#but he was so lonely. he told himself he didn’t need companionship but he wanted it so bad

[mathes0n]

I think all of fords ‘wrongdoings’ can boil down to ‘he wanted people to hang out with him and both times it had apocalyptic consequences’

[iwritefandomimagines]

NOT MY FIRST RODEO — COOPER HOWARD/THE GHOUL

masterlist

part two | part three [coming soon]

pairing: cooper howard/the ghoul x reader, mentions of john hancock x reader hehe

description: the tension between you and cooper had been palpable for ages, and he was beginning to struggle to deny his attachment to you — despite his reluctance. he’s certain you’d never really be interested in him like that, until he finds out he’s not the first ghoul to enjoy your company.

warnings: swearing, jealous!coop, sexual references/implied smut, angst, making out, mentions of drug taking

author’s note: writers block was POOF! gone the minute i rewatched fallout last week & restarted fallout 4. hancock will always be my bf so i couldn’t help myself from mentioning him. let me know if u want a part two with actual smut! i only left it out because i don’t really usually write smut on this blog haha.

—

Cooper Howard and John Hancock were by no means what you’d call friends.

However, as much as it pained him to admit it, the former knew that the latter was — by the standards of many — a good man who’d do the right thing to help others when needed.

That was why, however begrudgingly, he’d suggested that you spend the last few hours of today’s daylight making the short trip to Goodneighbor to stay ‘for a while’.

It was clear that an intense few days, hunting a difficult son of a bitch of a bounty, had very much tested your limits.

He told himself that, given the amount of caps that said son of a bitch had earned you, you could afford a couple of days laying low in Goodneighbor before picking up another job.

Well there was that and the fact that much to his dismay, in the short time you’d been accompanying him on the road he’d found himself irritatingly attached to you.

When he’d first stumbled upon you while collecting a bounty you’d failed to deliver on yourself, you’d enthusiastically offered your companionship and he’d fervently denied it.

You knew he doubted you’d be any use based on your circumstances when you met, but despite your reassurances that it was just because he was the notorious fucking ghoul that everyone went on about and he had simply beaten you to it, he dismissed you with a “not a chance, sweetheart,” and went on his way.

But when he kept bumping into you in the following days, he’d given in and afforded you the luxury of helping him out on this one job — allowing himself the comfort of the excuse that if he really needed, he could trade you for caps and say goodbye to the pretty girl so oddly desperate to be at his side.

You’d driven him crazy at first — full of questions and curiosity, never refraining from voicing what was on your mind.

The way you watched him so carefully, all doe-eyed and attentive, had initially just pissed him off. But in the weeks that followed this had mellowed, and he’d found himself almost grateful to have someone so comfortable around him.

He’d never admit that though.

You’d just been much more skilled in combat than he had expected. That’s why he told himself he kept you around.

He totally just figured that it couldn’t hurt to have someone close by who can handle themselves and is willing to take just a tiny stake of a bounty (on your part, you figured there was no need to take more — he basically spent his share with you anyway).

You, on the other hand, didn’t want to admit that you had been lonely and desperate and missing the life you’d previously been so comfortable in when Cooper walked — well, stormed, into your life.

He might not ever have intended to (in fact — if he’d known, he’d probably never have let you get so close) but upon gradually letting you into his life he’d nestled his way into the empty little nook left behind in your heart.

“Why did you hesitate when I said Goodneighbor?”

Oh yeah, there was that.

When you’d left Goodneighbor all those months ago, you’d left with a broken heart and a head full of hazy memories of the happiness that the place had once brought you.

“I didn’t hesitate.”

“You sure as shit did, and even you know you’re a damn bad liar,” the Ghoul scoffed, pausing his pacing and turning to look you in the eye, “What does a pretty little thing like you know about Goodneighbor?”

You folded your arms over your chest, shaking your head at him as his steely eyes bore into yours, “Nothing. Just odd you’re suddenly so eager to go hide away somewhere when you’ve called me all sorts’a names any time I’ve asked for even a short rest break.”

“You’re full’a shit,” his hand flew instinctively to the shotgun at his hip before he released a deep sigh and relaxed it, “So I’m gonna ask you one more time. What do you know about Goodneighbor?”

You pondered for a moment whether or not to keep lying to him — he didn’t know much of your full past beyond the fact that you’d been a vault dweller a long time ago and been fighting for a living since.

You’d settled briefly in a number of places, though, and he’d heard too many stories about times you’d left settlements for various reasons to believe that you’d be too scared to return anywhere with him at your side.

Especially not somewhere like Goodneighbor.

“I—was living there for a while,” you shrugged, avoiding his gaze again now, “Didn’t like it.”

The Ghoul laughed humourlessly at that, “C’mon sweetheart, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

“I didn’t feel—look there’s just someone I don’t really want to see round there, okay?” your eyes didn’t leave the floor as he took a step closer to you, heavy breaths almost taunting further information from you.

“And who might that be?”

You looked up at him for just a second before eyeing the dust below your feet again, “I was, well, I lived there quite a while. I was—seeing, well, romantically— uh, there was—,”

“Spit it out, sunshine.”

Sunshine.

You’d not been called that since the day you left Goodneighbor the last time, and you cursed yourself for physically recoiling at the sound of it.

“Well I’ll be fuckin’ damned. You got a thing for ghouls, huh?” the wicked grin on his face set your stomach alight with a combination of emotions, “Didn’t peg a pretty little thing like you as the type. That why you spent so long beggin’ me to take you with me? Little vaultie princess desperate for another ghoul to defile her?”

You were crimson red now.

You didn’t know how to react, startled by the fact that he knew who you meant based upon your reaction to the term.

Hancock had always been charismatic and flirtatious though — it was no wonder Cooper had heard him use the phrase before.

You were almost angry, immensely embarrassed and yet, at the same time, a little aroused by even his insinuation that he knew that you wanted him in that way.

You’d found him attractive almost immediately and yeah, maybe he was right and you did seem to have a thing for ghouls.

But you sure as hell weren’t going to let him stand there and make you feel embarrassed right now.

“That’s not it, it’s not some kind of—like—,”

“Hancock got bored of ya and you latched onto the next irradiated motherfucker you came across?” he spat, “Bet you regret it now you know that I sure as shit ain’t nothin’ like your precious old mayor.”

Somewhere in the harshness of his tone you were sure you could detect a hint of jealousy at the root of his mocking.

You sighed defeatedly, “I wasn’t looking for some kind of fucking replacement when I met you, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I just— you just— well— Whatever, it’s hardly like you’ve made any suggestion you’d want me if I made a move on you anyway.”

His eyes seemed impossibly dark now, narrowed on you as his finger reached up to tilt your chin upwards towards him, “Is that right, sweetheart?”

Your legs were like jelly beneath you, a jolt of lightning in your veins at his touch.

“Sure, you flirt with me, but you’re so damn up ‘n’ down sometimes that I don’t know if it means anything,” you shrugged, skin tingling as his fingers lingered beneath your chin, “If I was lookin’ to replace John, it would’ve taken more than you being a ghoul for that.”

If he still had eyebrows, they’d have been raised now, his eyes rolling, “Right, nobody comes close to Mr. Righteous Mayor.”

His breath fanned over your face, his eyes returning to stare into yours as if looking for a reaction he knew you wouldn’t want to give him.

But you were all riled up now — so he was going to get one.

“What, is this a pity party? You want me to tell you he’s not all that? That I’m better off now I’ve found you? Oh Coop… I want you, I need you, you’re better than him. Only ghoul for me,” you mocked, pressing your hand to your forehead in feigned fawning before snapping back to seriousness, as he watched you frustratedly.

“Like I said, you weren’t a replacement. I wanted company and somewhere along the way I’ve been fuckin’ stupid enough to like your company more than I should,” you huffed, “You don’t have to pretend you want more than this flirty-but-I-hate-you-a-little arrangement ‘cos you’re jealous knowing I’ve had much, much more than that with someone else— and another ghoul at that.”

A growl left his throat at your words, his hand meeting your waist and pushing you forward so that your back was pressed against the wall.

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game here, sweetheart,” he warned, “And it’s one you won’t win.”

Your head fell back in frustration and met the wall with a small thud as his other hand pressed firmly against the wall beside it.

“You think I feel inadequate or something?” he snarled, and for a moment you weren’t sure if the question was rhetorical.

“How the fuck should I know? It’s hardly like you let me know how you’re feeling ever,” you sighed, your mind growing increasingly cloudy at your close proximity and his hand still on your waist, “That’s all I meant about John. It’s nice to know someone wants you… Hell, it’s even nice to be told when they don’t no more just as long as you’re being told.”

He was baring his teeth in a snarl still, but his lips began curling back up into a smirk, “You think I don’t want ya? Think I haven’t thought about it when you’re at my side like a fuckin’ dog on a leash looking at me all doe eyed an’ fuckable?”

Your cheeks couldn’t have been more flushed, and you knew he could feel the way your thighs clenched together at his words.

“Then why haven’t you done anything about it?” your response was a breathy whisper, the hairs on your neck pricking up and your heart thumping hard against your ribcage.

“Oh that’s a whole can of worms you don’t want opened, sweetheart,” he licked his lips, “Sweet little thing like you shouldn’t be with someone like me. But looks like I ain’t gotta worry about that, huh? Hancock’s already spoiled ya.”

You broke his intense gaze for a moment, eyes finding the floor as your teeth grazed your lips shyly at the weight of his words.

You couldn’t help the feeling that swelled in your chest at the lingering jealousy, and hearing him talk about wanting you as badly as you’d wanted him all this time gave you the confidence to push it.

“Oh he spoiled me good, you’re right,” you shrugged antagonistically, trying to quell the pain that still sat in your chest — albeit pain that took up much less space now that you’d found Cooper.

He scoffed, “That’s fightin’ talk for someone who don’t wanna see him again, darlin’.”

“Yeah well, he made me the happiest I’d been in the Wasteland since I left the vault and then tossed me aside ‘cause he got it in his head that I didn’t actually wanna be with him, like I must’ve been using him for his power and couldn’t really love him ‘cause he’s a fuckin’ ghoul — as if I didn’t know that when we met,” you grunted, “That’s all the fuckin’ chems for ya.”

Cooper leaned in closer to you now, “Well he’s a fuckin’ bigger idiot than I already thought he was, giving up you when he had ya all to himself like that.”

“Figure he doesn’t care. Might as well be married to Goodneighbor anyway.”

There was silence between you for a moment, nothing but heaved breaths and heavy eye contact as you pieced together what to do next.

You watched Cooper’s eyes flicker down to your lips for a moment, and could almost see the conflict behind them as he battled the urge to kiss you.

“I don’t wanna see him, but I don’t still want him, if that’s what’s stopping you,” you gulped, “In case it’s not loud and clear, I want you. Just didn’t wanna see him without any confirmation you aren’t gonna rock up there and declare me as some kinda fuckin’ pet and humiliate me even more than he did.”

“Enough talk about him,” Cooper growled, one hand pulling your face to his by the jaw, “If he don’t realise what he’s missin’, I definitely fuckin’ do.”

Finally, he kissed you.

Your hands flew around his neck, lips meeting his with equal fiery passion and pure need.

His one hand still remained cupping your jaw, whilst the other explored the waistband of your trousers earnestly, thumbing at your hipbone.

Finally, after all of these weeks of pining and sexual tension, Cooper Howard was giving you exactly what you needed — and all thoughts of John Hancock melted away.

You found yourself pulling him as close as physically possible, allowing him to press you against the wall as he stole your breath with the intensity of the kiss.

“Mightn’t be your first rodeo, sugar,” his lips pressed just behind your ear as he spoke, “But I’m sure as shit gonna make it feel like it is.”

———

eeeee please lmk if you’d like a part two with smut. or just a part two where they eventually go to goodneighbor. please feel free to request more coop or some hancock, and be warned there are more coop x hancock’s gf/ex!reader fics in the drafts because i can’t stop myself!!!!

in the meantime — here’s my masterlist.

[merakiui]

Helloooo! I’d like to order a flower bouquet + strawberry ice cream from the misc. menu as well as some lemon squares + custard donuts from the midnight menu for Scaramouche <3

yandere!scaramouche x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, dub-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, friends with benefits, forced pregnancy/baby-trapping (no pronouns; reader has a pussy), modern college au note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

You’re writing a paper.

Sitting at your desk, scrolling through clothes online, you wonder if your meager paycheck will cover the shipping costs. This is all research. Research that is very necessary in the paper-drafting process, of course! You click on an outfit just as Scaramouche looks up from his phone.

Correction. You’re trying to write a paper.

“Great progress. I can really see the thought you put into this.”

“I’m envisioning it as we speak.”

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem to be getting you anywhere.” He sets his phone down and leans closer. “Last I checked you’re not writing about clothes.”

“Last I checked,” you say, mocking him, “I didn’t ask for commentary. Don’t you have anything better to do?” 

A smug smile sharpens on his face. “I can think of a few things.”

Groaning, you shove him away. “No way. Not today.”

“Why not? It didn’t seem to bother you that last time when we did it before your lecture. You were so out of it you didn’t want me to leave you alone. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Not my fault I was tired! Don’t tell me you’ve never said and done stupid things when you’re running on three hours of sleep.”

“Not once,” he declares, looking quite proud. As if it’s some grand achievement. Does he want an award? “And even if I was, I wouldn’t be reduced to sugary, sappy putty.”

“I called you ‘sweetheart’ once by mistake. Get over it.”

Scaramouche rests his elbow on the desk, his cheek in his hand. “I don’t think I want to.”

Shutting your laptop, you turn in your chair to face him. “And I don’t think I want to fuck you today.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Oh, you’re gonna do all the work?”

“That’s the plan. Be grateful I’m so good to you,” he teases, leaning closer and closer until—

You block your lips before he can capture them. “I really can’t today. Paper aside, I don’t have any protection and I’m not on birth control right now.”

“It doesn’t have to be inside.” He sits back in his chair, exuding casual confidence. “Unless you want to risk it.”

You try to put enough ice in your glare, but it melts quickly. You really shouldn’t. It’s not a safe day. You really, really shouldn’t…

Scaramouche raises a brow, waiting for your reply.

Despite everything, you’re wheedled into it anyway. You’re not even sure what you want. Is it yes or no? It’s been months since you fell into this arrangement with him—the campus’s infamous lone wolf who goes out of his way to make himself unapproachable. Or, according to your friends, he’s more of a lonely stray cat in need of a friend. Scaramouche had scoffed when you told him that.

Your friends are idiots, he said with a scowl. It only made him look even more like a grumpy cat in need of companionship. Not that you’d ever tell him that. It would only serve to stoke the flames of his ire.

But right now, looking up at him while he ruts into you, sweat sticking in all the right places, his hair falling over his eyes, you’re inclined to agree with that observation. There’s a depth to his gaze that draws you in, a sad glimmer hiding behind the ardor. There’s never been any attachment outside of the bedroom. You’re not even sure if he considers you a friend.

Still, you wonder…

“Scara, do you—” You cut yourself off with a startled gasp, your nails curling into his shoulders. He’s holding you down by your hips, fucking into you like the world’s about to end. “S-Slow down. Wait, I—aah—oh!”

He sucks in a staggered breath through grit teeth, his jaw set firmly. “You’re never going to leave me.”

Your brain stalls out, and suddenly you’re not sure how to respond. He doesn’t lessen the brutal pace at which he thrusts, so you’re forced to piece together a half-coherent answer amidst your groans.

“N-Not anytime soon—mmh… Why? What’s up?”

Scaramouche lifts his head from your neck. A strange smile turns the corners of his lips up. “It’s not a question. I wasn’t giving you a choice.”

You blink back at him, lust-drunk and dazed. The horror edges in, slow and steady like invasive rot. It isn’t until he’s pinning your legs up by your ears to force you into another position that the implication finally catches up to you. You claw at his back with weak strokes, babbling futile protests against his mouth. In response, his cock throbs inside of you, pressed so deep in this position you fear the repercussions. He kisses you with much the same force, insistent on driving you into the mattress—on pinning you here until you finally submit. Until the last of your resolve withers away, stamped out and replaced with something agreeable.

“Even if you wanted to,” he says around a shaky laugh, seeming positively deranged, “you couldn’t.”

You think you should be worried, but you’re so stunned with this development that your brain can’t keep up. Embarrassingly, you cum with a strangled sort of cry, your pussy clenching tight. He hisses through his teeth, fucks you through the high of your orgasm, and then falls with you, his own climax fast like a flash.

You’re panting in the aftermath. What just happened?

Scaramouche keeps you plugged with his cock for as long as he possibly can before he’s sliding out, flaccid and spent. For now, you suspect, for there will certainly be more later if your wits aren’t about you by then.

“Pill,” you mumble, voice hoarse from crying. You shake him, hoping he’ll climb off of you and get to it. “Scaraaa…”

Oddly, for someone who never shows any vulnerability, he clings. “We’ve got time. I’ll get it. Don’t worry.”

You don’t believe him. Not when his hand strays to your stomach. His palm brushes over the area once. He sighs, wholly satisfied.

“We’ve got time…”

Nine months of it, in fact. But that goes unspoken. If not today, there’s always tomorrow. You know he won’t rest until then. Neither will you. Your heart is too big, too soft, for that lonely stray cat, and part of you wonders if he knows that.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

AN: Opps, what happened here?

Summary: You had a job to do. It was a more complex job than people gave you credit for, a deeper job than seeing to the physical needs of your clients. Having been summoned to Pride Manor once again, you knew Lucifer's needs this holiday season were, like many of your clients, so much deeper than just indulging in the sin of lust but that was alright, you were prepared to be exactly what and who he needed this night.

CW: Sex worker Reader, P in V smut

Lucifer paced the hall, boots echoing through the long, empty halls. Each time he turned sharply on his heels, his thumb rubbed over the glossy finish of your card. The details were embossed, a silky looping of letters under his thumb. He didn’t need to look at the card to know your name or the phone number to call to summon you. The details on the card were seared into his memory, each pass of his thumb over the information just reinforced the memory. 

It wasn’t often he had called the number on the card. Far less often than he ran his fingers over it, pacing the cold, empty halls of the manor. Tonight was one of those rare nights he made the call, requesting your services for what was only the fourth time. 

Guilt clawed at him for having done so. You were more than your body or the services you offered. Though he was a firm believer in a person’s rights to sell their services, but he wasn’t fond of the idea of purchasing those services himself. Every time he called, he felt disgusted with himself. 

He was the king of hell, for Satan’s sake. He shouldn’t need to buy companionship. He wasn’t unattractive; he knew he could go into the city and find anybody to warm his bed, but… he didn’t want to. 

He told himself again and again that he wasn’t pathetic for calling for you. It was something he struggled to believe. It was just easier to hire someone than to fulfill his needs than to go through the song and dance. He was just�� buying a speed pass. 

You were so much more than a hired a companion for the night. That’s what he liked to call you, anyway. You provided him much more than physical pleasure. You laughed at his jokes and admired his ducks.

You were kind and funny. That was important to him, more than the amazing rack on your chest, though he didn’t mind those in the slightest. You had the prettiest eyes he had seen in decades. 

Still, he felt… weird calling for you. He was the king of hell. He shouldn’t need to pay for the services… the company of a partner. It had been so long since Lilith left, through and he was lonely. The holidays were a time for family, for friends, and he was alone. 

Charlie… she was off with her friends, with her girlfriend. Her old man probably didn’t even cross her. He didn’t fault her for it. She was grown now. She had her own life and deserved to spend it with the people that mattered to her. 

Even if that left him alone during the holiday season. 

He didn’t have to be alone. 

“You called for me, Your Majesty?” You always came into the manor in that way, giving him the highest respects. 

Your voice startled him out of his thoughts. He shoved the smoothe card into his breast pocket. Though he had been expecting you and had seen you before, his palms broke out in a sweat. 

“Your Majesty?” Your voice was sweet, words coming out well formed and carrying almost a melody in them. 

Most Sinners didn’t afford him such respect, often not realizing he could easily give them a final death with a flick of his pinky. It wasn’t a power he flaunted, using it infrequently over the last decade. 

“Hello, Luci.” Lucifer cringed, smile turning brittle as he resisted the urge to run. “I mean, just call me Luci. We went over this.” 

You straightened from your curtsy. “We have,” you agreed, wearing the soft smile Lucifer thought about so often. “But I think you’re a man worthy of respect. As such, should I not greet my king in such a way rather than assume?” 

Your words flustered him, a golden flush rising quickly to his pale face, warming the red circles on his cheeks. There were few who thought he was worthy of any respect, let alone who didn’t require a show of power to offer it. Your respect and kindness had his stomach tied in knots. You always had that effect on him. It was a power he hadn’t felt another have over him in so long. 

“Shall we go to bed?” Lucifer asked, chucking lightly as he tried to force an air of command or at least confidence, but feared he had failed.

“I’m not tired, My King.” You sauntered up to him, hips swaying as you walked. You knew why he had called you. It was why anyone ever called a prostitute. It wasn’t for sex, though that was part of it. He was lonely. He wanted to be seen, to be heard, to be held, to be loved, if only for a little while. 

It was a task you were more than willing to see to, even standing in his family home, his ex-wife and daughter looking down on you from the walls. The state of his marriage wasn’t your responsibility. It wasn’t your responsibility to pick up his phone and call his daughter for him. 

It was your responsibility to feel him, to see him, to hear him, to love him… just for a night. 

And that’s what you did. 

Reaching out, you let your hand rest against his chest, running it across the layers of fabric he wore. Jacket. Vest. Shirt. Layers and layers to defend him from the world, to keep him hidden from prying eyes. So much effort put into ensuring no one got a glimpse of the man under it all, not that he left the manor often. 

You would strip each and every one of those layers from him in more ways than one until he was naked before you. That was the service he was paying you for and with him, you didn’t mind. 

“I meant… shall we go upstairs… to do.. do the thing?” Lucifer tripped over his words, as he so often did early in your encounters. It was cute how you could fluster the very king of hell himself. It made you feel powerful and desired in a way none of your clients ever had… or your partners in life. 

“Yes,” you purred, leaning in to speak into his ear as you sauntered around behind him, “Let’s go upstairs and do the thing.” 

“Right!” Lucifer yelled, his voice so loud you would have flinched back if you were not expecting it. You were, though. Lucifer was a kind, anxious, but somewhat predictable man. As you draped your arm over his chest, pressing your chest into his back. “Let’s ah go!” 

For a moment, as you let him take you by the hand and lead you through the halls, you imagined him dressed in a red plumber’s outfit, jumping out of a green pipe. It was a fleeting image, not one fair in the slightest to the height challenged king but one that had your smile pulling wider, honest, for a moment. 

What movement and confidence he had gained, fleeing from the throne room, died as the door to his bedchamber clicked closed behind you. You were used to the swings of Lucifer’s mood, his confidence. Learning your client’s moods and behaviors was a part of the job.

A less experienced worker would hesitate with the change of mood, but that wasn’t you. You knew what you were doing, what you were here for. It didn’t matter what storm your client’s mood would bring, you would weather it. That was no different with Lucifer. 

Lucifer stood, timid and frozen as you pulled the top had that served in so many ways as his crown from his head. You wondered, as you often did, if he had a traditional crown hidden away in the manor somewhere. It wasn’t something you would ever ask. That wasn’t your place, not now, not ever. 

“So handsome,” you purred, setting the hat aside before running your fingers through his hair. He leaned into the touch, as you knew he would. The king, too timid to say what he wanted, what he needed was touch starved from years of isolation. 

You pulled the jacket back, letting it slide down his shoulders while you moved around his front. He was an attractive man, something that always surprised you once you got to see him without the shadows of the hat to hide his face from you. 

One layer down. Nimble fingers worked the fastenings open on his vest, slowly stripping him of the ringmaster’s mask he wore. The king of hell summoned you, but that was not who you would lie with. 

No, you never lie with the people who summoned you. They were the people they wanted to believe themselves to be. You would strip them bare, take all the trappings of station and wealth, leaving it discarded on the floor. 

Once you had them naked, they were just a person. Just a body. Just a soul. What they needed was always the same, though how you would give it would change to their needs. They needed comfort and for someone to see them as they were. 

“Lucifer,” you whispered his name, waiting for his eyes to raise and meet yours. “Are you going to touch me today?” You pushed the vest back, letting it fall as well before beginning to unbutton his shirt. “Or do you want to just lay back, relax and let me take care of you tonight?”

His hands twitched, fingers flexing, before he willed himself to move. It was always a struggle for him to start, but once he did, the feel of your skin under his hands would be enough to keep his attention on you. The demons in his mind held him back until then. 

You sighed as he brushed your hair back. fingers ghosting over your skin as he pulled you to him. This was always how he started and it was something you appreciated. There was a caring, an honest kindness to his touch that most of your clients lacked, especially the more powerful of them. 

He held you for a moment, the deep plunging V of your dress allowing his newly exposed chest to press directly into your flesh. The warmth of him sank into you, warming something in you that none of the heat of hell seemed to touch. 

This was a part of it, you had learned early on. Sometimes, men just wanted to hold and be held. It was something they so rarely allowed themselves, that society insisted on ripping them apart for. That is why you made it a point to wrap your arms around them, holding them tightly to you for as long as it took. 

It was an embrace men often melted into, with some resistance at first, sure. Lucifer had cried the first time you had wrapped your arms around him, returning his embrace with the security and warmth of not a hired body but of a lover. 

That was what you really were, what they were hiring you for, even if they struggled to admit it to themselves at first. That was what you prided yourself in being for them. Unlike many of your peers, you took pride in your work, even enjoyed it.

There was a pleasure in being embraced for you, too. Standing there, holding your partner of the night in your arms as they clutched you, waiting for their grip to slacken and for them to pull back, you felt needed in a way that the raging boners and wet cunts of the bodies you serviced could never equal. 

You held him and waited, shifting your weight from side to side on your heels as you rocked his body with yours. If he was smaller, they’d call the action motherly. You preferred to think of it as a dance, soft and sweet. In time, Lucifer’s grip loosened as he pulled away, stepping into the swaying dance you had started. 

His face was flushed golden, as it had been every time you’d done this dance with him. His eyes were ringed with it, bloodshot from how close he had come to tears. You wouldn’t mention it. It didn’t need to be said verbally. The soft smile on your pink painted lips said it all. 

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer said, as you knew he would. “We should get moving.” 

“You booked me until morning,” you reminded him. “There’s no need to rush.” 

This, too, was quickly becoming routine. 

“Can I kiss you?” Lucifer’s voice came low as he looked up at you. 

He had wanted a tall, slim woman with large curves and while you were slim and had some curves, you were far from the towering height he had requested. 

The agency knew better than to give someone exactly what they wanted to replace. It never worked out well in the worker’s favor… or the client’s. None of you could replace a lost love. Trying only ended in either obsession or heartbreak. Neither was good for business. 

“I’d like that.” Your smile spread wider as your hand ran up his chest, fingers tucked under the edge of his shirt. The warmth of his chest soaked into your hand. 

His hand wrapped around you, pulling you closer. Long fingers carded through your hair, wrapping in the soft strands as he pulled your lips to his. Lips met in a soft sigh, lingering touches spread over bodies as Lucifer’s needs in the moment shifted. 

You were ready. It was your job to expect it, not being surprised as he pulled the bow at the back of your neck. Silk ribbon slipped against silk ribbon as the only thing holding the dress on your body was reduced to nothing more than fluttering fabric. 

The dress fell from your body in a whoosh, gathering around your feet. You, ever the dutiful lover, quickly worked the remaining buttons free on his shirt. Strong muscles that would surprise most of the sinners in hell flexed under your hands as you pushed the shirt off his shoulders. 

The shirt hung from the back of his pants in a comical tail, trapping his arms and limiting his range of motion as he tried to pull your body into him again. 

“Ducking hell,” Lucifer said, ripping his shirt from where it was still tucked into his pants. You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped from your lips. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” you kissed him softly, cutting off any whispered remorses. You didn’t want to hear them. It wasn’t his job to be sorry. He could say whatever cute curses he wanted with you. It wasn’t your job to judge them. “It’s cute. You’re cute.” 

“You think so?” There was a vulnerability in the question, as if no one had called him cute in a rather long time. Perhaps, if they had, he wasn’t in a place to hear it. 

“I do,” you whispered, catching his cheek with a soft kiss. It was an honest answer. Regardless of what you were being paid for tonight, you found the king of hell to be rather cute. He was a charming man, handsome and with a body anyone would be glad to have pressed against them. Yet he had a boyish wonder in his eyes, a goofy smile that held no malice. 

You arched into his kisses, presenting more of your chest, the swells of your breasts to him as he kissed lower and lower. As he worked, his hands ran trails up and down your back, taking in the feel of having a body under his fingertips again. 

You walked backward, toward the large bed as you worked his belt open. Each movement was slow, practiced and waiting. It was important to give him the chance to take the lead, to direct the activity of the night. 

In what few meetings you had shared with him, Lucifer was a timid but generous lover. It was you that was being paid to provide pleasure and yet he would take the time to taste you, seeing to it that you enjoyed the job you were getting paid for. 

You had let to leave Pride Manor in a state of anything less than sexual satisfaction. What exactly it was that he liked, though, you couldn’t be sure yet. There was plenty of time to figure it out, however. Or, at least, you hoped that would be the case. 

You sighed as his pants fell around his ankles, cock springing free to slap his stomach at last. There was something different about tonight, though Lucifer had not said it. He was in hurting. It was a deep pain that reached down to his very soul and while you had no illusions that you could fix it for him, that you could heal him, you were eager to be a bandage for the night. 

You’d have come even if he wasn’t paying you, not that you’d ever tell the agency or the King that. If you did, that was a great way to find yourself dead, body respawning while you were stripped of every position you had accumulated over the decades. 

He whimpered, a sad, needy sound deep in his throat when you wrapped your hand around his cock. You pumped your hand over the silky smooth skin of his shaft. With careful pressure of your hands, you spun him with you, putting his back to the bed. 

Guiding him, you pushed and pushed, kissing him as you did until he sad down on the bed. His hands roamed you, taking in the weight of your breasts and the curve of your hips as you continued the kiss him deeply. The bed dipped as you rested one knee on the outside of his hips. 

His tongue swept into your mouth as he scooted back, hips bucking up into your hand as he did so. You followed him, crawling after him as you straddled his legs. The pointed claws of his hand ran down your stomach, dipping between your thighs, finding you wet and ready for him. 

Some workers applied artificial lube to themselves before their appointments, giving the illusion of an eager body for the client. It wasn’t a trick you were above using yourself. Not all partners were pleasing to your eye, nor were they all sexually stimulating. 

With Lucifer, though, you had no issues allowing your body to self lubricate. He was pleasing to the eye and oh, your body reacted eagerly to his touch. It took as little as his heated gaze, his soft whimpers to have your slick gathering between your legs. 

A moan, soft and honest, slipped from your lips as he caressed your clit. Slick covered fingers ran over the bud of nerves, circling it and passing over it again and again. He played your body with the expert ease of a man who had spent many nights in the company of a woman. 

And yet, she had left him. It wasn’t your place to ask why. It wasn’t your place to even care about her and yet she looked down on you everywhere in the Manor. Even now, as you kissed the man that had been her husband, she looked down on you. 

Her eyes watched you as you ran the gold flushed head of her once husband’s cock through your slick folds. Together, they both watched as you sank down on him, swallowing his cock within the hot confines of your body. 

She left him and yet she was everywhere in this manor, haunting it like the ghost of what was. For a few hours, for a night, you would distract the King of Hell from the ghosts he lived with. 

He moaned, back arching and fingers flexing into your hips as you sank lower and lower. “I was-” He whimpered again as your hips met his, body taking all of his considerable size in. “I was going to eat you.” 

“Not tonight,” you purred, bouncing slightly on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, pushing your breasts into his chest. 

“No?” he looked at you with wide eyes. When he looked at you like that, you could see the angel he had once been. What you would give to see the man that he had once been, long ago, before humanity had become everything it was. 

“No,” you kissed him softly, encouraging him to hold your body close by holding him. “I want to take care of you tonight.” 

“You always do,” he said, as if you had hardly met more than a handful of times. “But tonight, it feels like you need someone to love you.”

“To love me?” The smile that spread on his face felt forced, brittle. If you poked it too hard, would he shatter into a million pieces? Would a simple hug be enough to put him back together again? 

“Will you let me tonight?” you whispered, forehead resting against his as you slowly lifted yourself off his cock, sliding back down the hard shaft with just as much of a controlled pace. “Let me love you tonight?” 

“You want to?” He asked, and in that moment, you could feel that you had him. He was entranced with everything you had to offer him. With the feel of you, he forgot you were a product, a service to be bought and sold. That was how you wanted it. 

“Yes,” you sighed into him as your hips nestled against his. 

“Okay,” he whimpered as his head fell forward, lips working over the soft skin of your chest. 

You rode him slow, wrapped up in his arms. This wasn’t your ideal position or pace, but there was something in the soft sighs, in knowing you were bringing those sounds forth from the most powerful man in all of hell that made up for it. 

It helped, too, that his cock was thick and long, caressing every nerve inside of you as you worked over him. 

“Please,” he whined, looking up at you. “Let me-”

He said nothing more. You knew he wouldn’t. When he was like this, he didn’t want to use crude language. He wanted to mount you, to fuck you, but how could he say that when fucking wasn’t what he wanted? 

What he wanted was to make love, but how could he say that to you? To a stand in? A hired body? A glorified doll?

You leaned back, spreading your legs out behind Lucifer as you pulled him down with you. It was a smoothe, practiced motion as you shifted. Lips moved against lips as your back hit the soft blankets. 

He was careful of your hips as he shifted himself, raising up onto his knees, unfolding them from under you. It felt good to be tucked under the king of hell. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his, bathing in the soft look of love unearned. 

His cock slipped in and out of you, working your body tighter and tighter around him. He never failed to work your body toward the edge, cock easily finding every place within you that gave you pleasure. 

He leaned down, kissing you as if he loved you while he thrust into you. Strong muscles flexed and jumped as you warped your arms around him. Fingers ran through the silky golden hairs at the back of his head, digging into his scalp in such a way that had him purring. 

Being touched, held, caressed was something you had noticed early on Lucifer craved. It was easy to give him, even as he gave you pleasure. Your legs ran along his, holding onto him as he pushed into you faster. With every gasping breath of air, your chest rose. The warm skin of his body brushed against your nipples with every sweet thrust. 

“Close,” you whimpered, lips leaving his to kiss along his jaw, whispering the word into his ear. 

“Are you?” Luci whispered, looking at you with soft eyes that betrayed years of love. Part of you wished that love belonged to you, but you knew better. For the night, he would place all the love he had for his lost queen into you and you would take it with a smile, but it would never belong to you.

“I am.” Your back arched as his cock nestled into your walls again and again. 

He was a talented lover. Each thrust of his body ran his pubic bone over your clit, pressing with just enough pressure to ensure the curls at the base of his cock drug against your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

Each pass of his body over you, through you, sent sparks to life, catching on the embers of your waiting orgasm. You clung to him as he stoked the fire inside you, panting breaths mingling as he kissed you again. 

No one kissed you as much as Lucifer did. It wasn’t something you would usually allow, but you made an exception for him. When it was Lucifer, you wanted to taste his kiss and pretend for a little while it was you they were meant for. 

You moaned his name, a long, drawn out sound as your body clamped down around him. He swore, something you rarely heard him do as his cock swelled, twitched and finally shot his seed inside you. Each strong contraction of your walls around him urged him on, pulling him and his seed deeper and deeper. 

You clung to him as he thrust, pace slowing, riding out the waves of his orgasm as he softened. He always moaned a name when he finished, deep and buried under years of pain. If you didn’t know, you could miss it. 

Lilith.

The woman who looked down on you, a simple sex worker, from the grand paintings of the manor. She was a woman you could never hope to be like, who you knew you never would be like. That was alright with you. 

Lucifer shifted, cock now soft and easily falling from your body. In a daze, he fell to his side and gathered you to his chest. Warm breath washed over your head as he tucked you closer to him. The weight of a blanket settled over you, materializing out of nothing in a subtle show of power he never seemed to think twice of. 

“I love you,” Lucifer said as sleep quickly claimed him, as he had every night you had shared in your post orgasm daze. It squeezed your heart, cracking it for the kind king who had been cast aside as if he was nothing. “Merry Christmas.”

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[circeyoru]

Their Twist In Time _ Part 2

[Time-travelled Human!Alastor x Time User!Reader]

Part 1

Part 2 (here)

Nowadays, when he saw you working on your (his) time issue, he’d convince you to rest, that if you were tired, nothing would be done. Why not watch that movie show you love with him and rest a bit? Better to work while you’re fully energized, after all!

He won’t admit it to you, but he didn’t want to leave. He doesn’t have much when he returns. The police were closing in, the Great Depression was reaching a climax he doubted he could manage, and his mother had already passed away. He prefers spending his days with you, in the future or present world

‘Make sure you know your facts’ was what your father taught you. Because you favoured the past, he taught you the advantage was that it was history, the biggest events were recorded and you’d know what not to interfere and what you can

Alastor claiming he was a famous radio host was no lie, but there was something else that he didn’t tell you. He was a serial killer on the side and his death was reported to be of a dog-related incident after getting shot due to being mistaken as a deer in the woods

You were on edge, but Alastor didn’t do any killer-worthy acts to ward you off. He can’t kill you off as well, since you were his only ticket home. Speaking of, that time to call your parents was near. That night, you made sure Alastor was in his room and had his radio blasting so you’d be uninterrupted

“What have you done this time?” Came your father’s unamused voice. You chuckled nervously before explaining the entire thing to him from top to bottom. As you learned the method to bring Alastor back to his time, you were unaware of him leaning against your door, desperate to stall for time to stay longer or forever

As luck would have it, you needed some time to perfect the technique since this was a live person (your crush) that you were working on. If it was you, that’s easy since you were somewhat immortal in a sense, but this was Alastor and he ain’t no immortal like you

Then Alastor needed more time to ‘say his farewells’ as he phased it. But why he needed more time, you can’t tell, you just rolled with it

The two idiots, wanting to spend more time with each other without admitting it!

It came the time to say goodbye, you were done with school and had to move on. Even your friends were suspecting where Alastor came from, your excuse was that he was visiting on short notice, thus crashing at your place. But that could only hold them off for so long

Alastor wasn’t helping when he made himself as involved in your social circle as possible, making his presence known. Your eyes widened when you realized the reason behind this was to make people remember him so he can’t leave

“Lastly, you need to be careful.” You recall your father’s words before he and your mother signed off

“I’ll perfect the casting, no more mistakes.” You waved your hand dismissively

“Not that, we have full faith that you can do it.” Your mother softly spoke. Your parents glanced at each other before continuing, “It’s the man, Alastor, you need to be careful of.”

Your eyes blinked, confused. “Why? He’s been kind and understanding. We bonded—”

“That’s the thing. You’ve bonded, connected with each other.” Your father cut you off. “The nature of the casting was this. You were lonely and wanted companionship. So was this man, that’s why he was brought back with you. You didn’t do it on purpose, it was your subconscious that did it.”

“This is the reason why we told you to train the mind.” Your mother stressed

You sighed, you had already took a few days to clear your head, faking it as preparation for your abilities. You can say you have a crush on him now. You want him to stay but this wasn’t his home. ‘If you love him, let him go.’

“Alastor, you can’t stay any longer. I know what you’re doing.” You spoke to him as the two of you reached the forest clearing

“Whatever are you implying, my dear? Aren’t we merely enjoying a nice stroll through the woods?” He smiled ever so brightly under the shining sunlight. How you wish you were born in his time period or he in yours. Maybe in another life

You raised your hand as your powers activated beneath him, freezing him in place so he can only listen and speak to you. “Alastor. I love you. Have been for a while, I’m sorry that I brought you here and I’m sorry I’m sending you back on my terms. I’m sorry! I wish you could stay or I could go with you, but… we don’t belong together.”

Alastor growled, keeping his smile forced and strained, “Darling, release your power and I can stay! We don’t have to end this! I can stay and live with you! I’ll even work if you’re worried about mo—”

You shook your head, “It’s not that! It’s… I was wrong…” You swallowed, explaining with a small smile, “No one here, except me, will remember you. All traces of you here will be erased.” You heard his gasp, “And you. You won’t remember ever coming here. You won’t remember… Me.”

Alastor stared down at the gun that you summoned from his room to throw into the circle surrounding him. “Dearest…”

As the light blinded him, he could hear your voice crack and fall to one of sadness. “Be happy for the rest of your life, Alastor! Maybe we’ll meet, in another life.”

Alastor promised, “I’ll remember you! I swear it! I’ll find you! I have something to say, I—”

You waved him bye, for the first time, you saw it. The corner of his lips falling and you feel your own tears pools as you admitted with a stab in your heart, “No. No, you won’t.”

MASTERLIST

[bluemirrorangel]

Curly Shepherd HC's Masterpost

all of my Curly HC's

his real name is Cyrus.

his mom named him after his dad to try and get his father to settle down and stop doing criminal activity.

Tim nick-named him Curly after their father died

he's called' Curly because his curls are the wildest.

Only his mom calls him Cyrus.

Has a deeply flawed understanding of love

Uses his attractiveness to his advantage.

Like Tim but more rabid.

His idea of romance is dining and dashing with Pony.

Only smokes Marlboro’s 

Steals Pony’s flannels.

Hates pepsi

Smarter than people give him credit for.

all of his shirts are Tim's old ones and they are way too big so he tries to make them shorter by cutting them

he cuts the sleeve's to make them muscle shirts but he miscalculates by a long shot and makes the cuts too big, it's still wearable but it looks a little odd and he cuts them to make them shorter and it works but at what cost.

He's also too skinny and short to fit in Tim's old jeans so he has to borrow Angela's until he can buy his own. 

curly, Johnny, and Dally all have their ears pierced. They got them at the same time it was at the shepherd's house on a Friday night, both Curly and Dallas were drunk Johnny was just sober and easily persuaded. Dallas and Sylvia had broken up for the tenth time that month and Dallas was complaining about how he'd lifted some earrings for her and everything, real nice ones too from real jewellers and everything. Curly told him to just wear them himself and stop complaining so long story short Dally and Johnny pierced their ears with the earrings and Curly used a safety pin he still wears.

Curly and Ponyboy are forbidden from seeing each other without some type of supervision because of how much chaos they cause and everyone knows it, they still hang out alone tho they're not even secretive about it.

The third time Curly goes to reformatory it's for stealing a couple of classic books. he didn't do it. Ponyboy did, they were for Darry's birthday. He felt terrible about it and almost turned himself in but Curly wouldn’t let him.

they didn't even get caught not really it's just that the cashier saw them come in and knew who Curly was, so she was immediately on edge, and Ponyboy looked nervous, so she called the police. they didn't check them just arrested Curly on the spot.   

Curly calls him Baby Curtis as an excuse to call Ponyboy baby

Everyone thinks that Curly’s a bad influence on Ponyboy but it’s actually the complete opposite not on purpose it’s just that Ponyboy laughs whenever Curly does dumb shit and Curly has absolutely no self-preservation and a desperate need to make ponyboy laugh.

They're both worryingly touch starved but in very different ways ponyboy is touch starved unknowingly like there’s an ache in his chest like he’s longing for something he just doesn’t know what, whereas Curly is very much a mixture of touch starved and touch repulsed like he desperately wants to be held but doesn’t trust anyone enough to admit it.

Curly has a shitload of nicknames for Ponyboy including but not limited to Ponybabe, Ponykid, Ponybaby, baby Curtis, and Pones whilst Pony just calls him Curls.

They didn’t really have a specific realisation moment about their sexuality they’d both always kind of known. For Pony it was more of a click, all the dots finally connecting in his head why he felt more curiosity towards Cherry than attraction, why his eyes were always perpetually glued to the male lead whenever he went to the movies, why he felt a strange kind of companionship with Johnny he’d thought that he was making it up before, that it was all in his head this weird energy between the two of them like they were alike in more ways than one. He’d almost managed to convince himself that it was true too that he was simply lonely and delusional, that was until one night at the lot he saw it, a flicker of a look shared between Johnny and Dally and then he knew he was right that they had more in common than they originally thought.

And then there was Curly dear god curly shepherd their friendship had been strong, to say the least, although incredibly ill-advised. They lost their brain cells when put together coming up with stupidly dangerous ideas in a constant need to entertain the other, they weren’t good for each other Darry had scolded him after he’d heard about them playing chicken together they were too competitive to know when to stop they couldn’t stay friends Darry had warned him the night Curly had broken his arm, they’d kill each other. Ponyboy supposed he was right but he didn’t care curly was wild and reckless and free and so, so alive he was like a supernova hot and burning too bright and out too soon. It was different for Curly. He’d always kinda known. Curly was the type of kid that craved attention of any kind subconsciously, and ever since they’d met ponyboy gave it to him willingly at that. It had always been Ponyboy even when if it wasn’t. Whether it was Paying extra attention to the boy in the back of his calculus class who always had his head stuck in a book or getting a little too close to other boys in the reformatory, particularly boys with bright green eyes and easy smiles.

Curly reads all of ponyboy’s favourite books well he tried but reading is boring and totally pointless, considering Cliff Notes exists, but he still tries.

doesn't know what to do when he get's out of reform and is informed of all the events.

is obviously grieving Dallas but also misses Johnny.

they weren't close but the two loved to fuck with each other whenever Dallas brought Johnny to the Shepherds.

properly spiralled when Ponyboy called him Johnny by mistake.

it awakened issues he was unaware he had.

because his mom only had him to baby trap his dad and then discarded him like he was nothing but his father's unwanted replacement when it didn't work.

and now it’s happening again.

i've said it before, and I'll say it again, the Curtis brothers don't have beef with Curly.

why would they?

they're at least friendly with the Shepherds.

Tim's comfortable enough to stay at their house.

and it would be unfair for them to consider Curly a 'bad influence' when they let Ponyboy around DALLAS FUCKING WINSTON.

Dallas "fights children" Winston.

Dallas "criminal record a mile long" Winston.

Dallas "in & out of the cooler" Winston.

like at least the shepherds are in a gang for like safety, Dallas is out here committing crime recreationally.

Curly is double-jointed and mildly hypermobile.

he used to freak Pony out by dislocating joints and shit.

doesn't have any plans because he's convinced he's gonna die young, his dad died at twenty five and most of his cousins died even younger.

Tim used to cut his hair for him using a bowl and fabric scissors because that's all they had.

cue six year old Curly rock the world's gnarliest bowl cut in existence.

Modern HC's

Because of the way he acts and dresses Curly gets mistaken for an E-boy.

Ponyboy and Curly are 'secretly' dating.

They're not allowed to be left alone unsupervised unless they're in public and they're only allowed in ponyboy’s room if the doors open.

Curly sneaks ponyboy into his room at night to just hang out without being constantly watched.

Dally has caught them multiple times and the only reason he hasn’t snitched is because Curly’s bribing him.

I've seen this hc before but Curly has been on scared beyond straight.

Curly has multiple burner phones and none of the numbers are saved on Ponyboy's phone .

Curly keeps breaking their snap streak.

They make each other playlists on Spotify

Curly had a phase of making those cringey TikTok thirst traps

Curly used to be a Soundcloud rapper

Curly sneaks out of detention regularly to walk Ponyboy home from Track practice.

Curly has broken his arm twice; the first time after he fell off that telephone pole and the second time was when he snuck into Ponyboy's room, the two of them were lying on his roof watching the stars and Ponyboy kissed him for the first time and Curly was so shocked he rolled off the roof.

they watch horror movies together.

they're banned from the cheapest cinema in town, because they got caught making out in the back.

Darry and Soda actually have no problem with the Shepherds or Curly as a whole, Darry in particular respects Tim and understands how hard it is to raise kids while being a kid yourself. they just wish Curly was less reckless.

pirates literally everything off sketchy websites.

he has a laptop that the school gave him, and it's literally riddled with viruses.

the only subject he pays somewhat attention to is history.

has eaten so many notes that he got caught passing in class that teachers have started letting ot go for fear of his health.

that's all of them :)

if anyone wants to talk about the outsiders PLEASE talk to me I take requests, i'm super hyperfixated on the outsiders rn so honestly I'll take any excuse to yap.

[crazylittlejester]

I assume they bumped into eachother at the castle at one point, mainly cause on first meeting, Sydney didn't recognise wars so i was wondering how he reacted when he found out Wars was the hero?

aldkdkd yeah that’s exactly what happened, they ran into each other in the castle and they both did a double take because they were like “huh that guy looks familiar… oh my gods. oh my gods wAIT-”

Sidney was definitely shocked. He hadn’t ever been super close to “the hero” before, not close enough to get a super good look at him and have his face memorized anyways, so when he’d first met War at the tavern he thought he looked familiar but couldn’t really put his finger on it. When he saw The Hero in the halls in his typical attire, he kinda nodded at him until his brain connected the dots and then he literally had an “oh my fucking gods” moment because That’s A Huge Important Person (even if War doesn’t really have a high military rank and even though he’s not nobility, he’s still kind of viewed as a big deal)

At first he thought War lied to him about the name he’d given him, but quickly realized that was not the case. They didn’t have much of a chance to speak that second time they met because they were both running late to places, but War was on Sidney’s mind the rest of the day. He’d had a respect for the Hero of Warriors this entire time, he was never one of the people who blamed him for the war, and after what he saw from War in the tavern (that huge panic attack) he started connecting that to a couple of things that were just common knowledge of the hero, like that he’d been captured for a bit but they got him back. Sidney isn’t stupid, he came to some correct conclusions (though he never asked War for confirmation his assumptions were correct. Over the years he’s gotten more evidence to confirm his suspicions of what Cia did, but he never asked and War has not verbally told him at this point (in the present tense). He WILL tell him at some point though)

Sidney also spent a lot of time thinking about how War so openly blamed himself for everything and how he’s called himself a monster, because at first Sidney thought that was just survivors guilt, but realizing War was the hero gave him more context and he realized War was FULLY blaming himself for the ENTIRE war

He’d been kinda attracted to him the second War had started openly flirting with him at the tavern, in an incredibly shallow “he’s pretty” kind of way, but Sidney genuinely wanted to be War’s friend after he’d run into him a few times because he’d realized the hero was just a person, someone around his age too, who was clearly lonely and dealing with a lot of trauma. He respected him as the hero and all he’d accomplished, he recognized how badly War was hurting, and Sidney was pretty lonely himself so he needed the companionship too (that’s the whole reason HE’D gone to that tavern, he was looking for just someone to talk to so he wouldn’t be alone). He became his friend and THEN a little bit later realized he’d gone and fallen in love with him

[zephyr-rat]

Green Giant Saga 2024 Year End Retrospective - Twitch and Moving Past the Sewer Kingdom

This is part of a yearlong retrospective since I’m halfway through the Green Giant Saga since I started work on it very late last year.

As fun as I had writing Twitch, I do think there are a lot of improvements to be made, especially since Twitch had a decent amount of focus in this first half of the story, being a main character with substantial focus for 6 out of 10 episodes, specifically on his relationship with Zac.

Let’s start with the premise of the character, which has always been the premise of the character since I roleplayed him in high school. The premise is built out of the motivation he had in the old lore in which Twitch is trying to recreate his sentience. In Green Giant Saga, Twitch is a mutated rat who declared himself king of the sumps because he’s the monster with the biggest stash. By his logic, if you kill a creature (human or otherwise), you get to steal their things and the more things you have, the more security and luxury you have in a cutthroat environment like the inhabitable sumps. In this case, he truly thrived, accumulating more and more stuff for his throne.

As Twitch accumulated more wealth, he started to get more lonely. He read fantasy books and romance books that told stories of companionship that he truly wanted, but he’s always been taught that the sumps were to kill or be killed. The people that you put your trust in can always backstab you or exterminate you to steal your stash. As such, Twitch didn’t try to make friends the normal way, he aims to recreate his sentience and make more mutated rats. If he’s their creator who gave them life, surely that would make them loyal to him. However, he keeps failing and failing and failing in his sentience experiments, leading to more rat corpses in his lair than he knew what to do with. This was until one day, Twitch looted a special green goopy ingredient in the aftermath of what was, unknown to him, a warden raid into Zac’s home. When he combined it together, he finally created his first subject: not a mutated rat like himself, but the Zaunite Amorphous Combatant.

However, Zac didn’t act like the optimal servant that Twitch wanted. Zac had radically different morals, attitudes, and beliefs that frustrated him. There are many times when Zac would actively disobey him and go against his wishes. He wants him to be so much better than what he got; there are times when he wants to create a better subject, but he can’t give up on him. Too much blood, sweat, tears and dead rats were burned to get to his first sentient subject. What does that say about him if he couldn’t even make this first relationship work, and so, a lot of Twitch’s arc is him trying to make his relationship with Zac work in the context of him being the sewer king, a delusion based on his own beliefs. 

(Art by PirateSylph on Twitter / X)

In general, I think this is a good premise in the context of the Green Giant Saga. A major theme of the story is resolving the differences between a childlike fantasy to the real world. For Zac, it’s his image of superheroism, and for Twitch, it’s being a self-proclaimed king. It also emphasizes themes of empathy. Throughout the relationship, Zac and Twitch’s empathy for each other gets tested. In particular, this core belief that “the only subjects I can trust are those that I create” is set up to be challenged with the nature of how Twitch recreated Zac from his remains. What happens when he finds out that he didn’t actually create him?

However, in execution, I think there are some problems with it. The main problem I have that I’m looking to resolve moving forward is that Twitch’s character plotlines feel too centered around Zac. Zac is currently the main vector for Twitch’s development. I think this is fine at the start, especially with how possessive Twitch is, but I do imagine it getting repetitive. I get that sometimes people need to learn the same lesson multiple times, but Twitch learning to respect Zac’s wishes and compromise twice in a row isn’t exactly great. I still like “Monster under the Trashbags” and “Zac’s Day Off” and they both have their differences, but that’s not great for character growth and I’m going to try to avoid that same arc if I can.

 I also want more stories exploring his internalized logic of how “the natural sumps” work, mirroring how people would internalize systemic abuses as “part of the real world”. This is 100% being challenged by Twitch’s reaction to Zac’s heroic deeds (Puffcap Adventure and especially Fresh Sump Blood in particular) but I think we can challenge them more directly. It allows Twitch to be developed in a vector other than his relationship with Zac in addition to exploring the themes of systemic abuse.

Another improvement that I want to make is to have more opportunities for Zac to learn from Twitch. So far, most of the stories are Twitch learning from Zac which makes the relationship feel very one-sided. Granted, I think Twitch has a lot more to learn from Zac than vice-versa, but I wanted it to be mutually beneficial in which both are learning from each other. This is already getting addressed in the next story I’m writing (coming out mid-january), but I do want to look for other opportunities for Twitch to offer Zac something. 

I also wonder if I’m not being funny enough with Twitch? I think the latest stories in particular don’t show his more zany, comedic side more often, and instead display his more desperate, greedy, and possessive side. It’s funny because back when I did the roleplay blog, I thought I leaned super hard on the comedic side and now it’s the opposite problem, and if I want to write Twitch well, I need to strike a really good balance between the two. I think I noticed this when I went over some of the cover ideas of the current stories and found that a decent chunk of them has Twitch looking miserable or paranoid. Writers do love torturing characters I suppose, but I shouldn’t be too hard on him. 

Negatives aside, I do think a good dynamic is starting to form between the two (at least Fresh Sump Blood and the current story I’m working on). Zac is starting to become the reckless moral heart of the story, wanting to do good by everyone sometimes through stupid actions, and Twitch is the one that makes sure Zac doesn’t bite off more than he can chew through his paranoia and caution. Through Zac, Twitch is starting to learn a worldview beyond basic violence and greed and through Twitch, Zac is growing more confident in his heroism. I do think more work needs to be done to develop since a lot of the relationship’s initial teething problems were ironed out in Zac’s Day Off, the last Twitch/Zac episode. Twitch, in general, also just has the strongest voice out of any POV character in the series with how distinct and loud he can be. I wonder if it comes off as annoying sometimes.

I hope I can make good on these goals in the later half of the series, but I still think my Twitch is decent, albeit a bit repetitive sometimes. Definitely better than the nothing Riot has for him right now. It's so weird to say I'm more proud of my work on Zac than my work on Twitch because in my high school roleplaying days, it was the exact opposite.

—————————————————–

If you want to read more of Zac and Twitch’s adventures in Zaun. Check out the entire saga!

Ao3 Series

Main Tumblr Page (Character Insights and such)

[lipglossanon]

Omg omg omg omg lipgloss, I had a breakthrough for Grim!Leon. Remember how I said I was debating on how reader was connected to Leon? I figured it out. She was the only one in town who knew about the lord behind Grims, the only one who knew that their small, basically abandoned church had practiced the tradition. She dedicated herself to the upkeep of the cemetery, leaving flowers on the graves, incense burning, and offerings to the Grim of the cemetery. People always told her that she shouldn’t do this, she’s so young and vibrant, she should be trying to find love, not caring for an old abandoned cemetery, but she refused. She would spend hours there, speaking out loud to the grim she couldn’t see (didn’t even fully know if it existed, but wanting to give comfort and companionship in the smallest chance that it was real and listening and lonely). Honestly, there isn’t anything in the world that knows her better than that cemetery- it’s her home away from home. But unfortunately, it looks like it was just going to become her home. One day, when walking to do her visit, she gets hit by a car or something. She’s bloodied and she knows she’s dying, and her only thought is that, if she’s going to die, she’s going to do it at her favorite space. She pushes herself and gets to the cemetery gates, all but crashing through them with a huge noise, and Leon immediately knows what is happening.

As a Grim, he has seen many people grow up in the town, seen them buried in his cemetery, and seen their souls leave with Death. He doesn’t know what happens to them from there, he will probably never get that honor, but as he watches your bloodied form walk into his domain, sees how your soul starts to form away from your body, he is overcome with fear. Not knowing what would happen to you after you die isn’t good enough for him: he was able to be detached but caring for everyone else, but you aren’t everyone else. You cared for the cemetery just as much as he did, you told him your thoughts, your dreams, everything that your heart held, and Leon ached daily with the need to hold you close and tell you just how perfect you are, how your soul sings to him and that seeing you may have been the closest paradise he would ever be offered and he would gladly damn himself to a lifetime of loss and loneliness all over again if it meant finding you again. But you’re here in his cemetery, and you’re dying in a way that even he (someone who has heard of the advances in medicine but is still clueless to them) can tell is impossible to come back from. Yet you pushed yourself in your dying moments to come back to his cemetery, and he refuses to just leave you. He runs to you, catching you when you start to fall (he can touch you? Oh how sweet you feel, if only this moment wasn’t stained with your life’s blood, and the darkness isn’t creeping towards you to take you away from him), leading yoh to lay in the grass with your head in his lap. He stares at you with love and grief in his eyes, eyes you’ve never seen before but that feel like home to you. You reach a hand up with a smile to feel the smooth skin of the grim you have loved without being certain of his existence, and you say “it’s you” and Leon has never felt such heartache in happiness before. You’re eyes may not have known him, but your heart, your soul, knows the Grim you have spoken to, have cared for and loved. You smile, knowing you aren’t dying alone, knowing that you’re soul will be safe in the presence of this being, and your bodies eyes slip shut.

Leon is crying, a feat he didn’t know he was still capable of, seeing as he was a being not of life or of death. He stares at your face, knowing it will be a bit before your soul is ready to detach itself from the home it’s known for its entire mortal existence, and promises you won’t have to leave your favorite place, wouldn’t have to face the uncertainty of what happens beyond the veil of his domain. When Death comes, ready to bring your soul to wherever the Powers want, Leon is ready and for once he doesn’t usher the soul towards their path, he doesn’t play the part of comforting guidance or reassure. No. He growls, and hunches over your form. Leon has always been the protector and comforter of souls, the companion of Death, and the defender of the cemetery. He has never fought any of the other mystical Powers that control life or death, just wanting those under his protection to feel safe and be safe. But for you? He will fight Death. If Death thought that It could take you from him, he will keep It locked in battle for the rest of eternity. he would fight Death, and he would kill it because no one has the slightest right to take even a piece of you from him. When Death gives a curious look at Leon, asking without words what is happening, Leon only growls out one word before pulling your body (which still holds your soul) closer to him: “Mine”. Death, in Its formless glory, blinks. It seems to be reading Leon before looking at you. Another blink. Still formless, more of a concept than a being, It nods, and leaves.

From that day forward, Leon was the only Grim to have ever faced down Death. He was the only Grim to take a soul under his complete care. You would stay by his side, in his abandoned cemetery that you had loved so much, and you would make it thrive even beyond while beyond life. You would make wildflowers grow, divert floods from the graves, and keep the Grim that protected it from the living and dead happy. And you would be happy too. For the rest of eternity, because you were beside your Grim, in your favorite place. -🐶

🐶 anon 😭 😭

This was so angsty yet beautiful 😭

Thank you for sharing this with me (and everyone really!).

This was so lovely! And original! I love it 🥺🥺

I’ve read it like a million times and finally getting around to sharing it; it’s so so good 💜

(Also gives me Neil Gaiman vibes too, idk why lmao)

[silverview]

digging up another 7-year-old post where i said this

hahaha wow, it never occurred to me before that colin was so desperate for a pet that he literally tried to build one from scratch, and re-invented the concept of keeping pets in a society with no animals. here is a man who was really SERIOUSLY not flourishing emotionally at marscorp. aw jeez. even the name, comfort buddy, how could we have known back in E1 how totally colin that is? and it didn’t work out but it doesn’t matter because he found another cute little living thing to play with!

like GOD. colin really had everything – he was HoS already, widely beloved, and free to do almost whatever he wanted. but he wasn't happy. (david: "he never felt satisfied with anything.") he wanted to run away, he wanted to live forever, and he wanted a pet.

he really needs pets. not just someone to admire him, because he was already getting that in spades from the other employees. he needs someone special to belong to him, to follow him around and adore him. he doesn't like to be alone. and he felt very alone at marscorp.

i don't think his manipulation of david (or patrick) is purely cynical and pragmatic; i think it partly comes from a place of sincerely craving attention and affection and companionship, and i don't think he necessarily has the intelligence or self-awareness to recognise that. i think in his insane mind he genuinely sees himself as a Good Friend to david (and patrick).

tbh i think he was very, very lonely before he uh acquired david. he clearly sees david as, if not quite on his own level, then certainly very special. i don't think it's in any doubt that he actively enjoys david's company. and i'm sure i've said this before, but i'd buy it if you told me david was colin's first (and only human) romantic attachment.

[crystallinecardinal]

Nothing’s New

Grian doesn’t have any friends, and that really shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

He refuses to hear the way Scar feels the same.

Or, a Secret Life fic written before session 4, in which Grian struggles with the choice of allying with Scar, only to fall to it. Title from the song Nothing’s New by Rio Romeo.

AO3 link:

Pairing: c!Desert Duo, Grian/Scar (implied, can be read as platonic if you squint)

—

Grian doesn’t have any friends, and that really shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. Yet, still, he’s found himself longing for companionship.

It’s necessary in this death game to have allies, he knows that well. Without someone to watch your back, when the reds start to get bloodthirsty, it could spell certain death. They’ll be able to sneak up on you, hunt you like a wolf chasing its prey, and when your wounds don’t recover this time around, that can be incredibly bad. It’s best to have allies, so maybe that’s the reason he’s been so desperate. He just doesn’t want to die. Or, maybe, it’s that he needs an anchor, someone to keep him grounded instead of letting him lose himself to the isolation. He’s never felt so lonely since he became a Watcher.

He had even rushed after Joel the first second he got his task, the one that said they had to share damage. It was almost like being soulbound, but without the actual tie that made it so you could feel every ache your soulmate had. In some way, Grian was thankful for that part. It would’ve brought back a lot of memories he should most definitely not be thinking about had it been present, so it was probably for the best that losing his hearts because of Joel was just a task. Still, the nature of it meant he knew he had to tell Joel as soon as possible, which, to be fair, wasn’t all bad. Being soulbound meant having a friend, so maybe he wouldn’t be so alone anymore.

Even so, he had tried desperately not to think of the familiarity of the situation.

And because Grian doesn’t have any friends, he clung to that tether as hard as he could. He tried to follow Joel everywhere, panicking when he’d leave, and sunk into the aching sense of deja vu. “You need to be kept safe,” Grian had told him when they first realized the reality of the situation they were in, and he tried to ignore how every step he took in this little dance of his reminded him of lush jungle grass at his talons.

Turns out, it’s a lot harder to just forget soulmates. He realizes that now, sitting at the edge of the cliff his base is on. Ever since he failed his task and Joel turned yellow, he’d been thinking about the similarities, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

It’s just that there was something about Joel that reminded him of Scar without the everlasting regret behind it, the type forged back in that ring of cacti, a lifeless body shielded from the sun resting under his wings.

It’s mainly being that Joel is reckless, he had been ever since they started this round of the death game they’ve all been trapped in. Scar is too, Grian knows that. Honestly, he’s surprised he isn’t already yellow by now. There’s the fun of being able to do whatever he wants with Joel, too, but it’s not like either of them are red at the moment. If he tries hard enough to remember, which he certainly does not, he can remember the same feeling with Scar. He can also remember the same fear clutching his chest when Joel fell from that 100 block jump, the type that once hit him when Scar rushed after his Jellie Pandas back in the spring. And on top of all that, there was the matter of being essentially soulbound….

He sighs. Whatever, it doesn’t matter anymore. He still couldn’t make a friend out of his task. No matter how hard he tried, Joel had just run off, and always seemed annoyed. “He was never going to stay, anyway,” a part of his mind whispers, and he brushes the thought away. He’ll just have to go looking for someone else, then. That is, if everyone isn’t already paired up.

He glances down at the beginnings of a town in the distance, the place Scar has started to set up. It isn’t large yet, just that courthouse and his main base, Trader Scar’s. Gazing down at it only serves to provide a vivid memory to his mind: he’d seen that look in Scar’s eyes earlier, back when he told Grian he was going to offer him a property to stay at down in that little town. That look had begged “please, stay with me,” and for but a moment, Grian had wondered if Scar was just as alone as he was.

He’s done everything to try forget it. Scar could find other teammates too! It didn’t have to be him again, not after being soulbound, not after the desert…

Still, he finds his mind wandering back to those autumn days as chilling wind blows against him. If he focuses hard enough, he can feel the sand that used to get in his wings, and the frigidity of the desert at night. If he were to fully immerse himself in that line of thought (which he certainly does not), he can imagine all too vividly looking into mesmerizing scarlet red eyes, the same belonging to a man holding a gathered bouquet of lilacs and poppies.

Grian grumbles, forcing himself back to the present. He can’t think like that, if he starts thinking about it, he’ll remember all the things like the scent of sandalwood that always clung to Scar, and all the times it got too cold to be alone. He’ll remember the feeling of feathers held in gentle hands, he’ll remember shared warmth, and—

He really needs to stop. Void, these thoughts are dangerous. Honestly, he’s probably just going crazy from the isolation at this point. He’s really never been this lonely before. There isn’t a reason to be thinking about Scar, he reminds himself, taking a breath and attempting to regain his composure. If he doesn’t think about it, it’s fine. Then, he doesn’t have to remember all the ways it went wrong. How they always go wrong.

In the distance, the avian sees the person occupying his thoughts retreat into his base for the night without a word. Grian deflates as he watches him, like he was hoping for something, at the very least. A wave would be nice.

Okay, he’s definitely going crazy if he’s thinking things like that now. It’s probably best he sleeps it off for the night, so he makes the move to do exactly that.

Turns out as well that just sleeping it off doesn’t solve all problems. He wakes to the autumn wind blowing orange and yellow leaves past the front of his base, and the ever-persistent pangs of loneliness in his chest. It clings to him like an oppressive weight, the feeling of being buried under the sands.

He really needs to start getting friends.

He heaves himself up, and eventually slips out into the cold wind. He can see the town in the distance, and for a moment, something in his mind tells him to go there.

Quickly, he snaps himself out of it. He is not taking the first step in their dance. He is not going to lead, not going to succumb to the temptation.

And yet, a poppy stands at his side on the cliff, the scarlet red petals catching his sight. For a moment, he remembers the way the color contrasted beautifully against pale sands and lilacs, and then there was—

Ugh, fine. Maybe he’ll pay Scar a visit. Only one. There’s no need for anything more than that.

He makes his way down the bridge connecting his cliff to the savanna below, where Trader Scar’s is located. Seeming as that’s his former ally’s base, Grian finds it the easiest place to check. It’s not like it’s far in the morning, and tasks aren’t being given out right now, so Scar couldn’t have gone far, if anywhere.

He slowly pushes the door open, stepping into the dimly lit room. Everything looks the same as it usually does, or at least, it looks the same as it did the last time he was here. A faint memory of arguing with Scar over who was to trade a golden apple for a heart comes to mind, but he pushes it away.

“Scar?” Grian calls. He hopes that if Scar is anywhere in the back of this place, he might hear him. In response, the avian is only met with silence. He can feel the seconds slowly drag on, sand falling through the metaphorical hourglass, and he silently groans. Of course.

He calls Scar’s name again, louder this time, and he’s halfway through some empty threat when the back door suddenly opens, and he’s met face-to-face with the man of the hour. Scar grins, and quickly slips over to the counter. “Grian! Hi, I didn’t expect anyone this early. What brings a solo adventurer like you down to Trader Scar’s? Anything you’d like to bargain?”

He’s speaking in that dramatic voice again, the type Grian’s come to know over four death games that when paired with the salesman’s grin means that either a, Scar is about to try to scam you, or b, that he’s doing his whole ‘bit’ again. Point is: it’s always at least partially a mask in some way, especially with how Grian easily notices the pattern in his speech.

“I don’t really have anything,” he replies, a short way out he hopes will buy him some time. “I just thought I might stop by.” He hates the way loneliness stirs in his chest, the type that sings for a friend, the type that keeps repeating ‘ScarScarScar’ over and over in the back of his mind. He averts his gaze, and hopes in every possible way that the feeling doesn’t shine in his emerald green eyes.

Maybe Scar knows. The salesman grin shifts to one much more soft, more genuine, one Grian recognizes from days spent out in the desert, and the avian can hear him chuckle. “This early? I thought you’d be halfway across the server by now, chasing after Joel.”

He probably would be, given that Joel hadn’t seemed so annoyed, and wasn’t yellow. He was generally more concerned about the second part, he doesn’t want any task he has given away. “I’m over Joel,” he manages.

Scar helpfully supplies a small “Ah,” and they fall into silence. Grian dares not look in Scar’s eyes, lest he let him see what he really doesn’t want to show. Even so, Scar tries to start the conversation between them again, “While you’re here, I just wanted to say… about that property I offered you? That’s still open, if you want to take it.”

He really shouldn’t. It never ends well. “Scar, I already have a base.”

“C’mon, Grian!” Scar says, and Grian tries not to think about how he can hear the salesman mask be slipped back on. “Think of all the things you’d be close to! You can come here if you need supplies, go to the courthouse if you need to settle a dispute—“

“Scar—“

“Griaaan. You’re a businessman! We know how these things work.”

For a moment, the avian looks back at Scar, where behind the mask, the gaze in the trader’s eyes screams “Please, don’t leave me alone.” He surprises himself the most with the fact he considers it, if only for a moment.

It’s a horrible idea, it really is. But then again, Grian would be lying if he said part of him didn’t like the familiarity. It’s easier to dance when you know the steps, when you know just the way your partner would catch you if you fell. “How much would you pay me for it? If we’re really ‘businessmen’.”

Scar’s eyes light up, and in an instance, the mask is off. “I’ll give you my heart!”

“I’ll take that,” Grian replies. If he’s going to in on this, he might as well go big, and see how far he can get. He smirks, continuing, “But… it still doesn’t seem entirely fair…”

Grian delights in the way Scar’s expression shifts to the kind where he knows he’s really thinking, humming, searching for a solution. It’s almost like he’s desperate for Grian to say yes, a promise that means that even for a little while, he’ll stay. Grian isn’t lost on the way it feels like scorching desert sun in his mind.

“I’ll give you my heart and a golden apple..?” Scar offers.

Grian’s smirk only grows. He makes some kind of hum of acknowledgment, long and exaggerated so he can pull at least one more reaction out of Scar. “Aaand?”

“…A heart, a golden apple, and some thank-you flowers..? For making the town more lively?”

‘The town,’ not ‘my town.’ Almost like someday it could be ‘our town.’ Probably not, but still, some part of him he doesn’t want to acknowledge likes the thought. Somehow, Grian finds himself smiling, genuine and clear. “Fine. Deal. One house.”

Maybe having Scar as a brief ally wouldn’t be that bad, but it may take some time to test the waters. He knows how they tick in games like these, forever wrapped in the other. Things could very easily go wrong, especially if they stay around each other longer than they should.

Little does he know, he’s already fallen into the same dance again, where someday Scar would be at his side, flowers cradled in gentle hands. Maybe nothing changes after all.

[demonhanabi]

The Accidental Polarization - Fortune

Originally posted to AO3 - January 2024

Sheldor was not a patient man. You don’t get to become the youngest Wizard ever at 8 by being patient. You don’t become proficient at silent casting and earn the title of Archmage at 12 by being patient. You don’t earn a second Archmage title at 16 for mastering a second school of magic by being patient. You don’t become ‘The Only Triple-Archmage’ at Age 25 by being patient.

Sheldor was not patient.

But seeing the unconscious woman in the middle of the summoning circle makes him think that perhaps he needs to learn to be patient. Just a little.

Last month he had visited a Warlock school out of curiosity for the school of magic (He found it rather superfluous and redundant with far too many drawbacks) and while he felt overall disappointed by the showing of magic, there was one young warlock that surprised him, he would never tell him this of course

The young warlock who insisted on being called Wolowizard despite not being an actual Wizard was accompanied by a wooden nymph. The nymph was carrying the young man’s bag and seemed for all intents and purposes, a friend rather than a servant.

This intrigued him enough to approach the short man. Wolowizard told him that he had created a pact for companionship for nature spirits and while he had tried to explain how he had modified the warlock contract, Sheldor was not interested in that (He would deconstruct the spell once he was back at his tower).

Sheldor wanted to purchase the knowledge to use the spell himself. He made an offer right then and there which the young warlock accepted without hesitation.

Sheldor would never reveal this to anyone but he was lonely. 35 years in this world and the only people he could say were close to him was, his mother, and his twin sister.

Due to his desire for knowledge and learning, even from a young age, he was rather separated from even those that called themselves his peers. Sheldor tried and failed to not scoff. ‘His peers.’

This spell for a companionship contract should help with that. Nature spirits were easy to get along with, they were comprised of Nature Mana and as such they didn’t need to eat or defecate. If one were to be crass about it they could even be called pets, though it depended on the level of sentience of each spirit. The catch was that you had to raise them young or they wouldn't be able to bond with humans, hence the need for this spell.

Sheldon had deconstructed it as soon as he had arrived back in his tower and it was a clever usage of the original warlock contract spell, the attunement of the magic was simply changed from the demon realms to Nature Mana. Simple, but effective. No other parts of the spell were changed, translation magic, magical contract, protection runes, etc. Everything was there.

Perhaps there was something about this Wolowizard. Sheldor had triple checked the spell but it was air tight. It would summon a Nature spirit.

Sheldor would be happy with any of them. Nymphs were wise, Pixies were quick-witted, Lamias were wonderful assistants for people like healers, shop owners, etc. Succubus were a favorite for lonely old men…which Sheldor was not. If he wanted that type of companionship he could always visit ‘Coming of Page’, a rather exclusive bookstore that also happens to offer pleasure services. Sheldor would never tell his mother but he had been a member of this particular establishment since he was 16 and learned to teleport.

He liked to read after all. ‘Perhaps a visit is in order…they might have new books.’

Focusing his thoughts back on the matter at hand, Sheldor goes back to examining the woman currently occupying the floor of his tower.

He quickly discards possibilities for the nature of this spirit.

It can’t be a Nymph, no leaves or bark visible in her extremities, her head is attached so not a Dullahan, human skin and no fur remove any of the animal tribes, no wings means not a Harpy, clothes and hair remove Slimes as a possibility, too big to be a Pixie, normal human legs so no Lamia, Mermaid, etc. For all intents and purposes she looked like a Human. He briefly considered the possibility of her being a Succubus but there were no horns, no prehensile tail and opening one of her eyelids reveals a Human green pupil and not the classic Cat-like red eye of the Succubus.

Feeling a little disappointed, Sheldor moved to his spot to wait for the woman to react.

If Wolowizard had sold him a defective spell he would come to learn why so many nations refused to go to war with Sheldor, because while it was true that he had his ‘Triple-Archmage’ title, he was rather fond of the one given to him by the regular folk, ‘Sheldor The Conqueror’.

[thefvrious]

Being an NBA star had been his father’s dream, and Darko had leaned into the innate talent he seemed to have been born with. Never in a million years did he think he’d actually be recruited, but here he was: twenty-five years old and playing for one of the best teams in the league with amazing stats, making millions a season. He was at a loss but everyone in his life was so proud of him. He just didn’t know what to do or where to go next.

The worst part was trying to find companionship. Even the people he had been friends with or seen before the NBA of it all treated him differently now. He was money and fame and status, and that didn’t sit right with him. He had flings but nothing serious because all the girls he dated seemed to want to be on the next season of Basketball Wives, and the boys weren’t much different. He was beginning to lose his resolve, beginning to feel helplessly lonely outside of his family, and, as a social creature, he began to diminish.

He thrust himself into the team, trying to make meaningful relationships there, but a lot of the guys had been changed by the fame, too, or were governed by their competitive nature and need to be the best while simultaneously falling short.

Then there was the social media manager… Eliza. She looked at him differently, talked to him differently. Like he was a real person and not some part of an entity, which was more and more what he felt like lately.

He found himself thinking of her when he was alone in his apartment, his family across the country and no one else to entertain him. He wondered what she got up to, what she really thought of him. He bet she was the most normal person in the world, and wondered what it would be like to spend some downtime with her. She didn’t seem phased by who he was at all, what he did, how tall he was, how handsome. He was just a guy, just a part of the job, and that felt so fucking refreshing.

Darko sat at the island in his sterile apartment eating takeout delivered by someone who had the gall to ask him for his autograph when he heard his phone buzz. It wasn’t anything new, he got thousands of notifications every single day, but this time he decided to open it up, his expression shifting as he read the words on the screen.

I’m sure people message you every day, and you ignore all of them and just laugh to yourself about the things people would be willing to do just to get your acknowledgement for a second. I don’t think you’re a bad person, but there is no way you can have millions of people following you and not be horrible. You’re one of those people who I imagine can’t even fathom what it would feel like to be unliked or ever told ‘no’. This is stupid. You won’t ever see this, but just know: everything in your life is paper thin. I would have loved to have known you under different circumstances lol

Darko didn’t know what to think about the words on the screen so he read them over and over and over again, aware that the read notification would have been sent to whomever had decided it was the right time to deliver this message.

Normally, he wouldn’t give it a second thought, but it just so happened that he had been stuck in his head all day, and so he couldn’t help himself as his thumbs started tapping out a response.

Hey! Sorry you’re so worried about my moral standing that you had to send me this message. I’m actually a pretty decent dude, and you don’t know me from the next guy. You’re making assumptions. Throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks. I’ve been told ‘no’ plenty of times. I did see it. My life is much, much more than the NBA – which is only a small facet. I hope you find peace and joy in your life… some kind of happiness to heal you enough to where you don’t feel the need to do this again. I’m a person, just like that. Remember that next time you send a nasty message to someone, you never know what they’re going through. Have a blessed evening x Darko

After sending the message, he screenshotted both the one that was sent to him and the one he sent then sent it to his twin, scrolling through the burner account while waiting for the reply he knew was coming.

That day they’d done a promo, a spliced one hundred and twenty-one second video of each of the players’ answer to a question about their dream partner. Most of the guys had said some variation of an answer that implicated their partners, and the players without wives, girlfriends or mistresses said something that, surely, would arouse the most online fanfare. Eliza was bored with it all, rolling her eyes as she stood behind her phone screen, her hand impatiently on her waist as she watched the grown men joke around and speak in an undetectable code, seemingly unaware that their constant disruptions lengthened her already unpaid work day. She was mind-blown, floored, befuddled by some of the men’s absolute lack of intelligence— getting them to steady their focus on the camera lens, remember the prompted question and then answer it was like trying to teach a dog a new trick— Eliza couldn’t tell if they were fucking with her or genuinely just impeccably stupid. She wasn’t impressed by their height, or their bright, white smiles, or their muscles or even their money. Eliza couldn’t imagine worshiping someone that got paid to sweat and run all day. She hadn’t set out to be so negative about the entire internship, but the combination between it being unpaid and transitioning from originally being advertised as something that she could curate to fit her resume’s needs into a just being a social media manager position had began to irk her to the point that her tenure with the team didn’t seem sustainable. In fact, all things considered, Eliza thought she’d likely finish this project and then stop showing up. It wasn’t like she had to go. It was basically volunteer work.

She had considered quitting quite a few times, but every time she felt herself ready to leave, she felt a shift. Eliza had every reason to think she was making it up in her head, but there was something there. She wouldn’t have imagined it. She couldn’t have imagined it. Not the way he had looked at her— even she didn’t have that much creativity.

It was during the national anthem at their last home game—nothing special, really. The players all lined up, and the crowd stood still, their collective breath suspended. Eliza had been off to the side, like she usually was, adjusting the camera and trying to avoid looking too out of place among the sea of real fans and actual professionals. It was always the same for someone who didn’t care either way. Loud noises, the smell of Michelob Ultra, a win or a loss and a group text message with more criticism than approval from her ‘boss’ at the end of the night, but that evening, something different had happened. Darko had caught her gaze.

It wasn’t like he’d turned around mid-anthem or waved. He hadn’t given her anything overt like that. But, she had felt his gaze all while the glorious anthem was sung; she could have fainted. Buried her head in the sand, she felt so red. He’d been all the way across the court, positioned at the far end of the line, his tall frame a silhouette in the spotlight. And yet, somehow, despite the distance between them, Eliza was sure—absolutely sure—that Darko was looking directly at her.

No one would believe her. The arena had been crowded with thousands of people, with all the players lined up just as they always were, but Eliza was convinced. Darko had seen her, and now: it was their secret. It was a connection, a silent acknowledgment—one that no one could understand except her. She played it back in her mind, over and over.

It seemed like each time she thought about leaving the team and focusing her time and effort on a different job, one that actually paid and could help her flourish creatively, she and Darko would make some type of eye contact, or he would hold a door open for her or when she stopped him and asked him a question for a video, instead of sighing and acting as if though she was bothering him, he would lend her his ear— and wasn’t that so helpful? — so attentive when he didn’t have to be? — so fragile without embarrassing her?

By the time Eliza returned to her cold apartment that night, she had put the promotional video completely out of her mind. It wasn’t until nearly midnight that she remembered it, and, sluggishly, she began the editing process in the hopes it would be postable before that weekend’s game. Eliza went through the clips, cutting at the appropriate time, adding music, making transitions— she saved Darko’s for last, afraid to even betray to herself that he had won her over. He was one of the youngest on the team, one of the tallest, and, assuredly: the most handsome. Everyone on TikTok loved him and each video that they posted that had him in the screenshot wracked up no less than five million views. Perhaps the reason Eliza didn’t want to be so on the nose was because everyone on the team knew she was one of the people who, at the least, helped run the social media accounts, so if Darko was getting all of the team’s screen time, it had to be some reflection on how Eliza and the rest of the social media team felt about him. It was embarrassing. Watching him was embarrassing, liking him was embarrassing, because Eliza was doing the same thing everyone else was doing, but there was one difference.

He liked her too.

She could feel it.

The sound of Darko’s voice filled her apartment as she replayed his answer for the third time, when had the first time been or the second? She couldn’t help it. She wondered what it would be like to talk to him— really talk. She wondered if he read or liked spicy food, and sometimes she found herself curating questions and challenges to find out more of him that she would never know personally. Eliza allowed herself to wonder in secret if she could ever be his type, his dream partner, one might phrase it... she thought he must have wanted a girl that was 5’2, 120lb and blonde — and would he even like the things she liked? Or was he into White Claws and planning trips to Ibiza? She hated him.

Eliza slammed her laptop closed and tried to distract herself with Netflix and ice cream, but eventually her fingers crept over to her phone and her scrolling over to Instagram and her timeline over to his account.

Suddenly, she was flicking through the same photos she’d already seen a dozen times, each image familiar, yet impossible to look away from. The candid shots, the posed ones, the ones that made him look effortless even when she knew the planning it took to curate his image. 

She acted as if on autopilot, until she stopped briefly at a picture of him laughing with a group of teammates, his mouth open in that wide, genuine smile she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about. Eliza sat in silence for what felt like forever, staring at his perfect, white teeth, an ease that was egregious. 

Her fingers slid across the screen, and in a fit of something too hard to name, she opened her burner account. The burner was a different Eliza—one who commented on terrible reality television. The Bachelor, Too Hot to Handle, fuck it— My 600lb Life. She hated it, she really did, but there was something about being able to clock out of her own life and look at the misery of others that made her feel better about herself, or the falseness, insecurity of some that made her happy to be living her true, authentic life.

Eliza watched a few videos, wincing at a spoiler before doing what she knew had to be done. Her stomach was turning left, right, around and back again. She flipped back to Darko’s Instagram.

The urge to do it was almost unbearable. It had been days since the first night she thought about messaging him, and by now, she knew it would happen sooner or later. It wasn’t like he was going to reply or even see it, but there was something inside of her that just wanted to do it and have it done or else it would keep eating at the soft matter between her ears.

At first, she typed his name—just “Darko”—and then stared at it. She heard the city’s church bell chime at midnight.

She hated how much she cared about this. There were so many ways she could start—she could ask him something normal. Something casual. But the more she thought about it, the more her fingers itched to do something else. Something more real. Something that would haunt her for days after she sent it. Something that would make him notice her— make him reply. She wanted to present herself as someone who saw him. Really saw him.

Her heart pounded as she typed — I’m sure people message you every day, and you ignore all of them and just laugh to yourself about the things people would be willing to do just to get your acknowledgement for a second. I don’t think you’re a bad person, but there is no way you can have millions of people following you and not be horrible. You’re one of those people who I imagine can’t even fathom what it would feel like to be unliked or ever told ‘no’. This is stupid. You won’t ever see this, but just know: everything in your life is paper thin. I would have loved to have known you under different circumstances lol

Her finger hovered over the screen. She read it back, her eyes skimming the words. What was the point of sending a message that he would never read, let alone respond to? He didn’t need to engage with someone like her. He was a professional athlete, surrounded by agents, coaches, fans, women—people who could actually offer him something. What could she possibly offer him? A poorly written rant? Her insecurities were too big for even an office place romance (not to mention, it was strictly forbidden with her contract).

She was pathetic. And yet, she couldn’t make herself delete it. She needed to send it. She needed to know she had at least tried even if it meant drowning in humiliation afterward.

With a sharp breath, Eliza sent the message and flung her phone to the otherside of the couch almost as if it had burned her. 

[alucarddear]

any headcanons on Alucard being touchstarved?

Note: 💯 See this happening during lonely Alucard szn.

Orphaned young, with no other family to boot, Alucard should have gotten used to a solitary life. Yet for a brief time, he’d experienced banter and conversations—friendship—with Sypha and Trevor.

So when the couple left to pursue a life together, he was hit by devastating loneliness. By the realisation that he didn’t have what they had. That he wanted it. So much so he’d found himself fashioning dolls in their likeness, talking to himself—to his only friends’ doll counterparts—as he ate in his cold and large dining hall.

After them, his companions were Taka and Sumi, who, in their own isolation, had been blinded by mistrust. It didn’t last long.

He told himself then that he was done with humans. That he would sleep in his coffin for a century and forget about his desire to hear voices again in his castle, the touch of warm hands or soft smiles or quiet laughter. That he needed to be by himself for a long while. That time will make him forget any yearning, any desire for connection, even if it took a hundred years.

He told himself that he will one day emerge again—stronger, renewed, with a disdain for touch rather than a sick longing for it. Invincible.

But she shows up in his life in the most unexpected way and turns it upside down—ruining his plans, reigniting his thirst. Yet another human, yet another wretched temptation. And he, like the starved fool that he is, snatches the dangling prize and lets her in. Opening, yet again, the possibility of hurt.

But he wants it so bad. Companionship. To have conversations. To feel warmth. To be held by someone who loves him, be loved. To not only hear of it, but experience it too. It outweighs whatever modicum of self-preservation he has in him.

They eventually fall in love, and he is happy again, but so afraid.

With her around, he creates little excuses to touch the skin of her hands as if she might disappear any minute now. To softly and slowly graze his knuckles against her cheek as she sleeps on his lap. He never wants to be without her.

Sometimes when his fear gets bad, he acts as if every moment is the last he gets to spend with her. As if reminding himself that he is no longer alone, he prolongs her every hug, squeezing her tight, and savours her every kiss—keeping her wrapped up in his arms, safe and sound.

Quick pecks, a hand on her waist as they stroll outside, cuddles in the cold, dark nights, and he is happy.

He loves to run his fingers through her hair, to have her kiss his cheeks good night. As long as she is there to receive his embrace when he reaches his arms out in his sleep, then all is well again. He is content.

He does things like nuzzle his face against hers, draw little figures and shapes onto the skin of her stomach, cuddle with as little clothing as possible—his touch light as a feather. Just that skin-on-skin contact he craves for. And when he holds her, he holds her in his arms as if she’s the most precious thing in the world.

She—who came into his life at his lowest like a beacon of light—is cherished, celebrated, protected and loved by him for as long as she would be willing to have him.

“Undeserving as I am,” he tells her once, a sad smile on his face. “Thank you for loving me.”

[senpiecakes]

Do you accept a request or not? Can i get scaramouche, childe, kazuha and zhongli asking s/o out only for the reader to just explain that they have a dead lover and even after their lover dies. They still love them and don't want to "cheat" on them. And suprise! The dead lover didn't actually die! They just goes missing but it's all good. The reader is happy and the lover is happy everything is good! But for them? Perhaps they'll get lucky next time full of angsty!!!!

IM SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG

Notes: My nose bleeds everytime I wake up now. Is that concerning?

Summary: ‘The Other Woman’ by Lana del Rey 

Warning/s: Implied murder + Graphic depictions of death on Childe’s part, Some lore spoilers? Hints of Yandere Childe, Attempted Murder (Childe/Wanderer), Implied Death on all parts, GN! Reader + GN! Lover

Theme/s: GN!Reader and Lover, Angst to comfort (for Y/N only), Angst, Moving on, Unrequited love, One-sided love

Featured: Scaramouche/Wanderer, Zhongli, Kazuha, Childe, Bonus!Albedo

@harukisakisblog

Wanderer

The Wanderer is an unusual individual. You first met him traveling alone in the scorching deserts without proper gear nor equipment, and even food for that matter. Worried he’s going to drop dead at any moment, you took it upon yourself to try and help him. Instead of showing you gratitude, like most weary travelers do, he instead responds with a scowl and a gesture meant to run you off. 

“Leave me alone.” He snaps at you, lowering his hat to avoid your prying stare. The Wanderer was surprised to say the least when you didn’t take his words to heart.

“That’s what the heat does to people!” You retort, throwing a jug of water at him. “Drink. Wherever you’re headed, It’s probably far so you need all the resources you can get.” The Wanderer was a little taken aback by your response. Usually, strangers were wise enough to leave him be, obvious that he didn’t want any companionship. But your naivete didn’t prompt him to try and drive you away. It was getting lonely in the desert anyways.

The Wanderer had no set place to be, just like you were, and the two of you found common ground in that. You traveled together as a caravan of sorts; two strangers just following wherever the road will take them. You tried to get close with whoever you’re traveling with but the most he’s told you was that The Wanderer carries no name; he was secretive with his exploits but told you enough about himself to not see him as a threat unless needed. 

“So you could be kind of my bodyguard.” You tell him enthusiastically. The Wanderer scoffs at your proposal.

“I won’t even try to ward off a cicin for you.” You only laugh lightly at his remarks and he can’t help but be perplexed, time and time again. Day by day, The Wanderer wonders about you and your endurance to such treatment. He thought that maybe he would have driven you away by now, that you’d heatedly trudge off into nowhere and he’d be alone again. That or the heat really was getting into your head and you enjoyed torturing yourself. But you persisted and The Wanderer was shocked at the fact that you didn’t seem to mind him at all.

Soon, The Wanderer found himself not only tolerating your presence, but also looking forward to it. When the two of you stop to gather supplies at a shop somewhere, he finds himself discussing whether the Harra Fruit or Henna Berries would be better for your next journey. He pushes himself to make conversations with you whenever trails grow empty and boring. The Wanderer even opts to carry some of your materials sometimes- begrudgingly of course- saying how if you pass out, he’ll have to carry you all the way back and he doesn’t want to deal with that.

“I thought you won’t even swat off a cicin for me?” 

“Shut up.”

At some point in your endless journey, the two of you became comfortable enough around each other to open up about things you’d never tell a stranger. The most the Wanderer told you was about his memory loss, how he gained it back and now he’s just wandering the world without anything or anyone to keep him from seeing it. 

“Why are you out here in the world?” He asks you next. You hum and stare down at your feet. It was the saddest he’s ever seen your cheery face.

“I… lost someone very important to me.” You say. “They were just like you, you know.” You explain to him the tragedy that befell your said person. They loved to adventure, free as a bird and unconfined by any responsibility. One day, they packed one too little supplies and ended up disappearing for so long that they were eventually pronounced dead from starvation, dehydration, or whatever the wild had to give. That’s why you worry about The Wanderer too much, not wanting him to have the same fate as your lover. You were devastated to say the least but found the strength to pick up where they left off as a means to carry on their legacy. And now you’re here with The Wanderer, living out old dreams as a means to run away from the past. 

Truth be told, The Wanderer was fascinated by your resilience. He couldn’t understand why you of all people in the world- so kind, caring, hopeful- would be able to be with someone like him. The Wanderer watches you look at him like he was the only one you’ll turn to when things go for the worst: if you fall, when you’re tired, when the memories seem too heavy to carry. He feels you hold his hands as you walk through dangerous terrain- his hands that have wrought unthinkable crimes against the world, like he was meant to be held like a gentle feather. Like he was deserving of love just as anyone else.

“You remind me of them,” you told him once. “They were stubborn too.” His heart flutters at the sincerity of your tone, the softness and endearment in your eyes when you look at him as if you are reminded of the one who you had loved before. He hopes that maybe you see past that- that when you look at The Wanderer, new love springs from the ashes and it is only meant for him. You see him as your present and future.

“I could care less.” He’d reply, refusing again and again to perceive you as another person who he could give a chance to. He sees what he used to be in your mannerisms; the curiosity you have towards the world, friendliness and trust for others, willingness to see past the worst in people. The Wanderer thinks that you could be the one he can start over with. Once in a while, he’d imagine such incredulous thoughts- to live most of his days adventuring by your side. You’ve moved on in his mind, your heart now set for him and the past would be gone and it’ll be just the both of you in your shared present. He’d be happier maybe, letting his guard down after years and years of strengthening his own heart for the sake of holding onto the last few remnants of his innocence. The Wanderer would finally be content and he would have to thank you for that.

But all happy things must come to an end in his life. 

One morning, as he is preparing himself for another excursion with you, The Wanderer had hope for the day. He felt as though something good was about to happen. He felt the need to maybe give you a hint of what could be your future together- with him by your side for as long as he could want. He won’t be outright about it, but he’d tell you enough to know how he really cares. Putting his feelings in order, The Wanderer steps out to look for you, and when he does, he feels as though his chest might cave in with the anger that swirled inside it.

The Wanderer watches as you joyfully throw yourself in the arms of someone else, smile wider than he has ever seen, happier than when you are with him. He can overhear your conversation. The person explaining how they were found by an adventuring team who brought them back to safety. They were in recovery for a while and spent their days looking for you. You’re relieved, never wanting to be separated from the one who you thought had been gone from this world. In that moment, you forgot about your traveling companion and it was clear how much you loved the person that wasn’t The Wanderer. His lips press into a thin line, brows furrowed above his wide eyes. His fists form into a tight ball and wind surges through his fists. The Wanderer’s old wounds reopen as he feels the familiar ache of betrayal worming its way through his ‘heart.’ His jaw tightens as he watches you lovingly hold your lover in your hands- your very hands that he found himself feeling safe in, the same he’s held when he feels the world is forgiving enough to let him meet you. The Wanderer’s skin burns with anger as he sees you smile, seemingly forgetting your grief, forgetting how he had been there with you to witness it. Your lover doesn’t deserve your joy. They left you. You’ve moved on with him. Only he gets to have what he wants.

Slowly, The Wanderer trudges over to the both of you, the wind in his palms forming into gusts resembling storms. He was ready to fight, seeing nothing but red as the creeping sensation of deception crawled up his sides. His fury was insatiable and he was ready to discard the lessons he was taught by the gentle wisdom of the Dendro Archon. Fists raised, he was silent and ready; ready to unleash the might of an Archon betrayed. For a split second, he gets a glimpse of your face in his sight, and for a split second, the turbulent winds cease into a breeze.

The Wanderer catches your gaze steadily searching- for him. Your voice rings in his ears- calling his name as your attention from your lover wavers. Your expression displays worry when you can’t find him. Slowly, The Wanderer emerges from the shadows as his wide-eyed stare is transfixed onto you. You see him, and he is caught off guard by your smile; so welcoming, so warm and sincere. Your gentle hands break free from your lover's grasp and you hold them out to him, calling him to draw near and be with you. The Wanderer’s gaze never left your eyes- full of kindness and innocence- reminding him of his own when he was still new to the world devoid of suffering. But you, you had suffered just as he did, and even then when you were at the peak of your grief, you chose to be kind to the world. Kind to him.

“Come,” You tell him, holding out your hand. “I want you to meet someone.” The Wanderer reaches for you and once his fingertips graze through the surface of yours, he is brought back down into the life he lived with you; moments he now holds dear. You introduce The Wanderer to your lover, the one you always spoke of to him, and they greet him with the excitement you had- thanking The Wanderer for being there for you when they weren’t. He breathes hard and forces his emotions back for your sake. Even your lover was kind enough to hold no malice against him. He knows he’s done nothing wrong, but a sense of guilt wrings deep within The Wanderer’s pit.

You’re too kind, too forgiving. If he kills you, you’d forgive him. If he kills the one you love most, you won’t forgive him. The Wanderer would never be able to live with himself carrying the knowledge that you, a person who swore to love him at his worst, would come to hate him after all. He will never forgive himself. Who was he to deserve such love anyways?

That very night, he waits until you sleep and quietly drifts off into the welcoming confines of loneliness. He doesn’t yet know the pain of one's heart being broken by someone he loves. To feel it with you, the person he least expected would hurt him, was earth-shattering. What The Wanderer does know was that he loved you. He’s given himself the chance to understand the intimacy and closeness that you had to share with someone, and even that, he cannot have. He understands that you already had it in your heart to love him, and for a while, you did. Fate had other plans and The Wanderer wishes he could alter it in a way that would favor him. But you’re happier, and that's all that matters. He’ll love you from a distance, and for now, the world is his to find peace in someone else.

Kazuha

You were a different character compared to the rest of the Crux. While they were loud, boisterous and full of energy, you were withdrawn, silent and observant- much like Kazuha. When the Crux noticed your similar personalities, they were quick to tease you both into a sort of friendship for your shared calmness. 

‘Why not.’ Kazuha thought. ‘It’s always nice to meet a new friend.’

You on the other hand felt a little awkward about the whole situation. Even when Kazuha introduced himself to you formally, you only nodded in response, looking like you didn’t want an interaction in the first place. Kazuha was confused by this. He thought that maybe he gave off a bad first impression (thanks to the crew), so he opted to find out what he did wrong.

“Nothing wrong with what you did, kid,” Captain Beidou explained. “Y/N’s been dealt a rough card. Someone they loved disappeared at sea. I don’t really think they like being out here right now.” Kazuha looks over to you, staring out into the waters, an uncertain look on your face as you try to search for something that wasn’t there. At every chance you get, Kazuha always sees you by the docks, hopeful and solemn. He thought that it was his obligation to keep you company. After all, he was grieving himself.

“I’m sorry about what happened.” Kazuha says. “It must be hard for you.” You don’t even look at him, your expression pained and distant. 

“It is.” You say. Kazuha stands with you, staring out into the horizon as you both watch the sun set out into the waves. 

“I know what it’s like. To lose someone you love.” Only then did you decide to spare a glance at the samurai. He had a small smile on his face, remembering the days when his friend was still at his side. “Won’t you tell me about them?”

You two shared stories about those who’ve gone too soon; how they made you happy, the memories you shared good and bad, and how terrible it feels to relieve yourself of the grief when it’s the only thing that made you feel close to them. At least to Kazuha, he still had his friends’ Vision. And you had nothing but shared joy and laughter with the person you still loved. It became a sort of ritual for you both to meet at the docks and reminisce about the past. Soon, your topics broadened into past adventures, families, and the lives you’ve lived before boarding the Alcor. And sooner, you found yourself smiling.

The Crux was shocked to see the entire thing unfold. They’d never seen you smile so wide before, nor laugh for that matter. But as soon as you saw Kazuha already waiting for you with a haiku in hand to recite, it seemed that happiness found itself in you. You felt unbelievably tranquil around Kazuha. His laid-back nature temporarily subdued the pain in your heart and his welcoming presence drew away your loneliness. You were genuinely happy to be around him and he made you forget your grief in those sunsets you spent with the samurai. 

Kazuha on the other hand felt himself harboring stronger feelings for you the more and more you were around. He watched you grow from this withdrawn individual into someone that cracked jokes with the crew during dinners and situated yourself as everyone told stories. His heart raced each time you ran up to him with a smile, asking him to recite a poem as you listened, eyes closed, a small smile on your lips. Before he knew it, Kazuha was in love. He wasn’t quick to try and woo you when he realized his feelings for you were stronger than he thought. He wasn’t obvious about it as you said so yourself that you only saw him as a friend Kazuha was more than understanding, albeit a little disappointed. You confide to him that you simply cannot let go of the love you had for another- another that’s gone away- and Kazuha recognized the longing in your voice mirroring his own; chasing the euphoria of the past that’s already slipped away.

In a while, you noticed that you always looked forward to the sun setting- impatiently waiting for the day to end so you could meet up with Kazuha. You felt shy around him for some reason, nervous even and Kazuha was quick to pick up on the signs. You found yourself to be more open to the idea of moving forward and brought it up to Kazuha who, in turn, was happy for you and told you not to rush about it. How long that’ll be, he’ll wait. But deep down he was excited; to finally be the one to create new memories with.

Kazuha should’ve let his hopes die down. That day, he planned to profess his love for you, to let go of the weight in his heart and finally, finally be true to himself. He waited and waited until the day would finally end. You knew for a while that his question was coming. You saw the way his smile gleamed with joy every time you came around, how his sonnets and poems dropped with passion, hinting at a romance starting to bloom. You looked forward to it, and Kazuha was more than elated to notice your enthusiasm.

However, Kazuha’s excitement was dashed when Captain Beidou introduced a new crew member. She found them floating on a raft in the middle of the sea, exhausted, worn and barely having enough energy to speak. The introduction quickly became a heartfelt reunion when you instantly recognized the new member as your lover who had supposedly died back in Inazuma. In a flash, you ran in their arms, and they found the strength to say their first word since stepping aboard.

“Y/N.” They croak, through tears and strain. “You’re okay.” Tears spilled from your eyes and your smile was the widest the Crux has ever seen.

“I could say the same for you.”

Kazuha watched the entire thing unfold- your once somber expression now comparable to the innocent giddiness of a child, your wonderful smile illuminated by the sun above, making you look more magnificent than Kazuha thought. But it wasn’t for him. It was for someone else. The crux was happy for the both of you- even Kazuha who pushed his feelings aside and met with your lover as you introduced them to him.

It was a joyous moment for the Crux that night filled with laughs and celebration- save Kazuha who only watched from a distance. You didn’t even notice him. When the cheers died down and the sun slept through the seas, Kazuha stayed down at the docks and did some thinking. That night, he stared out into the open sea and was silent. He couldn’t even try to think of anything else apart from you, how cruel coincidence could be to play with his heart that way.

It’s unfair. He thinks selfishly. It’s unfair.

He should have been the one for you, not them. You were moving on with him, you were happy- but not happier. Kazuha wanted to work that out with you. To have him be the one to shoulder your pain and soothe you through all your troubles. He’d gladly suffer over and over again if it meant he could be with you… if it meant you’d choose him.

Since then, Kazuha resorted to playing the avoidance card. Each time you tried to talk to him since that day, your conversations would be short, his answers curt and he seemed to try and have your time together end abruptly. You knew why he was acting this way, but felt it a little unfair since you had already mentioned your heart can never be swayed. Still, you felt guilt creep up your sides each time you saw him look so miserable all because you brought up the idea that you could move on. You couldn’t, you didn’t, and that shouldn’t have been your fault. Kazuha should be able to see it that way.

Late at night, you listen to the breeze whistle past the masts and there you see Kazuha, at your shared spot, staring out the somber horizon. His face was calm and unsure, a small frown on his lips. Truth be told, Kazuha was scolding himself for acting out. He hated the way he treated you, hated how his chest burned each time you walked up to him in hopes you rekindle your companionship, but he was too deep in his feelings and would snuff out any of your attempts. Kazuha wanted to be close with you still, but each time he watched you and your lover from a distance build upon your relationship as if it never ended, Kazuha couldn’t help but wish it were him instead of them.

“Hey,” you say, snapping Kazuha away from his thoughts. He looks back at you and you approach him timidly, placing yourself in the usual spot you took beside him. Kazuha only stares at you, a small, hopeful gleam in his eyes. “Can we talk?”

“Of course.” Kazuha replies, his voice airy and withdrawn. He doesn’t want to talk, not with you, not right now. Not especially when his heart is threatening to cave out of his chest. You situate yourself beside him and breathe in the calm, salty air.

“Mind telling me why you’re up here so late?” You ask. Kazuha only grips at the ship and you purse your lips at his unwillingness to talk. He was never the type to be upfront about things anyway. You almost regret coming out here with him but you knew deep down you had to apologize for something that was never in your control. Kazuha knew that you didn’t want to let go, but he can’t help but still feel betrayed.

“I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you were expecting, Kazuha.” You started. “I know that you hoped it would be different for us.” Kazuha finally looks at you, holding tightly at the edges of the ship.

“I’m just glad they’re okay,” he says, something terrible caught in his throat. “And what matters to me most is that you’re happy.” You smile lightly, placing an assuring hand over his. Kazuha bites his tongue as he looks at you- gentle eyes soft and aglow against the moon.

“And I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting.” He says finally, voice gentle and apologetic. You only nod in response

“Can we still be friends?” You ask, hopeful and nervous. Kazuha was taken aback by this, but nevertheless returns the gesture, holding your hand in his, an assuring squeeze around it.

“Yes.” He says, unsure, quiet, but hopeful. “We can still be friends.”

Zhongli 

Zhongli, more than anyone, would know how it feels to hold onto someone you know will never return. He knows the agony of perpetually living in the past in hopes that maybe fate will be kind enough to relieve him of the burden of yearning. Alas, time does not work the way fate does. Zhongli longs for the past when time was kinder, when he and his companions had nothing to worry about. You too knew that feeling all too well.

Odd twists of fate led you to become the shadow of the person you once were. Grief was something you were never prepared for but you knew you had to be ready for it. Your lover knew the seas like the back of their hand after all- you thought you had nothing to fear given their skill. But fate had other plans and now you find yourself alone, in a cycle of empty days stretching into somber nights. That was when you met Zhongli.

Liyue’s busy nightlife isn’t particularly kind to lonely souls who wander ‘round the streets. Usually, people would be socializing after busy hours in the Harbor and would gladly kick off their boots and spend that time with others. You on the other hand longed for companionship somewhere else; in the rolling tides where the sea stretched far beyond the horizon. You were hoping for something, someone, that wasn’t coming back. You held on because you knew the seas always returned what was lost- even though it’s been too long for your lover to be considered lost still.

“Enjoying the waters?” A voice asks you, a man. He was tall, handsome, kind in disposition with gold eyes that flowed against the flicker of streetlights. That was if you cared enough to look.

“Mhm.” You reply, distracted at your own sadness to even look at Zhongli who stood by you. He stares at you for a bit, recognizing the empty hollow in your eyes- the shine taken away by something that anchored your heart in your stomach. He situates himself beside you and follows the direction you’re staring at into the open seas; your eyes are glued onto the boats, ships and ferries that floated idly amongst the waves.

“I take it that they were fond of the open waters?” Zhongli chimes. The question grabbed your attention as you finally looked at the man standing beside you. It was his turn to not return the gesture.

“Mhm.” You say sadly, head hanging low.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to be so forward.” Zhongli says. You looked up and your eyes met- for a brief moment, Zhongli saw his years of torment in your eyes. Suffering, grief and heartache riddled your features. Then, you smile, small but genuine; Zhongli couldn’t help but grin himself.

“It’s alright, it’s nice to talk about things like this right?” You say with a small laugh. “You must be?”

“Zhongli,” The man says. “And you are?”

“Y/N.” 

Since then, you found yourself in the company of Zhongli. It was odd, what you two had; open but secretive at the same time. So called meetings with him were frequent. Always at night when the world seemed to be livelier. You either bumped into each other at the harbor or Zhongli simply invited you over to join him for a chat. Whatever it was, what you two had became a very peculiar friendship. You felt secure enough to tell Zhongli what troubled you; how days seemed to stretch on, how lonely most nights feel despite the company of others, how everything seemed to remind you of what once was. You told Zhongli you feared that you’ll live in this state of emptiness till the end of your own life, that you can never move past the strength of your love. How burdensome it was- to love like it was the only thing you had.

“Grief is a terrible thing to experience.” Zhongli says, peeking over at you from his teacup. “But the weight of your adoration for them carries far beyond your sorrow. I think that’s quite admirable.”

“I suppose.” You say. “How deep does your burden run, Zhongli? Only people in pain would know to talk about what it means to hold on.” Zhongli chuckled at your remark.

“How inquisitive.” Truth be told, Zhongli tried to find himself in you- the gravity of your emotions comparable to his. It was rare for him to see a mortal chest-deep in a memory that happened so long ago. He’s seen people move on after a few years- but not you. Even if it meant that your torment would be the only thing that came with your love, you took it wholeheartedly because atleast then, you had something of the past. Zhongli admired that about you. It reminded him of the past companions that carried the same sentiment. He’s known you through them so Zhongli only felt it fair that he began to open up about his own grief-  and you were more than willing to listen.

“The pain of loss will never falter. It comes as it pleases but it never leaves” Zhongli says. You listened to him talk so highly about the people who had gone away; the happier years when he never thought about what it would be like to lose against time. The way he spoke was captivating to you: the tremor of his baritone voice, smooth as silk and bordering on casual professionalism. You couldn’t get enough of it.

“Tell me more.” You say with interest. “About what you know.” Zhongli looks to you with delight, seeing how your expression was filled with curiosity, so vastly different from the first time he met you.

“Oh? And what would you like to know?” He asks. You shrug, staring at the man with eager eyes.

“Tell me anything.”

Since then, your topics of conversation widened into Zhongli’s most favorite domain; history. Every time Zhongli was free or off from work, he’d come visit you at your home or your usual spot down at the docks to talk. From the Archon War to the development of Liyue, Zhongli was always elated to see the eager glimmer in your eyes everytime he shared his extensive knowledge with you. He answered your inquiries, took you to historical hotspots and areas no historian has ever cataloged before. Zhongli wanted to share his life with you, unknowingly letting you step into his past and see the gravity of his grief. You listened through all of it, almost always catching the subtle hint of sadness in Zhongli’s voice each time he shared something with you, as if it was something personal and close to his heart. As if he had been there to witness it all.

“I get what you mean now,” You told Zhongli as you two walked side by side along the meadows of Jueyun Karst. 

“How do you mean?” He asks

“What you told me about grief, how it comes and goes but never leaves.” You say. Zhongli looks at you, hopeful for something you haven’t said yet. “When I’m with you, it almost seems that my grief goes away for a while.” You’re smiling at him, small but wholeheartedly sincere. Zhongli felt his chest tighten and couldn’t stop the heat that spread throughout his body as he watched you laugh at his apparent facial expression. He hopes the red on his cheeks weren’t too noticeable.

“Let’s talk more about this over a cup of tea tomorrow.” He says, coughing behind a tightly closed fist. “And then I’ll show you the Huaguang Stone Forest.” You smile softly.

“I’d like that.”

You were looking forward to seeing Zhongli that day, excited to meet with him so he could show you around different spots around Liyue and their history. You felt especially giddy when you heard a knock at your house and expected your wandering companion to be there. When you opened the door, however, you were faced by someone else. Someone familiar, a face you’ve etched deep in your memories, disheveled and sunburnt, smelling of the sea and the familiarity of home. You’re frozen, your breath caught in your airways as if you’d just seen a ghost. This time, you hoped that wasn’t the case. Eyes wide and mouth agape, the person couldn’t help but smile at you.

“I’m home.” Your lover says. You spare no second jumping into their arms- saltwater smell and all. You’re laughing, smiling, and crying at the same time. Asking questions, welcoming them back, words tumbling messily as you try and gather yourself. Your lover only smiles softly and muses at your expressions.

“I missed you so much.” They say, stroking your cheek. Only then did you begin to cry- sobs wracking your body as you sink down onto the floor as your lover follows suit, mumbling comforts and apologies in hopes to soothe your whirlwind of emotions.

From a distance, people watch the reunion with smiles on their faces. Save for one. Among the crowd, Zhongli watched you both, a bouquet of flowers native to Liyue clutched tightly in his shaking hands. He had intended to show you where each flower grows in Liyue, giving you one for each place you two would have gone together. That wouldn’t be the case now. He decides to leave you two alone, it was clear your company was already filled long before he even came into the picture.

That night, Zhongli hoped to see you at the docks, waiting for something, someone. Someone that wasn’t them, but him. But you weren’t there, and Zhongli was a bit relieved to see it. He stood by the sea and listened to the gentle waves splashing underneath him. Zhongli thought to congratulate you both and give you his well wishes in hopes to give you support- more so than he already had. Still, he can’t shake off the feeling of scorn as he watched you hand in hand with the person you loved so dearly. He shouldn’t be feeling this, after all, you loved them first. You’ve always loved them… It felt unfair to him, however, that he spent so much time with you, got to know you on an intimate level, and had high hopes that you both can find comfort in each other, and your lover just comes in and throws it all away. His effort and yours.

Zhongli can never blame you though, you loved too much for your own good, and he loved that about you as long as it’s towards him. Not someone else. He can never think to take that away from you now that you look so unbelievably happy- happier than you’ve ever been. Zhongli wasn’t the decider of fate, he knew the consequences of trying to toy with it. Still, he learned to love you, dearly. Too bad he didn’t confess his feelings quick enough. Would you still take the past back? 

“Hey.” Your voice drags him away from his spiraling thoughts, gentle like the sea. Zhongli watches you situate yourself beside him, like how he’d done the first night you two met. “I’m sorry today didn’t go as planned.”

“It’s alright,” Zhongli says, forcing back the strain in his voice. “I’m happy for you two.” 

You’re silent and so was he. You two listened to the night and Zhongli wanted so badly to leave. It was uncharacteristic of him to do so, so he just bore through the silence and pretended it’s the same one you always shared with him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Zhongli whispers finally. You take his hand and he bites down at his tongue to keep himself from talking. He couldn’t stop. “I can’t help but love you still. Your hand tightens around him.

“I know you mean well, Zhongli.” You say. “And I’m sorry I can’t be the one to return it.”

Childe

‘I wish they’d just stayed dead.’ Childe thinks in the back of his mind, smiling through a false mask once you’ve introduced your lover to him- the same one you’ve told him about about- the one that should’ve been gone. Childe’s hatred only heightens when he sees your face- pure, unwavering joy as you introduced them to him, wishing that that same giddy smile as you said your lover's name would be about him.

Childe knew you through a connection of sorts with his businesses as a Fatui. You were only one of the many unaware who they were working for, thinking of Childe as another one of your business dealings. You two saw each other semi-frequently with Childe dropping in for a few shipments or to just come by and visit one of his favorite partners. You looked forward to those surprise visits of his- finding his cheery companionship soothing you through your grief. 

One morning, Childe caught you in a bad time. Your shop curtains were drawn closed, the room was dark and silent, save for your muffled sobs coming from the storage closet.

“Y/N?” Childe calls out. You sat up from your spot and in your hands were a scarf, and a photograph of someone, presumably someone you loved dearly. “Are you okay?” 

“Childe! I didn’t know you were coming.” You say, hurriedly wiping away your tears. “I’m fine, Childe, thank you.” Promptly escorting him back outside.

After that day, Childe visited your shop more often and even went out of his way to bring you gifts to cheer you up. You saw his gestures were sweet but you didn’t want to have any other relationship with Childe other than being friendly or professional. You already made it clear to him that you don’t have the intention of pursuing anything more. Curious as he was, he respected your choice. One evening, as he treated you out to a meal, his intrigue got the best of him and asked why. You fell silent.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to-” 

“They were an adventurer.” You said solemnly, a small smile on your lips as you remember. “They… presumably disappeared on a trip to Sumeru.” Your nails dig into the surface of your palms and you feel tears beginning to form at the corners of your eyes. Suddenly, you feel Childe’s gloved hands above your own.

“It’s not easy to talk about it, I know.” He says. “You don’t have to say any more.

You were incredibly grateful to Childe. Not only did he somehow make your business grow, you found a genuine friendship in the Harbinger. He was patient, comforting and genuine. You felt close enough to Childe to let him see you cry on bad days when you couldn’t handle your heartache. You let him soothe you through your rants on nights when things get too stressful. Whatever it was, Childe would always be there for you. 

You thought that maybe it would be time to move on, to let your feelings from the past be something new. Something for Childe. You dropped hints at the idea, even though guilt pierces through your chest when you remember your lover. Childe never rushes you though. He wants you to be sure of your decision and you were more than grateful for his patience.

Internally, Childe counts down the days for when you finally realize your feelings for him. Even though he encourages you to take your time and allow yourself to heal of the past, he is aching for the day you would finally, finally tell him how much you love him. Until then, he waits and waits and waits. He’s determined to win over your love, whatever the case, he will get it.

That was until now.

Childe spotted you a mile away. He was happy to see you until he saw them. You were hand in hand with someone, someone he saw before. Childe stops and waits, waits for you both to approach him. When you do, he immediately recognizes the person to be the one from a photograph you had before, wearing the scarf you held onto when he saw you cry for the first time.

“Childe! I’m glad you’re here.” You say excitedly. “I have someone to introduce to you!” And indeed, it was your lover- alive and well. Childe listens to you tell stories about them. How they were found by a traveling merchant. How their recovery was a miracle and about how they took the first ship home to find you. Childe listened through it all, masking the pain and anger he felt under a warm, deceiving smile.

“We should all grab a meal together.” You suggested. Childe shakes his head and turns away, sparing a glance at you and your lover who backs away warily.

“No need, I’ll let you two catch up.”

Childe has his ways. He has connections around the world as well as Fatui. He’s quick to take action on most missions but this time, he let it happen slowly. Childe painfully watched you rekindle the flame of your past love. He watched you two kiss and hug and adore each other when it should have been him. He hated that he had to take that happiness away from you again, but he was excited about the notion that you’ll find your affections for him once more. Childe didn’t want your lover's disappearance to be suspicious after they’d just returned. He wanted it to be a tragedy, a coincidence. He didn’t want you to hate him after all. 

On one very fateful day, a surprise came to your lover when they’d been summoned for a conquest into Sumeru. You had your reservations to send your lover back out again into an adventure after what had occurred, but they were excited and you can’t take that away from them. Besides you knew in your heart that they’d return, always.

Days passed and so were you devastated once more to hear that your lover is confirmed to be dead; attacked by a Rishboland Tiger, mutilated beyond recognition and only identified by the scarf you’ve gifted them. You didn’t care how the reporter shook with anxiety as he delivered the news; you didn’t notice the word ‘ambush’ replaced with ‘attacked’ in their autopsy; you didn’t even realize that the very person who delivered the news was Fatui. You were too devastated and quick to accept pain you knew all too well. Blinded by the searing agony in your heart, you found yourself in another familiar situation in the grasp of no other than Childe. So too were you quick to throw yourself in his welcoming embrace once he got wind of what had happened. He comforted you through your reopened grief, eased you through your worries and pain and promised to be at your side for as long as it takes. He’s more patient now, he learned the best results were to wait for the right moment- and he was right. Soon, you’ll find yourself feeling the comfort of Childe’s warm meals and cheeky jokes to feel more than friendly and Childe can only smile to himself knowing that his reward was almost at his grasp.

Only almost.

Childe was too careless. He thought he already had you, but you can never betray your heart that quickly. Not again. Ever so curious and still at the grips of your hidden pain, you start skimming through some reports and information from those near the area your lover was killed, and things unknown to you make themselves clear. Locals saying how Rishboland Tigers didn’t live in that area, the wounds on your lovers’ body resembled cuts, not claw marks. The most damning thing too was that there were Fatui present in the area, long after their failed infiltration of the Akademiya. Dots began to connect and your heart only sank deeper and deeper into your stomach.

You didn’t want that to be the case. You didn’t want Childe to be the one to hurt you. It was only until you heard a creak of a floorboard and a reluctant call of your name did your blood run cold in your veins.

“So, you found out huh?” Was all Childe said. You turn to him slowly and shudder and the unforgiving cold of his stare. Uncaring, unrelenting. Just cold. 

You snapped. 

Your body shook with anger, breathing hard and fast and your eyes widening at the revelation. All you saw that moment was red. Charging at Childe, you throw the false reports at him and grab at his coat. He stares down at you, eyes dark and expression blank. Childe tries to reason with you but you strike him with the adrenaline to kill. It was only fair- he never had sympathy for you anyways.

“You’re not them,” you spit at him, once gentle demeanor now vicious and enraged. “You will NEVER be them!” With all you could muster, you shove Childe again and again, punches and kicks gradually weakening, doing nothing to the Harbinger that towered above you. Childe can only watch you berate and beat at him with worthless fury, and he can do nothing to quell the malice you had towards him. “I hate you! I HATE you!”

‘So close’ was all Childe could think of. He grabs at one of your wrists and you flinch; his jaw tightens at your quick show of fear.

“What? You’re gonna kill me too? Go ahead! Kill me!” You screech at him. Childe can never do that to you. He only wanted you for himself and now that his careless plan backfired, he’ll love the rest of his life with the guilt that he killed someone you loved and that you’ll hate him for as long as you’ll know.

“I’m sorry.” Was the only thing Childe could say before releasing his grip and turning to leave. You’re seething in silence watching the man you used to trust turn away from you. You wanted to yell at him, call him a coward, tell him to face you and admit to what he has done. But you were too weak. Instead, you could only cave and cry, screaming your agony into the ground as you felt your heart shatter once more.

Bonus! Albedo

Everyone knew why you were somber. That day, as word came that the Knights of Favonius expedition team were ambushed by Treasure Hoarders colluding with Fatui, every Mondstadtian braced themselves for the worst. You with them. As days bled on and no other update came into the city, everyone had lost hope. Except for you.

You lost the love of your life on a mission where none of the knights returned; it’s only normal for you to grieve. Everyone just presumed they were dead and felt that they had no other choice but to accept that. However, you were one of few to be unable to move on. You spent your days in silence, reminiscing about the past and reliving the grief day and night for months on end. The people of Mondstadt knew not to pressure you into moving on. They knew how much your knight in shining armor meant to you. And so, they let you process your pain at your own pace, even if that meant they saw how bad it really was. 

It was on a particularly troublesome day that you met with Chief Alchemist Albedo in his Dragonspine lab, asking about some elixir to cure your madness. You felt as though you couldn’t handle the pain of your heartache any longer. It kept you up at night, you couldn’t control your tears, everything in your life seemed to remind you about your lover. You were shambles, clearly, and you wanted your pain to cease so you can move on with your life.

“Alchemy can do no such thing,” Albedo says, never looking up from his clipboard. “I suggest you seek a doctor for that.” You sigh in defeat.

“I know, it’s silly,” you mumble, sniffling at the cold. “I guess I was just trying to be hopeful.” Albedo finally looks at you, observing your shuddering form and weary face, curious as to why you would come all this way when you know you’ll just be disappointed. He motions you inside his lab and you nod, following to sit by the fire.

“Tell me about that,” Albedo says. “About how you’re feeling.” You were a little surprised. Nobody has ever asked about how you were since the incident. You least expected that from Albedo of all people. But your emotions were overwhelming and you felt more open to talk about it.

“Do you know what happened?” You ask. Albedo hums.

“I’ve heard about it. About the missing expedition team. Was… someone of importance to you involved?” You pause for a bit and nod solemnly.

“I’ve never felt this… terrible in my life.” You whisper, burying your face in your palms as you force your tears back. Albedo felt that it would be unprofessional of him to try and understand how deeply you feel on a hypothetical level, so he tries his best to comfort you. It’s the least he could do for not having what you came for.

“Has it always been this bad?” He asks.

“No, not always. Some days it’s manageable but most days. I don’t even want to get up anymore.” Your voice trembles as you speak. You feel Albedo’s curious eyes stare you down and you don’t look up, fearing judgment. But when you take a glance, Albedo only looks at you with patience- like every other Mondstadtian that’s witnessed your pain.

“I don’t know how to word this properly, Y/N but, the pain will be gone eventually.” Albedo says. You shake your head

“My pain is the only thing I have left of them. If I move on, what else would I have?”

Albedo didn’t understand it then; you had your memories, pictures, even memorabilia you two had collected together. Why burden yourself and hold onto the pain? He didn’t understand how deeply you truly loved. Maybe if you showed him how, he’ll know.

Albedo originally intended to study your feelings as a means to understand the complications of the emotional spectrum people had. You were his best candidate; you cried, you grieved and at the same time, you laughed and you smiled. It was fascinating to him watching this spectrum unfold in front of him in varying degrees, and before you knew it, you were acquainted with the Chief Alchemist.

He approached you first. After your first meeting, you found yourself with Timaeus and Sucrose a lot- even more so with Albedo. He told you he wanted to conduct a study of sorts- to figure out if there would be a cure for your ‘ailment’. You were a little hesitant at the idea but nevertheless enjoyed the company the Alchemists’ shared with you- it gave you a semblance of normalcy after locking yourself up for so long. 

You liked being around Albedo; his calming disposition made it difficult for you to even think about your sorrow when he’s around. Apart from his usual studies, Albedo let you in on his life when he wasn’t associated with Alchemy. He was incredibly talented when he drew, he was a great cook and an especially kind individual. You were fond of the memories you shared with the Alchemist and slowly saw that his company was enough to soothe you of your grief for a while. Besides, Klee made sure you were never down when she’s around you.

“Fascinating,” Albedo chimes, jotting things down into his clipboard. “It seems that your mood has elevated significantly. Maybe it’s the atmosphere.” The two of you ventured out into Windrise to collect Crystalfly Cores. Albedo thought that the activity would be fun and it was a step for you to ‘broaden your horizons’ as he put it.

“You think so?” You laugh, jumping down from a branch. “That’s good, right?” You land in front of Albedo, a Crystalfly Core in your palm. You’re looking down at it proudly, smiling at your little achievement with a faint glimmer in your eyes as you present Albedo your catch. As he stares at you, something leaps from his stomach; a spring or a jolt that makes his skin prickle with heat. His mouth dries at the sight of you looking so carefree in contrast to the day he first saw you. It was a massive improvement and Albedo couldn’t help but smile at your joy.

“It’s great.”

The next morning, Albedo felt especially giddy. He dropped by Flora’s shop and purchased a handful of Cecilia’s. He never made it clear what (or who) it was for but everyone knew the purpose of them. They were too late to tell him the news. Albedo planned to visit you and talk. He wanted to talk about his feelings, make it clear that the past few weeks were not of research, but he genuinely felt drawn to you. Albedo wanted to be closer to you, have your relationship progress to the next phase. Albedo hoped that maybe he could be the remedy to your grief.

As he braces himself to see you, he is instead greeted by immense disappointment.

“Albedo! I didn’t expect you to visit.” You say, standing up from your seat. Across from you was a Knight, disheveled, dressed in a worn down suit of armor. Your hands were in theirs and you had no intention of letting them go. He looks at you and back at the knight, understanding the situation once he sees the sparkle in your eyes, the small smile on your lips. Your gaze glowed with something he’s never seen before when you spent time together, your aura seeming lighter as soon as he entered, and the inflection of your tone indicating how truly excited you were. Not because he was there, but because of the person before him. Gripping the bouquet tightly, Albedo feels something terrible writhe in his stomach, something you’ve described to him before; something awful and guttural. He feels as though he might vomit from the sensation. Shakily, he tucks the Cecilia flowers away into his coat and forces himself to speak.

“My apologies,” He starts, looking down as he closes your door. “I’ll leave you alone.”

Albedo hoped that by some miracle, you’d call him to come back. But it’s quiet, and Albedo walks alone with the wish still stuck in his mind.

He trudges back up into his lab completely silent. He doesn’t bother to savor his surroundings on such a beautiful day. To you, maybe it was, but to him, the world seemed to laugh at his face. Albedo felt humiliated. He thought that maybe he’d have a chance at being your significant other once you’ve moved on, that maybe he can experience the deep, unwavering passion you had when you loved. Now, he laughs at the idea that you’ll choose him over your lover when he had never been a choice in the first place.

Setting down the bouquet on his desk, Albedo picks up his notes and begins to drown himself in his work. It’s better to distract himself from the pain than to let it fester anyways. He won’t try to find a cure now; he knows through you that this feeling will be the only thing he would have of you. Good or bad, he didn’t care- as long as it meant it resembled something you made him feel.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Someone asks, their footsteps drawing closer. Albedo turns and meets with the gaze of the Knight from your house, your lover. He stops in his tracks and his stomach drops when he sees them. It would have been worse if it were you even if it meant his wish for you to chase him would come true.

“You must be Albedo. I heard about you from Y/N,” The knight says, shaking off the snow from their shoulders. They smile at Albedo kindly and he only returns with a curt nod. “I don’t think you’ve heard but the expedition team made it back and now we’ve reunited.” Albedo looks down and turns away, his grip on his notes tightening as he speaks.

“I see,” he mumbles. “I’m happy for you two.” The silence between them almost felt suffocating. Albedo was grateful for the eerie whisper of the snow but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the question the Knight asked next.

“Did you have feelings for Y/N?” They ask. Albedo flinches but nevertheless stays calm. His skin grows hot and his heart races in his chest, all the while he trembles from the horrible sensation that boils in his stomach.

“Insightful are we?” Albedo says matter-of-factly. Your lover sighs. 

“You can tell me if you liked them, Chief. I won’t be mad.” They say with a chuckle. “I won’t be surprised actually. They’re wonderful.” Albedo only hums in response, pretending to write something down on his notes. You really were wonderful, but he will never say that out loud, not especially in front of them. Your lover shifts awkwardly and Albedo expects them to go, but they move closer and place a hand on his shoulder.

“For what it’s worth, thanks for taking care of them.” your lover says, smiling lightly before turning to leave. The corner of Albedo’s lips twitch into a frown. As he watches the knight fade off into the path, Albedo sets his notepad down, tracing the outline of a sketch with his delicate fingers. It was a drawing of you, under the oak tree in Windrise, the life in your eyes glowing as he remembers it. Albedo reminisces the days when your relationship with him grew into what it was and plateaued in the blink of an eye. He’d imagined what it would be like to be loved by you; so incredibly dedicated and genuine. You loved too much for your own good and Albedo admired that about you. He could only wish that that love were for him.

“I’ll do anything for Y/N.”

[captainsimagines]

pretty woman, this is me trying || thirteen

Summary: Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female SexWorker!Reader

Trope(s): Holiday Fanfic ; Slow-Burn ; Friends to Lovers

Based on the Song(s): sweet nothing by Taylor Swift and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

(13/14)

Mini-Series

Warnings: guilt; overthinking; loneliness; reference to past SA

Word Count: 1,750+

~

     It’s cruel to be introduced to companionship after you’ve been lonely for so long. What is a person to do when it’s suddenly ripped from their grasp? There is no possibility of acting normal, of forgetting it. You end up feeling even lonelier than you did before. Like what you felt before wasn’t loneliness at all.

Even your coffee didn’t taste good as you watched the morning news.

Christmas news.

The notification from your bank didn’t help either. You were going to murder Tony Stark.

You had spent Christmas alone for two years now, this being the third. But you had scheduled it that way. Your dates were on Christmas Eve, and Christmas was meant for you. This year, however, you had hoped to spend it with a friend. With someone you loved.

Routine came naturally: Make the bed, make the coffee, check your phone, turn on the television. Your plan for the rest of the day was to binge watch a new series or read a book. Dinner was to be simple and snacks had been stocked since last week. There was a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge. But there were two glasses set out for tonight. Lainey’s and yours.

It would have been the first time using Lainey’s glass since she died. You would have poured Bucky’s drink in it.

Oh, God. You told Bucky you loved him and he didn’t even seem to catch it. Was your luck that shit? Or was this a consequence of your actions? You avoided looking at the Christmas tree in the corner of your living room, avoided looking at the small gift for Bucky underneath.

A knock at your front door had your heart bursting through your cardigan, anticipation for one person in particular overwhelming your senses. Though, as you inched closer to the closed door, you highly doubted Bucky would stop by at all. He had been adamant about stopping you yesterday, but you closed the conversation with such a hurtful message. Both to him and about you.

You had expected Natasha.

It was a surprise seeing Steve Rogers outside your apartment door.

“Have you come to throw me off my fire escape?”

Steve pushed past you, entering your apartment without permission. The man was nothing like Bucky Barnes except in regards to build and strength.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why did I need to tell you? Besides, I highly doubt you would have treated me better knowing I was a hooker.”

“I would never judge you for that.”

“No, but you judged me for simply being Bucky’s friend.”

He exhaled roughly, caught in the trap. He was realizing just how misdirected and needless his suspicion was.

“Did you two…?” he started, but stopped when your expression turned sour. “Sorry, sorry.”

You rolled your eyes, moving to sit on the couch. You crossed your arms over your chest, refusing to be on guard in your own home. “Not at first. I was hired to attend the Ball with him. We decided he would be more comfortable if we got to know each other. Then things escalated.”

“But what you said last night… Bucky didn’t want you?”

It sounded worse when repeated from someone else’s lips. “Stark found me online. Bucky just never told me he was basically coerced into it.”

“I’m going to kill Tony.”

You chuckled softly. Men and their first reactions of violence.

“I understand he didn’t want me in the beginning, and that he wants me now. But am I just supposed to pretend that I didn’t start this relationship with money as the end goal?”

“Were you going to drop Bucky? Take the money and run?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t see the problem.”

You huffed, “You already didn’t like me. If you don’t like me, how am I supposed to get on everyone else’s good side?”

Steve brushed a hand down his face, dropping down onto the couch beside you. “My opinion isn’t that powerful.”

“When you say that, do you realize how daft you sound?”

He glared, but there was no longer anger attached. “I didn’t mean to push you into the wall.”

“Did you mean to push me into the street?”

He grumbled and said more to himself, “You sound just like him.”

“Is he okay?”

“He hasn’t left his bed since he plopped his ass into it last night. But I should be asking that question, too. Is he okay?”

Steve Rogers was a man dying to know if his best friend was healing. Steve Rogers was a man who had forgone a rescue mission for Bucky after he fell from the Alps because he hadn’t known Bucky had the serum. Steve Rogers was a man who found out his best friend was alive, but was tortured because he hadn’t looked for Bucky’s body himself. Steve Rogers was a man who had his best friend back, but could not touch him.

“Our pact was this,” you started, lifting your legs onto the couch so you could tuck them underneath yourself. “Step by step, we tried different things to get him used to regular touch again. Pinky promises, passing each other objects, having me braid his hair. Then he got comfortable holding my hand. Comfortable with me standing behind him. Comfortable with hugs and kissing. Then, more adult things.”

Amazement clouded in Steve’s eyes as he heard you speak.

“Once he was comfortable with me, then he would know if he’d be comfortable with someone else. He proved that after he rescued Natasha. Even if he could only hold her for a few minutes, he still did it. It wouldn’t have been possible if he didn’t trust me—If he didn’t want to get better.”

Steve licked his lips, looking down at his lap. “He never told me that.”

“What did he say?”

Steve scrunched his nose, fighting his thoughts. “That you were nice and that you were just friends.”

“Steve…”

“They hurt him really bad, didn’t they?”

Your eyes burned as you watched the moment Steve Rogers realized his friend hadn’t just lost his mind to the enemy. That he had lost so much more.

“It’s not my story to tell.”

“But it’s exactly what I’m thinking right?”

Your lips pulled thin, and Steve broke down right there on your couch, on Christmas morning. You scooted the short distance between the two of you, and threw your arms around his broad shoulders.

Steve didn’t hesitate. He held onto you for dear life.  

~

    Empty.

His chest, his stomach, his head. He couldn’t exactly tell what felt more bare. He often pondered what it would have felt like if you did decide to leave him after your part of this deal. He assumed he’d be hurt, but that he would get over it in a day or two.

It hasn’t even been twelve hours since he last saw you and Bucky feels like he’s been sawn in two.

Axel snoozed by his feet, exhausted after having calmed Bucky down when he first entered his apartment. It was a silent eater, this pain. He had thought he’d throw some things, maybe punch a wall. But the self-rage and embarrassment were flooded behind his sternum, crashing against his ribcage.

So Bucky had curled into his blankets, into Axel’s fur, and suffered in silence.

You loved him.

And in this silence, he loved you too.

A knock sounded on his bedroom door. Bucky groaned in response, pushing the covers down so his head was exposed. Steve squeezed his way through the small space he provided himself, standing by the edge of Bucky’s bed.

“She’s okay, if you’re wondering.”

Bucky closed his eyes, sighing, “You saw her?”

“Mmm,” Steve answered. A yes in his own language, Bucky assumed. “She gave me some cookies to go, too.”

It was then that Bucky noticed the small container of carefully packaged cookies. “That means she likes you.”

Steve offered him a gentle smile, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes. Neither of them spoke for a full minute, awkwardness absent as dreadful tension took its place instead. Bucky knew what Steve was going to say before he even said it.

It was about damn time. He often wondered why Steve never asked to see the tapes, trusting Bucky’s words of They didn’t hurt me too bad, instead. Or maybe it wasn’t a trust in that Bucky told the truth, but a trust that whenever Bucky was truly ready to speak about it, Steve would listen.

“Buck, do you still want to keep it a secret?”

Bucky sat up so his back leaned against the headboard. He fumbled with his fingers as he debated an appropriate response. “The less people who know, the less real it is.”

Steve took a step closer, allowing Bucky time to refuse it. Then he stepped again and again, until he was seated on the bed itself. “Buck, it’s me.”

Bucky scanned Steve’s face and only found sincerity, a welcome to rant and cry and scream. The face of his best friend eighty years ago when Bucky had lied about what the content of his draft letter said. The face of his best friend when Bucky had omitted the fact Hydra had shot him up with some second-grade serum.

Bucky sucked in a breath, swallowing hard. “I told them no.”

Steve crumbled instantly, his eyes filling with tears. “Buck—”

“I begged them not to every single time. I said no."

Steve reached a hand across the sheets, palm up. An invitation and a question wrapped in one. Bucky laid his flesh hand over Steve’s, realizing just how touch-deprived Steve was, too. Steve remained still, frightened that one wrong movement would snap Bucky away.

“I lost count after twenty years.”

Steve dipped his head, pressing his lips together. “And she was helping you all this time.”

“She thinks everyone is going to hate her. She doesn’t know that I have the same fear… Of everyone knowing.”

“I told her this,” Steve began, his tone fierce. “That we have assassins, murderers, witches, and thieves on our team. No one is going to judge her. I promise you, Bucky. No one is going to judge her, and no one will judge you if you ever decide to tell them.”

With a small smile, Bucky admitted, “I’m still going to overthink it, Rogers.”

Steve took a chance and bent his fingers. Bucky moved slightly, giving Steve more opportunity to strengthen his grip if he wanted.

“You might,” Steve chuckled, sniffing and rubbing his nose against the fabric on his shoulder. “But promise me that you will come talk to me, or her, whenever you feel hopeless.”

Bucky sniffed away his tears, too. Sprinkling some light into their conversation, Bucky told him, “Thank you for killing those bastards for me.”

“Anytime, Buck.”

~