#qiqi writes

[leesolbeesol]

Call On Silent

(Part 1: Chicken Scratch) (Part 3: Easy Talking) (Part 4: Over The Moon) (Part 5: No Messing Up) (Part 6: Can We Talk?) (Part 7: Goldilocks)

genre: fluff, college!au

pairing: student!mark x student!o/c (this one can still be treated as xreader)

summary: the cute guy calls you!

wc: ~600

note: upwards of 500 words again! this one's just cute and only a little stressful for m/c

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you sit in your lecture, your phone is buzzing incessantly in your pocket as you frantically try to silence it. A call?? Why isn’t it on silent?! Drawing a few stares from the people in your immediate surroundings, you finally silence it—that, or it goes off by itself. What the hell? You try to refocus on the lecture but your interest is piqued, who was calling you? Your mom knows not to call you now because you're busy, and your friends are all in lectures. Prof. Im’s usually entertaining words go in one ear and out the other because curiosity swallows you whole. You don’t even know why you’re so curious. You could just pull your phone out, but you risk getting in trouble—even if your professor is a sweetheart. 

Soon after, you find yourself walking out of the lecture hall, brightly lit by the midmorning sun, on the way to the ‘bathroom’. Your back hits the hard white brick wall as you lean into it and whip out your phone in it’s cherry red case. It’s an unknown number. You realize it’s probably spam, and feel a let down that it’s not the boy from the café. That is, until you see the 26 second voicemail and the transcript that the number left and your heart almost stops. He actually called? Mark Lee actually called? You’re shocked, to say the least. He did give you a nod, but you expected that it was just for politeness’ sake. Should I listen now? Your mind is racing with anticipation. You press the play button and hold your phone up to your ear, eager to hear what he said. Is he going to let me down easy?

“Hey, um, I realized I didn’t even get your name… I just called you to say that I thought you were really cute at the café, and I’d love to take you out somewhere sometime. It doesn’t matter to me where we go, I want you to have fun. I know you gave me your number but if you changed your mind that’s totally okay too, but I really hope you’ll take me up on the offer.” 

He sounds really nervous. You guess he doesn’t have class now? Besides that, you’re floored. He called you and wants to take you out on a date. This is so crazy. You didn’t even realize he didn’t know your name. It makes sense, you’re mutual friends but you’ve never really had a conversation. You’ve heard a Mark referenced in passing, but you never knew who he was or what he looked like. You guess that it goes the same for him—he’s never put your name to your face. He can’t see that I’ve listened, right? You’re faced with two options: A) text him that you’re in class and say yes, or B) text him later and say you were in class and say yes. To hell with it, you’ve already listened, you might as well text him now. The pads of your fingers beat rhythmically against the digital keys: hey! i got your voicemail, but i’m in class so i can’t call you, so sorry! i’d love to go out sometime. we can figure out the details later lol. You rephrase it like three times, what would make you sound eager but not crazy? You don’t know—you’ve never done this before. You remember to add something else: my name is moon sora, by the way. You think your name is silly; moon in English and sky in Japanese. You pad your way back into the classroom—you were only gone for 5 minutes.

[yuesya]

Satoru-niichan is going to laugh at her when he finds out about this.

… Shiki is perfectly aware that it’s not exactly the right time to be entertaining such inane thoughts, not in this moment. Dark clouds of heavy smoke curl up around her, accompanied by the scorching heat of hungry, crackling flames that she does not feel. But although Shiki remains untouched by the hellish inferno, the same does not apply for the other humans around her; the sounds of terrified screaming and horror-struck pain are deafening amid the ongoing destruction.

Three minutes. At a rough estimate, Shiki arrived here barely three minutes later than the Special Grade curses did, and it already looks like the village is on the verge of being burned into the ground. She shouldn’t be surprised. Special Grade cursed spirits are harbingers of chaos and destruction –malicious ones that revel in human suffering– so it’s not surprising. But… 

If this continues, they’re all going to die.

… Her cousin is going to laugh at her. To think that a simple assignment to investigate the Kyoto school’s ‘Mechamaru’ had somehow escalated into a fight against four Special Grade curses… and then she’d even gotten herself caught in some trap that seemed to have teleported her out of the country entirely?

Shiki sighs, flicking her wrist. The corpse of the water-natured cursed womb slides off from the end of her blade with a wet squelch as it falls.

“DAGON!”

Shiki raises an arm, brushing aside a fiery projection launched at her head. The ground under her feet rumbles dangerously, and she leaps into the air just as a gaping crevice opens up in the earth beneath her.

That’s one curse down, the weakest of the four of them. Three full-fledged Special Grade curses remain, and Shiki takes a moment to reassess the situation.

The circumstances have changed. They are no longer fighting out in a secluded, remote area, where there is no concern of collateral damage aside from environmental restructuring. Not-Geto had done something earlier, and now Shiki and the Special Grade curses had been suddenly, collectively transported somewhere else instead. She doesn’t know where this is, exactly, but it’s obvious that they’re standing directly in the middle of a populated village right now. A rural village whose inhabitants are all running about in panic, with no Windows anywhere in sight to help evacuate victims or minimize damages.

Quite the conundrum.

Because going by the rule book, in the event of an emergency a sorcerer’s first priority is to exorcise, rather than save. But it’s also a sorcerer’s purpose to preserve the lives of regular humans when they’re being threatened by curses.

… The sooner Shiki kills all of these cursed spirits, then the sooner the inhabitants of this village would be safe. If any of these Special Grades were allowed to run loose, then they would only bring disaster and ruin in their wake. She also needs to hurry, especially given that she’d also expended a significant amount of energy in the previous altercation, including her–

An earthen spike lances up from the ground, intent on goring her through… only to shatter harmlessly against her body. Shiki turns towards the corrupted nature-turned-cursed spirit whose hand is still extended in her direction.

“I’ll start with you, then.”

It attempts to keep her away by summoning more earthen spikes, interspersed with wooden tendrils. Even a few strange, strange flowers with sharp, gnashing teeth, but it’s useless in the end. All of it falls apart easily beneath the sharp edge of her blade, and–

“Hanami! Use Domain Amplification–”

Shiki swings her sword.

Whatever this ‘Domain Amplification’ is, the cursed spirit doesn’t manage to use it in time. With its cursed energy as depleted as it is from the earlier battle even before the mass-teleportation, and with the series of techniques it had just deployed against her, the cursed spirit is just a touch too slow in escaping.

Six misshapen lumps fall to the ground, oozing purple-black blood. Two down, two more to go. Shiki whirls back around and–

Several buildings farther down the street, the patch-faced cursed spirit wearing a human shape smiles at her. There’s a wild light glittering in its eyes, half-madness and half-fear, underscored with manic glee. Anticipation curls the edge of its lips in a slow, wide grin.

“Wow, you’re so strong! Think you can cut this into pieces, too?”

The cursed spirit lifts its hand. It’s holding an unconscious young boy, pale-skinned and dark-haired–

… Mechamaru. That’s the Kyoto student whom Shiki had been asked to investigate, on suspicion of colluding with the school’s enemies.

Stitch-marked fingers tighten around the boy’s nape.

“Idle Transfiguration.”

Mechamaru convulses, then groans. His body swells. First his head, then his shoulders, all distending to ridiculous proportions. Regular human skin darkens to a sickly green-grey and eventually stops being human skin at all, hardening into a substance that’s almost reminiscent of armored plating. The end result is a monster –an uncanny caricature of one of the robots that the boy is prone to piloting as an extension of himself among his classmates, but made from flesh rather than metal. More suited to crawling on the ground than standing upright, if the way that it drops down is any indication of things.

Shiki remembers seeing reports of this ability. This cursed spirit could transform human bodies at will, conditional upon physical contact with the desired target. The resulting shock and stress of this technique upon the human body was fatal.

Mechamaru would rampage mindlessly for a few minutes, then die. But Shiki’s assignment was to bring him in alive for questioning.

There’s only one thing to do, then.

Break the arms and legs; prevent him from moving. The only sleeping spell that Shiki knows is specifically designed for humans, and… she doubts that it would be effective on Mechamaru at the moment. She needs to immobilize him right now, and then she’ll deal with him once everything is over.

“White,” she whispers. This would keep him alive, while she–

Shiki leaps into the air, instincts urging her to move. Searing flames scorch the ground where she’d been crouching in; this is the work of that fire-natured cursed spirit, no doubt. It’s a clever one, circling around her and trying to stop her from getting close, while its companion starts unleashing more of its hideous transformed humans as literal meat shields.

She’ll need to cut through all of them in order to reach those cursed spirits.

Wait. No, only that fire cursed spirit was there. Where–?

“MAHITO! NOW!”

An uninvited hand lands on her shoulder.

“Idle–”

The cursed spirit’s voice breaks off with a sharp, startled yelp. 

Then, the hand vanishes –sliced clean off. But it’s not Shiki’s work. Her blade had only sliced halfway through its wrist, before another blade had intervened to cut off the cursed spirit’s entire arm.

… No, not blade. A spear –one that looks to be of a rather unique shape and make. An elongated weapon of green intertwined with gold, held in the hand of a stranger who’d appeared out of nowhere. 

Shiki… hadn’t sensed their arrival at all. Was this another teleporter? … Since when was teleportation something that became such a common ability?

The new arrival tips their head towards her. Beneath the fanged, snarling mask that they’re wearing, it’s difficult to intuit what they mean by this gesture. The ensuing string of words spoken in a language that she does not understand doesn’t exactly help things any, aside from giving Shiki a basic idea of the identity of the person behind the mask. Young, male.

… It definitely becomes a lot easier to understand his intentions once he brandishes his spear, then proceeds to take off towards the patch-faced cursed spirit in a burst of dark wind.

Shiki lifts her gaze as she turns back towards the fire-natured Special Grade, who’s suddenly looking a lot less confident under the weight of her undivided intention. “… I guess that leaves me with you, then.”

[lovesickeros]

☆ i dream of embers

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes no au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.1k

The House of the Hearth is quiet — or, if you really wanted to be precise, the rats scuttling through the walls are working around the bubble you exist in. The children dare not tempt fates hand unless you asked for them by name, a contradiction. An order to the rules — they mustn't approach you with trivialities, but they must listen if you speak. Your words carry more weight than gold in this house, whether you know it or not.

A tenuous position.

You haven't done anything to earn their reverence, their almost acrid fear — but Arlecchino has. She wields her silver tongue with as much ease as her polearm, ensuring your care in her absence. Her devotion, her service, is felt in the warmth of her chambers, the silks she adorns you with, the bed so soft you feel as though you melt into it. A gift, a promise — a gilded cage need not be something undesirable.

You've grown used to the encumbrance of her presence, these days. The deep timbre of her voice, honeyed yet melting into something rougher, quieting into haunting silence as if she seeks not to disturb you. Dim candlelight is all that illuminates her broad frame as she slowly presses the door open and closed behind her, pallid skin streaked with darkening red, her bottom lip smeared with it like lipstick. There is a tension to her shoulders even when she sets aside her polearm, out of sight and out of mind, harsh lines on her face visible in the deep furrow of her thin brows.

Here, she let's the weariness settle deep into her bones — it's just the two of you, even if she hasn't acknowledged you at all. Still, it's a vulnerability she shows no other, even if that vulnerability is hidden behind layers of barbed wire and teeth.

You watch rather idly from the bed as she wets a cloth in a basin of water, the bed creaking beneath you as your feet sink into the plush rug beneath. You know from experience that trying to help her is like trying to soothe a wild dog, but your knuckles brush over the sharp line of her cheek anyway, free hand stealing the soaking cloth from her hands when her jaw flexes and tenses beneath the pads of your fingers.

It is only then that she looks down at you, eyes as sharp as blades yet so indescribably warm — like a flame licking at your skin, burning so deep you feel it linger for weeks after. Arlecchino is not soft, far from it — but she blunts her jagged edges for you anyway, brushes her lips against your knuckles and allows you a moment of adoration. Carves her worship bone deep in the ghost of her touch against your lower back as she leans down, let's you wash away the blood certainly not her own, never blinking as if you'd simply up and leave if she stopped looking at you for even the smallest moment.

You are well aware she is caging you in. You let her.

Though she is still stiff as a board up to the moment you set the washcloth over the side of the basin, her jaw flexing again, a moment of consideration given. She is not used to soft and brittle things, though — not used to touch that does not lead to steel at her throat, in her gut, carving out softness like a butcher carves up meat, section by section.

But this affliction of affection is stronger than the discomfort, at times.

You almost half consider letting her take the room and have a night of proper rest, but she is faster than you — a calloused hand tilts your head back, half lidded eyes glinting beneath the weight of exhaustion, her thumb firm against your bottom lip. She could kill you without even blinking, you are aware, but she is nothing but careful with her touch — not soft, not Arlecchino, but there is adoration in her touch. Like thumbing a locket portrait, trying to imprint their features into memory by touch alone.

Her touch is fleeting, but the warmth lingers long after — you don't need to be touching to feel the weight of her attention. She stokes the flames of the dying fire, has one of the children bring a fresh pot of tea, lingers even when she doesn't have to. You're sure her desk in her office is far more comfortable to work at, but she'd crammed a small desk into the room anyway, stayed even long after you fell asleep most nights. You never did get to stay up long enough to notice her slip in beside you, nor wake up early enough to find her there with you, but the heat lingers — she leaves breakfast at your bedside table, a small note of affection if she's feeling particularly sappy. Even when you don't see her, she makes sure you feel her presence however she can.

Neither of you need to speak to express it. The silence is..oddly comfortable, filled by the shift of paper or scratch of a pen, the clink of a cup or crackle of fire. It's a little too easy to get lost in watching her work, masking a smile whenever she glanced back at you with a question on the tip of her tongue that goes unsaid.

It's better that way, you both think. The silence was best left undisturbed — as if trying to break it would be like breaking the mirror to each others lives. You don't busy yourself in the affairs of the House of the Hearth, and she doesn't make you. It's better that way, too. Maybe that makes you naive, blind even, to the bodies at her feet piled so high she could drown, but you don't want to give up this fragile tranquility.

So you let the dull scratch of a pen lull you to sleep, try not to smile too much when a hand reaches out in uncertainty to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheek with so much affection it makes it hard to breathe.

It's a tenuous balance, but come the next night you will wipe the blood from her cheek again and she will care for you the only way she knows how — distant service.

And when you wake up to an empty bed, warm despite the fires long burned out, you'll still feel her presence in the allure of a warm drink and pastries at your bedside, a note tucked beneath the plate.

Just like the day before, and just as you expect tomorrow to be. But one day you'll gently pull apart the barbed wire and be let in — not today, no, but someday. It's a slow process, but you're patient enough to wait — and when she let's you in, you'll tend to the scars that it left like you've always done.

One step at a time, one day.

[runawaymun]

It's something that I want to do a full write-up on after I finish more more quests (most especially Baizhu's) but I just want to put it out there that I am constantly amazed, as a chronic-illness haver myself, how many characters in Genshin Impact have chronic illnesses, how visible they are, and how well represented they are.

Like, it's extremely difficult to find even one character in a piece of fiction that has a chronic illness (let alone one where it isn't played for laughs, OR otherwise it completely destroys their life and they're fucking miserable, OR it's magically cured).

But Genshin? Dude you trip over a character with a chronic illness every five seconds, it feels like, and I fucking love that. Off the top of my head there's:

Anna (Mondstat), who visibly suffers from her illness and we know her brother struggles to pay for her medicine. But the traveler, through a series of quests, helps them get ahold of an affordable medication to manage (MANAGE, not cure) the illness and to return her quality of life to her.

Little Hongdou (Liyue) - who has an unspecified chronic illness. And she just does. But she's out and about and seems very happy.

Collei (Sumeru, playable) - and sure her illness is fixed by the end of the Sumeru quest, but I don't even care because of how well it's represented. She has hopes, ambitions, dreams. She participates in her work as a forest ranger even though we get visible confirmation that her illness is progressing. The people around her care and are compassionate, and do their best to make sure she takes care of herself, but she is also allowed to just...go out? and do things?? This shouldn't be such a tall order but chronic illness-havers with friends and family members who understand that, hey there are good days and there are bad days -- that's rare in fiction (and IRL for that matter).

Dunyarzad (Sumeru) - her chronic illness is a major plot-driver in an entire fucking archon quest. She has a huge amount of influence on the people around her, and her chronic illness is actually part of the whole reason we even are able to help Nahida in the first place. Her chronic illness is what makes her instrumental to the plot, but it also isn't the only thing about her, and I love that.

Dulphy (Fontaine) - an actress from Furina's story quest. What really struck me about Dulphy is how the people around her interact with her. I was half in tears by the end of the quest -- not even for Furina reasons (yes, that too), but because I was so touched by the fact that a game gave us a character who was unable to follow through with something she said she was going to do (finish her closing performance as the lead actress in a musical), and that was okay. Like, yeah, the people around her were upset -- but they were upset because she hadn't taken great care of herself and had pushed herself past her spoon limit! Nobody (including the narrative itself) treated it as a great failure when she had to call it quits on her performance. Rather, that was treated as a good thing, and they went so far as to explicitly state that her performance up to that point mattered, and that it was a meaningful contribution, even though she couldn't finish. And that just fucking got me, man. Also - again, this is a character where it is explicitly stated "this is a chronic illness. It has good days and bad days and it can only be managed, not cured. And if she pushes herself too hard then she'll need several days to recover." And that's just...part of who she is.

And, of course, Baizhu. (Liyue, playable) My beloved, my blorbo. His chronic illness(es) is an extremely visible part of his character - referenced in his voicelines, his idles, his interactions in quests, the imaginarium theater, and even your teapot house, and his emojis. Hell, he even coughs if you sprint too much with him. Nevertheless, he's arguably one of the strongest healer units in the game from a meta perspective, and from a story perspective he is immensely successful, insanely compassionate, and while he isn't necessarily super kind to himself about it, the people around him are. His chronic illness is part of him, but he is still allowed to inhabit a story where he's the most renowned and beloved doctor in his entire country & just...is an awesome, active person in general, and that means so much to me.

Just. God. I legitimately can't think of another piece of fiction where I have seen myself represented over and over and over again everywhere I look, let alone so kindly. It's genuinely so moving to have so many characters be so visibly chronically ill, and for that to just be part of their character. A neutral thing about them. And to have it be okay when they can't finish things -- even though they said they would, okay when they need to rest, okay when they have to take a break or extra care with themselves. And not just one but so many. I'm sure I'm forgetting some to boot.

(Honorable mention: Qiqi. Like sure she's a zombie but hear me out: visible chronic joint and memory issues, which is something I also deal with and it's just so refreshing to see a character who deals with them, too -- and who has so many people around her who are so kind about it).

[ddarker-dreams]

god darling beats zhongli at sand castle making any day of the week

this is such a cute mental image omg ,,

imagining how this came about — little qiqi found the process interesting. she'll start to work on one, but unfortunately for her, she builds it too close to the shore and it's swept away. since her memory isn't the best, she doesn't think to correct this mistake the next time she tries.

god darling happens upon an iteration of this sad cycle. they're positively heartbroken by qiqi's sigh as the ocean claims her work again. whatever their business with zhongli in the moment is gets set aside. this is far more important, they'll reason. he can't bring himself to argue.

zhongli builds a simple yet effective structure. a rectangle-shaped tower, nothing fancy, but sturdy. in the time it takes him to craft this, god darling sets out to work as well, not allowing zhongli to participate in the building process. qiqi is tasked with finding seashells and other embellishments for decoration.

zhongli decides to check in on his spouse's efforts, prepared to give some pointers if need be, only to see something akin to this:

[dkniade]

“A Blade to Separate One From Oneself”

With Qiqi & Xiao, a slice of life with fluff and angst, names, the Teyvat script, and some linguistics!

Bubu Pharmacy.

For Dr. BZ.

Order: Herb Collection

QX ...... 3x.

LLBH ...... 2x.

"What's this." Xiao scanned the small letters on the page.

"I learned a faster way to take notes... But I don't know what it says anymore."

"Why change your former methods?"

--

Qiqi asks Xiao for help decoding shorthands in her notebook, and they end up reflecting on the nature of names and memory.

[shtosh-ka]

Actually, I drew this drawing based on a short story that I came up with at the university during a lecture.

I’m not sure how clear everything will be, because I used a translator, because English is not my native language. But I hope everything is really clear.

Doctor Bai Zhu felt unwell at night. He was overcome by an unbearable coughing fit, and to top it all off, his head was aching from, as luck would have it, the noisy youth celebrating some holiday known only to them, on the street, right under Bai Zhu's window.

The doctor wanted to get out of bed, turn on the light and drink the syrup to soothe his throat. But he only started to fall. Trying to protect himself, the man leaned on the nightstand and accidentally crushed his glasses with his palm.

But he didn't have the strength to open the medicine. The cough didn't stop.

Shaking his whole body from the attacks of pain piercing his throat, Bai Zhu pulled the lid of the bottle. And it suddenly opened.

The vessel jumped out of his hands and sticky syrup spilled on the nightstand and the doctor himself. The man sighed resignedly.

Suddenly, quick footsteps were heard throughout the house. Little Qiqi ran into Mr. Bai's room. Tears were streaming down her cheeks - she was frightened by the noise and the sight of Bai Zhu.

The girl quickly ran to the doctor, took out matches from his nightstand and lit a night lamp, helped the man drink the syrup, then suddenly hugged Bai Zhu and cried loudly.

Doctor Bai Zhu shuddered and hugged the little girl tightly, whispering in her ear the words "I'm fine" and "I'm here".

"Don't leave me, Doctor Bai Zhu..." - this is what little Qiqi said before she fell asleep after crying for a long time.

support me on deviant art please!

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[lavs-stimming-mood]

A stimboard of Qiqi from Genshin Impact!

🧊 🩹 🗒

🥥 x 🥥

🗒 🩹 🧊

[stellar-momentsat25]

spark thoughts

manifesting a baizhu + qiqi + chongyun + shenhe story focus event.

They're just a nice group traveling in chenyu vale. Baizhu had the foresight to hire an exorcist for when things get ugly and inconvenience him or Qiqi, so a reasonable point to have Chongyun and Shenhe. Then the story pulls a GAA2 when spontaneous things happen, old wounds are re-opened (mentally and physically, sorry Chongyun), and we get to invade everyone's past memories or history linked to them (thinking of archon war times) because that's always fun.

[scarletwritesshit]

Dad Alhaitham Headcanons

✮ Sayu sleeps on top of his head

✮ He carries Qiqi in a sling, as she clings close to him for warmth

✮ He gave Qiqi a leather bound notebook in order to keep her memories organized better

✮ Nahida is arguably the most responsible out of his adopted children, though she still has much to learn in regards to navigating the world

✮ Diona is a handful, as he has to gently scold her for mixing his alcohol without permission

✮ He doesn't admit this to Diona, but he secretly enjoys drinking her disaster mixtures

✮ Sometimes, Dori mysteriously disappears and returns with a lump sum of mora. He has given up on attempting to break the scamming habits of a dijin, considering how he is not directly responsible for her actions

✮ As chaotic as Klee is, Alhaitham is as calm as ever when it comes to dealing with her...explosive nature

✮ He knows how much Yuegui means to Yaoyao, and he is ready to pick up a needle and thread at any moment to calmly and swiftly repair it for her so that he may peacefully return to reading

✮ The children will gather round him as he reads, and he doesn't mind him climbing over him as long as he can read uninterrupted

✮ As they tend to nose into whatever subject Alhaitham is studying, they have an extensive knowledge of random facts, ranging from flora to military combat

✮ He prefers informing the kids, while Kaveh is better suited to giving them the experience

✮ Late at night, they may slowly doze off one by one on him, until he can no longer resist the urge to fall asleep himself

[leesolbeesol]

Chicken Scratch

(Part 2: Call On Silent) (Part 3: Easy Talking) (Part 4: Over The Moon) (Part 5: No Messing Up) (Part 6: Can We Talk?) (Part 7: Goldilocks)

genre: fluff, college!au

pairing: student!markxbarista!o/c (this one can also be treated as xreader)

summary: where you give a cute guy your number on his coffee

wc: ~500

note: finally finished one, even if it's short!! I have another WIP that's currently 3k words. yikes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Love so good feels like a thriller…” You mumble along to the lyrics of the music on the overhead speakers. The stained muslin rag in your hands feels icky from the day of use, and all you can think about is getting home to your warm, clean bed. It’s 5:23 and your shift is almost over at the café owned by your best friend.

The door chime at the front of the open room chirps happily and you force your shoulders not to slump. The cardinal red halter of your apron is digging into the spots between your neck and shoulders.

“Hello, welcome.” Damn it, you already messed up your intro. “What can I get for you?” You chant your greeting as you look up. It’s a guy you’ve seen a couple of times around your college. You run the same circles, too, and you can’t lie, he’s cute. He’s tall—maybe a couple of inches taller than you—and his face is nice. He has deep, dark eyes, and a contrasting face of sharp edges and a soft smile. You blink the thought of his pretty face away so you can do your job of making him whatever drink he’s getting at 5 pm.

“Can I get a single espresso americano, please?” His request is simple, though unusual for not the morning. He sounds tired. 

“Late night, huh?” You comment, offhandedly. You don’t know why you make small talk—It’s usually a nightmare for you. “What’s the name for the order?” You raise your eyebrows slightly at the man, anxious for the answer so you don’t have to pretend to not be checking him out.

“Mark Lee.” He tells you, even though you already know. You turn fast on your heel to make the two milkshakes for the mother-daughter duo in the front of the queue. When you get to his order, your hand grips the cold metal espresso machine as it splashes against the hot water in the cup. You press your tongue between your lips and drag the Sharpie along the cup. You write the M, the A, the R, and the K as carefully as possible so your handwriting doesn’t look like chicken scratch. Before you put the cup down on the pick-up counter, another idea jumps into your head. The Sharpie is suddenly back in your hand. You see your phone number staring back at you below his name. He’s always been a sort of evolved hallway crush of yours. Some of his friends are your friends, and sometimes you see him around campus. It just felt so natural to shoot your shot—is that a sign?

You gently place the coffee on the counter. “Mark Lee?” You keep an eye on him as he walks up and picks up the coffee. You can see the blush beginning to form on his ears as he reads the writing on his coffee. As you wait for him to walk out, he gives you a slight nod. Oh my gosh, he took it.

[manganyeh]

Birb Family tree

Because I want to!

[noxianwilled]

" Draven asked me to crush him like a watermelon? is this a Noxian idiom I'm not aware of? did he challenge me? "

— @yunalai

She doesn't mind Qiyana's usual questions, content to help with any nuance the ixtali isn't yet fluent enough to understand — but it does lead to situations like this, where Katarina would rather not be involved in explaining Draven's meaning to the princess. The assumption he had challenged her somehow elicits a chuckle from the assassin, mild amusement coloring her explanation. "No, it wasn't a challenge — he was flirting."

"It takes considerable strength to be able to crush a watermelon with your thighs," she continues with a shrug. "So basically he was being appreciative of your thighs, princess." And hoping to be the thing crushed between her thighs instead of the watermelon, but she is confident Qiyana can pick that up on her own.

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Wayfarer (if)

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Enna Cenric x Sabien Quirinus

Word Count: 853

Savior

She wakes to filtered blue light, hands grasped around the softest sheets she’s ever felt. Her head, though still pounding, rests on a pillow that she doesn’t ever want to get up from. It smells of sandalwood and something citrus and she realizes she’s not in a dream. She shoots up with a start. Hand flies to her beating chest and she’s still in her attire from the night before.

“Oh good, you’re finally awake.”

She hates that she knows his voice already and of course she’s in his room. The details come back sudden, if blurry. She was a fool to drink so much the night before and as much as she hates to admit it, “I didn’t need you to save me, you know.”

“No need to call it salvation. Think of it as calling in a favor.” Quirinus sits at the vanity, pulling his shoulder length locks half up into a braided bun.

“What do you want?”

There’s a low hum in his throat and a little tsk. “You’ve barely had a chance to gain your bearings. We can get to business in a moment.”

Suspicious. That kind of statement is almost nice. The archmage doesn’t do nice. Especially when she’s now indebted to him.

Her legs are bricks as she slides them around the side of the bed. Fingers to her temples, she rubs at the growing pain.

“There’s a drink there by your bed. I suggest you make use of it.”

“Why would I drink anything from you?”

“If I were going to kill you, Enna. I would have done it already.” His eyes crinkle around the edges in the mirror’s reflection.

She knows before those words were spoken that he’s right. He could’ve, no would have killed her already if that was his intent.

She drinks and she waits for her throat to swell up or her limbs to go numb or something. Anything. But he just watches and it soothes. Sleep hits her softly but quickly and she manages to mutter it’s what she expected but his last words are, “rest” before her world washes away again.

—

It’s afternoon and he’s brought her food that she eats reluctantly. New attire and her sword which she thought for sure would be gone. He probably did something with it that she’ll figure out later when it’s too late because having too much to drink around him was already her biggest fuck up.

But his eyes are the color of escape in low tide and she makes the dumbest mistake of all. She kisses him. Tentative and hard and definitely with too much gusto. What’s worst of all is the way he smiles as he kisses her back. Like he’s won and maybe he has but what’s she to do?

Her fingers grasp at his collar, yanking and pulling upward, getting caught on his arms because she’s fumbling and it’s been a long time. One step back and he’s free of those stupid robes she hates and there’s no other thought but to rake her fingernails down his chest before she shoves him, hard, onto the bed. He lets out a small pleasurable sound. He likes it. Because of course he fucking does. And he uses his magic to remove her clothes, a simple snap of his fingers. It’s sexy and she’s definitely wet from that but it’s a secret he’ll never get out of her. He’s too eager with it all though and she briefly wonders how long he’s been wanting to disrobe her. But it’s not really the time for thinking. No minds. Just bodies. Messy and imperfect. Rough and primal.

She inwardly toasts to some kind of small victory from that.

Straddling him on his bed, she takes what she wants of him. Nips at his ears. Pulls on his hair. Coaxes a groan. Elicits a sigh. Hands around his throat.

She sinks down on him and he moans.

“I could kill you now,” she whispers into his ear.

His hands dig into her ass. The pressure of his rings are leaving imprints in her skin.

“No guards.” She squeezes his neck just a little tighter. “And you may be the archmage, magic on clothes but your magic won’t work on me.”

He thrusts into her, leaving her gasping for breath. Her grip on his throat weakens and he’s smirking.

“It’s a shame because I could’ve given you quite the experience. But you will see that I am talented in many areas, even those without magic.”

She grits her teeth together and then kisses him again, too hard. “Just shut up.” Then she saves her kisses because he doesn’t deserve her lips. Her tenderness. Even if he was nice enough to bring her a meal. Share his bed.

He obeys. Until he doesn’t. But at least he isn’t muttering his arrogant ramblings. He only grunts and groans just like her. She pushes him to her own climax then leaves him breathing heavy, tangled in the sheets. She puts on her attire and belts her sword, not bothering to look back as she walks out his door.

[staretes]

changed the pfp and i cant tell if i like it

[anonbinaryweirdo]

BESTIE YOU DIDHSHJSNWBWNW DJSBAJKABAB IM SPEECHLESS PLS

My favorite flowers are lilys!! How about yours?<3

LMAO DBSKSBSB pls I mean in canon Baivi Baizhu is the one who dies first but I was thinking hard when he would cry (idk why I thought of that in first place dkhsjwksk) and my bestie said; when any angsty with you happens

My mind: death - she said: breakup

Yeah djsjsns I would never break up with him 🥺

PLS Baivi angst always hits so heavy, I'm glad I wrote the proposal fic cuz it's really comforting after Baivi angst imo 😔😔💔

I'm crying cuz Baizhu would literally never get over my death like ;; he would work and stuff for sure but the second he is alone - he would cry imo - he is just silly like that 😔😔💔💔 (and I see him as a very emotional and sensitive persona dhsksbjajsk)

BYE DBSJSBSKKEBDKDKS

(I'm sorry if I'm annoying u but I wanted to tell u 🥺❤️)

I love you!!<33

vi... vi my lovely big sister. my amazing big sister. my gorgeous big sister.

SHAKES YOU AND SPLASHES WATER ON YOU

LET THEM BE HAPPY 😔 IK IT'S HARD BUT PLEEK

"the second he's left alone - he would cry imo - he's just silly like that"

🚪