F/30 Major fandoms are Far Cry 5, The Wayhaven Chronicles, Uncharted, and VA/Bloodlines(though more Bloodlines). Also home to my writing and other oc content. 18+ Only Please Masterlist Last Updated 01/01/22 OC List | Edits Blog Follows and interacts from @yourlove-is-sunlight Icon by @ziorre Header by @minilev
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....and it was our long talks, his listening and understanding. And I knew I loved him.
-Sylvia Plath
Three things: I have no restraint, was deeply inspired by this art by @feeeshy, and I can't pose Sib and Lyon like this in wf (so its a good thing she was a wol before a drifter). So uh yeah have my attempt at an in game version of miqolyon with sib in her og form.
tag list: @jaeheydaris @galfrey @statichvm @chyrstis @bobreynoldsentry
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i was tagged by @blissfulalchemist @sofrosine @imogenkol and @chyrstis (and technically @inafieldofdaisies!) to share a wip (thanks yall!) and i went back and forth on sharing this since it’s a sillyfun crack-ish verse. but. woe, lily’s outer banks jaunt be upon ye ft a nora who is done with her child’s teenage angst.
She checked her phone. 11:37. If she pedaled quickly, she’d make it.
Probably.
The table was a mess, piled sky high with bills, legal notices, and what looked to be yet another family photo album. Their smiling faces stared back at her, clad head to toe in white linen and condescension. “Life comes at you fast, huh, dad?” Lily snorted, flipping the cover shut and shoving it aside.
“Mom?” she called, craning her neck to peer back down the still-dark hallway before turning back to the mounded table. “I left my name tag here. Where is it? I gotta go—“
The floorboards creaked loudly, too close too quickly. Lily startled, wheeling to see her mother leaning against her bedroom doorframe. Her arms were tightly crossed, eyes scanning her daughter with just enough scrutiny alarm bells started to sound in her head. Lily blinked, gesturing nebulously towards the door before turning back to her hunt for her name tag. “Dad’s lawyer stopped by. He said your phone was dead, and you were sleeping, so—“
“Where were you the night of the hurricane, Lily?”
Her hands stilled.
Nope.
As if by a miracle, she spotted the chipped plastic corner of her name tag poking out from underneath an overdue cellphone bill. She could hear her mother behind her, shifting her weight and sighing as she geared up to repeat herself.
“I have to be at work in, like, 20 minutes,” she started, effectively cutting her off as she plucked her name tag from the bottom of the pile. Nora moved behind her, reaching for her shoulder with a sharp “Lily”. Lily dodged, ducking towards the doorway on her right. “I said I’ve got work—“
“I thought you were dead,” Nora hissed.
“Yeah,” Lily laughed, tugging her backpack onto her shoulders, “that would’ve been a bummer, right?”
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Tagged a few times from people over the weeks. but sending tags out to @chyrstis @statichvm @jaeheydaris @galfrey @shellibisshe @belorage @strafethesesinners and anyone else that wants to partake and has something to share! Unsurprising to everyone I have nothing but wf stuff. So have various snippets of pieces from some :'( ones to lighter ones.
Sib took a (not so) calculated risk on this and boy is she bad at math
Outta_Tyme <3: How are you doing today Lyon?
Lyon: I am doing well, thank you kindly for asking. How are you?
Outta_Tyme <3: Could be better. Fighting a bit of a possible megrim, if I’m being honest.
Outta_Tyme <3: They….really aren’t quite fun….
Lyon: Hm. I suffer from those as well. I cannot imagine staring at the glow of this contraption helps it. You should go and lie down.
Outta_Tyme <3: You’re probably right. I just wanted to see how you were doing first.
Lyon: As you can "see," I am quite recovered. And now you must worry about yourself. Now go find a dark place to recover.
Outta_Tyme <3: Okay, okay. I’ll go….after I ask you one thing.
Lyon: Begone, Drifter. Before I find you and force you to rest. And none of us will enjoy that.
Outta_Tyme <3: Best not to make promises you can’t keep, Priest….
Outta_Tyme <3: cause I may enjoy that more than you think. ;)
Siberite quickly tabs out, responding to a message from Eleanor on the latest adventures of her younger self as she takes another sip of what looks and tastes like wine, yet hits her as if it was the Luashine Velimir told her about. She responds to a few other messages from those in 1999, all explaining their roles (or supposed lack thereof) in the latest harm to mall property involving a rocket launcher, her younger self, and a rumored not dare, all the while keeping the little flashing “Typing…” in Lyon’s chat in the corner of her eye. She’s nearly finished her glass of questionable wine when a new message pops up from Roathe, the little green dot puzzling as she occupied the only other computer in the nearest vicinity. Clicking on her conversation with Lyon she finds that he is no longer “typing” simply offline.
The sound of the portal to the cathedral opens, glancing up to see Loid make his way to his desk. “Hey, Loid, did you happen to see Roath kick Lyon off the Pom?”
“No. It was unoccupied both times I walked past, I just only happened to catch a glance of Roathe making his way to it as I was leaving.”
Her cheeks begin to burn, groaning as she lets her head fall onto the desk. “Gods fucking damnit. That’s just fucking great.”
“Might I ask what this is about, Drifter?”
“If he wasn’t at the computer then that means he got up and walked away without saying goodbye.”
Sometimes little bits of interactions happen and this is one of them
“So you and her have never-.”
“Oh they’ve had relations,” Roathe interrupts, “and quite loudly at times I may add.”
Operator rolls her eyes, “That’s not what I was going to say. I figured that much. What I was going to say was, you and her have never done transference?”
“The act of her taking over my mind and body? No we haven’t and I’m perfectly content with such things.”
“Why?”
Lyon shrugs, “There is no need and she wishes to not invade, though there is nothing I would hide from her.”
“Huh,” she says with a click of her tongue, crossing her arms.
“This surprises you? Is a wanting of mutual consent part of the reason you both only perform transference with Umbra?”
“Well sure but I thought you two would have, you know,” she gestures vaguely, “incorporated that into your private time.” He cocks his head to the side, young Siberite huffing. “Listen I can handle talking about this stuff, I know it’s a prominent sex thing between operators and their warframes.”
Roathe spits out his drink, “Excuse me!”
“Oh don’t act like that, Mr. ‘Is the thurible used during sex?’. I thought it would have been obvious to you. You apparently make everything into a sex thing.”
“Well of course I thought about it. I wonder how you would know and think of such things. You’re a child. Children should not-.”
“Not all the Tenno were children, some were well into their teens by the time the Zariman incident happened.”
“That may be, but that still doesn’t answer my question, in fact it poses a few more.”
“I did have an older brother you know, he was seventeen when the Zariman happened. And despite how I talk about him, he did have friends, and some that were more than that.”
“And he just spoke about such topics with you? Were you not eleven?” Lyon says, rubbing his forehead, “I doubt-.”
“He never told me but that didn’t stop from me listening in on their hang outs.” She shudders, “And I now remember all of it. Some I wish I could forget.”
This started funny and then.....
She opens the door a few inches, met by Lyon dressed in a loose, plain white shirt that falls to his mid thigh and some brown fitted pants that go to just below his knees. He wears no shoes, and his hair unkempt and tangling around a basic black eyepatch, while a bottle of very strong wine threatens to leave his grasp as he sways ever so slightly even while leaning a bit on the doorframe. “Did you get a little lost, my friend?” She says with a small smile, opening the door more.
“Non. I am….”
“A bit drunk?”
“I am not proud of this, but I have-,” he glances down at the bottle giving it a bit of a shake, both of them hearing the last little bit of wine within. Without hesitation he finishes it, a nod of satisfaction when he finds it now completely empty. “I have imbibed an entire bottle of wine, which means I am now ready to speak to you of what I have been desperately trying not too….” He looks down at the labelless bottle with a furrowed brow, narrowly avoiding the panicked eyes that pass over her features, Oh gods he knows. He figured it out, “If this is indeed wine. Monsieur Loid was unsure of if what I had in my day and what he knew to be wine would be the same thing.”
“Lyon….”
“In my defense, I did not intend to drink the whole bottle. I was attempting to discern if it was the same substance and then it was gone….”
She gently takes the bottle from him, cocking a brow, “So I’m guessing they taste the same?”
“I do not know!” He exclaims, as she leads him to sit on her bed before he becomes unsteady, pressing her lips together to suppress the laughter that bubbles through at his outburst, “That is the most frustrating part of the entire thing!”
---------------------------
“Do I remind you of someone you’ve lost?” She frowns, glancing away, Lyon nodding. “Are they the one you told Roathe about that day you stormed out on him?”
The lie sits so easily on the tip of her tongue ready to be added to the pile of them she’s given to him when he comes just too close to the truth. But it's not the possibility of if this lie would be the one to collapse her delicate house of cards that has her hesitating–if her past experience was applicable he’d have no memory of this come morning–its the way his eyes plead for an honest answer even if it will hurt him in the end. And it will, she knows the answer she gives will sting, for who likes being seen as the replacement? A pity she cannot soften the blow with knowledge that he and the one he believes to have replaced are one and the same. “Yes.” She says simply.
“I see. You have my sympathies.”
“You should get some sleep, Lyon, before the headache begins.”
“Might I tell you of the other part that I cannot explain when it comes to you?” She nods before he urges her to sit next to him on the bed, gazing at her once again. His fingers whisper along her face, guiding the blush just below the surface. “I had to have dreamt your face before we met. There’s no other explanation for…. When we first met….” Her cheeks burn with heavy breathing set in time to her racing heart, watching as his gaze falls to her slightly parted lips. “I did not feel lust,” he shakes his head, “I know what that feels like when you cross my mind sometimes. I remember looking at you and your smile….” His fingers begin to trace her mouth with a feather light touch, rooting her to the bed, making it all the easier for his other hand to reach for her. “I saw it and I felt such a compulsion to rush to you and return it.” He begins to lean in, sending her heart into a frenzy he must surely feel against his fingertips as they dance up her neck. “I also wanted to do this….”
Their foreheads touch, lips a breath apart when she puts a hand on his chest giving him pause. “Lyon….,” she says on a shaky breath, “I-.”
“Please….I thought that-.”
“I do. Just not now, not like this.” Her voice grows thick with each word, focusing on trying to stop her shaking hands in an effort to keep the tears at bay.
“I desired to kiss you. Embrace you….”
“Don’t.” She whispers, feeling her body betray her with a simple tilt of her neck making the space between them almost nonexistent.
His lips overtake hers in an instant, hands cradling her face, while hers ball into fists on her lap. He deepens the kiss, mouths parting while her eyes close, letting herself feel nothing but the softness of his lips, and the way his touch sends a warmth through her chest before it begins to gather lower. One of his hands drops to her waist pulling her closer, letting her give in to the free will of her hands wanting to explore him once again. How deftly they remember how to hold him, the trails to best leave fires, the best way to tangle in his long hair that has him pulling her closer.
Tears pool in the corner of her eyes as she finds that his hands too remember her. Easily they pull at memories created in this same spot, and move as if desperately trying to recreate them. One rolls down her cheek and as if on instinct he reaches up to wipe it away. Lyon pulls away, both of them gasping for air, while another tear betrays her and can feel more wanting to follow. Siberite pulls herself from him when he begins to reach out to clear them. “I should go.”
If there's one thing one must have with Sib its patience
“Hey Lyon?” Operator asks, turning to face him once more, leaning on the doorway, Lyon giving a hum in response. “What ever happened to the cat?”
“Cat?”
“Yeah, the one from the story. The alley cat Old Dever-something. Wait, did you two have that conversation this time?”
“Oh, Old Devereaux?”
“Yeah!” Her brow furrows a moment, “Is that how you say that?”
He nods, chuckling when her eyes roll with a huff, “Gaullique is a bit odd when you’re not used to seeing or hearing it.”
“That’s for sure,” she snorts, waving away the language lesson, “But back to the cat. What happened to him? The first time you told Drifter about it you never got to what happened to him. Did you stop feeding him once you found out the truth?”
“No, Marie greeted him with all the more affection. But we no longer fretted over him. We knew he could care for himself adequately enough and did not need us.”
“Do you ever wonder why he chose to visit you? I know he was just a cat but….”
“If one is to be cynical then it was greed. We were not the only ones feeding him. If one could have one feast, why not two? Or ten?”
“And if one wasn’t cynical?”
“He was a cat that had found itself in the world. Learned how to use his condition—his appearance, age, and scars—as a weapon against the ‘fools’ that did not see through his ruse as a means of survival.”
Operator frowns at the ground, crossing her arms. “Which do you think is the correct reason he chose to visit?”
“That is not for me to decide.” He says with a small shrug, “Sometimes one is to draw their own conclusion from the story told.”
She sighs, meeting his gaze once more, “Can I offer up a different answer?”
“Of course.”
“He was lonely.” Lyon raises a brow with a small tilt of his head. “He probably didn’t have many cat friends, maybe he didn’t fit in with them, but he felt like he belonged more with those he visited. I mean he let you in on his secret that day in the market, you don’t just let someone see past the mask you wear unless you trust them. He trusted you and you rewarded that trust by not abandoning him. You and Marie still greeted him, pet him, and fed him, showing him that it was worth the risk. Drifter’s instinct was to also see Roathe within the story and he’s a very lonely man, or was at least.”
“That is….a very interesting meaning to draw from that tale. I do not believe I have heard anyone come to the same conclusion.”
She beams, standing straighter, “I’ve kept going back to it in recent months, just thinking on it. Can I ask you one more thing?”
“By all means.”
And I will end it on some birthday fic stuff
He’s thankfully easy to find talking to Bird Three….and playing komi? She shrugs, taking a deep breath before approaching them, tightly hugging the two calendars to her chest as she waits for one of them to acknowledge her. The Orokin glances at her when Bird Three squawks, “Little Sib! Are you here to learn how to play komi?”
She shakes her head, turning to Roathe who focuses more on setting up the board once more. “I currently don’t like you.”
“Count me surprised,” he says flatly without looking up.
She growls, “Let me finish.” He looks up at her curiously, sitting back in his chair, gesturing for her to have the floor. “I currently don’t like you. There are a number of reasons for that, most of which, I have been told, should be directed to others that are not you. Something about the crimes of a society can’t and shouldn’t be applied to a single man, and how they need to be judged on their own individual crimes. Especially one that has chosen to walk a new path. However I am not Drifter and she did not suffer in the same ways I did at the hands of the Orokin Empire, all of which is now painfully fresh. To look at you….,” she inhales deeply, nails digging into the paper. Her back goes taut, head held high, feet shoulder width apart, and a neutral face moving to hide the anger and bite her tongue. “I don’t know when I can become friendly with you. I don’t know when my anger will temper. I do, however, know that for now I can offer up the instinctual respect that comes from your title. I am doing as Drifter says in keeping an open mind and trying to ‘let people be my friend’, I just thought it best we both knew where we stood, given our histories.”
He stares at her a few more moments with an unreadable expression. “May I speak now?” She gives a quick nod, suppressing the need to roll her eyes. “You’re right that it’s better to know where we stand, and I do appreciate your honesty, however blunt it may be. That being said, I do not want you to be a soldier around me. I am no longer a commander, nor do I have any desire to be one, playing such a part feels as if it could lead to regression and we can’t have that. If you must put on the air of one, then at least speak to me as you normally would.”
“Even if it’s insulting?”
“I do have limits, Operator, though I think you and I both know that for now your goal is to find my presence tolerable so you can be with the others more often, something that can’t happen if we do not get to such a point.”
She huffs, rolling her eyes quickly, “I feel I used up all the best ones anyway in that blow up, which according to Drifter you have some memory of.”
“Fragments, yes.” He leans forward, “Back to the matter at hand though, do we have an understanding?”
“I can mentally think of you as my superior so I can more easily be courteous to you, I just will speak to you as I normally would.”
“Precisely.”
“One last thing though,” she says quickly, getting a hum in response, “Just because I may have to think of you as superior to me does not make me your underling or lesser than you. So you will not treat me as such. If you do in an unwarranted manner, I will make sure you regret it.”
He laughs, making her eyes narrow, “Oh, Operator, I would not dream of such a thing. It would be unwise for me to even attempt such a thing. Nonetheless I concede to such a condition.”
----------------------------------------
She had hurt her older self that day of the fight, hit every low blow, and yet she extended grace to her in the end, even though it was hard for Operator to see beneath the red. They had yet to fully speak on anything since that day, Siberite still too much of a coward to admit the greatest sin she committed during the Perita Rebellion, but hopefully this could open things up between them. It at minimum would give her something else to think about since like many other aspects of her life, it too was marred by horror and despair while also being tied to the last good memories she had of that time.
She shakes her mind free of the images and blood of the events that would happen exactly one week after her birthday, attempting once more to locate Marie in this labyrinth of a laboratory. It’s not long until she finds herself in the quieter sections and stumbling upon Lyon who stands in front of a wall of shelves, frozen as he reads from one of the many books. She watches him for a few moments, squinting to see if he’s breathing or turns a page, anything to prove he’s not just the latest furniture product of the nechramites. The page turns with little movement that one could almost excuse it for a breeze that turned it, Why she picked you I’ll never know. With a glance to the envelope in her hands she clears her throat, knocking on the wall, his movements to acknowledge her slow and changing his posture only a little. “Do you know where Marie’s at? I can’t seem to find her.”
“She and Drifter are assisting M’sieur Loid with some murmur.” He answers, turning to face her.
“Oh. Do you know when they’ll be back? Er, well when Marie will.”
He shakes his head, “I can let her know you’d like to see her if you wish.”
“No it’s fine,” she says with a heavy sigh. “Could you give her this and tell her not to open it in front of my older self?” He looks at the envelope curiously before taking it from her outstretched hand. “Actually you probably should read it too. If the movies the Hex showed us were accurate, then you need to know the information within just as much if not more than Marie.”
“Might I ask why?”
“Well you’re her…. Did people in your day use the term boyfriend? Lover? Ew, no never use that word for her around me actually. Ugh, what’s the word!”
“Courting?” He offers.
She gives a slight bob of her head, “Close enough, granted you would know given you lived there and all that. But anyway, since you’re ‘courting’ her you probably should know when to get her gifts. And according to this one cosmo-something magazine it is a must for Winter Solstice, Star Days, anniversaries, and birthdays.”
“I see, and you believe Drifter to adhere to such expectations?”
Siberite shrugs, “Maybe, maybe not. But better to know and have a point of reference to ask about.”
Roathe: I ran into Lyon in the Cathedral at 1 AM last night and when I asked him what he was doing, he just shrugged, said “these are my roaming hours,” and wandered off.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Tagged a few times from people over the weeks. but sending tags out to @chyrstis @statichvm @jaeheydaris @galfrey @shellibisshe @belorage @strafethesesinners and anyone else that wants to partake and has something to share! Unsurprising to everyone I have nothing but wf stuff. So have various snippets of pieces from some :'( ones to lighter ones.
Sib took a (not so) calculated risk on this and boy is she bad at math
Outta_Tyme <3: How are you doing today Lyon?
Lyon: I am doing well, thank you kindly for asking. How are you?
Outta_Tyme <3: Could be better. Fighting a bit of a possible megrim, if I’m being honest.
Outta_Tyme <3: They….really aren’t quite fun….
Lyon: Hm. I suffer from those as well. I cannot imagine staring at the glow of this contraption helps it. You should go and lie down.
Outta_Tyme <3: You’re probably right. I just wanted to see how you were doing first.
Lyon: As you can "see," I am quite recovered. And now you must worry about yourself. Now go find a dark place to recover.
Outta_Tyme <3: Okay, okay. I’ll go….after I ask you one thing.
Lyon: Begone, Drifter. Before I find you and force you to rest. And none of us will enjoy that.
Outta_Tyme <3: Best not to make promises you can’t keep, Priest….
Outta_Tyme <3: cause I may enjoy that more than you think. ;)
Siberite quickly tabs out, responding to a message from Eleanor on the latest adventures of her younger self as she takes another sip of what looks and tastes like wine, yet hits her as if it was the Luashine Velimir told her about. She responds to a few other messages from those in 1999, all explaining their roles (or supposed lack thereof) in the latest harm to mall property involving a rocket launcher, her younger self, and a rumored not dare, all the while keeping the little flashing “Typing…” in Lyon’s chat in the corner of her eye. She’s nearly finished her glass of questionable wine when a new message pops up from Roathe, the little green dot puzzling as she occupied the only other computer in the nearest vicinity. Clicking on her conversation with Lyon she finds that he is no longer “typing” simply offline.
The sound of the portal to the cathedral opens, glancing up to see Loid make his way to his desk. “Hey, Loid, did you happen to see Roath kick Lyon off the Pom?”
“No. It was unoccupied both times I walked past, I just only happened to catch a glance of Roathe making his way to it as I was leaving.”
Her cheeks begin to burn, groaning as she lets her head fall onto the desk. “Gods fucking damnit. That’s just fucking great.”
“Might I ask what this is about, Drifter?”
“If he wasn’t at the computer then that means he got up and walked away without saying goodbye.”
Sometimes little bits of interactions happen and this is one of them
“So you and her have never-.”
“Oh they’ve had relations,” Roathe interrupts, “and quite loudly at times I may add.”
Operator rolls her eyes, “That’s not what I was going to say. I figured that much. What I was going to say was, you and her have never done transference?”
“The act of her taking over my mind and body? No we haven’t and I’m perfectly content with such things.”
“Why?”
Lyon shrugs, “There is no need and she wishes to not invade, though there is nothing I would hide from her.”
“Huh,” she says with a click of her tongue, crossing her arms.
“This surprises you? Is a wanting of mutual consent part of the reason you both only perform transference with Umbra?”
“Well sure but I thought you two would have, you know,” she gestures vaguely, “incorporated that into your private time.” He cocks his head to the side, young Siberite huffing. “Listen I can handle talking about this stuff, I know it’s a prominent sex thing between operators and their warframes.”
Roathe spits out his drink, “Excuse me!”
“Oh don’t act like that, Mr. ‘Is the thurible used during sex?’. I thought it would have been obvious to you. You apparently make everything into a sex thing.”
“Well of course I thought about it. I wonder how you would know and think of such things. You’re a child. Children should not-.”
“Not all the Tenno were children, some were well into their teens by the time the Zariman incident happened.”
“That may be, but that still doesn’t answer my question, in fact it poses a few more.”
“I did have an older brother you know, he was seventeen when the Zariman happened. And despite how I talk about him, he did have friends, and some that were more than that.”
“And he just spoke about such topics with you? Were you not eleven?” Lyon says, rubbing his forehead, “I doubt-.”
“He never told me but that didn’t stop from me listening in on their hang outs.” She shudders, “And I now remember all of it. Some I wish I could forget.”
This started funny and then.....
She opens the door a few inches, met by Lyon dressed in a loose, plain white shirt that falls to his mid thigh and some brown fitted pants that go to just below his knees. He wears no shoes, and his hair unkempt and tangling around a basic black eyepatch, while a bottle of very strong wine threatens to leave his grasp as he sways ever so slightly even while leaning a bit on the doorframe. “Did you get a little lost, my friend?” She says with a small smile, opening the door more.
“Non. I am….”
“A bit drunk?”
“I am not proud of this, but I have-,” he glances down at the bottle giving it a bit of a shake, both of them hearing the last little bit of wine within. Without hesitation he finishes it, a nod of satisfaction when he finds it now completely empty. “I have imbibed an entire bottle of wine, which means I am now ready to speak to you of what I have been desperately trying not too….” He looks down at the labelless bottle with a furrowed brow, narrowly avoiding the panicked eyes that pass over her features, Oh gods he knows. He figured it out, “If this is indeed wine. Monsieur Loid was unsure of if what I had in my day and what he knew to be wine would be the same thing.”
“Lyon….”
“In my defense, I did not intend to drink the whole bottle. I was attempting to discern if it was the same substance and then it was gone….”
She gently takes the bottle from him, cocking a brow, “So I’m guessing they taste the same?”
“I do not know!” He exclaims, as she leads him to sit on her bed before he becomes unsteady, pressing her lips together to suppress the laughter that bubbles through at his outburst, “That is the most frustrating part of the entire thing!”
---------------------------
“Do I remind you of someone you’ve lost?” She frowns, glancing away, Lyon nodding. “Are they the one you told Roathe about that day you stormed out on him?”
The lie sits so easily on the tip of her tongue ready to be added to the pile of them she’s given to him when he comes just too close to the truth. But it's not the possibility of if this lie would be the one to collapse her delicate house of cards that has her hesitating–if her past experience was applicable he’d have no memory of this come morning–its the way his eyes plead for an honest answer even if it will hurt him in the end. And it will, she knows the answer she gives will sting, for who likes being seen as the replacement? A pity she cannot soften the blow with knowledge that he and the one he believes to have replaced are one and the same. “Yes.” She says simply.
“I see. You have my sympathies.”
“You should get some sleep, Lyon, before the headache begins.”
“Might I tell you of the other part that I cannot explain when it comes to you?” She nods before he urges her to sit next to him on the bed, gazing at her once again. His fingers whisper along her face, guiding the blush just below the surface. “I had to have dreamt your face before we met. There’s no other explanation for…. When we first met….” Her cheeks burn with heavy breathing set in time to her racing heart, watching as his gaze falls to her slightly parted lips. “I did not feel lust,” he shakes his head, “I know what that feels like when you cross my mind sometimes. I remember looking at you and your smile….” His fingers begin to trace her mouth with a feather light touch, rooting her to the bed, making it all the easier for his other hand to reach for her. “I saw it and I felt such a compulsion to rush to you and return it.” He begins to lean in, sending her heart into a frenzy he must surely feel against his fingertips as they dance up her neck. “I also wanted to do this….”
Their foreheads touch, lips a breath apart when she puts a hand on his chest giving him pause. “Lyon….,” she says on a shaky breath, “I-.”
“Please….I thought that-.”
“I do. Just not now, not like this.” Her voice grows thick with each word, focusing on trying to stop her shaking hands in an effort to keep the tears at bay.
“I desired to kiss you. Embrace you….”
“Don’t.” She whispers, feeling her body betray her with a simple tilt of her neck making the space between them almost nonexistent.
His lips overtake hers in an instant, hands cradling her face, while hers ball into fists on her lap. He deepens the kiss, mouths parting while her eyes close, letting herself feel nothing but the softness of his lips, and the way his touch sends a warmth through her chest before it begins to gather lower. One of his hands drops to her waist pulling her closer, letting her give in to the free will of her hands wanting to explore him once again. How deftly they remember how to hold him, the trails to best leave fires, the best way to tangle in his long hair that has him pulling her closer.
Tears pool in the corner of her eyes as she finds that his hands too remember her. Easily they pull at memories created in this same spot, and move as if desperately trying to recreate them. One rolls down her cheek and as if on instinct he reaches up to wipe it away. Lyon pulls away, both of them gasping for air, while another tear betrays her and can feel more wanting to follow. Siberite pulls herself from him when he begins to reach out to clear them. “I should go.”
If there's one thing one must have with Sib its patience
“Hey Lyon?” Operator asks, turning to face him once more, leaning on the doorway, Lyon giving a hum in response. “What ever happened to the cat?”
“Cat?”
“Yeah, the one from the story. The alley cat Old Dever-something. Wait, did you two have that conversation this time?”
“Oh, Old Devereaux?”
“Yeah!” Her brow furrows a moment, “Is that how you say that?”
He nods, chuckling when her eyes roll with a huff, “Gaullique is a bit odd when you’re not used to seeing or hearing it.”
“That’s for sure,” she snorts, waving away the language lesson, “But back to the cat. What happened to him? The first time you told Drifter about it you never got to what happened to him. Did you stop feeding him once you found out the truth?”
“No, Marie greeted him with all the more affection. But we no longer fretted over him. We knew he could care for himself adequately enough and did not need us.”
“Do you ever wonder why he chose to visit you? I know he was just a cat but….”
“If one is to be cynical then it was greed. We were not the only ones feeding him. If one could have one feast, why not two? Or ten?”
“And if one wasn’t cynical?”
“He was a cat that had found itself in the world. Learned how to use his condition—his appearance, age, and scars—as a weapon against the ‘fools’ that did not see through his ruse as a means of survival.”
Operator frowns at the ground, crossing her arms. “Which do you think is the correct reason he chose to visit?”
“That is not for me to decide.” He says with a small shrug, “Sometimes one is to draw their own conclusion from the story told.”
She sighs, meeting his gaze once more, “Can I offer up a different answer?”
“Of course.”
“He was lonely.” Lyon raises a brow with a small tilt of his head. “He probably didn’t have many cat friends, maybe he didn’t fit in with them, but he felt like he belonged more with those he visited. I mean he let you in on his secret that day in the market, you don’t just let someone see past the mask you wear unless you trust them. He trusted you and you rewarded that trust by not abandoning him. You and Marie still greeted him, pet him, and fed him, showing him that it was worth the risk. Drifter’s instinct was to also see Roathe within the story and he’s a very lonely man, or was at least.”
“That is….a very interesting meaning to draw from that tale. I do not believe I have heard anyone come to the same conclusion.”
She beams, standing straighter, “I’ve kept going back to it in recent months, just thinking on it. Can I ask you one more thing?”
“By all means.”
And I will end it on some birthday fic stuff
He’s thankfully easy to find talking to Bird Three….and playing komi? She shrugs, taking a deep breath before approaching them, tightly hugging the two calendars to her chest as she waits for one of them to acknowledge her. The Orokin glances at her when Bird Three squawks, “Little Sib! Are you here to learn how to play komi?”
She shakes her head, turning to Roathe who focuses more on setting up the board once more. “I currently don’t like you.”
“Count me surprised,” he says flatly without looking up.
She growls, “Let me finish.” He looks up at her curiously, sitting back in his chair, gesturing for her to have the floor. “I currently don’t like you. There are a number of reasons for that, most of which, I have been told, should be directed to others that are not you. Something about the crimes of a society can’t and shouldn’t be applied to a single man, and how they need to be judged on their own individual crimes. Especially one that has chosen to walk a new path. However I am not Drifter and she did not suffer in the same ways I did at the hands of the Orokin Empire, all of which is now painfully fresh. To look at you….,” she inhales deeply, nails digging into the paper. Her back goes taut, head held high, feet shoulder width apart, and a neutral face moving to hide the anger and bite her tongue. “I don’t know when I can become friendly with you. I don’t know when my anger will temper. I do, however, know that for now I can offer up the instinctual respect that comes from your title. I am doing as Drifter says in keeping an open mind and trying to ‘let people be my friend’, I just thought it best we both knew where we stood, given our histories.”
He stares at her a few more moments with an unreadable expression. “May I speak now?” She gives a quick nod, suppressing the need to roll her eyes. “You’re right that it’s better to know where we stand, and I do appreciate your honesty, however blunt it may be. That being said, I do not want you to be a soldier around me. I am no longer a commander, nor do I have any desire to be one, playing such a part feels as if it could lead to regression and we can’t have that. If you must put on the air of one, then at least speak to me as you normally would.”
“Even if it’s insulting?”
“I do have limits, Operator, though I think you and I both know that for now your goal is to find my presence tolerable so you can be with the others more often, something that can’t happen if we do not get to such a point.”
She huffs, rolling her eyes quickly, “I feel I used up all the best ones anyway in that blow up, which according to Drifter you have some memory of.”
“Fragments, yes.” He leans forward, “Back to the matter at hand though, do we have an understanding?”
“I can mentally think of you as my superior so I can more easily be courteous to you, I just will speak to you as I normally would.”
“Precisely.”
“One last thing though,” she says quickly, getting a hum in response, “Just because I may have to think of you as superior to me does not make me your underling or lesser than you. So you will not treat me as such. If you do in an unwarranted manner, I will make sure you regret it.”
He laughs, making her eyes narrow, “Oh, Operator, I would not dream of such a thing. It would be unwise for me to even attempt such a thing. Nonetheless I concede to such a condition.”
----------------------------------------
She had hurt her older self that day of the fight, hit every low blow, and yet she extended grace to her in the end, even though it was hard for Operator to see beneath the red. They had yet to fully speak on anything since that day, Siberite still too much of a coward to admit the greatest sin she committed during the Perita Rebellion, but hopefully this could open things up between them. It at minimum would give her something else to think about since like many other aspects of her life, it too was marred by horror and despair while also being tied to the last good memories she had of that time.
She shakes her mind free of the images and blood of the events that would happen exactly one week after her birthday, attempting once more to locate Marie in this labyrinth of a laboratory. It’s not long until she finds herself in the quieter sections and stumbling upon Lyon who stands in front of a wall of shelves, frozen as he reads from one of the many books. She watches him for a few moments, squinting to see if he’s breathing or turns a page, anything to prove he’s not just the latest furniture product of the nechramites. The page turns with little movement that one could almost excuse it for a breeze that turned it, Why she picked you I’ll never know. With a glance to the envelope in her hands she clears her throat, knocking on the wall, his movements to acknowledge her slow and changing his posture only a little. “Do you know where Marie’s at? I can’t seem to find her.”
“She and Drifter are assisting M’sieur Loid with some murmur.” He answers, turning to face her.
“Oh. Do you know when they’ll be back? Er, well when Marie will.”
He shakes his head, “I can let her know you’d like to see her if you wish.”
“No it’s fine,” she says with a heavy sigh. “Could you give her this and tell her not to open it in front of my older self?” He looks at the envelope curiously before taking it from her outstretched hand. “Actually you probably should read it too. If the movies the Hex showed us were accurate, then you need to know the information within just as much if not more than Marie.”
“Might I ask why?”
“Well you’re her…. Did people in your day use the term boyfriend? Lover? Ew, no never use that word for her around me actually. Ugh, what’s the word!”
“Courting?” He offers.
She gives a slight bob of her head, “Close enough, granted you would know given you lived there and all that. But anyway, since you’re ‘courting’ her you probably should know when to get her gifts. And according to this one cosmo-something magazine it is a must for Winter Solstice, Star Days, anniversaries, and birthdays.”
“I see, and you believe Drifter to adhere to such expectations?”
Siberite shrugs, “Maybe, maybe not. But better to know and have a point of reference to ask about.”
obsessed how domesticated Arthur Nightingale becomes the minute he moves in with the Drifter. that's a husband. he wants to cook breakfasts. the man yearns for a maid outfit. stay at home husband material. "shall I send you on a mission breathless? disheveled?" can anyone hear this. hello. digital extremes, hello.
