#perhaps an orchestra

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

John Price x Reader

Wounded, bloody, and just the two of you. A mission gone wrong leads to a long overdue moment between both you and your Captain, perhaps too late to count for anything. Not if either of you two can help it at least.

Part One of Two (Possibly Three Part short story).

EDIT* I went back and proofread this again and fixed errors. I didn't realize I posted this in such a crummy state before, I'm sorry!

TW//: Blood, Violence

Angst, Drama, Action, Romance, Near Death Experiences, Confessions, slightly Dark, some Fluffy Dialogue (not a ton though), Tension, slight Suspense, slight Slow Burn, For the girlies who like when their romantic moments feel a little teased and earned, Though this might still be boring garbage, plus the real stuff doesn't start 'til part two. The "developing feelings through almost dying in front of each other" trope, my favorite trope lowkey

This was not the smut piece I have been planning to write for Price (That's still coming), I wanted to practice writing him a little and this sprung on me after playing MW 2019. Figured I'd post it, though this is just to indulge my growing obsession with this man. Let me know if he's OOC, I want to write him well! Enjoy!

Part Two | Part Three

Price's voice suddenly shouts out from the living room, frantic and wired...

"Ambush! Get behind cover!"

...However, his warnings are drowned out by the whistling of an RPG heading straight for your location. It cuts through the evening sky, coming to you as a black dot zipping by at the blink of an eye.

The rocket breaks through the window of the house you and Price had been tasked to raid for intel, as the explosion goes off against one of the walls behind you. The sound which follows is unlike any you've ever heard the likes of before. A piercing, defeaning pop; the loudest and most unpleasant thing imaginable.

The sharp, crashing boom it erupts around you is hot like fire, singing your uniform and blasting you forward. It's the last thing you remember, before being greeted into a world of swirling blacks and oranges. In pain and completely immobile. Momentarily knocked unconscious.

You're not so sure how much time passes before you come to again. Only a handful of minutes or so. Though in that span, you've listened to the sounds of growing gunfire and shouting rise like a terrifying mob outside. Coming in and out in hot flashes.

Had your Captain's shouting not broken through this foggy barrier, you would have thought you'd have just died. You wouldn't be so lucky.

"Lieutenant!" you hear him call out. His voice grows more desperate the longer he hasn't heard from you. "I'm comin'!"

As the dust began to settle, you felt yourself coming back. You groan in pain, your entire body sore from the blast. Brick and stone rubble surround you like a straightjacket. You're pretty sure the entire roof of the house had fallen on top of you just now. Beneath it all, it was hard to tell for certain.

As you lie trapped, waiting to be rescued, you couldn't help but think about the mission. You and Price should have known this was some sort of setup.

Even Laswell had doubts this lead on Makarov wasn't just some trap to lure out their rivals and take them out, but with this recent dry spell on the investigation, your team couldn't afford to pass up the chance at some potentially valuable leads. It's why Laswell kept the team small, sending only you two on this one.

An easy enough operation: infiltrate the building, gather the intel, and get out. Nothing new. Only all you've found in this rinky-dink building on the outskirts of Urzikstan was a handful of AQ remnants and their new Russian PMC allies. And they knew you two were coming too.

The marked house was empty, both of any life and intel. And not even a second later were they all on top of your location, every inch of this town and the hills that surrounded it dug in with hostiles.

You'd have to ask Price later how it was he was able to push back that hoard alone, if you can make it out of this. There's no telling what they'd do to you both if they caught you in here, and that's if they even take you in alive.

You feel bits of rubble being shifted off your body, immense amounts of pressure releasing upon their departure. It's quickly replaced by the sharp bruising and pain it's left in its wake beneath your uniform.

"I'm right here," you hear Price's voice try to soothe you from up above, that gruff Liverpool accent of his clear enough even through the strain and stress. He hasn't let you down a day since you've known him. He wasn't about to make today his first.

Another large bit of rubble gets removed, taking the darkness away and flooding light down from above.

You could have sworn you were looking at an angel when you finally made out the silhouette of the man rescuing you. Your Captain. John Price.

"I've got you," Price assures you, his words felt wracked with adrenaline, hands moving near on impulse.

His hat was gone, short brown hair in a light tussle, and dust and light soot coating the black of his uniform and scruff of his beard. It almost worried you not to see him in it; he never parts from that thing. Perhaps during the blast it had gotten caught in the crossfires and rendered unwearable.

For some reason, it only made the situation feel much more worse than you originally thought.

His blue eyes find yours beneath the rubble, and you watch all the dread he'd been juggling with subside into relief the second he hears you cough out all the dust and wall you'd inhaled, struggling to catch your breath. He sighs to himself with a smile.

He doesn't even hear the words when he says them. Price only says the first thing that came to mind the minute you've finally stopped coughing to see him again.

"Thank fuckin' Christ."

Once Price saw you weren't dead, he finished removing the rubble from off of you. It's the bit he removes from your right arm that finally pulls a pained cry out of you. It's so intense it's as though reality just now set back in for you.

Your entire right arm felt numb from the elbow down, your fingers no longer feeling attached to your body. Had you not held your breath and sucked up the courage to look (with your peripherals first), you would have thought you'd lost your arm in the explosion.

Though it didn't make it any less broken and fucked. Nor did it make it any easier to not become fearful of what this could mean for you.

The Captain immediately notices the condition of your arm once he's cleared the debris off you. Cursing under his breath, Price helps you to your feet, brushing as much dirt from you as he can.

"You broken?" he asks. "Apart from the arm?"

You feel for what weapons still remained attached to your body after the blast, finding just a slender knife and your holstered pistol. Only two clips though. Of course.

Your arm and entire backside ached something fierce, and your brain felt as though it had been rattled inside your head and then some. If you shut your eyes now, you feared fainting dead away, and the ringing in your ears has yet to subside.

But your current state would have to do. It's that or die here. You knew that, and Price knew that too.

"I'm still here, Captain."

Price smiles, his gaze softening for just the slightest second. Happy to see his training and advice being taken seriously.

It just now was beginning to dawn on him that you hadn't died in here with him either. Seeing you OK and still ready to fight felt fuel enough for the Captain to keep going.

"That you are," he says.

Price parts from you to take post back by the freshly made hole in the wall, readying his rifle. Most of the building had collapsed in on itself, with the exception of the back of the house still being mostly intact.

Outside you could see the mountain of bodies Price had no doubt created while you were buried. None made it too close to where your position was.

With the coast temporarily clear, the current objective at hand remained the same: Get to the Evac Zone stat and get the hell out of dodge.

"This building's gonna be surrounded by Russians and AQ in less than a minute if we don't bug out now," Price warns. "And there'll be more where that came from, so ready yourself for a fight."

"Price..."

The Captain looks back at you, hearing the sudden dread in your voice. It takes him having to have stepped away from you to finally see that something really was up.

Your eyes look down to his waist, where you see the blood beginning to pool at his hip, staining his clothing and growing larger by the minute. It's clear he'd used what he could to try and wrap it, though it hadn't been enough. The adrenaline must have taken his mind away from it.

It figures you weren't the only one who got wounded here.

You look back up at Price, worried. Quiet.

Price looks down at his wound, placing a hand against it and seeing the warm, wet liquid coat his tattered glove. Whether it be a front or really only a flesh wound, Price doesn't dare break composure in front of you. You both would need him clearheaded.

"It's nothin' fatal," he simply tells you.

You knew Price wouldn't make a big deal about his injury, even if it were serious, which you honestly could not tell from where you were standing. You also knew Price wouldn't want you to worry about it either. He never liked when you worried for him; that's his job.

The time dwindled all the same; you can worry about it when you both get home.

You look to Price with contentment. You wouldn't be another reason for his worries if you could help it. "It'll make a good story for the boys later."

Price smiles back at you. "You'll tell it better than me, I'm sure."

The growing sound of men shouting and vehicles rushing to flank your position makes your blood run cold. If you didn't leave soon, neither of you would make it out of this to tell your stories.

You try and get that adrenaline you felt before to spike back up, knowing this was a matter of life and death now. Though your body betrayed you.

Your heart won't stop racing, no matter how much you try and calm yourself. Your hands keep shaking, and you can't help but keep checking the recently blasted hole behind you and your Captain. Soon to be flooded with enemies. Afraid.

Price must have noticed your worrying, because he steps away from his position and does something completely outside of himself suddenly. Though as he did so, it couldn't have felt more natural of a thing to do. Like a gesture he's spent his whole life waiting to give you.

He rests his hand gently on your cheek, bringing your eyes forward so you could see nothing beyond his own gaze. This close, even as night falls over the town and darkness shrouds the remains of this little house, this felt the clearest you've ever looked upon your Captain.

There's a glint of determination in his eyes, all the years of experiences that have worn and torn him the older he has gotten, defining the finer parts of his features. His expression always softened at the sight of you, an act you alone pulled from him for the first time truly, now.

Price was here with you. At that moment, it was the only thing that mattered.

"Hey," his thumb caresses your cheek, his jaw clenching to keep from wincing at the pain in his abdomen. "We're alive. Let's keep it that way, yeah? I'm not leavin' here without you."

His jaw tenses once more and you think for a second he might say something else. But he holds his tongue, wanting the most for you to keep calm beside him.

You can feel it in the air around him; the captain's as bugged out as you are right now. He was just doing everything he could to keep being a leader and bottle it up, channeling those fears and turning them into fuel to keep going. His words may be more for himself, than you, but they're true enough.

You lift your good hand up and let it rest over his, feeling his hand stiffen at first, but then find its home against your palm. You didn't want to have to let go, but you knew you must eventually. So you nod. "Damn right, you're not."

Price chuckles, happy to see you on the same page. "Fuckin' A, love," he quickly quips. "Now let's move."

The rocky hills stretched further out ahead of you. At some point their edges seem to blend with the black of the sky, all the stars gone away someplace. Luck would see a full moon above your heads, providing the only bit of light on this makeshift route to the Evac Zone.

You have Price's arm over your left shoulder now, having to help him the rest of the way since you've escaped the base. No amount of tough guy act the Captain put on could prevent the amount of blood he'd been losing. Had he not started tumbling over mid-shootout suddenly, you wouldn't have even known. And you wanted to kill him yourself once you did too.

It's nothin' fatal, he had said. The lie of the fucking century, right?

By now his dark blood has practically stained the entire lower right side of his body, making his skin pale and his eyelids heavy. His movements slowed, his reflexes taking a severe hit because of it, and he was beginning to breathe heavier. You've gone through all your supplies trying to stop his bleeding before leaving the house. Nothing worked.

It had been infuriating, just as it'd been scary to realize that your Captain really did need a medic right now. If he didn't see a doctor soon, he might just bleed to death before you've made it out of here.

Of course, having to help him now meant you couldn't shoot at all, given the state of your other arm. Price helped with what he could, but even a man of his talents couldn't prevent shaky shots from increasing blood loss.

"Nikolai's not far out now," Price grunted out, doing his best to put one more clip into his pistol. The last one. "Should be a few more clicks along this trail."

"He couldn't fly a little closer," you huff out, readjusting your hold on the Captain. He wasn't a light man, and while he did everything in his power to make this easier for you, his weakening state only grew harder to carry.

"You holdin' up alright?" Price asks. You feel him once again, ready himself to try and pull away and stand on his own feet. Having to rely on you was eating away at him, you could tell.

"I'm fine," you tell him, though that's not all the way true. Your vision had started to blur, and your lungs felt on fire. Now that some time has passed, all your once numb injuries were suddenly starting to scream at you for relief. Had you not been concentrating on your steps in front of you, or the thumping of your heart inside your ringing ears, you would have fainted already.

But you were all Price had right now; there was no way you'd fail him when he needed you most. "I'm more worried about you, Captain."

"Still got my wits about me..." he says. "Maybe a little lighter now, given I've been leakin' like a faucet."

"I'd beg to differ."

"Eh, you can use the exercise, lieutenant."

"Or you can lose the weight, Captain."

You both chuckle, and for a second, it felt easier to pretend you both were somewhere else right now. Spending all the time together you only wish you had before.

The levity was needed. It kept you both sane and human, and right now, Price was kicking himself in the ass for not appreciating these moments with you sooner.

The team really lucked out when they recruited you, he saw that now. You've always made sure you were someone Price could trust. That you were someone he could depend on you. You kept a cool head and you did what you must, while staying both good-natured and sweet, despite everything.

And when everything was said and done, you came back to him, keeping a smile as neutral as his own could manage. Your eyes bright like stars with him in your sights. His would often do the same.

All the times you've been at his side before tonight, keeping his head on straight when he needed it most, and always reminding him of life outside of all of this, they've only increased over the years. In every moment it always felt as though you two only teetered at the next level of your fondness for one another. Both wanting to push further, but not wanting to push the other too quickly either.

Your roles on the team always came first; they seemed to be the most important thing at the time.

Every lingering touch, a longing gaze brought by excitement and recognition, a check-in during work, or a brief moment of conversation... that's where your relationship has stayed for years now. You both felt OK with that. You thought so at first.

However, Price knew one thing. He couldn't lose you tonight. He wouldn't. Not on his account. Not when there's so much more that can still be. John's lived long enough to know that when something feels this right, there is no time to waste, lest he lose that chance forever like he has with so many others before.

You feel Price grow slack against your side now, his blood starting to soak through your uniform. It took everything in you not to panic.

"I won't let you fall," you assure him now, adjusting him against you. "Just keep holding on."

The smell of blood is so strong, you'll never forget its scent long after you've left this place. Nor would you forget seeing your Captain this way. Hurt and broken. You know he's no stranger to it, but alas, John is still human.

"...I'm taking you out for dinner after this," Price up and says suddenly. He figures he should just throw that out there, in case he didn't get another chance to. "My treat."

You nearly trip when you hear him, as if you're heart needed any more of a reason to fluctuate. You lost count of how long you've waited to hear him say that, having spent so many nights daydreaming about a time he'd come up to you and actually asked you out. It felt like everything you imagined it would; if only it had been under better circumstances.

"Is that a promise, Captain?"

"You know I wouldn't bluff about that, love."

"Well, then you better keep it then, John."

"As you wish."

He could hardly understand how it was you were still able to push through all that growing pain in your body after taking such a blast. He couldn't be more proud of it either.

The town illuminated like a glowing city behind you, AQ and Russians creating an uproar there, regardless of your presence. It was no longer your problem, however. The approaching convoy heading your direction was.

You weren't out of the fire just yet.

You look around yourselves, only having a few large rocks and boulders to hide behind in your immediate vicinity. Little word is needed to be shared between you two before the plan was nonverbally green-lit.

You both take cover behind a large rock facing the hills, Price resting down against the rock as you took out your pistol. It was time to see if your shooting with your left hand has improved any more than it did a few minutes ago during your escape.

You peak over the stone, seeing four AQ soldiers step out with rifles and flashlights, already hot on your pursuit. Tracking the trail of blood you'd left behind. Price peaks around the other side of the rock, raising his pistol.

"You take the two on the right," he whispers. "I got left."

You nod, and then take position. Price takes the first shot, dropping both his targets with swift precision. Even wounded, the man always had a way with pistols. Forever the dead-eye shot.

You drop one AQ soldier, happy to see your aim improve. However, your heart sinks when you go to shoot the other soldier and you hear the click of your pistol suddenly. Out of ammo.

The AQ soldier fires at you, the bullet just grazing by your cheek, before another hits you straight at the center of your chest, rattling your sternum and knocking you off your feet. Without your bulletproof vest, that bullet would have torn straight through you. Though you might as well have died, with the pain it sent through you instead. Knocking the wind out of you.

Before you know it, Price has reached over and started pulling you back behind the boulder. "Hold on!" he says. "You're not dead yet."

Price goes to try and get to his knees and peek over the boulder, however, now that he's sat back behind the rock again with you, it's become an impossible task to even wiggle his feet at this point. Like his legs were losing feeling. The blood loss really was starting to catch up to him now, it seems.

So instead, Price did the next best thing, simply waiting for the AQ soldier to round the corner, which he stupidly does. The minute the enemy's head peaks over, Price shot twice for good measure, watching the man drop to the ground with a heavy thud.

"I think we're clear," he says. "Still breathing?"

"Yeah," you gasp out.

A lot of times, you're not sure if you'd make it through a lot of these missions if Price wasn't here. The true backbone of the 141. The man always just seemed to be prepared for anything, even with the odds stacked against him. Often feeling like some other worldly being on the field, unable to be truly harmed by the threats he faced.

Until now, you couldn't even picture him so hurt.

When Price went on a mission, you could trust he'd get it done, if no one else. And you could always trust he'd make it back too. One way or another. Of course, he wasn't always lucky, as rare as those days actually came. Luck seemed to only be a recent thing for him in fact, and of short supply tonight.

You push yourself up, rubbing your hand over your chest in an attempt to soothe the throbbing. You're unsure what bad juju you yourself had crossed, or why lady luck seemed on your side even despite it all, but maybe fate wanted you to make it out of here.

One of you at least.

You look over at Price and see him barely able to keep consciousness now, cold sweat forming at the sides of his face, and a puddle of blood building around his legs. His breathing broken. Dying.

Seeing him now, pale, bloodied, and relying on a rock behind him to keep himself upright... for the first time ever you felt fear for your Captain.

"No, no, no," you rush over to Price, taking hold of his face and bringing his eyes to you. Seeing them so close again wakes him somewhat. "Stay with me, Captain."

"I'm still here..." Price answers weakly. Even still, he tries to keep up an act in front of you, like he truly was fine. It only made you more afraid to lose him now. Out in some rocky hilltop in the middle of nowhere because of bad intel. You couldn't lose him like this.

You look over the boulder, seeing the convoy those AQ soldiers showed up in still running a few feet ahead of you. Just what you needed.

"Can you stand?" You ask.

"...I'll need help," he said.

"OK, OK..." You take a deep breath, plotting everything out in your head before taking Price's hand in yours. "There's a convoy over there we can take to the Evac Zone. It'll be faster than going on foot."

You start trying to pull Price up, feeling the man use all the strength he can muster to try and push off the ground and back to his feet. Having one hand to help him didn't make matters easier, however. He made it halfway before falling back against the cold stone with a sharp grunt and some swearing.

Rather than comment, you take Price's hand again, feeling your face turn red with trying to lift him. He gets his knees bent to stand this time, but whenever any weight was applied afterward, an aggressive pain would awkwardly shoot through his body, taking all the momentum from him and causing him to sink back down. And with how heavy he was, you couldn't stop him once he it happened.

Price falls back against the rock again, as frustrated as you are about it all. He can't even bring himself to look you in your eye he's so mad, ashamed of the situation. It's not like him to be the one holding things back. He shouldn't have gotten wounded like this in the first place, he felt.

"...If you go and get help, I can manage here 'til then," Price starts to say. Feeling like a burden, he no longer wished to hold you down. But you wouldn't hear it.

"Fuck that," you protest. "I didn't carry you all the way over here to leave you so you can bleed out."

"...You didn't do it to die here either." He grabs at his side, gritting his teeth along to that burning pain he felt, as the taste of iron tinted the back of his throat now. "Look, this ain't how I plan on goin' out, trust me. Plus we've still got that dinner, yeah?"

Price smiles at you after he says it, and it takes everything in you not to cry. An unspoken reality lingered in the air soon after, because you both knew what it'd mean if you couldn't pick him up from this spot. You'd give anything to not make that so.

You hear more vehicles heading your way from the town. A good handful of them now. Too many. All armed and ready to take out the two 141 soldiers responsible for killing their friends. You knew if you left Price here now, you wouldn't see him again.

"Fuck..." Out of breath and defeated, sorrow starts to settle in and you swallow it down, letting the feelings stir into frustration. "Why'd we wait so long, John?"

Price felt at a loss for words. "I don't know..." he admits. He couldn't quite give you an answer for that; it had always just been... something. He could at least look you in your eyes when he spoke to you now. "But... I'm sorry for that," he says. "Probably should have said somethin' sooner, huh."

You have to bite your cheek to keep from letting his words fill you with so much sorrow and regret. "You and me both."

Fearful that these may actually be your final moments with your Captain, now you wish he hadn't said anything at all, not knowing you'd be losing him so soon after. Leave it to Price to twist the knife in a wound you didn't even know had now grown.

However, Price did not share your begrudging feelings about how things turned out. He'd just been happy finally getting that off his chest. Now, if you could just get to safety then if he did die tonight he'd be satisfied enough with things.

"Better late than never, right?" Price chuckles through the pain. And then he grows quiet. "You know I've always had a pension for dramatic timing."

The vehicles in the distance getting closer now. There was no more time for further talking.

"Forever the attention seeker, Captain," you comment.

"Yours is all I ever needed."

You look back to the town a final time, seeing the convoys getting closer. You take a deep breath, and then you reapproach your Captain, taking his hand. You prepare yourself to try and lift Price back up to his feet again. "Well, you've got it."

"Now hold on-"

"No," you didn't want to hear any more of his excuses to be left behind. If helping him means you both die here, then that was something you were willing to risk. "I'm not leaving you here, so give it up already."

With one final pull, you use all the strength you have left in you to lift your Captain up to his feet. He uses your momentum to push himself up from the boulder, actually managing to stand, though it feels as though his guts are about to spill out of him when he does.

As he's teetering over, you quickly grab hold of his arm, restabilizing him, and trying not to jump too much for joy that you actually got him up this time.

You take his arm and wrap it back around your shoulder, as you guided him over to the convoy.

"We're damn near home free, Captain," you say. "Just hold on a little longer. You'll make it. You're the toughest man I know."

He is the toughest man you knew. A man ready to jump into the fire to save others in need. A man that can shrug off a helicopter crash, take a beating and still keep from succumbing. You knew he'd never go down without a fight, and it's why you felt so safe beside him. It's why you wouldn't leave him.

You open the passenger door and help Price inside.

"...You really want that dinner, don't you?" he teases you.

"Is that even a question?" You check to make sure the vehicle can still run, feeling for any tracking devices that might overcomplicate your escape. Once you see you're good to go, you buckle your seat belt and take the wheel. "Yeah, I want that dinner. Now stop bleeding and sit tight."

"Yes, ma'am."

Next stop, the Evac Zone.

Part Two

#call of duty #john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty mwii #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #might add music later #perhaps an orchestra #I'm a film major #I love drama

[capn-o-my-soul]

i've never seen it spelled with "x"s before

#shostakovich #is that how it is spelled in spanish perhaps? #it was on a program for a concert in spain #but it was still an american orchestra (just on tour in europe)

[alabaster-moon]

mate i was going through old uni videos and there’s just one where i’ve obviously asked someone to record me because like that me on stage

but in the background it’s them going “lol we should change her lockscreen and mess with the phone language that’d be funny” and i am just dying with laughter

…heh. i miss those guys.

#moonieposts #don’t mind me i was looking for one specific orchestra vid #and now i’ve straight up lost it #perhaps i should message them #don’t know if i’d get a reply #but life’s short why not message your friends

[supercantaloupe]

woke up to an email from maestro asking if i wanted to TA next fall for harmony class(es). at least. i think. the email is two sentences long and contains almost no details

#classic maestro #i'm surprised there's capitalization and punctuation this time you don't always get that in a maestro email #anyway. ??? #it literally just says 'are you good at theory? are you interested in teaching?' and absolutely nothing else #i wonder if the school doesn't have the funds to give me an orchestra scholarship next year #and this is his way of trying to offer me financial support for my degree #i'm still waiting on the honors grad fellow decision.... that's the biggest factor in my financial aid deal so we'll see ig #anyway. thanks maestro. a few more details perhaps??? #sasha speaks #i wanna talk about me

[aeriedwelling]

12 26 and 10 (◍•ᴗ•◍)

12. how are you?

i am SO GOOD dude this is the happiest i've been in a while and i am just vibin right now, havin a good time :D

26. what movie would you want to live in?

any form of ghibli movie. specifically the marsh in When Marnie Was There or maybe a part of the clubhouse in From Up On Poppy Hill or maybe the seaside town in Ponyo?? also the cities in Howl's Moving Castle? because they are?? *chef's kiss*???? idk man ghibli movies my beloved <3 <3 <3

10. what’s something you’re excited for?

sO MANY THINGS i'm gonna learn how to play my violin really good and maybe join an orchestra with my sister and i'm going to start working out so i can get BUFF (my goal is to be able to pick up anyone i want and carry them around >:D) i'm gonna learn how to make professional looking cosplay and how to make dance costumes and doing alterations and the greatest part is none of this is going to be during college cause i get to drop out and it's so great and i know "i get to drop out of college!!" is a weird thing to be excited for but i get to drop out of college i am sO hyped

from this

#ah! a ghost!! #pigeon rambles #*does a funky lil dance* #i am fantastic :D #i'mma go live with my sister for a week (same sister i might be joining an orchestra with) #my other sister is getting married and that's REALLY WEIRD #but i'm also very excited for her #i am playing. so much minecraft #speaking of which we still gotta play minecraft together #might be able to get on tonight? perhaps? after i'm done packing #if ur still interested

[bilbao-song]

Ok, I'm so sorry - I know I'm pestering you with all the Jeffrey thoughts now. I was honestly going to just reply to the last post instead of an ask then..... well, then I realized there was something I wanted to share that required photographic evidence. (You've probably already noticed, but I was like !!! When it struck me. And my God, it's a mundane detail, but idk, it stuck with me.)

But first (because it's related and made me think of this other random thing), I like to think he was sleeping and someone tucked the Playboy in his hand and snapped the pic as a prank.

But, have you ever noticed his duffel he's got his head on?

I was poking around online one day, looking at pictures of Jeffrey, as one does, and came across a pic of him from the Discovery Era. Also, a great looking time - very stylish, and his legs look very long in this time period for some reason? Maybe he slimmed down some and started wearing fitted suits that accentuate them, idk. But, i digress. In the pic below, I realized I think it's the same duffel.

In the first pic, there's not many tags on it at all. In the second, there are like a ton of luggage tags attached at the strap hook. Idk why, but I find it endearing that he may have kept the same duffel for traveling for what's that, about 6-7 years, maybe? He could buy so much luggage. He could buy a luggage factory. But he uses the same black leather travel bag year after year. (Maybe he's super thrifty!)

I just felt the need to share this completely random factoid.

Also, yes! His nails! They always look very nice and clean. Why i ever picked up on it, I'll never know, but I do know you're not alone in taking note. The man seems to care about his appearance, which is somehow really sweet.

Ok, I'll stop pestering now, lol! May the new year bring better things than the last!

nooooo this is not pestering, this is like, my favorite activity

anyway :^) actually i hadn’t noticed that! now i wish there were some more photos for the sake of comparison, but i definitely see what you mean! it looks like it could be the same one. how cute :’) now i kind of hope it is hahaha.

i’m glad i’m not the only person crazy enough to notice his nails lmao. i just like that even at the peak of his scruffy look he was still lowkey neat and clean haha. besides at least as far as people i’ve actually encountered are concerned there are a LOT of people wandering around out there with alarmingly filthy nails

but yesssssss happy new year! this will be my first official post of 2023 i think lmao. it’s worthy

#jeff lynne #oh and i’ve considered the same theory re: the playboy thing hahaha #it just looks so conveniently placed. who knows #anyway this perhaps ties in w/ the other thing i posted but yeah it does seem like around 1978 and the ensuing Skinny Boy years he was like #wearing more tailored clothing?? he had a nice lil sleek look then and i do love his nice long legs………… #oh and the shoessssss in that one of him on the couch. i love them #tl;dr i love him and he is Pretty. #007waffles007 #e* #i could do this all day lmao #elo #electric light orchestra

[soulsolid-a]

head stuck on videogames sry but rotates modern au for brook in bg,,,,,

#[ ooc. ] ─ ♪ 《 from tomorrow to the future 》 #[ honestly half tempted to just take his actual story but shorten the 50 years alone (staying in his house) and ofc not dying (actually) #[ but seeing his friends perhaps former orchestra group all die #[ sure fdsklsd #[ probably late 50s-60s instead of 90s modest music/fencing teacher probably private #[ starts openly experimenting with more 'hip' genres of music after meeting luffy gets a big break #[ and is convinced to become a musician:tm: for a while b4 it got too much and he returned to teaching #[ maybe?? yorki is alive... just also thought brook was dead or something..... <- has been thinkin ab writing yorki as a muse bc #[ simply collects dead men--- fdskjljklds #[ trying to figure out laboon... if actual whale or something else #[ dsfjklds rotates thoughts in head like rat as i try my best to wrinkle my half braincell

[noxtivagus]

promises to keep.... i love & miss e12s 🥹🤍

#🌙.rambles #there's always this special feeling that's like. that i always feel wnvr i lsiten to the song #SOBBING I USED TO ALWAYS GET SO EMOTIONAL #I LOVE ORCHESTRA SO FUCKING MUCH I WLD #😭😭 i'm going a bit. insane rn #THE WAY IT STARTS OUT W THE PIANO. THE DROPS N THE INSTRUMENTS N #i love the melody so much! the harmonies! #the orchestra vocals!!!!!!!!! #& goddamn don't get me started on the fight #it's my fav honestly sob it's just Special to me #IT'S SO MAGICAL N PRETTY N #i remember all the mechs. it's just intertwined w my fucking soul n engraved in my mind #part 2 too.... THE EXTREME! FINAL FANTASY EIGHT #SOB I LOVE THE BOSS DESIGN SM TOO #i rmb talking a bit to one of my friends abt raiding bcs he was progging ucob by then n asked how was e12s prog for me #bro said i might have difficulties at first w double apoc sorry nah i grasped it rlly quickly 🥺 #i rmb i had some friends that were surprised when finding out how young i was esp back then but #tbf perhaps this may come w some underestimation of my own self but it's generally easier to learn when you're young iirc #apollo n i were the youngest in the static & fc. we know the age of one of our friends then n he's 3 years older #everyone else in the static were adults by then n most were in uni or. yk working n all #i'd be willing to bet that at least one person was twice our age sooo #i was MT (main tank) >< goddamn ego boost oh no #ffxiv raiding makes me rlly happy. i hope one day i'll have a grp of close friends my age w similar interests that #i can raid w together yk? vc. play ffxiv together. i never really had a grp of friends that i cld play games together with #oh my god i miss raiding in ffxiv so much it's been months 😭 #awwwie hehe i rmb our static calling shiva phase pvp bcs we'd always wipe out each other 🥹 #i love the clutches we had oh my god those were so fun. #SOB WAIT I RMB IN THE TRANSITION CUTSCENE 💀 we're all kinda knocked down yeah n my wol wld #during prog one of the glams i'd use wld be. she'd wear a skirt n.... BRO MY STATIC WLD LAUGH SOBBBB MY POOR WOL #i miss those days hehe i wld be drained at times but! happy memories c: i miss raiding 🤍 ><

[vulnerasti-cor-meum]

honestly Verdi’s Falstaff approximates what I imagine a thorough-composed (using the term loosely) opera by Mozart would sound like

#perhaps that's why I like Falstaff so much #everything from plot to music is so Mozartian #Mozart and Verdi really do turn their orchestras into another character in their operas #Shakespeare-based as it is lol #verdi #falstaff #mozart #italian opera

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Reign down on me - Part 2

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt

A/N: This is a bit of a short update, but I wanted to get something out for the people that were asking for it! Enjoy 💕

-🐺-

You were embarrassed as soon as the realisation hit you, but by the time you’d had a decent rest and something to eat, you were feeling a lot more even footed. You were standing at the precipice of your new posting with anticipation, ready and waiting at the front door of Ghost’s house, eagerly listening out for him to come out of his room and take you to the new base. 

Ghost had knocked on your door earlier that morning just a little while after the sun had risen. He was still donning his skull balaclava and dressed similarly to the night before, though he had seemed to have changed sine. His eyes widened a fraction once he looked in and saw you, a flicker of surprise crossing what little you saw of his features when he saw you sitting awake on your freshly made bed. 

“Earlier riser. Not a nest builder then?” he’d noted.

You struggled to remember the last time you’d made a blanket nest, you could barely recall how to build one. That was one of the first things that’d been beaten straight out of you after being left at the barracks, leaving your ‘bed’ in any other state than bare with folded up sheets was an immediate punishment. 

“I’m not a child,” you muttered.

You were determined not to get emotional that day. Set against becoming the mushy tempered little pup you’d been the day before and instead behave like the soldier you were. That way, you figured, he might treat you the way he was supposed to as well. No more surprises, just business as usual.

However you were met with shock again when he’d led you away from bed and pointed at the table you’d sat at the night before. At what was apparently now your seat, there was a steaming  styrofoam box with bacon, eggs, toast and beans cooked to perfection and ready for you to eat. The scent was rolling through the air and rushing into your system, overwhelming you as you took an unsure stoop into your chair. 

“For me?” you asked, making sure to confirm before picking up the fork and knife laid out. 

“Yeah, Price ordered out for us. You’ve got a big day ahead, and he wants you on top form. And apparently I can’t be trusted to sort breakfast,” he said, scoffing at that last part. “Eat up and get ready. I’ll get you at the door in an hour.”

You breathed out a sigh, already not sure what to make of getting such a lavish breakfast, but there was nothing for it. If your new Captain had specifically requested you eat the feast in front of you, then you’d scarf down every last bit of it. Your stomach baulked at the idea of having so much in the morning when you were used to very little, but you ate it all while Ghost busied himself with the dishes from the night before behind you. Apparently he was intent on filling the air with a clattering clanging orchestra.

By the end of your meal, you’d figured that breakfast had to be one of the best you’d ever had, but with good food comes a heavy stomach and it turned you sluggish. It made for a struggle to find your motivation to go to the bathroom and get ready. However you bullied yourself into getting through it, your mental drill sergeant forcing you along until you ended up at the door fully dressed and in your usual black cargos and white T-shirt, tail swishing in anticipation for Ghost.

Your boots were still a bit damp from being in the rain all day before, but you were sure that with whatever Price had planned they’d be smelling like old cheese either way. It didn’t stop your nose wrinkling any less though. 

“Do you not have another pair of boots?” Ghost groused, looking you up and down while his heavy steps came thudding up to the door. 

He was all wrapped up in his big black jacket. He looked a lot warmer than you did standing there holding off the shakes, but you knew better than to complain. Plus your belly was full of meat and carbs so it helped your body fend off the morning chill. 

“We only get issued one set,” you said, looking down at your sodden feet, “I can try to clean them off a bit more, but I figured it would just waste time and make them wetter.”

“Well that’s changing today. You can’t walk around in wet shoes like that, we’re not in world war one,” he grunted. “What else do you need?”

You frowned at him, tilting your head at the question. Why would you need anything else?

“What else would I need?” you asked earnestly, hoping he wouldn’t get annoyed at the stupid question. 

“Your bag wasn’t very big and those clothes you were wearing last night were falling to bits. You’ve clearly been sewing them a lot, and not very well,” he laughed. “Tell me what you need and I’ll send for it.”

“I…” you tried to think of something, anything just to avoid looking like an idiot, but you couldn’t. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. I have all the things I’m required to have.”

Your ears folded down, your body was bracing and ready for him to shout at you, instincts winning over your pride. It was bad enough you weren’t able to answer his question, but you’d pretty much disagreed with him as well just by saying you had what you needed. A rookie move, you thought as you admonished yourself.

“Can I see what you brought with you?” Ghost asked, his voice so quiet under the muffling of his mask material. 

You bit your lip and nodded, still waiting for the roaring thunder of shouts to begin and start beating against the walls. Instead he just moved his body to the side and motioned for you to go back to your room. You were forced to pass by him, shrugging your shoulders into your neck in anticipation of a grab. Every little creak across the wood felt like a prelude to some larger sound or maybe even a smack, but you were shocked to find that none of what you imagined came to pass. 

Once you’d reached your little chest of drawers, you were worked up to hell. There was blood rushing fast in your ears, a river running through your head and you were having to hold your breath just to keep your chest from convulsing. Ghost wouldn’t have noticed your breathing anyway though, while you panicked and waited for him to finally show his anger, he opened your drawers and revealed the barren interiors inside, closing each one with a heavy thunk and a dissatisfied tisk.

“Really, pup, is this all you have?” Ghost sighed, ending his search at the last drawer.

It contained two other pairs of black cargos and your sweats that you’d been wearing the night before. You looked down at it with glassy eyes and then back at Ghost, still waiting for your scolding. Waiting for him to rise up from his crouch and tower over you again. 

“Three pairs of trousers, five T-shirts, underwear for the week, and a set of bedclothes,” you listed, trying to keep a hold of yourself. “Plus a sewing kit. That’s what the rules say we need to have. Is there a different regulation here, sir?”

Ghost put his head in his hands for a moment and you pursed your lips, readying yourself for an explosion. Your toes curled and your claws dug into your palms, every fibre of your body was poised for an attack that you had to let happen. There was no way you were going to start the morning off badly with defying your handler on your first official day afterall. 

“You should have more than this,” Ghost finally said, his voice an even rumble as always. “You’ve served for a long time, you should have some personal things, darlin’.”

Your fear was now turning to frustration. Now you were at a loss, you didn’t understand what he wanted. Why was he wasting so much time on this clothes issue when you were supposed to go meet Price? The last thing you wanted was for Price to be mad at your late arrival because Ghost was getting caught up on your clothes.  

“Have you been wearing your work clothes on day trips?” Ghost asked.

“On…what?”

“When you go off base,” he prodded, now standing up to his full height again. “What do you wear in your downtime?”

“I’ve only ever been off base for missions and off-site training,” you murmured, looking down at your dirty boots. “It’s just hybrids with permanent handlers that get taken out at Branhaven and no one ever wanted to have me until you and Price. Everything I have is in those drawers…apart from some bathroom stuff I put away in the sink cupboard, I made sure I kept it all out of the way of your things though.”

Ghost looked dumbstruck. It was a funny thing, even though you couldn’t see his face you could still tell so much about his expression through his eyes and body. And in that moment his eyes looked lost and his fists were clenched at his sides. You couldn’t figure out why that sentence was what he seemed the most angry at since that whole segue had started, but you couldn’t deny that there was something like a glint of murder in his face.

“Can we just go now, sir?” you asked, looking past his shoulder and hoping you could entice him to drop the whole stupid subject. “Won’t Captain Price be mad if I’m late?”

Ghost untensed his muscles and dropped his hands. 

“He won’t be mad, it’ll be fine,” he assured, putting a hand on your shoulder and making you jump. “Woah, easy darlin’. It’s ok. Don’t worry about all this, alright? I’ll talk to you about all this later, but for now you’re right, we should get heading. C’mon.”

You huffed out a sigh of relief when he turned and clutched at your chest for a second, thanking whatever spirit was around that you gave him an effective distraction. Though you dreaded to think the subject was going to be revisited. You were still going to be equally as clueless as to why he was so upset that you didn’t have more…stuff. 

You had no idea what that stuff was supposed to be or what you’d need it for when you had perfectly sufficient things that you could always repair whenever that was required. Anything else was just stupid, you were just a hybrid. What would you do with personal items or civilian clothes? It’s not like you were bursting with photos to frame or had any events to look nice for.

It was all so stupid! You put it out your mind and compartmentalised, following silently at Ghost's big back as he took wide strides across the smooth paving and over to his car. You never were good with remembering makes or what logos were what, but what you did know was that It was huge and black and practically gleaming it was so clean. It was clearly something that he took pride in. 

It made you purse your lips once inside, entirely mindful of how spotless his matching black leather interior was. It didn’t seem very conducive with wolf fur so you opted to grab your tail and hold it round your front once you were seated, hoping you could stop yourself from shedding all over the place and creating another uncomfortable conversation. Even though the angle hurt and needled at your old injury, you muscled through with gritted teeth, summoning all your strength for whatever lay ahead. 

Besides, you thought as the engine roared to life, the pain almost made up for the lack of punishment before. It put your head back into order. 

…

“Well well, look who finally decided to show up.”

You’d already gotten out of Ghost’s car with your heart in your throat after seeing you were ten minutes later than he’d said you needed to be. Now standing at the foot of the office, Price’s words had you wincing. You panicked and looked from the Captain sitting at his shaky old desk and then back up at Ghost in the doorway, internally cursing him for taking up your precious time with all of his nonsense about clothes.

“Somethin’ came up,” Ghost shrugged, settling one of his hands across your back and on your shoulder. “Fair warning - this one’ll have a heart attack if you pretend to get mad, so consider your next words carefully.”

Price raised his brows and looked straight at you then, smiling with that signature crinkly eyed grin of his. You remembered his face well, you’d always been thrown by how kind it looked when you’d gone away with him. You weren’t used to Captain’s like him, not accustomed to anyone giving you smiles and encouraging praise. 

At the start of the mission he’d made sure to emphasise he’d be looking out for you through his scope and had Gaz ready with a rifle if anyone had tried to intercept your tracking. Then after you’d returned home he’d made a point of taking you for a burger before he took you back to your base, even letting you sit in his warm truck and enjoy it properly. 

“Well we don’t want that, do we? C’mon, love, take a seat and we’ll go over some things before you go see the other two,” Price said, pointing to one of the chairs in front of him. 

You complied immediately, forgetting about your rush of memories, racing to sit down to a point you were almost sprinting to the chair. Price kept the smile on his face while Ghost sat beside you, both men sharing a look while you anxiously waited to hear what Price was going to say. You couldn’t help but fidget with your tail, digging your fingers deep into the wiry top layer of fur and into the soft tufts underneath. 

“Ghost filled me in on what happened yesterday,” Price said, brows lifting as he tilted his head down at you. “And we want you to know that’s not how we wanted to manage the transfer. So first off, I just want to make sure you’re doing ok. How do you feel about the new arrangement?”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. As much as you liked the Captian, you still didn’t expect him to mirror Ghost’s strange behaviour and ask about your feelings. He hadn’t said much to you before when you’d gone away with him, there weren’t any good markers to see if this was normal behaviour.

It all made you wonder if you’d been taken away to some kind of opposite land where hybrids seemed to mean something. Then again, you thought bitterly, perhaps this was all a test, just to see how you’d respond.

“Fine, sir,” you answered, fingers threading tighter through your tail. 

Ghost and Price shared another look. Price’s mouth quirked as if he had gathered something from the stare that Ghost gave him.  

“Ok…well that’s good. Do you have any questions for us? 

“No, sir. I’ll do whatever you ask of me, I’m ready,” you said, giving a little nod for emphasis. 

Price chuckled, but the smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes. You were sure you’d said something wrong, but if pressed to answer what that was…you wouldn’t know what to say. 

“I’m glad that you’re keen to get started, that’s a good sign. I’m not looking for you to dive right into working though, I want you to have questions and ask us things, so go ahead. You must have something you want to know.”

You sighed and looked down at your tail again, stomach feeling all the heavier after that breakfast. There were a lot of questions floating around your head, but every little piece of you was crying out to just shut up. 

Hybrids don’t ask questions, they follow orders. 

You had been told to ask your questions though. It would surely make him angrier to be denied, you reasoned to yourself. 

“Why me, sir?” You asked, looking up from your lap. 

“Why’d we want you on the team? I liked working with ya, you were quiet, efficient, had a keen focus as well. Simple as that really. We needed a hybrid and I thought you’d be a good fit with us.”

“A good fit, sir? Why?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you. 

“Everyone on the taskforce is someone that I can count on. I’ve worked with each one of ‘em at various times in my career and I know that they’ll deliver every time I ask them to go out on the field. You did well on that mission you joined us on, and 

 when looked over your record after, I was impressed with your results to say the least. Makes you a great candidate for the 141.” 

“I’ve never had anyone mention anything good about my record before you both,” you muttered. “Are you sure they didn’t mix up the file handover, Captain?” 

Price shook his head and reached his hand across the table, warm skin enclosing over yours as he held his palm over the back of your hand. You felt your ears perk up in surprise. He was…touching you? And not for corrective reasons either! 

“I can assure you it was the right one, love. There wasn’t anything I saw on there that made me think you couldn’t do this job,” he said, giving your hand a quick pat before withdrawing again. “It ain’t all about staying out of trouble.”

You looked up at him and said nothing then, completely silenced by his thoughtful gesture. You’d gotten in plenty of trouble, that was for sure, but you only ever acted like a little shit with the assholes back on your base. Things were different now. You didn’t know how to orient yourself, didn’t know how to behave in your new circumstances.

Instinct said to ignore all the fluffy behaviour and just get through the day doing what you were told, but there was a tiny part of you that really wanted to believe that maybe the men in that room had your best interests at heart - maybe, just maybe this was the break you’d always secretly hoped for. Not that you gave that part of yourself much credence, its voice was too similar to that of the young pup that said that maybe your family would come back for you one day. Maybe they’d realise they made a mistake dropping you off and they’d let you come home again. Stupid stupid little wolf that you were to ever even have a notion like that. 

“Well, I’ll do my best regardless, Sir,” you smiled, hoping he’d move on and get the day going. 

“Good to hear. Do you have anything else you’d like to know before we get stuck in?” 

“No, sir,” you said a little too eagerly. 

He laughed at that. His chuckling low, deep and earthy as the cigar scent that permeated around him. There was something so naturally easy about Price, something that had you relaxing even while you wondered if you were going to get in trouble for not being interested enough to ask more. 

“Well, first things first, welcome to the 141. As you’re the first hybrid member, I expect there will be a learning curve for us all, so we’re going to be training hard over the next few weeks while we get used to each other. Ghost is the only one of us fully trained in hybrid handling, so all of us will be taking his lead while we learn to work properly together out on the field. You’ll be with Ghost for your first few missions, but after that initial few weeks pass you can be sent out with any of the team at any time. You’re not just getting sent on assignment anymore and you’re not dealing with the likes of your old base, you’re dealing with very intense work,” Price said, taking a sharp intake of breath as his tone changed. “You’re going to be out with us in all manner of terrains and situations, and oftentimes under heavy fire. We can be sent anywhere at anytime, and when a target is discovered we need to act quick. We deal with very prolific HVT’s and even in high stress, they need to be brought in safely for interrogation. All this is to say, you’re not expected to act like a mutt anymore, I don’t need that on my team. I want you to be sharp and take initiative, I will need you to communicate with us and to share your thoughts rather than blindly follow orders even when you know they’ll lead to trouble. Your perspective is valuable, you can hear better and sniff out danger that we can’t, so if you flag something then tell us. Do you think you can do that?” 

You raised your brows, head heating in malfunction, not at all ready for the big speech your new captain had imparted on you. Learning to act like a ‘mutt’ was the only thing that had ever been drilled into you. It was the reason you’d been met with so much trouble at the beginning of your career, the main reason your original handlers had encouraged the others to beat you that little bit harder and to make your life more miserable than the rest. You’d been shoved into submission all your life and told to shut the fuck up and do as you were told, you’d never ever been told your perspective was valuable.

You weren’t even given a mic to communicate with out on the field when you started, you were just supposed to follow orders as they came to you. You’d learned ever since then not to speak unless asked.

“Not to question you, but…just to clarify. You’re telling me you want me to go against orders, sir?”

“Well for example… I tell you to walk into a building and you can smell that it’s riddled with explosives, then yes. I expect you to raise the alarm when the situation calls for it. I don’t need a hybrid that’s going to go out and get themselves killed just to please me, I need someone that can get the job done and help get everyone back safe. Lives and mission success are more important than ego to me everytime, you will never be punished for acting in the interest of the team, which now includes you. Understand?”

“So just to get this clear, you’re giving me blanket permission to talk on comms - to give my opinion to you whenever I have one?” you asked incredulously. 

“Precisely. This should help with that,” he smiled, pulling something from out of the groaning top drawer of his desk and sliding it across to you. 

You reached out and accepted it, holding the strip of dark leather between your fingers and admiring how smooth and thick it felt, how high quality it was. Not missing the numbers 141, that were stamped into its side. It was a new collar. Outfitted with a built in mic and specialised remote lock, one that could be unlocked if it became snagged or got you into trouble in a fight. You were pretty sure it had a longer tracking range than standard collars too, and even came with a shiny D ring for tags. This was the kind of thing that hybrids wore when they were prized by their teams, owned by the sort of people that actually cared if you came back to them. 

“Is this really for me?” you asked sceptically, taking a hand off of the new collar and touching the one already round your neck, sliding a finger over the bruised skin at its rough sides. 

“Course it is. We can have it changed or altered if you’re not happy with it,” Price noted, watching your reaction carefully. 

“It’s perfect as is, best bit of kit I’ve ever gotten” you said quickly, running your fingers all the way down the bumpy stitching. “Thank you, sir.”

“Shall we get this thing off then?” Ghost said, speaking up from his place next to you. 

You looked over at him and followed his eyeline realising what he meant, touching your old collar once again. You didn’t need convincing. You nodded and tipped your head forward, letting him access the buckle at the back before unclipping and letting it loose, leaving you unmarked to the world for a minute, just another hybrid without a claim.

It was weird being bared like that, honestly you felt like he’d taken off your shirt or your trousers. You always wore your collar, and now that it was off you felt little better than a worm on a bait hook, wriggling uncomfortably at the sensation of air on your bare flesh. 

Order was restored when Ghost took your new collar and wrapped it around you, clicking it into place with a cheerful clink from the new locking mechanism. You sighed and let out the tension in your muscles, closing your eyes a second before straightening up and looking at Price and Ghost, checking over their satisfied faces. 

“Good to have you officially on the team, pup,” Ghost said with what was surely a grin. “Just need to put your tags on.” 

He took your ID tag from your old collar and slotted it on to the D ring at the front of your neck, then produced a handler tag from his pocket, letting you see it while he fiddled with the tag already round your neck. You took it in your hands and thumbed over the bumpy metal letters and rubber edges, tilting your head as you looked it over. 

LT Ghost

#09-2022

141

You’d always had the base information on your team tag, or had to wear a temporary one when you were sent on long deployments assigned to work with other teams. Even then you’d always get a building ID or some other number that would link you back with some office somewhere. You'd never worn someone else's name around your neck before, but now you were going to be linked to Ghost for the rest of your days. If anyone found you and reported your handler’s number to the relevant authorities they’d get a direct line to him. 

For a man that hadn’t even revealed his face to you, he was incredibly willing to hang such a big responsibility around your neck. You bit your lip and watched as he took the tag from you, fixing it in place behind your ID tag. His heavy breaths were escaping from behind his balaclava for a moment, he was in deep concentration trying to manouver the little tag with his huge hands. You grinned when you heard him swear at it.

“There, you’re stuck with me now,” he said matter of factly, giving the tags a playful tug when he was done. “How’s the collar feel? Not too tight?”

“It’s good, sir,” you shrugged, still marvelling that he was willing to take you on. “Feels a lot better than the old one.”

“That’s cause this,” he grunted, throwing your old collar into Price’s wastebin. “Was a piece of shit.”

You snorted out a laugh and watched as it disappeared into a mass of paper, going deep down to its crinkly death. You couldn’t disagree. It had been rough and frayed either age for far too long and they’d used it to grab you and haul you around like a hay bale for even longer. This new collar, was much smoother an….

d far more pleasant on your neck.

“It suits you,” Price smiled. “I know you’ll be a great addition to the team…that said, are you ready to go meet Gaz and Soap?”

#simon ghost riley #Simon Riley #Ghost #mw2 #ghost x reader #Hybrid!reader #reign down on me

[undiscovered-horizon]

In Emerald Hearts, Emerald Minds - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[mentions of unwanted advances + suggested groping + suggestive/sexual (consensual) themes]

☽ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ☾

SUMMARY: When Vasily asks you to forget his half-brother and marry him instead, you escape the Little Palace along Alina. Nikolai realizes something strange is going on when Kaz mentions seeing a similar emerald ring on the woman that came with the Sun Summoner. With how much you and Nikolai have been running in circles to find each other, the reunion aboard Volkvolny feels almost fated.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 4.6k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist&lt;<

It feels like the Winter Fete has been going on forever. The champagne keeps on being poured, the guests keep on dancing and the circus acts just keep on performing as though tomorrow is a mere mirage, a concept of a certain time period that never actually comes. Inside those walls of gold and marble, the misery devouring all of Ravka seems like nothing beyond a mad nightmare - something so removed from reality, it’s hilarious in its ridiculousness. Everyone is so carefree and happy you almost take their joy as your own.

Almost.

The orchestra begins playing Waltz of the Flowers and you feel your throat tighten. Despite doing your best not to, your mind relives that fateful night when everything changed. For the longest time, you’d been claiming that the change was for the better but now, standing alone for another year in a row and watching the dashing aristocrats spin to the music, you’re not so sure anymore.

“You really need to stop doing this,” Nikolai says firmly. Although his tone is decisive and clearly unwilling to accept defiance, a pronounced hint of amusement lives between his words - a thread of light-heartedness, one might say.

Your eyebrows gently furrow. “Doing what?”

“Smiling at me like that. Any longer and I might ask you to marry me.”

It feels like you’re about to burst at the seams. Trying to contain your emotions, and failing at it quite horribly, you bite your lower lip. “I might say yes.”

“Where have you gone, Kolya?” you whisper under your breath. The gloss of vacancy covering your eyes blurs the dancing bodies into one mass of faceless strangers. But it also makes you not notice someone approaching you.

“I find it quite admirable.”

Vasily’s voice startles you. To your now-gone relief, you didn’t have the displeasure of running into him all evening - until now. If you were to list all of the things about the older Lantsov son that makes your skin crawl, you’d be done by the time another Winter Fete is organized. The top of the list, however, deserves to be mentioned as it’s an inseparable part of your every interaction with the prince: he’s quite adamant and crude in his desire to be more than just a future brother-in-law to you.

“Excuse me?” you stutter out.

That patronizing look on his face is now accompanied by a cocky half-grin as he realizes he caught you off-guard. “Your devotion to my brother. For all we know, he might be already dead, Saints’ protect him.”

“Don’t even say that!” you hiss at him. Right after, you look around to check whether one of the guests has noticed your unpleasant exchange.

Despite what you’ve just said, you know he’s right. There’s no way you can be sure that your Kolya is either dead or alive. Perhaps this is the detail further ripping your heart apart - you don’t know anything about his fate; you’re mourning, although you’re yet to see the coffin. You haven’t for a few years now and each passing month of silence only made court gossip more cruel and bold.

“All I’m saying, dearest,” Vasily begins quietly as his hand drags along your arm, “is that the moment the news of Nikolai’s death reaches the Grand Palace, you’ll be thrown out. On the other hand, I can make you the Queen of Ravka. And unlike my brother, I won’t disappear off the face of the Earth and forget about his beloved lady.”

The word of endearment is dripping with sarcasm as it leaves his chapped lips. His breath reeks of alcohol and you unknowingly turn your head away. Vasily seems to think you’re about to leave his side, so his hand tightly grips your arm. The hold is almost bruising. He yanks you even closer towards himself.

“Kolya hasn’t forgotten about me,” you say in a shaky voice. Maybe he’s not as foolish as he appears and Vasily is genuinely trying to break you down.

The prince studies your face for a moment, definitely noticing how shaken you are. His eyes have the strangest glint to them - something between desire and contempt. “Is that so?” he barely stifles a grim laugh. “He would have written you a letter if that were true, no?”

Tears sting your eyes. Vasily is certainly smarter, or at least more cruel, than he lets on. He knows exactly what to say to get into your head. It’s a startling difference between him and Nikolai - only one of them does what he can to keep a smile on your face. Well, did.

His dirty, rough hand grabs your chin. Vasily forces you to look at him, his smile wavers upon noticing your desperation. “Consider your options, зайка,” he purrs out. The prince’s other hand trails your face. “The choice is yours.”

A tear falls down your cheek. You feel it rolling across your skin and you silently hope the guests surrounding you are watching this scene. Then, you lean in even closer to Vasily’s face. The whisper leaves your lips like a viper’s venomous hiss: "I will marry you the day you lay his dead body at my feet."

To your surprise, Vasily drops his hands and takes a step back. Despite the self-assured smile on his face, you can see the fury inside his eyes. “As you wish.” He bows curtly, turns on his heel and marches away, undoubtedly looking for another glass of alcohol and a lady naive enough to warm his bed.

The palace suddenly feels stuffy and overcrowded; the music is too loud, the plethora of smells make your head spin.

Outside. You need to get outside.

Bumping into several guests and mumbling half-coherent apologies, you run through the halls of the Little Palace. When the cold, night air hits your flushed cheeks, only then do you stop. Taking in a deep breath, you can actually feel your thoughts becoming clearer. 

With each gust of freezing wind, all the anger and sadness is leaving your shaking body. Vasily just wanted to get a rise out of you and, as much as you don’t want to admit it, he succeeded. Unlike he claims, Nikolai surely is alive. Maybe bruised or sick or not sleeping well but as long as there’s no news about him being dead, he is as alive as one can be. The same starry sky hangs above your and his heads. Perhaps, in this small moment of longing, he’s thinking about you too. Wherever he is.

A tired sigh leaves your lips. You’re about to turn around and go back inside when a silhouette moving in the night catches your attention. The shape is swift although careful like a lizard approaching a fly. You see them looking around before running for another few meters only to hide behind a bush or piece of architecture.

Curious and a little scared, you follow the stranger towards one of the carriages. Quietly, you get close enough to grab their wrist. The shape lets out a gasp and turns around to look at you.

“Alina?!” you whisper. What in Saints’ mercy is she doing? You look at her warm, casual clothes and the bag on her back. “Are you running away?”

“I need to leave,” she answers equally quietly. Her voice as well as her stare is filled with certainty - she’s convinced beyond reasonable doubt this is the right thing to do. “Please, don’t try to stop me.”

You let go of her hand. “Stop you?” A dry chuckle leaves your lips. “I’m coming with you.”

“What?” she deadpans. Alina is staring at you with a vacant stare and her mouth slightly agape. Apparently exchanging royal comforts for hay and stolen apples is unthinkable.

“If I have to spend one more day around Vasily, I will murder someone.”

Alina slowly nods her head - she can definitely understand the sentiment. A dimwitted Fjerdan would have more charm than the older prince. But then she squints her eyes, looking at you with a sense of scepticism.

“Out there, there won’t be warm beds and three-course dinners, you know?”

“I know,” you answer with a careless shrug. Loitering and wandering isn’t for ladies of your sort, it’s like throwing a finless fish into a tank with sharks. Despite that, you’re quite convinced the means justify the end, at least in this scenario. “But out there is my Kolya. And I’m done politely waiting for him.”

A shadow of sadness covers her face. If there’s anyone who can understand your plight, it’s her. In fact, she is luckier than you - she saw her lover maybe an hour ago. Pleasant or unpleasant, the meeting confirmed to her that Mal is at least alive. It’s not a privilege you could afford.

“Then let’s go,” she says to you before opening the chest in the back of the carriage. Forgetting all of your etiquette and social standing, you climb into the compartment with her. Towards adventure or death, you’re going somewhere.

“The ring gave you away,” Kaz announces. “It’s too expensive for a bodyguard.”

Jesper knits his eyebrows together, suddenly remembering something. He leans towards Kaz but speaks a little too loudly for the question to be inconspicuous: “Didn’t that girl wear the same-”

When Kaz’s cold glare meets Jesper’s squinted eyes, the dark-skinned man immediately closes his mouth halfway through the question. Both of them sit back as they were but the cat is already out of the bag. Well, not entirely - half of it is peeking out of the metaphorical sack.

Nikolai looks between them with unmissable suspicion. Although he’s heard enough to be aware of the possibility that the Sun Summoner isn’t travelling by herself, this is the first time either of the Crows admits it.

His heart begins to beat slightly quicker: Alina run away from the Little Palace along with another woman and that lady was wearing a royal jewel at the time. As long as Vasily didn’t lose his signet on one of his distasteful escapades, the course of events points to only one person - you. Shoving his restless excitement into the deepest chasms of his heart, Nikolai manages to remain his composure:

“Who was wearing that ring?” The prince-turned-privateer unknowingly fiddles with the heavy jewellery on his finger. Noticing the Crows’ reluctance, he makes them an offer: “If you tell me who you saw wearing an emerald ring, I might, say, give you ten minutes to escape.” Nikolai vaguely gestures to the closed window on his right-hand side.

Kaz knows there’s no point in lying any longer. The man in front of him is not only well-informed but also smarter than he looks, making the Crow wonder whether he also knows the answer to this question but prefers to play some kind of a game. In any event, he’s done his part of the deal and his ex-accomplices are left to their own devices. Additionally, he could really use those ten minutes. “A young woman that accompanied Alina Starkov. High-born, confident, decisive. Not a Grisha as far as I know.”

“Not a Lantsov, obviously,” Jesper chips in.

Brekker’s keen eyes catch the barely noticeable change in Sturmhond’s expression - the corner of his mouth merely stuttered up and down but it is enough to tell Kaz as much as he needs:

“You know her.”

Know her? If Nikolai had a weaker grip on his emotions at the moment, he’d laugh until his stomach and diaphragm hurt and then he’ll burst with laughter once more, unspeakably joyous that he might get to see her sooner than he thought. Yes, he does know her but in the way heart knows blood and lungs know air. She’s the ligament that keeps his bones together, the fibres that construct his muscles, the very blood that runs in his veins. Does the Moon simply know the stars? Do trees know their roots and branches?

But for now, he needs to stay focused. 

“Not really,” Sturmhond answers while scrunching his nose. “Many aristocrats wear a ring like that. While I may know of a lot of them, I hardly know anything about them.”

Kaz fights back a mocking half-grin begging to twist his thin lips. “I’d argue that an emerald in Ravka is a rather rare gem.”

“Hers is probably genuine. Mine’s stolen.”

Silence falls between the three men. Nikolai and Kaz are staring each other down, battling in some kind of war of wits and nerves, waiting for the other to give in. Jesper is stealing glances at both of them, feeling the cold tension rise in the air.

Against his deep-seated desire, Kaz doesn’t inquire further about the emeralds or the strange coincidence that the two enigmatic characters wearing them might know each other. He sits back in the chair, his shoulders visibly drop. As much as he’d love to dig deeper, he’d much rather get out of here and reclaim his freedom that is now endangered.

“Well, gentlemen,” Nikolai begins in an upbeat tone, “your ten minutes start now.”

Without saying anything else, he leaves the room. Only then, when the dark, wooden door close behind him, does he let suppressed emotions wash over him. A quiet chuckle brushes past his lips and for a moment even tears sting his eyes. Delight, worry, relief - conflicting sensations merge into one, completely overpowering flame burning inside his chest.

Maybe he doesn’t have the Sun Summoner and he still needs to come up with a plan to catch her but Nikolai hasn’t been this happy for a while now: his солиышко is alright, still making the world brighter and warmer. If he can get to Alina Starkov, he might see her again, although he begins to wonder whether she wishes to see him after all those years of silence and ignorance. But if he can see her, just witness the marvel of her entire being even for one last second, he’ll be cured of the longing and loneliness that has been gnawing at him ever since he left Os Alta.

You’re following the Shu man to what you assume is his captain’s cuddy. The ship creeks and groans under the weight of the crew as well as the power of the waves. The bussing crewmen spare the three of you a glance, only to show disinterest and go back to their duties. It’s a nice change compared to the kerchen ship you travelled on to Novyi Zem, where the captain asked Alina and you to stay under the deck because of the sailors’ superstition. After getting off the ship, it took you a good week to wash out the reek of cured cod from your clothes and hair. Sometimes you still felt like you can smell it in the air, even in the dusty wind sweeping through Novyi Zem.

Your ‘guide’ pushes the door and they swing open with a creak, the list of the ship aiding the motion. Except for the squeaky hinges, probably rusting faster than anyone can manage, Volkvolny is in good shape. In fact, it looks brand new - no mould or woodworms.

“Captain, request for charter,” the stocky stranger announces with a hint of amusement or excitement in his voice. Despite his imposing visage, the Shu man has made a good impression on you but the long sword on his back kept you vigilant against getting too comfortable in his company.

Only when he moves to the side, presenting the three of you to his captain, do you see the face of the infamous Sturmhond.

You want to laugh. In fact, you have to clench your fists to stop yourself from bursting out with laughter. This situation feels like the strangest coincidence that you can think of, which in turn makes you suspect that it’s not a coincidence at all. Because what are the odds?

Nikolai’s face momentarily brightens up when he recognizes you, a new glint lights up his eyes. He looks different than you remember but in all the right ways: his shoulders look broader and his hair is longer, curling in a way that makes him appear more infantile. You remembered him as a handsome man but the Nikolai in front of you is beautiful enough to be considered unreal.

He's staring into you like a deer caught in headlights until Tolya hands him Alina’s unusual means of payment. As Nikolai is turning the piece of jewellery in his fingers, you notice another change: his hands look rougher, definitely scarred from all the adventures you hope you’re yet to hear about.

The blond prince turns his attention back to Alina, Mal and you. “A gold hairpin can get you anywhere. But an emerald ring?” He gestures to you. “It can get you everywhere.”

“It’s not for sale,” you answer, although you know he’s not trying to buy it. After all, he’s the one that gave it to you.

“I don’t want it.” Nikolai shakes his head. Then, a flirty smile appears on his face. “Looks better on you anyway, doll.”

You’re about to respond to his remark when his attention is once again placed on Alina. “Now, Tolya says you’re looking for a charter. Where are we sailing?”

Alina begins the story with ‘the creation of the world’ as your mother used to say: the Little Palace, Darkling, Morozova’s amplifiers and the Fold. Nikolai nods along, never giving away that he’s privy to most of the story. He doesn’t believe in the Sea Whip at first but that’s hardly his fault - not too long ago people wouldn’t believe in the existence of the Sun Summoner and now she’s standing beside you, nervously rubbing her hand. As you have expected from the moment you saw that Nikolai is Sturmhond, he agrees to the insanity of taking up the quest to catch the amplifier.

“Tolya will show you around.” He sends you off. You’re about to follow your friends out of the cuddy when he adds: “You, emerald lady, I’d like to talk to in private.”

Alina gives you a concerned look (‘blink twice if you need help’)  but you only smile and nod at her in response. With Mal tugging at her arm, she reluctantly leaves you and Sturmhond alone.

The moment the door closes behind Tolya and your friends, Nikolai runs around his desk towards you, engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug. His hand threads through your hair, pushing your head further into the crook of his neck. Even if you tried, there’s no way you can pull away or even move. Taking a deep breath, you smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne but now it’s mixed with the scent of resin, saltwater and seaweed.

Then he pulls away, looking you up and down with burning worry. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? What are you doing here?”

You swear he could be bleeding out on the floor and still he’d be apologizing for staining your clothes. It’s heartwarming that despite the years and evident change in his appearance, Kolya is still Kolya.

A wide smile enters your face. “Looking for a frisky sailor to take me on a voyage filled with indecency, obviously.”

“Well, here he is.” Nikolai points to himself and winks at you. “And he’d really like to know why you’re in Novyi Zem with the Sun Summoner and whats-his-face and not in the Grand Palace in Os Alta.”

You let out a heavy sigh and shake your head gently. “I grew tired, Kolya.” His eyebrows slant upon hearing the exhaustion in your voice. Despite the sheer happiness he feels when you say his name, the concern gnawing at his heart seems to be more powerful. “Years have gone by without you giving me even the tiniest sign that you’re alive and well. And your brother, Saint’s have mercy on him because I won’t, has been adamant about marrying me ever since you left. I told him I will accept his proposal the day he lays your dead body before me.” You make pause, noticing a strange shadow hanging over Nikolai’s face. But he’s not saying anything for a moment, so you finish what you wanted to say: “I had to get away from it all. There’s only so much uncertainty and intruding fingers a lady can take.”

“By the Saints,” he breathes out, “did Vasily lay a hand on you?”

You feel his grip around you tighten but it’s not painful, rather securing. “If you’re asking whether he hit me or forced himself on me, then no, he did not. He did, however, make it abundantly clear what he wants from me. On multiple occasions.”

Nikolai’s face twists in a scowl. The glint that lit up his eyes when he saw you is now gone, exchanged for something dark and unstable. “I’m so sorry, if I knew-”

“I know, love,” you interrupt him. He doesn’t need to announce the ends he’d go to in order to ensure you’re safe and comfortable. Nikolai has never said or done so but you’re fairly convinced he wouldn’t shy away from fistfighting Vasily if he said something less-than-savoury to you. “But neither of us could have known.”

“I promised you’d be safe in Os Alta.”

“And I promised to stay put.” You can’t keep laughter in any longer. You’re not quite sure whether your chuckle is born out of happiness or disbelief. “Now look at us.”

Suddenly, he knits his eyebrows close. At first, you think he’s confused but then the slight rise of his cheeks suggests something closer to contempt or disgust. "Would you actually marry Vasily if he gave you my dead body?"

You can only give him an indifferent shrug. "Maybe?” you ponder aloud. “If you were dead, I would lose all care about what happens to me or with me. In a way, I’d be dead too."

Nikolai takes one of your hands and kisses its fingers. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his warm lips against your skin. “I could never rest in peace knowing how he’s treating you.”

“Having you haunt me would be incomparably better than you just being gone. Everything is better than silence.”

His shoulders slouch. Nikolai looks away from you for a moment, admiring the floor in his cuddy but even this can’t hide his guilt and shame. “I couldn’t have just popped in for a visit. Not anywhere in Ravka.”

"You couldn't even have written me a letter?"

"Someone at the palace would recognize my handwriting. I couldn't risk it."

"Then you could have dictated the letter to one of your crew."

That self-assured, flirty smirk appears again on his face. "And scandalize my crewmen with the things I want to tell you?”

As much as you’ve dearly missed his insufferable humour, at the moment it’s making your skin crawl. “This is a serious conversation, Nikolai,” you state firmly.

“I am serious, солиышко.” The pet name rolls off his tongue with both weight and lightness as though it belongs exclusively to you and no one else can ever claim it as their own. He kisses your hand again but keeps it against his lips for a while longer. Then, he places your fingers on his chest and you can feel the soft thrumming of his heart. “Do you think I never thought about writing to you? That I didn’t stay up at night thinking about what I will tell you when we meet again? Countless letters I have begun only to tear them apart and throw them into the sea or burn them. If some people found out we know each other, you’d be in much greater danger than Darkling following your steps. I’d rather deal with the heartbreak of staying away from you than know I put you in danger because I can’t live without you.”

It brings you a grim sense of comfort that he’s been equally torn as you were over the lack of contact. You never thought about it before but Nikolai must have been worried sick, not knowing whether you’re alright and happy. Has he imagined your plight and misery as often as you did his?

“What did you write in those letters?” you ask in a shaky voice.

“I wrote about how much I miss you, how it physically hurts to consider that you might think I have abandoned you. When I was hungry, cold, tired or sick, only the memories of you made me push on. On nights when I couldn’t sleep, I’d stare at the sky above me and wonder whether you’re looking at the same stars. I wrote that wherever I go, I see your face. You are in every sunrise and sunset, every flower I see and every fire that warms me.” Nikolai lets go of your fingers, placing both of his hands on either side of your face. The softness in his eyes makes you swoon. “I only wrote the truth,” he says slowly, making sure you understand the weight of his words.

Swallowing back tears, you lean into his warm touch. “My beloved, my heart yearns for you?” you jest in a dramatic voice.

A playful smile creeps back unto his lips. “If only my heart.”

“Gross.”

“You wanted a frisky sailor.”

"You’re a pirate, not a sailor.”

"I’m a privateer,” he drones out the word as though it makes a world of a difference.

"Pirate sounds sexier."

Nikolai gives you a fake frown. “Oh, I definitely am a pirate."

Without thinking twice, he’s kissing you. The sensation is just as comforting as you remember. His soft lips are doting on you, growing needier with each peck as though this is some feverish attempt at making up the lost time. 

He pulls away to catch his breath and although you’re panting yourself, you unknowingly chase after him, unwilling to dismiss this carnal desire just yet. Nikolai seems to notice your eagerness - he flashes you a cocky grin and shortly pecks your lips again.

“You crossed Ravka, the Fold and the sea just to find me?” he whispers. His eyes are stuck to your wet, swollen mouth.

“And I’d do it a hundred more times if I had to.”

You exchange a few more hungry kisses, pecking and nipping at each other’s lips, before Nikolai continues the conversation:

“I want to say that I’m flattered but I’d rather not encourage you to do something this stupid and dangerous ever again.”

“Hate to break it to you but you took all the stupid with you.”

He rests his forehead against yours; hot, laboured breaths brush against your flushed cheeks. “I’d like to clarify that I’m not stupid, I just can’t seem to think about anything other than you.”

Nikolai wraps his arms around your waist. In a swift motion, he turns you around and pushes you against the edge of his desk. His strength surprises you when Nikolai effortlessly lifts you and places you atop the table, pushing off maps and navigation essentials. Firm, warm hands are restlessly wandering across your body, unsure where to lay or what to grab.

You gasp quietly when his fingers sneak underneath your shirt. “Is this the indecent part of the voyage, my frisky sailor?”

“By the Saints, I hope so,” he whispers against your lips. Then, he furrows his eyebrows questioningly. “Is that offensive to say around a living Saint?”

“I don’t think Alina heard you.”

His nimble fingers are quickly undoing the buttons on your clothes. “Well, she will hear you in a moment.”

“Gross,” you say with laughter in your voice but the word gets muffled as Nikolai gets back to kissing you again.

Even if the crew did hear you that day, no one dared say a word.

зайка [zay-ka] - bunny (feminine; term of endearment)

солиышко [sol-nee-shko] - little sun (unisex; term of endearment)

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai imagines #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x you #sturmhond #grishaverse

[crystallinestars]

Dancing With Neuvillette

Neuvillette x fem!reader

While attending a ball in Fontaine, Neuvillette notices you standing off to the side, sampling the desserts on the buffet table. You looked absolutely stunning in your white and blue gown, and Neuvillette considered it his duty to greet you as your friend. 

He gives you a polite greeting to catch your attention, and complimented your beautiful appearance. Though his words may seem like common courtesy during such formal occasions, Neuvillette genuine meant them from his heart. Your surprised eyes and round cheeks stuffed with cake didn’t detract from your beauty. If anything, they only made you look even more adorable in his eyes. 

Happy to have someone you know to talk to at the ball, you engage Neuvillette into simple conversation with a bright smile, and your radiant visage fills him with a tenderness he usually only experiences when interacting with the Melusines. 

Onlookers marvel at how the usually stern and elusive Chief Justice appears so amicable around you. The gentle smile on his face softens his features into something almost tender and affectionate. 

When the orchestra starts playing a waltz, you watch as couples pair up and begin dancing along to the music. Their movements are mesmerizing, and you can’t help but want to join in the fun, however you don’t have a dance partner, and don’t want to inconvenience the Chief Justice by asking him to a dance. 

Neuvillette notices the your longing look directed at the dance floor, and immediately understands what you want. Catching your attention once more, he asks if you want to join him for this dance before extending his hand out towards you. The way your eyes light up at his invitation makes his heart skip a beat, but he masks his feelings and gently takes your hand in his before leading you to the dance floor. 

At first, you’re a little shy to be in such close proximity to Neuvillette. You feel small next to him, fully aware of your smaller hand engulfed in his larger one, and his other hand placed firmly against your waist, pulling you close to his body. 

As Neuvillette guides you along to the music, you grow more comfortable and less stiff, enjoying dancing with the handsome man immensely. The two of you twirled and glided along the ballroom in slow yet graceful movements, your skirts billowing around you in a captivating sight that drew the eyes of the people around them.

You didn’t pay the stares any mind, too wrapped up in enjoying the dance and gazing into Neuvillette’s beautiful eyes, meanwhile the Chief Justice kept his gaze focused only on you with that same gentle smile on his face.

The two of you didn’t exchange any words, simply enjoying this short moment of respite from your busy lives to bask in a truly enchanting moment, feeling more drawn to each other than ever before. And if time allows, perhaps you would meet up again in such a dance, where it will be just the two of you and the starry sky above to witness your mutual words of love sealed with a kiss under the starlight. 

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #apologies for the title #I’m at work and can’t think of anything better at the moment

[writingforatwistedworld]

just thought of something random — shower thoughts. So, you know how even if you score 0 on twistunes it still counts as “clearing it”? Imagine you doing that with a self aware au. to make it funny, how about riddle, Vil, and Sebek

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, self-destructive behavior, violence, abusive behavior, unhealthy lifestyle, murder, religion, obsessive themes

Riddle Rosehearts/Vil Schoenheit/Sebek Zigvolt-Scoring 0 whilst playing Twistunes

Here you are, our (perhaps) determined twistunes player, usually (or maybe not) trying your best

And that is fine and dandy and lalala happy happy

The TWST cast, however, doesn't see the twistunes as rhythm mini games though

For them, you are guiding them in some sort of task, not hearing the huge orchestra that appeared out of nowhere

There is always your guiding hand, reassuring that things go right even when a certain feline (*cough* not looking at you Grim*cough*) decides to act all high and mighty

Until, one day, there you are not helping anymore

Another splendid day to do your most splendid bidding... in the form of baking a cake

Yeah, I know, what daunting task you have layed upon him!

But he know he doesn't need to worry. After all, you are there to help him (not like his magic could do that for him in one second I mean come on there has to be a spell to crack some eggs and spill some milk ISN'T SLEEPING BEAUTY CANON OVER THERE??!)

He picks up the whisk... and nothing

Ok... maybe you just weren't looking! So he puts it down and then picks it up again

Nothing… Aren't you funny! Messing with him like that… (No pls help he is dying on the inside has he broken a rule? He followed rule 199 perfectly, wear blue if you need to whisk eggs)

One second later and he is panicking

This is a test, right?

If you could look through the coding on the other side you would see a panicking riddle who is this close to setting the kitchen on fire

At least that is the case until Trey finally steps in and decides to help his childhood friend out

After everything is finally over, Riddle is panicking

He has lost your favor, you didn't help him with this mighty task: shoving dough into an oven

Riddle will without any question learn how to bake cakes

Heartslabyul will eat salty snacks after dinner for a while but ok, unlike other things Riddle has done in your name this is rather tame

That does not mean he is kind to himself though

He will deprive himself of anything that makes him happy. Whether that is cake or his precious time with his friends

Sooner than later he is once more the red tyrant on his throne, “chopping” heads off all the time once more.

But everything but imperfection for you

Vil was just practicing dancing for that competition again

He took great pride in being guided by you

After all, who could say they were being taught dancing by the personification of perfection itself? (Although he was surprised that you knew modern dances, most of the time you were pictured in more traditional and old-fashioned settings)

Until suddenly you didn't guide him anymore

And thus, the floor and Vils face became very good acquaintances (You could hear Rook screaming from somewhere "Pas le visage!")

On that day Vil learned that your guidance had one up and downside

The up was, he always danced perfectly. The down, he forgot how to do it on his own

Now, we are talking about mister I-have-at-least-500-Thaumarks-on-my-face-in-makeup

So of course he is going overboard immediately

"Oh how nice, Vil Schoenheit is practicing"- No. This guy has gotten a warning from his doctor that he needs to stop because otherwise his legs could sustain damage from so much training

Epel? Well Epel is living in hell right now. Poor little apple gets the full brunt of his frustration

Overall, Vil gets toxic, and I don't mean just toxic but toxic toxic, but what about his more private life?

Well, he is just miserable, and horrible to himself, but most of all miserable

He turns back to his self before his overblot, being unnervingly perfect, having absolutely no chill when it's about being his best self

But there has to be a reason why you have abandoned him. You are his muse, the reason why he forced Epel into a routine that can only be described with "uh... help?"

But enough excuses! He had his salad and now he needs to train. His doctor? Well his doctor doesn't want to achieve being close to you so what does he know

(He got send into the hospital with a broken leg later that day. Talk about self-destructive behavior)

(ouch, my ears)

Let's assume that Sebek gets a twistune in which he practices his skills with the sword

He thought you were proud of him, you helping him to become stronger so he could fulfill your bidding (well-seasoned yandere readers what I mean)

Then, he felt your guidance slipping like the sword now sticking dangerously close to his foot in the ground

Many screams, one description: panic

When Lilia heard the not so crocodile-y crocodile scream bloody murder on the outside he thought that someone just didn't speak fondly enough for Sebek about Malleus

So wannabe Batman was more than surprised when he learned that you just “abandoned” his student

This leads to now, Sebek sitting in front of the small altar he has in his room (a trademark of Valley of Roses students)

Seek isn't Malleus (I know, shockers) so there isn't gold

But what if there is something different he can offer you? You left him when he was using his sword so could you want… (No Sebek, no, stop it)

Suddenly disappearances happen all over the school

Weirdly, they seem mostly from Sunset Savanna or the Shaftlands… the two places where you are least seen as an alrighty ruler/God and more as an inspiration

Such a shame that the officer hired to look into this was also from the Shaftlands. Guess that adds to the pile of disappearances

All whilst this is happening Sebek is busy cleaning his clothing and sword. Can't be dirty when he prays to you

With hope in his voice he tells you about his deeds but why aren't you coming back? Is it not enough? It's not.. enough…

This world is filthy, he says. This world needs to be cleaned of the pests that don't show you the loyalty and respect, he says.

But what do you say? Exactly. Nothing.

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst x reader #self aware au #twst riddle x reader #twst riddle #twst vil #twst vil x reader #twst sebek #yandere riddle #riddle x reader #yandere riddle x reader #yandere riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #twisted wonderland riddle #vil schoenheit #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere vil x reader #vil x reader #yandere vil #vil schoenheit x reader #twisted wonderland vil #twisted wonderland sebek #yandere sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek x reader #yandere sebek x reader #yandere sebek #sebek zigvolt

[baeshijima]

there’s an undeniable serenity which follows your voice. how it traverses within the room’s dome-like structure, reverberating through the surrounding space before ultimately touching the hearts and souls of those who hear your solo piece. it captivates and impassions, an underlying force woven beneath layers of harmonies forged under years of dedication holding one’s attention as they await in baited breath for the forthcoming emotions which swirl and soar at the mercy of your voice.

having never missed one of your performances to date, neuvillette believes he would know this best.

in his life, he has found there are many difficulties which arise when overseeing trials of various levels of severity — some being a life-defining case whereas others may delve into a more… menial aspect of things.

(“to bring some entertainment for once!” …is what he would usually hear in response to his unvoiced thoughts before having to reprimand a certain archon for levity in the court.)

but in spite of the blurred lines between professionalism and public entertainment, neuvillette finds himself at ease once he steps into the grand hall, finding his seat as stated on his ticket, waiting patiently as the chatters die down the moment the lights dim and the curtains draw, watching in content as vocals and instrumentals resound until the lights dim once more to signify the end of the opera.

amidst his day-to-day life, he has come to anticipate the dates which mark your performances.

ever since he first started attending, he has discovered that when sitting amongst the crowd enjoying your voice and performance, he is neither the iduex nor the chief justice of fontaine; he is simply neuvillette — a man who finds peace and respite in your presence, regardless of how near or far you may be from him.

he claps just as everyone else does, watching as you stoop into a bow on centre stage once the final note dissipates into the air where rounds of applause take over. there’s an ever-present smile stretching your lips, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you wave to the crowd surrounding him.

neuvillette recognises this expression as one you’d wear after a performance you deem satisfactory and finds his heart fluttering at the glow in your expression. (your smile doesn’t reach your eyes if you think it is anything less, despite his internal thoughts believing otherwise.)

he remains seated as the orchestra begins to arise and gather their instruments, as the conductor steps down from their podium, as the singers line up and shuffle off stage, as you turn and take your leave in close pursuit.

he glances at the bouquet settled atop his lap. oddly enough, the colours he chose coordinate with your attire, and he cannot help but to think this is some twist of fate playing with his convictions.

no matter, he thinks to himself as he rises from his seat, the bouquet cradled within his hold. with brisk steps, he makes his way past the crowd. it’s easier once people step away the moment they identify him and opt to gawk at his presence, allowing an easy passage for a quick escape.

it is not much later when he finds himself walking down a familiar hallway, the bright lights illuminating the name plaques hanging on the dressing room doors. his feet naturally come to a stop in front of a dressing room six doors down, the words [name] [last name] neatly engraved into the stainless steel nailed to the door.

his eyes trace over your name a few times, the flowers in his hand seemingly heavier than they were mere moments prior.

perhaps this time…

neuvillette attempts to push back the lump lodged within his throat. there’s a slight trepidation which hangs overhead as he gently raises a fist to your dressing room door, one which is all-too familiar in the way he hesitates and rethinks his actions over and over when in regards to you.

he stops before his knuckles touch the door. before he knows it he falls back into his usual routine: place the bouquet in front of your dressing room door, gently knock three times, turn and walk down the hall, disappearing before you can see him loitering around and make the connection of him being the anonymous bouquet gifter after each performance.

rounding a corner, neuvillette comes to a halt. with a glance over his shoulder he watches you peek your head out the door, looking around the hall in search of who knocked. when you take note of the bouquet he left, he fights back a smile of his own when you beam and thumb at the petals as he wills himself to turn and resume his exit.

perhaps after your next performance he will finally gather the resolve to speak to you.

if you enjoyed this, then reblogs with/or comments are greatly appreciated !! <33

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#favoniuslibrary #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #neuvillette x you #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact imagines #we know next to nothing abt this man but its okay bc i have the power of having a consistent type and being delusional on my side

[nunalastor]

Thoughts on Alastor’s affiliations/associations with social class? Particularly domestic work? (And I guess by extension customer service) But more importantly the “old fashioned” (air quotes because sadly it’s not extinct) upstairs-downstairs separation/segregation of working class and employer class? Just things I noticed:

- niffty is very domestic-housewife, and is stationed by alastor as a cleaner,

- husk (despite being an ex overlord) is stationed as a bartender and concierge,

- Rosie, despite being an overlord, positions herself as providing a service- customer service in the emporium, and Dolly Levi-esque services like matchmaking, advice (personal, financial etc), and general Arranger Of Things, a networker.

- alastor doesn’t give any grief to Angel about his profession, possibly because he sees him as also working to provide a service

- I think he even treats the egg bois with more respect when he’s working with them than he does sir pentious

- Vox essentially provides the public a disservice with all his ads etc greatly outweighing his news broadcast service, (which is less news, more diss tracks) so there’s obviously loss of respect for him

- in contrast to Alastor’s radio station, which he might view more as a public service provided to all regardless of whether they have money to spend. People often listen to radio while working, it lessens the tediousness. And provides music, which would otherwise be financially inaccessible- eg live orchestra, live performances, or buying records and a record player. Radio provides those for free! (Providing you have access to a radio, but most working class do, whether it’s their own or their workplace’s)

- mimzy is implied as working class, and says that alastor spent time at what is also implied to be a working-class establishment, and “drinking like a sailor” is definitely not “polite society” behaviour, which suggests the establishment commonly saw that type of behaviour from its patrons. Mimzy also makes a point of chastising alastor for not informing her that they were in “mixed company”, to which he looks irritated. Probably because she’s outed him as lower class, in front of Lucifer and Charlie, which leads onto

- Lucifer is The Big Boss, the boss of the bosses. Alastor’s reactions to Lucifer pigeonholing him as working class; busboy, waiter, etc. He was pretty rankled! Instead reasserting himself as the hotelier- the manager/owner, and not beholden to anyone. Which leads into

- his notable upset at husks reminder that he is in fact very beholden to someone

- my hc is that Alastor’s mother worked as a domestic servant for upper class, so he was exposed to both classes and could “pass” as a higher class than his mom. Perhaps having access to different establishments to procure or purchase music and broadcast equipment, or access to potential victims targets. On radio he’d be perceived by voice only, so perfecting a transatlantic accent would obscure his societal class also, see “this face was made for radio”

- saying that his face was made for radio suggests to me that there was some secrecy? anonymity? to his radio station in life. (I don’t know if there’s any supplemental word-of-god about his radio career, I’m new 😅) If he was also privy to local gossip and issues from mixed classes, then I could see this being a possible appeal for listeners to tune in.

- do you think there are influences from “The Help” in his backstory?

i honestly don't have anything to add and don't know enough on the subject to really delve into it but this is all SO FUCKING GOOD!! these observations anon 🤌🤌🤌

#hazbin hotel #alastor #radioapple #appleradio #radio apple #apple radio #nunalastor asks #meta

[ataraxiaspainting]

As Grief Consumes.

Yan Childe x F Reader.

Synopsis: You are on the run from the eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers after he kills your husband. But soon, your fear turns into a want for revenge, and by then it is too late for you.

Warnings: Yandere themes, violence/some gore, accidental self-harm, essentially kidnapping, massive power imbalance, manipulation, and stalking.

Word Count: 4.4k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Anna Maria by bôa

Once Upon a Dream by Lana Del Ray

An Unhealthy Obsession by The Blake Robinson Synthetic Orchestra

I Want a Girl (Just Like the Girl That Married Dear Old Dad) by The Buffalo Bills

Unwed Henry by American Murder Song

Who Is She ? by I Monster

Happy Together by Filter

Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge

Missed Me by The Dresden Dolls

The Dismemberment Song by Blue Kid

“When you begin a journey of revenge, start by digging two graves: one for your enemy, and one for yourself.” – Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes

i. “The further you sink, the more you drown in lies told by both you and others.”

You had first seen the eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers when he was towering above you, unblinking, at the end of your bed. Dressed in elegant gray attire, he stood tall, exuding an air of opulence. His eyes, reminiscent of frozen azure or sapphire gems, shimmered with an ethereal glow, just like his Hydro Vision.

Initially, his absence of blinking and his predatory demeanor seemed only odd, almost as if he were a wild animal, your tiredness preventing you from seeing the situation in its entirety. 

However, once you had awoken enough from your sleep and realized that he was an intruder, a profound sense of terror and alarm engulfed you. Your husband’s snoring was the only audible thing in this moment, the Harbinger’s and your breathing. You had practically jumped out of your bed to run, not thinking. 

“That took a while.”

No. No. No, this can’t be happening. Ji told you that he was able to pay off his debt just in time. Your throat constricts, your gaze widening as your mind teeters on the brink of crumbling, all because of the presence of the person standing just a few feet from you. You can’t breathe. Tartaglia smiles at your fear like you are a new toy he had purchased and then placed on the highest shelf. 

“Why are you–”

“Shh,” He cuts your questioning short with that sound and a simple lift of his finger to his smirking lips. “I just want to chat, girly.” He whispers, putting a lazy arm over the raised footboard. “Don’t cry or scream for help, okay? We both know no one would come anyway.”

Nobody is here to help you get out of this, even Rex Lapis himself.

“Why are you here, Lord Tartaglia? That… is who you are, right? Please, he did pay off his debts.”

You don’t know what to say next. You don’t know what to say next, and it hurts you. What is one supposed to say, when their house is broken into by a Fatui Harbinger and they are just so casually standing a few steps away from you? A Fatui Harbinger who was said to be a wild card and oh so infamously conniving? Would begging for Ji to not die be a good choice? Would you die too then, whether he listens to your pleas or not? Perhaps asking him to at least make his death not painful and long would suffice. It is a gamble, no matter how you slice this situation.

Your husband is not a stranger. You know his life story and what he had done in his life. He knows your life story and actions too. Would Tartaglia listen to you if you kept repeating that Ji had paid off his debt already? Something tells you he won't listen to you, even if you speak enough to make your throat bleed.

“I doubt that.” His voice carries a cheerful melody that unsettles your stomach. “Harbingers aren’t one to be given false information, sweetie.” He chuckles as the tears that are about to fall from your eyes reflect the moonlight. “Anything you want to tell me before I get down to business? It can be anything at all.”

You find yourself tightly embracing your arms, as the frigid air playfully grazes your skin. Perhaps buried within your subconscious, you entertain the possibility that Ji may have deceived you. Maybe he fabricated a story to cease your persistent reminders about visiting Northland Bank and settling his debt with the Fatui. Alternatively, there could be an undisclosed motive behind his deception. Then again, could it be Tartaglia who is deceiving you, or perhaps you are deceiving yourself?

“Do you have to kill him?”

“Yes, princess.”

You don’t say anything for a moment after that blunt response. Tartaglia drinks up every emotion on your face like they are bottles of the sweetest cherry wine. Unfortunately for you, he does not seem the type to be a lightweight.

“Why can’t you do it another way?”

He looks out your window to the Sandbearer trees and bamboo growing in the back of your house. “Because he won’t ever be able to pay off his debt, no matter how much he works or how much he sells.”

You would think the lightness in his tone is simply him fooling around for a moment if he hadn't broken into your home and is a Fatui Harbinger. You know better than to think so foolishly. Perhaps it is simple amusement, with how his eyes look at your cold sweat traveling down your forehead to your neck, and your tears migrating down to your bare feet. You can sense the heaviness of his gaze, as it carefully observes your every action, from the not-so-subtle movement of your fingertips to the gentle flutter of your lashes. He would not be joking at a time like this.

The left side of the bed creaks as you hear Ji’s yawns and grumbles and him rubbing his eyes with his pointer fingers. Were Tartaglia and you too loud? You don’t think so. Your blood runs cold as your head turns and your fearful eyes make contact with his calm ones. 

As you move towards Ji, a wave of childhood nightmares washes over you. In those dreams, a formidable monster lurked behind, forever out of reach no matter how fast you ran. Your legs become burdensome and immobile as if shackled by iron chains. Should you cry out? Warn Ji to flee before it's too late? Tartaglia would easily catch up, but the longer you remain inert, the weightier your guilt grows.

You could still do something, can’t you?

You can still at least try, can’t you?

“[First]?” Your husband’s voice mixed in with drowsiness. “What are you doing up?”

The hand over your mouth doesn’t budge as much as you struggle and claw at it. It’s no use. Ji can’t see anything because his glasses are on the bedside table. He can’t run if he doesn’t know what is here, waiting to tear him apart into little pieces.

“My love? What’s wrong?”

Tartaglia answers before you can.

“I’m afraid your deadline has passed.”

This has to be a bad dream, so you close your eyes and wish that you would just wake up already. But you never do.

ii. “Your flames can either bring life and warmth or cause destruction.”

You woke up in the morning to a cold bed. You sit up and your neck naturally turns to your right, your tiredness keeping you from remembering Ji is dead. You somehow still wanted to check if Ji had already left for work, but he wasn’t there. There was a faint glimmer of hope as you kept denying that Ji hadn’t passed last night after all. But that glimmer was quickly followed by a crushing weight. The bed was cold, the spot where Ji usually lay being taken instead by a head of ginger hair and freckles, a strong arm holding your waist in place.

*~*~*~*

As the sun retreats into the Earth's embrace and the moon takes its place in the celestial stage, the fire dwindles to a mere glimmer of its former radiance. The flames flicker with feebleness, urging you to tend to its dwindling strength.

“Sigh… I’m traveling again today anyway. I don’t need this anymore.” You stand up and almost cry out in pain at your sprained ankle. You can hardly see Liyue Harbor from here. The only thing you can see almost clearly is the giant red gates, the lanterns so small they could be mistaken for little bits of dust or gliding flower petals. You’re thankful that you were not hurt back then and escaped before Tartaglia’s boat set sail for Snezhnaya. Now you can’t go back to Liyue until you are assured that Tartaglia has died. “Time to go.”

You start walking down the mountainside, being careful to not trip on a tree root or rock. You made that mistake before, and you surely do not want history repeating itself. Especially since your ankle just started healing, though it is not healed enough to not make you wince with every step you take. It still beats having it broken though, you suppose.

You would rather sleep, you would rather have someone here to help you through this. Before your eyelids can close again as you walk, you slap yourself. You have to pay attention, because if there are any Fatui skirmishers, mages, or agents here you have to notice them before it is too late for you. You are certain that Tartaglia gave them orders to look out for you. It is what you would have done if you were as obsessed as he was with someone you had never met before. Thankfully though your thread of fate differed from Childe’s, or at least you hoped so.

You have to keep going, it is what Ji would have wanted you to do if he was still alive.

It is what Ji would have wanted you to do. Your sword is dragged behind you, a light thunking sound audible every time it falls a bit at a small ledge. It has seen better days, that is for certain. Its edges are dull and its surface is chipped and stained. The wooden hilt is rotten and split, exposing the worn and tarnished metal beneath.

The sword is old, but there is still strength in the petals beneath all the rust and decay. Despite the more than obvious corrosion, it still manages to retain some of its original sharpness. Having any weapon is better than having none. You cannot just be here out in the wilderness by yourself like some rabbit waiting to be eaten. You have to continue to run and live. You have to, for Ji.

“Huh…?”

Just your luck. The mask the man wears is somewhat scorched and burned at the edges, likely from the fiery attacks the typical Fatui Pyro Agent wields in combat. The red mask’s surface has been ruined by heat and age, leaving it an almost brick color. Its shape is angular, giving it a harsh and intimidating appearance. Nothing is exposed, with even the nose and mouth covered by its metal.

You regret leaving that tacky tent in an instant. You raise your blade and point it at the agent, glaring. In response, the agent crosses his arms with a tch sound leaving the small holes of his mask. Would it be a bad idea to run? Is this agent fast enough to stop you? It’s another gamble, to put it simply.

*~*~*~*

The sound of the troupe of musicians’ instruments fills both you and Ji’s ears sweetly as you dance. The crackling of the fire of the outdoor cooking station provides a cozy atmosphere. You were both at peace surrounded by the warmth and comfort of the song playing and the love you shared.

A drizzle falls from the night sky, adding yet another accent to the harmony. Creating an almost hypnotic rhythm. Ji smiles at you with appreciation in his eyes. He pulls you close as you continue to dance to the melodic tunes playing in the background.

“I love you.”

*~*~*~*

But you take that chance and start running uphill, not being as careful as you were walking down. The agent chases after you as you gasp for air, your eyes going from looking at the top of the small mountain to looking at your feet to making sure you don’t trip and fall. But then you look behind you and see the agent reaching his hands out towards you, aiming to catch you before you can get very far. That is when your instinct kicks in, the rational part of your brain being replaced by pure emotion and impulse.

The agent attempts to sidestep out of the way but only manages to trip himself on a tree root as your rusty blade makes a clear and large bloody slash across his chest. He tumbles down the mountainside, his blood trailing behind him in a crimson stream. He grunts and you go back to running. Only when you are up on the top of the hill do you look down at what you have done

He lies struggling at the bottom of the mountainside. Your tunnel vision makes the world dark, leaving only one color left; the agent’s bright red blood staining the mountainside. He seems to have collapsed on a rocky part of it, his body losing the strength to stay upright. The wind blows at the crimson trails of blood, splattering them over the nearby rocks and foliage. He reaches out with a weak hand, reaching in vain for you, his voice nothing more than feeble gurgling and panting. The agent struggles to stay conscious, but the pain from the massive wound in his chest and the lack of oxygen causes him to slowly lose consciousness. He draws a final breath as he goes limp. The corpse bleeds out into the dirt and rocks, his blood mingling with the soil as he remains still and lifeless.

*~*~*~*

The soft glow of the candles illuminated the bedroom. Ji could see that you were fast asleep, your gentle breathing a testament to this. He leans in close and kisses your forehead, your eyebrows slightly contracting in your sleep, Ji feeling content and happy. A gentle breeze blows through the window, causing the curtains to flutter slightly. As he watches the candlelight dance and flicker, his mind is at ease and his heart is full of love for you. You feel safe and secure in your husband’s arms.

*~*~*~*

As soon as you are certain of his death, you step down from your perch and kneel next to the body.

Was it moral? The question hangs in the air like a noose or a guillotine’s blade as you stare down at him. Your act may have been necessary, but was it right? Is murder a justified response? Was there any chance for a peaceful resolution? What could have been?

Is this what Ji would have wanted? Would he be happy if he knew you had blood on your hands now?

iii. “As we dance, each step forward leads to another step back.”

You go to wash your hands in the body of water nearby.

You stand by the edge of the lake, looking down at your hands as you contemplate. Even though there is no physical evidence of blood on your palms, you can still feel the weight of what you have done. The water beckons you like a siren, drawing you in with the promise of being cleansed both physically and spiritually. You hesitate for a moment before dipping your hands into the water, letting the coldness refresh you. As you feel the water wash over your skin, you can’t help but wonder if the feeling of guilt will disappear with it.

“Not bad, not bad.” That is what Childe would say if he was here with you to witness what had just happened, your imagination producing a proudness in his tone that makes you almost vomit. “Seems you learned a bit from me. Cute.”

You have the urge to shield your ears from the harsh reality that the imaginary Tartaglia relished in revealing. However, you resist the temptation for now. The task at hand is to cleanse them, to rid them of impurity. They remain unwashed and unclean. Therefore, you clench your hands tightly, keeping them submerged in the water. There is a viscous sensation as if you had immersed them in a thick, sticky substance like honey or syrup.

Your imagination stops playing tricks on you for a moment, much to your paranoia and guilt’s utter joy. Perhaps a small mercy, or punishment as now you will be alone with your thoughts once more.

You hold your breath as you count the seconds of you scratching away at your hands. One, two, three, four… you eventually lose count, and by then a small portion of the lake is crimson. Your skin has been rubbed raw and you are bleeding, and when you become aware of this, the pain shoots up your arms and you scream.

“Come on, be proud of what you did.”

There is a chuckle that is akin to those that still haunt your nightmares.

At least you can’t see him, he is just a voice in your head. Though you assume that the real Tartaglia is still out there, waiting to strike. You just wish you could make it to Sumeru before then.

Would you ever be free?

“You did great, you know.”

You do not want Tartaglia’s praise, as false as it is at this moment. Even if he is just a figment, you would rather have no kindness at all, out of both self-hatred and hatred for him.

Would you still be free if you hadn’t killed that agent? You don’t think you would have, you don’t know what that agent would have done to you, if he was sent to catch you or if he was just doing his regular patrols of the area. You don’t know what his plans were. All you know is that he is dead and you are still free. Where whatever his plan had failed, your plan as quickly as it was made had succeeded. You contemplate deluding yourself into thinking that that agent was sent after you, that he did harbor ill-intent towards you and your freedom. 

But you can’t do it, so all you do is put your bloody hands to your face and sob. You taste something metallic in your mouth and it only makes you cry louder. Your tears become mixed with sanguine as they fall and paint your white dress with red dots. You stay in that position for a while after that, but the imaginary Childe’s voice does not leave you for another second.

There is never a peaceful moment, and you don’t know how long you cried for.

“Seriously, stop crying. It sort of ruins how good of a job you did.” After a few more moments of you still loudly weeping, you hear a sigh. “Come on. Don’t be a spoilsport.”

You sniffle into your cut palms.

“Just leave me alone.”

He does not listen to you, as he always does.

iv. “You have turned into the very thing that you vowed to annihilate.”

Screaming. Screaming that is so loud the Golden Finches in the trees all fly away. Screaming too loud, too maddening, to stop and it goes on for about a minute like an alarm. The source of the screaming is you, not that you tried to stop it, blinded by emotion.

The daylight makes you focus on your cut hands, your skin still stained with blood from the night before. The lake’s water has slightly brightened up, and the spot where you cut your hands is less red. 

But your trails sooner than later trail back to what caused your screaming.

Resting in the lush blades of grass beside you lies the source of your frantic cries. Nestled at its center, is a vibrant and tranquil sapphire gemstone adorned with gilded accents that trace the curves of a square. As it draws near to your being, a subtle glow emanates, casting a gentle illumination. A Hydro Vision.

“Aren’t you happy?”

You stare at it. You do not know whether to be happy or continue being miserable. You are deemed worthy and strong by the celestial realm, hence receiving a portion of their formidable might. The only problem is that you had just killed a man. You murdered someone, and you are being rewarded for it.

It is like Tartaglia is here with you, even though you cannot see him.

You know that if you had not killed that agent, you would not be gifted with this.

At least you can defend yourself for real now, even though your self-defense skills are next to none.

You hope this is a joke. There are fake Visions sold in some places, and perhaps it was dropped here by mistake. Maybe a child simply lost theirs. But you know that is not true. There is nothing here but you, this Vision, and your rusty sword. There is nothing else for you, no child coming and snatching up the Vision and running back to wherever they came from.

So you pick it up, and it is slightly cold with little droplets of water on its glowing surface. 

It emits a gentle hum and you can feel its power coursing through your veins. Hydro Visions are said to be a manifestation of the Hydro Archon’s will, a symbol of her sense of justice and benevolence. 

You would laugh if your voice box did not feel like it had just been clawed out of you.

You would laugh if you thought it was funny. But it is not funny, because now you will have to carry this reminder; this permanent keepsake of the man you have killed. It is not funny, but you know Childe would think it was if he ever found out about this.

You cannot escape this because there is no escape. You killed a man and his corpse is there on the bottom of the hill, rotting away, his eyes probably wide and glassy and unblinking. Flies and maggots will soon make him their new home and drill their way into his flesh as he rots, buzzing sounds soon replacing whatever gurgling ones the agent made before he went motionless.

You do not deserve any mercy, because at the end of the day are you really that different from Tartaglia? You both kill those around you to get what you want, the only difference being you killed that man in self-defense, or at least you hope that is what it counts as. You don’t know if you and him are the same. You are no saint. Childe is a sinner. You are a disgrace. Childe is no luminary. 

Or maybe he is. Because of him, you murdered someone. 

Either way, that agent had someone, someone out there who at least was acquaintances with him. Maybe he had a partner, a spouse, a friend, someone back in Snezhnaya waiting for him to return. Now all that they are getting is a body in a bag and maybe some cold condolences if they are lucky enough. 

Your hands still hurt as you hold out one of them and a small fountain of water spouts from your palm. You ball up your fist and close your eyes, making the Hydro power stop. Maybe the heavens know that you and Childe are the same, and that is why they gifted you the same Vision he wields. Whether the Vision of choice was intentional or not though, you know you will never be able to find out, because you are just a human. The divine does not interfere with mortals, after all.

You do not feel good, but you don’t feel bad either, a nauseating mix of both you think. You’re stronger now. You’re more worthy of hell than heaven.

What awaits after you die? What happens when both you and Childe die? If you got into heaven, would Tartaglia tear through the very gates of heaven to get to you? What would happen then? Or if you go to hell, would Tartaglia be able to find you?

If you burn in hell, would the only thing you hear be your thoughts?

You would be alone then. Though you know you are just as alone right now. You are lost in your thoughts, and maybe that is what hell is because you cannot stop them.

You are hungry. The satchel you stole from a Millelith guard ran out of food and water yesterday, and there do not seem to be any apples or sunsettias nearby. You feel so empty.

You think about what caused all of this to happen. You are certain that if Childe had not butted his head into your life if Ji had paid off his debts, if something else had happened, if anything else had happened, if everything else had happened, you would not have killed someone. Hopefully, probably.

You are a murderer.

You hold the title of a killer, yet there may still be a chance to redeem your soul through positive actions. If you dedicate yourself to intense preparation, you could potentially return to Northland Bank and swiftly eliminate Childe. Your motive is driven by the desire to pay Childe back for Ji and all the other lives he has destroyed. You want payback for yourself too. Seeking retribution for yourself is not an act of selfishness but rather a justified response in your opinion. 

A deep longing for revenge quickly blossoms within, causing your heart to race as an ecstatic smile graces your face. The tantalizing allure of revenge consumes your every thought, compelling you to go to any lengths to savor its sweetness. Your unwavering pursuit of justice echoes relentlessly, echoing the call for retribution. Justice, justice, justice, Revenge, revenge, revenge. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

Victory, victory, victory.

You are going to enjoy his suffering, his pain. You are going to enjoy his screams. You are going to enjoy his cruel death, the torture you are going to put him through. You lust after such a moment like a bite from the sweetest, juiciest fruit in all the land. Apples. Peaches, maybe.

Your soul will feast well that day. You will eat and eat until you are the very definition of gluttony itself. Even if you end up a demon, you will be happy that Tartaglia finally got his due.

You cannot wait.

It is not too late for you, for forgiveness, for another chance. It is not too late to salvage at least part of you. 

You laugh then, and it is croaky and hoarse from how loudly you screamed before, but you don’t care. Yes. Yes. Yes. You ignore how much your throat hurts, how much your hands hurt and your ankle hurts. It does not matter.

A sudden clapping sound, slow but clear. You don’t know whether or not you are imagining it, if you are going crazy or not. You are not mishearing things either way. 

Footsteps, cracking branches, and stepping on roots and blades of grass.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

A chuckle.

“Good job.”

v. “Happiness can only be found in surrender.”

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