#also 'little drabble' haha

[ruershrimo]

i. toge x fem!reader | aftermath of a confession

for a while it’s just the deafening silence between the two of you and the clanging noises of chopsticks on glass bowls. of course, he knows that it isn’t going to last forever even if he wonders if it will, but your lack of words definitely fails to prove that wrong. 

see, the problem is this: toge’s sitting right in front of you— his dream girl, his crush of two years and all that. since the moment you first walked in the classroom and he’d caught sight of you, he’d been hopelessly and utterly smitten. perhaps it was the way you smiled at others, shy as you were; the way you laughed at his antics without fail and tried to lift people up no matter how much you struggled with doing so. it was that kindness; the type that didn’t need gestures and touches, the type that didn’t call for empathy or sympathy. just that plain kindness. 

and soon after it came his love for everything else: your hair, your eyes, your skin— the way they shined in the sunlight. he was sure he wasn’t that obvious. yet he supposes that besides maki, panda and yuuta who’d already known him enough to tell, it could have been relatively easy for all the other students of the school (basically, all the first years) to notice his infatuation with you— well, save for you yourself. 

he didn’t think it’d amount to anything, though. as much as it hurt to think that. not with the way his technique held him back; you needed someone who could speak to you, look after you that way. he needed you to not feel lonely. he had insistence from maki and panda that you were every bit down bad for him as he was for you, yet he still couldn’t believe them in full. despite all his jests and cheeky shenanigans, he would never consider himself bold enough to be able to confess it all to you. so why do it, when you wouldn’t be able to reciprocate in the first place? 

which is why he was shocked when you bowed over, scrunched your face up in embarrassment and handed him a letter in a sealed envelope before lunch on a random tuesday, stammering that you’ve liked him for more than a year, can you please consider going out with me?, and running away before coming back just for lunch. 

at least if maki and panda were here, things would be less awkward. but maki is still out training, and panda’s off to do whatever pandas do before lunch on random tuesdays. 

“takana…” he starts, eyes on your crestfallen face. the only thing your eyes are on is the food you’re eating. 

“…I’m sorry…” you mutter. he barely makes it out from you. 

“ikura!” he says. No! 

an idea strikes him then. 

you cock your head to the side in confusion as he whips out his phone and his thumbs fiddle away across its keyboard. 

toge’s confident now. if the two of you like each other, why not start something new? he’d love to take you out. he hands you the phone. 

“‘I… like… you… too?’” you read out, squinting at the tiny font.

toge sees your heart stop, breaths caught in your throat, your cheeks warm— scratch that, you’re crying. 

wait, why were you crying?!

“takana!” 

“I-I’m so glad,” you sniffle,” I always liked you. I didn’t know how to say it. it was painful seeing you every day knowing how I felt, and- and thinking there wouldn’t ever be a chance you’d like me back!” you sob, burying your face in your hands as if it could hide anything, “and then when I gave the letter to you, I was so nervous, I-I should’ve stayed there or given you something you liked, but I panicked!” 

nervously, he inches his hand closer to yours. your watery eyes widen. “shake sushi,” he reaffirms. the circles he rubs over the back of your hand make you feel like he’s smoothing over creased paper on your skin. yes, he likes you too, so don’t worry. don’t cry. you may be crying, but if he were a dog, his tail would be wagging so wildly regardless. 

both of your hands grab one of his with shaky movements and a slew of hiccups. “I’ll try my best.”

“mentaiko.”

thank goodness.

[spotaus]

New Age AU (Reaper Pov)

Heads up to everyone, this has a big chunk of exposition/notes at the start, so if you want to skip that, I'd reccommend it :,) I'll make the first line of the actual story bits a different color, probably purple, just to make it easier for everyone!

Also! @ancha-aus and @papiliovolens Hello! Hopefully the energy here is fun for y'all!

No edits, fuck it we ball!

   Reminder to self: Reaper has been ruling over his kingdom for decades. He's rule at least 2 generations prior to Nim's reign. His kingdom is on the edge of an ocean strait, enough that he can just barely make out the towers of rival castles across the water (like. Very American example here, but standing on the Michigan portion if Lake Michigan, sometimes you can see the Chicago Skyline across the lake, just barely. That kinda thing.) The only thing connecting him to those smaller cluster of kingdoms is a land bridge that connects the two closest points of the land. Several fishing villages live along it and it's stable, but it's a great funnel to cut off approaching armies. Reaper's kingdom has a powerful port, mountains bordering its land-border and seas on the others. A perfectly isolated paradise. (Also I think he inherited the throne from Life, who loves safely in the mountains among Nature)

   So, Reaper has been able to maintain peace for himself for ages, while the kingdoms on the other continent with less geographical advantages hadn't been as lucky. Conflicts, wars, usurpings, it all kept them at a disadvantage. Kept them *behind*. 

   Reaper was already a grown adult when he recieved the crown. It really shouldn't have fallen to him, but when Life 'died' she left in her will that Reaper (one of her advisors) was to take the throne. Of course, he did just that, and became insanely successful. (A lot of the other characters from his AU either aren't there or established their own kingdoms past the mountains.) 

   He's been able to watch the kingdoms apart from his own grow, listen in on their rumors and new problems. 

   For instance, he knew of the tradition of having a Court Wizard, their last one grew old and passed, and Reaper decided to write to the folks at magic academies across the several other kingdoms, saying he would visit to look for candidates. 

   He rarely left his kingdom, but considering he could dust people at will (well, if he removed his gloves) he wasn't exactly afraid of dying. So he left, abd he searched, and he met Geno at one of the academies. 

   Geno was a top student (set to become a new professor, if not for taking on the chance to be a Royal Wizard) and by then certainly an adult. He was making income for his brothers, and he was sure a Royal Wizard job would be cushy enough to send back Gokd for his brothers until he coukd move them in. Magic was natural to Geno, (inspired by Anchas AU here) a destructive sort, which could bend reality as it was. He often disguised it as other magic types, but he showed off to Reaper, admittedly. Reaper was the king of a prosperous kingdom. He needed this. 

   Reaper was impressed by Geno's control over magic, and he was certain he wouldn't find another wizard so skilled, nor so spirited. (Reaper attempted to say something and Geno rapidly started explaining his magic, completely absorbed in making sure Reaper got it right. He was bold.) But also. Reaper was a simple man. He thought Geno was the most handsome monster he'd ever seen in his years and years of rule. He liked the way Geno's voice sounded when he talked, he liked that squinting that his one socket did when he talked, he liked how fluidly Geno's hands moved when he summoned his magic, he liked it all. He was enamored. Down bad. 

   So, it hardly took a day before Reaper returned to the school to talk to Geno and offer him the position. Reaper was happy to agree to Geno's terms (the pay was to support his family, he'd said. Reaper ensured tye money would be delivered safely) and only after the contract was signed did Geno get to be excited. Openly excited. Because while he didn't hate the idea of teaching, being a Royal Wizard was thrilling. New. And Reaper liked to see that. 

   Geno had joined Reaper about a month later, coming by Ship and arriving with a new energy and passion. He was happy and so Reaper was happy. 

   And then, of course, Geno got word of Error being missing. Having gone missing in the center of Nightmare's Kingdom. 

   Reaper knew of Nightmare vaguely. One of a pair of twins, the sibling always pushed to the side and out of the limelight. Reaper had seen that ritual play out every generation, and he wasn't surprised to hear Nim planned to continue it. Though, he'd been shocked to hear that Nightmare had stolen the apple from his brother and taken the throne by force. What happened to the other twin was vague, none of his spies ever seemed to find much trace. Reaper kind of assumed he was dead. 

   And from there all he heard were bad things. That kingdom had been rough to start with, black markets and blood sacrifice and poor tax prices and poverty run amok, false religions preying on people, crime. It was horrible. So when Nightmare began to build his elite force openly, and fill it with criminals and gypsies (Reaper gets... skewed info sometimes, this I'd referring to Cross and Horror) he was amused by the boldness, and expected the kingdom to crumble in months. 

   But years passed, and things had... honestly gone silent. Sure there were rumors, but there was less harmful action directly from the crown. So Reaper had kinda let the news fade to the background. Until Geno brought up the kingdom to him. 

   Reaper agreed to send spies to search, but ultimately settled on devising a treaty, to see if he could get his people safe entry to do a more thorough search of the land for his missing sibling. 

.

.

.

.

.

   Reaper had sent out his letter a month ago. Something in his gut had told him that, whatever Nightmare was scheming during his absence, it would be much better to establish a basic treaty before he acted. 

   He hadn't been optimistic, of course. Despite the years of relative silence, his spies had been reporting odd movements og Nightmare's elite knights. It spelled trouble. 

   That was why, upon recieving the response from King Nightmare, he'd retired to his personal quarters, asking one of his men to stay outside his door. If Geno came asking, he could not enter. 

   Geno had been looking a bit better since Reaper had sent his first correspondence, but he found that his Wizard was nowhere near the fiery man he'd hired. Part of Reaper urged him to take up a supportive role, let Geno lean on his shoulder, to tell him his brother was likely already dead. Keep him all to hinself. 

   But. No. Taking advantage of Geno was not what he wanted, he wanted to help him, and to see the weight lifted off his shoulders. So for now, it was best to keep these letters private. If Nightmare was volatile, if he declared war or refused, Reaper couldn't bare to see the look on Geno's face. If he read this alone, there would be a chance at damage control. 

   So, he held the letter in his hands, sat at a heavy, dark wood desk that had been carved with flowers and animals. A remnant of when Life claimed this room as her own, Reaper couldn't bear to see it removed, so he kept it around. He liked running his fingers along the carvings of the snakes and the squirrels. 

   The letter. It was originally carried in a simple box, wooden and falling apart. The inside, however, had been lined with nice cloth. Clever. Easier to keep it from being noticed and stolen. The paper was thick, and folded over onto itself. A deep black wax seal held it shut. 

   Tilting it against the candlelight, Reaper could just barely decipher the Royal crest of Nightmare's kingdom. A curling branch of an apple tree, tucked away inside the shape of a sword. Two unknowable bird-like shapes on either side of the blade, wings open. 

   He took his letter-opener to the wax, slicing it away from the thick paper with a clean swipe. Unfolding it, the first thing he noticed was the handwriting. 

   It was swooping, elegant, and had several embellishments on certain letters, as though the writing itself was a sort of art. Reaper was shocked by the careful spacing and clean document. Most kingdoms had a scribe scribble a response, then packaged it in a gold-guilded box that got the messengers killed. This was refreshing. 

   His eyes skimmed the page, and what he understood was that, yes, the king would be interested in such a treaty. He asked for more details, for another letter to be sent, and offered that, perhaps he had something to offer as well to make their deal more robust. 

   It was signed at the bottom, in an ink that Reaper had to double-take to notice was tinted a slight purple compared to the others. Nightmare's signature, completed at the end with what he thought might've been the abstract face of an owl. Did he do that for all his signatures? 

   Reaper lingered, and read it, and re-read it, and then called in one if his spies to see if they spotted any codes or hidden writing. Only when he was positive he had not missed a single bit of trickery, did he draft a reply, decide on terms, and send it out to the other King. 

   Something about it was strange. Reaper had never known anyone from that kingdom to send their own letters, let alone hold their own quill. There were rituals, rites, certain rules to every little action. Honestly, he was pleased to see it hadn't been written in blood asking for a pact. (Yes, Life once recieved a letter of that nature.) It was a bit jarring. 

   But, he was doing this for Geno. He would stop at nothing to help his Wizard return that smile to his face, and to perhaps get worry from his mind long enough to resume spoiling him in gifts and gestures so be mind notice how deeply enthralled he was. 

   .

.

   .

   The letters, once Reaper sent his reply, came in more frequently, and with a certain vigor. 

   Reaper had only asked for a few things. A trade deal (purposefully vague) support if his kingdom ever went to conflict (unlikely, Reaper was very secure), and free passage of his people and soldiers to visit without prosecution. He had been honest in sharing that someone of importance had gone missing within Nightmare's borders, and he wanted to seek them out.

   Nightmare had sent his reply in the form of a fully detailed plan. What exports and imports each kingdom would benefit from, the best routes to take, which crops and productions were in cycle this season, and more. He admitted he was sure Reaper could handle himself, but magical weapons might be arranged for shipment, and he offered up his kingdom whole-heartedly for a search. His tone was almost remorseful as he explained he couldn't spare his own men to assist, but he agreed search parties would be welcome so long as they did not disrupt the flow of life in the kingdom. 

   It had been full of effort, Reaper had been unable to suss out any loopholes. No tricks. And, shockingly, there was a lack of the mention of any pacts or bonds that must be made between them for the treaty to progress. 

   In honesty, the plan detailed by this supposedly evil tyrant seemed to be tame. And... helpful.

   Reaper, in his next letter, had expressed gratitude, and had then carefully broached the topic of binding the contract. How Nightmare planned to proceed. 

   Nightmare, to Reaper's utter shock, denounced the old ways of his kingdom. Of his mother. The writing was a bit less neat, but Reaper could practically feel the frustration oozing off the page through the extra dots of ink that had no-doubt been flung from his quill in his furious writing. 

   He was polite, but reassured Reaper that he was not intending to complete any of the old peace-making practices, and instead would be following Reaper's customs for a treaty. A simple signed contract. Two copies, each the same, each signed by both of them. 

   Again, it almost felt too good to be true. 

   Over the course of several more letters, Reaper learned to begin taking this seriously. Nightmare seemed to be powerful, and skilled, biding his time to make major changes. 

   Nightmare added no clauses preventing Reaper from acting against him, or sheltering his enemies. No talk of war at all aside from a mention of defensive weaponry which was being produced by his own Royal Wizard. The King seemed entirely interested in truly growing a bond.

   And then he asked to meet in person. 

   Invited Reaper to his kingdom, as a show of good will and trust. To prove that things were different now. And Reaper, against his better judgement, agreed. He would bring himself, and Geno, and a few of his men. To sign the treaty, to arrange searches, to begin establishing the trade routes. 

   To see Nightmare, the tyrant his people feared, in the flesh. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

   Reaper arrived to the border in the dark of night. He had been delayed by duties for a few hours, and had sent a messenger ahead to inform whoever would be waiting to intercept his caravan. He and Geno were tucked together in the carriage towards the front, comfortable, but still weary. At least, Geno was. He was on-edge. Worried about his brother more deeply than usual. 

   He could see through the window as a pair of men approached on horseback. They only spoke to the front of the caravan, but Reaper knew who they were merely through the rumors his spies had delivered to him. 

   By the moonlight and a few torches, Reaper could see them. 

   One sat atop a beautifully white mare, his armor a similarly gleaming off white and dark steel, his face was covered by a mask, a snow leopard, with intricate spots adorning the gleaming surface. 

   By his side was another, riding a significantly sturdier horse, it might've been a mottled grey. He was draped in a cloak, but wore the Visage of a lion. It seemed to be stuck in a silent glower, the red eyrlight beyond the eye-holes giving it an air of warning. 

   Reaper had always wondered about the tradition of masks. They had been seen elsewhere, but they originated from this very kingdom. No other location took them quite as seriously or held them with such a high regard. Supposedly, the idea of a masquerade originated from here, though it would be seen as sacrilege from its people. 

   It was obvious that Nightmare had sent some of his elite soldiers to guide them. The presence of those four had been felt across the continent, Reaper had little doubt he and Geno would arrive safely to their destination. 

   And so the carriage rolled onwards. Several times, Reaper and Geno drew the curtains over their windows, but even Geno's anxieties weren't strong enough to keep him from admiring the views of the countryside from the carriage, or from letting Reaper joke with him about a few things. From speaking optimistically about finding his sibling. Of meeting the king. Of things being okay. 

   The castle was imposing, just as Reaper had heard in the rumors. 

   Much of it's walls and gates, and even the building itself, was carved. Stone slabs erected, then chiseled into the weaving lines of tree bark and intertwined branches. A few fences even appeared as petrified hedges, carved in such a way Reaper wasn't sure the gods hadn't created a plant made of stone, specifically fir this land. 

   The towers resembled twisting trunks, rooves resembling canopy. It was almost unsettling how glorious it was, just from the outside as they rolled forward. 

   When the caravan finally stopped, Reaper and Geno had composed themselves, and the door opened just as Reaper had experienced hundreds of times. His steward announced him, and he floated easily out of his ride. His feet did not touch the floor, merely hovered a few inches above it, but he didn't miss that even the path seemed to writhe with smoothed stone roots, overlapping into a beautiful pattern of grey. 

   Geno followed him, and only when they were stood side by side were they finally approached. 

On either side of the grand entrance door, guards stood at attention, but their greeting came from where the lead of the caravan had parked. 

   The two masked figures who had guided them here rounded before Reaper and bowed deeply. The snow leopard-masked knight was fad more stiff and formal. The lion had the guts to meet Reaper's eyes. 

   "King Reaper, we are two of King Nightmare's Royal Knights. It is an honor to be your escort," Spoke the snow leopard. Cross if his sources were correct. "If you would follow us, our King awaits you and your companion in the grand hall." 

   They both rose from their bows, and Reaper chuckled lowly as his caravan slowly dispersed from behind them, servants helping to guide the others who arrived with them. 

   "By all means, please lead the way, good knight." He agreed. 

   Cross set off at an even pace, Reaper and Geno remaining at eachother's sides. The lion-mask, Horror his mind supplied him, followed behind them at a lumber, not yet having spoken a word.

   Sometimes (often) Reaper found it hard not to keep his eyes on Geno. From what he knew, Geno was raised without a family, practically raising two little brothers while also raising himself. He had no formal training in politics, or ettiquitte, and certainly no experience beyond his magic academy, and yet in moments like these, among the wonders of the world, being treated as one of the important people, he managed to keep such composure. He was stoic, and so handsome. 

   He had to draw his dark sockets forward again. Focus on the task at hand. In just a few minutes you're facing the monster of negativity and darkness himself. He told himself. He was not afraid, but he didn't know what to expect. It couldn't hurt to be cautious. 

   And so in silence they walked, down halls that felt more like a forest stroll steeped in morning grey, before they came to an open arch. 

   Beyond it, stood a large hall. At the farthest point sat thrones. Two large ones, two small ones, the usual amount, though Reaper imagined it must be lonely when he others are so woefully empty. 

   As they approached, Reaper could spot the figures there. Three, stood just before the thrones, at the base of a few steps which separated floor from seat. 

   One, was a skeleton who was clearly a servant. They stood with an empty silver platter tucked under their arm. Soft white eyelights turned to the approaching party, before they disappeared as the servant bowed. This drew the attention of the other two figures, before the servant was dismissed without a word. 

   The other two were... quite small. Reaper likely towered at least a head over both of them even without floating. The one wore the mask of a black panther, the only details striking from beneath his shawl being striking white eyelights. They were bright, and focused on Reaper without fear. Dust no doubt, one of the criminals, murderer and smuggler.

   Then the last. He held a cane in one hand, and was draped in wonderfully tailored fabric. A cloak perhaps two sizes too large for him trailed on the ground, and one simple Cyan eyelight protruded from behind an owlish mask as he turned to observe their approach. 

   It was only as they were a few paces away, as Dust bowed and as Reaper thought of who this might be, that the pieces lined up. 

   An owl mask, Cyan magic, dark clothes. This was the King of this kingdom. 

   As they came to a hault, Cross circled around to stand with Horror, neither of them giving a second glance to, who Reaper could only assume was, their King. 

   "The King Reaper, delivered as promised. It's a pleasure." Dust practically mumbled, his voice not bothering to show so much as an inflection at the words. 

   He raised from his bow naturally, and remained still as a statue as Nightmare, small, small Nightmare, closed the distance. 

   "Reaper. It is a pleasure to see your trip was smooth. It's truly an honor to have your presence here today." Nightmare did not bow fully, but it was enough to show respect. "As well as your Royal Wizard. I do hope that you will be able to locate that who went missing." He then said, directly addressing Geno, who stood silent at Reaper's side. No doubt just as taken aback.

   He took only a moment to ponder just how young the king sounded. His voice was not deep, nor imposing, nothing he had expected from the rumors and allegations. It was bordering on the type of uncertain pitch developed by acne-ridden teenagers, though he did well to control its tilt. 

   He hoped his surprise didn't show through in his empty sockets. That his mouth hadn't twitched in confusion upon his realization. 

   "It's an honor to be invited, Nightmare. I have been eager to meet you and finalize our discussions." Reaper replied easily, "Not to mention, in all my years I've never had the pleasure of visiting your land, let alone your castle." 

   I'd didn't need to be said. It hovered in the air between them, clear as day. Clear as the sun that rose over the castle hours ago. That no one had visited this land on purpose in decades. That they'd isolated themselves besides a few strenuous allies. Reaper never had reason to visit before now. 

   "Well, I imagined that we might finalize our contracts tomorrow after breakfast. For now, I'd like to offer you a tour of the castle and have you see I intend to be true to my word." Nightmare offered, extending a hand outwards. For a shake. 

   Reaper, after not a moment of hesitation, took Nightmare's outstretched hand. His hand, buried beneath a dark glove not unlike Reaper's own, felt small. His shake was firm and confident, and their eye-contact didn't waver, but Reaper couldn't help but feel that something was deeply wrong. 

   Those bones were frail. Thin. He imagined if he even squeezes his fist a bit more they might snap between his fingers. 

   They couldn't have been the same bones of the king who the public had known. A tall, dark, imposing figure with tendrils of darkness and an aura of doom dripping in his wake. The king who could hold off crowds of people at a time, who was given the powerful magic of the ritual. 

   And just like that he took his hand back, and he grinned loosely. Nightmare watched him, before nodding. Almost to himself. 

   Nightmare steadied himself with his cane, before turning to a door off to the side, which seemed to be opened now. 

   "We'd better be off, then. The castle is large." He prompted, letting Dust take the lead as he fell into step beside where Reaper floated. Horror and Cross trailed them as they exited. "I hope you will excuse the escort. My elite knights, Dust, Horror, and Cross. I've asked them to keep a close eye on the lot of us during your stay, to ensure nothing goes awry." Nightmare supplied. 

   Reaper gazed ahead at Dust for a moment, never letting his easy grin fall from his face. "No harm in a little extra security, I can see the appeal." He reassured the king, and noticed, just barely, and Night's shoulders relaxed. They'd been tense beneath the cloak. That big, heavy cloak. 

   Something was wrong here, he was sure of it, but whoever this was, this was who he'd been speaking to over letters all this time. He was sure of it. 

.

   The day to follow consisted of Nightmare and his knights leisurely guiding Reaper and Geno from place to place. The site where the Royal Guard trained, the library, the armory, the Court and the extensive advisors (who were, very notably, largely peasants), back to the library, and in and out of the dining room to eat meals. 

   Over the course of these visits, Reaper noticed quite a bit on his own. 

   He noticed the way that Nightmare always had one of his knights to his back. Not on purpose, he imagined, they seemed to seamlessly slide into position if they noticed he had a blindspot. And speaking of his knights, Reaper noticed he was one short. Killer. The first. His mind had informed him. Serial killer, the most violent and unpredictable of the four. Missing. It was unsettling. 

   He also noticed the servants. Nightmare seemed to know every person who served him. By name. And absurdly, he thanked them. Summoned them that way. Monsters and humans alike, Nightmare spoke to them amicably. Last Reaper knew, servants might as well have doubled as sacrifices in this place. 

   Along that same thought, he noticed a very specific servant. One who seemed to tend to Nightmare directly. The knights, Reaper, and Geno all seemed to have servants at random. Nightmare was cared for specifically by that same servant who'd been in the throne room. Food, it was at every meal. Strange. 

   At at meals, the others removed their masks, each revealing their skulls without hesitancy. Nightmare only lifted his enough to take a bite. Reaper only caught a glimpse of pearly white bone. 

   Nightmare did not share this sentimentality with his guards. At least, not as far as Reaper could tell. His men, aside from the Knights, seemed contented to stay far from their King. 

   This was their King, though. He was certain now. 

   After dinner, Nightmare said he had better retire early, and informed them that they were welcome to roam as they pleased, and that Horror would watch over their quarters whenever they chose to turn in. 

   Nightmare had exited, leaning heavily on that cane of his. Reaper wondered to himself, then to Geno, whether the dark king had been injured. It seemed likely. Perhaps he had taken the treaty as a claim to secure power even as his health declined... but no, he seemed so young. Younger than should have been possible. With how he had been so enthusiastic about his vast collection of books, or as he described the trade routes overtop a large updated map of the continents. 

   They had the night, and Reaper knew he would not be breaking this treaty, no matter how... underwhelming Nightmare was in size and power. He seemed to be making headway for change. No sigils, no rituals, no blood pacts. Nightmare had ambition that not many had anymore. He respected it fully. 

   It was after breakfast that they would sign the treaty, and lock Nightmare's copy safely away. Then, Reaper would work to send out his first search party. After, of course, Nightmare introduced the two to his Royal Wizard. 

   The man had come up in many of their letters as a fire-power expert, and Nightmare seemed to take pride in him. Reaper only hoped Geno would get along with him. Maybe it would get his mind off of the impending search. 

[sysig]

Delusions (Patreon)

"Could I have your hand, sir?" Max didn't move, which Dexter was, sadly, getting used to.

"Sir?" Max jerked, then turned and stared at him, lost and blank. "Your hand, please."

Max's hand lifted shakily, and he laid it gently in Dexter's upturned palm. Dexter gave a quick and quiet "thank you," then turned it over in his own hand, observing him closely.

Too closely - his knuckles were rough and his fingernails were dull and cracked in places. His once-soft, not-a-day-in-his-life-subjected-to-hard-labour hands were now, already, toughened and split and scarred in places, especially the heel of his palm. He turned it over again, this time to stop looking so intensely. He had only wanted to give it a cursory glance to begin with.

"Do you know what I see, sir?" he asked as conversationally as he could manage, running his fingers along Max's abused flesh. He seemed to be at least half paying attention, his eye gazing down between them, and he'd occasionally twitch, encouragingly Dexter thought. He seemed to want to curl around him, then stopped and shook, his hand squeezing into a fist. Dexter coaxed him back out, encouraged him to hold himself lightly.

"What do you see?" He was almost startled by Max actually continuing their conversation, that happened so rarely now, shaking and quiet as it was. He took a deep breath, was he really going to do this?

"I see a hand, with five fingers." Max remained quiet, though his brow curled, and a guarded look came into his eye, though he still wasn't looking at Dexter. He felt a pang of guilt, but he had to try. "What do you see?"

Max's eye unfocused and began to water. He looked up, but not enough to reach Dexter's gaze in return, instead staring through his chest, and he felt just as hollow and empty as he must look to him.

"Do you take me for a fool, DAX?" Quiet and as close to angry as he'd heard since they'd been here.

No, not angry.

Betrayed.

He swallowed down the stinging lump at the back of his throat. He had to put on a brave face, had to keep his composure if he wanted Max to get better. That was the only thing he wanted, more than anything.

"Of course not, sir. Genuinely, what do you see?"

Max pulled his hand away and turned his body, his bandaged side facing Dexter. Shutting him out, pointedly. Dexter's empty hand curled into a fist, he was no better.

"Please, don't..." Max took a shallow, shuddering breath, and several beats before he spoke again, even quieter. "Don't ridicule me." Dexter could hear his breath catch, and he wanted nothing more than for this all to just stop.

"Sir, I didn't-"

"I've had enough of that." He shook his head stiffly, the action strange and wrong, like he had forgotten how. He stilled, his head turned even further away. "More than enough."

[baalzebufo]

good ol fashioned razzmatazz

SO I wrote more... :) ive wanted to do a series of scenes from Gideon's life for a while now- moments in time we didn't see in the show. mostly past, maybe some present or future, depending. wanted to explore his life a little more, and the headcanons ive got surrounding it. drabbles is the best way to solve this because i cant write one long cohesive plot very well haha

ive got a handful of ideas in mind but this is the first one that i finished to any degree. just a little scene from his childhood. gideon makes his first sale, and learns something about himself.

‘What are you up to, sweetie?’

‘Shh- it’s a secret.’

Gideon hushed his mother as he ran over to the back door and shoved his face up against it, peering out through the frosted glass window into the car lot. His mother, Florence, turned her attention away from the oven for a moment to squint at him. He was wearing his favorite dress shirt, the dark blue one covered in golden stars- shorts and sandals for the weather, and his long hair was pulled back into a white braid. The sun caught on his hair through the window, and she could have sworn she saw it sparkle. What a strange little boy they had, she thought.

---

She remembers how tiny he was when she first held him, and how odd his shock of white hair had been. Odder still when she first saw the icy blue eyes he had- not like hers or Bud’s, not at all. Neither of them had even heard of what the doctors diagnosed him with before then. Some sort of ‘congenital condition’, for whatever that meant. All that fancy medical talk was a bit out of her area of expertise. All that mattered to her was that their little boy was alive- and now, at least on his way to better health.

Their little Gideon had been much more adventurous these days. Ever since the doctors had given him the OK during his last hospital visit, he’d seemingly been itching to get outside. He hummed loudly, like he was deep in thought.

Florence smiled. She reached over to the fridge.

‘Well, if you aren’t too busy with your secrets, could you do me a favor?’

‘Hm?’ He whipped his head over to look at his mother, who was holding a little tupperware container.

‘How about you go across the lot and take this to your dad for me?’

The wheels turned for a moment, and Gideon perked up instantly.

‘Y’mean it? On my own?’

‘Of course, hon. As long as you’re careful-’

He nodded, a smile creasing his face. Oh- she couldn’t help it, every time he smiled, she smiled too. Surely every mother thinks their child is the cutest kid on the planet, but well… she KNEW hers was. And she knew that they’d been very protective of him these past few months, what with the hospital scare and all. As much as she fretted about his health- she made a mental note to deep clean his room again this weekend- she couldn’t squash that spirit behind his eyes. It couldn’t hurt to let him out on his own for a little bit.

He took the container from her hands and tucked it under one of his arms, nodding solemnly.

‘Ah’ll handle it, ma’am!’ He stood up straight and gave a little salute, his face faux-stern, and she couldn’t help but laugh. He’d been watching too much TV lately, bless him.

She waved him off as he skittered out of the door, turning her attention back to the oven.

---

Gideon shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun. The worst of his sensitivity to it may have gone away with the treatments, but it still got awful bright out in summer. But he’d power through it. After all, he had a mission.

He took off at a run down the winding garden path, rushing through the gate onto the concrete car lot. The weather was hot, but there was that fresh summer breeze blowing in his face that made him glad to be out of his room. He liked it in there plenty- he had books and instruments and more toys than he knew what to do with- but being cooped up in bed for so long had him yearning for the outdoors. He squinted, spying the towering figure of his father through the light glinting off the windows of his work building.

Giggling, he sprinted across the lot as fast as his legs could carry him into the shop.

‘Dad!’ He burst through the door, startling his father. Bud Gleeful whipped around from where he was sat across a little plastic table with a skinny spectacled gentleman, poring over a contract. He wore a battered looking old suit but held himself with an oddly aristocratic air. He seemed out of place on a used car lot.

‘Woah there, sunshine-’ Bud started, his sentence cut off with an oof- as Gideon jumped onto his lap. ‘Heavens, boy! What��s gotten into you?’

Gideon looked up at him- and then across the table to his latest customer. He had put the contract down and was looking down at the two of them, a smile creasing his cheeks. Bud raised a hand, a little embarrassed. ‘Oh my, I’m mighty sorry for the interruption, sir-’

‘Oh, no. It’s quite alright.’ He laughed- he had that fancy city-folk accent, Gideon noticed. He tilted his head to the side to get a better look at him. ‘Now who is this fine little fellow?’

‘Oh, well this is-’

‘Gideon!’ He piped up, folding his hands across his lap with a smile. ‘Gideon Charles Gleeful!’

‘Haha- yep. That’s my lil’ Gideon.’ Bud finished for him, resting one big hand on his son's shoulder. ‘This is my son. Little fella ain’t been too well recently, but he’s lookin’ fit as a fiddle now. Acting it, too! Well now, why’d you rush over here in such a hurry, boy? Does your mother know you’re-’

‘Oh, yeah! I brought ya’ this from mom.’ He held out the container to Bud, who picked it up- turned it over, then hummed in understanding.

‘Hah, oh yeah. I s’pose I did almost forget about lunch, all caught up in negotiatin’.’ He mused. ‘Thank you kindly, sweetheart.’ He leant down to kiss his forehead, which Gideon responded to by playfully swatting him away.

The moment was interrupted then by the man across the table clearing his throat. Gideon and Bud both turned their attention back to him.

‘Mr. Gleeful, I have to be honest- I wasn’t sure if this was the right car for me, a few minutes ago. Forgive me for my bluntness, but I was worried this place might not be… on the up-and-up, if you catch my drift.’ Gideon felt his fathers hand slip off his shoulder, a subtle change in his demeanor.

‘But… well, seeing you here- you seem like a real family man, Mr. Gleeful. Trustworthy. I’m sorry for doubting you.’ He chuckled. ‘I suppose I thought this contract might be too good to be true for a moment there.’

‘Nah, dad’s the best at this stuff!’ Gideon piped up- he felt Bud tense up for a second, about to hush him, but he carried on. ‘I’m gonna learn to sell cars just as good as his, someday! So you can tell yer kids to come buy from me!’

Bud held his breath a moment, but then the customer burst out laughing.

‘Oh- goodness, how sweet. You know what, Gideon? I’ll have to remember that.’

‘That’ll be Mr. Gleeful to you!’

Bud picked him up then, lifting himself out of his chair and carrying his son high up to perch on his shoulder. ‘Okay, that’s enough teasing, boy-’

‘Haha! No, no, he’s got it right.’ The skinny man stood too, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘You know what? You’ve got yourself a sale, Mr. Gleeful.’

He held his hand out- up, above Bud’s, to Gideon. He grasped it firmly, grinning ear to ear and shook his hand. The gentleman nodded his head, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp 20 dollar bill.

‘Forgive me for being forward- but may I give the young man a commission?’

Bud startled, glancing at it- then back to Gideon- then back to the money. ‘Oh, my- that’s awful kind of you sir, it certainly is! Of course you can.’

Gideon’s eyes lit up. He eagerly took the twenty, held it up to the light- then slipped it into his pocket. He squirmed- a sign for Bud to pick him up and let him down on the floor again- and stood up straight with his arms folded.

‘Thanks, sir!’ He chirped, and Bud leant down to pat the top of his head.

‘Now Gideon, do you think you could let the grown-ups handle the borin’ part of all this paperwork?’ He crouched to smile at his son.

‘Sure thing.’

‘Alright, sweetpea. Don’t spend your money all in one place, y’hear?’

‘Okay, dad!’

His mission complete, Gideon padded over to the door- leant over his shoulder to wave at the man his father was now pushing a pen into the hand of- and left the room.

Stopping on the sun-soaked car lot, he reached into his pocket and felt the dollar again. Thought about the look on that man's face when he gave him the money, for nothing but a few words and a smile. His dad had a pretty easy job, he figured. But he didn’t really understand the whole sales thing- not yet, at least.

---

Gideon would spend the rest of the day playing in the garden- until he got too hot and tired, and retreated back to his shaded room for a nap. He wouldn’t think too much about what happened that day.

But that night, his father would take them out to the diner and boast loudly about how his son- barely in his fifth year!- had made his first ever sale. He’d let him order dessert- seconds, too. And he’d ask Gideon to stop by the lot more often, especially if he wants to learn to be a salesman someday. He was one talented boy, his parents told him. Showered him with that notion, really. He was destined to be a big shot one day with a personality as glowing as his.

'You have a face folks would never say no to!' His father told him. He didn't mean much when he said it- more of a joke than anything. But something about it settled with Gideon, still learning about the world. Nobody would say no to him, huh...?

He figured that sounded pretty nice.

[drones-of-innocence]

Corporate Gothic #1

The delivery man chooses to arrive precisely at 5:01pm. Every day. He carries big boxes that look very serious.

"The office is closed at five," you try to say, sheepishly carrying your things, and the delivery man smiles and nods like it's funny. He knows the office is closed. He will continue to appear at this time anyway.

He places the boxes that are not yours on your desk.

He is gone before can tell him that they are not addressed to anyone in your office at all.

[deamare]

Two armored guards are your escorts into another man's throne room. Grand doors are pushed open and, atop the greatest of his war spoils, sits your father.

You do not remember the last time he called upon you-- it has always been your brother's name that he favored on his tongue, your brother that he preferred to look upon. As a child you would be sad when he would look at you with eyes empty where pride should have been.

Now, only so few years into adulthood, you are trained to swallow that sadness when his gaze lands on you and sours. When you recognize that he is searching for someone else, that you have been called only as a replacement.

"Father," you practice the same curtsey you might have given the Emperor, and you do not meet his gaze when you rise, "you called for me?

The rebel army is nearing.

You should not be surprised. He is angry, he is furious and it has made his voice sharp and cruel where it commands you. He wants your protection-- needs it-- and you feel your heartbeat heavy in your throat. He has not called upon his daughter.

He has called upon a soldier.

( Were you ever anything else to him? )

"Father..." He is looking at you. He is looking through you. You remind yourself not to be sad, not to be angry. You are better than girls who cry when they are struck, you do not hurt when the knife's edge twists. You are stronger. "What match are rebels to you? House Friege does not fear any petty army, this is not-"

But you see it in his face before he can open his mouth to say it. They took from him something, and you know what by the fact that it is you standing here and not him.

They've killed your brother.

Your brow pinches, the floor seems to blur and distort as those words wash over you. Ishtore, a stranger to you at the end of his life, never to be anything else. All of the things you never got to know of him, all of the years you lived so close to him and yet still so far.

And this is how you learn of his end.

You're all I have left.

You lift your chin, because you are used to having no time for grief. It will come for you later if death does not first, it will haunt you when sleep cannot, and follow you when it can. You look at him, the man you call Father, and remind yourself that there has never been a choice.

That you love him.

That you will die for him, and you always would have.

"I understand."

And he does not look proud or grateful, he does not look fond of his only true daughter. He looks expectant, as any commander would in the face of a soldier they intend to sacrifice. You remind yourself once more that Father is kind, that Father loves you. That Father is only grieving, that when this is all over you may mourn together and be a family again.

( Were you ever one before? )

"I will handle them, Father. I make only one request."

You wait for him to acknowledge you, to gesture for you to continue, but he does not. You swallow.

"I should wish to wield our Mjölnir, so that I may best protect you. With it, I will have no issue taking care of this threat."

The words sound confident, well rehearsed, but you do not believe in them. They are what you know you should ask, another step towards a cause you will die for only because you know no other. Father seems to see you then, finally, for the first time since you came before him.

Fine.

Just don't slip up.

And that is it. That is all he has to say to you. No wish for your safety, no thanks for your bravery. It would hurt more, perhaps, if you did not know better than to expect anything else.

You dip into another curtsey. This has been a dismissal, it will not be some noble change of hands that delivers you your blood's proudest possession. It will not be yours, just as the power you wield never has been.

You have always been someone else's to command.

"I will not."

But Father does not hear you. He does not care.

And it will be the last time you ever see him.

[witchboyjimin]

parents!kookmin bringing home their newborn pup and jk fussing over his two babies

jimin watches as jeongguk refuses to put their baby down and struggles to open the front door considering his other hand has more bags in it. jimin has been expressly forbidden from carrying the baby seat carrier because, quote, you just gave birth! you can't lift anything heavy, end quote, which would be fine if the baby and carrier didn't weight maybe 20 pounds combined.

he's quite sure he can manage that much but all he's been allowed to carry is the bag they took with them to the hospital and even that he had to glare at jeongguk to carry.

it's sweet, of course, and jimin has always appreciated how jeongguk babies him but with a newborn in the picture, it's a little taxing to constantly have someone be so overbearing.

"did you want me to help?" jimin asks, endeared despite himself.

"no, it's almost open baby," jeongguk answers, distracted. he lets out a little whoop of joy when he finally manages to turn the key in the lock and shoots jimin a triumphant grin. "see!"

"you're an insane person, do you know that?"

"what does that make you, since you married me and all."

jeongguk walks into the house, smiling down at their baby, who is thankfully still sound asleep. jimin sighs, walking in behind jeongguk and steadfastly ignoring the way jeongguk's arms flex from carrying the baby and the various bags he's hauled out of their trunk.

"a saint," jimin finally answers. he's incredibly happy to be home and truthfully wants nothing more than to crawl into his bed and sleep for the next 24 hours but the baby's going to be awake any moment now, crying to be fed and jimin needs to be ready.

jeongguk sets the baby seat carrier down on their kitchen counter, turning to look at jimin and smiles beautifully. it should be against the law how handsome he is, and jimin feels self-conscious, feeling frumpy and wrong in his body, aware that he has bags under his eyes and that he's in desperate need of a proper shower.

"i'm so glad we're home," jeongguk murmurs, already reaching for jimin. he pulls jimin right up against himself, cradling jimin's face in a hand and kisses him, sweet and soft, and jimin might not be pregnant anymore but he's still incredibly emotionally volatile because he thinks he might cry.

"you're so unfair," jimin mumbles against jeongguk's mouth, his voice a little wet, tone wobbling.

instead of letting jeongguk see his face crumble, jimin buries it into his shoulder, arms wrapping around jeongguk's waist. it's terrible how jeongguk always lets him be so needy but his mate just cradles him closer, looking back at the baby to make sure he's still asleep.

"what's wrong, love?" jeongguk asks, sweet and soft, because he's never lost patience with jimin once throughout this whole pregnancy and he's perfect and jimin loves him so much.

"nothing's wrong," jimin says, clinging to jeongguk and wondering how long they'd have before the baby would interrupt. "i just love you a lot and sometimes, it's too much."

"you think you love me too much?" jeongguk laughs, cooing at jimin as he pulls back just enough to kiss jimin's pouting lips.

"no, that's not what i meant."

"what did you mean, baby?" he squeezes jimin's face between a hand, grinning when jimin's pout grows stronger, his lips protruding outward like a bird's beak. jeongguk was a big fan of jimin's "beak".

"that i love you so much it feels like i might burst." the words come out a little warped what with jeongguk squeezing jimin's face but his grip slackens immediately, the amused grin on his face morphing into tenderness.

jimin can feel the heat bloom into his cheeks and hurries to hide his face into jeongguk's neck, still shy even after seven years together.

"aw, hyung," jeongguk says, nuzzling into jimin's neck before pressing a kiss against his neck. "i love you so much, too. more than anyone in the world."

"more than the baby?"

jeongguk pauses, glancing back at their child and gives jimin a little shrug. "you were here first."

jimin laughs, falling in love with jeongguk all over again.

the baby, perhaps sensing his parents devotion to each other and feeling neglected, promptly erupts into tears and the two of them rush over to carrier.

jimin thinks that there's really no one in the world he'd rather spend his whole life and it's a comforting thought as their newborn is placed into his arms. "aw, did mommy and daddy wake you up, sweetie?"

"he's jealous," jeongguk says sombrely, stroking their baby's forehead.

"he takes after you then," jimin grins, laughing when jeongguk's expression sours.

[millenari]

Drop a wip update? It’s been a minute 👀

Well I've made very little progress on the Tugger pov gold rush. I've been stuck on the Skimble argument scene for weeks at least, though I worked on part of it a few days ago. Luckily after this single hard scene is like 20-30k or so of easy scenes that I'll be able to breeze right through.

Otherwise I started editing my human/celeb/soulmate au and I've discovered that the first draft is actually in excellent shape in comparison to my other first drafts. I've gone through 60k worth of the first round of editing for that one in like three days. And admittedly 60k of 300k doesn't feel that impressive in context but for the Tugger pov gold rush I'm basically killing it if I edit 1k a day.

Haven't made significant progress on anything else other than a new fic I started writing; it's a shorter one about the junkyard flooding. It looks like it'll come out to around 40-50k and it's more of a tribe fic than a tuggoff fic. I initially started out with this one with the intent of giving every single character a chapter but I Dont Think That Will Be Happening.

[dawn-moths]

hii, so i know you’re not really fixated on undertaker at this very moment but i have to say that “cause to start a vendetta” is probably one of my favourite series of like… all time. anyways, i was just wondering; i know it’s mentioned once but would undertaker ever think farther ahead in life with reader instead of thinking about her death? like ex) marriage, possibly children, etc. just curious!!

thank you ♡

hello! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ツ

first, i just want to say thank you so much for your kind words. they really mean so, so much to me ‪♡

to answer your question, i definitely think later down the line (much later, from where the series leaves off, probably) that undertaker would definitely propose to reader. it’s something they both would want, though for completely different reasons.

i think reader would see it as a way to make their love/relationship even stronger, but undertaker would be thinking much more along the lines of using marriage as a way to keep the reader tied to him even more tightly.

but the wedding ceremony would be gorgeous. it would be somewhere overseas, elaborate, and, in typical ctsav fashion, of course, extremely expensive. reader would have so much fun with the wedding planning process, especially having her dress custom made by one of the best designers in paris.

come the wedding day, everything would go perfectly, undertaker would make sure of it, and he and you would both feel so insanely in love that you’d once again question whether your life was even real.

but, come the end of the celebration, once it was just the two of you behind locked doors, he’d regain that possessive and controlling air about him. nothing that you’re not used to, of course, but he’d experience a certain power trip as he got to start calling you his wife. introducing you to people as his wife. laying even stronger claim to you with that title.

i also imagine by this time, he’d have finally told you his real identity (if yana ever lets us in on it lol) and you’d take his last name.

as for having children, again, on one hand, i think eventually the reader might want that for more pure reasons while undertaker sort of agrees to do it because it’ll be yet another way to keep her in his clutches. your children would be beautiful though, and you’d dote on them with all the love in the world.

undertaker would be a decent father to them in the fact that he’d always make sure they had what they needed and not let them see his darker, crueler side.

i’m imagining the two of you having two children— a boy first and then a girl— and once the boy came of age he’d likely enter into the aurora society’s shady business. the boy would turn out a lot more like undertaker personality wise while the girl would be much more like you.

you and undertaker would bond with them accordingly.

what had started out as a way to appease you and make sure you stayed with him would turn out to be the beginnings of a legacy, an heir to carry on the business long after the boss was gone.

and, who knows? maybe somewhere along the line a certain old friend of undertaker’s would decide to sneak out of new york and track your son down.

maybe he’d try and shed a little more light on what kind of man his father really is.

but, by then, your son would already be in too deep.

he’d know too much.

there’d be no going back.

undertaker had taught him well. he knows where his true loyalties really lie.

[aetherose]

@chrysnae sent: FORGED / for layla when u have muse for her heher

Glimpses of the Past

A few days after Layla rejected her father...

It hadn't been long since that day. That day that Layla chose this path. 'It's better to be free and alone, than to be used as a tool and lied to'. That was the new philosophy she'd adopted, coming to the conclusion that unconditional love didn't exist at all. (Or if it did...then she wasn't deserving of it, but...she didn't want to think about that.)

It'd only been a short time, and she already was experiencing how difficult living on the streets was. And to make matters worse, she found out fast the authorities wanted her for when she burned down her home, killed her old family.

She was alone, on the run, having to live on the streets. And as a girl in her early teens, she was struggling to handle it. Though she was scared and untrusting, she also thought she could still to some degree rely on others to survive these circumstances.

She hated herself for choosing to use others to live, but she was terrified of wandering the streets all alone, on the run from authorities. If she stayed on her guard and left before things went downhill, it'd surely be fine, right?

So, she thought she could ask for shelter from a local church that of course would take in a young girl with no home or family. Or so she thought for the few days she stayed there.

She kept to herself and refused to give her name or much of any information about her, and simply took the clothing, roof over her head, and three meals a day she'd wanted.

For a time, she really thought she could stay here a while and be safe...ish. There were other kids around too that she found herself getting along with, and the adults seemed kind. She was able to feel more like a normal child for once, as much as sometimes she was harassed a little for her muteness, but that was at that point mild to her. She'd become numb to it, and was willing to take the bare minimum.

But then, she awoke to commotion one night as the police were allowed into her room and threatened her to come with them or else. The church staff looked on with no sympathy as they allowed the authorities to take away the 'Silent Witch'.

When did they start calling her that? Why? She knows she did something grave, she burned her family and home (because she wanted the pain she endured to end, but murder is still murder), but to call her a witch, to hand her over to the authorities without an ounce of empathy, to have lied to her like this, not even ask for her side of the story...ah.

No, this was her mistake, she realized. She had told herself before this to keep up her guard and to leave before things could go downhill, but she'd grown too comfortable.

She let her guard down before she knew it, and thought she could lay low here and hide her real identity, to live a semi-normal life.

She was a fool. And with this revelation, she grit her teeth, and fire suddenly flowed from her hands (in spite of the pain she suffered as she conjured the flames from her hands) all around her as she ran for it, the police officers crying out in agony as they burned, and the church erupted into flames.

She doesn't know how many she possibly left to a fiery grave there, and she refuses to think about it.

From here forward, she can trust no one. She can't stay in one place too long. She should've realized that before, but at least she realized it now, right? At least now, she'd finally mustered the strength necessary to do what she had to do; to survive.

From here forward, she finally understood...

She had to survive, no matter what.

[wiedzmacienia]

Would you rather give up your magic to live a normal life, or keep your magic and never hold any genuine human connections? (There's no anon option, so I guess I have to be called out lol.)

eyes narrow in the light of the campfire, wood crackling and heat meeting her skin that's made it crawl for centuries yet she can not move with the young boy who's head lays on her lap having fallen asleep (she imagined she'd have to carry him back to his tent at some point). maybe she shouldn't have come here, even if the knightley boys had asked her to when she'd been to see beth. they'd found a few soldiers they'd felt able to confide in about themselves, soldiers who seemed to accept them once one of them had used his powers to save the other, and it's from this that such a question has been brought forth. she knows it is not out of malice and yet, it still awakens something deep within her. a memory she's locked away for ages in the depths of her soul. maybe they think her standoffish because she is so much less open than the boys. but she can not afford to be like them when she must direct her forces by the day. these boys were young. too young and had yet to truly understand the world even if they were serving in an army now let alone understand magic or it's role in the world.

there was one day, no, a mere few hours within her life that katarzyna had wished she could have shed her magic from her body and lived a so called normal life. that she could have been as human as the rest of her village. the moment men who had been smiling at the children just the day before entered their home with violence and tore her and her brother from their beds, binding them and dragging them outside. when she had screamed for her brother as wooden posts had been erected. there had been no trial or recourse. no amount of pleading for their lives had halted them from being beaten for speaking the foul words of creatures they'd said. it had been them who had brought the plague upon them they believed. yet was it not the twins whom only sought to save an elderly woman from the pain of such plague? fires had been lit and pain seared their bodies and in those moments she wished they could have been anything but what they were. for to have been born as such had been their death sentence.

but then they had been reborn from the ashes and her whole world view had been shaken. her parents had given of themselves to bring them back and she no longer saw her power as something to shy away from. her parents had believed in magic. had believed in the worth of her and her brother and what they could bring to the world. and she vowed to never seek to be anything but what she was again.

to never be weak and powerless again.

greenish-blue hues move over the fire and meet the human speaking to her. was she not making a human connection now? perhaps once she believed being what she was separated her from the human world. perhaps in the respect that she lived longer than humans it did. but this war and the people she had begun to meet made her begin to question such. maybe making connections with humans wasn't about how long you knew them or preventing one's self from becoming close because of the eventual loss but the value of the time spent with them. no, she did not think having magic equated to a lack of forming human connections, genuine ones. not if she didn't allow it to.

after all, while it had never been the intention, she cared for-- no, she could acknowledge it was more than that now as she ran her hand through the young boy's curls, she held a motherly love for auggie in a way she had never believed she could possess before-- and tended to the human child more often than not these days. sometimes the intensity of which she believed she would protect the boy scared even her for if there was a choice between him and someone else, she held no doubt of what she would choose even if it could mean burning the world in the process. but did her love toward the boy not equate to a genuine connection? and was her magic not the very thing which could allow her to protect him? was such love not a normal part of life?

"why can i not have both?" she questions, gaze drifting over the man's shoulder to see the major approaching. ah, perhaps she would not have to carry auggie back to his tent herself after all. still, she continues, looking back at the questioning soldier without care for the major hearing her words, for they were truth and she would not deny her connection to the boy at this point even if she has no idea what it would look like once this war was done.

"is there some book of rules which state i can not have magic and hold connections with humans who i love? that i can not still have something of a normal life with them?" and with that she looks down upon auggie and begins to shift him gently without waking him, picking him up so that his head falls to her shoulder. strangely, the heat of the campfire seems to affect her less, a different kind of warmth washing over her as she raises from their perch on the log and moves to meet tallmadge. "come to collect the little terror? i think him, cora, and furgus just about defeated half the soldiers in camp charging them while wearing your helmet today."

@honorhearted

[rebornofstars]

Hi @la-sera! Your artwork is so intricate and just absolutely stunning, and has inspired me to continue creating for this fandom. I admire you a lot, so I wrote this short piece for you as part of the Fan Joy July challenge based on your artwork. I hope that’s okay!

Legend lifted the torch. Flame danced over the wooden pallet and the body laid out across it: agonisingly, gut-wrenchingly still. Legend forced his eyes away from the light and down. If he squinted through the tears he could almost pretend that the body was just sleeping. That the jumping firelight was a healthy glow in the body’s cheeks; that it masked the rise and fall of a chest. He smeared his wet face across his sleeve, and cupped the body’s face with one hand. “Hyrule…” he whispered. The traveller’s body was cold and quiet, the same as it had been every other time Legend had called the kid’s name. Each time, he felt the same half-second of desperate hope. Of longing. Of denial. “Hyrule… please. Please.”  Each time, his heart was torn apart anew. Legend sniffed. The kid looked peaceful in death. The creases on his brow were smooth. Twilight had laid a spare tunic over the mangled stomach and closed his eyes, just before they lifted him onto the pyre. A gesture of respect for the d— Legend felt more tears escape him. Hyrule was dead. He was dead.  He was dead. The thought was earth-shattering. “I’m b—burning,” he forced out through wet sobs, “your b—your body. Just like you—you made me promise.” He felt a steadying hand at his back. “Do you need help?” Twilight asked. Legend squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered silently. “No,” he lied. “N—no, I’m—good.” “We have to be quick,” Twilight reminded him. “The monsters are approaching. They’re still—” “I know,” said Legend. He brushed his thumb gently along Hyrule’s skin, even though he knew the kid would never feel it. Smooth and cold. Like porcelain. So easily broken. “I know. His blood.” The memories of that fight would be burned into his eyelids forever, red and bright and hot like the flaming torch he held. Hyrule being pinned down by a horde of monsters. The way he arched away from the knife, begging, pleading. The knife as it slid through his skin like butter, and the dark blood that began to bubble out of the cuts. The way it pooled in the hollow of his abdomen. The endless gushing as it coated the monsters’ hands down to the wrist.  Legend blinked the stark images away, hoarse screams ringing in his ears. He tasted bile. How was he supposed to walk away now knowing that he’d failed? That the kid had been ritually sacrificed in the worst way possible? Died seeing his worst fear realised? “I’m sorry,” he choked out, and lowered the torch. The bloodstained clothes caught alight. Hyrule was never going to finish the story he’d been telling Legend to pass the time while they trekked through the endless woods. He was never going to cast another spell or swing a sword or introduce them to his princesses. One day, Legend would forget the way the corners of his eyes used to crinkle when he laughed. “I’m so sorry.”

Fan Joy July Masterpost

"burn my body"

Hyrule dies in his Hyrule. The monsters managed to sacrifice him to resurrect Ganon.

Legend wants to grant Hyrule's last wish: burn my body.

[sysig]

My printer hates me :) (with many thanks and credit to @niennanir as before)

Gosh aren’t they gorgeous tho ♥ Especially the latest and largest, though I have to give all the credit to the paper on that one haha, it’s stunning IRL, I could almost stare at the gold lattice forever rather than read, but I’m so happy with how it turned out between the pages as well!

Quick showcase of the new additions! :D

My Drinking Game as another test run, I got the spacing how I wanted it! Yay! It’s so much handsomer and less cramped! Also I gotta say, if it wasn’t such a large usage of paper, this would be my ideal way of checking for typos - I found a couple after setting it down to ink lol, they’ve been fixed now at least ♪ Paired here with the emerge, transformed three-parter, one of my all-time-favourites <3 I reread it the night I finished it and cried again, a little bit of tender mercy always wrecks me hhhh ♥ There are so many beautiful evocative lines! I’m so happy to hold it ♪ And as you can see above, that was the one that got the cute little ghost dust jacket :D

Another test run of what I’m calling volume 1 of my Vargas Drabbles lol, so not including Have you lost your mind? since that one’s currently unfinished. I do fully intend to print it once it’s done tho :3c Hopefully that one will cause me fewer problems! I hate measuring, so I may have flubbed two covers before finally getting this one into good enough shape XP And my red yarn is still in storage so >.> Did I go purchase another ball of red yarn? I’ll never tell. You can’t tell me it doesn’t look great as a bookmark tho <3

And my current happiest! Ah!! It turned out fantastic on all counts! The cover paper obviously, as I couldn’t Not lead with that, but also the size of the spine and the way the pages settled against each other while glueing - I used a different type of paper for this one and I think I’m completely converted over, it feels amazing to work with. Whatever I was using before had to have been like 15lbs lol, I’m literally just using normal 20lb printer paper but it feels and looks and behaves so much nicer <3 The size of Helix also allowed for a slightly larger bookmark, which was perfect because we had this soft gold ribbon that was all of a couple millimeters wider than the other ribbons/yarn I’d been using, and it looks so so so pretty with the gold detailing!! I’ve put it between Ch. 1 and 2 and getting to see the actual physical size differences of the chapters is so fun ♥

[ben-drabbles]

Psycho-Tech

A general term for devices that interact directly with sentient minds or reproduce psychic effects. Examples have been developed independently in many different civilizations over time, and our modern understanding stems significantly from research into older examples.

Ancient psycho-tech is found in nearly ever chr'tai ruin, though many other examples are found in old human colony ships or other places of long-dead civilization. Due to the near-universal nature of psychic communication, once these devices are reactivated, they can usually be used by any sentient person; as such, they are some of our best understood records of these ancient civilizations, alongside being useful pieces of technology in and of themselves. Examples include the ubiquitous chr'tai memory injectors, true ai cores, and the original foldspace drives.

A common variant of those aforementioned 'true' ai cores are what we now call psy-bots. While we don't understand the inner workings of their cores or the reason for their similarity across cultures, we know that they can be installed in psycho-tech exoskeletons, allowing them to effectively "inhabit" mobile bodies. They can even, rarely, exhibit psychic capabilities once activated. However, every core yet uncovered has had no remaining memory of their original design or purpose - effectively, they have become new beings after their long slumber. There is some contention as to their place in the galaxy, most placing them somewhere between simple technology and fully sentient people, some considering them a potential danger due to their unknown origin. While it is not our place to comment on ethics, we prefer visiting the places where they are considered people.

Modern psycho-tech, while easier to produce and understand, has more limited capabilities. Still, direct connection with a sentient mind has many useful applications. Mechanical exoskeletons can be controlled as one would move their own body. Foldspace drives allow ships to 'move at the speed of thought,' if you listen to the advertisements. Psy-com terminals allow psychic communication over interstellar distances. The list goes on - while we haven't yet cracked true AI technology, we continue to explore many new frontiers. With any luck, this record can become something of a living document.

[frankmillerturnonyourlocation]

Drabblecember 14: Sharing One's Sweater

I WILL finish drabblecember before the end of the month. Holiday crunch is pretty much over and we're back in action. We're making this happen!! Believe it!!!

Word Count: 600

Universe: Henry Danger

Piper had that kind of stare that could wither a person's confidence, you know, just totally decimate what a person's got going on, a real make a middle-aged adult wipe at his nose reflexively until he could steal away to a bathroom to check his teeth for food kind of stare. Emerson knew it well. It was one of his favorite things about her.

Almost as much as her acerbic conversation, but it seemed like Em would need to poke at it a little bit to get it to pop, like a... different metaphor. Scratch that. It was one of those things Em would have to feed into a little, to get anything to come out, you know, like a slot machine. Whatever.

“Hey, Piper,” Em said, indulgent.

“What,” she began, her voice dripping with… something, “is that.” Set 'em up, knock 'em down. Different metaphor.

He tapped the mug on the Hart's sidetable. “Hot chocolate?”

“Ew, you say hot choc– it's hot cocoa. What are you wearing?”

“Cocoa is a different thing. And, um, a sweater?” He lifted the mug to his lips. “Turtleneck thing. I dunno.”

Piper's eyes narrowed. “Henry's sweater.”

The cup made it just about halfway to Emerson's lips. “Is it?” he said, lightly, with a touch of a smile. A drop landed on his jeans, falling just shy of the sweater's woolen edge.

Honestly, they hadn't known– Emerson had picked it up off of the back of a chair in the Cave that morning, used the last of Ray's conditioner in the shower, and threw it on after the fact without a second thought. (Early morning, anyway. Early, early morning. The collar of the sweater and his hair both were long-dry now.)

Piper unceremoniously unzipped her winter coat and threw it open. “Early gifts from our Nanna. Literally wearing mine."

”Oh, hey, we're matchers." Em tapped the mug to his chin thoughtfully. ”Now, what are the odds of me and your Nanna frequenting the same storefronts?“

"None!" Piper stomped over to the sofa, her snow-soaked boots still on, and shoved her hand down the back of Emerson's collar. Ignoring his yelp, she yanked the tag out. "She embroidered the tags with our initials!"

"I'll take your word for it," Emerson half-mumbled, distracted mainly by the freezing temperature of Piper's hands, the remarkable volume of her voice, and the thrill of having narrowly not spilled his cocoa.

“Oh my god, you guys are disgusting.” she– disgust, that was it, dripping with disgust. "If you lied about being done with the whole couple thing, can you at least have the manners to do it where I can't see? And I promise, I'm not homophobic. But like, it's Henry."

"This is homophobic, Piper, but I love you for it." Emerson's mind would have been spinning a whole lot faster if he had just a few more hours of sleep under his belt. Such was the price of getting into the shower first, secretly, and without needing to answer too many questions. As it was, his brain was chugging through anything from the past half year that could give him any indicator of whether or not Piper was, so to speak, in on it all– second-guessing and double-checking and oops, now he'd been quiet too long.

He tugged on his collar and brought it up to his lips, more of a casually absent gesture than anything. ”Would it be more believable or less believable if I told you I stole it? From him?“

The look on Piper's face answered his question sufficiently. Incredibly expressive. Truly, it was a gift.

[staryuee]

NOT SAYING “I LOVE YOU” BACK.

꒰warnings꒱ not proofread pls don’t yell at me *sniffles*

⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . [char] and you tend to say your i love yous pretty regularly, it’s become a subconscious routine for the both of you; what would happen if either one of you just suddenly didn’t respond?

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . venti, diluc, xiao, tartaglia, kazuha, ayato, alhaitham, wanderer, lyney, neuvillette, wriothesley, arlecchino

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ᗜ^) drabbles vary in length significantly because…i’m a little unwell with astarion brainrot rn and i will not rest till i get to kiss my beautiful vampiric man — also i apologise for making some of these more angsty than intended…i couldn’t help myself haha

VENTI — 温迪

꒰ him not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

ʚ venti? of all people? not saying i love you to his beloved windblume whom he’d personally resurrect ancient gods for if they asked with that sweet, melodic voice of theirs?

ʚ the only viable reason for him not replying can most likely be bottled down to him being a brat. a spoiled one at that. you give him so much affection it’s a little scary sometimes to think someone just know all of his ins and out as if they held his heart within the palm of their hand meaninglessly. so how do you expect him to be satisfied with a mere phrase when he wants you so desperately?

“i’m leaving for a commission, i’ll be back in a few hours; love you, honey.” you said per routine, fixing your hair in the mirror that stood perfectly near the doorway under venti’s request (he likes seeing how his braids look after you do them in the morning).

what you expected was a reply, but certainly not the one that followed: “alright, bye bye~” venti tilted his head back as his body slinked on the couch, his eyes scanning yours upside down with that look on his face which suggested he knew exactly what he was doing.

“goodbye, venti, i love you.” you re-enunciate, arms crossing firmly over your chest pridefully to mirror venti’s stubbornness that fell immediately upon sight of your pretty face glancing over at his. oh, he really couldn’t resist you for too long.

“i’ll say it back if you stay with me today!” he giggled, teeth on full display as he grinned widely; fully aware you’d indulge him even if for only a little while.

꒰ you not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

“windblume…” venti sadly slumped his head on your shoulder, leaving enough space for his eyes to glance at the book in your hands as you continued to read despite his sulking.

“i accidentally packed my schedule full with a flurry of performances…i’m afraid i won’t be able to indulge in your cuddles all day like i wanted to,” he whined, kissing the side of your neck to compensate for the lack of affection he’s going to have to put up with.

really, if he could, he’d pretend all the strings on his lyre magically untuned themselves into havoc if it meant giving an excuse to be back in your warm hold. but as a god of the wind, and one who shared the passions of music no less, it was more or less his duty to share his w with the residents of mondstadt when asked so kindly.

“i promise i’ll return to you soon as i can! no quick stop at angel’s share this time either,” venti managed a chuckle despite the inner thumping of his heart at the mere prospect of returning home to you — an experience he never thought he’d fulfil in his lifetime. “i love you dearly, my darling, i’ll see you soon~”

he leaned over the back of the couch to help reach the side of your face, lips pursing into a fish-like pout as he awaited to hear those beloved words that were always followed by a rewarding kiss. yet you merely hummed in acknowledgement of his presence and his soon departure.

who do you think you are?

venti’s brows immediately knit down together in frustration. “windblume…i said, i love you,” he leaned closer, “sweetheart…come on, say it back!” he finally nuzzled his cheek against yours, trying to elicit some sort of response from you that didn’t border on full on ignoring him. usually that slight uplift of your lips would be enough, but with the additional context that he’d be away from you for so long, venti couldn’t cope with a mere smile!

feeling a little flicker of breeze behind you, goosebumps prickle your skin and a delicate shiver runs down your spine, the little gust of wind disappearing as quick as it came. venti hooked his fingers beneath your chin, delicately forcing your eyes to meet his. “won’t you tell your god you love him?”

those gorgeous and elaborate white wings of his flutter quietly, twitching in anticipation as he excitedly awaits for what he’s been dying to hear. you sigh, leaning towards him to press the most featherlight kiss on the side of his face. “i love you too, now go along already, you’re going to be late.”

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

꒰ him not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

ʚ you’ve probably, unfortunately, caught him at a relatively bad time if he had completely ignored your affections. after all, while not necessarily a really active recipient, diluc is more than happy to indulge your carefree “i love yous” and kisses.

ʚ there’s no way he’d ever intentionally ignore or not reply to an “i love you”, especially one that’s so sickly sweet to his ears

“i’m going to bed, luc,” you yawn, arms stretching far out in front of you as you push yourself away from the desk that was littered with several papers stacked on top of each other in various piles that were marked by different pen colours. “you better come join me soon, alright? i love you.”

diluc hums and nods his head, eyes sunken into his skull as his fingers continue flipping the pen within his hand in a sleepy dance as he just barely managed to focus on the words that seemed to squeeze together. none of yours even register in his mind as you sorrowfully close the office door to head to your usually shared bedroom.

it only takes a little while for his brain to catch up to his heart. so that’s why he felt it flutter…

diluc immediately packs away his things to the best of his drowsy ability, hanging up his coat that he honesty forgot he still had draped on himself before he burst into your bedroom rather dramatically. panting from having rushed himself, his arms propping himself up with both sides of the door way, diluc looks away all flushed.

“…i love you as well, i’m sorry for not saying it,” he sighs in comfort as you raise a brow at him, amused at just how quickly he managed to wrap thing ups purely out of guilt that he failed to reciprocate your intentions.

꒰ you not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

oh. well…you’ve must’ve had a reason, right?

you wouldn’t just leave right in the morning for a commission, tell him goodbye when he declared his love to you without you repeating the same routine back to him? right?

and yet, you did; and now diluc finds himself in the peculiar position of being overly worried. he has strength, power and stability beyond imagination, but without your affection as fuel, what use are those things?

staring back at the ticking clock continuously, the wet rag in hand helping him clean up some ink that spilled across his hands as a frustrated groan escaped him. what kind of man have you turned him into that he can’t even focus on important tasks merely because you didn’t say a few simple words?

maybe that’s where the problem lies. the words “i love you” always seemed simple to you, something that diluc can admit had found himself jealous of on occasion, so now that he’s absent from something so easy, it’s a little difficult to not overthink the possibilities that the phrase has become harder to swallow for you.

diluc nearly slams his head on his desk at such a thought. he can’t lose his mind over something so silly, it’s fine. you’re both fine.

taking another meandering glance at the clock, diluc’s chair scraped across the wood as he flung on his coat, brushing it clean as he sauntered downstairs with the most grumpy expression dawn winery has seen in a while.

“honey, why do you look so upset?” your sweet voice lured him back into sanity as diluc’s steps immediately calmed down, his eyes widening momentarily as you seemed to return much earlier than expected from your travels. shaking his head, diluc sighs, “it’s nothing, my love — let’s go out for dinner, is that all right?”

XIAO — 魈

not really a surprise, honestly.

xiao isn’t necessarily known for being a fun-loving, happy-go-lucky, super affectionate bunny and as much as he wishes he could just vocalise the song that plays in his heart whenever you meet his eyes, he’s unable to reciprocate your affections in a way that’s satisfactory.

you’ve grown to accept such a fact. xiao, on the other hand, hasn’t. it’s like a little itch for him that he can’t scratch but desperately wants to. doesn’t mean he won’t show his love in other more discreet ways.

there are the subtle things; like the way he ensures your favorite dish is always ready when you come over, how he lingers a bit longer during a goodbye hug almost as if he’s scared to let you go, or the times he’ll simply sit in comfortable silence with you (though, that is common), his presence a quiet yet powerful testament to his feelings.

sometimes, he leaves small tokens for you to find: a flower carefully placed on your doorstep, a hand-written note slipped into your bag that you can tell was written in a hurry due to how sloppy the handwriting looks, a charm he crafted himself hidden among your belongings that he specifically sought the guidance of zhongli from. it's in these gestures that his love for you shines through, even if the words remain unspoken.

꒰ you not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

there are times when xiao escapes his shell, and it’s in those quiet moments where you’re both completely alone without even the whistling of the wind to eavesdrop on you atop the comfortable slope of a mountain, that xiao verbally tells you how much he adores you. sometimes a little more poetically than intended, but he hopes his words pass through to you in the form of a flutter.

“…a vow as enduring as the sea and mountains,” xiao mumbled nervously, his hand awkwardly hovering over yours in hesitance before he sucked in a breath and decided to just give in and delicately interlock your fingers. watching as you tilted your head in confusion, xiao looked away and muttered again: “i meant that i love you.”

the silence and the little nod that followed, which was all meant as a little ploy to tease him for being so cute and flustered over a term you didn’t even need to hear on the regular, resulted in xiao’s chest to tighten anxiously. did you not feel the same way anymore? but then again, that devious smile of yours (which xiao could differentiate the style of pretty instinctively) made it certain there was a deeper meaning behind the quiet.

“it's alright," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "you don't have to say anything. i just wanted you to know."

TARTAGLIA — 公子

꒰ him not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

ʚ petty petty petty, absolutely done out of pettiness and just being an overall ginger brat.

ʚ you forgot to say good morning immediately after you woke up? haha, what was your name again? aw, you walked passed him on your travels even though he deliberately came over to see you? guess he’s not paying for all your stuff today… (he will, just ask).

one morning, groggy and half-asleep, you stumbled out of bed, forgetting to meekly mumble your usual "good morning, my darling, i love you" as you got up for the day. it was a small and rather insignificant oversight, but not for childe.

later that day, as you wandered through the vibrant streets of fontaine, you spotted his unmistakable ginger hair approaching. waving and smiling at your beloved, expecting some sort of hyper response back, you awaited his towering presence with a hand on your hip. he walked right past you. full on. turning your head with furrowed brows and jaw hung low, you notice that little playful, shit-eating smirk on his lips.

a little confused, you called out to him, "ajax! come back here.”

he turned, feigning surprise despite clearly having seen you (and, unbeknownst to you, having been watching you for the past couple minutes as you checked out several vendors). "oh, it's you. i almost didn't recognize you."

rolling your eyes, you walked up to him. "seriously?” both of you stared at each other in scrutiny, tartaglia fighting back the urge to squeeze you within his arms and whine at you for your negligence while you fought the urge to pull him down by his sunlit strands to coax some sense out of him. “are you mad at me?”

he shrugged nonchalantly, eyes twinkling with mischief you recognised immediately. "hmm, who’s mad? i just forgot who you were for a moment." let’s not mention the fact he has your front, back and side silhouettes memorised to the point he could trace it with his eyes closed expertly.

when you both parted ways, tartaglia making up some excuse that he had to buy some souvenirs for his siblings despite you knowing full well he was just listening to your reprimand from a week ago that he needed respite from being brutalised repeatedly, you found yourself linking pieces of red yarn together internally.

oh he’s just such a little shit isn’t he?

the sun set and bedazzled the sky in golden red hues, you walked back to your shared accommodation and a hefty amount of apologetic snacks filling your bag. normally, when you opened the door, ajax would jump at you. it was obvious from the way he sat leaned back on the couch that he was biting back that urge too.

grinning, you approached him, feeling a mix of amusement and frustration. "you know i love you, right?"

he glanced at you, his expression softening for a moment, god he really missed you so much even if only parted for a few hours at most. "hmm, do you? because i don't recall hearing such a thing in the morning."

you laughed, shaking your head at his childishness. settling yourself next to him, arms encasing around his wounded torso, you muttered a little compromise: "alright, honey. tomorrow, first thing. i promise."

tartaglia finally relented, pulling you into a gentle embrace that led to him exhaling a breath he was holding (probably a subtle way to get his loud heart to stop beating so furiously). "good. i suppose i can forgive you this time.“

꒰ you not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

ajax had disobeyed your orders again.

even when being repeatedly asked by friends and his own lover alike, he just couldn’t behave in a way that didn’t result in at the very least, a few scratches and bruises on his freckled skin. it irritated you to no end.

irritation, of course, led to frustration. i mean, when you have to regurgitate the same instructions to someone you adore to death, it becomes exhausting. you didn’t necessarily argue about it, you simply tuned off.

sitting in bed with a book cradled between your fingertips, a mellow tune humming in the background from your vinyl as you soaked in the fantasy you were thoroughly engaged in. none of those things could unfortunately deafen the whines from ajax as he cozied himself up next to you, a silent groan slipping past his lips as he incidentally tore at one of his bandages.

“kochanie…” his nose nuzzled against your clothes as he found himself laying on your warm thighs. “i already apologised for being a dumbass, i swear i love you and i’ll listen to you properly next time.”

he purses his lips into a pout as you ignore him and continue to scan your eyes over the ink. “come on, i love you, sweetheart.” he nudged you, pinching you as delicately as possible but enough to elicit a gasp from you as you finally glance over at him.

“and i love peace and quiet, so if you could, zip it.”

surely you don’t think that was a good enough response for someone as needy for attention as ajax?

“i’m so hurt…” he pitifully grumbled, arms crossing over his firm chest as he continued staring up at you with a gaze that meant “you are not getting out of this”.

“won’t even spare a small kiss for your wounded lover? a hug? a cuddle? even just a whisper of your voice? how am i meant to live—“ you hush childe’s antics by squishing his cheeks together, forcing a fish like pout to form with his lips.

“i love you too, you’re just annoying.”

he’d take that over you fully ignoring him any day.

K. KAZUHA — 枫原万叶

꒰ him not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

ʚ not possible, thank you next character.

ʚ the only possible way kazuha would ever not indulge your i love yous is when he’s away to a different nation and he sends you a response letter that takes weeks to come to your hands, or if that same letter somehow gets wet or ruined while in transit and his affections get dampened and smudged

ʚ otherwise? kazuha doesn’t see the point in stubborn behaviour. if there’s a problem, though there hardly ever is, he’s under the pretence a couple should talk about it with a clear mind before making a final decision or statement — or in this case, the retraction of affection.

ʚ you’re his map, with the treasure being your heart. why would he ever choose to not tell you he loves you when he gets the chance? you already lack sufficient time with another, and kazuha prefers using the time he does have with you to show you how much he adores you (whatever way that manifest as).

꒰ you not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

kazuha absolutely smothers you in his love. though that usually feels more like you’re resting within the comfort of a sandy beach as soft washes of waves tickle your skin. you’re never short of a supply of affection.

that’s why a devious idea popped into your head. what if you just didn’t reciprocate?

“my heart,” kazuha’s breathy voice popped the bubble that hung over your head. “you’ve been spaced out for a while now, do you need a kiss to help you refocus?” you had to stop yourself from jumping at the opportunity.

“uh, no it’s fine, you don’t have to,” the reply made kazuha raise an eyebrow quizzically. that’s certainly not something he expected to hear especially after not seeing you for a while; but, he’d respect your choice. it’s not like he’s desperate for something so simple, you could just genuinely not be interested.

“hm…alright then, beloved.” he smiled sincerely, head falling to rest on your shoulder as his hand gently rested on the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles that mirrored the shape of the moon that cast a glow on you both. “i love you.”

he could’ve sworn he just said he loved you, so why did the winds bellow a response instead? coughing into his hand to clear his throat, thinking that perhaps you just didn’t hear him, he repeated: “i love you, songbird.”

met with silence again, kazuha simply stays quiet. he doesn’t need a reply, that’s not why he says sweet things to you like he’s writing a lyrical sonnet. he tells you he loves you because it helps write the song in his heart that beats whenever he’s near you in a much more coherent way.

K. AYATO — 神里绫人

꒰ him not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

ʚ this man oozes with romantic appeal. even if he’s off voyaging to a whole other nation he’ll find a way to not only say i love you, but also to say his good morning and good nights (accompanied with poorly doodled attempts at kiss marks to make up for the lack of physical touch).

ʚ when he’s upset? gods no. he could be frustrated with you to the point he needs a break, and regardless he’ll leave the room with a reminder he loves you. he doesn’t need you getting second thoughts and therefore won’t ever plant them.

ʚ he’s too busy? so? thoma has two hands i’m sure he can handle giving you letters that are merely love notes while he cleans the abode (assuming you and ayato live together separately from where he works…you can imagine how much thoma despises this errand despite his loyalty).

꒰ you not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

“greetings, love,” ayato’s arms slid around your middle, chin coming to rest atop your shoulder as he hums a sweet tune as if he were a bird coming back home to his nest. a rather direct analogy, since that’s exactly the occurrence.

plagued with hours of paperwork and meetings with government issues and secret organisations that god forbid you or ayaka ever found out about, ayato has missed you gravely. if he didn’t know better he’d demand this sort of sin to be classified as a national crime with the sentence being told to stay home with your spouse all day (his literal dream).

now that he’s free for at least a little while, peace alas twinkling within his eyes as they close tightly to enjoy the silence as he clings onto you, ayato does feel like all the pain and ink he went through was totally worth it. if the price he had to pay for holding you oh so tightly is simply meaningless signatures on several documents, he’s willing to waste the entire supply of ink within inazuma — he wants this reward to last as long as possible, after all.

“mm, you smell divine, are you using the flower-scented perfume i sent you the other week? i love it,” he rambled, lips pressing against your nape as you busied yourself with some crocheting, ayato’s eyes opening only to focus on the way your deft hands moved so skilfully. he’d make a comment about how he wished those hands were on him instead, but he had a particular reputation to uphold — and lewd impatient man certainly wasn’t part of it.

“more importantly, sweetheart,” ayato cooed, beginning to trail kisses around your neck and any exposed skin he managed to find, “i love you. so, look at me won’t you?”

merely turning your head to plant a kiss to the side of his jaw in a way of compromise, you otherwise remained silent. “you know,” ayato smiled devilishly, his hand beginning to play with your hair soothingly. “i bought some stuff on my travels recently, a lot of things that are meant for you, of course.”

“i can’t wait to surprise you tonight during dinner.”

that was a threat. maybe not a direct one, but you could recognise the slyness in that man’s voice soon as he mentioned buying “stuff” — things that were definitely substitutes for poison (a little far fetched, but it’s best to assume whatever he conjures up will be the worst thing possible to save yourself the trip to a hospital bed).

“i love you too.” you appeased, and his face immediately lightened, arms returning around you as if finally satiated.

ayato huffs a stifled laugh, quelling your worries with a simple: “i’ll have the staff know you’d like your favourite dish prepared.”

ALHAITHAM — 艾尔海森

꒰ him not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

ʚ lowkey, it’s a bit of a 50/50 with him…?

ʚ sometimes, he just genuinely doesn’t hear you. whether it’s because he’s subconsciously disassociating, overstimulated from excessive noise (it’s pretty much canon that he’s autistic, you can’t give me a character that constantly wears headphones and only speaks when spoken to and expect me not to connect the dots) or simply because whatever’s playing in his ears was a little too loud and had managed to drown out your words — these specifics are never intended, and he’s more likely to reply back if you repeat yourself (or give him some time).

ʚ other times though, is simply him teasing you. remember that one scene at the end of the interdarshan festival where alhaitham said, “best things are told thrice” (or whatever the quote was), yeah he commits to that in this scenario too.

ʚ he’ll pretend he can’t hear you just so he can see the sweet frustration in your eyes as you mumble the words “i love you” through gritted teeth. he’ll smirk it off subtly and reciprocate…after a while of course. perhaps when you’re falling asleep on his chest once you’re finally cuddled in bed together, you’ll manage to catch his hushed whisper.

the world was intent on making alhaitham break down today. he woke up without you in bed with him this morning, meaning he couldn’t brush his teeth while next to you as he passed you things that you required to get ready to start the day. from that, none of the foods or snacks he liked were available and the only option were fruits or meals he didn’t like or he weren’t in the mood for.

already feeling irritated and grumpy, him nearly spilling a vase on the books he had perfectly stacked up to binge read as he bumped into the corner of the table could’ve made him bang his head brutally on the wall. this wouldn’t have been a problem if kaveh didn’t place something so fragile and wobbly on something that’s in the way.

alas, when he finally died down for the afternoon, book in hand, a melody passing by his ear as he tried to focus on breathing, all a sudden that irritation just slowly came creeping back. the words on the page squished together like some sort of cartoon from fontaine as they began to make no coherent sense even as he went over every line twice.

to make it worse? you had just come back home.

that sounds bad, but for alhaitham it was a travesty. now he wasn’t able to at the very least embrace you in greeting in fear he’d lash out at the sudden contact. noticing the scrunching of his brows and the way his jaw looked like he’d been clenching it subconsciously for hours, you smiled out of sympathy, knowing from experience that this was most definitely another case of the domino effect of bad shit happening.

“need me to leave you alone for a bit?” you asked as quietly as possible but in an octave he wouldn’t twitch at in frustration.

he shook his head. a little surprising, but you complied with his wish and sat down on the floor next to him as he laid back on the couch as if in an impromptu therapy session. alhaitham held out his hand for you and you gently but surely placed yours on top, a delicate reminder that he was free to express whatever was on his mind when the world finally felt a little more peaceful.

꒰ you not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

it’s not like alhaitham really says he loves you verbally, he prefers showing his love to you though actions. after all, actions speak louder than words — what’s the point of telling you he loves you if he doesn’t have the actions to back it up?

but for the sake of the scenario, let’s imagine alhaitham decides to spoil you with one his few vocal affirmations. his hands slowly running up and down the spine of your back, chest rising and falling in slow steady breaths as you burrow yourself into his side. alhaitham was reluctantly reading a romance book that you forcefully recommended him in hopes he’d learn a few things that would make you swoon (despite him doing plenty such things already).

“i love you.” he randomly blurts, his eyes clearly having scanned over the same phrase within the page he was on since he rather quickly skipped past it once your eyes caught glimpse of it. alhaitham is a confident, sometimes arrogant, man — nothing ever truly bothers him when in regards to the words or actions of other people unless they pose a threat to someone he loves.

however, in this case, your lack of words makes his brows scrunch down, bright teal eyes now scrutinising you as you clearly try to hide away a giggle. “don’t you think it’s a little rude to not reply to someone’s confession.” he asks in a monotone voice, attention returning to the words on the page that now seemed irrelevant.

“if you want me to be like the characters in your little romance stories, how about you also commit to that yourself?” a little harsh sounding, but when faced with alhaitham’s pettiness, this is probably the most lenient he’s ever been to anyone.

WANDERER — 流浪者

꒰ him not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

ʚ another one that’s not necessarily surprising.

ʚ he likes using the phrase to tease or slander you, if anything. case in point: “oh i love you alright, but that doesn’t mean you get to steal my blanket in the middle of the night.” or “i love you more when you keep completely silent."

“i’m convinced you don’t love me.” ah god, not another one of your little helpless spiels again. this sort of conversation starter would normally set of a warranted number of red flags. in this case, however, both of you understood it was more like the start of a theatrical display of your pettiness.

“right, and why’s that?” scara asked unamused, face not changing from his casual stoicism as he scanned over a possibly illegal book he snuck from the library (and if this conversation goes one way you might just tattle to auntie nahida).

“you slept on the couch yesterday even after i cooked your favourite dish and got you out of that lecture kusanali forced you to attend by pretending we had chores to do,” you list off your good deeds on your fingers, your body sinking next to his on the couch that seemed more like a partner in crime than just a piece of furniture.

scara rolled his eyes. licking the tip of his fingertip to turn the page on his book, he huffed a response absentmindedly: “i do love you, but you just keep pushing me off the bed because of my cooler temperature so i got annoyed — simple as.”

꒰ you not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

‘oh, so just fuck me i guess?’

it’s already so difficult for him to even admit how much he cares for you, so to have such a hefty phrase leave his lips and be left with silence? he’s a little more than pissed.

scara’s eyebrows crunched together, confusion written all over his face at the sudden change in your demeanor. you’re always the first to jump at the opportunity to coddle him soon as his sour lips turn sweet, so what’s with the sudden negativity? the hostile fire that once flickered in his eyes was now replaced by a mournful sadness, and scara couldn’t help but feel like he was staring at a stranger.

his chest tightened in a way that didn’t feel good, and he found himself swallowing thickly, eyes flicking downward to where your hands swirled an ice-filled glass. guilt nipped at scara’s conscience, and he scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a heavy sigh.

“what did i fucking do wrong now?” he spits out.

scara tends to take even the slightest joke within your relationship as a direct threat or dig at him. not because he doesn’t trust you, not even because he thinks your relationship isn’t at a secure stage — but just because that’s all he knows. he doesn’t know how to respond to something lighthearted when all that he’s felt so far in his life is extremities.

“hm? what do you mean?” you ask, the teasing tone you took on dwindling upon the quick glance at how his bottom lip jutted out nervously. did everything have to be so irrevocably complicated?

scara shook his head, exhaling a small sigh before he just let the matter drop naturally. he didn’t have time for stuff like this. he’d like to think he knows you well enough to recognise when you’re simply teasing him, but that fact alone isn’t enough to make that ache in his heart go away.

he just needs a minute break. and perhaps for you to sneak into bed with him so you can cuddle him from behind.

LYNEY — 林尼

꒰ him not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

it’s a little difficult for lyney to say the words “i love you” to someone who’s not technically part of his family. he trusted and loved you easily, you cared for his siblings as if they were your own and even gave up your own pride to protect him; but something itching within him tells him he has no right to confess his true ardour.

lyney is nothing but a pawn with a jesters hat, using sleight of hand to remove the idea that he’s deceptive from your mind with a few whimsical flower tricks. it’s hard to allow himself to be so vulnerable and open when he knows full well that if his father found out, the disappointment would be greater than the reward.

when he’s coated in that black circus show getup, his smile broad and stance wide with confidence, he’ll reply pretty easily! after all, he had to please his audience. but, you’re not just a stranger in the crowd. you’re his beloved, someone he waits for before one of his grandeur shows as you press a kiss to his cheek as a lucky charm that he finds himself gently touching as he slowly enters the stage.

but when he’s merely lyney, a lonely kid from the house of hearth who trembles in the comfort of the dark, your mumble of: “i love you a lot, lyney,” makes him replywith a mere widened look as if a deer caught in headlights, his pale face blossoming into a rosey pink hue as he tugged down at the front of his hat to cover his eyes.

“me too.” sometimes that reply is easier and much safer for both his heart and yours than the actual words.

꒰ you not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

lyney adores how easily you find yourself saying such a phrase, even a little jealous at time at both the idea of how many people you’ve uttered it to and the fact he finds himself stumbling over his own consciousness at the idea of confessing his affections back.

he’s also a massive trickster! you pull silly and harmless pranks on each other constantly, from something dumb like switching out a singular chocolate chip cookie to a raisin one to see the astounded look on lyney’s face as he bites down to something a little more sweet like lyney throwing out roses to an audience that coincidentally create a heart.

this is certainly a much crueller prank than any of the above.

lyney was a little jumpy backstage, constantly pacing back and forth with a genuine smile on his face that you’ve rarely seen, his arms constantly stretching out in front of him as he played with the leather of his gloves tediously. lady furina was going to be watching him today, it was no wonder he wanted you to help out!

well, lynette did everything, but you’re here for something lyney said he absolutely couldn’t go without. his good luck kiss.

hearing the familiar sound of the staff shuffling around their props, lyney sauntered to you with a smile as his lips tucked behind his arms innocently. “ma moitié,” lyney hums in a chipper, melodic tune, content at simply seeing your face light up once your eyes meet his, “i’m confident in my abilities as a magician, but i think you have the answer to quelling any of my nerves. care to share some of your magic wit me?”

you grin and tilted your head off to the side, giving him an encouraging thumbs up and a much less motivating: “break leg, lyney, i believe in you.” as much as he wished to coax it out of you, he’d have to unfortunately settle for the way you leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek.

yet, although he preformed flawlessly per usual, his execution even enthralling the ever critical furina who sat up in the crowd with a leg over her knee, you notice a slight hesitation in his movements, a brief moment of distraction that only you, who knows him so well, could catch. the show eventually concludes to thunderous applause, lyney and lynette taking their final bow as he nearly sprints off once the curtains draw closed.

backstage, as the crowd's cheers still echo faintly, lyney cautiously approaches you with a more serious expression. “[name],” he begins, his tone quieter, more introspective, “did I... do something wrong?”

who knew just the slight lower pitch of someone’s voice could make your heartstrings tug unceremoniously. you know it's time to end this silly prank. shaking your head, you take a step closer. “no, lyney. you were incredible, as always — lady furina seemed exceptionally impressed.” his breath catches in his throat — that’s not really what he wanted to hear. but before he could brush it all off, you interrupt his overthinking: “and... I love you too.”

his eyes widen in surprise, then soften with relief and warmth. “you really had me there,” he chuckles, pulling you into a hug. “you're quite the trickster yourself.”

you laugh, hugging him back tightly. “i learned from the best.”

NEUVILLETTE — 那维莱特

꒰ him not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

ʚ for neuvillette it’s less about him not saying i love you, but just how convoluted and complicated he can make it seem.

ʚ whether it’s by using outdated poetry and reciting it to you without the knowledge that the terms used completely flew over your head because they’re so old, or doing something that to him is basically more intimate than physical touch like gifting you a piece of jewellery that’s imbedded with a stone most certainly toxic to humans (he got it out of a rift from khaenri’ah when it first emerged and kept it as a little token).

ʚ this man is a dragon, he’s older than the snowy mountains of dragonspine and the deadly primordial sea itself…you can’t blame him for being a little bit over the top and traditional with how he says he loves you.

ʚ it’s all courting tactics! isn’t this what you humans enjoy? no? …maybe he should ask lady furina if she has some plays from the romance genre she’d care to share, perhaps then he could learn a much more modern way of showing his affections.

ʚ he’ll say he loves you if you vocalise you’d just prefer that but…are you sure you don’t also want this embarrassingly cute cup he made to match his dragon form?

꒰ you not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

the more he thinks about it, the sadder he gets. and the sadder he gets, the rainier the heavens become. neuvillette’s pen shifted between several of his fingers as the paragraphs in front of him shifted and blurred continuously.

you didn’t reply to his i love you this morning. straight after waking up he mumbled the sweetest, “i love you,” directly into your ear with that rumbling voice of his, letting his affections linger on your skin as his nose snuggled itself safely against your neck.

and what did he get in response? a small giggle and a, “should we get ready?”

at first, he merely internalised it as a mere misstep on your part. perhaps you merely didn’t hear him, you had just woken up after all you must’ve been feeling a little groggy. that managed to ease his nerves just a little, but soon as you closed the door to his office without a chance for another i love you, he slumped into his seat with defeat.

you humans are tricky creatures and scarily good at making other overthink things that someone should be most confident on.

just the idea that he might’ve done something to upset you enough for you to not want to love him so dearly as you normally do makes the skies weep to match the mourning in his heart. you best come back this instant with your arms wide open unless you want fontaine to flood over.

he may be one of the strongest beings currently alive and awake in the land of teyvat, but his heart is rather fragile when it comes to you.

WRIOTHESLEY — 莱欧斯利

꒰ him not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

much to the dismay of wriothesley, he rarely even gets to say he loves you. between managing the fortress of meropide and his countless responsibilities that range from being a guinea pig for sigewinne’s new test trials that she calls food to ridiculous requests from inmates, expressing his feelings often takes a backseat.

you, of course, understand his position, but it doesn't stop you from sending him love letters whenever you can. your letters are filled with warmth, affection, and little anecdotes about your day, hoping they bring a smile to his face during his busy hours — and they certainly do, he adores tracing your handwriting with the back of his gloved hand.

unfortunately, your letters piled up on his desk without being read. despite him desperately wanting to respond to every little i love you, he found himself way too preoccupied with other immediate matters that required his thorough attention. every time he’d open up his drawer to find a new pen to fill out a document with, he’d shamefully glance at the stack of unread papers that were littered with hearts.

each letter was one a piece of your heart — him stashing it away protectively would be a little romantic and rather ironic given his profession, but currently it felt more like he was actively giving you the sentence of a lifetime by withdrawing his affections.

no reply comes for days.

you understand that his duties are overwhelming, but a part of you yearns for some acknowledgment, a sign that your words are reaching him. however, wriothesley is determined to rectify this, he sat down at his desk after the first calm night in a while, pulls out a sheet of paper, and begins to write.

what you receive the next day isn’t necessarily anything grandiose or swooningly romantic — but it was enough; a large bouquet of your favourite roses with a special heart shaped note attached that when you latched it off simply read: “i love you too, sweetheart.”

꒰ you not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

alas, wriothesley finally managed to carve out a free day just for you. spending the day together ultimately meant either a completely lazy morning filled with sloppy kisses shared and your warm bodies all tangled within blankets, or a date where you bask in each other’s presence.

this time, you chose the latter. you needed a little bit of a pick me up and what better than having a romantic outing with your beloved? …where you simultaneously wished to entertain yourself with a bit of mischief. who could get away with teasing the mighty duke if not you?

a day of activities left you a little exhausted, which is why wriothesley decided to share the last few setting hours of the sun by sitting on a comfy blanket near an empty, secluded beach far from the usual hustle and bustle of fontaine.

"thank you for being so patient with me," wriothesley said, his voice low and sincere. "i know it's not easy, but you mean a lot to me."

you reached out and squeezed his hand. "aww, i understand, wrio. i’m honestly just happy we get to spend time together like this at all.”

bringing your interlocked hands up to his lips, his calloused and rough ones ridden with scars and marks that told stories of their own holding yours as if made of porcelain, he pressed a few gentle kisses to your knuckles as he mumbled a sincere: “i love you, [name].”

ah the very words you’ve been waiting to drawl from his lips. stifling a chuckle, you simply smiled and nodded, letting your hand wiggle away from his grasp as your focus drifted to stare at the crashing waves cleansing the shore.

wriothesley's brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "did you hear me?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light. "i said, i love you."

you nodded again, keeping your expression neutral. “i heard you."

his confusion turned into amusement as both his brows raised in disappointment — were you seriously teasing him right now? wriothesley leaned in appetisingly close, searching your face for a clue for your intentions. "and?" he prompted.

swallowing down another fit of giggles, you titled your head at him all coyly, “and what?”

wriothesley puffed out a chuckle before his skilled hand quickly swooped beneath your knees and atop the small of your back to land you on his lap. “do you think you’re funny?” his muscular and scarred arms closed around your middle, keeping you firmly in place to face your trial.

“a little,” you muse before lifting yourself a little within his grasp, moving in to press a more than welcomed kiss on his cheek. “i love you too, wrio.”

“that’s what i thought.”

ARLECCHINO — 阿蕾奇诺

꒰ her not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

ʚ arlecchino loves you, she really does. but unfortunately for you, you’re not the age of the orphaned children she protects and therefore she finds it useless to constantly reassure you of such a fact.

ʚ surely if you want her to prove how much she loves you, you’d be less childish with it and simply ask for a real heart to be displayed in a glass box? she’s kidding (perhaps), but given the nature of your dynamic, she’s sure you’ve said the words “i love you” in this relationship enough to cover her half of the bargain.

“arle, i love you,” you muse, buzzing around her desk like a never satiated mosquito. yet instead of sucking blood you merely made her wish she had the heart to plug her ears to silence your relentless affection spillage. she wouldn’t dare. but for the love of the tsaritsa won’t you be good and just sit on her lap and remain quiet?

“arlechinnoo…” another whine as you carefully sit yourself on her desk, her pen quickly brushing over lines, the ferocity at which she held it made the point look as if she was scabbing the paper.

“yes, bunny?” she looked off to the side at you, her expression holding an air of royalty that was most likely non existent in her blood, but definitely seemed present in the way she held herself. maybe it was just that natural posture of arrogance?

“i love you…won’t you love me back?”

“my dear,” she placed the pen down and got up, a sight that made the two informants that stood opposite of the room with their heads hung low nervously hunch into themselves. she sauntered to you and encased your body against the edge of the desk, hands on either side of you.

“you’re surely irritating our guests with your constant noise,” that crestfallen expression of yours was something she wished she could wipe, but that sinful, pyre of pride burned within her like vengeance, making her merely tap her hand over your cheek to refocus your forlorn attention.

soon as you tilted your head, her hot breathy whisper mumbled against your ear: “stay quiet and i’ll be sure to spoil you.”

꒰ you not saying i love you back ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

“i’ve been issued another task within fontaine, do keep yourself out of trouble even though i have little hope you’ll commit,” arlecchino teasingly mused as she nudged your hip with hers while fixing her coat. “i love you, dear — i’ll be sure to send you letters.”

arlecchino is eerily fond of the silence that came after deafening screams. the scarlet stickiness that spreads across her grim face in splatters making her instinctively lick off that sweet residue. but right now, the silence was just a testament to how good she’s been treating you.

if you think you can get away with a silly prank like this as she’s awaiting your response like a puppy begging for a bone, you must’ve forgotten who has the collar and who has the leash.

catching your chin between her thumb and forefinger, she tilts your face upwards to meet her intense stare, stern eyes blazing with naked hunger. "i asked you to not cause trouble while i’m gone, but you’ve already decided to start, have you?”

most people would crumble beneath her shimmering eyes that spoke volumes of violence, yet deeply within your own heart you know she’d carry you over mountains of skulls that crushed beneath her callous heels if it meant getting you across into fairyland.

“admit it - you crave me just as fiercely as i burn for you." she grins before flicking your forehead with her clawed fingertips. “don’t make me repeat myself or you won’t be getting any gifts from me when i return.”

that’s the real threat you were waiting for. leaving a featherlight goodbye kiss atop her lips, you smartly respond: “i love you too, and don’t forget my favourite cake!”

she rolls her eyes, finally letting you go. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ