RamoDeLizard

She/Her 29

[maemaybe]

I don't know who my intended audience is here, so whoever needs to hear this, I am begging you to learn to participate in conversations that are about things you aren't interested in.

Part of socializing and having friends is being a good listener even when you don't actually give a shit about the subject.

Your are hurting other people's feelings when you bluntly respond with "Anyway..." and then change the topic.

It can not always be about your preferred topic.

You are being rude. Yes, even if you are neurodivergent. You can be both autistic and rude.

[eptck]

you have to be kinder to people with memory issues.

you have to be kinder to people who are slow processors.

you have to be kinder to people who don't understand your jokes.

you have to be kinder to people who forget important dates.

you have to be kinder to people with cognitive decline.

you have to be kinder to people who were always this way, too.

you have to be kind. you have to be kind.

[my-dailydreams]

[jupitersmusings]

good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿

[overlord-fire-bubble]

THIS ONE FUCKING WORKS. REBLOG IT.

[tiny-kt]

this for real fucking works

[cricketcat9]

Fine, I’ll wait

[lizardbouquet]

"Oh no! They are beautiful!"

Azul and Jamil slowly turn to look at Yuu, along with the other house wardens behind them. As they watch them looking at the idiots from RSA, a sick twisting feeling starts to take form inside them. Turning back to the rivals, new determination set on their faces. For the first time in NRC history, their students all agreed on the same thing without having to communicate.

"We have to beat these fools!"

[kibby-reaper]

roger's kibby experiment

- mod kibby

[lizardbouquet]

Roger randomly hearing banging sounds and cussing coming from my room and wondering what's happening. And it's just me squaring up against Liam and Alfons as one tries to manipulate me and the other spies on me. While I also try using the beautiful dagger William gifted me. Yes. He will need to patch me up the next day. But he will also need to patch Alfons and Liam too.

[lizardbouquet]

Shout out to that AO3 writer that begged in their author's notes for an Elbert and Alfons route. You might not be getting a full route, but glad you are getting your smutty story finally.

[the-reblog-squad-deactivated202]

Reblog if you don't use Generative AI to write fanfics/original fics or to create fanart/original art.

[my-dailydreams]

[igotanidea]

When the reader comes home from a particularly intense workday, seeing rafayel trying to paint a self portrait, dressed in nothing but a skimpy piece of material that's supposed to imitate greek (or Roman) tunic she realises two important things -

1. She's dating a five year old.

2. He's her home. But not for any romantic reasons, no.

Because he's the ho to her me.

[sera5d]

blurry pt3

+ floyd and riddle's canon meeting

[gravitren]

We all know what erectile dysfunction is but literally no one is ever taught what vaginismus is and it can cause people to feel extremely lost, broken, and cause people to take their own lives. Raise. Awareness.

[pokemonprofessor]

For the uninformed, vaginismus is when the vagina painfully tightens and spasms when faced with pressure, usually from anything trying to insert into the vagina. It’s the reason I can’t wear tampons, and why many people can’t have vaginal sex without severe pain.

There’s not a lot of treatments, and there isn’t a single one that is for vaginismus exclusively - they’re all medications or treatments to treat symptoms, but not the causes. In fact, for a long time doctors waved off vaginismus as a purely psychological disorder in cis women.

Seriously, this is so unaddressed and uncared for in medical circles. Please spread awareness, even if all it’s for is to let those who have it but don’t have a name for it finally be able to understand what’s happening to their bodies.

[certifiedsexed]

Certified Sex Ed Post!

[mystery-ink]

Hi hello! This post is almost 10 years old and there ARE treatments for this. Vaginismus is otherwise known as pelvic hypertonia and it is a MUSCULAR condition that can be caused by many different factors including endometriosis, trauma, chronic UTIs, and connective tissue disorders.

It’s incredibly common! And it can be treated by physiotherapy.

I know this because I’m currently undergoing physio and although it can take months to recover, I’m already seeing improvement. A lot of the pelvic floor exercises are available online, but if you have these symptoms please TALK TO YOUR DOCTOR and see if you can get a physio referral (or investigation for underlying causes like endometriosis).

Also, my additions to posts never get reblogged so a note to my followers: this is SUPER IMPORTANT ISSUE that affects many people and is rarely talked about. Please reblog, and please share this info with as many people as possible.

Pelvic hypertonia/vaginismus is incredibly debilitating and psychologically damaging but it CAN BE TREATED. Spread the word, and you never know who you’ll be throwing a lifeline to.

[deltasblue]

Take a stance and be on the right side of history, so that when you look in the mirror, you know you didn’t ignore the pleas of innocent people, begging for anyone to help them! To know that you where not complicit in the murder and genocide of a people! To know that you didn’t look the other way when you knew children where being murdered just because it was easier than facing the morbid truth!! Share, reblog and donate what you can!!

[nourasbasha]

Is it possible that after two years of genocide, after everything we owned was destroyed and our city turned into ruins and a city of ghosts… you choose to leave us now?! How can you sleep while my four children sleep surrounded by destruction . in a place now only inhabited by rats, mosquitoes, snakes… and also ghosts, darkness, and fear?

[nourasbasha]

My children are still terrified of the life we live now .. after a trauma that shattered their minds and hearts, after witnessing the bombing, the massacres, the genocide scenes no child should ever see. Who will heal them? Who will bring them safety again? They need psychological care, they need someone to restore their trust in life. I’m just a father who lost everything, trying only to keep them alive.

[nourasbasha]

I’m sorry that all I can do is ask for your help… This war is bigger than me . it needs countries to bear its weight, not a simple man like me. If you still see us as human beings, then do something.

Your donation isn’t just charity . it’s a humanitarian act that saves lives. Don’t underestimate your share or your repost; it could be the difference between life and death, between a child who survives and another who doesn’t. Please, don’t look away… we’re still here, trying to survive 💔

[anqerr]

How can anyone scroll past this while a father and his four children are still living among ruins, rats, and fear? Do you really think the war ending means their suffering ended too? The bombs stopped, but their pain never did.

This man lost everything . his home, his safety, his hope , and yet he’s still begging for his children’s right to live.

Shame on this world if we let them fade into darkness. Don’t just watch. Help. Donate. Reblog. Speak. Your silence is part of the crime. 💔

[sassychaostrash]

Donate and reblog

[ultrafacts]

Source

Video of Tama

Follow Ultrafacts for more facts

[majikkant-deactivated20180504]

The picture in the background of the second one

[pizzaismylifepizzaisking]

Tama is boss

[ultrafacts]

[cat-fandom]

THE TRAINS HAVE CARTOON TAMAS ON THEM

[ultrafacts]

Sad update everyone, Tama recently passed away… An estimated 3,000 people, including railway officials, attended Tama the cat’s funeral on Sunday, days after she died of heart failure aged 16. [x]

[retro-geek-deactivated20220412]

For those who haven’t read articles about it, the local shrine elevated her to a god. She’s now the Eternal Stationmaster and patron god of the station.

[karinanotcinerina]

Beautiful.

[system-fail-ure-deactivated2021]

Now I’m crying thanks

[sapphic-matriarchy]

and a new cat was hired right?

[clarenecessities]

yep! her name is Nitama (essentially ”second tama” or “tama II”) and she served under Tama as an apprentice before being appointed her deputy

she works very hard

[beasti]

Everytime this crosses my dash, I reblog. It is the law.

[lafayettelabaguette]

Law

[tooiconic]

I’m crying at 11pm over train cats

[sighinastorm]

Nitama, already now a mature cat (born 2010), has a protege named Yontama (fourth Tama, b. 2016).  There is no information available for either the physical befellment or tragic self-disgrace which has removed Santama from contention.

^Nitama majestic, and below with Yontama

Yontama.

[linkislost]

a legacy

[bemusedlybespectacled]

okay but actually what happened to santama (or sun-tama-tama, which is her name because it’s a pun on santama) was that she was basically sent to train for the position in okayama and they liked her so much they refused to send her back

[kindaoffkilter]

“Sun-tama-tama” (a pun off of “Santama”, lit. “third Tama”) was a calico cat sent for training in Okayama. Sun-tama-tama was considered as a candidate for Tama’s successor, but the Okayama Public Relations representative who had been caring for Sun-tama-tama refused to give the cat up writing, “I will not let go of this child, she will stay in Okayama.” [25]

As of September 2018, Sun-tama-tama is working as the stationmaster in Naka-ku, Okayama and appears occasionally on Tama’s Twitter account.

[cryoverkiltmilk]

Every time I see this post there’s new info and it gets better

[northeastartist]

You are only allowed to scroll pass this after you pay tribute to the great Tama Station masters.

[redchrominance]

The shrine of Tama Daimyōjin (Great gracious deity Tama), next to the Kishi station where she worked.

Nitama presenting her yearly offerings to Tama Daimyōjin on the anniversary of Tama’s Death, June 23 (The offerings are presented by the company president, as Nitama is a cat and thus can’t hold the offerings herself) (Not pictured, but also present, Yontama)

[twimmythebabywitch]

you cannot pass without reblogging guys. i’m sorry, i don’t make the rules.

[dduane]

You can’t not reblog a goddess. It’s just what’s so. :)

[fandomsandfeminism]

So, fun fact- the manga Noragami has an arc where the main character, Yato (a minor kami/God that is down on his luck but trying to make it big time) goes to a council/conference for all the Gods in Japan.

And they are announcing the winner of the “up and coming god” award, and of course, Yato thinks it’s him.

But no-

ITS TAMA!

[foxywoxxy]



[sharieb]

Not that I believe any of them would do this, but say that the LADS did the “current girlfriend” prank on Non-MC (or something similar); and instead of getting upset or possessive, we just have this silent acceptance, like a part of us always believed our relationship with them was temporary. Cue intense backtracking, reassurance, and possible begging for forgiveness

Temporary, Until Proven Otherwise

Setup: It started as a harmless bet, one that spread through Linkon faster than common sense. A trending prank calling your partner your “current girlfriend” was supposed to be funny, a bit of teasing, a spark for laughter. But for the men who loved you, the joke landed wrong. They’d each expected a roll of your eyes or that soft pout you wore when you were pretending to be annoyed. What they got instead was quiet acceptance, a calm so sharp it hurt. And that silence, more than anything, made them realize how deeply they’d taken your heart for granted.

Pairing: LADs x Non-MC! reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

It started off innocently enough, a small reunion with a few of his old college friends at a quiet bar overlooking Linkon’s cityscape. It had been months since Caleb had seen them, and they’d immediately fallen back into their old habits of teasing and laughter.

“Come on, Cal,” one of them joked, elbowing him lightly. “You’ve been too uptight. You used to have a sense of humor before the military drained it out of you.”

Caleb smirked, swirling his drink. “You mistake discipline for dullness.”

“Sure,” Gideon chimed in with a grin. “Then humor us. You’ve gotta try this trend. Call her your current girlfriend in front of everyone. Let’s see how long that ice-cold composure holds.”

He snorted. “What are you, twelve?”

“Pretty much,” Gideon said without shame. “Come on, man, for old times’ sake. You used to pull pranks better than any of us.”

Caleb rolled his eyes but chuckled. “You’re unbelievable.” Still, he couldn’t quite shake the playful thought. It had been a long time since he’d seen that look on your face, half exasperation, half fondness. Maybe, just maybe, this could lighten things up. When you arrived a few minutes later, joining them with a polite smile and a wave, Caleb stood from his seat and gestured toward you with casual ease. “Ah, there she is,” he said, tone deceptively smooth. “My current girlfriend. The one keeping me halfway sane these days.” His friends burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the open balcony. It was supposed to be harmless. But your expression faltered. Just barely. A flicker of hurt passed through your eyes before you covered it with a soft, practiced smile.

“Current, huh?” you repeated lightly. “Guess that makes me an interim assignment. How very on-brand for you, Colonel.”

The laughter faded almost instantly. Caleb’s heart dropped. “Hey,” he started, but you were already taking a polite step back. “I’ll go order another round,” you said gently, voice steady but distant. “You can finish the joke without me.”

You walked off before he could say another word.

Another one of Caleb's friends winced. “…Wow. Didn’t think she’d take it like that.”

Caleb exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The temperature of the night air seemed to shift, gravity pressing heavier around their table, the kind of tension his evol mirrored without his consent.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Neither did I.”

He didn’t even bother with goodbyes. He just grabbed his coat and followed you out onto the quieter terrace, the city lights reflecting in your eyes when you finally turned to face him.

“You think that was funny?” you asked, voice even, though your hands were gripping the railing.

“No,” he said instantly. “It was supposed to be stupid. I let them talk me into it.”

You gave a small, humorless laugh. “You, of all people, letting someone talk you into something?”

Caleb grimaced. “Yeah. I forgot what it’s like to be around idiots who think teasing equals affection.”

You didn’t respond, just looked out toward the skyline. The silence stretched between you, heavy and aching.

He finally said, quieter this time, “You’re not current, you know. You never were. You’re the only thing that’s ever felt steady.”

That made you glance at him, surprise softening your features.

He took a step closer, voice low. “If I could erase that word from your mind, I would. But since I can’t, I’ll prove it every day until you stop believing it.”

You blinked, caught between disbelief and the flicker of warmth in his tone. “You’re terrible at jokes, Caleb.”

He smiled faintly. “Then I’ll stick to promises.”

The following day after that night, when you returned home, the smell of something warm and familiar filled the air. Caleb had beaten you there, sleeves rolled up as he finished plating your favorite dinner. A small envelope and a new, cute plushie of your favorite animal rested beside the table setting, his handwriting neat and precise:

Permanent reservation. No expiration.

It was supposed to be a lighthearted lunch break at Skyhaven. Simone, Tara, and a few Hunters Association techs were lounging near the café’s terrace, gossiping and scrolling through their feeds.

“Come on, Xavier,” Tara laughed, nudging his arm. “You never play along with these trends. You’d sound adorable if you said it. You know she’d melt.”

He chuckled softly. “The current girlfriend prank? That’s juvenile.” “Then prove us wrong,” Simone teased, waving a pair of coupons to his favorite hotpot restaurant. “One line, Starboy. That’s all it takes. The meal’s yours.”

He sighed, eyes flicking toward the engineering bay where you stood, calibrating a new stabilizer with your usual focus. “This feels ridiculous,” he murmured, but he took the bait anyway. When you approached to hand him a diagnostic report, he smiled faintly and said, “Ah, perfect timing. Everyone, this is my current girlfriend. She’s the reason the world still has light.”

The table erupted in laughter, the kind that comes too quickly, too loud. You didn’t laugh. You blinked once, twice, then smiled gently, an expression that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Current girlfriend, huh?” you echoed. “Guess even starlight shifts eventually.” Simone’s grin faltered. Tara’s phone slowly lowered from where she’d been recording. You placed the report on the table and added softly, “It’s fine, Xavier. I never expected to keep up with the stars forever.”

When you turned and walked away, the golden warmth of the terrace dimmed. The faint glow that usually followed him flickered out. The silence that followed was heavy, smothering.

Tara cleared her throat. “That… did not go how I thought it would.”

Xavier’s jaw clenched. The air around him shimmered faintly with his evol, threads of light fracturing like shards of glass. “No,” he said quietly. “It didn’t.”

He stood abruptly, chair scraping the ground, and strode after you. Every step left faint motes of light behind, fading as quickly as they formed.

He found you on the observation deck, leaning against the rail, eyes fixed on the skyline. The sunset made your hair glow like molten gold.

“You always did take pranks too literally,” you murmured when he stopped beside you.

He exhaled through his nose. “You think I meant it?”

You shrugged, gaze distant. “I think some people outgrow their constellations. Maybe I was one you’ll pass by.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the reason I stopped chasing everything that wasn’t real.” That made you glance at him, a hint of disbelief flickering through your eyes. “Then why joke like that?” He looked pained. “Because I forgot how easily my words can burn when I don’t guard them. Because for a second, I wanted to see you smile,and instead, I dimmed you.”

The silence stretched. Then, his voice softened further. “You’re not current, moonlight. You’re constant. My fixed point.”

Your breath hitched at the old nickname. The one he hadn’t used since the night he first told you he loved you.

When you didn’t respond, he stepped closer, close enough that the faint hum of his evol wrapped you both in warmth. “If it takes a lifetime, I’ll keep proving that.”

You turned, meeting his gaze. For a long heartbeat, the light in his eyes mirrored yours.

Later that evening, a small box appeared on your workbench, a plate of lemon tarts, carefully remade by hand, a couple of coupons to his favorite hotpot restaurant, and a folded note.

To my constant. Even stars need somewhere to come home to.

When you looked up, he was watching from the hallway, hands tucked into his pockets, the faintest, most tentative smile on his face.

Rafayel had been the first to laugh when Thomas mentioned the trend. He was painting in his studio, sleeves rolled up, streaks of crimson and gold smudged across his skin.

“Come on, Mr Rafayel,” Thomas goaded. “You’ve got the perfect muse for it. Just say the line. ‘This is my current girlfriend.’ I want to see her reaction.”

Rafayel chuckled, brushing a streak of paint across the canvas. “You really think she’d fall for something that trivial? She knows I adore her. Still…” His lips curved into a smirk. “A little mischief never hurt anyone.”

He didn’t think twice about it. He rarely did when it came to humor.

When you walked in, balancing a tray of freshly brewed coffee and a stack of exhibition notes, he turned to you with that trademark grin,the one that could melt crowds and infuriate critics.

“Ah, perfect timing,” he drawled. “Everyone, this is my current girlfriend. I figured I should at least introduce her before I trade her in for a new muse next season.”

Thomas snorted. The studio assistants chuckled.

But you didn’t.

Your smile wavered, just barely. The coffee tray clinked softly as you set it down, your movements careful, precise.

“Next season, huh?” you murmured, tone steady but eyes dulling. “Guess that’s the life of a muse—temporary inspiration.”

His grin faltered. He opened his mouth, but you were already turning away, quietly excusing yourself to check the drying racks.

The laughter faded. Thomas scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, maybe that wasn’t—”

“I know,” Rafayel cut in, voice low. The lightness was gone, replaced by something weightier. He wiped his hands on a cloth and stared at the paint-streaked floor. “I know.”

For the first time in a long while, his studio felt cold.

He found you later in the adjacent room, arranging finished pieces with your usual care. The hum of the dehumidifier filled the silence between you.

“You really think I’d trade you in?” he said softly, leaning against the doorway.

You didn’t turn around. “You joke about love a lot, Rafayel. Sometimes it feels like that’s all it is…a performance.”

He stepped closer, the scent of paint and rose oil trailing behind him. “Maybe I use laughter to hide the truth. Maybe I make light of things because I’m afraid they’re too real.”

You finally faced him, brow furrowed. “And what’s the truth?”

“That I’m a fool,” he admitted, voice steady but low. “Because I thought being dramatic would keep things bright between us, but instead, I made you believe you were disposable.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

He crossed the distance, paint-stained fingers brushing your cheek with uncharacteristic gentleness. “You’re not a muse, sweetheart. You’re the reason I still see color when I wake up.”

You blinked rapidly, torn between disbelief and the ache in your chest. “You shouldn’t say things like that so easily.”

“I don’t say them easily,” he whispered. “I just finally mean them.”

When you softened just enough for him to pull you into his arms, he exhaled shakily, the last of his bravado fading with the brush of your forehead against his chest.

Later into the next day, you found a small note on your work table, pressed between two paintbrushes and a tiny glass jar of dried roses.

For the muse who stayed long after the painting dried. Dinner tonight? No pranks. Just me.

It started as a harmless joke. Or so they said.

A few mischievous interns had been whispering about the “current-girlfriend” trend all morning, trying to see who could get the most stoic doctor in the hospital to play along. Zayne ignored them until the promise of freshly baked macrons and his favorite milk tea entered the conversation.

“Come on, Dr. Zayne,” one of the interns teased, “You barely react to anything outside the OR. Humor us for once. Just call her your current girlfriend in front of everyone, see how she reacts.”

He should have said no. He knew he should have said no. But the laughter, the sweets, and the harmless tone of it all dulled his better judgment.

When you walked into the staff lounge with a patient file tucked under your arm, Zayne cleared his throat and forced a small smile.

“Oh, perfect timing,” he said, glancing between you and the group. “This is my current girlfriend. She keeps me in check.”

The interns laughed, one nearly choking on his coffee. It was supposed to be funny.

But you just froze.

Not in surprise, not in embarrassment, but in that quiet way he had seen in patients who had already accepted their diagnosis. You smiled, soft, small, practiced.

“Current, huh?” you repeated lightly. “I guess that makes sense. Everyone’s got an expiration date somewhere.” The room fell silent. Your tone wasn’t bitter, just calm, like you were acknowledging a truth you had known all along. You handed him the file without meeting his eyes. “I’ll go update my charts,” you said. “Wouldn’t want your current girlfriend to mess it up.”

The door clicked shut behind you.

Laughter died instantly. The air in the room dropped several degrees. Frost formed along the edge of Zayne’s water bottle, a crystalline sheen creeping up the metal.

One of the interns swallowed hard. “Uh, Doctor Zayne?”

Zayne’s eyes were sharp enough to pierce through bone. His evol stirred beneath his skin, an instinctive surge of cold fury that rolled through the lounge like a winter storm.

“Which one of you thought this was a good idea again?” His voice was quiet, too quiet. The kind of calm that preceded blizzards.

No one answered. No one met his gaze.

He didn’t wait for an apology. He was already gone, footsteps echoing against the sterile tiles as the temperature slowly began to rise behind him.

He found you in the supply room, arms crossed loosely as you pretended to sort boxes of gauze.

“Hey,” he started, his voice low, uncertain.

You didn’t look up. “It’s fine, Doctor Zayne. I know it was a joke.”

“That’s not,” he stopped himself. “It wasn’t supposed to sound like that.”

You turned, finally meeting his gaze. Your smile was faint but tired. “It’s okay. I always figured you’d move on eventually. You don’t owe me permanence.”

The words hit harder than any scalpel slip.

He took a step closer, shaking his head. “Don’t say that. You’re not, this isn’t temporary. You’re not temporary.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “Then why did it sound so easy when you said it?”

Zayne’s throat tightened. He reached out, fingertips brushing your wrist. “Because I’m an idiot. Because I forgot how words sound when they leave a coward’s mouth.”

That drew a breath of laughter from you, soft and unsteady.

He exhaled shakily. “I don’t want a current anything. You know me, I plan for the long-term. I see you there, in all of it. So if I ever sound like I don’t, hit me over the head with a stethoscope.”

You smiled then, just a little, eyes glistening. “That’s a dangerous request, Dr. Snowie.”

“I’ll risk it,” he murmured. When you finally let him pull you into a quiet hug, his heart steadied for the first time all day. The scent of antiseptic and your shampoo filled his senses, grounding him in a truth that wasn’t fleeting.

Later that afternoon, a delivery arrived at your station, a small tray of chocolate éclairs, strawberry mochi, and a note written in Zayne’s neat handwriting:

For my not-so-current girlfriend. Permanent position already filled, if you’ll have me. When you glanced toward the observation window, he was there, leaning casually against the wall, pretending to read a chart.

But his smile, when your eyes met his, was soft and full of apology, and this time, it held no expiration date.

The twins, Luke and Kieran, had been up to something all morning. Sylus knew that look, the shared grin that meant chaos was coming. They’d cornered him in his office, coffee in hand and mischief in their voices. “Boss,” Luke started, trying to sound innocent. “You’ve been all serious lately. When’s the last time you made boss lady blush?” Kieran grinned. “Yeah, it’s been ages since she gave you that look—y’know, the one right before she starts railing into you for being impossible. We miss that expression.” Sylus leaned back in his chair, swirling the whiskey glass in his hand, smirk curving. “You two are fishing for entertainment again, huh?” “Come on, boss,” Luke pressed. “It’s just a prank. Call her your current girlfriend in front of everyone. She’ll flip, you’ll tease her, and we’ll all laugh. Easy win.”

He snorted, exhaling smoke. “You idiots really don’t know when to quit.” But the idea lingered. The memory of your exasperated face, cheeks puffed, brows knit, trying to look stern when you were too cute to pull it off, sparked something in him. It had been weeks since he’d seen it. Work had been heavy, and you’d been quieter than usual.

“…Fine,” he muttered, placing his glass of whiskey. “But you two are paying for lunch if she stabs me.”

When you walked into the Onychinus control room, holopad in hand, the twins straightened in anticipation. Sylus didn’t even look up from his monitor when he spoke.

“Ah, there she is,” he drawled, voice lazy and sharp as a knife. “My current girlfriend, don’t mind the rest of them, sweetheart, they’re just jealous I get to see that frown up close.”

Luke barely stifled a snort. Kieran bit his knuckle, shoulders shaking.

But you didn’t frown. You froze mid-step, eyes flickering toward him before lowering to the floor. The humor drained from your face, replaced by something still, something that made the twins stop laughing instantly.

“Current?” you asked softly. The word fell like glass breaking. “Right. Guess even the strongest things have… limits.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut air. Sylus blinked, thrown off. You placed the holopad on his desk without looking at him.

“Excuse me, boss,” you said quietly. “I’ll handle the next report remotely.”

You left before anyone could speak.

Luke opened his mouth, but the words died when the lights flickered. The air around Sylus crackled, his evol leaking through his restraint. Energy hummed low, violent, static crawling over the room.

“Get. Out,” Sylus said, voice soft, dangerous. It wasn’t a shout…it didn’t need to be. The twins scrambled, mumbling apologies as they disappeared through the door.

He sat there for a long moment, staring at the spot where you’d stood. The words replayed in his mind, how soft they’d sounded leaving your lips, how final.

Damn it.

He found you outside the HQ balcony, arms crossed as you stared at the city below. The neon lights painted your face in shades of violet and blue. “You really think I meant that?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t look at him. “You joke about everything, Sylus. I figured… maybe I was just another thing to laugh about.” He stepped closer, the hum of his evol following him like a heartbeat. “You think I’d waste a joke on something I actually care about?” You turned then, eyes sharp but wet. “Then why say it?”

“Because I’m a damn idiot,” he said flatly. “And because it’s been too long since I saw you glare at me like I’m the worst man alive. Guess I forgot not every reaction’s worth chasing.”

Your lips twitched despite yourself. “You think that’s an excuse?” “No,” he admitted, hands sliding into his pockets. “It’s an apology wrapped in bad humor. You know me.” When he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch was steady, warm. “You’re not current, sweetheart. You’re carved into the foundation.” You let out a shaky laugh, half a sigh. “You really know how to ruin a bad mood.” “That’s my job,” he murmured, grin faint but real. Later into the night, when you returned to your desk, there was a small black envelope waiting, a sleek Onychinus seal stamped in red wax. Beside it sat a giant money bouquet arranged with red roses, crisp bills folded into petals, and a soft card tucked among them. Inside the envelope were vouchers for your favorite café and a handwritten note that simply read: I don’t do temporary. Dinner’s on me. No pranks this time.

[irimuhuda]

woman supremacy 🫡