#I trailed behind all his childish joy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uranometrias · 8 months ago

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hello aly! 🤎 i saw that you were receiving requests and it's okay if i ask for something about hotch? 🥺 perhaps him falling in love with jack's art teacher, i'm in the mood for something really fluffy because i need comfort haha take care pretty soul!

this is such a sweet ask. and yes that's more than okay, you never have to ask xx it's kind of short, i hope it's still okay, i focused mainly on their first meeting, but i am open to writing more works for this universe.

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"Good morning, bud!" you don't have to fake excitement or enthusiasm as Jack Hotchner bounds into your classroom. You crouch, kneeling so that you're face to face with him, as he practically glows. His smile is so bright you fear you may have to squint as he's quick to jump into your arms, chubby little hands looping around your neck. You tried your best to make every single student that walked through your door feel welcome, but they all weren’t as agreeable as Jack Hotchner was.

The hug is comforting, sweet, and it reminds you why you got up every morning to work for less than you were worth. The joy you instilled in your kids made everything worthwhile. Jack pulls back after a moment, exclaiming that you were squeezing too tight. It makes you chuckle slightly as you brush a bit of stray lint off his shoulders. “Sorry, kiddo! You’re just too stinking cute.” You hum, and you enjoy this part of the job. You adored all of your students.

Hellos at the beginning of the day, and goodbyes as they poured out into the hallways to head to their next class. Specials at your school, which consisted of Art, Music, and Gym, happened on rotation. You had Jack’s class first period, four times out the week. His entire class though, had been angels. Through the year you'd only had about two incidents, and both included students fighting over who's turn it was on paint day. You finally let Jack go with one more squeeze.

He giggles, which is a tell that your hugs weren't all that bad. You're a bit startled when an unfamiliar man steps through the door behind him. He's wearing a collared button up, with jeans, and a matching belt. "Um, excuse me, Sir." you hold a hand up, quickly moving to usher Jack, and the other entering students away from the door. "You can't come in here." you affirm, and you look around to see if there was anything in your direct vicinity that could be used to attack.

You settle on a foam brush, clutching it by it's bristles, as you hold it out towards the man. "Stay back, or I'll-" you look down at the paint brush, and then back at the mystery assailant. "I'll use this, and you won't like it." you assert, and your students are giggling, seemingly amused by the situation. You don't see the humour in it. You'd met every single parent and guardian of your students, and this man had never been there. Which made him a flight risk, a danger.

"I think you've got the wrong idea." the man speaks, and his voice stands out. It's very stern, but not hostile. He has a commanding presence, and he seems to appraise you diligently. You take a look at your hand-print dress, and suddenly feel very childish. You loved your job, mostly because you could dress without much judgement. It wasn't like the kids were going to tell you that you looked childish.

"You can never be too careful." you retort sharply, and you readjust your grip on your paint brush. You hoped you looked a bit intimidating, but you wouldn't count on it. "And I don't see a visitor's badge." you add a second after. "Jack, come this way." you prompt, and he seems to stall. He looks from you to the man and back again. He was conflicted, for starters he had his father, his hero standing on one side. And you, his favorite teacher of all time on the other.

"Bye-bye, Daddy." and his choice is made, the small child waving his hand boldly before he's rushing off to his desk, and you're stuck. Aaron, is surprised. Eyes trailing after his son with that feeling every parent has when they realize their child is growing up. It forces a puff of air to escape him, as his eyes quickly flit back to you. His eyebrows raise, dark eyes swimming as realization sets in. Usually Jack was dropped off by his Aunt Jessica Brooks, she was a lovely lady.

She'd mentioned Jack's parental situation. How his mother had passed a few years back, and how his father had a demanding job. You'd given up on ever laying eyes on the man. "You're Mr..." you trail off as your voice cracks obnoxiously. "You're Jack's dad?" you ask, and he lets out a quiet laugh, one that's more a nose exhale than anything else. It's a fitting sort of laugh, you hardly expected the man to be the type to guffaw or even chuckle in an ugly sort of way.

"Not that you can tell by the way he took off." he retorts, and there's still an amusement that rests in his tone. "Aaron," he finally introduces. "Hotchner." he finishes, hand shooting out. It must have been habitual. You didn't know much about the FBI, but you did know that they were sticklers, stone serious. You'd done a project on greatest heroes, and Jack had managed a piece that consisted of a JJ, Prentiss, Garcia, Morgan, Rossi, and Reid. They'd been paired up with a piece that was solely his dad, his superhero. His favorite.

"I'm Jack's teacher." you introduce, as if that didn't go without saying. You reach forward with your free hand, allowing his palm to press against yours. His shake is firm, but you're surprised at how nice his hands feel. There's this spark, a feeling of lightning zigzagging from him to you, and it makes you leap back, paint brush clattering to the ground. The class seems to get lost in the mishap, watching with bated breath for what would possibly come next.

Aaron doesn't bat an eye as he bends down, crouching to pluck the brush up from the ground. He looks bemused, standing back to his full height as he holds your weapon of choice out towards you. "You should be more careful. It's a pretty dangerous weapon in the right hands." and he's making a joke. You find yourself gobsmacked, it was too much for him to be charismatic, and attractive. No, he had to pick one or the other. Still, you grab the brush, despite your fear of sparking again.

"You just got lucky you were vetted by the right kid." you offer your own sort of joke, and his smile makes you proud on the inside.

"I'm sorry for the late appearance." he changes the subject, but it doesn't feel forced or charged. "I meant to get here sooner so that I could lay eyes on Jack's favorite teacher..." you feel proud at the compliment. "You're all he talks about when his day is done." he adds, and you're turning to look at Jack. The kids were separated at their tables, multicolored smocks already on their bodies. They were more than ready for the day. "But as I'm sure you're aware, my job can sometimes keep that from happening." he says and you nod.

"Jess did mention you had a hectic schedule with your job, I understand." your hand waves tiredly, brushing off his apologies. You didn't need them, not when it was so clear that Jack adored his father. And it was more than clear that Jack was Aaron's world. "I'm just glad you finally got here." and you try not to sound as breathless as you feel. "It's important for teachers and parents to be on the same page." you prompt, and Aaron's head nods. You don't know if he really believes you or if it's all politics in a way.

"I couldn't have said it better myself." and he looks so sincere. He's staring at your face intently, and you feel self conscious, blinking too much to be normal. "You've got a little..." and he's motioning towards you. Mortification is the only thing you feel as you run through your morning routine. You'd scrubbed your tongue and teeth thrice before leaving the house. You'd cleaned out any evidence of sleep from your eyes, so what exactly could be out of order.

You swipe frantically at your face and nose, hoping it wasn't something that would make you look like a dunce or a fool in front of Aaron. He chuckles a bit as he extends a hand. "Uh, may I?" he asks, and you're nodding before you should be. It's almost instantaneous the way he's cupping your chin, tilting you head, and dragging his thumb over your cheek. He removes his hand a second later, you could almost pretend it didn't happen. That is, until he's swiping paint on his jeans. Damn, you were such an idiot.

You'd been prepping paint stations for your lesson on symbolism. You must have forgotten to clean up your face before the first bell rang signaling the day's beginning. "That's so embarrassing." you exclaim, and another student is entering the classroom, quickly hugging your side, as you offer an awkward wave to another parent. You squeeze the girl a bit, before she's bounding off to her seat.

"You know, I think it builds character." Aaron promises, and you snort. "Besides, it was kinda intimidating." he's lying, and you know it. He's trying to make you feel less shameful about it. "Anyone looking to mess with your class is in for it." and you're certain your face is visible exposing your humiliation, and subsequent embarrassment at the hands of one of your student's parent.

"Enough, enough." you plead, and here's where you get a full laugh. It's handsome just like everything else about him. "Your sarcasm's far from helpful." you huff, and you're dragging your hand over the same place he'd touched. It tingles as you drag your hands down, and you hope for your sanity Jess is back tomorrow. Garnering a foolish infatuation for your student was the last thing you wanted to happen.

"I'll do my best to keep that in mind for next time." he replies. The bell chirps overhead, a signal that class needed to begin. "Don't work too hard." he prompts, and your heart stutters in your chest. You feel like a fool, he was just being nice, a gentleman like his job required him to be.

"I'll try my best." you promise, and he smiles at you like he's pleased.

"I'll see you later, bud!" and he's addressing Jack, who ignores protocol. He bounds across the room to offer his dad a big hug, he squeezes him tight, Aaron hugging him back maybe tighter. It's sweet, but you feel like you're intruding.

"Say bye-bye to daddy, Miss L/N." Jack pleads, and you blink.

Bye daddy. And you scold your horrid mind. Jack's waiting expectantly, and it seems his father is as well.

"Goodbye, Mr. Hotchner." you huff out, and he's smirking.

"Goodbye, Miss L/N." he matches your exasperated tone. And then he's leaving, and you're heaving a sigh of relief. Jack's going back to his seat, face just as smug as it could be for someone his age. It takes you a second to float back to Earth, staring at the doorway like he'd come back, but he doesn't. You inhale sharply, good riddance. You shuffle slowly to the door, shutting it as you soon address your class.

"We're gonna talk about Symbolism today." you announce, and the kids who were far from listening finally take you in. "Does anyone want to take a guess as to what Symbolism is?" you question, and a flurry of hands shoot up in the air. There's one girl, little Mary, who looks like she's doing the pee pee dance as she tries to get you to choose her. So you do, "Go ahead and give it a shot, Mary."

"Miss L/N, are you gonna marry Jack's dad?"

Maybe today was the wrong day for paint and symbolism.

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pinkroseblooms · 11 months ago

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Birthday Wishes

Summary: Uramichi may not like birthdays, but he might like you. 2.5k A/N: Official art from Gaku Kaze; Uramichi Omota/F!Reader, lots of fluff and some humor. TW: Mentions of depression and self esteem issues (kinda a given considering it's Uramichi, but still) Enjoy!

Working on Together with Maman was one of the most thankless, tedious jobs you’ve ever been underpaid to do. While the director got to lord over the staff and the actors got some praise and respect, you were just one of the many unsung heroes behind the scenes. Editing out Uramichi Omota’s regular mental breakdowns and existential crises from the show’s footage was a full time job in and of itself, but you did it every week without fail for the past three years. At this point you could practically do it in your sleep; sometimes Uramichi’s strained, desperate attempts to keep a cheerful expression on his face made regular appearances in your dreams. You suspected the void that was his stare would haunt your mind long after the time came for you to leave Together with Maman .

You did feel a bit guilty at the twinge of resentment you had toward the cast when they got the lion’s share of the glory. After all, they all had their good points: to start, Kumitani was fairly considerate of the staff, particularly those on the lowest rungs of the workplace hierarchy. Speaking of hidden kindness, despite Utano’s complaints, she was a devoted and thoughtful girlfriend. Iketeru’s childish wonder and joy was infectious; he hardly ever complained and was very appreciative. Even Usahara with his bad habit of putting his foot in his mouth, was still committed to a certain level of professionalism and was quick to amend for his mistakes. When everything was said and done, you had a fondness for them all.

Last but not least, there was Uramichi. One works with many different types in the entertainment industry and you were no stranger to washed up, jaded, regularly drinking their weight in booze performers putting on a show off and on camera but Uramichi was the worst.

Needless to say, you were crazy about the man.

Today was Uramichi’s 32nd birthday and though he no doubt would prefer to ignore such a day all together, you couldn’t help yourself. This was the perfect time to do something to show your appreciation for Uramichi and not just as a gymnast oniisan. With any luck, he might not hate it. In fact, you were certain he was going to love what you chose to do.

After making up an excuse to get his attention, Uramichi dutifully trailed after you, grim faced and changed out of his costume. You intercepted him just as Usahara and a somewhat less enthusiastic Kumatani were going to usher their colleague to a bar for a night of begrudging celebration. As unlikely as it was that Uramichi would rather spend any evening doing more work, you thought he seemed a bit relieved to be taken away.

“Sorry, this won’t take long.”

“It’s fine.” Uramichi assured you in the most unconvincing attempt you ever heard. “Your job is editing, right? What do you need me for?”

“I wanted to get your approval on a few things. I wanted to work in some parts of what you were saying to the kids before.”

“From the segment about labeling?”

That particular sketch was meant to teach the children about putting their names on their school things. Doing this would help them keep track of their positions, as well as teach them about personal responsibility. It could even be a good chance to allow children to practice their spelling and penmanship. It all went about as well as it could have.

“The bit where you warned the children about adhering to the labels others will try to assign to you and how the pressures of society are designed to slowly crush any trace of individuality that doesn’t help them go with the flow was a bit long winded, but I think we can keep in bits and pieces.”

“You…want to keep it in?”

“I mean, it’s not a bad message.” You type in the passcode to the staff room. “The script is good, but you have a way of talking to kids so they can understand without talking down to them. Not everyone learns at the same pace; it helps when adults can get on a kid’s level. Most are too proud.”

“You,” Uramichi followed you into the room. “Are you saying I lack pride as an adult?”

“What? No.”

As you pull out a seat for Uramichi to use, his face says he doesn’t believe you. Seeing how despondent he is makes you want to call the whole thing off, but then you would have to come up with an excuse as to why you requested his presence in the first place.

Anyone would be justified in feeling insulted at Uramichi’s knee jerk reaction to assume the worst; it’s hardly charming, but you get it. How much of Uramichi’s attitude is natural or something he uses like a shield is anyone’s guess.

“I guess it makes sense. It’s not like we know each other that well. Besides, this is our first time speaking one on one and I had to lie to you.”

Uramichi was glancing around the room; there wasn’t any projector or cameras or a computer.

“Wait, so you don’t think I have any pride?”

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” You stare in disbelief. “I meant about looking over the footage. Hold on, I need to-”

“So then…was all that other stuff you said just to get me to come here?”

“No, it wasn’t. I’ve already got someone editing that segment anyway.”

In the corner is an easel, like one of the props they use for presentations in the show. Instead of a whiteboard or a display of cartoon images, there’s a sheet covering up the project you’ve been working on just for today.

“That’s good.”

“Huh?”

“I thought you were going to lecture me about being more professional so you didn’t have such a heavy workload. I’m sure most of your time is taken up erasing the evidence of my family unfriendly fits of despair. My bad.”

“Even hearing you apologize is bumming me out.” You sigh. “Listen, it’s not that much trouble. Besides, it’s really not my place to scold you or the other cast members.”

“Why not? You have to make up for our screw ups. Don’t tell me it can’t be stressful. You look tired just being here.”

“That’s not really something you should say to a woman. Well, anyone really.”

The blank stare widens as Uramichi realizes what he implied, but you cut him off. Things have gotten awkward enough without dragging on this conversation. Besides, you brought him here to cheer him up, if that’s even possible.

“I hope you like this. I made it for your birthday. Well, I put it together. The kids made it.”

You unveil the display with a smile, hoping you had this right and Uramichi wasn’t going to walk out. Or worse, put on his fake smile to spare your feelings. You prefer an honest reaction to your efforts.

“These are all the drawings kids have sent in for the past year. I got the idea to save them up and make a collage.”

The board is covered in crayon doodles, rough sketches, and messy paintings. There’s some postcards and pages ripped from coloring books. Almost all of them are of Uramichi-oniisan in various costumes, mainly his tracksuit: in some he’s frolicking with Kumao-kun or Usao-kun or holding hands with Utano and Iketeru. Some illustrations are of Uramichi surrounded by children or animals or just random scribbles. There’s also a decent amount featuring Kotori-san but you try not to think about that too hard.

“I thought maybe we could show the board in a show, but I wanted you to see it first. We could keep it safe in the studio, if you don’t have room for it in your place. It’s your birthday present.”

Uramichi stands up to get a closer look; he doesn’t look appalled and you choose to take this as a good sign. You step to the side, trying not to seem too nervous when he stands by your side; after a minute, Uramichi still hasn’t said anything. Even so, you’re feeling more worried by the second.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Good.” You smile, but don’t feel too relieved. “You’re not just saying that, right? It’s okay, you can be honest. Is it too cheesy? Maybe I should have left out the ones with Kotori-san.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I hate that demon, but the kid’s probably worked hard to draw it. I don't mind so much. You said this took a year?”

“More or less. Uramichi, whatever you think, you’re appreciated. The kids see you do your best. It’s more than a lot of people bother to do. I figured you wouldn’t want a staff party, but everyone here sees it too. We’re glad to have you as our gymnast oniisan.”

Uramichi was still looking over the pictures. “You work a lot harder than I do.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Our jobs are just different.”

“But no one gives the behind the scenes crew much credit. I’ve never been especially considerate to your job before, but you spent a year making me a present?”

“I only collected the drawings. It only took a couple hours to actually put it together.” You replied. “Is this too much?”

“Yeah. I don’t deserve this.” Uramichi told you bluntly. “I don’t get it. Why did you do this?”

For a long time now, you’ve watched Uramichi drag himself through the day; as much as he professes going through the motions, you know that’s not exactly true.

“The thing is, I wish I could do more. I want you to have a nice birthday.”

“I don’t like celebrating my birthday. It just reminds me that I’m a year older and I’ve wasted more time. Which is strange, since I don’t even know why I feel that way. I can’t even imagine what else I would be doing if I wasn’t an oniisan, so why do I feel like I’m wasting time at all? I can’t do this forever. I’m already 32, but I don’t have anything planned for when I get too old for Together with Maman. ’’

“You could probably still find work on another show. It doesn’t have to be physical. Unless you want to leave the industry for something else entirely. I bet you could do something with your physical education degree; you’ve had experience with children, then maybe you could work that into whatever you go for next.”

“That…sounds like a lot to think about.”

You can’t help laughing a little at how defeated Uramichi looks just from the prospect of having to start over. It’s oddly cute, like a sad puppy being told they have to go to the vet.

“It is, but if you do it one step at a time, it won’t be so daunting. That’s why I like birthdays: I see them as a chance to, well,” You scratch your head. “It’s like, yes, I made it another year! It wasn’t easy, but I’m here and that’s enough. It’s something to celebrate.”

“Hey, you should be more careful with how you phrase things.”

“What did I say wrong?”

“You’re going to make me think you have feelings for me or something.” Uramichi chuckles dryly, turning his back on you to head toward the door. “If I was Usahara, I would take this as a proposal. But anyway, thanks. I can’t remember when someone tried so hard. I guess I should return the favor. I’m being emotionally blackmailed into going out tonight: if you want, you can join. Or not. Do you drink?”

“Yes, to both.”

“Both?”

“I wanted to tell you this now, before I start taking classes full time next month. Uramichi, I like you. I do, so,” You clear your throat. “Happy birthday. I hope you’ll still accept the poster. It’s more from the kids than me anyhow. I was going to bake you something, but I wasn’t even sure if you liked cake or-”

“You talk a lot. Hold on, I need a minute.”

Uramichi has his head in his hands; he looks pale and visibly disturbed. It seems like your confession wasn’t appreciated, but you could have guessed as much. Maybe you’re too different or maybe Uramichi just isn’t interested in dating.

You can respect that, no matter how much it hurts you. In hindsight, it would have been better to keep quiet or just wait until your time was done at the studio, but you naively assumed Uramichi might like hearing someone cared. Not everything comes with conditions or ulterior motives; sometimes the pay off is as straightforward as making someone else’s day a little easier to get through.

“I’m sorry. I should go.” You make your way past him to the door. “I hope you enjoy your night!”

“Wa-wait don’t just leave! You can’t drop a bomb like that and just breeze past like-like-!” Uramichi stumbles to get to you before you rush outside. “You’re serious? Did Usahara put you up to this?”

“No.”

“Well, are you, like, sure? You didn’t mistake me for someone else?”

“You’re Uramichi Omota?”

“Yeah.”

“If this makes you uncomfortable, you really don’t have to worry, I never said anything to anyone else.”

“It’s not that. I’m just…processing. Do you really?”

“You know, maybe the next segment we do should be on active listening skills.” You cross your arms. “Uramichi, this isn’t rocket science. If you’re not interested, okay. I’ll live. I don’t mind being single, but I wouldn’t be bothering you with this if I wasn’t serious.”

Uramichi seems calmer, but no less baffled; it’s probably the most emotion you’ve ever seen him emote at once that wasn’t irritation or exhaustion. Surely he has had other girls confess to him before; you heard he was pretty popular in school. You don’t see why he’s having a hard time handling this one.

“When I was drunk, I said I thought you were cute. I wouldn’t put it past that damn bunny to try to rope you into one of his pranks.”

You grin. “You did? When?”

“Come on, I’m embarrassed enough. I’m too old for this.”

“For what?”

“To act this way.” Uramichi sighs and drags a hand over his face. “I hate it. It’s like I’m back in high school or something. It’s awkward and I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Don’t you already feel that way?”

“That doesn’t help.”

“So then?” You shrug your shoulders. “Am I cute enough to date?”

To your surprise, Uramichi’s cheeks flush slightly; you wonder if your own nervousness is showing. Truly, adults pretend as much as kids do.

“Is that offer for a drink still valid? Unless you don’t want me flirting with you in front of everyone.”

“No way.” Uramichi objects. “I don’t want to deal with that headache. Let’s not say anything until after you’re done working here.”

“Oh, now who’s making big plans for the future?” You can't resist a little more teasing. "I thought looking that far ahead was too much to handle?"

“That was when I didn’t have something to look forward to.”

Uramichi might not have meant it to sound like a line; he said it with the same bland, borderline monotone that he usually spoke with, but you feel butterflies all the same.

#life lessons with uramichi oniisan #uramichi oniisan #big brother uramichi #uramichi omota #uramichi omota x reader #fem reader #x reader #reader insert #one shot #fluff #romance #ao3 fanfic

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chernabogs · 1 year ago

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Deepwaters

Inc: Lilia, Malleus, Silver, & Sebek Warnings: Brief mention of blood, implementations of death, mild existential questioning. Some chapter 7 spoilers may be seen, but they're quite subtle (nothing major) WC: 3.1k Summary: 4 brief snapshots to the poem 'What are Heavy?' by Christina Rosseti centred on youth, the ocean, and the consequences of memories. (done for the @briarvalleyarchives 'Summer Shorelines' event :) )

LILIA.

What are heavy? Sea-sand and sorrow;

“I reckon you would not be able to swim past the rock crevice there.”

A girl's voice holds pride as she stands on the beach, her hands on her hips and her lips curled into a cocky smile. Before her are two boys—one, who looks irate with her words, and another, who looks as though he wishes to sink into the dusty white sands. The irate boy gives a snort in response before looking out to the waters.

The ocean is wine red with the setting of the sun and the waves hit the shore like hands grasping forward. The horizon is but a jagged line, as though it’s a starving mouth waiting to see who it will bite.

“I reckon you want us dead,” the irate boy counters. “If you want to challenge us, Mallenoa, then perhaps you should try it first.”

Mallenoa’s cocky grin falters for just a moment before she huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. In the distance farther up the shoreline, a few guards can be spotted observing the trio as they stand there.

“I have already proven myself capable of swimming there, Lilia. You and Revan were the ones too cowardly to follow along.” Mallenoa points to the rock crevice again. It’s a few yards out from the shore—not a grand length—but the sea is growing unsteady as night makes her rapid descent. “I dare you.”

“It will be getting cold soon. Would it not be better if we just wait until tomorrow?” Revan starts to protest, his wiry voice like wind passing through reeds, but his comments fall on deaf ears as Lilia turns sharply to stare out at the water's beyond. His gaze skims over the toiling surface, watching as the waves leave foam to sink back into their embrace, before he snorts and begins walking forward.

“No coward's soul is mine!” Is all he calls over his shoulder in return. He wouldn’t be called cowardly by the likes of Mallenoa, simply because he knew her to be the one to never live it down. He could hear Revan’s worried voice calling for him to stop, but these words die as the roar of the waves grows louder and his feet plunge into their icy depths.

For a moment, he looks down and watches as the red waters swirl around him. In his youth, he remains unaware of the foreshadowing this image holds; he knows little of the red waters he will come to wade through in his future, or of the rivers he will craft with his own hands in the name of Queen and Country. He knows not of how he will drown in salt and copper and steel for a purpose that will fail in the end anyway. He knows not of the clock running out on his halcyon days.

For now, he is just a boy, too arrogant to say no to a friend.

The sand weighs him down as he moves deeper into the ocean. The waters embrace his legs, and then his waist, and then he’s falling forward into the abyss below. He moves like he’s always belonged in this darkness; the sensation of the tide rippling across his skin and the sight of the dying light reflecting on the surface above is so calming that he almost forgets to break through. His breath escapes in a flurry of bubbles before he breaches and inhales sharply, looking back to his friends on the shore beyond.

Mallenoa is laughing in delight. The childish innocence of joy darkens her cheeks, and he can still see this in the orange light as she watches him with adoration and pride. Revan stands by her side, his hand grasping her sleeve as anxiety is painted on his features. It is how it’s always been; one bravely diving into the dark, and the other trailing behind her, like a comet and her tail in the depths of space.

Lilia exhales softly and looks around. The water is still now, like his presence has soothed it, and his body rises and falls slowly. Seagulls cry out from somewhere beyond, perhaps on the rock crevice he’s meant to reach. He pushes back his hair and looks towards his friends once more. The sun is setting further, and they’re beginning to look like nothing but two dark silhouettes on the distant shore.

It feels isolating, in the middle of these waters, all alone.

Lilia begins to swim.

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

MALLEUS.

What are brief? Today and tomorrow;

“Prince Malleus, do not stray too far out!” He hears the nanny call from somewhere back on the shore as he hurries down the wooden steps of the pier. There is no one else on this beach except him, his nanny, and Lilia, who has volunteered to accompany the restless boy lest he become too much for the nanny to handle. They had cleared any other attendees of the beach for just this one day—for one day is all the Queen would grant the prince’s guardians when it came to taking him out of the security that was Black Scale Palace.

The sound of his small feet hitting the sand is like a hiss, and he can feel the heat on his bare feet, his shoes having been discarded as soon as they arrived. He looks up and squints against the brightness; it’s rare for the sun to come out in the Valley, but summer days often bring on a drought, and so week-long periods of nothing but light are not unheard of.

This heat lasts only a moment before something hides him in shade again. When he looks over, he sees Lilia holding a parasol above them, a bemused expression on his face.

“Goodness, are you sure you’re a dragon and not a sea serpent? You seem quite eager to get in those waters,” he teases as he fusses over a strand of Malleus’ hair. The young prince swats his hand away with a pout.

“I am a dragon,” he grumbles back, before rushing forward again, all previous slights now forgotten in his eagerness to reach the clear blue waters. Lilia follows closely behind while the nanny hurries after them, holding a basket with lunch in one hand and the prince's shoes in another.

Malleus had read a great deal about the sea. Of the creatures that reside within it, of the folklore and mythology it holds, of the vastness and the grandeur. He has not, however, read about just how cold the sea can be, and so when he jumps both feet into the water at once, he lasts all of two seconds before he’s shrieking and running back to Lilia. His hands grasp his guardians arm and he seems downright offended as he looks back to the water.

“It’s so cold!” He cries, stomping his feet in the sand as though to warm them back up again. Lilia can’t help but laugh at the sight of the young dragon clinging to his arm—the poor boy looks shattered. He moves his hand to hold Malleus’ and clicks his tongue teasingly.

“My, did you expect it to feel like a hot bath, little prince?” He laughs as his other hand adjusts the parasol. “Come. I’ll show you the proper way to wade into the ocean.”

Malleus looks prepared to protest, but Lilia hears none of it as he holds the boy's small hand in his own, guiding him forward until they are at the water's edge once more. The waves are a baby blue colour, and they glimmer in the sunlight like glass and pearls.

“Now, you must move steadily. Let yourself adjust to the feeling, and then continue on.” Lilia hums as he slowly guides Malleus forward. The prince’s expression turns sour again when he steps back into the cold waters, but then it slowly shifts to contemplation, and then a bright smile as his body adjusts to the temperature change. His hand squeezes Lilia’s tight, as though afraid to let go too soon.

“The sand feels funny,” he notes in that manner that children so innocently do. He wiggles his toes in the clear blue water and watches as the sand slides easily off his skin. He moves closer to Lilia. “Please don’t let me go. I don’t want to get pulled in.”

“As if I’d ever let that happen to you,” Lilia muses, holding the prince’s hand close. “I’d never hear the end of it from your grandmother if I did.”

He looks up then, his gaze going to a familiar rock crevice in the distance. The sun beats down but the parasol shields them both as the sounds of the nanny setting up a towel for lunch, accompanied by the ocean waves crashing against the shore, creates a strange rhythm of peace in the air.

This is broken when Malleus kicks up water onto Lilia’s legs.

“Malleus!” Lilia yelps, moving back while still holding the prince’s hand. Malleus laughs in delight at his guardian's expense, and his face is filled with unrestrained joy. It’s the happiest that Lilia has seen the prince in a long time—in the palace on his own, he often looks quiet and sullen, as gray as the walls that confine him. This new sight reminds Lilia of a similar face with a similar expression he once saw on this shore, long ago.

He squeezes Malleus’ hand, and shakes his head with a smile as the boy goes to splash him once again.

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

SILVER & SEBEK.

What are frail? Spring blossoms and youth;

“Why can I hear the ocean?”

Lilia’s eyes open slightly as he hears a voice. At first he sees green, and then he sees a scowl, and then he recognizes the inquisitor to be that of Sebek Zigvolt, who looks thoroughly unimpressed with a shell in his small hand. Lilia looks past Sebek, and then to his right, where he spots Silver half-asleep on the beach towel next to him.

Good. All his children he’s set to watch are accounted for, despite his impromptu nap.

“What do you mean?” Lilia hums as he sits up slowly. His answer is given in the form of Sebek shoving a seashell against his ear.

“I can hear the ocean!” The boy declares, louder this time and with more urgency in his tone. Silver mumbles something and sits up as well to look at Sebek with a faintly confused expression. Lilia puts his hand over the shell and guides it away from his ear.

“Because it carries a part of the sea in it.” Truthfully, it’s the sound of your own ear fluid being echoed back, but Lilia figures that will lead to even more confusion if he were to say something like that instead.

“How did it get the sea in there?” Silver yawns before moving closer to his father and friend, peering at the shell with interest. He reaches out to grab it, turning it over and letting the light reflect on its rainbow-like surface. “Trapping things is mean. What if the sea wants out?”

“I’m sure the sea is quite happy in there,” Lilia replies as Sebek comes to sit down on his other side. Both boys are now up and active, and although today is meant to be a break from learning and training, it doesn’t seem like this will be the case. Silver shakes his head.

“But what if it isn’t happy? What if the shell just thinks the sea is happy, but really, the sea is sad?” Silver presses the shell to his ear, and his expression becomes a bit more concerned as he looks back to his father. “I don’t want the sea to be sad.”

“The sea isn’t sad. The sea can’t feel anything,” Sebek counters with a scowl before looking back to Lilia. “Right?”

Lilia has to admire the fact that both boys manage to have such polarizing views on the matter. Youth never fails to amuse him. He carefully takes the shell back from Silver and turns it over in his hands. The shell is frail—he can see chips in its surface already. It isn’t a young shell, that’s for sure. A faint breeze passes over the trio, carrying the scent of ocean water and blossoms from the trees that they sit beneath.

Lilia glances up. Apple blossoms, it seems.

“Shall I free the sea, then? That would mean shattering the shell.” Lilia glances between the two boys. “Would you like me to break such a pretty shell?”

Silver looks uncomfortable with the question as his hand comes out to grasp his fathers arm. “I think… I think we should. The sea should be with the rest of itself, not locked away in a shell. That isn’t fair.”

“But who are you to decide what’s fair and what isn’t? Who are any of us to decide?” Lilia hums, a small smile playing on his lips. Perhaps there’s time to still sneak a few lessons in here for the boys to keep knowledge down the line. Silver looks more concerned as he glances at Sebek to answer.

Sebek puffs his cheeks out for a moment as he looks at the shell. His hands clench and unclench in his lap before he looks at Silver, and then to Lilia. “If it’s stuck inside, it’s our job to let it out, even if we like the shell. It isn’t right.”

“It isn’t right?” Lilia turns the shell over again, and then glances between the two boys. “Well then, if we’ve all come to a decision.”

He clenches his hand, and the shell snaps in half like it’s nothing. A trickle of water runs down to the grass beneath them, and then towards the sandy beach just beyond, as though travelling to the ocean it came from. The two boys watch it go as they stay sitting beside Lilia. There’s silence, broken only by the faint sighs of the wind brushing against the blossoms above.

“,,, did we make the right choice?” Silver then asks, looking at Lilia expectantly as Sebek quickly does the same. Lilia brushes his thumb across the shell fragments for a moment, studying its shattered opal interior, and then he simply shrugs with a smile.

“We won’t ever know if it was the right choice, but it was the choice that we made, nonetheless, and it’s the one that we shall have to live with. That’s just how it goes.”

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

OUR FAMILY.

What are deep? The ocean and truth.

The scent of the ocean is too strong. The sun is too bright, the sand is too perfect, and it’s the only way that the three of them know this is another illusion they’re trapped in. The faint cries of seagulls in the distance and the waves crashing against the sand fill the otherwise stagnant painting they’ve been etched into. Silver looks around in worry, as does Sebek, but Lilia’s gaze is fixated on the rocky crevice in the distance.

It looks jagged, and blurred, as though someone blended it in with the horizon in a mock attempt to make it exist.

“You look concerned.”

And then he’s there. Tall, with his expression unforgiving as he stands in the toiling waters, looking back at them with faint indifference in his gaze. The sea kisses his boots as though worshipping him, and the breeze rustles his clothing slightly. Lilia exhales softly as he senses Silver and Sebek tensing by his side.

“Is it not right?” Malleus looks back out at the deep waters beyond. The sky is the gentle pink of dusk, and the sun is hidden in a painted haze as the silhouettes of birds fly in the distance. The horizon blends together and makes the ocean look as though it’s never-ending. This entire experience has been never ending so far—a dream upon a dream, a nightmare upon a nightmare.

Lilia is tired. He’s sure that the others are, as well.

“You’re close, but the crevice is off.” Lilia points out at the rocks beyond. Malleus follows his direction and hums thoughtfully.

“I couldn’t quite remember what it looked like when I was little.” Is the explanation he gives. “It all blurs together in the end anyway, doesn’t it? The memories, the moments. So easily tossed aside without a single warning, without a single goodbye.”

“Malleus,” Silver begins, but Malleus turns and raises a finger to his lips, hushing the younger boy softly. Sebek looks uncertain as his hand grips his magic pen. Malleus looks as he always has; there is no black ink dripping into the waters he stands in, there is no oppressive presence, no crushing weight of magic. He is as they remember—as their memories painted him to be.

“I’m adjusting to the waters,” Malleus hums thoughtfully. “Remember how you taught me that?”

Lilia’s brow furrows. “Malleus, this has gone too far out of line. You must—��

“Would you like to come in?” Malleus cuts him off and holds a hand out. There’s a smile on his lips, but it fails to reach his gaze, which remains as lifeless as the scenery that surrounds them. “I promise not to let you get pulled in.”

Lilia falls silent as Malleus pays tribute to the conversation they had many, many years ago. The hand he once held now is extended as a mockery to that brief, tender moment between guardian and child. Silver looks to his father and notes the expression on Lilia’s face before glancing towards Sebek. His own hand moves down to grip his magic pen.

“Sebek,” he calls softly, drawing the other boy's attention for just a moment. Malleus’ gaze turns sharply towards him and darkens. The sky begins to grow a deeper red colour as dusk approaches faster. The waters become a wine red once more, their tide increasing as though to offer an omen foretelling what’s to come. They’re restless, clashing against the sand like blood spilling on a pale earth. “Is the sea sad?”

Sebek looks confused for a moment, and then the memory dawns on him, and his expression shifts to that of an uncomfortable understanding. He exhales slowly, and the subtle nod he offers is enough for Silver to know that he agrees. Lilia’s attention is still locked on Malleus, on his extended hand and the dark, cold expression he’s giving the other two boys.

Silver’s hand tightens around his magic pen, and Sebek’s does the same as the sea toils before them, and the sky descends into the blackness of night. If something is trapped, it’s one's duty to let it free, even if it means shattering something that they love dearly.

They won’t ever know if it’s the right choice, but it’s the choice that they’re going to make, nonetheless.

#briarvalleyarchives #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #sebek zigvolt #silver #twst lilia #twst malleus #twst silver #twst sebek #GOD this was the fastest i ever wrote for an event #the brain rot bro.... the wine red ocean #anyway lkfsdljffd

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theramblergal · 7 months ago

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Because I'm still intrigued by the five opal stones that Star Plus Mahabharat uses to tie Arjuna, Krishnaa and Krishna together—

Consider:

The five Pandavas, soon after their marriage to Krishnaa, present her with five different stones that is representative of their relationship with her. It doesn't happen all at once, but slowly as each of their relationships with their wife grow and flourish.

Bhima:

He is walking in Kampilya's bazaar close to a year after their marriage.

Something winks at him amidst shimmering heaps in the dusty sunshine; it draws his attention.

It is a blood red stone: a polished garnet.

He is entranced immediately; his mind flashes instantly to the red silks of his wife, the faint hint of orange-red in her brown eyes, the fiery nature with which she burns despite her calm exterior.

He bends down and plucks it out of the countless other jewels that shimmer there.

Without much protest, he pays exactly what the merchant demands; even though the price is exorbitant, there is never a world where Bhima would not do anything for Krishnaa.

He offers it to her on the night of their first anniversary, when they are sitting in the gardens. He kneels like a supplicant before their god, and the small stone is dwarfed by his large hand just as her own hand is.

The garnet is blood-red in bright sunshine, but under the moon's rays it is softer somehow.

They exchange no words, but she knows what he means.

She picks it up with a smile, studying both the gem and him.

A small piece of stone conveys the thousands of words that Bhima wants to say about their relationship; it is fiery passion and unfaltering courage and elephantine strength at once, but Bhima knows, more than him, it is her who embodies those qualities.

Her smile is like its sharp edge as she leans in to kiss him.

Yudhishthira:

Yudhishthira sees Krishnaa wearing the garnet on her armlet and is immediately inspired.

His offer is spontaneous, as they stand in the corridors, his hand on her arm.

She turns to him, confused, as he draws something out of a side pocket in his sheath.

They both look down at the old but still unfaded turquoise stone in his outstretched palm.

Yudhishthira takes a breath.

"This was my father's," he says softly. "He got it from one of the travelling merchants when they were passing through Hastinapura. He gave it to me for my ninth birthday, and told me it was my good luck charm."

His voice is quiet with an old grief and an old childish joy, and Krishnaa looks at him gently.

"You gave us life again, Krishnae. It is only fitting that this be yours."

Krishnaa places her palm over his, covering the stone and rests her forehead against his. She knows the significance of this stone, one of the last relics of her first husband's childhood.

"And I want this to represent our relationship: that there always be communication between us; that I hide no truths from you; that you will always be my clarity of thought. Let it be my promise to you," he swears.

"Tathastu," she whispers, and in her voice there is the echo of a divinity older than their bodies.

Nakula:

Nakula looks far and wide.

It is not until two years later, when he is wandering the vast treasury of Hastinapura that he sees the emerald.

He does not see it himself; rather it is one of Krishnaa's handmaidens, Medhaa, who walks discreetly up to him as he trails behind Krishnaa who is surveying the inventory of the treasury.

She holds the small emerald in her hand, and he knows it is about the size of the two other gems Krishnaa wears on her armlet.

"Pardon my impudence, Rajakumara. But I think this would best suit what you are looking for."

Nakula chuckles.

Medhaa has come with Krishnaa from Panchala, and thus she is aware of the entire story and his own efforts.

"Thank you, Medhaa," he nods to her and she bows her head, dropping the emerald in his hand.

A second later, he gains an impish grin on his face and then cries, "Parihaar!"

Krishnaa is startled by his call, but the guards and maids bow and leave the couple along in the vast treasury.

"Aryaputra, why did you—"

He hugs her from the back, arms snaking around her waist.

"Can't I enjoy some time alone with my wife, Krishnae?" he whispers.

Her ears heat up at his response, and he spins himself around to face her, still grinning.

There is the ghost of a smirk on her face. She raises a hand to caress his cheek, and then suddenly she dips him, their eyes still on each other. He leans back, marvelling at the strength in her slight frame to support his weight even as he is thrown off guard.

She kisses him.

Nakula loses himself in her: in her scent, in the tickling caress of her long tresses, in the feeling of her lips against him. The love that swells in his heart seems to be too much for his mortal body to bear.

He slips the emerald into her hand.

She pulls him up, and looks at the emerald.

"Don't I have enough jewels, dearest?"

He scratches the back of his ear, a bit hesitant, and then deflects, "What is the meaning of emeralds, Nitya?"

"They symbolize love, compassion and growth, Nakula. Rishi Dhaumya says they are related to the heart chakra; it reminds me of you... oh."

Her voice softens with the realization.

And then she laughs.

"Took you long enough, Priyatama."

Sahadeva:

Sahadeva times his presentation to exactly 364 days after Nakula's emerald.

He keeps it quiet, knowing that none of his brother nor his wife remember the day, but he does.

Sitting in Krishnaa's chamber, he listens to the peals of her laughter and thinks fondly: there is nothing more that you could do to make me love you more, Krishnae.

They are playing a game: one asks a question and the other has to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, no hesitation whatsoever.

Krishnaa has stopped laughing by now, and she wipes a tear from her eye, grinning.

She shoots her question at him. "Arjuna's payasam or Yudhishthira's sooji halwa?"

Sahadeva hmms.

Both Arjuna and Yudhishthira are not very good in the kitchen, to put it lightly; all the culinary skills in the family are owned by Bhima. Nakula is somewhat decent, and he himself is fine enough with a few dishes but hates cooking, having tailed Mata Kunti in her kitchen sojourns.

But to the question.

Krishnaa eyes him, and he sighs. He gets lost in thought too often.

So he blurts, with a mental apology to Arjuna: "Jyeshtha's halwa. Bhrata Arjuna's payasam tastes like..."

He winces at the memory of the one time Arjuna had tried to make food. Krishnaa winces with him.

Now, his turn: "If you could travel anywhere tomorrow, where would it be?"

Krishnaa answers, "I want to explore Dakshina Bharata, frankly. I've heard so many tales! Or perhaps live amongst the Yavanas for a while?"

He nods. Few are afforded the ability to explore the other cultures of the world, and he would be lying if the scholar in him wasn't curious about them.

They continue for a while, until Sahadeva finally asks, "What gemstone do you think represents me or our relationship?"

Krishnaa says almost immediately, "Moonstone."

He quirks an eyebrow, and unfolds the silk cloth that holds his moonstone.

She giggles and picks the stone up, studying it. "Intuition, emotional balance, calmness; what else, new beginnings? How could you be anything but a moonstone, dearest?"

She looks at her armlet, with the three stones spread out, standing out against the gold and sighs.

"I think I need to commission a new piece of jewellery."'

Arjuna:

It is not until Indraprastha is finally built that Krishnaa's stone set is complete.

The day begins with Indra's blessings: the sky is covered with dark thunderclouds and it rains heavily.

Arjuna stirs, and hears the crackle of thunder. He smiles, and turns over to his side where Krishnaa is fast asleep beside him.

He spends a moment admiring her: the single strand of hair that lies across her peaceful countenance, the peace in her expression that can only be achieved in blissful, deep sleep, and the sleepy clinginess by which she reaches out for him and wraps the blanket further around the both of them.

She went to sleep late last night, after waving all the maids to go to bed and making food herself for a Brahmana family that had arrived a few ghatis before the Brahma muhurta.

He wraps an arm around her and kisses her forehead feather-light, deciding that it would be okay for them to catch a few more hours of sleep.

Mentally thanking his god-father, he drifts off again to sleep.

A few hours later, the sun is out and shining upon the sleeping couple, and Krishnaa stirs.

She blinks the sleepiness and then the sunshine out of her eyes.

"Aryaputra!" she gasps, and Arjuna is awake within seconds, his warrior instincts forcing him straight out of bed.

"What is it, Krishnaa?"

"The sun is already so high up, Arjuna," she says, mind whirring, "I think it's already the Vasu muhurta—I promised Mata that I would look after the puja for today, but it's already so late!"

Arjuna stifles a chuckle.

She hears it and whirls on him, fiery.

"It's alright, Krishnae," he says, still failing to hide his smile. "Bhratrijayaa agreed to make the preparations for the morning puja, seeing how late you were awake yesterday. You've been so busy lately, and I want you to relax."

The memory of the jewel glinting as he wrapped it last night comes back to him; he reaches over to the table beside the bed and holds it out to her.

He was the last to gift his stone to her, he knows; so to make up for it, he had travelled for over a week to the border of the Gandhara kingdom to pick out his choice himself. He had dug it out of the mines himself and watched as the jewelsmith polished it.

Finally unveiled, the yellow sapphire glints in the morning sunshine.

"Wisdom and knowledge, prosperity and happiness; I finally made my choice, Krishnaa, and I promise you: I will always be yours. No matter the distance between us or the issues that will come up, I am and always will be yours."

Krishnaa looks at the sapphire, and up at him, and her eyes glimmer in the sunshine, brighter than the gem he holds in his hand.

"You are one of the best archers, my love, but not the best when it comes to romantic endeavors."

He blushes.

Weeks later, Krishnaa walks into court with a spring in her step. It is easy to tell what is different: a new chudamani glimmers on her head, gold spun into intricate designs and varying thickness, but what catches true attention is the five stones gifted to her by her five husbands; they may not entirely match each other but it is the fruit of their love, and thus it is the most beautiful and most treasured piece of jewellery Krishnaa wears.

Wow, that was long.

#mahabharat #mahabharata #yudhishthira #bhima #arjuna #nakula #sahadeva #draupadi #krishnaa's pandavas <3 #ruhi writes

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undermine-the-instinct · 1 year ago

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Crush or Chance?

● Bard!reader masterlist ● Next part.... ●Warnings: None ● Wc: 5.9K

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times and shame on the both of us. So what be said for a fourth time?

(Or in other words, Kaveh met you long before you knew him.)

If he's being a little honest, Kaveh has a bit of a crush on you.

Or maybe it's something more like a bittersweet admiration, the same way you'd look at phoenix and think, this will end in flames.

The more he worked, the more clients he contracted the more dissatisfied he became. Functionality over art, structure over beauty, efficiency over soul. He felt like life was being drained out of him. And after a while, he started thinking; Why should I? What was the point? However great he was in the eyes of others, no matter what praises they heap onto him, he is but one person. What could he do on his own?

And how arrogant of him to hope to even try! What has he ever truly done? Even his Magnum opus; A palace that doesn't even belong to him and has buried him in a lifelong debt. He was never really ever going to amount to much.

It was during one of these depressing bouts of his that he met you.

Bars are cesspools, collecting tears and drunken spurs, but also joy. Like his polar opposite you lit up the room, and he couldn't help but feel drawn. Your voice resounded throughout the space, and it stirred something deep in his heart. He felt like he had just found the answer to a puzzle he was grilling over for so long, and seemingly, for no reason at all. He was alive! He was in a bar! Shouldn't he be joining in on the merry?

And so he danced the night away. He sang and greeted old friends and he paid for all his drinks that night. It wasn't until the place was closing that he thought about the bard that stirred his heart and feet into action. But by then you were long gone. If it's meant to be I'll find them again, he thought, and began the trek home.

He didn’t get to meet you that night. He found you again though another day, dancing in the center of a crowd that had surrounded you. There was a man playing a fiddle, while another played on a flute. You were barefoot, a scarf around your waist trailing behind you in a ribbon of silk, a smile on your face. You weren't afraid to get too close to the crowd, you snapped fingers and captured a delighted stranger in your scarf, taking a child by the hand and twirling them around and around.

Mentioning art is the quickest way to end a conversation, is something that is generally known in Sumeru. But there was no conversation to be had here, there was only music and laughter, for the simple joy of being able to move. He felt like a bystander watching a moving painting.

Shouts sounded behind him, and as one the crowd turned back to see. Matra were approaching with scowls, a collective thunderstorm to usher the people on and disperse the crowd.

“Hey! You folks! You're under arrest for public misconduct and unsanctioned musical performance!”

“Uh, no we’re not!” with a last bow to the crowd, and a trilling sound from the flutist, you and your companions ran in opposite directions, gone like magpies in the wind. One second you're there and then you're gone.

Kaveh wants to know what your name is. Who are you?

“Oh, that pest? Just some runt from all the way in Monstadt,” a client frowns, deep and fissured.

“One of those traveling sorts, so let's hope that they pack up and get moving soon.”

“Have they been especially troublesome?” He scoffs at this and looks at Kaveh with wide disbelieving eyes.

“‘Especially trouble?’ Like you wouldn’t believe! You and I both know how the Akademiya hates those artsy types, and then this person shows up and decides to make a whole mockery of that. And for what? Out of spite? How childish.”

“I might have seen them around actually, at a few bars I've visited with some colleagues,” Kaveh supplies, refilling the man’s drink.

“They didn’t look like the sort to cause much trouble.” He’s a liar. As a matter of fact, that smile you wore back then spoke nothing but mystique and mischief.

“Those Monstadt types always like to cause trouble. They had one revolution and think themselves all martyrs and rebels. Trust me, I’m older than you and I know. Remember that one girl who graduated from the Akademiya in two years? I even offered to sponsor that girl and look where she is now; working as a librarian in that grass field of all places,” he scowled.

“What a waste of talent. I’ve had enough of them, so let's hope this one hops over to Fontaine or something, they'd be welcomed over there I bet. Now, didn't we come here for something? The plans for my building, you got them?”

“Of course sir, right here…” This isn't the first time he's heard something like this, especially amongst his oldest clients. It's a shared sentiment, and it feels like something bitter and vindictive. He knocks back his own glass.

Kaveh doesn't know who you are, but he wonders; if you ever went to Fontaine, would his mother like you?

The next time he sees you is in a public garden. And he's late, he was supposed to be at a meeting with another client at least forty five minutes ago, but rushing along, the way you were just standing there caught his eye.

He can hardly see you above all the rolled blueprints and stuffed folders he's carrying, he forgot his bag and it was too late to go back and get it, but he could tilt his head back and get a clearer look at your form in the grass.

Standing in the shade and dappled sunlight of a great tree, barefoot and…posing. He followed your gaze to a book you had lying open in the grass, and saw a few poses and stands he half recognized, all hand drawn with notes in the margins.

You paid no mind to the odd looks or stares you were getting, the way that people gave you a wide berth of space, how some shook their heads and scurried their children on, the way that others would stop and stare before shaking themselves out of their reverie. Kaveh wasn’t part of either group, but he was still…watching you.

He must have been more obvious than most because you lifted your head just as you were stretching, tilting your head in question like a bird, an automatic smile on your face. Quizzical but warm. He tilted his head back at you, like the idiot he was, and your smile broke out wider.

“Good morning to you too, stranger! What are you up to this fine morning?”

Him? You were speaking with him? He lifted up the filled blueprints he had in his arms, obscuring his face more. “Off to work. And, um, how about you?”

“Stretching! Or at least, pretending to.” You twirled a bit into your next position, so that you had your back to him now.

“You're not doing a very good job pretending.”

“Oh? Am I being too obvious?” There was mirth in your voice, amusement.

“You're doing an arabesque in a demi-plie, I think it's obvious.” You stumbled a little and whirled so fast to look at him that he wondered for a second if you could get whiplash. He was holding too many blueprints he could imagine it was hard to see anything other than his bob of his hair and his brows.

“...You know what an Arabesque is?” He shrugged carefully.

”My mother lives in Fontaine, and they are fond of performances there. I know a few terms.” He saw your expression fall a bit through the peeps of his papers, but you brightened up before he could say anything more.

“That's still more than most people I've talked to. What else do you know?”

Kaveh could see you, eager and open to a stranger like himself. He recalled the way the crowd clapped along with you when you were dancing in the street. The way you sang, loud and unabashed, like a thunderbird whose only job it was was to wake the world, to a prophecy now foretold. But he couldn’t tell the future, and he thought neither could you.

How naively brazen you are. How unapologetically bold. How lovely.

“...Aren't you afraid?”

“What?” Your face shuttered off into confusion but he went on.

“Sumeru isn't the most ideal place for musicians and artists. I’m sure you've felt the general attitude and atmosphere, so, what are you doing? Aren't you scared of the repercussions?”

“Repercussions?”

“The sages have the matra set on you. That's not a rumor-it's fact. Aren't you scared of what else they could do to you?’’

“Well yeah, of course I am? But what else am I supposed to do, change the way I live?” His eyes widen, while you scoff, kicking up your feet.

“I’ve said it before and I'll say it again, they’re frightened of us.”

“Frightened? Frightened of what?” What could the sages, the governing force and face of Sumeru, have to fear from the populace?

“Frightened of what we can do? What has humanity done when pushed against the corner, or forced inside the cave? What have we done when the night falls and the rain pours?” You spread out your arms and tilt your head towards the sky.

“We sing! We gather together to tell stories over our work, we dance around the fire, we paint the tales of our passages onto the cavern walls, all things we have done before the written word. Even then, when we learned to write and record our stories, we created fables and tall tales to tell one another.”

“After humans discovered how to read and write, civilization did start to advance, at a before unprecedented rate.,” He admits.

“Art is what pushed civilizations to prosperity. It continues to. The only reason The Akademiya doesn't acknowledge this is because they don't see nor recognize everything as a form of art.”

“Isn’t that a bit naive though?” He shuffles the load in his arms.

“That sounds like romanticism to me.”

“It is. And what's wrong with that?” You shrug.

"Tell me, who embroiders those elegant robes they all wear? Who tills and plants their outdoor gardens? Who builds their offices and homes and buildings? Who cooks their food or carves their furniture? Art is intrinsic to humanity. It is inevitable, irrefutable. Are they trying to deny that?" You scowled.

"Do they not find these things lovely, and necessary? Do they think themselves above the divine craft of creation? Do theyhink themselves as Gods?" You scowled harder, but then sighed, letting your breath out in a single push.

"Hm. But, that's not the question you asked me, right?"

“....No.” Then you thought, tilted your head up to the sky and huffed out a laugh.

“Well, actually, yes I am. But what else can I do, change the way I live?...No. I’m going to continue as I've always have, and if that’s something that makes me a target, then that’s just what comes with the territory of being a star.” You grinned, bright.

“....There are rumors that the Akademyia will deploy the General Mahamatra to subdue you if you make any sort of big fuss.”

“Well, what kind of star doesn't have a scandal or two under their belt?” You grinned again, but wobbly at the corners, and take a good look at all the papers he's carrying.

‘I…hope I'm not keeping you up? You seemed to be in a bit of a hurry before–” He gasped, cutting you off.

"Oh Archons, yes! Damn it, I'm going to be so late!!” He got completely sidetracked!! He gave you a nod that he hoped you saw and ran off to his appointment. Hopefully the client was still there.

Life is art, and art is intrinsic to life, basically, right? If that's the way someone like you sees the world, maybe he can adopt that mindset.

And hopefully he'd find you again, and greet you properly this time, no matter what rumors you were embroiled in. He’ll leave it up to fate this time as well. it's already led him to you twice before.

You're so pretty. Kaveh has a bit of a crush on you already.

He woke up to a dark familiar room, and a dull throbbing in his head.

This was familiar, and normal. He wasn't kidnapped, or anything. He must have gone drinking again, and stumbled his way back home. The question was how he got inside. He’s pretty sure that he lost his keys several days ago and hasn't yet found the time to go get a new pair made. So the question stands…

Actually, the question can wait. His mouth feels like it's full of dust and cotton, and he needs water. That's his first priority.

His feet are bare and the floor cool as he pads his way over to the kitchen, trying to rub the heaviness out of his eyes.

When he reaches the kitchen he stops, and rubs at them again because what are you doing sitting at the kitchen island talking to his jerk of a roommate?

“Oh, you're up.” You stand and walk over to him, reaching out like he needs steadying.

“What are you doing here?”

“We went out drinking and I carried you home, remember?”

“Oh, I remember of course, I wasn't talking to you though dear, I was talking to the man standing there like a mother ready to catch her kid sneaking back inside.”

“Because that's exactly what you did.” The bastard had a steaming cup up to his face, not even bothering to look at him. “How did you get in without your keys?”

“We used the key under the mat. I lost my keys, so how else?”

“I had taken the key and hidden it somewhere else.”

“What? Why would you hide the key?!”

“Because then you'd lose that one too, obviously.”

“Tch. Wait, then how did…” You laugh and shuffle a little, culprit.

“Yeah, sorry, this is my fault. I really wanted to get Kaveh into his bed so I kinda…picked the lock? It’s not broken or anything but still…” You lower your head in apology.

“I wasn’t willing to be patient, I’m sorry.”

“Yes, I'm sure you were in a hurry.�� Al haitham sighs in reply and Kaveh bristles.

“What was that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. What do you think I meant?”

“I think you know exactly what you were insinuating.”

“Then why don't you spell it out for me?” He finally looked at him, tri-colored eyes gleaming oddly in the light. He looked…Apprehensive? No, that was just irritation, as usual.

Kaveh clicks his tongue in annoyance and turns back to you.

“See? What did I tell you about this guy? You don't need to apologize to this jerk, alright? You’re perfectly fine.”

“Oh? Talking behind my back now are you.”

Kaveh scoffs, heat curling in his chest. Or maybe just the leftover alcohol. “It's nothing you wouldn't outright say yourself, so no need to ponder what I’ve said directly. I only spoke the truth, which is even sadder if you ask me.”

“Okay, stop it, that's enough,” You step between the two of them, frowning.

“There is no need for this petty back and forth. It’s late and we should all be in bed already. In fact,” You turn to him, “You were sleeping when I left you, do you need something?”

“...Were you two talking?”

“Just…greeting each other. He came in not too long after we did.”

Another cup sits on the table, softly steaming and obviously yours. It hasn't been long, but you’ve been here for more than a few minutes at least.

You scratch the back of your head with a sheepish grin. “Maybe I should have waited, then I wouldn’t have needed to break in.”

“No harm no foul.” Kaveh’s mouth gapes open when Alhaitham waves you off.

“‘No harm no foul?’ Have you lost your mind?! Are you sick?!”

“I'm perfectly fine you fool,” He sighs through his nose.

“I just expect as much behavior from any of your companions. Nothing was harmed in the end so its fine, I’ll just have the locks changed tomorrow.” He drinks from the cup, and looks up at him.

“I hope you know I’m not paying for your own set of keys.”

“What?! Why not–”

“Kaveh,” You interject. “Are you alright? You were dead asleep when I set you down.”

He groans, rubbing his forehead.

“About that, Thanks for carrying me all the way back here. I was the one who invited you out but you ended up taking care of me.”

“Well, you let me pick the place so I guess it's even between us. Did you get thirsty or something?”

He nods. “Then go lay back down, I'll bring it to you.”

“What? I can't have you serve me under my roof.”

Alhaitham snorts. “‘Your roof?’ Technically its–”

“Ah ah ah!” You cut him off with a raise of your voice and a sharp look, Kaveh grins from behind your shoulder. Alhaitham’s eyes widen by your audacity, and by the archons are you lovely. You turn back to him.

“It's fine. You're the one who needs to rest so let me help you out. Go lay down.”

“Well. if you insist.” He turns and starts the trek back to the room, and the house is quiet enough that he can hear your lowered voices as he walks off. He can't help but feel that you sent him away so that you could say something, or finish talking with Alhaitham. But why would you?

He has a hand on the knob, shutting his door when the thought strikes him, Why is Alhaitham even up at this hour? Sure, sometimes he'd get back late from his scribe duties or whatever, but that was rare. And it's not like he went drinking out late that often (as if he had people to go with him).

And beyond that, why was he talking with you? Of course you were amazing and charming in your own right but people like the both of you don't mesh very well, and with your reputation, it was best to avoid him. As The Scribe, he was technically a Matra, after all.

Oh fuck he’s a matra.

He's just about to go swing the door open to dash to your rescue when it swings open of its own accord, and there you were with a glass of water, wide eyed to see him there.

He grabs your shoulders and tries to turn you to steer you back, but damn it you’re strong. You don’t budge.

“Uh, buddy? Are you alright? What's going on?”

“You have to get out of here, like right now.”

“What, why? Can we calm down for a second?”

“Nonono, you can’t, you have to go now–” He tries to grab you and pick you up around the waist, but you spin around behind him, grab him by his collar and drag him inside the room.

“I’m being serious!” You shut the door, a laugh under your breath.

“I’m sure you are, so explain yourself first.”

“My roommate, he’s the Grand Scribe.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So he’s technically a Matra. And I wouldn’t put it behind him to do something so you need to… like, go, before he reports you or something! One word and the matra would come swarming in here like flies to honey.”

“But he won’t.”

“Darling listen–”

“But he won’t. Not only have I already done my community service, paid my fines, did my time and stayed out of trouble, he actually wanted to thank me.”

What? “Thank you for what?”

“For getting you inside quietly. He just came back from work he said, and didn’t want to deal with any of your drunken shenanigans. So he said it's alright that I picked the lock.”

“He told you it's alright?”

“Yeah, as long as I use the extra key next time.”

“What?!” He threw his hands up in the air.

“He told you where the secret key is?”

“Yep. And he said that he's gonna give me a copy of the new one.” You pop the ‘p’.

“And sorry, the stipulation that I can use it is that I’m not allowed to let you know where it is.” He sucks his teeth and they laugh, reaching out to tug the sleeve of his shirt.

“Sorry love. But come now, take off those scarves so you can lay down, alright? It's late.” And something goes warm and gooey when you use that soft tone of voice, so Kaveh does exactly that, and takes the glass from you with a grateful look when you hand it to him.

“Does your head hurt?”

“Just a little. Not as bad as it usually does.”

“See? That's why you drink water before you pregame.”

“Well now I know for the next time.” He takes a big gulp and hands the rest of the glass to you, waving it away when you try to put it back in his hands.

“Oh, fine.” You finish it yourself then, and Kaveh falls back into the sheets, heavy lidded once more.

“How come you’re not drunk or stumbling, hm? It’s not fair.”

“Oh, I am drunk,” you giggle, “I just know how to hide it really well.”

“It's not fair.”

“That’s because I'm from Monstadt dear, my blood has at least a 10% alcohol content.” Kaveh sighs and covers his eyes, drinking in the quiet. You’re sitting next to him, humming softly under your breath, a brush away from fully singing.

“Hey, why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Call me those pet names. Like honey or dear or love. Why do you do that?” He looks and catches the tail end of your shrug.

“Because you're my friend. You’re like, the only real friend I've made in this entire damn nation, so I gotta be a little sweet with you, yeah?"

“Sweet with me?” He turns so he's facing you.

“Yeah! You make syrup with honey and not salt, right?” You smile, gold flashing at your throat in the low lamp light.

This close he can see the warm flush that the alcohol has given you, the way you give your smiles even more easily than you normally do, eyes soft and direct.

If he’s being a little honest, Kaveh has a bit of a crush on you. There's no other way to put it. He's so excited to see you, whenever he can, whenever you can, and he wants to see you now more than ever. He wishes you didn’t have to hide so often because he wants to be seen out in public with you, not sneaking like teenagers to some seedy bar, where people are too drunk or too downtrodden to care who comes in.

You…like those kinds of places though, odd as you are. You order a drink, and as soon as you down it you're tuning up an instrument and springing into song. By the third song the whole bar or tavern is joining in, and tears are replaced with smiles, at least for that night.

“Will you stay the night?”

You laugh, again. “And where would I sleep, silly?”

“Right here. Right next to me.”

“Oh, I could never.”

“But you could.”

“I could. But I won't.” You move to get off the bed and Kaveh shoots up, grabbing onto your sleeve.

“Then you can have the bed. Just, stay here. For now. Until morning.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, and his heart while you're at it, while he waits for your answer. Maybe it's because of the way he implores you, or this quiet moment of the night, but you sigh and he knows you’ve given in.

“The bed is big enough for the both of us. Scoot over.” He does as he's told and hopes his face isn't giving his excitement away. He slides under the covers while you slip off your outer layers, and soon enough he can feel you slither beneath the sheets next to him.

“You want to keep the lamp on?”

“No, turn it off.”

“Alright.” The room floods in darkness, and you settle back down.

He’s had a couple sleepovers before. Although, the majority of these were before his father’s…incident, while he was still a very young boy. The others were during his Akademiya days, and were most often just him and his colleagues passing out after days of working on a project non-stop.

So this was new. He’s perfectly aware of his and your bodies; every shift, every position, the way your breathing sounds. He wonders how he’s gonna fall asleep like this.

“Kaveh?”

“Yes?”

“Are you up?”

“Yeah. How else could I answer you?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” You giggle. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did love.”

“Another question, silly.”

“Of course.” You wriggle a bit till you're laying on your stomach, face towards him.

“Why didn't you come to the anniversary performance? The one with me and Miss Nilou?” He winces, and turns to face you too.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you come?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was work?” He sighs.

“Really. I had to meet some bigshot client and I tried but I couldn’t reschedule.

“I really wanted to go.”

“...Yeah, I wanted you to go too.” The guilt twists and churns inside him, and he sits up in bed.

“I'm sorry, truly. Tell me when the next one is and I'll be there, I promise. I’ll even miss an appointment if I have to.”

The silence reigns heavy, you don't speak. He's about to repeat his words, swear on them, when you answer him.

“Cyno came and interrogated Zubayr and his son. He then had the members takes a few days leave of absence so that he could interrogate us each. So, Zubayr decided that I shouldn't have any more performances, for the time being. The whole thing with Cyno put the theater on blast, so no more future performances.” Your voice is somber and dull, like a worn knife, disappointment sour.

“And no more public performances either, huh?”

“Not for a while. Cyno is keeping a closer eye out on me. The only reason I could go out with you today was because he had to go out on an excursion, and I know how to avoid the lower Matra.’ You sigh and roll over onto your back.

“So maybe its better if you didn’t come. You would have been targeted too if you were seen with me.”

“...Well, you might not be able to perform publicly, but The Akademiya has no say in what goes on in private property.”

“So?”

“If you…ever want to sing or dance or anything really, you can come find me. This place was given to Alhaitham and I to be refurbished as living quarters, or you can even find me at the Architects Guild, since that building isn’t government owned.”

“Kaveh,” and now it's your turn to sit up. “I can’t put you in danger like that.”

“I won't be in danger.”

“You know, better than I probably do, that the Akademiya don't like outliers. I’m an outlier. If they come to know that you’re friends with me, what do you think will happen to you?”

“It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong. Not really.”

“I’ve undermined them and they really don’t like that. It's hard enough for you, the light of the Kshahrewar, to get clients and make ends meet. I don't want to make things any harder.”

“Things are already hard and I'm doing fine enough, so you don't need to worry about me. The worst I’ll have to deal with is a couple of rumors, and those are everywhere in Sumeru.

"If my reputation is as good as people proclaim I can survive a few rumors.. Furthermore,” He cuts you off as you open your mouth to speak.

“I know how hard it is for you to be here. I know you feel like you have something to prove but that doesn't mean I don't want to make things easier for you, even at my own slight expense. You can't change my mind, love, so don’t try.” Silence returns to the room in a wave, while you two stay poised, tense. Kaveh doesn’t know if you can see him in the darkness; he stares into the room until the dark takes over his vision, blinding him until he blinks it back again.

“I used to be a knight you know,” You speak.” Back home in Monstadt, I was a part of the Knights of Favonius.”

“Oh, wow, that’s amazing.”

“I quit,” You continue without fanfare.

“I started to hate my life, and hate myself. I was young too, and I was in a relationship that was falling apart and my whole life felt like it was ending.” You laugh.

“Goes to show how naive I was then. But I quit, and I left, and I just decided to do the things that made me happy, and went along with my morals. I never wanted to feel so miserable and hopeless ever again. Those feelings still sometimes come back, but what I do then is go to where the people were, and sing, make them smile and laugh.

“I don't have that option in Sumeru. I mean I do but, it's never been a choice I’ve ever been actively punished for, before. I'm going to keep doing it of course. I’ll be damned if I ever let a government silence me, but…

“But it still hurts a little, you know?” He reaches out and drags you closer till you're resting in his arms. You've hugged one another before, but this time he wraps his arms fully around you till your brow rests on his collarbone, his cheek against your hair.

“Well, my offer is open for you anytime, at least. I’m sorry my home hasn’t been exactly welcoming to you.”

“Mhm.”

“It must have been hard for you. I’m sorry.”

“You don't need to apologize,” You breathe, reaching to hold him back.

“You've been perfectly wonderful. I don't know what I would have done without you.”

“Well, we are both fellow artists on the brink of homelessness, so we ought to stick together.”

“If your roommate ever kicks you out you can stay with me. And if I'm ever kicked out we can roam the streets together.” He chuckles, and he's sure you can feel it where you're pressed to him.

“Well, I can play an instrument, so maybe we can be traveling bards. We can go to Fontaine and meet my mother.”

“Oh, that would be a shock, I bet. I met a girl in Liyue once who plays that Fontaine rock music. I could send her back something. Is your mother a nice lady?”

His chest twinges, remembering tears, heavy silences and dull eyes, The memory of sunshine.

“She's a rather shy woman, and she’s just gotten over some adversary. She's perfectly lovely.”

“What does she look like?"

“Well, I suppose you can look at me and figure it out,” He shrugs. “I've been told I look remarkably like her.”

“Oh, so she's beautiful then.” He starts, and he feels a flush crawl over his face, warm and slow.

“Oh, you sweet talker, you.” You tilt your face up and he's sure you have that sweet smile on your face, that cat's curl.

“I speak only the truth, my dear, I swear it. Anywho, how else am I supposed to keep you by my side, if not with my wily words?”

“Perhaps your fiery temperament? Your musical skill? Your graceful figure? Your sweet kisses?” And you reach up and kiss him, taking the bait.

And yes, you’ve done this before as well, nothing further, but Kaveh’s heart never fails to race. Your mouth is skilled in more than just song, and your tongue is sinfully soft.

You definitely feel the heat of his face when you pull away and rub your cheek against his.

“You’re absolutely precious Kaveh.”

‘Oh, don't patronize me,” He grumbles, and pulls you in even tighter, shoulder to hip aligned, legs entangled. “We have to sleep now. It’s late enough.”

“Why should we?” You flirt. You brush your mouth against his once more and snuggle yourself closer.

“”I'm afraid your kiss has sent my blood racing. It will be hard enough to go to sleep now.”

“Hm. Well, why don’t you sing then? Maybe something calming, a lullaby your mother would sing to you before bed.”

“Hm…I spoil you too much already.”

“But you'll do it, right?” He chuckles when you bonk your head against his. But you settle down, and it's not long till your voice comes hither, soft and lilting. It's hardly more than a tune under your breath, a hum in your throat, but it is soothing, and soon enough he’s actually asleep.

When he wakes up in the morning, the dull throb lessened but persistent in his head, you are not in his bed, or his home. There's only a single note, a badly drawn winking rabbit, but he smiles and pockets it, getting ready for another day. He’ll run into you again soon enough. And if not, then he’ll simply find you.

There seems to be a commotion a few streets away, from what he could hear. Kaveh sighs, harsh and loud, and pushes himself off the wall that he's been leaning against. He came out for some fresh air, and the promise of some spectacle does not entice him. He starts making the trek back to the Architects guild.

Pounding footsteps slap the ground behind him, and he turns just in time for a figure to dash into him. He barely shakes off his shock before he reaches out to half catch the person, but the weight drags him down and he falls too.

“What the hell…? Archons, are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for being in the way.” And its the way you turn your head to check behind you that gives him a clear look at your face, familIar and shocking. He barely has the sense of mind to reply back, struck like hammer against a molten steel.

He…hadn’t been looking for you, to be honest. It’s been three times already, that you’ve met but never properly seen nor greeted each other, and he had hoped another opportunity would just…come. Fall into his lap, luck be damned.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times and shame on the both of us.

So what could be said for a fourth time?

“....the General Mahamatra.”

“The what now?” the General Mahamatra? He heard the rumors, but he never thought that you would prove yourself trouble enough for the sages to deploy him. Against you?

You must have done something reckless, like dancing in the streets again. Or singing in the taverns or just being too you. You were lovely, but sumeru likes its lovely things in glass cases, not prancing in bars or dashing down alleyways.

You speak quickly, and the words just register in his brain before he hears the commotion in the plaza, nearer now, the wince on your face and the way you jolt, ready to flee. He makes a decision.

He grabs at the hand fate and has dealt him, and pulls you further inside the commercial alleyways, knowing exactly where he wants to take you and nothing of what he wants to say to you.

But he can start with this. “ I have heard of you! I’ve been wanting to meet you!” He grins, bright like a star.

“I’m Kaveh. You are?

Taglist

@jjkclub, @jaguarthecat, @swivy123, @seajellyx, @ash-in-lavender, @pepithe3rd, @uchihaeirin .

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lala1267 · 1 year ago

Text

Is it wrong (Part 4)

Summary: Priscilla starts to show her true colours.

Notes: This is a kinda random chapter, but the next one is gonna be better. This is the calm before the storm ig.

She woke up in one of the guest rooms of Graceland. The sun shot golden light beams on her cute face as she sat up. The cotton sheets moved on her body that was covered in a satin night dress. She pushed back her messy golden hair with the back of her small hand. She blinked her soft doll eyes a few times before looking at the door. It was slightly open, letting the floating specs of dust become visible to the human eye. She gradually lifted her body from the king-sized bed. Her bare feet touched the cold, glazed wooden floor, sending electric waves throughout her body. She walked over to the oak door that was painted a pearl white. Her hand slowly pushed the door further open. Her mysterious eyes looked at the sunlit hallway that stared back at her. It had a royal white carpet. The walls were painted white with golden linings that trailed along the edges of the walls. Shelves of family pictures and ordiments stood tall. The warm sun filled the atmosphere. She stepped out into the fantasy looking hallway. She walked down the lavish steps.

She had grabbed a random book from a bookshelf that rested in the corner of the living room before walking into the garden. The warm summer breeze hit her bare face, pushing back her goddess hair. Her satin dress hugged tightly onto her fragile body before she walked through the door. She sat herself down on the green grass. Little dandelions and daisies surrounded her angelic self. Her dreamy eyes scanned the book that rested in her small hands. She looked like a dream as the sun hit her in her resting state.

She didn't even notice the fact that Elvis was walking right up to her from behind. His big hand rested on her shoulder as his hot breath hit her sun-kissed skin.

"Good mornin' baby."

He said in his southern drawl with an undertone of his deep morning voice. Her head turned to look at the handsome man who was hunched over her. His Egyptian shadow-blue eyes stared back at her cotton blue beads. She had oceans tucked away within her hair as sweet poems swam underneath her tanned skin. Sunlight was always flowing within her summer heart. A childish smile formed on her pretty pink lips. Elvis wrapped his large arms around her figure. She smelt of white roses with an undertone of vintage cherry cola. She felt every one of his cold golden rings meet her soft, warm skin. He pulled away before playing with her ethereal hair that draped over her shoulders. His eyes looked down at the book that she held.

"Do you even like that book?"

He asked as his fingers got lost in her tangled curls. She let out a sigh as she looked at the nature in the distance.

"No."

She said solely.

"We can have some fun, I have some horses in the stables."

He said. Lolita's head instantly tilted back to look at his face. A sheepish grin invaded her young face.

"Yes, please!"

She said excitedly. A chuckle escaped Elvis's lips.

"Ok baby"

_______________________________________

Lolita's hand ran along the tall horses hair. It was soft and well kept. Her eyes were filled with awe. Her devine smile was lurking on her face once more. Elvis watched her. Her beauty and gracefullness that lit a spark in him.

"Do you wanna ride?"

"Yes please."

She said politely. She felt Elvis's big hands wrap around her small waist. He pulled her up onto the tall horse with ease before he climbed on too. He sat behind her, his arms held onto the wreigns so that he was basically hugging her. His chest pushed up against her back as they rode around the stables that were filled with greenery. Mother nature slept in the trees. Lolita's hair blew all over the place as her body bounced up and down against Elvis's. Her joy and laughter filled the air. One of Elvis's hands moved to hold onto her small waist. Slowly rubbing circles as they carried on riding.

Their flirting and laughing woke the beast up. Little did they know, Priscilla watched like a hawk through the bedroom window. Her blood boiled as a strong wave of jealousy coursed through her veins. Her fists turned white from clenching them so hard. The witchery in her eyes was almost inhumane.

"Pathetic."

She scoffed to herself before walking off, leaving behind her haunting energy.

The next day

It was 3pm. Lolita ran up to the door, and her checkered pleated skirt bounced up and down as her spiralled curls blew in the afternoon breeze. Her fist knocked on the door. She stood there patiently, waiting for her sweet man to open the door. The large grin from her face dropped as she was met with Priscilla. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were bloodshot, almost as if she was crying. Her hair wasn't styled, messy, in fact. Her menacing eyes sent cold shivers down Lolita's spine.

"Elvis isn't here, in case you wanted him."

She said in a cold, stern tone. Lolita stood there, trying to hide her disappointment.

"Lisa is in the living room."

She said blankly before stepping aside to make way for Lolita. She stepped in, her black school shoes sounded against the polished wooden floorboards. She quickly slipped them off before walking into the living room. Priscilla followed behind like a shadow. Lolita was about to pick baby Lisa up from the cream coloured sofa when she was almost nocked over. Priscilla had pushed past her as if she was worth nothing. Lolita's head turned to look at Priscilla, who was behind her.

"Don't look at me, do your job."

She said as her bitchy face scrunched. Lolita nodded before hiding her ripe tomato face. She grabbed Lisa and cradled her gently as Priscilla made her way upstairs.

______________________________________

"Oh no, i need to get ya some new clothes."

Lolita said in a baby voice as Lisa accidentally spilled some milk onto her shirt. Lolita gently placed Lisa in her high seat so that she could watch television before making her way upstairs. Her heart skipped a beat with each step she took. She was scared of Priscilla and her attitude. She took a deep breath before knocking on her bedroom door.

"Come in."

Prsicilla said. Lolita slowly opened the door that creaked. She stood there looking at Priscilla, who was doing her makeup by the lavish vanity. Priscilla's head turned in Lolita's direction as a sigh escaped her glossy lips.

"What?"

She said in a bitchy tone.

"Uhm, w-where is Lisa's spare clothes?"

She asked quietly as her eyes avoided contact with Priscilla's.

"Why?"

"She accidentally s-spilled some milk on her shirt."

She said.

"You're meant to be a babysitter, and you can't even keep my goddamn baby clean?!"

She said as she raised her voice. Lolita turned a shade of red.

"Fucking pathetic."

She scoffed under her breath before standing up, banging her hands against the wooden table in the process. She stomped over to Lolita's shy figure before aggressively pushing past her. Lolita just managed to stop herself from falling onto the red carpet. Priscilla walked into Lisa's play room. Her hands rummaged through the clothes that were piled up in the tall wardrobe. She pulled out a pretty pink top that was studded with fabric white roses. She stomped back into her room, where Lolita stood. She threw the clothing at her face before sitting herself back down. Lolita just silently exited as she hid the embarrassment that was written over her face.

Every day since then, Priscilla would bully and taunt Lolita like she was a piece of rubbish. She would push and shove her like a punching bag and abuse her with her empty words that lingered around the atmosphere like haunted gohsts.

One evening

Lolita sat in her small living room with a bowl of sweet popcorn in her hand as her cartoon eyes watched the TV in front of her. The crispy crunches of her popcorn echoed throughout the room. The dark room lit up from the bright screen. Lolitas head turned to face the front door as a letter was posted through the hole in the door. The white envelope slowly fell to the ground like a feather. Lolita gradually stood up and walked over to it. She bent down before her small hand reached out to grab it. She stood up once she had it in her grasp. As she walked back over to the sofa, she slowly opened it. Her fingers fidled and messed around until finally she opened it. She quickly shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth as she scanned the lined letter.

"Hiya baby, I just wanted to tell ya that I won't be home for a while since I'm on tour. I will miss ya but I know I will see your pretty lil' face soon. Love you my baby.

-EP"

Her cheeks blushed and bloomed like a pink flower as her smile brightened the room like the sun. She felt a gush of lust fill her veins, turning them from a moonlight blue to a valentines pink. She looked at the letter with her beady eyes. She looked at the coffee table in front of her. Her hands reached out to grab a piece of paper and a pen before she sat back down. Her pen wrote across the paper as her little legs kicked and her giggles echoed.

"Hi Elvis. I will miss you so much, do you have to go? But I wish you the best, make sure to sing to the audience like you do to me. Have a great time and I love you sooo much!

-Your baby Lolita"

She placed the pen down as she stared at the letter, re-reading between the lines. She finally stood up from her seat before running over to the door. She twisted the door knob a few times before she finally opened the door. A gust of chilly wind hit her face. Her bare feet stepped onto the cold, hard concrete. Her hair blew behind her as her hairs stood up on her arms. Her breath turned into smoke in the cold air. She walked over to her mailbox. She placed the letter inside before rushing back into her house.

The next morning

Lolita slowly made her way down the stairs. Her hair was messy like medusas and her pidgamas were crinkled. Her cheeks were pink and puffy. She looked like a dreamy angel. She walked into the kitchen. Her eyes travelled to the window. The mailman was posting a letter in the mailbox. Lolita's ocean blue eyes sparkled in the morning sun. A smile cascaded her face before she rushed outside. The warmth of the sun hugged her and the sun rays shot down onto her body. She ran to the mailbox with a slight skip I'm her steps. She opened the mailbox and pulled out the letter. She quickly ran back inside and jumped onto the sofa. Her eager hands unwrapped the letter. She threw the rubbish onto the floor as she read the letter.

"Don't worry baby, I'm only gonna be gone for a few weeks. But I promise that I will give you a thousand kisses when I get back. But I'm at the hotel right now, I'm going to be performing tomorrow night. You can watch me on television if ya want. But be a good girl while I'm away and make sure Lisa doesn't misbehave. Bye bye baby.

-EP"

Lolita was quick to pick up a pen and paper and instantly start writing.

"You better give me a thousand kisses, I will count each and every one of them. I will watch you on television, I wouldn't miss it for anything. But I need to start heading to your house to look after Lisa. Bye bye for now Elvis.

-Your favourite, Lolita."

She wrote before smiling like a mad man. Her and Elvis were deeply in love, not even Priscilla could pull them out of the oceans of love.

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maranull · 2 years ago

Note

Okay that gif's a lot bigger than I expected it to be O.O ~Prompt Delivery!!~

Your options are: 1) Write a scene including these three things: a candle, a shooting star, & a rose. 2) Silver and Gold: What's Marika's favorite thing about Rennala? & Rennala's favorite about Marika? 3) & a prompt sentence I'm just straight-up yoinking from an enemies-to-lovers prompt list I have saved: "No one has to know about us; I know this could ruin you."

^_^ Have fun! (& I hope at least one of these inspires something!)

Lex! Hellooo!! Those are wonderful prompts, thank you! I thought about writing them all, but I have absolutely zero ideas about no3, and no2 would be spoiler-y for the fic if I wrote it as a scene :P

So! I wrote something for no1, and threw my ideas for no2 as small notes after that.

The night was dark, the new moon and stars hidden behind thin white clouds. It was silent too, with only the rare clunking of armoured boots coming from the town's watchtowers. The silence would last for long though. In a couple hours, the bakers would wake up, and with the warm scent of their work, the town would gently follow.

Not her though.

She hadn’t slept at all tonight. She had faked drowsiness, of course, when her husband joined their bed, but she was up and out of the covers as soon as she heard his breathing relax. She was still sitting on the bed, her feelings pushing her to get up but her thoughts fighting back.

She was looking towards the dark nightstand, where she knew his wedding gift was. A rose in a small glass dome. It was a polite gift and one that her husband had always been considerate of. They had closed 10 years together, and in all this time, he would replenish the rose each time it withered. Of all the ways an arranged, loveless marriage could go, theirs had probably gone the best. Both of them did their part, and both respected each other's decisions. The woman was grateful for her luck.

Yet, as she looked towards the imprisoned rose, something inside her was screaming. It was irrational and even childish. Her mind dreamed of new places, the fear and joy of new experiences, new faces, places where she could unshackle herself, free of the manners a married woman of the town should keep. She wanted to run, she wanted to laugh without thought, she wanted to scream.

She wondered if the rose felt the same way. It had sun and water, it was sheltered from the wind and frost. Yet it felt not the touch of wind, the caress of rain or the hug of the soil.

Taking a deep breath, she stood to her feet. In the dark, she walked to the dresser and picked a few travel clothes she deemed necessary. In her activity, her mind still trailed back to the rose and also, to her sleeping husband. She wondered how his days would change from now on. Would he wake earlier to make breakfast, or would he prepare something cold the night before? Would he feel relieved that he would now only have himself to provide for? Would he miss her? Would she miss him? She shook her head. Questions for another time.

It didn’t take her long to gather most essentials. She took some of the salted meat, one of their big water jugs and the last day’s leftover bread. She packed them all neatly in a sack and let it rest next to a lantern by the door.

As she walked down the stairs to the cellar where their candles were stored, an idea struck her. It would risk waking up the man, and it would only give her fleeting satisfaction, but the moment the thought came to mind, she became dead set on doing it. Rushing a bit, she grabbed two handfuls of candle sticks for the lantern and quietly rushed up the stairs again.

After repacking the sack, she took hold of one of the candles and walked outside. She shivered in the sudden cold. Quickly she made her way to the light pole closest to home, borrowing its flame with the candle.

Then she was back in her house again, returning for the last time.

With gentle quiet steps, she entered the bedroom, her eyes shifting from the man to the rose and back to him again. To her relief, the light only made him turn away and pull the covers over his head.

With more confidence now, she took the dome off the rose. It was at its first stages of wilting, and a lone petal fell to the floor. She picked up the rose, with a gentleness that its thorns didn’t dare pierce, and she placed it on the stone floor next to its lost petal. Then, she ran the flame throughout the stem, lighting the flower on fire. She hoped the man would get the message.

Exiting the house for the final time, she looked to the sky, looking for something. Reassurance? Strength? Blessings? Willpower? She didn’t really know.

And she didn’t know what the shooting star she saw across the sky gave her, but it was enough to get her moving.

Like it, she would cross the world. Like it, her dreams would shine brighter than the mundaneness of her past. Like it, she would move forward.

~End

This probably counts as multiple scenes, and I'm not 100% sure that I communicated the story as well as I wanted to, but I spent a couple hours being lost on how to improve it, so... This will have to do. Hope you like it!

And the Silver and Gold notes are:

Marika’s favourite thing is how Rennala takes on her leader duties. Neither of them was raised to be a Queen, but Rennala took on that duty naturally, with ease and composure, while Marika still struggles to keep up the appearance of regality.

Rennala’s favourite thing is Marika’s sincerity and bluntness. Granted, Marika is only sincere towards Rennala and her kids, anyone else is fair game for deceit and manipulation. But even in her most untrustworthy moments, she is as blunt and direct as she can be and Rennala loves it.

Thank you so much for the prompts!! no1 actually made me really want to write some original fiction, there's something really cool about the freedom you can have with it. At least compared to the way I personally write fanfiction. I might start exploring an idea or two I had in my old notes...

But yeah! Really, really loved these prompts, thank you so much! <333

(￣︶￣)/

#asks #from the best slowly fren #my writing #also #fic notes?#as a tag?#should i make that?#wtv i'm making it :P #fic notes #thank you again #these were awesome

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cultesdesghoules · 2 years ago

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『•• vaas & jason ••』

Vaas had the nose of a purebred bloodhound. Either that, or he was crazy beyond comprehension. Or both. Not only was he a master huntsman and tracker, but he was also frighteningly patient, biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike, always aiming for the kill. And with every single one, with every single notch in his belt, there came a childish sense of joy, elated in all the brutalistic ways there were to tear someone down. If the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again, could Vaas say he was sane with the loophole of there being so many methods at his disposal? As much fun as the current hunt was, however, it was also infuriating. No, not infuriating. Vaas wouldn’t say that. He’d say it was pissing him off. Conveniently, he’d leave out why it angered him that much: envy. Envy that Jason was so privileged, so lucky to have someone who would go to the ends of the earth for him (unlike that manipulative bitch Citra), yet he wanted to… to what, exactly? That, Vaas never knew, and the more Jason slipped from his grasp, the more his rage grew. ❝ You motherfucker… ❞ Vaas growled, turning on one of his men. He’d been told they’d found a trail, yet now it proved fruitless, leading them to a dead end. ❝ You waste my time, you waste everybody’s time, and that fucking colonizer prick is still fucking skipping his merry way through my jungle. And why is that, eh? ❞ As the grunt fumbled with his words, Vaas had casually unholstered his handgun, planning to make an example of him in front of the surrounding crew. ❝ Because of y— ❞ A nearby rustling interrupted the punishment. Swiveling in the direction where the sound came from, he grinned, teeth bared. Vaas knew all the fauna of the islands like the back of his hand, knew their habits, their scents, their sounds, their tracks. And just like he could tell all the familiarities of his homeland, he could also tell when something foreign had trespassed. This was entirely human. As if on cue, Jason showed himself before turning tail, running deeper into the overgrowth of the jungle, with Vaas’ laughter trailing behind him. The hunt began. ❝ Hermano, why’re you running? Huh? WHY ARE YOU FUCKING RUNNING?! ❞ Cackles and yells resounded from his men as they followed suit. Fueled entirely by bloodlust, Vaas never slowed down, nor did he ever tire, continuously gaining on the outsider who didn’t know the chaos of the island as well as he did. As the sun drew down, Jason entered his field of vision once more, and gleefully Vaas barked and howled like a wild animal to instill fear, to warn the other that he was closing in. ❝ Jaaasoon… What’s the matter, Jason? ❞ The dread Jason felt was palpable, acrid and heavy in the air. Closer, closer, Vaas could hear him breathing, could smell his sweat, could taste his fright. A hand shot forward, fingers tightly wounding in the back of Jason’s hair as a swift kick landed in the back of a knee. ❝ You fucking little bitch. I asked you a question… ❞ Words trailed off into a hyena’s cackle. ❝ WHAT’S THE MATTER, JAAASON?! ❞

『•• cont. — @breakthings ••』

#insanitydefined • vaas #insanitydefined • thread #insanitydefined • verse: fc3 #breakthings / jason #breakthings #tw gun mention #tw violence #[[ *rubs dirty fly hands together* ]]

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amischiefofmuses · 2 months ago

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-- ❝Understatement of the year.❞ They huff softly, a weak half-hearted smile on their face- if they don't smile about it then god knows it'll all feel too real. There's a sick sense of regret that settles in the pit of their stomach for talking about any of this, to be yet another thing for Logan to worry about and they start to wish Scott hadn't broached the topic at all. At least before it was written down they could pretend it was nothing more than a childish crush, they could keep it solely to themself for longing nights alone. No going back now and Logan seems to be intent on that fact with the way he silences them, gruff as ever but with no heat behind it, his hand slowly trailing down to settle over their own. It makes their heart skip and for a second a breath is held, as though any movement might break the delicate moment they've found between the two of them. Their eyes go wide as he goes on to explain his own feelings, the sentiment making them feel more than a little emotional. The impossible has happened, the feelings are mutual and they have to swallow down a surge of- joy? Happiness? Relief? They're not sure but it threatens to choke them for a moment before a tight laugh spills from them. -- ❝I mean, I know you care about me, never once questioned that.❞ They move back to sitting on the edge of the bed finally, closing a little of the space they'd made between themself and Logan, letting their joined hands settle on their leg gently. ❝I guess we're both a bit blind to all this stuff, huh?❞ They give Logan's hand a squeeze, looking down at it with the temptation to bring it up to their lips, press a kiss there but- it's too much. They know that. For the future, perhaps. -- ❝Might be nice to have a change of pace, I think. A shit show that doesn't have potentially world-ending stakes.❞

"... Our lives are kind of a shit show, aren't they?"

Maybe that's as fair of an excuse as any. There is always something going on around here—Logan's often had the same thought against being 'the problem of the day' and stuffed things down for similar reasons. It seemed like there was never a right time for anything. But between the two of them, for as many moments as they had to themselves, it almost seemed ridiculous to think that the moment had never come up. Still, Logan can't fault him for that logic.

"Shut up." Sorry, Morph; it's not a malicious sentiment, but it's the easiest one to come up with to shut down any commentary that immediately seems ridiculous. Forget this ever happened... as if it's something that Logan would just be able to put out of his head on a whim, simply because he decides against acknowledgement. He doesn't want that.

This is stupid. He gives a low rumble that seems to reflect that thought, but it's immediately contradicted by the way Logan finally lets his grip slide, finding it easier to let his hand rest over theirs.

"... Dunno if you've caught on yet, but you... mmh." Maybe he doesn't blame them for not being able to talk about all this 'feelings' crap. "... You mean... everything to me. I'd burn this whole place to the ground if it meant keepin' you safe. I get the feeling we're already down that rabbit hole together, just without all the... y'know." All the romantic perks, obviously. Too difficult to say out loud.

"You know you'll be puttin' yourself into an entirely different shit show by making this into something, right?"

#[JUST SMOOCH ALREADY YOU LOSERS SMH]#Welcome Return || Morph Verse #Spilling Secrets || Thread #ficklefables

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asilavyel · 2 years ago

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Wonder Woman

I remember it like it was yesterday sitting in my anatomy class. The phone was ringing the time stopped. Everything was in slow motion. I knew the phone was for me. My father is in the hospital. Suffering from the ramifications of the chemo. I didn’t know he was on his deathbed. Sick and alone waiting for me. Would I make it in time? The fallen leaves were crunching under my insignificance wheels. I was riding on the cracked sidewalk at the end of the street. Adults and children were nowhere in sight. The street was sleeping and reeked of loneliness. The people on this worn, dead ended street had deserted it, striving for something new and more exciting. My bike had unwanted training wheels and was covered with pink roses. I had a pink bubble horn and bow ribbons tied on the handles. My once loved bike now became childish in my eyes. I was a big girl now! I pedaled faster to reach my worn house. My training wheels were making me slower, dragging me down. I had finally reached my house towards the beginning of the street. From my house, you could see the wavering crooked sign marking our street 'Poplar'. I hopped off my bike and marched right onto my porch. My father was sitting on a lawn chair with his beloved Coca-Cola beside his leather cowboy boots.

I stride up to him, “Daddy you need to teach me how to ride a real bike!” He looks at me with amusement and adjusts his cowboy hat, putting out the cigarette he was smoking in the glass ashtray next to him.

“What's wrong with your bike?” He asks me with a smile that reaches our matching brown eyes.

“Daddy! I'm a big girl now and big girls don't ride bikes with training wheels!” All the kids who lived on the street didn't ride the type of bike I rode.

“Okay mija. I'll teach you how to ride a bike without training wheels.” He walked and bent over to the steel handle, opening our unused garage. I heard a rustling and clanging. Finally my father emerged with a rusty larger than life bike. The wheels towered over my head and I compulsively started fidgeting with my hands.

“I'm suppose to ride that?” I whined. I didn't expect this particular bike.

“It's what you wanted Lisa, no?” my father says with a smile. “I'll help you don't worry.”

I can do this. I zip up my puffy white jacket and roll up my selves. My father takes the bike to the edge of the road as I trail after him. He helps me onto the old fashion bike and I adjust myself. I place my feet onto the pedals.

“Okay now start pedaling. I have you mija.”

I start to pedal with my dad steadying my awkwardly high padded seat. As I pedal I can't stop the grin growing on my face.

“Good job! I'm going to let go.”

“No papi! You cant let go!” I scream with desperation. I sense my father still with me so I immediately calm down. I pass the broken houses with the wind blowing my air. In that moment I felt like Wonder Women and my hair was my cape. The bike was my two wheeled lasso, my weapon. I turn to share my joy with my father and to let him know I'm okay. I want to try by myself. With wide eyes I see my father standing several houses behind me. I try not to panic and keep riding. I don't no how to get off the large bike. I decide to just turn and ask daddy for help.

It was another day in the 'ghetto' Pontiac Michigan when I made the decision to learn how to ride a bike. Later in life I would really learn what it means to actually let go. I also was striving for something new, but I would realize there was no place I'd rather be than on that broken road, embracing my father and yelling at him to not let me go.

After I fell off my new weapon my father rushed to me. Two bruised knees and the shock of falling derailed my spirit. I remember my father kissing my boo boos but I had finally did the impossible. Its was too big, but I In those ten to five second felt free. Infinite. Accomplished. Never let something scary stop you from reaching new heights. How I missed that man to this day. As next of kin I was the one to make the decision.

Many do not talk about their experiences with loss which is a form of grief. You can experience this at any age or any time in your life. It could be a small loss, as losing a childhoods toy or a big loss which may be losing a parent. Both are losses but, one is more severe emotional loss. Some losses are natural like losing your teeth. You can experience that in two stages of your life. I am somebody who personally does not discuss my grief with people. It’s not a natural response for me. At a young age I had to decide my father. Man I had known my whole life was weak in this moment. They said that’s what he wanted.

Smoking kills and it generated towards mainly men. Smoking also introduces new voices such as drinking. By new voices I mean new vices. An addiction that may lead to other addictions. Not only can you experience cancer from smoking you can also get secondhand smoke. Gum disease follows that In some causes. You may experience hearing loss vision loss in some severe cases. Your increase in tobacco products may increase. Dual tobacco items may be used. What is the cost of a cigarette. If you ask a smoker how much he spends on a pack a month you’d be astonished. People relate stress to why they began smoking. Or maybe you were quitting a habit and place you gained a new bad habit. Smoking kills. It’s unhealthy. Think twice before you light up. Can cause lung disease by blocking the airways in your small sacs in your lungs. COPD is serious. Smoking is so unhealthy. Nicotine doesn’t kill the tar does. Vaping is just as bad. Vaping is an alternative from smoking cigarettes. It still affects your lungs. Cigarette smoking kills more than 480,000 Americans each year. Cigarette kills mostly men compared to women. Cigarette smoking also kills more in the ages of 45 to 64.The woman rate for smoking in women is 11.0, reported as everyday smokers. I believe people smoke because of stress. Find new ways to cope with stress in a productive way. Might find this beneficial in the long run to quit smoking. Find new coping mechanisms to quit smoking. You can do it. The south also is reported to have more smokers in the country. 45 to 64 is reported to have more frequent smoking. You see it smoking advertise everywhere on billboard, television. I lost my father at the age of fifteen, he suffered through chemotherapy and he went into remission but he was in stage four. The chemo affected his body and some of the effects of the chemo he got sick from and he could not recover and he passed away. I had to come to acceptance and deal with this grief. And to this day I’m still learning how to talk about my grief, about the situation. It takes time and practice and you have to be willing in my opinion, to heal. People struggle with healing because they do not talk about it so if you are in that situation and you feel like someone needs someone to talk to you, please reach out because isolation does have negative effects. I feel like I experience a prolonged grief a sense of “being stuck” from my loss of my father. Grief and loss do have an effect on your physical well-being so it’s important practice self-care. I hope if you know anyone that is going through any difficult times regarding loss and grief that you are patient and know that there is hope. Be a good support system it can help someone in that type of situation.

#short story #smoking cigarette #smoking #treatment

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harrysweasleys · 2 years ago

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trick or treat, freak // e.m

summary: eddie coming over to yours to help you hand out candies to trick or treaters. and yes, he definitely forced you to wear couple’s costumes

warnings: none i think! let me know if ive missed one :)

a/n: just a little blurb that i wrote trying to get back into the writers mindset y’know :) anyways hope u all enjoy it and happy halloween!!

Halloween was undoubtedly one of the best nights of the year. I mean, the atmosphere, the candies, the spookiness, how could anyone dislike it?

Hawkins went all out for the holiday. We’re talking decorating city hall, pumpkins at the end of every street, and even one of those giant inflatable skeletons near the heart of the town. You guessed it helped get people into the spirit, help persuade people to go get dressed up and ring door to door.

Your parents always said it was a capitalist thing — make people buy candies, support the economy. All that jazz. But you know what? To put a smile on someone’s face and stuff your own with candy — you weren’t going to sit here and deny the holiday joy. Of course not.

So here you were, October 31st, with your little witch hat on as Eddie sat next to you, devil horns on his head, leather jacket tight, and his arm around you as you both waited for the next wave of trick or treaters. He had asked — no, insisted — that you guys go as the devil and a witch.

She’s his lover, Eddie would argue when you said it wasn’t necessarily a couple’s costume. You weren’t sure he really grasped the concept but he seemed so thrilled with the idea of seeing you in a little black dress and a pointy hat that you had to just cave in and agree.

You had worn the same costumes the night before at Steve’s party and had both gotten compliments so you guessed they did the trick.

“I think we should close up for the night,” Eddie yawned, leaning further into the couch as Halloween played on TV, tossing a handful of popcorn mixed with m&ms into his mouth, “That way we can just have a movie night and y’know, selfishly keep the candies to ourselves.”

“Eds, it’s not even seven o’clock,” you shook your head as you let out a laugh, playfully whacking him across the chest as you reached for the popcorn, “Aren’t you a bore?”

He rolled his eyes, “It’s about principles, princess. Less children, more candy for us.” He waved his hand in the air as he spoke, trying to prove his point.

“Principles?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows, “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about. Do you really wanna be the one house on the street that’s closed? Come on. How boring would we be?”

As if knowing you were right, he scoffed. Eddie, of all people, dismissing Halloween? You wouldn’t stand for it.

“Fine,” he gave in after practically zero hesitation, “I guess we can stay open a bit longer.”

“A bit, huh?”

He scooted closer, knees brushing against yours and his head falling onto your shoulder. His soft curls fell against your collarbones and the skin of your neck, sending goosebumps nearly all over your body. You really couldn’t understand how people were scared of him. This guy? Here? Impossible.

“Yeah,” he sighed, taking another handful of the popcorn and tossing it into his mouth.

Ding, dong!

A grin made its way to your lips as your shot up, adjusting your dress, and making your way to the door, grabbing Eddie’s hand and having him trail behind you.

Though he said he wanted to just stay in with you, he couldn’t deny the childish bubble of excitement that was bursting from him, the grin on his lips that showed off his gorgeous dimples. You could see right through him. He loved this.

Just the two of you, on a night that’s infamous for being scared and cuddling up to soothe that fear. Eddie was living for it.

You swung the door open to be greeted with a group of nearly six kids, all under the age of eight, dressed in all sorts of costumes. A classic ghost, some zombies, an angel, and another little girl dressed as the devil. She looked adorable, little red horns atop her head of curly hair.

She spotted Eddie and her eyes lit up, pointing at him and whispering to the woman who was holding her.

“Trick or treat!” they all asked in somewhat unison — not in unison at all, actually, you were only being kind — and held out their goodie bags.

They were all kind, thanking you and smiling bashful smiles each time they felt the weight of their bags getting heavier. You remember that feeling as a kid — the oh, yeah, more candy for me kind of feeling. The my parents will be paying for the dentist bill kind of feeling.

You both grabbed a bunch and tossed them into reach remaining bag until only the little girl with the devil horns was left.

Eddie leaned towards her, muttered a, “great costume,” and gave her the bag of candies. The sight warmed your heart, if you were being totally honest.

A massive, toothless grin made its way onto her lips and she giggled, waving at Eddie as the family made their way to the house next door.

“See? You seem to be loving this,” you pointed your finger to his chest, looking up at him with an mischievous look in your eyes. The dimples were still prominent, and he didn’t even try to argue.

He just lifted your hand, pressed a kiss to the top of it, gave you a wink, and walked back to the couch.

Bastard.

He was such a tease. Of course he would be while you were wearing what he called his favourite dress. But he really was a teasing little shit sometimes.

“So much for let’s close up early, huh?” you shot, taking a seat next to him on the couch and linking your arms with his, “We’d be missing all the fun.”

“You’re my fun,” he looked up at you with those big eyes of his, wiggling his eyebrows as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your temple.

One thing people didn’t know was that Eddie was an absolute corndog.

But hey, he was your corndog, so you didn’t mind people not knowing.

“Shut up, you,” you rolled your eyes, shuffling even closer to him — if that was possible.

Yeah, you really liked Halloween.

#eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson one shots

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absolutelyfizzing · 3 years ago

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Sifu Hotman

zuko x water tribe sibling!reader

request - I want to request a Zuko x fem reader being Sokka and Katara's sister. She can be the older sister or sokka's twin sister. Also when they start dating Sokka and Katara can like threaten him by saying don't hurt my sister or else.

A/N - This is taking place after the war, I'm vaguely uncomfy writing for underage people (or like younger than 17) so I just went ahead and aged them up. I'm sorry if that's not what you were wanting! I'm also sort of ignoring the plot of the comics and stuff and we are ignoring Mai's existence. I don't feel like this was my best writing by any means but i tried and i thought it was a cute idea. There will probably be more zuko x reader coming soon

word count - 2000

MASTERLIST

You took a deep breath in, the warm air refreshing after having just spent the last month in the southern water tribe with your family besides Katara who was off saving lives with Aang. Your twin brother stood beside you, his hair grown out and tied into a ponytail. Your sister would be here in the fire nation in a week with Aang. It had been three years since the war, you had just been kids at the time. You and Sokka were 15 during the last battle and you had felt so old then. Now, looking back, you had been immature and childish but you had grown up. After the war ended you remained in the fire nation for a few months. You had wanted to get a little bit of quiet before you started going on more adventures with your brother.

You had been very close with Zuko while he was traveling with you and the gang. You didn't know why but you trusted him, maybe it was because you trusted Toph's judgement but either way you had accepted him quicker than the others. You remembered how cold the rest of the group had been to him and it almost was funny to you now considering that Katara had just told you a story in a recent letter about Toph, Aang, and Zuko getting into a bickering match about fire flakes that ended in Toph trapping both of the boys into a earth tent. It was also hard to comprehend that Zuko was the new Firelord and he ruled over a whole nation.

It had been 2 years since you saw Zuko in person. It wasn't on purpose but you kept getting pulled in different directions, none of them leading you into the fire nation. You were excited but also scared to see him, butterflies filling your stomach at the thought of seeing him. You'd had a bit of a crush on the new Firelord when you last saw him but you refused to tell either of your siblings, knowing that they would threaten him to high heaven before he even knew about it.

Your brother walking beside you calmed you a bit, his presence being comforting to you. He was much taller than you now and he was more confident than the kid he had been during the war. You knew that the same was true for Aang, though he never grew up in personality. As you approached the gates of the palace you wondered if Zuko had changed.

You realized that he had as the gates opened and he was stood on the steps up to the palace waiting for both of you. His hair was long and it was pulled into a messy bun. His scar was no longer shrouded in his bangs and he seemed more confident in his stance. His robes were long and elegant and you wondered if he wore them by choice of if they were required because of his position. Your brother jogged slightly to get to Zuko faster, having grown to hold a strong bond with the man. You walked calmly but there was a smile on your face as your brother and Zuko embraced. Once the released each other Zuko turned to you. You noticed him gulp a bit and a blush threatened to cover your cheeks. Your grin became wider the closer you got to him and soon you were wrapped in his embrace.

You noticed that his frame was larger. You leaned your head back from the hug to look at his face and he looked well. Like he was happy and maybe even getting enough sleep.

"Hey there, Sifu Hotman." You smiled and Zuko rolled his eyes as he released you from the hug.

"I see we haven't matured in 2 years?" He grunts but you can see the smile trying to creep onto his face. "Toph still calls me that too." He grumbled lowly and you started laughing.

"Where is the little demon?"

"She's away dealing with some prisoners for me. She should be back in a week or so." Zuko smiled. "She's taken up a pretty important role here. She's like my personal lie detector. She likes to sit in on council meetings and scare everyone."

"I think that's actually her dream job." You smiled and Zuko hummed in agreement. There was a bit of a silence as you and Zuko just gazed at each other. He seemed so sure now. You had missed him dearly.

"Okay! Let's get this show on the road, people!" Sokka yelled and you internally groaned that he had to ruin the moment. Before you all turned toward the palace, Zuko sent you a wink and you felt a blush cover your face. As you headed up the steps of the palace you felt a comforting hand on your lower back as the Fire Lord gently followed behind you, Sokka running ahead of you, likely to find the food in the kitchens that he was accostomed to spending all of his time in.

"Can I speak to you in private when we get a moment?" Zuko asks and again your heart rate picks up. You turn your head to look at him.

"Of course" You smiled and he smiles back at you, making your head spin a bit. You spent the next few hours meeting new advisors, getting a tour through new parts of the palace, and catching up with Zuko who seemed to be acting more clingy than you had ever remembered him to be.

"Y/N, would you mind coming with me?" Zuko asked and you turned to face him with a smile.

"Of course!" You chirped as he led you to a secluded hallway away from your brother who was discussing war strategy with an advisor of Zuko's.

When you reached a place where you were out of earshot of others Zuko gently took your hands.

"I have something to confess." He stated and you felt fire on your cheeks, you nodded for him to continue, "I'm in love with you. I have been for years and I've never acted on it because there was always something going on and I was so unsure but now-" he gazed into your eyes with sincerity, "I couldn't be more sure. I want to be with you. If you'd have me, that is." Instead of answering you jumped forward, pressing your lips onto Zuko's in a searing kiss. He groaned and pushed back, trapping you against a wall. He pulled away to press his forehead into yours and you closed your eyes for a moment before opening them again and gazing at the man in front of you.

"Katara is gonna kill you." You mumbled and Zuko smiled.

"You aren't worried about Sokka?"

"I just know that Sokka can't win in a fight against you. Katara on the other hand..." you trailed off and Zuko looked offended.

"That's pretty rude to say to the man who just confessed his love for you."

"I'm just being honest. Toph might have some words too."

Zuko shuddered at the thought of what they could do to him. Sokka would be upset but he could probably handle it. Aang would be happy for both of them he was sure, always the peacemaker and moderator. Aang would probably be the only reason that Katara wouldn't attack Zuko immediately.

Over the next week you snuck around with Zuko, taking alone time any chance that you got. Sokka rarely let you get any peace as he stayed with you nearly constantly. He was always a little on the defence with you and he would likely settle in and ease up over the coming weeks as he got used to the new environment. You were never a huge fighter, though you could hold your own. You also couldn't bend. You were the one of the group who took care of everyone, you were the smartest in strategy by far, and you were the only one who could reason with Toph. Because of this, Sokka had gotten used to just being near you in case anything happened, though it was rare that anything did. You appreciated it normally but now you wanted time alone so that you could spend it with Zuko as you got used to being in a relationship that was more than platonic. But today was the day that the rest of the gang was arriving, even Suki would be joining you so you hoped that would take some of the clingy-ness of Sokka away. You all stood at the front of the palace, much like Zuko had stood for you a week earlier, and watched as Appa approached in the distance. He flew gently in front of you and as soon as he landed in front of you he licked you with his giant tongue and you were covered in slobber. Despite this you couldn't be happier to see the giant animal and you embraced him. You were suddenly pulled away and brought into the arms of your little sister.

"I missed you, Y/N." She mumbled into your neck and you smiled into hers, it had been so long since you had seen her and you felt tears come to your eyes at the relief of having her near.

You spent the next hours catching up with Katara and Aang, who had grown to be taller than you since you last saw him. Toph and Suki arrived that night and you were all glad to be together again at last, old memories coming back and filling you all with joy. You and Zuko looked at each other and you took a deep breath. You had discussed that you would be revealing your relationship to the rest of the group when you were all together but you were nervous for their reactions.

"So... I have something I would like to tell you guys." You stated and all of the conversation died down, all eyes suddenly on you. "Me and Zuko are together." You rushed out and you only got blank stares for a moment before there was groaning from Toph and Sokka.

"You couldn't have waited another year? I didn't think you would have figured it out by now." Toph grumbled and pulled some coins out of her pocket, Sokka doing the same. Suki and Katara held out their hands and money got dropped into them, both with smug looks on their faces. Zuko looked over at you and had the same look of shock that you likely did.

"What?" You mumbled.

"We all knew you were going to get together of course, you've been pining after each other for years, but me and Suki said you would be getting together this month and Toph said in a year. Sokka actually said in 3 months so he was closer than Toph was." Katara stated simply and you still just stared at her, mouth agape. "We also talked about the fact that if he hurts you," Her gaze shifted to a nervous looking Zuko, "we would all be committing some crimes."

"I feel like I should clarify that those crimes include maiming and murder." Sokka glared at Zuko and he gulped.

"But I'm so happy for you two!" Katara exclaimed, her attitude shifting completely. You and Zuko stared at each other in shock and then you smiled at him. You were so happy to finally be together and to have your friends around you.

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prophecylinked · 2 years ago

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It takes a good minute for Amanda to finish laughing, of which Noodle uses to put the kasa back in its place, using his sudden weight to be useful after his little prank. Once balanced again, he dangles from it in front of Ren's face, little paws kicking as if to wave at him. Despite his face no emoting beyond normal ferret expressions, there was an undeniable sense that he was proud of what he had done. The small spook he had given them was well worth it. Before any retaliation could be done, though, the spirit vanishes in a puff of snowflakes, fading into faint sparkles before the cold could reach his face and freeze him on both sides. He's back at his friend's feet the next moment, who's now finally done laughing, wiping her eyes so any tears don't get frozen in this weather.

Amanda gives a final huff of laughter before slowly returning her focus to the mission at hand, "You make hysterical faces sometimes, it's worth every reaction! Anyway, uh... you said it was literal?" It had been hard to focus on those words when Noodle had vanished, momentarily wrapped in worry, but now her childish joy made it hard to return to something serious. Besides, it was impossible that Dragonspine of all places could have some kind of city. It was a death trap, no one would willingly live here; though perhaps the way he described them as ruins told that fact enough. The young hero hums in thought, now trying to remember her mission after the chaos, "They said he was going... near the statue of the seven, so we were going up there to find more traces." Her companion squeaked, making sure she now saw where he was going as they started on the trail again.

Her teasing expression returned to it's usual resting mild unpleasantness, now much more comfortable, though notably still scanning ahead beyond the snow, her fingers intertwine behind her head to once again give her an air of confidence. Whether that was misplaced or not was still to be argued. "You think we'll run into that alchemist here? The big important one from Mondstat, I mean. I heard he hangs out around here, must be a weird guy if he likes this place... kinda like you." She notes with a hint of teasing smugness.

nothing we can't handle, she says — only to contradict the thought almost immediately. ren can't help but feel more SECURE by the minute in his choice to follow along. amanda might be more competent than most ( an assessment that may qualify as stunning praise in his ever-critical eyes ) but she is still very much a CHILD. a child who clearly cares more about the destination than charting a proper path to reach it. he doubts she's so helpless as to get herself killed — not with her companion guiding her way. but lost? wandering this frozen graveyard for ages on end? it's not impossible, and one missing person is troublesome enough already.

❝ the entombed city? ❞ thankfully, in addition to being nearly immune to the biting cold, ren also comes equipped with an inhumanly SHARP memory. he hasn't looked over a formal map of dragonspine for quite some time — not since the fatui last forced him there a number of years prior. that's fine; he's always been better at learning from EXPERIENCE, and his unusual fondness for the gloomy mountain has led to no shortage of time spent wandering about its frozen expanse. as a result, there's only a brief pause before ren speaks again. ❝ i don't think they're talking about a rock formation. the name is more literal than that. ❞ grim though that may sound, it's but the tip of the iceberg ( no pun intended ) in terms of what macabre points of interest dragonspine has to offer. ❝ if we go deeper into the mountain, we should start to find ruins ... do you remember hearing anything more specific? that's still a lot of GROUND to cover ... ❞

he's so caught up in his pondering that he doesn't notice the ferret's disappearance until amanda brings it to his attention. ren pauses in his tracks, looking around with a quizzical blink. that's strange. ❝ he was right there a minute ago — ? ❞ the wanderer starts to say, only for his kasa to flip back and a mass of something cold and damp and unpleasant to slide down his back.

he has never quite hated the OPENING in his bodysuit more than that moment.

❝ ... ❞ a little sound of discontent rumbles at the back of his throat, drowned out by the uproarious laughter of his companions. yes, the snow has no adverse effect on his body — but that doesn't mean it's COMFORTABLE. the wanderer looks rigid and awkward, back arched at a strange angle. ( a useless effort to escape the ice collected in his clothes. ) one eye twitches involuntarily — a glitch, literal or otherwise, as he quietly ponders every step he's ever taken throughout his torturous existence to bring him to this lowly point. awful. terrible. it's going to take ages to MELT. ❝ i'll just wait for you to get that out of your SYSTEM ... ❞ ren grumbles, voice edging dangerously close to a pout.

#amanda when i'm ready i'll fly us out of here | genshin #((our muses truly are Doing The Thing Again))#((gotta have the albedo mention. you can't have dragonspine without the albedo mention))#((an albedo event Would get me to play again))

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yesimwriting · 4 years ago

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The Needs of Pain

A/n as promised,,, here is my gift to you bc I finished ap gov today :))

The darkling x heartrender!reader story based on the whole ‘no one but me can hurt you’ thing :))

Warnings: sexual innuendos,, attempts to sexualize pain if you squint, kinda lemon-y

I kinda want to write a smutty part 2 let’s see lol

Summary: after a training injury, Kirigan reveals how he views the dynamic of your relationship and figures out how to best help you work through the pian

In an odd way, the most painful part of my injury had been the wound on my pride, not my shoulder. Though the pain that begins beneath my collarbone and continues down my left shoulder is not exactly pleasant. I can’t bring myself to pity myself too much as I stare at the extent of my burns. There’s a war going on. People die, people lose loved ones, I have to tolerate pain for an hour or two before a healer can be sent to be.

I told Genya I’d be fine in the medical wing, but she insisted that I wait for a healer to be sent to me. The people here look up to me, if news of my injury got out, especially considering it’s a training wound, morale would take a blow we can’t currently afford. Genya had looked relatively sympathetic when she told me that many healers were occupied considering how difficult training had been and I had told her I could bear the weight.

Now, in my room, staring at the basin full of water, I’m starting to regret my desire to be self sacrificing. I dip the towel in the water, squeezing out the excess before daring to dab the fabric on the outer edge of the wound. The feeling is fire against my skin all over again. An instinctual curse leaves me as I drop the towel on the counter that surrounds the basin.

Arthur hadn’t meant it. I can still hear the frantic apologies tumbling from his full lips. He should have been more focused on the task at hand, he should have never stopped to look at me, at the way I could control so many living things at once. In some odd sense, his distraction had been a compliment. Many of the girls here would sell anything to have Arthur’s attention, even if it resulted in such a careless mistake.

I grimace, picking up the towel and preparing to start again. I should at least clean it before the healers have to deal with both a physical injury and an infection. The sound of my door flying open and then shutting angrily is enough of a distraction for me to accidentally dab the towel against my skin too harshly. I curse again, turning my head towards the bathroom door. Did Genya exaggerate the severity of my wound? Are the healers that desperate to get to me?

I turn on my toes, towel forgotten by the basen full of water as I approach the door that connects my room with the bathroom. “I’m--” Words meant to calm a frantic healer stick to the back of my throat as soon as I register all the black in the room. General Kirigan. Great. He no doubt heard about my injury after prying it from Genya and now he’s here to scold me for the childishness of it all. To be injured because a boy and I just couldn’t help ‘make eyes at each other’. All he does is insult my refusal to become bitter just because I was born possessing power.

“You’re what?” His words are a different level of callous, darker than the shadows he creates with the will of his mind alone. “An idiot that let herself be sent back to her room instead of demanding to see a healer?”

That’s an odd thing for him to focus his anger on. At least it’s not fully directed at me. On instinct, I half turn, attempting to hide my injury from his piercing eyes. My instinct tells me he should never see me so mortal. “Genya recommended it,” my words are determined yet calm, “It’s such a small injury it isn’t worth risking everyone’s morale. A healer will come here when one is available.”

His face tightens in what must be some kind of disgusted disbelief. “Foolish girl--have you no instinct for preservation?”

Every decision I’ve made since being injured made sense before he spoke to me. The fierceness of his voice leaves my face warmer than it was a moment ago and reminds me of the stem of my dislike for him. General Kirigan speaks and I am left a clumsy child. “Some things are more important than one’s self.” I expect he’ll turn that into something else to mock or belittle about me. “And it’s not a grave injury it’s barely--”

The distance between us seemed so great less than a second ago, but he’s closed it so quickly, grabbing my left wrist and extending my arm forward so that I can’t hide anything from him. “You’re burned.” There’s the slightest bit of surprise coloring his words along with something else I can’t interpret. “How did you get burned?”

Kirigan doesn’t know. My stomach knots, anticipating embarrassment. “Training incident--I was standing too close to an Inferni.”

His grip on my arm tightens. I grimace as he pulls me forward with no regard for my injury. “Who?” The voracious way he says the word leaves my thoughts trembling. He is a void of darkness, starving for a victim to snuff the light out of.

When my thoughts settle, I cannot bring myself to tell him the truth. “I didn’t see, I was distracted by the burning.” I exhale slowly, desperate to escape the flames behind his eyes the way I could not escape the fire of earlier. “It doesn’t matter, I’ve been injured worse in training.” His hold on my arm doesn’t loosen, I glance down at his hand, his firm grip on me somehow worse than the burn. “You’ve injured me worse in training.”

“I may push you, exhaust you, and leave you mad--but I have never done anything that comes close to--that!” The last of his words carry themselves louder than the rest.

If the skin of my shoulder wasn’t so sensitive I’d try fighting his tightening grasp. The accusation on my part had been a little much, but it was meant to serve as a reminder that he’s not one to care about my comfort or well being. “Why does it matter?” I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze. “You’ve never cared about any of my injuries before.”

Kirigan releases my arm in a stiff trance, raising his hand to brush his thumb down my cheek. The contact is reminiscent of an extremely different moment. “The first night here you only let a few tears escape you when you were convinced that no one could see them. Do you remember how I turned and wordlessly wiped them away?” His gesture had not been comforting then and it isn’t comforting now. He never wanted to comfort me, he wanted to assert some strange power over me. “I let those tears fall because they were because of me and I knew it was for the best.” I say nothing, letting his thumb ghost tears that will not come. “The moment I discovered you, what you could be, you became mine.”

“I am no one’s.” The reaction is instinctual, a pride my mother instilled in me. My voice is too loud, too brash. “I am my own.”

I brace myself for his anger, but all I receive is the slight relaxation of his lips. “It’s things like that give you so much potential in other ways.” His voice is a jagged rock caressing my skin, not minding the scrapes it leaves behind. “You’re a fair plaything, as well as useful.”

He’s speaking so gently his voice borders on vulnerable. Something in me warms, but I can’t tell why. I know that Kirigan finds joy in my discomfort--why else would he belittle me so often? “The healer will be here soon.”

“Yes,” he makes no move to leave, instead Kirigan grabs my wrist again, forcing me to turn so that he can analyze the extent of my burn, “Which is why I will ask you again…” I try to catch his gaze, but his stone stare is focused on my burned shoulder entirely. “Who did this?”

“I told you.” He can never know. “It was a training accident.”

“And someone is responsible.”

I let out a breath, tired of feeling so incomplete. I just want to be healed and go to sleep. “Why does it matter?” His fingers trail up my arm patiently, my body betrays me by shivering. “Accidents happen, you’ve put me in more risk than--”

“I’ve always intended to break you one way or another,” his voice is more supple than it’s ever been before, “Your goodness is too tempting to not tarnish.” He turns my wrist over easily, ignoring my slight wince. “But if someone else were to do it…” Kirigan trails off, expression tightening in a way I can’t read, “I don’t let others break my play things.”

Some strange resolve in my chest cracks at that. “Kirigan--”

“Who are you protecting?” He moves his free hand, placing it without reservation on my shoulder. “Not telling me will only make it worse.”

Thoughts of Arthur paying for such a small mistake leaves my stomach rolling in guilt. “Make what worse?”

His expression tightens again. I wait for some kind of rebuke. Kirigan’s lips part as if he expects to criticize my naivety, but instead of speaking he turns sharply. He doesn't release his grip on my wrist as he leads me into my bathroom.

“What are you doing?”

Kirigan ignores my surprise, releasing me to pick up the towel I was so quick to abandon. “If you’re too good to take a healer from someone, you should at least avoid infection.”

“I’m not an idiot, I was cleaning it.” The sharpness of my tone is ignored, Kirigan simply places one hand on my forearm to keep me in place. “Wha--”

He brushes his thumb over my pulse gently in an effective attempt to silence me. I part my lips in hopes of protesting, but something odd reflects across his eyes. It must be some trick of the light because his expression seems...hesitant. Maybe even concerned. And then cool fabric is pressed into my burn. I bite my tongue so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t bleed.

“Saints.”

His expression shifts to that of almost amusement. “I think I’d like to hear you curse in a,” he exhales softly, fingertips trailing up my forearm, “Slightly different scenario.”

The shock of such a bold innuendo clears my mind from thoughts of pain. But the most startling thing is that the innuendo isn’t entirely unwanted. In the wake of my surprise, he presses the wet towel into my wound again. I fight against a grimace, but that doesn’t go unnoticed by Kirigan. Instead of mentioning it, his free arm touches my uninjured shoulder. For the first time since he’s come here I’m aware of how improper my attire is. I changed out of my starched kefta and into a silk nightgown in order to leave my shoulder unbothered. Genya had helped me change, bearing all of my grimacing and pained curses.

I should push him off of me. Kirigan can get away with a lot because of his status, but I by no means have to allow something like this. I should not feel shy, I should not be embarrassed. He’s the one that’s out of line. I look up into his eyes, prepared to yell at him for being so out of line. But when I meet his eyes, I see something so un-monstrous I am left breathless. There’s a gentleness to the way he tilts his head downwards, eyes never leaving mine. Is he asking for permission? Permission to--to what? I stay frozen as his lips brush against the unmarred side of my collarbone. His touch is almost enough to make me forget pain ever existed. He pulls away enough that I can feel his breath against the base of my neck. Thoughts I’d never dare speak are banished as the towel presses against my skin again. My face cringes immediately, but he’s quick to press his lips to the base of my neck, lingering kisses melting into my skin.

“I thought you said you were fine.” His chiding is half-hearted, whispered between two brief kisses against my bare ski.

He dabs the towel on the burn again, but before I can think to complain, his lips are against my skin again. This time, his lips part slightly allowing his teeth to graze over my pulse. Kirigan pulls away slightly, expression hardening, “I’m almost sorry about this part.” His words leave him in a whisper as influential as sin.

“What part?” My voice feels foreign in my throat.

Kirigan doesn’t reply, but then I feel the sharpest pain yet. The towel is cleaning the worst of the burn, the ruined patch of skin that will never recover without supernatural intervention. The gasp I let out is that of a bird with shattered wings. A cry forms in the base of my throat, but before it can leave me, Kirigan’s teeth bite into the skin above my pulse. The pained sound is reduced by my shock, twisting in an odd combination of some kind of pained sound and something dangerously close to a moan.

He releases me with one last soft brush of his lips, straightening his back and retracting the towel. “There.” Kirigan drops the towel onto the bathroom counter. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

I can still feel the ghost of his lips, tongue, and teeth against my skin. I understand now. Each kiss had been a way to distract me, to lessen the pain. Something odd swells in my chest as I try to will my eyes to stop watering in pain.

Kirigan presses his lips together, pressing his hand against my cheek again. His thumb brushes the few stray tears that escape me. “Don’t cry,” his tone is pure velvet, “I won’t tolerate tears in your eyes caused by anyone else.” He tilts his head oddly, hand sliding down my cheek before gripping my jaw, “I can provide reason for your tears if you’d like.”

Inhaling deeply, I continue to stare at him. Today has been so sudden. He’s flirted with me through strangely sexual insults and threats before, but never has he been so forward about it.

“I’m fine,” I force my voice to remain clear. He nods once. A soft rap at my door has me turning away from him. “The healer--I shoul--”

“Come in,” he calls, voice clear and leaving no room for argument.

My eyes widen. To be caught with him here could be detrimental for my reputation. Kirigan pulls away, something sharp playing at his features, something almost humorous.

He leaves the bathroom like this is his own room. “Her wound is clean, work quickly.” I walk out of the bathroom in a strange trance. Kirigan’s gaze lands on me as I enter the main part of my room, “I need her at her full strength for what I have planned.”

There’s a heaviness to his words, a weight that tells me he means more than what his words imply. Goosebumps erupt across my skin as I try to banish the thoughts of his mouth against my skin between inflictions of pain, blending together to create the most intense sense of fight or flight I’ve ever experienced.

Kirigan begins to approach the door to my room. “I’ll be checking on her later.”

People that asked to be tagged in this/expressed interest:

@luminous-99 @voyevoda-thejoy @voidmalfoy @i-padfootblack-things @all-art-is-quite-useless @buckverse @mandowh0re @uhanddreag

@we-love-our-bandz

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