#of lances and lament

[osric-giroux-ffxiv]

I know Osric is a former Dragoon, but can I count him as a Dragoon for purposes of my silly OC project? If so are there any gposes/screenshots of him looking Dragoony historically? Don't worry if not :)

You certainly can - I know I talk about him as a "former Dragoon", but are there really former Dragoons? (Or just not as active Dragoons?)

Thanks @mimble-sparklepudding!

[hyakunana]

Strangers in a Strand Land . jpg

[princelancey]

This last race hurts so much cause Lance didn't fuck it up himself (a poorly judged move on Kevin aside - nothing bad came of it) the q2 exit was because of damage, comparing his lap telemetry to Nando's they were on par with less than a tenth in it until the debris damaged his floor.

Then during the race he was on for a good start, had made up a couple places only to get whacked from behind by Hulk and had to nurse a brake issue for the rest of the race. Not that anyone picked up on it cause he was doing such a stellar job until the rain came and well you need your brakes to work in the rain, and it certainly didn't help that Monaco is so hilly, his car became a pinball down into the hairpin.

Basically it's just annoying that people will look at the result and think 'lmao dumb pay driver' when that was not the case at all :/

[brynn-lear]

When Cuckoos Throw Ores [Yandere!Jing Yuan x Reader]

Questionable Overview: After transmigrating to Teyvat, you and Jing Yuan had lived like family on your shared apartment as getting-by descenders. But, you made an error too grave. You hid the anonymous love letters you received from the person you should’ve trusted the most— and now you’ve got yourself a broken mind. [Fic written for May June]

CWs/tags: yandere themes, isekai, moments where you wish Jing Yuan just committed murder instead so it would hurt less, mentions of failed childbirth, nadia & vlad are adorable, implied hysteria, cute n' wholesome beginning w/ found family to "man... man.", gaslighting gatekeep is JY's passion.

"I'm an adult, Jing Yuan! I think I have the right to leave as I please."

Have you ever been so incredibly fascinated by such a mundane object that all worldly noise drowns?

"The right to trample on my heart? To leave me to drown in my despair while you obsess over a single ore without a single thought for me? I must say, it doesn’t seem very sound. Stay put while I call for Doctor Baizhu."

Have you ever had your hand reach out ever so slightly without you realizing such? For your fingers to curl— for you to seize a trinket as though you were compelled by an existence— an idea higher than any mortal comprehension? As though it was fate? As though it was a fruit you weren't meant to take a bite off?

But the most mundane of all…

"There’s no need! Because great General and Emanator of the Hunt Jing Yuan—"

Have you ever lamented a life that "never" happened?

"— I have the right to mourn the happy ending you took from me!"

Though those uninitiated will rehash the root of events in your arrival to the chasm, the most knowledgeable would start the accounts from your arrival to Teyvat.

You did not step foot alone.

When your worldline was destroyed, so, too, was Jing Yuan's. 

Lady Ningguang greeted you both with a good measure of skepticism. You were both "descenders.", though it was soon made evident that your origins are different. He was from "Xianzhou Loufu," and you were from "Earth."  Course, despite your shared tragic circumstances, not everything shall be handed on a silver platter for unfortunate souls. Ningguang was kind enough to provide you both with a shared apartment complex near the fishing port and since then, you and Jing Yuan had a bond not so dissimilar from siblings. He got a job as a general, and your current position is a little more flexible than your previous one.

Whatever principles and studies were available in the previous realms you lived in, they were carried over in Teyvat. Each word circulating about Jing Yuan’s undefeated sword and lance techniques makes you smile; he, in turn, would enthusiastically applaud your sold artworks and STEM innovations. It makes you wholly embarrassed every time he makes what is supposed to be a celebration of his mission’s success into a congratulatory speech for what you’ve done in the same timeframe. Didn’t matter how minute it was. His comrades had already considered the long-standing tradition as a not-so-private joke.

His lack of personal praise worries you sometimes…

There’s a stark difference in your approach to this new life. You mourned for yours being gone; while he doesn’t speak much about his.

“No rush,” he'd say. “All truths shall reveal itself in due time.”

You know about his world, though vaguely. He has a striking resemblance to the character from Honkai: Star Rail. Course, that implies he had gone through similar ordeals as the character. 

“I am an old man, there is nothing for me to grieve.” He told you once. “I have… already witnessed comrades pass, and then some. Have you encountered the phrase: there are fates worse than death?”

Jing Yuan closed his eyes.

“I… find it easier to assume that it might be the only way to put old conflicts to rest.” He shook his head and downed his final shot of baijiu. Yuan sighed, tasting the aftermath in his breath.

“It’s better to put a permanence in death than another forced rebirth.”

He poured you a shot.

"Some memories are better left forgotten. And that applies to you, too."

Whatever he said felt untranslatable to you, hence, you gave up on making more inquiries. If the day comes and he wishes to open up, you'll be there for him anyway.

Or so you thought.

“Heard you’re planning to add another medal to your jacket.” 

Jing Yuan nearly halted from tying his long hair up. You watched his shoulders tremble, likely from trying to compose himself.

“Ha! You've heard a half-truth, I wasn't scheming on anything, it was merely handed to me.” His tone was calm, but you heard the well-hidden smugness.

You shrugged and sipped your coffee nonchalantly. 

… You seriously wish his uniform didn't hug his form that good. Just staring at him makes the room feel degrees hotter. 

You cleared your throat.

“I didn't say anything about schemes, Jing Yuan. Suspicious.”

“Oh?” He hummed, almost sultry for your ears.

…Curse him and his damn beatific smiles.

This playful banter is as natural as the dawn of day. Rather than spending the early morning getting ready for the day, you've both grown accustomed to teasing the other person. He, in his finely ironed uniform, and you, in your comfy pajamas. 

“Since when have I besmirched my name by squandering time? Rude of you to imply that slothfulness rules over my life.” Jing Yuan joked before he moved another piece. “You wound me, dear (Y/n).”

Due to the nature of the conversation, you hadn't thought of your next move much as you continued to probe him. “And what exactly are you doing right now instead of reporting to the Qixing, General?”

He smirked. “I am on-duty, am I not?”

“By talking to me?”

“I have been bound by mundane duties in both my past and current lives, and I must say, engaging with a Person of Interest such as yourself has not only been productive but also mentally stimulating.”

You paused. 

Person of Interest…?

Might as well curse him and his fancy cursive way of implying something too. 

Your nose scrunched. “Are you saying I'M on the Qixing’s watchlist?!—”

“Not in a bad light; don’t worry your pretty head over such menial matters,” he ruffled your hair as he craned over, gazing at your disgruntled morning expression with a loving vigor. “They have an eye for your talent. No Ministry would ever obsess over a clean criminal record.”

You grumbled as you attempted to fix your hair, despite lacking any energy. “Thanks, that calms me down. Especially with the talks about criminal activity on the rise and all.”

He laughed at your snarkiness.

“Is this your best attempt at prying information? I must say, your current occupation suits you. I can now place a finger as to why the thought of Lady Ningguang hiring you as a profiler put me in tremendous unease.”

“Oh don’t be a prick, Yuan.” You chuckled heartily as you gave him a playful slap— which he no doubt avoided. “But seriously, can’t you tell me more about what’s happening?”

There were no further words needed. Such rumors had been on the forefront of the people’s minds: a group of rogue “mercenaries” had found new temptations in banditry— and had the nerve to stew misfortunes on the main harbor itself. As a newly enforced general, Jing Yuan had, of course, been subjected to handling this situation under the ever-watchful gaze of the Qixing. A challenge, as he likes to label it. Whatever helps him sleep at night, you’d reply.

Although, it would certainly soothe YOUR insomnia better if he were to divulge even a hair-sliver of detail in regards to how “safe” this mission truly was.

“(Y/n), there is no cause for concern.” He pulled back, placing his hands on your shoulders. “You know my repertoire— else I wouldn’t consider you a close friend.”

Your heart ached for a second.

In small snippets from the multiple conversations you’ve had with him, you knew he kept his list of close friends few. There’s always a hint of guilt in his voice when he talks about those named Baiheng, Jingliu, Yingxing, and Dan Feng in passing. 

“And I’m just worrying over you,” you lightheartedly glared and waved your hand dismissively. “You know, like a real close friend.”

You both grinned in unison as if telling each other that neither would back down from this “argument” any time soon. He snorted and messed your hair up more. Over the time you’ve spent in each other’s company, your near-telepathic way of conversing has become quite an eerie issue for other mutual friendships. 

Not that either of you minded this. It’s always nice to be understood. 

“I know that look in your eye. Don’t add a part two from last night’s horror stories, please.”

“Then, I’ll take my leave,” he buttoned his jacket. “Last reminder before I go: you have arranged a meeting with Nadia this afternoon.”

“Thanks,” you huffed. “But unlike you, I don’t sleep in and forget my schedule.”

You swore that even after the door was closed, you heard him chuckle yet again. After that, he was gone.

Honestly, with someone with a “life-loving” temperament like him, you’re unsure if he’s easy to please— or too damn good at faking it for his good.

You heard soft knocks against your window.

Slowly, a grin forms on your lips.

“Hello, little man…” You cooed as you stood up and opened for not only the fresh Liyue morning breeze to enter…

But for a diligent little cuckoo bird to deliver its very special package as well.

You’ve always had a soft spot for animals…

“Hmm?”

Your eyes softened as it dropped its parcel and leaned its body against you, warming itself by sitting cozily on your window ledge. This little bird is quite the skilled messenger— always dropping by as soon as Jing Yuan takes his leave. As to why it suspiciously arrives as soon as he is gone, you’re unsure. Such a sneaky creature; you can’t help but adore it.

That’s not to say its deliveries are not as equally charming.

You chuckled as you elegantly unwrapped the ribbon. The letter was elegantly written in a scrawl you’ve familiarized even with eyes closed for the past months, yet it still holds an intensity that makes your heart flutter. 

There it was. The two words that keep you going better than any coffee brew.

“My dearest, (Y/n),….”

“Another letter from Vlad, I’d hope?” You sneaked from behind.

Nadia yelped, hitting you almost immediately. The delay was surely from being on a lovelorn cloud-nine, but her Fatui training that earned her last name definitely should’ve made you double-think.

You shriveled at the pain and she awkwardly cradled you.

“Oh shucks— I’m so sorry, (Y/n)! I-I didn’t realize it was y-y— Don’t scare me like that!” 

“Sorry! Sorry!” You hissed, blaming only yourself for the stinging aftermath. “I-I’ll get over it.”

Nadia guided you to the empty seat beside her. As soon as you were seated, she wasted no time to spill.

“The contents were far too adorable for my heart, oh, dear Tsaritsa, you NEED to read this.” 

An eyebrow was raised. Saying you had a suspicion that something like this would happen would be an understatement— when it came to Nadia, it was more like routine. It had been regular for you and her to get together at least once a month to chat over letters that you both received. Nothing about the time you spent with her was dull. She's the reason you adapted to the Liyue way of life so well. As you were both foreign to the culture— you and Jing Yuan are admittedly the extreme cases— you and her were eager to recount experiences in times of distress. And times of pure unbridled lovesick joy, such as this.

“C’mon, pass it.” You tried to say cooly, but the glimmer in your eyes betrayed your high school-like excitement.

“Same time.” Nadia huffed. "Can't have you gatekeeping your own letter!"

You pulled out yours from your purse.

Nadia wasn’t the only one with something to present to the class. This is just like a teacher forcing students to read their discreetly passed notes out loud. 

Nadia has her Vlad.

You have your Nay Jung I.

Instantly, you both suppressed a giggle in the abrupt exchange.

Nay Jung I. You know little about him, and that intrigue keeps the fire going. When you see a white cuckoo passing by the window, you immediately know it means well. A sight that makes your heart skip a beat. Instead of pushing eggs, it slips a love letter whenever Jing Yuan isn’t around. All coming from a man you can’t track down.

That’s right.

You have a secret admirer.

As you read through the middle of Vlad’s letter for Nadia, you heard your very-much-an-adult friend bite back a squeal in front of you. Nay Jung I may sound like a feminine name, but he was a man. You could’ve sworn you saw Xiangling laugh from the corner of your eye as Nadia tugged your sleeve around like a fool.

“Oh my God?! He wrote that?!” Her lips were akin to wobbly lines toddlers would draw when mimicking the sun’s rays. 

“I find myself constantly catching glimpses of you in my daydreams, my mind flooded with what could be— what should be. Forgive me for my selfishness, but I fear it won’t take long before I can no longer bear the thought of being without you… What?! That’s so SWEET?!” Nadia clutched your love letter tightly, eyes wide as though she was the recipient.

Xiangling, bless her soul, had to peek behind her.

“I wish I could have the courage to reveal myself to you. When I doubt myself, my thoughts turn to you… Aww… I wonder who Mister Nay is and what did you do to get him this in love?” Xiangling playfully pouted, which made Nadia grin wider, almost teasing her. “Geez. When will I get a boy to send me letters?”

“I’m sure you’re going to get one or two someday. A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?” Nadia shrugged as she folded the paper and hid it. “Plus, I fear you’re too young for this.”

“Careful, Dia, she’s the one preparing our food.” You joked.

Nadia has grown more friendly to locals for the better since you started sharing meals here. Everyone knows the feelings between her and Vlad were mutual— but neither of them was willing to confess. With Nadia hoping he initiates, and him densely hesitant on whether she reciprocates. One of them can end this phase should they abandon pride or cowardice.

But Nay Jung I?

You can’t find his records anywhere… And he had told you that it is a fake name by your fourth letter, much to your chagrin.

So, you’ve settled with this arrangement. For now, you are both friends, despite knowing he has feelings for you from the start.

“Mister Nay definitely has it bad for you, Mx. (Y/n).” She gave you a closed-eyed smile. “You need to write back immediately! The man’s probably starving for it!— Oh, right, the pot!!!”

As the chef rushed back after being distracted, you gave Nadia’s letter back to her.

“Any chance of rain?” You asked.

“Cloudy with negative one percent chance that I’ll run to Northland Bank and confess to Vlad.” Nadia spoke sheepish;y.

“That’s at least five percent higher than yesterday.”

“Well, this last letter was adorable.” She swooned.

“Mx. (Y/n), you seem incredibly free at the moment, care to have a chat?”

You turned to look at the new person who joined in.

Fur coat, a distinct mole placement, a sharp haircut, and eyes self-assured enough to conceal their need for urgent assistance, it has to be none other than—

“Miss Yelan,” you gave her a polite smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Nadia sat up straight, shifting to her work mode. “Is there some business you require from the Northland Bank?”

“I have no quarry with you, Madam Nadia, what I do want—” Yelan tilted her head, her eyes calculating. “Is to speak to (Y/n) in private.”

You paused, recalling the conversation you had this morning.

‘I have been bound by mundane duties in both my past and current lives, and I must say, engaging with a Person of Interest such as yourself has not only been productive but also mentally stimulating.’

Maybe this is what Jing Yuan was warning you about this morning.

“Fine, I concede.” You sighed, swiftly snatching your letter from Nadia’s hands and tucking it inside the pockets of your inner jacket.

“Lead me to where you most need me.”

Over the years you’ve spent on Liyue, you’ve had another habit you’ve been nursing on the sidelines.

Epigraphy.

Better yet, it’s for the sole purpose of decoding ancient artifacts. Before you were transmigrated into Teyvat, you found that inspecting artifact descriptions and reading through lore strewn in notes and dialogues were a great part of what made playing Genshin Impact enjoyable. You devoured theories whether they were from YouTubers like Ashikai or other CCs who were eager to unravel and analyze myths from different civilizations. To be inside THE sandbox was the greatest treat. If your friends were here, you have no doubt you’d have plenty who’d look and try to pick apart Mister Zhongli’s brain.

Unfortunately, you never managed to catch his eye.

And the biggest misfortune of all, you caught Miss Yelan’s instead.

“It’ll take me a few weeks to decipher and solve this puzzle…” You told her hesitantly. “And I can’t guarantee anything either.”

Yelan only tilted her head. Strands of her hair hid her expression, and the only body language to be read was the way she played with the die on her fingers. You wondered if she was deciding your fate by giving it a roll…

You looked at the inscribed walls.

A man with horns… and his partner wearing a long hanfu… His partner… Reminds you of a beautiful cuckoo bird.

You sighed.

When she bargained for a chat in “private”, the Chasm was the last location you had in mind. Even more, it did not occur to you that she aimed to use you as a translator. For a language you only learned a few years ago.

You knew you couldn’t exactly deny a member of the Qixing, especially with how much you carried a moral debt for Lady Ningguang, so you agreed under the condition that Yelan wouldn’t snitch to Jing Yuan.

He might just give you the silent treatment if he found out you were here.

But back on the walls and the puzzle mechanism in the middle of the room…

Both were seated under the shade of a tree… 

Each holding a cup of tea…

“Damn it, why me?” You cussed out loud.

You seriously want to tell her that she should’ve chosen Zhongli. 

Not that you’d know that Yanfei begged Yelan to hire you for the job.

Yelan made her dice vanish. “If you need further assistance, and by that I meant necessities such as food and water, call for Wenyuan or Shanghua. They’ll materialize right in front of you.”

On the next wall, the horned man tightly held his partner, with tears falling from his eyes… His tail was more apparent in this depiction, but there were crystallized ambers and statues all around…

Like they were running…

Away from him…

You faced Yelan.

“Yelan, can’t you call for someone else—”

You blinked.

She was gone.

You don’t like being here.

You don’t like this cave.

You’re not sure whether you liked the fact Yelan invited you here. On one hand, you were grateful for the opportunity, but at the same time, you thought yourself unqualified for whatever piece of ancient Liyuean history was waiting to bite you in the ass. 

It didn’t take a genius to know that whoever the drawn man was, he was a force to be reckoned with. You played enough Genshin to know that yakshas are not to be trifled. If this ended up as an Azhdaha scenario, you wouldn’t want to be the nameless NPC who died along the way.

Should’ve commissioned the traveler.

As you progressed in your decoding, the texts were beginning to gnaw you. 

“Have you heard the tale of Lady ███ ███?”

You trembled at the thought.

Curse Jing Yuan and his ghost stories.

The story wasn’t even that frightening.

What got you was how Jing Yuan sold them. He had preached it as though he had been a witness. It’s just a typical unnerving tale to keep children alert, but he had always been far more persuasive than you.

“When she and her husband were out exploring, her husband left her while she sired his heir. He left her there to die.”

Jing Yuan’s eyes narrowed. You quietly applauded his commitment to the bit. Should you not know any better, you would’ve thought he hated that man more than anything.

Like he was seething with jealousy.

“Some claim he hid her there to fight for a war, some say it was out of love… In my eyes, it was an unforgivable neglect.”

Jing Yuan claims sharing ghost stories was a common occurrence from when he used to teach his disciple. But you’re not an idiot. You can sniff out a reason why he loves to bring these stupid tales.

“Days felt like a prison tally. She had forgotten what it felt to live in the sun.”

“She lived only by fulfilling basic needs. No matter how thick the mud was, no matter what was within the soil— all she could do was bitterly swallow what was to come. She bit her tongue on the ever-growing famine— and wished that her child would survive.”

Jing Yuan does not want you anywhere near the chasm.

“So when it was time to give birth, she had no assistance. She pushed her child out as hard as she could, and laid an empty egg.”

Before you could even ask why a human would lay an egg, Jing Yuan continued.

“But they both passed away.” 

“Legends say, that’s the reason why the lumenstone ore glows. It contains the watchful gaze of a scorned mother and unborn child…”

“And if you aren’t careful, you too—”

“Could be trapped inside it.” 

You scoffed.

Was the tale stupid? Depends on who you ask. Was it sad? Sorta. Was the thought of two ghosts— possibly more— watching you as you were forcibly dispatched to read through The Chasm’s secrets terrifying? Given the dark and brooding atmosphere, it was a quiet yes.

“Hmm? I— I solved it…?”

You blinked.

Maybe you still retained your skills as a Genshin player. Anything for a luxurious chest is what you would’ve said. And yet, it still baffled you that one did appear.

When you unlocked it, you saw no “primogem” like you quietly hoped (it would be funny if you unlocked a wish function, but that’s unlikely…)

Instead, you found a dusty ore.

“Great.” You muttered dryly. “Just what I needed.”

It was amber in color, same as the clothes the man wore in the wall paintings. You’re at a loss on how you should report this to Yelan.

“Better than nothing.” You spoke, laughing slightly. That sounded like something Diluc would say. You should buy a dandelion wine after this hard work.

Quickly, you fished out the gloves in your pockets. It was made of nitrile, which should protect the ore from possible oil and moisture from your hands. Yelan was very insistent you wear it.

But as soon as you touched the ore…

Your consciousness slipped away.

There was a man in front of you.

But you couldn’t see his face. 

“Dearest ███ ███…” The horned man smiled delicately as he sipped his tea. “It has been centuries since our first wedding ceremony. Do be honest with me, do you still hold the same passion as before.”

These memories appear to you in a blur.

“No, I do not.” You heard your voice say as the man’s shoulders slowly deflated. His amber eyes looked down, and his smile began to strain.

With two fingers, you lifted his chin.

“If anything, my love for you has grown stronger,” you spoke. “For you and I shall never let our draconic instincts dull, and our union will be the greatest treasure we shall hoard in this never-ending flow of time.”

“…/n…!”

One hand took his scaley hand and the other held his cheek, caressing softly.

“Promise you shall return?” You heard yourself mutter, this time weak and hopeless.

He leaned against your palm, purring as though it might be the last time he’ll savor your warmth.

“You know I do not make promises, ███ ███.” He spoke firmly. “What I keep are contracts. And I have vowed to make you happy, for as long as I live.”

“…(Y… (Y/n…. snap… out…!”

“Contracts normally sound so cold, but your honeyed voice makes it sound so romantic.”

“You know well, my love, in all my years, I’ve witnessed endless contracts and agreements. Whether it was tangible or verbal— each one was a significant chapter to someone’s life.”

The horned man softly detangled your fingers from his long brown hair and kissed your hand.

“But only one brought forth complete change. Our matrimonial agreement. The contract we signed gave me the most happiness. I’ve never signed a happier contract than this one.”

“And I share the same sentiment.” You cooed, almost cheeky. “And I hope our future child shall feel our love as well.”

He rested his head on your shoulder and sighed.

“The day shall come, my love.” He spoke. “Just wait for me, until I fulfilled what the Heavenly Principles desires.”

“Of course,” you hugged him back. 

“I shall wait for you, my dearest…

“(Y/N)!!!”

You flinched.

Suddenly, you’re not in the mountains. You’re not hiding under the shade of a tree with warm-hued leaves. You were…

You were sitting on a patch of grass, just outside the chasm.

And Jing Yuan is mad.

He had a cold unmerciful glare. His built frame towered above you, casting a large shadow. It was already nighttime. Normally, only the moonlight and the lamps from afar should be the only source of light here, but his golden eyes seemed to glow. As though it was ready to call forth an entity you were not prepared to face.

You know the depths of his anger. Years of living inseparable from him has made every communication almost telepathic and that hadn’t changed. You can read it in his breaths, in his stiff and tall posture, in his unnerving gaze.

He is threatening you to spill. Saying without words that:

There are fates worse than death.

But your pulse was steady. But your breathing was calm. But your expression was blank.

You weren’t terrified.

And you can read that deep down, that scared the General more.

“Nay Jung I…”

For a moment, Jing Yuan’s eyes widened— as though there was something he was the only one privy to knowing. His face had a mix of surprise and disbelief before he steeled himself.

“Nay Jung I?” He scoffed. 

“What of him?” Jing Yuan asked.

“He’s my soulmate.”

As soon as those words left your mouth, brief incoherent syllables sputtered out of his mouth. You evoked more emotions in him this time around. You saw flashes of shock, what seemed to be happiness, hope, and then utter confusion.

“...What?”

“I saw him.” You said, calm. “I saw him as soon as I touched that rock. My soulmate— he had long hair and eyes like a dragon— I think he was a dragon, and so was I. I think my soulmate is in Liyue and he’s hiding behind the name Nay Jung I.”

Jing Yuan opened his mouth, before thinning his lips.

This time, you were certain.

He was not only mad. Jing Yuan was sorely disappointed.

“I understand…” 

You know the expression on his face. You read him like a discipline you mastered in epigraphy. He thinks that… 

You have gone “cuckoo.”

He turned around, no longer facing you.

“I’m sorry then, (Y/n).” 

Jing Yuan does not sound sorry to you.

“What for?”

There was silence for a moment, before he spoke again, voice bitter and vile.

He was not sorry.

He was furious.

He was hurt.

He was jealous.

“Nay Jung I is the leader behind the past terrorist attacks.” He paused. “And I killed him.”

You haven’t recovered ever since.

Every medical “professional” you’ve encountered told you that you were hysterical. That you just hallucinated what you saw. It isn’t possible that the visions you saw were Nay Jung I anyway. 

Maybe they were right about the last part, you don’t want to believe it. 

It was in your instincts. That man had to be your husband in the past. Who cares if you came from another world? Maybe you were an Expy. You had to be. That person— the one who reminded you of a cuckoo bird in those walls— had to be you in another universe. 

It had to be.

Your real soulmate is out there.

And Nay Jung I isn’t dead.

But you’ve never been good at persuading others.

Soyourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveit—

“General Jing Yuan, is (Y/n)…?”

Outside the apartment, Mister Zhongli and Jing Yuan stood by the window, peaking at your form. You were so engrossed by your inner conflicts that you couldn’t hear them.

“They’ll… move on from you, eventually.” Jing Yuan spat back coldly. “I’m not the God of Contracts, but I keep promises that do not fail.”

Zhongli’s face crumpled in anguish.

“May I ask a question? Just to sate a bit of curiosity, of course.”

Jing Yuan’s eyes narrowed. Zhongli took that as a yes.

“Are you Nay Jung I?” He asked. “I did not see his name on the list of the deceased criminals—”

“Yes, he and I are the same,” Jing Yuan silenced him. “Nay Jung I is an anagram of Jing Yuan. You can reorder the letters and confirm it for yourself.”

Originally, Jing Yuan had hoped to woo you with a romantic tale of an anonymous admirer. But, in your delirium, you had mistakenly believed that Nay Jung I was the same man in your visions. 

It was repulsive.

Never before had he wished to scream so loudly. He had not felt this much anger when he discovered the crimes his old friends had done. He had not felt as betrayed as when you claimed love for Nay Jung I, but it was not him.

He wanted to summon the Lightning Lord to destroy Liyue right then and there.

It was a frustration he had never felt before. Not when he was training with Jingliu. Not when he was scolding Yanqing. Not ever.

But Jing Yuan was not an impulsive man.

He prides his patience.

He prefers to scheme quietly rather than flashing bold moves.

Jing Yuan sucked in a breath between his teeth. 

“I suppose it’s my turn to ask.”

He shut the windows and Zhongli’s heart ached as he could no longer see you.

But then he turned to look at Jing Yuan.

And he knew…

Jing Yuan is much older and wiser than he looks.

“Tell me, Rex Lapis,” he spoke sharply. “Did you wed this world’s version of (Y/n) (L/n) and leave her and her child to die?”

…

…

…

That silence was enough.

Jing Yuan’s private investigations behind your back were right.

In the vast “multi-verse”, there is a version of you that married this dragon who descended from his Archon status.

“I... have wrought upon them great suffering. I am unworthy of their affections. Should a day come where (Y/n) enacts the fury of my wife and child on their behalf, it will be justly deserved.”

Zhongli did not further elaborate.

Whatever happened in the past, it still haunted him to this day. Lingering in the back of his mind, dulling his self-confidence and wits. Maybe it’s why Yanfei thought you should investigate the cave. Maybe she wanted the alternate version of ███ ███ to come back.

But she's gone.

Jing Yuan took a step closer.

“Your wife is dead, Rex Lapis. They are my (Y/n), not yours.”

“I-… I know.” Zhongli— no— Morax spoke, voice laced with grief. “I know she and (Y/n) are not the same, however, I…”

Another step.

“If you wish for their happiness, you will continue to not speak to them. You have done enough damage.”

Morax closed his eyes mournfully. “I am well aware of this”

Another step.

“Let me take care of (Y/n). Let me make them happy.”

And another.

Jing Yuan stared deep into Morax’s soul.

In all his years of living, it didn’t occur to Morax that he’d find another familiar cuckoo again.

But it wasn’t his wife.

Jing Yuan took another step.

This man in front of him was pushing and pushing…

“Let this conversation be a verbal contract,” he said. “That I, Jing Yuan, vow to make (Y/n) happy, and that you, Rex Lapis, shall step down as a final way to atone your sins of uxoricide and filicide. Do you accept?”

Like a cuckoo throwing an egg off the nest.

Forgive me, dearest ███ ███.

I am unworthy of you, let alone this alternate incarnation of yourself.

Morax inhaled deeply. He remains in his head, yet he can't escape the present. The more time he spent searching inside himself for solutions over his approximately 6000 years in Teyvat, the more evident it became what the sensible path of action was. With open eyes, Morax welcomed the return of the present. He observed the vivid hues of existence. In the vicinity, he heard Jing Yuan's pet cuckoo bird. But most of all, he felt his age.

Whatever time was appropriate to dream of a family— it had long passed him.

I am but an old man who deserves to fade away quietly.

And he…

Has the same vigor Morax once had.

That obsessed look.

That tight, suffocating hold.

Just like staring at a reflection of himself, centuries passed.

Jing Yuan, too, was a man depraved. Worse, he is a man who lost everything, clinging only to (Y/n) as his only solace in Teyvat.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan took a walk with you, with one arm draping around your shoulder to ward off those he deemed unwanted.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan brags about you with his men in each available opportunity, socially claiming you his.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan glares at someone who got too close when he thought you weren’t looking, pushing suitors away.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan rarely talks about his story and would rather talk about something you had done, making you a large part of himself.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan only cares about you, and not even a sliver for himself.

He would rather not see him destroy himself the way he had done long ago.

And just like that, the General got rid of his greatest rival— Liyue’s archon and your husband from another life.

He is out of the nest.

“I accept.”

May June can now message Jing Yuan

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Reunion (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which your husband finally returns from his time in Númenor, and you make the most of the first moment you get him alone

Warnings: evil!reader, mentions of injury, hot and heavy make out, slight choking, heavily suggestive dialogue, mentions of exhibitionism

Note: same evil!reader as the others in the collection, but it should make sense on its own too.

He’s finally on his way to Eregion. And wounded. It’s been plain to see through your soulbond for days.

You can barely conceal your trepidation as you stand with Celebrimbor and Elrond, awaiting your husband’s arrival in Eregion. They do not know to expect it, of course—they believe Galadriel is long gone into Valinor, and they could never fathom that she is soon to ride through the gates with a man at her side, much less that he is the very darkness they seek to keep at bay. And that you, Celebrimbor’s trusted aid for so many years, are none other than Sauron’s beloved wife.

Had they known, they surely would not have asked you to assist in the task secretly entrusted to them by king Gil-galad—that of bringing into being some sort of creation that will save Elvendome from the dying of their light in Middle-Earth. That is what you are discussing now. Elrond laments that you have failed, and it is time to inform the High King of this. Celebrimbor looks at him, dismayed.

“We must not despair,” you intervene, working as much hopeful reassurance into your gaze as possible. “Surely, in another few days, the answers will come.”

And it’s not even a lie. Your husband shall bring all the inspiration needed and then some—but you must ensure the Elves do not leave this city before his arrival.

Elrond shakes his head. “I fear we’re out of time.” He places a hand on your shoulder, and you push down the urge to swat it away as he speaks very inconvenient words. “The Elves must prepare to abandon these shores. Forever.”

You return his sad smile with practiced ease.

Where are you? you reach out to your husband, sending the thought as far and quickly as you can manage—

A deep tiredness answers on his end. Swiftly and so very close.

The sound of hooves has never sounded sweeter than when Galadriel finally rides in through the gate. It serves you well that both Elrond and Celebrimbor are too stunned by her arrival to notice the slip in your mask when you see your husband following behind her, slumped against his own horse. Surely, the anguish written on your face is too great to be considered natural concern for a wounded stranger. You school your features quickly, but do rush to aid him in climbing off his horse—that much, any kind-hearted Elf would do.

For a short, beautiful moment, you are pressed against him as he staggers on his feet, and you manage to exchange the briefest of glances. His brow is slick with sweat, he is bleeding from his side, yet you feel through your bond how your touch fills him with elation. You would suffer the same wound as him, you think, if only it meant you could kiss him as you long to, then and there.

But a couple of guards are quick to intervene, taking what they must think is too heavy a burden off your shoulders. Pulling your husband from you, they sling his arms around themselves and all but drag him away when he fails to walk on his own, leaving you to strive not to follow as your heart slams against your ribcage.

“What has happened?” Celebrimbor asks.

“Enemy lance, six days ago,” Galadriel tells him. “We rode without rest.”

Galadriel. You take a moment to look at her. You’ve seen her before, of course, but not as a cog in your plans. That had happened quite accidentally—or perhaps by fate. Either way, your husband has returned. That is all that matters.

Well, that and getting him alone.

There is no plausible reason for you to stand at his side whilst your people’s artificers work to mend his wound. All you can do is sit and wait, gently nudging your husband’s mind through your bond to make your presence felt. A sense of content drifts back to you, though it is laced with the same impatience you feel.

If you were still loyal to the Valar, you would thank them for the haste with which Elvish remedies work, even if the hours they require to be applied feel like an eternity. Finally, the artificers leave your husband to rest his newly recovered body as you watch from the shadows of the corridor. It is past midnight, all too easy for you to slip into his room and shut the door behind you without anyone noticing.

Your husband, having sensed you were about to join him, awaits you in utter nonchalance, lying with his legs crossed and his arms beneath his head as if he truly were some graceless human man. He’s been given a new shirt, white and pristine. Pity. If you have your way, he’ll need a new one soon enough.

“The hour is inappropriate,” he greets you, and you don’t know whether you want to kiss or slap away his smug little smile.

For now, you answer with your own. “Good.”

You stride towards the bed with the determination of a demon chasing prey, and with swift, skillful movements, climb into it and straddle your husband’s hips.

“Gently, my love,” he warns, mischief dancing in his eyes as his hands fly to your waist, gripping your flesh greedily even as he keeps you at bay, “I am but a man recovering from his wounds.”

You give a slight, rueful chuckle. He is perfectly well now, and you both know it.

“I’m afraid you shall have to endure,” you threaten sweetly, and he abandons all feigned resistance as you dive in to finally claim his lips with yours.

The relief of being together again is instant, and you sigh into his mouth as you let his kiss consume you, sweet and slow. You surprise even yourself. You had expected a furious clash of teeth and tongues, the frenzy of swallowing each other whole after going too long without your beloved’s taste—like it was when you had finally nursed him from an amorphous black mass back into his form, and the two of you had been reduced to a tangle of thrashing limbs in the snow, as mindless and savage as animals mating in heat.

But that was after countless years of suffering in his absence. Compared to that, your time apart since the shipwreck separated you has been nothing at all—and what’s more, of your own choice, however it displeased you. Your husband had seen an opportunity in his meeting with Galadriel, one from which you could both benefit, and so he had entreated through your bond that rather than look for him, you must return to the false life you had built in Eregion in his absence, for he sensed you shall yet have use of it upon his return.

And now, here you are—reunited once more, in body as well as mind. This time, you wish to savour it. You relish each and every slide of your husband’s tongue against yours, every scrape of his stubble against your cheek, every inch of hair caressed by your fingers as they sink into it, tugging longingly at the roots. Your hearts beat against each other as you press yourself flush to him, his arms wrapped around you to somehow pull you even closer, and the might of the sheer adoration shared between you is almost too painful to bear.

“Will you stay this time?” you whisper, nudging his nose with yours as your lips part from his and hover close. “Or will I be made to wait for you once more, my love?”

His hand cradles your face, coaxing you to retreat only enough for your gazes to meet.

“The road goes ever winding,” he tells you. “Not even I can see all its paths.”

“Yet it seems ours so often tend to drift apart,” you say, frustratedly. “As though they are forced to be. That sea creature who attacked the ship, and the immense wave that carried us at such great distance from each other—that was no coincidence, was it?”

Your husband shakes his head.

“It is for us that I wish to reshape this world. Without you, the end I have seen so clearly since I first awoke withers away before my eyes. They know this.” Hatred sparks in his eyes, but it is only a flicker against the love with which he beholds you. “The Valar themselves may have attempted to part us,” he says, “yet the tides of fate only brought me back to you all the more fruitful in our endeavours.”

“Hm, so I’ve heard.” Now animated by more pleasant thoughts, you sit up slowly, sure to drag your nails down your husband’s torso with just the right amount of pressure that it draws a low groan from him. “King of the Southlands,” you proclaim, equal parts pride and amusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. “An old man’s trinket and a word from a gullible Elf and an entire people bow at your feet.”

“She is not gullible,” he says, almost absent-mindedly. His eyes are fixed on some tantalizing spot on your neck as he sits up as well and covers it with his mouth. “She is desperate to believe whatever suits her purpose,” he murmurs between languid kisses to your skin. “I all but laid back and allowed Galadriel to bring me right where I most needed to be.”

You’d be a helpless puddle of desire—and to an extent, you are—if not for the fire his words ignite within you. You grab a fistful of his hair and pull him away, pushing against his chest to throw him right back down against the pillows. That earns you a grunt and a wicked chuckle from your husband.

“It is not wise to speak another’s name,” you say with eerie calmness, gaze locked with your husband’s as you lean down until you’re nose to nose, “whilst your wife is astride you.”

He hums as if in contemplation, taking hold of your chin as his eyes roam over your face.

“She is hailed as the most beautiful of Elven maidens,” he reminds you, and you know it satisfies him when your brow knits in indignation. But then he goes on, ever so adoringly, “Those who say such a thing either have never laid eyes upon my beloved, or they are blind as bats.”

See, now... now you melt.

You catch his hand as it moves from your chin, and give the tip of his thumb the slightest nip.

“Beguiler,” you purr, a honeyed reproach. “No wonder you have them eating from the palm of your hand.” And that is exactly where you lay a lingering kiss. He seems transfixed by the reverence of your gesture, and his slightly parted lips are too tempting for you not to kiss them once more.

Your blood is still heated from your husband’s teasing, from being pressed against him so close, and you hunger for so much more than the gentleness from before. Your kiss grows deeper, more desperate, and soon enough you’re tugging at the hem of his shirt, signaling for him to aid you in lifting it over his head. With a frustrated groan, he takes hold of your hands to make them cease.

“My love, I would like nothing more than to have you, repeatedly, for the remainder of the night,” he says in earnest, breath heavy. “But you’ve already lingered here too long. Should someone come and see—”

“I’ve locked the doors,” you dismiss, and chase his lips once more. He lets you catch them, claims yet another kiss, only to turn away from you again.

“And if someone should unlock the door to find you here,” he retorts as you grunt in protest, “how shall we maintain our pretence?”

“I do not care!” you all but whine, the longing you have endured in his absence swelling painfully within your chest. It turns your voice into a quiet plea. “I want my husband.” You press an impossibly sweet kiss to his cheek, then murmur in his ear, “Don’t you want your wife?”

His breath hitches. Suddenly, he turns his head, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Temptress,” he rasps begrudgingly. Then, softly and subdued, “Beloved.”

He is the one to capture your lips now, any thought of restraining his desire long gone. You smile in triumph against his mouth, then plant your hands against his shoulders, push away and—fisting your hands in his shirt, you pull.

Elven fabrics are by no means fragile, but with a bit of your powers put into it, the shirt tears apart at the middle, baring your husband’s chest to your ravenous gaze.

“Perhaps we might be able to explain this, after all,” he muses while your lips attack his neck, quickly moving downward. “I could tell them what a merciless creature you are...” His hand comes to cradle the back of your head as he admires how you pepper urgent kisses down his chest. “...taking advantage of a poor mortal man when he finds himself in such a vulnerable state.”

You halt abruptly, eyes snapping up to his. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” you gasp with perfectly feigned innocence, even as you lay your sinful mouth on him once more. “Here I am—a kind, virtuous Elven maiden such as myself,” you speak between kisses, nips and licks at his skin, “seeking to bring aid to a wounded man...” Your lips venture lower, down his abdomen. “...only to be seduced into his bed...” His eyes are aflame with desire as you gaze up at him through your lashes, working open his belt. “...with shameless words of temptation and ruinous caresses. Imagine the scandal.”

It happens in an instant—you gasp as you are grabbed and pulled and flipped onto your back, your husband’s frame pressing you down into the mattress as he pins your wrists to the pillow.

“Imagine that, indeed,” he rasps out, eyes so darkened by hunger his pupils turn to their primal slit shape. “Imagine if they were to burst through the door...” He releases one of your wrists to wrap an achingly tender hand around your throat, leaning into your ear. “...and saw us joined as one,” he whispers into it, making you shudder, “and knew at once that we’re forever bound.”

You grip at his wrist, eyes fluttering shut, chest heaving, ready to beg for him to give you more. But he isn’t done, and tightens his hold on your throat with just the right amount of pressure to draw a wanton whimper from it. “Imagine,” he says, “if they saw this kind, virtuous Elven maiden you have led them to believe you are for all these years, ruined with pleasure beneath her husband.” He lifts his head, his cruelty to ‘them’ mingling with his reverence for you in his gaze. “Imagine their betrayal, their horror. Their jealousy—for they would know, deep in their bones, that no love of theirs will ever compare to that which binds our souls as one. Would you like that?”

You would not like it—you need it, you crave it with a force so great it feels as though his skin is made of flame, burning yours in sweet agony with every inch it touches. And yet, even breathless and desperate as you are, you lift your chin in challenge and fix him with your gaze.

“I would like you,” you murmur defiantly, “to put that wicked tongue of yours to better use than talking.”

Your husband grins. “How I’ve missed you, my love.”

There is nothing teasing about the way he kisses you then. He tastes your mouth with abandon as his hips dig into yours, and you whine impatiently, writhing within his grip. Obeying your silent wish, his hands release your throat and wrist in favour of roaming over your body, caressing and kneading all the spots of your soft flesh he knows to be most sensitive. You coil your arms around him, wishing him even closer, as his lips drift from yours to your jaw, kissing their eager way down your neck, and you shudder as he tugs down the shoulder of your dress, exposing your heated skin only to set it further ablaze with his mouth. You can feel the fabric straining, sure enough to tear apart in the same way his shirt had, and you want it, you want your husband’s skin against yours with nothing in between—

Someone is trying to open the door.

You pray with all your might that you misheard, even as your husband freezes at the sound as well, and lifts his mouth from your shoulder to look in the direction of the sound. But then whoever is on the other side, realizing that the door had been locked, knocks on it instead.

You don’t even bother making your voice quiet. “Oh, for the love of—!”

Your husband puts a silencing finger to your lips—and gives you a scolding look when you lick it obscenely.

“Sir Halbrand?” one of the artificers calls from outside. “Are you well?”

“That should be ‘your majesty’,” your husband mumbles.

“I’ll kill them,” you deadpan.

“Shh,” he coos, slightly amused. “Not yet. We still have work to do here.” Infuriatingly composed, his eyes roam the room in search of a solution, and land on one. “Why don’t you step onto the balcony for a moment whilst I tell them I locked the door myself? A man needs his privacy, after all.” He looks back to you, and finds a tragic blend of ire and yearning on your face.

“Oh, my love,” he says sympathetically, brushing a tender knuckle down your cheek, “how beautiful you are when you crave me to despair.”

“Then I must always look splendid,” you quip, lifting your head to reach his lips with an alluring whisper, “I never not crave you to despair.”

He curses in Black Speech, the foul words muffled as he gives into your kiss once more. But then there is another rap at the door, more urgent than the last.

“Go,” he grunts. Before you can protest further, your husband pries himself off you and leaves the bed altogether. You allow yourself a moment to plop down on the pillows and curse at the ceiling before you will your body into moving. Your limbs are still weak with desire as you get on your feet.

You decide then and there that your first decree as Queen of all Middle-Earth shall be the execution of whoever is now standing beyond that door.

Your husband has hastily discarded his ruined shirt, tormenting you further with an unobstructed view of his lean torso. There must be something equally irresistible in your disheveled state, however, because the moment his eyes land upon you, his apparent composure slips away and he surges to you like a man possessed, planting yet another searing kiss onto your lips.

“Get rid of them,” you pant out as you break away.

Your husband takes your hand, kissing your knuckles quickly. “As my Queen commands.”

Your heart flutters, easing the frustration as, finally, you go your separate ways: he towards the door, you to conceal yourself. You take comfort in knowing that this parting, unlike the others, shall be extremely short—and the reunion all the more delectable.

Previous fic with same reader -> Tides of fate

Next fic with same reader -> As one

[monstat]

GENSHIN IMPACT

Plot: Zhongli’s stupidly bewildered when you bring out divorce papers after his old love is reincarnated

Pairing: Zhongli x reader

+ Zhen

+ Guizhong :(

Divorce; It’s usually seems as simple as a paper, a signature, and an attorney. Of course, there’s more to it emotionally, but it shouldn’t be anything more than an end to something old, and a chapter to something new.

With Zhongli and you, it’s a little more complicated than that. Zhongli can still remember the night that his partner packed things from their shared home of decades. It’s like a fresh wound he keeps crudely scratching at.

He stood frozen, divorce papers clutched in numb fingers as the front door clicked shut behind you. The finality of that sound snaps him from his stunned stupor, realization crashing down with brutal force.

No...this can't be happening. Not like this. Desperation propels him after you into the night, heedless of neighbors' stares at the God of Geo stumbling barefoot through the streets. "Wait! Please!” His ragged plea goes unheeded, your hurried steps carrying you and Zhen further away with each heartbeat.

"What's happened, why won't you speak to me?" He reaches for your arm, desperate to understand, but you evade his touch as if it burns. The rejection lances through his heart. "Please, talk to me! We can work through this, whatever troubles you so." Zhongli hears the pleading note enter his own voice but continues heedlessly. "Don't leave like this. Stay and let us discuss..." Your derisive laugh cuts him off mid-sentence. "Discuss? Oh yes, I'm certain your dear Guizhong would love to chat. Though I doubt she cares to hear my thoughts on being replaced."

Your words drip venom, expression shuttered and remote. It hits Zhongli then — your anger over Guizhong's return, feeling cast aside for a former love. How could he not have realized...? "No, never replaced! I would never forsake you, or our family." Desperation tinges his rebuttal, hands coming up beseechingly.

“You are still my beloved — for i and our sons. Nothing can change that. Please, you must believe me!" But you merely arch one delicate brow, looking thoroughly unconvinced. A "Must I?”, before turning your back.

You’re leaving. Away from him, from the life you built together. The life he ruined with his thoughtless assumptions. How could he have been so blind? So arrogant as to believe you would accept his past love's return without question, slot obediently into this new dynamic like a game piece moved on a board.

As if your heart and will held no weight of their own. Fool. He is the greatest fool in all Teyvat.

Zhongli collapses to his knees as your retreating forms vanish from view, strength fleeing like sand through grasping fingers. For all his vaunted wisdom and intellect, he failed the one who mattered most. Failed you utterly.

"Forgive me..." His whispered lament hangs unanswered in the empty street. No absolution comes.

I made this into a bot. If you want to talk to him 👉👈 :::

Masterlist

[thymejot]

Rio has twice now said 'te veo' as she walks away from Agatha.

I see you

See you

I hope no matter how bad things get in the end, when they are broken and bloody, standing across the battlefield from one another.

When they finally lance all that has been festering between them.

Faced all the heartache, the regrets, the laments, the sour ugliness of their grief, the deep and abiding love.

When they have a had a good cathartic fight to the end of all things.

Rios last words will be 'te veo'

With the explicit understanding that they will meet again. That this is never truly over. That I see all of you, all the parts you hide away. I still see you. Because it is not one way.

Agatha has always seen all of Rio as well.

They love each other because of who they are, not in spite of it.

A relationship like theirs is never truly over. They may not be lovers for now, may be opposing forces. But they will always be a part of each other.

They will always see each other as the truest of equals.

They may not have a happy ending, but then they will never truly end. So that is okay as well.

Agatha will never truly die

[raapija]

‎‧₊˚✧ Whenever you want me *:･ﾟ

fashion designer!lance x footballer!nando

~500 words, no warnings <3

A small glimpse into a tender moment between Fernando and Lance.

Fernando could hear Lance's bare feet padding along the tile flooring of the hallway to his bedroom. The mild scent of his shampoo leafed in through the open door. The Canadian's head peeked into the room. 

"Hey..." he said shyly from the doorway, making Fernando snicker. Lance stepped in, and to Fernando's delight, he had found one of his hoodies to put on. His hair was still wet, dripping onto it and staining parts of the fabric a shade of blue darker. He had on a pair of boxers, too, nothing more. Seeing him like this was strange to his ordinary get-up; a suit and vest, classy and stylish. Sure, Lance looked great in a suit, but Fernando preferred him like this. 

"You look cute." Fernando said when Lance sat on the edge of his bed. He smelled good, his fruity shampoo and soap suited Lance much more nicely. The hoodie was too big on him, Fernando liked them baggy, but Lance almost disappeared into it. He had tied the hoodie's drawstring into a bow, which Fernando found charming. Lance always had to add something special. 

"Can I keep this?" the Canadian asked. He picked at the hem of the hoodie where there was a small tag with a Real Madrid logo on it. Fernando swiped a strand of Lance's damp hair off his forehead and to the side. Lance’s chestnut brown eyes looked at him. 

"Sí, got more than enough." he said and watched Lance's cheeks turn pink. He really was adorable. Lance leaned forward to kiss him, sweet and soft. Completely opposite of the way he had crushed their lips together half an hour ago on the same bed. Not rough and needy, but nice. Tender. 

"I wish I could stay." Lance lamented as he scooted closer, settling into Fernando's arms and laying his head onto his bare chest. Fernando held him close, Lance matching his breathing. 

"You could. Never leave again." Fernando said and rubbed small circles on his back. Lance was warm. Soft to the touch. "Stay with me forever." 

"I wish I could." Lance repeated, his voice small and frail. Right at this moment Fernando could ditch his whole life for him. Quit playing football; get his pension and leave town. Go wherever Lance needed him. Be it Montréal, Paris or Berlin. He couldn't care less about anything other than Lance. He'd lounge in his studio all day, watch him work on his sketches and patterns. Bring him coffee when he needs it and take him out to lunch. 

"Will you come see me soon?" the Canadian asked and Fernando nuzzled his hair. Lance's hold around his waist tightened. Fernando felt like he would shatter into his arms if he let go. Lance rarely let this softer side of him show. Normally he was cool and collected, always ready for whatever came his way. But with Fernando, he could let go of the walls he had built around himself. Make Fernando the one to take care of him. 

"Whenever you want me." 

[dreamscapesofimagination]

I'll Say I Was Overthinking

A/N: Part 2 of the Alan drabble!

Summary: Being involved with anomalies was not conducive to peaceful dates, a fact that Alan laments when you are injured on his watch.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, cursing, body horror, fluff, Alan beating himself up as usual, kiss to shut someone up.

—------------

It had taken a couple weeks to get the R&R permit approved- and Alan had insisted that your first date not be on campus.

Maybe he was going overboard, but dinner and a movie off campus (and therefore away from a certain meddlesome vice-captain) was a must.

You weren’t complaining.

He had picked you up from your dorm, and you had nearly tripped over your feet at the sight of him in a nice button up and slacks- two things you were not sure he even owned (he didn’t- Tohma had insisted upon providing clothes once Kurosagi has let the date slip.)

He had complimented you, cheeks pink as he scratched the back of his neck.

Your dress was simple, nothing over the top, but you loved its fit and from his expression you could tell Alan had too.

Dinner had gone well, Alan slowly becoming more comfortable as the night went on- and you’d be lying if you said his smile didn’t make your heart flutter.

That's what crossed your mind when you both had rounded a corner, only to be faced with this.

Mottled flesh, an entirely too human face- too many teeth and a too wide smile.

You froze- heart pounding. You had ended up ahead of Alan as you chattered away about your excitement for the movie he had planned.

Far enough ahead that he was helpless as the anomaly smacked you aside.

“No!” his shout was futile as he watched your body hit the alley wall and crumple.

You lay there wheezing, brain slowly processing the scene.

Snippets.

Alan’s pipe appearing in his hand.

The anomaly making its way toward you.

Alan launching in front of you, blocking your body.

A horrible, mocking laugh.

Your vision swam, and as shock wore off you began to feel the deep pain in your body from where you had hit the wall, and you were faintly aware of the taste of blood and bile in your throat.

Alan was fighting it- but seemed to be doing little damage.

Groaning, you staggered to your feet, leaning over as you emptied the contents of your stomach.

Lurching forward, you gripped Alan's arm.

His eyes shot to you, “what are you doing?”

“Your stigma-” you coughed, wincing as a bolt of pain lanced your head, -”use it”

His eyes glanced over you, frowning in concern at your state.

“You can hardly stand!”

“And if I don’t help you we are both going to die! Stop arguing with me and just hit the fucking thing!” you snapped, gripping his arm harder to stabilize yourself.

The laughing anomaly lurched toward you both, interrupting his chance to argue further.

Alan adjusted his grip on the pipe, fixing the anomaly with a harsh glare.

He raised the pipe, bringing it down as the anomaly lunged, and you watched the creature's head give way beneath the iron.

It fell to the ground, and the resulting tremble caused you to stagger.

Alan caught you, shouting your name as your vision faded.

~~~•••~~~•••~~~

Quiet voices were the first thing you registered- along with the sterile smell.

Mortkranken’s infirmary.

“Like I said, you need to let someone examine you. She is stable- the last thing she needs right now is you collapsing because you had an injury and didn’t let us treat you. Taking more attention off of her than is necessary would be foolish, Mido.”

“I’m fine, regardless, I’m a ghoul. If something was wrong it’d be pretty damn clear.”

You cracked your eyes, wincing at the glare.

Alan swam into focus, glaring at Jiro, whose face was impassive.

Jiro’s arms were crossed, and the bags under his eyes were more defined than normal.

“Ghouls can still die, Mido.” Jiro left with that scathing retort before his eyes landed on you.

“You’re awake.” Alan’s head snapped around, and he quickly rushed forward.

“You okay?” his eyes were wild with concern.

You cracked a small smile, “I’ve been better.”

“Ah-hem.” You looked past Alan, and met Jiro’s gaze.

“Please let Jiro look you over?” you asked, bringing a hand up to grasp Alan’s for a moment.

His cheeks flushed at the contact.

“Can I do my job?” You giggled at Jiro’s mildly irritated tone.

“Go. I’ll be okay.”

Alan hesitated for a moment before nodding.

Jiro led him out from the curtained off “room” you were in.

You laid there, taking in the sounds of machines and the smell of alcohol.

You shifted, sitting up with a groan as you searched for water, throat scratchy.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Alan sounded panicked when he came back in to see you moving.

“I need some water.” you said, voice hoarse.

“I brought some,” Jiro entered behind Alan, carrying a cup.

He handed it to you, all but rolling his eyes at the Vagastrom captain.

“Your boyfriend is fine, from what the very limited exam he let me do showed.”

You could practically hear the eye roll in his voice.

“Is she going to be fine?” Alan snapped.

You sipped your water, relishing how soothing it was.

Jiro fixed Alan with a tired glare before directing his statement toward you, “You have a broken rib, concussion, and some nasty contusions, and hitting the wall dislocated your shoulder. I got the shoulder back in place, and your chest is wrapped to prevent your rib from moving too much. It will be awhile before you can function at your full capacity- even with the anomalous medicine we have.”

He cracked a small smile, “if you need anything, just call. You can go back to your dorm as long as you have someone who can keep an eye on you. And I will be coming by in the mornings to check on you.”

“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” Alan said quickly, carefully grasping your hand.

Jiro looked at him for a moment before nodding.

Fifteen minutes later, you were slowly staggering back to your dorm.

Alan’s arm was wrapped around you, and a bag of medical supplies was on his shoulder.

Silence passed between you- and you weren’t too disappointed due to the dull throb with every step and breath. You didn’t think you could manage words very well.

At your door, Alan froze.

You looked up at him, seeing the set of his jaw.

“Alan, what’s wrong?”

You watched a muscle feather.

“I shouldn’t be the one doing this.”

You frowned, turning to fully face him.

“What do you mean? If you don’t want to, that's fine, I can call Jiro and go back to the infirmary.”

Shaking his head, Alan said, “it’s my fault you got hurt. If I had been faster, more aware, then you would be okay. I’ll just make things worse.”

He avoided your eyes.

“This was a bad idea, it would be best for you to go to the infirmary so I don’t get you ki-”

A surprised grunt left him as you yanked him down by the collar and pressed your lips to his.

After a moment, the stiffness left Alan’s body, and his arms wrapped around you, holding you like you were porcelain as he finally reciprocated the kiss.

They broke away, and she was sure the flush on Alan’s face matched her own as he blinked owlishly at her.

“What- what was that for?” he stammered.

You giggled at his shell-shocked expression.

“Alan, I kissed you because I like you,” you cradled his cheek with your good hand, “I would not kiss you if I thought you got me hurt. Now will you please accept that it's not your fault so we can go inside and shower?”

His eyes widened even farther, “Like?”

You tilted your head before realizing what he meant.

“No! Not together- as incredibly attractive as I find you I think sex would kill me right now,” Alan stood straight, face and neck bright red.

Laughing, you said, “I will probably need your help though- if that’s okay?”

Alan cleared his throat, “I said I would take care of you, and I will.”

You blinked at the seriousness in his voice.

Alan was nothing if not committed, and you knew that if he was around you would be taken care of.

[genshinemblem564]

Genshin Isekai Headcanons

These can be sagau, but they don't have to be.

• Xinyan is stoked that you love her music, and is excited when you offer to play her some music from your world, but she's confused by some of the lyrics. She understands metaphorical lyrics, like the person described in the song isn't actually a rocket, but some of them don't make sense or feel like they were added just to fill a void. Aside from that, she kinda wants to perform some of these songs, now if only she had some band members.

• Tartaglia doesn't have much to say about the guns of your world. The pyro and hydro fatui agents already use guns of some kind, and the cryo fatui agent uses, um. What would you call an ice based flamethrower? No, what he's interested in is the immense amount of new weapons that Teyvat doesn't have, or they probably do, and we just don't hear about them. Like chain blades, I don't know what else to call them, essentially a flail, but instead of a mace, it's blade. I would write something about axes, but I feel like saving that for my crossover series. A scythe is often seen as a special lance, but you tell him that it's much more complicated than that specifically pointing out the blade, and depending on your own skill, you give him a demonstration. He is way too excited to learn all of these new weapons, like a kid excited about a new toy, you can't help but smile.

• Baizhu is perplexed when he first prescribes medicine to you, as you give him a list of allergies, if any, and are more than willing to go through proper examination to learn how resistant your body is to certain toxins. He's even more surprised when you tell him that his unique practice is actually common in your world, so that's why you don't bat an eye at potentially poisonous ingredients.

• Bennett is rather surprised. When you hang out, his bad luck seems to go away. It's actually just you using a bit of foresight, like checking the date on a flyer before rushing to a sale that had already ended, but seeing that glimmer in his eyes, you decide to let his imagination roam.

• You and Cyno are reference lords. You two reference everything, Cyno, his favorite book or book series, and you, your favorite media source. Now, if only people actually understood them, and yes, you do quote Yu-Gi-Oh when playing Genius Invokation.

• If you're an artist, then you quickly catch Albedo's attention. When he sees your drawings, he is quick to ask what you used as a muse, and your answer will have great impact on his reaction. If you point to an object or animal, his response will be normal. If you draw from memory though, he is astounded, especially if what you drew was a scene of some kind, with people, animals, or what have you. Drawing all that from memory is incredible. If you say it's something you made up, he'll compare it to when he's commissioned for his own art.

• Depending on your own interests, you'll be interacting with several different characters. I can't think of anything in depth for these few, so here's a general basis. Barbara is relieved that you're so open to different views. She knows how cruel people can be when they're closed-minded, and she's happy to teach you about the Church of Favonius and Barbatos. Noelle was lamenting not being a knight yet, which led you to bring up the seven chivalric virtues. Yae Miko and Xingqiu are very interested in the stories of your world. Xingqiu hoping to learn more about your worlds code of chivalry, but he ends up learning about justice's different forms. Yae is simply searching for new inspiration. She often calls on you when her old nemesis, writers block, appears. Nahida takes interest in you right away, wanting to gain knowledge from your world, and you seem fun. She knows better than anyone how dangerous knowledge can be, so she asks you to omit potentially dangerous subjects.

• Mona was shocked when you said that you only wanted to know the bad stuff coming your way, not that she could help you, with you being an outworlder and all. When she asked why, you told her "It's best to be prepared for all the bad coming your way, and if you know all the good coming your way, it takes away from life's natural wonder." Which was promptly followed by you asking "Where did that come from?"

___________________________________________

I'm thinking making more of that last one, like " Characters reaction to reader who is randomly philosophical" might need to work on the title a bit. Also, as stated above, these can be sagau, but can also be normal isekai, so I'll use both tags so they can be found more easily

[bigolbard]

A lot of immediate thoughts about Legend of Vox Machina EPs 7-9. Spoiler galore. Get outta here if you haven't watched yet.

Did not like the song choice at the end of Ep 7. This is probably hit or miss personal preference, but felt very tonally disconnected with what was happening in the scene.

THE MOTHERFUCKING CERBERUS ASSEMPLY HOLY SHIT

I'm shocked that they didn't resurrect Percy before fighting Thordak. Genuinely shocked. I have no strong feelings about it from a narrative standpoint, but that's a massive change and just...a lot to chew on.

I didn't like that they changed the tone of Grog's "Fix him" line. That line is iconic, and I'd bet most people have that in their Top 3 most emotional moments from C1, and Grog's forceful tone is the entire reason for that. Changing it just...didn't land for me.

And also Scanlan isn't even dead? Just...in a coma? I don't know how I feel about that change -- it'll probably be dependent on how the last three episodes go.

Vex's coversation with her father was heartbreaking and beautiful and holy fuck Laura Bailey, goddamn it.

Ripley still being alive after Thordak is dead is a very interesting change that I currently have no strong feelings about, but will probably have more feelings about when the season has concluded.

I have two thoughts about Pike Trickfoot. Thought number one is that I don't love this whole "actually her power is intrinsic and not from the everlight" thing, but maybe I'm just misreading where that'll go. Though number two is that every single scene with Pike is either beautiful, hilarious, or the most fucking badass thing I've ever seen in my life. Seriously, she got the Divine Nuke in S1 and now she gets the Dawnmartyr Plate power up scene? Girl, save some badassery for the rest of the team!

I assume the last three episodes will be one devoted to killing Ripley, one devoted to killing Raishan, and one dedicated to resurrections and fallout. However, I have no idea what order that will happen in. On one hand, it's very hard for me to imagine them fighting Raishan without Percy or Scanlan. On the other hand, this batch of episodes changed enough narratively that I no longer have any idea what is and isn't off the table.

I still believe this season will end with Bard's Lament, but given that Scanlan hasn't made his promise to Kaylie yet, I'm...ever so slightly worried about how it's gonna be handled and if they're gonna stick the landing. I have faith, I'm just slightly nervous. There's a lotta shit left to tie up in three episodes.

Killing Kashaw sucks, but I don't hate it. Especially if it gives us a reason for more Zahra in Season 4.

Rest in peace, Lance Reddick. You were fucking amazing as Thordak, and I'm devastated you're not around to receive your deserved praise.

[osric-giroux-ffxiv]

😶‍🌫️ FACE IN CLOUDS - and/or - ⚔️ CROSSED SWORDS for the in character character development questions!

😶‍🌫️ FACE IN CLOUDS — is there something you're hiding from the people you love? if so, how urgent is it for them to hear it? what's holding you back from sharing it?

"The people I love are my sister and my children. My children aren't even a year old, and my sister...she doesn't need to hear of my regrets or the things I wish I had done differently. It's done. So no - there's nothing I'm hiding from those I love that they need to hear."

⚔️ CROSSED SWORDS — do you have any skills that you are absolutely grateful you have and that mean a lot to you? how do you usually use these skills? would they come in handy if someone you cared about was in trouble?

He didn't scoff, but his gaze did drop for an extended moment. "The skills that I have...they are useful in that they have helped to keep me alive in some way shape or form, whether that's the ability to cook, or to fight. Fighting does bring in gil in the form of mercenary work. Training the wolves may bring in gil at some point - I don't know what purpose playing an instrument serves outside of perhaps relaxation or enjoyment...and fighting and the wolves may help someone I cared for if they were in trouble, but...well, that will have to be seen." Here he did look up and shrug. "So, am I grateful for them, yes - I'm still here. Do they all 'mean a lot to me' - my life would be very different without them. We'll leave it at that."

Thanks @astralogian!

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

Responding to the romhack recommendation ask from August 22nd.

Depends on what you're looking for.

Do you want a mostly vanilla gba fe experience with some interesting design decisions? Check out the princess's lament.

Want something close to vanilla in terms of gameplay difficulty but an all new story? Vision quest.

Do you want something that plays like Thracia 776 (escape maps, capturing, follow up crit modifier, held items that modify growths fatigue, I'm sure there's more unique thracia mechanics I'm forgetting)? Sun god's wrath. Bells of byelen.

Want a hack that STRONGLY rewards resource management and creative use of warp/rescue? Call of the armor.

Want a gba demake of a 3ds remake of a nes game that is about the same quality as the 3ds game in question? Sacred Echoes.

Want a hack that feels more like a dnd party getting into wacky situations than a traditional fire emblem game? Cerulean Coast.

Want a hack that takes a silly concept and follows that concept to wild conclusions? There are so many of these.

Oops all archers (a hack where all of your characters are archers). Or Myrm Emblem (where all of your characters are sword guys). In both of these hacks there are a bunch of different varieties of the base class that promote into wildly different things.

No redundancy hacks - i think all 3 gba games have one now - where all characters of the same role from vanilla are compressed to one unit. For instance in the FE7 one, all three lords are compressed into one unit who has the best of their base stats and growths (so hector's strength, lyn's speed, for instance).

Trainee emblem - a hack of sacred stones where the big change is everyone is one tier lower than they normally are, and can promote to different classes than they normally come in from the base game (for instance, seth is a cavalier and can become a great knight, franz and gilliam are both footlocked lance units that can promote into cavalier or knight). Everyone is weaker/less mobile than they are in vanilla, so it's also kind of a difficulty hack.

👀👀👀

[autisticlancemcclain]

pt one

———

Hunk’s phone rings. Loudly. Since he is the pinnacle of grace and benevolence, he spares one hand, eyes still trained firmly on the other hand pressing a screwdriver onto a delicate wire joint to hold it steady, to blindly pat about on his workbench until it closes around the device. He jabs a finger on the screen until the ringing ceases.

“Yah,” he says, not bothering with hellos. He’s busy.

“Handle your person,” Shiro hisses, then immediately hangs up.

Hunk snorts. Someone’s nap was disturbed.

He turns back to his project, sighing as he wraps it up. He doesn’t have long. If he can just solder this last wire, get that last connection in, it’ll be way easier to —

Lance kicks open his door, walking in screaming.

“Hello,” Hunk greets idly. And largely sarcastically, he will admit. Lance continues his wordless yell, vocalizing at the very top of his lungs, muffled only when he throws himself on Hunk’s bed and buries himself in Hunk’s pillow. “Shiro tells me you’re terrorizing people.”

“His skull is fucking solid!” Lance screeches.

Hunk does not need to ask to whom Lance is referring. He does, however, pause what he’s doing immediately, spinning around slowly in his chair with his fingertips pressed together like every eighties cartoon villain. His smile can only really be described as gleeful. Perhaps diabolical if he stretches.

He is entirely unapologetic.

“And what happened this time,” Hunk questions, adopting his very best therapy voice. It must work, because Lance shoots up, face bright candy red, wicked snarl pulling on his lips. When he speaks again his voice is carefully controlled and dripping with rage.

“It is beyond hinting, Kealoha. I have practically laid myself at his feet and begged him to ravish me, and he still does not get it. I am going to fucking wring his neck.”

Hunk hums thoughtfully. “Well, that is probably what it’s going to take.” At Lance’s raised eyebrow, he rushes to clarify — “Throwing yourself at his feet, I mean. Don’t strangle him. At least not before I can see it.”

Lance groans loudly. This time when he flops back on Hunk’s mattress he is more miserable than rageful, like a scolded chihuahua. Hunk considers telling him that and then remembers that he’s quite fond of his limbs where they are.

“I know he likes me,” Lance grumbles. “He’s just a dumbass. Like, yesterday he had to go into a healing pod because I did those leg stretches in front of him and he walked into the wall and broke his nose. And last week he said I smelled good and no straight people say stupid shit like that. And when I flirted with that princess on our last mission I was lowkey worried he was gonna jump her, or something. He went all big bad Galra growly and everything.”

Hunk inclines his head. “This is true.”

It is true. Well, he didn’t know the broken nose thing — although that’s hilarious and he will be sharing that information with the class when prudent — and he hasn’t witnessed many of the specific brands of Keith and Lance dumbassery, since they spend so much time on their own, but he, like, has eyes. Keith wants Lance so bad it’s actually embarrassing. Hunk’s not one to generally agree with Lance, since it’s his God-given right to humble him at any opportunity, but that boy is oblivious unlike any other. He understands that Keith is emotionally stunted due to the ordeal of being orphaned, and to Keith he leaves his highest sympathies, but also Jesus Christ, dude. How many times are you going to be wrought with jealousy before you go oh, duh, I might be in love with this goober.

Maybe Shiro hasn’t had the talk with him yet. Hunk makes a mental note to follow up.

“—it’s just that I don’t understand,” Lance laments.

Hunk blinks back to the conversation, where Lance has clearly taken it upon himself to wax poetic and inspire woe upon himself once more.

Hunk stills. An idea wiggles its delightful little way through his brain. He holds up his phone, pointed at Lance’s prone and desolate form.

God, he loves his brain. He loves meddling. He loves love and life, basically.

“I just,” Lance sighs, and to his endless credit he sounds genuinely torn-up, for all his melodrama. “I wish I could just tell him, I guess. In some way. I wish I could get it through his fool head that he is loved by me particularly in such a way that I want to hold hands and kiss and generally be nuisances of the affectionate kind. You know, romance.”

Hunk hums with great understanding. “I see. And say you were not plagued with chronic anxiety and an unfortunate tendency to glow in your face region if someone so much as insinuates in any capacity that they care about you — what would you say to this paramour of yours?”

Lance tilts his head consideringly. His eyes are big and brown and pouty, like a scorned puppy. It’s adorable, in a pathetic kind of way. Hunk cannot help but pat him delicately on the knee.

“I suppose,” he huffs, “that I would just say it outright. Keith Kogane, you magnanimous dumbass, would it kill you to ask me out like a man. Something like that.”

“You could also ask him out like a man,” Hunk points out.

“Choke and die,” Lance responds, predictably. Hunk pays him again.

Hunk stops the recording and tucks his phone back in his pocket. He will decide how to handle the situation shortly.

…After he makes several copies and distributes them to the team. Obviously. Hunk’s excellent advice and matchmaking skills isn’t free, after all.

Lance whines again. “Why is my life so sick and twisted.”

Hunk chooses against reminding Lance that they are in the very beginning of the process of dismantling the worst tyranny the universe has ever seen, and of all the things in his life to be sick and twisted his dweeby romance is probably not one of them. Because that would be a huge buzzkill, obviously. Instead he delicately and a touch condescendingly pats Lance on the head. Lance leans into the touch, because he is a massive sweetheart and dork and nerd, and Hunk can’t help but smile widely.

“All will work out,” he says ominously. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Blah,” Lance says.

Hunk smiles wider.

[aspiringtrashpanda]

Satan "knows a guy" for everything. I love how social Satan is. I feel like we don't talk about it enough.

Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 7 Prompt: Satan

It was a warm day in the Devildom. Not uncomfortably warm to the degree where peeling off your skin would be the only way to seek relief – No, it was only that warm in the desert region to the south, or in the steaming waters of Asmodeus’s bathtub – but warm enough that you could comfortably stroll from store to store in a shirt without requiring a sweater. 

“It is a nice day out,” Satan observed, though you weren’t sure if he was speaking to himself or expecting an answer from you. 

Apparently, you guessed wrong when you assumed the former. Curiosity tangoed with amusement in his sea green eyes, peering at you as you took slightly longer strides than usual to keep up with his brisk pace. “Is that why you wanted to accompany me?” 

“No.” You shook your head, tugging open the door to Hell’s Supermarket and grinning at him with all your teeth. He thanked you, a slightly bewildered expression lancing across his face as he entered the store before you. He probably hadn’t anticipated such a direct response. 

“Ah! Satan! Good afternoon,” A fresh faced demon waved from where she leaned over the death deli counter. “Your turn to buy the groceries?”

“Yes.” With a charming smile that squinted his eyes into crescent moons, Satan offered a playful, “I’m lucky I wasn’t the one on grocery duty yesterday.”

You grabbed a basket, and started surveying the meat that the demon had available. Though you pretended to be very occupied choosing between smoked basilisk and oven-roasted black tapir, you eavesdropped on the easy volley of conversation between the store clerk and the Avatar of Wrath. 

“Oh, yes. The rain was just awful.” She frowned, “Your brother made quite a fuss when he stormed in here.”

Satan laughed sheepishly, “Well, that’s Mammon’s fault for failing to check the forecast.” 

The demon giggled, glancing towards you for a brief moment before concluding, “Sure, but I’m certainly happy to see you in his place. What can I get the two of you today?”  

“Why are you smiling?” Satan asked as you both exited the store, two shopping bags in his grasp. 

“No reason.” You chirped, unable to hide the giddy bubble swelling in your chest. A lie would have to suffice. “If I close my eyes, the moonlight is almost as bright as the sun.” 

And you did just that, allowing the affection thrumming throughout your body to spill over into a silly display of closing your eyes and craning your face towards the moon. You heard Satan click his tongue, though you know it was less a sound of irritation, and more a warning to the many demons passing by to watch out for your blind steps. 

Despite the beautiful weather, the downtown strip wasn’t overwhelmingly busy. Merchants seemed to be taking advantage of the quiet afternoon, tidying the front of their stores or preparing new window displays. Even the patio of Hell’s Kitchen was rather empty, with only a handful of patrons munching on a burger and sipping a glass of demonus.

“Are you homesick?” Satan asked, sometime after he had used a book he thought would interest the shopkeeper at Demoning to negotiate a deal on tea leaves, and sometime before making plans to visit the theater with the piano technician at the music store. You had stopped there to purchase a new metronome, as the old one had mysteriously disappeared (Mammon had probably sold it), but you weren’t bothered in the slightest by the employee's fifteen minute review of the visiting symphony. Frankly, Satan committing to plans with someone outside of the House of Lamentation delighted you greatly. 

“Nah.” This time, it wasn’t a lie. 

His steps paused. His emerald eyes swept over you, his brow slightly creased as he tried to see into your soul. You weren’t sure what he surmised from your body language, but he came to some sort of conclusion, as he turned on his heel. “Wait here for a moment.”

You watched as his mop of golden hair retreated across the street, to the bored popcorn vendor lingering outside of Café Lament. It was entertaining, the way he moved with such alert grace. You could practically picture fluffy ears flicking this way and that atop his head. 

He did possess a sort of feline quality, in his movements, in his behavior. He managed to hold a conversation while being more observant than the average demon about his surroundings. The entire time the vendor filled his order, he made small talk that seemed genuine despite his attention remaining on you. You could feel it. 

Satan returned with popcorn, movie theater yellow and wrapped up in a commercial striped bucket. “It’s simple butter and salt. I figured you may want a snack that reminds you of home. The vendor also had an extra coffee from Café Lament, and he was nice enough to offer it to me.” 

You accepted the gift, regardless of the meaning. If it comforted Satan to think that he had cheered you up by buying you a snack, then you would let it be. In reality, simply existing in his space was what had encouraged you to accompany him from the start. His company was quiet, honest, and steady. 

You knocked your popcorn carton against his coffee cup.

You had a feeling many others appreciated his company, too. 

Well, except for the jackass who slammed right into Satan’s chest. The demon’s face had been buried in his D.D.D. It was now dripping with premium hell coffee.

You flinched, gasped, braced yourself for the inevitable blow up. Satan’s hand – the one that wasn’t drenched in spilt coffee – clamped onto the demon’s bicep, steered him off to the side of the street. Should you look away? It was probably best to avoid witnessing a murder.

But then, the demon was walking away, completely unscathed, and Satan was returning to your side with only a mildly perturbed expression. 

“You aren’t upset?” You asked, eyeing the bright skin of his index finger where the hot coffee had gushed over his skin. 

“Hm?” He didn’t seem to understand why you would even ask. “No. Why would I be? It was an honest mistake.”

It was as if the record had skipped and you were stuck in this moment where only the audience understood the irony of the situation. You filled him in. “Lucifer did the same thing when he was half-asleep two weeks ago and you summoned hellfire to burn his phonograph to smithereens.”

“Well,” Satan laughed, loud and brash. “That was personal.” 

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

[dragonnarrative-writes]

WIP Wednesday

I have so many ideas for this OC, but none are cooperating with me.

Meet Bricks!

Simon notices, immediately, when the American girl enters the bar. First of all, she’s loud. Announces her arrival with a blast of laughter that rings through the room, for all that she’s surrounded by a group of rowdy people. Secondly, she’s dark-skinned, voluptuous, and seems to want everyone to know it. She’s dressed for the clubs more than a side street bar. Two guys she’s arrived with are obviously vying for her attention, but she floats over to one of the active pool tables and immediately starts flirting for the next game. Simon’s not immune to a soft woman with miles of leg, so he can’t blame any of them for welcoming her and her posse.

“Damn,” Kyle mutters, giving her an appreciative once over from his seat.

“What?” Johnny asks, looking over his shoulder like a fucking muppet. “Oh, damn.”

Price arches an eyebrow at Simon. “That good?” When he gets a nod, he turns to look. “…Damn.”

She has to know that everyone at the bar is looking at her, but she doesn’t seem to care. Just talks and laughs, flirts with the men and women around her like breathing. Simon never loses awareness of her. She’s in his sight line. But eventually, he’s integrated her into his awareness of the space. She’s a bright spot, but not rowdy enough to cause issues.

And then she passes their table on the way to the bathroom with her friends. She meets Simon’s eyes, gives him a quick up and down look, then winks with a little smirk as she disappears from view.

“What about you, LT?” Johnny’s voice breaks in.

Simon replays the conversation in his mind for a moment. Recruit performance. Lance Corporal Bennett. “Don’t much care for him. ‘S cocky and mean.”

“Good scores,” Kyle points out.

“He talks shit about the others,” Simon counters. “Good scores don’t mean shit if no one wants to work with him. We’ll see how he does with coordinated drills.”

“Now, Bakshi,” Price says, “he’s got promise. Scores are decent, and I can’t find a single person to say anything bad about him. Except Bennett.”

Johnny snorts. “Except Bennet.”

Simon lets the conversation fade away again. The pool tables are getting a bit rowdy without the American and her girl friends to dilute the testosterone. A couple of the boys over there are from the base, and they keep throwing glances over to the 141s table, and a table of other officers across the room. They’re keeping things cool. For now.

Just as chests are starting to puff enough that even Johnny and Kyle are paying attention, the girls reappear and diffuse the tension. The American says something that knocks the wind out of one boy’s sails and laughs as she takes his pool stick. She buzzes a kiss against his cheek, then playfully shoves another guy to rack. Just like that, the energy settles.

Simon lets himself be coaxed back into the discussion, especially now that the topics have strayed away from work. He can’t turn the hyper-vigilance off, but he likes going to the bar with his team. Likes talking books and TV shows with Price and mocking Johnny’s taste. He likes listening to Kyle talk music. He’s entering an artist’s name into his notes app, which is why he doesn’t notice the American strutting over until she’s right between Johnny and Kyle.

“Hey guys,” she says with a grin, leaning onto the table. “I thought about asking if any of you have a light, but my friends are leaving to get laid and the pool boys are boring. Can I hang out here until they lose interest? I’ll buy you a round.”

Price snorts into his whiskey. “They stop buying you drinks, then?”

“All they want to buy is drinks,” she laments, fluttering her eyelashes and pouting. “I’ve had three, but they’re not getting any more interesting. I’d rather have some fries and sit and chat.”

“Pull up a chair, bonnie lass,” Johnny says, which predictably gets the girl cooing over his accent.

She introduces herself as Ericka, an American student working on her Masters. She talks with her whole body, and doesn’t seem to know how to have a conversation without flirting. She hates the gym. She likes riding horseback, and winks at Simon when she mentions it. She “kind of pegged you guys as military. It’s the muscles.” She prefers whiskey over scotch, and her friends were supposed to take her clubbing tonight.

“But Tracy’s boyfriend hates going dancing, and she’s got a spine of a jellyfish,” she says, rolling her eyes. She’s waving a fry for emphasis. “So of course, we ended up here after I dressed up-up. Trust me, I know this is not a casual night at the pub type dress. I didn’t get the change of plans until the uber dropped us off out front. But I guess it turned out alright. I have no idea what kind of music I’d have been subjected to. Devon has shit taste, so I probably dodged a bullet.”

Even with as much as she’s batting her lashes and sending him interested glances, Ericka doesn’t try to make Simon talk more. With the rest of the table, she’s an excellent conversationalist. As he scans the bar again, he listens to her pick up the music topic with Kyle, drawing Price into a light hearted disagreement. Turns to Johnny with a pout for a tiebreaker. Which somehow gets them all into discussion of the best rock and roll genres. She talks, she listens, she engages. It’s refreshing. Most of the Americans they have to deal with are pushy and self-important officers and mercenaries.

Simon’s not above admitting that it helps that she’s beautiful.

After a couple of hours, it’s nearing 1am. Right on schedule, Kyle yawns. “Sorry, sorry. Not a night owl like some.”

“’S late,” Price admits. “Should probably head out. You have a ride home, Ericka?”

“Yeah, I’ll call a car,” she says, easily. “Thanks for hanging out with me, I’ll have to come back some time.”

“If we’re in town, we’re here,” Johnny says, grinning.

Outside, Erikca’s car gets delayed a couple of times, so Simon sends the boys ahead home and stays to wait with her. Price claps him on the shoulder and Johnny gives him an exaggerated wink. Ericka rolls her eyes and shoos them away when their car arrives.

“So,” she says, when it’s just the two of them. “Was I too subtle before, or are you interested in coming back to my place?”

“Barely spoke to you all night,” Simon points out.

“Come over and you can tell me about your tattoos,” she purrs. Then she smirks. “Or not. Up to you. But I figured I’d shoot my shot.”

[Super sexy sex happens here. Probably.]

Monday morning, Ghost sips a fresh brewed travel mug of tea and listens idly to Soap’s chatter on the way to one of the smaller briefing rooms. He’s looking forward to seeing Laswell, who’s on their side of the pond for a change. It’s always good for him to lay eyes on allies and confirm for himself that they’re alive.

It’s a shock, then, when he and Soap open the door to be greeted by Kate in deep discussion with Ericka.

Soap, of course, is more than happy to say what they’re both thinking. “What the fuck?”

When Ericka looks up and sees them, she grins. “Hey there, boys.”

Price and Gaz, when they arrive, are similarly gobsmacked. Once everyone is settled Lazwell stands.

“From your faces, you’ve all met,” she says. “So I won’t beat around the bush. Say hello to your new infiltration asset. Meet Bricks.”

All of them are speechless as Ericka lays four gray USB sticks on the table. They’re all the ones Price had distributed Thursday, with instructions that the keep one on them at all times. Plus an extra one. If Simon had to guess, Gaz was the one to have a decoy on him.

“Bullshite,” Soap says, pulling an identical USB stick from his pocket. “I’ve had mine on me the whole time.”

“Decoy,” Ericka, Bricks, says. “Slide the port out, you’ll see a pink dot.”

Simon pulls his from his pocket, pushes the little slider. Faded, but present, there’s a pink spot of permanent marker. “Fuck.”

“She’s one of the best infiltration assets we have,” Kate goes on. “She’ll be joining you to get information from Jacó Barboza. We have reason to believe he’s the link between Moscow and Rio, which opens the door to Bogotá.”