#this is by no means a promise i can attack

[amoscontorta]

Wine time with Sylus | ao3 | other stories in this 'series'

Summary: Sylus invites himself over, helps himself to your first aid kit and your kitchen, manipulates you into tasting wine with him, discusses his latest business venture, and gifts you more than one present before he's good and ready to finally leave.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person pov, no use of y/n

This story contains: fluff, banter, angst, mc with obvious self esteem issues, grief, self-destructive behavior, profanity, alcohol use, criminal activity, allusions to violence, sleepy kissing, biting, inappropriate thoughts regarding kitchen tools, the mental gymnastics mc engages in to avoid acknowledging or recognizing feelings on either side should come with their own warning to be honest, one very thirsty mc whose thoughts are NSFW. This part ends with a misunderstanding that you can bet Sylus will not put up with for long.

In the days following Sylus’s latest little… visit, you’re called out more frequently than usual to counter wanderer attacks. You’re barely home, and the few times you stumble home late into the night, you peel your sweat and sometimes blood-stained hunter’s uniform off right in the entryway, promise yourself you’ll do laundry soon, and drag your aching body to the shower. Then you usually spend what little night you have left lying there with your eyes closed, carefully keeping your mind blank as sleep remains elusive. You have to admit to yourself that the few times Sylus kept you company overnight, you slept like the dead, but you refuse to go so far as admitting that you wouldn’t mind if it were more frequent. If you were to admit it to yourself, which you will not,  you only yearn for it strictly for the sake of your sleep schedule, and absolutely not because you’ve come to crave his warm, comforting bulk against your body.

Tonight is no different, but you’re both looking forward to and dreading the next few days, as Captain Jenna has ordered you to take some time off to rest and recover from the brutal schedule you’ve been keeping for months now, capped off by the recent spate of increased attacks. All of your wheedling to let you keep going, that you’re fine, that the people of Linkon need you, that you need the constant distraction, has proven useless. Apparently the frequency with which you are getting injured remains acceptable, but she is finally at the end of her patience reading your barely coherent, misspelled reports with unfinished sentences that you only manage to submit before Association mandated deadlines by the skin of your teeth.

“Go home, get your head on straight, and come back rested … and literate again, please.” She looks back down at the tablet on her desk, trying to dismiss you, but you stubbornly remain at attention at her desk.

“That’s discrimination, Captain. I can be a perfectly functional hunter without being able to read or write,” you protest, while Xavier winces behind you. “I mean, obviously I can read and write, I’m just a little tired, that’s all. Still able to destroy wanderers!”

Jenna’s already formidable expression begins to darken, but you’re not cowed. You open your mouth to helpfully point out that wanderers don’t care about how well you can spell, when you feel Xavier’s gentle hand on your arm. “Come on, why don’t we go together to get some snacks on the way home? I think they’ve started re-issuing that wasabi flavored chocolate bar we tried at the beginning of the year,” he says softly, and Jenna shoots him an appreciative look before proceeding to ignore you both.

You glumly follow Xavier out into the early evening. Rush hour is over, but the sidewalks are still bustling with life. You weave through the mass of humanity, resisting the urge to drop-kick anyone who cuts you off or brushes against you accidentally. I am a role model for the Hunter’s Association, even when I’m off the clock, I am not allowed to arrest someone for bumping into me…. I am not allowed to arrest someone for…

Xavier tries to distract you from your obvious frustration by describing the plot of the latest manga series he’s reading that he thinks you’ll like as you two make your way  home. You listen absently, feeling slightly calmed by his soothing voice, despite its graphic descriptions of violence in the manga that you are pretty sure you’re going to really like.

“Are there any hot guys in it?” you ask as the mass of people begins to thin the closer you get to your building.

“Hot… guys?” he blinks in confusion, his impossibly blue eyes flashing in the streetlamps that have just turned on.

“Yeah. Like that other one we read, Help, I, a lowly office worker, went to sleep and woke up as the Queen’s assassin in the book I fell asleep reading. The main guy in that was super hot.”

“Well, it is by the same mangaka, so you’d probably like the way they draw the main character in this one too,” he says uncertainly, but with a strange expression on his face, like he suddenly doesn’t want you to read it with him anymore.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try. Have you finished the first volume yet? Can I borrow it?”

You’ve reached your building, the trees surrounding the courtyard rustling in the soft end-of-summer breeze.

“…Great,” he says after a brief hesitation. He holds open one of the entrance's doors for you to enter the your building’s foyer. Your boots and his echo on the polished floor as you make your way into the lift. “I’ll be finished by tomorrow. How about we go the bookstore and afterwards you can come over and read since we have the day off? You can start volume one, and I’ll start volume 2. Does that sound good? We can make fancy ramen,” he says, his normally sleepy energy spiking with the idea of adding a boiled egg and some frozen vegetables to the normally plain ramen the two of you consume more often than not while on the go. Xavier’s idea of fancy has always been adorable to you.

The idea of not just sitting in your apartment alone on the first day of your forced leave is a welcome one, and you agree that he can come find you when he’s woken up, so that you don’t risk waking him up. He likes this plan, because obviously, you’re hardly sleeping at all, and he sleeps longer than you ever would have imagined possible for humans until you met him. As the elevator approaches your floor and the doors slide open, you’re about to step out when Xavier’s soft voice behind you has you turning to look back at his pretty face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours. “I know you feel like you’ve lost everything right now, and that the pain seems unbearable.”

You quickly turn your head—you were not expecting this sneak attack of sympathy and kindness from him. You nod jerkily, trying not to let his warmth sink into you, or else you might start crying.

“It sounds cliché, but with time, even this pain will fade. And you have so much time ahead of you. I can promise you that. One day you’ll wake up, and it will be slightly less unbearable. That doesn’t mean you forget about what you’ve lost. But you can think of it without… without feeling like you’re destroyed again, every time.” He’s looking at you, but you also have the feeling that he’s looking at something else, from a great distance. Knowing how secretive he is, it’s unlikely you’ll ever know what it is he’s seeing.

You nod again, and whatever he sees in you profile seems to satisfy him as he offers you a soft ‘Goodnight,’ and you scurry from the lift to your front door. You tuck away his words, and push them down deep. You know they’re well intended. But you can’t handle crying right now. Not yet. Not yet. So you focus on possible plans for the days stretching ahead of you.

There is a part of you that’s looking forward to possibly being able to rest, it’s true. But the stretch of empty days, without work and battle and the social interaction of colleagues, had been filling you with anxiety before your plans with Xavier were made. But even after tomorrow, you’ll try to make the best of it. You can… try to remember what hobbies you had, before your life blew up. Maybe you can take up a new hobby! Within the span of a few days. Yeah, you can teach yourself to crochet,or make stained glass art, in a day, right? Online videos are super helpful. Maybe you’ll even deep clean your apartment, and go grocery shopping, properly, for the first time in weeks. You’ll buy vegetables that have to be prepped instead of the hottest insta-ramen you can find and slurping packets of applesauce while telling yourself that it counts as fiber, right? You can cook, and bake! You just haven’t in… a really long time. Maybe you’ll bake an entire cake, and then eat the entire cake. Yeah. You have plans, you think to yourself, pressing your fingerprint to the scanner under your flat’s door handle and pushing the door open when it beeps.

As soon as the door closes with a soft whump, you carefully hang up your blades and pistol holsters on your wall-mounted weapon rack, and then you’re furiously undoing the laces on your knee high leather boots, hopping from one foot to the other as you try to kick them off without actually having to sit down and pull them off. You yank off your socks, then shimmy out of your pants, which you also kick off unceremoniously. You’re going to be positive about this little holiday! You’re so close to being comfortable and staying that way for days. You almost rip your buttons in your haste to remove your shirt, and just as you’ve gotten the last one undone, you finally notice the dark, looming figure in the shadows at the end of your foyer.

You’re in your fucking underpants, barefoot, and your weapons are out of reach due to your current strangulation by your own shirt sleeves.

Heart racing, you throw yourself backward against the door, prepared to make a strategic retreat and escape into the building’s hallway to buy yourself some time to free yourself from your shirt, no matter the cost to your pride at being caught out in your underwear, when familiar scarlet-ink tendrils of energy gently wrap themselves around your waist and softly lift you in the air. You find yourself kicking and squirming like a kitten picked up by the scruff of its neck.

“The fuck, Sylus?” you choke out.

“Why are you still struggling, when you can clearly see that it’s me? Cease, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Why are you using your evol on me without my consent?” you retort, wriggling some more for good measure simply because he told you to stop.

“To prevent you from giving your neighbors the show of their lives without even charging admission,” he responds languidly, eyes the color of sunlight filtering through a glass of wine drifting from your probably red, sweaty face down your barely clothed body.

“Oh, they don’t get a free show, but you do?” you sneer, continuing to struggle to no effect.

“Look at yourself,” Sylus commands, and turns his head as if bored. You note absently that he’s wearing a ruby stud earring in his ear... the one that matches the earring in your own ear. So you never bothered to take it out. That doesn’t mean anything—you’re just lazy. You refuse to think about it anymore deeply than that, and then notice that Sylus not only looks bored, but also looks almost… offended? You do as he asks, and see that his evol is wrapping itself around your body in such a way that its bright-dark tendrils are covering all of your exposed, sensitive areas like a fluid robe.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say.

“Oh, indeed.” He continues to look away from you, aggressively bored, but his evol gently lowers you enough so that your bare feet rest on the ground, and then it loosens, but remains swirling around you.

“Then I’ll… just go get dressed.” You begin making your past him, but stop when you see him nonchalantly hold up a large, elegant shopping bag. It’s black, with some brand name you don’t recognize written in flowy silver script. “What is this?” You look from the bag to his face. He deigns to look at you again. Your eyes drift to his other ear, and you see that where it is pierced is empty.

“Wardrobe options,” is all he says, jerking you out of trying to puzzle out this opaque maniac’s intentions. You take the bag from him and quickly walk to your bathroom. No way you’re going to put on new clothes while feeling filthy from a long day and night of annihilating wanderers. His evol dissipates the moment your bathroom door shuts behind you.

It’s becoming a pattern. Thinking the worst of him, only to be proven wrong. But you don’t know how to overcome the cognitive dissonance of Sylus from your first meeting, and this Sylus who seems intent on taking care of you better than you take care of yourself.

You rinse off as quickly as you can in the shower, towel yourself dry, and take a peek in the bag that he gave you. The first thing you see is a black…? You lift it out of the bag, and it unfolds into a very large sweater. It’s thick, the fabric obviously of high quality. You touch it gently, running your hands along a sleeve—is it cashmere? It’s unbelievably soft. It’s probably a nightmare to wash. On impulse, you lift it to your nose, and take a deep breath.

Your suspicion is confirmed. It smells like him. This isn’t a brand new piece of clothing. This is one of Sylus’s own sweaters that he has worn before. The scent of his clean skin, the sharp tang of gunmetal, the bright burst of citrus, probably from some ridiculously expensive shampoo or body wash. The mix sends a thrill through your entire body: after only a few encounters, you already have bone-deep associations with the way Sylus smells. Fear and adrenaline, yes, but also anticipation—and bizarrely, safety. Instead of feeling terrified, you feel the way you would before riding a roller coaster. Yes, you’ll be screaming and holding on for dear life the whole ride, but you are also inexplicably convinced that in the end, you’ll have your feet firmly planted on the ground, safe again. A part of you whispers that it’s safer to avoid the roller coaster altogether—bolts come loose, wheels pull free from the track, tragic accidents happen all the time. But standing here in your humid bathroom, bone-weary from the day behind you, sniffing Sylus’s unwashed sweater makes you feel more alive than you’ve felt in a very long time.

You pull his sweater over your head, and you’re basically swimming it, it’s so big. The collar is big enough that it threatens to fall off one shoulder. But it’s so soft. And cozy. You hug yourself, and peek into the bag again. There are a few more sweaters, each dark with varying degrees of dramatic flair. This is part of Sylus’s wardrobe, after all. But there are also little sleep shorts, like the ones you were wearing the last time he invaded your home. You pick up a pair—no way would they fit on his big ass. You try, so, so, so very hard not to picture his thick cake stuffed into these tiny shorts.

You fail.

Your brain short circuits for a few seconds.

When it comes back online, you lift out a pair, and the fabric glides silkily along your skin. You’re pretty sure these are silk. They’re black, because of course, but they also have little red … happy pomegranates? Dotted along the hems. They’re adorable. You pull them on over your own bare ass and the sweater-shorts combo is probably the softest thing you’ve ever had on your body. The sweater swallows the shorts and makes it look like you’re wandering around without bottoms on.

You look at yourself in the mirror, silently telling yourself that you shouldn’t get on this particular ride. You don’t know where the track leads, and it scares you. What if it ends over a cliff, and the last thing you ever see is Sylus’s triumphant, cruel face looking down at you as you fall? There are other, less risky rides, certainly ones without wanted posters, right? Right? On second thought, you don’t even have to go the amusement park at all. You’re just fine with trying to get some fucking sleep, with continuing to hone your combat skills, with just trying to be a good person despite really liking knives and being an enthusiastic hunter.

But maybe you can just. Be friends with the roller coaster? Like, you don’t have to ride him. IT. THE ROLLER COASTER. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO RIDE THE ROLLER COASTER. You can just, watch it from a safe distance. You might indulge in little fantasies about what it’s like to ride… the roller coaster. And honestly, fantasies are almost always a hell of a lot better than the reality ever turns out to be. Not to mention! Sylus has never directly expressed any desire to ride … your roller coaster. Sure, he shows up unannounced and cares for you in ways that no one ever has, and he touches you a lot for someone who has no physical interest in you, but physical isn’t necessarily sexual, right? Maybe it’s an evol thing, and the way he touches you has to do with why you both find yourself inexplicably connected for periods of time. Like charging a battery. The point is! There will be no tickets to either ride, thank you, you aren’t open for business and he definitely does not have the proper safety inspection certificates in order, so. No.

You nod firmly to yourself in the mirror. This should be fine. You can be friends with Sylus. You don’t have to let him drag you over a cliff. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him—he seems to be pretty competent at a lot of things that might be useful for certain aspects of your job. Like intimidating people. And exploding people with a thought and twitch of his fingers. And convincing them to do things they don’t want to do by sheer force of obnoxiousness.

Having sufficiently deluded yourself into believing that your plan of action has a chance of success, you slip out of the bathroom and find Sylus in the kitchen, next to a pretty wine glass that you certainly do not recall owning on the kitchen island.

He’s slicing strawberries with a very sharp knife that you do recall owning, because you do spend quite a lot of time sharpening the set it belongs to. They’re not kitchen knives, per se; you actually have them for work and they are really nice to throw. You already had so many knives before you moved into this place that you didn’t see the necessity of spending more money on probably inferior kitchen knives. But the large, really nice butcher block-style cutting board that he’s chopping the fruit on is not yours. And neither are the delicately arranged variety of cheeses, thinly sliced meat, and savory tarts set in puff pastry that fill up most of the cutting board. And lastly, you do not recall purchasing two bottles of what look like red wine sitting next to the wine glass, nor cleaning your kitchen so thoroughly that Zayne could probably perform surgery in here without worrying about risk of infection.

Despite your presence standing at the island before him now, he continues to serenely slice the ever-growing pile of fruit.

“Sylus?”

“Have a seat,” he says, not looking up.

“Oh, why thank you for offering such hospitality to me, in my own home,” you mutter, pulling out one of the wooden bar stools at the kitchen island. You’re about to sit down when you realize that the repetitive chop of the knife has stopped, and you look up to find Sylus frozen with the knife mid-slice in a fat strawberry. His eyes drift from your neck and exposed shoulder, down the soft expanse of sweater, to your bare legs, and then back again. You’re suddenly self-conscious—he’s the one who gave you these clothes. And now he’s staring at you like a wanderer is about to burst out of your chest.

“Did I misunderstand the assignment or something?” you ask, plopping down on the bar stool in the hopes of breaking him out of whatever weird trance he’s apparently glitching in. He swallows, flicks a final look at your shoulder, and then goes back to slicing.

“I’m simply shocked that you actually did as you were told, for once,” he responds, seemingly unruffled again. “You should also put one of the sweaters in your go bag as a backup in the event that your uniform gets destroyed, again, which it does at an alarming rate these days. The Association’s overheads for keeping you clothed must be in the stratosphere.”

“Mm, yes I’m sure you’re very concerned about the costs of doing business for the Association.” You rest your head in your hand, propped up by your elbow on the counter. The two of you sit in companionable silence for a while, with only the snick of the knife filling the space between you. The lights underneath your cabinets are on, emitting a soft warm glow from below, but you notice that he hasn’t put on the harsher, brighter overhead lights. The city’s skyline blinks serenely like an endless fleet of starships in the dark expanse of space through your windows, and a cool breeze wafts in from time to time.

Finally, Sylus is done, and he carefully rinses the knife in the sink and sets it on the counter. He turns back to you.

“No interrogation regarding why I’m here this time?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a light sweater in a deep grey, of a style quite similar to the one you’re now wearing. He looks domestic, and delicious, and you tell yourself sternly that he is friend shaped, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster—

You have to say something. “Oh, are you missing my very effective questioning techniques? Sadly, I left my handcuffs at the office,” you lift your shoulders in a what can you do? gesture, and his eyes follow your bare shoulder again.

“Handcuffs aren’t the only means of restraint available to a truly resourceful hunter,” he says, shaking his head as if disappointed.  “Your lack of imagination is boring.”

“Okay, Sylus. But only because you’re basically begging for it: why are you here?”  You lift a puff pastry and brandish it at him like a knife. “Answer honestly, or you’ll really get it this time!” You take a big, aggressive bite as if to illustrate what he’s got coming to him in case of his non-compliance, and then moan because what the fuck, this is so good, is it goat cheese and honey? And suddenly you’re devouring it, licking your fingers clean when you’re done because you can’t get enough.

“This definitely counts as an enhanced interrogation technique.” His voice is low, and has a rough quality to it that normally isn’t there. You glance up from slobbering all over your fingers and find that he’s staring at you in what is probably disgust.

“Ha, yes, and I’ll keep subjecting you to it until you tell me what you’re doing in my home, again. And how did you even get in? I never got you a key.” You finish licking yourself like an animal and reach for a strawberry. If he’s going to play chef in your kitchen, who are you to refuse to enjoy the literal fruits of his labor? You just live here and pay the damn rent.

He holds up the index finger of his right hand, which is sporting a band-aid that you recognize as one of the same kind you have in your first-aid kit. They’re super cute, with a design of sad little cartoon mushrooms. “I was at my accountant’s, which happens to be in this neighborhood, and I got a paper cut while signing some documents.”

You pause before biting into the berry. “You… came to my flat. With extra clothing, wine, wine glasses, and various appetizers, in order to get a band-aid for your paper cut. Is this a correct summary of events?” You decide you’re not going to wait for him to answer, and take a big bite of the strawberry, feeling some juice drip down your chin. You catch it with your index finger, and then suck the juice off after you’re done chewing.

There is a long pause, and you look up to find him staring intently at your finger. You widen your eyes and wave your hand in the universal gesture of hurry the fuck up, get on with it already? He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deeply. Apparently you’re so horrifying to witness eating that he needs to seek some zen before he can answer. It’s not your fault that he brought you half of his wardrobe and wine glasses but didn’t think to bring any napkins. “Yes, that is a correct summary of events,” is all he offers.

You look at him.

He looks back at you, occasionally flicking his gaze down to your mouth and back to your eyes. You consider baring your teeth at him just in case he wants an eyeful of the strawberry undoubtedly stuck in them, but refrain because you’re polite.

“Okay. Do you care to explain the motivation behind these events?” you ask slowly, thinking that maybe you will brandish a real knife at him to hurry up this so-called interrogation so you can straight up devour the rest of this charcuterie board that this wanted criminal has inexplicably prepared in your kitchen.

Fortunately, you don’t have to go for the knife, because he begins to speak. “There was a wine merchant that looked rather appealing on the way to your place. Since you revealed a deplorable lack of discernment when it comes to selecting a good bottle of wine the last time you hosted me, I thought I’d do my civic duty for the week and educate the less fortunate on how to choose, and enjoy, a decent bottle of wine.”

“I see.” You nod slowly. “That’s very civic-minded of you. You’re truly a model citizen. And the food?”

“It’s not wise to have a wine tasting without something to eat. Otherwise, you might find yourself making questionable decisions. We wouldn’t want that, would we, sweetie?” he seems to have recovered from his nausea at watching you wolf down food, because he says this with a playful lift of a silver eyebrow.

“Because letting a man whose baggage includes a wanted poster into my home whenever he wants could hardly be considered a good decision, and I made that one while sober,” you sigh. “I see your point.”

“Exactly. Just imagine what kind of trouble you could get into after a bottle of wine on an empty stomach?” He tilts his head to the side, and runs a middle finger slowly over his brow.

You shudder, because his big hands. You can’t pursue this line of thought.

“And the clothes?”

“Now you won’t need to borrow your partner’s clothes in case of an emergency. And I’ll have something to wear at my safe house in case you decide to assault me with beverages again.”

“That was one time. And if you don’t show up, then there’s no chance you’ll be assaulted. Therefore, no need for a change of clothes. And, pardon me, but your safe house? I think you meant, my flat. But what you’re telling me is that the whole reason you were coming to my flat in the first place was to put a band-aid on your boo-boo.”

He lowers his hand and begins running his thumb along his lower lip. “Even a small cut can turn life-threatening if not treated properly. And I wouldn’t want a scar, now would I? It’s not much of a safe house if I can’t make use of it when in danger of lasting bodily harm.”

“Mmm yes, what with your evol that renders scarring impossible for you, we wouldn’t want your paper cut to cause you lasting bodily harm. And you couldn’t acquire a band-aid at a pharmacy, perhaps like at the one next to the wine merchant I’m pretty sure you’re referring to?” You refuse to look at his big thumb pressing into his thick, soft-looking lower lip. You stare up at the ceiling, and consider cataloguing wanderers in your head to stem the sudden urge to vault over the island counter separating him from you and pulling that damn thumb into your own mouth.

“They didn’t have a box containing such cute little designs. I never knew I wanted anthropomorphized fungus to decorate a bandage intended to protect an open wound until I saw your own box.”

It takes you a second to remember what the hell the two of your were discussing when you realize he’s talking about your adorable little mushroom band-aids.

“A wine snob, and a band-aid snob.”

“I prefer the term cultured, but yes, I’ve told you before. Life is too short to waste on the inferior. Your sad little champignons surpass all others.”

He’s done it again. He has hardly even moved this entire time, and has managed to exhaust you to the point of blissful indifference. He shows up unannounced, rifles through your first aid kit, decides what you’re going to wear both this evening and in the future when you need a spare change of clothes, and has prepared an hors d’oeuvre spread worthy of at least a mid-ranged restaurant for you to eat while offering you a wine tasting? Fine. “Okay,” you say, reaching for another one of those puff pastries.

He watches you steadily for a few moments, as if trying to sense a trap. “That’s it?”

You shrug. “Sure. I told you that you could use my house if you needed it. I’ve just learned my lesson: next time I’ll be very careful in drafting the conditions of any deal we make, since your interpretation of certain terms appears to vary wildly from any reasonable person’s.”

“I think I’m quite reasonable,” he examines his nails. “I come bearing gifts, and this is how you show your gratitude? By insinuating that I'm unreasonable?”

Another thought occurs to you. “How did you even get in, Sylus?”

“Ah,” he says, squinting and looking out the window, as if contemplating a very deep philosophical question. “While you were sleeping last time… I took the liberty of adding my fingerprint to your door’s fingerprint scanner.”

What. The. Fuck. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Again, it’s not much of a safe house if I can’t access it without your presence. I didn’t think you’d mind. It’s not like I can’t just use my evol to teleport into your place anyway, but I thought you’d appreciate me coming through the front door. Fewer feathers. You didn’t seem to like cleaning those up the last time I teleported out of your place.”

You just stare at him. How would he even know that you cursed him, loudly, as you were mopping up the mess of blood and feathers he generously left in your entryway after being shot? And then it comes to you. Mephisto. Of course. You pinch the bridge of your nose, and visualize violently shaking that bird until his circuits are rewired.

Sylus continues, ignoring your mounting rage. “Come to think of it, we should probably upgrade your locks, kitten. It was laughably easy to override the system and add my print as authorized for entry.”

Forget riding the Sylus coaster—you think that maybe he isn’t even friend shaped after all. He might just have slid right back to enemy shaped. Frenemy shaped? Where does a frenemy lie on the spectrum of “fuck his brains out” to “polite, but distant acquaintances?” But then you remember that it’s not a linear spectrum, and fucking his brains out is not mutually exclusively to being mortal enemies. You’ve read enough enemies-to-lovers romances to know that perfectly well, so even if he is enemy shaped… you shudder. Why are you like this? You redirect your self-disgust and deflect, like a true emotionally well-adjusted adult:

“Why can’t you be normal? Like, do you do anything like a normal person?”

“Why would I pretend to be normal when I’m so obviously extraordinary?” he scoffs, looking at you like you’re the unhinged one in this little situationship.

 “Sylus.”

“Yes, my heart’s delight?”

You stare at him, and he gazes back at you, leaning leisurely back against your counter, arms folded and long fingers slowly tapping out a rhythm on one bulky bicep. You know that if you remove his authorization on your locks that he will just teleport himself right into your place, and you’ll be endlessly cleaning up feathers. And you also really don’t want your neighbors to wonder who the hell the creep is loitering around your door at all hours of the night and then start asking questions if he actually honors your request not to simply appear in your place on a whim. You did previously offer him a key. Which he declined. Apparently because he was already planning this. You run your hand along the back of your neck in an effort to relieve some tension. “You can’t just let yourself into my place anytime you want. There need to be rules.”

“Fair enough. Provided that they’re not moronic, I can follow your rules.”

“And who decides whether they’re moronic or not?” you ask, knowing the answer.

He just smiles at you, radiating satisfaction.

“Okay. Rule number one—” you begin, only to be interrupted as he lifts a finger.

“I’ll follow your rules, if you promise to taste the wine I brought with me tonight.”

Even though you had already resigned yourself to whatever he had in store for you tonight, you can’t help arguing at this little added condition. “No, the deal is, you can use my flat, with your fingerprint, when you need it, if you follow the rules,” you huff.

He starts shaking his head. “I’m afraid not, kitten. You should have set rules at the beginning of our deal. You can’t just impose new conditions halfway through. A deal’s a deal. I suggest keeping that in mind the next time you have to deal with anyone else less… generous, than myself,” he intones, as if you’re a somewhat lacking student in need of instruction.

“So you’ll follow the rules if I promise to… taste wine tonight?” you ask, hoping that you can catch him out on a technicality and beat him at his own game. He considers for a moment, but must see something in your expression, because his eyes narrow and his smile widens to reveal his sharp canines.

“I’ll follow your reasonable, and not moronic, rules if you promise to taste the wine I brought tonight, with me,” he says.

You need to work on your poker face. You need to get Sylus to teach you how to improve it. Ugh.

“Fine.” If this means more food can happen soon, and honestly, yeah, a glass of wine, you’ll accept anything at this point.

He straightens from the counter and claps his hands once, looking more eager than you think you’ve ever seen him. “Excellent, let’s begin.”

“You didn’t even wait to hear what the rules are,” you protest, watching him fish out a wine corkscrew from his trouser pocket. It looks heavy, with a handsome wooden handle, and the stainless steel flashes under the soft lights.

“Send them in a text, I’ll redline them and return them to you, you can counter, and so on and so forth until we have an agreement. Like any proper contract negotiation. For now, it’s wine time.”

And with that, he sets to work opening the wine, humming a little tune so off-key that you have no idea what melody it’s supposed to be. It occurs to you that you’ve never used a corkscrew as a weapon, but as Sylus uses the small blade to slice through the foil covering the neck of the bottle, and then unfolds the lethal-looking twisted screw and begins expertly driving it into the cork, you realize that it could come in really handy in a fight. And there’s something else that’s really appealing to you—the combination of the contained savagery of the corkscrew, the assured movements of Sylus’s hands, the penetration of the cork—you feel a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the sweater you’re wearing.

“See something you like, kitten?” Sylus’s smoky voice drifts into your thoughts, and you look up, realizing you’ve been unabashedly staring at his beautiful hands, again, and the corkscrew, with undivided focus for the past few moments, and he has noticed.

You clear your throat, and then gesture weakly at the corkscrew. “That’s uh, a very nice looking wine opener.” You nod to emphasize your very normal approval of this very normal household item, because you are not thinking any thoughts about Sylus’s huge hands or screwing or penetration. None.

“Good eye. I’m rather fond of this model. I’ll have one delivered to you,” he says as he firmly pulls the cork from the bottle with a soft pop. He sets it on the counter, and picks up the other bottle.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m sure it didn’t escape your notice that the kind of wine I drink tends to come with a screw cap instead of a cork,” you decline, shaking your head. You can buy your own damn self a corkscrew for tucking into your pocket if you ever find yourself at a wine bar that doesn’t allow patrons to be armed, but you anticipate needing some kind of weapon.

“Refuse me all you want,” he murmurs, and you feel like there’s an implied part of that sentence that he’s just not saying out loud. But then he’s repeating the opening process with the second bottle, and you suddenly find the night view outside your window immensely fascinating, because whatever is continuing to happen in front of you is just. Boring. Utterly sleep-inducing. You can’t look or else you might just pass out from the tedium of it before you even get to taste the wine. And a deal’s a deal, as Sylus is fond of repeating ad nauseum.

After hearing the soft pop of the other bottle, you sigh and turn back to find Sylus holding the wine glass and pouring the first bottle’s wine along the inside of the glass until it reaches the widest part of the bowl. For the first time, you notice that there’s only one glass on the counter. But before you can comment, Sylus begins to lecture.

“Now, if this were an ideal tasting, I’d have brought a decanter to let the wine breathe properly for an appropriate period of time before pouring. We'd also be using a container for spitting each mouthful out in between tastes, to avoid the intoxication and poor decisions I mentioned earlier and interfering with our judge of taste. But since we only have two bottles to try, and it’s just you and me here, I took the gamble that you wouldn’t mind if we were a little less formal.”  

You wait to see if he has any other fun facts to share, but he’s looking at you to confirm that indeed, you can live with not waiting even longer to taste this wine that better have gold leaf flakes in it or something to justify this amount of ceremony and can also live with not… spitting out said wonder wine after tasting it.

But you recognize that Sylus appears to be truly passionate about this, and he’s looking at you so earnestly—you do not have the heart to meet his sincerity with sarcasm, when he's so sweetly trying to teach you something new.

“Your gamble paid off. I don’t mind at all,”  you say, meaning it. He perks up and gives you one of his almost smiles, with just the corners of his generous mouth lifted. He then proceeds to explain, in great detail, what type of wine this is, where the grapes for it are grown, its signature characteristics, what year it was bottled, and how it was received by the international wine community. It’s all actually quite interesting, except once again, right now you’re at the end of a long day, you’ve run the gauntlet of interacting with this unpredictable force of nature walking around in the body of an extremely attractive man, and you feel like you should be taking notes to actually retain any of this information.

After he seems to have informed you to his satisfaction and is looking at you expectantly, you nod. “That is… very fascinating. So how do we go about actually tasting it?” You might be an uncultured heathen, but even before Sylus’s lecture, you knew there are rules when it comes to tasting wine. You just always had other things you needed to learn first, like the weakest spots on a wanderer or human body. Or the best method of sharpening knives for the sharpest edge. Or how to clean guns to prevent jamming. How to affix a scope on a sniper rifle and measure the effect of wind speed and direction on a bullet’s trajectory. Or whether you should use baking soda or baking powder as leavener when baking certain kinds of cake. You have priorities. But tonight, it seems, is the night for you to learn about wine.

Before he answers, he moves around the kitchen island to where you’re still seated on the bar stool and leans down, gently spinning your stool so that you’re facing him instead of the counter. He then pushes the one next to you closer and seats himself. Even sitting, you have to look up into his face. You suddenly realize that the way he has positioned the stools puts him so close to you that his long legs don’t have anywhere to go—he just spreads them so that one is stretched out on one side of you, and the other is between your own, his knee incredibly close to your lap. If you shift forward even a little, you could grind on him.

Why is he doing this to you? What does he want? But then it occurs to you that Sylus has never seemed to either recognize or respect boundaries like a normal person—maybe this is just how he interacts with his friends. Constant, small touches, no sense of personal space. You wonder if he and the twins huddle together on the couch, sharing a blanket, while watching something on television.

So maybe you’re the freak, imagining riding this poor guy’s meaty thigh when he’s only just trying to share his appreciation of a sophisticated beverage with you. You close your eyes. It doesn’t matter whether he’s playing this little game on purpose or not. You refuse to let him see how much his proximity is affecting you, because then he wins. You don’t know what he wins exactly, but you will beat him before you let him have it. You try to think about his big hand choking you, but instead of having the intended effect of reminding you why you should never even consider buying tickets to the safety hazard now wedged between your thighs, it has … unforeseen consequences instead. What has this man done to you?!

You open your eyes, reach across the counter and grab a handful of carefully cut pieces of cheese, and then promptly stuff them all into your mouth at once. When in crisis, cheese is always a good solution. Except for maybe the blue cheese you accidentally mixed in with the Manchego or whatever-the-fancy-fuck he brought with him. Aaaand now you’re going to smell like blue cheese for the rest of the night.

You stare at him defiantly as you chew with puffed cheeks, and brace yourself for whatever is coming next. He side eyes you, face impassive.

You’re expecting some biting comment, but “Well, that’s one way to make sure you’ve eaten enough to absorb the alcohol,” is all he says. He slowly slides the glass with two fingers along the base across the counter until it’s sitting between the two of you. “Whenever you manage to finish inhaling all that dairy, we’ll be sure that we’ve given the wine enough time to breathe.” He pauses. “It occurs to me now that while I was preparing the food, I didn’t think to ask if you’re lactose intolerant.”

You deliberately chew as slowly as you can, making him wait as a punishment for making you feel things that you should not be feeling. When you’ve swallowed, you shake your head. “Fortunately, not one of my many flaws.”

“It’s not a flaw.” He shrugs. “How can anything you can’t control about your body be a flaw? And Luke and Kieran are lactose intolerant, so I always have lactase enzyme tablets on me to avoid… unwanted consequences when they decide to have a cheese tasting contest.”

You cock your head. “A what now?”

 He rubs his middle finger between his eyebrows. “Yeah, they can’t help themselves from making a competition out of every single human activity, so on the nights the chef prepares a cheese board with dinner, they try to outmatch each other regarding who can identify the most flavors of cheeses without cheating by asking the chef or querying Mephisto or searching online. Or asking me, because I’m undefeated.”

You stare at him, and think if there’s ever any universe in which you voluntarily return to the base where Sylus kept you captive for days and touched you like he owned you, hand violently clasped in his, where you were terrified for your life, exhausted and confused… and if you ever have a friendly enough relationship with the chaos twins, you’re going to practice your ass off so that if you’re ever invited to such a competition, you can wipe the floor with them. Their cheese-off sounds fun.

Your train of thought is derailed as it registers how smug the last thing he said was. “You’re undefeated,” you repeat, giving him a chance to redeem himself. “At identifying cheeses by taste.”

“And smell, yes. So I’m not allowed to play anymore. My palate is too refined, and they know they don’t stand a chance.”

Oh, you’re definitely going to start sampling cheese every week. You cannot let this smugness stand.

“Ah yes, his royal snobness and his impeachable palate,” you roll your eyes. “Now, will his grace the Duke of Gouda please get on with the wine instruction?” You would give him a little mock bow, but that would put your face right in his formidable cleavage and you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from motorboating his unfairly huge pecs. Ugh.

He snorts. “Finally, you’re showing me some long-overdue respect.”

You nod gravely, thankful that the aether core in his eye is not currently delving the depths of your depravity. It’s time to focus. On wine.

“So why do you have to let wine breathe before drinking it?” you ask, because you’re focused.

He looks pleased that you’re interested enough to ask a question. “Much like people, it’s good to expose a greater surface area of the wine to fresh air for a while—it allows undesirable scents and flavors to dissipate, so that it tastes better when you do take a sip than if you drink it straight after opening.”

“Well aren’t you wise, philosophizing about wine and people,” you smile. You find yourself being surprised again and again tonight—at his presence, his bearing gifts, his surprisingly sweet attempt to teach you something, his kind takes on lactose intolerance and what people need to be healthy.

“Did you think I only consist of feathers and spite?” He lifts the wine glass by the stem with one hand, and your hand in his other. He gently wraps your fingers around his own.

“Let’s not forget hubris and violence.” You watch as he gently swirls the wine in the glass held between you. His hand is so warm compared to your own.

“If that’s all, then you still have a lot to learn about me,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t seem offended. Almost as if he’s simply determined. To do what, you’re not sure. “I’d tell you that you should always hold a wine glass by the stem so that the heat from your hand doesn’t affect the temperature of the wine through the glass itself. But your hands are so cold—I don’t think that would be a problem for you. But if you want people to think you’re a connoisseur, you should anyway if you’re ever on an undercover mission. Now, before you take a sip, inhale the scent we’ve just released by swirling the wine.”

You do as you’re told, and lean over, hovering just over the edge of the glass and taking a deep breath. The scent of the wine, warm and deep, fills your senses.

You look up at him and smile again. “It smells really good.”

“Of course,” he lifts the bottom of the glass with his free hand so that you can straighten, and guides your other hand to support the glass while slipping his own from around the stem and allowing you to hold it by yourself. Your hand immediately feels cold again. He leans one elbow on the counter, “I chose it for you. I’m not going to let you drink plonk.”

“Plonk?” What a cute word.

“Shit wine.”

“Mmm, not allowing me to drink shit wine, you’re truly a knight in shining armor.”

“I don’t need armor, kitten. Now that you’ve established that the wine hasn’t gone off by smelling it, you can take a sip.”

You’re about to lift the glass to your lips, when he reaches up and runs his fingertips along your wrist to stop you. “As you do, don’t swallow immediately. Roll the wine with your tongue in your mouth, and try to really think about what flavors you can taste: can you detect the oak from the barrels, earth, tannin, fruit or spices? Is it sweet or dry?”

You nod, mouth suddenly dry. But you follow his instructions and take a slow sip, rolling the rich liquid around in your mouth, and then slowly swallow. A familiar warmth spreads from your stomach, radiating out through your body. His blood bright eyes follow the movement of your lips, your throat. “I taste… fruit.” You pause, trying to appear very serious about finding the perfect description of flavor. You take another sip, close your eyes. “Yes, very fruity notes. Grapes, in particular.”

You open your eyes to find him scowling at you.

“Aren’t you the comedian?” he growls. “I’m going to revoke your wine privileges if you don’t take this seriously. How are you going to feel confident if you ever need this knowledge on a mission? Or on a date?”

You just laugh at him and try to turn a little on the stool, lifting your arm to keep the glass out of his reach, but his knee between your legs prevents you from moving, and he easily leans forward, fingers drifting up the length of your arm to then wrap around your own hand on the stem. He carefully pulls it back between the two of you. Your hand feels warm again. Safely wrapped in his.

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned my needing to know how to pass as a wine snob on a mission. What kind of missions do you think I’m regularly going on?” You gently lift the glass again, pulling his hand with you, and take another sip. It really does taste so good. You can’t tell if it’s wildly different than the wine you normally get, but you know it doesn’t taste like it’ll leave you with a headache in the morning.

He shrugs. “If we didn’t have to bring the place down when we were at the auction, people would have been watching you at the dinner banquet. What would you have done if people started to notice that you were clutching the wine and swigging it like a drunken toddler and started to suspect that your behavior wasn't matching your cover identity?”

You gasp. “Excuse me, you don’t know how I normally drink my wine!” Who does this bastard think he is? And here you were, thinking he was sweet, sincerely trying to share one of his interests with you. “I don’t need you patronizing me regarding how I’d manage at a formal event or on a date! I’ve been on plenty of dates where I was able to drink wine without driving off my partner.” You try to pull away from him, and the wine sloshes dangerously with your movement.

“Sit still,” he commands, holding your hand tight with his and placing one large palm on your bare thigh. You immediately freeze. “I watched you gulp wine from a mug the last time I was here,” he retorts.

“So you think that just because I don’t care what you think, I can’t read the room and act according to the demands of the situation?” The indignation coursing through you is amplified by the wine spreading through you.

“Then is it fair to say that you didn’t feel the need for any pretense between us last time because you’re so comfortable with me, and not because you’re as civilized as a cactus?” he asks, running his thumb gently back and forth along your inner thigh.

Your brain is being scrambled by his thumb, how close he is to you, his clavicle exposed by the V of his sweater’s neckline, the scent of his warm, clean skin, the wine going to your head after a long exhausting day.

“I’m saying I don’t feel the need to impress you in my own home when you show up uninvited and demand beverages and band aids,” you finally manage. You’re warm. Too warm. “And what’s wrong with being a cactus?”

“Did I say there was something wrong with it? Cacti can survive the harshest conditions on earth and still produce the most beautiful flowers. And they hurt when they stab you.” He smiles like the thought pleases him immensely.

You can’t process this. He says shit like this so easily—he can’t possibly mean it in the way you are trying so hard to deny that you want him to mean it. You refuse to be lured in, only to see the cruel lines of his face when he realizes you have pathetic feelings for him. The man who could as easily rip your spine from your ribcage as offer you a glass of wine, if you lose your usefulness to him. A usefulness you still don’t know the nature of.

You’re suddenly viciously aware of how close he is to you, how he is watching your face with an intensity that makes you feel like the use of his aether core is unnecessary: you’re afraid that he can see everything you’re feeling, and you hate it. You need space. “What are we even doing, Sylus?”

His eyes drift from your eyes to your mouth, and you try very hard to steel your expression, to conceal how utterly raw and exposed he’s making you feel. You can’t tell if you’re successful, when he finally lifts his hand from your thigh and runs the back of his knuckles with such softness along your cheek that it makes you ache. You resist the urge to turn your face and nuzzle his palm.

“We’re tasting wine, sweetheart.” He leans back, pulling the glass of wine you’re still holding with him. He inhales deeply, and then takes a sip, eyes glittering over the rim, watching you. “It is a good vintage. But it’s not the only one I brought.” He guides your joined hands to set the glass on the counter, and then gets up, rounding the counter to rummage in a bag on the floor on the other side. When he stands up, he’s holding another wine glass.

You do a double take. “You brought two glasses?”

He looks from you to the glass in his hand, then back to the glass still on the counter, and then lifts his eyebrows. “Is this a trick question?”

“Why haven’t we been drinking about of separate glasses then?” you demand.

He shrugs. “That glass is for that bottle,” he nods to the glass sitting next to you. “This glass is for this bottle.” He gestures at the other, untasted bottle sitting on the counter. “No need to rinse our glasses in between tastes.”

You want to laugh, and cry. You’re so fucking done with thinking for tonight.

“Okay, Sylus. Whatever you say,” you sigh.

“Oh, I quite like the sound of that,” he smiles, one canine peeking over his lip. “Then you’re going to enjoy the sorbet I brought for us as a palate cleanser.”

He proceeds to go to your freezer, scoop out some of the aforementioned sorbet that has apparently been in there all evening into a bowl, and takes the stool next to you again. This time, he situates one long leg on either side of you, caging you in. He takes a spoonful and offers it to you. “This will help rinse your palate so that you can taste the next bottle without any lingering effects of the other.”

You look from his seemingly guileless face to the spoonful of sorbet. Yup, you’re really done thinking for tonight. You lean forward and open your lips. He slips the lemon sorbet into your mouth. His eyes remain on your lips as he pulls the spoon away, dips it back into the sorbet, and brings it to his own mouth.

After he continues to trade spoonfuls with you until the sorbet is gone, he pours the second glass of wine, and you both take turns sipping it in companionable silence.

“Now tell me. Which one is your favorite?” he asks after you’ve finished the second glass, and return to the first to finish it as well.

“I like them both,” you shrug. “Sorry for not having a more sophisticated answer.” You’re feeling drowsy and loose. He can walk off a tall building for all you care if he doesn’t like your answer.

“They’re both excellent wines. Each one is suited for multiple situations or meal combinations. They’re versatile, just like you are. And I don’t require any particular answer, except your honest one. I think you already know that you don’t need to put on an act for me, ever.”

You rest your elbow on the counter, mirroring his position, and rest your head in your hand. “Why would I pretend with you, if you can just force the truth out of me?”

“I will never do that to you.”

You look away. “You’ve already done it to me once before. What else is there to hide, when you’ve seen the ugliest parts of me?”

“I will not do it again. Not unless you ask me to,” he says so solemnly that you’re tempted to be a fool and believe him. “And is that what you think? That what I saw was ugly?”

You sit up, take the glass from him and knock back the rest of the wine in one gulp. You can't do this right now. You can't think about the the violent hunger, the savage thirst, that his eye brought from the depths of your soul when he forced his way into your deepest, darkest desires the night you met. The extent of how much you wanted to kill him, and make it hurt, when you thought he had killed Caleb and your grandmother. How you still feel that hunger and rage, with every wanderer you kill, every time you hope some dealer in modified protocores resists arrest so you can put them down, with prejudice.

“I’m tired, Sylus. Thank you for the lesson. Now I can successfully fool rich assholes at upscale dens of corruption and unsuspecting dates into believing that I’m a sophisticated connoisseur of overpriced beverages, and swindle them all. And I’ll never horrify you again by swigging wine out of a mug like a drunken toddler. You should invoice the Association for your services. In the meantime, I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

“I see. You’re still on guard, and defensive, when you're drunk too. How fascinating.” He narrows his eyes, not seeming to get the hint that you want him to leave now.

“I’m not drunk. I’m maybe tipsy, and I’m fucking tired. I’m going to bed.”

“All right,” he says easily. He stands and begins tidying up the counter.

“All right,” you repeat, feeling a little dizzy, a little empty. “You know where the door is.”

“As you say,” he says serenely, pulling out food storage containers you also didn’t realize you own and packing the food away.

“Thanks again,” you say, because you are polite, dammit. You make your way into the bathroom and begin getting ready for bed. When you emerge, your flat is dark. The kitchen looks pristine in the streetlight drifting in through the windows. You stare for a moment longer, wondering if maybe he’s finally given up on whatever his agenda with you is after your little emotional display tonight, and he’ll stop coming by now. You’re fine with that. Maybe this is what you’ve needed to do all along. Get drunk and sloppy. Guarded, defensive, he called you. What an asshole.

You pad into the bedroom, yawning, pulling up your phone to look at it as you walk. Maybe you should try listening to audiobooks to try to help with the insomnia. Like, boring ones with deep, sexy voiced narrators who can bore you to sleep like Sylus did the other night. You crawl onto the bed, and then—

“The fuck, Sylus?”

He’s sitting in the middle of your bed, sweater off and replaced by… nothing. Just the expanse of his big, creamy chest. And he’s wearing a pair of silky looking loose, black pyjama pants. An impossibly soft looking line of silver hair drifts from his tight navel, disappearing under his waistband. His gold-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, like last time, and he’s scrolling through something on his tablet. He glances up at you, but then goes back to his… spreadsheets?

“Haven’t we already been through that little routine tonight?” he asks, and yawns. “I’m getting déjà vu.”

“What. Are. You. Doing?” you seethe.

“Going over the financials from the meeting with my accountant today.”

“Why?” You just sit there on your knees, on your bed, gaping at him like an idiot.

“To ensure that my next acquisition is suited to purpose.”

“What?”

His gaze flicks to you, and he pushes the glasses further up his nose. “Well, I made a promise that I wouldn’t change a thing about my latest business venture, so now I need to ensure that the next chain of businesses I acquire can serve one of the functions I had intended for the arcades.”

“What function is that?” you ask, curious now, despite yourself.

“Well, one of two primary functions,” he amends, tapping his temple thoughtfully with a finger.

“Okay,” you say slowly, inviting him to continue.

“Money laundering.”

You shake your head. “Come again?”

“Oh, I’ll be happy to. Thank you for the invitation. I wasn’t sure I’d ever receive one again, what with your heavily implied dismissal earlier.”

“Sylus!”

“Yes, my most precious gem?”

“What do you mean you intended to use the arcades for money laundering?” You want to cry even thinking about it.

“To be fair, after you asked me so sweetly not to change a thing, I immediately agreed. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But that’s why you wanted to buy them?” How many times can a heart hurt in one night?

“I said that was one of the two primary reasons I wanted those arcades,” he says, reaching out with one hand and softly stroking your knee.

You look down, watching his calloused fingers drifting so sweetly across your skin. How can this man be so cruel and so gentle at the same time?

“What was the other reason, then?”

“Guess.”

“I’m done playing games with you tonight, Sylus.”

“When was I playing a game tonight?”

“Fine, don’t tell me. Just promise again that you won’t change anything about my favorite arcade.”

He sets the tablet on his lap, and reaches over to grasp your hand. He links your pinkie with his, and lifts it to his lips. “I already promised. And I promise again.” He seals the promise with a brush of his lips, and then rests both of your hands on the bed between you.

You don’t know why, and you will probably never know why, but you believe him right now. It’s clear that no matter what you do, he will not be leaving tonight without great violence on your part, and once again, you’re just too tired to fight him anymore. He reads your body like a damn book, because he silently hands you the glass of water that was sitting next to him on the nightstand. "Even if you're not drunk, but only maybe just a little tipsy," he says, doing an awful imitation of your voice. "You should still drink some water so you don't feel terrible in the morning."

Perhaps because of your easy compliance with his reasonable advice by simply taking the water and drinking it, he seems to deem it safe to pull you into his side. You go down, resting your head on his thick shoulder, and let your gaze wander over his tablet.

“So what are you thinking of buying this time?” you ask, yawning.

 He shifts, lifting your head so that he can wrap his arm around you, repositioning you so that you’re tucked a little closer under his chin, cheek resting against his chest. “A chain of casinos.”

“Casinos?” you laugh softly. “That’s on brand, I guess.”

“Mmhmm.” He runs his fingertips absently along your arm, from wrist to elbow and back again. “Lots of money changing hands. Ideal for functioning as a washing machine for the dirty proceeds from the weapons business, which comes out clean in the pockets of lucky winners.”

“You make your living profiting off the worst in people, you know that?” you ask sleepily, the numbers on the screen blurring.

“They’ll continue being terrible, with or without my involvement. I don’t make them take the bet, or pull the trigger. And if I don't, someone else will put the chip or gun in their hands. Might as well be me collecting the paycheck.”

“Maybe, through the power of friendship, I can change your mind,” you murmur. You don’t think you’ll need that audiobook to fall asleep tonight.

“Friendship, huh?” Sylus asks, but when he looks down at you, he sees that you’ve already fallen asleep. He traces the long sweep of your eyelashes across your cheeks with his eyes, feels your measured, calm breath drifting across his skin. He gently touches one finger to the ruby earring you haven’t taken out yet. The thrill of satisfaction he felt when you answered the door still wearing it would sustain him for weeks. He is absolutely certain that it won’t be the power of friendship that’s going to change him.

He pulls you a little closer into his chest, snorts when he feels you begin to drool onto his pec, and continues scrolling through his tablet.

That night, you dream. You’re walking through your childhood home—but not your childhood home from before your memories, because you will never know what that home looked like. This one, the home from your earliest memories, with its wood panelling on the walls, old-fashioned lace curtains in the windows that you can’t see out of, because it’s pitch black beyond the glass. Hallways lengthening at the same pace as you can walk down them, boots echoing on the polished hardwood floor. You walk and walk, and you can never reach the end. Doors that won’t open, but you know Caleb might be behind them, because in your dream logic, his bedroom is behind every door you pass. You turn the handles, but they remain locked. Sometimes you think you can hear the sound of someone biting into an apple, crisp flesh giving way to sharp teeth, but the door won’t open no matter how hard you throw yourself against it. You hear your grandmother speaking, just around every corner, but you can’t understand what she’s saying. You follow the sound, and every time you think that she’s just around the next turn in the hall, the corridor stretches in front of you again, empty.

You have been in this empty house for years now, and you’re afraid that you’ll never be able to get out. But you’re more afraid that once you get out, you’ll never hear them making these particular sounds again, this slim proof of their existence echoing through the empty hallways.

Slowly, you wake up, and in that endless moment caught between your dream and reality, it’s just peaceful and black—you are coming from somewhere so far away toward something you know will hurt, and you’re not ready to feel that yet. But then a feeling of suffocation is overwhelming you, and you open your eyes to realize you’re literally being smothered by a very big, very warm body.

The relief you feel, the gratitude, that Sylus is still here, that you aren’t waking up alone, again, from the nightmare in your sleep to the reality that the nightmare is real, and you’ll never be able to see your family again, is more overwhelming than your current need for oxygen. Sylus is still here, and the yawning emptiness you were carrying with you for what felt like years during that long dream dissipates in the warmth of his body against yours. You can’t help yourself. Your throw your arm that isn’t being crushed by him over his torso and hug him tightly to you, giving in to the urge to nuzzle his chest and just listen to his steady heartbeat.

You lie like that for awhile, blissfully listening to his soft breathing, when suddenly you realize that pressed so close to him, you can feel every contour of his body, from your chest against his abdomen, his muscular, silk-covered thigh wedged between your legs, and his apparently very, very big dick pressing into your hip.

You freeze, feeling like the creep you have accused him several times of being. He’s just sleeping, and you’ve plastered yourself against him like a vacuum sealed burrito. You have absolutely no business being utterly thrilled that this part of him matches the rest of him in terms of size and intimidation. You will not be taking this joy stick for a test drive. You can get out of this. You’re a very good hunter, and you can evade detection and make a tactical retreat when necessary. And it’s very necessary right now, because you do not want him to wake up and find you attached to him like a love-sick leech.

Slowly, sooo slowly, you slide your arm from where it is slung over his waist, and begin to incrementally scooch backwards, his leg slipping from between both of yours, freezing when he seems to shift a little, and then continuing the slow slide away when he settles again.

You’ve managed to extricate all of your limbs from him, except the one that is currently numb and squashed underneath him. You slowly roll onto your back and contemplate how you’re going to get it out from under him without waking him, when suddenly his arm flops over your waist. You jerk in surprise, eyes flying to his face, but his are still closed. His hand slides from your waist to your hip, and then snakes around to take a big handful of your ass. He makes a little happy noise and then pulls your body into his again. In the process, he has managed to jam his thigh back between your legs. You stare at his face, trying desperately to see if he’s starting to wake yet—how did you even end up in this situation? Then he pulls you even closer, causing his thigh to press deliciously against you. You suppress a whine, because it has been so long since someone has touched you liked this. But of course the person who is touching you is a maniac and is doing so while still asleep. You reach up and pat his cheek to wake him up, simultaneously trying to to pull away from him, but tightens his arms around you again, dipping his head to your shoulder still exposed by his too-big sweater.  You freeze in shock as he inhales deeply and hums, and soft kisses trail from your neck down, and before you can push him away he bites into the meat of your shoulder. The pain, pressure, and warmth of his mouth on your skin have you trying to arch away and into him—you do whine this time, loudly, because it hurts but you want.

Suddenly, his whole body seems to tense. The pressure on your shoulder eases, and he sighs, his breath cool drifting along your over-heated skin.

“Good morning.”

You open your eyes, realizing you’d been squeezing them shut through the last few moments, and meet his sleepy gaze.

"Were you awake?” you demand, terrified of the answer. Because if he was, then what the hell was he thinking, pretending to be asleep? And if he wasn't, was he just dreaming? Was it you in his dream, or was he dreaming of someone else? You don't want to know. You have to know.

“Your rather loud response to my love bite woke me up, I think,” he smiles softly. "I didn't realize that I was... dreaming until then."

“So you didn’t mean to—” you start to pull away.

He tightens his arm around your waist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Sylus, let go. I’m sorry for not waking you fast enough. I was just—I was just shocked. I know you wouldn’t have done that otherwise.” You struggle, but his arm is a steel bar holding you in place.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have,” he agrees, and you feel whatever fragile, tender root that had been growing in the cracks of your broken heart wither, the dry husk drifting away in an autumn breeze. Replacing that faint feeling of hope, you're livid that you do not share the same teleportation ability that Xavier and Sylus have. If you could, you'd teleport in a poof of glittering light or melodramatic feathers. To anywhere else but here.

You nod, and nod, and nod, because he’s not letting you move but you have to do something or else he’ll see it right on your stupid, open face, and you’d rather he slit your throat than see the pain his rejection is inflicting on you. You had lied to him earlier, about not having anything to hide, about always being honest with him. You've been lying to yourself, and to him, ever since you met him.

“What I mean—” he’s looking at you intently, and you want to cover his eyes with your hands, because as always they’re seeing too much, but suddenly, the doorbell rings through your flat.

You both turn your heads to look at the bedroom door at the same time.

Oh. Fuck.

Xavier.

Sylus turns to look back at you, so close that his nose brushes yours. “Expecting company, kitten?”

“It’s Xavier. Shit.” You try to roll away, and this time he lets you. You grab your phone off the nightstand and see that Xavier has already texted you a few times to see if you’re ready to head to the bookstore yet. The texts grow increasingly concerned the longer you don’t respond. The doorbell rings again. “You have to go. Now.”

You turn to Sylus, who is now lying leisurely on his side, head propped up in his hand, silky silver hair cascading across his forehead, occupying the bed like an imperialist force annexing a weaker neighbor’s territory, with no intention of leaving.

“And what are you going to do?” he asks, eyes drifting from your face, to your shoulder, down to your bare legs.

“I need to answer the door and tell Xavier that I’m running late.”

“Late for what?”

“Sylus, I don’t have time for this. You can’t be here. Xavier helped me get into the N109 zone, he spends a lot of time there—he’s smart enough that if he finds out what you look like, he might eventually be able to figure out who you are. You can’t be here,” you repeat, starting to panic. Sylus may not have any feelings for you beyond friendship or a predator toying with its food, but you still don’t want him to get caught because of you.

“You’re not working today. What plans do you have with him?” he asks, completely ignoring your distress.

“We’re going to the bookstore. We were going to spend our first day free just reading manga and eating junk food,” you rush out impatiently.

Sylus just looks at you for a few beats, the picture of lazy boredom on a weekend morning.

“Okay? Are you satisfied? Can you please leave now?” This is good. You can avoid the inevitable, It was a mistake, thought you were someone else, was dreaming about a giant amorous anthropomorphized ruby, you’re not exactly my type, because my type is someone who has their shit together, can identify what fucking region a certain grape was grown in and its exact soil acidity based on the year of the vintage, my type is someone else, anyone else—you reach down and hit yourself hard in the side of your thigh with a fist to get your head on straight, and start heading to your closet, intent on throwing on a robe or longer shorts so that you don't answer the door looking like you're not wearing any pants.

Sylus's irritated voice follows you. “Satisfied? No, I'm not feeling satisfied. But I would advise against answering the door wearing that.”

You jerk to a halt. “Excuse me?” You turn to find him scowling at you.

He waves a dismissive finger at the sweater and silk shirts you’re still wearing. “I think you should change before you answer the door.”

“I look that bad, huh? Thanks for the advice. You need to be gone when I get back.” You turn, hating everything and everyone, and make your way to the front door.

You throw it open, just as Xavier is lifting his hand to ring your bell again. His sky blue eyes, usually so calm and sleepy, widen when he takes in the dumpster fire that you are today.

“Hi, yeah, sorry. I overslept,” you rush out, hoping you can skip this part and go straight to the moving on with your day and your entire life part. “I just need like, fifteen minutes, and then I’ll be ready.”

“Did you get in a fight with a wanderer last night after we go home?” he asks, hand lifting again, this time toward you, as if he wants to touch you, but then thinks better of it and drops it back to his side. He’s wearing the white hoodie that Sylus stole from him. What even is your life right now?

“What? No, I just had some wine and was really tired.” He’s staring at you, brow furrowed now, and it takes a minute to realize that he’s staring at the sweater hanging off your shoulder. You suddenly get a really, really bad feeling. “Why?”

He lifts his hand again, and points, but in a kind of timid way, like a little kid who knows that it’s rude to point but can’t help himself anyway so just points a little so that his mom won’t get mad at him. “It looks like a wanderer bit you.”

You lift your own hand and touch your shoulder, and feel the too-warm skin there, the ache spreading deep into the muscle.

“Oooh, yeah. Yes.” You decide that you need to take acting classes. That is what you will do as your new hobby, on your few days off. You’re going to win the best actor award if it kills you, because if it doesn’t kill you, the embarrassment will kill you instead. And you’d rather die convincing everyone that everything is normal and you’re fine, and not from the embarrassment of the fact that your not-boyfriend, not-fuck-buddy, not-interested-at-all, probably not even your friend anymore Sylus accidentally bit you while fucking asleep and left evidence of it for all the world to see. “I did respond to a really minor alert in the neighborhood last night. It was only one wanderer. Hiding in a trash can of all places,” you laugh, not at all sounding unhinged. Convincing. “Bit me pretty good, but it really was nothing, I had completely forgotten about it. So, still on for the bookstore?” you ask, chipper, eager, well-adjusted!

Xavier stares at your shoulder for a few seconds longer, and then just nods. “Yeah, just text me when you’re ready.”

Bless him. You’ve almost put him back to sleep with your absolutely stellar performance. “Okay, great! See you soon.” You back into your flat again and let the door shut with a heavy click.

Xavier stands outside your door for several moments after you’ve scurried back inside. He thinks about how sharp his light blade is. He thinks about how he’s going to use it on whatever motherfucker thinks that he has the right to mark Xavier’s partner like an animal. And then he yawns, and meanders back to his own flat to wait for your text because he has all the time in the world, and the patience to match it. Xavier is your partner, and he’s not going anywhere, anytime soon. If he murders whatever asshole was in your flat last night right now, that might interfere with your bookstore plans with him.

You stand on the other side of the door for a moment, just trying to collect yourself. You lean against the cool surface, look up at your ceiling. Breathe in the smell of shoe leather, oiled metal. Absently you lift your hand to your shoulder. Why didn’t Sylus warn you before you went to open the door? He even admitted that he wouldn’t have … done that to you if he hadn’t been asleep. Why would he just… and then it hits you. He did tell you to change clothes before you answered the door. The asshole just didn’t tell you why. But he would know by now that you’d actually do the opposite of whatever he says, because he’s not the boss of you. He played you like one of his fucking records.

But why the fuck would he want Xavier to see what happened between the two of you? Does he enjoy your humiliation that much?

You have no idea if you’ll ever have the chance to figure him out, especially if he got the hint that you don’t want to see him anytime soon. You shake your head. Even though you should be exhausted after staying up so late and ending up on the human embodiment of a roller coaster with its wheels coming off despite all of your promises to yourself last night, you feel well-rested. You will survive this. You can survive anything.

You head back to your bedroom to confirm that Sylus is actually gone, because last night proved that whether he actually listens when you tell him to leave depends entirely on his own whims. As you enter, the late morning sunlight spills into the room. He really left. The room is empty. The books and various weapons on your nightstands have been stacked neatly and lined up just so. The clothes that had been left haphazardly hanging off your chest of drawer handles or strewn over the floor are nowhere to be seen. It would be the tidiest your bedroom has been in weeks, if not for the fact that your entire bed is covered in a thick layer of black feathers.

“This bitch,” you breathe.

It’s going to take at least two full size trash bags to clean this mess up.

You decide then and there that Sylus doesn’t have a choice about whether he’s going to see you again. You’re going to bag up these feathers and then tar and feather him with them the next time you see his gorgeous, petty fucking face.

[strwberri-milk]

Oooh could you give reactions of the LaDS guys when MC rescues them?? I can imagine their stunned faces followed by intense worry for MC

Zayne didn't think that disaster would strike the hospital but here he is using his Evol to try and help patients and their families escape. Anybody who had an offensive Evol was part of this shoddily thrown together front lines, desperately trying to buy time until the authorities arrived.

He thinks he's about to be closed in as the roof comes down, doing his best to try and lessen the damage when he sees you come to the rescue. Somehow you manage to push him out of the way, rolling the two of you to safety as you get up to continue your path. He immediately grabs you by the wrist, wordlessly asking if you're okay. You offer him a quick nod before running off to continue, both of you understanding that time is of the essence.

When he finds you again later he's giving you a full physical, wanting to make sure that you're okay despite the accident. He can only rest once you're safe, holding you close.

If you sustained a life threatening injury he's there the entire time. He's making sure that you're okay, monitoring your progress as much as the doctors will allow him to. They don't want him getting in the way, knowing that he's especially emotional because it's you despite never having seen him like this before. He knows he shouldn't be interfering but honestly, he can't help it. He's worried and he's going to blame himself for the rest of his life if you don't get better.

Xavier lost his mind when he lost sight of you, trying his best to fight while also looking for you everywhere. When he finally sees you after you took out a Wanderer he pulls you into his chest, hugging you tightly as he asks you if you're alright. He does his best to appraise your current condition, doing whatever he can to mitigate any pain you feel and trying to convince you to rest before things get worse.

The attack doesn't seem to be letting up at all and you know that the two of you have to split up to continue no matter how much he hates it. He decides fuck the orders and follows you anyway, knowing that he won't be able to focus if you're not there with him.

He hears the Wanderer too late - turning around and drawing his sword half a second later than he should when he hears your guns going off. The Wanderer immediately turns to you, giving him an opening to strike back. It's faster than either of you thought it was, the scream he hears from you shutting him down.

He's glad you saved him but not at the cost of your life and he wastes the creature, knowing his body will suffer the consequences from how powerful his attack was but that doesn't matter if it means it saved you. He immediately takes you to get help, refusing to leave your side until you're actually 100%. He promised himself he'd protect you and he's going to be even more protective of you from now on.

Rafayel didn't think that his studio would be ambushed like this but he was more than capable of handling it - or so he thought. He was close to burning down his whole studio if he needed to in order to escape the assailants, surprised when they suddenly start collapsing without him doing anything.

When you emerge with your weapon drawn he's happy to see you but immediately worries about how you got through the other people they said they brought with them. You were able to take them down thankfully but he's not convinced you're alright, securing his studio with you to ensure that the two of you have nothing else to worry about.

If you sustain a life threatening injury he's immediately calling for help but also takes care of you right then and there. He doesn't want to lose any time to waiting for medical staff to arrive or your fellow hunters - he knows how to take care of you and his fire Evol is thankfully good at cauterising wounds despite how awful he feels about you trying to be brave as he burns your skin. The scars that linger upset him deeply because to him, they represent a time he failed you but in spite of them he doesn't let it drag him down. He knows it'd just make you more upset to know that's how he feels so he just focuses on making sure his skills stay sharp enough to protect you.

Sylus doesn't normally get attacked when he goes out on a job but this was a first. He was a little underprepared, thinking he'd have a quiet evening but the fight wasn't too rough, thankfully. He turns, preparing to leave without realising that there was another figure hidden in the shadows, ready to strike him down when he hears someone fall behind him. You stand over their unconscious body, a little worse for wear but nothing some TLC couldn't solve.

Sylus insists on taking you home, knowing that while you look fine there was always a slight chance that something was being overlooked and he did not want to be negligent in your care. He doesn't like the fact that you got attacked most likely because of your association with him, telling you that you need to be more careful to avoid things like that happening.

When you do get attacked because of your connection with him he has no reservations killing the person who had the audacity to hurt you. He takes you back home, patching you up and making sure you're okay in the comfort of his house. You have round the clock care and you think that Sylus isn't too shaken about your near death experience until you realise his sleep is even lighter one night. He can't sleep properly and probably won't for a while. He'll always be even more alert, constantly having either Mephisto or himself on your trail to ensure that nothing like that happens again.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Diesel Is Desire, You Were Playing With Fire

A/N: It's still day six of @nessianweek, right? Just posting a teensy bit later than I intended! 😬 Anywho! What better way to celebrate Lady Death and the Lord of Bloodshed than the two of them being hot and covered in blood? And simping about it? Am I right? Hope everyone enjoys!

Read on AO3

The pounding in his head seems to radiate from the left side, a constant thrum near his temple and gnawing straight through his mind. It has a low ringing still niggling in his ears, has pressure building behind his eyes, as Cassian slowly opens them. The instant flare of light leaves him wincing, but as his eyes adjust, he realizes just how dim it actually is around him, most of the light spilling in from torches in the hall beyond.

Dim and damp.

There’s a cool dampness that clings to the air around him, to the stone pressing against Cassian’s cheek. With a soft grunt, he tries to push himself up into a seated position, only to find his hands bound, metal scraping and tugging at the skin of his wrists when he tries to move. He rolls over enough that his gaze can follow the chain of the shackles up and into the stone wall. Some more shifting brings his attention to the rope tightly bound around his wings, and he dares to test out the strength of the restraint, grunting in frustration when there's no give.

“Well, look who’s finally awake.”

A hand digs into Cassian’s hair, tugging against the wound there until he’s yanked up and into a seated position. He blinks a few times against the pain and comes face to face with the hard, brown eyes and arrogant sneer of Maelor.

Of course.

Of course, this male decided to pick back up the mantle that Kallon and his little band left behind. Cassian still remembers when Maelor was a youngling in the rings, over throwing punches and refusing to follow any orders.

“Are you finding your accommodations comfortable, General?”

Cassian hums, making a big show of looking around the room. He notes just how small the room is, the single exit along the opposite wall. The metal bars of the door look sturdy, but the rust on the hinges look promising.

“You could consider hanging some art on the walls,” Cassian drawls, flicking his gaze back to Maelor.

The male looks unimpressed with the comment, eyes flashing and teeth pulling back over his bared teeth. Cassian bites back a smirk. It’s too easy to get a rise out of the male. Barely through the Blood Rite means the male is still too green, still unseasoned about this sort of thing. And probably too stupid to have really thought through this little plan beyond the rage Maelor is letting get the better of him.

“But I suppose I’ve seen worse,” Cassian continues, shrugging his shoulders as much as his restraints will allow. “Than wherever here is.”

Maelor snorts. “Nice try. As if I’d tell you that. I’m not stupid.”

Cassian bites his tongue around his disagreement, against pointing out the obvious. “Can’t be too far from the western steppes where I was patrolling. I presume that’s where you attacked.”

“You didn’t even hear me coming,” Maelor tells him, puffing out his chest like a preening child. “You’re losing your touch, Lord of Bloodshed.”

“Still, we both know you don’t have the strength to carry or fly me that far, so let me guess, an old converted cellar in the deserted Wirmlowe camp?”

Maelor’s fists clenching is the only confirmation that Cassian needs. “It doesn’t matter. You’re still the one in chains. Still the one who will pay for your crimes against the Blood Brothers.”

“Blood Brothers? Really? That’s the name you decided on.”

The sound of the back of Maelor’s hand across his cheek is loud in the small space, ringing off the stone walls around them. Cassian chuckles at the display, another blatant show of the untampered emotions from an inexperienced warrior.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Cassian tells him, working his jaw against the sting. “Nes likes my pretty face.”

“I don't have time for this,” Maelor mumbles, spinning on his heel and stalking back toward the door.

“There’s still time, you know. To let me go and pretend this whole thing never happened,” Cassian calls after him, shaking his head solemnly as he leans casually against the wall. “I mean it's your life on the line, but…”

Maelor whirls back around, that sneer back on his face. “Your precious High Lord isn’t coming for you.”

Cassian chuckles again. This male really is more stupid than he looks. “Oh, it's not Rhys you have to worry about.”

As if on cue, the door behind Maelor’s back explodes off its hinges, the force sending the male flying to the ground, the metal bars crushing him against the stones. Silver flickers and floods into the room, those flames echoed in a pair of eyes now standing in the open doorway. Now narrowed firmly on Cassian.

There’s no stopping Cassian’s grin at the sight. He’d felt that familiar warm thrum in his chest as soon as he’d come to. Felt that gentle tug that informed him the other end of that golden thread was drawing closer. And now here she stands, silver still simmering and weaving at her fingertips, leathers clinging to her frame, and hair pulled away to show off the sharp angles of her face. To give Cassian the perfect view of one of his favorite expressions painted across her face.

“One night. One date night, and you had to get yourself kidnapped.”

“Hello to you too, sweetheart.”

Nesta steps further into the room, moving lithely over Maelor’s body with ease. “If you didn’t want to go to the ballet tonight, you could have just said.”

“You really think this was my doing?” Cassian asks, holding up his bound wrists in emphasis. “Think this is what I want?”

The left side of Nesta’s lips lift up into a smirk, the blue of her eyes sparking in that way Cassian’s always loved. “Well, we both do know how much you love to be tied up.”

“Only when it’s you doing the tying.”

Nesta rolls her eyes, but there’s no hiding the fondness in her expression. It has Cassian’s grin stretching wider across his face, has warmth bubbling between his ribs. She finally turns her attention toward Maelor’s body, crouching down and rooting around until she locates the keys on his person. As she focuses on unlocking the shackle around each of Cassian’s wrists, he can’t help but stare at her face, especially so close to his.

All these years and it’s still such a problem for him, tracing the planes of her high cheekbones, the faint freckles that he knows are echoed more prominently across her shoulders, each dark eyelash framing a pair of icy blue eyes. Gods, he’s truly the luckiest male, and he’s sure his dopey smile only reflects the sentiment.

The shackle on Cassian’s right hand releases, and he winces slightly, taking a moment to flex his fingers and turn his wrist. It’s at that exact moment that shouts echo from above them, what sounds like thundering steps growing closer and closer.

“Didn’t you check the whole perimeter before storming in here?”

Nesta sighs through her nose, pressing the key into Cassian’s freed hand. “If you’re going to critique my rescuing, then you can rescue yourself next time.”

She pushes back to her feet, unsheathing Ataraxia. She resets her stance, lifting her sword aloft and readying for the rebels that come storming into the room. Four males by Cassian’s count, and the Mother only knows how many more there could be on the way. Each one wears a sneer, wears a look of pure rage and blood lust, and it’s all directed at Nesta.

Directed at his mate.

Cassian swears softly under his breath. He focuses his attention on unlocking the shackle around his left wrist, even as the clanging reverberation of metal on metal bounces off the walls around him. When he’s finally free, he scrambles toward Maelor’s body, unsheathing the male’s blade and jumping to his feet.

He’s quick to turn his attention toward the first male he sees in front of him. He’s as unseasoned and undisciplined as Maelor, the male’s tell before he strikes forward obvious. It’s almost too easy the way Cassian is able to parry the strike, and he sends the male’s sword skittering across the stone before he sinks his own into the Illyrian’s gut. When the male drops to his knees, Cassian finishes the job, the feel of warm blood across his knuckles all too familiar.

His eyes flit around the rest of the room, finding Nesta squaring off against two males. For a moment, he can do nothing but stare, but watch his gorgeous mate. Her feet move with all the grace and lithe speed of a dancer, parrying and dodging each male’s attempted strikes against her. Ataraxia arches through the air as she slashes across one of the male’s chest, blood splattering across her leathers, her cheek. She turns fully toward the other male, preparing to square off solely with him, but it means she doesn’t see the third male now approaching her from behind, in her blindspot.

There’s no stopping the red that floods Cassian’s vision, instincts roaring through his veins and clawing through his chest.

He rushes forward, the weight of the sword in his hands, the swing of it, second nature to him even with the unfamiliarity of this particular blade. The male crumples into a pile of limbs and blood, and Cassian turns back toward Nesta with a winning grin, his mate having already disposed of the other Illyrian male.

“You’re welcome.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at his teasing drawl, but then those eyes are widening. She lunges forward, and there’s a soft, gurgling grunt right by Cassian’s ear, the distinct sound of metal sinking into soft flesh. He turns his head and meets the unfocused gaze of a fifth male, Nesta flicking Ataraxia upward to finish the job before pulling it free.

“You’re welcome,” she mocks back, that teasing smirk back on her face. “You’re losing your touch in your old age, General.”

Cassian chuckles, reaching his non-sword hand up and trying to wipe the blood from Nesta’s cheek. It’s unfair really, the way she looks even more beautiful with the streak of red across her skin, the splattering that reaches up toward her brow. With the silver still simmering in her eyes, Cassian thinks he might be falling in love all over again.

He leans down, bumping his nose against hers. “Careful, Lady Death.”

“What the fuck?”

Cassian pulls back, turning just as three more males come rushing through the door and into the room, more footsteps still echoing from above. Cassian almost wants to laugh. How big could this rebel group be? There couldn’t really be that many males that wanted to follow Maelor of all people.

Either way, Cassian and Nesta reset their stances, settling back to back with their respective swords raised. It’s a practiced dance between them, the way they move so in sync. With every offensive strike forward that Nesta takes, Cassian takes a defensive parry back. They spin in place together, taking on and felling each Illyrian that dares to raise a sword against them.

Despite the familiarity of a sword in his hand, the weight of the borrowed one is not, the balance not quite right either. One lucky swipe by the male he’s facing, and the sword in Cassian’s hand goes sailing out of his grip. He quickly switches to hand-to-hand, landing a strong uppercut that knocks the male unconscious. Shaking out the throb in his knuckles, Cassian spins back toward Nesta, placing his hands on her shoulders to hold her steady.

“What are you doing?” Nesta gets out between gritted teeth, still swinging Ataraxia.

“I need a weapon. Hold still.”

Cassian shifts his hands up into Nesta’s hair, finding the dagger disguised as a hair pin that he knows is always hidden out of sight there. He pulls the dagger free, the golden brown strands of Nesta’s hair tumbling free down along her spine. Her hair sways and glints from the torch light with her every movement, and Cassian has to remind himself of the situation they’re currently in before he gets distracted again.

“You know,” Cassian begins, whirling back around and using the dagger to take down another male. “As far as date nights go…”

“Don’t you dare,” Nesta seethes, sweeping out a male’s feet from under him and driving Ataraxia into his chest.

“I’m just saying that–”

“Mother save me, you would be enjoying this.”

Cassian sinks the dagger into the neck of the Illyrian in front of him. “Can you blame me?”

With the last of the Illyrian rebels a crumpled heap against the stone floor, Cassian is able to return his attention to Nesta, to sweep his eyes over her and really take her in. Her hair hangs like a curtain around her face, framing it the way Cassian loves best, even with the blood now making a mess of the strands. There’s still blood on her face too, contrasting with the bright blue of her eyes, sparking and flaring with the adrenaline and magic still coursing through her. With Ataraxia still clutched in her bloodied hands and the Illyrian leathers clinging to her frame, she’s a dream. And with the half a dozen males slain by her hand at her feet, Cassian is almost embarrassed to admit how aroused he feels.

His mate. His wife. His Nesta.

“I’m only a male after all.”

Nesta rolls her eyes, but she sheathes Ataraxia, stepping closer into Cassian’s space and pressing up onto her toes so she can wrap her arms around his neck, pushing the rope from his wings and finally freeing them.

“Just so you know, this doesn’t actually make up for tonight.”

Cassian chuckles, sliding his own arm around her waist and tugging Nesta’s body flush against him, right where she belongs. “I’ll have Rhys see if the ballet can do an extra performance. Just for you, sweetheart.”

“Good. It’s the least you could do after I rescued you, you big bat.”

—

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[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

September 20th

I opened today’s entry thinking I knew what to expect, but apparently I did not:

Report from Patrick Hennessey, M. D., M. R. C. S. L. K. Q. C. P. I., etc., etc., to John Seward, M. D.

A bit of humour in the darkest of nights. And what a power move! I love that even minor characters are given such vivid personalities!

With regard to patient, Renfield, there is more to say. He has had another outbreak, which might have had a dreadful ending, but which, as it fortunately happened, was unattended with any unhappy results.

This is what I mean! Look how this man writes. Completely redundant. He has a unique “voice” and I love it!

I went down to see if I could make out any cause for his anger, since he is usually such a well-behaved man, and except his violent fits nothing of the kind had ever occurred.

I’m starting to think every staff member has a death wish.

It was, I am sorry to say, however, only another instance of his cunning, for within half an hour I heard of him again. This time he had broken out through the window of his room, and was running down the avenue. I called to the attendants to follow me, and ran after him, for I feared he was intent on some mischief.

YA THINK?????

Also, what was I saying about safety protocols the other day?

The other fellow jumped down and struck him over the head with the butt-end of his heavy whip. It was a terrible blow; but he did not seem to mind it, but seized him also, and struggled with the three of us, pulling us to and fro as if we were kittens. You know I am no light weight, and the others were both burly men.

IT’S WORKING!!!!! The DYI vampirism is working!!! Mark me down as scared and strangely proud.

The two carriers were at first loud in their threats of actions for damages, and promised to rain all the penalties of the law on us. Their threats were, however, mingled with some sort of indirect apology for the defeat of the two of them by a feeble madman. They said that if it had not been for the way their strength had been spent in carrying and raising the heavy boxes to the cart they would have made short work of him. They gave as another reason for their defeat the extraordinary state of drouth to which they had been reduced by the dusty nature of their occupation and the reprehensible distance from the scene of their labours of any place of public entertainment. I quite understood their drift, and after a stiff glass of grog, or rather more of the same, and with each a sovereign in hand, they made light of the attack, and swore that they would encounter a worse madman any day for the pleasure of meeting so 'bloomin' good a bloke' as your correspondent. I took their names and addresses, in case they might be needed.

Efficient crisis management. Have a sticker 🦇

Now onto the regularly scheduled horrors…

Only resolution and habit can let me make an entry to-night. I am too miserable, too low-spirited, too sick of the world and all in it, including life itself, that I would not care if I heard this moment the flapping of the wings of the angel of death.

About that —

And he has been flapping those grim wings to some purpose of late—Lucy's mother and Arthur's father, and now.... Let me get on with my work.

Oh so it’s official! Arthur’s father has passed! What a month!

Van Helsing was very kind to him. "Come, my child," he said; "come with me. You are sick and weak, and have had much sorrow and much mental pain, as well as that tax on your strength that we know of. You must not be alone; for to be alone is to be full of fears and alarms. Come to the drawing-room, where there is a big fire, and there are two sofas. You shall lie on one, and I on the other, and our sympathy will be comfort to each other, even though we do not speak, and even if we sleep."

That is very sweet.

There was a full moonlight, and I could see that the noise was made by a great bat, which wheeled round—doubtless attracted by the light, although so dim—and every now and again struck the window with its wings.

Hold on hold on hold on. I think Jack might be on to something here.

So far, we’ve seen Dracula target Jonathan and Lucy specifically and relentlessly. Yes, he also attacked the crew of the Demeter, but that was out of necessity (being stuck in the middle of the ocean with no other source of food) rather than choice; and he doesn’t want to feed on Renfield, who is older and “feeble” both physically and mentally.

So he is attracted to the light, metaphorically: to young people who are full of life and love. Because that’s what he lacks. Argh.

It was certainly odd that whenever she got into that lethargic state, with the stertorous breathing, she put the flowers from her; but that when she waked she clutched them close.

🥺😔

"She is dying. It will not be long now. It will be much difference, mark me, whether she dies conscious or in her sleep. Wake that poor boy, and let him come and see the last; he trusts us, and we have promised him." […]

When we came into Lucy's room I could see that Van Helsing had, with his usual forethought, been putting matters straight and making everything look as pleasing as possible. He had even brushed Lucy's hair, so that it lay on the pillow in its usual sunny ripples. When we came into the room she opened her eyes, and seeing him, whispered softly:—

"Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come!" He was stooping to kiss her, when Van Helsing motioned him back. "No," he whispered, "not yet! Hold her hand; it will comfort her more."

Say what you want about Van Helsing (SISTER), he’s showing incredible amounts of compassion in this chapter.

In a sort of sleep-waking, vague, unconscious way she opened her eyes, which were now dull and hard at once, and said in a soft, voluptuous voice, such as I had never heard from her lips:—

"Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come! Kiss me!" Arthur bent eagerly over to kiss her; but at that instant Van Helsing, who, like me, had been startled by her voice, swooped upon him, and catching him by the neck with both hands, dragged him back with a fury of strength which I never thought he could have possessed, and actually hurled him almost across the room.

"Not for your life!" he said; "not for your living soul and hers!" And he stood between them like a lion at bay.

The next few entries are going to be fun.

Their eyes met instead of their lips; and so they parted.

Ouch.

"Ah, well, poor girl, there is peace for her at last. It is the end!"

He turned to me, and said with grave solemnity:—

"Not so; alas! not so. It is only the beginning!"

When I asked him what he meant, he only shook his head and answered:—

"We can do nothing as yet. Wait and see."

A heads up would be nice!!!

< Prev 🦇 Next >

[differentpostrebel]

Lost and Found: A Pirate's Promise

Chapter 33: The Unseen Battle: Allies, Rivals, and the Quest for Justice

A/N; We are back with another chapter! I promise you guys I wasnt holding these chapters hostage, Its my birthday today! I officially turn 27!. And we are getting two new chapters!. I cant wait for you guys to read these.We starting off with that Sanji POV. As always thank you guys so much for everything! As without further a do let the adventure begin! 

Word Count: 7.3K

Sanji X Reader, Sanji X Y/N, One Piece X Reader 

Sanji POV.. 

I must have dozed off in Y/N’s room, because suddenly the ship’s motion changed and we had arrived at Zou. The familiar sound of Brook’s voice roused me from sleep. “Sanji? Where are you?”

I stretched my arms and got up from the comfort of your bed. The room still smelled faintly of you, and I took a moment to tidy up your bed, leaving it just as you had it. Sighing, I glanced around one last time before heading out to the deck.

“There you are,” Brook greeted me, still holding his tea. “Get changed. We’re heading out to explore.”

I nodded and made my way back to my quarters, my thoughts consumed with worries and hope for you. As I changed into my usual attire, I muttered to myself, “Mosshead, I can only hope for your sake, I get Y/N back.”

After getting dressed, I joined the others on the deck, ready to explore Zou alongside Caesar. 

Y/N POV… 

As we dashed through the chaos, Zoro glanced at me. “Luffy, is that squawking peacock guy a friend of yours?”

“Oh, you mean Cabbage?” Luffy answered, clearly unbothered.

“Yeah, Cabbage. What an odd name for someone too!” I said, trying to catch my breath.

“He’s a real weirdo, huh? I met a whole bunch of people at the Colosseum,” Luffy said.

“Well, at least we aren’t being chased—that’s a relief,” I said. But just as I finished my sentence, our path was blocked by a swarm of citizens and pirates hunting us down.

“Damn, spoke too soon,” I muttered.

“There they are! Make sure the princess is caught too!” one of the men shouted.

“Don’t let them get away!” another yelled.

Grabbing one of my blades, I activated its power, the electrical current mixing with the bright yellow light. Luffy used his Gomu Gomu Whip to kick attackers away, while Zoro employed his Two-Sword Style Rhino Cycle to blow his opponents back. I focused on my attackers, and with a determined smirk, I drew on my blade’s power. “What’s she going to do? She’s surrounded!” one of the men said.

I grinned, clenching my left hand to activate its power and forming a circle. “Now, Rush!” I commanded. A surge of electricity shot through the crowd, causing them to fall one by one.

“We’re still dealing with more!” we shouted in unison.

“What’s the plan, Luffy?” I asked.

“If we handle this mob, we’ll be here all day,” Zoro said, knocking down another opponent.

“He’s got a point,” I agreed, taking down another attacker.

“There you are, Strawhat!” a voice called out from the debris.

“Luffy, do you know him?” I asked.

“Uhh, thought so! We need to go!” Luffy said urgently.

As we fled, I struggled to catch my breath. “We’ve got more company!” I yelled.

Looking at Zoro, I tried to lighten the mood. “If we get out of this one, I’ll work out with you and spar for a week,” I said with a smile.

Zoro smirked. “Looking forward to that!”

Just then, Luffy turned around. “Just go away already!”

“Hey, stop all three of you!” the man shouted as he lunged toward us. “Y/N, look out!” Zoro yelled, pulling me out of harm’s way to avoid being crushed.

The man began to laugh. “Just hear this old man out for a moment. I wanted to let you know I have forgiven the grudge I held against your family,” he said.

“Luffy, I didn’t know you and him go way back,” I said.

“We are here for one thing: to eliminate Doflamingo’s immoral business. We don’t care about the money. A puny bounty like that is mere change for us,” said the man next to the old man.

I let out a breath of relief, placing my hands on my knees. “Well, that’s a relief.”

The old man placed his hands on Luffy’s shoulders. “I must thank you and your friend God Usopp, who rescued me in my darkest hour.”

I turned to Zoro. “Looks like Usopp really outdid himself.”

“That’s why I’ve decided to repay my debt to the Straw Hat crew by obliterating Doflamingo and his monarchy,” the old man said.

“Huh, you too? The only guy kicking his ass is me!” Luffy retorted.

The old man’s expression darkened. “Speak up. What did you say?!”

“You heard me. I said don’t bother!” Luffy shot back.

Just then, the floor rumbled beneath us. “Strawhat! I was searching for you,” a giant’s voice boomed.

“Oh, the giant guy,” Luffy said.

“I say we bury the hatchet between us. As a proud warrior of Elbaf, I’ll slay Doflamingo for God Usopp,” the giant declared.

“Huh! Get lost, I said I got this!” Luffy insisted.

“Now, boys,” I said, as Zoro grabbed my wrist, halting me. “Just wait one moment. I’m here from the Providence Kingdom. We long owed King Riku an enormous debt. I’ll bring down Doflamingo with my own two fists!” he vowed.

More people began to approach us, eager to take down Doflamingo thanks to God Usopp.

“You really attract some oddballs, huh Luffy?” Zoro and I said in unison.

“You’d be a fool to forget about me!” Cabbage said, riding in on his horse.

“Ehh, not this guy again?!” I said, moving closer to Zoro.

“Hey, are you all serious about helping?” I asked, stepping forward.

“Ah, Princess, might I say you look dashing in red,” the old man said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Uh, thanks?”

“Alright, now this is getting annoying,” Zoro said, scratching his head. “What if we do it this way!” he yelled. “Us three will handle taking down Doflamingo, while you guys watch our backs. Sound okay?”

“Absolutely not!” they all yelled in unison.

“This might be a tough negotiation, Zo,” I said, giving him a playful nickname.

“Forget it, there are way too many egos involved,” Zoro said, clearly frustrated.

I agreed with him. “Alright, everyone, listen up! I’m making the call here!” Luffy said, raising his voice. “If anyone’s going to kick Doflamingo’s ass the way it needs to be kicked, it’s going to be me!”

“What did you say?!” one of the men barked, grabbing Luffy roughly.

As I moved to intervene, a spear flew through the air and stopped me mid-step. “What the... a spear?!” I exclaimed, looking in the direction it came from.

“That’s where they were!” one of the voices said. “Splitting up all those bounties could be quite the haul!” said another.

“And the princess is looking rather good for someone with that high of a bounty,” another man added, making me step back uneasily.

“Let’s get that bounty!” one of them shouted.

“Weren’t they the toys from the factory?!” another man exclaimed. “Bastards, how dare they!” said another.

“You ungrateful swines, I’ll see you in hell!” roared the giant as he dealt with the hunters.

“Let’s go, guys!” I urged, turning to Zoro and Luffy.

“Yeah,” Zoro agreed. Just then, a bull charged out of the alley.

“It’s Ucy!” Luffy shouted. “I’ve got an idea!” With determination, Luffy led us to climb onto the bull’s back, and we started racing through the streets.

I clutched the tiara tightly as it began to slip. Zoro noticed and moved closer, his hands finding their way to my legs to secure me on the bull. His touch was firm and reassuring, and I could feel his warmth. “Hold on tight,” he said with a teasing grin. “Wouldn’t want you falling off now, would we?”

“Thanks, Zoro,” I said, trying to suppress the blush on my cheeks. “I appreciate the support.”

Law, still in sea prism stone handcuffs, glared at Zoro from a distance. His eyes were filled with frustration and jealousy. “I should be the one protecting her,” he grumbled under his breath, unable to hide his irritation at seeing Zoro so close to me.

"Master Pika! I spotted the Strawhats! They came right to us! Don’t let them get away!" one of Pika’s subordinates shouted as they began firing at us.

“What, Strawhat!” the old man’s voice boomed.

I turned slightly, still gripping my tiara, Zoro's arms tightening around me for security. “Looks like they followed us here, huh?” I said with a sigh.

“Huh, I told ya, I got this! Get lost!” Luffy shouted, as more and more of the group caught up, trying to attach themselves to the bull.

I shook my head, placing a hand on my forehead. “Well, this is... eventful,” I muttered.

“Luffy, what should we do with all this extra weight?” Zoro asked, his grip still firm on me.

“You bonehead, stop talking trash!” came Pika’s high-pitched voice, which caused all of us to burst out laughing in unison.

“Why is he so squeaky?!” we chorused, unable to hold back our laughter.

Pika’s face twisted with rage, launching a massive attack toward us. “Hope it was worth it! You’ll be laughing in your graves!”

Just then, two of our new allies sprang into action, managing to shatter Pika’s arm with their attacks. Zoro and I exchanged impressed glances.

“Way to go, guys!” I cheered, a smile spreading across my face.

But the celebration didn’t last long, as the bickering resumed almost immediately. The arguing over who would kill Doflamingo first started again, their voices rising over the sound of the crumbling debris.

“Why does it always come back to this?” I said, rolling my eyes as I looked at Zoro, who shared the same exasperated expression.

“Yeah, well, at least they managed to break something useful,” Zoro added with a smirk, still holding onto me as if it was second nature.

As the debris began to fall, Lucy (the bull) managed to dodge them with ease. "That was close. Yeah, giddy up!" Luffy shouted, excited to be riding the bull.

"Easy, boy, we’re all counting on you!" said one of the men on Luffy's side.

"Ah!" I yelped as I suddenly noticed a few more of the men clinging onto the bull. "When did they get here?!" I exclaimed, trying to keep my balance while still holding onto my tiara.

"Ah!" I gasped again, feeling Zoro’s grip on my leg tighten, his hand moving slightly higher.

"Zoro!" I whispered sharply, my face heating up.

"Relax," he said with that familiar, lazy grin. "Just making sure you stay on the bull."

I rolled my eyes, muttering under my breath, "Yeah, right."

Luffy, completely oblivious to the tension, was laughing as usual. "Zoro, hold on tighter! This ride’s getting crazy!" he shouted, clearly enjoying the bull ride and trying to get the men clinging to us off.

"Oh, don’t worry, Captain, I’m holding on real tight," Zoro said with a smirk, causing me to blush at his comment. His hand on my leg felt both reassuring and heated.

"Don’t worry, Y/N, I’ve got you. Wouldn’t want you to fall off now," Zoro said, his eyes taking in my figure with a lingering gaze. The way he looked at me made my cheeks flush even more.

"You sure it’s not because of something else?" I teased, though I couldn’t help but smile faintly at his possessiveness.

Law, clearly frustrated and feeling a pang of jealousy, shot a glare at Zoro. "Roronoa, can you stop gripping her like that?"

Zoro’s smirk didn’t falter. "Hey, I’m just making sure she’s nice and secured. Wouldn’t want her to fall off with all this chaos going on."

Law, still handcuffed and unable to join the fray, grumbled under his breath. "Yeah, well, try not to enjoy it too much."

Despite the chaos, I found some comfort in Zoro’s presence. His confident grip and protective stance provided a sense of stability amidst the turmoil.

As we continued the wild ride, I leaned closer to Zoro, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. "Thanks, Zoro. I really do appreciate it."

Zoro’s eyes softened slightly as he looked down at me. "Just doing my job. And keeping you safe is part of that."

As the allies continued their fierce battle against the subordinates, we dodged bullets and struggled with the chaos around us. The argument over who would take down Doflamingo escalated, and tensions were high.

"He’s mine! Go away!" Luffy shouted, his frustration evident. Suddenly, rose petals began to drift down around us, settling on the bull and us.

"When did these get here?!" I exclaimed, brushing one off my hand.

"Haha," came a familiar, infuriating voice. "There’s no way…" I muttered, recognizing it immediately.

Cabbage appeared, landing gracefully on the bull’s back. "Cabbage!" Luffy said, clearly irritated.

"Ah, not this guy again?!" I said, trying to distance myself from Cabbage.

"Destiny, conquested its melody, bringing me back," Cabbage declared dramatically, holding a rose aloft. His gaze shifted to me, and he reached for my hand, pressing a theatrical kiss to my knuckles. "Princess, have you reconsidered my offer?"

"What part of ‘I’m not interested’ wasn’t clear?!" I said, exasperated.

Cabbage completely ignored me, leaning closer with a smirk. "Ahhh, such a feisty young princess. I could get used to that."

Before I could react, I felt a sudden jolt and found myself seated firmly on Zoro’s lap. His strong arms wrapped around me, his grip tight and commanding.

Zoro’s eyes narrowed, and he glared at Cabbage with a fierce intensity. "What the hell do you think you’re doing, Cabbage?"

Cabbage, undeterred, attempted to pry me away from Zoro. "Princess…" he cooed, reaching for my hand.

Zoro’s grip on my waist tightened even more, his hold almost possessive. "Don’t you dare touch her," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "She’s not going anywhere with you."

Cabbage’s persistent kisses on my hand only intensified Zoro’s protective stance. His hands remained firmly on my waist, making sure I was securely held against him.

"Get off me!" I demanded, trying to wrench my hand free from Cabbage’s ironclad grip. Despite my efforts, his hold remained unyielding.

Cabbage’s gaze was unwavering, his smirk persistent. “Ah, such a spirited princess. You’re even more captivating when you’re resisting.”

Zoro’s eyes flared with anger. “I said don’t touch her. Let go of her now!” His voice was a growl, filled with authority and frustration.

Cabbage’s grip didn’t waver as he leaned in, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that bordered on obsession. “Princess, you and I are destined to be together. Why resist such a fate?” His tone was both fervent and invasive.

I struggled to keep my balance on Zoro’s lap while desperately trying to shake off Cabbage’s unrelenting hold. “Are you out of your mind?!” I snapped, my voice a mix of frustration and disbelief.

Law, glaring at Cabbage with palpable anger, tried to intervene. “Cabbage, get your hands off her!”

Despite Law’s threat, Cabbage remained undeterred, his focus solely on me. Zoro, his protective instincts fully activated, tightened his grip around my waist, his expression a blend of concern and possessiveness.

Seeing the situation escalate, Luffy acted swiftly. With a powerful kick, he sent Cabbage flying off the bull. “Get lost!” he shouted, his irritation clear as he watched Cabbage hit the ground.

Cabbage landed roughly, his face contorted in frustration as he glared up at us.

“Thanks, Luffy,” I said, relief evident in my voice as I tried to steady myself.

“Don’t mention it,” Luffy replied, his eyes still fixed on Cabbage. “The guy was being a creep.”

Zoro, still holding me securely on his lap, looked at me with a protective concern. “Are you okay, Y/N?” His voice was soft but edged with a possessiveness that was hard to ignore.

I nodded, managing a small smile despite the chaos. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

Zoro’s gaze remained focused on me, his hand still firmly around my waist, ensuring that no one else could get close.

I took a moment to check my belongings, my mind racing with the need to ensure everything was still in place. “Rings, check. Bracelet, check. Anklet, check. Swords, check,” I muttered to myself, feeling a wave of relief wash over me as I confirmed that everything was secure.

Cabbage’s grip had been surprisingly strong, and with the tug-of-war between him and Zoro, I needed to make sure my rings and other items hadn’t fallen or been misplaced. Satisfied that everything was still intact, I took a deep breath and looked around, grateful for Zoro’s unwavering support and Luffy’s timely intervention.

As we continued to ride the bull, the allies and Cabbage remained hot on our tails, their bickering with Luffy about who would take down Doflamingo only escalating. The commotion around us seemed endless.

Feeling a mix of exhaustion and frustration, I laid my head on Zoro’s shoulder. "This constant bickering is getting out of hand," I sighed, closing my eyes briefly to collect my thoughts.

Zoro’s grip on me tightened slightly, his presence offering a comforting sense of stability amidst the chaos. "Tell me about it," he replied, his voice steady and calm. Just then, our unexpected guests froze, their bickering cut short. "What is it now?" I said, clearly annoyed. We all turned to see Pika towering before us, his massive form looming over. "I won't let you get near Doffy!" Pika growled, his arm regenerating and growing back to full size again.

I sighed, glancing at Zoro. "What a pain," I said, watching Pika’s arm slowly piece itself back together. The bull, Ucy, charged faster up Pika's arm as Luffy jumped off, ready for a fight.

"Mr. Strawhat!" one of the stowaways shouted in panic.

I smirked. "Don’t worry, he's got it!" I turned my attention to Luffy, who was already in full battle mode. "Third Gear! Armament Hardening!" Luffy shouted as his fist, now enormous and hardened, landed a clean hit on Pika's head. The impact was tremendous, and Luffy laughed triumphantly as Pika reeled back.

Zoro, meanwhile, carefully released me from his grip, his eyes narrowing with that sharp intensity he always had before a fight. He rolled his shoulders, getting ready.

"You sense something, Zo?" I asked, my gaze softening as I watched him. There was something captivating about him in moments like this, the way he stood so confidently, always prepared to face whatever came next. 

"Hey, Luffy!" Zoro suddenly shouted, drawing my attention back. Luffy was running alongside Ucy, laughing as usual. "Don’t celebrate just yet, the head you shattered was a stone decoy!"

“What?" I whispered in surprise. "So, does that mean squeaky got away?"

Zoro smirked as a massive figure emerged from the stone. "Well, well, looks like somebody’s pissed off. His real body’s up ahead!"

"You mean to tell me that huge guy is Pika—and he’s got that squeaky voice?!" I said in disbelief.

"He's got a huge katana! It’s not too late to turn around!" the unwanted guests on the bull screamed, clearly terrified.

Luffy grabbed Ucy—and us—leaping into the air just in time to dodge Pika’s colossal strike. "Hahaha, that voice gets me every time!" Luffy laughed, despite the danger.

"He's going to hit again!" someone yelled. Instinctively, I reached for my blades, preparing to defend us. But Zoro’s hand was already on mine, stopping me.

"Zoro, what are you—" I began, but he cut me off.

"I got this," Zoro said, his voice steady, never taking his eyes off Pika. His grip on his swords tightened, his entire body exuding confidence.

"Zoro..." I said quietly, concerned but trusting him completely.

"Y/N, stay with Luffy and Law!" Zoro ordered, his tone firm yet protective. "I’ll handle it from here!"

I nodded reluctantly as Luffy and I settled back on Ucy, the bull charging forward. "Be careful, Zoro!" I shouted after him as his figure grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

The guests, tears streaming down their faces, looked on in awe. "God, you have such badass friends," one of them cried.

Zoro smirked, glancing back one last time. "You go get him, Captain!" he yelled toward Luffy, before turning his full focus back to Pika.

"I'm gonna give Mingo the beating he deserves!" Luffy declared with fire in his eyes.

Minutes passed, and Ucy was gliding gracefully downward, inching closer to the palace. "Woohoo! Go, Ucy!" Luffy cheered, clearly exhilarated by the ride.

Taking advantage of the moment, I clenched my left hand, activating its power. With a burst of energy, I adjusted my balance on Ucy and leaped into the air, gracefully shifting to sit beside Luffy and Law. The unexpected guests below stared in awe, unable to hide their amazement. "How did she—" one of them exclaimed, while the other murmured, "She really is lethal!"

Ignoring their stunned reactions, I focused on Law, who was still in his cuffs, lying on the bull. I gently took a seat next to him, placing a hand on his forearm with a flirtatious smile. "You don’t mind if I sit next to you, do you, Law?" I asked, my fingers lightly tracing his arm. "I thought I'd offer a bit of company."

Law’s initial surprise was quickly replaced by a soft blush as he felt my touch. He flexed his forearm slightly, trying to appear nonchalant despite the rosy tint on his cheeks. "Comfort is always welcome, even in these circumstances," he replied, his voice betraying a hint of flustered amusement. "Especially when it comes with your company."

"Just you wait, Mingo," Luffy declared, his fist clenched in determination. "I don’t want anybody kicking your ass but me."

"Hey, Strawhat," Law said, grabbing Luffy's attention. "I realize we have no choice but to kill Doflamingo now." I reached for one of my blades from the thigh halter, feeling its familiar energy channel within me.

"I know that’s not the plan we had earlier," Law continued, his voice filled with resolve, "but to be completely honest with you, I want to make him suffer with my own hands. I won’t let him defeat me again."

Law hesitated for a brief moment, and I gave him a reassuring nod with my other hand. "Thirteen years ago, there was a person I cared for deeply, and Doflamingo killed him," Law said, his voice filled with pain.

"Law..." I whispered, my heart aching for him. I couldn’t imagine the suffering he must have endured.

"His name was Corazon. He was a top executive for the Donquixote Family."

I was stunned. Glancing at Luffy, I saw he was also processing this new information. "Mingo killed his own friend?" Luffy asked, incredulity in his voice.

"Corazon was the man who saved my life," Law continued, his gaze unwavering. "Corazon was more than just a member of the Donquixote Family. He was... his younger brother."

My hand went to my mouth in shock. "He... killed his own flesh and blood?" I whispered, unable to fully grasp the magnitude of Law's revelation.

Before I could say anything more, one of the unwanted guests interjected, "This is it, Strawhat! We are about to reach the bottom, and we have unexpected guests too!"

As Ucy glided down, I slowly rolled my shoulders, wincing slightly from the bullet wound on my left. I clutched my blade tightly, ready for action. "Yeah, we are the first ones to make it!" Luffy said, his excitement palpable. "That means we get first dibs on Mingo!"

"That’s what I’m talking about, Captain!" I said with a smile.

"Fire!" Luffy commanded as another round of bullets rained down on us.

"Allow me, Luffy," I said, smirking. Clenching the blade with my left hand, I felt the familiar fire blaze around it. With a swift motion, I leaped into the air, heading straight toward the subordinates. As I swung my blade, the bullets transformed into blazing fire, redirecting their trajectory back toward the enemies.

With precise control, I guided the fiery projectiles to impact the subordinates, sending them scattering in retreat. The flames danced around me as I landed gracefully back onto Ucy, “You made it look easy!” Luffy grinned, clearly impressed.

I chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. “It’s all about confidence and control.”

Law, his cheeks slightly flushed, watched me with admiration. His eyes were wide with awe as he took in the display of power. He couldn’t help but smile, though his face betrayed a noticeable blush. “That was... incredible,” he managed, his voice tinged with genuine admiration. “The way you control the flames... it’s something else.”

I glanced at him, noticing his reaction. “Thanks, Law. I’m glad you think so.” 

His blush deepened as he spoke, making it clear that he was both impressed and somewhat flustered by what he had witnessed. “You really have a way of standing out,” he added, trying to sound nonchalant but failing to hide his admiration.

One of the unwanted guests, still trying to process the spectacle, stammered, “Did she really just turn those bullets into fire? That was incredible!”

We finally made it to the palace, still riding Ucy with the wind rushing past us. "Only an idiot would mess with the Strawhats!" exclaimed one of the unwanted guests behind us. I turned around, glancing at them in disbelief. “And why are they still here?” I muttered to myself, shaking my head slightly.

Luffy, clearly fed up, chimed in. "The idiots behind me can hit the road too!" He shot a look over his shoulder, causing them to nervously chuckle.

“Come on, Strawhat, you don’t mean that! We’re your buddies!” they said, laughing nervously.

I sighed, turning toward Luffy. "Looks like we’re stuck with them, huh?" I said, shaking my head in exasperation.

Before Luffy could respond, a voice shouted from the front, "Die, Strawhat!"

“Gomu Gomu no Stamp Gatling!” Luffy called out as he launched into a series of rapid-fire kicks, each one landing squarely on the faces of the subordinates ahead of us.

Amid the chaos, a sudden crackle on the transponder snail grabbed my attention. "Strawhat Luffy, Law, and the princess are all at the front part of the palace!" a subordinate yelled, trying to alert the others.

Without hesitation, I clenched my left hand, the fire still blazing within me, and fired a burst of flame straight at the transponder snail, hitting it dead-on. The subordinate yelped in fear as the device burst into flames.

“We won’t be needing any of that now, will we?” I said, turning my gaze back with a smirk.

The unwanted guests stared at me, wide-eyed and stunned. “She really is lethal!” they said in unison, admiration mixed with fear.

I just rolled my eyes, clearly unimpressed by their reaction. “Alright, let’s go!” Luffy shouted, full of energy. Ucy picked up speed as we continued toward the palace. 

Sabo POV… 

The heat of the flames surrounded both me and Fujitora, the air thick with tension and embers. He stood there, calm as ever, but I wasn’t backing down. "I don’t suppose if I asked nicely you’d move out of my way?" Fujitora asked, as if this were some casual conversation.

I grinned, flames flickering around me. "I suppose not. I stand with the Strawhat Pirates and those who’ve risen up to join them. So, if you or anybody else gets in their way... you won’t be taking another step." I wasn’t just speaking for them—I meant every word. I’d be damned if I let anything happen to them. The groans of fallen soldiers echoed in the background, a reminder of the destruction my previous attacks had caused.

"Is that the Revolutionary Army’s job?" Fujitora inquired, still maintaining his calm demeanor.

"It is now," I responded with a cocky smirk, standing tall. "And I think I can say that, seeing as I’m the Chief of Staff." My voice held firm, but there was something deeper in my words. "More so, I say that as a brother."

The marines were stunned, whispers circulating through their ranks. Fujitora remained unphased, but I could tell he was curious. "I see, that begs the question of who your sibling might be," he mused, still calm, even as chaos surrounded us.

The marines began cocking their guns, preparing for another pointless assault. "Don’t bother," Fujitora interrupted. "I know he’s our enemy, but you'd only be wasting ammunition."

"But Vice Admiral—!" one of the marines protested, looking between me and Fujitora.

"You’re leaders, right?" I said, flames swirling around me. "None of you stand a chance."

Just then, a marine, not heeding the warning, fired a shot at me. The bullet was no match for the Flame-Flame Fruit’s power; my flames absorbed it effortlessly. I smirked, relishing the surprise on their faces. "Told ya," I said, glancing at them. "I ate the Flame-Flame Fruit."

The marines stood there, stunned by the revelation. A few more bullets followed, but they all met the same fate—burnt to ash before they even touched me.

"What the hell, man!? Nobody’s fingers should be that strong!" a marine shouted, his voice shaky with disbelief.

I chuckled, feeling the power surge within me. "These aren’t fingers—they’re claws." With a swift motion, I grabbed one of their weapons and crushed it like it was made of paper. Then, with a flick of my wrist, I sent a Fire Fist crashing into the marines, flames erupting and engulfing the area. Some fell immediately, unable to withstand the heat.

"Physical attacks don’t work on him!" one of the vice admirals shouted as he launched his own attack, swinging a sharp cleaver in my direction. I caught it mid-strike, stopping the blow with ease before breaking the cleaver in half with a single motion.

I smirked again. "By the way, once these claws grab a human skull, they can shatter it like an egg."

Before I could follow through with another attack, I felt something—a sudden shift in the air. A meteor. Fujitora’s doing, no doubt. The Birdcage sliced it into pieces before it could fully descend.

"Ah, man, should’ve thought that one through," Fujitora said, his tone almost amused.

I emerged from the smoke, holding onto the vice admiral’s mask. "I know admirals are nothing to scoff at, but that’s one hell of a trick." I wasn’t hiding my admiration, though I made it clear I wasn’t backing down. "I’m still getting used to my new powers," I said, flashing a confident grin.

"You’ve really caused quite the mess," Fujitora commented, though I could tell he wasn’t entirely blaming me.

"Not half as much as you," I shot back, incredulous at the destruction around us.

Fujitora’s eyes softened, as if recalling something. "You mentioned your duty as a brother. It reminds me of Fire Fist Ace. He said that Strawhat Luffy was his brother, though not by blood. Are you his brother?"

His question hit me harder than expected. Memories of Ace, Luffy, and I flashed through my mind—the day we exchanged sake cups, the bond we swore to never break. "The three of us… exchanged a cup of sake. Even in death, our bond will never break," I said, my voice steady though the weight of the memory pressed down on me.

Fujitora remained silent, listening.

I clenched my fists, feeling the familiar pain of not being there for Ace when he needed me most. But this time, I swore things would be different. "Mark my words," I continued, my eyes locked with Fujitora’s, "no matter where I am, or what I’m doing, even if I have to abandon my duties, I won’t let him down. I’ll be there for Luffy."

Fujitora seemed to understand the depth of my promise. But this wasn’t over yet. His next move was coming. I could feel it.

As his first attack launched, I readied myself, gripping the metal pipe tightly in my hands. The flames engulfed me once more, power surging through me.

"Luffy, I swear… I’ll protect you," I thought, as the battle began again.

Y/N POV… 

"Go! Go! Go!" Luffy’s excitement radiated as Ucy barreled forward, knocking down subordinates like they were nothing more than mere obstacles. I tightened my grip, not wanting to be thrown from the bull with all the chaos unfolding around us.

"Luffy? What’s that ahead?" I squinted as the debris began to clear, trying to make sense of the figure coming into view.

Suddenly, Ucy halted abruptly, throwing me forward into Luffy, while Law—ever quick—caught me from behind, softening the impact before the two unwanted guests behind us could knock me over entirely.

"Oww!" I groaned, rubbing my head, feeling the weight of my tiara, making sure it was still secure.

"Cabbage!" Luffy shouted.

I stared, completely stunned. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me!"

Before I could fully comprehend the absurdity of the situation, I felt a hand settle firmly on my waist. Looking down, I saw the familiar "DEATH" tattoo on Law’s knuckles. His touch sent a jolt through me, not just from the contact but the possessive energy behind it.

"Don’t worry, princess," Law said, his voice low and dripping with possessiveness. "Even in these sea prism cuffs, I’m not letting him try anything." His tone was both protective and slightly irritated, adding a layer of tension that made my heart race.

I glanced forward and, to my absolute disbelief, Cabbage was there, sitting tall on his white stallion, with a rose in his mouth like some ridiculous storybook hero.

"This man can’t be for real," I muttered, barely able to believe my eyes.

And then, in true dramatic fashion, Cabbage pulled out a megaphone. "Pardon me, but I'll be taking the lead!" he announced loudly, as if we were all here just to witness his grand performance.

"You mean to tell me he actually has that?" I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

Cabbage's gaze landed on me, his voice filled with exaggerated charm, "Why, princess, it seems destiny keeps placing you in my path. Could it be fate that brings us together?" His declaration was loud enough for the whole world to hear.

That was it.

I clenched my blade tighter, feeling the familiar surge of energy pulsing through it. My patience was thinning by the second.

"You idiot!" I snapped. "Why don’t you just scream it to the heavens while you’re at it? Are you trying to get me taken?!" My frustration echoed through the battlefield, as I gripped my blade, ready to unleash its energy if I had to.

Law’s hand on my waist tightened, his presence grounding me, but I could still feel the tension radiating off him. He rolled his eyes slightly at Cabbage’s antics.

Cabbage simply laughed off my frustration, as if my outburst was nothing more than a playful jest, before charging ahead on his white stallion, heading straight towards where Doflamingo was waiting.

"Damn it! I thought I was taking a shortcut for sure," Luffy groaned, his eyes set on Cabbage speeding off. "We gotta pick up the pace, Ucy!" He urged the bull forward, but the gap between us and Cabbage was widening.

Just then, I noticed the crowd we had left behind earlier was now catching up. "How are they catching up to us?" I muttered in disbelief.

"This sucks! We’re losing!" Luffy growled, gritting his teeth in frustration.

As if on cue, the subordinates started firing again. "Shoot the bull!" one of them yelled. Ucy bucked and dodged as bullets whizzed past us, causing all of us to bounce precariously. We clung to Ucy as best as we could, but the wild movement was making it harder to maintain grip.

"Damn these idiots!" I cursed, feeling my grip slipping. Just then, a figure launched himself at the attackers, throwing punches left and right.

"Hey, crapbags! Keep your paws off Strawhat!" the man shouted, knocking subordinates down with each hit.

"Luffy, you know him?" I asked, squinting at the guy in confusion.

"Not a clue," Luffy replied casually.

The man let out an exaggerated groan, clearly offended. "Why, you're breaking my heart, Strawhat! I was in Block C, remember? It's Kelly Funk!" He pouted, trying to jog Luffy’s memory.

Luffy blinked, clueless. "Who?"

Funk let out an exasperated sigh. "Your buddy God Usopp saved my tail today! Just bein' friendly!" he explained, landing another punch on someone sneaking up from behind.

"Anyways," Funk continued, "I found a shortcut you can use! It'll take you right to the Sunflower Field and straight to the palace!"

"Really?!" Luffy's eyes lit up with excitement. "That's awesome! Thank you so much!"

"Yeah, thanks!" I added, trying to maintain my grip on Ucy. But as Funk turned around and his eyes met mine, his cheeks flushed a deep pink.

"Wh-Why… Pr-Princess…" he stammered, swallowing hard. "I… I must say, seeing you in person is truly a rare sight indeed."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised at his sudden bashfulness. "Why do you say that?"

"Because… when I saw your name pop up on Doflamingo’s list, I couldn’t believe it! Might I say, red really does highlight your features more." He smiled nervously, clearly flustered.

I returned a polite, short smile, feigning sweetness. "Can you take us to this shortcut you found?"

"Of course! It’s the least I can do! Right this way!" Funk exclaimed, still blushing as he led the way.

As Ucy continued to follow Funk, I leaned closer to Luffy, lowering my voice. "There's something off about him, Luffy," I murmured, glancing at Funk suspiciously. "I don’t trust him. Keep your guard up."

Luffy looked at me, confused. "Huh? You think so? He seems helpful."

I narrowed my eyes at Funk’s back. "Just a gut feeling. Let’s stay sharp."

As Funk led the way, I was still processing the unexpected situation when Law’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Hey, Strawhat, we need to find the keys to the cuffs. There’s no point in reaching the palace if I can’t fight. At this rate, Doflamingo will just kill me.”

Luffy paused, his expression thoughtful. “Eh, it’ll all work out. Or at least I hope it does!” He said, chuckling to himself.

Law’s frustration was evident. “What if it doesn’t? If we don’t win this fight, then we’re all dead!” His voice was a mix of urgency and annoyance.

Sensing his mounting frustration, I stepped closer to Law, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “Hey, don’t stress too much,” I said, offering him a teasing smile. “We’ve handled worse. And if anyone can get us through this, it’s Luffy. 

Law looked at me, his frustration softening slightly. “You make it sound so easy.”

I leaned in a bit, my fingers lightly brushing against his arm. “Well, it might be easier if you stay calm. I’ve heard that a little distraction can go a long way.”

His eyes widened slightly as I gently traced a finger along his cuff. “A distraction?”

I flashed him a playful grin. “Yeah. You know, just to keep your mind off things. It might help you stay focused.”

Law’s cheeks reddened a bit as he tried to maintain his composure. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

I chuckled, giving him a flirtatious look. “Oh, I’ve got a few ideas.

I started, but before Law could respond, Funk abruptly stopped and revealed the passageway. “There’s something unsettling about this,” I said, eyeing Funk suspiciously.

“Luffy? Are you sure about this?” I asked, still feeling uneasy.

“It’s our only shot to the palace faster, Y/N,” Luffy said confidently.

I glanced at Funk, then back at Luffy, and sighed. “Alright, captain, if you say we should trust it, then let’s go.” I smiled, trying to push away my concerns.

“Ucy! Let’s go!” Luffy called out as we entered the narrow tunnel. The unwanted guests, who had managed to hit their heads on the entrance, tumbled off the bull.

“Ah well, we didn’t need them, did we?” Law remarked, glancing at the two fallen guests.

“Nope, no turning back now. To the sunflower field!” I said encouragingly as we continued riding Ucy.

Just then, we heard the sound of a transponder snail. “Looks like it’s coming from your pocket, Law,” I said, noticing the source.

“Get it,” Law instructed. I reached into his pocket, retrieved the snail, and handed it to Luffy.

“Hello, this is Luffy, the man who’s going to be the King of the Pirates!” Luffy announced with his usual enthusiasm, causing me to chuckle at his exuberance.

“Hi Luffy, it’s me,” came the familiar voice.

“Robin!” we both exclaimed, relieved to hear a familiar voice from our crew.

“Right now, we’re at the plateau, same as before. And you?” Robin asked.

“We’re at the bottom of that other plateau, on the way to some sunflower field,” Luffy replied, keeping his focus on the path ahead.

“Good news, Viola found the keys to the cuffs. Let’s meet up,” Robin said.

“Oh, thank goodness!” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Let’s hurry.”

Law, visibly relieved, looked hopeful. “This is Leo, from the Tontatta tribe. Soon, Ms. Rebecca, the rooster guy, and Robin will be heading over there at supersonic speed,” Leo added.

I couldn’t help but gush at his adorable voice. “Aww, his voice sounds so adorable,” I said with a smile.

With that, we ended the call. “It’s pretty dark down here, huh?” I said, looking ahead.

“See, it all worked out!” Luffy said with his characteristic grin.

“Yeah, by coincidence?!” Law retorted, still visibly frustrated

I gave Law a teasing smile, leaning in despite his cuffs. “Progress is progress, and you’ve definitely earned this,” I said softly before pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, leaving a faint red lip stain.

Law’s face immediately flushed with color, and he shifted uncomfortably, unable to touch his cheek due to the cuffs. “Y/N…” he stammered, his usual cool demeanor cracking under the sudden affection.

I chuckled at his reaction, finding his flustered state endearing. “You look cute with a little blush on your cheeks,” I said, enjoying the sight of his reaction. 

I said, enjoying the sight of his reaction. As I turned my attention forward, I heard Law’s concerned voice.

“Hey! One second, feels like this passage is sloping down,” he warned.

Suddenly, we found ourselves in a flooded area. “Turn back! This place is flooded!” Law said urgently.

“Crap,” I muttered, glancing around at the rising water. “I knew I had a bad feeling about this,” I admitted.

“Huh? I thought this was a shortcut to the top of the plateau?” Luffy questioned, his confusion evident.

“It’s a dead end!” I said, trying to think quickly. “We gotta get out of here now!” I commanded, urging Ucy to navigate out of the water.

“Wait, you guys hear that?” I said, my senses alert as slow footsteps approached.

“This is nothing more than a sideways water well, more of a trap if you will,” a voice echoed through the passage.

“It’s…” I began, clenching my blade tightly.

“It’s Doflamingo!” Luffy said, his voice filled with determination.

The tension in the air was palpable as Doflamingo’s presence became more pronounced. I felt a mix of anticipation and anxiety, readying myself for whatever confrontation lay ahead.

[inkbwush]

arfigh

I AM doing Art Fight btw!

I don't have many Splatoon designs/refs uploaded, mostly because they all *really* need a redesign due to Splat3 / refs being very old and outdated in general (thanks, passage of time)

buuuut I do have an itch to draw Splat OCs in general, or just find more people to attack! So feel free to reply with your AF if you're participating!!

(and here is mine, ofc)

⭐https://artfight.net/~skygummi⭐

[thatmightyheart]

coughs up blood gomen it seems this is all i could do for today…............... o|-< happy bday yusuke…..... :') 💙

[no-more-rqs]

reminder: it actually does not matter if you have a friend whos a poc who tells you that "race transitioning" is fine. it doesnt matter if youre a poc yourself and you think its fine. guess what? people can be wrong!

even outside of this, people can be wrong.

if a scientist with a phd tells you the earth is flat, do you just immediately believe that with no question? you may think "someone with a phd would never believe that", but there are several scientists who do! there are modern scientists with phds and careers who believe in shit like phrenology or ancient astronaut theory or other bullshit like that.

there are poc who are nazis, who believe in white supremacy and believe that poc are inferior or subhuman. if a poc like myself tells you that all poc are inferior to white people, do you just automatically believe that? there are very famous poc who hold these ideals, such as kanye west.

you are seeking out specific people in your community who agree with all of your ideals. you are finding one or two or ten or however many people who agree with you and ignoring the tens of thousands of people who dont agree. you are doing exactly what conspiracy theorists and racists do: finding one professional or seemingly trustworthy source and basing your entire logic around that one source.

racists will find one scientist who believes in phrenology and use that one scientist to say "look! a real scientist with a phd agrees with me! you shouldnt listen to the wider scientific community, theyre all biased and wrong and this guy is the only one whos correct!"

radqueers will find one poc who supports "race transitioning" and use that one person to say "look! a real poc agrees with me! you shouldnt listen to the wider poc community, theyre all biased and wrong and this guy is the only one whos correct!"

do you understand what im saying here? you cant pick and choose who to believe based on whether or not you agree with them. listen to as many poc as you can, outside of radqueer communities. listen to ones who dont even know what radqueer means. the vast majority of poc say that "transitioning races" is inherently racist (and impossible, considering you cant just transition to have been born somewhere else or have different biological ancestors, which is what determines race because race and ethnicity are inherited unlike gender), dont just choose 20 poc who say its good and ignore the 20000 who say it isnt.

[borderlinereminders]

I want to just say that I have BPD. And I’m not saying it’s because of my BPD, but for context, I was very toxic once. I engaged in a lot of toxic behaviours. A lot of the ones you see me talking about. Hinting for reassurance, accusing loved ones of not caring, lashing out, etc.

My point being that I’m not judging anyone when I talk about working on those behaviours. I’m just trying to share what I’ve learned. That’s all. 🩷

[ryn-city]

why why why why why why why why why why why why why

[junonreactor]

just did all the party sidequests. that was really cute

[kiwikipedia]

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’, Assassin?”

“I mean what I said.”

Kirei should be mad. Should feel ire, should feel slighted at the fact that his Servant, a mass of mana who donned flesh and blood like a costume and was bound to him, was defying him. And yet, he feels nothing. Not even exasperation as the red-haired man before him flipped through a magecraft text sitting on the table before them.

When Kirei summoned Assassin as his Servant, he would be lying if he stated he hadn't been he had been expecting dark cloaks and a masked face, like every other Assassin from the Grail Wars recorded before. Instead, he got something… loud and garish.

Something red.

Assassin was not a typical assassin and refused to give his name.

Red clothes, red hair, red makeup, and Chinese in origin… he couldn’t place them— but he knew he was not one of the many hashashin who had come before him.

Granted, Kirie's… grasp on Chinese Assassins was lacking. He could name a few who were important to history, but there was no way this one was any of them. Too flashy, too comfortable in a modern atmosphere, and he had laughed when Kirei asked if he was the famed Jing Ke or Yan Qing.

And rather loudly at that.

Assassin was something of a mystery, despite his loud appearance and actions. The Servant was much bolder than one would think an Assassin would be, actively moving about the Tohsaka house before Tokiomi summoned the Archer Gilgamesh. So much so that Rin had asked Kirei about the “Redheaded Mister” more than once because he would help Aoi with cooking and she liked his cooking.

Again, another weird point that tied back to that ease of comfort in a more modern world. Assassin easily navigated the kitchen stove and radio— and while he knew that Servants were granted knowledge of the Modern world from the Grail, it was still odd. The familiarity wasn't that of a man who knew in the sense of having been told, but one who moved with the sense of having used one before.

Nonetheless, the fact remained that Assassin was a mystery despite how much he interacted with ease and talked to the Tohsaka family and him. Kirei would've assumed that, because of that, the Servant would have no qualms, however. It wasn't as if the man got attached— had he?

“What you’re asking of me is something that is… distasteful,” Assassin continued, seemingly unaware or perhaps uncaring that Kirei was at a loss. “I may be an Assassin but I am no idiot, though you might be."

Dark eyes met his own, reflecting the candles that adorned the walls. He was deadly serious, Kirei realized. And again, he was startled at the sheer amount of nothing he felt. He should feel annoyed, at least a little bit.

Tokiomi’s plan was already falling apart.

“Are you not my Servant?” He found himself asking and Assassin snorted, closing the book with a snap.

“You might be my Master, Kotomine Kirei, but that’s in name only. I will consider your orders, and ruminate on them, but that is all. If I act or not is my choice and mine alone,” Assassin said simply, not looking at Kirei again as he set the book down. “Feel free to use your command seals, though I can assure you, there’s only so far that will take you in this war."

[pacmanthepeach]

Just watched the trailer for the borderlands movie. In related news. killing myself

[dreamedfyre-a]

despite my criticism and the fact i hated that subplot ❤️ i love that hel reaches out to ali.cent while they're running. in line with what i said here about the coronation and how when faced with danger she reached for aem.ond, and later to cris.ton and how she feels safer with them (and obviously also ali.cent) and wants contact with the people she feels protected by despite how she sometimes reacts to touch

physical closeness (with people she trusts) is a source of comfort when she needs to feel safe, and will help her calm down. it's the opposite when she's irritable and she'll slap anyone's hand away, don't try to comfort her with touch then.

[circusislife]

I swear that if I find anyone giving my friends grief after the LU server bigots shit show just because they're christian I will start a manhunt and make it my purpose to make haters' life on this site pure hell.

[ehlnofay]

the biggest change I've made for efri & co.'s college questline is that they have to sneak around for all of it. in the game everyone will just send you off to do whatever but mirabelle is refusing point blank to let this ten year old (+11 year old + normal apprentices) go gallivanting off on a death mission because Obviously. so the difference is that efri has marginally more difficulty getting the necessary information to go anyway and then routinely shows up again going hi!! we did the thing!!! you can't be mad at me because we only ALMOST died and we were successful. and you can't kick me out because you're attached to me now :D (kazari stop trying to get me to tell them about the really extra stupid shit I did. I'm not dobbing on myself)