#dellet-asks

If possible i would like the reader to be fem and aloof:")

💌Lumine + Prompt #10 (Talking with them for hours about anything and everything, not even feeling the time pass.) ++Female!Reader

“The rain doesn’t seem to be letting up. We will have to camp in this cave for the night,” Lumine says, wringing the fabric of her skirt.

“That’s alright with me.” Could you muster another day’s worth of payment? Your shivering doesn’t abate despite the mortified heat coursing through you.

“Hold on, I’ll get out a warming bottle.”

You sit by the fringes of its orange glow as she prepares dinner. Your adventurer’s cap and green overcoat are laid out on a nearby rock to dry, alongside her scarf and gloves. The meal is taken in silence, save for when you mutter a quiet “thanks” as you hand your bowl to her. 

While she takes first watch, you try settling in your sleeping bag.

To no avail. 

“Move a little closer, you’ll catch a cold.”

“I’m fine right here, thank you.”

She opens a second warming bottle, placing it closer to you. “Better?”

A bit. But the discomfort lingered—the question tumbles from you, “why did you take this commission?”

“To escort you to the outskirts of the Court of Fontaine?”

“...You could’ve done something more noble than babysitting.”

Despite her delicate features, there’s something jaded in her expression as she replies. “I’m not always looking to do something grand.”

“So you’re saying that your reputation—all of your achievements were accidents? Circumstance?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Things don’t always go according to plan, as you’ve seen.”

“...Right.”

Rain continues to fall.

“Getting you to your destination safely is enough payment,” Lumine says, as if signposting the end of that conversation.

Which, you can’t accept. That she’s seen through you like this, that you can barely get a read on her. You’ve listened to so many stories and rumors that you thought you could paint a detailed portrait of the illustrious Traveler. But here, Lumine’s only become more of an enigma.

And that innate adventurer’s curiosity tugs at you, compounds your insomnia.

“There has to be something that I—that will suffice. For your time and effort in accompanying me.” Some hidden treasure, a rare sight, something.

“Who knows what we’ll find?” Lumine appraises you with a faint smile. “I’m glad that you’re actually more talkative than you look.”

Warmth blazes through you. “I’m trying to be courteous—”

(This back and forth continues for several hours. You don’t even realize when you’ve drifted off.)

💌Arlecchino + Prompt #15 (Ranting about how insufferable they are, but your friend thinks knows otherwise. Bonus points if the subject of your conversation overhears Everything) ++Female!Reader (Reader is a Fatui Operative)

You’ve endured the bitter hoarfrost, honed yourself into a ruthlessly efficient blade for the Tsaritsa. Though, unlike some of your colleagues, you’re equally dedicated to your values of being upfront, to never rely on deceit and underhandedness.

“Diplomatic missions,” you feel you could do without.

You’d rather guard the doors to whatever meeting room Arlecchino and her colleagues occupied. Anything over standing at her side, engaging in superficial conversations that skirted around the heart of the issue.

So when she propositions you for a short duel, you should’ve realized that this was to make an example out of your brief moment of outward frustration.

She barely gives you a second to defend yourself. Her weapon is a blur of crimson, metal clanging against your sword, the sheer force of the attack making you skid backwards.

“By all means, please do not hold anything back,” she says.

You aren’t weak. You do your best to put up a good fight instead of relying on evasion. 

(Though it’s obvious to any onlooker that victory was already within her grasp.)

In the end, you’re trapped in between a rock and a hard place. A web of red, wispy spider strings and the business end of her scythe. Mere millimeters away from having your head lopped off. Bruised and winded from exhaustion. Meanwhile she remains pristinely untouched, cold and dignified.

“I…give.”

Those two words seem to have caught her offguard. Arlecchino cocks her head. “Hmm. Already?”

“Yes, Lord Harbinger.” The red strings disperse, but her weapon remains still. She’s waiting for you to continue. “...I deeply apologize for my insubordination.”

In that split-second, you catch the slightest shift in her stoicism. Activating your Delusion, you manage to twist out of her attack—narrowly avoiding being cleaved into two.

“Luckily for you, I can distinguish between needing an outlet and blatant insubordination. Guard.”

You’re barely able to raise your weapon in time, getting knocked onto your back, diaphragm spasming, pain radiating through you.

Those crimson webstrings appear once more, pulling you upright, making your nerves scream from overexertion. “There is a time for civil conversation and a time when one must raise their blade. You may disagree with my methods, but do remember this simple distinction. Especially while I am willing to indulge you.”

Against yourself, your lips pull into a sneer, vigor returning to your limbs anew.

💌Columbina + Prompt #7 (Opening their arms for a hug upon seeing how exhausted you are.) ++Female!Reader (Reader is a Mirror Maiden)

Is she omniscient?

While she carries an air of innocence, Columbina holds some qualities reminiscent of the Divine, so much so that it makes you wonder otherwise.

Especially during idyllic moments in Zapolyarny Palace, the rare times the winter wind recedes, letting her soft humming echo through its halls—your mind can’t stop itself from wandering back to that thought. Is she omniscient?

Say that she might be, that acknowledging the possibility means comparing her—being open to the idea—that she is on the same level as the Tsaritsa. Possibly even cut from the same cloth.

Your gaze tears away from your water mirror, hands coming up to rub at your aching temples. These new findings from the field archaeology division of Capitano’s group have you so busy, you’re only able to manage short naps in between your research.

You’d rather be out on the field, but with the injury, you’re confined to deskwork and research, to burning the midnight oil under the unnerving gaze of the Damselette.

“My, what a set of towers you’ve constructed.” You didn’t even notice her from all the books and reports stacked around the office.

You jolt out of your seat, hastily pulling yourself into a rushed yet deep bow. “Lady Columbina!” 

“You needn’t be so tense, my beloved scholar.” Her voice takes on a gentle, lilting tone. “At ease, please.”

You straighten up out of your bow, but keep your hands neatly folded in front of you. “Thank you, Lady Columbina.”

She gazes up at you, unreadable features morphing into a little frown. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Only a short meal. There is much to be done.” You can’t feel the onset of hunger when you’re so engrossed in unweaving the threads of history and mythology. But the fatigue, you wish you were impervious to it. Remaining still or moving around only seemed to leave you more vulnerable to it.

She hums to herself. The sound beckons you over.

You approach, lowering to her height and into her open arms. Your eyes flutter shut for the briefest second.

(At the very least, there’s something otherworldly about her. Heavenly, perhaps?)

When you come to, you find yourself at your desk, strangely reinvigorated. Columbina is seated on the opposite end of the room. Through the slits of her mask, her eyes are closed. But her gaze lays itself on you, soft and protective.

💌Jamil Viper + Prompt #15 (Ranting about how insufferable they are, but your friend thinks knows otherwise. Bonus points if the subject of your conversation overhears Everything.) ++Reader is not Yuu, slight angst with a bit of comfort at the end

It was only something he said. Offhandedly, matter-of-factly, casually, all those similar words.

Aren’tcha happy to see your little fan?

…Not really. It’s annoying.

Then again, a sharp knife could still cut to the bone. Even in the hands of a careless wielder.

(Even if his cheeks warmed at the knowing glance that his clubmates gave him, seeing the flicker of hurt across your features sent a stab of guilt into his gut.)

Jamil scanned his surroundings. He last saw you duck into the hallway of the third year classrooms. Slowing to a walk, he considered your possible hiding spots. The ghosts kept staff rooms locked, laboratories and offices as well. In fifteen minutes, the doors to the classrooms would also be enchanted to keep from anyone entering. That meant—

…What was an empty coat rack doing here?

He walks past it, brow furrowing in confusion. Your—admittedly admirable—disappearance didn’t make any sense.

A potion? Your Unique Magic?

Just as he reaches the end of the hall, behind him, the telltale sound of a spell wearing off confirms his guess, revealing you in place of the coat rack. He half-expected you to turn and bolt.

Instead, your eyes turn glassy and tears slide down your cheeks.

At a quiet call of your name, you wave off the concern. “It’s true, I’m—I’m annoying, you don’t need to…to justify it.”

Your other palm is held out, stopping Jamil from approaching.

“I know, I should have talked to you properly and let it happen. I just… got scared.”

Jamil hated that, being scared. It led each careful and cautioned move of his. As much as he refused to let it step to the forefront of his mind, fear was a looming shadow. The calculated, sharp-tongued vice housewarden of Scarabia was born from a practiced skill in passing fear off as any other visceral emotion.

…Though you were annoying. Persistent. 

Always just a little out of reach.

His hand closes around your outstretched wrist.

The apology is worded perfectly in Jamil’s mind, but his throat refuses to cooperate. “...look, I didn’t…” When it’s just the two of you, he finds that he doesn’t mind being the sole recipient of your wholehearted attention. “As…as long as it isn’t in front of everyone, I’ll hear you out.”

Another tear rolls down your cheek, and your lips form into a shaky smile.

💌Leona Kingscholar + Prompt #15 ++Reader is not Yuu

“I don’t understand what’s his problem.” You wrench the locker open.

“Well, I am having a nice day, thanks for askin’,” Epel frowns, but doesn’t look up from folding up his training attire.

“Is everyone pretending they didn’t see me getting badgered on the field earlier?” Thank god, you still had band-aids. “Scoot over.” Epel makes space for you on the bench, winces when he sees the scrape on your leg.

“Yeah. This is what I get for trying to play and listen to the captain’s yelling at the same time.” You layer two band-aids. “I’m not even first-string, so why’s he on my case? He should be focusing on you and Ruggie more.”

“Hey!”

“In a good way! I just don’t get why he has to take his stress out on me.”

“I hear you.” He slings his gymbag over his shoulder. “I’d wanna stay and listen s’more but—” 

“Yeah, Vil would wring your neck or something. See you.” You’re focused on covering most of the scrape. Unsuccessfully.

Turns out you weren’t left completely alone.

Leona’s blocking your way out of the locker room. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Though he seems to always be frowning, you see a muscle in his jaw tense as you approach.

“...I’m guessing you heard that.” A part of you hoped that Epel would be forced to do penalties with you, he technically was a co-conspirator in your shittalking as the listener.

“Hmph, if you have such a problem with me running the team, then you might as well hand in your jersey right now.”

No way—is what you’d say if you had no shame. But you, mediocre as you are, fought tooth and nail for a spot on the Spelldrive team.

But he’s right. Your hand tightens around your bag strap, protecting its contents. The only marker of your effort. “I'm only…It won’t happen again.”

You’re burning. From shame, from frustration. Why would he take notice of you?

At that minute gesture, Leona steps aside. “Guess I was wrong to think that you could handle some tough encouragement.”

“Encouragement?” A satisfied grin stretches across Leona’s features. “No, no—training’s over. I don’t need to listen to y—this.”

“Now, hold on a second there.” It’s unfair how the authority in his voice is enough to pin you in place. “Next Monday, you’re running twice as many laps for warmups.”

💌Capitano + Prompt #9 ("When I am with you I am real." (x)

Some days, you find yourself reminiscing about your past. The time before you were brought to Snezhnaya. Those days felt no different from the fairytales you liked to immerse yourself in, at times unpleasant to remember, but ultimately, just a dream. A mere memory. And isn’t that a good thing? To leave your lonely past behind?

Unbeknownst to you, the Captain finds himself caught off-kilter in the precious idyllic moments that he shares with you. The rare light of your smile is warm, a ray of sunlight gently erasing any trace of the ever-present ice that permeated Snezhnaya. And isn’t that a good thing too? To be reminded of his own fallibility as a human, as a man with a cherished lover? No amount of prestige, no title, nor victory could hold as much weight as the simple joy of being able to return to your side.

You’re currently seated in his lap, reading a newly purchased anthology of classic Fontaine fairytales, artfully translated into Snezhnayan. Capitano has one arm around your waist, he has already reached the end of the page. He estimates that you’ll turn to the next one in a few more moments. Or you could just ask him to help you translate that difficult paragraph.

But he won’t overstep.

“...Poor girl,” you whisper, flipping the page and adjusting your hold on the book.

“Why do you say that?” Capitano asks,

“...Isn’t it obvious? She died, cold and hungry. It’s pitiful.” And in that response, there is a note of self-derision.

He can’t disagree with that observation. “That is how she appears to onlookers in the end.” Capitano’s free hand encompasses yours as he helps you hold up the book. “Though one cannot disregard her joy in her final moments, however fleeting it was.” 

Was it so wrong to linger in—no, to savor—this dreamlike reality?

You’re silent for a while, hand resting limply in his. Until he feels your fingertips skim the lines of his palm before loosely entangling with his. “I suppose one cannot.”

Context: Relationship started off antagonistic since the reader encouraged Kalim's independance (teaching him chores, cooking, etc) and eventually grew to a one sided rivalry (Jamil was the only one into it, reader was just having fun with his reactions). Reader spends months pining while Jamil is just in denial. At the end of conversation, Reader slips up while saying they don't need a response and Jamil goes through the five stages of grief in a span of 2 minutes.

Appearance: long straight brown hair and dark skin.

Personality: jolly like Kalim but in a much calmer manner, huge nerd for art (literature, music, movies, etc), rarely loses composure, when flustered they go red with a very wide goofy smile on their face (no shyness)

💌Jamil Viper + Prompt #10 (Talking with them for hours about anything and everything, not even feeling the time pass.) ++(edit: i put female!reader here by accident, it's gn!reader actually)

There was no bigger illustration of irony than the situation the both of you were in right now. From the winter break incident to…

“—these little gestures that the actors look for in the choreography, so they know when to start signing. Like there, when that guy lets go of the bed frame—”

…spending three hours watching musical bootlegs.

If there was anything that remained consistent, it was that you were irritating. The way you unabashedly inserted yourself into his and Kalim’s schedule. You seamlessly guided him away from most distractions, yet at the same time, sent Jamil’s blood pressure to new highs by leaving—trusting? Ha. As if anyone sensible would put—Kalim in front of any kind of electrical outlet or open flame. Who cared if you were occasionally successful? 

Never mind that Jamil was actually intrigued by the musical. In spite of its grainy footage, your little quips were accompanied with a little smile and excited glint in your irises.

(That you’re still willing to meet his eyes is another constant, but that rouses a different kind of unease.)

“Jamil, about the Potionology homework—”

“Yeah?”

Kalim glances at the shared laptop screen between you and Jamil. “...Oh, uh, never mind. I’ll figure it out! Sorry for disturbing you two!” And he traipses out of Scarabia’s common area.

“...I should also go over my work with Kalim,” Jamil says, wrenching himself away from this idle moment.

Your hand touches his wrist, withdraws when he jolts. “I think he’ll ask for help if he needs it.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be sure.”

“Maybe we could wait until the end of the first act? There’s one more ensemble number you’ve gotta see—or, oh.” A sheepish smile spreads across your features. 

“What?” A frown pulls at his lips when you shut the laptop.

Your cheeks flush red in embarrassment. “Um, I realized that this was probably…not the kinda musical to attempt a confession to.” A laugh, sweet and genuine, escapes you.

Confession? You liked him? It would explain your sudden closeness in spite of everything, but why? And for how long? Why him?

“I should return this to Ignihyde, but—this was a failure, so you don’t have to reject me yet, alright?”

Jamil can only nod mutely and watch you leave, that dopey smile splitting your cheeks imprinted on his mind.

Sevens, help him. He’s caught in between two whirlwinds.

I spy another 🐍 enjoyer 👁 had fun reading about Lou so here's a little gift! (Apologies for how tiny it is I did not realize how small my canvas was until too late 💀) - anbaisai

AWAWAFLSKDJLSJK?!?!?! 💕💕💥💥💕💕💥💕 i'm glad you enjoyed my word vomit for her, her clownery is only beginning ahahaha,,,

In which jamil and reader are ranting abt azul as a way to cope with the absurd reality that they both having a crush on azul (azul overhearing them begrudgingly accepting their fate lmfao)

💌Jamil Viper and Azul Ashengrotto (poly) + Prompt #15 (Ranting about how insufferable they are, but your friend thinks knows otherwise. Bonus points if the subject of your conversation overhears Everything.)

Flight Class was brutal.

Well, that was to be expected with a musclehead like Coach Vargas. But there was just something about today that got under Azul’s skin more than it usually would have. Specifically, two sets of eyes burning holes into his back as he painstakingly trudged through the aerial drills.

On a different day, he would have taken your and Jamil’s attention as a positive sign towards roping either of you into a contract with him, but today? The unreadable looks on your faces, coupled with what he knew were snide remarks shared between the two of you… it all affected him more than he could brush it off.

Though, what could he do about it? Nothing, really. That was the frustrating part. 

Azul had bigger—no, more important things to worry about. He should forget about it. He approached the shed where the rest of the flight brooms were kept.

“—so obvious.”

“Excuse me, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him either.”

“It’s because his form is dreadful.”

Speak of the devil. What a cruel set of circumstances Azul has found himself in. His better instincts bring him to hide and eavesdrop.

“Suuure. The one day that he doesn’t bother recruiting you into Octavinelle, and you’re almost worried, you mother hen.”

“Please, Azul’s flying is an accident waiting to happen. And who’ll be responsible for coaching him when that happens?”

“Oh? So why do you look excited at that?”

“I’m not. It’s burdensome.”

“Incorrigible as he is, you’d have to admit he’s…quite the looker when he’s not blabbing away.”

Did Azul hear that correctly?

Jamil doesn’t say anything—probably doesn’t have a rebuttal prepared, his silence could almost pass for begrudging agreement.

“Ha. I knew it, you’re just as bad as me. Can I have a drink from that, by the way?”

“...You should have bought your own.”

No, Azul won’t reveal the fact that he overheard the two of you just yet. He decides to leave his hiding spot, plaster on an oblivious facade as he puts his broom away, interrupting the tail-end of your conversation.

(For now, he can revel in your spittake-turned-coughing-fit and Jamil’s panicked expression.)

Hi, @viperwhispered from my main here. Naturally I gotta ask for Jamil, there's a few prompts there I'd like to see but let's go with number 2.

I'm okay with whatever rating you think makes sense.

She/her female reader who has long hair, wears glasses, often wears dresses, and is generally quite level / calm. And I suppose for drabble length that's quite enough detail already (basically uhh I may be slightly self-inserting here).

Hope you have fun with the requests, and happy Valentine's!

💌Jamil Viper + Prompt #2 (Their thumb stroking the back of your knuckles)

Nothing really could overtake Jamil’s habit for discretion as Kalim’s personal attendant. Add your (godsend of a) reserved nature to the mix, and you can’t really blame him for feeling the slightest bit regretful at the end of your date. 

Though that all seemed to change when night fell.

Your pace was slow as you walked back to your dorm. He had no doubt that your legs were sore from walking the whole day, but you would probably wave off his concern if he brought it up. 

“...Are you cold?” 

“A little bit, but we’re almost home so…” Case in point. “...oh.” Your free hand smooths itself against the skirt of your dress, a minute sign of being flustered.

Just for once, maybe being upfront was the better choice. 

“Make sure to bring a jacket next time.”

“I will, I just didn’t think we’d be out the whole day.” A short yawn leaves your throat. Your shoulder lightly knocks against his. 

So he savors the feeling of your hand in his, the fact that he won’t have to hide even a subtle display of affection. His thumb strokes across the back of your hand, willing whatever meager amount of warmth he could into your skin.

All you have for company is the faint glow of the stars, the crunch of grass under your shoes, and the calm dark of night.

Eventually, the lights of the Ramshackle Dormitory come into view. The worn-out bulb casts a yellow glow over the shabby porch, wood creaking as you make your way to the door.

In two steps, the day would end—and there’s something deeply unfair about how humans aren’t designed to function for all twenty-four hours—which meant returning to the status quo that dictated most of his life once again.

…On second thought, Jamil realizes he can’t really end the day on that note.

Before you can say your goodbyes, his hand closes around your elbow, tugging you closer to him. Your house keys fall to the ground with a clatter. Surprise flickers over your expression for a second, before you melt into the sudden kiss. The press of your glasses against Jamil's cheek will leave a mark, but that doesn’t stop him from drawing it out.

For just one more second, another minute or two, he’ll allow himself to be selfish for just a little bit longer.

henlo ian! thanks forda ask! throwin a lou wip ur way bcs im feeling the Visions (thrown ala homing missile style)

"Go ahead then, I'm not gonna be returning your stupid hanky." And Lou obnoxiously blows her nose into the handkerchief. "It's mine now." "Real mature of you." Jamil rolls his eyes at the response. It calms a bit of his own unease.