#so the purple is more a coincidence than anything else

[the-fibre-stuff]

I'm sensing a theme in my new projects...

[dottores]

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine.

notes: i forgot it was friday SOBS i got distracted reading a new book so we're a little late but anyway <.< its time also i’m gonna answer asks tomorrow i promise 😭

THE DOCTOR

You sighed softly, smoothing out the cloth draped against you as you took a look in the mirror again. There was nothing left to fix--your hair was done, the jewel of your necklace laid neatly in the middle of your chest and your gown was fitted perfectly. You thought you should be alarmed, you didn’t know how the masked person had all of your measurements. You assumed that they had been the one to drop off the gown at the inn you were staying at in Snezhnaya City so you could be properly dressed for the event at Zapolyarny Palace. 

You rose to your feet, gnawing at your bottom lip as you looked into the mirror one last time. They had given you a purple gown to wear--and not just any purple, the color of your family, the exact shade. You didn’t like it. You wondered if it was on purpose or just a coincidence but you figured that nothing about this person was a coincidence. They knew everything about you from who you were to the reason you came to Snezhnaya, a secret that you thought had been kept safely between you and your grandfather. 

Your eyes turned to the window, catching a rather fancy looking carriage making its way down the stone road in the direction of the inn you were staying at. You figured that was going to be him--whoever the aristocrat was that the masked person had said would be bringing you to the event.

How?

The events were invite only, strictly moderated, how this person had managed to get you in was a mystery. You didn’t know what to expect--you didn’t know how many people would be there nor did you know if all of the Harbingers would be attending. You assumed that they would so you could prepare for the worst case scenario but you hoped that they didn’t. 

You didn’t know much about the Fatui Harbingers, just what your grandfather had learned from one of the few networks of intel he had access to that weaved through Snezhnaya. There were eleven of them, but only ten were active--ranked by strength, they struck fear and awe in the hearts of their subordinates. There were rumors that some of the higher ranked ones could rival even the Archons in power. Your grandfather warned you of a few before you left for the north: the Doctor, the Balladeer, the Fair Lady and the Friar, all brutal and dangerous and unforgiving, should they learn of your plans in the north, you would quickly find yourself a fallen pawn in whatever game of chess they were playing against the rest of Teyvat. 

You thought your best bet might lay with the Regrator. Evidently, he was the most recently promoted Harbinger of the active ten and focused more on the economy and politics than anything else… or so was assumed, at least. Snezhnaya had prospered since his promotion--the creation of the Northland Bank and its expansion across Teyvat had catapulted Snezhnaya to match the wealth of Liyue, they were even trying to set one up in Fontaine but were failing miserably. You were sure he was just as cruel and vicious as the rest of them but you thought that at least you wouldn’t be dealing with unfamiliar topics.

How you were going to ensure that you were placed with him… or even placed at all instead of being killed on sight, you didn’t know. You figured that was something important to know before you stepped foot in Zapolyarny Palace but you excused the lack of preparation by telling yourself there was no way for you to prepare for something when you didn’t know what to expect. You would figure out the plan as soon as you got there and knew who was there, what the event was for, and what you could do to ensure your survival and success. 

Your head hurt but the carriage had come to a stop at the steps of the inn you were staying at and you knew you had to get moving. You let out another heavy breath as you took one last look in the mirror before making your way out of your room and down the steps of the inn.

You gave a soft smile to the elderly man working the front desk as you made your way through the wide lobby, hesitating only for a second when you saw a tall figure ducking out from inside of the carriage. Swallowing thickly, you pushed the doors open, wincing at brisk air stinging your face as soon as you stepped outside. 

A brown head of hair whipped around at the sound of the doors shutting behind you, an awkward smile pulled at the lips of your date for the night, warm brown eyes focusing on you, “Hello,” he said, his voice was a bit hesitant and nervous, holding his hand out toward you. “I’m Artem.”

You placed your hand in his, watching as he bent his head down to press a chaste kiss to your knuckles, “I’m-”

“I know who you are,” Artem interrupted, then flushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, they… already told me who you were.”

They, you repeated silently as a particularly harsh wind swept through the city, the streets eerily silent. 

“They…” you murmured to yourself but Artem suddenly looked nervous, brown eyes flitting around before he motioned for you to join him in the carriage. You inhaled the bitterly cold air as you stepped forward, taking his hand as he helped you up into the carriage before following you in, shutting the dark door behind the two of you. 

“You shouldn’t talk about stuff out in the open,” Artem said quietly. “There are always people listening.”

Great, you thought to yourself, gaze twisting around outside. The streets were barren but even you knew there was something off about this city that you couldn’t quite place. For a moment, you caught sight of a figure standing in the window of one of the apartments across the street. You couldn’t make out their features against the backlight but you knew their eyes were directed toward the carriage. 

You’d been in the city for two days now and it felt eerily similar to the streets of Fontaine. You didn’t often leave the palace of the Hydro Archon, everything you needed was within it: food, water, libraries, the gardens, but every once in a while, you would escape to go watch a show at one of the theaters. The Hydro Archon liked to keep the nobles of the nation ignorant to the perils of the rest of the civilians and it worked when you were in the ivory tower of the palace but when you were down in the streets, it was impossible to miss how the civilians were on edge, eyes constantly darting around in an anxious panic. There were eyes everywhere--in every window, in every alley, in every corner and crevice and no matter how aware you were of them, there was no hiding from them. 

Snezhnaya City was just like that. 

Oppressive. Tense. Heavy. Cold beyond just the air around you. But unlike Fontaine, Snezhnaya was not your home. Your name and title held no weight in this city and the threat of the Fatui and what they could do to you weighed on you like the sky had fallen. 

“What is this event?” you finally asked, fingers playing with the fabric of your dress as you watched Artem from the corner of your eye. 

“They’re filling the last spot,” Artem responded, staring ahead. He didn’t look excited or pleased and you couldn’t help but wonder what the political climate was like here, the relationship between the Snezhnayan aristocrats and the Cryo Archon and her followers--maybe it was something you could use to your advantage… or maybe it would be something that would just damn you even further, showing up with one of them. “For the Harbingers, they’re promoting someone to fill the Eleventh seat.”

Oh, you realized what exactly he meant by filling the last spot, an intense dread sweeping through you because that meant that yes, all of the other Harbingers would likely be there. Instead of dwelling on the subject, you said, “You don’t seem too happy about that.”

Artem turned his head to look at you, evaluating you carefully before shaking his head, “What’s there to be happy about?” he asked dryly. “The stronger they get, the weaker my family gets.”

They’re not united, you realized, and they’re not afraid to admit it. 

That was interesting. Artem’s face didn’t twist in regret after he said that nor did he look ashamed, if anything he looked resentful… but then doubt began to stir. If the Fatui knew about the dissent, why would they invite them to their elite events?

“They let you guys into their events knowing… that?” you asked, side-eyeing Artem, wondering if you had dug yourself a bigger hole by showing up with him.

“They don’t know all of it,” Artem said, “and even if they did, it’s more of an intimidation tactic than anything else. They bring us there to show us their strength, scare us into submission. That’s all it’s about.”

“All of it as in?” you pushed, figuring that if he was going to be so open with information, that you might as well get as much as you can so you knew exactly what you were walking into.

Artem gave you a look as if you should know what he meant. “They think that the Triglav was the only organization we had to fall back on--the Regrator tore it apart a few years ago.”

Why are you telling me all of this? You wanted to ask, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Brown eyes met yours at the silent question, he knew what you were asking. 

“They told me who you were,” he said again, except this time, you felt a bit more cold, realizing he knew more than just your name. “I figure they want you to fumble around in the Snezhnayan courts for their amusement but it’ll get you killed--I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?” you questioned. You didn’t know if you could trust him or believe his words and you felt so damn alone and lost that a part of you wanted to jump out of the carriage and flee back to Fontaine--you didn’t know what you were thinking, you were a damn noble girl not some secret agent, super spy who could successfully infiltrate one of the most dangerous organizations in all of Teyvat.

“You want the same thing as I do, don’t you?” was all Artem responded with. “No one knows what they want, what their goal is or anything, but they promised to restore the aristocracy and to do that, the Fatui needs to be weakened… so I figure the more people working for this, the better.”

Your nose wrinkled, “You aligned with these people without even knowing who they are or what they want?” you asked in disbelief.

“Didn’t you?” Artem countered sharply.

You felt hot, called out for your hypocrisy, “That’s not the same. I was desperate.”

“So are we,” Artem said, lips pressed together as he turned away. 

The carriage was approaching the palace, as large as the one back home in Fontaine and just as magnificent. Where the one in Fontaine City was lined with gold, stunning beneath the rare show of the sun, Zapolyarny Palace glittered white beneath the moonlight, like a million diamonds coated the surface--beautiful, but possibly the most daunting sight you’d ever come across. The sky that weighed on you tripled in weight, you thought you might throw up. 

“What should I expect in there?” you asked quietly, breaking the sudden tension between the two of you. You figured it was not the best idea to antagonize your one ally in this place. 

Artem sighed, looking back over at you, “Just stay by me,” he said. “Of all the aristocratic families in Snezhnaya, mine is one that’s heavily aligned with the Fatui… at least in their eyes. We’ll probably have a few of their more important subordinates coming over to talk to us but the Harbingers will be focused on the more antagonistic families to make sure they don’t pull anything. We’ll keep away from them and hopefully, keep their attention off of us. As long as we skate by without having to deal with any of the Harbingers, we’ll be good… I’ll try to find some opportunities for you to slip away and do what you need to do.”

What I need to do, it echoed in your head. The palace was right before you and you still had no idea what you needed to do to prove your stepfather’s hand in your father’s death. You had to find evidence. But how? You figured that there weren’t a lot of Fatui spies in Fontaine--too many would draw too much attention, it would be easier to just have one embedded deep in the courts… which would make it an important, covert operation. They had to have records of that somewhere. 

“Do you know what each of the Harbingers do?” you asked.

“Like what they oversee?” Artem questioned, brows furrowed, you nodded. “Vaguely.”

“Intel?”

“Internal intel? I’d say the Regrator or the Rooster. External? The Knave, the Marionette and the Friar all deal with it, as far as I’m aware.”

You went quiet, letting out a shaky breath at his words. Three different Harbingers who could be overseeing your stepfather in Fontaine--the Fourth, the Seventh, or the Tenth. You shut your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. The palace would be crawling with Fatui operatives, how the hell were you supposed to sneak through them all and figure out where the information might be. 

Instead of letting yourself become riddled with anxiety, you asked the last question that had been weighing on your mind.

“How don’t the Fatui know about these people?” you asked quietly. “I figured they knew everything that goes on in Snezhnaya, you’d think an organization with this much influence…”

Unless there’s someone hiding it from the inside? But what were the chances of that?

“I don’t know,” Artem admitted. “Maybe they do and we’re all just getting played, or maybe the Harbingers are blind to a rat right beneath their noses.”

“You could do something beyond just standing there,” a cold, dry voice said from behind him. 

Dottore didn’t even bother to turn around and face her, instead watching the scene before him carefully. The aristocrats had been steadily arriving for an hour, filling up the ballroom, mingling with one another. Most kept a wide berth from the Fatui who had come out for the event. It was the largest event the Fatui had hosted in decades, twice as big as Pantalone’s promotion because it was signaling the completion of the upper echelon, the start of what would be the final preparations for war.

“I don’t see you rushing to join in the celebrations,” Dottore responded, gaze finally shifting from the wide double doors to Arlecchino, who had come to stand next to him, arms crossed against her chest as she watched Columbina’s fingers fly across the piano.

“I plan to,” Arlecchino told him, “I have a feeling tonight's going to be more interesting than we think.”

Dottore eyed her carefully as he digested the cryptic comment, trying to figure out what exactly she meant, before simply saying, “I hope so, at least then it will be an entertaining waste of my time.”

Arlecchino only let out a huff of laughter, but there was no amusement behind the action, “What do you think of the boy taking the Eleventh Seat?”

“He’s a child.” Dottore waved off the question, he cared not for the boy. 

Capitano evidently saw potential in him but Dottore only saw an unpredictability that they shouldn’t be risking this close to the beginning of their real purpose. He only advocated for him because he thought he would get the chance to study him but Pulcinella was being careful to make sure that he was never in the capital long enough for Dottore to get to him. The only boon that came along with promoting him was that he was eager to please, willing to take on the jobs that none of the rest of them wanted to deal with as a means to prove himself.     

“Then his moniker is fitting,” this time there was a scathing sort of amusement in her tone, “but even a blind man could make that observation. I asked you for your opinion of him.”

Dottore’s lip twitched in irritation. “That is my opinion of him,” he said coolly. “He is a child. He is immature and foolish, abuses the technique he learned while in the Abyss. He will die soon because of it. I would like to run some tests on him before then but I suppose life isn’t particularly necessary for them anyway… just more convenient.”

Arlecchino scoffed. “All you care about is your research, hm? Not even a hint of concern for those whom you call comrades?”

Dottore leveled his gaze on her. “No,” he said firmly, “and do not pretend as if you do. We both have seen what lies beneath that false face of yours.”

Arlecchino smiled, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the ballroom, “Fair enough.” 

“Don’t you have something better to do than bother me, Knave?” Dottore asked, a sardonic tone seeping into his words as he continued, “like to go fetch your pet before he makes an embarrassment of us again.”

He turned his attention back to the ballroom floor, pointedly looking in the direction of Brighella, busy trying to woo the daughter of one of the aristocratic families who was giving Pantalone a hard time. 

“Speaking of pets,” Arlecchino said, a mocking tone to her voice that Dottore didn’t quite like, “do you plan on getting rid of yours because of his failure to get you the funding you wanted? … I overheard your conversation with the Jester the other day, shame to hear about how poorly all of your projects are going.”

Beneath his mask, Dottore’s eyes hardened, turning his head to the side to look at Arlecchino again. He wasn’t sure what he was more annoyed by: the fact that she had listened in on his conversation with Pierro and he hadn’t even noticed or the fact that she was making a dig at his research.

“Not quite as poorly as the decline of the House of the Hearth. How many of your orphans have gone missing in the past few years again?” Dottore countered lowly, watching as Arlecchino’s eyes flashed with fury for just a moment, needling right through her cold mask.

It wasn’t even like his research was going poorly. It was just the typical pattern of adjusting to failures to find the right set of combinations to perfect the formula. Pierro was just impatient because he did not want to send three of the Eleven out to their missions with delusions that were still sapping their vitality. He had made enough progress so that they were no longer life-threatening with significant use, and as far as he was aware, the Balladeer was going to bring the old, faulty delusions down to Inazuma once Arlecchino’s agents wove their web through the Commissions. 

Dottore didn’t even understand why this was all necessary, frowning again as he looked out at the aristocrats. Pantalone had already torn the Triglav apart at its seams and the aristocrats were floundering with no shield to protect them from the Fatui. There was not much consolidation of power left to do in Snezhnaya. If anything, this was just excessive—making sure they knew just how strong the Fatui was so that they didn’t get any bright ideas when they began to focus on obtaining the Gnoses. 

“I have the House of the Hearth under control,” Arlecchino said, voice icy. “Can you say the same about your segments?”

Dottore smiled thinly, “Yes.” 

Especially now that he had finally made contact with her. If he had known that the barest conversation with her would lead to even the Theta segment doing as he asked with little pushback, maybe he would have reached out sooner.

Maybe.

An odd feeling settled in his chest as his thoughts fell to her again. He didn’t like thinking about her for too long but he hadn’t heard anything from her since that night Rho lost her. He knew she wasn’t dead, the thread still hung from his finger and the mark between his shoulder blades was still a bright purple. He wondered if she was just ignoring him or if there was something else going on. He had tried to look into it but hadn’t been able to find any previous examples of something interfering with a bond… which led him to believe that she was ignoring him, maybe as payback for all of the years he went ignoring her. 

Either way, he didn’t like it.

Arlecchino abruptly stepped forward next to him, eyes narrowed. Dottore followed her gaze, eyes falling on the livid expression that Sandrone wore as she spoke to Capitano, standing near the piano Columbina was playing at, motioning in the direction of the double doors of the ballroom. Dottore tried to figure out what had her so angry but nothing stood out--Scaramouche was nowhere to be found and usually he was the one to set her in a foul mood by insulting her automatons, otherwise it wasn’t often that her temper was set off because she simply did not care for anything else. 

Arlecchino immediately set off in their direction and Dottore, curiosity piqued and hoping to make the night pass faster but entertaining himself with whatever had Sandrone set off, followed after, watching in amusement as their subordinates and the few aristocrats who had crossed the floor to intermingle scattered at their approach. 

Capitano raised his head once he caught sight of the two of them, motioning them over. Sandrone pressed her lips together, staying silent until they were close enough to hear what they were talking about. Columbina’s fingers still flew across the keys of the piano, focused on the sonata, but Dottore knew she was listening too: there was a soft smile gracing her face, one that screamed amusement and not the mere enjoyment that came with playing the instrument. Dottore thought that if Columbina was amused by something, then it might spell trouble for all of them, the eerie comment she made about his soulmate a few months back suddenly ringing through his head. 

I would like to meet her when she gets here.

Dottore felt unsettled, raising his head to look out across the ballroom floor to look for something but he didn’t even know what he was looking for. All it took was Sandrone opening her mouth once, and the entire world around him froze and shattered.

“One of the aristocrats brought one of the Hydro Archon’s dogs to our event as his date,” she spat out. “This needs to be handled now.”

There were eyes on you. 

You didn’t dare to turn to look so you could figure out who was watching you, the last thing you wanted to do was bring more attention to yourself but you couldn’t smother the growing anxiety. You kept your back to them, feigning interest in whatever conversation Artem was having with one of his cousins so that they didn’t know you were aware of their scrutiny even though every inch of you itched to look behind you. 

The ballroom was packed to the brim, you thought that every aristocrat in Snezhnaya must be attending this event. It almost reminded you of the balls back home in Fontaine City. The paintings lining the walls were stunning and the ornaments glittered prettily beneath the dim lighting. No one had made their way to the smooth hardwood floor to dance yet despite the quintet of musicians playing in the corner of the room, a beautiful symphony that was not quite harmonious with the eerie piano being played somewhere behind you. 

If you weren’t so nervous, you might be able to appreciate the beauty of it… but Fatui lined the room--agents and mages and captains, they were unarmed as far as you could tell but you had a feeling that could change in a moment’s notice. 

You felt trapped, like a cornered animal.

There was no way for you to slip away, not when you were being watched and not when the Fatui seemed to be guarding each and every exit. Everything was crumbling around you and you had only been there for a half hour. You tried to calm yourself down, force yourself to think and figure out a plan but every time you tried to do that, you were interrupted by some Snezhnayan noble who wanted to greet Artem. 

What did you expect? You spat at yourself angrily. For the Fatui to leave holes in their defenses right at their heart? For you to just walk right in and be given the information you wanted by your stepfather’s superior?

You would leave empty-handed at this rate--the one opportunity handed to you on a silver platter slipping away like water between your fingers. You had to figure out what to do now because there was nothing you could do if you left the palace without the evidence you needed. Zapolyarny Palace was impenetrable, everyone you had come across had made that clear, you would not get another chance like this. This was your easy way into the palace but what could you do? Even if you managed to slip past the guards into the hall, making an excuse to use the bathroom or freshen up, it didn’t change the fact that somehow, you had already drawn attention to yourself. 

How? What had it been? 

You had not made any sort of scene. You were not overdressed or underdressed, nor did your colors stand out. There were people dressed in bright red gowns, different shades of purple and blue and green, blacks and whites. Artem was not from a contentious family so there was no reason for him to have drawn attention. 

What had done it? Was Artem unaware of some conflict between his family and the Fatui? Or was it something else…  

Did someone know who you were?

You felt a bit sick at the thought, smile faltering as your grip on Artem’s forearm tightened. You noticed him cast a brief, worried glance down at you but you were too preoccupied to reassure him that you were okay. 

Did someone know who you were? 

The question echoed through your head over and over again and you realized, slowly, that it was very, very possible and it was something that you had not even considered could be an issue. Your stepfather shouldn’t know where you were going, you hadn’t even confirmed to your mother that you were leaving for Snezhnaya--you had insisted it was Mondstadt--but if he had taken a picture of you and sent it to his superior in Snezhnaya as intel he was passing along about your family and they recognized you when you walked through those doors with Artem…

Suddenly, the urge to turn around and pinpoint who was watching you skyrocketed because if it were true, then that was how you were going to know which Harbinger was supervising your stepfather’s mission--the first step in finding the evidence. 

You let out a quiet breath, about to turn your head to the side just a bit to see if you could catch a glimpse of whoever was staring at you but before you could, a hand brushed your forearm. You masked the irritation you felt as you turned your attention back to Sonia, Artem’s cousin’s wife. She smiled at you, brushing her dark hair over her shoulder as she asked:

“So how did you and Artem meet?”

You smiled, leaning into the man and looking up at him, hoping that the gesture came across more adoring than the brief spike of panic you felt. The two of you had intended on going for a simple story: you had met while on the Snezhnaya-Fontaine border and instantly fell for one another, love at first sight, a classic romance… but now you weren’t sure if admitting that you were from Fontaine was the best course of action. Artem was confused, you could see the glimmer in his eyes as he smiled down at you, and you didn’t know what to do. 

The split second that had passed since Sonia’s question felt like eternity and finally you responded with a soft laugh, “We met on the border between Snezhnaya and Fontaine. I had gone a bit north to find a nice present for my siblings, their birthday is coming up. I ran into him while shopping and he helped me find the perfect gift. I thought all of those romance books were exaggerating when they talked about love at first sight but I became a victim of it just like that.”

You were only half listening as Sonia cooed and leaned into Artem’s cousin, talking about how the two of them met at a seaside village in western Snezhnaya. You decided that going with the original story was for the best. If, by chance, the Harbingers did happen to know that you were a noble from Fontaine already then it would only draw more suspicion if it got around to them that you were claiming to be a Snezhnayan commoner or even from another foreign nation.

So many ifs. You hated uncertainty. 

Lost in thoughts, you were only drawn back to reality as your forearm stung--the telltale sign that your soulmate was reaching out, again. Your lips pressed together in annoyance. 

He had been persistent the past two weeks. Every day, he would ask where you were and what had happened but even if you wanted to, there was no way of telling him where you were--he should know that--but the thing was, you didn’t want to. You thought that he had no right suddenly caring about where you were and if you were okay and you were mad at yourself for giving in and responding when you were hurt. He went twenty years ignoring you when you tried over and over and over again just to get to know him, the person that Celestia had tied you with, and he constantly disregarded and even rebuffed you. 

You had never heard of someone being rejected by their soulmate until yours had rejected you. It was humiliating, even if only the two of you were aware of what had been said, but more than that it hurt. You dedicated years to him, your whole life was centered around him from having to hide the fact that you had a soulmate to the years you spent in libraries trying to understand him in hopes that it would somehow make him care about your existence, years that you could have spent with your father.

You looked down as discreetly as you could, reading the scratchy words painted on your forearm: 

Where are you?

You barely withheld the roll of your eyes as you turned your gaze back up to Sonia, smiling as she laughed at whatever Artem’s cousin had said. 

Artem looked as if he was about to speak up but before he could, there was a sharp rap of metal against glass from the front of the room. Instantly, conversation silenced and all heads turned in the direction of the noise--finally, you could turn to see who was staring at you but it was too late; whoever they were, they had already looked away. 

“We are here today to officially announce the occupation of the Eleventh Seat,” a low, male voice announced. Your eyes shifted to him--half of his face was covered by a black mask, white hair long and slicked back--you weren’t sure who he was, you hadn’t been given descriptions of the Harbingers, but you figured he was high ranking if he was making this announcement.

“The Jester,” Artem said under his breath. Your eyes widened just a bit. The Jester, you recognized, the leader. “The rest are…”

All around him, you finished silently, your throat closing up as you caught sight of the daunting figures standing around the stage at the front of the room. You didn’t have to know what they looked like to know who they were, their presence and way they held themselves was evidence enough. An unnerving woman with long black and pink hair leaning on the piano, a man wearing a helmet where the face appeared to be an endless void, a woman with an empty expression, silver hair and a blade strapped to her side and…

“A recruit who has proven himself time and time again: felling our enemies without question when we were faced with the threat of a Natlan tribe on the southern border, protecting our people when the Great Wyvern of the northern caverns awoke from its slumber to terrorize our villages, and defending our integrity when called into question by the former Duke of Costesov…”

The Jester was still talking but your gaze had focused in on a familiar man standing off to the side, a bit aways from the small group at the piano--masked and with wavy blue hair, the Fatui subordinates in the area kept a wide distance from him. 

It was him, you realized, a cold feeling settling over you, the man who had attacked the inn you had been staying at. 

It was her. His soulmate. 

Dottore was barely able to mask the torrent of emotions tearing through him. He had known it even before he reached out to her to confirm it, watching her look down at her forearm as soon as he had asked her where she was, and he didn’t know what to think, or do, for that matter.

Around him, the other Harbingers were still talking amongst each other--Arlecchino making snide comments and Sandrone’s letting loose livid remarks about the sheer audacity the Hydro Archon had to a spy so blatantly to their main base. They were talking about handling her and Dottore knew very well that the only way the Fatui knew how to handle things was by getting rid of them. 

Getting rid of her. He couldn’t let that happen--he didn’t know how it would affect him and… Something unfamiliar and uncomfortable tugged hard at his chest as his eyes fell back on the girl in the purple dress, watching as she leaned into a boy from one of the Snezhnayan noble families, listening to Pierro’s speech. This was why he didn’t like thinking about her for too long but now he didn’t really have a choice.

“How are you so sure that she’s a noble from Fontaine?” Dottore asked, cutting off Arlecchino mid-sentence as he looked at Sandrone. 

Sandrone’s lip curled up, not even bothering to hide the irritation and disgust as she spared Dottore half a glance. “I’d recognize a member of the five families anywhere,” Sandrone said coldly, nose turned up at him. “I was born into one of them.”

That’s right, Dottore remembered vaguely. Sandrone had come from Fontaine. The Harbingers had long given up their names and old lives, they rarely mentioned their pasts--he wasn’t even sure some of them remembered their pasts, he sent a short look toward Capitano at the thought. 

“She’s part of the third family, the one that controls the prisons. You know what her family’s talent is?” Sandrone asked sharply, looking back in the direction of his soulmate. “They learned to utilize their hydro vision in a way that lets them twist up peoples’ insides. They usually use it for interrogation but do you know what else it can be used for?”

The third family. Dottore knew enough about Fontaine’s structure to know what that meant: Fontaine had five aristocratic families that were held above the rest, each one of them controlling one of the five main institutions of the nation. No wonder she had to hide her mark. 

“Assassinations,” Capitano finished, voice low. 

Dottore scoffed loudly. “Her?” he asked dryly, nodding in the direction of his soulmate, dismissing their deductions instantly. “An assassin? She looks like a newborn deer, not a killer.”

She did, Dottore noted offhandedly, eyes drawing back to her for just a moment. She was trying to hide her anxiety and she was doing a good job at it but every now and then, she slipped up, hands shaking just a bit more than they should, tongue darting out to wet her lips as she looked around. Dottore thought a bit of fondness might’ve been stirring the longer he looked at her so he immediately looked away and quashed it, forcing his attention back to the other Harbingers. 

“Appearances can be deceiving, Dottore,” Capitano said quietly. 

Not hers, Dottore wanted to spit right back—the girl that spent hours on end trying to talk to him and get to know him, undeterred by his lack of response, was no damn killer but he had no way of explaining that to them without admitting who she was to him and he simply refused to open up that weakness to them.

What should he do? He had to interfere but he didn’t know how to do that without making them question why he was stepping in. Dottore cared for nothing but his research--if this was any other person, Dottore wouldn’t have even bothered to give input into the conversation and he was sure that he was already making them suspicious.

“Whether she’s a threat or not, this has to be handled quickly,” Capitano finally said and Dottore felt cold, mind racing to piece together a plan but nothing was feasible. “We can’t afford to risk anything, not here and not now.”

Dottore’s anxiety began to shift into anger the more he dwelled on it and realized that he was backed into a corner because of her, wondering just how stupid his soulmate was showing up to this event on the arm of some random aristocrat. Livid, his gaze shifted to the side again, watching as she leaned into the man’s arm and smiled up at him.

Betrothed, Dottore suddenly remembered one of the things he had recalled from one of the dreams he had of her life. Is this…

“Who is the man she is with?” he interrupted abruptly, voice tense.

“Artem Melnyk,” a new voice said from behind him, Dottore glanced over his shoulder as Pantalone came to stand next to him. “I take it you all are discussing our unexpected, foreign guest.”

Pantalone looked at Dottore as if he knew exactly who she was--maybe he did, Dottore didn’t know if that was for better or for worse. He felt like a cornered animal, ready to lash out at the first perceived attack.

“He will have to be handled,” Dottore said tightly. “I’ll deal with that.”

Dottore thought he would enjoy having this particular new subject in his labs.

“The more pressing matter is the girl,” Sandrone spat out, her one-track mind stuck on Dottore’s soulmate. “She needs to be taken out.”

Dottore thought this might be it, he was about to lash out, but before he could, Pantalone raised his eyebrows. “A bit rash, no?” he asked, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “How will that make us look? Executing a foreign noble for no good reason besides attending a ball with her lover?” 

Lover, Dottore was appalled, turning his head to look at Pantalone. Pantalone, evidently, was incredibly entertained by the situation, smile widening just a bit as Dottore looked at him, making him feel as if he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“What do you suggest we do then, Regrator?” Capitano questioned. He did not sound half as amused as Pantalone did.

“Send someone out there to feel her out,” Pantalone said as if it were obvious. His voice took on a more exasperated tone as he continued, “Snezhnaya is in such a poor diplomatic position already specifically because you all tend to kill first, ask questions later. Have we not been trying to rectify that? In what world is killing her the best course of action?” 

Sandrone did not look happy, lips pressed together tight, and Pantalone was looking at Dottore, violet eyes expectant as if he was waiting for Dottore to offer to be the one to go talk to her. Dread began to build in his stomach again, realizing that if he went to go talk to her, it would be the end. All of the time he had spent ensuring they would never meet, all of the years he was working severing the bond, it would all be for naught.

“Fine,” Arlecchino said before Dottore could open his mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Dottore didn’t speak as he turned to look at Arlecchino, barely catching the frustrated look in Pantalone’s eyes. Arlecchino was staring right at him, the red x’s in her eyes boring right into him as if she knew something that she shouldn’t, expression cold and unreadable. 

Dottore suddenly felt as if he had made a mistake not speaking up immediately.

Just as Arlecchino moved to make her way to his soulmate, Columbina finally spoke up, long, pale fingers wrapping around Arlecchino’s wrist. “No,” she said. “The Doctor will handle it. You promised to play a song with me.”

Dottore thought he liked that even less than Arlecchino’s immediate offer to speak to her but he wasn’t going to give the Knave any time to argue with Columbina, scoffing as he took the opportunity to turn on his heel and walk in the direction of his soulmate and her date. 

Pierro’s speech had ended and the musicians were picking up the volume of their piece--soon, couples would make their way out to the ballroom floor to dance but for now, they parted as he crossed the hardwood floor, giving him a wide berth as he walked directly to her. 

What was he going to do? 

He wondered if this was her plan all along, if she had somehow figured out who he was and what he was a part of so she could throw herself into a dangerous situation and he’d be forced to act. Not for the first time, Dottore felt like he was being played as a puppet except now he didn’t know if it was Celestia holding the strings or her. He had half a mind to let her deal with the consequences of her own actions, let her face one of the other Harbingers and try to convince them she was no threat, but he couldn’t risk letting anything happen to her because it would affect him. 

He would have to make sure she knew who he was to her. The last thing he needed was her making a scene if she realized it mid-conversation, assuming she didn’t know already. 

She was oblivious to his approach, back turned to him as she talked with Artem Melnyk, but he was not as oblivious. He caught sight of Dottore over her shoulder, expression shifting into one of fear—something that ordinarily would have had him amused but now, just as for the past half an hour, he could only focus on her. 

She turned as she noticed Artem’s change in attitude and Dottore wasn’t sure what he was expecting but he wasn’t expecting the anger that followed the confused expression on her face, eyebrows knit together as she stared at him, a hint of anxiety painted in the rage but just that, only a hint. 

No recognition and no familiarity--not a type that signaled that she knew she was meeting her soulmate, at least.

Dottore wondered if that meant she had no idea who he was to her and if that was the case, what the hell was she doing there?

For the first time, Dottore’s eyes traced his soulmate’s face. He couldn’t help but notice that even with the anger, her eyes were still gentle and her expression was still soft. You don’t belong here, he wanted to say, not in this place and not with me, but instead, he only held his right hand out to her and watched, waiting for her to take his hand and finally take notice of the thread that connected the two of them.

She hesitated only for a second as she glanced down at his hand, placing her own in it and Dottore watched the double-take, the way her eyes widened just a bit as she looked down at their connected hands, at the thread connected to his thumb that she could see. His grip tightened just enough to force her attention back to his face before she could make a scene. 

There was still anger as she looked up at him again but it was diluted beneath a type of astonished adoration that had never before been directed his way. He knew it was just the shock of finally meeting him and that the anger would return when she remembered the years he went ignoring her but it didn't mitigate the unwelcome feeling rising in his gut. He wanted to look away, uncomfortable under the affectionate gaze and uncomfortable even just touching her because he knew deep down that it felt right and he refused to give into this bond. 

He refused to play Celestia’s game. 

He leaned down to brush his lips against her knuckles, “Dance with me?” he murmured, loud enough just for her to hear. 

He figured that once people began to flood the dance floor, he would be able to speak with her without as many unwanted ears able to listen in.

“You’re-” she began, breathless and stunned--distastefully, he noticed that Artem was still holding her arm, as if to protect her from him. The thought itself would have amused him in any other circumstance but now it only irritated him even more.

Dottore cut her off, giving her a thin smile: “The Doctor, Second of the Fatui Harbingers.”

REBLOGS APPRECIATED

[raeofsunrise]

skate to me

pairing: clapton davis x gn!reader

summary: !BASED OFF A REQUEST I FORGOT TO ATTACH THIS TO! clapton was absolutely astonished when he saw that the person who skated right by him in the hallway was right here, next to him, in his science class.

warnings: light cursing, i think?? i’m not fucking sure at this point

word count: 1.0k

author’s note: so sorry it took me like a whole month to get back! 😭this has been crazy ass couple of months, and i just couldn’t get anything out if i tried. i honestly think that i might take a break on writing for clapton and characters like mike, simply because i don’t think i have any motivation to write for them. i don’t wanna let you guys down, but i also don’t wanna write crappy fics, either. i’ll say on a separate post who i’ll be writing for. thanks so much for your guys support! and with that, enjoy ☆

clapton thought he was the only one who skated through the hallways of grizzly lake highschool. it wasn’t like he gatekeeped it or anything, but it was his thing. and everyone knew that.

so when he felt you brush against him in the hallway this morning, he barely got a glimpse of your shoes and purple hoodie before you skated away. it frustrated him—

wait, skated?

he thought he was crazy. he had to have hallucinated those rollerskates. but the sound when you rushed by him, those had to have been rollerskates. but nobody else but him did that. that was his thing. besides his ego being a bit affected, he was more excited than anything. maybe he could make a new friend. he’d never met anyone else who skated, especially at school. but where did you go? no, more importantly, what class were you in? clapton was not famous for being patient, so this would be difficult.

he begrudgingly made his way to science class, upset that he might not see you until passing period, where the hallway would be filled with what felt like thousands upon thousands of people. no way he was gonna see you during that. and if he tried to find you during lunch? he’d definitely look like a total creep. so this was a lose lose situation. he’d never be able to talk to the stranger with the skates.

this made clapton’s walk to class even more frustrating. throughout the whole day, all he could hope for was to hear your skates against the ground. but he didn’t. not once. it was the end of the day, and he was heading to his last class. clapton was just about done with everything when he saw a pair of skates next to a desk. and just above that desk was a purple hoodie. and even more above that was probably the most gorgeous person he’d ever seen.

he was practically just standing and staring in the doorway. of course you weren’t staring back at him, he thought. you were busy listening to music and getting ready for class, getting your notebooks and everything.

clapton didn’t move until another student shoved him out of the way so they couldd get through, muttering something under their breath in the process. clapton couldn’t care less, though. because there was an open seat next to you and what perfect timing was it that he was the only person who hadn’t sat down yet? this coincidence made him believe that maybe there was a god. maybe it was you.

his mood an entire 180 from how it was less than 2 minutes ago, he sat down right next to you, waiting for you to notice him like an excited child.

not noticing someone had sat next to you, you weren’t expecting someone to be right next to you. normally, as far as first days go, people liked to haze the new kid. so someone looking eager to talk to you was not a good sign.

“hi,” you say slowly, going to look at him.

“hey there, gorgeous.” he said. as soon as that came out of his mouth he knew that was a big yikes. (ayo?? 😟)

your eyes widened. what the hell was his problem?

“woah, coming off a little strong there, aren’t we?” you ask.

how could he save this already trainwreck of a conversation? if he could even call it that.

“sorry, don’t know why i said that. i just, uh,”

shit, shit, shit! think of something clapton!

“you skate, right? that’s pretty cool. i do, too.” he held up his skate board.

still suspicious and not at all buying this “no ill-intentions” act, you pull your skates closer to your desk.

“yeah, i do.”

he continues, “well i just thought that since we both skate we could—“

but he was cut off, as class had apparently started while you two were conversing and your teacher was not happy with either of you.

clapton heard the teacher say both of your last names, followed by a very stern “detention!”

this wasn’t anything surprising to him, but one look at you told him that this was not how you were expecting your first day to go.

you rolled your eyes and shot him a dirty look.

“thanks a lot, davis.”

so instead of a trainwreck, his attempt to talk to you was a total and complete fuck-up.

great.

——————

the end of class came painstakingly slow, and he saw you hurrying to head out so you didn’t have to walk to detention with him. i mean, could he blame you. he practically screwed over your entire day.

clapton always took himself as an optimist, so maybe he could still save this. right?

as you put on your skates, unaware that this might land you in even more trouble, you felt someone tap you on your shoulder.

there was nobody else left in the classroom besides you and the person who you did not wanna see. so you turn around, and with no surprise, there was the douche who landed you in detention.

“oh, are you here to get me suspended, too?” you ask.

he couldn’t help but laugh a bit.

“yeah, i deserve that. sorry about all…this, by the way. i really didn’t mean for you to get in trouble.” he said.

damn, you thought. he’s not a bad actor.

you smiled a not-so-friendly smile back at him. “sure, you didn’t.”

you try to skate away and out of the classroom, but he catches up to you on his skateboard.

“no, seriously! i just wanted to talk to you. i’ve never met anyone who also skates, and i just thought you were really cool and pretty and—“

you stopped skating ahead of him a while ago, but he didn’t notice that, so he kept skateboarding right into an open locker’s door.

you let out a laugh that definitely let every teacher in the vicinity know you weren’t where you were supposed to be right now, but you couldn’t help it.

clapton got up, rubbing the side of his face.

you walk up to him and pat him on the cheek.

“okay, i believe you.” you say, crossing your arms afterwards.

he lets out a smile that you’re pretty sure you’re gonna have to get used to.

“anything i can do to make it up to you?” he asks.

you take off your backpack and shove it in his arms.

“carry this for me?” you say.

“that’s the least i can do.”

[229zmi]

MISSION: ACCOMPLISHED

PAIRING: Nagi Seishirō/Reader

CONTENT: holding hands, wingman mikage reo

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

The night of Halloween finds a group of three in your room, underneath the dim glow of your ceiling light.

In one corner, Reo hogs the space in front of your full-length mirror, almost nose-to-nose with his own reflection as he prods at the plastic fangs in his mouth, unsatisfied with how they fit across his teeth like a shoe three sizes too big. His eyebrows look as if they’ve been filled in with black marker by a child learning to colour inside the lines for the first time, and the splotchy white facepaint all across his skin isn’t making things any better.

Despite whatever intentions he may have of impressing people tonight with his DIY costume, you think he looks more unhinged than anything else. More of a jumpscare than a sight to behold, and more clown than vampire, as far as you’re concerned. You whisper your opinions to Nagi, and with a noncommittal nod, he agrees.

Speaking of Nagi, there he is: sprawled on top of your bed, stomach facing down. His head is in his arms, although once in a while, curiosity drives him to peek over his forearms and glance in your general direction, where you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor. With your posture mimicking that of a desk lamp, there’s an expression of concentration on your face that Nagi finds endearing, even though he doesn’t understand why you’re putting so much effort into vandalising a Halloween costume that’s not even yours.

Because in your eyes, simply draping a white sheet of fabric over his head could hardly be considered a costume, so you’ve taken it upon yourself to fix it up a bit with some dry erase marker, drawing in some distorted ovals for eyes and a mouth to make it look a little less… last-minute.

“I’m done,” you declare at the same time Reo does, your purple-haired friend finally turning away from the mirror for the first time in almost two hours. He looks proud of himself.

“How do I look?” Reo wiggles his eyebrows, gaze flitting between his two friends for a response. However, it’s by mere coincidence that Nagi expects you to be the one to respond on the behalf of you two just as you expect him to do the same, so you end up looking off to the side while Nagi shuts his eyes, the both of you purposefully avoiding eye contact with Reo and waiting for the other to say something.

After an agonisingly long minute of silence, you realise what’s going on and internally let out a dramatic groan.

“Reo,” you say finally, “what are you supposed to be?”

Reo frowns, pointing to his fangs. “Can’t you see? And I told you already. I’m a vampire, duh.” He holds his hands up, mimicking claws for some reason. “Rawr, or whatever.”

“Vampires don’t rawr, what the fuck is wrong with you.”

“Then what do they do? Huh? If you’re so genius.”

You grab a pillow from underneath Nagi’s arms, whose face contorts into a frown but he doesn’t say anything else when you proceed to fling it at Reo. You’re aware that him being an athlete sort of comes with quick reflexes and that he’s just allowing you the satisfaction when he lets the pillow hit his face and fall to his lap, but you’d rather believe you caught him off guard this time around.

“I don’t think vampires do that,” Reo says.

With all of your heart, you hope he somehow contracts an allergic reaction from the facepaint he’s using. And his hair falls out from the gallons of gel in it.

Turning to Nagi, you toss the costume over his head.

“What d’ya think?”

“It’s creative,” Nagi comments, with the white fabric obscuring his view. You’ve also taken the artistic liberty of cutting small eye holes into the sheet (with his permission, of course) for him to see out, but he doesn’t bother trying to readjust it, leaving the ghost’s eyes near the top of his head and the mouth somewhere by his left ear.

“Looks great. You really did a lot for his costume,” Reo adds, snickering from the far corner of the room before turning back to the mirror with a pout as he picks at the facepaint, which is now starting to flake off like dandruff. His eyebrows still don’t quite look right.

You shake your head, then scooch closer to the side of your bed. “Sei, you’re supposed to— the black eyes go, you know, where your eyes are. There’s holes so you can see.”

“So much effort just to put my Halloween costume on…” Nagi sighs, and then instead of moving the sheet of fabric around like any sane person would, he uses his arms to lift it up, stopping just above his eyebrows. A pair of ashen eyes centre on you, still sitting cross-legged on the floor as he suddenly drops his hands, letting the fabric drape over your head and shoulders. “Done. I can see now.”

Fighting back an eye roll, you tell him firmly, “No, you cannot.”

“I can see you just fine.”

“Yeah, only me.”

“I’m okay with that.”

You avert eye contact, ignoring the way your face feels tingly with his breath fanning across your skin. “You won’t be okay when you bump into a street lamp or something while trick-or-treating.”

“Hmm…” His expression twists into one of full concentration. Lazily, he grabs another pillow and manoeuvres it so that the side of his face can rest atop it, gazing down at you. “Then you can be my eyes.”

You blink, perplexed by what he means. “Huh.”

“I’ll hold onto your hand, and you can guide me so I don’t bump into or trip over anything,” Nagi suggests, nonchalant as per usual.

“That is—“ You clear your throat, swallowing thickly. You tell yourself: this is normal. Nothing special or unusual or cryptic. There are no other implications behind his words. Do not overthink. (You’re so overthinking it.) “That’s a lot more effort than if you just wear the costume right.”

“Maybe he just wants to hold your hand,” a voice speaks out loud your thoughts, though it sounds less like your subconscious and more like a certain friend— shit, you’ve forgotten that Reo is still in the room. With ears to hear your conversation and eyes to see… “I really hope you two aren’t kissing in there because that’d be real awkward. You could at least have some decency to tell me to leave.”

Upon the realisation that you and Nagi’s current situation could come off as something it’s totally not, you jump away immediately, pulling the sheet off and chucking it away from the both of you as far as you can.

“We were not doing that— shut up,” you splutter. Glowering at him, you latch onto the pillow beneath the Nagi’s head in preparation to throw it at him once again.

“Oh, so you were kissing,” Reo muses with a grin. “You’re all breathless and shit. And Nagi looks like someone just spray-painted his face pink.”

Before you can say anything, Nagi slightly lifts his head off the pillow, and you take that as your signal to hurl it at Reo’s face.

Unfortunately, with some notable prediction and athletic skills, he catches it with one hand. He flashes a smug smile, one that you think will haunt your nightmares for as long as you live, fucked up eyebrows and all.

“Get out.”

“Fine! Fine. I see how it is.” Reo throw his hands up in mock-exasperation, but the way he agrees so easily has you wondering what he’s actually planning. You don’t have to wait long, however, before he reveals it himself:

“Have fun, you two,” he bids by way of a farewell, emphasising the ‘fun’ part by making kissy noises at the air and wrapping his arms around himself to create the illusion of a passionate make-out session as he walks out. The door slams behind him, the loud before the silence that follows after.

You don’t want to look at Nagi. You’re too embarrassed to even move in his vicinity.

“Hey.” You feel a poke in the middle of your shoulder blade. “If Reo’s gone, does that mean we won’t have to go trick-or-treating?”

Considering how Reo, out of the three of you, was the one who wanted to go trick-or-treating the most, you don’t really have an opinion on the matter. Plus, you hadn’t spent that much time on your costume, and neither had Nagi, clearly. “I don’t care either way.”

“Then let’s just stay in and watch a horror movie.” With a satisfied hum, he rolls over onto his back, rummaging with one hand for your laptop that you keep stowed away in one of the drawers of your bedside table.

“It’s in the middle drawer.”

“Thanks.”

After gathering the pillows that you’d thrown at Reo off the floor and placing them back on your bed, you hop into the empty spot right beside him.

A couple minutes into the movie, Nagi speaks up.

“You can hold my hand if you’re scared, by the way.”

You freeze, turning to look at him, but by then, he’s already returned his focus to the screen. This is normal, you try to convince yourself again. He’s just silly like that, it doesn’t mean anything. Figures you find yourself focusing on him more than the actual movie.

(At some point during the movie, a cheap yet convincing enough jumpscare pops up across the screen, and subconsciously, your hand interlocks with his. Nagi’s heart almost drops to his ass, but he thinks nonetheless: mission accomplished.)

[BONUS]

Mikage Reo:

hey you

are you holding [y/n]’s hand yet

i swear if you aren’t… i went trick or treating ALL BY MYSELF just for you two

do you know how #Lame i look dressed in a vampire costume towering over all the other little kids in front of somebody’s house like. Trick or Treat! ^_^

one of the parents asked me if i was too old to be trick or treating T_T

nagi seishirō:

yeah

Mikage Reo:

yeah what

yeah about holding hands or about knowing how lame i look

HELLO?????

read

[delopsia]

Rhett has never really gotten the whole Valentine's thing.

You noticed it the first February you spent together; he'd been tilting his head at the endless pink and red aisles, quietly asking you what the point of it all was. Why give chocolates and plushes on a specific day when you can do it year-round? What's so special about it all?

He says all that as if he doesn't participate in it, too. Bringing you plushes of adorable animals holding little red hearts, sweets and flowers, and anything else that reminded him of you. He may not understand it, but he's not about to let his feelings cause him to miss out on spoiling you with your favorite things.

This year, though, you've got an idea.

With the recent hustle and bustle around the ranch he's working at, Rhett hasn't been home as much as usual. And when he is, those pretty eyes are so damn sleepy that he's got no energy to look around and notice where you've begun stashing things.

A bottle of champagne because every time he sees it in the store, he wonders what it tastes like. Variety chocolates, too many boxes of candy hearts, a bath gift set because he's always bugging you to take a bath together. Chocolate-covered pretzels, cookies, and handmade candies from the little shop that just opened in town. Best of all, you've gotten your hands on a pink masturbation sleeve. So well colored that it practically disappears once you've tucked everything into the basket, tied off with a long red ribbon.

Rhett heads out the door before dawn on Valentine's Day, leaving you with his traditional kiss on the forehead and a small bundle of goodies on the bedside table, ready for you to find them when your eyes open. It's full of all your usual favorites, topped off with an oversized plush of a strawberry cow. He must have kept it hidden in his clothes because when you hug it to your chest, it smells like him.

His eyes were hardly open when he left the house, and they're much of the same when he stumbles through the front door sometime after seven, calling your name as he toes off his boots. The only reason he notices the rose petals and candles scattered across the floor, is because one of his shoes fell off the rack.

He's not entirely sure what to think. Poking at the tiny, battery-powered candles with his foot as he follows the trail you've created for him. Still calling out your name, unsure as to why you have yet to show yourself.

It's the basket that gets him to stop in his tracks. Adorably placed in the center of the bed, right next to your brand-new cow. Virtually silent as he shifts the items inside, a grin sprawling across his face as he takes in all of the things you've gathered for him.

Soft hands appear on his waist, leading the way as your arms wrap around him, "Happy Valentine's Day, cowboy."

"Y' got all this fer me?" He's already toying with one of the chocolates, trying his best to conceal the excitement that rushes through his system.

And so far, he hasn't noticed his new toy.

"Mhm," pressing your lips to the back of his neck.

You knew he would open that bath set first, sleepy eyes flickering between you and the bathroom as if to ask for one more gift. So what if you've already got the water good and warm, ready to go the moment you turn it back on? It's just a coincidence.

It's been a minute since you've watched him peel off his shirt, pale skin bearing a few more bruises than normal. A scattering of blue and purple across his ribs from the unbridled rage of a particularly fussy heifer. Green and yellow spots on his thighs, with an origin he doesn't quite recall, but lets you kiss them regardless.

The water is absurdly pink, and if you'd known there was glitter in this bath bomb, you would have chosen a different set. You'll be sparkling for weeks. But you've already settled into it; Rhett is situating his back against your chest, head resting against yours, and you can't bring yourself to complain. Especially not when he dares to bite into a nondescript chocolate, nose wrinkling as he realizes it's filled with artificial cherry.

"Ain't even the good kind," he grumbles, tossing it toward the trash bin. For once, his aim is perfect.

But his disappointment is short-lived. Cut short by the lips that appear on his naked shoulder, the bad one that never truly recovered from his rodeo wreck. Guiding yourself up the side of his neck, drinking in his pretty groan as his mouth meets with yours, albeit strained from the angle.

Your hands roam across his soft belly, daring to dip down to massage the insides of his thighs, just shy of his rapidly swelling cock. Rubbing up, up, up, to lightly trace your nails across his balls, then back down again. Those eyelashes are fluttering. Breathing a little quicker than he was before.

"Where did...where did you get..." stumbling over his own words, as your hand reaches off to the side and produces that little sleeve. Pale pink, textured on the inside, just opaque enough for you to see through it.

Getting lube on him while in the water is certainly a...process, but Rhett is so damn eager that he hardly seems to notice your struggle.

You know you've made a good decision when his hips buck up, water sloshing as he cries out, so surprised by the feel of this unassuming little toy. One of your hands splays out against his chest, holding him to you, can feel the way his heart jumps when you glide the toy across him again.

"Again," he babbles, pawing at your wrist, still pumping him, "do that, do that—hah!"

It's a wonder the water stays in the bath because he can hardly keep himself still. Squirming and involuntarily kicking his legs, clinging to your wrist one moment and squeezing the edge of the tub the next. Only manages to keep still when he's twisted and turned enough to jam his head into the crook of your neck, panting so heavily that he sounds like he's run a marathon.

You could string it out. Edge him until he can't hold back any longer, but the exhaustion in his bones suggests he can't take any more pushing this week. So when he starts whimpering about being close, begging and begging you to let him cum, you do. Marveling at the sight of his head tilting, eyes falling shut as he cums with a cry that echoes all throughout the house.

By the time you get him into bed, he's as limp as a damn noodle. Struggling to keep himself upright, damn near falling into the sheets the moment he's close enough. The only reason he doesn't fall asleep when his head hits the pillow is because he's too busy waiting for you to settle into his arms.

Then he falls asleep in the middle of his thank you. And maybe he's starting to get the point of this whole Valentine's thing because you wake up to the feeling of him kissing your thighs late in the morning. Smooches punctuated with lazy mutterings about how he wishes Valentine's Day lasted a whole week rather than just one day.

He makes the festivities last for an entire seven days, that's for sure.

[the-hydroxian-artblog]

I love your animatronic toy OC guys so much, they have so much personality to them and their colours are really good (especially umbra)

Thank you! The funny thing about Umbra's design was that while I was developing it about two years ago and had some colors in mind, I described in text what I already came up with to an image generator for fun (shitty unconvincing old kind, vs now where it looks like shit but in a somewhat more convincing way) and it produced something so silly that I made her design better than what I would've settled with out of spite.

More details of my process and anti-AI ranting below the cut, so the examples given won't show up on search results. Google Images is getting polluted too much with slop to begin with.

Let's begin.

In 2022 I was drafting up Umbra's design with mostly concrete details. At this time image generators were newer and much less convincing, and I was a bit less aware of just how unethical they were, so I fed one a text description of what I had drafted for her design out of curiosity. Something along the lines of, "doll of an anthropomorphic owl librarian in glasses, blazer/suit jacket, skirt, corset, high heels, sitting on a bookshelf" and probably a few more terms. Really specific, lengthy prompt.

I try to be open-minded and give new things a shot, but the results were Not Great. Ideally, I'd want to not share the AI pictures at all on-principle, but I feel like it's useful, transparent, and necessary to show them. Both as a means of not hiding anything, but also just to appreciate where the design is at in spite of it.

Outside of this particular collage of Weird Owls, no other pictures on this blog are AI-generated. AI Image Generation is harmful, and I am against its usage.

But hey, two of the generated pictures look close, right? The top left is the closest, and bottom right is second.

That's because they started out worse, and I had to actually erase chunks of them and have the generator fill in the blanks to get anything remotely close to what I wanted. Misshapen limbs, unrecognizable anatomy, fever-dream clothing details, etc. They didn't even have a corset or proper legs until I slapped the generator in the face enough times to make it produce them. I was just using it to photobash, which was such an annoying process, I just went "this is dumb" and stopped. They're literally posed like that because I kept erasing and regnerating their limbs until they looked vaguely in-character. It literally only looks passable thanks to STRANGLING it with human input.

Before I used the image generator, I already drafted her to be night-themed with yellow eyes and something like purple, dark blue, or sky-blue as her main color; the generator making one owl yellow-eyed and purple was a happy coincidence, and the only thing the generative AI "came up with" that I didn't already have in mind or included in the prompt was the light blue shirt, which I did adapt into her cyan shirt and stockings/socks as well. That was a good call. You get One Point, Mr. AI.

...Which still meant that at its absolute best, it was a largely redundant step in the creative process if its contribution was worse than what a randomized palette generator or character creator could come up with.

That's already putting the ethics of it aside, like carbon emissions, data pollution, using artists' and photographers' work without credit or permission, the incentive to plagiarize, flooding sites like deviantart with slop, Willy Wonka Shit, etc etc etc. When people say "you can use AI as a tool though", this ordeal was enough to convince me that it's more trouble than its worth, even in its most ethical usage. I feel gross for having even tried. I wish I knew what sources went into the creation of those Weird Owls. It'd be better for research if the right people could be credited.

Nothing else on this blog is AI-generated or ever will be. The art below is purely my own (2022 vs a few weeks ago)):

Actually drawing Umbra and solidifying her design was far more rewarding than having an image generator vaguely approximate my own ideas. I wanted her to look really special, so I used a black cape and pants, gold highlights and buttons, and blue undertones to make something more distinct. Also, neck floof. Very important. I wanted the head in particular to look distinct and original, going with bold black streaks to really help her look distinguished.

I also have certain inevitable Hydroisms for Fancy characters like her; most apparent in these designs for Chasey and Kaita from even longer ago, which were more of an influence than anything else. (Old art of mine from like 2021, Kaita ref looks wonky but Chasey still holds up nicely):

Most of Umbra's other design elements were already commonly used with established ocs like Kaita, like her shape language, corset, skirt, heels, etc. It was my previous work with Chasey that inspired the use of gold buttons and highlights.

Umbra is also now a bluer shade of purple partly to distance the current design from that ordeal. All things considered, I'll probably make her more indigo next time. I already wanted her to have a wide color range from the get-go (Featured below is, again, purely my art from 2022:)

I may use a different colored shirt and stockings in the future. I like to think she has many different shirts and clothes based on the different stages of the night sky, from dusk to dawn, and the painting I made in the top right there was an exploration of her range in different lighting.

All in all, it's frustrating. I'm proud of her design, but explaining all of this is annoying, because it's technically all relevant to showing how her colors were picked and how the design was made. I still technically have AI to """Thank""", in the way you thank a bad experience for encouraging you to make things better out of spite.

[astarionancuntnin]

Taming a Tempest

summary: oh, to be the Vampire Ascendant's dark consort. to have eternity and enhanced powers right at her finger tips - only to be denied. but two could play this game, and Malva would make Astarion regret witholding anything from her.

rating: E

word count: 3.5k

pairing: ascended astarion x consort malva (oc, evil!sorcerer!tav)

cw: 18+. post-game setting with an "evil" ending, mention of violence/murder, smut, hate sex, vampire sex (blood/bites), bdsm (Master/Pet, teasing, choking, slapping, degradation and praise), semi-public sex, overstimulation, p in v, possessive sex, creampie. full list on ao3

a/n: song inspo was BURY YOU by ari abdul

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

Love.

It was such an alien concept to her. 

A weakness, something to take advantage of, to manipulate. 

A weapon.

Charming people, luring them away, leading them to their demise — for business or for fun, although the two coincided more often than not in her case.

So when Astarion first flirted with Malva, she saw right through his little games, but instead of giving him a taste of what she could do, she decided to play along. After all, he could be a distraction, but one she could afford.

Until it turned out to be more, and she realised she had fallen harder for him than she anticipated, and soon enough he was offering her eternity by his side, as his consort. Obviously, as the promise of everlasting life and uncontested power were all that she desired and more, her choice was clear.

However, after a few years of this, life became dull, and Malva found herself wanting — no, needing, more. She had had as much fun as she desired, killing, torturing, draining, now too. She had risen to the top of the city’s hierarchy, along with Astarion, while the city itself became a shadow of its once glorious self. But it had all become dull, and she wanted more, always more power. 

A routine had settled, and with the rules her Master established to keep a minimum of decency around the palace, she couldn't indulge as much as she would've preferred, and recently, it had become an itch that she urged to scratch. If she was already bored after a measly few years, eternity would be dreary.

“Kill only the targets I assign you, and no matter what, you are forbidden from bedding them.” He had ordered her. “You can seduce them, tease them, even, but I won’t allow anyone to lay their tainted lips on your body. You are mine, and mine only.”

Following this command was simple enough; next to her Master and herself, all her victims were considered lowly people, insignificant. 

Tonight, her Lord organised a soiree of debauchery to share a part of his ever growing army of spawns; those who specialised in pleasures of the flesh. He had repurposed the mansion’s rooms to turn it into a luxurious whorehouse, inviting the remaining power figures in the city — all more corrupt than the last — to establish an alliance.

That’s what he made it out to be, but really, everyone knew this was only meant as a show of power from the Vampire Ascendant. To show everyone else who owned this city, and exactly what their fates could be if they accepted his reign, and make an example of those who were to challenge his authority.

Just like this pretentious Lord who dared to gossip about him and his consort, questioning their position, but it didn't matter; he would be dealt with, just like the others.

Malva was well known across town; the Ascendant’s whore, she had heard, being passed around by the visitors that the vampire Lord deemed worthy. How ignorant of them, how perfectly blind they were to reality.

Her shoulder-length, light purple hair was let down for the night, and she wore a simple eyeliner and mascara, emphasising her soulless, black eyes. Her natural features hid her vampiric nature perfectly, blending in as nothing more than a mean-looking high elf, and Astarion made sure to keep this a secret. The only piece from her ensemble to hide the one proof of her immortality being her neck piece: a dark, thick choker, that hid the otherwise evident bite marks depicting her ownership, with a conveniently placed silver ring in the back of it, barely hidden by her hair.

She made sure to wear one of her most revealing dresses to fit the occasion, one that fit Astarion’s ensemble; a dark, see-through dress, with vines of bright red oleander flowers embroidered onto the long sleeves and bleeding over her chest, barely covering her nipples, knowing anyone who looked at her for too long would get their eyes gouged out by her Lord. A smile crossed her dark lips at the thought.

As Malva scanned the ball room, sitting in display over her Lord’s lap, she found her target: Lord Azarzi. 

He might’ve been considered handsome by mortal standards; with his deep brown eyes, short, wavy hair and a full moustache of the same colour, a bright smile and tanned skin. Faerûn would lose yet another soul tonight.

How tragic. How exquisite.

Through their bond, Astarion felt her delicious hunger for blood.

“Now, now, pet, no need to be hasty.” he purred close to her ear. “Remember what’s at stake; I'll reward you if you're good,” he let go of her waist, pushing her towards the open floor, where the remaining guests waited for an available room. “Now go on, make me proud.”

She always did; seeing her work her way around their enemies was a delightful sight to him, she was his most precious possession, and he loved to see her in action. 

Although Astarion’s rewards were nothing short of delightful, she was dying to know what a punishment would look like.

She had to have her fun one way or the other, and if he wasn’t going to allow it, she would show him that she never asked for permission in the first place.

Her bloodlust naturally guided her next movements, fluidly passing through the crowd as she made her way to her victim of the night.

“Lord Azarzi,” she greeted him, his name gracefully rolling on her tongue. “I'm pleased to see you have accepted our invitation.” 

“Ah, Lady Tavaler,” he reached for her hand, lifting it to give it a light kiss before letting it go. “Of course, I could never refuse an invitation from the mighty Vampire Lord.”

She despised the use of her name, but tried to shrug off its mention, along with the vivid images she had of how long and painful would this man's torturing be. All in due time.

“Call me Malva, please. I don't believe titles are quite necessary for this kind of occasion, don't you think?” She moved closer towards him, her hands finding the front of his shirt, tracing her way down his chest. “Have you had the chance to enjoy our exquisite company yet?”

He shivered under her touch, her sharp, dark nails digging through his shirt, “I'm afraid I haven't yet, no. Your rooms are quite busy, as it turns out.”

She clicked her tongue, “That simply won't do.” She took a hold of his hands, guiding them over her waist where they now laid, and pressed herself into him. “You're our guest of honour, you deserve the best treatment.”

His eyes peered down her dress, where her breast squeezed against his chest, with his hands lowering towards her ass, fully bare under her dress. “Do I now?”

She would enjoy killing him.

Her lips ghosted over the shell of his ear as she whispered, “Absolutely.” 

Her eyes darted towards Astarion, and she smiled wickedly when she noticed the way his hands dug into the armrests at his side, fighting to contain the seething fury within him. 

“Why don’t you follow me into one of our classier suites, reserved for the richest of our guests?” She continued, with her hand dancing around the back of his neck, guiding him into her, “I’ll personally take care of you tonight, if you will have me. Consider it a gift from the Vampire Ascendant, for accepting his invitation.”

He smiled, his brown moustache lifting along his lips, “Well then, who am I to deny the Vampire Lord himself?”

Her dark smile reached her cheeks, keeping her lips closed to hide her fangs, “I was hoping you would say that.”

As she grabbed his hand to carry him away to her special chambers where she guided all her victims, she felt the reach of Astarion’s mind.

“Careful, pet, wouldn’t want me to be jealous, would you?”

“Jealous? Of this meek mortal? My Lord, that doesn’t sound very highly of you,” she answered back through her mind.

“You know how I feel about people touching you, Malva. This is my last warning.”

“And here I thought you were the most powerful being of this city. I wasn’t planning on bedding this man, but maybe I should now. Maybe he’ll show me how a real man fucks and he’ll make me come in ways you never could.”

Oh, she could feel Astarion’s anger even from this distance. Good.

She didn’t make it to the room before she felt the Lord at her back pinning her to the nearest wall, his body pressing against her, rubbing his bulge between the curves of her ass.

“So the rumours were true; the vampire Lord has a whore as a wife…” He chuckled deeply, his hands roaming at the front of her dress, groping her breasts through her dress. “I have to admit, I always wondered how the Ascendant’s witch would feel stretched around my cock.” He breathed hard down her neck, his tongue tracing just below her ear, “Do you wanna find out, doll?”

She tilted her head as an invitation, “I believe I can please you in more interesting ways, my Lord.”

“That so?”

She smiled a toothy grin, “Ways you could only ever dream of.”

He scoffed, pulling back to free her from his hold on her, “Fine, I’ll bite, show me what you can do.”

The irony of his choice of words wasn’t lost on her, as she turned back to face him, unbuttoning his shirt to expose his muscled chest. A shame he had to die really, he had at least some potential.

Pulling back on his rolled down shirt, she guided her head into his neck where she breathed in his essence; pine and charcoal, with hints of citrus. Not the most displeasing, but would he taste the same?

She closed her eyes as she licked along the vein popping from his neck, her next feeding point, and he groaned, “You’ll have to try harder than that to please me, sweetie.”

Just as her tongue licked over her threatening teeth, about to dive her fangs into the delicious vein put on display just for her, she felt him being pushed into her, and when she opened her eyes, she was met with the very face of her Creator.

He twisted the blade into his back before pulling it out to slam it back into him countless times, blinded by his anger, as Malva was sprayed of his coughed up blood, adding a nice shade of red onto her pale, tattooed face and staining her skin through her dress. 

Lord Azarzi, now nothing but a lifeless corpse, sank to his knees before collapsing on the wooden, waxed floor.

“Really? That was a waste of perfectly fine blood,” She grunted as she crossed her arms, dismissing the body at her feet. “Now how am I going to feed tonight? This is as good as rotten.”

“Oh, you don’t get to give me that attitude,” He growled, grabbing her by her throat and pushing her against the same wall she was pinned to moments ago. “Not after teasing me like you did.”

She smiled, flashing her fangs, “I don’t see what you’re talking about.”

“You insolent, little brat,” He tightened his grasp on her neck and her mouth opened up with a gasp. “I’m a lenient Master, giving you liberties and letting you practice your art in the comfort of our own home, and yet here you are, spitting on my generosity.”

“I just followed your orders, Master.”

“Oh no, no, no,” he clicked his tongue. “I ordered you to kill this man, and I had to do it myself, because you decided to play with your food.”

“It’s not my fault you’re an impatient bastard,” she spat out, defying his gaze.

His eyes turned a darker shade of red and Malva knew she had pushed him to his limit.

“That’s it. I’ve had it with you.”

He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a leash he clipped to the back of her collar before yanking on it, sending her to the floor. 

“I think you’re long overdue for a corrective measure, don’t you think, my dear?”

She pulled back against it, pointing towards the remains of the lord she had lured away, “What about my drink? Are you really gonna make me starve?”

“I don’t think you deserve it, frankly,” he sneered.

“Gods, I hate you.”

“Now, now, where are you manners, dear? This isn’t how I trained you, is it?” He pulled her up, grabbing her by her throat. “Is it?”

She hissed through her teeth, “I’m not yours to tame.”

“Let’s see about that.”

He walked her to the nearest chair and bent her over his lap, keeping a tight hold on his leash to have her stand upright.

“Now,” he lifted her dress to reveal her bare ass, “I will give you a slap for each victim you have claimed within these walls.”

As she opened her mouth to speak up he gave another yank on her leash, silencing her. “Don’t you worry, I am a merciful Master; we’ll keep it to the number of souls you’ve claimed just this year. Twenty, was it?”

She tried to turn around to contest his claim, only to be met with a first slap on her ass.

“However, any other words you utter will count as an additional slap, understood?”

“Fuck you.”

Another slap, stronger this time, made her yelp.

“Twenty two, then.”

She gritted her teeth, debating on her next comment.

Slap. “Cat got your tongue, my sweet?” Slap. “Please, I would love to know what you think of me now—” Slap.

She cried, the sting spreading to her thighs.

“Do you still hate me?” Slap. “Do you fucking loathe me?” Slap. “Answer.” Slap.

“Yes!” She shouted. “Yes I do, fuck!”

“In that case, let’s make this more interesting; any sound coming from you will warrant an additional gift from my hand, hm?” Slap. “How’s that sound, darling?” Slap.

She yelped once more, the burning sensation of his palm against her taking her by surprise.

“One more, then.” Slap.

She bit her lip, silencing her moans. 

“That’s better.” Slap. “See how pretty you look on my lap?” Slap. “With your cheeks all red and your pussy all wet?” Slap. “Wet from me punishing you—” Slap. “ — like the little brat you are?” Slap.

“Would this be as fun if I didn’t have control over you, pup?” Slap. “Do you see how silly of you it is to desire anything more than I already have offered you?” Slap. “Don’t you love to be my little whore to put on display?” Slap.

Tears swelled to the corner of her eyes and her fists balled up, nails digging into the soft of her flesh as she held back the cries stuck in her throat.

“You’re doing so good for me, so incredibly well, my love.” Slap. “And look at you, not making any sound at all.” Slap. “Such an obedient little consort, all mine.” Slap.

“Last one now, are you ready? You can speak.”

She breathed hard, taking a moment to utter an answer, “Yes.”

He landed the last slap, harder than all the previous ones, and leaned in to whisper into her ear.

“Say ‘thank you Sir for my punishment’,” he rubbed her ass, bright red from his abuse.

Her mascara ran down her face, mixing in with the dry blood from the corpse laying not too far away.

“Thank you, Sir… for my punishment,” her voice was small and quiet, tamed.

“Now,” he easily dipped two fingers into her drenched pussy. “Do you think you’re ready for your reward, pup?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Get up, and remove my pants.”

Her shaky legs made it hard to stand up, but she followed his orders nonetheless. Removing his trousers, she set his raging erection free, veins popping out and already leaking from his arousal; the sight was both terrifying and incredibly exciting.

“Lift your dress back up and sit on my cock. You’re going to take all my come inside of you, and then we’ll go back to the party, understand? I want everyone to smell me on you. We can’t have people doubting my ownership after seeing you walk away with another man, can we?”

She nodded and did as he asked, straddling him with her hips lowering themselves onto his shaft with ease, and finally allowing herself to moan as she felt his length filling her up.

“Fuuuuuck,” he sank his nails into her hips, pushing her deeper. “You’re perfect my love, so perfect. Keep going for me, you’re doing amazing.”

The echo of their thighs slapping against each other faded with the sounds of pleasure from the neighbouring rooms, and Astarion wanted theirs to be louder.

His thumb found its way over her clit, pushing her closer to the edge as he rubbed circles around it, striking every nerve in her. Her hands grabbed onto the armrests, holding on for dear life as the stimulation became too much and her moans grew louder with each thrust.

“Come on, pet. If you come around my cock I’ll give you a little treat. You love treats, don’t you?” She nodded, words failing her. “Good, now make your Master proud, come for me, and scream as loud as you can.”

When she cried out from her earth shattering climax, it's as if the rest of the world paused around them, and it was only her and him, lost in one another. Every touch, every thrust, was all too much, pleasure blending in with pain as Astarion kept pounding into her.

The sight of Malva losing herself on his lap was almost enough for him to implode, she was only missing a single thing.

“Are you thirsty, my dear?”

She nodded, tears rolling down her defiled cheeks.

“Come here,” he pulled the collar of his shirt aside, giving her an opening. “Drink.”

Without losing another second, she bit down into his exposed neck, and she drank. She drank like he was the oasis in the middle of a desert; parched and ravenous from her stolen meal from earlier, exhausted by how he had used her body.

He grabbed the base of her scalp and pulled her away from him, making sure she didn’t drink too much. He could only allow enough that would satiate her thirst without freeing her from him.

With his forehead pressing against hers, he groaned, ”Say that you're mine. Say that you love me.” 

“I… love you,” her voice trembled.

“Mhmh, that’s right, my sweet. That’s right.”

Whether she knew it or not, ever since he made her his, he guided this dance. Everything she did was carefully thought through by him, knowing exactly how she would react every step of the way. He was the one pulling her in, like a pet on a leash. His pet.

And no matter how much she wanted more power, she couldn’t deny that the pull of his control felt delicious against her neck.

“Now, let's try this again, pup. Who owns you?”

“Y- You.”

He pulled the leash backwards, “Who?”

“You, Master.”

“That's right little love, you're all mine. Even if your dark, stubborn heart thinks it hates me, even if you don't see it, even if you try to deny it, deep down, you love me, because you know I am everything you need.” He breathed hard into her ear, “I’m the only one who understands you, the only one who could truly love you the way you deserve it.”

With one last push of his hips, he came roaring inside of her, filling her to the brim with his thick ropes of warm come. His hands over her waist held her tightly around him, making sure her womb would take every drop of him.

He enraptured her lips with his, kissing her fervently to taste himself on her mouth. When he finally pulled back, they were both panting, “Was I too harsh, love?”

She shook her head, her eyes half-lidded still dizzy from her unbecoming, “No, you were perfect, Astarion.”

It was rare that she used his name, but he allowed it in moments of intimacy like this one. The sound of his name rolled deliciously on her tongue, it was as much a reward for her to say it as it was for him to hear it.

He lifted her to her feet, pulling down her dress to give her a minimum of decency before putting his pants back up, straightening his jacket, and replacing his hair to appear as graceful as he was before taming his consort.

She smiled, linking her arm with his as they walked back to the ballroom, completely enamoured, “I love you, my Lord.”

He smiled back, giving her a quick peck on her cheek, “I love you too, my sweet.”

Was it love? She doesn't know for sure. Maybe some twisted version of it.

Was it passion, in its most depraved and unhinged state, an obsession for one another that would leave this city in ruins? 

Most definitely.

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce @jwera @annnagennnie @angeldarkness95 @marlowethebard @hellethil @frankie-mercury @ariajc79 @ladycroft5245 @lets-just-daydream @pursuitseternal

[a-fuckin-husk]

Husker was in a foul mood. "Grumpy" didn't cut it. From the moment he wandered down into the lobby, he snapped at anybody who dared come near and pressed him for anything more than an early-morning drink—which was no one. Literally nobody drank at 8 AM except for- ANYWAYS! It didn't matter.

Every once and a while, he would glance at the staircase, as if waiting for—

He picked listlessly at his breakfast. He was agitated, hardly paying attention to anything anybody had to say. He even snapped at Alastor, who was so taken aback that he merely narrowed his eyes but, luckily, didn't say anything else. For fuck's sake, he even told Pen to "shut the fuck up!" which was completely uncharacteristic because, even though he thought the snake demon's drivel was asenine, it was usually tolerable.

He couldn't stop glancing at the staircase.

It was nearly 3 in the afternoon when Angel Dust finally wandered downstairs. Husk could hardly begrudge him the late awakening, he hadn't even returned home to the hotel until nearly 6 AM.

But when he did finally make an appearance, the barcat's attitude shifted completely. Instead of irritable and distracted, he was suddenly anxious and restless. He did his very best to seem casual—he even went as far as to avoid Angel until the sinner approached his bar. And when the spider finally sat down, Husk turned his back to him, reaching, almost frantically, for a glass to polish.

"What d'ya want?" Husk asked. His tone was harsher than he meant it, but he was so focused on trying to stop his hands from shaking, that he almost didn't notice.

Honestly? Whatever Angel said, whatever he'd ordered, Husk didn't hear it. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts. Instead, he fixed Angel's usual, passed it to him, and said, "Listen, I went out gamblin' last night with some buddies of mine and they... Alright, so, don't read too much into this, okay?"

Christ, his heart was pounding so rapidly he could hardly think straight.

"I was playing poker with some buddies last night and one of 'em could play the tab, see? Well, it was late and we were all wasted, so we decided to let 'im bet whatever he wanted just 'cause we wanted to keep playin'. So he bets- look. It doesn't matter, okay?" He snapped, cutting himself off abruptly.

Husk only rambled when he was telling tall tails, and he seemed to remember that when his story suddenly stopped.

"Listen, just... Fuckin'... Fuck. Shut the fuck up, okay? Don't fuckin' say anything," he grumbled, before stooping under his bar to retrieve two boxes—a flat, rectangular box made of white cardboard, and a small, square jewelry box covered in black velvet.

"My point is: I won this shit in the poker game last night, but it isn't my style so I figured I'd give it to you. Take it or leave it, I don't give a shit,"

Except, of course, he did give a shit. Inside of the larger box was a gorgeous, rich blue, silk dress. Blue dye was extraordinarily difficult to find in hell—think Tyrian purple... But blue—so the dress was obviously expensive. And inside of the jewelry box was a pair of dangling gold earrings with sapphires. The earrings matched the dress and the color of the dress perfectly matched Angel's white and pink fur.

Obviously, there had been no poker game. Husker had saved up money and bought Angel a very nice dress and matching earrings... Just because. Angel deserved nice things—things that weren't tainted by Valentino. And these things? They were no-strings-attached, Husk emphasized as much with the sheer commitment to his stupid little lie about a non-existent poker game. After all, if he presented them as gifts that he'd painstakingly picked out, Angel might feel like he owed husk something, and the barcat didn't want that. So, it was better to pretend like all of this was a coincidence, like the lovely silk dress and the gold earrings were nothing more than ha d-me-downs that Husk didn't know the true value of. That way, Angel wouldn't feel obligated him. That way, Angel could have something nice, like he deserved, no strings attached.

"Sorry it isn't pink or whatever," he said, even though he knew that Angel would know the value of the color. "If you hate it, just toss it in the dumpster put back, I don't give a shit,"

Oh dear, his voice was shaking, as were his hands. In fact, he had to turn his back to Angel once again, just to hide the heat creeping across his face.

[bunnakit]

Tharn hissed slightly at the twinge of pain in his abdomen, instinctively moving his hand to gently cradle and protect the spot. He hadn't expected the warmth of Phaya’s hand against the back of his or the way he so gently stroked his thumb over his knuckles. He wondered if he would ever get used to the way Phaya’s touch drew an electric current through his veins. 

“I'm… I'm sorry. You got hurt because of me.” he sounded so mournful, as if he was taking the weight of everything on his own shoulders. Tharn couldn't allow that, not when he’d acted entirely of his own volition, his own drive to keep the people he lov- to keep the people close to him safe. 

“It was just a coincidence. It wasn't your fault,” he sighed under his breath, wondering how many more times he could get away with calling it a coincidence, how many more times he would have to lie to Phaya. “I was just doing my job.” 

Why can't you understand that the thought of losing you is worse than any injury I might receive? I can't watch you die, I can't lose anyone else. My job is to keep you safe. 

Tharn watched as Phaya also sighed softly, clearly displeased with his answer in some way. His thoughts were interrupted as he watched Phaya’s tongue wet his lips, just the smallest slide back and forth. It was enough to drive him to distraction, to remember the way they’d tasted against his own that night in the garden. A goodnight kiss Phaya had called it. He wondered if a goodnight tasted the same as a goodbye. 

“Tharn.” 

His eyes snapped back up, meeting Phaya’s own concerned gaze and he swallowed down the guilty sensation welling up in his stomach. Why did Phaya bring this out in him? This constant craving for more he couldn’t quite suppress? Sometimes he felt like a different person entirely when he was around.

“When you got hurt I was really afraid you'd die. I don't want to feel like that anymore.” 

Tharn choked down the apology he wanted to give. He couldn’t apologize, couldn’t say he wouldn’t do it again. He’d do it as many times as it took to keep Phaya safe. This was his role in life, a role he’d accepted long ago. 

“I promise that from now on I'll always listen to everything you say. Please don't leave me.”

Oh. 

Those four words brought an insurmountable ache to his chest, one far stronger than the dull throbbing in his side. He’d been asked before not to put himself in danger, to worry less about making amends for his past. He’d never been asked to stay. Phaya could have said anything else, could have urged him to be safe, to be careful. Instead, he’d asked Tharn not to leave him. The words begged a thousand questions but Tharn found himself far too afraid of the answers.

“I'm not going to leave you. We're on the same team. How can I leave you?” The answer spilled out before he’d truly thought it through, one question sneaking past his grasp. And how could he? He finally felt whole, as if half of his soul had slotted back in place and allowed him to take the first full breath in his life. Perhaps he was selfish, but he couldn’t simply walk away from something like that, not now that he’d finally found it.

“What about… you thinking that I told Chalothorn about your dream?” Tharn still had no idea where that notion had come from, what had sparked such rage in Phaya. He would never divulge his secret, not when it was so very close to his own. He knew what Chalothorn thought of him, thought of his visions, even if it came from a place of gentle concern.

“Are you still mad at me?” Phaya’s anger towards him had been more painful than any knife to the gut. 

“Tharn.” 

The warmth of Phaya’s palm against his neck was startling at first, then comforting, and then impossibly confusing. Tharn couldn’t help the way his mind wandered to that fucking dream. The memory of soft purple lights and the warmth of the shower, of the gentle pressure at his back and the intoxicating squeeze around his neck. It lit a fire in his veins, clawing and hungry, and he quickly did everything he could to push it to the back of his mind once more, to give Phaya his undivided attention in the moment.

“I don't care anymore. I already told you, I'll listen to everything you say.” 

Tharn had to believe that, had to believe Phaya had forgiven him or perhaps never truly blamed him in the first place. Fear was a powerful thing, it could drive people to lash out, to blame, to hurt. He was only glad he still had Phaya's trust, the relief like a weight lifted from his chest.

“I'm sorry for being an asshole.” 

Phaya looked so repentant, so filled with remorse, and yet Tharn had never been angry with him. He ran his tongue along the inside of his lip, the taste of copper on the tip of his tongue as he ran it against where his teeth had cut into him. He knew immediately it had been an accident, had seen it in the way Phaya's face had morphed into quiet shock. No, he'd never blamed him for an instant.

“It's okay. I'm glad you're safe.” It was as much a reminder for himself as for Phaya, because the reality was Phaya very nearly hadn't been safe. Because of him. Always because of him.

Before he could overthink it he reached up and curled his fingers around Phaya's wrist. He wanted so badly to turn his head just slightly, to press his lips to the strong and steady thrum of Phaya's pulse. He settled for gently stroking his fingertips over the fluttering point, over the proof that he had done his job. He'd kept Phaya safe.

Slowly, Tharn lifted his eyes and met the intensity of Phaya's gaze. He was always struck by it, by the way it felt like he could peer past the cool facade he kept up, past the walls he'd erected to keep people from getting close. And perhaps he could, because each day it felt like Phaya brought a chisel to those walls and dismantled them brick by methodical brick.

He wanted Phaya, wanted to press their lips together, to linger in each other's embrace, to soak up the warmth of one another. It was a simple truth he could no longer deny, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Perhaps in another life they could have had that. Perhaps in another life Phaya was his and he was Phaya's and they loved with their whole selves. Perhaps in another life their story ended differently.

(disclaimer: none of this is from the novel, i haven't read the novel, i just like doing character studies of them and rotating them in my head like a skyrim loading screen)

[thebroccolination]

The J&A group NEWS is one of the most lore-packed music groups I’ve ever followed and I wish I had the energy to make an entire video essay about them. They started with nine members in 2003 and immediately lost a member before they formally debuted. He later became the fucking front man of ONE OK ROCK (yes, Taka, formerly known as Mori while he was with NEWS for those precious six minutes). Then they lost two more members shortly afterward when one got busted for underage drinking and kicking a cop car, and the other one for underage smoking. Then the group was suspended because what the fuck y’all get it together. A few years later, after their comeback as six, the two most popular members quit at the same time essentially because they’d never actually wanted to be there in the first place. One of the two had actually been debuted in TWO GROUPS because J&A was quirky like that, and because he’d always had an obvious preference for the other one, no one was too upset with him. That left the remaining FOUR in a bizarre limbo because while two of them could sing, the other two were basically The Other Two (don’t get mad I was half-seriously parasocially in love with one of them so I can say it) and a ton of the higher-ups at J&A thought of them as “a strawberry shortcake without the strawberries”—A THING ONE OF THEM OVERHEARD SOMEONE SAY ABOUT THEM. So they pulled off a comeback as four, which was actually sort of perfect because NEWS has four letters, so it introduced a fun new design scheme. Three kept their original member colors, but the oldest took over the Leader position and changed from orange to purple, which was sweet in its own way because he didn’t want to take away red, the color of their original Leader (the popular one who basically left to focus on a solo career and acting). The four of them go strong for several years, putting out some of the best music in J&A, and putting on some of the best concerts I’ve ever been to, and the general reception is, “They were good before but this configuration fits better—and they all want to be here!” There’s also some fun stuff in there, like how one of The Other Two feels the sting of being half of The Other Two so he runs with the smart thing he has going for him and writes a novel, and a LOT of people are like, “Hey, it kind of seems like the douchebag character in your book resembles your former Leader,” and he’s like, “nOOOOOO definitely a coincidence ha ha ha.” (Yes he’s the one I was sort-of committed to spiritually but it wasn’t a big deal I’m over it ha ha ha.) THEN, the wildest shit ever happens: in spite of their very serious pact as four to stay together and spare each other the continued trauma of shedding members, their best vocalist decides, “I’m bored I’m gonna go,” and skips off without remorse. He’s probably a controversial figure in some circles but the way I see it, if you followed NEWS for more than ten minutes you knew this dude had no loyalties stronger than his loyalty to himself and expecting anything else from him was a fool’s errand. Basically, he was always gonna dip, it was just a matter of when. He also wrote a gossipy tell-all book that made casualties of the former members in such a bitchy fashion he’s honestly iconic for airing his pettiness after years of pretending he forgave them for the group’s image. Like remember the member who left because he was in two groups and I said no one really held it against him? Our gossiping queen basically called him a coward and said he never would’ve left if the Leader hadn’t left first, and we were all like, “I mean, yeah, we figured he left because the timing was convenient, but ooooooh.” And then I stopped following them because my favorite duo Tackey & Tsubasa disbanded and my heart wasn’t in following J&A groups anymore, but NEWS is still making music in 2024 and I’m genuinely really happy for the three left because they’ve gotta be tired but at least they have each other. /closing credits

[luimagines]

Sequel to ‘You Leave Before He Can Confess’ Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

This will coincide with the first half which you can read right here!

Part 3 will include the same boys, which are Wild, Legend and Hyrule.

Content under the cut!

Wild

With no one else to turn to, Wild had told Zelda everything.

From the beginning to the end he didn’t leave anything out. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had a feeling that he shouldn’t that told Zelda as much as he did. A part of it might have been cruel for her to know, but he had no more filter. Once the floodgates were open, he had a hard time reeling everything back in.

It was borderline impossible. 

“Did you ever find them?” She asks quietly in the end. Zelda simply tries to keep him talking. She’s been crying silently for the past twenty minutes but Wild doesn’t want to think about the implications of her tears.

“No.” He says, wiping his own face. “I don’t know where they went. They never appeared again.”

Zelda reaches for his hand, squeezing it gently. “If they were as mighty as you said they were, then I’m positive that they’re alive.”

“That’s-!″ Not good enough, dies on his tongue. It should be good enough. There’s nothing else in his power to ask for anything other than that.

Instead he deflates, crumbling in the spot where he sits. “That’s not the problem. We never found out where they ended up. We didn’t even come close to finding them again. They were just... gone... How do we know if they made it home? How do we know if they weren’t hurt on the other side? How can I know if  I did everything I could?”

Zelda nods, still crying. “...I don’t know, Link. We might just have to accept that there are things we’ll never know. Did we try our best to stop the Calamity? Hadn’t we lost so many people already? Is this that much different?”

“Zelda, that’s even worse!” Wild gulps, trying to not raise his voice. He hasn’t spoken this much in a very long time. His throat is beginning to feel sore. He needs water.

“Link, you have always done your best for everyone.” She tells him. “It’s not anyone’s fault that this happened. It’s simply... unfortunate. The only thing you can do is hope. And hope with all you’re willing to allow yourself to hope.”

Wild hums, wiping his face again. Should he mention how much he had fallen for you? Would that get Zelda to see how much he’s actually hurting? Would she understand how he feels? You might as well have died and he was powerless to stop it. Forced to be just out of arms reach as you rushed into battle-

Wait a minute. That sounds familiar.

He looks up at Zelda finally taking in her tears and her brave smile. He feels guilty. He feels horrible. The weight of his words finally hitting him. She has always been waiting for him, he realizes.

She’s just as alone as he is. How did he not see it before?

“I’m sorry.” Wild blurts. “I’ve spent this whole time just... crying...and you haven’t even... I’m sorry.”

Somehow, Zelda finds in herself to smile wider. “I know. I’m simply sorry for not having more power to help you.”

“I don’t need your power to help me.” He mutters. And he doesn’t. He just wants you back. He just wants to talk to you again. Why is that too much to ask?

Zelda takes his answer in stride, swinging his hand lightly. “Perhaps... but that doesn’t change anything in my perspective.”

Wild sniffles. His whole body hurts. When was the last he expressed this much emotion. “I know... and thank you.”

Legend

Admittedly, he was quite mean to Ravio when he came back home.

He didn’t want to admit to himself that he had messed up. That he was dumb. that there was no return. That he had loved and lost for a second time.

“Mr. Hero.” Ravio puts a plate in front of him. “You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” He mutters, turning away from the plate. He has to give it to the purple rabbit. He’s can be just as stubborn as he is. When he came back, it was a part of their deal that Ravio would go home, but he stayed and refuses to leave.

Granted, Legend hasn’t exactly had the heart to kick him out fully, but he had hoped to some degree that Ravio would honor their agreement.

He should have known better.

Ravio put his hands on his hips, staring down the other young man until he pushes the food in front of his face again. “Eat. Don’t make me get Hilda.”

Legend tenses up slightly. “Why would you get Hilda?”

“Because I know you don’t want Zelda to see the state you’re in.” Ravio glares. “That’s why, despite the fact that she misses you and wants to see if you’re ok, you’ve been avoiding her- claiming you have the plague or something.”

Legend winces. Ravio isn’t entirely wrong. He had been writing to Zelda about his return and she had been wanting him to come to the castle. but he told her that he was injured and was silently recovering at home. When he got better, he would see her.

But for Hilda to get involved... That’s a whole other can of worms that Legend doesn’t feel inclined to open. Slowly, he reaches for the plate and the fork and begins to eat the food on the plate.

Ravio relaxes and sit on the table with his back to the window. He sighs and shakes his head, staring away from the blond as he eats. “Goodness me... you’re one stubborn mule. What even happened this time around? I’ve never seen you so distraught?”

“I lost someone.” He mutters between bites. He knows that he can tell Ravio some bits and pieces. He’s not afraid of the judgement he might receive. “I didn’t have the chance to get them back.”

Ravio hisses and looks away. “That would do it...Do you want to talk about it?”

Legend shakes his head, slowly eating more food from the plate. He can’t even taste it. He’s sure that it’s edible though. Nothing like the Champion’s cooking, or his own, but Ravio isn’t a disaster in the kitchen. Probably.

Ravio hums, kicking his feet until Legend eats his fill. He managed to eat more than he thought he would. He almost cleaned the entire plate.

“Good.” Ravio hops off of the table and goes to take the plate away. “now go take a shower, you smell to high heavens.”

Legend cracks a weak smile, the first one in weeks. “And you tell me this now?”

“It was secondary.” Ravio flicks his forehead. “Give me a second and I’ll get the water running.”

Legend sighs. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?”

“Do you want to Hilda come over and take over the place?”

“....I’m going.”

Hyrule

The rest of that moment passes by in a blur. One by one the others all left for their homes, leaving the adventure and each other behind. Time stays with him until the end. Legend had just finished his goodbyes, telling the older man that after everything he understands now why the world sent him n so many adventures.

He has to live up to the legacy of what should have been. Hyrule knows that he comes after Legend, so what does that means for him?

Time waits until Hyrule passes through the portal himself. He can see the concern on the Old Man’s face but he doesn’t care enough to try and ease it. Hyrule sends a lazy salute, not bothering to clean his face. “Take care, Link.”

“I could say the same to you.” He nods, crossing his arms. He still looks uneasy, following the younger hero from a distance.

Hyrule won’t think about it. He turns and walks through the poral, ending up somewhere he knows but also wishes he was somewhere else. He’s in the middle of the beach front. It’ll take days to make it back to his cave.

With nothing else to do and little motivation to do anything else, he starts his journey home.

He feels tired. He feels exhausted.

Is this how it all ends? It must be. Nothing around him seems any different than how he left it.

An octoroc fires behind him and it hits his back straight on.

The pain is welcomed. Hyrule falls flat on his face into the sand, not bothering to get up just yet. He can hear it fire another one right at him and it explodes into the sand on his left, nearly burying him in the process.

Hyrule can hear someone yelling at him in the back of his head, something that tells him to get up, to keep moving, to get out of there before irreparable happens.

But he doesn’t want to.

Another shot is fired, hitting him dead on.

That one hurts more than the first and it spurs the instinctual need to run away. He curls up, narrowly avoiding the forth hit before he finds it in himself to sit up and run away from the monster.

Somewhere behind him, he can hear that the commotion of the first octoroc has caught the attention of other monsters. Their grunts and chuffs are slowly closing in on him.

Blatantly, he remembers where he is and who he is.

He is Link once more, no longer Hyrule. He has the full triforce. He has a cursed on his blood. And he is back home.

He is hunted once more.

He cannot afford to bleed.

His earlier injuries' are suddenly a higher cause of concern than they once were. He cannot afford to let Ganon come back after everything.

Even if you are no longer by his side, he admits to himself that it was never meant to be. But for you to have peace, even if it’s years after he’s gone, he needs to live. He needs to do his part.

So before the monsters can find him and fulfill their never ending goal of sacrifice, Link runs.

[lixie-phoria]

ੈ✩‧ 🎀🩰 ➛stray kids (maknae line) as taylor swift lyrics

pairing : skz!maknae line x reader

prompt : which taylor swift line fits the dynamic of your relationship with him <3

hyung line ver. | maknae line ver.

🎐| han !!

"Tell me that you're still mine, Tell me that we'll be just fine, Even when I lose my mind"

han was insecure. he was so incredibly scared that one day you'd walk out the door and return with someone better. someone better than him. someone who could love you better. treat you better. someone who didn't constantly dump their anxiety on you.

and it absolutely terrified him.

he wishes he could believe you every time you held him close, comforting him that it was all in his head. that you love him. only him. nobody else.

it was hard. he would blow up sometimes, telling you to leave him, to go find someone better for yourself.

but you stayed. you stayed right by his side, helping him through every panic attack, every breakdown, every moment of weakness.

and he loved you even more for it. he loved how the feeling of your entwined hands could stabilise his collapsing world. he loved the smile you would flash him every time your eyes met. he loved how you never failed to remind him of how proud you were of him, on his good and bad days.

he loved you for every little thing you did. he loved you for never leaving; for reminding him that you'll always be there and everything will be just fine. you could make it through anything together.

🎐| felix !!

"I find myself running home to your sweet nothings"

falling in love was supposed to feel euphoric. it was supposed to be exciting. or at least that's what every book you read made it seem like.

you learned the harder way that it was anything but that. your first two relationships were a train wreck, and you signed off from ever trying to find the sunshine and rainbows that everyone promised.

until you fell in love with the sunshine himself.

you met felix on the first day of university. you stumbled into him as he chased after a cat, whining after the feline to come back so he could pet it just one last time.

when he crashed into you - sending your books flying everywhere - he was quick to apologize, flashing you an embarrassed grin as he helped you up, pleading with you to let him make it up to you by taking you out for coffee.

you agreed. and you were so glad that you did because it changed your life forever.

it wasn't long before you began dating, and as cliché as it sounded, the feeling was magical.

euphoric. just how the books had described it. a feeling you never thought you'd experience.

felix was everything. he was always there for you: helping you, comforting you, supporting you. he was there along every step.

he was there when you had a bad day, when you got a bad grade, when you were unwell, when you had an argument with a friend. he promised he would never leave your side, and he never did.

every day, he would remind you why he loved you. every day, he would remind you to love yourself.

you were so in love, and you wouldn't have it any other way. he was your anchor, your solace, your breath of fresh air on a bad day. he was your everything.

🎐| seungmin !!

"What if I told you none of it was accidental"

you spoke to seungmin at a party once. just once. but it was enough to have you hooked. you were absolutely enamoured by him: his smile, his eyes, his humor. his everything.

you had never felt this way before, and you never wanted to either. you wanted this feeling to last with seungmin and seungmin only.

you did everything in your power to cross paths with him.

he was going out for coffee? what a coincidence that you ended up at the café too!

his favorite color was purple? maybe it was time to finally get those purple streaks you'd been thinking of for so long.

and the boy ate it all up. he seemed to be just as enraptured by you.

was it really a coincidence that a bouquet of your favorite flowers was waiting for you at your doorstep the same day you told him about them?

was it really an accident when your friends collectively cancelled on your plans leaving just the two of you to go out together?

it was too good to be true, and you loved it. the not-so-subtle flirting, the constant pining, the longing glances, changing plans for each other. all of it had him giddy.

you were the reason he looked forward to attending his lectures. you were the reason his friends would catch him smiling at his phone.

kim seungmin was absolutely in love with you, and everybody seemed to know it.

his friends had never seen him act this way before. what had you done to him?

but they would never know about all the subtle planning that went into every single interaction between you and him. they would never know what went on behind the scenes. all that they had to know was that you were just as much in love.

🎐| jeongin !!

"We were both young when I first saw you"

when your best friend moved out of your neighborhood and jeongin's family shifted into her house, you had been absolutely heartbroken. it wasn't the poor boy's fault that his family chose to move into that house, but you decided to take your anger and sorrow out on him anyways.

constantly ignoring him, purposely getting muddy footprints on his front yard and putting the blame on him, hiding his cycle and claiming that you had no clue where it was. There was no end to your pettiness and as you grew older, you couldn't exactly place why you never stopped with the taunting, and over time he began reciprocating the bitterness equally.

and so what started as innocent child-like fights that had your parents cooing at soon turned into what seemed like a lifelong enmity.

when it was finally time for university, you couldn't have been happier. finally, you could get away from jeongin. 

but fate wouldn't have it.

jeongin was rejected from his first choice, leaving him no option but to pick the very same university you would be attending - his second preference.

neither of you was happy about it, and the two of you made sure everyone in your year was aware of it as well.

picking at each other, constant pranks, and always giving the other sarcastic replies. it was never simple with the two of you.

until your first heartbreak.

you caught your boyfriend cheating on you. at a party. a party everyone seemed to be at. so everyone saw it happen.

jeongin had been the first to recover from the shock. neither of you knew what came over him, but he was the first to gently lead you away from the scene, lending you his jacket on the drive back to your dorm as you tried to hold back your tears. no way were you going to break down in front of yang jeongin out of all the people.

but when he hesitantly placed his hand on yours, asking if you were alright and flashing you a small smile, you could feel something shift. literally.

had his smile always looked that adorable? had his hands always felt that comforting?

maybe he felt it too because you couldn't have been imagining the blush that coated his cheeks.

neither of you knew what changed that night. but something did, and it only bloomed into something better over time.

©lixie-phoria, 2023

🏷️ @foxinnie8 , @hamburgers101 , @starlostlaiba

[ send an ask to be added/removed from the taglist :) ]

[merao-mariposa]

I have your back, you have my heart

Day three of the pissa/death duo week! This au was the idea of @amymorningstar ​​in this post I really wanted to write about the Mafia Pissa and this was a good excuse for!

“Mafia + I promised you as long as I'm with you you'll never be alone again”

(…)

Philza Minecraft had been on the dark side of the streets for a very long, long time, since his first interventions dismantling brothels that were a little too... “flexible” with the idea of consent going to authentic inhumane places, all falling under the scourge of the Angel of Death until a man, a friend, appeared in front of him with the idea of dominating the criminal world, converting it to his ideals. That was a long time ago but corruption spreads like a fire in gasoline and Phil was there to suffocate it until it went out.

Maybe it was his cruelty in how he snuffed out the lives of those corrupt men that led him to pay the karma he was paying right now, he doesn't know.

The man sitting at his desk looked miserable for say the least, from the outside you feel the discord in the trademark half-twisted hat or the uncorked bottle of wine resting on his messy desk but you can see how the damage runs deeper than that if you know Philza well enough, the immaculate two pieces-suit stand out like a sore thumb on a man so casual and relaxed, the white shirt is buttoned at the neck almost restrictively, and his trail of beard is just a little more prominent than it has been in recent months.

The last few months, that sugar-filled almost year where mafia boss BOLAS had been closer to being an angel than he would ever be since he lived in what he could only call heaven.

His arrival in heaven was a young man with messy, dark hair. His purple eyes dragged him deep into the flames of hell now that they were no longer looking at him.

The fact that he had no one else to blame but himself didn't make it any easier.

But when Sinfonia appeared everything was perfect. He was reserved but easy to smile, aloof but with loyal friends, so pathetic (and cute) yelling at the slightest threat but he was a real threat in front of some of the most ruthless members of BOLAS, selective but had two beautiful kids who looked alike barely in the whites of the eyes, even his last name “Sinfonia” evidenced the harsh contradiction that surrounds the object of the crow's loves, a man as gifted in every possible musical instrument as if he had the Midas touch, and yet that very appropriate last name wasn't real. His Missa was a set of contradictions and embarrassing coincidences over knots in lavender stems.

Which in retrospect must have been a loud alarm, a siren announcing the disaster that his false moon left in its wake in the crow's heart.

It turns out that his love lied, the fire burning inside him to abandon important meetings for the sole purpose of sharing more time of his life with him as opposed to the absolute security of being understood as someone returning to his childhood home (beloved, cared, welcome) with the ease of riding a bike. All of that had been a waste.

The soft hugs that lulled him into deep dreams (chasing away the nightmares that Missa shouldn't know about for his own good) to the chaste kisses all over the face that released the negativity from his husband's shoulders (and if instead of being a result of his low self-esteem was his guilt taking charge?) to the private kisses that said “I miss you” and “one last time, love” without the words, all were nothing but lies.

Not that he had cared much about anything at that moment, he found himself focused on his children (because now they were also Phil's children) they were angels and he only had the head to raise them with Missa, who returned with a sweeter demeanor after his night walks and long work trips, he tenderly asked for nap together as a family.

He should have questioned more why Missa disappeared like that, coincidentally, just when Phil was paying for the services of the most dangerous mercenary on the black market, unlike the assassins he had on his payroll, this guy had the prestige of killing only with his touch, too lethal and above all cautious, Phil did not even met him in person, they only contacted through third parties who agreed on the service and only told about his violet hood and his skull mask. It is said; no one has seen his face and lived to tell.

Like I said before; Phil is old, he's been in the environment for years where only an intelligent man could live as long as he does, with that in mind how was it possible that he didn't know that his sweet husband was actually the most dangerous bastard in the underworld? Shocked by the discovery, in this kind of world, someone you trust can stab you in the back so how can you trust a man who lied to you?

And Missa knew who Philza Minecraft was, what his name means, he always knew, he did always know when something had gone wrong and Philza needed more comfort, always two steps ahead of his needs because he knew it.

The time after their fight breaks up, everything is a drunken blur in the crow's mind, he doesn't remember what they said, he only knows the screams and the revolver clicking in his left pocket while Missa, The Reaper or whoever it was have knowledge of the gun in his pocket and as soon as he pointed it at the man he said he loved time ago the gun was already on the ground, rolling behind this man who was unrecognizable to Phil, the shouting match continued more heated after the blonde pointed his gun at the helpless and clumsy Missa.

That was the last time he saw Missa.

Phil has been so distracted, tired and paranoid since then, even the security is a disaster ignoring the advice of the rest of BOLAS. Philza has scattered guards in unimportant areas, some stuck to him all day but the majority watch that Missa does not return or get close to the children (his children; Missa's own children) Chayanne almost bites him at the slightest suspicion of not being able to see his father, so his impenetrable fortress suddenly becomes a weak place.

Literally and metaphorically

He ordered several guards not to even dream of setting foot in certain areas of the family mansion (those such as the music room, the kitchen and the art studio, any room with traces of Missa must remain identical to how it was before his departure, as if they were waiting for him)

Philza feels betrayed and hurt but above all he is so confused, his rational mind tells him to defend himself, to put up the highest walls to protect himself, his organization and his family but his family is Missa. He is outside and Philza once promised that he will demolish every wall in the world that did not open its doors for the man with purple eyes.

And yet here he is.

Inside his fortress it can breathe the air of a broken family, the kids have believed him for the moment but the tension is felt increasing with every minute they pass without hearing from their papa. Inside the fortress are no longer him and his chicks but a greedy and lonely crow with two brittle shells and a broken heart.

The days pass in that agony until there is a surprise attack from which they cannot respond.

Tensions with the Federal mafia had gotten much worse in recent months, after his formal alliance with Soulfire he did not believe they were going to attack seriously.

But they did.

Thank his Goddess, thank The Lady for allowing Chayanne and Tallulah to be in the school while the white clad mercenaries broke down every door and shot at anything that moved.

At least Missa would get them back and they would be together again. Just as they should have been before he and his greedy hope for a family took that away from them.

As soon as his office door is kicked down one of those white masked sons of bitches puts his hands on him, something happens.

Penetrating in his vision when he sees him but there is stealth in his steps, he is the only one to notice his presence until two bullets (how quickly are repeated) knock down two of the men to dead, wound another in the shoulder, and the last one misses just centimeters away for paint the wall with Philza's skull.

Four shots, two fired before the reaction time of their distracted predators and attacked from the purest darkness, shots fly towards the door and if it was not absolutely broken after that rude kick it is now unusable, falling from its hinges under the siege and behind it are no signs of the mysterious shooter.

Tense seconds pass until one of the feds quickly puts one of his dirty hands in Phil's hair, pulling hard on the golden strands in a hissing threat and that's when he enters the scene.

The men on each side of the door were the first to fall, one quickly takes the place of his fallen companion, his gun raised, ready to shoot, followed by the one with the shot in the shoulder, unfortunately with that wound he is not able to shoot at time to prevent another bullet from the darkness from taking the life of the other one.

The bullets fly again while the threshold of the door swallows the corpse, dragging it out and soon, very soon, his savior enters the room with a constant step carrying the dead body as a kind of human shield.

A well-placed shot, other fall.

And the guy who touched him is one of them, his screams are muffled by his mask and by the gunshots exploding around him.

Phil hides under his desk as fast as he can but not before taking a bullet in the shoulder, it hurts like shit.

But it seems that it hurts them more because he can hear how one by one the white masks fall with sharp blows, they could barely scream in horror before fall with a fatal shott.

Fast, efficient and lethal

When it seems that the rain of bullets is ending, Phil distinguishes the voices from outside his office. That sounds like… Chainsaws? And laughs Phil knows immediately that his best people, who should be with his children, are on and from what he hears they are having fun.

He slowly peeks out of his desk, his hand warm from the blood dripping from his shoulder, and finally sees the reason of his recent insomnia.

Missa, or also known as The Reaper, moves almost with grace but the anger burns in his every movement, it is a wild spectacle as soon as the bullets run out, each man who even tries to get close to Phil is shot down with ease, he watch in trance as his husband smash anyone who tries to get close to him to pieces.

“M- Missa…?” he comes out as a dismayed whisper

The Reaper turns to look at him for half a second, which one of them takes advantage of to kick him in the stomach. Missa lets out a grunt of acute pain but holds the guy's leg with his hands, taking advantage of pushing him forward, knocking another of them against the favorite glass table.

The two guys are left on the floor, one on top of the other and one's suit is now full of glass.

And just like that Missa goes for the next one and Phil can only watch in shock.

Missa is The Reaper, The Reaper is Missa. They are both the same person; they have been forever.

Missa, his Missa is his mercenary and his mercenary is his husband.

he approaches, slowly, as slowly as he can with a bullet embedded in his shoulder. The cacophony of screams shakes the floor and Philza suddenly realizes that he must have gone down to the panic room.

The weight of not doing so clings to his shoulders, the clear implications trying to cross the capo’s tired mind like a malicious whisper makes him feels so wrong, so manipulative.

But he was waiting for him to save him

Of a thousand people in this aggressive environment who swore their loyalty to him and finds himself depending on the arrival of the one who not only never swore anything to him but also betrayed him.

Oh well, who betrayed who?

After yelling at him for lying to him when he also lied, pointing a gun at him and taking him away from his own children, he knows that the Philza of the past would have sent him to hell for ruining the things with Missa.

Missa knew who he was before, he knew it from very early on and that affected Phil, it made him feel cornered and at a disadvantage. He realized at that moment that he was afraid; he didn't fear the hitman under his roof as much as he feared the man under his sheets. feared he was so vulnerable letting him walk around the red mafia's base of operations, taking the children to school every morning, training Chayanne and hearing Tallulah's flute in the distance did terrified him, his worst nightmare was in how his heart was warmed by them so soft and gentle in the reaper's expert hands he could take out his heart and the worst thing is that he would have left it in order to see the children and Missa every morning when he woke up.

My God, he was crazy, he went crazy when he fell in love with him and even crazier when Phil sabotaged his own happiness.

Loneliness tasted bitter on his lips, power and honor became poison with the diffuse days, with his cold bed at night, with his absence piercing his chest.

The last man fell and with the elegance of a dancer stabbed by a steel dagger into his chest, he did the same with the other two men on the ground. The Reaper left no witnesses or loose ends.

He could hear in the distance Baghera and Cellbit stopping their chainsaws which was a good sign. The Federation had basically sent a mini army to his grounds and he partly wondered if his men knew that Missa was there with him.

His name tasted salty when it finally left Phil's lips in a whisper, it tasted like the tears he shed every time he was sober to remember his absence. Behind that mask it is almost impossible to perceive the purple eyes but he knows well that look that is hidden in front of him.

Missa wipes the blood on his own pants with slow movements, the dagger pressed against his thigh until it's clean enough.

“Missa…” Phil insists, he shouldn't insist to the man who has the dagger, especially when he is hurt.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he feels (not sees) the intense gaze on his shrunken figure, well, at least he now has his attention. The purple eyes that he loves so much scan him from top to bottom and a wave of shame hits the stunned and guilty part of his subconscious as he remembers how he looks even worse for being in the middle of a fucking shootout. That wasn't how he would have wanted to see him again see but it was the most likely way to meet again now that he knew they were in the same work area

His eyes seem to linger on the wound on his shoulder and if he could see his husband's face, he would say he was not pleased with it.

“…Phil” Missa's voice sounds like a late greeting and is focused on him.

Goddess, how he had missed that voice

The professional, and infamous mercenary approaches, a little more hesitant than he should for a man of his reputation and a wave of affection breaks over Philza, he too takes a single step closer and they are looking at each other as the first time, feels like looking at the moon at its peak or the sun descending. He can't, he doesn't have the right to act like a wet cat after tearing up his enemies and expecting Phil to be normal about it. Missa just can't do that to him, he bites back a light laugh and takes another step in his direction. noticing that there is blood on his clothes and some cuts on it but if I had to guess I would say that most of it is from the others and Phil is already losing blood himself.

Missa takes another step, knowing the bleeding has stopped and believing the bullet grazed but he won't be sure until he concentrates on something other than mustering the words to ask him to fucking take off the mask.

Fortunately, he seems to read his mind as Phil doesn't even finish taking another slow step towards him when the mask is finally gone, The Reaper has officially left the room and his husband looms in front of him in his place. Is it strange to say that death is good for him? His face, his hair and the sparkle in his eyes or is the blonde just delirious?

Be that as it may, it doesn't take long for them to find themselves in the middle of the destroyed office as if it were his own world.

"You went"

“You kicked me out.”

“You still shouldn't have left” he replied very intelligently and Missa smiled, a little nervous.

“Does it hurt so much?” The black-haired man worried, looking at his injured shoulder and Philza wasn't having his partner distracted just like that.

"No, no. It doesn't hurt" He responded, knowing that lies were not the best for the relationship at this time.

Missa frowned like a kitten about to sneeze but he allowed this one for him, just for now.

“You… you're right Philza” Missa lowered his head in shame and a confuse “what?” died in the blonde's throat.

"I shouldn't have left-"

“I pointed at you with a gun, mate” he interrupted, feeling guilty and a little freaked out by whatever that means, it all was his fault, why was Missa saying that?

“Still, I should have stayed, I wanted to stay” hesitantly he noticed how Missa’s arms floated loosely around him. They weren't very elegant clothes, just good enough for work and Philza wanted to focus on that and the stains of blood all over his man instead of the new confession, after everything he did, but how could Missa still wanted him?

“Missa…”

“I promised, right?” Phil raised his head suddenly, searching for his gaze between the strands of black hair that escaped from his messy ponytail. “I always keep my promises, dear”

When the members of Bolas made sure they had the entire area clean, they advanced, covering the entire perimeter until they climbed the stairs that led to the red leader's office, they found themselves face to face with the splintered frame of the door, an office in an absolute disaster. with the imposing doors thrown next to the lifeless bodies and in the eye of that past storm was the mob boss.

Philza was leaning against his desk (which was out of its place) the purple cloth acted as an improvised tourniquet and in his arms was the waist of a tall man with black hair that they had trouble recognizing at first if it weren't for the clear display of affection, unaware that they had company. Now Phil kept his face buried in the taller man's torso as if he were afraid to let him go again and Missa hummed, deeply satisfied with having his little bird in his arms again, he carefully avoided the other man's shoulder but remained attentive, didn't want to leave that wound out of sight until he could drag his husband stubborn ass to the infirmary. Ignoring the living and dead audience, the couple was trapped in their own world, little giggles that didn't seem to go anywhere, dying and returning with each other's laughter in a vicious circle, finally together.

“I promised you, I didn’t? as long as I'm with you you'll never be alone again, cuervito”

EXTRA:

“You look pretty good with that ponytail you know, mate?”

“Philza!”

“So, guys, do I tell Jaiden that there will be no divorce?”

“Shut the fuck up, Charlie”

[worldismyne]

Iceberg Bing for layer 3 and 4.

My memory is really bad, so some of these might have already appeared in earlier layers.

AMVs - Either specific songs that were popular to use in the fandom, or any fanmade content from during the manga's run that was popular

Soul and Maka Split up - Apparently this interpretation of Maka and Soul's final discussion in the manga is a hot take. There was a lot going on in the final chapter, but here are the phrases from the manga that gave me that impression.

Will cross this box off for any analysis from that final chapter tho.

Thompson Twins - Can't remember if this specific reference was pointed out, but stands in for any pop culture references brought to light.

The Dress - This is a newer development, but at some point this dress got listed on Devil Inspired and advertised heavily on instagram.

A bunch of Chrona cosplayers independently saw it and adopted it. (There were at least 3 or 4 at the first con I went to after it was listed). It's so prolific I've seen it in fanart of Chrona now.

Mary Shelly Theory - Saw someone in the tag a while back theorize Marie might be an allusion to Mary Shelly. It would add a layer to the electricity power outside of the Mjolnir reference.

New Art - Any mention of the 20th anniversary drops. (It didn't fit well in the square)

Purple/Pink Gate - Another one I can't remember if it's already been covered. Despite most fan artists color picking a dusty rose for Crona's hair, lavender wigs are still more common for cosplayers. I am a pink wig truther.

Shinobi - Okay, this is a PS2 game that predates the manga by two years. The main mechanic is a katana that sucks the lifeforce/soul of the user unless it's constantly fed other souls. I am fairly sure this is the inspiration of the uncanny sword. Even the cover art gives post time skip vibes.

If not, both pieces of media have to be referencing the same thing.

Zagreus + Dionysus : Death the Kid's role in SE has similarities with the god of the rebirth. Particularly the part of the legends where he's dismembered and eaten. There is some confusion in greek mythology if these are just different names for the same god or just two gods whose roles overlap, thus why I put both names.

Ragnarok - Particularly how he stops being a character after Salvage. Will also check off for mention of the war of the gods.

Merch - There's a lot of merch out there. Apparently they made a speaker inspired by bonus art. I'm sure there's a bunch of official stuff I haven't seen before.

Official Cosplay - There's a few talking points here that come to mind. Like how Soul is the only weapon with an official cosplay prop. Any Spirit, Ragnarok or Tsubaki props you see were made by the cosplayer. Death the Kid rings get sold one at a time, even if they're advertised as a set.

Translations goofs - There's little things like Afreet and Kishen being used interchangeably in the sub. The Witch hunter evolutions have a few different names. I'm sure there's other translation stuff that I don't know about that might pop up.

Demi-god Black Star - Another umbrella square. Black Star's arc towards the end seems to be referencing something specific. Idk what it is, but Marie goes out of her way to put him and Death the Kid on the same level and snubs Maka at the end of the manga.

The Dread Queen - Comparing Chrona to Persephone is really common in the Kirona crowd. After listening to some deeper dives on the topic there's actually precedence for them to be an allusion ancient underworld goddess that predates Persephone and Hades, but not the abduction myth. They're never referred by name only by titles. Crona's name being literally Dark One in Japanese fits with this theme, as well as usually being referred to as the Demon Sword rather than by their given name. This could be more coincidence than anything else though.

Unlocalized content - The iceberg has already covered the games, but there might be audio dramas or other in-character content that didn't make it's way over when SE was popular in the US.

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

Hey, I like your writing. Would it be alright if we get Ganyu and Hu Tao with a pre-S/o who obviously has a crush on them but is to shy to confess their feeling. So it's up to them to take initiative. Thank you.

Them with a reader that’s too shy to confess their obvious crush to them

characters: Hu Tao / Ganyu / Keqing x gn!reader (separate)

warnings: none, just fluff

a/n: I decided to add Keqing because I feel like I haven't written for her in a long time, and frankly, because I could.

If there's something I got wrong about your request, feel free to say and I'll try again once i find the motivation/time to.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Hu Tao

While, at this point, most people would think that Hu Tao had no idea how to read a room, the funeral director was confident in saying that their theory couldn’t be more false, as she simply chose to ignore it whenever she could. So when you started acting increasingly shy and nervous around her, she was quick to pick up on your behavior. And once she noticed how you were acting, her discovering why was already on the horizon.

Of course Hu Tao used this gained knowledge to sort things out for the two of you. Or at least she will… eventually. After she got her fun first.

The longer you stared at the lines of the poem Hu Tao had handed you, the more of a weird feeling you got in your stomach. It was unusual enough for her to write anything that wasn’t at least 50% meant as a joke, so when you saw that it was about love you wished for nothing more than to either sink into the ground or wake up from this awkward scenario. 

What didn’t help was the fact that she continued to stare at you with a grin the whole time, not seeming to blink once whenever you stole a quick glance towards her.

“Uhm”, you tried to find the right words to start, only for Hu Tao to cut you off.

“Is there a problem?”, she asked, almost sounding genuine, if it weren’t for her grin growing bigger.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why didn’t you choose anyone else to proofread this?”, you nervously asked, seeing her playfully tilt her head from the corner of your eye.

“Who else should I hand it to? Xingqiu? Nothing against him, but he really isn’t made for criticizing romantic poetry”, she was quick to respond, letting out a small yawn as the first sunrails made their way towards you, causing you to realize how long it was since she had dragged you out here.

“And I am better at talking about these kinds of texts for what reason?”, you asked with all the sarcasm you could muster, both of you knowing damn well how bad you were with any material about romance.

“Your reactions are funny”, she stated almost matter of factly while raising her pointer finger and pointing at a specific verse in the poem, looking at you expectedly. “Reread this once more and tell me if there’s something to change”, she demanded, causing your eyes to scan those words once again, only for the realization that the person described shared a lot of features with you… Almost too many for this whole thing to be a coincidence.

Before you had a chance to say anything however, Hu Tao snatched the paper out of your hands, giving you a smile before playfully patting your shoulder.

“Oh no, it seems like a new morning has dawned, which means that a new day of work lies ahead of us, so sorry that I have to cut this short all of a sudden”, she feigned sadness, only to give you one of her usual mischievous smiles. “But hey, if you need to tell me anything, you know where to find me.”

Ganyu

When you first began acting awkwardly around Ganyu, going so far as to avoid looking her in the eyes, the more anxious side of her began worrying she may have unintentionally done something that caused your behavior, only for you to blush whenever she mentioned it before trying to assure her that everything was fine.

It was only after one specific, purple haired coworker of hers started to notice the way you two acted around each other and decided that enough was enough, that Ganyu was confronted with the possibility of you having caught feelings. And while the intention of revealing your somewhat obvious crush was to make the half Adeptus stop worrying too much, it turned out to have the exact opposite effect as Ganyu also began to turn into a nervous wreck whenever she was around you.

Taking the initiative in situations like these never was something Ganyu was all too fond of, her own anxiety not exactly helping in making things easier. Nevertheless here she was, waiting for you to meet her as she requested, doubts about this whole thing quickly starting to invade her mind, only for her to try and shake them off once she saw your form in the distance.

“Good morning Ganyu!”, you greeted her, a smile on your face as you made your way over to her, completely oblivious to how much of an anxious wreck she was at the moment.

Or at least you were until she presented you with a rose, barely managing to look you in the eyes as the color of her face started to turn into the same shade of red as the flower.

“I-I’ve heard of a nearly opened shop that sells beautiful flowers, so I wanted to… buy you one”, she mumbled just loud enough for you to hear, the sudden change in atmosphere causing you to start blushing as well, slowly taking the rose out of her hand, making sure not to sting yourself on any of its thorns.

“T-Thanks, I would have brought something with me too if I knew you bought me something. Please excuse me for a minute, I’ll get you something”, you offered, trying your best to get out before your nervousness took over completely, only to stop when you heard Ganyu speak up again.

“Wait!”, she almost yelled, immediately stopping herself once she realized how loud she was, lowering her voice drastically. 

“There’s something I wanted to tell you.”

Keqing

No matter what way she looked at it, Keqing couldn’t help but feel slightly infuriated. You were her secretary, the first one to hold out for such a long time at that, so why were you spending less and less time around her, preferring to pretend to be busy running errands around the office?

This wasn’t jealousy that was speaking of course, it wasn’t like she started to enjoy having you around her at work so much that she couldn’t help but feel lonely whenever you weren’t, but if you had a problem with her, you should simply tell her that face to face instead of trying to run away.

And so, the Yuheng decided to ambush you somewhere private, fully intending to resolve whatever issues you had in a direct way.

“O-oh Keqing. Is there something you need?”, you asked, nearly jumping as Keqing appeared from behind the corner, cutting off your way suddenly enough that you nearly ran into her..

“Yes. I need you”, she stated, her tone sounding slightly frustrated, only for her eyes to slightly widen once she realized that her words could be taken another way, quickly adding a few more. “-to do your job as my secretary.”

While Keqing may have been full of resolve when she set out to confront you, the longer she had to wait for you, the more she began to actually fear what could happen. What if you really had a problem with her? Would you resign? Did you not enjoy working together as much as she did? At this point it was fair to say that she was feeling somewhat nervous, increasingly hoping that this all turned out to be some kind of misunderstanding.

“I can’t help but feel like you're avoiding me. Even now I had to basically ambush you to get you to even speak to me”, she explained while crossing her arms, checking your face for any reactions before taking a deep breath and continuing, “If you have a problem with me, just say it”, Keqing tried her best to continue her confident facade, only for it to slowly giving way with each and every word, her nervousness making its way onto her face.

“I don’t have a problem with you”, you quickly blurted out, only to almost instantly be cut off by the Yuheng.

“Then what is it?”

Her question almost instantly managed to shut you up, causing you to look around nervously as you tried your best to find the right words to continue with. Eventually letting out a long sigh as you closed your eyes in defeat.

“Could we go somewhere more private? I… have some things I need you to know.”

[unicyclehippo]

Defiant

‘—not what we are looking for. Send in the next interviewee on your way out.’

‘This is bullshit. You didn’t even talk to me.’

Laudna paused at the door, attention snagged by the unfamiliar voice. Their accent was rough, unpolished, and tone defiant. It shone in her mind—green, weighty, its sharpness keen and fragile. Crystalline. A voice that could bruise what it battered against or shatter in the attempt. The other voice she knew all too well—blue, rope-ish. Treshi.

‘Mister Gremmon—‘

‘Greymoore.’

‘—I’ve heard quite enough from you already. Now, you may either see yourself out, or I can call on our security guards, the choice is yours.’ A chair scraped harsh on the wood floor. Treshi spoke again, insufferably smug, ‘Good decision.’

As the footsteps drew closer, Laudna realised she was standing precisely where Treshi’s guest would emerge. There was nowhere to hide. The hallway was starkly empty. As the door creaked open, Laudna sucked in a breath and pressed herself against the wall. With any luck, they would think her a statue.

The study door swung open. A young man stepped out, slamming it behind him. He was shorter than she by a small margin but much more sturdily built. She had heard the term “brick shithouse” before and found the proportions fitting in this case. It was not, Laudna had to admit, the typical academic build and Treshi enjoyed the typical in all things. He would not have liked anything else about this person: not his casual attire—tshirt and jeans, with patches sewn over the knees; not his hair, dyed purple; not his jewellery, earrings and rings and bangles; and certainly not the eyepatch that covered his left eye, and the scars that adorned the side of his head and what she could see of that same arm, and the brace closed around that same leg, and the decorated cane he held in his right.

‘What?’ he growled. ‘What are you lookin’ at?’

‘I’m looking at you,’ Laudna said. ‘Mister Greymoore, was it?’

He scowled. ‘Yeah. Which way was it out? I got turned the fuck around on my way in.’

Laudna brightened. ‘I’d be pleased to escort you out!’

‘I’m not gonna steal your shit.’

‘Why would you—That wasn’t what I meant to imply at all, Mister Greymoore.’ Laudna glanced to Treshi’s closed door. She could hear their conversation through it. Was Treshi listening to them as well? Looking back to young Mister Greymoore, she was intrigued to find that his expression had relaxed from furious to some mix of irritated and curious.

‘Yeah, fine, sure, whatever,’ he said, though one of those words would have sufficed.

‘Marvellous!’ Laudna beamed at him and gestured for him to join her. She began a slightly incorrect path toward the exit, one that by complete coincidence would take her past her own office. ‘If you would prefer to walk in silence—‘

‘Fuck no.’

‘Might I ask then, what precisely you were speaking to Treshi about?’

His laugh grated oddly in his throat. It shone in Laudna’s mind, light across facets of a gem. Lovely.

‘So you hate that guy too, huh?’

Laudna startled. ‘What? No, of course not—‘

‘Right,’ he dragged the word out, disbelieving. Then, shrugging, ‘Interview. Guy put out a request to a bunch of schools asking for an assistant in his next project.’

‘Next project?’

‘No details. Sorry. You going for the same job or something? No offense, I don’t think he’s gonna hire you either—guy seems like a dick.’

Laudna pressed her lips together to keep from agreeing far too fervently, but couldn’t quite keep from smiling. ‘I am not. Going for the same job,’ she clarified. Then she stopped dead, eyes wide, hand to her chest. ‘Oh—how rude! I didn’t introduce myself! Doctor Laudna Bradbury! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Greymoore.’

She held out her hand. The young man regarded it for a moment before passing his cane to his other hand and taking hers, rather gently, and shaking it.

‘Hey. Ashton.’

‘A pleasure!’ she said again. While she held his hand, she added, ‘Would you like to work for me, Mister Greymoore?’