#dont read ward though

[intertexts]

woe! dreadful little polycule be upon ye <3 minors maybe dont. click this one.

[ewingstan]

Hey its our guys :)

Always interesting to hear about how the heroes regarded the Undersiders. I remember how Lisa talked about different levels of villainy in her "cops and robbers" spiel from 3.6:

So there’s capes like you and me, where we go out in costume and it’s fun.  Maybe we have some agenda or goals, but at the end of the day, we’re getting our thrills, blowing off steam and living a second life.  Then there’s the crazies.  The people who are fucked up in the head, maybe dangerous if there’s not something or someone to help keep them in line.  The people who take it all too seriously, or those guys you wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of, even if they didn’t have powers.  Lung, Oni Lee, Heartbreaker,” she paused.  “Bitch.”

Its kind of weird to be reminded that "oh yeah, obviously everyone outside of the Undersiders (and maybe Taylor specifically) would consider Rachel a monster on par with Lung and Heartbreaker." But its also interesting to see that Victoria's opinion of "Hellhound" (seriously you've worked with her by now Vicky you can use a name she goes by) hasn't seem to have updated. We know that Rachel is out in the woods of Gimmel with her gang now, not driving people out like she was in Brockton Bay. Capes like Vista and Miss Militia seem to have no problem working with her even outside the context of class S threats by now. While Victoria's talking about Brockton Bay's past here, she's talked about Rachel in the same way before. Is she unable to update her perception of Rachel? Can't move past the images of people with dogbites the size of sharkbites forced out of their homes?

I also really didn't expect "actually improved the infrastructure of his territory" to be part of Regent's legacy. Wonder how much of that was him and how much of that was Coil/Lisa/Brian. That he'd be singled out for representing that sort of warlord is perplexing, as is her not mentioning Grue or Skitter.

Pft.

[technicolorxsn]

I love cam and gideons bromance it's everything to me

[just-some-random-blogger]

Break Bones?

There has been nothing but tension between you and your ward, and Breakbones has only added to it.

bodyguard!Gwayne Hightower x Lannister!Reader x Harwin Strong | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has golden lannister hair, enemies to lovers, forced proximity ig, im just a girl!reader, angst?, jealousy, typos, etc.

A/N: this the '3rd part' to Seeing Red (1) and Seeing Green (2) but you dont have to read either to understand what's happening <3. Also, I think a lot of facts are skewed here in this fic but... Roll with it pls thx. I hope someone enjoys this because I do nawt 🥲

Tagging: @lancedoncrimsonwings @targs-on-zorses @barbieaemond @arabellasleopardcoat @dreamsandconstellations

@uniquecroissant @holdingforgeneralhugs @b00kw0rmsworld

Lunch was my favorite meal. This time of day was most pleasant, with the sun high in the sky and the birds singing. Normally at this time, whatever grogginess the morning gave me would long be gone. But today, it was not so.

Gwayne turns to me as I pointedly smack on my meal to annoy him. If my day is grim, then so should his.

He chews harder than he needs to then swallows, "I see frolicking with Breakbones has made you forget your pedigree."

I raise my brows, "nay," I set my spoon down, "my meal is simply so scrumptious that I cannot contain myself."

Gwayne releases a breath. I watch him as he reaches for his teacup. He looks as though he's using all the muscles in his body to withhold an eye roll. He takes a sip; the heat of the tea leaves his lips ruddy.

I watch him set his floral cup down. I watch him as he leans back on his chair. When did his get that long? The locks by his temples go past his cheeks now. A line forms on his face when I stare too long. I avert my gaze to my own teacup. The milkiness of his face is reflected in my drink. My stomach churns.

"So-" "How-"

We look at each other after speaking at the same time. I open my mouth, meaning to tell him to go first, but he cuts me off and simply speaks, "how is Breakbones?"

Offence latches on my being. How ill-mannered of him not to even feign the courtesy of allowing me to speak first. Irritation springs forth, so I quip, "what?"

Gwayne scoops some honey and stirs it into his tea. He licks what remained on the silverware.

I avoid his eyes as he does so.

"Your whereabouts have not gone unnoticed by me," he says dryly, "I am aware that you have since been accompanied by Breakbones to the market more than once."

A horrid scowl finds my features, "and just who is this foul creature?"

Gwayne's expression falls until my scowl is reflected on him. His jaw sets, "I can assure you; you have already wholly vexed me this morn; you needn't feign ignorance to add to it."

"But I am not acquainted to this brute who breaks bones," I hiss, "and I need not feign something which comes easy for me."

He realizes then that I was sincere in my own vexation when I heatedly continue.

"Your delusions of my character will not bleed into reality, Ser." I pointedly raise a brow, "whichever part of my body you think would associate with such people who garner such names would surely rather strike your cheek."

He furrows his brows as he tilts his head, "yet it seems you are ignorant to the fact Breakbones is your beloved City Watch commander."

My brows furrow. I am silent for a moment before speaking, "Ser Harwin?"

He scoffs out a chuckle, "oh, yes," he takes a sip of his tea, "the brute with such a name is the one you have extended such warm amity to as of late."

A moment of concern and even alarm floods me. But it is fleeting the next moment, and my expression falls. I huff. A pit grows in my stomach, "how acrid and crude."

Gwayne's brows quirk as he gulps his tea. The manner in which his lips curl pierce through my belly in the most unpleasant of ways.

"I am well aware that you and I have never met eye to eye, that you disagree with my interest in beautiful things-"

His expression slips.

"-but your want to deter me of my only companion here is repellent, even for one as you."

Companion? Gwayne's blood rises just as I from my seat across him, "such as I?"

"Such as you!" I maintain, chucking my table napkin onto my half-finished plate.

"I see your unfeigned ignorance has made you callous to my efforts to please you," he words harshly, slowly rising from his seat.

"But it is not your work to please me!" I snap, "your work is to keep me safe!"

"From library books?!" he raises his voice, "from cakes and dresses? What is your danger in King's Landing when not only do a thousand guards reside within these walls, but your own lord brother is seated upon the council of the king?"

My nostrils flare at his words. I decide to maintain my dignity by forfeiting my response. I gather my skirts and flee him.

He releases an irritated laugh, "oh, how very like of you!"

"Do not wait. I have errands to accomplish."

"Ha! Do accomplish them well with your beloved Breakbones."

I storm away from him. I storm and storm until my face rains. It annoys me how my breath shortens and how my throat constricts. I run off to my chambers and dismiss any ready servants there. I crumble to my bed and wring out my melancholy.

The letter I received late last night calls to me from my vanity. I sigh and reach out to it. I slide down my bed and will the contents of the letter to change.

It does not work. The words are as clear as they were last night underneath my lamp, if not clearer now in afternoon shine.

Highgarden would be honored to receive Lady Lannister. House Tyrell presently prepares its home in hopes it will be hers in the apparent future.

I rip the parchment to shreds, as if its riddance would destroy the reality it held.

It does not.

It comforts me, nonetheless.

I wash my face and reapply rogue before exiting my chambers. I begin to walk off but freeze when I see Gwayne at the end of the hallway. He does nothing. He says nothing.

I turn the other way.

I find myself heading to the guard's quarters, where I soon learned Ser Harwin was not. A guard informs me that he was in the training grounds, and so I promptly make my way there.

The moment Harwin catches the golden glint upon my head, he is distracted. He pays less attention to his pupils, offering me a smile and nod in regard. Soon, when I am close enough, he says a quick word before abandoning his post altogether.

Harwin struts up to me with another smile and nod, "my lady Lannister."

My heart swells at his kind regard, a stark contrast of Gwyane, "lord Strong."

"You must forgive my state," he wipes the sweat dripping from his temple, "an hour remains of our session, then I will be free to accompany you to the baker's today," he assures. He smiles but it quickly disappears as he adds, "after I wash and change, of course."

I press my lips tightly together, yet it does not contain my giggle.

Harwin crosses his arms at the sound, his own lips unable to contain his own giggle.

"I am in no hurry, commander," I clasp my hands together, "feel free to ignore me until you are ready."

He walks backward, "I pray you do not require me to do something impossible."

I chuckle at the sentiment, but I roll my eyes. I sit myself on a crate nearby and watch as the man instructs his pupils. He demonstrates the proper handling of a sword and strikes the dummy. For a moment, I think of Gwayne training.

Then suddenly, I remember our argument and find myself calling out, "break bones."

I watch as Harwin turns to me.

I flatten my skirts on my lap but do speak any further.

"You call, my lady?"

I straighten my back, slightly taken aback that he responded, and shake my head, "never mind."

Harwin does not think twice on it. He continues with his lesson.

Watching him teach was... titillating. His voice was rich and sure, his actions more so, and his demeanor was truly that of a commander. More and more, I thought of 'break bones' and continued to convince myself that this was not him. Soon, I was not enslaved to my thoughts and became thoroughly entertained by Harwin's instruction. It was almost a shame that the hour passed as quickly as it did.

Harwin quickly comes to me, announcing he will not take long to tidy up, then leaves just as quickly. Unable to help myself, I decide to ask a guard about this break bones fellow. Before I can even ask if that man was truly his commander, he's already droning about See Harwin Strong. Before he could finish, the said man was beside me, face and locks slightly damp.

Harwin and I make our way to the stables after and I immediately start, "I did not realize you had quite a reputation."

I watch my feet peak out from beneath my dress as we leisurely make our way to his steed. Harwin, with his hands behind him, turns to me with a quirked brow, "and what reputation might that be?"

"Breakbones," I look up.

He simply stares.

"I thought Gwayne thought it up to deter me from your companionship."

He purses his lip, "...does it?"

I give him an incredulous look, "perhaps if I had known it before I knew you. I was testing the name on you. I did not expect you to respond."

"Is it very ill-fitting?"

"Yes," I speak immediately. I tilt my head, "you are very gentle."

He laughs. It is quiet but hard enough that he must clutch his gut and take a moment to gather himself.

Though it was not like him to mock me, I could not help but feel perhaps that in this moment he was. A frown finds me.

I think of Gwayne and his condescending laughter. My chest tightens.

He breathes in deeply before finally calming. Harwin notices my dejected demeanor and it wipes the grin off his face, "forgive me. I laugh only because I have not yet been called gentle in earnest."

It does not rid my frown.

"It pleases me," he mutters.

I stop in my tracks when he reaches for my hand. My pulse quickens when he takes and lifts it.

"I am glad to appear as such to you," he speaks carefully, blue eyes locked on mine. He presses a chaste kiss at the back of my hand. He maintains his hold until we are in front of his horse.

Harwin helps me up the brown stallion. He maintains a respectable hold and even fixes my dress as I seat myself. I look down at him and his smile. I nod, indicating that he can now climb up.

He shakes his head, lips still curled upright, "I do not think it wise for me to ride with you today."

I furrow my brows, "why ever not?"

Harwin takes the reins of his horse, "well, I fear my hasty washing was not enough."

I roll my eyes, "I-"

"And I desire to uphold the gentle nature you recognize in me." Harwin begins to walk.

"I do not understand."

He snorts lightly, "I fear my softness will not remain if I ride behind you."

My brows only furrow deeper.

Harwin catches this and chuckles. He mumbles under his breath, "the lioness is but a kitten."

"I heard that."

He raises a hand, "a jest. An innocent jest."

I spent a good part of the afternoon scrutinizing cakes and frosting, meticulously ordering the perfect assortment to be delivered to me tomorrow.

By the time Harwin and I were back in the Keep, I could tell that he was worn, not only from being made a taste tester against his will, but also from walking back and forth.

Another image of Gwayne flashes in my mind. Guilt and dread threaten to spill from my lips.

Harwin helps me down his steed and softly smiles once I am stood before him. My heart stings at his drowsy expression. My forehead curls as I reach for his cheek, "you have been most patient and kind."

His face perks at my touch.

"I am most grateful," I brush his curls away from his face, "I would not have been able to accomplish what I have today without you."

Harwin straightens when I pull away, seemingly reinvigorated.

"Forgive me if my meticulousness cost us a longer trip than expected."

He chuckles and shakes his head, "you award me more credit than I am due. It is an honor to witness the care you put into your gifts."

I watch him as he leads the horse into the stable. Harwin continues once he's walking back towards me, "I am sure Gwayne's nameday will be heartfelt, knowing his lady took great measures to prepare her gifts for him."

The thought makes me want to pull my hair out. I sigh and simply walk off.

Harwin's expression falls. He follows after me, "is something wrong?"

I watch my shoes peak from beneath my skirt with my steps. I turn to him when he calls me by my name. Harwin has a look of concern upon him. I comb the tips of my golden hair in agitation, "I... do not wish his nameday to come."

A line forms between his brows.

I sigh, "surely you are aware that my move to King's Landing was to secure myself a husband."

Harwin did, in fact, not know this, but does not have the chance to say so.

"My brother says the only house interested in me is that of the Tyrells."

His brows quirk. A doubtful thought.

"I did not..." I turn to the ground, "think my demeanor so odious that I am able to attract but one marriage proposal. Surely my family name weighs more than that."

The thought makes Harwin's forehead curl.

"I am not due to leave for Highgarden until the next moon, but I figured if it pleases Gwayne, I would set him free on his nameday. Another gift for him."

Harwin frowns, "do you not think your decision rash?"

"Rational, perhaps."

He does not seem to like my resolve on the matter, and yet he does not press any further. The rest of our walk is silent, and soon we are in the hall to my chambers.

Both Harwin and I slow at the sight of Gwyane standing attention at my door. He shifts in his spot, turning to us. When we reach him, I notice the way his jaw feathers.

The auburn haired man lifts his nose slightly, "Breakbones."

Harwin nods, "ser Hightower."

"How kind of you to return the lioness to her den," he turns to me, pale blue eyes ripping into my flesh, "I do hope she did not bare her teeth and claws too much."

Harwin raises a brow, "her company is most welcome, teeth and claw included."

I turn to Harwin. He smiles at me. Gwayne watches. His blood curdles.

"She tells me tomorrow is your nameday," Harwin looks to Gwayne, "what plans have you made to celebrate?"

"Whatever my lady has planned for me," he chuckles dryly. His begins to turn red in the face.

My brows furrow, "worry not, Gwayne. There shall be no errands to attend to on the morrow."

"How magnanimous," he smiles, or rather sneers, "your commander seems to need the day off. See how worn you've made him."

"Enough," I quip.

"Agreed," he blurts, "you should retire," he motions with his head, "I will treat the man to some wine," he turns to Harwin, "and perhaps he will the same, as a nameday treat."

Harwin nods, "perhaps on your nameday itself. I have an evening patrol I must cover."

Gwayne's nostrils flare, "unfortunate."

With that, I thank Harwin for accompanying me and head inside my chambers.

Gwayne places a hand on Harwin's shoulder, leading him down the hall, "I must express my appreciation for lightening my load as of late."

"My duty is to serve, but it is a pleasure to do so for the lady Lannister."

Gwayne pulls his hand away then brings both behind him, "I'm sure for one who is daily surrounded by sweaty men, it truly is."

Harwin does not respond. They continue walking down the hall.

"I am glad to know she did not forget my nameday and neither of us will need to be worked by her tomorrow."

Harwin gives a lopsided smile, "if it comes down to it, ser, I will do any work she may require of you in your stead."

Gwayne's face twitches but he expertly covers it up with a low chuckle, "oh, how good. Do not deny me then if it happens."

The two men part ways at the end of the hallway. Gwayne heads for his chambers, feeling irritated and suffocated. He bathes but it does not soothe him as much as he hoped. The next morning, he wakes up groggy and attempts to bathe it away, but the water was as ineffective as the night before.

He gets dressed and makes his way to the solar. He stops in his tracks when he hears the ruckus from inside. It doesn't take him long to recognize the voices, which is why he decides to enter and interrupt the argument taking place inside.

I gasp softly at the sound of the door opening. The sight of Gwayne's concerned expression only makes the tears from my eyes spill further.

Tyland turns to him. He does not mask his ire, which is why he does not greet him. My brother simply quips, "you will not leave her today."

Gwayne turns from my brother to me. It takes a moment before he realizes it was an order, "of course, my Lord."

The master of coin sighs and heads for the door. Before leaving, he raises a hand, "a servant will come to deliver your nameday gift tonight or tomorrow. Lannisport has been overflowing as of late, but I was assured your delivery will be swift."

Gwayne nods, "you have my thanks."

Tyland leaves after this, and Gwayne walks over to me.

I pull away before he can touch me. I lean towards the table and push the assortment of cakes towards him, "you will not need to steal my sweeties today, ser."

I walk towards the window, turning my back on him, uncomfortable with the idea of the man seeing me in disarray. He is insensitive to this and follows after me. I move away, but he does not relent.

"You need not tend to me!" I snap, strands of gold sticking to wet cheeks. I brush my hair away and helplessly point to the table, "there is a box on your chair. Tend to it! I have no use of you."

Gwayne pulls his head back. The sentiment stung, but he decides not to take offence. He cannot, not with the red eyes staring back at him. He decides to walk off and head for his usual chair.

Sure enough, a smallish wooden box tied in a red velvet bow rests on the cushion. He sets it down on the table before seating himself. He turns to me then back at the box. He undoes the bow and opens it. He stares at it. His silence reads to me as disinterest.

"Gloves. Practical but stylish," I walk towards him. He turns to me as I pull the chair beside him. I sit down, taking one glove and the hand it belonged to.

Gwyane spares a moment to watch the red leather be slipped on him hand, the rest of his moments are spent observing the tear laced lashes before him.

After buttoning the glove in his wrist, he stretches his fingers, opening his closing his hand to test the fit. His eyes do not leave me as he does so, "it fits me perfectly."

"As it should," I say, reaching for the other, "I paid the artisan well for this."

He grabs my hand just before I can do that with his. I stare at the veins that run past his sleeves, "I am exhilarated by the knowledge the shape of my hands are known by you."

My lips part.

Had it been any other day, had the circumstances been different, I would have received that statement with offence, for it was one of clear mockery. Yet, with how his dimples vaguely made an appearance and how his lips pressed softly into a smile, it seemed... genuine.

And it seemed to make my heart skip.

I mutter, "I stole a pair of your gloves and had it fitted."

Gwayne chuckles.

My heart skips again.

"Clever girl," he releases my hand and removes the glove I put on him. He takes the ribbon on the table then turns to my hair, "red goes well with gold, wouldn't you agree?"

"... my hair is already made."

"You would be glad to know that I am skilled in unmaking it," he pulls my chair closer to him.

My body burns as he reaches for my curls. My hair was braided by the sides in a fashion I quite enjoyed; I did not enjoy the idea of him unmaking it.

"-just as I am skilled in braiding," Gwayne adds.

I knit my brows at the idea.

"Do not look so shocked," he chuckles, "my sister has as much hair as you, and I did not enjoy how it flew to my face when we were children."

Before I can speak, he grabs my shoulders and turns me away. He gathers my hair and my skin pricks at the feel of his fingers against my nape.

He is silent when he begins. I close my eyes and focus on the feeling of his light touch.

"I would braid Alicent's hair when she wept as well."

My eyes open. Oh.

"Thankfully, it was not a frequent occurrence."

I turn to my skirt.

"I do not tell you this to press you for answers," he softly clarifies, "merely to express how I think it comforted my sister... and how I wish to do the same for you."

I do not reply. My lips wobble.

"I was instructed not to leave your side today and I do not wish to add to whatever offense that could bring a lioness to tears."

I silently wipe my face.

Gwayne says nothing more after this, not until he finished braiding my hair.

He rests the braid on my shoulder. I inspect it, seeing he incorporated the ribbon into the pleats and even managed to make a small bow at the bottom. I look up at him. He frowns and reaches for my cheek, wiping my tears.

I take a deep breath to calm myself, "my brother received an offer for my hand."

Gwayne stills.

"Well," I turn to the box on the table, "he received multiple."

He leans on his elbow. He smiles, though against himself, "we came to King's Landing to find you a match, did we not?"

"It seems my brother has other plans," I mutter, "apparently Tyland means to use me as leverage for the crown. He wishes to wed me to the Tyrells so that he can have a firmer hold on Highgarden. Jason does not know this. He was led to believe I was simply going to King's Landing to purchase new dresses."

A line forms between his brows, "I presume Jason found out about Tyland's plot."

"Yes. Jason writes that I should put my dresses to good use and entertain any suitors that come to me whilst I am in King's Landing."

He nods curtly. He sighs and shrugs, "why the tears then? Does the idea of entertaining men upset you so?"

"..."

"..."

"... Tyland reminded me of what happened last time when I had many suitors at my beck and call."

Gwayne clenches his teeth. He rests his hand in front of me, "I swear on my life that no one will come close enough to take advantage of you again."

His hand itches to reach out, but he instead goes for the cakes, dragging it in front of him. He shoves a chocolate cake into his mouth and chews.

I watch him lick his lips. He notices how I lick mine. He speaks through a mouth half-full, "do not think I will share simply because you are sad."

I snort and roll my eyes. Gwayne is relieved this was the reaction he garnered.

"I had enough cake from tasting them with Harwin yesterday."

He stops chewing.

I notice the frosting on the corner of his lips and wipe it with my thumb, "enjoy your cakes."

Gwayne is perfectly still.

"Happy nameday."

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 6.

Summary: Felix learns about what happened between you and Oliver at the club, and some jackass makes assumptions about you and Felix and your intentions towards Oliver. The interaction gets you worked up enough that you feel the need to repay Felix as when he'd defended you. With sex.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT; AFAB!reader, d/s dynamics, felix being a chatty brat, assume the reader is on birth control, unprotected sex.

A/N: 4782 words. cannot go two chapters without having a felix/reader moment it seems. bare with me i swear we get more oliver as it goes on, but he's just watching through the blinds right now and collecting information. also forgive me, not only is this unedited, it's also the first actual, explicit smut scene i've written in years, and even longer since i've been intimate with someone with a dick. i also dont read smut so this might be weird pacing wise at the end. honestly the smut is just a backdrop for character development. have at ye, and please lemme know what you think!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Summer creeps in almost insidiously, days getting longer and warmer, humidity forcing it's way into every single facet of your lives. Afternoons outside of classes are spent doing not much of anything, hoping that when night falls, the temperature will fall with it.

This afternoon is the coolest you've had in several weeks, laying on Felix's floor, listening to him play the guitar while Oliver was draped over the foot of his bed, gazing at Felix's bookshelf. There's a sweet breeze through the open window and you hum along to the tune you recognise your best friend playing, letting yourself soak in the moment.

The quiet spell breaks as Oliver moves, reaches out for something on Felix's bookshelf.

"That's cute," he muses, "baby Felix." It must be the photo of Felix and his childhood dog, the you'd only met once or twice as a kid before he'd passed, before you'd been properly friends. But Oliver puts the photo back almost as fast as he'd picked it up, "there aren't any pictures of me as a kid," he muses.

"You and Y/N have that in common," Felix says idly, surprising both you and Oliver, though for different reasons; you hadn't even realised he'd remembered that about you. Your vapid, jet-setting, philanthropist parents had always been incredibly image conscious, and a child was never part of that image. Born out of obligation to their own parents to produce a grandchild to make eventual inheritance easier, they longed to distance themselves from the very idea of you unless they desperately needed to.

And they hadn't for as long as you've been alive.

"If there were baby photos of me, that'd prove that my parents had a child," you laughed, but there was no real humour in it, "and none of us wants that."

The invisible heir.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Oliver says faintly, an unfamiliar, unreadable look in his eyes as he gazes over at you. You give a blithe shrug.

"It means I got to find a home in Felix," you say easily, the wording sappy enough to make Felix himself laugh.

"You're such a sap, that's so much nicer than what I was going to say."

"Go on then, out with it," you prompted him, despite his faint, playful protest.

"I was going to call you another ward of the Saltburn Estate," Felix grins at you, "for better or worse."

"At least you had a family who loved you," Oliver turns away again, pressing his cheek to the duvet as his gaze focused back on the photo of Felix and his dog, "even if they weren't yours." There's a distinct discomfort in the air now, a reminder of how vastly Oliver's life differs from your own.

"I was lucky in a lot of ways," is all you can think to say. Felix starts playing guitar again.

These long days turn into long nights, parties, girls and boys and everyone in between, hazy chats and drinking games and hands on you - holding you, dancing with you, brushing past, tapping with excitement, always hands on you. The quiet way Oliver goes through these strange situations may be read as awkward to everyone else, but you're no longer under any such illusions.

"You're desperate to feel needed."

There was no hesitation in his voice the other night, his hands on you, his mouth on you.

"Then need me, want me."

How easily he'd made you flustered in the club, you didn't realise he had it in him. Honestly if you hadn't experienced it yourself, you wouldn't believe it if someone else had told you. There's been a change, however, a subtle, unnoticeable one to anyone looking in from the outside. Every so often, on nights out, you'll catch him watching you with that same hungry look in his eyes, but will never act on it, however much you wish he would.

"I do, but not like this, not now."

What the fuck was he playing at? You never knew how to bring it up, even when you were alone together. But he never stopped reached out for you, he never shied away from your touch. Apart from this one thing, it was the exact same as before.

If only that one thing didn't have the potential to change everything.

"Has Ollie seemed any different to you lately?" You go to the only person you know you can trust with this. Felix frowns at his hand of cards for a long moment before looking back up at you.

"Sorry, what was the question?"

"Ollie," you go a little slower, rearranging your own hand of cards, "does he seem... I don't know, different to you?" Then, as Felix was considering, "got any fives?"

"Go fish." You should both be studying for an upcoming exam.

"What do you mean? Has anyone said anything to you?" Felix momentarily put down his cards to relight his cigarette, fixing you with an intense gaze, "did something happen?"

"Did someone say something to you?" You pivot for the moment, still looking at your cards.

"Annabel."

"Annabel?"

"About her birthday thing."

"Are you taking your turn or what?"

"Oh, right," he's still frowning, picking up his cards with his free hand, "threes?" You swear as you hand over two threes, as he quietly cheers.

"Anyways, what about Annabel's birthday thing? Does she has a problem with Ollie?" At your question, Felix ums and ahs, and avoids eye contact, "yes then?"

"No-one else in the group is a huge fan of him," he even sounds guilty admitting it out loud, "everyone else can kind of feel how out of place he is and it makes things awkward. I know we think he's lovely," Felix tried to quickly placate you, or perhaps his own conscience, "but the man's got zero chat." This does, however, make you snort.

"Ollie's got chat," you smirk down at your cards, only realising what you'd said when you're met with a shocked silence. Looking up, Felix is staring at you with utter surprise.

"Does he now?" He sounds downright scandalised. You can feel yourself growing flustered, both under Felix's delighted, intrigued gaze, and at your own memories from the club, "so something did happen?"

"Nothing happened!"

"Something definitely happened!"

"I didn't fuck him."

"Between nothing and fucking there's a whole lot of somethings that could have happened," card game completely forgotten, Felix is enraptured as you begin to briefly explain the interaction at the club -

"- and well then, he starts calling me out while aggressively making out with me," you take a deep, final breath, finally looking Felix in the eyes, "and I desperately wanted to fuck him because of it." You sigh, and give Felix plenty of time to process the story and recover.

"But you didn't?" Finally, he speaks, and you groaned, throwing your head back to look at the stars.

"No," you sulked, "he disappeared into the crowd and I had to get myself off twice before I could sleep that night. Fucking tease," but you're heart's not really mad at Oliver.

"Always fascinated to learn what turns you on," Felix is desperately trying to hold in his laughter. It's not working, "many of them baffle me."

"That's not the point here, Fi," you rolled your eyes, leaning back against the gravel roof finally, laying back. You hear the pebbles shifting, and moments later Felix joins you, hands behind his head, "I don't know how to talk about it with him," you say softly. Then, tone much lighter, "and it doesn't surprise me that Annabel thinks he has no chat, he just doesn't want to fuck her, and she can't fathom a world where anyone doesn't want her."

Felix laughs, but unfortunately isn't able to offer any real advice to you about your Oliver situation.

Oliver Quick was an anomaly in your life, you should maybe have suspected his friendship to bring on further anomalous occurrences.

"Leave Oliver Quick alone," like the voice in the library that greets you harshly whilst you're hunting down a textbook. Spinning to see who it is, you lay eyes on a blonde man in dreadfully practical clothes; he's glaring at you like you've done him some personal offense.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he says sharply, gaze as unwavering as his tone, "you vapid -" he stops himself for a moment, face turning red with anger, "pricks," he settles on, "leave Oliver Quick alone, for his sake."

"Is this a joke?"

"Oh I'm not one for jokes, especially not with the likes of you; I know how you and Mister Catton operate. Selfish," he hissed.

"Do I know you?" Its genuine confusion, and for a moment the man's expression turned annoyed, his righteous indignation turning to faint disappointment as you refused to take him and his request seriously.

"Michael," like it should mean something to you, "Michael Gavey;" still nothing, "I was in the year below you at high school for four years."

"Well, Michael," you start slowly, bordering on condescending, "Ollie's a big boy -"

"I know you; you'll get bored, you two always do," Michael cuts you off with a sneer, some of that anger from just earlier returning, "he deserves more than to be a footnote in your frivolous little lives."

"Fuck off, Mikey." You say it as a warning.

"Michael," he corrects through gritted teeth, "Felix is a slag, which makes you the sensible one, so I thought you'd actually listen -" but the realisation hits you, right as you start to see red.

"You've already tried talking to Ollie," immediately, your tone ices over, humourless, cruel little smile twisting the edges of your lips. Noticing your change in demeanour, the fight seems to drain out of Michael before your very eyes, "and he ignored you, didn't he?" You asked, already knowing the answer from the way he was trying to stammer through an answer.

"Now, Michael," you tell him with a poisonous smile, taking even, measured steps towards him, as you turn his name over on your tongue with as much malice as you can manage, "Michael Gavey, I think I do know you," you're playing with your food, drawing out his discomfort with every slow word; you weren't cruel by nature, not unless someone found which button to press, "first year," you drop your voice low as you get into his space. He starts to shrink backwards, but you're practically on his toes until you're crowding him against the bookshelf, "math genius, shouts in the dining hall -"

"I didn't- just once-"

"If you ever," there's a furious look in your eyes behind your sinister smile as you stand toe-to-toe with Michael, "and I mean fucking ever, breathe the word slag in Felix's direction, or any other insult for that matter," you wet your lips, "I promise the only job you will ever get for the rest of your life will be that of a high school English tutor," you pet his cheek condescendingly, "for students with dyscalculia."

Michael actually shudders.

"You know I can do it too, don't you?" You press, and he nods, looking both furious and ashamed where he can't look you in the eyes, "we went to high school together, Mikey, I know where you came from, I can dictate where you will go." Stepping back, you clear your throat. Nodding to him, you turn on your heel to head further into the library, to continue searching for your book.

Trying to move past it doesn't work, it still irks you, you still can't stop thinking about his weaselly little face, the bitter sneer he wore, and the cruelty with which he spoke about you and Felix. It haunts you. The audacity.

Textbook in hand, you immediately head for the patch of greenery and trees near Oliver's dorm, where you know Felix and the rest of your friends will all be spending their afternoon.

"Ooh~ Y/N coming in hot," Farleigh called, spotting the metaphorical cloud of thunder above you before anyone else.

"What are you doing now?" Ignoring everyone else, you only have eyes for Felix. He grins up at you from where he was using Farleigh's thigh as a pillow.

"I assume whatever it is you're about to ask of me," he says blithely, while the others watch the interaction with amusement.

"I need to rant," was all you said, and Felix held out his hand for you to help him up.

"You're so sexy when you're angry," he says teasingly for the whole group to hear, "has anyone ever told you that?"

"I'm not kidding," you scowl, and his grin widens.

"I know, that's the best part, I could listen to you yell for hours, I usually never get to hear it." The banter continues on the way back to your dorm. The others know it's probably a cover, though none of them, apart from Farleigh of course, know the truth. Most assume you're moments from a breakdown and would like to have your best friend there for support.

The minute you're back in your room, you slam the door shut and toss the textbook to the side. Felix asks you what's wrong, tone still light, and you can feel that protective anger flaring up in you.

Slag.

"If you don't hold me back I might start getting into scraps," you tells him with seriousness, stalking up to him with intent, planting an almost bruising kiss on his lips as you fumble with the buttons of your shirt. It's not often that you're the one getting riled up; Felix is more than enthusiastic.

"Don't fight on my behalf," he laughs, frantically pulling off his sweater. Pausing for a moment to help him with the pullover, the minute it's off and tossed to the side, you're unbuttoning his shirt with one hand as best your able, as he's trying to tug your shirt off in the chaos. The two of you are moving to the bed, and he actually gasps when the back of his legs hit, when you take a beat to raise your eyebrows at him, silently asking permission.

He's already letting himself fall back with a wicked, delighted grin as your hand finds his bare chest.

Then he's breathless, with you braced over him, gazing down at him with a furious determination that you don't usually allow yourself to build up. Felix looks up at you with pure extasy in his eyes, like you hang the stars in the sky. His hands on your ass, his grip is firm and secure, but he doesn't move; he's letting you lead.

"Felix Catton, I ruin lives for you," you practically snarl; a breathy laugh escapes him, caught up in the moment, in the mood that's been building within you, "doesn't feel like enough sometimes -"

"You're so fucking hot," he groans like he can't even help himself, can't hold himself back, can't help but close the gap to your lips, kissing you with that same intensity you're giving him.

"If I hear-" you punctuate your words with rough kisses, "another word-" biting at his lips, "against you, I'm -" fumbling with his belt, "I'm gonna start cutting people -"

"Yeah?" Felix prompts breathlessly with a sharp grin, not even waiting to get your fly all the way down before his hand is in your pants, fingers at an awkward angle in your jeans but still finding your clit. It's like you're feeling everything tenfold with the earlier outrage still burning in your veins -

Vapid pricks. The likes of you. Slag. Watching Felix's hands on the girl in the club. The venom in his voice and fury in his eyes when he'd pinned Farleigh to the wall to defend you - Our Felix; Oliver's voice like honey in your ears, tempting that jealous creature in your chest that you'd gone for years ignoring -

"My Felix," you'd purred as your hand found his cock. For a moment, his breath came out as a stutter, eyes going wide as they meets yours. He looks almost incredulous, then, after a moment, hungry, wanting. It's captivating; he's captivating, like he's desperate to devour every part of this moment and you in it, barely holding himself back.

"One more time for me?" He requests, voice low and pleased, before he changes tactics, indicating for both of you to actually take off your pants.

"Everyone's fucking wrong about you," you tell him, kicking your jeans to the side, watching for a moment as he shimmies with his jeans, looking like he's made of ninety percent limbs. Still, your intensity holds.

"Even the people that like me?" Felix laughs, finally getting himself free of the jeans. Before he can remove his boxers, however, you're on him once more, thumbs hooking into the waistband and pulling them down slowly as you speak.

"Everyone else has these versions of you in their head," you begin to plant kisses along his inner thigh as you work your way up, looking up at him through your lashes, "where you're either an angel who can do no wrong," Felix is already hard when you begin to slowly work your hand up and down the shaft of his cock, "or the absolute devil who's a scourge on the female population," your lip curls for a moment, a derisive kind of amusement at their imagined expense.

"I can't look at you right now," he half chokes out, head falling back against your duvet, "fuck," he gasps. It's enough to bring you back to the moment, and you apologise -

"No, fuck, don't stop anything; the ranting, the -" he gestures to where your movements had slowed briefly, "any of it, I just literally," he laughs a little awkwardly, almost a little self-deprecatingly, "will not last more than a minute if I look at you right now."

Oh.

Oh! This is good!

"What's so different," he prompts through shaky breathes - you can't quite believe how much he's effected by you in this moment, how enthusiastically, how desperately he responds to your dominant intensity - "about the version of me in your head?"

After a beat, you climb off of him, already reaching for your drawer.

"Everything okay?" He asks, eyes opening as he tilts his head to look at you. Pulling out a tube of lube, you focus on opening it up, rather than Felix himself. You should be using protection, you know you should be using protection, but you want to feel all of him, only him.

"I can't talk with my mouth full," you told him, still maintaining that steely intensity, "so we're skipping foreplay." Felix, immediately understanding where you were going with all this, looks back up at the ceiling with a wide smile.

"Fine by me; right now I'm inclined to say that you can do whatever you want forever, honestly - cold!" He announced with shock, jerking up a little as you glided a generous amount of lubricant over his cock. There's a faint look of betray in his eyes, but you just gave him a thin, mean smile.

"Felix, stop talking."

The commanding tone is enough to get him back on board, groaning, arching into your touch as you once again were working his shaft, now so slick your hand glided easily up and down the impressive length.

"My Felix," voice once again low, you use some of the excess lubricant on yourself. Since leaving the library, however, your anger had known it's outlet; just the idea of fucking Felix in a righteous fury had gotten you going, and you were already wet, wanting, desperate for him.

"Don't make me beg," he all but whimpered as you finally straddled his thighs, "fuck, I'll do it for you, but -"

"Shut. Up. Felix." You leaned down, chest pressed to his lips inches from his, whispering, "I won't make you beg," as you sink down onto his cock, swallowing his moan with a kiss.

"I am under no illusions about you, Felix," you begin to murmur, hips rolling at a deep, consistent rhythm, "I don't have a version of you in my head, I just have you; I just want you, as you are."

Pace picking up, you sit, rake your nails lightly down his chest, watch as he pants and groans beneath you. When he holds your hips, your thighs, you can feels his nails digging in, burying himself deep inside of you with each rhythmic thrust. There's something primal and triumphant roaring in your chest, pushing you to sink your nails into him, your teeth -

"I don't care who you fuck," you tell him through gritted teeth, picking up your pace, thighs burning.

"You're a fucking liar," tumbles from Felix's lips as he looks up at you with a smirk.

"I don't, I'd be a hypocrite -" very suddenly, Felix sits up, and you go still with him still inside of you, adjusting to the change, wrapping your legs around him.

"Then you're a hypocrite," he smirks, gaze hazy, heady, euphoric in this moment, "and a liar," and he wraps his arms around you as he kisses you, pulling you back with him as he lays back down on the bed.

"I'm not jealous," you start again, softer this time, but still aiming for stern.

"I'll say I believe you," there's mischief in Felix's eyes as his hand snakes between the two of you, fingers rubbing circles against your clit as you pick your rhythm back up again, slower this time.

"Fi," for the first time all afternoon, your voice softens, and you let your stern demeanour break, instead looking over him, glowing with sweat and endorphins, in your bed, in you, looking up at you with nothing but love in his eyes, "I don't care if nobody knows it's me, but -" you wet your lips, wicked little smile on your lips, "I want everyone else you ever fuck to be jealous of the way you let me fuck you."

Something about your words, your request, perhaps your tone, sets him off again; you rake your nails lightly down his chest again and he arches up, swearing, almost breathless.

"Yes, fuck, yes," comes out alongside a breathless moan, "my Y/N, anything you want - please."

You paint him blue and purple and the deepest, prettiest red with hickeys, leaving him looking absolutely scandalous. Of course he returns the favour in the form of scratch marks up your back and his teeth almost drawing blood from your shoulder. When he comes it's with your mouth on his neck and his cock deep inside of you, holding you close, holding you steady, whispering incoherent praise into your ear. Always diligent, he doesn't move, doesn't pull out or away from you before his focus is on you, making sure you get off, delighting in watching you unravel on top of him.

In the afterglow, amid the sharing of a cigarette and catching of your breath, you apologise softly.

"What are you apologising for?" He immediately cracks a grin, "in fact, any time you ever start to get all worked up and mean like that, have me on speed dial -"

"I - no, Fi," you sighed, amused at his suggestion, though it was fading fast, "I just... try not to be jealous," there's faint notes of guilt now that you've come down from the adrenaline and endorphins of it all. Sitting against the headboard, you draw your knees up to your chest.

"I know," Felix says easily, sitting up beside you, resting his head against your shoulder, his hand on your knee, "I try too... I don't think I'm always that great at hiding it." Then, after a moment, his tone lightens, "I think this is why I don't want to tell people about us, I don't think I could begin to explain it in a way that makes sense." It gets you to laugh, leaning into him, tension and guilt easing.

"I thought it was the rush of sneaking around and lying to people."

"There's that too," he agreed with a chuckle. The two of you fall into easy silence as he takes a drag on the cigarette and hands it over. The afternoon is sticky-hot, especially in your room, curtains still half open but window shut. As you go to open it, not caring about potential onlookers in the twilight, past the sliver of your curtain, Felix speaks up.

"There's no version of me in your head? Not even a little bit rose-coloured-glasses tinted?" He grins at you, and you lay out on the bed, looking up at him through your lashes. After a moment of simply taking the moment in, you shake your head with a soft smile.

"I told you, I'm under no illusions about you, Fi."

"I think you're too good to me for that to be true."

"I want you as you are, dude," you shrug, as if it's the easiest truth in the world.

"As I am?" He wants to be sceptical but his tone and the look in his eyes betrays him. You've never heard him quite so soft you think, eyes wide and glassy and full of conflict and love; everyone wants him, everyone loves him, everyone wants to be him or be with him, he's reckoned with his reality a long time ago, even if he wasn't entirely conscious of it. Felix's life had been picked apart by everyone around him at the surface level for as long as he could remember, perhaps he'd thought that no-one would ever care to look deeper. Perhaps he'd gotten so used to it that he'd forgotten there was anything deeper.

"I want the Felix who can't keep a girlfriend for more than two months, and who's cheated on every single one of them with me," you start, wearing a grin despite his sudden frown, "I want the Felix who hugs and kisses strangers after just meeting them because he's bursting at the seams with affection, I want the Felix who won't admit that he sleeps better with someone next to him at night, and the Felix who recaps the books he's been reading to me like they're gossip. The Felix who uses people, and breaks hearts, who says he doesn't know he's doing it but I know you do," you laugh, sitting up on your knees and letting the blankets slide down your back as Felix looks up at you now with a fond kind of reverence, "I want the Felix that lights up every room he's in without even trying, who makes everyone around him feel like they're the only person in the world, and that same Felix who still shifts over, mid conversation with someone else, for me to sit down beside him without having to even ask, because you know we'll always come back to each other," you lean down, lips inches from his, burning intensity in your gaze as you take in the reverence in his eyes, "the Fi who fights for me, the Fi who loves that I'd ruin lives for him, my Felix -" You see the moment he can no longer hold himself back, arcing forward, moving from the headboard to be by you, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. For a long moment it's your mouth fitting perfectly against his, faint, desperate groan being pulled from the back of his throat as he takes your face in his hands, firm, warm, wanting, deepening the kiss.

"Some of those things were pretty shit," he laughed a little self consciously after the kiss breaks, both of you breathing heavy. In his eyes you can see the barest hint of conflict.

"People have said worse."

"And you got them expelled," he reminded with a faint smile, but again there's that conflict, "and they aren't you."

"You're my best mate," you laugh easily, "that shit, the good and the less good, makes you my Felix. Be pretty shit of me to want to chop and change who you are, you know?"

For a very long moment, you watch the way he slowly begins to smile, to take all your saying in drinking in this sun-drenched moment. Reaching out, he carefully touches your cheek.

"Say it again then," he prompts, sounding almost giddy, feather-light touches as if mapping your delicate features in this moment. For a brief second you're confused, barely angling your head to indicate as such before you can see his faint blush beneath his golden skin, creeping up his cheeks. When he laughs, almost self conscious, you realise, and grin back.

"You're a sap."

"Don't make me beg."

"My Felix."

[cvntroach5000]

Underneath it all, we're just savages

author's note: i dont know what the fuck is happening in the trailer, but thats okay. i have ideas and those ideas dont need this context, they just need to entertain me and i hope they can entertain you as well. nexos is not the actual name of the place and i dont like the codenames used for the lis in the event, so ill just be making shit up. do not take anything i say at face value, this is a self-indulgent space. also this is more of a preview than a whole fic, so please send feedback if you'd be interested to read more!

based on the new tommorows catch-22 trailer, written with the event outfit in mind, no use of y/n, reader has the command evol, if you feel like im referencing something no you do not

i think command evol reader is going to become a recurring thing on this blog, so stay tuned for more of that ig

pairing: sylus x reader (implied LaDS men x reader)

content warning: imprisonment, power imbalance, mind control, depiction of fictional mental ailments, descriptions of bodily discomfort

Becoming head warden of the Nexos Prison was not something you did out of ambition. It wasn't some kind of dream-come-true, a job and position you yearned to seize. It didn't make you feel fulfilled, it didn't bring you happiness nor satisfaction. It did ensure you had a roof over your head and food to fill your stomach, basic needs you suppose you were grateful to have taken care of.

But the reason you were here, overseeing the most dangerous wards and the most rabid prisoners was because they were yours. Madness tried to take them from you, so you followed them to the place where insanity rules to reclaim them. Once you'd succeeded, you'd leave this wretched place and take your prizes with you.

Six wards, six sectors in each. The sixth sector of every ward was your territory. Unless explicitly asked, other wardens steered clear of those places. Not that they were forbidden entry, but rather it was wise of them to stay away if they valued their lives. In each sixth sector was a lion's den, containing a single ferocious beast. People infected with insanity, distorted into abominations in body and mind.

You don't work on Sundays. This is a prison, not Hell, even if the lines seem to blur sometimes. The remaining six days, you make rounds through the wards, interrogating the predators residing in your sectors. As the number goes up, so does the level of contamination. The first one is quite sound of mind, even if his body acts out. The sixth one is wholly feral, lashing out physically and verbally, itching to tear everything near him to shreds. But it's okay, it's not like you play favorites with your charges. They are all precious in their own ways and working with them gives you purpose. The only gratification from this cursed fucking job.

Today, you're going to the Sixth Ward.

...Perhaps you do play favorites, after all.

The prison is a labyrinth, massive and intricate. Everything is made with enforced steel from Deepspace. It's cold and harsh, giving the place as little comforting energy as possible. You swear, if those who are sent here were not mad already, they'd be driven mad by the dreadful atmosphere. Nobody gives a shit to put up some pastel colored wallpaper or even a little photo of a sloth that says 'Hang in there'. Though natural light is scarce in the desolate wasteland beyond the prison gates, Nexos goes above and beyond to snuff it out and enshroud the whole facility in complete darkness. Some hallways are lit so poorly, the staff carry around lanterns to be able to navigate through them.

It only takes two hours of elavator rides, weaving through the dark halls and passing through security to arrive at your destination of the day. You climbed the chain of command so fervently when you first arrived here. You used to be nervous and unsure, worried you might mess up at your tasks. Anxious and insecure, struggling to communicate with the other staff. Now you barely notice the guards cowering and scattering as you pass by. You don't even feel a rush of adrenaline as you finally make your way to the gate to the Sixth Sector.

As the doors slide open, a long corridor comes into view. Even from the entrance you can feel the stiffling energy crackling from the cell at the end of the hallway. It's disorganised and weak, as if the air itself is calling out for help. You let slow, long steps guide you down this path you've walked hundreds of times before.

There he is.

You catch a glimpse of the shock of white hair in the darkness, an imposing figure leaning against the jailbars. Even sitting down and slouching, his hulking body looks massive. He doesn't react to the sound of your footsteps. You've made no effort to conceal your presence, yet he doesn't seem to notice you up until you are directly behind him.

His hand slams into the bars, snapping back in a sudden burst of instinct. He almost seems surprised to see you—he really didn't register your presence until now. Still, he lets out a low, breathy laugh. You can see his fangs gleaming in the faint light as he grins mischievously. His gaze seems shrouded by a dark cloud, pupils practically gleaming as they erractically scan over you.

"Well, hello there, dear supervisor. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" There's bite to his tone, yet he doesn't sound entirely sarcastic either.

You adjust your gloves and review the toolbox you have prepared outside his containment cell.

"Hello. I'm here for your routine interrogation." You announce robotically, as per protocol, "Do you know who I am?"

The prisoner exhales through his nose as though offended by your question. But he takes a moment to observe your face before slowly admitting,

"No. Should I?"

The furrow of his brow softens and he seems to genuinely rack his brain for an answer. He means to tease you, imply you're a nobody that he'd have no way of knowing. And yet he studies you carefully, searching your uniform for some kind of identifier; a name tag, ideally. Though there seems to be a thin metal plate over your right breast, he doesn't spy any words engraved in it.

"Noted." You finish preparing your tool box, setting it just outside the door of the cell.

"I will now be entering your cell. Stand in the middle of the room and raise your arms, please." You instruct him.

He snaps his teeth at you in defiance, but complies, positioning himself as you asked. A special set of chains snakes down from the ceiling, coiling around his wrists and pulling him upwards. He hisses as the links in the chain bite into his skin and he is hoisted high enough that even with his height, he's forced to stand up on his tip-toes.

You lift your hand up to the scanner on the door, activating the security lock. After authorising your identity through the biometric scanner, the bars of the door slide to the side. You leave your toolbox outside for now, slowly entering the beast's cage.

It is dreadfully barren, a single chair stationed in the corner and a pathetic, thin little mattress lying directly on the cold floor. Unfortunately, there wasn't much else that could be provided to predators of his level. They were so stripped of their senses, they barely registered the discomfort they lived in. Always pacing around like starving lions, they were restless. They didn't sleep, they simply collapsed from exhausion once the contamination couldn't force them to stay alert anymore. And they recovered fast, prowling in their cells again as soon as an hour later.

You hum in acknowledgement, stepping forward to inspect your charge. There's a few fresh bruises on him, some a ghoulish shade of purple. A couple of small scratches and one open cut. You suspect he'll heal up soon and create more wounds to replace the old ones. None of them ever had the same injuries two visits in a row. Still, this was a pretty tame entry on his record.

After circling around him, you are quite satisfied with your findings. You look at his face to find him staring back at you, analysing you with intensity to match yours. His eyes trail over the items lined at your belt; a whip, a pistol and a baton. You take the whip from its strap, caressing the leather as you do.

"Heh, I see you came here to play. Plan on beating the disobedience out of me?" He taunts you, but the crazed look in his eye tells you he's almost excited by the prospect.

You huff increduously, "My weapons are tools of self-defense."

He lets out a humorless laugh, "There is no such thing as a weapon for self-defense, sweetie. Weapons are always made with the intent to hurt, to maim. You cannot enforce peace."

You swiftly crack the whip, using it to seize the chair in the corner by one of its legs. You pull it towards yourself, halting its acceleration with your foot. You turn it to face the prisoner and sit down, crossing your legs. You like putting on little shows like this for him. They are wholly eccentric and unnecessary, but often, they help loosening a stuck cog in his brain. Something to work with later on, as you continue your routine interrogation.

"You know, you used to tell me that your body is a weapon. What about your body then? Does it, too, only know to hurt and to maim?"

He seems a little taken aback, but shakes it off quickly. He snarls, gnashing his teeth at you like a wild beast.

You sigh. You snap your fingers and the chains holding him up to the ceiling clatter to the ground. He grunts in surprise as his heels touch the ground. He rubs his sore wrists, red eyes raking over you in intrigue.

"Aren't you arrogant, letting your prey loose like that." He scoffs.

He's trying to figure out if you're stupid or if you've got an ace up your sleeve.

"Sylus."

His ears perk up at the sound of his name, so foreign yet so familiar. Nowadays, it means nothing to him. He can't even recall it himself. And yet, your voice and that name resonate with a primal part of his soul, buried under the layers of madness and contamination.

"Who—"

"Sit."

His brain barely registers the command before his body acts on it. His knees give out and he falls to the ground. It's like his nerves are on fire. More than a prisoner of this cell, he now feels imprisoned in his own body. Like a spirit, tethered to a hollow, useless shell. He can barely form thoughts as his entire being responds only to you and your instruction.

"What... Did you..."

"It's my Evol. Everyone obeys me, whether they want to or not. You are no exception."

Sylus's mind is racing a million miles per minute, yet it feels completely standstill at the same time. He's trying to comprehend this power, gauge its limits, figure out its weaknesses. Pinpoint the loophole he can exploit to escape your grasp. Through the haze over his mind, he registers how your eyes have a knowing glint in them. Like you know exactly what he's thinking, like he's an open book to you.

Can you—

"I cannot read minds, no." You clarify before he can even attempt to voice the question.

He notices the whip is gone from your hands. Instead, you play with the baton, inspecting it as you ponder your prey.

"You must be thinking 'There has to be a weakness I can use to break free'. You always loved testing the limits of my ability."

You're answering his questions, yet your words leave him more confused than before. Always? When did he ever see you use your Evol? When has he strategised with it in mind?

A sensation like an electric current runs violently through his body, making his brain tingle as though it's going to pop. It hurts to think, yet he can almost taste all the answers he seeks. They are like blood on his tongue, reeking of iron.

He strains his neck to look you in the eyes.

Your gaze is so empty, as though you are looking through him. Miles into the distance at versions of him he can't recall.

"What if I told you..."

There's a buzzing in his ears, growing louder by the second.

"That we've had this exact conversation hundreds of times before?"

The buzzing halts to a complete silence. And the prisoner slumps to the floor, unconscious.

You stare at his limp body for a moment. Then, you get out of your chair and pull up your notepad.

Another failure.

Tommorow, you're circling back to the first ward. Let's see if there's going to be any progress there.

As you fill out your report, you hear the faint sound of wind rushing through the corridor. Of course, there is no wind in Nexos Prison. Cawing echoes through the cramped space and a single mechanical crow flies into the open jail cell.

Mephisto perches on your shoulder, peering at the tablet in your hands. Then, his eyes shift over to the unconscious, white-haired man on the floor. He lets out a soft caw, flicking his metal wings. Absentmindedly, you reach up to scritch his head, even if the robotic bird can't really feel anything, only simulate the joy of being pet.

"Don't worry, Mephie. He'll return to us."

[olderthannetfic]

Unofficial poll time!

People who read fanfic for fandoms they're not in, what's your primary reason/most common reason? (For argument's sake, by "fandom you're not in" i mean a source material you know little to nothing about, rather than something you're a fan of but you're just in any fan communities for it.)

has a kink/trope i like and i am reading exclusively for that, plot be damned

was written by an author who i'm a fan of from other fandoms, and who i know is great. The author in question is someone who i DONT know personally, I just want to support them.

was written by a friend or mutual who I'm already close to. The author in question is somehow who i DO know personally, thus why i want to support them.

the plot just seems interesting and i'm genuinely reading for the plot itself i.e. not just a kink or trope, those are just bonuses along the way.

i want to get into the fandom, and i am using the fanfic as a vessel to motivate myself to do so

it's adjacent to a fandom that i AM in (whether due to fandom overlap, was written by the same screenwriter etc, has a similar plot, etc)

something else?

mine is primarily 1 or 4, though i've been known to do all of the above and more (hey i sorta rhymed)! Occasionally I do 5, but usually as an "add-on" to the other reasons. Meaning if I really want to get into a fandom and I choose to start with fic rather than the source material, I'll start off reading a fic with an interesting plot/kink/tags, and/or a fic by someone who I know from other fandoms.

This is so #edgy but when I was like 12, 13, I was SUPER in to whump, primarily through the vessel of Star Wars characters. My main fixation was mostly stigmatized mental illness stuff - SH, eating disorders, suicide, addiction, etc. This somehow led to me reading pretty much ANY fiction - fan or otherwise - involving that topic, and that's actually how I got into what is still my main fandom today! It's crazy to think that I wouldn't have all these friends, memories, and projects had I not decided to pull up a InuYasha psych ward fic on fanfiction.net lol.

--

[rock-omelette]

Started reading Family Loading...please wait and. Well as an aside it is one of the sweetest, well written pieces on not only the Wachowskis as a family but also its exploration of family dynamics, trauma, growth and platonic bonding wrapped in such perfect dialogue and characterization its basically canon now. In my head.

I did just get to their Shadow+Stone pieces and...I think it occurred to me that my vision for the kind of family the Robotniks are different or maybe slightly incomprehensible to others. Like, sure, they're a lot evil and a little mean, not to mention a lot emotionally stilted--nothing healthy or normal like the Wachowskis--they still love each other, and they're happy with each other.

Like. Ok, I can't imagine Ivo seeing Shadow as like. A son. That guy is a cousin slash ward figure for Ivo. At BEST. And vice versa Shadow might view Ivo as a guardian, but not a father. He HAD a weird dad figure. It was Gerald. And we all know how fucked up THAT relationship was. As with all abuse stories though; it wasn't all bad. There's a lot of luggage I think, when it comes down to Ivo and Shadow's relationship, but I do think they view each other as family, which we all know is a VERY influential sentiment in the Robotnik clan.

And Ivo DOES care. His care looks... Different, than most, but only because he shuns his own humanity and social relationships so strongly in the earlier stages of his life--not to mention the niggling, well justified paranoia--but that doesn't make it worth less. Like, he CLEARLY loves Stone, however one labels that relationship. And he loves Shadow, loves his robots. He shows it by keeping track of their vitals and location at all times, eschewing privacy (again, something Stone and Shadow are well aware and used to giving up for one reason or another). He keeps track of their needs and preferences, whether or not he chooses to abide by them or steamroll them over his own. And his protectiveness and concern might strike out as more territorial possessiveness than nothing else. And that's love too.

That's what that family looks like to me. A retired mad doctor and his lover, and their weird son ward cousin situation. I know for a fact that Ivo would design a bulletproof fireproof powerproof leather jacket with his own logo and ANOTHER bike for Shadow's sole sake at one point, and he won't even be entirely sure why. It doesn't even occur to him to think why he shouldn't. They dont have a white picket fence or a dog and Shadow might not go to school. Who cares? That's still a family.

That's a family, to me.

[cup1drul3z]

★ — Between the lines - part 2

A/N ; okay im gonna warn you guys for this chapter, my writing it very diffrent then the last. i spent 2 days on it and the previous chapter i wrote when i was...stoned

CW ; angst - mentions of; alcohol, drugs, self harm (not this chapter) - modern au - melvika - love triangle

previous part part 1 rewritten

All week. All week sevika has been…bearable. To say the least, she's stopped making herself obstacle, Stopped making out with people in front of your locker, pretending you're not standing right there telling her to move. Mr wilson didn't move your seats, even after vi and sevika beat the shit out of each other

You've noticed sevika doesn't really have patience, she just goes into things with no sketch and no preparation. Then gets frustrated when it doesn't look like what she imagined. Mr wilson has asked you to help her in response to this 

“No sketch first then start painting” And, as if helping her wasn’t enough punishment, you found yourself agreeing to meet her in the art room during lunch The faint smell of paint and turpentine making sevikas head hurl “seriously? It's a child's craft. Why do i need a sketch for something we learned in..elementary school” 

You rubbed your temples, trying to ward off the headache that Sevika’s attitude was bound to cause. She could tell you were about to walk out so she rolls her eyes and picks up the pencil. Your eyes widen a bit, she actually listened to you? You smirk and as if she could read your mind “im not listening to you..just dont want to fail” sevika grumbled 

Her eyes linger on your face, the pencil hovering just above the page as if she forgot what she was doing. You pretended not to notice. “I assume you have an idea of what you want it to look like” you say softly. “An idea…” she repeats. Sevika hesitates before starting the sketch, her usual confidence faltering for a moment. It’s small, but it hints at a deeper side of her. Seeing her actually trying is kinda cute. “You need to work on this” you point to the lobby hill she drew

“this is kid stuff, why do i need a sketch” sevika whined. As much as she hated drawing, there was something somewhat likeable too it. “Because right now, this looks like something I’d put on my fridge when I was five.” you say tilting your head, making eye contact with her. She has an amused look on her face “bunny has teeth, make sure to warn your girlfriend about that” she teases

Your stomach drops a bit. “For the last time she isnt-” you pause when idea pops into your head “what if she was?”

 you smirk Sevika’s amused smirk faltered, her eyebrows knitting together in a mix of confusion and something else—was it unease? “You’re messing with me,” she said, her voice low and measured. But her eyes betrayed her, darting quickly to your face and then away.

“Am I?” you leaned closer, your smirk widening as you crossed your arms. “Maybe I’m just trying to make you squirm.” You could tell your words were getting under her skin; the subtle twitch of her jaw gave it away.

Her pencil paused mid-stroke, hovering above the paper. “You’re not serious.” She said it like a statement, but there was the faintest hint of doubt in her tone.

You leaned back in your chair, still smirking. "What if I was?" you teased, your voice light, though your heart was racing. It wasn't as if you didn't find Sevika attractive-who wouldn't?-but a part of you only wanted to see how far you could push her.

She set the pencil down and turned toward you fully, her expression unreadable. Her dark eyes scanned your face, like she was searching for any sign that you might be joking. "I don't think you could handle someone like me," she said finally, leaning back in her chair with a cocky grin, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her.

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow, leaning forward this time. "Is that a challenge?"

She snorted, though her voice was quieter now, as if she was suddenly unsure of herself. "It's not a challenge. I'm just saying, you and Vi are a better fit or…whatever."

You leaned your head to the side, fascinated by the drumming of her fingers on the edge of the desk. "You keep bringing her up," you said, voice softer now as the teasing fell away. "Why?"

Sevika tensed up slightly, and for the first time, she seemed genuinely caught off guard. "I don't— " she started, but her voice trailed off. Her gaze fell to the sketch in front of her, like she was focusing on anything but you. "I guess she's always around you, that's all."

You didn't miss that her hand clenched into a fist for one brief second before she picked up the pencil again. The atmosphere suddenly felt heavier between you, almost charged with something. "You know," you said with a slow deliberation, resting your elbow on the desk, "if I didn't know better, I would think you are jealous.

Her pencil stopped midway and her head jerked up; her eyes slitted. "Jealous?" she scoffed, heavy on the disbelief. "Don't flatter yourself."

You grinned, though inside, the pulse in your neck quickened. "You don't deny it, though.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. That playful energy turned into something else, which neither of you wanted to name just yet. Sevika broke the silence first, grumbling under her breath as she went back to her sketch. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And you're stubborn," you retorted, leaning back toward peeking at her drawing. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've been drawing for years." You stood and snatched up your bag. She eyed the actions. "I really must go. Promised Vi I was gonna help with her painting".

She watches you walk to the door "wait-" she stutters. You turn back around to look at her "hm?" you tilt your head

"Theres this party-" sevika stopped to scoff at herself "tonight. It would be cool if you came." 

"Ill have to think about it." you smirk and turn back around to leave

"Holy shit," Sevika muttered under her breath, letting out a sigh of relief as she rested her head in her hand. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to gather her thoughts. "She's so—"

"Pretty?"

The word cut through the quiet, and Sevika's head shot up. Her eyes landed on a figure leaning casually against the doorframe. "Mel—" Sevika stammered, her voice faltering as her gaze swept over the girl.

Mel raised an eyebrow, pushing herself off the doorframe with an elegance that felt both effortless and deliberate. “Hey…” she said softly, her voice carrying just enough edge to make Sevika tense. She crossed the room in a few steps and slid into the seat next to her, the same seat where you’d been moments earlier.

Sevika’s eyes darted away, focusing intently on her sketchbook. The pencil in her hand felt heavier than it had a moment ago. “Is there a reason you’ve been ignoring my calls all week?” Mel asked, her tone even but pointed.

Sevika closed her eyes briefly, wishing she could escape this conversation altogether. She knew it was coming—it had been inevitable from the moment she stopped responding—but she hadn't expected it to happen now. Not here. Not with you still lingering in the back of her mind.

"Busy," Sevika mumbled, her voice unconvincing. She scribbled something meaningless on the edge of the page, anything to avoid meeting Mel's gaze.

"Busy?" Mel repeated, her lips twisting wryly as she leaned backward, her eyes sliding to the opened sketchbook resting across Sevika's desk. "You don't like me… do you?"

It had sounded sharp and cut clean; out loud, an accusation. Her eyes flickered to the incomplete sketch Sevika had been drawing, as though in hope the lines would tell her what she sought from Sevika's face.

Sevika's hand paused, frozen mid-air. "What?" she said, a note of defensiveness edging her voice, almost surprise.

Mel's gaze didn't budge from the page, following the lines in quiet intensity. "It's a nice sketch," she said, her tone implying that that wasn't at all what the comment was about. "But it's not about me, is it?"

Sevika swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She hated how exposed she felt, like Mel could see right through her. “You’re overthinking it,” she said, her voice gruff, trying to dismiss the weight of the moment.

“Am I?” Mel asked, finally turning her attention back to Sevika. Her dark eyes locked onto hers, unyielding and steady. “Because it feels like you’re avoiding me. Like you’ve already made up your mind and you’re just waiting for me to figure it out.”

Sevika clenched her jaw, gripping the edge of the sketchbook. “It’s not like that.”

Then what is it like, Sevika?" Mel pressed, leaning in an inch or so. Her voice lowered, but underlying was no mistaken frustration. "You can't keep dodging this.

The room was quiet for a moment, save the scratching sound of a pencil on paper. Sevika kept her eyes on the sketch but was focusing on a storm in her head that she tried to keep contained.

 "I don't know what you want me to say," Sevika finally muttered under her breath.

"I want you to be honest," Mel said, leaning back and crossing her arms. Her voice was calm, but the tension between them was palpable. "If you don't feel the same way, just say it. Don't leave me hanging."

Sevika hesitated, a riot of thoughts racing through her mind. She was thinking of you-of the sound of your voice when you spoke to her and how that would linger on even in your absence. She thought of the growing knot within her chest, which got tighter with each look at Mel, realizing she could not give her what she wanted.

Finally, Sevika set the pencil down and breathed out. "I didn't mean for this to happen," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mel tilted her head, her expression softening just slightly. "Didn't mean for what to happen?"

Sevika hesitated, running a hand over her face. "I didn't mean to hurt you," she said finally. "But I… I can't give you what you're looking for.

The admission hung in the air, heavy and raw. Mel stared at her for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded, more to herself than to Sevika.

“Thanks for finally saying it,” Mel said, standing up and brushing off her pants. Her voice was calm, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Guess I’ve got my answer.”

Sevika did not say a word but continued staring at the sketchbook lying on the desk. The soft shuffle of Mel's footsteps across the room to the door, and then the quiet click of it closing behind her, were all she heard.

For a long moment, Sevika just sat there, staring at the lines she'd drawn. The room felt emptier now, the weight of the conversation settling heavily on her shoulders. She let her head fall forward onto the desk with a sigh, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Shit," she muttered to herself.

And for once, the silence didn't feel like a relief—it felt like a reminder.

—

The screen of the phone lit up on her bed, the message staring back at you as if it was taunting you.

"See you soon?"

Sevika… You didn't answer. You hadn't even opened it up, but the notification was there, bold and insistent, like it dared you to make a decision.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the edge of your bed, your fingers gripping the edge of your phone. You unlocked it for the fifth time in the past ten minutes, stared at the message, then locked it again.

"Just go," you muttered under your breath. "It's not a big deal. It's not… anything."

The second the words were out of your mouth, your chest tightened, the lie heavy in the back of your throat. You ran a hand through your hair, letting out a shaky breath as you glanced toward your closet. It loomed in the corner of your room, half-open, with a tangle of clothes spilling out like it was mocking your indecision.

What were you even going to wear? Did it matter?

You get up suddenly, pace a few steps to the closet, and stop short. Your hand hovered over the door, but you hesitate. If you started picking an outfit, it meant you'd already decided to go.

And if you went…

You shook your head, stepping backward. No, it wasn't that deep. It was just a casual thing, not some declaration. Nobody's asking you to make a big deal out of it, so why was your stomach twisting in knots?

"Ugh," you groaned, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes like you could block out your own thoughts.

Man, this was hard. You usually aren't this indecisive. What if it is awkward? What if it is not? What if you just go out and you've got the wrong thing to say? Or worse-what if you went, and it was so damn obvious how much overthinking you've done?

You sat down again on the bed edge, your stare listless to the floor. Maybe you should not go at all. It will be easier like this, isn't it? Just bypass the whole circumstance altogether; it'll keep things plain easy.

"Just go", you hushed again, this time feeling almost as if to plead to yourself.

You sigh and look back toward the closet. Slowly, reluctantly you stood up and pulled the door open. You were going to drive yourself crazy if you didn't just stop thinking about it already.

—

You are greeted by the sprawling house, feeling out of place for the kind of party unfolding inside. The manicured lawn and pristine exterior suggest a bright future for whoever owns the place, but the muffled bass thumping from within and the rowdy voices spilling out into the night tell a different story.

You hesitate at the door, looking back down the street to where your car is parked. The urge to turn and run claws at you, but before you can act on it, you notice the door isn't even closed. It's propped wide open, as if the house itself has given up on decorum.

You steel yourself and step inside. Immediately, the warmth and the noise hit you like a wave of chaos that makes you wonder why you came in. The air is thick with mingling scents of alcohol, sweat, and whatever someone's attempting to pass off as a "vape flavor."

You push through the crowd, ducking and weaving to avoid the elbows and arms of taller bodies that seem oblivious to your presence. At your height, you’re practically invisible unless someone is looking directly at you—or accidentally spills their drink on you.

The fellow with the beer oversloshes his mug on a swooping move too close to your shoes, and you sidestep in time with an apology he never heard amidst all that shouting and laughter, so you forge ahead deeper into this house, every footfall reminding you of how far the current scene feels alien.

The kitchen was somewhat less crowded than the rest of the house, but not by a long shot. The countertops were strewn with empty bottles and red cups; someone had spilled beer on the floor, which made it sticky under your shoes. You grabbed the first drink in sight—a suspiciously bright red punch in a cheap plastic cup.

That was a mistake, the first sip. Chaotic, the taste mixed sour fruit and cheap vodka, burning its way down your throat. You winced and pulled the cup away-like it'd offended you personally.

"That was hilarious," a voice said from behind you, tinged with amusement.

You turned to see a girl leaning casually against the counter, her dark eyes locked on you, her lips curled into a smirk. She held her own cup with the kind of effortless confidence you'd never mastered.

"I don't usually drink," you admitted, setting your cup down like it might bite you.

"I figured," she replied smoothly, pushing off the counter and stepping closer. "First-timer vibes."

You blinked, trying to place her. She was gorgeous in a way that didn’t even seem fair—polished, poised, and wearing an outfit that looked like it had been pulled from the pages of a magazine.

“I’m Mel,” she said, extending her hand like this was a professional networking event rather than a chaotic high school party.

You hesitated for a second before shaking it, mumbling your name in return.

Her smirk widened. "I know who you are."

That threw you off. "You… do?"

"Of course." She shrugged, taking a casual sip of her drink. "You're kind of hard to miss these days."

Your confusion must've been obvious because she tilted her head, elaborating. "You've got two of the school's star hockey players practically falling over themselves for you. That kind of drama doesn't go unnoticed.

You coughed hard, choking in the air and waving a hand before your face. "What?!"

Mel chuckled, set down her cup, and yanked a napkin off the counter to give to you. "Relax," she teased with a lighter tone. "It's not terrible. Just… interesting."

You scrubbed furiously at your mouth, burning under the heat and unsure of a response. "They're not— I mean, no one's—

"Sure," she said, stretching the word out with a knowing glance. "Keep telling yourself that."

She leaned back against the counter, crossing one ankle over the other. Her gaze lingered on you, weighing. "So, what are you doing here?"

"I…" You stopped, suddenly feeling so out of place. "I was invited."

Mel raised an eyebrow; her smirk softened into something closer to curiosity. "By who?"

"Does it matter?" you shot back, more defensive than you intended.

Her grin was back, sharper this time. "Guess not. But by the way you're standing like a deer caught in headlights, I'd say this isn't your scene."

You frowned, crossing your arms. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," she said, leaning closer, her voice dropping just slightly, "you're too interesting for this."

The statement hung there, unexpected and unsettling. Before you could respond, Mel grabbed her cup and straightened up. "See you around," she said casually, brushing past you with a final glance.

You stood frozen, her words playing over in your mind. What did she mean by "interesting"? And why did it feel like she'd seen right through you?

The party around you suddenly seemed louder, the noise pressing in. You reached for your abandoned drink, taking another sip hesitantly. It still tasted awful, but this time you forced it down.

Mel was gone, swallowed up by the crowd, but she'd left something behind-a knot of uncertainty in your chest.

Your name is called out from across the jumbled hum of the party by a familiar voice. You stop mid-sip, the booze still on your tongue. You turn toward the sound, and then you see her-Vi.

Your stomach does the roller coaster flip-and-drop thing. You are shocked; you sputter. You immediately spit out the sip of suspect vodka punch you'd just taken. The burning liquid sprays onto the counter in front of you, earning a few judgmental glances from nearby partygoers.

“Violet!" you stutter, still trying to recover as you wipe the back of your mouth with your hand. A nervous smile stretches across your face as Vi steps closer, hands in her pockets and her signature smirk playing on her lips. "What-what are you doing here?

She raises an eyebrow, seemingly entertained by the flustered look on your face. "I could ask you the same thing," she said, her eyes running across your features before flicking down to the cup in your hand. "You don't really seem like the party type.”

You laugh awkwardly, trying to ignore how her gaze seems to pin you in place. "I'm not," you admit, holding up the cup as if it explains anything. "I just… needed a change of scenery tonight, I guess."

Vi tilts her head, studying you. "A change of scenery, huh? And yet here you are, hiding out in the kitchen, drinking." She looks at your cup with mock suspicion. ".whatever that is."

"It's punch," you say, defensive, even though you know you deserve it.

"Punch," she repeats, plainly not buying it. Her smirk grows and she leans against the counter, relaxed. "How's that working out for you?

You roll your eyes but can't suppress the small laugh that escapes you. "Terribly. I think I might've just poisoned myself."

Vi chuckles, the sound warm and honest, and for a moment, the noise of the party fades into the background. You grip your cup a little tighter, trying to find your ground as the weight of her attention settles on you.

"Hey, I needed to talk to you- do you want to find a quieter space" There is a shift in tension between the two of you. Your heart skips for a second, and you look down "uh

"Sure- i have to go use the bathroom- really quickly-" your words are broken up as you step away- actually technically you run away. You push into the crowd, it reminded you of a corn field as your squished between bodies

Your almost out of the crowd when somebodies ankle trips you. Strong hands catch you before you hit the ground. "You okay?" your eyes remain on the ground as you already know who it is 

You sigh looking up at sevika. her smirk was infuriating and her grip was steady.

"Fine" you stand up straighter and pull your hands back. She has a look of disappointment on her face as you do

You size her up, and down she ws wearing a leather jacket with a tank top and a pair of jeans. "Nice jacket" you say in a sarcastic tone. It was a nice jacket it hugged sevikas muscles snuggly.

She chuckles deeply "Thanks, babe" she crossed her arms. Your face flushes with the nickname, honestly not knowing if she meant it literally. With the so called rumors she could mean it literally.

"Didn't think I'd see you here, doesn't seem your kind of scene" she laughed squeezing the red cup in her hand, looking down at it.

"Oh my god why is everyone saying that" your eyes widen as you hold your head. "Hm?" she tilts her head. ".there was this girl- in the kitchen- actually it wasn't just a girl- it was mel" sevikas stomach dropped at your words

"Mel? Wh- what did she need?" sevika was.nervous? She stuttered over her words and her palm grew sweaty. You were worried mel was messing with you cause she was salty over what went down between them

You laugh and tilt your head "she just teased me about drinking" you chose not to bring up the rumor since you were still worried mel was just fucking with you

"Was that it?" sevika looked around periodically. Almost nervous about the people standing around. You narrow your eyes

"What's wrong?" you look up at her. There were moments like these between the both of you where there wasn't any teasing or sarcastic comments. Your hand rests on hers. She looks down at your hand, heart dropping a bit

'I have to go find mel' sevika thought to herself. She smirked laughing "im fine, peach. Ill be right back" you sigh as she walks away from you

–

The hallways are full; the crush of bodies pushes against you while the air grows thick with the nauseatingly sweet combination of beer and weed. It clings to your senses, making your stomach turn queasily as you struggle through the mess. The music booms from the living room, the low throb of the bass vibrant in your chest. Your head suddenly throbs, overwhelmed.

Finally, you find the bathroom door behind which its peeling white paint stands in vivid contrast to the dimly lit hallway. You pause a moment, looking back at the party crowd. A pang stirs in your chest. Maybe you should just leave. But instead, you push the door open, slipping inside.

With the soft click of the door shutting, the din is reduced to a distant hum, and this tiny room now feels almost like a haven from outside chaos. You let out a heavy sigh, leaning against the sink and bracing yourself against its edges. The cool porcelain is calming beneath your fingertips.

The mirror reflects your image-messy hair, slightly flushed cheeks, eyes that give away your unease. You frown and brush a strand of hair over your shoulder; maybe if you fix your appearance, it will somehow fix everything.

"Why are you so weird…" you whisper to yourself, barely audible over the muffled bass of the party outside. Your voice breaks slightly, weighted down by self-criticism.

You hold your gaze in the mirror, the fluorescent light casting sharp shadows across your features. The reflection feels foreign, like someone you don't quite recognize. You sigh again, closing your eyes for a moment as if shutting out the world will help you reset.

You rub your temples, trying to ease the headache that's forming. "You could've stayed home," you mutter to yourself. "Netflix, snacks, no people…"

Your reflection doesn't respond, but the silence in the bathroom is heavy, as if the quiet is some judgment against you. You shake your head, annoyed at yourself, and glance around the bathroom. There's a faint chemical smell from the cleaner someone half-heartedly used earlier, clashing with the residual scents of beer and smoke seeping through the walls.

You straighten up, brushing off invisible dust from your shirt, as if to ready yourself for stepping back out there. But your hand lingers on the sink, and your stomach twists at the thought of walking back into the noise and heat of the party.

You can do this, you mutter, but even you don't sound like you believe it. You take one final deep breath and run your fingers through your hair before you force yourself to turn toward the door.

—

You work your way back through the living room, weaving past the people scattered around. The music is louder now; you feel every bass note like it's a second heartbeat in your chest. You smell stale beer and smoke- heavy in the air-and the space spins for a half-second before straightening again. You finally spot a spot on the couch open up, so you make your way there, collapsing between the two worn cushions as it envelops you.

You lean forward, placing your elbows on your knees and pressing your fingers against your forehead, closing your eyes. The cacophony of noise and the movements around you are overwhelming, but you try to block out the party and breathe deeply to center yourself.

For one long moment, you contemplate returning to Vi—maybe she'd make you feel less foreign—but you toss the notion aside. Later. You just need a moment to yourself.

"Edible?"

The voice snaps you out of your haze. You open your eyes to a girl with bright blue hair standing before you, holding out a small container of gummies. She is wearing an oversized band tee and some ripped jeans, her eyeliner just a little smudged, like she has been in this place for hours. Her expression is casual, almost bored, but there's a flicker of curiosity in her gaze as she looks at you.

You hesitate, eyes darting between her face and the container in her hand. "What?"

"Edible," she repeats, shaking the container slightly; the gummies inside shifted with the movement, their bright colors catching the dim light.

You straighten up a little and study her for a second. She's casual, her body leant a little sideways, as if she's done this a hundred times before. Something about the way she holds herself makes you feel that she might be sizing you up to gauge whether you're the kind who'd say yes or no.

"Uh… sure," you say, leaning forward and reaching for the container. Your fingers brush hers briefly as you grab one of the gummies. It's red, shaped like a little bear, and feels sticky against your skin.

The girl smirks faintly, crossing her arms as she watches you. "First time?"

You pop the gummy into your mouth and chew it slowly. The overly sweet artificial fruit flavor hits your tongue. You swallow before responding, feeling a bit self-conscious under her gaze. "No," you lie, your voice even.

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but says nothing more. "Cool," she says simply, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "It's a good batch. Just… pace yourself.” You nod, leaning back into the couch

The music, somehow, isn't as loud, or maybe your perception is adjusted. You aren't feeling as weighted; the weight of the night slowly begins to lift. This party may just not turn out to be as bad as you thought it was.

"Im jinx" she sits down next to you. You say your name holding your hand out for her to shake. She laughs and shakes it, your face flushes with embarrassment. "Sorry." you look down 

"Jinx, go away," Vi says firmly, the tone sharp and leaving no room for argument. Your eyes widen at the sound of her voice, and instantly, you feel a pang of awkwardness. Why does it have to be Vi now, of all times? You shut your eyes tightly, willing this all to just disappear. Finally, you look over, and there's Vi, standing, her face unreadable, while Jinx is grinning like she's just been handed the most entertaining show of the night.

"Whatever," Jinx says with a shrug, utterly unconcerned. She stands and smoothes out her jacket but leans down one last time. "Come find me if you ever need to wind down." Her voice carries that now-familiar teasing lilt, and she punctuates it with a wink before strolling off.

You chuckle softly despite the tension, following her as she bumps Vi's shoulder playfully. Vi doesn't budge, wordless, waiting until her sister exits.

Then, she sits down beside you, taking Jinx's now-vacant spot. Immediately, the atmosphere shifts. You can feel it in the way Vi settles next to you-careful, almost hesitant.

"Are you all right?" she asks, leaning into your space enough to catch your eyes. Her voice is softer now, gentler, and her eyes search your face like she's actually concerned.

"Yeah," you say-too quickly. You run a hand through your hair, trying to appear more composed than you feel. "I'm fine, just. needed a break from everything."

Vi nods but doesn't seem fully convinced. The weight of her stare lingers onto you, and your chest tightens. For a moment, neither of you says a word; the muffled sounds of the party fill the silence between you.

"You seemed kinda off earlier," she finally says, her voice careful but firm. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine," you repeat, forcing a small smile. But Vi isn't buying it. She shifts slightly, turning more toward you, her knee brushing against yours.

"You know," she begins, her voice quiet and almost tentative, "I've been thinking about a lot of things lately. About us. About. you."

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance at her, unsure where this is going but terrified you already know.

"Vi—", you begin, but she interrupts you now, the words spilling out as if she's afraid she will never find the courage to say them.

"Listen, I know this might be the worst time, but I need to tell you. I care about you. More than friends do. I've been trying to figure out how to say it, but nothing ever feels right."

Her confession hangs in the air, heavy and unshakeable. You feel your stomach twist, a mix of emotions bubbling to the surface-shock, guilt, and something else you can't quite name.

"I. Vi, I don't know what to say," you stammer, suddenly hyper-aware of how close she is. Her eyes are on you, hopeful but guarded, waiting for a response.

You get up hastily-the motion almost too quick-and Vi looks up at you, taken aback.

"I have to-um, I have to go to the bathroom," you mutter, turning away from her, taking a step back. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Vi frowns, opening her mouth like she wants to tell you something, but doesn't. Instead, she nods slowly once, expressionless.

"Yeah," she says now, voice softer. "Take your time."

You turn and weave through the crowd, your heart pounding in your chest. You don’t know where you’re going, but you know you need to put some distance between you and Vi, at least for now.

Your looking at the front door of the house, it felt like it was haunting you, the house music made it hard to think as you look behind you, making sure vi isnt right behind you. You sigh and leave the house. --

tag list: @vyvvycg part 3

[laureng262]

My first and last post for all of the Byler shippers especially the ones with doubt

I first picked up the show when season 2 came out and I LOVEDDDD mileven (let a sixth-grade girl have herself insert finn wolfhard moment.) However, in eigth grade I realized I myself was not straight and the summer after, season 3 came out. I was APPALED to see that not everyone agreed that "its not my fault you dont like girls" was an OBVIOUS nod to wills character being gay. I could not believe anyone was trying to explain that scene in any other meaning/context and I still shipped mileven. When season 4 came out I realized INSTANTLY that will had feelings for mike. Then throughout the season I wanted nothing more than for it to happen, especially after realizing it was such a huge thing online! I remember waiting for volume two to come out and being thoroughly disappointed that the couple was not confirmed, AND when we got the mileven love confession in the last two episodes. So, what keeps me believing so strongly in the ship? The fact that becoming a byler shipper and indulging in all the online media has changed the way I look at EVERYTHING. Every movie I watch, every tv show I binge, every book I read, all seen in a different perspective. The evidence that people call you guys "crazy" and "delusional" for, is EVERYWHERE. From parallels, to blocking, to dialogue, to costuming, to lighting, to undertones, etc.. Its in every good piece of media you will EVER see. Becoming a byler shipper gave me a level of media literacy I would have never known otherwise. This stuff is NOT crazy or delusional. This is an extremely well written show, things have been so obviously though out and planned out since the beginning. It has some of the best writing I have ever seen and people that say otherwise are simply trying to be different, or just dont get it. This show takes so long because there was SO SO SO much effort being put into every single aspect of the show. The duffers had no one pick up their show and still said no to netflix when they asked for involvement. That is how important the show was to them, that they risked their only chance to get big. Remember, this show was NEVER for them. It is for YOU. The people that face the same struggles as the main characters, especially will, AND mike. They have portrayed complications with sexuality in two very different but VERY accurate ways, and they did for the people who are just like them. This will pay off and I have 0 doubt that it wont. I want to add though that when it happens, I think it would be best to not boast to milevens. The people that hate this ship, hate it because of homophobia. They might say that's not it now, or hide it, but when they are so angry when it happens, they will not hold back. I expect some of the worst things you could possibly think of to be said to the actors, writers, fans, and everyone involved. Do not ruin the heartwarming emotional moment for yourselves, by indulging in the hate the show is trying to change and ward off. Love you all <3

[biggie-chcese]

RESULTS ARE IN 👍

i posted this poll as a joke but i got a little miffed at the makoto character assassination in the notes/ask box so now im giving my reasoning of why i think this fight is a hard 50/50 and not just an easy makoto win:

(btw, this isnt out of anger. im genuinely having a lot of fun ranting about this silly topic because i love these two clowns)

Rage: the biggest pro-makoto argument people had was that he was filled with pent up rage, which... okay, but i actually don't think it's that simple. more than anything, makoto is frustrated with himself. not his original, and, hell, not even yomi. the only reason he started beefing with either of them is because both were putting kanai ward in danger trying to reveal the homunculus info. otherwise, his original is a non-issue and yomi is nothing more than a nuisance. in the game, when makoto's carefully concealed emotions begin to trickle out, he is far from angry. he's sad, helpless, and broken. he's close to crumbling under the pressure of his own tower of lies, and he's not the contained rage beast yall think he is 😭 makoto has the conviction to fight with his all, but i genuinely don't think he's going sicko mode when angry.

yuma, on the other hand, is ROYALLY PISSED at makoto. this is the chapter 5 bathhouse!! makoto just put him in zombie hell and spent the last couple hours taunting yuma with the corpses of his friends! yuma may be a doormat but he's literally shown himself capable of snapping in anger before! if anyone here is falling into a rage-filled frenzy, it is not makoto

Stamina + Strength: all im saying is that one of these characters spends most of his time doing legwork, running from cops, and doing QTEs with a small level of physical competence, and the other one takes baths while plotting in his fancy penthouse all day

Strategy: makoto 100% has the edge in this one. he still has number one's memories, and yuma is also a little stupid. i can see makoto fighting using trickery. sand-in-the-eyes level stuff, yknow? i dont think number one himself was actually trained in close combat though. he's a shut-in who is always on the run from criminal syndicates, so i'd imagine most of his skillset lies in how to stay out of fights rather than win them. still, im sure makoto can come up with a few ways to put himself at an advantage, as long as he can take/avoid enough hits.

Patheticness: this is a joke stat but i feel like people forget that makoto is JUST as pathetic as yuma is. he's just better at hiding it.

Power of Friendship: also a joke stat i think it has no actual bearing on this fight lmao. though yuma may be motivated by the "deaths" of his friends.

that being said, i still think makoto could win! i actually fully expected these poll results! but i also think it depends on whether or not yuma's raw determination beats out makoto's trickiness... and even then, they're both coming out of this looking utterly beaten and bruised. anyway if you got this far, thanks for reading my manifesto on this shit lmao

[ride-thedragon]

I know many people like to imagine a harmonious co-parenting situation between Harwin, Rhaenyra, and Laenor, but I believe there might be some underlying tension. Take, for instance, the moment when Joffrey was born. Harwin said, "My turn," while Laenor was emotional and gushing over baby Joffrey. It felt like Harwin was trying to stake his claim. As Rhaenyra's sworn shield, Harwin would be present during most of their family moments. This constant presence could create an uneasy dynamic. Just imagine Laenor having to watch Harwin trying to bond with his sons, and vice versa for Harwin, seeing another man freely be a father to the boys. The whole "my turn" bit makes me think Harwin was quite insistent on having his time with the kids, which could easily get on Laenor's nerves. Sometimes, it feels like there is an imbalance in Laenor and Rhaenyra's marriage. Rhaenyra always insists on the boys' Targaryen roots, which is all well and good, but the boys are more worried about not looking Velaryon enough and "their" Velaryon roots. While Laenor might not be their biological dad, he’s still their father in every other way, and the weight of his role is deeply invested in their identity.

I honestly don't like Harwin at all. I do agree with this reading, though, the reason I don't like him his because he was starting to risk the kids for what he deemed to be his right as their dad. That's really fucking dumb. I know that people frame it as a love is the death of duty type of deal, but it isn't. Its ego is the death of common sense. Sorry to him. He and Rhaenyra do suffer the same plight of their own self-importance having a negative impact on their kids.

As for Laenor, I can see that. I've talked about it before, but Laenor’s place seems to be whatever is convenient, and it happens so quickly after he loses Joffrey. I'm not a believer in the happy dynamic at all, and I can see the stake a claim argument because, essentially, that's what Lyonel was telling Harwin. I dont think he was as insistent as he was with Joffrey, though. It wouldn't make much sense to get so close so early on with Luke and Jace, but Joffrey seems to have changed the dynamic. He could have a kid that's his yk.

I don't know why the boys were dressed like that. I try and try to make sense of it as Rhaenyra staking claim, but that doesn't make sense because of her insistence with Laenor. Kings Landing actually has them in blues, reds, and black, but when they grow up, they aren't wearing a blue in sight, which is just dumb.

By the end, though, the boys aren't raised anywhere close to Driftmark, and Laenor isn't present. The Velaryons on the whole are treated badly by the show even in this season Baela, the ward of Driftmark isn't in blue or anything alluding to it.

I do think they are more focused on the adjusted accepting bastardy angle rather than giving them that Velayron tie at this point, which is sad. They like the basrardy but not who it comes from? Or trying to signal otherwise.

Overall, Laenor deserved better. He doesn't even get the chance to do anything wrong.

[sleepysilo]

hi guys! here is my little version of jeff the killer! this version is based on how i cosplay him. i know he is quite popular; him and slenderman are the sort of faces of creepypasta so I hope this plus some of my other doodles are a good sort of welcome/ entry into the creepypasta fandom ^w^.

This was a quick doodle hence the messy shading and sketch. i will still attempt to fix up my page and stuff. I like that theres no word limit and i get to yap. Here is my entry of my day along with this doodle. i was listening to billies new album to this and a few of those 2017 edit audio songs. it was quite the throwback. i cosplay jeff sometimes and i always giggle at myself because i am too short even for my own jeff headcannons haha. i think i will start using tumblr as a weird journal whenever i post artwork. my drawings mean alot to me and they really do reflect my mental status so having some sort of checkpoint of thoughts is cool.

as some of you may know, i am severely mentally disordered. i am stuck in my room and when im not, im a day patient at the psyche ward. at first the obsession was with leon kennedy and zack fair from their respective games. i dont really know how my mind teleported back to the creepypasta fandom. when i was a kid i would run away from the hospital anf run to the forest alot. i was always caught and my stay was extended. i would be wearing almost nothing but basically a pregiven set. haha. i used to favour slenderman and eyeless jack alot but over time when i finally got home i would read fanfiction of the other popular ones like ben drowned or jeff or ticci toby. i am back at the mental ward because of an incident in january and how it affected my psyche. pooper! oh well, sometimes people are nice to me but when im not doodling (i am not allowed to listen to music), i blank and forget my day. my parents are super nice to me though so i hang out with them or grill. I grilled chicken yesterday and marinaded it qith my brother wahahah. ok thats enough bai. yay.

[5eraphim]

🕸️🪐🐁

boring update below the cut

heyyyy soooooo-

i've been dead here for a while, and i am sorry for being inactive for ages and ages and ages- i love writing, i love shitposting, i love venting, i love making connections online and feeling less alone by expressing myself through writing and all that, and i have been working on the backlog of requests in the meantime, howeverrrrr-

im working on moving accounts and setting up a new page. not because im horrendously embarrassed by my old work or anything like that, or even because i dont want to keep writing for fandoms like TF2 or DBD or resident evil, but the thing is, im going to be a part of a big online project in the near future, and want to keep this part of my online identity a bit more *un-findable*

i cant say anything right now bc we're so heavily in the pre-production stage, but around august im gonna be a lot more involved and i dont want people who watch the project in question seeing this stuff.

dont even want to give hints or anything, but the fans of this online content are known to be WILDLY capable of finding the online history of people connected to this project. (deadass this one girl who was apart of the project for less than a week said her CNC tumblr alt account was found and sent to her mother after she appeared on the show - which is just.....) fortunately this project (not an original thing, obvi, im going to be joining the (REDACTED) season of, doesn't really have much of a following on tumblr, just an alarmingly passionate following on sites like reddit, twitter, 4chan, somewhat instagram, and youtube (also, to a lesser extent)

so what im getting at here is, im going to try and upload more of my older (re-edited) content to the AO3 account or something, i have Google docs of basically everything, so even if i have to just straight up re-upload stuff i can fall back on that. (i like AO3 as a site and all, but NGL, i've had some pretty hurtful comments on things posted there before, and like- i don't feel bad deleting them bc fuck you, it's my work, but still a bit hesitant to use that site 😬)

might edit/likely delete this later- but i also wanted to give a big thank you and shout out to people who have been sending me kind anons and messages during this period of inactivity. you are all so kind and even though im rubbish at answering publicly, ive read and cherished every message. sending you all so much love ❤️❤️❤️

also since ive gone inactive life has been. so very... ive been taken to the psych ward, gotten dumped, lost a job, gotten multiple police visits, quit ket, and thats just what comes to mind first.

[3-2-whump]

Mini-Comfortember Day 9

Prompt 9: Home(wards)

And so concludes @azertyrobaz's mini-comfortember! Thank you so much for having this event, I enjoyed writing/drawing/creating for it so much!

This story is inspired by this art work, which took place after this chapter.

TW/CW: medical whump, aftermath of a surgery (tonsillectomy), slave whump, intimate whumper, (temporarily) nonverbal whumpee

“Awww, my sweet boy, did you miss me?” Thomas asked.

He knew Khaled might not respond, with his throat still healing a mere twelve hours after surgery. However, the way the boy pressed up into him and buried his face into the crook of his neck communicated the exact answer he was hoping for. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he replied smugly.

He enjoyed the clinginess for another minute or so, then carefully broke the embrace to pass his slave a backpack. “It’s a spare change of clothes -some of your more comfortable ones- and a cup of applesauce,” he explained. His dear boy was still shirtless, with nothing but the red sarong on his waist and golden chains on his body. And he knew he hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. “I figured you’d probably want out of that, and to eat something besides whatever intravenous crap Lenore’s been feeding you.”

Khaled took the backpack and unzipped it to inspect its contents. A t-shirt, a pair of yoga pants, clean boxer briefs, socks, sneakers, and a cup of applesauce (sans spoon to eat it with) –it was all there. The boy smiled, then looked up to his master with gratitude written all over his expression. “Thank y-”

Thomas raised a hand. “Stop. Stop talking. Stop, you sound terrible.” Khaled shut his mouth and hung his head self-consciously, rummaging through the backpack and taking out each item one by one to lay on his hospital bed. Thomas sighed. He only said that so as not to aggravate the healing process; the sooner Khaled’s throat healed, the sooner they could resume their usual activities, but until then? “Don’t talk any more than necessary, and finish getting changed while I get you discharged,” he told him. Khaled had already slipped out of the jewelry and was tugging on the t-shirt when he left him to check out.

A desk was positioned outside of the winding corridors and near the front of the entrance they passed through late last night. Another woman, dark-skinned with limp wavy hair, sat at the desk, staring dead-eyed at the computer as she input data and intermittently slurped a liquid from a straw in a tumbler. The austere-looking collar around her throat marked her as another one of the doctor’s …assistants... Unlike the last one though, this ‘assistant’ didn’t have a scar over where her vocal chords would be.

The printer whirred to life behind her as it output page after page of discharge paperwork. The woman swiveled around in her desk chair and retrieved it, as well as a bottle of mystery pills she conjured up from below the desk. “Read this, sign this, pay here, and make him take these,” she recited lifelessly. She took another loud slurp of the mystery beverage.

Thomas skimmed the paperwork, signed and dated where he needed to, and only groaned a little when he slid the payment across the desk. A visit to Lenore was going to be expensive, he’d prepared for and accepted that fact, but it still hurt to fork over so much money, even if it was for a good cause.

Speaking of which, that good cause came hesitantly walking out to the front desk area, fully changed now, with the backpack slung over one shoulder. Thomas quickly forgot how much money he’d just dropped. What mattered was that Khaled would get better, and that he wouldn’t have to go another night without him. “Come on, boy,” he beckoned. The slave came to his side quickly, letting himself be led out of the clinic doors. “Let’s go home.”

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

[iraot]

ooooooooo okok out of your lads wips can I ask about these? :D

The Immortal Confession - vampire sylus x journalist reader

luke & kirean tandem bridgerton au

body guard au sylus x reader

sylus x 2nd in command reader - angst romance

single mom x sylus

OF COURSE @blessdunrest

The Immortal Confessions - It's going to give something between; interview with a vampire, the invitation ( 2022 ) and the END of Dracula Untold. It's going to be told in a series of flashbacks and journal entries. ( I wish I could turn this into a movie because it would be so fucking good ).

Luke & Kieran Bridgetown AU - we all know one of the twins is scarred, but we don't know which one cause in the game they both wear the masks so they can stay identical. In the story I chose Kirean to be scarred; simply because he is the more reserved twin out of the two I feel like ( IMO DONT KILL ME ) . So, as Sylus's wards by the end of his and Zayne's story - they are closing in on 27 so I'll make them 30 this will give 3 years and maybe some snippets to add like fun stuff for the snowcrow family <3 Luke and Kieran are strapping men now, raised with precise efficiency they're really good at what they do - they handle finances. Sylus gives them each their own property at 25, to prove they're capable and they are and so they both decide to seek a wife. THIS is where tension comes in, its a masquerade and well Kirean is insecure. When he finds a girl he likes he is too scared to show his face so he pleads with his brother for his help. Drama ensues.

body guard sylus x read - okay so this on is likely the least planned. ngl i have two starters written, one is modern the other historical and im struggling with both. the first one is a man on fire ( denzel washington movie ) situation where he is hired by her family to protect her and the other is a rogue princess who doesn't want to marry a man 5 times her age and he is just trying to make sure she doesn't die though he'll follow her wherever she wants.

Single mom x Sylus - she is an art curator and he is someone of great influence. He basically owns whatever he touches, he has questionable affiliates and no one really knows why he is rich just that he is. She has been running the museum since her son was born but she's done her best to stay away from him, till she can't now shes on his radar. Not necessarily a dark romance but kind of is in some ways with what I have written. \

Willing to answer more questions!