#sysullivan

[syjunseo-blog]

𝚂𝚄𝙻𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙰𝙽  𝙼𝙸𝙽  |  설리반민 ( @sysullivan​​. )

                        a  𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔯   but   never    composed,   𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔                         the   ꜱʏᴍᴘʜᴏɴɪᴇꜱ   of  the  overdosed.   𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔                         ❝ i only want what i  can't  have. ❞  '𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒅  as                         a  KING  before i had a birthday, with double digits                         fit the ˗ˏˋ ᴄʀᴏᴡɴ ˎˊ˗ to my head but I was only a kid'

[syscarlett]

when stars collide; the universe notices!

                                                                                                  sullivan & scarlett ;                                                                                                   treasure hunters

[syxjaewon]

‘merry fucking christmas’

yang jaewon wakes to a cotton tongue in his mouth, a taste too sour on his lips, head throbbing, eyes stinging, and he hates literally everything about the entire universe almost simultaneously with his first sharp inhale of breath.

what the actual fuck happened last night and why did he do it and when did it stop? the last he can remember is noticing there was whiskey in his drink— as though it’s even possible to surprise-spike the cup of someone like the captain; lived on many moons, him, walked through many bars and traps and holidays. this is why he rarely ever comes around his crew when alcohol gets introduced, this is what he’s always feared would happen, events of the evening spiraling out of his control like marbles, and he can’t fucking stand it when things are out of his control.

he’s not entirely enlightened about what occurred last night, but he knows it was a mess and he knows he had too much of it. everything is heavy and dizzy and he feels gross inside and outside, cursing his past self for not stopping in time, for not just bidding them all goodnight, for not pulling his losses and calling an end to the whole thing. he wanted to wake up in his bed without the hangover, without the vague, gnawing sensation of having really ruined something important.

he shifts his arm slightly, and that’s when he realizes it’s not just the hangover that’s bogging him down, it’s also mina, her body draped over him, forehead pressed against his ear, hair spread out across his shoulder. this isn’t the first time he’s woken up with her, both of them clothed of course, friends even though the heartbeats in their chests sync up sometime during the night. they don’t tell you about ptsd when you’re in war, and jaewon hadn’t had much experience with the notion before turning seventeen, so in the years since the independent’s failure, the two of them have really had to rely on each other for comfort against nightmares and waking terrors. he’s used to the warmth of her, the scent of her, their legs tangled slightly in unconsciousness.

but not so tangled enough that he can’t shift and maneuver his way out from under her, and he knows she won’t wake up because he’d smelled the alcohol on her breath as well, remembered her drinking just as deeply as any of them. and he doesn’t want to stay here in her room this morning, doesn’t want to infect her with the scorched disease of him, the one he can feel burning through is veins, thick and unstoppable like lava.

he stands up and shuffles to her door slowly, carefully, as noiseless as he can while still feeling the bloat in his stomach, the ocean swishing in his limbs. he feels stupid, he wants to die, he wants to smash his face against the metal of serenity, or go into his bedroom and never come back out. he’s not wearing his coat and it’s freezing cold out here in the hallway, but instead of going to look for it in the mess hall, he ducks for his own bedroom, praying to high hell no one has tried to usurp it, to be funny.

jaewon would set them on fire if they had.

thankfully, no one managed to get in, so he can dress in peace, every movement a drag with stinging pain, every shift only bringing him more agony. his brow furrows, his eyes darken, his mind works and works and works to try to crack the darkness, the haze he’d draped himself in last night. so little comes back to him; drinks and singing and kafka saying something about mistletoe and?? had he fought with johnny? how had he and mina made it into her room? just how much whiskey had he downed?

he rubs slowly at his forehead, feeling a strange bruise forming there, tenderness in his gums, and the most god-awful taste in his mouth. he goes to brush his teeth, and then does so again, doesn’t bother with his hair, doesn’t bother with more sleep. part of him wants to stay in here, wrap himself up in his blessed blankets, only the dim lighting for company for at least the next two days, but his stomach rolls and he knows he’ll do well to get some food into it. plus, he doesn’t want anyone to think he’s hiding or anything. not that he knows whatever it would be that he might hide from, but knowing him, he did at least one embarrassing thing last night, one thing that everyone else will remember and he cannot.

he shuffles back into the hallway, nothing in his stride speaking of power or purpose, the boots still clomping, but with a messier tread, heading into the kitchen. he keeps his fingers sliding across the wall of serenity, helping him find his way, like how serenity always has, to save his soul. ephy isn’t here, but that’s okay too somehow. again: jaewon doesn’t really want to see anyone, doesn’t want to deal with them right now. he supposes he’ll have to though, so he ought to come up with some kind of battle plan.

but first, food. he makes something quick, something painless and soft, salty enough to encourage the massive glass of water he pours for himself, and then he relocates it all to the head of the table, his usual seat. the room is still a goddamn catastrophe, and he doesn’t know who’s going to clean it up, but it won’t be him. maybe sullivan can round some of this shit up, or get other people who will, if he’s not inebriated as well.

the peace and quiet lasts only a few minutes though, apparently the time being somewhere closer to afternoon, everyone else rising and wandering into the mess hall as well, either to see the damage or get something eat themselves. jaewon doesn’t begrudge them that, won’t bar them from that, but anything else is too much.

true to form, casta walks up, grin on, hair ruffled out, the light of him too bright for jaewon’s mechanically engineered eyesight. “well hello there—”

“shut the fuck up.” jaewon’s voice is loud and clear, despite the wince it urges to pull on him, the look everyone else in the room wears. usually he is all gravity and shine, but right now he is charred, blackened ground, singed and exhausted, gold irises dark and half-lidded, furious. his headache is the size of a planet and his temper is as small as a singularity, neck muscles tensing, teeth bared and clenched in a growl. he doesn’t know what image he portrayed himself as during the night, but here in the normal universe, yang jaewon is still a murderer, still just as quick with a glare as he is with a pistol.

and speaking of pistols, he pulls his out from its holster at his side, tucked familiar in his grip, the weapon held up and aimed at the ceiling for now, his elbow resting on the table. “anyone says one goddamn word to me ever about anything, and i’ll put a bullet in you.”

“oh come on, jaewon—”

he cocks the gun and aims it straight at casta’s left eye, the center of him steady and deadly and threatening in an absolutely serious way. he might not shoot him in the brain, but he could still injure the idiot, somehow someway that all his medicine couldn’t recover him from. they’d have to drag him down to jongsuk, and hope the good doctor is sober enough to operate on him. “try me.” his eyes burn shadowy, already picturing casta’s blood, already coming up with how he’ll explain things to mina later, curt sentences probably, very little sympathy or sorrow. he’s not kidding and he’s not bluffing.

casta, to his credit, lifts his hands up and shuts his mouth, heading away from jaewon again, towards the cabinets. the captain’s eyes watch him only briefly when he walks away but not far enough to turn his head, knowing only pain would be granted to him if he does that. he’s not here for this shit, he’s not interested in making nice with anyone on board this ship today. if they value their kneecaps, they’ll adhere to his silence, doing well to forget everything that had happened, just as much as jaewon has.

he waits for a beat before relaxing his gunhand a bit, sinking down further into his chair, blinking and leveling out. he lets the cold bite of the barrel’s end lean against his temple, letting it ground him, reminding him nothing ever lasts forever.

merry fucking christmas, jaewon hates everyone right now.

[sysidereus]

Send me “Moodboard” + a symbol for me to make a board for a muse (or pair) with an unpleasant twist.

Annoymous +  👁️‍🗨️ A stalker situation with @sysullivan

Now it’s not just him and the stars. Now there’s something more there, something beautiful. It fills his ears and guides his steps as he stops in front of a door that’s becoming more and more familiar. He knows he can enter (his hand almost pushes the door open) but he doesn’t dare to disturb the musician.

Leaning against the wall, he takes a drag off his cig and wonders just when did he begin to smile.

[syxsol-blog]

“I’ve got some bad news. Someone painted a giant penis on the side of the ship.”

At first, he’s almost anxious. ‘Bad news’ could translate into a myriad of problematic scenarios. Everyone is already on edge due to recent events. Sihnon taught Sol grace and composure. For the most part, this maturity reflects in his mannerisms and speech. If any situation requires that seasoned maturity, it’s this. 

But the sound that comes out of his mouth is far from careful. He presses a cough into his fist to conceal the snort.

“Really?” But Sol’s imagination is already running with the idea, as he pictures the culprit perfectly orchestrating their phallic-shaped crime. Sol’s composure collapses into a fit of giggles that reaches the volume of a hyena laugh. He’s breathless between words. “That’s so.... unfortunate... I’m really-- Sorry... Jaewon must be so upset.” And Sol is truly worried about the Captain, always trailing behind Jaewon, a puppy-like shadow. It’s his stifled snorting that begs to differ.

Sol pulls his hood up over his head, burying his red face into the fabric of his heavy coat as he struggles to calm down.

“Wait-- why are you telling me this ‘bad news’.” He laughs again, hand covering his mouth when he snorts. “I wonder who Jaewon is gonna’ make clean that up. Almost feel bad for whoever that is.” Realization becomes a slow burn as the cogs turn in his mind, too preoccupied by the idea of a giant dick decal on the side of the Serenity. It’s then that Sol freezes, mouth agape. “Is this you indirectly telling me to clean up...” His voice drops to a whisper like it’s a bad word. “...the Penis?”

[syminseo]

👀 Where would you like me to take you on our next day trip? <3

If it was possible for Minseo to have lept any higher, she would’ve gone through the cockpit ceiling. She grabbed Sully’s hands in hers and swung them back and forth as she smiled, “Ok! Ok like, I know we don’t usually stay that long when we go to Central Planets, cause of the whole...Captain thing, but I really wanna go to Ariel. It just seems so super fancy. I wanna see fancy stuff, Sully!”

[syjunseo-blog]

💝

( VALENTINES DAY QUESTION MEME | accepting )

                     💝  — ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ ﹖ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ ﹖ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ﹖

     this time there’s no escaping the fact that his cheeks have turned red, the warmth that rushes up to his face has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. he doesn’t know how to evade this at all, sul knows him too well to not know something is up, but junseo doubts the other knows what it is exactly. he’s been too secretive, too careful to slip up, and his teeth sink to the back of his lip as he tries to find the correct words. because no, he does not have a valentine ( at least not yet ? ) and he’s very sure it’s a lot more than a mere infatuation at this point — but the second and the last labels do somehow fit the emotions he’s feeling for his dear friend. he has been on the edge the whole day, almost too visibly so, constantly doing something, legs twitching, hands wringing; his mannerisms make it clear how nervous he is, how scared that something might go wrong — hell, he isn’t even sure if it’s going to go well at all. then again, it has been so long, and he is determined to follow his plan through that night, even more so after what happened at the med bay not so long ago. “uh — i don’t — maybe — uh —” he hopes to be more eloquent this evening, and mentally chides himself for being caught unprepared for the question. “not a valentine but…. yeah, maybe there is someone. i don’t know yet.” 

[neosy]

🎄<3

    Christmas day had never been something Neo had put much thought into, but when Sullivan had mentioned going somewhere to commemorate the holiday while they were touched down on Ariel, the mercenary hadn’t said no. As much as he’d never admit it out loud, he found himself melancholy these days; lonely. The celebrations themselves not appealing but the happiness that was supposed to come with them promising, yearning. If ever asked what made him say yes to Sullivan’s proposal, perhaps he’d only say it was for something to do, maybe the possibility of getting the steward drunk once again and being entertained for the day, but those were all really just excuses.

   No matter how true it was, he’d never be the man to say that he just didn’t want to spend another Christmas alone.

    The walk to the bar-esque restaurant was long and quiet, but not uncomfortable. A stretch of peaceful silence while they were both likely gone in their own separate thought processes. They didn’t interact much, not really, until they approached the front door of the restaurant. Neo acted as the gentlemen, always in the charming mode, as he opened the door for Sullivan. He remained almost on auto-pilot, present but not quite as he thought of past Christmas’ with something of a distant look behind his eyes. No presents and all fancy dinners. The rich and the loyal, the appearance of glee where there was none, a childhood of fake cheer, when suddenly he was snapped out his reverie. It took only a moment to notice that Sullivan wasn’t moving; paused in the doorway, unmoving and face as red as a tomato. Neo stopped himself, face inquisitive as his eyes followed the line of his companion’s own and he found a laugh breaking passed his lips like the jingle of a bell, smile breaking his thoughtful blank stare as he spotted the culprit of Sullivan’s coyness. 

    Right about their head, near the front door, was a mistletoe hanging.

   Neo looked back to Sullivan who was aptly avoiding his eye, beginning to take steps in order to flee from the scene which only fed Neo’s new sense of purpose. Normally he would’ve ignored it, a stupid holiday gag, but the steward’s reaction set him a goal and he grabbed his arm, pulling him back into his chest. “No, no, not so fast, you know the rules, Sullivan.” He said, voice as casual and teasing as always as he worked to coax the steward to face him, a knowing, self-assured smile present on his lips as his hands went to Sullivan’s cheeks. Sure, part of it was just to mess with the generally conservative male, to pull out a reaction, but another part of it was his own sheer amusement. He was enjoying it. 

   Neo ran a thumb over the other male’s cheek, which was almost dangerously red with a blush and laughed again, a chuckle and a cheeky smile on his face as he leaned in, breath ghosting the air between their faces. “Merry Christmas, Sullivan.” He said, voice light and joking, knowing fully well what he was doing, before pressing their lips together, chaste and sweet, but leaving something of a warm feeling nonetheless. 

     It was over as quick as it started, brief (and perhaps a bit lingering) before pulling away, an arm linking itself with Sullivan’s as Neo nodded towards the bar, acting as if nothing strange happened at all. “Now, let’s go take some shots, hm?”