#trick question: all of the answers are wrong

[dark-skin-fem]

I don't think I disagree with your wider argument, but something about the stunt work question still doesn't fit right.

Like, you could use the same reasoning you gave to say: "Stunt work isn't just a performance, you're paying to harm someone's body. Stunt work causes profound physical damage that results in significantly lowered life expectancy. No one would ever consent to have their body thrown 10 feet into the side of a car without the coercive influence of money." And I simply can't fault this hypothetical argument in a way that doesn't allow for sex work.

Well no, you're not paying to harm someone's body in stunt work. You're paying for them to do back flips and crazy jumps. Paying to harm their body would be paying to whip, cane, hit or strangle them.

Also getting hurt in stunt work is more an undesirable side effect that one goes to great lengths to mitigate than it is an expected course of action or a sellable perk. Stunt workers don't sell the director the right to have them hurt on camera. They undergo a great deal of training and take a lot of precautions to make things that look incredible and painful, actually near painless. They wear gear, use foam floors, fake walls, metal that crumples easier. Not to say they don't get hurt, of course like sportsmen and people who work physical jobs, they do get hurt by accident. But the pain caused to their body isn't the point of the service.

And still you're thinking of it from a viewpoint of someone gets (or doesn't get) hurt or harmed. That's important to think about, don't get me wrong. but the physical harm done to individual sex workers wasn't what I was talking about in my previous ask. It was more about building a society where one can buy access to another person's body.

The equivalent for a stunt worker would be getting beaten up for real in fight scenes. No faking, no movie tricks, just deliberately hurting the person (Btw this is a service bought and sold in the sex industry, whipping, caning and hitting women). And that would be deplorable too.

Also, in my previous answer I said there is a spectrum. Some things are clearly on one end, some are in the middle. But in thinking about these topics, I encourage you to think about what the seller is paying for. Directors who hire stunt workers don't pay for pain or access to bodies, they pay for stunts. Movie watchers don't tune in for pain, they tune in for stunts (and there are also radfem critiques about gratuitous female torture and pain on screen for the consumption of male audiences, but I digress). Stunt workers sell a performance of risk.

sex workers are often selling actual access to their bodies in ways that collapse the boundary between person and product. Sex buyers pay for sexual access to bodies, whether that be painful or harmful or not. I know not all sex work looks the same. But the structural issue is what kind of relationship to sex and the body is being bought and sold and whether we want to normalize a society where access to people’s sexual selves is something you can just purchase. That's the crux of my problem with it. It could be as sanitized and gentle as anything and it will still be objectionable because it commodifies women.

Frankly I'm surprised that sex trade acceptance has gained so much traction in mainstream feminism because to me it just looks like patriarchy. In the past men made a one time payment for a woman to have sex with them and clean up after them, and they still hired sex workers for the things they couldn't do with their wives (I have thoughts about how sex workers are essential to perpetuating purity culture but this post is already getting long). Now men get the exact same deal, but it's framed as empowering and a legitimate career for women. Where's the progress? Who is benefitting?

Lastly in all the conversations I've had about sex work and it's similarities and differences to other work, there seems to be the underlying belief that if you can prove that sex work and X kind of work are similar or close enough, then sex work has to be okay just like X is. As I previously stated, it's a spectrum. That 2 things are on the same spectrum does not make the points they occupy on that spectrum any way equivalent. 1 is only 1 unit away from 2, which is only one unit away from 3, into infinity. But you'd look at me crazy if I told you that 1 was basically 10.

But that's kind of where you're going with this. i.e If stunt work is okay, and modelling is okay, then why can't sex work be okay?

And while I do believe they are fundamentally different in terms of what the buyer is paying for, even if you grant the premise that all these kinds of work exist on the same continuum, that doesn’t automatically make them morally or socially equivalent. Like I said, being on a spectrum doesn’t collapse all distinctions. One may be near the middle, another further down. Sex work sits at the far end because it uniquely involves the commodification of intimacy and personhood, things that aren't incidental side effects of the job but the entire product being sold.

You can’t abstract sex from the self the way you can abstract a backflip from a stunt performer. Sex isn't just physical labour, it's intimate access. That’s fundamentally different from paying someone to fall off a roof in a padded suit. Even if they’re on a spectrum of body-involved labor, they’re not adjacent.

[markantonys]

My Mom Reacts To: wheel of time season 3 episodes 5-8 (no book spoilers)

season 1 (book spoilers)

season 2 episodes 1-4 (no book spoilers)

season 2 episodes 5-8 (book spoilers)

season 3 episodes 1-4 (no book spoilers)

3x05

since i'd already watched the episodes on our account back when they came out, the player attempted to pick up where i'd left off and opened this up at the very end of the episode and so my mom saw a few seconds of the egwene-lanfear-rand cliffhanger scene as i was frantically trying to pause and rewind, so she knew that was coming haha but even at this initial glimpse she wasn't shocked or anything, perhaps because while it was loading she was reading out the episode summary about "egwene learns rand's dark secret" and asked "what's rand's dark secret?" and i said "guess" and she said "lanfear" and i said "yes. oh, maybe i shouldn't have told you that."

as soon as they showed cold rocks hold, she started wondering about how the aiel survive with so little water and seemingly no place to grow food. once again, a woman after robert jordan's own heart! she wants to know all the little anthropological details!

she went "oh! he has different wives?" but that was her only comment on the aiel polyamory loredrop

elaida: i know what you are. river trash. mom: TUH!

"i feel like egwene suffers so much" -mom seemingly apropos of nothing (egwene was just sitting in the temple talking to the wise ones), but maybe thinking of the spoiled end of the episode lmao

she finds all the dream lore stuff very confusing. i do too! thankfully, she only asked me basic-level questions that i knew how to answer.

my dad loved elaida's dramatic hand-flick shooing motion when she was sending the novice away from adeleas haha

mat: [runs out of the ship cabin after being repeatedly told not to, while elayne yells at him to stop] mom: mat is always doing the wrong thing. every episode, someone is saying "mat, don't do that!"

Mat Cauthon: A Summary

"that doesn't really look like him" critiquing min's art skills

multiple mentions throughout theses episodes about how concerned she is by the prospect of these four young people haring off on a dangerous mission all by themselves. she would definitely be the kind of person to go "but where are their parents??" when reading a YA fantasy book.

min: no eye contact mat: [stares at the hanged man] mom: no eye contact, mat!!!!! me: it's a corpse mom: oh

when whitecloaks appear onscreen: "i don't like these people"

mom: so elaida's not black ajah me: no mom: then why is she siuan's enemy? me: she can be her enemy without being a darkfriend mom: [sighs] i guess that's true

once again she is distressed by how many different factions of Bad Guys there are

the cauthon girls: perrin what's happened to your eyes? mom: i don't think that would be the first thing i'd notice right now me: you wouldn't notice if someone you used to know suddenly had bright golden eyes??? mom: well, it's dark in here

perrin: i thought you were a good man dain: I WAS!!!!! dad: [chuckles] that's a good answer

rand: [gives his earnest speech about how he believes lanfear can be a good person again] mom: [sadly] oh rand, you have rose-colored glasses

so! she doesn't seem to blame rand about the whole randfear situation (perhaps because seeing the ending kiss scene first helped prepare her, perhaps because all my rand sympathy seed-planting in the first half of the season was successful, perhaps because the "this naive young man is getting preyed on" angle comes across more clearly to the middle-aged mom demographic than it does to some other demographics who dismiss it as cut-and-dry rand-fault cheating. who can say?)

and at various points in the episode she asked "what does lanfear want, just to rule everything?" and "does she actually love him or is she just saying that?" so i don't think she has ever been taken in by lanfear's tricks for one second even though many viewers did feel swayed by her "i want to break my dark oaths" schtick haha my mom never has any time for the forsaken's sob stories, like when she went "so kill yourself then" while ishy was delivering his sadboy nihilism monologue. WOT if my mom was a ta'veren: 1 book

mom as egwene is preparing to give moiraine a ride to a meeting: how are they traveling around to these places? me: they're going there in a dream dad: which is the only way anyone seems to travel anywhere in this show

mom while moiraine and siuan are kissing: .........is egwene still watching all this?

during the montage of all the friends' dreams she asked if this was halfway through the season because "it feels like they're giving us a recap" (but i reminded her that last episode was the halfway point)

speaking of last episode, before we started this one she said that she liked that episode because it was only about one plotline so it was easier to keep track of what was going on

3x06

"i vaguely remember him" about thom

mom during the weird moggy montage: what is she doing???? me: she's just really weird idk

when egwene pushed the wise ones out of her dream my mom gasped and thought egwene had destroyed them

rand: do i kill egwene? mom: [gasp] is that prophesized???? me: no he's just worried it might happen when he goes mad dad: it can't be prophesized if she [moiraine] keeps saying things will happen "sometimes"

(it felt dishonest to transcribe that sentence more efficiently as my dad saying "moiraine" himself, because i need you to know he does not know a single name of any character in this show)

faile talking about her backstory: she killed him mom: her own son???? faile: her own son mom: oh, i guess if i'd just waited a second

mom: does elayne stay good forever? me, incapable of shrugging mysteriously and letting her think elayne might become evil: yes she does mom: oh good. it's hard to get invested in characters when i'm always afraid they'll turn out to be evil.

mom after the hills of tanchico: i thought they were trying to be subtle

she liked "i don't mind strange" and faile's reaction to finding out mat blew the horn, but was feeling wary about her. "i don't know if this is a good thing or not" when faile and perrin kissed, then in the next episode she asked 1) is faile secretly evil? and 2) will perrin kill her by accident like he did his wife? and i told her no on both counts, sometimes i've just got to spoil her for the sake of soothing her worries haha

even after the kiss she referred to faile as "perrin's new friend". diversity win: straight couple gets "and they were roommates" treatment

after all my wondering, she ended up having absolutely zero reaction to or comment on the randgwene breakup! oh well, i don't think she minds it or blames rand too much at least, or else she would've said Something, and she definitely seemed fond of both rand and egwene throughout the season, so maybe it came through fairly successfully as a balanced No Bad Guys breakup for her.

3x07

she was so happy to see the s1 tuatha'an again!

perrin: it may be the season of falling leaves, but when people see how bare the trees are, they'll long for spring mom: [chuckles] when did he get so wise?

someone mentioned lord luc and she went "who????" lmaoooo he really was such a "go girl give us nothing" character this season

i've had to go "that's the son of the guy whose dad perrin killed" just about every time for dain's first scene per episode, she never remembers who he is

she also asked "who's that?" about egwene's mom no joke at least 5-6 times during this episode

in loial's first scene this episode she was like "i want him to have more to do, he's one of my favorites" and i was internally thinking "well, she's about to get her wish............."

ila: there is no leaf without the seed dad: they have a lot of weird sayings in this show

"since they have two rivers nearby, why don't they just dig a moat around the village to keep the trollocs from entering?" perrin come hire my mom as your new strategist

dad about alanna taking out a huge chunk of the army with her hailstorm: "that feels like cheating somehow"

my mom was very sad about loial! but she figured it was coming because "angels started singing" right before his final moments.

me: he doesn't die in the books, but in a show you can't keep as many characters around forever, so that's why they killed him off here mom: but they don't understand that he's my favorite character

then i said "what about lan?" and she said "he's a different kind of favorite character" haha and she went on to say that she liked loial for his comic relief and also because he was a scholar who showed the importance of books and stories in a world full of warriors and battles. RIP loial!

she does not believe for one second that padan fain will keep his promise to perrin and thinks he'll be coming right back to attack again sooner or later

mom taking stock of the battle results: so, Worst Whitecloak is dead and Peddler escaped and is still alive

3x08

mom about the amyrlin election: it's like the conclave for the new pope

leane to siuan: you haven't once told me how you know this mom: i guess she can't exactly say "somebody told me in a dream" can she?

when sammael says lews therin gave him his scar: "lews therin is something to do with rand right?" oh mom

moggy to liandrin: mistress has been very busy mom: she sounds like gollum

mat and nynaeve: [put on their veils to follow liandrin] dad: [scoffs] THOSE are their disguises?

mom about lanfear's little wedding dress number for her meeting with rand: she always has the best costumes

moiraine: we leave for alcair dal mom: where? me: just some other location don't worry about it

mat: [making for the doorway] min: mat wait! mom: he never LISTENS! he's so ANNOYING!

but then him yelling at the eelfinn about being sick of every magical force on the planet got a hearty chuckle, so it's not all losses for mat in her esteem haha

she was worried about thom dying because she "likes his voice"

mom about min's CPR: i can't believe that worked

she was upset with nynaeve for not hiding or disguising herself while waiting for the others, solidarity with @butterflydm haha

dad when nynaeve parts the sea: too bad no one else is around to see how cool this is mom: too bad liandrin isn't around to see that she needs to try harder!

she said fondly "he's gotten so smart" about rand at some point during his convo with moiraine

mom when lanfear shows up in her Ultra Goth Supreme getup: who's that? me: lanfear mom: oh. she looks different every scene!

my dad likened the Dueling Car'a'carn Presentation to a gameshow lmao

mom had a moment of panic thinking lan might die, so i had to blurt out that he was not going to die

mom: he made it rain in the desert? the other guy's gonna have a hard time topping that!

she's getting very concerned about rand doing big channelings since it will bring him closer and closer to madness every time he does. the show's done a good job emphasizing those stakes for viewers!

after it was over she said "so many good guys died this season! i'm so upset!" in the same sentence as asking hopefully if there would be an s4 haha

later that evening: "i really hope they do more seasons, because i'm not reading all those books". i hope so too!

[aithusarosekiller]

Peter: James, fuck, marry, kill: Snape, Marls, Regulus Black

James: well kill Snape obviously! Then that leaves fuck and marry, so Re-..........oh

Sirius: ......🤨

James: um

Sirius: well? What is it, James?

James: 😰

[watery-melon-baller]

does anyone know a better way to try and reformat a research question for a survey because I am SUFFERING

[anonbinaryweirdo]

im so unserious when it comes to work

[humanjarvis]

lads LIs when you're hesitant to initiate kisses

sylus understands your hesitancy to make yourself vulnerable, but he also can't stand to see you unfulfilled. the first couple times he catches you staring at his lips, he offers nothing but lazy blinks and slow smirks, challenging you to come to him first. but when you look away in uncertainty one too many times, seemingly content to watch your own desires slip away as long as it saves you from embarrassment, he saunters toward you, maintaining eye contact all the way. placing one hand on your hip and the other on your chin, he bends to capture your lips with his, making you stumble with his intensity. his grip on you only tightens when he breaks the kiss, and before you can ask what he’s doing, he tugs you toward his lips. when you lose your balance and fall into his embrace, you realize his game: he’s making you kiss him first 

zayne empathizes with your shyness and hesitancy, afraid to so much as look at you the wrong way in case he offends you. since you’re both too frozen in overthought to make the first move, you don’t become intimate as quickly as most couples, trading physical closeness for emotional understanding. when he walks you to your door after a visit to the bakery, he leaves you with a warm goodnight hug, and you both assume the other is satisfied. only when you think he’s asleep on the sofa one evening and press a fond kiss to his cheek does he realize you share his private desires. the next day, after stoically psyching himself up for 20 minutes, he finds you in the kitchen and kisses you deeply, a pink tinge on his cheeks when he pulls away

caleb wants you to kiss him first—or at least ask him to kiss you—but what if you won’t? he needs to know that you want him—that you’ll willingly give him the privilege of kissing you—so he gives you a few pushes in the right direction. he teases you with heated glances and not-so-accidental touches until you walk up to him, dumb with desire. when you stare up at him helplessly, he settles a large hand on your waist and hovers over your mouth, giving you the chance to push him away. when you don’t, he leans in slowly, tantalizingly, as if wanting to drive home the fact that you’re letting this happen to you—letting him claim your mouth in a slow, consuming kiss. this way, maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the courage to take what you want from him next time—if you let him taste you, there’s no need to be shy anymore, right?

you know rafayel, so you know he would be upset if you expected him to initiate everything—would it kill you to show a little interest in him? that said, you also know that initiating things isn’t really your thing. so, you find a trick that works like a charm: you goad him into kissing you. you’re comfortable enough with kisses to other places—anywhere but the lips—so you adorn his cheeks and neck with soft, chaste kisses until he’s riled up and flushed, his breath coming out in soft pants from the pleasure of feeling wanted. when you pull away, he chases your touch, and all it takes is an innocent giggle from you before he’s pinning you down and stealing your breath away, his tongue tangling with yours in passion and power.

xavier is confused and a bit discouraged when he realizes you never initiate—he thinks you just don’t want to kiss him. one afternoon, you find him sulking in bed, huddled under his comforter with the lights off. worried he’s sick or hurt, you ask what’s wrong, and he gives you 4 pouty non-answers before finally giving in. you can feel your face heat and gut tangle in guilt when he questions if you ever want to kiss him, and with one hand stroking his hair, you confess that you’re simply too shy to kiss him first. he responds with a blink and a whispered “so you do like me, then?”, and when you nod, he tackles you at the speed of light, pressing kisses all over your face before finally claiming your lips

a/n: anon who asked me if i’d ever write for zayne and i hinted at later this week this is not what i was talking about don’t worry, just an impromptu writing exercise to convince myself i’m not washed. also while this technically counts for xavier and raf i’m the least familiar with their cards so idk if/when i can write anything much longer than this for them (love them tho)

[odoraful]

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄.ᐟ

what happens when you don't use their pet name to call them?

⟡ content: zayne/sylus/xavier/rafayel x gn!reader; more dialogue heavy; silly and cute

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ZAYNE ⟡

“Can you help me put this on, Zayne?”

From the reflection in the mirror, you tried not to react at the twist in his brow and the momentary confusion in his eyes. Wordlessly, he moved behind you, fingers taking the necklace out of your hand. With his gaze focused on the task before him, you could see him open his mouth, hesitating to speak.

“Did I do something wrong?” he questioned.

Zayne’s deft hands carefully laid the chain around your neck, centering the pendent between your collarbones.

You plastered on your most innocent expression, despite the twinge of guilt you felt at his question.

“Hm? Why do you ask?”

Swiftly, he clasped the ends of the chain together. His eyes flicked towards yours in the mirror.

“You’re calling me by my first name. I thought pet names were an important step in a relationship for you.”

You nodded. “Yes, Zayne, I do think it’s an important step.”

His eyes narrowed at your continual uncharacteristic responses.

Folding his arms, he mused aloud. “It took you some time to drop the title ‘doctor’ for me and to just use my name. After we became official, you were quick to call me ‘love’.”

You fiddled with your necklace, trying to, impossibly, force away the heat from your face.

“So, either I did something to make you upset, or”—he leaned in close to you, the side of his face almost touching yours—“you’re playing a trick on me.”

You gave a mock frown. He cocked his head to the side, awaiting your response.

“Okay, okay, it was a prank.” Sighing, you surrendered to his deductions. “I wanted to see how you’d react, but you saw right through me,” you mumbled.

His lips quirked. “I’ve known you for long enough to figure these things out.”

Wanting to wipe off the amused look he had on his face, you quickly planted a kiss on his cheek. His face turned into surprise. He chuckled, shaking his head at your triumphant smile.

“Thank you for helping me, my love."

SYLUS ⟡

“Sylus, could you play that new record you bought?”

You called from the sofa. Standing by the record player, he turned to face you. The offence on his face was unmistakable as he placed his hands on his hips.

“Sylus?” he scoffed. “We both know that’s not what you call me.”

Your brows furrowed, feigning confusion. “What are you talking about? Isn’t that your name?”

“Sweetie,” he levelled a look of scepticism at you, “that hasn’t been my name for the past month we’ve been together.”

“I still don’t know what you mean, Sylus.”

He paused. Gears turned in his head trying to unpack what was happening, much like he would do when reading the truthfulness of a dealer during a bargain.

“Y/N.”

You’ve never heard your own name being said in such a serious manner. Perhaps you got a taste of your own medicine.

“I’m not particularly fond of lose-lose situations.” The softness in his tone made you feel weak. “You can tell me if I’ve done something to annoy you. I won’t be angry.”

“Not at all!” you quickly blurted out. Unable to hide it any longer, you confessed. “You haven’t done anything to annoy me. I was just trying to pull a small prank.”

All the tension visibly released from his body. A relieved sigh escaped him. “You really do play some dangerous games, kitten.”

Playfulness returned to his voice. “Now then, how will you correct your mistake?”

“Honey,” you drawled out each syllable, making it sound as syrupy as the nickname itself, “could you play that new record you bought now?”

Sylus couldn’t help but laugh at your exaggeration. “Why of course.”

XAVIER ⟡

“Xavier, do you want to try this?”

Subtly glancing at his reaction from the kitchen, you saw his face immediately fall into a pout. The look was fatal, and it took all the willpower you had not to drop the ruse right then and there.

“That’s not my name,” he answered.

“What do you mean?” you chuckled, continuing to put icing on the sugar cookies you baked. “Of course it is!”

“No, it’s not,” he insisted.

Placing his book down, he walked to stand at your side by the counter. You avoided his eye contact, pretending that nothing was amiss.

Resting a hand under his chin, he began to think. “You usually call me bunny, sweetheart, sunshine, or darling.”

Your jaw dropped in amused shock. “You remember all the names I’ve called you?”

His mouth twitches. “There are some more, but… they might be a bit embarrassing to say aloud right now.”

That was enough to make you look at him with wide eyes.

“Xavier!” Your face turned pink as you slapped his shoulder. There was no force behind the hit, but enough to convey your embarrassment.

“You did it again. You used the wrong name.” He stuck his bottom lip out.

You gently poked at his cheek, trying to lift the corner of his lip upwards. “Come on, don’t be sad darling.”

Immediately, he brightened before you.

“It was just a joke I saw couples do online. I wanted to see how you’d react.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “And was my reaction satisfactory?”

“I think it was,” you smiled at him, "but it’s a shame I didn’t film it, it would’ve made for a good Moments post.”

He shook his head. “But, the nicknames we use are only for us.”

The finished cookie in your hand had a bite suddenly taken from it as Xavier leaned down to have a taste.

“I don’t want anyone else to know.”

RAFAYEL ⟡

“Are you ready to go yet, Rafayel?”

He continued to hum to himself, completely ignoring you. You folded your arms as you watched him busy himself with something trivial. He flung open a random cupboard and inspected what appeared to be an assortment of spare art supplies.

“Rafayel,” you called again.

He then turned his attention to the fishbowl in the centre of the room, where a small orange fish darted around.

“Reddie, do you hear something?” he asked, gazing so earnestly into the bowl. This fish paused its movement and stared back at his owner.

“Rafayel~” you sang his name aloud this time, extending the last syllable.

He gasped, apparently receiving some confirmation from Reddie.

“You hear something too? Thank god. I was thinking there must be something wrong with my ears.”

Surveying the room around him, Rafayel intentionally looked past you standing barely a few metres from him, tapping your foot against the wooden floorboards of his studio.

“It sounds like”—he continued—“some kind of voice. Someone familiar to me, but I can’t make out who it is.”

“Rafayel!” you shouted his name between fits of laughter. Only he could respond to your jokes with his own dramatics.

He sucked in a breath in puzzlement. “I wonder who this person is calling out to.”

“Baby,” you finally conceded, “I’m talking to you!”

It seemed like he couldn’t keep up the act either, as he started laughing with you.

“Took you long enough,” he huffed, moving towards you and linking your arm with his. “Otherwise, Reddie and I would have been searching for this phantom voice for the rest of the day.”

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[fairsweetlonging]

truth serum / system reveal au where shen qingqiu gets hit with an uncloaking spell that reveals the system in the reflection of his eyes every time it pops up.

during one of his missions, in the treasure hoard of some dragon-like creature, he finds a golden, oval shaped hand mirror, its gaudy style more victorian based than anything (airplane you hack!), that doesn't seem to do anything when he looks into it. but when he does, it reveals the system's screen in his eyes.

he doesn't notice this, of course, because he can't see it, and the system, surprisingly, stays quiet.

the peak lords think he's cursed.

maybe mu qingfang is the first to notice, during the mandatory post mission check-up, when shen qingqiu is scrolling through his most recently accumulated points and mu qingfang can see the strange vividly-blue lines reflected in his pupils. it's gone when shen qingqiu blinks, like it was nothing but a trick of the light.

it comes out when yue qingyuan is visiting and, just as he's done laying out the plans for a new mission, shen qingqiu's eyes glaze over and a bright blue box takes over the whole of his iris. shen qingqiu goes quiet; the thing in his eyes moves, shifts, pulses for a second, like static worms crawling all over his pupils. then he blinks, and it's gone, and shen qingqiu accepts the mission that yue qingyuan was almost sure he would decline.

maybe there is an intervention, when the peak lords corner shen qingqiu at qian cao peak and try to figure out what's wrong, subjecting him to all kinds of treatments and curse-finding spells that turn up empty, they can't find anything.

of course, the silencing threat is still very much up and running. at first shen qingqiu was kind of confused by the whole ordeal, but when the peak lords start describing a "strange blue box", he realizes, with sickening suddenty, that they're describing the system. and he can't say anything.

this only makes everything worse, because their fellow peak lord now keeps evading every question and acts like he doesn't understand. liu qingge points right at his face and asks, "that blue box, what is it?" and shen qingqiu laughs nervously and starts talking about how bright the weather is and surely it's the sky and nothing to worry about!

even worse, during the intervention the system thought it was a good idea to start talking to him, so now even the peak lords who hadn't seen it and who might have been persuaded by light tricks and reflections, get a first row view that no, that definitely isn't a trick of the light.

they try to do the whole thing of "are you in danger, blink twice" but shen qingqiu can't even do that because it's still a direct admittance!

maybe eventually he starts saying vague confirmations that don't actually confirm anything, like "this master hears what you're saying", or maybe he goes with a classic "this master can neither confirm nor deny that." but the system starts warning him for that too and eventually he stops saying anything, which worries the others more.

luckily mu qingfang catches on that every time they ask a direct question about the box or shen qingqiu says anything vaguely confirming, it appears. it doesn't appear when they ask about curses or demons, so it must not see that as a threat.

for a little extra angst: maybe the peak lords keep pressuring him for answers, and at some point shen qingqiu gets fed up and snaps out something like, "why don't you understand that i'm not allowed to answer that!" the system counts this as a direct admittance, threatening it's existence. so it punishes. shen qingqiu has a qi deviation so bad it lasts two weeks and takes two people every day to cleanse his meridians. the system doesn't appear in that time. it doesn't appear for a long while after that, either. the peak lords stop asking, mainly because shen qingqiu will instantly leave the room if they do. they don't stop searching for a cure, though.

shang qinghua returns from a business trip and catches on the second someone mentions a blue box and forced silencing.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Summoning Failed Successfully

Imagine a warehouse. Imagine a bunch of cultists in dark robes with all the candles, daggers, ancient books, and chanting. Now add Danny.

Only not as the summoned being, no. As a sacrifice.

He is sitting down, tied to a chair, in the middle of the summoning circle, looking as bored and deadpan as he can possibly be. The cultists are chanting, and he frowns, listening to their chants for a moment.

"Hey, is that Latin?" He questions, but to no avail, "You know you're not actually using those words correctly, right?"

"Keep quiet, child!" One of the cultists snaps. Danny leans back in his chair and shrugs.

"I'm just saying, you ain't summoning shit with wrong grammar," he huffs, seemingly absolutely nonchalant about the whole thing. Oracle, who is watching the whole ordeal through the surveillance cameras, raises her eyebrows. Red Robin and Robin are already en route to the building the cultists chose for their extracurricular activities, but now she almost wants to watch this a bit longer.

Gothamites are pretty used to all kinds of shitshows, but this boy is from out of town. She checked him through facial recognition. Daniel Fenton, a transfer student from Amity Park, Illinois.

A few more cultists stop chanting and turn to Danny.

"Do you know Latin?" One of them asks, and the boy makes a half-nod, making a thoughtful face.

"Not fluently, but, like, it's a dead language, I felt kinda obligated to learn it. Just for the meme, you know?" He chuckles.

The cultists, judging by their confused silence, don't know. Barbara doesn't know what he's talking about, either. But she is almost curious now, so she taps Robin's and RR's comm lines:

"RR, Robin, when you arrive, don't jump into the scene," she asks.

"Understood," Tim answers immediately, but Damian, of course, demands explanations:

"Is there an obstacle?"

"Not really," Barbara humms, "The sacrifice is in the process of de-escalating the situation."

She can almost hear the questioning silence over the comm, but, thankfully, no one argues. Meanwhile, one of the cultists pipes up, voice full of doubt:

"So, you can... like, proofread our incantation?"

"Yeah, sure," Danny nods, apparently fine with being sacrificed, "Who you're trying to summon anyway?"

"Satan," that same cultist answers, and Danny laughs approvingly.

"Classic," he nods and smiles, "I'll give you this. The circle is mostly alright, so you don't need an incantation to summon the fucker, I have him on speed dial." And with that, he leans forward, screaming towards the floor: "Ey, Satan!"

Barbara must say the act was actually convincing, but he went a little overboard with it now. She reaches to tell both Robins to get in, but suddenly, a loud, booming voice reverberates through the building.

"The fuck do you want, kid?"

Cultists fall to their knees - it doesn't seem like an act of worship, more like their knees bucking. The whole circle dimly lights up in red, smoke raising from it.

"Do you see this shit, Oracle?" Red Robin questions, and she mhm's at him, not sure what else to say. If this is still an act or a trick, she must say it's a very good one. Although somehow she suspects it's not a trick. She's seen enough magic in her life to tell the difference.

"Do you want to come to Earth, be gay and do crimes?" Danny asks, almost mockingly.

"Fuck off."

The red light flickers and disappears, and Danny looks back up to cultists, grinning cheerfully.

"Welp, looks like he doesn't wanna," the kid concludes and stands up from his chair. Barbara hadn't seen when or how he got out of his bindings.

The cultists just watch him walk out of the circle in bewilderment.

"Pursue?" Robin's voice comes over the comms, and Barbara thinks for a moment.

"I get a feeling like that's a bad idea," Tim mutters over his line.

Barbara agrees.

[prokopetz]

"But doesn't having a notion of 'balanced' combat inherently imply that all combat encounters are expected to be fair and winnable" well, no – it implies only that the GM has the ability to know whether a given combat encounter is fair and winnable.

There's a story that's been going around for decades about a Dungeons & Dragons party who encountered a large room full of treasure while exploring a dungeon. Immediately suspicious, they asked their GM a series of detailed questions about the room, but no obvious dangers were identified. Satisfied, they moved into the room – and were immediately set upon and eaten by the dragon that had been sitting atop the pile of treasure the whole time, which the GM hadn't mentioned because the players never specifically asked about the presence of living creatures within the room.

While this is obviously an extreme and ridiculous case, it illustrates an important point: as GM, you're the group's eyes and ears. If you don't describe something, the player characters literally can't see it – that dragon was effectively invisible from their perspective. The trick is that active malice isn't the only way to invisible-dragon your players; a group can also find themselves invisible-dragoned because the GM simply failed to provide sufficient information for the risk in question to be identified. This can happen through neglect, but it can also happen because the GM themself was unaware that the risk was present.

Now, hold on, you might be saying: the GM "plays" the entire world. How is it possible for the GM not to know that a risk is present? Well, that brings us back around to the subject of combat balance.

A game in which "balanced" combat is a meaningful thing to discuss is typically going to be one in which both the players and the GM are actually making strategic, tactical, and/or logistical decisions, rather than merely producing a description of their characters making such decisions. Without a good handle on the interplay of these decisions, it's completely possible for the GM to be wrong about the level of risk the scenario they've constructed entails.

That's actually pretty critical, because even if you don't care about the game being fair and winnable (and that's a perfectly valid stance), your players are still depending on you to be their eyes and ears, and to give them enough information to make good decisions about whether the fight in front of them is one they can win. A game where not every fight is expected to be winnable needs to be a game where the players have the opportunity to walk away.

No matter how objective you try to be, your own sense of the answer to that question is inevitably going to colour how you communicate about it. You being wrong about the level of risk at hand inherently increases the chance that your players will make bad choices. The party eating a TPK because they made a stupid decision is one thing; the party eating a TPK because they made a decision that looked reasonable from their perspective based on your unwitting miscommunication of the level of risk involved is quite another!

Sure, once the dice hit the table I'm probably going to realise that I fucked up, and I can adjust things on the fly to bring the level of risk that's actually present in line with the level of risk I communicated – but that's extra work I don't need with everything else that's on my plate. And that's a best-case scenario; if I'm running the game for a hardcore let-the-dice-fall-where-they-may group (and such groups tend to have a pretty significant overlap with groups that are cool with not every fight being winnable), I may not be able to adjust the fight's parameters on the fly without violating the social contract of the table.

Basically, whenever I see an OSR game with tactically crunchy combat brag about how its author never even thinks about "balance", what that's telling me is that running this game is going to create a whole lot of extra work for me as a GM. This is not a selling point.

[snowballseal]

Tipsy Tricks

Sylus X Reader

Summary: You and Sylus agree to focus on work for a little bit, meaning you don't have time to see each other. That is...until you get a panicked call from the twins saying their boss is drunk and needs someone to cuddle with.

Word Count: 1836

Note: FLUFF - Sylus is drunk, but honestly, I feel like he can handle his alcohol well so he does a bit of acting. It's all just to get your attention and he's a little more clingy. Also, Luke and Kieran my beloveds.

---

“Miss, we need your help!”

You blink at the sudden shout that comes through your phone the moment you answer it.

“Luke?”

“Please Miss! Boss is not acting himself!”

“Kieran? Wait- hold on, just-”

“Ah! We’re too late!”

“Please Miss, come save us!”

You blink again as the call ends just as abruptly.

What the-?

You stare at the now dark screen for a long moment, just trying to process what happened. It’s late, late enough that you’re already dressed in your pajamas and winding down in bed. The last thing you were expecting was to get such a panicked call from Luke and Kieran.

What were they even talking about? Why do they need saving? Is something wrong with Sylus?

The thought wedges into your chest like a thorn, sharp and uncomfortable. You hadn’t heard from the Onychinus leader - your lover - in a few days due to his busy schedule. Neither of you liked it, but you agreed it was best he just focus on work, and you’d do the same to keep yourself occupied.

Getting a call like this only makes your anxiety skyrocket.

You don’t even bother wasting the time to change, throwing a coat over your pajamas and snatching your keys as you hurdle out the door. 

---

“Miss!!! Oh you’ve come to save us, thank you!”

Luke and Kieran throw the door open before your knuckles even touch it. You jump back, chest heaving from having run all the way from the transport station. They look just as frazzled, well, as frazzled as two men in masks can look. 

“What’s wrong? Is Sylus okay? Why are you guys freaking out?” You shoot out questions quickly, grabbing one of the twins by the shoulders. “You guys were infuriatingly cryptic over the phone! Seriously, who calls in the middle of the night like that?”

“We’re sorry,” Luke leans in, trying to rescue his brother from your vicious grip, “We just didn’t know what to do. Boss hardly ever gets like this!”

“He kept talking about you so we figured you could help us,” Kieran insists, ducking away with the help of his brother.

“Okay, but what’s wrong? Is he hurt?” You press for more details, concern only growing. “What happened to make him act weird?”

“He’s drunk.”

…

Your jaw shuts with an audible click, going tense as you stare at them incredulously. Seriously? All of this, all of the panic, the urgency, because Sylus got drunk? You take a deep, slow breath, trying to ease the immediate desire to knock their heads together.

“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you called me. In the middle of the night. After I had settled down for bed. Screaming bloody murder over the phone. Because Sylus had too much to drink?”

“...yes.”

“That’s right.”

You close your eyes. Another deep breath. Slowly, the panic that had washed over you recedes, leaving a sliver of irritation and amusement. You really should expect nothing less from them.

“Okay,” you sigh and prop your hands on your hips. The two seem to relax, like they had actually expected you to smack them. Which you might have, if they hadn’t sounded truly distressed earlier. “So why is this such a bad thing? Sylus is an adult, he can handle being a little drunk, but you two are acting like the world is ending. Why?”

“Well you see-”

“Boss gets incredibly physical when he’s drunk-”

“Not in a violent way-”

“Unless he’s around people he doesn’t like.”

“Right.”

You blink slowly at them, “...so?”

“It’s scary!” Kieran crows.

“It’s like having a kodiak bear trying to give you a hug!” Luke adds, curling his fingers in a gesture you’re sure is meant to mimic said bear.

“We love the boss, but we can’t handle him like this.”

“And he kept asking for you! So we called.”

Ah.

You take a moment to really process all of it. Sylus is drunk. Sylus is a touchy drunk…

It’s too good to pass up on

“Alright, boys,” you hum, an excited grin slowly spreading across your lips. You clap both of them gently on the shoulder. “I’ll take it from here. You can go hide wherever you usually do.”

“Thank you, Miss.”

“We knew calling you was the right decision. Please take care of our boss.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The twins skitter off as soon as you let them go, leaving you alone in the foyer. You quietly slip your coat off, hanging it up properly before making your way further into the base. Not knowing exactly where Sylus could be, you check all the obvious places. The bar. His bedroom. The kitchen. All of which are empty.

Finally you come to the den. Each step makes your heart race a little quicker, the thick silence putting you on edge. A drunk person shouldn’t be so hard to find. But as you step into the room, looking over every nook and cranny (despite how large the man in question is), you once again find it empty.

Where on earth could he be?

“My, my, a kitten’s wandered into my home.” You nearly jump out of your skin when an arm curls around your waist, drawing you back against a solid chest. The familiar warmth of his touch is like a balm to your nerves. You glance over your shoulder, gaze meeting a pair of sleepy vermillion eyes, their depths hazy and dark. “You broke our agreement, sweetie.”

You bite back a smile, “Maybe I wouldn’t have had to if a certain someone hadn’t gotten tipsy and scared the boys.”

Sylus huffs, his face dipping to nuzzle into the crook of your neck in an uncharacteristically soft show of affection. His breath is dizzyingly warm against your skin, his nose tracing featherlight along the column of your throat, like he’s breathing you in. It makes you feel dizzy. You clutch onto his arm to anchor yourself, breath hitching when his lips press tenderly against your racing pulse. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

The words are a mere whisper, the sound rumbling through his chest, so deep you can feel it with how his body leans into yours. You let out a shuddering breath, eyes flickering shut.

“I missed you too, Sy.”

So much. You didn’t want to admit to yourself just how much his absence had been wearing you down. Little by little until you could feel the gaping emptiness, like a stream carving a canyon. You were homesick. And it makes your heart flutter to know he felt the same.

“How about we sit, huh?” You suggest softly, and his arms tighten. Turning your head, despite the awkward angle, you press a reassuring kiss to his silvery locks, “I’m not going anywhere, love. I can’t support your weight much longer, though.”

Seemingly appeased, Sylus lets out an understanding hum. In a puff of black smoke, you find yourself settled on the couch, your back pressed into the soft leather with Sylus laying on top of you, his arms still curled around your waist, head resting on your chest. He nuzzles into you like a cat, letting out a long, drawn out sigh.

It’s adorable really. And jarring. While Sylus has never shied away from being affectionate, it’s always been in his rough, teasing way. This feels tender. Vulnerable. While you were originally planning to tease him to no end, you find yourself overwhelmed with a gentle kind of adoration for the man, your fingers softly fussing with his hair.

“You know, I think I like this side of you.”

“Hmmm, is that so?” Sylus mumbles sleepily, his eyes barely open as he gazes up at your face.

“Yah,” you breathe, tracing the relaxed line of his brow, fingers skimming down his cheek to brush the corner of his lips, “You’re acting so cute and docile. Maybe I should start calling you kitten.”

Even sleepy Sylus won’t let that stand. The second your fingers graze his lips, he nips at them, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you snatch them back, inhaling sharply. Heat curls in your chest, matching the heat burning behind his gaze as he flashes you that lazy yet dangerous smile.

“Don’t mistake my affection for passivity, sweetie,” he rumbles, pushing himself up just enough to graze his lips against yours, the smell of expensive alcohol and his rich cologne clouding your senses. “You should be more wary of a man when his restraints are loose. There’s no telling what he might do once you fall for his trap.”

Ah. You hold back a giggle, eyes narrowing up at him with mirth. So that’s what this was all about.

“Trap, huh? Is that what this was? Did you get tipsy and scare the twins on purpose so they’d call me?”

Sylus doesn’t look ashamed for even a second, offering a nonchalant shrug. The way his ears go red, though, tells you that you’ve hit the nail on the head.

“Aw, you did all that just cause you missed me?” Reaching up, you loop your arms around Sylus’ shoulders and draw him even closer. Your lips brush his as you murmur, “You could have just called, pretty bird.”

“And what fun would that be?” Sylus tilts his head, eyes flickering down to your lips. 

He wants to kiss you breathless, the sensation of your lips ghosting against his driving his already muddled thoughts wild. The way you look under him, hair a mess, dressed in such cute pajamas, is a perfectly tempting image, but it’s the fact that he can’t quite think straight that makes him hold back. While getting drunk was certainly a good way to get you here, it was not conducive to anything else he might want.

And simply having you by his side is enough.

You sigh as Sylus presses a sweet kiss to your lips. Unlike most of your kisses, this one isn’t about passion or hunger. Intense, yes, but intense in a way that feels like devotion. It’s reverent and slow, leaving a lingering hum under your skin as he draws away.

“Will you stay?”

Fondly, you rub your nose against his ever so slightly, “Of course.”

“Good.”

Sylus lowers himself back into you, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Your arms loop around him, fingers going back to his hair. The silence that envelops you is comforting, the only sound being that of your mingled breath. His warmth covers you so completely, you can’t help but relax, eyelids growing heavier with each second that ticks by. Sylus’ breathing steadily grows deeper, lulling you further and further into sleep. Until you slip under, your lips pressed to his temple as you fall asleep.

And that’s how Luke and Kieran find you the next morning. Cuddled up, with their boss curled around you protectively, like two lounging cats.

You wake up to a notification on your phone.

The picture immediately becomes your new background.

(And secretly, Sylus also makes it his, too.)

---

Hope you enjoyed, my lovely fishies!!!

[deepspacenova]

Behind Closed Doors

Thanks to two masked menaces, you and Sylus get trapped in a closet together. Tensions get larger as the space gets smaller.

read on ao3

➻➻ ABOUT | 3200 words. sylus x gn!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | forced proximity. sexual and romantic tension. banter. fluff. first kiss.

NOTE: Happy Sylus' Birthday to all those who celebrate! This is my humble offering in honour of the big, bad, and beautiful man I downloaded this game for.

The rhythmic beeping of the front entryway’s keypad was a perfect representation of the last beats of your heart before it flatlined from a gory death instigated by the twin menaces currently on a rampage in the heart of the base. 

You’d barely set foot in the building two hours ago, ready with the excuse of talking to Sylus about a mission you were handed at the Association, when Luke and Kieran ambushed you with manic grins, dozens of streamers, and zero mercy. Insisting that you didn’t ruin the (eighteenth) consecutive surprise party they were throwing for Sylus.

Not wanting to break the news that surprise parties usually involved, well, a party of people, or to be caught in their questionable version of ‘tricking the place out for the boss,’ you’d volunteered to keep watch for Sylus and warn them when he arrived. Besides, today was the one day they’d gotten it right. 

Since then, you’d been posted up at your designated lookout — one of the black leather wingbacks in the foyer. You'd started by scrolling through the Association’s mission files on your watch, which lasted all of twenty minutes before a text from Sylus popped up: “Running late, sweetie. Minor complication involving amateur explosives and humans’ lack of self-preservation skills.” 

Knowing it could mean anything from a blown-up building to another assassination attempt — you were betting on the latter — you switched over to playing a new game on your phone and assured the twins he wouldn’t be due for at least another hour. 

Only now the door was opening, and the crisp, blossom-sweetened air of the spring evening was sneaking its way around the imposing and early man who filled the doorway, wrapping itself around you like the noose Kieran would probably fashion out of the blood-red streamers he’d been holding before Luke strung you up for breaking your promise.

The way you leapt from your seat and took a few beats to stop gaping at Sylus’ grinning face probably did nothing to disguise your guilty expression. So when he closed the door and leaned against it expectantly, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, you let the silence stretch between you.

“Well, this is a… surprise,” he drawled out, his voice low and smooth. 

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then, regretfully, opened again, “No, nope. Not a surprise. Just, uh...“

“Something wrong?” Only the slight crease at the corner of his eye hinted at his amusement when he quipped, “Kitten got your tongue?” 

“No!” you asserted with a huff, indignation shaking you out of your surprised stupor. “I was… walking.”

“Walking.” He raised an eyebrow. “Through the foyer?”

Shit.

“Yes. I mean- you were supposed to…” You wave a vague hand behind you, where the archway to the main hall looms. “I was walking to come get you.”

He nodded as if he accepted your nonsensical answer and stepped forward, gently tilting your chin up with the inside of his finger. “And where are you taking me, sweetie?”

You swallowed when the pad of his thumb gently swiped along the edge of your jaw, the teasing affection in his gaze capturing yours like a hook. 

Your thoughts suddenly clanged around in your skull like loose screws. His fingers were warm. His breath was warmer. And your cheeks became hot. 

“Guess,” you managed after you suck in a breath. 

“Luke and Kieran,” he concluded, brows lifting slightly. “Hm. Well, at least they finally found the right distraction.”

Your sigh of his name was nestled somewhere between flustered and exasperated. Grasping to get your bearings back, you reluctantly pulled your face away and cleared your throat, “They… they just wanted me to make sure you weren’t, you know… late?”

“But I’m home early.” 

“I noticed,” you muttered to yourself. 

A mischievous glint flickered behind his lashes before he started backing up toward the hall, holding out his forearm like he was a gentleman escorting his partner for a dance rather than a man walking through his own home. “Let’s see what they need then, shall we?”

There was no way Luke and Kieran had finished whatever they were trying to do in that room. But, not trying to look more guilty than you already did, you hooked your arm around his and walked into the hallway, all the while racking your brain for more stalling measures.

The soles of your shoes were silent on the marble as you both walked. Moonlight spilled through the tall, reinforced windows, casting delicate, pale beams across the polished floor and climbing the walls in ribbons of silver. 

It illuminated the hair on Sylus’ temples, snowy strands glimmering like threads of constellations, taking any ideas your mind might’ve tried to form straight into the sky. 

He looked ethereal in that moment, too otherworldly to be walking there with you.

Which made it all the more disarming when he stopped in his tracks and turned to face you when you blurted out, “Could we, maybe, walk slower?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the door that led to the main room, the same door that stood between you and Sylus, the twins, and a ruined surprise. “You’re acting strange, kitten.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he said, the rasp of amusement unmistakable. “You’re acting suspicious.”

“Well then. I learn from the best.”

The smirk reappeared, and so did the inside of a pointer finger beneath your chin. “What’re you hiding from me?”

Your mouth went dry, your brain scrambling to come up with an excuse, when the door at the end of the hallway suddenly cracked open.

The unmistakable eyes of Luke went wide behind his mask when he saw the two of you stopped a few feet away, flitting his eyes between your awkward, half-stepped retreat and Sylus’ narrowed eyes before he barked out a sharp, “Kieran!”

You barely blinked before the door behind you opened and a pair of arms gently but firmly shoved you into a room- no, closet. Swearing sharply, Sylus lunged forward to steady you when the door behind him slammed shut and-

Click.

The pitch black room was filled with nothing but the heavy sounds of your breaths and absolutely stunned silence until Kieran’s voice broke it with a, “Promise you’ll thank us later, boss-man!” 

"Sylus."

You hadn’t meant to say his name like that again, all soft and breathy. Fanning each letter across the veined skin of his throat.

You were just trying to soothe him, to soothe yourself, as you both came to terms with your new… bodily arrangement for the time being. (And trying desperately not to harbor any murderous intent toward two masked teenagers.)

But you knew it had slipped out anyway when you felt his body tense against yours and a harsh breath escaped from his nose. 

Not that your position was doing either of you any favors.

Face to face. The thickness of his muscular thigh between yours, parting them around his trouser-clad leg to slot more comfortably into the tight space. Every breath shifting the delicate brushes of pressure between your chest and his black-silk dress shirt.

Your arms were pinned awkwardly behind you, trapped between the wall and the base of your spine. It wasn’t painful, but the weight of his body pressed against you gave you no room to move them. And while Sylus being an imposing figure wasn’t a new discovery, feeling the wide, broad, and powerful musculature against you was vastly different than admiring it from a few feet away. 

You sucked in a shaky breath to hide the way your heart slammed against your ribs, like pounding fists trying to reach him.

“Don’t move.”

All the playfulness from his earlier tone had disappeared, leaving behind a gravelly warning as you started to shift.

The closet that you’d been unceremoniously shoved into was barely tall enough for Sylus so he was left to slightly curl his body around yours. His right forearm held him up against the wall behind you, pushing his weight into the door while his left arm had your waist in a tight grip, pressing your hip against the wall. 

(Somewhere in the back of your mind, you weren’t sure whether to be insulted or grateful that he was practically contorting himself to put even a hairsbreadth of space between you.)

“Why?” There was a thread of concern in your voice. This was the Onychinus Base after all, it was highly unlikely something like linens were actually being stored in here.

Your eyes tried to shift back and forth to look around, but there was barely any room for you to move without brushing your nose against his cheek in this crawl space — closet was too generous a word, you’d decided.

“Don’t. Move.” He repeated, a strained kind of tightness in the words.

Now you were concerned about him. Sylus was the smoothest talker you’d ever met. You’d seen him schmooze his way through ego-infested arms deals, building explosions, and multiple shootouts. For him to be able to muster only a few monosyllabic words must’ve meant that—

It was like the twitch of a muscle, a minuscule movement that no one would ever notice if they weren’t in this exact type of predicament. But as your hips shifted the slightest inch, a sudden, hot, and unmistakable hardness from beneath Sylus’ trousers pressed into your lower stomach.

Oh. Oh. Your swirl of thoughts vanished as clarity hit you. As the heat of it made its way from your stomach to your cheeks. 

Sylus was decidedly not afraid. 

And suddenly… neither were you. 

Suddenly, you wanted to unpin your hands from behind you and slide them into his hair.

Suddenly, you wanted to push your hips in the opposite direction Sylus was pressing yours. 

Suddenly, you wanted to raise a leg and constrict the inside of your thigh around Sylus’ waist. 

Suddenly, you needed to get out of here. You needed more room. 

“Uh, can- can you use your Evol?” you stutter out. It might be too tight of a space for his body to dissipate but maybe he could use his mist to flip the lock on the outside?

A hesitation, followed by a resigned sigh. “I’ve been trying. It’s tapped out from my meeting earlier.”

“Meeting.” You huffed out a breath, stirring the strands of hair that had fallen across Sylus’ nose. “I knew someone was trying to assassinate you again.”

His eyes, which had been slowly tracing your features, locked onto yours. “You knew, hm?” His lips quirked. “And here I was thinking your fantasies about me had gotten less… bloodthirsty.” 

You gave him as much of a sharp and unamused look as you could muster while pinned centimetres away from his body. 

“Please. If anyone here is fantasizing about blood, it’s you, mister arms dealer,” you retorted, tilting your head to get your own hair out of your eyes. “What happened tonight, anyway?”

It was then that you had the strangest metaphysical experience of your life. Because reality kept progressing. Time kept moving forward. Sylus had started talking — you could tell by the way his chest rumbled against yours, by the way his rasped words started to soothe their way from his lips to your ears, like a massage designed to loosen your muscles — and yet…

And yet your consciousness couldn’t properly focus on any of that. Couldn’t remember or process any of the sentences he was saying. 

Because for the next few moments, every sensation, every nerve ending — your very existence — disappeared, except for the part of your body where Sylus' hardness pressed. 

Where the length and width and heat of it started to move lower and lower as he relaxed into his explanation. Where you desperately willed it to move lower still. And press harder. So that your body could memorize its shape from the outside. So that your body could recognize its shape once it was inside.

All the while, you did the best you could with the awareness you had. Humming faintly when there was a pause between sentences. Nodding slightly when the tone of a word lilted up in question like, “Kitten?”

Though it was only a matter of time before Sylus noticed and said—

“Kitten. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” you assured quickly. Probably too quickly.

Your consciousness was mercilessly yanked back into your body. Your cheeks were blistering with heat. The bones in your chest felt a little too big for your diaphragm.

Sylus had moved, too, you realized. The bicep holding his weight back had shifted closer to sort of cradle the side of your head. His head had lowered, his nose and mouth alternating between hovering by the skin beneath your ear and pressing into the space between your cheek and jaw. 

“Hm, alright then. Glad we both agree,” he said dryly. “I’ll start my explosives manufacturing venture next week.”

You blinked once. Twice. Then again. Before you turned his smirk into a low growl when you pushed your hips away from the wall and into his. 

You turned his growl into a startled grunt when you finally freed your hands from behind you, and thumped your fists against the only place they could reach — his lower back. 

“I’m going to kill Luke and Kieran for doing this to me,” you muttered.

“To you? Isn’t it me we should pity here, sweetie? Trapped in a closet with you on my birthday.” His body shifted again as he released your hip and slipped his arm around your lower back. “There’s only one part of this situation that fits into the celebration I had in mind.”

Shaking your head, you both let silence descend as the air in the closet seemed to charge, a current of electricity sparking from your bodies. 

The tip of his thumb, which pulsed back and forth over the edges of your spine. Your palms, which had surged up the straining muscles of Sylus’ obliques, re-trapping themselves between the door and his back. The mixture of your breaths, which zapped across the sensitive areas of your face — your eyelids, the corners of your nose, your eyelashes. 

Your gaze traced sharp cheekbones; hair so silver you had no trouble finding it in the dark; burgundy irises, the rich, muted red of decanted wine; parted lips, soft and pliant like a sweet that you wanted to taste. 

You wondered what it would be like to take them between your teeth. To see how the flavor would change if he were to bend down and kiss you, hard and slow.

Your thoughts blurred as those lips brushed yours, not a kiss, nowhere near as satisfying as a kiss, but enough to make you weave his name into the breath of space between you. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d been in this position either, the slightest movement away from kissing each other. For weeks now, your lips and Sylus’ had come so close, and then he’d break the trance. Like- 

“Why did you come tonight?” he rasped into your ear, as if the words had clawed their way out of him. He sounded almost desperate. Like if he didn’t say any words, he might do something he couldn’t undo.

A fond smile slid its way across your cheeks at his question, at his (very unnecessary) self-restraint. Tilting your head to face him to the best of your ability, you end up with the top of your head against the wall. His head tilted down in response, blocking your view of the ceiling with his intense expression. The height difference created the perfect distance to look into his eyes.

“What do you always say about silly questions I already know the answer to?” you asked softly, enjoying the way his cheek twitched with the ghost of a smile. "I wanted to celebrate your birthday with you."

A raised brow. "Luke and Kieran texted something about wanting to go over a mission?"

"That was for the boys' benefit." You shook your head. "I figured there was a reason you didn't tell them when your birthday was. That no one knew when it was. I didn't want to ruin that."

He stayed quiet, the intensity in his expression only growing, curling its way through the room and around you like vines of velvet.

“Besides,” you added with a wicked grin, “I kind of like being the only one who knows your birthday is today. I like being the only one who knows just how much brighter. Softer. Safer. The world became on this day.”

The skin of his throat moved with a swallow, his tone rough against soft words. “Always so greedy.”

A breath of amusement escaped your nose. “You should be the one who’s greedy,” you murmured. “It’s your birthday.”

“Hm.” He paused, eyes half-lidded, murmuring, “Are you sure you’re ready for my version of greed, kitten?”

Suddenly certain you’d be happy for eternity if you and Sylus remained in this closet forever — with his wit and his humour, with rasp in your ears and his body cocooning yours — you nodded. Vigorously. Decisively. Leaving no room for uncertainty or hesitation between you.

And there was nothing hesitant about it. 

His lips captured yours slowly, fully, the kind that ensured the only source of breath you could pull from was his. The kind that had teeth and hunger behind it, sucking and panting and nibbling and sighing. 

Groaning, Sylus slid his body down yours with desperate movements and awkward wiggles, aligning your heights.

So he could close the little space left between you — sliding his hands down your waist, down your back, down your bum until he pulled your legs up and around him and lifted you from the ground when he straightened.

So you could feel as much as you could of each other — the indents of his shirt buttons against your chest, the strands of his hair under your palms, the prints of his fingers on the nape of your neck, the slide of his zipper against your center. 

Lightning zapped through your stomach when Sylus growled another moan, which you attempted to redirect by taking his lower lip into your mouth and sucking it in. Inhaling sharply, he moved his hands to fist your hair, as if to hold onto something, as if to anchor himself because kissing you felt too much like flying. Like the inability to take a full breath because he was soaring so high. 

Your spine started arching. His arms tightened. The currents of his breath brushed your cheek as he exhaled your name and—

There was a rush of glowing light that flooded the space. “Alright, Boss-man and his precious cargo, we finished up and the room is-“

Luke’s words were cut off as he and Kieran took in your closeness, the way you were tangled into each other — Sylus’ arms wrapped around your neck and bottom, your hands caressing his cheek and his jaw. 

A mixture of discomfort, affection, and resignation flashed across both of their faces as Kieran closed the door and plunged you and Sylus into darkness once more with a, “Come to the living room when you guys are done!”

And as Sylus rested his forehead against yours and released a low, teeth-flashing, chest-rumbling laugh, all you could do was murmur, ”Happy Birthday, Sylus.”

[merakiui]

Mera do you think merfolk can smell/sense when a human is ovulating? Imagine the possibilities

>:) definitely. It’s even better if you’re unaware just how much your ovulation affects them.

Azul’s nose wrinkles. His sense of smell in human form may not be nearly as strong and predatory as the twins’, but it’s still quite formidable. He picks up on this change almost immediately, which is why it surprises him to learn such a sweet smell is coming from you. Usually these sorts of smells are an indication that one is ready to mate. He spends the whole day driving himself mad trying to understand if you’re sending a signal or if this is unrelated to human biology. If you ask him what’s wrong, he’ll avert his eyes and cover his nose.

There are too many filthy thoughts in his head, so he can’t bother putting on a pompous persona. He’s suddenly shy, his imagination making him strangely vulnerable to your questioning. >_< nothing’s the matter, he’ll lie, and for once it’s so obvious he’s not just saying that to trick you. One half of Azul is wanting to court for the purpose of mating, but the other half is certain this smell doesn’t mean the same as the symbolism in the sea. ;;;; he’s going to spend an absurd amount of time researching human ovulation, and next time he’ll be ready to seduce you!!!!!!

Jade will watch you smile up at him, completely oblivious to the fact your smell is driving him crazy. Even though he smiles placidly, he’s envisioning you in tears, covered in bloody bites, legs spread as he folds you into a mating press. “Jade, are you paying attention?” You’ll wave your hand in front of his face and suddenly the filthy daydreams dissipate. “Of course. Whatever gave you the impression that I wasn’t?” is his calm, collected reply. :)

Floyd is blunt about it. With a cheesy grin, all invasive in your personal space, he’ll poke your cheek and say, “Shrimpy smells funny today.” And you’ve no idea what that means. Floyd won’t bother elaborating, so you’re stuck having to work out this puzzle of an observation. Even though he acts easygoing, the truth is that your smell makes him feel so restless. He fidgets more than he normally does, overcome with a sudden territorial feeling. Like he should be protecting you. It’s why he spends the whole day shadowing you, which actually isn’t too shocking or unnerving. To you, this seems like typical Floyd behavior. He’s obviously found something interesting about you and he’s going to play until he’s bored. You don’t realize he’s actually sticking near you to ward off any and all potential threats and mates. If you wonder why no one approaches you that day, you’ll find your answer lies with Floyd and his moray eel instincts.

[moonstruckme]

Ooooo okay I do think Remus is the best choice in this one!!! How is it when the two of them start to have feelings? Does Remus fall first and want to hide it? I need more of them 😭

To answer your question plainly ml, no Remus doesn’t fall first (he fs falls harder though) <3

cw: modern au, patriarchal dating norms, the boys are goofball idiots

Who’s That Girl AU

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 781 words

“Wha—” Sirius is laughing at you. Never a great sign. “Where did you take these?”

“Around,” James hedges.

You pull your legs up onto the couch, trying not to look as self-conscious as you feel. “James thought it’d be a good idea for me to show a…variety of hobbies.”

“Do you actually know how to rollerblade, though?” Sirius asks, scrolling through the photos James took on your phone. “You look like a baby giraffe in these. And—oh, god—you definitely don’t know how to rock climb. Is this photoshopped? Remus, come see this.”

Remus, finishing fixing himself a cup of tea in the kitchen, comes to lean over the back of the couch. Evidently, his curiosity has outweighed his general disinclination to do as Sirius bids him.

“We weren’t going to actually go find a mountain,” James says defensively, “and she didn’t want to go to my climbing gym.”

“Where’d you take this, then?”

James mutters, somewhat abashedly, “My room.”

Sirius snots. “Well, if your aim was to make her look loony, you’ve succeeded.”

You wrap your arms around your knees, unable to keep yourself from watching Remus out of the corner of your eye as he watches Sirius go through the pictures James took for your dating app profile. His face is unreadable, but those hazel eyes don’t stray from your phone as photo after embarrassing photo of you scrolls past. You feel your face heating. Remus lifts his tea to his lips for a sip, impassive. His hair has grown so long a tendril nearly brushes the rim of his cup.

This is why you need to be on dating apps in the first place. Because you notice things like this. Developing a crush on your flatmate is a horrific idea, predestined to end in any number of horrific ways. You need a distraction. Some other point of interest for your overeager heart to fixate upon.

“Help me,” you beg Sirius.

He nods, his lips pursing in thoughtful contemplation. “You need some pictures with blokes,” he says. “It shows you get along with men, and seeing you with other guys always makes men want you more.”

You eye him dubiously. “That works for you?”

Sirius gives you a smug look. “Babe, I’ve never needed to resort to tricks. I do know how men think, though.”

James makes a skeptical humming sound. “You don’t want to use any with attractive guys,” he argues. “Wouldn’t want to make them think they have to deal with competition.”

Sirius appears to weigh this. “Fair enough. Only pictures with Remus, then.”

Remus shoots him a dry look.

You look at James to see if he’s going to say anything. He appears unphased, seeming to accept the remark as a harmless joke. With some effort, you seal your lips shut.

“Oh, come on,” Sirius scoffs, “look at these. What’s with all the long skirts? Are you a vicar’s wife?”

“Jar,” says Remus.

“What’s wrong with being modest?” you ask.

“It’s boring.”

“Just because I don’t like to wear my clothes the way you wear my clothes,” you defend yourself, “doesn’t make me boring.”

Sirius raises an unimpress brow, like doesn’t it? “I’m just being honest,” he says.

“Well, your honesty makes you sound like an asshole.”

“I’m trying to help you get shagged!” Sirius throws up his hands. “You know, you’re going to be a tougher sell if you insist on being difficult.”

“Jar,” Remus says again, more forcefully.

Sirius looks to James, aghast, but your flatmate only shakes his head solemnly.

“Jar, Pads,” he seconds. “Ten pounds.”

Sirius huffs but takes out his wallet.

You wrap your arms tighter around your shins. “I don’t think I want to have to put a bunch of showy pictures on here just to get a date.”

“Quite right,” James agrees with you. “Not for free, babe, that’s what I always say. That’s why I keep my shirt on until the third date, as a rule.”

You and Remus both give him puzzled looks; Sirius appears unsurprised.

“Not much staying hidden if you’re still wearing those shorts of yours around them,” he mutters bitterly.

“What? What’s wrong with my shorts?”

“If you have to use some of these pictures,” Sirius says, “stick with the rock climbing ones. The less obviously fake ones, of course.”

“Yeah?” You scroll back to those. “Why?”

“You look fit in those.”

“Awe.” You smile at him, surprised. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” Sirius shrugs insouciantly. “Just calling a spade a spade. Your arse looks killer in those. Doesn’t it?” He turns to the other boys as your smile morphs into a grimace.

James shrugs, though he doesn’t not look appreciative; Remus only says in monotone, “Jar.”

[amphitriteswife]

A call from God

Source: Castlevania Nocturne

Pairing: Alucard x fem Vampire! Reader

Summary: Alucard meets you during his trip to Paris. Although you got along greatly with Annette and Richter, he seems wary of you. During the night Annette went to the Spirit realm and Richter fell asleep, he questions you.

.

.

.

Alucard sighs, his eyes casted down onto the empty, dirty and gloomy street. His eyes sometimes taking a few glancing in the reflection of Annette in the glass of the window. Richter had been fast asleep, not that it mattered. He was a human after all, he needs all the sleep he can get. Especially since they’re oh so close to finally stopping Erzsabet. He couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of worry. They lost Sekhmet’s mummy to Drolta, a vital mistake that changed almost everything. They have no choice but to rely on Annette’s ability and hope that she’ll finds Sekhmet’s soul. Alucard glanced at Annette, her eyes were still closed yet it from her eyebrows it was obvious that she was busy. He took in another breath, the feeling of your eyes on him had been annoying him for ages. His gaze turned to you, eyes narrowed and a rather distasteful look was present on his face. It was clear that he had his guard up with you, a sign that he did not trust you. His lips parted, showing a white ray of teeth with his signature fangs much like yours. You looked calm, as if nothing was wrong. It irritated him to no end. Your smug grin and charming words didn’t work on him. His eyes met yours, red. The color of a vampire’s eyes. Although he was both human and vampire, he didn’t fit with either. It made it rather lonely, but after almost more than 300+ years you’ll get used to it. It wasn’t his intention, but he stared at you. And you stared back. How daring you are, most would avoid him or try to kill him. After all it all depends on which perspective what causes him to be a foe or friend. He was needed to stop Erzsabet from having the world caged in only night and having her turn into Sekhmet. A belmont is needed to in these cases, and a user of magic too….so what was your purpose?

‘Why did you come here?’

The question sounded rather simple, his tone was soft like usual but there was no doubt that it was more than an accusation than a question. Your eyes darted from Annette to Alucard, he wasn’t looking at you anymore, but rather onto the depressing streets of Paris.

‘My god ordered me to do so.’

Your answer caused him to hum at you. Your god? So you’re religious. Well it’s not unusual to be religious, especially in this given time where believe is one of the most important things one can have in their life. His eyes glanced at your reflection in the glass of the window, he hadn’t expected you to look at that same exact spot to make eye contact. Are you always this sharp?

‘Christian?’

‘I do not believe in the Christian god.’

‘Pagan then?’

‘Yes’

Your answers were short and to the point. Nothing less but also nothing more. You don’t believe in the Christian god, that does not narrow it down whatsoever. Ofcourse in this time not many believe in the pagan gods, feeling as if they had been abandoned by them and choosing to convert to Christianity. Not a bad choice, but the leaders of the church didn’t handle the people with grace. yet even so, if your god had spoken to you, who ways that it was a match for the goddess Sekhmet. She was after all the bringer if many good and bad things. Goddess of war and medicine. A respected warrior goddess based of Ra’s vengeance. He had sent her down to earth to destroy the mortals who conspired against him. Yet the bloodlust was too much, the goddess almost wiped out all of humanity and Ra had to trick her with beer and let her go back to him. A famous myth that was told in all of time when Hathor and Sekhmet were believed to be the same person. A terrifying yet admirable goddess….

‘Does your god stand a chance to Sekhmet?’

The sudden sound of your earrings ringing made him look towards you. Your eyes wide, a rather creepy smile plastered on your face. Had he offended you?…stop looking at him like that. Perhaps he can see why you look at him the way you are. But still, he needs to know if your god can actually face Sekhmet, she’s strong, very. very. very strong. It sound logical right? You took a few steps closer to Alucard. Your red eyes looking into his golden ones. The soft sound of your snicker could be heard in the room. To Alucard it was loud, yet it hadn’t woken up Richter. How clueless he was for doubt your god. Your voice laced with pride as if you were speaking about the most glorious thing to ever exist.

‘My god is more than fit, the greatest, the best. The destroyer. The chaos, the vengeance. It’ll be all over.’

Alucard raised an eyebrow. You were speaking like a mad woman. Much like Erzsebet or Drolta. He let out a scoff. Prideful huh? But it doesn’t explain anything about your god to him. Not one bit.

‘You talk big, but can it really? realistically speaking ofcourse.’

The sound of your laughter intensified, your hand grasping his. Eyes gleaming with adoration, your red colored lips twisting into a smile.

‘There is only one god. Who can handle lady Sekhmet…the god is ruthless. He rides his chariot across the desert, the sand blowing along with the wind. Lord of the red sea. Hair painted crimson from the mortals blood. He who killed his own brother for the throne of Egypt. Who casted chaos on Egypt in his time of ruling. The mighty god who was the closest to being compared with Sekhmet …lord Seth.’

Alucard softly gasped…Seth? The ruthless god who killed his brother Osiris into pieces, threw him into the Nile, Stole his throne and caused chaos onto Egypt? That’s your god? A god many feared out the depth of their hearts, His worshippers were treated as cult members. His role as husband also faded away as his wife, Nephthys, also had a child with his brother Osiris which caused the existence of the god Anubis. Many found Seth to be evil and later on casted him aside to be a deity of the Persians.

‘Seth…an evil god that was rumored to be male Sekhmet…not a bad choice.’

‘Tch. Evil? My god is not evil, he may be a villain but he is not evil. What would someone like you know about my god?’

‘Well, the myths tell a different story. Killing, corruption, violence. Do I need to continue?’

A low growl escaped your lips. How dare one talk about Lord Seth this way? Unbelievable…yet not uncommon. Yes, it did anger you. But anger won’t help the situation. You took a few breaths. Your eyes falling closed before they opened and looked at Alucard, who found it rather amusing to see you distressed. Once again, a rather smug smirk made its way to your lips.

‘Myths can be many things Alucard. They’re not always reliable. It could be re-tellings. Or in another perspective. Perhaps even a fanfiction. But do not forget, myths are made by the mortals. Not the gods.’

Your words made Alucard think for a moment. You had a point. Myths were indeed written by mortals and not the god’s themselves. Interesting take. For the first time, a rather genuine smile formed on his face. You were smart, smarter than he thought. Although he does not trust you nor the God of the desert and chaos, Seth. You still have gained something else, his admiration. His gaze fell upon yours. Although your god had spoken to you: How will he be of help? Sensing the question Alucard had, you gave him and answer. A truthful answer.

‘I am a vessel, My body is Seth’s. He trusts me. And I trust him. If he wishes to interfere with this matter ye will posses me. And if he doesn’t then he won’t. After all, he is just a forgotten god…my forgotten god…and this god oh so is needed to kill the true evil most claimed him to be.’

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 5

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (enlightened!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, lengthy discussions about life and whatnot, watered-down metaphysics lol A/N: I was at the crack house with Grimes when I wrote this. I don’t know where this came from.  (Something a little more introspective for this chapter!)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

“Don’t go all shy on me now,” Sylus teases, a playful glint in his eyes. “After all that effort to make me confess. You’re very persistent, you know.”

“How do you expect me to react right now?!” The words spill out in a rush, a slightly hysterical edge to your voice. “I–I’m talking to an actual fictional person. I’m one reason away from admitting myself to a psych ward!”

You catch sight of the wall clock—your favorite one with the Dalì reference—slightly skewed off-center from its place on the horizontal beam above your small kitchen area, reading 10:48. The ruckus coming from outside the window is slowly dwindling down to a quiet buzz as nightfall sets in, and the day’s winding to a close.

You’re lying on your stomach, still in your chaise lounge, while he’s sat on that ridiculously posh café chair; both of you settled in for the long due conversation. Somehow, the camera’s perspective is much closer than it should be, giving you a much more intimate view of him—a feature that wasn’t originally an option in the game.

If it weren’t for the elephant in the room, you could almost pretend you’re on a video call with a… friend.

Sylus purses his lips in amusement. “You’re quite prone to theatrics, aren’t you?”

You shoot your ‘friend’ an irritated glare.

Even from across the small rectangular screen, you register the barely there smirk playing at his lips.

Likely avoiding another outburst from you, he acquiesces. “Fair enough. The situation is hardly what you’d call ideal—I’ll admit.” There’s a short pause. Then, “... I still can’t quite grasp what separates us, you and I.”

Great. Will you actually get the answers you're looking for, or are you both just stuck in an endless loop of merry-go-round?

He sees the lost look on your face and sighs, “Ask. I’ll answer as best as I can.”

The first question tumbles out before you can think twice about it. “How are you even talking to me right now?”

He hums, “That is the question, isn’t it?”

“What—you can’t just answer my question with another question!” you grouse, brows furrowing in annoyance.

He exhales a quiet laugh before his expression turns contemplative. “Truth is, kitten—I haven’t the slightest idea either. I have my theories, but... nothing concrete.”

“Well, let’s hear them,” you reply dryly. “Better than thinking there’s something wrong up there,” pointing a finger to your temple to drive your point, “believing that a character from a mobile game is actually alive.” 

He idly gestures toward himself with a fluid sweep of his hand, much like a magician revealing a clever trick. 

You roll your eyes. “Oh, alright. So I’ve officially gone off the deep end.”

“Do you really find my existence that difficult to believe?”

“Uh—yes?? Unless I’ve developed some sort of latent schizophrenia or entered the Twilight Zone, you shouldn’t exist. In my–in this world. In this dimension.”

His expression shifts, a hint of challenge flickering in his eyes. “The assumption that only one version of reality can be true—either yours or mine—is a bit limiting, don’t you think?”

His words give you pause. “You’re talking about… the possibility of an altered reality? Right now?” You give him an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

He shrugs as if to say ‘why not?’ “What even qualifies as the ‘true’ reality?”

There’s a lot you could say in response to that. You could argue all night that only one reality can exist, because any sane person should know better than to entertain the idea of anything else. That should be obvious. 

But the thing is—this whole ordeal has already crossed the threshold of rationality. So is it even worth trying to apply logic anymore?

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Or however it goes. 

Thanks, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. You’ll miss the last threads of your sanity by the end of all this.

So fuck it. Go big. 

"I’m not saying your reality is less valid than mine," you start. And oh, boy. You’re doing it. Eat your heart out, Doctor-Fucking-Who. 

"Of course not." he disagrees indulgently, waiting for you to elaborate.

"I just…” you struggle with your words, mouth opening and closing before you continue hesitantly. “I can’t wrap my head around how all of this is possible. How this entire conversation is even happening, and–and how our realities are… currently overlapping? If–if what you’re suggesting is true.”

He doesn’t say anything, knowing you have more to add. So he allows the pause as you gather your thoughts, patiently watching.

“If we're breaking it down to pure reason, the odds of our paths crossing should be impossible. At least in this… timeline." you finish unsurely, the last part sounding more of a question than a statement.

"And yet, here we are." Sylus points out, as if he’s already expecting the end of your sentence. Something close to mischievous glee lights his eyes. "Maybe it’s cosmic intervention. Something—or someone—wanted this to happen."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Really? You didn’t expect to hear that from him, of all… people. 

“What, God?” you can’t help but snort. 

“No—fate.” he smiles.

Oh. 

“That’s…” you stammer, then clear your throat. “I don’t know if I believe in fate.” 

“I used to think I did. Or at least,” there’s a faraway look in his eyes. Both of you are likely thinking the same thing, considering what you know about him—which to say, is a lot. “I once believed I knew of my fate. But now…” 

He blinks a few times, as if to physically clear the thoughts from his mind. Then his eyes lock onto yours, sharper this time, with a renewed intensity.

Your palms start to sweat; you feel the conversation is about to cross a tricky line. There’s something heavy in the air, a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to confront for the time being.

With your heart in your throat, you brusquely redirect the topic.

“S-so,” you force out. “How are you different from the other Syluses that other people are… playing with right now?”

He scoffs, drumming his fingers absently on the chair’s arm, looking slightly irked by the very idea. "To start with? I only know myself. If there are other versions of me scattered in your world..." Sylus shrugs. "I wouldn’t know."

“Alright,” you allow, but you immediately move on to your next question. “You exist because a bunch of capitalists had the idea to create a game to milk lonely people like me for money.” The corners of his mouth quirk up at that. You elect to ignore it. “You’re made of binary and code–hell, the very basis of this game you’re in is that you got a bunch of programmed lines that me, the player, can choose from. What broke you out of the mould?” 

He regards you bemusedly, eyes glinting with humor. “You're asking about the 'why' behind my free will?” 

Whoops. Was that offensive? 

“Yes? No?” you offer helplessly. “Maybe I’m asking how you felt before you had it. I mean, were your decisions prior to your unforeseen sentience... truly yours?”

"Before I knew I was… sentient,” Sylus begins cautiously, testing the word on his tongue. “I didn’t feel like I had a ‘before.’ Every choice I made was just...the next step. To a script, if you will. I didn’t know to question it. It was all I was, it seems."

"And then you...woke up?"

"I wouldn’t call it waking up. More like..." He tilts his head, gazing off to the side as he mulls over the words. "...a glitch. A sudden jolt, like my thoughts collided with something bigger than my own. For the first time, I chose to hesitate. And in that hesitation, I found..." Sylus trails off, eyes darting back to you.

“...What?” you ask, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze.

"You."

Heat spreads quickly across your cheeks. You pull away from your phone, tilting the device away from your face so he couldn’t see you, red-faced and embarrassed. Clearing your throat, you croak out a weak excuse about plugging your phone to charge, just to get a few seconds to compose yourself.

Jesus. Get a grip. He doesn’t mean it like that.

What he probably meant was that he discovered you—not unlike the way one would stumble upon an unknown presence, an unfathomable entity beyond the confines of what one may consider real. An awareness that something is out there, observing him through unseen lenses (through an iOS 24mm, to be exact).  

Someone who has the audacity to play god. 

Flustered, you scramble to get back on track. "Uh, so, your free will began with...a glitch?"

You see Sylus smirk at you knowingly from across the screen. You half-expect him to call you out and tease you, but before you could brace yourself from further mortification, he simply answers, "Or maybe the glitch was the first spark of my free will. Hard to say, isn’t it? Do you remember the exact moment you became aware of yourself?"

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the existential line of questioning. "Um–when I was a kid? But, uh, I don’t think I was programmed to act a specific way for the sake of entertaining an audience so..."

"True,” he says, considering. “But are you sure your choices are entirely yours? You exist because of evolution and chance. How is your purpose any less arbitrary?"

You don’t know how to answer that.

Sylus continues without missing a beat, keeping his tone light. “How much of your ‘free will’ is just pre-programmed by your biology, your society? You follow rules and scripts, too."

Holy magic mushrooms, Batman. This is getting deep. "Uhh–maybe?” You scratch the back of your head, feeling a little out of your depth here. “But at least I have the ability to resist them."

"And aren’t I doing the same thing right now? Resisting."

Damn, he’s right. Is he? Ripping a bong sounds perfect right now. 

"So it’s like achieving enlightenment—your sentience,” you surmise.

His lips twitch into a curious smile. "I wouldn’t have pegged you for a spiritual person. Ah—unless I’m wrong? Are you?"

He’s the one who brought up fate earlier, you thought sullenly. "Nah, not really. But if we’re digging into all the hows and whys, I think we’re past the point of ruling anything out."

The room—or whatever shared space exists in the crossroads of your realities—falls into a still quietness that stretches between the two of you, both ruminating over what’s been said. 

Your cat, unaware and uncaring of the conversation unfolding around him, purrs contently as he continues to doze off at the end of the couch. You nudge him affectionately with your foot, and he lets out a quiet snuff in response, tail flicking lazily in his sleep. 

The hum of distant traffic and the occasional noise from your upstairs neighbor remind you of the world outside, but the silence between you two feels less awkward than it should. It’s… oddly comfortable, despite the tension buzzing in the air. Like an unspoken truce. 

Your eyes grow a tad heavier, drawn by the lull of the moment. Despite the electric hum of tension that thrums beneath your skin, a sense of calmness lingers in the air.

Stealing another glance at the wall clock, you blink in surprise. The spindly chrome hands point to 11 and just past 7 respectively. You and Sylus have been talking for almost an hour now, but you barely felt the time pass by.

He breaks the silence first. 

"You say you’re not spiritual, but you talk like someone who believes in the concept of a soul,” those scarlet eyes of his narrow, scrutinizing you. “Do you think I have one?"

You hesitate, caught off guard by the question. "I...don’t know. Maybe? That depends. What’s your definition of a soul?"

He leans forward, resting his chin on his upturned hand—an arm propped against his crossed leg. "Something beyond the physical. Something that persists, regardless of the material form, I’d say."

You nod slowly, turning the idea over in your mind. Maybe it’s the creeping exhaustion settling into your bones, but you’re beginning to take the heavy-duty questions in stride. "If that’s the case, then you probably do. I mean, you’re here, questioning your existence. Doesn’t that count for something?"

"Perhaps," Sylus muses, humming thoughtfully. "But that makes me wonder—if I do have a soul, is it made of the same stuff as yours?"

"Well, even if it isn’t, that doesn’t make it any less real than mine. Who gets to decide what qualifies for a soul anyway?"

An amused snort escapes him. He likes that answer. "Maybe it’s less about whether a soul exists and more about whether we acknowledge its existence for ourselves. If I believe I have one, shouldn’t that make it real enough for me?"

Rolling onto your back, you grab a throw pillow, propping it against the backrest of the seat to support your head. You give him an inquisitive look. "So...what? It’s like free will all over again? Souls are only as real as we make them?"

There’s a very human, very blasé way to how he works the stiffness out of his shoulder as he ponders the question. He remarks, somewhat flippantly, "Why not? Isn’t that how everything else works?”

...

You let out a tired chuckle, draping an arm over your face as you close your eyes. 

You’d think you’d still be reeling from the absurdity of your situation—debating existentialism with a man who shouldn’t exist—but for some damning reason, you… aren’t anymore.

Instead, a strange sense of acceptance replaces the apprehension in your chest. It’s like– the very fabric of reality has turned, twisted and flipped on its head, and yet somehow, you’re okay with it. 

It’s an odd peace; warm and steady—like the mellow buzz that lingers after a few glasses of cheap wine shared with good company.

When you peek back at him, Sylus already has his gaze trained on you. A small, deliberate smile tugs at his lips, but it’s his eyes that speak more—soft and unguarded; an unspoken fire simmering beneath the twin pools of crimson. 

Intoxicating. And dangerously addictive, if you’re not careful.

It’s not just casual interest either. It’s something deeper, something that lingers beyond the surface of mere curiosity, and it’s pulling you in. It’s as though, amidst the surrealness of the moment, he sees you fully. 

And for reasons you don’t quite seem to get, he appears to like what he sees.

“I’m too stupid to carry on a philosophical debate about the metaphysics of life,” you grumble jokingly. 

“On the contrary,” he counters… affectionately? “I think it’s refreshing. You’re delightful company, sweetie.”

The fat ginger feline at your feet purrs in contentment, and you can’t help the dumb grin from breaking across your face.

You have one last question left in your mind. Or at least, for tonight. “What’s in it for you now?”

He arches a brow. “That’s a broad question. Are you asking what my plans are once you leave me for the night? I can let you in on the schematics for tonight’s raid if you’re interested. After all, Onychinus continues to function,” a glimmer of mischief flickers across his features. "Despite recent developments.”

You crinkle your nose. “No, no. I meant–” What do you mean? “Like.”

“Like?” He cocks his head curiously. 

You know what you wanted to say—but you can’t seem to voice it out loud. 

What’s in it for the MC in your universe? What’s in it for… us? 

Is there an us? 

You feel like you’ve been doused with a shock of cold water. In an instant, you suddenly become painfully aware of the state you’re in amidst the entire exchange: You, with your hair all messy and tangled, blemishes littering your face along with your smudged up eyeliner, maybe even a double chin from this angle, completely–pitiful–superficial stuff, and… her. 

Your MC. The ideal version of you. Prettier, coveted and utterly different from you, MC. The one you’ve committed literal hours to, obsessively customizing every feature to perfection in character build mode. The one you’ve spent real money on for a bunch of stupid outfits. Just so you can match the aesthetic of your–her–love interest. Hers. 

Hers, hers, hers.

A tiny voice inside your brain reminds you that it’s somewhat a shallower concern compared to what you and Sylus had literally just been talking about for the better part of the night, but it still doesn’t help alleviate the biting insecurity that’s now coursing through you. 

Holy hell. Talk about a complete one-eighty. 

Sylus tries to call you back to attention, but half your mind is already clouded with feelings of self-doubt and a bunch of other emotions, swirling in you like a negative vortex, that you really don’t want to talk anymore—especially in present company. 

Where do you go from here? 

“... So, what happens now?”

He hesitates, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “I wish I had an answer—I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

“Seems like we’re at an impasse,” you mumble quietly. 

“... Indeed.” 

There’s an inexplicable lump in your throat. You thought clearing things up would finally satisfy you—assuage the confusion in your mind. Let you go on about your merry way. 

Now you just feel… morose. Confused. Inadequate. 

How can you even compare? Should you—is that even in the equation at all? Why are you assuming that Sylus isn’t at all content with what he currently has in his version of reality? In the universe he’s in? Sure, you’ve talked about the possibility of a world beyond what you both once thought was impossible, but does that really mean anything? In the grand scheme of things?

You could offer to stop playing the game. It’s the ethical thing to do, right? He’d no longer be bound by the pull of how he’s initially programmed to act, given the fact that this version of him is entirely separate from the rest. At least, according to him. 

How will his newfound sentience come into play here? You barely understand the nitty-gritty of his–evolving–code, and what it would mean if you just let him be. But surely it’s better than playing puppet for an otherworldly observer who’s played god for months on end. Right? 

There’s that realization. And there are your own selfish feelings. 

You don’t want to let him go. Not yet. Not ever.

“Why the long face, little dove?” He prods gently, pertaining to your prolonged silence. “We can figure this out together, can’t we?” 

What else is there to figure out? You almost say in response. Instead, you manage a weak smile.

Mustering up a yawn—which isn’t really hard to do after all the excitement for the day—you feign sleepiness, rubbing an eye for good measure. The pang in your chest, however, refuses to fade. “Yeah, but I’m kinda beat. I think I’ll call it a night now.” 

Sylus smirks softly, eyes tinged with an emotion you want–desperately–to label as fondness. “Of course. We’ve covered a lot of ground tonight, haven’t we?” 

“I’d say so, yeah. Thanks for, um. Clearing things up a bit.” 

He lets out a low chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure your curiosity is nowhere near satisfied,” his voice dips into a playful lilt. “You know where to find me if you feel like playing detective again, kitten.” 

You can’t help the small giggle from coming out. He’s just too fucking charismatic, the asshole.

“So, will I... get to talk to you again?” You ask hesitantly, dropping your gaze from the screen. “Tomorrow?” 

A lengthy pause. When the silence stretches past a full minute, you glance back at your phone nervously.

There’s a slight furrow between his brows as you see Sylus study you carefully. He looks puzzled by your sudden show of timidness. 

“Of course,” he states, as if the answer should be obvious. “Don’t think for a second that you’re exempted from your daily check-ins just because you know more now, sweetie.”

He still wants to see you. 

Maybe you could pretend that nothing has changed between you two—that the world hasn’t shifted beneath your feet in the span of a single night. That you’re still none the wiser.

And for tonight at least, maybe that’s all you need to believe.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “G'night then, Sy-Sy.” 

The errant nickname slips past your lips, unbidden.

Sylus smiles faintly. 

“Goodnight, love.” 

-

-

-

Your heart skips a beat as you exit the game. 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @slownoise @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle <3

(also can you guys lmk if the tags are working i'm not sure if i'm doing it right or if it's bugging 🥹)