cat’s shoulder. Gradually, you become aware of a shift, so slowly it almost feels like it isn’t happening, but eventually your fingertips are no longer running through fur, but along soft skin. You open your eyes, and find your cheek resting on Sylus’s shoulder, the black sand making his pale skin almost glow in the last gasp of sunlight drowning in the ocean.
“You’re here,” you smile, because you can admit to yourself, here in this lovely dream, that Sylus is probably the only person you would want with you in this secret pocket paradise.
“Are you pleased?” he asks, lifting an arrogant silver eyebrow. Even in dreams, he’s so smug.
“I’m so pleased,” you admit. “Of course I’m pleased to see you here. This place is so beautiful—of course you should see it.” You gaze drifts back over the sunset, the water.
“As beautiful as me?” he teases, because he was the cat, and you called him beautiful.
“As if you need to fish for compliments. You’re probably swimming in them,” you murmur, trying to push away the thought of everyone else who looks at him and sees the same radiant creature that you see.
“I don’t want anyone else’s compliments. I want yours, and only yours,” your dream Sylus says, using his finger along your jaw to pull your gaze back to him.
You pause, wondering if it’s okay to say what you’re thinking out loud, in your own private dream. The waves shush onto the shore, and sigh in retreat.
“You’re the most frightening, achingly lovely person I’ve ever seen.” You sigh, because this is just a dream. You lift your hand and run a fingertip under his eye with the aether core. “It hurts to look at you, you’re so beautiful. Sometimes, I miss you even when you’re right in front of me, like this dream is already in the past and you're already gone.” You let your fingers trail from his eye to his temple. “Your loveliness is only matched by what’s going on in here, although I don’t think I’ll ever discover the half of it.”
As you speak, Sylus’s lips part, and he stares at you like you’ve just threatened to rip Mephisto’s wiring out through his beak.
You drop your hand and look away. Even if this is a dream, maybe that was too much.
“Look at me,” Sylus says, voice strained. You try to appear nonchalant, and turn your head to meet his blood-bright eyes. “You stole the words from my mouth. Such theft requires compensation."
Before you can ask what he means, he leans in and presses his full lips to yours.
It’s as if all the air has been sucked from the world. The constant hush of the waves ceases. The only sound is your heart pounding, and Sylus’s breath drifting through your lips, parted in surprise.
He cradles your cheeks in his big hands and draws back, just enough to search your eyes. “May I continue?”
In answer, you learn forward and press your lips to his. They’re so soft. They’re so plush. His hands tighten, and his tongue flicks out to lick your bottom lip. You open your mouth and catch his tongue between your teeth, gently biting. He inhales sharply and surges forward, pressing his tongue further between your teeth—you open wide and suddenly every individual action blurs. It’s just Sylus, his tongue filling your mouth, your hands sliding into his soft, soft hair, his body pressing into yours as he leans you back into the sand and licks into you, over and over again.
Suddenly he pulls back, eyes glittering as he looks down into your face, a string of saliva falling from his bottom lip back into your panting mouth. You catch it on your tongue, savor it before swallowing.
“When you wake up, you’ll remember that I don’t want anyone else in my bed. Just you. Only you.” He stares into your eyes, waiting for your response.
“That’s the dream,” you smile.
“That’s the truth, my beloved,” he counters. “You will remember, and know it to be true, when you wake up.”
Instead of arguing with him, you just pull him down to you again and kiss him, memorizing the feel of his mouth moving against yours, the tilt of his head as he works to get his tongue deeper, deeper. You hope you never wake up. As if hearing your thoughts, his deep kisses slow. He draws back a little, and places soft, barely there kisses to one side of your mouth, then to the other. He nudges your nose with his own.
“Time to wake up, my love,” he smiles down at you.
You shake your head a little, suddenly frightened of waking up cold and alone. He just nods, once. “You can handle it,” he promises.
Sylus has said that he never breaks a promise. And you believe him.
You wake up.
End note: thanks to the really kind people who responded to my post the other day when i was worried that each part may drag on for too long for reader tastes. their responses were incredibly reassuring. also thanks to leaderincrows for sylus's line about mc not getting out of bed unless they could throw him to the ground, i stole it like mephisto steals shiny shit please forgive me. also, anything in this fic was in no way meant to mock people who are into puppy play. aidan is proud as fuck as he should be, and sylus's slightly disdainful attitude would change the second he thought mc would want to lead him around by his tail. Rough plans: if my brain will cooperate, i'm hoping for tank and black card shenanigans with noah. Or pool and ice hockey shenanigans with sylus and the twins, respectively. for some reason this week my brain wanted more fucking introspection and we didn't make it to the fun stuff and big toys.
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace sylus#lads sylus#l&ds sylus#lnds Sylus#sylus x reader#sylus x you#my fanfic#the end took me by surprise#hope it's enjoyable
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It’s Dabi’s birthday over here in the states now so have some doodles 🔥
#I’m trying to get him out of my system#also I really just needed to update some placeholder images on character ai#dabi#Touya Todoroki#Toya Todoroki#Todoroki touya#bnha#MHA#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#Dabi fanart#anyways idk what my style is doing rn I feel like it’s been v inconsistent#but hey finally kicked out a version of pro hero Touya that i likeeee altho he still needs some tweaking#haha wait just now realizing they’re almost all looking in the same direction#what are they looking at hmmm#MQ doodles
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I caved and ended up drawing some designs for a links meet au I've been working on, so here are: Mask, Ravio (+ bunny Oracle), Sol (from Soldier) and Tune!
Ravio may not look as goofy but that's because of culture shock between Hyrule and Lorule. Poor guy does not realize this at first
Not that Mask helps much, but there's that
Part 2 with the rest of the designs -> HERE
#links meet au#tloz#tloz au#tloz fanart#my art#still figuring out the name#suggestions would be appreciated#i have plot and designs but not the name lol#culture shock au#placeholder name
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Partners in crime!
#undertale#utdr#utdr fanart#mettatale#flowey the flower#flowey#mad mew mew#mettaton#flowey redemption arch except he’s still a villain#Just happier I guess#Need to think of a better name for this au…#Mettatale was just a placeholder#But I can’t think of anything!! :(
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Griffinmere University 🎓
#ts2#sims 2#griffinmere bacc#there are still a few placeholder lots but it's as good as it gets for this round
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[REVOKED] [RETAINED] [RED̴A̸C̵͍̔T̵̰̓E̸̘̽D̸̳̻͕́̒]̵̱̈́̋
#14 days with you#14dwy#Happy (late) White Day!!#I promised the 14DWY discord some [REDACTED] art but I went blind before I could start it </3 /lh /hj#It's missing a lot of key details because I didn't wanna spoil anything (like his burn marks; his official clothing; the tats; etc)#However the missing ring is intentional bc I like to think this happens 1 year after the Valentines Day art piece <3#I also didn't wanna reveal his /actual/ tattoos so I used a placeholder instead#Ngl it's kinda 👀👀........#I think I still prefer to OG though#🖤 — gallery.#💖 — about ren.#💖 — 14 days with queue.
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Wangxian goes to horse jail for their crimes against equines.
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#wei wuxian#lan wangij#game dev diary#Going forwards you'll see me talk about game dev stuff with 'we' and that is because this is a collaboration!!!#I am doing the art and my friend who has coding experience is in charge of the technical stuff.#We're testing out the basics of the program and figuring out the limitations before getting into the meat of our own project.#This is the part where I soft-announce that I'm working on a game. We're still early into development but it's coming along B*)#Originally the playable character was the horse and the NPC you talk to was WWX but I asked to switch it up for this gif.#We will be changing the window skin for dialogue portraits so no handmade art there yet.#My friend added the official art as a placeholder and it made me laugh very hard.#The thrill of seeing the little guys I spent hours drawing walk around is unparalleled!!! They are alive!!! Moving!!!
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ocs. . the usual
#drawing sometimes is like trying to jump start a dead car#but the car is still dead#myartsyes#drowends#oc#ocs#beau#pinkubus#placeholder for pinkubus.. no name ideas yet#ive been in such trenches right now i might get a breather once june starts
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We're Addisons! All we do is advertise!
Finally got some official references worked out for these guys! I've had their designs in my head (or in half finished ref sheets and other sketches) for the longest time but I never properly finished something and wrote down notes about it. Here they all are now!!
#deltarune#spamton#spamton g spamton#addisons#addisons deltarune#orange addison#blue addison#pink addison#yellow addison#yayyyy the whole family!!! feel free to ask me more about them! i hope i can make more art with them soon!#im still not 100% on yellows name btw so for now im just using my bfs headcanon name for him as a placeholder it may change#my art#utdr
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im licherally Obsessed with your RPGmaker post if you ever want to talk about it more i would eat that up
its a very fun au. me and aku have a huge passion for rpg maker horror games so we just kind of... combined what we like with hermitcraft and 3rd life things and made a story around it
basically it all starts as a dark comedy about the end of the world vs grians very petty goal. the world is very much burning around him and jimmy but hes determined to fullfil his last goal and kill the mayor. until jimmy dies because of him and hes hit with the gravity of the apocalypse
its pretty late, and there is... way too much thought put into this au, and especially the endings, so ill explain them later ... instead ill just clarify some things from the tags under the first post i made about it
you are getting a pity discount after you cause jimmys death! scar is generally aware of everything going on in the game even if hes not present. and even if it happened in a different timeline (his ending would require the player to finish the game at least once). and hes feeling very sad for grian. even if he wants to kill some version of him
grian actually never fullfils his goal! its very much a case of story starting with one jokey thing and then getting more and more serious. but he also never realizes that the mayor is scar; and if he does he doesnt really care anymore. he treats every scar npc as a separate person whenever he puts on a different hat perry the platapus style
forgot to do the paperwork. all paperwork ever
there is only one scar and one grian. scar is just everywhere at once. that being said mother spore does exist in this au (it would be hard if she didnt), and its grians god form! im not providing any context. goodnight
#im still dissappointed a little that its a hermitcraft au#as much as i love the series i just wish i could come up with something this fun this easy for my original stuff#mycelium rpg au#<- placeholder name#artwork#ask :)
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It's my free day which means it's Larry Hours
(That is not their name but it is what I will call them, for now. I cannot wait to scream about Larry)
#star plays dnd#the larry thing is a stream joke I ran with#I'm keeping it as a placeholder name for now#bc this baby's name is spoilers so shhh#“Star Larry looked different when you showed them on stream-” we're still playing with designs gang#dun worry bout it
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AU where Bedman gets revived by Asuka’s weird apprentice and is now full of anger and hatred at the fact that his situation has changed and he’s suddenly alive and awake. Oh and he plays the piano.
I would’ve drawn more for this but it’s almost 5am and also i’m. horrid at drawing quickly. Anyways feel free to ask about the AU! I’m much better at expressing my ideas through words than through art anyways ^^
#guilty gear#bedman#bedman guilty gear#romeo f neumann#captive insomniac#guilty gear oc#guilty gear au#cy’s stupid au#<— still don’t have a name for it..#‘Heartstring’ is the best i got so far. Hikari and Romeo both got themes of death and violence and music in this so it kinda works#but idk#i wish i could make more for this hhgh..#i’ll just rant about it to anyone willing to listen ^^#edit: IT HAS A NAME NOW. AT LEAST A PLACEHOLDER#reverie of rebirth au#cydraws
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You all voted, I've rested...
“You’ve read the dossier?” The clipped words were in time with their quick steps down the pristine white hall. “Yes.” “All of it?” Danny resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Unlike you, Hellblazer, I read my contracts before I sign them.” “You wound me, Pomp,” John said, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “I’m just trying to protect you from the Big Bad Bat. He’s had a bit of a mare over this case. Hell, as a consultant, you shouldn’t even be seeing this with the access level it’s at but…” “But you’re stuck and need my pretty baby blues on things to help you out,” Danny said, batting his lashes obnoxiously at John. “Fuck off,” John said without any heat and shoved Danny away. “But the Bat is anxious about it. All the Bats are. If you can help us solve it sooner, then the better, because when the Bats are on edge, everyone is on edge. And it’s a fucking nightmare around here already with all the bloody do-gooders let alone when they’re all worked up about something.”
#my brain is still such mush#double mint gum#as the absurd placeholder name#dp x dc#dead on main#both ways at once
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goofy hermit doodles!! because uhh why not!!
#cubfan135#zedaph#hermitcraft#hermitcraft fanart#sorry for making zed purple-coded do you still love me /j (it's kind of a magenta. so.)#this was my first time drawing cub (unless you count scraps of doodles from like 2019 that i probably lost a while ago) !!#and as such it was a definite learning process! i could definitely draw him better now i think but this one turned out okay for now#i still feel like i didn't do him justice though.. i'll try again tomorrow#zed on the other hand came out fantastic and then i proceeded to not be able to draw him well ever again (he's from a few days ago)#fun fact i was trying to write a desert duo-centric little story a couple days ago and i randomly put cub in as a placeholder character for#-scar to talk to in a scene and my entire story accidentally became about convex instead. whoopsies#also zed lives in scar's basement. cub does too but he actually pays rent. they don't know about zed so it's funny#scar's house is a theme park. his basement is a hole#it's a whole thing. why am i talking about this? i don't know i'm really tired ok#reblogs super appreciated as always :D#aurie's art
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everything by muna, something by julien baker...where's my lifechanging song called nothing?
#everything might be the best song in the world idk!!!!!!!!#muna#julien baker#nothing by depeche mode exists but its not life changing enough in a devastating way. still cool tho. a good placeholder
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