#reposting my own work because i can

[omniblades-and-stars]

The Last Time (A Game of Cat and Mouse)

Read on AO3

"Bancroft Exports and Logistics Headquarters" read the sign carved from impeccably polished wood, no doubt from Earth. It was mounted on the wall next to a door made of frosted glass and featuring antique bronze hinges and a matching bronze doorknob, shaped humorously like one of Earth's large felines, a lion, if he remembered correctly. He always did. As he reached for the door knob with a green-scaled hand, Thane Krios noted it as something to ask Mr. Bancroft about. It was obviously meant as a statement, the expense of retrofitting a Nos Astra office building for an ancient human door alone meant that it was not simply a design choice.

He straightened the front panel of his expensive suit jacket as he strolled into the lobby. There was a reception desk with a high counter wrapped around the front, topped in the same dark polished wood that the sign at the door was. There was another office door directly to the right of the reception desk, and a cart against the wall with porcelain tea cups hanging from metal hooks. One was missing.

The receptionist was not at their post, it seemed. There was, however, a small sign that read "Press Button for Assistance". He was surprised when there was no audible tone when his carefully filed talon depressed the cool metallic button.

After several seconds of empty silence, a booming, "I don't pay you to stand around and look pretty! Go see who it is, damn it," reverberated from the office behind the door. A feminine voice answered back, the words of her quiet reply were lost to the barrier provided by thick walls. Thane clasped his hands behind his back and waited patiently to be greeted by someone. He was going to enjoy killing Mr. Bancroft later. 

The door cracked open and the first thing out of it was a slender, human, woman's foot. It was clad in a precarious, ruby red high-heeled shoe, a thin strap buckled around a delicately arched ankle. Her legs, shapely and well-toned, were covered by sheer black stockings. A pronounced seam ran up the length of her calf, disappearing behind her knee and beneath the hem of a charcoal gray skirt so tight, it could have been a second skin. 

His eyes traveled up her body, taking in the receptionist as she pushed sideways out of the door. She held a silver tea tray in her delicate, gloved hands, and despite her unreasonably high heels, she moved with well-practiced grace and fluidity. 

A pristine cream colored blouse covered a supple chest, the promising curve of soft flesh hidden beneath whisper thin fabric. A collar buttoned high on her slender throat with dainty, round pearls, covered a scar he knew was there. He was surprised to see her here. She was supposed to be dead.

He killed her.

Bare skin burns hot, pressed and writhing beneath him. A soft moan turns to a surprised gasp and her fingers dig sharp into the muscles of his arms. Silken lips parted against his in a silent plea. Breaths ragged from exertion and the effects of the venom still coursing in her veins. Crimson rivulets wash down the cold metal of his blade. Tears bead at the edges of her clouded, disbelieving eyes, pupils wide, surprised by the betrayal she knew would inevitably come. "Why?" She mouths, unable to speak.

"We can't keep doing this. This is the last time," he whispers, and tenderly brushes wisps of dark hair from her sweat-dewed cheek. Tears that are not hers fall, mingling with the ones sliding over her skin and into the hair tangled on the pillow below her. Her grip on his arms falters as she grows weak. He leaves her alone to die in a Presidium hotel room, disquieted and regretful.

It had been too difficult to stay. He should have known she would pull through. She was stubborn, tenacious.

Beautiful, precious.

And above all, a devious, deadly viper.

But why was it relief that he felt to see her again?

Familiar honey-colored eyes glared at him as she turned to greet him. She drew the plush flesh of her burgundy lip in between her teeth, seductive and no doubt a sign of the anger she felt at the sight of him.

The anger burning in her wide, clear eyes disappeared in a flash, as though it had never existed. A wide smile took its place, creasing the corners of her eyes, and she broke her silence by proclaiming, "Oh, you must be the security consultant here to meet with the board. I am so sorry, how do you pronounce your name, Mister…" Her voice was soft, dripping with syrupy cheer. Her head cocked slightly to the side quizzically, a convincing charade played out for no one but the two of them. 

"Tuek. Rumi Tuek. It is a pleasure to meet you. Though, I am afraid that I do not know your name," he said in reply. In this, he told no lie. No living person knew her true name. Her names shifted like the crashing tides of the sea.

"Julia Tophana," she answered cheerfully and bravely turned her back on him to set the tray on top of the cart. "When I first saw your name on the appointment list this week, I assumed it must have been a salarian name," she lied easily, putting on a breathy, airy voice that he knew very well was an act. She continued putting the pieces of the tea service away with gloved hands as she filled the silence with trite chatter. "I thought, 'Surely it couldn't be a drell name, there are so few to be seen away from Kahje.' But what do I know? Mr. Bancroft always says, 'I didn't hire you for your brains, Jules.'"

How long had she been working as the man’s secretary just to murder him?

She loved the long game.

Julia turned and flashed a charming smile at him, holding a stained tea cup in her left hand. "He underestimates me. They always pay for underestimating me. Don't they?" Thane's hand ghosted over his abdomen, where the memory of her blade made itself known. She started this destructive little game of theirs.

She cries out for help as his target tries to pull her into a filthy alley, one of so many on this part of Omega. He runs to help this stranger, a young, human woman out for a jog. A gunshot echoes out of the alley, and the woman's screams stop.

Too late, he fears. But as he turns around the abandoned building at the entrance to the alley, he sees her standing hunched over a body, hands gripping the pistol like iron. She holds it like it is both her only lifeline and the most terrifying thing in the galaxy. Like she has never fired it before.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I … I … was so scared! I didn't … oh God, what did I do?" Her cries are shrill, panicked, she is nearly hyperventilating. Her hands shake and tears streak over the gentle curve of her cheeks. She looks up at him with large, pleading, amber eyes, and drops the pistol on the ground right before she heaves and vomits all over her lavender running shoes.

"Please, let me help you get cleaned up," he offers quietly as he approaches. She clutches his hands with her own trembling fingers and allows him to lead her away. She tells him her name is Artemis, tells him about how she ended up on Omega, and how lonely it is living on that horrible station.

It's hours later and they are still together, she's pressed against him, hot and needy. Her kisses taste like peppermint toothpaste. "It was so easy. This is the last time you'll see me, see anything," she whispers against his lips. Cold metal bites into his skin, just below his lung and it twists as she pushes him harder against the wall. Her strength is surprising. Too late he realizes that she is not just an innocent woman out for an evening run. The pain forces a groan coursing up his throat. He can feel the blade scraping through his ribs, feel it pierce through the other side. "I don't do competition," she explains and strokes his cheek with a soft hand, now coated in emerald blood. She simply walks away after, leaving her blade, and him, pinned to the wall. It is the kind of folding blade engineered by and for killers, expensive and easily hidden.

The truth of the matter was that she was a small, beautiful woman blessed with large, doe eyes, and perfect, bow shaped lips. Traits that she carefully wielded to her advantage at every available opportunity. Including here, in this moment, where he was her only audience. She was like the sirens of Earth’s ancient mythology, and he too often found himself ensnared by her song.

Arashu protect me, Amonkira guide me, and Kalahira, please take this damnable woman to the darkest, coldest depths of your oceans.

She brought the cup down onto the hard surface of the desk, shattering it with purpose. "Oops! How clumsy of me!" She brushed the shards into the trash can, and in a smooth motion removed the gloves from her hands and deposited them into the receptacle after, careful not to touch the outside material with her bare fingers.

The gloves must have cost a fortune. They appeared to be made of real animal skin, unlike the synthetic leather worn by most. Even in their line of work. 

She'd always been one for flair, even if only for her own sake.

His eyes followed the dexterous lines of slender fingers, recalling the feeling of them tracing tender lines over the ridges of his scales, the feel as they dug into his flesh as she tried to tear his grip from her throat. With a raised brow, he started to ask, “Mr. Bancroft, is he-”

“Dead? He is, but he doesn’t know it yet,” The Shepherd responded while she checked the watch set into a dainty silver band around her wrist. “He will have a “sudden” stroke in approximately four hours.”

Of course, poison. 

One of her favorite methods. She had always been one for a more personal approach. She liked to get in close, get to know the target. She loved to play games, like a cat toying with a mouse that didn't know her claws were already piercing its skin. Until it was much, much too late.

She always played games. 

Thane's lips curled into a disapproving grimace. He despised that she got to Bancroft first.

He despised that she waited until she knew he would be here to do it. This entire charade, this whole show was for his benefit alone. 

It was payback. It was his turn to be the mouse, it seemed. It was probably no less than he deserved.

Deserved or not, he would not let her win.

Her clean up finished, The Shepherd picked up a datapad and waved for him to follow her into the curving hallway. “This way, Mr. Tuek. The board meets on the next floor up, accessible only by the interior elevator.” She strode in front of him, the long curve of her legs accented by the pointed heel of her shoe. Absently, she brushed a long dark lock of hair that had fallen loose from her bun, held together by shining metal sticks, behind her ear. It was much longer than their last meeting.

“I like what you’ve done with your hair, Ms. Tophana. It is a shame that I will kill you before I get to enjoy it,” he whispered in her ear as they walked past the office workers diligently working at their desks in the open office space nested behind the reception lobby.

“I like the piercings you have there on the ridge above your frill, those are new. I will take great pleasure in tearing them from your smug face right before I end you,” she retorted while looking straight ahead. Her mouth curled up, confidence hidden in the upturned corner of her lips. "This is the last time, Krios," she whispered hotly.

"You are sure of this? You have yet to kill me, Shepherd," he reminded her and placed a gentle, threatening hand at the small of her back. The silken fabric of her blouse slid pleasantly over his scales. 

Their walk through the office came to a halt at the elevator, tucked into a hall filled with more office spaces. The Shepherd turned to face him as she pressed the call button for the lift. "It will either be me or you this time. To the death, once and for all. I'm not leaving this building without your life."

The elevator arrived with a chime, and the door slid open. "Then you will not leave this building," he answered emphatically and stepped into the elevator.

The Shepherd pressed her arm across the opening to prevent the door from sliding closed. She leaned in, passing the datapad to him, her lips ghosted dangerously close to his cheek, her breath hot on his skin, stirring heat deep within him. Her hair smelled like honeysuckle. It always smelled like honeysuckle. "You make mistakes when you underestimate me. Don't make it easy for me," she whispered. Suddenly, she pulled back, "You'll understand why I won't be joining you in the elevator. The boardroom is directly to your right, through the preposterous double doors. You can't miss it." 

She had the audacity to wiggle her fingers at him as though she were waving goodbye to a friend as the door slid shut. 

He looked down at the datapad and turned the screen on. Thane didn't know whether to be greatly amused or greatly irritated by the image that greeted him:

"A Game of Cat and Mouse" written out in the flowing script he knew to be hers, followed by a humorous drawing of a cat with human hair styled just like hers. And pinned beneath her feline paws, a mouse with green and black scales.

Hiding in an office suite after his meeting, now entirely pointless due to Bancroft's impending death, had concluded was a simple matter. It was easy enough to duck into the office of some executive who was almost certainly on vacation, and simply wait until everyone who was not The Shepherd left. By the time the work day drew to a close, he found himself pondering the pendulous motion of the Newton’s Cradle decorating the large wooden desk in his hiding office.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Cla-

“We’re alone now, Krios. You can come out of hiding,” she shouted down the hall from her roost in the lobby.

As he walked silently down the hall, he removed his suit jacket, slinging it over his shoulder and cuffing his shirt sleeves at his forearms. When he rounded the hall into the lobby, she was standing with her back to him. Her arms were raised, the mass of her hair held tightly in her fist as she began to wrap it around her hand and tie it more suitably to the base of her skull. The two decorative sticks were laid on the counter, perfectly symmetrical to one another.

“That’s close enough, Thane. Rules first,” she said firmly without turning to him. She grabbed one of the sticks and popped the bottom tip off of it, revealing a very fine sharp point. She leaned to the side and pulled the hem of her skirt taut in her fingers. The Shepherd drove the point into the stretched fabric and then pulled it. The organic fibers parted noisily up the side of her leg, up to the leather belt fastened around her thigh, just above where her stockings came to an end, teasing him.

Thane drew his gaze back to her hair. Her hair was safe, it was drawn up messily in a simple elastic band, and was quite possibly the only part of this that wasn't a performance. “I am listening, Shepherd,” he confirmed. She paused, and almost imperceptibly shivered before leaning to tear the other side of her skirt.

Muscle and bone shifts beneath the tan skin of her back as she undulates. Her back is a star-chart, made up of tiny constellations of freckles and scars. Bruises blooming purple and blue prove the background of the galaxy mapped out between her shoulder blades and beyond. He props himself up on one hand before gently running a short talon over a long jagged scar just below her shoulder blade.

"This one?" He asks, breaking the silence. Her skin pebbles beneath his touch, goosebumps, she calls them. She shivers as his finger trails across her back.

"From the time I killed an elcor diplomat," she says through heavy, panting breaths. "Didn't think he'd be sneaky enough to hide a knife." She is lying, a preposterous lie at that. He has asked her about it before. The last time, it was from a krogan battlemaster's pet varren. He is fairly certain it is a scar from a turian's unfiled talon.

He moves again to sit up completely, and her back arches to accommodate him. His left hand circles around her body, tracing gentle lines over her skin, admiring the bumps that form in its wake, but only for a moment. He presses his other hand around the base of her throat, he can feel the tendons shift as she swallows and moves, and the beat of her heart, fast and strong. He can feel another line, just under her breast. "And what of this one?" He asks with his lips pressed against her neck, he can taste the salt of her sweat.

He knows the answer. He put it there. 

They are moving in tandem, languid, and unhurried, savoring this beautiful charade, awash in blinding pleasures. This time, they started as enemies and ended as lovers. He much prefers it this way than the other. Tonight, she is sweet … by the gods is she sweet. Her hair smells of honeysuckle, and the softest sounds drip like nectar from her lips. And he is an addict for them. He can almost imagine that she isn't like a poison to him, or him a sharpened knife to her.

"I tripped and fell into that one. It was an accident, really," she says with a smile in her voice. "Dropped my guard, for the last time," she explains and lies and tells the truth all in the same sentence, through the same panting breaths. He can't explain why he finds these little, unnecessary lies so charming, so enrapturing, but he does.

He is caught in her web, and he climbs further in of his own volition.

"No guns, no poison, no omni-tools, and no warp fields. Agreed?" The Shepherd rolled her shoulders back and stretched her neck, the elongated curve of it far too tempting. The very edge of the silvering scar peaked over the edge of her collar.

"Agreed."

She stood on one leg and pulled her foot up behind her, stretching her leg and rolling her ankle. She was still wearing those impractical, ridiculous, attractive shoes. "Good, any additions you'd like to make?" She continued her stretching as though she were preparing to go on a run,  and he was not a professional assassin ready to attack.

"I would appreciate it if you did not use your biotics to pull my central nervous system apart this time," he requested with a smile. One encounter with her biotics had left him twitching and blinking sporadically for weeks. "I believe that is a fair exchange in return for not using mine to rip you apart from the outside."

"Oh, I hate when you make a good point. Fine. Questions?" She asked as she turned to face him. He had expected to see her cocky smile, or a demure smirk. Maybe even a deep, hateful scowl. 

But her lips were pressed in a hard line, and her eyes were bloodshot, and lined harshly red at the edges. Had she been crying? Was she frightened?

Or was this a part of her game? He could never tell with her. It could have been another of her little lies. Even still, it gave him pause, tightened a knot in his gut. 

Thane shook his head and tried to push off his reservations. He was in her snare, he knew. He tossed his jacket to one of the small chairs in the lobby and clasped his hands behind his back. "Who hired you to kill Bancroft?" 

He was merely curious, very few people earned having more than one assassination plot against them.

"His wife. You?"

"His son," he answered with a smile. Even fewer people were so hated by their families that they would independently hire someone to kill them. "Do you have any questions for me?"

The Shepherd cocked her head and furrowed her brow. Her question fell from her lips quietly and without preamble, and it detonated like a hydrogen bomb, "If I die tonight, will you mourn me? There isn’t anyone else." She fumbled her words and hastened to add, "Who would even notice, much less care if I die, I mean."

The aftershock rolled into him and sent blood thundering through his chest. "Yes, I mourn you every time, " he answered sincerely and before he could grasp the magnitude of his own words. "Shepherd, if Kalahira calls me to the sea tonight, will you mourn for me?"

"Yes. Every time."

They had killed each other, or tried to anyways, far too many times.

The seconds that passed before either of them moved crackled with electricity. The only warning he had before The Shepherd leapt at him was the flaring of her nostrils. She held the slender stick in her hand like a blade as she pushed off the ground without a sound. He threw his left arm up and pushed the blade away with his forearm, and curled his right fist up towards her ribs.

Her body bowed out of the way of his strike, and stepped in towards him. She hooked her foot around his ankle and pulled him off-balance. Her elbow connected with his collarbone sending a sharp pain shooting through his neck and shoulder. Just as the tiny little blade made its way to his chest, he thrust the flat his hand up. The air around his body ignited cerulean blue, and the blade struck the barrier and snapped. 

The Shepherd stumbled backwards, dropping the now useless implement to the ground. "Shit, I hate it when you do that," she grumbled and adjusted her stance again. 

He pressed his hand into his shoulder and rolled it, stretching out the muscle. "You know, you possess the same skill? It might be useful for keeping much more of your blood inside of your body."

Her small nose crinkled up before she smirked, "That your professional opinion, since you're so good at freeing me of mine?"

"Deserved, although the same could be said for you of mine," he retorted right before advancing on her. They fought. Fists, hands, feet, all moving with blinding speed and precision. He pressed hard against her, and she took steps back, all the while blocking quick strikes and narrowly avoiding getting caught in his grasp.

She came to a stop with her back pressed against the reception counter. The Shepherd reached behind her without looking away from him, and snatched the other hair pin up, releasing the pointed tip hidden under a small metallic cap. She was quick, and aimed the small weapon for his neck.

Thane wrapped one hand around her wrist, and pulled the implement free with the other. He didn’t hesitate and drove it into her side, earning a snarling hiss from the woman.

He’d always been faster than her.

The Shepherd struck him hard in the chest with her outstretched palm, and a concentrated blast of energy followed it a fraction of a second later. Indigo light flared from beneath her hand and he was pushed back across the room, knocking the air from his lungs, and his body to the floor. She pulled the weapon from her side with a grunt, vermillion spreading across the thin fabric of her punctured shirt.

She closed the gap between them with a short run. She raised her foot to bring it down hard on his chest. Thane shifted and rolled away just as she brought her foot down, throwing her off balance. He struck her other foot with a blunt kick, bringing her down to his level.

“Fuck!” she shouted as she crashed to her hands and knees. Immediately, she began to crawl away, working her way back up to crouching, trying to stand again.

Until he grabbed her around the ankle and began to pull her back towards him. “No you don’t,” he grunted as he dragged her thrashing body, preventing her escape. “Why do you wear these shoes, Shepherd? They are quite impractical for walking, much less a fight.”

The Shepherd stopped thrashing and allowed him to pull her nearer while answering, “Have you seen what they do for my legs and my ass?” He had, he could see it right now. “Besides, they serve a function.” She pushed her hands up under her body and flipped herself onto her back. She drove the hard, narrow point of her heel hard into the musculature just below his left shoulder.

He growled and nearly bit his tongue. 

Evil, demon of a woman. 

The stiletto ground against sinew and bone, the pain sending a flash of white static through his vision. He dropped his grip on her leg, and groaned as she pulled her foot free from his shoulder, centimeter by visceral centimeter.

The woman scurried away, standing and disappearing around the corner in the hall at dead run. 

He stood and tested his shoulder, it seemed that she managed not to tear any ligaments or tendons. He could move through the pain. Thane darted off after her, “Running away? That is very unlike you.”

“No … ugh … just looking for a change of scenery,” he heard her breathless and grunting reply from down the hall heading towards the elevator. As he neared the hall, he saw her forcing the doors open and pulling herself up and into the empty elevator shaft. He followed after, fully expecting her to be waiting at the next floor to push him to his death down the shaft.

But she was not there.

Instead, a small ceramic saucer came flying at him, a projectile sent from inside of the truly ridiculous, large double doors leading into the boardroom. He ducked below it, but didn't see the next saucer, until it struck him right in the side of the head. The ceramic shattered against his scales, and he could feel the stinging heat of blood gathering on small cuts.

The Shepherd was standing on the board room table, an enormous expanse of wood cut from a singular tree, stained and sealed with resin. She pulled her foot back and kicked a holo-conference terminal, sending it sailing towards him. Thane leaned to the side, easily dodging the awkward projectile.

He balled up his fist and pulled it back, gathering biotic energy before releasing it. It sailed into her and sent her sprawling to the surface of the table. Paper, more saucers, and a datapad or two went scattering out from under her fall. He jumped onto the table, rapidly closing the distance. 

She crossed her ankles around one of his legs, pulling him to the surface of the table. Their fight turned into something more akin to a schoolyard brawl. They traded sloppy, awkward blows, rolling back and forth on the broad meeting room table.

Suddenly, she had him pinned, pressing hard into the wound on his shoulder while she reached for the belt secured around her leg.

Thane wrapped his right hand over her face and pushed her head back hard, and grabbed her wrist with his other hand as she attempted to stab him with the knife that had been hidden on the inside of her thigh. He pushed up while she pushed down. She shifted her head and snapped her teeth around the base of his thumb hard enough to draw blood.

He bared his teeth at her and growled. Thane shifted his weight and wrapped his leg over her hip, with her knife-wielding hand still held firmly in his grip, he pulled her down close just before rolling over her. He sat fully on her abdomen, preventing her from rolling and thrashing.

She clawed at his throat with her free hand, curses quickly turned to animalistic cries as she struggled to keep her grip on her precious little knife. Much of her hair had come loose, splayed out in messy tangles around her head and cheeks. Blood seeped from a bite mark on her lip and her eyes burned with fury, and perhaps, fear.

Thane wrenched the knife from her hand and threw it off to the side. It hit the tiled floor with a sharp, metallic crack, but was immediately forgotten as the woman returned to clawing, scratching and hitting him with every ounce of energy she could muster. And it did hurt. He wrapped his hands around her slender wrists with crushing strength. She let out a guttural cry and twisted at the abdomen, trying to free herself. Her legs scrambled to find purchase on the table and push him up from on top of her, but all she accomplished was scraping deep ruts into the resin coating on the wood.

He gathered her wrists in one hand and brought them down hard and awkwardly just above her head. He brought his other hand to her throat, the buttons of her collar long since pulled free during their struggle, and he paused.

Beneath his fingers, the smooth, but too long line of the scar taunted him. It was thin, almost surgical in its precision, but cruel. His cruelty, not hers. 

His heart skipped while hers thundered beneath his ghosting touch. Her chest rose and fell so rapidly, she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Genuinely.

The Shepherd looked up at him with those wide, terrified eyes of hers. She let her head fall back to the tabletop, exhaled, and squeezed her eyes shut. “Just do it, Thane. You win. Better this way, wouldn't want it to be anyone else.”  Silent tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. “The last time, right?” she asked with a choked, pitiful laugh.

"No," he said, frozen in place with just the barest contact with her skin.

Her breath hitched and her eyes flew open. Impossibly, her heart began to beat faster, breaths came out in short, fast bursts from her nose. "What? Fuck, don't drag this out!” She cried out. “Just snap my neck, or shit, strangle me. Plea-"

Her confused protestations were silenced when his lips covered hers in a bruising, searing kiss. She gasped and he released her hands. Just as he was pulling back to ask her if that was alright, she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and brought him back to her lips.

In seconds they were consumed by each other, psychological games, anger and violence all but forgotten in the blinding heat of raw, pent up desire. The way she moved and how they were suddenly undressed was dizzying. His memories of the softness of her skin and sweet melody of her voice could never compare to the satin plush of her thighs gripping his waist, or the sounds that tumbled from her mouth.

By the gods, the sounds she made. They were healing waters from the wellspring of her lips. They were quiet, keening mewls, breathy gasps, and those hushed moans pressed against his lips like mumbled prayers. And oh, the way she whined when his teeth scraped against the delicate curve of her throat. He was drunk on the way she breathed his name with muted fervor.

His world turned upside down, and the cool surface of the table met his back. Loose tendrils of her hair brushed his scales as she moved over him. Her head tipped back and her lips parted, forming the perfect silhouette of ecstasy. The muscles in her stomach slithered and writhed with the hypnotic rhythm beneath his hands.  

He was lost in the intoxicating, feverish warmth of her. 

It crested, they existed on the edge of a corona, just before falling over the edge into the crushing gravity, and all-consuming, plasmic bliss. It surged through him like an electric shock and stole his breath, made his fingers tingle like her skin held a static charge.

She collapsed on top of him, the full weight of her small body pushing what little air was held in his lungs out with a groan. The Shepherd laughed, breathless but musical. “It happened again,” she muttered against his chest.

Thane wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight to him and carding his hand into her hair, and drawing gentle circles between her shoulders with the other. She shivered, goosebumps rising beneath carefully filed talons. Her fingers traced lines over the soft ridges of his neck. He stared up at the ceiling above them, struggling to control the surge of confused emotion mounting inside of him. “It did,” he agreed quietly. “Will you tell me your name?”

He could feel her muscles tense, and her shoulder blades drew close together before she released the tension with a sad sigh. “No,” she started and then hesitated. “My real name belongs to someone I’m not anymore. Call me Sophie, always liked that one.”

“Sophie,” he repeated into her flower scented hair.

“There isn’t anyone else. To love or to hate me,” she said suddenly, somehow disarming him again.

“You have me,” it rolled off of his lips too easily. She did that to him, pulled his guard away and rendered him loose with his affections and tongue.

She’d probably try to kill him right now. Tear him apart with biotics, or reveal that she’d poisoned some innocuous part of the office that he touched. Maybe that absurd lion’s head door knob at the entrance to the office. Maybe even the heel of her ridiculous shoe. That’s how this usually went.

Instead, she raised her head and looked at him with tired, quizzical eyes, “To love, or to hate me?”

“Perhaps, it is both,” he responded honestly. Maybe the gods knew, because he certainly did not.

“We can figure it out the next last time,” she said with a small smirk playing at the corner of her bruised, cut and perfect lips. “Assuming we don’t kill each other first.”

He returned her smile with one of his own. “I would not want it to be anyone else.”

[foxprints]

SecUnit character design sheet!

[wellfine]

Hey I found ur art uncredited on tik Tok

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMreQSnaw/

They said they "found it on Reddit" so they just decided to steal it and post it ig?? Ugh!!

Wow, that's a whole other repost to the one I thought it was going to be, lol. It's been reposted to TikTok once before, and I'm also not surprised this person got it from Reddit, where I doubt I was credited either.

At the end of the day I appreciate the heads up but there's nothing I can really do about it. The most helpful thing anyone can do is to leave comments on the reposts to provide credit,* because if artists ever try and comment then we pretty invariably get attacked. Don't be mean or aggressive, that just builds their animosity towards the artists, but I do think people respond positively to outside pressure to do the right thing 🤷

*Remember to make sure there's enough context - eg. something like "art by @ landegart on Twitter" is more searchable/useful than "artist is Landeg" to someone on TikTok who has no idea who I am haha

[volturiprincess]

I have a question for everyone. With the post I have seen lately from the guards I need to ask this.

What about Demetri?"

What I mean by this is I seen people talk about Alec wearing a ghost face mask while my hunk of a vampire Felix wares a Pyramid head so they could have some fun with there mate if you know what I mean😉. But, What. About. Demetri? I am a visual person so I need to get a mental picture of him shirtless with some killer mask on🤭. Anyways that is all.

[oldtvandcomics]

Happy Queer Media Monday!

Today: Black Trans Fairy Tales Series by S.T. Lynn

I swear I didn’t even realize that it’s trans awareness week when I picked this, I’d just read them recently and they’re AWESOME.

(The three books in order, as seen in my Kindle, after I read them.)

The Black Trans Fairy Tale series consists out of three fairy tale retellings, roughly eighty pages each, based specifically on the Disney version of these stories: Cinder Ella (Cinderella), Mer Made (The Little Mermaid), and Beauty’s Beast (Beauty and the Beast). While they all start out in a familiar way, the stories then quickly take their own path and go off in new and unexpected directions. 

They are written by “S.T. Lynn”, which is a pseudonym for author Tami Veldura.

At the time of writing, these books unfortunately only exist in ebook format, through Veldura’s website does list physical copies, both separately for each and for the three as an omnibus.

Aside of their website, Tami Veldura can be found in places like Instagram, and of course here on Tumblr as @tamiveldura.

Queer Media Monday is an action I started to talk about some important and/or interesting parts of our queer heritage, that people, especially young people who are only just beginning to discover the wealth of stories out there, should be aware of. Please feel free to join in on the fun and make your own posts about things you personally find important!

[iguessitsjustme]

Choose Your Own BL Adventure - Day 24

Options:

Laugh and walk back to the table, away from the mistletoe. Join your friends and enjoy the rest of your evening laughing and talking.

Stand there awkwardly and wait to see if anyone stands up to join you.

Walk to where Gelt is sitting, pull him up and back to the mistletoe with you.

Panic and run away back to the bathroom. Splash water on your face a few times before you go back out to your friends. Avoid walking under the mistletoe this time.

Day 23 here.

[grimandghoulish]

.

[ai-art-thieves]

It's Time To Investigate SevenArt.ai

sevenart.ai is a website that uses ai to generate images.

Except, that's not all it can do.

It can also overlay ai filters onto images to create the illusion that the algorithm created these images.

And its primary image source is Tumblr.

It scrapes through the site for recent images that are at least 10 days old and has some notes attached to it, as well as copying the tags to make the unsuspecting user think that the post was from a genuine user.

No image is safe. Art, photography, screenshots, you name it.

Initially I thought that these are bots that just repost images from their site as well as bastardizations of pictures across tumblr, until a user by the name of @nataliedecorsair discovered that these "bots" can also block users and restrict replies.

Not only that, but these bots do not procreate and multiply like most bots do. Or at least, they have.

The following are the list of bots that have been found on this very site. Brace yourself. It's gonna be a long one:

@giannaaziz1998blog

@kennedyvietor1978blog

@nikb0mh6bl

@z4uu8shm37

@xguniedhmn

@katherinrubino1958blog

@3neonnightlifenostalgiablog

@cyberneticcreations58blog

@neomasteinbrink1971blog

@etharetherford1958blog

@punxajfqz1

@camicranfill1967blog

@1stellarluminousechoblog

@whwsd1wrof

@bnlvi0rsmj

@steampunkstarshipsafari90blog

@surrealistictechtales17blog

@2steampunksavvysiren37blog

@krispycrowntree

@voucwjryey

@luciaaleem1961blog

@qcmpdwv9ts

@2mplexltw6

@sz1uwxthzi

@laurenesmock1972blog

@rosalinetritsch1992blog

@chereesteinkirchner1950blog

@malindamadaras1996blog

@1cyberneticdreamscapehubblog

@neomasteinbrink1971blog

@neonfuturecityblog

@olindagunner1986blog

@neonnomadnirvanablog

@digitalcyborgquestblog

@freespiritfusionblog

@piacarriveau1990blog

@3technoartisticvisionsblog

@wanderlustwineblissblog

@oyqjfwb9nz

@maryannamarkus1983blog

@lashelldowhower2000blog

@ovibigrqrw

@3neonnightlifenostalgiablog

@ywldujyr6b

@giannaaziz1998blog

@yudacquel1961blog

@neotechcreationsblog

@wildernesswonderquest87blog

@cybertroncosmicflow93blog

@emeldaplessner1996blog

@neuralnetworkgallery78blog

@dunstanrohrich1957blog

@juanitazunino1965blog

@natoshaereaux1970blog

@aienhancedaestheticsblog

@techtrendytreks48blog

@cgvlrktikf

@digitaldimensiondioramablog

@pixelpaintedpanorama91blog

@futuristiccowboyshark

@digitaldreamscapevisionsblog

@janishoppin1950blog

The oldest ones have been created in March, started scraping in June/July, and later additions to the family have been created in July.

So, I have come to the conclusion that these accounts might be run by a combination of bot and human. Cyborg, if you will.

But it still doesn't answer my main question:

Who is running the whole operation?

The site itself gave us zero answers to work with.

No copyright, no link to the engine where the site is being used on, except for the sign in thingy (which I did.)

I gave the site a fake email and a shitty password.

Turns out it doesn't function like most sites that ask for an email and password.

Didn't check the burner email, the password isn't fully dotted and available for the whole world to see, and, and this is the important thing...

My browser didn't detect that this was an email and password thingy.

And there was no log off feature.

This could mean two things.

Either we have a site that doesn't have a functioning email and password database, or that we have a bunch of gullible people throwing their email and password in for people to potentially steal.

I can't confirm or deny these facts, because, again, the site has little to work with.

The code? Generic as all hell.

Tried searching for more information about this site, like the server it's on, or who owned the site, or something. ANYTHING.

Multiple sites pulled me in different directions. One site said it originates in Iceland. Others say its in California or Canada.

Luckily, the server it used was the same. Its powered by Cloudflare.

Unfortunately, I have no idea what to do with any of this information.

If you have any further information about this site, let me know.

Until there is a clear answer, we need to keep doing what we are doing.

Spread the word and report about these cretins.

If they want attention, then they are gonna get the worst attention.

[crow-quet]

not that im a consistent poster but i may be taking somewhat of a small hiatus because after my shift tomorrow i'll be getting 3 teeth extracted. 😭

idk how i'll feel after or anything so i just wanted to cover my bases, haha

anyways here's a doodle of crow in a cone of shame bc i would need one if i had like 1% less impulse control

[paganinpurple]

AO3 Etiquette -UPDATED

Based on both decent and not so decent replies, I have made some changes to my original post below.

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

As well as likes, kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished it, you liked it - so kudos.

If you really liked it, you should try to comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it (so use your notes to say if you want some constructive feedback). Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. No, posting it online is not an open invitation for that. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity and just want to share. Don't ruin that for them. I've seen so many authors just stop writing coz they can't handle the negative emotions the critism brings, and it's only meant to be a fun thing shared for free (pointing out tagging errors is not included in this).

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

The tag exception is if you don't want to tag a million things or spoil your story, you can rate it as "chose not to use warnings," and maybe tag the bare minimum.

Don't censor tags. How can someone exclude a tag if the word isn't typed out correctly? There are no content bans for terms so don't censor them.

If the tags are mostly content/trigger warnings, especially if they are things considered very fucked up or graphic, you might want to use "dead dove - do not eat" to ensure people know that you're not messing around with tags and what they get is exactly what you've warned them about.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLATONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite or an exchange youve written for going public). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Instead of deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - consider making it anonymous or orphaning it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to your name anymore. If you still want to delete it, fair enough.

It's come to my attention that metaworks ARE allowed on AO3, which is something I wasn't aware of. So if you do post an essay or theory, please tag it as such so others can choose to search for it or exclude it. Art is also allowed.

The only reason this archive works is because NON ONE PROFITS. Do not link to your ko-fi or patreon or mention monetary gain in any way or you violate the terms and risk having your account removed. If anyone does link, it leaves the archive open to people claiming it's for profit and having the whole thing removed.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.

[omniblades-and-stars]

Dyspnea

Got Your Six: Part 2

Help me, I can't breathe.

"Because it was the right thing to do for Toombs."

Never found the right words to say.

No air, it burns.

"Because the only thing I wanted to do was tear him apart, limb from limb, with my own goddamn hands! I wanted, still want, to feel his fucking blood on my fingers!"

No sound, can’t speak.

Help me! I can't breathe!

"But I'm not a monster like he is!"

Why didn’t I say it before?

No air! My lungs are burning. I've never felt pain like this before. Hurts. Can’t see.

"He works for a fucking terrorist org!"

Empty, nothing to fill the void in my chest. Burns.

Dying.

"They say I'm a hero for surviving, but I wasn't alone and I thought I was!"

No air … never said what I meant.

Monster.

No air.

Alone.

Can't breathe.

Dead.

Commander Shepard awoke with a sharp inhale. It burned inside her lungs, causing her to sputter and cough. She wrapped her arms around her chest to calm the ache there. Her dreams often ended with her feeling like she was suffocating. Dr. Chakwas reassured her that her O2 sats were normal, her lungs were perfectly healthy, repeating words like trauma and flashbacks.

Words she knew all too well, but she wished it were medical instead. Something to be cured. Not something she just had to cope with. Helen was so tired of coping, and she had only been alive again for such a short time.

She lifted her head from her desk, where she had been reading and re-reading the same message over again until the exhaustion got the better of her. With elbows propped on the table, she buried her face in gloved hands. The gloves helped keep her from feeling the grooves in her skin where the still healing scars reminded her that she was just pieces of the real thing. Her hair, which she always wore up in an Alliance regulation bun outside of her quarters, fell in a thick, blond curtain over her face as she leaned over the desk.

A sharp rapping noise caused her to jump, and she nearly squeaked. It took a second for her to realize it was someone knocking at her locked door. What had woken her up from drowning in endless space. Sorely tempted to just tell whoever it was to fuck off, she swallowed the impulse, and instead asked, “Who is it?” If it was someone she didn’t want to speak to, she would follow up with a fuck off.

One of the few familiar voices on this wretched copy of her beloved ship sounded from the other side of her door, “Commander, it’s Garrus. Can I come in?”

“You may.” Helen remotely unlocked the door, but did not stand to greet him as he entered. Her hands still covered her eyes, and she desperately held back the tears brewing in them. Only one person on this ship had ever seen tears in her eyes. And she was sitting in the medbay, probably reviewing Shepard’s medical file and scans with a keen eye. Looking one more time for any evidence that Helen wasn’t Helen. Because Helen had asked her to.

Because Helen didn’t believe she was herself.

His steps were surprisingly light, for an alien that made her feel like she was two feet tall next to him. Commander Helen Shepard was not a short woman, but turians were just damned tall. He came to a stop next to her desk, maintaining a respectful distance, shifting subtly before he started speaking. “Commander-”

“Please Garrus, in here, I’m just Helen. I need to just be Helen,” her pleading request came out on an exhausted exhale, muffled by the fabric covering her palms.

The turian cleared his throat. She still had not looked at him. “Helen,” he said her name like he was trying it out for the first time. She liked the way it thrummed out in dual tones, like a soothing white noise. “I wanted to come check on you. You looked upset when we left the station.” Garrus had the good grace not to say that she looked sick, green, like she might vomit.

Helen slid a datapad out from under the shadow her body created over her desk, and held it out for Garrus to take. “Didn’t you hear the news? They granted him full fucking immunity in exchange for his testimony.”

If Garrus was confused by her vague explanation, the message pulled up on her datapad made it very clear.

From: Toombs Subject: What the hell? What the hell kind of game are you playing, Shepard? You did the buddy act when I had the gun on that Cerberus scientist, telling me you understood. Now I find out you’re working for Cerberus? Tests were done on me that you can’t even imagine. For years. Cerberus did them. They tortured me. They used me as a damn lab rat. And now you’re teaming up with them like they’re any other merc band? I’ve got my own merc team now, Shepard. And I kill any Cerberus team I can find. If I run into you, don’t expect any different.

“Oh,” his response came quietly, heavy with understanding. “Shep- Helen, he’s a hurting man. Dr. Wayne’s testimony will shed light on what else Cerberus has been doing. Don’t let Toombs’ anger tear you apart. You’re doing what’s necessary to stop the Collectors.”

“Am I, Garrus? I haven’t even fucking tried to do it another way, have I?” She tapped her desk with the forefinger of her right hand, and leaned her forehead into the outstretched fingers of her left. “I feel doubts crawling under my skin, like a million little biting insects. Teeth scraping against my nerves, leaving me raw, breathless. Am I me, or did they make me a monster after all? Even the Council, hell, the Alliance, treats me like I’m just a shadow, useful, but to be hidden away.”

“Permission to speak freely?”

“I’m just Helen in this room, Garrus. In this space, we’re friends, and I am not a commander.” 

After she died, her grip on her soldier’s mask fell away more often. Now, it was only present when she stood on the command deck, barking orders to her non-Alliance crew, or when she spoke to Jacob and Miranda. It was her shell, to protect her from the unknown, but she didn’t want that space between her and him. He’d seen too much to be fooled by it anyways.

Garrus shifted again, and she briefly worried that he was going to try to prod her into throwing punches again, like the last time she encountered Toombs. There was no anger hiding within her today. Just doubt. Fear. Mourning. 

“Remember when you found me on Omega, just before I took a rocket to the head?”

A weak smile found its way to her lips, even if he couldn’t see it. “I do. You don’t know how relieved I was to see your cocky, insubordinate smile.”

Eyes that recognize me, see past the lines on my face. Genuine joy to see me covered in mercenary blood, but alive. Not too late?

“Even though you should have been dead, I knew immediately that it was you. The real you. Helen, I know who you are. I’ve never had any doubts.”

“Coming from anyone else, I wouldn’t believe it. You’re the only one on this goddamn ship that I trust,” Helen said as a tear broke free and rolled down her cheek. The most vulnerable she had ever been. 

It was the truth, Miranda was Cerberus through and through, Jacob didn’t seem particularly loyal to his employer, and that somehow rankled more than Miranda’s steadfast defense. Mordin was interesting, but ultimately, he was an unknown. Massani was only loyal to his next paycheck. Kasumi, a thief. There were still more agents to recruit, of course, and she was really hoping Tali would join them, but the rest were strangers.

It felt disloyal of herself to have doubts of Dr. Chakwas and Joker, but they had been so quick to sign on, they were here before she was even awake again. It left a sour taste in her mouth.

She had recruited Garrus herself, and he felt like the only thing she could count on since her resurrection. The only one who made her feel like she wasn’t alone.

Finally, Helen dropped her hand to her desk and met Garrus’ eyes. He sucked in a sharp breath, and an absolutely confounding look passed over him. It was inscrutable to Shepard, who furrowed her eyebrows and narrowed her eyes, “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, and took far too long to answer, “It’s just that I’ve never seen you with your hair down. I didn’t realize it was so long … it’s nice.”

His awkwardness drew a warm chuckle out of her, “I guess it would be a little startling. I like to keep this part of me hidden away from the crew.”

He looked her up and down, and she became distinctly aware that she was wearing what amounted to dirty gym clothes. But it wasn’t the clothes that made her uncomfortable. He would be able to see that the scars were not just on her face, they covered her arms, and shoulders, leaving the suggestion that they covered her entire body.

They did. 

And she fucking hated it. Reminders she could not escape. She could not leave her own skin.

“I’ve never seen you out of your uniform either.”

The noise that came out of Helen was somewhere between a gasp and a giggle, caught entirely by surprise by his accidental suggestion. “Well hell, Garrus, at least buy a girl dinner first,” she smiled and leaned back in her chair, and spun to the side, deftly avoiding meeting his eyes again.

The turian shook his head slightly, clearly confused, “What?” The realization dawned on him, and he sputtered out, “Oh, Spirits, that’s not what I meant, Shepard!” 

The overwrought woman propped her elbows on her knees, and leaned forward with a sigh, “I know, Garrus. I’m just giving you a hard time.” In the awkward silence that stretched out between them for an eternity after, she found herself rubbing her face again.

“Why do you wear them? The gloves, I mean. You didn’t wear them before.”

“The scars.”

Garrus, her friend, the only one of her old crew who ever bothered to seek her out when she needed support, approached and crouched before her. Her heart rate increased as the distance closed, and she felt her breath catch. “Do they hurt, Helen?”

Shepard dropped her hands, they hung limply between her knees, and she looked at her feet. “No. It’s just that when I feel them with my own fingers … I feel like … I’m just pieces that have been hastily glued together. I forget to breathe and I’m being pulled into the vacuum again.” 

Vision gone dark, chest constricting ...

Can’t breathe.

No air.

Didn’t say what I meant.

Can’t breathe.

Dying. 

Too late.

Something wrapped around her hand, and squeezed, and she opened her eyes. She had stopped breathing again, and the oxygen flooded her lungs in a rush. Her eyes widened, and she seemed on the verge of a panic as her chest rose and fell at a crushing rate. They locked eyes and Shepard forced her breathing to return to normal. He anchored her to the ship with his hand encasing hers, kept her from flying into inky blackness again.

From the time he pissed her off so much, she nearly had a stroke from the biotic push she used to toss him into the mess wall. To the time he sat with her in silence by her gear locker, when the Normandy was grounded, and she fought the urge to scream when the guilt over leaving Kaidan behind bubbled over. To pulling her bruised and battered body from the wreckage of the Presidium after Saren and Sovereign fell. He was always there. Garrus was here now, pulling her back from the brink once more. He had his own scars, and not just the kind on his jaw.

Same as her.

“Garrus, I need to tell you-”

“Commander, we are on approach vector to Haestrom. Drop time in ten minutes.” Joker’s voice crackled over the intercom, interrupting Helen’s years late confession.

Too late.

Commander Helen Shepard leapt from her chair, standing at attention, “Shit, I need to get suited up. You’re coming, right?”

He was already on his way to the door, to go grab his gear, “Someone’s got to watch your six. The rest of the squad is too squishy to do it right.”

She had her hair wrapped in her hand, frantically pulling it back when she paused, and inhaled again. “Garrus, we need to talk, when we get back.” 

“You know where I’ll be.”

Not too late.

Not dying.

Not dead.

Breathing again.

[schoolhater]

Help Bilal's Family Survive!

After Bilal @bilal-salah0 reached his goal on August 1st, he contacted me to let me know that, because the Rafah crossing is still bombed and closed, he can't actually use the funds to evacuate his family right away. The funds have since been redirected toward the skyrocketing cost of living in Gaza.

His family now has to raise another €30,000 as soon as possible to sustain themselves before the Rafah crossing opens, which could be as soon as next week for all we know.

My post celebrating Bilal getting close to his original GFM goal has over 7,000 notes, yet Bilal is only bringing in €20 every hour or so, which is a sharp decline from his previous momentum.

Bilal is still struggling with his own housing insecurity in Germany and the looming threat of deportation. Despite this horror, he's put the work in to vet a handful of fundraisers, promote fundraisers, and call out scams for us. He is simply too busy to campaign for his family on his own.

I encourage everyone to donate to Bilal's family and share his campaign with people you know on other social media platforms. You can repost any of the art people have made for him and share the pictures on his gofundme.

Bilal is a valuable member of our community! Please don't let him fall through the cracks!

verification source (no. 132 on el-shab-hussein/nabulsi's sheet)

current progress: €70,827 / €100,000

tagging for reach, DM me if you'd like to be removed from this list:

@timetravellingkitty @meaganfoster @briarhips @mazzikah @mahoushojoe 

@rhubarbspring @schoolhater @pcktknife@transmutationisms@sawasawako 

@feluka @terroristiraqis @irhabiya @commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria 

@deepspaceboytoy @post-brahminism @junglejim4322 @kibumkim @neechees 

@mangocheesecakes @kyra45-helping-others @marnota @7bitter @tortiefrancis 

@toiletpotato @fromjannah @omegaversereloaded @vague-humanoid @criptochecca 

@aristotels @komsomolka @neptunerings @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @heritageposts 

@ot3 @amygdalae @ankle-beez@communistchilchuck @dykesbat 

@watermotif @stuckinapril @violentrevolution @mavigator @lacecap 

@socalgal @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @northgazaupdates2

@decolonize-the-left @bisexualpositivity @arty-cakes @closet-keys @assad-zaman

@claudeleine @killy @heritageposts @beanlightbibblekeepflickbeanboss @ixzotica

@realitycanbewhateveridesire @avifromaplaceofcaring @abyssbirds @maruxee @merricat-3

@tedious-insanity @budgies-in-blue @bandedbulbussnarfblat @emeraldinerosefaedragon @mothalaalee

@mere-glim @patantasma @dreamcaster-jelly @fuzzy-little-wormi-guy @salty-mush-soup

@leviticus101st @yamino @a-wild-louser-appears @kn1ghtraine @vhstape

@whatthe4355 @ehksidian @lyunarium @sunpdf @mytinystay @lopiditty

@illiterate-words @aphicius @shrimpkidd @megabullz @unknown-lifeform

@mindfulruminate @nibbelraz @beasaintgermain @fluffykitty149 @tododeku-or-bust

@littlestpersimmon @wayneradiotv @windwake-me-up-inside @flamagenitus @little-big-batbag

@chamiryokuroi @alliumduorpf @sunlitmcgee @fanficphoenixed @ourflagmeansdeath

[darkspace7]

Overture

"A plucked note, a half familiar tune, it's okay if you don't remember the words- you will soon."

(Or in which Ichigo has a bad day, meets a guy with personal space issues and who looks way too much like his zanpakuto to be comfortable, and finds out reincarnation is also apparently a thing?) Words: 10572 Rated: Fiction T A/N: This is actually very old wip that I found in one of my old journals and simply decided one day to finish on a whim. I've always been rather fond of reincarnation stories and figured it would work out rather well here. Also honestly I just wanted to have an excuse for Ichigo being a salty little shit to someone. Anyway, I do not hold the rights for either DGM or Bleach because -let's be honest here- would I really be writing fanfiction if I did?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Overture"-noun: an orchestral piece that serves as the precursor to a larger musical composition; the start of something much bigger. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Sixteen…"

With a flash of steel viscera flew away, shattering into nothingness before it even had a chance to hit the ground.

"Seventeen…"

The thick blade of the khyber knife slid through flesh and bone with little effort, carving a path of destruction in its wake.

"Eighteen!"

The teen hefted the massive blade onto his shoulder and cast a glance back at one of the (un)fortunate few hollows that had managed to escape from the carnage. ' Though not for long… ' "Oi Ishida!" He called out suddenly, "That's eighteen now, how many have you managed so far?"

A bolt of blue soared past him, just narrowly missing by a small margin as it went on to pierce the mask of one of the more opportunistic hollows who thought they might be able to get a cheap shot or two in while he was distracted. "Perhaps you should focus on the task at hand instead of asking inane questions like who can kill the most hollows in one go Kurosaki." The bespectacled Quincy replied in a droll tone as he leapt back, ducking quickly in an effort to avoid the clawed swipe a low-level adjuchas before launching off a volley of arrows in retaliation. "And it's twenty-three if you must know."

"Damn." Ichigo turned away with a grumble but still felt the need to retort,"Yeah, well, you know we wouldn't even be out here in the first place with if a certain somebody hadn't shoved me back into that crate of hollow bait!"

"I already told you that was an accident! My arms were so full of stuff that I couldn't even see over them! How on earth was I supposed to know you were right behind the door? I may have talents that span across many fields, but you will be hard pressed to find being psychic among them." "Uh-huh, yeah, sure." Ichigo nodded entirely unconvinced, "Tell that to the hand you messed up!" He flicked said appendage toward the other teen. An action of which merely caused the other to roll his eyes. "It was just a small cut Kurosaki, stop being so melodramatic." "Melodramatic?!" The teen cried, "You're not the one who ended up taking an entire shelf down with him! I got dirt and god-knows-what in this damn thing. Do you know how much bacteria is in that shit? I'm lucky if it doesn't get infected!" A shout quickly cut both of them off and not a moment later it was followed with a large hollow being sent sailing past the taller teen. He blinked and turned to the source. "Hey how you holding up Chad?

"Fine." Yasutora Sado -or as he was known to his friends- Chad replied. "I managed to get thirty so far." His armored fist crashed through the skull of a still-twitching creature. "Though I think that was the last one."

The deafening sound of a garganta tearing through the night sky drew their attention upwards. Twin sets of bleached bone hands accompanied by the massive visages of their owners peered out of the void-like spacial tear. They stared up at the newly-arrived gillians for a second before Chad spoke up once more. "I might've been wrong." Uryu pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

"You know…" Ichigo eyed the gillians with a discerning look, "This feels suspiciously familiar for some reason." He turned to face his Quincy companion speculatively, "Didn't we have to do something similar to this the last time you decided to be an idiot?"

"Ugh, don't remind me." He grumbled, shooting the teen a gimlet stare. "Don't tell me you're thinking of rushing up and trying to knock them down from the bottom-up again are you?"

'Er well maybe not from the bottom-up anyway.' The substitute shinigami thought with a flush. "That was one time! And from what I remember, its not like your plan was any better!"

"Excuse me?" Came the indignant response. Ichigo's look was as dry as his words, "It involved tying my sword to your head and trying to shoot the damn thing down Ishida. I think that counts."

"Ichigo."

"What?" The teen turned to his tall friend who in turn made a silent gesture towards the general vicinity of the massive hollows, the other's gaze locked on something in the distance. Curious, he traced the path only to spot the telltale glow of a cero beginning to form on the leftmost gillian's lips. "Oh…shit." With that he moved.

Shifting into a shunpo, he flickered up and over to meet the threat. Zangetsu out and at the ready, he sent forth a nameless arc of energy directly into the large beast's face. The light of the cero dissipated as the gillian was knocked back from the sheer force of the attack. Incensed, the being let out an ear-drum shattering screech.

However, not giving it a chance to recover, Ichigo launched himself forward and swung. A fearsome cry ripped loose as the blade cleaved though the hollow's mask and eventually the being itself. "That's nineteen." He slid back, allowing the dissipating reishi of the newly purified beast to filter around him as he made to survey his newest target. "Now let's see if we can make it twenty."

A faint shimmering glow began to encapsulate the zanpakuto as wisps of power rose up to meet their king's demand. Slipping one foot back, he settled into a firm stance, braced the charged blade with a strong grip, and then uttered the two damning words, "Getsuga Tensh-?!"

It was then, at that very moment, he felt his power surge. Taken off guard by the unexpected ferocity he jerked and involuntarily released the charged attack. However he only had a split second to process this before it all went to hell. It was… odd, he thought with a detached air. There was the vague sense of his half-called attack coming forth to strike the unfortunate hollow with enough force that if the blast itself hadn't destroyed it then the resounding shockwave would have managed that thrice over. A searing throb pulsed through his arm as ringing echoed with an omnipresent chime in his ears. He thought if he strained hard enough that he could maybe make out the disant voices of his friends and the rush of wind flowing past him as he flew. And then suddenly the world shifted and he was falling and everything was beginning to lose focus and then- Darkness.

-------------------------------[ - XIV - ]------------------------------------ … … …? **…? It.. me, ****. Ca. ..u …r m. ..t? ***** y.u …d .. get up! ***..?!

"Damn it Ichigo wake up!" -------------------------------[ - XV - ]---------------------------------- Warm brown eyes flickered a bit as the lids hiding them cracked open- only to clamp shut seconds later with a pained hiss. He opted to remain like that as he took stock of his situation. He was obviously still alive if the general ache that seemed to run through every part of his body were any indication (and shit if it didn't hurt) and from what he could tell, he was sprawled out on on something hard and cold - the ground- presumably. His hand twitched and brushed up against something at his side. Curiosity taking precedence for the moment, he hazarded a glance around until his slit-eyed gaze happened upon the thing. It was his sword, somehow he had managed to keep his grip on the blade despite being tossed about like a ragdoll. Good to know.

"Ichigo!"

His head tilted towards the shout and the tension bled from his frame when he caught sight of who it was. "Hey…you okay?" The teen managed to grit out. 'Because I sure as hell am not.'

"Kurosaki." There was a flicker of relief behind metal-rimmed frames that was quickly asked by annoyance. "I think that question would better be directed at yourself." Reaffixing the sliding pair of lenses he continued on, "Seeing as I'm not the one in the crater right now."

"Ishida!" It was at that moment that Chad had finally managed to make it to the scene. As his attention flickered from the Quincy to a vaguely irritated-looking Ichigo then to the surrounding destruction he came to a conclusion of some sort and finally let his gaze come to rest on the fallen substitute shinigami. He took a step forward and asked, "What happened?"

With some difficulty Ichigo managed to push himself into a semiseated position. He looked up at the two perched upon the lip of the impact site with a pensive scowl. "I'm… not entirely sure." He admitted honestly, a hand raked through disheveled locks as he thought.

"It looked like you exploded."

"Yeah? That's a bit what it felt like too." The whole peculiarity pf the incident had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth (although that might've just been blood.) "It was weird. I was just doing as I normally do when out of nowhere my power just sort of… skyrocketed. Next thing I know that hollow is on death's door and my ass is being sent flying halfway across the city."

They were all silent for a pause, each lost to their own thoughts until Ishida decided to break it. "We should head on back, perhaps that shopkeeper can shed some light on things."

The black-clad teen snorted, "If you somehow think you can get him to drop that cryptic bullshit for two seconds then by all means go for it." He slowly began to pull himself up, grunting quietly from the effort.

"Do you need some help?" Chad -ever the reliable friend- offered.

"No, no. I got it." He waved him off and slowly managed to heave himself upright with Zangetsu acting as a sort of makeshift crutch. He successfully made it a step-and-a-half forward before his legs decided to give out on him and he crumpled. "Um maybe I don't have it…"

Ishida's brow hiked up slightly, "Oh really? I honestly couldn't tell." He drawled, earning a glower from the other teen. The bespectacled youth chuckled slightly as he bent down and carefully perched himself on the rim of the crater, his hand extended out towards his sometime friend/rival. Grumbling under his breath, the boy clasped onto the proffered limb with a firm embrace. And then it happened…

One moment everything was fine and the next second, right as Ichigo's made contact, the other's sleeve seemed to just disintegrate. A startled yelp escaped the Quincy as he jerked the limb from the other's grasp, the sudden loss of support sending the teen back down flat on his ass. He stared in a sort of horrified bewilderment as the other clutched at the pained limb and from where he was sitting Ichigo thought he could spot a welt of red stand stark out against pale skin. Appearing almost as if it had been seared there. His gaze flickered down to his bandaged hand, watching as the appendage trembled slightly when he made a fist.

What in the actual fuck?

Pain momentarily shunted to the back of his mind, he scrambled up the pile of rubble, taking care to maneuver around the duo as he hefted himself up and over the ledge. Wordlessly he met their troubled flickers with an uneasy gleam of his own. The same unspoken question passed between them: just what the hell was going on? Thankfully they were spared the issue of dwelling on it for too long when a distinctly familiar presence decided to make itself known. "Oh my, you boys sure know how to make a mess." The clack-clack of wooden sandals slapping against concrete came to as stop as their owner cast an impassive eye at the trio, namely a certain swordsman. "Well I suppose it's a good thing that my ability to conveniently appear at just the right moment is as impeccable as always. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Urahara-san, as much as we would love to stand around and discuss your frankly stalker-like tendencies don't you think there are slightly more pressing matters to attend to?"

The man's attention flickered briefly to the injured Quincy before shifting back to Ichigo. "Yes, I suppose so. Exposition time it is then." He affected an almost put upon sigh before sobering so fast it could've given a person whiplash. Leaning forward with his cane as a support he began, "I'm certain you can recall the actions of young Kurosaki-san of a few months prior. How in a desperate last ditch effort he employed the use of his final single most powerful technique in order to stop Aizen and ultimately save out collective asses, in spite of the supposed cost brought about by doing such a thing."

"Except that didn't happen." Ichigo said slowly, "The cost that is."

"Precisely. Which is in where lies the problem." The man's steel eyes glinted slightly, "With the use of that technique you should have immediately undergone the process of losing your spiritual pressure -and with it your powers- the moment you released the attack. But you didn't. Somehow the process was… circumvented -for lack of a better term- allowing for you to pursuit a third option and keep both your abilities and your spiritual energies, albeit in a slightly diminished state. Naturally, phenomena such as this bore further examination and I have to say," He pushed his hat back allowing for a better view, "The results were rather interesting and, sadly to say, inconclusive."

"These results wouldn't happen to involve things like, say, random power spikes and straight up disintegrating shit would they?" The brown-eyed teen asked lowly.

The blond nodded, "From what I have been able to gather I'd say its a bit something like this: imagine if you will, a system of pipes and valves. Normally you'd twist on the tap and water would flow through them with no trouble right? Now picture that those valves, for whatever reason, up and decided that they simply don't want to work properly anymore. What happens when suddenly there's all this extra water and nowhere for it to go? It begins to back up and flood the system, naturally."

He almost didn't want to ask but he needed to know, "And… what happens when the system is completely flooded?"

"Over time the pressure produced would escalate to a level far beyond that which is in any way safe and eventually the backlash would destroy the system entirely-" The blond's gaze traveled significantly to Ishida who continued to clutch at his wounded arm, "- along with everything else within a fourteen kilometer radius." The teen felt his blood become ice. "Oh." A bead of sweat dripped from his brow, "That's…not good." Was all that he managed to get out.

It was a bit before anyone could figure out just how exactly they were supposed to respond to that little proclamation when Ishida -ever the pragmatist- asked, "Is there any way to fix it and make it so that doesn't happen?"

For a brief second he dared hope but when the man simply shook his head his heart sunk, "While I do have some theories that could potentially bear merit, I'm rather reluctant to implement them, at least not until I can manage to extrapolate the underlying cause of all this."

As the incredulous disbelief, which had been progressively mounting throughout the duration of the the conversation, finally deigned itself to drag the teen into its murky depths a thought occurred to him and much like a lifeline he clutched onto it. "What about my body?" Could he even return to it in this state?

The man hummed thoughtfully, "You probably could try to go back to it, but unless you want first-hand knowledge on what its like to inhabit a body that's in the process of slowly being torn apart from the inside by its own spiritual pressure, then I'd advise against it."

'Well that answers that.' The teen grimaced, it was not a pretty picture and in all honesty he kind of felt like he was going to be sick. Having your own abilities suddenly decide you would look better slammed into the concrete and then being told that you were essentially a ticking time bomb that could potentially level half the damn city simply by existing would do that to a person he supposed. "Ichigo." He twitched. Raising up to meet the gentle giant's silent concern, they locked eyes for a moment before he looked away, unable to answer the question held within. Was he okay? Good question.

"I-" He swallowed thickly, noticing how his hands tightened around Zangetsu's grip. Only then he realized he had neglected to sheath the blade and immediately set about rectifying this. He hoped the others were unable to see the way his hands shook as he did.

(They probably could.)

He… He needed some space. To be alone so he could just think and attempt to process whatever the fuck was happening right now with his body, with him. And this is pretty much what he told the others. (And if he was alone then at least he wouldn't take anyone with him.)

Urahara met this with a nod of understanding, hands drifting to his pockets. "I have something for you," He dug through them, pulling out a stick of gum and a rubber duck to which he quickly dismissed and tossed away. "It's only a prototype at the moment-" An innocuous looking green stone of indeterminate construction (it almost seemed to contain an unearthly glow) quickly joined the pile, "-but-" followed by a traffic cone and a stop sign (How did that even fit…?), "-if it works…" then a ball of multicoloured rubber bands and a roll of bandages (which were spared a moment's glance then lobbed over to a thankful Chad), "-it should be able to open up a portal to Hueco Mundo for you to go through," And, finally, out slipped the palm-sized device. "You know, if you, well…"

He trailed off, finger hovering above the sole button on the device for a second before he pressed down. "The portal will only be able to stay open for about a minute on this end but that should be long enough for you to make it through if you hurry."

Ichigo nodded and shifted so now that his friends were the ones in sight instead. He opened his mouth to say something but got cut off before the words had ever reached his tongue. "Go." The tallest of the trio said, "We'll take care of things here." He made certain that they could see the thanks in his eyes before he turned away. Taking a fortifying breath the substitute shinigami stared straight ahead. Only a minute huh? He could handle that.

"Ah well I suppose I should be getting back to the shop. Come along now Sado-kun, Ishida-san."

A beat, then two, and then suddenly he was standing before the static-filled void between worlds.

"Urahara-san aren't you forgetting something?"

He took a step. "Huh? Oh right! Wouldn't want to litter would we? Now let's see, there's this and oh wow! Forgot I had that and… huh? Could've sworn there were two…"

The last vestiges of conversation drifted from awareness with a crack as the mouth of the portal came down behind him and he let out the breath he hadn't known he had been holding. Mechanically, he started forward, legs automatically propelling him towards that land of eternal night. Maybe on the way there he could think of some way that he might just be able to pull his sorry ass out of the proverbial fire this time, and maybe, just maybe there would be no one around to hear his frustrated scream.

------------------------------------[ - XIV - ]--------------------------------

The rhythmic patter of footfalls and unsteady breaths trailed along as he ran. The solitary sounds in stark juxtaposition with the oppressive nothingness was what had finally allowed for the shock to break and everything else settle in. How long had it been now? It was as if he had been on a treadmill, running endlessly yet never getting anywhere. But surely that couldn't be so, he must've made some progress right?

… Right?

He wondered if they managed to make it back to the shop yet. (He tried not to remember deep red in the shape of a hand -his hand- to not picture white-and-silver-and-blue wracked in pain -that he had caused- or recall warm brown, kind yet tinted with a solemn silence and it was his own fault goddamn it-) He hoped they had. In his distraction the walkway he stood upon began to slip back into the ether and caused the teen to pitch forward a bit until he managed to right himself and continue on. It was just a bit before thoughts once more began to drift.

His family…

A niggling feeling of guilt wormed its way up his chest and settled heavily in his throat. He had promised to watch his sisters since their father was out of town for the weekend but now how was he supposed to do that if he couldn't even get near them (or anyone else for that matter?) What if they weren't able to fix things and he'd never be able to see any of them again? Something cold slithered down and joined its fellow in the depths of his heart. He wondered if anyone had went ahead and even bothered to tell them anything. 'Oh god they haven't had they?'

(With a dawning horror he imagined the two girls waiting for him to come home as they always did only to come to learn that their older brother just simply wouldn't be coming back this time and probably never would again. Yuzu would be devastated which would set Karin off because nobody gets away with upsetting her twin like that and then she would try to hunt him down so she could kick his ass and he'd completely deserve it too because what kind of brother does that to his sisters? But it'd all be in vain because he'd be dead and-) He tripped and caught himself once again.

"…" This was taking a very long time. Surely he should've made it somewhere by now shouldn't he? Did he manage to get himself lost on top of everything else? Had Urahara's sketchy invention been a dud? He did say it was a prototype. (Or maybe it was never meant to take him anywhere in the first place and the bastard had left him to die like-)

He shook his head. Well wouldn't that be just perfect, being forced to spend the rest of eternity trapped in the void until either his power tipped past critical and took him with it or he went irrevocably insane from the the fact that he just couldn't seem to find the damned exit- oh.

As if summoned, a bright light slipped onto his visual radar and seemed to grow nearer with every passing second. He quickly stomped on the breaks and screeched to a stop just before it, having came this close to missing the mark completely. Taking a step back, the teen carefully peered out into the distance at the sea of sand below. Very distant. Man he was high up. "Hn a fall like that would've- oof!"

Something slammed into his back, knocking him off-kilter and sending him flailing through the open portal. Suddenly he was falling and those 'distant sands' didn't look quite so distant anymore.

Ichigo screamed. -------------------------------------[ - XV - ]------------------------------- … A****. … Wh. .re … ..ing? …? Yo. ..n't .. ..mfor…le ..ke .h.. .. .et up. (…Nngh.) Co.. .. .ow ..u .ren't ..ving up on m. .r. y..? (W-Who?) Do… yo. re…ber? (I don't…?) Sta.. .n .our ow. ..o .eet Al***, kee. m…ng for..rd wit..ut hesi..ti.n. Eve. .f .ts jus. one st.. at a t..e, walk. .ow enoug. lyi.. aro..d. Get up. (What?) Get up All- --------------------------------[ - XIV - ]------------------------------------ He inhaled sharply and was instantly rewarded with a mouth full of sand. Sputtering, he noted how this was starting to become a pattern. One that seriously needed to stop. He shifted around to lay sprawled out on his back, eyes clamped shut as his breathing evened out. Ichigo took a moment to just stay like that. God, everything hurt. With head turned a bit to the side he finally decided to open his eyes…only to find a face a breath away from his own. He swore.

"Well that's one way to wake up." The figure remarked dryly. Ichigo's mouth opened slightly before he paused then slowly let it fall shut. Brown eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he took in the figure that stood before him only to widen again when he drew back in confusion. '…Tensa?' He blinked. No, that… didn't make any sense. For a number of reasons, actually.

The first of which being the fact that -if his surroundings were any indication- he was not currently within his inner world at the moment.

(That is to say, if the place hadn't up and decided one day that it wanted to look exactly like the Hueco Mundo for no other reason than to simply make him confused.) Sure, there was the possibility that the spirit had decided to manifest into the physical realm for whatever reason but that just gave rise to even more questions. Like why was he even in that form to begin with? The last time he checked he hadn't entered bankai or anything like that so there was really no reason for him to be that way. Unless… whatever was going on was affecting his zanpakuto too? Hn actually… now that he looked closer there was a slight difference or two between the being before him and the spirit of memory. (But still the resemblance was uncanny.)

… And the guy was staring at him. Had he zoned out?

"You okay? You didn't hit your head there did you?" An eyebrow hiked up slightly but the expression was otherwise impassive. Yep, he had. But that was besides the point. The awkward silence stretched between them for a bit longer until the other finally asked, "You just going to keep sitting there?"

"Um…" He replied smartly.

Not-Tensa rolled his eyes and huffed. Hand extended, he proffered it for the other to grasp. When he made no move to do so he leaned forward"

"Ah don't-" -and firmly clasped it in his own. …What?

He hefted the balking teen up with ease, lips curved into a bland smirk as if he hadn't done something that which by all rights should've been impossible. Ichigo was certain he was gaping at the moment but seriously what the actual hell man? The way the other's eyebrow raised, as if to say 'what of it?' certainly wasn't helping matters any. Just who was this guy?!

Apparently either completely oblivious or someone who simply did not give a fuck to any kind of social convention if the way he now dragged him along was anything to go by. "H-Hold on a second! What the hell?! Let go!" Ichigo finally had the good sense to start struggling against the other's grasp but alas was unable to break free. Damn, the guy's grip was like iron. "Where are you dragging me?" That was definitely not a note of panic in his voice, nosiree. But the other merely ignored him as he hummed under his breath. The fingers of his free hand tapping rhythmically against his pants leg, as if they were sketching out a melody that only he were privy to. (He wondered briefly what that strange melody would sound like if it were played across the set of a fine ivory keyboard before he shook his head. Now wasn't the time for such things.) Abruptly the humming cut off. Then-

"What the hell is that?!" A doorway of ethereal white had flickered into view amongst the desert sands. The man's grip tightened as if sensing his suddenly renewed desire to abscond the fuck out of there and slowly began to drag him toward the light. It was at this point the teen began to struggle in earnest. Because okay, yeah, no. There was no way in hell he was going to let himself be placidly dragged along into whatever-the-fuck that was, weird zanpakuto doppelganger notwithstanding!

"Hey! I'm not-" A sharp tug had him nearly biting his tongue as he stumbled forward. Just barely able to catch himself in time and avoid a nasty spill he shot the man's back a dirty glare that sadly served to do little to help his predicament. He wasn't quite sure how but he thought he could feel the faint amusement bleeding from the man's frame. Asshole. And it was with that the struggling youth disappeared into the doorway of light. -------------------------------[ -XV- ]--------------------------------------- White.

That's all that he could see.

A empty town with white cobbled roads, white stone doors, white window frames, white wooden floors. Down a white hallway that lead to a white room with a white piano across from a white couch next to where he now stood. No matter where he turned there it was, that damned colour -or rather- lack of it. It sent a shiver up his spine. (A flicker of memory crossed his mind of a white moon in a dark sky across endless white sands; of long -short- red -black- hair and brown -black- eyes, crying, crying; of black cloth and white stone and white hands stained red red red- "Ichigo!" "*****!") He blinked. How had he even wound up in this situation again? Oh right, that asshole. He strained against the vice-like grip with a huff. Suddenly the death hold was dropped as his kidnapper made to brush past him. The man padded across to where the instrument lay and promptly claimed its bench as his own. Upon having been seated he turned and gave a gesture for him to do the same. He did, keeping his eyes trained firmly on the other as he slowly shifted Zangetsu from his holster to rest conspicuously upon his lap. The action and its clear intent seemed to evoke a small smile from the other.

"Way you were thrashing I would've expected to be held at knifepoint sooner rather than later."

An utterly flat stare. "It's kind of hard to hold someone at knifepoint when the one with the knife is the one being dragged along through god-knows-where by a weirdo with no concept of personal space boundaries. But something tells me you already knew that." He drawled.

A conceding nod. "But not impossible if one was truly inclined." Not- Tensa added, looking over at the blade with an almost appreciative eye. "Not that it would have done much with your current state being what it is at the moment." Bright eyes gave the teen's hastily bandaged hand a significant look. Ichigo -refusing to rise to the bait snorted. He shifted forward, letting the damaged limb splay against the flat of the blade and met the other's gaze.

"And just who are you to care about a thing like that?" The man smirked.

"Well, truthfully I've held many a title over the years, some being more…creative than others. But I suppose something to best suit the current situation would be…hm yes. You can call me, ****!"

… What?

A bead of sweat dribbled down the young teen's spine as the heavy feeling of something utterly foreign and cold settled down upon him. The man had clearly said something so why couldn't he…? Quickly schooling his features, the teen then asked in as nonchalant of a way as he could manage: "Could you repeat that? I didn't quite catch it the first time."

The other's brow furrowed, a faint glimmer of something flickered through his eyes before it was gone. Ichigo watched as he did as he was asked, observing how the man's lips went slowly through the motions again to say his name and…nothing.

Complete and utter silence.

Even though he should've been able to, even though he could almost taste the sting of syllables on his tongue, he just couldn't make out a sound. The other's expression was inscrutable, a carefully bland mask as he observed but the teen paid it little mind because that thing right there? That's what did it for him. More than the other's inexplicable resistance to whatever weirdness that was going on with him, more than the strange portals to stranger bleached ghost towns and their unnerving (familiar) emptiness, it was that: the silence where it should not have been. That was what scared him.

"Well, this is a problem." The man sighed, "Although not much of a surprising one." And then in an undertone, "You always did like to make things unnecessarily difficult."

That last little bit drew the teen up short, successfully dragging him out of the beginnings of a downward spiral that he nearly found himself in. At least for the moment anyway. "You make it sound like we're already well acquainted." 'And I know I've never seen you before in my life.' He thought to himself. 'So there's no way.' Right?

"In a way, yes." Before Ichigo could ask what the hell that meant the man suddenly sat back and slapped his hands together, startling the boy. "I have an idea! Why don't we play a round of twenty questions?"

Okay, what?

The confusion must've been apparent because he went on to explain, "Understandable that you would have questions about any number of things. Things that I may or may not hold the answers to, so what better way to solve this little dilemma than with a bit of back and forth hm?"

"Okay first off: I'm…pretty sure that's not how 'twenty questions' works-"

"Semantics."

"-and second, something tells me that you'd be getting a lot more out of this deal than I would." And I'm not quite sure how I feel about that to be honest.

It was brief but he caught the faint flicker of something in the man's eyes before it was gone with an apathetic shrug, "Fair enough. But honestly, what have you really got to lose at this point? I mean with your condition…" The other trailed off with a significant look and that made his hackles rise.

'Oh I can think of a few things.' He thought, having to bite back the retort. His hand twitched faintly at his side. While it was true that he could perhaps get some of his many questions answered such as: 'How was it that you were able to grab me without a thought while my friends couldn't so much as touch me without getting hurt?' or 'What exactly are you because I know for a damn fact that there's no way you could be a normal human being or even a spirit for that matter with that creepy vibe you're giving off right now,' and his personal favourite: 'Why the hell can't I hear your name?' but was it worth it?

Some nagging feeling in the back of his mind whispered no; that giving this zanpakuto lookalike could potentially do more harm than good. This was further exasperated by the sensation that he felt emanating off of the man, something not too dissimilar from the one that he received from that damned shopkeeper. And if there was one thing that he had learned for certain it was to always be on your guard whenever that mad scientist was involved. But, that being said…

"Alright." He shifted forward with an acquiescing tick of the head, "Let's see what you got."

The man visibly brightened, "Knew you'd come around eventually. So why don't I start us off with something nice and easy like… oh, how about your name?"

('My name? Oh, why it's-')

…? The teen shifted slightly, settling back into the stiff fabric of the cushions. An orange brow hiked up just a bit. "Shouldn't you know already?"

"Of course, but it'd be rather rude not to allow you the chance to introduce yourself don't you think? After all it is usually the first introduction upon which one usually draws their opinion of another is it not?"

"I guess?"

"…" A blank smile. Slender digits traveled along the flat of the knife, an arrhythmic beat tapped along in their wake. "…" "… Well?" "Well what?" "Aren't you?" "Aren't I what ?" "Going to introduce yourself?" The other stated plainly, as if pointing out the obvious.

'Seeing as there isn't much of a damn point why would I?' He thought with a sort of blank incredulity because surely the man had to have been fucking with him, but no, from the expectant gaze trained upon him he realized that the guy was dead serious. Weird. He vented out a huff and proceeded to -in the single most sarcastic and utterly done voice that he could muster- say, "Hello I'm-"

('-A***n ***k*r-') "-Kurosaki Ichigo and I'm-" ('-an Exorcist-') "-a Substitute Shinigami. I think its been a real pleasure to have been able to hang out in this creepy colourless ghost town with only my zanpakuto's weird doppelganger for company, how about you?" "…Somehow I doubt all that." Said doppelganger deadpanned. "And what do you mean weird?" He added as an afterthought. Blatantly ignoring this the teen plowed on, "My turn, so where are we anyway?"

The man ceased his muttering and turned to look at the boy, "Just for the sake of clarification: do you mean in general or-" a gloved hand waved vaguely at the space around them, "-the room we're currently in, or perhaps even-"

"Just answer the damn question!" Ichigo barked, his patience finally having snapped.

The man seemed to blink and give him another one of those curious stares before finally something shifted and his eyes lost that playful glow. It was a subtle change but a definitive one, having the teen subconsciously sitting up a touch with a slight frown as the sobered air settled upon them. A brief irrational thought had him wonder if, just perhaps, he might have said the wrong thing but he pressed on. After all, he deserved at least that didn't he? Besides, he had seen all kinds of weirdness so whatever the man threw at him couldn't be that bad compared to some of the other things he'd witnessed. Probably.

The other leaned forward, carefully pressing the fingertips of his gloved hands together, "Tell me boy, are you familiar with the story of Noah?" "'Noah?'" He questioned, tasting the syllables as they rolled across his tongue. "Vaguely." Was the orange-headed teen's answer, tone contemplative as he flicked through old conversations in his mind's eye. "It's a story from the bible, isn't it?" Upon the other's look he elaborated, "My friend, Chad, his grandfather was born in Mexico and raised to be Catholic so when Chad was younger the two of them spent a lot of time together at the local church where they would pray and sometimes read from the scripture. Apparently that story used to be one of his favourites. I remember him telling me about it."

Chocolate eyes lifted to meet tarnished gold and he had to blink, had they always been that color? There was something haunting about those eyes that held him. A soul-searing pair with an intense otherworldly quality, not quite unlike another pair that he knew of, albeit, without the inverted scelera and the wild madness he knew that lie underneath. Hopefully anyway.

Shaking off the mental image he continued, "It was about this guy, Noah, right? God was apparently pissed at the world because humans -unsurprisingly- turned out to be a bunch of jerks all except for this one dude. So god then tells the dude to build this giant ship thing and to load up his family and a zoo on it because basically god told him he was gonna go to town on everyone else and didn't want them caught in the crossfire. And so everyone but them died and the world reset or something like that." His brow furrowed a bit as he thought back to remember just what had been said, "Sorry, it's kind of been a while since I heard it." Plus there had been a bit of paraphrasing too but he had gotten the gist of it more or less. And what if I were to say that story, or at the very least an unbastardized version of it, was but all too real?"

He was silent for a moment, "I'd say: all stories have to start somewhere. More often than not it's the craziest ones that have a basis in fact." A pause, "And would it be wrong to assume you had something to do with it?" The following silence was confirmation enough.

"Would you be willing to share then?" As if sensing the stirring of uneasiness he quickly added, "If not everything, then what you can?" He knew first hand what it was like to have things that you wanted to keep to yourself, painful insidious things forcefully locked away so that you never had to see-think-hear of them ever again in the light of day. He understood. But conversely, he also knew the danger of silence.

"In time, perhaps. The past is… complicated. For more reasons than you know." He murmured quietly, appearing for a moment as if weighted down with some great unfathomable burden. And then it was gone, replaced with what was beginning to become a familiar mask. "Back to your previous question, this place-" a gesture to the space around them, "-was once our home, among other things. 'The Ark' we deemed it, home to the clan of Noah. And this very room in which we now sit?" A faint smile flickered into being as he turned back to face the piano, hand running gently over the ivory keys. Shadowed eyes stared into the mid-distance, attention snagged by something that only he could see. "Its center-" Golden irises side-eyed him from where he sat, "-or Heart, if you will."

Ichigo felt his bandaged hand twitch faintly as his own heart decided to stop and skip a beat. This gave him a moment's pause as there was no rhyme nor reason for the action. "Yeah?" He said with a mental shake of the head and attempted to distract himself from the peculiar behaviour, "And what did you do in here?"

"A bit of this and that. Play piano." The man shrugged, "Other stuff."

"This 'other stuff' wouldn't just so happen to deal with anything that might bring about the apocalypse now would it?" He had honestly been half-kidding but when the other didn't respond he felt a minor spike of alarm. Seriously? The teen cleared his -suddenly dry- throat and, as if without any input from himself, the following escaped his lisp, "Just what is the Ark?"

The Noah froze, hand poised above the keys before slowly it retracted and fell limply back to his lap. "It's… The best way to describe it would be 'a world between worlds'; a sort of in-between place with many 'doors' that could lead to anywhere and anything that your mind could think of, and even some it can't." His lips curved into a little half-smirk, "I suppose you could compare it a bit to something like the Dangai with a couple of senkaimon thrown in but better looking and with marginally less things that would try to kill you at the moment."

'Like a doorway…' Chocolate eyes widened, "That white gate thing in the desert." "Mhm." He nodded. "Then…that thing you were humming…the way your fingers kept twitching…" A keen gaze trailed along to the only other thing with them in the everpresent white. 'As if you were playing a song…' "The Key."

Ichigo looked at him, "Key?" "An audi-visual system directory entered into a specific frequency only accessible via the correct pattern being paired with a certain physical device i.e.: a musical instrument for example." "So play the piano open the door." He summarized.

"Basically." The Noah shot him a vaguely amused look, "What? You didn't think this thing here was just for show did you?" "Ah, no." He coloured faintly. Not gonna lie though, he had been kind of wondering what its deal was though. "So, like, can anyone control it if they had the passcode or is there something extra that makes it user-specific or something?"

He quirked a brow, "Why, curious?"

"No." Yes. "I was just wondering if you had to be a pianist or if anything else would do." A small shrug.

"And just what's wrong with the piano?" Was it him or did the guy almost seem…affronted? He returned this with a blank stare and a vague gesture to said instrument, "I can't play for shit. Any instrument really." He thought for a second, "No wait, I can play guitar. Sort of. Chad's been giving me lessons."

The musician matched this with a blank look of his own. "…Right. You know? It's not that hard. C'mere I'll show you." Ichigo almost got up to follow until he remembered his current predicament. "Actually, it'd probably be a better idea for me to just stay over here ya'know?" He absently toyed with the frayed fabric that wrapped around his left wrist. There had been no time to find a proper bandage so he had used a strip of Zangetsu's cloth and he hoped the sword hadn't minded too much, it had been kind of an emergency after all so probably not.

The Noah stared him blankly for a second before a light seemed to click on. "Ah right, I suppose some other time then." Yeah, if he could ever get that random disintegration under wraps then sure. But until then he was better off staying away from important looking things, or anything alive for that matter. He'd probably wind up accidentally burning some poor bastard's skin off when they tried to touch him like what happened to Ishida and…wait.

"Hey, how did you grab me?" Seeing the look of confusion he clarified, "Back in the desert, you dragged me here. How?" Because by all rights he shouldn't have been able to do so. Not-Tensa tilted his head to the side, "You mean how did I escape injury via that ridiculous and unstable mess that you call your spiritual presence? Oh don't look so surprised, it'd literally be impossible not to notice." Gold eyes watched the teen keenly. "I assume you have some clue as to what is going on?" "I know what its doing-"

(a surge of power, the sharp crack of a body hitting pavement, burning flesh and a scream-) "But not why." The Noah finished. "I might have a theory." He pointed to the wrapped fist, "But I'm going to have to see that first." Dark brown eyes turned wary as their owner gave a hard stare, finally -lips taught- he followed with a slow nod. The cloth came off with little trouble, its purpose having been fulfilled and thus reabsorbed back into the spiritual fabric from where it came. This continued on until the very last little bit peeled off to reveal- "What the actual fuck?"

Bizarre. That was the only way to describe it. That long messy cut he had received what felt like a lifetime ago back at the shop had sealed over with this strange thing. He could see small flecks of it scattered around the back of his hand, sinking into the tan flesh, corrupting it . Hesitantly he felt along the edge, taking in the smooth almost glasslike quality and ethereal sheen. It felt warm, almost- (Innocent) A set of gloves gently took his hand. He started. "Its just as I thought."

Ichigo tore his eyes away to gape at the Noah. "What?" "That-" A nod to the hand, "-right there is the reason for all your problems." He shot the hand a look as though it had personally offended him somehow. "The sporadic power swells and blockages, mood swings, hell even the fact that you've still been able to galavant about as a patron of souls in the first place. Its all because of this." He gave the stone a tap, eliciting a shiver. The teen was torn between asking how he knew this and telling the man to back the hell off because he was too close but was cut off when he began to speak again, "You've probably been subconsciously syncing with it for weeks and all it needed was a single opening and bam you're an Accommodator."

"Okay." He carefully pulled his hand out of the other's grip, "So what am I supposed to do about that?" He sat back on his haunches and appeared to think it over for a bit before pulling a face, "Well there's nothing for it." He sighed, scratching the back of his head with a gloved hand. "Unless you want to spend the rest of your short existance in isolation -haunted by the weight of your failures as you begin your slow but assured descent into madness and subsequent self-destruction- you have to synchronize with it." The resigned way he said it, as if he were being put upon by something truly bothersome, made the teen twitch just a bit.

"So saying I do this thing, what happens?" "Well, it should allow for things to reach a stable equilibrium…" "But?" He prompted. "I'm not going to lie to you, once you choose to do something like this there isn't any going back. Because if you successfully manage to come out of this there's a strong possibility that things are going to be…different. You're going to be different. Different in ways that not even I could foresee."

"I see." He shut his eyes for a moment. The faces of his family and friends flashed though his mind in an instant. Silently he clenched his fist. 'No going back huh?' His focus shifted to the blade sitting on his lap and he remembered the spirit's words. To hesitate and he would be stuck here, trapped at a crossroads until time claimed him. To go back was a death sentence for certain. So that only left one thing, to move on and keep walking forward. He opened his eyes and met the golden gaze head on with a level stare. "What do I have to do?"

"Just try to focus on your left hand. Now, do you feel the swirling energies there in the center trying to mix and incorporate with your own?" "…Yeah?" "Let it. Don't try to fight it. Accept it." It hurt. A gloved hand reached up to cup the pained teen's cheek and he opened his eyes (when had they closed?) His hand burned with something fierce wrenching soul-deep and he felt his breath get caught on molten gold and warm skin bleeding into inhuman grey. The Noah shot him a rueful smile. "Then you say the magic words."

Lips moved unbidden with a memory long forgotten, "Innocence: Activate." And the world flashed a dizzying whirl of grey-blue-green-white and then went dark. --------------------------------[ - XIV - ]------------------------------------ "It's time to get up now my little nephew, you've been asleep long enough. Get up Allen. Wake up." --------------------------------[ - XV - ]------------------------------------Waking up somewhere with a head full of memories that one had not had prior to falling unconscious was a hell in of itself and suffice to say he currently had the mother of all headaches. If it were not for the fact that he had sworn off alcohol both in this life and the last (and boy wasn't that a thought) he could've sworn this was what a hangover felt like. He bit back a groan. Where was he anyway? The last thing he remembered was the moonlit sands of Hueco Mundo before being dragged upon the Ark by his insufferable arse of an uncle. Who also knew that the Ark's reach appearantly extended into the afterlife and neglected to tell him. He'd have to talk to him about it when he was less annoyed at him of course because the Noah was kind of on his shit list at the moment. Afterall, not only had he somehow managed to disguise himself and convince him that he had been a sword spirit of all things, he had done so all the while binding up the true essence of his powers. Thus allowing for things to escalate so out of hand that he couldn't successfully hold back the flood anymore resulting in their impromptu powwow in the Ark. A perfectly reasonable excuse to be mad at somebody, right? And, okay so he might not've actually remembered him or his penchant for pulling shit like that at the time but now he did and it was the principle of the matter and seriously who the hell does stuff like that?!

"Someone who actually has a sense of self-preservation, unlike yourself."

The youth started. Well 'started' is a bit of an understatement, more like: jerked up and awake with a yelp before getting immediately slammed with a vicious wave of vertigo sending one careening head-over-heels to the floor. He cracked an eye open and stared blearily up at the ceiling. Allen (or was it Ichigo now? Urgh, this was gonna get confusing…) stared blankly at the familiar walls painted black in the pre-dawn hour. His room, he was in his room and that was his bed that he had just fell off of like an idiot. Vaguely he felt the Noah's amusement filter through the back of his mind. The bastard was laughing at him right now.

Muttering a few choice words under his breath, he leveraged himself up and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair with a sigh. Had he woke anyone else with that little spill just now? He froze, taking a second to listen and see if he could hear if either of the girls had stirred. (Sisters! He had sisters!) Hm, seems like they were still asleep. Good, it was still kind of early after all. Satisfied with his assessment he allowed himself a moment to simply not think and just take everything in and confirm that, yes, this was indeed his room that his mortal body was now currently in. How did he even get back here anyway? He had the sneaking suspicion that his uncle had something to do with it. Well there was no sense beating around the bush. "Neah?" He asked catching the other's attention, "Did you do something to me?"

"Now what makes you think that?" He made sure the other could feel the flatness of his look. "You honestly think I would take advantage of your indisposed state to 'borrow' your body for my own personal use? Why Allen I'm almost insulted-" Yes, because you've done it before. Multiple times. "-really, have you no faith my nephew? For shame."

"Neah what did you do ?" The youth asked with a growing sense of alarm.

"Oh, nothing." A nonchalant shrug, "By the way did you know Kisuke's shop has a rather impressive stock of sweets? Some of them I haven't even seen in centuries! Apparently Tessai likes to custom make them in his free time, not something people really take the time to do anymore these days you know?" Whatever alarm he had felt had multiplied tenfold as the other blithely went on. "Oh he left you a note by the way."

"What?" "On the back of your hand -no not that one the other one- yes your right." He flipped the limb over and blinked at the messy scrawl in what looked to be (and knowing the blond probably was) permanent marker pen. From there he began to read: "'Ichigo (or whatever relevant name you may now go by), after you left for your understandable and completely justifiable alone time it was brought to a general concensus that I, being the bright and incredibly humble shopkeep that I am-" He had to snort at this, "- would be the one to help find a solution for your little problem. (It should also be said that your friends can put up quite the convincing argument expessially when aided by Inoue-san's intriguing and -dare I say it- somewhat terrifying imagination.) And I was all set up to do so until -imagine my surprise- I found that the problem had up and resolved itself! Naturally my curiosity was piqued and it was only with the apperance of a certain somebody that the questions I had were oh so graciously answered. He was even willing to indulge the curious scientist in me for a bit!-'"

"What?!" The teen hissed, stopping himself for a second as narrowed eyes stared down at the scribbled text. The Noah of course offered no explanation and he sighed. Resigning himself to a month's worth of paranoia and check-overs in order to see if the two madmen had done anything else to him.

A mental nudge drew his attention back to the note, "'-So it was upon further examination that we found with the assistance of the substance (of what I'm now informed is to be known as Innocence - fascinating stuff really-) now present in both your physical and spiritual bodies there was created a sort of stabilized equilibrium so that you are no longer in danger of a catastrophic meltdown, congrats! Oh and I'm not mad at you for what happened to my shop and the Innocence samples, the data you provided was more than enough to cover what you owed for the damages.'" He twitched ever so faintly.

"Don't forget the post-script!" 'There's more?' He flipped it over to his palm, "P.S. Tell your uncle I said hi! He's given me such great ideas and that Tessai's always willing to talk over tea again. Oh and enjoy the new hair, it looks quite good on you! Bye-bye~ Kisuke'" He let the hand fall. So he wasn't a ticking time bomb anymore, that was good. But the thought of his uncle and the dubious shopkeep being anywhere remotely near one another caused him to shudder.

"Oh come on, he's not that bad." His uncle chided.

"Yes he is and so are you. You're both horrible, horrible monsters who thrive on chaos and destruction and proceed to drag anyone unlucky enough to be within blast-radius down with you via your own personalized brands of insanity." He intoned flatly, "And what did he mean hair?!"

"Now before I say anything I don't want you to freak out. It was a bit of an unexpected side effect from the transition but don't worry you look fine. And, hey, it's not like you're a stranger to having weird hair." "Neah you are terrible at reassuring people now what happened to my hair?" He attempted to tug at the short strands to no avail. "You might've gone a bit prematurely grey but like I said its not that much of a big deal. It isn't completely white, just… most of it." He was quick to offer.

"My hair's white?" Again? Damn it all, of all the things to carry over. He'd already been through this once with certain people (who shall remain nameless) calling him 'strawberry' he didn't need to be 'beansprout' as well. He groaned softly and flopped back, arm shielding his eyes. At least he hadn't been cursed with a lack of height this go around like a certain snow-headed captain that he knew.

He lifted the arm and stared at it. Tired eyes traced the contours of the reddened flesh as he slowly flexed, watching as the embedded stone glimmered with its own quiet light. A small frown graced his lips. This was quite the fine mess that he had gotten himself in wasn't it?

What was he supposed to now? Sure he could always dye his hair but what of his arm? Long-sleeved shirts and gloves would only work for so long and what of his personality? You can't exactly hide a whole lifetime's worth of memories and experiences forever, not without having those close to you start to worry. And it'd be an icy day in hell before he let something like that happen. So they'd have to come up with something to keep them from freaking out…and then what? Once everything was said and done where did they go from there? What was there for a once-exorcist turned-substitute-shinigami and the Noah that he housed who just so happened to be his past incarnation's adopted uncle? "Well whatever there is we'll just have to persevere through it for better or worse. Besides it isn't as though you haven't had your own fair share of problems before, now have you?"

He had a point. He just had to keep walking huh? The youth's lips curved into a bittersweet smile. Yeah, he could do that.

[marvelouslizzie]

One More Night

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes are fuck buddies for a while. The problem is you have feelings for him but you don't think he reciprocates and it just makes it impossible to continue your relationship. Little did you know how much he wants you and how hard he's trying to keep it casual.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: +18, friends with benefits, idiots in love, unspoken feelings, miscommunication/misunderstandings, angst with happy ending, unprotected sex, pet names, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 3.4K

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission.

It is one of those days when you feel absolutely worthless. It wasn’t something you felt often before but now…. It is starting to feel like your new normal. You know it’s your fault, and it just makes you feel even worse. You let this happen when you let Bucky Barnes walk into your life without any consequences. Now he just has a free pass to destroy you anytime he wants. 

It was supposed to be just fun. Something casual because you know he has no intention of settling down. Especially not with you. Not that he said any of those words but he doesn’t need to. You just know it. 

He’s one of the popular guys in your college. It’s not surprising considering how handsome and charming he is. He’s also talented and hard-working. He takes school seriously unlike a lot of people around you. So when it comes to his free time, he just wants to have some fun, no strings attached and you were fine with this arrangement. You wanted to be close to him and this is the price: Your heart breaks every time. 

You don’t blame him but you definitely blame yourself because you put yourself in this position. If you weren’t so pathetic, you could simply say no and this regularly hooking-up arrangement of yours would have ended. Yet you never said no and he never stopped coming back to you. Probably because it’s convenient, you can’t come up with any other reason. Like who says no to an easy fuck, right? That is what you are. An easy fuck. Still, it’s breaking your heart every time he leaves your bed. You say to yourself “This is gonna be the last time” but when the next text or call comes, you fold once again. 

That’s how you ended up here. Your face is buried in the pillow while Bucky is pounding you from behind. It feels good. Actually, it feels pretty amazing. It always does but this time your emotions are overshadowing the physical pleasure. Tears are streaming down your face and you are grateful that he can’t see it thanks to this position. Then a sob escapes your mouth and you feel betrayed by your own body.

“Does it feel that good, doll?” He sounds smug but you can’t answer him. Not while trying to hold the rest of your sobs back. That seems to worry him. He suddenly stops and when he takes a closer look sees that your eyes are filled with tears.

“Hey, hey, hey! Are you alright?” He sounds genuinely worried. You try to say something but instead, more sobs come out. “What happened? Did I hurt you?”

He didn’t physically hurt you, yet you are hurt. You don’t know how to explain this to him. You feel embarrassed and angry at the same time. You pride yourself on how good you are at hiding your emotions. You don’t want anyone to see you cry. You don’t want anyone’s pity. Yet here you are. Eyes filled with tears, sobs escaping your lips and your heart is shattered.

“Please talk to me!” His desperate tone snaps you out of your thoughts. You try to turn on your back and quickly dry your tears. 

“It’s fine. Sorry for killing the mood. I just…” You hesitate for a second but no, you won’t back down this time. “I just can’t do this anymore.”

“That’s fine.” That wasn’t the response you were expecting. “You know it’s okay right?” His worry is so apparent in his voice. “You can always tell me to stop.” What is he talking about? “If you don’t like something or you don’t feel like it anymore… Just tell me next time and I will just stop.”

“There’s no next time Bucky.” The words come out of your mouth before you can process them. You didn’t intend to be so harsh but it came out so definite.

“What?”

“I’m telling you that I can’t do this…” You wave your hand between you two. “...anymore. I’m done. We are done.” 

“What…” He sounds shocked and hurt at the same time. You try to avoid looking at his eyes while he struggles to find the right words. “What are you talking about? Did I do something?”

“You didn’t do anything. It’s all my fault.” You have no intention to blame him. You know it’s on you. He never promised you anything.

“I don’t understand.” He sounds so lost. “Just help me understand what happened, okay? I thought everything was okay.”

“They were, for you. It was never okay for me.” 

You watch how his expression changes into something that breaks your heart even more. You never thought he would care this much but… apparently, he does. Maybe he’s not used to being rejected. Especially in the middle of sex.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” He looks at your face and then around. “I thought this is what you wanted.”

“What I wanted?” You repeat his words without missing a beat. “I never wanted this. This is what you wanted and that’s why we kept doing it. I was just…” You hesitate for a second because you hate to admit it. “weak.”

“Weak? You are never weak.”

“Oh, I am weak. This is why I kept saying ‘one more night’ to myself whenever you called or texted me. I’m weak as fuck and it makes me angry, okay? I shouldn’t be like this.”

“Doll, what are you talking about?”

His confusion confuses you as well. Can’t he see how much he’s hurting you? Is he really that blind or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“This arrangement might be working for you but it’s not working for me, okay?”

“But… this is what you wanted.”

“I never wanted this.”

“You said we can’t get emotions involved!” He sounds somewhat angry this time.

“Because you didn’t want emotions involved!” Your answer comes instantly.

“When did I ever say that?”

His question makes you stop for a second. He never said that but did he really have to? You know how popular he is. Everybody loves him. He has the prettiest face you have ever seen. You desperately wanted to be with him. You didn’t care how.

“Just look at you.”

“What does that even mean?” Is he doing this on purpose? He surely knows everybody wants him. Why does he have to hear it from you?

“It means you didn’t have to say it.”

“How does… I really don’t understand you.” His confusion is written all over his face. The way he hesitates makes you realize you have to say it out loud to make him understand.

“You are handsome. You are talented. Everybody loves you.” He keeps looking at you with confusion. He really doesn’t get it, does he? “You can have anybody you want!”

“Apparently not.” Why does he sound broken?

“Oh, come on!” Your reaction is instant. “You know you can. Don’t act humble. I’m just easier.”

“Easier?” You don’t miss the disbelief in his voice. “Easier?” This time it comes out more angry. “You were never easy!”

“You know what I mean. An easy fu-”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” The tone of his voice startles you. You never heard him talk like this. “I never wanted just an easy fuck. Especially not with you but that was all I could get!” Your head flinches back slightly. What is he talking about? 

“Bucky…” He doesn’t let you continue. 

“I don’t know what has gotten into you because this… what you called it? Arrangement, yes, was never my idea! You were the one who didn’t want to involve emotions. You were the one who said anything more than this would affect our friendship. I never said that!”

“I was trying to protect myself!”

“You never showed any interest to me!”

You blink a couple of times, trying to process that information. What did he think you were doing with him?

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You never showed any interest in staying over. You never wanted to do anything outside the bedroom or wherever the fuck we were fucking. Whenever I tried to take you on a date, you came up with a lazy excuse.”

“Uh… what?”

“I tried so many times, sweetheart. You never let me in. You were only interested in sex and now you are blaming me for it. No. Be honest. If you wanna end this thing, it’s fine. You don’t need any lies. I get it. I knew it would happen eventually.” He’s speaking so fast, you can’t even find any opportunity to interrupt him until he stops.

“You tried to take me on dates?” He squishes his eyebrows together like he can’t believe you are focusing on that part.

“Many times. I suggested study dates, tried to take you on that concert, then that one comedy club thing…”

“I thought…” You don’t know how to finish that sentence.

“You thought what? You knew what I was trying to do and you weren’t interested, so I finally gave up.”

“No, no, no.” You jump from your awkward position on the bed. “I never realized.”

“What did you think I was doing?”

“I thought… they were activities with other… people. Not dates.”

“Why would I take other people to a concert with us?” Oh, he really doesn’t get it.

“I thought… you had plans with your friends and… you were… inviting me as well. Just to show… we are nothing more than friends.”

“Oh, dear god.” He covers his face with both of his hands. “Seriously? Why would you even think that?”

You mimic him and cover your face with embarrassment. You don’t want to say it. Especially not to him.

“I… just never thought…” You don’t know how to say it without making him realize how low you think of yourself. “You were interested in anything more than sex.”

“I’m handsome. I’m popular. Everybody loves me. Is that why?” He repeats your words with that god-awful mocking tone and it hurts to hear. What you don’t realize is that he’s making fun of himself.

“Yeah.” Your response comes out so weakly but he hears it.

He starts to laugh all of a sudden and all you can do is give him a confused look. 

“God you are so blind.”

“Hey!” You instantly respond.

“Have you ever looked in the mirror?” You make a face but it just spurs him. “You are gorgeous and smart. I always thought you were way out of my league.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You are out of my league.”

“Come on… That’s-” He interrupts you again.

“Please.” The way he says it makes you stop talking. “I have been struggling to come to terms with you not liking me. I just told myself, you have done everything you can. You tried so many times. It’s a miracle she still wants to fuck you. I convinced myself this was all I could get so I tried to make peace with it. Now you are telling me you don’t want to keep doing this. What did you think I was gonna think?”

He just baffles you with every word coming out of his mouth. You look at him, not knowing what to say or what to think, even.

“And you thought you were just an easy fuck? Jesus, doll. Do you have any idea how many times I prepared myself for rejection? Every time I called you, I thought you weren’t gonna pick up. Every time I texted you, I prepared myself to hear ‘no’, and every time it did not come, I was the happiest man on earth because I had one more night with you!”

You don’t know when it started but you start to feel tears filling your eyes.

“Please don’t cry anymore.” He moves his hand on your face and catches a tear before it drops on your cheeks.

“I…” It’s so hard to speak normally. “I never thought…”

“What?” This time it comes out softer. You know he wants to hear it because he needs that assurance as much as you do.

“You would actually like me.”

“Like you? Oh, doll… I don’t like you. The word like doesn’t even cover it.” The smile he gives you ignites something inside you. Something you tried to push down for a long time. Suddenly you push him back a little bit and his mouth falls open but he doesn’t get the chance to say anything. You just sit on his lap, taking him back inside you and it slips right back in so easily. It makes you want to moan out loud but instead, you wrap your legs around his torso and trap him there.

“Oh fuck…” His moan is like music to your ears. It’s so raw and unfiltered.

You don’t say anything. Your hand wraps around his neck before you start to move. His hand quickly finds your breasts, squeezing them a lot harder than he ever did before. 

“You are so fucking gorgeous.” He says right next to your ear. You feel his breath on your neck and his lips attach to your neck as if he knows what you want. He starts gently. First, he sucks the skin and makes you whimper. Then his teeth graze the sore skin. When he finally bites the same spot, you realize he was just giving you some time to protest but it never came. His bite pulls a groan out of you and the way it hurts falters your rhythm.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” He licks the same spot, trying to soothe the pain. “There’s a part of me…” He tries to find the right word. “...that wants to mark you. Show the world that you’re mine.” Fuck, is he serious? He stops for another second to ask “Are you mine, doll?” He sounds so nervous yet possessive.

“I am.” You move a little back and look into his eyes while saying that. “I have been for a long time.”

He grabs your cheeks with both of his hands and pulls you in for a long, passionate kiss. It's all tongue and teeth, making you burn with passion.

“I’m yours, too. I think I always have been.” 

It’s your turn to show how much those words mean to you. You start to move again on his lap. This time it’s faster than before and it just makes both of you moan loudly. He wraps his arms around your body while he supports your movement by grabbing your ass and moving you a bit faster than before.

“Shit!” It feels good but it also restricts your range of movement and he realizes it quickly.

“Sorry. I just want to feel you all over me.”

You want to say it’s alright but he’s a lot faster than you. Suddenly you find yourself on your back. Bucky’s still between your legs. He never left inside you while changing the position. 

“Wrap your legs around me, baby.” 

God, the way he says it sounds like a soft order. You can practically feel the desire running through your veins. Your legs are automatically wrapped around his ass while he starts to move but he doesn’t put any distance between you. His whole body is pressed against yours while he’s kissing and licking all over your neck.

Sex with Bucky never felt like this. It was always good. You don’t remember any occasion you didn’t enjoy it or reach orgasm. Yet this feels like real intimacy. The way he’s making you feel is indescribable. You can feel everything he said before while he moves inside you. How much he wants you, how much he adores you… The way he clings to you fills you with love. All of it enhances the physical pleasure. Loud moans escape your lips.

“So… All this time…” Bucky starts to talk. “You thought I was here because this is easy.”

Ah, fuck. He isn’t gonna let that go, is he? You should’ve known that. You roll your eyes in response but he doesn’t see it. His head is still buried in the crook of your neck.

“All this time… I was where I wanted to be.” Your annoyance quickly fades away as he keeps talking. “Underneath your body.”

“You weren’t always underneath me.” You answer him with a playful tone.

“As long as I’m inside you, the position doesn’t matter.”

“So…” You try to ask as quickly as possible before your sudden courage disappears. “You haven’t been sleeping around with anyone else.”

He raises his head just to look into your eyes. 

“All this time, you thought I was fucking other people?”

“I mean…” You were just friends with benefits. What else you were supposed to assume?

“Were you?”

“Was I what?”

“Fucking other people?” His question is a lot more blunt than yours.

“I asked first!” You sound so defensive all of a sudden.

“I can’t live without touching you, smelling you, feeling you… I have been craving you non-stop, only stopping myself from calling you every day, just so I wouldn’t scare you away and you are asking me if I have been fucking other people. Jesus Christ, doll. How blind are you?”

You are questioning the same thing yourself, to be honest. How blind were you? While trying to surpass your feelings, you were overlooking his, as well. It’s just unbelievable.

“Doll?” You didn’t realize you were lost in thoughts. “It’s fine if you have been.” It doesn’t sound fine at all. It sounds like he’s trying to rationalize it so it would hurt less. “I’m not saying I won’t be jealous but it’s not like we were actually together.”

You start to laugh and he gives you a strange look.

“You are such an idiot and you call me blind.”

“What?”

“I only ever wanted you, you moron.” 

His smile is so big and bright, it’s worth everything you two went through. His happiness is practically radiating. Suddenly, his lips are on yours, kissing you like a madman.

“You’re only mine.” He starts to move inside you again and you can feel how close you are to coming.

“Only yours.” Your words make him groan loudly. 

“Fuck that mouth of yours. You’re gonna make me come before you.”

“You can do that later.” You tease him while moving your hips to meet him.

“Is that a promise?”

“It can be. Only if you fuck me just a little harder so I can finally come!”

That makes him move away from you. He stands up and without losing any time, pulls you on the edge of the bed. You know what’s coming and it makes you smile like a fool. He positions himself between your legs while pushing your knees on your chest. In a couple of seconds, he’s back inside you but the position feels so much better this time. A loud moan leaves your lips every time he hits that sweet spot inside you.

“Harder, huh?”

“Yeah. Just like that.” It’s so hard to not roll your eyes with the pleasure he’s giving you. It’s familiar yet it feels so different this time.

“My girl wants it rough. Why didn’t you just say so?” He sounds cocky there’s also a hint of eagerness in his voice. You can tell he’s close.

“Do I have to tell you everything?” 

“From now on, yes. You have to tell me everything.” That authoritative tone pushes you over the edge. “Every fucking thing you feel, okay? Every fucking thing you want. I wanna know everything!”

“Yes!” You practically scream. You don’t know if you are answering him or just screaming because of the way he makes you feel. Your legs are shaking violently while your whole body tightens up. “Fuck yes. Please, please, please, don’t stop!” Your eyes are closed while you are riding your high.

That makes him groan so loudly. Even though you can’t directly look at his face anymore, you just know he’s about to come. He starts to pound on you so forcefully, it just unlocks another level of orgasm for you. Both of your moans fill the room and he keeps going until he empties himself inside you. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls out of you and lays right next to you.

“Fuck, that was…” The struggles to find the right word.

“On another level?” You offer to end the sentence for him. That’s exactly how you feel.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “We should’ve talked to each other before.”

“We were busy doing other stuff.” You smile and he smiles back, knowing exactly what you mean.

“I guess we did everything other than talking things through, huh?”

[always-just-red]

I've been lookin for a writer who takes reqs for lnds 😭 Can i req sfw hcs/one-shot (choose which one u prefer more) for sylus & fem/gn reader?

I remember there was one call for zayne x mc where mc called zayne accidentally because mc was drunk & mc called zayne (accidentally) instead of booking a cab (mc did book a cab but w/ a wrong destination).

Can i maybe req what if the scenario is like that but it's w/ sylus instead? Feel free to tell me if this req is too much or if u wanna decline it, thanks a lot!

My first Sylus fic! Yay! (Don't look at me Rafayel 🥰) Anon your mind is so powerful! This prompt was so much fun to write, so thank you, hope you enjoy!

Wrong Number

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're having a bit of trouble getting hold of that taxi you booked, but more trouble help is on the way...

Genre: fluff, kinda ends on an angsty note (sorry 😇)

Warnings/Additional tags: drunk reader, some swearing, humour, uses of 'sweetie' and 'kitten', threat of violence/death at the start, a slight bit of suggestion (it's Sylus, ok? He's having ✨fun✨)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist |

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Mr. Sylus, please! It was an honest mistake— almost indistinguishable from a genuine protocore, I swear!”

Sylus is lounging back in a plush leather armchair, feeling thoroughly short-changed as he turns about a fake protocore with his fingers. He’s been listening to this noise for almost a full minute, growing awfully impatient, though he did like the last excuse.

“Say that again,” he drawls with a sinister smile.

“It was an honest mistake,” the black-market dealer stutters, tripping over his words. “It was almost indistinguishable from a—”

“Almost indistinguishable…” Sylus confirms. “Almost. Almost.” He’s savouring each syllable— tasting them like wine.

“It would have fooled almost anyone!”

“Almost anyone?” Sylus laughs, and it’s a wicked, dangerous thing. “Well yes, I rather think that’s the point. But it didn’t fool just anyone, did it? It fooled you.”

His smile is gone in an instant, his hand closing around the fake protocore, splintering it with a crack. He drops bloodied, sapphire fragments from his palm, red and blue, red and blue, and they skitter across the hardwood floor like rain.

“Please, Mr. Sylus!” the dealer pleads, desperate. “I’ll do anything! I will! I’ll make it up to you!”

“No, thanks.” Sylus studies his palm as it heals. “I’ve had my fill of fake protocores.”

“Sylus!”

The leader of Onychinus stands, drawing his gun with a customary apathy. Dark energy manifests, twisting around the dealer’s limbs, holding him still, while a lone tendril crawls around his mouth, holding him silent. He’s struggling, but he should know better. He should have known better from the very beginning. With a wistful smile, Sylus levels the gun with his head, and—

Something rings.

His red gaze shoots up, instinctively seeking Luke and Kieran, but they shrug from their station at the other side of the room. The sound is closer than that, anyway. Glaringly more familiar. Sylus’s spare hand goes to his pocket, and he draws out his phone.

“Mmm?” he greets, thumb sliding across the screen as he puts it to his ear.

There’s only one person who calls him at this time of night.

“Where are you?” your voice echoes from the other side of the line.

“That’s a question I prefer not to answer without knowing what motivates it.”

“Wha— Sylus?”

“Yes, sweetie,” he drones.

There’s a moment of silence. “Shit.”

It’s not the reaction he aspires to, but you sound agitated, so he’s going to let it slide. There’s a loud crackle from the speaker, followed by a few, harsher sounds, and he pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing slightly. His eyes are trained on the man at his feet, but he lowers his gun, distracted.

“What are you—” he begins, but then he identifies the sound. It’s a finger— your finger— jabbing away at a screen. “If I didn’t know any better, Miss Hunter, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.”

“No…” you deny too quickly. It’s still there: the tapping. Like Mephisto, pecking furiously at a locked window from outside. A few more jabs, and then…

The call cuts out.

Sylus scoffs, looking down at his now silent phone in disbelief. He flops back into his chair, tossing his gun onto a side table before hitting the button to call you back. You know he’s not a patient man, but you don’t pick up the first time, and so he has to try again. He can be patient for you— he tells himself— as he thinks up some creative ways for you to return the charity. Speaking of charity…

His gaze drops to the dealer. “Get out,” he sneers.

The man doesn’t have to be told twice. He scrambles to his feet as his blood-dark bindings retract, practically throwing himself towards the room’s exit. Luke pushes open the door, the intense music of the nightclub beating through the gap, but Kieran’s being less helpful. He steps into the doorway, blocking any escape. He feints right. Then left. Behind the masks, both men are laughing.

Eventually Kieran steps aside. He shoves the dealer the rest of the way through the door as Luke kicks it shut, and they exchange a high-five.

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. His call connects.

“Hello?” You’re back. “Finally! Where are you? I don’t see you.”

“Still me, sweetie.”

“Sylus?” you actually whine. It’s adorable. “Why is it you? Go away.”

“No,” he lilts tunefully, and then he’s coaxing: “I want to help you, kitten. Won’t you let me help you? Tell me, who are you trying to call?”

Frustration spills from you— fake, exaggerated sobs tearing themselves from your throat. “The taxi, Sy,” you whine again. “The stupid taxi, ok? It’s not here. It’s meant to be here.”

“Where’s here?”

“Ha!” you exclaim like you’ve evaded a masterplan, and not a casually asked, run-of-the-mill question. “No. Nice try, but no. You wanna help me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then leave me alone!”

With— he can imagine— some sort of theatrical flourish, you deliver your phone a final, decisive tap. It beckons a fateful silence. Sylus brings his phone in front of his face, unmoved by the moment’s gravitas. There’s a pop-up on the screen. Kitten: requesting video chat.

He smiles to himself. Then accepts. “Hi sweetie.”

Your face is lighting up his screen, your cheeks flushed, your brow furrowed, and your eyes sharp with determination. “Why can I— wait, why can I see you? Get out of my phone, Sy!”

“My, my,” he tuts, but he’s smiling still, “look at you— the illustrious Miss Hunter. It is a relief to know the fate of Linkon rests in such… reliable hands.”

“What d’you mean?” you mumble.

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk!”

He chuckles. “And there’s that infamous wit.”

You bite your lip as you ignore him, still fixated on trying to end the call. It occurs to him that you will eventually succeed; even a broken clock is right twice a day. “Listen to me, sweetie. Are you alone?”

His tone is sober enough for the two of you, and your exasperated eyes meet his. “Yeah.”

“Then be a good girl and send me your location. You remember how to do that, right?” He carefully enunciates each word of his plan. “I’ll come and get you, but I need to know where you are. Don’t go with anyone else. Wait for me, ok?”

You’re nodding away, the odd ‘mmhmm’ escaping your lips, but you’re not at all listening. He catches on after a minute. Trails off— realises your gaze is too vacant, and your focus? Wandering. You’re cradling your phone with both hands. His view is interrupted as your thumb passes over the camera; you’re… stroking the screen?

“You’re so pretty, Sy,” you murmur breathlessly.

His gaze softens. He sighs, “You’re pretty too.”

Then you make a sound he’s never heard before: you squeak, the phone’s audio almost cutting out. A blush is spreading through your cheeks, so much darker than the alcohol’s afterglow, and gods he wishes your face was in his hands. The vision is short-lived, however, because suddenly you’re gone.

There’s a circling view of a dark street, split by streaks of white light, as your phone careens through the air. It strikes concrete a moment later, stuttering to a stop, and Sylus’s grimace deepens with each jarring crack. Your screen has gone black, but he doesn’t think it’s broken. He’s face down, apparently— subjected to an unexciting view of the pavement.

“Oh, shit!” He hears you gasp.

Though your voice is far away, your phone is in your grasp again in no time. You’re turning it over, peering down at him, tracing the outline of his face with worry. “Sorry, Sy. Are you ok?”

“I’ll survive.” He raises an eyebrow. “You know, if you wanted to throw me around, you only needed to ask.”

His voice has dropped, and he loves watching you notice. You stand from your crouch with a smirk, bringing him with you— a dark idea in your eyes. “Wanna go again?”

Before he can protest, he’s looking at the back of your head. Your arm is stretched behind you, gearing up to send him on another short flight.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupts, panicking briefly, but you’d never detect it with all your wits about you, let alone none. He’s brought in front of your face again, and you’re frowning oh so sweetly. “I asked you to do something, remember?”

“You told me to do something.”

So pedantic. “What did I tell you to do, sweetie?”

You don’t say anything. There’s a short huff as you blow hair from your face, and then you’re concentrating. You have that look he likes: the one you get when you’re whittling away at your paperwork like a good little hunter. The same stubborn resolve, too, that makes you lean over it when he or Mephisto are conveniently behind your shoulder.

Your location comes through with a ping and his smile widens. He’s up in a heartbeat, telling you he’s on his way— that you did such a good job— and that you need to stay on the phone with him, ok? He spins his fingers as he passes between Luke and Kieran, a gesture they’ve long grown accustomed to and can easily translate.

I'm leaving. Clean this up.

…

“So then Xavier, like— well, you know Xavier— he was all, ‘I’ll tell you later,’ but he never did, Sy! Off he went, leaving Nero and I to do all the paperwork, and I asked Nero, and Nero was like, ‘ask Xavier yourself’, and I was like, ‘I literally just did!’, and he just shrugged, and it’s… driving me crazy, you know? Because where does he even go? Tara and I have this bet going, she thinks it’s because he—”

Your anecdote comes to a sudden stop.

“What does Tara think, sweetie?”

“Shh shh shh! Wait a second…”

You clutch your phone to your chest like it’ll somehow suppress Sylus’s voice. You’re sat, leaning back against a chain-link fence, but you rise as a black car pulls up in front of you. The windows are tinted. You squint, leaning forward to try to look through them anyway.

“I don’t like this, Sy,” you frown as you plant a hand on your hip. “There’s a car here.”

“Oh?”

“Shh!” you hiss again. It’s not the only car parked on the street, but it is the only one alive. The engine purrs and its lights are glowing like angry embers, refusing to be snuffed out by the dark. You take a step closer, then the engine cuts out. You take a bigger step back.

“What exactly are you afraid of?” Sylus asks, his tone so thick it’s practically bleeding through your phone. “Is a big, bad man trying to get you?”

“Well I don’t know what they look like, Sy. The windows are tinted, and I— AH!” you gasp.  

A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, lifting you from the ground. “Got you, sweetie,” Sylus chuckles in your ear as tell-tale crow feathers settle around you. His breath is hot on your neck and it tickles, turning your panicked shrieks to laughter.

“Sylus!” you squeal as you attempt to wriggle free. You don’t think you’re trying very hard.

The man lowers you back to your feet, but his arms stay around you and he dips his head, resting his chin on the curve of your shoulder. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi.” For a little word, there’s so much fondness.

“Let’s get you home to bed, ok?”

You nod compliantly with a yawn, swaying a little as his arms retract and you’re having to stand on your own again. He chuckles as he steadies you— placing a hand on the top of your head— and you pivot, drawn by the sound. His crimson eyes find yours and they’re dark with something that stirs you, even with your mind swimming and nothing really making sense. You’re not sure of anything at all, except—

No-one has ever looked at you like that before.

And you won’t remember it tomorrow.

“Come on,” he prompts, nudging you towards the car, and you start to walk, though you’re dragging your feet. “I want to hear all of the association’s dirtiest secrets while I still can.”

“Tara has a crush on the new weapon specialist, you know.”

Sylus blinks, then laughs— a tender, comfortable thing. Completely enthralled. “You don’t say,” he beams.

No, you won’t remember it tomorrow.

[taylor-titmouse]

hey i want to talk about how you should be promoting your work as an erotic author/illustrator

i'm writing this up because the marketing aspect of my work as an erotic author/illustrator is a science to me, and also because i'm the guy who gets unreasonably annoyed when i see other creators not properly advertising their work. you presumably want to make money off your work. this post will be written under the assumption you want to make money off your work but are doing a bad job at it. it will be very confrontational. if you read this and feel attacked you're right and i am attacking you.

this is geared toward selling erotic comics/writing/books/art as products. i will probably write more than one post about this subject so if i didn't touch on something you want to know more about, comment/send me an ask and i'll keep it in mind for the next one.

i will start with my first and least specific but most important point:

DON'T GET FUCKING CUTE

hi are you paying attention. i'm gripping you by the sides of your face. do not get fucking cute with what you are trying to sell. you are not a big enough property to get cute, nobody LIKES it when big properties get cute, and you are selling porn. you have to own this. you have to be up front about this. don't be tongue in cheek, don't be all teehee i wonder what this could be~, don't be secretive. you are selling a product. you have to fucking act like it. you are an adult selling pornography to other adults. i am GRIPPING your HEAD you NEED to understand this.

and to be clear when i say 'cute' i mean coy. i don't mean cutesy, as in the aesthetic. you can be as hello kitty pastel ten emojis a post uwu as you like when you're building your audience and generating hype. but when you start trying to sell, don't be vague, don't be sarcastic, don't mislabel your work as a joke and assume everyone is on it. because they're not.

you must always assume 75% of the people seeing the thing you are advertising have no fucking idea who you are. and that includes a huge chunk of the people who already follow you. they do not know who you are or what you've been working on for two months or why they should care about it. they just got here. somebody just reposted it. they are seeing it for the first time. most people are only looking at social media for a tiny chunk of their day. they are not keeping up with you. you cannot get cute about what you are trying to sell because nobody knows what it is until you tell them.

okay are you still with me. we are going to talk about clarity now.

YOU GOTTA TELL ME WHAT IT IS

good lord the amount of times i have gone to buy somebody's comic or book and had no idea what's actually in it or what it's about. who are the characters? why should i care about them? what do they do in it? what is the premise of this thing you want me to spend $5 on? why would you not tell me? i'm shaking you again. please i have to know what i'm buying i only have so much money to spend on porn.

porn, arguably more than any other genre, relies on knowing exactly what is in it. you do not want to surprise your readers with a kink they were unaware of! and on the flip side, you do not want to miss out on your target audience! if your book contains a hot spider babe laying eggs in an elf, you have to say so. not just so people who don't want to read about eggs know it isn't for them, but so the people who are egg crazy can see that and go "oh fuck YES i love EGGS here is my $5 and an extra $2 tip for catering to me specifically". a contents/features list is as much an advertisement as it is a warning!

as for re: who the characters are and why should i care, i'm sorry but you need to learn how to write sales copy. you have to write blurbs. you have to get good at the shit that goes on the back of a book. we all hate it but we have to do it. i want to know who the characters are and what the context is. i, personally, am not interested in contemporary stories as much as fantasy and historical. please tell me what genre this porn exists in so i know if it aesthetically appeals to me. pull some books off your shelves and see how they do it. hell man go look at mine.

while you're there, note that every single book of mine has a sample of what's in it. this feels like such a no-brainer to me but again! the amount of times i have gone to buy somebody's work and they don't show me what their work looks like! you gotta give me the first page or two! just enough that i know if i like the way your writing sounds, or the way you draw your comics! i don't know you! i am not going to trust that you're good at what you do just based on a cover. the cover is to get me to this step, it is not the only step. you have to show me that you're worth spending my money on!

to put it less cynically, you want to catch my interest. you want me to go 'oh i want to see more of this', you want me to go 'ahh i want to know where this goes!' you need to get me invested and craving more. earn my $5!!!

YOU HAVE TO MAKE IT EASY TO GIVE YOU MONEY

hey go look at your bio right now. go look at your pinned post. do you have a link to your patreon there? do you have a link to your itchio/gumroad/whatever? do i have to click more than once to get to the places you want me to go to give you money? why? why are you making me click twice? have we learned nothing from every website making you click an extra time when they make some stupid UI update and how much it pisses us off? i have already given up, i have forgotten you, i am not giving you my $5 today. put your links in the easiest places to get to them.

god literally as i was writing this post i went to go find somebody's itchio to see how they described their work and it was not anywhere on their profile. grabbing you and shaking you PUT THE LINK WHERE I CAN FIND IT. don't make it hard! make it easy! i am a dickhead sitting on the toilet scrolling, saw your post, and was interested enough to read further. but you made me go to your bio to find your linktree and oops i have already gone back to my timeline to look at the boobies in the next post. stop wasting precious bio space on DNIs and put your fuckin links there!!!

this is more for the twitter people, but: just put the link in the damn post. just say the word commission. just say it's for patreon. "wuh wuh the algorithm" it is not the damn algorithm it's that everybody hates advertising and nobody wants to retweet ads. putting slashes in the words doesn't do anything and you look like a fool. i have posted so much art that says it's 'a commission for ___" and it did exactly as good as any other art despite having the word commission in it. and by doing the slashes you just made it impossible for anybody to search your account for your commission information (which should be at the VERY LEAST in a post under your pinned tweet if you're not actively posting about them being open).

okay that went on a tangent i'm going to back to the point of putting the link in the tweet. put it in the first post. not in the first reply. don't tell them to go to your bio. put it in the post people are actually going to share. it's fine to put more information in the thread but people are only ever going to share the first post. so put the link there. you have to make it easy. putting links in tweets can hurt you algorithmically, even in the replies. so you're better off having it in the post that actually gets seen and shared. i don't want to open the tweet and scroll to get to your sales page where i ASSUME you will have put all the information anyway. put it in the tweet that just got retweeted by itself onto my dash!

also you have to share it a ton of times. i repost my shit every few hours when i'm trying to push a new product. as i said before people are not 24/7 looking at their timelines. they missed it the first time. they missed it the second time. they didn't get paid yet that week but they were after the eighth time and you reminded them again so they finally bought it. that i will still get sales every time i repost a book ad weeks after release says there are always people who missed it, or who only just showed up.

abandon your pride and shill. shills pay their bills. anyone who gets annoyed about it isn't giving you money in the first place. don't worry about looking like a sell out. don't apologize for plugging your own work. post about it often, post about it in different ways. post about it. post about it. you are not going to make money if people don't know you have something to sell them. if you want to make a career out of it, you need to act like it.

I DON'T HAVE A FOURTH POINT

kisses your forehead. i'm sorry for yelling at you. i've been making and publishing and selling adult art for the past two-three years and have got myself to the point where it pays my rent, and i got there by paying attention to what does and does not work.

please do your best to make money. i want you to make money.

as i said above i plan to write more posts on this subject, such as cover design, how to actually write sales copy, and best practices with running a patreon, but if there's things you would want to hear more about leave a comment or send an ask! i will probably be less aggressive on future topics. these are just things that have grinded my gears for a grip.