#when citizens under attack...

[dancingindreamlight]

Yay we're becoming a prison country like russia 🤬

[thalwri]

NOBLE ARRANGEMENT

synopsis: with a marriage you didn't want and a terrible first impression, you weren't too sure your life with sylus would be peaceful. but what if there was a little nerve loosening component that could help?

warnings: porn with plot, smut, arranged marriage, use of aphrodisiacs, inappropriate use of evol (if you squint), mutual masturbation, oral sex over and lowkey under a table (m! and f! receiving), biting, floor sex, creampie, petnames

wc: 11,6k

a/n: I was rewatching dune prophecy (for the third time) and I felt a little creative. hope you enjoy!

you were a lady. 

or so you were raised to be. having been brought up in the high society of the city of linkon, you knew your social purpose amongst others and you also knew you had to make a place for yourself beyond being a delectable, innocent, and poised young woman brandished for the wealthy to negotiate through joining families. you had to be a hunter; an unapproachable entity that was most desired yet most difficult to obtain.

behave appropriately, act well amongst your peers, and also know how to defend yourself against the crude wanderers that lurked within the shadows. it had been made law that every citizen was forbidden from traveling around in the dark of night due to the unsafe nature of the environment. but you were never truly one to follow the rules among others.

that is, until you found yourself fighting for your life against the very creatures the law was created for you to avoid.

your given abilities were useful for you to defend yourself but they were more impactful when partnered with another– a privilege you currently did not have. your attire, bedazzled in jewels and badges representing your awards for the late soiree you had just left, was torn and stained with your own blood and the dirt of the ground. 

you had considered that night to be your final celebration of your freedom. though you didn’t really anticipate being attacked by wanderers to be on the palate for your night. your blunting blade in hand trembled as your arms suffered from tremors of stress, pain and exhaustion. 

your breathing was ragged and your body ached. had you worn your riding attire, perhaps the battle would have fared more in your favour. you had effectively destroyed more than seven lurking wanderers, the following were stronger and larger than the last. morale was reaching a low, and your energy was not enough to sustain yet another battle without you collapsing.

though if your corpse was to be found, you would wish it was in good condition and not ruffled, so you straightened your form and held your blade as stiffly as you could force your body to. you would not lose your life piously or aimlessly. you were raised to hold a blade like a warrior adorned with her femininity, and you would die as such. after all, a death by the blade would always be better than a marriage to a man orchestrated by your stepfather. 

a foreign man, you had heard from his private meetings. a foreigner with a questionable background, having travelled multiple worlds and fought endless battles. the more he conquered, the higher the bounty on his head. the imperial council, from what the gossipers have whispered across the entirety of linkon, has done little to none to control the “beast” or the “relentless conquerer”. though from what you’ve heard their lenience was also due to him allegedly being of noble rank. he ran amok, with his blood red eyes, and hair as white as a ghost’s chilling grasp.

his iron fist ran a vast network of crows, all known in union as onychinus. like a marbled table spreading its onyx darkness across the known universe, onychinus stretched its arms into every known and potentially unknown world marking its territory and ensuring its name was remembered. ensuring the name sylus was unforgotten.

the same sylus you were doomed to marry. 

you didn’t know which god to pray to for your last battle, not that you were religious to begin with. but it was customary for anyone who held their last blade to send a prayer if they believed they near taking their final breath. so you briefly muttered your gratitudes, your repentances, and your pleas to them all hoping at least one would listen.

the heavy thumps of the wanderer drew painfully near. you solemnly opened your eyes, readjusting your grip and preparing your body to strike. your lips move rapidly as you repeat your words in a broken mantra.

“the blade pierces fear, the blade pierces fear.”

the caws of a crow disrupted your mental flow, distracting you momentarily. in an instant, a gust of darkness rushed past you with a shadow of darkness tinted with red following. the wanderer was blown back by the blunt impact of the shadow, then again. and again. until its arm was separated from its body, then one of its legs, making it topple over. 

a flash of darkness rushed past you, assaulting the wanderer in crude blows, a double light trail of red following its movements and soft, white tufts flowing with the wind as the scent of spice flowed into your nostrils. perhaps an energy-based evol? with red eyes and what seemed like white hair– it couldn’t be. no way in hell could it be.

you quickly stumbled back, hearing the crow’s noise grow louder until a loud crackle of energy and a heavy screech silenced the night. the wanderer was obliterated. literally blown into energetic dust as if erased from existence– or rather transformed and reduced to the crystal core before you.

you remembered your father– your biological father– teaching you about protocores, but you had never seen one until now. you reached for it with a shaky, bloody hand, tempted to feel that peculiar thing you’ve always wondered about but a large hand beat you to it, crushing the core to dust with the same energetic shadow. 

“best not touch what you don’t understand,” the deep voice sent chills down your spine. you blinked, whipping your head towards the source only to find a gust of falling black feathers in the air. you caught one before the rest blew far from your reach, carefully storing it on your person. a small souvenir wouldn’t hurt especially after the one you wanted was destroyed.

“what i don’t understand?” you scoffed. “says the douche bag that broke the protocore and disappeared!” 

you felt like the air got kicked out of your lungs. you deeply exhaled and leaned against the wall of a modiste. it must have been an hour since you left that soiree. your best option would be to sneak into the manor to avoid getting a telling to from your stepfather. but if he did perhaps your mother wouldn’t have to deal with him, especially in her current state.

you pushed yourself to your feet and began to walk back where you came from. you had intended to take a small walk before you returned to your estate on horseback. if you had taken the motorcycle, someone would have noticed. it wasn’t your first time sneaking out after the curfew. 

there was a quick route through the crowd of stumbling drunks that also completed their night of drinking and possible fornication, not considering the risk of being both drunk and open to the sharp claws of the nearby wanderers. it was almost like those creatures were attracted to foolishness– though to be fair, you were recently attacked.

you eventually found your horse impatiently waiting for you with a very timid and very pissed off valet. 

“i work with keeping cars safe, my lady,” he hissed, roughly handing the reins to you. “cars. not rude horses!”

“perhaps you should have been nicer,” you muttered, fumbling through the holographic screen of your watch. a high pitched ring sounded and echoed onto his wrist. “payment for your hard work, good sir.”

the valet’s mood quickly rose as he fully digested the price paid for his ‘service fee’. he grinned and quickly bowed to you continuously, thanking you for your generosity and asking for you to return with your horse again.

you smiled to yourself as you settled on the saddle, and patted your horse to start moving. the valet was still singing praises to you as the distance between the two of you grew increasingly larger. 

“like i’d ever let him touch you again, my sweet.” you crooned, stroking the mane of your horse. you checked the time and hissed in worry. it was the middle of the night and your stepfather would soon be waking up to plot and ponder in his study like he always did. 

“hyah!” your horse’s calming trot gradually transitioned into a sprint, carrying you through the late night towards your family home. you’d be there in minutes if you maintained your speed. throughout your travels you couldn’t shake off a weird feeling from your shoulders. as far from the central city as you were, you still felt like you were being watched.

one of the few interesting concepts of these ‘arranged’ marriages was that neither of partners in the wedded couple were allowed to see each other until the day of the wedding. and even those weren’t subtle. 

huge celebrations would be held to celebrate unions and from the rumours you’ve heard along with what you’ve seen, the bride and groom would have already met one another at least a month prior at some party or another event where it would be difficult to track who comes in and when.

your case was slightly more discouraging, considering you only knew of the tales laced with potential deceit and fear regarding your husband-to-be. no secret rendezvous, no hidden in plain sight meetups like all the others blabbered on about. you were going to experience the real deal of having your hand and choice in who you marry signed off by a man who wasn’t even your biological father.

and that fury was why you threw a glass of juice at him during your adornment fittings. your wedding dress was far from simple. it was adorned with precious jewels around the neckline and embroidered on your back in the shape of your family’s crest. it was more than transparent that your wedding was considered big if your stepfather was going through the expenses of ensuring your dress was extravagant, inviting multiple politically influential figures, and trying to trap you within the estate until this very day.

it was to ‘maintain your purity’, according to him. though, that was no longer a claim you owned. not since your twentieth birthday. and that was five years ago.

and that doesn’t include the other outrageous comments and demands he made. one of them– and definitely not limited to that– involved him wanting you to give him grandchildren. grandchildren. as if he would have the privilege to ever see them!

he could fuck off and get his grandchildren from the bastard kids he’d abandoned for all you cared.

“you insolent wretch–“ the old man’s hands balled into fists as he slowly rose to his feet. the maids standing on either side of the dining room shifted to the sides of the door to give you passage to run in case he got violent.

“oh, are you going to banish me?” you bitterly chuckled, not minding his impeding anger radiating towards you. you cut through your croissant and relished in every bite as if it were the most important thing in the world. “do remember my mother and i are both more than capable of handling ourselves without you.”

you absentmindedly listened to him draw a deep, heavy breath before sighing and returning to his seat. “your mother is ill.”

the fork and knife in your hands dropped onto the plate, clattering around the room’s silence like the resonating waves of a bullet firing into an empty field. your gaze slowly flickered to him. 

“and you aren’t getting any younger.” he scoffed, looking you up and down as if you weren’t known as one of the most beautiful women in high society. “you must serve your purpose to this family–“

“i believe you meant serve your personal interests.” you cut, with venom laced in your voice. 

“he means in the interest of this family and you.” a frail voice pulled you out of your angered state and dragged into momentary shock.

your mother, frail and thin, stood at the entrance to your dressing room leaning over on her walking stick. the maid beside her stood like a cowering puppy that had been swatted away. even in her state of weakness, your mother still stood strong– one of the many qualities you inherited from her. her perseverance. 

“mother,” you began, slowly rolling your next words over your tongue. “there has to be another way. we are influential and financially affluent enough to handle ourselves–“

“not enough to handle the imperial court.” your mother sighed as she slowly reached you. she raised her eyes to up to you, your form elevated by the pedestal and illuminated by the lights above you. in her eyes it seemed as though she had birthed an angel. 

“so beautiful, dear child,” she smiled softly, running her hand up the waistline of your dress until her cold slender fingers held your cheek. “your father would have loved to see you in this. he used to fantasise about walking you down the aisle.”

“he’s not here anymore,” you whispered with cracks of grief slipping through your hardened tone. or was it hatred? hatred for the fact that he left you so young, or that his best friend married your mother almost weeks after? “and he doesn’t deserve to get that chance.” without looking, she knew who you meant.

your mother’s lips quivered into a straight line. she stepped back as her hand cold on your face fell to her side. “best you get your makeup done. you have the audience of the imperial court, the people of linkon, onychinus and that n109 zone. you must represent us well.”

to hear that struck you like an iron bullet. almost as painful as it would have been had you been killed last night. you were starting to wonder if you should have laid your blade to the ground. if being consumed and destroyed by a wanderer was better than giving up your hand to an intergalactic criminal.

“you will not walk by my arm.” you hissed to your stepfather. “i’d rather dig up my father’s corpse than let you get that chance.” you hiked up your gown and stormed off into the adjacent room where the stylists had prepared the makeup for you.

the rest of the process was quiet. the stylists whispered their condolences to you, mentioning tips to help you survive should your life be threatened, some others suggesting your husband-to-be may not be as cruel as rumour says. 

your fears were etched into your face so much so that not even the prospect of being away from your family could console it. 

the stylists had dispersed for your family priestess to bless your body. the back of your wedding gown was deliberately left open for your family crest to be inscribed onto your skin temporarily. it was an olden tradition that dated back to the ages where evols had not become more common amongst humans and the sole equivalent was sorcery. 

some of the wealthier families stemmed from old sorcerers and practitioners of ancestral magic, protecting themselves through their family crests and watchwords. talismans, charms, sigils, spells, runes, the titles would vary amongst cultures but their meaning remained the same. 

protection. strength. power. a call to war. they would be granted regardless of the method.

the needle was hot on your flesh and the scent of your skin burning made of your body twitch in discomfort. the priestess, adorned in her traditional garb designed to cover her entire body, tutted at you.

“remain still.” she dragged the hot needle down your spine, finalising the process of your marking. “it will fade in a few hours. but the magic stay intact for as long as you allow it.”

you slowly stretched, feeling the stiffening pain growing on you. you swallowed the reel of profanities threatening to roll of your tongue as you turned to the priestess who was packing away her supplies.

“you were trained to fight wanderers, and honour our family like your predecessors. my predecessors.” you rushed to her and tightly held her hands. your options were slipping out of your hand like sand, making you more desperate than before. “cousin, i know of the faction that trained you– that hunters association. and you know i’m more than capable to be within your rank. take me with you.”

you could almost hear her smiling in pity. she pulled her hands away and slowly stepped back. “my destiny is tied to my position. yours is much different and much more broad.” as she turned her back to you, she placed a small coin on the dressing table. “you will do far better once you marry the dragon concealed as a crow. best of luck, little cousin.”

and alone you remained to float within your thoughts. your destiny was broader than hers? the only thing you could envision was the potential torture you’d go through once the ties were sealed. there was not much left for you to do.

the burning sting of the crest carved onto your back had run cold, a searing tingle burst through your back like gentle sparks indicating the talisman was now active. and always would be.

the bells snapped you out of your daze, ringing away the last of your freedom– or perhaps the last of your captivity. your mother and stepfather walked you to event hall of your mansion, where everyone awaited you. your mother gently kissed your forehead, whispering you luck and reminding you to maintain composure.

the large double doors swung open and melodic music silenced the crowd before you. row by row, they all rose to their feet acknowledging you more than your family behind you. perhaps it was the dress, or that you possibly held the expression of wanting to run. the last person to turn around met your gaze with his crimson eyes.

sylus.

the very sylus, leader of onychinus, fearsome conqueror of planets, was dressed in a fitted white suit stricken with embroidered red crows. a small brooch was pinned on his blazer, the ruby in the centre sparkled under the light. his eyes scanned you briefly before he adjusted his stance, silently reminding you to walk. 

you deeply inhaled and stepped forward, deliberately moving as slowly as you could to scan each present guest in the hall. dignitaries from neighbouring planets, a large group of guests dressed in red and black including some wearing masks, distant family members and friends amongst the people of linkon, and most surprisingly four counsellors of the imperial court. you had expected less.

whispers broke out behind you as the insignia etched onto your back was clearly visible. you slowly realised that it wasn’t just a protection charm for you. you carried the burning torch telling your family’s enemies to remain in their place, that you were no longer weaker than them. you decided to assign it as a call to war against your own parents– cursing them for sending you off like this.

that would explain the secret meetings over the last few months. your marriage was a deal to grant your family protection. and judging by the satisfied look on one of the imperial counsellor’s face, they also had a chip in the transaction. control? access to weapons and intel? 

but there was nothing that caught your attention more than the man standing patiently before you. for someone so menacing, he looked divine. god-sculpted face and damningly soft lips. his white hair looked as soft as a kitten’s fur. he was so tall and muscular. so beautiful too. you almost released your tension just from the sight of him. 

he reached his hand out to help you step onto the pedestal to join him and the officiator. as you stood next to him, while feeling underwhelmingly short despite wearing heels, you caught a whiff of his scent. it was a bit too familiar, almost like burnt herbs and spices.

the officiator droned on about the beauties and responsibilities that came with marriage and how the union would connect our societies more than ever. you watched him glance to your left around the same area where your parents and the imperial counsellors sat. so he was in on the stunt too. maybe not a direct beneficiary, but all rivers end up in the ocean one way or another.

“you’re observant,” the rumbles of his voice sent shivers down your spine. another thing about him that was all too familiar. “good.”

you did not respond to his comment. a young girl skipped towards the two of you, cautiously holding a white cushion holding two rings; both encrusted with rubies and diamonds but one had a larger gem in the centre. 

sylus picked the ring with the larger diamond and turned to you. he recited his vows to you, swearing his loyalty and endless care for you, among the many traditional vows a husband would make to his wife. his crimson eyes held firm on yours with a serious stare, meaning every single world– though that was the first time you met.

“you look rather calm to be marrying the douchebag that broke your protocore,” he muttered as his fingers caressed your hand before slipping the encrusted ring on you. the realisation slowly dawned upon you like the rising sun shining directly in your face. “don’t gawk, you’ll make a spectacle.”

you quickly relaxed and took his ring from the bearer to exchange the gesture. “so it was you last night.” 

his hand was large and yet well cared for and almost scarless despite his endless battles. you recited your vows, similar to his and returned his gesture, though you couldn’t guarantee that you wouldn’t try to kill him in his sleep. if he did sleep. you slipping the ring onto his finger with more cruelty than intended, inducing a pained smirk from his lips.

“definitely a douchebag.”

the officiator, after another round of praises and ramblings of loyalty and union, asked if anyone opposed the union. you had hoped someone, anyone would say something. but the silence was clear and loud. you raised your head high, concealing the slither of disappointment– no, fury brewing within you.

“then through the powers bestowed upon me, i pronounce thee husband and wife. you may seal the union.”

you could feel your heart sink. you had to kiss him. kiss a renown intergalactic criminal, kiss those soft lips, kiss yourself into a marriage you likely wouldn’t leave by choice. those soft pink lips–

he was smirking at you. smirking! as if he read your mind– can he?

his hands, warm and gentle, cupped your cheeks as he leaned towards you.

“may i?” your words were held in your throat from the shock, making you to nod. 

he closed the gap between you and the world temporarily fell silent. his lips were really soft. like, plump and so cushiony. he was gentle with the kiss, almost like you were his lifelong lover whom he relished, and kept it brief but long enough to illicit excited giggles from the young girls within the crowd. as you leaned away, your audience burst into a round of applause, standing to congratulate the sealing of your marriage. the finalisation of a deal made behind the curtains.

it didn’t feel like sparks bursting, not that you expected it to, but it felt surprisingly warm. homely and comfortable. like it was just you and him that mattered. which was a weird feeling. but you didn’t dislike it.

and in the deafening round of applause, in celebration, relief, envy, and pity, your eyes did not leave your stepfather’s. your mind did not leave the thought of screaming until your lungs shrivelled, as if your body wanted to do it itself.

it did not leave the desire to claw the life out of his throat.

“i can kill them all if you’d like,” sylus whispered, glancing down at you as you left the hall to enter another for the reception. 

“excuse me?” 

“you look unhappy,” he adjusted his tie, giving you a clearer view of his hands. the same hands that took down the wanderer last night. those veiny, strong hands– “about your current… position. so we can kill them all now, obviously excluding the children, then annul the marriage. would you like that?”

“wait, wait,” you paused in your steps. he just offered to murder every guest present then annul your marriage. he was giving you an open door to living your own life. but why? “isn’t this what you wanted? this marriage?”

“it was a necessary agreement,” he slowly spoke, carefully choosing his words. “there were many other ways to conduct a deal with your parents and the imperial court but those would have required more precision and time to handle. however, forcing your hand in something you don’t like isn’t right. i don’t mind ending this union between us once the time requisite passes– it’s a year, isn’t it?”

you were stunned, but still managed to muster a nod. he was so polite and colloquial. he kept a healthy distance from you to not make you too uncomfortable but kept close enough not to catch the suspicious eyes of the guests. 

“if that is what you want then by all means,” he smirked as he paused, his right eye glimmered for a second. “though i can’t guarantee you’ll want to by that point.” 

sylus’ hand remained on your person throughout the more festive side of the wedding, either on your hand or your shoulder, or your waist while his thumb rubbed up and down the bare skin of your back. 

watching him whisper to foreign dignitaries just loud enough for you to hear, shaking hands with members of the imperial court while ensuring you were fully acknowledged with respect, his occasional check-ins with you to ensure you were fine throughout– that wasn’t what you had expected of the fearsome leader of onychinus. 

his present ‘crows’ were all introduced to you, pledges and vows were made to your name to serve you with integrity, leaving you slightly confused as they only referred to you by your first name or ‘missus’ or ‘mrs boss’– specifically by two younger men wearing crow-like masks. 

“do you not have a last name?” you whispered to sylus as the next group of pitiful, arrogant, or opportunistic guests began to flock towards you after the last.

“is it needed?” you shrugged and sighed, rolling your shoulders back to prepare for the fake smiles coming to you like a hurricane. 

“i guess not, especially when you’re a planet conqueror.”

sylus softly hummed and took your hand, briefly walking away from the crowd before you. he guided you towards the entrance of the hall, attracting the attention of the guests you quickly moved past.

“what are you doing?” you hissed, subtly flicking the hand holding yours as you glanced over your shoulder. sylus briefly stopped and gently hooked your arm over his, which was surprisingly rather comfortable.

“i won’t let my wife tire herself out,” he said, glancing down at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “don’t worry about the maggots behind you. they’ll likely assume we are too excited to wait for the night.”

right. you had almost forgotten about that old tradition of consummating marriages. it was an outdated practice by general standards, but some of the wealthier clans and families still found it necessary to lock the marriage in place. you were surprised he believed in that, considering his line of business.

“i’ve never understood the practice honestly,” he tutted. “let couples do as they please at their own pace.” perhaps you were wrong about him.

his crows began to depart one by one, stopping to either nod, give you a look of respect, or even hug you wishing their welcomes to you. the two crow mask wearing young men nudged each other before they handed you a bouquet of blood red roses.

“your first wedding gift from the bossman!” the one with a deeper voice said. you could tell they had meant sylus. you accepted the roses and gave him a questioning side glance.

“would you have preferred receiving it during the ceremony?”

he guided you out of the hall to the main entrance of the estate. a crow– with ruby eyes and adorned with mechanical alterations especially to its wings– landed on sylus’ shoulder as you stepped outside. a very expensive looking luxury car awaited you. along with your parents.

your mother hobbled towards you with her cane, holding her hand out to hold you one last time. you instinctively leaned into her touch and pulled her into your embrace. a wave of emotion washed over you brimming tears in your eyes. 

your mother slowly stepped away from you, reluctant to let go of your hand. her sharp gaze averted to sylus who silently watched your stepfather throughout the interaction.

“keep my child safe. and alive.” he only gave her a nod. it became clear that your time was up for your old life. the transfer was complete and what happened next was up to you to brave with courage.

you gave your mother a final hug, requesting for her to take care of herself and that you would visit whenever you got the chance– both of you knew you never would.

as the vehicle pulled out of the main driveway with sylus at the wheel and you on the passenger seat, you heard your stepfather wishing you godspeed. it took more than balling your hands into fists to stop yourself from jumping out of the car and decapitating him with your hands.

the drive was mostly silent. the roof the car was opened to allow the wind to brush through your hair. a few black cars drove by your side for several minutes before branching off to different locations until the two of you were isolated on a road leading to the outskirts of linkon city.

you weren’t too sure on how to begin conversation with him– your… husband. even thinking about it felt unnatural. the car slowly picked up more speed until passing vehicles flashed by in less than a second. 

the exhilarating thrill of the speed reminded you of your horse and how you would often go riding at night to experience a sense of thrill to dispel your anger or disappointment. you had gone for a morning ride before preparing for the wedding, too afraid to say goodbye as your horse was the one thing– outside your mother– that you weren’t willing to let go of. like a man with a dog, you and your horse were true companions.

“you did well,” his voice almost made you jump in your seat. you turned to him with a look of slight agitation, watching him concentrate on the road. 

“oh sure, you would definitely be proud.” you scoffed, voice heavily laced with sarcasm.

“it’s good that you’re not ignorant,” he continued as if you didn’t say anything, making your eye twitch. “keeping an eye on every guest there to understand their intentions behind their presence and discerning between those who cared and those who benefitted from your- our marriage… that was admirably smart.”

your eyes narrowed. he was being painfully meticulous with his words but it also seemed effortless. you felt warmed by the praise, the acknowledgement of you putting your knowledge to good use. the crow cawed at you in what you assumed was anger.

“is this your pet?” you bit at the bird, making it flutter its wings and caw even more. sylus’ grinned as the car drove into a more isolated road.

“mephisto,” he said as the crow hopped off his shoulder and flew ahead of the car. “i don’t consider him as a pet– more like a confidant.”

mephisto cawed at you once more before flying off of sylus’ shoulders to speed ahead towards a large estate. the mansion looked absolutely marvelous, with its aged designs and well maintained grounds. it was slightly larger than your family’s estate with the lengthy driveway, the magnificent fountain at the main entrance and the overall quietness of the space. 

a dozen uniformed staff quietly moved boxes of what you recognised as your personal belongings into the mansion through what you assumed was the side entrance, stopping to bow in the presence of their employer.

one of them jogged to the car to greet sylus, not forgetting to acknowledge your presence, and announced that the staff would vacate to their quarters once your belongings were placed inside.

the interior was just as bourgeois as the outside. the main sitting area was dark, red and black with hints of rusted gold to be specific, covered with vintage furniture and collections of rare assets. you recognised a few of the paintings on the walls as prized works of classic creators. sylus was a creator.

towards the couches in the living area sat a bundle of neatly wrapped gifts in varying shapes and sizes. a few of the ones you picked were there as well. one of the many gifts that sat on the pile was the box of alcohol similar to the wine bottle in your hand.

“cherry wine,” sylus appeared next to you in complete silence, making you jump on the spot. “i love the scent of it.”

he poured you a glass and slid it to you before preparing his own. it smelled deliciously sweet to the point where you couldn’t tell if it was actually alcoholic. as the wine coated your lips, the sweetness was the first thing for you to sense. it was like drinking liquid sweets in the most erotic way possible. no wonder the term ‘pop the cherry’ was said when drinking that. the engulfing burn of the alcohol ran down your throat just as you swallowed. 

your tolerance for alcohol was reasonably strong– strong enough to have at least three glasses of the wine before you began to act differently. sylus, on the other hand, was already in a bit of a blush. he wasn’t near finished with his first glass.

“i didn’t take you for the type that can’t stomach drinks,” you commented as you poured yourself another glass. something about that intoxicating sweetness just had you thirsting for more. you were heating up under the confines of your wedding dress with it pooling close to your core.

sylus chuckled with a hint of nerve. “i don’t have the tolerance for it,” he admitted as he took another leisurely sniff of the drink. “and my sense of taste is somewhat dull, so i appreciate the smell more than what i consume.” he swirled the crimson beverage in the crystal glass, admiring the gloss of it under the warm lights above you. 

he glanced at the ring on your finger. “it looks good on you. i had feared that you would not like it.”

you followed his gaze, watching the light reflect on the crystals making them shine like water under the moonlight. 

“and you looked marvellous in that dress, as tattered as it was.” he was talking about the previous night. before you got roughhoused by those wanderers, the dress was rather beautiful and formfitting for you– dashed with gold and black jewels to complement the ruby red colour of your attire. you didn’t think he had noticed.

you could feel his gaze peeling you open layer by layer, increasing the bubbling heat within you. the alcohol must have been quite strong since it was rare for you to get so fuzzy so quickly. he was probably going to ramble more if you didn’t change the subject.

“do you live here?” you asked, turning away to look around the living room. your torso still felt so tight and constricted. “it looks untouched.”

your fingers fumbled to remove your necklace, struggling to get a good grip of the clasp– partially because you were flustered and that you the dress was designed in such a way that you couldn’t vigorously move around.

sylus moved behind you and moved your hands to your sides with an uncharacteristic amount of gentleness. this kindness was still something you were suspicious of. for a conquerer to be so kind to you felt weird.

“it’s a temporary stop before we get to the n109 zone,” he helped you remove your necklace, his fingers slowly travelled up your neck to unclasp it. “we can stay however long you need if you’re not ready to go.”

you instinctively leaned into his touch, feeling the heat of his hand spread across your skin. his patience and care was something you greatly appreciated– so much so that it gradually lowered your guard.

from the wedding to the tedious reception to that very moment, his behaviour went completely against the rumours that spread tainting his name. the same rumours that instilled fear amongst your peers. even when he stepped in to help you in battle the previous night, he wasn’t cruel– not with you at least.

“what were you doing in linkon yesterday?” you asked as sylus placed the necklace on the couch. he took your hand, silently indicating his desire to walk with you.

“confirming a few deals with the hunters association,” the hallway was wide and covered with pillars of withered plants and old paintings. although it looked meticulously clean it was still so void of life. “i needed to maintain my influence with my associates working there. i believe one of them are distantly related to you. she said you have a habit of chasing wanderers.”

then that was what she meant about your destiny. she knew about the deal too. a flash of disappointment in your face caught his ever so watchful eye.

“don’t blame her for this arrangement. she didn’t know better.” he rubbed your hand with his thumb and tugged you into the dining hall, embroidered with expensive carpets, couches and a fireplace on and by the floor, exotic plants on the corners of the large room and large windows overlooking the extensive grounds of the estate, coloured orange from the setting sun. 

your skin was painted in a warm gold colour along with his, kissed by the light shining into the dark room. the faint tipsy blush on sylus’ cheeks had gradually darkened as he looked at you, fully taking you in.

the way your dress hugged your body and accentuated your beauty, the soft amount of makeup on your face that amplified your natural appearance, and your relentless energy in how you spoke and moved had set his mind in a bit of a frenzy. even when you gave him that confused look you were just so pretty.

so pretty.

so beautiful.

so attractive.

heat flowed through his veins in rapid flashes, more than he could comprehend. it wasn’t similar to what he normally experienced whenever he was intoxicated. his hand left your grip to tug down on his tie that tightened around his neck, feeling as though he was suffocating.

his vision began to haze slightly, almost as though he was blinded by a wave of a familiar yet enhanced sensation– a magnified feeling.

lust.

“sylus?” his large hand hit the wall to maintain his balance. you almost called out for the staff to help but you quickly remembered they were all likely gone.

“are you alright?” your eyes blurred in a daze, your body fuzzed from the heat surrounding you and the incessant throbbing and swelling feeling of arousal spreading around you. sylus leaned on the wall, covering his eyes with his hand, the other quickly rushing down his abdomen to his crotch where a very large bulge pressed against the fabric of his pants.

oh. oh.

this was far from noble. both of you were basically clawing at your clothing, disheveled with the heat of pure desire– that had to be what it was. and for some reason, the muscles on his arms bulging through his tailored suit became more prominent than it was throughout the entire day.

just what could have caused a flash of this to happen out of nowhere?

then it clicked. the wine. that damned wine. did someone send it to you to spike you? the speculation made you pause to think. if someone wanted you and sylus dead, why would they send over a crate of cherry wine that has rendered you both insufferably hot–

“cherries, sylus, cherries are aphrodisiacs.” you groaned, holding your face in your hands. you just knew it that recommendation had no pure intent behind it.

“not strong ones,” sylus muttered, his back turned to you. though you could clearly see his ears were flushed red. “unless there’s another component in there– damn it, did you taste pomegranate?”

you did but it wasn’t that strong over the sweetness of the cherries. but you remembered someone mentioning (back in your clubbing days) that there are variants of the wine that have stronger effects– one of them being an aggressive aphrodisiac.

the air was thick, your breaths were heavy, the distance between you was less than a few steps away and ethically speaking it should have been much further than that. and yet– and yet you didn’t want to be any further from him.

you wanted to help him and yourself. through the clearest means possible.

“we need to fuck our way through this.” sylus whipped his head to you, almost bewildered by your brash approach. “only if you’re willing.”

“i am,” his chest rose and fell heavily, beads of sweat began to form on his forehead, damping that soft, cloud white hair of his. “but i worry if you are willing to do it. there are other ways we can handle this without going as far as intercourse–“

“what, masturbate in separate rooms?” you scoffed. you hissed in a breath, tugging down at your dress in a sore attempt to breathe more. “i don’t think i’d be able to get off if i can’t see you.” that part came out in a loud whisper which didn’t go deaf to his ears. 

“oh sweetie,” that same infuriating yet charming smirk tugged at his plump, soft– fuck. “you think i’m attractive?”

“wasn’t that obvious?” you panted and tugged at your neckline. “gods, i need this dress off.”

a gust of energy pulled you towards sylus until you were fully in his embrace. his head was dipped into your neck, lips so close to your skin. if this was his attempt to help relieve your mutual tension it definitely wasn’t working.

“perhaps i can take it off,” his hands traveled to the back of your neck and the small of your back, searing your nerves just with his touch. “your desire has changed to that of wanting something. someone. should this someone step in?”

oh that ass– you knew exactly what he wanted you to say. you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction. not by a long shot.

“maybe a kiss will suffice,” you mentally slapped your forehead. a kiss will suffice? your flirtation skills must have turned into pure mush. it was probably his face. handsome, divine, damned face!

and to your internal relief and joy he dutifully complied, engulfing you in his touch. just like the first kiss you shared, he was so gentle but this time you could sense he was holding back. though, admittedly, so were you. your hands stroked his hair, occasionally tugging at those soft tufts. a low groan erupted into your mouth accompanied with a harsh tut.

“my dear wife,” his voice had dropped an octave, rumbling straight down to your core which had already started to pool with arousal. something about him calling you that felt good. really good. “we are dangerously dangling over this cliff. are you sure you want to take the dive?”

you pecked his lips, giddy from the kiss. “let’s hope you can swim.”

your hands swarmed all over each other as the kiss intensified with each beat of your heart. in intervaled tugs and pulls and breaths between the kisses, your shoes both were kicked off, then his tie fell to the floor, then his blazer, then his dress shirt, exposing his torso to your hungry eyes. 

he expertly unbuttoned your dress at its collar and paused waiting for your permission to proceed. you quickly nodded and assisted him by tugging down the front of the dress, revealing your torso both bare and sparkling from the glitter sprayed onto your dress.

sylus eyed you with an indecipherable look all while feeling his way down to your hips so slowly with his large hands, tracing his fingers over the outline of your breasts and the sides of your waist. he was admiring you. 

his eyes fluttered shut as a shaky whine left his lips. within the closed space between your heated bodies, his hips managed to jut to yours reminding you of his throbbing length trapped within the confines of his clothing.

you leaned back, widened eyes peering into his burning crimson gaze. a quiet bond had formed between you in seconds and the instant understanding had been made transparently clear. he took your hands– which were not surprisingly smaller than his own– until they cupped his erection. sylus’ hands swiftly touched the zipper below the back opening of your dress and tugged it straight down.

“my patience is wearing thin, sweetie,” his lips tickled the shell of your ear. “i don’t know how much more i can hold back with you this close to me.”

you wasted no time in tugging down his pants along with his briefs allowing his cock to spring free, slapping your skin with precum almost spurting from his reddened tip. that alone was enough to have you soaked.

it was so hot and heavy, and long and thick, thick enough for you to question if your hand could wrap around it let alone your poor pussy, who was shamelessly leaking even more while sylus slid your dress and your lacy underwear down to the floor.

“i wanted to rip that off.”

“what?” 

“what?” with a scoff, you pushed him back with a singular finger to his chest and stepped away from the abandoned dress on the floor to get a better look of your husband confidently standing before you.

you’re mentally fanning yourself at the sight, shamelessly thinking of all the profanities you can conjure and all the dirtiest images involving the two of you. those thoughts must have been made under the influence of the wine. right?

“you like?” sylus grinned, watching you relentless stare at his body. his well-built, muscular body. god-sculpted and revered– fuck, you were in too deep.

“don’t get cocky.” you huffed, feeling your face warm for the nth time that night. that dress was getting a bit too tight on you. you tugged at the opening at your back to force more airflow around your skin but nothing was working. prickles of sensitivity brought you to a shiver, the slightest movement from your legs was stimulating pleasure to the power of a thousand. 

you almost pounced on him. almost. but you maintained composure. you straightened your posture and moved to the dining table, pushing away the plates and cutlery in your way to free up the corner. fortunately it was short enough to stand between. 

sylus followed in suit, standing at the opposite end of the table at the shorter side to not be too far from you. his hands wandered all over his body, stroking and pinching at his skin to tease himself– and you.

“i know what you’re doing, sylus.”

“i know what you’re doing, sweetie,” his hand eventually found his cock, ghosting his touch over his sensitive length. you watched him bite his lips, watched him intentionally raise the stakes in the little game you were playing together. 

you were going to go all in. you leaned into the corner of the table, connecting your needy wetness to its new source of pleasure.

sharp jolts ran up your spine from your clit rubbing against the corner of the table. you paused, slowly repeating the movement until you relaxed into the position too needy to stop. your hand flew to your mouth to muffle the impeding moans just begging to roll off your tongue.

across the table, he watched you in a daze while lazily pumping at his cock. his fist squeezed around the base, making the veins running up his shaft more prominent, and stroked up until his angry red tip disappeared within his hand. a gentle plap! rhythm accompanied the classical music in the background as he picked up a reasonable pace. 

his fingers danced around his tip rubbing back and forth on the slit that dribbled out precum like a leaky tap– soft moans were being pulled out of his lips as he teased his body, he caressed his chest and ultimately tortured himself, all while intently watching your pretty, squished breats bounce between your arms as your hips began to rut against the table.

he must have been doing all of that on purpose.

your knuckles paled as your grip on the table strengthened, so desperate to have something inside your weeping pussy that you almost stuffed your fingers as far as they’d be able to go. but alas, you knew they weren’t capable of satiating what you needed. you dropped your head to concentrate– to go just a bit harder–

“uh-uh, kitten,” you could just hear him smiling. kitten. a jolt shot straight down to your core. you could just feel your slick begin to drip down your legs, and judging by the reckless pump of blood flow your lips must swollen from all that need. “look at me.”

nope, you weren’t planning on doing that. not while you were getting closer to your climax. the angle you had found was just perfect, hitting the bud of your swollen clit and rubbing at the sensitive nerves surrounding at. you could just hear the squelches from your wetness leaking onto the table and dripping down in small, sticky droplets. 

you raised your head slightly, panting out a desperate moan, eyes hazed with arousal and need only to find sylus not where he was originally standing. your breath hitched, instantly feeling his overwhelming presence behind you. how did he get there so fast?

his lips found the back of your neck, still well exposed despite the neatness of your styled hair falling apart. his hands settled on your waist, holding you in place as kissed down your spine and around the fading remnants of the insignia painted onto your back.

“how about i help you a bit?” he murmured and licked his way up your spine until his hot, wet tongue found the shell of your ear. “would you like that?”

too breathless to speak, you nodded.

“use your words, sweetie.” he whispered and pecked your jaw. his hardened cock lightly grazed the curve of your ass. “this only works if you tell me you want it.”

“oh fuck you.”

“that’s not what i’m looking for.” he teasingly presses himself against you, rubbing himself up and down, nestling his cock between your lower cheeks. “tell me what you want.”

he was so close yet so damn far, and his teasing wasn’t helping at all. “you.” you choked.

“hmm?”

“damn you, i need your help!” you blabbered while your body instinctively pushed back to be closer to him. “i want your help and i want you– now, help me!”

sylus hummed in approval, lowering his hands to your hips. “yes ma’am.”

your legs were beginning to ache from your endless grinding to satisfy your insatiable desire, bringing you to a tremble. sylus’ presence had briefly left you until he returned with his hands on the back of your thighs and warm air fanning your pussy.

“absolutely soaked,” he commented in astonishment, pressing a wet peck on your thigh, intentionally making you feel how far he is from where he’s supposed to be. you groaned, bucking back in urgency.

“stop teasing!”

“oh?” he pressed another kiss on your other thigh, intentionally increasing the distance. “i thought enjoyed my brattiness, kitten. are you going to threaten me with your claws?”

you stopped moving to give him a glare. “sylus–“

“no, continue what you were doing. i’ll take care of this little mess right…” his fingers rubbed your entrance, spreading your wetness down to your thighs. “here.” 

oh yes. his hands were perfect. 

they did so much more to you than your own ever could. you slowly rocked your hips against the desk to return your wavering attention to your needy bud. the double stimulation from his fingers gradually going deeper inside you and your clit being abused by a bloody inanimate object– you could just feel yourself reaching your limit.

his fingers explored your weeping pussy without restraint, curving and curling in you to find exactly what made you tick, twitch, and tingle. his lips caressed your bare lower cheeks, making your pant more and more until a sharp sting threw you off your daze. it was a bite. he bit you.

“did you just bite my ass–“

“yeah, what about it?”

you scoffed in disbelief, muttering that you’d stop him from biting your ass and pushed his head back to devour your soaking cunt. sylus grunted in surprise but wasted no time to get to work, resting his hands on your ass to give his tongue more access to you.

you heard of tongue-fucking as a concept but you never understood how good it felt– not until now. feeling him smoothly curl and curve that wet muscle inside you so effortlessly had you in a messy daze. your nails clawed into his hair, keeping him in place to continue with his gentle yet persistent ministrations.

“s-sylus,” you moaned, moving faster and faster to chase your impending high, keeping him close to you to ensure he followed your flow. “oh, fuck, sylus!”

“mm– so profane.” his voice was muffled against you, his tongue swirled around your entrance before slipping back inside. the vibrations of his moans rumbled through you almost triggering you to tip off the edge. that familiar plap! plap! rhythm sounded beneath you, accompanying his choked noises.

you pushed his head back to face him, and you were shockingly pleased.

your dangerous husband was on his knees with his hand shamelessly tending to his abandoned, flushed cock, jutting his hips to simulate what it could feel deep inside you. the experience of having his fingers and tongue in you alone was more than enough to set him off.

now he just needed to have you in every position humanely possible.

“need some help?” you grinned in a mocking tone, slowly kneeling before him. sylus’ face was as red as the cherry wine, his broad, muscular chest glistened in a layer of sweat that dripped down the lines of his abdomen until it was lost within the trimmed, white tufts of the hairs surrounding his cock. you just couldn’t take your eyes off him. you didn’t want to.

“please,” it didn’t even take you teasing for him to give in. sylus leaned forward, hand still working his raging cock, and rested his head against yours. 

“i need you,” you watched his cock twitch in his hands, slowly beginning to salivate. damn, those aphrodisiacs were strong. you had never felt that aroused before. never felt such a strong desire to take him in your mouth. 

“i have an idea,” you whispered, pecking the corner of his lips. he whimpered from the mere contact, leaning into you more to reach your lips. “if you’ll let me.”

“anything, kitten,” he pressed a desperate kiss on your lips. then another. “anything.”

what he didn’t anticipate from you was that you’d immediately go down on him, moving his hands up and swiping your tongue around his cock in an instant. he sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes. what a seductress you were.

from the way you walked down the alter to him, to your joy and serenity on horseback, to that very moment with you bent down lubricating him with your tongue, kissing his leaking cockhead with your pretty lips.

you kissed your way up his shaft, long and heavy, testing how girthy he truly was with your hand– so thick you couldn’t wrap your hand around it fully. you took his tip in, getting a taste of his precum bursting into your mouth from a simple touch all while swirling your tongue over his slit.

his groans vibrated onto your tongue as it lapped up more drops of his precum at debilitatingly slow pace. lick, lick, lick like a kitten drinking milk. his shaft was not left alone, being delicately handled by your hands stroking up and down with gentle squeezes in intervals.

“squeeze– squeeze harder.” sylus panted. you raised your eyes to meet his piercing crimson gaze. a shot of tingles vibrated around your pussy, making you so much wetter. you obeyed without complaint, strengthening your grip on his cock with each stroke. 

your head bobbed taking you further and further down his shaft until his leaky tip tapped the back of your mouth, right before the curve down your throat. you choked out a moan, feeling a tingle of tears burn the corners of your eyes. sylus quickly noticed and cradled your head, about to pull you out.

“are you alright?” from your angle he looked like such an adorable puppy, worried for you while his cock was stuffed in your mouth. you hummed, stroking his hand, and opened your jaw to take more of him. you took deep breaths through your nose slowly returning to your initial rhythm.

sylus watched his cock slowly disappear into your mouth until he was fully bottomed out in you. you were so warm and your throat was so tight around his length, so much so that you couldn’t help but gag every so often around his girth. the sounds of your chokes and gags filled the space along with the delicious sloppiness of your pretty mouth slurping around him.

“so pretty,” he huffed. the temptation to grip your head and guide you to go faster was getting stronger by the second. his knees ached from sitting in that position for so long but the pleasure was worth the pain. his hand instinctively pushed your further down into him and you responded so well by hollowing your cheeks, tightening your mouth around him as much as you could. his eyes rolled back as he moaned, your noises of pure pleasure reverberated in the air.

it was so wet and sloppy, creating a small puddle of precum and saliva from what dripped out of your mouth. you pulled your head back with a loud pop! with your tongue out, letting all the slickness drip down to his tip. sylus groaned in an attempt to hold back whatever profanities brewed in him.

your face was drenched from the tip of your nose down beyond your chin. sylus breathing was heavy, chest heaving, face fully flushed. his lips opened to speak but he was rendered speechless. his lips rushed onto your neck, licking up the slick wetness until his lips found yours. 

like how you worked his cock, the kiss was wet, sloppy, lustfully passionate and boiling with your mutual greed to consume each other. your tongues swirled and collided, teeth occasionally clashing as well in reckless pursuit of remaining as close as possible.

he pulled you onto his lap, cock still rock hard and flush against your abdomen, rubbing against your flesh, making him shiver from the stimulation. the buzz from the aphrodisiac was still strong, coursing through him as quickly as his pulse.

“need to be in you,” he moaned against you lips in a rough plea. “need to feel you.”

your inhibitions were right out the window. all you could think of was the thought of you two sickeningly together, divinely united, fucking consummating the damn marriage just so you could fully feel him. “need you inside, sy,”

like hearing an instant buzzword sylus immediately acted on your word, picking you up and moving you towards the carpet by the fireplace. he rested your head on the larger pillow while pressing his lips down your body, whispering his praises.

his lips found your hand and kissed each knuckle. “thank you for accepting me despite our rough first impression.” he kissed you up your arm all the way to your collarbones, nipping your flesh then licking you as an apology.

“want to make you feel so good,” he suckled on your skin as his hands fondled your breasts, thumbs circling your pebbled nipples making your back arch. he gently tugged on your hardened bud with his teeth and switched to the other, lathering it with his tongue and leaving harsh bruises behind.

“want to be yours,” his lips slowly travelled back up your neck, suckling small bruises and biting his mark onto your skin.

“you are, genuis.” you huffed, wiggling your finger holding the bedazzled ring. sylus glanced at it with a look of great admiration, enamoured by how it looked in your hand. how you wore it so confidently.

“legally,” his hands held your face and gave you a squish. “legally, but not of your own accord.”

you had to admit that he was correct. the marriage alone wasn’t something you would have agreed with. but you found him interesting within the last few hours where you got to speak to him. outside of your physical attraction to him you liked how his mind worked too.

“then let me make you mine.”

a look of surprise painted his face. you assured him with a smile. “let me claim you as mine. my husband. my friend. my partner.” 

your lips found each other once more, dancing in pure passion and adoration as your bodies performed a more lewd waltz in grinds and strong grips on sensitive flesh. sylus adjusted himself, aligning his cock with your dripping entrance.

he gave you one more questioning look to which you responded with an affirmative nod, lacing your fingers between his. he rolled his hips against yours, gently bullying the tip of his cock into you until it disappeared past your swollen pussy lips. you felt so warm and so damn tight he struggled to keep what was left of his composure. 

the sting of his sheer size and girth made you hiss and claw your fingers on his arm, gasping at the sheer buildup of pressure. sylus’ eyes were squeezed shut, brows furrowed, and lips parted allowing a melodic moan to flow into your ears. 

somehow the feeling of him being inside you get you wetter than you could comprehend and your walls sucked him in, pulling his cock deeper into you until he was almost, almost bottomed out.

“i think she likes me,” he huffed, massaging your hips to soothe the sting. 

“maybe.”

“definitely.” he slowly drew his hips back and thrusted forward with little restraint. the pain had disappeared with a fiery ignition replacing it. your gummy walls held onto his cock as it drew back and rushed into you again, creating a slick and wet noise between you as he gradually went faster.

your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist to lock him in place while your hands explored his back, smooth and rippled with his muscles tensing and relaxing with each gentle thrust. his lips peppered kisses and bites onto your neck, sucking harsh bruises into your skin as a substitution for the pent up desire he was desperately trying to hold back.

your name was rambled into the air in seething moans as if he was almost pained to have to restrain himself. to not harm you in pursuit of pleasing you. and then you tugged his hair. and gave him that look.

“stop holding back sy,” you whispered and pecked the corner of his lip. you were feeling a bit too greedy. “let’s give in.”

something must have snapped in him. a switch must have flipped because you saw a completely different look in his eyes in the exact second you felt his cock fit inside you entirely, fully bottoming out in you. your eyes rolled back from the sheer quick force of it, choking out a cry.

he wasn’t merciful either with his pace gradually picking up to the point where your skin slapped against his every time your hips collided until a wet clapping rhythm echoed across the dining hall alongside your joint noises.

your hands crept up to his back, finding comfort in rudely carving red lines into his skin without restraint. sylus’ melodic groans serenaded you into a haze that demanded more and more from him– more noise, more pleasure, just more.

sylus slowly sat up and glanced down to watch his cock disappear inside you then pull back out, glistening with your joint wetness to the point where it ran up his abdomen. the pillows propping you up gave you a slight view as well, a view so lewd that you almost hit your orgasm then and there.

“you are so– so tight, kitten.” sylus panted, pushing his damped hair back. his muscles were flexed, defining the sweat dripping down his body. you were almost certain you could ride his abs and get off just from that.

“you’re so big,” your eyes fluttered closed, too overwhelmed by him filling you up consistently. the pleasure alone was overwhelming. seeing him so disheveled because of you was so delightful. 

your legs were pushed up against you before he leaned back down, his tip teasing your dripping entrance for painfully long seconds before pushing in entirely in a swift slam. your pussy stung with esctasy, your toes curled from the intensive swell of pleasure in the direct spot his tip brutally poked, your eyes crossed out of your control. just what did he do?

near shaking above you, sylus leaned into your touch, hypnotised– no, enamoured by you. he just wanted to stay buried so deeply inside you, privileged to be the only one to feel how your walls squeeze and flutter around him, to be able to explore what makes you tick and moan or scratch him in need, what would make you happy, what would anger you, he wanted it all.

he had it all. he had you. and he was gradually learning just how much he needed you.

“you’re so enchanting,” he half moaned-half laughed as he returned to his initial pace in that deeper angle. “so– gods– so powerful.” he watched your pretty face fall into a daze, lips spread apart for him to hear your voice crack with your cries. your bodies were so close that the friction of your sweat stricken skin no longer bothered either of you.

you could felt your limit approaching. all that stimulation and foreplay from earlier on top of the aphrodisiac’s influence was driving you insane. you pulled sylus’ head to yours, pressing your lips onto his desperate to consume him, desperate to ensure he knew how you felt so good with him. how you felt safe.

but fuck, you were going to explode. you were so painfully close and it looked like he was too. 

it took a few more sharp thrusts before the thin string snapped, throwing you into a whole new realm of bliss. a loud cry escaped you, followed by a soft whimper from the man above you before you both crumbled in the cloud of intoxicating sparks bursting. 

your soaked walls fluttered as globs of sticky, hot cum filled you up, partially spurting out with each rough thrust. a string of curses filled the air from both of you due to the sheer deliciousness of the feeling.

hours– or, realistically speaking, minutes– must have passed while you panted, glistening in the afterglow of your erotic pursuit. despite the exhaustion, you somehow managed to soothe each other through soft caresses and massages in the areas where you gripped each other harder than intended.

sylus rested his head on your shoulder, kissing the parts of your neck that he could reach. you brought his hand to your lips and pecked each knuckle over and over again, blessing his ring finger with a particularly longer one.

“when the effects wear off, things will be a bit awkward.” sylus grumbled. 

you hummed in agreement. but considering how far you had gone on your first– technically second– day of knowing one another, you could pretty much do anything.

“how about we start off as friends first and see where that goes?” you suggesting, lacing your fingers with his. your rings dazzled in the moonlight for to admire. “i mean, we’ve already achieved the marriage goal. and the consummation.”

his laugh vibrated onto your neck, further lulling you in to comfortable exhaustion. maybe a nice nap on the floor wouldn’t hurt. 

sylus smiled a kiss onto your neck then your cheek, eyes twinkling with bliss and joy. “alright then, dearest wife who is also my new friend. let’s do that.”

in the mutual quiet, you both found yourselves admiring each other as the heat of your climax finally cooled down. and then the next wave of arousal quickly arrived. you definitely weren’t going to hold back this time.

“again.” you pressed a kiss on the corner of his lips.

“again?” he panted, almost in worry. you were insatiable.

“you can’t handle it?” you laughed in a teasing tone. within an instant you found yourself straddled on top of him– he must have turned you over with that inhumane strength– his cock quickly hardening again inside you. 

“i was worried about you, sweetie,” he squeezed your nose with a playful grin before settling his large hands on your hips, rocking them back and forth. you could just feel his cum seeping out of you. “i hope you can keep up because we won’t be stopping till the sun rises.”

[sapper-in-the-wire]

Liberals wincing at the brutality of Hamas’ attack is even more smoothbrain when you consider that the Gaza Strip is objectively the worst concentration camp in the world.

It’s the 2nd most densely populated area in the entire world, 95% of water isn’t safe, they are only given 4 hours of electricity (imagine this with the population density and Mediterranean heat), medicine and basic foodstuffs like juice are embargoed. The average age in Gaza is 19 - the old and weak die quickly as their health care system cannot get supplies and doesn’t have stable electricity. More than half of youths under 18 expressed that they have no real desire to live and contemplate suicide regularly. 45% unemployment. Children get blown up playing soccer on the beach by advanced warships. It’s probably the most surveilled and spied upon place in the world. It’s a tiny strip of land 25 miles wide that is regularly subjected to bombing.

In 2018 mass peaceful demonstrations were organized, thousands and thousands of Palestinians marched along the border wall. Israel shot 2,000 of them with live ammunition, but only killed around 200 because they deliberately aim at legs to place even more strain on the depleted medical infrastructure and make an invalid that can’t contribute as well. 36,000 Palestinians were injured peacefully protesting.

Every year the IDF invades Al-Asqa mosque, gasses the worshippers and cracks heads open, and then they leave because there’s no point aside from violent harassment. And then there’s the constant news from other occupied areas of Palestinians being evicted, homes being bulldozed, the survivors fined and harassed. Palestinian olive trees, generational in their age, bulldozed by the occupiers.

Shooting civilians wantonly might be morally dubious in a situation like Hawaii, some place where an occupation makes you disadvantaged and a second class citizen. But Gaza is just flat out a death camp. Of course the commandos went berserk with rage, of course they brought bodies back to parade in the streets - everyone has been dehumanized for their entire lives. Treat people like animals and they might just act like animals once they get their hands on you.

[buttercuparry]

Urgent!! Fundraiser extremely low in donations.

I want to talk to you today about Maram Ashour ( @ashourmohammed ). She is Amal Ashour’s sister-in-law and has been in dire need of our help for a month now. I realised today how important it is to try and make everyday the best for a campaign, because at any moment, a family can be cut off from the outside world. It can be because they lost a phone, or it was damaged. Maram wanted to talk to you all so bad and share her story, but her phone screen was burned and she couldn't campaign as much as she wanted to. So now that she has tried her best to reach out again, please just give her 5 minutes of your time. 

Maram is only 26 years old and she has been forced to go through unimaginable pain for more than a year now. 

She has two very young kids: Amir and Hoor. Hoor is only 10 months old, which means she was born during the genocide. Maram had to go through unimaginable pain during her pregnancy. 

I want to remind you that this genocide is a feminist issue, too. Expecting mothers were forced to give birth in awful and unhygienic conditions, where they risked death. Women lacked both food and medicine and newborn babies couldn't  breastfeed properly  because their mothers were malnourished.

Maram was heavily pregnant when she was displaced from North Gaza. Currently her family  is living in a torn tent in Nuseirat, which we know is prone to IOF attacks. Being very close to the Netzarim corridor, there are frequent explosions and the family is under constant threat of displacement. 

With the temperature dropping rapidly, Maram is scared for her children. She might need to replace the tent and she will definitely need to buy blankets. Your contribution will also help Maram provide little Hoor with milk and diapers. Amir, who is only 3 years of age, needs new clothes for winter. 

I know that things have been difficult lately but still we should not give up on the Palestinian cause or blame Gazans for the rise of fascist sentiments in the Imperial core. Gaza is being bombed continuously and mothers are still clutching at their kids in fear. Not many of us here have known this evil, and so as privileged citizens of this world ( privileged to not face an escalating genocide), it is our duty to continue to stand in solidarity.  So please donate, even if it is a little. It might make a difference between life and death for Maram. 

Only £2,155 raised currently. Please let us get to £3,000 as soon as possible. 

Vetted by association through @amalashuor

Tagging for reach 🙏🏽 very low in funds

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[artemismoorea03]

DP x DC Prompt: The New Teacher

(So, I've seen a lot of prompts that have Danny go to Gotham and be a teacher but I don't remember seeing any with it in this direction, so on the chance that this is an original idea here we go!)

Jason was given a choice, or multiple choices. Babysit the Replacement on a mission that could last a week, go to Bludhaven and have some 'brother bonding time' with Dick who needed backup on a big case, or take a temp solo-gig in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere called Amity Park.

Well, considering he was still a bit hurt about the fact that B replaced him all those years ago and the pit loved to grab hold of that bit of frustrations towards his younger brother, that didn't seem like a smart idea. Dick wasn't an option either because he knew that would lead to 'talking about feelings' and other shit that he didn't want to do.

So he took the solo-gig.

It was supposed to be easy, at least that's what had been implied by the others he'd spoken to about the case. It seemed like most of the Justice League thought this situation was being 'exaggerated' because most of the time when somebody checked out what was going on there was nothing happening. No big take over, or kidnapping, or 'end of the world' situation, but there had been too many calls to put Bruce's mind at ease. The frequent calls mixed with the fact that the Government apparently had the area under a 'black out' made Bruce even more nervous.

Hell, if it hadn't been for the fact that Bruce was famous and that Scarecrow, Penguin and Riddler had all escaped from Arkham he would have been doing the case himself.

Which is how Jason ended up in a restraunt named 'Nasty Burger' looking at the news papers he had managed to get from a stand down the street while taking notes of things he had already seen. It wasn't just that the Government had cut them off, all of the tech in the city was easily 20 years outdated compared to the rest of the world.

Nokia phones, chunky computers, hell he'd even seen a kid with a PDA of all things. Thankfully, it looked like his tech still worked other than running slower than it should have, but thanks to modifications made by Barbara and Tim things were running better than he expected. But, they did struggle to have access to anything, specifically the news.

Hence the paper.

Ghost Boy: Friend or Fiend. A new vote cast by the city has found that the Ghost Boy - Danny Phantom - has had an astounding rise in support after the events over the Christmas Holiday. The new polls suggest that 43% of Citizens support Danny Phantom, with the majority of his support coming from the students at Casper High who insist that Phantom is a hero who has saved them countless times over the past few months. 49% of people still agree, however, that Phantom appears to be at the center of the majority of the attacks with many still claiming that he is the sole cause of the attacks. However, 8% of the population remain undecided, including many teachers, police and hospital staff. Upon seeing the new results of the pole Mayor Montez had this to say; "While I will admit that Phantom appears to favor the younger generation and frequently seems to come to their aid, we cannot forget what it has done in the past. Taken hostages, injured innocents, and caused millions in property damage. Phantom may not be a 'villain' in the typical sense of the word, but we shouldn't blindly trust him just because of a few good deeds."

So there was a... hero? Half hero - potentially villain - in Amity Park? That might have explained some of the calls they'd gotten from Amity park over the past few months. Still, he was concerned by some parts of the report.

Students at a high school were frequently coming under attack? So much that this potential-villain kept saving them? Just what was the cause? What could cause so many issues?

Jason looked up as he saw that same PDA kid talking with a girl with short black hair in a half-ponytail who was wearing a black crop-top. The girl seemed annoyed while the boy seemed worried about something.

"But it's Vlad, Sam... what if he does something?" He heard the boy whisper, "We should go back him up..."

"He doesn't need our help, besides Jazz ran away from home, remember? She got herself into this mess it's her problem to get out of it. Something that Danny should have learned a long time ago."

Jason frowned, pretending not to hear them as he hesitated then got up and walked over to the two younger teens. "Hey, excuse me."

The girl looked annoyed and suspicious while the boy looked confused.

"Uh, yeah?" Tucker asked.

"Hey, sorry to bug you both. But could you guys tell me about this... 'Danny Phantom' person?" He asked, holding the newspaper out.

The girl looked even more suspicious, "And... who are you?"

"And how haven't you heard of Phantom?" Asked the boy.

"I just moved to town." Jason admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, I'm just trying to catch up on all the town drama."

"You moved to Amity Park... willingly? Psh, what do you have, a deathwish?" The girl grumbled.

"Come on, I just moved from Gotham, which is worse?"

The girl blinked as the boy laughed.

"Furries vs Ghosts, who will win~" He said as the girl elbowed him. "Ow! What?!"

"Danny Phantom is a hero." The girl explained, "He showed up in April and has been protecting the town since."

"A hero, huh? Could always use more of those in the world, but the mayor seems to have it out for him."

Tucker sighed, "No kidding, man. Somebody framed Phantom for something really bad and no matter what he does to try to fix it the city just see's that incident as the only thing he's ever done. It was the first big 'public thing' outside of the high school so it was huge but it wasn't his fault."

The girl reached for her phone suddenly, looking at it before she answered. "Hey, Danny. What's up?" She was quiet for a moment, "Yeah, we're at Nasty Burger, wanna join us? Lunch on me?"

A quiet mumble came through the speaker before she smirked.

"I'll order for you then. Double or triple?"

More mumbles.

"Triple it is. See you soon." She said, then hung up. "Come on, Tuck, Danny is on his way for lunch."

"Hell yeah, see you later, dude." The boy said, then jogged off with the girl.

"A teacher? Yeah, it looks like there's some openings but why would you want to have your cover as a teacher?" Oracle asked as Jason sat in his hotel room, looking through the paper again.

"Most of the incidents seem to surround the High School, I want to see what's going on."

Oracle hummed, typing for a moment. "Alright, well as luck will have it, it looks like teachers are sparse at Amity High, at least from what I'm able to get using your connection... which is infuriatingly slow, by the way, are you sure you did it right?"

"I've done it a million times, of course I did it right."

Oracle grumbled, "Stupid Amity black-out. Okay, so you have options. Most of the teachers have fucked off so all of the teachers in Freshmen year switch around to cover lessons or do mixed lessons. For example the English teacher also teaches Math and the normal Math teacher also teaches Science. So it looks like you could have any position you want and the school would just shuffle around the teachers."

"You said English is taken, right?"

"Yep, the teacher is named William Lancer and he- oh... wait, he's on a leave of absence due to injuries he suffered over Christmas Break. Concussion, broken arm, and bruised ribs, he'll be out for a few weeks."

Jason smirked, "Perfect. Sign me up."

". . . Jason, the English and Math teacher... never thought I'd see the day. Alright, I'll type up your application, send it in and casually push it to the front of the line. You'll be official by the time Winter Break ends in a few days. So get studying."

"Sounds like a plan, but I'll be fine, I mean our family is crazy and i deal with criminals on a nightly basis. How hard could this assignment really be?"

He would regret asking that question by the end of his first day as an Amity High School teacher.

[chubby-bun-bun]

untitled (part 6)

He helps you deal with a problem in his own thoughtful way—unconventional (and illegal) it may be.

nav: one, two, three, four, five, six (current) or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, mentions of death, descriptions of a panic attack, problem-solving the n109 zone way

There’s nothing quite like dragging someone into your nonsense—especially when they always let you get away with it.

After that impromptu Frostlight holiday hangout, the long-overdue coat-and-sweater handover felt far less nerve-wracking, even during the meetups that followed. Over the past few weeks, you’ve managed to whisk the busy fruit vendor away to some of the most random spots the city has to offer.

Sometimes, your plans are scenic: the aquarium, park strolls, cozy cafes, trendy restaurants, and curated museums. Other times, they’re chaos incarnate: amusement park rides, escape rooms, and that one rage room session sparked by your urge to send your manager to the afterlife. While Sylus’ schedule frequently takes him out of the city doing whatever it is that in-demand fruit vendors do, you’ve come to appreciate the effort he puts into showing up whenever he can.

(You’re yet to successfully pay for anything. No matter how sneaky you try to be with the waiters and cashiers, he always seems to be one step ahead, swiping his card before you can even reach for yours.)

Funny enough, the more time you spend together, the less you view him through rose-tinted glasses. You've grown to look past his conventional looks and genuinely enjoy his company—especially his deadpan tendencies and razor-sharp wit. That doesn’t mean you’ve stopped obsessing over your appearance before hanging out with him, though. You still agonize over your outfit, fuss over your hair, and polish every detail you can catch in the mirror before stepping out of the house. You can’t help it. But in many ways, you’ve also grown comfortable enough to be yourself around him and bother him with your shenanigans.

Like so.

[You] You sent fruit man a link. [You] let’s go ୧(•ᴗ•)୨ [fruit man] Now why would a kitten go to a cat cafe? [fruit man] Visiting your colony mates? [You] because i said so [You] LETS GO

And so, here you are at the cat café you frequent, gently petting the resident caracal you've grown so fond of.

The café staff often marvel at how calm he is with you, noting that while he doesn't harm anyone, he tends to hiss at every guest and employee. No one else seems to have managed to break through his haughty exterior like you have. Now, the giant feline is practically putty in your arms, its massive paws kneading biscuits into your thankfully jean-covered thighs. 

You tell Sylus as much, smugly stroking its floppy ears.

“Well aren’t you comfortable?” he drawls, glancing at the cat.

“He sure is!” you coo, planting a big, fat kiss on its fluffy head.

You miss the way he narrows his eyes at the feline. “Your drink’s getting cold,” he says, pointing at your neglected cup on the table. “Shouldn’t you finish it while it’s warm?” 

You hold the caracal’s face, its big, round eyes tugging at your heartstrings. “Yup!”

You continue cooing at the cat, massaging its ears. Sylus scowls.

“This café seems to have quite the selection of pastries,” he comments airily, head tilted back as he skims through the barely readable menu above the counter. “Do you have any recommendations?”

That perks you up, snapping your gaze back to him and pausing your petting. “I think they have some seasonal goods this time of the year! I’ll take a look for you. Stay here.”

With that, you get up, sneak in another scratch under the big furball's chin, and take your leave. Once you’re out of earshot, Sylus smirks at the cat, who hisses at him.

“Know your place, little one.”

He’s met with another discontented hiss.

As your eyes trace the elegant cursive of the overhead menu board, you absently note the familiar chime of the café door. Your focus flits from brownies to croissants, savory dishes to frothy lattes, until a featured seasonal s’mores cookie catches your attention. Your mouth waters. Maybe Sylus would like this?

The decision is cut short when you’re abruptly shoved against the counter, the edge biting into your abdomen. A sharp yelp escapes you as pain blooms, forcing your palm to press against the throbbing spot. Rattled, you spin around.

“Excuse me—“

The words die on your tongue.

Standing before you is a man in a crisp white button-up, the sleeves rolled neatly above his forearms. He must be important—if the expensive-looking suit jacket draped over his shoulder is anything to go by. 

But it’s not the over-gelled hair, the tacky accent color of his suit pieces, his inability to use his inside voice in a small café, nor his apparent lack of spatial awareness that has you frozen in place.

This is the guy that killed your family.

You're sure of it.

You can’t be mistaken. How can you be mistaken? 

That smirk—cocky and insufferable—has been seared into your memory since the day you sat in that cramped police room, papers shaking in your hands as his lawyer delivered their settlement offer. You’ve never fully remembered the details of that day, but the sinister curl of his lips as he shook your hand would haunt you till the day you die.

He’s talking. Laughing. With a woman at his side and a man on the other. Maybe they’re his colleagues? You’re not sure.

You’re going to be sick.

Ears ringing, you hold a hand out as you move to the café’s door. The dull gleam of the sun registers faintly, along with the jagged pattern of the sidewalk bricks and the discarded, empty cup beneath a bush. As you stumble outside, the cool air bites sharply, unforgiving against your exposed skin.

Then you’re in the alley, doubled over by the dumpster, heaving until there’s nothing left but bile and ragged breaths.

What are you doing?

You know time doesn't stop. It never has, and it never will—not even in the face of mortal loss. The world doesn’t get to pause for your grief; people will still go to work, teachers will still hold their classes, the sun will still rise, and people will still find joy and laughter in their everyday lives. Death is inevitable and universal. Some face it sooner, some in ways more cruel than others—but in the end, it claims everyone.

You know this. You know this.

So why does it feel like your graduation day all over again?

You don’t know how long you’ve been hunched over, knees and palms pressing painfully against the rough concrete. Gradually, the ringing in your ears begins to subside, and you slowly discern the distant garble of words behind you and the grounding hold on your back.

“...You’re okay. I’m here, sweetie. Come back to me. You're okay.”

Large, calloused hands cradle your jaw with careful tenderness, gently guiding you to meet a pair of worried scarlet eyes. The moment your unfocused gaze regains some semblance of clarity, he lets out a slow exhale, the cold air puffing around him.

“There you are,” he murmurs, smiling slightly.

“...Sylus?”

He traces a finger along your cheek. “Did something happen?”

The spell breaks, and a wave of heat rises up your neck as you finally register your form on the ground, your unpleasant mess just beside you. Worse, you’ve inconvenienced him. And for what? For some overreaction to a man you had already agreed to settle things with?

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” you say with a shaky laugh, trying to push yourself up. But your knees give way, and you collapse back onto the ground. Shuddering from the impact of the cold, wet concrete, you flash him an embarrassed smile. “I, uh, might need a few more moments.”

Without a word, he lifts you by the armpits, a startled squeak escaping you as he effortlessly cradles you in his arms. He gently guides you to sit on one solid bicep, then scoops up your fallen bag with his free hand. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck.

“Wait—”

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he says as he begins his trek toward his parked SUV. “You’re not obligated to explain yourself to anyone.”

Your breath catches. He opens the door to the passenger seat and carefully lowers you onto the plush leather. Leaning down, he meets your gaze, his forearm resting on the roof’s edge.

“But know that you don’t deserve to have your feelings or experiences downplayed—especially not by yourself.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

Sylus settles into the driver's seat, the engine purring to life as he starts the drive, presumably toward your house. He must be thinking that a familiar, comforting place would be best for you right now.

A wave of guilt washes over you for cutting your time together short, especially since you were really looking forward to surprising him with that s’mores cookie. But the words won’t come, lodged tight in your throat.

By the time you reach your neighborhood, the sky has darkened. Just as he pulls up, ready to open his door, you reach out, placing your hand on his forearm.

"Sylus, I..."

Your voice falters.

To your surprise, he takes your hand in his, his fingers brushing over yours in a gentle caress. He doesn’t rush you. No hint of impatience. Just a quiet, comfortable presence, giving you the space to breathe and find your words.

Slowly, you tell him everything.

Keeping his earlier words in mind, you tell the facts as they are, your emotions as they unfolded. You describe the accident, how it happened, and the events that followed—the pressure to accept the settlement offer, the intimidation. You talk about the loneliness that set in, the growing distance between you and those you once felt close to, all because their happiness became too much to bear. How the world kept moving, while you felt trapped in the same place, stuck in time.

You talk about how you saw the driver again in the café earlier, how it resurfaced all those unpleasant memories and unearthed emotions you’d buried. Despite his advice on not minimizing yourself, you let an apology slip for letting things get to you and cutting your hangout short as a result.

You don’t tell him, but his presence in your life—albeit unexpected and fairly new—has done wonders in pulling back the heavy darkness weighing you down. You hope the depth of your gratitude comes across in the way you hold his hand, gripping it tightly, like it’s the only thing keeping you from sinking.

“Wow, I feel much better,” you finally say, laughing shakily at how silly your earlier reaction seems now. You squeeze his hand gently. “Thanks for listening to me, Sy. I really appreciate it.”

You miss the way his eyes flash at the nickname.

You watch as he examines your reddened eyes and watery lashes, his expression unreadable, before squeezing your hand in return. “I’m just honored that you trusted me enough to share that with me.”

You muster a grin. “I promise to make up for earlier. I've been dying to try this new recipe I found. How about a box of experimental cookies?”

After a brief pause, he lets out a low chuckle. “As long as it’s edible,” he says, lips curling into a smirk, effectively dissipating the lingering tension.

You give his arm a soft whack. “You’re gonna regret it when they turn out actually good!”

He sighs, gazing at where you swat at him with faux pity. “What, with that little kitten pat?”

After a few rounds of bickering—with you insisting that it was not a little kitten pat—you finally exchange your goodbyes. Stepping out of his SUV, you wave cheekily, heading toward your doorstep. He returns the gesture, his wave a little slower, as he waits for you to reach the door.

As soon as you turn your back, the bright scarlet in his eyes dulls to a dangerous crimson hue, black-red tendrils barely contained within a closed fist.

—

You stare up at the building in front of you, mouth agape.

At least eight stories high, its grandeur is impossible to miss, even amidst the notable luxury shops and high-end establishments of the uptown plaza. Massive windows stretch across the facade, their panes glinting like polished gems in the late afternoon light. At its center, a grand arched entrance commands attention, flanked by twin marble columns with gold detailing. The architecture is reminiscent of those vintage and timeless mansions you always see on royalty-themed documentaries.

Discreetly, you pull out your phone to scroll through your conversation with Sylus, double-checking the maps link he sent.

[You] sy!! [You] the cookies turned out pretty good!! [You] i wanna give you some [You] should we meet up?? [fruit man] Congrats on the successful outcome of your baking experiment sweetie. [fruit man] When do you want to hand them over? [You] i was thinking today if it’s ok! they taste best while they’re still fresh [fruit man] I might run late due to a meeting. why don’t you head here while theres still light out? [fruit man] We can go have dinner after. [fruit man] fruit man sent you a link. [You] oooh is this the place you’re staying at? [fruit man] Its an old guest lodging I run. [fruit man] Its convenient for whenever I have business in Linkon.

You stare at the screen incredulously, then glance back up at the towering behemoth before you. This is the old guest lodging he was talking about? You’re no lodging connoisseur, but you’re pretty sure this is a five-star hotel.

Deciding not to question it further lest you get a headache, you square your shoulders and step inside.

Immediately, you feel like an outsider as you pass through the elegant interior, your gaze flitting between the extravagant glass chandelier and the plush velvet sofas in the vast lounge area. Even the guests moving about look like they own at least three vacation homes around the world, like they spend their weekends at the golf club for fun.

A staff member approaches to greet you, her gloved hands neatly clasped as she dons an excellent customer service smile.

“Welcome to the Noir Manor! Do you have a reservation?”

“Um, no." Crap, even your voice sounds out of place. "But I’m here for Sylus?”

Her eyes widen. She reaches into the pocket of her work skirt and pulls out a small notebook, swiftly scanning its pages. She reads your name aloud, her eyes flicking to you for confirmation.

“That’s me, yes,” you say, fingers fiddling with the handle of your wooden picnic basket.

Without missing a beat, she pulls a walkie-talkie from her breast pocket.

“Attention, over. We’ve got white dove in the lobby. Please be advised. Over.”

She then tucks the device back and turns to you with a more genuine smile.

"Mr. Sylus is currently in a meeting on the top floor, but he’ll be finishing shortly. Please, make yourself comfortable in the lounge area in the meantime."

You don’t need to be told twice. The wide lobby space and high ceilings are starting to make you feel claustrophobic. After relaying your thanks, you beeline for the single sofa chair at the farthest end.

You’re content enough just admiring the impressive architecture and interior design of the place, but strangely, hotel staff keep coming up to you every few minutes, bringing fresh pastries and tea. They also keep bringing in soft throw pillows, helping you settle more comfortably in your comically large seat. The attention has you mortified—both from the employees and the guests casting furtive glances at the table they brought over, laden with your private snack spread.

Desperate to shake off your nerves, you scan the room again, your eyes immediately locking onto the massive widescreen TV mounted on the pillar near the lobby desk. It’s muted, but the bold headlines and auto-generated captions on the news report are more than enough for you to follow along.

You barely make out the words flashing across the screen. Something about the new CEO of a prominent national bank chain drunk driving down the highway and crashing into a streetlight pole. The family has apparently urged the local police to investigate for foul play, citing the unnaturally high speed he was driving. An image of the driver flashes on screen.

You stand up abruptly, your pulse hammering in your ears.

It's the guy at the café.

Your family’s killer.

He’s dead.

“There better not be a missing cookie in there,” an amused voice says from behind you, making you jump.

Sylus. He’s wearing a patterned maroon button-up. Normally, the exposed collarbone beneath his inner white shirt would have you looking away, heat rising to your cheeks. But you're too stunned by what you’ve just learned to even register it.

Your thousand-yard stare has him frowning. He rests a hand on your shoulder, the other tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear.

“Everything alright, kitten?”

Words catch in your throat as you weakly point a finger toward the TV, the report now showing a live interview with the former CEO—the driver’s father. Apparently, they’re filing for bankruptcy by the end of next year’s first quarter and are asking for prayers during their difficult time.

You don’t see Sylus’ face, your eyes drifting in and out of focus on the gold pendant of his necklace. Instead, you feel him gently guide your head against his chest, a hand softly patting your back in a soothing rhythm.

“If anything, he had it coming.”

The vibration of his voice hums against your ear, and you exhale, your eyes fluttering shut. "It just feels surreal, I guess," you mumble, your hands hanging limply at your sides. "I mean, I just saw him, what, two weeks ago?"

A brief silence hangs between you before he pulls back, carefully cupping your cheeks and guiding your bleary gaze to meet the intense scarlet of his.

“How about showing me what you've made for me? I've been looking forward to tasting it with you all afternoon.”

You nod absentmindedly, allowing him to guide you to the private elevator concealed behind the lobby desk. With your bow-adorned basket in one hand, he flicks a finger over his shoulder. Instantly, the staff moves with practiced ease, swiftly tidying up your previous spot in the lounge.

As the elevator doors close and begin their ascent to his office on the top floor, he gently coaxes you out of your dazed state, sharing stories about a fishing excursion he recently took up north. He laments his lack of catch during the three-day trip, especially since it was supposed to be the prime season for a rare species in the area.

Had you been more present, you would’ve noticed that, despite his apparently horrendous luck, he seems awfully chipper.

note: i'm 6 parts in and i still can't decide on a title 🧍‍♀️

nav: one, two, three, four, five, six (current) or: read on ao3

tag list: @thepotatoislost, @xxfaithlynxx, @browneyedgirl22, @vorfreudevortex, @midiplier, @wisteriaflowersss, @euclase0, @leighsartworks216, @keyiswatching, @goldenbirdiee, @delaythings, @datura109, @iloveboysinred, @everythingistaken00, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @blueberrysquire, @mourning-into-dancing, @bookfreakk, @everywherenothere, @vvhira, @laidenbreecatchall, @kyushii, @lucifer-says-hii, @sylus-crow, @carmelves, @nishayuro, @comatosebunny09, @withering-dream, @rmjace2, @tinnyrabbit, @socutesotall

check out my other works!

[akemi2003]

Fic prompt #12

Dpxdc

Danny’s obsession was helping people

He thought it was cool, it was a good thing and even his parents, if they knew about Phantom would have been proud of him for having an obsession so nice, unlike other ghosts that used their obsession like an excuse to cause chaos

No one ever told him that obsessions could evolve

First it was helping people, then it became being a hero and from there it becomes HEROES

He wanted to know everything about everyone of them

Why were they doing it? Where they get that ability/power/knowledge? What inspired their costume?

Before he knew it he had abused his power and the fact that nobody believed in ghosts, for obtaining his information

He knew everything, their secret identities, their backgrounds, powers, circle of friends….

He had files at the beginning but he realized fast enough that he don’t needed it, he couldn’t literally forget them

At the beginning he felt kind of bad about abusing his powers and invading the privacy of the heroes, but that feeling faded kinda quickly when he discovered that many citizens of Amity at the beginning of the ghosts attack had tried contacting the Justice League just to be blacklisted because “Ghost don’t exist “

At this point he considered the info, like a paycheck, a totally deserved one

He even ended up using the knowledge to improve his fighting style so at the end of his school years he had that situation under control.

He even became the heir to the throne of the Infinite Realm, so he didn’t even need to find a job

He didn’t account for his obsession to evolve another time. He should have known better…

But who can blame him? Red Robin was just his type!!!

He was even being sacrificed to him! It was destiny!!!!!!

Unfortunately he still had his morals intact so he would have to let him go, but who said that it was a simple affair?

The justice league knows nothing about the realms, him, Amity Park or ghosts..

It would be very simple to trick them into believing that Tim was now bound to him and that it was irreversible

Just until he can get him to love him, and marry him and maybe to create a family

Who was he kidding? There was no way he was ever letting him go. He would just giving the illusion of a choice, after all this was also part of his paycheck

[azullumi]

"to your never, to my nothings" ; phainon

premise— he had never known the extent of his affection, of his adoration, until he had looked for you everywhere he went, searching for a semblance of you in a crowd. an unfortunate thing, however, as everyone knows that he likes you, except you.  content tags & warnings — pairing: phainon x gn!reader | one-sided pining (somehow), fluff, v3.0 trailblaze mission mentioned and used, lovesick phainon i advocate, reader is a normal citizen, phainon worries about reader, not proofread | wc: 1.4k | tagging: @felibrary

"jellyfish" — i hit my shin against the edge of the table while i was writing this and i nearly died

Not a single person is unaware of the affections a certain Chrysos Heir holds towards you.

The three children who bear different smiles were the first to notice—subtle, fleeting glimpses that betrayed PHAINON's carefully composed facade. They see the gleam in his eyes, talking—or gossiping—it among themselves even as he stands right there, lips pressed into a thin line, unable to protest without confirming their suspicions. The heat creeping up his neck is answer enough.

He can’t say anything against it, but only asking them to not tell anyone about it, albeit they tease him further. However, nothing can escape the golden threads of a certain demigod as the man found himself conversing in a topic about the weight of his feelings and the weight of his responsibility.

Then guess what happens after? Yes, news travels fast—like wildfire carried by the idle breeze—reaching Mydei because how come he also has something to say?

And of course; “Lord Phainon, your ears are red.” The lady, adorned with flowers, would say as they walked away from your store after the man himself insisted that he had to check on something, on you. Phainon brushes it off, muttering something about the weather being unusually warm. Albeit his deflection is as transparent as glass and the only thing helping him is the fact that he's a step ahead and Castorice couldn’t see the red that dusts his cheek.

He knows he adores you, and perhaps it is a terrible thing that he loves you more than he loves himself, because your name itself reverberates through the hollow chambers of a heart that beats only for you, his thoughts composing a fine melody that yearns for you to feel the same. And when the Titan of Strife had come to strike the city, the tremble of his fingers and the falter of his composure disturbed the calm waters of his gaze. 

“The city is under attack!”

The sound of rubble crashing down, a cloud of dust and thick smoke consuming the place, chaos and screams everywhere filling all of his senses. His eyes flick over from one place to another, his feet never stopping as he runs, brandishing his blade against titankins who stand in his way. His gaze searched for you amidst the fire and debris but you were nowhere to be found; he had asked citizens for any sights of you and got nothing at the same.

Fear seeps into his skin, violently clawing and numbing him, an icy grip tightening around his chest. But before he could let the feeling consume him, a fragile, desperate voice pierces through the haze of destruction.

“Phainon!” His head whips around so quickly you fear it could have snapped in half. A blur of smoke and shattered concrete, and then, you’re there. Relief washed over him like a violent wave and he nearly dropped his claymore at once; the heavy weight that dragged his footsteps against pavement became light, his legs moving before his mind could catch up, and before you could even comprehend it, you’re pulled in a tight embrace.

“You’re alright.” He says, low and breathless, his voice trembling as words stumble out, scratched with exhaustion and raw relief. You feel him relax as you pat his back, comforting him as the warmth of his own spill into yours. 

Phainon releases you moments after, his hands lingering as he checks up on you for any wounds you might have. His expression doesn’t relent and you have to reassure him that you’re fine—but he doesn’t believe you, not until he’s certain with his own eyes. However, his fingers brush against a spot on your arm, and before you can stifle it, a wince slips past your lips.

Thus, he sees it—a gash that begins from your forearm, extending to near your elbow, and his face tightens with a grimace. You jerk your arm away instinctively, turning from him to hide the wound, and the gesture cuts deeper than you intend. His lips part, trembling slightly, trying to find the words to say.

His hand tries to reach for you but it simply hangs in the air, hesitation lingering in his bones, and it falls away to his side.

“Phainon,” You say firmly, your gaze stilling on him, laced with conviction as if nothing he will say will move you. “ I’m okay, but there are others who are not.”

“But—”

“You must go.”

He is reminded of his responsibility once more, of the constant voice of his duty whispering against his ear, of the weight of the prophecy and his title—it draws a blatant line between you and him, making him fearful to cross it.

A bitter smile crosses your lips when you see his reluctance, your voice taking on a gentler tone when you speak: “It’s alright, I’ll be fine, so don’t worry about me.” Your words don't scour the tension on his shoulders but it managed to carve away the sharp edges of his worry. Not entirely, but enough. He exhales a slow, weary sigh—a quiet surrender—and steps closer. 

Without a word, Phainon tears a strip of fabric from his cape, the sound of ripping cloth sharp against the quiet between you. The chaos, the sound of destruction around you seem to have faded into nothing as the world holds its breath for the two of you. 

His hands move with practiced care, fingers steady despite the storm lingering behind his eyes. He wraps the makeshift bandage around your wound, his touch feather-light, as if afraid you might shatter under the weight of it. His brows furrowed with concentration, but there’s a softness there too, woven into the way he avoids pressing too hard, the way his thumb brushes over your skin like an apology he can’t speak aloud. All the while, you watch him, listening as he tells you to look for the High Priest, Tribios, for safety.

You don’t say a word, instead, you just nod, because it’s easier than admitting the fear clawing at your ribs. His hand hovers near yours, as if he wants to say more, do more—but instead, he steps back, leaving a hollow space where his warmth had just been.

And he leaves.

But you, the recipient of these affections, however, is oblivious. The very person who mistakes every small gesture, every stolen glance, every carefully chosen word, as nothing more than the courtesy of a Chrysos Heir fulfilling his duty. You dismiss his offers of assistance with casual gratitude, his thoughtful gifts as tokens of mere friendship. You brush off the moments when his gaze lingers too long, the way his voice softens when it’s your name on his lips.

“You’re a great friend, Phainon.” You’ve told him once. Friend. Friend. The word itself echoes, clinging to the corners of his mind, a bittersweet anthem that both comforts and torments. He wears the title with a quiet resignation, even as his soul yearns for more.

But who was he to expect more? After all, he’s not pursuing you with grand gestures or bold confessions, the way love stories are. Yet, it’s the small things that betray him—the quiet, unnoticed acts that slip through the cracks of his careful restraint.  Like how he willingly takes the longest routes, detours woven into his path with the fragile hope of glimpsing you by chance. Like how his hands seem to find trinkets and gifts that remind him of you, delicate offerings tucked into his pockets until he can gather the courage to present them, just to see that fleeting smile bloom on your lips.

And it is never for the hope of you liking him back. But surely, surely you should notice.

Maybe it’s the way his voice falters slightly when he says your name, or how his gaze softens in a crowd when he finds you, like a lighthouse catching sight of home. Maybe it’s the silence between his words, filled with everything he wishes he could say but can't because his feelings are messy, irrational things—and yet, here he is, drowning in them.

Maybe it’s the way he stands a little too close, but not close enough, like the distance is both a comfort and a curse. 

But you don’t notice. And perhaps you never will.

Yet, even if his words remain unheard, even if his gestures remain unseen, even if you’ll never know, he finds solace in being able to adore you from afar. The fire consumes him quietly, burning bright and unseen, tucked beneath the layers of his being. And he carries it quietly, like a secret melody only he can hear—serene, enduring, and his alone, etched not in words, but in the spaces between.

© AZULLUMI. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[fir-fireweed]

Intro Post for my new WIP, “Cantata.” If you haven’t yet read my completed IF, “Viatica,” you can find it here on itch.

Ko-Fi Link Here

A low fantasy IF loosely based on the Italian Renaissance period, with a steampunk edge.

DEMO on Itch

SYNOPSIS

The story is set in Saleste, an empire with a long history of expansionism and colonization. It is a vast, wealthy empire, very much set in notions of classism and noble privilege. And its warmongering has only grown more brazen under the current regis (monarch). Saleste is currently at a stalemate with Tinebaille, a neighboring island nation the empire has repeatedly tried, and failed, to conquer.

Within the empire, technically citizens but not, are the Iredicci. The Iredicci are as much a religion as they are a race—less like priests and more like monks or shamans. The Iredicci can hear and feel the cordis, the harmonic pulse that connects all living things, and they connect to it through song. Iredicci have excellent hearing, but their defining feature is their voice—they have an echo to their voice, a resonance of two pitches at once. The regis asked the Iredicci elders to use their unique gift to help him conquer Tinebaille, but as a peaceful people, they refused.

A simple, nomadic people, the Iredicci were traditionally welcome in all corners of the Saleste Empire. But as steam technology progressed and the push for new resources grew, a prejudice developed against them. The regis spread propaganda against the Iredicci, painting them as an inferior, uncivilized people who leeched off the empire rather than aided it. Over the years they stopped being welcome. Eventually, their travel was restricted, and the Iredicci were forced to live in settlement camps.

You are one of the Iredicci, born into such a camp. The elders sing songs of past travels and wonders you have never seen. Ever the optimists, the elders tell you to take heart. To be thankful you are among friends and family. That things can’t possibly get any worse.

Until they do.

Historians and politicians would call it The Proelium, a righteous battle against the traitorous Iredicci. What it really was, was the systematic genocide of your people. In one night, soldiers attacked every settlement camp across the empire. No one was spared—not the elders, not the children, not your mother.

It was mere whim that you snuck out of camp that evening, a mischievous escapade with a friend that ironically saved your life. You are taken in by your friend’s family and kept safe. But with survivors being hunted and killed, you must conceal your identity. So, you pretend to be deaf and mute.

Journey through the empire of Saleste and beyond. Grow from a child into an adult. Make friends, lovers, allies, and enemies. How will they react when your secret comes to light? Will you abandon your song in favor of machine? Join the rebel forces against the tyrant regis? Will you heal the wounds of the realm and restore balance? Or plunge it further into chaos?

FEATURES

Play as male, female or nonbinary—you’ll be able to choose your pronouns independent of your body type.

Customize your character’s appearance and personality.

Choose your attunement/proficiency with the cordis. This choice will heavily influence gameplay, affecting combat, weapon specialization, character interactions, and problem-solving situations. Choose wisely!

Create 2 character names: your birth name and an alias. The Iredicci have culturally unique names, so your birth name will be limited to a preset selection. But you will go by an alias of your own choosing for most of the story.

Develop your relationship with your adopted sister. Are you friends or rivals?

Romance! Or not. Romance 1 of 4 possible love interests, or choose the platonic route with the best of friends.

Save a wild animal from a hunter’s trap and gain a steadfast companion. Because fur baby.

THE MC

The game begins with you at age 7. When you are 12, your camp is slaughtered during The Proelium. With your voice and heightened hearing identifying you as Iredicci, you pretend to be deaf and mute in order to hide your heritage. The main game occurs 13 years after The Proelium, when you are 25.

ROMANCE OPTIONS

Calliope Cato (she/her)

The inventor/artificer, Calliope can build and fix any machine. She is 2 years younger than you, petite, with gold eyes, rich brown skin and black hair in multiple braids. Her hair and clothes are adorned in rings, belts, and pins which double as tools. She carries a man’s cane sword with her everywhere, which she wields in a fight along with a hand crossbow. She’s curious, optimistic, excitable, and easily distracted by her many projects, but much of that is to keep her mind occupied. In quiet moments when she thinks no one is looking, you glimpse a profound sadness on her features.

Corinne Xenakis (she/her)

The leader of the rebels, Corinne works to overthrow the monarchy and aid the surviving Iredicci where possible. She is 6 years older than you. She is tall, with long, sandy brown hair usually worn in a messy bun or loosely braided bun, hazel eyes, and beige skin tanned by the sun. Quiet, serious and aloof, she feels a tremendous responsibility for those under her command. Corinne is a contradiction—she has the grace and manners of a noblewoman, yet fights with military precision that is uncommon for females of noble lineage. She is deadly when double wielding her flintlocks or axes. While not cold, she is not overly familiar or friendly with anyone, and very tight-lipped about her past. What does she guard so fiercely behind her armor?

Vicente Aloi (he/they)

The bastard prince, Vicente is calculating, ruthless and driven. They are the same age as you, and they, too, lost their mother the night of The Proelium, though under different circumstances. But while you were adopted into a loving family, he is the unwanted son of the regis, trained to be a lethal tool. He has long, midnight blue-black hair, icy blue eyes, and high defined cheekbones. The edges of a tattoo are barely visible on his neck above the collar of his doublet… wings, perhaps? It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful, though you’d never tell him for fear he’d take his rapier to your neck simply for looking. Will your plans align with his, or are you merely another pawn in his schemes?

Bayram Durmaz (he/him)

The son of the Aydem, the matriarchal leader of Tinebaille. Bayram is 4 years older than you. He has golden-honey skin, light brown eyes, and dark brown, tightly-curled hair that he usually wears back in a ponytail or half ponytail. He is tall and broad, muscular but not toned, with a rounded edge to his stomach and chest. A sprawling, colorful tattoo, the mosaic artwork of his people, covers the entirety of his back. He is boisterous, bold, and a shameless flirt. With his young sister bearing the weight of succession, he’s been free to explore the islands to his heart’s content, and is familiar with every bay, inlet, and harbor. He is equally skilled at wielding a spear, sailing a ship, and charming hearts.

[vxnuslogy]

╭──────     deliverance's right hand    ✦ ⸝⸝

            ✦   ⭑𓂃   honkai: star rail      ┆     phainon    .ᐟ                ──╯

𐔌  warnings. ooc-phainon ( written before pre-release ), very much word vomit        ♟      notes. phainon yearning so bad i made a fic when he first appeared during the last last livestream. 

           ━━━ art credits. hoyoverse        ♟         tags.  @starcharmed @mikashisus @https-sourlimes @dazaisms @powchakko @pneumosia ; if you'd like to be tagged please fill out the forms in my pinned post !!

                                 ౨ৎ the nameless king, phainon — historians can only wonder what your relationship was with amphoreus' king.

a nameless new king who ascended to the throne andbrought new heroes with him is sure to be written down in history. with a silver blade and its golden hilt shining under the sunlit battlefields, soldiers and enemies alike revel in his glory. even as the sky turned red and the black tides beckoned, deliverance was always there to keep them at bay. 

his mission was simple and sound, freeing this world of the darkness that consumed his home. one would say he was a foolish boy for daring to draw a sword against a god when he was only but a child, but his right hand man would argue it was his destiny to protect. with the attack so sudden and their heroes falling, people could not help but feel their hope flicker out and die. and you? you stayed close by the future king’s side, shaking hands clutching at his bloodstained shawl as he fought with a dull blade meant for training. but despite all the fear and red stained hopelessness, you still chose to remain by his side, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

even at his coronation, he dared to refuse the crown if you were not by his side. what a rude child he was to ask the king for a nobody like you to help him get dressed, but he made no complaint. this child, with white hair that glistened like snow in winter and eyes like the oceans reflecting a sunrise view, phainon was this world’s new king—their new hero. and you would be his trusted right hand.

the people cheered when he took the palace’s balcony. stretches upon stretches of miles filled with his now citizens as they cheered and chanted his name like a prayer. “all hail the new king!” “in the name of deliverance!” these words fell deaf in his ears when his eyes trailed off the side, eventually settling on your figure draped in clothing you were uncertain to wear. hidden by the dancing curtains and the afternoon sun hitting your skin while your hair was decorated with a golden laurel wreath. you were his right hand man. you were his. and phainon thought, “maybe being a king wasn’t too bad after all.”

and as the years went by and more wars emerged, people grew doubtful. but not you. no, never you. in spite of all the bloodshed, you were patient with your care and assistance. rubbing off the blood that stained his body, or how you tend to the sword he’s used recklessly, you were never once swayed with the masses questioning. you’d still greet him warmly by the palace gates, help him settle in bed and let you treat him as if he were a child. to you, maybe he was—he grew up too fast, putting the world’s responsibilities on a plate meant for childhood games and dreams.

“are you not afraid?” he ends up asking one night as he laid in his bed. one whole arm wrapped in tight bandages as you folded his clothes by the bed’s edge. you turn to him curiously, the innocence of your childhood still in the glimmers of your eyes but it never glazes with ignorance. phainon thinks you are an angel sent from above in this light—face half illuminated by the candle in his room, his cape at your lap, and the clothing that was distinctively made to match his. in this light you were utterly and wholly his.

“of what?” you asked in return. a soft smile tugging at your lips as you move closer to him. your hand brushed with his and phainon is struck with fear the enemy could ever place on him. 

the king wonders. quietly and introspectively. completely to himself but still bare to you. “are you not afraid of me?”

and to his surprise, you laugh. he’s bewildered beyond imagination as his mind races with thoughts he could not fully process. “why are you laughing?” he asked with a furrow of his brows. hand twitching under your hold as if you’ve held him captive against his will. but deep down in his heart, phainon would not mind to be your poor servant if it meant seeing you every second of the day.

“it was a silly question, that’s all.” 

something changed in the way you looked at him that night. because the following day, and the day after that, and until the end of the month, you looked at him gently. that he was far more valuable than any life on this planet. the look of what he assumed was love. and he replies by giving you the same look, but with actions instead. 

he is still a king—a soldier meant to fight in war and not a lover meant to be in your hold—but he wanted to be yours, too. phainon didn’t want to claim you as his because you wake him up with gentle humming, settle him on the dining table with meticulous meals to satiate his unusual pickiness, or because you treat the clothing he’s deemed a curse like a part of his being that needs to be cherished. no, no, that was unbefitting of your grace and level. 

you deserved to be drowned in your favorite flowers, a dance partner under the starry night, and a future monarch that his home already loves. without meaning to, you and the nameless king of heroes have eloped to becoming lovers outside prying eyes. anyone would notice how king phainon had stars in his eyes whenever you walked in the room, how he always reached for your hand like how he did with his sword, or whenever he sought you out first during every gala or ball. you were already each other’s without having to say it or even act on it—loving has become as easy as breathing.

some historians will argue that you were only the king’s right hand, always there to serve as a clear voice in his cloudy mind. but others would argue you were more his lover, partners for eternity with entwined souls. but to phainon, you were more than these two things—you were his deliverance, a sanctuary in this exhausting world.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[ssweeterthanfiction]

finnick odair and silent ways he tells you he loves you before dating?

You Are In Love

content warnings: mentions of panic attacks, implied trafficking of victors

masterlist.

Finnick Odair, who has been there for you ever since you won your games. He visits your house everyday, flowers and a small bag of muffins in hand, that same boyish grin on his face when he sees you.

Finnick Odair, who goes with you to Victor's Village private beach, watching as you collect seashells, admiring how pretty you look in the sun.

Finnick Odair, who constantly brings you small gifts and knicknacks. He's like a crow, always bringing you shiny interesting items from the market and from the Capitol. He even brings you a rare item to District 4, a pretty little snowglobe.

Finnick Odair, who is by your side anytime you feel under the weather. He makes you soup, makes sure you stay hydrated, makes sure you're warm and comfortable, never letting you lift a single finger.

Finnick Odair, who accompanies you to the market, carrying all your bags/baskets back to your house, insisting they aren't at all heavy.

Finnick Odair, who is always by your side during Capitol events. Always holding you hand, hooking his arm with yours, kissing your knuckles softly, and always finds a way to dance with you. And whenever he does, it always seems lik your both in your own world, like the snowglobe he brought you from one of his trips to the Capitol, protected by a delicate bubble of glass.

Finnick Odair who helps you through panic attacks. He holds you close to his chest, presses his lips to your forehead, strokes your hair and whispers comforting words into your ears.

"It's okay angel."

"I'm right here."

"You're safe with me."

***Finnick Odair, who protects you from the horrors of the Capitol and the citizens, making a deal with Snow that he'll take on more clients under the condition that you won't be harmed in any way.

Finnick Odair, who realizes he is more in love with you than he originally thought.

Finnick Odair, who is the best boyfriend ever. He is your soulmate, you are his. You both are in love. True love.

***part two. (a continuation of the *** one.)

[the-library-alcove]

An updated Antizionist Bingo Card

Came up with this after reading the "debate" between Hen Mazzig and Kei Pritsker.

Explanations under the cut

Settler Colonialism Canard: Portraying Israelis as White Europeans who can just "go back to [their country of origin]", and stating that no matter where within the region they live, even if far inside the 1947 Green Line, they're "settlers" and thus deserving of death. Even if they're babies.

Blood Libel Canard: "Israelis deliberately target children to kill them", or anything to do with calling Israelis bloodthirsty, killing people to harvest them, depicting them as vampires, bathing in blood, or otherwise engaging in ritualistic slaughter of human beings, especially children.

Celebrating the deaths of Israeli citizens: Straightforward and very popular. It should be especially apparent when said Israelis, or Jews in general, are living outside of Israel, and people are pleased to see them dead. There have been multiple examples in just the last few weeks--a car accident in NYC killed several Jews, including children, and was celebrated, and there were two brutal murders in California, also celebrated.

"We have Token Good Jews!": Tokenization in the classic sense, being used to hold up as a shield against accusations of bias. (Very often these individuals turn out not to be Jewish as well)

Historical Revisionism of Israel's founding: Fairly straightforward, in terms of misrepresenting or distorting (or straight up lying) about the events of the Arab-Israeli War of 1948 and the founding of Israel.

Inflating the death toll, or other disregard for actual Palestinian lives: according to the official count by Hamas' own governmental apparatus, approximately 50,000 people have died in the Gaza Strip between October 2023 and April 2025, including of natural causes. Anyone claiming that the death toll is an extreme undercount or citing higher numbers essentially wants there to be more dead Palestinians in order to blame Israel. Also qualifying are those who dismiss or demean the anti-Hamas protests happening in Gaza.

Historical Revisionism, 1948-2006: Covers lying about or distorting the Six Day War, The Yom Kippur War, the First and Second Intifadas, the return of the Sinai Desert to Egypt, the status of the West Bank, the peace accords during the 1990s, or the Gaza pullout, among other topics.

American-centric view of the conflict: Covers, among other things, "Palestinians are like the Natives in the US being kept on reservations, or like Latinos trying to enter the US being kept behind a border wall, and the Israeli government is like the Republicans, only Jews!", or other such comparisons where the speaker is trying to impose their own outsider perspective onto the conflict.

Genocide Canard: Any accusation that Israel is genociding the Palestinians. Quite simply, if Israel was genociding the Palestinians, none of them would still be alive.

"But Israel/Zionism!" in unrelated topics: Discussing antisemitism in the US or elsewhere in the world? Discussing Jewish history, traditions, culture, theology, or other aspects of Judaism? Just existing as a Jew? And someone brings up Israel or Zionism in an effort to derail or force an answer? Here.

"Israel killed its own people on purpose.": Comes in two general flavors--either claiming that 7/10 was a false flag attack, or accusing Israel of deliberately targeting the hostages in order to kill them.

Celebrating or mythologizing Hamas, Hezbollah, or the Houthis: They're terrorist groups backed by Iran to stir the pot and instigate conflict; they're responsible for incredible amounts of death and misery, and are not plucky freedom fighters, much less La Resistance.

"I'm antizionist, not antisemitic": The universal clarion call, usually invoked right before saying something incredibly Jew-hating.

Historical Revisionism, Pre-1948: The largest historical revisionism category, but breaking it down could be its own bingo card. Anything from "There were never any Jews in Palestine before 1948" to appropriating British Palestine Jewish culture and innovations for the Arabs, to the Happy Dhimmi myth, to claiming that the Jews did not originate in the Levant... all of it qualifies.

Israel is solely culpable for Gaza's standard of living: In 2006, when Israel pulled out of Gaza by treaty, there were three dozen hospitals, a power plant, a desalination plant, and lots of other infrastructure present. Now, water and power are rare, and the reason the pipes are gone is not Israelis--it's Hamas digging them up to use as rockets. And the hospitals, schools, and other civilian infrastructure were used to launch rockets out of, making them valid targets. But apparently it's just easier to blame Israel than Hamas for violating the rules of war.

"My acts of violence are free speech, your speech is violence.": An extremely popular double standard, where Antizionists will excuse any and all hateful rhetoric, hostile environments, or actual physical violence against Jews as "acts of free speech", but Jews protesting these behaviors are engaging in violence.

Ethnostate/Jewish Supremacy Canard: There is no definition of Ethnostate that fits Israel that doesn't fit a majority of other nations in the world, rendering the fixation on Israel to be a clear case of double standards, and the accusation of Jewish supremacy is just projection.

Apartheid Canard: Non-Jewish citizens of Israel have full equal rights; this is not equivalent to South African apartheid in the slightest, unless the accusers are saying that the Palestinians are actually Israeli citizens instead of being foreign nationals--and if that is the case, then I would ask them if they have the same rights in another nation that they're not citizens of.

Jews don't get to define antisemitism: Fairly straightforward; any attempt or effort by a non-Jew to claim that something isn't "really" antisemitism falls here.

ZOG Canard: "Israel/Jews/AIPAC/etc own/control the US government/media/economy/banks/etc". I.e "Jews run the world from behind the scenes" accusations.

Historical revisionism, 2006-Present: Anything that tries to rewrite history regarding Gaza, the stalled peace process, the conflicts, the rockets, the Iron Dome, or even Netanyahu's corruption all fall here.

Dual Loyalty Canard/Diaspora Jews are valid targets: "All Jews, aside from our Good Tokens are Evil Zionists beholden to Israel and thus valid to harass or kill".

Accusations of Indiscriminate/Wanton/Cartoonish Cruelty: To hear some antizionists talk about Israelis, they're so evil and sadistic that they by all rights should be in some Game of Thrones-style narrative, where kicking puppies is just part of the morning routine. Israel bombs hospitals/universities/schools/daycares/mosques/etc, apparently just for the chance to be evil and cruel, instead of the reality of "Hamas deliberately puts its weapons and fighters there to use civilians as human shields". This is tied to the Blood Libel narratives--especially when claims come of Israel deliberately targeting children--but is distinct enough on its own to merit its own box.

"No True Pro-Palestinian Activist would...": Just a No True Scotsman claim, and yes, yes they would. We have citations. And please don't try to claim that they're mentally ill, either.

Redefining Words, NewSpeak-style: A lot of words get redefined in this conflict; Genocide, Apartheid, Zionism, and Settler-Colonialism are all major enough to get their own boxes, but they're not alone. Pulling from another post of mine, here are some examples:

Humanitarian Aid becomes Manufactured Famine.

Borders become Concentration camp walls.

Suicide bombers become heroes.

Rape becomes Resistance.

Civilian Evacuation becomes Ethnic Cleansing

Unwilling Human Shields become Brave Martyrs

Indoctrinated Child Soldiers become Adorable Spirit Of Resistance or Murder

People returning to their native homeland become Colonizers

Hostages become Prisoners of War

Anti-Rocket Defense becomes a Tool of Genocide

Surrender becomes Ceasefire

Civilians become Acceptable Targets

[soon-palestine]

as an american citizen, you have the right to assemble. the police and other governmental agencies violate this right through mass arrests, illegal use of force, criminalization of protest and other means that threaten our right to free expression.

DO NOT TALK TO THE POLICE:

they are not your friends. they are not there to protect you, regardless of your race. their presence there is to protect the interests of the state.

what to do if you are detained or stopped by the police:

do not resist, even if you think they are violating your rights.

calmly ask someone to record.

ask if you’re free to leave. if you are, walk away.

how to stay safe during a protest:

write phone/legal aid numbers on your body. bring a sharpie for others to do this.

ALWAYS use the buddy system. don’t be selfish & stick to your own friend group. if you see someone alone, invite them into your circle.

don’t know where to seek legal aid?

before attending/during a protest, visit http://nlg.org/chapters/#massdefense.

NLG chapters are organized into regions. find. your region and write their number on your body.

encourage others around you to write that same number on their body.

4. if you are threatened with or under arrest:

you have the right to know why you’re being arrested. calmly ask. if they refuse to provide a reason, stay quiet and ask for legal representation immediately.

do not give any information or sign anything without a lawyer present.

what to do with your phone during a protest:

put your phone on airplane mode

disable face ID/touch, replace with 6-digit passcode instead

spreading awareness is great but avoid posting photos of people that include identifying features.

police want everyone to leave the area, what should that look like:

shutting down a protect through a dispersal order must be the last resort for police.

a clear danger must be present.

police must give adequate time for protesters to disperse and an exit route.

what are your rights if you’re being stopped or detained by police:

you do not have to consent to you or your belongings being searched. if you consent, anything can be used against you in court.

police can conduct a “pat down” if they suspect you have a weapon.

if you see someone being detained, what should you do:

record the interaction. police can not demand to view or delete any footage without a warrant.

use calming affirmations towards the person being detained. they are likely scared. be there for them.

use whatever privilege you have to protect others.

if you see a disabled person struggling, offer to help. find medics to assist people experiencing anxiety or having a panic attack. if you see a BIPOC being harassed, surround them.

personal note on using your privilege: i have seen white people, countless times, place themselves in front of BIPOC when police draw weapons/approach protests. it often works.

do not be a person that just acknowledges their privilege, use it for good.

10. remember that we protect us. ignite this chant as a reminder to everyone present if you have to. communities are supposed to help one another. don’t be a sell out, offer support, share resources, food and water. be a kind soul.

if you can not participate in a protest for whatever reason, you can still help! drop-off supplies! (water bottles, allergy-friendly foods/snacks with ingredients labels on them, sharpies, cards with legal aid numbers on them, masks, makeup remover wipes, hand sanitizer, etc)

sources/disclaimer: main source:

@ACLU and my own opinions. this is not legal advice. consult legal representation if you are in need of assistance.

stay safe, be on the right side of history. black lives matter, no one is illegal, we protect us, land back, all oppression is connected and free palestine. 🇵🇸

[starmocha]

April Showers Bring May Flowers [Sylus + Daughter ★ 2090 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] It was raining again in the N109 Zone. A/N: Sylus’ birthday may be over, but I still had a few people requesting a birthday fic with his daughter, so… I said yes. :’) Tag list: @lavlynyan @alfredosaws @solifloris @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @yes-no-maybe-soo @natimiles @yourlocalcatscammer @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @qyuin @sylusfluffymeow @asiaticapple @rainbowsnowflake @littleapplle 【 request to be added 】

It was raining again in the N109 Zone, as it always seemed to do come April. It had never bothered Sylus too much, feeling like the rain was cleansing the world of its impurities. God only knew how sinfully infested this nigh eternally dark insidious city he had claimed as his home was. In every dark corner, within the shadows, under the cloak of this endless nighttime, unspeakable criminal acts occurred, a common knowledge among the citizens of this city, but everyone turned a blind eye away unless they wished to also meet an early end.

As Sylus exited his car, returning to Onychinus’ base, his mind was already forgetting the earlier ‘business’ he had to deal with. Another betrayal—an imperfect ambush—another foolish attempt to overthrow him, but as all of the previous attempts on his life, he had handled them with ease, letting his traitorous attackers have their moment of egotistical superiority before he had shown them who was truly higher on the food chain.

To some, it would be so lonely at the top, and perhaps, for years Sylus had truly felt this way as well, though of course, he had never let his mind lingered on those feelings or ever acknowledging them. Not out of pride, or any similar reasons of sorts, but rather there was nothing to be gained from stewing in such trivial thoughts or allowing such feelings to loiter and occupy his headspace.

As the seasons passed, coming and going, the years rolling by, he had left those lonely feelings behind, his world shifting the moment he had found you back in his life again.

The weight of his wedding ring felt just right on his finger, your touch still lingering though it had been years and years since you had guided the band to him, promising your life and love to him evermore. Sylus had always known having you alone was a true blessing he had been missing, but he realized he was wrong in a way because the day his daughter was born, she had secured her place within his heart, her hold on him more steadfast than she would ever realize.

She was the true blessing in his life.

“What is this?” Sylus sighed in amusement, finding himself stopping short of his study and seeing a familiar small figure curled outside his door, clutching a dark-colored dino plushie in her arms. He walked over, bending down to scoop his three-year-old daughter into his arms.

“Why did you fall asleep out here again, my little birdie?” he asked gently to the sleeping girl, letting her head rest on his shoulder. In that moment, her arms loosened and her plushie fell to the floor.

Noticing this, Sylus bent down to pick up the plushie. He scrutinized the little plushie in his hand, noticing it looked different from the ones his daughter owned. As he examined it, he noticed a heavy weight within the plushie, as if it carried another object inside its body. Curious, he gave a gentle squeeze, his laughter immediate when he realized there was a voice box inside the moment he heard your recorded voice speaking:

“Okay, baby, do you remember the words?”

“Yes, Mommy! Happ—”

“Hold on, hold on,” your laughter rang out as you stopped the eager toddler from continuing, telling her gently, “Let Mommy play the music first.”

Sylus’ breathing stopped for a second, hearing a familiar melody. It had only become something of a tradition in his life since that day you had taken him to that wildlife park, where after a day of exploration, he and you had a special moment within a forest of maple trees where you first sang him ‘Happy Birthday,’ not realizing until he confessed that you were the first to do so for him.

In years to come, you remained the one to sing to him—aside from Luke and Kieran occasionally, as well—but only in just the last two years, you had a new person who had joined you in this tradition, her excitement for this day always stronger than the previous as she had grown older and understood the importance of it.

Sylus’ expression unwittingly softened further as he listened to the recording.

“Together with Mommy now,” you had told the child.

Sylus smiled as he heard your beautiful voice joined by your daughter’s sweet lilt, the blended harmony chasing away all of his stress and unease. He had never heard a lovelier sound than hearing his wife and daughter singing to him:

“Happy birthday to you / Happy birthday to you / Happy birthday, dear Daddy / Happy birthday to you~!”

“Mommy?” he heard his daughter’s recorded voice speaking after the song’s immediate end, “Will Daddy like my singing?”

“He adores your singing,” your voice answered firmly. “He loves you so much.”

There was that sweet bell-like giggle Sylus loved hearing from his daughter, and then her voice brightly chiming: “I love Daddy, too! Daddy, Daddy, I love you so, so, so much! Happy birthday!”

The recording stopped and Sylus peered at the sleeping girl in his arms. He nuzzled his cheek against her head, whispering softly, “Thank you.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise for when you wake up later.”

Sylus looked up, seeing you coming from down the hallway with a light crimson robe over the night slip you were wearing. He smiled at your faux look of exasperation as you approached him.

“I was wondering what happened to this plushie,” you mused, smiling when Sylus bent down to greet you with a brief kiss on the lips. “And this little birdie. I was so sure I had tucked her into her bed hours ago—”

You paused, noticing Sylus’ appearance showed that he had been in a scuffle, to put it lightly. You frowned, but before you could voice your concerns, he reassured you gently with another kiss, already leading you back to the master bedroom.

“Wait,” you spoke up, gesturing to your sleeping daughter. “Shouldn’t we put her back to bed first?”

Sylus smiled. “She’s not letting go of me,” he said with feigned helplessness. “She has her little dino claws gripping my shirt so tightly.”

You smiled back, picking up on his sentiments. “Ah,” you said with a teasing lilt, “Is this big intimidating dragon so helpless against this itty bitty one?”

Sylus sighed dramatically. “She is truly a force to be reckon with, Miss Hunter,” he said, matching your playfulness. He opened the door to both of your bedroom and led you to your bed.

You watched as your husband pried your daughter’s little fingers from his shirt and passed her and the plushie over to you.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, disappearing to the bathroom for a quick shower. Within minutes, you heard the sound of the shower running, catching a glimpse of the steams fogging up the semi-translucent door.

The sounds of the rain seemed louder now, hearing the droplets hitting the floor-to-ceiling windows with much more force than earlier. You reclined back against some pillows, letting your sleeping daughter rest on your chest, your fingers instinctively threading through her hair as you hummed a gentle lullaby for her.

You smiled at the obsidian-colored dino plushie next to you that was wearing a crimson bowtie that matched its eyes. When your daughter had expressed her wish to give her father a birthday song from her he could always hear whenever he wanted, you had spent some time pondering how to execute this charming little idea.

When you remembered the custom crow plushie Sylus had gifted you so long ago, the plan quickly fell into place. What a full-circle moment, you had mused, delighting in planning a customized dino plushie to gift him back in return years later.

Suddenly, you heard a chuckle a short distance away. It was quickly followed by Sylus’ deep rich voice breaking through your thoughts, “What’s going on through that head of yours that is making you smile so much?”

He climbed into bed next to you with still damped hair and water droplets landing on his burgundy robe. His eyebrow lifted up at the sight of the birthday plushie nestled by your side, acting almost as a barrier between you both. He picked it up, giving a gentle squeeze and hearing that recorded conversation and song again.

“Look at your smile,” you teased him, reaching over to poke his cheek while still mindful of the sleeping toddler on your chest. “You look like a dragon delighting in his new treasure.”

“Perhaps because that is the case,” he countered back lightheartedly. You nearly laughed as he hugged the plushie against his chest before setting it to the side, commenting, “I wasn’t expecting such a… charming little gift as this.”

“It was her idea,” you told him proudly.

He chuckled. “Is that so? I have to safeguard this even more then.”

“What would people say if they knew Onychinus’ leader most treasured gift is a little plushie?”

“Their assumption would be incorrect then,” he retorted to your surprise.

He pulled both you and your daughter into his embrace, taking the little girl from your arms and letting her rest against him. Within his arms, you felt that familiar warmth that was a welcoming comfort against the chill of this rainy April night. You nuzzled against him, smiling as his large hand rubbed your arm up and down soothingly.

“You two are my treasures,” he clarified, pressing another kiss to the top of your head.

Before you could respond, you heard a little yawn, catching sight of your daughter’s sleepy little eyes opening briefly.

“Daddy?” you both heard the toddler’s small voice speaking up.

“I’m here, baby,” Sylus answered back affectionately, his crimson eyes twinkling with so much adoration for the little girl.

The toddler yawned again, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “Ha-happy birthday, Daddy…”

Sylus kissed her temple. “Thank you, my sweet little birdie,” he whispered with another fond smile, seeing his daughter nuzzled against his chest as she drifted back to sleep, her small hand grasped the front of her father’s robe, fingers unconsciously rubbing the silk material in comfort. With the loving and protective presences of both her parents near, the toddler drifted into a deeper slumber than earlier, her dreams now sweeter and more cherished.

You peered up at Sylus, touched by such a sweet sight between father and daughter. “Happy birthday, my beloved.”

The gaze he returned to you, full of happiness and peace, made your heart stirred with a desire to always safeguard this part of him, to always be the warmth and light in his world such as he had always been for you and your daughter.

The downpour over the N109 Zone continued, and though Sylus knew no actual flowers would ever bloom within this area, it still felt like spring had arrived in a different way. With each new year, after every birthday since that first one at the wildlife park, he had grown greedier, wanting to hold onto this happiness he had acquired possessively and never let it slipped away from his grasp.

No fiend would ever know of such greed as this until they have acquired the love and happiness Sylus had.

“Thank you, my beloved,” he answered back, holding you just a bit tighter, noticeably longer, and ever lovingly and protectively as true as he had always been with you. You returned his embrace, your own greed just as insatiable as his.

Sylus laid you down next to him, your daughter sleeping in between curled up to his chest. You reached across, touching his cheek, and asked, “Is your birthday wish still the same as before?”

He rested his hand over yours on his cheek, his gentle smile reflected in your eyes.

“As long as you and her,” his said, his eyes glancing quickly at the sleeping girl between you both, “live freely and brilliantly, you will both be the very reasons for my strength and my vulnerability. I do not desire anything else, for this is enough.”

In that moment, you wondered which was louder: the rain or your heartbeat? Sylus was always resolute with his decisions, and this decisiveness and honesty were just a few reasons out of many for why you loved him as deeply as you did.

“Happy birthday, Sylus” you repeated, smiling fondly when he guided your fingers to his lips, answering your affections with his own.

And to many more, my dearly beloved.

[scriptseekstories]

Queen Bee’s Hive

Chapter 8- Reliving the Moment

A/N: a certain moot from a certain blog found me because my dumbass keeps forgetting I have more than one blog 😭 anyways, hope you enjoy 😼

Oh yeah like trigger warning with gore of a wrist injury and whatnot-

Violence was all Jason ever knew. From the moment his drugged up of a mother abandoned him, to the time he was raised out of the Lazarus pit. Anger was all Jason ever felt, from when he had to survive on his own, to when he wanted to make Bruce pay for keeping Joker alive.

Those weren’t good combinations, his anger and violent tendencies caused him the most shame and regrets, especially towards his family. He tried to be better for them, for himself, and for the citizens in order to have the feeling of safety again.

Yet despite it all, despite trying for redemption and growth, one person fully slipped through his fingers, one who he never apologized to, one who even with his previous promises, he couldn’t seem to ever treat them the way he used to all those years ago.

You were a balance between the good and the bad of his past. He held the moments of playing with you dearly to him, he saw just how much you needed him when Bruce and Dick never bothered to see you. Yet after his death… he couldn’t bare to look at you.

You were a reminder of how hard he pushed himself to be Robin, how much he still craved for Bruce’s love even if he hated him, you were just a memory from the past he hated, yet couldn’t let go.

He cringes now whenever he reminded himself how he punched you, threatened you when he came back, how years after he mocked you. He wishes he could take it all back, to erase the scared look when he attacked you, the way your eyes welled up with tears when he harshly teased you for being a baby.

It was never your fault but his own.

“Any updates?” The static voice of Dick from the comms interrupted his self pitying, causing Jason to narrow his eyes and gripping the rooftop railing he leaned against with Cass.

“If there was, I would’ve told you,” He snapped back into the comms before wincing when Cass looked up at him with worry. He hated those looks, “I’m sorry… I’m just not in the mood for your stupid comments,” He sighed before hearing Dick’s usual reassurances before closing out of the comms.

Patrolling as Red Hood and Orphan for the past few days were getting to him, even though he wanted to go alone to brood, Cass knew better than to leave him with his emotions.

“Talk…” She mumbled out, slowly resting her hand on Jason’s bicep. He still held his eyes closed, but soon took a deep breath while staring down at the city, eyes moving to acknowledge specific things.

“Things have done to shit lately, a-and it feels like I’m not in control anymore…” He confessed, lifting his mask up over his mouth to rub it, pacing around while Cass watched with sympathy in her eyes. No one else was taking it harder than Jason and Bruce.

“That Hansen kid, the one where his parents reported him missing for four days and I still haven’t found him. I just- UGH!!” He grabbed a pipe connected to an air conditioner and threw it buildings over, placing his hands behind his head in frustration.

“I can’t focus! I don’t know if it’s guilt, but I hate it! (Name) dying, kids and adults alike are going missing! Barbara can’t open their stupid phone!” Jason ranted, pacing around like a caged animal while Cass watched with a frown and saddened eyes.

“And the worst part is that… that monster that killed them is still out there! Probably rotting away or killing other people! How many missing reports have been filed for the past week?!” Jason felt completely helpless, not knowing if his little crook friends he helped try to find a new path were dead from the same beast that killed you.

Cass didn’t say anything but slowly made her way towards him, standing beside him before slowly wrapping her arms around Jason’s waist, resting her head against him.

“I miss them too…” She didn’t need to see his face under the mask. She was trained to understand the tiniest detail of the human, and she can sense when Jason felt utterly tired and felt like crying.

“Dick says we get back,” Cass finally said after the beeping from their comms indicated that Dick was gathering the rest of the Robins. She turned and walked away a little to confirm the signal, not noticing Jason not moving.

When she didn’t even any sort of acknowledgment from him, Cass looked up to peer over at Jason. He was in a mid crouch position, but he was frozen in place. Her eyes instantly captured the way his own eyes swirled with two emotions.

He was scared.

“That thing…” He uttered out, the shine of orange and pink reflected from his mask, eyes staring down at a faint glow he will never forget.

He was furious.

“That fucking thing that killed them…” His fists clenched, breathing ragged

“No!!” Cass managed to say before seeing him take off into the night. She tried to follow, but he jumped down and disappeared. Cass cursed to herself before tracking her location to Dick and attempted to follow Jason’s trail.

Jason kept on running, gliding onto the ground and hopping up the buildings, like a savage animal looking for the one who took away his family. Jumping off a roof, he landed firmly onto the ground, where that… thing turned to face him, tilting its head.

“You get to live… when the corpse you have eaten was found by their family to suffer…” His breathing was unsteady, guilt and rage mixing together to have him take steps forward.

The beast didn’t react, simply staring him down as if he wasn’t important. Did that thing believe you weren’t important? Was that why it killed you? It made him even more furious.

“They wouldn’t have wanted you to live, I’m going to do what Batman couldn’t all those years ago for me,” His hand reached for his gun in his belt, clocking it before aiming it towards the monster’s head.

BANG

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

Someone was here.

Your drones were your eyes in the city, scanning around like normal civilians to keep an eye out on misuse of your honey, or harassment of your worker bees. You deal with them before it’s been dealt with by the Bats.

You couldn’t afford to have Batman or the Robins to run amok in messing up your operations. You spent all this time ever since you turned that old warehouse to test out your abilities, figure out what made you a bee and what made you more special.

What you could figure out before testing, was that you can fly, but only in dire situations. You can crawl on walls and make your honey from your mouth. You can also listen to your hive, hear out what your little queen bee desires and protect them.

What you found out later after testing your body, was that whoever tastes the honey you make, you can sense them, feel their emotions and see through their eyes. Whoever tastes enough of your honey, you can control them, have them make their own honey that you can sell and distribute.

That was the honey you can use to help the world. Plants, animals, humans, you can help them all for the greater good. Your honey can change the world if they all just get a little taste to have you protect them, to rebuild what the earth has lost.

The only effects you ignored was the antennas that sprouted from your drones and workers’ heads.

It didn’t bring them any pain, no screams no discomfort when they first appeared on their heads. In fact, when you awoke that day it was when you figured out you could sense them all. You witness how they even got excited with their new attained antennas, tugging at them and watching them twitch.

Last but not least, your stinger. Your abdomen downward your back always swirled and glowed, yet you never figured out if it was the venom that you could shoot out from your little stinger. You never had the chance to use your stinger, so you concluded it to be a mystery for now.

Speaking of which, it brings us to now. You watched the sunset slowly going down, another day of building your hive. Lately, you’ve been having some strange… hallucinations. From the corners of your eye you could’ve sworn that there were people not part of your hive watching you, yet none of your drones or workers sensed them.

Your antennas vibrated, causing you to stop mid action from handing a drone a crate full of honey jars. The poor teen drone looked confused before sensing the signal too, hurriedly hiding behind you.

Your patrolling drone, she spotted figures on the roof, and you sensed her warnings soon after. Question is- which ones were they?

“Keep o-on with our route… I’ll handle them,” Your antennas twitched against his, and your worker nodded, pushing the crates of honey jars into the truck and shutting the doors. The truck slowly rolled out of the alleyway and you stood alone.

You waited, your glow now dim to lessen your obvious presence. Your head snapped up when you heard a shout from the roof, and you got into a defensive stance when a shadowy figure landed right in front of you.

“You get to live… when the corpse you have eaten was found by their family to suffer…” The raspy voice from the figure made your little hairs stand on end. You watched as the moonlight illuminated the figure to be Red Hood, hunched slightly as he walked closer.

‘The hell is this guy on?’ You wondered to yourself, your legs moving back ever so slightly. You never fought before, and the last time you even had a glimpse of these heroes they tried to kill you.

“They wouldn’t have wanted you to live, I’m going to do what Batman couldn’t all those years ago for me,” He croaked out, voice shaking while he lifted a shiny object in his hands.

Your eyes dilated, chattering on your thorax feeling your sense go off the rails. He had a gun, and he pulled the trigger.

BANG

Your body moved before your brain did, and one moment you were in a stance, the next you were sticking to the wall digging your claws into the bricks. You watched there a bullet hole was smoking out of the ground, right where you originally were if it hadn’t been your instincts.

‘He really shot me!!’ Your mind was racing, panicking was an understatement. You never got too close to the Batman or the Robins, knowing that they could easily break a few bones yet never kill. Red Hood was different, pull the trigger with no mercy.

But this wasn’t him from what you heard from stories… his body was rigid and erratic. He was filled with rage and is taking it out on you, yet you didn’t know why.

You needed to lead him away from your hive. You let out a guttural shriek before bending your legs to lunge yourself onto the side of a building, skittering up to the roof and waited. It only took a minute until Red Hood jumped onto the same rooftop,

You had to keep dodging. You never got into fights before as far as you could remember, you couldn’t risk causing damage to a body you don’t even know the strengths and weaknesses yet.

All you could do is try to run away from the direction of your hive, so that your drones and workers would be safe. Eyes flicking up to the buildings around you, you dodged another bullet shot at you just as you grabbed the lid of a trash can and hurling it at Red Hood.

He easily avoided the lid with another shot from his gun, looking to as you scattered up the brick wall, breathing uneven when you tried to open your wings to fly over the city.

You didn’t get far.

Feeling a sudden burning jolt of hot electricity throughout your body, you let out a scream of pain when Red Hood shot a taser at you, seizing any escape as you fell into the ground below.

“H…H-Hu…” You whimpered in pain, hunched over while small sparks of electricity formed around you as he stalked closer to you.

“This is for (Name),” Red Hood muttered with hate under his breath, fists clenching so hard veins bulged along his bicep. With a push from his boots, he lunged forward, arm raised with the intention to strike a hidden knife he had in his glove to go through your eye.

The knife didn’t go through.

You twisted your body so your other pair of hands flew out and grabbed his wrist, flicking it upward so that the knife would clatter onto the concrete. Red Hood instinctively used his other first to strike you, but you expected as much, using your other hand to grab his. Slowly, you stood back up, eyes staring him down with your glow become brighter from what looked like to be anger.

₵Ɽ₳₵₭

Red Hood let out an ear piercing shout of agony, watching his wrist bend in an unnatural direction, spurts of fat spilled out of the openings with blood shooting out. Your little eyes flickered to the injury, before snapping your attention back to Red Hood’s mask.

One swift move you swung him and thrown his body off the roof, making him groan just as you jumped off the roof too, the ground shaking as you landed. He didn’t react fast enough before you latched onto his jacket again. Lifting his body into the air, you used your scary strength to slam him into the ground, causing a crater form around Red Hood.

“Fuck!!” He hissed. He always got up after being pushed around like this, but you weren’t letting him catch his breath. You got tired of this wannabe of a mercenary trying to catch your drones, Batman tracking your hive down, the Robins attempting to kill what you grown.

With a hateful chatter, you reeled your arm back before landing a sick leaning punch into Red Hood’s stomach, sending him flying back and slamming into another wall. Hunched over, Red Hood felt like vomiting as you lunged again with quick speed, you crawled over him.

Grabbing his mask, you lower jaw unlatched from your upper bone, slowly stretching out while your thorax wildly swiped at Red Hood’s mask. His eyes watched through his broken lenses, eyes glowing Lazarus green as he struggled frantically, kicking his legs around to try and get you off of him when-

“I̍̅̀̎̊’l̙͖̑̾ͣl̙͖̑̾ͣ b̶̡͙̖̹̻̙̠̯͓͐͘è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜ b̶̡͙̖̹̻̙̠̯͓͐͘ā̤̓̍͘c͕͗ͤ̕̕ḳ̯͍̑ͦ b̶̡͙̖̹̻̙̠̯͓͐͘è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜f̵͖̜̉ͅo̯̱̊͊͢r̴̨̦͕̝è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ ḳ̯͍̑ͦṇ̤͛̒̍o̯̱̊͊͢w̦̺̐̐͟ ỉ͔͖̜͌t̲̂̓ͩ̑, b̬͖̏́͢ư̡͕̭̇ḿ̬̏ͤͅb̬͖̏́͢l̙͖̑̾ͣẹ̿͋̒̕,”

Red Hood felt your steel like grip disappear from his helmet, causing him to drop onto the floor. His lended were cracked, so he saw fractured parts of you slowly backing away from him, shaking.

Your hands shook violently, your eyes going blurry and scattered. Your head began to hurt badly, as if what you were seeing was actually too painful to remember. You let out a wretched screech, a mixture of a human scream and an insect hiss before aggressively slamming your clawed fist into the side of a dumpster can, glowing eyes glaring at him.

“Next time will be your head, j̸͈̆͌̂̋̑́͂͜͠â̸̠̋y҉̃̀̋̑b̬͖̏́͢ỉ͔͖̜͌r̴̨̦͕̝ḑ̴̞͛̒,” You dripped out with a feral hiss, before using the giant dumpster can to throw it at Red Hood to block his vision when you finally managed to use your wings and escape.

Your glow dimmed out completely to avoid detection, getting on all fours to crawl through the shadows, sensing that you were being followed, but just for a moment as you saw another figure jump in front of Red Hood.

That you didn’t bother to deal with, you felt like something was about to explode in your stomach. Your wings eventually crash landed you into another alleyway, where the deserted buildings of Gotham stood.

“Queen Bee, all jars safely ported to Penguin,” A signal through your antennas vibrated through your body, making you chatter ever so slightly in acknowledgment. You crawled your way through the open window of an abandoned apartment room, trying to stop your shaking.

You then heard a buzz, causing you to look up and focus your vision to comprehend that there was one of your little bees perching on the windowsill.

“All r…report back to t-the Hive, we lay… low for now,” You panted, causing the bee to wipe its limbs together and flying out of the window. You felt the shaking going away, leaving you to breathe properly, your glow back.

You took the underground sewers to avoid detection, with the providing of Killer Croc guiding you. Yet while you returned home… your brain was still messing with you. What were those words… who told you them… who was Jaybird…?

“The hell… is going on with me?”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

Jason laid in the alleyway just as Cass found him. She panicked seeing his wrist twisted in a sickening way, yet what made her feel dread was his eyes. Eyes filled with fear… Jason Todd felt fear.

“Breathe…” She said while applying a spray to his wound to avoid anymore pain. He swallowed harshly, feeling his mask being taken off, where he finally was able to fully see Cass with her mask off too, and Dick who had a look of concern.

“Red Hood!! The hell were you doing?!” Dick scolded after figuring he was okay other than his wrist. Jason didn’t respond,

“T-That… that thing was here… I-I thought could avenge… (Name)…” Was all he could say. His anger and rage faded, now filled with confusion and disorientation. His mind was foggy, finally realizing how stupid he was to just run and attack that monster.

“We all do, but we have no idea what that thing is capable of,” Dick gritted, before taking a deep breath and hugging Jason. “We’ll avenge them, I promise. Barbara is making progress in getting through their phone,” Dick whispered before nodding to Cass.

They waited for the Batmobile to arrive so they could transport Jason without any further injuries. That gave him to think, to finally think about you. Your death… it didn’t make sense how your body was hollow, how that beast held you when they crash into the warehouse.

When that thing didn’t even say his name… but what you used to call him before it all…

Buzzzzz

“Bumble…?”

A/N: Ohhhh shit!! We got Jason connecting a few dots! Not really, but certain things never add up. Guess he’s finally paying attention to you in the wrong way.

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[wonderjanga]

Marvel and the Circus

Billy and Mary are kids. You gotta remember that. And what do two, poor but not broke, kids do in their free time? Not much else other than talk to each other, work little odd jobs, and go out in their Marvel forms. So, one day, they’re bored. They also can’t find any jobs to do either, and as far as they can tell, there isn’t much crime going on. They’re kinda sitting on the curb, ignoring the local crackhead next to them who’s kinda tweaking but also minding his own business, so they would mind their own too. As they’re wallowing in boredom, all while steadily starting to wonder if the guy next to them is going to crash out, a colorful poster floats by and promptly smacks Mary in the face. When they peel it off her they see it’s a poster for a circus. One of their shows starts in about an hour too. Well would you look at that? It looks like the two know what they’re going to be doing for the day. So, they head to their little hideyhole, scrounge up as much money as they’re willing to spend on this, (Like two dollars) and head out. They get there and get to the ticket booth. Mary offers their measly two dollars, and the teller, trying not to crack a smile at the two kids, tells them that kids under 12 get in for free. Billy was going to tell him that they, in fact, were twelve, and just happened to look younger, but before he could say a word, Mary harshly stomped on his foot. While Billy was cradling his poor foot, Mary got their tickets, grabbed Billy’s arm and dragged him inside so they could find their seats. On their way, they got a single bag of strawberry pop rocks. (which was really all they could afford with two dollars) And they somehow managed to ration it for the entirety of the show.

When all was said and done, it’s safe to say the two were stuck amazed at what they had seen. When they found out that Mr.Mind had been wreaking havoc while they were being amazed by the circus troupe, they weren’t even mad! Or disappointed in themselves! They just wanted to try out the trapeze artist tricks! And so they did. Fawcett citizens were greeted with the Captain and Mary throwing each other around, swinging off of literally anything, trying to recreate the moves. Like they just straight up stopped using their abilities to fly just so they could learn. And the crazy thing is, they did. They got surprisingly good at acrobatics and throwing each other around.

Then, one day, Marvel and Batman had to work together to find a magical artifact. Billy brought Mary along and Bruce brought Dick. Little did Batman know, this combo wouldn’t be good, as he would be stuck getting mini heart attacks every time Marvel or Mary threw Dick up or around. And Bruce supposes, sure, it shouldn’t be that much of a problem. Dick is a trained acrobat, and Marvel and Mary… Well, he still doesn’t know much about their secret identities, but they seem to know what they’re doing. What Bruce is panicking over are the throws that have his kid practically touching the clouds. Granted, that is a bit of an exaggeration, but they’re throwing his boy around from about five stories up. Let Bruce be worried.

Meanwhile, Dick is just having the time of his life with these guys. The entire thing reminds him of the circus and he loves it. Plus, the Captain’s and Mary’s costumes, not to mention their personalities, remind him a bit of his dad and mom. He’s totally not going to cry into his pillow about this later, but until then, he’s going to enjoy this moment to the fullest.