#//Wants to go and see; but he also worries about leaving Mond & the family he has there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

staryuee · 3 years ago

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Thank you for doing my request! If its not a hassle may I request diluc with an s/o who is a kamisato? (reader also has the same personality as ayaka) like ayaka, kamisato! darling never really get to know whats the outside world like (becuz the vision hunt decree and stuff, but I think ei will let her go leave outside becuase they do work under her) and Im curious of what will diluc do to his darling when darling gets to visit mond! (of course you dont need to answer it if its bothers you)

diluc w a s/o who’s part of the kamisato family — genshin drabble ⸝⸝

�� warning[s] not proofread :’)

⌗ synopsis : diluc w a kamisato s/o <3 ( pre-established relationship)

ᜊ notes : ahhh this is so cute <33 personally i’d love to be part of the kamisato family just bc of ayato & ayaka

ᥫ᭡ DILUC 𖥻 迪卢克

— let’s just say ei (raiden shogun ? baal..? idk anymore) has decided to let you represent the yashiro commission in place of your siblings who were out on some other mission - to deal with some business back in mondstadt

— your relationship with diluc started when he visited inazuma for business

no one else was more shocked and excited than you when finding out that someone of such importance was finally allowed to go out and venture into other lands that weren’t remotely similar to that of inazuma !!

your little heart did leaps in your chest as the happiness overflowed your body , the beautifully decorated fan in your hand attempted to hide the smile that crept onto your face as you read the letter thoroughly

although you adored inazuma and the love the people around gifted you , a little change wouldn’t hurt once a while !

mother beidou was kind enough to allow you on the crux since no one knew adventure on overseas lands more than her - she thought it would be good to show you around :]

getting off the ship and smelling the foreign scent of the wind in the land of freedom.

before you trailed off to your mission , you spent several nights learning the culture and customs of mondstadt in order to make sure you don’t embarrass your family name

the acting grand master went out to formally greet you , leading you towards the knights of favonius headquarters to explain the matter at hand which you were briefly told about in inazuma

mondstadt and inazuma wanted to collaborate on some sort of new wines for the upcoming festival and the city blessed by the alcoholic anemo archon were more than happy to oblige

now onto diluc !! being the master of the dawn winery , it would only make sense for you to handle these affairs with him - yet he didn’t hear of these news before today

your sudden departure from him was quite heartbreaking to say the least , there wasn’t a day that didn’t go by where he wasn’t worried about your well-being :[[

so when he saw you walking towards the winery with your polite and precious smile , he felt his heart squeeze in his chest as a smile of his own grew on his face

for the first time in a while he blessed the anemo archon for allowing you to see him once again

the wine was taken care of in a short amount of time and diluc couldn’t be happier that he gets to spend the remaining time of your stay with just you

if he was completely honest , he thought of taking you far away from inazuma and the yashiro commission itself but he knows more than most the unbearable pain of losing something or someone you cherish

so instead of taking his time with you for granted , he decides to enjoy the next couple weeks with you catching up on things you’ve been up to

you didn’t seem to change one bit in his eyes , in a good way of course

you still possessed your polite tendencies with a pleasant temperament , and hearing you talk about the people of inazuma and your family who you hold so close to your heart makes him so warm inside

he held you dearly every night , arms wrapped around your waist and gentle chaste kisses to your forehead and a final one on your lips as a goodnight

he’s not big on pda , he prefers keeping a gentleman persona to the people around him , however that sort of thing doesn’t matter this time around

you deserve all the love , hugs and kisses you desire !!

he will absolutely refuse to leave your side for the entirety of your stay in mondstadt, wanting nothing more than to indulge in your kind affections

will not so obviously prompt you to come visit him more often in hopes to see your lovely face

he knows being part of the kamisato family requires a lot of excellence , perseverance and eloquence - however he doesn’t care about your titles (though he does feel pride that his s/o is so talented)

finally when the time comes for you to depart ways , he’s already thinking of making time in his own busy schedule to visit you in your home city <3

©IHEARTGANYU do not copy, steal or repost <33

notes: v sorry for this being so late T_T hope you enjoyed it <3

#the fact hua cheng calls xie lian gege warms my own heart #ITS JUST SO CUTEEE (˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵)#genshin #genshin x gnreader #genshin x reader #genshin x gn!reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact #diluc x reader #diluc x reader fluff

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valberryy · 4 years ago

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oh, eurydice (it's an awful sound). — venti

de l'autre côté de l'eau, comme un écho. / tu dis que c'est la fin du monde, c'est ton silence mon eau profonde.

um,, idk what to say cause i dont want this to b my venti summoning post but. anyways. also tagging @starfell-traveler look i finished it!!!! b proud of me /hj

pairing: venti x gn!reader

content warnings: mentions/descriptions of alcohol & blood/injuries, major character death, it's just heavy angst i'm sorry

one.

Venti still remembers the first time he heard you laugh, warm and clear and bright, like the chiming of cathedral-bells.

In those golden days when he was getting used to his new face, he often found himself wandering—much to the chagrin of his friends. If he wasn't in one of the many taverns of the newly-built Mondstadt, he was wandering these new, free lands.

And that was how he met you, the spritely scion of house Gunnhildr, who had strayed away from your envoy with a bottle of wine and leaves in your hair. He noted the mischief dancing in your eyes, the sunlight dappling on your skin, the way your mouth formed a small "o" when you saw you were not alone.

Your eyes had lit up when you caught sight of him. "Oh, my lord!" you called, "Fancy a cup and a chat, perhaps?"

Venti stood still for a moment to ponder your request, but at the sound of you popping the cork off the bottle and pouring it into a cup you had brought, he found his resolve weakening. He took a seat next to you as you pulled a stray leaf from your hair, taking a sip from your cup before passing it to him.

How brazen of you, he mused.

While cherry wine, in his opinion, could never hold a candle to the dandelion wine he had grown fond of, it tasted all the sweeter coming from you.

You had laughed at this sentiment of his, clear as the water from the lake nearby. "Is that so?" you asked. "Perhaps I'll bring some more of this kind especially for you, dearest bard."

Venti responded with a playful pluck at his lyre-strings. "I'd prefer if you called me by my name, young master Gunnhildr."

"And what would that be?"

Just as he was about to respond, the two of you caught wind of voices yelling out your name, and you flinched. "That must be for me," you said. "I shouldn't have expected to be able to hide forever."

He helped you stand, stretching out his arm to pull you up—your hand was soft and warm against his own, and the "thank you," that rolled from your lips made his heart flutter in a way he wasn't used to.

"I'd love to see you again," you said, and he smiled.

"You talk as if this is goodbye forever!" Venti joked. "We can meet here again, if you so wish."

"Then it is done," you said, and squeezed his hand as if in confirmation of your new arrangement.

And with the lightest press of your wine-stained lips to his cheek, you had run off without another word—only the sound of your distant laughter and, "Sorry, sorry! I'm back now, mother!" left in your wake.

two.

That promise had soon become habit, and habit a new way of life—one wherein you would sneak away from the rest of your family to rendezvous with Venti in the forest, to share wine and song and sweet, honeyed words alike.

(And as time wore on, you pressed your wine-stained lips to more places than just his cheek, and the cheeky bastard would have you do it again, and again, and again.)

"What d'you reckon your family would say if they figured out you were sneaking away for this?" Venti mused, "Like a hero in a romance novel."

With a laugh, you lay your head over his lap and smiled when his hand came to rest in your hair, his fingers gently playing with the strands. "Scold me, I suppose," you said. "There are worse fates than not being allowed outside for a month, my love."

You plucked a stray dandelion out of his hair, blowing the seeds to the wind.

"Hmm? And what would those be, I wonder?"

"...You're so infuriating, Venti," you grumbled, and he simply laughed and took another sip of wine—elderflower this time, tasting like spring upon his tongue. "I can't even dare imply that I want to be with you forever without you teasing me for it—what kind of lover are you? Hmph."

He paused, a teasing grin growing on his lips despite your previous words. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

An odd noise left your throat. "I mean," you said, "unless you want me to take your surname instead? ...Now that I think about it, Venti Gunnhildr doesn't quite sound the best."

A laugh, first from him, soon followed by one of your own. "Your family won't allow it, would they? But if the fates allow…there's nothing I'd love more than to be with you," he said. Gently he untangled his fingers from your hair, weaving his fingers between your own instead. "That is, if you want it too?"

A world of just you and him, a life where he would never have to stray far from your side—perhaps this was what Amos so desperately craved for, in those days. Venti watched as you removed the signet ring from your pointer finger and fit it snugly on his own, admiring your handiwork and smiling up at him.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

three.

Somehow it felt odd to see you in clothes other than the casual attire he had always seen you in. When you were seated upon your horse like this, dressed in richly-dyed leathers and embroidered silks with your family crest hanging proudly from your breast pocket, you seemed much less like the cheeky [Name] that would pluck his lyre from his hands to play your own tune, and more like the young scion of house Gunnhildr that the rest of the world saw you as.

"I'm sorry, dearest," you said, your voice thick with regret. "They only told me about this last night, so I've had no time to tell you… And father wouldn't let me refuse, so—"

Venti laughed, "When did you become such a worrywart? It's only one round of hunting, right? I'll be waiting for you back here."

You huffed, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his lips. "Then I'll be sure to hurry on back to you."

He pulled you back down for another kiss, square on the lips this time, before letting you go. "Don't miss!" he said, calling after your horse, to which you turned and yelled back at him,

"If I do, it's your fault!"

He laughed, settling down beneath a tree and closing his eyes. You'd be there to wake him when you returned.

When Venti awoke, it was not to your hand shaking his shoulder but to a thud and the worried whinnying of a horse. His eyes snapped open as you groaned, one hand clutching your stomach and the other propping you up. When you caught his gaze you smiled weakly, too much blood in your teeth and not enough light in your eyes.

"I'm back, dearest," you said, and he had stumbled over to catch you before your arm gave out.

He pressed down on your torso, where three large gashes ran down from your chest down to your stomach, large and jagged as if from the claws of a bear. You groaned in pain and he pressed a kiss to your hand in apology, your skin pale and clammy in a way that reminded him too much of harsh, cold winds and a boy with his lyre.

"You should've seen me, Venti," you breathed, "I shot it right in the throat…are you proud of me?"

"Very," he said. "I'll always be proud of you."

You laughed, broken and pained and sad. "Good," you said, "good." Then you looked up at him, the tears welling in his eyes, the reality of his fate—your fate—finally looming upon him. "Don't look at me like that, love," you cooed. "Please, smile for me, okay? Sing for me…can you spare me at least that much?"

His grip on your hand tightened. "All of that and so much more, dandelion," he said. "Please…"

"So much more, huh…" you mused. "Then, how about one last kiss before I go?"

"...You talk as if this is goodbye," he says, but doesn't protest when you pull him down by the collar, your red-stained lips pressing weakly against his—

—But instead of the sweetness of wine, there was only the sharp bitterness of your blood in his mouth.

four.

"How far would you go for me?" was something Venti had thrown around a lot, never expecting you to give him a straight answer—not with how you shoved his shoulder and said, "Just because there wasn't a ceremony doesn't mean I'm not your spouse, Venti. Wouldn't the answer be obvious?"

But he still recalled the first time he had asked you and the first time you answered, your fingers tangled with his and your head buried in the crook of his neck. Your voice had been softer, gentler, lacking the playful edge but just as genuine as always, "From the deepest depths of the ocean to the highest to the highest peaks in the sky," you said, "Until my hands wither away into dust."

"Maybe you're the bard instead of me, love," he had said, then.

In this new world without you he found himself clinging to whatever remnants of you he could—the dappled sunlight in the forest, the slightest sting of alcohol going down, the glint of your family crest on the ring that adorned his finger.

One of his many laments was how he could never mourn you in the way he felt you deserved—he had not the power to turn back time, lacked the dominion over anything static and permanent to immortalise you with. He only had his lyre and his voice and his winds, and all he could do was paint the skies grey in his grief, have the gales sing requiems that you would never hear.

From the deepest depths of the ocean to the highest peaks in the sky he would go for you and back—and if the darkest depths of this world contained the secret to getting you back, perhaps even a mere spirit on the wind could bear the trek through the dark.

(After all, Venti knew in his heart of hearts that you would have done the same for him.)

The heart of the Abyss wasn't a land of mindless bloodshed and fire—it was cold and calculating, like a predator lying in wait. It was this place, in the depths of Teyvat and in the winding depths of their palace, that he knew could somehow bring you back to him.

"Are you the one for whom the skies wept, bard?"

Venti swallowed down the lump in his throat. "I am," he said. "I want a deal."

The person before him raised an eyebrow, canting their head to the side.

"One life," they said, "and no second chances."

Cold, and calculating, and inevitable—but still he would try. Venti owed you at least that much, no?

five.

He squeezed your hand as you trailed behind him, muttering to himself: don't look back, don't look back, don't look back. No matter how much he longed to hold you, to see your face and feel your skin beneath his, he kept his gaze to his feet as you both moved onwards into the dark.

(When he saw you again, just as beautiful as the day he lost you, he dropped his lyre to run into your arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck and surrounding himself with only you, you, you.

"Venti," you said, and he nearly wept at the way his name rolled from your tongue. "Let's go home.")

You squeezed his hand back, so gently that he almost couldn't believe you were really there. "Why don't you sing me a song, dearest?" you quipped. "Anything you like."

In spite of himself, in spite of the cold around him and behind him and in his own hand, he smiled. "Have I ever sung you the one with the mist flower and the sparrow?"

He heard you huff behind him. "That one again? You know how bad I am at hitting the notes in that!"

"Hmm, sure, sounds like an excuse to me…"

"Venti!"

He laughed and squeezed your hand again, as if to remind himself—you were here, and he was taking you home, and you would be able to feel the sun on your skin and taste wine from his cup in the way you had always loved. He would be able to write you songs and guide your hands across his lyre, and he need never stray far from your side.

You need never go somewhere where he couldn't follow.

"We're almost there," he said, resisting the urge to turn around to smile at you. "There's a bottle of wine waiting for us. It wouldn't do us any good to leave it for too long, you know?"

He squeezed your hand again, but you didn't respond.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat. His footsteps hastened, quicker and quicker until he was near-running towards where he knew the surface lay. Had he been tricked? Were you never there all along? Had you gotten lost, or fallen, or left, and left some other person in your stead?

Anxiety clutched at his heart like brambles, and Venti found his mind wandering back to those days with the wintery winds and the friends he had lost to the storms. Not again, he prayed, please, never again.

He ran until his legs ached, ran until the first drop of sunlight finally kissed his skin, and he let go of your hand to turn around—

—to see your face still shrouded in darkness, your eyes wide, your hand still reaching out for him.

"What?" he breathed, "No, please, I can't lose you again—"

You smiled, and though your teeth weren't coated in blood and your body was free from any wounds, Venti's heart had sunk even further than when he had caught you that day.

"No, love, please, I'm sorry—"

"Venti," you said, "I'll see you again soon, okay?"

"Please—"

"I love you."

With whatever time you had left, you reached out further to brush the tips of your fingers against his cheek. "Smile for me, okay? Sing me one last song…"

And before he could reach out to you again, you had once again gone somewhere he couldn't reach.

(Yours was a song he sang without end, even when all of Mondstadt had forgotten your name—and even when he felt like he didn't deserve to bear your memory.

On days when he uncorked a bottle of cherry wine or caught the Acting Grandmaster's eye, Venti found himself staring down at the ring you had placed on his finger in those golden days—and if he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to it the way you had done to him, he swears he can still hear your laugh, warm and clear and bright.)

#pls ignore how messy it gets towards the end im sorry i couldnt brain n e more #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact x reader #venti x reader #bee writes

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leupagus · 3 years ago

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Honey, It's the Mileage pt 5: obviously this was going to happen at some point

Taking a break by writing this scene in Continuing Adventures of Nightwinkgal prompted by the wonderful robinade, who wanted some sort of rugby-related shenanigans.

Meeting the love of your life and the person you will cherish in your heart forever is one of those things that you want to remember so you can tell your grandchildren, or maybe your brother’s grandchildren, or at any rate somebody’s grandchildren. I really wish I had a bit worse memory of it, though. Speaking personally.

I was sitting in one of the really uncomfortable hospital chairs at UCH, playing the new remastered Angry Birds on my phone and waiting either for Tommy to wake up or for someone from Charing Cross or the Folly to descend on me like an avenging angel and smite me into the ground or turn me into a toad or sack me or something. At this point I’d sussed out that Tommy had some sort of connection to the Folly and that the Folly was the Weird Bollocks Division of the Met (and that said bollocks were really fucking weird) but looking back I really didn’t know the fucking half of it.

The door opened and a woman slipped in, taking in the whole room with the kind of once-over summation that I’ve been trying to learn for the past year and a half. She was small and curvy, her hair cut short with a fade on the right side. She had on a pair of worn jeans and a sweater that looked really, really soft, like you could curl yourself up in it and do something cosy like knitting or reading or petting a cat. I recognised her as one of the women who sometimes picked Tommy up after our patrols, though usually she was in terrifyingly well-pressed suits. Her jeans did have an ironing crease in them, to be fair.

'Constable Brown, right?' she said, extending her hand. I scrambled to my feet and managed not to trip over the chair as I took it. 'DS Abigail Kamara. What happened?'

'Rugby,' I blurted, because I was busy falling in love. DS Kamara’s hand was small and soft, but you could still sense strength there. She had the kind of dark, serious eyes that you can get lost in; but even though she was maybe thirty, tops, she had faint laugh lines already. I wanted to know every joke she’d ever been told, everything that had ever made her smile. 'Hi,' I added.

Which did make her smile, for some reason. 'Hi,' she said, and let go of my hand. 'He was playing rugby?'

It’s important to be honest to superior officers and also to loved ones, but you shouldn’t overdo it. 'Yeah. Yes, ma’am, I mean.'

She looked skeptical. 'Playing it well? Actually I don’t need to ask that, since,' and she gestured at the bed. Tommy was still asleep from the anaesthesia, his left arm propped up on a little pillow and encased in plaster.

'Well,' I said, ’No.'

He hadn’t been bad, really. But when he’d offered to cover for Michael, whose wife called him pretty calmly ten minutes before the match to tell him that the delivery date had been moved up about a month or so and he needed to get to hospital right the fuck now, we’d agreed mostly because there wasn’t anybody else. So Michael had donated most of his kit, which was a hilarious combination of too big and too short for the living string-bean that is Thomas Nightingale, and tooled off in the direction of UCH. He and Deb were probably still here, I realised; I should go say hello.

'There was a scrum and he got sort of on the wrong end of it,' I explained, as Kamara went over to the bedside and pulled something out of her purse — grapes, of course, and a couple of bottles of water with the UCH logo on them.

'And what side would that be?' she asked, arranging everything just so on the bedside table.

'The bottom,' I said.

She laughed, and I wondered where the nearest jewellery store was or if I could propose without a ring. 'That explains a lot,' she said.

'Do you have any of his family’s contact information?' I remembered to ask. 'He gave me ident-auth for his phone in case there was an emergency, but it got fu—messed up somehow while we were playing.' Which had been weird, since everyone’s phones were scattered on the sidelines with our various piles of shit, but at the time I didn’t think it was weird-bollocks-weird. I have gotten a lot better about that sort of thing, for the record. Even Grant has said so, although I think he considers that a pretty low bar where I’m concerned.

'I’m sure it did,' Kamara sighed, which I did notice. 'Don’t worry, his people have all been notified. Including DCI Grant, but—' she added off my panicked casing for the exits, 'He's decided not to fly back from Chicago in order to laugh directly in Nightingale’s face. A few other people might turn up, though, so brace yourself for that.'

'Or I could just leave,' I suggested, which is when Tommy began to stir. We did the whole rushing-to-the-bedside thing that you don’t think you’ll do if you’re the one waiting for someone to wake up in hospital, but trust me: you’ll do it.

Tommy blinked a few times and tried saying something, but it was just a raspy sort of wheeze. Kamara opened one of the water bottles and put it to his mouth. He made a half-hearted attempt to take the bottle, but with one hand in a cast and the other hooked up to various machines he didn’t get far, so he just took a couple of sip.

'Better?' said Kamara, settling on the edge of Tommy’s bed when he was done.

'Abigail,' Tommy said, or croaked rather, 'You are munificent.'

Her eyebrows shot right up into her hairline, but all she said was, 'Thanks, sir.' Which I also noticed, but at the time I thought must be a joke. Which I found out later it was, just not in the way I’d been thinking. 'Dr. Walid will be here in a minute to start poking you, just so you’re warned.'

'Abdul!' said Tommy, with all the enthusiasm of the truly stoned. 'A soldier against the forces of ignorance, a true scholar of the demi-monde, a healer of wounds both physical and psyloligsm. Psycholigel.' He frowned as his ears, which were presumably more sober, caught up to his mouth. 'Hmm.' And he lifted his hand — the one with the wires, not the one in the cast — fingers closed like he was making the chef’s-kiss motion. There was a weird feeling, like you feel when you’re just about to push down on the gas pedal at a red light.

'Oh, god,' said Kamara, with the kind of resigned concern that pretty much everyone has when they’re exposed to Tommy for any length of time, and grabbed at his hand. 'There will be absolutely none of that,' she said in a very bossy tone of voice which I was depressed to discover I found really sexy. 'You’re going to rest and not try something stupid.'

'Have you met Tommy?' I asked, momentarily forgetting that this was my future bride and the beloved of my heart, because honestly, 'Try Something Stupid' was practically his motto. See: volunteering to play rugby with people twice his size.

Kamara blinked. 'Did you just call him Tommy?' she asked, at which point Tommy made an irritated noise and fell asleep again.

#it's the mileage #ficcage of interest #rivers of london #fuck me I can do magic #I just want Nightingale's life to be difficult always

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j10kkuno · 4 years ago

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The Sykks, the Guses, Ray, and Conan: Broken Bonds Reconnecting in Los Santos

OR: Have some family headcanons until all of these get negated by canon Nopixel because I'm a writer and these things are what I thrive on.

The most defining part of this that impacts everything like a domino effect: The Sykk family is rich rich. Like Yuno's great grandfather made some understated everyday product everyone uses. Reasons why I say this: Yuno/his parents had enough money to put him through college for several years only for him to fail and he still had enough money in his trust fund to run away to Los Santos, pay for an apartment, get settled, pay bills, etc. That's not just parents with good jobs. Also, Euno has a history in the States(Dating Conan, seems on good terms ish with Yuno, suggesting they grew up together), but according to wiki he's been in Europe but also decided to up and move to LS for reasons related to Yuno and moving back and forth and back between continents is very pricy and complicated and you have to leave people behind which is really hard so yeah. Sykk family is rich rich.

Due to that, Yuno and Euno both grew up with a list of expectations they had to live up to, Euno was meant to inherit the French branch of their company, they were both expected to be straight, rebellion was frowned upon, etc. Just everything you'd expect from people of their status and think of Yuno's personality and what Sykkuno wants to use Euno to do in game and how stifling that would be for them.

I was reading a headcanon on Yuno and Ray Mond yesterday about their parents being divorced and that's why they have different last names and I have a thought on that.

Basically, I'm thinking that Yuno's mom was having fertility issues and his dad was frustrated and like all rich men, strayed and cheated with Ms. Mond, an employee at the company's office, who got pregnant. His parents frowned and worried about reputation because they're very traditional, but when they found out Ms. Mond was pregnant with twins, they allowed him to keep the boy, but the girl had to be sent away. Ms. Mond was very unhappy, but she was paid well. Mrs. Sykk was unhappy but thankful the moment Yuno, three hours old, was placed in her arms. Yuno was never told his mom isn't biologically his mother, but she's the only mom he'll ever have, despite her expectations.

Mrs. Sykk's brother is Mr. Gus and Yuno grew up seeing Amon and Bin quite often. They were his favorite cousins. However, when they were around 8-10ish, the Gus family disappeared. Yuno cried for ages and over time, memories have faded but he has vague memories of them. In reality, the Gus parents are killed in a brutal car accident where the car is set on fire. An onlooker is barely able to save the children. All identification is burned and the children hit their heads so there's no way to identify them so because they're on vacation, they're forced into the local foster care system with only each other to cling to. Memories of their past life come and go, including of Yuno, which Bin especially can hold onto.

Ray grew up living a normal life in the midwest with a single mom. The Sykks paid off Ms. Mond handsomly, but she still worked to make ends meet so Ray could have most of that money for college/as an adult. Her life was dedicated to Ray. When Ray was 18, she stumbled across the contract, but didn't say anything until a big blow out fight a few years later and then Ms. Mond tells her everything and then Ray starts looking for Yuno, who she finds in LS. One day, she'll meet the Sykks and go off on them, but be kindest to Yuno's mom, who just wanted a child to please her husband and in law and feel like she wasn't a failure.

Yuno and Euno both felt like they didn't fit in with business and snobby rich people, both enjoying pranks and crime shows but Euno was able to pretend much better. His father was in charge of the French branch of their company, and they made sure he split his time evenly between the States and France as a child. As a young adult, he chose Columbia University in Liberty City for college(Ivy League school btw, Yuno also attended an Ivy League but the family preferred Dartmouth. Columbia was viewed as Euno's big rebellion). He wanted to get lost in the bustle of the city and find a place to be himself. And he does, in a young Conan Clarkson. He was a criminal justice major at a much less prestigious university but he captured Euno's heart easily. Conan let him joke around, let him be vulnerable when all his life Euno was told a man never lets anyone sees his vulnerabilities, and never, ever expects anything but love from him. Euno wishes their time together could last forever, but he knows eventually, he'll be expected to return to France. And he is, as soon as he graduates, and he asks Conan to come with. Conan's already been accepted to the Police Academy in Los Santos. Conan asks him to come with to Los Santos, but Euno has been prepped his entire life to take a position at the French branch and he's not strong enough to say no. It hurts like hell, but they break up. And Euno is miserable. Business isn't for him and now that he knows who he is he hates the person he has to pretend to be.

A few years later, Yuno tells him he's in Los Santos and his found family and how nice it is and the nice cops and Euno always loved hearing about Conan's major and passions so he asks more about the police program and so he and Yuno plans. And in the middle of the night, Euno leaves Paris with only as much as his suitcase will carry and catches a flight to LS. Three nights later, he runs into Conan at the pier, and well, it takes a few months, but home is where the heart is and Euno's home has been Los Santos for a lot longer than anyone knew.

Meanwhile, Yuno is overjoyed to be reunited with the Gus brothers and tells them about their past and introduces them to Ray, who is super excited to meet more family(!!!). The four feels like they were meant to meet all along and be family and now that they've met, they refuse to be parted. Yuno's family tries, and they really try with Euno, the once golden child, but neither of them are budging. They've made a home in Los Santos and they're not leaving it for anything. (Euno's little brother is very happy to suddenly be the heir of the French branch so it all works out)

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hellonoblesky · 3 years ago

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Happy Saturday it’s past 2am here’s Harbinger Angst. Because I’m up late and I’m havinggg thoughts.

So here’s my hcs about the Harbingers reacting to/dealing with the news of Signora‘s death :)

(CW For like. Mental breakdowns and guilt and general emotional instability because no one is having a good time here. Oh also cussing, anddd some familial angst in Childe’s bit? Also I am so sorry about any misspellings n whatever it is. Very late and I already have two other posts in my drafts collecting dust that are also HCs so.)

Dottore:

So if you don’t follow my art blog or haven’t seen my Harbinger hcs (which are under the process of some change with new info being released and whatnot), you don’t know this but I HC Dot and Signora to be like sorta just evil siblings

Now because death is such a commodity in Dot’s uh… specific line of work, he doesn’t register that Signora is dead until like two days after he hears the news

He picked up the phone (rotary perhaps?) to go call up Signora‘a office to see if she has any good gossip and then stopped halfway through dialing because it hit him that she’s never going to be there to pick up the phone on the other end. Ever.

He usually listens to music when he’s working but with the absence of Signora ranting he has to take up listening to the radio on top of the music

Problem is: the radio doesn’t have the same charm and cadence to it that Signora’s rants did, because normal people are boring and it’s going to drive Dot up the walls if he has to listen to one more commercial or one more anxious ramble about how cool and great the Fatui are from some stupid radio host trying not to overstep the Tasritsa’s favor like she listens to some boring ass radio station in her spare time!!!

HE HATES IT. But is forced to make do because if he shows weakness he will be torn apart (or so he thinks)

So this leads to him locking himself away in his office even more than he already did

Because he was already intrigued by the traveller after their actions in Mond and their victory against Childe, but them beating Signora in a duel before the Shogun? Oh now that kickstarted a whole new line of study

Especially because his only coping mechanisms are Be Destructive and Dive So Far Into Work You Don’t Think so within about three days he has a comprehensive analysis of everything he can possibly get his hands on regarding the Traveler (without interacting with other people) and is about to pass out because he hasn’t slept

Oh and the funeral was absolute hell for him.

Mainly because while he was barely conscious he agreed to play violin at the service and then promptly passed out and forgot about it so he woke up and was hit with the consequences of his own actions in the form of sheet notes

He endured, obviously, he’s not going to back down from playing something at the funeral of one of the few interesting people in the organization, that’s what tools and cowards do and this might be the Fatui but if he’d survived the wrath of dead gods he would make it through this

Went right back to locking himself away after that though

He actually got bad enough that the other Harbingers took notice of his state and MADE him come out of his labs and eat (mainly at demand of the Tsaritsa because she just lost the Crimson Witch as an asset, she wants the rest of her Harbingers in good health god dammit, the Traveler is becoming a genuine threat)

Broke down at dinner a week after the funeral

Swears that if any of the other Harbingers bring it up ever ever again he will kill their bodies and keep their consciousnesses trapped in a machine that he controls forevermore

Really he’s just glad that no one immediately pounced on one of his few shows of weakness

Maybe he’ll risk it again if it means he can cry it out for another hour but he wouldn’t dare say that out loud, won’t even finish the thought

But you know what he will do?

What he does best, of course

Look at an oddity in the world (in this case the traveller) and seek to pick it apart until he can put it back together without looking and still have it work

The only way he can actually get through his grieving is by finding something to take the edge off

And it just so happens that the traveller is a perfect candidate

Childe:

By no means has he ever liked Signora, in regards to personality or method, but her death still hit him

He had to travel back to Snezhnaya for the funeral, and it did absolutely cheer him up to see his family again and get to spoil them all silly, but with a mind whirling with thoughts it was genuinely hard for him to keep a smile up

Mainly thoughts about battle, because that’s really the only way he can interpret the world at this point

Like he keeps thinking about weather the Traveler was holding back with him, or if they had gained the strength to fight off yet another Fatui plot just in the month or so since Liyue? And if they had gained strength, how had they done it so fast? If they’d been holding back against him had he not shown himself to be a fighter worthy of their strength? Had Signora even faced the Traveler‘s full strength?

Overall his head is much too full of too many things, and it wears him out to the point that he ends up sleeping in late enough for his family to actually worry because usually he’s up before dawn training and they don’t see him until the afternoon

But he’s back on track as soon as he can, because the training helps him think, and once he can resolve most of his thoughts (or repress them so they don’t bother him too often) he’s absolutely alright and fine and ready to go! Totally. Fine. It’s fine.

The thoughts were very much There during the funeral, especially as the first harbinger read a (somewhat summarized version) of Signora’s life to the assembly of Fatui

(Oh and Pierro didn’t really care weather or not Signor wanted people to know her life after she died because she was dead now what was she going to do??)

The reveal that Signora had been fighting for the Fatui because her lover had been killed by the actions of the Anemo Archon, and she desired nothing more than to see him again… it got to Childe. It got to Childe more than he’d like to admit

Because suddenly the woman who he had always known as the embodiment of frostbite and frozen barbed wire fencing had someone she had cared about, genuinely cared about, to the point where she had become the Mondstadt legend, the Crimson Witch herself

And she had lost that lover to the actions of a fool of a God

He swore silently to himself that when the Tsaritsa‘s future came to pass he would make a little monument for Signora. Nothing big, probably a plaque on a nice stone where Mondstadt would have been before the Tsaritsa’s success, but a monument nonetheless

This promise was a spur of the moment thing, and later he would be like “Man she was a jerk, lost love or not why did I promise her that?“ but he doesn’t go back on promises

Besides, actually watching Dottore break down in a grief and sleep-depravation induced haze was also something that got to him because of course the two people he happened to simply Hate The Most in the organization were close that makes perfect sense but also wow it is weird to see Dottore cry and it feels Wrong because after murdering and tormenting so many people… Signora is gone and he breaks then??? What the fuck

Avoids most of the Harbingers after that, just heads home to Morepesok to spoil his siblings silly before going back to Liyue

Oh and his siblings can tell something is up, Teucer especially because when his brilliant big brother, the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya, is suddenly struggling to keep a smile even though they’re at home… he notices

Childe’s other siblings are all avoiding the subject, they heard about the death of Signora and all, they just assume the organization is going through it tight now and frankly most of them are a little afraid of him weather they‘ll admit it or not

Not Teucer though, he’s confused just because he still has grasped how Snezhnaya works yet, so he goes ahead and asks anyway

Childe just says he’s sad because he has to leave again so soon! And he hasn’t even been able to take Teucer fishing this time, isn’t that sad?

Teucer can tell that he’s lying

But Teucer is also beginning to sense the danger that lies behind Childe’s eyes, so for the first time? He doesn’t push it or say that they could go fishing now if they hurry

Just a grin and a “Next time!! Promise?” Makes it all better and he doesn’t have to think about why his big brother feels unnerving to look at sometimes

Childe is oblivious to Teucer’s growing awareness

He heads back to Liyue and makes himself focus on work

Scaramouch:

Now he didn’t particularly like Signora either, and didn’t really care about her life’s story, because blah blah blah we get it lady you lost someone, we all did, cry about it or whatever

But he does feel… he feels guilty for leaving her to face the Shogun

He had the Gnosis, he had finished Signora’s mission for her without even meaning to, and he had thought it would be funny to just let her face the Shogun without knowing that

To some extent, it’s his fault she’s dead

And it’s not the fact that she died because he didn’t go get her that weighs on him, it’s that he left her to the Shogun of all things

I don’t know if puppets like Scara can feel things like people and such do, but considering how the Shogun expressed frustration and stress when Ei disabled the majority of her functions, I’m going to assume they can

And because of the meddling of ‘some eccentric scientists’ his emotions are probably toned down a tad but he can still feel guilt all the same

And leaving Signora to the Shogun makes him feel guilty because he and the Shogun are essentially kin

Disowned and disavowed kin, but you know

He may have been able to easily counter the Shogun, or even help Signora prevail in her duel, but he. Ran. Off.

He happens to think that that was very cowardly of him

It causes a spike in his aggression which everyone unfortunately has to notice every time he walks by because the sheer static electricity that snaps in the air when he’s in the room now? Haha. Ouchie

Fun fact: he has no idea how to cope with guilt

He channels ALL of it into SHEER RAGE

Ever seen a couple hundred year old man go absolutely apeshit in the Harbinger‘s shared training arena? Well now you have!! It’s not a pretty sight!!

He’s crying and can’t tell why, which fuels his anger, which fuels stress as a fun side effect which just makes more tears and now he has to snap someone in half because he needs it to stop he hates it here he hates it here he hates it here

And in the beginning the guilt wasn’t even that severe for him, it was just so immensely magnified by his lack of coping skills that he very nearly broke himself down

He tried going to Dottore to get it disabled but Dottore had his doors all locked so Scara couldn’t even get a word through to him

Oh and the funeral was fine with him he just left early because he didn’t want to deal with looking people in the eye at the time because, again, his lack of coping skills with guilt magnified the whole feeling so it was almost unbearable

It’s a lot of fighting and breaking things before he’s able to resign himself to some semblance of how he was

#Genshin impact #genshin spoilers #genshin inazuma #genshin fatui #genshin Hcs #genshin headcannons #genshin signora #Rosalyne-Kruzchka Lohefalter #crimson witch of embers #crimson witch of flames #genshin Childe #Genshin Dottore #it is very late and my brain is abuzz #I have s’more thoughts about the Harbingers and Signora hut I’m already throwing all of this at y’all so #yeah #anyway #sad about her but also where Is Dottore hand him over mhy please

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fanficflaneuse · 4 years ago

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One Day - Part 11

A/N: Hello lovelies! I wanted to post this chapter on Saturday, but when I was about to do it, it just disappeared completely. I was so mad and frustrated I just gave up and watched LOTR lol So here we have chapter 11 and tomorrow it’s done! I want to know your thoughts on what happens next. How would you want it to end? Also, don’t kill me for the drama of it all. I hope you like it!

Draco x reader (she/her pronouns)

Word count: 1725 Summary: One day AU. Post-war. Since The Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and y/n meet one day a year.

Masterlist

Enjoy!

3 May, 2010

“How are you doing, Draco?” asked Harry as he sat by his side.

“Managing,” he managed to say with a small and tired voice.

Draco was absolutely distraught. He hadn’t properly slept in weeks and everything in his demeanour oozed fatigue and pain. St. Mungo’s had become his permanent residence, only this time he was not playing the part of the Healer.

“How about you?” he asked, more out of politeness than genuine interest.

“It’s chaotic. I feel like it’s 1999 all over again, you know? The paranoia, the panic attacks and the nightmares, all full-blown. The Ministry’s bodyguards aren’t helping either.”

Every time they had talked, Harry had tried not to exert too much of his own burden on Draco, but for some reason today he felt like blurting things out. Draco’s eyes were still glued on the bed in front of them. He really didn’t feel like partaking in that conversation, but his friend seemed to be in the mood to talk so he indulged him.

“Tell me about it. We have a whole team of aurors roaming the manor. I know it’s for the best, but I can’t even let my child go out and play. I fear something terrible might happen to him whenever he’s out of my sight. It’s…scary,” he admitted, realizing how much he actually needed to talk.

“Yeah, I get it. We don’t let the kids out either and we are all going crazy.”

Twelve years after Voldemort was defeated, some of his runaway death eaters were still trying to seek revenge. In the first few years after the war, Harry and Ron had led the operations to incarcerate as many as they could find. Their efforts had put most of them in Azkaban, but some others still loomed in the most unexpected places. Every once in a while, the death eaters on the loose would pop up. So far, they had tried – unsuccessfully – to harm Harry and Ron. The attempts were so poor it would ruffle everyone’s feathers for a while and then everything would go back to relative peace.

That was until (Y/N) moved to Paris. Even if her house was full of traps and charms to protect her, she was living alone, which made her an easy target. She was not difficult to track; her status as a literary celebrity and her connections to the magical French jet set made her appear in Le Monde Magique every other day. The network of dead eaters that were still active and underground followed her for three years before striking.

The night they did, Draco and (Y/N) had a date. That’s what saved her. (Y/N)’s plan was to relocate back to England, but as she managed to get everything in order both of them apparated back and forth. They saw each other every day, went out for dates and parties with their friends and even had family strolls and dinners with Scorpius. That night, they were going to take a roam through the Champs Élysées and eat on one of their favourite muggle restaurants.

Draco arrived to her flat, excited for the night to come, only to find a scene that could’ve easily come out of a Goya painting. (Y/N) laid on the floor, covered in blood and seemingly unconscious. A man – later identified as Rodolphus Lestrange – had his foot on her throat and was flicking his wand to perform the deadliest spell. Draco’s vision turned red. Without thinking, he immobilized his uncle in law, sent him flying to the other end of the house and beat him to a pulp. He could have killed him with his own two hands, hadn’t he been so worried about (Y/N)’s state.

With her in arms, he had called the French Ministry of Magic. Draco tried really hard to act professional, check her vitals and perform the right spells like a good Healer would, but he was paralyzed. He couldn’t imagine a life without (Y/N). Draco could only think about this as he held her tight to his chest. That’s how the aurors found him: trembling, covered in blood and sobbing, unable to let go of his benumbed girlfriend.

A month and a half after the assault, she was still unconscious. No signs of change and very weak vital signs. As soon as the Healers at the Sacre Coeur hospital in Paris had deemed her stable, Hermione had helped with the paperwork to take her back to England. Since the day they had put her in that bed on the fourth floor, Draco had barely ever left her side. Their friends and family would come and go. Even if they were all sad and grieving, they’d try to console him.

Seeing her like this, so pale and lifeless, the wounds that had taken so long to heal wide open again, haunted him. Whenever he tried to sleep, he had these nightmares of her being tortured by Rodolphus Lestrange and he couldn’t keep himself from staring at his fading mark and blaming himself for everything.

“I…I have never seen somebody lit up the way (Y/N) would whenever she saw you. Merlin, just mentioning your name made her a happier person. Since we all became friends, I thought you two belonged together,” Harry commented after a prolonged silence.

Draco really wanted to feel soothed by Harry’s comment. He tried. But as he turned it around in his head, everything about it made him feel disheartened and enraged: the quivering voice, the profound sadness and the past tense. He felt just like when he was younger and didn’t know how to deal with his emotions. So, Draco just snapped.

“Why are you talking about her as though she was dead, Potter?” he sneered. His tone and accompanying glare remined Harry of their schooldays. The difference was that now he knew that the former Slytherin was suffering and that sorrow encircled his every breath.

“Draco…”

“She’s not dead!” he screeched.

“She is not dead.” This time, he murmured so softly Harry knew it was not meant for him.

Draco leaned forward and buried his face in (Y/N)’s hair. His suppressed sobs broke Harry’s heart. Never in a million years he would’ve imagined that this is how things would turn out, but he soon found himself hugging Draco as he wept on his shoulder.

“She can’t die, Harry. She cannot leave me.”

He was desperate. Why couldn’t they be happy? So much time wasted with life’s twists and turns, time they could’ve spent together lost because of hushed feelings and unspoken words. So much time living like two parallel lines, always in tandem and never intersecting. And when they finally connected and they lived some of the most blissful and placid months of their lives, she was snatched away. Their happiness crushed.

As it downed on him that maybe she would never wake up, Draco’s mind focused on the conversation they had a few weeks before the assault. They had just arrived in Malfoy Manor from a party at the Potter’s. (Y/N) changed into one of Draco’s shirts and was sitting on the sofa in Draco’s humongous bathroom as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“You know, Dray,” (Y/N) said as she crossed her legs.

“Yes, darling?” he asked. Draco looked at her through the mirror and smiled.

“This is going to sound extremely rushed and weird coming from me,” her voice was timid, yet it held an underlying dreaminess to it that lured him.

Immediately, he stopped his task, turned around and knelt in front of her. (Y/N) smirked, pleased to have his full attention now. “What is it, love?”

“I want to have children. I want a quidditch team worth of kids with the love of my life.” As she said this, Draco couldn’t help but smile wholeheartedly.

He had thought about that as well. Having a proper family with (Y/N) sounded like a dream. They were already a quaint little family, she, Scorpius and him. They were so happy, at times the thought of having children together was almost automatic. He knew even contemplating it was a long shot; they had been dating for a little less than a year. But those were some of the most wonderful months of his entire life and he wanted more. As in “till death do us part” kind of more. As weird as he thought it was, Draco concluded that their lives had been intertwined forever that day after the Battle, so time counted differently for them.

“And if the love of my life is not available, then there’s you,” she added cheekily. Draco chuckled, feeling his heart fuller than ever.

Draco thought it was funny how they never had this conversation before. In all of their years of friendship, they had never asked each other what they thought about having a family. Paternity had just happened to him and he received it as one of the most important tasks in his life. Regardless of the circumstances, it was indeed the best gift life could’ve ever given him.

(Y/N) was good with children. Since James was born, she had become the next generation’s preferred babysitter. Draco always thought she seemed to understand the language of children more than any other adult he knew. Maybe that was an effect of being a writer? He didn’t really know. As much as she loved her godson and her little nephews and nieces, (Y/N) never showed a desire of having kids of her own. She always seemed so focused on other things, so passionate about healing and reconciling with life that having children didn’t seem like something she wanted.

And yet.

“I’d love for us to have our own quidditch team, my love,” he said, gently uncrossing her legs and caressing her tights, “on one condition”.

She raised an eyebrow playfully. “Let me remind you I’ll be the one going through pregnancy.”

Draco was all smiles now. “Marry me, (Y/N),” he said almost too casually. That was the essence of their relationship; a flamboyant proposal didn’t fit in the language they had created for themselves as they watched that sunrise on that windowsill. His hands on her tights, the glint in his eyes, that feeling that pulled them to each other said more than words could.

(Y/N) had said yes.

That’s all Draco could think of as he sobbed on Harry’s shoulder.

tags: @fandomscombine @oldfashionedlovergirlsblog @cleopatera @naomi02hook @okaydraco @iliketoast23 @winnsmills @happycomb @xtrashmouthxtozierx @hopplessdreamer

@animelover09556 (your blog disappeared and I couldn’t tag you, honey, but if you ever get to read this I hope you’re doing well).

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vr2 · 4 years ago

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i think kaeya’s suffocating one-way loyalty to others, especially diluc, is one of my favourite parts of his character. an inhumanly knightly ideal stretched transparent, gauze-thin to try and obscure the deficit of your own personhood. like clawing shut a black hole with bloodied fingers but still finding it weeping uncontrollably, hysterically. it’s not exactly self-sacrifice but more like some ill-fated way of seeking validation, plunging yourself into the dark to reaffirm that there is something light, barely alive, faintly flickering within. something worth saving, something human after all. its knowingly asking a question that cannot be answered or taken back. an irreversible change of state is the culmination of rubedo, the metamoprhic stage preceding it symbolized by the peacocks tail, cauda pavonis. understanding the true weight of flesh without blood is to kill the creature beforehand, but this is the only way a true value can be known. childhood dreams denature into scar tissue, charred memories leave a bitter taste in your mouth no matter what you wash it down with. twisting the knife to feel agony once more, confirmation there was some soft underbelly to to the beast, still made of blood and bone, steel carapace and blood-dark claws nothing more than bygone idles. this body can catch alight, can burn brilliantly. this maddening fragility can only be human.

an enduring but deceptively frail nature. i think most of his potential as a character is just waiting for him to shatter and reveal what exactly is left underneath it all like a kinder surprise! but the surprise is abject misery compounded upon whatever fucking awful events would have to cause him to break cleanly in two. i think, naturally, if left to his own devices with little change other than his tentative limbo with diluc, the niggling fear of his truth being exposed and his true utter loneliess, rather than breaking, kaeya would slowly be eroded with time. already well entrenched in the safety of his masks in the city he all but rules, slowly the glaciers hes built turn into the sea and without realising it one day he’d be stranded in an ocean of his own making completely and utterly desolate. eventually kaeya will find himself swalloed by the abyss and he will not struggle as the water comes to claim him.

as fun as that is i think there are much more interesting avenues to go down. for all kaeya is mond’s glacial cavalry captain he’s paradoxically also characterised by his emotional vulnerability. and i just think it’s delicious to prey on that and have some extreme emotional distress that tears him apart. although it’s never alluded to ingame outside of jean’s story quest it seems that kaeya orchestrates a lot of things and is relatively deeply involved with the personal lives of many characters who could not particularly offer him anything in return. specifically jean, klee, lisa and amber. somehow slowly he has scraped together some semblance of friendship and camraderie if not outright family. with him being abandoned twice over, one more final abandonment making kaeya compeltely lose all sense of reality would utterly break him for the last time. like realising all this time, all this change, everything yous aid and did was not only pointless but it was a distraction. the ice beneath your feet is is cracking even if you screamed for help you’d simply be damning another person to die with you, selfishly, thoughtlessly, cruelly. realising your purpose was nothing so grand, but with lies and misdirection they sent you to die in the snow convincing yourself a martyr. there is nothing to catch you, nothing to hold onto but whatever is lurking beneath. you can at least trust a beast to be beast, you were denied to live amongst the land of men but in the depths of the abyss you monsters you call your kin reach out to you, knowing. its only a matter of control now, to either fall off of the edge of the world or dive into it.

like a bird trying to swim beneath the water and finally succumbing to the waves. abandon yourself to your fate. revel in it, drink it down in huge gulps, fall into the spiral and dont look up, don’t acknowledge any other ending than this. there is no use making wishes, the stars are not listening.

i think the event that makes kaeya lose his tenuous grip on reality will actually be completely unnoticeable to anyone who doesnt particularly know him ie other than maybe jean, rosaria and diluc. kaeya will not endanger mond directly, but he is aware, that when he falls, so does a pillar of mond’s defence. he will not raise his sword against the place that gave him a wonderful illusion of belonging but he will not save it either, there was no way for him to understand this land of wind, as someone who was born not knowing the sky.

kaeya would mostly act as usual but there’s something distinctly off-kilter. his usual teasing more strange and obtuse, his usual silvertongue tempered into something more humble, cut with a strange truthfulness, a quiet gentleness of a youth from long ago. as if the captain had suddenly turned back time, as if slowly opening up and blooming like a flower. jean is happy to see kaeya smile again, even if she knows it if an affectation of a memory of a memory. she feels like the anemo archon had gifted him wings, this lightness a blessing she should be thankful for rather than weighed down with niggling worry for her oldest friend. rosaria finds it rather liberating, feeling as if kaeya has finally had the strength to shake off the great weight he carried, that burdensome melancholy has finally thawed. if it was not for the face master diluc is making at him however, she might have missed how wide and unseeing that smile seems.

diluc would be torn. there is something wrong with kaeya. but at the same time isn’t this what he wanted? perhaps in another life if kaeya ragnivindr had the chance to grow up, to bloom into adulthood, this is what he’d be. there is a childish softness he had thought he had burned away, the specter of a boy from another life warm and real before you. that makes something in his throat catch, the back of his eyes ache. diluc would feel tormented, kaeya surely had found some peace but here diluc has convinced himsef its ill-gotten. theres a warring inside him of wanting to reach out and hold this person you’ve never seen before, lest the disappear like snow come dawn and at the same time dig your fingers into it, sift through it until its in pieces before you and find what must exist in the heart of this illusion, even if it means tearing it to pieces. its often, often, he curses demanding the truth. honor and code and chivalry mean nothing any more but he has chosen the path and he can no longer go back. because now it means he cannot leave this kaeya, who can at least pretend to smile like he used to, intact. even this short reprieve must be burnt away.

questioning kaeya is painful, he uses his truthful emotions to disarm and its impossible to get anywhere. kaeya knows what hes doing. if he must be a liar to the end, he will give them the grandest, most beautiful illusion he can create. he pulls on his own strings until he feels them dig into skin, closing around his throat. choking down all his childish wishes to be saved, and turning once more to the audience. smothering it is the kinder alternative than to let the small voice in his heart live, take pitiful struggling steps and have to watch it fizzle and die out with a whimper under the weight of the world. the show must go on, such a mundane performance is not worthy of the king of khaenriah.

kaeya has always known that no matter how he comes to the finale, he has his part to play. in the end his choices dont matter, nobody has ever let kaeya have anything but (a photograph set alight by the fireplace. black satin ribbons tied in neat loopy bows, order in unruly heads of hair, scratchy facial hair against your cheek, the smell of cologne and grapes, not yet wine, three bodies curled on an armchair, a book of fairy tale held in two sets of hands. there is hole is in the center). his body has always belonged to khaenriah, his sword to the knights of favonius, his life to mond. there a quiet vindictive selfishness still, of owning and having complete control of your heart. one ill retaliation that gurgles out of your throat and takes the form of half-aborted laughter spilling out like tar, like sickness. turning the world upside down and righting your positions. kaeya sets the board to its rightful place.

is it still falling if you jump? no need to fear of someone letting go, if you had no intention of holding on. one final indulgence, one last rebellion. the childish vindictiveness of taking something from someone and not giving it back, getting the last laugh even if you laugh alone.

the peacock stage in alchemy, is the stage of transcendence, to destroy the original form and purify it to its final rubedo. the peacock must be swallowed by the phoenix. burning through its brilliant colours to achieve the transmutation between the mundane and divine. this is the the purpose of the cauda pavonis. it is to represent a form that is to be destroyed to achieve completion. a sacrifice.

to kaeya, knowing his purpose yet still foolishly living beyond it is the thing that truly truly sinks its teeth in. knowing that everything he built will be destroyed and he must allow it for being foolish enough to build it in the first place. he knows his impermanence and yet still he is beside himself with a festering rage called humanity creeping into his bones. having no way to process this as anything other than some inherent malignant evil that must be intrinsic to himself, i think kaeya takes ‘pleasure’ in not only burning that bridge but proving to everyone that he was an awful person who deserved this and he really is getting the last laugh. and truly there is something about it, for once, destroying something for your own pleasure. even if it is taking your own chance of redemption, that weak-hearted hopefulness and crushing it between your teeth, finding your saviour just to spite their naivety. the onyl thing left ot destroy is yourself so kaeya will make it absolute and spectacular! a performance seen this night and never again.

but the just straight up sacrifice for the sake of devotion, feeling as if he truly has nothing left but himself and he is his own person to destroy, his only act he can take, the only move on the board is sexy too. in another world, those deeper desires never breaking the ice, layers of permafrost scarred over and scratched raw - idle fantasies of love and forgiveness and belonging, mundane dreams reserved for better people - that could not be burnt out of you that night, like your hair, like your hands, like your flesh, like your heart. an ashen taste that lingers, a bitter aftertaste ever present no matter what you try and wash it down with. you can at least appreciate that the ache of your lungs filling with water, with wine, with the heavy weight of lies -- you can imagine you will sink, heavy with this grief. no one can change this punishment you have decided for yourself, they cannot save you without your consent. you see an invitation to be smothered, for your death to have a purpose, just as your life and birth had predetermined value, how could you deny such a privilege?

what is this if not a final act of devotion? to who, it’s undecided. but the fact you have burnt through this life for others, that you have bled for them, have been their hope, perhaps with this you can finally earn the title of a good man in their eyes. but your own dull gaze is the only one that looks back at you.

to think of their faces, their names, their warmth would sully this divine duty with pointless sorrow so you would close your eyes and clutch at the chest, where an abyssal heart would beat fast and scared, a betrayer and coward til the end. in the cold water, the outline of a dream, the gauzy silhouettes of people you loved, the light of the sun cast shadows across lands both alien and comforting, and, and - anything at all would be worth it. anyone but you.

perhaps this is simply the end. the final act lay unwritten for there is no point writing words that will never be read. perhaps the mask has slipped and you never noticed, insisting the show must go on when there is no one to play to. a performer perpetually stuck on the stage, turning about the head of a pin, boring into you with every revolution.

the depths of the abyss, pale in comparison to a gaping maw of this despair so wide, that this ocean is nothing but shallow waters to you. walking into the sea, with sword in hand, a sickness in the form of a love that is incomprehensible and cold. to finally rest free, a sojourn with no hope of return a voyage to far away from here. kaeya alberich falls to the end of the world and you will not save him.

as well and good all this rambling is, i think my favourite rendition of kaeya alberich shattering into tiny little pieces is to the tune of ‘kelly clarkson - since u been gone’

#damn you ren #its a banger song #i like my vindictive kaeya he deserves it king #renshin impact #unhinged kaeya rambling time #cw suicidal ideation #i am jus rambling its nothing coherent #organic free range delusions served fresh and hot #if even 20% of this is intelligeible i am a goddamn GENIUS #unfortuantely i will never know since i do not intend to ever read this again

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ladycumhangabhainn · 4 years ago

Text

Dans un autre monde - Chapter 10

Previously

I was coming to the end of my story, how Jamie had gotten me and Faith to Craigh na Dun when the entrance door came bursting open and the sound of Faith, Brianna and Roger’s crying filled the Rectory.

“Mama!” shouted my youngest.

“Bree, darling, what’s the matter?”

“Roger, lad, why are ye all crying?”

At the grand old age of 9, Roger wasn’t known to cry for nothing, so something must have happened. Before the sweet lad could answer, the younger Mrs Graham came in, carrying her own daughter Fiona.

“Reverend, Miss Beauchamp, I think yer lad and lassies might have some ear infection... We were having a picnic, then they started complaining about their ears...”

“Mama, they scweamed!” sobbed Faith. “They were so loud, mama!”

I frowned. “What was so loud? Roger, what is she talking about?”

“The sound, auntie Claire, the sound was awful!”

Sound? Screams?

“Where did you say you went on your picnic?”

“Just outside the city, Miss Beauchamp. Near this hill, Craigh na Dun.”

It took time, some cajoling and a full platter of Mrs Graham’s biscuits, but I finally succeeded in calming Roger, Faith and Brianna. They exhausted themselves and were now all napping in the girls’ room. I made my way back to Reggie’s study, the manse quiet except for the soft music coming from the kitchen.

“Reggie...”

The reverend’s desk was scattered with papers, the letters and proclamation I had found, but also what looked like a family tree and a piece of paper filled with Reggie’s familiar scribbling.

“The bairns...”

“They exhausted themselves. They’re napping in the girls’ room.”

“Good... I’ve been looking through all the papers ye found and tried to make a timeline... We are now in August 1950 which means that during yer Jamie’s time it is now August 1748... 202 years difference, right?”

I nodded and noted his frowned expression.

“What seems to be the problem, Reggie?”

He sighed.

“It’s all those dates... Nothing is right! The letter from the French King is dated May of 1748... And this letter from the Duke of Cumberland is dated September of 1748... In September 1748, Cumberland was in the Holy Roman Empire for the signing of the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle! It is impossible that ye and the lassies... Unless...”

He started opening drawers full of paperwork, fished out a photograph before going to the mantle of the fireplace and taking a framed document.

“McMaster!” he exclaimed, handing me the framed and the picture.

The framed contained what looked like a very old document in Latin with several seals at the bottom.

“I don’t understand... What is this document and who or what is McMaster?”

A smile appeared on the Reverend’s face.

“This, me dear, is a photograph of the Declaration of Arbroath, the letters the Scottish barons sent to Pope John XXII in 1320 in response to the excommunication of Robert the Bruce. It is currently held at the Scottish Record Office in Edinburgh. And this” he pointed to the frame, “is an almost perfect copy of the Declaration that was made by a dear friend of mine, Ray McMaster.”

“A copy, you say?”

I couldn’t quite believe that this document was not the real deal. It looks exactly like the one in the picture, albeit without the signs of time.

“So your friend, McMaster... He’s a counterfeiter?”

Reggie let out a jolly laugh.

“In another life he might have been... No, he is an artist. He works with several museums throughout Britain. As ye must know from yer experiences with yer Uncle Lambert, artifacts are priceless and mostly fragile. It is the same for documents and that’s when Ray comes in. He made several copies of documents that are on display at the Culloden Museum, like letters from Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Scottish Lairds Declaration to the Old Pretender.”

“You want to ask your friend to make copies of King Louis and the Duke of Cumberland’s letters...”

“Yes! It might take him awhile; Ray is quite the perfectionist... But the proclamation is dated July of 1749, so it will give you and the girl time to get ready to make the trip back through the stones...”

He smiled, sheepishly.

“And it will give us time to get use to the idea of ye and yer lasses leaving...”

I sighed before hugging him. The girls and I would be reunited with Jamie and our family back in the 18th century, but it will mean saying goodbye to our 20th century family. The idea of leaving Reggie, Roger and Mrs Graham suddenly made me feel faint...

“Promise me something, lass... Promise me ye’ll try to find a way to get word to us, to let us ken ye are all safe...”

“I promise, Reggie... I think I might even have an idea how. You do business with a publishing house from Edinburgh, Fraser Press. It was founded back in the 18th century as F.A.M.M. Fraser, Printer and Book Seller...”

He frowned. “F.A.M.M. Fraser? Yer lad, Fergus?”

I nodded. “According to Mrs Graham, Fraser Press still belongs to my Fergus’ descendants... I’ll forever be thankful for what you did for me and my girls...”

“I feel as if ye and yer lasses are me own... Like ye are part of me family and... maybe ye are, in a way.”

He took the family tree from the table, it was a MacKenzie family tree.

“Tis wee Roger’s family tree, from his father’s side. See if ye can find any name ye recognize...”

I looked at the very top and let out a gasp.

“William John and Sarah MacKenzie... They’re... They adopted Dougal and Geillis’ son... Oh my God! That means that Roger is...”

“Dougal, ye mean the War Chieftain of clan MacKenzie?”

“Yes, he was Jamie’s uncle, his mother’s brother... He had an affair with Geillis Duncan, the fiscal’s wife, but... She was a traveler, from 1968... And Roger can hear the stones as well... But then he is...”

I tried to calculate in my head, but Reggie was quicker.

“It means that wee Roger is yer lasses’ 2nd cousin, 6 times removed. So ye are, indeed, family.”

“So I truly am Auntie Claire!”

We laughed and cried at the same time, Reggie holding me in his arms and whispering softly. I felt so safe in his embrace. It reminded me of how safe I felt in Uncle Lamb’s embrace.

“Now, me dear, we have to make preparations...”

****

And so we did. First we had to contact Mr McMaster who took quite his time responding to the message Reggie left with his assistant. Then with the help of Mrs Graham and her coven of druids, we salvaged pieces of the clothing Faith and I had wore on our arrival to 1948 and made three new dresses with lots of hidden pockets.

Slowly I started to get the girls to the idea that we would be leaving our current lives to be reunited with Jamie and Fergus. Faith had an easier time accepting it than Brianna. The 20th Century was all she had known and, although she had been quite young, my eldest daughter still had vivid memories of our lives in the past. She was able to get her sister excited at the prospect of finally meeting their father and their brother. My sweet little girl made sure to tell Brianna that both Jamie and Fergus would love her and that Fergus would teach her all the French comptines she couldn’t remember.

We celebrated first Faith’s 4th birthday, then my own 32nd and finally Brianna’s 2nd. After Hogmanay, the girls started counting down the day until we would leave. We had decided that the best moment to pass through the Stones would be on the Summer Solstice. And so we counted the days and waited for Mr McMaster to send the copy of the letters. And we waited, and waited, and waited. By late May I was beginning to think the letters would never get on time and that we would miss our window of opportunity. That is until June 15th, 5 days before our set departure date.

Reggie had taken Mrs Graham, Roger and the girls on an outing by the Loch and I was doing some last minute check, making sure all the medicine I had “borrowed” from the Infirmary would fit in all the hidden pockets of my traveling clothes, counting all the vintage coins we had found in several antique boutiques, when someone rang the doorbell.

“Yes?” I said to the well dressed man standing on the doorstep.

“I have a parcel for Mrs Claire Fraser...”

Claire Fraser... I hadn’t been called that in what seemed like a lifetime ago...

“Yes... I mean... I am Claire Fraser.”

He handed me a large envelop before wishing me a nice day. The envelope was indeed addressed to me, but there was no return address. I slowly made my way to Reggie’s study and opened it. Inside were two sealed documents as well as what looked like antique bank statement from the Royal Bank of Scotland and three delicate necklaces with gemstones. In between those documents was a simple white envelope with one word, Madonna.

Ma chère Madonna,

You must have now deduced that Ray McMaster and the Paris apothecary you met a long time ago are one and the same.

You see, I have been watching you for years, Madonna. I first met you when you were a small child, pushed in a pram by your mother in an Oxford park. Your light, even at such a young age, shined a bright blue. Our second meeting happened shortly after your parents’ untimely death, when you were travelling to Egypt with your Uncle Lambert.

You see, Madonna, the Beauchamp are quite dear to me and I was tasked – or more likely I tasked myself – into looking after them through Time. Just like you, Madonna, I am a traveler. I have traveled for so long that I somehow forgot where and when I am from. But I have never forgotten my line. You are of my line, Madonna. You come from a long line of what now people call time traveler.

Your destiny was always to travel through the Stones of Craigh na Dun and to meet your Highlander. And it is my destiny to reunite you with him.

I was able to visit Versailles recently. Do not worry, Madonna, King Louis didn’t recognized me. Although for him 4 years had passed since our last encounter, for me it had been a couple of decades. After leaving Versailles I made a quick detour by Aix-la-Chapelle and met with the Duke of Cumberland. I was able to convince him of the innocence and the loyalty of both you and your Highlander. Quite the man, that Butcher of Culloden.

I know Reginald believe me to be an artist – a counterfeiter maybe – but as you can see I am simply a traveler. Don’t tell him that the Declaration of Arbroath I gave him a couple of years ago is actually one of the original copy. I don’t think he would survive the shock.

Aurevoir for now, Madonna, for I am sure we will meet again.

Raymond

PS. I almost forgot, you will also find bank papers allowing you to access an account at the Royal Bank of Scotland in Edinburgh back in the 18th Century. I opened it in 1727 in your name, hopefully the fund will allow you and your Highlander to live comfortably. – R

PPS. The gemstones necklaces should allow you to pass through the Stones and through time more easily. Opal for yourself and your Faith and topaz for your Brianna. – R

I didn’t realize I was crying until a tear fell on the letter, staining the paper. I didn’t know what to think about all that, but knowing Master Raymond had spent years furtively watching over me...

“Thank you...” I said before putting the precious documents away.

****

Before I even realized it, it was June 20th. We all went to bed quite early the previous night and got up a couple of hours before dawn. I took my time getting the girls ready before joining Reggie and Roger down in the kitchen for a light breakfast – I knew from experience that it was better to travel through the Stones on an empty stomach.

“Do ye really have to go, Auntie Claire?” asked Roger, eyes still red from having cried himself to sleep.

“I’m afraid we do, sweet boy... But I promise I will find a way to get word to you as soon as we can...”

The car ride was spent in silence and as we arrived at Craigh na Dun we were meet by Mrs Graham and some of her fellow Druids. Unlike for Beltane and Samhain, the Midsommer Druids Dance was done only by 3 dancers led by Mrs Graham.

“They are ready for ye, me dear...”

That’s when it hit me... I turned toward Reggie and Roger, hugging them as if my life depended on it, pressing kisses to the cheeks and tasting their salty tears. The girls too hugged them and kissed them goodbye, Brianna having to be pried from her grip on Roger’s neck.

We finally made the trek up the hill and the buzzing sent more tears to my daughters’ eyes. Arriving in front of the central stone, I took Brianna in my arms, balancing her on my hip, and held Faith’s little hand.

“Alright, girls... Now I want you to think about your father and brother... Think about them and about finally seeing them... I want you to count to three with me, and at three we will all touch the stone, alright?”

They both nodded.

“One... Two... Three!”

TBC

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siichees · 5 years ago

Text

/something new, written specially for @une-reine-du-monde 💙❤️/

Ship: Tyvolio

It was always the same time, the same hour, even the same minute - sound of the piano, soft but somehow still easy to hear from the outside, filled every evening.

Tybalt jumped over the wall, noiselessly landed on the grass – he had something of a cat, indeed – and sneaked closer to the opened window just like he had done so many times before.

This was his way to escape from all the thoughts which were screaming in his head in his Uncle's voice; they were saying him that he's not worth to be a Capulet, he's not strong enough to defend family's name – so he had been fighting Montague's to prove them wrong, to make his family proud of him.

But this day the sound of the piano stopped in the middle of a beat and so did Tybalt's heart. He moved nervously, ready to run away, but a quiet voice froze him at the halfway point.

"I know you're there, Tibby."

But he stood still, unable to reveal himself – being here was weak, wasn't it? He jumped and turned around when something touched his shoulder. No, it wasn't something – it was someone, it was him.

Fair-haired boy was sticking out of the window, half-smiling because of Capulet's reaction, but still worried about him – because Tybalt would never let anyone get that close to him without noticing them.

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

"Is this about your Uncle again?" asked Benvolio. Normally, Tybalt would just go away, maybe yelling to stop asking him questions like this, but this time it was different. He looked like as if he wanted to leave yet there was something that made him stay.

However, he didn't answer, it wasn't that easy. He turned his head on the side, staring at the wall and avoiding Ben's glance as well as an answer.

"I know it is."

There was a long moment of quietness in the room, but filled with Tybalt's inner fight, making it dense, almost substantial.

"I don't understand what he wants from me," Tybs said quietly and then clenched his fists.

"I'm trying to «be Capulet», as he says," he mocked his Uncle's voice, "but he keeps telling me that everything I do is wrong."

Something strange could be heard in his voice – as if he was about to cry, but cry with anger and frustration. Still, he didn't let himself shed any tear, he would lose his battle in a second if he did.

Instead, Tybalt kicked the leg of the desk and growled quietly, but his rage was nothing but a coping mechanism of everything that was happening inside and around him and he was just sick of it. He sat on Ben's bed with heavy sight. Benvolio wanted to hug him - he had been wanting to since he remembered - but he knew that it wouldn't be the best idea – this Capulet didn't like being touched, especially like this. Or maybe he was scared, 'Volio thought. Scared of getting closer to anyone, that's why he had been fighting them his whole life. And by "them" he meant also Tybalt's family, that was a different kind of fight. But then, this boy sitting on his bed seemed defended and tired of keeping his guard up.

"Tibby..."

"I shouldn't be there." Tybs stood up, wanting to run away from this uncomfortable situation.

"Why?" Benvolio was given a suprised look.

"You're a Montague," Tybalt said slowly, it was obvious, wasn't it?

"This time surname doesn't matter." Ben sat on window sill, giving Capulet boy space but also cutting off his way of escape. "Your family is hurting you."

"No, they-..."

"Yes, they are."

"It's my-..."

"It's not your fault!" Tybalt had never seen Ben so angry and worried at the same time and, what was weirder, both of those feelings were about him. Someone cared about him, Montague cared about him - that shut Tibby's mouth, letting Benvolio to continue his outburst.

"It's always their fault!" Understanding came with his next words, how hadn't he noticed before, why did he need to see Tybalt in that state first? "They, they keep telling you, me that we should hate each other, defend our surnames, but from what, for what? They want power, position, they want to be admired, but is this what you really want? Tell me, do you want it? Do you need it?"

Even if he didn't hear any answer from Tybs, he knew. He saw his eyes.

"I don't care about my surname, about your surname, they don't define us. «Be Capulet», what is it even supposed to mean? Fight Montagues. You can't have any other interests, you have to fight us, me, just because you're born as Capulet, you see how stupid it is?"

'Volio shaked his head, he had much more to add, but he couldn't put it into words - or he wasn't brave enough to voice some of those things.

"You don't have to... Don't have to fight, but don't let them control you like that. Don't let them be the ones who choose what's good for you, because that's definitely not good for you - they're hurting you. You're hurt, you're scared..."

He couldn't go on, he got pushed away in a blink, when Capulet jumped in his direction and then through the window. Yet before disappearing in darkness, Tybalt stopped at no more than an arm's reach and stared at Ben for a while - his eyes shined oddly as he tried to say something, but remained quiet. And scared. And even though, he didn't take back his hand when feeling gentle touch of Benvolio's fingers on the top, not right away.

Then he fleed.

Ben knew he would be back.

#tybalt #tybalt capulet #benvolio montague #benvolio #r&j #romeo et juliette #romeo and juliet #shakespeare #tybalt x benvolio #tyvolio #benvolio x tybalt

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thegirlwhobrokeintothetardis · 5 years ago

Photo

Bernadette Lucielle Baudelaire

The Five Times Klaus Smiled at/about Bernadette and the One Time He Didn’t

One

Klaus walked through the compound, sort of aimlessly as his family had all gone their separate ways for the day, leaving him by his lonesome in the New Orleans home. Or at least he thought he was alone until he was walking passed one of the smaller libraries and heard mumbling behind the doors. Klaus stopped and listened more carefully, his hybrid hearing kicking in to hear the mumbling was carried by Bernadette’s voice.

He slowly opened the door to see her sitting next to the fireplace, books piled around her like anthills. Her hands moved in what he has learned is called a “tutting” spell-casting, her fingers moving into intricate angles as the witch continued her incantation.

“Ex spiritum in taculum, en terrum incendium, phasmatos salves a distum.” Klaus watched with a smile as the fire behind her increased and decreased as she went through the spell-casting. Here she was, practicing her magic instead of enjoying the great Louisiana day they were having. But he should have known, Bernadette always came off as a bookworm when it came to magic. “Klaus?”

Klaus snapped out of his reverie and looked over to Bernadette who was no longer doing magic but watching him with a smirk on her face. “Hello, little bird.”

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, I was just wandering around the compound when I came upon your little alcove. Did I disturb you?” He asked, his signature smirk coming on his face as he leaned against the doorway. Bernadette chuckled and moved the book that was on her lap to the side as she stood up.

“No, not really. I actually needed a break.” She said, stretching her arms over her head and accidentally raising her shirt over her stomach. The smooth skin caught Klaus’s eye for a second, but he looked away and pushed off from the doorway.

“Well, why don’t we go out? We can go get some beignets at the Cafe Du Monde.”

“Really?”

“Anything you want, love.”

Two

“Thanks, Rebekah.”

Klaus walked into the sitting room on the second floor only to see his dear sister hugging Bernadette on the couch, both girls clearly oblivious to his presence. Rebekah pulled away and smiled at the witch, “No need for that. Just save me a day this week and we can go out and cheer you up.”

“Sure.” Bernadette sent a small smile her way, one that caught Klaus’s attention because he knew that wasn’t her normal happy smile. When Rebekah got up from the couch, both girls finally noticed Klaus in the room.

“Nik, what a surprise.”

“It shouldn’t be because it is my home as well.”

Rebekah rolled her eyes and walked towards passed him with a pat on his arm and out of the room, leaving him alone with Bernadette.

“You know, you’ve been getting into the habit of lurking in the doorways of rooms. Coming off as a little creepy.” Bernadette said with that smile again, the one that was now getting on Klaus’s nerves. Klaus chuckled as he walked further into the room and sat in the chair adjacent to Bernadette.

“Are you going to tell me what’s got you so upset or am I going to have to turn to my dear sister for an answer?”

“Oh, it’s nothing really.” Bernadette moved to touch her face, and then Klaus noticed that she was checking to make sure there were no more tears on her face. She had been crying. “Just some jackass who stood me up at Rousseau's.”

“A date?”

Bernadette scoffs, “It’s stupid, I know. It was just some guy I met earlier this week. He was really cute and-and he asked me out for drinks. And then he doesn’t show up. I mean, who does that? Who asks someone out and then doesn’t show up?”

“An absolute arse that’s who,” Klaus said, rolling his eyes as a wave of anger bubbled in his chest. How a man could treat a woman like that, treat her like that, left him dumbfounded. “An arse who does not deserve your tears.”

“Yeah, I know.” Bernadette wiped her tears. She let out another chuckle and sniffled, trying to calm down but Klaus could tell that being stood up, being rejected like that, hit some sort of nerve in her.

“Oh, come on, little bird. Let me see that smile of yours. Seeing you like this is like a stake to the heart.”

She looked over to Klaus and a small smile came on her face, not her true smile that Klaus was almost desperate to see but it was getting there. “Oh, and what you would do about it?”

“Love,” Klaus leaned closer to Bernadette, keeping his smoldering eyes connected with hers, “I would give you the moon and the stars if I could. Just to see that smile.”

And then finally, Bernadette slowly let the corners of her mouth lift until she was smiling at him, and Klaus felt a weight he didn't even know he had, lift-off his heart.

Three

Klaus watched as Bernadette paced the library, a look of anger on her face as she moved back and forth with her arms crossed and muscles tense. He had just gotten back from a little skirmish with the New Orleans witches, and it left him covered in his own blood. He was fine now, thanks to whoever for vampire healing, but his shirt was still slick with his blood. Elijah and Rebekah were also in the room, trying to come up with a plan of attack.

“Bloody witches,” Rebekah mumbled, shaking her head. Bernadette stopped her pacing and coughed, getting Rebekah to look over to her friend and for in a rare moment, Rebekah looked sheepish, “Sorry, love.”

“No no, you’re right. They’re bloody witches, but they do have a right to be mad. They’ve been pushed into a corner with no magic and now they want to fight back.” Bernadette said as she started to pace again.

Elijah sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly tired of all this mayhem. He turns back to his brother and watched as Klaus’s eyes seemed to follow Bernadette’s worried steps. “Well, this is definitely something we are going to have to...talk to them about. But we’ll leave that for tomorrow.”

“Elijah-”

“Brother, give us a night to calm down and then we can handle this properly.”

Klaus huffed and watched as Elijah and Rebekah leave the library, leaving Bernadette alone with him. She has stopped her pacing, but now won’t face him at all. “Bernadette. Love, look at me.”

Bernadette waited a few more seconds before turning around to face Klaus. She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed, finally making direct eye contact with him. Klaus smiled, warmed up a little even with her looking at him so coldly. After a few more seconds of silence, Bernadette sighed and looked down at her feet, her shoulders sagging. Images of Klaus being attacked with spells and seeing all that blood really rocked Bernadette to her core, and she didn’t know how she should feel about that.

“I am surprised by your behavior, little bird. It is almost like your worried about me.” Klaus said, chuckling as Bernadette looked back up. What really surprised him was that there was an emotion behind her mahogany brown eyes that actually did look like worry.

“Why is that so shocking to you?” Bernadette asked. She took a few steps forward to Klaus, the smell of his blood all over his clothes so strong she could taste it. Once she was only a couple inches from him, she placed her hand on his cheek, her thumb rubbing against some flaked-dried blood. Klaus had to try his hardest not to fall into the warmth of her hand, the smoothness of her skin driving him crazy with so many feelings.

“It is odd to believe anyone would truly worry about someone like me.”

“Well, you don’t have to think like that anymore. Because I do worry about you, Klaus.”

Bernadette held onto his face a little longer before letting it fall to her side and walking out of the room. And leaving Klaus to wonder why his cheek burned from her touch but was also cold now that it was gone.

Four

The compound was quiet once again as Rebekah had taken Bernadette out to “cheer her up” after she had been stood up last week. Every time Klaus thought of how upset she was about the whole thing made him bubble with anger. Only the last few days, that anger has been mixing with a feeling he didn’t feel all too often; jealousy. His feelings for a Ms. Bernadette Baudelaire have been mixing and changing ever since he cornered her thinking she was a part of the New Orleans coven. But when he found out she and her magic were from Massachusetts and were not linked to the witches hellbent on killing him and his family, he asked of her help. After that, their relationship has morphed through many phases; strangers to acquaintances, to comrades and friends, to now this place of mixed emotions and touches that make him crave more.

Klaus was reading in his room when the compound doors closed loudly and the giggles and laughter of his dear sister and Bernadette echoed off the walls of the courtyard. He smirked as he got up and walked out to the landing to watch a tipsy Rebekah ushering a very drunk Bernadette through the space, Bernadette nearly hanging off Rebekah giggling away.

“What have you done now, Rebekah?” Klaus called out as the two reached the stairs, both turning their heads in drunken exaggeration. Bernadette’s eyes lit up and her hands stretched over her head like a child.

“KLAUS!! Klaus is here! Rebekah, Klaus is here!”

“Oh, Nik, why do you blame me for this?”

Klaus laughed and looked back at them, his smirk starting to turn into a smile as he watched Bernadette’s reaction to his presence. “Because going out was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. That does not make this my fault.” Rebekah said as she held onto her drunk friend, “Bernadette has the strength of a Mikaelson but not the alcohol tolerance of one.”

Both vampires turned their heads when Bernadette moved from Rebekah’s hold and shakily started up the stone steps, her balance making Klaus uneasy. Just as she started to tip too far one way, Klaus was by her side keeping her straight. With Bernadette’s lagging mind, she looked to where Klaus had been two seconds ago and to where he was now, utterly shocked and confused even though she had seen him use his vampire speed many times. “Wow! You-you have to show me how to d-do that one day, Klauuuuus.” Her stretching his name at the end of her sentence, Klaus had to hold back another smile.

“Okay, my little drunken bird. I think it is time for bed.”

“Noooooooo.” Bernadette pouted as Klaus picked her up into his arms. Even though she was pouting at going to sleep, Bernadette still curled into his arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Klaus gave one more look to his sister then started to walk back up the stairs. “BYE REBEKAH!!”

“Goodnight, Bernadette.”

Klaus got to the landing and walked passed the library to Bernadette’s room. It was like the other bedrooms in the house, decked with gold accents and heirloom-like decor but with a hint of a royal blue color that was unique to the room. Books upon books were stacked around the room in tiny piles on the floor and bedside table, making Klaus smile. He finally reached her bed and set her down gently, her body settling into the pillows and blankets. Klaus took off her heels and threw them somewhere in the room, before pulling a knitted blanket Bernadette had owned before moving it over her body. Just as he was about to leave, Bernadette sat up. Her eyes were blurry from her state but still connected to Klaus’s, making him smile warmly at her.

“Klaus, Klaus can I ask you a question?” She mumbled as she settled back into her bed, her eyes looking like they were going to shut at any moment.

“I don’t see why not.” It took Bernadette a second, but when she asked her question, it showed him that Bernadette might like to surprise him.

“Can I start calling you Nik?”

Klaus watched her as her eyes tried to stay open but it looked like the alcohol won and she shut her eyes, her body relaxing and her heart slowing down to tell Klaus that she had fallen asleep. He walked over to her bed, watching her as she seemed so vulnerable, something he wasn’t used to seeing from her. Klaus leaned over and kissed her forehead, holding it there for a second before pressing his own forehead to hers.

“Anything you want, love.”

Five

An explosion of wood splinters flew around in the air as Klaus was slammed into an outside table, landing on the cobblestone ground with a grunt. From the building he was in just before walks out some low-life werewolf strutting through the door like he had already won the fight. Klaus could feel blood starting to drip from his nose but just got up off the ground and stood up, not wiping away the blood now dripping off his chin and staining the ground.

“This can all end now, Mikaelson. Leave New Orleans, never return, and I wan’t have to tear you a part.” the werewolf mocked, cracking his knuckles in some attempt to scare Klaus.

“You’re right, this can all end now. But it will go with me pulling your heart from your chest.”

The werewolf growled and was just about to charge when his body went stiff and then he slumped down to the ground. Klaus looked at the wolf’s back and noticed that nothing was bleeding, nothing looked to be like he was hurt other than the scrapes and bruises from Klaus’s fists. Klaus looked through the door way to the building and out of the shadows walked Bernadette. Her wavy brown hair was moving as the wind hit her face, her eyes meeting Klaus’s quickly before she looked down to the werewolf on the ground. “Did I get him?”

Klaus raised an eyebrow at her, before listening in on the werewolf’s heartbeat which was slowly beating away. “What did you do?”

“Its a new spell I wanted to try out. Basically he’s trapped in his worst nightmares and can’t wake up until I wake him up.” Bernadette smiled as she tapped the werewolf with her foot before making it to Klaus.

“How are you here? You were with Camille at Rousseau’s last time we talked.”

“I-I can’t really explain it, I just had a feeling in my gut. You said you were going to look for whoever was killing people and framing you guys so I did a tracking spell and found you.”

Klaus looked at her, surprise yet again on his features. “Are you telling me you just showed up because you could sense something was wrong?”

Bernadette started to look unsure, her voice wavering a bit as she replied, “Yeah?”

A smile slowly creeped onto his face, stunned by just how powerful she was. His little bird. “You are wonderful, darling. But next time, please stay out of the fighting bit, alright?”

“I’m strong enough to hold my own.”

“I never said you couldn’t. I just rather not in danger’s grasp anytime soon.”

Bernadette flushed for a second, then smiled at Klaus. “Alright.”

“Wonderful. Now, lets get this werewolf back to the compound. I feel like him and I will be having a good chat after you wake him from his sweet dreams.”

One

Klaus awoke to water being thrown in his face, his eyes flying open as he gasped for breath. It took him a second before he realized he was chained up to some structure, his arms held out straight a part like he was Jesus on the cross. In front of him was Marcel, a boy who grew and became as close to him as a son before he betrayed him and his family to, ironically, his family. Davina was a little ways away with her angry little eyes watching Klaus closely, waiting to use her magic if anything were to happen.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Marcel said, his smile mocking Klaus as he paraded around what looked to be the new home to Marcel and his vampires.

“Marcelus, why am I not surprised? You know, there is such a thing as a text if you needed to talk to me so urgently.”

Marcel laughed, but then turned to Klaus more directly and narrowed his eyes. “True. But I think this is a more direct approach to get what I want.”

“And that is?”

“New Orleans.”

Klaus laughed and tried to pull on his chains but to no avail. “Really, Marcel. You just can’t accept defeat like you should. How many times do I have to beat you before you stay beat?”

“I think I have the advantage this time. With Rebekah gone and Elijah occupied with your baby momma. It looks as if everyone as left you. Again.” Just as Klaus was about to respond, Marcel cut him off. “Oh, and that little witch of yours. Bernadette, was it?”

Klaus stopped and watched Marcel, Bernadette’s name off his lips was like a stake to the heart. “Where is she?”

“Oh, one of my guys took good care of her. You don’t need to worry.”

Klaus hung his head as Marcel continued to talk, his fists tightening and anger grew in his chest. Flashes of Bernadette appeared before him; moments that he cherished with her smiling, pouting, worrying and just making his life worth living again.

Davina had looked away for a second as Marcel kept talking, that one look away gave Klaus the chance he needed. He lifted his head, his hybrid eyes glaring daggers at the two who had captured him and brought his arms down hard, snapping the chains keeping him still. With his vampire speed, he quickly snapped Marcel’s neck and before Davina could react with her magic, Klaus pushed Davina to the nearest wall, knocking her unconscious. Before rushing off, Klaus stood over Marcel, “I will deal with you later, Marcelus.” And rushed off.

Klaus zoomed around the building, looking in every room for any clues that Bernadette was there. Hus heart was beating out of his hybrid chest, from the running but more from his worry getting worse and worse. The basement door caught his eye and he ripped the door open, rushing down and looking around the dank, dark room. And then there on the floor was Bernadette.

She was lying in a crumpled heap, and Klaus could smell blood coming from somewhere on her. Klaus rushed to her side, gently picking up and pulling her onto his lap. Once he put his hand under her head, he could feel the blood dripping through his fingers, they must have surprised her, dammit. Klaus bit his wrist and put it to her lips, letting the blood go down her throat and do its healing work. Bernadette stuttered as the blood caught in her throat, but Klaus shushed her and petted her hair, trying to calm her down, “Drink up, love. It will all be okay soon.”

Bernadette eventually pulled away from Klaus’s arm, taking a breath and fluttering her eyes to look at Klaus. Once their eyes connected, Bernadette let out a breath of relief and smiled at Klaus. “Hey Nik.”

“Hey little bird, want to get out of here?”

“My legs aren’t really listening to me right now.” Bernadette said, her breathy voice chuckling in her weakened state.

“No need to worry about that. I’ve got you.” Klaus sent her a small smile and wrapped his arms around her and picked her up bridal style. Much like the time he got her to her room when she was drunk, Bernadette relaxed into Klaus’s touch, gripping onto his jacket. Klaus looked down at her, pulled her close to him and kissed her head. The reality that she was hurt and could have died from that head wound settled in, and he didn’t like that feeling. “I’ve always got you.”

#the originals #oc #klaus x oc #bernadette baudelaire #klaus mikaelson #klaus x bernadette #thegirlwhobrokeintothetardis writing #vampire diaries #elijah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #marcel #davina claire #writing #the originals oc #fc: stella maeve

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weepylucifer · 5 years ago

Text

Let’s Go in the Garden - Ch. 1

Team Folly takes a call and unearths a bit of past that everyone believed long-buried.

“Aed,” said the fae. “Please, you may call me Aed.”

It was, that much I knew from what had stuck during my leafing through the Folly’s mundane library, one of the lesser known faerie aliases, like Aisling or Myself or Nobody, something for a fae to use in a pinch, and certainly not likely to be this guy’s actual name. But it had been what he’d responded to my inquiry after his legal name - fine, A legal name for our files.

Aed looked like David Bowie and Kurt Cobain had had a lovechild, whom they then abandoned to be raised by a family of raccoons.

He was tall, pale, skinny and he gangled, and everything about him looked… dejected, is what I’m trying to bring across here. Fae have often been observed to dress according to their chosen vocation, or so one of the ancient wizards said who used to record his observations on the demi-monde within the Folly’s records. I’ve certainly also seen this here and there, like Molly’s Edwardian servant dress or Foxglove’s artist getup. This guy seemed like he was trying to play up a role of… hermit, or dumpster-diver.

Aed’s story was this: once upon a time, in some vague past, his… Nightingale says ‘tribe’, I would opt for ‘community’… of fae had had some neighbourly dispute with another one. Before they knew it, dispute became war, there had been a vicious attack, and Aed’s people had been scattered. Far as he knew, he might be the last one standing. Now, unwilling to pass back into the realm in which his type of fae actually dwelt for fear of what might await him there, Aed subsisted in a... it cannot be said any more politely, in a dank cave out on Dartmoor, far from any kind of civilisation save for a few scattered villages around and about. They barely counted, for my part; most of them could barely boast one decent pub.

Sometimes, occasionally, people from these adjoining towns would stumble upon Aed’s dwelling. Purely by accident, you understand, it wasn’t like he was luring anyone out here, or at least so he claimed. Most people, he could simply cause to forget. They would head home and not bother him out here again. But sometimes, people came to him with a wish to make. A bargain to offer. Troubled people, he said. People who, like him, longed for escape. A quiet place, to hide from something, just to get away from it all, and bliss. Oblivion. Respite.

I looked into that gaunt face framed by sad, stringy hair, those long, bony fingers fiddling nervously with the strings of his moss-green hoodie, and understood that Aed actually had thought he was helping. And the disappearances had been too few and far between as to ever rouse the suspicion of the Folly, or much of anyone for that matter. But then, about a week ago, a girl named Lucinda Blaine had gone missing and, what with her being the great-granddaughter of a bloke remotely connected to Hugh Oswald’s gossip mill, we’d gotten a call on the Folly’s ancient landline. Even ancient retired practitioners keep their eyes open, apparently, and people disappearing plus a relatively recently circulated local fairy myth about the area had warranted a call to us. So we’d headed out here because, well, obligation, missing children, all that jazz. This time, Nightingale had tagged along, possibly because he too felt an obligation towards one of his centenarian cohorts and, by extension, their families. Apparently, just after the war, he’d been asked to stand godfather to the spawn of about anyone who’d made it back to England and gotten it in their heads to start procreating. There had been guys trying to name their sons after him. These days, all the hype seemed to have died down: we didn’t often get veterans calling the Folly, and if Nightingale was otherwise in contact with any of them, I’d never noticed, and I got the feeling he preferred this.

“But she approached me with a wish,” Aed was now saying. I was taking his statement right there in the cave, seeing as he couldn’t be persuaded to leave it, and abandon his sleeping charges. “She told me her situation had become untenable. That she longed to escape the torments of her life.”

“Well, she’s eight,” I replied, maybe a bit more sharply than was strictly appropriate. “Eight-year-olds try to run away from home sometimes. Doesn’t mean adults should enable that. Yeah, her parents getting a divorce is causing her a lot of grief right now, but she’ll get better eventually. It for sure doesn’t warrant putting her into a magical sleep forever.”

I looked around the cave. Lucinda was nowhere near the only person asleep here, although we had been quick to find her. The other people resting here in their magical stasis were adults, thank god for small mercies. There were green vines everywhere, making up beds for the sleepers, growing under and above and beyond them; the ones that had evidently been here the longest were all but covered in vegetation. But they were all breathing, and none of them looked worse for wear.

“People have to go and confront their problems,” I said. “What do you think sleeping it off is going to solve? Will they really be happier when they wake up and it’s a hundred years later?”

Aed looked at me, saddened and confused. Here was a guy who had been out here on his own for too long, I thought. He had lived here in his own little world, where making people disappear was justified and good, and now he suddenly had wizards in his home demanding he stop. “Their problem would be gone,” he said softly.

“They’d have other, bigger problems instead.” I shook my head. Sometime soon, we’d have to wake up all these people and get them out of here, preferably into medical care; they would be in shock and needing to be looked at. I had no idea how the folks over in the town would cope with having everyone who disappeared here within the last couple years back at once. Mostly, though, right this moment, I was worried about getting Aed to part with his charges. He didn’t look like he had a lot of fight in him, but with the demi-monde you never know.

It was then that Nightingale tapped me on the shoulder. “Perhaps I should like to have a word with Aed here, outside,” he said. “In the meantime, you’d better start reviving the victims. Getting these plants off of them should do the trick, but try not to have them touch your skin. And see if you can call anybody at the local force, these people are going to be needing medical attention.” Then he gently, but firmly put a hand on Aed’s shoulder and steered him towards the mouth of the cave.

“Now,” I heard him say, “let me tell you, one survivor to another…”

I tried not to strain my ears to listen to what they were discussing. I had work to do, anyway. Through some minor miracle, I had a signal up here, so I called down at the station in one of those arse-end-of-the-world towns and got told that while it would be nigh-impossible to get an ambulance out here, there would at the very least be a team of first responders along soonish. I sighed to myself, already impatient to return to London and civilisation, but there was a job to do first. I put on gloves and started to unravel all the vines.

Nightingale proved to have been right, people began waking up as soon as I got the flora off them. They were fairly out of it, most of them confused, somewhat frightened, especially the eight-year-old. Apparently most of them had not come out here for a bargain with the faerie expecting to be laid to sleep in a cave. I questioned them - gently, you see. There was a group of twenty-somethings here who’d wanted to celebrate some pagan ritual (completely made up). There were some other folks who’d simply angled for a meditative moment, to honor a little local custom, to leave a wish for the faerie, expecting... well, nothing much. After all, the Good Gentlemen of the Hills weren’t real, right - until they were. Some of these people had indeed been here for years. I had my hands full, and the situation was coming precariously close to slipping from me when the first-response-team showed up, dispensing shock blankets and gently corralling everyone to where they’d parked the ambulance.

Just about then, Nightingale came back. He wasn’t terribly wordy, said he had been able to persuade Aed to return home at last, to finally check on his people. I wanted to ask what he said to him but didn’t, a slight bit afraid that he’d had to make threats of some sort or worse, give Aed the Condensed Ettersberg. I imagine suspecting you’re the last one of your people and knowing it makes a bit of a difference, and according to Nightingale, last anyone from the Folly had checked, some of Aed’s tribe had still been extant, so who knows. Maybe there was hope for that guy yet.

“You missed another one back here,” Nightingale said at last, striding deeper into the cave.

There was what remained of Aed’s camp here, a sleeping bag and futon, a portable stovetop, a few bags with odds and ends. Depressing. There was, indeed, also another buried sleeper.

The vines were thickest towards the back of the cave, a verdant green affair that didn’t look quite… real, almost stylized, like vines in a video game rather than real life plants. They were almost as thick as a man’s forearm, and the shape of the last person trapped here was suggested rather than seen. I had trouble pulling them off without potentially injuring the sleeper, so Nightingale said, “Allow me,” and disintegrated them using some at-least-fifth-order spell. I had half an eye on the other sleepers who were all slowly coming to, so I left him to it until he called my name.

“Peter,” he said, and there was a sudden tension to his voice that worried me, “I’m afraid we have another problem.”

He had unearthed the whole man - I have to assume - by now, and was looking at him with a hard-to-read expression. There was almost some disdain in it, certainly a load of dismay.

“Sir?” I asked.

“This is another sort of glamour here, some seducere variant,” he explained, “or another fae. It cannot possibly be what it looks like.”

This surprised me, seeing as I wasn’t feeling anything at all weird - no vestigia, nothing. By the looks of it, this was another ordinary bloke sleeping here, another result of a dodgy deal with the fae. But I decided to defer to Nightingale’s expertise. “How so?” I asked.

“For the sake of convenience,” Nightingale said, “Could you please describe to me what you are seeing here?” He gestured at the sleeping man and there was some undercurrent of something in his voice, something badly repressed there, and my concern and confusion mounted. Still, I obliged.

“I’m seeing a white male, early or mid-fourties by the looks of him,” I started my description. “Dark hair, sort of unkempt, sort of a gaunt look to him. He has a mole or birthmark on his neck, here.” I tapped my own thoat in the corresponding place. “He is wearing what appears to be hiking gear, pretty old, that is to say old-fashioned but well-maintained. He must’ve been laid up here for quite some time. Boots, like army boots, like the pair you have. Grey canvas jacket, or maybe it’s khaki.” Hard to tell in this light.

If anything, my description seemed to surprise Nightingale even more. “Yes, that is… that seems to correspond with what I’m seeing.” He shook his head. “I was expecting for you to be seeing… something else.”

“Like what?” I don’t get impatient with my governor often, but I have to admit I was starting to hate how tongue-tied he was being.

“Probably a woman,” he said cryptically. “Anyway, this cannot be what it appears to be, seeing as I know this person, and he’s been dead for quite awhile.”

Ah. Well, shit. And here I’d been so glad already that this situation had gone over without any fighting. I wanted to ask Nightingale who it was, but he beat me to it before I could so much as open my mouth.

“Right,” he said. “Let’s get it over with. Stand back, I’ll try to wake him.”

Before I could think to argue, or even make up my mind about what alternative action to argue for, Nightingale gripped his staff tightly, got down on one knee and used his free hand to shake the sleeper by the shoulder.

The man was slower to rouse than any of the others we’d found; he murmured something, a hand coming up to swat in the vague direction of Nightingale’s, but after a minute, his heavy eyelids fluttered open.

Voice thick with sleep, the stranger slurred, “Thomas?”

Nightingale straightened, took two steps back and huffed out through his nose. “Don’t even attempt it.”

The stranger blinked, evidently confused, and then, with surprising speed, he lunged to his feet. I admit I flinched.

The stranger’s legs were trembling, he was shaky with the effort of keeping himself upright after laying prone here for god knows how long. Hair fell into his eyes as he leveled a wild-eyed gaze at my governor.

“Get away!” he shouted, his voice hoarse. “You’re that fae again. You’re a shape-changer, aren’t you? How dare you appear to me like this?”

Nightingale raised an eyebrow. “I should be asking you these questions.”

“You’re not Thomas. Thomas fell at Ettersberg.”

“What?” Nightingale crossed his arms; it was almost funny how indignant he sounded. “No, it’s you who died as a result of Ettersberg.”

Jesus Christ, I thought, Ettersberg again. It’s always fucking Ettersberg, isn’t it? Unbelievable, really, how much my life was being affected by a place I’d never been to and had no desire to visit.

“Nonsense,” the stranger ground out harshly. “We… we had no word, there was, there was no way anyone on the ground got out.”

Nightingale was drumming his fingers against the tip of his cane, as much proof of his pique as I’d ever seen him exhibit. “And yet here I am.”

“That’s… no. You’re not Thomas.”

“It is you who isn’t what you profess to be.” I was seeing just how tired Nightingale was growing of this back and forth. Whoever, whatever this was pretending to be one of his old war buddies, it had him careening towards the end of his tether.

“I am exactly what I profess to be,” the stranger claimed. He took a deep breath. “In 1930, in November, I was visiting you while you were staying at the consulate in Lahore. We sat in the gardens, under the stars, and you said to me that you wouldn’t mind if–”

Nightingale cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. “You could easily pluck that from my memories.”

I had been watching the exchange, I must admit, with my mouth slightly agape. Now I saw an opportune moment to cut in. “Sir,” I said. “He claims to be someone from the old Folly, right?”

“That’s right,” Nightingale replied at the same time as the stranger asked, “Who’s that?” like he was just now noticing me for the first time.

“My apprentice,” Nightingale introduced me. “Whatever you have to say to me can be said in front of him.”

I found that a little bit of an odd thing to say in the moment, but I was also flattered at the show of trust.

“An apprentice?” The stranger snorted. “Yeah, bullshit. My Thomas doesn’t have an apprentice, and no desire to take one either.”

I ignored him for the time being. “Sir, as for proving his identity, one way or the other,” I suggested, “could you recognize his signare? Is it possible to fake that?”

Nightingale looked at me in the way he does when I hit on something he hasn’t considered before. “Not that I know of.” He beckoned towards the stranger and demanded, in one of his rare militaristic tones, “Right. Werelight, please.”

“You too,” the stranger said through clenched teeth.

“While we’re at it,” Nightingale said with a nod and they both held their palms out, and conjured a werelight each.

Now, I’d like to say I’m familiar enough with Nightingale’s signare from all this time spent around him watching him work his magic. The stranger’s was entirely new: like a gust of fresh air through a recently opened window (I thought I could even feel a hint of the curtains blowing in the sudden breeze, white and starched), a hand skimming over cool tiles, the sound of something bubbling in a beaker, and a hint of pine that weirdly seemed to correspond with a component of Nightingale’s own signare, like two pieces of something coming together.

The stranger gaped. “It’s really you. You’re really here, you… you’ve found me.”

I glanced from him to Nightingale, who seemed to have frozen solid. His staff clattered loudly as it hit the ground. And I swear, I have never ever seen this purely indescribable look on my governor’s face.

“David.”

“Hi, Thomas.”

I kind of stared. David is a common name, but somehow I knew exactly which one this was. I knew approximately two things about David Mellenby with a certainty: he’d been very into science, and he was definitely dead. No wonder Nightingale was suspicious. Apart from that… not much. Nightingale had brought him up maybe twice.

“This isn’t possible.” I barely recognized this as Nightingale’s voice, but it was coming out of his mouth, so what else could it be? “You’re… dead, they told me, Hugh Oswald found your body. It about gave his nerves the rest.”

The stranger - David, apparently - twisted his mouth into a discomfited frown. “Hugh Oswald found a body. I’m so sorry.”

“But how…” Nightingale shook his head. He looked as if a train had hit him, and it was a disquieting sight. I was used to Nightingale in control, see, I was used to him being the guy who, well, might not always know right away what to do, but will reliably find out. “What are you doing here?”

“I left… I ran. I had to get away. It got... too much, being in the Folly, with that damnable library there. I don’t know, I barely knew what I was doing. I just wanted to disappear. I had no idea you’d made it out of Ettersberg, Thomas, I would never let you believe I was dead. You must know that. I ran into this fae out here and… I’m not sure what happened then, but I must have talked myself into a right mess.” Mellenby tried for a smile. “But it can’t have been too long, can it? You look good. Did you just get home? You seem to have recovered rather splendidly. Are you… are we alright?”

Nightingale seemed to unfreeze at that. He stepped forward, and then, with unfailing precision, he punched Mellenby in the nose.

Mellenby, still unsteady on his feet, reeled back, stumbled and landed flat on his arse clutching his bloody nose. “Thomas! What on earth–”

“You…” Nightingale was breathing heavily. “You were here the whole time, alive, you ran away, is what you’re telling me? How could you do this to Oswald? How could you do this to me!”

I was seriously starting to worry for everyone’s continued safety here. Nightingale stood rooted to the spot, trembling fists white-knuckled at his sides and let’s be frank, he’s not a guy who hauls off and punches people. I’d thought I’d known what anger looked like on him but boy, did I have no idea. I’d seen him more controlled while actively in a fight with Chorley.

Mellenby stared up at him, his eyes wide. “My songbird…”

“No. You don’t get to… no. I’ve been alone with it all for - eighty years have passed, David!”

There was a dreadful little silence in which Mellenby just blinked. “I… are you saying I slept for eighteen years?”

“Eighty,” I piped up. The both of them turned towards me as if only just remembering I was there.

“Peter.” Nightingale’s voice was leaden. “Hand me my staff, will you? I seem to have dropped it.”

“Sir, may I suggest not doing anything you might regret,” I posited, because ‘my songbird’ was still kind of echoing, if not in the cave then certainly in my mind. I was closest to where his staff had rolled off to, so I did pick it up, but made no move to hand it over.

“Allow me to judge this for myself,” Nightingale said through clenched teeth. He beckoned in my direction without looking at me, his eyes still boring holes into David. “And give me my staff.”

I didn’t know if he wanted to use it for its intended purpose or just as a blunt object, but I couldn’t in good conscience enable either. “Sir, I don’t think–”

“I shan’t repeat myself.”

“Thomas, please, you know I love your little pranks, but this is not the time–” Mellenby started to say, but Nightingale waved his hand in the sharp downward motion that accompanied his more theatrical spells, and Mellenby’s mouth clicked shut.

He stared up at Nightingale in complete disbelief, eyes wide and shining with the onset of tears, unable to get his mouth open. I had seen this once before, and yet again I felt the vast and smooth click-clicking of Nightingale’s magic at work. But it felt different than the usual, disordered, the myriad little gears grinding.

“Sir,” I said, more sharply than I perhaps had intended. Nightingale finally turned to look at me, and slowly, gradually, he slipped back into the 21st century, where we have rules against using our magic on people in anger.

Mellenby crumpled to the floor when he was released from the spell, his head lowered, eyes leaking, cheeks glowing from the strain of trying to open his mouth earlier, some blood still smeared below his nose. Nightingale looked from me to him to me again.

“My apologies,” he said stiffly, to the room in general, and strode for the exit.

#i never started in media res before #david mellenby lives AU #idk if this is... wise to post like idk if this is good and this chapter is mostly exposition and scene-setting but #eh you know what i added some of the drama originally intended for chapter 2 bc hey it felt prudent right this second #posts by me

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cinnalock · 5 years ago

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Mond Twins Profile (TWST)

((Okay, my original plan was that I was just going to stew on their backstory until we learned more about Twisted Wonderland’s world and lore, but after looking through old Disney movies, I was struck with inspiration and decided to create their backstories from that inspiration.

Last Edited: 5-15-2020, added TWST-profile information))

BASIC INFO

FULL NAME(S): Thomas Mond / Katherine Mond

GENDER: male / female

AGE: 18

BIRTHDAY: November 21

STARSIGN: Scorpio

HEIGHT: 188cm / 173cm

EYE COLOR: green

HAIR COLOR: burnt orange

HOMELAND: Kingdom of Prophecy (original), Land of Pyroxene (lie/fabricated backstory)

DORM: Ignihyde / Chateau Beastiale

SCHOOL YEAR: 3rd

CLASS: 3-C (13) / 3-B (17)

OCCUPATION: student, freelance entrepreneurs

CLUB: board game / gardening research

BEST SUBJECT: ancient incantations / obstacle run

DOMINANT HAND: right

FAVORITE FOOD: chestnuts (chicken curry=favorite dish)

LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: caviar / strong cheeses

DISLIKES: dancing / big dogs

HOBBY: flute playing / shopping

TALENTS: herbology / playing the electone

APPEARANCE

picture by AmberAnimeCommission

Thomas is a young lad of standard build and a lean, strong body. He has long, dark orange hair normally kept in a loose braid. He has narrow, but kind eyes that are a deep green color. He wears glasses due to farsightedness.

Katherine is a young lady of standard build with an hourglass shape. She has long, dark orange hair normally kept in a loose braid. She has gentle, but mature eyes in a shade of vibrant green. She wears glasses due to nearsightedness.

The Tale of Red Fur

((This is the twins’ backstory in “story” form. It’s inspired by the mystique, “hinting at original Disney lore” way Twisted Wonderland references old Disney characters and aspects.))

Several hundred years ago, a glorious kingdom stood strong under its reigning king. On a cold autumn morning, a harsh winter threatened to swarm through the land in due time, the king's young grandson watched in horror as a hawk descended upon an innocent squirrel. The young boy tried so hard in vain to strike the bird down with his bow and arrow, and watched as the hunter disappeared into the forest with his prey. Downcast at being unable to save the small creature's life, the prince withdrew his attack, and began heading back to the castle until the sounded of distressed chirping rang through his ears. Tracking the source of the noise, he came upon a nest of two squirrel kits, their fur matching the shade of the victim he'd seen earlier. For awhile he waited in hiding for the mother's return, and when she did not and the cries grew louder, he resigned that the poor kits were truly orphaned.

The prince retrieved the kits from their nest, their concerned, confused cries deafening his ears before they fell silent with exhaustion, soothed to sleep by the warmth of his palms. He returned to the castle with his furry boon, asking for the king's guidance in how to care for the creatures. Seeing the kits' warm shade of red fur, a fond memory befell the king. A memory of his youth, one full of exhilaration...and the slightest pang of guilt. The king smiled at his grandson, assuring the young boy they would do everything to help the kits survive the winter.

The kits were doted upon by the king and prince, and grew strong with their love and care. As the winter grew colder, the king fell with an illness from the frigid weather. His grandson and the growing kits warmed his heart during this difficult time, but he was unable to overcome the ailment. The king's body vanished when his last breath came to pass.

The kingdom mourned, but his son's coronation soon followed. The grandson continued to mourn, and when the snow began to melt and the time for the kits to return to the wild came, the prince was unable to let them leave as he feared the same fate that had befallen their mother would await them. His parents, though proud of their son's empathy, bade him to not spoil the creatures, wishing for them to return to nature. With his son unwilling to yield, the new king wished a favor from an old acquaintance from his father, a grand, elderly wizard. In the dark of night, the wizard and grown kits disappeared from the kingdom. The prince was distraught, but came to accept that the squirrels had returned to the wild.

The wizard wasn't seen again for hundreds of years, and the memory of the young squirrels he helped raise faded from the prince with time. As an adult, he told his own children the legends that had befallen the land, from the brilliant victories of his grandfather to the superstition that if a child misbehaved and wandered too far into the land's forests, they would be lured to the cottage of a cruel, purple-haired witch by a pair of redheaded twins she was rumored to have kidnapped and tutored in the ways of dark magic. The superstition was a frightening story as he told it, knowing of all the disappearances that had befallen several children in the years prior, though he wasn't sure if he believed the tale himself. As time passed, fewer and fewer children vanished from the kingdom, and the superstition became just another frightening tale to trick children into behaving. Many people claimed to have still sighted the purple witch, however the twins were heavily believed to have resulted from a storyteller's enthusiasm.

The Twins

((This is is the twins’ story verbatim. Realizing the fanciful “tale” above came from wanting to relate to Twisted Wonderland’s way of telling the universe’s history, I decided being straightforward about their backstory would clear up a lot of confusion about them going forward.))

Thomas and Katherine were born as squirrels in medieval England. When their mother was killed by a hawk (their father suffering a similar fate before), they were saved as kits by an elderly King Arthur and his grandson nurturing them through the winter. Arthur fell to illness from the harsh weather in his old age and passed away. When his son took the crown, the grandson did not want to release the twins back into the wild when spring came, heartbroken at the thought of them dying like their mother or his grandfather. Worried about his son's attachment to the squirrels, the new king asked Merlin to release them into safety and watch over them to make sure they could adapt to living in nature again. Merlin agreed, but the twins were easily attached to humans by this point and their comfort with him made it difficult for him to usher them back into the woods.

The twins were found by Madam Mim, who'd seen Merlin "raising" them. In an act against her old rival, she captured the twins and turned them into humans, teaching them black magic and using them to lure other victims to her cottage when they were old enough. By the time they were preteens, Merlin discovered what had happened and tried to dual Mim for their freedom. Knowing the witch's tricks, Merlin tried to transport the twins to a different period in time to hide them from Mim. The witch knew what he was attempting as he was doing it and cast a similar spell to try and hide them from Merlin. Both spells hit the twins at the same time and they were sent to where neither spell-casters could figure out.

The twins surfaced at the threshold of Night Raven College in the dead of night. Scared and with no guardian or guidance, they used their magic to revert back to being squirrels, staying at the school to figure out where they were and how to adapt. In their small, unassuming forms, they were able to hide out in lectures and listen in on conversations and, whenever night came again, they'd turn back into humans to test the skills they had seen. Their presence was not entirely unnoticed, but many assumed the noises made and messes left were the result of ghosts or rowdier students. During this time, they also learned of Diamond Crown Academy. When they came of age, they were selected by their respective schools’ magics to attend, though they lied about their origins when asked. Crowley and Citrouille were highly aware of this rouse, but also very much aware of the twins' strange circumstances of suddenly appearing on the college's campus out of nowhere. They decided letting the twins have a place of residence and get an education was the best course of action for them, especially since they were recruited by the schools and did have an aptitude for magic.

HOBBIES

Being part of the Ignihyde dorm at Night Raven College, Thomas is proficient with computer work. His special skill involves coding, able to read and make code for something as recreational as a video game or as serious as hacking into a security system. Despite the technical emphasis of his dorm, he still enjoys more active hobbies such as playing sports or hunting. His favorite hobby to relax with is playing the flute.

In semi-part of her magic training at Diamond Crown Academy, Katherine enjoys making perfumes and other beauty (mostly bath) products in her dorm at Chateau Beastiale, some of which include magic additives. Like her brother, she enjoys more active hobbies as well, particularly finding enjoyment in ballet and gymnastics. While she also enjoys baking, her favorite way to unwind is to simply shop and get elaborate manicures and spa treatments.

PERSONALITIES

While the twins don't remember their time as infant kits, the twins have very strong memories of the time spent with King Arthur and his grandson (they believe this was due to some sort of residual magic presence Arthur had gained over the years influencing them). They remember his kindness and unyielding sense of responsibility towards his family and his kingdom. When Mim turned them into humans, she treated the now-children to a very manic upbringing. While she taught them how to read, write, and do magic, she was also very scornful and quick with harsh punishments over small transgressions. Due to her unpredictable behavior, the twins were greatly afraid of her and followed her every order, no matter how ridiculous. The black magic she taught them also leeched into their minds, making them numb to their actions of luring other children to her cottage. They grew to trust only each other, frightful of Mim and unsure of how to escape her clutches. When the duel between her and Merlin resulted in them being banished to Night Raven College, their came a sense of relief for their freedom despite being worried about how they'd adapt to their new home.

The twins are frequently at odds with their own instincts. They remember their time with King Arthur fondly and want to honor his kindness, but Mim's treatment made them paranoid and resentful. They're generally soft-spoken, but there's a self-protecting air about them that makes them intimidating at first glance. However, they can be very friendly and approachable when they do bother to speak up. They're not entirely used to socializing, or at least not doing so frequently due to the long time Mim spent isolating them and them then having to hide as squirrels as they learned the modern world, but most people chalk this up to shyness. Their time with Mim lead them to learn how to be incredibly manipulative whenever they wished in order to obtain what they wanted. While they try not to behave this way to mislead kind people, they're also very self-preserving and, sometimes, feeling they "deserve" what they're aiming to get after the suffering they've endured. They are very kind and caring as they try to emulate Arthur's treatment of them, but they're also very cunning and distrustful as Mim taught them to be.

They've only really trusted each other throughout most of their lives. As such, they're going prioritize each other over all else. They grew to be able to cope with being separated physically, as they had to become accustom to it once they enrolled in different schools, but the thought of truly losing each other fills them with a sense of dread and anxiety, sometimes just the idea of it driving them to nightmares. This is one of the reasons why they're not focused on finding future spouses, as they're not ready to spend their lives with "strangers" (as squirrels mate for life). However, they are perfectly okay with flirting, dating, or light-hearted, non-committal romance.

ROMANCE PREFERENCES

The twins don't take dating very seriously. They're very open to flirting and having spirited liaisons with their peers, but when the subject of being in a committed relationship comes up, the two are quick to turn tail and run. It's not that they don't want a life partner some day, but it's only been in the past few years that they've had some sort of semblance of peace and they're not ready to fully trust others with their hearts yet.

Thomas' taste in romantic partners is very open and varied, but he prefers partners that he feel he can protect. Though not remembering his mother, he vaguely remembers hearing about her demise. It's because of this that he's terrified of not being able to be strong enough to protect his love ones, and he's insecure at the thought of not being the "strong" one in the relationship, either physically or mentally. With time, he would be able to adapt to having someone stronger and/or more mature than he is, who could help him cope with the anxiety he has about being unable to protect his family and friends. However, it would be a very long, tiring road to convincing him, and ultimately he'd need a partner with a great deal of patience. Thomas is bisexual.

Katherine has similar fears about being unable to protect her loved ones, but at her core she is afraid of being hurt (or even killed) and leaving others behind. She desires someone who can take care of her and protect her in order to put her fears to rest. However, she's a very caring person to the point where she might even prefer someone that she can protect herself, though it's very hard for her to admit this to herself. Like Thomas, she needs someone with a lot of patience as she comes to terms with how a romantic relationship is built on trust and understanding of one another's emotional needs and that it's not about whether who's "in charge" of what. Katherine is heterosexual, but bi-curious.

#mond twins

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onceuponadetectivedemigod · 6 years ago

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House Of The Rising Sun

Part One

Pairing: Female Reader x Ben Hardy

Warnings: language, references to sex but no actual smut, alcohol, guns

Summary: New Orleans, 1923. There is a House, who covers as a Mythology Museum however it’s is actually housing the most dangerous mob around. Ben, an English businessman, comes seeking a new life in The United States. Gwylim, sneaks in alcohol into the states, specifically to The House’s Speakeasy, during prohibition. While Roger, Brian, and Lucy, from a sister mob in the UK come to help out Rami, Joe, and The House. Meanwhile Y/N runs away from home to become a flapper and when all their paths cross Ben, and Y/N get mixed up in the wrongs stuff at the wrong time.

Chapter Summary: Ben gets to New Orleans and meets a beautiful young flapper.

Word Count: 2,812

AN: So I was listening to House of The Rising Sun by The Animals AND I HAD A VISION SO HERE YOU GO! Lmk if you like it, if you hate it, ect. Also I HAVE A WHOLE DAMN PLAYLIST FOR BEN HARDY to which you can find here: Ben’s Playlist New songs are added regularly! Also I am not trying to “cross-tag” in this. I am typically guilty of it, but with this particular story, I would like people other than ben stans to read it because I quite proud of it and it will have more of everyone in it later.

Today I woke up to the soft playing of jazz from across the street. I was living with with these two boys I met when I got here. Joe and Rami. They told me I could stay as long as I wished. They won’t tell me what their job is but I know they work together. They constantly invite me to parties and cool speakeasies, maybe they smuggle alcohol. I’m not sure, but they always avoid talking about it. I got out of bed and looked out the window, towards the beautiful music. I opened the window and let in the perfectly cool breeze. I let the music fill the house as I walked downstairs. “Hey boys!” “Morning, Y/N/N! You doing good today?” Joe asked. “Well I woke up to a nice breeze and some smooth, seductive jazz.” “Seductive?” Rami asked, as he walked in. “Joe is not seductive.” His response made me giggle. “Not Joe, THE JAZZ!” I laughed. Joe was born and raised in California and moved down here a few years ago. Rami’s parents were Egyptian and he was a first generation American. His parents moved down here seeking a new life. “Makes sense. What you up to today?” Rami said. “Oh I don’t know.” I responded. “Maybe catch a parade. I love that I came just in time for Mardi Gras!” “Well if you want, the speakeasy is open tonight. The code is ‘God save the Queen.’” Joe told me. “I will probably make an appearance. How do you get all the codes?” I asked him. “You gotta know the right people, which I do, and you do. So don’t worry about it. See you there tonight.” He responded. “See you boys tonight!” I giggled as you kissed them both on the cheek and ran back upstairs to my room. I am thankful you found these two. I met them on the trolley. They saw my small suitcase and asked if I needed a place to stay. They had an extra room available and were willing to let me stay. We have grown quite close since I moved here a month ago. I walked towards the closet and put on my favorite dress! It was black with gold beading, and it came up above my ankles. I love wearing short dresses; all the old rich men look at me funny. It makes me feel happy when I throw everyone’s sense of order right into hell. Once I was done I grabbed my purse and hat and marched down the stairs. “Bye boys!” I shouted as I started out the door. I heard them both say bye back and made my way down to Café Du Monde, for the best beignets in town. I was almost there and the line was fairly short. I took another few steps, closed my eyes, and breathed in that soft smell of powdered sugar and the misty water. Suddenly a man with a brief case ran into me. “Oh! Miss, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you!” He spoke with an unfamiliar accent. We both scrambled to the ground to pick up his stuff. He smelled like cigars and cinnamon. He had short blonde hair and his eyes were greener than an evergreen. “Hey, it’s all right! I’m Y/N. If you don’t mind me askin’ where are you from? I haven’t heard nobody with an accent like that.” I asked him, as I handed him the spilled contents. “Ben. I uh, am from England. I just moved to the U.S. a few weeks ago. Been trying to make my way down here from New York. Trying to start a new life.” He said, putting everything back in the brief case. “Well, Ben, You came awfully long way. But you definitely came to the right place! This town right here is perfect for running away to a new life.” I told him. “That’s what I like to hear. I guess, I will maybe see you around, Miss Y/N.” He told me. “Yeah, Maybe See you around Mister, Ben.” I said back. We both walked our separate ways as I went and got in line. After I ate, I just went on my daily walk through the city. Everything seemed just as usual. Then I saw that Ben boy getting thrown out of a building by two larger gentleman. I ran over to him. “Hey, you okay?” I asked helping him, once again collect his things. “Yeah. Fine. We can’t keep doing this. You always helping me pick up my things.” He smiled at me. “It really is no problem. What happened in there?” I asked him. “I guess I’m to progressive for that lot. I was interviewing for a jo-“ He looked up, and stopped, and pulled me into the alley beside the building. He put his hand over my mouth as he noticed I was about to scream. I was trying to get him off of me when he whispered “Please don’t scream! I swear I’m not gonna hurt you! Please, I can explain if you are quiet!” I stopped fighting against him, but kept my guard up. He moved his hand off my mouth. “Those are three around the corner are apart of the most dangerous mob in London. If you even look at them funny they will shoot you! So please just be careful. I don’t know you all that well but I don’t want anything to happen to you either.” He spoke. I nodded and looked around the corner, extremely carefully. I noticed two older gentleman and a very pretty, younger, blonde woman. All three were dressed nicely and the woman looked as if she would only wear the fanciest of perfumes. I turned back and looked at him. “Them? They look like they wouldn’t even harm a fly. She looks way too nice and way too high class to be in a mob.” I told him. “They steal all of their money. They kill while doing it. Please just believe me, Y/N.” He looked at me. His face has pure fear written all over it. “Why are you so afraid of them? If you leave them alone, you won’t have a problem.” I told him. He looked down and blushed. “Were you involved with them? Oh MY GOD YOU WERE!” “SH! Keep your voice down! They can’t know I’m here. It’s not that I was apart of the mob, I wasn’t. But I know one of the older men, Roger. I didn’t know he was in the mob. I was just trying to get a job and he told me, he would pay me to drive him around. So I got a job as his driver. Eventually I found out too much, I found out that he not only was in, but was in charge of the mob. When he asked if it was a problem, I told him yes and quit. I heard he had been looking for me but I never knew he would go to this length to try and find me.” As he explained, my sympathy for him grew. These three were coming to make sure he didn’t tell anyone of their shenanigans. “Okay... so are we just supposed to hide in this alleyway?” I asked. I was too late. The three of them rounded the corner. “Well. Well. Well. There is my boy, Ben! Who do we have here? A new girlfriend, Benny? You know I didn’t know you’d be in town. Quite surprised, actually. But while we are in town, maybe we can kill to birds with one stone eh?” The one I presumed was Roger spoke. He wore a red velvet suit. He also smelled like cigars but also like pine and lilac. He had gorgeous blue eyes. Dangerous blue eyes. His hair was gray and he had a very high but raspy voice. The other man had thick, curly, silver hair. He was a bit taller. He was in a Purple velvet suit. He seemed a lot softer. He looked almost concerned at your fear. And the woman, she had short blonde hair, but she was stunning. She was dressed in a nice long black dress with spaghetti straps. A little showy for most of the country’s taste, but I thought it was beautiful. “I asked your name sweetheart!” Roger shouted at me, pulling me from my trans-like state. “Y/N.” “No last name?” The girl spoke. Her actual voice was very soft but her tone was so harsh that it was scarier than Roger’s. “I don’t like it much. Too many family ties.” I said without going into detail. “Look Roger. She has nothing to do with any of this. You want me.” Ben spoke. “You think I honestly care what happens to her? I don’t. But since you nobly step forward it means you must care.” He looked at Ben then focused his attention on the girl. “Lucy make sure she comes with us.” “Yes, sir.” “Roger! I swear to God that I won’t tell anyone, please! Don’t do this!” Ben pleaded. My heart started beating faster and faster. Was I about to die? What was going to happen next? “That’s enough! We are taking both of you. We will decide what to do with you after that.” Roger shouted. “Roger, while I do think we need to take care of him, he said he wouldn’t tell. She has nothing to do with th-“ the taller one spoke. “Brian! We can’t talk big and not be able to follow through with action! We will discuss it after the meeting. Get the car.” Roger looked at him. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some servant! I am your equal Rog! We run this together.” Brian whispered harshly. “But I will get the car, only because you lost THE FUCKING DRIVER!” He turned around and in 45 seconds drove a nice black car towards the alley way. Roger walked around to the passenger side and got in. “Get In or I will shoot you.” Lucy said very plainly. I did as she said and Ben followed. What kind of shit did this kid get himself into? We pulled into an empty lot somewhere I wasn’t familiar with. We sat there for hours. Roger, Lucy, and Brian stepped out of the car. At this point it was dark outside. No one had really said much, surely not me and Ben. But once they stepped outside of the car, I had my with him. “WHAT KIND OF SHIT HAVE YOU GOTTEN US INTO?! WE ARE BOTH GOING TO DIE! I REALLY DO NOT WANT TO DIE! I LITERALLY JUST MET YOU TODAY!" I whisper-shouted at him. "THIS WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN! THEY WEREN'T SUPPOS-" he started but was cut off when everyone got back into the car. Roger hopped into the driver side this time. Our next stop was a random boat launch. It looked abandoned but, it was night time so it was not going to be busy. I looked around out the window. All three of the monsters stepped outside again. It was quiet for a minute then I heard a muffled voice that I didn’t quite recognize. It felt as if they were putting something in the trunk of the car. Suddenly the door opened. “If you want to live, sit in his lap.” Roger spoke to me as he pointed a gun at my face. I did as he told and sat in Ben’s lap. Then a new man got into the car and Lucy followed. Roger got back in the drivers seat and Brian back in the passenger. The ride was a bit bumpy sitting on Ben’s lap. He wrapped his arms around my waist to steady me. The ride was short and we pulled up to the club that I frequent. This was the speakeasy that Rami and Joe got me into. The music was blaring so loud it was hard to understand why the cops haven’t busted the place. Roger opened our door, pointing the gun back at us. He motioned for us to hop out. We did as told in fear of what would happen if we didn’t obey. They walked up to the door and knocked the secret knock. A slit in the middle of the door opened up and I saw Allen. Allen was an Irishman who came here. He worked as the doorman for the club. Allen cleared his throat. “Who is it?” Allen asked. “Allen, open the goddamn door.” Roger whisper yelled at him. “No can do sir. You know the rules. Give me the code and you enter.” Allen was always a good doorman for the club. “He didn’t give me the fucking code. You know us!” Brian said. “GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!” I shouted in fear of my life. I just wanted to be somewhere I was familiar with. “Y/N! Is that you?” Allen asked opening the door. “Look Allen, let us in please! I really don’t want to die tonight.” He opened the door all the way, ushering us all in. “He is upstairs waiting for you all.” Allen said to Roger and Brian. Roger pointed his gun at us and then at the stairs directly in front of us. “Go!” He said. We started up the stairs. It was much quieter up here. You could definitely still hear the music but not as loudly as before. Lucy grabbed some rope that was hidden in her garter under her dress and tied our hands to the door handles across from the room they were about to enter. “Stay put, or I kill you both.” She smiled following the other three men as the entered the room and locked the door behind them. “How did you know the code?” Ben looked at me. “I frequent. I have friends who I think work here or something. I’m not entirely sure what they do, but they always give me the right code. Who was the other man?” “He smuggles alcohol into the states. Specifically for this club. It’s run by a sister gang of Roger’s. They call themselves The House. The leader is an old friend of Roger’s and Brian’s. It’s funny that you know the code and don’t even know the background of it.” He laughed. “What do you mean?” I inquired. “Queen. That’s the name of their gang. God save the Queen. This meeting has been planned. They probably didn’t tell them what the code would be because they thought they would guess it.” Ben laughed. “I don’t understand what’s funny.” “Oh. Just that I’ve run this far and now I’m gonna die here tonight.” He laughed more. “To think I could actually be safe.” “Ben, if you knew the sister gang was here in New Orleans, WHY WOULD YOU COME HERE?!” I whisper yelled at him. “I was mislead. I thought they were in New York. I can see now I was gravely mistaken.” “Y/N?” I snapped my head towards the stairs. “RAMI? JOE? MY GOD ARE YOU GUYS IN TROUBLE TOO?” “Y/N who did you get in trouble with?” Rami asked me, looking fearful. The door to the meeting room opened. This other man walked out. My guess is the other mob boss. He was holding a gun and he pointed it at me. “WAIT! Sir! We know her! She is not going to tell anyone!” Joe spoke up. “If anything sir, she needs a job! We can recruit her! Please don’t kill her.” Rami spoke up. “RECRUIT ME?! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!” I looked at them and back at the gun pointed at my face. Ben bursted into a laughing fit. “WHAT?!” I snapped my head towards him. “Y/N, your friends here are involved with the house.” He laughed shaking his head. “She needs a job? Alright. Untie them. Bring them in.” The other older man spoke. He had a unique British accent. He motioned for us to enter the room. We were standing in a dark lit room with the other man sitting in front of us behind a desk, with Brian and Roger on either side of him. Lucy guarded the door. The Alcohol Smuggler stood by the window, minding his own business. Rami and Joe stood behind Ben and I, who were seated. “Benjamin right?” The mob boss asked. “Just Ben.” He answered simply, looking completely unafraid. “Your name, sweetheart?” “Y/N.” I answered, fear making my voice shake. “Okay. Ben. Y/N. I willing to spare your lives, if you join us. We have a war coming. I need all the soldiers I can get. You either say you are in or you die. By the way my name is John. You’ve met the others. So what do you say?”

Taglist: @bitemerog @sevenseasofrog

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delicrieux · 6 years ago

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my little world

PAIRING: felix rosier x reader

summary: (name) has finally graduated Hogwarts and has invited some close friends to celebrate!

this is a concontion i’ve created by combining sevral requests and @wispila ‘s beautiful art: Helloo,, can I request a fic of Felix Rosier (aaahh sorry, a lot of people are probably requesting for him, but the way you portrayed him extremely caught my heart) If possible, just a little one shot, after Felix' graduation from hogwarts and mc would write to him during summer and eventually, they go out exploring the muggle world, and going out on dates. They're supposed to lay off magic because (this must be corny but,) the magic is already their love for each other ??? / plz plz plz some felix x mc cuteness!!! / Hello! Love your felix x mc fics. Can you maybe write more? Maybe something after mc graduates Hogwarts?

a/n: the letters are my favorite part to write. also, the bit abt the russian scarf: i actually saw this girl wearing it when i was @ theatre and it opened my eyes to all new fashion possibilities. AND, felix knows french that’s a hc and you cant prove me otherwise. THANK YOU SO MUCH TO @slytherin-princess1 FOR COMING THRUUUU WITH THIS AESTHETIC!!!!!!!!!!!! <3 ily babes<3

feedback is always appreciated xoxo

MASTERLIST. ko-fi (i chug coffee as i write these fics, and another cup would make me happy <3)

Felix Rosier is unnaturally nervous when he knocks on your door; your neighbourhood is lively and full of young children playing in their yards, cars passing by to find a free parking space, and animals running around for a more secluded place to nap in. It is all a stark contrast to his home - wrapped up in solitude - as yours is the epitome of rowdy British life. He notes your muggle neighbours watching football on the telly from where he stands; the window is open and they are screaming profanities and cheers alike. The sky, golden and rosy, casts a dim glow on the world. His hand, holding a carefully picked batch of colourful flowers, sweats. He overhears some teens rave about an unfamiliar punk band. Felix Rosier, in all his glory, has never felt more out of place. He looks posh and feels ridiculous. Perhaps he should just leave?

This ongoing train of thought, more of doubt than anything, promptly stops when you swing the door open, your small frame draped over by a black Russian scarf with ornaments and flowers adoring its back. He inhales sharply at the sight, his lips, much to his displeasure as he can no longer hold his cool façade, quirk into a smile. It is the same gift he had sent you many moons ago, when he was touring Russia with his family. He figures, due to the two of you exchanging letters every week for years now, that it would only be natural, if not a bit forward, to bring back a souvenir. Though, Felix could hardly help himself. The scarf simply reminded him of you, and he had no choice but to purchase it. But…now that he thinks of it, thinks how beautiful you look wearing something he gifted, something that he very clearly indented you to wear, everything that he saw in Russia, everything ringing true to beauty – paintings, statues, a little flowers – always reminded him of you.

“You made it.” You beam, stepping aside to let him enter your humble abode, though not missing the chance to eye the pretty flowers in his grasp. You blush lightly, already anticipating as to when he will give them to you. You momentarily rack your mind for where your mother hid all the vases. “The rest are in the garden.” You say as you close the door with a soft click.

His eyes stop wandering around your humble palace – it is more muggle like than he had expected, but somehow it makes it all the more cosy. Magic is a double sided coin, after all. Some, like his parents, and many other pureblood families chose to view it as a tool of power, manipulation, and calculation. However, the more humane ones, like your family, like you, use it to enhance the human aspects; the soft aspects, per se, making the lights not as glaring, or the washing machine not as loud. Again, he feels alien to your world, but is strangely content with being a part of it.

You walk past him, most likely to lead the way, but he grabs your wrist and you promptly stop. Curious, you turn to him. Blasted nerves, got the best of him again. He would rather do this here, alone, with you. He does not want probing eyes. Your friends are a favourable bunch, you had insisted on it, but he is much older than you, and this is awkward enough as it is. The two of you had only really become close in your sixth year, when he was stressed from work and you of upcoming graduation, curses, and Jacob being back. You had always been a pupil to him, but now…It would be hard to imagine you in that same image. He does not wish to, either.

“(Name) (Lastname),” Felix addresses you formally, as if to give a grand speech. You refrain from snorting. His look of refinement soon shifts to careful admiration, “Or simply… Mon Petit Monde [1] .” Your heart swells in your chest and you grin; he lets go of you to take out his wand. Whispering a few spells under his breath, the flowers he had been holding swirl and turn and link to one another to make a crown that, after floating in the air for a few short seconds, slowly lands onto your head, “Congratulations on completing seven dangerous years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and only losing a handful of House points I could complain about. You have been, and continue to be, an outstanding witch, trusted friend, and loving woman. “He never breaks eye contacts as he says this, “I am immensely proud of you. And…I love you.”

“Oh, Felix…” You pull him into a tight embrace, “You absolute…you…sweetheart! The distain for other is just a facade, isn’t it?”

“…Sure.” He replies awkwardly after a pause, and you snicker.

Standing on your tippy-toes you kiss the side of his lips, whispering, “And I love you, as well…” Grasping his hand firmly, with no intention of letting go, you say, “Come, I’ll introduce you to my friends. Also, Jacob wants to meet you.”

“Should I be worried?”

You look him dead in the eye, “Only if you have something to hide.”

“Just your many misbehavings and foolish adventures during your first few years at Hogwarts. Oh, and your embarrassing love confession.”

“What was embarrassing about my confession?”

“You sent me a Howler.”

“…I’m just…really… passionate…”

BONUS:

Mon Petit Monde,

You have a way with words like no other. It is troubling to admit how deeply they had affected me. I would be lying if I said that I do not miss your letters, and that they do not make me happy when they finally come. I would also be lying if I said that I do not keep and cherish every single one of them, no matter their coherency. Even if it is one sentence only. The most letters I get are from my friends and colleagues, and they all are dull in comparison. Perhaps I am…blinded. Perhaps your letters mean so much because you write them. Forgive me, I am rambling.

I have been greatly distracted these past few months and I have desperately tried to find a cure for this madness. I feel as if there is a weight on my chest that must be lifted. I have thought hard about it on many sleepless nights, and concluded that, and please do not hate me for this, I am completely enraptured by you. I wish I could say this to you in person. But I am too far away and you are still but a student at the end of your school adventure, and I cannot visit Hogwarts, and you cannot visit me. I wished to see your eyes when I confess. You have the prettiest ones, and I feel as if I can tell no lie when I am in your presence and therefore I would be strict, coherent, to the point. I would not dawdle. Alas, I have no choice but to tell you, because I feel as if I will drown if I do not. Last summer, when we met after so many years, was when something awoke in me, something I myself cannot explain. What I did know is that I could not look at you too much, because if I would I wouldn’t be able to take my eyes away from you at all. I tried to fight this feeling, yet to no avail. Only you can douse it if you wish, or let it burn freely if that is what you desire.

I understand if you do not return my feelings. A part of me thinks that is for the best. Yet another, the one I am slipping to deeper and deeper, wishes for nothing more than to hold you close, day and night. I wait anxiously for your letter, if you chose me to grace me with an answer at all. Either way, I am glad I told you.

Yours, forever,

Felix

[1] mon petit monde - my little world (french)

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