#and spy showed him his face as a form of gratitude

[homkamiro]

Dedicated to my dear friend Lenny

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 1 - Decoy [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Here we go my loves, the first chapter! ❤ I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

As always, I don’t own anything.

Word Count: 2200

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, death, manipulation, language.

Summary: Trouble has a way of following certain people.

Sometimes you wondered whether you would run away screaming when you were a child if you knew what kind of a person you would turn into.

It wasn’t exactly your fault though. For years and years, several people had put the blame on several different things. Eventually they would reach the same conclusion though; the psychiatrists, your superiors, the very few people you could call your family, they all agreed on one thing.

It wasn’t you, it was the abandonment.

The abandonment you went through when you were a teenager had somehow started this domino, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop this constant fall, not even you.

But as you would figure out soon, you were lucky. Instead of being consumed by your anger, you could direct it somewhere else. You were recruited and trained from a very young age, and somewhere along the way, you realized that if you wanted to survive you were going to have to sacrifice certain things.

Forgiveness was the first one to disappear. Guilt was another.

Then fear.

Then, love.

Ah well. Worse things happen in the world every day.

If anything it made your job easier.

You cracked your neck and opened the door to your apartment, the key sticking to your fingers because of the blood on your hands for a moment and you made a face as you shut the door, leaning back.

A very long shower and a bottle of wine sounded like a good idea.

You placed your gun on the table, took the dagger strapped to your thigh out of its holster and got the knives out of the heels of your shoes before flinging yourself onto your couch and turning the TV on.

“Also called Sokovia Accords 2.0 by the critics—“

“What the superheroes think about this remains a mystery—“

“The first time caused a huge rift between Captain America and Iron Man but nobody knows the new Captain America Sam Wilson’s comment on it—“

You didn’t get to change the channel again when your phone started vibrating in your pocket, making you sit up straight. You muted the TV, and checked the caller I.D before you answered.

“Hey there.”

“Hi, how’s Paris?” the cheerful voice of your best friend reached you, “Had enough croissants yet?”

A small smile pulled at your lips. After your only parental figure had left you to go God knew where, General had decided to adopt you and raise you like a daughter. His actual daughter Chloe had welcomed you with open arms, and you had been best friends since then.

Her being the top analyst of the division didn’t hurt either.

“Mm hm, because that’s all I’m doing. Eating croissants, visiting museums—”

“Killing and maiming targets...” she mused, finishing your sentence for you and you heaved a sigh.

“Somehow that last one isn’t included in the city guide,” you pointed out. “Chloe, you know this is a line for—“

“Official contact from General, yeah yeah,” she said, “In my defense, you didn’t pick up the phone an hour ago when I called you from my phone.”

“Do you know how hard it is to use touch screen when your hands are covered in blood?”

“What happened to your sniper rifle, did it fall into Seine?”

“It required close combat,” you said, “And the target swallowed the chip before I could get it, so I had to perform a spontaneous autopsy.”

“Just so you know, whenever you talk about your job I have to watch like a hundred cute videos after I hang up.”

“Happens.” you said, “How’s everything?”

“You missed us already?”

You grinned, “Maybe.”

“Good, because dad wants you back. He’ll contact you any day now.”

Your head snapped up and you stood up from the couch, “Really?”

“Duh. Have you seen how negotiations for these new Accords are going? It’s going to be a mess and we need you here.”

“The second one hasn’t passed officially.”

“Well no, but you know how my father thinks.” she said and you tilted your head.

“Are we sure it’s General who wants me there and not you?”

“Okay, that was one prank ages ago and I didn’t hear the end of it!” she protested, “Don’t you trust me at all?”

“Nope.”

“You know, I’m being the perfect friend and calling you to give you some good news but if you’re going to be like this, my news can wait until you get here.”

You pulled your brows together, “What news?”

“What do I get in return?”

“My endless gratitude,” you deadpanned, “Come on. What news?”

“You can’t tell anyone yet but I think you’re getting a promotion.”

Your breath got caught in your throat, “You’re joking.”

“Don’t forget about me when you become a handler, you hear me?” She let out a laugh, I need friends in high places.”

“Your dad runs the division Chloe. It doesn’t get any higher than that.”

“That doesn’t count!”  

You pressed a hand over your chest, “Just— what kind of a promotion are we talking about?”

“I mean I snooped around his files and casually committed treason.” she said, “But even I don’t know yet. They must be still making the adjustments.”

You opened your mouth to reply but then your phone vibrated again and you lowered it to check the message on the screen.

It was simple but again, all his texts were simple and to the point.

From: General

Time to come back. Jet leaves in 2 hours.

Here goes my shower and wine night.

“Chloe?” you said, walking to the sink to wash your hands so that you could start packing, “You want anything from here? I’m coming home.”

                                              ***

The best thing about being on the move all the time was that you could pack in minutes and the division would take care of the things you had left behind.

Apartments, belongings-

Not that you carried any belongings with you, or bought any more than necessary. It would’ve made you form a bond, which was less than ideal for any spy.

You suppressed the yawn splitting your face and made your way to General’s office. This jet-lag was going to make your life pretty difficult in the following 24 hours, and you were painfully aware of it, but it wasn’t like you could just ask for some time to rest.

That could wait. Your job was more important.

“General?” you knocked on the half open door and he raised his head to look at you before motioning you to enter the room.

“Y/N,” he said, “Close the door please. It’s good to have you back.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Take a seat,” he said and you cleared your throat, then perched on the edge of the chair.

“I’ve heard you eliminated the threat and got rid of our target quite fast,” he said, “And we have the chip now.”

You nodded silently, pushing your hair behind your ear.

“Well, that shows me you’re ready for the next step,” he said “No reason to beat around the bush, you’re getting a promotion.”

Pride burst through your system but you tried to control your expression to stop the grin threatening to pull at your lips.

“Thank you sir.”

“Here are the details for your next mission,” he said, handing you a file that was stamped as Top Secret and you flipped the page to find information about your next identity.

Alias: Shrike

“Shrike,” you murmured to yourself, turning the pages, “Like the bird?”

“Mm hm. I assume you’ve heard about the Accords issue?”

You looked up, “Only a little,” you said, “The first one was a disaster and the government had to drop it after The Blip due to the public’s reaction, resurrected people insisted that the superheroes were the ones who saved them, not the government. Then the government said they would go over the details and change it in a way that would benefit both the public and the superheroes, but I haven’t seen the new version.”

“There were some adjustments but to be honest with you, it’s the same deal. We can’t have superheroes running wild with no orders,” he said, “I need you on both fronts, one with terminating specific targets, and one with….well, you’ll see.”

You flipped the page and blinked a couple of times, your stomach dropping.

You were good, but you weren’t that good.

“You- you’re sending me after Captain America, sir?”

“Ah no,” he said, “Don’t worry. Wilson doesn’t have a past we can use against him, and trust me, we checked. The guy is an actual hero but we need a bad guy.”

You turned the page and shut your eyes for a moment.

Bucky Barnes.

Right. You should’ve known.

The government wanted and needed Captain America on their side, but Bucky Barnes could fall for all they cared.

“Sir I appreciate your trust in my abilities but not even an army could take down the Winter Soldier the last time—” you started but General shook his head.

“Y/N, you’re not going to kill him,” he said, “That’s the second front I was talking about. We need you to get close to him, to form a personal bond and gather intel we can use in the future.”

You gawked at him, “I’m sorry?”

“Barnes is the perfect candidate. He can help us with necessary information to prove to the public that superheroes need to answer to someone; us. Besides if it all goes bad, we can just say he was a threat. With that kind of past no one would think he was innocent to begin with.”

Your head was spinning. Scratch that, the whole room was spinning.

You were good at finding and terminating targets, not forming personal bonds or playing this

“When you say get close to him….” You trailed off, your voice way too weak and he smiled slightly.

“You’re an attractive woman, I’m sure you’ll have no problem with that.”

That. That was your promotion.

Not an operations officer, not a handler, but a lover who also happened to kill people.

They were going to use you as a honey trap for him.

“Sir, I don’t think-“ you started, but he held up a hand.

“Before you say no,” he said, “Let me remind you that this will benefit your career greatly, and you will have your own team. Show us you can handle it, and the position you want will be within your reach, you have my word. You want to be a handler, don’t you?”

You dragged your fingernails on the file, deep in thought.

“Barnes is one of the many dangerous people we may need to stop one day, and the only way to do it is to keep him under control and learn everything he knows until we’re ready to take him in.”

“But if these new Accords don’t pass—“ you started but he shook his head.

“Even if they don’t, and that’s a big if,” he said, “He’s still a valuable asset to have. We all have to perform certain missions, Y/N. Even if we don’t particularly like them. You will thank me in the future, when your career flourishes.”

Your blinked a couple of times, a bitterness appearing in your mouth.

“Of course,” you managed to say, “You’re— you’re right sir. It’s a good plan. I accept the position.”

“Great!” he clapped his hands together, “We have a target for you for tomorrow night, there’s this gallery opening. He needs to be eliminated, I think you can handle that? Start planning how it will go with Barnes as well, we can’t lose any time.”

You pursed your lips together and closed the file, “Of course.”

“Congratulations.” he leaned in slightly, “Your dad would be so proud of you if he could see you now.”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it felt like it was getting bigger and bigger.

“I don’t need his approval,” you rasped out and walked to the door, but stopped when you heard him speak.

“Shrike,” he used your alias for the first time and you looked over your shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I don’t have to remind you that this mission is top secret. If he figures out who you are, or what you’re up to…” he clicked his tongue, “Kill him.”

You paused for a moment, then tilted your head and smiled at him.

“As you wish, sir.” you managed to say, then walked out of his office as if someone was chasing you. You made your way straight to the bathroom and slammed the file on the marble counter, then pulled out the small picture sticking out from the corner. It was an old black and white picture of him with Steve Rogers, probably taken in the 40s, both of them smiling. 

When you lowered the picture to attach it back to the paper, your eyes caught the tiny print under his aliases.

Confirmed Kills: Exact number unknown (Credited with 100+ assassinations)

You were in way, way over your head now.

“Oh, fuck.”

                                  Chapter 2

[my-own-oracle]

Could I get a fluffy Drift romantic Valentine thingy?

Of course! Every bot deserves some love. You didn't specify any specific version of Drift, so I'm going with the MTMTE version. If you wanted RID15 or something else, just let me know. Sorry, this kinda got long; I've been without power for the majority of 3 days, this was one of the few things I could to do.

You still kept track of the days that passed on Earth. At first, it was for your own amusement. Wanting to keep track of the time on Earth, but as some holidays came and went, you kept track to keep the connection to your home alive. You kept track of the calendar changes, making a special note when you entered the month of February

You planned, quietly and carefully, gathering spare datapads and using your little stash of credits to purchase a small gift for a particular bot. It was hard keeping the whole thing a secret, considering most of the things you had to hide away were significantly larger than you, but by the power of pure determination, you managed. 

You spent hours locked away in your hab-unit, carefully typing out cheesy Valentine's poems for your friends. Most following the 'roses are red, and violets are blue' format. And when they were done, you beamed. 

You spent the day dragging different data pads around to other bots. Tailgate had even decided to help you for a while, flying you around on his hoverboard, laughing and talking with you as you made your way through the large ship. Even with his help, the event took up most of the day. Slowly everything was handed out. All but one Valentine remained. 

You bid a farewell to Tailgate as he dropped you off at your hab-unit. You had to do this delivery alone. 

This was the Valentine that mattered the most.

**** Drift had spent most of the day with Rodimus, talking about everything from different tactical plans to the many ways the Co-captain could encourage and rally his mechs with a more powerful aura. Or at least Rodimus pretended to listen to that last part. Either way, Drift had spent several hours with his friend. During that time, the spectralist had spied an unusual sight, a datapad in Rodimus' personal quarters. "Did someone slip that in here when you weren't looking?" Rodimus laughed good-naturedly before shaking his helm.

"No, the Space Cadet dropped it off. She's celebrating an earth holiday today and is passing out some gifts to bots she thinks will appreciate them. Rodimus passed the datapad over to Drift, letting him read the short poem written on it.

"Roses are red, And you are too. I am so thankful, To be friends with you." 

Drift found himself smiling as he reads the blurb of text below it, where you explained Valentine's day and its significance to humans in your own culture. 

"So this day is used to express love and gratitude to those around you?" Drift clarified, smiling a little wider as Rodimus nodded.

"She told me humans also use this day as an excuse to express more romantic kinds of love too."

A feeling of jealousy settled in his tanks. 

"(Y/N)- she is truly a wonderful person. Did she pass out many of these?" 

"She had a large stack. You'll probably have one waiting for you in your room," A servo pushed into drifts shoulder plating.

"I doubt that we-" he calms his spark before speaking again. "We may be friends, but we hardly spend time alone together. I think she's frightened of me."

"Uhhh I-"

"She must have learned about some of the things in my past. She can hardly look at me in the optics when we're together, and if we are alone, she can't speak. I fear that I may be terrifying to be around.."

"Okay…. Have you ever thought that maybe your being," Rodumis rolled his optics, "I don't know, a little overdramatic?" 

Drift pondered the thought. But no matter how he looked at it, the hesitant gaze, the fidgeting when together, the quietness she only had around him, all signs pointed to her fearing him.

"Drift, please, don't make me be the responsible one. It goes against my entire being." 

Silence lapsed again.

"I am not spelling this out for you," Rodimus stood, pulling Drift to his peds and shoving him out the door. "Come back when you're done being a sparkling. Go talk to her," the door shut, leaving Drift to walk back to his hab-unit.

****

You could feel your heart racing under your ribs. Thundering with each step you took, leading you to pause every few meters. 'This is so stupid. I can't do this.' you told yourself for the hundredth time. 

"You alright there, Space Cadet?" you snapped your head behind you, spying Rodimus standing maybe a few feet away. When had he snuck up on you?

"I'm fine, just lost in my head." you face back towards Drifts unit, your confidence waning with each passing second.

"Is that another one of those valentines?" Rodimus squatted down to you your level, a servo reaching out to the special datapad you had placed on the hall floor. 

"No," you dashed in front of his hand. "Nothing of interest, really. It's just like the one I gave to you and everybody else."

"And I suppose the box next to it is nothing too," you took a large step to the right, standing between the white and red wrapped box you had next to the Data-pad, before sharing a small, shy smile with the co-captain.

"It's- it's nothing." your voice was softer than you wanted it to be. The smug look on Rodimus' face told you he didn't buy it. "I wanted to give a gift to someone, and if I was on Earth, I would give a special someone candy. I found out Cybertronians can eat energon candies, and I bought a crystal of it as a gift. But it's stupid. He probably won't like it anyways." 

You sunk your head closer to your shoulders. "Just giving him a poem and a piece of candy isn't going to make someone like him notice me." Your fingers worked at the hem of your shirt, rolling the worn material as a means to work out the lump you felt forming in your throat.

Rodimus held his servo out to you, a silent invitation to 'climb up' as he so often said. You took it, settling down into his palm. You watched as he carefully gathered your measly gift into his other servo and began walking in the direction you needed to go.

"So, you like this mech, and you're worried he doesn't like you." You nod. "Who is it?"

"I'd rather not say."

"It's not Ultra Magnus, is it?" You snap a playful glare at your friend. "I just needed to know, I'd still support you, but I won't be thrilled."

"No, it's not Magnus." you heard his vent of relief. Thundering footsteps filled the hall as Rodimus carried you farther a small way.

"so…"

"It- I, Drift," you whispered. "It's for Drift." You were thankful Rodimus didn't outright laugh. He did his best to stay composed. You could feel it in the way his digits curled for a moment, him gasping for air as he tried to talk.

"You think, he- you dont realize-" giggles filled the space between each attempted sentence.

"Yes, I like Drift. Go on, get it out. The little silly human is in love with a bot who probably couldn't care less, who's so far out of her league it's embarrassing." The lump in your throat returned, this time accompanied by a burning feeling behind your eyes. You took a few calming breaths, refusing to cry in such a frustrating situation.

"Oh stars, you're hopeless." Rodimus was smiling, oblivious to your emotional turmoil or not caring about it. "Trust me," he lifted you level with his politics, "He'll be thrilled."

***** Drift sat in his hab-unit, wondering how he could use this Valentine's day thing to his advantage. Find a way to earn some positive affection, and talk to you.

He was coming up blank; you were beloved. There was no way you would give up your time to talk to a bot who terrified you. If only he knew a way to quell your fear and maybe show that he wasn't such a bad bot. Drift heard his door open but didn't turn from his desk. His EM field told him it was Rodimus. 

"Yo." Rodimus walks over to Drift, and before he can turn, his friend grips the closest servo to him. Drift feels you more than sees you, as you're practically tossed into his servo. His optics widen monetarily, and he throws his other servo around you, desperately trying to keep you from falling.

You have his full attention, so much so that the sound of Rodimus putting your gift down on Drift's desk before walking out hardly registers in his audials. Rodimus' smug "You'll thank me later" rings aloud and as the door slides shut behind him.

Drift cautiously checks you over for injuries.  Slowly you roll over, sitting up and trying to look up into Drift's optics. 

Your eyes can barely go past his chassis.

"Are you alright?" Drift questions. His optics take over you again, first your body, then your aura.  

"Hi Drift, I'm alright" you raise your hand in a little wave,  you sound a little frightened, and he watches as your body tenses. "I'm sorry for-uh- barging in like this. But I wanted to bring you a valentines gift." you waved your hand to the small offering on the desk beside him. "It's been delivered, so I'll stop bothering you now, I'm so sorry to have-"

"You are not bothering me," he smiles down at you. You're nervous; that much is plain to see.  He turns his attention to your gift. While the box interests him, he takes the datapad first. 

"Roses are red, And you are kind. I hold you in my heart, always on my mind."

He watches from the corner of his optics as you become red, the color complimenting the flustered pink in your aura. 

"The poem is beautiful," he smiles, but you don't look at him in the optic. He puts down the pad and reaches for the box. The lid removes easily, and he is touched by the piece of energon candy you had inside. 

"Thank you for my gifts, though I will say I'm surprised you gave me one," your eyes snapped to his optics wide and hurt.

"Why, you're my friend." Your question was soft, so quiet should he had been organic, he wouldn't have heard it. 

"You're frightened of me, so I didnt think you would take the time to make me a gift."

"I'm not frightened of you," your hand reached our reassuringly to one of the digits around you, "What gave you that impression?"

Drift listed the clues he had gathered over the few months you'd been aboard, noting that with each one, a look of guilt took form over your face.

"Drift- I-I am not afraid of you," you stood abruptly, hopping from his hand to his desk "do you know what valentine's day is all about on earth?" 

"It's about showing your affection to those in your life," your smile made his spark hum. It was soft, there was fear, but he focused in closer and saw in your aura; it wasn't a fear of him.

"Correct, but only half correct. It's also about telling people who don't know you lo-" you took a breath. "Some humans use this day to confess their love for another person." He could see the struggle you had to keep your eyes at his optics. "Those things I did, the ones that made you think I was scared of you, I did them because I was nervous. I really like you Drift, I would go as far as to say love, but I'm frightened at what you'll do, what you'll think." 

He brought his servo to you again, two digits brushing your cheek and your hair. "If I were human, and it was Valentine's day, what should I do to quell your fears? How am I supposed to respond if I feel the same way about you?" 

You leaned into his digits, your body relaxing from a tension he hadn't realized you had been holding in.

"You just did."

[write-for-all]

I would like to request an Assassination Classroom scenario where Female! Reader is Nagisa’s mother. Unlike Hiromi, she’s kind, sweet, gentle and doting towards her son : Nagisa. During a parent teacher day, she reveals much to Korosensei and Class-E shock (minus her son) that she was a former legendary assassin before retiring to protect her unborn child : Nagisa

A/N: Thank you very much for your request! I love that idea. Especially because I am currently re-watching Assassination Classroom and fell in love with that anime once again :D Btw I never watched that anime in English, so if I don’t get every phrase right, please excuse that. I really hope you enjoy this little work of mine.

Nagisa x mother!reader

 “So, you must be Nagisa-kun’s mother, Hiromi Shiota, am I right?” Koro-Sensei asked as you entered the classroom. “That is right. I wanted to speak with his teacher. You must be Karasuma-san.” You said with a friendly smile to the huge figure in front of you. Koro-sensei dressed up as his colleague because they couldn’t reveal him as the state secret to any of his student’s parents. “You are correct. What did you want to talk about?” He asked while some of the students in the background snickered at their teacher’s attempt to represent their PE teacher. “Mh, maybe we should talk about it somewhere private.” He added as he looked to his class. Everyone except Nagisa was present in the room. However, Koro-Sensei gave Nagisa the task to get something from the main building. He knew that you were coming and didn’t want Nagisa to be there as well.

You nodded and followed Koro-Sensei to the teacher’s room and took a seat. “I am here to talk about my son. You know, in the last few months I discovered some new changes in Nagisa’s behavior. Do you know what this is all about, Koro-Sensei?” You asked with a smile. With a shocked gasp Koro-Sensei stood up from his seat.

“How do you know-“

“I know a lot about you and this classroom.”, you said while he removed his disguise and showed to you his true form. “You see, back in the day I was a killer just like you.” Before you could continue, the door gave in and the whole class tumbled into the room with a shocked expression. “Nagisa’s mother was an assassin!?” They all yelled at the same time. “WERE YOU SPYING ON US THE WHOLE TIME!?” Koro-sensei yelled at them and changed his expression to his angry red face. “Uh…well…” They all tried to avoid the question as they stood up. You sighed and looked at them. “It’s alright, but please don’t tell my son about it.”

They all nodded and looked at you while they waited for you to continue. “I never told Nagisa about this because I didn’t want to be a bad influence on him. But when the government asked me for help to kill my son’s teacher, I knew that this was the reason for his changed behavior. Not only are his movements like those of an assassin but when I look into his eyes, I notice something else as well.” You told the yellow octopus. He gulped, afraid of getting into trouble for teaching them on how to kill someone.

“That’s why I came here today. I wanted to thank you.” “…HUH!?” Again, not only Koro-Sensei but the whole class was shocked. “What? Why are you thanking me?” Koro-Sensei asked confused. “Well, my son was never particularly confident, you see. And when his grades went downhill, and he got transferred to the E-Class it seemed that he gave up his last hope. I didn’t know what to do anymore and even suggested to him to leave this school, but when you became his teacher it really seemed to help him.” You said as you stood up and bowed in front of him. It was your gesture of gratitude. “Here, the real Karasuma-san told me that you like sweets, so I baked you a cake. Of course, the class can have some as well.” You smiled at them as they all stared at the delicacy in front of them. “NO! NEVER! THAT’S MINE!” Koro-Sensei yelled as he took the cake with his inhuman speed and fled the room. But a few seconds later he returned to say, “Thank you!” to you before fleeing the scene once again.

“That stupid octopus! I’m gonna kill him!” Terasaka yelled angrily while you chuckled. You now understood why Nagisa didn’t want to leave this class. “Uhm, Shiota-san, can I ask you something?” Kayano asked shyly. “Of course, you can.” “Well, if the government asked you to kill Koro-Sensei, did you agree to it?” The attention of the whole class was once again on you. “No, I declined. You see, I’m out of that business. Since my son was born, I stopped being a killer for his safety and I don’t want to get back to it. But it fills my heart with joy and pride that you and my son learn to be perfect assassins. I believe in every single one of you.” You answered with a motherly smile on your lips as you walked to the door. “I will go now. Please tell Koro-Sensei that I trust him with Nagisa’s life and education. Have a good day and remember to kill him with a smile on your face.” And with that you left, knowing that your son was in good hands…or tentacles.

[Posted on: 03.10.2020]

[animeyanderelover]

Hi I really loved your "yandere Juuzou with ghoul reader" text so can I ask yan Tooru with ghoul reader? That would be very intresting.

I feel like the situation for them would be very interesting since he’s part of the CCG.

Tw: Yandere themes, obsession, unstable mentality, vicious behavior, violence, threatening, killing

Ghoul darling

🟢Tooru met you most likely whilst on a mission with the CCG, probably on the auction where he had to work as a spy to infiltrate the whole place. Tooru was at that time pretty nervous, standing in front of so many ghouls who all started wanting to buy them after it was revealed that they were a one-eyed ghoul.

🟢After the whole massacre had broken out, Tooru had been forced to fight, feeling anxious and scared, insecure about their skills since they hadn’t even been able to activate their Kagune at that time. And they had to fight quite some ghouls in there, partially being all on their own. And that’s when they met you, their savor.

🟢They had been cornered by a ghoul who had proven to be stronger than expected, having forced them in a corner and leading them to trip, leaving them in a vulnerable positions, having lost their knifes in the process. They honestly thought it would be the end of them, the ghoul already making themself ready to finally finish them off after finding out that Tooru was part of the CCG, explaining that they would kill and then eat them, their Kagune snapping towards them. And in the next moment blood was splattering around, splashing onto Tooru’s face and staining his clothes. And for a short moment Tooru thought that this was the end for them, thinking that they would now die. But that’s when they realized that they didn’t feel any pain, that in fact it wasn’t even their blood. It was the blood of the ghoul, their head having been chopped off.

🟢And as the corpse fell down, forming a pool of blood, Tooru was at first top shocked to do anything, staring with wide eyes at the corpse before slowly letting their eyes travel upwards, being met with the stoic yet slightly worried expression of a ghoul, standing right over him with their Kagune still visible, dripping from all the blood. And for a short moment Tooru thought that you had only killed the other ghoul to eat them yourself, crawling on his four limbs scared back when you stepped closer, but frowned slightly when you suddenly deactivated your Kagune, instead bending down a bit and offering them your hand. At first Tooru just stared shocked at your hand, too dense to understand what you wanted. And even if they did, they were still warily of you. What if this was just a trap?

🟢But the moment you suddenly told him in an almost jokingly tone that you wouldn’t bite, looking like you were about to return your hand, Tooru just quickly grabbed it, more out of reflexes since he didn’t want to be impolite. You helped him getting up on his feet, asking if he was okay to which Tooru could only stutter a yes out, too flustered to do anything else. Was this really happening? Was a ghoul helping them?

🟢You were really kind for someone who openly admitted to them that they would kill them or other investigators, emphasizing that it would be out of self-defense, picking their knifes up and giving it to them, telling them that they would need those, even explaining to them in which direction they had to go if they wanted to meet their friends again. A short wave and a “Take care!”, then you left them completely speechless there, quickly making your way out of the building to save your own butt.

🟢This short moment, this encounter was all that Tooru needed to form an obsession with you. They never told others about you, scared that they would hear the scoldings of the others that they couldn’t trust you and that you were a ghoul which they should have killed. They didn’t want to get their illusions about you destroyed. They were wrong! You were different! You had saved them instead of using the chance to kill them, even having helped them to find the way to their comrades. You had to be better, cut above the rest! They owed you their freaking life!

🟢Tooru wanted to meet you again, to ask you why you hadn’t killed them, hoping that your answer would confirm their delusions. That you weren’t as bloodthirsty and messy as others. They started digging up as much informations as they could about you, finding out that you weren’t in any records, meaning that you weren’t a big number which led to a huge relief from their side. For two reasons. The first one was that this meant no one knew about you so far, Tooru hoping that it would remain this way for forever. The second reason was that this was an enhancement to their delusions. They knew that you were different! You weren’t even known by the CCG yet, meaning that you weren’t as tasteless or unnecessarily cruel like some other big numbers in the records of the CCG!

🟢They did about everything to find you, trailing often through the streets of Tokyo in hopes of magically bumping into you, all whilst never telling anyone about you. And the more time passed by, the more desperate they got with their actions, going even as far as starting to search for other ghouls to question them about you in hopes that they knew you. Whilst also being ready to threaten them, Tooru knew that it would be better to distinguish themself as a ghoul, using the mask made from Uta to mix themself under the ghouls.

🟢But in the end it was the complete other way around than planned even though Tooru couldn’t really complain. You ended up finding him, a few ghouls telling you that recently a strange fellow had started searching for you. Whilst you at first didn’t know who they were talking about, after they had tried to describe that person as good as possible you had a very clear image in your head about who it could be, leading you to searching for Tooru and one day suddenly confronting him on the streets of Tokyo.

🟢A short walk through a park to get a bit more isolation was made, Tooru at first non believing that after so many weeks of searching you were finally here again. And you were a bit amused by all of this, obviously noticing how flustered and nervous they were. It had been a while since someone seemed that way around you. But you hadn’t only searched for them to have a nice talk. You wanted to know why this investigator here had searched for you, going as far as pretending to be a ghoul.

🟢There had wanted to show their gratitude, obviously, you had saved them. And whilst Tooru had of course wanted to see you again, they also had a couple of questions for you. Why had you saved them? You were a ghoul weren’t you? This question surprised you a bit, not knowing really why you had done it either. You guessed...you had just a feeling that their time hadn’t come yet. They seemed to have potential and it would be a waste to let someone die who hadn’t even reached their full potential yet.

🟢The situation was rather interesting, you having never heard, seen or witnessed a CCG investigator before thanking a ghoul for saving their life. And you knew that this should be kept a secret for safety reasons because if the wrong people would find out about this, either you or him would get in bad trouble. In the worst case scenario both of you, but luckily Tooru ensured that they hadn’t told anyone yet. And both of you agreed to keep it that way.

🟢That should have been the end of the story, it should have. But it turned out to only be the beginning, Tooru suddenly asking if you two could see each other again. And that surprised you. Weren’t they a ghoul investigator? They knew that they would get in really big troubles if someone would find out, right? Or did they not care at all? Wow, they had more bones than originally thought.

🟢Tooru wouldn’t kidnap you or lock you away, knowing that they have no right to do so. I imagine it to be really hard for them to meet up with you constantly, needing to be careful with their every movement so no one will catch them. If someone finds out they wouldn’t care that much what will await them, but the moment someone finds out and wants to either kill or catch you in hopes to get some informations, that would be the moment Tooru would start acting. What other choice would they have, meaning a triggered switch to their crazy fellow side. They wouldn’t want this to happen though, so being warily of every step they take should hopefully prevent them from needing to kill someone.

🟢But you yourself would have to do a few things to next to not telling anyone about this. Tooru wouldn’t request much, only that you try to not kill any investigators and be careful with hunting food down. They can’t say that they’re necessarily the most happiest with you killing humans, but on the other hand they know you need food in order to survive and have the strength to defend yourself if needed.

🟢I feel like you two most likely revealed your relationship after Kaneki was trapped in the dragon (this huge tentacle thing known as the dragon). Let’s just imagine that instead of Tooru someone else cornered Touka and threatened to kill her, leading Kaneki to his transformation. Because then ghouls and humans worked for the first time ever together and whilst you two were probably a bit unsure about finally opening up, some people started suspecting naturally that you two knew each other. And when you two were confronted about this, you by your ghoul friends and Yooru by his co-workers, both of you decided to make it public.

🟢Let’s just say the CCG wasn’t exactly happy with this, knowing that Tooru had been secretly having a relationship with a ghoul for this whole time whilst his friends and your friends were kind of buffled, but some were also happy, taking this as a good sign that the CCG and ghouls could live in peace together, your relationship being the living proof of that.

🟢Even if there would have been a few voices who demanded you two to break up or wanting to punish Tooru for what they’ve done, I imagine the most people being supportive of this or accepting this as long as nothing bad would happen. Tooru’s friends (Urie and Saiko) would most likely want to get to know you better whilst your friends would like to get to know Tooru better.

[oristromboli]

If You Be Our Star, We’ll Be Your Sky | 5

Chapter 5: Offerings

After discovering the scroll's contents, the disciples following the God of Duality become the next destination.

Life is simply a series of fair exchanges and offerings to one another in devotion.

(Smut this chapter: none)

A distant voice starts to sing.

Six dear companions all still alive,

One lost his throne and then there were five.

 ---

 You inhale deeply as you tuck the three bottles against your chest with one arm. With the other, you bring your hand to make an emphatic fist. “Today has been. Rough. This had better be a fever dream.”

Childe whistles low, eyes scouring your frame that is now free from dirt, but still littered with scrapes from the Ruin Hunter. “Rough, huh? Did you remember to give a safe word?”

(Aether shushes Paimon’s quiet question of what’s a safe word?)

You unfurl your fist to pinch two fingers together. “I am this close.”

He squints and leans forward, narrowing his eyes. “But your fingers are touching.”

Childe barely manages to dodge the rock you hurl at him.

 ---

 “So, on a scale of one to ten, how mad are you at me?”

You hum. “About an eight.”

Childe scoffs. “I can do better than that.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Aether grits, “But I believe we owe Paimon an apology.” His hands finish wrapping bandages around your forearm and you wince, noticing the gremlin still pouting with her back turned to you all.

After Childe side-stepped your stone and stood up in an attempt to placate you, you immediately took a swing at him. Of course, characteristic of your exhaustion and Childe’s nature, he side-stepped again and stuck out a foot. Which you tripped over. Which he laughed at. Which neither Zhongli nor Xiao stopped, assuming you could break the fall.

Of course.

This led you to tumbling and knocking over the remaining plates that had food on them, to Paimon’s shrieking horror. She held a dumpling to her chest and solemnly followed Zhongli’s gentle advice on a proper, er, funeral speech with a chorus of voices yelling behind her (in irritation from you, in please stop embarrassing me from Aether, in mockery from the king of clowns himself).

Xiao’s hand awkwardly pets her head as she refuses to look at you two.

“I paid for it,” you grumble and Childe snickers.

“Now you know how I feel.” You glare at him and elbow him before sighing, looking at Paimon.

“I’m… Sorry? Ow – “ Aether pinches your side and crosses his arms. Try again. “I’m very… Sorry. I’ll, uh… Your next meal is on me?”

She harrumphs.

“How about your next meals are on me? Breakfast included,” Childe says with a jovial tune, placing a hand on your shoulder. You shrug it off and ignore the feigned hurt look on his face as you cross your own arms. He chuckles quietly when you hold up eight fingers to him. “Uh, all your future meals are included?”

Paimon suddenly pirouettes and floats happily. “Okay! No backing out now with Zhongli here,” she chirps, and Childe manages to barely suppress the irritated twitch of his eyebrow.

“Damn leeches, the lot of you,” he murmurs. Sitting squarely between Aether and Childe, you notice how Paimon takes the liberty to sit on Xiao’s outstretched leg. Poor thing is unfortunately hoisted and promptly placed on Zhongli’s knee instead as he sits cross-legged. Without missing a beat, Zhongli begins petting her as well while the six of you sit in silence for a moment.

“Okay, so did I miss anything important?” you suddenly say, turning to Childe on your left. He raises an eyebrow at you in stage confusion and smirks.

“Like missing the mark on hitting me?”

“What are you doing here, Childe?”

Even your own soft tone catches you off-guard and Childe’s eyes widen for a brief second before he schools a look of casual neutrality. Another voice cuts through the air.

“You’re here to observe, are you not?” Xiao interjects. Childe groans and rolls his head to the side, blinking his eyelashes up innocently towards the adeptus with a plastic laugh.

“Aw, am I that obvious? If even spear-up-his-ass can read me, then I really must be losing my touch.”

Aether smiles and reaches behind you to lightly punch Childe’s arms, but you saw how Aether’s own lips pulled slightly too tight. Even he’s on guard. Centuries together allow you to catch these little ticks that others thankfully miss. “It’s gotta be that, with the way we’ve been tearing through Fatui strongholds.”

Childe smirks back at Aether with a dangerous glint in his eye. “Yeah, you’re lucky they sent me and not somebody much worse. I actually like you all.”

Whether or not Aether also heard the sincerity in his voice, he spares Childe the momentary embarrassment and continues with a jab without missing a beat. “Sucks that you’re sent back here, I know how much you like to travel.”

Childe sighs and casually sits back, leaning on both of his hands. The night has long fallen, but the blanket of stars and warm glow from Liyue Harbor nearby is enough to illuminate his boyish face with practiced tranquility.

“The Tsaritsa is pissed. Normally she wouldn’t care since she has her Gnosis, but… She wants to keep tabs on your movements. You’ve already stirred up trouble in Mondstadt and Liyue, can’t have it spreading elsewhere. So, I got placed on janitor duty after failing to obtain the Geo Gnosis.”

“I know.”

All eyes turn on you as you flick your own to the thick journal hanging on your belt buckle.

You miss Childe’s eyes narrowing at the book.

(You miss how Childe’s mouth parts at the starconch dangling along its pages.)

“I read those reports in the camps, but… I didn’t think it was worth mentioning to the others. The Fatui are trying to juggle too many priorities so they’re always a step behind us. If we appear in Dragonspine, they write it down after we show up in Springvale. According to some letters, the official solution was to send a Harbinger to try and boost morale, but that seemed too far-fetched at the time. The Eleven aren’t glorified bureaucrats meant to watch over a region.”

Too simple. Too easy. If they wanted to kill you, they would not have sent just one. Something’s not right.

“Pretty bird, you asked me why I’m here while already knowing the answer? I’m proud. You’d make a fine Fatui spy,” he grins as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Childe hums and continues with an innocuous question. “Kind of interesting how quickly you travel, huh? My men just can’t seem to figure it out.”

It’s a trap, yet with the way Aether’s breath hitches lightly, only you and he caught it. All parties present are among the few who know of your abilities to manipulate the mysterious waypoints.

The thing is, there isn’t actually some… Grand secret. You just simply could. The Tsaritsa didn’t need to know your own lack of competence – and you sincerely doubt she would believe you two anyway.

You sense Aether’s attention shift to your presence rather than see it. Both of you must give credit where credit’s due to Childe: play the fool when you are the one fooling everyone else. As you must fulfill your duties, Childe must fulfill his.

Unfortunately for him, the two of you have been a part of this dance for centuries with countless companions asking similar questions. Always fishing for information, always trying to step over those careful lines that Lumine was the first to draw for safety.

“Yeah! Paimon’s seen the way they interact with the old technology here. It’s super confusing!”

“Oh?” comes the amused reply as Childe leans forward. There, there it is again. Those lifeless eyes. “And how do you suppose you all manage that?”

Aether is the first to interrupt. “We don’t know. Paimon is in as much of the dark as we are.”

You slowly move your hand to nudge Aether’s in a moment of gratitude to speak in your stead. He doesn’t look your way, but you feel a soft touch back.

This time, Childe meets your eyes, though something unnerves you in the scrutiny you’re placed under. “Is that so…” he murmurs before throwing his head back in a loud laugh. He places both hands behind his head. “Ah well! Mysteries galore, never a dull moment with you all. Not too upset about being back if my nights are gonna be fun like this.”

“Childe,” Zhongli says for the first time, smiling as his voice pitches deeper like he’s taking part in some conspiracy. “Are you implying… You enjoy Liyue?”

“What can I say,” he grins, “I enjoy the people.”

Xiao grunts. “Give it time.”

“But why did they send you? You’re not the spying type, you’re…” One of your hands gesticulates wildly to Childe’s form. “You’re a fighter.”

“Because I’m already close to you all,” comes the shockingly quick reply. You blink. Childe blinks.

You both blink.

“Signora would set off more alarm bells, wouldn’t it?” he teases, immediately breaking the tension.

“This settles it, then,” Zhongli says, crossing his arms and closing his eyes in contemplation. “I see a wonderful opportunity to appease all parties involved in their respective endeavors.”

You frown as you notice the knowing glance passed between Childe and Zhongli but opt to ignore it.

“I propose,” he continues, looking between you, Aether, and Childe, “that since Xiao and I have no dealings with mortal quarrels, we will officially remain out of your affairs. However, Childe is here to alert the Cryo Archon of your dealings to stifle any further disruptions. You will feed him information about your travels where relevant – and, of course, I will help in an unofficial capacity where possible. In return, you stop rampaging Fatui encampments and endangering the tentative peace found within Liyue after Osial. Relations between the Fatui and the Qixing are stressed as is.”

Aether clicks his tongue as he frowns. “This feels like a very easy solution, and nothing is ever easy. What’s the catch here?”

Childe shrugs as he smiles back to Aether. “Don’t be surprised if I’m ordered to do something very messy?”

“Indeed, matters of the battlefield are no easy proceedings,” Zhongli muses. “The machine of war requires all cogs to be functioning and efficient. Make no mistake, the Tsaritsa’s plans are never granular with flaw. This is a skirmish she intends to win, and I doubt she will allow you to meet the Archons before she acquires their Gnoses, if at all. Appease and abate her curiosity for now. It will spare the land from being watered with blood once again.”

Childe raises an eyebrow as he tuts. “Dear Zhongli, for a former God of War, you sure are awfully transparent about tricking the Tsaritsa in front of a Fatui Harbinger. Does my title mean nothing to you?”

“On the contrary,” you counter before Zhongli can respond. “It’s because it’s you that this might work. You can either accept this ultimatum and make it easy, or we drag a lot more unnecessary innocents into this situation with drawn-out fights across two regions. Wouldn’t want the other Harbingers to come and steal the spotlight again, right?”

You meet his ocean blue eyes again, hoping your gamble on his distaste for the other Harbingers pays off. There has to be a reason it was only one Harbinger sent, it was only him and not someone else.

“Because it’s me, huh?” Something… Something suddenly flashes across his face as the corners around his eyes crinkle briefly. Just as quickly, it disappears. Good grief, you think you’re going to get whiplash with the speed of his changing expressions.

Though, to be honest, you’re the one to blame because you’re certain nobody else pays as much attention to his face as you do. Stars know that Aether sure doesn’t.

Childe tosses a smirk to Zhongli. “A really stupid decision. This will make my job easier, though, and for once I get to keep the damn glory. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you if it comes down to it.”

Zhongli smiles back. “I sincerely doubt it will.”

After that, banter flows easy between all of you as you catch up on your days with somewhat strained ease.

(“I’m not reliving my day sober,” you say as you take a long swig from one of the bottles you bought, feeling Zhongli’s heated gaze on the bob of your throat. Another night, you promise yourself.

“Neither am I,” Childe grunts as he swipes a bottle and joins you.)

You never mention the contents of the scroll, and thankfully, neither does Paimon. You’ll have more time for that after you get wasted.

At some point, Paimon dismounts from Zhongli to sit comfortable on the picnic blanket as he switches places with Aether so that the blonde is next to Xiao.

You don’t miss how the two lean close to one another, or how Xiao’s shoulders seem to relax slightly after the change. Zhongli is flanking your right while Childe is on your left and everyone is sharing in the bottles. Despite the growing comfort that blankets everyone as the night marches on, you feel creeping tendrils of doubt weave into your gut.

And promptly short-circuits every time Childe brushes against your thighs lightly. You never meet his eyes each time, though you both know how quickly you straighten your posture in response.

This is… Okay. Tonight, everything is going to be okay. You shove those nasty feelings of suspicion deeper down, refusing them the chance to ruin a good thing.

Childe’s back. Surprising, but it’s… Good. You’re happy (?).

When you feel a slight nudge to your shoulder, you look up to meet the devil’s eyes as he smirks. At this distance, you can smell the faint aroma of alcohol emanating from him. “I know you’re still upset with how we left things off last time, pretty bird. Let’s try to mend this rift, yeah?”

Liquid courage, huh?

You swallow and grin back. “Only if you pay for the meals.”

“Just the meals? Wow, you are an easy date. Then, for the night, mind telling me your safe – “

More shouts erupt as you suddenly jump up, your wrists caught before they can wrap around his throat and Childe is just laughing at your alcohol-fueled attempt to fulfill your promise.

“Am I at a ten now?”

 ---

 Only much later would you and Aether look back on this moment with horror, realizing how dearly you underestimated the ambition of the Cryo Archon in her pursuit for dominion.

 ---

 Five dear companions stand together ashore,

One’s tossed to the depths and then there were four.

 ---

 So, to be fair, the time is now after. You’re wasted.

Okay. Remind sober future you to not… Not tempt the stars. Or fate. You sigh deeply as Paimon goes on a long-winded rant to the buzzed crowd about the scroll’s contents at Zhongli’s behest. Truly, truly you did not want to talk about the scroll, something about Childe’s sudden appearance made you feel… Uneasy.

Or maybe it was the alcohol talking. Time to repress your anxieties again.

You zoned out too much, because all eyes are on you expectantly and you’re at a loss. Thankfully, Aether motions to your journal in a fat hint as to why, so you grab the item to open it to the page you copied the scroll down and hand it to Zhongli.

He leans closer to Xiao so both adepti can peer at the pages. “This is…” Xiao starts, frowning as he continues reading. “I thought this was lost to time.”

“As did I,” Zhongli says. “What you have is a remnant from the God of Duality.”

“Jeez, we know!” Paimon sighs. “That’s what Paimon was talking about earlier!”

Zhongli chuckles softly. “Forgive me, friend, you are correct. What I mean to say, is that you have a map to the God of Duality’s disciples.”

“We know it’s a map! Paimon wants to know if there is treasure involved.”

“What is with you,” you hiss at her.

Xiao raises a lazy eyebrow. “What you have is treasure. Long ago, before the God of Duality gave up their own life willingly in pursuit of the ‘last knowledge’ beyond divine death, they left a series of maps to the mortals as a guide to find the adepti who dedicate their lives to the practice founded by the god. Think of it as like a Sigil of Permission, although should a mortal naturally stumble across their abodes, they are permitted all the same.”

“Indeed. Guizhong once worked with this god, although she was more interested in the… Practical and material application of her knowledge,” Zhongli supplies.

“So, like the ballista?” Childe replies. “But if she involved herself with the material application, then what was the god’s reasons? Spiritual?”

“Of a sort, but I can’t imagine the likes of you being privy to that,” Xiao says, scowling at Childe. Aether sighs and rubs his face.

“And you were doing so well…” he mumbles.

“You are close, but not quite. Think of it as the adepti version of mortal alchemy,” Zhongli continues, ignoring the petulant look Xiao gives him. “We all must deal in transactions and contracts, although for illuminated beasts, the nature of this can be taken a step further. However, even as the God of Contracts, I do not understand the true nature of this god’s power.”

“So,” you say, pursing your lips. “Can this be anything? Items, food, or even knowledge itself?”

“Yes, but you must first offer something worthy of it.” Xiao crosses his arms. “Mortals do not understand this. Most walk away cursing the adepti for tricking them, despite them willfully misinterpreting what exactly is demanded.”

“Indeed. For example, a man on the brink of starvation offering his first kill in a month to the adepti in exchange for knowledge on how to feed his family will be rewarded with the location of the finest hunting grounds, the best traps, and the means to make sure his family never suffers famine again.” Zhongli frowns and looks to Liyue Harbor. “However, if a rich man were to ask the same with the same offering, he will walk away with a plague set upon his crops and his cattle slain.”

“Ouch,” Childe says, inappropriately thrilled at the prospect. “Little harsh, don’t you think?”

“A curse for an insult,” Xiao growls. “The adepti arts are not meant for the quick and foul schemes of you humans.”

“Alright! I get it, you sanctimonious prick. You’re supposed to lick the boot, not deep-throat it,” Childe grumbles back as the alcohol loosens his words. “Something like that though would be useful for the Fatui. A leap of faith for the ol’ Liyue arts.”

“Careful Childe,” Zhongli says. “What you say may be taken literally by the god’s ways. They may indeed ask you to leap from a mountain top to prove your worth. Do you know what will happen then if you fail?”

“I’ll be home in time for breakfast?” Childe lazily responds.

“Your body will never be found.”

Silence descends before Paimon coughs a little too loudly. “Sheesh… So, can only humans ask them for favors?”

“No,” Zhongli says, looking to her. “Everyone may request something, though even gods can hesitate at their payment. I once made such a transaction myself for my weapon, Vortex Vanquisher, to be smithed and imbued with the divine ability to seal Osial.”

“Really?” Stars gather in Paimon’s eyes as she kicks excitedly. “But what did you offer in return, Mr. Zhongli?”

He only smiles, but you see how his gaze fades, looking past Paimon to a time long ago. “Enough.”

Childe frowns and takes the journal from Zhongli’s hands, inspecting it himself. “Huh. I don’t see any markings to the abodes though.”

“That is because you must first have an offering in hand and a will to see it through before the map will reveal itself,” Xiao says, harshly seizing the book before offering it back to you. You laugh and take it, reattaching it to your belt. “Find something to represent your question before you seek these disciples. They may ask more of you regardless.”

“More importantly, I am not sure that most of these locations still have the disciples. As time progressed, most have gone into hiding deeper into the mountains.” Zhongli hums as he puts a tentative hand to his chin, trying to summon memories of his subjects’ whereabouts.

“Yeah, Jueyun Karst, right?” Paimon asks.

“That is where the more formidable adepti reside. The others have retreated to the City of Ichor.”

At Paimon’s quizzical glance, Xiao adds simply, “The capital of adepti abodes.”

Everyone takes a moment to allow the information – surely forbidden to outsiders – to sink in.

You sigh before standing to stretch out. “Well, I don’t know about all of you, but this day’s been a lot for me. On that note, let’s call it a night, yeah? We can deal with this later.”

“We?” Childe laughs, standing up as well. “Are you inviting me along, pretty bird?”

“You are inviting yourself along, you free-loader,” Xiao says as he stands. Aether smiles as he’s offered a hand from the adeptus and is gently tugged up.

Childe closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly mustering what little patience he has left. “For someone who can jump so high, you sure are terrible at catching jokes.”

“Anyway. If you can find something, then sure. All part of your job, right? Just don’t make me regret it,” you chuckle while Paimon floats up next to you, carrying the picnic blanket.

“Remember that I’m the lesser of the evils here, o mighty one,” Childe says as he smiles placidly and waves his hands mockingly to Xiao. Still… Something lurks in his eyes that pierces the warm alcoholic daze in your mind.

Childe feels real, feels present, but he seems too… Lucid, considering how much he drank. Like the scroll woke something up in him.

But of course it would, you reason with yourself, he’s a Harbinger serving Her Majesty. Who wouldn’t jump at the opportunity?

“One more warning,” Zhongli calls as he walks past everyone, beginning his own descent back to Liyue Harbor. “What you offer must be honest and from your own heart. You cannot seek someone else’s desires. It is an insult to send someone in your stead to bargain your own contract, so think carefully on what you ask, Childe – and for whom it truly is.”

Childe pauses and stares, a rare sight on his easy-going face, before he shakes his head and laughs. “Of course, of course,” he says, trailing after.

As you walk closer to Liyue, lagging behind the group while they converse amongst themselves, you can’t help the doubts gnawing at you once again at the idea of seeing these adepti.

And with the way Aether turns behind himself to look at you, he can’t either.

 ---

 “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” you say as you take another bite from your salad.  Aether nods while he refills Paimon’s cup with more tea, glancing at the journal on the table.

It’s been a least half a week since your last encounter with everyone, since your last encounter with…

You sigh, willing that thought away. This doesn’t escape Paimon’s notice as she frowns, placing a small hand atop yours.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, concern creasing her features.

“Just thinking you look better without all those worry lines.” You laugh when she smacks your hand.

“You know, the same can be said of you!” Paimon huffs before laughing too. “But… Seriously, what’s going on with you two?”

Aether looks at her before meeting your gaze. He puts down his cup to turn to Paimon again, trying to find the right words.

“Exploring isn’t the only reason why we travel,” Aether starts carefully. “We’re also looking for something. Or, well, I’m just helping her.” He chucks his thumb to you as you snort.

Paimon’s eyes light up as she smiles wide and bright. “Oh! Do you think the adepti can help you? Maybe Paimon can help too, as your official Teyvat tour guide.”

You chuckle slightly as you push the plate of remaining salad towards Paimon as a gift. “I hope so. You can finish this for me, by the way.”

Although Paimon grabs a fork and starts eating, you still catch the quiet complaint of misleading names and there’s nothing satisfying about this salad.

 ---

 “I do not understand.”

Zhongli pauses, placing a hand on his chin. “Xiao, I will not pretend that I know any more than you do. However, walking among Liyue’s people, I have found them to be consistent in their inconsistency. A tree, though verdant and in bloom, will change its colors before shedding its leaves entirely. This does not mean it will never again bear fruit. A bird will always come home when it flies, a flower will still be beautiful though its life is short. We must place our trust in these cycles of life and season.”

(A mantra, they both know, heard a thousand times. A poem. A plea of compassion for the mortals from she who rests with dust.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.)

Xiao purses his lips, growling to himself. He still does not see the meaning of peace in turbulent and unreliable things. “These humans are fickle. They can raze forests in their greed.”

“Yes, and they can plant new ones all the same.”

“But, my lor – “

“Don’t,” comes the warning noise from Zhongli. “I am that no longer, Xiao. Call me Zhongli. We are equals here, please.”

He maintains steady steps with Zhongli. He’s… Confused. Why did his mast – Zhongli allow Childe back so soon, so easily? “Do you truly trust that man?”

Zhongli nods. The two of them are walking along the shores bordering Liyue Harbor. Although Xiao won’t admit it, he’s been slowly allowing himself to drift closer and closer to the city. He looks to Zhongli when the other sighs, clearly understanding the reluctance swirling in Xiao’s mind. “My friend, you know Childe will not dare defy my contract.”

“But what about the Travelers? What of Aether?” Xiao cries suddenly, opening his arms. They’re getting closer still to the boats, and though Xiao slows his steps ��� with Zhongli slowing with him – they continue their march regardless. Liyue’s people remain far, though, as the younger adeptus was never fond of crowds. “Do you think Aether trusts him? Do you truly believe that – “

“I cannot and will not speak for Aether,” Zhongli interrupts, pausing in his steps. He holds up a single hand, motioning for Xiao to stop as well. “If you care for his opinions, why not ask yourself?”

“W-what? How can I even ask him when I don’t know where he is?”

Zhongli smiles and stretches his arm behind him. Xiao follows the motion and pauses, widening his eyes when he spots you, Aether, and Paimon conversing with Childe at the edges of the city. However brief the interaction was, as you all part, Aether turns and flashes a two-fingered salute to the Harbinger before walking away.

Xiao scowls and turns around. “I will question him later,” he mutters.

Zhongli simply laughs.

 ---

 (Xiao hates the doubt creeping into his mind. He has devoted time immemorial to his lord, would lay down his life thousands of times over should Zhongli ever ask. Xiao is who he is because of Zhongli, because he saw fit to save the life of one who was damned.

He hates the doubt creeping into his mind.

It is not because of the morality of this man, no, Xiao could care less. He has slain demons worse than the Harbinger. It is not because of the enigma of the travelers, for Xiao understands secrets intimately.

It is because Zhongli has held and kissed and cared about so many humans, yet… Spoke so easily of mortality, of cycles and seasons, of excitement coming from those who break the norm and are worthy to lie with a lithic god.

He hates the doubt whispering to him that Zhongli – glorious, wise, effervescent Zhongli – was wrong. That the all-knowing did not know what Xiao felt whenever he gazed upon Aether.

Guizhong nurtured flowers, but Morax possessed them.)

 ---

 Four dear companions see a mask donned with a growl so beastly,

One left for war and then there were three.

 ---

 “Aether…”

“Yeah?”

“I just realized something.”

“Hm?”

“We’re breaking one of Lumine’s rules. ‘Be mindful of the company you keep, with connections to enemies and friends alike – ‘ ”

“ ‘Don’t get attached and pay a price so steep, we must leave before the night.’ “

“What do we do? We…”

“I know. We’ll figure it out.”

 ---

 Three dear companions saw hands in the art she drew,

One could not escape their grip and then there were two.

 ---

 “Hi, Albedo! Long time no see!” you call to the blonde, waving merrily. The alchemist turns and smiles softly to you as you approach his table at the base of Dragonspine.

“Ah, Traveler, I didn’t expect to see you,” he replies politely, reticent as usual.

More days have passed, and both you and Aether agreed to split up in search of worthy offerings for the adepti. Briefly, you encountered Zhongli and Childe at Liuli Pavilion, though only stuck around long enough to discuss their respective choices in whether or not they decided to join your journey. Of course, they said yes.

Just as quickly, you turned on your heel, refusing to indulge the confused mixture of lust and irritation that quickly pooled at the small interaction. Get it together! Now isn’t the best time for that. Childe’s back, you’re pissed still, you’re mad at him.

You keep chanting these words to yourself in hopes of making it truth.

… He’s not bad looking.

Ugh.

Although you have an idea of what to give, you came to Dragonspine in hopes that the renowned alchemist can offer some insight.

“Yeah, I wanted to ask you a quick question, if you don’t mind?”

“Go on.” He puts down his papers, a clear indication to continue.

“I have something from my travels, and I’m wondering if the material can be transmuted. Err, I mean… Is it conducive to alchemical properties?” You hold out your hand and summon an iridescent mask. Although, you have to admit that calling it a ‘mask’ is loose at best, as there is no holes for eyes, just a cut out for a mouth. The mask shimmers in a cacophony of cosmological colors under the light on one side, resembling the abalone shells found along shorelines. There are almost no other features, making it a twisted mirror to the viewer. On the other, there is a matte blackness that reflects no light.

Albedo frowns and sticks out his hand, tentatively holding the object as you pass it along. As he turns it this way and that, mumbling observations under his breath, you can’t help but shift your weight from foot to foot in anticipation. You notice him pick up a scalpel to collect the smallest sliver of a sample and he places it on the alchemy table.

Stars, how long can he stare at the thing?

Eventually, Albedo turns to you (and ignores your sagging relief) to hand the item back. “I don’t know where you acquired such a fascinating specimen. Pray tell, where did you come across this?”

“Um,” you start, blinking widely. “Nowhere close to Dragonspine?”

He nods. “A shame. Perhaps I can find something similar one day.”

Not a chance, buddy. “So? What do you think?”

“The materials, though nearly as primordial and resilient as Liyue’s crystals, are extraordinarily organic in nature. This should be likewise conducive to any transmutational processes you wish to conduct. However, unlike inorganic objects, you cannot easily predict the outcome. Why do you ask?”

You nod as you hold the eyeless mask, staring into the blackness behind it.

“Just trying to figure something out for a ritual. Tricky thing has a mind of its own sometimes.”

It stares back.

 ---

 (You decide to find a new offering. This will reveal too many things, stir too many questions that you have no answers for.

It’s better that they don’t know. They can’t know.

Aether understands. He still remembers the day he met you.)

 ---

 As Childe walks along a bridge towards Wangshu Inn, he pauses to savor the idyllic landscape. The sun is setting steadily behind the inn, casting deep shadows all around him. “You know, where’s the honor in sneaking up on your opponent, hm?”

In a flash, he whips out his bow and fires a shot towards Xiao’s head. The Yaksha leaps gracefully and flips in the air, twisting his body so that he utilizes his weight in a downward thrust. Childe jumps back to avoid the shattering earth and smirks, rubbing his nose. “Show off.”

Gold eyes meet blue. Shit, Childe can practically see the air around him twist with hostility and Childe’s feeling like a kid in a candy shop. “I warned you that I will not spare you, human.”

“Good. Don’t you dare disappoint me,” he snarls before running towards Xiao. When the other sweeps his spear in an arc, Childe flips over the motion to swipe at his head with his own hydro spear. Xiao grunts and leans back, allowing the blade to graze his cheek as he twirls with the pole to regain balance.

Childe moves back to raise his bow and fire a literal rain of arrows upon the ground, but in the commotion, he nearly can’t keep up with his opponent’s speed as Xiao dances between each arrow fired. Xiao leaps again with fangs bared, aiming for the spot where Childe is perching before his instincts push him to dive out of the way.

Breaking his fall with a roll, Childe turns to see Xiao charging him. No better time to practice the moves he’s seen Zhongli employ in their rare outings to the wilderness.

Right as the adeptus thrusts his spear, Childe summons his blades to parry the movement with an upward cross, trapping the pole between two swords. When Xiao moves back to dodge the rounded kick to his side, Childe switches to a pole once again to thrust into the earth where Xiao’s feet dance out of the way.

Now or never. The Harbinger grunts as he shifts feet to kick the spear.

Neither graceful nor imperial like Zhongli’s, the action gets the job done regardless as it spins dangerously fast towards Xiao, releasing arcs of sharp water-like echoes across the air. Xiao dodges all of them, panting when he notices the water is fierce enough to cleave the stone near him in half. He stands straight, motioning his spear accusingly to Childe. “Where did you learn such a move?”

“Zhongli showed me his spear, of course,” Childe replies sweetly. With a shout for bloody murder, Xiao moves for the kill, but… Childe’s eyes flick to his right and he suddenly wills his blades away to stand straight, placing one hand in his pocket. He relaxes his figure and smiles leisurely.

Come on, take the bait you asshat.

Shy of stabbing Childe’s throat, Xiao’s spear halts as he hears it: children. Very fast, very young, and very loud children skipping closer to their battle. Xiao growls again as he releases his weapon, standing straight and crossing his arms. Neither break eye contact as the kids run past them with giggles when they hit each other with toy swords.

“Why are you here, scum?”

Childe buckles like he’s been shot with an arrow, leaning forward as he places a hand on his chest. “Oh! Oh! So mean, XiaoXiao.”

“Disrespectful little rat.”

“Ha. I’m here for the Travelers. Word has it that they were last seen around here.”

Xiao scoffs and looks away. “You are too late, they left long ago.”

“Oh?” Childe steps closer to the adeptus and slowly leans forward, plucking a single golden strand of hair from Xiao’s shoulder. He stiffens as he glares at the Fatui, who shakes his head like he caught a child with their hand in the cookie jar. “You know, I really hate liars,” Childe sighs.

He side-steps the adeptus to continue his languid walk to Wangshu Inn, humming a traditional Snezhnayan song all the while.

“You sound horrible,” comes the crabby voice behind him.

“Sheesh, so wound up. Do me a favor and either go fuck yourself or go fuck someo - ”

Once again, Childe barely manages to dodge a rock hurled at his head.

 ---

 “Hey! Aether buddy!” Childe cries, opening his arms when he spies the blonde. Aether turns and laughs, waving to the enthusiastic Harbinger.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” he says, smiling as bright as the sun when he spots Xiao behind him. “Xiao! You two didn’t fight each other?”

“Uh – “

“Dear XiaoXiao and I? Now, who do you think we are?” Childe pouts. Paimon squints and flies up to Xiao, giggling as she spies a crimson cut across the other’s cheek that is purposefully hidden behind bangs.

“Paimon thinks that they did,” she says in a sing-song tone. Aether gasps as he runs over, fussing over the deep wound much to adeptus’ chagrin. Still, Childe notices the slight blush creeping up his face. What a bunch of lovesick idiots.

“Good grief,” Childe mutters, rolling his eyes. Paimon looks just as unimpressed as he felt. “Is this a regular thing, stir-fry? I’m about to puke.”

“First of all, Paimon is not stir-fry! And secondly, it kind of is,” she sighs, rubbing her temples. “Paimon doesn’t get how they haven’t figured it out yet, but Paimon doesn’t want to just tell them.”

“Yeah, they’d never believe you, they’re trying too hard.”

“What’re you doing here anyway, Wallet?”

“Oh, I’m looking for – Wait. What d’you mean ‘Wallet’?” Childe scoffs, glaring at Paimon. He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as he suppresses the very real and very loud urge to commit homicide. It’s illegal here, stop it, too many people, you can kill her later. “If you’re going to embarrass me like that, at least avoid doing it in front of the Fatui underlings. I still have a reputation to maintain.”

Paimon hums and holds out her hand.

Is she serious?

She makes a ‘gimme’ motion.

Is she fucking serious?

“Promises, promises. Remember that night with Mr. Zhongli?”

Childe releases a string of filthy Snezhnayan curses as he grabs a small bag of Mora to hand over from his own knapsack. “I am on a budget, you know. Not that you’d understand, you bottomless pit. Will this be enough to cover your next meals, m’lady?”

“Yep. You may leave, Mr. Wallet,” she say solemnly, raising her head as she motions for him to make his exit before breaking out into a smug fit of laughter.

Oh. That’s it. Legality be damned, he’s going to kill her –

“Xiao told me you were looking for us?” Aether calls. Childe blinks quickly, before nodding and repeats your name, all thoughts of murder pushed to the back of his mind. For now, anyway.

“Where is she? Thought little birdie would be here.”

“Oh, she’s still in Dragonspine, though I think she mentioned staying for the night before leaving. She should be back first thing tomorrow. Come with us to dinner?”

“Aether, no – “

“I would be delighted. Right, XiaoXiao?” Childe grins, opening one arm to allow the blonde to lead the way. “Team building and all of that.”

“Please? At least get along on the upcoming trip?” Aether smiles at Xiao, pleading with his eyes in that certain way that makes Xiao’s heart race again. He grumbles and allows the other to lead them towards the tables.

Xiao turns around and puffs with irritation at Childe’s entertained gaze.

The Fatui makes a heart symbol with his fingers. Asshole.

 ---

 “You know Aether, had Lord Rex – “

“It’s Zhongli now, remember?”

“Yes, you’re right. Had I known he would have found someone so capable, even to the adepti, I would have hoped to see you fight sooner.”

“Aw, now you sound like you’re about to ask me for a favor too, Xiao.”

Xiao’s lips barely turn upward, soft and slow. “You dare assume I need help?”

Aether pouts slightly. “No. Just wanted to offer anyway. And you were being so nice, ha.”

“… Shall I practice my flattery for your next visit, then? With any luck, I will be better.”

Aether laughs and leans a bit closer. Some time passes before he speaks again.

“Xiao, have you ever been beyond the borders of Liyue?”

Xiao raises an eyebrow as he looks to his right and stops, losing his breath. Aether is… Aether is radiant under the moonlight. More than that, truly. The strands of golden hair billow softly in the wind, catching the light from the lanterns all around them. And… He’s smiling so earnestly, so sweetly and golden.

The ginkgo tree behind Aether sways.

“Why do you ask?”

Aether leans back, kicking his legs as they hang over the balcony. “Well, ever since you accepted the contract to defend Liyue, have you ever been given a chance to leave? Will you leave now that ‘Rex Lapis’ is gone? The people here are capable of defending themselves.”

Xiao sighs and looks back to the horizon. “I do not know,” he mutters. “I… I do not remember if I have left Liyue. Before I came to serve under Zhongli, I served another, but my memories during those days slip through my fingers. There are flashes. It…” Hurts.

Aether understands. He scoots closer again, delicately placing a few fingers over Xiao’s. When Xiao flinches slightly, Aether starts to withdraw before his hand is grabbed. He allows himself to be pulled back gently. Though his heart beats against his chest, Aether feels more at ease than he has for a long time.

“I want to take you. We should go someday,” Aether says quietly.

“Where?”

“Somewhere. Anywhere. If I call your name, you’ll come, right?”

“Yes. If you want to see me…” He dares a glance at Aether.

“Xiao.”

They stay like that for a time. Xiao decides that night that honey is better than almond tofu.

Aether decides to make a list of places to go.

 ---

 A young Snezhnayan boy, surrounded by many others of his ilk, recites his oath before the feet of the Tsaritsa with glee. His blood rushes to his ears as he kneels at her feet. Tartaglia is his name now, his duty, his purpose. The ice-tipped sword digging into his shoulder as he echoes and affirms his vows only fuel his determination to serve his beloved goddess.

Yet, when he rises, he is no longer in the throne room. He is standing on a cliffside watching the venerated Tsaritsa dangle a woman over a yawning ravine by her throat with the other Harbingers bearing witness beside him. The woman is struggling, clawing at the goddess’ forearms and whimpers, “Your Majesty! Please! Give me another chance! My love - ”

Once, he stood as the Twelfth Harbinger.

Now, as the Tsaritsa releases her hold, he stands as the Eleventh.

His eyes steadily follow Columbina’s shrieking fall into the Abyss. Traitor.

The Tsaritsa turns her steely gaze to the audience presented, meeting each of their eyes. “Ice, once fractured, requires a sacrifice to seal it once more. We cannot allow weakness in our ranks.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Harbingers respond in unison. However, when Tartaglia blinks, the scene starts to replay once more.

Except this time, instead of Columbina, the Tsaritsa is holding –

No. No no no no no!

 ---

 Childe sits up, sweat beading along his skin and temptingly close to emptying his stomach. He closes his eyes and flexes his hands, willing water to slowly coalesce in his grip without bothering to look at the other entity in the room.

“If you get off on watching people sleep, you could’ve wined and dined me first,” he grumbles, joke falling flat.

“I thought I already did." Childe looks to see Xiao casually sitting in his windowsill, one leg hanging off the side. However, the adeptus isn’t looking at him but at the moon rising. “Who is Teucer?”

“How,” Childe rasps. He didn’t realize until then how dry his throat is. “How do you know that name?”

“You were screaming it.”

Chidle doesn’t respond but releases his hand, allowing the water to evaporate once more. He groans and leans his head back, hitting the headboard with a dull thunk. Some time passes, though neither seem eager to break the silence.

“Why do you serve her?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why. Do you. Serve her?” Xiao repeats, slow but forceful. “You’ve seen what the Fatui are capable of.”

Childe narrows his eyes at Xiao’s back, irritation slowly growing in him again. “You’re lecturing me? You who fought in the Archon War? Give me a break. I may be just a human to you, but… You know what happened to Khaenri’ah.”

It’s not a secret among the Harbingers and the highest officers where Snezhnaya inherited most of its technology nor what happened to the ancient empire. One of the many missions of the Dottore involved researching the ancient factories producing Ruin Guards, after all.

To the Snezhnayans, though, the Fatui are paragons of virtue for humanity against the Abyss and they remain blissfully ignorant to the true reasons behind Khaenri’ah’s fall.

“The Tsaritsa is leading us to become the strongest nation.”

“That is what she tells them,” Xiao replies. “Why do you serve her?”

“You think I want my motherland wiped off the maps because we are willing to do anything, anything, to survive the cold? To make the lives of our poorest easier? To feed the empty bellies when winter comes? The Tsaritsa is helping all of us in Teyvat, you ungrateful bastard. She’s making sure that we can thrive as people, not as pets to Celestia. Once she frees us, we’ll all be safer in a new era.”

Xiao makes a sound vaguely like a laugh – a pitying laugh, Childe notes – and stands. He never turns around as he sighs. “You believe that the gods aren’t pets too? That she’ll just forget? Remember that it took seven Archons to condemn the fallen nation, not six. Celestia’s seat will not remain uninhabited forever.”

He then leaps and Childe watches Xiao’s departure before huffing to himself. Good riddance. The gall of this adeptus to enter his room and then act like he’s on the moral high ground? What a self-righteous prick.

Sighing, Childe slides back to bed and pulls the covers over himself again. His knuckles go white as he grips his sheets, remembering how easily the Tsaritsa tossed her mortal lover aside.

One day, he will crush the thrones of the gods.

“I know.”

 ---

 Dreams come more frequently for Ajax now. He wonders if he will ever hear those voices from the first night again.

 ---

 Aether and Childe are eating their breakfast together, idly chatting over upcoming plans. When the blonde begins stripping his scarf to avoid stains, Childe whistles long and low.

“Careful comrade, the world will explode on itself if you take any more off. I fear what seeing your collarbone will do to the common folk.”

Aether laughs and rolls his eyes before stabbing at his meal. “So, you got an offering yet?”

“Mm? Oh yeah. Definitely.”

“… No you don’t.”

“No I don’t.”

He sighs and leans forward, staring at Childe intently. “I know that you’re going to ask for more power, but the question is, what’s worth that? You already have the heretical teachings from the Abyss, the Delusion, the Vision…”

Childe pretends to be hurt as he waggles his eyebrows. “Comrade! You can never truly know what I have up my sleeve.”

“Well… What about a toy?”

That sends Childe reeling. “A toy? Why a toy?”

“You said it yourself, you defend childhood dreams, right?” Aether’s voice is soft, but he doesn’t look at Childe in an attempt to allow privacy for the Harbinger. “That’s why you fight. So give them a toy.”

There’s a pregnant pause before Childe laughs again, charming and familiar, but there’s an overtone of sincerity. “Ah, maybe you do know what’s up my sleeve.”

“Careful Childe,” Aether responds, eyes twinkling. “I fear what seeing your arms will do to the common folk.”

“Aw, they would love it!” he grins, flexing both of his arms upwards in a show of mock strength. “Maybe I can just offer those adepti the adoration from my fans.”

Aether snorts. “Call it a hunch, but love and adoration might be two different things.”

“Yeah,” Childe replies, digging back into his food. “Besides, I think my biggest fan’s love is the only one that matters.”

His companion raises an eyebrow, but says nothing when he sees the rare expression of peace on the Harbinger for Teucer.

Aether wishes Lumine could see it too.

 ---

 Two dear companions saw a blonde figure run,

One chased to the end and then there was one.

 ---

 Gods… What did you do to piss off the stars? Truly? There must be some sort of karmic balance in play. Life just saw you having a good morning and decided hey, it’s been too long since she’s had something bad happen!

You’re definitely cursed.

You groan as you roll onto your side, ignoring Childe’s own pained moans. When you were walking up the steps to Wansgshu Inn – true to his damned codename – the immature Harbinger thought it would be hilarious to hug you from behind to surprise you.

Which was a bad idea because you suddenly grabbed him in response. Which had you both losing your balance. Which made you tumble to the bottom of the steps together.

Of fucking course.

“Ha, did you – ugh – fall from Celestia babe? Because coming down those steps, you – “

“Childe, I’m giving you three seconds to shut up.”

“Right.”

When you both sit up, you stare at each other for a long moment before you sigh, fighting back a grin. “Alright, what’re you doing here?”

Childe pouts and stands up, offering you a hand to help you up.

You ignore how familiar it felt, how nice that he dusted the dirt off your back while holding you tight.

“Pretty bird’s been avoiding me. Can you blame me if I go hunting?” he whines.

“I have not! I’ve been looking for something to trade and you should be doing the same.”

“Oh, that? Pfft, I got that covered.”

Raising an eyebrow, you cock a hip out as you stare. He only nods enthusiastically and rolls back and forth on his feet. “Aether told me you might need help completing a commission? There’s one nearby if I recall correctly. We’re all meeting up again later tonight to discuss the next steps anyway, can’t hurt to have your loyal comrade along!”

Shaking your head, you two meet up with the others at the inn to discuss the day’s plans before setting out on your journeys. Shockingly, fewer insults – though no less scathing - pass between Xiao and Childe than you expected while you finish speaking to Aether.

Huh. Last you saw Xiao and Childe, you could’ve sworn they were more… Hostile.

Some time walking along the road passes while you two chatter briefly. It’s all small talk though, and you can feel it again, that chasm between you, that something left unsaid. Maybe a peace offering will do?

You feel Childe’s eyes on you as you summon a bag of spices in your hand and shove it towards him, not bothering to look at his face. “Here. Forgot to give it to you earlier.”

No, you didn’t. You just bought them today.

“Hm? What’s this? …Snezhnayan spices?”

“Yeah, I saw a merchant selling it and thought it’d be interesting to try out for some recipes. You’ll definitely get more use out of it than me.”

Total fucking lie. You bought it entirely to show him, hoping to make things less awkward and… Maybe see his smile, too.

You ignore the flashes of amber eyes and a deep voice running through your mind. It was just a fun night. Nothing more.

“Huh. Thank you.”

Nodding, you both continue along, but the silence between you is comfortable now. It’s nice again, simpler, like Osial never happened. Almost, anyway.

Childe makes sure you aren’t looking as he puts the spices away, smiling to himself.

 ---

 One dear companion left under the sun,

She wandered in search of her friends and then there were none.

 ---

 “Guizhong, what are you singing of now?”

Guizhong turns and giggles at the sight of Morax in his full draconic glory, scales aflame with a  gold shimmer that no treasure can match. “Beloved, you need not appear as a god before me. Come and sit so I may braid your hair.”

When Guizhong looks to the plains, she continues her soft melodies. Morax settles next to her in his mortal form. Without hesitation, he tilts his head when her hands reach his hair, offering her his peace. There is a tacit understanding between them when anxiety tugs at her heart; as an industrial goddess, she turns to her hands to settle her thoughts.

Morax, though he never shows on his stoney face, enjoys providing this comfort for her. After so many centuries together, Guizhong long abandoned the endeavor of persuading Morax to express emotions in the human way. She knew that the brute before her will always remain an illuminated beast at heart.

That is why she loves him so.

“Morax, my love, you are purring again,” she teases. He huffs and stops, but at her light tug on his hair, he resumes. “Is our dear dragon turning into a fat house cat?”

“Which am I, Guizhong?” he says. When she leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth, he turns to meet her soft motions with his own. He was never gentle, this god of stone, yet he tries for her. “Am I a god, or am I your pet?”

Her lover’s words are teasing, and she cannot help the bubble of laughter as he tries – and fails – to smile charmingly in a show of fangs.

“You are my love,” she murmurs and kisses him again.

Hers. Of course, he thinks. Hers.

“My heart belongs to you,” he whispers back, though frowns when she notices her crestfallen expression.

“Your heart belongs to you, as my love for you is mine. Do not give it away so easily. Beloved, love is a thing that should free us. I do not wish to bind you, but I want to grow with you. Love is changing, is it not?”

He follows her gaze upwards to the ginkgo tree they sit under before she continues. “Welcome the changes time brings you, Morax. You may find yourself surprised yet. Promise me you’ll try.”

At her contemplative tone, he looks to her again, though she doesn’t meet his gaze. “I will,” he replies. “I promise to try and appreciate these mortal cycles. Though I would not call myself so dramatic as to die for it; so many humans declare this a romantic notion. How strange.”

“It’s a start,” she laughs. “Perhaps start with loving the land and loving your subjects. They have never truly courted death.”

“I do not see why you fret,” he mumbles and moves closer to kiss her jaw. “You will be here with me.”

“Of course,” she says. “Of course.”

She moves her ankle further beneath her dress, hiding from his imperial gaze the black decay that eats at her.

“Another promise. Indulge me, God of Contracts.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, though he continues his ministrations.

“Promise me that you will free me if you love me. Love me enough to live, instead of dying for it then.”

More silence meets her, though from the grip of his hand on her thighs, she knows he acquiesces.

When she met with the God of Duality so long ago, Guizhong knew her days were numbered as she collected artifacts filled with poisonous malice. The day that this blackness takes her is swiftly coming. Her dear friend chose death in their pursuit of knowledge since their true love lay in discovery. She knew this long before she ever met her lover.

Guizhong closes her eyes as she fervently kisses Morax with an apology deep in her heart. She loves her people enough to toil endlessly for them and, eventually, die with them, yet Morax did not choose this path. Guizhong refuses to choose for him, made him promise to continue his own journey.

Someone as strong as the God of War would not understand her desperation. Among the gods of this land, Guizhong is weak enough to be considered a mortal herself – a fact she accepted long ago as she offers her knowledge to her people.

Regardless of this, she wonders briefly if she was selfish in this, in loving him knowing that it would be temporary. But when he moves down her neck and presses his body to hers, she finds her heart soaring with peace. She’s lived a good life, selfish as it was. How ironic that she chided Morax on his possessiveness.

Guizhong knows she will be his first love, but she prays to whoever is listening that she will not be his last.

 ---

 The sky twinkles, too far away to be seen.

-

notes:

gosh I love exploring facets of a character's personality via a different POV

1) The idea of adepti (and by implication other non-humans of Teyvat) dealing in favors and transformations is directly inspired by various mythologies in different cultures of fair trade whenever humans wanted something. City of Ichor is directly inspired by the myths of separate lands (like Tir Na Nog)

2) Among the many symbols attached to the ginkgo tree is longevity, peace, and hope

3) Since the Harbingers' titles are directly referencing the Commedia dell'arte, I decided to pull one of the characters from it as a 'lover' for the Tsaritsa. The Columbina character is the secret lover and assistant to the Harlequin whose own character is known for his trickster qualities, thwarting his master's plans, and pursuing what he loves at all costs. Since the Cryo Archon is the Archon of Love, I mean...

4) Childe's story directly references his desires to "crush the thrones of the gods"

5) Guizhong's corruption is my personal theory since the quest "Treasure Lost, Treasure Found" has us find tablets, but the archaeologist is utterly confused as to how Guizhong was killed with the strongest god protecting her. Combined with no natural disaster would have been enough to strike her, nobody would dare challenge two gods, and one tablet says "there THEY fought on Guili Plains" with black dust and splintered rocks as the only elements in the last battle, and - yeah. I know a lot of people portray her as sweet and all-knowing, but I wanted to humanize her a bit (hah) because she's still a god who strongly valued her own intellect above most else and carelessly collected evil artifacts the Adepti had to hide after her death. You can't tell me she didn't have some flaws.

[frangipanidownunder]

Sick prompt request: early relationship, one is sick, maybe a bad cold or the flu, and is too embarrassed about how he/she looks when they’re sick so they don’t tell the other, but of course they show up bc they’re worried.....

Pride and Pitifulness: a sickfic

In the unforgiving light, he sighs as he runs his hands gingerly over his face. His temples, sinuses, cheeks and jaw are tender, just like the hangover after a pub crawl, but without the dark beer and pretty women. His mind supplies a picture of a smirking Phoebe Green and he shudders. He’d been so close to falling for her charms again. He grinds his teeth and the stubble on his chin flexes. The razor glares at him but his arms are too weak, his legs wobbly even now, just from standing at the sink. His bones ache. Even in the shower, the water jets needle his skin like the worst form of torture. Phoebe’s fingernails digging past his skin and into his psyche. When he’s dry, he changes back into his tracksuit pants and sweat top, adding an extra hoody against the chills.

He should call Scully but he can’t bear the thought of her seeing him so pitiful. More than normal, anyway. She’s become the strong one. Correction, she’s always been the strong one. He’s just a sad, pathetic loser stuck in the basement and he has no idea why she hasn’t ditched him yet. She’s a mystery. One he’s thought about investigating further but the more he works with her the less he feels he knows and it’s like time goes backwards with her. Pulling the blanket closer under his chin, he sighs again. His brain is thumping against his skull. Dana Scully, scientific spy, small but bold, earnest in a way that makes him think of a Jane Austen heroine, with her sense of integrity and her insistence on resolution, is too complicated to think about with a virus taking hold of his body.

The knock at the door is familiar. He lifts an arm from the blanket and coughs away the dryness in his throat. He’s missed three calls from her.

“Mulder?” Her voice carries a cocktail of authority and worry. The partner in her is probably ticked off; the doctor in her is concerned.

His instinct is to curl up and ignore the second knock.

“Mulder, are you in there? I’m worried about you.”

The couch creaks as he rolls to face the chairback. If he holds his breath, if he pulls his head into the shell of the blanket, he’s not really there, right? She won’t see him. She’ll just go away. The key’s in the lock and as the handle turns, he pretends to snore because if she knows he’s awake she’ll ask why he ignored her.

He listens as she creeps around, so light of foot, so sensitive. There are small clinks and clunks, drawers sliding, cupboards opening and the background sounds are such a comfort. The trembling in his body subsides and his mind clears of its ghosts and past horrors and he feels his muscles relax. When he comes to, he’s not sure how long he’s been out of it, but there’s a homely aroma and a freshness in the apartment. He twists his head up and out of his cocoon and sees Scully in the chair at his desk, sun streaming over her hair so that she’s wearing an amber halo. Appropriate.

“Scully?” he tries to speak but it’s an unintelligible croak.

She puts down the book, and the reflection of his fish-tank turns her glasses ocean green. He could easily sink into Scully’s depths, he thinks languidly. His surprised chuckle catches in his throat and he splutters, coughs and she’s by his side in a flash, one hand in his hair, one on his arm, trying to sit up. The fit subsides and she slips away, returning with water and medicine, a thermometer and a wad of tissues.

“You’re sick, Mulder,” she states and he suppresses the urge to answer with a wry comeback because concern is etched over her face and guilt shuts his mouth. “How long have you felt like this? You look like you’re running a fever. When did you last eat?” She sighs and folds her lips together. Her demeanour softens. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Pride? Stupidity? Ego? She doesn’t demand an answer from him, but sets about doctoring to the fullest extent of her skills. When she brings him a mug of chicken soup he sits up, blanket over his back, hair stuck to his forehead, face sweaty and burning. He isn’t hungry, but she insists. And it’s good. Salty, creamy, thick with meat and vegetables. He manages a few mouthfuls until he’s exhausted.

“Thank you,” he whispers and it’s not just for the soup. She nods, beams like a proud schoolgirl given top marks from her favourite teacher.

“My grandmother’s recipe. There are a couple of servings in your fridge now, and some fruit, fresh milk, eggs and cheese. A loaf of bread and some tins in your pantry. You should keep yourself hydrated, Mulder. Take Tylenol every four hours and rest.” He stopped listening at fruit. His head is filled with meaningless words but his heart is filled with a gratitude that he should express but can’t think of any way to do it. She sinks to the couch, finds the remote under a copy of Celebrity Skin and looks at him. “There’s a MASH marathon on later.” She turns on the television, puts the remote down, tides the stack of magazines and then rubs his back gently. “I could stay a while if you want?”

He hasn’t wanted anything that much in a very long time.

[darksiders-scenarios]

Welcome back love, I would love you see your take on yandere horsemen (which honestly sounds like the most terrifying thing ever).

Thank you <3 I tried my best, it was indeed a challenge to write therefore I don’t think they’ve come out as terrifying as should be expected xD Forgive the broken english, as always! 

Trigger warning. 

-

Death

His obsession became cemented after his sacrifice. His consciousness broke, shred by shred along with the last vestiges of his sanity crumbling to meld with the churning ragefire of the Well of Souls. Amidst the sea of chaos, souls flaring around and pouring inside him, only yours shone the brightest from afar, like a sacred star. He felt your emotional loss, your pain, your despair, your love for him, unrestrained and pure - like the sweetest wine, like the most refreshing breeze, like the- the- he... he couldn't explain the sheer intensity of his euphoria at that moment. He chased it, seeking it, grasping it by the fingertips until the very end. In his last moments of mortality, he knew then what he had been missing his entire life. And he would not make that same mistake upon his rebirth.

You are revered as the saviour of humanity, a symbol of hope. Monuments are erected in your honour. You are the centre of attention. Attention. Attention. Attention.  

Of course, this “misunderstanding” is not your fault. However, you are human, therefore you are not without flaws. You can be stolen from him. Harsh tremors rack Death’s body. You can love another. He forces back the bile that rises in this throat.

He pines for your flesh, for your attention. You always catch him staring at you with something akin to rapture.

Death casts himself as the saviour - reminding you that it is through him that your people are restored. Your survivor's guilt drives you to submit to his directives, which in turn fuels his sense of supremacy.

He makes flattering statements in exaggerated terms, an emotional bribe to win your favours, or he makes subtle veiled hostile jokes at your insecurities to solidify his power over you.

He seals away your memories of your relationships with your loved ones so that you will devote all your attention to him and him alone.

Dust stalks your every move without your notice, monitoring your actions and relaying back to his master; who you've been seen in the company of, who makes you smile, who makes you sad, who looks at you in that way.

Nothing gets past Death’s attention.

His fantasies twist and evolve, and every time they leave him breathless with hope. He dreams of a race cowed into obedience, or a world wiped clean of said race until you are the only one that remains, for him.

For now, he settles on wiping clean of anyone that poses a threat to their sacred relationship. Torturing his victims in ways that transcend human concept; every torture more horrific than its predecessor, never giving his victims an explanation when they wake up horrified, chained in a dungeon.

They know exactly what they are being punished for.

After he’s had his way with them, Death would let his essence skim against the naked vulnerability of their souls, a pseudo-gentle brush, as though a long lost friend reaching to them, ensuring the dimmest flicker of hope is present, before clawing it apart into nothingness. Their agonies are sublime.

Finally, Death impales their naked, dismembered bodies on poles around the city, as though a grotesque art exhibition, but more importantly, as a warning.

Everything gets past your attention.

War

Shackled for a century, isolated from his siblings, powerless when his name was being slandered across creation and helpless when his honour was being brutally tarnished... But you have always stood by his side, unwavering in your loyalty and adamantly professing his innocence at every wake and turn. War found his sanctuary in you, his home and solace. His obsession rose to the fore and he clings to you as his emotional crutch, snarling at anyone who dares show a minute interest in you. You will not be stolen from him. He will not be abandoned anymore, betrayed anymore. You are his saviour, and he will protect you for as long as he lives. 

Something stirs within him whenever you look at him, his entire core bristling with excitement; from your smiles, from your touches, from… you.

He stares at you for an unbearably long time when you are sleeping or showering, soaking in the sight of you in undisguised pleasure.

Soon he isolates you from your family and is extremely controlling of your social circle. Whenever he sees you in the company of another, War glares at you in warning, aiming a silent threat in your direction.

He has delusions of your infidelity and he is often questioning and directly accusing you of the act. He becomes highly aggressive and hostile when you challenge him on the validity of his narratives.

Until you become so worn out by the constant attacks and coercion and you attempt to retaliate, to make him see the error of his ways.  

This leads War to tripling his attacks in the hopes that intimidation will beat you into submission. Can’t you see that he is trying to protect you? Can’t you see the Creator cares nothing for you, for being the reason for your plight? Can’t you see that you need him? Can’t you see how much he loves you?

War is trembling with rage and he focuses his wrath onto his victims, throwing withering glares at their backs.

War gives into the carnal urge and soon enough the air is saturated in burning flesh, blood and fear. 

He feels a surge of adrenaline rush and his palpitating heartbeats as his victims sob in desperation beneath his oppressive bulk, having beaten to the point of worthlessness.  

He flays the skins of their faces once he's done with them, adding them to the collection of leathery mementos on his shoulder guards, inwardly smirking as he recalls Strife's quip. 

Then he gifts you with the brutalised corpses, to torture at your own leisure as a show of care and affection.

He loves you.

So much.

Can’t you see?

Strife

You... listened. Never once cowering in fear or cringing in disgust. You listened and listened, and listened, never once interrupting him as he poured his heart out through wavering voice and hitched breaths. When he finished, he looked at you. You smiled softly, lovingly. And just like that, the burden that had been crushing Strife all these millennia lifted a great deal in the time it took to blink. He immediately choked on a sob, the irresistible urge to break and cry in front of you. You listened to his confession and you never judged him. A confession that even War will never know, despite Strife's “promise”. He was never a religious being, although, in that moment, Strife swore that he's found his saint in you.  

He dwells on your words every moment of his breathing existence, his mind conjuring up elaborate eccentric fantasies about you. You are flawless.

He never stops yearning for your attention, his heart whining for your heady proximity, his mind drowning in delicious ecstasy. He will do everything to keep you. His love. His life.

His.

Excessive hoarding of your "leftovers": the sand in your shoes, your shredded, discarded clothes, the broken tooth that got knocked out during a fight, clumps of your hair, clipped nails, that piece of charred flesh from that time- everything preserved in his miniature portable shrine.  

His lips murmuring prayers of gratitude.

He utilises love bombing and makes extravagant displays of affection.

Strife has a deep-seated fear of rejection and ruminates over any perceived slights and is highly sensitive to criticism. If he is challenged, Strife threatens abandonment or… more extremely, suicide.

Nothing pisses him off more than you hanging out with your friends when your attention should be devoted to him. Why can't you understand how selfish you’re being?

He jokingly refers to himself as your stalker to them.

And goes as far as to manipulate your potential interests, drugging and kidnapping them. Brutality and savagery flow in the Nephilim veins, yet Strife prefers the more tactical method. You would prefer that.

It merely takes his practiced flirtatious smiles to get his victims head over heels for him. Humans are stupidly predictable. He'd let things escalate from there until he is pinning them down naked and wanton and utterly vulnerable. He feels nothing but revulsion in its purest form at the sensation of skin against skin. Moments later, he would remove his blood-slicked hand from their throat, staring into their eyes as they stare unblinkingly back at his.  

He hates humans because humans have no idea how lucky they are.

He sinks into a deep depression when you withdraw from him, tired of his abuse, and he engages in frequent bouts of self-flagellation.

His mind keeps dwelling on you. On your words. Your smile. Your-

Strife cries out in sheer grief and gratitude, screaming himself hoarse and fatigued, a primal cry of desperation, a plea for your mercy.

Fury

Her attachment to you deepened profoundly after the loss of her beloved Rampage. The onslaught of emotions overwhelmed her, consumed by her desire for revenge until she was barely clinging to sanity by a hair's breadth. She remembers the uncontrollable shiver that ran through her when you brushed loose locks from her wet cheeks with your gentle fingers, the withdrawal making her knees almost give away. Your unique ability to see past the obvious, and patiently supporting her through her grief. You became her light. And she will ensure that you will never be extinguished.  

She watches you with barely suppressed adoration and longing. Almost all her waking moments are spent fantasising about you.

She is excessively focused on you and everything that you're doing: who you're talking to, how your day is going, what you need, your reactions to her. 

A sliver of your skin is enough to make her head spin and she adopts voyeuristic tendencies; you are unsuspecting when she is spying on you in the shower or when you are undressing. When she is caught, she disguises it as merely accidental.

She jerks into wakefulness, shaking controllably from ecstasy.

She is insanely jealous of potential romantic suitors or competition for you, even if it is imaginary. She is hellbent on getting rid of them out of your life. 

The belief that mortals are equally lustful of you stems from the poisonous roots of envy.

A single teardrop is enough for a whole city to burn under Fury’s wrath.

She strategically isolates you from your family, limiting your interactions with your friends and the wider community through weaponising drama by spreading false rumors. 

She constantly deploys demagoguery tactics to establish an authoritarian position in your relationship.  

Once you tried to escape and Fury reacted in a blind panic; the next thing she knew, you were slumped halfway off the chair, unconscious. She watched you for a very long time, unable to contain the hot desire coiling in her stomach. You were so beautiful.

When you came to, you had a collar grafted directly around your neck – a blatant symbol of Fury's ownership of you.  

You gave in. Besides, who could you turn to?  

[fletchhargrave]

➵  BASICS

NAME: Fletcher Hargrave GOES BY: Fletcher, Fletch AGE / D.O.B: 29th September, 1991. [33 yo] FACECLAIM: Max Thieriot GENDER & SEXUALITY: Cis-m, hetero.  HOMETOWN: Westminster, London, England. CURRENTLY: NYC. AFFILIATION: None. JOB POSITION: Mercenary / Gun for Hire / Private Sector. EDUCATION: Secondary Education, Military.  RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single. CHILDREN: None.

[ TRIGGERS: DEATH, PTSD, WAR. ]

➵  TRAITS

POSITIVE: Resilient, Humourful, Patient and Endearing. NEGATIVE: Unethical, Volatile, Vitriolic and Promiscuous.

➵  BIOGRAPHY

Oblivion; the state of being unaware or unconscious of what is happening around one.

If Fletcher Hargrave ever whispered the word, show gratitude; be thankful to the sweet abyss when it comes knocking; stay ignorant to the darkness for it likely meant death would be kind, maybe even painless.

If he didn’t, better beg he does.

   Westminster, London, birthplace of the youngest Hargrave and for almost two decades; also home. Coddled by parents who couldn’t do enough for him and his three siblings, Fletcher had it easy; a pleasant ride through childhood, they say. Everything provided on a lavish silver platter and yet, nothing they did could satisfy a young man’s growing hunger for more.

 He was not the philanthropist like his eldest brother, nor was he a flourishing artist like his sister. Fletcher’s always been the one coming home each day with a new scar on his face; a new story of barbarianism to tell; a mischievous grin that scared his family just that little bit too much.

 What suited a boy who wanted adventures outside the renowned walls of the Hargrave Manor, was war, and Fletcher learned very quickly upon enrolling in the British Military that he was good at it, it suited him.

 The frontlines became his new home and touring was something he could claim as his own above his family - if he ever wanted to. There was no heroism in it for him; no seal of approval for serving his country, Hargrave was just that little bit volatile; if it were permitted, it’d say on his discharge forms that perhaps from birth he’d been afflicted with such virulence.

 After seven years of service - lucky number seven, he calls it. Numerous bloody and brutal stories captured beneath his belt; array of new scars for his collection, Fletcher Hargrave was medically discharged from the Special Forces. An undercover operation in Iraq had become merciless - fatal for all the other four members of his team, none of which were recovered from the op. Fletch was the only man to return and upon debrief, he was arrested.

  The circumstances of the deaths of Special Ops team remain unknown on any Military paperwork, much like the name of the soldier that played spy that day; if Fletcher ever found them, he’d be sure to introduce them to oblivion, if they were lucky. Without solid proof, documents, or evidence that Hargrave was responsible for any calamities, they could not incarcerate him. His discharge was the consequence; under medically unfit for deployment.

 That spurred another kind of unpredictable rage to boil underneath his skin. Civilian life seemed a new impossibility for a man so good at breaking bones.

 Coming home to Westminster, he found his home in a state of disrepair; his family suffering some major financial ruin. Fletcher only served to fuel their distress; the state of him and what he’d become over the last seven years was not a recognisable man. It was found that his siblings had moved on to other places, his brother to New York and his sister travelling Europe for her art.

He wasn’t welcome to even a broken shell of a family.

Where he was favoured was away from the place that seemed more enemy territory to him now than home. That was how he ended up on the phone to his brother, Lawrence, for information on independent contracting. It was only reluctantly that Fletcher found a temporary reprise in New York playing Mercenary with some assistance from some of his contacts from the Army.

That paid for necessities, everything else that came with swift, precise hits was Hargrave’s thirst for being in his element; he relished in spilt blood and lived for the contracts he was given. Lawrie soon learned his brother was long past able to play civilian on the long term and before long, Hargrave had earned the wrong king of attention; the kind that Fletch would thrive in.

New York, as it turned out was a monopoly for a reason; his brother was trying to make a business; being a benefactor amongst the high players, and Fletcher was a mercenary in a city that already had streets red with blood. It was an accident really, Lawrence had pointed in the direction, muttered a few things to certain individuals; some dangerous clientele that he’d been in the thick of dealings with and before long, Fletcher Hargrave was a name carried through the winds of NYC.

 Lawrence was the only reason Fletcher’s name wasn’t in the mouths of those who couldn’t be paid off. And during that time, the jobs he picked up; he made sure to be more adaptable to the less familiar city - became that ghost once again. Given purpose; an outlet for the skills he’d mastered over the years, he maimed, mutilated and murdered in cold blood without attachment. He didn’t half mind reaping the benefits NYC offered either, the status, the towns high life; the women and above all, the freedom to let his desires run reckless.

Fletch doesn’t necessarily have a method; is more virulent of late; more aggressive in all the ways since being a civ has him a little at a loose end; but he’s always known how to conduct chaos and bring blood to the streets - he’ll clean it up before any living eyes catch sight of it; like a ghost; death is his game; the angel of oblivion.

➵  HEADCANONS

Fletch joined the Army at seventeen and was dishonourably discharged at twenty-six.

Enjoys literature, usually something dark and gritty to get himself out of his own head for a few hours (ironically); it’s a twisted place no book may compare.

Book Club is VIP only. 

He is not in the best standing with his parents and does not contribute to helping their financial situation - his brother, Lawrence does.

On good terms-ish, with his brother since his discharge and over the years they’ve been in New York together, Fletch considers him an ally and usually is the one keeping the guy out of trouble/afloat in some cases. Though, Fletcher will deny that.

Hasn’t spoken to his sister in over a decade; they text once in a blue moon; mutually uninterested.

Has been in New York City for six years and utilities his military contacts to pick up merc jobs and works the role as hitman in the city.

Served two tours, ‘nam and Iraq. Then, further operations as special forces.

Hargrave is combat trained and well equipped for confrontation; likes it a little too much, those bar rights? He’s there. Weapons adept and utilises this for his work.

Likes knives and hand-to-hand combat.

Will stab you. Will shoot you. Will probably fuck you too. Order varies.

Is remarkably unforgiving in his manner and with people, he doesn’t often do second chances - the dead can’t be redeemed, or speak.

Definitely denies the mountains of PTSD he has and will ignore it with every fibre of his being.

He’s a terrible person. Truly. He is. 

Has a little bit of a masochist complex.

Will drink you under the table.

Oh yes, he does as of 2021 now wear an eyepatch over his left eye because there’s definitely not an ongoing vendetta with a certain someone.

He has a crassly carved M on the left side of his throat where a psycho got one-up on him in a fight. Fletcher will say he didn’t lose, but he definitely did. 

Hates the cops. No surprise. Sort-of had a best friend of a cop once. 

➵  CONNECTIONS

RUTH HARGRAVE | Mother, Westiminster. England. ETHAN HARGRAVE | Father, Westminster, England. LAWRENCE HARGRAVE | Older Brother, NYC. FLORENCE HARGRAVE | Older Sister, Normandy, France. LEE MALKOVICH | Nemesis, Eyeball Eater Taker, NYC. MATHIAS MALKOVICH | The guy Fletch will kill for leaving an M scar on his throat, NYC. 

[harveywritings92]

You realize you love them/they realize they love you : Shay, Jacob, Connor

Jacob (Disraeli's Maid! Reader): He thought he'd seen everything London had to offer, boy was he wrong! Jacob also never believed in love at first sight that was until he met Y/n... it was after he was asked to rescue Mrs. Disraeli's dog she was just so thankful to have her puppy back that she ask Jacob over for lunch as gratitude, the male Frye twin was initially nervous when he arrived at the states man's estate not sure what to expect, as he knocked on the door and was greeted by what he believed to be an angel.

She was around his age was y/ht/wt with pretty y/ec eyes that regarded him curiously and her y/hl/hc was put up in a proper bun. "Can I help you sir?" she asked her voice soft and calming. "Erm... *ahem* Mrs. Disraeli is expecting me, Jacob Frye?" the Assassin said trying not to stutter "Ah, yes she was just telling me about you..."The y/nat said moving aside to let him in "Good things I hope?" Jacob's heart sped up as he followed the woman who he finally noticed was a maid and was a little concerned when she didn't answer him right away.

"Well, she said you were...spirited." Jacob wanted to know what else was said about him just to just hear the young lady's voice. but they'd arrived at the sitting room. "A Mister Frye to see you ma'am" the maid said as Mrs. Disraeli got up from her seat. "Mr. Frye so good see you again! Thank you Y/n dear." the y/nat woman bowed and left them noticing Jacob's eyes following her.

 "So, her name's Y/n..." he hummed getting the viscountess's attention who smirked seeing the love sick expression on the young man's face. "She's single just to let you know Mr. Frye." that caused him snap out of his little bubble. "I'm not sure what you're talking about ma'am." Jacob said ears pink from the realization that the older woman onto to him, while at the same time he was trying to figure out how someone like Y/n wasn't already spoken for?         

How you realized you love him: At the wee start of their relationship Jacob started to blow Y/n off to be with this older well off woman by the name of Pearl Attaway,  much to maid's distress. 

The Rooks told her not to worry it was strictly professional, Y/n wanted to believe that! She even forgave him the first time he stood her up and the second, but when he didn't bother to seek her out when he left her stranded the other times it was then that Y/n got the message that she was just a fling! 

Jacob used to sneak up and sit on her window sill to talk to her some nights, now she's lucky if she even sees him at all, and when she does all he talks about is Pearl! 

It shouldn't have bothered Y/n this much but it did, Jacob was the first man to break her walls, she let him in and showed him an energetic and mischievous side of herself she rarely shows to others...

 Y/n's heart throbbed painfully as she brought a hand to her chest as she came to a startling conclusion that she was in love Jacob! But what was the point? he certainly didn't love her! 

Y/n usually composed face dropped into sadness as the dam finally broke as tears fell down her face, she sobbed into her pillow she heard her window click open she looked up to see Jacob standing halfway in her room.

"Come to tell me about how bloody great Pearl is?" she spat through sobs while getting off her bed as the hazel eyed man tried to say something but noting came out, it was then Y/n noticed his dejected look. 

"Oh did she dumped you? Oh poor Jacob Frye, thrown away like yesterdays newspaper!" she jeered jabbing her finger in his chest as Jacob just stood there not reacting at all he knows he deserves this, what he certainly doesn't deserve was Y/n... 

How many times did he leave her out and alone, in favor of acting like Pearl's lapdog? "Well?! let's hear it!?" Y/n voice snapped him out of his trance. "I'm sorry." Was all he said seemly upsetting her farther "Get out." Y/n hissed Jacob didn't budge "I said get out!" the maid to tried shove him which was futile, "I'm Sorry." He repeated the y/nat woman's shoves were getting weaker. 

Jacob wrapped his arms around her. "I'm Sorry...Y/n you'll never know how how regretful I am about this whole mess." He kissed her hair as she quietly whimpered deciding now wasn't the time to think about love and unrequited feelings, as Jacob kept apologizing promising that he won't push her aside like that again... 

-------------------------

Shay: To be honest he hadn't thought that he would see Y/n again after the first time they met, but he kept catching glances or accidentally running into the y/ht woman around New York that slowly found himself becoming increasingly attached to her.

Often thinking of her while on high risk missions, looking at trinkets or flowers on his down time wondering if she'd like that sort of thing? He still had to thank her for hiding him from those bounty hunters. "You're thinking about her again." Gist stated pulling Shay from his thoughts the Irishman looked at him bemused.

"Thinking about who?" 

"That girl back in New York, Y/n?"

"What about her?"

"Don't play coy I know what's going on."

Shay brows furrowed obviously frustrated of being left out of the loop. "What's going on? what are you on about?" Gist's smirk dropped they were silent for a moment as Gist awkwardly laughed thinking Shay messing with him, when he realized the Irishman wasn't laughing, the surveyor's eyes bugged out of his skull. "Y'mean you two aren't lovers?" Gist blurted out stunned while Shay face went fifty shades of red as he form a sentence. "No! She's not.......we're no--" then it hit him like a cannonball "Cac.*shit*" he was in love.

How you realized you love him: Y/n was exploring New York in a way she never thought possible from the rooftops, she picked up enough watching Shay monkey around the walls and figured if he can do it so can she! The y/nat woman was careful avoiding guards and curiously watching out for any gang members as she hopped roof to roof before spying a familiar black and red coat down in the streets, Shay and Gist were training down below and Y/n decided to take a break as she watched them curiously. 

Y/n was spellbound as she watched the two men spar, She's never seen the Irishman in a fight before, Shay told her he was a mercenary that's why he called out a lot it always intrigued her or rather Shay always intrigued her, He was mysterious,cunning strong and clever... and wasn't  half bad to look at...her heart started speeding up as she watched Shay smile as he helped Gist to his feet after knocking him on his ass, 

*He's got a pretty smile...I wonder if he's marr-* Y/n mentally slapped herself for thinking that sort of thing, while she was distracted by the men Y/n hadn't noticed the guard on the neighboring roof who noticed her legs hanging off the side. "Get DOWN!" he snarled scaring the woman half to death as her weight shifted causing Y/n to fall of the roof! she squeaked closing her eyes waiting for the impact. 

Only to hear a grunt as someone caught her, Y/n was shaking as who caught tightened their arms around her. "Yer alright lass I got ya..." a familiar voice soothed causing her to open her eyes to see Shay looking at her concerned. 

He then slowly looked up from where she fell from and narrow his eyes at the guard above who just sneered before returning to his rounds. "Um, Shay could you put me down now?" Y/n asked trying to keep her heart steady as the Irishman looked unsure as he set her down.

Y/n's legs felt like jelly as she tried to stand, Shay's arm was back around her in seconds before finding herself on the Irishman's back, Y/n's face was aflame as all those thoughts she had about Shay returned with reckoning...as she kept asking her self why? Why did she have to be in love with Shay? All while he carried her back to her home unaware of her inner turmoil.  

-------------------------

Connor [Albino! Native reader]: It was two years into his assassin training... He thought he was sick at first, everytime he was near Otis'tsa his heart would speed up, his knees would shake and his stomach would do flops, it would only go away when she was out of sight... 

It got so bad that he finally went to Achilles for help, he having tea with Catherine and Diana, when Connor awkwardly walked in and just told the old man what was wrong with him, the women aww'd and giggled at him confusing the boy farther, as Achilles got this distant nostalgic look on his face. "Ah...I know what's going on, Nothing wrong with ya boy." he sighed as he looked out the window.

"Sometimes I look back... I can still feel that moment when saw her back then, her smile always seem to warm me up on the coldest days, Her laughter *sigh* That was something to write songs about, She was the morning to my night... She still is." he smiled as Catherine and Diana were both crying excusing themselves to go find their husbands, while misty eyed Connor wiped a rogue tear away. "Old man... that was beautiful" the teen croaked trying not to sob.

"Love is, but it's also painful..." Achilles hummed before excusing himself Leaving Connor to come to terms with this revelation just as Otis'tsa walked in "I'm home!" she called then noticed her friend sitting at the dining room table. 

"Oh Ratonhnhaké:ton  I-" her brow furrowed as she noticed his red eyes and runny nose "...Have you been crying?" she asked baffled the color drained from the native boy's face "No, it's just dusty in here!" he said before the native girl could blink, Connor ran upstairs to his room leaving Otis'tsa confused.

How you realized you love him : Otis'tsa was upset leaving the tavern, Jamie followed her as he was the only who noticed she left, he caught to the livid albino. "Are you alight miss Y/n?" he asked the y/ht woman looked at him as angry tears welled her eyes "I'm fine!" She huffed the bearded man wasn't sold. "You certainly don't sound it." he said handing her a handkerchief.

The native woman wiped her eyes mumbled something in Kanienʼkéha before giving Jamie back his handkerchief. He let her unload what had transpired in the tavern how she heard Connor talking to Dobby and the subject of marriage and 'settling down' came up at first it seemed harmless Connor told her that he wasn't really thinking about that sort of commitment at the moment, then the Irishwoman dropped this little gem.

"Well then, when this is all over give me the first crack." which the native man happily agreed to! in seconds of hearing that Otis'sa's chest felt tight and she had the suddenly felt like she needed to get out of there. "I don't understand it Jamie, he's my best friend!" She hand a hand through her white hair "I should be happy, he's thinking of something beside assassin work!" she sighed staring morosely at some kids playing in the street.

"Have you ever consider that maybe your feelings for Connor have change to something more then just friendship?" Jamie asked awkwardly rubbing the back of his head and like that the world seem to come to a screeching halt as Otis'tsa's mind slowly replayed what Jamie had said the native woman started realizing that he may be right... 

She hadn't even heard said recruit calling her while snapping his fingers. "Miss Y/n? Miss Y/n are you in there?" he called snapping her out f her trance. "huh?" she squeaked as her red eyes locked on to him. "We should get you back to the tavern-" the albino recoiled at the thought of seeing Connor right now.

"No!" Jamie looked at her surprised. "I-I mean no thanks I'm heading back to the Aquila I'm tired, I'm really tired." She said running off before Jamie could saying anything. Otisa'tsa face felt hot she knew it was red and pulled her hood up to hide it, as she got to the harbor Faulkner asked where Connor was? She kept her head down and stuttered something about him still being in the tavern before going to bed heart racing wondering how she was ever going to look Connor in the eye again?

[xiolaperry]

The Piano - Chapter 10

Summary: Belle French and her daughter arrive in New Zealand to an arranged marriage with Gaston LeGume.  Gaston shows little interest in her or her piano and books. However, Mr. Gold is fascinated… (Rumbelling of the 1993 film “The Piano”)

Rating: E for smut, dark subject matter and violence. 

Special Note: There is a forced kiss in this chapter, please do not read if this sort if thing upsets you.

Also available on AO3

---

“I lied to you earlier.”

Belle stopped tracing patterns on his back. He rolled over and sat up, leaning against the headboard. Patting the spot next to him, he showed he wanted her close.

“I implied there wasn't anything of yours here. But there is.”

He reached under his pillow and pulled out a small green cloth-bound book. It was “Aesop's Fables,” from her childhood.

“Another lie - no, exaggeration. I can read, just not very well.”

He opened it and traced her name written inside.

“You wrote your name in this one. Belle French. The rest had printed bookplates, this one was in your handwriting.”

He looked up from the book to assure himself that he had her full attention.

“Names are important. They have power. I wanted to have yours, this piece of you, here with me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kept it.”

She kissed the side of his neck, forgiving.

“Labhrainn. My name. You are the first in all of New Zealand to hear it. I trust you to keep it to yourself.”

She mouthed the name, enjoying the feel of the syllables on her lips. Labhrainn. Unusual, but it suited him to have an uncommon name.

Her wry smile made her thoughts clear to him. “Don't tease, now. I didn't choose to be saddled with it.”

She squeezed his hand. Sharing a secret was a unique form of intimacy, and she was glad he'd given her one.

Gold snapped the book shut. Belle got up and collected her clothes. He wished their morning together would never end. “You're leaving.”

Her only response was to hold out her wrist so he could help with the buttons on her sleeves. Gold's shirt hung open, his buttons still scattered about the room.

Concerned with how much time had passed, Belle hurried to finish getting dressed. She had lost a few buttons of her own. As she reached to pick up the one she spied on the floor, she knocked it down a knot-hole in the floorboard.

“I need to know. What will you do?”

Belle tidied her hair in the mirror.

“Does this mean something to you?” This woman had changed him. He didn't recognize himself with all this talk of feelings and emotions. She was like a drug, putting him in an altered state. The words just kept coming.

“I already miss you, Belle.” Standing, he reached around her waist and breathed in the scent of her neck. “I'm a difficult man to love. But do you love me?”

Belle stopped fussing with her hair and looked at herself in the mirror. Her face had not changed, but everything was different. What had transpired between them was overwhelming, but she had to get back to Tilly. There was a lot to process, choices to make. It wouldn't do to be impulsive and come to a rash decision after the morning of mind-blowing sex. Not wanting him to doubt that she cared for him, she turned, pulling his shirt further apart to kiss him on his chest over his heart.

Gold was confused. Was this an answer? He studied her face. “Come tomorrow,” he told her with urgency in his voice. “If the answer is yes, that you want us to be together, come tomorrow.”

She put the book on the table next to the chipped cup and left before he could tempt her to stay.

---

That morning, Gaston had decided to work in the barn instead of going straight out to the new property. When Tilly’s shouts reached his ears, he'd returned to the house in time to see Belle leave and an angry Tilly stomp away. Belle didn't even notice his pursuit in her rush.

He crept up to the cottage, a hunter stalking his prey. From the bottom of the porch steps, he could almost make out Gold's quiet murmurings. When the slapping and scuffling noises began he advanced to the window without making a sound. He saw Gold and his wife in a passionate embrace. He reeled, dropping to the porch, his back sagging against the wall. The muted sighs, moans, and breathless sounds of pleasure paralyzed him.

Anger and curiosity trapped Gaston between them. Curiosity won. He looked again. Gold was on his knees under the cage of her hoops. Belle ripped at her clothing, yanking off her corset. He grimaced at the sound of fabric tearing.

Gaston continued to play the voyeur. With Belle's eyes closed, swaying like she might fall over, she'd never notice him. Gold was intent at his task between her legs, licking and kissing. Then he stopped, and Gaston darted back. He heard Gold tell Belle she was delicious. He knew men sometimes did this sort of thing, they told bawdy jokes and stories about it. But the idea of kneeling before a woman, worshipful, did not appeal. Although Belle was enjoying herself, if the loud panting was any sign. He peeked again, and yes, Gold had returned to his ministrations. Did he enjoy doing that?

After Belle had tensed like she'd been struck by lightning, she helped Gold to his feet, then ripped his pants off. He hadn't realized she was such a wanton. Gold's stiff cock answered his question, he'd obviously enjoyed the time spent on his knees. He observed that the man was well endowed, then chided himself for even noticing such a thing.

Realization that he was in a vulnerable position came to him. Granny or those Maori could show up at any moment, and he didn't want to be caught spying. Besides, they'd moved to the bed, which he couldn't see without sticking his head in the window. They'd notice that.

A black cat butted against his hand, looking for affection. Irritated, he swiped at it, causing it to run off hissing under the house. There was just enough room for him to follow. And a knothole in the floorboard to make it easier for him to eavesdrop. The panting and moaning were endless. How long did this act take?

A period of relative silence followed. Gold spoke some nonsense about books and names. It was difficult to pay attention; he was getting uncomfortable, and he was certain a spider was walking across his hand. A button dropped through a knothole nearby. At last, Gold asked something important.

“What will you do?”

After Belle left, Gaston did not go straight home. He needed time to think. What would Belle do? Her actions tomorrow would answer the question. Maybe this was to be a single occurrence, to show her gratitude for the return of the piano. For now, no one else knew. That was the most important thing. People would mock and laugh if they found out. The secret must be kept. As long as she didn't go back, everything would be fine.

---

That night, Belle was giddy. How did couples get anything done when there was such fun to be had? Her first lover ought to be ashamed of himself. He had either known nothing about a woman's body or just didn't care.

Trying to calm down, she asked Tilly to read her favorite book aloud. She saw Mr. Gold's – no, Labhrainn's – expressive face on the prince, herself on the princess. When they got ready for bed, Tilly brushed Belle's hair. Unable to contain her high spirits, she grabbed her and tickled. The two rolled around, laughter ringing through the house.

Pleased with her mother's good humor, Tilly demanded a shadow puppet story. Belle acquiesced. Now the sorcerer was not evil like everyone assumed. He was only lonely, and the princess he'd stolen away fell in love with him. Tilly applauded this romantic development. Belle hoped Tilly’d be as enthusiastic about her mother’s romance after she’d had time to process it.

In the next room, Gaston paged through a book on botany, eyes not seeing the pages. His jaw clenched, and his neck was stiff. When he could no longer take the sounds of happiness that assaulted his ears, he took his axe and went outside to chop wood until the window of the bedroom darkened.

Long after Tilly fell asleep, Belle replayed the morning's events. She wondered if Mr. Gold would enjoy her mouth on him to completion. The next day could not come fast enough.

After breakfast, Gaston announced he was continuing his task of building a fence on his new acreage. As soon as he was out of sight, she instructed an irritated Tilly how to spend her morning. She was upset about being left behind again, but they didn't have as much of a confrontation as yesterday. She had to teach her boundaries. It would be difficult for Tilly to understand, but she was a bright and loving child. Given time, she'd realize Mr. Gold hadn't stolen her place in her heart, he'd expanded it and there was more than enough room for them both.

She hurried along the path. Brimming with happiness, she wondered what he would do when he saw that she had come back to him. There was much to discuss, which would be difficult, considering he didn’t sign and had a hard time with reading. But sometimes she felt as though he heard her in his head. He would understand that she wanted to be with him, wanted the three of them to be a family. She and Tilly could teach him sign language and help him with his reading.

As she raced past a grouping of trees at the edge of Gaston's property, the man himself stepped directly in front of her. Shocked, Belle stopped short and almost tripped. Gaston's face was blank, his eyes empty. She decided in an instant to keep walking, acting like nothing was amiss. But he followed her, grabbing her arm and wrenching her back to him. He did not speak. Pulling her hair, he kissed her hard, bruising her lips. There was no affection, only dominance, a show of power.

Belle’s heartbeat roared in her ears. She kept her mouth clenched shut and did not fight back. Her jaw ached from the effort. When he stopped to breathe, she shoved him with all her strength and ran away. Gaston was faster. He caught her, and she clung to a stout tree branch, kicking at him as he pulled. The rough bark dug into her hands.

“Maaammmaaa!” she heard Tilly call from a distance. She was coming up the path. Relief at Tilly's disobedience brought tears to her eyes. “Mama, Aunt Cora is looking for you!” At the sound of her voice, Gaston froze. Belle gathered her composure; Tilly must not see them like this. Gaston took her arm and marched her back to the house.

“There you are,” said Cora as they came into view. Her sharp eyes noted Belle's pale face and Gaston's grim mouth. “We were just stopping to thank you for allowing Tilly to be a part of our little play. And, I know Gaston would appreciate having an enjoyable meal for a change, so we wanted to invite you to dinner for Christmas.”

“Thank you Aunt, we will attend. However, we are very busy. Don't let us keep you.” He walked straight past her to the woodpile and cut lengths of board. His axe hit the mark each time despite his speed and wood split with a crack.

“Well, I never saw such rudeness.” Cora stalked off to where Regina was waiting with the horses when it became apparent Gaston was ignoring her.

The rest of the day Belle lay on the bed. When Gaston started hammering planks over the windows she covered her ears, the sound of the nails in the wood like clods of earth falling on a coffin. He finished his work with a wooden bolt on the front door, enabling him to lock it from the outside. That would keep her home. She would not go back to Gold.

Tilly sat next to her mother. “You shouldn't have gone to Mr. Gold's house again after he returned the piano and books. I don't like it, and neither does Papa.” Why did Mama want to spend time with him without her? Mr. Gold was nice, and she liked his cat, but it wasn't worth getting into trouble. Calling Gaston 'Papa' was the best way her child's mind could conceive of how to get back at her for causing this upheaval. Belle ignored the ploy and closed her eyes.

[scruffyssketchbook]

what are the relationships between each of the pairs of twins? as in, John to Dawn, Daisy to Roger, Chiki to Al, etc and viceversa. Aka, how do they feel about each other?

Author chan: hmm, well Vay and Blizz- Blizz loves Vay and has a strong brotherly attachment to him and his well being, and openly shows this. Tends to use the “tough love” approach, which, tbh, annoys the heck out of Vay. Meanwhile, Vay is usually cold and distant to Blizz, but deep down, unknowist to him, has a huge soft spot for him. Blizz: What I feel about Vay? *smiles brightly* He’s my bro! I love em! He has some issues he needs to work on, and has been through a lot, and I just wanna support em and see him grow! Vay: ...Blizz? *Vay Pauses, thinking* ...He’s always nagging at me to do things like talk to the all the evil eevees in our brotherhood (Vay thinks all Icedrops are evil) and is never around when I need someone. He only approaches me when he is bored and is a massive idiot. *he turns away, annoyed* ... I just. keep having flashbacks to how things were before he lost his memory. I want that Blizz back.

John and Dawn- They were close as kits, along with Oliver, but as time went on, they drifted apart. John is not exactly the most interesting vee, and both of them are always busy. She has a closer relationship to Oliver at this point, but doesn't notice. John: How.. I feel about Dawn? .... I wish she’d talk to me more, I guess. But I understand that she doesn’t have time for me... *he sighs, sadly.* Dawn: John? Oh! Me and him are thick as thieves, haven't seen him in a while, I wonder how he is doing.

LKD- Kevin is usually the one who cares about both of his brothers openly. Levin doesn't see how much he needs both of them,and tends to take them for granted. Devin has a very wild and sporadic imagination, and that tends to make the other two shut his ideas and thoughts down, a lot. So, despite liking his bothers, he usually feels inferior around them.

Levin: Kevin’s fine, I guess. Devin’s also fine, I guess. Dunno what else you want me to say ‘bout ‘em. Kevin: ...Levin.. seems distant. I cant have a decent conversations about emotions with him. And Devin kinda seems like he doesn’t want to do the things we do. *sighs* I worry about them both. Devin: ... Kevin is nice. He l-listens to me an’ stuff... AN’... Levin... *his ears droop* I dunno, I have a feelin’ he thinks I’m n-n-n *pauses and scrunches his face* NOT a big part of the team *he sighs in frustration*

Daisy and Rodger- Daisy and Rodger have a really close relationship. It wasn’t always as close as it is now, due to Daisy always going off with the bad crowd as kits, but after events happened, she started staying with him more.  Ofc, their relationship isn’t perfect. Despite how bland he might look, Rodger has ambitions. He wants to be involved in the politics of the Eevee box more, and do something about the current very bad, terribly awful situation that the eevee box is in that I cant say, but. Dusk dismisses him, in favor of Daisy. And this makes him kind of super Jealous and does affect their relationship, tho, he doesn’t realize it. Daisy does realize it tho, cause its pretty obvious to everyone but him, and tries keeping him in the loop of the things that she does.

Daisy: Rodger... has helped me a lot recently... Like... he is the one who suggested I’d make a routine! and he has supported me a lot!! Despite me always worrying him... I! ...I... I always want to show my gratitude for him.. but I dunno how...  Rodger: I... worry about her... a lot. One day, she walked up to me with this... haunted look in her eyes, with blood stains on her fur, and collapsed, saying that it was her fault over and over again... She hasn’t been the same after that, and wont tell me what happened... I know about the spy missions she went on, I know about the night her powers manifested, I know that she is Dusk’s favorite, but... I dunno... *he puts his head in his paws sighs* ... I’ll just try helping her the best that I can. She is my sister, you know? I want her to be happy. But, it kinda is clear that she was happiest before she evolved.

Mac and Jack- You know those super close twins that constantly impersonate and act like each other for fun? yeah, that’s them lol Mac: How I feel about Jack? Jack: Why do you want to know? Mac: Do you want a snack? Jack: Or play in a big show? Mac: Maybe if we talk Jack: it’ll be a bit clearer Mac: But that would mean Jack: You’d have to come a bit nearer

Mike and Tike- They are really, REALLY close. The two have been through a lot, despite appearances, and Mike does everything for Tike to be happy. They are like best friends, it seems one sided on the outside, because Tike is always the one jabbering to Mike with bearly any reply, but when they are alone, they both talk sa whole bunch to each other. Their care for each other rivals the care Blizz has for Vay and Eve tbh. Mike: ... Tike: Eh? How I feel ‘bould ol’ Mike? He’s da best bro evah! Don’t take his silence as a bad thin’, Yo He iz just not uh talker, well shiiit, dude talks ta me, just not everybody else. Mike iz strong, he beats up those mad stupid greenpaw wimps wif nahh questions asked tight like. ah bet you'd wants uh bomb bro like him cause he iz just dat tight dude. Like when he wuz getting picked on fo' his teef, guess what? Bof o' us beat up all dem asses! naw-BODY gonna pick on ma mckin' bro! n' dude be da one Who the fuck thought o' da bodyguard scam! like, awww, sho, we's cant "hit" eevees normally, but if we provided protection n' they couldn't pay us, then yeah biatch! We's gots free reign ta muq dem up! plus, Plus, we's can muq up dem fools beating down on our clients too. Mike also gots us into being bomb buds wif LKD! We be so tight now!

Chiki and Al- Barely have a relationship. Their personalities are so opposite from each other and they never formed a bond with each other as kits due to their opposing natures. They treat each other as just litermmates, and to their knowledge, that is what they are. Not twins, just littermates.

Chiki: Al...? Ah! He’ my littermate! We worked together as nurses for a while, but we are not close. ^^ Al: ... She’s nice enough... I guess. 

Noriko and Dario- Still in development...

Ren, Gwen, and Ben- Still in development, BUT! Are very, VERY close.

[bby-namjoon]

Mafia AU: BTS - NamjoonxReader

{Part 1}

——————————

"Mr Kim, this is my daughter, Y/N."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. You can call me Namjoon." he smiled, a dimple indenting his cheek as he gave a slight bow of his head. Your eyes took in the tall male that was stood before you, his broad shoulders clad in a black suit jacket and a white dress shirt.

It took you a moment before you zoned back in, bowing your head in return. "It's lovely to meet you too, Namjoon."

Before the conversation could progress, a voice behind you called out Namjoon's name, causing the brown haired man to instantly avert his attention behind you. "Would you please excuse me," he smiled and your father nodded,

"Of course, of course!" They shook hands and Namjoon gave you a smooth half smile as he passed by, leaving a trail of cologne in his wake.

"How do you know him? I've never seen him around before?" You ask your father as you continue to walk the crowded room of charity banquet goers.

"He's my newest business partner, he's quite young, but he's one of the best you can get for the job!" Your father smiled proudly, "I think he'll do my company good. RM Industries and Y/L/N Enterprises will be a partnership above them all."

You nodded, looking back in curiosity to see Namjoon watching intently from across the room, a smaller shaggy haired male now stood beside him.

"RM Industries" you thought to yourself. You'd never even heard of it.

"She's quite pretty," Yoongi spoke up, his eyes following Namjoon's gaze.

"She is, isn't she."

"Definitely not your type though, we both know you like a grab and go. In my opinion she seems to be the complete opposite of a cheap hooker. I mean, look who her dad is."

"Hmm.." he hummed, noticing you turning back and catching his gaze, a slight smile forming on his lips when you quickly looked away. "She's definitely different."

About a week went by and you were waiting for the lift in the lobby of your apartment building when someone stopped beside you. You recognised the smell of cologne before you even turned to look up at his face, it was Namjoon.

"How comes you're out on your own so late?" He asked and you turned properly to face him, your nose had been correct. You looked him over and he was almost identical to the first time you’d met him, except this time he seemed to be more relaxed.

"Because I'm a big girl," you replied, your casual attitude causing a flash of amusement to appear across his face.

"Big girl or not, it's not safe." The elevator dinged as it reached the ground floor, the doors opening and he gestured with his arm for you to step in first.

You gave him a smile and he returned the favour, following after you. "I'm sure I'll be fine, my dad always seems to have someone on my tail anyway."

He pressed the button for the top floor and he turned to you, "I'm not surprised, you're precious cargo."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I wouldn't want to lose you either.”

A flush of heat reached your cheeks and the lift halted to a stop. "Doors opening."  You stepped out as the doors parted and you walked down the long corridor to the pair of double doors at the end. Just before pressing the code into the keypad you turned to Namjoon, his eyes meeting yours.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't garuntee an answer."

"What are you doing for my dad?"

"Trade.

"Who has a business meeting about trade at gone 9 at night?"

"I do."

You furrowed your eyebrows and sighed, typing the code in to open the door and your father appeared in front of you.

"Ah, Mr Kim, right this way."

Namjoon was swept away into your fathers office without even a goodbye, leaving you stood on the front door mat, confused over whether or not trade was really the matter at hand.

Namjoon appeared to be the boss of 6 others; Yoongi, Taehyung, Jungkook, Jimin, Hoseok and Jin. All of which were around your age. You started to see him and his men around a lot, whether it was through late night visits or the dinners you sometimes shared together, it was evident that your father had become fond of them all and that there was always business to be had.

There was one evening where you left your room clad in shorts and a T-shirt, feeling a sense of freedom as you realised you were home alone. You were sat watching tv when there was a knock at the door, a sigh exerting from your lips as you paused the show, padding across the apartment and to the front door.

You looked through the spy hole to see Namjoon and you quickly fixed your hair, opening the door.

He was about to speak when he became distracted, his eyes drawn to the amount of skin you had exposed.

"Woah, casual?" He choked out and you laughed a little, suddenly feeling naked even though you were far from it.

"I thought I'd be home alone all evening,"

"Your dad's not here?"

You shook your head, "Was he supposed to be?"

"Well he said for me to drop by this evening, but I can just come back..?"

"Uhm, or you could come in and wait? I'm sure he won't be too long if he was expecting you?"

"Uhm, sure, yeah, thanks."

You stepped aside and he walked in, sliding his shoes off at the entrance.

"Do you want a drink? I was gonna make some tea?"

"Yes please," he smiled, hanging up his jacket.

You walked off into the kitchen and put the kettle on, retrieving two mugs from the cupboard, not hearing him appear in the doorway.

He watched you get onto your tip toes, reaching for the sugar that had been put just out of reach. He couldn't help but look at your legs and your ass and how good you looked when you was at your most laid back. He came up behind you, one hand taking hold of your hip as the other effortlessly retrieved the sugar from the second shelf, placing it down on the counter, the close proximity of his body catching you by surprise and your chest fluttered, his smell intoxicating you.

"Thank you," you almost squeak, shocked at how quiet your voice had come out.

He smiled, his eyes trained on yours as you both just looked at eachother for a moment, his tongue coming out and wetting his lips as he teased a loose piece of hair behind your ear, making you feel goosebumps prickle all over your body.

"I'm in a bit of a dilemma.." he spoke lowly, his tongue coming out and wetting his lips. "I really want to get you up against the wall with my tongue in your mouth, but if your dad finds out then I'll lose my business deal and that'll cause problems for many people..because he's already seen the way I look at you."

You felt your breathing pick up at his words, it's like you were imagining it. "Then we won't let him find out." You reply, confidence coming from nowhere as your voice matched the volume of his. With that, as soon as your words reached his ears he had you pulled against his body with his mouth attached to yours.

Your eyes closed, arms wrapping around his neck as he did as he promised, your body soon becoming pressed between him and the wall as his tongue mingled with yours. You wanted him closer, your body pressing itself against his as your fingers moved up the nape of his neck to tangle into his hair, you pulled at it, causing a groan to escape his lips and you became motivated by the sound, pulling again.

He groaned a second time and bit down on your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth before grabbing hold of your bum and lifting you onto his body.

You giggled, wrapping your legs around his waist and he walked you out of the kitchen, his lips not leaving yours. "You're second door on the left, right?" He mumbled against you and you nodded, pulling away for a moment.

"How did you know that?"

"I always see you go in there, so unless you have a toilet problem I just assumed it was your bedroom."

"Mmm, toilet problem, that's sexy."

He chuckled, pressing his lips back to yours as he walked you into your bedroom and kicked the door shut. Your back was laid against the mattress and he parted your legs, laying his body between them as he kissed down your jaw and to your neck, his tongue running across your skin before he began to nip and suck at the crook, making you moan.

He started to gyrate his hips into yours, needy for the contact after the sound of your moaning turned him on even more. He continued sucking the skin, undoubtably leaving hickeys as he wished for you to let out some more sounds of gratitude.

"What if my dad sees them?" You breathe and he lifts his head, his dark eyes somehow seeming darker as you let your hand slip from his now dishevelled hair to touch the tender spots on your neck.

"You can't let him see them, Princess, because like I said, all hell will break loose and I think I'd have to punish you."

"Punish me?" You echo and he smirks, leaning down to whisper sweet nothings into your ear of how he'd spank your ass red raw before making you gag on his hard dick that was already aching for your touch.

You gasped, his dirty words turning you on even more as your hips bucked upwards to create more friction against his crotch, the feeling of him prominent against you. He hummed at your actions and moved his lips back to yours to kiss you again, his hands moving to push your shirt up so he could see more of you, when suddenly there was a bang at the front door.

You both freeze and look at eachother, the banging continues.

"Who is that? Are you expecting anyone?"

"I don't know? It's definitely not my dad, he has the passcode.."

"Right..stay here." You felt a panic in your chest as Namjoon lifted himself off of you and straightened himself out, "I'll be back."

You watched him leave the room and he closed the door behind him.

Namjoon walked out into the living room and the banging continued, he didn't hesitate to grab his gun from the pocket of his coat before peeking through the spy hole.

His eyes widened as he saw who was stood on the other side of the door.

It was Lay's men.

"Shit." He thought to himself, what were they doing here? Were they here for him? Had something happened?

The door started to be kicked in so he knew he had to act.

With that, Namjoon pulled the door open and held his gun out in front of him, the men's faces showed shock when they laid their eyes upon him.

"Namjoon?"

"What the fuck do you want?"

"We're here for the girl, step aside, we aren't interested in you."

"What girl? Why?"

"You know what girl. It's personal business. Now move before we have to shoot you."

"I'm not letting you touch her."

"Then we need to take you out too, goodbye."

They pulled their guns but Namjoon was too quick to fire, hitting one of the three in the leg and he fell to the floor. The other two of Lay's men rushed into the apartment and fired at Namjoon who was now rolling behind the sofa, firing over the top and hitting another of the men, this time in the chest. Blood spluttered from his mouth as he fell to his knees, the final man making a run for the rooms, one of which you was hidden in.

Namjoon vaulted the sofa and held up his gun, ready to run to your rescue, but this made him blind to the first man he'd shot in the leg who was now raising his pistol from the floor and aiming for him. The mans aim was off, his bullets just clipping Namjoon's shoulder but this still earned a groan from him, blood trickling down his arm as he turned and shot back, hitting the already injured man with a bullet through the stomach and shoulder blade, causing him to recollapse and bleed out slowly.

That's when he heard you scream, his eyes darting towards the direction of your bedroom as he turned and ran the length of the apartment, his mind ignoring the pain from his arm as his only focus was to get you to safety.

He burst in and found you passed out in the mans arms with a syringe sticking out of your deltoid.

"What did you inject her with?!" He shouts, his gun raised to the man who had stupidly tucked his into the back of his trousers, thinking that Namjoon had been taken care of after the round of shots he'd heard coming from the living room.

"Calm down, just let me take her, this isn't your problem," he tried to mediate but Namjoon wasn't having it. He didn't hesitate to press the trigger, a single shot going through the mans brain, splattering blood across your bedroom walls. The guy crumbled, falling to his knees with you on top of him.

Namjoon knelt down, picking up the syringe that laid next to you and analysing it, he had no idea what had just been forced into your blood stream, he prayed it was some sort of ketamine that would just knock you out for a while.

He tucked his gun into his waistband and lifted you up, carrying you to the living room. He had to get you out of here.

Once you were laid down on the sofa he grabbed his coat, shoving the syringe into the pocket before pulling on his shoes. As he slipped your converse on for you he let his phone ring Yoongi on loudspeaker, urging for him to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Yoongi, there's been a situation."

"Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Y/L/N's apartment. Bring the boys."

"We'll be there in 10."

{Part 2}

[whitewolfbumble]

Of Gods & Goddesses - Chapter Two

A Modern Greek Mythology AU with Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The connection was immediate and the mystery behind Bucky Barnes ran deeper and deadlier than you thought. Falling in love has never been this complicated, for a goddess or otherwise. A modern reimagining of Hades and Persephone, with Bucky the God of Spring and you the Goddess of the Underworld.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader (aka God!Bucky x Goddess!Reader, Persephone!Bucky x Hades!Reader)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.5k

MY MASTERLIST // OF GODS & GODDESSES MASTERLIST // CHAPTER ONE

The din of chatter and laughter and music was silenced as the door closed. The thick glass door was the only separation from him and as you crossed the threshold to the balcony, suddenly there was nothing.  There was nothing out here but you, him, and the cold night air.

Bucky stood, subtly eyeing you a moment, perhaps wondering if you were there to catch a breath of fresh air and a moment of quiet. Maybe he assumed you'd keep to one side and him the other, silent and separate.

But you didn’t hide your gaze or movement- how could you out here in with no crowd to mask you?- and headed directly for him. Bucky straightened instantly as your feet carried you closer, eyes and body shifting and Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

He knew who you were by looking at you. Everyone did. The Goddess of the Underworld and Riches? At the very least it was clear to see the jewels around your neck were real, brighter than the stars and their colour deeper than the night sky. Certainly no introduction needed.

“Good evening, I’m Y/N,” you said all the same, trying your best for a kind smile to the shifting man in front of you. “It’s a pleasure to meet you...?”

“Bucky,” he supplied with a nod, still awkwardly standing there.

You smiled, stepping up and offering him the whiskey from your hand, eyeing him as he reached for the glass slowly and with what looked to be a bit more suspicion than gratitude.

“It’s whiskey, not poison,” you said. “I may be the Goddess of the Underworld, but I’m not in the habit of filling vacancies myself.”

He nodded a thank you, words caught in his throat, perhaps not trusting the joke coming from a goddess like you. Though admittedly the joke was just trying to elicit a response; anything to get him to speak again with that deep, velvet voice of his. It was a low sound, vibrating and humming in your ears, such unlike the light sounds of the party happening distantly behind you. It was gorgeous.

After a moment the whiskey glass rattled in his hand as he took it, making a hard clinking sound quite unlike skin.

“Metal?” you asked, a bit surprised as you saw the moonlight glint off the amber liquid and the silver hand wrapped around the crystal cup. Being the Goddess of Riches and knowing the sound and sight of precious metals, you were rather intrigued.

He nodded again at the assumption, face paling a bit in the moonlight.

“A cruel joke, giving a metal arm to a God of Spring,” he grimaced. “If it uh makes you uncomfortable, I can-”

“Please, I see people in far worse shape than you and quite regularly,” you shrugged easily. “Goddess of the Underworld, remember? I’m a hard one to scare.”

“Sorry,” he said, but you saw a slight upward pull at the corner of his mouth. Even the tiniest presence of a grin made your breath catch in your throat. It was like a flame, bright and brilliant. “Patchy memory, and all.”

You sipped your champagne as an excuse to swallow down your reaction to a bare hint of a smile from him. Even now he exuded that calm, breath of life. It was like an evening wind, smooth and soft, bringing in the sweet summer air.

Gods help you if he actually did smile in truth.

“So, we hate metal, what else?” You leaned back on the railing, sipping your champagne again as you casually tried to pass off the absurd question.

Small talk was never your forte or favourite thing (as clearly displayed by that question) but damn if you weren’t trying now. The drive to understand him, to figure out that intense pull you felt towards him was bubbling just below your surface. But for the love of everything, you spent most of your time talking to dead people after all. How were you supposed to talk to a man with a light and life like his?

He pulled a face at the strange inquiry but you braced your soul as another slow smile crept up, growing with his words as he played along.

“The cold, I suppose,” he started, the toothy grin he sported for some reason making your heart beat in your chest like a drum. “Mint toothpaste too. And sugar packets. Waste of packaging and all that.”

As he spoke the words you felt that life and energy that was hidden away from the surface. It wasn’t frantic or crazed, but a slow, beautiful hum. It was like a flower unfurling for the first time, emerging from the frost.

“I suppose that’s why you're the God of Spring,” you mused, your eyes dancing in the moonlight with amusement as much as his. “Your abilities lie with ending winter so you probably wouldn’t like the cold much. And why have mint toothpaste when you must enjoy it in its leafy form far better?”

You pondered a moment looking to be deep in thought before turning back.

“Yeah, the sugar packet thing is just weird though.”

He turned away, hiding his smile with a sip of whiskey. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“So tell me, why is the prodigal God of Spring outside in the cold than?”

“I could ask you that too?” he deflected, a sideways glance thrown your way as though he was testing the waters of questioning a high goddess. You welcomed it though. Anything to keep listening to him speak.

“Please, I’m hardly the life of a party, if you’ll excuse the pun,” He didn’t though, relaxing back into the railing with a shadow of a crooked grin. “My invite here is out of courtesy and I accept it out of courtesy too.”

“You’re friends with Natasha though?” he ventured. “And I doubt you’re here out of mere politeness.”

“Oh, so you’re out here to spy on me, hmm?” you asked, teasing. “Should I be blushing or upset?”

He was the one to blush though, a heated and flustered look on his face as he fought to play it cool. Conversely you broke out into the biggest smile of the night, watching Bucky stumble through trying to backtrack.

“No no,” he quickly filled in, voice the slightest bit higher than his usual deep and gravelly tone. “I wasn’t staring, just observing. And not just you, I just- well, I’m trying to remember everyone.”

“Not to spoil the fun of deciphering everyone here,” you said jokingly, looking back into the gold room and gesturing with your champagne glass. You felt more than saw the embarrassed look fade into somewhat of a smile as the threat of an upset reaction that of mere teasing. “But we’re a dramatic, selfish bunch. Not worth memorizing if I do say.”

“Those I know, I don’t believe that of,” he contradicted. A far cry from the awkwardly shifting Bucky when you first encountered him, he leaned into you pointing into the crowd to one blonde haired god. It was as though the two of you were conspiring together, huddled in together and looking through the glass. “I wouldn’t be here without Steve or back in my own mind, however blank.”

“Terrible at poker though,” you whispered back with a smile. “Absolutely no poker face.”

“Abysmal,” he agreed before his eyes narrowed and he looked for the host of the party, Tony, wearing a velvet suit and looking completely hammered. Typical. “And Tony, the God of Metalworking and Fire? Well, I wouldn’t have a new, upgraded arm without him. Just showed up one day and gave it to me, completely out of the blue.”

“Yes, but now you’ve unknowingly agreed to these parties forevermore as payment,” you said, another little nip at your champagne. “Need I say more.”

“And Thor,” he pointed, knuckles brushing your fingers clasps around your glass as he pointed. It was like a jolt of life to your system and you were lucky for the railing supporting you. “He still welcomed me back into the fold after everything I’ve done.”

A beat passed before you shrugged.

“Okay, Thor’s alright,” you agreed, chuckling with Bucky as the intimate little bubble you shared together mixed in with that hazy, free feeling of slight intoxication. “He’s the fearless leader of this realm so I doubt I could say otherwise.”

You looked heaven-ward, the inky black sky clear of clouds and proudly displaying the full might of gleaming, distant stars.

“I’d fear a lightning bolt would strike me where I stand if I did,” you said, voice hushed and sporting an expression of mock seriousness.

He laughed; it was a low and honest and content kind of sound. “Well, I’d probably get hit too, so let’s just keep the trash-talking to a minimum, at least for tonight. I’m having far too good a time now to ruin it.”

“Well, me too,” you agreed, a warm smile on your face matching a warm feeling in your chest.

A calm settled into the cozy little space between the two of you, a little hum of contentment rolling through you and (by the soft, gentle expression on his face) Bucky. He was still watching the gods and goddesses inside, the faintest of golden light just touching his skin, giving him the softest ethereal glow. Slow blinks and slow sips and eased muscles; you could all but hold back from running your hands across his cheek, wanting to feel that life he personified under your fingertips.

In the next moment, you stopped, seeing movement you certainly hadn’t expected to see. You saw it before he realized what he was doing, the tendrils weaving through his hair, delicate and green. It was small little crown like a halo, wrapping around his head, the smallest white flowers blooming and little green leaves unfurling before your eyes.

It was mesmerizing.

You leaned into him, closing the distance between you and reached up, fingers delicately tracing those little white flowers, silky and delicate. Bucky stilled beside you, eyes locked onto yours as he realized, waiting with his breath held. He looked almost fearful behind those suddenly stony eyes.

“The God of Spring, hmm?” you whispered quietly.

“So they say,” he responded quietly, swallowing. “It’s coming back to me, slowly. I’m sorry I can’t control it.”

The fear was there but embarrassment took the reigns. It was rather unheard of for a god, even a lesser one, to not have a firm handle on their abilities. Dangerous even. But him like this, with a flower crown white and glowing like the moon, you could hardly count him as a danger at all.

“I don’t mind,” you said kindly, looking from those beautiful little creations back to the man himself. “It’s not as though you’re the keeper of dead and are not in full control. At least you wouldn’t have an army of deceased souls roaming the streets.”

He looked down, hiding a smile but you heard a breathy chuckle escape his lips. You bit your lip, smiling more so at his reaction than your little joke. You felt that ease seep back into him and it lifted your heart more than you thought possible or certainly reasonable for an action so small.

He held out his flesh hand in the small space between you, a bright green stem and white flower growing and emerging as though from nowhere. It was just like that of his crown, a beautiful little thing, subtly glimmering white. As his fingers closed around the little stem, he passed it to you.

“Oh, I shouldn’t-” you started, but a tentative and gentle hand reached and took your own, placing the delicate flower in your palm.

“I haven’t received much kindness after everything I… well, let’s just say I don’t deserve it,” he said with a morose smile. “It’s the least I can give you in return.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, a loss for words otherwise.

You knew what would happen as you looked down to that little flower, willing yourself to be anyone but who you were, if just for a moment.

But your wishes weren’t fulfilled. You watched as the thin little petals withered away to a dusty brown, crinkling and splitting.

They fell off silently, one by one in your palm, dead.

“I don’t mean to do that,” you said, voice barely heard. “Death is… well, let’s just say I don’t deserve a gift of life, I suppose.”

You had been so caught up in him that the reality of your own life was one you had however briefly forgotten. Because what were you doing with a god of life and renewal? It didn’t change you being the Goddess of the Underworld. It didn’t change that too close to someone like you and someone like him would wither.

You were the keeper of the dead and decay, worse than those still dancing and laughing just inside. Because there was no hiding you. No bright and glittery mask to keep hidden what was underneath.

What you were was a fool for thinking you could be otherwise. Could chat and laugh with a stranger you found drawn too. As though he would be drawn to you in the same way. He wouldn’t. No one would.

You put on a tight smile, waiting for Bucky to agree with your words and your unsaid thoughts and emotions, running rampant inside you. To regret giving you something so beautiful and full of life.

“No,” Bucky said, voice lower and eyes flitting in between yours. “I rather don’t think that at all, actually.”

Those blue eyes held a sea of emotion, the antithesis of your own, answering and admonishing what you were feeling. He wasn’t hurt or upset or felt as though his suspicions were confirmed. He looked… well, happy. The calmness and contentment mixed with a thousand others. But none were accusatory. None were harming. None were bored or put-off or wanting distance. Quite the opposite, it looked like.

Call it the intoxication of too much champagne, the thrill of instant connection with a stranger, the laughter and intimate moments shared with a soul you felt fit your own… Whatever it was though, for the briefest of moments, you drowned in it.

You reached for his hand without thinking but stopped just before you skin connected with his. You remembered yourself in that moment, snapping back from the waves of emotions and straightened up, stepping back from him towards the door.

“I should let you be, you probably came out here for a reason. I shouldn’t have interrupted,” you said quickly, clearing your throat. The moment was over and the confidence his look gave you was dashed. He wouldn’t want to hold your hand or touch you, not after seeing what you just did. “Thank you for the flower, truly.”

“Uh you’re welcome,” he said, stepping after you. “But you can repay me for it.”

That stopped you in your tracks.

“Oh,” you said confused. “Yeah, you’re- well, I mean, of course-”

“The next party we have,” he started, expression soft enough to just about melt you. “Meet me out here? I’ll have a glass of champagne ready for you next time, I promise.”

You stopped, expression softening under his gaze.

He wanted you to come back. You. Not out of “mere politeness” or fear or for any other reasonable reason. But because he wanted to see you again. You could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. It was simple. And it was extraordinary.

“Easiest promise I may ever make,” you responded slowly and with a smile. “I’ll be here, Bucky. ‘Til next time”

_______

CHAPTER THREE

_______

A/N: Thanks for reading darlings! If you want to join my tag list just send through an ask. I’d love some feedback on this, please let me know what you thought!

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[ribbonshades]

☾  identity

It was much harder than any other game Charles had played, and he didn’t think he would win. It was days of willing his frail body to keep running away from Noise and Reapers, hiding in the alleyways of London and ducking into store fronts to survive. No matter where he went, though, he knew that the Composer had her eyes on him the whole time and that she decided arbitrarily who wouldn't move on at the end of each day, anyway. Luckily for him, she seemed to have a soft spot for the shy, defenseless ones. Soft to the point of being rotten, probably. 

"It's Charles," he'd mumble every time she got his name wrong. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. Your name is written [REDACTED] in your soul, you see. It's nothing personal, love." Eliza waved her continuous mistake off, making his heart sink to his stomach. But he was too timid to say anything more. 

"You're so precious, [REDACTED]," she'd say, insistently reaching forward and brushing her thumb over his cheek. He flinched away from the touch, only ending up with her repeating the process, more roughly this time. "I love mixed Asian girls, I can't wait to doll you up," she went on. Charles felt numb, ice seeping in his bones. She'd smile serenely and bid him well on the day's mission. Day after day, he wondered if he should have joined Mom and Dad if it meant sparing him this. 

In the end, she and her preferential treatment were the only reasons he survived the Game. Someone he didn't recognize stood next to her when the end of it came. They looked otherworldly, high strung, sympathetic, tired. They reminded him of the only teacher he had that referred to him as a boy. He felt like he could trust them.

"Charles, correct?" the newcomer said. His face brightened and he nodded. "Ah, good. Well, congratulations on winning the Game. It has been quite a week, mm?" 

Eliza was nearly bubbling over with excitement, already her basket was full of 5 pairs of new, lamp shaped wings and Charles could feel that she wanted him to be her sixth. He swallowed and tried to keep his eyes up on the stranger in front of him. 

"You may come back to life, or you may live the rest of your existence in the London UG, as a Reaper. What would you like to do?" the figure said. 

"Uhm… I… have a question…" Charles mumbled. 

"Yes, dear?"

"My parents… they're gone, right…?" he said, swallowing back heavy tears in his throat. The stranger gave a small, weary sigh. 

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Do you have other family that would take you in?" they asked, their brow knit with the slight worry they allowed themself to show. 

"... No," Charles exhaled. He truly didn't know what would be the better option. If he went back to the RG, he would be forced to live as someone he wasn't, without his medications that served as his lifeline. He may even be strong enough to end it all, if it came to that point. But if he stayed in the UG, while he would still struggle to live as Charles, his body would stay the same. He could escape, one day. And, well, if it didn't go favourably, he supposed he had the option of ending it all then, too. 

Charles shivered. Eliza was watching him with wide, glassy blue eyes, her silver hair in curls framing her face. 

"I'll… become a Reaper," he said, looking up at the angelic figure with tears welling in his eyes. 

"... Alright. If that is what you wish, Charles." 

-x-

He was whisked into a whirlwind of a first few days as a Reaper. He was given a dormitory to live in, a small one bedroom with a communal bathroom, the wings separated by gender. His closet was full of tartan skirts and blazers that he resented, the desk piled high with books on the UG, Reaper powers, and the history of London. As soon as he was settled and dressed appropriately in the wrong gender’s uniform, he was subjected to various tests that drew out his Reaper power and tested his Noise Form. 

"Shadow powers? Oh, that is lovely, [REDACTED], I've been needing a new Reaper in the Espionage department," Eliza gushed. The pile on his desk grew higher with texts on spying and assassination techniques. He was assigned a number, used in place of his old name when necessary. He almost liked the number better.

His only respite was Allen, the only person who seemed to be able to keep Eliza in check. Charles couldn't quite tell what gender they were either, though Eliza referred to them as a woman, as Alexandra. He wondered if that was the reason why they were the only one to call him Charles. He decided he liked them, and he looked forward to spending time with them, whenever he could, and upon seeing the amount of work they did for the city, he gained a great respect for them. 

"Say, have you ever wanted to alter your appearance or anything?" they had asked one day while they were eating crumpets for afternoon tea time. 

"Ah– Uhm, sometimes…" he responded, nearly dropping the butter knife into his cup. They knew very well that he did, why were they bringing this up? 

"You've always seemed a tad uncomfortable in your skin, Charles. What would you change?" They smiled knowingly. 

"Well… I guess I want to look cooler… like an albino bunny?" he said, tilting his head. 

"Aha, bunnies are cute though!" Allen smiled, leaning back. He felt his lips move on their own, cracking a small smile himself. 

Other than those rare, fleeting moments, Charles endured his day to day, undergoing harsh training to optimize his powers and to sharpen his skills as an assassin. He was showered with praise and unwanted affection from Eliza, with comparisons to various female, Asian assassins in media. 

"Oh, but you wouldn't turn against me like some of them do, will you, love?" Eliza smiled, leaning in and giving him a kiss on the forehead. 

The thought never occurred to him, but after he mulled over the possibility, he couldn't stop thinking about it. 

-x-

Once it was all done, Charles left a note on his pillow addressed to Allen and fled the city. He sunk into his shadow the instant the rest of Eliza's body dissipated into static, only narrowly catching the salute of gratitude from the newly crowned Composer. Truly, there was no real threat to staying in London, but he didn't want to wait around to be employed by the new monarch and to spend eternity repeating the last two years. He appeared somewhere outside the bounds of the city, where he wasn't sure if his powers would be as reliable anymore. With nowhere else to go, he did what any respectable Brit on the run would do and boarded a train to Paris. RG or UG, he knew any Parisian would help him in his escape if they knew he was trying to get away from London.

With some luck and a shaky conversation in half English and half French, he ran into a winged man who he knew would be able to help him. Charles briefly explained an embellished version of the truth, though the man connected his story of "I was wrapped up in a political scandal" with the news of Queen Eliza meeting her demise and was delighted to help him. 

"Please, do stay 'ere!" the man offered, "I can only 'ope to assist ze one who ‘az liberated London!" 

"Uhm… Do you know who could change my appearance, maybe…?" Charles asked, tugging on his hair nervously.

Somehow, Paris was a vain enough district that there were powerful Reapers who's sole purpose was cosmetic alterations. He was face to face with yet another Reaper whose gender he couldn't determine at first glance. 

"Ah… S'il vous plaît, uhm… Cheveux… court? Courts? Et blanc? Blanche? E-et, les yeux… rouge," he stuttered, holding up a picture of the haircut he wanted. The Reaper clicked their tongue and nodded. 

"Rouge vif ou foncé?" they responded, and jesus christ Charles would have to learn French fast if he wanted to stay here. 

"Vif… ah… comme ça, ici–" Charles pointed at a bright red fabric scrap hanging from the Reaper's belt. They gave a thumbs up and gestured for him to get onto the table and lay down. The procedure itself was quick and painless, and he couldn't help but smile when a mirror was brought to show him his new reflection. 

"C'est tout pour vous aujourd'hui?" the Reaper asked, tilting their head. Charles took a breath. He had blindly trusted Allen and gotten favourable results there, so… 

"Ah, euh… Aussi… Ici…?" Shakily, Charles pointed his hand downwards to the bottom of his torso. The Reaper watched him and waited for him to continue. 

"... Efface-là, s'il vous plaît." 

-x-

He spent almost two years district hopping across Europe, learning several languages along the way. It was wonderful, having freedom. He relished being able to dress how he wanted, being able to use his powers for something less ugly for once, focusing on learning how to configure his stealth powers into various cute animal forms. His tour ended in France again, this time in the southern city of Marseille as a bunny hopping around the gardens flanking the mansions. The day was just beginning, and Charles was just basking in the sun for a spell when–

"Papa! Un lapin!" 

He peeked his eyes open to see a young boy run out of the terrace area towards him. A girl stood at the door warily, watching her brother move with such little restraint over a grey lop in the grass. Charles was picked up into the boy's arms and brought inside, placed on a cushion and fought for in frantic, accented French that he couldn't quite understand fully. It seemed that the mother was trying to argue that they couldn't take care of a bunny, and the boy fired back that they should at least take care of him until they find the owner. It was one phrase in specific that had him, though. 

"Nous pouvons être sa famille!" 

At that, he burrowed closer to the boy. The mother conceded and instructed a butler to purchase supplies to temporarily house a bunny. In the meantime, the boy hugged him, victorious. 

"Je m'appelle Jean, Monsieur Lapin! Et vous?" the boy grinned. His sister sighed and came over to pet him on the head, too. Charles wondered if he could imprint an RGer from this form, seeing that he asked his name– so he tried it, suggesting his own name in Jean's head. 

"Hm… il ressemble à… Charles!" Jean grinned and squeezed Charles more, the latter utterly confused at how it worked, despite the French accent making his name something quite different. Moreover, considering how Charles was very much not a French name in the least, it will be interesting to see how he justifies this to his parents. 

Nobody minded, though, and the missing bunny posters went largely ignored. Once two months had passed, the father patted his head and announced that the rabbit was now part of the Duvert family. 

Charles' nose wiggled happily at having one again. 

-x-

After years of obsessively consuming anime and video games, Charles could barely believe that he was now living in Japan. As a bunny, of course– he couldn't get away with running off for a week quite as often as he did before, but he knew Carel's schedule and he knew how to teleport out of his cage, so he spent many a day loitering around Shibuya until it was time to head back home.

It was a lovely routine, though it lasted only months. That December, Jean died in an accident that Charles knew resulted in him playing a game. He wanted to go to where he died and work the game and ensure his survival, but Carel's grief was too much for her to bear by herself. Charles steeled himself, hoping that he could come back and waiting for the day Carel's memories of his death were wiped, to no avail. 

Wanting answers, Charles waited for a time where Carel would be out of the house for longer periods of time and took a train to Kawasaki, where Jean died. 

"Haha, you're gonna get erased if you don't keep up, newbie!" Jean laughed horridly, blood from his last erasure still speckled on his glasses. 

"I'm… keeping up…" Charles gritted his teeth, keeping an eye out for the partner of the Player he had erased earlier that day. 

"Sure you are. You couldn't keep up with me, I bet," Jean retorted, licking his lips. Charles squeaked as Jean moved closer into his space, his arm resting on the wall behind him. "Maybe you can keep up in other ways, though. What do you say?" he asked, his voice lowered. 

"N-no thank you," Charles huffed, quickly slipping into his shadow to safety. The district had done awful things to Jean, and Charles couldn't bear to see more. He made an effort to avoid Jean for the rest of the game and slipped away from Kawasaki as soon as he was able. 

-x-

"Charles! I missed you!" Jean said, holding his arms out to hug the bunny. "It's been so long, huh?" 

Not as long as you think, but I'm glad that Carel knows you exist now, Charles thought, snuffling in Jean's arms. 

-x-

"You, ah. Knew I was a Reaper even before I came to Shibuya?" 

"Uhm… yeah. I worked a week in Kawasaki while you were there, and…" Charles trailed off, looking to the floor to avoid seeing Jean's reaction. 

"Ah," Jean responded, "I remember now. I, uh… I'm sorry." 

"Be sorry to yourself, you tried to get your pet bunny in bed with you," Charles scoffed. 

"H-hey, I was just like that back then, it was a phase–!" Jean squawked indignantly, failing to save face. 

"A phase is something that ends, Jean…" Charles tsked, turning back to his newly decorated room. He heard Jean sputtering more behind him as he closed the door. 

-x-

A few months after becoming Conductor, Charles sat down with Jean and told him how he became a Reaper. It went exactly as he thought, Jean crying on behalf of him and wallowing in pity that wasn't even for him. 

"Sorry," Jean breathed, wiping his glasses, "I just can't believe everyone has gone through hell. Please tell me you're happier now, where you are." 

Charles reached forward and swiped his thumb over Jean's teary eyes, wicking away more moisture, his palm resting on his cheek. Jean's eyes widened at the gesture, having never seen Charles be that physically intimate with him before. 

"I'm much happier now that I can finally be who I am. So, thank you, Jean." Another rare smile surfaced on Charles' face, and the combination seemed to be too much, as Jean burst into fresh tears right after. 

-x-

With approved leave, Charles arrived back in London, almost 15 years after he last left. He was dressed smartly, a dark grey suit with a red tie, and a pair of rabbit shaped cuff links that Jean had lent him for good luck. He still remembered well the way towards the entrance of the God's Palace, and his feet led him there without much thought. Once just inside, he approached the reception. 

"Hello, I'm the Conductor of Shibuya, here to meet with the Producer of London," he said. The receptionist looked over the schedule and gestured for him to sit down. It was a short wait before Allen appeared at the door, looking a little confused at having a meeting with a foreign Conductor, though the answer was clear as day as soon as they laid eyes on the man sitting in front of him. 

"You're alive," Allen remarked once they had gone outside for privacy. 

"I am." 

"You're also taller than me now," they laughed, looking up. With the slight heel of his shoe, Charles was indeed 5 inches taller than he was before. He chuckled and took a seat on a bench nearby, Allen following suit. 

"What made you reach out? I thought you'd never come back with the letter you left me," they said, their hands folded in their lap. 

"I was telling my friend… the Composer, about how I became a Reaper, and I realized that I never got to thank you." Allen tilted their head, a brow raised.

"For not intervening in Eliza's assassination? I mean, I'm not supposed to get involved in that, but–" 

"For seeing me as Charles. Honestly, I don't think I would have held onto that if nobody saw me as who I am for two years," Charles explained, a serene smile on his face. Allen smiled widely. 

"Of course I would have. You saw me as Allen, too." They smoothed out their skirt, their smile widening into a grin. "Might I say, you're looking quite sharp. Almost made me swoon when I saw you."

Charles' cheeks pinkened slightly, though he was a large contrast to the flustered mess he would have been even a few years ago. "I did some growing up," he replied nonchalantly, bravado enough to keep an air of confidence up. 

They talked for hours, catching up from over the years, walking around the city Charles had called home for half his life. He felt reacquainted enough with the city by the time that he had to go.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Allen." Charles held his hand out to theirs; confused, they placed it in his. As was his nightly routine so many years ago, he knelt down to a knee and kissed the back of their hand, eliciting a startled noise from them. 

"H-hey, you don't need to do this again–" they sputtered. Charles looked up from his position and smiled. 

"It's the ultimate sign of respect here, isn't it? I'm doing it because I want to, not because I have to," he responded, getting back up afterwards. "Either way… keep in touch. I'd love to come visit again when I can, I didn't realize how much I missed London." 

"London's a home for you, Charles. Come back anytime, okay?" Allen grinned again, taking a step back to let them part ways. 

"Thank you, Allen. Take care," Charles said, letting go of their hand. He waved as he slid into his shadow to make the journey back home, feeling light and fulfilled. 

[missromantic-x]

Dazai x Happiness Week Day 5: Dancing

(Part 5 of the Masquerade Birthday series) plus slight mostly platonic Kunikidazai, “Come on, Dazai! You’re going to make us late,” growled Kunikida, tapping his notebook against his thigh. Dazai moaned, smashing his head into into the couch cushion. “I don’t want tooooo,” “Well, too bad.” With that Kunikida promptly grabbed Dazai’s arm firmly and forced him off the couch. He began to drag him to the exit, until the brunette finally walked without having to be moved against his will. “So what’s this case about?” Dazai asked. Kunikida walked even more briskly. “Shoot, we’re off by a whole two minutes and thirteen seconds. By the time we get there, we might have to take some less than desirable actions in order to camouflage ourselves.” “You still haven’t answered my question.” “Catch up and I’ll tell you.” Ever since their gratitude list experience, a new respect for each other had formed. That in itself had actually made one of Dazai’s lists, in fact. So, instead of whining like he would have in the past, he jogged a bit to catch up with his newfound friend. “Now will you tell me?” “As long as you can match my pace.” Kunikida glanced backward with a look of approval on his face. “Alright. If you’d taken the time to read the paperwork instead of taking a nap, you would know that we’ve been called by a wealthy European business owner to clear the release party for his company’s newest cutting edge technology of less than friendly figures.” Dazai could see where this was going to a mile away. “A specific request was that we make sure not to arise suspicions while doing so. As a result, we’ve been asked to act like…” Kunikida sighed. “…a couple.” Dazai snorted. “You and me, together? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in a long time.” “And that’s what makes it a proper disguise,” grumbled Kunikida, finishing the previous thought. “They’ve supplied us with clothes and false identities, anyhow, and the job offer pays for much more than it’s worth,” he added with a defeated look. As odd as it was, though, Dazai felt mildly interested in the plan, minus the Kunikida-date part. He hadn’t been to a fancy launch party since, well, ever. Sure, some other mafiosos might have gone to some to steal whatever prized possession was on show, but those sorts of people were far lower in ranking than he had been. So he couldn’t help but want to entertain the idea. “Due to quickening our pace, we arrived with thirty-one seconds to spare,” Kunikida announced triumphantly. The building was at least five stories tall, and it was made of neatly polished light grey marble. The madly embellished doorway itself had to be twice the height of Chuuya just by itself. He couldn’t see any windows that hadn’t been disguised with thick navy blue curtains. Kunikida knocked four times and twisted the door handle once, shattering Dazai’s moment of amazement. The large door swung open and a nattily-dressed silver haired man greeted the two. He produced a golden pocketwatch from his tailcoat and nodded approvingly. “Ah yes, you’ve arrived just in time. I’ll show you the way to your dressing room.” He motioned for them to follow and moved through the wide hall on the left side. It had clean off-white walls, and well-aged wallpaper donned the bottom halves of them. “Excuse us for the venue,” the man chuckled. “It’s a tad old-fashioned.” “No, I think it’s very beautiful. It’s got a classy feel to it,” Dazai disagreed with a grin. Honestly, what person didn’t respect a nicely built historical building? The hall ended with several basic brown doors. The man opened his watch, revealing a hidden key, and inserted said key into the third doorknob. “Here is where you’ll get dressed. Just go back through this hall and you’ll see an arch that leads to a wide open room filled with people. That is where your work will begin.” The younger men thanked him, and entered the room. It was rather small. Likely, it’d previously served as a storage closet. On two clothing hangers were two black tuxedos, which made Dazai laugh. It was just like an American spy film. In a way, he guessed they were spies of sorts. They dressed in silence, facing opposite directions for modesty. “Have you finished yet?” asked Kunikida. “Yep,” Dazai responded. “I’ve just got to finish tying the bow tie. I swear, these things are impossible.” The blonde partner spun around. “The party starts in a few minutes. We don’t have much time to spare.” With that he tied Dazai’s tie for him with exceptional ease. His golden eyes squinted through the thin lenses of his glasses. “Let’s get going.” They traveled back to the front, as they’d been instructed and reached the arch. With an awkward air, Kunikida cleared his throat. “Um. Should I hold your hand?” “Oh. Uh, probably.” For a few seconds he marveled over the feeling of his partner’s long fingers against his own, but his fascination was quickly pulled in a different direction. The marble opened up to a widely expansive ballroom. The floor consisted of checkered pastel coral and white, and it had been shined so well you could see your reflection in it. Tables of gourmet hors-d’oeuvres coated the silver platters among the tall white walls. In the center of the inverted-dome-shaped ceiling glittered a candlelit chandelier with jewels on every magnificent spiral. The expensively dressed people bustling around every corner of the dance floor buzzed with excitement. Busboys not much older than Tanizaki rushed around the area with plated in both hands. At the end of the room lay a live band of what had to be nearly every kind of string, woodwind, and brass instrumentalist, along with a pianist and a harpist atop a stage. Tantalizingly sweet melodies began to pour from the brilliant orchestra. Many couples among the floor came together and started to waltz. The detectives looked at each other. Now, the only way to weed out the disguised criminals would be to make their through the masses of dancers. To do that, they’d have to join the group in their festivities. “Let’s do this.” Kunikida placed his right hand on Dazai’s left shoulder and his left on Dazai’s waist. Nervously, Dazai wrapped his arms around Kunikida’s neck. He wanted to get this right, after all, it was his first ball experience, and so far, he’d enjoyed it. Hopefully things wouldn’t turn too awkward and ruin his fun. Despite it being a job, he could still have fun. That was what his work at the Agency had taught him. Other than of course the touching part, the air between the two wasn’t too strange. They’d dealt with far stranger occasions. Also, their focus on each other was minute since they had to look out for potential thieves. “Have you seen the unwelcome guests yet?” Kunikida whispered. “No, not yet. But I’ve got to give it to the guy that threw this party. They sure know how to hype up a piece of technology, don’t they?” Dazai commented. “Yes, it is,” was all Kunikida answered. And then everything came to a halt. “The Port Mafia are the criminals we’re after?” I didn’t quite spend enough time on the actual prompt word as I’d wanted to, but at least I made some good build up for the next part.