#o i am fortune's fool!

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

the urge to write harrison hysterically crying in a church <3

#like on one hand #we have him already being weird in a church in feeding habits #but is it so much to ask that i want to see him suffer in a holy place???? #lowkey thinking this might be the last image of BB LMAOOO #o i am fortune's fool! #where did my god go??? #on ONE HAND: he could be alone in the middle of the night doing THIS #ORRRR he could be among other worshippers and they're all like wtf are u fine #i can't decide lmaooooo russian roulette baby! #LET'S VOTE

[yisanged]

my terrible horrible son who has cost me so much time and masking tape. i hope i never have to look at him again [he will be going into my english teacher's ceiling where i will have to see him every day for the rest of the year and maybe more if i take jr or sr humanities]

#PLEASE ignore the lettering on the side i know it's shit..... #it says "o i am fortune's fool” which is what romeo says right after he realizes he killed tybalt and what that means for him

[solacedeer]

Romeo is me because i’m an overdramatic. Mousse is my Rosalie

#ikerev #ikemen revolution #mousse atlas #O i am fortunes fool #under loves heavy burden do i sink 😞

[graysongraysoff]

how to not spend the first four days of the work week doing the bare minimum and then having to cram a week’s worth of extraneous bullshit into friday

#work tag #o i am fortune's fool

[gh0stsp1d3r]

ℱ𝒶𝓉ℯ

Masterlist

Warnings- angst, gender neutral reader

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Apollo knew Luke’s fate. Apollo knew that Luke would betray the Gods, which is exactly why he had tried to keep you away from him.

He knew that Luke’s fate would cause your heart to break, cause you to fall down a dark path.

Apollo knew you both were literally written in the stars, he knew you both would end up together no matter how much he tried to prevent it.

Apollo knew that you would never get over Luke.

“Luke, what are you talking about?” Your voice cracked, much like your heart was. You stared at the boy, his eyes glossy with tears welling in his eyes.

“Please. I can’t live without you, but I can’t just… I can’t go back to camp.” He spoke, taking a deep breath, remembering how Annabeth and Percy had reacted to this minutes before he ran to you.

“Why not? Luke, what’d you do?” Your grip on your sword tightened.

The way you held your sword in front of you broke his heart. You felt the need to have it out, you felt the need to protect yourself against him.

It was supposed to be him protecting you.

“I cant go back.” Was all he said, repeating his words. “Please, just… come with me to Tartarus. Help me-“

“I can’t go with you to Tartarus. What about my siblings? What about camp? The only fuckin’ place I know, Luke!” Your asked, voice raising now. He looked around worriedly and you scoffed.

“Who are you? You’re not Luke.”

“I love you.” He said, the tears falling down his face now.

“And I love you too. But, Luke, I can’t do it. I can’t.”

He knew his time was up when the others came into the woods, with lanterns, shouting his name out.

He glanced at them and back at you. He knew that the sight of your face would forever be engraved into his mind, he would remember it for as long as he lived.

He ran back into the direction he came from, deep into the woods and to the portal.

You choked out a sob when he left, dropping your sword and leaning against a tree.

As shakespeare once wrote, “O, I am fortunes fool!”

#luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan angst #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x apollo!reader #charlie bushnell x reader #pjo #pjo x reader #pjo disney+

[hellfirexhoe]

Satanic Panic - Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

summary: a night home alone with Eddie while your parents are away quickly turns dark

1.9k words

warnings: 18+ only, minors dni, heavy, angsty smut, oral sex (m & f receiving), squirting, knife play (Eddie cuts the reader, consensually), blood licking, rope bondage, bad jokes, p in v sex unprotected, roleplay. Reader is a lil bit dumb, Eddie redefines possessiveness.

a/n: Eddie and reader are in an established relationship, both are over the age of 18.

Laying nude on top of a crudely drawn pentagram on your parents table, arms and legs bound by rope is not how you envisioned your Friday night when your parents told you they’d be out of town. The curtains were drawn and the room was only lit by candles, in the dim light you could just about see the phone on the wall hanging by its cord, no interruptions,you’d been told with a devilish grin.

Cold steel traces a slow path down your body, making you shiver, once the knife has been laid to rest beside your thigh, a familiar voice speaks,

“O dark one, I am your humble servant. I will provide you with a sacrifice tonight in exchange for eternal life and fortune. A virgin sacrifice is the correct offering, I believe.”

Virgin sacrifice?

“Uhhhh, Eds?” You lift your head to look at your cloaked boyfriend standing by your feet

Eddie tries to hold back a laugh, “Go with it.” You nod and rest your head against the table again.

This is not what you thought Eddie meant when he said he want to try roleplaying with you, you had assumed he wanted you to be a sort of standby sub for Hellfire and wanted to teach you the ropes so you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself. So you were very surprised by Eddie turning up at your house with a cloak, candles, a knife and a suspicious amount of rope.

It did however explain why Eddie had insisted on coming over for what you believed would be a Dungeons and Dragons tutorial when he knew your parents would be out of town. That had really confused you, and he’d been equally, if not more confused when you asked why your parents had to be out of the house, and that you were sure your dad used to do it when he was younger.

Eddie slaps down the phone book on top the table between your feet, using his knife to trace lines as if he was reading incantations,

“Aha! Says here I need your blood to spill on the pentagram first.” Eddies ringed fingers are sliding up your thighs slowly, his eyes firmly on you, watching you for any sign of discomfort or wanting to stop, Eddie pauses,

“What are your safe words?” Eddie asks, not needing a reminder but rather checking that you know what to say if you need him to stop,

“Pineapple for stop, pepperoni for pause.”

“Good girl.” Eddie affirms, tickling your chin gently before he returns to the scene, his knife now pressed to your thigh, a little more pressure and he would be breaking the soft skin, he looks at you once more and you nod, gasping as he presses, cutting into your skin, the agreed upon mark being cut into you. Thin streaks of blood run down your thigh, landing onto the table beneath you.

“Look princess,” Eddie props your thigh up and then moves to your head to lift it for you, showing you his work. On your inner thigh, an “E” has been carved into your flesh. You can’t help but grin a little wickedly as you look at it. Eddie lets your head down to rest on the table, as he returns back to the foot of the table and his “spellbook”, he taps the knife now lightly stained with your blood to his lips,

“Hmm, once your blood is on the table I then need to - oh.”

“Wha-what are you going to do to me, Mr?” You marvel at how scared you actually sound, your voice all shaky, “Please I’ll do anything.”

“Oh no pretty girl, I promise you’ll like this part. I need to make sure I get some of your sweet nectar onto the table.”

“What do you mean? Why are you doing this?” Eddie just chuckles darkly as he pulls you by your hips down to his mouth, you feel his breath hitting your pussy but he doesn’t dive in like he usually does. Instead you feel his hair brush your thigh as he turns slightly and then you feel his tongue slowly lapping the skin he’d cut into, his saliva stinging as it made contact with you. You wish that the sensation didn’t turn you on as much as it did, but watching your boyfriend lapping up your blood was nothing shy of erotic.

“Oh you dirty little slut,” Eddie’s voice pipes up as he turns back to your pussy, noticing it much wetter than before, “You like some satan worshipping stranger licking your blood?”

“No, no, no- it’s not like that.”

“Why don’t we see if you like me licking you somewhere else?” Before you can answer Eddie is diving in, tongue first, dark eyes locked on yours as he begins to devour, making your back arch, well as much as it can with how tight Eddie has you tied down.

“Eddie, more please.” Your hips are rutting against his face, desperate for him to make you cum, Eddie pulls away from you, smirking as you cry out at the loss of contact,

“Who’s Eddie? Oh, do you have a little boyfriend?” Eddie is stroking your legs, slowly, painfully slowly, “Be a shame if I was to ruin you for him... I can always find another virgin to sacrifice, you’re just too sweet.”

You squirm, trying to stay in the scene but also trying not to beg for your boyfriend to just fuck you already. Eddie senses your desperation and dives back between your legs, fucking you with his tongue and using his nose to provide friction to your clit, refusing to back down or slow down against your begging, just picking up the pace more and more until your body is convulsing at every touch and you’re drenching him with a gushing orgasm. Eddie stands up from his crouched position, watching your hips grind against nothing, your pussy tightening around nothing and can’t help but think how lucky he is, that you’d agree to this.

“I’ve got to know what that mouth feels like.” Eddie is loosening your binds so he can reposition, your head is hung upside down over the edge of the table. Eddie squats down so he can whisper in your ear,

“Keep that throat nice and open for me, hmm?” With that he stands up and sheds the cloak, his trousers and his underwear, his ringed fingers are prying your mouth open, and you suck his fingers greedily, keen to tease him a little. Eddie removes his fingers from your mouth and you keep your mouth open, letting him ease his cock into your waiting mouth. He knows you have a sensitive gag reflex so goes slowly first, and before you really register it you feel his fingers close around your throat that’s full of him. As the awareness dawns on you your throat tightens, trying to remove the intrusion so Eddie pulls back, letting you catch your breath before sliding in again, gradually picking up speed until he’s virtually fucking your mouth,

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well like this.” You want to respond, to agree, but your mouth is full of cock and your head is swimming in the smell of him emanating from his balls that your nose is pressed against. Eddie is able to keep fucking your throat for a few more minutes before your throat is twitching and your gag reflex is on the verge of making you embarrass yourself so you tap his thigh three times and he pulls back,

“Jesus, you’re such a good girl.” You blush at the praise and Eddie helps you to shimmy back up the table, letting the blood drain from your head back to your legs. Then he grabs the knife and begins cutting your bindings,

“Oh, are you going to let me go?” You rub your wrists as you question him innocently,

“Not quite...” Eddie pulls you off the table, only to spin you so your facing it, force you down until your bent over it, then he kicks your legs open, spreading you for him. He teases you with the tip of his cock, before he’s sliding in firmly, your body providing no resistance to him. Eddie starts fucking into you so roughly that you’re sure by the end of the evening the dining table will be reduced to kindling.

“Scream for me, scream all you want. No one is coming to help you.” Eddie whispers in your ears as he slams into you so roughly that the table shifts along the floor. You obey, glad for the empty house as your combined moans echo around, your pussy is starting to clamp down around him as you get closer to your peak, forcing him to slow his pace,

“Fucking slut.” Eddie pulls you up, arm around your waist to lift up so he can rub your clit, “Fucking finish already so I can fill up this little pussy.” Your whole body is leaning back on Eddie as he fucks the orgasm out of you, you feel liquid running down your thighs as you finish, realizing he’s made you gush again only spurs Eddie on, who pushes you back down and begins to slam into you with renewed vigor, until it’s his turn to cry out like a wild animal as he finishes inside you.

Once Eddie has regained his composure he slowly pulls out of you, rubbing small circles onto your sore hips,

“Kitten? Are you okay?” You nod as you start to stand up straight, back aching from such an awkward bend for a prolonged period.

“ ‘m fine, gonna be sore tomorrow though.”

“Poor little kitten, but you were so good, and so brave for me. You know that right?” Eddie strokes your cheeks with his thumbs, “Do you think you can hop up on the table so I can make sure that cut is okay?”

Eddie’s hands at your hips help stabilize you as you pull yourself onto the table. Eddie disappears under the table for a second before he returns with a first aid kit, you part your legs as he begins opening the box and rummaging,

“Is it going to scar?”

“God I hope so.” Eddie winks at you,

“Me too.” You return the wink as Eddie begins splashing antiseptic solution onto some sterile gauze and holds it to the cut on your thigh, you hiss at the sting and Eddie smiles apologetically,

“Sorry my love, promise its important.”

“Why does it hurt more to clean it than to inflict it?”

“Because you’re a little freak.” He kisses your forehead as he teases you, “Okay, I think that’s clean now. Now for a plaster for the brave girl.” Eddie carefully places the dressing on you, smoothing it down as softly as he can, trying not to hurt you.

“Kitten, do you want to go shower and I’ll clean up the table?”

“Not yet, I need to make sure you don’t drop on me. The table can wait, you and I need to snuggle up on the sofa in comfy clothes and watch late night tv.”

“If your parents cut their trip short and see this mess they will have me arrested.” Eddie does have a point there, they’d only just started allowing him into their house, so you help Eddie clean up, trying to ignore the stickiness leaking from you onto your thighs.

#eddie munson #eddie fucking munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #eddie stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #munson-trashcan #filthy fridays

[throwaway-yandere]

The Fox Hunt (Yandere Mafia!Cyno, Tighnari, and Alhaitham/Reader)

A very brief summary of chapter 2 for those who had to skip due to CWs: You had been bottling your grief. You hired Alhaitham as an underboss and he tagged along when you negotiated with Diluc. (Thanks to his presence, you avoided getting kidnapped by the Visconti). When you visited the church, Rosaria offered to help you track Tighnari down and Cyno shared his story about losing his younger brother later on. At night, you decided to visit your old underboss's grave. An old friend, Dainsleif, found you in the cemetery, and helped you finally cry your eyes out for all the lives you lost that day.

CW: yandere & religious themes, mafia syndicates (therefore guns, violence, etc). Possible major character death. THIS IS AN INTERACTIVE FIC: YOUR CHOICES MATTER.

"O Capo! My Capo!" - Chapter 3

Previous chapter

—----

[4 years ago:]

"You seem to be stealing fleeting glances earwards the whole time I've been leafing pages."

"Ah, so you've noticed." You spoke sheepishly. "My apologies, Professor, but your ears are…"

Tighnari's ears boastfully straightened as he shrugged with a tiny smile.

"They do not feel as nice as you're imagining. They honestly just feel like any regular cat's or dog's."

"Your behavior says otherwise." You said. "But it's deserved. You groom it every other hour, don't you?"

"Hah?"

On a late 1910s night, renowned writer Professor Tighnari prepared his next discussion in the Innamorati Familia’s mansion. 

Why inside such a dangerous place? Well, what is Teyvat without corruption? The Syndicates remained in control for most of Teyvat, and no military forces can quell their power. It reached a period where people cannot envision life without these organizations as detrimental to society. No man can exhaust the flames that burn brightly amongst the Fatui mafiosos, and should they try, they'll only find smoke in their wounded chest. 

Professor Tighnari joined the Innamorati Familia when several academics from his university inexplicably vanished. The fox believes they'll target him next based on their trend of research topics. He initially gave his services in exchange for the security of his research, but unanticipatedly discovered that everyone in the Familia has values, culture– precious lives of their own. They were kind people who simply had a penchant for violence. As strange of a revelation as it may sound, they lived their lives hurting as little as they could with their religious restrictions upheld by their capo.

Not long after that, the hitherto snarky professor had become close friends with the aforementioned boss.

"Don't think I don't notice that every time I'm about to enter the room, you brush your fur like you're five minutes late to a party." 

"I-I just wanted to look presentable, that's all. Do you think I'd show up to work with bed hair? Who am I? Dimitri?"

Aware of his sharp tongue but lacking the means to keep it in check, Tighnari accidentally insulted your underboss. The hairs on his body stood and he was ready to make a fool of himself by offering an apology, but your usually unreadable resting face looked warm.

"Mhm. Sure. I'll choose to believe that." Without hiding your curiosity, you turned back to his ears. His ears were not touched, despite your hands being close to his head.

"A-as you should." Fortunately, Tighnari is good at masking his emotions. If cowardice overcame him, he would encounter a blade's glimmer rather than your gaze. Tighnari digressed by returning to his books while maintaining the illusion that his thoughts were clear.

"Alright then. Platonically, can I pet you?"

"... Excuse me?"

"You're one of those Vulpes who always wondered why close friends would think touching your ears would make you angry right?" You told him in an as-a-matter-of-fact tone. 

Tighnari is a smart man, yet he is unable to understand how your mind may go in circles and still arrive at a logical conclusion. He did ask, but it didn't make sense.  You sincerely advised him to give up most possessions and gain a new perspective from the experience when he sought guidance on how your deduction functions. There is no way in hell that he would act in that manner.

You continued. "I'm just skipping that whole step. So, are we intimate enough for me to run my fingers through your hair?"  

Tighnari snorted. "Phrasing, Capo."

"So, am I a close enough friend to touch you in that special area?"

"You'll never get me flustered– I might just bite you instead if you keep testing me."

"What a major shame."

Your gaze lowered to the pages he was writing. Tighnari is a well-known botanist at the University of Teyvat, a public university for bright students with limited financial resources. His intricate writing style regarding the fundamentals of bryophytes speaks volumes. You doubt that students can understand what he jotted down, but then again, Tighnari's an effective communicator.

In all honesty, you hated those books, not because of their contents, but because of the memories laced within them.

These were the type of pages you sift through in hopes that you will be the one to decipher a cure. Dottore used to help you sort through whatever books were more easily digestible. Nowadays staring at something related to moss feels akin to reading about an end of a long relationship. It was fun and exciting, but ultimately the compatibility led nowhere. As much as you want to tell him that he should take his research elsewhere, he'd probably reply with a sassy "Or what? Are you going cage me?" reply. Simply not worth the effort or time.

He cleared his throat, his cheeks dusted in a pinkish hue. "Whatever. You can pet me if y–"

"Mosses huh? Why this area of study?" Those words left your mouth before you could stop them.

Tighnari tucked his tail underneath his chair, his eyes unblinking. 

" … I have a theory."

You nodded, recognizing the shift in his tone. "Go on."

"The Goddess of Flowers often described in their books that Sumeru's mosses have an intricate healing property in them that can only be harnessed by those who are as knowledgeable as the Scarlet King."

"I never thought you were a devotee."

"I'm not," Tighnari answered. "I only believe in Gnosticism when it benefits me."

Spoken like a true University of Teyvat graduate.

"But phytotherapy is a rather complex and time-consuming field– why focus on this?"

"And why does a Capo like you know that?" Tighnari asked, and you digressed immediately to avoid him probing on things he need not know.

"–Our familia is doing fine, Professor. Hmm... Is there someone in particular that you're praying for good health–"

"You have Eleazar, don't you, Capo?"

You knew it. He saw the recollection in your gaze when you glanced at his books. You weren't surprised that he figured it out quickly. You were just waiting for him to confess that he knew your condition. However, you just didn't expect him to ask at that very moment.

This time, you patted his head without asking, tracing your fingers around his fluffy ears. You grinned. Your smile was just a centimeter off and your shoulders were square; neither of those rigid signs sent him a positive response. The way you held his ears was restrictive, far from the quote-unquote "platonic" gesture you offered earlier. Your soft chortles sent chills down his spine and your glare froze his nerves akin to Snezhnayan rivers.

"Hoping to sell that information, Vulpes?"

"Of course not!" Tighnari was shocked to hear himself raise his voice. "I'm not stupid."

You hummed and pulled your hand away. Tighnari may have acted tough, but you knew he was shaken by that exchange. 

Oh well, it's not like you were being serious. 

You just did that so you can hold his ears. (By the way, he lied. They're even fluffier than most animals.)

Unbeknownst to you, Tighnari found your touch enthralling. He shook by an entirely different reason compared to your assumption.

Talking to you was addictive. Tighnari could take his studies elsewhere, but what's the point if you're not there?

He chuckled.

Save for the low-volume classic jazz the fox played in the background, you both indulged in the comfortable silence of each other's presence. An atmosphere as cozy as this makes it tempting to brush your cheek against his shoulder and flutter your eyes shut– but the dawn hasn't crept in and you will not be deterred from your sleep schedule. Tighnari's pleasant pen strokes came to a halt, releasing you from your trance.

"Capo?"

"... Yes?" You sucked your yawn in.

"If– If I told you I could find you a cure, but I'd have to sell my soul for it, what would you do?"

"Easy question: don't."

He was taken aback. Tighnari did not expect that answer.

"But why?"

"I know that look in your eyes, Tighnari." You shifted on the sofa, doing your utmost to stay awake. "Those were the same eyes Dimitri had when he killed his step-sister. That's the gaze of a feral animal. You're part of my familia, Tighnari– I'm not letting another fratello of mine lose himself to greedy impulse."

"What if–"

"No."

You spoke dangerously low in the tone Tighnari hears when you interrogate those who were chained in your basement. This was not the voice you used to talk to your men. This (Y/n) was not just commanding– this Capo was daunting and domineering. And he would loathe being at the receiving end of your torturous whip and fingers.

Suddenly, Tighnari had an epiphany.

Before he could save a kind friend, the professor would have to save a cold-blooded murderer first.

"Alright. Fine then. If you don't want to be the patient who'll help me get a Nobel Prize then have it your way." Tighnari joked, but his mind was made up.

He won't do as you commanded. 

"But don't think I'll stop studying mosses. The world doesn't revolve around you, Capo, I still have many to save."

And just like that, he retired for the night. 

Once upon a time, these half-asleep conversations were routinely done in order to check up on one another. A Capo is the busiest person one could be in Snezhnaya, and it warmed his heart to know you allot some time for his mundane conversations. But these heartfelt gestures are now mere ashes behind Tighnari.

Never to return.

—----

[Morning, 1 AM:]

The Fatui Headquarters is a daunting place.

Filled to the brim with murderous sociopaths, no sane man would act juvenile amongst your crowd. This room never fails to make you feel small. Everyone, from 2nd to 10th, showed up dressed to the nines with capes and fur, which was slightly less grand than the funeral clothes everyone wore for La Signora. Their extravagant yet sensible winter attire contrasts sharply with your unimpressive standard Prussian-blue coat in the sea of whites and blacks.

"Can't believe you showed up."

You turned to face the front. Scaramouche, in his custom-made Kasa hat, sat on the opposite end and sneered with disdain.

This gremlin never took a shine to you. The feeling is mutual. Whenever he utters a nasty word, the impulse to clothesline him to the nearest tree arises.

"It's not a habit of mine to miss meetings, it's not gonna change now no matter your wishes, Scaramouche."

"You dare use that tone against me? Remember who you are talking to, number eight."

As the 8th Capo– higher only for Tartaglia (10th) and the 9th– you were looked down on by the rest of the Harbingers. Had the 1st rank not been filled by a fellow Khaenri'ahn, Archons know how mistreated you would've been. 

"I have a firm grasp of my identity. Never have I shared your indecisiveness, number six." You spat. "What about you? Have you decided on whether or not you're human yet?"

Everyone knows that Scaramouche may not even be human, but no one would open that can of worms other than you. 

He crossed his arms.

"Maybe after you figure out whose fault it was that your men died, you… or that fox?"

"SHHH!!!" Tartaglia shook his pointer finger near his lips. When he noticed you staring, he donned his best brotherly smile. "H-Hey (Y/n), what do you think about the rising inflation in Mondstadt City?"

Tartaglia actively avoided talks about the Innamorati Arson Incident. It's been days and he has not once brought it up. You recalled how when you first visited his manor, he asked about your experience in the church of Sumeru– and it was solely focused on what happened AFTER the incident. 

… Now that you think about it, he probably made those stupid jokes about Alhaitham that day because he didn't want you to look so grim.

"More problems with their funds, considering how most of it is all gone." The shorter man managed to still find a quip along the way. "Honestly, why are they even here? Shouldn't they go back to selling matchsticks by now?"

You visibly stiffened.

"Shut it, Scaramouche." Arlecchino interjected with a sympathetic yet mildly condescending outlook. "They're still a Capo through and through, even if they're past their prime."

Prime.

That's how they referred to the Dottore who had never taken a dose of canned knowledge. The youthful and composed Dottore you were once friends with.

You've always dealt with the very murky morality of your line of work by contrasting the transgressions of your coworkers. At least you went through rehab and detox when you were hooked on heroin. Meanwhile, he hasn't done anything other than feed his addiction. Truly, Zandik is fortunate to receive a wage that exceeds his necessities.

You and a monster like him are not so different, not anymore. He is no longer human; instead, he is a corpse that runs back home covered in more scrapes than on his previous visit. As for you? Well…

Batting your eyes, you scoffed breathlessly. Are you really past your prime? Words failed to come up when you tried thinking of a retort, and perhaps that was for the best.

Finally, the man of the hour entered the room. 

Like many Khaenri'ahn kids, you formerly held Pierro in high regard. He was the gleam of hope that even impoverished and orphaned immigrants might change the tides, even if it was in a world other than their home country. For most, he's the one who would nod his head upward. Pierro, the first Khaenri'ahn Capo, was the hero in the eyes of your younger self who lived off thanks to the table scraps of your even younger foster siblings. Tsaritsa knows you fumbled on your first meeting, and you were proud that was the only time you embarrassed yourself in front of him.

Considering how things are now, it certainly wasn't the case.

Pierro took a proud stance and showed no remorse for what had happened to you. His gaze veered in your direction. At that very moment, if you had been blinking, you would have missed the disappointed expression on his face. He promptly rotated the whiteboard after removing his sheets from his folders.

You stood up. "Lord Pier–"

"Let's start."

You sat back down again.

The entire meeting was a blur. You felt like you weren't there the entire time. Arlecchino eagerly chatted about her child soldiers whilst the other occasionally quipped a word or two. When her turn was done, it was Scaramouche, then Capitano, then Tartaglia– not once had the bottle turned to face you. The reason behind that is simple:

Pierro did not plan to call you, Number 8th, during any of his discussions. 

—---

The meeting was adjourned, but far from over. Just as you were about to head to the cathedral, a lithe hand pulled your coat sleeve, stopping you from reaching the front gates. 

You sighed, looking at their perfect doll-like fingers, there's no one else it could be other than…

"Shylock businesses aren't my style– ask Tartaglia instead." 

"You know damn well that's not what I'm gonna ask, Brighella?" 

"Then what is it, Kunikuzushi?"

He flushed red at your venomous retort.

Neither of you liked those names– unlike you, who dislike your Harbinger title purely because it sounds stupid– Scaramouche doesn't like hearing his baptismal name out of family reasons. Guess who's the more insecure one between the both of you.

"Are… Are you al– tch. Forget it." He paused before he scoffed and pointed his finger accusingly. Scaramouche grumbled. "I invested a lot of money in your casino project, so there better be some results!"

You nodded, barely paying attention to his tirades. His infantile behavior was never endearing to you; you either find it repulsive or boring. With the weighing pressure on your mental state, you were quick to chuck his new burlesque anger as mind-numbingly monotonous this time.

"Sure."

"Sure? Sure what, worm?"

"The Casino is not affected– the men who handled it are all alive. Zero casualties."

Unless you count Dimitri who used to manage the Casino in his spare time.

"That's good to hear." Surprisingly, he sounded genuinely relieved for what felt like their safety rather than financial compensation.

"Agreed. Are we done here?" 

His grip on your sleeve tightened.

"One final thing." Scaramouche leaned closer. "Use caution. Tighnari had likely received divine favors."

"Maybe you're stupid or you just don't care, but my devotion to Gnosticism is just a front. I appreciate your concern, though."

"I wasn't concerned. Just can't have my idiotic colleague underestimate what the divine can do." He smirked. "Can't have you burning another property you don't deserve."

You yanked your sleeve away.

Heartless puppet. 

"Goodbye, Balladeer."

—----

[Morning, 3 AM:]

With Felix trailing behind you (Alhaitham was in his Akademiya job), you both entered the church searching for Sister Rosaria.

The stained glass of the church had recently been updated. No one was surprised when disciples started taking away any hydro-related emblems from all northern churches. Even if those pieces of art are incredibly captivating, the fascists had already started utilizing them as a sign of movement, thus they are deemed not worth saving for future generations.

"Since when did they begin removing those things?"

"Since yesterday," Felix said with bags under his eyes. It's clear to you that he genuinely didn't want to be here. "Under Architect Kaveh's orders."

"I see. Go get some rest, Felix. There are surely some empty rooms in the convent."

"Thank you, Capo."

You let him leave.

Should you die today, you've already written a will that Felix will be the one to inherit your position. You'll let him have his quite-possibly-last good sleep before the Capo life keeps him busy. 

You stared back at the glass. 

In a way, architect Kaveh was similar to Alhaitham in that you were familiar with their names but not their faces. Even though he is consistently the first to offer to assist you with construction, this man always finds a way to decline your requests for an audience. The last time it was because he caught boar fever (how? ), but that was nothing compared to the time he wrote you a disorganized handwritten letter about how an Akademiyan spy sabotaged his clothes after breaking into his home and harassing him to gain confidential information.

... At least he has extraordinary talent. You can excuse any eccentric traits as long as a person's value outweighs the costs. That is the same reasoning you employed when you hired Alhaitham.

"(Y/n), is it true that you're going to find Tighnari?"

That voice couldn't be anyone else but your little fratella.

You were about to answer with a firm "yes", but when you turned around you felt a pang of guilt seeing how troubled she looked. Her hands gripped the hem of her dress in a suffocating hold and her eyebrows were knitted together.

"In Sumeru City? Of all places?" Barbara scurried and hugged your arm. 

"Don't go. Please."

[CHOSE: REASSURE BARBARA]

"Mia sorella, don't worry…" you cooed and soothingly lowered your gaze before bluffing. "Sumeru City's a lot safer nowadays. Alhaitham told me so."

[DID NOT CHOOSE: SAY "GOODBYE"]

[FAILED TO UNLOCK CHANCE FOR SECRET ROUTE: "MUSICIAN VENTI"]

"No…" Barbara stiffened and tore herself away. She clenched her fist, but everything else about her was calm and resolved. 

Barbara looks exactly like you when she's mad. She mimicked your traits so perfectly.

"No. You're lying. I heard Sister Rosaria talk to Inquisitor Cyno– it's not safe there."

"Barbara…" You traced your thumbs against her cheek. Her heartfelt display of anger almost successfully beseech you to reconsider. She slapped your hand away, but you kept talking. "I have to go."

“No. No, you don't– don’t be prideful! At least bring some of your men with you.” Barbara argued. 

You can’t. Some are stationed to help with church work while others are with Visconti Diluc. You purposely made them preoccupied so that they won’t put themselves in danger (like you.) Besides Tartaglia, there’s no other Capo who loves their people more than you– and perhaps this overprotective nature will be your cause of death, but so be it.

“Sister Rosaria will tag along. I'll be back soon– like I always do." You scooted closer to her, bending your knees a bit. With an unnoticeably forced chuckle, you shook her slightly. "C'mon, it's me, your very cool older Capo sibling. Don't you have faith in me?"

"I-I…" 

There are two things that can convince a pure-minded individual like her who has been sheltered from harm: a prayer and a cheerful smile.

"If you're worried about me, why don't you pray for my safe return?"

And you know damn those are the only thing that helps Barbara keep moving forward– the two things that help keep her sanity intact or else she'll break down. Religion is her sole solace. Despite living in poverty, she wouldn't sin. She's "used to hunger", that's just the type of person she was. Without prayers and smiles, nothing can help Barbara forget how her real biological sister left her in this chapel.

"Can you do that for me, sorella?"

Barbara paused. 

Snezhnayan men are the most religious. The people of Mondstadt nor Sumeru couldn't possibly compare with how Snezhnaya rears their impressionable children. Barbara was raised in this chapel and Snezhnayan culture ran deep in her veins.

“F-Fine.” Barbara sighed. “I’ll pray for you.”

You ruffled her hair.

“Grazie, sorella.”

—----

After reassuring Barbara that you will be safe and praying to an archon you don’t believe in, you slithered behind the church. 

"You watched everything earlier, I presume?"

Inquisitor Cyno didn’t move a muscle from his position. He was leaning by the wall, staring at the church cemetery. Still, he cracked up a small yet wholesome smile. He seemed pleased by your response.

[AFFECTION METER: 39.05%]

"It's in my job description."

You smiled sweetly. "Forgive my sins, Inquisitor, I forgot you were a professional stalker."

"Not stalking; I'm monitoring you."

"What's the difference?"

"Stalking has a more sinister connotation."

"Oh, then forgive me, your holiness." You theatrically bowed.

Cyno nodded. "You are forgiven."

You laughed loudly.

The inquisitor innocently raised his eyebrow and tilted his head. His pup-like demeanor shut you up. Apparently, that response wasn't a joke. Ex-priest Cyno wholeheartedly forgave you in a religious fashion.

Why is he only hilarious when he's not trying to be?

You cleared your throat. "My apologies, I suddenly remembered a joke, that's all."

"Would you mind sharing?" Cyno asked. "I want to find new comedy material. My previous jokes didn't seem to work."

You were about to cut it straight that he's the joke but ultimately decided to keep your mouth shut. 'You mean 'ALL your jokes don't seem to work.'' is what you wanted to say, but kindness is not the absence of mean-spiritedness. It is when you are restricting such actions.

“I don’t think you’d find it funny.”

“Is it an inside joke?”

How very kind of him to offer you a way out of this one.

“Something like that.”

“Then I won’t ask.” The Inquisitor nodded. "But there’s something else I want to request. Won’t you allow me to join you–"

"No."

[CHOSE: DO NOT INVITE INQUISITOR CYNO]

[AFFECTION METER: 25.00%]

Cyno paused.

You cannot allow him to join. Since you observed how the inquisitor and your new underboss interacted, you had a feeling that Cyno's presence would cause more issues than they would solve. He knew Tighnari well. He might even kill him before you do if he is provoked. Besides, it's not as though any sane man would hold an Inquisitor captive if given the chance; that would be like trying to wrestle an alligator to scare a dog.

Plus, you want to exploit Cyno and Tighnari's previous friendship against him. The safest course of action is to bluff and say you'll kill Cyno should that bastard try anything funny.

“Why not?”

“I hate to impose or be more indebted to you, Inquisitor. My conscience will not allow it.”

Cyno frowned.

“You shouldn’t be afraid to rely on others, Capo.”

“How very strange that I’ll hear that coming from you,” You said. “I know it is not my place to say this, but I’ve done my research and found out that you fulfill your duties alone. Candace kindly told me that you’ve always been a lone wolf, so I can’t say I’m persuaded by your advice.”

“Hmm. Understandable.” That’s all he could say. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

You held his hand. He flinched, both shoulders tensed up like a shocked cat.

Your hands weren’t warm. They were cold. But as a desert dweller his hands oddly fit well with yours– a perfect balance. Unlike you, however, he had never used these hands to do evil. The Inquisitor silently wondered how would it feel like if these fingers wrung his neck–

Cyno closed his eyes. 

He cannot think of such sinful thoughts.

“Please relax, Inquisitor.” You spoke, circling the back of his palm. “I know what I’m doing.”

Should those words be the whole truth, then you must know unsavory your actions must be behind the pretense of kindness.

You debaucher.

“Do you now…”

You grinned.

That effectively made his heart skip a beat.

Cyno doubts you somehow knew about your hold on him.

“Hmm!”

“Fine. Then I’ll let you be.”

—----

He shouldn’t do this.

He’s worried. The Inquisitor did work with the spy before–

But Cyno doesn’t trust Alhaitham.

Cyno handed the disciple a dagger.

Alhaitham is calculating and most of all selfish. This was the man who actively disobeyed the church’s teachings unapologetically. Perhaps such behavior is cultured in the Akademiya but Cyno cannot stand it. 

Maybe that's why he tried stopping himself first, but after that fire…

Cyno's overprotective nature worsened.

He convinced himself that this feeling was a product of his past losses and argues that this is just a precaution. The Goddess has given him a second person to watch over. A second Usir. A new blessing to make up for his past transgressions.

And he will not waste this second chance.

"Take this. And do not forget my orders."

—---

[Morning, 4 AM]

Towering dome buildings, abundance of trees yet eerily silent streets– Sumeru City was not a tourist spot for amusement. 

Considering these facts, Dunyarzard, in all her former glory, still built a large theater underground called The Zubayr Theater. She had the intention of making the city a more joyous location with her contributions, and it's sad to see that it had done little to brighten up its citizens. Then again, Dunyarzard probably won’t be bothered by this if she lived longer.

You would know this because she was once your friend too.

Dunyarzard...

It’s a shame an invasive fox is hiding inside her paradise-on-earth. 

That, and a troublesome dog too.

You glanced at Alhaitham. He behaved strangely the entire time, glancing at his watch as if he were counting his seconds down. Soon enough, he walked closer and tapped your shoulder.

"(N/n)."

Assuming this is about the akasha terminal he let you borrow, you let him talk. "Go on, speak."

[AFFECTION METER: 28.00%]

"Tuqburni."

"… what?"

"Means you bury me in Sumeru," Alhaitham said, looking away sheepishly. "I decided it'd be best if you heard it again, even if Cyno isn’t here."

Is he trying to imply that an Inquisitor would care enough to kill him? Please. He’s an insignificant cog in the grand scheme of things. If he’s so sure you’ll lead him to his death then he should just quit. Go back to being an Akademiyan spy, it’s not that hard.

"Good to know." You'll forget about that word in ten minutes, tops.

He pursed his lips, troubled. "You don't remember what Tuqburni means?"

"Can't remember something I never learned."

Alhaitham frowned.

"I see…"

Sister Rosaria swerved her way between you two before pushing Alhaitham away with little force. "Take a hike. We don't have time to entertain you, underboss."

His nose scrunched. "Sister Rosaria, age 25. Weight 80kg, height 5'9, address–"

"Yeah, no shit I know where I live, so what?" The nun retorted. "Think you can take me on with your calculator, kid?"

You snorted.

"I'm not trying to intimidate you," Alhaitham spoke. "I'm letting you know that–"

"Whatever." Rosaria clicked her tongue. "Capo, what're your orders?"

Thank the Tsaritsa that Rosaria is here.

“We’ll split.” You pointed at the theater. “There are three main sections in Zabayr.”

You handed Rosaria a map. Alhaitham didn’t ask for a copy– he presumed that you already trust that he knew the location with the help of new technology. Instead, it was Rosaria who had a follow-up question.

“Where’s your copy, Capo?”

“They don’t need one,” Alhaitham answered. “They were here when the place was built– they helped Lady Dunyarzard build her dream theater.”

“I didn’t issue any orders for you to speak.” You glared. “Know where you stand, underboss.”

You cleared your throat. "As I was saying, we'll split up. I'll scout the theater, Rosaria outside the buildings, and you're on the apex building. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Of course."

—----

Despite saying "of course" confidently, Alhaitham found himself in a small library. 

This was likely NOT the place you ordered him to find, but the wealth of information stored around here was relevant to your investigation. Why? Because these were records haphazardly left by the fascists.

Their intel was right. The theater was one of their headquarters.

"These runes…" His eyebrows furrowed. “‘A tool that can only be used if the wielder upholds absolute justice above all else and would sacrifice the means for a satisfactory end.’ None of these descriptors match the Akademiya’s records at all, except...”

Alhaitham's eyes widened. 

This specific piece of information corroborates how Tighnari behaved thus far.

"However, if the Archons live with us and not Celestia then isn't it possible that Focalor is–"

His fingernails dug into the papyrus while his eyes frantically skimmed through its contents. If the contents of this papyrus were true, then what the hell was that collaboration between La Signora and the Adepti about? What the hell did they exchange?

Alhaitham heard the sound of breathing.

He turned around and turned on his terminal, hoping to reach you before the assailant stops him.

"(N/n), be careful! Whatever Tighnari's holding, that's a gn–"

[SHUTTING DOWN…]

—---

The Akasha Terminal buzzed, the signal muffling its voice. You surmise that this was caused by the theater's layout. The architect of the Zubayr Theater– which is funny enough, still Kaveh– specifically chose this location for its lack of noise. That being said, it would be nice to watch an actual play here now that Alhaitham wouldn't bother you with his senseless blather. Pity that no one's performing.

"… B… c…ful! Wh….. na… ri…ho…."

"T…s … ...sis!" 

You shook your head and nonchalantly thought out loud.

"The terminal must be acting up." 

There's no one there to accompany you in your confrontation with Tighnari should you encounter him, and you preferred it this way. 

You opened the door to the main stage.

And you finally found him.

You spotted the back of his silhouette lingering on the theater’s second floor. Props were crushed and some built-in chairs were knocked over. Whoever wreaked havoc around Dunyarzard’s theater had to pay– but that isn’t your main priority. Your target is already right here.

The professor no longer wore his cotton dark caramel coat– instead, he replaced it with a blander yet bolder black one that made his figure look larger. His eyes were vacant, looking forward as if a person would warp from near the ceiling. The bastard appeared to be waiting for someone.

Someone that isn’t you.

"Hello, professor."

A chill shot down his spine as his eyes met yours. Tighnari looked down, seeing you stare at him with a small smile. There was malice behind your peaceful expression. He made indescribable noises when he took a step back. No one else was in the vicinity except for the two of you, but his thoughts screamed that there was nowhere else to run. Tighnari knew that look was nothing he had ever seen before– a look of pity and anger reserved only for a dead man walking.

He sensed bloodlust, and it was consumingly relentless.

"It's been a while. Mind if I bother you outside office hours?"

Tighnari's hands were trembling but the rest of his limbs were frozen. He couldn't completely deny the possibility that he could die at this very moment. After all, he had seen your agility wipe out an entire floor of men with two dull daggers. If that was lazily done to protect him, he can only imagine the full extent of your abilities. On the bright side, at least you were below him and he could sprint somewhere– he just didn’t know where that is.

When you go on a hunt, you don’t stop until you catch your prey.

The professor knows that damn well.

"N-No," Tighnari answered with false confidence. "No, I don't."

"Can I ask a few questions, then?"

Your way of speaking contradicts whatever thoughts you both had in mind. Your voice inflection bounced off lightly, but the air shifted as soon as you traced your holster.

He didn't reply, and you took that as a yes.

[FREE TALK EVENT: START]

[READER REPLIES MARKED IN RED]

"Why." 

It came out more like a general statement than a question, so you repeated it with added conviction. You're not a static force. You're here because you willed it– you're here to satisfy your demands. Your lust for revenge.

"Why did you do it? Why did you burn my manor?"

Like a grim reaper appeasing their curiosity, you spoke calmly while simultaneously patronizing his inconsequential life.

Tighnari bit his lip. "You already know why–"

"But I need the confirmation, the closure. Any reason to make your death tenfold more satisfying." 

"I did it so that you'd get your cure."

Your eyes squinted.

Of course he did. You don't doubt him. You've known his obsession with Eleazar and how he rightfully suspected that you're burdened by this illness. 

But he took the whole truth and poured some out.

"That still doesn’t make sense, Professor Tighnari."

He took a sharp yet deep breath. Tighnari's treading on thin ice. He was scared not just for his life. He was scared that this would be his final moment when he had yet to give you what you needed. 

"I had to–"

"Surely the cure for Eleazar doesn't involve mass murder."

You were remarkably calm. As opposed to your uncharacteristically feral actions during the previous few days, this argument was entirely typical of you. Strategic and reserved, but ready to unleash everything in a single strike. 

"I…" Tighnari bit his cheek. He sighed exasperatedly. "Just. Just trust me for once, Capo–"

"Don't call me that." You tensed up. "You lost the right to call me Capo the moment you betrayed your familia. How can I trust you when I don't forgive you? Why trouble yourself so much when you can rip my head off my shoulders right now? I'm just another body between you and your precious cure, correct?" 

He almost didn't notice how you threw a dagger mid-talk like pelting a mere pebble. Tighnari dodged it, albeit barely, and you calculated as much. You won't let him die until he hears everything.

You spat lowly. "You snuffed the lives out of the only people that mattered to me." 

"Please don't be mad. I had to–" Tighnari spilled. "I had to or else Focalor wouldn't help me."

"How the fuck can I not be mad? You're a fox, I'm sure you can smell the hatred I have for you. Your olfactory system is sensitive, after all." You masterfully kept your voice calm despite the severity of your words.

"Your associates are such idiotic bastards then if they have to kill my men for a cure." Your eyebrows furrowed. "Where is it? Where the fuck is the correlation, Professor?"

"It's to prove my loyalt–"

"The only thing you've proven is that you're a piece of shit. Is this what fascism is about? I can't see why you'd ever want to be one."

Tighnari looked down and muttered something you didn't hear.

"Who said I wanted this to happen?"

You continued. "I know I was only spared because I was in the chapel– so take out your gun so we can settle this already."

You fired a warning shot, this time with a bullet and not a dagger, burying another close call between his tall ears.

There were so many things to worry about, but Tighnari relied on hopeless dialogue. It's the only tool he has left to de-escalate the situation.

Unfortunately for him, you're better with words.

"I don't want to kill you."

"Teppei."

"... What?"

"Lyudochka, Kazari, Bao'er, Viktor… " You cocked your gun. "Lindhart. Did you regret killing them?"

"Capo, I know what you're trying to do."

"You should or else we'd both look stupid."

"But saying their names won't change my mind. I've already decided that they're replaceable as friends."

Replaceable?!

"You bastardo–"

You fired a second shot– it missed. With a bit of spite, you aimed higher knowing that he'd evade. You didn't repeat the same mistake.

He ducked behind the second-floor barrier.

But didn't take its spiral pillar designs into account, and the gaps were exactly where you aimed at.

"GAH–"

His guttural scream echoed across the theater.

You shot him in the leg.

Whoever designed that barrier had great tastes– you'll thank the architect for this later.

It'd be so easy to just kill him now.

"Your fur will look better draped around my shoulders, Vulpes." You aimed with Tartaglia's revolver. "It's winter, is it not? Don't worry, I'll put it to good use."

The most significant thing he would do with his life is dying.

Lucky for him, you can’t grant him that just yet.

You still have hope. 

You still believe that there’s a way to get rid of Eleazar.

And as much as you hate it, you also believe in Tighnari.

Rather, you believe in his abilities and nothing more.

With the "goodness" in your heart, you’ll let him finish what he started.

"But I’ll suffer through the winter for now. That cure is the only thing keeping you alive. The day you finish your research will be the day I finish you. After that, I’ll make sure to kill every last person you hold dear."

Tighnari huffed self-deprecatingly, clinging onto his wounded leg by the theater's second floor. gazing at you with a melancholic stare. "Jokes on you (Y/n), there's no one else but y–"

"Cyno. Collei."

His eyes widened.

You smirked jadedly. "I had Inquisitor Cyno keep her in our custody. Did you know that pain is heightened ten times more for those of us suffering from Eleazar?"

You traced your old battle scars. They were all healed, but their numbers will keep multiplying.

Each time you pinch, no matter how dated these may be, it's as painful as yesterday's wounds. Nothing prepared you when you were diagnosed with Eleazar. Each wound, each papercut– the pain clings onto you like a leech that can never be scrubbed out, or else it'll cling tighter. 

"It's excruciating. That's why I was addicted to heroin– it numbs everything. Have you heard? Children are more vulnerable when it comes to drug addiction–"

"Don't." He faltered, lowering his gun. "Please. Don't touch them."

Bullseye.

Them. He used the word “them” instead of “her.” Despite Cyno’s impression, the fox still cares about him.

Maybe you should’ve invited Cyno to tag along.

You tilted the revolver sideways. 

You want him to inflict even more pain.

If Cyno were here, you would’ve made sure he said all the wrong things and watched Tighnari squirm. After all, you do have the uncanny ability to get people to behave in the way you want them to, don’t you?

"Then parry this."

But you didn’t pull the trigger.

Surprisingly, Tighnari bravely climbed up and hung his leg by the barrier, making him more susceptible if you attacked. You can’t tell if you hesitated or you’re curious as to what he’s trying to accomplish– the second floor was meters high above your station– he’ll surely die if he jumped.

Sister Rosaria emerged from your peripheral vision, ragged and stripped of breath. It's a long way from the main theater to the bazaar– she ran when she heard your argument as soon as possible.

Tighnari fished something out of his pocket.

A blue light shimmered in what appeared to be a chess bishop.

… What kind of trick is this? 

"Tighnari, what the hell are you holding?" Your nose scrunched, squinting at the small piece. You could've sworn you've seen that symbol somewhere– in large glass-stained imageries.

"Can't you see?" Tighnari croaked, angrily crying out in a desperate attempt to make deaf men such as yourself hear. "Focalor is the Hydro Archon– there's no better healer than her if you would just allow us to help you find a cure."

His eyes… Whatever it is you’ve said, it had its impact.

Tighnari lost his mind.

Sister Rosaria's breath hitched. Fortunately for both of you, she understood the situation.

"CAPO, GET BEHIND ME–"

"This is the Hydro Archon's gnosis," Tighnari yelled. "I'll prove to you– I'll show you that all those sacrifices were worth every drop of blood I had to spill. Maybe I haven't figured out how to heal with it now but destroying things has always been easier than fixing them!"

Gnosis?

What the fuck is he talking about?

Like the 7 gnosis the Tsaritsa collected?

That bedtime story?

"Fox, where on earth did you get that?!" Sister Rosaria pushed you near the exit door, mediating the argument. "Where did you steal that divine artifact?!"

"Dear sister…" Tighnari chuckled darkly. 

"If there's a will, there's a way."

He raised the chess piece to the sky. 

"I'm sorry Capo– but this I swear: I never betrayed you." He spoke softly while his ears lowered. "Open your eyes– everything I do is all for your health and wellbeing. This little thing right here is worth more than your men. Easier to do things first before apologizing later, that's what you told me last time, right?"

"Fuck off." You didn't take a step forward. In this instance, Rosaria would handle this better than you could. "Take a swim in the river Cocytus for all I care– but don't you fucking dare dedicate that slaughter under my name."

[FREE TALK EVENT: END]

Tighnari grinned emptily.

[AFFECTION METER: ERROR.]

[AKASHA TERMINAL STATUS: DISABLED]

“I’ll never know.” He spoke softly. “I’ll never know why I like you so much. At this rate, I’m too afraid to find out.”

His hold on the “gnosis” tightened.

The bishop piece beamed.

“Farewell, my Capo.”

—-----

[6 years ago]

Alhaitham lived a monotonous life.

The same old nine-to-five schedule: wash up, dress up, eat, work, eat, sleep, and repeat the following day. When compared to his former self, he had a professional short haircut and was dressed in white dress shirts that were buttoned up. Alhaitham has the appearance of a plastic toy. Too typical and bland. Nothing exuded uniqueness.

He thought he got what he wanted. Alhaitham graduated and became an accountant, just like what he aimed for for years. As a child, he grew up under the misconception that he had something special. Alhaitham was the boy every parent preached about when their lackluster children produced little results. Maybe he was the smart kid everyone loathed– but his repertoire was genuine. The world handed him an easy-to-follow script, and he mindlessly fulfilled it with his innate abilities.

But for goodness' sake, if this is what success is, then why is it so empty?

His purpose in living had turned into nothing more than a bank's problem fixer until he returns to doing what he loved most:

Nothing.

What the hell is life boring him for?

"Tired of life, tesoro?"

Alhaitham looked up.

He saw an underdressed person wearing a white tattered shirt and lousily safety-pinned flip-flops. Had they worn white instead, they would be easily mistaken as a hospital escapee. 

More specifically, they looked like they just got out of the heroin rehabilitation center just a few blocks down the street.

Alhaitham didn't send them away. They had a sparkle in their eyes, something that he lacked nowadays. However, there's something about it that made it more noteworthy compared to civilians around here.

Those pupils are (e/c) Khaenri'ahn eyes.

A natural trait, but its presence alludes to artificial happiness in the same manner endomorphs appear friendly and kind. No matter how lifeless a Khaenri'ahn may be, the gem in their eyes will always make them look more alive than the rest of the world.

They covered their mouth.

"Oh, pardon. I can't help but ask. You're rather down and I thought you needed a distraction..." 

They didn't seem all that sorry when they immediately sat down beside him after that apology.

"Incorrect." He bluffed. "What makes you assume that?"

They smiled.

"I dare say you look like you've achieved everything you thought you wanted in life, but you're still feeling empty inside, aren't you?"

Alhaitham's head snapped back in their direction.

"What do you mean?"

"You work for the Banco Di Snezhnaya, around age 23, have a wage of 500 thousand mora per week," they chuckled, gesturing at his hair. "Aaand you probably don't own a hair dryer."

Stalkerish-ly spot on.

"How did you–" He clicked his tongue, disappointed at himself for becoming immersed in parlor tricks. "Nevermind. I'm not buying into whatever astrology thingamajig you're selling."

"Oh please, the only thing I'm selling are matchsticks. Hair dryers ain't astrology, ya dumbass, they're a new Fontaine invention." They huffed. "If my matchsticks could tell the future I would've achieved my dreams by now."

Alhaitham still can't phantom why, but he's oddly intrigued by whatever came out of their mouth.

"And your dreams are?"

"I want to become a journalist." They said, softly knocking their chest with a closed fist. "Future Teyvat Times journalist. The best of the best."

"Unlikely." Alhaitham muffled his laughter. Unlike most people, he can regulate his emotions masterfully well. "Someone like you who obviously achieved no real education? Give up on that dream while you're still ahead."

"Yikes. Already sizing up my intellectual capacity? That's rude."

"I'll see your dreams if it happens." He continued. "But it's my turn to guess things about you– you're a heroin addict who just got out of rehab and now you're stuck doing community service by selling matchsticks. Not only are you uneducated, but you also have a drug record so say goodbye to any stable employment."

They smirked. They were right– he's not the type to hold his tongue. That just makes him a better conversationalist.

"Close, but no dice." They snapped their fingers, pretending to be saddened by his faulty inference. "EX-heroin addict. I got out of rehab a year ago and I'm not selling matchsticks because of community service– that sure sounds better than the actual truth, though."

He'd rather they communicate properly with little subtext and implications. Alhaitham sighed. "Alright, fine. I'm hooked, what's the truth?"

"Don't tell me you can't tell." They raised an eyebrow before they pried their left eye open, showing off their unique pupil. "I'm an immigrant, so of course finding a job is as easy as becoming the seventh archon, ragazzo."

Their butchering of the Snezhnayan language further cemented that they're not from here.

"I didn't get any quote-unquote "real" education, but living on the streets? You'd be caught dead if you're not skilled at inferences." They said grimly, but the smile on their face never left. "That's why I know how to spot a person easily. I know a guilty murderer when I see one, and I know an unsatisfied man once I look down on him sulking by the fountain."

"Right. I forgot you're Khaenri'ahn." Alhaitham muttered.

"Well, then you must be the first person to do so. That's literally what everyone points out after looking at my eyes. Congratulations." They snickered. 

"Why am I even talking to someone as arrogant as you?"

"I may be arrogant, but you're a lot happier now that I'm here, aren't you?"

Alhaitham froze.

"See? I'm pretty good at swaying people into behaving the way I want them to."

"What's your goal exactly?" Alhaitham pulled out his wallet. "Need me to buy a pack of cigars? I'm not funding your addiction."

He said that but he already took out 150 bills.

"Nah. That sounds great though but I was just trying to practice my conversation skills." They sheepishly told him. "I want to practice speaking Snezhnayan, and also cause I want to seem friendly."

"'Seem' friendly?"

They laughed. "Well, we all have secrets, don't we? There's something powerful about being charismatic yet setting boundaries all the same. Master both and you might just get somewhere."

"I'll keep that in mind," Alhaitham grunted.

"We've been talking for a while now– I'm (N/n), and yours?"

"That's…"

Alhaitham subconsciously glanced around. 

Morepesok was not one of Teyvat's safest plazas. And they look Khaenri'ahn in the worst place possible, not that anyone besides him would appreciate that. Drugs are prevalent but it's not the only social cancer in the plaza. Petty thievery, human trafficking, money laundering, the list is bottomless and in no small thanks to the syndicates. Immigrants especially get a bad rep around here as either helpless victims or eager puppets, so forgive him for exercising caution based on generalizations.

They cringed. "Ah, right. Don't worry– no need to spill your real name, just give me something I can call you."

He paused.

"... Deshret."

"Well, well, nice to meet you Deshret. Is that from The Scarlet King's Court Jester?"

"Nevermind. Let's just change it to–"

"No no no! It's perfect." They said. "Very underrated bedtime story. The kids loved it… even though it was pretty dark and abusive."

"Many say it's a real tale."

"Do you believe that?"

It was also his favorite story as a child. 

"Yes."

"Heh. I don't, but I don't want to make little Kaeya cry." They laughed. "As you can probably tell, I'm Khaenri'ahn, and we just don't have all these strange cultural beliefs you people have…"

They gazed down his thighs. 

"Hey Deshret, isn't sitting with your legs together uncomfortable? Go on, cross your legs, or whatever. I don't mind."

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow before he slowly did what he was told. It's been a while since he sat this way. He trained himself to stop since it wasn't appropriate in the office, and somehow he forgot he could still do it outside work.

He relaxed. The change in posture was effective.

"... You're creepily perceptive."

"As I said, gotta be more observant." They chuckled. "Being liked is key to survival–"

Out of the blue, a loud metallic thud reverberated around the plaza. The both of them flinched at the sound and everyone turned their heads to its source.

"Hey, isn't that Adepti Underboss, Xiao?" They whispered.

The Adepti were incredibly busy that year. By June, a rat published a book entitled "Rex Incognito" where they detailed and provided evidence that Morax is the Geo Archon himself, which makes the piece both heretical AND entertaining.

The man, whom they both assumed was underboss Xiao, tossed a man upward till they landed on the roof of a nearby car. With his lithe yet muscular form, he swiftly disposed of a 70kg policeman like a garbage bag. No one moved a muscle in their direction. Not a single person showed empathy for the nose-bleeding cop in the middle of the plaza. The civilians pitied the car owner and not the injured man. Only children shrieked at the sound. For the rest? Just another Wednesday garbage cleanup.

There's no semblance of justice in Teyvat that remains in broad daylight.

Alhaitham closed his eyes, disappointed.

"Pathetic how the tri-mafia overpowers the military police in every way. The police are useless." 

"Yeah man, fuck the system."

"Fuck the system indeed." Alhaitham nodded solemnly. They nearly laughed at how strangely innocent the word 'fuck' sounds coming from him.

"Wanna know what we should do?"

"I genuinely don't."

"Let's join the mafia together."

Alhaitham snorted. It's funny how he considered himself a pro at regulating his emotions moments prior because now he couldn't hold back the cute little chuckles that betrayed his lips. His shoulders trembled as well as his hands while he composed himself.

That was the stupidest idea he had ever heard.

"W-What?" They asked mid-laughter as well, clearly not considering their own enthusiastic suggestion. "Don't think we can overthrow the government together? Tsk, tsk."

They look positively malnourished. Alhaitham would bet on the chance that they'd achieve their dream journalist career rather than a stable life as a future mafioso. 

Then again, Alhaitham looked very straight-laced and put-together before he joined Akademiya. 

"Ah yes, an accountant and a matchstick vendor joining the mafia together; one of them might even become the next leader. Find out next time in chapter 3."

"Coglione, I'm the one who's going to be a journalist here, not you."

"Not with that awful pronunciation you're not."

They frowned. "You Teyvatans are so strict with your stupid lingua francas."

"But still, it's not a bad idea, isn't it? Let's meet each other again after we join the mafia." They nudged his side. "Same time, same place. C'mon, it'd be funny if the next time we meet you'd be holding your head thinking that there's too much excitement in your life now."

Alhaitham rolled his eyes before he looked down at his watch.

"At 6 in the morning?" He looked rather amused for someone who claimed to be uninterested.

They bantered back with the same vigor. "6 AM sharp of course, tesoro."

Alhaitham chuckled. 

They laughed along with him. 

"Heh. Anyways, say, what's it like being an accountant?"

"Well…"

Since then, the two of them began meeting weekly as Deshret and (N/n). They've used their morning hours as an excuse to get drunk in the crack of dawn. Both have forgotten what the true purpose of that time was, 

But it's not as if they'd both remember that joke, right?

—---

Well, if that's true, then Alhaitham doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.

Something about that small conversation rekindled a fire in him– a torch he had never once touched for he saw no need for it. But after seeing how empty those cubicles were– how mechanical the bigger picture was– nothing had been the same for him. His conversations with coworkers were barely anything compared to what he shared with (N/n). Dialogues in the office were canned scripts, and they were oh-so-predictable.

And so that morning, he went up and quit his job before accepting the offer to be the Akademiya Syndicate's bookkeeper. 

But (N/n) was nowhere to be found in their usual spot. 

Not in the fountain– not in the old bar. 

Where the hell were they?

Alhaitham asked the people of Morepesok if they'd seen them, but these efforts were futile. Some were eager to point out that they know what's-their-name-s, but none led back to where they were. And the street urchins that were familiar with the name (N/n) assumed they'd departed the country and gone back to their homeland.

He refused to believe that. Passions quite like theirs do not burn out as easily as he did.

As a result, waiting in Morepesok for (N/n) in the hopes that they'll return has become a daily ritual. For the first few days, no one was eager to approach the new Akademiyan mafioso; instead, he would monitor the time with a feverish bloodlust. Even in Snezhnaya's harsh winters, he is frequently observed by numerous concerned bystanders who urge him to get inside because it is cold out. None of their worries stopped him. He saw waiting as a chance to relieve stress. These quiet moments remind him of his humble humanity, and he was grateful to have ever met (N/n) because of this.

Yet they never came back.

But Alhaitham never held it against them. It's alright.

Thanks to them, he lived the kind of life he never knew he dreamed of.

"6 AM sharp, huh?"

The more he hung around the square, the more people thought they understood him. They were under the impression that this immovable man was not on a syndicate mission– he was just a lovelorn yet patient man.

"But I doubt I'm far gone. I just appreciate them. That's all there is to it." These were the words that helped him sleep at night. But if the term "lovelorn" simply means "unrequited" then perhaps the way he feels while waiting for them to return fits the description.

He was still sitting upright by the fountain in Morepesok Plaza, waiting expectantly for (N/n) to return like a dog.

—----

And even now, he waited.

Until (Y/n), Capo of the Innamorati family, found him lying on the ground.

(N/n) didn't come.

"(Y/n)..." Rosaria whispered while her face grimaced at the pungent and metallic smell. You both observed the pool of blood on the ground.

You and Rosaria narrowly escaped the blast of whatever divine power Tighnari conjured– and you’re still processing what happened in the theatre that you couldn’t comprehend the body right in front of you. If Rosaria wasn’t there to lift you on her shoulders you would’ve stood and resigned to your fate. Thankfully, you weren’t wounded, but the bump you had on the seats when the water pressure pushed you back nearly gave you a concussion. 

In the end, you both came back for Alhaitham with soaked coats and socks, dripping from head to toe. Rosaria’s veil was discarded and left by the doorsteps as it was distractingly clinging to her skin– you would’ve done the same with your coat had it not been one of your favorite ones. Your cold and quivering limbs weep for respite but you remained steadfast. However, your mind does not share the same willpower. Your thoughts were slow but chaotic. 

Just how did Tighnari flood the underground theater earlier?

Was that really a gnosis?

Why did he have one? 

Where did Tighnari flee now?

You shook your head in an attempt to focus on what was in front of you.

Who attacked Alhaitham?

His neck is bleeding and there's a clean stab wound on his neck. The crimson trail trickled down to his exposed arm. With his back leaning on the wall and head facing down, Alhaitham did not move a muscle. You know little about Alhaitham but you did know one thing: he wanted to work with you far longer than your first guess. 

Suppose he’s underqualified to be an underboss, after all, failing his first (and last) mission like this. You once heard Pantalone say that "Akademiyan spies are the weakest species in Teyvat" and your new "underboss" proved that right by messing up the marble tiles with his blood.

The collar you were supposed to give him feels useless in your pocket.

Maybe you should've picked Enjou instead. That crazy maniac would survive better than him, and he's just a merchant in the Abyss Market you like to gossip with.

Alhaitham is pathetic. Was pathetic.

"One of those fascists likely killed your underboss," Rosaria said, sounding awful like she was reading from a script. "It seems that Tighnari will do anything to stop you from maintaining your position."

That's funny, cause the only way those shits can achieve that is by burying you alive– and they failed miserably– comically, even.

Did they seriously think you'd weep for Alhaitham?

For someone as “replaceable” as him, as Tighnari would put it?

You've said it once and you'll say it again: that's fucking hilarious. Tartaglia would love this story– you're sure. They've already taken your best friend Dimitri, everyone else is secondary. You love your men, but they know they can never be him. Hell, you'd argue that if the others were equally loved, Alhaitham would be "less equal" than the others. 

You didn't take a second look at Alhaitham, and not because you lack remorse. 

The real reason is too boring.

He's not dead. 

He's just unconscious.

Sadly no, that was not just the first stage of grief speaking. There's still some life left in him. He's nowhere near as cold as a corpse shouldn't be. Would've made your job a lot easier if he was, but he's still breathing, albeit shallow and excruciatingly so. However, that doesn't change the fact that he'll survive. All for one damn good reason–

Sister Rosaria was the one who attacked him.

The inquisitor must've left him like this hoping that fate will decide whether he lives or not, which means she was hesitant to kill him. In a way, your casual friendship with the nun saved your second underboss. This isn't your first rodeo– you've had good friends who tried to kill you once and vice versa, and it's nothing a visit to Angel's Share can't fix. Rosaria was merely a tool. Her feelings had nothing to do with this. It's a good thing your conversations with Sister Rosaria are never dull, you hate to imagine what you would've done to her otherwise.

Lucky bastards, both Alhaitham AND Sister Rosaria.  

Still, this meant that someone else ordered you to assassinate your underboss.

Someone from the church. The very same cathedral you swore fealty to and devoted half of your life's work on.

You laughed furiously.

"Hahahaha! I see!" 

Who the FUCK is the rat that tried to take what's YOURS?

You wrapped the scarf around his neck taut like a gauze and propped him upward. Alhaitham's weight leaned on your right side as you began lazily carrying him. It doesn't look like he'll wake up soon, so at least he wouldn't be bragging about getting carried by his boss.

Rosaria wore a stiff expression.

You both know the truth, and she's wholly aware you've pieced everything together. But you're not mad at her– any sister of Barbara is a familia to you. She's just following orders, and if what the church wanted was to frame Tighnari for this…

Then who's to say they haven't pinned someone else for any other crime?

But that's not what matters now– Alhaitham's situation is urgent compared to these half-baked conspiracies. 

"He lives." You said. "Don't worry Rosaria."

Neither of you addressed how you subtly forgave her.

She placed two fingers on his wrist. The nun sighed a little too relieved when she felt his pulse. 

"Good. Then we should go find help."

You smirked. "Oh, no need to worry. I know a medical professional nearby."

"Whoever it is you have in mind, you better make the right call, we're losing him." She spoke casually.

Neither of you showed any semblance of panic over a dying man.

Sister Rosaria, a child of the Archons, was more afraid of your fury than his stripping lifeline.

"Of course, Sister Rosaria."

In all honesty, he's by no means the "right call" for this scenario. But who else can you turn to,

other than Il Dottore himself?

—---

→ Common Route First Half Complete!!! ←

A/n: Did y'all think Alhaitham was going to die? Me too. Trust me, I'd give you guys a lot of chances to kill these three.

Btw, did some of their dialogue sound familiar? You're all very creative!!! I had to cut some responses off (I'm sorry.) because some were already similar while others currently don't fit the situation… But I hope some of you read it and went "oh, this is MY answer from the open-ended question (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)!!!" I want you all to feel like you're part of what builds Capo!Reader's personality! 

Same as usual, the underlined word (Il Dottore) leads to the polls. Have fun voting!!!

Deadline: TBA

Taglist, thank you all for reading "OC!MC!" ❤️: @scaranaris-lil-niko @ruru-senpai-is-an-infp @vienettacream @theglowfly @vermillionite @nasidibakar

#tag: ocmc - cta #yandere genshin x reader #yandere #yandere genshin #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere fanfiction #yandere tighnari #yandere cyno #yandere tighnari x reader #yandere cyno x reader #yandere alhaitham #yandere alhaitham x reader #yandere al haitham x reader #yandere al haitham #yandere mafia #yandere male #male yandere #tw yandere #ansy-writes

[istadris]

The King and the Imperator

Translation of this story ( @elitadream keep an eye out, there's more to come)

Or : when the universes of two short-stacked, moustachioed heroes collide, and their respective nemesis find a common ground.

*

The creature was towering over him.

An impressive feat on its own, given how Caesar was taller than most of his peers. What was most remarkable, however, was the creature itself: a curious hybrid between man, turtle and lizard, one that could breathe fire and break stones with its bare fists. Dragon, his mind kept suggesting, despite his best efforts to avoid dwelling on the ludicrous idea.

Even more interesting was the fact that the creature was smart enough to think, talk, and was, from what he had gathered, a king, a ruling leader.

Smart enough to bark a laugh in reaction to Caesar’s offer.

“So you wanna work for me? You?”

“An alliance is what I’m offering,” Caesar answered coldly, “as our goals seem to align for the time being.”

“An ‘alliance’ implies we both got something interesting to bring on the table. I have the biggest army in the world, the best magicians at my service, and I am the most powerful of my kingdom. What could a twiggy little thing like you offer me?”

“Many things, O king, but most of all what you are currently lacking: strategy.”

The creature snarled at the implied insult and stomped suddenly towards Caser, huge, sharp fangs bared in a vicious snarl. It took all of Caesar’s self-control to not reach for his sword; not that it would do much against the thick scales of his opponent.

“Watch your words, human. You’re a funny distraction for now, but you’re not that amusing.”

Yet as brutish and foul-tempered as this monster was, it was smart enough not to give in to his rage and listen to what Caesar had to say instead. So he stared back in the red eyes, standing tall and proud.

“You said it yourself: you lead the greatest army of this world, you dispose of vast resources…yet what of your conquests? How have you not yet bent this entire world to your rule?”

“Ha, because you think you can do better than ME?”

“‘Better’? I’m leaving this debate to philosophers. I only know I had no throne to claim by birth right, nor fortune or magic. And yet today I’m the master of an empire in all but in name; I am feared and respected by my citizens and foes alike as the conqueror of most of the known world. All who dared opposing me submitted to my armies or perished. Can you claim the same?”

Black smoke erupted from the creature’s nostrils in a low snort, the words clearly striking a chord, but not to the point of causing aggression for now. Caesar even dared to walk a few steps away from his interlocutor, his arms crossed behind his back as he took in the landscape surrounding them as he went on:

“Only one small village of indomitable Gauls still holds out against my troops. But unlike me, they have at their disposal a…magic providing them with incredible strength. Otherwise, they would have been wiped out a long time ago.”

Some of them might have cunning and ingenuity on their side as well…but Caesar didn’t need to mention that detail.

“Two of them, in particular, keep fooling my plans. A pesky duo made of a little runt and a tall bumbling fool following him around. From what I was told,” he added with a smirk in the direction of the king, “we share something in common in that aspect.”

“Might be. Get to the point.”

“It’s very simple,” Caesar said as he turned to face the monster. “You’re used to magic, and there's no doubt as to your strength: even with their powers, you would be quite the challenge to my enemies. As for yours…no matter how powerful they are, two men wouldn’t be able to fend off an organised campaign of my design against their kingdom. A little village where they can focus their effort, yes. An entire country? I beg to differ. This is my offer, mighty king: remove the last obstacles in the way to my hegemony, and I’ll make sure your army can defeat this kingdom standing up to you.”

“And why would your plans be more efficient than mine?”

“Because I have seen your troops in action…if I noticed such a lack of organisation in mine, my centurions would get the whip for such incompetence. A fickle chain of command outside of their king, battle plans relying on capricious and unstable elements, basic and repetitive tactics…”

He let out a small laugh.

“If I can’t do better, I can hardly imagine doing worse.”

“And let me guess,” the monster snarked in a honeyed tone, “I should give you free reign with MY army in MY kingdom.”

The smarmy smile turned into a cruel grimace as the king raised one of his paws, suddenly unsheathing knife-sharp claws and casually looking at them

“What if instead, I killed you and took as my own that army you’re so proud of, hm?”

“Then kill me now, instead of wasting my time,” Caesar shot back with a dismissive wave of his hand.

For the first time since their encounter, arrogance made way for surprise on his interlocutor’s face, but Caesar kept talking without giving a care:

“I thought I was dealing with a king able to see where his interests lie and seize a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but if I’m only facing some mindless, prideful beast, might as well spare me the headache and give me a quick death.”

Red eyes seemed to ignite before narrowing, focused on their prey.

“SO BE IT!!”

The creature suddenly lunged towards Caesar in a deafening roar, his throat blazing with the promise of fire.

And yet despite the danger, Caesar was…not reassured, but…calm. He had dealt with this kind of people before, brash, temperamental and straightforward; the monstrous king was not the kind to waste time over a decision, nor did he seem squeamish at dirtying his own hands in getting rid of a troublesome element.

Whether he lived or died, Caesar would find out very soon. So he remained impassive to the threat, intent on keeping his dignity until the very end.

For several seconds the monster glared at Caesar, teeth bared…until his snarl slowly turned into a fierce grin and he suddenly threw his head back, laughing loudly:

“GWAHAHAHA!! You got nerve, Twiggy, I’ll give you that!”

Caesar managed to let out the breath he had been holding despite himself without the king apparently noticing.

Said king turned his eyes again on Caesar:

“Are you sure you can get rid of these two pains in the rump?”

“Most certainly. But only if you can return the favour.”

The king snorted, looking more annoyed than insulted this time.

“Are all humans so annoying to deal with?” he grumbled, not waiting for Caesar’s answer before continuing, “but you’ve got a point: with how long these moustachioed menaces have been ruining my plans, I can’t let slip any chance to finally put them down. If you can give it to me…I can be very grateful.”

For the first time since the start of the negotiations, he was displaying a serious, dignified demeanour befitting a true king while staring down at Caesar no longer as a troublesome hindrance but as a potential ally.

“Give me absolute victory and I’ll offer you a conquest. What do you say?”

That’s what he had been after from the beginning…and yet Caesar took a moment before answering.

This was a land of madness. Bright colours, absurd landscapes, ridiculous creatures. But under their ridiculous appearance, these strange beings were as strong as resilient and they had magic. Power.

He had to bring but a sliver of that power back to Rome.

Caesar was also aware of taking a big risk. He was alone, away from his armies and his usual influence. He could see the limitless ambition of this beast of a king as it reflected his own, and he would need to make sure it didn’t include Caesar’s own empire. He would need to watch carefully his back less he found himself with a knife in it the second this prideful ally got what he wanted.

But he had not become the most powerful man of his world by playing it safe.

Alea jacta est, he decided as he held his hand out to conclude the deal.

He managed not to flinch when the large paw all but crushed his bones in the handshake.

However, he did stumble and collapsed to the ground at the thunderous slap on his back, the king’s laughter booming above him.

“You know what? I think we’re gonna make a great team.”      

#super mario bros #asterix #bowser #Astérix #julius caesar #my writing #Ista writes #my stuff #crossOver #translation #happy birthday to myself here's the wildest crossover I ever wrote of my two latest hyperfixations

[best-hohenzollern-ruler]

Friedrich der Große (r. 1740 - 1786)

'Old Fritz'

Friedrich's relationship with his father, Friedrich Wilhelm I, is an oft-discussed topic. It was marked by public and private abuses and emotional and physical in nature. While the King's beheading of the then-crown prince's friend was the culmination of this treatment, it was consistent over Fritz's adolescence. Denigrated for his effeminacy, physically assaulted, and denied all earthy respite; it is little wonder that Fritz attempted to flee his father's persecution the first chance he had.

In 1740, Friedrich led Prussia against its first bout against Austrian tyranny. Did we have any claim to Silesia? Not a one. Did we agree to the Pragmatic Sanction? Technically, yes. Did that matter to Old Fritz? It did not, and for that he brought Prussia out of the scrapheap and into history! Because of him Prussia will live on for centuries! ...What the hell is a Kaliningrad?

Many rumors abounded about Friedrich's paramours and proclivities. It's the burden of every great man to endure these sorts of challenges, you see. Some say his testicles were malformed or, even, nonexistent. Some say everything was in fine working order and he sired bastard children with a Madame von Wreech. Some - and this is most absurd, you will agree - even posit that he was a homosexual. I understand hating your wife all too well, but that does not mean 'fortune is a woman and I am not that way inclined' suggests anything improper! ...Voltaire wrote what (Note: I am concerned for your health -L)

Friedrich III (r. March 1888 - June 1888)

The 99-Day King

Surprisingly for a Hohenzollern, Friedrich took a relatively liberal stance to politics. Even more shocking was his pacifist streak that led him to oppose our wars against Denmark, Austria, and France. Do not let his heart fool you; even a Prussian pacifist is nothing to sneer at. In all three conflicts, he commanded his troops capably and treated his opponents with the utmost dignity.

There were many hopes pinned to Friedrich's reign, put there both by himself and his supporters. Alas, he ascended to the throne when he was already terminally il with laryngeal cancer. Push and push as liked, what reforms could a dying emperor make? The most significant aspect of his reign is what it may have been - and what it could have avoided.

We have received a letter, whose author only identified herself as an 'American woman.' It reads: 'I know Fritz is going to beat Fritz, but please look at him. Isn't he the most dreamy Hohenzollern you've ever seen? Those piercing eyes, that strong nose, that beard you could lose your hand in. So what if he didn't like his son? That a crime now in this family? Fritz, your wife is gone, but I know one English maiden who's still seeking a good man. HEY-O!' (Note: Burn this debauchery -L)

#frederick the great #friedrich ii #friedrich iii #hohenzollern bracket #staffer theodor #round one

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

"always finish your writing session in the middle of a scene/chapter," I say. "it helps with momentum so then you don't have to start something brand new," I say. "great for people like me who hate starting things."

>>>> me literally not doing that

#bruh what have i done now i have to THINK #o i am fortune's fool #last night rachel i hate you #number one thing about pantsing that sucks is having to... use my brain #can i just... vibe lmao #NOT WHEN I FINISHED THE SCENE GODDAMMIT

[stranded-labyrinth]

the moment after i made a Romeo & Juliet comparison, i saw another post about it, so i guess it's a sign.

Will said a line based on a Romeo line ("O, I am fortune's fool!"/"I am not fortune's fool, I'm yours.") to Hannibal, thus making Hannibal his Juliet (something a little funny considering that the tale ends in a double suicide for the main leads).

but moreover, if we're thinking of Capulets and Montagues as killers vs. the law/general morality, the comparison makes more sense, especially if you allow Hannibal to represent the younger Capulet characters in general.

the comparison gets me thinking about Mercutio and Beverly. Mercutio was Romeo's friend, sided with the Montagues, but was also sort of a comedic relief. he's a good friend, and he lightens the mood as a stark contrast to the tragedy unfolding around them. the same could be said of Beverly and Will's relationship.

and then Tybalt (a male Capulet- citing again the concept of Hannibal representing Capulets in general) kills Mercutio in a duel. specifically, Mercutio dies because no one listened to him in time as he was begging them to get a doctor, much like how no one listened to Will in time except for Beverly. after Mercutio's death, everything afterwards feels that much more devastating. after Beverly's death, the series is cemented in darkness.

and then there's Romeo's slaying of Tybalt, and Will sending someone after Hannibal to kill him. at that moment, Hannibal was Tybalt, not Juliet. he was an enemy, his feelings not yet mutual. however, Hannibal does not die, and thus Will's guilt for any attempts directed toward the man don't come until Mizumono.

Romeo's punishment thereafter was banishment, much like how Will was no longer welcome in the FBI nor fully trusted by his peers after his release. it could also be comparable to the Mizumono ending. the exile could also be compared to Will's self-imposed exile, when he left to begin a new life far away from everything that happened while all the other characters were still dealing with one another.

in fact, i'll take this a step further: Juliet was also going against the Capulets. repeatedly, we see that Hannibal is being courted (in a way) by other killers, all of whom he declines in favor of Will. he even gets mocked for this repeatedly, between Abel Gideon making fun of his desire, Bedelia expressing her disapproval as carefully as she can, and even Tobias' attempt on Will's life. i would even go as far as comparing Bedelia to Count Paris, a character to be betrothed to Juliet in a way that simply was never meant to be.

in the end, the two choose being together over living a life without the other, even if the only way to be together is in death.

#i put a read more because this is very long #romeo and juliet au anyone? #hannibal #nbc hannibal #will graham #hannigram #hannibal lecter

[faintingheroine]

Wuthering Heights is a book with ambiguous points but when something in it is ambiguous, it has a neon sign pointing to it saying “ambiguous” -> Like with Heathcliff’s ethnicity, how he got rich, whether he killed Hindley, or the presence of ghosts. Each of these points have Nelly and Lockwood actively wondering about them. None of these ambiguities are subtle:

“And now that we’ve done washing, and combing, and sulking—tell me whether you don’t think yourself rather handsome? I’ll tell you, I do. You’re fit for a prince in disguise. Who knows but your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian queen, each of them able to buy up, with one week’s income, Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange together? And you were kidnapped by wicked sailors and brought to England. Were I in your place, I would frame high notions of my birth; and the thoughts of what I was should give me courage and dignity to support the oppressions of a little farmer!’”

(Chapter 7)

“Draw your knitting out of your pocket—that will do—now continue the history of Mr. Heathcliff, from where you left off, to the present day. Did he finish his education on the Continent, and come back a gentleman? or did he get a sizar’s place at college, or escape to America, and earn honours by drawing blood from his foster-country? or make a fortune more promptly on the English highways?’

‘He may have done a little in all these vocations, Mr. Lockwood; but I couldn’t give my word for any. I stated before that I didn’t know how he gained his money; neither am I aware of the means he took to raise his mind from the savage ignorance into which it was sunk”.

(Chapter 10)

“I could not hinder myself from pondering on the question ‘Had he had fair play?’ Whatever I did, that idea would bother me: it was so tiresomely pertinacious that I resolved on requesting leave to go to Wuthering Heights, and assist in the last duties to the dead” (…)

“When I reached the Heights, I explained that I had come to see everything carried on decently; and Joseph, who appeared in sufficient distress, expressed satisfaction at my presence. Mr. Heathcliff said he did not perceive that I was wanted; but I might stay and order the arrangements for the funeral, if I chose.

‘Correctly,’ he remarked, ‘that fool’s body should he buried at the cross-roads, without ceremony of any kind. I happened to leave him ten minutes yesterday afternoon, and in that interval he fastened the two doors of the house against me, and he has spent the night in drinking himself to death deliberately! We broke in this morning, for we heard him sporting like a horse; and there he was, laid over the settle: flaying and scalping would not have wakened him. I sent for Kenneth, and he came; but not till the beast had changed into carrion: he was both dead and cold, and stark; and so you’ll allow it was useless making more stir about him!’

The old servant confirmed this statement, but muttered:

‘I’d rayther he’d goan hisseln for t’ doctor! I sud ha’ taen tent o’ t’ maister better nor him—and he warn’t deead when I left, naught o’ t’ soart!’”

(Chapter 17)

“‘Is he a ghoul or a vampire?’ I mused. I had read of such hideous incarnate demons. And then I set myself to reflect how I had tended him in infancy, and watched him grow to youth, and followed him almost through his whole course; and what absurd nonsense it was to yield to that sense of horror. ‘But where did he come from, the little dark thing, harboured by a good man to his bane?’ muttered Superstition, as I dozed into unconsciousness. And I began, half dreaming, to weary myself with imagining some fit parentage for him; and, repeating my waking meditations, I tracked his existence over again, with grim variations; at last, picturing his death and funeral: of which, all I can remember is, being exceedingly vexed at having the task of dictating an inscription for his monument, and consulting the sexton about it; and, as he had no surname, and we could not tell his age, we were obliged to content ourselves with the single word, ‘Heathcliff’. That came true: we were. If you enter the kirkyard, you’ll read, on his headstone, only that, and the date of his death.”

(Chapter 34)

Nelly wonders about Heathcliff’s ethnicity and even his supernatural status, but she never questions Mr. Earnshaw’s motives for adopting him. The book doesn’t actively try to make us question Mr. Earnshaw’s motives.

Of course it can be said that:

1) Nelly the character was fond of Mr. Earnshaw and knew that Catherine and Heathcliff were in love so she never asked the question or suppressed it. A Watsonian explanation, if you will.

2) Heathcliff being Mr. Earnshaw’s biological son would mean incest which is a far more taboo thing than Heathcliff being Indian, Heathcliff getting a sizar’s place at a college, Heathcliff killing Hindley, Heathcliff being a vampire or Catherine’s ghost being real. Emily Brontë couldn’t explicitly write sibling incest in her Victorian novel.

3) The book is purposefully obfuscating the question by never asking it.

But I really don’t think so. I don’t think that Wuthering Heights is the sort of book that is trying to obfuscate anything, it predates detective novels as we know them. There are of course books with twists contemporaneous with Wuthering Heights (her sister’s book Jane Eyre has a famous twist) but I don’t think it is Wuthering Heights’s style to bury a secret this deep into the novel. When it has an ambiguous point it spells it out.

Now, I definitely agree that Wuthering Heights uses the tropes of Gothic incest and references it, but I don’t think there is enough data in the text to seriously suspect Heathcliff literally being Mr. Earnshaw’s biological son.

#wuthering heights #heathcliff #nelly dean #the bastard child theory

[dadsbongos]

Within Six Days - masterlist

Summary - You, the valedictorian to-be, and Eddie, the bimbo pothead, start studying together so he can graduate. In return, he shows you a more "wild" life.

Status- Completed

General Warnings - drinking under 21 and weed smoking, premarital kissing, let me know if i missed something major

AO3 Link

~~

"Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?" The one where Ms. O'Donnell decides you and Eddie would be a good pair. 585 words

"O, I am Fortune's fool!" The one where you and Eddie study and he invites you to an unofficial Hellfire meeting. 4K words

"O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art as glorious to this night." The one where you and Eddie hang out after studying (AKA weed is smoked). 6.1K words

“Juliet is the sun." The one where Robin viciously makes fun of you and Eddie almost admits to having a crush on you. 798 words

“For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.” The one where you and Eddie go to a party together (AKA senior dorks drinking before the age of 21). 4.7K words

 "Parting is such sweet sorrow.” The one where Eddie forgets about your play and Robin manipulates you into working. 4.6K words

“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?” The one where the school play finally takes place. Will Eddie be able to talk his way out of retaking his midterm so he can be there? 5.6K words

"Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again." [Epilogue] The one where you and Eddie graduate and you deliver your kickass valedictorian speech. 1.3K words

#within six days #wsd fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #eddie.🍓

[citrinemystic]

The Major Arcana in Shakespeare Quotes

The Fool - "The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.” As You Like It.

The Magician - “My high charms work, And these, mine enemies, are all knit up In their distractions. They now are in my power.” The Tempest

The High Priestess - "Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak." As You Like It

The Empress - "Age cannot wither her, not custom stale Her infinite variety." Antony and Cleopatra

The Emperor - "Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them." Twelfth Night

The Hierophant - "Every subject’s duty is the king’s, but every subject’s soul is his own." Henry V

The Lovers - "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind." A Midsummer's Night Dream

The Chariot - "A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!" Richard III

Strength - "That’s a valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion." Henry V

The Hermit - "To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man." Hamlet

The Wheel of Fortune - "Though this be madness, yet there is method in't." Hamlet

Justice - "In a false quarrel there is no true valour." Much Ado About Nothing

The Hanged Man - "And thereby hangs a tale." As You Like It

Death - "Goodnight, sweet prince, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!" Hamlet

The Tower - "What's done cannot be undone." Macbeth

Temperance - "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in our philosophy." Hamlet

The Devil - "The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose." The Merchant of Venice

The Star - It is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Sonnet 116

The Moon - "The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked, I cried to dream again." The Tempest

The Sun - O, for a muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention. Henry V

Judgement - "if powers divine Behold our human actions, as they do, I doubt not then but innocence shall make False accusation blush and tyranny Tremble at patience." A Winter's Tale

The World - "All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts." - As You Like It

#witchblr #tarotblr #tarot #tarot cards #major arcana #shakespeare #shakespeare quotes

[demonkidpliz]

Things I learned while re-watching Star Plus Mahabharata (Part 20/many):

Really glad that the women chose to stay in Kurukshetra during the battle.

I will never get over Dushasan’s Dyson air-wrapped hair.

I just love the bond between Bhishma and Vidur. So pure.

Krishna and his giant cocktail ring.

Wait, Krishna is doing past life therapy now.

I am so here for the Panchal princes, Shikhandin and Dhrishtadyumna. I love writing about them in my stories also.

Shakuni is right. This war is between him and Krishna. And ironically they both want the same thing. The destruction of the Kurus.

Oh! Arjun bragging about his ability to shoot in the dark. I have a story about this btw.

Oh God, I love this line from Shakuni. If a woman is a mother, she is revered. If she is a wife, she is adored. If she is a daughter, she is someone’s good fortune. If she is someone’s daughter-in-law, she is respected.

Too bad they didn’t adhere to the last part.

Yudhisthir is Yudhisthiring.

Also, everyone here seems to be a TERF or whatever the equivalent is for a trans man.

Why do they keep showing a water body near Kurukshetra? What even is it? The Ganga? The Yamuna? Why does it have waves?

When Shikhandin says that the war was born out of Gandhari and Shakuni and because of what Bhishma did to both of them. Chills. My man speaks FACTS.

Indra is going to pull a fast one on Karna, isn’t he?

But Daddy Surya is going to come and warn him beforehand.

Karna went from being my most favourite character as a child to my most hated as an adult. This is what I call character development.

Karna is co-opting the anti-casteism movement and my man is not even low caste?

What is this ego class between Bhishma and Karna?

Oh, nice foreshadowing with Karna and the stuck wheel!

I’ve said this before but I do not appreciate Starbharat reducing Duryodhan’s relationship with Karna as one of use. Yes, Duryodhan used Karna but they were also best friends. Don’t take that away from them!

Karna recognises Indra, doesn’t he?

Indra has always been a little bitch.

Sometimes Karna reminds me of another annoying, self-righteous person that I can’t stand—Yudhisthir.

Indra to Krishna, probably: hello, nightmare child.

FFS, Arjun doesn’t even recognise his own daddy.

Even my mother is impressed by Shaheer Sheikh’s hair game.

Arjun has finally realised and he’s on the run? What does he want to do? Warn Karna?

I don’t understand how the earrings were protecting Karna? Maybe they were just for style.

It’s time Arjun accepted himself as a nepo baby and moved on.

O RLY? Arjun bringing up Ekalavya is a class act. As if he wasn’t the one who told Dronacharya in the first place that he couldn’t teach Ekalavya—that mini casteist.

Indra says that a part of the Gods (Karna’s earrings and armour) cannot participate in the war yet Narayan himself is participating in the war on the side of the Pandavas. What is this hypocrisy?

Krishna (probably): FFS, Indra. Now I gotta come up with a backup plan for this Indrastra.

Did Krishna just summon Shakuni with dirt?

Oh, Duryodhan seems concerned for Karna and not just upset that he gave away his armour and earrings?

Shakuni looks rightfully disappointed.

Shakuni now casually quoting Balaram???

Don’t be a dumbass and tell your sons about Karna’s birth, Kunti! Your stupid sons will never fight in this war then.

Mamashri Shayla’s hairline is sending me.

Ashwatthama! I am seeing him after so long!

Shalya dragging Dhritarashtra and Gandhari is a 2023 fever dream.

Sahadev, the most inconsequential of the five Pandavas, killing Shakuni is my jam.

How does Bhishma know about Karna’s true parentage? Maybe his mother told him? She’s another piece of work.

Wtf Bhishma is not even related to Arjuna, let alone Karna, FFS.

Duryodhan stroking his sheathed sword is such a…mood.

Duryodhan telling Bhishma to resign as Senapati—you fool, that’s what he wanted all along.

Good done, Duryodhan. You have Drona and Bhishma, neither of whom will touch a hair on the Pandavas’ heads. And now you have Karna who will also not hurt the Pandavas (other than Arjun). But you don’t even know that.

It’s so much nicer in my story where Arjun asks Krishna to be his charioteer.

All the warriors bowing before the Hanuman statue except for my main man, Krishna, coz Ram does not bow before Hanuman.

Krishna looks so done with Yudhisthir’s Yudhisthiring.

Bhishma pulling an UNO reverse card.

Krishna still looks done LMAO.

OG Grandaddy is here.

Dafuq. Satyavati was still alive? How old was she? 300? She saw her grandsons’ grandsons’ kids? My brain cannot comprehend this.

Upset that everyone is calling Ved Vyas, Bhagwan, and not Daddy Pitashri.

Sanjay has been turned into a satellite dish.

Arjun already looks like he is having second thoughts.

Goddamnit it, Arjun.

Krishna is like, now is my time to ✨ shine ✨

Never seen Krishna look so disappointed by Arjun.

My man Arjun is a simpleton. Don’t confuse him further, Krishna.

Did Krishna just call Arjun…impotent?

I love it when Krishna gets mad.

The Bhagavat Gita is going to be one long exercise in calling Arjun stupid it seems.

Krishna has been acting dodgy his whole life. Arjun has known him for most of it. So has he been living under a rock that he doesn’t realise that there is more to Krishna than what meets the eye? He was married to his sister. They are literal cousins. How could he be so oblivious?

Ahimsa hi param dharma hai. We will revisit this in avatar #9.

Arjun is like show me the receipts Vishwaroop.

#mahabharata #mahabharat #starbharat #starbharat recap #siwt

[peacockeryabound]

Dance of Deviants - Part 1

(From the story of the same name on my AO3.)

Synopsis: Arthur danced with danger every day. He should have known what he was getting into when it came to Micah Bell.

(Pairing: Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan)

----------------

"O-on this beautiful night, will you dance with me, Miss...Mary-Beth."

It was such a stilted offer that Arthur had to look up from his game of dominoes with Lenny. 

He was not a peeping man, not even when he would round corners in camp and walk right into a moment of intimacy. Fights, stories, laughter, confessions; everyone had their secrets and their gossip, their own unique tells. He had learned to keep his ear out of things that tickled it. The look Lenny was giving him, however, suggested something different. The kid's brows raised and he was sucking in his bottom lip to compose himself, confirming in complete subtlety that the reaction was mutual.

Because, out of all the sorry fools in camp who got gutsy at flirting with their own, it was Micah Bell who was bungling it hard, right in front of the one woman they all knew would be his softest target.

"No, I will not."

Her answer made Arthur and Lenny shoot glances at one another. They were now both leaning on elbows and turned to face the fiery wreck of this humiliating display, Arthur tilting back just enough for his presence to be seen by her and Lenny was trying to bullet walk a domino.

Both sad fools, they both were, to not have jumped up so fast to go and slap some sense into the blustering idiot but...Arthur felt a hand clapping over his wrist, holding him down once the vehement snort from Micah made him almost jump up.

Mary-Beth noticed it too, or perhaps she was balking under the wild eyed stare that Mr. Bell was known for.

"I..." She couldn't escape the dignified pout she wore most days, which only drew him closer, hand extending in an offer that felt more dire than kindly.

"Arthur," Lenny hissed. His voice was quick, laden with amusement but also of urgency, "Give her a chance. She-"

Arthur hushed him as he overheard Mary-Beth speak up again.

"I got two left feet."

They both glanced at each other again and snorted towards the table.

Fortunately, Micah hadn't heard their snickering. His posturing was absolute, perhaps the only honorable thing to come from his reputation as a dirty sneak. Arthur saw Micah's outstretched hand curling in on itself, an inviting display tightening into a tense point. It trembled with his agitated breaths.

"I am not a monster , miss."

Rigid and low, that voice now became. It had summoned a fury that compelled Arthur to rip himself out of Lenny's grip, leaving the poor kid almost halfway flung across the table in a desperate reach to hold him back. It was the sheer disrespect of those words, of this bastard lying through his teeth in a floundering attempt to get frisky that had put this harmless fooling into fighting territory. He knew what Micah was capable of when he got twitchy like that.

He only held himself back, stopping right there within pummeling distance behind that mop of dirty blonde hair because he heard Mary-Beth's pointed rebuttal.

"No, of course you're not." She was staring more at that jumpy hand, ready like a rattlesnake. Milquetoast in demeanor and pretty in the face, she was still an established thief and in her next move reminded them all of that cutting wit. "You're just...not that interesting."

An apologetic frown, a batting of her lashes and there forth came a practiced sigh of disappointment, misdirecting herself as the fool to not see a suitor in him like the heroes in her books.

And it worked.

Micah was frozen in his spot for a moment before his finger wagged and his snorting resumed. A growl of "Very. Funny." clawed out of him as he followed suit in his shame, spinning with purpose on his heels to leave little pits in the soft dirt. His eyes caught Arthur's and a curled lip was the only fight he could muster in passing.

It was simply one of those dumbfounding moments where one - no, everyone - had to pause. Arthur loosened his hands after he realized they had balled into numbed fists, loosening a tight breath he hadn't been aware he was holding in. He stared at the trail of awkwardness left behind, in which the other gang members paused in their duties to gawk.

He knew what he was getting into, following the dirt clods towards the outskirts. A small hand wave to Lenny was good enough of an apology, as his voice was already calling out to the tree line.

"Hey, dumbass."

If it weren't for the fact he had gotten into Micah's good graces lately as the only one to play his games on a job, he would have been shot on sight. They both knew that, an agreement made excruciatingly clear from how the other man stopped with his back to him, tightening up his shoulders and arms as if he were ready to draw…but did not commit. 

The timid breaths droned through the awkward silence, one too many forcing a shiver through Micah's shoulders.

Arthur glanced down to the new abundance of forest litter beneath his boots, taking care in each step to really let his toes crunch down on the twigs he could find. It was a message that was plain only between them- don't you dare run .

"You really dropped her bloomers there." He chuckled, testing the limits. It was funny, but funny to him was absolutely not the same to his fellow outlaw. "What was that?"

"I don't know what you mean, Morgan." The other blonde growled. He still refused to turn around. "Can't a feller shoot his shot without being peeped on?"

Arthur raised his brows, arms crossed in an attempt to control himself. The urge to grin again was intense; Micah always had been a pathetic liar.

"Yeah, you was quiet, alright. Half the camp heard you tripping your words, moron."

"Shut up!"

Micah had spun on his heels, straining his lungs to breathe in the soupy Lemoyne air.

"Just…piss off, alright? We all ain't like you, pretty boy."

Pretty boy?

That was new, and it made Arthur close his mouth as he pondered it. It certainly wasn't the face he saw looking back at him in mirrors, tired and far too done with himself.

The stare they shared was becoming uncomfortable, his calm stance infuriating that cornered fidgeting from the other outlaw…yet he didn't care. Not a lick. He considered it good medicine for the asshole.

Instead, Arthur feigned a gulp and raised his hands, all projected as submissive when they both knew he wasn't.

"Alright, fine. Just…damn, Romeo."

"Fuck you, Morgan!"

He had to chuckle as he listened to those spurs spinning as their owner stomped off into the woods. He couldn't stop himself, grinning through every word,

"If you ever need a dance lesson-"

He wondered if Micah even could.

-----

Camp life, in the end, consumed everything. There were chores to be done, plans to be talked, supplies to be brought back. After swapping some stories over the dinner fire, Arthur had busied himself with splitting the last few logs before the sun fully dipped behind the distant hills. Pearson had managed to keep him after he had hauled over some grain bags, where together they had some beers while he listened to some tall story about a legendary coyote, taking mental note to investigate the next time he was in the area.

Indeed, life carried on. It was only on the next morning, as he was brushing out his horse that he caught a glimpse of Baylock wandering through the patch and got reminded of his rider. Again. Pearson might have nudged him once or twice after a few bottles.

Did he like Micah?

Not particularly, just as someone didn't have to like rats to understand their place in nature but he wouldn't be musing about the fool if there was any true deep hate there. For all of his shit temper tendencies, the man was a genuinely faithful companion in a gun fight and had some semblance of humor in camp talks. Perhaps there was a bit of pity to be had.

Arthur dropped his hand and set the horse brush back in his saddle bag, withdrawing a beet from another pocket for his mare to nibble on.

"Good, girl." He smiled from the heavy head that turned to nearly bump his own. He took a moment to stroke one of her soft ears. "You're alright. Just gotta keep you clean, you dirty girl…"

She made a small whicker to contest his laugh. The Count wasn't the only pale beast in the herd. White tracked everything.

Dirt and dirty tricks, absolutely, as a new splash of white wavered now in the corner of his left eye, mixing together with a stark red. All he needed to do was lightly cant his head to see the only man in camp who boldly wore such a fickle color for pants, though he absolutely was not intending to stare at Micah's ass along the way. It just happened.

There was a noticeable weight to the footwork that he caught, almost a lurch in a every step that suggested either the nuisance was boozed up or broke down from his ongoing insomnia issues. Arthur caught the burn of smoke that smothered everything else, a telling sign that it had been another night the fool suffered, no doubt endlessly playing with his guns at the scout fire as was habit.

"You alright, Romeo?" He called out his thoughts before he could stop himself. Shit.

Micah paused again, exhaling a heavy, clearly dramatic sigh.

"This again? Don't you got something better to do?" He glanced over his shoulder.

"Sure." Arthur found himself smiling, hands on hips. Might as well commit. "Like askin' what crawled up your ass after what you tried with her."

They were definitely fighting words, language guaranteed to hold an audience with Micah. It was a gamble to dig up skeletons now buried, but he demanded answers. Micah never was nice for the sake of being selfless. Something about that one exchange in particular showed a stranger, more rubbed-raw side that Arthur had never seen before.

He didn't let Micah speak, however, talking over the sputter they both knew was going to be worthless words anyway.

"I know, I know, you're gonna say you're a ladies' man and tell me all the other times you popped off on the girls in good fun and all. Listen, cowpoke, I can sniff your bullshit faster than you can try to bury it."

Micah curled his lip at him for a moment, giving a "what the fuck" sort of gesture with his arms before he closed the distance between them.

"Yeah, well...not all of us got a golden tongue like you, asshole."

It infuriated him to no end to see Arthur looking unbothered by his spitting, a fact that made the amused smile he was receiving spook something unhinged inside of him. He retorted instead through his fist, curled tight into a firm knuckling against the other man's sternum. His teeth were bared in an unrepentent smile as he watched Arthur stumble.

"Why do you care so much about that? You want her too? You get all bristled up like a dog seeing another man putting on the moves, don't ya?"

The point he gave after was less threatening, only succeeding in turning his face redder than his shirt as he scowled under a barking laugh. He had no idea why this was such a knee slapper, though Micah also should have found his peace offering sooner and not missed Mr. McGuire's return party.

"Oh yeah, those were some moves, alright!"

Arthur was wheezing, almost doubling over and restraining every part of himself to not just burst out in another loud uproar as the amount of eyes on them was only growing. He had to wipe away the building tears with the heel of his palm, snorting from the ridiculous straight posture Micah had suddenly snapped to, lip twitching and chest puffed in a feeble attempt to weather the attention of the others.

"Ah, looks like it's a mighty big stick up pokin' up there then-" He put his hands up again to deflect the readying fist his way. "Calm down, Micah. I'm just teasing ya."

It was time to reign back. Unlike this jumpy jackrabbit before him, Arthur actually had sense and meaning behind his motives. He made a point of taking in a deep breath and pushing it back out, watching those ornery blue eyes darting all over his person and finding the blushing cheeks to be rather cute on big bad Micah Bell. Ridiculous...but cute. Human. 

He clapped a hand on Micah's shoulder, his smile remaining harmless.

"Ain't right to me that you have all the fun taking the piss out of folks and I with my "golden tongue" can't." He patted the spot in a too-tender fashion, nodding towards the baffled squint he was getting until the gesture was mirrored. Micah's smiles were never pleasant, nor was a nod from him anything innocent but it was a start. "So...consider it me just worryin' about you...brother."

The word felt curdled on his tongue but it hit the mark he wanted. Micah had pestered him enough with slinging it around in an attempt to slither into his good graces, just like his tension in the moment had loosened and he flicked his tongue out to wet his lips, long having cracked from his anxious breathing. 

Micah lowered his head, hissing under the number of stares he caught during a cursory sweep. His smile was fighting to stay, to play along; believe the jest was real.

"Well...ain't you sweet...my best pal." He flashed all of his teeth in a long chuckle, smacking Arthur hard on the bicep and then tearing himself away. "Good ol' Morgan..."

Arthur noticed the jab dying in a sigh from the other man's lips, Micah's eyes beginning to strain under heavy lids. The man looked like hell when he stood like that, almost swaying the longer he stayed put. Clearly, this little exchange was burning the final threads of his energy, so Arthur sidestepped him until they were hip to hip, his hand slipping from Micah's shoulder to push under his bicep and up into his pit. He used the entirety of his slung arm as a guiding force, pushing the exhausted fool into a stumble with him.

"The hell you doin-?" Micah snapped out of it after a few steps. He tried to shove his way out but was crushed right back into his fellow outlaw's ribs. Arthur was a strong bastard, damn him.

"Would you knock it off? I'm taking you back to your tent, dumbass."

"You started all this!"

"Hey. I ain't the one caught trying to get cozy in front of the whole camp..."

Micah's hand was right on his pec, pushing at him like an ornery kitten.

"You ain't my mother, Arth-ur. Fuck you ."

Arthur exhaled through his nose and feigned a pearly grin towards Grimshaw as she stopped her sewing to stare at them both.

"Either I do it or Susan will. She's real eager to give you what on that age thing you said to her."

Micah and him both paused together, looking over their shoulders to catch the sneer coming from the woman.

"...take me to bed, Morgan."

"Why'd you say it like that.."

The tent wasn't an eyecatcher, a bit on the small side and equipped with only the necessities to make camping life a step up from sleeping under full exposure. Considering Micah's difficult relationship with rest, Arthur was not surprised to see how immaculate the bed and crates were.

"Yep, little patch of heaven, ain't she?" Micah mumbled as he pulled away to take in his space, hands on his hips. He was clearly digging for time.

Arthur hummed as he closed the flaps and tied them. 

"Get on it, moron."

"...are you still here?" Micah looked back at him. "Gonna undress me too, cowpoke? I know what sleep is like- hey!"

He could only stand there, hands back into fists as the other outlaw took a seat on his bedside crate. 

Arthur fished his journal from his vest and peeled it open. He licked the pencil tip while scouring for a clean page, ignoring the glare he was receiving.

"Just makin' sure you actually stay put. Don't want a shaky trigger finger out there."

When it was clear that he wasn't going to budge, Micah ultimately gave in and climbed onto his cot to tug off his boots. The silence between them felt oddly domestic, with Arthur letting his gaze roll over to watch the gun belt be delicately placed on the ground beside the white hat. 

He was honestly surprised that Micah hadn't cussed him out right there and shove him out; perhaps he really was dead tired. 

Another quick look confirmed at least part of the theory, as the grumbling pissant had gotten into a comfortable position on his belly, arms coiled around his pillow and…leg curled in such a lurid way that his ass was perked up. Bastard was grinning at him from where his face was half buried.

"Figured you'd want a shot for your art if you insisted on staying, sweetheart ..."

Now Arthur knew what it was like to feel pink in the cheeks while making eyes at Micah god damn Bell. He regretted licking his lips in the moment.

"Quit wigglin' your ass, Christ…"

"I dunno, cowpoke, you seemed really fixed on it earlier." Micah crooned. "Look now, who's insecure…"

Arthur glanced over again to catch Micah's eyes closed. A peculiar thought overcame him, dawning as he observed the picture framed before him. Micah hardly ever loosened up to this extent, often too alert to where everyone was at all times, watching his back from every perch…

He had laid himself completely exposed to Arthur in this bafflingly intimate moment, his gun belt out of reach, knife stabbed into a wood block that served as a headboard…it made for something worthy of a new page to scratch on to pass the time.

Arthur was about halfway through drafting the basic framework of lines when he was interrupted by a long purr that rolled into soft chuckling at the end.

"You really are a sap." Micah mumbled. He nuzzled his face against his pillow and stretched an arm out under it. "Hope you are getting my good side."

Arthur raised a brow. He sat upright, wincing from a light crack in his lower back. How long had he been hunched?...

"Yeah, well…someone's got to keep you in line. Maybe I'll rub off on you."

Micah snorted. His exposed eye parted, just enough to lazily squint at his watchman. 

"If you do, shoot me."

They both surprised each other with a shared laugh, which hushed as quickly as it came. Arthur scribbled for a few more seconds until he put his pencil down, frowning.

"You…really alright? With me in here…drawin' you?"

Micah closed his eye, sighed, and raised his leg to crack his ankle. 

"Only if you burn it, pervert."

When the silence persisted, Micah grunted and raised his head to get a more proper look at the other man. His cheeks and neck tingled from the patient, almost doting look that was taking him in, lingering for a moment more before dipping back down to add more to the elusive sketch.

"Maybe. Maybe not. If you behave…" Arthur smiled. "Gonna capture this moment- the only time in history that Micah Bell is actin' friendly."

"I'm always friendly to you, Morgan."

"Sure, sure." He paused and bit his tongue before he could let manifest what he actually wanted to say. This was a rare moment, insightful and fleeting, ready to be cherished. Even he was honorable enough to admit this was actually enjoyable for once. "Just…keep it up and out of trouble, alright?"

He studied the progress he made so far, perfectly capturing in graphite what he felt tickling his belly: a troubled man, snuggled up, finally at peace. 

"...cowpoke."

His breath stilled. 

"...Yeah?"

Micah was barely holding on at this point, his eye lid straining to push above his pupil. His jaw danced for a moment, finding resolve more easily in nearly chewing the fabric as he shifted. Despite the tiny voice and through the muffling between bed and elbow, he knew Arthur was leaning in close enough to hear.

"You're the only one here who really gets me. That's why."

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #micah bell #morbell #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #enemies to lovers #flirting #character study