Oh, how the sleepless wander... @howthesleeplesswander - Tumblr Blog

PINNED POST! ✨

Hello, everyone! ＼(≧▽≦)／ This is an independent, private, selective, multi-muse and multi-fandom roleplay blog! Current muses include characters from Arcane, Borderlands, Disney, Genshin Impact, Life is Strange, The Magnus Archives, OMORI, Studio Investigrave, Teen Wolf, and plenty of other fandoms! More muses to be added as I find the time to do so! RULES ⭒✩⭒ MUSES ⭒✩⭒ MUN ⭒✩⭒ INTERACTION MEMES (always open!)

Written and loved by Casi, 31, located in the USA. I have over 10+ years of roleplay experience, with 5+ years on Tumblr on previous single-muse blogs. Thank you for perusing and I look forward to interacting with all of you! uwu 💖

Rules for mobile users under the cut!

#《⭒✩⭒ || pinned post 》#《⭒✩⭒ || the sleepless speaks (ooc) 》

racheldrawsthis

🎰 WISHLIST ON STEAM NOW 😈

JACKPOT CRASH COURSE CHAPTER 1 Releases MAY 8TH 6PM EST

Jackpot Crash Course is a multi-chaptered casino-themed death game visual novel about crime, luck, and spectacle. Against all odds, Eddie must take part in a game show starring only criminals and gamble against rival players to prove himself still worthy of being pardoned for his wrong deeds. But is the show really about proving your innocence?

You'll be able to download the fully-fleshed out Chapter 1 of JCC for FREE on both Steam and Itch io on MAY 8TH 6PM EST!

In just the first chapter, there's:

😈 13+ Characters 🪙 90k Words 🔥 300+ CGs 🍒 25+ Original Soundtrack

If you already played the first half on itch io, this build will include the second half!

Please wishlist the game below for updates!

In a game show starring only criminals, you must gamble against rival players to prove yourself worthy of being pardoned for your wrong deed

Reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#《⭒✩⭒ || visage: speeding through life (benny) 》#THIS IS NOT A DRILL YALL #IT'S FINALLY HAPPENING #AHHHHHHHH (BANGS POTS AND PANS)#MY BODY WILL NEVER BE READY ASDKFJS PREPARE FOR HOW /NOT/ NORMAL I'M GOING TO BE AFTER PLAYING IT TONIGHT 8'DDD

archeyevl

Martin didn’t actually need to hear anything more.

When that one utterance of his name fell in a grandiose, exhausted sigh, he knew that was it. It was over. Done. What exactly, he couldn’t say: because had it really even begun when he’d made that singular effort and watched it flop—fail—right in front of his eyes a mere few seconds later? What had even started? This was how it was going to go. No, this was how it always went, and if he was utterly naive enough to think one firm push would do it, maybe he was the moron here. (“Maybe” . . . ? Okay, he knew he was, and if Tim was witnessing this right now, seeing these feeble efforts to chisel away at their boss’s stubbornness, he’d be laughing, probably. [But, at least he’d finally be laughing again, sardonic or otherwise, right?])

It was something like instinct again, what had him turning his focus downward, surveying the ground for either the right thing to say or maybe just hoping it would swallow him. (Here at the Institute . . . ? Not unlikely.) He tugged at the sleeve of his sweater, and though he partially absorbed Jon’s sorry excuses, he was more consumed by himself again, wrapped up in numerous doubts combatted only by that weakly flickering resolve that drove him to cause a scene in the first place. A scene, right? That’s what he was doing. Throwing a fuss that he’d get over as soon as his little tantrum was done—like it didn’t truly matter, just as long as he got it out of his system and shut up. . . .

No, stupid: this isn’t about you. Stop it. (Sorry, isn’t everything?) Stop. It.

He waited until Jon was done. Could be that he just didn’t reassert himself in the present until that exact moment. But after a prolonged and heavy silence, the first thing he dug out of his windpipes was a crackly scoff: a chopped laugh. “I always knew you didn’t kill anyone,” he said, matter-of-fact as ever. Martin’s gaze finally lifted again, hoping he could still speak around the burst of flutters in his chest when he looked at Jon’s face. “I mean, seriously . . . ? I’ll believe a lot of things nowadays, but that? Ridiculous.”

His head shook some, and weirdly despite the circumstances, the ghost of that laugh still lurked there in a faint smile. Fond. As if Jon wasn’t doing everything in his power to avoid talking, as if he wasn’t being absolutely infuriating . . . Those flutters were there for a reason, after all. And Martin knew this wasn’t going to be easy: not when Jon himself believed his behavior was necessary to protect them. And that was just it, wasn’t it? It was selfless. A selfish selflessness . . . which somehow, some way made a ton of sense when it came from Jonathan Sims.

. . . mostly because everything about him was a contradiction. Martin loved him for it. God, he loved him—

Ugh.

“I . . . ” Another hesitation as he slowly reconfigured himself to the defenses Jon had raised. “Sorry. I-I do trust you, and I— Well, I trust that you’re doing what you-you think is going to help all of us, but—” He sighed. “Knowing or not knowing things doesn’t seem to actually change what happens, now does it? It sounds like . . . Elias said that we’re all in it, right? Like— I-It’s just that ‘ignorance is bliss’ really doesn’t apply to the Archives. Whether or not we know what’s out there or what’s attacking us or-or going to attack us isn’t going to prevent the attack from happening. And pretending that I . . . or Tim or whoever are safer because we’re stupid— I don’t know, Jon. That’s pretty stupid.”

Martin’s eyes ventured over to the curls of steam rising from their teacups, twining together in the otherwise still air. “Besides, if you want to be all professional about it: we’d all be a lot more helpful if we had any earthly idea of what exactly we’re trying to do,” he suggested. “You might as well be asking us to read a language we don’t understand and bring back the ‘important bits.’ How are we to know if you insist on . . . on shutting us out?”

howthesleeplesswander

Needless to say that after Jon had found Leitner brutally murdered, he hadn't stuck around to see the aftermath. He knew what it meant to be the last person to see him alive. The implications. The assumptions. All leading to the easiest conclusion in the world to anyone seeing the situation from the outside.

Looking back now, he hated that he hadn't realized who was really to blame.

He'd just...ran. These last months had proven to Jon just how good he was at that.

Critically, he'd ran without ever knowing what the others thought. Innocent or guilty? Jon had wanted to believe, of course, but he hadn't known. (A part of him hadn't wanted to know.)

Now that the truth was out and he was back at the Institute, he'd thought it didn't matter anymore. It was behind them, and they had a circus full of evil mannequins to worry about. And yet, when Martin admitted his faith in his runaway boss like it was the most obvious thing in the world, Jon felt...well, mostly he was thrown. But also lighter, somehow. Inexplicably, emotion prickled at the back of his throat. A sharp ahem dispelled it as best he could.

"You...did?" The surprise in the words wasn't entirely fair. If anyone was going to believe he was innocent despite a mountain of reasons to think the contrary, he should've known it would be Martin. Jon's gaze dipped to the teacup perched at the corner of his desk (wait—teacups? Where had the second one come from?), thinking back to the countless times Martin had shown the same kindness to an arsehole boss who didn't deserve any of it. "Y-yes, well—I-I understand why it seemed the most logical conclusion, given the circumstances, but...hm." A short puff of air blew out his nose. He struggled and failed to find words through the sensation of his heart flipped end over end.

"Thank you," he settled on, quieter than before. Simple. Sincere.

And, just maybe, there was the tiniest shift in the air.

Which only made Jon feel worse as Martin argued his point. Even when it should've seemed like a fool's errand, Martin had believed in him; shouldn't Jon return that favor now? But no—no, belief wasn't the issue here. He wasn't keeping the magnitude of threat they faced under wraps for lack of faith in his assistants.

"You're not stupid," he argued next, nearly leaving it at that before tacking on, "I've told you what to look for." But damn it all—when had that earnestness in Martin's tone started hampering Jon's ability to be stubborn? He sighed, deep and troubled, the dip of his shoulders betraying his exhaustion. "Look, Martin, it's not that I don't—...I-I appreciate that you want to help. I do. Really—a-and thank you. But this time is..."

A frustrated sound finished the thought when words failed. His thumb worried at the edge of the sheaf of papers. "This isn't like Prentiss. It's not some—some abomination randomly tormenting you to alleviate her boredom. These people, these—things, are organized. Their plan is already in motion, a-and they will come after anyone who tries to stop it."

Finally dropping the statement atop the scattered heap, Jon scrubbed a hand down his face, his gaze following the motion. A constellation of words stood out like stars from the sea of ink atop the desk. Not her, gone, replaced, not them, unknown, impostor, consumed, fake, not real, afraid, death—each echoing in his skull like the Not Sasha's voice as it chased him through the tunnels, inciting a tremble of fear he refused to acknowledge. His next breath trembled slightly, too.

"That...thing that took Sasha was just the beginning. Just because you're all 'in this' doesn't mean you have to go wading into the deep end. Only one of us has to, and, well..." His own weak laugh matched Martin's, waving his bandaged hand with a shrug as if to indicate the proper state he knew he was in. "I'm already there. The rest of you can stay safe—er, that is, safer, at least—i-in the shallows where the sharks can't reach you."

#archeyevl #《⭒✩⭒ || interaction: the archivist (jon) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || bond: you are my reason (archeyevl) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || verse: season 3 (jon) 》#I AM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG ASDFJKD #jon is a mess X'D but we love him for it #can you stop being stubborn for five seconds and let someone CARE ABOUT YOU #martin's belief in him means so much tho #as does his clearly wanting to help! ;3;/#YOU'RE WEARING HIM DOWN MARTIN #IF ANYONE CAN MAKE HIM SEE HOW STUPID HE'S BEING IT'S YOU #I love these boys so much and I'm so glad they can be there for each other ;w; <333

lunehowls

safe

#《⭒✩⭒ || visage: the archivist (jon) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || bond: you are my reason (archeyevl) 》#it had been too long since I reblogged this artist's jmart #I had to fix that immediately #they're so cute and in love i'm sOBBING #this is the kind of adorable safehouse-era content I live for 😭❤️#plus my favorite jmart fanart is when it accurately captures how shamelessly clingy jon is #just FULLY comfortable while FULLY on top of martin #his favorite place to be tbh ;3;

ever-so-gently brushes a hand along jon's lower back as he walks past him (๑˘︶˘๑)

// . . . elias obviously

Answered! || @archeyevl

In his own defense, Jon would've flinched no matter who it was.

Casual touch simply wasn't something he expected to receive—especially in what was technically still his workplace, and even more especially any sort of touch that could be construed as intimate. Tim was the only one of his assistants who had ever been casually touchy-feely, but, well, considering they were barely on speaking terms anymore...

Thus it was mostly confusion that accompanied the instinctual way his spine straightened with a full-bodied jolt. "What on Earth are you—" But the question broke off into an undignified sound of disgust as soon as he glanced back and saw the culprit.

Jon's entire body reacted of its own accord. The initial jolt paled in comparison to a leap in the opposite direction. Putting a full step of distance between himself and Elias' infuriating simper and wandering hands.

"Don't—!" Instantly his voice pitched up into a shout. But before anything further could escape, Jon clamped down on raw indignation and forced that fire out instead through a harsh breath from the nose. Another deep, measured breath, eyes narrowed at the offender.

"Don't do that." Though they were still laced with anger, the words came out surprisingly level. "What are you even doing down here? Don't you have other people to make miserable?"

#archeyevl #《⭒✩⭒ || interaction: the archivist (jon) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || bond: if I’m not more careful you’re exactly what I’ll turn into (archeyevl) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || answered ask 》#《⭒✩⭒ || iconless thread 》#you have no idea how much I evilly giggle in delight every time elias sends us an HR violation >B)))#awfully jumpy aren't you jon 👀#i'm imagining him doing the kuzco NO TOUCHIE thing asldkfdj #maaaybe you should try to get used to being ~casually touched~ at work #just a thought uwu

fistsbet

@howthesleeplesswander || cont.

“Mm.”

And then his thoughts wandered for a few moments, as his work in stitching Mishka up had become nothing short of automatic (because—for some reason—he kept the company of people who were gung ho about getting themselves hurt; forget the fact that his own knuckles were still lightly bruised from a . . . situation recently). He would bite his tongue, of course, but Eddie wondered time and time again just how excruciatingly oblivious Sasha had to be to not catch on by this point: whether it was taking Mishka’s sorry excuses or somehow glossing over an entire knife wound. . . . Was the guy’s head really that far in the clouds—?

But he didn’t have a right to gripe about it. At least not any more than the victim here himself. They’d been friends too long now for Eddie to not know the subject of Sasha was one to tread carefully around, lest he trigger the defensive side in Mishka or, God forbid, the hurting side of him that he kept neatly locked up. (Well, maybe as neatly as a hamper with dirty clothes all but spilling out.)

So he heard him out. Let him complain. And then easily dropped it the second Mishka reacted to his mention of lacking a medical degree. His next breath fell in half a chuckle, and his attention skirted up in time to catch that playful smirk—which wasn’t a good thing, by the way. Not for Eddie. “You might change your tune when the wound opens back up come tomorrow: shoddy handiwork and all that,” he warned, but marked it with a small shrug of his own as he tied off the thread. Briefly, he analyzed the stitches, then with some mild satisfaction turned back to the first aid kit he’d dragged over.

His motions only faltered at the mention of a certain King of Obliviousness over Eddie’s heart: a slight pause and twitch in his fingers before he dug out the scissors. “Yeah. Car accident. Would you believe it.” He cut the excess thread, his other hand moving to place more gentle pressure, for good measure. “Dummy had glass in him and couldn’t give less of a shit. . . . Does that feel okay? Uh, relatively speaking. I’ll bandage it in a sec.”

howthesleeplesswander

He couldn't let himself think about it.

The temptation was always there: to wonder what Sasha thought whenever his best friend showed up sporting new bandages. To wonder if he didn't notice or just didn't care.

If Sasha was the one with even the tiniest scratch, Mishka would hunt down every person responsible and paint a dozen shadowed alleys in their blood. And so some traitorous part of him wondered how little Mishka mattered to him to not even see, to not even ask.

A silver needle pierced mangled flesh, slid and tugged on nerves so raw that he felt every millimeter of every stitch—and even that didn't make him nauseous like that thought did.

More pain to bury. Mishka shoved it as far down as he could.

Call it another reason why he was glad Eddie was here. Which was a shocking thought coming from him: to be glad to have anyone other than Sasha at his side. But it was...nice. And he was silently grateful for the friendly presence and the conversation's swift continuation.

"Eh, don't worry about it," he dismissed. "That'd be my fault, anyway." As Eddie reached for the scissors, Mishka kept still until the excess thread was cleanly snipped. "It's more likely to open up again in my sleep." Then, wryly, "Wouldn't be the first time. Guess I'll plan on washing sheets tomorrow."

The tale of Benny's recent injuries delivered in Eddie's fed up monotone earned a sudden laugh—that barely half-formed before Mishka bit down on the rest before it tugged at fresh stitches. He shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know how you do it." Sasha could stub his toe and Mishka was liable to take a jackhammer to the offending pavement. It was bad enough having to follow Sasha and lurk around in nearby alleys and rooftops when he went on drug deals; Mishka couldn't imagine worrying about someone with such a reckless streak.

"Was it him? Or was it somebody else?" Responsible for the accident, that is. And they both knew why he asked. It was a standing offer ever since Eddie figured out his profession. Ever since they'd built this strange, surrogate friendship to try and fill the void of the one person they couldn't have.

Mishka was already out killing every night on Dima's orders. It'd be a breath of fresh air to be someone else's blade for a change.

At Eddie's question, he shifted at the waist a bit, testing the limits of tugging pain. "Mmm, feels fine." His tone lightened again as he grinned, "Thanks, doc."

#fistsbet #《⭒✩⭒ || interaction: neon assassin (mishka) 》#tw: injury #tw: needles #tw: blood #THEY BITCH TOGETHER IN TRUE SOLIDARITY #IT'S BEAUTIFUL X'D #no matter how much they complain it'll never change how down bad they both are for their idiot u.u #LUCKY FOR THEM TBH #aww mishka still loves sasha to pieces no matter what ;w;/ <33 #but he can't deny (OR admit tbh) that it's nice to have someone to be concerned for him 🥺#THESE TWO UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER LIKE NO ONE ELSE COULD #AND THEREFORE THEY'LL BE THERE FOR EACH OTHER NO MATTER WHAT 😤🙌

archeyevl

Naturally, Elias didn’t expect Jon to swallow this pill like it was nothing. No, no of course not: Jon was the type to choke on the damned thing, to insist on dry-swallowing that pill despite it being the size of his thumb, despite there being a glass of water there within reach. The man was nothing short of stubborn, and as he (expectedly, perhaps even understandably) flew off the handle once Elias had finished his contrastingly calm appraisal, Elias just as calmly let him.

His own ruminations wandered some. (The two of them had this privilege, didn’t they? To disengage from conversations if they so desired; they could still know everything that was said.) Back to an impressively distant past, to those late nights with similarly devoted—but ultimately not nearly devoted enough—scholars and their discussions of the Entities: what they meant; what it meant to align with one (or more) of them; what that did to the once-“human” aspect of themselves. Had he ever been this . . . difficult?

Odd . . . he couldn’t quite remember. It had always felt thrilling to him. Exhilarating. It had always been worth losing whatever else there was—

Whoever else there was.

When he came back, he caught up to the stammered, agonized ramblings of a man losing his mind just in time for that same man to pierce him with one of his signature glowers. Elias leveled that scowl placidly, then rolled his shoulders before rising to his feet. He didn’t hold in a sigh as he moved to a cabinet there at the wall beside his desk, quietly rifled through it before producing a bottle of red wine from its depths. And two glasses.

“Please, Jon. There was never anything ordinary about you. You’re selling yourself short.” The smirk cast over his shoulder was as playful as it was mocking, and it lingered on his lips once he’d poured their drinks and carried them across the room. Elias held one out, inquisitive brow arching. “Take the edge off, hm? It’s after hours, though I know that doesn’t mean anything you.” As much as he knew Jon would at the very least not be accepting the gesture right out of Elias’s hand, and so he set that one glass down on the desk now behind him. He took a sip of his own, leaned the brunt of his weight back against the edge.

“Think of it like this: humans may be made of flesh and bone, of things that can bleed and break, but in an ideal world, we would never bleed; we would never break an arm or get stitches after an unfortunate kitchen accident. When these things happen, though, we’re forced to adapt.” His gaze followed the swirl of crimson liquid in his chalice as he turned his wrist. “The scars stay. A broken bone may never fully recover; one might find weakness in that arm, now, and he’ll have to learn how to compensate. Regardless, we adapt.

“Whether it was meant to happen or whether it feels natural hardly matters. At the end of the day, Jon, as much as you don't want to believe this is you, I remind you and guarantee that you made the decisions that led you here. Just like anyone can choose to do anything without fully understanding what the consequences may be— You chose to be the Archivist.” Elias met his eyes. “You may not have realized you were doing it, and of course you wouldn’t have realized what it all entailed, but even so. Your actions are your own. You ought to find some comfort in that.”

howthesleeplesswander

Few things infuriated Jon more than this: watching Elias shrug off staggering dilemmas of humanity and self, as if the notions held no more value than the gossip rags. Still refusing to be placated, his glare didn't waver—and only intensified when Elias fetched wine of all things from a nearby cabinet. His expression morphed into a perfect picture of Edwardian offence.

"Oh, I'm sorry, is my rapidly dwindling sanity making you a bit thirsty?Forgive me if I don't find the subject of my questionable humanity appropriate to discuss over drinks!" It took every ounce of willpower not to smack the full glass out of the smug bastard's hand. Instead he settled for willing the second glass left on the desk to topple over and ruin everything upon it just from the withering force of his glare. Which didn't work, obviously, but he was entitled to his petty fantasies.

"You're doing it again." The dry accusation was his only response to more empty attempts to mollify. Jon had read enough statements by now to know that being special wasn't how it worked. These Entities didn't care who they took. They just spread their tendrils of influence and attempted to consume anyone they happened to reach. He wasn't even convinced their so-called Avatars were safe.

As both hands curled into fists at his side, the still-tender burns marring one throbbed. No. Obviously not.

"If we didn't bleed or break, then we wouldn't be human anymore. That's the point. You're describing inherently human faults. It's like—you wouldn't call a plant superior to us because they don't bleed. We recover from injuries and broken bones because we're meant to. That's what humans do. You can't compare that to—to turning your body into a hive of worms, or a pile of candle wax, o-or—" A frustrated grunt broke from the back of his throat, and he gestured vaguely around the office, "A-any of this!"

But of course, there was the "justification" again: you chose this. Spoken as if it were a magic medicine that would make the insanity all fine and dandy. Even worse, not a hint of denial was forthcoming in excuses he'd heard far too many times.

You don't want me to be me. Elias didn't deny it. Jon may not understand much of anything, but he knew that every little word that did—or did not—pass this man's lips was intentional.

A bark of laughter was only a few degrees short of hysterical. "Are you sure about that?" Jon had been doubting his agency more and more, as of late, considering the spider webs he kept finding in the corners of his office. Even the Eye didn't know the Web's plan. Who could say if everything—every horror, every doubt, every loss—hadn't been planned from the moment that damn book had drawn in a curious child like a fly lured into a silken deathtrap?

Not Elias. Not even the Ceaseless Watcher.

But that was another fear entirely. (Literally.) "God—at this rate? I'd probably be better off if I was the Spider's. At least then maybe I would understand any of this." Theoretically, he also wouldn't have to put up with Elias any longer. The option sounded more tempting by the second.

#archeyevl #《⭒✩⭒ || interaction: the archivist (jon) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || bond: if I’m not more careful you’re exactly what I’ll turn into (archeyevl) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || iconless thread 》#《⭒✩⭒ || verse: season 3 (jon) 》#IT'S SO FUNNY DUDE I LOVE HOW CHILL ELIAS IS XD #just casually sipping wine while jon's going insane #that's basically their dynamic in a nutshell asldfkjlsd #I'm glad elias can still enjoy this even tho jon isn't having any of his shit XD #jon: I hate this fucking family I wish I was the spider's maybe then i'd understand wtf is going on ever #me (an intellectual): oh HONEY but you still want to UNDERSTAND 😔 and that's why the eye will never let you go #as much as you hate it you're EXACTLY where you belong 😏

crezvcluu

i hope they rip each other apart in the future chapters 🥹🥹🥹🥹

#《⭒✩⭒ || visage: speeding through life (benny) 》#and an honorary bones too bc he deserves to be featured at least once on my blog even if he isn't officially on it #I love this art style it's so unique!!#I JUST WANT TO SQUISH BOTH OF THEM

ta1is

howthesleeplesswander

He didn't intentionally make Jayce compete for his attention against his (or rather: their) work. It was simply a consequence of being so doggedly single-minded. His mind worked at a pace with which a rare few things—and an even rarer few people—could keep up. There was no greater pleasure than digging into a formidable problem with all of that manic mental energy.

And when he gave in to this adorably, ridiculously needy man, Viktor would be just as single-minded in pursuing that course of action.

...Damn it—he'd thought "when," hadn't he? "No greater pleasure," hm...?

A would-be innocent observation half-muffled by his shoulder snapped Viktor out of the mental snag. His already shrewd gaze sharpened further as he scanned over the previous line of writing. Within seconds he located the offending digit and chuffed in displeasure. (At Jayce or at himself? Hard to say, at this point.) A swipe of the side of his hand erased the current line well enough, and this time the errant six was included when he wrote out the equation's next step.

One may think that Jayce distracting himself would give the zaunite wrapped in his arms a reprieve—but such an assumption failed to consider that fact that Jayce didn't need to be doing anything to be distracting. Just his hands resting idle, no longer seeking new perches in favor of arguably more maddening caresses, made the skin beneath where they rested feel too tight, yearning to feel his partner's answering heat unimpeded.

Briefly shutting his eyes, Viktor managed to prevent a different kind of heat from coloring his face. "Of course it was your fault." The hand that had just cleaned the board smacked blindly towards the culprit, lightly whacking Jayce just below the jaw and leaving a small patch of chalk dust on his skin. "I would never have made such a simple mistake unless I was distracted." Said with far too much confidence for a man who certainly had made such simple mistakes during long, sleepless nights, but Viktor also considered sleep-deprivation to be another form of distraction, therefore such cases didn't count.

Naturally, his partner sounded far too pleased with his success as a distraction thus far. They'd always been alike in that way: eager to rise to any challenge. Any fool with the gall to tell them they couldn't do something would be swiftly proven wrong. Therefore it followed that putting them together in a situation like this...? It was the dilemma of an unstoppable force versus an immovable object.

Which was why Viktor fought very hard to prevent himself from reacting when that wicked hand on his thigh crept upward. Honestly, it was ridiculous how difficult it was to focus just from Jayce's hands on him. While they were both fully clothed, no less. Janna help him...

He forced himself to write another line before speaking again (and this time discreetly double-checked for pesky errors). "You didn't say how your meetings went," he noted distractedly, half his mind filled with calculations and half filled with the firm press of Jayce's body against his back. "Did the Council have more complaints about our progress?"

#usfw #spice under the cut B)))#ta1is #《⭒✩⭒ || interaction: herald of the arcane (viktor) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || bond: I’ll be yours until forever falls apart (ta1is) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || iconless thread 》#leave it to these two to have a brief intermission in their steamy activities to do a bit of nerd stuff XD #THEY'RE SUCH BRILLIANT DORKS #now Vik will ATTEMPT to distract him with conversation #even tho we all know that's not gonna work #just like we all know that Vik secretly doesn't WANT it to work anyway >B3c #he is so weak for his gorgeous and loving man 😩#def keeping this tagged since even these mega-nerds WILL be dragged away from the nerd shit by far more PRESSING things soon enough >))#I miss these two TTOTT they're so precious and I love them so much <333

ohisms

𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 . ( a collection of 100 nonverbal action prompts . mature and potentially triggering themes are present . add “ + reverse ” to swap assigned roles . )

∗ o1﹕ sender tucks hair out of receiver’s face . ∗ o2﹕ sender offers receiver a bite from their fork . ∗ o3﹕ sender places their feet / legs in receiver's lap . ∗ o4﹕ sender offers receiver an earbud to share their music . ∗ o5﹕ sender comforts receiver in the aftermath of a nightmare . ∗ o6﹕ sender gives receiver company in the hospital . ∗ o7﹕ sender wraps their arms around a hysterical receiver to calm them . ∗ o8﹕ sender shows up at receiver’s home late at night . ∗ o9﹕ sender falls asleep leaning against receiver . ∗ 1o﹕ sender wields a [ gun / knife ] at receiver . ∗ 11﹕ sender runs their fingers through receiver’s hair . ∗ 12﹕ sender invites receiver to dance . ∗ 13﹕ sender takes a [ picture / video ] of receiver . ∗ 14﹕ sender places their head in receiver’s lap . ∗ 15﹕ sender and receiver make eye contact across a busy room . ∗ 16﹕ sender pushes receiver against a wall to kiss them . ∗ 17﹕ sender and receiver cook together . ∗ 18﹕ sender comes to receiver after being injured . ∗ 19﹕ sender sits in receiver’s lap . ∗ 2o﹕ sender lifts receiver's chin , invoking eye contact . ∗ 21﹕ sender overtakes receiver in combat . ∗ 22﹕ sender finds receiver [ injured / bloodied ] . ∗ 23﹕ sender straightens an article of receiver’s clothes . ∗ 24﹕ sender crawls into bed with receiver . ∗ 25﹕ sender rolls their eyes at receiver . ∗ 26﹕ sender lights receiver’s [ cigarette / joint ] . ∗ 27﹕ sender is caught wearing receiver's clothes . ∗ 28﹕ sender strikes receiver with a pillow . ∗ 29﹕ sender writes a note on receiver’s skin : [ note ] . ∗ 3o﹕ sender wraps a blanket around receiver’s shoulders . ∗ 31﹕ sender runs and jumps into receiver’s arms . ∗ 32﹕ sender shoves receiver out of anger . ∗ 33﹕ sender hovers over receiver’s shoulder as they complete a task . ∗ 34﹕ sender is found by receiver somewhere they shouldn’t be . ∗ 35﹕ sender curls up against receiver in their sleep . ∗ 36﹕ sender is found drunk by receiver . ∗ 37﹕ sender throws an item of sentiment bitterly at receiver . ∗ 38﹕ sender joins receiver in the shower . ∗ 39﹕ sender is caught following receiver . ∗ 4o﹕ sender traces one of receiver’s [ scars / bruises ] . ∗ 41﹕ sender twines their fingers with receiver’s . ∗ 42﹕ sender barges into receiver’s home unannounced . ∗ 43﹕ sender kicks receiver’s shin beneath a table . ∗ 44﹕ sender aggressively shoves past receiver . ∗ 45﹕ sender kisses receiver’s [ forehead / cheek ] . ∗ 46﹕ sender pulls receiver out of harm’s way . ∗ 47﹕ sender is found sobbing by receiver . ∗ 48﹕ sender locks receiver out of their room . ∗ 49﹕ sender brings receiver [ coffee / tea ] in the morning . ∗ 5o﹕ sender rests their forehead against receiver’s . ∗ 51﹕ sender plays a song for receiver that reminds them of them : [ song ] . ∗ 52﹕ sender takes a [ punch / stab / bullet ] meant for receiver . ∗ 53﹕ sender buys receiver a drink at a bar . ∗ 54﹕ sender needs receiver’s help getting in the bath . ∗ 55﹕ sender and receiver cross paths in the kitchen late at night . ∗ 56﹕ sender twists receiver’s arm behind their back . ∗ 57﹕ sender winks at receiver . ∗ 58﹕ sender is found collapsed by receiver . ∗ 59﹕ sender prevents an injured receiver from getting up . ∗ 6o﹕ sender claps a hand over receiver’s mouth to silence them . ∗ 61﹕ sender cages receiver against a [ wall / the floor ] with their arms . ∗ 62﹕ sender storms away from receiver during an argument . ∗ 63﹕ sender is found by receiver sleeping in receiver’s bed . ∗ 64﹕ sender [ applies / touches up ] receiver’s makeup . ∗ 65﹕ sender throws receiver into a wall during combat . ∗ 66﹕ sender dances sensually with receiver . ∗ 67﹕ sender strikes receiver across the face . ∗ 68﹕ sender places their hand on receiver’s leg while driving . ∗ 69﹕ sender pulls a chair out from under receiver . ∗ 7o﹕ sender catches receiver’s wrist when they turn to leave . ∗ 71﹕ sender leaves an intimate mark on receiver . ∗ 72﹕ sender beats receiver in a video game . ∗ 73﹕ sender and receiver stand in stunned silence after a fight . ∗ 74﹕ sender cares for receiver while they’re sick . ∗ 75﹕ sender and receiver go on a hike . ∗ 76﹕ sender is caught snooping in receiver’s things . ∗ 77﹕ sender and receiver cuddle while watching television . ∗ 78﹕ sender throws something aggressively at receiver . ∗ 79﹕ sender creeps up behind receiver to scare them . ∗ 8o﹕ sender and receiver go shopping together . ∗ 81﹕ sender helps receiver [ dye / style ] their hair . ∗ 82﹕ sender draws receiver into a kiss by the back of their neck . ∗ 83﹕ sender is discovered having a panic attack by receiver . ∗ 84﹕ sender accidentally injures receiver during sparring . ∗ 85﹕ sender grabs receiver roughly by the hair . ∗ 86﹕ sender brings receiver to their knees during combat . ∗ 87﹕ sender shows receiver evidence of a lie they told . ∗ 88﹕ sender winks [ seductively / mockingly ] at receiver . ∗ 89﹕ sender yells at receiver to put their hands in the air . ∗ 9o﹕ sender helps receiver patch up a wound . ∗ 91﹕ sender holds receiver as they cry . ∗ 92﹕ sender silently and angrily points receiver towards the door . ∗ 93﹕ sender gestures for receiver to sit down . ∗ 94﹕ sender pulls receiver into their lap . ∗ 95﹕ sender cradles receiver’s face . ∗ 96﹕ sender tackles receiver out of the way of danger . ∗ 97﹕ sender has hidden an injury from receiver , and receiver finds out . ∗ 98﹕ sender confronts receiver about their unhealthy behavior . ∗ 99﹕ sender proposes to receiver . ∗ 1oo﹕ sender has just died , receiver finds out .

#《⭒✩⭒ || interaction meme 》#mutuals only please!#don't be shy! uwu/

tenacquity

No.

That one word, one syllable fired like a gunshot and hit straight and true. Ryunosuke had been convinced a pathetic few seconds earlier that Kazuma simply saying his name was the most lethal blow he’d ever had to endure, but he’d been wrong before. Many times. Too many times. And as he practically spit out that denial with a forceful resolve that felt so very much like Kazuma, Ryunosuke was again grateful he didn’t need to be standing all on his own, brunt of his weight momentarily slackening against the wall behind him. Like a punch to the stomach, all air left him and refused to be reclaimed for a good several moments of dreadful silence—a silence which only allowed him the chance to trace what he could see of his partner’s face:

The minuscule twitching at the corners of his mouth, quavering, confused, uncertain. The fires burning bright in his eyes as they searched Ryunosuke’s own, desperation and every possible hurt imaginable swirling in their depths. Everything Ryunosuke wanted to make go away.

If he could do it once, he could do it a thousand times. If he could fight for Kazuma despite it all, despite how much it hurt him in return, he could do it again.

And again.

And he would, no matter how long it took, and certainly no matter what he’d have to do to accomplish what felt like the impossible.

For Kazuma, Ryunosuke always would.

So, in the face of those broken words tumbling through Kazuma’s lips, those shards of glass that cut both of them on their way down, Ryunosuke was ready to clean up the mess with his bare hands. He pushed himself off of the wall, reestablished his balance. Vaguely, he noticed his legs trembled, as did the rest of him, but he didn’t have the time to care. Ryunosuke pulled himself out of his own body, focused solely on the man in front of him; somehow, when he did that, it always made that impossible seem possible.

“That’s okay,” he said, tone careful and placating, but just as steadfast as before. And he wasn’t even lying. “You don’t have to, because I know you. And that’s more than enough for me—the rest . . . We can figure it out.” He inched a step closer, filling in that gap Kazuma had created. With unyielding eye contact—equally to wordlessly express his own innocent intentions and keep watch for any minor change in the apprentice’s expression—Ryunosuke reached out to him, hand gingerly gliding along the opening of that cloak before venturing beneath it. “It’s okay. You don’t need to be him right now.”

He located a clenched fist. And, if Kazuma would allow it, he deftly curled his fingers into that gloved grip to free the tension, thumb pressing with silent encouragement to his palm. “No matter what the circumstances, I’ve got you. Please just . . . allow me that much.”

howthesleeplesswander

For a brief, terrifying moment, the Apprentice almost thought that he'd gotten through to him. That he'd finally made Ryunosuke understand. Stated plain as could be: I don't know you. No room for denial or argument. Nowhere left to go. With that horrible, painful truth laid bare, Ryunosuke would be forced to accept it. Surely, then, he would leave.

And why was that thought so utterly terrifying? He'd only felt such a deep, debilitating fear once before: when he'd first woken up and realized he'd forgotten. He hadn't even wanted this man to be here at first; why now was he nearly paralyzed by the thought of having to watch him walk away?

But Ryunosuke didn't walk away. A lump built in the Apprentice's throat as he watched the subtle tremors in Ryunosuke's frame, felt his heart quake in perfect sync. He couldn't make sense of it. Why did seeing this man look so shaken make the Apprentice feel like his entire world had been rattled, too? Irrationally, he was nearly consumed by the urge to...what, exactly? Placate him as if his unpracticed words could be anything but sharp and jarring? Comfort him as if he had any idea how?

It didn't matter, in the end. Ryunosuke pushed through it. Again he was struck with the entirely unfounded and bewildering thought that that was simply what Ryunosuke Naruhodo did: push ever forward with a quiet yet unrelenting strength. But...but no, he—he couldn't know that. No denial or argument.

Right...?

The Apprentice didn't know how to parse everything he felt. Reassurances only burgeoned a mess of fear until it felt so big that it filled every crevice of his empty spaces. As Ryunosuke recovered, the Apprentice faltered—enough that the core of his fear wrenched free, piece by ugly piece:

"What if I'm not?"

There was always the chance that Ryunosuke was mistaken. That the Apprentice truly wasn't the person he thought he was. He didn't even know how the other could claim to tell, concealed as he was by his attire.

Still, that wasn't quite the worst of it. Almost there.

The more he thought about the bond that was shared between Ryunosuke and...whoever he thought he was, the more the Apprentice yearned for it with every fiber of himself—and the more terrified he became. It all came to a head with one touch. His entire frame flinched when Ryunosuke's hand connected with his own, mirroring the lurch of his heart. Disarming. Undoing. Yet he couldn't bring himself to pull away. His throat was tight on a harsh swallow. Every fiber of his being narrowed to that single touch.

So gentle. So unlike anything he could remember. So foreign yet so right.

The Apprentice did not return it. He didn't curl their fingers together, didn't squeeze back with the echo of affection that ached in his hollow chest—but he also didn't pull away.

"W-what—...what if I never am?"

There it was: the true terror that seized his lungs in an iron grip and made him tremble down to the marrow. Even if Ryunosuke was right, what if the Apprentice never regained who he used to be?

You don't need to be him right now. Easy enough to say.

The person Ryunosuke claimed to know wasn't here. Neither of them could rule out the possibility that he may never be again. And yet that man was clearly the reason Ryunosuke was here at all. There was no other explanation for his persistence. Of course someone so bright and warm would never be here just for the Apprentice's dark and cold. He had nothing. He was nothing. Even if Ryunosuke did want something from him, he couldn't give it. And he might never be able to.

The Apprentice could barely breathe after that desperate question escaped. All he could do was gaze into eyes that held more tenderness than he'd ever known, and fight the urge to flee from the response that had to be inevitable.

#tenacquity #《⭒✩⭒ || interaction: sword of justice (kazuma) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || bond: there’s love above love and it’s ours (tenacquity) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || verse: masked apprentice (kazuma) 》#ASJDFLDS I CANNOT BELIEVE IT'S BEEN /OVER A YEAR/ SINCE I REPLIED TO THIS #I AM SOOO FUCKING SORRY TO BOTH YOU AND RYUU FOR THE INEXCUSABLE WAIT 8'DDD #I abANDONED OUR BOYS (HIDES IN SHAME)#also sorry this is so long aslkfjd the apprentice is a disaster in every way #and has to have 173289120393 feelings about every single thing ryuu says or does #my entire heart aches for these two ;A;#BLESS RYUU FOR CONTINUING TO TRY TTOTT HE'LL NEVER GIVE UP ON YOU KAZUMA DON'T WORRY #YOU'RE SO CLOSE TO GETTING THROUGH TO HIM JUST KEEP GOING ;;#SO SORRY for the wait on this again T^T i've missed these boys and I LOVE THEM SO GODDAMN MUCH

hi hello I will never be normal over s4 Jon fully accepting what he is and truly becoming the Archivist.

like the season literally opens with the the equivalent of the Grim Reaper invading his infinite nightmare dreamscape to tell him, "hey dumbass, you can straight-up choose to say 'fuck you' to death rn and wake up BUT you'll wake up as something else, so either die already or embrace it and become more."

the Unknowing was all about turning the entire world into a Stranger, making it unrecognizable and impossible to understand, totally alien from the world we know now. Jon stopped the ritual and prevented that fate from befalling the world, but honestly the ritual almost worked anyway by making Jon himself unknown and unknowable.

he woke up from his coma fully aware that he was far more removed from his humanity than before. he chose it, too—he chose to live even knowing the consequence. so he embraced it, and we see him exhibit more and more monstrous behaviors throughout the season.

he compels people willingly. he skulks around London and feeds off of unsuspecting innocents. he continues to sacrifice parts of himself and become more monstrous all in the name of saving others who are more human—and therefore more worthy—than him.

...and then he spends the rest of the show wondering if he should have just died back then instead of becoming what he is now.

but it's too late. he KNOWS that. he can never go back, so until something comes along and actually finishes him off this time, he'll BE the damn Archivist—and he'll try so fucking desperately to use the monster he's become to do anything even remotely good.

#《⭒✩⭒ || hc: the archivist (jon) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || the sleepless speaks (ooc) 》#don't perceive me while I lay face-down on the floor and scream #I am so incredibly Normal(TM) about jonathan jarchivist sims #just like I'm very normal about the entirety of s4 #casually gives the End the middle finger and moonwalks back into the land of the living #then regrets it until the end of time ajsdlkfj #ngl I fucking ADORE oliver banks tho #he's such a fascinating character I just wish he was shown more #don't even get me started on that s4 episode that's just martin taking a statement from some poor woman who jon fed off of #/CHRIST JON/ ASLKFSDF #even tho s4 is the least dramatic it's also somehow THE MOST PAINFUL AND EMOTIONALLY DEVASTATING #jon was right when he said the Lonely is the most insidious of all the Fears #but I can't even be mad about it bc I love peter too even tho he's an evil evil bastard man #it's fine it's fine ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

The fact that Elias is lying face-down on Peter's chest, voice muffled against tousled blankets, laced with a lingering heat and exhaustion does rather make his next threat come out . . . negligible. But, he utters it nevertheless:

“I could kill you if I really wanted to.”

// just domestic husband things :)

Answered! || @archeyevl

Peter simply hummed in response: affirmative, yet unbothered. A casual acknowledgement of what they both knew to be true.

Elias could kill him—right now, without breaking a sweat. Could reach into his mind and destroy him from the inside. Could drag out every thought he shouldn't entertain, every feeling he shouldn't be capable of, and lay it so bare that his patron turned on him and devoured him whole.

Just like Peter could cast Elias into the Lonely if he really wanted to. Could banish him to that endless place that would welcome this man-out-of-time so readily, inescapable even for one so powerful, so hellbent on living.

It would be all too easy.

But Elias didn't. And Peter didn't.

Instead, they simply laid there together, legs tangled and breaths slowly evening out in sync. "You say the most romantic things, dear," Peter murmured into the crown of hair tucked under his chin, voice still rough and honey-warm, teases laced with fondness. The arm draped across his husband's waist squeezed that much tighter, and a smile shaped the kiss dropped to his sweat-dampened brow. "As always."

#archeyevl #《⭒✩⭒ || interaction: lonely captain (peter) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || bond: you are the piece of me I wish I didn’t need (archeyevl) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || answered ask 》#《⭒✩⭒ || iconless thread 》#GOD these two are so stupid and ridiculous and I LOVE THEM SO FUCKING MUCH #THE LEGENDS ARE TRUE 🥺 THEY /DO/ SNUGGLE SOMETIMES #HOLY FUCK MOM GET THE CAMERA #it really says something about this ship that this pillow talk topic legitimately IS ROMANTIC in a twisted way #nothing kills me more than these two being adorable 😭#plz accept this illegal soft lonelyeyes to hopefully make your day better ;3;/

lunehowls

flustered

#《⭒✩⭒ || visage: the archivist (jon) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || bond: you are my reason (archeyevl) 》#must also reblog soft lovey jmart for valentine's day too #bc love is stored in the martin 🥺💖#you better get used to all this love AND SO MUCH MORE honey ;w;/#jon will shower you with ENDLESS love and kisses 😤 <3333

racheldrawsthis

❤️‍🔥🩸💔 HAPPY VALENTINES & BIRTHDAY RODY (02.14) 💘🫀❤️‍🩹

#《⭒✩⭒ || visage: crazy in love (rody) 》#tw: gore #tw: blood #I FORGOT THAT VALENTINE'S DAY IS RODY'S BDAY #HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVING IDIOTIC BOY <333

archeyevl

@howthesleeplesswander || cont.

“Oh, now don’t go pretending you haven’t the foggiest idea—” The pun was entirely accidental, naturally, and so became the very reason Elias momentarily paused to cringe—as if physically slapped by the reality that this old sea captain’s antics had rubbed off on him. A burst of vexed breath skimmed through his teeth. “You’re well aware of why I’m cross. Feigning ignorance will get you nowhere.” Oh, but it was fun for him, wasn’t it? It was getting him somewhere, and that was precisely what spurred a minuscule spark of agitation . . .

. . . or something.

His eyes leveled Peter’s as he spoke, traced the cheer etching webbed lines there at the corners. He almost wanted to snap at him again, express that he shouldn’t look so pleased with himself . . . but his lips thinned, and his attention trickled down to the wisps of fog still curling off his shoulders. The bridge of his nose instinctively wrinkled. And yet, despite an urge, he stayed seated. After that display, certainly. Legs folded, arms crossed, Elias bounced one foot impatiently while his guest poked an extra dose of fun.

He ignored the questions, but turned up his chin slightly before posing, “And you had a lovely time away, did you . . . ? Dear?” The pet name dripped thickly in condescending sarcasm, and when Elias finally permitted himself a smile, it refused to reach his eyes. Faux decency: as if the two of them were in public and had to maintain manners. “You certainly were in no rush to return, by any means. I imagine your patron must be very pleased.”

His attention ventured sideways as he muttered, “At least someone is.”

howthesleeplesswander

It was less the accidental pun that caused Peter's bright bark of laughter than the following pause indicative of the speaker's horror. Personally, Peter chose to take that little slip of the tongue as an unconscious sign that someone had perhaps missed his fog more than he let on.

He tutted gently as a fraction of his mirth mellowed (but only a fraction). "Don't be like that, dear. I had to attend to some family affairs—you know it wasn't personal." Just like Peter knew that Elias had surely been watching him. Even through the fog, it would have been obvious that he hadn't just been sitting around doing nothing for the past two days.

And yet they both knew he couldn't deny just how pleasing the resulting loneliness was.

Familiarity was a strange thing for those of Peter's ilk. After so many years together, Peter found that he'd become attuned to Elias' loneliness. Who knew when it happened. It hadn't been purposeful...on his part, at least, but was a logical aspect of his patron's design. After all, what could make a person feel more alone than a direct line to their partner's loneliness, tied in a vice around their heart?

So he felt all of it. No matter the distance between them or how long they spent apart; as far-reaching and inescapable as the Watcher's Sight, for days and weeks and months. He felt and he yearned and he savored. It was exquisite.

And now, here he was: finally face to face with the object of those latent affections, only to receive such a frigidly cold welcome that a lesser man would've called them into question. Peter barely resisted fondly rolling his eyes. That was his Jonah: always so predictable.

"Naturally. Just blissful quiet and solitude in every endless direction; there's nothing lovelier than that." Striding into the room, Peter crossed closer to the desk, looking down upon the man oh-so-elegantly pouting behind it. His smile widened again in response to petulant mumbling. "I'm sure you've been busy here while I've been gone. With all your plans and meticulous little parts to move, three months must feel like three minutes to you."

#archeyevl #《⭒✩⭒ || interaction: lonely captain (peter) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || bond: you are the piece of me I wish I didn’t need (archeyevl) 》#THEIR DYNAMIC IN A NUTSHELL TBH XD #elias like >C while peter's like :D #don't worry peter ALWAYS expects dramatics and brattiness from elias #and he loves it uwu his wife is so adorable when he's fussy <3 #he will continue to poke fun and bide his time until elias gets over it #then they can get down to business B3c #not me cackling over his miffed little mumble adskfsj ELIAS PLZ #your brattiness is giving away how much you missed your dear husband ;3

thrillvibin

Sasha realized very quickly just then . . . it was easier like this. It was easier when he didn’t need to meet Mishka’s gaze. It was easier when the two of them could sit here tangled up with each other—no different than their lives had been entangled from the moment they met—and know that no matter what came out of either of their mouths, it would be practically impossible to get torn apart again.

It was . . . security, maybe. In some weird nonsensical way that also made total sense. Just like everything that had occurred since this all began, everything that was as bewildering as it was illuminating. Sasha could equally feel as he could hear those carefully formed words rumbling out beside him, and he knew without deciphering any of them that it wouldn’t change the way he’d finally accepted Mishka’s heart—nor the way he planned on cherishing it, protecting it after all the years Mishka had spent sacrificing it and himself for Sasha.

At the end of the day, regardless of how Mishka replied or what reason he had for the secret life he’d been leading, Sasha knew—finally knew—he loved him more than those secrets scared him. And it was with that revelation still thrumming in his veins from his very core that had him letting out a breath that felt so much lighter . . . even before Mishka had finished his explanation.

That was just the crazy thing, wasn’t it? Did it actually matter, after all?

“Got it.” He murmured those two words both to himself and the warm presence enveloping him, nearly chuffing at the absurdity of this being the pillow talk they’d resorted to. (Also, not gonna lie, there was something darkly hilarious about Mishka referring to the life of an assassin as something that “just sort of happened.”) Rolling the statements over a few times in his head, he lingered a bit longer on that final sentiment, moreover on what it meant without need for any elaboration:

Duh. Of course he’d do anything—even kill—to stay here with me. Probably the least surprising thing, and yet . . .

“You didn’t . . . need to go to Strexa.” Or Dima. “Like . . . I mean, there were other options, right? Was that just—” What did he want to say? The quickest? The easiest? Did he really have room to talk?

More importantly, though, maybe what Sasha was really getting at had nothing to do with those methods. And as his mind continued to try to jam pieces of this puzzle together—edges that didn’t match but he still blindly forced anyway—his mouth beat him to the heart of it: “Why didn’t you just come to me about it?”

—only for that jumbled brain to catch up and notice how ridiculous that sounded.

His cheeks flamed. He hunched his shoulders, some amalgamation of grumble and whine filling what would’ve been silence before Sasha hastily answered that question on his own:

“You . . . felt you couldn’t.” When could he ever go to Sasha for anything before this, right? Sasha made that impossible. “—right?”

howthesleeplesswander

After so many years of battle and bloodshed, this was by far the most terrifying thing Mishka had ever done.

It wasn't that he thought that Sasha was going to suddenly reject him—he already knew about his assassin work and still said that he loved him (and God if that didn't rattle him down to the marrow to think about). But Mishka also didn't necessarily have to think it would happen for it to be a possibility. The odds weren't zero. They'd been together for almost their entire lives, yet these past weeks were unprecedented.

Mishka didn't know how Sasha would react to any of this. That scared him more than any dangerous mission or brush with death.

So you can imagine how the sickening bubble of nerves lodged in the pit of his stomach burst with a startled snort when Sasha started with a plain little "got it" like Mishka had just asked him to buy a gallon of milk at the grocery store. "That's it?" He couldn't help but tease—only to eat his words a moment later.

Why didn't you just come to me about it?

The second the question left Sasha's lips, Mishka's expression fell into the most genuine are you fucking serious? look of his life.

"Sasha, I love you more than literally the entire fucked up world—but you've been shit at talking about anything until now." Obviously Mishka's long-ignored feelings were the prime example, but even beyond that, he'd learned a long time ago that if it was serious, it was a lost cause. Sasha didn't see it. Sasha didn't want to know.

Not that it wasn't warranted. In a crime-riddled hole like Sobena (affectionate—but just barely), where trained killers walked the streets and half the population were drug lords who sold to the remainder, odds were it was better not to know. Ignorance wasn't just bliss; it was innocence. If you ignored the shit happening right in front of you, then nothing was at risk. You couldn't be in the wrong.

But he didn't want to dwell on it. All that mattered was that Sasha felt differently now. "Besides, we were teenagers. What could you have done?" Mishka shook his head. "I didn't want to put that on you—or your mom. I'm...used to figuring things out on my own." An attempt at a casual shrug missed the mark, thrown off by the uncomfortable stare pinning a particular pepperoni on their rapidly-cooling pizza. An edge crept into his voice: the bitter detachment of a truth that no longer hurt. "Once the government found out we were here, we had to either get C-cards or get the hell out of Sobena. My parents didn't have a fucking dime, and even if they could've gambled their way to enough to afford all the fees and shit for one, they both would've thrown each other to the wolves for it before giving it to me."

Mishka would never forget the looks on their faces when the authorities broke down their door and dragged them away...but not him. "The only way I was staying here was if I did something. It got down to the wire, so I got desperate. Strexa had the sway to make it happen fast. I thought I'd just be scouting the city or something, not much different from what I did anyway whenever I wasn't with you. I didn't—...It wasn't supposed to become anything more."

Except he hadn't cared even when it did. He stayed. And he would've killed every other living soul in Sobena if he'd had to.

#thrillvibin #《⭒✩⭒ || interaction: neon assassin (mishka) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || bond: your love is my drug (thrillvibin) 》#SAME DUDE ;O; never not be crying over it tbh #bless sasha for taking all this insanity in stride #it has to be just as difficult to HEAR as it is to talk about ;;#BUT THEY'RE FINALLY /TALKING/ AND BEING OPEN WITH EACH OTHER #I'M SO PROUD OF THEM ;w;/#it's scary and difficult now but THIS IS WHAT YOU'VE BOTH /NEEDED/ FOR SO LONG #YOU'LL FEEL SO MUCH BETTER ONCE ALL THIS IS OUT IN THE OPEN WE PROMISE #also sorry this is a mile long asjdfk no need to match length ofc!

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Oh, how the sleepless wander...